Chapter Text
“If you're so desperate for a Quirk, why not take a swan dive off the roof and pray that you’re born with one in your next life?”
Those were the last words that Katsuki ever said to him.
He didn't even have the nerve to turn his head and see Deku’s expression.
...For all that he threw around the word “coward” in reference to others, looking back, Katsuki could only think that right then, right there, he had been the only coward in the room; too afraid to look and see the effect his words had.
And... And if Katsuki was not a coward in that exact moment, then he was someone much, much worse:
He was someone who didn't care what reaction his words warranted; who didn't care that he encouraged someone to commit suicide.
No matter how he looked at it, he had either been a villain or a coward.
Katsuki didn't know which option was worse.
The next day, Katsuki began his morning routine. After taking a quick shower, getting dressed, and making breakfast, he began his walk to school.
He didn't notice it straight away.
It took him all of homeroom and half of his first class before he did.
Admittedly, as much as Katsuki hated the kid, Deku’s character tended to stick out in a room. Something about his personality, maybe; Katsuki didn't care enough to figure it out. But no matter what it was, Deku’s face was one that tended to stick with people.
So, with a face, a personality like Deku’s suddenly gone…
With his presence, as annoying and pitiful as it was, absent from a room…
Well. It was something that people noticed. Something Katsuki noticed, with homeroom’s end and half of his first class finished.
Katsuki didn't care, of course. He didn't care about worthless Deku, and he didn't care about his supposed absence.
Why should I care about him, anyway? I couldn't care less about where he was. He could jump off a roof for all I—
It was at this moment, halfway through his first class, that Katsuki stopped, and thought to care.
He remembered yesterday: the words spoken.
...And then he shook himself and scowled at nothing. Deku wasn't that stupid. So stop wasting time thinking about that quirkless wannabe. He wasn't that stupid.
He wasn't that stupid, he thought throughout the rest of the school day.
He wasn't that stupid, he thought, taking one look at the hallway, leading to the door, leading to the stairs, leading to the roof, leading to—
He wasn't that stupid, he thought, taking one look at the hallway before turning away and walking home.
…
...And then he opened his home's front door, and stared at his mother who stared at him, who stared at his mother, who stared at him, eyes wide and holding her phone and saying something, something, asking him something as the voice on the other end of the call talked and talked and talked hysterically and—
“Katsuki, you didn't see Izuku at all today, did you?”
Katsuki stared at his mother for a few moments, eyebrows slowly furrowing. The voice at the end of the phone—that was Auntie Inko.
Katsuki took a breath then half-forced a scowl on his face, brushing past his mother, ”No, I didn't see Izuku at all today.” He copied her words exactly as he brushed past her to go to his room, his response meant as a mock more than any sort of answer. He didn't need to see his mother’s face to know that she rolled her eyes at his tone of voice.
He expected that to be it.
He didn't expect her to grab his shoulder and turn him around to face her again.
”I'm not joking around, Bakugou Katsuki. When’s the last time you saw him? This is important.” By the tone of her voice, yes, she was extremely serious.
Katsuki felt something squirm inside his chest uncomfortably and only frowned harder, ”Jeez, you old hag, calm down! I saw him yesterday at the end of school. Now let me go to my room; I have homework to do.”
He and his mother glowered at each other for a few strained seconds before Mitsuki’s lips pressed together tensely and she looked away, giving the phone her full attention.
”Sorry, Inko. The brat didn't seem to see him since yesterday after school let out. Are you sure you haven't checked..."
Katsuki left, slamming his bedroom door closed behind him before he could hear the rest of the conversation.
He... He wasn't that stupid, Katsuki told himself. He wasn't that stupid. He wasn't that stupid.
He... He wasn't.
He wasn't that stupid, Katsuki thought the next day when Deku failed to show up to school for the second day in the row.
And when did Deku last miss more than one day of school? Katsuki could barely remember. In Grade Four, half the class caught the flu and missed three days minimum, weak Deku included.
