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Bakugou Katsuki was a hero. He’d fought in a war. He’d nearly died—did die at some point. He was part of Japan’s future top pro-hero generation. He’d bled for people. Screamed for them. Saved them.
So why the fuck couldn’t he compliment a boy?
Not just any boy. Midoriya fucking Izuku. Green hair, bunny smile, reckless and selfless Midoriya. The boy he’d grown up with, yelled at, admired, envied, and now—someone fucking help him—liked.
Romantically.
Horrifyingly.
With feelings and heart palpitations and dreams where he tried to hold Midoriya’s hand and woke up sweating.
He groaned into his hands.
Bakugou Katsuki was fine.
Totally fine.
Absolutely, completely, and undeniably not spiraling into a bottomless pit of emotional turmoil.
So what if every time he sees Deku—Izuku—he forgets how to act like a normal human being?
He was fine.
“Bro,” Kirishima said, lounging on the dorm common room couch. “You’ve been aggressively chewing that poor protein bar. You okay?”
“I’m not chewing. I’m planning,” Bakugou muttered, glaring at the bar like it had betrayed him.
“Planning to choke?”
Bakugou scowled harder. Kirishima held his hands up in surrender as he turned toward Todoroki. The half-and-half boy sat on the floor beside them, legs crossed, a mug of warm tea in his hand.
Kirishima and Todoroki were going down the stairs together when they saw Bakugou sinking himself on the couch.
“Did he hit his head?” Kirishima asked.
“No,” Todoroki replied flatly. “He’s just in love.”
Bakugou made a noise that sounded like demon incarnate. “Shut the hell up, IcyHot.”
“See?” Todoroki sipped his tea. “Denial. A common symptom from what Ashido told me.”
“What the fuck is Pinky telling you?”
Todoroki raised his eyebrow as Bakugou rolled his eyes and slumped against the couch, defeated.
It had been weeks since the end of the war. When Bakugou realized, like a slap to the face, that he was in love wants to be together.
With Midoriya Izuku.
The realization had hit like a truck. A sparkly, green-haired, big-eyed truck.
And now he couldn’t function.
Earlier that morning, he’d tried to flirt. Kind of. Because Katsuki is NOT a coward and will woo the shit out of Izuku goddamnit.
“Oi. Izuku,” he’d said, cornering him in the kitchen.
Midoriya looked up, bright-eyed, tired but smiling. “Yeah, Kacchan?”
Bakugou stared. You might have thought he had Kaminari’s quirk with the way his brain cells short-circuited.
“Your elbows are nice,” he blurted.
Izuku blinked once, twice. “My… what?”
“Your elbows. They’re… well-structured. For support and… stuff.”
Izuku gave him a look of deep concern and confusion.
Keep it cool. Keep it cool. Keep it co-
Bakugou nearly exploded the entire dorm into flames. “Forget it!”
He ran.
Ran.
Now, slouched on the couch, he was re-living it frame by frame.
“I’m sure everything’s going to be fine,” Kirishima said gently. “You just need to chill.”
“I need him to stop being so cut- pret- beau- stupid with his face,” Bakugou hissed.
Todoroki raised an eyebrow. “You do know it won’t kill you if you say he’s cute.”
“It might.”
——————————
Happening at the same time, Uraraka went inside the kitchen, wanting to get a little snack. Humming a random melody, her hand reached out to get one of Iida’s tangerines.
Uraraka was about to go back to her room when she saw Midoriya sitting on one of the stools, staring at the counter table, looking… she can’t even find the words to describe it. So she decides to approach the boy instead.
“Deku?” No response.
“Umm, Deku?” Still no response.
Her eyes squinted and was about to nudge Midoriya.
“I think something’s wrong with Kacchan.”
Uraraka flinched slightly in surprise at the sudden voice, before his words registered.
“...What do you mean? Wrong? like… he’s injured again?”
“No! No,” Midoriya said quickly. “Not physically wrong, I think. I mean, behaviorally. Mentally.”
