Archive of Our Own

Well, Tenya thinks, as he stares down at the bloodied tiger lily in his palm. This is certainly…unfortunate.

He can’t help the fury roaring to life inside his chest, right alongside where these dreaded flowers have begun to grow. This wasn’t supposed to happen. The Iida family is prided on control, dammit. He comes from generation after generation of experts at welding their emotions to their advantage, renowned for their careful engineering of situations to assure their victory, and yet. Tenya knows he’s never been the best at it, that measured way of thinking so signature to his namesake—a certain murderous rampage comes to mind—but this, quite simply, is mortifying.

Perhaps he could forgive himself more easily if these flowers blooming in his lungs were for someone sensible. Yaoyorozu, maybe. Ochako. Someone he can take home to his parents and not feel insane about it. Hell, even Shouto or Izuku, if he truly feels like outing himself. But no, no, of course not, it just has to be—

“Hey, Four Eyes,” someone snaps from the other side of the bathroom stall. “We’re sparring partners today. Don’t go easy on me or I’ll know, and I’ll fucking kill you. Hurry up, Aizawa's freaking out about you being in here so long.”

Bakugou.

Tenya panics and stuffs the tiger lily in his pocket, no doubt lining the inside of his uniform with bloodstains. He winces. Fuck, I’ll have to get that dry-cleaned. “Of course, Bakugou-san,” he says, somehow keeping his voice even. “I'll be right there.”

Bakugou grunts and slams the door on his way out.

Tenya unlocks the stall and rushes forward to lean on the row of sinks, examining himself in the mirror. In all honesty, he looks terrible. He’s pale, brow shining with cold sweat, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. He shakes his head and splashes himself with water. This won’t change anything. This can’t change anything. He’ll demonstrate the signature Iida sense of control for once and wrangle these…feelings into something manageable.

It’s just a crush, he tells himself. You’ll get over it. No surgery required.

(Although, Hanahaki’s not usually developed over mere crushes, is it, Tenya? his brain taunts. He steadfastly does not acknowledge it, washing his hands and fixing himself with one last glare before he leaves. He’ll be fine. This is nothing. He’ll be fine.)

“Took you long enough, Grease Lightning,” Bakugou growls at him back in class. They face each other across the sparring mat, Bakugou's eyes alight with challenge, muscles rippling under his tank top as he cracks his knuckles. “Ready to die?”

“Bold of you to assume I’m not always ready,” Tenya replies, gathering himself into a fighting stance.

Bakugou smiles wickedly, as he always does when Tenya finds the courage to banter back at him; Tenya ignores the eruption of warmth in his stomach, as he always does when Bakugou finds the common decency to do anything but scowl. “Ooh. Feeling feisty today, class prez? Somethin’ got your engines roarin’?”

“You have no idea,” Tenya mutters.

Aizawa blows his whistle. Bakugou flashes him one last maniacal grin before he fills his palms with sparks and charges, throwing himself headfirst into the fight. Tenya somehow manages to stay focused, despite the flowers he can feel lining the bottom of his lungs, despite his throat going dry every time Bakugou's explosions outline him in sunset hues. (The same color as the tiger lilies—go figure.) Tenya almost wins, even, about to pin Bakugou by the wrists onto the mat below, but at the last moment—certainly not because Tenya’s distracted by their proximity or anything, that would be ridiculous—Bakugou reverses their momentum. He traps Tenya between his knees and pushes forward, shoving him to the mat and landing straddled across his chest. Aizawa blows his whistle again, signifying the end of the round, and Tenya is left sprawled on his back and helpless as Bakugou smirks down at him.

“Gotcha,” he taunts, eyes glinting their signature vermillion.

“That you did,” Tenya groans. He pushes at Bakugou's waist lightly, feeling the curl of a petal blooming inside his throat. “Now get off.”

Bakugou has the audacity to look shocked. “Seriously, Glasses, what is wrong with you today?”

Oh please, Tenya thinks, venomous. As if your attitude is ever any better. “Nothing,” he says, turning to the side and coughing into his fist. His eyes widen as he feels a cluster of petals fall into his palm. “Aren’t we switching now? Maybe you’ll find another partner more agreeable.”

Bakugou, for once, is silent.

Tenya doesn’t look at him. He rises to his feet, clenches the petals tightly in his fist, and leaves without another word.

So much for control, he thinks once he’s back in the bathroom, shoving the petals deep into the trash can. At least Bakugou will forget about this quickly. Tenya is not someone Bakugou pays attention to—he’s not Kirishima, not Midoriya, not someone Bakugou respects or even hates. He’s just…there. He can have a bad day without Bakugou caring about it, and for this particular purpose, he supposes that’s ideal.

It's better this way, he tells himself. Distancing myself from him will make this ‘getting over it’ thing so much easier.

~🜂⚘🜂~

Apparently, it is not better this way, because now his friends seem to be intent on making his life miserable over it.

“Kacchan has been in such a terrible mood since sparring with you earlier,” Izuku declares, sounding delighted, as soon as Tenya sits down at their usual lunch table. His eyes narrow shrewdly. He’s probably well aware Tenya does not want to talk about this particular topic, and doesn’t care, because he’s terrifying like that. “Any idea why that might be?”

“Bakugou is always in a terrible mood,” Tenya quips, picking up his chopsticks. “It is almost certainly unrelated to me.”

“No, no, Deku’s right,” Ochako chimes in. Her voice is cheerful and airy, ever the pinnacle of innocence despite her apparent determination to ruin his life. “He seems more explosive than usual. And, now that I think about it, he wasn’t like that during home room. So something must’ve happened while you sparred, right?”

“He actually tried to blow me up when I sparred with him, and I went right after you did,” Shouto adds. “I think I'm owed an explanation for why I almost died.”

“Oh, as if he doesn’t try to blow everyone up all the time,” Tenya snaps. “You’re not special.”

His friends stare at him.

