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Shouta was suppose to be alone in the dorms for UA's spring break.
He was suppose to be finishing paperwork, grading tests. Getting a head start on getting everything ready for next semester and all the chaos he knows it will bring while simultaneously ignoring every outing offer Hizashi and the others try to invite him to.
And he had been, as far as he was aware, alone. For three days he went about everything like normal, leaving his small apartment in the dorms to go to the teachers office to work, then shoving passed Hizashi and returning home with just enough time to make himself a small dinner and then settle on the couch with Kiwi for a movie before bed.
Then, on that third day, he'd decided to go on a quick patrol, and upon his return was filled with restless energy he couldn't seem to get rid of. A walk through the dorms had seemed like a good idea at the time, lazily studying each of his students closed doors- most of which decorated with art or pictures or alphabet letters spelling out the inhabiter's name- with a soft smile on his face and a faint ache in his heart he refused to pay attention to.
But instead of it being Kirishima's door that catches his attention when he enters the fourth floor, the wood completely taken over by red construction paper Shouta's positive was stolen from another class with a large shark that snuck its was up from the bottom to show off its teeth, it's instead the cracked door next to it.
Bakugou's.
Which leads him to now. Standing in the opened doorway of his eldest student's room, staring down at the vague human/Bakugou shaped lump leaning up against the room's bed, the blond's comforter half wrapped around his shoulders like he'd attempted to drag it off his mattress from where he sat and shivers racking his body with a pile of sick in front of him that he was struggling not to tip forward into.
Not even taking in the pale, clammy skin or the flushed cheeks, it's obvious the kid wasn't well. But what stumped Shouta even more, as he cautiously stepped forward, was how the teen managed to avoid him for three whole days.
He'd seen Bakugou leave with the others. Got the confirmation text that all of his students had gotten aboard their individual shuttles and safely arrived home with no extra bumps or bruises.
Yet here one of them was.
Honestly, Shouta doesn't even think Bakugou recognizes him when dulled red glances in his direction. He's staring at something passed Shouta's right side- the door?- instead of actually meeting his gaze, glassy eyes not even turning to look at him when he places a steadying hand on his shoulder.
A weak whine he never expected to hear from the boy is his only response.
"Problem child?" He'd mumbled in an attempt to gain his attention, shift to the side just a fraction to be in Bakugou's line of sight, because at this point he's now more worried than angry.
Then the kid had to flinch back, another low whine seeming to catch in his throat as his pupils dilate, a quick glance down showing Bakugou's hands raised and prepared to attack. Only, instead of feeling the need to activate his quirk and stop Bakugou's own, nothing but a few weak pops and crackles manage to ignite, appearing closer to the sparklers he's seen the kid light for his classmates than his normal fiery explosions.
"Bakugou," Another flinch, more weak sparks, and those tired eyes shifted to once again look over Shouta's shoulder like he was seeing something Shouta couldn't, "Katsuki."
A short hum confirmed the kid was actually processing his existence and not just responding to outside stimuli with instinctual fear, Adams apple bobbing as Bakugou tried swallowing, and Shouta found his shoulders relax just a fraction. He squeezes Bakugou's shoulder encouragingly, tilting the boy closer to himself and farther away from the mess at his feet, "Lets get you back to my apartment. Do you think you can walk?"
"W... Wa..." The boy's lips parted, tongue stumbling over the words before he suddenly lurched forward. Shouta thanks his hero training, years of forcibly needing to be quick on his feet lest he get shot or worse, that had him moving out of the way before another round of throw up joined the pile on the ground.
Got it. Walking was out of the question.
"Ok," He takes a breath, nose scrunching up at the smell, "Ok. Im gonna pick you up then. Let me know if you need me to set you down at all alright?" He'll deal with Bakugou's room later, but right now he really would like to avoid getting thrown up on, if at all possible.
His priority, once Bakugou gave a slight affirmative nod, was now getting the teen away from the vomit, cleaning him up, and hopefully getting a mix of fluid and medicine into him to help reduce the burning fever.
