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All things considered, Tenya likes to think he escaped the war relatively unscathed.
It’d taken several excruciating weeks to recover from the muffler explosion at Gunga Sansou, and his quirk therapist had forecasted the lingering ache in his calves to be a chronic one.
But Tenya had come back all the same—all his limbs are still intact, and his skin is relatively unmarred.
He’s not like Midoriya, who returned with half a head of hair, scar tissue lining his body, or Aoyama, who returned only to announce his permanent departure.
He’s definitely not like Bakugou, who’s being slowly wheedled into replacing his fragmented right arm with a mechanical one while his heart fights to sustain an already-battered body.
Bakugou died, and was revived only to die again. And now he’s returned, putting his peers’ paltry grievances to shame with an upturned chin, only to be greeted by fangirls. They come in swathes, squealing raucously at every twitch and huff from the blond. There’s something ironic about it, buried deep below all of the unease and trauma. Something about the fact that despite his incessant need to be the top hero, Bakugou is utterly appalled by the presence of arguably the largest symptom of such a mantle.
The ordinary hero would be flattered by the attention. Mineta tugs at the blond’s sleeve even now, wailing nasally about how jealous he is, how Bakugou should be honored to be so popular. The older boy bats him away with impressive ease, muttering, “I’d rather the fuckin’ ballsack baby again.”
“Are you—are you talking about All For O—” Satou begins, aghast, only to be bowled over by Mineta’s body, which Bakugou has expertly drop-kicked into him.
For Todoroki, who is accosted by his own horde of first-years, it’s… less troubling. His fans aren’t by any means less forward, but for someone like him who has spent his entire life in the spotlight, it’s nothing new. The boy looks only mildly inconvenienced by the crowd, murmured responses lost in their shrieks.
“If you would all speak one at a time I could address you properly,” he frowns.
“Todoroki-senpai!” the girls cry in response.
“Yes, that’s me,” he says blandly. “Could you please lower your voices?”
The screaming intensifies in response, and they close in on Todoroki, who now looks incrementally more inconvenienced.
Beside him, Bakugou is faring far worse. The fangirls bustle, clamouring to get a glimpse of the scowling blond.
“You lot should be expelled!” he snaps, arms crossed defensively across his chest and shoulders raised to his ears.
“Bakugou-senpai, I came to UA to see you!” one girl wails, arms flailing in the air violently.
The boy in question raises a finger, pointing it in her face with a supremely offended glare. “You especially, freak! You think UA is a fuckin’ joke?!”
The girl makes a high-pitched whistling noise from the depths of her throat at his attention, and then proceeds to pass out right there on the hallway floor.
Bakugou appears to be halfway between vexed and concerned at the sight, shifting uncomfortably. He looks like he’s about to crawl out of his own skin.
Tenya isn’t so blind to wonder why the blond is receiving such attention. He may have his clashes with Bakugou, but from a purely aesthetic standpoint, the blond is—
Well, the interest is more than warranted.
But with everything that’s happened in the past year, with the harried, wild snarl adorning Bakugou’s features, he can’t muster any feelings but concern. How could these first-years claim to be in love with Bakugou when they can’t even put their own infatuation aside long enough to really look at him and see his current distress at their actions?
It’s—it’s unheroic. It’s a dishonour to UA, as Bakugou had said, to waste the school’s time and tutelage for such petty purposes.
But beyond all of these things, and possibly most importantly, it’s extremely dangerous. Bakugou is still recovering. He’s been cleared to leave inpatient treatment and roam freely, but he’s prohibited from even raising his voice in worries that it’ll strain his still-fragile heart.
The task seems especially herculean for Bakugou of all people; the class had been torn between amused and horrified at the news. But Tenya is the class president, and Bakugou—Bakugou has suffered too much to be subjected to further stress after all he has endured. To recover smoothly, at his own pace, to feel comfortable in his own school hallways… these are things the blond has more than earned.
So Tenya storms over, skidding to a stop in front of his two beleaguered classmates and shooting his arms out to cover them as he faces the horde of girls.
“Please cease this at once!” he demands, feeling Bakugou and Todoroki peek out from behind him. “It’s fine that you admire them but they’re still people! Following them around in such a large group is startling!”
“They were running in the hallways! The hallways, Class Rep!” Bakugou complains from behind Tenya, squinting out beadily at the group.
Tenya glances back at him, tamping down an odd amalgamation of amusement and fondness at the childish tone the blond has adopted.
“That’s true,” he says, turning back to the group, who have fallen silent at his loud call. “The rules are in place for a reason. And more importantly, these two still haven’t fully recovered. Please let them rest!”
The group falter at this, and straighten as if they’re seeing Bakugou and Todoroki, injuries and all, for the first time. They apologise plaintively, cowed, before slinking away.
Tenya knows that there will without doubt be another group to replace this one in no time at all. But for now, feeling Bakugou unwind slightly from behind him is sufficient.
—
It takes no more than a few hours for another troop of first-years to corner Bakugou, this time outside the boys’ baths.
They crowd him up against the entrance, all seven of them, with sparkling eyes. In the few seconds it takes for Tenya to manoeuvre around him until he’s standing between them, Tenya watches as Bakugou’s shoulders tense, eyes hardening defensively.
“That’s enough,” he says sharply, stepping forward to push the group back and give the blond more space. “This is extremely inappropriate behaviour. Please return to your classes.”
He’s met with pronounced protests and whines.
“C’mon, it’s still break time! We just wanted to see Bakugou-senpai for a minute before next period!”
They make no attempt to conceal the way they ogle the blond, whose white uniform shirt clings to his still-damp skin, revealing the textured outline of the bandages wrapped around his torso.
“So cool…” one of them sighs wistfully, making the blond’s jaw clench so hard a vein twitches in his temple.
Tenya’s frown deepens.
“Be that as it may, it’s no excuse to bother him like this. Out, now,” he demands, pointing out towards the exit corridor. “I won’t ask again.”
The gaggle of younger students reluctantly shuffle out of the hallway, giving Tenya baleful looks the entire way.
When he turns back, Bakugou is wrestling with his blazer jacket, twisting around awkwardly to jam his arm into the wrinkled sleeve.
