Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Bakugou knew he should’ve been more careful.

The school had a damn therapist now—courtesy of Aizawa not letting him go unsupervised after what happened. His parents had insisted on therapy, which meant he had to tell Aizawa, which meant now he was stuck seeing this shrink once a week. And sure, whatever, it wasn’t like he needed it or anything, but it kept everyone off his back.

Still, he’d been careful. Very careful. Slipped into the office in the dead hours, took the longest way back to his dorm so no one would catch him leaving. Sunglasses on, hoodie up and headphones in. He was a man on a mission.

But today? Today, fucking Kaminari had been loitering around the corner, probably waiting for Sero, probably lost his ear buds, probably God hated Bakugou but whatever the reason. He was there. And he saw him walk out.

And Kaminari had blinked, done a double take, and opened his mouth like he was about to say something- something obnoxious and loud and typical.

Bakugou had frozen.

And then, miraculously, Kaminari had shut it.

Just watched him, wide-eyed and maybe a little confused. Maybe slightly concerned, but Bakugou didn’t stick around long enough to figure it out. He’d just shoved his hands deeper in his pockets, turned the corner, and walked off like nothing happened.

No one said a word.

And now, here they were.

The squad was hanging out in the common room, sprawled on the couch after training, too tired to move back to their respective dorm rooms but too wired to sleep just yet, and Kaminari, being the dumbass he was, just had to bring it up.

Bakugou should've seen this coming. He'd seen Kaminari see him walk out that damned office. And yet, he’d let Kirishima talk him into hanging out. With those damn puppy eyes and that whole “You don’t even have to say anything, just sit with us” routine. He’s bringing that up in therapy next week. Kirishima has too much power, and that cannot stand.

“So, Kacchan.” A smirk. A glint in his eyes. “Is it like court-mandated anger management or what?”

“Shut the hell up, Dunceface.”

Sero perked up. “Wait, what?”

Kaminari snickered. “Dude’s been seeing the new school shrink.”

Bakugou stiffened. It was barely a flicker, a twitch of his fingers, but Kirishima saw it.

“No way,” Mina gasped, dramatic as always. “Bakugou in therapy? Weren't you all, like, 'therapy is for the weak'?”

“Oh shit,” Sero cackled. “End of an era. What happened, man? Stress got to you? Finally snapped?”

Bakugou forced a scoff, slouching deeper into the couch. “It’s not like that, dumbasses.”

“Seriously though,” Kaminari prodded. “Like, why? I can’t picture you sitting there, all, ‘Oh, sensei, I need help regulating my big, scary emotions.’”

Mina lit up, "wait, wait- what if it's, like... a self discovery thing?"

"Oh shit," Kaminari said, eyes wide, "ohhhh shit, are you, like, figuring yourself out in therapy?"

"Fuck you."

"I mean," Mina grinned, "it makes sense, you've been acting all weird lately."

"I haven't."

"He totally has," Sero agreed "like, bro, you only allow Kiri in your immediate proximity, you've been picking fights unnecessarily more than usual and you sometimes vanish from the face of Earth until Kiri magically knows where you are and drags your ass back."

Bakugou’s grip tightened on the couch.

Kirishima shifted forward, sensing the mood turning. “Guys, maybe we should just-”

“Wait, wait,” Mina leaned in, eyes gleaming, looking like she just solved the enigma. “Is it because of Kiri?”

Bakugou inhaled sharply, "the fuck does that have anything-"

“Oh my god," Mina gasped, covering her mouth, "It is!”

“Dude,” Kaminari grinned, elbowing Kirishima. “Is this why he’s been acting weird around you? You confessed and now he’s in therapy trying to cope?”

Kirishima gave him a look, voice low and sharp, “dude.”

“No, no, let’s get to the bottom of this,” Sero pressed. “Bakugou, are you in therapy to figure out if you’re a little fruity?”

“I’m not- what the fuck-” Bakugou’s eye twitched, a vein practically popping in his forehead.

"Doc, is it gay to want to kiss my best bro on the mouth?" Kaminari snorted.

"Y'all got a lot of nerve." He warned but apparently his squad can't take a hint.

“Nothing wrong with that,” Mina said, holding her hands up in surrender. “If it is about that, I totally get it. Sexuality’s confusing. Maybe you needed someone to help sort through your feelings?”

"Yeah, dude, even if it isn't about that, respect. No shame in needing a bit of help every now and then."

"It's not about some stupid crush! I'll murder you all!"

“Right,” Kaminari teased, waggling his eyebrows. “So what, you got some deep-seated childhood trauma or something?”

They laughed. It was easy, lighthearted, teasing, because of course it was. Because to them, Bakugou had always been unbreakable. Indestructible.

Kirishima wasn’t laughing.

Bakugou clenched his jaw. He could let this go. He should let this go.

But Kirishima was staring at him, already suspecting something, already knowing. And the words clawed at his throat until they scraped their way out.

“It’s not fucking funny,” he grumbled.

Silence.

Mina blinked. “Uh… what?”

“I’m serious, idiots." Bakugou muttered. "It’s not what you think.”

Sero tilted his head. “Then what is it?”

He could stop. He could backtrack. Call them all morons and change the subject, and they’d let him.

But Kirishima already knew.

His parents knew. Aizawa knew. Fucking Half n Half suspected.

So why not them?

He swallowed. “I-” He hesitated, scowled, willed his hands to stop shaking. “A few months ago...”

A pause. Too long.

Kirishima leaned in, encouraging. He knew this part.

They were looking at him now. Serious. Expectant. Suddenly a little tense. Probably it's finally hitting them that maybe- maybe there is indeed something. 

Dead silence.

The words sat there, in his throat, heavy and unmoving.

"...Bakugou?" And it's so softly spoken that he wants to scream because he's not made of glass. 

