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Katsuki perched on the edge of Kirishima’s desk, not even pretending to work anymore. The paperwork for English lay forgotten on his own desk behind him, but right now, he had more important things to do. Talk with Kirishima and Denki.
The classroom was half empty, classmates trickling out as the day wound down. It was early evening, and the skies outside had darkened quickly, the thick clouds threatening snow. Katsuki’s leg bounced with irritation as he caught sight of the frost building on the windows, but he tried to shove it out of his mind, turning back to the conversation with a smirk.
“You just wish you looked as good in this hoodie as I do, Sparky,” Katsuki teased, yanking at the front of his oversized hoodie—well, it was Denki’s actually. The one with the tacky, half-faded design of some indie band Denki swore was cool.
Denki threw his head back, scoffing. “Excuse me? I rock that look, man. Kirishima, back me up here!”
Kirishima, with his usual wide, toothy grin, nudged Katsuki’s leg where it dangled off the desk. “Hey, Bakugou does look pretty damn good in anything. It’s a hard truth, but you can’t deny it, Denki.”
“Thank you,” Katsuki said smugly, crossing his arms.
“Still think you could handle my winter jacket, though? It’s, like, heavy as a rock. Bakugou would probably start whining after five seconds,” Denki shot back.
Katsuki shoved him lightly on the shoulder. “As if I’d wear that beat-up thing you call a coat. It looks like a cat shredded it.”
Kirishima laughed, leaning back, his chair teetering on two legs. “Hey, Denki, maybe you could lend him your old scarf from last year. The one that—”
“—The one that shrank in the wash? Nah, Bakugou would probably strangle me with it first,” Denki said.
Katsuki laughed, letting his shoulders relax. For a moment, he forgot about the gray skies outside, about the snow on its way, just enjoying the moment. But that peace shattered when a serious voice cut through the room.
“Bakugou!” Iida’s voice rang out, sharp enough to make a few classmates glance their way. “You know very well you’re not supposed to sit on the desks! Desks are for work, not for perching on like… like some kind of…” Iida struggled to find the word, his hand pushing his glasses up as he stared down Katsuki.
Katsuki blinked at him, unimpressed, barely moving from his spot. “Like what, glasses?”
Iida paused, his brows knit together in a moment of hesitation, before he added, “Like…like some rebellious… bad boy or whatever it is that… people of your nature try to emulate.”
The room went quiet as Kirishima and Denki glanced nervously between Katsuki and Iida. A strange silence filled the air, Katsuki’s eyebrows raised.
“My nature?” Katsuki echoed, voice low. “And what exactly do you mean by that?”
Iida seemed taken aback but tried to recover, his arms moving stiffly in his usual robotic way. “Well, I didn’t mean anything personal, but it’s no secret that…people often have, um, misunderstandings about you. I’m just saying it’s, uh, distracting when you act this way—sitting where you shouldn’t be.”
Katsuki’s face flushed as he narrowed his eyes. “You’re telling me not to sit on a damn desk? Or are you just making some weird-ass point about me?”
Iida looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight, but tried to stand his ground. “It’s a matter of respecting school property, Bakugou. We all know you like to…to rebel in your way, but to other people it shows that—”
Kirishima jumped in quickly. “Hey, hey, come on, man! I’m sure Iida didn’t mean anything by it, right, Iida?”
Denki chimed in, shooting Iida a look. “Yeah, ‘cause we don’t care where Katsuki sits or stands. The dude’s just chilling with us. Iida, you really need to stop overthinking it.”
Katsuki gritted his teeth, pushing himself off the desk with a frustrated sigh, glaring at Iida. “You got a fucking problem with me, four eyes? Then spit it out instead of throwing around all that ‘people of your nature’ bullshit!”
Iida’s face flushed as he straightened his stance, trying to keep his composure. “I—I just mean you shouldn’t be disrespecting school property, Bakugou. It’s unhero-like.” He adjusted his glasses and lifted his chin, trying to assert authority.