Uraraka blinks.
“…Like what?”
“I don’t know! That’s the thing!” Midoriya clutched his head, lowering his voice. “He’s been… nice?? And I don’t mean like, Kacchan-nice. Not like, ‘You didn’t completely mess that up, Deku.’ He just says… really weird things sometimes but I don’t think he’s insulting me???”
Uraraka gave him the look of someone not following. “I’m gonna need an example.”
Midoriya’s head whipped towards her direction. “He complimented my elbows.”
There was a full beat of silence.
Uraraka blinked. “…Your elbows?”
“Yes.”
“Is that him being nice?”
“I don’t know!”
Uraraka tried not to laugh. “That’s not… that bad.”
Midoriya looked betrayed. “Uraraka, he’s giving me commentary on my joint alignment.”
She started peeling the tangerine. “Okay. That’s definitely weird.”
“Right?! I think Kacchan has brain damage. Or like… post-traumatic stress disorder. Something neurological. There’s no other explanation.”
Uraraka finally let out a snort. “Midoriya. Sweetie. What if he’s just… I don’t know. Trying to be nice?”
“No,” he said firmly, with all the resolve of a man on the edge. “That’s not how he works with me. No elbow praise.”
Uraraka leaned on the counter, eyes twinkling. “Or—and hear me out—what if he likes you?”
And by ‘what if’ she means he definitely does because that boy is NOT slick, and she out of all people knows what crushing on Deku looks like (even if her feelings have turned platonic over time).
She's just… giving a little push for Bakugou because she knows he needs it from what Deku is currently telling her.
Midoriya stared at her like she’d just suggested All Might was the worst hero ever.
“…Likes me how?”
“You know,” she said, grinning, “like a crush.”
He turned bright red in under a second.
“Wh—what?! No! Kacchan would never—he—me?!”
Uraraka shrugged. “You are kind of cute.”
Midoriya made a squeaking noise and immediately started reviewing every single interaction they’d ever had since kindergarten, eyes wide with horror.
“Oh my god,” he whispered. “If he thinks he has a crush on me—he must have brain damage, doesn’t he?!”
Uraraka groaned. “Deku, no.”
🧡💚
It was Kirishima’s idea.
Which already told Bakugou everything he needed to know about the pure level of idiocy that was about to unfold.
“A love letter,” Kirishima said, like he wasn’t suggesting the most humiliating thing Bakugou could ever do to himself. He was sprawled all over Bakugou’s bed like he owned it, chewing on a bag of chips from the huge stash in his own room. “Old school. Classic. Honest.”
Bakugou, sitting at his desk with his arms crossed, stared at him like he’d grown two extra heads. “That’s fucking dumb.”
Kirishima shrugged. “You legit just said you ‘want to combust every time Deku blinks his pretty little eyelashes at me.’ This might help, bro.”
Bakugou made a noise that was somewhere between a snarl and a groan. “This wouldn't even work, shitty hair.”
Todoroki, who was unfortunately there because Kirishima had invited him
(“We need emotional support!” Kirishima had claimed, even though Todoroki shouldn't even be the option for emotional support),
held up a bunch of glitter pens. “I brought options.”
“Where did you even get that?! Put that away before I stab you with it,” Bakugou barked out.
But somehow—somehow—an hour later, he was sitting at his desk with a blank sheet of paper in front of him, a pen in hand, and two idiots watching him like he was about to perform a sacred ritual.
He glared at the paper. The paper laid there innocently.
Dear nerd loser,
Absolutely not.
Dear Deku,
Worse.
Izuku,
He paused. Okay. That was… fine. He could work with that.
We fought in a war, I died, resurrected, and now I want to kiss you.
Bakugou stared at the sentence. His stomach twisted like he’d just eaten something Ashido and Sero had cooked. He immediately crumpled the paper and threw it across the room.
Kirishima caught it, a surprised snort escaped as he opened and read the written words. “Dude, that wasn’t that bad!”
“It was trash,” Bakugou snapped.
