Chapter Text
You hum to yourself as warm, soapy water runs over the dishes you’re washing, over your hands. Rinse, place on rack, reach for another plate, utensil, or cup. The motions are soothingly repetitive, normally enough to set your mind adrift if not for the soft ambient noises of another person working coming from behind you.
You’d made dinner and are doing the dishes so Bakugou can rest. Not work more, especially off the clock.
You glance over at him briefly. He’s sitting at your kitchen table, laptop in front of him, brows furrowed and eyes narrowed at the screen. He’s in a comfortable-looking shirt and joggers, a combo he’s usually in after patrols.
You want to press your finger in-between his brows, smooth the lines that’ve formed there. You’re sure that when age catches up with Bakugou, the first wrinkles that’ll form will be there.
You think about teasing him about it, but high-pitched meows interrupt your thoughts. You glance down as Mikan rubs his face and body across your shins. Natsu looks on from a couple feet away, but her eyes are focused on you.
“Dinner time, huh?” you say to Mikan, who meows back as if saying duh.
“Bakugou, do you have a sec? Do you mind feeding the cats, please?” you call over your shoulder.
You hear a grunt and the soft shuffle of the slippers you’d bought for him against the floor as he heads toward the cabinet containing the food and bowls.
Mikan immediately abandons you and gallops over to Bakugou, the volume of his meows increasing. Natsu follows her brother at a more sedate pace.
“Yeah, yeah, pipe down pipsqueak,” Bakugou mutters.
He grabs the magnetic key on your fridge to unlock the child lock securing the cabinet closed. Two or three weeks into fostering the kittens, Mikan had found his way into the cabinet where you store their treats and food. He’d been so bloated from all he’d eaten that you’d panicked-called your foster org contact in case you needed to take him to the vet.
Safe to say, you learned your lesson. The internet told you child locks were the solution, so child locks you got.
You hear Bakugou curse quietly, and when you look over, Mikan’s in one of Bakugou’s hands, no doubt caught in an attempt to jump up onto the counter—or up Bakugou’s leg.
“Get over there, puffball. Wait a goddamn minute.” Bakugou sets Mikan down next to Natsu. He turns back to the half-filled bowls and continues scooping wet food into them from the cans he’s collected from the cabinet. Mikan continues to make a nuisance of himself, winding around Bakugou’s legs, and even Natsu joins in as the sound of the spoon against their bowls fills them with impatience.
You return to your task, a small smile on your face as you grab a pan to wash.
Last week, after the two of you had finished taking pictures for one of the last kitten photoshoots Ikeda had requested, the two of you had dinner. You’d convinced Bakugou to order in, since both of you had come from work and just the thought of cooking—or having Bakugou cook—bummed you out. You both deserved a break.
You didn’t think he’d been paying attention when you’d fed the cats that day, but the next time he came over around dinner time, he’d surprised you by intercepting you on your way to feed them.
“Go sit,” he’d said, grabbing you by the shoulders and shoving you towards the living room. You’d looked back at him, bewildered.
“I got it,” he’d told you.
Seeing Bakugou with them now, kneeling down to nudge Mikan away from Natsu’s bowl, is sweet. It makes you think of the day he’d followed you into that pet store, how you couldn’t picture Bakugou having a pet, that Bakugou couldn’t be soft, gentle.
Bakugou looks up at you suddenly, eyes narrowed, catching you looking at him.
You smile, then make a face at him. He scowls, looking away. Glancing down, he strokes a hand down Natsu’s back.
Still smiling, you turn back to the sink. You were really wrong about him.
You’ll miss the cats so much. Both Mikan and Natsu had foster requests after the latest pictures went up. They’re scheduled for meet-and-greets soon. You’ll miss seeing Bakugou like this, with them.
After shutting off the water and drying your hands, you head over to the living room and collapse on the couch, sighing deeply.
“Bakugou,” you say. “Come sit with me. Natsu’s almost done eating, so it’s okay.”
If you didn’t watch them, Mikan would inevitably try to eat Natsu’s portion, despite clearly being full.
Bakugou straightens up from his crouch and gives you a look. You’d say you’ve gotten good at predicting when you can boss him around a little and when you need to be on your best behavior—or risk cheek pinches or suffocating headlocks.
