Chapter Text
You lightly tap your fingers on the wooden school desk as your other hand supports your resting chin, eyes quickly peering outside to appreciate the clear blue skies out of the classroom windows. Golden browns drip from every treebranch. The sunlight proudly unveiling its rays on the lively grass. Birds were chirping a harmonious melody— one distracting enough to drown out the murmurs of a Tuesday lecture.
You redirect your gaze, eyes squinting at the classroom chalkboard in hopes the gesture can help you regain focus.
Yet the numbers only smear into haze, the lesson dissolving into a rambling string of nonsense to anyone whose mind wandered for but a moment.
It's no use, you literally can't understand anything.
“So, does anyone want to volunteer and answer this problem? I'll add additional points for board work.”
Several of your classmates enthusiastically raised their hands. You, however, slowly tucked your chin in— flicking fingers between your sparse derivative notes in an attempt to not get called on by Ectoplasm.
Thankfully, the teacher ended up calling Yaoyorozu to answer. Screeching noises of chalk ran down the board and filled the room. Writing more number sequences and equations that made you understand less and less of the lesson.
But, despite the mundanity of it all, a quiet relief settles within you.
A few months have passed since the war, and the world has been tenderly gathering itself again— stubbornly trying to reclaim what it had taken. With hesitant hands, you saw how your class lived among what remained. It was a fragile recovery, trembling even as all of you pushed to move forward.
For you, the first days after it all ended blurred into the sterile white of hospital walls. The memories were raw and unkind, far too heavy to bear alone, and the weight of survival felt far older than you were. Even as time slipped, the circumstances made little sense to grasp, It leaked in the quietest of nights like sand. Everyone carried their own version of the same burden— but that only meant you all understood one another’s pain well enough to share in the healing.
You noticed it most in the dorms, the way some of your classmates stared at their hands as though the scars still whispered back. As if skin could remember violence better than the heart could forgive it. During dinner, others would excuse themselves without explanation, meals abandoned, guilt sitting heavier than any appetite. Some days, when the ghosts of the war pressed too close, one of you would suddenly break. And the class never questioned it— for the grief, just spoke for itself.
It had left the nation shaken to its core, yet, life still continued its slow return.
And fortunately, hope was beginning to gleam as of late.
People rebuilt, repaired, and relearned how to find purpose in the wreckage. Buildings stood taller and cleaner. Streets became busier. News channels talked more about reconstruction than casualties these days. Pro-hero headlines felt more reassuring to hear than ever.
And while the world was learning to breathe again, every breath still hurt. The cities were being reconstruct— but so were its people. And the amount of pain and hurt it took to recover was not to be taken lightly. It had been a long, merciless path— one paved with the weight of names and faces that would never answer again. A road walked barefoot through bones and blood, each step a reminder of what it cost to still be standing.
You look around, memorizing the room with quiet gratitude, comforted by the thought that this is the view you’ll be living in once more.
”Nice work, Yaoyorozu.” Praises Ectoplasm from the front. Your classmate nods and saunters back to her desk.
That's the correct answer? Your teacher's brief explanation of the problem brought you back to reality. Hurriedly, you look down at your notes to check your poor attempt at solving the problem, and numbers couldn't be further.
Not even seconds later, Ectoplasm already erased the writings on the board, a new set of derivatives quickly set in its place. It definitely did not give you much leeway to comprehend the problems at hand.
He sat the chalk down, lightly dusting his fingers as he scanned the classroom.
Your attention flits from face to face instead of focusing, and your gaze inevitably drifts toward one person in particular.
Bakugou Katsuki.
He sat near the front row of the classroom, the same seating he had as last year. His arms were crossed tight, head tilted slightly to the side as if he wasn’t listening— but you knew better.
With your desk just rows behind his, it gave a reasonable distance to study his profile when you were bored, but far enough not to get caught doing it.
An activity that you've been indulging more as of lately.
It certainly wasn't a deliberate choice of spending your already limited spare time. You didn't wake-up one random morning and decided “Yeah, I’ll watch Bakugou Katsuki by the sidelines.”
You can't even tell yourself when this unreasoned past-time of yours has begun. Yet you somehow struggle to stop your eyes from drifting from him. Like he was honing a primordial force, too powerful to retract it from magnetizing you in.