Because sick Bakugou acted nothing like normal Bakugou. A fact which was only further proven when the boy curled closer to his chest after he manages to scoop him up from the floor.
He and Bakugou weren't that different in height, an inch or two maybe, and he's sure the kid still had one more growth spurt in him to actually shoot passed Shouta, but he was surprised by how easily the teen fit into his arms. How small and fragile the supposed 'Beast of 1-A' looked with his head resting on Shouta shoulder, face flushed and eyes fluttering as he struggles to remain awake, arms limb in his lap and greasy hair tickling Shouta's neck as he walked them back towards the elevator and to the bottom floor.
It felt wrong.
Bakugou had started shivering shortly before they reached his apartment, trembling fingers twisting into the fabric of his scarf and tugging on it like he could wrap it around himself instead. But that had been an easyish fix by dragging the thick cotton blanket that hung on the back of the couch over him once he unlocked his door and entered the living room.
It's when Shouta tried to pull away that problems arose.
Because that broken, aching whine was back as weak fingers clung to him, pinched eyes watching him with an emotion Shouta refused to study closer.
"Don'... Don' leave..."
"I'm not going anywhere kid," He tries to soothe. Thinks back to the way Hizashi always comforted the lost kids they would find on patrol together when they were both first starting out, "I'm just going to get something to make you feel better."
The fingers wrapped around the thin fabric twitched, before the kid looked away and took his hand back like Shouta had slapped it, "Ok..."
Despite Shouta facing down villains and goons on a daily basis, standing up and walking in the direction of the bathroom felt like one of the hardest things he's ever done.
Returning with a cup of water, a bottle of pills, an extra shirt, and a bowl in case of throw up only to find the kid half off the couch, mumbling and muttering words Shouta couldn't decipher, was a whole other fear he never thought he'd experience.
"Woah-" He'd just managed to set the cup down on the coffee table, bowl and pills tumbling to the floor, and gripped the boys shoulders just before he was about to fall flat on his face. Helped him settle back against the few pillows decorating his couch, he settled on his knees "What were you doing?"
"L'ft..." The boy croaks, breath labored with exhaustion from the small movement as he tilts his head back. Shouta makes a mental note to grab a washcloth for his forehead, "Didn'... wanna be alone..."
That was a bundle of nerves Shouta was going to have to pick apart later, "I promised I'd be right back."
"Coulda been lying... Adults always lie..."
Ok then.
After managing to wrangle the kid into a clean shirt and encouraging him to swallow down two fever reducers, Bakugou finally passes out.
Which, as he leaned back against his kitchen counter with a mug of coffee tight between his fingers, left Shouta to his own thoughts.
Should he call Bakugou's parents? He'd sent out the emails himself to all his student's guardians, letting them know that this week would be spring break and that their kids would be returning home.
So why was he never called if Bakugou failed to arrive? Why hasn't there been an active search party for the kid who always seems to find himself in trouble?
A bad feeling swirled in his gut as he tapped his nail against the glass of his mug, listening to the quiet 'tinks' and watching the boy asleep on his couch twitch in his sleep. The corners of his mouth tilting downward and the hand hanging outside the safety of the blanket flickering and sparking.
That was another thing that had concern ebbing away at Shouta's usual resolve. Bakugou's quirk relied heavily on his sweat right? The boy was plenty sweaty, even after Shouta had gotten rid of his drenched shirt and wiped his arms and face down with a cool rag.
But he's barely even managed a crackle. A few weak sparks that fizzle through the air like a dying firework every few minutes in the boys sleep despite the fact.
And he's positive Bakugou tried attacking him when they were in his dorm, so it isn't like the kid doesnt know how to use it even while ill. He knows the Bakugou should have been able to do something.
The memory of Bakugou flinching has him considering if he should call someone with more experience. Nemuri maybe? No, he knows Bakugou doesn't like her, even without the kid saying anything he can see the tenseness of his shoulders whenever she interrupts his class, the way his hands bury themselves in his pockets like he was scared she was going to grab him. And Bakugou would rather eat his own shoe than let Hizashi take care of him.
