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Chapter Text

The alley reeked of damp concrete and exhaust fumes, a narrow slice of darkness wedged between two looming buildings. The city was alive with the hum of traffic and distant sirens, but here, it was silent, too quiet. That was the first clue Sero should have noticed. The second was the fact that the “target” ahead didn’t match the profile they’d been briefed on.

“Target’s over there. Go!” Sero hissed, his voice almost swallowed by the shadows.

Mina’s fingers twitched as she stepped forward, Kirishima just behind her. They had rehearsed this countless times in simulations, yet the adrenaline made the steps awkward, heavy, real. And then they saw him, a young man, smaller than expected, fragile-looking, with wide eyes that betrayed sheer panic.

Midoriya’s heart was hammered in his chest. He had been walking home when shadows had closed in around him, the alley suddenly swallowing the world. He tried to turn, to run, but strong hands grabbed him, yanking him back.

“W-wait! Stop! Who are you guys?” he cried, struggling against the firm grips. His voice cracked, high and desperate.

Kirishima grunted. “He’s resisting… just hold him steady!”

Mina’s fingers were cold on his arms, but there was a flicker of unease in her eyes. She glanced at Kirishima, whose jaw was set tightly.

Sero frowned. “Uh… he’s not our target!”

But before anyone could react further, Midoriya’s panic escalated. His breaths came in short, sharp gasps, chest heaving. Sweat prickled his forehead. His knees buckled, and with a muffled gasp, he collapsed onto the wet alley floor.

“Oh, he’s so fragile!” Mina whispered, worrying, threading her voice.

Kirishima groaned, running a hand down his face. “Boss is gonna kill us if we mess this up.”

“Call Bakugou,” Todoroki said flatly, pulling out his phone. The gravity in his tone was unmistakable, this was no minor mishap.

____________________________________________________________________________

Bakugou’s arrival was almost cinematic. One moment, the alley was chaos; the next, a shadow separated itself from the darkness, moving with that unmistakable confidence, each step measured. His presence was magnetic and terrifying, cold like steel.

“What the hell is going on here?” he barked, eyes scanning the scene. His gaze landed on the collapsed figure of Midoriya.

For a moment, irritation flared. Mistakes were unacceptable. His men were supposed to know what they were doing. But then… something in the way the boy gasped, his tiny body trembling, sweat slicking his pale skin, struck a chord Bakugou couldn’t name.

He knelt down, roughly but carefully, one hand hovering to check Midoriya’s shoulder. “Hey… you okay? Can you even stand?”

The boy’s breathing was erratic, wheezing with each shallow inhale. Coughs shook his body, faintly tinged with blood. Bakugou frowned, instinctively leaning closer, forcing his irritation aside.

Why the hell do I… care if this kid lives? The thought surprised him more than anything else. He had faced hardened criminals, ruthless gang leaders, life-or-death confrontations. And yet, he felt a tight knot in his chest that he didn’t understand.

Midoriya’s wide eyes met his, fear swimming in the green depths. “P-please… don’t hurt me,” he whispered, voice cracking.

Bakugou’s jaw tightened. Hurt him? Why would I…? But he forced his voice to remain clipped. “I’m not gonna hurt you. You just… stay still.”

The boy’s hands trembled as he clutched his chest, trying to steady his rapid heartbeat. A small, wet cough escaped him, and Bakugou’s frown deepened. There was no denying it, something was wrong.

Sero shifted uncomfortably. “Boss… should we…?”

Bakugou cut him off with a sharp glance. “No. Not here.” His eyes never left Midoriya. The alley had grown quiet again, the only sound was the boy’s uneven breathing.

____________________________________________________________________________

Time seemed to stretch. The panic in Midoriya’s chest was palpable, each wheeze and cough stabbing Bakugou in the gut. His hands hovered over the boy, uncertain but unwilling to pull back. The usual control he had in every other aspect of life, his power, his decisions, his men felt useless here.

“I… I don’t… understand what’s happening,” Midoriya murmured between shaky breaths. “I just… I just want to go home…”

Bakugou’s eyebrows are knitted together. Home. Of course he wanted home. But he couldn’t let him go, not now. Not after everything he’d seen. Midoriya knew too much, had already seen too much.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Bakugou said, voice harsh but tinged with something softer beneath the surface. “Not until I know you’re okay.”

The boy blinked at him, vulnerability and confusion mixing in the expression that Bakugou couldn’t quite read. Midoriya coughed again, wet and harsh, tiny flecks of blood staining the alley’s concrete. Bakugou’s chest tightened.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath. He reached out cautiously, gripping the boy’s shoulders to steady him, his hands firm but careful. “Just… stay with me, alright?”

The panic in Midoriya’s eyes softened slightly, not fully dissipating, but the tension eased just enough for Bakugou to notice. There was no relief, no joy yet, just the faintest acknowledgment that he could provide some measure of safety.

Bakugou stood still for a moment, eyes narrowed, jaw tense. The alley was quiet now, too quiet. Just shaky breathing and the city’s distant hum.

Bakugou clicked his tongue and finally made a decision.

“Pick him up.”

Kirishima blinked. “But, boss”

“Do you want him dying here and the police sniffing around? Use your head for once.” His voice was sharp, but underneath… concern lingered, hidden like a secret.

Kirishima carefully scooped Midoriya into his arms. The boy flinched at the contact, his body already retreating from the world like it had learned to expect harm.

Mina jogged ahead, opening the black SUV door.

“Make space,” she whispered urgently.

Bakugou slid into the backseat first, gesturing for the boy to be placed beside him instead of the far end. Nobody dared comment.

The drive was silent except for Midoriya’s soft, uneven breaths. He kept staring at the floor, too afraid, too overwhelmed. At one point, Bakugou noticed the boy trembling again. Not dramatic. Small. Almost hidden.

He hated how it pulled something in his chest.

Bakugou clenched his jaw and pulled off his jacket, shoving it toward Midoriya. “Take it. You’re freezing.”

Midoriya hesitated.His hand shook as he accepted the warm leather, muttering“…thank you.”

The gratitude hit harder than it should. Bakugou looked away instantly. “Don’t get the wrong idea.” But the corners of his ears were slightly red.

____________________________________________________________________________

Tall iron gates. Hidden cameras. A mansion that wasn’t loud in design, just undeniably powerful. Midoriya’s eyes widened despite himself. He doesn’t belong here.

The car stopped. Bakugou exited first, then glanced over his shoulder.

“You can walk?”

Midoriya tried, but failed. His knees buckled.

Bakugou moved faster than expected, catching him by the arm.

“…idiot,” he muttered, supporting him all the way inside.

The massive foyer felt like another world: polished marble floor, modern black decor, quiet warmth despite the cold surfaces.

Bakugou barked orders immediately:

“Sero, get my private doctor. Now.”
“Uraraka, prepare a room. Fresh sheets. Oxygen tank ready just in case.”
“Todoroki, stay with me. Just in case this kid tries something stupid.”

They scattered like well-trained shadows. Bakugou turned to Midoriya, guiding him to sit on a bed in the guest room. The room was bigger than most apartments. Midoriya looked tiny on the edge, gripping the jacket still draped over his shoulders.

“You said… I’m not… your target…” he whispered, voice still raspy.

“Yeah. My dumbass team nabbed the wrong guy.” Bakugou leaned back against the wall, arms crossed.

“But now you’re here. Which means you’ve seen our faces. Our base. That’s a problem.”

Midoriya swallowed hard. “So… are you going to kill me?”

Bakugou stared at him for a long, silent moment. The ruthless answer was easy. The truth… had claws.

“No.” It slipped out before he could filter it.

Midoriya blinked. Confused. Relieved. Terrified. Bakugou clicked his tongue again like he hated the softness attacking him from inside.

“I’m not in the business of killing innocent people.”

That surprised Midoriya even more. Bakugou stepped forward, voice low, 

“So you’re staying until I figure out what to do with you.”

Midoriya’s breath hitched. The panic returned. His hands shook, fingers curling into the sheets.

“Hey, look at me,” Bakugou whispered, kneeling slightly to meet his eye level.

Those ruby eyes were intense but steady.

“You’re safe here. Nobody’s gonna hurt you under my roof.”

It was both a promise and a warning. Midoriya stared at him, green eyes wide, uncertain but inside…There was a flicker of trust. Small. Trembling. Real.

Bakugou straightened just as the doctor rushed in.

“Tch. Finally.”

He stepped aside but didn’t leave. Not this time. He watched carefully, arms folded, eyes constantly flickering to Midoriya’s face.

Bakugou doesn’t know why he cares.
Midoriya doesn’t know why he feels safer next to a mafia leader than anywhere else.

But fate has already begun pulling two opposite worlds together.

And the city outside?
It has no idea what storm is coming.

The doctor finished his assessment, pulling off his gloves with a soft snap.

“He’s not in critical condition,” the doctor reported, adjusting his glasses. “But his body is under significant stress. Dehydrated. Low blood pressure. And”, he lowered his voice “this isn’t the first time his lungs have struggled like this.”

Bakugou’s eyes flicked sharply to Midoriya.

“Meaning?” he demanded.

“Meaning he has a pre-existing condition,” the doctor answered. “One that could worsen if he keeps experiencing intense stress or physical effort.” He packed away his stethoscope. “He needs rest. A few days of monitoring. Maybe more.”

Bakugou’s expression darkened not with annoyance this time, but something else. 

“Tch. I will make sure he rests. .”

The doctor nodded and left. The door clicked shut. Silence filled the room. Midoriya watched Bakugou cautiously from the bed, fingers twisting in the blanket.

His voice cracked soft and hesitant “…I really can’t… go home?”

Bakugou leaned against the wall, arms crossed but posture tense.

“No,” he answered bluntly. “You know too much.”

Midoriya’s heart dropped. His breath stuttered again.

Bakugou noticed, brows knitting together. “Don’t start panicking again,” he growled, stepping closer. “I said you’re safe here.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m not terrified…” Midoriya murmured, eyes lowering.

For a moment, Bakugou’s guard slipped. He crouched again, level with Midoriya,  not towering, not threatening.

“How old are you?” he asked, tone suddenly softer.

“N-nineteen.”

Bakugou clicked his tongue. “You look younger.”

Bakugou held his gaze a heartbeat too long before grunting. He stood again and reached for a small control panel beside the bed.

“If you need anything, press this button. One of my people will come. Don’t wander. Don’t do anything dumb.”

Midoriya’s voice was barely audible. “What if… I want to leave?”

Bakugou turned halfway, looking over his shoulder. Those sharp, ruthless eyes softened for one second.

“Then you’ll have to get past me.”

Midoriya’s breath caught. Not fear… something else.

Bakugou opened the door halfway but paused, fighting with a thought that clearly irritated him.

“…Rest. I’ll figure out what to do with you later,” he muttered.

He left before Midoriya could respond, the door closing with a final click.

____________________________________________________________________________

Bakugou stormed down the hallway, hands buried deep in pockets, jaw clenched tight. Why was he bothered? Why did a random, weak stranger make his chest feel tight?

Sero jogged up beside him. “So… uh, boss… what’s the deal with the green bean?”

Bakugou glared fire at him. “Shut up.”

Sero zipped his mouth shut and vanished. Kirishima came next , braver, softer voiced, “He’s scared, you know? And sick. We did screw up”

“We’ll fix it,” Bakugou snapped too quickly.

Kirishima blinked. A slow grin crept up on him.

“You… care.”

“I care about not getting the police breathing down my neck.”

Kirishima didn’t believe him. Bakugou didn’t either. Todoroki approached quietly, arms crossed.

“We still need the real target. Our mistake wasted time.”

Bakugou clicked his tongue but nodded.

“We’ll track him tonight. I’ve already set Kaminari to trace his route.”

His voice returned to steel.

“Just… keep the kid comfortable.”

Todoroki raised a brow. “Comfortable? That’s… surprisingly merciful of you.”

Bakugou shoved past him. “If he dies here, it’s paperwork and it’s annoying.”

But Todoroki saw the lie.

____________________________________________________________________________

Midoriya sat alone, hugging his knees. He wasn’t tied up. Wasn’t guarded with guns. Yet he felt like a bird in a glass cage.

The door knocked lightly.

Uraraka peeked in, carrying a tray. “Dinner~! Doctor says you need to eat soft food until your breathing stabilizes.”

On the plate: soup. Rice. A tiny cup of pudding hidden behind the bowl.

Midoriya blinked. “…is that… dessert?”

She smiled conspiratorially. “Don’t tell Bakugou. He says sweets are ‘distracting’.”

A small laugh slipped out from Midoriya after hearing what Uraraka said. His hands shook when he reached for the spoon. Uraraka gently supported his wrist.

“You’re okay. Take it slow.”

He breathed. Ate. And warmth spread through his chest, not just from food. People here… weren’t monsters.

Later, Kirishima stopped by, bringing fresh blankets.

“You look chilly, man. Stay warm, alright?”

“Thank you…” Midoriya couldn’t stop feeling confused.

Sure, they kidnapped him, but…there was goodness here. Somewhere.

____________________________________________________________________________

Midoriya woke up past midnight,  throat dry, heart aching with the need to be free.

He slipped quietly out of bed.
His bare feet barely touched the polished floor.
The door creaked open, slowly, carefully.

He just needed to breathe fresh air. See outside. Touch freedom again. A few steps down the hall…

His vision blurred.
Chest tightened.
Air vanished like someone sucked oxygen out of the world.

He collapsed with a soft gasp.

A hand caught him before he hit the ground.

“Tch. Of course you’d try something stupid.” Bakugou’s voice low, frustrated… trembling.

He lifted Midoriya effortlessly into his arms.Midoriya clawed weakly at his shirt, desperate for air.

“C…can’t breathe—”

“I know. I’ve got you. Calm down.”

Bakugou carried him back, laying him down with surprising gentleness. Then, his anger snapped like a flame meeting fuel.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” His voice cracked with fear.

Midoriya flinched, tears burning his eyes. “I just… wanted to go home…”

Silence.

Bakugou squeezed his eyes shut, one hand pressing to his forehead.

“…Damn it.”

He sat down on the bed’s edge. Close enough that Midoriya could feel his warmth.

“You can’t run,” Bakugou murmured.

“Not because you’re a prisoner. Because you’ll kill yourself pushing your limits.”

Midoriya looked up slowly. Bakugou wasn’t looking at him but at the floor, fists clenched, jaw tight with frustration he didn’t understand. After a moment, he finally spoke.

“…The doctor said your lungs are weak.” He kept his voice level, but there was tension behind every word.

Bakugou continued, eyes still averted: “He said stress could push your condition into something a lot worse. So—”He hesitated as if the word itself annoyed him.

“So, please… for now. Stay here until you’re okay.”

Midoriya swallowed hard. His fingers tugged anxiously at the hem of the blanket.

“It’s… complicated,” he whispered.

Bakugou’s gaze finally met his sharp, demanding truth.

Midoriya pulled his knees slightly up, wincing at the soreness, and tried to steady his breathing before he spoke.

“I was born with weak lungs,” he admitted softly. “Doctors never gave it a proper name. They just said my lungs scar easily… and infections hit me harder than most people.”

There was no pity in Bakugou’s face, only attention. Midoriya found comfort in that.

“When I was little,” he continued, “I spent a lot of time in hospitals. Pneumonia, fluid buildup, breathing treatments.”

He gave a tiny, self-conscious laugh.

“I couldn’t keep up with the other kids. I’d pass out from just running a little.”

Bakugou’s fingers twitched like he wanted to react but didn’t know how.

Midoriya took a shaky breath. “The doctors said I’d have to be careful for the rest of my life. That one bad infection could…” He trailed off,  as if finishing the sentence might make it real.

Bakugou’s voice dropped low, controlled, but strangely gentle, “Could kill you.”

Midoriya nodded. Bakugou exhaled slowly, a deep, frustrated drag of breath through his teeth.

“That’s why you fainted back there,” he muttered. “Your lungs freak out under stress.”

Midoriya nodded again, a little embarrassed.“It’s not as bad as it sounds. I’m usually okay. It’s just… when I panic, it gets worse.”

Bakugou stared at him for a long moment. Then, quietly, but firmly.

“I’m not letting you die here.”

Midoriya blinked. His chest tightened, not from illness, but something unfamiliar and warm.

“You’re staying,” Bakugou declared. “And I’ll make sure you breathe. Got it?”

Midoriya opened his mouth, words trembling. “…Why do you care?”

Bakugou’s eyes widened, just slightly. Like Midoriya had struck a nerve.

“…Hell if I know,” he growled. But the anger wasn’t real. Not anymore.

He stepped closer, close enough Midoriya could feel the warmth radiating off him. “But I’m responsible for what happened to you.”

His voice cracked just barely,  so soft Midoriya almost missed it. “And I’m not losing someone because of my own screw-up.”

A quiet promise hung in the air. Midoriya looked down at his hands, no longer shaking.

“…Thank you,” he whispered.

Bakugou turned away quickly, ears burning. “Don’t get used to it,” he snapped.

Chapter Text

Morning came slowly.

Midoriya woke to sunlight spilling through tall windows, glassy and elegant, nothing like his small apartment with rattling blinds and chipped paint. He lay still for a moment, trying to remember why he wasn’t home.

Then his lungs ached a little. Then he remembered the alley. The mansion. Him.

Bakugou.

A soft beep sounded from the monitor by his bed. He blinked at the oxygen mask resting loosely nearby, clearly placed for emergencies.

The door creaked open.

Bakugou stepped in holding a tray, a scowl carved deep into his face like it was permanent.

“You’re awake. Good,” he muttered. “Sit up. You need to eat.”

Midoriya stared at the scene, Bakugou Katsuki, mafia boss, carrying oatmeal like a nurse in a hospital drama.

“I can… eat by myself,” Midoriya whispered.

Bakugou narrowed his eyes. “I’m not hand-feeding you, nerd. Just eat before you pass out again.”

He set the tray in front of Midoriya and crossed his arms, watching like he expected Midoriya to spontaneously stop breathing.

Midoriya hesitated, then gave a small nod. “Thank you.”

Midoriya reached for the spoon, fingers shaking slightly. The oatmeal smelled bland but warm, somehow grounding him.

Bakugou didn’t say anything else, just stood there, arms crossed, tapping one boot against the polished floor. His sharp eyes flicked from Midoriya’s face to the tray like a hawk measuring prey or maybe protection. Midoriya wasn’t sure.

He managed a few bites, careful not to inhale too quickly, listening to the quiet of the mansion. Every shadow and polished surface screamed wealth and danger, yet somehow it felt… safer than the alley.

Finally, he looked up. “Thank… you… for bringing this,” he murmured, voice tentative.

There was a pause. Then Bakugou muttered something under his breath that Midoriya didn’t catch.

The door opened again, and Uraraka peeked in, holding a small cup of juice. “He might like this better,” she said cheerfully. “Vitamin C helps with… lungs.”

Midoriya’s lips twitched into a shy smile. He hadn’t realized he could feel this… normal, in the middle of a mafia mansion, surrounded by people trained to hurt others. Bakugou’s scowl deepened as he noticed the smile. He muttered something unintelligible, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“Eat up,” he barked, a little sharper than intended. “If you collapse again, don’t expect me to carry you out of here every time.”

Midoriya nodded, taking another careful bite. The warmth of the food and the faint, awkward attentiveness of Bakugou made his chest ache, not from his lungs, but something else entirely.

Once the tray was empty, Bakugou snatched it away, setting it on a side table with a clatter. “Good. That’s enough. Don’t gorge yourself or you’ll make me regret not just leaving you in the alley.”

Midoriya’s eyes widened, and a nervous laugh escaped him. “I… I’m not used to anyone worrying about me,” he admitted softly.

Bakugou’s ears twitched, and his jaw clenched. “Don’t be mistaken. I’m not worried about you,” he said, voice low, almost a growl. “I’m responsible for what happened back there. That’s it. End of story.”

Midoriya nodded, but he couldn’t shake the warmth from his chest. He realized it was the first time in a long while he felt like someone actually cared that he stayed alive.

The room fell quiet for a moment, both lost in their thoughts.

Then, Bakugou’s sharp gaze flicked to the window. “Don’t even think about sneaking out,” he said abruptly, startling Midoriya.

Midoriya looked down, cheeks heating, but something in Bakugou’s tone, a mix of irritation and… concern that made him stay put.

The rest of the morning passed in a strange rhythm.

Uraraka peeked in a few times with small snacks. Kirishima wandered by with a cheerful grin and a joke that made Midoriya laugh despite himself. Even Todoroki appeared briefly, silent but offering a cold bottle of water.

Bakugou watched each interaction quietly, arms crossed, a storm behind his eyes. He didn’t understand why his chest felt tight every time someone else showed Midoriya even a hint of care, why his stomach twisted when the boy laughed softly, or why he found himself lingering at the doorway longer than necessary.

But he said nothing, just reminded himself.

He’s my responsibility. Nothing more. And nothing less.

For now.

The quiet settled into something almost comfortable, but Midoriya’s curiosity prickled at him like a persistent itch. He glanced at Bakugou, who was leaning against the doorway, posture rigid, arms crossed, every inch the intimidating mafia boss.

“…Um,” Midoriya began softly, hesitant. “I… I don’t actually know your name.”

Bakugou’s sharp eyes flicked down at him, and for a moment his scowl deepened. “Huh?”

“I mean… I know you’re… you’re the one who… brought me here,” Midoriya said quickly, cheeks heating. “But I don’t know what to call you.”

Bakugou’s lips pressed into a thin line. A flicker of irritation passed over his features, as if the question annoyed him but then he sighed, dragging a hand through his spiky hair. “Tch… fine. Katsuki. Bakugou. Katsuki Bakugou. Happy?”

Midoriya blinked, committing it to memory. “Katsuki… Bakugou,” he repeated softly. Then, gathering courage, he added, “…I’m… Izuku Midoriya. Midoriya Izuku. You can call me Midoriya.”

____________________________________________________________________________

Bakugou strode into the sleek command room, walls lined with monitors and maps, the soft hum of electronics filling the space. His team was already gathered, faces serious, the earlier panic from the mistaken kidnapping replaced with the calculated calm of professionals.

Kaminari was tapping at a tablet. “Boss, we traced the guy’s last known route, he split off near the east district. Could be anywhere now.”

Bakugou’s sharp eyes scanned the digital map, hands tightening into fists. “Good. Keep tracking. No mistakes this time. Sero, you’re on drone recon, eyes everywhere. Mina, Kirishima, you’re with me. We move fast, precise. We can’t screw this up like last time.”

He knew one thing, he couldn’t leave Midoriya completely alone. The boy was fragile, scared, and far from capable of handling danger, even inside the mansion walls.

He tapped his finger on a small panel, locking in a room camera feed. “I’m not taking any chances. Uraraka, you stay with him. Make sure he eats, rests, and doesn’t wander. Todoroki, you’re backup. Keep the place secure.”

Uraraka straightened immediately, a determined smile lighting her face. “Got it! Don’t worry, I’ll keep him safe.”

Todoroki inclined his head slightly. “Understood.” His voice was calm.

The team moved quickly, loading weapons, checking gear, and reviewing the target’s last known positions. Bakugou’s sharp mind was already several steps ahead, but a shadow of concern lingered in his chest. Midoriya, alone in the mansion under Uraraka and Todoroki’s watch, was the one thing he couldn’t control and the thought gnawed at him.

He pressed a hand to the control panel, pulling up a live feed of Midoriya’s room. The boy was sitting on the edge of the bed, blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders, staring at the window. Light spilled across his pale face, eyes wide and uncertain.

____________________________________________________________________________

Night had swallowed the city, the streets slick with rain and glinting under scattered neon lights. Bakugou moved like a predator among shadows, his team following silently. Every movement was precise, trained lethally.

“Target is near the old warehouse district. Last sighting, ten minutes ago,” Kaminari whispered, fingers hovering over his tablet.

Bakugou’s sharp gaze swept the rooftops, alleys, and side streets. “Keep it tight. No screw-ups. We take him alive if possible. If not…” He didn’t finish, but the implication was clear.

Sero flicked a wrist, sending out surveillance drones. “We’ve got visual. Movement at three o’clock. He’s trying to double back through the docks.”

Bakugou gritted his teeth, silent except for short, clipped commands. Mina and Kirishima flanked him, muscles tense, ready to react. Todoroki, cool and collected, shadowed their left flank, analyzing every escape route.

The operation unfolded like clockwork. The team cornered the target in a narrow alley, no escape. Bakugou stepped forward, voice low and dangerous. “End of the line. Stop moving.”

The man turned, hands raised, panic flaring. “I—I don’t know what you’re”

Bakugou’s glare cut him off, the air around him almost vibrating with controlled aggression. “Don’t waste my time. You know why we’re here. The second you move, it ends badly for you.”

The target went limp under their grip, terror etched on his face. Bakugou crouched slightly, inspecting him. The man’s eyes widened as if he recognized the predator before him.

Bakugou’s lips twitched in a faint, almost imperceptible smirk. “You should have thought twice before running.”

Bakugou moved with lethal grace, every decision precise. The man struggled, but Bakugou’s hand shot out, gripping his shoulder with bone-crushing strength.

“Stop moving,” Bakugou repeated, voice a growl. “One more wrong move, and you’ll regret it.”

The target froze, fear rooting him to the spot. Bakugou’s team secured him swiftly, no casualties, no mistakes. Bakugou finally straightened, chest rising and falling with controlled breaths. He gave a curt nod to his team. “We’re done. Move.”

They shoved the captured official into the back of a reinforced black van. 

Kirishima clapped Bakugou on the shoulder. “Smooth job, Boss.”

The drive back to the mansion was silent except for the hum of the tires on wet asphalt. Bakugou’s thoughts lingered on Midoriya, alone, vulnerable, waiting for him.

He pressed a hand to the control panel, glancing at the live feed from the guest room. Midoriya sat quietly, eyes downcast, shoulders tense. The operation was a success. 

____________________________________________________________________________

A private lounge deep inside a high-rise. No noise. No windows. Bakugou entered with Kirishima, steps heavy but confident.

A middle-aged man in a navy suit sat waiting,  Mr. Arakawa, the client. Political power hidden behind polite smiles.

He stood and shook Bakugou’s hand respectfully.

“You delivered the man who betrayed me,” Arakawa said. “I owe you a debt.”

Bakugou didn’t bother with pleasantries.

“We want intel.”

Arakawa nodded, gesturing for them to sit. He opened a polished leather briefcase, sliding a folder across the table.

“The man you caught was leaking government security routes to a syndicate.” He tapped the folder. “We believe they are planning something large. Something that threatens the city.”

Bakugou’s expression sharpened.

“Who leads this rival group?”

Arakawa crossed his arms.

“We don’t know the leader. We only know their codename…”

He lifted a page inside the folder.

“The Ghost Hand.”

A name whispered in underground circles, always with fear.

Kirishima’s eyes narrowed. “Rumors say they erase people without a trace.”

Arakawa nodded grimly, “Bodies never found. All witnesses vanish. No evidence left behind.”

Bakugou clenched his jaw. “So you want us to find them.”

Arakawa met his gaze directly. “You’re the only one who can do that.”

A beat of silence. Then Bakugou smirked, dangerous and proud.

“Tell us everything you know.”

____________________________________________________________________________

They returned just before sunrise. The mansion was quiet, guards alert. Uraraka met Bakugou in the foyer, bowing slightly.

“He’s fine. Asleep. I kept watch outside the room like you ordered.”

Bakugou nodded once, approval subtle but present.

“Good. You can rest now.” She blinked, surprised at the softness in his tone, then smiled gratefully and left. Bakugou stood in front of Midoriya’s door for a long moment.

His hand hovered just short of the handle. Ridiculous. He had faced gunfire, cartels, underground syndicates but the idea of walking into a quiet room to check on one single, fragile idiot made him tense. He exhaled sharply through his nose and pushed the door open.

Midoriya was curled beneath the blankets, chest rising and falling in steady breaths. The oxygen mask lay nearby, untouched, which is a good sign. His hair was a messy green halo on the pillow. 

Midoriya stirred.

Bakugou froze.

Green eyes blinked open, unfocused, then sharpening on him. Midoriya tensed at first, then relaxed when he recognized who stood there.

“…You’re back,” he whispered, voice sleep-rough and surprised.

Bakugou clicked his tongue. “Obviously.”

Midoriya slowly pushed himself up on his elbows. His hair flopped messily into his eyes until he brushed it aside. “…Did everything go okay?”

A beat of silence. Bakugou answered without the sharpness he intended. “Yeah”

Bakugou glanced away, suddenly annoyed at his chest for feeling lighter. “…You should be asleep.”

Midoriya hesitated.  “Did you… come to check on me?”

The question landed softly, but it struck Bakugou like a sucker punch.

“Tch—don’t flatter yourself,” he grumbled, crossing his arms defensively. “I just needed to make sure Uraraka didn’t screw up.”

Midoriya’s smile grew just a bit. “Right… Of course.”

There it was again, that warmth. That trust. Bakugou hated how it made his heartbeat stumble.

He turned sharply toward the door. “Just, go back to sleep, okay? You still look like crap.”

But as he reached for the handle, Midoriya’s quiet voice stopped him.

“Katsuki…?”

Bakugou froze.

“Thank you. For… everything.”

Bakugou didn’t turn back. If he did, he’d show too much.

“…Don’t make me regret it,” he muttered, his voice softer than it should have been before slipping out the door.

____________________________________________________________________________

Bakugou walked down the hallway, hands shoved deep in his pockets. Arakawa’s folder weighed heavily in his mind, The Ghost Hand. A new threat. A new war.

He should’ve been thinking about strategy. Targets. Power struggles. Instead… all he could think about was a fragile boy with bright green eyes. This was dangerous.

He already knew the most important rule of the underworld: Attachment gets you killed.
And somehow… he had already broken it.

Chapter Text

Midoriya wasn’t supposed to be out of his room.

He knew that.

He told himself he would only stretch his legs, just for a little walk down the hallway. But curiosity tugged harder. He needed to understand Bakugou, to understand why he was trapped here… why a mafia boss had risked himself to save a stranger in an alley.

So when he heard raised voices from the courtyard, low, dangerous, he followed.

Carefully.
Quietly.

He pressed himself behind a stone pillar and peeked between the marble edges.

The courtyard stretched like a private coliseum, high stone walls, trimmed hedges forming a maze around a circular clearing, the moon casting a silver stage light over everything. The air carried the faint scent of rain and blood.

Bakugou stood in the center, tall, broad shouldered, dressed in dark combat gear beneath his half-buttoned shirt, his spiky blond hair glowing under the moonlight like a crown made of wildfire.

Three men knelt before him, hands zip-tied, their guns discarded in a pile nearby. They weren’t random thugs. Midoriya recognized their faces from news reports, members of the corrupt Shigaraki crew, accused of extortion and trafficking, but always slipping away from the law.

Yet here they were, trembling, pale, backs hunched like hunted animals.

Bakugou didn’t give them time to beg.

His fist shot forward, faster than Midoriya’s eyes could track,  connecting with the first man’s jaw. The crack echoed through the courtyard. The man collapsed sideways, gasping through clenched teeth.

The second man lunged desperately, wrist twisting as he tried to pull a hidden blade from his sleeve.

Bad move.

Bakugou’s boot came down, pinning his arm to the ground with terrifying precision. Bones crunched. The man’s scream was cut short by Bakugou’s hand grabbing his collar and yanking him up like he weighed nothing at all.

“You thought you could sell my intel?” Bakugou’s voice was low, venomous. “In my city?”

The man’s lip quivered. “N-no. Boss, please!”

Bakugou’s face didn’t change. No softness. No hesitation.

“You knew exactly who you betrayed.”

He slammed the man into the concrete. Hard. The ground cracked beneath the impact. The second gangster fell still, not dead, just wishing he was.

The third man scrambled to his feet, turning to flee into the shadows of the hedges but Mina stepped out, twirling a knife playfully. “Going somewhere?” she giggled, voice sweet like candy dipped in poison.

Kirishima blocked the other escape path, cracking his knuckles with a wide, toothy grin. “Let’s not make this harder, yeah?”

The man froze, shaking so violently his ankles nearly buckled.

Midoriya pressed a hand over his mouth, heart pounding.
No bullets.
No drawn-out brawl.
Just brutal, precise efficiency.

A silent takedown.

These criminals, who terrorized whole districts were reduced to whimpering prey in seconds. Bakugou Katsuki wasn’t just a mafia boss. He is powerful enough to bring them to their knees. 

Midoriya’s heart hammered so violently in his chest he was sure it would echo through the courtyard. He had seen violence before  on screens, from a safe distance where heroes arrived before the worst could happen. But this…

This was different.
This was Bakugou.

Yet here, beneath the moonlight,  Bakugou Katsuki was a monster carved from rage and fire.

Midoriya’s breath hitched as Bakugou crouched next to one of the men. His voice dropped to a whisper, too calm, too sharp, the kind of tone people only used right before they ended someone.

“You don’t get second chances when you gamble with my name,” he said.

Midoriya’s fingers dug into the pillar until his knuckles turned white. His knees trembled, a cold sweat crawling down his spine.

What if I make him angry? What if I say the wrong thing?

He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have left his room. Midoriya’s breath came shallow, vision blurring at the edges.

What am I doing here?

Suddenly, Midoriya’s lungs seized. A sudden, brutal tightness clamped around his chest as if invisible hands were crushing his ribs. His breath stuttered, sharp and painful. 

Not here. Not now.

He tried to force air in quietly, but a harsh cough ripped out of him before he could stop it. He slapped a trembling hand over his mouth, desperate to silence himself. The edges of his vision darkened, narrowing around Bakugou’s silhouette in the courtyard.

The small noise, too small for anyone else, was loud enough for Bakugou. His head snapped toward Midoriya’s hiding spot.

Just before he collapsed, two strong hands caught him, hot, calloused fingers gripping his arms with startling urgency.

“Oy, what the hell are you doing out here?” Bakugou barked  but his voice trembled.

Midoriya tried to breathe steadily, but his lungs fought him. Panic surged, he shoved weakly at Bakugou’s chest.

“L-Let me g-go.!” Bakugou’s jaw clenched. His grip tightened. “Stop talking. Breathe.” He looked over his shoulder, roaring toward his team: “Someone get the damn inhaler!” Kaminari sprinted instantly.

Midoriya dragged in a ragged breath, but the air burned,  like glass tearing through his lungs. His fingers clawed weakly at Bakugou’s coat.

“Let… go…” he gasped, heart racing wild. “W-What if… you do that to me too? I’m… scared…”

Bakugou’s eyes widened.

His jaw set, not in anger, but in something raw and unguarded. His grip only tightened, grounding Midoriya in place.

“I would never hurt you,” Bakugou said, too fast, too intense, like the truth slipped out without permission. “Never. So stop fighting me.”

Kaminari arrived with the inhaler, sliding to his knees. Bakugou snatched it, pressing it firmly against Midoriya’s lips.

“Deep breath,” he ordered, voice cracking like fragile glass.

One breath.
Then another.
Slowly, painfully,  Midoriya’s lungs loosened.

Color returned to his cheeks. The panic ebbed.

His trembling hands fell against Bakugou’s chest, not pushing now, just holding on. He felt Bakugou’s heartbeat under his palms, fast and uneven. Like Bakugou was the one dying.

Bakugou exhaled hard, shoulders dropping in visible relief, then whipped his head away, pretending he hadn’t been terrified.

Mina stepped forward with a little grin, voice teasing, “Boss, if you keep glaring like that, Midoriya is gonna think you’re the villain.”

Bakugou glared, heat rising visibly in his expression. “Shut up. He shouldn’t be out here in the first place.”

Kaminari smirked. “Such a rare thing to see you like this.”

Bakugou stiffened, realizing Midoriya was still clutching his coat. He gently pried Midoriya’s fingers loose.

“It’s just” Bakugou muttered, eyes flicking away as his voice dropped to a low growl. “I’m responsible for what happens in my territory. I’m not letting someone die on my watch. That’s all.”

Bakugou stood, still keeping one hand on Midoriya’s back as if the boy might vanish if he let go.

“Mina, Kirishima, finish cleaning this up,” Bakugou ordered, voice sharp again, but only to hide the fear still rattling his ribs. “Make sure none of those bastards even think about waking up unsupervised.”

Kirishima grinned, saluting playfully. “Roger that, Boss.”

Bakugou turned back to Midoriya, eyes softening instantly.

“Can you walk?” he asked.

Midoriya tried, he really did. He planted his trembling hands against the cold, wet stone of the courtyard, feeling the slickness under his fingers. He pushed, willing his legs to cooperate, but his knees wobbled violently, like they weren’t his own. Every step forward was a battle against gravity, against weakness, against the exhaustion that wrapped around his body like heavy chains.

His breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, each inhale sharp and stabbing through his chest. The muscles in his legs screamed in protest, quivering under his own weight. He stumbled once, almost collapsing, and his arms shook from the effort of holding himself upright.

Then the world tilted violently, a wave of dizziness washing over him. His legs buckled completely. His chest constricted, lungs burning like they were filled with fire instead of air. He barely managed to catch himself with one trembling hand against the stone, but it was no use.

Just before he could fall fully, a pair of strong, sure hands wrapped around him, lifting him in an instant. The warmth and pressure of Bakugou’s arms around his torso grounded him, both physically and, somehow, mentally.

Bakugou didn’t hesitate. He shifted his grip, slipping one arm under Midoriya’s knees and the other around his back. Without a word, he lifted him fully into a bridal carry, holding him close. Midoriya’s breath hitched, so close, so warm, and impossibly safe despite the tension coiled in Bakugou’s arms.

The team paused for a fraction of a second, watching the scene unfold. Kirishima’s grin softened, eyes sparkling, while Mina twirled her knife absentmindedly but smiled knowingly. Kaminari’s lips curved in amusement, shaking his head. None of them said a word, they simply exchanged looks, understanding the silent weight of the moment.

As Bakugou strode through the wet courtyard, Midoriya could feel every movement: the taut muscles in Bakugou’s arms, the subtle sway of his balance as he avoided puddles, the firm pressure keeping him secure. Each step sent a jolt through Midoriya’s body, and his chest tightened, not from pain, but from the strange swell of emotion he couldn’t name.

Every step was calculated to keep Midoriya safe, even as Bakugou’s own body was tense from the adrenaline of the fight.

Inside the mansion, the hallways seemed impossibly long. Midoriya’s head rested against Bakugou’s chest. His hands fidgeted against Bakugou’s coat, unsure whether to cling, let go, or simply remain still.

At last, they reached Midoriya’s room. Bakugou eased him down onto the bed with careful precision, kneeling beside him to check that he was comfortable. Midoriya’s fingers curled in the blanket, still trembling slightly.

Bakugou’s amber eyes softened, just a fraction, just enough for Midoriya to catch the difference. “Rest. Stay here,” he said, voice quieter now, the tension in it fraying just a little.

Midoriya hesitated, then swallowed the lump in his throat. His voice was barely a whisper, strained and vulnerable: “How… how do I trust you? How can I believe you won’t do that to me…? What if I… do something wrong?”

Bakugou’s jaw clenched, his gaze hardening for a moment as if he wanted to snap at the question. Then, slowly, he exhaled, a low, deliberate sound, and his voice shifted, rough but sincere, carrying a weight Midoriya had never heard before.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he said, leaning closer, voice rough but steady. “I… I’m not like them. You made it here. Alive. That’s proof enough for now. You’re not the type to do something stupid… to betray me. Deep down, I can tell you’re probably one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. So, it would never happen .”

Midoriya’s eyes widened, unsure whether to cry or just dissolve into relief. The sincerity in Bakugou’s words, the raw intensity of his promise, resonated deeper than he expected.

Bakugou added, softer, almost inaudible, “I’ll keep you safe. That’s my job… mine. Nobody else can.”

Midoriya’s chest tightened again, but this time it wasn’t fear. It was something else, admiration, gratitude, and a tiny flicker of trust, fragile but growing. He nodded slowly, voice quivering: “O-okay… I’ll try to… trust you.”

Bakugou stared at him for a long moment, eyes searching his face like he was trying to read every unspoken thought.

“Why did you leave your room?” he asked.

Midoriya froze, fingers curling in the blanket as he searched for words.

“I just…” His voice wavered, fragile. “I wanted to… see the world outside. To feel it,  the wind, the sky, people… life. Because… who knows, with my condition right now, it wouldn’t be weird if I don’t have much longer time left.”

He swallowed hard, throat tight, eyes flicking toward the window as if the moonlight could somehow answer him.

“I just wanted to… live, even a little. To enjoy it  before it’s too late.”

Bakugou’s jaw clenched, his amber eyes narrowing as he looked at Midoriya. For a moment, the fire and rage that usually defined him softened, replaced by something heavier, a mix of regret, concern, and… guilt.

“You… you think I’ve been keeping you locked up like a damn prisoner, huh?” he muttered, voice rough, almost strangled.

Midoriya looked down, fingers fidgeting with the blanket, unable to meet his eyes.

“You… kind of did,” he admitted softly. “I mean… I understand why. You wanted to keep me safe. But… I can’t just… stay here forever. Not when I might not have forever to begin with.”

Bakugou’s shoulders dropped slightly, and he ran a hand through his spiky hair, something unusual in its hesitation. He crouched closer to the bed, hands resting on his knees.

“Dammit…” he muttered, low enough that only Midoriya could hear. “I didn’t think about that. About… how it feels for you. Thought keeping you inside was enough.”

A pause. Then, Bakugou’s gaze sharpened again, fierce but tender. “Tell me… if I said I could bring you out. If I said I could show you the outside world… where would you want to go?”

Midoriya blinked, heart hammering. The thought of leaving the mansion, of feeling the wind on his face, the sun on his skin, even for a little while… it felt like breathing after being underwater too long.

“I… I’d want to see everything,” he whispered, voice trembling. “Even the small things. Streets, parks, the people… I just want to live. Really live.”

Bakugou’s amber eyes softened, and he leaned closer, voice low, deliberate, carrying the weight of someone who had never allowed himself to show vulnerability.

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” he said, every word like a promise. “No one’s gonna stop you. I’ll make sure of it. And don’t worry… I’ll be right there.”

Midoriya’s chest tightened, eyes watering slightly. He wanted to reach out, to touch that certainty, to anchor himself to it.

“Okay…” he whispered, almost too quiet to hear. “I… I want to trust you.”

Bakugou’s jaw set, not with anger, but with a protective determination that made it impossible to doubt him. “Then you do. That’s all I need. You just… trust me.”

For the first time in weeks, Midoriya felt a spark of hope. And for Bakugou, watching the boy cling to that fragile trust, a silent promise anchored itself deep in his chest, he would not let it break.

Chapter Text

Bakugou didn’t sleep that night.

He stood outside Midoriya’s door long after the boy had drifted into a restless sleep, his breathing finally steady. The moonlight filtered through the hallway windows, casting fractured shadows over Bakugou’s fists, still stained with someone else’s blood.

He hated the feeling in his chest.

He could take down traitors, run entire districts, destroy anyone who threatened his people…
But keeping one fragile boy alive felt harder than any war he had ever fought.

Bakugou exhaled sharply and turned away from the door.

He had made a promise.
And Bakugou Katsuki didn’t break promises.

The next morning, the squad gathered in the strategy room, maps, weapons racks, holo-screens glowing with security routes. But this time, they weren’t here to plan a raid or interrogation.

Bakugou stood at the head of the table… frowning. Arms crossed. Shoulders tense. Like he was preparing to admit the most humiliating truth of his life.

“O-kay…” Kirishima dragged out, glancing at everyone. “If you called us this early, it must be serious.”

Bakugou glared. He cleared his throat. Once. Twice. Still couldn’t find the damn words.

Mina leaned forward with a sly smirk. “Spit it out, Boss. Did someone make you blush again?”

Bakugou’s eye twitched. “One more word, Pinky, and I’ll bury you.”

Mina only winked.

Bakugou raked a hand through his hair, then finally ground the words out: “I’m… taking that nerd outside.”

Kaminari blinked exaggeratedly.
Kirishima froze, halfway through sipping his protein shake.
Mina let out a dramatic gasp.

Sero’s jaw dropped, “Hold up, Boss is taking someone outside?” His grin stretched wide.

Uraraka’s eyes sparkled, clasping her hands together. “Awww, that’s so sweet! “

“Like… a date?” Kaminari grinned, wiggling his eyebrows.

Todoroki blinked twice, slow and confused. “I don’t understand. Why would this be a date?” he asked, monotone.

Bakugou’s palm slammed onto the table so hard it rattled like the building might collapse. “It’s NOT a damn DATE!” he roared.

The room fell silent. Everyone stared.

Bakugou’s chest heaved and then his voice dropped into a frantic, too-honest growl:

“I’m not good at this. I just, I’m trying to not screw this up, alright? I want him to” He cut himself off, teeth gritted like he was swallowing dynamite. “…be happy. Even if it’s just once.”

“Plus” Bakugou muttered, voice low but uncharacteristically shaky,

“He said he wants to see the world as much as he can. He said it’s not weird if he doesn’t have much time left with the condition he has.”

Sero, unusually quiet, leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Boss…” His brows pulled together. “I don’t get it.”

Bakugou glanced at him, guarded.

Sero continued, tone serious for once, “Why does he talk like he’s… running out of time? Like he expects to die?” His throat bobbed. “What’s really wrong with him? I thought he just had weak lungs.”

Bakugou’s jaw clenched. He looked away, staring at the floor like it was easier than facing their eyes.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “His lungs are weak. Born that way. The doctors said if he pushes too far… if he overuses his lungs or gets caught in another attack like earlier…” His voice dropped, rough and unwilling.

“…it could lead to something worse.”

“Maybe that’s why he feels like he doesn’t have much time left. Like every breath could be his last if he screws up.”

He exhaled shakily. “Maybe that’s why he wants to live as much as he can. Right now.”

Sero’s shoulders sagged, realization sinking deep. “…Damn.”

Kirishima nodded firmly. “Then we make this outing perfect. No mistakes.”

Uraraka’s eyes sparkled as she leaned forward, voice bright with excitement. “I have an idea! What if we take him somewhere quiet… away from the city? Somewhere with open air, mountains, rivers… maybe a small countryside town? Fresh air, nature… he can breathe, see the sky, and feel the wind without all the chaos.”

Bakugou’s jaw tightened, but the edge in his expression softened, just a fraction. “…Hmph. Away from the city, huh? I guess that makes sense. Less people, less chance of… trouble.”

Sero nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, we can take a car, drive him there. Minimal strain, maximum scenery. Rivers, hills, open fields… it’ll be peaceful. He can walk a little, sit by the water, maybe even see animals.”

Kirishima grinned, enthusiasm practically radiating. “And we can plan little stops along the way! Small villages, scenic overlooks, maybe even a farm with cute animals. Stuff he’d probably never get to experience normally.”

Todoroki, ever calm and precise, added, “We need to consider the terrain. Mountains, rivers… everything should be accessible. No sudden climbs or dangerous paths. Safety first. We can map it out, plan rest stops, and have contingencies if he gets tired or the weather changes.”

Mina twirled a strand of her hair, smirking. “I can scout the area ahead of time, make sure there’s nothing suspicious. And we can bring snacks, local treats from the countryside. Something fun, simple, and safe.”

Bakugou scoffed, voice sharp but tinged with disbelief. “Huh… I never thought you guys could be… sometimes clever. All this time, you’re idiots, but… damn, maybe not all the time.”

Sero leaned back, smirking, unbothered. “If we’re idiots, Boss… you’d never take us to work with you.”

Bakugou blinked, amber eyes narrowing at him, but there was a flicker of reluctant respect.  He straightened his posture, amber eyes sharp as knives. “Fine. I’ll leave it to you guys for the planning. I want this settled by tonight. Tomorrow, we depart.”

He slammed a fist lightly on the table, punctuating the urgency. “And Todoroki… I need you to choose the best men to guard this mansion while we’re gone. Pick the ones you trust the most. No screw-ups. If anything happens here while we’re out, it’s on you.”

Todoroki inclined his head slightly, expression calm but resolute. “Understood. I’ll select the most capable men, ensure security protocols are reinforced, and coordinate shifts. The mansion will be secure.”

Bakugou’s gaze shifted around the table, lingering on each squad member. “As for the rest of you… don’t just plan this ‘outing.’ Think about every damn detail. Roads, rest stops, food, shelter, medical kits, first aid. He’s fragile.”

Uraraka clapped her hands together excitedly. “Don’t worry, Boss! I already have a few spots in mind, and we can map a route that’s scenic but easy for him to handle. Mountains, rivers, open fields… it’ll be perfect for him to enjoy without overexerting himself.”

Bakugou exhaled sharply, the tension in his shoulders slightly easing, though his expression remained stern. “Good. I’ll trust you to make sure he comes back in one piece. Settle everything tonight. I don’t want excuses tomorrow.”

Uraraka’s eyes gleamed with determination. “We’ll make sure it’s perfect, Boss. He’ll have the best day ever.”

Bakugou didn’t waste time after the meeting.

The moment he left the strategy room, his boots echoed sharply through the hallway as he headed straight for Midoriya’s room. His chest felt tight again, that annoying pressure he refused to name. He stopped once in front of the door, hand hovering over the handle.

For someone who ruled an entire city’s shadows… this shouldn’t have been so damn hard.

He knocked once.

Midoriya stirred inside. “C-come in…?”

Bakugou pushed the door open.

Midoriya was sitting up on the bed, blanket around his shoulders, the early evening light turning his curls a soft green-gold. He looked smaller than he had any right to be in this massive room.

Bakugou shut the door behind him. “…We need to talk.”

Midoriya tensed slightly. “D-Did I… do something wrong?”

Bakugou scowled. “Stop assuming that.”

He walked closer, arms crossing automatically. “…You said you wanted to see the world.”

Midoriya blinked. “…Y-Yeah?”

Bakugou stared at the wall instead of at him. “…We’re going tomorrow.”

For a second, the room was completely silent.

Midoriya didn’t process it right away.

“…Going?” he echoed softly.

Bakugou finally looked at him. “Out of the city. Countryside. Don’t worry, we already have a perfect plan for this trip.” 

Midoriya’s breath caught.

“…You’re… serious?”

Bakugou clicked his tongue. “I don’t joke about this kind of thing.”

Midoriya’s hands slowly tightened in the blanket. His lips trembled just a little.

“You… you don’t have to. I know you guys probably have other important things to do and I’m just… a burden and”

Bakugou snapped, stepping closer. “You’re not a burden.”

Midoriya froze.

Bakugou gritted his teeth like the words physically hurt to say. “You want to live? Then live. I gave my word.”

Midoriya’s eyes filled instantly.

Not loud sobbing.
Not dramatic crying.

It started with a sharp, uneven breath he couldn’t quite control. His lashes trembled. He blinked once, twice like he was trying to force the feeling back down where it belonged. His lips parted slightly, a quiet sound slipping out that wasn’t quite a sob, not quite a gasp.

His hands tightened in the blanket without him realizing.

Then the tears came.

They didn’t fall fast.

They slid slowly, silently, warm trails tracking down the soft curve of his cheeks. He didn’t cover his face. Didn’t turn away. He just sat there, eyes wide and shining, like he was afraid that if he moved even an inch, this fragile moment would shatter.

Bakugou saw it all.

“ I—I don’t even know how to thank you.”

Bakugou panicked internally.

“Tch, don’t cry like that,” he muttered, awkwardly turning his head. “It’s annoying.”

Midoriya wiped his eyes quickly, laughing softly through the tears. “I’ve… I’ve never really gone anywhere before. I always stayed close to home.”

 “…Then tomorrow will be your first real trip.”

_______________________________________________________________

The mansion was unusually lively at dawn. Cars lined the front gates. Supplies were being loaded. Medical kits. Oxygen tanks. Extra blankets. Food packed with obsessive precision.

Midoriya stepped out of his room slowly, wearing fresh clothes Uraraka had picked out for him, soft layers, warm but light, easy to breathe in.

At the bottom of the stairs, the front gates stood wide open.

And everyone was there.

Kirishima was at the back of one of the black SUVs, effortlessly hoisting heavy bags like they weighed nothing, muscles flexing as he laughed loudly. “Man, we are OVER-prepared! This is gonna be awesome!”

Mina stood on the hood of another car, dramatically holding two snack bags high in the air like trophies. “We take both! No arguing! Sweet AND spicy!”

Sero was looping thick securing straps around the baggage racks with practiced ease, taping the last one tight before peer­ing over at Mina. “You’re gonna give the kid a sugar crash two minutes into the trip.”

Kaminari leaned lazily against the open driver’s side door, sunglasses on way too early in the morning, sipping from a canned drink.

Todoroki stood slightly apart, calm and focused, quietly checking weapons, radios, and emergency kits with precise care. Nothing about his movements was rushed. Every placement had intention.

And Uraraka, she was bouncing on her heels near the front steps, hands clasped tightly in front of her chest like she might actually explode if the trip didn’t start soon.  “He’s gonna love this,” she whispered excitedly to no one in particular.

Then, Bakugou stepped into view. Black jacket already on. Gloves secured. Expression stern, unreadable. He looked like this was just another mission. But his eyes lifted instantly straight to Midoriya. Their gazes locked. 

“…You ready?” he called out. The words were simple. But the meaning behind them was enormous.

Midoriya swallowed. His fingers curled tightly into the fabric of his shirt as excitement and fear tangled together inside his chest.

“…I think so.”

Bakugou walked toward him, boots steady against the stone. He stopped directly in front of Midoriya and held out a familiar jacket.

“Put this on. It’s colder outside the city.”

Midoriya took it like it might disappear if he wasn’t careful. His fingers brushed Bakugou’s for just a second. “…Thank you,” Midoriya whispered.

They headed toward the car together. 

He opened the door for Midoriya himself. Midoriya paused before getting in. He looked back at the mansion. At the walls that once felt like a prison… and somehow became a place of safety. His chest swelled with something bittersweet.

Bakugou noticed the way his shoulders stiffened.

“…You good?” he asked quietly.

Midoriya nodded after a second. “…Yeah. Just… taking it in.”

Bakugou didn’t rush him. Behind them, the others were already moving into position.

Sero slid into the driver’s seat, one arm resting lazily on the wheel as he checked the mirrors with uncharacteristic focus. Todoroki took the front passenger seat, calm and alert, eyes already scanning the surroundings through the windshield like a silent sentry. He adjusted the radio, the navigation screen glowing softly in front of him.

Uraraka climbed into the back seat first, sliding in by the window and immediately turning to Midoriya with a gentle smile. “Come sit here, Midoriya! The view will be really nice from this side.”

Midoriya hesitated a second, then carefully lowered himself into the seat beside her. His movements were slow. Deliberate. A little unsure. The door shut softly beside him.

Bakugou got in last, taking the seat on Midoriya’s other side. The space closed in, not tight, not overwhelming but close enough that their shoulders almost brushed.

Midoriya’s heart skipped.

Uraraka glanced between them with a knowing grin and buckled her seatbelt.  “This is officially the safest car in the entire city,” she announced.

Sero snorted. “Yeah. Because if anyone even breathes wrong near Midoriya, Bakugou’s gonna explode them.”

Bakugou clicked his tongue. “Drive before I decide to.”

Bakugou’s car rolled forward first. Slow. Steady. Controlled. Sero eased onto the road with careful precision, giving Bakugou’s SUV a respectful amount of space as they cleared the gates and turned onto the open highway beyond the mansion walls.

The second car followed.

Kirishima was in the driver’s seat, both hands on the wheel like he’d been waiting his entire life for this exact moment.

“Alright! Operation: Follow-the-Angry-Blond is officially underway!”

Mina laughed from the front passenger seat. “That might be the most terrifying mission name you could’ve chosen.”

Kaminari sprawled comfortably in the back, kicking his feet up. “If we lose them, I’m blaming your enthusiasm.”

Kirishima grinned in the mirror. “Relax! I’ve got this.”

The vibration of the road hummed softly beneath the tires.

Midoriya sat quietly between Uraraka and Bakugou, hands folded in his lap, eyes glued to the window. The city slowly pulled away behind them, the tall buildings shrinking, the noise fading, the air outside growing visibly clearer.

“…The sky feels different,” he murmured after a while.

Uraraka smiled softly. “Yeah. It always does once you leave the city.”

From the front seat, Sero glanced at the mirror. “Second car’s still with us. Kirishima’s keeping a nice steady pace.”

