Chapter Text
Bakugo woke up to a nasty hangover, but that wasn't his main concern. It was more like the barrage of insecurity that rushed him as he woke up… alone. Again.
But this time?
It was so stupid…
There had been so much change, so much movement in his life—but he still felt the same. Still felt like the same old fucking Bakugo. Not that he ever minded being himself, but lately… he was tired of it.
Tired of himself.
So maybe that had changed.
He’d never cared if others got tired of him. Why would he care what some plebs thought, anyway? Until he was eating himself alive thinking about what one person in particular thought—fucking dying to know what was on their mind.
That was the thing, wasn’t it? He’d spent his whole life not giving a shit. Now his stomach twisted over the absence of one person’s attention, like some pathetic punchline in a romantic tragedy he never meant to write.
Bakugo found himself worrying about him too, in a way he never had. Was he okay? How had his internship gone, long ago as it was? Did he miss him while they weren’t talking? Did Bakugo’s image burn in his mind the way Shinso did in his?
It disgusted him, thinking like this. Not knowing the answers. Questions like: Where did he go? Why hadn’t they talked? Did he do something wrong?
The questions didn’t come in calmly—they raged. They hammered through the crevices of his skull like fists on a locked door, relentless and loud and unforgiving.
These thoughts were hot coals in his mind, burning holes in the quiet places he used to keep untouched. Even when he tried to ignore them, they lingered—waiting for his attention to drift, ever burning at the edge of his consciousness.
It ate at older insecurities. The same loop of thoughts after Kamino. He couldn’t help thinking maybe he just wasn't good enough. Maybe it was all his fault. Who else could be responsible? He hadn’t been strong or fast enough. A small part of him still carried the weight of it, even after All Might had spoken to him. That same guilt clawed at him now.
A guilt with long teeth, sharpened on every failure.
The last few years at U.A. had been hard. He saw Shinso constantly, but whether through fate or by design, they never really talked again. Just short, clipped interactions. Shinso had gotten busy.
And just like that, they were strangers again. If they ever knew each other at all.
He’d taken it too far with Shinso. If he’d just stuck to what they usually did, maybe they’d still be togeth—
He stopped the thought. They weren't together. That was the point.
Besides, it didn’t fucking matter. He was gone. Maybe again after this mission was up. Maybe until Shinso wanted him again. All Bakugo could guess was that he’d gone too far that night—cared too much, gotten too close.
And it’d happened again last night. Getting his fucking hopes up.
Hope. What a useless thing.
Or maybe it really was as simple as Shinso being busy.
At least the worst thought of all—the one that often kept him up at night—that Shinso had found his soulmate and didn’t need him anymore… was gone. Shinso had told him himself.
So it must mean he just didn’t want him.
But it was Fine™. Bakugo didn’t need him either. Didn’t want him. Didn’t crave him when he was lonely and high. Didn’t miss his dry laughter, his wry smile, his comebacks.
No, he was better than ever without Shinso.
He was busy too—with internships, with getting his license, with graduating and moving out, with life, with proving to Deku and everyone else that he was good enough. Fake it till you make it, right?
He hid it well, he thought. Or maybe everyone just sucked at noticing. Maybe both. Why look for something that wasn’t obvious? Who cared, as long as he kept performing? As long as he kept his bravado?
If anyone did notice, they damn well kept it to themselves. As they fucking should. He didn’t need to talk over his feelings like some loser. Except with Kiri, that shit didn’t count.
Even on his worst days, he was still better than the lot. Even then, he gave as good as he got. He still got up every day and busted his ass.
Like he had to do right now.
Fuck.
He did not want to.
But he did. He got up and showered and shook the familiar train of thought off. He didn’t normally allow it to get that far, but the early mornings and late nights were some of the only times he had to think. When he was lying alone in bed, his thoughts could wander—he could look at everything he shoved away during the day.
Like thinking of Shinso.
Bakugo was really good at not thinking of him otherwise. Or at the very least, he’d gotten good at it after a while. At first, his mind would wander every time he was reminded—like when he saw purple or smelled weed. That was super annoying.
Now it was manageable. Like a phantom limb—sometimes it ached, but he didn’t flinch anymore.
Now he was more focused. Back with his eyes on the prize.
He looked in the mirror after his shower and shook his hair out, making it spike into its usual style. The sharp angles of his reflection stared back—tired, but composed.
He’d already had intake, and later–possibly his first fight. No more distractions.
(•̀o•́)ง (¬_¬)
Shinso’s heart thumped in his ears as he stood on the catwalk overlooking the makeshift arena. The air below him was hazy with cigarette smoke and the metallic tang of blood that was never fully washed off. Roaring cheers from the crowd usually rattled his nerves, but he would be lying if he said his anxiety was only because of that as he stood at the edge of the pit looking down. It wasn’t that he didn't trust Bakugo; but if this didn't go well, or even if it went too well, it could put the mission in jeopardy. No biggie. It’s not like I’ve poured years of my life into this or something. Just months.
