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The spring before it all happened, Katsuki Bakugo was happy. Not that he thought about it in quite that way. He wouldn’t have associated it with the cherry blossoms in the wind or the sounds of the birds, either. But he felt, on a visceral level, that things were more or less going right.
They were all together again, and they were all stronger, and for the first time he liked seeing how goddamned impressive everybody else was getting. Kirishima was like someone out of the movies Bakugo had loved as a kid, that dipshit Kaminari had become a freaking powerhouse, and he could stare at Ochaco Uraraka floating things and kicking ass all day long. He knew he was better, too: still better than almost all of them, which meant he could count on himself to save almost any of them, if he ever needed to.
Deku was in a category by himself, but it felt good to know, at last, what was happening with the power inside of him—to be there, watching and helping when he could, as it surged within him like a wild kudzu vine with each passing day. It was alarming, too, but Bakugo’s worry was tempered by seeing how Deku rose cheerfully to every new challenge, and by how freely both Deku and All Might would speak with him about One for All.
All Might, actually, talked with him more than he ever had before. They had got into a habit of sitting next to each other while Deku practiced with the others, sharing observations, proposing next steps. Sometimes All Might would let his guard down and say things to him that Bakugo suspected he would never say even to Deku: about his uncertainties, his memories, his doubts. That was a double-edged sword: on the one hand, he sensed that for All Might the winter had not passed, and maybe never would. On the other, All Might trusted him, approved of him, and that made him feel stronger than any ultimate move.
Of course, there was also Todoroki. Bakugo hadn’t known whether the nameless thing that had started during their winter work study was going to follow them back to UA, but it had, without either of them having to say much about it. A few days after they’d returned, Todoroki had stayed up late studying in the common room. Bakugo had lingered on the couch a little distance away until everyone else had gone to bed. Then he got up too, and Todoroki shut his book and went with him to the elevator. When Bakugo got out on the fourth floor, so did Todoroki. They walked to his room and went inside. Bakugo shut the door and Todoroki pushed him up against it and kissed his neck, then his mouth.
Kissing hadn’t been a big part of the thing between them when it first began—but that weird night with Deku had changed things. Now they kissed all the time, and to say that Bakugo liked it was probably an understatement. They were getting good at it, he thought. Todoroki’s arms would curl up behind his shoulders, and his hands would work themselves into Todoroki’s hair, while their tongues slid across and around each other. Sometimes he’d hear himself growl a little in his throat, and then sometimes Todoroki’s hands would rake down his back and cup his ass. They didn’t usually last very long after that. Bakugo might tug their pants down and they’d grind against each other through their underwear until they were both panting and finished.
They were trying other things too, though. Bakugo had owed Todoroki a blow job and he’d paid it with interest, until he was pretty confident he was good at that, too. They’d gone from using the door for this as well, with Todoroki the one up against it, to moving further into the room: first to Bakugo’s desk, with Todoroki seated in the chair, and eventually onto the bed.
“Where did you learn how to do that?” Todoroki had asked after the first couple times.
“I dunno. Nowhere.” Which was true, if you didn’t count the internet. “Good, huh?”
“Yes,” Todoroki had smiled. “It’s really good.”
One night, he had Todoroki pinned against the mattress and was sliding his pants down to suck him off when Todoroki said “Wait.” Bakugo looked up. “Can I try it? With you?”
He scoffed. “I mean, yeah.”
They switched positions, a little clinically. Todoroki pulled down his pants, and for a couple moments he just stared. Bakugo’s heart thudded: Todoroki hadn’t ever really looked at his dick before. Finally he spoke, with his usual straightforward air. “Your cock is beautiful.”
Stunned and thrilled, Bakugo laughed. “Thanks, perv. You kiss your mother with that mouth?”
“Mostly you,” Todoroki said. Then he kissed the shaft of it, and it jumped, and Bakugo gasped. With a steady tongue, he licked the tip, and Bakugo felt his whole body pulse.
“Oh fuck,” he choked. “Does it feel like this when I do it?”
“I don’t know,” said Todoroki. “Tell me how it feels.” He wrapped his mouth around it, and Bakugo groaned too loudly and covered his own mouth to stifle the sound. Todoroki smiled around him and lifted his head. “Yes, I think so.” It was a shocking amount of talking between them at once, and after that there were no more words for the rest of the night.