But these days, his energy’s been all over the place, and he’s hard to predict.
You don’t mind too much either way. You like that he’s so physical with you, now. It’s like something’s relaxed between the two of you in the past couple weeks.
Bakugou snags his laptop off the kitchen table and sits beside you, crowding you against the couch end until you’re laughing, shoving at him to make room.
He snickers and lets up, giving you some space. You lean into his side a little as he opens up his laptop, pulling up some text-heavy files. You glance at them, curious, but he nudges you away.
“These files’re classified, nosy,” he tells you. “No looking.”
You sit back, tilting your head.
“Should you be working on this even when you’re not at the agency?” you ask. “You‘ve been working a lot recently.”
“S’important. Can’t wait,” he mutters, already distracted.
You shift in your seat so your back’s to the couch arm, crossing your legs beneath you, and study him as you feel his attention shift, as he loses himself in those paragraphs.
Bakugou takes his job super seriously—it’s one of the things you admire about him. And work’s work. But you know he’s put in a full day already. This is definitely too much, even for a pro hero, isn’t it?
Natsu jumps up into your lap, a purring ball of fur. You stroke her fur, long motions down her back, and feel your eyes begin to droop.
You want to ask Kirishima about their workloads recently, maybe ask Kirishima to keep an eye out for him, even though you know Bakugou’d hate it. Because is this normal? You really need to get Kirishima’s number, next time you see him.
Nestling your side against the back of the couch, you yawn. Your blinks slow. The last thing you see before you drift off is the side of Bakugou’s face, lit by his laptop screen and the warm light of your lamps, the orange-gold of his soul-lights.
“Hey.” Bakugou’s voice is a little rough, as if he hasn’t spoken for a while. You feel a touch against your cheek.
As you slowly regain awareness, you blink your eyes open to see Bakugou sitting in front of you, on the couch, with his jacket on. His laptop’s gone, packed away.
You must’ve fallen asleep. You wonder how long it’s been.
“Don’t sleep here,” Bakugou tells you. His eyes are so dark in the dim lighting, the sharp red of them mellow in the lamplight. “You’re back’s gonna kill you. Go get ready for bed and go sleep in it.”
“Mm… what time is it?” you ask, sitting up.
“S’almost one in the morning.”
“How’re you gonna get home?” You yawn, covering your mouth. “The trains have stopped. Sleep here.”
He puts his hand on your head, musses your hair. “I get in early. I’ll take a cab.”
It might be because it’s the last thing you thought of before falling asleep, or maybe it’s because it’s the thing you’ve been thinking about every time you see him, but the words slip out as you look into his face.
“Bakugou… M’worried about you,” you say. “You work so much. Can’t you take a break or a day off?”
“The bad guys don’t take days off,” he tells you. His hand slips from your head as he turns to grab his bag. “Now go to bed. I’m headed out.”
“But—”
“Knock it off.” There’s a sense of finality to his tone, an edge to his voice, that you've never heard before. “It’s hero work—you wouldn’t get it.”
You’re wide awake now. You’re not sure what expression you’re making. You’re not sure what you’re feeling as you look at him, but your stomach’s in knots.
Bakugou narrows his eyes at you. “I mean it. Get off the couch and get moving. And don’t bring coffee tomorrow—I have a meeting with another agency.”
He gives you one last look before heading out the door.
You go through the motions of getting ready for bed—brushing your teeth, washing your face, changing clothes.
But once you’re in bed, under the covers, sleep is nowhere to be found.
You feel bad about it, but you’re a little relieved when work’s so busy that you don’t see Bakugou for a few days. He must be busy too, as even your messages to each other have petered out.
Since that night, you’ve been turning his words over in your head, endlessly, like worrying at a loose thread. What he’d said really bothers you. How dismissive he was really bothers you.
You’ve always been aware that there’s a part of his life, hero work, that you’re completely in the dark about. When you’re together, it never comes up in conversation unless you ask about it, and what he tells you is surface level. And you know that there are things about it that you don’t understand.
You just—you want him to take care of himself. And maybe you want to know that part of him too. The part of him that’s Dynamight. You want to know all of him, and you wonder if that’s in the cards.