Because of unintentionally nosing up to his business from the daily— you started to take notice of the miniscule changes that were outside the rough edges that boxed Bakugou Katsuki.
He too, had changed— and with everything that happened, it would be stranger if it didn't.
It wasn't in ways that were easy to put into words. Bakugou’s fire was still there, fierce and unyielding, but to your eyes it undoubtedly burned differently now.
There was a slither of new softness clinging to his words and actions. It was evident in the way he treated Midoriya since he came back from doing vigilante work. From what you could tell, ever since then, he carried himself less like an explosion and more like a steady flame that kept others warm without scorching them.
It was definitely a sight to see. A classmate you had known to be the embodiment of a ticking bomb sagely mellowing out through the past months. Arguably so, you would almost consider Bakugou to be part of the quieter ones of the class. It was intriguing.
But there's clear evidence to your judgement, just like right now. Bakugou's tapping his pen subtly, like there was some clock in his head the rest of you couldn’t hear. His eyebrows were knotting together as he's solving the intricate problems on his desk. Arm muscles flexing as he moves his hands and grips the pen tightly. Sharp, glistening ruby eyes narrowing themselves with a flick of irritation as it stares back into yours—
Shoot.
Swiftly, you flitted your head back in the opposite direction. Barely containing down a groan as you internally curse yourself.
"L/N!"
"Yes!?"
You hurriedly stood up upon your teacher calling your name. Just what were you doing? You should've known better than to doze off— especially not in Ectoplasm's class.
"What's your answer for problem number seven?"
What? number seven!? You scramble your notes as if the answer would magically pop out of it.
“Not paying attention, I see.” Ectoplasm snides, and you apologetically bow your head to him for doing so.
“Hmm, okay. You can answer, Bakugou.”
You look at the blonde's direction, albeit hesitantly. When the teacher called his name, Bakugou rose to his feet with certainty. His steps firm and deliberate— each one echoing the confidence that carries him as he writes his answer on the board.
“Excellent work!” Ectoplasm commends. “And please, everyone, this will come up in the next quiz, not to mention, the midterms. Pay attention.” The pointed tone in his voice made it clear those words were meant for you.
Huffing out of relief, He instructs the both of you to sit back down on your respective seats, and your eyes discreetly trace Bakugou’s steps going back to his.
Thankfully, he didn't even try to move a muscle to look back in your direction. You had an inkling that would probably make things more awkward than it already is. And as much as possible, you would like to keep things clean and neutral between you two.
You weren’t unfond of him, but you're not particularly close to him either. A quiet reason why you're so restrained when he's around— so hesitant to interact with him on the daily.
But no one could really fault you for that. Especially not from someone who, upon setting foot on campus, had declared he honed no interest in making friends. It was a wall he so stubbornly and consistently guarded just until recently.
From where you stood, he had spent the last few months simply tolerating your presence. He had to to some extent. Especially with Mina's decision to drag you into his group.
So as far as you could read between the lines, You and Bakugou were good acquaintances.
Sort of.
You'd been in the background of each other’s lives since first year. You weren't his level loud, and his skills are of a different caliber altogether. Quietly existing backstage was what you did, a mix that did not blend well with someone born to walk on the spotlight like Bakugou— whether that attention was even welcomed by him, it didn’t make much of a difference.
There were scant interactions between the two of you, barely moments he’d strung together a complete sentence in your direction. You could count them, easily, and still have fingers to spare.
“L/n?”
“Huh?”
Your head lifts slowly, eyes meeting Tokoyami’s as he cranes towards your desk, a neat stack of papers in his hand.
A quiet grumble stirs in your chest as your mind seems to be betraying you, existing elsewhere entirely today.
“These are your worksheets for today's homework, class. I'll collect them tomorrow before the lecture starts,” said Ectoplasm. And you take one as you pass it backwards.
He continues, fixing his laptop and bag from the teachers table. “Just be sure when you copy them from your classmates, you know how you got those numbers since i'll be calling you all for tomorrow's board work, class dismissed.”
The bell finally rings, and a few groans echo across Class 2-A, proof that everyone was more than ready to call it a day. As you put your things back, the soft rustle of your belongings is interrupted by a high-pitched voice cutting through the air.