“Let me,” he offers instinctively, reaching out. He ignores the blond’s incensed snarl, smoothing out the fabric until the bandaged limb slides through. When the blazer is on, Bakugou wraps his arms around his chest, as if stretching the seams of the jacket to cover as much of his torso as humanly possible. Sweat already begins to bead at his brow with the exertion.
Tenya stares for a long moment, feeling something hot and furious curdle in his gut at the sight. Bakugou hates wearing blazers. Everyone knows that. The discomfort is written openly across his face even now, when he tries to mask it with apathy.
“Unacceptable,” Tenya says, distantly. Then, when the blond’s head snaps up to squint at him, he sets his shoulders. “I’m going to go and report them. That was absolutely unacceptable.”
He turns on his heel, only to be snagged by the elbow and spun back around.
“The hell? Forget it,” Bakugou sniffs. “Don’t make a fuss for no damn reason.”
“This is reason enough! You deserve at the very least to pursue your education freely after this mess of a month.”
His voice has risen by the end of the exclamation against his will, and Bakugou stares at him with widened eyes. After a long moment, the blond slouches, jerking a shoulder up roughly.
“Well, they’re fuckin’ gone now. So drop it.”
Tenya studies him silently for a pause, before sighing.
“Alright. Let’s head to class, then.”
They trudge out, Bakugou trailing a half-step behind him. By the time they reach the classroom, the blond has discarded his blazer once more, jamming it in his bag the way he always has. He sprawls artlessly into his chair, stretching out like a placid cat.
Tenya rights his spectacles against the bridge of his nose with his index finger, and nods once as he crosses the blond’s seat to reach his own. Bakugou narrows his eyes but shifts a leg out just enough that their shins brush as Tenya passes.
—
Two days later, Tenya is eating lunch in the cafeteria with his friends when he notices Uraraka surreptitiously staring at someone across the room from beside him. She dons an awkward grimace, like she’s trying to find amusement in whatever she’s looking at but can only come up with trepidation.
He follows her gaze to Bakugou’s table, where the blond sits alone while his friends wait in line for their food. Kirishima is near the front of the queue carrying two trays, which Iida can only take to mean that he’s collecting the blond’s lunch for him. It’d be heartwarming if not for the gaggle of girls standing before a solitary Bakugou, tittering periodically. At their helm, a tall, stocky girl with her purple hair pulled back in a tight military bun is brandishing a fabric-wrapped box—a bento, Tenya realises with a sinking feeling in his gut. Bakugo, who he can now see looks profoundly irked, jerks his shoulder, saying something undoubtedly rude before turning away from the girl. She falters, drooping momentarily at the dismissal. But when one of her friends nudges her forward, shaking a fist in encouragement, she steels herself again.
The bento makes a clang when she slams it down on the table in front of Bakugou. The noise echoes through the entire cafeteria, drawing more than a few eyes. From the sidelines, Kaminari and Sero snicker—no doubt at Bakugou’s incensed snarl—while Kirishima watches with a dubious squint.
The girl jabs her finger at the bento, and then at Bakugou, with a peculiar sort of ferocity. The blond looks utterly unamused, rolling his eyes as he snaps something at her. His shoulders have begun to inch up defensively, in that way Tenya so dearly despises. He leans back, before glancing around the cafeteria once with unreadable eyes. It’s almost as if he’s looking for something, but—his eyes only stop briefly on Kirishima and the others, and then keep moving cursorily.
The girl stomps her foot once, before pointing at him again. She says something, incomprehensible from Tenya’s place but still loud enough for her voice to be heard above the din of two hundred-odd teenagers. This tactic is a recent development, spurred on by an impulsive, offhanded comment by Ojiro a few days back which had unfortunately been overheard by an underclassman. Several of Bakugou’s admirers have now taken to emulating him, yelling and posturing and shucking their ties in an attempt to reach him. It never works—they have it all wrong. When she leans forward, jabbing a finger into his shoulder, Bakugou twitches away imperceptibly, his frame stiffening, and—
The blond peers around the cafeteria once more, looking for some unknown presence, and Tenya is on his feet before he knows it.
He steps in front of the girl unabashedly—squeezing in with so much difficulty that his hip bumps the table the other boy is sitting at—and picks up the wrapped bento, offering it back to her with a dip of his head.
“I apologise for my disrespect, but I ask that you leave Bakugou alone. I think he’s made his feelings clear.”
He tries to smile kindly as he says it—the way he always does—but Bakugou is still tensed behind him in that way that he hates so much, and whatever expression he ends up making, it has her and her friends blanching.
She makes no move to take the box, however, so Tenya pushes it towards her again until it prods at her hand.
“If you will, Miss.”
“What’s it to you?!” she demands, but the words come out weak and she seems to shrink back even as she says them. She’s… intimidated. By Tenya. The thought is a little amusing to him, in the moment.
“Bakugou is a precious friend of mine,” he says, without looking back to see what reaction a statement like that is bound to garner from his prickly classmate. “His comfort is of the utmost priority to me.”
The girl stares at him for a long moment, before peering past his shoulder at Bakugou. Her expression shifts from bemused to shocked, to bemused again. Then, a nasty, dark look overtakes her face, her cheeks darkening.
“You should’ve just told me it was like that, you jerk!” she spits past Tenya, glaring at Bakugou venomously.
Tenya lowers the bento slightly, blinking. “Like what?”
She continues to pay him no mind, glowering at the blond for a moment more before turning on her heel and stomping away, leaving the wrapped box in a befuddled Tenya’s now-lax grip.
When he turns to look at Bakugou, lost, he finds the blond glaring down at the table with his shoulders hiked up to his reddening ears.
Tenya’s lips purse. She’s gone, but Bakugou is still…
“Are you alright?” he asks carefully.
The other boy’s frown deepens until it protrudes so pronouncedly that it could probably be categorised as a pout. His head is lowered so deeply that his eyes are all but invisible under his unruly hair.
“Nn.”
“Well,” Tenya says, straightening and blinking owlishly at the discarded bento in his grip. “You… can always come to me if anyone is bothering you.”