One thing you do know is that you want to talk to him about this. You’re uneasy, because it feels like such a small thing, but… There are too many things that’ve gone unsaid between you, already. Maybe it’s time to open up.
You know you’ve pushed yourself too hard this week when you find yourself feeling achy, a headache pressing down on you like a physical weight, near the end of your workday.
When you knock on your boss’s door to ask her a question about a project you’re working on, she takes one look at your miserable face and says, “Go home. Take some time off. I know you have some saved up.”
She doesn’t have to say that twice. You’re out the door in record time.
You’re pretty sure you’re coming down with the flu, or a cold. So as soon as you step out onto the sidewalk, you begin walking to the nearest pharmacy, knowing you’re out of ibuprofen and any cold meds.
It’s a little too early for students to be out of school yet or for fellow office workers to be headed home, so the streets are less busy than usual—a relief. You don’t have the energy to put up with endlessly bumping into people, pushing against crowds. You spot a couple heroes on patrol across the street, some visiting tourists walking past you.
It begins to drizzle, and you curse, increasing your pace and trying to hurry.
Before long, the drizzle turns into a steady downpour. You see other people caught unsuspecting in the rain dart for shelter or continue on their way, undeterred.
Groaning, you duck under a nearby business’s overhang. You close your eyes, trying to think past the throbbing in your temples. Should you continue on to the pharmacy and hope they sell umbrellas so you can make the trek to the train station and back home? Or should you not bother and just head straight home?
The latter option is feeling more and more appealing as the seconds pass. You sneeze, covering your face with your arm.
“Excuse me…”
You open your eyes, your gaze falling upon a teenage girl in front of you. She’s in an electric blue hero suit, bright against the gloomy day.
She’s so familiar-looking. You squint at her, trying to place her.
“Oh! You’re Dynamight and Red Riot’s intern, right?” you say.
She smiles broadly. “Yes! You remembered me! Hello!”
Mustering up a smile in return despite the pounding in your head, you say, “I’m sorry we weren’t introduced then, though I know you and Red Riot were in a hurry to get going.”
You give her your name, and she grins at you, pushing at the bangs across her forehead dripping water into her face.
“I’m Tachibana Yui! Or, I mean, Pulsar! It’s nice to properly meet you!” She hesitates, then bites her lip.
“What is it?” you ask.
“What? Oh!” Tachibana blinks rapidly, looking flustered. “You’re just… a lot different than I imagined you’d be.”
“Oh?” You wonder why she would be imagining what you’re like in the first place. Then you remember what she’d interrupted the first time you’d crossed paths and make a face.
“Not in a bad way!” she says quickly, glancing nervously at your expression. “Just—I thought, because of how Dynamight is, you’d be—scarier.”
You blink. Then you bring a hand up to your face to hide a smile.
“Is Bakugou that awful? I’ll tell him to be nicer to you.”
“No, no!” Tachibana waves her hands. “Please don’t! He’s not bad at all, really, when you get used to him. He’s just intimidating is all.”
She’s not wrong. But she seems so earnest, and sweet, that you can’t help but want to tease her a little bit before you part ways. The steady pour beyond the overhang shows no signs of letting up, and you’re already resigned to heading straight home while you have the energy.
“Hmm.” You give her a doubtful look, knowing she might interpret it as skepticism.
Her brows come together. “I mean it! Actually, since I started at the agency, I’ve really improved my quirk! Dynamight comes to the training room when I’m practicing sometimes, and he gives me some really good advice. My teachers have even commented on my improvement!”
“Okay, okay, I believe you,” you say, laughing softly. “I’m glad he’s being a proper mentor. Please be patient with him.”
“I—”
“Hey, kid, what’s—”
You jump a little and turn as a woman emerges from the rain from behind you. She’s also in hero gear, long hair plastered to her head. She spots you.
“Oh!” she says, startled.
“Hi,” you tell her, and introduce yourself. She does the same, and you find out she’s Ueno Rina, Shieldmaiden. She’s a sidekick at Bakugou and Kirishima’s agency.
“I’m sorry,” you say. “I’m the hold up. We got to chatting, and I distracted her. Are you on patrol together?”