Just long grueling months.
He rubbed his temples.
At the very least he knew Bakugo still had it. The media covered his success as much as his temper. Normally Shinso would worry his popularity would blow his cover but that's why he was perfect as a fighter. He wouldn't be the first pro to go underground for some extra dough, wouldn't be the last either he was sure. Bakugo was young, blatantly ambitious, and his personality was often perceived as hostile or unheroic.
He really was perfect.
For the role, anyway. For the role.
He would be coming out soon, although not that many people were focused on the ring. First timers rarely got the same attention as the more experienced fighters and people wouldn’t look at his alias and assume it was the Bakugo Katsuki. Popular as he was in media though, it wouldn’t take long for the bets to start pouring in his favor. Maybe it was just because Shinso knew better than to underestimate him.
Shinso got him a good fight too, locked it down with someone Bakugo wouldn't totally demolish. The other fighter came out. The crowd let out a few whoops and cheers.
Shinso didn’t bother to double check his name but he remembered his face. He had won a few matches, thought he was hot shit for a newcomer. He couldn’t remember his quirk either but he’d figure it out soon enough.
The moment Bakugo stepped into the ring Shinso already knew it was going to be a problem. Not a mission-threatening kind of problem–no, Bakugo was too damn good for that. But a different kind. A personal one.
Bakugo was shirtless, muscles defined and tattooed. Had he always looked this good? How had he managed to pull Bakugo ? Shinso leaned over the railing from his usual post on the catwalk above the pit, trying not to look too interested as the match up was announced.
It had been three months since Shinso embedded himself in the club. Three months of playing errand boy to the ring’s lieutenants, letting his quirk speak for itself. Three months of different venues, different contacts, and contracts.
By design, people learned quick not to cross him; especially after that one time he made a guy rip his own earring out for mouthing off. That story got around fast. These days, no one looked him in the eye unless they had a death wish. People flinched when he walked by. Even the higher-ups gave him room. It worked. It meant he could move through the place mostly unbothered, collecting intel, watching patterns. Listening. And when asked–controlling the fights for leadership. Earning their trust.
But it also meant he couldn’t be seen slipping. Someone was always waiting for him to fail.
He kept his expression carefully neutral as Bakugo cracked his neck and bounced lightly on his heels, waiting for the bell. Shinso could feel the low thrum of tension in the air, the buzz of the crowd growing louder as a few people recognized him.
Bakugo had the gall to smirk as his opponent rolled his shoulders and started to grow, the alphas muscles expanding to make his already bulky build even more intimidating.
But not to Bakugo it seemed
“That's cute,” The blonde laughed loudly. “This is gonna be more fun than I thought.”
Then the bell rung and the hulking alpha lunged at Bakugo- who easily dodged, sidestepping out of the way.
Shinso could see him scoff from up where he was but he couldn’t hear the
tch
that accompanied it. He was surprised he hadn’t launched his own attack outright. It wasn’t even that Shinso thought he couldn't take the guy, it was more like Shinso had fought him many times, lost to him many times, and it wasn’t often he saw him wait. Bakugo was quick and direct in his takedowns. He was brutal.
“C’mon loser ass, ain’t got all fucken day.” Bakugo ducked out of his grasp, hitting the larger alpha in the ribs. No flames, just regular punches.”Can you at least try and hit me?” He laughed again.
Was he toying with him? Shinso told him to take it easy and hold back to avoid raising suspicion but this was a game to him.
Bakugo stepped out of reach again, the giant growing burlier the longer he was evaded. This time Bakugo sent an explosion in his direction when he danced behind the alpha. It wasn’t the biggest explosion he’d seen Bakugo make, just loud and hot enough to make his opponent recoil.
Maybe he was holding back after all. Bakugo could be sizing him up.
Most rookies came in swinging wild, trying to prove something. Bakugo played it differently. Tactical. Controlled. Letting the crowd underestimate him, then striking hard enough to snap a tooth loose. Blood hit the canvas, the wet sound covered by the crowd’s growing cheers.
His mind was racing. This was good. Better than good. Bakugo was fitting in like a glove, playing the part perfectly. And if the way the crowd was reacting was anything to go by, they were buying it. Two bangs back to back and then Bakugo landed a punishing left hook, his opponent’s knees buckling.
Shinso watched every step, every shift of weight, every calculated restraint. He knew how much power he held back when he wasn’t trying to kill. The opponent grunted and lashed back–a punch, a kick–met by a blast blocking them in midair like they hit invisible cement. They guy was usually good for counters. Useless if he couldn’t land a grab.
Bakugo took a glancing blow to the ribs, narrowly missing one such grab, then caught him with a sweeping leg kick that dropped the other fighter like a bag of bricks, a blast firing into the air as he held his fist high; rather than being aimed at his opponent. The guy was defeated but Bakugo didn’t finish him off. Didn’t rub it in.