Katsuki rolled his eyes, his expression twisting into a grin. “You’re a real class act, extra,” he said with a snicker.
Iida’s frown deepened as he processed the words. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Before Katsuki could answer, Kirishima shot him a warning look. “Bakugou…” he murmured.
But Katsuki wasn’t about to let it go. He stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as he jabbed his finger back at Iida. “It means you’re the type of guy who’d rather lecture everyone to death than actually do anything impressive. Maybe if you stopped nagging so much, people would actually take you seriously.”
A murmur spread through the classroom as more of their classmates started paying attention. Some were watching wide-eyed, others whispering behind their hands. Iida’s face reddened further, his hands curling into fists by his sides.
“Oh? You wanna hit me?” Katsuki’s taunting voice rang out, loud and clear, as he took a step closer. He laughed, eyes gleaming with a mix of challenge and amusement. “Come on, class rep, let’s see you actually throw a punch. Bet you wouldn’t even know how to.”
Iida’s fists trembled, his jaw clenching so hard his teeth almost ground together. But he didn’t move, forcing himself to stand still. Katsuki’s words were just bait.
Katsuki scoffed. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. All bark, no bite. Just keep talking, asshole. Maybe one day it’ll actually matter.” He turned, grabbing his bag with a smirk as he walked toward the door, leaving a shaken Iida and a stunned classroom in his wake.
Kirishima and Denki exchanged a quick, exasperated look. Kirishima huffed, shaking his head, and Todoroki commented quietly, “You really need to get your friend under control, Kirishima.”
Kirishima shot him a look, his brows furrowed, his expression clearly saying, You wanna say that again?
The room was finally beginning to settle back into a calm quiet when they heard Iida mumble, almost under his breath, “More like dog.”
There was a beat of silence as the words hung in the air. None of them noticed Katsuki’s return until he stalked right up to Iida and threw a punch, landing it squarely on Iida’s nose.
“Bakugou!” Denki shouted, springing to his feet, wide-eyed.
Iida staggered, clutching his nose as blood trickled between his fingers, staining his pristine uniform. “Agh!” he choked out, his eyes widening in shock and pain.
But Katsuki didn’t give him a chance to recover. He lunged forward and hit him again, this time sending Iida sprawling onto the ground.
“Bakugou, stop!!” Ochako’s voice rang out as she rushed forward, hands raised in a panic.
Kirishima quickly stepped between them, grabbing Katsuki by the shoulders, though he had to brace himself. “Bakugou! That’s enough!”
Katsuki’s chest heaved, his fists still clenched, but he didn’t try to shove Kirishima off. His eyes, however, remained fixed on Iida, cold and unforgiving. “You think I’m someone’s dog, Iida? You think you get to talk like that about me?”
Iida wiped the blood from his face with a shaking hand, staring up at Katsuki, speechless, as he struggled to gather his words. For once, the class rep was at a loss.
Katsuki scoffed, yanking his arm free of Kirishima’s grasp, his voice low and venomous. “Next time you say crap like that, I won’t stop at one punch.”
He grabbed his assignment, turning to storm out.
Katsuki barely made it into the hallway before he spotted Aizawa leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes narrowed in that unblinking, tired stare that was somehow more intense than a glare. Katsuki tensed, glancing around as if he could somehow avoid him, but he was too late. Aizawa’s scarf whipped out and snagged him around the middle, pulling him back like a caught fish on a line.
“Ah!” Katsuki grunted as Aizawa reeled him in.
“I saw it all, Bakugou. Don’t think you can just walk away from this,” Aizawa said, the kind of voice that told Katsuki he was already in deep.
“Yeah, well, if you saw it all, why didn’t you step in, huh?!” Katsuki snapped back, glaring. “Why just stand there and watch?”
Aizawa’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t know you were actually going to punch him, Bakugou.”
Katsuki rolled his eyes. “C’mon, teach. We’re supposed to be heroes, right? Iida should be able to take a punch.” He crossed his arms, trying to look nonchalant.