And so began the Great Love Letter Draft Mayhem.
One by one, ten drafts met their fiery or crumpled deaths:
- Your elbows are still nice (redundant, apparently)
- You hair looks less like a birds nest lately (Kirishima threw that one out himself)
- Let’s hold hands or I’ll kill you (Todoroki claimed it sent “mixed signals”)
- I think I like you. I hate it. (Actually pretty accurate, but everyone decided it sounded like a threat)
By the eleventh draft, Bakugou was ready to explode—literally. The air around his desk had that faint burnt smell of nitroglycerin every time his temper flared.
Kirishima finally groaned, snatched the pen from him, and shoved the paper in front of himself. “Alright, move over, dude. We’re doing this my way.”
Todoroki leaned over. “Make sure to include something heartfelt. And maybe a metaphor. Midoriya likes those.”
“Do I look like a poetry book to you?!” Bakugou glared.
Twenty minutes later, Kirishima read aloud the “final product,” beaming with pride:
Izuku,
This isn’t a big deal or anything. Don’t overthink it.
I just maybe possibly like you in a way that’s not just “you’re not the worst.”
You’re annoying, but in a way that makes me want to stick around.
I like you. Don’t freak out.
Or do. I probably deserve it.
– Kacchan Bakugou Katsuki
Bakugou’s face was red—not the normal, angry kind of red, but the embarrassed and wants to bury himself in a hole kind of red. “That sounds so stupid.”
“It’s perfect,” Kirishima said, already folding it neatly.
Todoroki nodded. “It communicates your feelings with honesty and minimal homicide threats.”
Bakugou muttered something about wanting to commit homicide right now, but didn’t stop Kirishima from stuffing the letter into an envelope.
In big block letters, Bakugou scrawled on the front: NOT A BOMB.
Kirishima and Todoroki both agreed that it was somehow less reassuring than leaving it blank.
Still, adrenaline pumping like he was about to run headfirst into battle, Bakugou snuck into the common room and tucked the envelope under Izuku’s notebook on the kitchen counter.
Perfect. Done. Over. He could die now. Again.
Midoriya found it ten minutes later.
“Oh my god,” Izuku whispered, going pale as he read. His eyes darted back and forth across the paper, his hand trembling like it was holding a death sentence.
Uraraka, who’d been heading to grab a drink, asked casually. “Wait, what’s that?”
“It’s a goodbye letter,” Izuku said gravely.
Her brows furrowed. “…a what?”
“He says he likes me. Kacchan is admitting we’re friends. This is terminal. Kacchan is terminal.”
Uraraka blinked and moved to peek at the paper, a gasp and a snicker slipping past her mouth. “Deku, I’m pretty sure that's a—”
“He drew a heart!” Izuku jabbed at the tiny doodle in the corner of the page. “That’s not fine! Is he signalling that his heart condition is getting worse?! Should we get Recovery Girl?!!”
Uraraka bit her lip to stop from laughing. “You really think he wrote you a dying letter?”
“What else could it be?!” Izuku hissed, clutching the letter like it was about to detonate. “Kacchan doesn’t just… say things like this! Either something’s horribly wrong or—” He froze, horror dawning on his face. “Oh my god. He’s been poisoned.”
Uraraka gave him the flattest stare she could manage. “Or—and hear me out again—he likes you in a romantic way, you know, like I've already mentioned.”
“No. No way. Absolutely not.”
“You’re blushing,” she pointed out.
“I’m overheating,” his voice squeaked. “From shock.”
Meanwhile, not far away, Bakugou was crouched behind a wall, eavesdropping like his life depended on it.
From his vantage point, he could see Uraraka’s amused grin, Izuku’s panicked flailing, and—oh god—Izuku folding up the letter carefully like it was a piece of evidence in a crime scene.
“I knew this was a stupid idea,” Bakugou muttered under his breath.
“You could just walk in there and clear it up,” Todoroki’s voice said calmly from behind him, making him nearly jump out of his skin.
