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It’s just past noon, and Todoroki hasn't slept in what's going on thirty-two hours.
When asked about it all later, that's what he’ll blame it on.
The late morning sun is far too bright against the pavement. It makes Todoroki squint bleary-eyed down at the sidewalk as he trudges the distance from his agency to the hospital, the daily bustle of the city clamoring in his ears.
He’d passed up his days off for two weeks straight now. Being the rookie, he’d been called in to cover for first one hero who'd been injured and then another whose wife unexpectedly went into labor. He hasn’t spent any time in his apartment beyond eating, sleeping, and changing clothes (all three of which were also done at his agency some nights instead) in recent memory, and to top it off, the night before—his last night of patrol before his weekend off—ended up escalating into an overnight shift when an impromptu stakeout was called outside a villain hideout.
It’s not the best scenario for someone who'd been affectionately labeled the sleepiest boy in class by his friends at U.A.
He's been working too many hours on too little sleep for far too long—and without the intensity of hero work to focus him, he finally feels it taking its toll. Todoroki’s nerves are close to shot, and there are bags under his eyes blending into the bruises he'd received in his latest rescue. It's worth it, of course. A small price for a hero to pay.
But what he wouldn't give for twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep in his own bed.
That said, nothing short of a catastrophe could make Todoroki Shouto break his routine of visiting his mother.
-X-
Todoroki arrives at the hospital in the midst of what appears to be a media frenzy.
Reporters and cameramen are clustered en masse around the main entrance, the mob of cameras and microphones jockeying for gossip.
Todoroki blinks at the scene, momentarily thrown, but isn’t deterred. He continues walking, pulling his hat a little lower and his collar a little higher in hopes of preserving his anonymity. When he passes close enough to make some sense of the media commotion, there’s one name that stands out, repeated over and over in the excited chatter:
Ground Zero.
The alias of his once-rival turned sort-of-friend (turned sort-of-more as of late) is enough to draw all of Todoroki’s frazzled attention.
Todoroki’s rule of thumb for dealing with anything Bakugou-related has always been not to overthink.
Yes, he finds Bakugou attractive—sometimes to the point of distraction, which is new for Todoroki.
Yes, they meet up for dinners fairly regularly—at least once a week these days, and more when they can.
Yes, more often than not those dinners end with one or the other spending the night. (Or with orgasms—the orgasms and the bedsharing not being mutually exclusive.)
No, they haven’t put a name to it.
Being around Bakugou is… nice. Really nice. Surprisingly so, even, in a way he doubts his younger self would have believed.
The blond still has the shortest fuse Todoroki has ever seen. His signature foul mouth has gained him as many fans as critics, and his certain brand of arrogance has landed him in more than a handful of fistfights. He’s annoyingly smart, and holds himself to a ruthless standard that’s near-unachievable. He tries harder than almost anyone Todoroki knows to be a great hero.
He also teases Todoroki mercilessly whenever he has the opportunity.
Somehow, these are all things he has gown to like about Bakugou Katsuki.
In the months since Bakugou had broken their stubborn stalemate, bridging the gap between them on the couch that first night with a kiss, Todoroki’s list of things he likes about Bakugou has only grown.
That’s sort of the problem.
They aren't dating. Todoroki isn’t even sure if Bakugou would want him as a boyfriend, or as anything approaching permanent, and has sworn to himself up and down that he won't be the one to bring up that conversation and chance ruining the comfortable arrangement they do have.
(Because Todoroki likes what they have; it’s so much more than he ever expected, and isn’t that better than having nothing at all?)
But whatever they are, or aren’t, it’s more than enough for the other’s name in the mouths of the media outside of a hospital to stop Todoroki in his tracks.
From what he can gather, there had been an altercation with a villain near the waterfront. Ground Zero had won, unsurprisingly—but now appeared badly hurt as a consequence.
“A container of oil drums exploded—“
“I heard there was so much blood—”
“It's possible he won't make it—”
“Safe to say they’d have him in surgery now—”
“What if he doesn't wake up—”
Todoroki doesn't linger to parse where their information is coming from, or demand more details. He only hears their words promising the worst and his mind begins to triage, adrenaline fueling his racing thoughts and pounding heart.
His casual walk quickly shifts into a run, and Todoroki abandons all subtlety, deviating course from his mother’s wing to the ER.