“So… what was that about, huh?” Mina probes, both of her hands propped on your desk as she waits for you.
“What's what, Mina?”
“Oh, I don't know? You zoning out in Bakugou’s direction, again!” she says exasperatedly, “Ectoplasm even called you out! Don’t play innocent with me, Y/n. You were practically gawking at the guy.”
“Gawking?” you repeat, a brow lifting as you turn to her. “Staring is not the same as gawking, Mina.”
“Oh, so you do admit staring.”
You blink at her, completely thrown off, “It's not illegal to look in his direction...”
Her triumphant laughter rings bright at your reaction. You sling your leather bag to your shoulder, grabbing her wrist as the two of you exit the classroom.
As you look back at Mina, her expression curls into that signature mischievous grin that was all too telling. “Whatever conclusion you’re jumping to, I assure you it’s the wrong one.”
“Hey! I'm not even saying anything,” she reasons, trying and failing to hide a playful snicker, “I believe you, alright? No need to look so guilty.”
“My mind just seems to be in a different place today, that's all…”
“Did you not get enough sleep?”
“Yeah…” You rub your temples, voice softer as you say, “...and among other things,”
“What do you mean? Is there something you want to tell me?” Her expression shifted, growing suddenly serious.
“No. It's just—” a deep breath escapes past your lips. You glance toward the wide hallway windows, where the sky has deepened into shades of amber and gold. Peace settling deep in your chest. “...I guess sometimes us living like this, it still feels kinda surreal to me.”
Mina caught on quickly, your expression saying everything that didn’t need to be spoken aloud.
It would be a lie to claim the war hadn’t changed the way you all once lived. None of you had escaped it unaltered. You, specifically, still felt it especially in the quiet moments— the unease that never truly left, the sense that an alarm could blare at any second, calling you back to battle on the front lines.
“I see, I get what you mean.”
She pats your shoulders reassuringly, arms still intertwined with yours as she gives you that familiar, sunny look that manages to never lose its comforting shine even after everything. The warmth in her grip, the steady rhythm of your steps along with Mina— it all pulls you back to the present.
“But we're really here, living.” Mina states, giving you a gentle squeeze.
You glance at her again, letting her words sink in. Mina’s right— you’re here, breathing, living. And that alone, despite everything, is proof that life continues.
“And besides, if this were a dream, we’d be free of calculus homework— and,” she lifts a finger, pointing and circling it towards the commotion causing traffic in the halls “..whatever that mess is supposed to be.”
You follow her gaze, brows knotted in a puzzled expression.
Amidst the chaos, there stood Bakugou hiding, or rather, using Iida as a human shield. Hemmed in by a cluster of wide-eyed freshmen who’d practically turned the hallway into a standstill.
“It's his fangirls, again,” Mina says in a soft whisper.
The commotion in front of you had unfortunately become unsurprising at this point.
The war had left its marks on countless lives, and its televised aftermath made heroes into symbols. It was no surprise that people now longed to catch a glimpse of their heroes— especially the ones who had stood courageously at the front lines.
And while everyone in the class had their fair share of underclassmen waiting and wanting to spend a second of their time to talk about how you all so bravely fought, It never came close to Todoroki’s and Bakugou's swarm of eager fans always practically clogging the hallways.
Still, the faculty should've done something to regulate this issue by now, but no.
Hence why Bakugou was in the middle of it again, surrounded by a crowd of students— drowning in the sea of outstretched arms and bright eyes.
“Oi, you! Fuckin’ quit it—” he growls, trying to flee past girls aggressively trying to shove red markers to make him sign their uniforms.
“Please, everyone. Please calm down. You’re all forgetting something important here,” the president says, valiantly trying to keep the situation at bay. “Bakugou has his privacy just like everyone else. He’s not some... celebrity for you to bombard. This is school, not a convention.”
Bakugou gives a short nod at Iida’s comment, his frame still tense behind him.
The crowd seems to momentarily fall into silence that does seem to get through to some of the freshmen— but there are still a few who look way too excited for their own good, eyes darting between Bakugou and the rest of the group.
Reluctantly, you and Mina both start pushing your way past the center of the crowd.
