Chapter Text
"Oi, fuck off, you bastard. Is your monkey brain so tiny that you cannot comprehend the definition of a simple fucking ‘no’?"
Megumi perked up. He had been mindlessly making his way to the cafeteria when he heard the voice of one Katsuki Bakugō. The explosive blonde was practically growling, dangerous and low, which seemed uncharacteristic from someone that had shown an inclination to be unabashedly raucous.
The classmate in question was further down the hallway. He was stalking forward like a tiger eyeing prey toward two people Megumi did not know — another male student with a vice grip around the hand of a female, who took the distraction to wrench her hand back and escape down the hall.
"Wait!" The unknown boy made to follow her but was stopped by fist slamming ominously in his path. He seemed annoyed for a second before he caught a glimpse of Bakugō and his manic grin.
"You got a problem, extra?"
The other gulped, deathly pale. "N-No. I’ll lay off. I didn't know you were interested. I swear it! She’s all yours, yeah?"
Bakugō tsked and stomped off in the other direction, leaving the stranger to slump in relief as though he had narrowly avoided death.
Megumi hummed, contemplative.
The thing was this: Megumi had grown up with an older sister and had experienced directly how other people treated her.
On occasion, there would be those who would look at Tsumiki like she was a piece of meat, or those who she would treat kindly and respectfully and take that as a license to act proprietary or intimate, mistaking an inch for a mile, unheeding of her silent discomfort and getting angry at her whenever even Tsumiki got fed up and pushed back.
Seeing his sister be regarded in such a way rankled Megumi. It made him cognisant of the boundaries around people — that an infraction could occur even on an intangible level and be equally violating. For this reason, Megumi believed that a certain level of courtesy should be maintained in an interaction.
And one significant line revolved around consent.
The unexpected gallantry Bakugō displayed intrigued Megumi.
So when a clash happened between Bakugō and Midoriya after class, and Megumi was present, this time Megumi put in the effort to pay attention and unwittingly caught the curse energy wafting from each student. What he noticed had an unpleasant feeling curling at the back of his throat.
Megumi could not sense anything insidious about Midoriya. Excluding his second day at Aldera, the only time he could feel anything of note from the green-haired teen was at that moment as Bakugō spurned what was apparently yet another attempt at friendship — aggressively, loudly and colourfully, though less contemptuously about his quirklessness he might add — and even then all he got from the shorter boy was hurt and frustration and a desperate longing for what-had-been. His intentions were largely innocent, and yet—
From Bakugō…
"His cursed energy felt choked and repulsed — like he was being boxed in involuntarily with no way out — and it reminded me of Tsumiki whenever she was being relentlessly pursued by someone she had no interest in and would not take her rejections as a proper answer," Megumi told Gojō-san over the phone.
His novel sat face down on his lap after he had given up on trying to read, mind constantly straying to the altercation he witnessed with Bakugō and Midoriya that day and breaking his concentration.
Gojō-san hummed. Not the hum that preceded a stupid, childish prank nor the one that informed him the man had stopped listening at some point and was buying time to figure out what exactly Megumi had said, but with the tone that meant he was genuinely considering the issue.
"So, in other words, you want to help Bakugō out. Except Midoriya is not your typical bully, pervert or asshole, and you think he does not merit a beating as you tend to do when you see someone doing something that you think is wrong. You want to help but don't know how and feel guilty, right?"
Megumi did not refute the assessment, although he privately did not wholly agree.
"Well, I think doing nothing is fine."
Megumi internally recoiled. "But—"
"Uh-huh," Gojō-san admonished gently. "Let me finish. Doing nothing is fine because you seriously don’t have to do anything. And you already guessed that Midoriya would probably not take criticism from you on something that involves Bakugō levelly, right? In the first place, nuanced and complex lessons like this are best taught slowly and, in this case, impersonally. For example, in a classroom setting, where there is a set precedent to think deeply about what you are being taught. Which he will."
Megumi frowned. That was not right. How did Gojō-san know?
"I thought you were homeschooled before Curse Tech."
Gojō-san clicked his tongue at him. "My, Megumi, did you think I chose your new school on a whim? Of course, I know the gist of your curriculum."
Megumi was not sure where he should even begin responding to that. Gojō-san went on.
"You’re a pretty good judge of character, and apparently, Midoriya does care about Bakugō. When he realises he’s doing harm, he’ll probably stop or change his behaviour in his own time."