“Please, it’s no trouble. Pulsar knows protocol, and she knows better than to wander off for so long without a check-in.” Ueno gives Tachibana a look, and Tachibana ducks her head, like a scolded puppy.
Ueno shakes her head and meets your eyes. She furrows her brows.
“Are you alright? You don’t look well.”
You shake your head, giving her a smile you hope is reassuring. “I’m fine. I actually was on my way home from work, but the rain got me. It doesn’t look like it’s going to let up any time soon, so I won’t keep the two of you any longer.”
“Wait, please!” Ueno says. “Could we—”
Ueno’s comm beeps, and she gives it a frustrated look.
“Please feel free to answer,” you say. “I’ll wait, don’t worry.”
Nodding, she steps away.
Tachibana touches your arm, and you look at her.
“I’m sorry to hold you up. I didn’t realize you weren’t feeling well. Can I get you anything? There’s a pharmacy around the corner!”
“Thank you, Tachibana. That’s really nice of you, but I should be okay once I get some sleep.”
“Are you sure?” She frowns. “Shieldmaiden’s right… you don’t look too good.”
“Thanks,” you laugh, and she waves her hands in front of her.
“No, I mean—”
“You’re being teased, kid,” Ueno says, returning. She shifts to face you. “Can we escort you to where you’re headed?”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” you say, frowning. “I know you’re on patrol, and I’m sure I’ve already taken up too much of your time. Go ahead and finish up your route! I’ll be fine.”
“We don’t mind,” Ueno says, crossing her arms.
“Please,” you say firmly. “I insist.”
Ueno’s comm beeps again, and she apologizes before glancing at it quickly. You wait patiently.
“Okay,” Ueno relents. “C’mon kid, let’s go.”
“What?” Tachibana startles. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. Move it.”
Tachibana casts a worried glance at you, and you smile reassuringly.
“Thank you both for being so kind,” you tell them. “Please hurry so you can get back to the agency and dry off.”
Ueno inclines her head. “Thank you. It was nice meeting you, and take care.”
“Bye!” Tachibana chirps. “Please dry off thoroughly when you get home!”
You wave and watch as the two of them disappear into the rain. Once they’re safely out of sight, you lean back against the building behind you and cover your eyes with your hands.
That interaction sucked all the energy from you, as pleasant as it was. Just the thought of ducking out into that rain and heading to the station makes something shrivel up inside you. Maybe you’ll get a cab, in just a minute. Once you’ve caught your breath.
Your phone chimes, indicating a message, and you ignore it. Blocking out the lights from surrounding stores, the headlights of passing cars, helps your headache a little. Every so often, passersby walk past, the sound of the rain against the nylon of their umbrellas mixing with the sounds of traffic.
“You need to check your damn phone,” a voice says, alarmingly close, and you jump, eyes shooting open and your hands falling from your face.
For a second, you think maybe you’d fallen asleep, because there’s no way Bakugou’s standing in front of you, looking irritated in casual clothes, a wet umbrella dangling from one hand.
But then you get the urge to sneeze, bringing your arm up to catch it in the crook of your elbow.
Blearily, you ask, “What’re you doing here?”
“Rescuing you, idiot,” Bakugou says.
He studies you for a moment, then sets the umbrella on the ground. He shrugs out of the rain jacket he’s wearing and drapes it over you, pulling the hood up onto your head. It smells like his laundry detergent, and like him. It’s warm from his body heat, and you’re unable to resist the urge to pull it tightly around you.
You furrow your brows. “Wait, how’d you know I was here? Why aren’t you at work?”
Bakugou scowls. “This ain’t twenty questions, brat. Let’s go.”
He puts an arm on your back, pulling you forward. Just before the both of you step out into the rain, he opens the umbrella above the two of you.
“Where are we going?” you ask, just to spite him. You’ll pry an answer to your previous questions out of him later, when you’re feeling less like roadkill. You’re walking so closely together that your shoulders are pressed against each other, and it’s a little hard to think clearly.
“My car,” he says, leading you to where it’s parked and opening up the passenger side for you to get in.
Once he closes the door, it’s startlingly quiet except for the pitter patter of rain against the windshield, the top of the car. You watch as Bakugou rounds the front of the car and gets in on the driver’s side, shoving the wet umbrella into a sleeve before tossing it in the back.
