Chapter Text
Izuku’s gut is a colony of butterflies as he lingers down one of the stairwells in the school farthest from the high traffic areas. He twists his fingers together, nervous and excited all at once with his heart in his heart in his throat and his breath quick, almost hyperventilating. After about a minute of tense silence, Izuku begins to pace, muttering to himself. The habit he picked up in middle school has really only gotten worse in highschool since there is just so much more to process these days.
“...even show up at all in which case I should be prepared for either more avoidance or even some violence in response. Unless he didn’t get the note at all, so I’ll have to address him at least once to confirm whether or not that is the case. I’ll do it quickly, in passing maybe? That way it’ll seem the most casual because, after all, if he doesn’t show up then he won’t know what I wanted to talk about so there’s no reason to be anything but casual if-”
“Deku.” Katsuki’s voice cuts through Izuku’s thoughts as quickly as it ever has. He stumbles mid-step, surprised during the action, and nearly falls over. Regaining his balance quickly, Izuku beams. Katsuki’s glare becomes even more narrowed.
Katsuki steps away from the stairs, looking around suspiciously, but there’s only the two of them there. “What the fuck do you want, calling me out here like this?” He shoves his hands into his pockets, scowling at Izuku.
Izuku’s nervousness increases tenfold. He can’t hold Katsuki’s eyes, but he can’t keep looking away. He knows he’s blushing, his cheeks heating up already, and he presses his fingertips together. His gaze settles on one of his favorite parts of Katsuki to look at; Katsuki’s throat is pale and strangely delicate looking in comparison to the rest of his body. When he’s at rest, just standing there, Izuku can imagine reaching out and touching the skin and feeling for himself how soft it must be. He wonders if Katsuki’s pulse is racing too.
After all, Katsuki keeps looking around, keeps shifting anxiously- and maybe a stairwell wasn’t a traditional place to make a love confession, but it was closer than going outside and Izuku knew if he waited until after lunch he’d talk himself out of it again. He just didn’t have the strength to do it after school, to ask Katsuki to wait for him by the gates or something. It’s not like Yuuei even has a back fence or private area that they could go to meet and talk under some cherry blossom trees or-
“Oi!’ Katsuki suddenly stands in front of him. “I asked you a fucking question, asshole. Why did you leave me that shitty note to come meet you here? What is so fucking important you had to cut into my break time?”
Izuku swallows dryly. The squirming in his gut spreads, making him fidget nervously. He’s usually not quite so close to Katsuki, not able to get so close without Katsuki shoving past him or away from him and walking off. But now he’s looking at Izuku, curious beneath that glare and Izuku’s heart can’t stand the pressure. “I, uh, I just- I um- I really- I-”
“You what?” Katsuki demands. He leans in even more. Izuku knows that Katsuki’s trying to be intimidating, but ever since their second year started, Izuku’s been gaining height and Katsuki hasn’t. Yet his expression is still domineering, even if he has to look up at Izuku to give it.
When he gets close, Izuku shivers, but it’s not out of fear. “I-” He chokes on the words. He swallows them down. “I like you.”
Katsuki blinks at him. “What?”
“I like you, Kacchan.” Izuku repeats, a little stronger. He gives a tiny smile. The nervousness is easing, just a little, because Katsuki doesn’t laugh at him or look disgusted. His expression is annoyed, though, as if this is a waste of his time.
“Yeah. I know that.” Katsuki said with a huff. He leaned back. “Why the fuck did you call me out here to tell me that? Didn’t we already have our shitty fucking heart-to-heart last year, Deku? I am in no fucking mood to talk feelings with you.” He grimaced as he said those words.
Suddenly, it clicked in Izuku’s head. “Wait,” he said, reaching out to Katsuki. He hesitates for a second, but grabs Katuski by the arm. “Wait, I don’t think you understand.”
Immediately, Katsuki’s annoyance turns into anger. He attempts to yank his arm out of Izuku’s grasp. “What the fuck do you mean I don’t understand? You like me. I like you. We’re like… Fucking friends or something, right? Isn’t that what we talked about last year? Nothing’s changed.”