Megumi made a noncommittal noise.
Gojō-san chuckled and, with a teasing lilt, the man said, "Not completely satisfied, are you? You are bad at sitting still when you feel like you have to do something." He made a thoughtful noise. "Not that I think it’s bad. I actually think this side of you is fine. Megumi is Megumi, after all."
Again, that phrase. A part of Megumi revolted against the ambiguity and the almost Wisenheimer knowingness, but another melted under the warmth bound in those words.
"…Thank you, Gojō-san."
Talking to the man did relieve some weight off his chest, even though he did not quite get an answer he was content with.
"No problem, Megumi. I should probably get going before Kiyotaka gets an aneurysm, and I need to find a new driver. Goodnight."
Megumi lit a candle for Ichiji-san in his heart. He should probably treat the man to udon sometime for the trouble he inadvertently caused…
"Goodnight, Gojō-san."
***
Turned out, Megumi did not have to dwell on the dysfunctional relationship between Bakugō and Midoriya for long.
The next day, his physical education teacher introduced and started on what was going to be a series of classes on safe and consensual sex in place of his usual regimen of track and sports. The timing was suspiciously good, but Megumi was not the type to look a gift horse in the mouth and was satisfied with being grateful.
He flicked his eyes to Bakugō and smiled slightly — the explosive blonde looked like a despairing and wayward hiker that had spotted the path from a seemingly repetitive and endless sea of trees.
***
Megumi knew he had gained a reputation.
Any overtures of friendship had completely dried up after his first day at Aldera. He discerned several reasons as to why. One was his quirklessness. Another more recent explanation was the string of fights he initiated or got caught up in, making people think he was an even worse ticking bomb than Bakugō. The last was probably the explosive blonde himself, who — Megumi had overheard — had turned him into a rival or target, depending on who you asked.
Megumi did not particularly care.
After deeming that the whole Midoriya situation was tentatively resolved, Megumi had no plans of getting involved with Bakugō furthermore. Unless he was being a dick, of course, but the explosive blonde was both not as unpleasant as he had thought and seemed to have — going off the reactions of other people — changed somewhat, leaving Midoriya alone in situations where in the past he might have blown up albeit he did glare at the green-haired teen scribbling in his notebook like he wanted to set him on fire. Otherwise, Bakugō treated Midoriya much like he did air, except when spoken to, and Megumi assumed the same treatment would be applied to him.
He was wrong.
The explosive blonde approached him on his own that very same afternoon, a determined set to his jaw and a fierce gleam in his eyes.
The sight hit him with déjà vu, and Megumi remembered that Bakugō had tried to take him aside a few days ago. Then, he was scheduled for a joint mission with Okkotsu-senpai and did not bother to hear the other out.
"Bakugō," Megumi greeted. "Is there something I can do for you?"
He patiently waited as Bakugō ground his teeth, seeming like he was fighting himself and somehow losing, before the explosive blonde admitted, face sour, "Teach me quirkless fighting, Sea Urchin." After a beat, he added, sounding pained, "Please."
Megumi stared at Bakugō and assessed.
The distance from Tōkyō and Masutafu combined with the busy schedule that came with being both a teacher and the only active special-grade sorcerer meant that the chance of Gojō-san popping in unannounced with a ‘top secret, uber-important’ mission — or simply visiting — was abysmally minuscule. He had his training and studies, but that still left a good chunk of his day remaining, which he usually filled with books and music. Those could be easily put aside or rescheduled, and no one was waiting for him.
"What is in it for me?" Megumi said, but even as he spoke, he was questioning himself. Why was he considering this? He did have the time, but did he want to spend that time with Bakugō?
"Dinner," Bakugou grunted. "I’ll treat you whenever we spar. What do you say?"
What did he want?
"Sure," Megumi found himself replying.
Maybe he had felt guilty, and that gave him a sense of responsibility that made refusing Bakugō difficult.
Maybe he thought Bakugō as a human being was fascinating and wanted to get to know him more.
Maybe the remainder of his mausoleum of a home — filling him with a vertiginous and daunting dread that shrivelled up his desire to return — made him receptive to any engagement that would keep him away.
The answer could have been some blend of the three or none entirely. In the end, Megumi did not want to say no.
Bakugō grinned like a predator baring teeth, suddenly brimming with confidence and an eagerness that bordered on crazed.
In the face of that, Megumi could not muster up any regret.