“Sorry,” Tenya blurts. He hunches over his noodles, avoiding eye contact. “Sorry. That was uncalled for. I’m sorry he tried to blow you up, Shouto. That must’ve been unpleasant.”

“Something did happen,” Izuku gasps.

“…Maybe,” Tenya says.

“Ooh, do tell,” Ochako urges.

“Tell us what, kero?” Tsu chirps as she takes her usual seat next to Ochako, pressing a kiss to her girlfriend’s cheek. Ochako giggles and kisses hers in return. “What did I miss?”

“Tenya’s just about to tell us what he did to put Bakugou in the worst mood we’ve seen him in since first year,” Shouto explains.

“Oh, that,” Tsu says, unfazed, as if Tenya having anything of an affect on Bakugou’s mood is a completely normal phenomena and not, in fact, insane. “Yes. I’d like to know too, ribbit.”

“Wha—do you four have a telepathic bond or something?” Tenya sputters.

“Or something,” Izuku says, ominous. “Now tell us what happened.”

Tenya huffs. As much as he loves these idiots, he’s already sworn to himself that no one is ever going to find out about his current predicament, at least not now, so he’s going to have to…omit the truth, slightly. They’ll understand, someday, after all of this is over and he can tell them the story without choking on tiger lilies over it. He’ll take them out to lunch or something. Maybe a movie. Whatever. They’ll all laugh.

“Bakugou was being annoying and full of himself, and I’d had enough, so perhaps I let my irritation get the best of me and I snapped at him,” Tenya explains. “And then…maybe left without letting him respond. That’s all.”

His friends stare at him again. He can’t help but feel he’s missing something, and it makes fury roar through him, because he doesn’t miss anything. He’s scored second (even first a few times) in all of their midterms since first year. He has engines in his legs—he’s anything but slow!

“What?” he grits out. “Why are you all acting like this is such a big deal?”

“Oh, Tenya,” Ochako sighs.

“No wonder Kacchan’s acting like someone broke his favorite All Might figurine,'' Izuku groans, putting his head in his hands. “It all makes sense now.”

“Why would—why would he care about me losing my temper at him? We’re not even friends!” Tenya hisses.

Todoroki Shouto, who wouldn’t know emotion if it came up and poured a boiling pot of water over his other eye, has the audacity to look at Tenya like he’s the emotionally constipated one. “Hold on,” Shouto says, shaking his head, “nearly a year and a half of going on morning runs, eating breakfast together, studying in each other’s dorms, and you still don’t think you’re friends? Tenya. Tenya.”

“I—”

“No,” Izuku interrupts. “This is ridiculous. Go apologize to Kacchan right now.”

The bell rings.

“Fine, maybe not right now,” Izuku amends. “But as soon as possible. I have training with him tomorrow and if he’s not in a better mood by then he might break me in half. In half, Tenya. And I will absolutely blame you.”

Tenya doesn’t get a chance to respond. They finish their lunches, rush to class, and he barely has time to tuck a few more petals into his backpack before Present Mic walks in and booms at them to open their copies of Othello.

Only then does Tenya realize he hadn’t heard Bakugou all of lunch. Even though they sit at different tables, he’s usually loud enough that Tenya can hear him over the mutter of the lunchroom, yelling at his friends, even laughing if he’s in a good mood.

I probably just wasn’t paying attention, Tenya tells himself. He’s fine. Why wouldn’t he be fine?

He tries not to stare at the back of Bakugou's head during class. He fails, miserably, and a pocket in his backpack becomes so filled with tiger lilies it nearly bursts.

~🜂⚘🜂~

Just in case his idiot friends were right, Tenya decides to apologize. Besides, he thinks, Bakugou may be the cause of these flowers, but they certainly aren’t his fault, and therefore aren’t a reason for me to be unpleasant to him. He finds his opportunity the next morning, as dawn curves softly through the common room and he descends the stairs to grab breakfast before his morning run.

(Their morning run, his brain whispers. He ignores it.)

Bakugou is already there. He’s carefully dividing scrambled eggs onto—two?—plates, the table set with—two?—sets of silverware and—two!—glasses of orange juice. His features are relaxed, a mere trace of his usual sharpness.

“Bakugou-san,” Tenya starts. “I—”

“Save it,” Bakugou snaps. “I made breakfast. Eat. Or don’t. I don't care.”

Tenya opens his mouth to say that it seems like Bakugou does, indeed, care, but decides against it. He sits just as Bakugou slams the two plates down, taking the seat next to him and tearing into his breakfast in an expectedly aggressive fashion.

Tenya blinks. Everything in front of him looks delicious: fluffy scrambled eggs, expertly buttered toast, bacon cooked with a precision only Bakugou could manage. He feels like his engines have stalled, or something. Isn’t he the one in the wrong here?

“Well?” Bakugou growls.

“You’ve never…you’ve never made me breakfast, before,” Tenya says, stupidly.

“Yeah, and?” Bakugou grunts. He stabs a piece of bacon with his fork. “You’ve never looked that pissed at me before. I’m sorry, or whatever. I didn't mean to push you like that yesterday. I just—fuck. You know what I’m trying to say. I can be…a lot, sometimes.”

Tenya glances at him. He’s…blushing, refusing to look anywhere but his plate.

Is it really any wonder who these flowers are for? Tenya allows himself this. He, for a lack of a less embarrassing word, gazes at Bakugou, at his bashful silhouette drenched in the sunrise, and allows himself just this one moment of weakness. Really, how could they have grown for anyone else?

“Bakugou-san, it’s—” Tenya says. He takes a breath, feeling flowers start to clog his throat. “It's fine. It's more than fine. You didn’t need to do this. I—I was out of line, yesterday. You may be a lot to…to some, but never to me. I like you just the way you are.”

Bakugou looks at him. Finally, Tenya thinks, and even though there are flowers in his lungs threatening to one day bury his still beating heart alive, he somehow takes the first light breath he’s taken since he discovered them. Bakugou's eyes are so much more than dangerous, or fiery, as Tenya’s heard them constantly described. They can also be like this—a sparking firework seconds before it crashes onto the beach, a candle flame in the middle of falling twilight, a distant porch light that signifies somewhere safe.

