Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Katsuki Bakugou ain’t ever been described as slow. He’s rash, hot-headed, abrasive, and knows what he’s got. He put himself on the hero path at the ripe age of five, when his explosions finally became consistent enough to start thinking much about anything. Thing is, Katsuki has been described as obsessive, ambitious, overzealous. 

His parents had handled it as well as one could. Extra classes, extracurriculars, extra everything. Eventually they gave up, letting him drop the soccer and the drums and the martial arts. He had torn through all of them, hungry for something he couldn’t quite place. When the third meeting about his attitude on the pitch ended, his dad had looked at him, bloody and seething, and said they weren’t going back. Which was fine by Katsuki.

Suddenly at age eight, he had a lot more free time to fill. It started easy, watching the new All-might documentaries, spending some more time with his friends. Thinking of his future. Slowly a routine of his own took shape: cook breakfast, go to school, study, train. Then three days a week became four, four became five, five jumped to seven. Katsuki had learned to fly and forgotten what processed sugar tasted like by the time he turned nine.

Newly twelve and angrier than ever, Katsuki had taken to exploring the city after school. His parents having long trusted him with a key and the ability to feed himself. They began working later, taking short trips into other branches. Two-three day increments of a quiet house drove him to the streets. The hollering and cursing were better than the oppressive silence. 

He stood outside a boxing house more than once, a more western concept. Long enough for someone to leave the door open for a better view. Katsuki supposed that was where it started, the open door. It's a shoddy building and that was being kind. Three measly stories, and a rusty fire escape on the side. The brick was rubbed of any paint that might have been there, any windows are either frosted, or maybe they were never even cleaned.

It only took him a few days to make his way inside, it was mostly empty. A few people were training with sandbags, no one looked at him. Katsuki pushed the burn of it down. He walked out a few minutes later. But Katsuki went back the next day, and the next. He didn’t speak to anyone, just watched and watched. The air was somehow always stale, whatever few people were there paid him no mind. 

He turned thirteen without much fuss, he didn’t bother having a party. He didn’t like any of the people in his class, he certainly didn’t want Deku there of all people. He could feel himself getting angrier every day. His hands always hurt from overuse, his ears ringing more often than not. The ache for more, more, more pushing him to it. Getting up earlier, training harder. It wasn’t healthy. Katsuki was smart enough to know that. The need to fight, to win had been the reason for why many trees in the woods behind his house were cracked and gone.

He started staying out later, instead of training after he wandered about the city. Katsuki went home after school, training until his hands burned and as the sun was setting, he threw on a hoodie and slipped out his gate. 

It was different at night, the city more ominous. The walking dulled the rage ever rotting inside him. The boxing club was still open at night, but the doors were shut tight. Katsuki could see the light from under the door, the dull roar of a crowd. He was curious. It took a few nights of coming back before he noticed a pattern, three knocks and the door would open before bolting shut again. 

It only took him two nights more to work up the courage to do it. A voice chanting in the back of his head that this was a bad idea. That he should be at home, in bed. He only had another two years before UA starts, he can’t afford to fuck about.

Katsuki knocks on the door that has been peeling red paint for the better part of the last year. It opens, and he’s staring at someone he’s never seen before. Not even in the few weeks last year when he stood and lingered around awkwardly. The man had more piercings than Katsuki knew existed, tattoos up his neck and the ugliest dyed hair Katsuki had the misfortune of seeing. 

The man stares back, grunts and lets him in. The crowd is bustling, and workout gear usually present in the gym is gone, only the ring is left. People swarm around it, Katsuki can’t see much more than the tops of two figures circling each other. He worms his way to the front, snapping and snarling with hunched shoulders to get there.

He watches as two women, both with short hair, circle each other. Their expressions are ugly and calculating. Neither of them have piercings or loose clothing. Dressed in nearly identical black spandex. Katsuki watches as one grabs the other and throws her onto the ground. 