Todoroki nodded. “Good. This road is usually calm in the mornings.”

The car moved steadily along the widening road, the rhythm of the tires against the pavement soft and even. The city had thinned into stretches of quiet highway, the noise replaced by wind and distant birds.

Uraraka shifted slightly in her seat.

She’d been watching Midoriya out of the corner of her eye for a while now, how his gaze never stayed still, how wonder kept flickering across his face like he was afraid the world outside might vanish if he blinked too long.

“…Hey, Midoriya?” she said gently.

He turned toward her at once. “Y-Yes?”

She smiled, warmly. “What was it like… before you came here?”

Midoriya blinked, clearly not expecting the question. His fingers curled slightly in his lap. “…Before?”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I was just… curious.”

There was no pressure in her voice. Just interest. Midoriya hesitated, eyes drifting back to the window as if searching for the right place to begin. “…I… I lost my mom when I was sixteen,” he said quietly, voice barely above the hum of the tires. “Since I was underage, I had to move into a house that the community set me up in… It wasn’t bad, exactly. Just… lonely. I didn’t really go anywhere, didn’t really see much outside of school or… the streets nearby.”

Uraraka nodded slowly, her expression softening. “That… sounds really hard. I can’t imagine what it must’ve been like.”

He took a quiet breath, eyes staring out the window as the trees blurred past. “…After I turned eighteen, since I was no longer underage, I had to live on my own. I started working full-time at a café… I couldn’t afford to continue my studies, and I wasn’t clever enough to get a sponsorship or scholarship. It was the only choice I had. So… my life became… work. That’s the only job I can handle with my condition right now. I don’t have friends to hang out with… or anyone who really cares about me… or… loves me.”

He let out a small, almost bitter laugh, but it quickly faded into silence. “…That’s basically my life.”

Uraraka’s hand instinctively went to rest on his arm, soft and warm. “Midoriya… that sounds really lonely. I’m… I’m glad you’re letting us be part of it now. You don’t have to go through life alone anymore.”

Midoriya’s fingers tightened slightly around the fabric of his jacket, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “…I… I don’t really know how to do this… having people care about me. It’s… new.”

Sero, who had been quietly adjusting his seatbelt, leaned over with a grin. “Hey, don’t overthink it, man. You’ve got us now. Think of it like… upgrading from solo mode to a full team party. We might be a little chaotic, but we’re… you know… harmless.”

Midoriya blinked, a small laugh escaping him. “…Team party, huh? I… I think I can try that.”

Todoroki, sitting in the front passenger seat, glanced back at him through the rearview mirror. His voice was calm, even, but carried an unmistakable note of sincerity. “You don’t have to try to handle everything alone anymore. If there’s something you need… or if you’re unsure… you can tell us. We’ll figure it out together.”

Midoriya looked between the two of them, startled by the unexpected care. “…Y-You… really mean that?”

Sero leaned back in his seat, smirking. “Of course we mean it! You’re stuck with us now. Sorry, man. No refunds.”

Todoroki’s eyes softened, just a fraction, and he added quietly, “If you want, I can show you some routes I know in the countryside. There are quiet spots… rivers… places where you can rest and still see the sky.”

Midoriya’s lips parted slightly, eyes shining. “You… you’d do that for me?”

Todoroki inclined his head once. “Yes. Just… tell me if it’s too much. I’ll adjust.”

Midoriya felt warmth spread through his chest. “…I… I think… I’d like that.”

Uraraka smiled softly, squeezing his arm gently. Sero nudged him with a grin. “See? Easy. Already making friends.”

Bakugou, sitting beside him, remained silent, but his eyes flicked toward Midoriya, an amber gaze sharp yet strangely protective. The faintest edge of a smile tugged at his lips, though he’d never admit it out loud.

For the first time in a long while, the ride felt… lighter. The car hummed along the quiet highway, the countryside slowly approaching. Midoriya’s eyes flitted between the passing fields and the passengers beside him, still processing the warmth he was feeling.

From the second car, Kaminari’s voice crackled lightly over the radio. “Yo, Todoroki! You there? How’s the VIP looking? Don’t tell me he’s already crying or anything,”

Sero laughed, leaning slightly toward the radio. “Hey, easy there, Kaminari. He’s doing fine.”

Kaminari’s voice was playful, teasing. I just… gotta make sure our special guest doesn’t freak out in your fancy, serious car, Todoroki. You gotta interact! Don’t just sit there all stoic like some robot bodyguard.”

Todoroki’s calm voice responded, a slight edge of dry humor slipping through. “I’m not a robot. And I have been interacting. Making sure he’s comfortable. That counts as… interaction.”

Kaminari laughed loudly. “Oh, come on, that’s like the bare minimum! You need to talk to him. Like a person. Ask about what he likes, what he wants to see. Don’t just be Mr. Cool and Silent.”

Todoroki glanced at Midoriya, who was staring out the window with wide, curious eyes. “Midoriya… what do you want to see first? The river up ahead, or the little village on the side of the road? We can stop for either, depending on what you feel like.”

Midoriya blinked, surprised by the attention. “Uh… maybe the river first? I’ve never… really seen one properly.”

“Good choice,” Todoroki said softly. 

Sero grinned, glancing back at Midoriya. “See, I told you, you’re already making friends with the cold guy. He just doesn’t do it out loud. You’ll get used to it.”

The car rolled steadily along the highway, the river slowly coming into view, sparkling under the morning sun. Midoriya’s eyes widened, pressed to the glass, taking in the gentle current and the trees lining the banks.

Sero leaned back in his seat, grinning. “See that, man? Pretty awesome, huh?”

Midoriya let out a small laugh, the sound soft but genuine. “Yeah… it’s really… beautiful.”

The car rolled steadily along the highway, the river sparkling under the morning sun. Midoriya kept his eyes on the passing scenery, letting the gentle motion soothe him.

Sero glanced in the rearview mirror, smirking. “Hey, Boss… maybe say something to him! Even our Mr.Cool and Silent has a conversation with him”

Bakugou’s amber eyes snapped toward Sero, jaw tight. “…Shut up.”

Sero, hands still on the steering wheel,Sero flicked his eyes to the rearview mirror, meeting Midoriya’s reflection with a grin. “Our boss is always like this. He’s terrible at talking to people.”

He tilted his head slightly, still watching the road. “He may look like a pomeranian on the outside… but inside?” He let out a dramatic sigh. “Total softie.”

For a split second, the car froze. 

Midoriya blinked… and laughed, a soft, surprised sound escaping his lips.
Uraraka immediately covered her mouth, giggling.
Even Todoroki let out the faintest huff of laughter, eyes softening just a fraction.

Bakugou slowly turned his head toward Sero. “…What did you just say?”

Sero stiffened but still couldn’t hide his grin. “…P-Pomer—”

“I’M GONNA KILL YOU.”

Midoriya laughed harder this time, shoulders shaking, the fear in his chest finally easing into something warm and real.

Chapter Text

The SUV tires crunched along the gravel road, lined with wide green fields dotted with wildflowers. The mountains rose gently in the distance, their peaks shrouded in morning mist, and rivers meandered through the valleys, catching the sunlight like scattered jewels.

Midoriya, eyes wide, absorbing the vastness of the world outside. The city and its walls, the chaos and weight, all seemed impossibly far away now.

Uraraka squeezed his shoulder gently. “See? Told you it’d be nice. 

He nodded slowly, almost reverently. “It… really is.”

The SUV slowed as they approached the guesthouse, a modest, warm structure nestled among emerald paddy fields that swayed gently in the breeze. A clear river curved around the property, glinting in the morning sun, and a mountain loomed in the distance, majestic and calm.

“It’s… so beautiful,” Midoriya whispered, voice barely audible over the soft hum of the car. His hands curled lightly in his lap, gripping the fabric of his jacket like he might vanish if he let go.

Bakugou’s amber eyes flicked to him, sharp but attentive. He felt a pang of something he didn’t have a name for, an echo of longing he’d buried under years of control and violence. He hadn’t realized how starved he was for this… quiet. For a world that wasn’t shadowed by orders, threats, or blood. The rustle of the fields, the sunlight glinting off the river, the mountains standing still and unwavering, it was all so alien, so impossibly free.

Midoriya sat quietly, eyes glued to the passing scenery. The city slowly faded behind them, replaced by open fields, winding rivers, and distant mountains bathed in sunlight. The hum of the tires on the road was soft, steady, and comforting.

After a moment, he shifted slightly, glancing at Bakugou with hesitant curiosity. “…Uhm… Katsuki?”

Bakugou, focused on the road ahead, didn’t look at him. “…What?”

Midoriya’s small fingers fiddled with the edge of his jacket. “…Could… could you roll down the window? I… I want to feel the breeze.”

With a low grunt, Bakugou pressed the button, and the window beside Midoriya slowly descended. A warm, earthy breeze immediately swept through, brushing against Midoriya’s face and rustling his hair. He leaned forward slightly, letting it wash over him, eyes wide as they sparkled with uncontained wonder.

“I… I never thought I’d see anything like this,” he whispered, voice soft, almost reverent. “The mountains, the river… it’s like another world.”

Bakugou’s gaze softened imperceptibly. “…Yeah,” he muttered, though his voice was rough and distant. He turned his eyes to the horizon, watching the mountain bathe in sunlight, and felt an unfamiliar warmth rise in his chest. Years of running, fighting, and surviving had left him numb to beauty. But here, in this rare, unspoiled place… it reached him anyway.

The car pulled up to the guesthouse. Kirishima and the others were already unloading the supplies, laughter and chatter filling the air. Mina waved dramatically, holding a basket of freshly bought local snacks. 

Sero and Kaminari were checking the cars, ensuring everything was secure. Todoroki stood near the entrance, hands tucked into his coat, surveying the surroundings with practiced calm.

Midoriya hesitated at the door, taking a small step out. He inhaled deeply, eyes closing for a moment as if memorizing the scent of earth and river, the warmth of the sun on his skin.

Midoriya laughed softly, a sound that made Bakugou’s chest shift uncomfortably. “I… I feel like I can… breathe for the first time in forever.

Bakugou’s jaw tightened slightly, but he didn’t interrupt. The sound of Midoriya laughing softly, genuine, struck something deep inside him. He shifted his weight, his boots crunching softly against the gravel. For a moment, he just watched, the way Midoriya’s eyes closed, the sunlight painting his curls gold, the breeze teasing at the edges of his jacket.

“…It’s… really peaceful here,” Midoriya murmured, opening his eyes and glancing around. “I never thought… the world could feel like this.”

Bakugou’s amber eyes swept over the fields, the river, the mountains. He’d seen cities burn, alleys run red, faces twisted in fear or greed. He’d lived in darkness and chaos for as long as he could remember. But this… this quiet, the way the light spilled over the hills, the faint rustle of reeds in the wind… it felt like something he’d been missing, though he hadn’t known it.

They stood there a moment longer, the world wide and open, filled with soft light and gentle wind. Bakugou could feel the tension in his shoulders slowly uncoil, something he hadn’t realized he’d carried for years. And for once, he didn’t fight it.

Midoriya tilted his head toward him again, eyes shining. “Katsuki… thank you… for this.”

Bakugou’s chest tightened, and he forced a grunt. “…Don’t mention it,” he said, but inside, a small, unfamiliar warmth spread through him.

Uraraka twirled slightly, spinning on the soft earth. “Come on, Midoriya! Look over here! There’s a little path by the river. We can walk along it and see some fish!”

Midoriya followed her, hesitating only slightly, until his fingers brushed against Bakugou’s arm as he passed. “…Can… can I?” he asked softly.

Bakugou’s amber eyes flicked toward him. “…Yeah. Don’t fall in.”

The boy smiled sheepishly and carefully stepped forward, feeling the earth soft beneath his feet. The group laughed softly as they made their way toward the riverbank. Sero, always ready for mischief, pointed to a small cluster of ducks floating near the edge. “Hey, Midoriya , bet you can’t get close without scaring them away!”

Midoriya laughed quietly, crouching gently at the edge and holding out a hand. The ducks quacked and paddled slowly toward him, seemingly unafraid. “I… I think they like me,” he whispered, eyes shining.

Kirishima and Mina were already sprinting across the fields, racing to see who could reach a small cluster of trees first. Mina yelled dramatically, “Winner gets the first taste of snacks!”

Kirishima laughed, shouting back, “No way! I’ve been training my legs for this exact moment!”

Kaminari, sitting on a nearby fence, waved lazily. “You guys are ridiculous.”

Midoriya and Uraraka exchanged amused glances. “They’re… really competitive, huh?” Uraraka whispered, giggling.

Midoriya nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “…It’s… kind of fun to watch.”

Sero, never missing an opportunity for mischief, picked up a stick and jogged alongside the duo, pretending it was a javelin. “On your marks… get set… BAM!” He gently tapped Mina on the shoulder as he ran past, laughing at her exaggerated stumble.

Mina spun dramatically, pointing at him. “Traitor! You’re trying to sabotage me!”

Kaminari, lounging on a rock nearby, raised an eyebrow and called out lazily, “Honestly, you guys are ridiculous. This is literally a flat field. Just walk there and eat your snacks.”

Kirishima glanced over his shoulder mid-sprint. “Hey! Where’s the fun in that?! You gotta put your legs to the test! Speed, stamina, spirit!”

Bakugou’s amber eyes flicked toward the scene, arms crossed, scowling but there was a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth, barely noticeable. “…Idiots,” he muttered under his breath, though his gaze lingered on the ridiculous spectacle.

Midoriya, still in the middle with Uraraka, let out a quiet laugh. “They’re like kids,” he whispered.

Uraraka nudged him. “Exactly! That’s the point, today’s all about fun. No rules, no stress, just… being here.”

Mina, nearly at the cluster of trees, shouted over her shoulder, “You’re not gonna beat me, Kirishima! I have the snack power!”

Kirishima dug his heels in, grin wide, “You’re underestimating my training regimen!” He stretched out a hand, almost close enough to tag her, but Mina spun away at the last second, laughing hysterically.

Midoriya leaned a little forward from his seat. “It… it’s nice seeing people just… laugh like this,” he murmured.

Bakugou’s gaze softened slightly, though he didn’t look at Midoriya. “…Yeah… seeing them like this… it’s different,” he muttered, a little tight in his chest. Years of shadows, threats, and strict control had never allowed him this, just… chaos and joy without consequence. He let his eyes follow the sprinting figures, feeling a strange lightness he hadn’t experienced in years.

By the time Mina and Kirishima collapsed under the shade of the trees, panting and giggling, Sero plopped dramatically on the ground beside them.

Uraraka laughed softly, glancing at Midoriya. “It’s fun just seeing them like this, isn’t it?”

Midoriya nodded, eyes bright. “…Yeah… it’s nice. They’re… really happy.”

Even Bakugou, standing a little apart with his arms crossed, let a small, almost imperceptible smirk tug at his lips. He didn’t say anything, but for the first time in a long while, he felt… relaxed. The fields, the breeze, the laughter, it was different. Peaceful. Somehow, it hit him in a way the city never could.

_____________________________________________________________

The sun climbed higher, warm and golden, casting long shadows across the paddy fields. After a short walk from the guesthouse, the squad reached a bend in the river where the water widened into a gentle, shallow pool. Stones lined the bank, and the soft grass offered a perfect spot for sitting.

Kirishima spread a large picnic blanket with exaggerated care, placing baskets of snacks, sandwiches, and fresh fruit neatly on top. Mina immediately dove in, pulling out a small box of sweets. “Who’s ready for a sugar overload?” she asked with a theatrical flourish.

Sero leaned back on his elbows, watching the river ripple in the breeze. “Honestly, this is perfect. Not too hot, not too crowded… just peaceful.”

Uraraka flopped down beside Midoriya, patting the blanket. “Come on, sit here! You’ve got the best view of the water.”

Midoriya lowered himself carefully onto the grass, the blanket rustling beneath him. He inhaled deeply, the scent of grass and river filling his lungs. Bakugou stood nearby, arms crossed, watching everyone with a faintly guarded expression. But even he seemed softened by the gentle sunlight on the water, the way the trees bent with the breeze, and the occasional laugh from the group.

After a moment of quiet, Midoriya tilted his head, curiosity bubbling up. “…Can I… ask something?”

Bakugou’s brow shot up, and he glanced at him. “…What?”

Midoriya fidgeted slightly with the edge of his jacket. “…How… how did all of you meet each other? And how did you guys end up working together?” His voice was soft, careful, as if stepping into unknown territory.

Uraraka smiled warmly. “Well… we’ve all kind of known each other for a while. We were friends, allies… part of the same group. And we all… trust Bakugou.” She glanced at Bakugou, who looked away, scowling. “…Even if he doesn’t always make it easy.”

Sero leaned forward lazily, resting his chin on his hand. “Yeah. Boss is… well, he’s scary, okay. But he’s loyal to the people he cares about. And once you earn that respect, you stick with him. It’s that simple.”

Kirishima nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly! I mean, I met Boss back when we were in the same… let’s call it ‘fieldwork.’ He saved me more times than I can count. And… well, you just don’t forget that kind of thing.”

Mina leaned back, chewing on a small pastry.  “I follow him because you know he won’t let anyone you care about get hurt.” She winked at Bakugou, who blinked, clearly unamused but secretly… maybe pleased.

Todoroki spoke last, calm and precise, voice carrying over the gentle lapping of the river. “I’ve known him since we were children. My family worked with his… closely. I grew up seeing his strength, his determination, and the way he protects those he cares about. Because of that, I trust him. And because I trust him, I’ve chosen to be loyal. That’s enough reason for me.”

Midoriya nodded, absorbing each story, then glanced at Kaminari. “And… what about you?”

Kaminari shifted slightly on the blanket, scratching the back of his head with an easy grin. “Me? Well… I met him during one of his… missions, I guess you could say. He needed backup, and I… helped. Kinda got thrown into the chaos with him. And, well… I realized he doesn’t leave people behind. Ever. So… I stuck around.”

Midoriya nodded slowly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I think… I think that’s really amazing. You all really believe in him.”

Kirishima, sprawled out on the blanket beside Mina, chuckled. “Believing in him’s easy. Surviving him… that’s the challenge!”

Mina giggled, rolling her eyes. “He’s scary sometimes, but he’s also… dependable. That counts for a lot.”

Sero leaned forward, picking up a small stone and tossing it into the river, watching it skip twice. “Honestly, he can be a pain in the ass, but he’s got a good heart. That’s why we stick around.”

Bakugou, standing slightly apart, muttered under his breath, “…Loudmouth.” But his amber eyes flicked to Kaminari, a faint acknowledgement there that he appreciated the loyalty.

Midoriya turned to Bakugou, a shy smile on his face. “And… you… do you… think about all that? About how… you brought everyone together?”

Bakugou scowled, looking away, arms crossed, though his voice was quieter than usual. “…Maybe. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna talk about it.”

Uraraka smiled warmly. “Yeah… that’s Bakugou for you. Tough on the outside, but… he’s worth it.”

Midoriya nodded, feeling the warmth of the river breeze mix with the soft laughter of the group. For the first time in a long while, he felt like he could truly belong somewhere.

The afternoon passed in lighthearted chatter. They skipped stones on the river, teased each other about who could eat the most sweets, and shared stories of past missions, some daring, some ridiculous.

The laughter faded slightly as Sero kicked off his shoes, wading carefully into the shallow edge of the river. “Alright, who’s brave enough to join me?” he called, splashing water lightly with his hand.

Kirishima grinned, standing up immediately. “You mean me? Watch and learn!” He stepped confidently into the cool water, letting it ripple around his boots. Mina, never one to be outdone, followed suit with a dramatic splash that sent water flying toward Sero.

Midoriya stopped right at the edge of the river, the rippling water so close it almost touched his toes. He stared at it like it was something far bigger than it seemed. The others’ laughter echoed around him, but his hands trembled slightly as he fiddled with his sleeves.

He looked up at Bakugou, voice barely above a whisper. “…K‑Katsuki… do you think I can? I’m… I’m not sure if I should…”

Those wide, nervous green eyes locked onto Bakugou’s. Eyes asking for safety. Permission. Trust.

Bakugou clicked his tongue, stepping closer until his shadow overlapped Midoriya’s. His voice was rough, but not unkind.

“Tch. Quit overthinking.”

He reached out, a hand hovering stiffly near Midoriya’s back, close enough to be felt, not close enough to be noticed by the others.

“You won’t drown standing in knee‑deep water, nerd.”  A beat. His gaze sharpened with something protective, almost fierce.

 “Just get in. I’m right here. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Midoriya swallowed, taking a deep breath, then gingerly stepped in. The water swirled around his legs, sending a shiver up his spine. He glanced at Bakugou, who was watching him like a hawk, jaw tight but stance relaxed, pretending not to care, yet clearly alert.

“See?” Bakugou said, smirking faintly. “…Told you. Easy.”

Uraraka, Mina, and Kirishima exchanged mischievous glances. Mina whispered to Kirishima and Sero, who exchanged wicked grins. With a coordinated shove, the three pushed Bakugou from behind, just enough to splash him fully.

Bakugou yelped and splashed forward, but instead of falling, he waded fully into the river, standing chest-deep in the water. The group erupted into laughter, cheering at the rare sight of him completely in the river.

He glared at the trio, but the faint twitch of a smirk betrayed his amusement. “…Idiots.”

Todoroki, who had been quietly observing from the bank, stepped in smoothly, water barely reaching his thighs. He glanced at Midoriya with a small, encouraging nod. “…You’ll be fine. Just… move slowly,” he said calmly, his voice steady over the gentle ripple of the river.

Midoriya nodded, taking a deep breath, then stepped further in, water swirling around his waist now. “…It… it feels… amazing,” he whispered, spinning slowly to let the current brush past him.

The group spent the afternoon splashing each other, skipping stones, and laughing. Mina twirled dramatically, sending water flying toward Sero and Kaminari, who retaliated gleefully. Kirishima, ever competitive, challenged Todoroki to a splash duel, and Todoroki responded with calm, calculated arcs of water that sent Kirishima laughing and sputtering.

Bakugou stood slightly apart at first, arms crossed but when Kaminari and Sero snuck up to splash him, he yelped and lunged after them, water spraying in every direction. Midoriya couldn’t help but laugh as he dodged small splashes, feeling completely free and alive.

By the time the sun began to lean toward the horizon, the group collapsed along the riverbank, dripping, exhausted, and covered in water and laughter. Even Bakugou, chest-deep in the river and soaked, let a faint, begrudging smile show. For the first time in a long while, the chaos around him felt light, harmless, and… joyful.

Chapter Text

They stayed by the river longer than Midoriya expected.

Not talking much. Just existing.

The water moved lazily over smooth stones, the sound steady and calming. Midoriya sat on a flat rock near the edge, boots planted carefully in the dirt. He dipped his fingers into the cold water once, then pulled back with a small hiss. “Cold,” he murmured.

He sat like that for a while. Wind through the grass. Sunlight warming their backs. For a few precious minutes, Midoriya almost forgot the tightness that lived permanently in his chest.

Almost.
It started subtly.

A breath that didn’t quite fill properly.
A second that came faster than the first.

Midoriya frowned, resting a hand lightly against his sternum. He told himself it was nothing. Just the cool air. Just standing up too fast earlier.

He shifted his weight to rise and the dizziness hit. Not enough to knock him down. Enough to warn him. He paused, eyes closing briefly.

Bakugou noticed the pause immediately.

“…You good?” he asked, sharp without meaning to be.

“I think so,” Midoriya answered, a little too quickly.

Then his breathing hitched again, short, uneven this time. His shoulders lifted and dropped in shallow motions that didn’t seem to satisfy his lungs.

Bakugou stood up at once. Bakugou was in front of him now, crouching, close enough that Midoriya could see the tight line of worry in his jaw.

“Don’t push it,” Bakugou said more quietly. 

Midoriya nodded, focusing. In. Out.
But the air felt thin.

His fingers curled into the fabric of his jacket without him meaning to. His breaths grew quicker, chest working harder for less return.

Bakugou’s hand came to his back, firm, steady. Not gripping. Just there.

“Easy,” he muttered. “You got it.”

Midoriya slowed his breathing deliberately, copying the pace Bakugou set without even realizing he was doing it. In… out… in…

After a minute, the burning eased. Not gone. But manageable. Midoriya sagged slightly in relief.

Bakugou stayed where he was. “…You should’ve said something sooner,” he muttered.

“I didn’t want to ruin the moment,” Midoriya admitted quietly.

Bakugou’s eyes flicked to him. “Your lungs trying to shut down ruins the moment a lot more.”

Midoriya smiled weakly.

Bakugou didn’t smile back but his hand stayed on Midoriya’s back a second longer than necessary before he pulled away.

“Come on,” Bakugou said. “Let’s head back, you need to rest.”

He helped Midoriya to his feet, not lifting him, not carrying him. Just steadying him by the elbow until he was sure his legs were solid. Bakugou straightened once Midoriya was steady, sharp eyes already scanning the area. Then he turned his head sharply toward the others down the riverbank.

“We’re heading back,” he called out.

No explanation.
No argument allowed.

Kirishima looked up first. “Huh? Already?”

Bakugou shot him a look.

“Yeah, okay, yeah, got it,” Kirishima said quickly, holding up his hands.

Uraraka was already moving closer, her worry obvious. “Midoriya, are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’ll be fine after some rest,” Midoriya said, offering a small smile.

Todoroki didn’t ask questions. He just nodded once and turned back toward the path.

The walk back to the guesthouse was slower than before. Bakugou stayed beside Midoriya the entire time, not rushing him, not letting him fall behind either. When the path sloped upward, Bakugou drifted closer, close enough that his arm hovered near Midoriya’s without quite touching.

Just in case.

By the time they reached the wooden steps of the guesthouse, no one spoke. The inside of the guesthouse was cool and dim after the bright riverbank. Sunlight filtered through the paper windows in soft, muted lines across the tatami.

He guided Midoriya straight down the short hallway instead, sliding open the door to the small room that had been set aside for him earlier.

“Your room,” Bakugou said simply.

Midoriya blinked in mild surprise. “Oh.”

“Lie down,” Bakugou added.

Midoriya hesitated only a second before obeying. The moment his body met the futon, the last of his strength seemed to drain out of him. His chest still felt tight, not alarming, just heavy. Tired.

Bakugou grabbed a blanket from the corner and draped it over him with more care than force.

“There,” he muttered.

Midoriya blinked up at him. “You’re… surprisingly gentle today.”

Bakugou scowled. “Don’t make it weird.”

Midoriya smiled faintly but let his eyes close. Bakugou lingered by the doorway for a moment . He slid the door shut quietly and turned down the hallway. The living room was tense when he entered.

Kirishima was standing near the low table with his arms crossed. Sero leaned against the wall, unusually quiet. Kaminari sat on the floor beside Mina, fidgeting with his sleeve. Uraraka hovered near the window, eyes darting toward the hallway. Todoroki stood slightly apart from the others, watching Bakugou closely.

The moment Bakugou stepped in, every pair of eyes locked onto him.

No one spoke at first.

Then Kirishima broke the silence, voice low but worried.

“Is Midoriya gonna be okay, boss?”

“Yeah,” Bakugou answered shortly. “He’s resting now.”

Silence settled again. Bakugou’s eyes moved over each of them, Kirishima’s tense shoulders, Kaminari’s unease, Mina and Uraraka still hovering with worry, Todoroki’s silent watchfulness.

Then he said, more quietly,

“You guys didn’t come out here to stress yourselves sick.”

They blinked.

Then Bakugou exhaled and straightened. “You guys can rest too,” he said gruffly. “We only have this chance once in a while.”

Kirishima blinked.  “Boss…”

Bakugou looked away slightly. “Rest. Eat. Sleep properly. That’s an order. You earned the break.”

Mina’s eyes immediately went glassy. “You’re actually really sweet when you’re not yelling.”

Bakugou bristled. “Don’t push it.”

Kaminari grinned. “Too late, we’re emotionally moved.”

Bakugou scowled but he didn’t argue. Uraraka looked back toward the hallway one more time. “…If he needs anything”

“Then I’ll handle it,” Bakugou said.

Slowly, the tension in the room eased. Everyone began to scatter, Kirishima heading toward the porch, Sero and Kaminari toward the tatami area, Mina pulling Uraraka along with her. Todoroki remained still for a moment after the others dispersed, watching Bakugou with a look that was too observant for Bakugou’s comfort.

Bakugou crossed his arms. “What? Spit it out.”

Todoroki stepped closer. “You care about him.”

Bakugou clicked his tongue, eyes narrowing. “Of course I do. He’s my responsibility.”

“But it feels like more than that,” Todoroki replied simply.

Bakugou’s jaw tightened. “I don’t know what dumb narrative you’re creating in your head, but I’m not interested.”

Todoroki didn’t flinch. Instead, he looked toward the hallway where Midoriya rested. “When I was younger,” he said quietly, “I used to hate coming to your house.”

Bakugou blinked. “The hell does that have to do with anything?”

Todoroki’s gaze lowered for a moment, searching a memory that seemed to weigh more than he wanted to admit. “It was noisy. Your mother laughed easily. Your father talked too loud. You argued with both of them constantly.”

A small exhale.

Bakugou stared, thrown, unsure where this was going.

“My home was… silent. All the time. And the silence wasn’t calm. It was… dangerous.” His jaw tightened for just a breath. “I didn’t understand it back then, but when I visited you, even the chaos felt safer than the quiet I grew up in.”

“…Okay? Thanks for trauma dumping, I guess?” he muttered.

“Then you became the boss. And you changed. You shut everything off that made you feel like… that kid I used to visit. The one who lived in a home full of noise and warmth.”

Bakugou swallowed, irritation fading into something complicated.

“You had to bury everything that made you feel human,” Todoroki said, each word careful. “Warmth became a weakness. Attachment became a risk. If you cared too much, someone could use it against you.”

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed, defensive but less sure. “I had to.”

“I know,” Todoroki answered. “This world doesn’t let us be human. You built walls so high no one could reach you. You stopped trusting anyone to hold even a small piece of you.”

Bakugou didn’t deny it.

“But Midoriya…” Todoroki continued, gaze steady, “he looks at you like you’re still that kid. Like you’re someone worth talking to, not just someone to fear.”

Bakugou’s breath caught, sharp, quickly masked.

“He’s not scared of the way you shout,” Todoroki went on. “Because he understands what your anger is protecting. He sees the intention behind everything you do.”

He moved to pass Bakugou, pausing just at his shoulder.

“You don’t have to keep everyone out forever.” His tone softened, not gentle, true. “Let someone in while you still can.”

Then he walked away, leaving Bakugou standing alone in the quiet he had chosen for himself, realizing for the first time how cold it was. 

Bakugou stayed rooted to the spot long after Todoroki disappeared down the hall. His jaw was clenched so tight it ached. He hated how the words lingered. He hated how they made sense.

He hated that someone like Todoroki noticed any of that at all.

Eventually, he moved. Not because he wanted to but because he couldn’t sit with his own thoughts anymore. His feet led him down the hall quietly, almost on instinct.

_________________________________________________________

The evening settled over the guesthouse like a soft, warm blanket. The sun had dipped below the hills, leaving a sky painted in shades of amber and violet. Smoke from the small barbecue pit curled lazily into the air, carrying the scent of sizzling meat and vegetables.

Kirishima was already at the grill, tongs in hand, flipping skewers with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Careful! You don’t want to burn it!” he called over his shoulder to Kaminari, who was hovering a little too close, trying to help but mostly just talking.

Mina was perched on the edge of the porch, trying to thread vegetables onto skewers without stabbing her fingers, while Uraraka fussed over a small bowl of marinated meat. Todoroki stood slightly apart, quietly peeling corn and lining them neatly on a plate, glancing at the group with a faint, half-amused expression.

Bakugou appeared at the top of the porch steps, carrying a tray of drinks with his usual gruff efficiency. His eyes scanned the group, catching Midoriya leaning back against the railing, still pale but looking more like himself.

“Here,” Bakugou muttered, dropping the tray beside him. “Drink. Don’t spill it.”

Midoriya blinked up at him, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks,” he said softly.

The air was filled with the cheerful clatter of cooking and the occasional teasing shout. Kirishima laughed too loudly when Kaminari accidentally dropped a skewer. Mina giggled at the minor chaos, nudging Uraraka, who rolled her eyes but smiled. 

Sero leaned against the railing, grinning as he playfully argued with Kaminari about who was “the better grill assistant,” occasionally tossing a skewered veggie onto the plate from across the porch.

The sun had fully disappeared now, replaced by a blanket of stars above the hills. The air cooled, carrying the smell of smoke and grilled food. Midoriya took a deep breath, tasting the smoke and warmth and something softer, comfort.

Kirishima called out cheerfully, “Alright! Who wants the first skewer?”

Bakugou didn’t answer immediately. He looked toward Midoriya, still leaning on the railing, then shrugged. “Give to him first,” he muttered, tossing a skewer in Midoriya’s direction with a flick of his wrist.

“Thanks,” Midoriya said again, cheeks warming slightly as he caught it.

The group settled around the fire pit, plates clattering and conversations spilling over each other. Laughter bubbled more freely now, the earlier tension loosening with every passing moment. 

Bakugou shifted his weight slightly, jaw tightening. He glanced at Midoriya, green eyes catching the glow of the firelight.

Todoroki’s words echoed too clearly in his head.

He’s not scared of you.

Bakugou clicked his tongue softly, irritated at himself. 

“Hey… nerd,” he said, voice rougher than he intended, drawing Midoriya’s attention.

“Yes?” Midoriya answered, cheeks still faintly flushed from the warmth of the fire and the skewer exchange.

Bakugou hesitated, hands tightening briefly at his sides. “…Can I ask you something?”

Midoriya nodded, sensing the seriousness behind Bakugou’s usual gruff tone. “Of course.”

Bakugou’s eyes flicked away toward the fire, then back. “…Are you… still afraid of me?”

The words hung in the air. Midoriya blinked.

“Honestly… I think I’m no longer scared of you,” he said softly. “Why would I be? When you do all of this for me… I don’t know. I just had this gut feeling that you’re not a bad person.”

Bakugou’s jaw tightened. He looked away quickly, pretending to inspect the fire, but his chest felt heavier than it should.

“Other people would probably be freaking out in my place,” Midoriya continued, voice quiet but steady. “Yeah… because we never really know what the future holds. And usually, if you get caught by the mafia, I’d say it’s almost impossible to stay alive. But somehow… when I’m with you… instead of being unalive… I get to feel a new life.”

Bakugou’s fingers flexed at his sides. He didn’t know how to respond, not really. The words lingered in his chest, heavy and unrelenting.

“You… you actually mean that?” he asked finally, voice low, almost rough with something he couldn’t name.

Midoriya nodded, looking down at his hands for a moment before meeting Bakugou’s gaze again. “I do. I trust you. More than I’ve trusted anyone in a long time.”

Bakugou blinked. He opened his mouth, then closed it, jaw tight. “Tch… damn it,” he muttered, more to himself than to Midoriya. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to shake off the weight of it all, the vulnerability he wasn’t used to facing.

Midoriya shifted slightly closer, emboldened by the pause. “You don’t have to… you don’t have to be that scary boss all the time. I know you’re still… you. But the way you take care of everyone, even me, it shows who you really are.”

Bakugou looked away again, staring into the dying embers of the fire. “…Don’t start making it all sentimental, nerd.”

Midoriya smiled faintly, and the warmth of it made Bakugou’s chest tighten again. “I’m just… being honest. You deserve to hear it.”

Bakugou’s jaw loosened slightly, a small exhale escaping him. “Hmph… fine. But don’t think I’m gonna go soft or anything.”

“I wouldn’t want you to,” Midoriya said softly, and it was quiet, but it carried more weight than either of them expected.

For a few moments, they just sat like that, close, the night wrapping around them, the smell of smoke and grilled food lingering in the air. No words were necessary, the silence itself was gentle, a small understanding between them.

The night air had cooled, carrying the scent of smoke and grilled food, the stars blinking faintly above the hills. Midoriya’s eyelids grew heavy, the warmth of the fire and the soft chatter of the group lulling him into a calm he hadn’t felt all day. He shifted slightly, leaning more against the railing, shoulders relaxing, the tension from earlier slowly unwinding.

Bakugou noticed immediately. His sharp eyes softened ever so slightly as he watched Midoriya’s head droop, the small rise and fall of his chest slower now, rhythmic, almost hypnotic in its steadiness.

“Hey,” Bakugou murmured, voice low, careful, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the moment. “Don’t… fall asleep out here.”

Midoriya’s lips parted slightly in a sleepy smile, barely audible. “…I’ll be fine…”

Bakugou’s jaw tightened, and for a fleeting second, he considered scooping Midoriya up and carrying him inside. He didn’t. Instead, he leaned slightly closer, letting Midoriya’s shoulder brush against his side more firmly, steadying him without words.

Midoriya let out a small, content sigh and slowly, almost imperceptibly, nodded. His green eyes fluttered closed, and the soft weight of sleep tugged at him. His head tilted, ever so slightly, resting lightly against Bakugou’s arm.

Bakugou froze for a moment, staring at him, chest tightening at how peaceful he looked. “Tch… idiot,” he muttered under his breath, but there was no harshness in it. He shifted subtly, giving Midoriya a little more support, his hand resting near the railing without moving the boy.

Sero, noticing the scene from a few feet away, let out a quiet whistle. “Whoa… look at you two.”

Bakugou shot him a glare sharp enough to make him duck behind Kaminari, muttering something about “idiots.”

Midoriya let out a small, soft hum in his sleep, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. The night felt gentle around them, a rare quiet, the chaos of the day replaced with a shared, unspoken understanding.

Bakugou stayed where he was, rigid but watchful, keeping an almost imperceptible distance that allowed Midoriya to drift fully into sleep. The fire crackled, the stars shimmered, and for the first time in a long while, the world felt a little safer.

Chapter Text

Morning arrived with pale mountain light filtering through the paper windows, soft and quiet. The guesthouse stirred slowly, low footsteps in the hall, muted voices, the clink of cups somewhere in the kitchen. Outside, the mountains stood tall and endless, their peaks brushing against drifting clouds.

Midoriya sat near the open window, knees pulled to his chest beneath a thin blanket. The wind carried the scent of pine and cold stone. He watched the mountains like they were something sacred.

Bakugou noticed.

“You’ve been staring at the outside for too long,” he muttered from where he leaned against the doorframe.

Midoriya glanced back, startled, then smiled faintly. “It feels unreal,” he admitted. “Like a painting.”

Bakugou snorted. “It’s just a pile of rocks.”

Midoriya hesitated. Then, quietly, “They’re climbing it today, aren’t they?”

Bakugou’s eyes sharpened. “Yeah. And you’re not.”

The answer came too fast.

Midoriya’s fingers tightened in his blanket. “…Why not?”

Bakugou straightened. “Don’t you remember what happened to you yesterday?.”

“I’m better today,” Midoriya said gently. “I slept well. I haven’t been dizzy.”

“That doesn’t mean your lungs magically turned into steel,” Bakugou snapped.

Midoriya lowered his gaze. For a moment, it looked like he’d let it go. Then he said, barely above a whisper, “I want to try.”

Bakugou froze. “No.”

His voice was absolute.

Midoriya looked up. “Katsuki..”

“I said no,” he cut in sharply. “Don’t even start.”

Midoriya swallowed. “I won’t push too hard. I’ll stop if I need to. I just…” His voice wavered, but he forced it steady. “I just want to reach the top once.”

Silence fell between them.

Outside, Kirishima’s laughter rang out as he joked with Kaminari about who would reach the summit first. The sound felt distant. Unreal.

Midoriya’s voice dropped, vulnerable now. “Katsuki… I don’t know how many chances like this I’ll get.”

Bakugou’s jaw tightened. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Midoriya looked away, hands trembling faintly. “This might be my only chance to do something like this.”

Bakugou’s chest twisted painfully. “You sound like you’re saying goodbye.”

“I’m not,” Midoriya said quickly. “I just… don’t want to regret being too afraid to try.”

Bakugou turned his face away, teeth grinding. He hated this. Hated the tremor in Midoriya’s voice. Hated the truth hiding inside his words.

“You could collapse up there,” Bakugou said coldly. “There’s no hospital on the mountain.”

“I know,” Midoriya whispered.

“And you still want to go.”

Midoriya nodded.

Bakugou stared at him for a long moment, really stared. At the slight frame. The too-thin shoulders. The quiet determination in his eyes that had survived everything else.

Bakugou exhaled hard, rubbing a hand over his face. “If I say yes, you follow every damn rule I give you.”

“I will,” Midoriya said instantly.

“You slow down when I tell you to.”

“Yes.”

“You stop the second you can’t breathe.”

“Yes.”

Bakugou hesitated. Then, bitterly, “And if you collapse, I’m carrying your dumb ass back down whether you like it or not.”

Midoriya’s eyes softened. “…Okay.”

Bakugou turned toward the door. “This is it. Only this once.”

Midoriya’s voice followed him, quiet but full of something fragile and grateful.

“Thank you.”

Bakugou didn’t answer. But he didn’t change his mind either.

_____________________________________________________________

The trail began gently, winding through tall pines and soft-packed earth. Morning sunlight filtered through the branches in shifting gold patterns, dappling the path and everyone walking it. The air smelled clean, pine resin, cold stone, and distant mist.

Kirishima stretched his arms high as they reached the trailhead. “Man, I needed this! Fresh air, no bullets flying, this is the life!”

Kaminari grinned immediately. “Say that again when we’re halfway up and your legs are begging for mercy.”

“I’m built differently,” Kirishima said proudly.

Mina skipped ahead a few steps, spinning around with dramatic flair. “Race you to the first marker!” she challenged, tugging Uraraka along before she could protest.

“W-Wait, Mina!” Uraraka laughed, stumbling after her.

Todoroki walked at an even pace near the back, hands buried in his jacket sleeves, eyes scanning the trail with quiet focus. Every now and then, his gaze flicked, not at the mountain, but at Midoriya.

Bakugou walked directly beside him.

Not a step ahead.
Not a step behind.

Midoriya tried not to think about that too much.

At first, he really did feel okay.

The climb was shallow, the trail forgiving. His muscles warmed gradually, and the crisp air filled his lungs in steady, controlled breaths. He focused on that rhythm. In. Out. In. Out.

He even laughed once when Kirishima nearly tripped over a loose root.

“Careful,” Midoriya called lightly.

Kirishima grinned. “Don’t worry Midoriya. I built differently. ”

Bakugou shot him a glare. “Watch your damn footing.”

Midoriya smiled. 

Ten minutes passed. Then twenty.

The trail steepened just a little.

Midoriya’s breathing changed first.

Not dramatically. Just… thinner. Each breath didn’t seem to go quite as deep as he expected. His steps grew just a fraction shorter. Bakugou felt it immediately, the shift in pace, the subtle hesitation before each rise in the trail.

Bakugou glanced sideways. “You slowing down already?”

Midoriya startled slightly. “N-No, I’m fine,” he answered quickly, forcing a brighter tone. “Just… pacing myself like you said.”

Bakugou grunted. “Good. Keep it that way.”

They continued.

Ahead, Mina and Uraraka had stopped near a widening overlook, waiting for the others to catch up. The view opened suddenly, rolling mountains layered in soft blue haze, clouds drifting lazily between peaks.

“Oh wow…” Uraraka breathed. “This is beautiful.”

Kaminari leaned over the edge carefully. “Feels like one wrong step and boom, dramatic fall.”

“Don’t manifest that,” Sero said flatly.

Midoriya reached the overlook last. When he stopped, the world tilted just slightly, just a brief swim of light at the edges of his vision. He steadied himself with a hand against the railing, hiding the motion behind the excuse of admiring the view.

Bakugou noticed the hand.

“…You dizzy?”

Midoriya hesitated one fraction of a second too long. “Just… lightheaded for a second. It passed.”

Bakugou’s jaw tightened. “We stop here for two minutes.”

“I’m really okay,”

“That wasn’t a suggestion.”

Kirishima dropped onto a rock nearby. “Break already? I thought I was the first one who’d need it.”

Bakugou shot him a look. “Shut up and drink water.”

Uraraka immediately held out her bottle toward Midoriya. “Here, please.”

Midoriya accepted it with a small, grateful smile. He took careful sips, trying to keep his breathing even. The cold water helped… a little. But there was a faint ache blooming now beneath his ribs, deep and dull.

Not pain. Pressure.

Todoroki stepped closer, voice quiet. “You look like you're cold.”

Midoriya blinked at them, surprised. “…I am?”

Bakugou noticed that too.

The climb resumed. This time, the trail grew narrower, twisting along the slope. Nothing dangerous yet, but higher. Thinner air. Longer incline. The chatter around them continued, lively and bright, but it began to feel slightly muffled to Midoriya, like he was listening through water.

By the time they reached the second marker, his breaths had turned shallow again. Each inhale felt… incomplete. Like his lungs reached for something that wasn’t quite there. He tried to hide it by matching his breathing to his steps.

Bakugou wasn’t fooled.

“…We’re slowing down,” he announced.

“But the summit’s not far now!” Kirishima protested.

Bakugou didn’t even look at him. “I don’t care.”

Midoriya forced himself to meet Bakugou’s eyes. “I can still do this.”

Bakugou studied his face, too pale. The faint sheen of sweat at his temples despite the cold. The way his shoulders lifted just a little too much with each breath.

“…Five more minutes,” Bakugou said at last. “Then we see what we should do with you.”

Midoriya nodded. “Okay.”

They moved again.

The trail angled sharply upward now, no longer forgiving. The dirt thinned into rock. Each step demanded intention. The trees began to spread apart, exposing more sky, more wind, and less shelter.

The trail pinched suddenly into stone.

One moment they were still on dirt and roots. The next, the path narrowed into a thin, slanted ledge carved directly into the mountain’s side. To one side,  solid rock. To the other: a sheer drop swallowed by fog and pine far below. A thick rope railing had been bolted into the cliff, rough with age.

Kirishima slowed automatically. “…Okay, yeah, this just got real.”

“Why do mountains always do this?” Kaminari muttered weakly.

Mina grabbed Uraraka’s sleeve. “Nope. Don’t like that. Don’t like that at all.”

Bakugou’s hand went straight to the rope.

Then, without looking, his other hand locked around Midoriya’s wrist.

“Do not let go,” he said.

Midoriya swallowed hard. “I won’t.”

They moved single-file now.

Step.
Grip.
Step.
Grip.

The wind hit harder here, whipping cold against their faces. The air felt thinner, sharper. With every step, Midoriya’s chest grew tighter, like the mountain itself was pressing inward.

Halfway across the ledge, his breath caught.

His next inhale came out broken, a sharp, useless gasp. Bakugou felt the hitch immediately through their joined hands.

“…Nerd?”

Midoriya tried to answer.
Another breath hitched.
Then another.

His grip on the rope slipped. His foot staggered sideways. Bakugou yanked him back with brute force just as Midoriya’s knees buckled completely.

“NERD!!” 

Midoriya folded forward, body crashing into Bakugou’s chest as if all strength had been shut off at once. His breathing exploded into rapid, shallow gasps, too fast, too weak, completely out of control.

“I— I can’t”  Nothing followed. Panic tore through his eyes.

Kirishima shouted from behind, “What’s happening?!”

“He’s not breathing right!” Uraraka cried.

Bakugou dropped to one knee on the narrow ledge, one arm locked around Midoriya’s back, the other gripping the rope so hard his knuckles went white. The drop loomed just inches from Midoriya’s dangling foot.

Bakugou pulled his forehead close to Midoriya’s.

“Look at me,” he ordered, voice shaking. “Don’t you dare black out. Breathe with me.”

Midoriya tried.

Air wouldn’t come.

His chest stuttered violently, each breath scraping uselessly through his throat. His hands trembled against Bakugou’s jacket like he was drowning on dry land.

Todoroki moved fast and precisely despite the panic. “He’s hyperventilating on top of oxygen restriction. Altitude is pushing him over the edge.”

“So what do we DO?!” Kaminari shouted.

“We get him OFF the ledge,” Todoroki said immediately.

Sero was already bracing himself on the rock wall. “There’s a wider outcrop about eight feet ahead!”

“I’ll move first,” Kirishima said, planting himself solidly. “Boss, pass him to me when I say.”

Bakugou didn’t respond. He was too busy watching Midoriya’s eyes start to glaze.

“I’m… s-sorry” Midoriya whispered weakly.

That tore straight through him.

“Don’t you apologize,” Bakugou hissed. “Stay with me.”

“Now!” Kirishima ordered.

Bakugou shifted his weight, inch by inch, dragging Midoriya sideways along the rock while Sero and Kirishima shielded them from the drop. The ledge felt impossibly small. One wrong slip and they reached the outcropping.

The second Midoriya was on a flat stone, his body went limp. Bakugou dropped with him, knees slamming to the rock as he caught all of his weight.

Midoriya sucked in a broken, tearing breath, barely enough to stay conscious. His eyes fluttered, unfocused.

“I can’t… see right…”

Bakugou’s chest felt like it was being crushed.

Uraraka knelt beside them in tears. “Midoriya, please, please look at me!”

Todoroki checked his pulse, face tightening. “It’s irregular. Shallow perfusion. He’s running out of usable oxygen.”

Kaminari was already shaking as he fumbled for his phone. “I’m calling emergency services, right now.”

Below them, the mountain wind howled through the cliffside. And for the first time since becoming their boss, since becoming dangerous, since becoming untouchable, Bakugou felt true, helpless fear rip through his entire body.

He pulled Midoriya closer.

“You don’t get to leave,” he whispered fiercely. “Not here. Not after everything you said to me.”

_______________________________________________________

Finally, the distant sound of a helicopter grew from a whisper to a roar. Rescue ropes descended from the open hatch, and trained personnel moved with precise efficiency.

“Hold him steady!” one of the rescuers instructed.

Bakugou’s jaw was set tight as he passed Midoriya into the rescuers’ arms, staying close the entire way. Midoriya let out a small, almost imperceptible whimper, still unconscious, and Bakugou’s chest tightened painfully.

Once secured, the helicopter lifted off. The team followed in tense silence, the mountain receding below them. Midoriya remained in Bakugou’s arms as the rescuers monitored his vitals.

By the time they reached the hospital, Bakugou had barely let go. He didn’t notice the cold from the night air or the shakiness in his own limbs.

Doctors took over immediately, rushing Midoriya into an examination room. Monitors beeped steadily as the staff checked oxygen levels, heart rate, and blood pressure. Bakugou paced, jaw clenched, arms crossed, but his eyes never left the glassy form of Midoriya.

Minutes felt like hours.

Finally, a doctor stepped forward. “He’s stable for now, but he has exercise-induced pulmonary compromise, worsened by altitude. He has a pre-existing condition affecting his oxygen intake that wasn’t diagnosed previously. Climbing the mountain triggered it severely. He needs rest, oxygen therapy, and careful monitoring.”

Bakugou’s shoulders slumped just slightly, relief mingled with fury at himself, at the mountain, at the world.

“Can I see him?” he asked tightly.

The doctor nodded, stepping aside.

Bakugou walked to Midoriya’s bedside. He was lying pale, a thin oxygen mask over his face, chest rising and falling slowly but steadily. Tubes traced along his arms, monitors beeping a steady rhythm.

Bakugou lowered himself into the chair beside him, resting his hand lightly over Midoriya’s. “…You idiot,” he muttered, voice rough and soft all at once. “Don’t scare me like that again.”

Though Midoriya remained unconscious, his fingers twitched slightly at the touch, as if answering.

Bakugou leaned back, watching him, his mind a storm of worry, guilt, and fierce protection. Around them, the rest of the group hovered, silent, tense but giving him space, understanding instinctively that Bakugou was the anchor now.

And in the quiet, Bakugou realized that no wall he’d ever built could keep him from caring this deeply, not for anyone else, and especially not for Midoriya.

The night stretched on, and Bakugou stayed, vigilant, a single unyielding presence beside the boy who had risked everything for a dream and for a moment, the world outside didn’t exist, only the soft, steady rise and fall of Midoriya’s fragile breaths.

Chapter Text

Midoriya woke to the soft, sterile hum of machines.

The morning light that crept through the half-drawn curtains wasn’t golden this time, it was pale, filtered through city haze, too clean to feel warm. The faint scent of antiseptic lingered in the air, familiar but unwelcome.

He blinked, slowly orienting himself to the white ceiling, the IV line taped to his arm, the oxygen cannula resting lightly beneath his nose.

He exhaled carefully. His lungs didn’t burn, but they felt… fragile. Like a door he had to open gently.

Bakugou was sitting in the lone chair beside the bed, arms crossed, legs stretched out in front of him, unmistakably asleep, even though he looked like he’d fought the concept with his entire willpower. His head dipped forward now and then, catching himself before falling fully.

His jacket was draped over the back of the chair, rare sleeves rolled neatly instead of tossed aside.

He had stayed.
All night.

Midoriya swallowed.

“…Katsuki?”

Bakugou jerked awake instantly, eyes snapping open.

His gaze landed on Midoriya. “You’re awake.” Lower. Relief softened the edges of his voice.

Midoriya offered a small smile. “You stayed here?”

Bakugou scoffed, rubbing at his tired eyes hard enough to hide how red they were. “Someone had to keep an eye on you. You sleep like a corpse.”

Midoriya huffed a tiny laugh. “You could’ve gone home.”

“What, and leave you alone in this hellhole? Not a chance.” He stood, moving closer, pretending to check the monitor, but Midoriya could see every fraction of his attention on him.

“How’s your breathing?” he muttered.

“A little tight,” Midoriya admitted. “But nothing like yesterday.”

Bakugou nodded once, slow.
The tension in his shoulders eased by a fraction.

“…Good.”

For a moment, silence settled between them, not uncomfortable, just… full. Like both of them were standing at the edge of something unspoken.

Bakugou’s eyes flicked to his oxygen line, then back to Midoriya’s face. “You scared the shit out of me yesterday.”

Midoriya froze. He opened his mouth, not sure what he was going to say, but feeling the weight of the moment settle into his chest.

“Katsuki… about yesterday,”

A soft knock interrupted them. A nurse entered, pushing a small cart.

“Midoriya-san, good morning. I need to check your vitals.”

Bakugou straightened immediately, walls snapping back in place. Midoriya’s chance slipped through his fingers like water.

The nurse checked his pulse, his oxygen levels, and asked him a few questions. Bakugou hovered behind her like a storm barely held together, glaring at every reading as if threatening it to behave.

When she left, the moment was gone, replaced by the awkwardness of something almost said but not fully.

Midoriya sank into his pillow.

Bakugou stood by the foot of the bed, staring at him.

“…You were gonna say something,” Bakugou muttered, almost accusingly, almost quietly.

Midoriya hesitated. Midoriya shifted slightly on the hospital bed, the thin blanket tangling around his arms. His chest felt tight, still, but calmer with Bakugou beside him. He took a shaky breath.

“Katsuki… about yesterday,” he started, voice low, hesitant.

Bakugou’s sharp eyes flicked to him, attentive but careful. “Yeah?”

“I… I thought I could handle it,” Midoriya admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I thought… I could push through without bothering anyone. Especially you. I thought if I just… tried harder, it’d be enough.” His hands fisted the blanket. “But I… I was wrong. I should’ve told you sooner. I’m… I’m sorry.”

For a moment, Bakugou didn’t say anything. His jaw tightened, but there was no scowl. Only the quiet weight of him, of someone listening.

“You dumbass,” he finally muttered, voice low, rough around the edges but softer than usual. “You think you can do everything alone… you don’t. You don’t have to.”

Midoriya’s lips curved in a small, grateful smile. “I just… didn’t want to worry you. I thought I could manage it.”

Bakugou leaned closer, just enough to close the gap without crowding him. “Well, guess what? You did worry me. A lot. And I’m not letting you do that again. You hear me?”

Midoriya blinked, the words heavy on his tongue. “…Katsuki… why? Why would you worry about someone like me? I…I mean… I’m just… me. A stranger. Someone who suddenly… appeared in your life. Why would you care so much?”

Bakugou froze, his expression caught somewhere between irritation and something softer, something that almost didn’t fit the hard edges he usually carried. His eyes flicked away briefly, jaw tightening, and then back to Midoriya with a vulnerability he rarely let anyone see.