“Don’t be weird about it,” Bakugou grumbles, still blushing. “Just eat.”

Tenya beams. Even though this boy might kill him, he can’t help it—watching him try to take a compliment is always adorable. “If being weird means being grateful, then I’ll be weird all I want. Thank you for the breakfast, Bakugou-san. It looks delicious.”

Bakugou looks away. “Whatever.”

~🜂⚘🜂~

“I’m guessing you and Kacchan made up?” Izuku asks him later. They’re packing up their books for the day, classroom buzzing at the promise of the upcoming weekend.

Tenya refrains from smiling stupidly. “It would seem that we did.”

“Look at that goofy smile,” Ochako coos, because apparently Tenya did not, in fact, refrain from smiling stupidly. “I'm guessing it went really well.”

“And thank god for that, by the way,” Kirishima groans in front of them. Tenya jumps, unaware he was even listening. “He was a nightmare yesterday. I thought I was gonna have to beat up my own class president for breaking my best buddy’s hea—”

“—Shitty Hair,” Bakugou interrupts. He somehow crossed the classroom while Tenya wasn’t paying attention. A blush is spreading rapidly over the bridge of his nose. Odd, Tenya thinks. “You coming or what?”

Kirishima grins at him. “No worries, Bakubro. On my way.”

“Good, ‘cause the only reason I’m coming to this stupid movie night is for these chili chocolates, and if we don’t get them I will press charges.” He pauses. Then, to Tenya's surprise, he turns to address him. “Hey, Four Eyes.”

“Hello, Bakugou-san,” Tenya says, smiling in a way that he knows is stupid, but hopes Ochako will at least refrain from commenting on it. “You’re coming to movie night?”

“Yeah,” Bakugou says, scuffing the floor awkwardly. Tenya can’t bring himself to tell him off for it. “I dunno. Got nothin’ else to do.”

“Well,” Tenya says. “I'll see you there.”

“Aw,” Kirishima croons. “Are those chili chocolates really the only reason you’re coming to—ow! Ow ow ow ow ow Bakugou let go!”

Bakugou decidedly does not let go from where he’s seized Kirishima by the earlobe, hissing at him like a dying bonfire as he drags him all the way out of the classroom and down the hall. Izuku and Uraraka howl with laughter. Tenya remains still, too bewildered at what he just witnessed to even think of reprimanding them for the noise level.

“So, what I’m gathering is that Bakugou is going to movie night because you’re going to be there?” Shouto says, ever the expert at arriving at the precise moment he can cause more chaos.

Uraraka and Izuku laugh harder.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Tenya says. He coughs into his fist.

“Are you…okay?” Shouto asks. “You've been coughing a lot, recently.”

“Nothing to worry about,” Tenya lies.

Bakugou is not, as he once thought, easy to ‘get over.’ He’s too damn endearing for his own good, and Tenya has come to the realization that this may, in fact, be something to worry about.

~🜂⚘🜂~

Bakugou walks into the common room that night in sweatpants slung far too low around his hips and a tank top that is far too tight around his chest. Tenya nearly chokes.

“Hello, Bakugou-san,” he says, because apparently nowadays his first instinct is to embarrass himself. “Glad you could make it.”

Bakugou flushes. “Glasses,” he says.

“Hey Kacchan,” Kaminari calls from his place on a bean bag, devious as always. “We’re gonna start the movie soon. There’s no room anywhere else except next to your precious Four Eyes, so you better take a seat before someone else does and you have to sit on his lap instead.”

Tenya does not blush at the thought of Bakugou Katsuki sitting on his lap. Yes, he’s aware that he’s an eighteen year-old boy with romantic feelings towards a classmate—who is not, by any means, unattractive—but he’s not so immature as to get so excited over the mere thought of something like that. He clears his throat and pats the couch cushion next to him, trying to seem like a welcoming friend rather than someone who just had a very untoward thought about a cute boy, because first of all, he is a very welcoming friend, and second of all, he did not.

“Go ahead, Bakugou-san, I don’t mind,” he says. Not at all, he doesn’t add, because he’s not that desperate. “There’s plenty of room.”

He fully expects Bakugou to turn him down and find a seat on the floor, ever allergic to human contact, but he doesn’t. “You better keep your hands to yourself if we watch a horror movie,” he says with a smirk, settling next to Tenya without hesitation. They’re not touching, but Tenya can still feel his warmth, so familiar from their proximity during morning runs or their hands nearly brushing during study sessions. “I’m not cleaning your stupid glasses if you cry.”

Tenya scoffs. “I don't get scared at horror movies, Bakugou,” he says. “But don’t worry, if you need someone to cuddle with, I've been told I have good arms for it.”

Bakugou elbows him in the ribs. Tenya throws his head back and laughs.

“We’re watching The Conjuring,” Ashido announces as she comes in from the kitchen, balancing multiple bowls of chips and popcorn on her arms. Tenya, being class president—or ‘President Control Freak’ as Bakugou likes to call him—is usually in charge of the snacks during movie nights, but for some reason Ashido had been adamant that she take care of it today. Something about him always ‘working too hard’ and insisting that he was ‘in desperate need of a break.’ Odd, but he’s nothing but grateful. “Everyone good with horror movies?”

A murmur of agreement fills the room, but for once, Tenya couldn’t care less about what the rest of the class thinks. He and Bakugou lock eyes.

“First one to scream makes breakfast for a week,” Bakugou whispers, a wild smirk spreading across his face.

“You’re on,” Tenya says. “And lucky for me, you’re a fantastic cook.”

Neither of them scream throughout the entire movie. Instead, after the first jumpscare, Bakugou leaps into his arms, seemingly on accident, and Tenya catches him, entirely on purpose.

They stare at each other.

“Sorry,” Tenya whispers. “You—”

“Shut up,” Bakugou says. “You—you do have good arms for it.”

