Chapter Text
The late afternoon sun slanted through the cafe window, painting Izuku’s notebook in warm, dusty hues. He hunched over the textbook, ‘Foundational Pedagogy for Heroics,’ its pages dense with theory. A faint aroma of roasted beans and something sweet, probably the maple scone Todoroki was currently dissecting, hung in the air. Outside, the urban hum of Japan swelled and receded, a living breath the city took.
Todoroki, serene as a glacier, pushed a half-eaten pastry across the polished wood table. “You look like you’re fighting a losing battle with that chapter.” Izuku sighed, running a hand through his perpetually unruly hair. “It’s not the content. It’s… everything else.” He gestured vaguely at the world beyond the cafe. “Graduation was supposed to be liberating. Now it just feels like… more studying. And less… him.”
The last word was a mumble, barely audible above the clink of porcelain from the front counter. Todoroki’s mismatched eyes narrowed slightly. “Less Bakugo?” Izuku flinched, caught. He hadn't meant to voice that.
“No! Not at all. I mean, he’s busy. We’re all busy. Starting our sidekick careers, getting established.” He fumbled for his pen, clicking it repeatedly. The sound, a tiny, insistent rhythm, filled the momentary silence. “It’s just… he’s always with Kirishima now.” A faint flicker of something, perhaps amusement, crossed Todoroki’s face. “They are friends.”
“I know they’re friends!” Izuku’s voice rose, then he quickly reined it in, acutely aware of the barista’s curious glance. “It’s just… before, we were always together. Training, studying, even just walking back to the dorms. Now it’s Kirishima this, Kirishima that. Kirishima’s internship, Kirishima’s agency, Kirishima’s stupid smile.” He slammed the textbook shut, the soft thud echoing. “It’s like I’ve been replaced.”
Todoroki took a slow sip of his black coffee, the ceramic mug dwarfing his slender fingers. “You sound… possessive.”
“I’m not possessive!” Izuku’s cheeks burned. “I just… miss him. We’ve been through everything together. All those years at UA, fighting villains, almost dying… you’d think that would count for something.” He sighed bitterly as he looked out the window, watching a group of teenagers laugh as they passed by. “He barely even glares at me anymore. It’s like he’s saving all his… intensity for Kirishima.”
“Perhaps he’s simply maturing,” Todoroki offered, ever the pragmatist. “Maturing into a Kirishima clone? I don’t think so.” Izuku picked at a loose thread on his sleeve. “I saw them yesterday, at the agency. Kirishima had his arm around Kacchans shoulders, laughing. Kacchan… he actually smiled. A real smile. Not a sneer, not a smirk. A genuine, unadulterated smile.” The memory twisted a knot in Izuku’s gut. “It makes my stomach churn.”
Todoroki set his mug down with a soft clink. “Your stomach churns when Bakugo smiles at someone else.”
“It’s not like that!” Izuku protested, his voice a little too high. “It’s just… odd. He doesn’t smile like that for anyone. Not even his dad, probably.” He leaned back, crossing his arms. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just overthinking it. It’s probably just… friendship.” The word tasted flat on his tongue.
“Friendship often involves smiles,” Todoroki pointed out, his tone even. “And physical contact. And shared experiences.” He paused. “Much like what you had with Bakugo.” Izuku chewed on his lip. “Yeah, well, ours was different. More… competitive. Explosive. Less… arm-around-the-shoulder.”
He thought of Bakugo’s rough shoves, the way his hand would sometimes rest on Izuku’s shoulder during a particularly intense strategy session, a rare, almost tender gesture hidden beneath layers of bluster. He missed even those. “I just… I don’t know what to make of it.”
“You miss him,” Todoroki stated. “And you’re jealous of Kirishima.”
“I am not jealous! I have no reason to be.” Izuku snapped, then winced. “Okay, sorry, maybe a little. But it’s not… it’s not romantic jealousy or anything. I’m not.. like that. It’s just… he’s my best friend. And now he’s always with someone else. It feels like a betrayal.” He felt a prickle behind his eyes, a childish indignation he couldn’t quite quell. “Like he’s forgotten about me.”
Todoroki simply watched him, his gaze unblinking. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken meaning before he spoke up. “You’re not like what?” He titled his head to the side as he asked, looking very contemplative.
