Chapter Text
At the University of Tokyo, Friday nights pulsed with a rare kind of freedom. After a grueling week of intense lectures, towering stacks of assignments, and the ever-present pressure of Japan’s most prestigious university, students flooded out of dorms and libraries to unwind. Parties spilled from cramped apartments into the streets of nearby neighborhoods, filled with laughter, thumping music, and the clink of glasses. Bottles of cheap sake and soju circulated freely as groups crammed together on balconies and in dimly lit living rooms, chasing the fleeting relief of youth. For tonight, the weight of future careers, entrance exams, and family expectations lifted, replaced by flushed cheeks, loud conversations, and the hazy promise that tomorrow could wait just a little longer.
Elsewhere, moonlight shimmered across the surface of Lake Okutama, turning the dark water into a sea of silver. Katsuki Bakugo found himself here often. The quiet, the cool night air, and the endless stretch of water offered a rare kind of peace that was hard to find anywhere else.
It was an escape. The lake was one part of it. His motorcycle was the other.
His mother had never approved of him riding. She saw it as dangerous, reckless, unnecessary. Maybe she wasn't entirely wrong. But every time he threw a leg over the bike and felt the engine rumble beneath him, every time the wind rushed past and the world blurred around him, he was reminded why he'd never given it up.
A ring called out from his jacket pocket. ‘Shitty Hair’ flashed on his screen.
“What..” Bakugo sighed. He hated when people ruined his peace.
“Jesus… who shit in your Cherrios…” Kirishima responded. “Oh my bad. Are you out at your lake again?”
“Just cut to whatever you called me for.” Bakugo grew angrier. “I’m about to head out anyways.” His voice was muffled for a moment as he slid on his helmet.
“Uraraka is throwing a party tonight, you in? I can shoot you the address.” Kiri was already typing.
Bakugo sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t want to go to some lame party at Uraraka’s.” He scrolled through Spotify, looking for the perfect playlist to ride home to.
“Oh c’mon! You ditched me last party and it ended up being a banger!” Kiri exclaimed, “Plus there's gonna be some smoking 3rd years there!”
“No.” He bluntly stated.
“Ugh..” Kiri groaned, “Whatever.” A car door opened in the background. “Hey man!” More shuffling and the sound of hands clasping together. “You ready to go Midorya?”
Katsuki stilled. Laughter filled his ear piece. “Send me the address, I’m on my way.” He ended the call, started his bike, and drove a little quicker than normal.
As expected, the party was a complete nightmare.
Music blasted through the house loud enough to rattle the walls, barely drowning out the hundreds of voices packed inside. Students from schools all over Tokyo crowded every room, shoulder to shoulder, filling the air with laughter, shouting, and the sharp scent of alcohol.
Bakugo pushed through the sea of people with a scowl.
A group of girls stood near the kitchen island, passing around shot glasses and shrieking with laughter after each round. As he brushed past, one of them caught his eye.
She smiled immediately. With a playful wave, she hooked her thumb toward the staircase behind her, the invitation obvious.
Bakugo didn't slow down.
He didn't smile back, didn't acknowledge her beyond a brief glance. He simply turned his attention elsewhere and continued weaving through the crowd, leaving her standing there as if she'd never spoken at all.
Kiri stood out in crowds, his spiking red hair a beacon in the distance. Before heading his way, Bakugo dipped down to grab a beer from a cooler, cracked it open, and chugged about half.
“No fucking way!” Kiri spoke loudly over the music, going in for a dab up. “The Katskui Bakugo, here, at a party.” He sipped his drink.
“Don’t get used to it.” He murmured over the opening of his bottle, taking another long gulp.
His eyes wandered, looking around at the wave of students dancing, drinking, making out. This was not ‘his thing’, nor did he even really drink, but he needed it tonight. Still scanning the room, his eyes landed on familiar dark green locks.
Izuku stood off in the distance, talking to a group of his friends from school. Ochaka stood next to him, arm looped in his, laughing. Bakugo downed the rest of his drink, and stepped off to get another.
“Want something stronger than a silly beer?” Momo was standing at the kitchen island, pouring vodka straight into a red solo cup. “I make the best mixed drinks.” She smiled.
“Sure.” Bakugo slid closer, examining the juices. “Gimmie something with orange juice.” He pointed, spinning to rest his back on the counter, keeping his eyes pointed in the same direction.
He watched Izuku conversate gracefully, something he wished he was better at. Izuku lifted his cup to his mouth, then raised it up as he shook it, as if saying he was empty. He unhooked with Ochaka, and turned to walk in Bakugo’s direction.