And oddly enough, Bakugou stays in his lap, cradled in his arms, for the rest of the movie. He doesn’t move, not once, not when he’s whispering witty commentary into Tenya’s ear, not even when he yells at Shouto and Izuku for talking through part of the ending. During every remotely scary scene, he clings onto Tenya’s chest, and Tenya wraps his arms around him in turn, indulging himself, unsure if he’ll ever get this chance again. He had no idea he was capable of blushing for as long as a typical movie length (one hour and thirty minutes, roughly, a quick internet search tells him later) but apparently he is, because how could he not be when the person these flowers are for, the one and only Bakugou Katsuki, is in his lap and simply refuses to leave?

“Oh yeah, because keeping all that spooky shit in your house is a great idea,” Bakugou whispers as the final scene ends. “Not at all tempting fate or anything.”

“They have to set it up for a sequel somehow,” Tenya chuckles. “Aren’t there more of them?”

“Please no,” Bakugou groans, burying his face in Tenya’s neck. His breath is warm and tender against Tenya’s skin, sending shivers down his spine. “One was annoying enough.”

“Well, it’s over now,” Tenya says. He tucks a strand of hair behind Bakugou's ear and immediately hates himself for it. “You’re safe.”

Bakugou laughs and looks up at him through lidded eyes. Tenya is vaguely aware that he should be dead, now, after daring to touch him so boldly, but oddly enough, he’s still breathing. The common room is empty. He’s not sure when everybody else left, but it’s just them, alone, like it so frequently is nowadays, except this time instead of being surrounded by the promise of morning they’re cradled by the burning lull of the evening, and it makes him want to forget control more than usual. They’re close, he realizes. Way too close. Close enough that if he were to tilt his head, lean down—

—he pushes Bakugou off his lap.

“Hey,” Bakugou sputters. “What—”

“I,” Tenya manages, choking around what feels like a garden now filling his throat. He’s let this get out of control. Way too out of control. “I have to go.”

~🜂⚘🜂~

“Dude,” Kirishima says to him the next day. “What is wrong with you?”

“Excuse me?” Tenya says.

Kirishima, for the first time since Tenya’s known him, truly scowls. “Don’t play dumb, man,” he spits. “You know what you’re doing, and it’s just cruel.”

Tenya goes cold. “Kirishima, wh-what are you talking about?”

“Save it,” Kirishima says, shoving past him roughly, “and stay away from Bakugou for a while.”

~🜂⚘🜂~

Bakugou does not come down for their morning run that Monday.

Or that Tuesday.

Or that Wednesday.

A full week passes. Nothing. They haven’t even met eyes in class.

Tenya takes Kirishima's advice; he stays away, and stops waiting for him. He goes on runs by himself. He makes breakfast by himself (badly, obviously, he’s a terrible cook). Bakugou doesn’t bother to look his way. It almost feels exactly how it did before the first day of second year.

(That was the first time, after Tenya declared that he would start going on morning runs, that he’d actually committed to it. He’d dragged himself out of bed at 5:00 AM, pulled on his workout clothes, not worrying how atrocious he looked as he stumbled down to the common room because he’d been sure no one would see him—

—but, to his surprise, there was already someone there.

“Bakugou-san,” he said, blinking wildly. “Why are you up this early?”

Bakugou, who’d been in the middle of making an omelet, rolled his eyes. It was a rather mild reaction from him compared to his usual flare. “I'm always up this early, Four Eyes,” he said, picking up the omelet with his spatula. He placed it down on a plate, arranging it neatly with a cup of fruit he’d sliced himself. Turning off the stove, he took off the apron he was wearing, hung it neatly on a hook, and sat down. “Aren’t you supposed to know everything about everyone?”

“Theoretically,” Tenya replied. He remembers trying not to freak out, watching Bakugou Katsuki do something as normal as cooking breakfast. “But I’m not adverse to learning something new. You’re rather—”

“—I don’t want to talk,” Bakugou interrupted him. He stabbed his omelet with his fork, took a bite, and to Tenya's horror, spoke through his mouthful. Despite his cooking skills, apparently his table manners still needed work. “Look, Glasses, this is my morning time, and I really don’t care if you’re here, but if you have to be, just be quiet.”

Tenya snapped his mouth shut.

For a few weeks, they didn’t speak. They’d both come down, do their morning runs on opposite routes, and eat their breakfasts on opposite sides of the common room. It was a perfect arrangement: they didn’t have to deal with each other, and they could still complete their morning routines in full. Tenya, who hadn’t been stupid enough to grow flowers in his lungs yet, had been grateful to stay out of Bakugou’s destructive path, and Bakugou, ever allergic to other human beings, had obviously been eager enough to stay out of his. It was perfect.

Unfortunately, both him and Bakugou are loud people by design. The silence couldn’t last forever.

After one broken orange juice glass followed by a heated argument followed by a surprisingly mutual apology, they were suddenly doing their morning runs on the same route. Instead of pretending the other didn’t exist, they’d wait for one another—or, Bakugou would wait for Tenya, seeing as Bakugou always woke up the earliest—and leave the building together. Instead of barreling off in opposite directions, they’d match each other’s pace as they followed the same trail around campus. Tenya found he didn’t mind slowing down from his usual speed, especially if Bakugou was inclined to chat. Who would’ve guessed that beyond his typical aggression, he was rather interesting to talk to? He had the most peculiar opinions on classical literature, not to mention a frightening amount of insight on current hero rankings. He could easily win against Izuku in a game of hero-related trivia.

Sometimes they even shared music. They actually have a mutual love of musical theater—although Bakugou would aggressively deny it if Tenya ever mentioned it in public—and most of their favorite soundtracks are great for running.

So, the routine officially changed: run together, cook breakfast together, eat together. They even started studying together after Bakugou complained about an essay Present Mic had assigned, and Tenya, who had already finished his, offered to help. It was comfortable. It was theirs.

It was mine, Tenya corrects himself. Bakugou was tolerating me. That’s all.