He sighs.
Stirs his coffee.
Takes a sip.
And then glances back towards the living room to find red staring at him.
"Ba-" Shouta cuts himself off, setting his mug in the counter, "Katsuki."
"Zawa...?"
He can't help the small upward twitch of his lips at the faint recognition that overcomes Bakugou's features, even as the boys hands pop faintly again when his fingertips brush against the floor.
"That's me. How are you feeling? Do you think you're going to throw up again?"
Silence. The bridge of Bakugou's nose pinches, "I threw up...?"
"A few times," He shrugs his shoulders, moving closer and sitting on the coffee table across from the couch, making sure the still half full cup of water is out of danger of being knocked over, "In your own room, I'll clean it up later."
The boys already feverish cheeks bloomed in color, gaze immediately flicking away from Shouta as he glares down at the couch cushion like it personally offended him.
"I can do it."
"You're sick," Shouta points out, the blunt words leaving little room for argument.
That Bakugou somehow manages to find anyway, shaking his head as dull nails scratch along the worn leather before stopping himself, "I can do it."
"Why don't you just focus on yourself ok?"
That was apparently the wrong thing to say, because Bakugou immediately shrinks in on himself, tears welling in his eyes and Shouta's stomach clenches uncomfortably at the sight.
"Hey, I didn't mean it like that. I just want you to feel better."
"I will be."
The response didn't fit right into what they were actually saying. Sounding closer to a scripted one learned after years of repeating the same words over and over, more so than one that made Shouta feel like Bakugou actually understood his concern.
"Just don't push yourself," He says after a moment, reaching forward to lay a hand on Bakugou's arm and keeping a close eye on the kid's expression. He still hasn't forgotten about the flinch from his first touch to Bakugou's shoulder and refuses to cause another one if he can help it, "You had to have been sick before break even started, to get this bad."
How had Shouta not noticed anything? Sure, Bakugou's known for being secretive about how he actually feels, to the point that he can hide limps or other wounds from his classmates- But Shouta was his teacher. He was suppose to be able to see things his kids tried to hide from him and force them to get help whether they wanted to put on a brave face or not.
And the teen in front of him was a huge failure on his part.
Bakugou's slurred voice cuts through his rushing thoughts, quiet and hesitant and wrong, "'M sorry..."
Shouta's heart breaks.
Because this is Bakugou Katsuki in front of him. Problem Child #2. In no universe should he be apologizing, especially not for something that is so seemingly out of his control.
Especially not to a teacher like Shouta who has failed him too many times to count.
He was suppose to be full of uncontrolled life. Commanding a rooms attention to himself the moment he enters even when he's not being loud and abrasive.
And it's not that Bakugou isn't apologetic. Shouta's been witness to more than one incident where Bakugou was being too loud or said the wrong thing and someone got hurt from it. But Bakugou's always apologized afterward through actions.
Like cooking dinner for everyone, or listening to Midoriya's rambling even when he looks like he'd rather be anywhere else. Letting the girls paint his nails and fill his hair with small braids, or sucking it up and playing whatever video game the boys have on in the common room instead of going to bed early like he normally does.
But not once, in his whole year of knowing the teen, has he ever heard Bakugou say he was sorry outload.
It takes a moment for him to find his voice, a lump caught in his throat, "What are you sorry for Katsuki?"
The boys lips press together into a thin line and the shivering returns tenfold as his grip on the blanket tightens, "I threw up... an' I was here when I wasn' suppose to be..."
"Why are you here?"
What was making you feel like you had to hide?
What was making you feel so unsafe you couldn't come to me? That made you believe I wouldn't protect you till my dying breath jut like every one of your classmates?
He keeps his tone light, unaccusing, but with the way Bakugou tenses, curling in on himself like he could disappear into the many shadows in the room, you'd think Shouta had hit him.