He wasn't that stupid, Katsuki thought the next day, staring at the still-empty seat across the way, still empty, still empty, still—
He wasn't that stupid, Katsuki thought on the weekend, fingers clutching the T.V. remote as Deku's stupid, taunting smile and bright, carefree eyes stared at Katsuki through the News channel, the word 'Missing' in bolded letters under the picture.
He wasn't that stupid, Katsuki thought on Monday.
He was believing it less and less.
He wasn't that stupid, Katsuki thought.
He wasn't.
"Hey, Bakugou!"
Katsuki glanced over, offering a noncommittal grunt in reply.
"Lively as ever, I see," Kirishima—Katsuki finally learned his name—spoke in faux-seriousness.
"Yeah, what's up with that, Bakubro? You've been more..." Tape Arms gestured wordless at Katsuki's slumped form, "... lately."
Katsuki didn’t quite know what he meant by the gesture, but seemed to be the only person with this dilemma because Pikachu spoke up next:
"He's right, yanno. You've been out of it this week. What's up?"
Raising an eyebrow, Katsuki dryly shot back, "You damn extra's annoying insistence on my personal life is what's up, Static Brain."
He heard a small, "Ah, there he is," from who he thought was Raccoon Eyes. But before he could shoot back a reply, Aizawa-sensei walked into homeroom. At his dry glare, all the students not already in their seats scrambled away like startled mice.
"Alright," their teacher began without preamble. "Iida is in charge until your first class starts. Don't kill each other." Aizawa was already halfway zipped into his trademark sleeping bag by the time he finished speaking.
The whole class sat in frozen silence for the greater part of a minute as they stared at Aizawa's dead form. Only when they were collectively certain that he was asleep did they turn in their seats to continue conversations.
Katsuki, for his part, was seated farther away from the rest of the extras who insistently hung around him (he vehemently refused to use the cursed term Bakusquad that Pikachu kept trying to implement). Thus, so long as he conveniently happened to not notice Tape Arms waving a folded piece of paper his way, Katsuki was able to easily dodge their attempts at including him in conversation.
Instead, he gazed forward stubbornly, chin resting in his palm. Since the previous summer, Katsuki had tried to keep himself out of the limelight as much as possible. He just... didn't want a repeat of last year. He didn’t want to deal with the inflated ego that he associated with popularity any longer. And he... he didn't want to regret anything else. Not again.
Once was more than enough.
He closed his eyes briefly and swallowed, pretending not to notice the growing lump in his throat.
Their first year at U.A. was slowly nearing its end. But Pikachu had been right; this week was rough.
He…
He didn't want to think about it.
He flinched minutely when the classroom door swung open violently. The sound of it hitting the wall with a sudden bang! was quickly shadowed by Present Mic's loud shouting, however, and Katsuki grit his teeth, red eyes glowering.
Class was officially starting.
Katsuki wasn't quite sure if he managed to pay attention to the whole lesson. Usually, he was pretty quick with learning the material, but lately, he felt like he had been…
...Drifting wasn't quite the right word, but it was the closest Katsuki could get to the distant feeling. He had just been more distracted recently, his mind elsewhere.
His only saving grace throughout was Present Mic's shrieking voice when he called for Katsuki to answer some question or another. Besides the unnoticeable flinch that came with Katsuki being forcibly dragged out of his thoughts, he welcomed the distraction.
Unfortunately, however, the same couldn't be said for his next class. The material was important, sure, but Katsuki could not pay attention. His thoughts continued to derail, and when Katsuki would realize what was happening, he’d grit his teeth and scowl at himself. This was ridiculous.
Lunch rolled around next, and Katsuki only knew this because a majority of the class suddenly threw themselves out of their seats and ran for the door—he swore he saw a certain blond get his feet tangled and almost fall to the ground. Cementoss just stared with a dead expression, even as the rest of the class slowly followed the more eccentric peers.
Staring at Ken-sensei, Katsuki felt that he could relate to the done-with-everything look.
Or maybe that was just the teacher's default expression. That... That was also a possibility.
"You coming?" An equally-dead voice asked from behind Katsuki, and he gave a slight glare as Insomnia shuffled out of his seat, passing the blond.