The crowd roars, Katsuki feels himself grin. Woman number two gets back up, shouting insults he’s never heard before and lunges. For a moment, Katsuki thinks things have gotten out of hand. But no one steps in. He leaves after the next match. A fighting ring. He’s found himself a fighting ring.

The next day, Katsuki arrives before the night starts. Sitting on some stairs in the back. The gym mills about with the usual, three or four regulars. Eventually they leave, and the bouncer from last night waltzes in like he owns the place. There isn’t anyone else to notice when he sees Katsuki anyway. The air is stale, the gym neither warm nor cold.

He raises an eyebrow and they stare at each other for a couple moments. Before he points to the weights that had been left out. 

“You wanna stay for free, you'll have to earn it.”

Indignation rises in him, a sharp retort that he can fork up whatever cash this dump wants. Katsuki, for the first time, stops it. Nods and picks up the weights.

“Put ‘em in the back room, it's never locked. And the bars too. Then grab a cloth and wipe the ring down”

The back room is a mess, Katsuki just throws the smaller weights randomly to the ones already there. He has to roll the forty and fifties, and can only take one bar at a time. He finds a dirty cloth next to a mop bucket on the other side. The bouncer had disappeared up the stairs Katsuki had been sitting on.

He stares at the empty gym. Desolate and lonely. Katsuki bounces from one foot to another, clenching his hands and unclenching them rapidly. He flits about, double checking the ring is free of dust. Katsuki eyes the stairs, goes back into the other room and shoves the bars upright against the wall. The light flickers above him, and Katsuki reorganizes the smaller weights, leaving the heavy ones in a stack. It gives way to a dusty sink, and some cupboards in the back. He washes the cloth. Scrubs angrily at the stains in the sink.

By the time the room is clean, Katsuki is twitching in rage. The gym is still empty. He stomps his way up the stairs to see it's just one large room, a bed and a couch and table present and nothing else. Katsuki frowns. The bouncer isn't there either. He whirls around the room, searching. He hadn’t heard anyone go down the stairs.

The dusty window in the corner is latched, a slow drizzle of rain had picked up from when he went into the gym. Katsuki’s nose wrinkles and he pushes it open to see a fire escape, rusty and broken. It can’t be up to code. The bouncer is sitting on the edge within a gap of missing bars, smoking. 

Katsuki clears his throat. Nothing. The smell of smoke floats into the room with a slight chill from the drizzle.

“When’s the fights start?”

He takes a slow drag, lazily looking at Katsuki, eyes tinged red. “Why’re ya here kid?”

Katsuki snarls, “When’s the fights start?”

The exhale is long, Katsuki could be training right now. He could have been trained all evening instead of waiting for some stupid fucking nonsense. 

"Whenever they start. Build it and they shall come, young grasshopper.”

It’s utter bullshit, the rain falls slowly. More of a mist than anything heavy, droplets fall from where they form on the bars above them. The bouncer stands up, bones cracking. Katsuki takes a step back from the window, letting him swing into the room. Katsuki taps his fingers against his thighs. 

“Why are you here, Kid?”

Katsuki doesn’t know. He wants to be a hero. He wants to be number one, he could join the best training school, go to the best gyms. Instead he’s standing above a shitty little gym, with a stranger. He feels angry all of the time, rage in class, at people who deserve it, at people who don’t deserve it. He liked watching the fight last night. 

That feeling they had, the want to win. The want to hurt someone. Katsuki carries it in his hands and shoulders, the demand for more. To knock someone down rots in him. He doesn’t know why he’s here. But at the same time, Where else would he be?

The bouncer sighs, and flicks the cigarette out the window uncaringly. Brushes a hand through his ugly, ugly hair. 

“You can watch, every day at around nine pm the fights kick off. The gym has to be clean before then, and cleaned after. It usually goes until late, one or two. I don’t want to see you here every day.”

Katsuki scowls deeply. “Why not?”

“Because it’s my gym and I don’t need to let you here at all. Four days a week maximum. Take it or leave it.”