They were also starting to experiment with removing more of their clothes than was strictly necessary. Todoroki was always running his hands up under Bakugo’s shirt, tracing the contours of his torso and brushing fingers quickly across his nipples as if by accident, until finally Bakugo had said, “Just take it the hell off,” and Todoroki hadn’t needed to be told twice. Kissing each other’s abs and chests was its own new pleasure, distinct from mouth-kissing, and so easy to combine with rubbing off against each other’s thighs. Sometimes they’d fall asleep after, in a half-clothed tangle on Bakugo’s bed—just for a little while, until Todoroki woke again, re-dressed, and went upstairs to his own room. He never kissed Bakugo before leaving, but he always said “good night.”
One time, Bakugo had gone to wash his face a minute after Todoroki had left his room, only to find Kirishima returning from the bathroom. Had he seen Todoroki’s exit? Kirishima had given him one of those little pistol-salutes while making a clicking sound with his tongue and teeth.
“What?” Bakugo had demanded, cautiously.
“Nice, man,” was all Kirishima had answered, smiling as he closed the door to his room.
That had been all right. Bakugo wondered whether Kirishima was seeing any freaky pink action yet. Probably only if Ashido was driving it. Fearless as he was in a fight, Kirishima would never be the one to push anything that way. Anyway, he never said anything else about it, and he never acted any different around either Bakugo or Todoroki afterward. Kirishima was cool—the kind of friend every man should have. That was another thing to be happy about.
Apart from Kirishima, the only other person who knew anything was, of course, Deku. True to his word, he never said anything about it either, but he was always smiling—at them individually, and at them together, when he saw them standing close. It wasn’t a knowing or secretive smile, not exactly, but it always felt deep and significant, as though they shared something that made Deku profoundly glad whenever he was reminded of it. He touched them more freely than he once had, too: an arm flung around Todoroki after a training session, a shoulder leaning against Bakugo’s shoulder as they sat on the couch. There was never anything suggestive or flirtatious about it, and he was always either training late or going to bed early—never hanging around looking for an opportunity.
“What do you think he wants?” Todoroki asked him once, keeping it vague, after Deku had glanced up from doing homework to see them washing dishes together in the kitchen and had beamed at them like the sun shining green through the new leaves.
“I think that kid knows how to talk, if he feels like it,” Bakugo had answered. He, too, had wondered how often Deku thought back to that night, and whether either or both of them ever featured in his dreams—as Deku sometimes did in his, and presumably in Todoroki’s too. But to tell the truth, he thought Deku wanted exactly what he already had: Kacchan and Shoto near at hand, and confidence in the strange and various ways they were connected. And to tell more truth, watching Deku be happy, in his own weird-ass way, was another thing making Bakugo happy.
***
And then, overnight really, everything went to shit.
Almost being dead was the least of it. That part had been fine, honestly. Everyone had kept yelling at him that if he moved he’d die, and if he got worked up or talked or breathed he’d die, but he did what he wanted anyway and he still wasn’t dead. Deku wasn’t dead either, so getting quadruple-stabbed through the belly by that hand-face fucker had been a good call.
Other people were dead, though, and Shigaraki and his cronies weren’t, and that sucked. Within days, pretty much the whole country had gone to hell, though he found the sheer magnitude of how screwed they were difficult to comprehend, and kind of pointless too. All they could do was one right thing after the next, and that was what they were doing. What was easier to get his head around, and more upsetting, was how the war—he guessed that was what it was—had fucked with his own people.
His parents had not been able to stop crying over him, and since Deku stayed unconscious, Mrs. Midoriya had joined them in Bakugo’s hospital room and cried over him by proxy. The girls would not stop crying together over Midnight-sensei, and he guessed that if he had been a girl he would have been crying too. She had been a good teacher, a good person, and also hot, for someone old. The whole class was weepy over Aizawa-sensei and spoke about him in hushed tones, though Bakugo found that fuss harder to understand: slicing off your own leg in a fight was badass and awesome as hell.