Aizawa gave him a long, exhausted look. “Heroes don’t just go around hitting each other over words,” he said, tightening his scarf’s hold. “You’re lucky I’m even letting you off with a phone call home.”
Katsuki stiffened, trying to play it off, but the words “phone call home” made his heart drop. “Who are you calling, exactly?”
“Your father,” Aizawa replied, already walking, his grip on Katsuki firm as he dragged him along.
Katsuki’s stomach twisted, a bead of cold sweat forming at his temple. “My dad? Why not my mom? Or—uh, Inko?” He tried to sound annoyed, like it didn’t matter, but his voice betrayed a hint of panic.
Aizawa raised an eyebrow, sighing. “How would your mother pick you up, Bakugou? She’s in Korea.”
Katsuki bit the inside of his cheek. “Fine. Then call Auntie Inko,” he muttered, hoping Aizawa might let this slide.
But Aizawa gave him a look. “Stop being difficult,” he said. Katsukis chest tightened. “Your dad is available, and he’s your closest family. I’m not calling Midoriya’s mother just because you want an easy way out.”
Katsuki scoffed, glancing away, but the excuse slipped out before he could stop himself. “Do not! I just…I don’t wanna stress the old man more than I already have.” He hoped it sounded casual, even though he knew Aizawa could probably see through him.
Aizawa stopped walking for a second, giving Katsuki a look. “You should have thought about that before you decided to beat up Iida,” he said, his voice firm.
Katsuki sighed, deflating a little. The last thing he wanted was to see his dad’s disappointed face or hear him yell about how disappointed he is, the cold tone Masaru used when Katsuki messed up. He kept quiet as Aizawa led him down the hall.
Katsuki let himself be dragged along, moving in a daze as he replayed the next steps in his head, knowing damn well how this would go down. Masaru would walk into the office, smiling and polite to everyone, the picture of gentleness. He’d give Katsuki a quiet nod, his hand settling softly on Katsuki’s wrist to lead him out—careful, calm. And then, the second they were alone in the car, his face would shift. The warmth would drain, and that tired, disappointed look would take its place.
When Aizawa’s scarf finally loosened and Katsuki was released, he sank into one of the chairs at the front of the office, staring down at his hands. Aizawa left to make the call, and Katsuki could hear the low murmur of his voice down the hall. Katsuki clenched his jaw, his foot tapping nervously against the floor as he waited.
Aizawa reappeared a few minutes later. “He’ll be here in about ten minutes.”
Ten minutes. Katsuki’s pulse quickened. Ten minutes isn’t enough. He needed more time to prepare, to think of what to say. Or maybe he needed less time, just enough for Masaru to show up, grab him, and leave without a word. Either way, the minutes ticked down with agonizing slowness, and he was left to wait.
The room felt too quiet, too still. Katsuki’s mind raced, trying to convince himself that it wouldn’t be that bad, that maybe his dad would keep it together this time. But he knew better, didn’t he?
Then Masaru came.
It played out exactly how Katsuki had imagined. Masaru apologized profusely to Aizawa, bowing to him and to the staff, explaining that his son would be disciplined at home. Katsuki watched, his stomach twisting as he waited to be dragged out of the office. When Masaru finally turned, his face was composed, pleasant, even gentle. It was that same mask he always wore for everyone else, and it made Katsuki feel sick. How Masaru could act so soft, so understanding, while inside Katsuki felt like he was burning alive.
Masaru led him outside, a firm hand on his shoulder. Katsuki followed, barely keeping up with his father’s brisk pace. The cold air hit him hard, seeping in through his borrowed hoodie, and he hated it. He hated the way his body shivered against it, hated the way he felt small and vulnerable.
As they reached the car, Masaru stopped suddenly, his grip on Katsuki’s shoulder tightening before he turned to face him. Katsuki froze, catching sight of Jirou in the distance. She wasn’t looking at them, but he knew she could glance over any second, and the idea of her hearing whatever his father was about to say made his stomach churn.
