Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Izuku sighed as he sat up in his fairly worn bed, pulling off his ancient bedsheet. He walked to the bathroom and looked himself over. Dark circles painted his under eyes, and his once-bright eyes now shone a dull green. He splashed cold water on his face and breathed. 

'Well, here we go again'. He thought to himself as he looked over his face in indifference and mild disgust.

He walked back to his bedroom to start getting ready for school and checked the time. Upon seeing that it was already 8:50 a.m., he groaned. "Great I'm gonna be late." 

He hurriedly threw on his uniform, not bothering to check his appearance before he ran downstairs and past his mother who sat at the counter sipping her coffee. she gave him a nasty glare but he was too preocupied to notice as he swung the door open and begain to run to school, the 'great' alderia high, highschool of promising scholars and future heros.

Arriving 20 minutes late he trudged into class and took a seat near the back with his head down on the desk, seated right in front of his best friend-turned sour, Bakugo Katsuki, or as Izuku would like to call him, 'kacchan'. 

The students eyed him with dirty glares and pure hatred but the teacher paid no mind, simply not caring enough to acknowledge his lateness as he began teaching the same primary school level slop that was maths. 

Izuku buried his head deeper in his arms, thinking he could use this time to get some much-needed shuteye, considering he couldnt sleep most nights, what with his bed being in tatters. But bakugo had other plans as he swung his foot back and harshly kicked izuku's chair, causing him to jolt up in pain as he was thrust into his desk. Izuku sighed and pushed his chair out again, instead pulling out his hero analysis book to attempt to at least analyse some of his classmates' whimpy quirks while he had the time. 

Before he knew it, class had ended. 

He started to pack away his things, opting to keep his analysis on the desk as he wanted to note some extra things down after he packed away. Reaching down to put away his pens back into his aged yellow backpack he saw a set of feet walk from behind him. 

Bakugo was quick to grab his hero analysis book and izuku shot up immediately trying to get it back.

"Kacchan, give me it back!" he panicked, standing on the tips of his toes reaching for it as bakugo held it just out of reach, clearly enjoying izuku's struggle.

"Nah, I think I'll have a read instead" he grinned and opened it to a random page. 

On the open page was a detailed drawing of one of his classmates, surrounded by cramped notes that dissected everything about them—their quirk, their habits, personality traits, faults, even allergies and possible weaknesses.

Bakugo's eyes widened, a flicker of shock and mild horror flashing across his face. He'd thought Deku's notebook was just some dumb collection of sketches and trivia about washed-up heroes, not... whatever stalkerish crap this was.

Before he could flip to the next page, Izuku lunged forward, glitching across the room with sudden speed. He tore the notebook from Bakugo's hands, his features tight with frustration before they twisted into wide-eyed shock... then panic.

Without a word, Izuku bolted. He slammed the door so hard behind him that the hinges gave way, the whole thing collapsing in a metallic crash. Dust shuddered up from the impact, leaving Bakugo rooted in place, staring at the wreckage—and left alone with the secret Izuku had just unwillingly revealed.

"What. The. Fuck..." Bakugo whispered, his voice low, shaking with shock, confusion, and something sharper—betrayal. His mind spun.

'Deku had a quirk this whole fucking time?! He lied to me?! What the hell did I just read in that notebook? He just ripped the goddamn door off its hinges! He told me he was quirkless—he fucking lied! Why would he lie?! He's looking down on me!that's it. That's why. Fucking bastard.'

The thoughts came crashing, colliding until his chest felt tight. Mixed feelings swelled inside him, emotions he thought he'd buried years ago rising like a tidal wave. His eyes widened as another thought struck, unbidden and impossible to ignore.

"W-we can be heroes together again..." he muttered before he could stop himself, the words breaking loose like a secret he never meant to share.

But then, just as quick, his face hardened, fury burning the softness away. 'No. Fuck no. He lied. He fucking lied to me.' Bakugo's hands curled into fists, nails biting into his palms. 'Goddammit—I need to find him.'

Bakugo sprinted in the direction Izuku had bolted, his chest a storm of emotions—rage and betrayal twisting with something rawer, something he refused to name. Desperation, maybe. Or was it hope? He didn't know, didn't care. All he knew was that he had to catch him.

He tore down the hallway, boots pounding against the floor as he sidestepped the splintered remains of the door Izuku had wrecked. His breath came in sharp bursts, heat flaring in his veins as he pushed himself faster, launching down the stairwell two steps at a time.

Bursting out of Aldera High and into the street, his eyes scanned wildly—until there. Just ahead, weaving through the crowd, a flash of messy green hair and the familiar yellow backpack.

"DEKU!" Bakugo roared, his voice cracking with more than just anger as he shoved past pedestrians, his feet hammering against the pavement in pursuit.

"DEKU!! GET THE FUCK BACK HERE, YOU BASTARD!" Bakugo's voice tore through the street as he sprinted, the words burning his throat. His legs pumped harder, chasing, chasing—just like Deku had been chasing after him his whole damn life.

He rounded the corner at full speed—only to skid to a halt. Gone. The street was crowded, but there was no flash of green hair, no yellow backpack. Izuku was gone.

"FUCK!" Bakugo bellowed, shoving a hand through his hair in fury. His chest heaved, frustration clawing at him as his eyes swept the area again and again, refusing to accept it. But there was nothing. Deku had slipped away.

Grinding his teeth, he finally turned back, fists shoved deep into his pockets. 'Deku's not fucking worth it. The lying bastard.'

 The thought was bitter, hollow. He knew it wasn't true, knew he was being an idiot—but he clung to it anyway, because the alternative hurt too much.

With that lie weighing heavier than his steps, Bakugo started the long walk home.

____

Meanwhile, Izuku ran blindly, his breaths ragged and uneven, his only thought to put as much distance between himself and Bakugo as possible. His legs carried him without aim, his eyes barely registering the blur of streets and buildings flashing past.

Then—a sharp clang! A nearby manhole cover shot into the air, spinning like a coin tossed skyward before slamming back down. From the darkness below, a foul, bubbling sludge spilled upward, shifting and writhing with an unnatural gleam.

Izuku barely had a second to look up before the heavy cover struck him square in the face. Pain flared white-hot, then nothing—his body crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

"Well, well~ what do we have here?" a slick, gurgling voice cooed. The sludge writhed closer, tendrils curling like greedy fingers. "A perfect little meatsuit... just begging to be filled. Don't mind if I do~."

The ooze slithered over Izuku's limp frame, wrapping him up with chilling ease. He didn't stir—leaving him helpless, an easy prize for the monster's taking.

The sludge seeped into Izuku's body with greedy delight, filling every corner it could find. It reveled in the ease of the takeover, chuckling as its host didn't even twitch in resistance. Bliss—it was pure bliss.

But the ecstasy was short-lived. From the same manhole, a thunderous crash erupted as a towering figure burst forth. Dust scattered, the ground trembling under the impact. The Symbol of Peace himself landed in a flawless, comic-book pose, his smile gleaming like sunlight through a storm.

"I AM HERE!" All Might boomed, his voice shaking the air with power and certainty.

The sludge's grin faltered—yet before All Might could even move, something stirred.

Izuku's limp body convulsed violently, his form glitching in and out of focus like a broken signal. Jagged bursts of energy flickered around him, tearing through the ooze from the inside. The sludge shrieked as its body split into dozens of dripping fragments, splattering against the pavement in minuscule chunks of foul-smelling slop.

Still unconscious, Izuku's body twitched one final time before the strange distortion calmed. He wavered unsteadily on his feet, eyes shut, his breathing ragged. Then, like a puppet with its strings cut, he collapsed forward, utterly spent.

All Might's smile faltered, replaced with wide-eyed shock. "Young man..." he whispered, staring at the boy who had, without even knowing it, obliterated the villain in his sleep.

All Might was quick to catch him, cradling the boy's limp body in his arms before lowering to one knee. He laid Izuku gently on the asphalt and began patting his cheek in quick, careful slaps.

"Ahem! Young boy! Wake up!" he urged, his booming voice tinged with urgency. When that didn't work, he grabbed Izuku by the shoulders and shook lightly.

Suddenly, Izuku jolted awake with a sharp gasp. He immediately curled to the side, body convulsing as he retched, spewing up the foul remnants of the sludge. His sleeve dragged across his mouth, his expression tight with disgust—until his gaze lifted.

And then his whole world stopped.

Towering before him, larger than life, was the man he had worshiped since he could remember. Blonde hair gleaming in the sunlight, that unshakable smile carved with confidence—the Number One Hero himself.

"All Might..." Izuku breathed, his jaw slack in pure awe. His hands trembled as if reaching for proof that this was real.

With a soft laugh, All Might leaned down and gently closed the boy's gaping mouth with one finger.

"You saved me! Thank you so much, All Might!" Izuku burst out, his voice cracking with excitement as a radiant grin stretched across his face.

But All Might only scratched at the back of his neck, his smile carrying a curious edge. "No, actually, young man... you saved yourself." His voice was warm, impressed—but layered with something deeper.

Izuku's grin faltered instantly, dread crawling across his features as his stomach dropped. His hands clenched at his knees, heart hammering in his chest. He saw. He saw everything...

"Now, I really must get going. It was nice meeting you, boy!" All Might boomed, puffing his chest proudly as he crouched to leap away.

But Izuku's heart slammed against his ribs. 'No—I can't let him get away. He needs to know that I-I have to tell him!'

Before he could think it through, his hand shot out, grabbing onto All Might's massive leg. Instinct drove him more than reason, his grip tightening as if his life depended on it.

All Might launched into the air with a thunderous burst of wind. The city shrank below them in an instant, the rooftops blurring into streaks of grey and green.

It wasn't until All Might felt the unexpected weight tugging at him that he glanced down—just in time to hear the bloodcurdling scream.

"AAAAHHH!" Izuku howled, flailing wildly as he dangled from All Might's leg like a terrified ragdoll. His backpack slapped against his side with every gust of wind, his knuckles bone-white from clutching so hard.

All Might's eyes nearly bulged out of his head. "YOUNG MAN?! WHAT THE DEVIL ARE YOU DOING DOWN THERE?!"

"I—DIDN'T—THINK—THIS—THROUGH!!!" Izuku wailed, eyes watering as the city rushed far, far below.

All Might neared a rooftop, his trajectory off, and landed in an alley with a jarring crash that cracked the concrete beneath them. Izuku tumbled, but the hero's arm shielded him from the worst of the impact.

"That was very idiotic, boy. You could've gotten killed. What were you thinking?!" All Might scolded, his booming voice edged with real anger. But then he shook his head, turning away. "Never mind. I need to go."

"No!" Izuku scrambled up, stumbling forward. His quirk flared instinctively—glitching, pulsing with raw strength—as his hand latched onto All Might's arm, holding him firmly in place.

"PLEASE! Please wait, All Might! I need you to promise me something!" Izuku's voice cracked, desperate, his eyes wide with pleading.

All Might froze, glancing down in shock. The boy's grip... the power behind it... he couldnt move. It was real, undeniable strength. His own eyes widened.

Before either could speak further, a sharp hiss broke the silence. Steam poured from All Might's body, searing white, swallowing his massive silhouette. Izuku's breath caught, staring through the cloud, his heart pounding in confusion.

As the mist cleared, his idol's towering frame was gone. Standing in its place was a gaunt, skeletal figure, skin stretched thin over bone, his once-proud clothes now hanging loose like rags. He looked like a ghost of the man he had been only moments before.

Izuku's jaw dropped. His knees nearly buckled. "Wh... what...?" he whispered, unable to believe his eyes.

All Might raised a thin hand, lips tugging into a dry, almost bitter smile. "Surprise, young man. This is... the real me."

Izuku's desperation twisted instantly into alarm, his eyes wide with worry. "A-All Might? Are you okay?!" He rushed forward, panic lacing his voice, but All Might held out a frail hand to stop him.

"I'm okay..." he said softly, though his hollow frame and sunken eyes betrayed the lie. For a moment, he tried to hold the facade, but then he exhaled heavily, shoulders sagging as though the weight of his truth was too much to bear.

Lifting the edge of his shirt, he revealed a terrible scar carved deep across the left side of his torso. The wound looked old, but vicious—like it had never healed right. Izuku's breath caught at the sight, his hands trembling at his sides.

"Actually... I'm not. You see this? My body was devastated by a villain's attack five years ago. Ever since then... my strength has been fading. I can only stay in my hero form for a few hours a day—sometimes less."

He tried to continue, but suddenly doubled over with a hacking cough. A spray of blood splattered into his palm. He clenched his jaw and covered his mouth, but couldn't hide it.

"See?" he rasped, showing Izuku his trembling, bloodied hand. "That villain messed me up good."

He gave a hollow laugh, trying to lighten the weight of his words, but it broke halfway into another cough.

Izuku stood frozen, staring at the fragile man who was supposed to be invincible. His heart ached, his idol unraveling before him. "All Might..." he whispered, voice trembling, unsure whether to cry, apologize, or scream.

Izuku sank to his knees, leveling himself with the frail man before him. His eyes darted over All Might's skeletal frame, filled with worry and sympathy, but then hardened into a glare of fierce determination.

"I don't condone blackmail..." he began, voice trembling but steadying with each word, "but this is important to me. I won't tell a soul about what you've just shown me—as long as you don't tell anyone about my quirk. No one can know. If they find out, the government will be after me, wanting to use me. Can you promise me, All Might?"

His words were raw, his emerald eyes locked fiercely onto the man he idolized. Deep down, Izuku knew he'd never betray All Might's secret, no matter the answer—but still, he needed to hear it.

All Might's features tightened, the faintest shadow crossing his gaunt face. He studied Izuku for a long, quiet moment before sighing. "I won't tell a soul. I wasn't going to regardless."

He lifted his bony hand, thin and frail compared to the mountain of muscle it once was. "A secret for a secret?"

Izuku's heart pounded as he grasped it, shaking firmly. But as soon as their hands parted, his determined glare cracked, and he bowed deeply, words tumbling out in a rush. "I-I'm sorry! I never meant to threaten you, All Might! I would never tell anyone your secret, no matter what you said—I swear it!"

For the first time since transforming, All Might smiled warmly, his tired eyes soft. "You're too innocent for this world, young man," he said gently, the words both fond and heavy.

Once he'd steadied his breath and gathered enough strength, All Might reached for Izuku's battered notebook. With a flourish, he signed his name across a page, the bold letters practically glowing to Izuku's eyes.

"Keep chasing your dream," All Might told him, straightening with effort.

Izuku clutched the notebook to his chest, bowing his head to hide the tears stinging his eyes. "Thank you... All Might."

And with that, they parted ways—All Might leaping off into the distance, and Izuku heading home, their shared secrets binding them closer than either could have imagined.

___

Bakugo stormed down the streets, his fists shoved so deep in his pockets his knuckles hurt. His thoughts churned like wildfire, crackling with anger and something he couldn't shake.

'Fucking Deku. Lied to me all these years. All that time he said he was quirkless, all that time he let me think he was weak, beneath me. And now? Now he's got power enough to smash doors off their hinges like it's nothing. What the hell else has he been hiding?'

His jaw clenched so tight it ached. He wanted to hate him, to write him off as the lying bastard he kept telling himself he was. But under the rage, there was something else, gnawing at him. A flicker of hope he didn't want. 'If he's got power... then maybe... maybe we... He shook his head violently. No. Fuck that. He doesn't get to just waltz back into my life and be my friend after lying to my face.'

He kicked a loose can down the alley, the clatter echoing against the walls. That's when he heard it—a wet, gurgling sound, followed by a sudden crash.

Bakugo turned sharply, and his eyes widened. From a sewer grate, a sickly green sludge surged upward, forming into the writhing mass of a villain he'd never seen before.

"The hell—?" he started, but before he could react, the ooze lunged. In seconds, tendrils wrapped around his arms and legs, slamming him to the ground as the sludge forced its way toward his mouth. Bakugo thrashed, sparks flying from his palms, but the villain's grip only tightened, suffocating him.

⸻

Meanwhile, blocks away, Izuku was trudging home, notebook hugged to his chest, All Might's signature still fresh and burning in his mind. His steps were lighter than they had been in years, his heart hammering with both hope and fear.

But then—

BOOM!

A muffled explosion rattled the street behind him. Shouts rose in the distance, followed by a woman's scream. Izuku froze, his blood running cold. That sound... he knew it. Sparks, fury, chaos.

His stomach dropped. Kacchan.

He broke out in a sprint, his lungs burning but his legs refusing to slow. Each pounding step echoed his frantic thoughts. Please don't let it be him, please...

Izuku swung around the corner only to see-

Chapter Text

Flames.

The whole street was ablaze, with the waterhose hero backdraft trying desperately to put out the fire while death arms and other pros tried to keep citizens away from the raging heat.

Izuku weaved and pushed through the crowd of people with haste. He had seen these flames before, smelled the familiar, sweet scent of nitroglycerin before —the very scent that now thickly filled the air, along with the crisp smoke of dynamite. He didn't want to believe it as he rushed to the front of the crowd; he didn't want to admit it, but he knew. 

His very eyes confirmed it when they met bakugo's deep crimson, filled with panic and Helplessness as his hands grasped and clawed at the sludge, desperately trying to pry it off as it tried to force itself down his throat. 

Izuku's heart quickened with dread at the sight, and before he could even think, his body and turbulent emotions had acted on their own. Glitching behind the sludge monster and away from the view of the public and heroes, red-hot flames licked at his skin as izuku thrust his hand into the sludge and grabbed bakugo's arm. He concentrated his glitch into his other hand and punched the slime, smashing it into tiny blobs once more as he glitched away to a nearby rooftop while still holding tight onto bakugo. 

As soon as they landed, Izuku crouched low, releasing Bakugo’s arm. He motioned for him to stay quiet and crept toward the rooftop’s edge, peering down at the chaos below. The pros scrambled, shouting over each other as they searched for Bakugo, clearly baffled by what had just happened. Izuku scanned the crowd, heart hammering, checking for cameras, phones, anything that might have caught him. When he saw none, relief washed over him. He slumped back against the wall, exhaling shakily—only to find Bakugo’s burning crimson eyes locked on him.

Izuku braced himself. He drew in a sharp breath, squeezed his eyes shut, half-ready to glitch away before the insults could fly. But they didn’t.

Instead, a single word cut through the silence.

“Why…”

Bakugo’s voice was raw, scraped thin, carrying none of his usual fire. It was a tone Izuku had never heard from him. Bakugo swallowed hard, then pressed again, louder this time, anger bleeding into the cracks of his confusion.

“Why did you… why the hell did you lie to me? When you had all this—this power, this… amazing shit—” his hands clenched into fists, trembling as much from frustration as from leftover panic. “Why the fuck did you lie? To me? To everyone?!”

Izuku scrambled closer, clapping a hand over Bakugo’s mouth before he could fire back.

“Shut up,” he hissed, eyes flashing with an intensity that didn’t suit him. “Do you want the media climbing up here, huh?”

The glare he leveled at Bakugo was sharp, uncharacteristic, and for a moment Bakugo froze—caught off guard. Izuku held it, then slowly pulled his hand away, trusting that Kacchan understood the weight of his words.

“Look…” Izuku dragged a shaky hand down his face, trying to steady himself. His chest heaved with the effort. "I...I didn't lie to you...I didn't want to lie to you... But if I told you…” His throat closed up, and the rest came out in a whisper. “It could’ve gotten out.”

His gaze sank to the rooftop floor, shoulders curling in. “Mom told me when I first got this quirk that if anyone knew… I’d be taken. Used for experiments… or worse.”

A shiver wracked through him, his knuckles going white as he clutched his knees, still refusing to look Bakugo in the eye.

“And I couldn’t let that happen… no matter what it took, I was going to be a hero. I couldn’t do that from inside some government lab.” Izuku’s voice wavered, but his conviction held. “I wanted to be my kind of hero—not some government-issued weapon.”

His eyes lifted to the smoke-stained sky, frustration and regret carving lines into his face.

“God, Kacchan… there were so many times I wanted to show you. Every time you called me names, I thought—this wouldn’t be happening if I had a good quirk.” His voice cracked, spilling faster now, like he’d been holding it back for years. “All the times I craved being around you without the malice, without the hate. For you to laugh with me, not at me. To make you smile because of something I did—just like you used to.”

His breath shuddered, words tumbling over each other. “I never thought hiding my quirk would be what ended our friendship. I know it’s pathetic, but I-”

The sentence broke apart, strangled before it could finish. Tears welled hot in his eyes, spilling over as he ducked his head, staring at the rooftop floor like it might swallow him whole.

"...I missed you"

Izuku’s words came out as little more than a whisper, his throat tight, his body betraying him by trying to swallow the confession whole. He braced himself, mind already preparing for the sting of a fist or the venom of an insult—anything to punish him for being so pathetic.

But nothing came.

Instead, silence stretched. Then, softly—so softly it almost didn’t sound like him—Bakugo spoke.

“…So did I.”

The words hung heavy, raw, stripped of all the usual fire. Painful, but true.

Izuku’s head snapped up, tears clinging to his lashes, his wide, green eyes filled with disbelief and a fragile, desperate hope.

“What?! Really??” he blurted, voice cracking as if he needed to hear it again, as if the words themselves might shatter if Bakugo didn’t confirm them. His tone was pleading, almost childlike, so desperate it hurt.

Bakugo’s jaw clenched, his gaze darting away for the briefest moment before snapping back to Izuku, sharp and unyielding. His fists trembled at his sides, not from anger this time, but from the war raging inside him.

“Tch—don’t make me fucking say it again, nerd,” he muttered, rough, but the tone in his voice didnt fool him.

This time, it was Izuku’s turn to press forward, voice trembling but fierce.

“Then… then why did you bully me? Push me away? If you missed me?!”

Bakugo froze. His crimson eyes flickered, then dropped to the rooftop beneath them. For once, he couldn’t meet Izuku’s gaze.

“Tch…” He grit his teeth, words dragging out of him like they hurt. “… the only reason I bullied you was because I felt like you broke the promise. Which is—fuck—it’s unbelievably stupid of me, because you don’t break shit. You never do.” His hands flexed at his sides, nails biting into his palms.

“I just—fuck!” He slammed a fist against his thigh, the frustration spilling out of him. “I felt like you betrayed me, Deku!”

Izuku’s eyes widened, tears blurring his vision as he locked onto Katsuki’s. Memories of their childhood burned through his mind—their games, dressing up as All Might, saving the day together with bright smiles, vowing to be a duo, to open an agency side by side, to stay together until the end. And yet… he’d been the one to break it.

His voice cracked when he finally spoke, but there was steel beneath the tremor.

“Kacchan… I never wanted to break our promise. But I had to hide my quirk. If people found out, I wouldn’t be here—I’d be taken, experimented on, turned into something I’m not. I couldn’t let that happen. Even if it meant lying. Even if it meant… losing you.”

He clenched his fists, shoulders curling in slightly.

“I hate that I let it ruin what we had. I hate that it made you feel betrayed. But it wasn’t because I didn’t care, or because I wanted to leave you behind. It was because I was scared—scared of what would happen if anyone knew, and scared of losing everything we dreamed about.”

He lowered his gaze, voice dipping softer.

“And maybe that makes me pathetic. Maybe it makes me weak. But it was the only way I knew to keep moving forward.”

Bakugo’s hand snapped out, striking Izuku across the face—not hard enough to wound, but firm, sharp, enough to jolt him.

“You didn’t ruin it. I fucking did!” Bakugo barked, his voice cracking with fury and something heavier beneath it. “Quirk or no quirk, I should’ve been there for you, and I wasn’t. You never left, damn it—I pushed you away!”

His words echoed across the rooftop, his chest heaving, fists trembling as though trying to force Izuku to place the blame on him alone.

Izuku blinked against the sting in his cheek, then lifted a hand, resting it gently on Bakugo’s arm. His touch wasn’t to stop him, but to ground him, to make him look.

“But neither of us tried to fix it, Kacchan,” Izuku said quietly, yet with an edge of firmness. “Yeah, I kept coming back, I followed you around—but that wasn’t healing anything. It wasn’t enough.”

He tightened his grip slightly, holding Bakugo’s crimson gaze.

“We both hurt each other. We both let it rot instead of pulling back and apologizing. Instead of… replacing what we broke in each other.”

The silence between them stretched, thick and suffocating, as their eyes locked—for what felt like years.

“I am truly sorry, Kacchan,” Izuku said, the words trembling out of him but steady with conviction. “For leaving you. For lying to you. For ever thinking you’d betray me and tell someone about my quirk. For not fighting harder—for us, for what we had. You mean so much to me, Kacchan…” His voice cracked, his head bowing, a faint, conflicted blush staining his cheeks, though the sincerity in his eyes left no room for doubt. “You don’t even know the half of it.”

Bakugo’s breath hitched. His fists flexed at his sides before finally loosening, as if Izuku’s honesty had broken the last of his defenses. After years of choking down what he really felt, he finally forced himself to speak.

“I’m…” he faltered, jaw clenching, the words resisting him. “…I’m sorry I fucking left you when you needed me, Deku.” His voice was rough, guttural, like it was tearing him apart to admit it. “I made you feel like shit growing up. I was supposed to be your hero—hell, I promised I would be—but instead I became your worst villain.”

His crimson eyes burned, not with rage, but with shame that had festered too long. “I hated it. Hated myself for it. Couldn’t bear to look at you, but couldn’t stay away either. I didn’t know how to deal with you. With… us. So I acted superior, pushed you down, spat on everything you were—because it was easier than facing the fact that I couldn’t beat you where it mattered. And no matter what the fuck I did, you always came back.”

He exhaled shakily, the words scraping from his throat. “So now I’m coming back to you. I’m not asking you to forgive me—you should be angry. You should hate me. But I need you to know that I’m done running from it. I’m done running from you. I just… I needed to apologise. For every cruel word, every shove, every time I made you feel worthless when you weren’t. I’m so fucking sorry… for everything.”

And for the first time, since they were four years old, Bakugo—hesitant, almost reluctant—opened his arms. It was stiff at first, unsure, but the invitation was there. The same embrace Izuku had dreamed of for twelve long years.

Izuku didn’t hesitate. He all but launched himself forward, crashing into Kacchan’s chest and knocking them both flat onto the rooftop. The air rushed out of them in startled laughter, but Izuku clung tight, burying his face into the crook of Bakugo’s neck. The familiar, sharp scent of nitroglycerin sweat hit him instantly, stinging his senses, dragging back years of painful memories with it. His breath caught, and slowly, almost reluctantly, he pulled back.

Bakugo’s face was tilted toward him, a crooked grin tugging at his lips.

“Are you hurt at all?” Izuku asked softly, slipping right back into that worried tone that never failed to break through his nerves.

Bakugo scoffed. “What? From that fall? Tch, don’t insult me, Deku—I’m not that weak—”

“No,” Izuku interrupted, his voice quieter, heavier. His gaze dropped to the rooftop between them. “From the sludge villain… I had a run-in with him too.”

Bakugo froze, then looked away sharply, his entire demeanor snapping shut. “Tch. Nah, I’m fine. Just some pathetic wannabe villain. Didn’t need you to save me. I had him handled.” His words were clipped, dismissive, but he wouldn’t meet Izuku’s eyes.

Izuku saw it anyway—the flicker of truth he couldn’t hide. The panic, the helplessness. He’d seen it all when he yanked him out of that monster. He knew Kacchan was lying, but… he let it slide. For now.

Instead, Izuku leaned back against the wall, his hands curling into fists against his knees. His throat tightened as the words slipped out, raw and low.

“I’m just… disappointed. That the heroes didn’t do anything. If—” He cut himself off, swallowing hard, his chest constricting at the thought. “If I hadn’t been there… if I hadn’t saved you…”

The unfinished words hung heavy in the air, suffocating in their weight.

“Well, you did. So none of that fuckin’ matters anymore,” Bakugo said at last, his voice rough but steady. The words were begrudging, but not empty—he meant them. He was still clumsy with honesty, still bristling at every show of vulnerability, but beneath it all was a quiet relief. For the first time in years, he wasn’t pushing Deku away.

Izuku felt it too. That unspoken shift. From this moment forward, they both knew—things would never go back to how they were. The distance, the bitterness, the years of silence between them… all of it had burned away on that rooftop. From now on, they were going to be in each other’s lives again, no matter what.

Together, they made a silent vow: for the next ten months leading to the U.A. entrance exam, they would train side by side. Push each other. Break themselves down and build each other back up until they were unshakable. They would reclaim the promise they’d made as kids—to rise as heroes together. Not rivals. Not enemies. A duo.

As the chaos in the streets below finally dispersed, they clambered down from the rooftop. On the way out, they shared an awkward hug, rough and clumsy, but warm all the same. And when they finally parted ways, walking off in different directions toward home, neither could wipe the grin from their face.

Excitement burned in their chests. Hope, too. A brighter future than either had dared imagine.

And though neither of them realized it yet, the bond they had just reforged would become the most important thing they had—strong enough to carry them through the battles, the heartbreak, and the storm waiting ahead.

___

Izuku walked home with a smile plastered on his face, the noon air cool against his flushed skin. His mind buzzed with possibilities, already drafting a training schedule, mapping out exercises, planning the grind of the next ten months. His heart was still pounding, not just from adrenaline, but from the happiness he hadn’t felt in years.

“YOUNG BOY!”

The voice boomed across the empty street, startling him so much he nearly tripped over his own feet. Izuku’s head whipped to the side, eyes widening.

‘No way…’

“All Might?” he whispered under his breath, unable to believe it.

But the figure that came stumbling toward him wasn’t the towering Symbol of Peace. It was the skeletal man he had seen before—the fragile, gaunt shadow of the hero he admired most. He was panting hard, one hand clutching his side as though just running to catch up had cost him everything.

All Might raised a trembling finger, cutting off any words Izuku might have said. His sunken eyes fixed on him with sharp intensity, and when he finally spoke, his voice, though weak, carried weight.

“Young boy…” he rasped, catching his breath between syllables. “You just saved that blonde boy, didn’t you?”

It wasn’t really a question. It was a statement—measured, certain.

Izuku scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, a nervous laugh escaping him.

“Y-Yeah… he’s my childhood friend. The heroes weren’t doing anything to save him and… and my quirk just—it acted on its own. I couldn’t just stand there and watch him die. So I grabbed him and glitched us to a rooftop and—wait.”

His eyes widened in alarm, panic bubbling up.

“H-How did you know that? I checked for cameras! Oh god no… please tell me no one filmed me.”

His words tumbled over each other in a frantic rush, but his spiraling thoughts stilled the moment a firm, bony hand pressed down on his shoulder. Izuku looked up to see All Might—frail and skeletal—meeting his gaze with reassurance.

“I was in the crowd,” All Might said softly, and despite his weakened form, the weight in his voice was unshakable.

Relief poured out of Izuku in a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging. But before he could say anything, All Might continued.

“That isn’t what I wanted to talk to you about, young…” He tilted his head, expectant.

“Izuku. Izuku Midoriya,” he supplied quickly.

All Might’s eyes widened slightly, recognition flickering in his tired gaze.

“Midoriya…? I’ve heard that name before… but where…?” he muttered under his breath, though he brushed it aside a moment later with a shake of his head.

Straightening as best as his frail body would allow, All Might fixed Izuku with an intensity that made his heart stutter.

“Young Midoriya,” he said, voice swelling with conviction. “You showed great strength and promise today. You possess the heart of a true hero—I have seen it with my own eyes. Your willpower, your selflessness… they inspire me. And for that reason…”

He extended his thin, trembling hand, but his smile was radiant, brimming with pride.

“…I would like to bestow upon you the greatest honor of all—my quirk.”

All Might’s words hung in the air like a thunderclap, his declaration so surreal that Izuku could only stare at him, wide-eyed, unable to breathe.

Izuku froze, All Might’s words hitting him harder than any punch could. Take All Might’s quirk? That wasn’t possible. That had to be a joke—some kind of cruel test. His stomach tightened as suspicion clawed its way in.

His guard shot up, eyes narrowing.

“How did you know I can take quirks?” he demanded sharply, the words escaping before he could stop himself.

All Might’s eyes flew wide, his skeletal frame stiffening as though struck.

“You can take quirks?!” he repeated, voice sharp with horror and disbelief.

Izuku’s blood ran cold. That reaction… it wasn’t calculated, it wasn’t knowing—it was genuine.

‘Wait. He didn’t know? Then what the hell was he talking about?’

“I—yeah. I can manipulate DNA. I can take quirks, give quirks… alter them.” The admission tumbled out in a low, rushed voice, Izuku’s face drawn in tense confusion. “So what did you mean by passing on your quirk to me if you didn’t know that?”

All Might’s jaw went slack. He stared at Izuku like he’d just grown a second head. His voice was hushed but urgent when he answered:

“I meant… my power can be inherited. My quirk, One For All, can be transferred if someone ingests my DNA. That’s what I meant. I didn’t know… you could do that.”

The world seemed to tilt for Izuku. He blinked, dumbfounded, his mouth falling open before he shut it again.

“Oh…”

The breath rushed out of him in a sigh, and his hand dragged down his face in frustration. Idiot. He’d slipped. Again.

Anyone could’ve overheard. Anyone could’ve put the pieces together. He clenched his jaw, cursing himself silently. ‘How stupid can I be!?’

Chapter Text

Izuku’s hand lingered over his face, fingers pressed into his temples as if he could squeeze the mistake back into his skull. But it was too late. The words were already out. His secret—again—slipping into the open.

All Might, however, didn’t look like he was preparing to shout it to the world. His gaunt face was serious, brows furrowed in thought before he shook his head firmly.

“Tell me about your quirk. If it’s what I think it is… then I do hope you’ll accept my quirk as well.” His eyes, though sunken, glimmered with conviction. “You’re going to need it.”

Izuku narrowed his eyes slightly, suspicion flickering like a storm beneath his green gaze. He studied All Might, searching for the smallest hint of betrayal, of deception. But all he saw was earnest weight—the kind that only comes from someone who carries the world.

“Fine,” Izuku muttered at last, though not without hesitation. “Considering you’re… offering me your quirk, and you haven’t told anyone about mine.” His tone was edged, defensive but not hostile, like a wolf with its hackles raised.

Turning sharply on his heel, he walked toward a nearby bench half-hidden under the glow of a flickering streetlight. The night hummed faintly with distant traffic and cooling flames from the earlier chaos. Izuku dropped onto the bench heavily, exhaling. Then he motioned for All Might to follow.

All Might obeyed, each step slow and deliberate. When he lowered himself beside Izuku, his skeletal frame sagged as though the weight of the conversation pressed down even harder than his injury ever could.

Izuku’s fingers fidgeted in his lap. He stared down at them for a moment before finally speaking.

“My quirk… it isn’t simple. And it isn’t safe.”

“It was my fourth birthday,” Izuku began, voice tight, eyes locked on the ground as his fingers twisted in the fabric of his school shirt. “My mom didn’t trust the public doctors, so she took me to a private one. In hindsight… it probably saved me. If we’d gone public, I’d have been dragged off by the government before I ever knew what freedom was.”

He sucked in a shaky breath, forcing himself to keep going.

“They ran all these tests—blood, DNA, scans—poking and prodding until finally, they gave it a name. A mutation. A new quirk.” He gave a dry, humorless laugh. “They called it Glitch. Said it was… the ‘be all and end all of quirks.’ But they didn’t know what it really did. No one did. Just that it was dangerous.”

Izuku’s jaw tightened, his grip on his shirt turning white-knuckled. “That night, my parents drove me home. We tried to pretend it was normal. Just the three of us having cake and celebrating. Dad went to light the candles with his flame quirk, and I—” he faltered, swallowing hard, “—I hugged him from behind. And just like that… his flames disappeared. I had stolen his quirk.”

Silence pressed down heavy around them. The only sound was Izuku’s breathing—uneven, caught somewhere between guilt and anger.

“I couldn’t control it then. I didn’t know how to give it back.” His voice dropped, almost breaking. “So he left. Packed his bags and walked out the door. Never came back. Mum tried to tell me it wasn’t my fault, but…” His hands clenched in his lap. “It was.”

Izuku’s gaze sharpened suddenly, his tone darkening with resolve. “I can give it back now. But I won’t. He doesn’t deserve it. Not after leaving us like that. So I never reached out. Not once.”

He finally looked at All Might, his eyes raw but steady. “That was the day I learned what my quirk could do. And the day I learned just how much it could take away.”

Izuku’s expression dimmed, his voice slipping into something hollow and far away. “After that… my mum changed.” His throat tightened, but he forced the words out. “She used to be warm. Her love was endless. She would hold me after nightmares, tell me everything would be okay. But once Dad left… it was like she followed him, piece by piece. She looked at me differently. Like I was the reason she was alone. Like I was the reason everything fell apart. And I was.”

His fingers curled into fists in his lap, nails biting into his skin. “The mum who once saw me as her whole world… just stopped. She didn’t hug me anymore. Didn’t even smile the same way. I still live with her, but—” he hesitated, his voice breaking before hardening again, “—it feels like she left me too.”

Silence pressed between them before Izuku continued, quieter now. “I still don’t know what my quirk really is. Half the time it feels like it has a mind of its own. I’ve figured out some things—I can teleport with it, I can destroy things with it… I can even alter DNA. But I know that’s not the full picture. There’s more. I can feel it, like something is waiting in the dark.”

He finally lifted his eyes, searching All Might’s face for a reaction. Instead of the steady encouragement he expected, he found something else—sympathy, awe, and then… concern. Deep, bone-deep concern.

“Was he your biological father?” All Might asked carefully, his voice softer than Izuku had ever heard it.

Izuku blinked, brows knitting together. “No… Why would you ask that?” His confusion was raw, edged with suspicion.

All Might looked down, his hands tightening over his knees, a shadow passing over his gaunt features. He almost seemed to shrink in on himself as he asked, voice weighed down with dread, “Do you know who your real father is…?”

Izuku’s brows furrowed deeper, his chest tightening with unease. His voice wavered between confusion and desperation.

“No, I don’t. My mum… she told me he died.” His fists clenched at his sides as he leaned forward, eyes sharp. “But why does that matter? What aren’t you telling me, All Might?!”

His plea hung in the air, raw and urgent.

All Might’s gaze hardened, his posture shifting from kind mentor to grim soldier. “Are you on speaking terms with your mother, Midoriya? I need to talk to her.”

Izuku froze, a jolt of alarm running through him. His eyes widened, his throat tightening as his voice rose, almost breaking. “What? Why? What’s going on?!”

All Might hesitated, searching Izuku’s face, as if weighing how much truth he could bear. But the boy’s trembling demand left no room for silence.

“And no…Not really,” Izuku admitted bitterly at last, his voice dropping, small. “She’s hardly my mother at this point.” His fists loosened, then tightened again as he drew in a shaky breath. “You can talk to her. But first—you need to tell me why.”

The air stilled. All Might’s expression fell, heavy with regret. Slowly, he tugged at the hem of his shirt, lifting the fabric to expose the massive, jagged scar carved into his side. The sight alone made Izuku’s breath hitch.

“This,” All Might said, voice grim, “was given to me by the man who nearly ended my career. The man who has haunted me for years.” His face darkened, shadowed with memory and fury. Then his gaze locked with Izuku’s, sharp but laced with pity.

“I think that man is your father.”

Izuku’s world seemed to tilt. His breath came short, disbelieving, as his wide eyes stayed fixed on the wound.

“And if I’m right…” All Might’s voice cracked with quiet sorrow, his towering presence seeming to shrink under the weight of it. “Then one day, Midoriya, you will have to face him. Because your father…”

He let the silence drag for a heartbeat, heavy as stone, before finishing with the final blow.

“…is the most powerful villain to ever exist.”

Izuku’s throat closed, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. He broke eye contact, his gaze sinking to his lap, eyes glassy and hollow. His voice came out cracked and thin, like the words themselves cut him on the way out.

“So you’re saying… I’m the son of not just a villain, but the worst villain to ever exist?…” His hands trembled in his lap, fingers digging into his knees. “And this quirk—the thing that’s ruined everything for me—I got it from him?”

His lips quivered as his mind raced, pieces falling together like shards of glass slicing him open. “He can take people’s quirks… stockpile them… just like me.”

His thoughts turned frantic, drowning him. ‘B-but… he’s dead. Isn’t he? He has to be…’

All Might’s silence stretched unbearably before he finally bowed his head lower, shame in every line of his body. His voice was barely more than a whisper, heavy with grief.

“…Yes.”

That single word shattered him.

He shot to his feet, the bench screeching against the concrete. His breath hitched, his body trembling as if just being near All Might hurt too much. Without another word, he bolted.

“Midoriya, wait!” All Might’s weakened form struggled to keep pace, but he forced himself to follow. He had to.

By the time they reached Izuku’s house, his lungs were burning, but Izuku still didn’t slow. He stormed through the door, slamming it open so hard the frame rattled.

The familiar smell of cooking greeted him. His mother was in the kitchen, back turned, humming faintly as she stirred a pot. But when she heard the door, she spun around.

Her eyes narrowed first—sharp, cold—but the look was instantly replaced with a sugary, beaming smile, so practiced it almost looked natural.

“Izuku! You’re home early!” she sang, her tone brittle with false warmth.

Izuku froze, his chest heaving, anger and hurt twisting across his face. Allmight stepping in after him.

“Oh! Well, who is this, Izuku?” Inko’s voice rose in a false sing-song, her lips stretched into a dazzling smile that didn’t touch her eyes. “You didn’t tell me you were bringing a guest.”

But beneath the sugary sweetness, she flicked her son a razor-edged glare sharp enough to cut.

All Might, still in his gaunt, skeletal form, caught the look. He filed it away but didn’t let it derail him. His eyes stayed firm, his tone clipped, businesslike.

“Good evening, Miss Midoriya. Forgive the intrusion,” he said, bowing faintly. “I’m here on behalf of the Hero Commission. There are questions that must be asked—questions concerning Izuku’s biological father.”

The color drained from Inko’s face. The spoon slipped in her hand, clattering against the edge of the pot. Her smile wavered, stiffened, then vanished altogether.

“…I—” she began, but All Might raised a hand gently, guiding.

“Please. Take a seat.” His voice left no room for argument.

For the first time in years, she looked uneasy—her mask of control cracking as she hesitated before pulling out a chair and sitting down stiffly at the kitchen table.

Izuku lingered in the doorway, torn between staying and storming out again. The weight of the moment pressed down on him until he muttered, “I’ll… be right back.”

He darted upstairs, the sound of hurried footsteps filling the silence. All Might’s eyes tracked him until the boy disappeared, then returned to Inko, who had crossed her arms tight against her chest, avoiding his gaze.

When Izuku came back, changed into casual clothes, he avoided sitting near her and instead took the spot right next to All Might, like a quiet declaration of where his trust lay. His mother’s jaw clenched at the sight, but she said nothing.

All Might placed his bony hands on the table, leaning forward. His voice dropped into a grave seriousness.

“Now… let’s begin.”

The kitchen clock ticked on, dragging the silence between questions and answers into something heavy, suffocating. For nearly an hour and a half, All Might carefully, patiently drew the story out of Inko Midoriya.

She sat hunched in her chair, hands twisting in her lap, her eyes never holding his for long. At first she resisted, snapping at his questions, but eventually her words began to spill—resentful, bitter, almost frantic with the years of keeping them locked away.

She told him about the first time she met Zen Shigaraki: a charming, ambitious man with a strange intensity to his smile. He swept her off her feet in her twenties, convinced her that she was the center of his world. For a short while, she believed him.

Then Izuku came. A child she hadn’t planned for, but one she loved instantly. Zen hadn’t shared that glow. She admitted with a sharp laugh, cold and brittle, that he’d seemed… distant, as though Izuku were nothing more than a project, or a problem.

And then—she described the night he left. Izuku was two years old. Zen had kissed him once, tucked him into bed, and whispered something to him that Inko never caught.

Hours later, she woke to find his side of the closet empty, the front door unlocked, and not a single note left behind. He vanished like smoke.

Her voice cracked as she admitted how hopeless she felt in the days after—jobless, abandoned, a toddler in her arms. “He died to me that night,” she said, with a flatness that chilled the room.

When All Might pressed about Hizashi midorya, her lips tightened. She explained that she hadn’t remarried for love, not at first. Hizashi had been her friend, a man who helped her survive the dark years, who adored Izuku even when she couldn’t bear to look at her son without remembering Hisashi’s face. Eventually, affection turned into something steadier, safer. Hizashi became her husband.

And Izuku—her little boy—was told his father had died. Because in her eyes, he had.

Izuku sat silent through most of it, hands fisted in his lap, staring down at the floor. Every word scraped against him, carving deeper the chasm he already felt between himself and his mother.

By the end, All Might leaned back in his chair, gaunt face shadowed with unease. He had the answers he needed, but they left behind only sharper questions.

Izuku’s chair screeched across the tile as he shot to his feet, fists trembling at his sides. His chest heaved as words tore out of him before he could stop them.

“All this time—you lied to me?” His voice cracked, anger and hurt twisting together. “You told me he was dead. You let me grow up thinking my father was gone when really you just—what? Decided I didn’t deserve the truth?!”

Inko froze, her bright, artificial smile slipping, her eyes sharpening into that warning glare he’d known since childhood. But this time Izuku didn’t sit back down. His hands shook, his throat tight, but he forced the words out anyway.

“You don’t get to decide what I can handle, Mum. You don’t get to choose which pieces of my life I’m allowed to know. You let me believe a lie my whole damn life!” His voice wavered, but he stood his ground, green eyes blazing.

The room went heavy. Inko’s lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze unreadable, but Izuku could feel the crack in the air between them, a fracture too deep to ignore.

He turned, almost desperately, to All Might. “Why? Why would she lie? Why hide something like this?”

All Might’s face was drawn, grim. He’d wanted to ease into the truth, but now—he couldn’t hold it back any longer.

“Miss Midoriya,” he said, his voice iron, “I’m sorry to say this, but Izuku’s father isn’t just an absent man who walked away. He is a cunning, cruel villain, one who uses people as tools to achieve his own ends.”

Inko’s fingers dug into her skirt, knuckles white, but she said nothing.

All Might leaned forward, his voice lowering to a near growl.

“He is the most dangerous man alive. And…” His eyes flicked toward Izuku, pain flickering there before he looked back at her. “…I believe he brought Izuku into this world for more than family. He made him for a purpose.”

The silence after was suffocating, Izuku’s breath shallow as the words sank in.

Izuku’s fists clenched tighter, his green eyes flashing with a mixture of fury and disbelief.

“You knew, didn’t you?!” he spat, his voice raw.

“You knew who he was, what he was capable of, and you—” He swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice from cracking, “…you decided to lie to me my whole life! You let me grow up believing he was dead! How could you?! How could you do that to me?”

Inko’s face paled, her smile gone entirely, replaced with something unreadable. She opened her mouth, as if to speak, but Izuku cut her off, his voice rising.

“You—my own mother—kept me in the dark while I lived my whole life thinking I was safe, thinking I was normal. All the while, the truth was staring you in the face! Do you have any idea how that feels? To realize your entire childhood was built on a lie?”

All Might shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting between them, feeling the weight of the moment, while Inko’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“I—” she started, her voice shaky, “I only wanted to keep you safe—” inko tried, lying through her teeth.

“You wanted to protect me?” Izuku interrupted, his words sharp as knives. “By lying to me?! By making me believe my father was gone? You didn’t protect me—you robbed me of the chance to understand who I really was, to prepare myself for what might come!”

The kitchen was suffocating, the tension thick as smoke, as mother and son stared each other down, years of hidden truths finally crashing into the light. All Might remained silent, his expression grim, knowing there was no easy way to soften this blow.

Inko straightened, her shoulders rigid, chin high, her voice sharp and icy. “Protect you? Don’t twist my words, Izuku!” she snapped, her glare cutting.