But that's how they'd see him. Once they knew.

Bakugou barked a laugh, sharp and hollow. “Actually, nevermind.”

"C'mon, you can't create all this suspense and then leave us all blue." 

"Shut up, Denki- Baku, ignore him." Mina snapped. Then, to Bakugou- gentle this time, "I know we've been laughing and all, but it's okay if you're seeing a therapist or whatever. And it's okay if you don't wanna tell us but if you do, we'll listen."

He looked at her, she was sincere. He knew they had only been messing- it's their thing, giving each other shit. But they weren't teasing anymore.

Another beat of silence. Then, Kirishima reached out, hesitated, then rested a hand on his shoulder. Firm. Grounding.

“Bakugou,” Kirishima started, quiet, soft.

He crossed his arms, shifted uncomfortably. "Y'all wouldn't get it, it's not a big deal."

"Don't do that, Baku-"

“Well.” Bakugou exhaled, trying to will away the tension, the way their stares burned into him. “I'm going to bed.”

And nobody stopped him. They just kept staring.

Confused.

Worried.

And somehow, that made Bakugou’s chest ache worse than anything else.

Chapter Text

The days after that conversation passed in silence.

Not awkward silence—Bakugou didn’t do awkward—but tense, loaded silence. Like everyone was walking on eggshells but pretending they weren’t. Like they were all too polite to bring it up again, but not oblivious enough to forget.

Bakugou hated it.

He hated that he was even considering telling them. He didn't owe them a damn thing. It's not like they'd earned it. But his therapist kept harping on about it. Kirishima thought it was a good idea too. And honestly, he was getting real sick of their half-assed pretending. If they were gonna act weird, they might as well act weird about the truth.

And for better or worse, they were his people. And maybe that meant something.

But he hated how the words kept dying in his throat every time he tried.

So instead, because he was a dumbass apparently, he decided to text it.

At 3:26 in the goddamn morning.

Because that’s when people made their best decisions, right? After a nightmare that left their heart racing and their sheets tangled and sweat-soaked.

He stared at the group chat title “BAKU'S QUAD". If he weren't still reeling from the nightmare, he'd laugh at the absurdity of the name.

A typo for bakusquad and then they rolled with it because 'his quad muscles deserve a dedicated gc'. The profile pic was a low quality cropped picture of his left thigh.

His thumb hovered. Over the keyboard. The last text was a screaming penguin gif.

He typed. Deleted. Typed again. Over and over. Stared at the text for a good ten minutes.

And then, all at once, like ripping off a bandaid, he hit send.

[3:42 AM] Bakugou: something happened to me
[3:42 AM] Bakugou: that’s why i go to therapy
[3:42 AM] Bakugou: i was assaulted
[3:42 AM] Bakugou: yknow,,, the fucked up kind
[3:45 AM] Bakugou: some bastard raped me
[3:46 AM] Bakugou: dont mention this ever again

He stared at it for another thirty seconds. Then, in a surge of panic, chucked his phone halfway across the room and buried his face in his hands.

Delete it, he thought. Just delete it. No one saw.

Then his phone buzzed.

And he knew.

He dove for it, hands fumbling, practically dislocating a finger trying to unlock it. A message.

Bakugou let out an unholy sound, somewhere between a yelp and a growl, and nearly hurled his phone again. Instead, he turned it off at the speed of light and clutched it like it might detonate.

Meanwhile, the texts hung in the group chat like a live wire.

Sero was staring at his screen like it had grown teeth.

“This has to be a really shitty joke,” he muttered to himself, sitting up in bed. He checked the date. Not April Fools. It's not even April. “Holy shit.”

He called Kaminari.

“Man, do you have any idea what time-"

“Dude. Check the group chat. Right now.”

Three minutes later, Mina was on a call too. Followed by Kirishima (who picked up sounding way too calm and immediately went, “Yeah. He told me.”)

Ten minutes after the bomb dropped, four sleep-deprived teens were huddled in the common room in their pajamas like it was a goddamn emergency meeting.
Which, to them, it was.

The lights were off.

It was pitch dark, except for the six candles flickering on the coffee table, casting exaggerated shadows on their very, very tired faces.

Why the candles? Because the meeting was supposed to be lowkey.
Their logic.

Someone had also brought a lava lamp for ambiance. No one knew why. It wasn’t even plugged in.

Mina wore a hoodie with the hood up. Kaminari had a blanket wrapped around him like a shawl. Sero clutched a mug of coffee like it held the meaning of life. Kirishima, the only one remotely normal, sat cross-legged with a solemn expression.

They looked like they were planning a heist.
Or a funeral.
Or a summoning ritual.

“This feels like an emergency séance,” Kaminari whispered.

Sero nodded. “It’s the candles.”

“This is serious, guys,” Mina said, her brows furrowed.

“Obviously,” Sero muttered. “He trauma-dumped at ass o’ clock. What part of this doesn’t scream serious?”

“The candles,” Kirishima whispered, deadpan, but nobody heard him.

“We should’ve known,” Kaminari groaned, dragging his hands through his hair. “I made fun of him. I shouldn't have opened my damned mouth about the therapy thing.”

“Shit, I made it about Kiri and sexuality,” Mina said, wincing. “He kept telling us it wasn’t about that-”

“Guys,” Kirishima cut in gently. “You didn’t know. Now you do. He told you himself. It won’t do any good if we start making this about what we did or didn’t do.”

Sero looked over, hesitant. “You knew, didn’t you? How is he? Like… mentally?”

“He’s trying,” Kirishima said. “He’s a lot better now. His parents know. Aizawa too.”

“That’s good. Shit, Kiri, how did you cope? The more I think about it, the more I feel like crying,” Mina muttered.

“Then cry,” he said softly. “But when he needs us, we’re there.”