-X-
Bakugou can't be dying. That's impossible.
It's Bakugou. Endlessly determined, forever clawing his way upward to be the best, who calls Todoroki names and makes sure he gets enough sleep.
Todoroki’s mind can't rationalize it. They're only twenty—there's no way, there's absolutely no way—
He reaches the nurses’ station and nearly stumbles into it as he skids to a stop. He's greeted calmly, if warily, by the receptionist.
“Sir, are you all right?” she asks, and Todoroki waves her off with a hand that trembles.
“Fine. Has Ground Zero been brought in?” he asks, gripping the edge of the desk to keep himself steady.
The older woman frowns at him, and Todoroki can tell he's about to be fed a line about hero-patient-privacy, or caring for his own personal wellbeing, but he doesn't have time for that. He pulls off his hat a bit desperately, telltale red and white hair mussed and probably adding to the disheveled sight he makes.
“Please,” he says, hoping the combination of who he is and how pathetic he probably looks right now will make a difference to her. “Can you let me know if he's all right?”
The stern look on her face softens.
“Give me one moment.”
She picks up the phone and dials a few numbers, speaking quietly to a voice on the other end. Todoroki twists the hat in his hands, notices what he’s doing, and abandons it on the counter instead.
“Yes, I have Shouto out here for—yes. Yes. No, I don't believe so. Is he…? No, but you may need to send someone for him.”
The thudding in his ears has grown to a dull roar. The woman’s placid expression reveals nothing.
“I see. Okay. Yes, I will let him know.”
She hangs up the phone.
“Is he—” he presses, and she shakes her head to cut him off, glancing around the half-full waiting room. Todoroki doesn’t look, but he can hear whispering and can only imagine the looks he’s drawn, his hair and scar on full display.
He honestly doesn’t care.
“The doctor has agreed to let you see him, so long as you don't disturb him.”
“I won't,” he promises automatically, chest tightening at the vague answers he's receiving.
She gives him directions to the room, and Todoroki’s feet stumble there on autopilot, forgoing the elevator for the speed of the stairs. The whole way he clings to a thought: they're letting him see Bakugou, and that means he’s alive. He’s fine.
Right?
He prepares himself for Bakugou sedated, or unconscious. A lifeless form in a bed, strapped to machines.
He's alive, he's alive, he's alive.
It takes longer than he'd like to reach Bakugou’s room. Todoroki approaches the door and hears—
Yelling. Very familiar yelling.
Heart in his throat, he jerks the door open.
-X-
Bakugou sits on the edge of hospital bed, dressed in a white paper gown with his left arm bound up in a sling. He's scowling, barking at a police deputy taking his statement. There are a few scratches on his arms and a large bandage on his temple, but otherwise he looks unharmed.
He's alive, he's fine, he's alive, he's fine —
“Katsuki,” Todoroki’s voice catches and Bakugou’s gaze snaps over to meet his, red eyes widening in surprise.
The blond’s brow immediately furrows and his expression melts into one Todoroki is all too familiar with: irritated but pleased, the way he usually is when Todoroki catches him off-guard doing something sweet and Bakugou isn't sure if he should be mad about it.
Bakugou opens his mouth to speak, no doubt to chide him for stumbling into his hospital room unprompted when Todoroki knows he's supposed to be visiting his mother.
And that's when Todoroki does something he doesn't think he'll ever live down.
He starts crying.
It starts as a hitch in his breath, taking them both by surprise. His fear buckles under the weight of relief, and he can't stifle the sob that claws its way out of his throat. Hot tears he hadn't noticed welling up spill over, trailing down his bruised cheeks.
Bakugou is across the room in an instant, hovering inches from him and scanning Todoroki over for some kind of injury or cause for his distress. His free hand is outstretched toward Todoroki but not quite touching, as if unsure he should.
Todoroki feels embarrassed, and more than a little ridiculous, but also just really happy—and somehow that combination makes him cry even harder.
“Fuck, hey—Todoroki,” Bakugou says, sounding extremely alarmed at the escalation. “What happened? Are you hurt?”
Todoroki hiccups a breath and shakes his head without elaborating. Bakugou’s unbandaged hand lifts to cup his cheek, brushing away tears with his thumb.
It's gentle, and not unfamiliar at all.