"Didn' wanna go home..." He whispers, like a child when they tell an embarrassing secret. Red avoiding his own grey as his gaze shifts downward, teeth chewing at his bottom lip anxiously.
Shouta forces himself to take a breath, if only to calm his own growing panic. Because the way Bakugou's been acting, the few words he's already said, have painted a terrifying picture that Shouta doesn't know if he can handle.
"Because you were sick?"
Or was it something else? Someone else?
When silence is the only thing to answer him he can't help but sigh and rub a hand against his face, because wow could he really use the rest of the coffee he'd left in the kitchen, and maybe a whole 'nother pot. But he stops the moment Bakugou whines again and tucks his knees closer to his chest.
It shouldn't be possible for such a large teen, in personality and in strength, to look so small.
A flicker of light as Bakugou's palms once again try to spark off in his defense, trembling fingers gripping the sleeves of his barrowed shirt, and Shouta would be scared of Bakugou hurting himself if he was actually able to use his quirk.
The image of hand shaped burn marks fills his thoughts and he immediately pushes them away.
"Hey," He tries for a comforting smile. Smiles comfort people right? "I'm not mad at you."
A pause that feels more unsettling than it should, "But you're mad."
"Not at you."
"hasn't stopped her before.." the words are barely whispered, like Shouta wasn't suppose to hear them at all, and he freezes.
Maybe asking these questions when Bakugou can't properly answer is wrong. Maybe he should focus on making the kid feel better, bringing him back to full recovery, and then sit down with him and talk about whatever seems to be the root of the problem causing him so much supposed fear.
Because he knows Bakugou. Sure, in the way a teacher who is forced to sees the same group of kids day in and day out is. But also in the way only two soldiers on the same battle field can, laying down their lives for each other despite Shouta desperately wishing it was only his own he had to worry about loosing and not one of his students.
And he knows the teen would never be this open this willingly, or at least not with Shouta himself. Maybe Kirishima or even Midoriya, seeing as the two have known each other for much longer than anyone else in his class, but definitely not a teacher he barely knows.
But Bakugou's never trusted a teacher from UA. Maybe he's never been able to trust a teacher at all. And maybe prying into this now, when a fever is biting at the boys ankles, is breaking whatever sliver of a bond Shouta's managed to make with him.
Then Bakugou's palms flicker, and red eyes widen in fear before he jerks them under the blanket like he was hiding a dirty secret and not his own hands.
"Are your hands ok?"
A nod. Glassy eyes watch him like a hawk as Bakugou's shoulders ease just slightly at Shouta's lack of an excessive response.
"They..." He clears his throat, Shouta almost wants to offer him another drink but knows interrupting him now is the wrong thing to do, "They get all tingly... When I take my medicine. It's annoying."
He wasn't aware Bakugou took any medication, "The fever reducers?"
Matted blond hair shifts and pulls at Bakugou's scalp as the teen shakes his head, "The suppressers..."
"How on Earth did you get your hands on those?" Only doctors were able to prescribe them, and that was in a worse case scenario of someone being unable to control a quick, mostly due to inexperience or old age, or if they were a danger to the people around them.
And Bakugou was neither inexperienced with his quirk, or dangerous to anyone he didn't want to be.
"M..." Red flicks back to the ground like he's ashamed and Shouta feels likes he's taken the first step down a path he'll never be able to take back, "Mom gives them to me... Whenever I'm home..."
He barely even realizes how tight his grip on the edge of the coffee table becomes until the wood creaks and Bakugou lets out a weak whimper, burrowing himself further into the blanket draped over him.
"Shit," He hisses through his teeth, eases his grip and lets his hands settle in his lap instead, hanging between his legs where he's sure Bakugou can see both of them, "Sorry kid."
"Mad...?"
Yes. Obviously. Very much so.
But Bakugou doesn't need to know that right now. Not when he seems to take on every negative emotion around him as a personal attack.
"No. Not at all," Shouta brings his soft smile back, slowly reaching a hand forward to rub Bakugou's arm through the blanket, trying to offer both warmth and comfort, "You haven't done a thing wrong."