“Do you have any idea what it was like raising you alone? Do you think I had the luxury to hand you the truth like it was a toy? Your father left me with nothing—a baby, no money, no support—and you think lying to you was easy?!”

Her hands clenched at her sides, but her tone held no remorse, only accusation. “I did what I had to! I raised you. I fed you. I put a roof over your head. And now you have the nerve to stand there and judge me, acting like that wasnt enough!?”

Izuku’s jaw tightened, fists trembling at his sides. “That’s not what I’m saying! I’m not blaming you for poorly raising me! I’m blaming you for lying to me, for keeping me in the dark about who I really am! You left me powerless to face the truth of my own life, my own father, my own quirk!”

Inko’s eyes narrowed, her lips curling into a bitter smile. “And what would you have done, huh? Run off and meet him? Become his pawn? My choices kept you alive, boy. Don’t you dare act like I’m the villain here when i kept you from being one!”

Izuku’s breath hitched, anger and frustration coiling tight in his chest. He stared at her, green eyes blazing with a mixture of hurt and defiance, knowing that no words could bridge the chasm between them—but still, he needed her to understand.

Izuku’s fists clenched at his sides, his chest tight with anger and frustration. Inko’s words, sharp and bitter, burned through him like acid. He could feel the blood rushing to his head, the mix of betrayal and fury coiling tighter with every word she spat.

“I-i cant do this...”, he spun on his heel and stormed toward the stairs. The floorboards screeched beneath his weight as he raced past the kitchen, ignoring Inko’s shouted protests. He reached his room, yanking the door closed with a slam that rattled the frame. He leaned against it, breathing heavily, his hands trembling as he tried to control the whirlwind of emotion inside him.

After a moment, his resolve hardened. He needed someone who understood him—someone who always had.

Izuku stared at his phone, his thumb hovering over the screen. Only two contacts stared back at him: Mum… and Kacchan.

His chest tightened. What was he doing? He had just started to reconnect with Kacchan—he couldn’t dump all of this on him. But he needed to breathe. He needed to tell someone. The thoughts buzzing in his head wouldn’t leave him alone, clawing at him relentlessly.

Swallowing hard, he made his decision. He grabbed his phone, threw open his bedroom window, and slipped out into the cool night air. Heart pounding, he sprinted through the streets he knew so well, the wind whipping past him, adrenaline driving his legs.

By the time he reached Kacchan’s house, he was gasping for breath. He pressed his finger against the call button and waited.

Bakugo picked up after just one ring.

“Deku?! What? Why the hell are you calling me?” His voice, sharp as ever, carried a strange undercurrent of calm that made Izuku’s chest tighten with relief.

“I’m… I’m outside,” Izuku stammered, his voice trembling. “Please… let me in. I—I need you.”

There was a pause on the other end, and then the unmistakable sound of a door swinging open. Moments later, Bakugo’s eyes appeared in the doorway, wide and unguarded, painted with frantic concern. Without a word, he grabbed Izuku’s hand and tugged him along.

They moved quickly through the house, Izuku stumbling to keep up, until they reached Bakugo’s dimly lit bedroom. The door clicked shut behind them, cutting out the rest of the world. Bakugo let go of his hand but didn’t take a step back, his crimson eyes scanning Izuku’s face with a mix of suspicion and worry.

“Alright, Deku… spill it. What the hell’s got you running to my house at this hour?” Bakugo demanded, his voice rough and impatient, but there was a tension beneath it that betrayed genuine concern.

Izuku’s voice cracked the moment he opened his mouth, words tumbling out in a torrent of panic, guilt, and fear. He poured everything out—the sludge monster, how he blamed himself for Bakugo getting caught because he ran away in the classroom, how it had led him straight into danger in the city. He told him about Allmight, about being offered the Symbol of Peace’s quirk, and how he had explained his own ability in return.

His hands shook as he recounted the painful truths about his past, his villain father, and how his mother had lied to him about it all. He avoided the parts about her neglect—he couldn’t bear to put that weight on anyone yet—but the raw grief and confusion poured from him anyway.

“I…I just…want to be a hero, Kacchan! I didn’t want any of this!” he choked out, his sobs shaking his frame. “I didn’t want to be made for some villain’s purpose… I just wanted to be a hero… with you!”

Bakugo didn’t say anything at first. He let the words hit him, let Izuku tremble in front of him, soaking in the pain and desperation. And then, almost instinctively, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around him. Hesitant at first, then firmer, tightening as if holding on would keep the world from breaking apart.

Izuku collapsed into him, burying his face against Bakugo’s chest, shoulders shuddering as he let the tears fall freely. “I feel…so lost, Kacchan. I don’t know what to do… I don’t know how to fix this…”

Bakugo’s hands pressed against his back, strong and grounding. “Shut the hell up and listen, Deku,” he muttered, voice low but steady. “You’re not alone. You hear me? Not alone. We’ll figure it out—together. Got it?”

Izuku nodded against him, muffled sobs breaking through as relief and comfort finally cut through some of the fear. For the first time in years, he felt like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t fighting this all by himself.

Bakugo grabbed Izuku by the chin, forcing him to meet his gaze. His touch was firm, unyielding, but not harsh—just enough to make Izuku look up at him.

“Deku,” Bakugo growled, his crimson eyes locked onto Izuku’s tear-glossed greens. “I know you better than anyone. you could never be a villain. Not now, not ever. Don’t even think for a second that anyone could ever turn you into one.”

He leaned closer, voice dropping, rough and edged with a rare softness. “You face everything that comes at you head-on, grinning like it’s nothing, like it’s second nature.”

“Your guts, your drive—they’re insane. You throw yourself into the fire without a second thought so others dont have to. Hell, Allmight himself couldn’t even come close to the hero you are gonna be.”

Bakugo’s hands tightened slightly on Izuku’s shoulders, grounding him.

“So what if your dad is some monster? That doesn’t change a damn thing about you or everything you’ve already done. If he thought you’d turn into a villain… he dug his own grave. You’ve got the kind of quirk—the kind of heart—that proves he was wrong. You are what you make of yourself, Deku.”

He let the words hang, gruff but steady, letting the weight of his conviction press into Izuku without needing to soften it further.

Izuku’s eyes widened as his chest tightened at Kacchan’s words. His heart thudded in a way that felt both foreign and electric.

“Besides, you have me now. And you bet your ass I ain’t gonna let anyone near you. Not over my dead body.” bakugo growled.

For a fleeting second, Izuku let himself dwell on the weight behind those words—maybe, just maybe, they meant more than he dared admit.

He could feel the heat of Bakugo’s gaze, the raw intensity that always made him feel both terrified and alive.

His mind, despite itself, wandered to impossible things: what it would be like if Bakugo’s protection wasn’t just concern… if it was something more, something personal, something only for him. Partners. Lovers. 

The thought made his stomach twist, both thrilling and infuriating, it was a silly thought really—he’d just gotten him back, and here he was, trying to mess it all up again.

He blinked, trying to push it away, forcing himself to focus.

‘This is enough,’ he thought to himself, almost defensively. ‘Just having him back, having him as my friend—that’s more than I could’ve hoped for. After all… it was Kacchan. There was no one better than Kacchan.’

And yet, even as he thought it, the tension lingered in the space between them—unspoken, palpable, a slow burn that neither of them dared to name aloud, yet both felt it in the quickened pulse, in the way Bakugo’s hand lingered a moment longer than necessary on his shoulder, in the quiet crackle of heat and unvoiced need that hovered just beneath the surface.

___

Izuku’s thoughts were still spinning, a mix of gratitude, fear, and that strange, fluttering feeling he couldn’t quite name. He shifted awkwardly on the edge of Bakugo’s bed, trying to process everything that had happened—the sludge incident, the revelations about his father, All Might, and the uneasy truth with his mother.

Bakugo, sitting cross-armed on the floor nearby, watched him with a mixture of irritation and something softer he’d never admit out loud. “Quit fidgeting, Deku. You’re acting like a damn squirrel on caffeine,” he muttered, though there was a softness in his tone that Izuku didn’t miss.

“I-I just… I can’t stop thinking,” Izuku admitted quietly, his voice small, almost childlike.

Bakugo grunted, leaning back on his elbows. “Then shut your eyes for a sec. Stop overthinking. You’re gonna wear yourself out before we even start training tomorrow.”

Izuku hesitated, blinking up at him, but the exhaustion from the day, the weight of everything he’d endured, made him pliable. He let out a shaky breath and slowly lay down on the bed, careful not to get too comfotable at first.

Bakugo raised an eyebrow, his usual frown in place, but didn’t move. “Don’t get comfortable,” as if reading izuku’s thoughts he warned, though the edge in his voice had dulled.

Izuku smiled faintly, a mixture of relief and lingering anxiety, and curled up, resting his head on the pillow. The steady presence of Bakugo in the room, that protective, gruff energy, felt grounding. Within minutes, the tremor in his body eased, and his heavy eyelids finally gave way.

Bakugo watched him for a moment, silent and tense, before shaking his head slightly. “You’re ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath—but he didn’t move, didn’t shoo him off. And somewhere deep down, even he admitted—though never out loud—that he didn’t want to.

The room grew quiet, broken only by Izuku’s slow, even breathing as he drifted into a much-needed sleep. Bakugo stayed nearby, alert and watchful, the faintest tension lingering in the air between them—but now, it was the kind of tension that promised protection, closeness, and maybe, just maybe, something more.

Bakugo shifted his weight slightly as he carefully laid down on his bed. Looking at izuku's soft lips and wispy lashes in want, he wondered what it would be like to wake up every morning to them, to kiss those subtle lips and prominent freckles and know they belonged to him and him alone. 

He had known for a while that he loved izuku. But he had been in deep denial, because admitting it was admitting a vulnerability he didn’t trust anyone with, not even himself. 

He didn't care that he was gay. That didn't faze him one bit. No, he cared that out of every man in the whole world; he had to fall in love with the most complicated one of them all. 

For the longest time, he couldn't process his feelings for the boy, resulting in bullying him just to stay close, just so he would know what he was doing and when. He ruled over izuku so no one else would come near. So that when he finally did get the courage to tell him—if he ever would—no one would get in his way. 

But on the rooftop earlier that day, everything had spilled out.

His walls, his control, his carefully buried feelings—they’d all bled into the open, and he hadn’t stopped them. Not that he wanted to. He had come so close to telling Izuku exactly how he felt, to stripping away all the restraint and admitting the truth.

But he hadn’t. He’d decided to wait. It was too fresh, too raw, and he knew he needed patience.

If Izuku truly wanted him, he would come willingly, and Bakugo would give himself away without hesitation.

He wouldn’t force it—not on Izuku, who bent over backwards to please everyone, who would never act out of selfish desire. Bakugo wanted honesty. Pure, unfiltered choice.

So he would wait. And if it never came… then he would accept that too. After all, it was Izuku. There was no one better than Izuku.

Chapter Text

The sun cut through Bakugo's curtains, landing right in his face. He growled under his breath and tried to roll over, only to realize he couldn't move. Something heavy and warm was wrapped tight around his middle.

"The hell...?" he muttered, blinking blearily before the memories of yesterday came flooding back.

His scowl twitched, almost breaking into something softer when he glanced down. Damn nerd. Deku had latched onto him like a damn koala, arms locked tight around his torso, his whole body pressed against his back.

"Tch... figures," Bakugo hissed, trying to peel himself free, but Deku's grip only tightened in his sleep. Bakugo let out a short, irritated huff, though the corner of his mouth tugged upward despite himself. The idiot was basically choking him out, and yet... he couldn't bring himself to shove him off.

With a sharp exhale, Bakugo rolled his eyes. Struggling wasn't getting him anywhere, so instead he shifted, twisting in Deku's chokehold until they were face to face.

"Dumbass..." he muttered under his breath, but the word came out softer than he meant it to.

They were close—too close. His nose nearly brushed Deku's, and he froze. He could feel the steady warmth of his breath, could see how relaxed his face looked for once. No muttering, no panicking. Just... calm.

Bakugo swallowed hard, forcing down the strange kick in his chest. Carefully, he pried one hand free, hesitating only a second before shoving it lightly into Deku's mop of green hair. It was meant to be rough, a quick way to wake him up—but Deku didn't stir.

"...Hah." Bakugo's voice was a low grunt, but his hand slowed anyway. His fingers sank into the messy strands, and despite himself, he lingered. The softness was unfair, a direct contrast to the callouses of his palm. It twisted something deep in his chest, something he knew all too well.

Izuku stirred, nudging closer into the warmth of Bakugo's hand. His lashes fluttered, and his voice—low, rough with sleep—slipped out before he could stop it.

"...Don't stop. I like it."

Bakugo jerked like he'd been burned, yanking his hand back on instinct. But Deku's eyes cracked open, wide and green and too damn honest, and the words hung in the air between them. Bakugo grit his teeth, hesitating, before his hand moved again—slower this time, dragging through messy green strands.

Izuku's breath hitched, his cheeks heating as his gaze dropped. "S-sorry, Kacchan... you don't have to, if you don't want to..."

"Tch." Bakugo scoffed, trying to hide the way his ears burned. "Shut up, nerd. 's soft, that's all." His voice was gruff, but his fingers lingered anyway, threading through the hair like he couldn't stop himself.

When Izuku finally dared to peek up at him, eyes bright and cheeks pink, Bakugo's chest clenched hard enough to make him freeze. Their gazes locked—too close, too much. Cursing under his breath, he ripped his hand back like he'd been caught stealing, but Izuku's body moved before his mind could catch up. 

He shifted closer, closing the tiny gap between them, his fingers curling into the sheets like he was anchoring himself.

"I-it's fine, Kacchan... I didn't mean to make it weird," Izuku mumbled, but his chest betrayed him—pressing faintly against Bakugo's arm, leaning into the space he wasn't supposed to take. His cheeks burned, his heart thundering so loud he swore Bakugo could hear it.

Bakugo stiffened. "Deku—"

"I just..." Izuku cut in, voice cracking under the weight of everything he couldn't say. His hand twitched like it wanted to reach out, like it wanted to grab Bakugo's, but he froze halfway. "...I didn't hate it...Not at all."

His words were quiet, but the way his body stayed close—too close—spoke louder.

Bakugo's jaw worked, sharp eyes searching Izuku's flushed face. Every instinct screamed to shove him back, to bark something scathing, to cover up the wildfire building in his chest. But for once, he didn't. He just sat there, rigid, while Izuku's nearness burned against him. He forced his face blank, like nothing had happened at all.

"Tch. You're makin' it sound like a big deal," he muttered, leaning back just enough to look casual, though the tips of his ears betrayed him, faintly red. "It was just me messin' with your hair. Don't overthink it, nerd."

Izuku blinked, startled by the dismissal, though the warmth still lingered on his scalp where Bakugo's hand had been. His heart didn't slow, not even a little.

Bakugo crossed his arms and flopped back onto the pillow, eyes on the ceiling as if the conversation was over. But he couldn't relax, every nerve on edge from how close Izuku still was. He told himself to ignore it, to treat it like nothing, because hell if he knew what else to do.

Izuku stayed quiet, but the way his fingers inched along the blanket, just barely brushing against Bakugo's arm, made it clear it wasn't nothing to him.

Acting like he didn't notice, Bakugo grumbled, "Do you wanna start training today? I mean, it's Saturday and I got nothin' better to do..." He shrugged like it was no big deal, eyes flicking anywhere but at Izuku.

Izuku blinked, caught off guard. "T-training? Already?" His voice cracked with surprise, and he instantly hated himself for it.

"Don't sound so damn shocked, nerd," Bakugo shot back, glaring at him just enough to cover the heat crawling up his neck. "You said you wanted to get stronger, right? Or were you just talkin' outta your ass?"

Izuku shook his head quickly, cheeks still pink from earlier. "N-no, I do! I mean... yes! Training would be... really good." His words tripped over themselves, but his eyes shone with something that made Bakugo's chest clench.

"Tch. Then it's settled," Bakugo muttered, throwing the blanket off and sitting up. "Don't think I'm goin' easy on you just 'cause you're a crybaby. If you're serious about bein' a hero, I'll beat that weak crap outta you."

Despite the harsh words, Izuku smiled—small, but real. 

___

Izuku went home to get dressed, avoiding his mother at all costs as he slipped through his window, picked out a casual gym outfit and slipped back out undetected. The air outside felt lighter, easier to breathe than inside those walls.

He made it back to Kacchan's house and raised his phone to his ear—but before he could even press the call button, the door creaked open. Bakugo was already there, leaning against the porch steps like he'd been waiting the whole time.

"Took you long enough, nerd," Bakugo muttered, crossing his arms. His expression was sharp, but there was something restless in his stance—like he'd been pacing before Izuku showed up.

Izuku froze, phone still half-raised. "...You were waiting for me?"

"Don't make it sound weird," Bakugo snapped, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

Izuku opened his mouth to respond but let it soften into a sweet smile. "Thankyou,"

Bakugo clicked his tongue and looked away. "Shut up and let's get movin'. You said you're serious about training, so don't make me regret wastin' my Saturday on you."

Izuku nodded quickly, jogging to catch up as Bakugo started down the street. For the first time in a long while, the heaviness in his chest didn't feel quite so suffocating.

Bakugo led the way down the street, his hands stuffed into his pockets and his usual scowl plastered across his face. Izuku trailed close behind, clutching his backpack straps. The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable, but Izuku kept sneaking glances at him, wondering where exactly Kacchan was taking him.

"You're walking too slow, damn nerd," Bakugo grumbled without looking back.

"S-sorry! Just... trying to keep up."

"Tch." Bakugo sped up anyway, forcing Izuku to jog a little to stay beside him. They wound through the backstreets, away from the main roads, until the city noise dulled.

After a while, Izuku piped up, "So... where are we going?"

"Somewhere no one'll bother us. Last thing we need is some extra running their mouth about us blowing stuff up."

Izuku gave a nervous laugh but nodded. He trusted Bakugo, even if he sometimes questioned why.

They rounded a corner near an empty lot, overgrown with weeds and half-collapsed concrete walls—the kind of forgotten space that kids usually claimed as their own. But before Bakugo could declare it "good enough," a familiar, booming voice rang out.

"YOUNG MIDORIYA! YOUNG BAKUGO!"

Both boys froze, whipping their heads toward the sound. Standing at the far end of the lot was none other than All Might—well, the skeletal version of him—hunched slightly but still grinning wide as he waved an arm.

Bakugo's eyes narrowed. "The hell's he doin' here, thats allmight right?"

Izuku's stomach dropped. "A-All Might?! How did—?!"

The Symbol of Peace strode over, surprisingly light on his feet despite his frame. "What a coincidence, finding the two of you here! I was just searching for a... quiet place myself, and lo and behold—two promising young heroes in the making!"

Bakugo bristled, glaring suspiciously. "Quit actin' like this is some dumb fairy tale. You followed us, didn't you?"

All Might only laughed, though there was a flicker in his eyes that betrayed he wasn't denying it. "Perhaps fate has a way of bringing the right people together at the right time..."

Izuku fidgeted, his chest tight. Yesterday's talk still lingered in his head like a storm cloud.

Bakugo noticed. "Hey," he muttered low, leaning toward Izuku. "Don't let him get to you. If you wanna train, we'll train. No one's stoppin' us."

All Might's grin softened as he overheard. "Then... allow me to lend my guidance. You're both walking paths that will change the future of heroes. If you'll allow it, I'd be honored to supervise."

Izuku's heart leapt at the offer. Bakugo just clicked his tongue, but he didn't say no.

___

The three of them sat in a rough circle on the cracked concrete, the silence filled with distant city noise and the occasional chirp of birds nesting in the broken walls.

Izuku fidgeted with the straps of his backpack, then finally blurted out, "I—I told him everything you told me." His words spilled into the open air before he could second-guess himself. He met All Might's eyes earnestly, emerald green full of determination. "Because I trust him. And he also knows about my quirk. He's a good person, I promise."

Bakugo stiffened beside him, bristling. "Deku—" he started, but Izuku pressed on.

"I know I shouldn't have said anything without asking you first, but... I couldn't keep it from him. Not after everything that happened. He deserves to know."

Bakugo's jaw tightened, and he folded his arms across his chest, glaring at the ground. "Like hell I need him vouchin' for me."

All Might's smile faltered just a fraction. He studied Bakugo for a long moment, his eyes narrowing—not in malice, but in thought. "Young Bakugo," he said slowly, his voice carrying that steady weight of authority, "are you truly ready to shoulder such a truth? The knowledge you've been entrusted with could endanger you both."

"Tch. Like I give a damn." Bakugo met his gaze head-on, unflinching. "I'm not some weakling who's gonna run my mouth or back down. He told me because he knows I can handle it. And I can."

Izuku's breath caught. He wasn't sure if it was the fierceness in Bakugo's voice or the way he said it so simply, as if there had never been another option.

All Might let the silence stretch, then nodded once, a deep and thoughtful dip of his head. "Very well. Trust is a rare gift. If you've chosen to extend it, Young Midoriya, and if you've chosen to carry it, Young Bakugo... then I will respect it."

Relief washed over Izuku so strongly his shoulders slumped. He glanced at Bakugo, whose scowl hadn't budged, but the way his knee brushed lightly against his own said more than his words ever could.

For a moment the silence hung heavy. All Mights' grin spread, sharp and knowing. He was satisfied. The fire in the boy's eyes told him everything—midorya was safe.

But then All Might's smile faded, his towering presence softening into something heavier, more human. He glanced between the two boys, then fixed his gaze on Izuku.

"There's... more I need to say," he began, his voice low. "Young Midoriya, I owe you an apology. The way things unfolded with your mother... the questions, the truths dragged out—I should've handled it differently. I pushed too hard, too fast. That pain is on me."

Izuku blinked, startled. For a moment, he almost wanted to wave it off. But the sincerity etched across All Might's gaunt features made his throat tighten.

He drew a shaky breath and shook his head. "It is what it is, All Might. My mom—she made her choices. And my father being who he is..." His fists clenched in his lap, but his eyes sharpened, fierce. "None of that changes me. None of it defines who I am."

Bakugo's sharp gaze burned toward him, studying his profile, the familiar fire returning to Izuku's tone.

Izuku's voice steadied, iron beneath the softness. "Only I can decide what I am. And I'm going to be a hero. No matter what blood runs in my veins, no matter what anyone says—I'll prove it with everything I have."

For a long moment, All Might simply stared at him, lips pressed tight, as if weighing the boy's entire soul. Then, slowly, he smiled—tired, proud, almost bittersweet.

"Then, Young Midoriya," he said, with a wry chuckle, "it's time I asked you properly. Will you accept my quirk? Will you inherit One For All?"

Izuku's breath caught. His heart thundered in his chest as the weight of the question settled over him. He glanced at Bakugo—who gave a small scoff and rolled his eyes, but didn't look away.

"I'll take it," Izuku said firmly, his voice clear despite the tremor in his chest. "Not because it's yours, or because of who my father is, but because this is my path. My future. My choice."

All Might's grin widened, even in his frail form. "Well said, my boy."

All Might, already smiling like he'd known Izuku's answer before he even asked, let out a hearty chuckle and reached into his coat. He pulled out a folded sheet of paper, the corners slightly crumpled, and handed it to Izuku with a flourish.

"This," he declared proudly, "is your training regimen. It'll push you to your limits, but if anyone can handle it, it's you."

Izuku's eyes went wide as he carefully unfolded the paper, scanning the neatly written instructions and diagrams like they were sacred scripture. His face flushed with excitement and determination all at once.

"And don't worry," All Might added with a wink, turning his gaze toward Bakugo, "I'll draft one for you as well, young Bakugo. After all... you two seem rather inseparable these days."

Bakugo stiffened instantly, bristling. "Tch—don't make it sound weird, old man! I'm just not letting this idiot out-train me. He's not leaving me in the dust." His glare darted toward Izuku, though there was no real bite to it.

Izuku ducked his head, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks despite himself. He clutched the paper to his chest and bowed slightly. "Th-thank you, All Might! I won't let you down!"

All Might's grin softened into something warmer, almost fatherly. "You already haven't, my boy. Both of you."

The three of them sat there for a moment in companionable silence, the weight of what had just been decided lingering in the air—but with it came a spark of excitement, of hope. The future was no longer a distant dream. It was right there, waiting for them.

___

Once the contacts, schedules, and meal plans were finalized, the air shifted. All Might's booming voice dropped into something grave, stripped of its usual warmth. His expression hardened as he revealed the truth—of One For All, the power that had been passed down through generations, and of the shadow that hunted it. The villain who sought to claim everything for himself.

The name landed like a curse. All For One.

Izuku's chest clenched, his breath catching as the world tilted. That monster—his father? The thought curdled his stomach. For a heartbeat, it threatened to crush him beneath its weight.

But then, just as quickly, fire caught in his lungs. Blood meant nothing. Family wasn't decided by genes or scars left behind. All For One had never been, and never would be, a father to him.

His hands curled into fists, knuckles whitening, and he forced himself to meet All Might's gaze. "I don't care if he's my father," Izuku said, his voice steady even as his heart thundered. "He's just another villain. And I'll stop him. No matter what it takes."

He felt, rather than saw, Bakugo at his side. When he turned, their eyes met—emerald green and blazing crimson. No words passed between them, but they didn't need them.

In that moment, their resolve aligned. Fierce. Unyielding.

This ends with us.

___

When All Might finally left, the weight of his words still clung to the night air like smoke. Neither Izuku nor Bakugo spoke much as they started the walk back to Bakugo's house. It was almost unspoken at this point; Izuku would be staying over again.

Bakugo told himself it was because things with Inko were shaky right now, that giving Izuku space from home was the best option. That was the kind of excuse he could live with—practical, simple, no strings attached.

But Izuku knew better. Knew the truth was harsher. That was just how his mother had become. Somewhere along the way, she'd stopped offering warmth, stopped offering comfort. Izuku couldn't even remember the last time he'd felt it—not since his fourth birthday. Every night after that had been colder, lonelier, as if she'd slowly pulled herself further and further away.

Bakugo didn't press. He didn't need to. The silence told him more than words ever could—the way Izuku's shoulders curled inward, the way his gaze stuck to the pavement like he was afraid of looking up.

Bakugo shoved his hands in his pockets, jaw tight. "Tch. You're an idiot, y'know that?" he muttered, not looking at him. "Walking around like it's your damn fault. You don't gotta explain anything to me, Deku. I get it."

The words were rough, but the steadiness in his voice was enough to ease the ache in Izuku's chest, just a little.

___

When they got back to Bakugo's house, the two of them headed straight upstairs. Within minutes, they were sprawled out on his bed, talking over possible designs for their future hero costumes—anything to distract themselves from the heaviness of All Might's earlier revelation. Izuku had even brought his precious Hero Analysis book, pages already filled with detailed notes and sketches to make their ideas more efficient.

Bakugo's eyes narrowed the moment he saw it. A grimace tugged at his mouth as memories of the day before resurfaced, but curiosity got the better of him. "So what's with that thing, anyway? Tch... kinda creepy, knowing all that shit about people."

Izuku winced, scratching at the back of his neck. "Well... in class, the lessons were always so easy, I'd finish the questions in minutes. So I started these books to get better at analysis. I mean—you know I've always been fascinated by quirks, Kacchan. Honestly, I'm shocked you're surprised." He gave a weak laugh but it fell flat. "But... yeah, I guess you're right it is a little creepy how detailed it all is..." His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, shoulders drawing in. Bakugo's words had made him uncomfortable.

Bakugo clicked his tongue, looking away like the sight of the notebook physically annoyed him. "Yeah, it's creepy as fuck. You're a damn nerd, always have been."

Izuku flinched a little, but didn't argue.

After a beat, Bakugo sighed through his nose and added, quieter, "But... it's also the only reason you're still standing here. You don't just watch quirks—you break 'em down. Hell, half the time you're three steps ahead before anyone else's figured out what's happening. That crap might look obsessive, but it's why you'll actually make it as a hero."

He shoved his hands in his pockets, scowling. "So don't act like you gotta be ashamed of it. Just... don't look let any villains get their hands on it, 'k dumbass?"

Izuku let out a quiet laugh, the tension in his chest loosening slightly. Bakugo's eyes softened—barely noticeable—before he reached over and ruffled Izuku's hair, rough but careful.

"There. Better. Now quit lookin' like a kicked puppy and focus on these damn costume ideas before I lose my patience."

Izuku ducked his head, trying to hide the faint smile tugging at his lips. Even under all the sharp edges, Bakugo's presence felt like a shield, a steady warmth in the middle of everything that threatened to pull him apart. Somehow, he always managed to make things feel safer—even when he was yelling.

___

Izuku flipped through his Hero Analysis book, pointing at sketches and notes. "If we put reinforced padding here, it'll protect your joints without slowing you down. And maybe some ventilation near your—"

"Tch, nerd, don't tell me what to do," Bakugo interrupted, arms crossed, though a spark of curiosity lit his eyes. "I don't need ventilation. I'm already fast enough."

"Yeah, but if you're blasting constantly, you'll overheat," Izuku countered, trying not to smile at Bakugo's grumpy scowl.

Bakugo snorted. "Overheat? Im not some helpless dog trapped in a car. Who even taught you this stuff?" bakugo teased before he caught a glimpse of the page, His smirk faltered.

It was his page.

He stared, frozen, at the sketch. It was him—exactly him—but not in any pose he had ever struck. Izuku had drawn him entirely from memory. Every line, every muscle, every subtle detail captured with precision. Bakugo's chest tightened as he realised just how much Izuku had observed without him noticing. Attributes he'd never consciously revealed were all there, laid bare, meticulously noted.

His weaknesses, his disadvantages—all scrawled in neat, analytical handwriting—exposed for anyone to see.

Bakugo swallowed hard, a mix of awe and disbelief churning in his gut. He really couldn't hide anything from that boy.

"Deku...this...this is amazing!" he breathed, blinking at him in astonishment at the sheer amount of thought and detail he had described him in, he could tell izuku spent more time and care on his pages than any other and it secretly made his heart swell, a warmth spreading through him.

Izuku gawked, a mix of disbelief and excitement bubbling up. "You-you really think it's good?!" A rare, genuine smile tugged at Bakugo's lips. "Of course it's good, dumbass," he said, the words rough around the edges but sincere.

Their bickering over the book carried on until it naturally shifted back into the talk of hero costumes, bakugo found himself continuously referring to izukus notes, muttering insults even as he copied down half the ideas. 

Izuku, grinning despite himself, pointed out that he should build some sort of arm gauntlet to store his sweat- something that would let him set off even larger explosions with pinpoint precision. 

Bakugo begrudgingly took the idea as his own and incorporated it into his costume design, grumbling a 'thanks' under his breath, shocking izuku.

Over the months, they trained relentlessly, pushing each other to grow stronger while also getting closer. Side by side, they learned to lean into their trust in one another, anticipated each other's movements, and refined their fighting styles under All Might's careful guidance.

Though their regimen wasn't all sparring and strategy sessions. They spent long hours at Takoba Municipal Beach Park, hauling trash and tidying the grounds—a gruelling way to build endurance, strength, and muscle mass. Sweat, sunburn, and laughter became part of their routine, a rhythm they both came to rely on.

By the end of the 7th month, Izuku's body had transformed. Weeks of dedication, intense training, and his own tinkering—editing his DNA with Glitch—had brought him to peak condition, ready to accept allmights quirk safely and efficiently. Bakugo, watching him, couldn't hide a rare look of approval mixed with pride. Together, they weren't just growing stronger—they were becoming unstoppable.

Chapter Text

The next day, All Might met them on the newly cleared beach, grinning proudly at the progress they had made—finishing three months earlier than he had expected.

He informed Izuku of the process: he would have to eat one of All Might's hairs to consume his DNA. He explained that it would take around a day to kick in and pulled out one of his golden blonde hairs, offering it to him like a birthday gift.

Izuku agreed hesitantly, staring at the hair like it was a wriggling worm. 'Let's just get this over with...' he muttered, grimacing as he shoved it into his mouth. The texture made him gag, and he almost spat it out—but a shove to his shoulder cut through his nausea. 'Quit whining, Deku! You're not scared of a little hair, are you? C'mon, swallow it already!'

With Bakugo's teasing glare drilling into him, Izuku clenched his jaw, forced himself to gulp, and swallowed the disgusting strand, trying not to think about it as his stomach churned in protest. Lucky for him, he had skipped breakfast that morning.

Not even seconds later, he lit up—fiery red lines snaking up his arms, scorching through his veins, spreading across his body like wildfire. The power fought with his quirk, writhing, clawing, desperate to dominate, and he could feel every pulse, every strike of it as if it were tearing him apart from the inside.

His skin screamed, every nerve ending on fire. His ears rang, splitting in pitch as sounds he hadn't noticed before—the rustle of leaves, the heartbeat of a bird—hammered into his skull. He stumbled, falling to the ground, trembling violently as his quirk writhed, reshaping itself, stretching, expanding, forcing his body to adapt to All Might's overwhelming power.

Every sense betrayed him. His eyes burned so fiercely it felt like molten shards were digging into his sockets. Blood welled in the corners, stinging as tears streamed down his face. The smell of everything—iron, sweat, sand, even the faintest trace of seaweed—was raw, intrusive, unrelenting. His skin itched and burned all at once. Pain and overstimulation clashed in his chest. He wanted it to stop. He begged it to stop.

Then the world fractured.

Air wouldn't enter his lungs. Darkness swallowed his vision. Noise became a vacuum in his ears. Smells and textures evaporated. His body went numb. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't see. He couldn't hear. He couldn't smell. He couldn't feel anything. The agony didn't vanish—it hollowed him.

Then, suddenly, a man with long white hair appeared before him, stepping softly out of the endless darkness. Despite the void surrounding him, his presence radiated a gentle warmth, calm and comforting, like a guiding light in the dark.

 "Hello, nephew," he said, his voice tender and steady, carrying a quiet kindness that eased the tension in Izuku's chest. "I dont have long but we needed to tell you. We are amazed at your progress. You have unlocked seventy percent of this quirk already, and you have only just received it. I look forward to watching it grow with you as its new—and final—holder. We know who you are izuku...and we are proud of you. Until we meet again, 9th."

Izuku's eyes flew open, his chest heaving as if he'd just surfaced from drowning. The first thing he saw was Kacchan—hovering over him, crimson eyes wide, raw with panic and something izuku never thought he would see: fear.

He dragged in a shaky breath, wiping sweat from his brow. 'What... what was that?' The thought barely formed before he was knocked flat against the sand as Bakugo crushed him into a fierce, trembling hug.

"Are you okay?!" Bakugo's voice cracked, frantic and unsteady. "What the fuck was that, Deku?! You just collapsed—screaming, thrashing—we couldn't stop you! Me and All Might had to hold you down!" His grip tightened, as if letting go meant Izuku would slip away again.

Izuku blinked up at him, still dazed, his body trembling from the aftermath. Bakugo's arms were like iron around him, grounding him even as his chest still burned.

"Kacchan..." His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. "I... I don't know what happened. It felt—like my whole body was tearing apart. Th-there was a man with long white hair...he called me nephew! He said something about me being the 9th of something and that I had unlocked seventy percent of the quirk... I-i can't remember much else" His eyes darted away, guilt flickering across his face. "I'm sorry I scared you."

Izuku's words barely left his lips before Bakugo's grip tightened, pulling him in even closer. No shouting, no insults—just silence. His forehead pressed against Izuku's shoulder, his breath ragged and uneven.

For once, he didn't try to hide it. He didn't let go.

Izuku's chest tightened at the rare stillness from him. Carefully, he let his hand rest against Bakugo's back, grounding them both. In the quiet, the crash of the waves against the beach seemed distant, almost unreal.

Kacchan was trembling.

And that said more than any words ever could.

All Might stood a few steps away, his towering frame unusually still. For once, the proud grin was gone, replaced by an expression shadowed with worry. He had seen many things in his life, but watching izuku convulse and scream as his power tore through him had rattled even him.

Now, as Bakugo held Izuku like his life depended on it, All Might didn't step in. He didn't speak. He simply watched—broad shoulders tense, hands curling and uncurling at his sides—because he knew this was something he couldn't fix with strength alone.

Still, his eyes softened. He saw Bakugo's trembling, Izuku's shaking hand on his friend's back, and he felt a swell of pride and sorrow all at once. They're both just children... and yet they carry so much.

Finally, his voice broke the silence, low and careful.

"Young Midoriya... Young Bakugo... I owe you both an explanation."

Bakugo didn't move, and Izuku didn't try to pull away. The silence stretched until All Might finally stepped closer, his shadow falling over them. His eyes lingered on the red lines still faintly glowing across Izuku's skin before he let out a long, shaky breath.

"Young Midoriya... what happened just now..." He paused, as if weighing every word. "That wasn't supposed to happen. The transfer of power—it should have taken time to settle. Days, at least. But with you... It forced itself into your body all at once."

Izuku's breath hitched, his pulse still racing.

All Might crouched down, his voice quieter now, almost ashamed. "I've never seen anything like it. Not with my master... not with her predecessor. No one's body has ever reacted this violently." He clenched his fist against his knee, his jaw tight. "I don't know if it's because of your quirk, or because... this power sees something in you."

Bakugo's grip on Izuku tightened at that, his crimson eyes flicking up to glare at All Might. "So you didn't even fucking know this could happen?!" he spat, his voice low but shaking.

All Might's shoulders sagged, and for once, he had no booming reassurance to offer. "No. I didn't. My master said the power reacts differently with every holder. But I didn't think she meant this..."

Izuku's hands trembled against the sand, his whole body still humming with aftershocks of the pain. He stared at All Might, wide-eyed, his throat tight. ‘It wasn't supposed to happen? Then why... why me?’

He thought to himself as fear twisted in his gut, heavy and sharp, but then he felt Bakugo's grip tighten around him again. That trembling, desperate hold—Kacchan was scared, for him.

Izuku swallowed hard, forcing himself to steady his breathing. He wiped at his bloodshot eyes and sat up straighter, leaning into Bakugo's support even as his body screamed for rest.

"I... I'll be okay," he whispered, more for Kacchan than himself. Then, with more power and determination behind his voice: "No matter what it takes, I'll learn to handle this. If this power chose me, then I can't waste it. I won't waste it."

His chest still burned, his body felt like it was splitting at the seams—but he tried to smile, even if it wavered. "Kacchan... All Might... thank you. I'll get stronger. I promise."

Bakugo's jaw tightened as he stared at Izuku, crimson eyes still sharp but shadowed with something softer. "Tch..." he muttered, looking away, though his voice was quieter than usual. "You're such a damn nerd. Even half-dead, you're talking about getting stronger."

His arms loosened for a moment before tightening again as he grumbled, looking deep into his eyes. "...Just don't push yourself so far that you can't come back from it. K?"

For once, there was no bark, no explosion—just a low, reluctant warning that carried far more weight than his usual shouting ever did.

All Might had been silent, watching the exchange with his chest tight. Seeing Izuku weak, shaking, and still vowing to get stronger stirred a pride so fierce it almost hurt—but that pride was tangled with dread. He had heard what One For All could do to a body unprepared for it. And now, this boy—his successor—was already standing on the razor's edge.

He straightened slowly, his shadow long against the sand. His eyes softened, voice low but steady.

"Young Midoriya..." A faint smile tugged at his lips, though it didn't reach his eyes. "That spirit of yours... It's exactly why I chose you. But you must understand—this path is dangerous. More dangerous than even I imagined. And yet..." He exhaled, shaking his head in quiet awe. "You've already endured what would have broken countless others."

For a moment, the Symbol of Peace looked almost fragile, his gaze flicking between the boy who had inherited his power and the one who refused to let him go.

"Both of you... You remind me of why I still believe in the future."

With that final sentiment the beach fell quiet, save for the crash of distant waves. The world felt suspended, like even time itself was holding its breath.

Izuku leaned into Bakugo's steady hold, chest rising and falling in uneven bursts. Bakugo didn't let go, his hand still gripping the back of Izuku's shirt, anchoring him. Crimson eyes stayed fixed on him, softer now but no less intense.

All Might stood a pace away, towering but silent. Pride, fear, and hope all tangled in his expression, though he spoke no further words.

For a long while, none of them moved. The silence wasn't empty—it was heavy, weighted with everything they couldn't yet say. And in that fragile stillness, the three of them breathed together, each holding on in their own way.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy, until Izuku shifted slightly against Bakugo's hold. His body still ached, his head swam, but the weight of their gaze pressed harder than the pain.

"...K-Kacchan?" he rasped, glancing up weakly. "You're... uh... kinda crushing me."

For a beat, nothing—then Bakugo jerked back like he'd been burned, ears tinting red. "Tch—shut up, nerd! You should be grateful I didn't let you choke on your own tongue!"

All Might's lips twitched, the faintest chuckle escaping before he smothered it in his fist. The tension on the beach eased, just a little, like a storm cloud parting to let through a sliver of sun.

Izuku managed a shaky smile, still breathless, but softer now. "Thanks, Kacchan."

Bakugo didn't answer—but he didn't look away either.

In the next three months leading up to the U.A. entrance exam, they all worked together to help Izuku gain control over his quirk. Training was gruelling, but Izuku pushed himself harder than ever, determined not to waste the gift he'd been entrusted with. Ultimately deciding to try to only use one for all while at UA in case the government tried to pull something.

Along the way, he discovered something unexpected. Through meditation—quiet moments where he closed his eyes and let the noise of the world fall away—he found a strange clarity. When he drifted close to the edge, when he let himself almost die in that imagined stillness, he could connect more deeply with the layers of his power.

The days blurred together, a rhythm of sweat, bruises, and breakthroughs. At first, Izuku struggled—flickers of red energy sparking unpredictably across his skin, sending jolts of pain through his nerves. Bakugo cursed at him every time he collapsed, barking insults with clenched fists, but he was always the first to comfort him and drag him back to his feet.

All Might watched carefully, pride hidden behind his furrowed brow. He corrected Izuku's stances, forced him to breathe through the pain, and reminded him, again and again, that power without control was nothing but destruction.

Then Izuku began experimenting. Instead of letting the quirk flare up only when he needed it, he kept it alive constantly—a dim ember glowing beneath his skin, never snuffed out. At first, it exhausted him; he shook with fatigue after just an hour. But slowly, the ember grew steadier. His body adjusted. His mind adjusted.

The results showed. When he called on the quirk, it no longer erupted violently, dragging him back into that endless void. Instead it answered him. It moved with him. Though even though he had grasped control, he never did see that white haired man (whom allmight had concluded was the first vestige) again.

One evening, after a brutal spar, Izuku lay panting in the sand, faint red lines pulsing faintly along his arms. Bakugo dropped beside him, sweat dripping, scowling but unable to hide the flicker of awe in his eyes.

"Tch... finally got it through your thick skull, huh Deku? You're not fighting it anymore."

Izuku smiled weakly, his chest heaving. "No... we're fighting together."

All Might stood a little ways back, the fading sunset casting his shadow long across the beach. He said nothing at first, but his eyes softened, a rare and quiet pride shining there.

'Yes.' He thought 'He's mastered it faster than i did'

Chapter Text

The last evening before the exam, the three of them returned to the beach one final time. It no longer looked like the wasteland it once was—clean sand stretched for miles, the air fresh and open, a perfect reflection of Izuku and Bakugo's transformation.

Izuku stood at the shoreline, eyes closed, the sound of the waves filling his ears. A faint red glow threaded across his skin like molten veins, pulsing gently but steadily. He no longer shook under its weight. The ember burned within him, alive, but calm.

Bakugo watched from a few steps back, arms crossed. He scowled, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward as Izuku moved into a sprint. His footsteps thundered against the sand, the glow flaring brighter—controlled, sharp, precise. He launched himself upward, pulling a perfect back flip- the noon air cracking around him as the evening sun illuminated his form- before landing hard and steady, the sand beneath his feet barely disturbed. 

No collapse. No screaming. No void. Just raw, unhindered, power.

"fuckin' show off" Bakugo scoffed under his breath with a slight grin.

Izuku turned to them, panting, but smiling with a confidence that hadn't been there three months ago.

"All Might... Kacchan... I'm ready."

Bakugo clicked his tongue, but his crimson eyes burned with a fierce pride he didn't bother hiding.

All Might stood tall, his grin wide and proud once more, though his chest ached with the weight of what lay ahead. He looked at Izuku—the boy who had inherited his torch, who had bled and suffered and risen stronger each time.

"Young Midoriya," he said, voice booming but warm, "go show them who you are."

The glow beneath Izuku's skin pulsed brighter, steadier, as he nodded. Tomorrow would decide everything.

—

After waving goodbye to All Might, Izuku made his way home with Bakugo. 

Having argued with Inko for the last time; she had kicked him out. Telling him she 'couldn't put up with him anymore' and that she didn't want to live with a 'quirk-stealing, villainous child'.

So Izuku had trudged over to Kacchan's house with fresh tears spilling down his face. Mitsuki—Kacchan's mum—had been the one to open the door, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug, immediately giving him the motherly love he had craved for oh so long. 

From then on the Bakugo's had taken him in as their own and allowed him to live with them for as long as he needed. Izuku had sworn to himself that he would repay them for their kindness one day.

That night izuku and Kacchan climbed into bed together, just like they had every other night, tangling themselves in each other's warm embrace, telling themselves that this was 'normal', convincing themselves that it didn't mean anything.

 Except this time, they had the UA entrance exam on their minds. So as soon as they hit the mattress they were out like a light, no longer caring how tight they held each other, or how good it secretly felt.

—

The alarm had dragged them both out of bed at the crack of dawn, Bakugo grumbling the entire time as Izuku scrambled to match his pace. They threw on their chosen gym clothes, barely managing to shove breakfast down before bolting out the door. 

The run to U.A. had been almost anticlimactic—no hurdles, no chaos, nothing but the steady thud of their footsteps side by side, secretly revelling in each other's company.

They stopped at the gates with half an hour to spare, breathless but buzzing with energy.

Izuku tilted his head back, taking in the massive arch of U.A. High's entrance, and despite himself, he smiled. "Well, at least we won't be late!" he said, voice light with relief.

Bakugo shot him a look, clicking his tongue. "Tsk. Shut it, Deku," he snapped automatically, though the usual venom wasn't there. His glare was softer than usual, and the corner of his mouth twitched as though he was fighting back a smirk.

Izuku's grin only widened. He knew Kacchan too well—every bark, every bite, and every unspoken flicker of pride hiding behind those crimson eyes.

The gates loomed before them, the future waiting on the other side.

With time to spare, they decided to head straight to sign in. The halls of U.A. bustled with nervous energy—students lined up at desks, staff members checking names off lists, cameras flashing for ID photos.

Izuku couldn't stop grinning. Every step, every moment, felt surreal. He handed over his paperwork with trembling hands, his face lighting up as though he'd already won something just by being there. When it came time to snap his photo, his smile practically glowed, bright enough to make even the staff member behind the desk chuckle.

Bakugo stood beside him, arms crossed, trying to look as unimpressed as ever. But when Izuku turned toward him, eyes sparkling with uncontainable excitement, Bakugo's mouth betrayed him—tugging upward into the smallest, sharpest smirk.

The camera clicked before he could stop himself.

It wasn't until the photo was printed and slid back across the counter that Bakugo realised his mistake. His own ID now carried not the fierce, explosive scowl he'd intended, but the barest hint of a smile.

Izuku glanced at it, eyes widening. "Kacchan—you smiled!" he gasped, almost bouncing on his feet.

Bakugo's face went red. "Shut the hell up, Deku! I didn't— it was the stupid timing of the—ugh, whatever!" He snatched the card back, shoving it into his pocket.

Izuku's laughter trailed after them as they moved away from the sign-in desk, weaving through clusters of students who buzzed with nerves and chatter. Izuku clutched his new ID card in both hands, staring down at it like it was a treasure, his smile still wide and impossibly bright.