Izuku, looking up from his forgotten sleeve, gave him a slight glare. “I’m not gay Shoto.. I don’t feel that way for Kacchan!” All Todoroki could do was sigh as he continued drinking his seriously overpriced coffee.
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A few days later, the feeling hadn't dissipated. It festered, a tiny, insistent thorn in Izuku’s side. He was back in the cafe, attempting to decipher a particularly convoluted paragraph on hero ethics, when the bell above the door chimed. He didn’t look up, too engrossed in the text, until a shadow fell across his page.
“Deku.”
Izuku’s head snapped up. Bakugo stood there, arms crossed, a familiar scowl etched on his face. But there was something else too, a tension in his shoulders, a slight tremor in his jaw.
“K-Kacchan!” Izuku stammered, surprised. Bakugo rarely sought him out in public, let alone in Izuku and Todoroki’s go to cafe. “What are you doing here?”
“What does it look like, you damn nerd? I’m here to drag your ass out of this den of mediocrity.” Bakugo’s voice was rough, but lacked its usual bite. He shifted his weight, glancing around the cafe as if searching for something. Or someone.
“I’m studying,” Izuku said, gesturing to his textbook. “You know, for my teaching license.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Heard about it from Half-and-Half.” Bakugo gestured vaguely towards the back of the cafe, where Todoroki was emerging from the restroom. Todoroki nodded a silent greeting to Bakugo, then returned to his seat, picking up a manga.
“Look, I need to talk to you.” Izuku’s heart gave an odd lurch. “Oh. Okay.” He closed his book. “What’s up?” Bakugo hesitated, then pulled out a chair and sat opposite Izuku, not quite meeting his gaze. “It’s… about the agency. And Kirishima.” Izuku’s stomach plummeted. “Kirishima? What about him?” He tried to keep his voice neutral, but a tremor betrayed him.
“He’s been acting weird,” Bakugo said, his voice low. “Keeps asking me about… you. And what we used to do. And if I’m happy.” He ran a hand through his spiky hair, a rare gesture of uncertainty. “It’s pissing me off.” Izuku blinked. This was not what he expected. “He’s asking about me?”
“Yeah. Like, a lot. He’s been trying to… I don’t even know anymore. He keeps saying I should talk to you more. That I look miserable without you around.” He finally met Izuku’s eyes, and for a fleeting moment, Izuku saw a raw vulnerability there. “It’s stupid. I don’t need him to tell me anything.” Izuku’s mind raced. Kirishima was talking about him? “What do you mean, miserable without me?”
Bakugo scoffed, looking away again. “He’s just being a meddling idiot. He doesn’t know anything.”
“But… you’ve been spending so much time together,” Izuku pressed, a tiny spark of hope igniting in his chest, warring with a deeper, unacknowledged fear. “I thought… I thought you two were… close.”
“We are close, you dumbass! He’s my friend!” Bakugo’s voice rose, a familiar growl returning. “But he’s also a pain in my ass, always trying to get me to ‘open up’ or some shit. And lately, it’s all been about you.” He slammed a fist lightly on the table, making the sugar packets jump. “He keeps saying I’m an idiot for not telling you how I feel.”
Izuku’s breath hitched. “How you feel?” The words were a whisper. Bakugo’s face flushed a deep crimson. “Never mind, you don’t need to know that. It’s none of your business.” He stood abruptly, knocking his chair slightly. “Just… tell him to back off. Tell him I’m fine. Tell him I’m not some lovesick moron.” Izuku watched him, a whirlwind of emotions swirling inside him.
Lovesick moron? Kirishima was trying to get Kacchan to admit… something. To Izuku. His heart hammered against his ribs. The jealousy, the irritation, the confusion – it all started to coalesce into a single, overwhelming realization. “Kacchan, wait!” Izuku scrambled to his feet. “What is it you’re not telling me?”
Bakugo froze, his back to Izuku. His shoulders were tense, rigid. “Nothing, Deku. Just forget it.”
“No!” Izuku’s voice was stronger now, fueled by a sudden, desperate clarity. “You can’t just drop something like that and walk away. Kirishima’s been spending all his time with you, trying to get you to talk about me. You said he thinks you’re miserable without me. And you said he thinks you’re an idiot for not telling me how you feel.” He took a step closer. “What feelings, Kacchan?”