For a moment, he thinks the other boy has elected to ignore him. But then, like an ajisai blossom in the rain, Bakugou uncurls, loosening until his full face is visible once more. He stares at Tenya for a beat, before turning away to glare at the table.
Behind him, the growing rowdy chatter signifies that Bakugou’s friends are nearing them, finally free from the winding food queue.
When Bakugou scrupulously glances back up at him, Tenya takes a split second to smile warmly, before turning to return to his table.
His friends stare with wide eyes as he slides into his seat, picking up his chopsticks.
“Are you ever going to come to my rescue like that, or is Bakugou just special?” Todoroki asks blandly, after a drawn-out pause.
Tenya splutters, alarm rising in his throat.
“I—Todoroki, I apologise! I thought you wanted to handle it yourself, but I will make sure—”
“Iida,” the other boy says, holding up a hand to halt him mid-sentence. His heterochromatic eyes twinkle mischievously, thin lips curving into a small smile. “I’m joking.”
He leans sidewards to nudge his shoulder against Tenya’s once.
“You’re sure?” Tenya presses, peering at Todoroki forlornly.
“Very,” the other hums, smile widening. “I’d wager you have your hands full already.”
He tilts his chin towards Bakugou, who is digging at his newly-acquired lunch with furiously-pinkened cheeks from across the cafeteria. Beside him, Kaminari stabs a straw into Bakugou’s milk carton. When the older boy inevitably whirls around to shout at him, Sero takes the moment of distraction to slip an extra portion of tofu into Bakugou’s bowl.
It’s—warming, to see the same boys who’d previously been notorious for stealing food off Bakugou’s plate, now teaming up to dote on him.
“Perhaps,” Tenya says finally, eyes softening. He can’t find it in himself to be too upset about the admission.
—
Three nights later, Tenya is returning from his nightly dorm rounds, just kicking out of his slippers at his door when he hears a thump from his window. It comes from down below—like something’s happened in the room below his, or perhaps right outside the room.
…Which happens to be Bakugou’s room. Tenya juts his head out of his window, peering down to see a hooded figure hunched over outside Bakugou’s wall.
He doesn’t even bother taking the stairs.
Instead, he shoulders through his window frame and drops down onto the cement behind the intruder, freefalling the full two stories. His singular slipper makes a loud slap upon impact with the hard ground.
The figure whirls around, recoiling at the sight of him. Tenya is still wearing his sleepwear—checkered flannel pants that Kaminari and Sero take particular delight in him wearing, and an old thermal shirt he hadn’t had the time to shuck—and he has no doubt he’s far from an image of authority or intimidation in this state. But when Tenya’s eyes fall on the phone the stranger is clutching, aimed at Bakugou’s window, his ears fill with cottony white noise.
He strides forward, wrenching the device away with a crushing grip.
“What is this,” he demands, nostrils flaring and shoulders tensed so tightly they twinge. He’s—he’d been angry about it all already, but this is—
He hasn’t felt fury like this in months.
His voice sounds foreign to his own ears. The stranger shrinks back against the wall, hood falling lower over their face. Bakugou’s curtains are half-open, and there’s movement from inside. The blond had probably been ready to sleep—he’d probably been relaxed, vulnerable, believing that he could finally have a moment of reprieve in the comfort of his own bedroom.
As if that was a lot to expect, after everything.
And instead—
There’s a distant cracking noise from Tenya’s side, where his fist closes tightly around the confiscated phone.
The hooded intruder starts to say something, incomprehensible over the ringing in Tenya’s ears.
“Shut up,” he snaps.
The words tear from his throat, scratched like gravel, and the other stills like the order is a physical blow. Tenya takes a step forward, reaching his empty hand out to yank the stranger’s hood back with a trembling hand and reveal his face.
It’s—
Tenya’s never met this boy. He’s seen him roaming the campus corridors, at least enough so to recognise him as a first-year General Education student. They’ve never spoken—never crossed paths.
“I swear,” the other says, taking advantage of Tenya’s silence to ramble out his meagre excuses. “I swear I wasn’t doing anything crazy. It wasn’t even for me, I just—I was just gonna get a few shots of him sleeping, or maybe with his shirt off—it was just for some of the first years, I swear—”
There’s another crack from Tenya’s right hand, and then a sharp, shooting pain cuts through his anger. He tilts his head to see the splintered remnants of the boy’s phone, crumbling under his grasp. The shards of glass dig harshly into the meat of his palm.
Tenya feels his chest rattle with the draw of an aborted inhale. The boy blanches at the sight of his mangled phone, gawking at Tenya owlishly.
“You sneak into our dorm block,” the taller says quietly, “to take—creepshots of my classmate with his shirt off at night.”
“No—!” the younger student cries weakly, eyebrows drawing tightly. His gaze flickers back and forth from the shattered phone in Tenya’s hand to the venomous expression on the taller boy’s face.
Tenya steps forward again, until his shadow looms loftily over the cowering boy. He wrenches sharply at the hood still crumpled in his hand, and watches as the other’s head is jerked sharply back with it. There’s an urge, buried deep in his gut, to take that pathetically snivelling face and slam it into the brick behind them.
“What’s your name.”
Bakugou is not here to stop him from taking the matter further, this time. He’s not here to talk him out of it, or minimise the issue. Tenya can’t react the way he wants, but—this time, he can at least tell Nedzu. This transgression isn’t one that can be forgiven so easily.
“It was just—just some girls,” the boy whispers wetly, instead of answering. “I swear, I’d never—they like him, and—they kept asking—”
“That person,” Tenya interrupts, voice low. “That person you’re so comfortable to pimp out. He gave his life, trying to protect everyone. Including you. He still—he can still barely move his right arm, now. His heart has to be monitored. And you—”
He releases the hood, dropping his now-empty hand to his side where it begins to tremble. The adrenaline rapidly drains from him, resignation taking root in its place at the futility of it all. The other boy, nameless still, blinks watery eyes at him. He’s—crying. The sight of it fills Tenya with acrid irritation. To so cruelly violate someone who has already suffered so much—and then to have the nerve to cry when confronted—it’s a pathetic vision. It’s repulsive.