“Don’t sneak up on me, half-and-half!” Bakugou whispered harshly.
“I didn’t sneak. You were just distracted by your own romantic incompetence,” Todoroki replied.
Kirishima peeked over too. “So… what’s the plan now? Tell him it’s not a terminal illness note?”
Bakugou ground his teeth. “No. The plan is—”
From inside the kitchen, Izuku suddenly exclaimed, “Uraraka! What if he’s scared to ask for help and he's reaching out to me?!”
“Deku, please, do not call Recovery Girl. Why don't you just ask Bakugou himself?”
“Absolutely not. He probably just sleepwalked and didn't mean to do this.”
“You can write things like these when you sleepwalk?”
“Maybe! That's like the most plausible reason.”
“Deku, why are you like this.”
Bakugou calmly moved away and went outside, Todoroki and Kirishima looking at each other in question before a loud BOOM!!!! went off and the ground shook.
“What's going on?”
“What was that?”
“Is there an earthquake?!”
“Everybody move!”
Students of class A exclaimed and rushed out of the dorms. The sharp scent of smoke and nitroglycerin permeating the air with a blond boy at the center of it.
Todoroki stared, “...huh.”
Kirishima laughed nervously, “Well, atleast he didn't do it in the dorms or Aizawa-sensei would've made us run laps.”
🧡💚
The gym smelled faintly of sweat, scuffed mats, and sounds of the occasional groan. Afternoon sunlight filtered through the high windows, speckles of dust dancing lazily in the beams. The atmosphere was charged.with the hum of energy from the other students training. But, Bakugou could feel something else. Something weird.
Izuku had been… looking.
Not just the casual glance kind of looking—no, this was the kind where Bakugou could feel those green eyes flick toward him every thirty seconds, like Midoriya was making mental notes for some secret notebook entry titled “The Strange Behavioral Patterns of Kacchan.”
Every time he caught the bastard staring, Midoriya would jolt and look away like he’d been caught committing a crime, then mumble something to Uraraka about “muscle fiber density” or “combat stance.”
Bakugou knew exactly what was happening. Midoriya was still processing the letter.
And fine, maybe Bakugou was also still processing the fact that he’d written a love letter at all (was it even one in the first place). But that wasn’t the point. The point was, this awkward tension was killing him. He wanted to get closer to Izuku, not this middle school bullshit all over again.
He needed to do something decisive. Something clear. Something that screamed I like you, nerd without actually screaming it, because screaming would be lame and he had dignity.
So naturally, his brilliant plan was: hand-holding.
In his head, it was perfect. From the years of refusing to hold Izuku’s hand, him finally letting him would solidify the fact that he was romantically interested and Izuku would do something about it! He’d invite Izuku to spar—no big deal, they did that all the time. They’d fight, he’d win, and then he’d offer his hand to pull him up. It would be smooth. Subtle. Romantic, even. And Midoriya would finally get the hint.
“Oi. Izuku,” Bakugou barked, stepping into Midoriya’s line of sight.
Midoriya jumped. “K-Kacchan?”
“Spar. Now.”
Midoriya blinked, clearly trying to gauge if this was a challenge or a trap. “Uh.. sure?”
——————————
The fight started tense, both of them carrying the awkward weight of the last few days, but then muscle memory took over. Midoriya stopped hesitating, Bakugou stopped overthinking.
There were blasts and bursts of green lightning, the sound of feet slamming against mats, the sharp crack of impacts. Bakugou grinned, this was where they were normal. Trading blows, predicting each other’s moves, pushing limits.
But normal didn’t last forever. Eventually, Midoriya miscalculated a dodge, and Bakugou swept his legs out from under him. He hit the ground with a graceless thud, groaning.
Bakugou loomed over him, chest heaving, smirk firmly in place. “Pathetic, nerd.”
Midoriya squinted up at him, breathing hard but smiling faintly, sweat making his skin glisten, body kissed by sunshine and warmth radiating from his presence. “You got me this time.”