Bakugo walked beside him, hands shoved deep in his pockets, scowling at nothing in particular. The faintest trace of colour still lingered on his cheeks from being caught smiling, though he refused to acknowledge it.

___

They made their way to their assigned classroom, just before the timer for the written test started. Taking seats at opposite sides of the classroom they promptly gave each other a look that said 'dont fuck this up' as the test began.

The test was piss easy for the both of them, so much so they had finished twenty minutes before everyone else, Izuku finishing a minute faster than Bakugo, sending a sly smirk his way which was met with a death glare from across the room. 

Once the time was up all the students handed in their papers and made their way to their respective auditoriums.

Izuku glanced up at Bakugo, his anxious smile softening into something smaller, warmer. "Kacchan... we're really here. U.A. High. Can you believe it?"

Bakugo snorted. "Of course I can, dumbass. We worked our asses off for this. The only people who can't believe it are the losers who didn't get this far."

Izuku chuckled quietly. For a moment, the tension of the exam faded into the background, replaced by the simple reality that they had made it here—together. He was halfway there and he would be dammed if anything stopped him now.

The two of them stopped just outside the doors of the auditorium, the murmur of the gathered students spilling faintly through the walls. Izuku took a steadying breath, and Bakugo rolled his shoulders back, sparks practically crackling under his skin.

The calm before the storm.

The doors to the auditorium swung open, and the sound inside washed over them—a hundred or so voices tangled together, buzzing with excitement, and bravado. Students filled the seats, some grouped with friends, others sitting stiff and silent, all waiting for the same thing.

Izuku hesitated at the threshold, his ID card clutched tightly in his hand. His gaze darted from face to face, curiosity sparking.

A boy with sharp glasses and rigid posture was lecturing a group of nearby examinees, his hand chopping the air with every word. His tone was loud, precise, impossible to ignore—like he thought he was already a pro hero giving orders.

Not far from him, a round-faced girl with short brown hair laughed nervously as she tried to reassure another student who looked like they might faint. Her laugh was awkward but kind, bubbling like she couldn't help but spill light into the room.

Izuku's heart thudded in his chest. 'They're all like me', he realised. 'All dreaming. All fighting for the same chance.'

Bakugo shoved past him with a scoff, heading straight for a row of empty seats. "Quit gawking, Deku. You'll break your neck staring at every idiot in the room."

Izuku blinked, then scrambled after him, slipping into the seat at his side. He tried to hide his smile, but it tugged at the corner of his mouth anyway. Every second here, every stranger he looked at, made it more real.

For the first time, he wasn't just imagining himself among heroes. He was sitting in the same room as them.

The low hum of student chatter was suddenly shattered by a deafening blast of sound.

"YOOOHOOO~! FUTURE HEROES~!"

Every head in the auditorium snapped to the stage where a tall man with spiky blond hair, tinted shades, and a long coat that flared dramatically behind him leapt into view. His grin stretched ear to ear as he threw a fist in the air, his voice rattling the walls like a stadium announcer.

"That's right! It's time for the U.A. ENTRANCE EXAM ORIENTATION! YEAH!"

The room erupted in startled murmurs. Some students covered their ears, others blinked in confusion. Izuku flinched at the volume, nearly dropping his ID card, while Bakugo just clicked his tongue. "Tch. Annoying bastard."

Present Mic strutted across the stage, gesturing broadly, feeding off the scattered reactions like it was fuel. "I am your examiner and your DJ for today's main event—the one, the only, Present Mic! ARE YOU READY TO RUMBLE?!"

His voice boomed again, only to be met with silence.

Izuku couldn't help but stare in awe. 'He's a pro hero... standing right there. Talking to us like we're already part of his world.'

Bakugo, meanwhile, leaned back in his chair, unimpressed but focused, crimson eyes sharp. He wasn't here to fanboy—he was here to win.

The lights dimmed slightly, a giant screen flickering to life behind Present Mic as he spread his arms wide. "ALRIGHT, FUTURE HEROES, LISTEN UP!" Present Mic's voice shook the auditorium walls.

 "YOU'RE ABOUT TO ENTER THE ULTIMATE HERO CHALLENGE—THE PRACTICAL EXAM! AND NO, THIS ISN'T YOUR GRANDMA'S QUIZ, NOBODY GETS A PARTICIPATION TROPHY!" He spun dramatically, pointing to the giant screen behind him where an animated map of the exam arena appeared.

 "HERE'S HOW IT GOES! You'll face multiple robot villains designed to test your skills, your creativity, and your hero instincts! Each robot has a set point value depending on difficulty—yes, I SAID POINT VALUE, BECAUSE HEROES, LIKE ROCK STARS, SCORE BIG WHEN THEY HIT HARD!"

The students murmured, some exchanging excited glances while others clutched their desks. Izuku's heart hammered. 'Robots. Danger. Points. I have to focus...'

"And HEY," Present Mic continued, jumping to the edge of the stage and almost falling off before regaining balance, "don't just smash everything with brute force! Strategy counts! Observation counts! Teamwork counts! And for those of you thinking solo heroics are the way to glory— well you've got a big storm Comin'!'" Present Mic cut himself off, seemingly hiding something but no one really caught on, well except for izuku and Bakugo.

He flung his arms wide, spinning theatrically once more. "So get ready, my future heroes! Step up, show your style, and remember—this isn't just about winning the exam. IT'S ABOUT PROVING YOU HAVE WHAT IT TAKES TO STAND IN THE LIGHT, TO RISE ABOVE, AND TO BECOME THE HERO THE WORLD NEEDS!"

The room was electric, students buzzing with eagerness and nerves alike. Izuku tightened his grip on his instruction pamphlet, chest rising and falling rapidly. Bakugo leaned forward, eyes sharp, already analysing the map on the screen.

Present Mic finally threw a dramatic pose, fists in the air. "ARE. YOU. READY?!"

The answer came not from words, but from the collective tension, the pounding heartbeat of nearly a hundred or so aspiring heroes ready to take their first real step.

They were all dismissed and given fifteen minutes to make their way to their arenas, Bakugo and izuku stood outside the auditorium to check where they were assigned.

Izuku's fingers tightened around his ID card as he glanced down, scanning the assigned arena. His eyes widened slightly, then narrowed in a frown.

"Kacchan..." he muttered under his breath, realising the truth. "We're in different arenas."

Bakugo, standing beside him, followed his gaze and scowled instantly. "Tch... figures. Damn it."

Izuku's shoulders slumped a little. He had been hoping to tackle this exam alongside Kacchan.

"I... I guess we'll just have to do our best separately," he said quietly, trying to force a smile.

Bakugo huffed, crossing his arms. "Don't get all mopey about it, Deku. We'll meet up later. Just... don't screw this up while I'm off beating all these extras."

Izuku's frown lingered, but the determination in Bakugo's tone was oddly comforting. 'Alright... I can do this. I have to do this.'

He straightened his back, tucked the ID safely away, and took a deep breath. The arena awaited.

Chapter Text

Izuku stepped toward the entrance of his battleground, the roar of Present Mic's voice echoing above him. His heartbeat thudded in his ears, loud and insistent, but he forced himself to slow it down with deep breaths.

He pulled his ID card from his pocket and studied it for a moment, noticing bakugo's arm in the back of the photo, he remembered why he was doing this. To be a hero duo. And save people, Together.

Filled with newfound determination he set his jaw. 'Okay... I've trained for this. I know the quirk now. I can do this.'

He closed his eyes briefly, picturing the quirk as he had during his meditation: not something to control, not something to fear. It was him, and he was it. They were equals. A steady warmth pulsed beneath his skin—the faint red glow of One For All—and he let it remind him that he wasn't powerless.

"Focus," he whispered under his breath. "Observe. Plan. Execute."

He could almost feel Kacchan on the other side of the arena, even though they were separated. That thought alone tightened his resolve. I'll make it through this. I have to.

When he opened his eyes again, the arena doors loomed before him. The hum of electricity, the faint mechanical whirs from the other side, the faint smell of oil—it was all real now.

"GO!" present mic suddenly screamed, giving no warning, and only a select few—izuku included—ran forward.

Izuku barely had time to adjust before a hulking three-pointer lurched out of the smoke, metal jaws clanking.

His chest seized with panic—but training took over. He inhaled sharply, grounding himself, then lunged forward with a fist.

The punch connected with the robot's leg—

BOOM!

The entire lower half of the machine exploded in a violent burst, sending shrapnel scattering across the concrete. The robot toppled in on itself with a metallic shriek, sparks sputtering where its systems fried.

Izuku stumbled back, eyes wide. His arm was still glowing faintly, heat rolling off his skin. "O-okay," he muttered to himself, voice high and shaky. "So... too much power. Let's—let's not do that again, yeah?" he spoke to no one in particular.

He shook out his hand as though that might help dissipate the steam, forcing his legs to move.

 The arena was alive with chaos now—students shouting, machines advancing, the air thick with smoke and static.

Izuku ran, scanning for more targets. Each time he spotted a robot, his body moved faster, sharper, more deliberate. He dialled back the force bit by bit, focusing on precision rather than sheer destruction.

A one-pointer—down with a kick.
Two more—taken apart with careful jabs.
Another three-pointer—toppled without a blast this time.
Five points here. Four there. Another ten, another twenty.

He kept a silent tally in his head, numbers flashing like sparks with every success. 2, 5, 9, 20, 34, 90...

His breath came hard and fast, sweat dripping down his temple, but his heart thrummed with something other than fear now. Momentum. Purpose. He wasn't just surviving the exam—he was fighting it head-on.

Izuku skidded to a stop near the corner of a shattered building, chest heaving. Another one-pointer clattered forward on its spindly legs, sensors flashing red. Before he could move, a nervous-looking boy swung a steel pipe at it, the blow bouncing harmlessly off its Armor.

Izuku darted in, landing a quick jab to its centre. The robot sparked, screeched, and collapsed in a heap of metal.

The boy gawked. "W-whoa, thanks!"

Izuku flushed, waving him off. "N-no problem! Keep your guard up!" He didn't stay for praise—his legs carried him forward again, faster, sharper, his senses buzzing with awareness of everything around him.

He turned another corner and spotted her— the same round-faced girl with short brown hair he noticed earlier, pinned against the wall as a one-pointer's claw swiped dangerously close. She stumbled, clearly overwhelmed.

Izuku's body moved before his brain caught up. He sprinted across the rubble, sliding in front of her. With one precise strike, he drove his glowing fist into the robot's torso. The machine jolted, sparks flying as it crumpled to the ground.

The girl blinked, startled, then broke into a grateful smile. "T-thank you! I owe you one!"

Izuku felt heat rush to his cheeks. "I-it's nothing, really!" He glanced at her briefly—watching as she ran away, then back at the chaos, already searching for his next target.

Each encounter fed into his rhythm. He wasn't just collecting points anymore—he was helping, protecting, moving instinctively like the hero he'd dreamed of becoming.

The ground suddenly trembled beneath his feet. The air filled with the grinding roar of colossal machinery. Students all around froze as shadows stretched long and heavy across the arena.

Izuku's eyes widened, heart lurching in his chest.

The zero-pointer.

The ground shook harder with each step, dust tumbling from shattered walls. A mechanical roar split the air, and then it appeared—the towering bulk of the zero-pointer. It loomed over the arena like a skyscraper on legs, eyes blazing, gears screaming as its massive arms tore through buildings like paper.

Gasps and shouts filled the air as the examinees froze in disbelief.

"W-what the hell is that?!" one student cried.

"It's not worth any points!" another shouted, already backing away.

The mass of students scattered, panic breaking them apart. Some sprinted for cover, others tried to fight before realizing their attacks barely dented the colossal frame. The air was thick with fear and the grinding sound of steel tearing through steel.

Izuku's breath caught in his throat. His whole body screamed at him to run with the others, to get as far away from that thing as possible. 'No points... it's a trap, it's just there to test us, I should stay out of its way...'

Then a cry rang out above the chaos.

He whipped his head around and saw her—yet again the same brown-haired girl from before. She was pinned under a slab of concrete, eyes wide as the zero-pointer's shadow fell over her. The machine's steps sent cracks racing through the ground, inching closer and closer.

The students around her didn't stop to help. They kept running.

Izuku's chest tightened, sweat dripping into his eyes as his pulse thundered in his ears. She's going to be crushed.

Everyone else had chosen to save themselves.

'I can't just stand here and watch her die!'

The thought tore through him like lightning—then the world flickered.

For a split second, everything stuttered, like a broken video frame. The sound of grinding gears warped, the ground beneath him vanished, and his vision shattered into static.

When his senses snapped back, Izuku's stomach lurched. He was no longer on the ground.

He was on the head of the colossal zero-pointer.

"Shit," he hissed under his breath, panic surging. His heart pounded against his ribs as the metallic giant's head swivelled slowly, red optics glowing just under him. He hadn't meant to do this. He hadn't even tried.

The glitch. It had teleported him here on instinct—without his permission.

He wasn't supposed to use it. Not here.

The air up this high was sharp, cutting against his sweat-slicked skin. the machine lumbered forward, each step sending tremors up through its massive frame nearly knocking Izuku off with each step.

Far below, he could still see her—trapped under concrete, frozen in terror. The sight cut through the panic buzzing in his skull.

It didn't matter if this was the glitch. It didn't matter that he didn't want to use it.

He clenched his fists, every nerve alive with fire.

'If I don't act, she dies. That's all that matters.'

His mind screamed at him to get down, to run, to hide—but  his gaze always snapped back to the girl trapped below, the shadow of death creeping closer with each colossal step.

"No time," he whispered, clenching his fists. "No choice."

The glitch flickered around him, the world splitting into fractured frames. In the blink of an eye, he vanished from atop the robot's head and reappeared directly in front of it—suspended in mid-air, staring straight into its burning red eyes.

His heart thundered. One chance.

The red glow of One For All erupted across his body, fiery lines racing down his arms, converging into his fist. The energy howled, wild and violent, but he didn't shy away. He met it, let it meet him, and for one instant they were perfectly in sync.

"SMASH!"

His fist rocketed forward, colliding with the zero-pointer's face.

The impact was cataclysmic. The world lit up in a blinding flash as metal crumpled like paper. A shockwave tore through the air, rattling the buildings and sending students sprawling to the ground below.

The zero-pointer's colossal frame shuddered, red optics flickering wildly before going dark. With a deafening groan of twisting steel, the giant machine toppled backward, crashing into the street in a storm of dust and rubble.

Izuku plummeted with it, air rushing past his ears, his body screaming in protest from the force he'd unleashed. But even as he fell, his eyes never left the girl below—still alive, still safe.

He tried to glitch to the ground but still hit it quite hard, knees threatening to buckle, lungs burning. His arm throbbed violently, the skin bruised and raw but not broken.

Izuku blinked through the haze, chest heaving, and muttered weakly, "O-okay... maybe too much power again..."

The dust hung heavy in the air, swallowing the arena in a choking haze. Students shielded their faces, coughing, their wide eyes fixed on the fallen titan. The zero-pointer's body stretched across half the street, smoke pouring from its shattered head.

And there, at the epicentre of the destruction, stood Izuku.

His knees trembled, his right arm swollen and raw, glowing faintly as the last of One For All's power flickered out to a calm continuous hum under his skin. His chest heaved, every breath dragging fire into his lungs. But he was upright. Somehow, impossibly, he was still standing.

Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. Silence drew on for what felt like hours.

Whispers finally broke through.
"Did... did he just...?"
"With one hit?"
"Who even is that guy?"

From her spot on the ground, the brown-haired girl stared up at him, eyes wide and shining. He'd saved her—no hesitation, no thought of the points. He'd just acted, the same boy who had saved her not even minutes before had done it again, without even thinking...

Far across the city, in another arena entirely, Bakugo froze mid-strike against a two-pointer. The ground tremor from the zero-pointer's fall rattled his teeth. He snapped his head toward the direction of the sound, crimson eyes narrowing.

"Deku?..." he growled, fists clenching tight. A strange mix of fury, pride and worry churned in his chest, though he'd never admit the latter.

Back in the observation room, pro heroes and faculty leaned closer to their monitors. Their eyes weren't on the wreckage, or even the girl saved beneath it. They were on the boy at its centre—Izuku Midoriya, still struggling to breathe, but standing in defiance of the impossible.

The silence lingered like a held breath, the weight of what he'd done settling over everyone.

A blaring siren rang out across the arena, signalling the end of the exam. The remaining robots froze in place before collapsing into still heaps of metal, the danger evaporating in an instant.

But no one looked at them.

All eyes were locked on Izuku.

His body screamed at him to collapse—every muscle quivered, every nerve burned. His right arm hung useless at his side, swollen and trembling. But he refused to bow. Slowly, painfully, he straightened his back. His good arm rose, shaking but steady enough, until his fist stood high above his head.

The silhouette was unmistakable.

It wasn't just victory—it was defiance, determination, hope. The image of All Might himself.

Gasps rippled through the other examinees. The girl he'd saved clutched her chest, eyes brimming with tears. For just a moment, even the faculty watching through their monitors forgot themselves, leaning forward with awe.

In another arena, Bakugo froze at the sound of the timer. He hadn't seen what happened, but he felt it. A chill raced down his spine as if something deep inside him already knew: Deku had done something insane again. His jaw clenched, teeth grinding, but his chest felt tight with a flicker of something dangerously close to adoration.

The alarm faded, leaving only the echo of it in everyone's ears. But Izuku's raised fist lingered in their minds, etched into the moment like a brand.

And then, finally, his arm dropped. His knees buckled, and the world went dark as exhaustion claimed him.

Chapter Text

The darkness was soft this time, not the crushing void of before. Just heavy, warm, and dreamless.

When Izuku's eyes finally fluttered open, he was met with the sharp, antiseptic scent of medicine and the faint tick of a clock on the wall. 

The sterile white ceiling above him told him exactly where he was: the infirmary.

A groan slipped past his lips as he shifted. His right arm was bandaged, throbbing in pain.

"You're finally awake, huh?"

The voice was rough, familiar, and laced with something Izuku didn't expect to hear: relief.

Turning his head, he found Bakugo slouched in a chair beside his bed, arms crossed, crimson eyes glaring at him like he'd committed a crime. But there were faint bags beneath those eyes, and Izuku realized Kacchan had probably been there a while.

"K-Kacchan..." Izuku rasped, his throat dry.

Bakugo clicked his tongue, leaning forward. "What the hell were you thinking, you damn nerd? A zero pointer? Really? You could've died from that fall."

Izuku blinked at him, confused. The memory of the zero-pointer came rushing back—the teleport, the fist, the explosion. He swallowed hard, lowering his gaze. "I... I couldn't just stand there and do nothing."

Bakugo's jaw tightened. For a moment, his glare faltered, replaced by something unreadable. Then he growled and sat back, muttering, "Dumbass... always throwing yourself into danger like that."

Izuku shifted again, grimacing as the brace tugged at his arm. The movement made Bakugo lean forward automatically, like he might stop him, then freeze halfway through the motion. He caught himself, scowling, and settled back into the chair with a sharp tsk.

Izuku caught it though—the split second of worry he hadn't meant to show.

"Kacchan..." Izuku's voice was hoarse, softer this time, but his eyes held gratitude.

"Don't." Bakugo cut him off instantly, his tone firm but brittle around the edges. "Don't start saying some cheesy crap. You're alive, that's all that matters."

Silence stretched between them, filled only by the faint ticking clock and Izuku's uneven breathing. For a moment, neither boy looked at the other.

Then Izuku couldn't help it—his lips curled into the smallest smile. "You... waited here the whole time, didn't you?"

Bakugo's head snapped toward him, glare igniting like a spark, ready to blow up but his mouth betrayed him. "Yeah, so what" His voice was sharp, but his ears burned red. "Someone had to make sure you didn't do something stupid while you were unconscious!" Bakugo countered, clearly lying through his teeth.

Izuku laughed, weak but warm.  The sound only seemed to frustrate Bakugo more, who shot up from his chair, pacing a short line beside the bed.

Izuku's smile faded into something softer, his chest aching in a way that had nothing to do with the exam, he had worried Kacchan again. He wanted to reach out, to tell him it would be okay—but his bandaged arm made that impossible. So instead, he just whispered:

"I'm still here, Kacchan."

Bakugo tensed, his back to him. His fists unclenched slowly. After a long, silent pause, he finally turned his head just enough for Izuku to see his expression—not a glare, not a smirk, but something raw, stripped of its usual fire.

"...yeah. You better stay that way."

And with that, Bakugo sank back into the chair, crossing his arms again, with a conflicted expression, acting almost as if nothing had just slipped out, he leaned back and closed his eyes.

Something tugged at Izuku's chest. He bit his lip, hesitating, then whispered so softly it barely left his throat:

"...thank you, Kacchan."

The words hung in the air like a secret. He thought Bakugo hadn't heard—until the other boy shifted suddenly, a crimson eye cracking open, sharp.

"The hell are you whispering about, nerd?" His voice was gravelly.

Izuku startled, cheeks flushing. "N-nothing! I just—"

"Don't lie." Bakugo leaned forward, pinning him with that look, the one that always stripped away his excuses. "You said thank you."

Izuku's throat went dry. He swallowed hard, then nodded. "Yeah. I... I did."

For a long moment, Bakugo just stared at him. Then he tch'd, shaking his head as if trying to hide something behind his sharp edge.

"You're such an idiot, Deku," he muttered, settling back into the chair, eyes drifting shut again, with fatigue seeping into his voice. "...but you're my idiot, so quit making me sit in damn hospital rooms, got it?"

Izuku blinked, stunned, warmth flooding through him even as his heart hammered in his chest. 'H-his idiot?', with that thought he let his eyes fall shut too, a small, unshakable smile tugging at his lips.

—

The rest of the night blurred into drowsy half-sleep, the soft rhythm of Bakugo's presence anchoring Izuku in place. By morning, he was healed enough to go home, though his arm still throbbed slightly under the bandage.

Recovery Girl had fussed over him before finally shooing both boys out with orders to rest until their results arrived. Neither argued, though Bakugo grumbled the whole way back.

___

The following days were agony. Every hour dragged, Izuku's nerves twisting tighter and tighter. He replayed the exam in his head until it burned behind his eyes—each punch, each mistake, each moment of hesitation. Had he done enough? Did saving her count? Was blowing apart the zero-pointer even allowed?

Bakugo, of course, carried himself like he'd already won first place. But even he was jumpier than usual, snapping at small noises, pacing more than he realized.

Then—on the fourth day—the envelope arrived.

Izuku's heart slammed against his ribs as he stared at it, hands trembling. His name was printed cleanly across the front in bold letters, the official U.A. stamped wax seal holding the envelope closed

Beside him, Bakugo crossed his arms with a scoff, after already opening his, choosing to revel in each others acceptance letters instead of opening them at the same time. "Well? Open the damn thing already, nerd."

Izuku swallowed hard, his throat dry, fingers fumbling with the flap. This was it. Everything he'd worked for, everything he and Kacchan had trained for—this moment would decide it all.

He peeled the envelope open, breath catching as a slim device slid into his palm. A tiny projection flared to life, light filling the room.

And then—

"A-All Might?!" Izuku nearly dropped the device, his heart leaping into his throat. The man's towering figure shimmered in projection, smiling brighter than the sun as his booming voice filled the room.

"I AM HERE—ON A VIDEO RECORDING!"

Izuku flinched at the volume, his hands trembling as he clutched the device tighter. His eyes shone as he leaned forward, hanging onto every word.

"Young Midoriya!" All Might's smile was blinding, but there was warmth behind it, pride radiating through even this pre-recorded message. "The entrance exam is not only about combat prowess, but about spirit, judgment, and above all—the ability to save others!"

Izuku's chest tightened. Save others... His mind flashed back to the examinees he had saved, the girl, pinned beneath the rubble, the boy who feebly tried to destroy a one pointer, the weight of his choice.

All Might raised a fist. "Your actions showed true heroism! Charging in with no thought for your own safety, you saved a fellow examinee at the cost of nearly outing your own quirk. That, my boy, is what makes a hero!"

Izuku's throat wobbled, eyes stinging.

Beside him, Bakugo clicked his tongue and folded his arms tighter, glaring at the projection. "Tch. Of course he had to go and say it all cheesy like that..." His voice was sharp, but his jaw was clenched too hard for the scowl to look natural.

The projection shifted, bright numbers spilling across the wall in bold print.

"RESCUE POINTS," All Might announced, his voice steady but proud. "Awarded to those who display selflessness and bravery in the face of danger."

Izuku's breath hitched. His eyes widened as the numbers stacked before him.

"And so—Izuku Midoriya!" All Might's smile broadened, impossibly wide. "With your total sum of 92 villain points, we hereby grant you 120 rescue points. Thirty for the rescue of a fellow examinee... thirty for your first aid and intervention in assisting Uraraka the first time you saved her, and sixty for defeating the zero-pointer, preventing her from being crushed."

Izuku's jaw dropped and Bakugo's eyes blew wide at the sheer number of villain points izuku had scored, he had only gotten seventy seven.

Izuku gripped the device tighter, as though it might vanish if he loosened his hold.

All Might's eyes narrowed knowingly, the pride in his voice unshakable. "The faculty even considered awarding you more—since you were the only one to notice the zero-pointer had malfunctioned. Your judgment, courage, and instinct have surpassed all expectations."

Izuku's whole body trembled. His breath came uneven, lips trembling as the weight of it sank in.

"Without further ado..." All Might's booming voice swelled, bouncing around the room. "...with your combined score of a grand total of 212 points—you have not only passed the U.A. Entrance Exam, you have taken first place!"

The words echoed, bright and impossible. Izuku pressed a hand to his mouth, tears spilling down his cheeks in hot streaks. He couldn't hold them back, couldn't stop his body from trembling with relief and joy. "I... I did it... I actually—"

A scoff cut him off.

Bakugo leaned against the wall, arms crossed tightly, but his crimson eyes betrayed him—they were soft, flickering with raw admiration. He masked it quickly with a growl. "Two hundred and twelve, huh? Show-off."

Izuku sniffled, blinking through watery eyes. "K-Kacchan—"

"Don't look at me like that, damn nerd!" Bakugo barked with no bite, cheeks tinged pink despite his scowl as he mumbled under his breath. "I knew you'd pass."

Izuku's chest tightened at his words as a wobbly smile filled his cheeks and a shaky laugh broke through his tears. "We... we both made it..."

Bakugo didn't answer right away. His jaw worked, fists clenching and unclenching before he finally muttered, just loud enough to hear:

"fuck Yeah we did."

The projection fizzled out with All Might's final declaration, the words reverberating in their bones:

"WELCOME... TO YOUR HERO ACADEMY!"

Bakugo's crimson eyes flicked to him, looking away just as quickly. His lip curled, fighting some invisible battle with himself. When finally, the words broke loose, rough and grudging, like gravel dragged over steel:

"Looks like the 'wonder duo' isn't just a dream anymore..."

Izuku froze, his breath catching. He hadn't expected that—not from Kacchan, not in a million years. His head snapped up, tears still clinging to his lashes, staring at him like he'd just grown another arm.

"K-Kacchan..."

But Bakugo wouldn't look at him. His eyes stayed fixed on the far wall, jaw tight, every muscle in his face straining not to betray the softness that had slipped out. His fists clenched in his lap, as if holding back everything else he refused to say.

Izuku's throat tightened, but his voice came out steady, quiet and sure.

"It never was."

Bakugo's head jerked, just slightly, like he hadn't expected Izuku to have the guts to say it back. His mouth opened as if to snap something sharp, but no words came. Instead, he huffed—low, almost disbelieving—and let his head drop back against the wall with a thud.

The silence that followed wasn't empty this time. It was thick, alive, humming with something unspoken that neither of them dared touch.

Izuku wiped at his eyes with the back of his sleeve, a trembling smile tugging at his lips. For the first time, the future didn't feel like a distant dream. It felt real. Because every path he could imagine, every version of tomorrow worth fighting for, had Kacchan in it. 

His future wasn't his own anymore. It was theirs.

Chapter Text

Izuku sat at the edge of the bed, knees drawn up to his chest, staring at the faint glow of the city lights beyond the window. 

His notebooks sat neatly stacked on the desk, but he hadn't touched them all evening. No amount of notes or preparation could quiet the storm in his chest.

 Tomorrow, he would walk into U.A. as a student, and all he could think about was the way his quirk had slipped at the exam, the way the power had glitched and drawn too many eyes. What if someone noticed? What if they asked questions he couldn't answer? He hugged his knees tighter, the fear clawing at his throat.

On the other side of the bed, Katsuki shifted, the sheets rustling as he propped himself on an elbow. "Oi, you're buzzing like a damn live wire. Knock it off," he muttered, but there wasn't much bite in it.

 Izuku blinked, startled, then forced a shaky smile. "S-sorry. I just... I keep thinking about tomorrow. What if I already stood out too much?" His voice was quiet, like he hoped it would disappear before reaching Katsuki. But the silence after stretched warm, not sharp, and Izuku dared a glance over. Katsuki wasn't looking at him, but his scowl seemed more thoughtful than angry.

"You did what you had to do. That's it," Katsuki said finally, rolling onto his back again. His voice was gruff, but steady—like he was trying to pin the words into place so Izuku couldn't argue them away.

 The simple certainty of it made Izuku's throat tighten. He wanted to believe it, wanted to let himself rest in that faith, even if only for tonight. His chest warmed, and he ducked his head, whispering a soft "thank you" that barely rose above the sound of the night outside.

The lamp's glow wrapped the room in a gentle haze as Katsuki turned over, facing away but close enough that Izuku could feel the dip of the mattress pull him nearer. 

"Sleep, Deku. You'll need it." It wasn't an order this time—more like an assurance. Izuku curled beneath the covers, heart still fluttering but steadier now, comforted in a way he couldn't put words to. 

The fear of the government coming for him still lingered, heavy and sharp, but with Katsuki's presence beside him, it didn't feel as unbearable. 

Izuku let his eyes drift shut, the rhythm of Katsuki's breathing tugging him gently toward rest.

___

The morning air was sharp and clean, carrying the hum of the city as they made their way to U.A. Izuku's stomach twisted with nerves, but every so often his shoulder would brush Kacchan's, grounding him. Neither said anything about it, but Izuku noticed Bakugo never pulled away.

When they stopped at the gates, looming tall and proud before them, Izuku couldn't help the grin that lit up his face, His eyes shining with awe and amusement as he recalled the entrance exam and Kacchan's ID photo—which they wouldn't let him retake.

Bakugo glanced sideways at him. For a moment, with no one else around, his scowl softened into something more honest. "What's got you so happy?" He asked with a slight grin. 

But the second footsteps echoed from behind—a group of other first-years chattering excitedly—Bakugo's expression snapped back into place. His lip curled, voice loud and biting. "Hurry up, Deku. Don't make us look like idiots on day one."

Izuku jumped, cheeks flushing, but he recognized the shift. It wasn't rejection, not really. Just Kacchan's way of keeping what was theirs safe from prying eyes.

As they crossed the gates side by side, Izuku tucked that private moment close to his heart. He knew that when the noise of the day fell quiet again, when it was just the two of them, Kacchan's walls would slip once more.

___

The halls inside were wide, gleaming with polished tile and lined with plaques of U.A.'s legendary alumni.

 Izuku trailed behind slightly, drinking in every detail, muttering under his breath about architectural design and hero rankings. Bakugo didn't tell him to hurry up this time—though his hand brushed Izuku's shoulder once, a silent nudge to keep him moving forward.

When they finally reached the massive door marked Class 1-A, Izuku froze. It was huge, towering, almost intimidating. His nerves clawed up his throat. "This is it..." he whispered.

Bakugo clicked his tongue, glaring at the door like it had personally insulted him. "Move, Deku. You're not chickening out now." He shoved the door open with his usual force, storming in like he owned the place.

Izuku hesitated only a second before following, heart hammering. Inside, students were already scattered around the room—bright personalities, sharp voices, quirks buzzing faintly in the air. All those faces turned toward the doorway as Bakugo strode in, scowl firmly in place.

Izuku trailed after him, smaller, more hesitant, but glowing nonetheless. And though Bakugo immediately puffed himself up, barking something loud and abrasive to announce his presence, Izuku caught the faintest glance over his shoulder. Just long enough to check if he was still there.

And Izuku was. He always would be.

Once Bakugo had made his presence known and 'marked his territory' all eyes snapped to izuku as the students murmured to themselves

"Isn't he the one with the-?"
"I know right! He doesn't look that strong, are you sure its him?"
"I heard all it took was one punch!"
"Well I heard that he was the top scoring in the whole of U.A. history"
"Someone told me he was saving a girl!"
"I heard that she's in this class"

Izuku became flustered under the weight of all their eyes. His chest tightened, and he quickly moved to find a seat, hoping to escape their stares. That was when Bakugo cut through the noise with a sharp, dismissive bark—half insult, half warning—that snapped the whispers dead in their throats.

The tension eased just enough for Izuku to breathe again. He slipped into the desk directly behind Bakugo, the placement a quiet, ironic contrast to their middle school days.

After a moment, Izuku nudged Bakugo's chair with his foot—lightly, teasing, like Kacchan had used to do to him every day back then.

Bakugo twisted just enough to throw a playful glare over his shoulder. But the look didn't bite like it used to. No fire, no real anger—just a reflex, masking something he wasn't ready to show.

—

The classroom filled, every new student had cast a glance at Izuku. The room buzzed with chatter—some students bickering loudly while the more studious ones fretted over the teacher's absence. 

Then, without warning, a yellow, human-sized caterpillar slithered out from beneath a desk. Gasps rippled through the room as the strange figure unzipped itself, revealing none other than Class 1-A's homeroom teacher: the underground hero, Eraser head.

He pressed a button on a remote control and the back of the classroom opened up to reveal multiple briefcases each labelled with students names and ID photos (much to Bakugo's dismay).

"Everyone get changed and meet me on the north field in ten minutes" Aizawa commanded, and left the class before anyone could protest about how they were supposed to go to orientation or whatever.

Students hurried to grab their cases and scurried out the class to the changing rooms.

When everyone hurtled to change into their U.A. issued gym clothes, more than a few eyes widened at Izuku's physique. Beneath his half baggy uniform was a body honed and toned with muscle—far from the scrawny figure they had all assumed, even Bakugo's eyes lingered for longer than they should've, despite the amount of times he had already seen his physique .

___

As the class filed out toward the training field for the Quirk Apprehension Test, whispers still rippled through the group, a few of them sneaking glances at Izuku when they thought he wasn't looking.
Bakugo clicked his tongue in irritation at the attention, and Izuku tried his best to ignore it, focusing on Aizawa-sensei's monotone instructions instead.

The air buzzed with anticipation—everyone was eager to show off what they could do—but there was a different edge to the mood now. 

Nobody had expected Midoriya to carry himself with that kind of strength, most of the students had been in different arena's to his and their curiosity about what else he might be hiding only grew stronger as Aizawa tossed a ball toward him, telling him to step up first, not before announcing to the class that the person who scored last place in the tests would be kicked from the U.A hero course and sent to general studies.

Izuku stepped forward, the ball feeling heavy in his palm, though not nearly as heavy as the dozens of eyes boring into his back.

 He could almost hear their unspoken questions, the disbelief still lingering from earlier.

 Drawing in a steady breath, Izuku crouched slightly, trying to ground himself against the weight of all the stares drilling into him.

 His classmates had been whispering about him since morning—about the way he'd crushed the entrance exam, about how his strength didn't make sense, about how no one had ever heard of his quirk before.

 They weren't asking his name, or what he was like, or even if he was nervous. No, all anyone seemed to see was power. 

His power. As though the rest of him—the boy who studied until his eyes blurred, who had trained harshly and bled, who wanted to help—had disappeared the moment he'd stepped onto the field. 

Not one of them had come up to speak with him yet. Not one... except Kacchan, and that didn't count. Kacchan knew him in ways no one else could, and that was a whole different knot in his chest.

He clenched his jaw, crouching lower, reminding himself not to slip. Not to let the glitch show again. 

The entrance exam had already been too close—he could still feel the eyes boring into him that day, still hear the murmurs, still taste the panic of nearly being found out.

 So now, he promised himself, it would only be One for All. No mistakes. No glitches. Just control. Just enough to survive this test without drawing even more attention to himself—if that was even possible.

 His fists trembled as he focused, forcing the wild storm of his thoughts into something sharp, something he could wield, becoming one with his quirk once again, revelling in that feeling of being whole.

When he threw the ball, it wasn't just One for All coursing through his arm.

 It was every ounce of frustration and anger that had been festering since the exam, every muttered comment about his strength, every dismissive glance that made him feel more like a weapon— like a villain—than a person.

 He put all of it into the motion, a raw, unpolished force that cracked through the air as the ball launched upward. 

A piercing whistle cut across the training grounds before the ball vanished into the sky, and the tracker's distant beep returned with an impossible distance, infinity. 

Around him, the class gasped—awed whispers rippling through them like he was some spectacle on display.

But Izuku wasn't looking at them.

 His eyes sought only one face.

 Across the circle, Bakugo stood rigid, his jaw tight, faintly displaying a smirk, sparks crackling faintly at his palms. But there was no anger there, not like before. No malice. What Izuku saw instead was fierceness—raw, unshaken, and almost... alive. 

The look in Bakugo's eyes didn't cut him down; it lifted him, challenged him, dared him forward.

 It wasn't the same sneer Izuku had grown up bracing himself against—this was sharper, heavier, like fire catching on something it had finally decided to keep burning.

And for just a second, as Izuku's chest heaved from the throw, he let himself meet that gaze head-on. 

His breath stuttered, the noise of the class falling away, every whisper and gasp swallowed by the weight of that silent line between them. 

No words passed, but the message was there, thrumming through the space like static before a storm: just because you're stronger, doesn't mean you're gonna win.

Izuku's fingers curled at his sides, trembling from the aftershock of both his quirk and the heat radiating off Bakugo's stare. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once—like standing at the edge of a cliff with the wind howling, not sure if he was about to fall or fly.

 For the first time all day, he didn't feel like a quirk on display. He felt seen.

And then the moment passed. 

Someone muttered in amazement, someone else asked what his quirk even was, and the noise of the world rushed back in. 

Izuku forced himself to look away, cheeks hot, heart hammering, as if pretending would make that gaze less challenging. 

But deep down, he already knew; Bakugo would never stop trying to outdo him—not out of spite, but because that was the language they spoke best. 

Their rivalry wasn't a wall between them anymore; it was the thread pulling them forward together, a rhythm only the two of them could keep pace with, a rhythm only the two of them could ever understand.

___

 Still, as Deku’s face lit up in a way Bakugo hadn’t seen in years, something inside him ached with a need he couldn’t put into words. He would never let anyone else take that from him. Not her. Not anyone.

Izuku’s head turned, almost instinctively, and his gaze brushed over Bakugo. At first he caught the usual mask—jaw tight, fists sparking faintly—but this time, he looked harder. The edges of Kacchan’s scowl weren’t as sharp as they used to be. Behind the crackle of frustration, Izuku saw something else flickering there: conflict, confusion, a heat that wasn’t quite anger but wasn’t something he could name either.

His chest tightened. He’d spent years reading every expression on Kacchan’s face, bracing for explosions, but this wasn’t the same. And before he could second-guess himself, Izuku shuffled closer, already forgetting about Uraraka as this was more important.

 voice low and careful. “Kacchan… are you okay?” His words were clumsy, but his eyes were steady, searching. “You… you look upset. Not just angry—like… something else.”

For a moment, Bakugo froze, the question hanging between them like a live wire. His mouth opened, ready to snap, to shove the feeling down where it belonged—but before he could speak, Aizawa’s voice cut sharply through the air, calling the class back to attention. The results were ready.

For a moment, Bakugo froze, Izuku’s words hitting harder than any punch. No one else would’ve noticed—hell, no one else ever did notice—but of course Deku had. Of course he’d looked past the sparks, past the snarl, and seen right into the mess he was barely holding together.

His mouth twitched, the old instinct to bark mind your damn business bubbling up like smoke from a fire.

 But the words stuck in his throat, heavy with everything else he wanted to say instead. 'I’m not angry at you. I just— I hate seeing you look at anyone else like that. Hate the way you smile for them when you should be looking at me.' The thought burned so hot it nearly slipped out, and his fists clenched tight to keep it down.

Izuku’s eyes didn’t waver, soft and worried in that way that made Bakugo’s chest tighten painfully. 

He wanted to tell him the truth, to tear open the wall between them just once, but the timing was wrong. Too many ears, too many eyes. And Deku… Deku still hadn’t shown him he wanted to hear it yet. Not the way Bakugo needed him to.

Before the silence could break, Aizawa’s monotone voice cut across the field, dragging every gaze back to him. 

“Alright, I’ve tallied the results.” The tension snapped like a wire pulled too tight, and Bakugo sucked in a sharp breath, masking it with a scoff. Saved, for now. But the question Deku had asked still burned in his chest, unanswered, unshakable.

As they walked toward the rest of the class, Bakugo gave a nudge to Izuku’s shoulder, just enough to jolt him out of that worried stare. “‘M fine, Deku,” he muttered, the words low and rough like gravel, but softer at the edges than he probably meant them to be.

Izuku blinked, caught off guard by the reassurance. His lips parted as if to protest, but the small spark in Bakugo’s eyes told him to let it go. So he swallowed back the dozen anxious questions still pressing against his tongue and nodded instead, cheeks warming. Kacchan didn’t say things he didn’t mean—not like this.

The two of them fell into step beside each other, the hum of the class around them fading into the background. For all the chaos and tension of the day, that single muttered phrase eased something tight in Izuku’s chest. Maybe he didn’t need the whole story yet. Maybe this—Kacchan telling him he was fine, in his own way—was enough for now.

___

Aizawa didn’t bother building suspense. He held the tablet loosely in one hand, eyes half-lidded as though he couldn’t care less about the anticipation buzzing through the group. “Midoriya, first place. Sixteen points ahead of Todoroki.”

Izuku’s stomach dropped, his pulse skipping so violently it made his hands shake.

 'First place?! ' His classmates’ murmurs rose instantly, some in awe, others edged with disbelief. He could feel every pair of eyes on him again, burning through his skin like he was under a spotlight. His chest tightened with the same suffocating thought that had hounded him all morning: They’re only looking at my power. Not me. Just my quirk.

“Todoroki, second. Bakugo, third,” Aizawa droned on, unbothered by the noise swelling around him. 

The words barely registered past the ringing in Izuku’s ears, but the sharp crackle of sparks just a step away snapped him back to the present.

 He glanced sideways to see Bakugo’s jaw set, fists clenched—but when their eyes met, Izuku didn’t see fury, he saw understanding. It was fiercer than that, like a vow pressed into the air between them, they were equals, and he felt resolve in the notion that Bakugo thought of him as that.

 He had been his friend since birth, and through all the turmoil they had shared they both came to realise that quirk or no quirk, it doesn't define who you are as a person.

The names kept rolling: Yaoyorozu, Iida, Uraraka, Kirishima… until finally, “Hagakure and Mineta, tied for last.” Aizawa’s tone didn’t change, though Mineta let out a pitiful wail. “Nobody’s expelled today. That was a logical lie to motivate you.”

Relief rippled through the group, laughter bubbling here and there as the weight of expulsion melted off their shoulders. Izuku exhaled shakily, his arms falling slack at his sides, shoulders slumping as though the pressure of the day had finally loosened its grip. He’d made it through. Somehow.

But when he turned his head, Bakugo was still staring at him. Not with the smirk Izuku half-expected, not with the sharp edge of rivalry biting at his heels. Instead, there was something steadier, quieter—eyes narrowed not in judgment but in question. The sparks at his palms had gone, but the intensity hadn’t dimmed. It was a look that said, without words, Are you okay?

Izuku’s breath hitched, his chest squeezing at the unspoken concern. His first instinct was to shrink under it, to deny the quiver in his hands and the storm still rattling in his chest. But then his lips pressed together, his tight expression softening just enough to give a small, uneasy nod. Not entirely sure. Not entirely steady. But it was the closest he could come to admitting the truth in front of everyone else.

The corner of Bakugo’s mouth twitched, as if he’d gotten the answer he needed. He didn’t press, didn’t call him out, just shifted his gaze back toward Aizawa with a grunt. But Izuku felt the weight of that look linger, anchoring him more firmly than any words could have.

From across the field, Ochako lingered with the rest of the class, her hands clasped in front of her as her gaze drifted toward the two boys standing a little apart. Izuku’s shoulders were still tense, his nervous energy written across every twitch and shuffle, but the way he looked at Bakugo… it was different. Vulnerable, trusting, like he’d just handed over a piece of himself he couldn’t show anyone else.

Bakugo, for his part, didn’t seem like the explosive, sharp-edged classmate she’d glimpsed throughout the tests. His stance was rigid, sure, but there was a quietness in his eyes—something fierce and complicated—that spoke of years layered beneath the surface. Ochako’s chest squeezed unexpectedly at the realization.

She’d been about to walk over, to cheer Izuku on and thank him again, maybe even ask a few questions about his quirk now that they weren’t in the middle of training. But watching the two of them, she hesitated. Something about the space between them felt… untouchable. Like whatever existed there wasn’t for her to interrupt.

Ochako let out a small breath and decided against it, offering him only a distant, supportive smile instead. Their history ran deeper than either of them had said aloud—that much was obvious. And as much as she wanted to be friends, she couldn’t shake the feeling that stepping between them right now would be crossing into something that belonged only to them.

___

Bakugo’s eyes flicked briefly across the field, sharp as ever. He caught it—the way Round Face had been about to step forward, then pulled back, her hand hovering like she’d thought better of it. She gave Deku a smile instead, soft and supportive, but distant. Bakugo’s jaw flexed. Good. She’d figured it out. Whatever existed between him and Deku wasn’t hers to touch.

He turned back before anyone noticed his stare, shoving his hands into his pockets with a low, dismissive grunt. But the edge in his chest remained, simmering under his skin. He didn’t need to explain it, didn’t want to. All that mattered was that Deku had looked at him, trusted him, and no one else was getting in the way of that.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Aizawa’s flat voice broke through the hum of chatter, drawing every eye. His scarf swayed as he adjusted it lazily, looking about two seconds from falling asleep where he stood. “Results are final. No one’s getting expelled—for now. Go get changed and head home.”

Relief swept through the class again, cheers breaking out as students began moving toward the locker rooms, chatter buzzing about rankings and quirks. But Izuku lingered just a moment longer, his feet carrying him automatically at Bakugo’s side, like it was the most natural thing in the world. And though Bakugo didn’t look at him, his stride shifted ever so slightly to match Izuku’s, as if they’d been walking together like this all their lives.

Chapter Text

The late afternoon sun dipped low as they walked side by side, the steady crunch of their shoes on the pavement the only sound for a while. Izuku messed with the strap of his bag, chewing at his lip, the silence heavy enough to press words out of him. “Kacchan,” he started, voice thin, “do you ever… feel like people only see your quirk? Like that’s all you are?”

Bakugo snorted, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets, even though he knew that feeling all too well. “Tch. You’re overthinking again.” But when Izuku’s eyes stayed fixed on the ground, shoulders hunched, Bakugo’s frown deepened. “What, you seriously think that’s all you are? A damn quirk on legs?”

Izuku’s breath caught, and he nodded faintly. “At the test… today… everyone just stared. Like I’m some spectacle. Not one person actually asked about me, about… anything else. They just whispered about my power, like that’s all there is. I didn’t feel like a person, Kacchan. I felt like—like an object to be admired. Something to measure. Not… me.” His voice cracked, but he swallowed it down, cheeks burning as he braced for Bakugo’s retort.

But Bakugo didn’t bark at him. Instead, he clicked his tongue, eyes darting to the side. “Dumbass. They don’t know you yet, that’s all. Don’t mean you’re just some damn quirk. You think I see you like that?” His voice was gruff, almost biting, but the heat behind it wasn’t anger—it was frustration at Izuku’s doubt.