His eyes glazed over, tears blurring his vision, but he blinked them away quickly, refusing to let them fall. He knew what was coming. It would be the same lecture, the same words: How could you do this, Katsuki? Heroes aren’t meant to be like this. Your anger is unacceptable. You’re going to get yourself hurt. You’re going to turn into the very thing you’re supposed to fight against.
You came out wrong.
The words echoed in his mind, words he’d heard so many times that they’d embedded themselves deep, becoming a part of him, a belief that felt more like a truth. He was wrong. He was broken, villainous. Lucky that the heroes hadn’t given up on him, lucky that the villains hadn’t forced him to join them, knowing he was halfway there already. He couldn’t help it. It was who he was. The anger burned inside him like fire, and he didn’t know how to put it out.
But instead of the lecture he was expecting, Masaru reached out, his hand cold as it rested against Katsuki’s cheek. The touch was surprisingly gentle, one that Katsuki hadn’t felt in years, and it threw him off.
“My sweet boy,” Masaru whispered.
Katsuki’s eyes softened, looking up at his father in confusion. There was something in Masaru’s eyes, something warm, something like love, and Katsuki’s chest tightened as he felt himself almost leaning into it, almost melting into the touch.
“You still have so much to learn,” Masaru said softly, his voice carrying a tenderness that made Katsuki’s heart clench.
But then, Masaru’s gaze hardened, the warmth disappearing as quickly as it had come. His hand turned stiff, and before Katsuki could react, it whipped across his face in a sharp, sudden slap.
The force of it knocked him off balance, his head snapping to the side as his cheek flared with pain. His vision blurred, and for a second, all he could hear was the ringing in his ears. All he could feel was the sting on his skin and the sudden, overwhelming sense of betrayal.
“Do you understand now?” Masaru’s voice was low, the softness from moments before gone.
Katsuki’s mind reeled, his thoughts a jumbled mess as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat, choked back by the knot of shame and anger and confusion that was quickly building inside him.
Masaru looked down on him. and Katsuki felt the weight of that gaze, felt it press down on him like he was something small, something that needed to be crushed. He felt the tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, but he blinked them back, gritting his teeth as he tried to hold himself together.
Katsuki looked up from where he’d fallen, his vision blurring with the tears he was desperately trying to hold back. His legs were splayed out beneath him, snow soaking through his pants, the cold biting into his skin. His hands were pressed against the icy gravel, fingers digging in so hard his palms stung.
He knelt down slowly, his hand reaching out to grab Katsuki’s face. The grip was harsh, fingers digging into Katsuki’s cheeks, forcing him to look up.
Katsuki’s breath hitched, his chest tight as he stared up, trapped, unable to look away. His lungs felt too tight, his breathing shallow and strained as Masaru leaned in, his voice a low, cold whisper.
“You are nothing.”
The words hit Katsuki like a punch to the gut. It was the thing he’d always feared. He was nothing, that his anger, his drive, all of it was just smoke and fire with nothing real underneath.
Masaru’s fingers tightened, his grip unrelenting, as if to make sure the words stuck. Katsuki’s breath was shallow, his throat tight, but he didn’t pull away. He stayed there, frozen, staring up into his father’s eyes, trying to find something—anything—that would make this hurt less, that would make him feel like he could come back from this.
But there was nothing.
Nothing except the cold, hard ground beneath him, the freezing snow soaking into his clothes, and his father’s hatred.
When Masaru finally let go, Katsuki’s head dropped, his gaze falling to the ground as he sat there, his whole body trembling.
Masaru stood up, dusting off his hands as if Katsuki had dirtied them, and turned his back, walking toward the car without another word.
Katsuki stayed where he was, his hands clenched into fists against the gravel, his nails digging into his palms as he fought to keep himself together. He wanted to scream, to punch something, to do anything to make this feeling go away. But he couldn’t. All he could do was sit there, staring down at his hands, feeling the cold in his bones.