“You got wet,” you say, frowning. You reach out and touch his left shoulder, soaked through. The rain’s crept down the sleeve of his shirt and spilled out onto his chest.
“Don’t worry about it,” Bakugou says. He gives you a sharp look.
“Dumbass. What were you doing hanging around outside in the rain.”
“Hey,” you say, and you want to tell him that he’s being unfair, that you didn’t know it would rain, but suddenly you’re so exhausted. It’s like the strings that’ve been holding you up have been cut.
Bakugou reaches over and cups your cheek, moves it to press his palm against your forehead. Normally, you find his touch almost too warm—he’s lukewarm to your skin, now.
“You got meds at home?” he asks.
“No… was gonna buy some.”
Bakugou clicks his tongue and starts the car. “I’m gonna buy you some. Just wait in here while I get ‘em.”
You don’t even have the energy to argue.
“Okay,” you say quietly.
You must fall asleep, because the next thing you know, Bakugou’s shaking you awake.
“Hey. We’re at your place. I know it’s tough, but you gotta wake up.”
You make a sound that’s embarrassingly close to a whine, and Bakugou snorts.
“If you don’t want your neighbors to see me carrying you out of this car and all the way up to your apartment, you needa get your ass moving,” he says.
You scrunch up your face, ignoring his quiet huff of amusement. You must be doing a really good job at hiding your feelings for him because if he thinks that’s a threat…
“Okay, okay,” you say, and your voice is rough, like you’d been sleeping for hours instead of the minutes it would’ve taken to get home.
If someone had asked you how you got from his car and into your apartment, you couldn’t have told them. Time’s a little funny, and you recognize you might be getting worse. Chills wrack your body, and you feel hot and cold at the same time. Eventually, you realize you’re standing in the middle of your kitchen, swaying a little, just watching as Bakugou rummages around.
He grabs a cup, fills it with water, and hands it to you alongside a couple pills he retrieves from the pharmacy bag he’d brought up with him.
“Drink this,” he tells you. You obey, meek as a lamb.
“Y’should change out of your work clothes and get straight to bed,” Bakugou says, watching you closely as you shuffle towards your bedroom.
“I will,” you tell him, but then stop.
“What?” he asks as you turn back around.
“The cats,” you say, stepping forward even as your feet drag. “I gotta feed them and clean their litter boxes. Can’t just knock out.”
“I’ll take care of the damn cats,” Bakugou growls, putting his hands on your shoulders and turning you around. He gives you a little push. “Go.”
You catch the sleeve of his shirt before he can move away. Looking up into his face, that grumpy expression, you hesitate for a moment before deciding not to overthink it, and you hug him.
His arms come around you, a reflexive reciprocation, and all your aches and pains fall away for a moment as you breathe in the man wrapped around you.
“Thank you, Bakugou,” you say into his chest. The words aren’t enough to express what you’re feeling right now. It’s been a long while since you’ve had someone you feel comfortable depending on like this—someone you want to depend on. The disconcerted, agitated feeling you’ve been holding with you since you’d last seen him, his dismissal of your concern for him, seems silly and inconsequential now.
You nearly tell him how you feel, then and there. Soul-lights and soulmates be damned. All the things he says, all the things he does for you—it has to mean something.
But something stops you. Not yet. You want to tell him when you’re clear-headed.
So you step back and let your arms fall from around him, turning around and heading to your room, conscious of his eyes on you.
You sleep for a long time.
Fuzzily, you remember waking up to your dark bedroom—hands on you, helping you sit up. Bakugou’s gruff voice, words indecipherable. A glass of water and some medicine. Tossing and turning, alternating between being too warm and feeling chilled. Then blissful nothing.
When you wake once more, the sun is barely peeking through your window curtains. That pale light indicative of dawn, the hush blanketing your apartment, tells you it’s early. Early enough that even the kittens aren’t begging for breakfast yet.
That thought pushes you out of bed, despite the congestion in your nose. You feel half-dead, so you make yourself brush your teeth and wash your face before leaving your room to feed the cats.