Bakugo slowly turned, his eyes blazing, but not with anger. With something else. Something raw and exposed. “It’s… it’s not important, Deku. You wouldn’t get it.”
“Try me,” Izuku insisted, his voice trembling now, but firm. He looked around, suddenly aware of Todoroki watching them with an almost imperceptible tilt of his head. He didn’t care. This was too important. “I want to know.” A long, excruciating silence stretched between them.
Bakugo’s jaw worked, his eyes darting from Izuku’s face to the table, to the street outside. Finally, he let out a frustrated grunt. “Fine! You want to know, you damn nerd? Fine!” He took a step towards Izuku, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “I’m in love with you, okay? I have been for years. Since before UA, probably. Happy now?” He spat the words out, as if they were a bitter taste in his mouth. “But it doesn’t matter, because you’re you, and I’m me, and I’m a piece of shit who doesn’t deserve you, and you’re probably straight anyway, so just forget I said anything.”
He turned to leave again, a desperate energy in his movements. Izuku stood frozen, the words echoing in his ears. “I’m in love with you.” The world tilted. The cafe faded. Everything became Bakugo’s flushed face, his burning eyes, the raw honesty in his voice. All this time, he had been so focused on his own confused feelings, his own burgeoning jealousy, that he hadn’t even considered… this.
“Kacchan, wait!” Izuku practically lunged across the table, grabbing Bakugo’s arm. His fingers gripped the rough fabric of Bakugo’s sleeve. “You… love me?” Bakugo ripped his arm away, his face a mask of furious embarrassment. “I just said that, didn’t I? Are you deaf, too, you damn moron?” His voice was sharp, but his eyes were wide, a flicker of panic in their depths.
“But… I…” Izuku’s mind raced, replaying every moment, every interaction, every sharp word and unexpected kindness. The way Bakugo had always pushed him, always believed in him, even when he himself doubted. The way his eyes softened, just for a second, after a particularly fierce spar. The way he would sometimes, almost imperceptibly, protect Izuku from others. “I thought… I thought you hated me.”
Bakugo scoffed, running a hand over his face. “Of course I hated you, you damn crybaby. You were always so much better than me, always so damn pure and heroic, even without a quirk. It pissed me off. It still pisses me off.” He looked at Izuku, a desperate plea in his eyes. “But it’s not hate, Deku. It’s… complicated. It’s always been you. Always.”
Izuku felt a wave of relief, so potent it almost buckled his knees. All the confusion, the anger, the gnawing jealousy – it all made sense now. The reason his stomach churned when Bakugo smiled at Kirishima, the reason he felt replaced, the reason he couldn’t stand the idea of them being ‘close’ in a way he wasn’t. It wasn’t just friendship he wanted from Bakugo. It was everything.
He took a deep, shaky breath. “Kacchan… I… I think I love you too.” The words tumbled out, raw and unfiltered, the truth finally breaking free. He felt a sudden lightness, as if a massive weight had been lifted from his shoulders. The internalized homophobia, the denial – it shattered in that instant, replaced by a fierce, undeniable yearning.
Bakugo froze, his eyes wide. The anger, the embarrassment, the panic, all vanished, replaced by a stunned disbelief. “What did you just say?” His voice was barely a whisper.
“I love you, Kacchan,” Izuku repeated, stepping closer, his hand reaching out, almost tentatively, to touch his arm again. This time, Bakugo didn’t pull away. “That’s why I was so upset. That’s why I was so jealous of Kirishima. I thought… I thought you were falling for him. And it hurt. It hurt so much.” His voice cracked. “I didn’t understand why until just now. I was so stupid.”
Bakugo stared at him, his gaze intense, searching. Then, a slow, hesitant smile spread across his face, a genuine, blinding smile that made Izuku’s breath catch in his throat. It was the same smile he had seen Bakugo give Kirishima, but this time, it was for him. “You really mean it, Izuku?” Bakugo’s voice was rough with emotion. Izuku nodded, tears welling in his eyes.
“More than anything.” He squeezed Bakugo’s arm. “I’m so, so, so sorry I didn’t realize sooner. I was so caught up in my own head.” Bakugo let out a shaky laugh, a sound Izuku had rarely heard. “You always were, you damn nerd. But… you really love me?”