“Glasses?”
Tenya blanches. His head snaps to the side, where a bemused Bakugou is blinking at him. The blond looks—ruffled. His shirt is wrinkled, unruly hair flattened on one side, and his crimson eyes are puffed with sleep.
“Bakugou,” Tenya says. Then, again, softer when he realises how cold he still sounds: “Bakugou. Did I wake you?”
His classmate squints at him, smacking chapped lips.
“Fuck’re you doin’ yelling outside my window at night?”
At the sight of him, Tenya deflates like a balloon.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, cowed.
“That’s not an answer,” the blond huffs. Then, he stiffens as he catches sight of the boy still trembling at Tenya’s side. “You!”
The boy jolts.
“You… Bakugou, you know him?” Tenya asks, rattled.
“Fucker keeps getting lost in the lockers,” the older sniffs.
“...Lost?” he echoes.
“I—Bakugou-senpai, I’m sorry! I swear—”
“What do you mean lost?” Tenya repeats, interrupting the boy sharply.
The blond narrows his eyes.
“He keeps runnin’ head first into me at the hero locker rooms. Says he forgets where the first year blocks are. Fuckin’ idiot. You get lost here, too, dipshit?”
At the judgmental look Bakugou is levelling him, and Tenya’s slowly-dawning fury, the boy in question shrinks.
“The hell crawled up your ass and died, Glasses?” Then, when the blond’s gaze trails down to the crushed device in Tenya’s fist, he splutters, eyes widening uncharacteristically. “Is that a phone?”
Tenya’s fist clenches further at the mention, and he hears another crunch of splintering glass. This boy—for all his snivelling and faux remorse—has been tailing Bakugou for a while now. He’s snuck into the locker rooms, where they all change and relax. Hell, he’s likely already taken and distributed some number of photos without the blond’s knowledge.
“Did he break that?” the blond demands incredulously, voice a pitch higher than usual.
“Y—Yes, senpai,” the underclassman squeaks, sounding sufficiently horrified at the fact.
Bakugou’s cheeks darken inexplicably, crimson stare rounding further as it flicks between the fractured phone and some point just short of Tenya’s collarbones.
Tenya finds himself wishing, absurdly, that Bakugou had retained a little more of his childish temper after the conclusion of the war. He’s far from the image of calm even now, but he’s undoubtedly mellowed out. He wears his kindness more openly, gives people more space to err in his presence. Perhaps if he was harsher, more irascible—the way he used to be—he’d explode at these transgressors the way they deserve. If ever there was a time for that sort of behaviour to be acceptable, it would be now. It’s so ridiculous a thought that Tenya dismisses it the moment it crosses his mind. Bakugou probably doesn’t even know. And even if he did, it shouldn’t be his responsibility to bear.
“With his hand?!” the blond squawks.
“Y—”
Putting a stop to this is Tenya’s role, if nothing else. As a class president, but also as a friend.
“Bakugou,” he interrupts obstinately, raising a knuckle to push his spectacles up against the bridge of his nose. “Excuse me.”
Reaching to the side to wrap a hand tightly around the underclassman’s wrist, he yanks him to his feet roughly. The kid makes a wounded noise at the motion, head snapping back at the force.
“Oi,” Bakugou says, some of that characteristic petulance creeping into his tone. “Ease up before you break his fuckin’ wrist. Fuck is going on with you?”
“Nothing,” Tenya says bluntly. “Sorry for the intrusion.”
He half-drags, half-carries the weakly-protesting boy all the way to Aizawa’s block, ignoring his classmate’s indignant questions as they fade into the distance.
“Iida,” his teacher grunts when the door slides open. He looks as exhausted as ever, hair rumpled and dark circles pronounced in the dim light. “I don’t know what it is that you’ve found issue with now, but I’m certain it can wait until a reasonable hour.”
He moves to shut the door again, fully accustomed to Tenya’s never-ending grievances and reports. He is not, however, accustomed to the way Tenya’s leg shoots out to jam the door open.
“What,” Aizawa says mildly, looking far more awake. To his credit, the teacher on-duty is actually Ectoplasm right now, so his irritability is well-founded. But Tenya knows Aizawa would never turn his back on their class. And more than that—
“It can’t wait,” he says flatly. He wrenches the boy into the light, sending him sprawling into the teacher’s doorway. He drops the remains of the mangled phone to the floor, too, watching the shards spill across the carpet.
…More than that, Aizawa has a soft spot the size of Japan for Bakugou.
With a cursory explanation, Tenya leaves the kid there, trembling under the teacher’s hard glare.
—
It’s beginning to dawn on Tenya that a portion of the student body at UA is coming to perceive Bakugou and himself as something of a package deal.
Specifically speaking, it dawns on him just after his lunch break, when he’s standing in the middle of one of the support lab rooms with Hatsume’s arm shoved halfway up his pant leg.
“Y’know, I thought you were here to play guard dog again,” she tells him cheerfully around the pen clenched between her teeth. “But I won’t ever turn down an opportunity to make some more precious babies.”
“You need to work on your phrasing,” Tenya mutters primly, before squinting as he considers the first half of her statement. “What do you mean by that?”
She hums questioningly, practically pressing her cheek to the floor in an effort to peer up the hem of his left pant leg.
“What you said,” he clarifies, shifting away minutely, “about my being a… guard dog.”
She grunts, loud and ugly, and flaps her free hand in the air dismissively.
“Your whole shtick with Blondie… can’t you just take these off? I can’t see into the mufflers like this.”
He jerks away when she tugs on the leg of his pants demonstratively.
“I’m not taking my pants off.”
Hatsume gives him a baleful look, like he’s being dramatic.
“We’re in a private room,” she complains.
Tenya has grown far too accustomed to Hatsume’s particular brand of strangeness to be bothered by this song and dance.
“It’s not proper. I’ll roll the hem up, or change into shorts if you prefer.”
“Why?” she huffs, straightening to squint at him.
“You’re—”
“—A lady,” she drones petulantly. “You’re the only guy in the Northern Hemisphere to think that about me, you know.”
“You are,” he insists, frowning at her.
“I’m on my knees down here with my tits in your face, and you’re freaking out over propriety?”