He’d been worried that the summer between second and third year would ruin the routine, that Bakugou wouldn’t want to do it anymore. He’d thought maybe it was a fluke. A year-long fluke, yes, but a fluke nonetheless.

Back then, at least, he was wrong. The first day of third year came, and Bakugou was waiting by the stairs for him as if no time had passed at all.)

You lived your life without Bakugou Katsuki before, Tenya reminds himself as he laces up his shoes. You can do it again.

As he runs laps around campus, engines humming with each step, he can’t shake the feeling that everything is too quiet. He can’t stop himself from looking at the empty space next to him, can’t stop himself from wondering how he managed to screw up this badly. Bakugou must know, he thinks, a coldness seeping through him. He can’t deny it anymore. It’s the only possible explanation. He must know how close I got to—to kissing him last Friday, and it scared him. It scared him so much that he had to ask Kirishima to get me to leave him alone. Or, worse, he and Kirishima already have mutual feelings for each other, and I almost ruined it for both of them. Tenya, you absolute fucking idiot.

What are you going to do now?

Tenya, for the first time in years, gives up in the middle of a run. He walks the rest of the way to the dorms, chugs a glass of orange juice, and goes back to sleep.

You lived your life without Bakugou Katsuki before, he thinks, just as he starts to doze off. But can you really do it again?

~🜂⚘🜂~

The answer, evidently, is no.

Later that morning, as he leans weakly over the toilet, flower petals and blood spilling from his lips, he thinks, Well. This is certainly…unfortunate. He resigns himself to missing class today. It’s becoming too risky. If he doesn’t keep this under control, everybody is going to find out. He’ll take a day, one day, to decide how to proceed. There has to be some way to lessen the symptoms. Would tea help? Meditation? Some sort of pill? What would—

“Tenya?” Todoroki Shouto, once again demonstrating his talent for showing up at the precise moment in which he can cause more chaos, interrupts Tenya's spiral with a light knock on his door. “Class starts soon, and I haven't seen you all morning. Are you coming?”

“N-no,” Tenya says, gagging. His breath tastes like dirt. “I seem to—I seem to have come down with something. Please—please let Aizawa-sensei know, if you can.”

“Sure,” Shouto says.

“Thank you,” Tenya says. He waits for the sound of Shouto’s retreating footsteps, determined to wait until he’s completely alone to lose his composure again.

Silence.

“Are you—are you still there?”

“Yes,” Shouto says.

Silence.

“Any—any particular reason?”

“Is this about that cough you had?” Shouto asks.

“Yes,” Tenya says.

Silence.

“Is there anything I can do to—”

Tenya loves this freak of a man, but god is he awkward. A lot less so than when they first met, but still. “No, no,” he says, beating his sternum with his fist, “just let Aizawa-sensei know. I'll be fine.”

“If you’re sure,” Shouto says.

“I’m—I’m sure.”

Silence.

“See you later, Tenya. Feel better.”

“Thank you, Shouto.”

Silence. Then, finally, Shouto’s footsteps start and fade, and Tenya goes back to leaning over the toilet in solitude. That was too close, he thinks, and Shouto wasn’t even in the room with me. I have to think logically about this. Seeing a doctor isn’t the best idea, because they would call my family immediately, and I’d be in surgery before the day is done. My family—I suppose I could call Tensei. What would I even tell him? ‘Good morning, it seems your little brother has made an absolute disgrace of himself by falling in love with someone who will never love him back. How are you?’

Thinking logically, it would seem, is difficult when your throat is filled with blood and flowers. He gives up and trudges to bed, barely managing to drag a trash can with him before another bouquet of tiger lilies begins to bloom in his mouth.

Bakugou would know how to take care of me, he thinks as he dozes off, delirious. Blood drips from the corner of his mouth onto the bed sheets, staining them beyond repair. He probably makes excellent soup—and I bet he’d sing. He has a nice voice. I don’t think he realizes he sings when he cooks. Or when he showers—the locker rooms have surprisingly great acoustics.

I wonder if he’d hold me. I’d bet he’d feel soft. And safe. He falls asleep to the thought of calloused hands holding his own.

He wakes up later that afternoon, after classes have ended, feeling remarkably more like a human being. It doesn’t even feel like there are flowers in his lungs—he can breathe. He grabs his glasses and jumps on his phone immediately.

‘Can Hanahaki go away by itself?’ he types in the search bar.

‘That depends,’ the internet tells him, always helpful. ‘Are you still in love with the person it’s for?’

Tenya pauses. He thinks of crimson eyes, a sharp grin, light hair that feels softer than it looks.

Yes, he decides. He tells the search bar so.

‘Then no,’ the internet says. The lightness in his chest sputters and dies. ‘Hanahaki is like most diseases––if you’re feeling the effects lessen, and you’re still in love with the person it’s for, most likely you’re just having a moment of less exaggerated symptoms. Take advantage. These occasions are few and far between.’

He puts his phone down. Fine. The internet wants him to take advantage? He’ll take advantage. He opens his door, ready to—well. He doesn’t quite know yet, but he’ll figure it out. He’ll go on a run. Go shopping. Buy a thoughtful gift for each of his friends. Learn how to finally cook something good. He’ll—

—he stops.

There’s a paper bag in front of his door, a note on a torn piece of paper attached to the front. In his haste to ‘take advantage,’ he’d almost stepped on it. Adjusting his glasses, he picks it up, bringing the note close so he can read it properly.

Glasses,

I don't know what your deal is. I also don’t care. But IcyHot told me you were sick or whatever, and I had some leftover soup that I was just going to end up throwing away, so I guess you can have it. Don’t die, or I'll kill you. Also, mention this to anyone, and I’ll kill you again.

- Bakugou

Tenya laughs. He throws his head back and laughs, so hard that it makes him feel light-headed and he has to lean against his door frame to avoid falling down. He made me soup, he thinks. Bakugou has never made enough food to have leftovers unless he’s explicitly planned to. He made me soup.

And—oh. He isn’t laughing anymore.