Katsuki clenches his hands, muffling small sparks. The bouncer remains unimpressed. Grinding his jaw so hard he thinks he’ll crack a tooth, Katsuki agrees.

The days pass the same, Katsuki doesn’t often stay until the end of the night, he arrives around 6pm, after dinner and an hour of training. He cleans the gym, the backroom gets more acceptable every time he’s there. He changes the light bulb in the first week. The fights keep him on edge, it's rough, it's brutal. It’s bared teeth and snarling and no quirks. Just pure unfiltered anger at each other. Katsuki never looks away. The bouncer never interferes, not when a bone is snapped. Not when a shoulder is dislocated. 

Katsuki learns why the girls on his first night had short hair, after seeing a chunk get ripped from someone's head. No one wears piercings either. The clothes aren’t supplied, it's just most wear tight clothes to avoid getting dragged. 

It reminds Katsuki of a quote from some book a girl was talking about in class, one of the people still floating about him. ‘There are no bargains between lions and men, I will kill you and eat you raw’. 

On the nights he does stay late, the bouncer stays as well. As Katsuki scrubs the ring of whatever blood or hair or teeth it had collected over the night, heart still thrumming with the excitement of a match. The man brings the weights back in, he doesn't offer any praise for the backroom. Katsuki tries not to feel slighted.

“You do have a place to crash right kid?” He said once, leaning on the ropes while Katsuki worked. “I’m not booting you to the street, am I?”

Katsuki scowls. “Course I do.”

The bouncer hums, Katsuki realizes it's been about three solid weeks and he doesn’t know the guy's name. He doesn’t ask anyway.

“You’ve been hanging around for a while, saw you about last year during the day. Don’t like home much?”

Katsuki’s parents are good parents, good people, he knows they are. His dad is soft, his mother is encouraging. They aren’t the problem. They aren’t the ones who are just wrong in most senses. Katsuki is a little too much at best, and overwhelming at worst. He feels as if he exists in extremes. 

“They’re fine.” He says hotly. The bouncer holds up his hands and Katsuki redoubles the scrubbing. 

“Alright, Alright. So why then?”

Katsuki grumbles.

“What was that Kid?”

“I don’t know why. I just like seeing the fights.”

The bouncer stares at him, the empty room seems more pronounced. The look is heavy, knowing. He nods.

“Sweep before you leave, yeah? And kid, there's always a couch upstairs if you need it.”

He doesn’t plan on using it. 

He turns fourteen, and Katsuki thinks he might be the worst person on the planet. He’s worse, all explosive hands and attitude—he knows he is. He says things he shouldn’t mean, hurts people he shouldn’t hurt. Maybe three of his friends stick around but they're flighty, having learned where they stand. Deku always seems to be sporting a bruise from him. Katsuki hates that he does it, but he doesn’t seem to know how to stop. He tells the boy to kill himself more than once, taunting him constantly.

Every time he sees Deku flinch, a part of him twists painfully. What kind of friend does this? Katsuki knows he’s being a coward, that he isn’t acting like a hero. It’s just that if he can’t find someone to take it out on, he’s going to choke on it. They were friends once. Deku doesn’t deserve Katsuki’s wrath—no one does. Knowing it doesn’t make it go away, though. Is this really who I want to be?

Katsuki’s parents give up; it’s not their fault. Some things are just born bad, and Katsuki seems to be a rotten thing. They take longer trips, and he hardly sees them anymore. His dad texts him a happy birthday and reminds him that they updated the card to limitless spending this year. Katsuki ignores it.

He spends more time at the gym. The bouncer, Yuki Kyo, Katsuki learns, starts leaving the sandbags up. Tells him more than teaches Katsuki how to throw a real punch. One night, as he walks into the gym, fuming and sparking over something he can't even remember, Kyo tells him to get into the ring. 

Katsuki gets his ass handed to him, twice. Kyo stares down unconcerned, and tells him to make sure the gym is ready for nine. It helps, a little. He sleeps on the couch that night. It’s uncomfortable, and lumpy and possibly the best sleep Katsuki has had in the last two years.