---

Bakugou, bleary-eyed, hoodie over his head, trudged out of his room like a zombie.
He hadn’t slept. Not really. He’d tried, after yeeting his phone across the bed like it had personally betrayed him, but his brain was a blender and his throat tasted like battery acid.

He’d stared at the ceiling for thirty straight minutes, mentally cataloguing every possible reaction the squad could be having.

What if they’re texting about it right now?
What if they’re laughing?

He had to get out.

He crept down the hallway, praying no one was awake.

Walked into the common area, rubbing at his eyes.

Stopped.
Squinted.

What in the fresh fuck-

Six candles. Hooded figures. A circle formation. One of them literally mumbling something under their breath.

It looked like a demonic ritual.

Someone spotted him.

All four turned, slowly, like they were in a horror movie. Eyes wide. The candle flames flickered dramatically- of course they did.

Bakugou stood frozen, mid-yawn, staring.

Kaminari panicked and threw his blanket over the candles.

“It’s not what it looks like!”

“Dumbass!” Sero hissed, smacking his arm. “You’re gonna burn this place down!”

Mina gasped. “Holy shit. We summoned him.”

Bakugou opened his mouth to retort-
but the fight drained out of him the second he saw Kaminari’s pale face, Sero’s tense fists, Mina’s tear-smudged cheeks.
And Kirishima, already looking at him like he knew Bakugou would come.

He facepalmed.

And walked right back out the door.

---

“Shit. We’re so busted,” Mina whispered.

“Nah,” Kirishima said, still calm. “Y’all are fine.”

Sero frowned. “Okay but like… right now, do we pretend nothing happened? Or are we bad friends if we do that? I mean he asked us to never mention it again.”

Kaminari groaned. “Dude, we just found out our friend’s gone throug literal hell. This is not ‘ignore and vibe’ territory.”

“He’s going to murder us,” Mina muttered.

“At least we’ll die knowing we cared,” Kirishima said.

Chapter Text

They looked like hell.

Well, specifically Kaminari, Mina, and Sero. Kirishima was holding it together, somewhat, but the rest of the squad walked into class like they’d just collectively survived a natural disaster. Or committed one.

Sunken eyes. Crooked ties. Unkempt hair. Eyebags down to their chin. The kind of thousand-yard stare you only get from witnessing the collapse of civilization- or, apparently, Bakugou opening up.

Mina dropped into her seat face down with a groan that might’ve been her soul leaving her body. Sero looked five seconds from writing his will. Kaminari had a coffee in one hand and an energy drink in the other and drank from both like it was a matter of survival.

People noticed.

“Uh,” said Jirou, blinking. “What happened to you guys?”

Mina waved a hand dramatically. “We had... a biblical reckoning.”

“It’s classified,” Kaminari added grimly, chugging from one of his cups. “Like, top secret.”

Kirishima just smiled weakly. “Rough night. Don’t worry about it.”

Bakugou walked in last, perfectly normal. Backpack slung over one shoulder, scowl locked in place, zero indication that he’d emotionally malfunctioned mere four hours ago.

He didn’t look at them. At all.

Aizawa walks in and immediately sniffs out the drama like a bloodhound. “Why do you all look like you’ve aged five years overnight?” he asks flatly.

“Group project,” Sero says without missing a beat.

“Emotional group project,” Kaminari mutters, sipping black coffee like it’s tequila.

Bakugou kept sitting in his seat like nothing happened. Like he wasn’t now burdened with the cursed knowledge that his friends could, in fact, feel things.

The rest of the squad continued to radiate guilty energy like a collective apology beacon.

This was fine.

.

When lunch rolled around, he disappeared.

No words, no warning, just gone. Because the sheer violence of being known was too much. Of realizing that no amount of mental gymnastics could undo last night. That he’d told it. That they’d seen it.

Kirishima texted. He didn’t reply.

His phone had been off since last night.

He returned to class precisely one minute before the bell.

“Hey,” Kaminari whispered like he was afraid to be heard. “You want a… Snickers?”

Bakugou turned to look at him. Slowly. Dangerously. “Do I look like I want a Snickers.”

“You're not you when you're...” he gestured vaguely and withdrew the candy bar, dejected.

The other two simultaneously looked away, each pretending to be fascinated by their textbooks. Nobody breathed for three solid seconds.

—

The following days go more or less the same way.

He doesn't acknowledge them.

Because if he acknowledges them- if he so much as glances at them- he’s going to have to remember.

Remember how he told it. How he sat there, like a fucking fool, and told them something real. Something raw. Something he doesn’t even like saying out loud to himself.

Fuck. The word feels like it’s tattooed across his forehead now. He might as well have screamed it from the top of UA’s dorms. With a megaphone. In neon lights.

He wants to rewind time. Eat the words. Blow the night off the timeline entirely.

But no. It happened. He let it happen.

And now- now they’re acting weird.

He knew this was coming, but the reality of it is worse than he anticipated.

They're being a bit too normal. Too weird. Like they’re trying not to tiptoe while obviously tiptoeing. Like Kaminari calling out “Good morning, bro!” and then immediately sweating bullets when Bakugou doesn’t respond. Like Sero patting his back and then retracting his hand like he touched a live wire.

Idiots. All of them.

They think he can’t tell. That he doesn’t notice the sideways looks. The fake normal.

They’re trying. He knows that. In their dumb ways.

And that pisses him off even more.

Because now he can’t decide what’s worse: the teasing or the carefulness. The jokes or the gentle silence.

He doesn’t want either. He just wants before. Before he opened his damn mouth.

—

They didn’t talk about it. Not really.

Not during class, not during lunch, not even during their movie nights- where Sero or Kaminari usually filled awkward silences with dumb jokes and Mina never shut up.

They just… cooled. Like someone had turned the temperature down on their entire group and no one knew how to warm it back up.