He closes his door hurriedly, clutching the paper bag to his chest. His glasses begin to fog up. Now that he’s started, he can’t seem to stop, hiccuping and sobbing like he hasn’t in years.

He can’t go on like this.

He knows what he has to do, and he hates it, because it’ll be the end. The end of their mornings, their friendship, the end of what little of Bakugou's glorious attention Tenya has somehow begun to possess. But he has to, he has to try, to put himself through this torturous ordeal of being known before resigning himself to the surgery and an inevitable life devoid of deeper feeling. If he doesn’t at least try the first way out, he’ll hate himself for it, because if there’s any chance—

—There isn’t, Tenya, he tells himself. The Iida family is prided on control, on honing emotions to their advantage, so now, when it matters most, he’ll act according to his namesake. He’ll prepare himself for the inevitable so the impact won’t be unbearable. He takes a breath.

“He does not love you back,” he says to himself, ignoring the shakiness of his voice. “Bakugou…Bakugou Katsuki does not love you back.”

It hurts, but not as much as he expected it to. Yes, he cries harder for a moment. He buries his face in his knees and rocks back and forth, hiding from the world, tendrils of tiger lilies wrapping around his throat, but he’s still alive, and he will still be alive after Bakugou says it to him himself. Tenya will confess, get rejected, and get the surgery. A three step plan. A simple, three step plan. He’s good at plans. Great at them, even. He can do this.

He stumbles to his feet. It's Friday evening. Bakugou is always at the gym on Friday evenings, an absolute must according to his strict training regimen—last week’s movie night had been an exception. He’ll be easy to corner there.

Tenya sets aside the soup—a pity, really, it smells delicious—and changes out of his pajamas into something presentable. He decides against his school uniform. This isn’t class president business—it’s not like he’s reprimanding Bakugou for breaking a rule.

(Just for breaking my heart, he thinks drily. He huffs at himself. Stupid. Stupid thought.)

He settles on a dark green sweater and his favorite pair of jeans. He’s always liked this outfit. Not that it matters. It’s not like he’s going on a date, or anything. More like the exact opposite. The antithesis of dates, he thinks. An anti-date, if you will.

Okay. He might be stalling. Maybe.

He checks his reflection in the mirror one last time. Deciding that this’ll do for getting his heart picked out of his chest and stomped on like a rotten flower bud, he steps out the door.

~🜂⚘🜂~

When Tenya walks into the gym, Bakugou is the only one there. He’s punching a sandbag like it personally offended him and looking criminally beautiful while doing it. Perfect.

“Bakugou-san,” Tenya forces out, before he lets his cowardice take over.

Bakugou hesitates, letting a few punches fall flat. Unusual. “Not dead yet, Four Eyes?” he grunts. He doesn’t turn around. He recovers quickly and punches with more fervor, fists making shapely indents in the leather.

“Fortunately not,” Tenya mutters. “Can I talk to you?”

“We are talking.” Bakugou stops abruptly, reaching for his water bottle and pouring some on his head. It travels in rivulets down his jaw and neck, dipping into the collar of his tank top.

Tenya clears his throat. “No, I mean—I need you to look at me. In the eye.”

Bakugou does.

It’s awful, how intense his stare is. It simmers and burns like it was forged in a volcano’s wake. Tenya stares for an embarrassing amount of time before concluding that even if it’s doomed to fail, he is not going to confess his love to someone in a sweaty gym.

“Can we perhaps…go outside?” he suggests.

Bakugou raises an eyebrow.

“Please,” he adds quickly.

He’s expecting Bakugou to shrug, yell at him to fuck off, but he doesn’t. He closes his water bottle, wraps a towel around his neck, and stands in front of Tenya with a patience that could keep tectonic plates from shifting. His gaze is still wary, still volatile, but he listened, and that’s all Tenya needs right now.

“Are we going or not,” Bakugou growls.

“Oh, um,” Tenya says, eloquently. “Yes, of course. Follow me.”

They walk in silence. The evening falls gently around them as they leave the gym. A breeze ghosts over their shoulders; fireflies tumble through the grass beneath their feet. Tenya doesn’t exactly know where he’s planning to do this, but he figures he’ll know when he sees it. Inspiration will strike him. (Hopefully.) He expects Bakugou to complain, for him to get annoyed at Tenya’s obvious stalling. He doesn’t. He stays quiet. If Tenya doesn’t think too hard, he can pretend that this is just a walk between friends—he can pretend that they’re about to break into another rousing discussion about which pro heroes actually deserve their ranking and which decidedly don’t. But Tenya is thinking too hard, and he can’t pretend. He won’t let himself dwell on what he can’t have.

He stops underneath a blooming sakura, because he’s nothing if not cliche. He turns, unable to breathe as he observes the fading sunset reflected in Bakugou's eyes, the light slanting off his sharp cheekbones. It’s so achingly romantic.

So be it. He’ll do this right, no matter how badly it ends.

“Um,” he starts. “I would…I would just like to start with an apology.”

“Glasses—”

“No,” Tenya says. “No, please, just let me speak. If you interrupt, I'll never get this out.” He waits for a protest, an outburst, but nothing comes. Bakugou just stares at him, unmoving, the night breeze tousling his hair. Tenya sighs. “Thank you. As I was saying…I—I would like to start with an apology. You don’t deserve the immature way I've been handling things recently, and I truly have no excuse. My feelings got the best of me, and stopped me from acting rationally. All I can offer you is an explanation.”

Bakugou continues to stare. He’s impossible to read when he’s not being outwardly negative—Tenya almost regrets asking him to stay quiet.

“I must admit, if someone had told me a year and a half ago that you and I would start to spend most mornings together, I would’ve thought them insane,” Tenya continues. He wasn’t intending for this to be a speech, but as someone who is all too practiced at giving speeches, he really should’ve expected it. He chuckles. “We’d never really gotten along, before. We’re both too loud in ways that are too different. I thought, even despite your obvious determination and competence, that you were uncouth. Too rude, too brash, too arrogant. And you probably thought—well, might still think, actually—that I’m just as bad, if only in a more ‘boring’ sense. So the thought of us spending time together, before all of this, was strange. Impossible, even.”