Izuku blinked, startled. “N-no, I just—”

Bakugo cut him off with a growl. “Good. ‘Cause you’re not. You’re still the same nerd who won’t shut up about heroes, who trips over his own feet, who never gives up no matter how much I—” he stopped, jaw tight, “—no matter what.”

The words hung between them, raw and unfinished. Bakugo looked away, sparks faintly crackling at his fingertips before he shoved his fists deeper into his pockets. “That Round Face girl—she smiles at you like it’s easy. Like she gets you without even trying. And I…” He ground his teeth, scowling at nothing. “I don’t know how to do that. Don’t know how to say the right things. Never tried before.”

Izuku’s steps slowed, his heart twisting at the confession hiding under all that roughness. He opened his mouth, unsure if he had the courage to answer, but Bakugo was already storming ahead, barking over his shoulder, “So quit acting like you’re nothing, Deku. You’re already more than enough, got it?”

And though Bakugo didn’t look back, Izuku’s chest eased just a little, his lips curving in the most sincere, trembling smile.

___

By the time they reached Bakugo’s house, the sky had darkened completely, leaving only the dim glow of streetlights to guide them. The walk had been quiet, the earlier conversation still humming between them in a way that neither quite knew how to address, but it had changed something. The tension that had always pressed in on Izuku now felt different—lighter, warmer, threaded with the unspoken promise of understanding.

They changed back out of their uniforms in silence, and then, as usual, made their way to the bedroom. The small space felt more intimate than ever, the faint scent of Bakugo’s home settling around them. Bakugo dropped onto the bed first, stiff and bristling like always, muttering a clipped, “Don’t make it weird.” as he did every time.

 His hands twitched, sparks flickering faintly along his fingers before he clenched them into his pockets to calm himself.

Izuku slid in beside him, careful not to crowd him. But tonight, it felt… different. Easier. Not because the space had changed, or because the bed was bigger, but because something had shifted between them during the walk—something unspoken but real. 

Bakugo had admitted, in his gruff, half-hidden way, that he wanted to be a good friend to Izuku.

 He wanted to make him smile, to comfort him, to be someone as easy to talk to as Uraraka was. But he didn’t know how. No one had ever shown him. All he knew was subtle smirks, anger, and quiet brooding—his version of expression. And yet… Izuku was the only one who had ever made him smile as much as he had in years.

Izuku hugged Bakugo's back to his chest, feeling the warmth of his presence, like he did every night. 

He could feel the careful tension in Bakugo’s body slowly giving way, just a fraction, as if he were letting himself be near him without the walls he always put up.

“Kacchan…” Izuku murmured softly, pressing his face gently against Bakugo’s back, the warmth of him grounding the frantic thoughts still swirling in his chest. “Even though you might not think it… I trust you more than anyone.” His voice wavered slightly, but there was certainty behind it, a quiet courage that had taken years to build.

“And even though I know you don’t show it… I know what you’re feeling, what you’re trying to say.” His hands gripped Bakugo's shirt loosely, as if holding onto the moment itself. “You don’t need to be nicer, or change yourself for me… or anyone, for that matter.”

Bakugo’s fists twitched beneath the sheets, sparks threatening to flare for just a second before he clenched them tighter, forcing them down. He hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected Deku to look past his walls, past the anger and rough edges, and see him so clearly.

“I… I like you the way you are,” Izuku continued softly, voice barely above a whisper, trembling in the quiet room. “Not because of your quirk. Not because of anything you can do… but because you’re you. Kacchan. Just… you.”

Bakugo’s jaw flexed, a rough exhale slipping past his lips. He didn’t turn, didn’t say anything—not yet—but the heat behind his scowl softened, just slightly, and for the first time in a long while, he let himself just be near Izuku, letting the words settle between them without needing to respond.

And in that quiet, dark room, the space between them felt lighter, safer—like it had always belonged to them alone.

___

The next morning came too quickly. Izuku woke to the faint morning light spilling through the curtains and the steady warmth now at his back. For a second, he froze—Bakugo was still there, fast asleep, his breathing even and his hold softened into something almost gentle.

 Izuku slipped out of bed as quietly as he could, cheeks warm with the memory of what he’d whispered the night before. He hadn’t expected to say it, hadn’t expected Bakugo to let him. But the words had felt right.

By the time they arrived at U.A., uniforms neat and bags slung over their shoulders, it felt like nothing had changed on the surface. Bakugo still walked with that same sharp stride, jaw set, eyes daring anyone to challenge him. Izuku still shuffled beside him, muttering under his breath and fiddling with his notebooks. But beneath the surface—between the quiet, stolen glances they caught when they thought the other wasn’t looking—everything felt different.

Classes rolled on through the morning: math, literature, even the first rounds of hero ethics. Izuku took careful notes, hunched over his desk, though he couldn’t ignore the way Bakugo sat in front of him, arms folded, with his taught shirt perfectly hugging his lean frame. Every time he moved and tensed his muscles it left Izuku’s heart skipping just enough to throw off his train of thought.

When the afternoon rolled around, the classroom buzzed with restless energy. A sudden gust of air swept the room, and then—impossibly bright, impossibly loud—All Might himself filled the doorway, his booming laugh shaking the walls. “I AM... COMING THROUGH THE DOOR LIKE A NORMAL PERSON!” he bellowed, striking a pose that made the whole class erupt in awe.

All Might’s grin widened as he clapped his hands together. “Today, young heroes, you will be testing yourselves in a trial of might and wits—your very first Hero training exercise!” The classroom erupted in cheers and nervous murmurs, excitement rippling through the air.

Izuku gripped his pen tighter, his heart hammering against his ribs. From his seat just behind Bakugo, he could feel the charged presence radiating off him, the restless energy practically sparking from his shoulders. Every twitch, every shift of Bakugo’s posture was a signal Izuku had long since learned to read.

And though Bakugo never once turned around, he knew Deku’s wide, unblinking eyes were fixed somewhere on his back. He could feel it like static in the air between them, invisible and undeniable. The noise of the room blurred around them, the cheers and chatter distant, as if the only thing anchoring them both was the storm gathering quietly in that unspoken awareness.

This is gonna be fun

___

The locker room was loud with chatter and the clatter of metal doors, the air sharp with the scent of fresh fabric and nerves. Excited voices bounced off the walls, students laughing and speculating about what kind of costumes they’d each be wearing.

Izuku fumbled with the clasp of his case, fingers trembling as he lifted the lid. His costume gleamed inside, every piece carefully packed. His breath caught in his throat, equal parts pride and dread stirring in his chest—would it make him stand out too much again? Would everyone look at him the way they had during the quirk test, like he was a spectacle instead of a person?

Across the room, Bakugo leaned against his own locker, arms crossed, eyes fixed forward with his usual scowl. But his ears caught every word—every too-eager comment from their classmates about how “cool” Deku had been in the tests, every laugh that carried his name. He felt the heat crawling up his neck, but it wasn’t just anger. It was something heavier, knotted deep in his chest.

When Izuku finally lifted the costume free, Bakugo couldn’t stop his eyes from dragging over him. The nervous way Deku adjusted the gloves, the concentration in his face as if he was preparing for a battle no one else could see—it made Bakugo’s palms prickle, the urge to grab him, shake him, say something boiling up inside.

Instead, he only clicked his tongue, shoving his own gear on with sharp, practiced movements. But in the reflection of the locker’s metal surface, he caught Deku glancing sideways at him, quick and fleeting. Like always. Like it meant everything.

When the class gathered on the training grounds, the air practically buzzed. Excitement, nerves, the thrill of finally stepping into their hero identities—it was all written across every face.

But for Izuku, the world narrowed. He caught sight of Kacchan striding forward like a Greek god, wrapped in the battle gear he’d no doubt fine-tuned to the last detail. Every line of it clung to his frame, highlighting the strength carved into his arms and shoulders. Izuku swallowed hard, heat prickling his neck. He knew he shouldn’t stare, but the sight was magnetic, pulling at him in ways he didn’t understand—or maybe ways he was just too scared to admit.

Bakugo, for his part, was no better. He’d meant to sneer, to laugh at how “extra” Deku’s costume looked—but the words died before they reached his throat. Deku’s suit hugged him too well, each piece moulded to his frame, making him look less like the bumbling nerd Bakugo had grown up with and more like… someone dangerous. Someone impossible to ignore. Bakugo’s jaw clenched, a spark popping at his fingertips. Damn it, why did it make his chest feel tight, why did his gut twist every time Deku moved?

They didn’t say a word, but their glances kept catching. Quick, stolen, burning, hungry. Neither of them looked away fast enough.

“All right, young heroes!” boomed All Might, stepping to the front, larger than life. His voice echoed through the hall, pulling everyone back to attention. “Today, you will split into pairs for a trial that will test both your strength and your strategy—the Hero versus Villain exercise!”

The room exploded in cheers and murmurs.

“Teams will be chosen by random draw!” All Might added with a gleeful grin.

As the lots were drawn and names called, Izuku’s hands curled into fists at his sides. He couldn’t keep his mind from spinning, not with Kacchan’s presence burning into his peripheral vision, not with the way his costume seemed to fit him like a second skin. And from the rigid set of Bakugo’s shoulders, he knew Kacchan was fighting the same storm.

It wasn’t just friendly rivalry anymore. It was something sharper, heavier, humming in the air between them like a live wire.

The lots spun out one after another until finally—

“Bakugo Katsuki and Midoriya Izuku, You will be the villains. Iida Tenya and Uraraka Ochako, you will be the heroes"

Izuku’s breath hitched. The word villain clanged inside his head, loud and heavy, but before the dread could take root, he caught sight of Bakugo smirking sharp and fierce, sparks crackling at his palms. Of course Kacchan would look thrilled at the idea.

“Don’t slow me down, Deku,” Bakugo muttered under his breath as they moved toward the designated building. The words were sharp, but there wasn’t real venom in them—not anymore. Izuku could hear it, the unspoken you're okay, I’ve got you.

The exercise exploded into motion. As villains, they were a storm contained inside concrete walls—Bakugo’s blasts shaking the foundations, Izuku’s strength tearing through obstacles like paper. For all their clashing, their movements fit together almost naturally, each instinctively covering the other’s blind spots. By the time the buzzer blared, signalling the exercise’s end, they’d overwhelmed their opponents completely, falling into the roles of villains perfectly, even adding in a long monologue, just because they could.

once they were all back in the observation room, a few students whistled low, impressed. Some muttered about how terrifying they’d been together. But it was Mineta, snickering from the back, who said it outright:

“Jeez, you two were way too good at being villains. Kinda scary, honestly.”

Laughter rippled through the class. Izuku froze, smile dropping. His stomach lurched, his hands curling tight against his sides. The word echoed—villain, villain, villain—dragging up shadows he spent every day trying to outrun. All For One ghosted in his mind, the blood in his veins suddenly feeling like poison.

No one noticed the way his face paled. No one but Bakugo.

Later, when the others had drifted off for their turns, Bakugo caught Izuku’s hand in a firm grip, tugging him around the corner of the observation room, where no one else could see.

“The hell’s wrong with you?” Bakugo muttered, low and gruff, but there was no bite in it. His hand was hot against Izuku’s, grounding instead of threatening.

Izuku blinked up at him, throat tight, jaw trembling as he forced it steady. “…Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Don’t give me that crap.” Bakugo’s eyes softened even as his brows furrowed, his grip loosening just slightly, thumb brushing the inside of Izuku’s hand without him realizing. “That grape-haired extra runs his mouth and you look like you’re about to puke. I know that look, Deku.” His voice dipped quieter, almost careful. “Don’t let it stick in your head. You’re not him and You never will be.”

Izuku’s chest clenched, the words lodging somewhere deep. His lips parted, but no excuse, no self-deprecation came out. Just a shaky nod. “…thank you, Kacchan.”

Bakugo watched him for a beat longer, then let out a sharp exhale, trying to mask the way his shoulders eased. He finally let go of Izuku’s hand, but not before muttering, rough and almost awkward, “...You good now?”

Izuku blinked, startled by the softness under the gruff tone. After a pause, he nodded again, quieter this time. “Y-Yeah. I’m good.”

Bakugo grunted, looking away too quickly, sparks fizzing harmlessly at his palm as if to cover for the fact that he’d asked at all.

___

By the time they stepped back into the observation room, the noise of the class swallowed them whole. Students were crowded around the monitors, watching the next match play out, laughing and shouting over each other. It was easy enough to melt back into the group, to pretend nothing had happened in the quiet corner of the hall.

Izuku slid into place near the edge of the crowd, Bakugo a step behind him, arms crossed and scowl firmly in place. To anyone else, it looked like the same old Kacchan—impatient, restless, sparks nipping at his fingertips as if he was itching for another fight. And Izuku… well, no one ever questioned when he went quiet, eyes tracking the screen a little too intently.

But their hands still buzzed with the memory.

It wasn’t until Izuku shifted his weight, flexing his fingers nervously at his side, that he realized just how long Bakugo’s grip had lingered. 

That warm, grounding heat clung to his skin like a phantom. He swallowed hard, eyes glued to the monitor, not daring to glance over.

Bakugo, meanwhile, had gone tense in the shoulders, jaw tight.

 He could still feel the press of Deku’s hand against his palm, the subtle way his thumb had moved without thinking. It wasn’t like holding hands—it was holding hands. And that thought alone was enough to send a confused, frustrated spark snapping from his palm.

Neither of them spoke, but as the class roared at another clash on the screen, both found themselves strangely distracted, hearts hammering with the weight of something they both knew—and wouldn’t dare let anyone else see.

Chapter Text

The week that followed blurred into a strange, heavy rhythm. Lessons stacked one after another—combat drills, rescue scenarios, quirk control exercises—and though Izuku and Bakugo both kept their heads down, neither could quite shake the ghost of that moment in the training hall.

For Izuku, it lived in his hands. No matter how many notes he scribbled down, no matter how many calculations he muttered to himself in class, the memory of Bakugo’s grip stayed with him: warm, steady, unshakably real. He’d tell himself it didn’t mean anything, that Kacchan only did it to snap him out of his spiral, but then he’d catch Bakugo’s shoulders going rigid when their eyes met, and his heart would race all over again.

For Bakugo, it burned in the back of his mind like a fuse that never went out. He wanted to shove the memory down, bury it under explosions and scowls, but every time Deku glanced at him—even for a second—it flared back up. He hated how much he thought about it, hated even more how much he wanted to think about it. The worst part was that Deku didn’t seem any different on the surface, just his usual muttering, awkward self. like it didn't mean as much to izuku as it did to him

By Friday, the tension hummed between them like static, unspoken but constant.

 It was during homeroom that Aizawa dragged his tired voice across the room, announcing, “We need to pick a class representative.” 

The room lit up instantly. Hands shot into the air, voices overlapped, some students leapt to their feet with wild enthusiasm. Iida launched into a formal declaration about leadership and responsibility, while Kaminari joked about electing whoever looked coolest in their costume.

Izuku sank a little in his seat, not daring to put himself forward. Leadership had never been something he thought he deserved. His quirk, his powers—they already drew too much attention. He wasn’t sure he could handle more.

In front of him, Bakugo’s hand raised, still half bent at the elbow, his glare daring anyone to challenge him. “Obviously, it’s me. None of you extras are cut out for it.”

Groans and protests filled the room, but Izuku found himself biting his lip, a strange mix of pride and frustration bubbling in his chest. Typical Kacchan—charging forward without hesitation.

And yet, beneath all the noise, Izuku felt that same pull he’d been wrestling with all week: a quiet, aching want to stand next to him, not just as a rival, not just as someone always chasing from behind, but as something… closer.

The class was still in chaos when Iida pushed his glasses up and cleared his throat. “If I may,” he said, raising his hand stiffly until the noise dwindled. “Leadership is not something to be taken lightly. We should vote—for two people, to ensure balance. One of those votes may be for yourself, though in my opinion, that would be rather selfish.”

The room quieted further, students exchanging uncertain glances.

“That’s… actually a good idea,” Jirou said, tapping her desk. “Two reps instead of one... Makes sense. that way it's unbiased.”

Aizawa, already half in his sleeping bag, muttered something that sounded like “Fine, whatever, just get it done,” before tugging the zipper up.

Slips of paper went around, and the scratching of pens filled the room. Izuku sat frozen over his ballot, his pen trembling. He didn’t want to put his own name down. Even after the entrance exam and the villain exercise, he still felt like his quirk had painted a target on his back.

 He wasn’t sure the others saw him as anything more than raw power. Still, when he thought about the students he did trust, the first name that came to mind was… obvious. His hand shook as he wrote it down, adding Uraraka's name a minute later. 

Bakugo scrawled his choices without hesitation, jaw set. He told himself he didn’t care about class rep, not really—he just wasn’t going to let anyone else stand above him. That was all. But when he scrawled “Midoriya” beneath his own name, he paused. The thought crept in unbidden: At least with Deku, I’d know it wasn’t all on me.

When the votes were counted, the result shocked nearly everyone.

“Midoriya Izuku, seven votes.”

Izuku nearly fell out of his chair. “S-Seven?! That’s—that’s not—why would anyone—?”

“And Bakugo Katsuki, six votes.”

The room erupted in chatter. Kaminari whistled low. “Huh. Guess people think you two make a good team.”

“They do balance each other out,” Yaoyorozu agreed thoughtfully. “Midoriya has a calm, analytical approach, and Bakugo has decisive drive. Together, they’re… well, effective.”

Izuku’s face burned as the words washed over him. People didn’t just see his quirk—they saw him. And they saw him standing beside Kacchan, not in front of him.

Bakugo, meanwhile, scoffed and crossed his arms, but his chest thrummed with something hot and unsettled. A part of him wanted to bark at the class, to insist he didn’t need Deku to lead —even though he himself voted for him—but another part—the one he hated admitting even to himself—didn’t mind the idea of standing at Deku’s side, shoulder to shoulder.

___

Aizawa didn’t even bother opening his eyes when the results were tallied. “Fine. Midoriya and Bakugo, you’re the reps. Go stand up front and say something.”

Izuku froze in his seat, stomach twisting into knots. Every eye in the room turned toward him, and for a second he wanted to sink into the floor, to hide under his desk until they all stopped looking.

 His palms sweated as he pushed himself to his feet, legs stiff and awkward, but the sound of Bakugo’s chair scraping back steadied him. Kacchan was already stomping toward the front, head high, scowl carved sharp into his face. Typical.

Izuku trailed after him, clutching his notebook against his chest like a shield. Standing there, shoulder to shoulder with Bakugo, he could feel the weight of the class’s attention pressing in. It was overwhelming—but for the first time, it wasn’t suffocating. They’d voted for him. For him. Not just his quirk. Him.

“I-I’ll do my best,” he stammered out, bowing quickly. His cheeks burned, his voice trembled, but there was an honest, glowing edge to his words. “Thank you… for believing in me. I won’t let you down.”

Beside him, Bakugo crossed his arms and let out a Tch. “Listen up, extras! I don’t care if you voted for me ‘cause you actually wanted me here or just didn’t know who else to pick—doesn’t matter. I’m your rep now, so shut up and deal with it.” His voice was rough, sharp, commanding. But the corner of his mouth twitched upward, a smirk that wasn’t cruel this time. “With me and Deku at the front, we’re not losing to anyone. Got it?”

The class let out a mix of laughter, groans, and even a few cheers. Kaminari muttered something about Bakugo being terrifying, while Yaoyorozu gave a satisfied nod.

Izuku, cheeks still flushed, risked a glance sideways. Bakugo stood tall, fierce as ever, but Izuku caught it—the spark of pride hidden beneath the scowl, the thrill of standing there together. And though Kacchan would never say it out loud, Izuku knew. He knew that, for all his yelling, Bakugo wasn’t angry at all.

For Bakugo, it was simple. Standing there, side by side with Deku, felt… right. Like this was how it was supposed to be. Like this was the only future he could picture.

___

The cafeteria was buzzing that afternoon, a hundred voices bouncing off the high walls. Class 1-A had claimed a long table in the corner, trays stacked with curry, rice, and more food than Izuku thought he could ever finish. He kept sneaking nervous glances at Bakugo, who was tearing into his plate like it had personally offended him.

It almost felt normal. Almost.

Then the lights dimmed, the chatter broke, and a shrill alarm split through the air.

Warning. Security breach. Level three. All students proceed with caution.

The message repeated, mechanical and cold, but the words barely registered. Panic rippled through the room like fire on dry grass. Chairs screeched back, trays clattered to the floor, voices pitched into screams. Students shoved past one another in a frantic surge for the doors.

“Shit,” Bakugo hissed, already on his feet.

Izuku was shoved hard into the edge of the table, his breath catching as the crowd swelled around them. Someone tripped and fell, and the rush didn’t slow—feet stamped down, too fast, too loud. The air grew hot and heavy, the sound of panic drowning everything else out.

“Kacchan—people are getting trampled!” Izuku shouted over the roar. His eyes darted frantically, heart hammering. The chaos reminded him too much of the entrance exam, feeling helpless while disaster struck and no one dared to stop it.

“Then we stop it, dumbass!” Bakugo barked, eyes sharp, as if he had read izuku's mind. He grabbed Izuku’s arm to anchor him, grounding them both as the mob surged.

Uraraka stumbled nearby, pale with fear but still on her feet. Izuku’s gaze snapped to her instantly. “Ochako—your quirk! Can you—can you make Kacchan float?”

“What?!” she blinked, startled.

Izuku’s voice was tight, urgent, but steady. “If he’s up high, he can blast big enough to grab their attention—make them look! That’ll stop the panic!”

Bakugo was already snarling, palms sparking. “Tch, fine. Round Face—get me up there, now!”

Uraraka slapped her fingertips against his shoulder, and in an instant Bakugo’s boots lifted off the ground. He rose awkwardly at first, arms thrashing until he got his balance, teeth bared.

“Everyone, look at me!” he roared, blasting a massive explosion into the air above the crowd. The crack and flare of fire snapped heads up at once, a thunderclap of light and sound cutting clean through the panic. His voice boomed down at them, raw and commanding. “Quit your damn screaming! You’re students of U.A.—act like it!”

The surge slowed, just enough for Izuku to move. His legs carried him before he even thought about it, weaving into the gaps in the crowd.

“Watch out—don’t push, this way’s clear!” he called, reaching down to pull a girl back to her feet. Her knee was scraped raw, blood soaking through her tights. Another boy was coughing, his arm twisted at a wrong angle from the fall. Izuku crouched at his side, jaw set, lifting him up with a gentleness that steadied the boy’s wild eyes. “It’s okay—you’re safe now. Lean on me, I’ve got you.”

Everywhere he moved, Bakugo’s explosions flared above, sharp bursts of light guiding Izuku through the storm. Like two halves of a single rhythm, they worked without words—Bakugo commanding the space, Izuku filling it with reassurance, catching the pieces that might’ve broken.

Slowly, painfully, the panic ebbed. Breathing steadied, footsteps slowed, voices dulled from screams to murmurs. The air still thrummed with fear, but it wasn’t spiralling anymore. The tide had been pulled back.

Finally, when the last injured student was settled against the wall and Recovery Girl’s assistants rushed in, Bakugo floated back down. Uraraka tapped her fingertips together, releasing him, her face green with nausea. He landed with a heavy thud, shoulders heaving, sparks still crackling at his palms.

Across the room, Izuku wiped the sweat from his brow, heart still pounding as his gaze met Bakugo’s. For one breath, they just looked at each other through the quiet that followed, the unspoken weight between them louder than the alarm still droning faintly overhead.

They didn’t need to say it. They both knew: when the world tipped into chaos, they moved as one.

___

The cafeteria felt hollow once the chaos drained out of it, like a storm had passed and left only broken branches in its wake. Students shuffled in uneasy silence, some nursing scrapes and bruises, others with eyes still wide and trembling. The air smelled faintly of smoke from Bakugo’s blasts, heavy with the sharp tang of adrenaline.

Izuku lingered by the wall, wiping his palms against his uniform pants as his breathing steadied. His chest still ached with the echo of fear—not his own, but the panic he’d seen in everyone’s eyes. He glanced up just as Bakugo stomped over, his scowl firmly in place, but his eyes… softer. Tired.

“You didn’t freeze up.” Bakugo muttered, low enough that only Izuku could hear. “You moved.”

Izuku blinked, startled, before lowering his head with a faint, shaky smile. “…Because you were there.”

Bakugo clicked his tongue, face heating as he shoved past him, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like dumbass. But he didn’t walk too far ahead. He waited at the door until Izuku caught up.

The two of them fell back in line with the others, acting like nothing had happened at all—like their hands hadn’t brushed when Izuku had steadied Bakugo after he landed, like they hadn’t just read each other’s every move without speaking.

By the time they reached the classroom, Aizawa was already waiting, cocooned in his sleeping bag at the front. His eyes, however, were sharp and unblinking, following each of them as they filed in and sat down. The tension was so thick it felt like no one dared breathe too loudly.

Finally, he sighed, dragging himself upright.

“That? Was pathetic.” His voice was flat, cutting through the silence like a blade. “You’re supposed to be the future of hero society. And you lost your heads at the first sign of trouble.” He swept his gaze across them, unimpressed. “A crowd of panicked teenagers trampling each other—if that’s what happens here, in a controlled environment, what do you think happens out there? On the street? With real civilians? Villains?”

The guilt in the room was palpable, sinking into every bowed head and shifting foot.

Aizawa’s eyes narrowed. “That so-called ‘security breach’? Just the press. The media trying to force their way onto school grounds. Nothing more.” He let that sink in, his tone cool, clipped. “And you still lost control.”

The silence deepened, heavy as stone.

Then, after a long moment, Aizawa added, quieter but sharper: “…Still. It would’ve been worse without a few of you stepping up.” His eyes flicked deliberately to three students. “Midoriya. Bakugo. Uraraka. You kept the damage minimal. Good instincts.”

Izuku’s breath caught, warmth rushing to his chest so fast it almost hurt. Praise—from Aizawa-sensei. His hands twisted in his lap, unsure what to do with themselves.

Beside him, Bakugo didn’t smile. He didn’t even look up. But his jaw unclenched slightly, and he leaned back in his chair with a grunt that was almost—almost—satisfaction.

Uraraka beamed, cheeks pink, though she kept glancing at Izuku and Bakugo like she’d seen something she couldn’t quite put into words.

Aizawa tightened his capture weapon around his shoulders, already sounding bored again. “Don’t let it go to your heads. Just remember what happens when you don’t think. That’ll be all.”

The bell rang not long after, releasing them for the day, but the echo of his words—and the memory of how close they’d all come to a disaster—hung over the class like a shadow.

___

The streets were quieter than usual on the walk back, the last burn of daylight spilling gold across the pavement. Izuku trailed just a half-step behind Bakugo like always, backpack slung heavy on his shoulders, the silence between them stretching taut. It wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly—just… full.

Finally, Izuku let out a shaky breath, his words tumbling out before he could stop them.

“Kacchan… back there, in the cafeteria…” He tightened his grip on his bag straps. “If you hadn’t acted first, I—I don’t know what would’ve happened. I probably would’ve just stood there, overthinking, and people could’ve gotten really hurt.”

Bakugo stopped walking for a second, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. His face was hard to read in the fading light, but his voice came out rough, unpolished.

“Tch. You’re a damn idiot if you think that.”

Izuku blinked. “…H-huh?”

“You didn’t freeze. You moved.” Bakugo shoved his hands into his pockets, looking away. “You grabbed people, got ‘em outta the stampede. You didn’t wait for someone to tell you what to do. That’s more than half the extras in that room can say.”

The words hit harder than Izuku expected, stealing the air from his chest. His throat worked, but all he managed was a small, almost disbelieving smile. “…Thanks, Kacchan.”

Bakugo grunted, like he already regretted saying it, but he didn’t take it back.

They walked on in silence for a while, the sound of their shoes tapping against the pavement filling the space. Then, almost too quietly to hear, Bakugo muttered:

“…Didn’t like seeing you look like that. When that grape-haired bastard ran his mouth. Or in the cafeteria, when you thought people would get crushed.”

Izuku’s steps faltered, his heart lurching. He glanced up at Bakugo, catching the way he kept his head turned, jaw tight, ears just the faintest bit red.

“…You noticed?”

“Of course I noticed, dumbass.” Bakugo finally looked at him, eyes sparking with something sharper, deeper than anger. “You think I don’t know what your face looks like when you’re about to break? that fear? I’ve been looking at it my whole damn life.”

Izuku swallowed hard, his pulse hammering. The words caught in his throat, tangled up with a hundred things he wanted to say but couldn’t.

So instead, he just nodded, voice small but steady. “…I’m glad you were there, Kacchan.”

Bakugo scoffed, turning his head away again. But this time, he didn’t speed up to put distance between them. If anything, their steps fell into the same rhythm, side by side, all the way home.

Chapter Text

By the time they reached the Bakugo residence, the sun had dipped fully beneath the horizon, the last streaks of orange fading into deep blue. The quiet pressed in around them, broken only by the soft creak of the front door and the shuffle of their shoes in the entryway. Neither spoke as they climbed the stairs, but every step felt heavier, charged with the weight of the day that clung to their shoulders.

When they finally settled into Bakugo’s room, uniforms swapped for the comfort of worn T-shirts and sweatpants, the tension thinned but didn’t vanish. They lay side by side on the same bed as always, the hum of the city faint through the open window. Izuku stared at the ceiling, words swirling in his head, but his chest was too tight to let them out. Beside him, Bakugo shifted once, twice, like he had something to say too but couldn’t find the right way to force it free.

It wasn’t until Izuku whispered, “Thanks for today… really,” that Bakugo let out a low grunt, rolling onto his side with his back to him.
“Tch. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

But his shoulders eased, and when Izuku dared to edge closer, wrapping his arms around Bakugo, neither of them moved away. For the first time since sharing the bed, sleep came quickly—lighter, easier, as though they were both used to the predicament and openly invited it into their hearts.

___

The next day slipped back into routine: lectures, training drills, and the low buzz of chatter in the cafeteria. Though, the atmosphere was still tense—students jolting at the crash of a dropped tray, eyes darting toward the doors whenever voices rose too loud. Even laughter sounded nervous, thin around the edges. Izuku noticed it most of all, the way people checked over their shoulders, and each time it made his stomach twist with guilt. Bakugo, on the other hand, barked at a few of them for “jumping like a bunch a' pussies” but didn’t miss the way Deku’s shoulders curled in whenever the room got too loud.

And yet, between them, something subtle had shifted. Their eyes met more often in class, quick glances that lingered too long, conversations carried out in murmurs beneath the noise. They didn’t speak about that night in Bakugo’s room, or the way the cafeteria had bound them together, but it lived in the space between every shared look.

___

A week bled into another, the days a steady rhythm of studying, sparring, and stolen moments. Izuku found himself smiling more often, not because the pressure had vanished—it never did—but because sometimes, when his thoughts grew too heavy, he’d look up to find Bakugo already staring back at him, expression unreadable but steady in a way that grounded him.

It was during homeroom, as their exhaustion settled into the desks like a second skin, that Aizawa finally raised his head from his capture weapon and spoke. His voice, flat as ever, cut through the haze.

“Tomorrow, we’re heading out for rescue training. Off campus."

The room stirred with murmurs, the promise of something new cracking through the monotony. Excitement, nerves, even fear—all of it buzzed in the air. Izuku’s pen stilled in his hand, his chest tightening. Rescue training. Real scenarios. Real stakes.

in front of him, Bakugo leaned back in his chair, a sharp grin tugging at his mouth. But when his eyes flicked behind him to Izuku’s pale face, the grin softened—just a fraction. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. 

And for reasons Izuku couldn’t quite untangle, the weight in his chest eased.

___

That night, the house was quiet. Bakugo’s mom had gone to bed early, the hum of the fridge downstairs the only sound cutting through the silence. In his room, the two of them lay in the same bed as always, the darkness settling around them like a heavy blanket. But something was different tonight.

Izuku shifted closer, almost without realizing, his forehead brushing the curve of Bakugo’s shoulder as he hugged his side. His heart pounded hard enough to shake his ribs, but the warmth seeping into him felt too good to pull away from. He’d never admit it aloud, but nights like this—sharing the same space, the same breaths—were the only times he felt like he wasn’t coming apart at the seams.

Bakugo tensed at first, instinctively bristling at the closeness, but he didn’t move away either. Instead, he let his arm fall back just enough that Izuku could settle more comfortably against him. His chest rose and fell with slow, steady breaths, but inside he was thrumming with things he didn’t know how to say. All he knew was that Deku felt small against him, fragile in a way that made his teeth grit. Like if he didn’t hold his ground, the idiot would vanish.

seconds stretched into minutes, neither of them speaking. Just the quiet rhythm of breathing, the subtle weight of trust building between them. It felt… safe. Too safe.

Because neither of them could know what waited for them the next day. Neither could know how quickly comfort could be ripped away, how fast the world could change. For tonight, all they had was this: the fragile warmth of each other, the soft press of closeness in the dark, and the lie that maybe it could last forever.

And so they drifted off to sleep—closer than ever before, hearts steadying against each other—blissfully unaware of how short-lived the moment would be.

___

Morning sunlight spilled across the U.A. campus, the kind of crisp, early light that made everything feel sharper, clearer, like the world was buzzing with possibility.

 Students gathered near the bus in messy clumps, voices overlapping in a dozen conversations. Some had their hero costumes on in full, others slung bags over their shoulders with their attachments bundled inside, still groggy from the early hour.

 Excitement rippled through the group though—it was obvious in the way people fidgeted, laughed louder than usual, or leaned into whispered conversations.

Izuku stood a little apart from the crowd, his clipboard pressed to his chest like it actually served a purpose. The list of names Aizawa had given him felt heavier than paper should, but it was part of the job now. Class rep. Responsibility. He inhaled deeply, trying to steady himself. He needed to be thorough. He needed to be the kind of leader everyone could trust.

So he started his head count.

One by one, he glanced over faces, checking names silently in his head. Yaoyorozu, Iida, Uraraka, Kirishima, Mina… the list ticked by. It helped calm him, focusing on something concrete. If he made sure everyone was accounted for, he’d at least be useful. That thought eased some of the tightness in his chest even though he couldn't shake the feeling of danger that pricked at his skin.

When the last student climbed onto the bus, Izuku lingered outside, eyes flicking quickly over the group. He opened his mouth to ask for everyone’s attention when a voice barked out from inside.

“Tch. Dumbass, quit staring holes in the door. I already counted.”

Izuku blinked, startled, and climbed the steps hesitantly. At the front of the bus, Bakugo leaned against the nearest seat with his arms crossed, looking for all the world like he owned the place. His scowl was firmly in place, but when his eyes cut toward Izuku, there was something else there. A nod. The barest flicker of a smirk tugging at his mouth. Confirmation.

Izuku’s breath caught. 

“Oh. Uh—thank you, Kacchan,” he stammered, cheeks warming. He clutched the board tighter to keep his hands from shaking. “I—I was just—”

“I said I did it already.” Bakugo cut him off, voice gruff but softer than usual. He jerked his chin toward the rows of students who were already bickering over seats. “Don’t make it weird.”

Izuku bit down on a nervous laugh, nodding quickly. He slid past, finding an open spot beside Bakugo near the middle of the bus. The seat dipped under their combined weight, the faint brush of their shoulders sending Izuku’s pulse racing. He tried not to look like he noticed.

___

The chatter around them swelled as the engine rumbled to life. Kirishima was leaning across the aisle, trying to convince Kaminari that today was going to be “manly as hell.” Mina squealed at the idea of getting to use her acid in an actual training scenario, while Sero made a joke about “not melting your teammates, please.” Uraraka and Iida were talking animatedly near the front, their voices clear and bright above the noise.

Izuku smiled faintly, watching them out of the corner of his eye. It felt good to see his classmates excited—even if the knot in his stomach didn’t ease. He shifted his clipboard onto his lap, staring at the neat list of names. He’d done everything he was supposed to. Everyone was safe and accounted for. Still, he couldn’t shake the restless energy and unease gnawing at him.

Beside him, Bakugo tapped impatient fingers against his knee. Izuku glanced sideways, catching the small crease between his brows. He looked restless too, though not in the same way. For Bakugo, restlessness usually meant eagerness—he was itching to get to USJ, itching to prove himself again. The idea made Izuku’s chest twist in that strange, complicated way it always did when it came to Kacchan.

Bakugo must’ve felt the weight of his stare because he snapped his head around suddenly. “What?”

“N-nothing!” Izuku squeaked, snapping his gaze forward so fast his neck cracked. His ears burned.

Bakugo scoffed, muttering something under his breath that sounded like “damn nerd,” but he didn’t press further. Instead, he shifted in his seat, one arm hooking casually along the backrest. The motion brought him just a fraction closer, enough that Izuku felt the warmth radiating from him, seeping into his skin.

He tried not to fidget. Tried not to think about how his heart was beating too fast for someone who was just sitting on a bus.

___

The ride stretched on, the scenery outside flashing by in streaks of green and grey. Laughter rose and fell in waves, students teasing each other, swapping predictions about the training.

“Bet Todoroki’s gonna freeze half the building in under five minutes,” Kirishima grinned.

“Please,” Mina rolled her eyes. “The real danger is Bakugo blowing it up before anyone else even gets a turn.”

The whole row laughed, and even though it was meant as a joke, Izuku felt Bakugo bristle beside him. His hand twitched against his knee, sparks snapping faintly before he caught himself. Izuku glanced up at him, worried, but Bakugo only snarled, “Like hell I’m gonna let half-assed extras show me up.”

His tone was harsh, but Izuku caught the faintest edge of self-control threading through it. He leaned back in his seat, voice careful. “You won’t. You never do.”

Bakugo’s eyes flicked toward him, sharp and searching. For a heartbeat, Izuku thought he’d say something—something real, something that sat heavy between them in moments like this. But then Bakugo just huffed and looked away, jaw tight.

Izuku’s chest ached anyway.

___

As the bus rolled on, conversations shifted. Iida stood up at one point, trying to give an impromptu speech about safety and composure, which most of the class ignored and mocked lightly. Kaminari made paper balls out of spare notes and flicked them at the back of Jirou’s head until she smacked him upside the ear. Even Todoroki, usually silent, asked a quiet question about the USJ facility that Momo was all too eager to answer in great detail.

Through it all, Izuku and Bakugo sat side by side, quiet. Every so often, Izuku’s knee would brush against Bakugo’s. Every so often, Bakugo’s arm would shift against the seatback, knuckles grazing Izuku’s shoulder. Neither said a word about it, but both felt the electric thread pulling tighter.

Izuku glanced down at his clipboard again, the neat list of names, and thought about responsibility. About what it meant to keep people safe. He thought about how easily things could go wrong, how quickly lives could change. His hands clenched in his lap, knuckles whitening.

Beside him, Bakugo finally muttered, almost too low to hear, “Quit overthinking. Just do your damn job.”

Izuku turned, startled, only to find Bakugo staring straight ahead, jaw set. His voice softened just enough to be noticeable. “…You’re not alone, Deku.”

The words sank deep, lodging themselves in Izuku’s chest. He wanted to respond, to wrap his arms around his neck and kiss his lips, to thank him with more than words ever could, but his throat felt too tight, and his body wouldn't let him, so he only nodded, gaze dropping to his lap.

Outside, the bus rumbled closer to its destination. Inside, the chatter only rose, oblivious to the storm on the horizon. And in the quiet middle row, two boys sat shoulder to shoulder—hearts restless, eyes fixed forward—both too close and not nearly close enough.

___

Izuku should have joined in. He should have felt relief, pride even, at being part of this group, laughing about the little things. Instead, his gaze flicked sideways to the boy beside him.

Bakugo now sat rigid, shoulders tense, staring out the window as the scenery began to change as they saw the huge USJ on the horizon. His jaw was tight, but there was no explosive outburst, no yelling. Just… silence. Izuku wondered if Bakugo felt it too—the strange pressure in the air.

 He couldn’t settle. so he scribbled notes into his journal, muttering under his breath, a comfort habit that made Uraraka smile from a few rows up. His pen scratched fast when he wrote about Thirteen.

“Thirteen’s here,” he whispered, half to himself, half in awe. “The space hero, the master of Black Hole—one of the most incredible quirks ever recorded. Their rescue missions… their control of gravitational singularities…” His eyes practically sparkled, immediately taking his mind off of the dangerous pit that swirled in his stomach

He felt his pulse quicken, not just with excitement, but reverence. Thirteen wasn’t about flashy battles or explosions. They were about saving people. About doing what heroes were meant to do. Izuku couldn’t wait to see them up close, to maybe ask a question—if his nerves didn’t kill him first.

The bus slowed, jolting his thoughts to the present. Heads turned toward the massive, domed structure that loomed ahead. The USJ looked like another world entirely—its silhouette sharp against the sky, vast and mysterious.

As the students shuffled off the bus, Izuku instinctively fell back into his rep role, scanning each head, making sure no one was left behind. He wasn’t surprised when Bakugo brushed past him at the doors, throwing him a brief look—not hostile, not smug, but almost… affirming. As if to say: I’ve got this too, idiot.

The moment they stepped inside, Izuku froze. His eyes widened, his breath catching. The facility stretched endlessly, an entire landscape contained under a dome—mountains, rivers, city ruins, even a mock-up of disaster zones. His heart hammered with awe.

“This… this is incredible…” he muttered, notebook already halfway out of his bag.

Thirteen greeted them warmly, their suited figure bowing slightly. Their voice, soft yet commanding, echoed across the space. Izuku clutched his journal tighter, hanging onto every word, unable to contain the spark in his chest. This was it. This was what he’d dreamed of—standing here, learning from real pros.

But as their teacher spoke, that same spark began to twist. Izuku’s stomach knotted, his palms damp. Something felt… off. He glanced around, eyes narrowing, hyperaware of every shadow, every corner.

His classmates laughed and whispered around him, but Izuku’s body had gone rigid. That sense—that sense—of danger. He couldn’t explain it, but it pressed down on him like a storm just over the horizon. His fight-or-flight screamed at him, claws digging into his chest.

He darted a look at Bakugo, who caught it for just a second before scoffing and turning away. But Izuku saw it—the faint crease of his brow, the subtle stiffening of his posture. He felt it too.

And then—

The lights flickered.

Izuku’s breath hitched, every nerve alight.

Something was wrong.

So very, very wrong.

Chapter Text

I recommend listening to requiem in D minor for this chapter :)

Izuku’s stomach dropped. His entire body seized with panic before his mind even caught up. Something was wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong.

___

“This isn’t right!” he shouted, the words ripping out of him raw, desperate. His classmates all turned, startled, but he didn’t back down. His instincts screamed too loudly. “Stay on guard!”

As if the universe had been waiting for his warning, the air at the centre of the plaza warped. Shadows twisted, a mist coalescing until it tore itself open into a gaping void.

And from it, figures began to pour.

One, two, five—dozens. Men and women, armed with blades, masks, guns, strange quirks warping the air around them. Their footsteps thundered as they spilled into the plaza, snarls and twisted grins breaking across their faces.

“Villains,” Aizawa muttered, his eyes narrowing. The exhaustion in his slouched body snapped away, replaced by razor-sharp focus as his scarf unfurled and he pulled his goggled down. “Stay back.”

Gasps rippled through the students. A few screamed.

Izuku couldn’t breathe. His body trembled, his throat raw, but his eyes were glued to the figure at the centre of the growing mob—a man with human hands littered across his body, one covering his face.

“Children, we are the league of villains” the man drawled, voice scraping like nails against glass. “and we came here to kill All Might.”

The tension in the room shattered into chaos.

The sound of boots on steel rang like gunfire as the villains swarmed into the plaza. They weren’t illusions, they weren’t training robots. These were killers, and the hunger in their eyes left no doubt.

Aizawa’s scarf snapped outward, precise and sharp, latching onto the first villain who lunged. In the same breath, his eyes glowed scarlet, and the man’s quirk fizzled out. Aizawa twisted, dropped him, and was already moving for the next.

“Stay calm!” Thirteen barked, her voice slicing through the panic as students staggered back toward the stairs. “This is no training exercise. Get to the exit, now!”

Izuku’s body wouldn’t move. He was rooted in place, chest rising and falling too fast, eyes wide as the mist grew thicker near the villains’ leader. That strange void—like a portal made of smoke—spread wider, curling upward until it blocked the view of the ceiling.

Then a voice. Smooth. Calm. It slithered through the fog.

“Scatter them.”

The mist lunged.

Izuku gasped as darkness closed around him, a cold grip yanking at his body. He twisted, reaching instinctively for the one person he always reached for—

“Kacchan!”

His fingers brushed empty air. The portal swallowed him whole.

___

The world bent sideways. His stomach flipped, like he was being torn apart and shoved back together again. And then—water. Cold, deep water surged around him, filling his ears, stinging his eyes. Izuku thrashed until he broke the surface with a gasp.

The Shipwreck Zone.

Shattered boats and splintered wood jutted up around him like grave markers. Waves lapped against the artificial structures, eerie in their quiet.

“Midoriya!”

A webbed hand caught his arm, pulling him to a broken mast where Tsuyu Asui crouched, her wide eyes calm despite the chaos. Beside her, Mineta flailed, clutching at anything solid.

“We got split,” Tsuyu said evenly. “There are villains in the water. What’s the plan?”

Izuku froze. The question stabbed him sharper than any blade. A plan. They were waiting on him.

He dragged in a ragged breath, forcing his mind to steady and stray from the thought of Kacchan. 'Analyse. Prioritize. Quirks unknown. Terrain dangerous. Calm down.'

His eyes darted to the surface of the water—shadows flickered beneath. Villains waiting to strike.

“They… they don’t know our quirks yet, or else why would they have put you here Tsuyu...” he managed, voice trembling but focused. “That’s our advantage. We use surprise. Tsuyu, your mobility gives us control of the water. Mineta, your balls can stick them together. And me—” He clenched his fists. One For All buzzed faintly in his bones. “—I’ll draw them out.”

For the first time since being swallowed by the portal, he steadied. Leadership wasn’t something he wanted—it was something thrust into his hands. And if he dropped it, they’d die.

___

Across the USJ, Bakugo’s world slammed back into focus in the Fire Zone. Flames curled hungrily around warped steel, the heat blasting against his skin. He landed hard, rolled, and sprang to his feet in the same motion.

“Fuck,” he hissed, scanning. Villains, five of them, closing fast.

He clenched his fists, palms sparking, but his chest burned hotter than the fire around him. He hadn’t seen Deku when the mist swallowed them. He’d heard his voice—frantic, reaching for him—but then nothing.

The thought of Deku dumped somewhere alone, surrounded by these bastards, made Bakugo’s vision pulse red.

“You picked the wrong damn class to mess with,” he snarled, sparks bursting brighter, lighting his glare like molten steel.

The villains faltered for a second. That was all he needed. He rocketed forward, explosions propelling him straight into their line, fist slamming into the nearest jaw with enough force to snap bone. The next fell to a blast that sent him sprawling into a wall of flame.

He didn’t care how many stood in front of him. He’d tear through every last one of them to find Deku.

___

Back in the Shipwreck Zone, the plan unfolded in jagged bursts of desperation.

Tsuyu launched into the air, her long tongue snapping around Izuku’s waist to drag him aside just as a villain lunged upward with claws ready to tear. Izuku twisted mid-air, fist glowing faintly red, and slammed it into the surface. The water erupted, a shockwave blasting the villains into disarray.

“Nice one!” Mineta squeaked, hurling sticky spheres into the waves. They latched onto the struggling villains, tangling them into a writhing mess.

Izuku’s chest heaved. His body screamed, but his mind was sharp. “We move—now! Tsuyu, get us out before more show up!”

She didn’t argue. Her tongue snapped outward, catching the edge of a broken ship, and in seconds they were vaulting out of the zone, villains still tangled and thrashing below.

