Chapter Text
Katsuki Bakugo had not been back home in two long years.
He had many reasons for this, none of which he wanted to share with his parents. The day he’d arrived, Mitsuki had given him an earful about how terrible and cruel of a son he was—“God, you couldn’t even call once or twice to check up on your folks? I raised a demon child”—all while preparing one of his favorite dishes for dinner. Despite the sour, fickle attitude that he’d inherited from her, she was glad her son was home, though she’d never openly admit it. His father, the quiet, meek man that he was, had simply told Katsuki how happy he was to see him again, awkwardly hovering in the kitchen area before retreating back into his study. All the suspicions Katsuki had carried before even opening the door had been confirmed. Nothing had changed in his absence.
To be honest, he hadn’t had much of a choice on whether he returned home or not. Last semester, he’d landed a highly sought-after internship in the city, all thanks to his stellar grades and glowing recommendations from his professors. Apartments were scarce and ridiculously expensive, so it’d just made more sense for him to come back.
Back at school, Katsuki had fallen into a regular routine and was loath to disrupt it. Still, he’d thought he was ready to go home. The internship would be starting in a week, and after that he would be spending more time in a lab than in his own room. The likelihood he’d run into anyone from high school was low. He could handle this.
Or so he thought.
-
“Katsuki, take out the garbage will you?” Mitsuki called from the living room. “Help your old lady out.”
“We can agree you’re old as fuck.”
“You little shit.” Katsuki had already put on a pair of slippers and closed the door behind him before she could finish her reply.
It was early June, on the eve of what would surely be another scorching summer. The setting sun created a brilliant display of orange and pink that made Katsuki’s eyes burn. Long shadows danced in the street, every harmless weed stretched into something grotesquely long and monstrous. Katsuki absently kicked at a pebble and watched it bounce once, twice, three times.
He was almost halfway to the garbage collection spot when he heard someone breathing heavily behind him from a distance. The sound was coming closer and closer, so he naturally stepped to the side, waiting for the runner to pass. They never did. In fact, he couldn’t even hear the motherfucker anymore. The hair on his neck prickled, shoulders tensed as he pivoted—whatever dumbass who thought they could jump him would be swallowing their own teeth.
Katsuki almost choked on his own spit. He immediately recognized the dark green hair, freckles, and wide eyes, so open and curious like a child’s.
Standing right before him was Izuku Midoriya, his former friend, first kiss, and the absolute last person on this godforsaken planet he wanted to bump into.
“Kacchan?”
“Be back before dinner, Izuku!” Inko chimed from the kitchen. “I don’t want you out too late!”
“Yes, Mom,” Izuku called back. “I’m going now.”
Izuku took a moment to savor the sunlight hitting his skin as he stepped out of the small apartment. He stretched long and low, grabbing his ankles to pull his muscles taut. This was just what he needed to clear his head.
He started off slow, letting his legs and ankles get used to the continual impact before he began picking up the pace. He didn’t know how long he was going to run or how far he was going to go. He just wanted to feel that deep, wheezing burn in his chest like he was about to cough up fire.
Izuku estimated he’d gone about four kilometers before deciding to circle back home. He took the long way back, the route that would carry him through all too familiar back streets where he could spot an alley cat or two if he was lucky. He passed the convenience store he’d frequented so often during his childhood, as well as his former high school. A sudden bad wave of memories came crashing down on him and he jogged faster, trying to refocus on the ache in his calves and heaving of his lungs.
He turned sharply down an alley. Almost home. In the distance, a lone figure with their back turned was walking away, carrying a green garbage bag. Just a stranger, pay them no mind.
As he got closer, though, the stranger’s features came into sharper focus and detail. Ash blond hair sticking up erratically in all directions. Black t-shirt draped over a well-muscled, athletic frame.
He stopped. His legs wouldn’t allow him to go any further, not with Katsuki Bakugo only a couple meters in front of him.
Bakugo, perceptive as ever, immediately noticed his presence and swiveled to face him. They stared at each other for a painful eternity before Izuku dumbly broke the silence. “Kacchan?”
“What the fuck?” Bakugo’s piercing eyes scanned him from head to toe. Past Izuku would have quavered under that glare. “Midoriya? ”
“I see you haven’t changed much,” he laughed, if only to quiet his own rattled nerves.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“I, uh, live here.”
Bakugo pinched his nose in irritation. “Well, yeah, no shit. But why are you…” He was subjected to a full body scan once more. All of a sudden, Izuku became self-conscious of his ratty tank top and old gym shorts that didn’t really accommodate the muscle he’d put on over the last couple of years.