Todoroki aches with the enormity of what-ifs, his mind whirling with almosts and too lates. He can’t catch his breath. Isn’t it better to regret what you’ve lost than to have never reached for it at all?
He leans into Bakugou’s callused palm. Another sob wracks through him and he grips the front of Bakugou’s hospital gown with both hands to anchor him close. He realizes then that his whole body is trembling.
And that he's smiling.
Maybe all this crying means he's been spending too much time with Izuku, or it's the exhaustion finally making him snap—
“Shouto,” Bakugou demands, a desperate edge entering his voice.
—or maybe he's just delirious with relief that Bakugou is not only alive, but fine. That, combined with the unbalancing realization of just how suddenly the opposite could have been true leaves Todoroki feeling like an exposed nerve.
Bakugou could have died, and he would have never told him—
Told him—
“I love you,” he says. Because it's true.
•••
Bakugou hates hospitals.
Everything about them.
They're too bright, they smell overpoweringly of cleaning product, and if he's landed himself in one it means 1) he fucked up badly enough to get himself hurt and 2) he's wasting time he could be training, or hiking, or doing literally anything else.
Plus, in his experience, hospitals always bring the sappiest shit out of people, and that's something he can do very much without.
Luckily for him, this stint in the hospital ought to be a short one. A broken arm, some superficial scratches, and a line of stitches for a slice at his his temple that was shallow but bled like hell—mild wounds, comparatively. All things considered, he'll likely be discharged in a few hours, made to take the week off from hero work (which he doesn't enjoy, but can live with if it means he gets out of here faster), and then life will go back to normal.
If he's lucky, he'll make it home with plenty of time to prepare some dinner, and if Todoroki isn’t passed out and dead to the world by then, Bakugou will give him a call and invite him too.
They haven’t seen each other outside of hero work in over two weeks now, what with Todoroki’s schedule from hell. Bakugou would never admit it, but breaking their routine has been… kinda fucking weird, okay? He keeps checking his phone, only to remember he’s not expecting any messages (and yeah there’s plenty of messages from Shitty Hair and the idiot group chat but that’s not the point).
It’s a distraction and an inconvenience, is what it is. He keeps making too much fucking food, and he’s running out of room to keep the leftovers.
So yeah. It’d be better for everyone if they could just get back on track. Starting with tonight.
And while neither of them would be up for any post-dinner activities… Even just sleep sounds nice.
Or that was the idea, anyway.
Before Todoroki Shouto bursts in unexpectedly and fucks up all of his plans.
(And isn't that just a fucking reoccurring theme in his life?)
“Katsuki.” Todoroki gapes at him from the doorway to his hospital room.
After a heartbeat of confused, if pleased, surprise, Bakugou really looks at Todoroki. How he’s paler than usual, at the bruises, his mussed up hair and the way he's shaking slightly, steadying himself against the doorframe.
Bakugou scowls, immediately on alert.
What the fuck has he been doing…
His first question is how Todoroki is even there in the first place. Bakugou hadn't called him, and wouldn't have for such a minor injury. And as far as Bakugou knew, he was supposed to be visiting his mother—in a completely different wing of the hospital, which doesn’t explain his presence in the emergency ward.
But any explanation Bakugou is about to demand is immediately derailed at the first choke of breath.
Todoroki is crying.
And that means Bakugou doesn't think.
He's on his feet in an instant, ignoring the protest of his overused muscles. Up close, Bakugou doesn't see any injuries on Todoroki, but with this man specifically he knows what can be hidden with a few layers of clothing. He’s hesitant to touch for that very reason, and Todoroki isn’t helping. He’s just… looking at him.
The tears morph into a wrecked sobbing. Bakugou can’t remember the last time he felt so out of his element.
“Fuck, hey—Todoroki. What happened? Are you hurt?”
A hiccup bubbles out of Todoroki and he shakes his head. Not injured, then. Bakugou reaches out, unable to help himself as he cups Todoroki’s cheek tentatively, attempting to read the answers from his face.
Because if he's not injured, then Bakugou doesn't know why Todoroki could be crying.
Todoroki doesn't cry. Not unless something’s happened that's damn near world-ending.
Todoroki leans into the touch, but instead of soothing him like Bakugou had hoped, Todoroki starts crying harder.
“Shouto,” Bakugou urges, fierce and desperate and absolutely lost. He registers the police officer slipping out of the room to give them a semblance of privacy, but doesn't dare look away from the man in front of him.