Fuck he's beautiful. Oh look at that, it didn't kill me.
Bakugou’s pulse was still racing. Not from the fight, but from what he was about to do next.
He reached out his arms.
Midoriya blinked at the offered hand like it was a gonna jump at him. “U-uh…?”
“Take it, dumbass,” Bakugou said, trying not to sound like his heart was doing gymnastics.
Midoriya hesitated—then wrapped his fingers around Bakugou’s.
Victory.
Bakugou tightened his grip and pulled him up in one smooth motion.
Midoriya stumbled slightly, steadying himself. Bakugou’s breath stuttered as he looked down, but he didn’t let go.
——————————
Oh no.
Oh no no no no no.
Midoriya’s brain screeched to a halt. Kacchan is still holding my hand.
He could feel the warmth of the other’s palm, the firm but not crushing grip. It was deliberate. Meaningful. Warm.
And in Midoriya’s mind, there was still only one possible explanation: Kacchan was dying!
The letter! The weird stares! This! It was all leading to this—Kacchan’s silent, stoic way of asking for help.
He’s holding on because he can’t stand anymore. Oh god. He’s slipping away.
“Uh, Kacchan…?” Midoriya’s voice cracked slightly. “Are you… are you okay?”
Bakugou’s expression was unreadable. “Yeah. Why?”
“You’re… holding my hand.”
“…So?”
“So?! That’s—Kacchan, you can tell me if something’s wrong! Is it your heart? Your arm? Are you having trouble breathing?!”
From the side, Todoroki leaned toward Kirishima. “I bet 500 yen that Midoriya still doesn’t get it by the end of the day.”
Kirishima didn’t look up from his water bottle. “I’ll take that, I bet he'll know soon for sure. There's no way Mido-bro isn't gonna get it eventually today, I have faith in my dude!”
Bakugou, oblivious to their commentary, was so sure he was being obvious. His thumb even brushed slightly over Midoriya’s knuckles. Just a tiny movement, but enough to scream romance.
Midoriya, however, only grew more distressed. “Kacchan, you’re clammy! You must be dehydrated! Or… or maybe this is your way of saying goodbye–”
Bakugou’s eye twitched. “I’m not dying, you moron!”
“You don’t have to put on a brave face for me!” Midoriya insisted, gripping his hand tighter. “We can go see Recovery Girl right now–”
“That’s not–!” Bakugou tried to yank his hand back, but Midoriya only took that as further proof of his declining health.
Before Bakugou could stop him, Midoriya was dragging him—still hand-in-hand—across the training grounds toward the nurse’s office.
From behind them, Kirishima was cackling hard. Todoroki just sighed, muttering, “This is going to be painful to watch.”
——————————
They burst into Recovery Girl’s office.
“Recovery Girl! Kacchan’s in trouble!” Midoriya exclaimed, still clinging to Bakugou’s hand like it was a lifeline.
Bakugou yelled, red-faced and fuming, “I’M FINE!”
Recovery Girl looked up from her desk, unimpressed. “What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s… he’s holding my hand,” Midoriya said bordering on hysteria. “And he’s very warm. And he gave me a letter the other day, and–”
Bakugou tried to intervene. “IT’S BECAUSE I LIKE YOU, YOU DENSE–,”
“–and I think he’s trying to tell me he doesn’t have time left,” Midoriya finished without even being able to comprehend him completely.
Recovery Girl slowly swiveled her chair to face Bakugou. “Ah. You’re one of those cases.”
Bakugou buried his face in his free hand and groaned.
Somewhere outside the office, Kirishima was handing Todoroki a crumpled bill.
🧡💚
It started, as all bad ideas from Bakugou's friends start, with Kirishima saying, “Trust me, this’ll work.”
..
Midoriya should have known something was up the second Kirishima appeared in the hallway, blocking his path like a human boulder, grinning too wide.
“Yo, Midoriya! You got a sec? We, uh… need your help reviewing spar footage for training analysis.”