Katsuki didn't answer the question. He only huffed a vaguely-hostile breath before standing himself. He related to Eye Bags too, sometimes. If the purple-haired corpse wasn't such a defensive jerk, Katsuki could've seen them becoming mutuals.
(...Although the rest of the class had really done well to smooth out some of the guy’s edges like they’d done with Katsuki himself.)
Following behind Insomnia, no other words were uttered—or, at least, until the Corpse spoke up, surprisingly.
"You've been quiet today."
Katsuki only rolled his eyes heavily, answering with an annoyed grunt. "You, too? Did someone set you up to this?"
"No. It is pretty unusual, though. I'm not going to ask—"
"Good."
"—But you should consider letting your friends—"
"What friends?"
"—help you—"
"I don't need help."
Eye Bags stopped walking ahead of him, silent. Katsuki stopped, too, if only to avoid bumping into the guy. Feeling the sudden tension between them—his own hostility, the insomniac's annoyance—Katsuki did nothing to prevent his glare from sharpening defensively.
But the tall peer in front of him only turned his head to the side—though still not quite looking at Katsuki directly—and stuffed his hands in his pockets.
"They can tell that something's going on. Most of the class can; you're a pretty expressive person, Bakugou. Frankly, I don't care what's up with you, but they obviously do. You're literally doing everyone a disservice by shutting them out."
Katsuki could only stare daggers at the other’s back. His only response was to stalk past Eye Bags, heading in a separate direction from the cafeteria.
Couldn't they just leave him alone? Why were they so invested in something they had no business asking about? Nothing was even wrong.
He ended up finding a secluded area free of nosey idiots who couldn't take a hint. And he spent the next hour alone.
When the Heroics class finally rolled around, Katsuki pushed himself harder than usual, trying to snap himself out of the mental space that he found himself in.
Unfortunately, Katsuki pushing himself harder more often than not consisted of half the training area being obliterated unless someone intervened. And of course, that's exactly what happened here.
"Bakugou," Aizawa-sensei called after Katsuki destroyed yet another training dummy. His usual dead-inside gaze was instead sharp and alert. "Take a break."
Katsuki only grit his teeth and glared at the ground. He felt a buzzing under his skin, and just the mere thought of sitting around doing nothing sounded like torture. He needed to move.
"I'm fine. I don't need to take a break."
"Maybe not, but your classmates certainly need you to," his teacher replied, dodging any arguments. "We only have ten minutes left here, anyway; you might as well leave. By the time you've changed into your uniform, everyone will be on their way back themselves."
Glowering at the ground, it took Katsuki a few moments before he eventually bit out a quiet, "Whatever." Wasting no further time, Katsuki began heading towards the training ground’s exit; he knew from experience that Aizawa-sensei wouldn't budge anyway.
Since first starting at U.A. Aizawa-sensei dealt with Katsuki in a way that no other teacher had before. Somehow, the hero had figured out a way to avoid making him more agitated when talking with reason. And although Katsuki wished for that fact in-of-itself to tick him off, he also didn't want to risk pushing the matter.
Regardless, as Katsuki changed out of his gym clothes, he could see that the teacher’s words held true. Having quickly rinsed the dirt and sweat off of himself and pulling on his class uniform, he could see 1-A slowly begin to approach.
"You left early," Kirishima began, his own way of greeting the blond. And Katsuki could sense the unasked question, too.
A stupid question, maybe, but a question nonetheless.
"I'm fine," he muttered sharply, eyes narrowing slightly even as he stuffed his palms into his pockets. Fine, yes. On edge, maybe, but completely fine.
Kirishima didn't say anything for a moment longer, seemingly waiting for Katsuki to continue. When he refused to offer any elaboration, however, Kirishima only grinned and continued on almost seamlessly.
"Of course you are, Bakugou! I just want to make sure that the manliest guy here is in top shape!"
"I said that I'm fine."
And there—there it was. There was that quick gleam of uncertainty flashing through the idiot's gaze; the brief glance to the side and the split second where his smile didn't reach his eyes.