It wasn’t even that Bakugou was avoiding them. He just wasn’t with them. Not really. He came to class. He trained like he had a personal vendetta. He didn’t scream at them. He didn’t glare. He didn’t do anything, and that was worse.

Like the air had been replaced with something heavy.

Like the past had reached out and punched them all in the gut for not noticing sooner.

“Fuck, how would we have known?” Sero said suddenly. “He doesn’t even let us see him sneeze.”

“That’s not the point,” she snapped. “He was hurting. And we missed it.”

There wasn’t an answer for that. Just a shared weight none of them could put down.

So they did what they could. A hoodie at his door. A funny note of appreciation. Extra snacks. Little things. Stupid things. Because what else could they do?

They couldn’t fix it.

They couldn’t undo it.

They couldn’t punch whoever hurt him.

They weren’t just sad for Bakugou.

They were scared.

So they tried to make space. They tried to say, we see you, in gestures instead of words.

—

The squad gathered in Kirishima’s room a few nights later.

Not for a movie marathon. Not for a game. Not for anything, really. Nobody had said the words, but they’d all shown up anyway, like gravity had yanked them into the same orbit.

The air was weird.

Mina sat cross-legged on the bed, gnawing on a sour gummy. Kaminari was sprawled on the floor with his head on a beanbag. Sero fiddled with a spare roll of tape in his lap. Kirishima sat by the window, staring at nothing.

No one said it, but they were all thinking the same thing.

Sero finally broke the silence. “He didn’t come to dinner.” He toyed with the roll of tape, unwinding a strip and sticking it to his palm. “He hasn’t eaten with us in days. I don’t even know if he’s eating.”

“We’re idiots,” Mina blurted, voice too loud in the still room.

Kaminari glanced over. “What do you mean?”

“All this… the snacks, the hoodie, the dumb poem—like that’s gonna fix it.” She popped another gummy into her mouth, her jaw tight. “We don’t even know what we’re doing.”

Sero sighed. “There’s no playbook for this.”

“Yeah, but—” Mina cut herself off, her face crumpling. “I keep thinking about what he said. About… what happened. And how long he didn’t tell anyone. And we kept laughing and then he had to literally spell it out for us. And it’s like, we just moved on.”

“We didn’t move on,” Kaminari said sharply. “We’re here, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, eating snacks and making puns like he sprained an ankle or broke up with a shitty ex,” Mina shot back, voice cracking.

Kaminari deflated, clutching a pillow to his chest. “Do you think… do you think we messed up? Like… made it worse?”

Kirishima hadn’t said a word yet. He just kept picking at a loose thread in his hoodie's sleeve, lips pressed in a thin line.

Then, quietly: “It wasn’t a little thing, y’know.”

Mina’s voice softened. “Yeah… we know, Kiri.”

“No,” Kirishima rasped, finally looking up. His face was drawn, tired. “I mean, we really don’t. I don’t think you guys get how close we came to… losing him.”

The words dropped like a grenade in the room.

Kaminari cleared his throat, his voice small. “You think he…?”

“Yeah,” Kirishima said, no hesitation. “It got that bad. There were nights I couldn’t find him. And when I did… he looked- he looked like he wasn’t all here. And I didn’t ask.”

No one argued.
Because deep down, some part of them had known too.
They just hadn’t let themselves say it out loud.

The silence after that felt heavier than before. Not awkward, not tense, just heavy. Like it finally carried the right weight.

Sero whispered, “We’ve been throwing band aids at a fucking gunshot wound.”

Kaminari’s voice wobbled. “I thought if we made him laugh… left dumb notes… gave him warm stuff, it’d patch the holes.”

Mina wiped her eyes, sniffling. “I just… I don’t know how to help if we can’t fix it.”

“Maybe we don’t,” Kirishima said, looking at them all. “Maybe we just stay. Even if it’s messy. Even if he never says another word about it. We just… stay.”

No one argued with that either.

And for the first time in weeks, it felt like maybe they were finally getting it. That you can’t glue someone back together. That sometimes the best you can do is just sit in the rubble with them.

No fix. No plan. No timeline.

Just staying.

—

Kirishima ambushed him sometime after class and before dinner.

Bakugou had ditched the cafeteria and taken shelter in the gym, where he was blasting dummies apart like a bloodthirsty madman. Sweat clung to his neck, fists still sparking with small explosions. His scowl was fixed and furious, a silent snarl stretched across his face.

Kirishima didn’t say anything at first. Just leaned against the wall and waited. He’d been Bakugou’s best friend long enough to recognize that that's just Bakugou for sulking. Explosive, sweaty, angry sulking.

Eventually, Bakugou noticed him. Or maybe he’d noticed from the start and chose to ignore it. Either way, he finally stopped, let his hands fall, and collapsed onto the floor with a grunt. He didn’t lie down, just sat there, legs stretched out in front of him, arms braced behind him like he’d just rage-quit a boss battle.

He glared up at Kirishima.

“What.”

Kirishima raised both hands in mock surrender. “I come in peace.”

Bakugou narrowed his eyes.

“…And with an invitation.”

“No.”

“You didn’t even hear what it is!”

“I heard enough. It’s a no.”

“They made you katsudon!” Kirishima grinned. “It’s a pun on your name!”

Bakugou exhaled like the life was leaving his body. “Oh my god.”

“I know. It’s awful.”

Bakugou dragged a hand down his face, wiping sweat and despair in one go. “They’re trying too hard.”

“They are trying, though.”

“They’re being fucking morons is what.”

“Yeah,” Kirishima chuckled, finally pushing off the wall and strolling over. He dropped down beside him with a quiet thud. “Probably. But... they’re your morons.”

Bakugou didn’t respond immediately. He stared at the floor, jaw clenched like he was trying to grind his feelings into dust.