Bakugou's upper lip has started to curl. Ah. There’s that signature fury. Tenya should hurry.

“But anyways,” he says quickly, “that isn’t the point. The point is, we do spend most mornings together—well, we did, until I ruined things––we do get along, and we’re not nearly as different as I once believed. I don’t know how it happened, but somewhere between me stumbling down into the common room that one morning, you breaking that glass of orange juice, and us subsequently going about our morning routines together, it would seem that we’ve become friends. Or, at least, you’ve become a friend to me.”

He watches as Bakugou’s anger fades, a boil falling away to a simmer. The calm won’t last long—Tenya wouldn’t put it past him to get angry at a love confession.

Unfortunately, the thought is hopelessly endearing.

Tenya takes a breath and looks directly into Bakugou's eyes. This is the part where they both deserve vulnerability. Under this ridiculously dramatic sakura tree, surrounded by the most picturesque night of the season, Tenya is going to be honest, even if it kills him. (Which it might, but nonetheless.) He can’t engineer this situation to assure the one victory he wants, so he’ll engineer it to at least assure him this one: the satisfaction of giving Bakugou a love confession he’ll never be able to forget.

“And it would seem,” Tenya says, his voice barely louder than the buzz of fireflies, the chirp of nearby crickets, “that my feelings for you have begun to go farther than friendship.”

Bakugou’s entire expression slackens. Tenya ignores it, choosing to focus on solely holding his gaze. Blood and tiger lilies rise in his throat, but not to the point where he can’t speak, so he doesn’t let it stop him. “Somewhere between our morning runs, and conversations about bad classical literature, and study sessions where we kept constantly reaching for the same highlighters—I’m still missing my blue one, by the way, and don’t worry, you can keep it—I began to cherish my moments with you more than I cherished anything else. You are…impossible to look away from, in so many ways. Your smile, your laughter, it catches and spreads like wildfire. You may be rude and brash and loud but it just serves to make me love you more, because underneath all of it is a person who cares so much about so much.”

Tenya doesn’t know when his gaze fell, but as he pauses he comes back to himself and realizes that he’s staring at his own shoes, face flaming. This is brutally embarrassing, he thinks. He can already see himself banging his head on his pillow later, rehashing this atrocious speech he’s giving and berating himself for sounding like the back of a paperback romance novel. (All that poetry Present Mic assigned earlier this year must really have gotten to him.) It’s too late, now—there’s no starting over in this situation. He just has to keep going and resign himself to sounding like a fool.

(Especially during this next part.)

“While I wasn't paying attention,” he says, unable to stop himself from chuckling, “I fell so deeply in love with you that my brain decided the best course of action was to grow flowers for you in a place…not-so-helpful to my wellbeing.” He raises his palm to his mouth and coughs slightly, a petal falling from his lips with an obedience unlike anything this disease has offered him before. He holds it up, not looking at Bakugou, but still certain he can see it. “I trust you’ve heard of Hanahaki before.”

Bakugou says nothing. For Tenya, it's enough.

“Well, it’s been a week now since the flowers have started growing. I figured maybe it would go away, that I could get over you on my own without anyone knowing, but unfortunately for me, you are extremely easy to stay stubbornly in love with,” Tenya says. “So, before I get the surgery, I figured I’d at least try the traditional cure. Not that you feel the same, but on the off chance that you do, you should tell me. For a number of reasons––the primary one being that it’s nice to have one’s love returned.”

He goes quiet. Something in him lightens; after all of this careening, he feels like he’s back on the road, able to take his foot off the brake. He finds it easier to look Bakugou in the eyes, now, after he’s said what he needed to. He’s ready.

Nevermind. He definitely wasn’t ready.

Bakugou’s cheeks are bright red, his entire face screwed into a scowl. Sakura petals are falling all around them. Look at that, Tenya thinks, fond. Angry at a love confession. And rightfully so—the absolute audacity of me to fall in love with him, truly. He clenches his fists and narrows his eyes at Tenya, sparks fizzling from his fingertips.

Tenya sighs. “Now, I understand if—”

“You’re an idiot,” Bakugou spits. Tenya winces at the heat in his tone. “So what, you’re smart enough to deliver the most romantic love confession a modern-day 18 year-old has ever given, but not smart enough to realize when someone loves you back?”

What.

What.

“What?” Tenya splutters.

“You heard me,” Bakugou says. he closes the distance between them, invading Tenya’s space. He has to crane his neck up to maintain eye contact. “How the fuck do you rank above me on every test if you’re this fucking stupid?”

Tenya stares at him. Cursing aside, it almost sounded like— “Wait. You…you have feelings for me, too?”

“Do I have feelings for—yes, you moron, I have feelings for you. What, do you think I make food for everybody? Study with anybody who asks? Let just anyone encroach on my precious morning time?” Bakugou grabs the front of Tenya’s sweater and twists, but it’s almost…gentle. “I can’t believe you got sick over the stupidest fucking hypothetical scenario in the world. Unrequited love my ass. We…we cuddled on the couch last week, Four Eyes, and I usually hate physical contact. I mean how much clearer could—“

“Tenya.”

Bakugou pauses. “What?”

“Tenya. If—if you love me, too,” Tenya says, breathless, “I think maybe you should call me Tenya.”

Bakugou avoids his eyes, his blush growing darker. His grip on Tenya’s sweater loosens, but he doesn’t let go, the warmth of his touch vibrant even through the fabric. Tenya beams. I’m close enough to kiss the boy I love, his mind offers, his first coherent thought in several minutes. I'm close enough to kiss the boy I love, who I just learned happens to love me back.

“So embarrassing,” Bakugou mumbles. He doesn’t sound upset about it. “I guess you can call me—”

“Katsuki,” Tenya whispers.