Some of the freshmen are trying to re-plead their case to Bakugou, who’s now standing with his arms crossed, still behind Iida. Sure, he’s always been the type to tell people to suck it up, but this constant attention must be wearing on him too.
The scene was overwhelming to look at alone, you can't imagine how much more stimulating it could be if you're the center of it all. Because, despite the hard flex of his features and the practiced glare he wore like armor, you too have observed him enough to discern the faint blush creeping across Bakugou's face— evincing the fact that he’s most likely bothered by the constant attention.
Mina's voice averts your focus, “Maybe you should go help the guy. Take this chance to finally get closer with him.”
“You can't be serious,” you say looking back at the scene unfolding before you— letting a hollow laugh escape, “I'm fine with how things are between us. We're not even quarreling or anything.”
She huffs, “Be honest, Y/n. Don't you think it’s a little weird? We’re all in the same friend group, but somehow you two are the only ones who never really talk to each other?”
“We do talk to each other— just rarely..”
With a light tug, Mina frees your arms from hers— her stance softening before she folds her arms across her chest. She gives you that look, brows raised, a silent challenge plastered on her features. You know instantly she’s got you cornered.
“Fine. You've made a point, I'll help him.”
You watch your friend as she squeals, making little jumps that pull a smile on your face despite your defeat.
“But if he gets pissy at me,” you warn, narrowing your eyes at her, “you’re playing mediator. Got it?”
“Easy,” Mina quips, "Don't go back on your word, Y/n. You might wanna start warming up now.”
“Huh? What do you—”
“HEY, DYNAMIGHT!” Mina’s voice booms across the hallway, echoing off the walls like a fire alarm. “YOUR NUMBER ONE FAN IS RIGHT HERE—!”
Your soul leaves your body. Heat floods your face so fast it’s almost dizzying. Your cheeks, your ears, probably your entire soul is red. You swear you’re getting back at Mina for this. Somehow.
Heads turn to you, the crowd stills from surprise and bewilderment, and Bakugou’s spiky hair snaps in your direction like a lion spotting movement in the tall grass. His expression shifts instantly— annoyed, defensive, the exact storm you expected. But before he can bark something in protest, you move.
Quickly,— you push past bodies, grabbing his arm without thinking, your hand curling around the firm muscle of his forearm.
“Let’s go,” you mutter, putting your weight into the pull.
Bakugou gives you a sharp scoff, and despite the annoyed sound he lets out, he obliges. He lets you drag him out. Presence cutting through the group like heat through mist, and within seconds, the hallway parts for you both.
The two of you stomp past the remaining fans with him trailing right behind you, ignoring the complaints and questions coming from the crowd. You look back, seeing some of them aimlessly trying to catch up to the both of you.
“Tch. grab on,”
Bakugou shakes off your grip. Instead he holds your hand inside his large, calloused ones.
A million thoughts run through your mind as you scan his face. For a moment, your gaze lingers longer than it should.
The both of you run through the halls of UA, side by side. The soles of your shoes slap lightly against polished floors, echoing down the otherwise empty corridor.
Bakugou’s brows are furrowed in that way they always are— focused, fierce. But there’s a flicker of something else beneath it. The way the light catches the scar along his cheeks, the steadiness in his eyes, the pump of adrenaline he might be getting off this hidden beneath his signature scowl.
Bakugou doesn't break pace, but he's leading you two now. Your steady steps following his.
The wind picks up as you two near the exit, doors swinging open at your stride. A rush of cool autumn air sweeps past you, lifting your hair, chasing away the lingering heat of rush. Leaves dance across the pavement, crunching faintly beneath your steps as you finally slow down.
You fold in on yourself, steadying your balance with a hand on your knees as Bakugou stops a few feet ahead of you. One hand on his hips, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.
A faint tug at your hand draws you in, his low voice finally breaking the quiet.
“Oi,”
“What?” you quip between pants.
“Let go, already.”
You glance down, realizing with a jolt that your fingers are still wrapped around his palm. You quickly lose grip, heat rushing to your face as you quickly pull your hand back.
His usual scowl is gone for a moment. His eyes are shut, face tilted slightly into the breeze like he’s letting himself exist in this exact moment.
“Didn’t need you playin’ damn bodyguard.” Bakugou spouts as he steadies his breath.