You nearly scream when you see a figure on your couch, covered in what you recognize as one of your spare blankets.
It’s Bakugou, you realize, as you draw nearer and see the reassuring mix of orange and gold gilding him.
He looks younger, asleep. The crease between his brows from frowning is gone, the curve of his mouth relaxed. Like this, all that forceful energy and strong personality tucked away, he’s sweet-looking and soft. You want to tuck the memory of him like this in your pocket, keep it close to you.
You make to move away, to slip into the room you keep the kittens in, but maybe you make a sound, or maybe your attention on Bakugou is enough to rouse him into consciousness. He wakes, transitioning from sleep into wakefulness with a sharp immediacy that startles you a little.
His eyes find yours, and he sits up, stretching his back out.
“How’re you feeling?” Bakugou asks, voice sleep-rough and raspy.
“Not as bad as yesterday,” you tell him. “Stuffy nose and still a little tired, but okay.”
He stands and starts folding the blanket he’d been using.
“Sit here. M’gonna make breakfast.”
“Don’t you have work?” you ask.
“Going in later today,” he says, and he points to the couch and gives you a look.
You shake your head. “Gotta feed the cats. I wanna see them.”
Bakugou frowns, like he’s about to argue, but you make your way towards the kitchen before he can say anything else, and he follows you.
“I kinda remember you waking me to give me medicine,” you say as you begin pulling out the cats’ bowls and food. “Have you been here since you picked me up? You’ll get sick, Bakugou. Maybe you should keep your distance from me.”
Bakugou sets your donabe down onto the counter and looks at you.
“Don’t worry about dumb shit like that. My body’s not weak like yours,” he says, the corners of his mouth tilting up into a mean little smirk when you make a congested sound of offense.
“Went to the agency to take care of some things after you fell asleep. Came back to give you your meds and feed the cats.” Bakugou measures out some rice into a bowl and begins washing it. “How hungry’re you?”
“Not very,” you admit. “Just want something simple.”
Bakugou grunts an acknowledgement. “Hurry and feed your furballs so you can come and eat. I’ll make you okayu.”
After breakfast, you insist on Bakugou using your bathroom to get ready for work. He’d brought an overnight bag so he could head straight to the agency where he’d planned to shower and change, and you refuse to settle down until he gives in.
You haven’t had a roommate in a long time, and it’s been a while since you’ve had a partner you’ve shared your space with.
So it’s a strangely intimate feeling, hearing Bakugou in your shower, imagining him taking in the shampoo you use, adjusting the showerhead for his height. Watching him gather his things as he gets ready to leave for work.
“What’re you doing?” he asks when you follow him to the door. “I’ll lock the door behind me. Go back to the couch or your bed.”
“Just wanted to say bye,” you say, voice a little gross and nasally from the congestion. It makes you grimace and bury your face into the blanket you’d wrapped around yourself, the blanket he’d folded and left on the couch.
Bakugou looks at you for a moment, then puts his hand on your head.
“Get some rest,” he tells you. “Text me.”
Despite Bakugou’s teasing words about his immune system being better than yours, it still is just the flu, or a cold. You recover quickly and are back to work sooner than you’d like, though Bakugou likes it even less.
Bakugou: Why’re they making a sick person come to work.
You: Bakugou… I’m all better now.
Bakugou: Fuck that. I heard you cough on the phone yesterday.
You: I was just clearing my throat!!!
Bakugou: Bullshit.
He doesn’t comment on the fact that prior to you getting sick your messages to each other had waned. You’re not sure if he even noticed, and looking back on it now, you feel a little childish for overreacting to something he probably said offhandedly.
Still, you haven’t seen Bakugou in person since being sick. The closest you can manage is the occasional video call, and even then, Bakugou looks so tired that you feel guilty and keep things short. You hope that whatever he’s dealing with at work wraps itself up soon.
One day, during your lunch break, you get a couple messages from Bakugou.
Bakugou: Hey. I’ll be out of town for a mission. Won’t have access to my phone.
Bakugou: Don’t forget to eat real food. And sleep. Stop watching that reality show before bed.
You: But it’s so good! I’ll tell you who gets eliminated when you come back!!
You: When will you be back btw?
You: Hello lol
You: Bakugou?