“Yes!” Izuku exclaimed, a joyous, almost hysterical laugh bubbling up. “Yes, I do! So much it makes my chest ache!” He pulled Bakugo into a tight embrace, burying his face in Bakugo’s shoulder. Bakugo stiffened for a moment, then slowly, hesitantly, wrapped his arms around Izuku, holding him close. The scent of burnt sugar and something uniquely Bakugo filled Izuku’s senses.
“Idiot,” Bakugo mumbled into Izuku’s hair, but the word was laced with tenderness. “Took you long enough.” They stood there for a long moment, clinging to each other, the world outside the cafe fading into a distant hum. When they finally pulled apart, Izuku’s face was wet with tears, but his smile was radiant.
“So… Kirishima,” Izuku began, a sudden thought striking him. “He was trying to get you to confess?” Bakugo rolled his eyes, but there was a soft fondness in his expression. “Yeah. The damn idiot kept telling me I was being a coward. Said I was going to lose you if I didn’t say anything. Turns out, he was right.” He glanced over at Todoroki, who had discreetly returned to his manga, though a faint, almost imperceptible curve of his lips suggested he had witnessed everything.
“He even tried to set up ‘accidental’ meetings with you.”
Izuku laughed, a clear, bright sound. “So all those times I saw you two together, and I was convinced he was stealing you away…”
“He was just trying to push me to you, you moron!” Bakugo flicked Izuku’s forehead lightly. “He’s been my damn therapist for months, listening to me rant about how much I wanted to tell you but didn’t think I deserved you, or that you’d ever feel the same way.” He looked at Izuku, his gaze full of a newfound vulnerability. “I really thought you’d just laugh at me.”
“Never,” Izuku whispered, reaching up to gently cup Bakugo’s cheek. His skin felt warm beneath his fingers. “Never, Kacchan.”
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A few days later, Izuku found himself back in the cafe, but this time, he wasn't alone. His Kacchan sat opposite him, nursing a ridiculously large iced coffee, his phone clutched in one hand. Izuku was sketching in his notebook, not hero costumes, but a stylized portrait of Bakugo’s furious, yet undeniably handsome, face.
“So, the damn extras know yet?” Bakugo grumbled, not looking up from his phone. Izuku chuckled. “Todoroki knows. He was there, after all.” He looked up, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “And I told Kirishima. He was… ecstatic.”
“Ugh, I bet.” Bakugo shuddered. “He sent me like twenty emojis. All hearts and sparkles.” He finally looked at Izuku, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. “He also said he’s glad I finally stopped being a chicken shit.”
“He has a point,” Izuku teased, leaning forward. “You were pretty terrified.”
“Shut up, Deku!” Bakugo’s voice held no real heat. He reached across the table, his fingers brushing Izuku’s. “So, what now, you damn nerd?” Izuku laced his fingers through Bakugo’s. “Now, we make it everyone’s problem.” He grinned, a wide, genuine smile that mirrored Bakugo’s earlier one. “We go on dates, we hold hands, we annoy all our friends with our sappy romance.”
Bakugo snorted, but his grip on Izuku’s hand tightened. “Sounds like a pain in the ass.” A beat passed. “But… fine. As long as you’re the one doing the annoying.”
“Deal.” Izuku squeezed his hand. “Oh, and one more thing.” Bakugo raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“You owe Kirishima a huge thank you,” Izuku said, a playful smirk on his face. “He practically orchestrated this whole thing.” Bakugo groaned, burying his face in his free hand. “Don’t remind me. I’m going to have to buy him a lifetime supply of protein powder or something.” He looked up, a wry smile on his lips. “But… he did good, I guess.” He squeezed Izuku’s hand again, his thumb gently caressing Izuku’s knuckles. “He did real good.”
The sun, now sinking lower, cast long, golden shadows across the cafe. The city’s hum outside felt less like a distant drone and more like a gentle, approving murmur. Izuku leaned his head against Bakugo’s shoulder, a warmth spreading through him that had nothing to do with the setting sun beating down on them. He finally understood. This was what he had been missing. This was what he had craved. And now, he had it. And he wasn’t letting go.