Kyo doesn’t mention it. He doesn’t mention a lot of things. Katsuki finds it reassuring. The way that they barely know anything about each other. The anonymity is consistent. Some other fighters pick up on his presence. He gets better at learning, at watching the fights. He sees openings before they happen. 

One lady offers to teach him how to take a punch. 

“Won’t do you a lot of good if you can’t keep going after hits.”

She’s shorter than him, and twice as broad, she puts more bruises on him than he can count. But she’s right. He learns how to breathe when it feels like you’re going to throw up. How it feels when someone nearly breaks your nose, and how you can ignore it. 

Kira is the only name she’ll give. She shows up every Wednesday before the fights and beats him up. Katsuki doesn’t ask her anything, she doesn't ask him either. He supposes everyone wants to be someone else in the gym. Or to be themselves, Katsuki tries not to think about it.

The only time he’s not is in the gym, he’s training, and he’s still only allowed there four days a week, and he only goes after school. 

He brings it up. Lingering around the weights. He still has to move the bars and heavier ones into the back room. But it’s only eight o’clock. He has time. 

“Can I start coming more often.” 

He doesn’t phrase it as a question, Kyo looks at him from a clipboard. But he doesn’t say no. Katsuki tries to squash the hope as he easily lifts the forty weights into the backroom. Weeks of moving them had built his muscles even more than his regular training. 

The pen taps on the clipboard. Katsuki's heart lurches with it. Kyo looks conflicted. It’s the most emotion he’s shown in the last year. 

“I’m not saying yes-“

Katsuki interrupts, “Why not! I do more around the gym than anyone, you’re only here in the evenings anyway!”

“I’m not saying yes-“ Kyo plants him with a hard stare “but I’m not saying no. If I think you’re over working, you take a break.”

Katsuki scowls, “How could I be overworked? You won’t even let me fight.”

Kyo raises an impassive eyebrow. “You didn’t ask to.”

Katsuki bristles, his palms crackle dangerously. He’s spent a year here, why wouldn’t he want to fight? It’s all he’s been able to think about. Smoke rises and he forces himself to breathe before he does something stupid, like light himself on fire. He needs to fight, he needs somewhere to channel all this rage. The cleaning and structure and watching the fights is good, but Katsuki needs more. 

“Of course I want to fight!”

Kyo regards him for a moment. Just staring. Katsuki can’t get a good read on him. But, he hasn’t said no, and Katsuki can’t fight the rising hope. 

“I’ll still be around to clean after the fights. And I can set up in the evenings!”

Kyo clicks his tongue, “Not if you get hurt in the fight.”

Kyo is talking about possibilities—ones that mean Katsuki might have a chance if he can convince him. The back of his neck feels hot, a mix of insulted and enthusiastic. Katsuki wants to shout how he won’t get hurt, but he’s seen the people who fight. 

“I won’t. You can choose who I fight if you want. I don’t give a shit.”

Kyo hums. Decided matches are unusual. Most of the time it's whoever hops into the rings. Katsuki would agree to anything to get even one. Kyo opens his mouth. And closes it. 

“You only, and I mean only, fight when I’m here. Matches with who I choose. And kid?”

Katsuki grins, heart thrumming in his palms. He’s going to get to fight. 

“And it won’t be every night.”

“-but I can come around more? More than four days a week?”

Kyo nods reluctantly. Then Kira walks in, punctual as ever and Katsuki’s weekly beating starts. 

His first match is a day later against a guy he’s never seen. Close to Katsuki's own stature. He watches as Kyo shakes his hand where he thinks Katsuki can’t see him. 

Katsuki knows the new guy was invited specifically for him, Kyo’s keeping an eye even in the ring. He can’t help the way his face pulls back into a snarl, his hands clenching. He feels babied. Like he’s being treated like a small stupid child. 

