Chapter Text
Midoriya was on the 3rd floor, and as accustomed, Bakugou assessed a willowy tree with branches reaching out perfectly to a semiclosed window. Midoriya will run off his ears about using the entrance accordingly but has never had the heart to lock the window. And despite Bakugou being able to propel himself up just fine with his quirk, he couldn’t help the boyish feeling that came with pretending to sneak into his boyfriend's bedroom. There will come a time where he will have to stop. Luckily, the time has not come yet. So he wraps around the trunk and speedily ascends, hugging the sturdiest branch with his legs, eyelevel to the window where he can see Midoriya hunched over his desk with old man glasses sitting pretty atop his nose, beside his own reflection. He wants to take a picture, keep it in his wallet and look at it everyday to say: We look good together.
“Kachaan!” In front of him the window bangs against the concrete wall, startling him. He lets out a dry laugh and palms at his chest to calm his speedy heart. “—how’s your heart?”
“It’s fucking fine, teach—” He starts, ready to go off on him about how stupid it is to just come out of nowhere at a guy whose sitting on a fuckass branch but his wrist is enveloped by fingers that feel jagged and coarse on his skin, and he lets himself be led inside by them. He just hopes the heat he feels in his face is not noticeable to the eye.
“Did you take your pills? You know your heart is frail. And look at your face!” “Yes, can it mom!” “Kachaan, this is serious—” “Izuku, I took all my pills. I was just fucking startled by this bush coming out a fucking window!” “Mina defined my curls last night!” “Sue her.” “Kachaan, stop being a meanie!” “Am not. S’ your fault for choosing her over me!” “What do you know about curls?” “I saw some videos…and I am good at everything.” “Uh-huh.” “What’s that supposed to mean!?”
Leaving their little quarrel behind, Bakugou drags a chair to eat at the teachers desk, emitting a screech that has Midoriya sending him a look. One of those where he squints his eyes and pouts, pretending to be mad only to fail and retort back to his adorable ranting self.
Bakugou lets his bag fall on the desk with a thud, and reveals two bentos: one a teal-ish green and another a pale orange.
“You didn’t have to—” Midoirya starts but Bakugo shuts him with a “Shut up, you sound like a broken CD." And once he is done setting up their respective meals, utensils, and tissues he commands, “Eat.” Midoriya does just that, stuffing his cheeks with katsudon, moaning when it hits his tongue. Bakugou snickers at his dumbassary and takes a bite of his own, nodding his head out of habit. The classroom is filled with a pleasant white sound: chopsticks snapping together for balls of rice, eggs and porklet; chewing; and the sound of a breeze dancing round the whimpy tree outside.
“Katsudon is my favorite.” Midoriya says out of nowhere, laying his chopsticks diagonally on his bento as his eyes rake over the blonde. The way his pretty lips wrap around the chopsticks, and there’s panko on the corner of his lips that he quickly swipes down with the tissue curled in his hand. He’d love to trace the veins there that continues up his forearms.
“I know, dumbass.” Bakugou looks up from his bento to find Midoriya smiling at him. Soft and freckled. And because it’s dangerous, he tips his chin at the water bottle to Midoriya's right and orders him to drink. Midoriya, ever obedient, does so.
“And you are my favorite person.” And he says it so earnestly, after he finishes, that it has Bakugou's mouth gaping, scrambling for a response, only to come up with a small nod. His face is surely red again and he cringes at himself. Luckily for him, Midoriya is merciful. “How’s patrol being?” Midoriya motions at the blondes suit, stricken with holes and ashes. But he doesn’t complain when he can see a pink nub peaking from a hole on his suit where his pecs strain the fabric. He quickly looks away, as if the sight scorched him, which it did, just that not in the ways that hurt.
Bakugou straightens and says so adamantly, “I am going to kill someone,” That Midoriya has no doubt he will. “Because tell me why the fuck Denki was sent to a fucking drowning building?” He jabs at his own crown and continues “I swear he sparked something up in here and now there’s something missing and it’s my fucking patience!” And he continues on how everyone is so incompetent, and how he can’t wait to start his own agency. Midoriya wonders why he hasn’t. Before he can ask him about it, from Bakugou's lips slip: “If you were there, it wouldn’t have lasted 4 fuckass hours to get everyone out and the building stable.”
There’s a silence after that, not thick, more so frail. Bakugou is uneasy on his seat, and Midoriya has never seen him so small as his shoulders tense and he seems to coil into himself. Like water being dumped over his head, cold splays over his skin when he finds his own cheeks damp. So that’s why. He swallows the newly lodged ball in his throat with little success and brings his hands up to his face to wipe the tears off. “Ha! Sorry, I don’ know why am cry-ing…”
“S’alright.” And Bakugou’s voice is so tender, so different from when they quarrel, from when he orders him around that it squeezes at Midoriya’s heart and he can’t stop the tears in his eyes from falling in thick globs doing his cheeks and down his neck.
“I chose this; I moved on; I don’t understand why I am crying!” Midoriya lets his hands fall on the desk when they prove to be useless against the stream of tears. His eyes fall on his empty bento when the tears blur the shape of Bakugou across from him.
“But it still hurts.” Midoriya is surprised to hear this whispered next to his ear, a pressure in his head, and arms wrapping around him. And those words, coming from him, are enough. Enough for Midoriya to let the dam flow and lay pouring on his Kachaans shoulder.