“You… don’t get it,” he muttered, voice low, rough around the edges, but quieter, softer than Midoriya had ever heard. “You’re not ‘just someone.’ Not to me. You… matter. And if something happened to you… I’d…” His hands curled into fists at his sides, uncertain, almost embarrassed. “…I’d lose it. I don’t care about others. But you… you’re different.”

Midoriya’s breath hitched slightly, his heart skipping a beat at the unexpected weight in Bakugou’s words. “Different… how?” he whispered, leaning just a little forward.

Bakugou’s glare softened, but his voice was steady, almost tender in the way he rarely allowed himself to speak. “I don’t know how to explain it. You… see things. You see me. Not the mafia boss, not the angry shit everyone else sees… You see me. And I… I don’t want to lose that. Not now, not ever.”

Midoriya’s chest tightened in a mixture of awe and warmth, eyes shining faintly. “I… I didn’t know anyone could feel that way about me…”

Bakugou’s lips twitched, a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, well… lucky for you, I’m not ‘anyone.’”

There was a pause, silent, fragile, filled with the hum of machines and the soft, filtered light of the hospital room. For the first time, the space between them didn’t feel like distance or caution, but something more. Something that quietly, impossibly, felt like… belonging.

_______________________________________________________________________

Midoriya drifted somewhere between sleep and waking.

The hum of machines blurred into something distant, like the city breathing through walls. His chest rose carefully with each breath, lungs still fragile, but steady.

Bakugou didn’t move from the chair. His phone buzzed again. This time, Bakugou didn’t answer immediately.

He checked Midoriya first. Still asleep. Brows faintly furrowed, like his body didn’t quite trust rest yet.

Bakugou stood and stepped just outside the room, pulling the door almost shut behind him.

“What,” he hissed quietly.

Kaminari’s voice crackled through the line, unusually tight. “Boss. We’ve got a problem.”

Bakugou’s jaw clenched. “Spit it out.”

“It’s Mr. Arakawa,” Kaminari said. “Says he won’t discuss details over the phone. He wants a face-to-face. Tonight.”

“What does he want,” Bakugou asked.

“He says people under his protection have gone missing.” Kaminari replied.

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed. “And he thinks I’m his solution.”

“Yeah. He specifically asked for you.”

“Fine,” Bakugou said after a moment. “Set it up.”

“Tonight?” Kaminari asked.

Bakugou exhaled. “He won’t sleep until he sees me. Just prepare for a short meeting.”

“You want backup?” Kaminari continued. “There might be eyes on him.”

Bakugou thought it over. “Yeah. Kirishima and Todoroki come with me.”

“Understood.”

“And while I’m out,” Bakugou continued, voice lowering slightly, “I don’t want anything changing at the hospital.”

Kaminari didn’t interrupt.

“Keep the same guys on rotation,” Bakugou said. “People Midoriya’s already seen. No new faces suddenly popping in and out. If he notices a shift, he’ll get anxious.”

“Got it,” Kaminari replied.

“No uniforms,” Bakugou added. “No suits standing in the hallway like statues either. Let them blend in. I don’t want him feeling like he’s under guard.”

 “I’ll handle rotation with Mina and Uraraka. I’ll leave Uraraka to stay with him inside.” Kaminari said. 

“Good,” Bakugou said.

“And Sero’s already outside,” Kaminari added. “Parked two blocks down. He’ll take you straight to Arakawa once you’re ready.

A brief pause settled between them.

“If anything feels off,” Bakugou said, voice dropping,  “If anything feels off, even if you can’t explain why, just call me. I don’t care what I’m in the middle of.”

“…Got it,” Kaminari replied, quieter now. 

Bakugou ended the call.

_______________________________________________________________________

Kirishima and Todoroki were already ready by the door, jackets straight, expressions calm but alert. No words passed between them, that wasn’t necessary.

Outside, the sleek black car waited, engine humming low. Sero leaned against it, arms crossed, face unreadable. Driver’s instinct made him the perfect standby.

Bakugou opened the rear door, dropping in with the ease of someone who owned every move in the room. Kirishima slid in beside him, shoulders straight, alert. Todoroki took a seat right beside the driver, silent, hands folded, eyes scanning every movement outside the car. Sero slid into the driver’s seat. The city lights reflected in the tinted windows, painting streaks across their faces.

The car rolled forward without a sound.

Kirishima leaned back slightly, glancing at Bakugou. “You really don’t want anyone else coming with us?”

Bakugou’s jaw tightened. “No. Three is enough.”

The streets rolled by, wet asphalt reflecting neon lights, slick and clean. Sero drove like he was threading a needle, smooth and precise. Every turn is measured. Every red light was anticipated.

Bakugou’s hands rested on his knees, eyes forward, mind ticking through contingencies. Kirishima shifted slightly, muscles taut beneath his jacket. Todoroki’s gaze swept the streets, calculating escape routes and surveillance points, quiet as a shadow.

The car rolled to a stop two blocks from Arakawa’s private lounge. The streets were quiet, slick from earlier rain, and the glow of the city reflected off polished asphalt.

Sero cut the engine without a sound.

Bakugou didn’t move immediately. He let the silence stretch, listening, the distant hum of traffic, the faint clatter of a late-night delivery truck, the occasional drip of water from an awning. Kirishima sat rigid beside him, shoulders squared, while Todoroki’s eyes scanned the surroundings, cold and calm.

Finally, Bakugou opened the door. 

Kirishima moved first, following him to the side of the building. Todoroki shadowed him like a second reflection. Sero stayed behind the wheel, a quiet anchor, ready to drive them out at a moment’s notice.

The lounge’s entrance was unmarked, a polished steel door that would have been easy to miss if not for the single black-suited guard standing silently. He barely looked at them as Bakugou’s team approached.

Instead, The guard pressed a small button and the door slid open with a smooth hiss. Inside, the room was quiet, lined with soft amber lights and minimalist furniture. Arakawa stood from behind a polished desk, bowing slightly but not breaking eye contact.

“Bakugou-san,” he said carefully, his voice steady but tight. “Thank you for coming.”

Bakugou gave a curt nod, scanning the room. “Let’s keep this short. You have my attention.”

Arakawa gestured toward a pair of chairs. “Please. Sit.”

Bakugou and his crew took their positions. Kirishima sat on the left, a silent pillar of presence. Todoroki remained standing slightly behind, eyes sharp, scanning the room’s entrances and shadows. Bakugou’s own posture stayed casual, but every line of him screamed control.

“I’ll get to the point,” Arakawa said. “Several of my security personnel… have disappeared. They were on assigned routes. Internal movements. Nothing public. And yet… they vanished,” Arakawa said, swallowing. “I don’t have the manpower or discretion to investigate this without drawing attention. That’s why I came to you.”

Bakugou leaned back slightly, studying Arakawa like a predator weighing a potential prey. “You want protection.”

Arakawa’s nod was almost imperceptible. “Yes. And  I need to know if this threat is still active, and I need my people safe while we figure it out.”

Bakugou’s eyes flicked to Kirishima and Todoroki. Both acknowledged the unspoken question,  yes, they understood.

“I’ll assign a team.” Bakugou said

Arakawa’s shoulders sagged slightly in relief. “Thank you.”

Bakugou’s gaze returned to him, sharper now. “And the Ghost Hand? I don’t chase shadows. My people will observe, report, and respond if necessary. I don’t want mistakes.”

“Okay,” Arakawa whispered.

A quiet settled over the room. The lights glimmered softly, reflecting off polished surfaces. Kirishima and Todoroki remained statuesque, alert to every sound, every micro-movement. Bakugou’s hands rested casually. 

Bakugou finally spoke, his voice cutting through the silence. “That’s the deal. You stay quiet. I handle the rest. Any slip-ups… and you’ll wish you hadn’t.”

Arakawa swallowed, nodding once. “Understood. Thank you, Bakugou-san.”

Bakugou didn’t answer. He stood, signaling to Kirishima and Todoroki. They moved with him, shadowing him every step as they left the lounge. Outside, Sero’s car waited, engine humming softly.

The city stretched before them, dark and wet, full of potential threats, whispers, and unknowns. Bakugou slid into the back seat, Kirishima beside him, Todoroki opposite, and Sero pulled smoothly back onto the street.

No one spoke. They didn’t need to.

In this city, silence often said more than words ever could.

_______________________________________________________________________

The hospital room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the monitors. Midoriya lay propped on the bed, blanket tucked around him, pale but stable.

Uraraka hovered nearby, fidgeting slightly, while Mina and Kaminari kept watch near the door. Nothing had felt off all morning until now.

The door opened slowly. A man in a white coat stepped in, clipboard in hand, smiling professionally. “Good evening,” he said smoothly. “I’m Dr. Ishida. I’ve come to administer a medication for Midoriya-san. It’s important for his recovery.”

Uraraka straightened immediately. “Oh! That’s good… he needs it?”

The doctor nodded, leaning slightly closer. “Yes, very important. It’s routine, but I need to check him thoroughly. I’d prefer privacy for the procedure. Could you step out for a few minutes, please?”

Uraraka hesitated, eyes flicking to Mina and Kaminari. “Uh… sure, if it’s necessary.”

Mina and Kaminari exchanged uneasy glances, hands tightening subtly at their sides. “We’ll wait right outside,” Mina said cautiously.

“Let’s do it quickly,” Kaminari said finally. “He needs rest.”

The doctor’s smile never wavered. “Thank you. It won’t take long.”

Uraraka stepped out, leaving the door ajar. Kaminari hovered by the side of the bed, eyes narrowed. 

Midoriya blinked up at the man nervously. “Uh… is this really necessary?”

The doctor’s tone was calm, practiced. “Yes. It’s routine. You need this for your recovery. Trust me.”

Midoriya’s heart raced as the man prepared the injection. The door remained ajar, but the hall outside was empty, his friends were gone, giving him space, trusting the doctor’s authority.

The doctor’s smile never wavered. With a quick, practiced motion, he administered the injection. “All done,” he said smoothly.

Almost immediately, Midoriya felt a strange heaviness in his limbs. His eyelids drooped uncontrollably, chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. “W-what…?” he murmured, voice barely audible, before drifting into sleep. His body was limp, compliant, fully under the influence of the drug. 

The doctor glanced at the monitors, noting the effect of the injection. Once Midoriya’s eyelids drooped and his breathing evened out, he carefully wheeled the bed to the door.

Stepping out into the hallway, he squared his shoulders and addressed Kaminari, Mina, and Uraraka directly. His voice was calm but carried an edge of urgency.

“Midoriya-san is stable for now,” he said, gesturing toward the room. “However, the sedative I administered requires immediate follow-up. He needs to be moved to the operating suite for a precautionary procedure. It’s minor, but urgent, just to ensure the medication doesn’t depress his breathing or interact poorly with his current treatment. I need him under constant monitoring in a controlled environment.”

Mina and Kaminari exchanged wary glances, their hands tightening slightly.

“I know it sounds sudden, but if we delay, there’s a risk of complications. I’ll handle everything, it’s a standard, routine procedure for patients in his condition. He’ll be fully monitored, and it won’t take long.”

Uraraka bit her lip nervously. 

Kaminari nodded reluctantly. “Okay. Please take good care of him.”

The doctor inclined his head politely. “Of course. I’ll take excellent care of him.”

With that, he wheeled the bed toward the operating suite, Midoriya unconscious and compliant under the sedative. Once inside, a small side door allowed him to disappear completely, a hidden exit no one outside the room would notice.

Kaminari’s phone buzzed in his hand, urgent. He quickly tapped the line. “Boss… we’ve got a situation.”

Bakugou’s voice came sharp and immediate. “Spit it out, damn it.”

“Midoriya… the doctor just said he needs emergency surgery. He’s already taken him to the operating suite,” Kaminari said, trying to keep his tone calm despite the unease gnawing at him.

Bakugou’s brow furrowed, jaw tightening. “Emergency surgery? Who’s the doctor? Name, appearance, I need every detail.”

Kaminari relayed it, his name is Dr. Ishida. And  the doctor said it was precautionary due to the sedative.

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “You idiot… that’s not the doctor I assigned for Midoriya. I already paid a personal doctor, someone I trust completely. That guy? Suspicious as hell.”

Bakugou’s jaw clenched. “Listen carefully. I know how hospitals work. Any surgery requires guardian consent forms, signed and verified before the patient can be moved into an operating room. Even in emergencies, there are protocols. Someone should’ve contacted me or a legal guardian.”

Bakugou growled, voice low but intense. “No one contacted me. No consent forms signed, nothing official. That alone is enough to raise red flags. They don’t let patients move to surgery without clearance, especially someone fragile like Midoriya. Something’s wrong.”

Kaminari’s heart raced. “So he’s… not safe?”

Bakugou’s glare hardened. “Not until we know who that guy really is and where he took Midoriya. I don’t care what excuse he gave, we move fast, or we lose him. Understand?”

“Yes, boss!” Kaminari said, already coordinating in his head.

_______________________________________________________________________

The car cut through the city streets, tires hissing over wet asphalt. Sero’s hands gripped the wheel tightly, eyes scanning the road ahead, while Kirishima leaned forward, his jaw set, and Todoroki sat silently beside Bakugou, cold and alert.

Bakugou’s eyes were fixed on the rearview mirror, narrowing. “Listen up,” he said, voice sharp and controlled. “Kaminari just called. Midoriya’s been taken to some ‘emergency surgery,’ but no one at the hospital contacted me. No consent forms, and the doctor’s not the one I assigned. That means he’s being kidnapped.”

Sero’s grip tightened. “You want me to rush there, boss?”

“Exactly,” Bakugou said, tone clipped. “Full speed. We’re not waiting.”

Todoroki’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. “Boss… someone’s following us,” he said quietly, voice calm but alert.

The following car inched even closer, suddenly ramming the back of their car with a deafening crunch. Tires squealed. Metal screamed as the sedan slammed into their rear bumper again, this time with intent. Sero cursed under his breath, hands white-knuckled on the wheel as the car fishtailed before he forced it back into line.

“Shit!”

Bakugou didn’t flinch.

“Keep driving,” he snapped. “They want us stopped. Don’t give it to them.”

The engine roared as Sero accelerated, city lights blurring into streaks of neon. In the side mirror, the pursuing car closed the distance, headlights glaring like predatory eyes.

A gunshot cracked through the night.

The rear windshield shattered, glass exploding inward. Kirishima swore as shards rained over the seats.

“Gun!” Kirishima barked.

Bakugou was already moving.

He leaned forward, pulling a handgun from beneath his coat with smooth, practiced precision. No panic. No wasted motion. “Sero, zigzag. Don’t let them line up clean shots.”

Another shot rang out, punching into the trunk with a dull, metallic thud.

Todoroki ducked low, peering back through the broken glass. “Two shooters. One in the back seat.”

He rolled the window down just enough, the cold night air rushing in. The car swerved sharply left as Sero obeyed his orders, tires screeching.

Bakugou leaned out and fired.

Three sharp cracks split the air. Bakugou’s hand was steady, aim precise. A bullet tore into the rear tire of the pursuing car.

The vehicle wobbled violently, fishtailing as the driver struggled to regain control. Sparks flew as metal scraped the asphalt.

“Nice shot!” Kirishima shouted, gripping the seat.

As if on cue, another vehicle appeared from a side street, cutting in fast, trying to box them in. Gunfire erupted from both sides now. Bullets slammed into doors, shattered side mirrors, tore through street signs. 

“Persistent bastards,” Kirishima muttered, gripping the seat.

Bakugou reloaded smoothly, eyes burning. “They’re desperate. That means Midoriya’s already in deep trouble.”

He leaned out again, ignoring the danger, firing with brutal precision. One shot punched through the driver-side window of the second car. It swerved wildly, clipping the curb before spinning toward the edge of the street.

The city streets blurred beneath the tires, rain slicking asphalt reflecting neon lights. The second pursuing car struggled to regain control, swerving dangerously close, but Sero kept the wheel steady under Bakugou’s precise commands.

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed as he checked the distance on the GPS. “We’re not going to make it there fast enough if this keeps up,” he muttered, voice low but sharp. His mind raced, calculating every obstacle, traffic, pedestrians, potential ambush points.

“Call the rest. The guys I left at the mansion. I don’t care if they’re asleep or eating, get a backup team to the hospital, now. Tell them everything. Midoriya’s in serious danger. We need to secure the place before we get there.”

Todoroki’s hand moved quickly, tapping into his secure comms. “Understood. I’ll get them moving.”

Rain streaked past, neon lights smearing into lines of fire. The hospital loomed in the distance, but the road was still long, and the mystery of what awaited inside made Bakugou’s grip tighten. They had Midoriya in danger, he didn’t yet know who was behind it, but whoever it was, they were playing a dangerous game.

_______________________________________________________________________

Kaminari’s shoes pounded against the hospital floor as he practically skidded into the small staff area where Mina and Uraraka were waiting. His face was pale, eyes wide with urgency.

“Listen, something is wrong. ” he blurted out, grabbing both their shoulders to get their attention.

Uraraka and Mina turned, immediately sensing the tension. “What’s wrong?” Uraraka asked.

Kaminari glanced over his shoulder, then lowered his voice. “It’s about the doctor. The one who’s checking Midoriya… he’s not the doctor Boss personally assigned. Boss thinks it’s suspicious. Midoriya is probably in danger. ”

Uraraka’s eyes widened, her stomach twisting. “ We should move now!”

Mina nodded sharply, voice firm. “We can’t risk Midoriya being moved or worse.”

The three of them moved quickly but quietly down the corridor toward the operation wing, hearts pounding, muscles tense. They skidded into the operation wing, slamming open the first set of doors. “Where is he? Midoriya?” Mina yelled, sweeping her gaze over the room.

Empty.

Uraraka froze, stomach dropping. “W-what… he should be here!”

Kaminari’s breath came fast as he checked the monitors. “The bed’s gone… Midoriya isn’t here!”

Uraraka’s eyes darted toward every possible exit, her pulse racing. “We have to call Bakugou! He needs to know now!”

Kaminari fumbled with his communicator, voice urgent. “Boss! Midoriya’s gone! The operation room is empty.”

Bakugou’s voice came through instantly, cold and cutting. “The backup team is rerouting to the hospital. Every exit, every hall, secure it. I want him back, no mistakes!”

“Yes, Boss!” Kaminari shouted, heart racing.

Mina and Uraraka exchanged a glance, fear flashing but determination blazing in their eyes. Mina muttered, “We screwed up…”

Uraraka’s jaw tightened. “We’ll fix this. We have to.”

But as they stared down the empty operation suite, adrenaline surging, they knew one thing for certain, Midoriya was gone, and every second counted.

Chapter Text

The room smelled of dust and cold concrete. Shadows pooled in the corners, distorted by the dim light of a single, flickering bulb overhead. Midoriya’s eyes fluttered open, adjusting slowly to the darkness. He was bound to a sturdy chair, his arms pinned with leather straps that bit into his skin.

Panic surged. “W-Where… am I?” His voice trembled, cracking in the quiet.

A slow, deliberate clap echoed from the shadows. Midoriya’s head jerked toward the sound. A man emerged, stepping into the pale light. Dressed in dark tactical gear, mask partially obscuring his face, his movements were unnervingly calm.

“You’re awake,” the man said, his voice smooth, controlled. 

Midoriya’s heart raced. “Who… who are you? What do you want?”

The figure straightened, hands resting casually at his sides. “Names… are complicated,” he said, though a glint in his eyes betrayed a twisted satisfaction. “But you can call me Kurogane. The Ghost Hand.”

The name hit Midoriya like ice water. He swallowed hard, realizing this was no random criminal. No street thug. This was someone dangerous, someone who had been planning this carefully.

Kurogane circled the chair slowly, like a predator savoring the tension. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time. You see,” he said, “I’ve studied him for a while, it’s kinda frustrating that guy does not have any weak spots but now… I’ve found his weakness.”

Midoriya’s stomach twisted. “What… what do you want with me?”

Kurogane circled the chair slowly, like a predator savoring the tension. His voice dipped into sharp annoyance. “Honestly… Bakugou. Always sticking his nose in my business. Always disrupting operations.”

He tapped a finger on the chair arm near Midoriya. “And you… are going to be the perfect leverage. The one thing he can’t ignore. The one thing he’ll… lose control over.”

Midoriya’s hands struggled against the straps, but it was futile. His chest tightened, panic clawing at his throat.

“Don’t bother wasting your strength,” Kurogane said, stepping back. “Resistance is entertaining… but it won’t save you. Not this time. Not against me.”

“Soon,” he whispered, “he’ll realize what he’s lost. And then…” A smile curved beneath his mask, eyes cold and sharp. “…he’ll come for you. And that’s when the real game begins.”

Kurogane stepped back into the shadows, muttering under his breath. “That Bakugou… always meddling… I should’ve removed him years ago.” The flicker of the light cast jagged shadows across his face, his patience thinning like a taut wire ready to snap.

The Ghost Hand had made his move. And now, the real hunt had begun.

The city lights streaked across the wet streets as Sero pushed the car to its limits. Bakugou’s eyes flicked between the rearview mirror and the GPS, calculating every turn, every possible shortcut.

“Todoroki! How fast can the backup team reach the hospital?” he barked over the comms.

Todoroki’s fingers danced over his secure line, eyes scanning the mirrors. “Fifteen minutes at best. Traffic, diversions… they’ll have to cut corners.”

Bakugou’s jaw tightened. Fifteen minutes is a lifetime when Midoriya’s in someone else’s hands. He leaned forward, voice clipped and urgent.

“Sero,” he said, sharp. “Change of plan. We’re not heading straight into the hospital anymore. Too many unknowns. Pull over somewhere quiet, garage, alley, whatever. We settle this before we go in. Figure out exactly who we’re dealing with and how to handle it.”

Sero’s hands tightened on the wheel, eyes flicking to Bakugou. “Understood. I know a hidden alley two blocks from here. Minimal traffic, lots of cover.”

“Good,” Bakugou replied, voice low and tense.

Sero cut hard off the main road. The car slipped into a narrow alley, concrete walls closing in on both sides. Trash bags and rusted fire escapes blurred past before Sero slammed the brakes.

The engine died. Silence dropped like a curtain,broken only by rain tapping against metal and the distant hum of the city.

Bakugou didn’t waste a second. “Everyone out. Now.”

Kirishima was first, vaulting out of the car with the grace of someone who had done this countless times. Todoroki followed, calm and precise, eyes sweeping the alley for any sign of movement. Bakugou leapt last, boots hitting wet concrete with a soft splash. Sero stayed behind the wheel for now, ready to cover their retreat or ram if needed.

From the alley’s entrance, the pursuing car skidded to a halt, doors swinging open. Its occupants spilled out, guns drawn, but their movements were sloppy, rushed. They hadn’t expected Bakugou to confront them head-on.

Bakugou’s eyes flicked between them. “You idiots don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

The attackers fired first, bullets ripping through the narrow space. Bakugou dropped low, rolling behind a dumpster, returning fire with brutal accuracy. Kirishima used his bulk to block incoming shots, pushing one attacker against the wall, forcing him to drop his weapon. Todoroki stayed back, picking precise shots at tires and weapons, making sure no one could flank them.

By now, the alley was chaos, smoke rising from dented car panels, and groans of injured men. Several attackers were down, some unconscious, some bleeding, some clearly out of the fight.

Only one remained standing, drenched, pistol shaking in his hands. His companions were gone, leaving him exposed. His eyes flicked from Bakugou to Kirishima and Todoroki, calculating. He knew he was cornered.

Bakugou advanced slowly, boots splashing through puddles, eyes cold, unwavering. “Talk. Who sent you?” His voice cut through the rain like a knife, every syllable sharp, precise.

Silence.

Bakugou’s grip tightened, his knuckles white. “I’m not asking again.”

The man’s gaze snapped downward, not in fear of Bakugou, but in resolve. There was a brief, almost imperceptible quiver in his jaw, then his hand moved swiftly, impossibly fast. Before Bakugou could react, the man yanked the pistol back, aiming it at his own temple.

“I… I won’t betray him,” the man muttered, a calmness in his voice that chilled Bakugou to the bone.

The gun went off.

Bakugou’s fist clenched, his jaw locked, and his body tensed as the echo of the shot rang in the alley. Rain splashed over the lifeless body, mixing with the puddles, as if the city itself were mourning.

He knelt beside the man, inspecting the scene with cold, controlled fury. “Damn it… always the loyal ones,” he muttered, voice low and rough. His eyes narrowed toward the shadows, calculating, scanning, already forming the next moves. “If they’re willing to die for someone, that someone’s powerful. And that’s who I need to find.”

Kirishima and Todoroki flanked him silently, their expressions grim but steady. “Boss…” Kirishima murmured, voice tight.

Bakugou stood slowly, rain dripping from his hair and jacket, fists still clenched. “Let’s move.” He glanced at Sero, who was waiting near the car.

Todoroki cast a glance at the alley, surveying the damage and fallen bodies. “We need to be careful,” he said, voice calm but wary.

Bakugou’s gaze burned cold. “Careful? No. We’re going in fast. We’re going in hard. And whoever’s behind this, he’s going to regret ever touching my people.”

The rain continued to fall, but in the alley, silence returned, broken only by the distant hum of the city and the dripping water from the buildings above. The deadly warning had been delivered, Bakugou was coming, and no loyalty or fear would stop him.

Bakugou’s boots splashed through the puddles as he approached the rear of the car, eyes still scanning the alley. Rain plastered his hair to his forehead, water dripping from the edge of his jacket, but his focus was unshakable. Kirishima and Todoroki flanked him, silently covering his six. The fallen attacker lay still, a grim testament to the stakes at play.

Bakugou’s phone buzzed violently in his coat pocket. He ripped it out, glancing at the screen.

He raised an eyebrow, irritation flashing across his features. “Who the hell…” he answered sharply.

A cold, calm voice cut through the rain, carrying both amusement and warning. “Bakugou Katsuki.”

Bakugou’s jaw tightened, fingers flexing around the phone. “Who is this?”

A slow, controlled chuckle filled the line. “It is the Ghost Hand, the one you’ve been looking for. I believe you already know. The boy. Midoriya. He is the most perfect leverage against someone like you.”

Bakugou’s teeth ground together. Rain streaked down his face, mingling with the fury in his eyes. “Leverage? You think I give a damn about your games?”

Another chuckle, slow, deliberate, and infuriatingly calm. “Ah… always so direct. I expected nothing less from the notorious Bakugou Katsuki. But I’m afraid you underestimate the situation. The ones you faced in that alley… loyal to me beyond reason. They were prepared to die before speaking a word. A pity for you, perhaps.”

Bakugou’s jaw twitched. “You son of a—”

“Enough,” Kurogane interrupted smoothly. “I’m not here to play nice. I’ve studied you, Bakugou. You are strong, clever… relentless. But even you have weaknesses. I found it. Your attachment, your anger, your need to protect. That boy is the key. And soon… you will see why meddling in my affairs was a grave mistake.”

Bakugou tightened his grip on the phone, the sound of his breathing heavy over the line. “I swear, you touch him and you’re done.”

A soft, mocking sigh. “Oh, I’ve no doubt. But fear, rage, desperation… those emotions? They only make you predictable. And predictable is… exploitable. Don’t worry, this boy is still safe… for now. But not for long. I want you to locate me. Figure out where I am. Consider it… a test of skill, of resourcefulness. If you fail, the boy dies.”

“One hour. Sixty minutes from this call. Fail, and the consequences will be irreversible. Succeed… and perhaps we can play my little game further. Perhaps I’ll even allow him to live.” The line went dead, leaving only the hiss of rain and the distant hum of the city.

Bakugou slammed the phone shut, rainwater splashing across the concrete. His eyes burned, sharp and focused. “One hour,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “He gives me one hour… to find him.”

Rain slicked streets stretched ahead as Bakugou, Kirishima, Todoroki, and Sero moved fast through the city. 

Bakugou’s phone buzzed again. He swiped it open.

“Kaminari,” he barked into the line. “Where’s everyone?”

On the other end, Kaminari’s voice was tight, almost frantic. “We’re at the hospital! Uraraka, Mina, and the backup team, they are all here.”

Bakugou exhaled slowly through his nose, forcing his rage into focus. “Good. Listen carefully.”

“Pull hospital footage. Every hallway, every elevator, every loading bay. I want timestamps, faces, routes. Track where Midoriya was moved. Trace the doctor. Face recognition, staff records, anything. If he used a fake ID, find out where it came from. As for the backup team, have them sweep known warehouses, abandoned facilities, old transit tunnels. Anyone with medical-grade sedatives or restraint equipment just jumped to the top of the list.”

_________________________________________

Midoriya’s breath hitched first. The air felt heavier. Thicker. Like it wasn’t quite reaching his lungs.

He swallowed, throat dry.
“Hh…?”

His chest rose, then fell, but the relief never came. The faint hum in the room deepened, almost imperceptible at first. The flickering bulb overhead dimmed, brightened, dimmed again.

Midoriya frowned, confusion bleeding into fear.
“W-What… is this…?”

Then a voice, calm and controlled, echoed from a small speaker sitting on the table beside him.

Midoriya tried to take a deeper breath.

It burned.

His lungs protested, tight and aching, like they were being squeezed from the inside. His head swam, vision blurring at the edges.

“It is carbon monoxide. Most don’t even realize it’s happening until it’s too late. But you will. Slowly.”

Midoriya’s eyes widened, panic clawing at his throat.
“I-I can’t, please,”

A slow sigh came through the speaker. “Relax. Actually, it won’t matter. You’re just a collateral afterall.”

Midoriya’s hands struggled against the straps, gagging on shallow, painful breaths.

“Bakugou Katsuki,” Kurogane’s voice cut coldly through the speaker. “That man has ruined everything I’ve built. Intercepted my plans, burned my routes, killed my men.” Pause. “And yet… he never bleeds.”

Another pause, then soft, controlled.

“This time, he will.”

Kurogane’s voice returned through the speaker, unhurried, almost reflective.

“And, even if I get killed,” he said calmly, “at least I know one thing for sure.”

Midoriya’s chest tightened. Each breath came shorter than the last, shallow and burning. His vision blurred at the edges, dark spots blooming like ink in water.

“He will lose you.”

The words landed heavier than the gas itself.

Kurogane continued, tone precise, clinical. “That is why I isolated you in this room.”

Midoriya’s head shook weakly. “S-Stop…” he whispered, though the sound barely left his throat.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Kurogane murmured. “I know about your lungs. The damage you already carry. Fragile things, really. Sensitive. Vulnerable.”

Midoriya gasped, pain blooming sharp behind his ribs. His hands strained uselessly against the straps as he fought to draw in air that simply wasn’t there.

“Even if he saves you,” Kurogane went on, voice smooth, almost satisfied, “this will leave scars. Long-term ones.”

A pause.

“Consider this my future planning.”

Midoriya’s head drooped forward, sweat beading along his hairline. His heart pounded erratically, every beat loud in his ears. He forced himself to stay conscious, clinging to one thought, Bakugou.

“You’re not… winning,” Midoriya rasped, forcing the words out through shaking breaths.

A soft laugh echoed through the speaker. “Winning isn’t always about survival, Midoriya Izuku. Sometimes… it’s about what you take away from your enemy.”

The speaker crackled faintly.

“I take away his certainty. His control. His belief that he can always save the people he cares about.”

Midoriya’s vision tunneled. The room tilted, walls bending inward as his body struggled against the poison filling his lungs. Somewhere far away, metal creaked, doors, vents, systems adjusting, but he couldn’t tell if it was real or just his mind slipping.

The speaker clicked off.

Silence returned, thick, suffocating.

Midoriya fought to stay awake, chest burning, teeth clenched as he clung to consciousness by sheer will alone. Bakugou was coming. He had to be.

______________________________________________________

The hospital’s security room hummed with low electricity, walls lined with monitors displaying corridors, elevators, and loading bays in endless grids. Fluorescent lights cast a cold glow over the cramped space.

Bakugou stood at the center of it, arms crossed, jaw tight.

The security chief hesitated at the door. “This area’s restricted”

Bakugou didn’t even look at him. “Call Dr. Fujimoto.”

The man froze.

“…Sir?”

Bakugou finally turned, eyes sharp. “My doctor. You know him.”

There was a beat of tense silence.

Before the security chief could respond, hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor. A man in a dark coat stepped into view, rainwater still clinging to the hem, glasses slightly askew from rushing.

“Security Chief Hoshino.”

The chief straightened instantly. “Dr. Fujimoto?”

Dr. Fujimoto nodded once, already pulling out his credentials. “I was informed my patient has gone missing under hospital supervision.” His gaze flicked briefly to Bakugou, recognition passing between them. “I’ll take responsibility for authorizing this access.”

The chief hesitated only a second before stepping aside. “Of course, Doctor. If you’re overseeing it, then”

The security door slid open with a mechanical hiss.

Bakugou entered first.

The security room was dim, walls lined with surveillance monitors displaying feeds from every wing of the hospital. Elevators. Hallways. Loading bays. A few technicians turned in surprise, immediately stiffening when they saw Dr. Fujimoto.

Bakugou planted his hands on the console. “Pull up operating wing C. Time stamp from a hour ago.”

One of the techs swallowed and obeyed.

Bakugou leaned in, eyes razor-focused as the camera showed a stretcher being wheeled down a corridor, not rushed, not chaotic. 

“That’s him,” Kirishima said quietly.

Bakugou’s jaw tightened. “Zoom.”

The feed sharpened. The doctor’s face was partially obscured by a mask, cap pulled low. Footsteps rushed in behind them.

Bakugou didn’t turn.

He felt them before he heard them.

Kaminari, Uraraka, and Mina entered the room, rain still clinging to their clothes, faces tight with urgency.

Bakugou’s eyes didn’t leave the screen. The security room dimmed as the footage began to play, the low hum of servers filling the silence while multiple monitors flickered to life. Bakugou stood at the front, arms crossed, eyes locked onto the screens with a focus sharp enough to cut. 

The next camera caught the far end of the parking row. A dark sedan sat waiting, engine already running, its headlights cutting through the damp air. The doctor stopped beside it, unlocked the trunk, and lifted the lid. 

The final camera followed the sedan as it pulled away, tires whispering against wet concrete. It passed beneath the exit gate and merged onto the street, rain streaking across the lens just as the license plate came briefly into focus. 

Bakugou memorized it instantly. Seconds later, the car vanished into traffic, swallowed by the city as if it had never been there at all. The screen froze on the empty parking space, the timestamp still running, the silence in the room growing heavy.

“Got it,” he said quietly.

The room held its breath.

Bakugou turned sharply, already pulling his phone from his coat. His thumb moved without hesitation, dialing a number he rarely used, and never without reason.

It rang once.

Twice.

Then , 

“Bakugou Katsuki,” a low, gravel-smooth voice answered. “This better be worth waking half my network.”

Bakugou’s voice was clipped, all business. “I need a plate traced. Now.”

There was a pause on the line.  “Read it.”

Bakugou rattled off the number without looking away from the frozen screen. “Black sedan. Left the Central Medical parking bay seventeen minutes ago. Driver posing as hospital staff. There is a life on stake.”

“Got him.”

Bakugou’s grip tightened around the phone. “Send coordinates.”

“Already did.”

The phone vibrated in his palm.

“Thanks, Shinsou… I owe you one.”

He pocketed the phone and turned toward the team. “Let’s move.”

______________________________________________________

Rain streaked across the windshield as the car slowed near the warehouse district. Sero kept his eyes on the road, hands steady on the wheel.

Beside him, Bakugou leaned forward slightly. “Give me the drone view.”

In the back seat, Todoroki lifted a small controller, his expression calm and focused. He tapped the screen, and a live video feed appeared on the dashboard display.

The warehouse came into view, wide, dark, and surrounded by empty ground.

“There,” Todoroki said evenly. “People outside. Armed.”

 Bakugou’s eyes narrowed. “How many?”

Todoroki studied the screen for a moment. “At least twelve. Maybe more inside. They’re spread out, covering all sides.”

Kirishima let out a low breath. “That’s a lot.”

“How many do we have?” Bakugou asked. “All teams. Including backup.”

Todoroki didn’t hesitate. His eyes flicked briefly to his display, then back up.

“Our car makes four,” he said calmly. “Mina’s team adds three. The backup team is eight. Total of fifteen.”

Bakugou nodded once, already running the numbers in his head.

“Fifteen against at least twelve outside,” he said. “Plus more inside.”

“Sero. Drive past the warehouse once we’re arrived. Full speed. Don’t stop.”

He turned slightly to Kirishima and Todoroki.

“Kirishima, you’re with me up front,” he said. “You walk in first. Draw their fire and force them to commit. I will take the opportunity to shoot them when there is an opening.”

Kirishima rolled his shoulders, adjusting the weight of the vest beneath his jacket. “I’ll keep their eyes on me.”

He shifted slightly toward Todoroki. “You stay just behind us. Watch the sides. Anyone moves wrong, anyone tries to get clever, you put them down.”

Todoroki nodded once, calm as ever. “I’ve got it.”

Bakugou pressed the button on the walkie clipped to his jacket. The faint crackle filled the car before the line opened.

“Kaminari,” he said calmly.

A beat. Then Kaminari’s voice came through, tight but steady. “I hear you.”

“When we step out,” Bakugou continued, eyes fixed on the warehouse ahead, “When we step out, I want this place blind. Lights off. I don’t care how you do it, just make sure they don’t see us coming or know where to run.”

Kaminari swallowed, then gave a tight nod. “Yeah. I can do that.”

“Mina,” Bakugou continued, voice even. “You stay close to him. If anyone slips past the front, you deal with it.”

A sharp breath on the other end. “Understood.”

“Uraraka.”

“I’m here,” she said.

Bakugou’s voice lowered, losing none of its authority but gaining weight. “You will come with us. Your only job is Midoriya. The second you find him, you leave. You don’t wait for me.”

There was no hesitation. “I will.”

Bakugou switched the channel on the walkie, thumb steady, voice carrying that same cold certainty that made people listen without question.

“The rest,” he said. 

Static crackled for a brief second before multiple quiet responses came through, confirming they were on the line.

“We don’t know how many are inside,” Bakugou continued, eyes never leaving the dark outline of the warehouse. “That means things will get messy.”

His voice stayed even. Controlled.

“If they come at us from behind, you deal with it. If they pour out from the sides, you deal with it. If more people show up than we planned for, ” a brief pause, heavy with meaning, “you deal with it.”

No hesitation. No room for doubt.

“I don’t want anyone getting close to Midoriya once we find him,” Bakugou added. “Anyone who tries becomes your problem.”

The radio crackled with firm acknowledgments.

In the second car, Kaminari sat hunched over his laptop, cables running from the device into a portable signal booster taped beneath the dashboard. His screen was split into four windows, city power access, private generator logs, camera feeds, and a looping script he’d written himself.

“Same system for everything,” he muttered. “Lights, cameras, alarms. Amateur mistake.”

The cameras were the easiest.

Most private warehouses didn’t bother with live monitoring anymore. They relied on automated recording, cheap systems, default passwords, no active oversight. Kaminari slipped in through the back end using credentials he’d lifted earlier from a subcontractor’s email server.

One click.

The camera feeds froze.

Then the lights.

The warehouse had its own generator, meant to kick in if city power dropped. Kaminari let the main power stay live and targeted the internal lighting grid instead, feeding it a short, controlled overload.

He hit the final key.

Outside, the warehouse lights flickered once.

Twice.

Then died.

Kaminari’s voice came sharp and steady through the walkie. “Lights are down. Cameras are frozen.  You’re clear to move.”

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed, scanning the dark silhouette of the warehouse ahead. A faint smirk touched his lips. “Good. Sero, hit the accelerator. Full speed. We go in now.”

The car lurched forward, tires spitting rainwater, and slid into position just outside the warehouse. Bakugou’s eyes were sharp, scanning every shadow, every glint of metal, every possible exit. The rain made visibility poor, but that worked to their advantage.

“Everyone, on my mark,” Bakugou muttered, voice low and steady. “Front first. Keep to the plan.”

Kirishima’s boots hit the wet ground first. He moved like a tank, low profile, taking the brunt of the likely first shots. Two armed guards at the front spotted him immediately and raised their pistols. Kirishima didn’t hesitate, he rolled into cover behind a stack of crates, arms tensed, and swung his shoulder into the first man as the shot went off. The gun misfired against the concrete wall.

Bakugou sprinted just behind him, pistols drawn, checking angles as they approached. “Go, go, go!” he barked, and his voice carried a dangerous edge.

Shots cracked, ricocheting off metal beams and walls. Todoroki stayed behind the front line, crouched low, eyes moving methodically, signaling to Sero via a small earpiece. 

Inside, the warehouse was a maze of crates and pallets, shadows thick in the corners. Kaminari’s lights and camera hack had done its job, the place was blind to any internal surveillance. Bakugou moved like a predator, fists clenched, eyes sharp, coordinating with Kirishima’s cover.

A guard popped up behind a crate, aiming directly at Kirishima. Bakugou fired a precise shot, the bullet hitting the man’s gun hand and sending the weapon skidding across the floor. Kirishima slammed his shoulder into the same guard, knocking him out cold.

“Keep moving!” Bakugou barked, and the team advanced, fluid, precise, practiced. No hesitation, no second-guessing.

Uraraka and Mina moved along the side corridors, scanning for Midoriya’s location. Each time they cleared a hallway, Mina signaled silently with a hand gesture, Midoriya was not yet in sight, but they were closing in.

Bullets cracked against crates, ricocheting in every direction as Bakugou, Kirishima, and Todoroki advanced, weaving through shadows. The team moved like a single unit, precise and practiced, but something felt… off.

Then, the faint hum of a speaker activated somewhere overhead. A calm, deliberate voice echoed through the warehouse, cutting through the chaos.

“So eager, so predictable.”

Everyone froze, rifles and fists snapping toward the source of the voice. No figure appeared. Just the shadows.

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed, teeth gritted. “Ghost Hand,  where the hell are you?”

A slow, mocking laugh echoed through the speakers. “Oh, I’m everywhere and nowhere. I prefer to watch… to orchestrate from the shadows. You see, every step you take, every choice you make… I’m already three moves ahead.”

Kirishima gritted his teeth. “Enough with the games! Where’s Midoriya?”

Bakugou’s fists clenched, breathing sharp, cold fury simmering beneath his control. “You think hiding behind a voice is enough to stop me.”

“Oh, Bakugou. Even if you find me, even if you storm this warehouse and take me down… you can’t save him in time. That room, the gas… it’s already working.”

Bakugou’s jaw tightened, teeth grinding. “You hear me? I will save him!”

The speaker crackled, Kurogane’s calm, chilling voice cutting through the chaos. “Oh, I know you will. That’s why I chose him. That’s why I knew he would be your weakness. You can storm this warehouse, fight every guard, destroy every trap… and still, he will be breathing his last before you reach him.”

Kirishima’s eyes narrowed, shoulders tensing. “Boss,  we have to move. Now.”

Bakugou’s gaze didn’t waver from the shadows, every muscle coiled. “I’m not losing him. Not this time. Not to him.”

Kirishima’s shoulder bumped against him, a grounding presence amid the storm. “Boss,” he said, voice firm but steady, “you go get Midoriya. We’ve got this.”

Todoroki interrupted, stepping beside Kirishima, his tone sharp and certain. “You’re the one he’s counting on. The one this guy wants to face. We can hold these guys off. Uraraka and Mina will follow you to him.”

Bakugou’s jaw tightened. His instincts screamed to push forward, to take the fight head-on. But looking at Kirishima and Todoroki, he saw the same determination he had drilled into them countless times, precision, strength, trust.

“You’re our leader,” Kirishima continued, voice low but unwavering. “You trained us, made us ready for this. Let us fight while you go save him.”

Todoroki added, his eyes scanning the room with sharp calculation, “We know what’s at stake. We can handle it. Go. Bring him back.”

Bakugou exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. “Uraraka, Mina, with me,” he said, voice low and dangerous. The girls nodded immediately, understanding the gravity of the moment.

“Alright,” Bakugou muttered, fists ready, eyes burning with focus. “Let’s finish this.”

He took the lead, charging into the shadows, the rain outside mixing with the sparks of gunfire behind them. Kirishima and Todoroki moved in perfect sync, covering every angle, every threat, their trust in their boss unshakable.

Bakugou sprinted through the dim corridors of the warehouse, Uraraka and Mina close behind. Rainwater from the open doors outside had pooled along the floors, making each step slick, but he didn’t slow. Every muscle burned, every breath sharp, every heartbeat echoing the fear and fury clawing at his chest.

Gunfire and shouts faded behind them, Kirishima and Todoroki were doing exactly what they promised, holding the warehouse’s remaining guards at bay. Bakugou didn’t allow himself a glance backward, he couldn’t risk losing focus. His mind was singular, reach Midoriya.

Then he saw him.

Midoriya, tied to a chair in the center of a wide, shadowed room. The faint hum of the gas still lingered in the air, but the young man’s green eyes lit with recognition the moment they met Bakugou’s. Relief was fleeting. There was someone else in the room.

Kurogane.

“You’re persistent,” Kurogane said, voice smooth, almost amused. “I expected more caution from you.”

Bakugou’s fists clenched, jaw tight. “Step away from him. Now.”

Kurogane tilted his head, a faint smirk visible beneath his mask. “Ah… but I’ve been looking forward to this.”

In an instant, Kurogane lunged. Not with superhuman speed, just calculated, practiced movement, a trained fighter using shadows, leverage, and the environment. Bakugou barely had time to react, sidestepping as a heavy metal pipe swung where he had just been. Sparks flew as it clanged against the concrete.

Bakugou’s own movements were precise, instinctive, fueled by adrenaline and rage. He threw a punch, aiming for Kurogane’s jaw, but the man twisted away, ducking under the strike, landing a sharp elbow against Bakugou’s ribs. The impact knocked the wind out of him, but he didn’t falter.

“You’re fast,” Kurogane remarked, circling him slowly. “But are you clever enough?”

Bakugou growled, wiping blood from the corner of his lip. “I don’t care how smart you are. I’m getting him out. That’s all that matters.”

Bakugou shoved Kurogane back one final time, pressing him against a wall of stacked crates. Dust and splinters flew through the air, and Kurogane’s breath came slightly faster now, his calm composure starting to crack under Bakugou’s relentless pressure.

“Uraraka! Mina!” Bakugou barked, voice sharp and urgent, cutting through the lingering tension in the warehouse. “Get him out! Now! Take Midoriya and move to hospital, now!”

Uraraka didn’t hesitate. She and Mina sprinted toward Midoriya, carefully lifting him from the chair, still strapped and weak from the gas. His green eyes met Bakugou’s, and for the first time, there was a flicker of relief in them.

“Don’t worry, Midoriya! We’ve got you!” Uraraka said, her hands steady despite the chaos around them.

Bakugou turned back toward Kurogane, fists ready, stance low and sharp. “You’re not going anywhere. Not today.”

Kurogane’s lips curled into a thin smile, tension visible in the set of his shoulders. “You’re predictable, Bakugou. Just like how I plan.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Bakugou spat, stepping forward, eyes blazing. “I don’t care about your plans. I only care about him.”

With that, Uraraka and Mina, carrying Midoriya carefully between them, backed toward the exit. Bakugou covered them, every movement precise, ready to intercept any attack from Kurogane or remaining guards.

“Go! Go! Go!” Bakugou shouted, voice cutting through the warehouse like a whip. “Keep him safe. Don’t stop for anything until you reach the hospital!”

Uraraka nodded, determination in her eyes, and together with Mina, they disappeared into the shadows of the warehouse corridors, moving swiftly toward safety.

Bakugou stayed behind, fists raised, eyes locked on Kurogane. The rainwater-slick concrete beneath them reflected the dim emergency lights, turning the space into a dangerous, high-stakes arena. The fight wasn’t over, not yet but one thing was certain, Midoriya was moving, and Bakugou’s priority had been achieved.

Chapter Text

Rain hammered down in sheets, drumming against the metal roof of the warehouse and the wet streets outside. Uraraka and Mina sprinted through the shadowed corridors, carrying Midoriya between them. His body was limp, pale, and trembling, gas still thick in his lungs. Every step sent shivers through them, every second stretching like an eternity.

“He’s… he’s barely conscious!” Mina gasped, glancing down at Midoriya’s green eyes fluttering weakly. “If we don’t get him to the hospital fast…”

Uraraka’s grip tightened, her voice steady despite the fear clawing at her chest. “We will get him there. Keep him with us. Keep him breathing. Focus!”

Ahead, just as they reached the last corridor, shadows shifted. Figures emerged from the dim corners, weapons drawn, blocking their path. Kurogane’s men.

“Stop right there!” one barked, raising a gun.

Mina froze, heart pounding. Uraraka’s hands tightened on Midoriya, panic clawing at her chest. “We can’t… we can’t fight all of them!” she whispered, voice tight.

The men advanced, calculated and lethal, leaving no room for hesitation. Bullets cracked through the air. Mina ducked instinctively, rolling to shield Midoriya, but there were too many, and they were closing fast.

Then, a sudden roar of an engine echoed through the rain-soaked alley. Tires screamed as a sleek car skidded into view, lights cutting through the darkness.

“Sero!” Uraraka breathed, relief flooding her voice.

The car slammed to a halt beside them. Doors swung open, and Sero leapt out, ready before they even had to shout. “Get in! Quick!”

Without a second thought, Uraraka and Mina lifted Midoriya into the back seat. Sero grabbed the door, pushing them safely in before returning to the driver’s seat.

The moment their door shut, Sero hit the accelerator. The car lunged forward, tires spitting rainwater, weaving through puddles with near-perfect precision.

Behind them, Kurogane’s men opened fire, bullets pinging off the metal of the car, splashing onto the wet asphalt. Sero maneuvered sharply, narrowly dodging a hail of shots.

Every second was a heartbeat closer to safety, every shadow outside a threat that could end Midoriya’s life. The rain blurred the city into streaks of light and darkness as Sero navigated with precision, the roar of the engine and the sting of gunfire melding into a tense symphony of survival.

Through the windshield, the hospital’s glowing entrance appeared ahead like a beacon. Uraraka’s voice was steady, despite the fear in her chest. “Hang on, Midoriya…”

Sero swerved into the parking lot, tires squealing across wet concrete, and the car came to a sharp stop. Mina and Uraraka wasted no time, lifting Midoriya and rushing him toward the emergency doors, every step a race against the seconds that had already stolen so much from him.

“Emergency! Patient critical! Get a stretcher, now!” Uraraka yelled, her voice cutting through the low murmur of the hospital staff.

A team of nurses and orderlies reacted instantly, wheeling a stretcher toward them. Mina gently laid Midoriya down, his body pale and trembling, lips slightly blue, each shallow breath a silent plea.

“He’s… barely holding on!” Mina whispered, panic edging her tone.

Uraraka pressed a hand to his chest, willing him to fight, willing him to survive. “You hear me, Midoriya? Stay with us, okay? You have to make it.”

Sero jogged behind them, rain still dripping from his coat, eyes scanning for any lingering threat. “He’s safe now. You’re doing the right thing. Let the doctors handle him from here!”

Doctors swarmed, cutting away the wet clothes and checking monitors and IVs. Dr. Fujimoto arrived moments later, pushing through the cluster of staff. His eyes widened at the sight of Midoriya’s condition, but his movements were precise, calm, controlled chaos.

“Get him onto the emergency bed. Start oxygen. We need to stabilize him before the CO exposure worsens,” Fujimoto ordered. Nurses obeyed immediately, one adjusting the monitors while another connected an oxygen mask.

Uraraka watches the doctors struggling to save Midoriya, tears brimming in her eyes but voice steady. “It’s okay, Midoriya … you’re safe now. Just hang on a little longer. You’re going to be okay.”

Outside, rain continued to fall, the city unaware of the life-or-death struggle within the hospital walls. Every second felt drawn out, torturous. Every beep of the monitor was a reminder that he was still fighting, that they were still racing against the clock.

And somewhere, far from the hospital, Bakugou’s fists pounded against Kurogane in the warehouse. Each blows a promise, each dodge a vow. 

Kurogane’s stance was calm, almost unnervingly relaxed, but his eyes glinted with lethal precision. “Persistent, aren’t you?” he said, voice smooth but venomous.

Bakugou’s jaw tightened, fists clenched, muscles coiled like springs ready to snap. “Stop talking. Step up, or get out of my way.”

Kurogane tilted his head, smirking beneath the mask. “Very well. Let’s see if your anger can match your skill.”

He lunged, precise and fast, swinging a heavy metal pipe in a brutal arc. Bakugou sidestepped just in time, sparks flying as the pipe slammed into a stack of crates, sending splinters and dust into the air. He countered immediately, a sharp right hook aimed for Kurogane’s jaw. The man twisted away, landing a hard elbow into Bakugou’s ribs. Pain flared, breath leaving him, but Bakugou didn’t falter.

The two circled each other, predator and predator, the warehouse amplifying every movement, every breath, every heartbeat. Kurogane feinted left, swung right, Bakugou blocked, countered, twisted, ducked. Each strike echoed like thunder, each dodge a test of reflexes honed through years of training.

“You’re fast,” Kurogane said, dodging another blow, “but can you think faster than I can?”

Bakugou growled, spitting out a thin line of blood. “I don’t give a damn about your tricks. I’m ending this. Now.”

Kurogane smirked, then shifted suddenly, slamming his forearm against Bakugou’s shoulder, pushing him backward into a steel support beam. The impact rattled through Bakugou’s bones, but he twisted, rolling into a crouch, fists blazing. His strikes became a flurry, punctuated punches, uppercuts, and kicks designed to break Kurogane’s rhythm, force him to make a mistake.

But Kurogane was relentless, countering with surgical precision, his movements calculated, deadly. Every strike was meant not just to harm, but to probe Bakugou’s defenses, to wear him down physically and mentally.

Bakugou’s breaths came hard, shallow, sharp. His ribs ached, his knuckles burned, but the thought of Midoriya kept him moving, kept him sharp. Every strike carried the weight of promise. 

Bakugou’s fists pounded relentlessly, driving Kurogane backward, each strike sharper than the last. But Kurogane wasn’t finished. As he twisted to avoid a brutal uppercut, his hand subtly slipped into his jacket pocket. In a flash too quick for anyone to notice, a glint of metal appeared, a slim, deadly knife.

Before Bakugou could register the move, Kurogane lunged, slashing upward with the blade. Pain exploded in Bakugou’s side as the knife sank into his stomach, slicing through muscle and tearing his jacket. He staggered back, a sharp gasp tearing from his throat, blood blossoming across his coat.

“You!” Bakugou snarled through gritted teeth, the searing pain igniting his fury even more. His vision blurred at the edges, but the thought of Midoriya, struggling to survive, ignited a fire that refused to die. He forced himself upright, fists still clenched, jaw set.

Kurogane’s smirk widened beneath his mask, the shadows of the warehouse flickering across his face. “I told you… anger and need to protect… make you vulnerable.”

Bakugou’s vision narrowed, every nerve screaming, every breath a battle against the searing pain. He didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate. “You think stabbing me, hurts me enough to stop me?” His voice was low, dangerous, ragged with effort. “I don’t care how much it hurts. I don’t care if I bleed. I’m getting him back!”

Bakugou moved before the pain could slow him down.

Kurogane stepped in, confident, the knife still angled for another strike but Bakugou twisted inside the man’s reach, grabbing Kurogane’s wrist with a grip like iron. The blade wavered for half a second. That was all Bakugou needed.

He slammed his forehead forward, cracking into Kurogane’s mask. The impact stunned him. Bakugou wrenched the knife free in one brutal motion, ignoring the fresh surge of pain tearing through his own body.

Kurogane barely had time to realize his mistake.

Bakugou drove the blade forward in a single, decisive motion, straight to Kurogane’s throat.

The fight ended instantly.

Kurogane’s body stiffened, breath hitching in a wet, broken gasp. His hands clawed weakly at Bakugou’s coat before losing strength altogether. The knife slipped free as Bakugou stepped back, letting the man collapse onto the cold concrete floor.

Silence crashed down over the warehouse.

Rain leaked through the broken roof, dripping steadily, almost mockingly, as Kurogane lay still, eyes empty, plans finished, games finally over.

Bakugou stood there for a moment, chest heaving, blood soaking through his jacket and pooling at his boots. His hands trembled, not from fear, not from regret but from everything he’d been holding back.

“This is what you get,” he muttered, voice raw. “For touching what’s mine.”