“I found a hoodie at my door the other morning,” he muttered finally. “With a note.”

Kirishima perked up. “Aw, see? That was Sero’s idea! Mina did the stitching. She pricked her finger twice.”

Bakugou gave him a slow, painful look. “The note said ‘In case the world sucks, this is armor.’” He made a gagging motion, “with a heart.”

“That’s one of their better ideas,” Kirishima said proudly. “They also wrote you a poem. I stopped them before it could reach your eyes and destroy your will to live.”

Bakugou closed his eyes like he was actively praying for death.

“I don’t want them to act like that.”

“I know,” Kirishima said gently. “They messed up with the whole... therapy thing. But they’re not trying to pity you. They’re just... figuring it out.”

“They think they can hug my problems away.”

“I already had that talk with them,” Kirishima assured. “No hugs. Mina looked personally offended but agreed. Sero suggested a side hug and got punched. It’s handled.”

Bakugou didn’t look reassured. “They think I’m suddenly this fragile porcelain freak.”

“They’re just being careful. They don’t know how to act, but they’ll learn.” Kirishima paused, voice softening. “You said the same thing to me, remember? When you told me.”

Bakugou’s scowl faltered. He didn’t have a comeback for that. He ran a hand through his hair and stared up at the ceiling like it had personally wronged him.

Kirishima nudged him with a shoulder. “You know them. You still told them. You showed them your actual heart, man. You realize how rare that is?”

“Yeah,” Bakugou muttered. “And I regret it every second.”

“I know,” Kirishima said, not unkindly. “But it meant the world to them. You don’t have to say anything else. Just… show up. Let them in a little.”

Silence settled between them, not uncomfortable, just heavy. Then:

“…Did they really make katsudon?”

“With your exact spice mix,” Kirishima said smugly. “We found the bottle. We think you’ve been hoarding chili powder like it’s state secrets.”

Bakugou groaned like the world was ending. He tipped his head back and muttered something under his breath that might’ve been, “Idiots.”

But he didn’t say no.

And that was enough.

Chapter Text

He went to the damn katsudon thing.

Didn't know why he said yes, didn't plan to stay long either. Figured he'd show up, eat, let them think they'd done something meaningful, and bolt. But when he walked into the kitchen that night - late, because he almost didn't - their faces lit up like idiots. Not the smug 'knew you'd come' kind of lit up. The 'oh shit, he actually came' kind.

Like they'd hoped, but hadn't counted on it. Like it would've been fine if he didn't.

And somehow, that made it easier to stay.

No one made a big deal out of it. Mina called him a loser for being late. Sero tried to high-five him and missed. Kirishima grinned like it was just another night. It wasn't. But they didn't treat it like it wasn't.

But it turned out they couldn't cook for shit. Sero even managed to burn rice, which Bakugo didn't think was physically possible until that night. Kaminari somehow managed to cut himself before he even touched a knife. They were irredeemably hopeless.

And the katsudon was terrible. Rice clumped together, sauce too sweet, egg half-raw. He ate it anyway.

He left after. No lingering, no heart-to-hearts. But the next night, and the one after, they kept asking him to come eat. And sometimes he did.

It only took a few dinners before they outdid themselves in incompetence. Five days, one fire extinguisher, and Kirishima admitting he didn't really know how to use a rice cooker.

By the fifth culinary catastrophe, Bakugou snapped.

He shoved them out of the way and showed Sero how not to burn garlic. Told Mina to stop putting sugar in everything, it's not a damn dessert. Instead taught them how to make real dessert. And accidentally revealed his affinity to sweet things, to their amusement.

Didn't mean to turn it into a thing. But idiots like them didn't need permission.

"If we learn from the best, we can feed you properly, Kacchan," Kaminari grinned through a new bandaid on his thumb.

He told them he could cook fine on his own, thanks. They ignored him.

Now, every other evening, it's 'Cooking Lessons with Kacchan.' He complains. Calls them useless. Threatens to leave. And still ends up teaching them how to hold the knife.

He stayed. Not because he cared, or needed feeding, or whatever dumb sentimental reasoning they probably attached to it - but maybe because it wasn't so bad, watching them fumble around the kitchen, burn things, and act like it was totally normal.

No one tried to hand him crumpled notes about self-care or force hoodies into his hands like a charity case. They just... showed up. Hung around.

They stopped tiptoeing after a while, too. Stopped pulling back when their hands brushed his, or when Sero slung an arm over his shoulder. Mina still poked at him like usual. Kaminari still made dumb jokes. Kirishima still grinned like everything was fine.

Maybe it wasn't. But it was normal.

Then the weekend hit him like a freight train.

It was loud. Too loud for a Saturday morning.

The living room looked like a daycare exploded. Sero was teaching Eri some weird hero pose. Mina was dramatically pretending to faint at her cuteness. Kaminari was desperately trying to build a pillow fort.

Bakugou made the mistake of walking in.

"There he is!" Kaminari grinned, like Bakugou had willingly entered this circus. "C'mon Kacchan, help us out. Eri wants to play ninja heroes."

"Hard pass," Bakugou grunted, heading straight for the fridge. "I'm kidophobic."

"Aw, you scared she'll kick your ass?" Mina teased.

Bakugou flipped them off without looking back.

But before he could escape to his room, a small hand tugged on his pant leg. Eri stood there, holding out a paper crown clumsily made of construction paper and tape.

"What."

"You can be the explosion king, Kacchan," she said seriously.

Everyone held their breath.

Bakugou stared at the crown. Then, with a huff, "Tch. As long as I get to win at the end."

"Okay! I won't defeat you then, we're on the same team." she offered, bright-eyed.

He rolled his eyes. "Ten minutes."

The room immediately erupted into cheers. Bakugou regretted everything.

At the end she pressed eight candies into his palm—“for your exceptional duty as king.”