“You’re doing your job,” Tenya says unhappily, lips pressing together. “How could I not hold you in high esteem after everything you’ve done for us?”
Hatsume doesn’t respond for a long moment, face unreadable from where she’s stooped to fiddle with his lower engine ports. The silence drags for a beat too long.
“Ugh,” she says finally, sighing theatrically to mask the weakness in her voice. “You’re always so freakishly nice, Iida-kun.”
Tenya smiles down at Hatsume, and she pointedly avoids his gaze. She’s far too similar to Bakugou, really; they share their aversion to earnest kindness. It’s why he doesn’t take the deflection personally.
“Anyways,” she says brusquely, “I meant that I thought you came to see your damsel in distress.”
“Please don’t call him that,” Tenya says immediately, paling slightly. “He’ll have my head.”
“Your princess? Fair maide—”
“Hatsume.”
“C’mon, you’ve been snapping at anyone who looks his way for weeks.”
“I—” Tenya says, cheeks hot.
“And more importantly,” the pink-haired girl interrupts, impassioned, “he lets you!”
“I’m failing to see what Bakugou has to do with anything right now,” he sniffs, not wanting to think too hard about that particular statement.
“I thought you came here with him,” she says impatiently, trying to cram her finger inside one of his exhaust pipes until he squirms away uncomfortably.
“He’s—can you stop that, please—he’s here?”
Hatsume pauses her ministrations to blink up at him.
“You didn’t know? He arrived just before you.”
Tenya stiffens.
It’s no secret that Bakugou has been banned from training while his right arm and heart recover. Doctor Yoshida had even told him that he’d need a prosthetic arm if he planned to be a hero at all, but the blond had refused so vehemently that no one had had the heart to push it. For weeks, it’s been a sore subject. When they’d realised the prosthetic was out of the question, Class A had taken to begging Bakugou to at least request a support item to stabilise the limb while it heals. Something which could—even if only while he’s still in rehabilitation sessions—imitate his quirk and provide his flimsy joints with support to prevent further damage.
He’d refused that too, of course.
So really, Bakugou has no reason to be here unless he’d finally succumbed and—
“Came by to get an arm bracer,” Hatsume says noncommittally. “The new girl took him.”
Her voice dulls towards the end of the phrase, and she suddenly gains a renewed interest in rearranging the various sockets she’s splayed out across the floor.
“A first year?” Tenya asks cautiously, sensing her loss of interest.
“Mm.”
“How lucky. That’ll be good publicity for her.”
Hatsume shrugs.
“Guess so, with how she wouldn’t shut up about it.”
Here, Hatsume is different from Bakugou; she at least makes an effort to mask her distaste, even if this effort is pathetic at best.
“I know I joked about it,” she continues wryly, fitting a socket into her wrench and spinning the tool around her fingers loosely. “You, coming to Bakugou’s rescue or whatever. But… he’s edgy about it, right? This bracer?”
Tenya doesn’t answer. He’s never been the sort to disclose anyone’s personal circumstances—especially not Bakugou’s—and from her tone, it seems like she’s already on a roll anyway.
“I won’t lie about it. I think you’ve been a little overprotective these past few weeks. It’s a little sickening, really.” When he shifts in embarrassment, Hatsume grins knowingly. “It’s alright, it looks like he’s into it.”
“Please change the subject,” Tenya says uncomfortably.
“All I’m saying,” Hatsume powers on, smile fading as a troubled grimace takes its place, “is that if there were to be a time where I thought your freaky little bodyguard act might be warranted…”
Tenya stiffens, good nature draining from him instantly at the unspoken implication. She looks—uneasy, almost. Hatsume.
“Where is he?”
Approximately six seconds later, Tenya is storming down the corridor and through the open doorway to the support trial room, only to stop in his tracks.
“—thought you’d be realistic about it!”
Bakugou stands in the center of the tiny space, left hand curled into a trembling fist and right hand ever-limp. A girl stands in front of him, looming despite the head of height the blond has over her. Tenya’s never seen her before. Thank god he’s never seen her before.
“I thought you of all people would appreciate the pragmatism! I’m damn good but I’m not a miracle worker—” she punctuates her words with a pointed poke at Bakugou’s right bicep, still swathed in bandages. He jerks away from the touch with his entire body, eyes hardening.
“I can only work with what I have. You’ve got a good body. Good face, too, when you’re not going out of your way to scrunch it up, and you’re already popular since you took All for One down on livestream. You’re set for life—you don’t have anything to prove! Do you know how many people would kill to be in your place?”
Bakugou’s face does something complicated at her final phrase, along with Tenya’s chest. It’s like the blond has to fight to bite back the words that first jump to his lips. Tenya understands the sentiment all too well.
Lately, it feels increasingly like a rift has formed between their class and the rest of the world. He wonders if a person could really believe Bakugou capable of feeling that way—that getting tortured, losing function in his limb indefinitely, and having to lug a heart monitor around for weeks would be worth the opportunity to coast through life without having to work hard ever again. The very thought is an affront to Bakugou’s core motivations.
The girl seems to sense she’s losing Bakugou, oblivious to the discomfort emblazoned across his face. He’s tense with the posture of a cornered stray.
“Just trust me,” she cajoles, quieter. “I’ll sleek them up, they’ll look great. You’d have to lug around at least five kilograms to recreate even an increment of your old firepower—”
“I can handle it,” Bakugou says sharply. It’s the first thing he’s said since Tenya entered the room. The words earn an incomprehensible noise of exasperation, and the first-year throws her hands up in the air wildly.
“Ingenium, can you please back me up here? I’m trying to help!”
Tenya tenses at the way she turns to him expectantly, like she’s actually expecting him to support her. It’s the first time she’s acknowledged his presence. He’d half-thought she hadn’t noticed him. Bakugou, on the other hand, definitely hadn’t noticed his arrival, if his sharp turn and widening eyes are to be trusted.
He watches the way the blond stares back at him, before the terse lines of his body slowly soften. He relaxes when he realises Tenya is here. Just like that time in the cafeteria.
Bakugou… Tenya wonders, feeling his throat swell with affection. Were you looking for me back then?