He snapped his head to the side, finding Momo finishing up his drink. She smiled as he took it, taking a small sip. Strong, but good. He nodded at her as if to say thank you. She knew that's the best she could get out of him.
“Oh Kacchan, hey.” A friendly voice spoke, “I didn’t think you’d ever come to something like this.”
Izuku stood at the end of the island and passed his cup off to Momo, who apparently was the resident bar tender. His arm brushed Bakugo's for a brief moment, and he stiffened.
“I didn’t think you were the type to drink.” His eyes peered over the edge of his cup as he took a sip.
Izuku laughed awkwardly, “Yeah.. not usually.” He fidgeted with his fingers. “Just wanted to enjoy the weekend before mid-terms, you know?”
Bakugo nodded, brows raised, as if he found that amusing. Which he did. Izuku was a model student, and not the type to drink, even on the weekends. “I see..”
Izuku couldn’t help but blush, awkward conversations with Bakugo always made him do that. He reached out for his drink, hoping some liquid courage would save him now. His eyes met the nape of his neck, trailing up towards his spiky blonde hair.
“Did you, uh, ride here?” He spoke above the music , “Like on your bike?” He took another sip of courage.
“I did.” Bakugo stood, “Why? Wanna see it?” A faint smirk lingered on his face. Then he nodded his head towards the front door, turning on his heels to walk out.
Of course, Izuku followed.
He watched Bakugo’s larger frame make his way through the crowd, not even glancing back to see if he was following him. He clicked the front door open, letting Izuku walk out in front of him before he closed it. A dull thump of music still remained, but he could finally hear his own thoughts.
“Woah..” Izuku spoke, “I love that color.”
The Kawasaki Z650 gleamed beneath the streetlights, its bodywork painted a deep, luxurious crimson. Matte black detailing traced the bike's sharp lines, from the exposed trellis frame to the aggressive fairings, creating a striking contrast that made the red appear even richer.
“It almost matches my shoes.” Izuku stuck his leg out, turning his foot to show off his red and black sneakers he wore religiously.
“It’s one of my favorite colors.” He rested himself on the seat of the bike, “Have you even been on one?”
Izuku shook his head. “No way, my mom would kill me.” He chuckled. “I’m surprised your mom doesn’t care.”
Bakugo scoffed. “She does… I just don’t care what she thinks.”
Silence settled between them, heavy but not entirely uncomfortable. Izuku shoved his hands in his pockets, glancing down the street. A car passed, but neither of them spoke. His gaze shifted back to Bakugo, to find him already looking at him. For a second, they just stared.
“Get on.” Bakugo stood, putting his drink on the curb.
“What?” Izuku tiled his head slightly, as if he was trying to understand what he meant.
“I said get on. We’re going for a ride.” Bakugo’s tone sounded demanding, like Izuku had no choice. His arm stretched out, holding the helmet for him to grab.
“What about you?” Izuku questioned. “You’re the one driving.”
Before Izuku could react, Bakugo grabbed him by the shoulder and tugged him forward.
Izuku sucked in a sharp breath, his body instinctively tensing. For a split second, he braced himself, expecting something harsh—a shove, a hit, some familiar display of aggression.
Instead, Bakugo rolled his eyes and lowered the helmet onto his head.
"Quit flinching," he muttered.
His hands moved to the straps beneath Izuku's chin, fingers surprisingly careful as he tightened them. He adjusted the fit, tugging the helmet slightly from side to side before pressing it down to make sure it sat properly.
“There, now it fits.” He took a closer step toward the bike. “Here.”
Still caught off guard, Izuku hesitantly took Bakugo's hand.
Bakugo used it to guide him toward the motorcycle before swinging a leg over the seat and settling in at the front.
After a moment's hesitation, Izuku climbed on behind him.
He made sure to leave as much space between them as possible, leaning back and reaching for the small passenger handles at the rear of the bike. It felt safer that way. Less awkward.
The bike shifted slightly beneath their combined weight.
Bakugo glanced over his shoulder. His eyes immediately dropped to the noticeable gap between them. "...The hell are you doing?"
Izuku stiffened. Before he could answer, Bakugo grabbed a fistful of his shirt and yanked him forward. Izuku let out a startled noise as he slid across the seat, nearly colliding with Bakugo's back. Bakugo ignored him, grabbing Izuku's wrists and dragging his arms around his waist.
"There."
Izuku froze.
Bakugo shot him an unimpressed look over his shoulder. "You'll fall off if you sit like that, dumbass."