He turned away without another glance, pressing a hand hard against his bleeding stomach as he staggered toward the exit. Every step hurt. Every breath burned. But none of it mattered.

The adrenaline that had kept him upright finally gave out. He made it halfway up the steps before his legs buckled.

“Boss!”

Kirishima caught him just in time, arm wrapping around Bakugou’s waist as blood seeped through his jacket, dark against the rain. Kaminari and Sero were right behind them, breathless, soaked, alive.

Bakugou tried to straighten, failed. His vision swam, the warehouse lights blurring into streaks. His teeth ground together as he pressed a shaking hand against his stomach.

“Midoriya,” he rasped.

Kaminari crouched in front of him instantly. “Uraraka and Mina already took him. Sero got them out clean. They’re heading to the hospital.”

That kept Bakugou conscious.

“Good,” he muttered. “Then move.”

Kaminari didn’t argue. He glanced at Kirishima once, then nodded sharply. “Car’s ready. I’ll drive.”

They hauled Bakugou up, one on each side. Every step was agony, but Bakugou forced himself forward, boots scraping against concrete, rain soaking into the open wound at his side.

Behind them, Todoroki stood near the entrance, phone already pressed to his ear, eyes cold and focused.

“I’ll clean this up,” he said calmly. “By the time anyone looks, this place will be empty.”

Bakugou didn’t look back.

They shoved him into the back seat, Kirishima sliding in beside him to keep him upright. Kaminari took the wheel, hands tight, knuckles white.

The engine roared to life.

Rain blurred the windshield as they tore out of the warehouse, the city stretching ahead like a tunnel of lights and shadow.

Bakugou slumped back against the seat, breathing shallow, pain radiating through his core. His eyelids fluttered, consciousness slipping in and out.

“Hey,” Kirishima said urgently, gripping his shoulder. “Stay with us. Don’t you dare pass out.”

Bakugou huffed a weak, humorless breath. 

___________________________________________________________

Midoriya floated somewhere between waking and nothing. Voices echoed around him, distant and distorted.

“…oxygen levels”

“…heart rate unstable”

Hands moved over his body, firm and fast. Something covered his face, cool air rushing in, burning his lungs. It hurts to breathe. His chest felt heavy, like it was sinking inward.

He tried to open his eyes. Light stabbed through his vision, white and overwhelming.

Bakugou’s face surfaced in his mind, sharp and furious and alive.

Did he…

The thought dissolved as darkness closed in again.

___________________________________________________________

The car sped through rain-soaked streets, Kaminari weaving through traffic with reckless precision, one eye constantly flicking to the rearview mirror.

“Hospital’s ten minutes out,” he said. “Hold on.”

Bakugou didn’t respond.

Kirishima tightened his grip, panic finally cracking through his voice. “Bakugou, hey, look at me!”

Bakugou’s chest rose, fell. Shallow. Uneven.
But still breathing.
Still fighting.

And somewhere ahead, under harsh white lights, Midoriya was doing the same.

The hospital lights came into view far too slowly.

Kaminari ran the last red light without hesitation, tires screeching as he swung into the emergency bay. The car barely stopped before doors were yanked open.

“Emergency!” Kaminari shouted as they hauled Bakugou out. “Stab wound, heavy blood loss!”

Bakugou’s boots dragged against the pavement. His head lolled forward, vision dimming, the sounds around him blurring into a distant roar. He forced his eyes open one last time.

“Midoriya,” he breathed.

Then his legs gave out completely.

Orderlies rushed forward with a gurney, hands already gloved, voices sharp and practiced. Bakugou was lowered onto it roughly, antiseptic burning as they pressed gauze hard against his stomach.

“Sir, stay with me,” a nurse ordered. “Don’t close your eyes.”

Bakugou snarled weakly, forcing them open. “Where, ” His throat burned. “Where’s Midoriya?”

They wheeled him down the corridor at speed, fluorescent lights flashing overhead. As they turned a corner, he caught a glimpse through a narrow window, doctors clustered around an operating table, machines flashing, a still figure beneath sterile blue sheets.

Green hair. An oxygen line.

Midoriya.

Bakugou’s breath hitched. “Don’t you, ” His voice broke, raw and hoarse. “Don’t you dare die.”

The doors slid shut before he could see more.

“BP’s dropping,” someone said sharply.

“We’re losing blood fast.”

Hands pressed harder against his wound. Something sharp pierced his arm, cold spreading through his veins.

“Sir, we’re taking you into emergency surgery,” a doctor said. “You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

His vision blurred again, the ceiling dissolving into white haze. But even as the world started to fade, his jaw set stubbornly.

You don’t get to go before me, Nerd.
Not after all this.
Not while I’m still breathing.

Darkness closed in as they pushed him through swinging doors, alarms echoing down the hallway, two battles being fought under the same roof, both balanced on the same fragile line between life and death.

Chapter Text

The hospital hallway smelled of antiseptic and rain-soaked clothes. White lights hummed softly overhead, relentless and unforgiving, illuminating every second that dragged by too slowly.

Two operating rooms.
Two lives balanced on thin, fragile lines.

Kirishima sat hunched forward on a plastic chair outside the emergency surgery ward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles had gone white. Blood—Bakugou’s blood, had dried dark along the cuff of his sleeve. He hadn’t bothered to clean it.

Across from him, Kaminari paced. Three steps one way. Turn. Three steps back. Over and over. His fingers twitched, electricity of pure nerves running through him even now.

The red light above the operating room stayed on.

Down another corridor, Uraraka stood with her arms wrapped around herself, shoulders trembling despite how hard she tried to stay steady. Mina sat beside her, leg bouncing uncontrollably, jaw clenched tight. Sero leaned against the wall, silent, eyes fixed on the closed doors like he could open them.

The sounds of the hospital faded in and out, footsteps, murmured voices, the distant beep of monitors but none of it mattered. Only that door did.

Midoriya had disappeared behind it hours ago.

The red light burned on.

Time lost meaning.

Then, finally, movement.

A door slid open with a soft hiss.

Dr. Fujimoto stepped out first, mask pulled down around his neck, exhaustion etched into every line of his face. His coat was smudged, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly disheveled from hours of controlled chaos.

Uraraka stood so fast her chair scraped loudly against the floor. Mina and Sero were right behind her.

“Doctor?” Uraraka asked, voice tight, fragile.

Dr. Fujimoto exhaled slowly. Then,

“He survived.”

The words hit like oxygen.

Uraraka’s knees nearly buckled as relief crashed through her, a broken sob slipping past her lips. Mina covered her mouth, tears spilling freely now, and Sero let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“He was very close,” Fujimoto continued gently. “Carbon monoxide poisoning is unforgiving. His oxygen levels were critically low when he arrived. His heart nearly gave out twice during surgery.”

Uraraka’s hand flew to her chest. “But… he’s stable?”

“Yes,” Fujimoto said. “He’s stable. He’s alive.”

A pause.

Then his expression shifted, still calm, still professional, but heavier.

“There is… damage.”

The hallway seemed to shrink.

“The prolonged exposure affected his lungs,” Fujimoto explained. “Inflammation, tissue injury. We managed to prevent permanent failure, but recovery will be long. He’ll experience breathing difficulties for some time, possibly chronic sensitivity.”

Mina wiped her cheeks angrily. “But will he recover?”

“It won’t be easy. But he survived something that should have killed him.”

Uraraka bowed her head, tears dripping onto the floor. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you so much.”

Dr. Fujimoto nodded once. “You can see him once he’s moved to the ICU. He’ll be unconscious for a while.”

As the doctor walked away, the weight in the hallway shifted, from terror to fragile, aching hope.

Not far away, another door opened.

Another doctor stepped out, surgical cap still on, mask removed. He scanned the hallway until his eyes landed on Kirishima and Kaminari.

“You’re waiting for Bakugou Katsuki?” he asked.

Both of them were on their feet instantly.

“Yes,” Kirishima said, voice rough. “That’s our boss.”

The doctor nodded. “He’s incredibly lucky.”

Kaminari’s breath caught. “Lucky… how?”

“The stab wound missed major organs by centimeters,” the doctor explained. “There was significant blood loss, but we managed to control it in time. Surgery was successful. He’ll need rest, monitoring, and recovery, but he’s stable.”

“He’ll wake up in recovery,” the doctor said. “You can see him once he’s moved.”

As the doctor walked away, Kirishima finally sat back down, hands shaking now that the fight was over.

Kaminari leaned against the wall, head tipping back, eyes closing.

Behind two separate doors, under the same roof, two heartbeats continued on.

Midoriya lay still beneath thin blankets, oxygen steady at his side, chest rising and falling slowly, stubbornly, alive.

Bakugou lay in another room, bandaged and bruised, jaw set even in unconsciousness, body refusing to quit even now.

_______________________________________________

The first thing Bakugou felt was pain.

Not sharp, dull, heavy, deep in his core, like his body had been filled with lead. His chest rose with effort. Every breath burned just enough to be annoying. Familiar. He hated it already.

A low, steady beeping crept into his awareness.

Hospital.

Bakugou’s eyes cracked open, vision swimming, ceiling lights blurring into white smears. He scowled reflexively, then winced as the movement tugged at his side.

“Tch…”

“Hey, hey, easy!”

A hand pressed gently against his shoulder. Bakugou’s focus sharpened just enough to register faces.

Kirishima was closest, leaning over the bed, eyes wide with relief. Kaminari stood at the foot, looking like he’d just aged ten years overnight. And, by the wall, 

Sero.
Mina..

Bakugou swallowed hard, throat dry as sandpaper. His voice came out rough, barely more than a rasp.

“Where’s… Midoriya?”

The room went quiet.

Bakugou’s jaw tightened instantly. “Answer me.”

Mina stepped forward first, forcing a smile that didn’t quite hold. “He’s alive,” she said quickly. “They got him in time.”

Bakugou’s breath hitched despite himself.

Sero nodded, arms crossed tightly. “He went into surgery before you even got here. CO poisoning. It was bad.”

“How bad,” Bakugou demanded.

Kirishima glanced at Mina, then back at Bakugou. “He almost didn’t make it,” he said honestly. “His heart stopped once. Maybe twice.”

Bakugou’s fingers curled weakly against the sheets. His teeth ground together, anger flaring sharp and immediate. “That bastard”

“But,” Mina cut in, voice firmer now, “he fought through it. Like he always does.”

Sero continued, quieter. “Dr. Fujimoto came out. Said the damage to his lungs is serious, but not fatal. Long recovery. He’ll need oxygen support for a while. Might have trouble breathing, especially under stress.”

Bakugou stared at the ceiling, chest rising slowly, carefully.

Alive.

That was the only word that mattered.

“I want to see him.” Bakugou was already shifting like he planned to get up.

Four hands moved at once.

“Absolutely not,” Kaminari said, panic creeping into his voice. “You just got stitched back together!”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Kirishima added, firm but gentle. “Doctor’s orders.”

Bakugou clicked his tongue in irritation, then winced again as pain flared. “…Damn it.”

Mina exhaled softly. “He’s still unconscious. ICU. They won’t let anyone in yet.”

Sero met Bakugou’s gaze. “But when they do, we’ll take you. I promise.”

Bakugou went quiet after that.

His eyes slid shut, jaw still tight, but the tension in his shoulders eased, just a fraction.

Bakugou lay there, battered and furious and alive, pain anchored in every breath but underneath it all, something solid held him together.

Midoriya was alive.

And that was enough.

_______________________________________________

Three days passed.

The hospital settled into a quieter rhythm, less panic, more waiting. Machines still beeped. Shoes still squeaked against polished floors. But the air no longer felt like it might shatter at any second.

Midoriya hadn’t woken up.

He lay in the ICU beneath thin white sheets, oxygen tubing resting beneath his nose, chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths. His color had returned slightly, no longer ashen, no longer terrifying but his eyes stayed closed, lashes still, as if he were suspended somewhere far away.

Bakugou, meanwhile, was impossible to keep in bed.

“This is stupid,” he snapped for the third time that morning, hands gripping the armrests of the wheelchair. “I can walk.”

“No, you can’t,” Kaminari replied flatly, hands locked on the handles. “And if you try, I will tase you.”

Bakugou shot him a glare sharp enough to draw blood. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Kirishima snorted from the side. “He absolutely would.”

Bakugou scowled, then hissed under his breath as a dull ache flared through his abdomen. Bandages wrapped tightly around his torso beneath the loose hospital shirt, the reminder unavoidable.

“Tch.”

“Bring me to Midoriya,” Bakugou growled. “Now.”

They didn’t argue anymore.

The hallway to the ICU felt longer than it should have. Every push of the wheelchair echoed too loudly in Bakugou’s ears, each turn tightening something in his chest that had nothing to do with his injury.

Sero and Mina were already there.

Mina stood when she saw them, relief flickering across her face. “You shouldn’t be up yet.”

Bakugou didn’t look at her. His eyes were fixed on the glass wall ahead.

“I know,” he said. “Move.”

Bakugou barely waited for the door to open.

The room was dim, curtains half-drawn, machines humming softly like distant insects. Midoriya lay at the center of it all, smaller somehow beneath the blankets, green hair mussed against the pillow, oxygen hissing gently with every breath.

Bakugou stopped breathing.

Kirishima felt it instantly. “Hey,” he said quietly. “You good?”

Bakugou didn’t answer.

They rolled him closer.

The sight hit harder than any knife ever could.

Midoriya looked peaceful, and wrong. Too still. Too quiet. His fingers lay loose against the sheets, not clenched, not moving.

Bakugou’s hands curled slowly into fists.

“…Nerd,” he muttered.

Mina stepped back, giving him space. Sero leaned against the wall, arms crossed tight, eyes lowered.

Bakugou rolled closer until the wheelchair bumped lightly against the side of the bed.

He stared.

“You look like hell,” Bakugou said quietly, voice rougher than usual. 

The monitor answered him with a steady beep.

Bakugou swallowed.

“They told me,” he continued, jaw tight, “that you almost died. Again.” His lips curled in irritation. “You’ve gotta stop making that a habit.”

Nothing.

His chest rose, fell. Controlled. Careful.

“…You scared them,” he said, glancing briefly toward the others before looking back. “Scared me.”

The words tasted strange. He hated how easily they slipped out.

Bakugou leaned forward slightly, forearm resting against the edge of the bed. Pain flared through his side, sharp and immediate, but he ignored it.

“You don’t get to leave,” he said lowly. “Not after all that.”

His fingers hovered for a moment, then, carefully, he reached out and closed his hand around Midoriya’s.

Warm.

Alive.

Bakugou’s grip tightened just a fraction.

“I won,” he said. “He’s gone. You’re safe.”

The oxygen hissed softly between them.

For a long moment, nothing happened. Then, 

Midoriya’s fingers twitched. So faint it could’ve been imagined.

Bakugou froze. Everyone froze.

“…Midoriya?” Uraraka’s voice came from the doorway, barely a whisper.

Bakugou didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

The fingers twitched again.

Bakugou exhaled slowly, forehead dropping forward until it rested lightly against the mattress.

“Tch,” he muttered, voice thick. “Took you long enough.”

The monitor kept its steady rhythm.

_______________________________________________

Morning came softly but for Midoriya, waking was anything but gentle.

Consciousness dragged him up like a weight tied to his chest.

The first thing he noticed was the oxygen.

A tight mask covered his nose and mouth, cool air flowing steadily into his lungs with a faint hiss. It wasn’t optional, his body leaned into it instinctively, breaths shallow and uneven without the machine’s help. His chest ached with every inhale, a deep, burning pressure that made breathing feel like work instead of instinct.

His fingers twitched weakly.

Monitors beeped in a slow, steady rhythm.

Midoriya frowned faintly, confusion clouding his thoughts. His lungs felt wrong, heavy, raw, like they’d been scraped from the inside out. He tried to take a deeper breath and immediately regretted it, a tight cough caught painfully in his throat.

“Easy.” The voice was sharp. Familiar.

Midoriya’s lashes fluttered.
Light blurred. Then focused.
Red eyes stared back at him.

Bakugou sat beside the bed in a wheelchair, posture rigid, arms folded like he was holding himself together through sheer stubbornness. His face was drawn, bandages visible beneath the hospital gown, but his gaze was locked onto Midoriya like he’d never looked away.

“You’re awake,” Bakugou said gruffly.

Midoriya tried to speak.

Nothing came out.

His chest tightened immediately, breath stuttering as panic flared, his body demanding oxygen faster than he could pull it in on his own. The machine compensated with a soft hiss, forcing air into his lungs, stabilizing him before the fear could spiral.

Bakugou noticed instantly.

“Don’t,” he snapped, already leaning forward. “Don’t try to talk.”

A nurse appeared at the door, moving quickly but calmly. She checked the monitors, adjusted the oxygen flow, then nodded in quiet approval.

“He’s still dependent on full oxygen support,” she explained gently. “His lungs are inflamed and extremely sensitive right now. Talking, stress, even deep breaths can exhaust him.”

Midoriya’s eyes flicked toward her, guilt flickering immediately.

Bakugou scowled. “See? You hear that? You nearly died and you’re already trying to apologize with your face.”

Midoriya blinked slowly.

Bakugou… alive.

He lifted a trembling hand weakly, fingers barely moving beneath the blankets.

Bakugou caught it without hesitation.

His grip was firm but careful.

“You’re an idiot,” Bakugou muttered, voice low, rough. “Do you have any idea what kind of hell you put us through?”

Midoriya’s eyes glassed over. Tears welled, slipping free without warning as relief crashed into him all at once. His breathing hitched again, oxygen rushing in to keep him steady.

Bakugou clicked his tongue, angry and shaken all at once. “Tch, don’t cry. You’ll mess up your breathing.”

But he didn’t let go.

Midoriya squeezed back weakly, thumb brushing against Bakugou’s knuckles.

Bakugou exhaled sharply. “Doctor said the CO burned the lining of your lungs. Oxygen deprivation, inflammation, the whole damn package. You’re gonna be on that mask for a while.”

Midoriya’s brows knit together.

Bakugou leaned closer. “But you’re alive,” he said firmly. “That’s it. That’s the important part.”

Midoriya’s chest rose and fell slowly, carefully, guided by the machine. His body felt fragile, too fragile but the hand holding him grounded him.

Outside the room, rain had finally stopped.

Inside, two survivors breathed under the same roof, one with mechanical help, the other held together by stitches and fury, both still here, both refusing to let go.

Chapter Text

Lights stayed on at all hours, pale and merciless, washing the room in sterile white. Machines hummed and beeped in steady rhythms that Midoriya had learned by heart whether he wanted to or not. The oxygen machine hissed constantly, cool air forced into his lungs through the mask that never left his face.

He hated it.

Every breath reminded him he couldn’t breathe on his own yet. Every sound reminded him he was trapped.

Midoriya lay awake, staring at the ceiling, fingers curled weakly against the sheets. His chest felt tight, not just from the damage to his lungs, but from the walls closing in on him. Nurses came and went. Doctors spoke in calm voices. Curtains opened and closed.

It all blurred together.

Prison.

That was what it felt like.

The door opened quietly.

Bakugou rolled in, no longer in a wheelchair but still moving carefully, a hand occasionally pressing against his bandaged side out of habit. He looked better, stronger but not untouched. The stitches still pulled when he moved. The anger in his eyes was dulled by exhaustion.

“You’re awake,” Bakugou said.

Midoriya turned his head slowly. The oxygen mask fogged slightly with his breath. His eyes were tired. Too tired.

“…Can you… stay?” he asked softly. Talking still took effort.

Bakugou snorted. “I was gonna.”

He rolled closer, stopping beside the bed. For a moment, he just watched the rise and fall of Midoriya’s chest, the way the machine did half the work for him.

Silence stretched.

Then Midoriya spoke again, voice trembling despite how hard he tried to steady it.

“Katsuki… I hate it here.”

Bakugou froze.

Midoriya’s fingers tightened weakly in the sheets. His breathing hitched, the machine compensating immediately, hissing louder.

“I can’t sleep,” he whispered. “Every time I close my eyes, I hear it again. The gas. I feel like I’m still trapped.” His eyes shimmered. “I feel like… like I’m already dead and this is just waiting.”

Bakugou’s chest tightened painfully.

“I don’t want to be here anymore,” Midoriya continued, voice cracking. “Please. Take me home.”

Bakugou’s jaw clenched hard enough to ache.

Home.

The word hit like a knife and a balm all at once.

Midoriya looked at him then, really looked, eyes wide, vulnerable, pleading in a way Bakugou had never seen before.

Begging.

Bakugou hated hospitals. Hated weakness. Hated feeling powerless.

But this?

This hurt worse than the knife ever did.

He reached out, gripping the side of the bed until his knuckles went white.

“…You’re not strong enough,” he said gruffly, like saying it softer would break something. “You still need full oxygen. ICU-level monitoring.”

“I know,” Midoriya said quickly. “I know. I’m not saying without it. I just…” His breath wavered. “I can’t stay here.”

Bakugou stared at him for a long moment.

Then, quietly, firmly.

“Alright.”

Midoriya blinked. “…What?”

Bakugou leaned closer, eyes burning with resolve. “I’ll take you home.”

Midoriya’s breath stuttered. “Katsuki…”

“I said I will,” Bakugou snapped, but there was no anger in it. Only certainty. 

He stood abruptly, pain flaring but ignored. “I’ll handle it.”

Midoriya stared at him, tears slipping free, caught against the mask. Bakugou turned and left before anyone could see his face.

_____________________________________________________

Dr. Fujimoto listened in silence.

Bakugou stood across from him, arms crossed, posture rigid.

“You’re asking to discharge an ICU patient who still requires full oxygen support,” Fujimoto said carefully.

“I’m telling you I’m taking him home,” Bakugou replied. “And I want you to oversee his recovery. Personally.”

Fujimoto raised an eyebrow.

“I’ll pay you whatever your hospital pays you,” Bakugou said. “Double. Triple. You name it.”

Silence hung heavy.

Finally, Fujimoto sighed. “I’ll approve a monitored discharge,” Fujimoto said slowly. “Under strict conditions. If his oxygen levels drop, if his lungs deteriorate, he comes back immediately.”

Bakugou nodded once. “Deal.”

When Bakugou returned to the ICU, Midoriya looked at him anxiously.

Bakugou stopped beside the bed.

“We’re going home,” he said.

Midoriya’s eyes widened, breath catching hard enough that the machine hissed louder.

“…Really?”

Bakugou reached out, resting his hand over Midoriya’s, steady and warm.

“I promised,” he said. “I don’t break those.”

Midoriya’s eyes closed as relief washed over him, shoulders sagging.Midoriya felt like he could breathe again. Even if the machine had to help him do it.

_____________________________________________________

The sun had broken through the clouds, casting a soft glow over the hospital entrance. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and wet asphalt, but today it didn’t feel suffocating. Today, it felt like a step toward home.

Kirishima pushed Bakugou’s wheelchair steadily. Bakugou sat upright, a blanket over his legs. He was still bruised, still bandaged, but the sharp edge of pain that had ruled the last days had dulled. His jaw was set, eyes forward, stubborn as ever, but there was a small, rare softness in his gaze.

Beside him, Todoroki guided Midoriya’s wheelchair carefully. Midoriya’s arms rested weakly on the armrests, pale and still fragile from the past days. A nasal cannula and small oxygen tubing ran from a portable oxygen tank at the back of the wheelchair up to his nose, providing a steady, controlled flow of oxygen.

Todoroki’s hands stayed lightly on the wheelchair handles, guiding it steadily over the smooth pavement. He made sure the oxygen tank remained upright and secure, strapped into place with a special harness on the back of the chair. The tubing was long enough to allow Midoriya to lean slightly and adjust his mask comfortably, but Todoroki stayed alert, adjusting the tubing or the mask if it slipped or tugged.

Kaminari opened the rear door of the first car, checking the seatbelts and space for the wheelchair and oxygen tank. Dr. Fujimoto climbed in alongside him, kit in hand, ready to monitor Midoriya during the ride. Todoroki guided the wheelchair into the car carefully, securing the tank upright and checking the tubing one last time.

“Everything looks stable,” Fujimoto said, adjusting his gloves. 

Midoriya exhaled slowly, relief washing over him as the seatbelt clicked into place. Todoroki sat beside him. Kaminari took the wheel, glancing back occasionally to make sure the oxygen tubing was secure and unobstructed.

In the second car, Bakugou sat in his wheelchair, still tender from his injuries but alert. Kirishima positioned himself beside the wheelchair, steadying it with one hand while placing his other hand behind Bakugou’s back.

“Alright, boss, we’ve got you,” Kirishima said, voice calm but firm. “Lean forward a bit, and I’ll help you into the seat. Just take it slow.”

Bakugou gritted his teeth, wincing slightly as the movement tugged at his stitches. “Hurry up, idiot,” he muttered, though the edge in his voice was more pain than impatience.

With careful coordination, Kirishima guided Bakugou to stand or rather, to partially shift his weight onto Kirishima’s support. Sero moved to open the car door wide.

“One, two… got it,” Kirishima murmured, lifting slightly while Bakugou swung his legs toward the car seat. Bakugou’s hands gripped Kirishima’s shoulders for balance. Slowly, carefully, he lowered into the seat.

“Easy, easy,” Kirishima reassured, adjusting Bakugou so he could sit back comfortably.

Sero gave a small thumbs-up from the passenger side. “We’re good. All set to roll.”

Kirishima gave Bakugou a quick, supportive pat on the shoulder. “You did great. Just sit tight, we’ll get you home safe.”

Bakugou gritted his teeth again, but his eyes softened slightly as he glanced toward the first car carrying Midoriya. “Just… get us there already,” he muttered, voice rough but with a hint of relief.

The car doors closed, and the convoy was ready to leave the hospital, both cars moving smoothly through the wet streets toward home.

______________________________________________________

Uraraka and Mina were waiting at the entrance, bright smiles lighting up their faces. “Midoriya!” Uraraka called, moving quickly to the car carrying him. “We’re so glad you’re home!”

Todoroki guided Midoriya carefully from the car, keeping the oxygen tubing steady. Dr. Fujimoto followed closely, monitoring his vitals and making minor adjustments as needed.

Uraraka led Dr. Fujimoto into his room, explaining quietly but firmly all the rules he needed to follow while staying in the mansion. “Alright, Doctor,” she said, her tone switching from cheerful to business-like, “before you start, you need to know the rules around here. Think of it as… house protocol.”

Dr. Fujimoto raised an eyebrow. “House protocol?”

“Yes,” Uraraka said, stopping at the door to Midoriya’s room. “This isn’t just any mansion. You’re not just a doctor here, you’re in charge of keeping him safe. And that means following some strict rules.”

She unfolded her hands, pacing slightly as she recited them. “Rule one: No strangers allowed inside.”

Dr. Fujimoto nodded, attentive.

“Rule two: No information leaks. If someone asks about Midoriya, his condition, schedule, where he is, you don’t answer. We don’t want anyone using that against him.”

“Understood,” he said firmly.

“Rule three: Always be alert. Cameras, sensors, alarms, you’ll get the full layout later but your job is to make sure he’s never in danger. That includes medical emergencies, yes, but also anything suspicious outside.”

“Rule four: You are never completely unsupervised when you leave the mansion,” Uraraka explained. “One of us will follow you.”

Fujimoto blinked, processing. “You want someone to… tail me?”

Uraraka nodded seriously. “Yes. Not because we don’t trust you, Dr. Fujimoto, but because this house… this isn’t just about Midoriya. There are things here, secrets, operations, connections, that can’t be exposed. If someone knew about them, it could put all of us at risk.”

Fujimoto exhaled slowly, a mix of resignation and understanding. “Alright. I can follow that. Makes sense in this context.”

Uraraka nodded, satisfied with Fujimoto’s response. “Good. Now let’s get Midoriya settled.”

Todoroki guided the wheelchair gently toward Midoriya’s room, careful to keep the oxygen tubing taut but not pulling. The portable oxygen tank rattled softly against the harness with every step, but Todoroki’s hands were steady.

“Almost there,” Todoroki murmured, positioning the wheelchair beside Midoriya’s bed. Midoriya’s eyes tracked the movement nervously, still fragile, still cautious, but a flicker of relief appeared when he saw the familiar bed prepared for him.

Uraraka stepped forward. “We’ve already set up your bed with all the medical necessities. Oxygen connections, your call button, everything is ready. You won’t have to reach too far.”

“Alright, Midoriya,” Uraraka said softly, giving him a small smile. “Lean forward a little. We’ll help you onto the bed.”

Midoriya exhaled shakily and obeyed, gripping the armrests lightly as Todoroki and Uraraka guided him forward. Fujimoto stayed close, monitoring the oxygen levels and adjusting the mask just enough to keep the flow consistent.

“One, two, three… and gently down,” Todoroki instructed, tilting the wheelchair slightly and easing Midoriya’s legs over the edge of the bed.

Midoriya sagged slightly against the mattress, the blankets soft and welcoming. The oxygen tubing stretched just enough to allow him to adjust comfortably. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Dr. Fujimoto knelt beside the bed, checking the monitors one last time. “Oxygen is stable. If you need anything, call me immediately.”

Midoriya nodded as he understood. And for the first time in days, Midoriya allowed himself to relax slightly. His chest rose and fell steadily, guided by the mask but calmer than before. 

_____________________________________________________

The mansion was quiet in the morning, sunlight spilling through the tall windows and glinting off the polished floors. Midoriya sat on the edge of his bed, oxygen mask in place, a blanket tucked around his legs. Even moving a few steps from bed to chair left him winded, chest tight, but today he wanted to try.

Bakugou appeared in the doorway, stretching slightly, no bandages now, he had recovered faster than anyone expected. His sharp gaze softened instantly when it landed on Midoriya.

“You ready to try walking a bit today?” Bakugou asked, voice gruff but gentle.

Midoriya swallowed, wincing at the thought of exertion. “I… I think I can. Slowly.”

Carefully, Midoriya gripped the edge of the bed. Bakugou’s hand brushed his back as he stood, steadying him. The mask hissed with each breath, and Midoriya had to pause every few steps to draw in the oxygen.

“You’re doing fine,” Bakugou murmured, adjusting the tubing gently when it tugged. “Keep your shoulders back… yeah, like that.”

Midoriya’s cheeks flushed, partly from effort, partly because of the way Bakugou’s fingers brushed his hair away from his face as he leaned slightly closer to guide him. It was intimate, quiet, and it made Midoriya’s heart hammer faster than any physical exertion ever could.

When they reached the chair by the window, Bakugou helped him sit, adjusting the blanket around him and ensuring the oxygen tank tubing wasn’t tangled. “There,” he said softly. “Good. Take a breath. You did more than I expected today.”

Midoriya let out a shaky exhale, looking up at him with gratitude that words couldn’t quite capture. “Th-thank you, Katsuki,” he whispered.

Bakugou’s sharp eyes softened, and he paused, his hands hovering over the medicine bottles on the table. He looked down at Midoriya, hesitation flickering across his face, something he rarely allowed anyone to see. Finally, he spoke, voice quieter than usual.

“Listen… I need to say something,” he muttered, averting his eyes for a moment before meeting Midoriya’s. “I… I’m sorry. For all of this.”

Bakugou ran a hand through his hair, jaw tight, eyes darkening with memory. “Ever since… that night. The alley. When my team screwed up and you got caught up in all of it…” His voice faltered slightly. “That’s on me. Ever since you met me, I dragged you into all this mess.” He exhaled sharply, frustration and guilt twisting his features. “All of it. My fault.”

Midoriya’s chest tightened. “Katsuki…”

“Don’t. I need to get it out,” Bakugou snapped, though the edge was softer than usual. “Every day I thought about what happened, about how fragile you are, and…” His voice cracked just slightly. “…I hate that I put you through it.”

Midoriya’s chest tightened. He could see the weight in Bakugou’s posture, the tension that no scowl could hide, the anger that wasn’t really directed at anyone but himself. Slowly, cautiously, Midoriya reached out, resting a trembling hand over Bakugou’s.

“Katsuki…” he whispered softly, voice barely audible over the hiss of his oxygen, “it’s… it’s not your fault.”

Bakugou’s sharp inhale caught in his throat. His fingers twitched where they hovered over Midoriya’s hand, hesitant, unsteady. “…Don’t… don’t try to make excuses for me,” he muttered, though the harshness was a veneer over the guilt gnawing at him.

Midoriya squeezed his hand gently, grounding him. “Katsuki… listen. You didn’t drag me into this to hurt me. You… you saved me too. That night, and now… every day, every little thing you do to make sure I’m okay.”

He paused, gathering strength, eyes glimmering under the oxygen mask. “Katsuki… do you want to know something?”

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed, wary but curious.

“I… ever since I was born with these fragile lungs, I’ve always wondered… how much time do I even have? I’ve spent my life thinking about… death, about how empty my life feels,” Midoriya confessed, voice shaking but steady. “But… ever since I met you, and the rest of you… you guys gave me something I never had before. For the first time in my life, I… I want to live. I feel alive… when I’m with you guys. You’ve given me something I never experienced before… warmth, care… a home, even if it’s not mine.”

Bakugou’s chest tightened, his hands still hovering over Midoriya’s. The words hit him harder than any punch, any fight ever could. His jaw clenched, the emotions he tried to suppress bubbling to the surface.

Midoriya’s green eyes met his, filled with a quiet certainty that made Bakugou falter. “…You didn’t ruin me, Katsuki. You gave me a reason. You gave me life.”

For a long moment, Bakugou simply stared, his usual fire dimmed, replaced by something raw, vulnerable. He finally let his hand cover Midoriya’s, pressing it gently against his own. “…Damn it,” he muttered, voice cracking.

Bakugou’s eyes glimmered, fierce and fragile all at once. “I… I’ll never let anything happen to you again,” he whispered, voice low, almost breaking. “Not ever.”

Midoriya allowed a small, shaky smile to form under the mask. “…I know, Katsuki. I trust you.”

And in that quiet, fragile moment, the guilt and fear that had weighed Bakugou down for so long began to ease, tethered by the warmth of Midoriya’s words, and by the unspoken promise between them that neither would let go.

There was a quiet pause, filled only by the soft hiss of the oxygen and the faint rustle of the blanket. Midoriya’s chest tightened with a nervous warmth, and he finally spoke, voice barely above a whisper.

“Katsuki… I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he murmured, hesitating. “Can I… call you Kacchan?”

Bakugou froze mid-breath, eyes narrowing in surprise. “…Huh?”

Midoriya’s hands fidgeted with the edge of his blanket. “…I mean… it’s not just a nickname. It… it feels like the side of you that no one else gets to see. The side that’s… soft. Caring. Protective. You let me see it. And I… I like it. I like knowing that side of you exists.”

Bakugou’s jaw clenched, a faint blush coloring his ears. He opened his mouth, then closed it, words caught somewhere between irritation and disbelief. “…Tch… you’re ridiculous,” he muttered, voice low, almost gruff but there was no real bite.

Midoriya gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “I want to call you Kacchan because… it feels like it belongs to us, somehow. That it’s ours. The side of you only I see, only I get to know.”

“I… I think I could get used to it,” Bakugou admitted quietly, voice rough but soft. 

_____________________________________________________

The mansion’s kitchen and dining hall had been alive with quiet preparation all morning. The clatter of pots and pans, the scent of roasting meats and baked bread, and the faint hum of conversation created a warmth that felt worlds away from the sterile chill of the hospital. Today was a day for celebration, not just for Bakugou’s recovery, but for Midoriya finally being home.

Midoriya, still pale and tethered to his portable oxygen, sat in his chair by the table, a blanket draped over his legs. Bakugou stood nearby, arms crossed but posture relaxed, observing the bustling kitchen staff.

Uraraka, Mina, and Kirishima moved with practiced coordination, carrying platters of food, arranging dishes, and occasionally stealing glances at the two of them. There was a quiet excitement in the air, a collective sigh of relief that they had made it through the past days safely.

“Alright, everyone!” Uraraka called, clapping her hands softly. “Dinner is served!”

Midoriya’s eyes brightened despite the effort it took to manage each breath. He gave a small nod, smiling weakly at the colorful spread before him. “It… it looks amazing,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, but filled with genuine awe.

As they began eating, the atmosphere was lively but intimate. Kirishima offered small jokes that made both of them laugh, Mina chimed in with playful commentary, and Uraraka checked on Midoriya every so often, adjusting his blanket and ensuring his oxygen tubing stayed untangled.

Todoroki sat quietly beside Midoriya, his presence calm and steady. Occasionally he handed him a dish, his subtle gestures showing care without fanfare. “Here,” he said softly, pushing a small plate closer. Midoriya’s eyes softened at the quiet attention, a contrast to the more energetic energy around the table.

Sero leaned across the table to nudge Kaminari. “Bet you can’t eat this without making a face,” he teased, holding up a particularly spicy dish. Kaminari groaned dramatically, but his grin betrayed how much he enjoyed the camaraderie. The lighthearted antics drew smiles even from Bakugou, who rolled his eyes but didn’t hide the small twitch of amusement at Sero’s antics.

Through the playful chaos, Bakugou remained close to Midoriya, subtly protective. Each time a dish was passed, each time the conversation drew their attention, his hand would brush against Midoriya’s, fingers lingering just long enough to ground him. Midoriya’s heart swelled, a mix of relief, love, and quiet happiness washing over him.

Midoriya leaned slightly toward Bakugou, a shy smile under his mask. “Kacchan… thank you,” he murmured softly.

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed, but the tension in his shoulders eased just slightly. “…Yeah, yeah… don’t make a big deal out of it,” he muttered, his voice rough but low, trying to mask the flutter in his chest.

Todoroki, sitting across from them, raised an eyebrow, his stoic gaze faintly amused. Sero and Kaminari exchanged glances, trying and failing to hide their grins.

“You called him Kacchan?” Sero asked, voice rising in mock disbelief.

Mina leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “Aww! That’s… actually kind of cute!” she said, nudging Kaminari.

Bakugou slammed his hand on the table, glaring at the group. “…Shut up! You’re all idiots!” he barked, but his blush betrayed him more than his words ever could.

Midoriya’s smile widened faintly under the mask.

Todoroki cleared his throat, hiding a smirk. “Well… this is new,” he said quietly, glancing at the rest of the table.

Sero elbowed Kaminari, grinning. “This is gold! I can’t believe Midoriya called boss Kacchan, and he actually let it slide!”

Kaminari laughed, shaking his head. “Bakugou’s face is priceless. This is going to be fun.”

Bakugou slammed his hand on the table again, muttering under his breath, “…I swear, you all are impossible…”

A ripple of quiet laughter and teasing murmurs spread across the table, but for Midoriya and Bakugou, it felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of them. Warmth, trust, and an unspoken promise wrapped around them in a fragile, perfect cocoon, and for the first time in days, both of them felt entirely at ease.

Chapter Text

The mansion was quiet, only the faint hum of the air conditioner and the soft hiss of Midoriya’s oxygen filling the night.

Bakugou stood by the bed, adjusting the blankets over Midoriya’s legs, his hands firm but gentle. “Okay, you’re all set.”

Midoriya’s chest rose and fell steadily under the soft glow of the bedside lamp. He watched Bakugou’s hands, the careful motions he never allowed anyone else to see, and the way his brow furrowed with quiet concern.

“Kacchan…” Midoriya murmured, his voice soft but steady, “can I ask you something?”

Bakugou paused, mid-motion, and glanced at him, sharp eyes dimmed by curiosity. “…Huh? What?”

Midoriya swallowed, feeling the weight of the question he’d been holding back. “…How… how did you become… a mafia?”

The words hung in the air. Bakugou stiffened slightly, jaw tightening. For a moment, he didn’t answer, just stared at the blankets he’d smoothed over Midoriya’s legs, as if the question had caught him off guard in a way no one else ever had.

“…You really want to know?” he muttered finally, voice low, almost cautious.

Midoriya nodded slightly, leaning back against the pillows, fragile but determined. “I… I just… I’ve always wondered about you, Kacchan. Not just what people see… the real you. I want to understand.”

Bakugou’s eyes softened for a fraction of a second. He moved to sit on the edge of the bed, keeping a careful distance, though his hand hovered near Midoriya’s blanket. “…It wasn’t… some choice I made lightly,” he began, voice rough, almost like gravel. “Family. Circumstances. Things happened before I could even think about wanting a normal life.”

Midoriya’s eyes stayed fixed on him, patient and steady, fragile in body but fierce in curiosity.

“I’m not… some common mafia villain, alright?” Bakugou continued, his gaze flicking to Midoriya’s face. “I don’t… hurt innocent people. I don’t do the stuff people usually think when they hear ‘mafia.’”

Midoriya tilted his head slightly, eyes wide beneath the mask. “…Then… what do you do?”

Bakugou’s jaw tightened. “…I take jobs. Jobs the cops can’t handle. Things that… someone has to do because normal law won’t touch it. Protect people… punish people who slip through the cracks.”

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “…Not exactly heroic. Not clean. But… it’s the only way I know to survive, and it’s the only way I can make sure… people like you, people I care about, don’t get hurt.”

Bakugou’s eyes flicked to Midoriya, sharpness laced with something else, fear, vulnerability, something he rarely allowed himself to show. “Do you hate me?” 

Midoriya’s hands, weak but steady, reached out instinctively. “…Kacchan… I could never hate you,” he whispered softly, eyes earnest beneath the mask. “I trust you. I… I know there’s more to you than anyone else sees. And I… I want to know all of it. Even the hard parts.”

Bakugou’s jaw tightened, fingers curling slightly at his sides. “…Damn it, nerd,” he muttered, voice rough. “…You really are something else.”

Midoriya’s eyes softened. “…Kacchan… do you ever think… that maybe you want out of this life? That you’d like… a normal thing, a hobby, something that’s just… yours? Something you actually enjoy?”

Bakugou froze, the question hitting harder than any punch ever could. His eyes flicked away, gaze darkening as he swallowed. “…I… I don’t know if I can. This is… all I’ve ever known. All I’ve ever been.” he admitted after a long pause, voice rough and hesitant, “But…sometimes, I wonder. Sometimes I… think about just… doing something normal. Something stupidly ordinary, maybe… just for me.”

Midoriya’s fingers squeezed his hand gently. “…You deserve that too, Kacchan,” he whispered, eyes warm and steady. “Even… even with everything you’ve done. You deserve to have something that’s yours, that makes you happy.”

Bakugou exhaled sharply, then dragged a hand through his hair. “…There are things,” he said at last. “Stuff I never talk about. Because it’s pointless. Because it doesn’t fit.”

Midoriya’s breath slowed, careful not to interrupt.

Bakugou shifted his weight, uncomfortable. “I like cooking,” he muttered.

Midoriya blinked. “…Cooking?”

“Yeah,” Bakugou snapped, ears flushing faintly. “Not for people. Not for work. Just” He gestured vaguely. “When it’s quiet. Late at night. No one was around. I mess with recipes. Burn half of them. Fix the other half.”

Midoriya’s lips curved softly beneath the mask.

Bakugou shot him a glare. “Don’t smile like that.”

“I’m not,” Midoriya said gently. “I just… like imagining it.”

Bakugou huffed. “…I like late-night driving too. Long roads. Windows down. Music loud enough to drown everything else out.”

He paused, jaw tightening. “…Sometimes I stop somewhere random. Gas station coffee. Sit there for five minutes and pretend I’m just… some guy.”

Midoriya’s chest ached, not from his lungs this time, but from the quiet honesty in Bakugou’s voice.

“…Do you feel happy?” he asked softly. “In those moments?”

Bakugou didn’t answer right away. Then, quietly: “…I feel calm. Which is rarer.”

“Then… let’s do it together,” he said.

Bakugou finally looked at him then. Really looked. The pale skin, the oxygen mask, the way Midoriya still sat so carefully, like his body might betray him if he moved wrong.

Midoriya’s fingers curled lightly against the blanket as he gathered his breath. “Those things, cooking, late-night driving, let’s do it together. You don’t have to pretend when you’re with me.” He hesitated, then offered a small, earnest smile beneath the mask. “You can be yourself. With me.”

The words landed heavier than any confession.

Bakugou swallowed.

“…You’re dangerous, you know that?” he muttered.

Midoriya tilted his head. “…Me?”

“Yeah,” Bakugou said. “You make me think about stuff I buried years ago. Stuff I told myself I didn’t need.”

Bakugou looked away again, jaw tight, as if staring too long at Midoriya would crack something open he didn’t know how to put back together.

“…I can’t promise you anything,” he said finally. “This life doesn’t let people walk away clean. And if you stay close to me” His voice dropped. “you’re going to see things. Ugly things.”

Midoriya’s gaze didn’t waver. His breathing stayed steady, measured by the soft hiss of oxygen. “I already see them,” he said quietly. “I see the blood on your hands. I see the fear you carry. And I still… want to stay.”

Bakugou’s fingers dug into the mattress beside Midoriya’s leg, knuckles whitening. “…You shouldn’t,” he muttered.

“But I do,” Midoriya replied, gently but firmly.

Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, but not uncomfortable.

Bakugou exhaled slowly, like he was letting out a breath he’d been holding for years. “…If you ever decide you don’t want this,” he said, voice low, almost rough with fear, “I won’t stop you. I won’t trap you here.”

Midoriya nodded faintly. “That’s enough,” he said. “Just… knowing you’d let me choose.”

Bakugou reached out then, hesitant, restrained and adjusted the edge of Midoriya’s blanket, tucking it more securely around his waist. His fingers lingered for a moment longer than necessary.

“…You need rest,” he muttered. “Doctor’ll yell at me if you overdo it.”

Bakugou moved to stand, but Midoriya’s hand caught weakly at his sleeve.

“Kacchan?”

Bakugou paused. “…What.”

“If there’s ever a time,” Midoriya murmured, voice soft but certain, “when things slow down for you. Even just a little.” His fingers tightened in the blanket, a small, unconscious motion. “I’d like to be there. With you. For the small things… cooking, late-night drives… even silence.”

The room felt smaller after that.

Bakugou looked away, jaw tightening, eyes fixed on the darkened window like it might save him from the way his chest suddenly felt too tight. “…Get some sleep,” he muttered. “I’ll be right outside.”

Midoriya nodded, eyes heavy but peaceful. “Goodnight, Kacchan.”

Bakugou paused at the door.

“…Goodnight,” he replied, softer than he’d ever allow anyone else to hear.

The night air outside was cool and still.

The mansion’s pool lay calm beneath the moonlight, its surface reflecting fractured silver as the water shifted gently against the edges. Bakugou sat at the far end, boots planted firmly against the stone tiles, elbows resting on his knees.

In his hand was a ceramic mug, steam curling faintly into the air. Tea. Something herbal Uraraka had shoved into his hands earlier with a sharp look and a warning that it was “good for nerves.”

He hadn’t argued.

Bakugou stared at the water, jaw tight, thoughts louder than any explosion ever had been.

You can be yourself. With me.

The words replayed over and over, quieter each time but heavier all the same.

He took a slow sip. The warmth spread through his chest, grounding, unfamiliar. Calm. Just like he’d told Midoriya. Rare.

“…Idiot,” he muttered to the reflection in the pool. He didn’t know if he meant himself or Midoriya or both.

No one talked to him like that. No one saw him like that and stayed anyway.

Footsteps approached behind him, measured, quiet.

“You okay, man?”

Bakugou exhaled sharply through his nose. “…I’m fine.”

Sero leaned against one of the pillars nearby, arms crossed. “You say that every time you’re clearly not.”

Todoroki stepped closer, gaze flicking briefly to the still surface of the pool, then back to Bakugou. “You’ve been sitting here a while.”

Bakugou took another sip, slower this time. “…Couldn’t sleep.”

Kirishima nodded, understanding settling into his expression. “Midoriya?”

Bakugou took a slow breath. “Already sleeping.”

“…Do you think people like us,” he asked suddenly, voice low and rough, “are allowed to have normal lives?”

The question landed heavy.

No one answered right away.

The night air hummed softly around them, cicadas hidden somewhere in the garden.

Todoroki’s gaze drifted to the mansion windows. “I don’t think normal is something we return to,” he said. “It’s something we’d have to build. Slowly. And accept it won’t look like everyone else’s.”

Sero pushed off the pillar, voice low but steady. “We can’t undo what we’ve done. But we can decide what we refuse to do next.”

Bakugou’s jaw clenched. For a long moment, he stared at the pool like it might swallow his reflection. “…I’m tired,” he said finally.

The word landed heavier than any confession.

“Tired of watching my back. Tired of deciding who lives and who doesn’t. Tired of pretending I don’t want something different just because I don’t think I’m allowed to.”

Kaminari’s expression softened. “Boss…”

Bakugou shook his head, voice rougher now. “When he looks at me,” he continued, not needing to say Midoriya’s name, “he doesn’t see a monster or a weapon. He sees a person. And it scares the hell out of me because”

He swallowed hard. “Because for the first time, I want to be one.”

Silence pressed in, thick and unmoving.

Bakugou stared into the water, reflection shattered by tiny ripples. “…I don’t want to live like this anymore,” he admitted, voice rough but quiet. 

The friends fell silent, the words sinking between them. No one spoke over him. No one tried to fix it. Just listening. And that was enough.

Todoroki’s eyes softened. “Admitting it… wanting something else… that’s the first step. It’s not a weakness to want life outside of this.”

Kirishima nodded firmly. “It’s hard to imagine now, but I believe it’s possible. You’re not alone in wanting it, Bakugou.”

Sero added quietly, “…We’ve all wondered. We’ve all felt it. Even if we can’t just walk away, wanting something better… that’s human. And that counts for something.”

Bakugou’s jaw loosened slightly, but his shoulders remained tense. “…Easy for you to say,” he muttered. “I’ve… done things I can’t take back. Hurt people. Made people fear me. How am I supposed to just… be someone else?”

Sero’s hand tapped lightly against the stone beside him. “…It’s scary to want something more. But that doesn’t mean you can’t have it. You just have to let yourself try.”

Todoroki nodded, eyes meeting Bakugou’s. “Even if it takes time. Even if it never looks ‘normal’ to the rest of the world. We’re here. You’re not alone in this.”

Kaminari leaned back slightly, smirking faintly but warmly. “And yeah, it won’t be perfect. You’ll probably screw up sometimes. But that’s life. Everyone deserves a shot at a life that doesn’t make them wake up feeling like they’re drowning.”

Bakugou’s jaw loosened fractionally. The moonlight reflected off the water, but it didn’t feel cold anymore. Not entirely. He let the warmth from his friends’ words settle in, a small, fragile spark of hope amidst the darkness he’d lived in for so long.

“…You really mean that?” he asked quietly, voice almost too small for the night air.

Todoroki’s eyes didn’t waver. “We mean it. We’ve all wondered the same thing. We’ve all hoped for something more, even if we can’t leave everything behind.”

Kirishima smiled faintly. “And we’ve got your back, Bakugou. No matter what you decide.”

Sero nodded. “…We’ll be here. Even if it’s hard. Even if it takes forever. You’re not alone.”

Kaminari added, his voice a little quieter now, more sincere than usual, “…And don’t be afraid to let someone in. You’ve earned the right to not carry it all by yourself.”

Bakugou finally let out a long, shaky exhale, the weight in his chest easing, if only slightly. “…Thanks,” he muttered, voice low.

_______________________________________________________________

Bakugou woke before the mansion did.

The halls were still dark, quiet in that heavy way that usually pressed against his chest. This morning, it didn’t. He got up, pulled on a shirt, and headed for the kitchen without hesitation.

Lights low. Sleeves rolled up.

He moved with practiced efficiency, washing rice, checking the miso stock, and slicing tofu cleanly. He grilled salmon carefully, skin crisping just right, steam rising gently instead of spitting oil. Tamagoyaki came next, layered and golden, rolled tight despite one edge nearly burning before he fixed it.

Pickled vegetables were arranged neatly. Seaweed stacked beside small bowls. He paused, then added a soft-boiled egg to one plate, timing it exactly before cooling it down.

Not fancy.
Just right.
Enough for everyone.

When the table was set, Bakugou wiped his hands on a towel and exhaled slowly. He went down the hallway, stopping in front of the first door. Knock. Sharp, firm.

“Up. Breakfast.”

A muffled groan answered him. He moved to the next door. Knock knock.

“If you’re not out in five minutes, I’m eating your share.”

That one earned a thud and hurried footsteps.

At Todoroki’s door, he paused, then knocked once. “Food’s ready.”

A quiet, calm, “Understood,” came from the other side.

Kirishima’s door was last. Bakugou knocked harder than necessary.

“Rise and shine, shitty hair.”

The door opened almost immediately, Kirishima grinning sleepily. “Morning, Bakugou! Smells good!”

By the time Bakugou returned to the kitchen, chairs were already scraping against the floor, the house slowly waking up, not to alarms or orders, but to something strangely normal.

Perfectly grilled salmon, tamagoyaki sliced neatly, bowls of miso soup still steaming, rice fluffed and warm. Small plates of pickled vegetables lined the center, arranged with surprising care.

Kaminari stopped short the moment he saw it.

“…Is this a hotel?”

Uraraka hovered at the edge of the table, hands clasped together, staring like the food might disappear if she blinked. “Bakugou… did you make all of this?”

Bakugou shoved a bowl into place a little harder than necessary. “Eat.”

Kirishima laughed as they took their seats. “Man, this is kinda amazing.”

Todoroki glanced from the salmon to the miso soup, then finally at Bakugou. “…You cooked all of this?”

Bakugou grabbed his own cup and sat down stiffly. “Of course I did.”

Uraraka picked up her chopsticks carefully, took a small bite of the tamagoyaki and her eyes softened immediately. “It’s… really good,” she said, genuine warmth in her voice.

For a split second, Bakugou’s shoulders loosened.

Just barely.

Kaminari glanced around the table, quieter now. “This feels… weird.”

Bakugou shot Kaminari a sharp look. “Weird how.”

Kaminari shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck, gaze drifting over the table, real plates, steam rising from the soup, everyone actually sitting instead of standing guard or half-listening for orders. “Not bad-weird,” he clarified quickly. “Just… normal-weird.”

Todoroki lifted his bowl. “Then let it be this way,” he said simply. “At least for the morning.”

Bakugou grunted, already standing. He grabbed a tray from the counter, movements practiced, efficiently. He placed a small bowl of rice, miso soup, grilled fish, and neatly sliced tamagoyaki onto it. He hesitated for half a second, then added a cut fruit and a cup of warm tea.

No one commented.

They just watched him leave the room.

He paused outside Midoriya’s door.

The knock was softer than anyone had ever heard from him.

“…It’s me.”

Inside, Midoriya was seated by the window, oxygen tubing resting lightly against his cheek. Morning light spilled across his face, pale and quiet. He was staring out at the garden below, eyes distant, sad in a way that wasn’t loud, just tired.

Bakugou stepped in.

“Breakfast,” he said, voice different. Lower. Careful.

Midoriya turned, surprised. “Kacchan…?”

Bakugou set the tray down on the small table near the bed. “I cooked,” he added, like it mattered that Midoriya knew. “This time.”

Midoriya blinked. Once. Then again.

“…You cooked?” His voice was soft, disbelieving.

“Yeah,” Bakugou muttered.

Midoriya’s eyes moved over the tray slowly, taking everything in. The miso soup. The tamagoyaki. The way the rice was shaped was just right.

Then his lips curved into the smallest smile.

“I’m really happy,” he said. “That you’re doing something you like.”

Something flickered in Bakugou’s chest, sharp and unfamiliar. He reached out without thinking, adjusting Midoriya’s mask strap, fingers lingering just long enough to be noticed.

“Eat,” he said gently. “Before it gets cold.”

Midoriya nodded, picking up his chopsticks carefully. He took one bite of the tamagoyaki, and his eyes softened immediately.

“It’s really good, Kacchan.”

Bakugou exhaled through his nose, a quiet sound that almost passed for relief.

He stayed by the window as Midoriya ate, arms crossed, watching the morning light move across the floor. No guards. No calls. No violence waiting on the other end of a phone.

Just breakfast.

And for the first time, Bakugou let himself think,

Maybe this could be the beginning.

Midoriya had only managed a few bites when his breath caught.

It was subtle at first, a pause, his fingers tightening around the spoon. Then a quiet cough slipped past his lips, muffled instinctively behind his hand.

Bakugou was at his side instantly.

“Hey” His voice dropped, sharp edges dulled. He reached for the oxygen tubing, checking the flow, steadying the mask where it had shifted. “Slow down. Don’t rush it.”