“No that’s not it,” Izuku said, tugging on him. “Something changed. I changed. I mean, um. Maybe that’s not true, maybe it was always like this and it just took me this long to realize it? Because we did have so much trouble as teens together but last year when we fixed things I was able to start, I don’t know, really looking at you and seeing you and I was able to realize how I really felt, Kacchan.” He stops pulling because Katsuki’s arm goes limp.
Looking at him with confusion written in his scrunched brows and thin-pressed lips, Katsuki asked, “What are you fucking talking about now? What is this? Do you fucking hate me after all?”
“No!” Izuku shouted. He reached up, grabbing Katsuki’s other arm. Katsuki looks down at the new grip and then up to his face. He looks about two seconds from blasting his way out of Izuku’s hold anyway, so Izuku pulls on Katsuki, bringing them chest to chest. “This is how I feel,” he whispered before pressing his lips to Katsuki’s.
Katsuki’s mouth is surprisingly dry and soft. To Izuku, Katsuki has always been warm, but his lips are hot and Izuku can feel them against his own like he’s kissing stone that’s been out in the sun all morning in the middle of summer. It feels about the same, after a moment, because Katsuki is rigid like a statue in his grip, his mouth unmoving, his limbs locked up. Izuku opens his eyes in the kiss and sees Katsuki staring at him, eyes impossibly wide.
That’s the moment Katsuki breaks away. He plants his feet and shoves Izuku off of him so hard that Izuku goes stumbling back and has to flail for the wall to catch his fall. Izuku blinks, looking up in surprise as Katsuki rubs furiously at his mouth with his hand. “What the fuck- You sick fuck- What the shit-” Katsuki can’t get a full sentence out. His cheeks are red with his rage; the vein on his forehead throbbing as he turns a hateful glare towards Izuku.
Izuku hasn’t seen that look since the beginning of their first year, when he hadn’t yet proved himself good enough to be tolerated, when Katsuki still actually hated him, before they were able to work through things enough to talk at each other- not scream. It is flat out hatred and disgust.
It’s shame that burns Izuku’s cheeks now, not excitement. “I-” his voice comes out unexpectedly quietly, “I didn’t- I thought you-”
“What, you thought I was into that shit?” Katsuki sneers. He keeps wiping his mouth, as if he just can’t manage to get rid of the feeling of kissing Izuku from them. “Well I’m fucking not! You goddamn pervert-”
Izuku’s shame twists into something heavy and hard in his gut. It crushes all those butterflies he once had. “You don’t n-need to call me a pervert. I’m not a pervert. I mean, maybe I shouldn’t have kissed you-”
“You fucking think?” Katsuki shouts. “Do I look like I want you to fucking do that? God damn you fucking piece of shit Deku, what the fuck.” He rubs harder at his mouth, cutting off his words. Izuku takes a step towards him and Katsuki instantly looks up, arm freezing where it’s over his mouth.
“Kacchan,” Izuku said, keeping his voice under control as best as he could. He hadn’t imagined this as a reaction at all. Katsuki was friends with Denki, after all, who was as gay as could be. He didn’t seem to have any trouble interacting with him, so this kind of revulsion didn’t make sense. Sure, he’d probably shouldn’t have just kissed him, in hindsight that was an objectively terrible idea, true, but Katsuki looked like he was about to be sick. “I’m sorry I kissed you. Okay? I didn’t- I mean- I thought- You didn’t seem to be understanding what I meant when I said I liked you. I mean I like like you. Romantically and stuff? I meant that like, I want to date and-”
“Shut up,” Katsuki snarled. His arm dropped from his mouth. His lips were pink from the rubbing. “Shut up. You’re so- That’s so fucking disgusting, just shut up.”
“It’s not. It’s not disgusting,” Izuku said, stepping closer. “It was inappropriate but it’s a totally natural thing, Kacchan! Everyone feels that way about someone. It just happens that some guys like guys! It’s not gross!”
“You feel that way about me?” Katsuki asked, his voice contorting around the words ‘that way’ as if he could barely stand to use the allusion.