“I was out for a run. I was on my way home, actually.” How long were they going to stand there, like two awkward ships passing each other at sea? That is, if the two ships in question had a tumultuous past and known each other for years before ceasing all contact and—
“I guess I won’t keep you then,” Bakugo grumbled, turning away.
The hopelessly sadistic, too-curious-for-his-own-good side of Izuku wanted to stay and scream why, why, why until he went hoarse. The sensible side kept its silence. He gave Bakugo a tiny nod and shifted his weight to his heels, preparing to start running in the opposite direction.
“Well. Bye, Bakugo.”
“You look better Midoriya. Bye.”
-
Hours later, Izuku was still reeling from his encounter with Bakugo. What on earth was he thinking, calling him Kacchan? He had no business calling him that stupid childish nickname, not after the shit that man had put him through.
And what in the world had Bakugo meant by saying he looked better ? Did that mean he looked well, because sure, he was definitely healthier now. Happy, maybe? Although imagining the expression on his face after seeing his ex-friend/rival/crush for the first time in two years, he hardly would have looked exuberant. Or… was it better meaning more attractive? If it was the latter, what were the implications of that? Izuku’s brain kept spiralling out of control, falling down different made-up scenarios like rabbit holes.
“Izuku? Are you alright?” He turned to see his mother standing in the doorway, face bleeding with worry. “You look pale.”
“I’m fine, Mom,” he replied, waving her off. Katsuki Bakugo was a problem for a later time. And by a later time, he meant when he would go to bed and lie awake to stare at the ceiling for hours. He glanced at the alarm clock that cruelly blinked three am, shucking off the hot bedsheets and grabbing the dumbbell lying next to his bed. Perhaps that would clear his mind.
He thought about how the setting sun had cast his former friend’s features in such golden, warm hues, highlighting the sharp angles of his cheeks and nose, burnishing his already intense eyes with a fiery glow that could melt steel. The setness of his mouth that for once had not been twisted in his usual sneer. The way his arms had flexed and smoothed as he’d transformed from an angry blond ball of haywire nerves to… something else entirely.
Izuku set the dumbbell back down, clutching his thigh as arousal began pooling in the base of his stomach. A noise rose out of his throat that was part sob, part groan, cheeks already wet with tears, his body betraying him in all sorts of different ways.
When did he become this weak?
-
Izuku did not sleep well that night, or the nights after that. Most of them he spent curled in a ball crying soundlessly, like an animal so broken it couldn’t even call out for help. Only then would sleep show its merciful side and temporarily put him out of his misery. Inko kept asking if he was okay, noting the dark circles, barely touched food and manic mumbling to himself. Izuku was thankful to have a mother so concerned about his well being. Unfortunately, this was something he needed to face alone.
He’d forgotten how close Bakugo lived—well, he hadn’t totally forgotten , but it had somehow slipped the forefront of his mind. Life had a tendency of doing that. Sometimes you go away for a while and lose yourself in something new and the things that once had been a matter of life and death and torn entire universes asunder grow into dull, faint aches. Drops in a never-ending sea.
What would happen if they bumped into each other again? It was definitely a possibility, so Izuku needed to figure out what he would do the next time it happened. He couldn’t outright ignore him, not after their interaction the other day. Should he just be cordial and go about his business? No, no, that might be too cold. But he couldn’t exactly smile and wave and pretend like nothing had ever happened between them. No matter how hard he tried—and God, he’d really tried—he couldn’t erase those memories. Whether he liked it or not, Bakugo was permanently seared into his skull like a brand.
And yet something had changed. The Bakugo from back then would have cursed him out, called him names, pushed him away. Obviously that hadn’t happened. But there was something else that words couldn’t exactly pin down. Perhaps it had been the slump in his shoulders when he recognized Izuku. Or the way his name had sounded coming out of Bakugo’s mouth, the old harshness replaced with something almost sorrowful. “You look better Midoriya.”
No, he was reading into this far too much, it wasn’t healthy. He’d made so much progress over the past two years. One chance meeting would not undo all of it.
Leaving for university had been the best thing to ever happen to him. There was a place where terrible memories didn’t lurk behind every corner to seize him with anxiety and dread. A place where no one knew him as that wimpy, skinny, worthless boy Deku, or knew the classmates who had bullied him day in and day out and made him miserable throughout elementary, middle, and high school. There, he was just Izuku. No more, no less. He could ignore his sadness with friends at his side, or drown it in alcohol and sex. It was all an escape in the end.
And now Katsuki Bakugo was dragging him kicking and screaming back into the hellish fray.