He wasn't just fighting to win; he was fighting to belong. That impressed Shinso, more than he wanted to admit– instead of smiling he glared.
(¬_¬) (•̀o•́)ง
He met up with Shinso in a side hall behind the locker rooms, concrete walls sweating under buzzing strip lights. Bakugo was still flushed from the fight, sweat darkening the collar of his shirt, practically humming with leftover adrenaline. Shinso looked like he hadn’t moved in an hour–arms crossed, face blank, mouth already turned down and talking like he had something to complain about.
“I was building up sweat, dumbass.” Bakugo snapped at him, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “And feeling him out. I wasn’t trying to kill the fuckin guy, shit.”
“Well can you not do it in a way that draws so much attention?” Shinso shot back, eyes narrowing.
“You told me to be entertaining!”
“Not like that!” Shinso hissed. “Lowkey at first. You came in looking like a headline.”
“Yeah?” Bakugo leaned in, all post-fight energy and heat. Why was Shinso being such a dick about this? “Well maybe next time you wanna write the script, you fight the damn match.”
Shinso didn’t flinch. He took a slow breath and rubbed his temples. “Look, you were good. Too good. It was supposed to be close. You’re supposed to look raw, hungry. Not like a pro biding his time.”
“I am a pro. They know that. If anything, me being a pro should earn me some more attention behind the scenes. I was ‘ lowkey’ . I didn't utterly demolish him out the gate, did I? Seems pretty low -fuckin- key to me.” Bakugo flared, his scent sharp in the aftermath.
“You have the subtlety of a damn bull in a china shop, but-” Shinso paused, head lolling from side to side. “I guess you didn’t sell yourself out. You’re still damn cocky, and it shows.”
“Whatever. Keep your backhanded compliments. I know the crowd loved the shit outta me, that’s all I gotta know.”
But even as he said it, Bakugo's chest pulled tight. The truth was, it wasn't the crowd he gave a shit about. Not really. It was Shinso's opinion that had been clawing at his thoughts since the fight ended. The way he watched from above. The way he always looked like he saw too much—or not enough. Bakugo hated that.
Why the hell did it matter so much what Shinso thought? Why did he find himself replaying the look in his eyes, the set of his mouth, trying to figure out if he was impressed or disappointed?
He didn’t need validation.
And yet...
“Hey,” Shinso said quietly, a beat too late. “You did good, okay? Better than I expected. I’ve just been stressed out, but we can spin this in a good way.”
Bakugo looked at him sharply, the compliment too direct to shrug off. Shinso rarely gave those freely. Something bitter and warm coiled under his ribs.
“Thanks for not making me say that twice,” Shinso muttered, gaze darting away.
Bakugo snorted. “You really that allergic to sincerity?”
“Only when it smells like desperation,” Shinso replied. But there was no bite to it.
Bakugo smiled, a little smug. He knew he’d done a good job. Shinso caught the look on his face and sighed. “You want a medal or something?”
Bakugo smirked. “Nah. Just wanted to hear you say it. You give compliments like they cost blood.”
“I don’t give praise for free. You earned it.”
There was a beat of silence. Then Bakugo spoke again. “We should do the next part soon.”
Shinso blinked. “What?”
“The control thing. Your quirk. If we’re gonna make this work, they need to see you turn me into your puppet.”
Shinso crossed his arms tighter. “We don’t have to rush that.”
“My second fight, right? That’s what you said. We should start planning it.” Bakugo stepped forward, dropping his voice. Shinso’s scent washed over him. No blockers this time, Shinso must be feeling more in control. Why did he always smell so damn good? “Let me start by pushing back.”
“Maybe you want more money?”
“That’s good, and then when you say no–”
“Because you’re still fresh meat.”
“I’ll act like I’m done. You corner me-”
“No one gets out aliiivvveeeeee.” Shinso wiggled his fingers, finally uncrossing. Bakugo was terribly endeared.
”I go feral. You shut me down with a word.”
Shinso stared at him, something unreadable in his eyes.
“You’re really not weird about me using it on you?”
Bakugo rolled his eyes. “You think I’m scared of your whisper-trick? Use it. I want them to think you’ve got your leash on me. They’ll lower their guard.”
Shinso's jaw tightened. “It won’t be fake.”
“I-” trust you . “-know. I’m counting on it.”
Shinso looked away, too quickly. “That’s dumb.”
Bakugo shrugged. “Probably.”
They stood like that for a bit, energy sparking between them. Then Shinso sighed and nodded.
“Alright, I’ll write the script, you just sell the scene.”
Bakugo grinned, teeth sharp. “Hope you’re ready to break me in front of an audience, then.”
“Don’t tempt me.” Finally, a smile.
Bakugo followed him down the hall, heart pounding. Not from the plan. Not from the crowd, though he’d liked it more than he thought he would. Liked fighting a lot, actually. From the weight of Shinso’s words still echoing in his chest. You earned it.
Whatever. He didn’t need approval. But it meant something coming from Shinso.