For a moment Bakugou thinks his reassurance works, because Todoroki heaves a shuddering, leveling breath and opens his mouth to speak.
“I love you.”
The tears continue streaming down Todoroki’s reddened cheeks, and Bakugou goes still all over.
“I'm sorry,” Todoroki immediately adds, uselessly rubbing tears from one cheek. “I'm sorry, I swore I wouldn’t, I just—you're okay.” Finally he lifts his gaze and huffs a choked laugh, his smile watery and bright.
And Bakugou—
Bakugou thinks his brain might have short-circuited. He feels lightheaded, his heart jackrabbiting in his chest.
“Of course I’m okay—why the fuck are you confessing?!” he demands, only slightly hysterical as Todoroki observes him from inches away. His face is on fire.
“I—” Todoroki starts, blinking more now even though his tears have slowed. His eyelids flutter and he sways dangerously on his feet.
“Shit.” Bakugou steadies him with his good arm before he hits the wall, wrapping it around his waist to pull him close—his embarrassment set aside to deal with more pressing matters.
“Hey, fucking—tell me what’s going on,” Bakugou curses as Todoroki leans heavily into him, head bent to rest on his shoulder. Bakugou takes his weight with ease, welcoming it even. He doesn’t trust Todoroki to stand on his own right now. The tears soak into his hospital gown. Todoroki’s still shaking.
It clicks, suddenly. Bakugou knows the signs of an adrenaline comedown when he sees one.
He sighs, running his hand up the length of Todoroki’s broad back.
“When was the last time you slept?” Bakugou questions lowly, mouth level with Todoroki’s ear with the way the other is slumped into him. The frantic rate of his heart is finally slowing.
“I...” Todoroki hesitates.
“Shouto.”
He can feel Todoroki’s lashes against his neck as he blinks, how his trembling hands shift their grip to the dip of Bakugou’s waist.
“A… while,” he admits. “Sorry.”
“Stop apologizing,” Bakugou chides. The residual blush from Todoroki’s confession must still be staining his face. He leans his head to rest against Todoroki’s anyway.
Bakugou gives himself ten seconds to think, and another ten not to before he sighs and pulls back.
“C’mon, you,” he mutters, and tugs Todoroki along with him back to the hospital bed.
•••
“So… you gonna tell me what the fuck that was about?” Bakugou asks him once Todoroki’s settled, pushed back against the pillows and leaning into Bakugou’s uninjured side.
The tears have stopped, but Todoroki is more drained than ever, his eyelids refusing to budge past their half-lidded state.
Bakugou had arranged for a nurse to contact Todoroki’s mother, though, so that was one less weight on his mind.
“The crying, not—not the other thing,” Bakugou clarifies when Todoroki’s silence stretches on. “You…” he struggles for the words, “fucking traumatized that cop, coming in here like that.”
It doesn’t sound like what Bakugou was going to say.
You scared me, Bakugou wouldn’t admit, but it’s what Todoroki hears.
You scared me, too, Todoroki thinks, and turns his face further into Bakugou’s chest to speak to the warm fabric instead of Bakugou’s discerning eyes.
The weight of his gamble still weighs heavy in his mind, and part of him isn’t sure he’s ready for the fallout. But he’s in Bakugou’s arms, the other’s heartbeat thumping steadily under his ear. That has to mean something.
He hasn’t lost him just yet.
“There were reporters outside the hospital,” Todoroki explains slowly, voice drained. He doesn't have to look to know Bakugou is clenching his jaw at the mention of the media. He closes his eyes. “No one was sure of your status, except that it was bad.”
He feels Bakugou tense under his cheek. “What did they say?”
“There was an explosion. Oil drums. And there was a lot of blood. ”
“Todoroki...” he mutters, sounding understanding and horrified and angry all at once.
“Of course they exaggerated,” Todoroki frowns. He doesn’t have the energy to be embarrassed about his reaction now, but he knows he will later. At the same time, he can’t bring himself to unwrap his arm from around Bakugou’s waist. “They always do. I don't know why it got to me so bad this time. Just…” he swallows past the tightness in his throat, refusing to give in to any more tears.
It's fine.
Bakugou is safe.
“It really freaked me out,” he admits finally, voice still slightly shaky at the admission.
There’s a long, quiet moment.
Then Bakugou sighs.