But then, almost immediately, it disappeared; vanished so quickly that, if Katsuki didn't trust himself as much as he did, he'd question if he even saw it in the first place.
But Katsuki didn't doubt himself—he didn’t—so he only tsked and deepened his glower, staring just to the left of meeting Kirishima's eyes.
"I didn't imply you weren't, don't worry about that." Kirishima’s words were as cheery as ever but still managed to carry a serious undertone. "But if you ever weren't—hypothetically, of course—then it would still be okay to say as much. It takes a real man to acknowledge his feelings, Bakugou!"
A slow blink.
"Charming," he drawled, completely deadpan even as he ignored the uncomfortable sensation in his chest. "If I ever want to serenade my emotions, I'll know who to go to."
"Uh... sure! If you w—" Kirishima's unsure reply was cut off as Katsuki shoved past him, heading to the classroom. He didn't wait around to hear if Kirishima continued.
The idiot hadn't even begun changing out of his gym uniform, too busy wasting time, words, and brain cells with Katsuki. He should’ve known by now that Aizawa-sensei didn't give them all day in the locker rooms.
It didn't take long before he was sitting at his desk, finally jerking his hands out of his pockets as he huffed a breath. So far, he was the only one back.
And yet he felt eyes on him, too. Glancing up—more of a glare than anything—to see Caterpillar-Aizawa looking his way, Katsuki silently raised an eyebrow.
"Will this affect your school or hero work for the next week?"
'This' went unexplained, but Katsuki felt that he understood. If Insomnia was to be believed, his tense mood has most definitely been noticed by Aizawa-sensei. "No," he forced out finally, switching to glare at his desk.
Silence, in the all-but-empty classroom, before Katsuki heard more than saw Aizawa-sensei shrug in his yellow cocoon and drawl on, "See to it that it doesn't. If this behavior keeps up, I'm not above pulling you out and sitting you down to talk. But I assume you rather that didn't happen?"
Katsuki knew that he wouldn't have to respond to the hero, verbal or otherwise. If anything, the question was rhetorical; and regardless, true. He was glad Sensei knew that Katsuki would literally rather face villains than talk about his feelings. Aizawa's words... they were his own way of respecting Katsuki, but still willing to get involved if it came down to it.
Reiterated; Katsuki wished that he hated that fact. But in all honesty, it was quite the opposite.
...Not that he'd ever say as much.
With those last words hanging in the air, the classroom began to slowly fill up with peers currently exchanging meaningless words before separating to sit down at their respective seats.
The bell rang out, finally, and all fell silent as Aizawa began to speak.
Let class begin, Katsuki thought dully, fingers tapping rapidly under the desk in an effort to keep some semblance of focus.
…
Not that that lasted long, though.
"—akugo."
Red eyes flickered up to meet Ectoplasm’s—and when had his class even begun?—, but not before seeing many pairs of eyes targeted on him.
Great.
"What?" He ground out sharply, hand giving a slight, sudden twitch.
"I called on you to answer a question. I assume you know this material?"
He didn't answer directly, only sliding his attention to focus on the board. Numbers swam.
He blinked.
"Thirty-two," He said.
"Alright... Can you exp—"
"Do the math. Carry the variable. Don't be an idiot about it. Thirty-two's the answer."
Someone bit back a laugh.
Someone else didn't.
His jaw clenched and his hand closed in a tight fist, hidden from sight.
"Good," Ectoplasm responded finally, intense stare shifting away to its next victim. "That's... correct. Ojiro, answer the next one."
Unimportant. It was eighty-six. Problem solved.
Katsuki was restless.
School was finally over. Finally.
Even as he rushed for the door the minute Midnight dismissed them, Tape Arms and Static Brain still somehow managed to catch him.
“Hey! Hey, Bakubro!”
So much for having a clean record. Katsuki was going to commit first-degree murder.
(It wouldn’t be your first time, his mind hissed poisonously, dripping venom. Your record’s not clean. It’s already tainted and so are you.)
A voice brought him back, helping him to loosen his jaw; he hadn’t realized he had clenched it. “Sero was trying to grab your attention all day!”
He had noticed.