He swallows down his emotions and reaches out to tug Bakugou behind him by the shoulder. The blond comes easily—had it always been like this? Had Tenya been too occupied to realise when their dynamic shifted?
He looks up, anger draining from him rapidly in the face of the warmth radiating from Bakugou’s shoulder to his own palm. In its place, indifference blooms.
“No,” Tenya says coolly. “I won’t be backing you up. You’re obviously not qualified for this task.”
The girl’s jaw drops, and she splutters weakly. Beneath Tenya’s hand, Bakugou’s body jerks minutely.
“Y—What is that supposed to mean?!” she cries, face reddening rapidly.
“It means that Hatsume is available in one of the study rooms and would be more than equipped to assist Bakugou.”
“I’m equipped to assist Bakugou-senpai! I got in on recommendations—”
“—Which I don’t doubt speaks to your ability to build support gear, and your technical intelligence,” Tenya interrupts flatly. “It doesn’t account for your ability to tailor your work to your clients and actually listen to their needs, which is why you appear to be so lacking in those qualities.”
He turns to Bakugou, who’s blinking at him owlishly, ears red and expression distinctly pleased.
“Bakugou, if you would? I believe Hatsume is three rooms down on our left.”
“Wh—hell no! I’m staying to watch!”
“This is ridiculous!” the girl snaps, before Tenya can respond to his classmate. “So I’m just supposed to coddl—”
“Enough,” Tenya says, turning to face her again fully. The fondness he’d felt for Bakugou disappears at the sight of her indignant snarl, and the words she’d been about to spit out. “You called me Ingenium, so I’ll assume you know who I am. I wish I could say the same for you, but I don’t know you and I don’t care to. You are nobody to me.”
The girl falters here, genuine hurt flashing across her face at the glacial words, but the sight does nothing to slow Tenya.
“You walk around thinking you know better than the people you work to support. Can you imagine how quickly it would take for a poor reference to ruin your prospects?”
“Glasses,” Bakugou warns from behind him, sharply.
“No,” Tenya snaps, not taking his eyes off the now-shrinking junior. “I celebrate holidays with heroes that you probably stay up at night fantasising about meeting. Do you intend to speak to all of them the way you’ve spoken to my friend today?”
She doesn’t respond, shoulders curling inwards.
“Iida,” the blond says, quieter. Tenya turns around at this, and finds Bakugou frowning at him slightly. “She gets it. Leave it alone.”
It’s almost amusing, how much everything has changed these past few months. For Iida to fly off the handle—for Bakugou to be the one to rein him in. It’s all alien.
The girl, who is now avoiding his gaze, is probably thinking that he’s some callous egotist who leverages his connections against anyone who slights him. Maybe he is. His parents would be horrified to hear what he’s just said.
“I didn’t mean to be cruel,” he murmurs finally. “You’ve all been through so much.”
“Yeah,” Bakugou says simply. Somehow, the syllable conveys a world of understanding. “We all know you’re too fuckin’ straight-laced to go through with a threat like that.”
The blond looks past him to the cowering first-year as he says it. Tenya follows his gaze.
“Yes,” he sighs mournfully. “I suppose I am.”
They watch as the girl seems to melt at the words, terse shoulders dropping with relief.
“I’m sorry,” she says finally, contrite.
Tenya tilts his head at her, before nodding once and turning out towards the corridor.
Bakugou follows him silently. When the door slides shut, Tenya groans, burying his face in his hands.
“I cannot believe I said that.”
It seems to burst the tension like a balloon. Bakugou starts snickering impishly.
“Yeah—what the fuck, Prez?”
“I’m so sorry, Bakugou.” Tenya can feel his ears burn, heat creeping up his nape as he replays the conversation in his head. “Oh my god.”
“Never would’ve guessed you had that in you. Shit.”
The blond is still cackling when they walk into Hatsume’s room. It’s the only thing that spares Tenya from a certain death when the pink-haired girl squints at him knowingly, before raising her free hand and flicking it in a smug pantomime of a cracking whip.
—
This time, Tenya is prepared for it. He’s had weeks of practice, shepherding eager first-years away from his antsy classmate and confiscating the odd stray camera with a few well-placed words of reprimand. Aizawa has been more than happy to take over when Bakugou’s admirers get particularly unruly.
Aizawa’s not here, yet, though.
It’s just Tenya and Bakugou, lazing in the classroom early enough that the sun has barely risen and their classmates are almost certainly still back at the dorms ignoring their alarms.
Tenya is seated at his desk, skimming through the news headlines on his phone while the blond sprawls across Kirishima’s desk with his head tipped back, glaring at the ceiling as his grip strengthener creaks under his fist.
Tenya doesn’t say anything about the disregard for assigned seating. Normally Bakugou would sooner miss class than linger near Kirishima’s desk, which the blond will loudly complain reeks of body spray and shitty hair gel. But instead of in his own, across the other side of the empty classroom, Bakugou is in Kirishima’s seat now—close enough that Tenya could brush his shoulder if he extended his arm.
Tenya huffs a small laugh.
Uraraka is always telling them at lunch that Bakugou is like a stray cat. He thinks he sees it, nowadays.
“You better not be fuckin’ laughin’ at me,” the blond announces, not looking away from the ceiling. His admirable attempt at nonchalance is betrayed by his white-knuckled grip on the strengthener. He’s focusing hard—as always.
“I would never,” Tenya lies, bold-faced.
Bakugou turns to side-eye him haughtily.
“You’re full of shit. One of these days everyone’s gonna find out you’re actually a snide bastard and your rep’s gonna go up in flames.”
Tenya raises a brow, smiling serenely.
“Speaking from experience?”
Bakugou twitches in shock at the slight, before a grin tugs involuntarily at the edge of his mouth. His eyes narrow dangerously. “You li—”
They’re interrupted by the door sliding open at the front of the room. Instead of any of their classmates, however, an unfamiliar face peeks through, perking up at the sight of them.
“Dynamight! I mean—Bakugou. Can I call you Bakugou?”
“No,” Bakugou says, sullen. His smile is nowhere to be seen now, grip strengthener tucked under Kirishima’s desk smoothly.