“… I’m sure the lack of sleep didn't help,” he scolds, but there's no real heat behind it. “The fuck do you think you’re doing, letting it get this bad?” His hand moves to card through the hair at the back of Todoroki’s head, blunt nails scratching lightly. Todoroki hums in response, letting himself go boneless. “Take better care of yourself, idiot.”
They lay like that for a few long minutes, pressed together as the silence stretches between them. Todoroki is nearly asleep when Bakugou shifts, jostling Todoroki back just enough for Bakugou to cup his cheek once more, to push his hair back from his forehead. He tips Todoroki’s face up and just looks at him for a long moment, pensive as the other blinks lethargically up at him. Todoroki imagines he's quite a sight right now, with red puffy eyes on top of his bags and bruises. But Bakugou doesn't comment. He doesn't say anything.
But when he kisses Todoroki, it's warm—firm and lingering.
Like Bakugou, Todoroki thinks dazedly, amused, pressing up into the kiss.
“Thank you,” Bakugou mutters against his lips eventually, and Todoroki’s mind circles sluggishly, considering the options of what he could be thanked for. For worrying about him? For his confession?
But Bakugou doesn't elaborate, and Todoroki doesn't feel the need to ask.
-X-
“Katsuki,” Todoroki says when they've stopped kissing but remain intwined. Sleep is tugging at him insistently, but he can't give in just yet.
“So we’re really going with first names now, huh?” he hears from above his head. But Bakugou—Katsuki—doesn't sound displeased. The tone is familiar, the same play of irritation mixed with a fondness he's never quite able to hide. Todoroki buries his face further into Bakugou’s shoulder and figures he's committed, might as well go all in.
“Yes,” he replies, momentarily letting himself be detailed from his previous thought. “Don't act like you haven't been calling me Shouto, too.”
“Tch,” Bakugou replies, and Todoroki imagines he's blushing again. He'd sneak a look—he quite enjoys a flustered Bakugou Katsuki—but he's so tired.
And he has something he really needs to say.
“But that's not the point,” Todoroki continues on, determined.
“No?” Bakugou humors him, letting his uninjured fingers tease absently his hair, mussing red and white together. It feels nice. “Then what is the point of you pushing past the point of exhaustion and nearly passing out in my hospital room?”
Todoroki blinks and tilts his head back until Bakugou is forced to look at him. They're close enough that Todoroki can distinguish the different flecks of red in Bakugou’s eyes, and see the rosy tinge still lingering at the tips of his ears.
“The point is…” Todoroki attempts to collect his scattered thoughts, looking up at Bakugou and recalling all he felt when he arrived at the hospital, and after, seeing Bakugou safe.
He thinks of the slow swell of emotion that's been building up—for years, really, if he stops to think about it.
He thinks of himself. And he thinks of Bakugou.
“… I meant it.”
“You're delirious,” Bakugou points out, not meeting his eye.
“I love you,” Todoroki insists, not budging and not looking away. “Do you believe me?”
Bakugou’s gaze skips back to his at the challenge in his voice, and Todoroki knows he's caught.
Bakugou’s cheeks are burning.
“Shut up,” Bakugou says, the jibe quiet and low and sounding fond in a way that reveals too much. He looks at where his thumb is gently stroking the soft skin beneath Todoroki’s ear, back and forth, instead of meeting Todoroki’s mismatched gaze. “Of course I do, asshole.”
Todoroki smiles, letting his eyes fall shut with a soft sigh.
“Good,” he mumbles into Bakugou’s chest, satisfied.
He's halfway under when he hears Bakugou’s voice.
He's not nudging Todoroki, or making much of an attempt to wake him. If he'd been completely asleep, Todoroki wouldn't have heard him with how softly he's speaking.
“Shouto,” he says, and Todoroki has never heard Bakugou’s voice sound quite this way. Delicate, and tentative, like a secret strung between them—one he could only admit once he thought Todoroki couldn’t hear.
But one that he still chose to speak into existence.
“Shouto. You know, don't you? That I…” he falters, and Todoroki is there to meet him.
He shifts enough to tilt his head back, smudging a kiss to the flushed skin of Bakugou’s neck where it emerges from the collar of his hospital gown. His hand tightens in the fabric at Bakugou’s waist and he lets his heavy head thunk back down.
“I know,” Todoroki hums, and finally falls asleep.