He found himself parked on the couch's edge, arms crossed, eating one of the candies. Eri was happily tormenting Kaminari with a foam sword.

"She's a good kid," Todoroki murmured, eyes on Eri.

"Yeah," Bakugou grunted.

Another pause.

Todoroki dropped down next to him. "I'm terrible with kids."

"Yeah, no shit, Five weiner." Bakugou snorted, extending his palm with the candy towards Todoroki without looking.

They sat there in companionable mutual dislike for child chaos. Eating candies.

Sero accidentally launched a cushion at his head, Bakugou growled.

"What the fu-fluffy... frickin'... rainbow hell was that, you dumbass?!"

The entire room went silent for a beat. Then erupted into laughter.

"We're so using that!" Kaminari howled.

Bakugou scowled deeper, cheeks warm. "Shut up. Kid's here."

They sat there a while. Eri was laughing at something stupid Kaminari did. She looked good. Better. Not fixed, Bakugou knew that wasn't a thing - but happy in the moment. And that was more than he'd thought possible.

"She's doing good," Bakugou muttered without meaning to.

Todoroki nodded. "Yeah. Kinda makes you think."

Bakugou quirked an eyebrow. "About what."

"Middle fingers," Todoroki said cryptically.

Bakugou blinked. "The hell."

Todoroki shrugged. "Gave Endeavor the middle finger last week."

That actually got a sharp laugh out of Bakugou. "Good. 'Bout damn time."

"Yeah." Todoroki's lips twitched. "You could, y'know. At your... stuff."

Bakugou scowled but didn't deny it. Just grumbled, "Shut up."

They lapsed into silence again, watching Eri yell something about 'Explosion Kingdom Rules'.

Bakugou's chest felt less tight.

—

And while the day started on a chirpy note, this particular night reminded him that he still hadn't escaped the clutches of trauma completely.

It was past curfew.

Not like Bakugou cared. Not that it was the first time.

He just... couldn't sleep. Couldn't stay still either. So he ended up where he always did when the walls of his room felt too close - the training grounds.

He didn't train. Not really. Just blasted the same spot on the concrete wall over and over, letting the boom echo in the quiet. Nobody came out here this late. Usually.

"Y'know you're not supposed to be out here after curfew."

Bakugou recognized the dry, unimpressed voice instantly.

"Tch. Sue me."

A pause. Aizawa stepped closer, hands in his pockets, scarf trailing slightly against the ground.

"You can't sleep."

Not a question. Just a fact.

Bakugou shrugged, aiming another small blast.

Aizawa sighed, tired in a way that wasn't annoyed.

"It's the weekend," Aizawa added casually, like it was the exact reason he wasn't dragging Bakugou straight back to his room. "If you're gonna be awake anyway, make yourself useful. Grab your jacket. I've got patrol."

Bakugou frowned, glancing over. "What, you want me to third-wheel your boring-ass night stroll?"

"Don't forget you're the one breaking rules. I should give you detention. But at least patrolling gives me deniability."

And - whatever. He went.

It wasn't some high-stakes mission, just a quiet sweep around the nearby blocks. A cat knocked over a trash can. A couple of neighborhood dogs raised hell at a passing biker. A drunk dude yelling at a vending machine. Nothing heroic. Nothing worth writing down.

Bakugou dug into his pocket, yanked out a candy, and tore the wrapper off with his teeth. He popped it in his mouth, chewed once, then held out the rest.
"You want one?" he asked.

Aizawa glanced at the candy, then at him. The look said seriously? but he took it anyway, unwrapped it, and ate it right there without a word.

When they got back, Aizawa didn't head for his quarters. He gestured for Bakugou to follow, leading him to the faculty office. It was dark, save for a desk lamp pooling light over a clutter of papers. A form already sitting in the center, half-filled.

He picked up a pen, signed it with a flick, then slid the paper across.

"Here."

Bakugou glanced at it, then at him. "What's this?"

"Permission slip. Three nights a week, after curfew, training grounds access."

Bakugou snorted. "Didn't ask for it."

Aizawa smirked, that dry humor slipping in. "Yeah, well. I can't keep pretending not to see you breaking curfew. At least this way, it looks like paperwork instead of favoritism."

Bakugou took the slip without another word, shoving it in his pocket but the corner of his mouth tugged upward, barely.

And that was it. No lectures. No dragged-out conversation. Just a little space carved out where he could exist without it being a problem.

——

Tuesday came too soon. He hadn't gotten the chance to cash in on the training ground access slip yesterday but he believed today would be the day. While therapy didn't leave him any worse, it brought a lot of things to the surface.

He walked in, hoodie up, headphones in, sunglasses on. He was dressed like he was sneaking into a top secret government facility, not walking into therapy.

As soon as he rounded the corner toward the counseling office, he spotted Kaminari's unmistakable stupid hair through the glass of the waiting room.

No. Fucking. Way.

"Kacchan!" Kaminari yelled from the waiting room, jumping up like an idiot, flailing both his arms around- very subtle. "You made it, champ!"

Bakugou froze mid-step. "How the hell are you here before me?"

"Teleportation," Mina said, munching on a granola bar.

Sero waved, tossing a snack bag into the air. "We brought snacks. Pick whatever."

"I'm not going to the damn movies." He snapped.

His glare landed on Kirishima. Betrayal. "Et tu, shitty hair?"

Kirishima raised his hands in surrender, "bro, it was three against one. I didn't stand a chance."

Bakugou looked like he was about to combust. "Do you have any idea how humiliating this is?"

"We're support, dude" Kaminari grinned. "You know, emotional backup, morale reinforcement-"

The door to the therapy room creaked open, and his therapist - arms crossed, perfectly neutral expression - stared at the assembled circus.

"Bakugou. You're late."