“I’m okay,” Midoriya murmured between breaths, though his chest rose a little too fast. 

Bakugou didn’t argue. He simply waited, hand resting on the edge of the table, presence solid and unyielding until Midoriya’s breathing evened out again.

When Midoriya finally looked up again, a small, apologetic smile curved beneath the mask. “Sorry,” he said. “I… kinda killed the mood.”

Bakugou snorted softly. “You didn’t.”

He nudged the tray back within reach, slower this time. “Eat when you’re ready. I’m not in a hurry.”

Midoriya nodded, eyes soft, something warm settling in his chest that had nothing to do with the food.

Outside the room, Uraraka slowed her steps.

She hadn’t meant to listen, only to check if Midoriya needed anything else but she stopped when she saw them through the half-open door. Mina halted beside her, peeking over her shoulder.

Neither of them said a word.

Bakugou pulled the blanket higher around Midoriya’s waist, movements careful, almost gentle despite the tension in his shoulders. Then he sat instead of standing, lowering himself so he was at eye level, solid and unmoving.

Uraraka’s eyes softened, and Mina’s lips curved in a quiet grin. They didn’t interrupt, didn’t speak, just allowed the moment to exist, feeling the warmth in the room. And for the first time in a long time, Uraraka and Mina felt something almost like hope bloom in the soft light.

Midoriya set his chopsticks down slowly, pushing his plate slightly aside. His chest rose a little unevenly, the oxygen hiss catching a fraction louder in the quiet room. Bakugou, who had been sitting nearby, stiff and alert, noticed immediately.

“Midoriya…” he muttered, voice low but sharp. “…You okay?”

“I’m… fine,” Midoriya replied softly, though his hand instinctively went to his chest. His eyes, usually bright even behind the mask, flickered faintly with strain. “…Just… a little tired, that’s all.”

Bakugou didn’t move, didn’t take his eyes off him. “…Don’t lie to me,” he growled, though the sharpness was laced with worry. He crossed the small distance between them in two long strides and crouched beside the chair, hands hovering near Midoriya as if he could physically stop the weakness.

Midoriya took a slow, careful breath, but it wasn’t enough to hide the subtle wheeze that escaped him. His hand tightened around the edge of the table. “…Kacchan… I’m okay,” he whispered, though the tremor in his voice betrayed him.

“No,” Bakugou said firmly. His hands closed gently but protectively over Midoriya’s. “…You’re not okay. Look at me.”

Midoriya’s eyes met his, tired but soft. “…I’m just… tired from moving around. That’s all.”

Bakugou’s jaw clenched. “…I’m calling Dr. Fujimoto. Now.”

Midoriya blinked, a small frown forming beneath the mask. “…Do we… have to? I… I’m not in pain.”

“Yes,” Bakugou snapped, but softer this time, voice rough with worry. “…Because I need to know exactly what’s going on. No more pretending. No more hiding it from me.”

Dr. Fujimoto was already there, standing near the window, calm and professional as always. He adjusted his glasses and glanced at Midoriya, who sat fragile and pale, a blanket around his shoulders.

“Good morning, Midoriya,” the doctor said gently. “How are we feeling today?”

Midoriya offered a small, tired smile beneath the mask. “…I’m… okay, I think. Just… a little weak.”

Bakugou crouched beside him, hand brushing lightly against his shoulder. “…Don’t lie to him,” he muttered under his breath, voice low and rough. “…I can see it.”

Dr. Fujimoto nodded. “…Alright. Let’s take a look, slowly. Nothing painful, I just need to check your lungs and breathing.”

“Breathe slowly for me,” Dr. Fujimoto instructed, placing his stethoscope carefully on Midoriya’s chest. Midoriya obeyed, though each exhale came a little unevenly, a faint wheeze escaping past the mask.

“Midoriya,” he said softly, removing the stethoscope, “your lungs sound weaker than before. I think… we need to run a full scan at the hospital. Just to be safe.”

Midoriya’s fingers tightened over the edge of the chair. “…Hospital?” His voice was small, fragile. “…I don’t want to go. I feel safer here.”

Bakugou’s jaw clenched, but his eyes softened immediately as he crouched closer, hand brushing lightly over Midoriya’s. “…Hey,” he murmured, voice low and gentle, “I know you’re scared. I get it. But I can’t… I can’t just let this slide. Not when it could get worse. You trust me, right?”

Midoriya looked down, teeth biting the inside of his lip. “…I do… I trust you. But…” His breath caught in a soft wheeze. “…I’m scared. I don’t want all those machines, I just…” His voice faltered, almost breaking. “…I just want to stay here, with you.”

Bakugou’s hand tightened slightly around his, careful not to hurt him, but firm enough to ground him. “…I know, nerd,” he said quietly. “…I know it’s scary. I get it. But you’re not going alone. I’ll be right there. I’ll be there the whole time, alright?”

Midoriya’s eyes flicked up at him, pale, tired, and brimming with fear. “…You promise?”

Bakugou nodded, “…I promise. You don’t have to do this without me.”

Dr. Fujimoto cleared his throat gently. “It’s really for your safety, Midoriya. The scan isn’t painful, and it will help us see exactly what’s happening. The sooner we know, the sooner we can help.”

Midoriya swallowed, trembling slightly. “…I… I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not a burden,” Bakugou said firmly, voice rough but warm. “…You never were. Never will be. I… I just want you safe. That’s it. Nothing else matters.”

The oxygen hissed softly in the background as Midoriya’s small hands curled against Bakugou’s, his chest rising unevenly. For a long moment, silence stretched between them, thick with fear and care.

Finally, a small, shaky exhale escaped Midoriya’s lips. “…Okay,” he whispered, voice almost inaudible. “…I’ll go… if you’re with me.”

Chapter Text

The hospital smelled sharp and sterile. Midoriya sat on the edge of a hospital gown, the blanket still draped over his shoulders, fingers lightly brushing the oxygen tubing against his cheeks. His eyes were wide, nerves flickering beneath the calm he tried to project.

Bakugou’s hands gripped the wheelchair handles tightly. “…You ready for this?” he asked, voice low, rough with tension.

Midoriya nodded, swallowing hard. “…I think so…”

The nurse guided him to the changing area. “We’ll need you to change into this gown. You can keep the oxygen on. Try to stay calm. The scan only takes a few minutes.”

Midoriya’s hands fumbled slightly as he reached for the gown. “…Okay…” he whispered.

The nurse gently adjusted Midoriya’s oxygen tubing, making sure it wouldn’t interfere with the scan. “Try to breathe normally. And lie completely still, okay?”

Midoriya nodded, settling onto the table. The machine hummed as it moved into position. Lights blinked softly, metal rails clinking. The scanner’s sound grew louder, a rhythmic whoosh and buzz that seemed to vibrate through his chest.

Bakugou had been told to wait outside. He paced in the small observation area, fists clenched. Minutes stretched. He could imagine Midoriya lying there, eyes blinking slowly, trying to stay calm while the machine scanned his lungs, now weaker than ever

The scan finished with a final metallic whir. A nurse’s calm voice came through the intercom: “All done. You can relax now, Midoriya. We’ll get the results soon.”

Bakugou exhaled sharply, rubbing his face. He waited as the table retracted, imagining Midoriya sitting up carefully, hands still fidgeting with the tubing. When the technician opened the door, Bakugou almost stepped forward before being reminded that Midoriya might need space.

“Everything okay?” he asked, voice rough, pacing a small circle outside.

Midoriya’s small, exhausted voice answered from the room: “…Yeah… it’s over. I… I’m okay.”

Dr. Fujimoto appeared moments later, tablet in hand, expression calm but serious. “…Midoriya-san, we have your scan results.”

Midoriya’s fingers gripped his blanket tighter. Bakugou leaned in, rough hand brushing lightly against his shoulder. “…Well? Spit it out.”

Dr. Fujimoto took a deep breath. “…The scan shows that there is damage to your lungs. There’s inflammation, reduced oxygen absorption, and some early signs of pulmonary edema. You’re not in immediate danger, but you’ll need close monitoring for a while. Oxygen therapy, medication, rest. We want to keep you here for observation.”

Midoriya’s eyes widened, his chest rising faster than normal. “…Weeks…? Here?”

Bakugou leaned forward. “…How long?”

“A few days,” Dr. Fujimoto replied. “If he responds well, he can continue recovery at home. But this condition can fluctuate. We need to see how his body handles it.”

Midoriya swallowed, small trembles running through him. “…I… I didn’t expect it to be this bad…”

Midoriya nodded slowly, though his eyes flickered with unease. “…Okay.”

They moved him into a quiet room. Machines hummed softly, monitors blinking in steady rhythms. The oxygen hissed faintly beside him, constant and unavoidable.

Bakugou stayed close, crouching beside the bed as the nurses adjusted tubing and explained medications. He listened closely, committing every word to memory.

“…You comfortable?” he muttered, brushing hair from Midoriya’s forehead.

“…As much as I can be,” Midoriya answered, voice thin but sincere.

Bakugou nodded once. “…I’ll be right outside.”

But he didn’t go far.

That night settled slowly. Nurses came and went. Midoriya dozed fitfully, waking often, breaths shallow. Bakugou stayed awake, watching the rise and fall of his chest, flinching every time it stuttered.

“…You don’t have to stay up,” Midoriya murmured at one point.

Bakugou snorted quietly. “I’m fine.”

By the second night, subtle changes crept in. Midoriya tired faster. His cough grew deeper, wetter. Even small movements left him breathless.

Bakugou noticed everything.

“…You sure you’re okay?” he asked, voice low.

“…Just tired,” Midoriya said, though his fingers trembled against the blanket.

Bakugou frowned, eyes flicking to the monitor. 

The third day came with sunlight streaming faintly through the window. The nurse removed the oxygen briefly for testing. Midoriya’s breathing stayed steady. The monitor didn’t dip.

Dr. Fujimoto returned later, this time with a small smile.

“Your lungs are responding well to treatment,” he said. “No worsening signs, oxygen levels stable. I’m comfortable clearing you to go home.”

Midoriya blinked. “…Really?”

“Yes,” the doctor confirmed. “With conditions. Home oxygen as needed, medication, no exertion, and regular checkups. Weekly for the first month.”

Bakugou nodded firmly. “…He’ll follow it.”

“I know,” the doctor said, glancing between them.

Discharge paperwork took longer than either of them expected. Nurses explained medications again, demonstrated the portable oxygen, and made Bakugou sign more forms than he thought should be legal. He listened to every word, asked questions, and double-checked dosages. Midoriya watched quietly from the wheelchair, eyes soft, grateful, a little overwhelmed.

The ride home was quiet.

Sero drove carefully, both hands on the wheel, eyes focused on the road ahead. He didn’t joke, didn’t turn on the radio. Every turn was smooth, measured, like he was afraid even a bump might be too much.

Bakugou sat in the front passenger seat beside him, one arm braced against the door, jaw tight as he stared ahead. He glanced back more than once, sharp eyes checking on Midoriya without saying a word.

Midoriya sat in the back, jacket pulled close, breathing steady on his own. No tubing, no machines, just the soft rise and fall of his chest as he leaned his head against the window, watching the city blur past in tired silence.

Sero checked the mirror briefly. “You good back there, Midoriya?”

Midoriya nodded, voice quiet but steady. “…Yeah. I’m okay.”

Bakugou exhaled under his breath, tension easing just a fraction as the car continued on toward home.

The car slowed as it pulled through tall iron gates, the mansion coming into view beyond the long driveway.

Sero was out first, already moving around to the back door. “Easy,” he said gently as he opened it, offering a steady hand. “No rush.”

Midoriya nodded and took it, feet touching the ground carefully. He swayed just a little, more from exhaustion than imbalance, and Bakugou was there instantly, one firm hand at his elbow, the other hovering near his back.

“I’ve got him,” Bakugou muttered.

Sero didn’t argue. He just grabbed Midoriya’s bag and slung it over his shoulder, heading for the entrance and holding the door open.

Inside, the mansion was quiet, too quiet. High ceilings, polished floors, the soft echo of footsteps filling the space. It felt almost cavernous after the hospital room.

Bakugou guided Midoriya straight to the living room and sat him down on the couch without argument.

From the shadows of the hall, figures emerged one by one, moving with quiet efficiency. Uraraka stepped forward first, a soft smile on her face as she carried a tray of water and light snacks. Mina followed, bouncing slightly on her toes but keeping her expression careful, holding a folded throw blanket. 

Todoroki’s presence was calm but commanding, his gaze flicking to Midoriya to make sure he was settled. Kirishima came next, his cheerful energy carefully subdued in respect of the quiet atmosphere. Kaminari lingered near the doorway, hands casually in his pockets but alert, scanning the room like he always did.

“Midoriya, we’ve got everything ready for you,” Uraraka said gently, placing the tray on the table. “You just need to rest.”

Mina dropped the blanket over the back of the couch, brushing a few stray hairs from Midoriya’s face. “And we’re all here if you need anything,” she added brightly.

Bakugou stood close by, arms crossed, eyes sharp as he watched Midoriya’s reaction. “…Everyone knows the rules,” he said gruffly. “No pushing him. No leaving him alone. Got it?”

Todoroki gave a slight nod, calm but firm. “We’ll make sure everything stays under control.”

Kirishima’s grin was small but genuine. “We’ve got your back, man. Don’t worry.”

Midoriya’s shoulders relaxed slightly, though his chest still rose and fell unevenly. “…I… I really appreciate this,” he said softly. “…I just feel bad that all of you have to do this for me.”

Mina knelt beside the couch, giving him a reassuring pat on the arm. “Hey, it’s fine! We’re here because we want to be. You just focus on getting better.”

Uraraka added, her voice gentle, “Exactly. You’ve been through enough already. We’ve got you covered.”

Bakugou’s sharp eyes softened just slightly at their words, though his posture didn’t change. “…Midoriya,” he said, his voice low but firm, “you’re not doing anything stupid. You rest. That’s the only thing you’re allowed to do. Understand?”

Midoriya nodded slowly, but after a brief pause, he hesitated. “…Kacchan… can I… do something else? Just… something small. I feel… bored lately.”

Bakugou’s jaw tightened instantly. “…No.”

Midoriya’s shoulders slumped, eyes dropping. “…Oh.”

A quiet tension filled the room for a moment, the team exchanging glances. Todoroki’s calm gaze stayed on Midoriya, assessing, while Kirishima looked torn, biting his lip. Mina and Uraraka offered gentle, encouraging smiles, silently waiting for Bakugou to soften.

“…Tch,” Bakugou muttered, running a hand through his hair. “…Fine. But you’re not doing anything risky. Understood?”

Midoriya’s eyes widened slightly. “…Really?”

Bakugou crossed his arms. “…Yeah. And you don’t do it alone. Todoroki, Uraraka, Mina, you’re watching him. Kirishima, Kaminari,Sero you’re ready if he needs anything. Got it?”

The group nodded quickly, each affirming their role without hesitation.

Midoriya let out a small, relieved breath. “…Okay. I promise. I won’t overdo it.”

Todoroki stepped closer, his expression unreadable, voice dropping to a serious murmur. “…Boss… the clients, they’re demanding to see you. They’ve been calling repeatedly. They’re… insistent.”

Bakugou’s sharp gaze snapped toward him, eyes narrowing, tension coiling in every line of his jaw.  “…Already? Didn’t they get the message I’m busy?”  His tone was rough, clipped, like a warning as much as a question.

Bakugou ran a hand through his hair, teeth grinding slightly, the weight of the world settling back on his shoulders. His eyes flicked toward Midoriya, chest tightening at the thought of leaving him, even for just a few hours. “…Damn it…” he muttered, low enough that only Todoroki could hear. “…Fine. I go back in. But you guys are watching him. No funny business. Got it?”

Todoroki’s gaze met his, steady, unwavering. “Understood. We’ll make sure nothing happens while you’re gone.”

Bakugou’s sharp eyes swept the room, landing on Kirishima and Sero, who were standing nearby, waiting for instructions. His voice dropped to a command, low and dangerous. “…You two, come with me.”

Kirishima’s eyes widened slightly but he nodded immediately. “Got it, boss!”

Sero crossed his arms, expression serious now. “Understood.”

He moved toward the grand entrance, Kirishima and Sero flanking him like silent shadows, ready for anything. The heavy doors swung open, letting in the cool evening air, and the three of them stepped out into the driveway. The sleek black cars waiting beyond the iron gates reflected the fading sunlight, each engine humming quietly, ready for departure.

The car slipped into the shadowed streets, three silhouettes moving like a single predator unit, heading straight into the world Bakugou couldn’t avoid, deals, threats, power plays, all while the mansion behind them kept Midoriya safe in the quiet, warm bubble they had created.

Back in the living room, Uraraka and Mina turned their full attention to Midoriya, who looked slightly apprehensive but intrigued.

“So…” Uraraka said gently, kneeling beside the couch, “now that he’s gone… what do you want to do?”

Midoriya hesitated, fingers twisting in the blanket, then slowly spoke. “…I… I think I want to try baking.”

Mina’s eyes lit up immediately. “Baking? That sounds fun!”

Midoriya nodded faintly, a small, nostalgic smile tugging at his lips. “…It’s been a while… since the last time I baked. The last time was when I worked at the café.”

Uraraka tilted her head, smiling softly. “That’s perfect. Let’s do it! But we need to make sure we have all the ingredients first.”

Midoriya closed his eyes briefly, thinking, then started listing carefully.

Mina quickly scribbled everything down. “Got it. We’ll ask the boys to pick these up.”

_________________________________________________________

Uraraka looked at Midoriya, her smile gentle and encouraging. “Okay… so what do you want to make first? Cookies, cake, something else?”

Midoriya paused, fingers fidgeting slightly with the blanket. “…Well… I think I want to make a few things. Just… small things, nothing too complicated. But…” His green eyes lifted to meet theirs, a small, shy smile tugging at his lips. “…I was also thinking… I want to make something for Kacchan. But… I don’t really know what he likes the most.””

Uraraka exchanged a glance with Mina, then sighed softly, her voice gentle. “Honestly… it’s been a while since he’s really had sweets,” she admitted. “Ever since he got so busy… with everything… his life changed. He doesn’t treat himself like he used to.”

Mina nodded slowly, a faint, bittersweet smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah… he’s always so focused, always serious. He’s grown used to bitter, strong flavors, coffee, dark chocolate… not the sweet things he used to enjoy.”

Midoriya’s chest tightened slightly, a pang of sadness in his chest. “…I see…”

Uraraka reached out, gently placing a hand over his. “But I think it is actually a good idea to make something sweet for him. What you’re doing now matters so much. It’s more than just a dessert. It’s a little reminder of what he used to like. A connection to simpler, happier times.”

Mina smiled softly, eyes bright with encouragement. “Exactly. He’ll notice the thought and care behind it. And he might even remember… just a little, what it was like before all of this.”

Midoriya’s hands clenched lightly in the blanket, but a determined spark appeared in his eyes. “…Then… I want to make it perfect.”

Uraraka and Mina shared a quiet, approving smile. “We’ll help you,” Uraraka said softly. 

A quiet warmth settled over the kitchen as they worked together. Flour dusted the counters, chocolate smeared faintly on fingertips, and the soft clatter of bowls and utensils filled the air. Every so often, Midoriya would pause, tasting a little bit of chocolate or caramel, eyes lighting up at the familiar sweetness, his hands gentle, precise, careful with every step, thinking about how Kacchan would react.

The oven clicked on, warmth spilling into the room as the cake began to bake. The smell of chocolate and caramel slowly filled the kitchen, a comforting, nostalgic aroma. For a moment, Midoriya allowed himself to imagine Bakugou’s face lighting up, just a little, at this small act of care, a rare, quiet smile that he might not show openly, but that Midoriya would treasure.

Meanwhile, Mina and Uraraka moved gracefully around him, prepping the cookies and truffles, offering gentle guidance and soft laughter when flour dusted their noses or a truffle needed an extra touch of chocolate.

It wasn’t just baking, it was a small, shared moment of warmth, of friendship, and of care. And somewhere in the quiet mansion, Midoriya felt a flicker of hope, maybe, just maybe, this small cake could remind Bakugou of something he had almost forgotten.

_________________________________________________________

The sleek black car cut through the darkened streets, tires whispering over asphalt. Bakugou sat rigid in the back seat, hands clasped tightly together, eyes sharp and alert. Kirishima and Sero flanked him, their presence calm but watchful, ready for any sudden shift.

Todoroki had given the briefing earlier, every detail of the clients’ demands, every precaution. Bakugou’s jaw clenched as he processed it all, the weight of his position pressing down like a heavy stone. He had no room for error, no tolerance for hesitation.

The clients weren’t ordinary people, they were influential, impatient, and insistent. Their voices carried over the phone earlier, commanding, threatening, the subtle undertone of danger always present. Now, face-to-face, they would test him, try to gauge his weaknesses.

The car rolled to a stop outside the tall office building. Lights glinted off the polished windows, and the hum of the city seemed distant, muted by the tension in the air.

Bakugou stepped out, chest rising, shoulders squared. Every movement was precise, controlled, every step calculated to convey authority and command respect. He glanced back at Kirishima and Sero, who mirrored his determination, and together they moved toward the building.

Inside, the clients were waiting, seated in leather chairs, each exuding power and impatience. Their eyes swept over him like predators evaluating prey. Bakugou’s gaze didn’t waver. Calm, calculated, deadly precise.

He took a deep breath, mentally grounding himself. This was his world now, the world he had chosen, or perhaps the one that had chosen him. Every word, every gesture, every choice carried weight. And yet, beneath the steel and fire of his exterior, a small thought flickered in the back of his mind, a faint, almost imperceptible warmth, Midoriya.

Bakugou squared his shoulders and stepped forward, voice firm, sharp, commanding. “Let’s get this started.”

The room fell into a charged silence, every movement deliberate, every word measured. Outside, the city continued its rhythm, unaware of the tension inside, Bakugou at the center, unyielding, focused, carrying the weight of his responsibilities alone.

_________________________________________________________

The city lights blurred outside the car windows as Bakugou and his team drove back to the mansion. The negotiation had been tense, every word measured, every glance sharp but now it was over. Bakugou’s shoulders were still rigid, his jaw tight, but there was a faint relief in the way he exhaled as they approached the gates.

Inside the mansion, the quiet warmth was a stark contrast to the cold, tense world Bakugou had just left behind. The soft glow of lamps and the faint aroma of something sweet drifting from the kitchen made the air feel almost alive.

Midoriya stood at the counter, carefully placing the cake onto a cooling rack. The rich smell of chocolate and coffee filled the kitchen, mingling with the subtle caramel undertone. His hands trembled slightly, not from weakness, but from nervous anticipation.

Uraraka hovered nearby, offering a gentle smile. “It smells amazing, Midoriya. I think he’s going to love it.”

Mina nodded, brushing a bit of flour off the counter. Midoriya bit his lip, glancing at the door as if he could see Bakugou walking up the driveway. “…I hope he likes it… I just… I want him to feel… happy, even for a little while.”

Uraraka reached out, gently touching his shoulder. “He will. The thought you’ve put into this… that matters more than anything else.”

The mansion was quiet, almost painfully so, as the night deepened. Midoriya sat on the couch in the living room, hands folded nervously in his lap, eyes occasionally flicking toward the clock on the wall. Every creak of the floorboards, every distant hum of the city made him start slightly, hoping it was Bakugou returning.

Uraraka hovered nearby, leaning against the counter with a gentle frown. “Midoriya… you should really go to bed,” she said softly. “It’s late, and you need your rest.”

Mina nodded in agreement, her voice light but insistent. “Yeah, you’ve been up all day baking. You can’t just sit here waiting forever, you’ll wear yourself out.”

Midoriya shook his head slightly, his green eyes determined. “…I want to wait. He… he’s had a long day. I want to be here when he comes home.”

Uraraka sighed, biting her lip. “I know… but you can’t stay up like this. You need sleep too, Midoriya.”

He gave them a small, apologetic smile, soft and weary. “…I’ll be fine. Really.”

Hours passed. The cake sat on the counter, truffles and cookies neatly arranged beside it, the soft glow of the kitchen light casting gentle shadows across the room. Midoriya’s eyelids grew heavier with each passing minute, but he fought it, keeping his gaze on the front door, imagining Bakugou walking through it any second.

Eventually, exhaustion won. Midoriya’s head tilted slightly, his body slumping on the couch. The blanket draped around him slipped loosely over his shoulders as he let out a small, quiet sigh and fell asleep.

Uraraka and Mina watched him carefully, silent but concerned. Uraraka moving closer. “We should put everything back in the refrigerator… and cover him with a proper blanket.”

Gently, the two girls lifted the cake and treats, carefully placing them back in the fridge, making sure nothing shifted or broke. Then, they draped a warm blanket over Midoriya, smoothing it carefully around him. He didn’t stir, still lost in sleep, peaceful and exhausted.

Hours later, the sound of the front door echoed through the mansion. Bakugou stepped inside, late from another long night of work, the faint scent of city rain clinging to his coat. He paused, noting the quiet of the living room, and immediately, sharp eyes fell on the figure on the couch.

Midoriya. Asleep. Blanket tucked around him, peaceful expression soft and unguarded.

Bakugou’s jaw tightened instinctively, and a low growl escaped him. “…Why the hell is he sleeping on the couch?” His voice was sharp, clipped, but there was an edge of worry beneath it.

Uraraka stepped forward quickly, hands raised slightly in explanation. “He… he stayed up waiting for you, Bakugou. We tried to get him to go to bed, but…”

Mina added softly, “He wanted to wait until you came home. He… fell asleep while he was waiting.”

Kaminari, who had been lingering near the hallway, shrugged awkwardly. “Yeah… we didn’t want to wake him, but we covered him up and put everything away so he’d be comfortable.”

Bakugou’s sharp eyes softened ever so slightly as he glanced at Midoriya, still asleep, chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. Anger mixed with something else—protectiveness, frustration, and a quiet, unspoken relief that Midoriya was safe.

“…Tch,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “…He’s supposed to be sleeping in his room, not here.”

Uraraka smiled faintly, trying to ease the tension. “We know, Bakugou. He just wants to wait for you. ”

Bakugou exhaled sharply, jaw still tight, but a small part of him softened at the thought. “…Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, “…he’s stubborn as hell.”

Bakugou crouched slightly, his sharp eyes scanning Midoriya’s sleeping form. The faint rise and fall of his chest, the soft curve of his lips in a relaxed state, so different from the tense, careful boy he knew, made Bakugou’s chest tighten in a way he rarely acknowledged.

“Tch… stubborn,” he muttered, voice low. He reached out carefully, one hand sliding under Midoriya’s shoulders, the other supporting his legs. Midoriya stirred slightly but didn’t wake, shifting just enough to rest comfortably in Bakugou’s arms.

Once inside the room, Bakugou set Midoriya down on the bed, carefully tucking the blanket around him. Midoriya shifted slightly again, curling up instinctively, and Bakugou’s sharp eyes softened further.

“Tch… just go to sleep, nerd,” he muttered, brushing a strand of hair from Midoriya’s face. His fingers lingered for a moment, almost reluctantly leaving him.

Bakugou finally went back to the living room . He paused, taking in the quiet of the mansion, his sharp eyes scanning the familiar space.

Uraraka stepped forward, a small, careful smile on her face. “Bakugou… there’s something we should tell you.”

Mina nodded, her tone gentle but cheerful. “Yeah… in the refrigerator. There’s a cake.”

Bakugou’s brow furrowed slightly. “…Cake?”

Uraraka nodded again. “Midoriya baked it for you.”

Bakugou’s sharp eyes softened, just a fraction, though he didn’t move toward the kitchen immediately. His jaw clenched as he absorbed the words, Midoriya had taken the time, despite everything, to make something just for him.

“…He did what?” he muttered, low, more to himself than anyone else.

Mina smiled gently. “He said he wanted to do something he’s good at, which is baking since he used to work at a cafe. And he wanted to make something you like. He was thinking of you the whole time he was baking.”

Uraraka added softly, “We reminded him that you used to like sweet things before… and he wanted to bring a little bit of that back for you.”

Bakugou’s sharp eyes softened further, and for a moment, the usual fire in them dulled into something quieter, something almost like disbelief mixed with warmth. He ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tight, but the tension in his shoulders eased slightly.

“…Damn it,” he muttered, voice rough but quieter this time. “…That damn nerd…”

Mina tilted her head, smiling gently. “He put a lot of care into it, Bakugou. You can tell. It’s not just about the cake, it’s him wanting to make you happy.”

Bakugou shook his head, exhaling sharply. “…Tch… fine. Let’s… not tell him I know, yeah? I want him to tell me by himself.”

Mina and Uraraka exchanged a glance, then nodded. “Of course,” Mina said gently.

Somehow, knowing Midoriya had baked it just for him made the mansion feel warmer, quieter, safer like the chaos of the outside world could wait.

And in that small, ordinary gesture, Bakugou realized how much the green-haired boy meant to him, more than he would ever openly admit.

_________________________________________________________

Morning light filtered softly through the tall windows of the mansion, brushing the polished floors with a gentle warmth. Midoriya stirred in his bed, the blanket pulled snug around his shoulders. His eyes fluttered open, green orbs taking in the quiet stillness of the room. The soft hum of the mansion, the distant rustle of leaves outside, and the faint aroma of brewing coffee drifted into the room.

He stretched carefully, each movement cautious as he felt the lingering tiredness from the day before. The baking, the anticipation, the waiting, it all had worn him down more than he expected. Yet a small spark of excitement fluttered in his chest. Today, he would finally see Bakugou again and tell him about the cake.

Slipping out of bed, Midoriya moved slowly, careful not to rush. Each step felt weighted, but determination drove him forward. He pulled a light cardigan over his shoulders and quietly padded down the hallway toward the living room.

The front of the mansion was quiet, the morning calm broken only by the faint clinking of a mug against a saucer. Midoriya’s chest lifted slightly at the familiar sound. There, on the couch, sat Bakugou. He held a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, the other turning the pages of a book with sharp, precise motions. Despite the relaxed morning posture, the tautness in his shoulders and the focused tilt of his brow gave away his vigilance.

Midoriya paused just inside the doorway, observing for a moment, a small, shy smile tugging at his lips. “…Good morning,” he whispered softly.

Bakugou’s head lifted slightly, eyes narrowing before softening when they settled on him. “…Morning,” he replied, voice low but calm. He took a slow sip of his coffee, then set the cup on the table. After a beat, he tilted his head slightly, sharp green eyes observing Midoriya. “…You hungry?”

Midoriya nodded, voice soft. “…Yeah… I think I am.”

Bakugou pushed himself up, stretching just enough to crack the tension from his shoulders. “…Follow me,” he said, turning toward the kitchen. “…I’ll make breakfast.”

Midoriya followed quietly, careful not to stumble over his own feet. The kitchen was warm, the sunlight streaming through the windows catching the polished countertops. Bakugou moved with ease and precision, pulling out bread and butter, a skillet warming gently on the stove.

Bakugou, sliding slices of bread into the toaster, the spring of it snapping back with a soft click.

Midoriya hesitated, then took a small breath. “…Uh… Kacchan… I… I baked something yesterday.” he admitted, voice quiet but steady. “…I wanted to… give it to you.”

Bakugou froze for a fraction of a second, then looked down at the toaster as if he hadn’t heard him. “...You… baked?” His voice was low, calm, but just barely hiding the faint curve of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Midoriya nodded, a little more confidently now. “…Yes. I… I made a cake. And cookies… and some truffles too. I… I wanted to… you know… try to make something you’d like. Just… something small, to… to make you happy.” His voice was quiet, earnest, and slightly trembling with the nervousness of admitting something so personal.

Bakugou reached over to flip the toaster lever, keeping his eyes on the bread. “…Mhm,” he said nonchalantly, though the slight pause before the word carried a quiet weight. “…Can’t wait to see what you’ve done.”

Midoriya’s chest lifted slightly at the acknowledgment, though his hands fidgeted with the hem of his cardigan.

Bakugou hummed quietly, sliding the golden toast onto a plate and buttering it with precise movements. He set the plate of toast on the table and finally looked up at Midoriya, eyes sharp but warm. “…Sit. Eat. I will eat the cake after you finish your breakfast.”

Midoriya settled into the chair, watching Bakugou move around the kitchen with quiet precision. The familiar sound of toast popping, the gentle clink of plates, and the faint aroma of butter and bread filled the space. It was calm. Safe. And for the first time in a while, Midoriya felt a small flicker of peace.

He took a careful bite of the toast, and for a moment, the quiet comfort of the morning seemed to stretch infinitely, the world outside the mansion fading away.

Once he finished, he pushed his plate away gently. “…All done,” he said softly, hands folded in his lap.

Bakugou glanced at him, expression unreadable for a moment. Then, with a sharp tilt of his head, he said, “…Alright. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Midoriya’s heart skipped, nervousness coiling tightly in his chest. He carefully rose, moving toward the refrigerator where the cake, cookies, and truffles waited. The faint morning light glinted off the chocolate glaze, highlighting the careful swirls and delicate patterns he had tried so hard to perfect.

Bakugou leaned against the counter, arms crossed, green eyes scanning every detail as if analyzing a battlefield. “…Huh,” he murmured, voice low. “…Looks… decent.”

Midoriya’s lips trembled slightly, but he nodded. “…I hope it is good for you.”

Bakugou’s sharp gaze flickered, and for a moment, the familiar fire in his eyes softened. He picked up a fork, slicing a small piece carefully, and lifted it to his mouth.

The first taste was almost immediate. His lips pressed together, and a faint sound, almost a hum of surprise, escaped. The chocolate was rich, the caramel subtle but warming, the texture soft but perfect. A faint memory surfaced, him as a kid, sneaking into the kitchen to grab a piece of cake or a cookie when no one was looking, the sweet, comforting taste filling the room and his mind with simple joy.

Bakugou froze slightly, green eyes distant for a brief moment as nostalgia washed over him. “…Huh,” he muttered again, quieter this time, almost to himself.

Midoriya’s chest lifted slightly at the words, a soft, hopeful smile tugging at his lips. “…You… you like it?” he asked carefully, voice barely above a whisper.

Bakugou nodded slowly, setting the fork down. “…Yeah. I… I do.” His voice was rough, low, but there was an unguarded warmth in it.

Midoriya’s eyes flickered with relief, a little shy, but a quiet happiness radiating from him. “…I just… wanted to… make you happy, even a little.”

Bakugou’s jaw tightened, and he exhaled sharply, the usual sharpness in his tone mixed with something gentler. “…You… did. Thanks, nerd.”

He reached for another bite, and this time, as he chewed, the tension in his shoulders eased, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The taste was simple, sweet, and perfect, not just the cake, but the thought behind it. 

Midoriya watched quietly, heart warm but still tentative, feeling the rare, gentle connection that came not from words, but from thoughtfulness and care. And for Bakugou, each bite brought a little reminder of who he had been, who he was, and who cared enough to reach him through something as simple, yet profound, as a piece of cake.

Bakugou’s eyes flicked up, meeting Midoriya’s, and for the first time in a long while, the walls around him felt a little less solid. “…You… know,” he said quietly, voice rough but steady, “…I… don’t… get this often. Someone… doing something… just… for me.” His words were clipped, uneven, but the weight behind them was unmistakable.

Midoriya leaned forward slightly, hands gently clasped in front of him. “…Then… I’m happy I could,” he said softly, “even just a little.”

Bakugou let out a quiet exhale, leaning back and letting his arms rest more loosely at his sides. “…Yeah… a little’s enough… for now.” His eyes softened again, lingering on Midoriya in a way he rarely allowed, warm, quiet, appreciative.

Chapter Text

The mansion was quiet, the soft hum of the city beyond the gates barely audible over the faint ticking of a clock. Midoriya lingered near the living room doorway, fingers twisting nervously in the hem of his cardigan. The aroma of coffee lingered from the morning, and the soft glow of the lamps cast long, gentle shadows across the polished floors.

He hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath. “…Kacchan… can I ask you something?”

Bakugou looked up from the leather chair he had claimed earlier, red eyes sharp but calm. “…Hm?”

Midoriya’s hands fidgeted. “…I… I remember you said before that you used to go on late-night drives… before… before everything changed. If it’s okay… I want to experience that. With you.” His voice was soft, tentative, eyes lifting to meet Bakugou’s with a small, hopeful shine.

Bakugou blinked, caught off guard. The request hung in the air like a fragile thread, delicate yet weighty. “…Late-night drive?” His tone was rough, clipped, but his chest tightened slightly, a quiet tug of nostalgia beneath the edge. “…Why now?”

Midoriya shuffled a little closer, careful not to rush. “…I… I don’t know. I just… I want to see the city with you.”

For a moment, Bakugou’s jaw tightened, and he looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. “…It’s… not really a thing you can just do. It’s… late, dangerous sometimes, and” He stopped abruptly, his sharp eyes softening as he studied Midoriya’s small, earnest face. “…You really want to go, huh?”

Midoriya nodded, a little shy, a little determined. 

Bakugou let out a low sigh, standing slowly. His long fingers drummed briefly against the arm of the chair before he finally crossed the room. “…Fine. But, we we can’t go just the two of us. My life… it’s dangerous. Something could happen anytime. “

Midoriya’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “I love it even more if everyone is going! It’ll be so much fun!”

Bakugou froze for a fraction of a second, his gaze locking on Midoriya’s face. That unguarded, happy expression, the one that always seemed to light up even the darkest corners of his mind, made his chest tighten. His heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, the weight of his dangerous life seemed to fade.

“…Tch… damn nerd,” Bakugou muttered, though the edge in his voice softened slightly. Seeing Midoriya this way… it hit him harder than he expected.

Midoriya’s grin only widened, completely unaware of the effect he had just caused. “…I can’t wait!”

Bakugou rubbed the back of his neck, trying to steady himself, but the warmth in his chest lingered. “…Yeah… alright. We’ll make it happen,” he said, voice low and rough, but with an unmistakable softness in the edges.

The sleek Porsche purred to life under Bakugou’s hands, the low growl of the engine vibrating through the car. The city lights blurred past as they pulled out of the mansion, the tires gripping the asphalt with ease. Todoroki sat beside him, calm and steady, scanning the road ahead with his usual precision. Behind them, Uraraka kept a watchful eye on Midoriya, who practically buzzed with excitement in his seat.

The night air was cool, brushing past the windows as the Porsche glided through winding streets and along the coastline. Midoriya pressed his face lightly against the glass, eyes wide with wonder, watching the reflection of neon signs, distant lights, and the stars above flicker across the ocean waves.

Behind them, Kirishima, Kaminari,Mina and Sero followed in another car, joking quietly among themselves but keeping pace with Bakugou’s lead. Midoriya’s gaze flicked to the headlights in the distance, feeling a thrill he hadn’t experienced in years. “…It’s… amazing…”

After a smooth drive along the coastal road, Bakugou turned onto a quiet sand path leading down to the beach. The usual emptiness was gone tonight, strings of lanterns swayed in the breeze, stalls lined the shoreline, and the faint glow of a bonfire lit the gathering. People laughed and moved between food stalls, while performers twirled flames in dazzling arcs.

Bakugou parked the Porsche on a flat stretch of sand, cutting the engine. He glanced around at the festival lights flickering along the shoreline, fire performers twirling in the distance. “…I didn’t expect this. I never thought they were doing a bonfire here,” he muttered, a hint of surprise softening his usually sharp tone.

Midoriya turned to him, eyes sparkling with excitement. “…Can we go?”

Bakugou’s gaze flicked to him, and for a moment the stern edge in his eyes softened. “…Yeah. Let’s check it out.” he said, his voice low, careful, yet carrying a rare warmth.

The group stepped out onto the soft sand, the cool breeze carrying the scent of salt and roasted corn from the food stalls. The crackle of the bonfires mixed with the laughter and chatter of festival-goers, and the distant rhythm of drums from a fire show drew everyone’s attention.

Mina bounced slightly, excitement written all over her face. “…Oh! Look at those fire performers! Let’s go watch them first.”

Midoriya’s gaze flicked up at Bakugou as they approached the fire show, hands fidgeting slightly. “…Bakugou… is it okay if I watch from here?” he asked softly, barely above the music and crackling flames.

Bakugou crouched slightly to meet his eyes. “…Yeah, just don’t wander off,” he said, voice firm but quiet, almost protective. His hand hovered near Midoriya’s back for a brief moment before lowering, a silent reassurance.

As the performers began spinning flaming torches, Midoriya let out a small, delighted gasp. The group found a spot near a bonfire, the warmth contrasting with the chilly sea breeze. Bakugou’s sharp red eyes scanned the crowd, making sure no one came too close, while Todoroki’s calm presence flanked him like a shadow. Kirishima and Sero hovered nearby, ready to step in if anything happened, but mostly giving them space to enjoy themselves.

The festival stretched on, fire twirling and music filling the night, the group weaving between food stalls and bonfires, sharing small treats, laughter, and warmth. For Midoriya, it was a night full of memories he’d treasure, and for Bakugou, it was a quiet, grounding reminder of what he was protecting, not just a boy, but this little pocket of happiness they could all share together.

Midoriya’s eyes darted toward a stall with a small game of ring toss, the colorful rings stacked neatly and the prizes glinting in the lantern light. A mischievous idea sparked in his mind, and he leaned slightly toward Uraraka. “…Do you think I could… try it?” he whispered, a playful grin tugging at his lips.

Uraraka chuckled softly. “Of course, you can. “

Midoriya nodded eagerly, then scampered a few steps toward the stall. 

Bakugou’s sharp gaze immediately followed him. “…Hey!” he called, voice low but tense. “…Don’t go running off by yourself!”

Midoriya paused and waved back, still smiling. “Don’t worry!”

Bakugou’s jaw clenched, tension rising in his shoulders, but he moved to follow, “…If you fall or get in trouble, I swear…” Bakugou muttered under his breath.

The ring toss was trickier than it looked. Midoriya’s small fingers fumbled slightly with the rings, but determination shone in his eyes. “…C’mon… c’mon…” he muttered quietly, focusing on the target.

Uraraka and Mina cheered quietly from the side, careful not to startle him. “You can do it, Midoriya!” Mina encouraged, bouncing on her toes.

Midoriya’s small fingers fumbled with the rings, his excitement slowly giving way to frustration. “…C’mon… just one…” he muttered under his breath, tossing another ring. It bounced off the top of the bottle with a dull clink.

Uraraka leaned in, whispering gently, “…It’s okay, Midoriya… take your time.”

He nodded, trying again, but the ring slipped from his fingers and clattered to the side. His shoulders slumped slightly, eyes dropping as a small sigh escaped. “…I… I guess I’m not very good at this anymore,” he murmured, a faint shadow of disappointment crossing his face.

Bakugou’s sharp gaze immediately caught the change in his expression. “…Hey,” he barked softly, stepping closer. “…Don’t… look like that.”

Midoriya glanced up, forcing a small, shaky smile. “…I just… keep losing…”

Bakugou’s jaw clenched. “…Tch. If you want it that badly…” His red eyes flicked to the rings and then the bottles. Without another word, he grabbed a ring, tossing it with smooth precision. The ring landed perfectly around the top of a bottle in one clean motion.

The small crowd around the stall let out a quiet murmur of admiration, but Bakugou ignored them entirely, his sharp gaze immediately returning to Midoriya. He plucked the plush toy from the stall owner and held it out. “…Here. This one’s yours,” he said gruffly, voice rough but soft underneath, almost reluctant to show it.

Midoriya’s eyes widened in surprise. “…K-Kacchan… you… you won it for me?” His voice trembled slightly, a mixture of awe and gratitude flooding his expression.

Bakugou shrugged, looking away briefly, jaw tight. “…Don’t get all mushy on me… just take it,” he muttered, though his heart skipped a beat the way Midoriya’s eyes sparkled.

Midoriya clutched the plush toy to his chest, a small, radiant smile breaking across his face. “…Thank you… I… I really like it,” he whispered, voice soft and warm.

Uraraka and Mina exchanged quiet, approving smiles, while Todoroki and Kirishima watched from nearby, sensing the rare, gentle moment between the two. Bakugou’s usual sharp presence softened slightly as he saw the boy’s joy, a faint warmth creeping into his chest.

The group wandered down the sandy path toward the main festival area, the warm glow of torches reflecting in the dark water. The bonfire crackled in the distance, casting dancing shadows across the beach. Fire performers twirled flaming batons, their movements sharp and mesmerizing, while laughter and chatter from the stalls mingled with the scent of roasted corn, sweet candied apples, and sizzling skewers.

Midoriya’s eyes sparkled as he took it all in. “…It’s… amazing…” he murmured, voice full of awe. He hesitated before glancing at Bakugou. “…Thank you for bringing me here, Kacchan…”

Bakugou’s jaw twitched, but he didn’t reply immediately.  Mina bounced lightly beside them, tugging at Midoriya’s sleeve. “Let’s go try the food first! I want to see which sweets are the best!”

Kirishima and Sero followed behind, laughing quietly as they debated which game stall to hit next, while Todoroki walked beside Bakugou, calm and alert, occasionally nodding toward Midoriya to make sure he was safe.

The first stop was a small stall lined with colorful candy apples. Midoriya’s hands shook slightly with excitement as he chose a shiny red one. Next, they wandered toward the fire show. The performers twirled and leapt, flames painting arcs in the dark sky. Midoriya’s eyes widened. Bakugou moved slightly closer behind him, his presence a subtle shield. His fingers brushed Midoriya’s shoulder as he adjusted him slightly, more instinctively than consciously, making sure he wasn’t jostled by the crowd.

Kirishima and Sero cheered loudly for a particularly daring stunt, prompting laughter from Mina and Uraraka. Midoriya’s quiet chuckle blended in, and for a moment, the rough edges of the dangerous world outside felt miles away. Kaminari clapped enthusiastically, tossing a casual grin toward Todoroki. “Hey, you can admit it’s impressive, man! Don’t just stand there like a statue.”

Todoroki’s expression remained calm, but there was a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. “…It’s… well-performed,” he muttered, his voice even but a hint of warmth seeping through.

Mina elbowed Midoriya lightly. “See! Even Todoroki’s enjoying it… a little.”

Uraraka laughed softly, nudging Todoroki gently. “Come on, just watch the show. You deserve to enjoy yourself too, you know.”

The group lingered, sharing the small joys of the fire show, teasing Todoroki just enough to coax him out of his usual self-imposed reserve, while making sure Midoriya stayed safe and engaged. For a brief, perfect night, they were just friends, enjoying laughter, awe, and warmth, away from danger, obligations, and the shadows of their other lives.

The group wandered slowly between the stalls, laughter and chatter blending with the distant crackle of the bonfires. Kirishima and Sero debated which skewers to try next, Mina sampled a colorful mochi while Uraraka occasionally nudged Midoriya with a playful grin. Yet, throughout it all, the group subtly adjusted their movements, giving just enough space for Bakugou and Midoriya to walk a few steps ahead, side by side.

Kaminari, trailing just behind them with a quiet grin, leaned slightly closer to Bakugou. His voice was low, almost a whisper, careful not to reach Midoriya’s ears. “Don’t worry about a thing, man. We got this,” he said, glancing at the others. “We’ll keep an eye from behind. You two… just enjoy it.”

Bakugou’s eyes flicked briefly toward him, jaw tightening for a moment before he gave the faintest nod, a silent acknowledgment. “…Tch,” he muttered.

With the group strategically giving them space, Midoriya and Bakugou had a chance to walk side by side along the sandy beach, the distant crackle of bonfires and laughter around them forming a warm, protective bubble. Midoriya’s small hand brushed against Bakugou’s sleeve by accident, and he froze slightly, his cheeks flushing.

 “…Sorry…” he murmured, his voice barely carrying over the soft whisper of the waves.

Bakugou didn’t pull away. Instead, his hand hovered near Midoriya’s, tense for a moment before relaxing. “……Don’t apologize,” he said quietly, the rough edge in his tone softening even further. “…It’s… fine.”

He took a small step forward, trying to keep his balance on the uneven sand. The glow from the festival lanterns danced across the sand, reflecting off the tiny ridges left by the waves. He shifted his weight, eyes sparkling with wonder, but the sand betrayed him, a loose patch gave way beneath his foot.

“Ah!” Midoriya stumbled, arms flailing slightly as he tried to catch himself.

Bakugou’s sharp instincts kicked in immediately. Without thinking, he reached out, one hand gripping Midoriya’s arm and the other curling around his waist to steady him. Midoriya’s heart thumped in his chest as he felt Bakugou’s strong, steady presence holding him upright.

“…You okay?” His eyes, usually so sharp, softened as he checked that Midoriya wasn’t hurt.

“I… I’m fine,” Midoriya said, a nervous laugh escaping, but his fingers lingered near Bakugou’s hand. “…Just… almost tripped.”

Bakugou’s jaw tightened, a rare protective heat rising in his chest. “…Damn nerd… can’t have you falling over, can I?” Without a word, he let his hand linger against Midoriya’s, then, more deliberately, took it fully in his own. Their fingers intertwined, snug and steady. “…Stay close to me,” he muttered, voice low but firm, carrying a warmth he rarely let show.

Midoriya froze for a heartbeat, then pressed his other hand lightly against Bakugou’s, a shy, grateful smile tugging at his lips. “…I… I will,” he whispered. The soft thrum of his heartbeat pressed against Bakugou’s hand, and for a moment, Bakugou simply let it be, the world narrowing to the gentle squeeze of their hands and the rhythmic crash of the waves beside them.

Bakugou’s sharp eyes flicked up at the flickering lanterns, then back to Midoriya. “…Tch… damn it, nerd… always making me babysit you,” he muttered, but the corners of his lips twitched in a way that was almost, just almost, like a smile.

Midoriya giggled softly, leaning just a fraction closer. “…I like it when you… take care of me,” he admitted, voice warm and soft, eyes locking with Bakugou’s.

Bakugou’s red gaze darkened, but not with anger, something deeper, something unspoken, shone there instead. “…Don’t… get used to me being soft,” he muttered, thumb brushing lightly over Midoriya’s knuckles, steadying both their hands. “…But… I’m not letting you go, got it?”

Midoriya’s chest swelled with warmth. “…Got it,” he whispered back, resting a little closer, their fingers entwined as if the world around them could vanish, and it would still be perfect.

From behind, Todoroki, Kaminari, Uraraka, Mina, Sero, and Kirishima shared quiet, knowing smiles, giving them the space they needed while still keeping a watchful eye. The festival lights and distant fire performers became a soft blur around the intimate bubble Bakugou and Midoriya had created a small, fragile world of trust, warmth, and something tenderly unspoken.

 “…I’m glad… I feel… safe with you.” The words slipped out before he could stop them, soft, genuine, almost trembling with sincerity.

Bakugou’s chest tightened, a strangled sort of warmth bubbling in his chest. He glanced down at their intertwined fingers, then back at Midoriya’s earnest face. “…Damn… nerd,” he muttered under his breath, the usual edge in his voice gone, replaced by something heavier, something unspoken. “…You really know how to mess with me.”

Midoriya blushed slightly, but he didn’t let go. “…I… like being with you, Kacchan… like this,” he admitted, the words soft, careful, but filled with weight.

For a heartbeat, Bakugou said nothing, letting the sound of the waves and the faint murmur of the festival fill the silence. Then, almost imperceptibly, he leaned just a fraction closer, thumb brushing along the back of Midoriya’s hand in a gesture that was protective, comforting, and entirely his own. “…I… don’t want anything happening to you,” he admitted quietly, his voice almost roughened by the rarity of his openness.

Midoriya’s chest swelled with warmth. “You don’t have to worry,” he whispered, a soft smile spreading across his face. “…As long as I’m with you…I’m safe.”

The moment stretched, quiet and intimate, the world beyond the beach fading into a soft blur. Behind them, their friends lingered at a respectful distance, Todoroki standing with Kaminari, Uraraka and Mina leaning slightly on each other, Sero and Kirishima whispering quietly but all eyes were gentle, allowing Bakugou and Midoriya their space. No teasing, no interruptions, just quiet support from afar.

Midoriya’s head dipped slightly, shyly looking up at Bakugou. “…Kacchan… can we… just walk a little more?”

Bakugou’s sharp eyes softened, and he gave the faintest nod. “…Yeah… yeah, let’s walk.”

So they continued along the water’s edge, hands intertwined, footsteps tracing patterns in the sand. The cool night breeze tugged gently at their clothes, the scent of the ocean mingling with roasted corn and sweet sugar from the festival behind them.

Bakugou’s hand tightened just slightly around Midoriya’s as a wave lapped near their toes. “…You’re… stubborn, you know that?” he murmured, low, almost teasing but it carried a warmth, a rare softness.

Midoriya giggled quietly, leaning a fraction closer. “…I… learned from the best,” he whispered, and Bakugou’s chest tightened at the words.

Bakugou’s jaw tightened as he glanced down at Midoriya, trying to gauge the right words, the right way to voice something he didn’t even fully understand himself. “…Damn it,” he muttered, almost to himself, a low growl that didn’t quite reach irritation. “…I… I don’t… I don’t get why I… care so damn much.”

Midoriya blinked, tilting his head slightly. “Kacchan?” His voice was soft, a mixture of curiosity and quiet hope.

Bakugou’s red eyes flicked up, sharp and conflicted,“I mean… not just… not like anyone else. You… you matter… more than I can… figure out,” he said, voice rough, strained, but imbued with sincerity. 

Bakugou’s jaw clenched, his sharp features softening as he searched for words that didn’t come easily. “You… you’ve… changed me.” He let out a rough breath, voice low and uneven.

“You… make me… want to be… me. The real me. You… make me see myself. The parts I don’t even know I had. You… you make me… want to understand what I really am… what I really feel… without… pretending all the time.”

He looked down at their intertwined hands, the small squeeze of Midoriya’s fingers grounding him. “…I… I don’t even know what this is yet. I… don’t know if it’s… love, or… hell, maybe it is… I don’t even care. All I know is… I… I want to learn it. With you. And… because of you, nerd… I’m starting to see who I really am.”

Midoriya’s heart swelled, a warm, fluttering ache spreading through his chest. “…Kacchan…” he whispered, voice trembling slightly. 

Bakugou’s gaze lifted, meeting Midoriya’s wide, trusting green eyes. “I’m not good at saying this stuff… hell, I barely understand it myself… but… you… you’ve changed my life, nerd. Made me… see the real me.”

Midoriya didn’t speak right away.

The ocean kept breathing beside them, waves rolling in and out like a steady heartbeat, Bakugou’s strong hand still wrapped firmly around his own. Midoriya stared at their joined hands for a long moment, his grip tightening just a little, as if anchoring himself to the present.

“…Kacchan,” he finally whispered.

Bakugou turned toward him immediately, red eyes sharp with attention. “…Yeah?”

Midoriya swallowed, his green eyes glistening, not with fear, but with honesty long held back. “…Before… before you,” he began slowly, choosing each word with care, “I used to think about… how many days I had left.”

Bakugou stiffened.

Midoriya continued, voice quiet but steady. “…I kept wondering… when I would die. How it would happen. If I’d be alone when it did.” He let out a small, breathy laugh that held no humor. “…It sounds strange, doesn’t it? I wasn’t scared all the time… I was just… waiting. Like life was something I was borrowing… not really living.”

Midoriya shook his head softly. “…But then… you happened.”

He looked up at Bakugou then, green eyes bright and unguarded, filled with something fragile and fierce all at once. “…Being with you… changed how the world feels. I stopped counting days. I stopped wondering when it would end.” His voice trembled slightly. “…Now I think about… what comes next. About tomorrow. About staying.”

Bakugou’s breath hitched, just barely.

“…With you,” Midoriya whispered. “…I finally feel like I’m living. Not surviving. Not waiting. Living.” His fingers curled more firmly around Bakugou’s hand. “…And I want to keep doing that. I want to keep living… as long as I can. Because of you. Because of us.”

Bakugou stared at him, red eyes burning, chest tight like something inside him had cracked open. “…As long as I’m breathing… you’re living. You hear me? We live. Together.”

Midoriya’s breath caught, emotion swelling until it threatened to spill over. “…Kacchan…” he murmured, leaning in just enough to feel Bakugou’s warmth fully. “…Thank you… for giving me a reason to stay.”

Bakugou huffed softly, forehead dipping closer to Midoriya’s, not quite touching. “…Tch. You idiot,” he said quietly. “…You didn’t need a reason. But… I’m glad I get to be one.”