You have already expected that he wouldn't as much as appreciate you meddling in his business, no less in front of a crowd. You straighten yourself up from trying to catch your exhalation, at least you tried what Mina had in mind. “It was Mina's plan, you should thank her brilliant idea for that,”
“Tch,”
So much for a proper reply. A quick glance at Bakugou’s face and you confirm that fortunately he’s not pulling a face. "You okay?", your tone comes out a bit more concerned than you intended.
He doesn't look at you, but the tension in Bakugou's shoulders loosens. “Doesn’t bother me,” a lie that rolls naturally off his tongue leaves quite sourly. “I get stared at all the damn time these days.”
Of course he'd say that. You give a quiet laugh in return, trying to keep it light. “Yeah, yeah. You attract attention everywhere you go.”
He hums at your sarcasm, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “‘Ya act like you're so above them, huh,” Bakugou holds his gaze on you for a long moment, crimson eyes accusing. You gasp, realization dawning on you.
“What are you— I wasn’t—!”
He scoffs under his breath, low and warm. “Sure ya weren’t, number one fan,”
“Of course,” your eyes roll as you recall Mina declares you loudly as some kind of Dynamight otaku, ”I just happened to look your way. Don’t read into it,”
You hasten your steps, as if distance could save what dignity you have left. Bakugou falls into rhythm right behind you, and even without looking back, you can feel the smug grin stretching across his face.
The two of you walk in silence for a while, and despite everything, a small smile settles on your lips at the ease that settles between you. Oddly gentle and serene. When eventually the both of you come to a stop just in front of Heights Alliance, he looks over at you, and his voice drops to a mutter you didn't catch at first.
“What was that?” you stop, stare craning up to look at him.
Bakugou sheepishly scratches the back of his head, “Thanks. I guess,”
You look over at him, eyebrows raised. You’re not used to hearing Bakugou thank anyone— let alone you. But you feel the sincerity in his voice, it's undeniable, even if it’s buried under a layer of annoyance.
“You’re welcome, I guess,” you say as you look down at your shoes, trying to play it cool. You're still quite embarrassed with the string of incidents that transpired.
“Just— it's best you don't do that shit again.” He insists with distaste written all over his face, “Some of ‘em can get pretty intense, might actually jump your ass next time.”
You make a small, thoughtful sound. The idea alone sends a shiver down your spine— the next time Bakugou’s fangirls crowd the doorway, you’ll be etched into their memory as that strange Dynamight fan.
Bakugou steps ahead of you, hands shoved in his pockets as he proceeds to walk, his broad back filling in your view. His voice then rumbles low, taunting.
“Gotta go, Bangs.” He raises his left hand without looking back.
“Bangs?”
.
.
.
.
.
.
Afternoon has settled into the horizon, you're seated at one of the dorm common room tables, hunched over your calculus assignment. Your pencil pauses mid-equation. Blinking hard, trying to refocus.
Bangs
Bangs
Bangs…
The nickname circles in your ear like a ringworm you can't get rid of, and you fiddle your fringe with slight irritation straight to the thought. Bakugou… he's actually so odd at times.
You try not to dwell on it. Continuing to write when Mina— sprawled across from you with her own untouched homework, taps her pen lightly near your books. She calls you, low and playful.
“Psst— how'd it go?”
You raise your head slowly, already wary, brows drawn in a tired, suspicious arc. “What?”
“Your talk with Bakugou, duh.”
“It was hardly a conversation,” You hunch over, eyes hollow from recalling the interaction. “Well.. I guess we did talk— at the cost of my dignity, that is. Please don't do that again.”
“You make it sound as if it was a total disaster, girly!” She says while nudging her notebooks out of the way as if it was an obstacle between you two. Mina’s pen slips from her fingers and clatters onto the table, homework instantly forgotten.
“It was,” you retort, “He actually called me out for staring at him in class today. It's way worse than a disaster— I don’t even know how I’m supposed to face him tomorrow."
She drawls out a quick “what?”, partnered with concern and a drop of shock on her face. “Well Bakugou being blunt isn’t exactly news. But seriously, what kind of guy just puts a girl on the spot like that?”
You sigh painfully low, “It's whatever. Just goes to show that we're better off with… whatever we are right now.”