“Yes,” Izuku said with certainty. “I like you like that. I want to date you. Or I did. I mean, if you’re going to freak out like this I don’t think it would work out.” He frowned at Katsuki. Katsuki still looked a little wild around the edges of his eyes, one foot slid back like he’d break and run at a moment’s notice but he was holding back for now. “I wanted you to understand and I thought showing you would work the best because I kept fumbling the words and you were getting annoyed and I just wanted-”
“I don’t understand,” Katsuki snarled. “I don’t fucking understand. And I don’t like it. And I don’t like you. You stay the hell away from me, Deku. I don’t want anything to fucking do with you.” He began to turn away.
“Kacchan wait,” Izuku reached for him without thinking about it. “Can’t we talk about this some more? Like we did about the bullying last year? We can work this out and still be friends, right?” His hand had just caught Katsuki’s arm when the blond spun back around.
Izuku saw Katsuki’s fist a split second before it collided with his face. It was fast enough that he knew for certain Katsuki hadn’t held back. His face exploded into the familiar pain of something broken and hot blood splattered down from his nose and upper lip. Izuku stumbled back, cradling his head, coughing, struggling to breathe through the blood, and his eyes tearing up from the pain and the swelling.
When he managed to get an eye open and look up, Katsuki was long gone and Izuku could hear the distant chatter of students in the hallway.
Lunch break was over.
Shouta was, unfortunately, familiar with the sounds of vomiting. He heard it on a far more regular basis than a teacher like him should, considering the fact that all the people he knew well enough to hear vomit were all heroes and half of that number were fellow teachers at this very school. He and Mic were responsible adults; they never got so drunk they were sick anymore. That had been the privilege of their youth.
That, and vomiting did a number on Mic’s throat and Shouta hated doing it, smelling it, and cleaning it up. Still, he walked into the staff bathroom and the very first thing that he heard was someone retching out their guts. He sighed to himself, considered the option of walking right back out again, because whoever had gotten themselves this fucked up at work certainly needed to spend some quality time with the porcelain god.
However, there was the chance that it was illness, not drunkenness, that brought his associate to their knees in suffering. He should at least check, to see who it was and what was going on.
The stall door where the noise was coming from was open, as if the occupant hadn’t had the time or ability to lock it behind themselves. Shouta pushed it further open and stared, surprised at who he saw there. For one thing, it was a student- a second year if the clasp at the shoulder was correct. For another, he recognized that head of spiky blond hair. Best Jeanist himself had been bested by that hair, a fact Shouta reminded him of whenever they chanced to meet at those semi-seasonal hero pub crawls.
“Bakugou?” Shouta asked, stepping cautiously into the stall. “Are you all right?” He reached down towards him.
The moment his fingers touched Bakugou’s shoulder, the boy whipped around, fire in his palms, fear and hatred written on his face, “Fuck off!” Bakugou shouted, his voice raspy. He scooted out of range just as Shouta yanked his hand back like he’d been bitten by a snake. “Just f-fuck off!”
The young man’s sneer wasn’t the only thing on his face. There were tears too. He’d been crying hard enough that his nose was running and long enough that his eyes were red rimmed. He was breathing raggedly; his lips bleeding. He was pale, shaking, and looked like he was seconds from turning and throwing up again.
A single glance told Shouta that there was probably nothing left to throw up, considering the oddly empty state of the toilet. Which meant Bakugou had been kneeling here, vomiting bile from an empty stomach.
None of this looked good. None of this made much sense.
Shouta stepped into the corner of the stall, wary of trapping Bakugou in. The kid would be the type to break down the stall in its entirety to escape. He ostensibly pulled his hands away, putting them into his pockets so Bakugou didn’t have to worry he’d try to touch him again. “You know I can’t do that, Bakugou. You’re my student. I’m your teacher. This is a staff bathroom. And you’re throwing up and acting strange. I’m going to stick around, kid.”
“You’re not my fucking teacher anymore,” Bakugou snarled. “That was my first year, asshole.”
Shouta’s brows rose. They’d been on slightly more respectful terms than this at the end of Bakugou’s first year. Whatever had upset him or injured him and regressed the young man back into his prickly shell again. “What can I say? Once my student, always my student. Now, can you tell me what happened?”
Bakugou opens his mouth to speak but instead of words out words, he dry heaves. Turning to the toilet again, Bakugou clings to it, heaving a few more times though without producing anything. Shouta stood, silently witnessing this. He could afford to be patient. His class could manage a while without him and this was a far more pressing matter.