For a fleeting moment, victory tasted real.

But as Izuku’s feet hit solid ground, his heart twisted.  'Where's Kacchan?!'

___

Back in the Fire Zone, Bakugo wiped blood from his cheek, snarling as the last villain crumpled under his blast. Smoke hung heavy, the heat suffocating, but he didn’t pause.

His eyes darted upward, scanning for the central plaza. He could hear faint echoes—shouts, crashes. The fight was bigger than just here.

“Tch.” He spit to the side, his hands trembling not with exhaustion but fury. Fury at being dragged away. Fury at not knowing if Deku was safe.

He didn’t care if he had to blow the walls down himself—he’d get back to him.

___

When they returned to the plaza, it was already a nightmare.

Aizawa was bloodied, his capture scarf fraying under the Nomu’s relentless strength. His quirk blinked on and off, exhaustion dragging his eyelids, but he fought like a demon, every strike desperate to protect the students.

Izuku’s stomach knotted. 'The Nomu was too strong. Even All Might might-'

And then he saw him.

A blast of light, a roar of fury—Bakugo shot forward, palms crackling with murderous explosions. He slammed into the Nomu’s chest with a deafening crack, forcing it backward.

“Don’t just stand there, Deku!” he bellowed, voice raw. “Move!”

Relief flooded Izuku so fast it was dizzying. He was here. He was alive. He was fighting—

But the relief twisted into horror almost instantly.

The Nomu’s chest—already cracked from Bakugo’s hit—healed. The flesh re-knit before Izuku’s eyes. And in the same breath, its massive arm shot out, claws snapping tight around Bakugo’s body.

“No!” Izuku’s scream tore his throat.

Bakugo writhed, sparks exploding violently, his teeth bared in fury. But the Nomu’s grip was iron. He couldn’t break free.

Izuku’s legs moved before thought caught up, sprinting across the plaza toward him. But out of the corner of his eye—

Shigaraki.

The villain’s hand stretched toward Tsuyu, who had stumbled, cornered against shattered stone. His fingers twitched, hungry to touch, to rot.

Izuku’s body froze mid-stride. His chest convulsed.

Kacchan—Tsu—Kacchan—

He couldn’t breathe. He had to choose.

And in that instant, the choice made itself.

With a scream he hurled himself sideways, snatching Tsuyu around the waist and yanking her out of Shigaraki’s reach. His hand missed her shoulder by less than an inch. The stone wall behind her crumbled into dust, a grotesque reminder of what her body would have become.

But in saving her—

Izuku’s head snapped back just in time to see it.

The Nomu, annoyed at Bakugo’s sparks, swung its arm like a child tossing away a toy.

And Kacchan—his Kacchan—was hurled through the air, slamming once against the concrete with a sickening crack before his limp body ricochet across the plaza. 

“NO—!”

The world slowed into unbearable clarity.

He saw Bakugo’s head snap back, blood flicking in the air like scarlet rain. Saw his arms slacken, his body fold. Saw him soar helplessly, weightless, until—

The shipwreck zone’s black water swallowed him whole.

The sound of the splash rang in Izuku’s skull like a gunshot.

His breath fractured into ragged pieces. His legs gave out, but he forced them forward, clawing at the ground with his nails. His throat ripped itself open as his scream tore free, raw and jagged, echoing across the whole of the USJ.

“KACCHAN!”

His glitch roared, his body shaking violently, unable to hold it back anymore. The weight of it—the terror, the pain, the rage—boiled over. 

Izuku’s body moved before his mind could catch up. One heartbeat he was screaming across the plaza, the next he was gone—swallowed in a jagged rip of static that tore through the air.

The world reformed around him in cold black.

The bottom of the shipwreck zone pressed against his lungs like a coffin, murky water swallowing every inch of him, darkness clutching at his skin. And there—sinking deeper, pale and still—was Kacchan, his eyes widened, barely feeling the salts sting.

'No. No, no, no!'

Izuku’s arms lashed through the water, tearing forward with everything in him. His chest burned, his throat closed, but nothing mattered—nothing but the limp figure drifting weightless, hair fanning like blood in the current.

His fingers brushed against Bakugo’s clothes. The fabric felt wrong. Too loose, too heavy. He hooked his arm around his torso, pulling him tight, clutching so hard his nails dug into the damp fabric.

'He’s cold.'

Izuku kicked hard, every muscle screaming, the glitch fizzling at the edges of his skin until he broke the surface in a violent gasp. He teleported Bakugo onto the wreckage, water pouring off his body as if trying to take him back down.

“Kacchan—!” Izuku’s voice cracked and split. He laid him down, trembling hands splaying over Bakugo’s chest. His head lolled to the side, lips parted, his face frighteningly slack. Not a spark. Not a twitch.

His body… looked empty.

Izuku’s lungs collapsed. His vision tunnelled, the world around him dissolving into a meaningless blur. All he could see was that face—the boy who had screamed at him, fought him, walked beside him, pushed  him when no one else did. The boy who he loved—lying there like a broken doll.

“No, please—PLEASE, NO—” His sob came out jagged, teeth chattering as he bent over him, clutching Bakugo to his chest like if he held on hard enough, he could trap the soul inside him. His tears spilled hot down his cheeks, splattering onto Bakugo’s pale skin, rolling into the water clinging to his hair.

Something inside Izuku snapped.

The edges of his vision warped, colours bleeding, sound distorting until every scream, every clash of battle outside fell away. His body convulsed, every nerve firing wrong.

Static burst across his skin.

Black and red lines tore through his arms like fractures in glass, crawling up his neck, twisting across his face. His pupils narrowed into sharp slits, dilating until they drowned out the green.

And then—he was gone.

In less than a breath, he wasn’t kneeling over Bakugo anymore.

He was above the Nomu.

The monster barely had time to twitch its head before Izuku’s glitching form tore through it like a storm. He hit the creature’s neck with such impossible force that the world itself seemed to stutter, to split.

The Nomu’s head separated in a single grotesque snap.

But Izuku didn’t stop.

His body flickered—here, then there, then everywhere at once—slashes of red-black static cutting across the plaza. Chunks of flesh rained in every direction, pulverized beyond recognition, the regeneration factor shredded apart before it could stitch together again. Every time the Nomu tried to rebuild, Izuku’s glitch carved deeper, until it wasn’t a Nomu anymore. 

Just pieces.

Just meat.

The plaza was painted in it, the stench of iron and char thick in the air. Black ooze smeared across shattered concrete, sizzling against static that still tore jagged across the battlefield.

And Izuku—

Izuku stood in the middle of it all, his chest heaving, hands dripping with what remained, static writhing like live fire around his body. His face was twisted in something unrecognizable—anguish, rage, grief.

A monster.

And still—he clutched his chest like Bakugo’s body was still pressed there. Like he could feel the weight even after he’d left him behind.

Shigaraki froze. For the first time since he’d stepped into the light of the USJ, his grin faltered. His wide, twitching eyes narrowed, caught on the sight of the Nomu—his Nomu—splintered into twitching, glitching ribbons of meat and sludge. Pieces of it scattered like butchered waste across the plaza, its regenerative pulse smothered by the static still eating through its flesh.

“This…” His voice cracked in disbelief, fingers twitching at his neck. “This wasn’t supposed to—”

Kurogiri didn’t wait for orders. The portal ripped open behind him, swallowing the hand-mouthed villain in violet smoke, his body yanked out of the battlefield in a rush of panic. For the first time, Shigaraki looked afraid.

And then the world shattered.

Izuku’s scream tore through the USJ like the earth itself had split open. A sound that wasn’t human—not entirely—but raw, animal, guttural. A sound born from the kind of grief that could tear holes in reality.

Static bled from him like a tidal wave, red and black tendrils ripping through the air and searing into the ground. The walls flickered. The floor cracked. Metal and earth warped into impossible shapes. Lights burst overhead, exploding one after the other in a shower of sparks.

And at the crux of it all was Izuku, his body glitching like a broken recording, fractured pieces of him never quite aligning. Tears streamed down his face, but they weren’t just tears—they fizzled and sparked, dark streaks of static spilling down his cheeks, dripping onto Bakugo’s pale skin where they sizzled harmlessly.

He cradled Bakugo against his chest, rocking him as if to coax breath back into him. His fingers shook as they threaded into wet blond hair, his forehead pressed hard to Bakugo’s temple.

“Kacchan!… Kacchan, wake up—please—please dont leave me! y-you promised!—i-i cant do this without you!” His voice splintered into sobs, into strangled, desperate gasps that barely resembled words. He couldn't breathe. His entire body shook, his hair floated into the air, every muscle locked in the terror that Bakugo might never open his eyes again. 

The glitch spread wider, swallowing whole sections of the USJ. Villains screamed, their voices ripping sharp and high-pitched as static crawled up their limbs, into their skin, shredding through nerves like fire. They convulsed, their mouths foaming, bodies twitching as if they were being pulled apart from the inside. Their agony was only a faint echo of what Izuku felt—his heartbreak poured into every fragment of the glitch, making them choke on only a fraction of the pain hollowing him out.

But the power never touched his classmates. It warped around them, like a storm curving around a lighthouse, leaving them untouched even as the ground at their feet splintered and bled red-black.

Aizawa, half-broken and bleeding, stared from where he’d collapsed. His eyes were wide—red-rimmed, raw, but full of disbelief as the boys gut wrenching screams roared through the air. “Midoriya…”

The others clustered together, horrified. Tsuyu clutched her own arms, eyes brimming. Uraraka’s lips trembled as she whispered his name. Even Todoroki, always ice and distance, had the faintest flicker of unease across his face. None of them had ever seen power like this. None of them had ever seen Izuku like this.

Izuku’s arms tightened around Bakugo’s body like a vice, as though sheer force alone could anchor him here, keep him tethered to this world. His chest felt like it was splitting in two, a raw, suffocating ache tearing through his ribs with every ragged breath he pulled in. Bakugo’s weight was heavy against him—too heavy, unnervingly limp. His head lolled against Izuku’s shoulder, damp hair plastered to his forehead, lips parted but offering no sound, no curse, no snarl, no bite.

Izuku’s throat burned as he pressed his cheek against Bakugo’s, trying to will some warmth into the cold, clammy skin. His whole body shook with violent tremors, his quirk bleeding out of him uncontrollably in glitching waves of static that warped the air around them. The ground beneath them stuttered in and out of reality, black and red fissures crawling like cracks in pavement, spreading further with each shuddering sob he couldn’t contain.

But none of it mattered. None of it compared to the sheer horror of the silence in Bakugo’s chest.

Izuku pressed his hand desperately against his torso, clutching at him as if his palm could restart a heartbeat, as if his touch could pull breath back into lungs that refused to rise. His fingers dug into the fabric of Bakugo’s hero costume until his nails tore through it, scraping the skin beneath.

“K-Kacchan…” The name tumbled from his lips, breaking apart halfway through like glass shattering. His voice cracked, high and desperate, every syllable torn raw from his throat. “Please—please don’t do this to me. Not you. Not you…”

Tears blurred his vision, spilling hot and unrelenting down his cheeks, dripping onto Bakugo’s lifeless face. Each droplet felt like an apology, like a failure he couldn’t scrub away. He bent forward, resting his head against Bakugo’s temple, like a man drowning, clinging to the last fragment of driftwood.

“I—” His breath hitched, his chest convulsing. The words clawed at his throat, words he had kept buried for years, too scared to admit, too terrified of rejection, too afraid of ruining what little they had. But now—now with Bakugo cradled in his arms like something fragile and broken—there was no time left for fear.

“I love you…” The confession tumbled out on a sob, cracked and raw, like his very soul had been torn open. He pressed his forehead harder against Bakugo’s, rocking him gently, like he could soothe him awake with the rhythm. “P-please, Kacchan, please hear me. I—I’ve always loved you. From the very beginning. E-even when you hated me. Even when you pushed me away. I couldn’t stop. I can’t stop.”

His hands trembled violently, clutching at Bakugo’s torso, desperate and frantic, as if letting go even for a second would mean losing him forever. He buried his face in Bakugo’s chest, his sobs muffled but relentless, spilling sweet nothings against the stillness of his skin.

“Please… gods, anyone—just give him back to me,” Izuku whispered, his voice breaking apart, fragile as glass. “I’ll do anything. Anything. J-just don’t take him from me… not Kacchan… please…”

Around him, the world flickered in time with his anguish. His quirk lashed out in waves, black and red static crawling over the ground, glitching the very air, warping the edges of reality like a corrupted screen. The villains’ screams still echoed from every corner as the static burned into them, their bodies convulsing with pain that mirrored only a fraction of the agony splitting Izuku in two.

And yet—even as his power spread like wildfire, consuming everything it touched—the boy at the centre of it all held on, rocking a limp body in his arms, whispering broken love and desperate prayers into the void, hoping, begging, pleading for an answer that might never come.

And then—

Something soft smashed against his lips.

For half a second, his brain couldn’t understand it. His static glitched harder, searing jagged lines through the air, uncontrolled. His mouth parted on instinct—until he realized.

Bakugo.

Kacchan was kissing him.

His lips were warm. Alive. Trembling faintly, but there. Not empty. Not gone.

Izuku froze, his entire body locking. The static stuttered, skipped, then blinked out in an instant like a switch had been flipped. The air fell dead silent.

Bakugo’s lips lingered on his for one moment longer and he kissed back—firm, telling, soft in a way Izuku had never thought possible from him. It wasn’t just to stop him. It wasn’t just to ground him. It was everything—longing, desperation, relief, love—pressed into one impossible kiss.

When he pulled back, Bakugo’s eyes fluttered half open. Exhausted. Faint. But alive. and his lips quirked up into a small, weak smile. 

"told you I wouldn't let some half assed extras show me up" he grumbled weakly.

Izuku choked on a sob, his body collapsing forward, arms tightening around him as if he could meld them into one and never lose him again. His static burned out, leaving only the quiet drip of tears down his cheeks.

Without thinking, without caring who saw, his quirk ripped again, teleporting them both. One jagged flash of static, and suddenly they were in the only corner of the USJ untouched by gore, near where the others had gathered.

The class gasped as Izuku materialized out of thin air, still cradling Bakugo like glass. His face was streaked in glitch, eyes wide and slit-pupiled, cheeks wet with static tears that sparked faintly before sizzling out. His arms shook as he clutched at him like a lifeline.

Nobody spoke. Nobody breathed.

They had all seen it.

The slaughter. The glitch. The scream, the heart wrenching confession... And the kiss.

Izuku’s chest heaved as he held Bakugo, whispering through raw, broken sobs: “You’re here. You’re alive. you- you didn't leave me, Kacchan.  I-i thought I'd lost you.”

Around them, the silence stretched heavy. His classmates could only stare—at him, at Bakugo, at the carnage, at the way Midoriya Izuku had just looked like both a hero and a monster all at once.

And none of them knew what to say.

Chapter Text

Izuku hugged Bakugo closer, the confession he had whispered moments before still burned between them—no longer a secret, no longer a dream he'd been too afraid to speak.

And Bakugo had answered it with a kiss.

The weight of that truth was too heavy to grasp, too raw to believe, but Izuku held him tighter all the same, burying himself in the scent of smoke and ash that clung to him. He couldn't stop trembling. He didn't even try.

Around them, Class 1-A was still frozen.

Not a word had passed since the kiss, since the static that had threatened to consume the plaza blinked out in an instant, leaving devastation and silence in its wake. The students stood in a ragged half-circle, bloodied, shaken, their wide eyes locked on the scene in the centre.

It wasn't just shock. It was too tangled for that.
Fear. Awe. Confusion. Relief.

Kirishima's mouth was parted slightly, but no words came out. Yaoyorozu gripped the hem of her torn uniform skirt so tightly her knuckles had gone white. Ochako looked as though her knees might give way, one hand pressed hard over her pounding heart. Tsuyu's wide eyes darted between the blood on Bakugo's face and the tears streaking down Izuku's. Even Todoroki, still unreadable as stone, could not hide the tension pulling at his shoulders, nor the faint frown of his lips.

They had all seen Midoriya become a monster. They had all seen him shred the Nomu into pieces that could never regenerate, his eyes glowing with inhuman rage, his body glitching like reality itself was breaking around him. And yet now, as he held Bakugo close and whispered broken, desperate words of gratitude into his ear, they saw him as a boy—fragile, raw, consumed by something deeper than any quirk.

His forehead pressed tighter to Bakugo's temple, his arms shaking as he held him as though every god in the universe would have to pry him away. The only words he managed to force out were a hoarse, trembling mantra, spilling into Bakugo's ear though no one could hear it.

Bakugo's arm twitched weakly, curling just barely around Izuku's back, his voice rasping through dry lips. "D-Deku... I'm not going anywhere."

The class gasped softly at the sound, shock rippling again through the group.

___

Not one of them tried to pull them away from each other. No one dared. They'd all seen the storm he'd unleashed, the raw destruction that had ripped through villains like they were paper, yet somehow left each of them untouched. They'd felt the weight of his grief and rage in the air, almost like a living thing. To separate him from Bakugo now would have been crueller than anything.

When the doors finally slammed open, the sound echoed like salvation. Iida stumbled in first, breathless and frantic, All Might towering behind him in his buff form, the sheer presence of him filling the ruined hall. Behind them spilled several pro heroes— Recovery Girl, Snipe, Cementoss—faces tight with alarm as they scanned the carnage.

"Students! Gather together—quickly!" All Might's booming voice filled the chamber, but even he faltered as his eyes landed on Izuku, hunched and trembling, cradling Bakugo against his chest. The sight of them—the wreckage around them, the tear-streaked, glitch-marked face of the boy he'd chosen—stole the breath from him.

Cementoss moved first, his voice softer. "Come on, children, let's get you to safety." he ushered groups together, guiding them toward the exit. Still no one touched Izuku. Not even All Might. The pros knew instinctively: his grip on Bakugo wasn't one that could be broken.

And so, when the pros finally began ushering the class out, Izuku followed, Bakugo cradled carefully in his arms. He held him bridal style, every step steady and deliberate, as if the smallest misstep might shatter him. Bakugo stirred faintly now and then, but he was too drained, too weak to argue or push him away like he normally would. For once, he let himself be carried, his head resting against Izuku's shoulder, breaths shallow but there.

All Might walked at Izuku's side, his long shadow draping over them both like a shield. He didn't speak, didn't flash his trademark grin—just stayed close, silent and protective, watching as his successor bore the weight of someone he refused to lose.

And no one, not even the pros, tried to make Izuku let go.

Off to the side, paramedics swarmed over Aizawa, who lay bloodied and barely conscious on a stretcher. His scarf was shredded, eyes swollen, face pale beneath the bruises. All Might cast a glance toward him, torn between his students and his colleague, but stayed beside Izuku until the last of the class was shepherded out.

Only when they were clear of the USJ, the wreckage behind them, did All Might hurry to Aizawa's side. The underground hero cracked open one eye, his voice rough, tired, but still sharp as ever.

"They knew, Toshinori... about you, about the Symbol of peace being at U.A. But the students—" He coughed hard, blood speckling his lips. Recovery Girl pushed at his shoulder to keep him still, but he went on, whispering. "Midoriya... his quirk. He... lost control. But not on them. Just the villains. You need to understand what that means."

All Might's face darkened, his hands curling into fists. He crouched low beside Aizawa, listening with grim attention as the man detailed what had unfolded: the villains, the Nomu, Shigaraki, the way Izuku's power had swallowed the battlefield whole.

And all the while, just off to the side, Izuku never once loosened his grip. His classmates lingered in a wide circle around him, shaken and whispering, but none dared interrupt. Not even Uraraka, who had tears streaming silently down her face.

Because the sight of Izuku Midoriya—glitch still faintly sparking along his arms, tears falling freely, and Bakugo Katsuki held safe and unmoving against his chest—was not something anyone would forget.

Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

___

The ambulance ride blurred by in fragments—sirens wailing, paramedics shouting, the metallic tang of blood in the air. Izuku barely registered any of it. He only remembered the way Bakugo's pulse thudded weakly under his fingertips, how every bump in the road made his chest seize with fear that the beat might falter. He refused to let go, clutching Bakugo against him as if kacchan were his lifeline and he was the one at deaths door

The pros tried, gently, to coax him into a seat, to let the medics work more easily, but Izuku wouldn't move. And when Bakugo's hand twitched faintly against his costumes sleeve, as if clinging back even in unconsciousness, they stopped asking.

At the hospital, they had to pry him away only long enough to clean and stitch Bakugo's wounds. But as soon as he was allowed in, Izuku climbed onto the narrow bed without hesitation, curling carefully along Bakugo's side. His arms slipped around him, steady and protective, his forehead pressed against his shoulder. It didn't matter that he wasn't supposed to be there, or that the nurses gave him looks of sympathy mixed with worry—he wasn't leaving. Not when Bakugo was still breathing, still warm, still here.

Sometime in the deep of the night, sleep finally dragged him under. And when morning light filtered through the blinds, pale and gentle, the two of them were still curled together on the same bed. Bakugo's breathing had evened out, faint but steady. Izuku's arms were locked around him like a shield, their legs tangled, his face buried in Bakugo's hospital gown.

For the first time since the nightmare of the USJ, Izuku let himself believe—just for a moment—that they were safe.

___

Bakugo woke to warmth. Not the sterile, suffocating heat of hospital lights or the heavy weight of bandages—though both were there—but something softer. Something that shifted faintly with every breath, steady and unrelenting.

He blinked against the harsh white above him, his throat raw, his body aching with a bone-deep exhaustion. For a disorienting second, he thought he was still underwater, sinking, lungs burning, the world tilting away from him. But then he felt it—arms wound tightly around him, chest pressed to his side, a mop of unruly green curls tickling under his chin.

"...Deku?" His voice came out cracked, more a rasp than a word.

The body beside him jerked awake immediately. Izuku's eyes flew open, bloodshot and bleary with exhaustion, his expression collapsing into trembling relief. "Kacchan—oh god, you're—y-you're awake—" His voice broke, tears already gathering as he sat up enough to cradle Bakugo's face between his hands. "You're okay, you're here—"

Bakugo frowned faintly, though his hand twitched to catch one of Izuku's wrists. His body still felt like lead, weak and heavy, but Izuku's warmth was real, grounding him. "You—look like hell, nerd," he muttered, voice weak but carrying its familiar edge.

Izuku laughed—shaky, broken, the kind of laugh that cracked under the weight of everything he'd been holding in. His forehead fell against Bakugo's shoulder again, his whole body trembling. "You almost died," he whispered, voice muffled and hoarse. "I thought—I thought I lost you, Kacchan."

Silence stretched for a moment. The steady beep of the monitor filled the space between them, along with Izuku's unsteady breaths. Slowly, Bakugo lifted his arm, heavy and clumsy, but enough to hook it weakly around Izuku's back. The gesture was small, almost fragile, but it was there.

"...Tch. Takes more than that to get rid of me." His voice cracked halfway through, betraying the lie.

Izuku pulled back just enough to look at him, green eyes brimming, shining. "Don't ever—don't you ever do that to me again," he whispered fiercely, his grip tightening on Bakugo's hand like he was afraid it would slip away if he loosened even a little.

Bakugo met his gaze, raw and unguarded in a way he never let anyone else see. And though his lips twisted, it wasn't into a smirk or a scowl. It was something softer, almost aching. "...Idiot. Like I wanted to."

Izuku's tears slipped free, but his smile wavered through them. He leaned down, pressing his forehead to Bakugo's, their breaths mingling in the small space between them.

Izuku couldn't stop touching him. His thumb brushed over Bakugo's cheekbone, down the side of his jaw, as though to convince himself this wasn't a dream that would shatter if he blinked too hard. Every second Bakugo's chest rose and fell against him felt like a miracle.

For a while, he just let himself breathe him in. The antiseptic tang of the hospital air was sharp, but beneath it was the familiar warmth that was Kacchan— nitro-glycerine sweat, faint smoke, and something Izuku had always known as home even if he had never dared name it.

"I... Kacchan..." His voice shook, and he swallowed hard, gathering the courage to say it again. The words had tumbled out in the chaos, in desperation, but now, with the world quiet around them, it felt heavier. More real. "I meant what I said. Back there. When you—when I thought you..." He squeezed his eyes shut, the tears threatening again. "I love you."

Bakugo's crimson eyes snapped to his, sharp even in their haze of exhaustion. His breath hitched, and for a moment, the familiar fire burned there—defensive, flaring at the vulnerability between them. But it flickered, softened. His gaze lingered, steady and unwavering in a way that made Izuku's heart pound.

"...Dumbass," Bakugo muttered, his voice rough and quiet. "You're gonna say that when I can't even sit up? When I can't—" His grip tightened weakly on Izuku's wrist, dragging him an inch closer. "Shut up until I can kiss you back properly."

Izuku's breath caught. His heart stumbled against his ribs, aching and bright and so alive it almost hurt. "Kacchan..." His lips trembled, parting around the name like it was a prayer.

Bakugo's eyes narrowed, but not in anger. His voice dropped, softer still, as though the admission itself stole the rest of his strength. "...Don't you dare take it back, Deku. Not when I'm awake. Not ever."

Izuku's tears spilled over, but this time his smile broke wide through them. He leaned down, pressing his forehead harder against Bakugo's, careful, reverent, as though the slightest shift might undo everything. His arms curled tighter around him, holding him as though the universe had no choice but to let them stay like this.

"I won't," he whispered, fierce through his tears. "Never."

The room stayed hushed, just the beeping of the machines and the fragile warmth of two boys tangled together, clinging to the fragile, blazing truth of being alive.

___

Izuku lost track of time. Morning light crept through the blinds, pale and hazy, but he didn't notice it. His whole world was the steady rise and fall of Bakugo's chest beneath his arm, the faint beat of his heart against his ear where Izuku rested against him.

Every so often, Bakugo stirred — a twitch of his fingers, a sharp inhale, his brow furrowing as if he wanted to bark at someone but didn't have the strength. Each movement sent a rush of relief through Izuku, his arms tightening, his own heartbeat stuttering every time as though relearning how to match Bakugo's.

"Don't move too much," Izuku whispered whenever he shifted. "You scared me bad enough already." His voice wavered, but he smiled faintly through it, brushing stray strands of ash-blond hair off Bakugo's forehead.

"Dumb nerd," Bakugo rasped back once, his voice barely more than a croak. "You're making it harder to breathe, clinging like that."

But he didn't push Izuku off. If anything, his hand—weak but insistent—tugged him closer, settling over Izuku's wrist like a promise. Izuku's heart clenched so hard it almost hurt.

They stayed like that for hours, wrapped in the hush of machines and the muffled world outside their door. Every now and then, Izuku whispered things—half thoughts, half prayers—because the silence felt too fragile to leave unguarded.

Bakugo never answered much. Sometimes he muttered "shut up" or "idiot" under his breath, but his grip never loosened. His eyes, when they fluttered open, always found Izuku first, as if to reassure himself just the same.

The hours blurred—afternoon melting toward evening. Nurses peeked in occasionally, but none of them asked Izuku to move. Something in his face, in the fierce, unwavering way he held Bakugo, made them hesitate. They adjusted IVs and checked vitals in silence, leaving as quickly as they'd come.

It was only when footsteps gathered outside the door—multiple sets, heavier, more purposeful—that the fragile cocoon cracked. The quiet murmur of voices swelled, a familiar deep timbre cutting through: All Might. Then Iida's clear, urgent tones, hushed by someone else. Their classmates.

Izuku froze, his arms tightening instinctively around Bakugo's shoulders. His heart thudded painfully as the voices grew nearer, a soft knock sounding against the door.

"Midoriya? Young Bakugo?" All Might's voice, low and careful, carried through the crack. "May we come in?"

Izuku looked down at Bakugo, who cracked one crimson eye open, his expression tired but sharp. For a long moment, they just stared at each other. Izuku could almost hear the unspoken words between them.

I don't want to let go.
Then don't.

Izuku's fingers curled tighter into the fabric of Bakugo's hospital gown. His own voice came out rough, broken from the screaming and the crying, but clear enough:

"...We're here."

That was all he could manage. Two words, but they cracked the silence like thunder.

The door eased open, a stream of light spilling across the room as figures filled the doorway. Iida was at the front, his glasses slipping down his nose, his usually perfect posture stiff with worry. Uraraka hovered just behind him, her eyes already glassy, her hands clutched tight at her chest. Kirishima, wide-eyed, stopped halfway in, like he wasn't sure he had the right to intrude. Tsuyu lingered further back, her gaze unreadable but steady, while the others crowded around, hushed and wide-eyed.

And finally, All Might stepped inside. Not as the booming Symbol of Peace, not with his usual dazzling smile. His gaunt frame was tense, his features drawn with lines of concern as his eyes landed on Izuku and Bakugo.

No one said a word at first. How could they?

Izuku sat on the edge of the bed, Bakugo tucked into his arms like he belonged there, their foreheads still pressed together. Bakugo hadn't moved, though his eyes—half-lidded and burning faintly—shifted to the door, to the group of people staring at them. He scowled faintly, his pride wounded by being seen like this, but he didn't pull away.

He stayed.

The silence grew thick, heavy with awe. They had seen Midoriya fight, seen him smile in the face of danger. They had seen Bakugo burn bright and wild with fury. But this—this raw, open bond, this almost sacred closeness—was something else entirely.

All Might was the first to speak, his voice low, softer than most had ever heard from him. "You've both been through more than anyone should have to endure. No one here will fault you for... this."

Uraraka sniffled, her voice small but earnest. "Deku... I'm just glad you're both alive."

Iida adjusted his glasses, his hands shaking slightly, his usual certainty faltering. "Indeed. The... circumstances are secondary. What matters most is your safety."

Kirishima rubbed the back of his neck, his jaw tight, before muttering, "Hell, I've never seen either of you look that... raw. You scared the crap outta us, man. Don't you ever do that again."

Tsuyu simply croaked quietly. "...You really thought you lost him, huh, ribbit?"

Izuku couldn't answer. His lips parted, but only a choked sound slipped out, more sob than word. So instead, he pressed his forehead tighter against Bakugo's, whispering again, just for him—though everyone could hear.

"I'm never letting that happen again."

Bakugo's hand twitched, his fingers curling weakly into Izuku's shirt, almost imperceptible. His lips moved, voice scratchy, barely audible—but Izuku caught it, felt it.

"...good."

And the room went quiet again, struck dumb by the intimacy of it, by the truth humming in the air between them.

Chapter Text

Once Bakugo had been discharged and put on house arrest for the next few days to rest, he and izuku had headed home.

___

The quiet click of his bedroom lock echoed in the small space, and for a heartbeat, the world outside ceased to exist. Izuku turned, still fussing with Bakugo's clothes, about to ask if he needed water or to sit—when the air shifted. Bakugo's eyes, soft and unblinking, fixed on him with an intensity that stole the words from his tongue. Before Izuku could so much as inhale, warm, chapped lips pressed against his own.

It wasn't rough, not at first. It was grounding, desperate in its gentleness, as if Bakugo was afraid he might wake up to find this a dream. Izuku's breath stuttered in his throat, his pulse ricocheting through every nerve as he melted forward, his fingers twitching at his sides before giving in and clutching weakly at the fabric of Bakugo's shirt. Every ounce of longing he had buried for years unravelled in that single kiss—an unspoken confession passed from mouth to mouth, heart to heart.

Izuku kissed him back, tentative at first, afraid of pressing too hard, of hurting Bakugo where the bandages still rested beneath his clothes. His lips ghosted over Bakugo's, reverent, as if mapping out the shape of something sacred. But Bakugo's growl of frustration vibrated against his mouth, cutting through Izuku's caution. In the next instant, Izuku's back hit the door with a muted thud, Bakugo's palm braced firmly beside his head, the other fisted in his shirt.

"Kacchan—" Izuku's protest was a whisper swallowed whole as Bakugo claimed his lips again, fiercer this time, scorching in its urgency.

The kiss deepened, tangled, messy, as though years of restraint had finally snapped all at once. Their mouths moved with a hunger that no amount of closeness could sate; they needed more—closer, tighter, until there was no space left between them. Izuku's hands slid up to Bakugo's shoulders, gripping, anchoring himself as heat pooled low in his stomach.

Then Bakugo tilted his head, lips parting just enough to catch Izuku's bottom lip between his teeth. He tugged, slow and deliberate, not demanding but daring, asking in the only way he knew how. Izuku's breath caught, a soft moan escaping him, and he let go of the last of his hesitation, lips parting willingly—an invitation, a surrender, and a promise all at once.

The moment Izuku yielded, Bakugo's control snapped like a frayed wire. His tongue swept in, fierce and unrelenting, tasting, claiming, pushing until Izuku's knees buckled against the weight of it. The sound Izuku made—half gasp, half moan—shot straight through Bakugo, and he pressed closer, chest to chest, hip to hip, until it felt like their hearts were trying to beat out of their bodies and into each other.

Izuku clung to him, fingers curling in his shirt so tightly the fabric strained, like he was terrified that if he let go, this moment would vanish. His body trembled, not from fear, but from the sheer intensity of it—the heat of Bakugo's mouth, the raw want radiating off him in waves. Every brush of tongue, every desperate press of lips, stole more of Izuku's breath, until breathing itself seemed irrelevant compared to the ache of staying connected.

Bakugo tilted his head again, deepening the kiss, not content with anything soft or fleeting. He devoured him, all teeth and tongue and raw fire, like he'd been starving for years and was finally allowed a taste. His hands found Izuku's waist, sliding under his shirt, calloused palms burning against his skin as if he could brand him with touch alone.

Izuku broke the kiss only to gasp for air, his lips swollen, his cheeks flushed, but Bakugo chased him instantly, pressing kiss after kiss along his jaw, down to his throat. Izuku shuddered, tilting his head back against the door, granting him space, granting him everything.

"Kacchan—" his voice cracked, breathless, needy.

Bakugo bit down gently at the edge of his pulse, pulling another sound from him, low and unrestrained. "Shut up, Deku," he rasped against his skin, though his voice shook, thick with want, with something far more vulnerable hidden beneath. "Don't you dare stop me now that I can finally do this—"

Izuku's hands slid upward, threading into Bakugo's hair, tugging lightly, desperate to anchor himself in the storm of him. Cutting him off as their mouths crashed together again, harder, faster, tongues tangling, neither able to get close enough. Every kiss was frantic now, chasing something more—something deeper, something that could fuse them so wholly that they'd never have to pull apart.

Their breaths came ragged, lips slick, the heat between them coiling tighter with every second. Izuku felt like he was burning alive, but he welcomed it, craved it.

Bakugo's lips crushed against Izuku's, urgent and unyielding, the wood of his bedroom door pressing firm into Izuku's back. The slam of his heartbeat drowned out every other sound, and for a moment Izuku thought his legs might give out entirely if not for Bakugo's body pinning him in place.

It wasn't gentle. It was messy, rough, lips sliding as saliva coated their mouths, but beneath the urgency there was a trembling undercurrent — something fragile, something they both tried and failed to hide. Bakugo's hands gripped izukus hips tighter, dragging him closer as though even the smallest inch of space between them was unbearable.

Izuku whimpered softly into his mouth, the sound muffled but still enough to make Bakugo falter for a heartbeat. His grip tightened, then loosened just slightly, one palm flattening against Izuku's chest as though to feel the frantic race of his heart.

"deku..." Bakugo's whisper was a low growl, ragged with something Izuku had never heard from him before — not anger, not annoyance, but raw, aching, need.

His name, spoken like that, sent heat flooding Izuku's veins. He arched forward helplessly, his hands clutching at Bakugo's shoulders, nails digging through fabric. His lips parted again, and Bakugo wasted no time devouring the invitation, sliding his tongue past Izuku's lips in a kiss that was desperate and consuming.

Izuku gasped into it, his grip tightening slightly when Bakugo pressed harder, hips pinning him firmly to the door. He could feel him, the undeniable evidence of how badly Bakugo wanted this, wanted him, and Izuku's own body responded in kind, burning hot and needy.

The room was dark, quiet but for the wet, unsteady sounds of their mouths and the quick, shallow breaths neither of them could seem to control. It made Izuku's skin prickle with awareness — Bakugo's parents asleep just down the hall, the house still and fragile around them, and yet here they were, trembling with the force of something too big to contain.

Bakugo broke the kiss just long enough to rest his forehead against Izuku's, both of them gasping softly in the quiet. "You good?" he whispered, his voice so low and rough it was almost unrecognizable.

Izuku's lips trembled, but he nodded, eyes wide and glassy. "Y-yeah. Just—don't stop."

A smirk flickered at Bakugo's lips, fleeting and broken by the sheer intensity in his gaze. "Wasn't planning on it."

He shifted then, catching Izuku's wrists and pinning them above his head against the door, his larger hand wrapping easily around both. The move made Izuku's breath hitch, his chest rising and falling too fast, heat pooling low in his stomach. Bakugo's free hand slid down the curve of his side, fingers pressing possessively against his hip before slipping beneath the hem of his shirt.

The touch was searing, skin against skin, and Izuku jerked at the contact, a muffled whimper slipping past his lips before he could stop it. Bakugo shushed him immediately, pressing his mouth hard against Izuku's again, swallowing the sound whole.

"Quiet, nerd," Bakugo muttered against his lips, his tone harsh but the tremor beneath it betrayed him. "You'll wake them."

Izuku nodded frantically, though the effort to stay quiet was already unravelling him. He leaned into every touch, every kiss, body arching desperately toward Bakugo's hand as it slid higher, brushing over his ribs, the dip of his stomach, until finally pressing against the waistband of his pants.

His whole body jolted, thighs trembling as Bakugo's fingers toyed there, just shy of where he needed him most. "K-Kacchan," he breathed, barely audible, his voice shaking with both plea and warning.

Bakugo's hand hovered at Izuku's waistband, the heat of his palm searing even through the thin fabric. He was close enough that Izuku could feel the tremor running through him, the way Bakugo's body was caught between unrelenting hunger and something far gentler, something infinitely more fragile.

His crimson eyes flicked upward, catching Izuku's in the dim light, and for the first time since the kiss had begun, Bakugo stilled.

The fire in him was still there, molten and unyielding, but layered beneath it was hesitation — a question, raw and wordless, straining against the back of his throat. Can I?

It wasn't spoken aloud, but Izuku felt it as surely as if it had been shouted. In the tightening of Bakugo's jaw. In the trembling pressure of his fingers, ready to pull back at the faintest sign of rejection. In the way his breath hitched, waiting, almost bracing himself for the answer.

Izuku's chest tightened painfully. All their lives, Bakugo had pushed forward without asking, without hesitation. He had taken, demanded, commanded. But now, here in the dark of his bedroom with the world outside sleeping, Bakugo didn't take. He asked.

And that, more than the kiss, more than the fire blazing in his eyes, undid Izuku completely.

His breath shook as he searched Bakugo's gaze, finding in it not only want but something he'd never expected — respect. Patience. Love so fierce it had to restrain itself or risk burning them both alive.

Izuku's throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his whole body trembling beneath the weight of the choice before him. Then, with the smallest shake of his head, he whispered his answer —

"not yet"

For a heartbeat, silence stretched between them, heavy and fragile. Izuku braced himself for the sting of disappointment, for the fire in Bakugo's eyes to dim or flare with frustration. But it never came. If anything, the look Bakugo gave him only deepened. His gaze softened, molten and unyielding all at once, and the intensity of it stole Izuku's breath more surely than any kiss could have.

Slowly, carefully, Bakugo reached up and cupped Izuku's jaw, his thumb grazing lightly over his cheek as though Izuku were made of the finest glass. He leaned in, not with the usual force of someone who demanded the world bend to him, but with the kind of restraint that spoke volumes. And then, with deliberate patience, he pressed his lips to Izuku's in a kiss so gentle it unraveled him from the inside out.

Bakugo's hand slid from Izuku's waistband to settle firmly at his hip, grounding him, anchoring him. There was no urgency, no hunger that sought to take more than Izuku was ready to give. The kiss was slow, reverent, a quiet promise woven into every careful movement.

Because in that moment — and in every moment that would follow — Bakugo didn't care about going further, about bodies pressed closer or hands exploring. None of that mattered. What mattered, what had always mattered, was Izuku's comfort. His choice. His trust.

And Bakugo would honor that, even if it meant holding himself back against the inferno burning inside him.

___

Izuku's breath trembled against Bakugo's lips, his quiet refusal still hanging in the air like a fragile thread. But instead of pulling away, Bakugo only held him steadier, thumb tracing the edge of his jaw, eyes locked to his like he could see every thought flickering behind them.

The hard armor Bakugo always wore — the sharp edges, the unshakable bravado — cracked in that silence. His throat worked, tight with something he'd never once dared to let out. And when it finally slipped free, it was rough, unpolished, almost broken:

"Fuck... I love you, Deku."

The words landed heavy, burning through every wall Izuku had built inside himself. His eyes stung as the truth of it sank in — raw and imperfect, but so painfully real it nearly undid him.

"Kaachan..." he whispered, the syllables catching on his breath.

Before he could say more, Bakugo kissed him again. There was no hesitation, no question — just the steady heat of lips that had waited far too long to speak what his heart had been screaming. It wasn't rushed or desperate. It was slow, sweet, the kind of kiss that branded and soothed in the same breath, leaving Izuku trembling against him.

When they finally parted, their foreheads rested together, breaths mingling in the quiet. The world outside their little room didn't matter. The only thing that did was this — the weight of Bakugo's hand still firm at his hip, the warmth of his chest pressed close, the unshakable truth that nothing between them would ever be the same.

They climbed beneath the blankets like it was the most natural thing in the world. No fireworks, no dramatics — just the quiet intimacy of two boys who had finally stopped fighting what had been there all along. Bakugo wrapped an arm around him, pulling Izuku flush against his side, and Izuku curled into him with a trembling exhale that sounded dangerously close to a sob of relief.

For the first time, they weren't rivals fucking up at friendship, or friends hiding something deeper. They were more. Lovers. Boyfriends. The word felt too small and yet impossibly big, but Izuku clung to it anyway as kacchan held him close.

And in the hush of the dark, with Bakugo's heartbeat steady under his cheek, Izuku knew he had found home.

Chapter Text

After the chaos of the USJ attack, Izuku made himself a quiet vow.
He would gain control over glitch—complete control. He couldn't keep letting his emotions steer him,  he couldn't let the turbulence in his chest dictate how his power worked. Not fear, not desperation, not even the feelings he carried so deeply for Kacchan—his once rival turned lover.

In the aftermath, when the dust had settled and the world returned to its rhythm, Izuku realized something: if he wanted to truly stand as a hero, then he had to prove—to himself and to everyone else—that he was more than the quirk he was cursed with.

So he decided. He would train harder, sharper, with focus that cut through every distraction. And when the Sports Festival came, he would hold glitch and one for all back. No displays of overwhelming power, no easy way out. If he used it openly, every pro hero watching from the stands would see only the quirk. They wouldn't see Izuku Midoriya. They wouldn't see his mind, his heart, or the strength he had carved from years of being "quirkless". They would only want him for the power he carried.

And Izuku couldn't accept that.

So he made a choice that felt almost reckless, almost impossible: he would walk into the Sports Festival armed only with fragments of One for All, his natural strength, his intellect, and the unyielding will that had carried him all this way. He would fight nearly quirkless, even though he was—whether he admitted it or not—the strongest student in U.A.

To him, it was more than a strategy. It was a statement. He wanted the world to see that his quirk was not his identity—it was a tool. He wanted them to see him.

What Izuku didn't know then was how far that decision would ripple. That by stepping into the arena not as the boy blessed with power, but as the boy who had once been powerless, he would ignite something greater. His defiance would echo beyond the stadium walls, reaching countless people who had been told they could never be heroes without quirks. For the first time, they would see proof that strength wasn't born from a gift, but from persistence, heart, and courage.

Izuku Midoriya, without even realizing it, was about to give hope to the quirkless of the world.

The decision weighed heavily on him at first. To step into the spotlight of the Sports Festival—U.A.'s grand stage—without relying on the very power that defined him now felt almost absurd. His classmates were all pushing their quirks to the limit, striving to prove themselves to the pros who would be watching. And here he was, deliberately choosing restraint.

But the thought didn't frighten him. If anything, it steadied him. Because he remembered a time when he had nothing. A time when he'd stood at the edge of every battle, watching Kacchan blaze ahead, watching everyone else shine with the light of their quirks while he wasn't allowed. Back then, he had fought anyway. With notebooks, with strategy, with broken fingers wrapped around a pen that refused to stop writing. If he could endure that, he could endure this.

And maybe, just maybe, it was also about showing Kacchan.

Bakugo had always seen him at his weakest, seen every stumble, every desperate grab at something beyond his reach. But now... Izuku wanted him to see the boy who wouldn't back down. Not just because of One for All. Not because of some inherited villainous quirk. But because of his own stubborn heart. He wanted Kacchan to know—no, to feel—that even if every quirk in the world disappeared tomorrow, Izuku Midoriya would still stand by his side, still fight, still chase him, still love him.

So when he laced up his shoes for training, when he clenched his fists until his knuckles burned, Izuku told himself the same thing over and over again:

"This is me. This is who I am. And I'll show them."

The Sports Festival was drawing closer. The crowd would roar, the spotlight would burn, and his classmates would unleash everything they had. Izuku knew he'd be outmatched in spectacle, in flash, in raw firepower.

But that didn't matter. Because when he stepped into that arena, he wasn't going to prove glitch or One for All.

He was going to prove Izuku Midoriya.

___

The training grounds behind U.A. smelled faintly of scorched earth and sweat, a battlefield-in-progress long before the Sports Festival arrived. The sun was merciless, glaring down across the wide-open field where scorch marks, cracked pavement, and churned-up dirt told stories of students testing their limits.

But at the far edge of the grounds, away from the chatter of their classmates, two figures moved with a rhythm all their own.

Izuku and Bakugo.

Side by side—though never too close—each immersed in their own battle, their own goals. And yet, as always, tethered to each other by an invisible string.

Izuku set his bag down carefully, pulling free a small notebook already stuffed with notes and diagrams. But this time, it wasn’t quirk analysis that filled the pages. Instead, it was routines—schedules for strength, agility, stamina. If he wanted to face the Sports Festival nearly quirkless, he couldn’t rely on Glitch's DNA manipulation to carry him. His body had to be enough.

He started simple—push-ups, sit-ups, then bodyweight squats, running through them in rapid succession. His arms trembled, his core ached, but that was the point. Every rep burned away the nagging voice whispering you’re nothing without your quirk.

Sweat dripped down his forehead as he pushed himself harder, faster, every inhale sharp, every exhale ragged. In his mind, he replayed every moment he’d been saved by someone else, every instance where he froze. That wasn’t going to happen again. Not at the Festival.

'I have to show them I’m more than this quirk. I’m more than All For One’s son. I’m me.'

Bakugo, meanwhile, stood a dozen meters away, palms flexing restlessly at his sides. The acrid scent of nitro-glycerine sweat thickened the air around him. His training wasn’t about self-denial—it was about control. Precision.

He flung his arm outward, palm aimed at a line of worn-down practice dummies. Boom. A sharp crack echoed, but the dummy was barely singed, the blast too wide, too unfocused.

“Tch. Useless.”

He shook his hand out, rolled his shoulders, and tried again. This time, he narrowed his stance, adjusted the angle of his wrist. The explosion struck closer to the centre mass, tearing a hole straight through the dummy’s chest.

Better. But not perfect.

“Hmm. Howitzer Impact’s still sloppy,” he muttered, his voice low but edged. His crimson eyes narrowed. He wanted sharper bursts, faster detonations that didn’t waste power. Each blast had to hit exactly where he wanted, no margin for error.

He set up makeshift targets using rocks and broken pieces of concrete, lined them along the far wall, and began rapid-firing. One after another, his explosions cracked the air, sparks scattering like fireworks. His palms ached, the skin reddening, but he refused to stop. Precision meant victory. Precision meant proving—again—that no one could surpass him. Not even Deku.