“Oh, sure!” Midoriya brightened immediately. Reviewing footage meant notes, and notes meant improvement, and improvement meant the sweet, sweet rush of combat efficiency.
Todoroki appeared silently at Kirishima’s shoulder like some kind of ghost. “There will be snacks,” he said in the same tone someone else might use for ‘there will be blood.’
Midoriya blinked, “…Okay, sure,”
The “training analysis” turned out to be in Kirishima’s room. When they arrived, a projector screen was already lit up, glowing in large, bold font:
WHY KACCHAN IS NOT DYING, HE’S JUST IN LOVE.
Midoriya froze in the doorway. His brain went completely blank except for the loud mental sound of a record scratch.
Bakugou was already in the room, arms crossed, legs spread like he owned the entire floor, and glaring at the projector with such intensity it was a miracle the equipment hadn’t melted.
“What,” Midoriya said. Just that. What.
“Come on in, man!” Kirishima said, clapping a hand on Midoriya’s shoulder and steering him in before he could retreat.
“I—uh—I think I’m in the wrong room—”
“Nope,” Kirishima said cheerfully, and with alarming strength, maneuvered Midoriya straight into a chair front and center.
Bakugou scowled at him from across the room. “This wasn’t my idea.”
“It was kind of your fault, considering the failed attempts of supposed romantic gestures,” Todoroki pointed out mildly, placing a plate of cookies in front of Midoriya like he was feeding a skittish animal.
“We're just here to help, dude. We're your friends!”
“The two of you are NOT my friends.”
Midoriya stared at the screen. Then at the three of them. “Is this… about the letter?”
Bakugou stiffened. Kirishima grinned. Todoroki popped open a can of soda with deliberate slowness.
“Sit tight, bro,” Kirishima said, stepping up to the projector remote. “This is about everything.”
——————————
Slide 1: Why Kacchan Is Not Dying
Kirishima gestured like a proud college professor. “Now, Midoriya, I know you’ve been under the impression lately that Bakugou’s health is in rapid decline–”
“Because it is!” Midoriya blurted. “He wrote me a letter saying he liked me! He’s probably trying to be nicer in his last moments!”
Bakugou scoffed in offense. “Oi, I'm plenty nice–”
Kirishima held up a hand. “We’ll get to the letter, don’t worry. First, we gotta address the core misconception: Bakugou's not sick. He’s just in love.”
Midoriya choked on a cookie crumb. “He’s–what?!”
——————————
Slide 2: “The Elbow Compliment
Kirishima spoke, “Now, when Bakugou compliments anything, that’s rare enough to be noteworthy. But complimenting your body? That’s big.”
“That... was a compliment…??” Midoriya said weakly.
“Yes, it was,” Todoroki replied flatly. “For him, it’s the verbal equivalent of a love confession.”
Bakugou exploded, “IT WASN’T A DAMN CONFESSION–”
——————————
Slide 3: The Letter
A blown-up image of Bakugou’s handwriting filled the screen, complete with a poorly drawn heart at the bottom corner. Kirishima pointed with a laser pointer.
Why does he even have that?
“Note the heart,” he said firmly. “Classic sign of romantic intent. Not a medical chart notation, as you seem to have believed.”
“It could be!” Midoriya argued, flustered. “You don’t know!”
Todoroki, still deadpan, “You think Bakugou is dying of heart failure and decided to draw you a symbolic diagram instead of going to a doctor?’
Midoriya opened his mouth. Closed it. “…Yes?”
Bakugou dropped his head into his hands.
——————————
Slide 4: The Hand-Holding Incident
The projector now showed a still image from their last spar. Midoriya sprawled on the ground, Bakugou holding out his hand to help him up.
“Textbook romantic Bakugou,” Kirishima said proudly. “He pulls you up, doesn’t let go. Even does the thumb brush thing. You think that’s a distress signal?”
Midoriya flushed. “Well… yeah! I thought he was asking for help!”
Todoroki clicked to show another image. It showed Bakugou’s thumb very clearly lingered against Midoriya’s knuckles.