"Blame these degenerates," he snapped, jerking a thumb at his alleged friends.

Sero gave her a thumbs-up. "Take good care of him, Doc. He's shy."

Bakugou turned to them one last time. "Dead, you're all dead."

Mina did a mock salute. "Noted, Captain Murder"

As he closed the door behind him, he heard Kaminari solemnly whisper, "God speed, soldier. May you return from war."

—

Bakugou dropped into the chair, still scowling, arms crossed.

His therapist smiled lightly. "So. I see you've brought an entourage."

"Not by choice."

She chuckled. "They seem rather fond of you."

He snorted. "They're idiots."

She glanced toward the door, an eyebrow raised. ''Those children outside-they're your friends, right?''

And it took his brain a full second to register.
What children?

When he thought children, he thought Eri, Kota, little runts with tiny hands and bright eyes. Not them. Not... him.

But that's what they were. To every other adult in this damn world - loud, reckless, half-grown, still figuring it out.

And yet someone... had still seen him and thought he was something they could break.
Something to hurt. To own. To ruin.

He scowled and shoved his hands in his pockets.
"They're a menace."

The therapist smirked. "I can see that."

—

The second the door shut, it began.

Kaminari whipped out his phone and opened their group chat.

Kaminari: he made it in
Mina: i feel like a proud mom
Sero: i feel like we just dropped our kid off at his first day of daycare
Kiri: why are we texting
Kiri: we're literally sitting next to each other

Kaminari sighed dramatically, dropping his phone in his lap, "So how long do you think before he tries to escape through the vent?"

"I give it ten minutes," Sero said, flipping through a psychology magazine upside down. "Five if she brings up his feelings."

Mina was poking a fake plant in the corner, squinting at it like it might bite. "Is this real? What if it's a trap plant, like it records stuff? What if it snitches?"

Kirishima sat there like a functioning adult, scrolling through his phone with the calm resignation of a man who chose this life and would defend it to the grave.

"Guys," he muttered. "Behave."

Kaminari grinned. "No promises."

—

It was the end of session.

She scribbled something in her notes, then looked up.
"You told them."

Bakugou rolled his eyes. "Yeah. So?"

A beat. She leaned back in her chair.

"I'm proud of you."

Simple. No soft smile, no voice tilt, just a fact stated like telling him the weather.

And it landed heavier than it should've. Not because of the words, but because it was her. She wasn't the type to hand out gold stars.

Bakugou glanced away, mouth twitching.
"Don't get sappy on me, old lady."

She snorted. "Please. I don't get paid enough for sappy."

She clicked her pen shut, nodding toward the door.

"Go on. I think your personal fan club's still out there."

He huffed, but the weight in his chest shifted. A little.

—

When Bakugou finally came back out, they all immediately jumped up like ducklings spotting their mom.

"You clowns seriously have no lives?"

"We do," Sero grinned, tossing him a juice box. "We live to annoy you."

Mina bounced on her heels. "Soooo? How was it?"

Bakugou scowled. "Not telling you shit."

"Fair," Mina shrugged. "But we still need to celebrate. Ice cream? Milk tea? Spicy ramen?"

Bakugou groaned. "You people are gonna be the reason I stay in therapy."

———

By the time training let out the next day, he realized he'd actually stayed in a decent mood.

The extras kept their mouths shut, he kicked ass in class, his midnight cool off session went uninterrupted and he'd managed to slam a door in Deku's face.

That damn stalker nerd had been hovering around him since birth - but worse since Kamino, worse after their fight, and worse after... everything.

And he had no reason to. Especially not now. Bakugou was fine. Better than ever.

So he didn't even hesitate.

Caught him lurking outside his door one evening, fist half-raised like he wanted to knock.

They stared.

Deku fumbled. "I... uh- just wanted to say-nevermind."

Bakugou knew exactly what it was. A check-in. A hey-how-are-you.

So he shrugged and shut the door.

Because some shit didn't need to be said. Because there were lines. Even now. And Izuku didn't get to cross them.

It wasn't hostile.

It was mutual understanding.

————

They dragged him back into the common area again—another “Cooking with Kacchan” night.

The kitchen was alive. Oil sizzled in the pan, Mina was fussing over seasoning, and the TV in the background played some loud-ass anime with the volume too high.

Bakugou was halfway through grabbing eggs from the fridge when it hit.

A sharp burst of panting from the TV - quick, heavy breaths, a character after a fight or on the run. Too fast, too loud, too close.

Then a brush of movement at his shoulder.

He didn't catch who it was - Sero maybe, reaching past for a bowl - but it barely grazed his arm and that was enough.

Everything went quiet.

Not the kitchen quiet, but the kind that presses against your eardrums until every distant sound becomes a thunderclap in your head.

He froze. His vision tunneled. The carton slipped in his hand.

Heavy breaths on his neck. Hot, too close. Hands on his throat.

His heart seized. He blinked, trying to twist back into the moment-into cooking with the squad-but his arms trembled so hard he could barely set the eggs down.

Mina called his name. "Blasty, you laying those eggs or what?"

He sucked in a breath. Tried to answer, but his throat was full of lead.

He was already moving, stiff and mechanical, toward the couch. Not toward it, really - just away from here. But his legs felt weak, and it was the nearest place to drop.

He sat, his arms wrapping around his head, elbows pressing in, fingers clawing at his hairline like he could cage the memory in, shove it down somewhere dark where it belonged.

His chest heaved. Breath too shallow, too fast.

Someone turned the TV off.

Hands. Warm hands. Their weight on his body.

The memory prickled hot and nauseating under his skin. His hands shook. A sour burn crawled up the back of his throat.

No one spoke.

He wanted the flashback to bleed out—wanted the memory to puke itself up so it would at least be over. Instead, he sat there, shaking, trying to will his lungs back under control.