Drawing away, Bakugou sits against the stall wall, knees drawn up to his chest. He looks oddly small and harmless curled up like that. His arms are tucked under his knees, his forehead pressed against his knees.
Shouto sinks down, sitting on the bathroom floor with a grimace. His clothing can be washed later. Looming over the kid probably wouldn’t help. He’d asked his question, though, so he waited in silence. Bakugou was a smart kid. He had heard Shouta. He’d answer it when he could.
Shoulders rising with a deep breath, Bakugou lifted his head. He propped his chin on his knee and said, his words simple, his gaze oddly flat, “I think I broke Deku’s nose.”
For a moment, Shouta closed his eyes. Really. He should have known this had something to do with Midoriya. The two of them had been circling each other like two battling dogs for months last year. Shouta had been pleased when they’d managed to reach some sort of peace; Bakugou had become less violence prone and Midoriya had gained much needed confidence.
Rubbing his eyes, he said, “You think?”
“I didn’t stick around,” Bakugou said. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t fucking be anywhere near him anymore. He-” Bakugou swallowed. His throat made a quiet clicking sound. “He kissed me.”
Shouta stared at him. Then he looked up at the ceiling. “Ah.” That… actually made a lot of sense. Midoriya hadn’t lost any focus on Bakugou or his behavior after they’d made up and became sort of passable friends. It made sense that the attention he gave Bakugou could become a desire for something more than friendship. “And you don’t like other boys like that?”
“No.” Bakugou said without hesitation. “I don’t like boys like that all. Can you- Ugh- can you just imagine that? That’s-” He shuddered visibly. “He kissed me. It was disgusting.”
Shouta could, in fact, imagine something like that. His own highschool days had been rather plagued with those thoughts. His best friend had been, still was, straight and he’d probably been in love with him ever since their first joint assignment. Highschool had been half misery, half joy because of his growing friendship with Mic. In the years following, Shouta had given up on the fantasies and had learned to enjoy the close friendship instead. Envisioning what could never be was just a waste of energy.
“So, he kissed you and you broke his nose?” Shouta asked. His voice was its usual dry tone. His own feelings on the matter weren’t important. “And then you came here to throw up? Why?”
“Because it was- It was so gross-” Katsuki’s gaze drops down to the floor. “He just- He was right against me and-” The young man shudders. “I pushed him away and he grabbed me again and I couldn’t- I had to- I had to get away. I couldn’t let him touch me.”
Shouta folded his arms across his chest. This sounded… more complicated than basic homophobic fear. Just a little. “You know it isn’t catching, right? Homosexual feelings aren’t contagious, Bakugou.”
Bakugou twitched. “I- I know that,” he muttered.
“So him kissing you won’t suddenly make you like boys.” Shouta explained.
“I know that,” Bakugou said tightly. He hunched closer in on himself. “I don’t care if he likes other guys. I don’t give a shit who Deku wants to- to like. I just don’t want him to kiss me. Or touch me. Or like me.”
Shouta’s arms tightened over his chest. Had- Had Mic felt anything like- No. This is not the time. Bakugou was clearly struggling and no one else was here to help him. And besides, he and Mic had never had the history that Midoriya and Bakugou had. “It is pretty unusual for a bully victim to have such feelings for their former bully,” he said. Speaking bluntly usually brought out Bakugou’s obstinate strength and Shouta had a feeling the boy needed that now. “I’m not that surprised you wouldn’t want him to feel that way for you.”
Bakugou’s confusion was palpable. He looked incredulously at Shouta. “This… This isn’t about the bullying. Deku isn’t special this way, too.” Bakugou sneered out the word ‘special’ like it was a slur. “I don’t want anyone to like me like that.”
Shouta blinked. “No one? Not even, say, Kirishima?”
Bakugou turned positively green. “H-he doesn’t- He doesn’t like me like that, right? We’re just- We’re friends- I wouldn’t- I wouldn’t ever-”
Shouta shook his head, “As far as I know, he doesn’t. I mean, I caught him and Uraraka behind the school the other week so I very much doubt he has those kinds of feelings for you.”
Bakugou hid his face against his knees again. His breathing was raspy and shallow, but he relaxed slightly as if that was a relief.