They stood there like that, hands entwined, foreheads nearly touching while the festival lights flickered behind them and the ocean whispered promises neither of them needed to say out loud.

For the first time in a long time, neither of them was looking toward the end.

Only forward.

Chapter Text

The pool lights cast a soft blue glow across the water, ripples shifting lazily with the night breeze. Bakugou sat at the edge, boots planted firmly against the stone tiles, one hand wrapped around a mug of hot coffee. Steam curled upward, disappearing into the dark sky.

He hadn’t moved for a while.

The coffee had gone untouched.

Behind him, soft footsteps approached, measured, unhurried.

“…Why would you drink coffee?” Todoroki’s voice broke the silence, calm as ever. “It’s already late at night.”

Bakugou didn’t look back. “…Didn’t ask for sleep advice.”

Todoroki stopped beside him anyway, gaze flicking briefly to the mug, then to the water. “…You only drink coffee this late when you’re thinking.”

Bakugou huffed quietly. “…Tch.”

A beat passed. Then Todoroki spoke again.

“What are you thinking about this time?”

Bakugou’s jaw tightened. The reflection in the pool wavered, sharp eyes, rigid posture, a man who had carried too much for too long. “…I think,” Bakugou said slowly, voice rough but steady, “I want to quit.”

Todoroki’s eyes narrowed, not in shock, but focus. “…Quit what.”

Bakugou finally turned his head just enough for Todoroki to see his expression.

“…All of it.”

The words settled heavily between them.

“The gang. The position. The damn chair everyone keeps bowing to,” Bakugou continued. “I’m tired.”

Todoroki didn’t interrupt.

“I thought it was just stress. Or boredom. Or weakness,” Bakugou scoffed quietly. “But it’s not.” His grip tightened around the mug. “…It’s him.”

Todoroki didn’t interrupt.

Bakugou exhaled slowly. “Before Midoriya… life was simple. Not easy. Simple.” A humorless huff. “Survive. Win. Stay on top. If I woke up breathing, that was good enough.”

His red eyes flicked to the water, watching the light ripple. “I didn’t think about tomorrow. I didn't plan for it. I just kept moving forward until something killed me or I killed it first.”

His voice dropped, rougher now. “But then he showed up.”

Bakugou swallowed. “When I’m with him, I don’t think about how this ends. I think about how to get back. About whether I’ll still be alive to hear him talk tomorrow.” 

His fingers curled around the mug like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. “He makes me think about mornings,” he muttered, almost bitter. “About coming home. About stupid things like whether the lights are on when I walk in.”

A breath left him, slow and heavy.

“I never cared about that before.”

Todoroki watched him quietly, the pool light reflecting faintly in his mismatched eyes. He didn’t rush the silence. He knew Bakugou well enough to understand that this honesty didn’t come without cost.

He swallowed, the words heavier than anything he’d said tonight. “I just want to be with him.”

Todoroki didn’t move. Didn’t interrupt.

Bakugou continued, slower now, like he was choosing each word carefully. “Midoriya gives me reasons to live without even trying. He looks at the world like it’s something worth touching. Worth remembering.” A quiet breath left him. “And when I see that… I want to show it to him.”

His fingers flexed unconsciously.

“I want to take him places. Let him see the ocean in the morning, not just at night. Let him taste things he likes, laugh at stupid shit, complain about the weather like a normal person.” A scoff, faint but fond. “I want to give him time. Time he never thought he’d have.”

“I spent my whole life thinking survival was enough,” Bakugou said. “But with him… I want more than that. I want living. I want memories that don’t smell like blood and gunpowder.”

He finally turned his head, looking at Todoroki fully now. “And I know I can’t give him that while I’m still dragging this world around my neck.”

A quiet breath left him. “I want to wake up and know he’s still there. I want to hear him ramble about stupid details, see him get excited over things I used to think were meaningless.” His lips twitched faintly. “I want to protect that.”

Todoroki listened without judgment.

Bakugou continued, slower now. “I don’t understand these feelings. Don’t know where they end or what they’re called.” He clenched his jaw. “But if this is love…”

He exhaled.

“…Then I’m not running from it.”

The words didn’t sound dramatic. They sounded decided.

Bakugou’s jaw tightened slightly. He stared at the rippling water for a second longer before speaking, voice low but unwavering. “…I’m going to entrust those guys to you.”

Todoroki’s gaze sharpened.

“You’re the only one who can hold it together without turning it into a slaughterhouse,” Bakugou said. “You think before you move. You see ten steps ahead. And you don’t let your ego steer the wheel.”

A pause. “…I don’t trust many people with my back.”

He held Todoroki’s gaze. “But I trust you.”

Todoroki met his gaze steadily. “…Then leave it to me.”

“I’ll handle them,” Todoroki said calmly, voice even but firm. “You don’t have to carry it all alone anymore. Focus on what matters to you. Take care of him.”

Bakugou’s chest tightened, a lump forming in his throat. “You… mean that?”

Todoroki’s gaze didn’t waver. “…I mean it. You’ve done enough for everyone. Let someone else hold the line while you live for yourself.”

Bakugou stared at the rippling water for a second, letting the words sink in. The weight he had carried for so long, the endless pressure, the constant fight, it felt just a fraction lighter now.

Todoroki gave a small nod. “Show him the world you’ve been holding back from yourself.”

Bakugou exhaled slowly, a breath heavier than any before, but filled with a strange, grounding warmth. “…I will.”

Bakugou finally stood, setting the mug aside. The future no longer felt like a threat. With Todoroki holding the line behind him, he could finally step forward into a life that felt worth living.

______________________________________________

The sunlight filtered through the tall windows of the main hall, bouncing off polished floors and casting long lines across the walls. The room was unusually quiet, the usual hum of activity replaced by the low murmur of curiosity. Men of all ranks, his main crew and the extended teams under him, gathered in scattered clusters, waiting, sensing something different in the air.

Bakugou stepped to the front, hands clasped loosely behind his back, posture rigid but somehow lighter than usual. The murmurs ceased instantly; the sharp edge in his presence demanded attention.

“…Listen up,” he began, voice low but carrying across the room. “I’m done.”

“…I’m retiring.”

The room froze. The men who had been under his command for years, who had followed him through fights, schemes, and chaos, shifted uncomfortably.

Bakugou’s sharp red eyes scanned the room, daring anyone to question him. “…I’m serious.”

A veteran underling cleared his throat, voice shaky. “But… boss… we… we need you. You’re”

 “ I’m leaving it to you. All of you. You’ve got brains, guts, and strength. You can handle this. I trust you guys.”

“…You heard me,” Bakugou continued, voice firm. “I’ve carried this world on my back long enough. It’s time someone else did. And I picked the right people, each and every one of you, to keep it steady. I leave Todoroki to take the lead now. Don’t screw it up.”

The room remained tense for a heartbeat before Kirishima, stepping forward, broke the silence with a grin. “We got this, boss. Don’t worry!”

Sero nodded in agreement, Kaminari gave a thumbs-up, and even the quieter members of the extended crew nodded, some with cautious smiles. Todoroki, standing at the back, met Bakugou’s gaze with a faint, approving nod.

He let his eyes sweep over them one last time, the familiar tension in the room softening. “…Now get out of here. You’ve got work to do. I… I’ve got other things to take care of.”

As the men filtered out, muttering and murmuring among themselves, Bakugou exhaled, a rare weight lifting off his shoulders. He straightened, eyes closing for a brief moment. The room was quiet now, but for the first time in years, it felt like his.

Outside, the sun was higher, spilling warmth over the city. A new day had begun, and with it, a new chapter of his life, one where he didn’t just survive, but lived.

Bakugou left the main hall, the weight of his old life slowly loosening with every step. The city’s sunlight spilled over the streets, warm and alive, but his mind was already elsewhere.

When he arrived at the mansion, he found Midoriya sitting beside the swimming pool, feet dipped lazily in the cool water. The boy’s green eyes reflected the sunlight, and his hair caught the light in soft strands. He was simply there, letting the gentle breeze and the ripple of the water ease him into the morning.

Bakugou paused for a heartbeat, taking in the small scene. Then, without a word, he settled down beside him, his boots brushing lightly against the pool’s edge. He watched Midoriya’s toes disturb the water, tiny waves spreading outward.

“…Hey,” Midoriya said softly, glancing up with a small smile.

“…Hey,” Bakugou exhaled, letting the tension in his shoulders slip just slightly.  “I need to tell you something. Don’t… don’t freak out.”

Midoriya’s smile softened. “…You know I won’t,” he said gently, his eyes calm, patient.

Bakugou took a deep breath, fists tightening briefly around the edge of the pool. “…I… I quit.”

The words hung in the air. "Everything. I want to live a new life. A real one.” he added, voice low but steady, meeting Midoriya’s gaze.

Midoriya’s smile widened, warm and reassuring. “I’m proud of you,” he whispered, reaching out to gently nudge Bakugou’s shoulder. “You don’t have to carry everything alone anymore.”

Bakugou’s sharp eyes softened as he looked at him. “Yeah… I know. Todoroki’s got the rest.”

Midoriya’s hand brushed his casually, but the gesture carried more weight than words. “I’ll support you,” he said quietly, sincerity in every syllable. “We’ll figure it out together.”

Bakugou’s chest tightened at the words, but it wasn’t the suffocating pressure of duty, it was the warm, grounding pull of something he hadn’t realized he’d been craving. He shifted slightly closer, letting the sunlight and breeze wash over them both.

 “I want a life worth living, not just surviving.” He muttered, almost to himself

Midoriya’s green eyes met his, full of trust and quiet encouragement. “Then we’ll make it worth living. Every day.”

Bakugou exhaled again, slower this time, a rare, genuine ease settling over him. For the first time in years, he felt free, not from enemies, not from obligations, but from the constant weight that had pinned him down. 

Midoriya’s fingers twirled absentmindedly in the water. After a moment of quiet, he tilted his head and asked softly, “…Hey, Kacchan. Is there anything fun that we can do?”

Bakugou froze slightly at the question. Fun? It had been… what, years since he had done something for himself, something that didn’t involve planning, surviving, or fighting? His mind raced, searching for something that wasn’t work, duty, or chaos.

“…Fun, huh,” he muttered, voice low as he thought. The sunlight glinted off the ripples in the pool, Midoriya’s hopeful gaze fixed on him, patient and encouraging. Then, suddenly, a memory sparked. His lips twitched into the beginnings of a grin. “…Have you… ever gone to an arcade before?”

Midoriya blinked, a little surprised, then shook his head slowly. “…No… I haven’t.”

Bakugou smirked, a rare, light expression breaking through his usual sharpness. “Then… let’s go. Right now.”

Midoriya’s eyes widened, the smile spreading slowly, bright and warm. “…Really?”

Bakugou rolled his eyes, trying and failing to hide the excitement creeping into his tone. “Yeah, really. It’s not like I remember much of how to have fun either, but… we’ll figure it out. Together.”

The boy laughed softly, the sound tinkling like little bells over the water. “Okay! I can’t wait!”

Bakugou felt a strange warmth settle in his chest, relief, anticipation, maybe something deeper he wasn’t ready to name. He pushed himself up, the sunlight catching the sharp angles of his face. “…Then quit sitting there. Let’s go, nerd.”

Midoriya chuckled and splashed water playfully toward him. “…Yes, sir!”

Before heading out, Bakugou paused at the doorway to the mansion’s main hall. Uraraka, who had been tidying up some papers, looked up, eyes widening slightly at his presence.

“…Uraraka,” he said, voice low but firm, “I need you to look after the mansion while we’re gone. Keep things under control, yeah?”

Uraraka nodded quickly, though concern flickered in her eyes. “Are you sure you’re going, just both of you? I mean… I know you’ve quit, but still… it doesn’t mean everyone’s aware of that yet. We never know who might show up.”

Bakugou’s jaw tightened. He hesitated for a heartbeat, the weight of her words pressing on him. But then he thought of Midoriya sitting by the pool, carefree, unaware of the world he had carried alone for so long. That warmth, that sense of normalcy, they deserved this.

“…Let’s give it a try,” he said finally, voice firm and steady, a spark of determination in his eyes. “I will protect him. No matter what.”

Uraraka’s expression softened, a small, understanding smile tugging at her lips. “Alright… I trust you, Bakugou. Just… be careful, okay?”

Bakugou smirked faintly, a rare softness in the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry about us.”

“…Ready, nerd?” Bakugou called over his shoulder, voice edged with an uncharacteristic excitement.

Midoriya looked up, eyes bright, and grinned. “…Yeah! Let’s go!”

Bakugou allowed himself a rare, small laugh as he followed, stepping into the day and into a life that he would finally live for himself and for Midoriya.

The arcade hit them with a riot of sound and color. Neon lights flickered over walls plastered with posters of games and prizes. The clatter of tokens, the beep of machines, the chatter of people, it was overwhelming, but in the best way.

“First up,” Bakugou said, pointing to a row of racing cabinets, “we’re doing this.” He handed Midoriya a joystick. “Don’t crash too hard.”

Midoriya laughed, cheeks pink, and focused intently. He wasn’t bad, he was cautious, careful, and earnest, but every tiny mistake made him squeal in surprise, which made Bakugou laugh softly despite himself.

“You’re… not terrible,” Bakugou muttered, shoving the joystick toward Midoriya to adjust his angle. “Try harder.”

Midoriya grinned. “I’ll catch up!”

By the final lap, Midoriya shot past Bakugou, and the boy cheered so loudly that a few nearby kids glanced over. Bakugou couldn’t help but laugh, a low sound that surprised even him. “Don’t get cocky, nerd,” he said, shaking his head but smiling under the words.

They moved from game to game, basketball hoops, whack-a-mole, shooting galleries and Bakugou found himself laughing more than he had in years. Not forced laughs, not relief-laced chuckles, but actual, light-hearted laughter.

At one point, Midoriya grabbed his hand during a slow moment, squeezing lightly. “Thanks for bringing me here,” he whispered.

Bakugou’s heart skipped. He looked down at Midoriya’s bright, earnest face and felt a warmth that had nothing to do with pride or control.

By the time the sun started to dip, painting the sky in streaks of orange and pink, they sat on a bench outside the arcade.

Midoriya stretched, yawning softly as he shifted on the bench. “I’m hungry,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

Bakugou glanced down at him, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “It’s about dinner time. Is there anywhere you want to eat? Name it, I’ll take you there.”

Midoriya’s eyes lit up, and a bright, fond smile spread across his face. “There’s a small place I used to eat at sometimes. The katsudon there… it’s amazing. Just a little restaurant, but… I always went there. The owner even recognizes me.”

Bakugou’s brow arched, curiosity piqued. “…Sounds like you’ve got a favorite spot. Lead the way, nerd.”

Eventually, they reached a small, cozy restaurant tucked along a side street, the glow of lanterns welcoming them. As they stepped inside, the familiar smell of fried pork, rice, and savory sauce hit Midoriya instantly. His eyes lit up, and before he could say anything, a familiar voice called out warmly.

“Midoriya! It’s been a while! Where have you gone? Did you find a new place to eat katsudon?”

Midoriya laughed, a bright, genuine sound. “There’s no other place that could replace your katsudon. Yours is always the best.”

The owner, a cheerful man with a round face and kind eyes, chuckled. “You’ve been missed, kid. And… oh? I see you’ve brought company today. Is he your boyfriend?”

Midoriya’s cheeks flushed a soft pink, and he fumbled for words. “He’s not my boyfriend, but… I would say he’s someone special.”

Bakugou’s sharp eyes softened slightly, a rare warmth spreading across his face. He gave a small nod toward Midoriya, letting him take the spotlight, though the corner of his lips quivered into a faint smirk.

The owner’s eyes twinkled with curiosity and fondness. “Well, that’s good to hear. Anyone who makes you happy is welcome here. Now come on, sit down. Katsudon is on the way!”

They settled into a corner booth, the comforting scent of fried pork and rice filling the space. Bakugou watched Midoriya’s eyes light up with every bite, and he couldn’t help the swell of affection in his chest.

“Delicious, isn’t it?” Midoriya murmured, half to himself, savoring the katsudon.

Bakugou leaned back slightly, his arms crossed, but the faintest trace of a smile curved his lips. “Yeah… not bad.”

Midoriya glanced at him, grinning. “Not bad?”

Bakugou snorted softly, a teasing edge in his tone. “Shut up, nerd. It’s good. Don’t get used to me being sentimental about food, though.”

And as Midoriya laughed again, cheeks pink, Bakugou realized this, these moments were exactly what he had been missing all along.

After finishing their katsudon, Bakugou and Midoriya stepped out into the cool evening air. The streets had taken on a different energy now, bright lanterns swayed overhead, neon signs flickered, and the hum of small businesses filled the air. Food stalls offered sizzling treats, clothes and trinkets lined narrow aisles, and laughter echoed around them. The place felt alive, bustling with life yet intimate, like the heartbeat of the city itself.

Midoriya’s eyes widened, sparkling as he took it all in. “It’s… so bright… and full of life. Look at all the stalls!” he said, his voice soft with awe.

They strolled through the bustling street, the scents of grilled meats and sweet pastries mingling in the air. Midoriya’s gaze wandered everywhere, pausing occasionally to admire a hanging lantern or a small trinket someone had crafted. Then, he froze slightly, his green eyes lighting up.

“Kacchan, look at that stall,” he whispered, pointing toward a small setup glowing warmly under fairy lights. It was filled with flowers of every kind, roses, lilies, daisies, even wildflowers he didn’t recognize. “Those flowers… they’re so beautiful, aren’t they?”

Bakugou followed his gaze, his sharp eyes taking in the stall. The flowers were vibrant, delicate, and alive in a way that contrasted sharply with the chaos of his usual world. He hesitated for a moment, then, without a word, reached out and took Midoriya’s hands in his own.

“C’mon,” he said, voice low but firm, guiding Midoriya toward the stall. “You can pick whatever flowers you want.”

Midoriya’s eyes widened in surprise, a soft blush spreading across his cheeks. “Really? Are you sure?”

Bakugou’s jaw tightened slightly, but his expression softened. “Yeah. I mean it. Pick whatever catches your eye. Don’t overthink it.”

Midoriya’s hands were warm as he approached the stall. He looked at the flowers carefully, running his fingers lightly over the petals, eyes wide with wonder. “There’s so many… I don’t know which ones…”

Bakugou crouched slightly to match his height, letting their shoulders brush. “Then get a bunch,” he said, voice teasing but gentle. “…Who says you have to choose just one?”

Midoriya’s smile deepened, holding a small bouquet of wildflowers close to his chest.  Then, his gaze met Bakugou’s, full of warmth and trust. “…Thank you.”

Bakugou’s chest tightened, but he let himself savor the moment, the chaos of the world far away. 

With a small bouquet of wildflowers in Midoriya’s hands, they wandered deeper into the bustling market. The streets were alive with chatter, sizzling food, and laughter, and Bakugou felt an unfamiliar lightness in his chest. He let Midoriya lead the way, pointing at various stalls, occasionally tugging gently at his hand to keep him close.

“Kacchan, look! They have taiyaki!” Midoriya exclaimed, eyes wide as he pointed toward a vendor shaping fish-shaped cakes over hot grills.

Bakugou grunted, trying to sound nonchalant, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “Fine. Let’s get some,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

Midoriya laughed, the sound bright against the evening air, and grabbed two taiyaki. He handed one to Bakugou, who caught it without missing a beat, his sharp eyes briefly softening as he watched Midoriya take a small, careful bite.

“Not bad,” Bakugou muttered after trying on his own, his usual harsh tone carrying a faint, unintentional warmth. 

They continued down the street, passing stalls selling handmade trinkets and small clothes. At one point, Midoriya stopped, crouching down to inspect a small pile of hand-painted keychains. “These are so cute,” he murmured, picking one up.

Bakugou glanced at them, then straightened slightly and called over to the seller, a kind-looking older man with a warm smile. “Hey! How much is this?” His voice was firm, but there was a rare softness when he looked at Midoriya.

The man’s face lit up when he saw Bakugou and then Midoriya. “Ah, those? For you, young man… just 500 yen,” he said cheerfully.

Bakugou raised an eyebrow. “500? Fine. Keep the change.” He handed over the money, then turned his attention back to Midoriya. 

After wandering through the lively streets for a while, the sounds of chatter, sizzling food, and laughter began to fade as Bakugou led Midoriya down a narrow side path. Lanterns hung here too, but the light was softer, warmer, casting long shadows over cobblestones worn smooth by time. The hum of the busy market behind them became a gentle background murmur.

Midoriya glanced around, eyes wide and curious. “It’s… so quiet here,” he whispered, his voice tinged with awe. The small path felt peaceful, almost like stepping into a different world.

Bakugou kept his hand lightly brushing against Midoriya’s as they walked, the gesture small but grounding. “…Yeah,” he replied, voice low. “…Sometimes, the best spots aren’t the loud ones.”

They passed a small fountain, the water sparkling under the soft glow of lanterns, rippling gently as it caught the light. Midoriya crouched beside it, dipping a finger into the water and watching the tiny waves spread outward. “It’s… beautiful,” he murmured softly.

Bakugou crouched beside him, leaning a little closer than necessary, but he didn’t pull away. “Yeah,” he echoed, letting the word hang between them, carrying more weight than he intended.

A row of small benches appeared near a quiet garden tucked behind the buildings. Bakugou motioned for Midoriya to sit first, then settled down beside him, shoulders brushing lightly. Midoriya held the small bouquet of flowers close to his chest.

“Kacchan,” Midoriya said, tilting his head slightly, “I’m glad we came here. Just… us.”

Bakugou’s sharp eyes softened as he looked at him. “…Yeah,” he murmured, a rare, quiet smile tugging at his lips. He nudged the bouquet gently toward Midoriya. “Keep those close. You earned them today.”

Midoriya’s cheeks flushed faintly, and he smiled up at him, eyes shining. “I think I’ll keep them forever.”

Midoriya tilted his head slightly, then spoke, almost in a rush, his words carrying a mixture of shyness and determination. “Kacchan… I… I’ve been wanting to tell you something.”

Bakugou’s sharp eyes flicked to him, curiosity sparking beneath the usual tension. “Huh?”

Midoriya’s fingers tightened around the bouquet, the petals brushing against his palms as if they could steady his racing heart. He swallowed, took a trembling breath, and glanced up at Bakugou, whose sharp eyes now softened with quiet attention.

“Kacchan,” he began, voice barely above a whisper, “I… I’ve been trying to find the right words for a long time. But… it’s hard. How do you… how do you tell someone that… that being near them… it makes everything feel lighter? That even when the world is heavy, just looking at them makes it seem… okay?”

Bakugou’s gaze sharpened, but he didn’t speak. He just waited, letting Midoriya’s words spill freely.

“I… I don’t know when it happened, exactly,” Midoriya continued, cheeks flushing faintly as his voice grew steadier, “but… I started noticing… little things. I noticed that I wanted to tell you things… stupid things, small things, just so you’d know… that I’m here. That I… care. That I want to see you smile when you think no one’s watching. That… I want to see all the parts of you that you hide… because I think they’re worth seeing. All of them.”

He paused, inhaling slowly, gathering every ounce of courage he had. “And… Kacchan,” he whispered, stepping slightly closer, his heart pounding in his chest, “…I think I… I love you.”

Bakugou’s sharp eyes widened slightly, disbelief flickering across his face. His heart thudded loudly in his chest, echoing every word Midoriya had just spoken. He… he said he loves me?

The world seemed to narrow to the sound of Midoriya’s voice, the warmth in his eyes, the faint blush on his cheeks, the way he held the bouquet like it was a part of him, and a part meant only for Bakugou. Bakugou’s mind went back to what he had told Todoroki that night by the pool,

“I don’t understand these feelings. Don’t know where they end or what they’re called… But if this is love… then I’m not running from it.”

He clenched his jaw, the words replaying in his mind like a mantra. If this is love…

Slowly, deliberately, Bakugou lifted a hand, hesitating only for a heartbeat before cupping Midoriya’s face with a gentleness that felt foreign even to him. His thumb brushed lightly over Midoriya’s cheek, tracing the faint pink of his blush, and he swallowed, feeling the heat rise in his chest.

“Midoriya…” he murmured, voice low, almost unsteady. “I… didn’t think… I’d… ever…”

His words faltered, but his heart knew. It had been known for a long time. For so long that he had buried it under fire and blood, under chaos and responsibility. But now… now he could reach for it, could reach for Midoriya.

Midoriya’s gaze never wavered, bright and open and trusting, and it was all the confirmation Bakugou needed. With a slow, deliberate motion, he leaned in, pressing his forehead gently against Midoriya’s. The world seemed to quiet, the market, the lanterns, the distant chatter, all fading into nothing but the two of them.

Then, softly, almost reverently, Bakugou brushed his lips against Midoriya’s in a gentle, tentative kiss. It was careful, slow, and full of every emotion he had kept locked away for years, disbelief, awe, longing, and an overwhelming tenderness he had never let himself feel before.

Midoriya’s hands instinctively found Bakugou’s arms, holding on as if grounding himself in the reality of this moment. When they parted slightly, just enough to breathe, Midoriya’s lips curved into a small, shy smile.

“I’ve wanted to tell you for so long,” he whispered, still holding Bakugou’s gaze. “I… I love you, Kacchan.”

Bakugou’s heart skipped, then surged, disbelief melting into a raw, unguarded happiness he had never thought he’d experience. He let out a breath, a laugh that was half disbelief, half relief, and cupped Midoriya’s face again, pulling him closer for another soft, lingering kiss, this one more sure, more certain, carrying all the unspoken words, the promises, the warmth of a life he was finally ready to share.

When they finally pulled back, foreheads resting together, Bakugou’s sharp eyes shone with something he had never let anyone see.

“If this… if this is love,” he murmured, his lips barely brushing Midoriya’s temple, “then… I’m all in.”

Midoriya’s smile deepened, and Bakugou felt a surge of peace, of purpose, as if every burden he had ever carried had been lifted, leaving only the two of them, standing together in a quiet, golden world of their own making.

Chapter Text

The mansion was quiet when they returned, the kind of quiet that settled gently rather than pressed down. The lights in the hall were dimmed for the night, casting warm shadows along the walls as the door clicked shut behind them.

Midoriya slipped off his shoes by the entrance, careful and habitual, still humming faintly from the day. Bakugou lingered a step behind him, keys still in his hand, like he hadn’t quite decided whether this moment was an ending or something else entirely.

“You tired?” Bakugou asked gruffly, breaking the silence.

Midoriya looked back, smiling softly. “A little. But… it was a good kind of tired.”

Bakugou huffed. “Yeah.”

They walked down the hall together, side by side. Not touching but close enough that their shoulders brushed now and then, sparks of awareness following every small contact. When they reached Midoriya’s room, Bakugou stopped automatically, like he always did. Habit. Boundary. A line he’d never crossed.

“Well,” he muttered, shifting his weight, eyes fixed on the doorframe. “Get some rest.”

Midoriya turned to face him fully.

Bakugou didn’t move.

Seconds passed.

Then more.

Bakugou’s jaw tightened, his hand curling slightly at his side, like he was bracing himself to turn away and failing. He glanced down the hall once, then back at Midoriya, hesitation written all over him in a way Midoriya had never seen so clearly before.

“…Kacchan,” Midoriya said softly.

“…What.”

“You’re… not leaving.”

Bakugou clicked his tongue, irritation flashing at himself more than anything. “…Tch. I was about to.”

“But you haven’t,” Midoriya said gently. Not accusing. Just observing.

Bakugou exhaled sharply through his nose. “I don’t like the idea of you being alone tonight.”

The words came out rough, unpolished. Honest.

Midoriya’s chest warmed at that. He hesitated, fingers fidgeting lightly with the hem of his sleeve, thinking. Then his eyes lit with something careful, something hopeful.

“Um,” he said, glancing briefly toward his room, then back at Bakugou. “Actually… can I ask you something?”

Bakugou raised an eyebrow. “Depends.”

Midoriya smiled, small and shy. “I had a really long day. And my head’s still kind of… loud.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Sometimes it’s easier to sleep when someone’s nearby. Just… you know. So it’s quieter.”

Bakugou stilled.

“You’re asking,” he said slowly, “…what, exactly?”

Midoriya swallowed, then met his eyes with quiet courage. “Would you stay? Just tonight. You don’t have to do anything. I just” a small laugh, nervous but sincere, “I think I’d sleep better.”

The hallway felt suddenly too small.

Bakugou looked away, jaw tight, heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with danger. He dragged a hand through his hair, clearly fighting himself.

“You sure?” he asked, voice low.

“Yes.”

Bakugou let out a slow breath, the fight draining from his shoulders. “Damn it,” he muttered. Then, quieter, “Alright. Just for tonight.”

Midoriya’s smile was instant and radiant. “Thank you.”

Inside the room, the lights were soft, warm. Midoriya set the flowers carefully on his desk, straightened his bed almost nervously, then paused.

Midoriya hesitated at the doorway, fingers curling lightly into the hem of his shirt. He glanced back at the bed, then at Bakugou standing a few steps behind him, clearly torn between staying and giving space.

“Kacchan,” Midoriya said softly.

Bakugou looked at him.

Midoriya took a small step closer, heart thudding but expression gentle. “Do you want to… um… share the bed with me?” His cheeks flushed faintly. “I mean, only if you want to. I’m okay if you’re not. I just thought… maybe…”

He trailed off, then added quickly, trying to lighten it. “I can sleep on the edge. I don’t move much.”

Bakugou exhaled, tension easing from his shoulders. “Then move over.”

They settled onto the bed together, the mattress dipping slightly beneath their weight. Bakugou lay on his side facing Midoriya, close but not crowding him, as if giving him space even while staying.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Bakugou lifted his hand again, brushing Midoriya’s hair back from his face, slower now, more familiar. His fingers traced along his cheek, cupping it gently, reverently.

Midoriya leaned into the touch without thinking.

Bakugou’s gaze softened, sharp edges melting into something almost fragile. “You know,” he murmured, “I don’t really know how to do this. The… normal stuff.”

Midoriya smiled, resting his hand lightly over Bakugou’s wrist. “That’s okay. We can learn together.”

Bakugou huffed softly, amused despite himself. “Yeah. Guess we can.”

He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Midoriya’s forehead, then another, this one lingering, just above his brow. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against Midoriya’s, eyes closed.

“Sleep,” Bakugou said quietly. “I’m here.”

Midoriya relaxed fully then, a small content sigh leaving him as he shifted closer, resting against Bakugou’s chest. Bakugou wrapped an arm around him instinctively, holding him steady, protective, warm.

His hand continued its slow rhythm through Midoriya’s hair.

_________________________________________________

Morning came quietly.

Soft light filtered through the curtains, pale and warm, spilling across the bed. Bakugou surfaced from sleep slowly, the first thing he registered was heat.

Too much heat.

“…Tch,” he muttered, eyes still half-lidded. He shifted slightly, intending to pull away until he realized where the warmth was coming from. His arm was still wrapped around Midoriya.

No,  Midoriya was burning.

Bakugou’s eyes snapped open.

“What the” He jerked upright, heart slamming hard against his ribs. His hand was still pressed against Midoriya’s back, palm flat between his shoulder blades, and the heat beneath his skin was unmistakable. Wrong. Way too hot.

“Midoriya?” Bakugou said sharply, immediately turning toward him.

Midoriya didn’t wake.

His breathing was shallow, uneven, curls damp with sweat where they clung to his forehead. His cheeks were flushed, lips parted slightly like he was trying to breathe through something heavy.

Bakugou’s chest tightened.

“…Hey. Hey, Midoriya.” He shook him gently at first, then a little firmer, panic creeping into his voice. “Oi. Wake up.”

Nothing.

Bakugou’s hand flew to Midoriya’s forehead.

Hot.

Too hot.

“Shit,” Bakugou hissed under his breath.

Bakugou didn’t waste another second.

He stood so fast the chair beside the bed scraped softly against the floor. He cast one last sharp look at Midoriya, at the flushed cheeks, the damp curls, the shallow rise and fall of his chest then clenched his fists and turned toward the door.

He stepped out into the hallway, boots hitting the floor harder than usual, pace quick and urgent. The mansion was already awake in patches, low voices, movement, the faint clatter of something being set up.

When he reached the living room, he froze for half a heartbeat.

Kirishima, Kaminari, and Sero were gathered around the coffee table, a board game spread between them, pieces scattered like they’d been there for a while.

Kirishima looked up first, grinned easy as ever. “Oh, Bakugou. Morning.”

Bakugou didn’t return the greeting.

“Where’s Uraraka?” he demanded, voice sharp, cutting straight through the room.

The shift in his tone wiped the smiles off their faces immediately.

Kaminari blinked, pointing toward the kitchen. “Uh…she’s in the kitchen. Making breakfast, I think?”

Bakugou was already moving.

He didn’t wait for another word, turning on his heel and heading straight down the hall, footsteps quick, controlled but tense like he was holding himself together by sheer force.

The kitchen smelled warm and familiar, eggs sizzling softly, the hum of morning filling the space. Uraraka stood by the stove, apron tied around her waist, humming quietly as she stirred something in a pan.

She looked up when she heard him.

“Oh, Bakugou. You’re up already?” she said, smiling. “Breakfast’ll be done in a few minutes”

“Uraraka.” His voice cut in, rough, tight.

She stopped immediately.

Something in his expression, his eyes, sharp with fear he wasn’t even trying to hide,made her set the spatula down at once.

“What’s wrong?” she asked softly.

Bakugou swallowed, jaw clenched hard like forcing the words out physically hurt.

“Midoriya,” he said, voice low, urgent. “He’s got a fever. He’s burning up.”

Bakugou continued quickly, hands curling into fists at his sides. “He didn’t say anything last night. He won’t wake up. He’s sweating, breathing’s off.” His voice cracked just slightly before he forced it steady again. “I don’t, I don’t know what to do.”

“Okay,” she said firmly, stepping forward. She moved fast, already pulling open a drawer. “We’ll check his temperature first.”

They didn’t waste time.

Bakugou was already turning back toward Midoriya’s room, pace urgent but careful, like he was afraid any sudden movement might shatter something fragile. Uraraka followed right on his heels, thermometer in hand, her usual brightness replaced by sharp focus.

The room felt heavier than before.

Midoriya lay exactly where Bakugou had left him, curls damp against the pillow, chest rising shallowly. Bakugou hovered close, not touching yet, like he was afraid of what he’d feel again.

She slipped the thermometer into place, checking the time, eyes never leaving the small screen. Seconds stretched unbearably long. Bakugou stared at Midoriya’s face the entire time, thumb unconsciously brushing sweat-damp hair away from his forehead.

Midoriya stirred weakly, a soft, incoherent sound leaving his lips.

“Kac—” he murmured, barely audible.

“I’m here,” Bakugou said instantly, leaning closer. “I’ve got you.”

The thermometer beeped.

Uraraka pulled it away and looked down.

Her breath hitched. Uraraka swallowed, eyes wide as she turned the screen toward him. “It’s forty degrees.”

The number stared back at him.

40°C.

Bakugou’s mind went blank. “…What,” he said again, voice hollow this time.

“That’s too high,” Uraraka said quickly, forcing herself steady. “Way too high. This isn’t something we can manage here. He needs to go to the hospital. Now.”

Bakugou didn’t argue.

He didn’t hesitate.

He moved.

In one swift motion, he slipped an arm under Midoriya’s knees and another behind his back, lifting him into a secure bridal carry. Midoriya let out a faint sound, instinctively curling closer, his forehead pressing weakly against Bakugou’s chest.

Bakugou held him tighter. He turned and stormed out of the room.

The living room froze the moment he appeared. Kirishima stood up so fast his chair nearly toppled. “Bakugou?!”

“Sero,” Bakugou snapped, eyes blazing, not slowing down. “Drive. Hospital. Now.”

Sero didn’t ask questions. He grabbed the car keys off the table instantly. “Got it. Let’s go.”

Kaminari moved aside without a word, eyes wide, while Kirishima opened the door ahead of them, clearing the path.

As Bakugou stepped out into the front hall, Midoriya shifted weakly in his arms, breath uneven. Bakugou adjusted his grip instinctively, shielding him from the cool air.

Before crossing the threshold, he turned sharply.

She met his eyes immediately.

“Pack his clothes,” he continued. “Everything he needs. Charger. Medicine list. Anything. In case he has to stay.”

Uraraka nodded hard. “I will. Don’t worry. I’ll bring it as soon as I can.”

Bakugou held her gaze for a split second longer, something raw and grateful flickering there.

“…Thank you.” Then he turned and moved again, carrying Midoriya out the door as Sero ran ahead to start the car.

As Bakugou lowered Midoriya gently into the back seat, he climbed in beside him without hesitation, pulling him close, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other gripping his shoulder like an anchor.

The car door slammed shut.

The engine roared to life.

And the mansion disappeared behind them as they sped toward the hospital, Bakugou holding on like letting go wasn’t an option, because to him, it never was

The car cut through the quiet morning streets, tires humming against the asphalt as Sero drove faster than usual, eyes sharp on the road ahead. The city hadn’t fully woken yet, traffic mercifully thin, but every red light still felt like an insult.

In the back seat, Bakugou hadn’t moved an inch.

Midoriya lay half-curled against him, head tucked beneath Bakugou’s chin, breath shallow and uneven. Bakugou kept one arm locked firmly around his back, the other hand pressed to his forehead, thumb brushing slow, grounding circles through damp curls.

Too hot. Still too hot.

The car suddenly chimed.

Sero glanced at the dashboard. “Incoming call.”

He answered without hesitation, tapping the earpiece. “Sero speaking.”

Uraraka’s voice came through immediately, a little breathless but controlled. “Sero! I packed his things. And I already contacted Dr. Fujimoto.”

“He’s on-call today. I told him everything. He’s already heading to the emergency department and getting things ready.”

Sero exhaled. “That’s good. That’s really good.”

In the back seat, Bakugou’s head snapped up.

“What?” he demanded. “Who.”

Sero glanced at the rearview mirror, meeting Bakugou’s fierce, anxious eyes.

“Uraraka called,” Sero said quickly. “She contacted Dr. Fujimoto. He’s waiting for us at the emergency.

For a moment, Bakugou just stared.

Then his shoulders sagged, just a fraction. “Good,” he muttered, voice rough. He tightened his hold on Midoriya, pressing his forehead briefly against his hair. “That’s good.”

The car screeched to a stop at the emergency entrance.

Before the engine had fully cut off, Bakugou was already moving.

“Hey!” Sero barely had time to open his mouth before Bakugou yanked the door open and climbed out, Midoriya still cradled tightly in his arms. Automatic doors slid apart with a soft chime, fluorescent lights spilling over them as Bakugou strode inside, jaw set, eyes sharp with singular focus.

Dr. Fujimoto’s voice cut in, calm and firm. “Mr. Bakugou.”

Bakugou froze.

Dr. Fujimoto stood just beyond the nurses’ station, already gloved, coat half-buttoned, expression serious but steady. His eyes flicked briefly to Midoriya’s flushed face, the damp curls, the shallow breathing and hardened with concern.

“Set him down gently,” the doctor said. “You can stay right here.”

Bakugou swallowed hard, then carefully lowered Midoriya onto the gurney, hands lingering until the last possible second. The moment his arms were empty felt wrong, too light, too quiet.

The room snapped into motion.

A blood pressure cuff tightened around Midoriya’s arm. A pulse oximeter clipped onto his finger. Leads were placed carefully on his chest. A thermometer followed.

“The temperature's still forty,” a nurse reported, voice tight. “Heart rate elevated. Oxygen saturation is borderline low.”

Bakugou’s fists clenched. “What does that mean?”

Dr. Fujimoto didn’t sugarcoat it. “It means his body’s under a lot of stress.”

He leaned over Midoriya, shining a small light into his eyes. “Midoriya. Can you hear me?”

Midoriya’s lashes fluttered, but his gaze didn’t quite focus. His breathing hitched, a faint cough rattling weakly in his chest.

That sound made Dr. Fujimoto straighten immediately.

“When did the fever start?” he asked.

Bakugou shook his head sharply. “I don’t know. He didn’t say anything. He was fine last night.”

Dr. Fujimoto’s jaw tightened, not in blame, but in concern. “All right.”

He turned to the nurse. “Start IV fluids. Normal saline. We need to bring his temperature down, antipyretics now. Cooling measures too. Tepid sponge, cooling blanket if needed.”

The nurse nodded and moved fast.

Bakugou watched the IV needle slide into Midoriya’s arm and flinched like it was his own skin being pierced. “Is he…” He stopped, teeth grinding together, then forced himself to finish. “Is he in danger?”

Dr. Fujimoto met his eyes directly. “High fever like this is dangerous if untreated. But it is good that you come here fast..”

Bakugou exhaled shakily through his nose.

“Now,” Dr. Fujimoto continued, already pulling on a stethoscope, “given his history, there’s something else I’m concerned about.” Dr. Fujimoto said. He gestured for Bakugou to step slightly aside, giving him space to examine Midoriya.

“Since he had lung issues since birth, scar-prone tissue, past exposure to carbon monoxide. That means any infection or high fever can stress his lungs quickly. We need to assess how deep the inflammation has gone.”

Bakugou’s fists clenched at his sides, jaw tight. “So… this isn’t just a fever?”

Fujimoto shook his head slightly. “Not exactly. The fever is a symptom. The real risk is that it can push his already sensitive lungs into distress. I want to check oxygen saturation, listen to his lungs, and get imaging if necessary. A chest X-ray first, maybe a CT scan depending on what we see.”

A nurse adjusted the monitors, placing the pulse oximeter on Midoriya’s finger. Numbers flickered on the screen, oxygen sat dipping just slightly below normal. Fujimoto’s brow furrowed.

Bakugou leaned closer. “He’ll be okay, right?” His voice cracked a little despite his effort to stay strong.

Fujimoto gave a small, reassuring nod, though his expression remained serious. “He’s stable for now. But we can’t take any chances. The scans will tell us how much inflammation or early injury there is. With his lung history, even small changes matter.”

Bakugou pressed his lips together, staring at Midoriya’s pale, sweat-damp face. The IV line, the oxygen mask, the shallow rise and fall of his chest, it all hit him at once.

The nurse adjusted the cooling blanket around Midoriya’s body, tepid sponge in hand to help bring the fever down. Midoriya’s eyes fluttered open weakly, gaze settling on Bakugou.

“I… I’m okay,” he whispered, voice raspy.

Bakugou leaned closer, pressing his forehead gently against Midoriya’s. “I know,” he murmured, thumb brushing along the side of his face.

Dr. Fujimoto gave Bakugou one last measured look before stepping closer to Midoriya. “I need to do a full checkup, listen carefully to his lungs, take some blood, get imaging. This may take a little time. You can wait right outside. I’ll update you immediately.”

Bakugou hesitated, hand still brushing damp curls from Midoriya’s forehead. “…Alright.” 

Bakugou reluctantly released him and stepped back, feeling a hollow weight in his chest as the nurses and Dr. Fujimoto wheeled the gurney toward the examination area.

Once outside the room, Bakugou sank onto a nearby chair, fists clenching and unclenching in his lap. His mind replayed every moment from the morning, every time he hadn’t noticed Midoriya feeling unwell, every time he had assumed the boy was fine.

Dr. Fujimoto emerged a few minutes later, expression calm but serious. “Mr. Bakugou,” he said, stepping toward him. “The initial assessment shows significant inflammation in his lungs. His oxygen levels dropped slightly during monitoring, but we’ve stabilized him for now.”

Bakugou’s head shot up. “Is… he going to be okay?” His voice was tight, almost breaking.

“Yes, he’s stable,” Fujimoto reassured him, though his tone carried a note of caution. “But we need to understand how this happened. High fever like this in someone with his lung history is concerning. Do you know if he’s been exposed to anything recently? Outdoors, crowds, anyone sick?”

Bakugou’s stomach sank. He knew exactly where this was going. “…We… went out yesterday.”  His hands curled into fists in his lap, nails digging into his palms. “…I should’ve been more careful.”

Fujimoto’s gaze softened slightly but remained professional. “It’s possible he caught an infection from being outside, especially with his compromised lung tissue. Even a common virus can escalate quickly in his case. That’s likely what triggered the fever and lung inflammation. The important thing now is that he’s here, and we’re treating him.”

Bakugou’s throat tightened. “It’s… my fault,” he muttered, voice low and rough. “I shouldn’t have taken him out. I should’ve”

“You can’t change what happened,” Fujimoto interrupted gently. “But you can help him recover. Stay calm. Keep him resting. That’s what he needs most right now.”

Bakugou nodded, swallowing hard. “I… I’ll stay right here. I won’t leave him.”

Fujimoto gave a small, approving nod. “Good. I’ll keep you updated every step of the way. We’ll run the blood work and imaging, and then we’ll have a clearer picture of the infection and any impact on his lungs.”

Bakugou sank further into the chair, hands gripping the edge tightly. He could hear the muffled beeps of monitors and soft footsteps behind the door, every sound from the examination room setting his heart racing.

Guilt, fear, and a fierce protective instinct battled inside him, but he refused to move from that spot. No matter what, he wouldn’t leave Midoriya’s side again, not until he was safe, stable, and back in his arms.

Minutes passed slowly, each one stretching longer than the last. And all Bakugou could do was wait, grip the edge of the chair, and silently promise.

 I won’t let anything happen to him. Not ever.

The promise echoed in his chest, heavy and desperate.

Time didn’t move normally in the hospital.

It stretched. Folded in on itself. Every second felt too loud, every minute unbearably quiet. Bakugou stayed planted in that chair, elbows on his knees, hands clenched so tight his fingers ached. Nurses passed. Machines beeped behind closed doors. Somewhere down the hall, someone laughed, and the sound felt wrong here, foreign, almost cruel.

The doors finally slid open again.

Dr. Fujimoto stepped out, this time without gloves, a chart tucked under one arm. His expression hadn’t hardened but it hadn’t softened either.

Bakugou stood immediately. “Tell me.”

Fujimoto nodded once, slow. “The imaging confirms what we suspected. There’s an acute infection in his lungs, likely viral, possibly bacterial. We’ve started broad-spectrum antibiotics and antivirals while we wait for cultures.”

Bakugou’s jaw tightened. “And?”

“And,” Fujimoto continued carefully, “because of his pre-existing lung condition, the inflammation is more aggressive than we’d normally expect. His lung tissue is reacting poorly.”

Bakugou felt his chest constrict. “Define ‘poorly.’”

Fujimoto met his eyes. “He coughed up blood during the scan.”

The words landed like a physical blow.

“…What,” Bakugou said hoarsely.

“Not massive,” Fujimoto clarified immediately. “A small hemoptysis episode. But it tells us something important.” He tapped the chart lightly. “The scarring in his lungs makes the blood vessels fragile. When inflammation spikes, they rupture more easily.”

Bakugou swallowed. “So what happens now?”

“We admit him,” Fujimoto said. “Strict bed rest. Oxygen therapy. Aggressive treatment. And monitoring. A lot of monitoring.” He paused, then added, “He’ll be here for a while.”

“How long is ‘a while,’” Bakugou asked.

Fujimoto hesitated. “Weeks, at least. Possibly longer.”

Bakugou nodded once. He didn’t argue. He didn’t flinch.

“…Can I see him?”

“Yes,” Fujimoto said. “But he’ll be tired. And I need him calm.”

Bakugou followed him down the hall, footsteps slower now, heavier. When they reached the room, the sight hit him straight in the chest.

Midoriya lay propped slightly upright, oxygen mask fitted over his nose and mouth, IV lines trailing from both arms. His skin looked paler than before, lips faintly tinted blue at the edges despite the oxygen. His curls were damp, plastered to his forehead.

But when he saw Bakugou, his eyes softened.

“Kacchan,” Midoriya murmured, voice thin but unmistakably gentle.

Bakugou was at his side instantly, hand gripping the rail of the bed like it was the only thing keeping him upright. “Hey,” he said, rough but controlled. 

Midoriya smiled faintly. “You worry too much.”

Bakugou huffed, something dangerously close to a laugh caught in his throat. “Shut up.”

Midoriya’s eyes fluttered, but he nodded obediently, fingers twitching weakly like he wanted to reach out but didn’t have the strength.

Fujimoto adjusted the monitor, lowering his voice. “We’re going to keep him under observation. If he coughs again, or if his oxygen drops, we’ll intervene immediately.”

Bakugou nodded. “Do whatever you need.”

As the doctor stepped away, Bakugou pulled a chair right up to the bed and sat down, leaning forward until his forehead rested against the mattress edge.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “I shouldn’t have taken you out. I should’ve…”

Midoriya’s hand shifted weakly, fingers brushing Bakugou’s sleeve.

“Kacchan,” he breathed. “Don’t.”

Bakugou froze.

“I’m the one who wanted to go,” Midoriya continued softly. “I was happy when you brought me to see the world.”

That hurt worse.

Bakugou lifted his head, eyes burning. “You don’t get to make this easier for me.”

Midoriya smiled again, small, tired, achingly familiar. “I’m not,” he said. “I just… don’t want you blaming yourself.”

His breathing hitched slightly as he finished speaking, chest rising unevenly. Bakugou immediately leaned in, one hand hovering uncertainly over his shoulder, afraid to touch too hard.

“Rest,” Bakugou said firmly now.

Midoriya’s eyes lingered on his face for a moment longer, something unspoken passing between them. Then they slid shut, lashes resting against flushed skin.

Bakugou stayed.

Minutes turned into hours.

The room dimmed as evening crept in, machines humming softly, oxygen flowing in a steady rhythm. Midoriya slept fitfully, brows knitting sometimes like he was fighting something even in his dreams.

And Bakugou watched.

He watched the rise and fall of his chest. The numbers on the monitor. Every twitch, every breath.

Chapter Text

The hospital room was quiet, broken only by the gentle hum of monitors and the faint hiss of oxygen. Evening light filtered through the blinds, casting stripes across the pale green walls. Bakugou sat in his chair near the bed, one hand resting lightly on the mattress, eyes on Midoriya’s shallow breathing. He wasn’t tense, just quietly observing, ready to respond if needed.

The door opened softly, and a small cluster of familiar faces stepped in, Uraraka, Sero, Kaminari, Kirishima, Mina, and Todoroki. The soft hum of the machines made the room feel quieter than usual, but the presence of friends added a kind of weightless warmth.

“Hey,” Uraraka said gently, stepping forward first. “How’re you feeling, Midoriya?”

Midoriya shifted slightly in the bed, adjusting the blanket over his legs. “…Better than I was this morning,” he admitted, voice raspy but calm. “Thanks for coming.”

Kirishima gave him a bright smile, but it was softer than usual. “Of course. We didn’t want you stuck here all alone.”

Sero leaned against the wall casually, hands in his pockets. “Yeah, thought we could keep you company for a bit.”

Todoroki nodded quietly, sliding into the chair next to the bed. “Take it easy.”

Mina sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to crowd him. “We’ll just be here. Maybe bring you snacks if that’s okay.”

Bakugou, sitting quietly on the opposite side of the bed, observed their interactions with a faint frown, though he didn’t interrupt. 

Midoriya managed a small, grateful smile, eyes flicking between each of them. “I… appreciate it. Just being here is… enough.”

Uraraka reached out and gently adjusted his blanket. “Good. That’s all we want, just to be around you. Nothing more.”

They settled into a calm rhythm, Sero quietly tapping on his phone, Kaminari reading aloud from a magazine, Kirishima chatting softly about nothing in particular, Todoroki leaning back and observing. Even Mina’s bright energy was toned down, her voice soft and careful.

The room didn’t feel tense. It didn’t feel chaotic. It felt… familiar. Warm. Safe.

Midoriya closed his eyes for a moment, letting the quiet murmur of voices and the steady presence of his friends wash over him. 

Even with the gratitude, a flicker of frustration ran beneath it. I hate feeling so weak. I can’t even… He clenched his fists lightly under the blanket, hiding the motion. The effort to stay composed left him hollow and tired, but he forced his head up, keeping the small smile for his friends.

Mina crouched slightly to his side. “Hey, if you’re up for it, I brought some sketches. Want to see them?”

Midoriya blinked, feeling the pull of curiosity despite exhaustion. “…Sure,” he whispered. He let himself glance at the pages Mina handed over, pointing softly to a character she had drawn. He made a comment, small but real, about the details.

It was a tiny victory for him if he could interact, even just a little, but his chest still felt tight. Every breath reminded him how much energy he had to conserve. I can’t show them how much it hurts, he thought.

Bakugou watched quietly from the chair across the bed. He didn’t hover, didn’t speak much, but his eyes never left Midoriya. He noticed the subtle winces when Midoriya shifted, the shallow breaths that he tried to hide, the faint tension in his fingers.

For a few moments, conversation flowed lightly around him. Todoroki spoke softly about a book he had been reading, Kaminari told a brief, quiet story from his morning, and Kirishima added little asides. Midoriya answered when he could, each response measured, careful not to overextend himself.

And inside, beneath the calm exterior, a storm of exhaustion, fear, and frustration churned. I want to join in fully… I want to be normal for them… but I can’t. Not right now.

The visit slowly wound down, voices softening and movements quieting as the evening stretched on. Midoriya’s eyelids grew heavier with each passing moment, the weight of fatigue pressing on him like a physical force. Even small interactions now felt like effort.

Kirishima and Kaminari exchanged quiet goodbyes, Sero gave a thumbs-up from the doorway, and Mina tucked her sketches back into her bag, her cheerful energy now gentle and subdued. Todoroki gave a curt nod, already halfway out the door.

Bakugou rose from the chair across the bed, stretching briefly, though his eyes didn’t leave Midoriya. Uraraka glanced at him, a hint of concern in her expression. “Bakugou, do you want me to stay? I can take over for a while, let you get some rest.”

Bakugou shook his head firmly, a rough edge in his voice. “I can handle it. I’m not leaving.”

Midoriya’s hand twitched slightly, tugging gently at Bakugou’s sleeve. “Kacchan… please…” His voice was weak but insistent. “I need you to go home. You need rest too. Please, I’m begging you.”

Bakugou froze, staring at him. The raw plea, so unlike Midoriya’s usual controlled manner, struck him like a punch to the chest. His jaw tightened, his usual confidence faltering. 

“But”

“No, Kacchan. Please,” Midoriya interrupted gently but firmly, his chest rising unevenly. “I need you to rest. I mean it.”

Bakugou swallowed, jaw tight, then finally stepped back. His shoulders slumped slightly, tension easing, but a quiet vulnerability lingered in his eyes. “Alright,” he muttered, voice barely audible. 

Uraraka gave a reassuring smile, stepping forward. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of him. You go get some sleep.”

Bakugou’s gaze lingered on Midoriya one last time. The boy’s fragile exhaustion, the quiet trust he was placing in Uraraka, the way he clung to his words, it made Bakugou’s chest tighten in a way he couldn’t fight. He turned, muttering a rough, “See you later,” and left the room, footsteps heavy but steady.

As the door closed behind him, a soft silence settled. Uraraka pulled a chair closer, adjusting Midoriya’s blanket and checking the oxygen flow gently.

“Uraraka…” he murmured again, voice barely above a whisper. 

She leaned in closer, soft eyes fixed on him. “Yes, Midoriya?”

He swallowed, a shiver running through him. “It’s… it’s about last night.” His fingers fiddled with the edge of the blanket. “I… I finally… told Kacchan… how I feel.”

Uraraka’s eyebrows lifted slightly, gentle encouragement in her gaze. “You did?”

Midoriya nodded, a weak, tired smile tugging at his lips. “I told him I… care about him. That I… like him. That… spending time with him… it makes me happy.” His voice cracked faintly as he continued, the words spilling out unguarded now. “I thought… I could look forward to the future when I’m with him… but… it seems like… fate doesn’t want me to be happy.”

A heavy silence filled the room, only broken by the soft beep of the monitors. Uraraka reached out, brushing a loose curl from his damp forehead. “Midoriya… it’s not fate. Things are hard right now, yes, but it doesn’t mean you can’t be happy in the future.”

He shook his head slightly, eyes dropping to the sheets, voice quiet and fragile. “I just… I wanted… so much to be normal with him… to… laugh together, worry about nothing… even just for a little while. And now… now I’m stuck like this… tired, sick… I can’t even…” His words trailed off, lost in a sigh.

Uraraka’s hand found his, holding it gently. “Shh… you’re allowed to feel that way. It’s okay to be scared and frustrated. But… he cares about you, Midoriya. And you’ve given him your heart. That… that’s not nothing. That’s real.”