The red-haired boy steps into the classroom fully, seeming to take this as an invitation.
“Okay! Sorry! Do you—remember me? Katsuo, from the management department. We met, during the assembly last week.”
“Hm,” Bakugou says ambiguously.
Katsuo, to his credit, doesn’t falter at the response, seeming to perk up even further despite how early it is. Tenya tilts his head but makes no automatic move to intervene, given the apparent familiarity. Instead, he turns to blink at his blond classmate cautiously. He finds, however, that Bakugou is already looking back at him, the beginnings of a pout—frown, Tenya corrects mentally—forming on his face.
Ah.
Tenya pushes to his feet, setting his phone down dutifully.
“We even have the same kanji in our first names,” Katsuo continues obliviously. “Certain victory, right?”
“Excuse me.”
Katsuo whips around, as if noticing Tenya for the first time.
“Uh, hi. Ingenium, right?” he asks, excitement leeching from his voice instantly.
“That is correct. I apologise but we are studying for a test.”
Katsuo blinks at the words, before glancing past Tenya at Bakugou.
“I’ll only be a minute. I just wanted to maybe exchange contact details with—”
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Tenya interrupts with practiced ease. “Could I trouble you to return to your classroom? Homeroom will be commencing soon.”
Katsuo’s smile flickers, before dropping. He frowns slightly at Tenya, shaking his crimson bangs out of his eyes. “Dude. It’s seven in the morning. Are you serious?”
“Very much so,” Tenya smiles sympathetically. “I’m sorry that you came all the way out—”
“Okay,” Katsuo interrupts loudly. “No offense, but like. Bakugou literally took down All for One by himself. I think he’s capable of speaking up for himself.”
“He is,” Tenya concedes easily, unphased. He turns back to the blond. “I’m just nicer than he is. Bakugou?”
Bakugou is looking straight past Tenya, glaring at Katsuo like he’s carrying a new plague variant.
“Get fucking lost.”
Katsuo laughs lightly, oblivious to the fact that Bakugou is being entirely serious. “I thought the videos online were a persona but you’re really just like that, huh?”
“Yeah,” Bakugou snaps. “Get the fuck out of our classroom, extra.” He turns his gaze to Tenya expectantly, his glare simmering to a pronounced glower.
“That’ll do,” Tenya says cheerfully. “Back to class, if you will, Katsuo-san.”
“He’s just—could I just talk to you privately, Bakugou?”
The redhead takes a step closer, trying to weave past Tenya’s body unsubtly. Bakugou’s frown deepens at the gesture.
“No,” Tenya says brusquely, before the blond even has to open his mouth. “Bakugou has already asked you to leave, as have I.”
He raises a hand to stop the boy from passing him, only for his arm to be slapped away roughly.
“Get off,” Katsuo snaps, seemingly to lose his temper. “Who even are you? I watched the entire war livestream and I don’t remember seeing you do jack shit so what makes you think you can butt in now?”
Tenya recoils, eyes widening. It’s not that he’s hurt in any measure of the word—after everything, it would take a lot more than some harsh words from a stranger to truly trouble him. He’s just jarred at the audacity of it. Katsuo is glaring at him with a brash sort of indignance, like he really means the words. Like his watching Bakugou’s personal nightmares from the protection of a television screen somehow entitles him to Bakugou’s time more than Tenya.
The kid probably thinks Bakugou will like the attitude. Tenya knows without having to turn around and verify this that it’s entirely untrue, and he finds no small amount of satisfaction in that fact.
He opens his mouth to usher the other boy out again, more firmly this time, when he’s yanked backwards by the collar of his blazer. A white blur surges out from behind him, barrelling into Katsuo so hard the redhead stumbles backwards.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?”
The words are so quiet that it takes Tenya a beat to realise that Bakugou is the one that utters them.
“Bakugou,” he says, taken aback. “You shou—”
He’s halted by a palm pressed flat to his chest. Bakugou doesn’t look back, but his right hand roots itself firmly against Tenya’s sternum.
“You think this is a fucking circus attraction?” he demands slowly, leaning forward until his nose almost touches Katsuo’s. “You think we were out there playing for your entertainment? People fucking died—we watched them.”
The boy pales, taking a small step back. Bakugou doesn’t notice, following him forward to bridge the gap. His palm withdraws from Tenya, only to curl into a fist.
“This bastard?” Bakugou snarls, knocking his knuckles against Tenya’s chest hard enough to sting. “This bastard was taking care of all of us! He blew his fucking legs out carrying Todoroki from Kamino to fucking Gunga Sansou!”
Tenya shifts uncomfortably at the reminder, ears warming. He hadn’t realised Bakuou had even been aware of that. At the time, Bakugou had been on the other side of the country, giving his life to defeat All for One. In fact, his heart would have long stopped before Tenya and Todoroki made the trip to Gunga Sansou. Tenya can’t fathom when Bakugou would have had the time or reason to learn about it, as trivial as it was in comparison.
“Where the fuck were you? What the hell would you know, huh?” The blond’s voice has been worn down to something ugly and low, like it’s been run across gravel. “What gives you any fucking right?”
His hands, Tenya notices with alarm, have started to tremble—not just the right one, but his uninjured left hand at his side too. In fact, Bakugou’s entire body is starting to shake.
“Enough,” Tenya says quickly, reaching to take the blond’s wrist. “Enough. Bakugou, you need to calm down.”
“Don’t tell me to fucking—”
“Please,” Tenya pleads, eyes tracking the quickening rise and fall of Bakugou’s chest. “You’re still recovering.”
He turns to Katsuo. “Please leave.”
The boy stares between the two of them with wide eyes, hands fisted in his uniform pants and earlier bravado nowhere to be seen. He gapes for a long moment at Bakugou, who’s blinking rapidly at the ground, shoulders heaving with his breaths.
“W—What’s he…”
“Out,” Tenya snaps sharply, seeing Bakugou’s nape redden. “Now.”
When the door clicks shut behind Katsuo, he turns to the blond, pressing his hands down on the shorter boy’s shoulders firmly.
“Breathe,” he instructs.