The crowd isn’t big yet, at barely quarter past nine. Katsuki assumes Kyo thinks he’s going to lose. A burning starts in his chest, a craving to feel something break under his hands. With or without using his quirk. He doesn’t stretch, or warm up. Launching over the ropes.

Katsuki isn’t sure what expression he’s making, but over the roar of blood in his ears, he’s vindicated by how his opponent blanches and takes a step back. He snarls, and waits for one second, because usually when people wait, they wait for the other to move first. Katsuki isn’t above tricks, and confusing the guy. It works.

Katsuki gets in close, and keeps his arms up. Jabs a knee up into the guys stomach, but not nearly with enough force as he’d like. An arm swings at his left, and Katsuki goes under it. There’s a pounding in his throat, the lights seem sharper. The crowd fades to nothing. Punch, dodge, punch, block. It goes on.

Sweat drips down his neck, the sickly sweet nitroglycerin filling his senses. Don’t spark off, he thinks, Everything else goes, but do not use your quirk. He hasn’t got the stamina for a long fight. He needs to make this quick or he is going to lose. Katsuki Bakugou will not lose his first fight, Kyo will never let him fight for real if he does.

He ducks under another wild swing, but he’s slower this time. His legs threaten to give out under him. His opponent—equally exhausted—takes a heavy breath and stumbles a step backward, his guard loosening. Katsuki knows this is his opening, but there’s no time to plan his next move, no room for strategy.

His chest heaves. His arms are jelly. The whole world feels like it’s shaking around him, but his instincts scream louder. Tactics aren’t enough anymore. If he doesn’t end this now, it’ll be him on the floor. And he can’t— won’t —let that happen.

Without warning, Katsuki launches himself forward. It’s a brutal, reckless move—more animal than fighter. He barrels into the guy, shoulder-first, slamming him into the ground with the weight of his whole body. The crowd gasps as they hit the mat with a dull thud, but Katsuki’s too far gone to hear it. His hands find purchase on his opponent’s shirt, gripping it so hard his knuckles turn white.

For a second, they wrestle on the floor, limbs tangled, fingers scrabbling for control. Katsuki feels a hand yank at his hair, sharp pain ripping at his scalp, but it only fuels him. His vision blurs as his fist comes down, connecting with flesh.

Once. Twice. Three times.

His fist slams into the guy’s face, the impact vibrating through his bones.

Stay down. The thought blazes in his mind, primal and instinctual. Stay the fuck down.

He doesn’t stop punching until the guy’s body goes limp beneath him, the dull thud of flesh on flesh no longer giving any resistance. It takes a minute for Katsuki to stop hitting him, to realize he’s won. The crowd is actually silent. Katsuki feels blood drip from his knuckles, bile at his throat. Kyo sits on the stairs, in perfect view of the ring, Katsuki can’t see his face. Is he going to be kicked out of the gym? Did he go too far? Was he too violent even for them?

The guy on the floor groans, and rolls on his side to spit out a tooth. At the confirmation of his survival, the crowd starts to clap. People banging on the sides demanding another match. The relief he feels, is what Katsuki imagines heroin feels like, they chant for him. Katsuki can’t catch what it is, but it feels great. The constant burn to hurt something is sated, he feels lighter than he can ever remember being. He wants it, no, Katsuki needs this. He needs the victory. To prove he’s strong, and powerful and be celebrated for it.

Kyo is cutting through the crowd, his head down as he hops into the ring. Katsuki panics for a moment thinking that even though he won, this is it. He’ll never be allowed back, this is Kyo’s friend he just beat. The crowd falls silent again. It’s times like this Katsuki remembers Kyo is the ringleader here, what he says goes. Did Katsuki do a good job, or is he an uncontrolled threat?

When Kyo grabs his hand and raises it high, Katsuki feels his breath catch. It’s like the air has been punched back into his lungs, adrenaline surging through him all over again. The crowd’s roar drowns out everything—the blood in his ears, the ache in his body. All that matters is this moment of victory.