After a minute that felt like a lifetime, the world tilted back. His breathing slowed, each exhale a pinprick of relief. Head still bowed, he looked up and met Kaminari's worried eyes. "Man, you... you okay?"

And that was the dumbest question anyone could ask him then.

A dry laugh rasped past his lips. "Nah," he rasped. "Not okay."

They didn't flinch.

Mina whispered, "What happened?"

"Had... a flashback. Happens. Just PTSD things."

The words tasted like rust but came out steady enough.

Kaminari hesitated. "You uh... wanna talk about it?"

Bakugou huffed a laugh that sounded more like a scoff. "Fuck no."

They exchanged quiet nods—no pity, only understanding.

Kirishima snorted softly, leaning his elbow on the back of the couch. "Man, you almost dropped them eggs."

Bakugou huffed again - an actual laugh this time, even if it was thin. "Would've been a tragedy."

Without a word, Sero walked by and dropped a piece of candy in his lap. Strawberry-flavored, because of course.

Bakugou stared at it a second, then popped it in his mouth.

No one made a big deal of it.

The kitchen eased back to life, like nothing happened. Like everything happened.

And for once, he didn't hate that they saw him crack.

—————

Later that night, in the quiet left behind by the others, his thumb hovered over the notifications he'd been ignoring for weeks.

[Hag]: HOW ARE YOU, BRAT. I swear to god I'll come over there.

He sighed, the notification banner pulled down a string of older, unopened messages.

[Hag]: You sleeping, brat?
[Dad]: Hope therapy's going okay.
[Hag]: Dumbass, answer your phone.
[Dad]: Proud of you, son. Always.
[Hag]: Don't shut us out, you little shit.
[Dad]: If you need anything, let us know.
[Hag]: No but seriously, how are you doing?

He'd read them all. Just never replied. Because... what the hell was he supposed to say? sometimes I lose my shit but im surviving? No.

But tonight... maybe.

He typed.

[Me]: Still alive n kicking

Sent.

A second later:

[Hag]: You bet your ass you are.
[Hag]: Eat properly.

He huffed a small, barely-there laugh and locked the screen.

——————

Bakugou sat cross-legged on the common room floor, tools scattered, tinkering away the afternoon. A disassembled gauntlet attachment gleamed under the overhead light, tension wires trailing from it like veins. He was staring hard at a diagram in his notebook for a support item adjustment he couldn't quite figure out.

The squad milled around, Sero half-dozing on the couch, Mina and Kaminari arguing over some dumb horror movie ranking.

And Bakugou? He was getting pissed.

The tension line wouldn't hold. It kept snapping loose when he tried to anchor it at a certain angle, destabilizing the inner catch mechanism. He'd tried twice, thrice - each time with a grunt, then a muttered string of curses sharp enough to make Kaminari glance up.

He’d been brute-forcing it when it needed finesse.

Then - the tension cable slipped again. His jaw clenched. He threw the tool down with a clatter, glaring daggers at the rig like he could will it into submission.

A beat passed.

Then, he scowled and barked.

"Oi, Soy Sauce face."

A pause. Sero straightened from his upside-down sprawl. "Huh? What'd I do?"

"You're good with angles and tension points, right?" Bakugou grumbled, waving him over without looking up. "Get your ass over here. Hold this at this angle - no, here - and tell me if it gives."

Kaminari's popcorn froze halfway to his mouth.

Mina elbowed him, whispering, "Did he just... willingly ask for one of us?"

"He's evolving!"

Sero blinked, then grinned, sliding off the couch. "Dude. My tape drills have prepared me for this exact moment."

Bakugou scowled. "Just shut up and hold it."

Sero did. Carefully held the cable in place while Bakugou adjusted the latch. "Yeah, feels solid at this angle. You're trying to anchor it too far back - tension's off the moment it flexes."

Sero looked at the design, muttered something about adhesive points, and made a suggestion.

A grunt. Bakugou made the tweak and scribbled down the adjustment. The piece locked in smooth.

"Done," he muttered.

Sero grinned. "Happy to be of service, bro."

Bakugou didn't respond.

The squad was still gawking.

"What the hell are you losers lookin' at?" Bakugou snapped.

They shut up real fast. But the grins lingered.

———————

With the new gauntlet attachment locked in place, Bakugou didn't waste a second. He slipped out before dawn, heading for the training grounds under the cover of night. Half‑asleep and moving on autopilot, he rounded the corner past the trash bins-only to freeze at a flicker of motion.

It was nothing but a mangy blur darting behind the dorm dumpsters. Half its ear was torn, ribs sharp beneath patchy fur and it hissed like it was born feral.

He rolled his eyes. Not his problem.

But when he came back hours later, the thing was still there. Digging through the trash, pulling at a soggy wrapper like it hadn't eaten in days.

Bakugou clicked his tongue. Idiot cat.

He ducked into the dorm kitchen, grabbed a leftover cut of meat-cold, but clean-and headed back out. Didn't try to get close. Just dropped it nearby and left.

After that, it became a thing.

Sometimes he'd swipe scraps before heading out, other times scrounge something after. Left it whatever he had—a strip of jerky, a piece of grilled fish, a hunk of chicken skin. Never tried to pet it, never called it over. Just tossed the food within reach and let it decide.

"We can't fix everything in a day," he remembered Mina once saying, "but we can at least give you food."

Weeks passed. The cat started showing up on its own. Still skittish. Still didn't let anyone near.

Didn't let him touch it, no. Swiped at him once when he got too close. But it didn't run when he sat nearby anymore. Let him exist in its space.

One day, he found it sleeping on the stairs outside the dorms. Curled up like it belonged there.

He didn't say anything. Just left a slice of salmon jerky beside it, dropped into a squat next to the step, and stared.

Didn't pet it.

Didn't need to.

It was enough that it stayed.