Bakugou shakes his head jerkily, as if trying to physically dispel whatever thought he’s bothered by. “The fuck—the fuck do they think they—”
“I know,” Tenya says steadily, pressing harder. “I’m sorry. Just breathe for a moment.”
“That—” Bakugou sucks in a huge, tremulous breath, left hand raising to knead at his own chest clumsily. He shakes his head again, mouthing something viciously. “—kin’ shit.”
“Sorry?” Tenya says dumbly, trying not to panic. Bakugou no longer needs a heart monitor, but he knows first hand that if the blond gets too worked up now, he’ll set himself back.
“Full of shit,” Bakugou spits emphatically. “He’s full of shit. All of ‘em are. None of them know jack fucking shit. Just runnin’ their fuckin’ mouths like it’s nothing.”
Tenya can’t find it in himself to argue. For Bakugou, the world has come to a grinding halt a half dozen times over the past year, while for everyone else it’s just kept spinning. Knowing how prideful Bakugou is—how averse he’s been to acknowledging his own victimhood—Tenya can’t fathom how the blond has bore it for so long.
“He doesn't know any better.” he says flimsily, unable to convince even himself.
“He should! Anyone with fucking eyes can see it, you’re—” Bakugou winces minutely, hand curling tighter against his own chest.
“—always watching out for us. Fucking bastard. You think we don’t know?”
All at once, Tenya’s mind comes to a grinding halt, ears ringing.
Oh.
Bakugou’s anger—it’s not for himself.
It’s for Tenya.
His mouth runs dry at the depth of fury, of discernment in the blond’s crimson glare.
“The way they’ve all been treating you…” Tenya says slowly, probing. “It isn’t acceptable.”
He sees it all—the way their eyes track hungrily over the scar on Bakugou’s cheek, the bandages wrapped tightly around his arm every day. But only their class had been privy to the gritty, excruciating recovery which had followed Bakugou’s injuries. The public sees all of the aftermath and glory and none of the ugly process.
“It’s not—you fucking bastard, why can’t you ever—”
“Sorry,” Tenya says quickly, when he feels Bakugou’s hackles rise again. “Sorry, I’m sorry.”
“It’s not about me!” the blond snaps. “You think I don’t know? You think I didn’t prepare for that shit? I don’t care how they see me. If they look at me and think it was easy, or—or fucking sexy, then, fine! As long as they can—can wake up and trust me to save them again, then I’ve done my fucking job. They don’t need to know any of the other bullshit–that’s what we’re here to fucking protect them from!”
Tenya’s breath is knocked from his chest.
He must have been too distracted with his own self-pity to realise, but somewhere along these arduous months, Bakugou—Bakugou has grown into someone truly remarkable.
“But I’ll be fucking damned,” he continues obstinately, oblivious to the taller boy’s reverent gaze, “if I let them run their mouths about you. Not after everything you’ve done. For all of us.”
A scoff escapes Tenya’s throat, ugly and low.
“You all were the ones—”
“Don’t,” Bakugou snaps. Tenya’s mouth clicks shut. The blond says it coldly, with the tone he would use back at the beginning of their first year, when he still turned his nose up at the sight of his classmates. “Back when Hands started that shitty media stampede…. Then at Kamino… and Jakku… even now…”
Bakugou jerks his head to the side, lips curling into a snarl. At the words, the narrative, shame broils like acid in Tenya’s gut. It was true that he had come to save Bakugou, but it hadn’t been for the reasons the blond likely believes. Tenya has somehow tricked even someone like Bakugou into believing that he’s a real hero.
“Bakugou, I—Back at Kamino…”
“I know,” the blond huffs, halting him with a single word. The corner of his lip tugs up into a wry grin. “I know, Glasses.”
“No,” Tenya says sharply. “You don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t think so kindly of me.”
“You were worried about them. Deku, Kirishima, Ponytail—you were scared shitless, weren’t ya?”
Bakugou says this like it’s an excuse. Like it’s absolution.
Tenya presses his lips together, dipping his head until his hair falls over his downcast eyes.
“Oi,” his classmate says. His voice is quieter now. “There’s no shame in that shit. You wanted your friends to be safe—there’s no fuckin’ shame in that. You trusted the Pros to bring me back, but you went against your own judgment just to keep the idiots safe.”
He swallows against the lump in his throat, turning his head to the side. His eyes are hot.
Bakugou has been watching him for so long, and he’s still got it completely wrong.
“You make it sound so—”
So—
Good. Heroic. Nothing like the pathetic, cowardly act it was.
“I’m callin’ it like it is. You spend so fucking long running around after all of us that you don’t pay attention to yourself. You and shitty Deku–peas in a fuckin’ pod, I tell you.”
Tenya doesn’t speak for a long moment, simply staring at the linoleum floor and waiting for the burning sting behind his eyes to subside. Bakugou waits, in a display of patience that Tenya thinks can no longer be classified as uncharacteristic. He huffs, losing the battle against his tear ducts, and lifts his watering gaze to meet the blond’s.
Bakugou looks back at him with soft eyes, and smiles. Really, really smiles, teeth and all.
“I’m watchin’ after you too, Prez.”
The sight sets Tenya’s heart ablaze.
“You’re too good to me,” he mutters wetly, lifting a hand to adjust his spectacles against the bridge of his nose stiffly.
If Bakugou had hordes of first years chomping at the bit for a glimpse of just his resting face, he shudders to think of what they might do to see him beam the way he’s doing at Tenya right now.
That magnetic smile twists into the blond’s signature smirk, familiar as always.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m the fuckin’ best. Anything new?”
Tenya shakes his head in amusement.
“Terrible,” he mutters weakly. “You’re terrible.”
Long after, when their peers have begun to drift in and the moment is thoroughly broken, Tenya finds himself still struggling to wipe the grin from his face.
“What’s got you so happy, Iida?” Uraraka asks curiously, leaning down to study him.
Tenya coughs, shaking his head once. From across the room, Bakugou side-eyes him, the amused glint in his eyes betraying his facade of nonchalance.
“Nothing particularly,” he tells her warmly. “Just a good morning.”
He’s selfish enough to keep it a secret a little longer.