“What about a girl liking you?” Shouta asked, honestly curious. Did ‘anyone’ mean ‘anyone male’ or ‘anyone anyone’? “Does that change anything?”
Bakugou hunched his shoulders up, silent for a minute. Slowly, he looked up. His red eyes were shiny with a resurgence of tears. “No?” He whispered. “I never- I never wanted anyone to like me like that.” Bakugou took in a shaky breath and then said, “Deku said that, that everyone feel that way about someone but I- I never…” He drops off into silence, but Shouta can finish that sentence in his head.
I never felt like that.
Shouta hasn’t ever seen Bakugou sit so closed off, so wrapped up around himself as if actually trying to hide away in that small bathroom stall. He looks like a child, not a teenager. Those eyes that hold fear in them are so foreign that Shouta can’t quite find his tongue. What is he supposed to say? He has no personal experience with something like this. He was so used to the idea that teenagers were rampant with hormones that the idea of Bakugou Katsuki, one of the most aggressive and loud mouthed of all the students he’s ever taught not proscribing to that part of the traditional formative sexual behaviors is… It’s stunning. Shouta would have doubted anyone who told him that that was the case.
“You don’t want anyone to like you romantically?” Shouta asked, for clarification. Because he really knew better than assuming anything about any student, and this one in particular. “Male or female or other? It doesn’t matter who they are, you don’t want that from them?”
Silence.
“Bakugou?”
More silence.
Shouta sighed. What was he supposed to say to help the teen?
Bakugou covered his eyes with his hands. He curled up tighter and whispered, “I’m broken. How can I be the best if I’m broken?”
“You’re not,” Shouta said quietly. His heart ached for his student. He had never heard Bakugou sound like this, like his heart and lungs were being ripped to shreds. “You’re not broken, Bakugou. You’re just… you’re different.”
Bakugou laughed, ugly and low. “Like fuck I’m not broken.” He pulled his hands down, his eyes burning with anger. “Don’t fucking lie to me. I’m fucked up. I know it. I’ve been fucked up for years. I’m fucking- Fucking broken. Fuck.”
“Listen to me,” Shouta insisted. “You’re not broken.”
“Shut. Up.” Bakugou said. “You can’t trick me into believing another one of your shitty fucking lies-”
Shouta winced. He had done a lot of sleight of hand in teaching them, hadn’t he? But the world was a duplicitous place and he’d done what he thought best to teach them. “I’m not lying. I know others who are like you. They don’t want those kinds of relationships either. It’s not typical, no, but there are others. You’re not broken. You’re just… rare.” Thank god for that, because the world could probably not stand to have more than one Bakugou Katsuki in it. He’d blow it apart in an argument with himself, undoubtedly.
Bakugou’s disbelief is obvious in his narrowed eyes. “Yeah? Who?”
Shouta ran a hand through his hair. Great. Of course Bakugou would want to know. “One of the general education students, that I know of.”
“You don’t teach general education,” Bakugou accused, “How do you know about this kid?”
“I know his teacher,” Shouta said. “Teachers talk, you know. And this kid is pretty unusual already, without the atypical orientation.” The conversation may have been during a tipsy discussion of ‘who has the weirdest fucking students’ and Shouta may have just barely lost to Yamanaka and her student because of course it was kind of hilarious and weird that the kid with the brainwashing quirk had no libido whatsoever and no romantic interest in anyone at all.
“They think he’ll turn villain,” she had said, tossing blond hair over her shoulder and laughing, “They’re so stupid, but they’ve been better since the festival. He really got their love when he faced off against your arm breaker boy. He’s just different, unique. And he’s one of my most caring students too, though that’s hardly surprising to me.”
Yamanaka could see into people’s minds, though, so of course she wouldn’t be much surprised by that.
“I don’t believe you,” Bakugou said. “Everyone wants someone except for me. I know that. I- I’ve seen it my whole life.”
“Look,” Shouta said, because they were arguing in circles and that was just pointless, “I’ll introduce you if you don’t believe me.”
Bakugou thought about it for a while, scowling at the floor. “Fine,” he said quietly. “I’ll meet them.”
Shouta didn’t sigh in relief but he did nod. Progress with Bakugou was always a difficult but rewarding thing.