Or… had he? He remembered in homeroom, and that one not-so-subtle slip in Math. But… he must have missed some.
Katsuki’s eyes slid up from the two’s shoes to glance quickly at each of their faces. Neither of them were speaking. Why weren’t they speaking? They just stood there like idiots, looking like they were waiting for—
Oh. “And?” He prompted, focusing on taking deep breaths even as he felt a tick in his forehead. Stop it. Stop it. Calm down.
“We’re hanging out! After school! And we know that you said no this morning, but we were kinda waiting to extend the invitation again? But we haven’t been able to grab your attention until now.” That’s—name… name… what’s his name…?—Static Brain talking. Soy Sauce Face just stood there smiling like an idiot.
“I’m busy,” Katsuki responded curtly.
They continued to stare at him, and why did they keep on doing that? What were they waiting for?
He only turned and began walking out of the classroom proper. He heard Pikachu whine in surprise, and Katsuki half-expected them to chase after him for the seventieth time, I swear I will—.
Both his thoughts and steps halted, and he stared blankly for a moment before giving a slight shiver and forcing himself to pick up the pace once again. Don’t think like that.
They didn’t follow after him. Katsuki convinced himself that it was relief he was feeling. Nothing else.
Next, he found himself slipping his way into the dorms unannounced. But after shrugging his bag to the floor and changing out of his uniform, he wasted no time in exiting the building again—not without getting a few questioning glances from—you know her name—Uraraka, Ponytail, and who he assumed to be Invisagirl. Annoying, but he still appreciated the uninterrupted silence as they left him alone.
And then Katsuki was at U.A.’s front gates. He only hesitated for a second before continuing on.
He’d only be gone for a few hours max. But in the meantime…
“Bakugou Katsuki?”
With one hand shoved in a pocket, the other was latched onto his opposite arm as he stood up from his chair. Leaving the uncomfortably quiet, sterile, empty waiting room, Katsuki passed the figure standing at the door without even blinking at her obvious dragonfly quirk.
“Hello again. Right this way.”
“...Hi, Ikari-san.”
“Good to see you, Bakugou-san. Take a left here.”
He already knew where her room was. However, he just stayed silent until the door closed and then sat on the edge of a homely couch. Ikari sat across from him, transparent wings folding behind her. Her movements were as serene and calm as ever as she cut him open with just a glance, her knowing eyes reading him through without mercy. A table, folder, and uncomfortable silence lay heavy between them.
“How have you been since the last time I saw you?”
Trick question. “UA’s preparing us for finals. I’ve been busy with that.”
Just beat around the bush, Katsuki. Just let her grope for the right answer. Of course you’re too much of a coward to outright say anything. Of course.
But no. Her many eyes dissected him with a heavy stare, picking out his thoughts before he even had them. “Finals, yes. Those can be stressful. But with the end of the school year comes—” don’t say it. Please don’t say it—“the anniversary, doesn’t it?”
Dammit.
His voice barely existed by the time he choked out, “Yeah. The date’s coming up.”
“You’re probably struggling a bit, then. How have you been dealing with that?”
Bakugou Katsuki didn’t struggle. He didn’t flounder. He wasn’t weak. He wasn’t. But then again, here he was. Staring down a person being paid to sort out his problems because he couldn’t do it himself.
His gaze slid to the foot of her chair and he only shrugged, hand giving a minute tremble. “I’m not.” How could he?
“How about we go over some of those coping mechanisms, then?” He hated those words. He didn’t need any damned coping mechanisms. He was doing fine.
And it’s not like he deserved it, anyway.
“Why do you say that?” Ikari said then, and Katsuki’s mouth went dry. He hadn’t realized he said that out loud.
“Because I—” He tried to swallow, fingers twitching nervously.
“Because you what?” Just—Just shut up.
“Because I—Dammit, I killed him.” There was a desperation in his voice, and he hated it—hated how he was left floundering hopelessly in this stupid damned room. “Why should I… Why should I deserve any help when I’m the one who—who pushed him off—”
His voice cut off as he tried to ignore the pain in his chest. “Breathe, Bakugou.”