Sero had told him that Todoroki was hurt but would be fine, but he’d seen what went down—how Endeavor had frozen solid, how gleeful that shithead Dabi had been at facing down the youngest son—and he knew there was no way it was going to be that simple. He’d sent Kirishima to bring him a better report, and Kirishima had returned with a terse note that offered nothing meaningful: Can’t talk yet but am fine. Glad you’re ok—new name suits you. What do you know about M? “Tell him good, thanks, and jack shit,” Bakugo had grumbled.
When he had finally been able to sneak into Deku’s room without someone restraining him, he had found no reassurance there. He’d had to speak to All Might three times before he finally turned and registered his presence: “Oh. Young Bakugo.” He looked like he had not eaten or slept in days, and when Bakugo tried to ask him what was happening—with Deku, with all of it—he could or would not say. “We’ve done all we can, helping him get to this point,” he’d said wearily. “It’s all up to him now, and to One for All.” He had started to argue, and All Might had told him he still needed to rest. “Look who’s talking,” Bakugo had scowled, getting no response.
Now, back at the school that was no longer a school, there was nothing to do but wait and listen to the rain. Deku remained in the hospital, along with Aizawa and All Might, still keeping his vigil. Todoroki had rejoined them, but he was silent and withdrawn. The two of them stood or sat close together when they could, seeking meager comfort from mere proximity, but that was all. After days that felt like weeks, Principal Nezu had paid them a visit and brought news, in his squeaky, cheerful voice: Izuku Midoriya was awake and healthy. Beside each other on the couch, he and Todoroki clutched at each other’s fingers. Instinctively, his eyes also sought Uraraka. She, in turn, was being clung to by Tsu and Ashido—but in an instant, she looked at Bakugo too, and they held each other’s gaze for several seconds before he turned away. It had suddenly occurred to him that All Might could have texted him and hadn’t, and that Deku hadn’t messaged any of them.
In the middle of that night, he woke to a knocking sound on his door. Todoroki, he thought as he stirred out of sleep, only it was too loud. He remembered the news of earlier that day, and his heart leapt irrationally—Deku? He jerked the door open to find the last person he would have expected. It was Uraraka.
He blinked, and frowned in confusion. “You lonely, Moonface? Can’t hold out till your boyfriend gets back?”
“Dream on,” she said tightly. She reached down and picked something up off the floor, then thrust it at him—a folded piece of paper. “This one must be yours. Read it.”
He knew the handwriting. He read it. Then he stared back at Uraraka. He felt cold all over.
“Well,” she demanded, “what are you going to do?”
His mouth fell open. “Do?” he ground out at last. “What the hell do you think I should do? Make little lost-dog posters that say HAVE YOU SEEN THIS IDIOT NERD and stick them up all over Japan? What are you going to do, lover girl? I’m going to go back to sleep.”
Her pink cheeks went pinker, and he could have sworn she bared her teeth at him. She slammed his door in his face, leaving him standing alone on the other side. He heard her stomp off down the hall.
He did not go back to sleep, obviously. He read the letter again, with particular attention to the childish postscript: Kacchan, I’m sorry, please don’t be too mad. He crumpled it. He uncrumpled it and read it a third time. He thought about how the letters could have got there, and then he threw something that had been on his desk, he didn’t know what it was, across the room and listened to it thud. He shoved his face into his pillow and screamed. Probably his banging and yelling would wake Kirishima, if Uraraka’s slamming and stomping hadn’t already done it.
He stared at the letter again, though he did not read it this time. Then he left his room and took the stairs one floor up.
They had never used Todoroki’s room. With its spare, traditional style and its futon on the floor, it was unsettlingly reminiscent of the room at Endeavor’s agency that the three of them had shared last winter. Bakugo tried the door, and was half-surprised to find it unlocked. He wondered whether Todoroki always left it that way, and whether he’d wanted Bakugo to come open it in the middle of the night long before now.
Stepping inside, he looked to see whether there was a letter on Todoroki’s floor too—no. He passed the desk, where a dim study lamp was on: there was the paper, unfolded. Turning his eyes away from it as though it were a hideous thing, he kept moving toward the futon, where Todoroki lay very still.
He crawled over top of him, pulling his shirt over his head as he moved, straddling Todoroki’s hips. Todoroki’s hands came up and touched his ribcage in the dark, carefully avoiding the places that were still covered with gauze and tape. “Katsuki,” he said.