Midoriya was quiet for a long moment, eyes fixed on the ceiling, breaths shallow and measured like he was rationing them. Uraraka didn’t rush him. She stayed still, hand warm around his, letting the silence stretch.

“I think,” he said finally, voice low and uneven, “I made a mistake.”

Uraraka’s fingers tightened slightly around his. “What do you mean?”

He swallowed, throat working. “I shouldn’t have told him.” The words came out softer than before, almost apologetic.

Uraraka’s breath caught, but she didn’t interrupt.

“I thought… I thought saying it would make me feel lighter,” Midoriya continued. “Like I could finally be honest. Like I could stop pretending.” His lips pressed together, a faint tremor passing through them. “But now… I keep thinking… maybe I shouldn’t have said anything at all.”

She shook her head gently. “Midoriya”

“No,” he whispered, eyes squeezing shut. “Please… let me finish.”

Uraraka nodded, giving him that space.

“I gave him hope,” Midoriya said quietly. “I could see it. The way he looked at me. Like… like he was starting to imagine things. A future.” His voice wavered. “And I don’t even know if I can promise myself that.”

The words sat heavy between them.

“I don’t know how long my body will keep up,” he went on, barely audible now. “I don’t know if I’ll get better… or worse. And it feels selfish to say I love you when I can’t even promise that I’ll be here long enough to make it mean something.”

Uraraka felt her chest ache.

“I don’t want to be the reason he gets hurt,” Midoriya said. “I don’t want him waiting for me, or holding onto something I might not be able to give. He’s strong… but that doesn’t mean he deserves that kind of pain.”

A tear slipped from the corner of his eye, quiet, unacknowledged. “If something happens to me… I don’t want him blaming himself. Or feeling like he lost something he was promised.”

Midoriya let out a tired, broken sigh. “I just wish… I could protect him from me.”

The room fell quiet again, the monitors filling the space with soft, steady sounds. Uraraka stayed with him, holding his hand as his breathing slowed, his strength clearly ebbing.

Midoriya let out a tired, broken sigh. “I just wish… I could protect him from me.”

The room fell quiet again, the monitors filling the space with soft, steady sounds. Uraraka stayed with him, holding his hand as his breathing slowed, his strength clearly ebbing.

She leaned closer, letting her words settle softly over him, steady and grounding. “It doesn’t matter how long we have, or what the future holds. The love you give, the care you carry… it’s not measured in promises. It’s measured in moments. And you… you’ve filled more moments with light than you realize.”

Her hand tightened slightly over his. “You don’t have to protect anyone from yourself. Let them see you. Let them feel you. Because even now, with all of this… you’re still enough. Always.”

Midoriya’s chest rose and fell unevenly, tears slipping silently down his cheeks. His lips parted, caught between disbelief and gratitude, as though he’d been holding his own heart under lock and key, and she’d just handed him the key.

“I… I just…” he whispered, voice breaking. “I just don’t want him to hurt…”

“You can’t stop life from being hard,” Uraraka murmured, voice soft as a promise. “But you can let love be its own light. Even pain can’t take that from you. Even you… can’t take that from yourself.”

For the first time in hours or maybe days, Midoriya let himself rest into it, into the warmth, into the quiet conviction of her words, letting them carry him gently through the ache.

Night had fallen, and the mansion’s grounds were cloaked in shadows, the swimming pool reflecting the dim lights like scattered glass. Bakugou sat on the edge of the pool, a steaming mug of coffee in his hands, breath curling in the cool air. The gentle lap of water against the tiles was the only sound besides the distant hum of the mansion, a quiet he always sought when his mind refused to rest.

He took a slow sip, letting the warmth anchor him, but it didn’t reach the tight knot coiling in his chest. His gaze was fixed on the dark water, unseeing, the steam from the coffee mingling with the fog of his thoughts.

Footsteps approached, careful and hesitant. Kirishima’s voice came first. “Bakugou… are you okay?”

Todoroki stepped alongside him, eyes quiet but sharp, taking in the tense set of Bakugou’s shoulders. “You’ve been out here a while. Thought we should check on you.”

Bakugou didn’t respond immediately. He just stared at the water, gripping the mug until his knuckles whitened. Finally, in a low, rough voice, he spoke, words heavy and uneven:

“I… I’m supposed to start… a new life with him. But… seeing him like that today… I can’t… I can’t help but blame myself.” He let the words hang in the air, tasting bitter on his tongue. 

Kirishima crouched slightly, hands resting on his knees, careful not to crowd him. “Bakugou… it’s not your fault.”

Bakugou let out a sharp, humorless laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “Not my fault? If I hadn’t… taken him outside yesterday, this… this wouldn’t have happened. He’s weak… fragile… and I… I can’t even protect him.” His voice cracked, the raw edge of fear and guilt seeping through. “I’m supposed to be one of the strongest… one of the most feared. But I can’t even keep him safe. I can’t protect the person I love.”

Todoroki’s hand rested lightly on his shoulder. “Bakugou… you’re human. You can’t control everything. You did what you could.”

Bakugou shook his head violently, frustration and grief coiling tighter. “Is this… punishment for me? For all the blood I’ve spilled… all the people I’ve hurt… that I’m not allowed to love someone? That… someone I care about… has to suffer because of me?” His voice broke entirely now, swallowed by the night and the faint ripple of the pool.

Kirishima leaned closer, firm but gentle. “Bakugou… no. That’s not how it works. You’re not being punished for living your life the way you had to survive.

Bakugou let the words settle, raw and jagged in his chest. He exhaled slowly, shoulders slumping slightly, the tension loosening just enough for a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. His fingers loosened around the mug, steam curling into the cold night air.

“I… I just… I hate feeling this helpless,” he murmured, voice barely audible. “I’ve fought for everything… every damn thing… but when it comes to him… I feel… weak. God… I feel so weak.”

He swallowed hard, a tight, choking sound. “I’ve fought monsters, men, every kind of danger… but I can’t fight seeing him like that. I can’t fight the thought of him… hurting… because of me. I’m supposed to be strong. I’m supposed to protect people. But… I couldn’t protect him. Not from what he’s going through. Not from me.”

Kirishima and Todoroki didn’t interrupt. They simply stayed, giving him the space to release what he’d been holding for hours, maybe days, maybe years.

“I… I love him,” Bakugou admitted, voice breaking. “And it… it terrifies me. Because I can’t promise him anything. I can’t promise that he’ll be safe… that I won’t fail… that I won’t” He stopped abruptly, jaw tight, fists clenching, eyes burning with unshed tears. “I can’t promise him life! I can’t! And I feel… like… like I’m the one who’s weak here. That I don’t deserve him. That… that loving him is… punishment for all the blood on my hands!”

Todoroki’s gaze didn’t waver, steady and calm. “Bakugou…”

“No!” Bakugou snapped, but it was weak, a quiver beneath the anger. “Don’t tell me it’s not my fault! I can’t stop thinking, if I hadn’t… if I hadn’t…” He trailed off, broken, words swallowed by the night. His body shook slightly, exhaustion and grief clawing at him, the hard, unyielding mask he always wore now shattered.

“I wanted… I wanted to give him… a normal life… even for a little while… even just to be happy… and I… I couldn’t! I failed him! And I… I don’t even know if I deserve to be with him. Maybe… maybe I don’t deserve… anyone… to love me.”

Silence fell, heavy and thick, only broken by the occasional ripple of water. Kirishima shifted closer, putting a steady hand on Bakugou’s shoulder, firm but gentle. “Bakugou… you’re not weak. You’re human. And loving someone, caring about them so deeply… that’s not weakness. That’s courage. You’ve given him everything you could, even now, even in this moment.”

Bakugou’s chest heaved, but the words didn’t reach him yet. He leaned forward slightly, resting his forehead on his knees, letting the raw pain and guilt pour out like a river. “I… I hate feeling like this… like I’m powerless… like… like I’m nothing… I… I can’t even protect the person I love… and it kills me inside every second.”

Todoroki stayed silent for a moment, letting Bakugou exhaust himself in the release. Finally, he spoke, voice calm but carrying a weight that seemed to anchor the storm inside Bakugou.

“Things might get harder right now,” Todoroki said, “but that does not mean you have to change the way you guys used to be. You gave each other a new reason to live, so keep on doing that. Keep on giving each other new reasons to live. Live your life to the fullest. The world is still not over yet.”

Bakugou lifted his head slightly, eyes still wet, still trembling, and Todoroki’s words hung in the air like a lifeline. Kirishima, voice low but resonant, added, “And Bakugou… you think you’ve done wrong? That you’ve failed him? No. You gave him your heart. You fought for him in your own way, even when you couldn’t protect him from everything. That… that’s the strongest thing anyone can do. Stronger than any fight you’ve ever won. And he knows it. He feels it. And he loves you for it.”

Bakugou’s hands gripped the edge of the pool again, but now, the tension was mixed with something else, a fragile, tentative hope, still trembling, but there. The weight hadn’t lifted completely, but for the first time that night, he allowed himself to breathe, to let someone in, to let the guilt ease, even just a fraction.

The three of them sat in silence, the pool reflecting the faint stars above, and for the first time in a long while, Bakugou let the storm inside him settle into a quiet, imperfect calm.

_______________________________________________

The morning sun filtered softly through the hospital blinds, painting the room in pale gold. Midoriya stirred slightly under the blanket, eyelids fluttering as he slowly woke. The quiet hum of the monitors was a gentle reminder that he was still here, still alive, still safe.

A faint knock at the door caught his attention. “Come in,” he croaked, voice hoarse but steady.

Bakugou stepped in without waiting for an invitation.  His eyes were tired, but there was a softness to them now, a careful, measured vigilance that spoke more than words ever could. “Morning,” he muttered,

Uraraka, sitting in the chair by the bedside, gave a warm, tired smile. “Good morning, Bakugou. How did you sleep?”

Bakugou’s gaze softened, though a subtle tension lingered in his shoulders. He glanced at Uraraka, noticing how tired she looked after staying up through the night. “…You’ve been up all night. Let me take over” he said bluntly.

Uraraka gave him a soft, understanding smile, though her chest tightened at seeing the fierce determination in his eyes. “Alright… but don’t push yourself too hard, Bakugou,” she said gently. “He’s in good hands, but so are you. Take care of yourself too.”

Bakugou grunted, not offering more than a brief nod, and Uraraka leaned down, brushing a loose strand of hair from Midoriya’s forehead. “I’ll check in later. Promise me you’ll call if anything happens,” she said softly.

“I will,” Midoriya whispered, voice hoarse, but his eyes flickered with trust.

Uraraka gave him a final reassuring smile and stepped back toward the door. “Alright… I’ll leave you two to it. You’re strong together. Just… don’t forget that.”

Bakugou watched her go, the door closing quietly behind her. He turned back to Midoriya, letting the weight of the moment settle over him. The room was quiet again, but now it carried a different kind of warmth, a fragile, protective stillness.

He moved closer to the bed, carefully adjusting the blanket around Midoriya. “Rest,” he muttered, voice low, almost a growl, but softer than usual. “I’ve got you.”

Midoriya’s eyes fluttered closed, his lips curving into the faintest, tired smile. “I know… Kacchan,” he murmured, letting himself sink back into the pillows.

The room was bathed in soft morning light when the quiet hum of the monitors was joined by the faint click of shoes against the hospital floor. Bakugou, still seated near the bed, tensed slightly as the door opened and Dr. Fujimoto stepped in, clipboard in hand, a calm, professional expression settling over his features.

“Good morning, Midoriya,” Dr. Fujimoto said gently, glancing at the monitors before looking at Bakugou. “And good morning to you as well, Bakugou. I see you’ve taken over the shift.”

Bakugou’s jaw tightened, but he gave a small nod. “…Yeah. He needs rest. I’m not leaving him alone.”

Dr. Fujimoto nodded slightly, making a note on his clipboard. “That’s commendable, but you also need to pace yourself. You can’t be useful to him if you collapse from exhaustion.”

Bakugou grunted, but didn’t respond verbally, eyes scanning Midoriya for any sign of discomfort.

“Let’s start with a quick check-up,” Dr. Fujimoto continued, moving closer to the bed. “Midoriya, how are you feeling this morning? Any pain, dizziness, or nausea?”

Midoriya blinked slowly, voice weak but steady. “…A little… weak. My chest still feels… tight sometimes.”

“Alright,” Dr. Fujimoto murmured, checking the monitors and examining Midoriya’s IV line. “We’ll adjust your medication slightly to manage that and keep your oxygen levels steady. Also, I’d like to do a light physical assessment, just a few movements to ensure there’s no additional strain from yesterday. You let me know immediately if anything hurts, okay?”

Midoriya nodded, gripping the edge of the blanket.

“First, let’s start with your arms. Lift them slowly toward the ceiling… just as high as you can comfortably manage,” the doctor instructed.

Midoriya inhaled softly and, with Bakugou’s eyes fixed on him, raised his arm cautiously. It wobbled slightly at the top, but he held it. “Like this?” he whispered.

“That’s perfect,” Dr. Fujimoto replied, noting the control and range of motion. “Now, slowly lower it back down.”

Midoriya did so, muscles tight but steady. Bakugou’s hand twitched slightly as if he wanted to reach out, but he stayed put, letting Midoriya move at his own pace.

“Now the left arm,” Dr. Fujimoto continued. “Same thing, up slowly, then down. Gentle. No pressure.”

Midoriya repeated the motion, breathing carefully. “…Okay… done,” he said, a faint flush coloring his cheeks from the exertion, small but noticeable.

“Excellent. That shows your nerve and muscle function are intact, and there’s no joint stiffness,” the doctor noted.

Next came the legs. “If you can, try to bend your knees slightly while lying down. Just enough to see how your muscles respond. No sudden movements.”

Midoriya obeyed, breathing shallow but steady. The effort made his chest rise slightly faster, but he stopped immediately when Dr. Fujimoto said, “Perfect, you’re doing very well. No pain, and your vitals are stable.”

Bakugou let out a quiet exhale he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, reaching out to subtly adjust the blanket around Midoriya.

Finally, Dr. Fujimoto checked Midoriya’s pulse, listening to his breathing, and examined for signs of fatigue or strain. “Everything looks stable. You’re still weak, of course, but this is expected. I just want you to keep moving gently like this. Tiny, controlled motions, nothing more. It will help maintain your strength without overexertion.”

Midoriya gave a small, tired smile. “I… I can do that,” he whispered.

Dr. Fujimoto nodded once more, satisfied. “I’ll check back later, but for now, you rest. Gentle movements like these every few hours, and your body will thank you. Nothing beyond that today.”

Bakugou’s eyes didn’t leave Midoriya as he spoke, voice low and rough. “Doctor… I need to know everything. What can he do, what can’t he do… what can he eat, what should he avoid… I need to make sure I don’t screw this up.”

Dr. Fujimoto nodded, appreciating the intensity but recognizing the need for clarity.

“Alright,” he said. “Midoriya’s lungs are still fragile, and his overall stamina is limited right now. He can do very light physical activity, like moving his arms or legs while lying down, sitting up in bed, or short walks in the hospital room if he feels up to it. Anything strenuous like running, lifting heavy objects, or prolonged activity should be avoided for now. Overexertion can worsen fatigue and stress his breathing.”

Bakugou’s jaw tightened. “Got it. No overdoing it. What about food?”

Dr. Fujimoto glanced at Midoriya, who listened quietly, still pale but alert. “Nutrition is key for recovery. He should have small, frequent meals that are easy to digest. High-protein foods are good, eggs, lean meats, dairy, legumes because they help repair tissues and maintain muscle strength. Soft fruits and vegetables are also important for vitamins and minerals. He should avoid greasy, fried, or heavily processed foods, because they can make breathing harder and strain digestion.”

“Hydration is very important,” Dr. Fujimoto explained. “Water, herbal teas, broths… things that don’t irritate the throat or stomach. Carbonated drinks, excessive caffeine, or sugary drinks should be limited because they don’t contribute to lung or overall recovery.”

Bakugou’s gaze flicked to Midoriya, who gave a tiny nod, trying to absorb everything without getting overwhelmed.

Dr. Fujimoto continued, “And he should pace himself, rest frequently, and avoid any situations that could expose him to infections, crowded areas, cold drafts, or anyone with contagious illness. Even minor colds can be serious for someone recovering from his condition.”

Bakugou’s eyes softened slightly as he leaned back, exhaling. “Alright… I can do that. I’ll make sure he doesn’t push himself. I’ll keep him safe.”

Dr. Fujimoto gave a faint, understanding smile as he began gathering his clipboard. “You don’t need to worry about meals. The hospital will provide food tailored to Midoriya’s needs. He’ll get everything he needs to recover without any risk. Now, Midoriya, you can take a rest now. I will come again later. ”

Bakugou followed the doctor out of the room, closing the door gently behind him. Midoriya, left alone, felt a soft weight lift from his chest, a sense of quiet safety in the knowledge that Bakugou was nearby, still watching over him, even from the hallway.

Bakugou clenched his fists briefly, teeth gritting. “Yeah. He likes it very much. I’m planning to bring it. But I need to know if it’s okay. I don’t want to make him worse.”

The doctor’s expression softened slightly, understanding the concern behind the blunt question. “Alright… let’s see. Katsudon can be heavy and greasy, which isn’t ideal for his condition right now. However, if it’s prepared lightly, lean meat, moderate oil, and small portion size, it should be fine. He’ll need to eat slowly and avoid overexertion immediately after.”

Bakugou’s shoulders relaxed fractionally, though his jaw remained tight. “…Fine. Lean meat, light, small. Got it.”

Dr. Fujimoto nodded. “Yes. It’s a comfort food, so it’s fine in moderation, and it might even help with morale. Just make sure he eats slowly and doesn’t push himself.”

Bakugou’s lips pressed into a thin line, a flicker of rare softness in his eyes. “…I’ll take care of that,” he muttered, almost to himself. 

Bakugou left the hospital with a single, firm thought in his mind. He had left Midoriya under Uraraka’s careful watch, trusting her completely, though a part of him still lingered in the back of his mind, imagining Midoriya resting quietly, maybe stirring under the blanket.

The small restaurant they went to together the other night. The warm smell of fried pork and simmering broth welcomed him immediately, tugging at memories of simpler days, laughter, teasing, and the rare, comfortable silences he shared with Midoriya.

The owner, a stout man with a kind, round face, spotted him as he entered. His eyes lit up instantly. “Oh! You’re the guy from that day! Midoriya’s boyfriend, right?”

Bakugou’s jaw tightened for a moment, and a faint, uncharacteristic flush rose in his cheeks. “…Yeah,” he admitted, voice low, almost shy.

The owner leaned closer, curious. “Where is Midoriya now? Why is he not with you?”

Bakugou’s gaze darkened slightly, voice steady but clipped. “He’s… in the hospital.”

The man’s expression softened with understanding, and he nodded. “I see… poor kid. Must’ve been a rough time.”

Bakugou’s fingers clenched slightly around the strap of his bag. “…Can I ask you a favor?” he said, voice rough but controlled. “I want to take out one katsudon… but… try to make it less greasy.”

The owner grinned warmly, his eyes crinkling. “Less greasy? For him, huh? I can do that. Don’t worry. He’s lucky to have someone looking out for him like this.”

Bakugou’s expression didn’t change much, but the faintest edge of relief softened his features. “Thanks,” he muttered. “Make it just like he likes it.”

The owner nodded, already moving toward the kitchen. “Got it. One light katsudon coming right up. He’s a lucky kid, you know. You’re… lucky too.”

Bakugou’s hands flexed, tightening and relaxing at his sides. He shifted on his feet, unused to the warmth in the owner’s words, but he didn’t argue. He leaned against the counter slightly, eyes fixed on the kitchen door, thinking only of Midoriya eating this, maybe smiling. That thought alone made his chest tighten, not with guilt, but with something softer, almost protective.

The smell of the cooking pork and simmering egg filled the air, Bakugou felt a rare flicker of calm. This was for Midoriya. He could handle anything, as long as it was for him.

The sizzling sound from the kitchen drew Bakugou’s attention, his jaw tight as he watched the owner carefully place the katsudon into a takeout container. The aroma, less greasy, just the way Midoriya liked it, filled the small restaurant. 

“Here you go,” the owner said, handing him the bag with a warm smile. “All set. It’s on the house. Tell him I wish him get well soon.”

Bakugou gave a curt nod, muttering a low, “Thank you,” before turning sharply and heading out. The air hit him, cool and crisp, and he walked with a determined pace back toward the hospital. He barely noticed the people on the street, his mind was entirely on Midoriya. 

Back at the hospital, Uraraka was still keeping watch, sitting quietly beside the bed with a sketchbook forgotten in her lap. She glanced up as Bakugou entered, the familiar soft clatter of the bag announcing his return.

“I got it,” Bakugou muttered, placing the bag carefully on the small tray table beside the bed. His hands lingered there for a moment, adjusting it slightly so it was within easy reach for Midoriya.

Uraraka gave Bakugou a small, tired smile, standing and stretching slightly. “Alright… I’ll leave you two alone for a bit,” she said softly, glancing at Midoriya with a gentle encouragement. 

Midoriya’s eyes fluttered open at the scent, a small, sleepy smile forming despite the weariness in his body. “Kacchan…” he whispered, voice weak but warm, recognition and joy mixing in the single word.

Bakugou crouched slightly, eyes meeting him. “I got your katsudon. Just like you like it but healthier.”

Midoriya’s smile widened, fragile but real, and he reached out a trembling hand toward the bag. “You… you remembered.”

Bakugou’s jaw twitched, almost as if he were suppressing a smile of his own. “Of course I did,” he muttered, the words rough, but filled with meaning.

A faint blush crept onto Midoriya’s cheeks. “Kacchan…” he whispered again, and this time there was a mixture of affection and awe in his tone.

Bakugou leaned forward slightly, careful not to crowd the bed, and pulled the tray closer to Midoriya. He gestured toward the container. “Here. Dig in. I… I’ll… keep an eye on you while you eat. Don’t try to rush it.”

Midoriya nodded, eyes glistening slightly, and began to eat slowly, savoring each bite. Bakugou stayed beside him, quiet but vigilant, occasionally offering small corrections if Midoriya tried to move too quickly or take too large a mouthful.

For a moment, the hospital room wasn’t filled with machines, monitors, or exhaustion. It was just them. 

Bakugou’s rough exterior softened further with each bite Midoriya took, each quiet word of thanks muttered between mouthfuls. He allowed himself to linger in the warmth of the moment, letting it seep into him, the quiet pride, the protective instinct, the rare, tender joy of caring for the one he loved.

By the time the container was empty, Midoriya leaned back against the pillows, chest rising and falling a little easier. “That… was perfect,” he whispered, faintly, the smile lingering.

Bakugou grunted, eyes scanning him one last time before leaning back in the chair. “Yeah,” he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else. “It had better be.”

Chapter Text

Night settles over the hospital in layers.

The lights are dimmed to a soft amber, the hallway outside reduced to quiet footsteps and the occasional murmur of nurses trading shifts. Machines hum steadily, rhythmical and unfeeling, as if nothing in the world could possibly be wrong.

Bakugou doesn’t sleep.

He sits in the chair pulled close to the bed, elbows resting on his knees, fingers laced tightly together. His eyes never leave Midoriya.

Midoriya sleeps lightly, like his body doesn’t trust rest anymore. Each breath is shallow, careful, chest rising just enough to count as movement. The oxygen cannula curves along his cheek, tubing catching faint highlights under the dim light.

Bakugou counts.

Not on purpose.

One rise.
One fall.

Again.
Again.

Sometimes there’s a pause, a fraction too long and Bakugou’s shoulders tense before Midoriya inhales again, soft and uneven.

Bakugou exhales only after he does.

His gaze drifts to Midoriya’s face. Even in sleep, there’s strain there now. A faint tightness around his mouth. The crease between his brows that never used to stay this long.

And without warning, a memory cuts in.

Midoriya at the restaurant.
Laughing.

Head tipped back slightly, eyes bright, hands animated as he talked about something stupid, something small and happy. The smell of fried food, warmth, noise. Life.

Bakugou’s jaw tightens.
He was breathing fine then.

The thought comes sharp and unwanted.

Another memory, Midoriya nudging him with his shoulder, smiling like the world hadn’t already started slipping away beneath his feet.

Bakugou’s fingers curl into fists.
What if that was the last time?

The fear creeps in quietly. No explosion. No anger. Just a cold weight settling behind his ribs.

What if that was the last time I see him smile like that?

A soft sound pulls him back.

Midoriya stirs. His breathing changes, faster now, shallower. His chest rises unevenly, as if each breath has to fight its way in.

Bakugou is on his feet instantly.

“Hey,” he murmurs, low and careful.

Midoriya’s eyes flutter open, unfocused. His lips part as he tries to draw in air and fails to get enough.

“Kacchan…” he whispers, voice thin.

Bakugou reaches out without thinking, steadying him as Midoriya’s fingers clutch weakly at the blanket. 

His chest tightens visibly now, muscles pulling in at the base of his throat as he gasps for breath that won’t fully come. The monitor responds immediately. Oxygen saturation dips.

Bakugou’s heart slams.

“Hey, hey, don’t panic,” he says, forcing calm into his voice even as his hands tremble. He presses the call button, eyes never leaving Midoriya’s face. “I’m here.”

Midoriya shakes his head faintly, frustration and fear flickering through his glassy eyes. “I…I can’t”

“I know,” Bakugou cuts in softly. “I know. Just look at me. Slow. With me.”

A nurse arrives quickly, followed by another. Movements are practiced, efficiently but Bakugou notices the exchanged glance when she checks the monitor. She increased the oxygen flow slightly.

“Has he had episodes like this tonight?” she asks quietly.

Bakugou swallows. “No. This is new.”

The nurse nods, already documenting. “I’ll inform the doctor.”

Midoriya eventually settles, exhaustion overtaking the fight. His breathing steadies, not normal, but passable. Fragile. Bakugou sinks back into the chair, hands shaking now that the moment has passed.

He watches as the nurse leaves. The room feels colder. Minutes later, the doctor comes.

Dr. Fujimoto steps inside, clipboard tucked under one arm, expression composed but alert. He doesn’t speak right away. He crosses to the bedside first, eyes moving from Midoriya to the monitors, then back again.

“Midoriya,” he says gently. “Can you hear me?”

Midoriya stirs, eyelids fluttering. “…Yeah,” he murmurs, voice hoarse.

“I’m going to check a few things, alright? Just try to breathe normally.”

Midoriya gives a small nod.

Bakugou shifts back slightly, giving the doctor room but staying close enough that his knee nearly brushes the bed frame. His eyes track every movement.

Dr. Fujimoto starts with the basics, listening to Midoriya’s lungs, one side, then the other. The stethoscope presses lightly against his chest, then lower, then his back. The doctor pauses longer than usual, brow faintly furrowed.

Midoriya winces when he’s asked to take a deeper breath. The sound that comes out is thin, incomplete.

“That’s enough,” Dr. Fujimoto says quickly. “Don’t force it.”

He checks Midoriya’s pulse, fingers resting at his wrist. It’s fast. Too fast for someone lying still.

Next comes the arterial blood gas draw. Midoriya barely reacts to the needle, too tired to flinch, but Bakugou stiffens as he watches the syringe fill slowly with darkened blood.

Dr. Fujimoto studies the sample briefly before handing it off to the nurse who has quietly reentered the room.

“We’re going to run a few tests,” he says calmly. “Blood work, imaging. I want a CT scan of the chest tonight.”

Bakugou’s jaw tightens.

The process is slow and exhausting. Midoriya is wheeled down the quiet hallway, oxygen tank rolling beside him, the ceiling lights passing overhead in a blur. He’s barely conscious by the time they reach imaging, his breaths shallow, lips parted as if even keeping them closed costs too much effort.

Bakugou walks beside the gurney the entire time, one hand gripping the rail like it’s the only solid thing left in the world.

The CT scan hums and clicks around Midoriya’s chest. He’s instructed to hold his breath.

He can’t.

“I’m sorry,” Midoriya whispers, panicked, chest already tightening.

“That’s alright,” the technician says quickly. “Just do your best.”

But his best isn’t enough anymore.

By the time they return to the room, Midoriya is trembling faintly with exhaustion, skin pale beneath the harsh hospital lights. Bakugou helps guide him back into bed, adjusting the pillows, the blanket, the oxygen tubing, hands careful, almost reverent.

Dr. Fujimoto returns once the results are in. He doesn’t sit. He stands at the foot of the bed, tablet in hand, eyes serious but gentle.

“The blood gas results show significant hypoxemia,” the doctor continues. “Your oxygen levels dropped sharply, even with supplemental oxygen. We’re also seeing early signs of carbon dioxide retention.”

Midoriya blinks slowly. “Is that bad?”

“It means your lungs are struggling to exchange gases effectively,” Dr. Fujimoto explains. “Oxygen in, carbon dioxide out. That process isn’t working the way it should.”

He turns the tablet slightly, showing Bakugou and Midoriya the scans.

“These areas here,” he says, pointing, “this hazy pattern, that’s inflammation. But this,” his finger shifts, “is scarring.”

Bakugou leans forward without realizing it.

“The carbon monoxide exposure caused severe oxygen deprivation at a cellular level,” Dr. Fujimoto says. “In response, the lungs triggered a massive inflammatory reaction. In already compromised lungs, that inflammation accelerates fibrosis.”

“The scarring is progressing faster than we anticipated. The alveoli. Some of them are no longer functioning. The tissue has been damaged beyond repair. Where oxygen exchange should happen, there’s scar tissue instead. It reflects permanent loss of lung function.””

Dr. Fujimoto lets the tablet lower slightly, giving the words time to settle before adding more. His voice remains even, careful, not detached, but deliberate.

“This is why you’re experiencing air hunger,” he continues. “Even at rest. Your body is working harder to get the oxygen it needs, but the lungs can’t meet the demand anymore.”

Midoriya swallows. His chest rises shallowly, the cannula hissing softly as oxygen flows in. “So that’s why it feels like I’m… running out…breath… even when I’m not moving.”

“Yes,” the doctor says gently.

Bakugou’s hands curl against the edge of the chair. “Is this… permanent?” His voice is rough, already bracing for the answer.

Dr. Fujimoto doesn’t look away. “The scarring that has already formed is permanent. And because the inflammatory response was triggered so aggressively by the carbon monoxide exposure, the fibrosis is progressing more quickly than we typically see.”

The words land heavy. Silence fills the room, broken only by the machines and Midoriya’s uneven breathing.

“…What happens now?” Midoriya asks finally. His voice is calm, but there’s a tremor beneath it, like a thread pulled too tight.

Dr. Fujimoto exhales softly. “Now, we adjust our approach.”

He steps closer to the bed, lowering his voice slightly. “You’ll need higher-flow oxygen during episodes like this. Possibly continuous oxygen support if these events become more frequent.”

Bakugou stiffens. “Twenty-four seven?”

“Eventually,” the doctor says honestly. “If the progression continues at this rate.”

Midoriya closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, they’re glassy but focused.

“For now, you are at higher risk of infections. Damaged alveolar tissue makes it easier for bacteria to settle and harder for your lungs to clear it. Even minor respiratory infections could become serious.”

Bakugou’s breath leaves him in a slow, controlled exhale. “So what, he just… stays here?”

“For now, we’ll keep him under close observation,” Dr. Fujimoto replies. “We’ll start antifibrotic medication, though I need to be clear, at this stage, it may not significantly slow progression. Its role is supportive.”

Midoriya’s fingers curl weakly into the blanket. “You’re saying this is… end-stage.”

Dr. Fujimoto hesitates, just long enough to be honest without being cruel. “You are not there yet. There are still things we can do” he says carefully. 

Midoriya nods faintly. “I understand.”

Dr. Fujimoto studies him for a moment, then softens his tone. “For tonight, we’ll increase monitoring. If you feel that tightness again, any air hunger at all, you call immediately. Don’t wait.”

The doctor gives a final nod to Bakugou. “Try to get some rest if you can. Both of you.”

When he leaves, the room feels quieter than before, like the sound has been pulled out of it. Bakugou doesn’t sit right away. He stands there, staring at Midoriya, at the gentle rise and fall of his chest that suddenly feels far too shallow, far too precious.

Midoriya drifts back into sleep not long after the doctor leaves.

It isn’t deep. It never is anymore. His breathing remains shallow, uneven, the rise of his chest hesitant, like his body is still negotiating with the air. The oxygen helps, but only just. Still, he’s asleep. That’s something.

Bakugou waits.

He watches until the tension in Midoriya’s brow softens, until the grip in his fingers loosens around the blanket. Only then does Bakugou carefully ease his hand free, slow enough that Midoriya doesn’t stir.

He steps into the hallway and pulls the door mostly closed behind him. The hospital corridor is dim and empty at this hour, polished floors reflecting muted ceiling lights. Bakugou leans against the wall, arms folded tight across his chest, phone heavy in his hand.

He stares at the screen longer than necessary before finally pressing a name.

Uraraka answers on the third ring, voice instantly alert. “Bakugou? Is something wrong?”

Bakugou exhales through his nose. “The doctor ran tests on him tonight.”

There’s a pause on the line. Not silence, just Uraraka listening. “How is he now?” she asks quietly.

“He’s sleeping,” Bakugou replies. “Still struggling to breathe. But stable.”

“Okay,” Uraraka says softly. 

Bakugou swallows, jaw tightening. “They said it’s worse than they thought. The damage.”

Uraraka doesn’t interrupt. She lets him say it in his own way.

Bakugou leans his head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling lights. “I don’t know how to do this,” he admits, voice low. “I don’t know how to make it better. I just want him to be happy. Even a little. But I don’t know how.”

On the other end, Uraraka breathes in slowly. “Bakugou,” she says gently, “you already are.”

He scoffs under his breath. “That’s not an answer.”

She pauses, choosing her words carefully. “He needs to feel like himself,” she continues. “And that happens when you treat him like Midoriya. Not like he’s made of glass. Not like you’re about to lose him.”

Bakugou’s grip tightens on the phone. “What does that even mean?”

She smiles faintly, and he can hear it in her voice. “Ask him what he wants. Even if it’s something simple.”

Bakugou glances back toward the door to Midoriya’s room.

She hesitates, then adds, “I was thinking… maybe I’ll bring the others tomorrow. Not all at once, Maybe we can play board games together. Just make him feel it’s another normal day.”

Bakugou swallows.“…He’d like that,” he admits quietly.

“I think so,” Uraraka replies. “And if he gets tired, we’ll leave. No pressure.”

Bakugou nods once, even though she can’t see it.

“Thanks,” he mutters. 

“Anytime,” she says. “You’re not doing this alone, Bakugou.”

The call ends. Bakugou lowers the phone and stands there for a moment, staring at the door, the soft glow spilling out from beneath it.

The next day arrives softly.

Morning light spills through the blinds in pale stripes, brushing across the hospital bed and the small table Bakugou has dragged closer sometime during the night. 

There’s a knock before the door opens.

“Delivery,” Kaminari announces quietly, poking his head in first.

Kirishima follows close behind, holding a small paper bag and a deck of cards like it’s contraband. “We come bearing entertainment,” he says, grinning but keeping his voice low.

Uraraka steps in last, smiling softly when she sees Midoriya’s eyes brighten just a little. “Hey.”

Midoriya’s lips curve into a small, genuine smile. “Hi… guys.”

Bakugou straightens from the chair instantly. Not tense. Just present. “Don’t crowd him,” he mutters, though there’s no heat in it.

“Relax, Bakugou,” Kaminari says, already pulling a chair closer. “We’re professionals.”

Uraraka smiles and steps a little closer to the bed, careful not to crowd him. “Midoriya,” she says softly, “do you think you’d feel up to playing a game?”

Kaminari lifts the deck of cards, holding them up like a question rather than an invitation. “We brought poker cards,” he adds quickly. “But only if you want to. We can just sit and talk if you’re tired.”

Kirishima nods firmly. “Yeah. No pressure. We’ll follow your lead.”

Midoriya looks at the cards, then at their faces, waiting, patient, not expecting anything from him. A small smile slowly curves at his lips.

Uraraka smiles and steps a little closer to the bed, careful not to crowd him. “Midoriya,” she says softly, “do you think you’d feel up to playing a game?”

Kaminari lifts the deck of cards, holding them up like a question rather than an invitation. “We brought poker cards,” he adds quickly. “But only if you want to. We can just sit and talk if you’re tired.”

Kirishima nods firmly. “Yeah. No pressure. We’ll follow your lead.”

Midoriya looks at the cards, then at their faces, waiting, patient, not expecting anything from him. A small smile slowly curves at his lips.

“…I think,” he says after a moment, voice quiet but steady, “I’d like that. Just… a short game.”

Bakugou nods once, decisive but gentle. “Then we play one round. And we stop the second you say so.”

Midoriya exhales softly, something like relief in the sound. “Okay.”

They set up around the small rolling table pulled close to Midoriya’s bed. Bakugou insists on dealing, mostly because he doesn’t trust Kaminari with anything that involves counting.

“One round,” Bakugou says flatly. “No yelling. No slamming. No being an idiot.”

Kaminari immediately grins. “Wow. Hospital rules really toned you down, huh.”

Bakugou flicks a card at his forehead. “Deal before I kick you out.”

Midoriya huffs out a soft laugh before he can stop himself, shoulders lifting just a little. Bakugou notices and pretends he doesn’t.

Kirishima leans forward, elbows on the table. “Alright, gentleman’s poker. Let’s go.”

The cards slide out. Slow. Careful. Kaminari makes a dramatic show of peeking at his hand, eyes widening.

“Ohhh no way,” he whispers far too loudly. “Guys. GUYS. I think I’m about to become rich.”

Bakugou doesn’t even look at him. “You say that every time. You fold on a pair of twos.”

“That was ONE TIME.”

Midoriya peeks at his own cards, brows knitting in concentration. His hands tremble faintly, but Bakugou shifts the table a fraction closer, grounding it so it doesn’t wobble. Midoriya gives him a grateful glance.

Uraraka, sitting beside the bed, watches Midoriya more than the cards. “You doing okay?”

Midoriya nods. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

First round.

Kirishima lays his cards down with confidence. “Full house.”

Kaminari gasps. “BRO WHAT?”

Midoriya hesitates, then carefully places his cards down. “I think… this is a straight flush?”

The table goes silent.

Bakugou looks. Freezes. Slowly looks up at Midoriya. “You’re kidding.”

Kaminari’s jaw drops. “NO WAY.”

Kirishima bursts out laughing, clapping his hands softly. “That’s hardcore, Midoriya!”

Bakugou stares at the cards again, then clicks his tongue. “Tch. Beginner’s luck.” But there’s a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, unguarded and real.

Second round is worse.

Kaminari starts whisper-chanting “heart of the cards” under his breath. Kirishima tries to bluff by flexing. Midoriya laughs, quiet, breathless, but genuine and for a moment, the monitors fade into background noise.

When his breathing starts to hitch slightly, Bakugou notices immediately.

“Alright,” he says, firm but calm. “Break.”

Kaminari points at Midoriya. “You’re never allowed to say you’re bad at cards again.”

Midoriya smiles, eyes bright despite the fatigue. “…I had fun.”

Bakugou looks at him, chest tight, and realizes something quietly devastating and beautiful.
This. This is what she meant.

Midoriya shifts slightly against the pillows, breath still uneven but calmer now, the tightness eased by laughter instead of medication. The oxygen hums softly at his side, steady and patient.

Uraraka catches Bakugou’s eye across the table. She doesn’t smile wide or tease him. She just gives a small, knowing nod.

Kirishima stretches, careful not to jostle the table. “Alright, Midoriya,” he says lightly, looking at Midoriya. “You wanna call it, or you think you’ve got another round in you?”

Midoriya considers it honestly. His chest rises, falls. A little faster than before. “…I think,” he says, voice soft but certain, “I should stop while I’m winning.”

Kaminari groans dramatically. “You can’t just straight flush us and leave!”

Bakugou snorts. “He absolutely can.”

Midoriya smiles at that, smaller now, tired but warm. “Thanks for coming,” he adds quietly. “Really.”

Uraraka stands first, already gathering the cards. “Anytime,” she says. “We’ll bring rematches. And snacks.”

Kirishima grins. “Next time I’m taking you down, Midoriya.”

Kaminari points two fingers at his own eyes, then at Midoriya. “This isn’t over.”

They keep it short. No lingering. No heavy goodbyes. Just soft waves, quiet jokes, and the door closing gently behind them. 

When the room settles again, it doesn’t feel empty. Bakugou pulls the chair closer to the bed and sits, resting his forearms on the mattress. He reaches out anyway, fingers brushing lightly over Midoriya’s hand, grounding, warm.

Midoriya’s grip is weak but it’s there. “I felt… normal,” Midoriya says quietly, staring at the ceiling. “For a little while.”

Bakugou swallows. “Then we’ll do it again. However many little whiles you want.”

Midoriya turns his head just enough to look at him, eyes tired but bright with something stubborn and alive. “Promise?”

Bakugou meets his gaze, steady and unflinching. “Yeah,” he says. “I’ve got you.”

Midoriya exhales, long and slow, tension easing from his shoulders as sleep starts to pull at him again. His breathing remains shallow but calmer now, less afraid.

Chapter Text

Time doesn’t move the way it used to.

Days blur together, marked less by dates and more by routines. Morning vitals. Medication rounds. Shift changes. The quiet beeping of machines that never stop watching.

Midoriya learns the hospital one piece at a time.

He learns the ceilings first.

The ICU ceiling has a thin crack that stretches across it. If he stares long enough, it looks like a river. In the high-dependency unit, the lights hum softly, a sound he only notices when everything else goes quiet. In the general ward, one ceiling tile is darker than the rest, replaced badly, like no one expected anyone to stay long enough to care.

He moves between rooms slowly.

Not because he’s getting better.
Not because he’s getting worse enough to stay.

He lives in the in-between.

At first, it’s the fever.

It comes during the night, creeping in while he sleeps. He wakes soaked in sweat, shivering hard enough that his teeth chatter. Breathing hurts in a new way, tight and burning, like his lungs are inflamed and angry. Nurses arrive quickly, calm and practiced. Cool hands check his forehead. Warm blankets are pulled higher.

Antibiotics are started. Blood is drawn. A chest X-ray is ordered.

They tell him it’s common.

“With lungs like yours,” the doctor says gently, “your body has a harder time fighting infections.”

Bakugou doesn’t leave.

He sleeps in the chair beside the bed when he can, body folded awkwardly, head tipped forward. He learns the ward’s rhythm without trying, when the hallway is busiest, when it goes quiet, which nurse brings extra blankets without being asked.

Midoriya drifts in and out of sleep.

When he’s awake, breathing is harder than before. Not sharp pain, not dramatic. Just wrong. Each breath feels incomplete, like his lungs stop expanding halfway through. He coughs more now. The coughs are weak and dry, leaving his chest sore and his head light.

The first time there’s blood, it surprises him.

It’s early morning. The room is quiet and dim. Bakugou stepped out to get coffee from the vending machine down the hall. Midoriya coughs into a tissue without thinking and freezes.

There’s red on the white.

Not much. Just a streak. Still, his hands start to shake.

He presses the call button.

The nurse arrives quickly. She checks his vitals, listens to his lungs, and increases the oxygen slightly.

“It can happen,” she says softly. “Your lung tissue is fragile.”

Later, the doctor explains it more clearly.

“The scarring makes small blood vessels easier to damage,” he says. “We’ll keep an eye on it.”

Bakugou hears the word scarring and goes very still.

After that, it happens again.

Never enough to cause alarms. Never enough to panic the staff. Just enough to remind them both that Midoriya’s lungs are not healing.

The infection clears.

His fever goes down. His blood work improves. The antibiotics finish.

But Midoriya doesn’t feel better.

His breathing doesn’t return to normal. It stays heavy and shallow. The oxygen that once felt like support becomes something he needs. First when he moves. Then when he talks. Then even when he lies still.

They increase the flow. They change the tubing. On bad days, they give him a mask. Midoriya starts pausing before he speaks, as if deciding whether the sentence is worth the breath.

Visitors come.

Uraraka brings clean clothes and warm tea, already knowing which kind he likes without asking. She moves carefully around the room, quiet but steady, like she’s afraid of disturbing something fragile.

Kirishima comes with stories. About work. About things that don’t matter. He keeps his voice low and stops the second Midoriya looks tired, always checking in with his eyes before saying more.

Kaminari brings jokes, even the bad ones. Especially the bad ones. He grins, talks too fast, then freezes in panic the moment Midoriya laughs and has to stop to catch his breath. “Sorry, sorry, dude,” he blurts every time, earning a weak smile in return.

Sero leans against the wall most visits, arms crossed, relaxed on the surface. He brings photos on his phone, random things, street scenes, something dumb he saw online. “Thought you might wanna see something normal,” he says, like it’s nothing.

Mina brings color into the room. Bright hoodies. Nail polish she insists on showing him. Stories told with her hands, expressive and animated, but she softens them when Midoriya starts to fade. She sits on the edge of the chair and talks anyway, filling the space with warmth.

Todoroki comes quietly.

He never stays long. He brings fruit sometimes, already cut. He asks simple questions and waits patiently for the answers, never rushing Midoriya to speak. When Midoriya needs to stop, Todoroki just nods, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Midoriya smiles for all of them.

“I’m okay,” he says.

He says it easily now. Too easily.

Bakugou knows it isn’t true.

He sees the way Midoriya grips the blanket when the coughing won’t stop. The way he waits until Bakugou looks away before pressing the call button. The way he downplays symptoms when doctors ask questions.

Weeks pass.

Then months.

They talk about discharge more than once. Each time, something changes. His oxygen needs creep higher. Another infection threatens. His tests come back just bad enough to keep him admitted.

The doctors start using different words.
“We’re seeing a gradual decline.”
“The damage appears permanent.”

Midoriya listens quietly during rounds. He nods. He asks polite questions. When the doctors leave, he stares at the wall for a long time.

He grows quieter.

Not distant. Just tired in a deeper way.

He apologizes more than he should.

For needing help sitting up.
For waking Bakugou during the night.
For coughing.

One evening, after a long day, he says it out loud.

“I think I’m becoming a burden.”

Bakugou looks up sharply. “Don’t say that.”

Midoriya keeps his eyes on his hands. “I know you don’t see it that way,” he says softly. “But everyone’s worried. Everyone’s lives are… stuck because of me.”

Bakugou steps closer to the bed, gripping the rail. “You don’t get to decide your worth based on how easy you are to take care of.”

Midoriya gives a small, tired smile. “You make it sound simple.”

“It is,” Bakugou says. 

Midoriya doesn’t argue.

Later that night, when Bakugou sleeps in the chair, Midoriya lies awake. The oxygen hisses softly beside him.

He thinks things he never says.

How long can this keep going?
How much can his body take?
Is it wrong to wonder if stopping would be easier?

The thoughts don’t overwhelm him.

They settle quietly, heavy but calm.

____________________________________________________

The ward is quiet. Lights dimmed. The hallway is empty except for the soft squeak of a cart rolling somewhere far away.

Bakugou is half-asleep in the chair, head tipped forward, arms folded tight. He wakes the way he always does now, instinctive, alert because something is wrong.

Midoriya isn’t coughing. That’s what scares him first.

His breathing is wrong. Too shallow. Too fast. His chest barely moves, each breath short and panicked, like his body is skimming the surface of the air and can’t sink deep enough to take what it needs.

Bakugou is on his feet immediately.

“Hey,” he says quietly, stepping closer. “Midoriya.”

Midoriya’s eyes are open, wide and glassy. His lips part, but no sound comes out at first. His hands clutch weakly at the blanket, fingers trembling.

“I—” He tries to inhale. Fails. Tries again. “I can’t—”

Bakugou’s chest tightens hard enough it hurts.

“I know,” he says, keeping his voice steady by force alone. “I’m here. Just look at me.”

The monitor starts to protest. Numbers dip. Alarms chirp, sharp and sudden in the quiet room.

Bakugou hits the call button.

Midoriya’s breathing turns frantic now, shoulders pulling inward, muscles straining at the base of his throat. The oxygen cannula hisses uselessly as if offended by how little it’s helping.

“I can’t get enough,” Midoriya whispers, panic breaking through despite his best effort. “Kacchan, I can’t—”

“I know,” Bakugou repeats, closer now, one hand gripping the bed rail, the other hovering uselessly like he could physically pull air into Midoriya’s lungs. “You’re okay. They’re coming.”

Nurses rush in. One, then two, then more movement fills the room. The lights come up too bright, too fast.

“Sat’s dropping,” someone says.

“Switch him to high-flow.”

The cannula is replaced quickly, hands practiced, and efficient. The oxygen roars louder now, a constant rush that fills the room.

Midoriya shakes. Not violently. Just enough to show how hard his body is fighting.

Bakugou steps back only when asked, fists clenched so tightly his nails bite into his palms. He watches every movement, every adjustment, every glance exchanged between staff.

“Try to breathe with it,” a nurse says gently. “Slow. You’re okay.”

Midoriya nods weakly, tears slipping from the corners of his eyes without him noticing. He tries to follow instructions. Tries to slow his breathing. Try not to panic.

It doesn’t help much.

Dr. Fujimoto arrives quickly, moves fast, voice calm but sharp. “Blood gas,” he says. “Now.”

The needle goes in. Midoriya barely reacts.

Bakugou does. He watches the syringe fill, dark and slow, and feels something cold settle in his stomach.

Minutes stretch.

The oxygen keeps flowing. The monitors steady slightly, but not enough. Midoriya’s breathing remains labored, each inhale shallow and desperate.

The doctor looks at the results and frowns.

“CO₂ is rising,” he says quietly. “He’s not ventilating effectively.”

Bakugou’s head snaps up. “What does that mean?”

“It means his lungs aren’t clearing carbon dioxide the way they should,” the doctor replies. “Even with support.”

They increase the oxygen again. Adjust settings. Try positioning him differently.

Nothing fixes it.

Midoriya grows quieter. His eyes flutter. His grip on the blanket loosens.

Bakugou leans forward instantly. “Hey. Stay with me.”

Midoriya blinks, slow and unfocused. “…I’m tired,” he whispers.

Fear slams into Bakugou hard enough to make his vision blur.

“Don’t,” he says, voice cracking despite himself. “Don’t you dare go to sleep right now.”

The doctor raises a hand gently. “He’s not losing consciousness yet. But we need to move him.”

They transfer him back to high-dependency care before dawn. By the time things stabilize if stabilize is the right word, the sky outside the window is just starting to lighten.

Midoriya is awake, but barely. His breathing is still shallow, supported heavily by the machine now. He looks exhausted in a way that sleep won’t fix.

Bakugou stands at the foot of the bed, shaking.

Dr. Fujimoto pulls him aside. “His lungs are failing to meet even basic demands. Nights like this may happen again.”

Bakugou’s jaw tightens. “Can you stop it?”

The doctor doesn’t answer right away.

“We can support him,” he says carefully. “But we need to start talking about long-term planning.”

Bakugou understands what that means long before the words fully land. When he returns to Midoriya’s bedside, the room is quiet again. Machines hum steadily. Oxygen rushes on.

Midoriya opens his eyes just a little, the light from the monitors casting a soft glow across his pale face. His lips part as if he wants to say more, but only these words come out, quiet, fragile.

“Did I scare you?”

Bakugou’s chest tightens. He swallows hard, feeling the words scrape at something raw inside him. He grips the bed rail so tightly his knuckles whiten. “Yeah,” he admits, voice low, almost rough with the weight of the truth. “You did.”

Midoriya’s lips curve into the smallest, most fragile smile, the kind that breaks without trying. It’s sorrowful and apologetic all at once. “I’m… sorry,” he whispers, and it’s almost too much for Bakugou to bear.

Bakugou shakes his head quickly, harshly. “Don’t apologize. Don’t even think about it.” His fingers twitch, wanting to grab the air, to make it right somehow. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

But Midoriya’s eyes close again, heavy with exhaustion, so tired that even holding his gaze is too much. “I tried,” he murmurs, voice barely above a breath. “I really tried.”

Bakugou bends forward, leaning closer despite the beeping machines and the hissing oxygen. His hand reaches out, fingers finding Midoriya’s. He clasps it, warm, grounding, a silent anchor in the storm. “You’re still trying,” he says, his voice breaking just a fraction. “That’s enough. That’s more than enough.”

Midoriya lets his hand rest in Bakugou’s, slight pressure the only sign he’s still holding on. The rise and fall of his chest is uneven, ragged, but steady enough to reassure Bakugou for now. Bakugou watches every small movement, the tiny twitch of a finger, the shallow inhale, the faint sheen of sweat on his brow.

The machines hum and hiss around them, relentless and unfeeling, yet somehow this quiet moment feels immense, almost sacred. Bakugou’s eyes flick to the oxygen settings now, higher than ever before, and he swallows the lump rising in his throat. Each number, each adjustment, is a reminder of the reality they can’t run from.

He looks back at Midoriya, pale and fragile under the stark lights, and his chest tightens again. This wasn’t just a bad night. This wasn’t just a setback. This was a shift, subtle but irreversible, a quiet folding of the future into something heavier, more uncertain.

Bakugou presses his forehead lightly against Midoriya’s hand. His voice drops even lower, almost a whisper only for them to hear: “We’ll get through it. I don’t care what it takes, I’ve got you.”

Midoriya doesn’t answer, doesn’t need to. His chest rises again, slow and labored, and Bakugou knows the truth they both feel but cannot say aloud yet, nothing will ever be the same again.

Midoriya’s hand in Bakugou’s feels impossibly small, fragile, almost like it could slip away if Bakugou blinked too hard. He presses his forehead against it, the soft warmth of his palm a faint comfort against the cold dread pooling in his chest. His mind refuses to stop.

Every memory floods in, unbidden. Midoriya laughed at some stupid joke back when he didn’t have to think about every breath. The way his eyes lit up when Bakugou teased him, even when he complained. That tiny smile in the hospital earlier that day, when they played cards together. How soft it had been, how alive.

And now… now the rise of his chest is ragged, uneven, each breath a battle. Bakugou feels the weight of all the moments he cannot give back, all the moments that will be harder to come by. He wants to scream, to rip the air from the room and shove life back into Midoriya’s lungs, but there’s nothing he can do except hold on.

He thinks of the future, the nights where alarms might sound again, the days when Midoriya’s smile will be faint, stretched thin by fatigue. The possibility that he might not be able to save him from every bad moment. The realization hits, heavy, like a stone pressed into his chest: there may come a day when he can’t fix this.

Bakugou shakes his head, jerking himself back to the present. Not now. Not tonight. He can’t afford the panic, can’t afford the despair. Midoriya is here, breathing, and that has to be enough.

____________________________________________________

Morning comes softly, almost deceptively, like the world is pretending nothing happened. Pale sunlight filters through the blinds, spilling stripes across the floor and the bed, brushing Midoriya’s face gently.

He’s awake but still groggy, the lingering exhaustion from last night heavy in his body. Every breath feels like a small, careful effort. The oxygen hums beside him, steady, constant.

Bakugou is already awake, still sitting in the chair. His body is stiff from hours of waiting, leaning forward too long, but he hasn’t moved. His eyes, however, are sharp, scanning Midoriya with the intensity of someone prepared to react to the slightest change.

The door opens slowly. Uraraka steps in first, her movements cautious, careful, but she can’t hide the worry in her eyes. “Morning,” she says softly. Her smile is small, almost forced. “How are you feeling?”

Midoriya manages a weak nod, eyes still glassy, lips barely curving. “Morning,” he whispers. “I… I’m okay.”

Behind her, Sero peeks in, leaning against the wall, trying to look casual. His usual grin is gone, replaced by something tighter, more worried. He takes a small step forward. “Everything… okay last night?”

Midoriya swallows and shakes his head faintly, the motion almost imperceptible. “It… was hard,” he admits softly, voice trembling. “I just… needed rest.”

Todoroki steps in last, quiet as ever, holding a small tray of fruit. He sets it carefully on the bedside table, making sure not to jostle anything. “You had a rough night,” he says plainly, but the concern in his voice is clear. “You need to rest. Don’t push yourself.”

Midoriya looks at all of them, their faces full of worry, care, and quiet fear. He wants to tell them it’s fine, that he’s okay, but the words stick. The exhaustion, the pain, the air still too heavy in his chest, it all sits there, unspoken.