“That’s not a medical grip,” Todoroki said. “That’s romantic.”
Kirishima leaned forward. “That’s not an injury grip, bro. That’s an I like you and I’m trying to be subtle grip.”
Bakugou muttered, “Subtle, my ass,” under his breath.
——————————
Slide 5: Bakugou Always Lovingly Staring at Izuku
“I wanted to add this since I still felt like you weren't going to believe us after everything,” Kirishima said with slight caution, eyes lingering on Bakugou.
The blond bristled, “The fuck did you put, shark face–”
The screen faded into a slow montage of candid shots.
First: Bakugou in the cafeteria, tray untouched, chin resting on his hand while his eyes tracked Midoriya across the room.
Second: a blurry patrol photo, Bakugou walking behind Midoriya with an expression that was way too soft for someone allegedly “just monitoring for danger.”
Third: a study session shot showing Midoriya scribbling notes, Bakugou leaning slightly closer than necessary, gaze fixed on his face.
The two faces of the boys involved burst into bright red. Bakugou grit his teeth, “When the hell did you even get these–”
Kirishima ignored his increasingly flustered friend and flicked the laser pointer at the images. “This is not a guy plotting your funeral. This is a guy who’s been staring because he likes what he’s looking at.”
Midoriya stared up at the screen, face still scarlet. “No, that’s–that’s Kacchan being on edge! Like… checking if I’m going to collapse!”
Todoroki took a slow sip of his soda. “Midoriya. He stares like that when you’re eating curry. And when you’re writing notes. And when you’re doing nothing.”
The clip on screen changed to a looped video Kirishima had secretly filmed: Midoriya frowning at his textbook while Bakugou, sitting across from him, forgot entirely about his own work to watch him.
Bakugou buried his face in his hands, muttering, “I can’t believe I'm letting you clowns do this. You're so dead after this ends.”
——————————
Slide 6: Conclusion — He’s Just in Love
Big red letters: “Diagnosis: Romantic Feelings.”
Kirishima clapped his hands together. “So, there you have it. Not terminal illness. Not impending doom. Just terminal crush.”
Midoriya sat frozen, replaying every moment in his head: the elbow comment, the letter, the hand, the looks. It all clicked together in a dizzy, nerve-frying flash.
“Oh,” he breathed.
Then louder, “OH.”
Kirishima grinned. “There it is!”
Bakugou jerked upright. “There WHAT is–”
But Midoriya was already on his feet, half-running for the door. “I have to go–!”
“Where?” Todoroki asked.
“To do, y’know, SOMETHING!” Midoriya bolted.
Kirishima leaned back, satisfied. “Mission accomplished.”
Bakugou threw a cookie at him.
🧡💚
The sun was sinking low over Ground Beta, coating the steel and jagged concrete in gold. Shadows stretched long and sharp, curling through old buildings.
Midoriya was here alone. Training had ended hours ago, but his chest felt too tight to sit in the dorms, and his head was too loud for homework. So he’d come here.
The last two days had been… a lot.
Midoriya knew now. He knew what was going on with Kacchan. And yet…
“You’re a damn pain in the ass to track down, you know that?”
Midoriya spun at the voice. Bakugou was walking toward him, hands in pockets, hair catching the last light like sparks. His glare was dialed back tonight, still sharp but not honed to kill.
“Kacchan…” Midoriya’s voice trailed off.
Bakugou stopped a few paces away. “So you’re just gonna avoid me now?”
“I’m not avoiding you,” Midoriya said quickly, eyes flicking away. “I just… needed to think.”
“Bullshit,” Bakugou said flatly. “Ever since that dumbass intervention, you’ve been–” he waved a hand vaguely “–weird.”
Midoriya’s throat tightened. “I’m not being weird.”
“You’re being really weird, more than you already are.”
Silence stretched. The wind picked up, the breeze caressing their hair.
“You're free to reject me, Izuku. I won't be mad,” Bakugou reassured softly despite the slight tremble in his voice.