Something twanged in Bakugo’s—Katsuki’s—chest. It was a name nobody ever used anymore, except his parents. He had always liked it: how it sounded, what it meant. Hearing it now made him shiver, even though the air was warm. “Are you asleep?” he muttered to Todoroki.
“I just said your name.” He sure had.
“Have you read the fucking note?” he asked, knowing the answer.
“Yes.” Todoroki—Shoto—leaned up and rolled Bakugo over so that they were side by side on the futon. He maneuvered out of his own shirt and covered them both with the blanket. He put his arms around Katsuki’s body and they lay there, skin to skin.
“And what, you just stayed up here by yourself?”
“I thought about coming to talk to you,” said Todoroki. His voice was still raspy from the burn to his throat. “But I figured that if you didn’t know yet, it wouldn’t hurt you to sleep a while longer.”
“Tch.” He pressed closer and shivered again. Shoto rubbed his shoulders, and his torso began to radiate low but unmistakable heat. Unable to help himself, Katsuki nuzzled into his neck and let a small, sad sound escape his throat.
Todoroki kissed his temple. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know you’re upset.”
“I hate him,” he groaned, digging his fingers into Todoroki’s shoulder. “I hate him.”
“You don’t,” Todoroki answered. “You’re angry.”
“What do you know about it,” he demanded, his savagery returning like a reflex.
“A lot.”
He couldn’t argue with that. So he said, “Aren’t you angry?”
“Yes,” said Shoto.
They were silent for a little while after that, holding each other and breathing. “Did yours say anything else?” he asked eventually. “Besides the main bullshit?”
“It said not to go looking for him this time, and not to worry,” Todoroki sighed. “And it said…” he hesitated.
“What?”
“It said to take care of you.”
“It did fucking not!” His face grew hot and his eyes burned.
Shoto sighed again. “Read it if you want.” They both knew he wouldn’t get up. “What about yours?” he asked after a moment.
Katsuki scowled. “Told me not to be mad.”
“That’s it?”
He shifted uncomfortably, perceiving what was missing. “Yeah.”
Shoto exhaled a bleak laugh. “I guess he figures I’ve got this.”
He felt embarrassed, irritated, and strangely guilty. (Deku made him feel guilty for being an incorrigible prick; Shoto made him feel guilty for having things like regular parents and childhood friends.) “Look, he—he just has this thing with me.”
“I’m aware,” said Todoroki, “that he has a thing with you.” Then, maybe feeling that this had been too pointed, he added, “Everyone knows that.”
His head ached dully. “Everyone expects me to do something about it.”
“Everyone? It just happened.”
“Uraraka.”
“Oh,” Shoto said, significantly.
Katsuki made a face. “Shut up. Don’t be weird about her too.”
“I’m not weird. It’s not my fault you like half the school.”
His embarrassment was taking on a different character. It was like being teased was making him feel normal. “What the crap! I don’t like anybody!”
Shoto smiled. “Not even me?”
“Especially not you, you bastard.” He put his hands on Shoto’s face and kissed him. Shoto responded quickly, nipping at Katsuki’s lower lip and twining their legs together. Then they slowed down again, each content just to feel the firmness of each other’s arousal and lie there with that fact between them.
He combed his fingers through Shoto’s hair. “I don’t care if that idiot didn’t put it in the letter,” he murmured. “I’m going to do it anyway.”
Shoto kissed him again several times, not deep but strong and steady. “Well. That’s good. Because everything that’s coming up for me is going to fucking suck.” His matter-of-fact, aristocratic cursing made Katsuki laugh, even though what he said was surely true. Then Shoto pressed their foreheads together. “I’m doing what mine said too. Even if it pisses you off.”
“Tch.” He was so glad it hurt.
“But only the part about you. Because he’s not going to do this alone, no matter what he says. We’re going to find him and bring him back.”
He nodded. He’d never been so grateful for anyone in his life. “She’s going to want in. Uraraka.”
Shoto raised an eyebrow. “I hope so. Don’t forget who we’re dealing with. It’s going to take all of us.”
Katsuki smiled grimly. “Let’s kick his ass. All Might’s, too.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Forget it.”
For the first time, they lay in the same bed, sometimes awake and sometimes half-dozing, until morning came. The rain kept falling, but the sun must have risen behind it, because eventually the sky grew light outside Shoto’s window. They rose, dressed, and went downstairs together to find the others.