And yet, even in their separate struggles, they couldn’t ignore each other.

When Izuku’s arms gave out beneath him, forcing him to collapse into the dirt, his head turned instinctively—just in time to see Bakugo launch himself into the air, explosions roaring from his palms. He hovered briefly, teeth bared in a snarl, before gravity yanked him back down. He hit the ground hard, knees bending, sparks flaring as he steadied himself.

Izuku blinked, chest heaving, awe flickering across his face despite the burn in his muscles. Flying. Of course Bakugo was already pushing that boundary. Of course he wouldn’t settle for anything less than defying gravity itself.

Bakugo caught his stare. “The hell you lookin’ at, nerd?” he barked, sweat dripping down his temple. His tone was sharp, but not cruel—not quite.

Izuku flushed, snapping his gaze back to his notebook. “N-nothing! Just… impressed, that’s all…”

Bakugo scoffed, turning away, but his lips twitched like he was fighting something off. The faintest shadow of a smirk tugged at his mouth.

___

They trained like that for hours. Izuku running laps until his legs screamed, then collapsing into push-ups. Bakugo blasting through dummies until smoke stung his eyes, then forcing himself back into the air, hovering for seconds longer each time before slamming back down.

It wasn’t a competition. And yet, it always was.

When Izuku pushed through fifty push-ups without stopping, Bakugo upped his volley to fifty precise blasts in quick succession. When Bakugo managed to hover five full seconds before landing, Izuku pushed himself to sprint faster, longer, until the air tore at his throat.

Neither said it out loud. But both felt it. The way one pushed, the other answered. The way one faltered, the other gritted his teeth and refused to fall behind.

At one point, Izuku stumbled, his legs giving out after another lap. He dropped to his knees, gasping for air. His vision blurred at the edges. For a moment, panic clawed at him.

What if this isn’t enough? What if my body breaks before I can prove it?

He didn’t notice Bakugo had stopped blasting until a voice cut through the ringing in his ears.

“Don’t you dare stop, Deku.”

Izuku looked up, startled. Bakugo stood a few feet away, arms crossed, chest heaving. He was drenched in sweat, soot smeared across his jaw, but his eyes burned like always.

“You think villains are gonna wait for you to catch your breath? Get your ass up. Keep going.”

Izuku’s heart clenched. It wasn’t kindness, not the way others might think of it. But it was Bakugo. It was his way of saying  I Didn't fall in love with a quitter. So don’t you dare quit on me.

So Izuku pushed himself back up, legs shaking, and kept running.

Bakugo smirked faintly, then turned back to his targets, detonating another blast.

___

By sunset, the air around them was thick with smoke and heat, the ground littered with charred rubble and sweat stains. Izuku’s shirt clung to his back, soaked through. Bakugo’s palms were red and raw, his arms trembling from overuse.

Neither wanted to admit they were done. But as they both sank down onto the cracked pavement, collapsing within arm’s reach of each other, the silence between them said enough.

Izuku’s head lolled back, chest rising and falling in ragged bursts. He glanced sideways, watching Bakugo flex his aching hands, shaking out the pain.

“You’re… incredible, Kacchan,” Izuku whispered before he could stop himself.

Bakugo turned his head sharply, scowling. “Dumbass. You think you're the only one who’s been watching?” His voice was rough, low, but his gaze softened, just for a heartbeat. “You’re not just muscle anymore, Deku. You’re building somethin’ real.”

Izuku’s cheeks flushed, but the words lodged somewhere deep in his chest, warming him even through the exhaustion.

They sat there as the sun bled across the horizon, neither speaking further, but both knowing: this was only the beginning.

Tomorrow, they’d train again. Tomorrow, they’d push harder. Tomorrow, they’d fight not just for victory at the Sports Festival, but for themselves—for each other.

And somehow, that knowledge made the exhaustion almost sweet.

___

The Sports Festival loomed closer with every sunrise. Three weeks—that was all the time they had. And for Izuku and Bakugo, those three weeks became something like a ritual. Sweat, pain, fire—and quiet, stolen moments that belonged to only them.

Day one

The first day was a proving ground.

Izuku started the morning with endurance drills: sprints, pull-ups, weighted runs with his training vest. Every muscle burned, but he pushed through, teeth gritted, sweat dripping down his chin. He wanted to know—truly know—that he could hold his own on the Festival stage without leaning on Glitch.

Bakugo, tore into precision blasting—he wanted perfection. Direct centre, every single time.

By the time dusk settled, both were laying on the ground, breathing hard. Izuku’s shirt discarded hours before; Bakugo’s in kind.

They didn’t speak at first, too busy gulping air. But then Izuku leaned over, brushing his forehead against Bakugo’s shoulder, and whispered, “You really are amazing.”

Bakugo’s lips twitched. “Tch. You’re not half bad yourself.”

Their hands brushed, fingers tangling, and for a moment training didn’t matter. Izuku turned, pressing a tentative kiss to Bakugo’s cheek. Bakugo growled low, catching his jaw and dragging him in for something hotter, more claiming.

By the time they pulled apart, Izuku’s lips were swollen, and Bakugo’s neck carried the faintest mark of teeth.

Day Four

They’d settled into a rhythm.

Mornings were Izuku’s: cardio, bodyweight, agility training. Afternoons belonged to Bakugo: refining Howitzer Impact, experimenting with explosive propulsion to stay in the air longer.

But evenings… evenings were theirs.

After one particularly brutal session—Izuku’s arms shaking so badly he could barely hold his pen to write notes—Bakugo caught his wrist. “Enough, Deku. You’ll burn yourself out.”

Izuku opened his mouth to argue, but Bakugo silenced him the way he always did best—by kissing him. Hard, fast, desperate. He shoved Izuku back against the cool wall of the gym storage shed, sparks still crackling faintly at his fingertips.

Izuku gasped, fingers curling in Bakugo’s shirt, letting himself melt. Bakugo’s mouth trailed lower, biting into the curve of his neck until Izuku whined. Hickeys bloomed like little victories across pale skin.

When they broke apart, panting, Bakugo smirked at the sight of Izuku’s flushed face. “Bet you’ll think twice before thinking about arguing with me next time.”

Izuku only laughed breathlessly, kissing him again.

Day Seven

Flying.

Bakugo had finally managed to keep himself in the air for ten full seconds, palms detonating in a rhythm that lifted him higher and steadier than before. He landed, chest heaving, a manic grin spread across his face.

Izuku clapped from the side lines, eyes shining. “Kacchan! You did it!”

The praise lit something hot in Bakugo’s chest. He stormed over, grabbed Izuku by the face, and kissed him hard enough to steal his breath. Izuku stumbled back a step, laughing into the kiss, clutching Bakugo’s wrists to steady himself.

When they broke apart, Izuku’s eyes were glassy, dazed. “Y-you always do that when I cheer for you…?”

“keep cheering and find out,” Bakugo muttered, lips brushing his again.

Day ten

They snuck away that night.

The house was asleep.

Not a single board creaked as they eased the side door open, slipping into the cool night air. The street was hushed, lit only by pools of pale yellow from the lampposts, shadows stretching long and familiar over the cracked pavement. They didn’t speak—not until they were several blocks away, sneakers scuffing in sync, the quiet bubbling between them like a secret waiting to spill over.

The park was just as they’d left it all those years ago. Rust bloomed at the edges of the slide, the swings hung uneven, and weeds split the pavement where they’d once raced their bikes. But to Izuku, it wasn’t broken—it was sacred. A place filled with scraped knees, mock hero vs villains battles, and the awkward beginnings of something they hadn’t had the words for back then.

He stopped in front of the old climbing frame, smiling faintly. “It feels… smaller.”

Bakugo scoffed but didn’t argue. Instead, he stepped closer, close enough that Izuku had to tip his chin up to keep their eyes locked. His palms pressed against the cool metal bars behind Izuku’s shoulders, pinning him in place without force. The smell of smoke and sweat clung to him, grounding and intoxicating.

The kiss that followed was unhurried, deliberate. Their mouths slid together softly, like a secret being told. Izuku sighed into it, arms curling around Bakugo’s neck to pull him closer, fingers knotting into the fabric of his shirt as though to anchor him. Bakugo kissed him deeper, slower, until Izuku’s knees wobbled, until he couldn’t breathe without him.

When their lips finally parted, Izuku let the words slip free, raw and trembling.
“I don’t want this to end.”

Bakugo’s breath hitched. His reply wasn’t words, not at first—it was teeth against Izuku’s throat, sharp enough to draw a gasp, not enough to hurt. His low growl vibrated against Izuku’s skin, sending shivers through him.

“You think I’m letting anyone else see this neck unmarked? You’re mine, nerd.”

Izuku flushed crimson, his pulse pounding against Bakugo’s mouth. Instead of protesting, he tilted his head back, exposing more of his throat in silent offering. The sight undid Bakugo.

The kiss turned hungry. What had been gentle became heat, the kind that built slow and steady until it ached. Bakugo kissed him like he wanted to devour him, like every second was a war between restraint and need. His hands slid to Izuku’s waist, gripping hard enough to leave bruises, pulling him flush against him. Izuku gasped into his mouth, fingers tightening in Bakugo’s hair, dragging him closer, closer, until it felt like there was no space left between them.

Time blurred. The swings creaked faintly in the background, a reminder of childhood innocence, but here and now, it was eclipsed by something heavier, something new.

When Bakugo finally tore his lips away, their foreheads pressed together, both of them gasping, trembling. Crimson eyes burned into green, full of fire, vulnerability, and something more fragile than either had ever dared show.

“Kacchan…” Izuku whispered, voice cracked open, raw with everything he’d held back. “I—I love you.”

Bakugo’s grip tightened, and his lips twisted into a smirk that couldn’t mask the way his eyes softened. He pressed his mouth back against Izuku’s, fierce and tender all at once. “Shut up, nerd. I love you too.”

The words broke something loose in them both. The kisses that followed were frantic, desperate, but threaded with something unshakable—trust, longing, the weight of years spent circling each other without ever colliding.

And there, beneath the stars in the park that had witnessed their childhood wars and wounds, the fire between them finally burned over.

They didn’t rush. Every touch, every kiss, every shuddering breath was deliberate, reverent, like they were learning each other all over again. It wasn’t about lust, not really—it was about being seen, about giving and receiving without walls.

When they finally crossed that threshold together, losing what they had both held back for so long, it wasn’t rough or hurried. It was slow, tender, and trembling with meaning. Bakugo’s forehead pressed against Izuku’s, his curses breaking into groans that Izuku muffled with kisses, both of them clinging like the world would disappear if they let go.

It didn’t feel like a loss—it felt like becoming whole.

By the time they collapsed against the cool grass, skin flushed, hearts hammering as one, the swings still creaked faintly in the breeze. The stars glittered above them, silent witnesses to a love that had been years in the making.

Izuku’s hand slid to Bakugo’s chest, feeling the thud of his heart beneath his palm. “you're Mine,” he whispered, still breathless.

Bakugo’s arm tightened around him, dragging him closer. “Damn right.”

And for the first time, in the park where they’d once shouted and scraped and fought like enemies, they lay tangled together as lovers, both certain of one thing: there was no going back.

___

Day Fifteen

Training grew harsher as the Festival neared.

Izuku bruised his knuckles on weighted sandbags, sweat dripping into his eyes, vision swimming. He forced himself through every set, muttering encouragements under his breath.

Bakugo blasted until his palms blistered, until the smell of burnt skin mixed with nitro. He snarled and kept going.

When they finally collapsed on the grass together, too exhausted to stand, Izuku turned his head, watching Bakugo stare up at the night sky.

“You push yourself too hard,” Izuku murmured.

Bakugo scoffed. “Takes one to know one.”

Their fingers brushed, then twined. No kisses this time—just silence, the weight of exhaustion, and the comfort of knowing the other was there.

Day Eighteen

The Festival was three days away.

Izuku tried simulating combat without Glitch, running through mock matches in the training arena, weaving in feints and counters with raw agility. He stumbled often, bruises forming on his arms, but his progress was visible.

Bakugo had his explosions honed razor-sharp now, detonations snapping in precise bursts. He could hover, he could propel, he could strike exactly where he wanted.

During a break, they leaned against the wall together, sharing a water bottle. Izuku tilted his head, lips brushing Bakugo’s ear as he whispered, “You’re going to win, Kacchan.”

Bakugo turned to glare, but the words lodged deep. He kissed Izuku instead, messy and desperate, biting at his lower lip until Izuku whimpered. Hickeys bloomed again, new ones overlapping old, a constellation of proof.

When finally they broke apart, Bakugo smirked against his mouth. “Damn right I am. But you're sharing the podium with me."

Day Twenty

The night before the Festival.

Training was over. There was nothing left to do but rest.

They sat together on their bed, the air thick with nerves and anticipation. Neither spoke much. Instead, Bakugo leaned into Izuku’s side, letting their foreheads touch.

Izuku’s hand trembled where it rested against Bakugo’s jaw. “No matter what happens tomorrow… I’m glad it’s you with me.”

Bakugo didn’t answer right away. Instead, he kissed him—slow, steady, anchoring. A kiss that wasn’t about hunger or claiming, but about I’m here. I always will be.

When they finally pulled apart, Bakugo muttered, almost too quiet to hear, “Damn nerd. Don’t make me say it again.”

Izuku smiled softly, pressing another kiss to his lips. “You don’t have to.”

They fell asleep tangled together, marks and bruises hidden under clothes, hearts steady in their chests. Tomorrow would be war—but tonight, they had peace.

Chapter Text

The morning of the U.A. Sports Festival dawned bright, sunlight spilling across the city in golden bands, warming streets still damp with dew. The air carried a nervous hum—news vans were already circling campus, cameras poised for glimpses of the “next generation of heroes.”

But inside the Bakugo household, the air was heavier.

Izuku woke with Bakugo’s arm slung lazily over his waist, the weight familiar, safe. For a moment he just laid there, staring at the ceiling, listening to Bakugo’s steady breaths and the faint tick of the clock on the wall. This comfort—the warmth of being held, the safety of Kacchan’s presence—felt almost cruel when he thought of what the day held. Thousands of eyes. Cameras. Broadcasting every strength and every weakness to the entire world.

He shifted slightly, and crimson eyes cracked open, narrowing. “The hell are you doing, nerd?” Bakugo’s voice was gravelly with sleep.

Izuku startled, flushing, “N-Nothing! Just—thinking.”

“Stop thinkin’ so loud,” Bakugo muttered, but he didn’t pull his arm away. If anything, his grip tightened before he groaned and rolled onto his back. “Tch. Today’s the day.”

The words made Izuku’s stomach twist.

Later, after hurried showers and uniforms, the two of them walked side by side through the quiet streets to U.A., a rare hush between them. The campus gates loomed ahead, buzzing with energy—vendors setting up, reporters pushing against the barriers, the anticipation of the festival already in the air. Izuku’s steps faltered.

“Kacchan… I need to ask Aizawa-sensei something.”

Bakugo glanced over, brows furrowing, but didn’t argue. They slipped inside and made their way to homeroom, where Aizawa was slouched at his desk, coffee in hand, looking like he’d just crawled out of a grave.

Izuku swallowed hard, summoning the courage. “Sensei?”

One tired eye cracked open. “What, problem child?”

Izuku’s fists tightened at his sides. “Why are we doing this? After the USJ… after what happened, why hold the festival now? Isn’t this just… showing villains our quirks on a silver platter? Broadcasting it to the entire world—” His voice cracked before he caught himself. “Why risk that?”

The classroom was empty still—just him, Bakugo leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed but listening. Aizawa sighed, setting his coffee down with a soft clink.

“Fair question,” he muttered, sitting up a little straighter. “The truth is—villains already know U.A. exists. They already know you’re being trained to fight them. They’ll come for you regardless. What the festival does is remind the world—the rest of the world—why heroes exist. Why we need them. It puts a spotlight on you, yes. But it also builds trust. Confidence. Support. Those things matter as much as raw strength.”

Izuku’s chest tightened. “…But the risks—”

“There are always risks,” Aizawa cut him off, voice blunt but not unkind. “Your job as future heroes isn’t to hide. It’s to rise. To show them you’re ready to take the mantle, even when the world’s watching.” He leaned back, dark eyes narrowing. “And if you’re worried about villains studying you… then make sure what they see doesn’t match what you’ll do when it matters. Heroes adapt. Heroes misdirect. Learn to fight smart, not just hard.”

Izuku bit his lip, thinking hard, when Bakugo scoffed from the doorway. “Deku, quit overthinking it. Festival or no festival, we’re gonna crush it. Let the villains watch. I’ll just blow their expectations to hell when the real fight comes.”

The conviction in his voice struck something deep in Izuku.

Aizawa picked his coffee back up, clearly done with the conversation. “Get to the locker rooms. Both of you. And Midoriya?”

Izuku snapped to attention. “Y-Yes, sir?”

“You’ll never stop being afraid. Smart people don’t. What matters is that you don’t let it stop you.”

The words followed Izuku down the hall, weaving into the rhythm of his pounding heart.

By the time he changed into his costume, pulling the familiar green fabric snug over his frame, he could still hear them echoing. Fear was normal. Fear meant he understood the stakes. But rising above it—that was what being a hero meant.

Still, when he caught Bakugo stepping out of his own locker, sweat already gleaming faintly across his shoulders, the sight knocked the air from his lungs. The UA gym uniform hugged his muscles, every line sharp, powerful. Izuku’s throat went dry.

And Bakugo—well, his eyes flicked over Izuku in turn, lingering far too long on the way the fabric clung to his chest and arms now, honed by weeks of training. His scowl twitched, betraying the heat simmering under the surface.

Neither of them spoke of it. They didn’t need to. The tension snapped between them like live wires, sharper than any explosion.

The roar of the stadium above them grew louder as they lined up with the rest of the class, waiting for the gates to open. The Sports Festival wasn’t just a test. It was a stage. And whether Izuku liked it or not, the world—and the villains watching from the shadows—were about to see all of them laid bare.

___

The stadium trembled with life. Tens of thousands of voices crashed together, a tidal wave of sound that seemed to shake the very ground. Colourful banners waved, names and faces of pro heroes painted across them, the energy thrumming hot and electric in the spring air.

“YOOOOOO! YEEAAAHHHH! CAN I HEAR YOU, JAPAN?!”

Present Mic’s voice blasted from every speaker, loud enough to make even the concrete walls vibrate. His golden shades reflected the sun, his grin wide, his energy infectious. The crowd roared back, the noise rattling in Izuku’s ribs.

Behind the gate, Class 1-A stood in a tight cluster, nerves radiating like static. Even Bakugo, hands flexing, tiny pops sparking off his palms, was quieter than usual—his jaw tight, his eyes narrowed.

Izuku’s stomach was twisting itself into knots.

He’d seen sports festivals on TV before—watched All Might step into arenas like this, commanding the attention of the entire world with a single smile. But standing here now, about to walk out before a stadium filled with tens of thousands of people, cameras broadcasting across the globe… it was dizzying. Every breath felt shallow. Every beat of his heart loud.

“KIIIIIDS OF CLASS 1-A, OUR YOUNG LIONS, THE FUTURE OF HERO SOCIETY—MAKE SOME NOISE!”

The gates shuddered, then slid open with a grinding rumble.

Light poured in, blinding, dazzling. The roar of the crowd surged higher, so loud it swallowed every thought.

Bakugo’s shoulder brushed his as they stepped forward into the sunlight. Izuku blinked hard against the brightness, eyes wide as the full scale of the arena opened before him—rows upon rows of spectators rising into the sky, every seat packed, every eye locked on them. Flags waved. Cameras flashed. His legs felt weak.

But then—he felt it. A subtle pressure against his hand, fleeting, hidden by the angle of their bodies. Bakugo, walking just a pace ahead, his fingers brushing Izuku’s for half a heartbeat. A tether. A reminder. Get it together, Deku.

Izuku swallowed hard and forced his spine straight. His feet carried him forward.

Present Mic’s voice boomed again, “AND LEADING OUR YOUNG HEROES TODAY, WITH THE TOP SCORE IN THIS YEAR’S ENTRANCE EXAMS—MIDORIYA IZUKU!”

Izuku froze for a split second, panic flooding his veins. 'Wait—what?'

All eyes locked on him.

The crowd thundered louder, cheering at the announcement. Cameras swivelled, zooming in. A spotlight blazed across the stadium, cutting through the daylight to single him out.

He was going to be sick.

Aizawa’s voice, calm and clipped, echoed in his head. You’ll never stop being afraid. What matters is that you don’t let it stop you.

His fists clenched. His chest rose. One step, then another.

He walked to the podium at the centre of the field, the roar following him, pressing down on him like a physical weight. For a moment he just stood there, staring out at the sea of faces, his throat bone-dry.

Then, slowly, he leaned into the microphone.

“Um—” His voice cracked at first, earning a ripple of laughter from the stands. His cheeks flamed. He closed his eyes, drew a breath, and when he spoke again, his voice carried steady, clear.

“My name is Midoriya Izuku. And like all of us here today, I came to U.A. with one dream: to become a hero.”

The crowd quieted, the hush rolling outward like a ripple across water.

“I know… after the attack on the USJ, some people may wonder why we’re here, why we’re opening ourselves to the world. Why we’re standing on this stage, showing our strengths and weaknesses for everyone—including villains—to see. The truth is… it’s because heroes don’t get to hide.” His hands tightened on the podium, knuckles white. “We have to rise. We have to show people that no matter what happens, no matter who comes for us, we’ll stand tall. For them.”

The silence deepened. Izuku could feel his heart pounding against his ribs, but he kept going, the words spilling from somewhere deeper than his fear.

“And that’s why this year… I’m going to compete in the Sports Festival nearly quirkless.”

A stunned gasp rippled through the stadium, sharp and collective, a sound that cut even through the cameras’ whirring.

“I want to prove to everyone here that even without a quirk, I would still fight to save people. That even in a quirkless world, I’d still stand between danger and those who need protecting. Because being a hero isn’t just about power. It isn’t about flash. It’s about heart.”

His voice rose, cracking with raw conviction.

“And I believe—anyone, quirk or no quirk—can be a hero if they have the heart to do the right thing.”

The silence held for half a breath, suspended in the air like lightning before it strikes.

Then the stadium erupted. Cheers, chants, applause, deafening and wild, rolling over him like a tidal wave. People stood from their seats, clapping, shouting his name, the sound shaking the arena to its foundation.

Izuku’s breath shuddered out of him, his hands trembling against the podium. But when he glanced to the side lines, his chest tightened for an entirely different reason—

Bakugo was watching him, mouth set in a scowl, but his eyes… his eyes burned. Pride, fierce and bright, unspoken but undeniable, and for the first time since stepping onto that field, Izuku let himself smile.

And then—he panicked.

“Err—thank you…!”

His voice cracked on the last syllable, awkward and rushed. He half-bowed, half-fumbled away from the mic, turning so fast he nearly fell off corner of the podium. He narrowly dodged it, cheeks burning, and practically jogged back toward his classmates with the same frantic energy he usually reserved for escaping one of Bakugo’s explosions.

The crowd, though, didn’t care about his graceless exit—they were still roaring, applauding, the sound shaking the stadium.

But Class 1-A cared.

The second he stepped off to the side, he was swarmed.

“Midoriya, are you insane?!” Kaminari blurted, eyes wide.
“You can’t be serious, right? Nearly quirkless?” Mina’s voice pitched high with disbelief.
“Was that planned?!” Ojiro demanded.
“Why would you tell everyone that—what if villains—” Yaoyorozu concern tangled over itself in rapid-fire.
“Midoriya, that was amazing!” Uraraka beamed, stars in her eyes.
“Are you mocking the festival?” Iida cut in, chopping his arms in agitation. “Do you realize the precedent you’ve just set for hero society—”

Their voices overlapped, sharp and pressing, closing in from all sides. Izuku’s head spun with the questions, the disbelief, the praise and criticism colliding together into a dizzying storm. He opened his mouth to answer, but nothing coherent came—his throat was still closed up from speaking into the mic, his brain lagging behind the weight of what he’d actually just promised.

And then—

A firm hand brushed his. Strong fingers laced subtly between his own, hidden low where the cameras and his classmates couldn’t see.

Izuku stiffened, startled, his eyes darting sideways.

Bakugo stood just half a step closer than before, his face turned toward the field, pretending like he wasn’t paying attention to the chaos around them. But his grip was warm, solid, grounding, and when he tilted his head the barest fraction, his lips barely moved as his voice slipped out in a low growl only Izuku could hear.

“So that’s why you’ve been training so damn hard.” His thumb brushed once against Izuku’s knuckles, almost unconsciously. “You never cease to amaze me, Izuku.”

The world seemed to freeze around him.

For a second, Izuku forgot how to think. The roar of the crowd, the barrage of his classmates, the dizzying press of questions—all of it blurred to background noise. All he could focus on was the quiet sincerity threaded through Bakugo’s gravelly whisper, the warmth of his hand, the fire behind his words, the soft way he said his actual name, the rarity of it.

He opened his mouth, his heart stumbling over a hundred possible replies—Kacchan, I—

But before he could speak, the loudspeakers crackled.

“ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT, EVERYONE!” Midnight’s sultry, exuberant voice cut through the air, instantly grabbing back the stadium’s attention. She strutted into the centre of the arena, whip slapping at her side, her costume gleaming under the sunlight. “That was quite the speech, wasn’t it? Let’s give it up one more time for our fiery first-year, Midoriya Izuku!”

The crowd erupted again, drowning out whatever Izuku might have said.

“And now,” Midnight continued with a flourish, “it’s time to introduce the very first event of the day—the one that will test your bodies, your reflexes, your teamwork, and your willpower!” She stretched her words like elastic, letting the suspense build. “The obstacle course battle royale!”

The audience screamed with excitement, stomping feet and clapping hands like thunder.

Izuku’s pulse spiked all over again. His classmates turned toward the stage in shock and murmurs. And through it all, Bakugo’s hand held his, intertwined, locked together like a vice, a promise. He squeezed it once more before reluctantly pulling away.

Izuku blinked after him, breath shallow, heart hammering. He didn’t even know what scared him more—that he was about to face the first challenge of the festival quirkless… or that Bakugo’s words had just shaken him deeper than the roar of an entire stadium.

___

Chapter Text

The buzzer had barely faded before the world erupted.

Dozens of bodies surged forward at once, the ground trembling under the thunder of feet and quirks igniting all around. Explosions, sparks, bursts of fire, jets of wind—all crashed into one another in a storm of raw power and determination. The roar of the crowd swallowed it all, a sea of sound pressing down from every angle.

Izuku moved too, his heart hammering, his breath ragged as his legs pumped. He had planned for this moment, told himself over and over again that he would run as though every step was the only thing keeping him alive. He barely used One for All—just a flicker, just enough to push his muscles beyond their natural limits. One percent. That was all. Anything more then 10%, and he risked betraying his vow. Anything less, and he’d be left in the dust.

The pack surged as one down the massive first corridor—until the temperature plummeted.

A sharp, biting chill cut through the air like a blade. Frost crawled across the concrete in jagged, crystalline patterns, spreading outward faster than thought. Gasps and shouts rang out as feet slipped, legs locked, and bodies froze mid-stride.

Todoroki.

Izuku’s eyes snapped to the boy at the far left, his hand pressed calmly to the ground, his expression like carved ice. A wave of frost roared outward, consuming everything in its path. Students cried out, trapped and immobilized before they’d even crossed the first stretch.

But Izuku wasn’t there.

His gut had screamed at him a heartbeat before it happened. The stillness in Todoroki’s shoulders. The way his breath fogged in the air. The faint shimmer in his eyes.

Now.

Izuku hurled himself forward just as the frost surged. His legs coiled and released in a single desperate leap, One for All sparking faintly through his calves. The air burned cold against his skin as the ice licked just short of his boots. For a breathless instant, he was airborne, the world a frozen blur beneath him.

He hit the ground in a roll, his palms scraping hard concrete, momentum tumbling him forward before he scrambled back to his feet. The chill clung to his lungs, but he was free. Behind him, dozens of students groaned and cursed, their bodies stuck fast in Todoroki’s frozen grip.

The field had thinned in an instant. Only a handful surged forward now, their quirks carrying them past the icy barricade.

Izuku gritted his teeth and ran harder. His legs screamed, his chest heaved, but his eyes locked on the path ahead. He had to keep going. He had to prove himself, prove his words weren’t just empty bravado.

The next hazard loomed—shadows towering over the course, mechanical eyes gleaming red. The zero-pointers. Massive robots stomped forward, each impact rattling the arena floor. Metal shrieked as they raised their arms, cannons locking onto the rushing students.

Izuku’s instinct screamed again, but this time, he didn’t fight it—he leaned into it.

“Not this time,” he panted under his breath.

He veered sharply left, One for All crackling faintly at his heels, and instead of attacking the robots like so many others, he cut a path around them. His eyes darted constantly—left, right, up—reading their movements, predicting their swings. His body moved in short bursts, darting just ahead of the crashing fists and sweeping legs. Dust and debris rained down around him as metal slammed into concrete, but none of it touched him.

He was too small. Too quick. Too stubborn to get caught.

The crowd gasped as the green-haired boy, the one who’d just sworn to go nearly quirkless, threaded through the battlefield untouched. Some shouted in awe, others in disbelief, but Izuku didn’t hear them. His ears rang with nothing but the pounding of his own blood, the thundering weight of his heart.

He broke through the last of the robot gauntlet, lungs burning, trembling. He wanted to collapse already. But then—

Another fucking cry.

High-pitched. Desperate.

Izuku’s head whipped to the side. Not all of the robots were down. One smaller student, their leg pinned under a slab of fallen rubble, thrashed helplessly as another bot loomed over them, its cannon charging with a shrill whine.

Izuku’s chest clenched. His body screamed to keep running. He could see the others ahead, pulling further away, every second lost threatening his place. He could almost hear Bakugo’s furious voice in his head, calling him an idiot if he stopped now.

But his legs had already moved.

“five percent—Full Cowl!”

Green lightning flickered faintly along his arms and legs, just enough to propel him forward. His feet pounded the ground, faster than before, every step aimed straight toward the fallen student. The cannon above began to glow, heat building at its core.

Izuku dove.

His arms hooked under the slab of rubble, muscles straining as he forced every ounce of One for All through his frame. His vision darkened at the edges, the weight nearly unbearable—but with a guttural cry, he heaved it up and tossed it aside.

“Go!” he shouted, shoving the student clear just as the cannon fired. The blast ripped through the ground where they’d been, heat licking across his back, his ears ringing from the explosion.

He stumbled, legs buckling, but forced himself upright. The student scrambled away, wide-eyed and breathless, calling a shaky “thank you!” as they vanished into the distance.

Izuku didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His lungs felt like they were splitting open, his arms trembling violently from the strain. But his eyes burned bright, fierce and unyielding.

He turned back to the course and ran.

By the time he cleared the hazard zone, sweat poured down his temples, his breath ragged. He couldn’t even see who was in front anymore, just flashes of colour and movement in the distance. But the scoreboard updated overhead, massive numbers shifting across the display.

Eighth.

Izuku Midoriya—eighth place.

His chest swelled despite the ache, a flicker of pride breaking through the exhaustion. He wasn’t first. He wasn’t even close. But he was still here. Still standing. And he hadn’t abandoned someone who needed him, no matter the cost.

He gritted his teeth and forced his legs to keep moving, every muscle screaming in protest. The course was far from over.

But he wasn’t backing down. Not now. Not ever.

___

The ground fell away.

Gasps echoed from the stands as the next obstacle revealed itself—a gaping canyon carved into the earth, nearly a hundred feet down. A yawning pit of jagged stone and dust stretched wide and merciless, the drop so sheer that even looking down made Izuku’s stomach lurch.

The only way across: thick steel cables stretched taut over the chasm, swaying faintly in the wind.

The students ahead of him leapt without hesitation, grabbing hold and pulling themselves across, hand over hand, legs clamping tight around the line. Some struggled with balance, slipping and catching themselves. Others tried to race, only to nearly lose their grip entirely. The crowd roared with every close call, hearts leaping with the sight of dangling bodies.

Izuku slowed for only half a heartbeat, eyes locking on the swinging ropes, the angle of the canyon, the airflow rushing through it. His brain whirred at lightning speed, calculation after calculation snapping together like puzzle pieces.

A cable is just a vector. A swing is just borrowed momentum. If I reduce drag, maximize flips, minimize contact—

His jaw set. His body moved.

With a deep breath, he let One for All spark faintly through his limbs—more than before, just a sliver of power that crackled sharp and alive in his muscles. Eight percent. The strain of keeping it so low pricked like static beneath his skin, but his body held together.

He sprinted.

The wind rushed past his ears as he launched himself into the air, catching the rope mid-arc. Instead of clinging to it like the others, he let his momentum carry him, legs swinging forward, body tucked and streamlined. His weight shifted perfectly with the rope’s rhythm, and in a single fluid motion, he flipped.

Gasps rose from the audience as Izuku spun backward in a controlled backflip, releasing the rope at the apex of his swing only to catch the next line higher up. His movements were sharp, precise—like a gymnast mid-routine, his flexibility bending each motion into speed.

He didn’t crawl across the ropes. He danced.

Flip. Swing. Catch.

Each time his body arched through the air, he rotated, a blur of red lightning and grit. His hands found the ropes with uncanny precision, his trajectory always landing where he needed it most. To the crowd, it looked reckless, even impossible. To Izuku, it was math, instinct, and faith in the countless hours he’d spent analysing heroes whose bodies moved like weapons.

“W-what the hell—he’s flying across it!” one of the students—clinging onto the rope for dear life—cried.

One rope blurred into the next. The canyon floor below was nothing but dust and shadow, forgotten as he spun faster, propelled forward by sheer momentum.

Students ahead of him faltered at the sudden rush of wind. Izuku’s body flipped over one, his legs tucking as he cartwheeled mid-air, twisting over their head before his hand caught the rope again. Another student yelped as he vaulted past, his body coiling like a spring as he rebounded off their shoulder, flipping neatly to the next line.

“Sorry!” Izuku gasped mid-spin, his voice nearly lost to the wind.

The crowd roared with every acrobatic burst. Cameras zoomed in on the boy who had sworn to hold back, now blazing across the most treacherous part of the course like he had trained for it his entire life.

The last stretch loomed. Izuku swung wide, the rope arcing to its furthest point. He released, body spinning backward in a blur of red and white, One for All flaring sharp as he tucked into a final flip.

His boots slammed onto solid ground. His knees bent, rolling into a low crouch, every muscle trembling from exertion. His chest heaved, sweat pouring down his face, but his eyes lit with fierce determination.

The scoreboard flashed.

From eighth—straight to fourth.

Izuku lifted his head, gaze locking on the students ahead: Todoroki’s calm figure still in first, Bakugo a relentless blur in second, and Iida’s mechanical speed tearing up the track in third. He was close now—closer than he had any right to be.

His hands clenched into fists, trembling but steady.

And he ran.

___

The canyon disappeared behind him, but there was no time to breathe. Ahead stretched the final obstacle—the minefield.

A vast stretch of dirt and sand glittered faintly under the stadium lights. At first glance it looked harmless, even ordinary, but Izuku knew better. Thousands of pressure-triggered mines lay hidden beneath the soil, each one primed to explode with the force of a miniature grenade. Not lethal—U.A. wasn’t that cruel—but enough to throw a student sky-high, costing them time and momentum, he'd seen it for himself.

And in a race like this, time was everything.

The crowd’s cheers rolled like thunder as the first students stepped into the field, the ground trembling with muffled blasts as missteps set off chain reactions. Clouds of dust and smoke filled the air.

Izuku slowed at the edge, boots skidding in the dirt. His chest rose and fell sharply, sweat dripping into his eyes, but his mind raced faster than his heart.

The mines are buried irregularly… no obvious pattern. Random distribution. Each explosion radius is about three meters. The delay between trigger and detonation is less than half a second. If I can predict the arcs…

He crouched low, scanning the field, watching where other competitors stumbled. Each blast left a crater, throwing sparks and sand into the air. Izuku’s eyes narrowed, brain filing away measurements, impact zones, the precise height and distance of every detonation.

And then—he spotted it.

Half-buried near the edge of the field lay a massive, twisted scrap of metal—one of the Zero Pointers’ arms, blasted loose during the obstacle course’s destruction. The alloy was thick, heavy, and oddly aerodynamic despite its jagged edges.

Izuku’s breath hitched. His gaze flicked from the metal, to the mines, to the open stretch beyond. A wild, impossible thought bloomed in his head.

If I launch myself using the mines’ force…

It was insane. Reckless. Perfect.

He darted toward the scrap, ignoring the startled yelps of students who gave the twisted metal a wide berth. Grunting, he heaved the arm upright, his muscles straining as he dragged it into position like a makeshift shield and springboard.

“what is he doing?” someone muttered from the side lines, but Izuku didn’t hear.

He planted the scrap at an angle, testing the balance, adjusting it with surgical precision until the weight aligned just right. His mind ran the numbers: trajectory, lift, arc, blast radius. He mapped out each detonation in his head, a mental lattice of explosions and counter-forces. Twenty jumps. That’s what it would take. Twenty perfectly timed launches to carry him not just across the minefield, but past his rivals.

He inhaled sharply, lightning sparking faintly at his heels. Eight percent of One for All hummed through his veins, thrumming steady and controlled. Just enough to hold his body together.

Then he ran.

The first step slammed onto the angled scrap. The mine beneath it triggered instantly—

BOOM!

The explosion roared, dirt and flame erupting beneath him. Izuku’s body rocketed upward, spinning with the scrap acting as a springboard, the blast’s force launching him high into the air.

The crowd screamed.

But Izuku was calm. His eyes locked on the next landing point. His limbs tucked, his body twisted.

He slammed down into the dirt—directly onto another hidden mine.

BOOM!

Another eruption. The blast caught his weight perfectly, flinging him forward, his body sailing through smoke and debris. His calculations were flawless. Every detonation became a stepping stone.

Blast after blast, Izuku soared. His movements were sharp, acrobatic—backflips, cartwheels, twists that bent physics itself into submission. The shockwaves carried him higher, faster, turning the minefield into his personal launch pad.

Gasps rippled through the stands as they realized what he was doing. This wasn’t luck. It wasn’t coincidence. He was orchestrating the explosions, using them like rungs on a ladder no one else could see.

Down on the ground, Todoroki and Bakugo had fallen into their usual pattern—locked in their rivalry, Todoroki freezing swaths of mines into uselessness while Bakugo blasted his way forward, snarling and cursing every step. Neither spared more than a glance at the chaos above them, too consumed with outpacing the other.

Until—

“Hi, Kacchan~!”

Izuku’s voice rang out, bright and teasing, carried on the wind.

Bakugo’s head snapped upward just in time to see a blur of lightning and wild curls sail overhead, flipping casually mid-air. Izuku grinned down at him, upside-down as he spun, before tucking into a perfect rotation and vaulting even further forward.

Bakugo’s jaw dropped. “WHAT THE—DEKU?!” His voice cracked in disbelief.

Todoroki glanced up too, his usually calm face flickering with surprise as Izuku flew past them both, propelled by another chain of timed detonations.

The crowd went wild.

“HE’S USING THE MINES AS A CATAPULT!” Present Mic bellowed, his voice booming through the stadium. “LOOK AT THAT TRAJECTORY—HE’S TURNING THE MOST DANGEROUS OBSTACLE INTO HIS OWN RUNWAY! YEEEAAAHHH!!”

Izuku’s chest burned, his muscles screaming with each impact, but his mind was crystal-clear. Every calculation landed true. Every launch carried him closer. Twenty detonations in a row, perfectly timed, each one blasting him forward with impossible precision.

The final explosion hurled him higher than the rest, the force rattling his bones, but he tucked and spun, body flowing like water through the air. He rotated into a front flip, twisting seamlessly into a back handspring as he hit the ground with the grace of a seasoned acrobat. Dust billowed around him, his boots skidding but steady.

The finish line gleamed ahead.

“Now!” Izuku hissed, and let One for All surge harder through his veins. Ten percent lit his limbs like fire, the red arcs sparking brighter, faster. His stride lengthened, the ground exploding beneath his speed.

He ran.

Bakugo and Todoroki’s shouts echoed behind him, but they were fading, swallowed by the roar of the stadium. Izuku’s heart thundered in his chest, every beat screaming the same thing: Faster. Don’t stop. You can do this.

The ribbon loomed. His legs burned, his lungs ached, but he didn’t slow.

With a final burst of speed, Izuku tore across the finish line—

___

The finish line blurred behind him. Izuku staggered to a stop, chest heaving, sweat dripping into his eyes, his legs trembling from the strain of sustaining ten Percent for so long. He bent over, bracing his hands on his knees, sucking in air like it was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted.

For a heartbeat, the world was silent.

And then the stadium erupted.

The roar shook the very concrete beneath his feet. Tens of thousands of voices merged into a tidal wave of sound, chants of his name rolling through the air like thunder.

“IZU-KU! IZU-KU! IZU-KU!”

Izuku blinked, disoriented. The sound didn’t even feel real—like it was happening to someone else. He’d always been the kid people whispered about, mocked, pitied. Now… they were cheering for him.

Up in the stands, Present Mic practically blew out his vocal cords.

“CAN YOU BELIEVE WHAT WE JUST SAW, Y’ALL?! MIDORIYA IZUKU TAKES FIRST PLACE—AND NOT JUST BY A HAIR, OH NO! TWENTY SECONDS AHEAD OF BAKUGO, THIRTY-FIVE AHEAD OF TODOROKI! WHAT A COMEBACK, WHAT A STRATEGY, WHAT A MADMAN! USING THE MINES AS A CATAPULT?! WHO EVEN THINKS OF THAT?!”

Cameras flashed from every angle. Commentators scrambled to replay the footage of Izuku’s aerial acrobatics, highlighting the impossible calculations behind every flip, every blast.

And then came the murmurs—first in the crowd, then rippling across the arena like wildfire.

“Isn’t that the kid who scored highest in the entrance exam?”
“He said he was going to compete nearly quirkless, right? What the hell was that, then?”
“No, look—he barely used any power. It was all skill. Strategy.”
“He’s terrifying.”

Izuku’s ears rang with it. He straightened slowly, still panting, still dazed. His eyes flicked instinctively toward the track—

And froze.

Bakugo was storming toward him, explosions sparking in his palms, teeth bared. His crimson eyes blazed—not with pure rage, but something far more complex. Shock. Frustration. And beneath it all… pride.

“DEKU!” Bakugo roared, his voice cracking over the stadium noise. “WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?! YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST—”

But his words were swallowed by the crowd’s renewed cheer as Todoroki crossed the line seconds later, his face eerily calm despite the sweat beading his temple. He flicked a glance at Izuku—cool, assessing—but didn’t speak.

The rest of the students trickled in, each greeted with applause but paling against the uproar that still rattled the stadium for Izuku’s finish. Mina shouted something about “holy crap, Midoriya!” Kaminari gestured wildly, imitating the explosions. Uraraka waved enthusiastically, her grin wide and proud.

Izuku wanted to shrink into the dirt.

Instead, Present Mic’s booming voice rescued him.

“THAT’S IT FOR OUR FIRST OBSTACLE, FOLKS! THE RESULTS WILL BE TALLIED SHORTLY, SO STUDENTS, TAKE A HALF-HOUR BREAK TO CATCH YOUR BREATH! HYDRATE, RELAX—YOU’RE GONNA NEED IT FOR WHAT COMES NEXT!”

Cheers followed them as the competitors were herded toward the stadium’s interior corridors.

Izuku barely made it three steps inside before a hand clamped around his wrist, yanking him sideways.

“Oi.”

Bakugo’s voice, low, rough. He dragged Izuku into a shadowed hallway, away from the others. Izuku stumbled, back hitting the cool concrete wall, heart hammering.

“K-Kacchan—?”

But the rest was swallowed as Bakugo’s mouth crashed against his.

It wasn’t the soft, tentative kisses they’d shared before. This was raw, desperate—Bakugo’s hands braced against the wall on either side of Izuku’s head, caging him in, his body pressed close enough that Izuku could feel the tremors still running through him.

Izuku gasped against his lips, arms flying up instinctively to clutch at Bakugo’s shoulders. Bakugo growled softly, angling the kiss deeper, claiming, punishing, rewarding all at once. His lips moved with a kind of ferocity that made Izuku melt and cling tighter, every nerve alight.

Time blurred. Their breaths came ragged, lips slick, the heat between them coiling tighter with every second. Izuku lost himself in the sheer need radiating from Bakugo—the unspoken confession in every kiss, every touch: You scare the shit out of me. You amaze me. Don’t you dare stop.

It was only when footsteps echoed faintly down the corridor that they broke apart, panting. Bakugo’s forehead rested against Izuku’s, his breath hot and uneven.

And then—

“…Ah.”

They both stiffened.

At the far end of the hallway, Todoroki stood frozen mid-step, his mismatched eyes fixed on them. The cool, even mask he always wore didn’t crack much, but the faint lift of his brows betrayed his surprise. His gaze lingered for a beat too long, then he turned abruptly, muttering, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Izuku’s breath caught. He jolted forward, breaking free of Bakugo’s loose hold, still flushed and rattled from the heat of the kiss.

“Wait—Todoroki!” His voice came out higher than he intended, but he didn’t care. His feet carried him a few steps closer, earnestness spilling out of him like it always did. “It’s okay. Really. What’s wrong?”

For a moment Todoroki didn’t answer. His eyes flicked between them—the lingering closeness, Bakugo’s hand still loosely curled at his side as though itching to reach for Izuku again. Something unreadable passed over Todoroki’s face, but then he exhaled, slow and deliberate.

“My quirk,” he said finally, voice steady but edged with something darker. His fingers flexed against his thigh. “You’ve noticed, haven’t you? I only use my right side.”

Izuku nodded, nervous. He’d noticed, of course, but hearing it said aloud made the truth feel heavier.

Todoroki’s jaw clenched. His next words came sharper, angrier, his tone like ice cracking.

“The left side—fire—it’s my father’s. I refuse to use it. I will never use it. Because that power isn’t mine. It’s his.”

Izuku froze. The hallway seemed to shrink around them as Todoroki’s voice dropped, low and biting, each word laced with tightly bound fury.

“He made me. Trained me like I was nothing but a tool. I wasn’t a child to him—I was his experiment, his project. The perfect successor to beat All Might. I was raised to fulfil his dream, not mine.” Todoroki’s hands curled into fists at his sides. His breath came heavier now, memories stirring like blades. “He hurt my mother, drove her into madness. And I…” His eyes flickered, just briefly, with the shadow of a scar hidden beneath his hair. “…I was just a reminder to her of him. That was my childhood. That’s who he is.”

The weight of his anger sat heavy in the silence that followed. It wasn’t the loud, explosive rage of Bakugo—it was colder, quieter, almost suffocating in how tightly it was leashed. like it was the first time he had really expressed it.

Izuku’s chest ached. He wanted to say something—anything—but his throat stuck. His hands trembled at his sides.

Bakugo stayed silent, eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable. For once, he didn’t snap or interrupt. He just let Izuku speak.

And Izuku did, even if his voice shook.

“Todoroki… my father…” He hesitated, every nerve screaming at him to stay quiet, to bury the truth. But looking at Todoroki—seeing the rawness in his voice, the bitterness in his posture—he knew he couldn’t.

“My father is… a villain...the worst one to ever exist actually....”

The words hung like poison in the air.

Todoroki’s eyes widened, shock flashing across his usually impassive face. Bakugo stiffened beside Izuku, but he didn’t move, didn’t interfere.