Midoriya’s gaze drifts toward the window, to the pale light of morning stretching across the hospital grounds. He swallows slowly, lungs aching with the simple effort. His voice is barely more than a whisper.

“Kacchan…”

Bakugou snaps his head toward him, already tense. “What is it?”

Midoriya shifts slightly in bed, the oxygen mask moving with him. His fingers twitch, brushing weakly against Bakugou’s hand. “I… I want to… see outside. Just for a little while. Please.”

Bakugou stiffens. His jaw tightens. “Are you kidding me? You just, after last night, you want to risk it? You’re barely stable. You can’t even walk down the hall without me pushing the wheelchair for you!

Midoriya swallows hard, each breath shallow and deliberate. His eyes glisten, and the small tremor in his voice makes it almost impossible to refuse.

“Please…” he whispers again, voice breaking. “I… I won’t stay long. I just… I want to feel it once. The sunlight on my face. The wind. The garden… I just… want to breathe outside, even for a few minutes. I’m begging you… please…”

His hands clutch the blanket so tightly it wrinkles under his fingers. He leans forward slightly, enough to meet Bakugou’s gaze, his eyes pleading, raw, fragile.

Bakugou’s jaw tightens, and he swallows hard, the anger and panic battling with something deeper. His chest heaves. “Midoriya…” he starts, voice low and hoarse, “you’re not… you’re not stable. You”

“I know,” Midoriya cuts him off, voice almost inaudible but trembling with desperation. “I know… I know it’s dangerous. I… I just… I need to. Just once. Just this once. I’m asking you… please…”

Uraraka bites her lip, panic written clearly across her face. “Midoriya, no… you can’t. You’ll collapse, you’ll” Her voice falters, and she swallows hard, looking at Bakugou as if searching for a lifeline.

Bakugou clenches his fists, chest tight, heart hammering. He wants to yell, to refuse, to keep him inside where it’s safe. But the way Midoriya looks at him, so small, so fragile, so determined in his exhaustion, cuts through the panic.

Bakugou exhales sharply, shoulders sagging just enough to release some tension. “Fine,” he says finally, voice low and rough. “One lap. That’s it. No more. If anything happens… we go back immediately. Understood?”

Midoriya’s lips tremble into a faint, fragile smile. “Thank… you… Kacchan,” he whispers, voice weak but filled with relief.

Uraraka, Sero, and Todoroki all exchange tense, worried glances, each silently bracing for what’s coming. Uraraka hovers protectively, hands twitching nervously near Midoriya. Sero keeps a hand near the wheelchair, ready for any sudden movement. Todoroki positions himself closest to the door, alert and cautious. 

Bakugou helps Midoriya into the wheelchair slowly, muscles taut, eyes scanning for any sign of trouble. Midoriya leans forward just enough to feel the sunlight hitting his face for the first time in weeks, a soft gasp escaping his lips.

Uraraka’s hands grip the armrest, white-knuckled. “Be careful,” she hisses, almost to herself.

Bakugou grips the handles, jaw tight. “…Let’s go.”

And together, they move into the pale morning light, the hospital garden stretching before them, fragile and warm, each step heavy with fear and hope. For Midoriya, it’s the first taste of freedom in weeks, and for all of them, it’s a reminder of how precious every single moment with him has become.

The sunlight is gentle but warm, spilling across the hospital garden in gold patches that dance across the pathways. Midoriya leans forward slightly in the wheelchair, letting his face tilt upward. The wind brushes across his cheeks, carrying the faint scent of flowers and earth. His eyes close for a moment, eyelashes catching the light, and he inhales slowly, carefully, tasting the air.

Bakugou walks closely behind, hands firm on the wheelchair handles, body tense but steady. He matches the pace to Midoriya’s fragile breathing, leaning slightly forward as if ready to catch him at any moment.

Behind them, the others trail quietly, a gentle, protective presence rather than an audience. Uraraka walks closest, her hand hovering near the back of the wheelchair, ready but restrained. Todoroki moves alongside the path, his sharp eyes scanning the ground and sky, subtle but watchful. Sero stays a step back, letting Midoriya lead the experience while their tension eases slightly with each careful breath he takes. 

The wheelchair rolls slowly along the stone path. Midoriya’s chest rises and falls in an uneven rhythm, shallow but steady. He feels the warmth of the sun on his skin and the soft tug of the wind in his hair, and for a few fleeting moments, nothing else exists. No machines, no alarms, no monitors, just the quiet, golden light and the fragile air filling his lungs.

He breathes in again, slow and deliberate. A faint smile slips across his lips, fragile and small, but it feels like a treasure. Each inhale is a reminder that he is still here, that he can still feel, still exist outside the sterile confines of the hospital walls.

Bakugou’s hands remain firm on the wheelchair handles, knuckles white, body taut with constant readiness. 

Midoriya draws in another careful breath, chest rising shallowly before he exhales through parted lips. It takes him a moment to speak, like he has to choose the words that won’t steal too much air.

“…You know,” he starts quietly, pausing again, fingers tightening faintly against the armrest, “seeing the outside world like this…”

He swallows, breath stuttering, then forces another slow inhale. “It makes me feel… greedy.”

Bakugou stiffens behind him, grip tightening instinctively.

Midoriya lets out a soft, shaky breath, almost a laugh that doesn’t quite make it. “Greedy for living,” he murmurs. Another pause. Another careful breath. “I—I want to live, Kacchan.”

The words come out fragile, broken by the rhythm of his breathing, but the meaning lands heavy and clear. Want, raw and unguarded. Hope that hurts because it exists at all.

Bakugou leans forward, forehead resting briefly against Midoriya’s hair, voice rough when he answers. “Then you will,” he says, like it’s not a promise but a fact he’s daring the world to argue with. “You don’t have to apologize for wanting that.”

Midoriya’s eyes close, a tear slipping free as his chest rises again, shallow, struggling, but still moving. Midoriya’s chest heaves unevenly. Another tear slips free, then another, tracing slow lines down his pale cheeks. His lips tremble, words catching in the shallow rhythm of his breaths.

“I… I’m sorry, Kacchan,” he whispers, voice breaking. “…For… for saying… that I love you… I… I gave you… hope… a… a future…” His chest rises and falls unevenly, each inhale shallow and desperate. “…I… I can’t even promise… myself… that I’ll see… tomorrow…”

Bakugou doesn’t hesitate. He kneels beside the wheelchair, hands reaching out instantly to hold Midoriya’s. His touch is gentle, grounding, the rough edges of his usual tension replaced by careful stillness. One hand cradles Midoriya’s fingers, the other brushes lightly over his cheek, wiping away the tears that keep falling.

Midoriya leans into the touch, shaking faintly. “…I keep… imagining… how we’d spend time… if I could… if I get… more… time…” He chokes slightly on the words, each breath shallow and strained. “…Every little thing… every laugh… every morning… I… I imagine it with you… Kacchan.”

Bakugou tightens his hold, leaning closer until their foreheads touch. The contact is soft, grounding, a lifeline against the cold, inevitable truth pressing around them. “Then we make those dreams real,” he says, firm but gentle. “Every second you’re here, we make them count. Don’t care how small, don’t care how short. I’m not leaving you to do this alone.”

Midoriya presses his forehead to Bakugou’s hand, letting himself shiver against the warmth. “…Even if… even if… I… I can’t… stay long…?” His voice is barely a whisper, each syllable a fragile thread.

Bakugou’s chest tightens so violently it’s almost painful. “…Then I’ll be here,” he says fiercely, letting a trembling laugh escape despite himself. “Every damn second. Even if it’s not enough… I’ll be here.”

Midoriya closes his eyes, letting the tears fall freely now. His body trembles, fragile against the weight of his own exhaustion, his fear, his hope. Without thinking, Bakugou bends lower, arms wrapping around him carefully at first, then more firmly as if to shield him from the world.

Midoriya leans into the embrace, letting himself be small, letting the weight of everything he’s been holding in, spill into Bakugou’s chest. His hands rest weakly on Bakugou’s shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if afraid to let go.

Bakugou’s arms tighten around him instinctively, forehead pressing against the top of Midoriya’s head. His voice drops low, rough with unspoken emotion. “Shh… I’ve got you. You don’t have to fight alone.”

Midoriya hiccups softly, the sound mingling with the shallow rhythm of his breaths. “…I… I just… I wanted… more time… with you…”

“You’ll have it,” Bakugou murmurs, though the certainty in his voice is as fragile as the moment. “Every second I can give, I’m here. Right here. You’re not going anywhere while I’m breathing.”

For a long while, they stay like that. Midoriya’s body rests against Bakugou’s, each uneven breath a reminder of how fragile he is, yet how fiercely he clings to life. Bakugou’s heartbeat pounds in his chest, steadying them both, grounding them in this moment that feels suspended between hope and heartbreak.

Chapter Text

By night, Midoriya was back in the ward, lying on his bed with the oxygen mask set higher than before. He hadn’t complained, but his breaths were shallow, uneven, and each cough left his chest sore. Bakugou lingered beside him, restless, eyes flicking constantly to the monitors.

Bakugou stayed close, muscles taut, eyes flicking constantly to the monitors. The shadows from the bedside lamp stretched long across the floor, and the quiet felt heavier, pressing down on him.

“Hey,” Bakugou said quietly, leaning down. “You feeling okay?”

Midoriya tried to offer a faint smile, but it barely reached his pale eyes. “I’m… fine,” he whispered, though the tremor in his hands and the uneven rise of his chest betrayed him.

Hours passed slowly, the ward almost deserted. The distant murmur of night staff moving through the halls did little to ease the tension. Bakugou stayed by Midoriya’s side, leaning forward, eyes fixed on him.

He noticed the subtle, alarming changes first, Midoriya’s chest didn’t rise as fully as it should with each breath, his coughs came more often but were weaker, and the oxygen mask seemed almost futile, fogging slightly with each shallow exhale. 

Every movement, every tiny struggle for air, made Bakugou’s chest tighten, the quiet night around them only amplifying his dread.

Then, without warning, Midoriya’s breath hitched, a sharp, desperate gasp that cut through the stillness. His fingers twitched weakly against the sheet, pale lips parting, eyes wide with fear.

Bakugou leaned closer instinctively. “Midoriya?”

Bakugou hit the call button himself this time, his knuckles white. The soft beep of the alert echoed down the hallway. Within moments, the faint clatter of hurried footsteps approached. The door opened to reveal a night nurse, her expression calm but alert, speaking briefly into her radio.

And behind her came Dr. Fujimoto, moving with quiet efficiency. His eyes immediately went to Midoriya, assessing, calculating, his presence a steadying force in the panic that gripped Bakugou.

Bakugou’s chest tightened. He stayed at Midoriya’s side, hand gripping his lightly, forehead brushing against his hair. “I’ve got you,” he whispered. “Just hold on for me, okay?”

Midoriya’s faint, shaky nod was all Bakugou needed to see. But the irregularity in his breathing, the rapid, shallow inhalations, the faint wheezing, the small drops in oxygen saturation was enough for Dr. Fujimoto to take immediate action.

He checked the monitor again, noting the numbers dropping despite the supplemental oxygen. His voice was calm but sharp. “His SpO₂ is falling, CO₂ retention is rising. His lungs aren’t clearing properly, even with support.”

The night nurse prepared the portable monitoring equipment as Dr. Fujimoto quickly ran through the assessment, listening for crackles or wheezing in Midoriya’s lungs, checking vitals every few seconds, confirming that the oxygen mask was positioned correctly.

The numbers on the monitor continued their downward slide. Each flicker of red made Bakugou’s stomach twist tighter. Midoriya’s chest heaved rapidly, his small frame trembling with every shallow breath. A faint, wet rattle came from deep in his lungs, subtle but unmistakable.

Dr. Fujimoto’s hands moved quickly but methodically, listening, adjusting, calculating. “We need to intubate if this trend continues,” he muttered under his breath, almost to himself, eyes scanning the monitor. “He’s approaching acute respiratory failure.”

Bakugou’s hands tightened on the bedrail, white-knuckled. “Don’t, don’t you dare” he started, voice rough, panic rising.

“Let’s move him. High-flow oxygen ready. Watch for CO₂ spikes. Every second counts.” Dr. Fujimoto instructed, his eyes scanning the monitors with practiced precision. 

The team reacted instantly. Nurses adjusted Midoriya’s oxygen mask, swapping it for a high-flow nasal cannula while carefully checking the seal.

Midoriya’s chest felt impossibly tight, each breath sharp and incomplete, as if the air he drew in dissolved before it could reach the bottom of his lungs. The moment the nurse moved the mask, shifting it to the high-flow nasal cannula, a sting of panic shot through him. The sudden pressure of the new device, the rush of oxygen forcing itself into his nostrils, made him gag slightly, coughing weakly against it.

The suction tube brushing against his throat sent another shiver of pain up his spine. Each adjustment of the mask or lines around his face pressed against his cheeks and nose uncomfortably, reminding him of how small and weak he had become. 

Tiny tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, not from fear alone, but from the relentless ache of struggling to survive, of knowing every breath was a battle.

He tried to focus on Bakugou’s presence, the warmth of his hand, the faint brush of his forehead, but the panic was insistent. He wanted to cry out, to protest, to tell them it hurt, that it was too much but the words were trapped behind the weight of his own lungs.

As the high-flow oxygen pressed into him, Midoriya felt both relief and suffocation at once. The cool rush of air made him cough, rattling deep in his chest, muscles burning from the effort, but he also sensed the tiny lift in his oxygen levels, the fleeting hope that he might last a few more minutes. 

Dr. Fujimoto’s voice cut through the blur of pain and panic, calm but commanding. “We need to move him to intensive care. Prepare for isolation.”

Midoriya’s mind barely registered the words at first. His chest burned with each shallow inhalation, ribs aching from the relentless effort. His hands clawed at the sheets, trembling. “I… I can’t…” he rasped, voice barely audible, eyes wide and desperate. The thought of leaving the familiar ward, even for a better-equipped room, felt terrifying, like stepping off a ledge without knowing if he could land.

Bakugou’s hand brushed against his, a faint anchor in the chaos. “You’re okay. You’re not alone,” he said, voice low, tense, shaking only slightly. But even as he spoke, Midoriya felt the weight of helplessness settle over him.

The nurses moved with quiet urgency, sliding a transport monitor onto Midoriya’s bed. Tubes and lines were adjusted, each movement precise, deliberate, yet sharp enough to make him wince. The high-flow cannula pressed firmly against his face, the sensation cold and unyielding. Every shift of the bed, every click of the wheels, vibrated painfully through his chest.

Dr. Fujimoto crouched briefly to meet Midoriya’s gaze, eyes steady and compassionate. “Midoriya,” he said gently, “we need to move you to a room where we can watch you closely. It’s for your safety. The team will be with you the whole time. Can you trust me?”

The words pierced through the haze. Trust. Even through the burning chest and trembling limbs, Midoriya nodded, though it cost him a harsh, rattling cough. “…O-okay,” he whispered, each syllable a fight.

The team worked efficiently. Lines were checked, the oxygen flow recalibrated, portable monitors secured. Every bump of the gurney, every tilt, sent sharp, burning reminders through Midoriya’s chest. He gasped, coughing, shivering with the effort, feeling the tiny lift of oxygen in his lungs, but also the stark reality that each breath remained a battle.

The doors to the ICU swung open. The air inside smelled sterile, colder, and clinical. Staff in full protective suits moved with precision, their faces obscured, voices muffled behind masks. 

Midoriya felt small and exposed under their gaze, a fragile creature under layers of safety protocol. His chest rose and fell unevenly, sweat prickling his brow, muscles trembling from the exhaustion of mere survival.

As the ICU team wheeled him into the isolation room, Midoriya felt the weight of fear pressing against him, mingling with the sting of the tubes and devices holding him alive. Every sound, the beeping monitors, the soft hum of machines, the muffled voices of staff was magnified in his head. 

He pressed his face lightly against the pillow, eyelids heavy, lungs burning with the effort to breathe, heart hammering in tandem with the alarms.

The isolation room door slid shut, a barrier of glass and protocol separating him from Bakugou, from the world he clung to. Midoriya’s chest ached, every muscle trembling. Tears burned at the corners of his eyes as he forced himself to inhale, to take in the oxygen, to fight. 

The staff moved with quiet precision, each motion deliberate, rehearsed. Everyone wore full protective suits, gowns, gloves, face shields, and masks that muffled their voices. The hissing of the high-flow oxygen filled the room, blending with the soft beeps of the monitors, creating a harsh, unyielding rhythm that matched Midoriya’s ragged breathing.

Two nurses adjusted his lines, carefully checking the IV and oxygen tubing. One gently repositioned the cannula in his nose, while another adjusted the straps of the high-flow mask, keeping it snug without pressing too hard against his tender skin. 

Each adjustment caused Midoriya to flinch, a sharp sting traveling through his lungs as he coughed weakly, the sound wet and rattling.

A respiratory therapist moved close, connecting a suction device to clear the thick secretions from his airway. The procedure made Midoriya gag slightly, tears brimming as he gasped for air afterward, every inhale burning. He gripped the sides of the bed, muscles trembling, feeling painfully aware of each vulnerable, fragile part of his body.

Dr. Fujimoto monitored the process intently, issuing quiet commands, adjusting oxygen flow, recalibrating the ventilatory support. “Slow and steady,” he murmured, though the words were more for the team than for Midoriya. 

Every number on the monitor mattered, every fraction of a drop in oxygen saturation or rise in CO₂ could shift the line between stability and crisis.

After what felt like hours compressed into minutes, the team finally nodded at one another. The alarms had quieted, the monitors stabilized. Midoriya’s chest still rose shallowly, still burned with effort, but the high-flow oxygen was finally giving him enough support to maintain adequate saturation. His lips were pale, slick with sweat, and his small hands shook uncontrollably, but he was breathing.

Bakugou stayed just outside the isolation room, pressed lightly against the wall. Through the small window, he could see the team moving efficiently in their protective suits, the harsh lights reflecting off their visors. Every hiss of the high-flow oxygen, every muffled beep of the monitors, sharpened the ache in his chest.

He gritted his teeth, fists clenching. He couldn’t reach Midoriya, couldn’t hold him, couldn’t whisper that it would be okay. All he could do was watch, helpless, as the boy’s chest rose and fell unevenly under the mask, every shallow breath a battle.

Minutes stretched, each one a knife. Every cough, every tiny shiver, made his stomach twist. Bakugou pressed his forehead against the wall, whispering, voice rough: “I’ve got you… I’m right here… just hold on.”

___________________________________________

Midoriya’s POV

The door closed with a soft but final click. Midoriya blinked against the harsh light, the sounds of machines filling the empty space around him. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic, sharp and sterile, carrying a weight he hadn’t noticed before.

He tried to move, to lift his hand toward the window but the mask pressed firmly against his face, straps biting lightly into his skin. Every breath was deliberate, a conscious effort, and each one left his chest aching, muscles burning from the simple act of survival.

The team in protective suits moved around him like ghosts, their movements precise and urgent. He caught glimpses of faces behind visors, heard clipped words, the soft whirr of monitors, and felt the suction tubes scrape lightly against his throat. The interventions helped, but they also reminded him that he was fragile, and everything depended on them.

A hollow ache settled in his chest, deeper than the usual discomfort from the oxygen mask. He thought of Bakugou waiting outside, of the hand he couldn’t hold, the warmth he couldn’t feel. The isolation felt heavier than the machines, the hum of air, the prickling lights.

Tears slipped down his cheeks despite himself. “…I just… want to breathe,” he whispered to no one, the words swallowed immediately by the oxygen rushing past his lips. His hands clenched the sheets, nails digging shallow grooves into the fabric.

He closed his eyes, imagining Bakugou there, just behind the glass. Just holding him, telling him it would be okay. That was enough, for now. That fragile thought, a single thread of hope, gave him the strength to take the next breath, no matter how sharp, no matter how painful.

The machines beeped steadily, a small rhythm in the quiet room. He focused on that, counting each rise and fall, tethering himself to the rhythm, holding on for the promise of the next moment.

___________________________________________

Midoriya doesn’t sleep.

Not really.

He drifts, hovering somewhere between breaths, between awareness because sleeping means letting go, and his body won’t let him do that. Every inhale is work. Every exhale feels borrowed. His chest aches deep inside, a dull, burning exhaustion that never fades.

The oxygen rushes loud in his ears. Too loud. Too constant.

His eyes stay open, unfocused on the ceiling lights that blur together. The numbers on the monitor don’t mean anything to him anymore. All he knows is that breathing hurts. That his lungs feel heavy, stubborn, like they’ve forgotten how to do this on their own.

He’s so tired.

Not the kind of tired sleep fixes. The kind that settles into his bones, into his chest, into the space behind his eyes. Fighting for air has worn him thin, stripped him down to something small and shaking beneath the mask.

A doctor steps into his line of sight, Dr. Fujimoto. Even behind the protective gear, Midoriya recognizes him. The calm posture. The way he moves like nothing is ever wasted, not even time.

“Midoriya,” Dr. Fujimoto says gently, leaning closer so he doesn’t have to raise his voice. “Can you hear me?”

Midoriya nods. The movement makes him dizzy.

His throat feels raw when he speaks, voice barely there, broken by the effort. “Doctor…” He pauses, breath stuttering, chest tightening before he forces another shallow inhale. “…I’m… tired.”

Dr. Fujimoto’s eyes softened. “I know.”

Midoriya swallows, eyes burning. “…Can you… give me something?” He struggles for air, each word carefully chosen, spaced between breaths. “…So I can… sleep. Just… for a little while.”

Dr. Fujimoto studies him carefully, not just the monitors, but him. The tremble in his hands. The way his shoulders tense with every breath. The quiet plea in his eyes that has nothing to do with fear anymore.

Midoriya says again, tears slipping from the corners of his eyes. “…I just… can’t keep… fighting like this.”

“I understand,” Dr. Fujimoto says.

He explains it simply. A light sedative. Not deep. Not dangerous. Enough to let his body rest, to ease the panic, to reduce the strain on his lungs. He asks for consent, waits for Midoriya’s faint nod before continuing.

The nurse prepares the syringe.

Midoriya watches with heavy eyes, relief and guilt tangled painfully in his chest. “Will… Kacchan…” He can’t finish the sentence.

“I’ll tell him,” Dr. Fujimoto assures him gently. “He’s right outside.”

That’s enough.

The injection stings briefly, a small, sharp sensation in his arm, so minor compared to everything else that it almost feels kind.

Warmth spreads slowly through his body. The tight edge of panic softens. His breaths are still shallow, still imperfect, but they don’t feel so desperate anymore. The fight eases, just a little.

His eyelids grow heavy.

As the room blurs, one thought drifts through him, fragile and aching and full of love.

Kacchan… I’m still trying. I just need to rest.

The machines continue their steady rhythm as Midoriya finally lets his eyes close, surrendering, not to the darkness, but to sleep.

Just for now.

Bakugou leans against the wall outside the isolation room, arms crossed, jaw tight. He can hear the faint hum of the monitors, the hiss of oxygen, and the occasional muffled sound of Midoriya’s breathing. He hasn’t moved since they wheeled him in, unwilling to leave his side even for a second.

Dr. Fujimoto steps out, fully suited, mask in place, eyes tired but steady. He approaches Bakugou with a measured pace.

“Mr. Bakugou,” he begins, voice calm but firm, “Midoriya is stable for now. The sedation is working, his body is finally resting. His vitals are within safe parameters, and the isolation unit is keeping him under full monitoring.”

“Right now, he’s in capable hands. Nurses and monitoring systems are watching every breath. There’s nothing you can do to improve his condition at this moment by staying here, and honestly… you need rest too.” Dr. Fujimoto continues. 

Bakugou shakes his head, a reflexive refusal. “I’m not leaving him alone.”

“I’m not asking you to abandon him,” Dr. Fujimoto replies, his tone patient but insistent. “I’m asking you to step away for a few hours. Go home. Sleep. Eat. Regain some strength. Midoriya is safe, he’s in an isolation room with tight monitoring. You being here, exhausted and tense, won’t help him. It may even make things harder for both of you.”

Bakugou bites the inside of his cheek, fighting the urge to argue. He can feel the weight of every word in the pause that follows.

“Just… a few hours,” Dr. Fujimoto adds. “I’ll update you the second anything changes. You’ll be the first to know, I promise. Right now, the best thing you can do for him is to stay strong and that means taking care of yourself too.”

Bakugou exhales sharply, shoulders sagging for the first time since the night began. His gaze flicks toward the opaque window of the isolation room, where Midoriya lies under the high-flow oxygen, sedated, chest rising and falling in slow, even rhythm.

“…Fine,” Bakugou mutters, voice tight. “Just… don’t let anything happen to him.”

Dr. Fujimoto gives a small, reassuring nod. “I won’t. Go get some rest. I’ll be in touch.”

Bakugou finally steps back, the knot in his chest tightening but tempered by a fragile thread of trust. He turns away from the room, every step heavy with fear, exhaustion, and love, knowing that the fight for Midoriya’s life isn’t over but that for now, he has to let someone else carry it for a little while.

Bakugou stepped out of the hospital, the cool night air hitting him like a slap. His legs felt heavy, his mind a tangled mess of exhaustion, fear, and frustration. He fumbled for his phone and dialed Sero without thinking.

“Hey… can you… pick me up?” he said, voice clipped, almost too quiet for him. “I don’t think I can drive.”

There was a pause on the other end before Sero’s familiar, casual voice came through. “Yeah, of course. I’ll be there in ten.”

Bakugou dropped his phone into his pocket and let out a sharp, empty breath. He didn’t notice the small tremor in his hands, or the way his shoulders sagged as he leaned against the cold metal of the hospital rail.

When Sero arrived, Bakugou got in silently. The engine hummed to life, but neither spoke at first. Outside, the city lights streaked past, and Bakugou pressed his forehead lightly against the window, staring at nothing in particular.

Sero stole a glance at him, noting the distant, hollow look in his eyes. He knew something was wrong, he always did but he didn’t push it. Sometimes, the quiet was all a person needed. Instead, he kept the drive steady, hands relaxed on the wheel, letting Bakugou’s silence stretch out.

Minutes later, they arrived at the mansion. The front door opened almost immediately, and the rest of the household greeted him. Their smiles were there, faint and forced, the careful attempt at cheerfulness betraying the tension that lingered in the room.

“Bakugou,” Uraraka said softly, trying to keep her tone light. “You’re back…”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t acknowledge the others. A faint hum escaped him as he moved through the entryway, boots heavy against the floor. His gaze remained fixed somewhere beyond the room, unfocused, empty.

He didn’t pause for dinner, didn’t exchange words. He didn’t even remove his jacket properly. He went straight to his room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Behind him, the others exchanged glances, a silent understanding passing between them. Something was off, more than the usual tension, more than the exhaustion from the night. Whatever it was, Bakugou carried it like a weight that wouldn’t be shaken, and for now, they could only watch and wait.

Uraraka sighed softly, a hand rubbing her temple. “He’s… not okay.”

Kirishima nodded, his usual bright expression dimmed. “Yeah. Something’s… really wrong.”

Sero leaned against the wall, arms crossed, voice low. “We’ll give him space. He’ll talk when he’s ready.”

But even as they said it, the worry lingered, heavy and stubborn. They all knew this wasn’t just another long night. Something about Bakugou’s silence, his empty eyes, told them the storm hadn’t passed. Not by a long shot.

Todoroki lingered by the doorway a moment longer, his sharp eyes tracking Bakugou’s retreating figure as he disappeared into his room. The emptiness in Bakugou’s movements, the way he barely acknowledged anyone, set off an alarm in Todoroki’s mind. He could see it, more than just exhaustion. This was deeper, heavier, something that wasn’t going to pass overnight.

After a moment of hesitation, he pulled out his phone. The digits were saved for moments like this, rare, urgent, necessary. Mitsuki Bakugou. Todoroki knew that sometimes, when the weight became too much, the only thing that could reach her son was her. A mother’s presence, a familiar voice, a warmth he couldn’t offer.

He dialed quickly, waiting as the line rang. Mitsuki answered almost immediately, her voice calm but alert.

“Todoroki? Is everything alright?”

“It’s… Bakugou,” Todoroki said carefully, choosing his words with care. “I think he needs you.”

There was a pause on the other end, a small intake of breath. Mitsuki didn’t question him. She had learned, over the years, to sense when her son needed her, even when he wouldn’t ask.

“I’m on my way,” she said simply.

Todoroki hung up, letting the phone slip back into his pocket. He stayed near the hallway, not moving, quietly observing Bakugou’s closed door. 

The night was quiet outside, the kind of quiet that pressed down on the mansion’s heavy walls. The front gates opened with a low, mechanical hum, and Mitsuki stepped out of the sleek black car, Masaru at her side, both flanked by a small contingent of bodyguards. Even in casual clothes, the air around them carried a subtle weight of years of command and presence that the mafia world demanded, now softened slightly by concern for their son.

Uraraka and Kirishima met them in the entryway, bowing slightly.

“Mrs. and Mr. Bakugou,” Uraraka greeted, voice soft but respectful. “We… we weren’t expecting you so soon.”

Masaru inclined his head, a polite but firm gesture. “We were informed of the situation. It seemed urgent.”

“Can someone explain… exactly what’s happened? I haven’t heard from Bakugou in a while, and I need to know how he’s doing.” she said, voice calm, yet carrying a mother’s quiet authority. 

Uraraka took a deep breath, glancing at Mitsuki. “Mrs. Bakugou… I’ll explain everything so it makes sense why your son’s like this. It’s about Bakugou and a young man named Midoriya.”

Mitsuki’s brow furrowed slightly. “Midoriya?”

Uraraka nodded. “He’s… the one Bakugou’s team accidentally targeted. The wrong person. It should have been someone else entirely. Midoriya was just walking home, and they… they grabbed him by mistake.”

She paused, letting Mitsuki take in the information. “He’s… fragile. Physically, I mean. His lungs aren’t strong. When Bakugou’s team caught him, he panicked. His breathing became shallow, and he collapsed in the alley. That’s when Bakugou arrived. That night, Bakugou took responsibility. ”

She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “And over time… after knowing each other, spending even a little time together, Midoriya… he started to get through to him. In ways no one else ever could.” Uraraka’s voice softened, almost reverent, “He melts your son’s heart. Without even trying. They’ve built something neither of them expected. ”

She continued gently, “However, lately, his health has been declining. He’s weaker than usual, coughing more, getting tired faster. Every little effort seems to take more out of him.  He has been hospitalized for a long time now. Bakugou… he’s been carrying that worry with him nonstop. It’s… wearing him down.”

Mitsuki’s eyes softened, a flicker of worry passing over her composed features. She inhaled slowly, steadying herself, but the sharp line of concern in her gaze was unmistakable. “I see,” she murmured, voice low but firm. 

“So that’s why he’s… like this.” Her hand brushed over the edge of her jacket absentmindedly, a gesture betraying the weight settling onto her chest. “He’s been carrying it all alone. My poor boy.”

Mitsuki stepped softly into the hallway outside Bakugou’s room, her hand resting lightly on the doorframe. The usual weight of command in her posture was softened tonight, replaced by a quiet concern that only a mother could carry.

She knocked once, gently. “Bakugou… it’s me,” she said, her voice calm but firm enough to reach him. “Can we talk?”

Inside, Bakugou stiffened at the sound of her voice, a flicker of tension running through his body. He didn’t answer immediately, just leaned back against the wall, jaw tight, eyes staring somewhere past the room as if trying to make sense of the world.

Mitsuki didn’t push. She waited, letting her presence fill the space outside the door, her calm breathing steady and patient. After a few moments, Bakugou finally spoke, voice clipped and low, rough with fatigue. “…What do you want?”

She gave a small, soft smile, one that carried warmth and understanding. “I know everything, Bakugou,” she said gently, her voice steady, yet filled with quiet authority. “Open the door, my dear. Tell me everything.”

Bakugou’s hands twitched at his sides. Pride urged him to push her away, to hide everything he’d been holding inside. But the weight in his chest, the worry for Midoriya, the constant tension, the exhaustion made him hesitate. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, electric in its intensity.

Mitsuki took a careful step closer, “I’m not here to judge, Bakugou,” she continued softly. “I just want to understand. I want to help. You don’t have to carry all of this alone.”

His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths. “…I’m fine,” he muttered, voice rough, defensive, but hollow, as if saying it could make it true.

She lifted her hand slightly, an invitation, not a demand. “I know you’re not,” she said gently, her tone firm yet tender. “And it’s okay. You can let me in. Tell me everything. I’m here, always.”

After a long, quiet moment, Bakugou’s hand twitched toward the doorknob. The door swung open just enough for him to step into the hallway, shoulders hunched, gaze fixed on the floor. Mitsuki’s eyes softened immediately, her hands folding gently in front of her. She didn’t speak at first, letting the small space between them ease slowly, giving him time to adjust to her presence.

“I… I don’t know where to start,” Bakugou muttered, voice rough, uneven. The words sounded alien coming from him, fragile, unguarded, different from the usual sharp edge he carried.

Mitsuki stepped closer, her voice quiet, careful, yet firm. “Start anywhere, Bakugou. I’m here. I can handle the truth, all of it.”

He let out a heavy, shuddering breath, the first real exhale he’d taken all night. His hands shook slightly as he ran them down his face, tugging at the edge of his hair in frustration. “…It’s Midoriya,” he admitted, voice breaking ever so slightly.

“He… he’s… sick. Worse than I thought. I—he—” His words faltered, caught in the tight cage of panic and exhaustion he’d carried inside for days.

Mitsuki didn’t interrupt. She just nodded, letting him spill it all, holding her ground without judgment. “I know,” she said softly. “I know, Bakugou. I know how serious it is.”

Bakugou’s chest tightened further, a tremor of fear breaking through his usual control. “…I can’t… I can’t lose him. Not like this. I can’t, he’s all I… all I…” His voice cracked, the words trailing into a strangled whisper.

Mitsuki’s hand lifted slowly, brushing gently against his arm. It was a grounding touch, light but steady, and it drew a tiny, trembling exhale from him. “You won’t lose him,” she said quietly, firmly, her tone wrapping around him like a shield. “He’s alive. The doctors are doing everything they can. And you… you’ve been here for him. That matters, more than you know.”

Bakugou’s shoulders slumped, the fight draining from him in waves. His hands dropped to his sides, trembling slightly. For the first time, he let himself feel the exhaustion, the fear, the helplessness he’d kept buried. He closed his eyes, and in the quiet, his voice came out barely above a whisper: “…I can’t do this alone.”

“You’re not alone,” Mitsuki replied, a small, reassuring smile breaking through her composed exterior. “Not now, not ever. You never have to be. I’m here, Bakugou. Always.”

A shaky, unsteady silence followed, filled only by the quiet hum of the mansion outside. Bakugou finally let himself lean slightly against her, just the smallest weight, a silent surrender. His voice, raw and low, trembled as he whispered, “…I just… I’m scared.”

Mitsuki’s hand tightened gently on his arm. “I know,” she said. “And that’s okay. It’s human to be scared. But we’ll face it together. Step by step, Bakugou. You don’t have to carry it all alone anymore.”

Bakugou’s shoulders shook violently before he even realized he’d started crying. The tough, unyielding facade, the pride, the control, the sharp edge that had kept him alive in the mafia world crumbled in the quiet hallway.

“I… I love him, Mom,” he whispered, voice raw, trembling, barely holding together. “I… I really do.”

Mitsuki’s hand went to his cheek, brushing away a tear, her touch gentle and steady. “I know, Bakugou. I know you do,” she said softly, her own voice thick with understanding.

He buried his face into her shoulder, shaking as if the weight of the world had pressed down on him all at once. “Why… why does it feel like the world is trying to take him away from me? Every time… every little thing… I can’t… I can’t…” His voice broke, choking on the words. “What did I do wrong? Why is it always him? Why is it always me who has to watch him suffer?”

Mitsuki held him tighter, her arms wrapping around him fully, anchoring him with a warmth that had once been reserved for the child he had been, not the hardened man he had become. “Bakugou… none of this is your fault,” she whispered, pressing her cheek to his hair. “None of it. You’ve done everything you can. You’ve been there for him. That’s all anyone could ever ask. You’re not alone in this, my son.”

His body shook with sobs now, full, uncontrolled. “I can’t… I can’t lose him! I just… I can’t! I’ve… I’ve never felt like this before… I’ve never… I’ve never needed anyone like this before…”

“You can, and you should,” Mitsuki said softly, her voice almost a song, a lullaby for the broken man in her arms. “You need someone. You’ve always been strong, Bakugou, but even the strongest people need to be held sometimes. Let me hold you. Let me carry some of it for you.”

Bakugou clutched her like a lifeline, burying his face deeper, letting himself dissolve into a child again, the little boy who had learned to fight, to survive, to never show weakness. “I… I’m scared… so scared, Mom. I can’t… I can’t breathe right. I can’t think. I just… I love him so much. Why does it hurt so much to just… let him live?”

Mitsuki pressed a kiss to the top of his head, whispering, “It hurts because you love him. That’s how you know it’s real. But you’re not alone. I’m here. You don’t have to be strong right now. Cry, Bakugou. Let it out.”

He did.

Sobs racked his body, each one raw, ragged, and full of every fear, every ounce of helplessness he’d been holding inside. The man who had once commanded respect, feared across the underworld, was now a child again, trembling in his mother’s arms.

“Why… why can’t I protect him?” His voice cracked again, words scattering with every tear. 

Mitsuki held him closer, rocking him gently. “You’re doing everything you can, Bakugou. That’s all anyone could ever do. Love him, fight for him, be there for him. That’s enough. I promise you, it’s enough.”

Bakugou buried his face in her shoulder, letting the sobs wrack him, letting the grief and fear pour out. For the first time in years, he wasn’t the mafia boss. He wasn’t the strong, untouchable man. He was just a boy, afraid and desperate, holding onto the only safe place he could find.

“I love him, Mom… I love him so much…” His voice was almost a whisper now, carried in shaky breaths between sobs. “I just… I just want him to be okay…”

“You’ve got him,” Mitsuki whispered back, her own eyes glimmering. “And you’ll keep him safe. I’ll help you, Bakugou. I promise.”

He clung tighter, letting himself shatter, letting the weight of everything crush him for a moment, because in this hug, in this warmth, there was safety, and for the first time tonight, he could let himself just… feel.

Chapter Text

Midoriya woke to silence.

Not the sudden, panicked kind that snapped him upright, but a heavy stillness that pressed gently against his senses, as if the world had decided to speak more softly around him. His lashes fluttered open, vision blurred at first, the ceiling above him unfamiliar, too white, too clean.

His body felt… wrong.

Not sharp pain. Just a deep, bone-weary exhaustion, the kind that seeped into his limbs and made even breathing feel like something he had to consciously remember to do.

The oxygen mask was still there.

That was the first thing he registered.
The soft hiss. The familiar weight against his face.

He exhaled, slow and shaky, reassured by its presence.

For a moment, his mind tried to correct it. Tried to insist Bakugou was just standing somewhere else, pacing, arms crossed, pretending not to worry while watching him like a hawk.

Midoriya blinked once. Then again. His gaze slid further, toward the glass wall separating the room from the hallway beyond. The faint reflections of machines, muted lights, shadows moving distantly on the other side.

Bakugou wasn’t there.

The realization settled slowly, sinking into his chest with a weight heavier than any needle or tube. His fingers twitched weakly against the sheets, curling as if they might grasp something that wasn’t there.

Oh.

So that’s how it was.
He didn’t cry. Not right away.

He just stared at the glass, waiting. Expecting. As if Bakugou might appear any second now, annoyed, scolding him for waking up without warning, telling him not to scare everyone like that.

Seconds passed.
Then minutes.
Nothing changed.

The room remained quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that made him acutely aware of his own breathing, shallow and measured, assisted and artificial. The machines filled the space Bakugou used to occupy, humming steadily where a heartbeat should have been.

Midoriya swallowed, throat tight.

He knew why. Of course he did.

Isolation.
Weakened lungs.
Risk of infection.

All of it made sense. Every rule, every barrier, every reason Bakugou couldn’t be here with him.

Logically, he understood.
Emotionally, it felt like being left behind.

Like waking up and finding the world had moved on without him, leaving him sealed behind glass and silence. Like reaching for something familiar in the dark and realizing it was gone.

His chest ached, not sharply, but deeply, painfully full. His eyes burned, vision blurring again, and this time it wasn’t the medication. Midoriya turned his head slightly, resting his cheek against the pillow, eyes still fixed on the glass wall. His reflection stared back at him, paler, thinner, smaller than he remembered.

Suddenly, a faint movement beyond the glass caught his attention. A figure approached, slow and careful. Midoriya turned his head toward the sound, expecting the nurse but the figure beyond the glass was different this time. Dr. Fujimoto stood there, tablet tucked under one arm, posture calm, unhurried. He waited until Midoriya’s attention settled on him before pressing the button.

The intercom chimed softly.

“Midoriya,” his voice came through, low and steady. “Is now an okay time to talk?”

Midoriya swallowed. “…Yeah.”

The door didn’t open. It stayed sealed, a quiet reminder of the space between them. Dr. Fujimoto remained just outside, close enough to be seen clearly, far enough to keep him safe.

“I’ll be honest with you,” the doctor said. Not harsh. Not cold. Just real. “Your lungs are deteriorating faster than we anticipated.”

Midoriya listened without flinching.

“The damage isn’t something medication can reverse anymore,” Dr. Fujimoto continued. “The isolation isn’t a punishment. It’s protection. Right now, even a mild infection, a cold, a fever could overwhelm your system.”

Midoriya’s fingers tightened slightly around the blanket.

“We’re monitoring you constantly. We’re adjusting support as needed,” the doctor said, eyes steady. “But I need you to understand… our options are becoming limited.”

He didn’t say the word.
He didn’t have to.

The machines filled the silence between them, soft and rhythmic. Midoriya stared past the doctor for a moment, at nothing in particular, letting the truth settle into his bones. There was fear there but it was distant, dulled by exhaustion.

“…Okay,” he said quietly.

Dr. Fujimoto watched him closely. “Do you have any questions?”

Midoriya hesitated. Then, softly, almost carefully, he asked, “…Can I see him?”

The words hung in the air.

Dr. Fujimoto’s expression changed, not dramatically, but enough. His jaw tightened. His gaze dropped for half a second before lifting again.

“Just once,” Midoriya added, voice barely above a whisper. “I just… want to see him.”

The room felt smaller somehow.

“I know the rules,” Midoriya said, hurried now, as if afraid the moment would slip away. “I know why I’m here. I just… please. I don’t want the last time he saw me to be…” His breath caught. “…that night.”

Dr. Fujimoto didn’t answer immediately. 

Midoriya’s eyes burned, but he didn’t let the tears fall.

“I’ll see what can be done,” Dr. Fujimoto said at last. “I can’t promise anything. But I’ll try.”

Midoriya nodded, relief and heartbreak tangling in his chest. “Thank you.”

Dr. Fujimoto found Bakugou waiting outside the room, coat still on, hair slightly disheveled in a way that told the truth about how little rest he’d actually gotten. Whatever sleep he’d managed had done nothing to loosen the tension carved into his posture.

“Mr. Bakugou,” Dr. Fujimoto said gently.

Bakugou turned immediately, alert in a way exhaustion couldn’t dull. His eyes went straight to the doctor’s face, searching for answers before words could even form.

“How is he?”

Dr. Fujimoto didn’t rush it. He never did. “He’s awake,” he said. “Stable for now.”

Bakugou’s shoulders dropped just enough to be noticeable. A breath left him, rough and uneven. “Good.”

There was a pause.

“He asked for you,” the doctor added quietly.

Bakugou stilled completely. His jaw tightening, one hand curling into the fabric of his sleeve as if grounding himself. For a second, he said nothing at all. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost careful.

“…Can I?”

“Yes,” Dr. Fujimoto answered. “For one hour.”

Bakugou snapped his gaze back up.

“There are conditions,” the doctor said, calm and firm. “You’ll need full protective equipment, gown, gloves, and a respirator. You won’t touch his face or interfere with any lines. If his vitals change, the visit ends immediately.”

Bakugou nodded once. Then again. “That’s fine. I won’t mess anything up.”

“I know,” Dr. Fujimoto said. “But I need you to understand, this is not a comfortable visit in the way people imagine. He’s very tired. Emotionally fragile. If either of you becomes overwhelmed…”

“I’ll keep it together,” Bakugou cut in, voice hoarse. “For him.”

The doctor studied him for a moment longer, then inclined his head. “Alright. Follow me.”

The preparation room is small.

Too small for the weight Bakugou carries into it.

A nurse hands him the protective gown first. Pale blue. Thin. Disposable. He takes it with careful hands, as if afraid that any sudden movement might tear it apart or worse, tear something open inside him.

He slides his arms into the sleeves.

The fabric rustles softly, the sound loud in the silence. It smells sterile. Nothing like Midoriya. Nothing like home. He ties it at the back with fingers that don’t quite stop shaking, pulling the strings tighter than necessary, as if pressure might keep everything else from spilling out.

Gloves next.

Latex snaps quietly around his wrists. He flexes his fingers once, twice. These hands have done terrible things before. Decisive things. Violent things. They’ve held weapons, issued orders, ended lives.

Now they’re useless.

He won’t be allowed to touch Midoriya with them.

The respirator comes last.

The nurse helps secure it, adjusting the straps behind his head. When the mask settles over his mouth and nose, his breathing sounds wrong, too loud, too mechanical. Filtered. Controlled.

He hates it.

For the first time in years, Bakugou feels small. Stripped. Not of power but of permission. Permission to protect the one person he wants to shield more than anything.

The nurse meets his eyes. “You can go in when you’re ready.”

Bakugou nods.

Midoriya senses him before he sees him.

It’s not the door opening. It’s not the sound of footsteps. It’s the shift in the air, the way the room feels suddenly… aware.

His eyes drift toward the glass wall without fully understanding why.

And then he sees him.

Bakugou stands on the other side, half-obscured by reflection and harsh fluorescent light. Wrapped in pale blue. Masked. Gloved. 

For a heartbeat, Midoriya thinks he’s hallucinating.

Then Bakugou lifts his head.

Their eyes meet.

Something in Midoriya breaks quietly.

Not in pieces. Not violently. Just a slow, aching fracture spreading through his chest. His breath stutters, oxygen hissing louder as his heart tries to keep up with the sudden rush of relief and sorrow tangled together.

He’s here.

Bakugou freezes when he meets Midoriya’s eyes. Those green eyes are duller than before, rimmed red, sunk too deep into a face that looks smaller than it should. The mask on Midoriya’s face fogs faintly with each shallow breath, and something ugly twists hard inside Bakugou’s ribs.

He takes one step closer to the door. Bakugou’s throat tightens.The door clicks softly as the lock disengages.

Bakugou steps inside.

And the hour begins.

Bakugou closes the door behind him with deliberate care.

The seal hisses softly as it locks, a quiet reminder that this moment is borrowed. Timed. Fragile. The air inside the room feels heavier than it should, filtered and clinical, carrying the faint scent of antiseptic and oxygen.

He stands there for a second too long.

Midoriya notices.  “You can… come closer,” he says, voice hoarse, thin, shaped carefully around the mask.

Bakugou nods and does, slowly, like he’s afraid sudden movement might startle him, or worse, make him disappear. He stops at the bedside, close enough to see the faint tremor in Midoriya’s hands, the way his chest barely rises under the blankets.

Up close, it’s worse.

Bakugou’s jaw tightens behind the mask. “…Hey,” he says, voice muffled but unmistakably his.

Midoriya’s lips curve, barely. “Hi.”

That’s it. No dramatic reunion. No rush of words. Just that single exchange, soft and fragile as glass.

Bakugou pulls the chair closer and sits. The plastic legs scrape quietly against the floor, loud in the stillness. He leans forward, forearms resting on his knees, gloved hands clasped together because he doesn’t trust them not to reach.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks.

The question is simple. Too simple for everything wrapped inside it.

Midoriya blinks at him, then exhales through the mask. “Tired,” he says honestly. After a beat, he adds, quieter, “But not as bad as before.”

Bakugou nods once. He keeps his gaze steady, but his shoulders ease just a fraction. “Good.”

Another pause.

“…Does it hurt?” he asks, voice rough around the edges.

Midoriya thinks about it. About the tightness, the ache, the way breathing feels like work instead of instinct. He doesn’t want to lie to him.

“A little,” he admits. “Mostly it’s just… heavy. Like my chest doesn’t want to move.”

Bakugou swallows. He nods once, accepting it because there’s nothing else he can do.

They sit in silence for a while.

It isn’t awkward. It isn’t empty. It’s the kind of quiet built from shared understanding, from too many nights spent listening to each other breathe. Bakugou watches the rise and fall of Midoriya’s chest like it’s the most important thing in the world.

Because it is.

Midoriya shifts slightly, turning his head to look at him more fully. “Did… you go home?”

Bakugou stiffens, just for a second. “…Yeah.”

“Did you sleep?”

“…A little.”

It’s a lie. They both know it. Midoriya doesn’t call him on it.

“I’m glad you did,” he says instead.

Midoriya’s eyes drop to the sheets for a moment, tracing the faint lines of his hospital gown. His fingers flex against the blanket, hesitant, like he’s weighing every word before letting it go.

“Dr. Fujimoto… he said…” His voice is low, almost fragile, and Bakugou leans forward slightly, attentively. “…He said my lungs… they’re getting worse. Faster than we thought.”

Bakugou doesn’t move. His hands stay clasped, but the tension in his shoulders tightens imperceptibly.

Midoriya swallows, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. “…Even a cold… or something small could… it could be really bad. “They’re doing everything they can. But… they’re running out of options.”

The silence after that is sharp. Not loud, not sudden but heavy enough that it presses against the chest, the way the hospital air does after the machines hum for hours.

Midoriya shifts slightly, head bowed, the thin oxygen mask fogging with each uneven breath. His chest rises and falls with a laborious rhythm, and the words tumble out in a whisper, broken by small hiccups of emotion.

“I… I’m sorry, Kacchan,” he breathes, voice catching. “…For… for all of this. For… for being sick. For… for making you…” His chest jerks. “…for making you suffer.”

Bakugou blinks behind the respirator, frozen for a fraction of a second, then leans closer. His gloved hands stay where they are, on his knees, but the weight in his eyes shifts softens.

“You don’t… you don’t have to apologize,” Bakugou says quietly, carefully, as though each word is fragile glass he doesn’t want to shatter. “I… I chose this. I chose to care about you.”

Midoriya swallows hard, tears pooling behind his lashes. “But… if I hadn’t existed… you wouldn’t… you wouldn’t have”

Bakugou interrupts, voice low, tender, almost reverent: “Hey. Stop. Stop saying that. Stop saying I… I shouldn’t have fallen for you. You think… do you think loving you is some kind of curse? 

Midoriya shakes his head faintly, breath hitching. “I… I just… I never wanted-–”

Bakugou’s eyes meet his, sharp and intense, but wet with something softer than anger. “No. Listen to me. Don’t… don’t blame yourself for this. For anything. You… you made me… better. Stronger. Braver. Because I… because I had you. And I…” His voice falters again, rough and unsteady. “I don’t regret a single damn thing.”

Then, almost imperceptibly, Bakugou lets out a soft, gentle chuckle, unassuming, but warm, carrying something fragile yet unbreakable.

“You know,” he says, voice low, almost teasing, “I think… we’re really meant for each other.”

Midoriya blinks, stunned, a faint blush creeping across his cheeks despite the exhaustion. His lips part, unsure what to say, caught between the ache in his chest and the warmth blooming there.

Bakugou leans forward just slightly, eyes softer than they’ve ever been, letting the words settle between them. “No matter how impossible it feels.You and me… we just… fit. Somehow. Always have. I don’t think fate… made a mistake. Not once. Not with us. Every damn thing… every terrible, messy, stupid thing… it all led me to you.”

Midoriya’s chest tightens, breath hitching slightly. Bakugou’s voice, low and steady, carries both weight and warmth, grounding them in this fragile hour. “Even if it hurts. Even if the world’s trying to keep us apart… I’d choose it all over again. Choose you. Every single time.”

He leans back a fraction, letting his eyes trace Midoriya’s face. “You made me… capable of more than I thought I could feel. You made me… want to be better. You made me… see that maybe… even someone like me… can be loved.”

The words are soft, almost shy, and yet they strike sharper than any confession Bakugou has ever made. “Thank you,” he says, voice catching just slightly, “…for loving me. Even though I’m impossible to love.”

Midoriya swallows hard, eyes shimmering behind the mask. “Kacchan…”

Bakugou smiles faintly, a rare, almost heartbreaking smile, and lets out a quiet chuckle again. “We’re… really meant for each other. No doubt in my mind. Not a single one.”

Midoriya lets out a soft, gentle laugh, the kind that doesn’t reach his eyes fully but still carries a warmth that makes the room feel lighter for a moment. “Isn’t it ironic?” he says, voice quiet, almost teasing. “When I met you first… I thought you’d be this cold, heartless mafia type. You know… untouchable. Dangerous. Impossible.”

He pauses, letting his breath hitch slightly behind the mask. “Who would’ve thought… you’d… melt like this… for me?”

Bakugou’s gloved hands clench slightly, but his eyes soften, a faint curve tugging at the corners of his mouth beneath the respirator. “…Tch,” he mutters, almost like a growl, though the sound carries no edge. “…Damn it. You make it sound like I’m… pathetic.”

Midoriya shakes his head slightly, a watery smile tugging at his lips. “No… not pathetic. Just someone I loved.”

Bakugou’s eyes soften behind the respirator, a faint curve tugging at the corners of his mouth. “...Yeah,” he murmurs, voice low, almost reluctant to break the fragile silence. “And I loved you too. Every damn impossible, stubborn piece of you.”

Midoriya shifts slightly, fingers brushing the edge of the blanket. “…You know,” he begins, hesitantly, “…I keep thinking… if I somehow get better… or even just… for whatever time I have left… I want to do things. Normal things.”

Bakugou blinks, watching him carefully, staying quiet.

Midoriya continues, voice small. “Just… simple things. Like… making breakfast… even if I burn it.”

Bakugou lets a soft hum escape, the kind that makes you know he’s listening. “…And I’d just watch you burn the toast, huh?” he asks, a faint tease hiding the tension in his voice.

Midoriya continues, a faint wistfulness in his voice. “And… I want… I want to do things with you.”

Bakugou blinks behind the respirator, tilting his head slightly. “Like… what?”

Midoriya swallows, hesitating for a heartbeat, then lets the words tumble out. “Simple things. Like… going to the cinema. Watching a movie, even if you complain about the popcorn. Bowling, concerts, festivals… maybe even just… dinner dates. I don’t know… normal things, I guess. Things… we never had the chance to do before.”

Bakugou’s gloved hands clench softly in his lap, and he lets out a low hum. “You really think about all that, huh?”

Midoriya smiles faintly, a small breath hitching through the mask. “Yeah. I… I just want… even if it’s just for a little while… I want to live like that. With you.”

Bakugou leans forward, elbows resting against his knees, gloved hands clasped together. The hum of the machines fills the space between them, steady and patient, like it’s giving him time to find the right words.

“Y’know,” he says quietly, eyes lifting to meet Midoriya’s, 

Bakugou exhales through his nose, a sound that almost resembles a laugh, but softer. “We could just… get married.”

The words land gently. 

Midoriya’s breath catches, eyes widening slightly behind the mask. “Kacchan…”

“I’m serious,” he says, voice low but steady. “We can still do everything. Movies. Dumb arguments over where to eat. We won't lose any of it.” His jaw tightens just a little. “We just… do it knowing you’re mine. And I’m yours.”

“At least this way,” Bakugou murmurs, softer now, almost vulnerable, “no matter what happens… no matter how much the world keeps trying to take shit from us…” His thumb presses lightly, grounding. “…It can’t take that.”

Midoriya lets out a shaky, breathless laugh through tears. “…You’re unbelievable.”

Bakugou huffs quietly. “Yeah. I know.”

He leans closer, not touching foreheads, not crossing any lines but close enough that Midoriya can feel the intent, the promise behind every word.

“So,” Bakugou says, voice barely above a whisper, “Marry me. We’ll do everything we ever talked about. And even if we don’t get as much time as we want…” His eyes soften. “…At least you’ll know you were loved. Completely. Without regret.”