He can't even bring himself to be angry about the kid sneaking around without his knowledge for three days anymore. Not after seeing what he has.
"Are you gonna send me home...?"
Shouta almost laughs out loud at the question. Because in what world would he ever do that? Ever force his student- his kid back to a place that makes him look like that? Like Shouta was something to be feared and mistrusted?
Like Shouta would ever hurt him?
"No," He whispers, forcing his bubbling anger down until he can deal with it later, away from the boy. But he can't fight the urge to run his hand through Bakugou's sweat tangled hair, "You'll never have to go back home again ok? Not if you don't want to."
And the look he gets in return at the words. The wide eyed, hopeful stare as twitching fingers fidget with the edge of the blanket.
"R... Really...?"
He looks almost young like this. Younger than the 17 years Shouta knows he is, like a child who was just handed a puppy instead of a teacher giving his student a promise.
"Really," He smiles, biting his tongue when the boy leans into his touch with a desperation Shouta's only seen in rescues victims- And isn't Bakugou technically one? Had Shouta even touched the boy after they rescued him from the villains? Offered any kind of comfort aside from a 'Good to see you back in class'?- "Hey, why don't you get some more rest, and when you wake up you can try eating something?"
The way Bakugou's face scrunches up at the idea brings a wave of fondness crashing over his shoulders and he welcomes it with open arms.
He chuckles, the sound seeming to comfort the younger as his brow smooths out and he nods, head falling back against the pillows, "Ok..." A pause, "You won' leave...? While 'm sleeping...?"
"I'll be right here when you wake up," He promises. Knows not even All for One could make him break it if the villain were to burst through the door this very minute.
Bakugou smiles then, soft and light and everything Shouta now vows to protect, and his eyes close, breath falling even not a minute later.
And Shouta doesn't move.
Not until he's sure Bakugou is comfortable, tucking the blanket up towards his chin and brushing a few stray hairs from his face.
And then he stands, fire burning anew in his veins as he pulls his phone out and dials a familiar number.
"Hey!" Hizashi's voice filters from the phone, It's obvious he'd joined the others at the bar for the night, "You change you mind about coming out? No kids means the teachers get to get wasted!"
"About that," He glances over his shoulder towards his couch. Bakugou sighs softly in his sleep, chest rising and falling with slow deep breaths under the blanket, and Shouta's grip on the phone tightens, "You have a friend in child services right? The one that's a lawyer on abuse cases? Think you can get a hold of her for me?"
Any humor from his friend's voice disappears at the words, the sounds of music and laughter in the background disappearing and quickly being replaced by crickets and footsteps on gravel, "What happened?"
"I've got it handled," He says, and maybe his tone sounds a bit too defensive for his liking, but if Hizashi finds anything wrong with it he says nothing, only giving a grunt of understanding in reply.
"Yeah. I'll have her call you first thing tomorrow. There hasn't been a case she hasn't been able to win."
The confirmation plus the reassurance has him slumping against the wall despite the red slowly bleeding into his vision, "Good."
"Do you need me to come over?" There's a faint shuffling and the familiar jingle of keys, "I haven't had anything to drink yet, so I can be there in a few minutes."
And while its tempting, to have his friend here to watch Bakugou while he goes and gets rid of some of the anger pumping though his veins, he knows inviting someone over while Bakugou's is in such a sensitive and vulnerable position could cause more harm than good.
Instead, he lets his gaze drift back to the kid on his couch, wrapped up protectively in his blanket with Kiwi, who seems to have finally come out of hiding the moment Shouta had trailed away from the boy, curled up on his chest, and takes a breath.
"No, I think I'll be ok until I see you tomorrow."
"You sure?"
An arm curls over the bundle of fur, a faint smile stretching across Bakugou's face, and Shouta breaths.
"Yeah," He drums his fingers against his thigh, starts thinking about where to put everything in his spare bedroom back home to make room for a bed and a desk, "I've got it under control."