Izuku swallowed hard, forcing the words out before fear could strangle them. “He gave me my quirk. He made me what I am. And for so long, I hated it. I hated myself. I thought… I thought every time I used it, I was just becoming more like him. I didn’t want it. I didn’t want to be his weapon.” His voice cracked, thick with years of buried shame.

“But…” His gaze flicked sideways to Bakugo, who was watching him with that same fierce, unwavering look he always had—like Izuku was both an idiot and the most important thing in the world. Izuku’s chest tightened.

“But Kacchan—” His voice trembled, softer now, but stronger somehow. “He… he saved me. He pushed me. He reminded me that I’m not him. That I can take this power and make it mine. That I can fight for something better. For someone better.”

He turned fully then, stepping back toward Bakugo. Without hesitation, Izuku wrapped his arms around him, pressing his forehead into his shoulder. It was shaky, desperate, but real.

“Kacchan saves me in more ways than one every single day,” Izuku whispered, loud enough for Todoroki to hear. His grip tightened, as if the thought of letting go might undo him completely. Then he turned his gaze back toward Todoroki, eyes wet but burning with determination.

“So… let me be the one to save you now. Let me save you from yourself. Because if you can’t even help yourself… then how do you expect to become a hero who saves anyone else?”

The words echoed in the stillness of the hallway, heavy with meaning.

Todoroki didn’t speak at first. His jaw worked, tension rippling across his face. His mismatched eyes shone with a storm of emotions—conflict, anger, pain. And beneath all of it, a fragile thread of something else.

Hope.

Izuku’s fingers trembled as he reached back, intertwining his hand with Bakugo’s. The contact grounded him, the warmth of Kacchan’s palm steadying his nerves like nothing else could.

Bakugo shifted closer, his other hand finding Izuku’s hip—possessive, protective, steady all at once. He didn’t say anything, but the weight of his touch spoke louder than words.

Izuku turned back toward Todoroki, who stood rooted in place, his face carefully blank but his eyes betraying the turmoil beneath. Those mismatched irises flickered—ice and fire both restrained, both unclaimed.

Izuku swallowed hard. His voice came out softer than he intended, almost fragile, but it carried.

“I… I remember the day I finally came to terms with my quirk,” he began, his throat tight. “It was the lowest point of my life. I thought… I thought I was nothing but a mistake. A shadow of him. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop seeing myself as his.”

His words cracked, breaking into silence. For a moment, it seemed he wouldn’t go on. Then he felt Bakugo’s fingers squeeze his own, firm and grounding.

Izuku drew in a breath. “And that day—when I broke down, when I thought I couldn’t take another step forward—Kacchan was there. He didn’t walk away. He didn’t laugh. He didn’t… hate me. He just held me.”

His voice trembled, tears brimming hot behind his lashes. “I remember sobbing into him like a child, and he just—he told me something I’ll never forget.”

Bakugo shifted then, his chest pressing solidly against Izuku’s back. His arms wound tighter around his torso, bracketing him in a cocoon of warmth and strength. The usual sharpness in his presence softened, if only here, if only for Izuku.

“Deku…” Bakugo muttered gruffly, his breath brushing the curve of Izuku’s neck. But there was no bite in his tone, only rough tenderness.

Izuku tilted his head slightly, leaning back into him, and let the words spill.

“He said… ‘It’s your quirk. Not his. Your own body manifested it, whether that was through DNA or not. It’s still yours. You are what you make of yourself. And no one—no one—can ever be you but you.’”

The tears broke free then, salty streaks sliding down his cheeks. He ducked his head, staring at the ground as his shoulders shook, but Bakugo’s hold never faltered. Strong arms caged him from behind, one hand splayed across his chest like a shield, the other still clutching his own in fierce solidarity.

Todoroki’s expression shifted, the faintest crack splintering through his composure. His jaw tightened, his eyes flickered, and his breath came heavier, as though Izuku’s words had struck something raw and aching deep within him.

Izuku forced himself to look up, through blurred vision, straight at Todoroki. His voice broke, but his conviction held.

“That power you have, Todoroki… you made it. Not him. You trained. You endured. You survived. It. Is. Yours.”

Each word landed like a hammer blow against the walls Todoroki had built around himself. His chest rose and fell unevenly now, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

Izuku took a step forward, even as Bakugo’s arms clung tighter, as though afraid to let him face the storm alone.

“I know what it’s like,” Izuku whispered, voice trembling but fierce. “To feel like your quirk isn’t your own. To feel like it ties you to something you hate. To someone who broke you. But listen to me—” he lifted their joined hands, clutching onto Bakugo like a lifeline—“if I can take mine and make it my own… then so can you.”

Bakugo pressed his forehead briefly to Izuku’s hair, the smallest gesture of wordless encouragement. When he finally spoke, his voice was gruff, low, but devastatingly steady.

“He’s right, icy-hot. You think you’re chained to that bastard? You’re not. You’re more than him. More than what he wanted. So quit letting him decide for you.”

The words hung in the air, raw and unpolished, but heavy with truth.

Todoroki’s gaze darted between them—the boy sobbing into Bakugo’s arms yet burning with conviction, and the explosive rival who looked at Izuku with a kind of pride and care no one else could understand. Something in his chest cracked, a long-buried wound breaking open.

For the first time in years, Todoroki’s composure faltered. His mismatched eyes shimmered, and his lips parted like he might speak, only for silence to choke him.

Because deep down, beneath the anger and the defiance, a thought whispered: Maybe… they’re right.

He stood there, hands curled at his sides, chest rising and falling with barely restrained emotion. His gaze stayed on Izuku, searching his tear-streaked face like he was seeing something unfamiliar—something impossible.

Izuku’s words echoed in his head: It. Is. Yours.

But the ice in his voice returned when he finally spoke. “You don’t understand,” Todoroki said, quiet but edged with steel. “He made me. He built me for one purpose. Every day of my childhood, I was trained, pushed, broken—until I couldn’t even remember what I wanted. I was never his son. I was his project. His weapon.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, voice shaking despite his control. “The fire—it’s him. Every time I feel it burn under my skin, I hear his voice. I see his face. I won’t use it. I won’t give him the satisfaction.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Izuku’s tears slipped freely now, and Bakugo’s grip around him only tightened. But Izuku’s voice, though raw, refused to waver.

“I do understand,” Izuku whispered. “More than you think.” He glanced at Bakugo briefly, then back to Todoroki. “My father. All For One. my quirk—it’s his. His legacy. I hate it. I hated myself for carrying it. But Kacchan—” his hand squeezed Bakugo’s, voice cracking—“Kacchan made me see that it’s mine now. That I choose what I do with it. Not him.”

Bakugo lowered his head and hugged izuku to himself again, his forehead pressed against Izuku’s, hiding the softness in his eyes from Todoroki, but his voice was steady when he added, “Deku doesn’t lie. He clawed himself up from nothing and made that power his own. You can too. If you quit running from it.”

Todoroki’s jaw tightened, his mismatched eyes narrowing. The conflict raged visibly across his features—anger, grief, defiance, fear.

Finally, he said, voice low and tense, “Maybe you’re right. Maybe. But I’m not there yet.” His fists unclenched, then clenched again, and he shook his head. “I can’t forgive him. Not yet. I won’t give him that fire.”

Izuku nodded, fresh tears spilling, but this time there was a small, unwavering smile through them. “Then don’t do it for him. Do it for you. For the people you want to save."

Todoroki looked away sharply, as if the weight of Izuku’s words burned too much to hold in his gaze. “…You’re relentless, Midoriya.”

Izuku only laughed softly, wiping at his eyes. “So I’ve been told.”

Bakugo growled low in his throat, tugging Izuku a little closer to him, but there was no real annoyance in it—just pride. “Damn nerd.”

Chapter Text

The hallway fell quiet again once Todoroki’s footsteps had faded into the distance. His last words lingered in the air, low and earnest—“Thank you… for trusting me with all of that, Midoriya.”

Then he was gone, leaving only the dim echo of his departure behind.

Izuku stood there frozen, staring at the spot where Todoroki had been, his chest tight and aching from the weight of everything he’d just laid bare. His hands trembled faintly at his sides, not from regret, but from release—the strange, dizzying relief of being heard.

And then warmth. Arms strong and steady wrapped around him, pulling him flush against a broad chest that smelled faintly of smoke and sweat and something uniquely Bakugo.

“Oi,” Bakugo muttered gruffly against his hair, but there was no bite to it, no edge. His hold tightened, almost desperate. “Are you okay, Izuku?”

The question broke something soft inside him. Izuku’s eyes stung again, but this time no tears fell. He sagged against Bakugo, burying his face against the familiar crook of his neck.

“I am now,” he whispered.

Bakugo stilled for a heartbeat, then let out a quiet exhale against his temple. His hand came up, threading gently through Izuku’s curls, calming him in a way nothing else ever could. No matter who was watching, no matter what walls he’d built up, with Izuku he didn’t care. He’d tear them all down if it meant holding him like this.

Izuku tilted his head up, green eyes shimmering, lips parted with the ghost of a smile. Bakugo didn’t need words—he leaned in, closing the space between them, and kissed him.

It wasn’t hurried, or hungry, or rushed. It was slow. Sweet. A promise spoken through the press of lips. Izuku melted into it, his trembling fading as he clutched at Bakugo’s shirt. For a moment the world stopped. No noise, no crowd, no looming festival. Just them.

When they finally pulled apart, foreheads resting together, both were breathless but steadier than before. Bakugo brushed his thumb against Izuku’s cheek in a rare, tender gesture, before pulling back just enough to meet his eyes.

“C’mon, nerd,” he muttered, his voice softer than anyone but Izuku ever got to hear. “Locker room. Before we miss the damn break.”

Izuku laughed weakly, and they walked side by side until the noise of the arena swelled again.

___

The locker room was pure chaos.

The second they stepped inside, voices erupted all at once.

“Midoriya! I cant believe you did that, you’re still going quirkless?!”
“That was insane! You dodged like—you looked like a pro gymnast out there!”
“Dude, how the hell are you still standing after those flips?”
“Wait, are you seriously not gonna use your quirk in the next challenge?”

Hands clapped his shoulders, eyes sparkled with curiosity, admiration, disbelief. Izuku flushed crimson, stammering half-formed answers that only made the flood of questions worse. Compliments tangled with worries, awe mixed with shock. Someone even muttered, “That’s Kinda badass, though,” which made his face burn even hotter.

Bakugo watched from beside him once he'd chugged half his bottle of water, arms crossed, scowl plastered on his face like armour. But his sharp crimson eyes betrayed him—they were gleaming, and his shoulders shook just faintly as he held back laughter. Izuku’s ears were red to the tips, his freckles stark against his flushed skin, and every stuttered attempt to wave off the praise only made it worse.

Finally, Bakugo couldn’t hold it anymore. With a low chuckle he grabbed Izuku’s hand, lacing their fingers together in plain view of everyone.

The room went quiet for a second, then rippled with knowing glances. After USJ, after the way Izuku had thrown himself into hell itself for Bakugo, after the kiss in the middle of chaos—was anyone really surprised?

Bakugo didn’t care either way. He gave their joined hands a firm squeeze, his thumb brushing across Izuku’s knuckles once in silent reassurance. His other hand found Izuku’s lower back, steering him firmly toward the exit.

“Alright, enough gawking,” he barked at the room, glaring with all the force of his old bite. “You vultures can bother him later. He’s mine right now.”

Izuku sputtered, face blazing. “K-Kacchan!”

But Bakugo only smirked, tugging him out of the room before the nerd turned any redder. Their footsteps echoed down the hall, Izuku half hiding his face against Bakugo’s shoulder, and Bakugo wearing the rarest of smiles—sharp, soft, and utterly unguarded.

___

The hallways were quieter now, most students scattering to the vending machines or crowding into the cafeteria. Izuku’s shoulders sagged in relief as Bakugo tugged him down an empty corridor, their hands still linked, his palm warm and comforting.

“Where are we—?”

“You’ll see,” Bakugo muttered. He shouldered open a door tucked away at the far end of the hall, leading them into a small storage room that smelled faintly of chalk and wood polish. The air was still and private, the only light spilling in from a narrow window near the ceiling.

Bakugo shut the door with a decisive click. “There. Peace.”

Izuku blinked, clutching the small lunch box he’d nearly forgotten he had. “Oh. So… we’re eating here?”

“Tch. What, you wanted to get mobbed again?” Bakugo dropped down onto a low bench, stretching his legs out like he owned the space. “Screw that. I don’t need extras breathing down my neck while I eat.”

Izuku laughed softly, setting his box down before sitting beside him. Their shoulders brushed, warmth seeping into his skin. Bakugo’s scowl softened. Not gone—Bakugo never dropped it completely—but gentler, the edges dulled. He picked at his food in silence for a moment, then let out a quiet, almost content sigh.

“Better,” he muttered.

Izuku glanced at him, the corners of his mouth curving. It was rare to see Bakugo like this—unguarded, not performing for anyone. Just Bakugo. His Kacchan.

They ate slowly, the tension of the morning ebbing in the quiet room. Every so often Bakugo’s knee brushed Izuku’s, and neither of them moved away. Izuku risked sneaking a piece of fried chicken into Bakugo’s box when he wasn’t looking, and Bakugo caught him immediately, raising a brow.

“…Damn nerd,” he muttered, but he didn’t move it back. He ate it without complaint, and Izuku’s smile widened.

When the silence stretched again, Bakugo leaned back against the wall, watching Izuku from the corner of his eye. “So. Quirkless, huh?”

Izuku froze, chopsticks halfway to his mouth. “…Y-Yeah.”

Bakugo clicked his tongue. “Figures. Been training yourself half to death these past weeks. I thought you were just trying to one-up me.” His lips quirked, faintly, almost a smile. “Should’ve known it was something more stupidly selfless.”

Izuku flushed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I just… I want to prove it, Kacchan. That anyone can be a hero. Even without…” He trailed off, glancing at his hands.

Bakugo reached out, fingers brushing over his wrist before gripping it firmly, grounding him. “You already proved it. But if you want the whole damn world to see, then fine. Show ‘em.” His crimson eyes softened, voice lowering. “Just don’t you dare get yourself killed in the process.”

Izuku’s throat tightened. He nodded quickly, blinking hard. “I won’t. Not when you’re here.”

For a long moment, they just looked at each other. Then Bakugo smirked and leaned in, kissing him quick and fierce, like punctuation to his words. Izuku melted, his chopsticks clattering forgotten against the bench.

They didn’t linger too long—there was still a festival to win—but when they finally pulled back, both of them were steadier than before.

___

The roar of the crowd swallowed them whole when they stepped back into the arena. Present Mic’s voice boomed across the stadium, hyped as ever.

“ALRIGHT, FOLKS! HOPE YOU ENJOYED THAT OBSTACLE COURSE, ‘CAUSE IT'S ONLY GONNA GET CRAZIER FROM HERE!”

The students reassembled on the field, buzzing with nerves and adrenaline. Izuku felt the weight of a hundred gazes pressing down on him even before Midnight strutted onto the stage, whip in hand, her heels clicking sharply against the floor.

She raised one gloved hand, the noise cutting instantly.

“For the second event of the Sports Festival…” Her lips curled into a sly smile. “A cavalry battle!”

Gasps rippled through the ranks, murmurs rising—some excited, some fearful.

“But this isn’t just any cavalry battle,” Midnight continued, her voice carrying easily. “Each rider will have a point value based on their performance in the first event. The higher your score, the more everyone else will be gunning for you.”

Izuku’s chest tightened. He already didn’t like the way her eyes gleamed when they swept across the students.

“And at the very top of the list…” Midnight’s voice dropped for dramatic effect. “Izuku Midoriya. With a staggering ten thousand points!”

The stadium erupted.

Izuku froze. Ten… thousand? His breath hitched, his body going rigid as the full meaning hit.

“And in second place…” Midnight paused, flipping her board with theatrical flair. “Katsuki Bakugo! With two hundred points.”

Bakugo’s eyes snapped to Izuku, sharp and unreadable. Around them, heads turned—hungry, calculating, predatory. Every student’s gaze locked onto Izuku like wolves scenting prey.

Izuku’s stomach dropped.

fuck me.

___

For a second after Midnight’s words rang out, Izuku couldn’t move.

Ten thousand points.

The number hammered through his skull, echoing louder than the crowd roaring in the stands. His chest seized up, panic flooding in hot and suffocating. He could feel every pair of eyes drilling into him—classmates he trained beside, students he admired, rivals who’d fought tooth and nail just to get here. And now? Now they all looked at him like he was prey.

His breath hitched. His mind began racing, wild and frantic. Ten thousand points? That’s not a head start—that’s a death sentence. They’ll all be after me, all of them at once—what if I get cornered, what if I slip up, what if—

He curled his fists tight enough that his knuckles ached. He wanted to shrink in on himself, to disappear beneath the weight of their stares. But then—

What would Kacchan think of me right now?

The thought cut through the chaos like a spark. He could see it so clearly: Bakugo, arms crossed, glaring at him with that scowl that meant don’t you dare fold, Deku. He could hear his voice, sharp and furious. If you crumble now, then what the hell was all that training for, huh?

Izuku’s heart steadied. His shoulders straightened. Slowly, he lifted his head.

The panic didn’t vanish—but he shoved it down, forcing it into something else. His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing. Determination burned through him, so sharp it felt like a blade. He wasn’t small. He wasn’t weak. Not anymore.

And to everyone watching, that raw determination looked like something else entirely.

His aura shifted, heavy and sharp, like a storm front rolling in. The lines of his face hardened, his stare cutting across the field. Students who’d been inching closer, sizing him up, suddenly faltered .A murmur cut through the crowd as the weight of his presence shifted. His aura no longer screamed prey—it screamed fight me. The glint in his green eyes looked almost feral, his jawline sharp with tension. Whispers rippled:

“...he looks dangerous.”
“Creepy…”
“Like he wants us to try.”

They weren’t wrong. A part of Izuku did want it—to fight, to prove himself, to show them all that he wasn’t just a target. He was a contender.

For the first time since the festival had started, people hesitated to come near him.

Up on stage, Midnight’s lips curved knowingly. “Alright, kids!” her voice cracked like a whip, playful and cruel. “Ten minutes to form your teams. Better hurry~.”

The crowd of students broke apart immediately, alliances forming in huddled whispers. And as quickly as they’d swarmed him with their eyes, they peeled away just as fast, wary of getting too close to the boy with the ten-thousand-point mark burning over his head.

Izuku’s throat tightened at the isolation, a familiar ache clawing in. Of course. No one wants the liability. No one wants the dead weight everyone’s aiming for—

But then a shadow fell across his, and a hand brushed his.

“You really thought I’d leave my boyfriend?” Bakugo’s voice was a low growl, but warm at the edges, only for him. He leaned in just enough that Izuku could feel the heat of him, his eyes locked forward on the scattering students. “C’mon, Deku. You know me better than that. I’d partner with you over these extras any damn day of my life. no matter the cost.”

Izuku’s breath caught. The panic cracked apart completely, something brighter flooding in its place. He turned his head, just enough to glimpse Bakugo’s profile—the set jaw, the fire in his crimson eyes—and his chest squeezed.

“...Kacchan,” he whispered, his voice thick.

Before he could say more, another set of footsteps approached. Uraraka waved hesitantly, her smile nervous but genuine. “Um—Midoriya! If you’ll have me… I’d like to team up with you.”

Another shadow approached. Todoroki. He stopped a step away, posture straight, face unreadable. His mismatched eyes locked on Izuku.

“I’ll join too,” he said simply.

Izuku blinked, stunned. He opened his mouth—then closed it. Todoroki’s voice was calm, but his gaze was heavy, unreadable. Like this choice meant something more than just strategy.

Still, Izuku smiled—bright, unguarded, his chest tight with gratitude.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

Around them, their classmates whispered and stared. The weight of dozens of eyes pressed in—hungry, jealous, calculating. Izuku could feel the hostility like heat against his skin. His stomach twisted with it.

But Bakugo’s fingers stayed locked with his, obscured by their bodies. Uraraka smiled at his side. Todoroki stood firm at his other.

He wasn't alone anymore.

He straightened, his determination blazing all the brighter for it. “Let’s do this.”

___

The ten minutes crawled and flew all at once.

Everywhere around them, alliances formed like wildfire. Kirishima called out to Ashido, Sero, and Kaminari, their voices carrying as they plotted fast and loud. Iida huddled with Ojiro, their discussion clipped and precise. Yaoyorozu, ever analytical, quickly gathered Jirou and Tokoyami, her eyes flicking occasionally toward Izuku with sharp calculation.

But none of them dared approach.

Every time someone so much as looked their way, Bakugo’s scowl snapped up like a weapon. Crimson eyes burned, daring them to try. His jaw worked, muscles flexing, an aura of raw danger radiating off him in waves.

It was enough to make people flinch, muttering curses as they turned back to safer prospects.

“Extras,” he spat under his breath, satisfied as another group gave up on inching closer.

Izuku, meanwhile, forced himself to focus. He crouched down briefly, fingers pressing to the floor as his mind raced. Calculations whirred. His eyes flicked around him, tracing potential routes, weaknesses, how headbands might shift in the chaos.

Mobility. defence. Offensive reach. We’ll need balance. Kacchan can handle offense—obviously. Uraraka can give us mobility with Zero Gravity. Todoroki’s ice… that gives us range and shields.

His hand tightened around Bakugo’s. He glanced up at him—at his furrowed brow, at the raw fire radiating from him—and his chest filled with something warm, steadying.

I can do this. We can do this. With them… I’m not afraid.

The seconds bled away, every moment charged, every whisper sharpening the air.

And when Midnight finally lifted her mic again, the stadium erupted in cheers.

“Time’s up! Teams, to your marks—let’s see who survives the cavalry battle!”

Izuku sat on their shoulders, headbands secured around his neck, his team at his side, eyes blazing with determination.

___

The stands roared, a storm of voices and stomping feet.

Present Mic’s voice cut through it all like a lightning strike:

“Alright listeners—time for the CAVALRY BATTLE! And remember—our top contender, Midoriya Izuku, is carrying a whopping ten thousand points! He’s the target every single team will be gunning for!”

The crowd thundered with excitement.

Izuku swallowed hard. His fingers twitched. under him, Bakugo cracked his knuckles, crimson eyes alight with fire. Todoroki stood still, his expression carved from stone, though tension hummed in his shoulders. Uraraka bounced slightly on her toes, her nervous energy vibrating off her.

“Ten minutes is up! Mount your steeds—battle begins in three… two… one… START!”

The buzzer blared.

The world erupted.

Dozens of teams surged forward at once, their eyes locked on Izuku like predators scenting prey. The ground trembled beneath the stampede.

“Here they come!” Present Mic whooped. “The ten-thousand-point headband has a target painted right on it—let’s see how long Midoriya’s team can last!”

Izuku’s breath caught—but then steadied. He crouched lower on Todoroki and Bakugo’s shoulders, one hand gripping the back of Todoroki’s jacket, the other braced against Bakugo’s shoulder. His mind whirred, faster than the chaos around them.

The front runners are making a beeline. Too reckless. That means gaps…

“Left!” he shouted.

Without hesitation, Bakugo blasted an explosion off his palm, launching their team sideways just as a vine-like whip cracked through the space they’d occupied. Izuku’s stomach lurched from the sudden acceleration, but his eyes were already scanning.

“Front incoming—Yaoyorozu’s team! Shield!”

Ice burst outward instantly, jagged and tall, Todoroki’s hand flashing against the ground. Their advance was cut short, Yaoyorozu’s creation clashing against Todoroki’s barricade.

But above—

“Midoriya! It’s mine!” Kaminari yelled, lightning following him through the air as he leapt toward him.

Izuku’s eyes widened. No time to think—only act. He released Bakugo’s shoulder, twisting upward with a surge of his legs. For a split second, he was weightless in the air, Kaminari’s hand closing in on his headband.

“Not happening!”

Izuku’s body moved on instinct and calculation. He snapped his knee upward, a precise strike that slammed into Kaminari’s chest mid-air, redirecting his momentum off course.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Kaminari tumbled, sparks scattering harmlessly.

Izuku tucked in mid-air, twisting through a backflip. Time seemed to slow as he spotted his landing point—Bakugo’s shoulder, steady and waiting.

He extended his legs, absorbed the force, and landed firm, crouching low again. His muscles burned, his lungs heaved—but he was still steady. Still fighting.

The crowd erupted.

“Did you SEE that?!” Present Mic’s voice boomed. “The kid just turned physics into an art form!”

Bakugo’s grin was feral beneath him. “Deku, you crazy bastard.”

Izuku’s heart leapt at the rough praise, but he forced himself to focus. More coming. There's Always more.

Indeed, another team charged from the right, Ojiro’s tail whipping for balance as he lunged, fast and precise. Izuku’s brain raced, angles flashing through his thoughts.

He’ll use the tail to anchor, then spring. If we sidestep, he’ll adjust mid-air. So—

“Todoroki, ice—angled at ten degrees to the right!”

Without question, Todoroki slammed his hand down. A slick plane of ice shot across the ground, perfectly angled.

Ojiro’s feet hit it mid-leap—and his momentum sent him sliding helplessly away from them. He cursed, struggling for control as his team scrambled to hold on after him.

Izuku exhaled sharply. Good. One down.

But another came immediately. Kendo’s enlarged fist barrelled through the air, aiming directly for him.

“Uraraka—float us!”

Uraraka’s eyes widened, but her hand flicked. Gravity lessened instantly, their whole team rising just enough for the fist to pass beneath them.

“Kacchan—boost us now!”

“On it!” Bakugo’s palms exploded, blasting them upward and forward in a burst of smoke and heat. The crowd cheered wildly at the unexpected maneuver, their flight arching them over half the battlefield.

Izuku clung tight, calculating trajectory mid air. His stomach twisted with the drop, but his eyes locked on the ground ahead.

“Adjust two meters left!” he shouted.

Bakugo and Todoroki moved in perfect sync, their bodies obeying without hesitation. They hit the ground running, weaving through the minefield of students with hair-thin precision, every step a calculated risk.

The crowd was on its feet.

“They’re moving like a unit!” Present Mic hollered. “Midoriya’s calling shots like a general—and his team is executing flawlessly!”

Izuku’s lungs burned. His eyes darted constantly, reading movements, predicting patterns. Each decision felt like balancing on a knife’s edge.

And then—someone fast. Too fast. Iida.

His engines roared, propelling him forward like a missile, his hand slicing toward the headband.

Izuku’s heart lurched. He couldn’t block him—not at that speed. But he could redirect.

Force equals mass times acceleration… if I can shift his centre of gravity—

At the last second, Izuku pushed off Bakugo’s shoulder, leaping upward again. He twisted mid-air, his heel snapping downward just as Iida reached for him. The strike connected against Iida’s forearm, enough to tilt his balance off by a fraction.

At those speeds, a fraction was everything.

Iida stumbled, his trajectory veering wide, his team crying out as he nearly toppled them.

Izuku tucked again, flipping, and landed hard against Todoroki’s shoulder, knees absorbing the impact. His chest heaved, sweat stinging his eyes.

But he was still standing. Still fighting.

The buzzer blared.

“TIME!” Present Mic’s voice split the air. “And what a battle! Against all odds, Midoriya’s team holds onto the ten-thousand-point headband! That’s right, folks—they’re advancing to the next round!”

The crowd went wild, chanting, stomping, roaring.

Izuku slumped slightly, every muscle trembling. He looked down at his teammates—Bakugo’s feral grin, Todoroki’s steady gaze, Uraraka’s bright relief—and his chest swelled with something fierce and warm.

They had done it. Together.

Bakugo’s voice rumbled beneath him, low enough only Izuku could hear: “Damn right we did.”

Izuku’s exhausted smile cracked wide. Yeah. We did.

Chapter Text

The buzzer’s echo was still ringing in Izuku’s ears when the arena erupted.

A wall of sound crashed down from the stands—cheers, gasps, scattered shouts of his name. His chest heaved, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead, his knuckles white where they gripped Bakugo’s shoulder for balance.

We did it, his mind whispered, stunned. We actually… did it.

Present Mic’s voice boomed once again announcing above the chaos:

“UNBELIEVABLE! Against every team in the stadium, against odds stacked higher than Mount Fuji itself, Midoriya’s team clung to the ten-thousand-point headband all the way to the end! And folks—let’s not forget—this green-haired strategist didn’t just hold the line, he commanded his team like a seasoned pro!”

Another roar from the crowd. Izuku’s stomach twisted, his face blazing. He wanted to hide, to curl up somewhere quiet.

Instead, he held himself upright, gasping breaths steadying.

Bakugo shifted beneath him, muscles taut and coiled like he was still ready for a fight. His head tilted just enough to catch Izuku’s gaze, crimson eyes fierce and unreadable.

And then he smirked. A sharp, wolfish thing.

“Tch. Not bad, nerd.”

Izuku blinked at him, heart stuttering. Even in victory, Bakugo looked at him like a rival, like an equal—but Izuku saw it. Beneath the scowl, the love burned, unspoken but there.

He smiled, small and shaky. “…Thanks, Kacchan.”

___

They dismounted when the proctors guided the surviving teams back toward the tunnel. Izuku’s legs wobbled as his shoes hit the ground, muscles screaming from the effort. He staggered—only for Bakugo’s arm to loop around his waist, catching him before he fell.

“Oi. Careful.”

Izuku flushed, breath hitching. “I-I’m okay—”

“Shut up,” Bakugo muttered gruffly, pulling him closer against his side as they walked. “You pushed yourself too hard.”

Izuku opened his mouth to argue, but stopped when he felt it—the steady, grounding strength in Bakugo’s grip. Not possessive. Not showy. Just there. Unmoving.

The tunnel was crowded with students, all buzzing from the match, the air thick with heat and chatter. And suddenly, all of that chatter turned toward him.

“Midoriya!” Uraraka’s voice rang first, bright and relieved. She trotted up on his other side, eyes wide. “That was amazing! You—you were flying all over the place—!”

“I thought you’d fall at least three times,” Yaoyorozu admitted, approaching with elegance but wide-eyed awe. “But you… calculated every move. It was flawless.”

Sero whistled low. “Dude, I thought Kaminari had you when he jumped! But you kicked him out of the sky! That was sick!”

More voices piled on. Questions. Praise. Shock.

“How did you know the angle on that ice slide?”
“Was that aerial kick planned or just instinct?”
“You’ve gotta teach me how you timed those jumps—”

Izuku’s head spun. The hallway seemed to close in, every set of eyes on him, every voice pressing closer. His chest tightened, heat flooding his ears.

Too much. Too much all at once.

His breaths hitched. He tried to speak—stuttered nonsense tumbling out. “I-I just—ah, it was n-nothing, I just—”

And then Bakugo’s hand slipped into his.

Strong. Firm. reassuring.

Izuku’s head snapped up. Bakugo’s expression was a perfect scowl, like always—but his grip tightened just enough to steady Izuku’s shaking.

“Back off,” Bakugo snapped at the crowd, voice a low growl. “He just carried your asses through a warzone. Give him a damn minute to breathe.”

Silence rippled out. The bombardment slowed.

Izuku’s blush burned so hot he thought he might faint. His heart was a mess of thunder in his chest. Bakugo didn’t let go, not even when he realized half their class was staring—not even when Kaminari’s eyebrows shot up or when Mina’s mouth dropped open.

He didn’t care if they understood, that was for him and izuku anyway.

Izuku’s throat closed, his vision blurring. Not from panic now—but from something fierce and warm breaking through the noise.

He’s here. Kacchan’s here.

Bakugo glanced sideways, his eyes sharp but softened by the faintest flicker of something gentler, just for him. “C’mon, Deku. Before you pass out on me.”

Still holding his hand, he tugged Izuku through the hall. The others parted automatically, whispers chasing them. Izuku couldn’t meet their eyes. He couldn’t even think past the feel of Bakugo’s palm against his, the sure, steady pull of his stride.

___

They broke away into a quieter corridor, the roar of the stadium muffled by thick concrete walls. Izuku sagged against the wall, dragging in breaths. His legs trembled with adrenaline withdrawal, his shirt clinging damp to his skin.

Bakugo didn’t let go of his hand. Not once.

Instead, he leaned against the wall beside him, close enough that their shoulders brushed. His scowl was still there, but softer, the fire in his eyes tempered into something calmer. Something private.

“Breathe, dumbass,” he muttered.

Izuku let out a shaky laugh. “S-sorry… just… overwhelmed.”

Bakugo’s lips twitched—half-smile, half-snarl. “Yeah, well, you better get used to it. You just showed the entire damn world you’re not someone to mess with.”

Izuku’s heart skipped. He ducked his head, cheeks burning. “I wasn’t… trying to show off. I just… wanted to prove I could do it.”

Bakugo finally turned his head fully, staring at him with a heat that made Izuku’s breath catch. “And you did. More than anyone expected. Hell—more than I expected.”

The words were quiet, meant for no one but him.

Izuku’s throat tightened, his eyes stinging again. “…Kacchan.”

Bakugo clicked his tongue, tearing his gaze away before it grew too raw. “…Idiot.” But his hand squeezed Izuku’s, deliberate and strong.

And for Izuku—that was enough.

___

The fifteen-minute intermission passed faster than Izuku expected.

One moment he was sitting cross-legged on the floor of a small, forgotten storage room, Bakugo leaning against the wall beside him—scowling, but softer, quieter than anyone else ever got to see him. The next, the muffled sound of the stadium speakers echoed through the corridors, calling them all back. 

In that small amount of time izuku had managed to manipulate his DNA to regenerate his health so he felt 100% and ready to proceed with the last game only his rationed 10% of one for all.

 But more than that, his mind was racing.

The final round…

His heart thudded with every step back toward the arena. The air seemed thicker now, heavy with expectation. Every student filed back into the stadium with their heads high, but their eyes sharp. Competitors. Rivals. Enemies, even, for the next test.

Izuku’s stomach knotted. He clenched his fists—only to feel a brush of warmth as Bakugo’s hand bumped against his. Not quite holding, not yet, but close enough to steel him. Izuku glanced up. Bakugo didn’t look at him, eyes fixed forward, jaw tight. But the message was clear.

I’m here. Don’t lose yourself now.

Izuku breathed out slowly, steadying his pulse.

The sun was high now, its rays spilling over the vast expanse of the arena as they filed back onto the field. The stands were packed tighter than before, the energy of the crowd rolling over them like a living storm. Chants. Cheers. Excitement thrumming in the air.

Present Mic’s voice boomed over the speakers again, full of manic energy.

“WELCOME BACK, HERO FANS! We’ve seen jaw-dropping talent! We’ve seen grit, sweat, strategy, and more than a few explosions—” He shot Bakugo a gleeful grin on the monitor. “—and now it’s time for the final event! The last hurdle to decide who’s climbing the ranks to the top of U.A.’s first-year spotlight!”

The crowd roared, stamping their feet in anticipation.

Izuku’s palms went clammy.

Beside him, Bakugo’s lip curled into a half-snarl, half-smirk. He muttered under his breath, low enough only Izuku caught it: “Whatever it is, I’ll crush it.”

Before Izuku could respond, Midnight strutted onto the stage once again, her smile wicked and hungry for drama.

Her voice purred, smooth and amplified across the stadium. “Ladies and gentlemen, our competitors have endured the obstacle race, the cavalry battle, and every gruelling trial we’ve thrown their way. But it all comes down to this.”

The students tensed as one. Izuku felt it in his bones—the collective inhale before the blow.

Midnight raised her arm high, snapping her whip for emphasis.

“The third and final round… will be a one-on-one tournament!”

The arena exploded into cheers, gasps, and groans. The energy doubled, tripled. Every student’s posture shifted, some shoulders squaring with confidence, others stiffening with nerves.

Izuku’s heart slammed against his ribs. A tournament. One-on-one. That means…

His eyes darted over the faces around him. Todoroki’s unreadable calm, Iida’s stiff determination, Uraraka’s clenched fists. Every single person here was a potential opponent. Every one of them would be watching for his weaknesses.

And after his performance in the cavalry battle, they all wanted him gone.

His breath hitched. His chest squeezed tight.

But then—warmth brushed his hand again. Firmer this time. Bakugo’s fingers slid against his and curled, locking them together without hesitation.

Izuku blinked up at him, startled.

Bakugo didn’t look his way, but his voice was low, gravel-edged. “you better fuckin' win this Deku. Got it? I wanna be the one to take you down.”

The words sank deep, heavy and certain.

Izuku’s jaw tightened. His breath steadied.

Determination flared in his chest. “not if I take you down first.”

On the field, Midnight gestured grandly as a massive screen lit up above the arena, the tournament bracket glowing into view.

The crowd roared again. The students craned their necks, squinting up at the board to see who they’d face.

___

Izuku’s eyes shot wide as the glowing letters settled on the bracket.

Midoriya Izuku vs. Shinso Hitoshi.

His stomach plummeted.

He scanned the other names, half-panicked, but there was nothing familiar to latch onto. Todoroki, Bakugo, Uraraka, Iida — all people he knew, all people he had seen fight or at least train. But this name? Shinso Hitoshi? It was completely alien.

He swallowed, his throat dry. I don’t even know what his quirk is.

That thought rattled around his skull like a loose screw, picking up speed until it drowned out the roar of the crowd. It was bad enough to face a powerful opponent. It was worse to face an unpredictable one.

And this was the first round.

Beside him, Bakugo bristled, his sharp eyes flicking to the screen, then to Izuku. His scowl deepened. “Deku.”

Izuku flinched and turned.

Bakugo’s gaze burned, fierce and unyielding. “Doesn’t matter who it is. You’ve trained for this. You fight your way through it. Besides, with your analysis skills I doubt it will take you much to figure him out. Got it?”

The words came out like an order, but Izuku felt the steady weight beneath them — that familiar, stabilizing confidence Bakugo always carried.

He nodded quickly, forcing air into his lungs as his blood flowed to his cheeks at the compliment and sheer amount of hope Bakugo had for him. “Y-yeah. Got it.”

The students began to disperse, some heading toward the locker rooms, others clustering in groups to discuss strategy. Izuku lingered for a moment longer, staring at the glowing letters of his name paired with Shinso’s. Then he turned, his legs stiff as he followed the crowd back inside.

___

The waiting rooms buzzed with low chatter, nervous energy bouncing off the walls. Izuku slipped inside his assigned room, closing the door behind him. The muffled noise of the stadium faded, replaced by the pounding of his heartbeat.

The room was plain, functional. A bench, a water cooler, a narrow locker against the wall. He set his bag down with shaky hands and sat, elbows braced on his knees.

Okay. Deep breaths. Think, Izuku. What do you know?

Nothing. That was the problem. He didn’t know Shinso’s quirk. He didn’t even know Shinso’s class. Was he from General Studies? Support? Business?

Izuku clenched his fists. He hated going in blind. Normally, he’d analyse footage, recall quirks, run scenarios in his head. But this time, all he had was silence and the gnawing ache of uncertainty.

He buried his face in his hands. If I don’t know his quirk, then I need to rely on myself. On what I can control.

One for All pulsed faintly in his veins, a reminder of both strength and burden. But he had promised — to himself, to Aizawa-sensei, to the world — that he’d fight as close to quirkless as possible.

His chest tightened. What if his quirk is too strong? What if I can’t keep that promise?

The memory of Bakugo’s words flickered in his mind. Doesn’t matter who it is. You’ve trained for this. You fight your way through it.

Izuku exhaled shakily. He straightened, forcing his hands to unclench. He had survived worse. He had beat overwhelming odds before. Whatever Shinso’s ability was, he’d adapt. He’d have to.

___

Across the hall, Shinso sat in his own waiting room, the lights casting sharp shadows across his tired eyes.

His posture was deceptively casual, slouched on the bench, arms resting loosely on his knees. But inside, his mind turned like a storm.

Midoriya Izuku.

He had seen the name before — number one in the entrance exam. The boy who had supposedly crushed the zero-pointers and earned the highest score of the year. The boy who had stood on the stage earlier and declared he’d fight near quirkless.

Shinso’s lips twisted into a faint, humourless smile. “Near quirkless,” huh? That was either arrogance or desperation.

Still, it didn’t sit right. Shinso didn’t believe anyone could rank first in U.A.’s brutal entrance exam without something monstrous backing them up. Midoriya was dangerous.

And Shinso… Shinso was used to being underestimated. His quirk was powerful, yes, but it wasn’t flashy. It didn’t win over crowds or inspire awe. People sneered at it. Mocked it. Villainous, they called it.

His jaw clenched. If I can beat him here, on this stage, in front of everyone, maybe they’ll finally shut up. Maybe they’ll see me as a hero, not some reject with a creepy power. ill finally be able to join the hero course and show them. show them all the hero I can be.

But even as the thought settled, doubt gnawed at the edges. Would Midoriya fall for it? Would he slip?

Shinso’s hand curled into a fist. He couldn’t afford doubt. This was his chance — maybe his only chance.

___

The announcement came over the speakers, sharp and echoing: “First round competitors, prepare yourselves! The matches are about to begin!”

Izuku stood, his legs unsteady but moving. He rolled his shoulders, stretched his arms, trying to shake the tension coiled inside him. His reflection in the locker’s mirror looked pale, drawn tight with nerves. But his eyes… his eyes burned.

For everyone who doubts me. For everyone who’s ever said quirkless means useless. I’ll prove them wrong.

He left the room, his footsteps carrying him down the long, dim corridor that led to the arena. The walls seemed to hum with the roar of the crowd above.

And there, at the other end of the hall, he saw Shinso.

The boy’s hair was messy, purple strands falling over sharp eyes. His posture was relaxed, almost bored, but his gaze was sharp when it locked with Izuku’s.

For a long moment, they just stared at each other. Neither spoke. Neither smiled.

Izuku swallowed hard. This is it.

The double doors swung open. Light and sound exploded around them, the roar of the crowd nearly deafening. The stadium was alive, buzzing with anticipation.

Cementoss stood at the center of the arena, his massive stone form radiating calm authority. With a rumble, the ground shifted, slabs of concrete rising and settling until a perfect square battlefield stood ready.

The audience erupted again.

Midnight strutted forward, whip coiled in one hand, her grin wicked. “Alright, boys,” she purred, her voice carrying across the arena. “The rules are simple. Knock your opponent out of the ring. Pin them until they can’t move. Or make them admit defeat. Anything goes — but no lethal force.” She cracked her whip for emphasis. “Got it?”

Izuku nodded sharply, throat tight.

Shinso gave a casual shrug, his voice cool. “Got it.”

Midnight’s smile widened. She raised her hand high. “Then let’s not keep our adoring fans waiting…”

The crowd leaned forward, the tension palpable.

Izuku’s muscles coiled, every nerve on edge. His heart hammered, sweat already beading at his temples. He didn’t know what was coming. He didn’t know what Shinso could do.

But he would be ready.

Midnight’s hand dropped.

“BEGIN!”

Chapter Text

The wind tugged at his uniform jacket. He could feel the weight of the eyes on him—classmates, pros, the media, him.

For just a second, Bakugo glanced up to the stands. And there he was. Izuku, sitting forward on the edge of his seat, wide green eyes tracking his every move. Even from this distance, Bakugo could tell—he was nervous. Proud, but nervous.

That flicker of warmth under his ribs steadied him.

Then he turned to face his opponent.

Uraraka Ochako stood across the ring, small frame straight and shoulders squared. The sunlight gleamed off her brown hair, pulled back tight. She was nervous too—he could see it in the set of her jaw, the faint tremor of her hands—but beneath it, there was fire.

"Ready?" Midnight called from the side lines.

Uraraka nodded, her fists clenched tight. Bakugo raised one hand, palm open, faint pops of sweat ignition sparking from his skin.

"BEGIN!"

The sound cracked like thunder.

Uraraka shot forward immediately, darting left, then right, her speed sharper than anyone expected. Bakugo barely moved, just shifted his stance slightly, watching. Calculating.

"C'mon," he muttered under his breath. "Show me what you've got."

From the stands, Kaminari whistled. "Yo, she's fast! Didn't think she'd come in this strong!"

"She's planning something," Izuku murmured, eyes following every step. "She wouldn't rush Bakugo head-on unless—"

A small flash caught the sunlight.

Bakugo's eyes narrowed. Debris. Tiny fragments of rock and dust floating up around the edge of the arena where her fingers had brushed the ground. She's already setting up.

Smart.

"Not bad, Round Face," he said under his breath.

Uraraka dove again, closing distance fast. Bakugo sidestepped, a blast from his right palm sending her spinning back—but she caught herself, using the force of the explosion to fling a handful of floating chunks higher into the air.

He realized what she was doing an instant before the first shadow passed overhead.

Gravity's off. Everything's weightless.

Then it started raining debris.

The sky was filled with falling rubble—hundreds of chunks of rock and arena tile, all hurtling toward him at once. The crowd gasped, the pros in the stands leaning forward, and even Bakugo had to grin.

"Now that's more like it!"

He raised both arms and detonated.

The explosion boomed like a cannon, the shockwave obliterating the falling debris into dust and sending smoke rippling through the arena. The audience erupted in awe, but in that same instant, Uraraka charged through the haze—fast, determined, eyes blazing.

Izuku gripped the railing. "She's not giving him a second to recover—!"

Bakugo swung his arm up just in time, blocking her strike. Her hand grazed his sleeve—just barely—but he saw the faint pink glow of her Quirk. One touch, and he'd be weightless.

She ducked low, tried to sweep his legs—he jumped, countered, and blasted downward, forcing her to dodge again.

Every exchange was fast, close, razor-sharp.

"Damn," Kirishima muttered, impressed. "She's really pushin' him!"

"Of course she is," Izuku said softly, almost reverently. "That's Uraraka. She's always underestimated until she isn't."

Down below, Bakugo could feel it too—the strength behind every move she made. The determination to prove something.

She wasn't scared of him. Not in the slightest.

Good.

He blasted forward suddenly, closing the gap, but she twisted away again—just enough to send another piece of rubble drifting upward unnoticed.

"You're not just throwing rocks," Bakugo muttered, eyes scanning the sky. "You're making a whole damn trap."

Uraraka's breath came hard, sweat streaking down her face, but she smiled through it, fierce and wild. "Took you long enough to notice!"

Then she threw her arms upward. "Release!"

Everything she'd sent floating earlier—hundreds of fragments—came crashing down at once.

The crowd screamed, the sound a living thing, as the entire arena seemed to collapse onto Bakugo's position. Dust and smoke erupted in a wave, blotting out everything.

For a heartbeat, no one could see a thing.

"Bakugo!" Kaminari shouted.

"I—I can't see anything!" Mina said, eyes wide.

Izuku didn't move. His gaze stayed fixed on the centre of the ring, his heart pounding. "He's fine," he whispered. "It's Kacchan."

Then, from the centre of the dust cloud—light.

An explosion ripped outward, so bright it turned the air white.

Bakugo strode out through the smoke, explosions crackling across his arms, a smirk slicing across his face. "That all you got?"

Uraraka was panting, clutching her side, but she didn't back down. "Not even close!"

She sprinted forward again—limping slightly, but determined. She raised her hand for another strike, one final attempt—

—and Bakugo blasted just above her, the shockwave blowing her off her feet without hitting her directly. He could've gone for the knockout. He didn't.

She hit the ground hard, rolling once before lying still, groaning faintly.

The crowd fell silent for a long moment.

Then Midnight raised her hand. "URARAKA IS UNABLE TO CONTINUE! THE WINNER—KATSUKI BAKUGO!"

The stands erupted, half cheering, half booing, but Bakugo barely heard it. He was already walking toward Uraraka.

She blinked up at him, dazed, and tried to push herself upright.

Bakugo stopped in front of her and crouched down, offering his hand. "You're tougher than half the idiots here," he said quietly, serious now. "Don't let anyone call that a loss."

Uraraka blinked, surprised, before a small, tired smile curved her lips. "Thanks... Bakugo."

He nodded once, straightened, and turned away.