Breathe in. Breathe out. The rise and fall of their breaths fill in the silence. Midoriya's eyebrow furrowed, the blond biting the inside of his cheek.
Midoriya muttered after a while, “…Why?”
Bakugou frowned. “Why what?”
“Why me?” Midoriya’s voice was barely above a whisper. “You could have anyone you want. Someone smarter. Braver. Stronger. Someone who hasn’t spent years messing up around you. Someone who's better, Kacchan, so—why?”
The question sat heavy between them, more dangerous than any blast.
Bakugou’s jaw clenched. He looked away for half a second before snapping his gaze back. “…Because you’re you, dumbass.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is the only answer,” Bakugou shot back, voice rougher now. “You’re you. You’re the self-sacrificing idiot who keeps jumping in front of attacks for strangers. You’re the nerd who writes down everyone’s moves just so you can figure out how to help them. You’re the stubborn guy who never stayed down no matter how hard I tried to knock you.”
Midoriya looked up to meet Bakugou's gaze at that last one, “Kacchan–”
“Don’t defend me. I was an asshole to you. For years. And despite my apology, I know I can’t take every single shitty thing I did back. I can’t pretend I didn’t make you feel like crap every damn day we were kids. I thought—hell, I told myself—if I made you feel small, it’d keep you safe. Or maybe it was just to make myself feel bigger. I don’t even know anymore.”
Midoriya’s heart thudded hard against his chest.
“But I know this–” Bakugou took a step forward, then another, until they were almost toe to toe. “You’ve been under my skin since the second you reached out your hand when we were four. And I didn’t know how to deal with it. So I dealt with it in the worst way possible. And now I’m trying–” his voice cracked just slightly “–I’m trying to do it right this time.”
Midoriya swallowed hard. “You shouldn’t have to try this hard for me.”
“I want to,” Bakugou said instantly, like the thought of not trying was ridiculous. “You don’t get it. I’m not here because you’re easy to like. I’m here because I can’t not like you. It’s miserable and great all at once and I’m not going anywhere.”
Midoriya blinked fast, trying to push down the sting in his eyes. “I… I’m not good at this stuff, Kacchan.”
Bakugou smirked faintly. “You think I am?”
That pulled a tiny laugh out of Midoriya before it dissolved into a shaky breath. “…You’re serious about this?”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” Bakugou reached out, grabbing Midoriya’s hand. This time, his grip wasn’t tentative or fleeting—it was solid, grounding, unshakable.
Midoriya stared at their joined hands, the warmth seeping into his skin. “This feels… different now.”
“Good different?”
Midoriya smiled, soft and real. “Good different.”
Bakugou huffed. “Good. ’Cause I’m not letting you go this time.”
They stood like that for a long moment, the wind tugging at their hair, clothes ruffling faintly.
Midoriya finally looked up, meeting Bakugou’s eyes. “Kacchan, will you kiss me?”
Bakugou rolled his eyes. “You’re always asking stupid questions,” he moved closer, pressing his forehead to Midoriya’s first, their breaths mingling in the cool air.
And then the distance between their lips was no more.
The kiss was clumsy at first—too much urgency, a little awkward angle—but it was warm and fierce and theirs. Years of unsaid things poured into it, years of frustration and admiration finally meeting in the middle.
When they pulled apart, Midoriya’s grin was a little dazed. “…You’re really not dying?”
Bakugou groaned. “I swear to–”
“YEAH, THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKIN’ ABOUT!”
Both boys whipped their heads toward the sound. Perched on a distant steel beam, Kirishima was pumping his fists in joy.
Beside him, Todoroki held up a phone. “I have photographic evidence for the PowerPoint follow-up.”
Bakugou’s face went scarlet. “YOU’RE DEAD! BOTH OF YOU!”
Kirishima whooped and jumped down, already bolting. Todoroki took his time climbing after him, completely unbothered.
Midoriya was laughing so hard his shoulders shook, their hands still tangled together.
And will always be, for the rest of their lives.