Mina hums, thoughtful. She rests her cheeks onto her palm, eyes steady with intent. “I’m just confused, you know? You've never struggled to click with Sero, Kirishima, or Kaminari for that reason. What's so different with Bakugou?”
“Maybe because he is Bakugou?” Though he's toned down his ill-tempered, loud, and crass personality— you're still intimidated with that strong persona of his. Its overwhelming to someone like you that has a personality comparable to a plant. “And lower your voice a little, we're not in our dorm rooms,” you say into a whisper.
“Right,” she says sheepishly, "Still, he's just another guy too, Y/n. Unless…”
“No— It's far, far from what you're thinking, Mina.”
Mina takes it lightheartedly, “Okay. He's just another guy, and you're completely alright with talking to one.”
Your lower lip just slightly to that. “Well, how about you, Mina?” you say, flipping a page in your textbook and tapping your pen against it. “You’ve had your own experience with romance, right?” The question comes relatively easy— a neat way to slide the attention off yourself.
“Yeah, before coming to UA.” she says too casually you're somewhat bummed, “But I've come to the conclusion that playing cupid is more fun!”
“Uhuh,” you trail, “And that’s why I'm your target,”
“That’s… one way to describe it,” she says, giggling as she leans over the table.
You click your pen once more. Ready to end the conversation short, “Let's just get back to work. I'm already struggling answering this all because I spaced out in Ectoplasm’s class,”
“Mhmm, spaced out at Bakugou.”
You merely shook your head, letting Mina’s teasing roll off as you turned back to the scattered notes before you. With a mix of tutorials, textbooks, and quiet persistence, you eventually pieced together the answers, finishing the worksheet after hours of steady effort.
You stretched your arms wide, every muscle screaming in protest, ready to surrender to your sheets despite the young night. Your eyes caught your friend, pencil tapping against her head as if the homework whispered some cryptic message only she could hear.
“Do you need help, Mina?”
“Desperately,” she pleads. Her gaze grows lazy— until she suddenly shoots up from her seat, waving a hand to someone behind you. Following her eyes, you pivot toward the kitchen counters. Mina’s voice ringing out when it hits you who she’s shouting for.
“Bakugou, here!”
“Hah?”
Your body darts instinctively toward Mina, mouth forming a silent ‘what the hell?’ as heavy steps inch closer and closer towards your table.
“Didn’t you literally just say you can’t face him tomorrow?” Mina grins. “So why not just face him now?”
“That’s not what I meant and you know that,” the words leave you more like a groan than speech.
But it's too late. The very guy you wanted to avoid has his feet planted sturdy in front of you. There's an itch inside your brain telling you to leave, make up some stupid excuse that you suddenly have something important to do. But Mina is already tapping the space beside you for Bakugou to claim. “Have a seat,”
You hopelessly look at her with intent, wistful she'd take pity upon your signaling pleas to get you out of the situation. She only waves a shy hand, telling you discreetly that you've got nothing to be worried about.
“I need help on our calc homework— please teach us, King Murder Explosion,” she says, clapping her palms together, a plea that surprisingly worked.
Your eyes narrow at her and she snickers. The whole reason why the two of you did the assignment together was to help each other, and Mina just had to throw your set-up out.
Bakugou’s eyes flick to her, before he slides into the chair next to you with a soft creak. “Got it mixed up, idiot,” he mutters, taking and scanning her paper.
“Yeah, yeah. Just guide me with the process, then we'd be done in a giffy.”
He settles in the teal-colored seats and grabs a spare pen and paper from your pink friend. Bakugou turns to you, eyes sharp like always, “Tch. Bangs, you too?”
“No— I'm done!” you shake your head profusely.
Mina's quick to look at you with perplexity. Quietly mouthing what Bakugou had just called you.
“Bangs?”
You merely shake your shoulders in reply.
Luckily Bakugou's attention is fixed on Mina’s page, tracing each equation with care as he starts explaining the steps, a quiet tension in his restraint that somehow ends with Bakugou scolding Mina for not paying attention to the material at all.
All while you catch your friend with a mischievous curl of her lips as Bakugou obliviously continues his lesson. You groan silently into your hands, little did you know but peace won't be settling long enough as you thought.