He didn’t meet her eyes, then, even as the silence between them continued to grow.
In.
And out.
And in.
And out.
Seconds, minutes, hours, days, years passed. Yet only until his breath no longer stuttered did she continue.
“In order to help yourself,” said the wise sage this time around, “You need to forgive yourself first.”
And so the omens were carved onto stone. Just as vague, just as cryptic, just as useless. He refrained from rolling his eyes; refrained from acknowledging his moment of weakness. “And—and how am I supposed to do that, huh? How am I supposed to do that when…”
Ikari didn’t say a word; she just stayed silent, watching him take careful breaths as he organized his thoughts. At least there was that.
“I…” his voice was slower this time around, tasting each word as they rolled off his tongue. “Sometimes, I still expect to see him. To… To turn around and see him there. Hell, sometimes I do see him; a flash of green through a crowd and I—”
Katsuki gave a frustrated growl, gaze sharpening as he struggled to speak. Because he didn’t struggle. He didn’t, he didn’t he swear he—
“How am I supposed to—to forgive myself when he still lords it over my head? It’s driving me insane.”
She ignored how his voice cracked, which he was thankful for, up until—“Do you understand that he’s not really there, Bakugou? Your brain seeing something similar and just filling in the gaps?”
“I know that! I know it, okay? I know he’s—”
“Take a breath, Bakugou.” He first scowled at her, and then at the floor, suddenly uncomfortably aware of his posture; he hadn’t realized he had straightened, leaning forward in an almost-defensive stance. Sucking in a pained breath, Katsuki forced himself to relax, if only by a little bit.
…
…
…
For the second time that appointment, Ikari only continued after his breathing visibly calmed, watching his shoulders lift and fall with each heavy breath.
“You know he’s gone,” she repeated with that too-soft voice of hers. “But do you really believe it, Bakugou? Do you believe that he’s dead?”
His breath caught in his throat unwittingly.
“I…” He couldn't speak. Because he remembered the news. He remembered how their home was the first place Auntie Inko went to, crying even as she asked questions that Mitsuki didn’t have any answers to.
He remembered feeling sick. He remembered the feeling of his chest caving in, how it physically hurt to breathe.
“I messed up,” he remembered choking out, his haunted expression hidden as he refused to meet eyes with his parents. He remembered talking.
…
...He remembered the silence that followed, worse than being yelled at or slapped, before Mitsuki wordlessly turned around and left the room.
He remembered the funeral. He remembered how Inko avoided even looking his way, even as she asked Mitsuki, in a voice trembling with grief and anger, “Why are you here?”
Do you believe that he’s dead?
As much as he wished to forget, he remembered. So the words tore out of his mouth; an ugly thing dripping with poison. “Yes. I do.”
“And you believe you killed him?” Her words were like a punch in the gut. I did kill him, he wanted to say. I know I did. And really, everybody else does, too.
But now he no longer had any breath left to say that, and his only answer was a jerky nod, too violent in its movement to pass as normal.
“Bakugou,” Ikari began, and he dreaded her next words, even as he knew what they would be. “Your guilt is only dragging you down. If you don't learn to let it go, you’ll drown.”
He stayed silent for a long moment, still not meeting her searching gaze. Movement sounded as Ikari shifted in her seat, one leg resting on top of the other, and Katsuki felt something shift, crack, break in the air.
Like coming up for air after hours of being left without, the sudden urge to inhale hit him violently. He found himself heaving in breaths that had been criminally lacking, holding up a hand suddenly before the therapist could utter another damned command to breathe.
No such luck. “I think,” she began without acknowledging the previous silence, “We should go over those breathing techniques again. It'd be smart to get used to doing those more regularly.”
Her words rubbed him the wrong way, but he resisted the urge to react. Breathing techniques. Right.
For the rest of the damned appointment, they went over inhales and exhales and count times, and, like a traitor, his brain became calmer than when he first entered the room.
When Ikari decided them finished, he left without another word; just a grunt when she confirmed their next appointment. Hands stuffed in his pocket, he exited the room, the lobby, the building, and walked back to Heights Alliance.