Bakugou—Katsuki—goes silent. He looks up with wide eyes, moonlight caught in his gaze. Tenya reaches out and cups his cheek, slowly, to give him space to move away. Katsuki doesn’t even flinch. He leans into the touch, and he’s warm.

“Katsuki,” Tenya says again. “May I—”

“Just kiss me, you fucking idiot,” Katsuki whispers, and Tenya barely gets a chance to take a breath before he flings his arms around Tenya’s neck and surges upward to press their lips together.

Tenya would be embarrassed at the needy noise he makes, but he can’t bring himself to care. It’s…Katsuki’s lips are chapped in some places, soft in others, and the way they move against his own sends flutters of heat throughout his veins. He craves more, needs it to never end even though it’s barely started. Fuck it, he thinks, and changes the angle slightly, dips Katsuki and kisses him deeper like they’ve just finished some convoluted dance—which, he supposes, they have.

Katsuki pulls back. “Woah,” he says, dazed.

Tenya bites his lip. “Too much?”

Katsuki shakes his head, reaching up to take off Tenya’s glasses. “Should’ve seen this coming,” he says, smiling as he tucks them in his pocket, “you Romeo wannabe. Present Mic assigning that play was a huge mistake on his part. Get back down here.”

Tenya laughs, swooping in to capture Katsuki’s lips again in what he hopes is an appropriately dramatic fashion. The evening burns around them.

(Within Tenya’s chest, flowers wilt, their season coming to an abrupt end. Unrequited love indeed.)

~🜂⚘🜂~

“Good morning, love,” Tenya says softly the next day, kissing Katsuki on the cheek.

“Morning,” Katsuki says. A blush spreads across the bridge of his nose as he divides a pan full of eggs onto two plates. Tenya grins—clearly, that pet name was well-received. “I thought…I thought we could skip our run today, maybe.”

Tenya tilts his head as he sits down at the counter. “What for?”

“Just, you know,” Katsuki shrugs, turning off the stove top and untying his apron. He carries the plates and two glasses of orange juice over, setting them down by the fruit bowl he’d cut and arranged before Tenya woke up. “I thought we could go on a walk, or whatever. Instead.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t know. Walks are nice, sometimes. We could…talk.”

Tenya grins, looking at Katsuki over the top of his glasses. “Why, Katsuki,” he says, “if you wanted to passionately kiss under a sakura tree again, you could just say so.”

Katsuki throws a grape at him. “Nevermind,” he hisses, “I fucking hate you—”

Tenya laughs. He reaches for Katsuki’s hands, which are already searching for more fruit to throw at him, and intertwines their fingers. “Katsuki,” he says, “a stroll sounds lovely. Let’s go right after we finish this delicious breakfast you’ve made.”

Katsuki’s anger evaporates. He starts circling one of Tenya’s knuckles with his thumb. “Why do you always have to talk like you’re in a bad period drama,” he groans.

“Clearly you don’t mind, if you’re sticking around.”

“It’s been one day,” Katsuki warns. “I could still dump you.”

“You wouldn’t. Who would be left to correct your atrocious spelling?”

“Hey. Hey. Back off. It’s not that bad.”

“Oh really? You’re ridiculous. Remember that word? How did you put it—'R-I-D-I-K—’”

“Shut up,” Katsuki laughs, smacking him on the arm. “That was one time, and it was because I just finished the third Harry Potter book. Which you recommended to me, by the way.”

“It’s a great series,” Tenya shrugs, “bad opinions of the author aside.”

“Okay, okay, big guy, eat,” Katsuki says, seeming just as reluctant to let go of Tenya’s hands as Tenya is to let go of his, but seeing no way they can both be functioning human beings if they’re intertwined the whole day, Tenya lets him. “Once you start talking about those stupid wizards I can never get you to stop, and you need energy for those stupid engines of yours. Eat.”

“Always looking out for me,” Tenya sighs. “What would I do without you?”

“Die, probably,” Katsuki says. He smiles, popping a piece of cantaloupe in his mouth.

Tenya smiles back. He allows himself to just look, for a moment, now that he can without guilt—Katsuki is as beautiful as always, a prism of morning sunlight, his light hair and soft skin catching and holding warmth. Tenya thinks on all the times he wanted to touch but wasn’t allowed to, and reaches out to caress Katsuki’s cheek, just because he can. Katsuki, who in the last short while Tenya has discovered absolutely adores physical affection from the right person—which is him, apparently—leans into his touch and closes his eyes.

“Ugh, gay people,” Shouto says, appearing in the doorway in his Frozen-themed pajamas and completely ruining the moment. “Go be gross and married somewhere else.”

“IcyHot, I will snap you in half right down your middle part if you don’t shut the fuck up,” Katsuki hisses.

“Usually I’m not one for excessive threats of violence,” Tenya says, adjusting his glasses, “but in this case, I have to agree with Katsuki.”

“Not one for excessive threats of violence, huh,” Shouto says, raising an eyebrow. He walks into the kitchen and starts rustling through the cabinets, about to make his usual morning cup of tea. “Sure.”

“Oh, go kiss Tape Elbows and cry about it. Tenya, finish your breakfast,” Katsuki says, "we're leaving."

Tenya smirks. "Yes, darling. Anything for you."

Katsuki scowls, but leans in to press a light kiss on Tenya's lips. 

~🜂⚘🜂~

The sun is dangling bright and ripe just above the horizon as they leave for their walk. Tenya relishes the softness, the rhythm of their footsteps and the chirping of birds overhead. Their hips and hands bump with every step.

"Well," Tenya says.

Katsuki looks at him. "Well?"

"Well," Tenya repeats, offering a fond smile. "I'd say I was certainly fortunate, to fall in love with you."

Katsuki's face erupts into another blush. "You are so embarrassing."

"Says the one who wanted to go on a romantic stroll."

"Iida Tenya, I am literally going to kill you—"

Tenya starts laughing before Katsuki can finish his sentence, picking him up by the waist and twirling them both around like flowers in a summer storm.

~🜂⚘🜂~

Fortunate, indeed.