Up in the stands, Izuku's chest swelled with pride.

"He didn't even hit her directly," he said softly. "He was careful."

Kirishima grinned. "He's still rough around the edges, but... yeah. That's our Bakugo."

Bakugo glanced back one last time as the medics came to help Uraraka. He caught Izuku's eyes in the crowd—green, bright, unwavering—and for the briefest moment, he smiled.

Not the cocky grin of victory, but something quieter. Respectful.

Then he lifted his chin, squared his shoulders, and strode off the field as the crowd's noise swelled again.

Because even in victory, one thought burned brightest in his chest:

If I want to stand at the top... I have to keep earning it.

And somewhere in the stands, the person he wanted to impress most of all was still watching.

___

The roar of the crowd faded behind him as Bakugo stalked down the tunnel, adrenaline still clawing at his veins. His hands were trembling — not from exhaustion, but from the leftover crackle of power under his skin. Sweat beaded along his temple, the acrid smell of burnt gunpowder clinging to him like a second skin.

He ran a hand through his hair, took a deep breath, and exhaled hard.

She was good.
That was all he could think about, over and over.
That damn round-faced girl had pushed him — really pushed him — in a way most hadn't dared.

He'd seen it in her eyes, the same wild fire that burned in Deku's. The kind that didn't know how to give up, no matter how much it hurt.

He respected that. Hell, he admired it.

Bakugo's boots hit the concrete steps leading up to the stands, each footfall heavier than the last. The noise of the stadium swelled around him again, voices echoing, the air thick with the smell of sweat, heat, and adrenaline.

Then he saw him.

Izuku, sitting forward in his seat, hands clasped tightly together, eyes locked on him like the world narrowed down to just that one moment. The green of his eyes shimmered in the sunlight that filtered through the glass canopy above. When Bakugo met his gaze, everything else — the cheers, the lights, the burn of the explosions on his palms — faded into background noise.

Izuku's lips parted, a slow smile breaking through the tension in his face. He looked relieved. Proud. Soft.

Bakugo swallowed the lump that caught in his throat and forced himself to smirk as he climbed up into the Class 1-A seating section. His usual sharpness dulled slightly — there was something gentler in the way his shoulders dropped, the way his steps slowed as he reached him.

Without saying a word, he dropped into the seat beside Izuku, the metal bench creaking under the weight of him. His breath came out in shallow bursts, the kind that made his chest heave once or twice before finding rhythm again.

Izuku leaned closer, so close their knees brushed.  His hand reached over, fingertips brushing Bakugo's wrist — slow, deliberate, grounding.

Bakugo didn't flinch away. He never did anymore.

Instead, his fingers shifted, hooking between Izuku's, palms fitting together like they'd done it a thousand times before. The roughness of Bakugo's skin pressed against the warmth of Izuku's, and the tension in both of them eased.

"You were careful," Izuku said softly, voice barely audible over the chatter of the stands.

Bakugo turned his head, one eyebrow lifting. "Huh?"

Izuku's thumb traced the edge of his knuckle. "With Uraraka. You could've gone for the knockout, but you didn't. You respect her."

Bakugo opened his mouth to say something — a deflection, a sharp remark maybe — but the words stuck. Because he knew it was true. he respected her because she had the same eyes ad deku. determined and unshakable.

Izuku's eyes softened, glowing with something that almost hurt to look at.

"And that," Izuku whispered, "only makes me love you more."

The words slipped past every defence he had, quiet but solid.

Bakugo's breath caught. For a heartbeat, he forgot there were people everywhere. That half the school was watching, catching every expression, every movement.

It didn't matter.

His chest tightened, warmth flooding his ribs. He didn't even realize he'd leaned forward until Izuku's face filled his vision — the freckles, the nervous glint in his eyes, the faint pink across his cheeks.

Then Izuku's lips brushed his.

Slowly. Carefully.

It wasn't a hungry kiss, not like before — not the kind that burned. It was soft. Steady. Something grounding, anchoring them both after the adrenaline of the fight. Bakugo's eyes fluttered shut, his hand finding its way to the back of Izuku's neck, thumb brushing against the soft curls there.

For that brief moment, the world stopped.

And then, of course, it started again.

The sound of whispers rippled through the stands like static. Gasps. A few muffled laughs. Some disgusted scoffs from the direction of Class 1-B. Others simply stared, wide-eyed — uncertain whether to smile or look away.

Meanwhile, Monoma from Class 1-B groaned dramatically. "Ugh, really? In public? Disgusting."

"Shut up, Monoma," Itsuka said flatly without even looking at him.

But none of it reached them.

Izuku's forehead rested against Bakugo's as they pulled apart, both of them breathing softly, eyes still half-lidded.

Bakugo could feel the faint tremble in Izuku's fingers, the nervous energy buzzing through him, but when he opened his eyes, he saw something else too — peace. A kind of peace that was rare for Izuku.

Bakugo smiled, small but real, and leaned in just enough for his lips to brush against Izuku's ear.

"Don't care who's watchin'," he murmured, voice low and rough. "You're mine, yeah?"

Izuku let out a quiet laugh, breath catching in his throat. "Y-yeah," he whispered back, the word trembling with warmth. "Always."

Bakugo pulled away first, his smirk back in place, though softer at the edges. He slouched against the seat, arms crossing loosely, his fingers still hooked with Izuku's under the armrest.

Izuku, still flustered, tried to hide his face behind his hands, but the redness in his cheeks gave him away entirely.

"Deku's gonna combust before the next match," Kaminari snickered.

Sero grinned. "Man, Bakugo really doesn't care anymore, huh?"

Bakugo turned his head, shooting them a single sideways glare that shut them both up instantly.

Then, quieter, almost to himself, he said, "They should've figured it out after USJ, idiots."

Izuku peeked at him from behind his hands, a nervous giggle escaping before he could stop it. "You're unbelievable, Kacchan."

Bakugo looked at him, eyes glinting in the sunlight, and said simply, "You love it."

Izuku's smile turned shy but radiant. "Yeah," he said, almost whispering. "I do."

The crowd noise swelled again as the next match began down below, but for a while, neither of them paid attention.

They just sat there — hands intertwined, shoulders brushing, hearts still beating fast from everything that had happened. The cheers, the whispers, the stares... all of it blurred into background noise.

Bakugo leaned back, gaze flicking up toward the stadium roof. He felt the ghost of Izuku's kiss still tingling on his lips, and his chest tightened in that maddening, familiar way again.

Yeah. He was gonna win this thing.

___

The stadium trembled under the roar of the crowd. Heat shimmered off the field, the sun burning gold against the steel of the arena walls. Dust and wind curled in the air like living things.
Two figures stood across from each other — motionless, waiting.

Izuku Midoriya.
Shoto Todoroki.

Opposite ends of the same destiny.

The air between them crackled with pressure so thick it made Present Mic's voice shake as he yelled,
"Next up — Midoriya Izuku versus Todoroki Shoto!"

Todoroki’s heart sank. He stared at the board, at Izuku’s name lit up opposite his own. His jaw clenched.



Midoriya.



The boy who cried in Bakugo’s arms but stood tall with conviction. The boy who laid bare his soul to him without hesitation. The boy who believed he could be more than Endeavor’s experiment.

The audience erupted again, but neither of them moved. Todoroki's mismatched eyes — one molten red, one icy blue — locked on Izuku's, unblinking. His right side steamed faintly, frost beginning to lace the ground. Izuku shifted his stance, steady, cautious. Ten percent. No more.

He'd promised.

He'd prove to the world that heart was stronger than power.

He rolled his shoulders once, his breath slow and even. He could hear Bakugo's distant voice somewhere behind the walls, gruff and familiar. You got this, Deku. 

Midnight raised her whip, voice cutting through the chaos.
"BEGIN!"

The world exploded into motion.

Todoroki's ice surged forward in an instant — a wall of glittering frost so large it devoured half the arena. The temperature plummeted, mist curling around Izuku's boots as the ground cracked beneath the weight. The first strike was merciless. Precision. Training. Rage.

Izuku didn't hesitate.
He jumped.

The air snapped under him, One for All flaring to life just enough to propel him upward. Ice shards chased his heels like teeth, slicing through the air as he twisted, flipped — months of gymnastic training video's and body analysis kicking in with perfect form. He landed lightly on a pillar of frozen earth, steam rising from his feet.

The crowd screamed.

"Already avoiding Todoroki's full-force ice attack! What reflexes from Midoriya!"

But Izuku barely heard them. His eyes darted over the terrain, calculating angles, wind drag, and Todoroki's breathing pattern. He could tell—Todoroki wasn't looking at him. He was looking through him.
This wasn't about the match.

It was about his father.

Izuku clenched his fists. "Todorok... this isnt you" he murmured under his breath.

The ground cracked again — Todoroki launched another glacier, wider this time, a river of frost tearing toward him. Izuku ducked, sprinting low, fingers brushing the ground for balance. His muscles burned, the 10% power humming through his veins, light and fast. He used his momentum, sliding under a jagged spike of ice, rolling out just as the temperature dipped further.

Steam curled from his lips. His breath came out ragged, but his eyes were alive.
Predict. Move. Don't react — anticipate.

He leaped again, vaulting off one frozen ridge to another. His movements weren't random; each was an exact, mathematical choice. Angles, speed, balance, trajectory — he was solving Todoroki like a living equation. His brain whirred faster than any computer.

"Midoriya's agility is unreal!" Present Mic's voice boomed. "He's not overpowering Todoroki — he's outthinking him!"

Bakugo smirked from the stands, arms crossed.
"Of course he is," he muttered. "That nerd's been analysing us since day one."

Todoroki's eyes narrowed. His frost spread faster, sharper, his control perfect. He wasn't angry yet — but he was close. He'd been holding back more than just heat.

"I won't lose," Todoroki said softly, his breath fogging.

He lunged forward, skidding across the ice, his boots scraping for traction. At the last second, Todoroki's hand slammed to the ground again.

The world went white.

A blizzard of ice erupted from below, a spiralling storm that towered ten meters high. Izuku was swallowed whole — and the crowd gasped.

"Is that it?! Did Midoriya—?"

"Wait—!" Cementoss shouted from the referee's stand.

The glacier shattered.

Cracks raced through the ice like lightning bolts, chunks flying into the air. From the heart of the frozen storm, a single glowing shape burst outward — Izuku, his body alight with emerald energy, One for All flaring just enough to launch him skyward.

He landed hard, knees bent, smoke curling off his fists.

"I said," he shouted through the haze, "this isn't you, Todoroki!"

Todoroki blinked, taken aback — not by the words, but the conviction behind them.

Izuku straightened, chest heaving. "I know why you're doing this. But I told you — your quirk isn't your father's. It's yours. You were born with both halves for a reason!"

His voice echoed through the arena — strong, breaking, human.
Something cracked in Todoroki's expression. His breath hitched.

"You still don't understand," Todoroki said sharply, frost climbing his arm again. "He made me this way. He—he trained me like a weapon."

"I do understand!" Izuku shouted back. "BUT IT'S YOUR DNA! your own body chose that quirk. YOU!"

Todoroki's eyes widened, his mind going back to that conversation.
He remembered Izuku's trembling voice when he'd said: Your power is yours, not your father's.

The ice stopped growing.

For a heartbeat, the arena was utterly still.

Then Todoroki's right hand clenched.
And the air around him exploded into flame.

Gasps erupted from the stands. Even Endeavor froze where he stood, his own fire sputtering out of surprise.

Half the arena melted in seconds, frost giving way to roaring heat. The contrast of fire and ice split the field in two — perfect symmetry, chaos and control fused together. And in the middle of it all, Todoroki stood — trembling, eyes blazing with tears and fury and freedom.

Izuku smiled — tired, proud, and a little awed. "There it is," he breathed. "That's you."

Then the fight truly began.

Todoroki surged forward, fire and ice twisting together, every step cracking the arena floor. He hurled a storm of frozen spikes followed by an inferno of molten flame. Izuku weaved through it, predicting the pattern, rolling, dodging — his body a blur. The heat singed his sleeve, the frost nipped his skin, but he kept moving, faster and faster.

He jumped, channelling 8%, flipping high, and kicked one of Todoroki's fire bursts away like a comet, the air erupting in sparks. The crowd screamed his name.

"Midoriya's countering both halves!"

Smoke and frost clashed mid-air, filling the stadium with shimmering mist. They met in the centre, fists colliding — the explosion rattled the stands.

Izuku skidded back, boots carving twin lines in the ground. His knuckles bruised. Todoroki's hair stuck to his forehead, half-melted ice dripping from his sleeve.

They were both panting. Both smiling, faintly.

"Thanks," Todoroki rasped.

Izuku grinned through the pain. "You're welcome."

They charged one last time — two forces of nature colliding. Ice and fire roared together, engulfing the arena in blinding light. And when it cleared—

Izuku stood, one knee down, one hand on the ground. Todoroki lay just outside the boundary line, chest heaving, eyes wide in disbelief.

Cementoss raised his arm. "Todoroki Shoto is out of bounds! The winner — Midoriya Izuku!"

The stadium erupted.

Cheers thundered through the air, drowning out every thought. Izuku stood shakily, half his uniform falling apart, steam curling from his shoulders — but he was smiling.
He was nearly unscathed.

Bakugo jumped up in the stands, a rare, wild grin flashing across his face. "That's my damn nerd!"

Uraraka whooped beside him. Iida adjusted his glasses with shaking hands. Even Aizawa's mouth twitched into something dangerously close to a smile.

Todoroki lay on his back, staring up at the sky. His left side still burned, but for the first time, it didn’t feel like chains. It felt… like warmth. 

Izuku offered him a hand.
"Now save yourself," he said gently.

And when Todoroki took it, the entire stadium — even Endeavor — fell silent.

___

They carried the noise of the arena with them as they moved back through the tunnels — the roar still a distant, shaking thing — but stepping out into the air of the stands felt like surfacing after a plunge. Class 1-A broke into a dozen directions at once, part swarm, part congratulatory blockade. Hands slapped his shoulder, voices doubled over each other. 

Izuku let it wash over him like a strange tide. He felt the salt of adrenaline, the sweet burn of exertion in his legs and the phantom echo of frost and flame on his skin. Mostly, though, he felt utterly hollowed out from the inside in the best way possible — like he had used everything and, incredibly, still had something left.

Bakugo threaded him through the cluster of classmates with the short, efficient strides that said he belonged in the centre of whatever chaos he made. People parted at the sheer force of his stride. When they reached the empty seats, Kirishima shoved a bottle into Izuku’s hand, Mina picked up the sandwich Bakugo had left half of, and Uraraka practically burst with questions.

“How did you even—? You were flipping everywhere!” she squealed, eyes shining.

“Bakugo, that last move,” Kaminari said, still almost vibrating. “You saw it? The timing—Midorya launched at the exact moment the ice cracked. How do you time that shit while dodging flames?”

Yaoyorozu’s voice edged into the febrile circle with clipped curiosity. “You were operating like a chess engine. Were you planning those angles in advance? Did you—”

Izuku blinked and then tried to give them the sort of practical, analytical summary they wanted. “I was reading the vector of the ice formation—how the pressure would propagate through the field—and I used small bursts to change my trajectory. Ten percent for launch, eight percent for balance, and then I timed my momentum to the fracture point.” He felt ridiculous and proud saying the words out loud. “And then I aimed the final kick so his centre of mass crossed the boundary—”

“—He cheekily forced him out with physics,” Kirishima finished, grinning wide. “Classic nerd-move!”

A ripple of laughter and awe went through the group. Even the more skeptical faces — Monoma’s lip curled, a handful of 1-B kids exchanging glances — were softened by the sheer audacity of it. They’d seen the replays on the big screens; the world had seen the replays; yet being there felt different.

Bakugo dropped into the seat beside Izuku like he belonged there — crossing the space with the quiet confidence of someone who didn’t have to make an entrance because the whole room already knew where his territory was. He didn’t say anything at first. He didn’t need to. The way he seated himself, the way his knee bumped Izuku’s thigh lightly, the fact that he tugged the sleeve of Izuku’s jacket just enough to draw him closer — those gestures said more than a dozen pep talks.

The questions continued for a while, focused and frantic:
“Were you saving your energy?”
“Were you even using One for All?”
“How did you manage that with only ten percent?”
“I thought that’d break you—”

Izuku answered as best he could, voice small but steady, because the truth was a kind of neat, stubborn pride. “I kept it to small, calculated bursts. I didn’t need to blow everything at once. I used momentum, trajectory, and the environment. Todoroki was powerful, but his form is predictable when he’s fighting both sides. I made him commit, and then I took advantage of the fracture points.”

They hovered around him like protective satellites. 

That was when Izuku, because his body finally agreed with his brain, let himself sit back and breathe. The world still swam on the edges but the immediate, sharp tension eased away. He fed on the warmth of classmates’ praise, the steady pressure of Bakugo’s thigh against his, and the soft, intimate sense that everything — for right now — was all right.

He started to doze.

At first it was little micro-naps — eyes fluttering shut between sentences, head nodding as words became white noise. Then his body gave up the pretence. His shoulders sank. His forehead tilted against the warm plane of Bakugo’s shoulder.

Bakugo’s eyes flicked down to him, and for the first beat it was as if the arena noises dimmed. The smirk he usually wore softened and vanished altogether. He reached up and pressed his thumb to Izuku’s knuckles, thumb rubbing slow circles like a man reassuring himself something real was still there. The twitching around his eyes that he usually fought with clenched a fraction too tight — and the look on his face when he held that gaze was, for a rare instant, almost pained.

“Damn nerd,” he muttered under his breath, but it held no bite. It was a carefully placed, affectionate exhale.

Around them, the rest of Class 1-A settled: Uraraka sat close, trying not to stare; Iida hovered with a posture like he might fall over from pride, and Kirishima offered a protective grin that said, we’ve got your back. Even a few from Class 1-B drifted toward the aisle, curiosity and begrudging respect painted on their faces.

 They all knew what he’d been through today. They all knew what he’d risked and proved.

Less than ten minutes remained before Bakugo’s match. The arena called him with the quick, metallic pull of duty, and he moved at last, rising with the deliberate ease of someone who was about to get back to work. But he didn’t stand straight away.

He leaned down and pressed his forehead to Izuku’s, a gesture so small — almost private — that it cut through the remaining static. Izuku stirred, murmured something sleepy, and mumbled Bakugo’s name. The soft sound made Bakugo’s jaw work; he cleared his throat, trying to reassemble his usual armour.

“Alright,” Bakugo said, voice low and sharp enough to slice through the idle chatter. “I gotta go. Tokoyami’s already warmed up.”

He bent, then, and not with the brusque yank he used in training but with care: he laid Izuku’s head gently back into the hollow of the seat where he had been sitting himself. It was a careful, reverent motion, like placing something fragile but invaluable into a safe place. He tucked a stray curl from Izuku’s brow behind his ear with his thumb.

The stands quieted a little at the tenderness. Whispers threaded through the rows — some bright, some spiteful, some indifferent. But few had the nerve to interrupt what felt like a private, solemn moment.

Bakugo’s face hardened as he drew his shoulders back. He rose and faced the surrounding students, the trademark scowl dropping over his expression like a shield.

“If any of you fuckers wake him up before his match,” he said, slow and deadly, eyes cutting glass across the row, “you'll answer to me.”

There was no theater in his voice. No flourish. It was not bravado. It was pure, flat, absolute warning — and everyone heard it that way. Laughter died on several lips. Some faces paled. A few of the more obnoxious onlookers slunk down, deciding it wasn’t worth crossing him.

Kirishima’s smile faded into an impressed, wolfish grin. “Jesus,” he breathed, half amused and half awed.

Uraraka’s brows pulled together as she watched Bakugo move away. She whispered, loud enough for Izuku’s slumped form to hear, “He’s… very protective.”

Bakugo paused at the lip of the aisle and turned just enough so the corner of his eye caught Izuku’s face, sleeping there, lashes shadowing his cheeks. For a fraction of a second, his posture softened again. He couldn’t help the small, barely-audible thing that escaped him — the slightest hitching exhale — and he let it go.

Then he stalked down, shoulders squared, every step measured for the arena. When he passed the medics and the staff at the tunnel, his back was like stone. He didn’t look back until the tunnel swallowed him and the stadium’s light washed over his shoulders like a spotlight.

The rest of them remained silent in the wake of his warning. No one moved to wake Izuku. No one shuffled too close. Even the press backed away, respecting — or perhaps fearing — Bakugo’s threat and the quiet command in his stance.

For the twenty minutes before Bakugo’s match began, Izuku slept.

He was not in the oblivion that erases memory, not in a sleep that heals everything instantly. He was resting: small, fragile, and profoundly human. The steady, solid presence of Class 1-A around him acted like a barrier of sound and safety. By the time he woke, nothing, not even fatigue would be able to pull him down.

Chapter Text

The air crackled, not with the familiar heat of Bakugo's explosions, but with something far more intimate, more electric. The arena, usually a battleground, was now a stage for a different kind of performance, a dance of love and rivalry between two souls intertwined. Izuku and Bakugo, their faces flushed with exertion and something more, circled each other. Laughter, light and airy, escaped their lips with every feint and parry.

"Ready to get your ass handed to you, Kacchan?" Izuku teased, a playful glint in his emerald eyes.

Bakugo's answering snarl was devoid of real anger, his usual fury replaced with a simmering anticipation. "Don't get cocky, Deku. I'm not holding back." He lunged, a blur of motion, but Izuku was ready, sidestepping with a grace that belied his usual clumsiness.

Their movements were a symphony of familiarity. They knew each other's strengths, their weaknesses, every tick and tell. Each block, each strike, was a testament to years spent together, fighting side-by-side, pushing each other to their limits. But tonight, the stakes were different. Tonight, the victory wasn't just about proving their strength, but about the unspoken language that passed between them, a language of longing, of respect, and of a love that burned hotter than any explosion.

The fight continued, a dizzying display of skill and affection. They grappled, bodies colliding with a force that sent shivers down their spines. Bakugo, with a roar of frustration, attempted a takedown, but Izuku anticipated his move, twisting and turning, their bodies moulding together for a fleeting moment before separating again. The closeness, the accidental brushes of skin, sent a jolt of awareness through them both.

"You're getting good, Deku," Bakugo conceded, a grudging admiration in his voice.

Izuku grinned, his heart pounding in his chest. "Takes one to know one, Kacchan."

They traded blows, each strike carrying a weight of emotion. A playful punch to the shoulder, a carefully aimed kick, each movement a declaration of their bond. The joy of the fight was palpable, the shared laughter echoing through the arena. But beneath the surface, a current of sensuality ran, a yearning that intensified with every passing moment.

Bakugo, fuelled by a desire he could no longer contain, made a bold declaration. "Alright, Deku. No quirks. Just us. Let's see who's stronger."

Izuku's eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and excitement flooding his features. He nodded, his own heart pounding in anticipation, considering he was only using 10% before. The true test of their strength, their connection, was about to begin.

They stripped away the safety net of their quirks, the source of their power, and faced each other with nothing but their bodies and their will. The change in dynamic was immediate. The fight became raw, visceral, a primal dance of dominance and submission. Every muscle strained, every breath hitched. The air thickened with unspoken desires.

Bakugo moved in, a whirlwind of fists and fury. Izuku met him head-on, their bodies colliding with a force that sent tremors through the arena. They grappled, sweat beading on their brows, their breaths mingling in the air. The touch of skin on skin, the scent of their exertion, heightened the senses.

Izuku found himself pinned, Bakugo's weight pressing down on him. He could feel the heat radiating from his lover's body, the hard planes of his chest, the rough texture of his skin. A thrill shot through him, a mixture of fear and exhilaration.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you, Deku?" Bakugo rasped, his voice low and husky.

Izuku met his gaze, his own eyes burning with a newfound intensity. "Maybe a little, Kacchan," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper.

The fight escalated, their movements becoming more intense, more deliberate. Bakugo's grip tightened, his movements more aggressive, a playful challenge. Izuku responded in kind, pushing back, trying to regain control. The contest was a dance of power, a push and pull of dominance and submission.

They rolled, their bodies intertwining, a tangle of limbs and desire. Izuku, with a surge of adrenaline, managed to reverse the position, pinning Bakugo beneath him. He could feel the other man's heart pounding against his chest, the ragged breaths that escaped his lips.

A smirk played on Izuku's lips. "Looks like I win, Kacchan."

Bakugo's answering glare was devoid of any real anger. He was panting, his chest heaving, his eyes locked on Izuku's. The air between them was thick with unspoken words, with the promise of what was to come.

Izuku leaned down, his voice a low, sensual murmur, his breath ghosting over Bakugo's ear. "I'm gonna do this to you tonight."

The words hung in the air, a promise, a challenge, a declaration of their love. Bakugo's eyes widened, his body tensing with anticipation. He was caught, ensnared by the moment, by the man above him. His usual bravado melted away, replaced by a vulnerability and submission that Izuku had only seen in private.

The weight of the world seemed to lift as Bakugo tapped out, a silent surrender that spoke volumes. The tension that had built throughout the match, the unspoken desires, the raw emotions – all of it coalesced into a moment of pure, unadulterated love. Izuku, victorious, leaned in, his lips mere millimetres from Bakugo's, the air between them thick with anticipation.

"God, I wish I could kiss you right now," Izuku whispered, his voice a husky plea, the words a raw expression of his yearning. The desire was a physical ache, a longing that consumed him. But the arena, the cameras, the world watching – it was a barrier they couldn't breach.

He slowly pulled away, the separation a physical pain. He rolled off Bakugo, landing softly on the concrete beside him, his body aching with the unfulfilled desire. Present Mic's booming voice announced the winner, the words barely registering in Izuku's mind.

Bakugo, still lying on the cracked floor, his chest heaving, watched Izuku. A slow, predatory smile spread across his face, a spark of mischief igniting in his crimson eyes. He knew the implications of their actions, the danger that loomed, but in that moment, all that mattered was the man beside him, the love that burned between them.

"Don't worry, Deku," Bakugo rasped, his voice a low growl, laced with a promise. "You'll get your kiss. And a whole lot more. Just you wait."

The words were a challenge, a promise, a declaration of their unwavering bond. The air around them seemed to crackle with unspoken desires, with the anticipation of the night to come.

They slowly sat up, the reality of their situation hitting them with full force. The cheers, the flashing cameras, the whispers of the crowd – it all crashed down on them, a wave of anxiety and fear. But as their eyes met, a silent understanding passed between them. They were in this together.

Bakugo, with a grunt, pushed himself to his feet, his gaze sweeping across the arena, a flash of defiance in his eyes. He might be vulnerable, but he wouldn't cower. He wouldn't let the villains win. He would protect Izuku, no matter the cost.

Izuku mirrored his actions, standing tall, his shoulders squared. He might be scared, but he wouldn't show it. He would face the danger. He would fight for their love, for their future.

They stood side-by-side, a united front, ready to face the storm. The fight was over, but their battle had just begun. The kiss they couldn't share in public, they would share in private, and it would be a kiss that sealed their bond, a promise of a love that would endure, a love that would conquer all.

___

The walk back to the 1-A stands was a tense one, a tightrope walk between elation and apprehension. The fight had ended, the battle won, but the air crackled with an unspoken sexual energy. Izuku and Bakugo moved as one, their bodies close, a silent understanding passing between them. The raw emotion of their fight, the shared laughter, the unspoken desires – it all lingered in the air, a secret they held close.

As they reached the stands, the students of 1-A erupted in cheers, their faces a mix of excitement and pride. Kirishima and Kaminari were the loudest, their voices booming with encouragement. Others, like Todoroki and Yaoyorozu, offered nods of acknowledgement, their expressions a blend of admiration and awe.

"Deku! Bakugo!" Uraraka rushed forward, her face alight with a radiant smile. "That was amazing! You guys were incredible!"

Izuku lit up in a genuine smile, "Thanks, Uraraka. It was so... intense". He gave a glance to Bakugo with a smirk.

Bakugo grunted in agreement, a rare smile playing on his lips. "Damn right it was. Now, get out of the way."

They were quickly ushered to the back of the stands, away from the immediate buzz of the crowd. Aizawa met them there, his expression unreadable, and gave them a curt nod. "Fifteen minutes. Then the awards ceremony."

The next fifteen minutes were a precious respite, a pocket of normalcy amidst the swirling chaos. The students of 1-A, sensing the need for privacy, gave them space, allowing them a moment to breathe. They sat side-by-side, their bodies touching, a silent comfort in the face of the impending ceremony.

Izuku pulled out a water bottle, offering it to Bakugo. Their fingers brushed as they exchanged it, the contact sending a familiar warmth through them both.

___

The shared silence was broken only by the subtle sounds of the arena, the distant cheers, the hushed whispers. Izuku’s heart pounded in his chest, a mixture of anticipation and the lingering thrill of the fight. 

"You good, Kacchan?" Izuku asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper. The question was more than just a formality; it was a genuine inquiry, a testament to their bond.

Bakugo took a long swig of water, his gaze fixed on the arena below. The anticipation was palpable, the weight of the ceremony pressing down on them. "Yeah," he said, his voice gruff, "Just wanna get this over with."

His words were followed by a lust-filled side glance, his crimson eyes meeting Izuku’s emerald gaze. The intensity of the look was a physical thing, a tangible pull that drew Izuku in. It was a silent promise, a shared secret, a reminder of the intimacy that awaited them.

Izuku’s stomach swirled with butterflies, but it was also something more. The intense hold of Bakugo’s eyes ignited a fire within him, a desire that mirrored the longing he saw reflected in his lover’s gaze. The butterflies were quickly replaced by a different kind of flutter, a thrilling anticipation.

They stood, side-by-side, the call to the podiums echoing through the arena. They took a deep breath, steeling themselves for the public display.

The walk to the podiums was a surreal experience. The roar of the crowd intensified as they emerged, a wave of sound washing over them. The flashing lights, the sea of faces, it all blurred into a sensory overload. But through it all, they next to each other, their connection a steady anchor.

As they reached the podiums, the Present Mic's voice boomed, praising their performance, highlighting the intensity of the fight. The applause was deafening, a cacophony of cheers and whistles. But amidst the noise, a different kind of energy began to build.

The crowd erupted as the reality of Izuku's victory sunk in. The fact that he had not only fought near quirkless for the majority of the festival, but actually won the festival fully quirkless, resonated deeply. Screams of excitement filled the arena, a chorus of voices celebrating the impossible.

"He did it! He actually did it!"

"Deku's a legend!"

"Quirkless and still the best!"

The energy was electric, a wave of inspiration washing over the crowd. They had witnessed something extraordinary, a testament to the power of determination, the strength of the human spirit.

The heroes, the students, the media – they all looked on in awe. The story of Izuku Midoriya was about to be etched into the annals of history. His victory was a beacon of hope, a symbol of resilience.

As they received their medals, the cheers intensified. Bakugo, ever the pragmatist, accepted his 2nd place medal with a gruff nod, his eyes scanning the crowd. Izuku, his heart overflowing with emotion, accepted his 1st place with a genuine smile, his eyes shining with pride.

The ceremony concluded, the winners were announced, the crowd began to disperse. But the energy remained, a lingering feeling of inspiration. Izuku's victory had transcended the confines of the arena. His triumph had ignited a spark, a flame that would burn brightly in the hearts of the quirkless all around the world.

Strength didn't matter. Quirks didn't matter. What mattered was the heart of a hero, the unwavering spirit, the brains to back it up. And Izuku Midoriya had proven it to the world.

Chapter Text

Once the UA ceremony had finished everyone went home.

The walk back to Bakugo’s house was a tightrope of suppressed desires, a symphony of unspoken needs. The victory ceremony, the lingering gazes, the shared glances – it all simmered beneath the surface, a potent cocktail of adrenaline and longing. Every step was a struggle, each breath a reminder of the intimacy that awaited them. The air crackled with a palpable tension, a silent promise of the storm to come.

The need to tear off each other’s clothes, to ravage each other with a desperate hunger, was a physical ache. The desire was a burning flame that threatened to consume them both. Every accidental brush of hands, every fleeting touch, only intensified the craving.

As they approached Bakugo's house, the anticipation reached a fever pitch. The knowledge that his parents were away on a week-long anniversary trip, leaving the house empty and ripe with opportunity, was both a blessing and a torment. The key turned in the lock, the door swung open, and the world narrowed to a single, intoxicating focus.

The moment the door clicked shut behind them, Bakugo was on him. No words, no hesitation. He slammed Izuku against the door, his lips crashing down on his with a raw, untamed hunger. The kiss was a desperate claim, a raw expression of the emotions that had been simmering for hours. It was a ravaging, a possessive demand.

Izuku met the intensity, his own hunger mirroring Bakugo's. He met the pressure of the kiss, his body moulding against Bakugo's, the heat of their bodies igniting a fire within. He moaned against Bakugo’s lips, a sound of pure, unadulterated need.

Breaking the kiss, Izuku gasped for air, his eyes burning with a fiery desire. He grabbed Bakugo’s hand, his grip tight, his gaze locked on his. "Upstairs," he rasped, his voice thick with emotion.

They ran up the stairs, the urgency driving them forward. Each step was a torment, each moment an eternity. They reached their room, the door a barrier between them and the world. Izuku slammed the door shut, the lock clicking into place, sealing them in their private sanctuary.

He turned, his eyes locking onto Bakugo's, a raw hunger in his gaze. He stepped forward, his body a coiled spring, and pinned Bakugo against the door, his lips crashing down on his once more. This kiss was different, a prelude to the fire. It was sloppy, desperate, a pale in comparison to the explosion of passion that was about to erupt.

But it wasn’t enough. They craved more, closer, deeper, stronger, hotter. They needed to consume each other, to lose themselves in the other’s touch. The need was a desperate hunger that demanded satisfaction.

Izuku broke the kiss, his breath ragged. His eyes blazed with a primal fire. He reached down, hooking his arms under Bakugo’s legs, and with a surge of brute strength, lifted him off his feet. He knew Bakugo’s preferences, the way he liked to be handled, the raw, untamed passion that fuelled their love. He knew Bakugo craved the rough edges, the dominance, the surrender, he liked to fight for it.

He carried Bakugo, his body a vessel of pure want. He threw him to the bed, his movements purposeful, his gaze locked on Bakugo’s. He knew what was about to happen, the raw intensity of their passion, the explosion of their love.

 Bakugo landed with a gasp, his body arching, his eyes blazing with a mixture of anticipation and desire. He was ready, consumed by the same hunger that coursed through Izuku’s veins.

Izuku loomed over him, his eyes burning with a primal fire. He leaned in, his voice a low growl, "you or me?"

Bakugo's response was a guttural moan, his eyes blazing with a mixture of anticipation and surrender. "you, Deku," he breathed, his voice thick with need. "you."

He smirked, his lips portraying the hunger deep inside but he decided to take it slow, Kacchan was too precious to ravage in one sitting.

The air in the room was thick with anticipation, a palpable tension that crackled with every breath. Izuku, poised above Bakugo, his gaze locked on his lover’s, felt a wave of tenderness wash over him. He saw the raw desire in Bakugo’s eyes, the vulnerability that only he was privy to. He knew the storm was about to break, but he also knew the importance of the calm before.

He lowered himself slowly, his weight settling over Bakugo’s. He didn't rush, instead, he savoured the moment, the feel of Bakugo beneath him, the heat of their bodies merging. He brushed a stray strand of hair from Bakugo’s forehead, his touch gentle, his eyes filled with a deep, abiding love.

"Hey," Izuku murmured, his voice a soft caress. "You okay?"

Bakugo's response was a low groan, his breath catching in his throat. He reached up, his fingers tangling in Izuku’s hair, pulling him closer. "Just… hurry up," he rasped, his voice a husky plea.

Izuku chuckled softly, a low rumble in his chest. "Patience, Kacchan. We have all the time in the world." He leaned down, his lips brushing against Bakugo’s ear. "I'm gonna take care of you, alright?"

Bakugo's grip tightened, his body tensing with anticipation. He closed his eyes, his breath hitching. "Just… Izuku," he breathed, his voice a low moan. The use of his given name, a rare and precious gift, sent a shiver of pure pleasure through Izuku. He savoured the sound, the way it rolled off Bakugo's tongue, the intimacy it conveyed. He was the only one who would ever hear it, the only one Bakugo would ever moan for. The thought filled him with a possessive joy.

He began to kiss him, slow and deliberate, his lips tracing the curve of Bakugo's jaw, his neck, the hollow of his throat. He savoured the taste of him, the scent of his skin, the feel of his body beneath his. He took his time, teasing, tantalizing, building the tension until Bakugo was writhing beneath him.

Another moan escape Bakugo’s lips, a low, guttural sound that sent a thrill through Izuku. He revelled in it, the sound a testament to his power, his control. He loved the way Bakugo’s body responded to him, the way his eyes glazed over, the way he surrendered to the pleasure.

He deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring Bakugo’s mouth, his hands roaming over his body. He felt Bakugo’s hands clench tighter in his hair, tugging on it hard, just how he knew izuku liked it, his body arching, his moans growing louder, more desperate.

"Izuku…" Bakugo gasped, his voice thick with need.

Izuku drowned in the sound, the way his name was a plea, a surrender. He leaned down, his lips meeting Bakugo’s once more, his touch becoming more demanding, more possessive. He knew what Bakugo wanted, what he craved. He knew how to push him to the edge, how to make him lose control.

The moans grew louder, more desperate, a symphony of raw desire. Izuku craved the sounds, the way they filled the room. 

His fingers traced hot lines down Bakugo's chest, stomach, and back up again before he played with his nipples tentatively, tuning into his lovers every twitch and muscle spasm as he toyed with him.

"fuck you're beautiful Kacchan" izuku groaned as he straddled Bakugo's hips, grinding on him.

 Bakugo's eyes glazed over in lust as izuku grind on his tent, "sh-shut up...just...just fuck me already you idiot...!" he forced the rough tone back into his voice even though izuku could clearly hear him holding back a moan.

___

The high was addicting, the speed and pleasure, the rush of it. 

They lay in each others arms, bare, chests heaving in the aftermath of their love, they breathed each other in.

The window was cracked open just enough to let in the night breeze, cool air brushing against damp skin and the faint scent of Bakugo's sweet caramel and rain clinging to the room. The moonlight spilled over them in soft silver streaks, catching on Bakugo’s hair and Izuku’s freckles, tracing the outline of two boys who had burned and yet again found peace in each other.

Izuku’s head rested against Bakugo’s chest, the steady thud beneath his ear grounding him. His fingers traced idle shapes over Bakugo’s abs—small circles, little spirals—his hand trembling with leftover adrenaline and affection.

Bakugo didn’t speak at first. He just breathed, heavy but even, one hand resting in Izuku’s hair, the other splayed protectively across his back. He could feel every shiver, every sigh, every heartbeat.

When he finally broke the silence, his voice was low, rough, but laced with something Izuku had come to recognize—the quiet honesty Bakugo only ever showed him.

“...Fuck, I needed that,” he muttered, exhaling like the weight of the world had just slipped from his shoulders.

Izuku smiled faintly against his skin, eyes fluttering shut. “Yeah,” he whispered, voice hoarse but full of warmth. “Me too.”

He tilted his head up slightly, catching Bakugo’s eyes in the dim light. What he saw there made his chest ache. There was no fire, no sharp edge—just the faintest hint of a smile, and a softness that was almost reverent.

Bakugo brushed a stray curl from Izuku’s forehead, thumb lingering along his temple. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

Izuku nodded, pressing closer, like he was afraid to let go. “I’ll always need you, Kacchan,” he murmured, the words half a fact, half a promise.

For a long time, neither of them said anything else. They didn’t have to. Bakugo’s thumb kept tracing gentle circles along Izuku’s spine, and Izuku’s breath came out steady and slow against his chest. The world outside didn’t exist—no cheering crowds, no villains, no expectations. Just them.

Eventually, Bakugo let out a quiet laugh, the kind that rumbled through his chest. “You’re a damn sap,” he teased, though his tone lacked its usual bite.

Izuku smiled sleepily. “You love it,” he said without hesitation, earning another low chuckle.

“Yeah,” Bakugo admitted after a beat, voice softer now. “I do.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it was full of things neither of them needed to say aloud. The years they’d spent pushing and pulling, the pain of loving each other, the truth that no one could ever replace what they have. The fact that no one would ever need to.

Bakugo turned his head slightly, pressing a kiss to Izuku’s forehead. It was soft, lingering—an anchor. “You drive me insane,” he murmured, his breath ghosting against Izuku’s skin. “But I couldn't be myself without you.”

Izuku’s fingers clenched into a fist on Bakugo's chest, he wanted to argue. To tell him that he could be himself with anyone, but when he really thought about it, Kacchan only ever shows his true, calm, self when they are alone, not even around his parents. So he laid there, speechless. 

Bakugo pulled Izuku closer until their bodies fit together perfectly, his nose brushing against green curls as he breathed him in. The scent of sweat and mint shampoo—it was home.

Minutes turned to hours, or maybe seconds. Time didn’t feel real when they were like this.

Izuku’s breathing evened out first, his exhaustion finally catching up. His hand stilled over Bakugo’s heart, his lashes fluttering once, twice, before closing completely. Bakugo could feel the faint smile still tugging at Izuku's lips as sleep claimed him.

Bakugo watched him for a while, memorizing every detail—the way the moonlight softened his features, the faint crease between his brows that never really went away, even when he was peaceful.

He ran a hand through Izuku’s hair one last time before whispering, “Sleep, 'zuku. I've got you.”

And he meant it. He always did.

When Izuku’s breathing deepened into the slow rhythm of dreams, Bakugo let his own eyes close. 

Outside, the world could spin, people could talk, heroes could rise and fall—but here, in this quiet, he had everything he’d ever wanted.

A boy who saw him, not as a rival or a dangerous, anger filled mess, but as him.

___

The sunlight filtered through the curtains like gold dust, soft and quiet. Izuku was the first to stir, blinking slowly as the warmth of morning brushed across his face. The first thing he felt wasn’t the light — it was the weight around his waist, strong arms pulling him closer, the steady rhythm of Katsuki’s heartbeat pressed against his bare back, both of them still naked from the nights events.

For a long moment, he didn’t move. Didn’t need to. The world outside could wait. Right now, there was only this — their breathing syncing up, the faint smell of burnt caramel from Katsuki’s skin, and the soft sound of birds somewhere beyond the window.

Bakugo’s voice came low, still rough from sleep. “You’re starin’ again, nerd.”

Izuku smiled into the pillow, voice muffled. “You noticed?”

“‘Course I did.” Bakugo’s fingers flexed against his hip, thumb tracing absent circles. “You twitch when you’re tryin’ not to grin.”

Izuku turned slowly in his arms, eyes soft, the green of them catching morning light. Katsuki’s hair was a mess — more than usual — and his face was relaxed in a way few people ever saw. Just for him. Izuku reached up and brushed a thumb over the fair, faint freckles dusting Bakugo's cheekbone, barely visible to the naked eye.

“Good morning, Kacchan.”

“‘Mornin', Deku.” Bakugo leaned in, pressing a lazy kiss to his forehead. “We should get ready. Aizawa’ll murder us if we’re late.”

Izuku hummed, still too warm and content to move. “Five more minutes?”

Bakugo groaned, but he didn’t dare pull away. “Fine. Five.”

Five minutes turned into fifteen, both of them half-drifting in and out of sleep again until Katsuki finally rolled out of bed, muttering curses under his breath as Izuku giggled quietly behind him.

___

Steam rose from the bathroom. Izuku stood at the sink brushing his teeth when Bakugo stepped up behind him, hair dripping, a towel slung low around his hips.

“Your turn, nerd,” he said, nudging him gently toward the shower.

Izuku laughed. “You used all the hot water again, didn’t you?”

“Shut up, I did not—” Bakugo paused when Izuku pressed a palm to his chest, nudging him back into the stall. “What’re you—”

“I can wash my hair faster if you help,” Izuku said with a grin, tone innocent but warm. “You always say I take forever.”

Bakugo scoffed, but his hands were already in Izuku’s hair, strong fingers working shampoo through the curls. The action was surprisingly tender — careful, rhythmic, sweet. Izuku sighed, leaning slightly into the touch.

“See?” Katsuki muttered, voice lower now. “If you actually listened, your damn hair wouldn’t knot up so much.”

Izuku chuckled, turning his head enough that their eyes met through the steam his mouth formed a teasing smirk. “can I wash yours again then?”

Bakugo snarled, falling victim to the teasing comment izuku gave. “unlike you, I know how to look after my hair, nerd... but fine go on then.”

And he did. He lathered the shampoo into Katsuki’s wild blond hair, his fingers brushing lightly against his scalp, both of them grinning like idiots the whole time. There was no rush, no embarrassment — just two people entirely comfortable with each other, teasing and laughing under the sound of the running water.

When they stepped out, the mirror was fogged and the world felt simple again.

___ 

By the time they arrived at school, the morning air had fully shaken away the last traces of sleep. Students buzzed through the halls, energy high after the sports festival chaos.

Inside Class 1-A’s homeroom, everyone was already chatting when Aizawa shuffled in, tired as always but faintly amused.

“Alright, everyone,” he said, voice half-muffled by his scarf. “Today, you’ll be choosing your hero names. Make sure it’s something that represents who you are — not what you think people want to see.”

The class broke into excited chatter immediately, grabbing whiteboards and markers. Izuku glanced at Bakugo, who was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed.

“What’re you gonna pick?” Izuku asked softly.

Bakugo smirked. “You’ll see, nerd. What about you?”

Izuku hesitated, eyes dropping to the table. “I… I think I want something hopeful. Something that means never giving up. Even when people said I couldn’t be a hero.”

Bakugo’s smirk softened. “Then pick one that’s yours. Just like your quirk.”

When it was his turn, Izuku stood at the front of the class and flipped his board.

Hero Name: Deku

Aizawa raised an eyebrow and someone shouted out “Didn’t that used to be an insult?” But Izuku smiled shyly. “It did. But now it means something different. It means never give up. It means that no matter what the world throws at you you stand tall. That no matter who you are, where you are from, what you have done, if you have the courage and heart to be a hero, you can do it.”

Behind him, Bakugo grinned — proud, fierce, but silent as the rest of the class broke out in cheers and smiles for Izuku's inspiring backstory to the name.

When Bakugo’s turn came, he lifted his board with a grin that screamed confidence.

Hero Name: Dynamight

The room cheered; the name suited him perfectly, taking inspiration from both his quirk and All Might.

___

After lunch, the atmosphere shifted. Aizawa projected a massive list across the screen at the front of the class. Rows upon rows of hero agencies filled the wall.

“These,” Aizawa said, “are your internship offers. They’re based on your performances at the sports festival.”

Gasps filled the room.

Izuku’s name blinked at the top of the list — thousands of offers scrolling beside it. He froze. He’d been ready for maybe a handful… but this?

“Holy crap, Midoriya!” Kaminari whistled. “I only have five!”

Izuku’s cheeks went pink. “I-I guess people liked my strategy?”

Bakugo just grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Of course they did. You outsmarted everyone in that stadium.”

When Bakugo’s turn came, his offers nearly rivalled Izuku’s — countless pros eager to recruit him after his performance. The entire class buzzed with excitement, flipping through pamphlets, discussing hero agencies and cities.

Izuku looked down at the list on his desk, a mix of pride and anxiety swirling in his chest. He’d worked for this. He’d fought for this. But seeing it felt unreal.

A soft voice broke through his thoughts. “Hey,” Bakugo murmured, craning his head over his shoulder. “Whichever one you pick, you’ll kill it. You always do.”

Izuku’s eyes softened, gratitude flooding his chest. “Thanks, Kacchan. You will too.”

Bakugo huffed, but there was warmth in his smirk. “Damn right.”

As the class continued to chatter, Izuku leaned back in his chair, stealing a quiet glance at Bakugo in front him. The day was bright, and the future was wide open.

___