The roar of the engine died away, leaving Katsuki alone in the biting cold. The car turned down the street, headlights disappearing into the early winter darkness, leaving him there—clothes soaked, face still wet from the tears he hadn’t been able to hold back, and little Rock shapes in his palms from the gravel.
For a moment, Katsuki couldn’t move. He just sat there, staring blankly at the ground. The anger and defiance he usually carried had drained away, so deep it felt like nothing would ever reach him again. He didn’t even notice that someone had been there, watching.
Jirou, her face hidden behind her scarf, had seen it all. She’d stayed quiet, her heart sinking with every word, every look of pain she saw in Katsuki’s face. It felt wrong to intrude on something so private, but she couldn’t walk away, couldn’t pretend she hadn’t seen the raw agony etched in his expression.
When Masaru’s car disappeared, Jirou finally started to walk. Without a second thought, she stepped forward, her boots crunching in the snow as she closed the distance between them. She knelt beside him, lowering herself carefully until she was level with his face. Katsuki didn’t flinch, didn’t even react—his gaze was fixed on some distant point, lost somewhere she couldn’t reach.
Jirou didn’t say anything. She opened her arms, pulling him into a gentle hug, wrapping him in warmth. Katsuki didn’t react, didn’t push her away or pull her closer. But the way he slumped into her embrace, even if just a little, told her enough.
Katsuki hadn’t known she was there. But somehow, he wasn’t startled. He stayed still, letting her hold him.
“Let’s go to the dorms,” Jirou whispered, her voice soft as the snowfall around them. She could feel the dampness seeping through her own pants now, the cold biting against her knees. But none of it mattered, not when she looked into Katsuki’s eyes and saw the raw vulnerability there—the redness at the edges, the quiet ache in his parted lips, the slight tremor that shook his shoulders. He looked lost, the fierce fire in him dimmed, reduced to small, shuddering breaths that puffed out in tiny clouds.
She held him a little tighter, cradling him like he was something delicate, something breakable. For a moment, she thought he might pull away, that he’d insist he was fine, that he didn’t need help, that he didn’t want to be seen like this. But instead, he leaned into her, his hands slowly lifting to wrap around her, drawing her closer. It wasn’t his usual fierce grip; it was gentler, almost hesitant, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to accept this kind of comfort.
Katsuki closed his eyes. She rested her chin on his shoulder, one hand softly rubbing his back in small, comforting circles.
After a while, she pulled back, just enough to look at him, her hands still resting on his shoulders. “Come on,” she said again, her tone gentle but firm. “Let’s get you out of the cold.”
Katsuki nodded, silent, and as they stood up, Jirou kept her hand on his shoulder, guiding him toward the dorms. They walked slowly, side by side, the snow crunching beneath their feet.
As they walked, tiny snowflakes drifted down, catching in Katsuki’s hair and dusting his lashes. Jirou couldn’t help but smile a little at the sight—he looked softer somehow, the winter night gentling his usual sharp edges. Without thinking, she reached out, her fingers lacing around his in a gentle hold.
The touch was light, but steady. Unlike Masaru’s sharp, commanding grip, Jirou’s hand felt warm, anchoring.
Katsuki glanced down, almost surprised, at their interlocked hands. He could feel the warmth of her palm against his own cold one, and without realizing it, his fingers tightened, clenching hers.
Jirou gave his hand a gentle tug, urging him forward with a soft smile. Katsuki didn’t resist. He let himself be pulled along, her hand guiding him through the dimly lit paths, and for once, he felt like he didn’t have to fight to keep up.
They stepped into the dorm lobby, brushing the snow off their shoes before slipping them off and moving inside. The warm lights felt almost blinding after the cold darkness outside. There, sitting in a small, cozy circle, was Iida with a bandage on his nose, surrounded by friends, laughter, and the easy comfort of warmth. The group went quiet as they noticed Jirou and Katsuki, all eyes drifting over to them. Most of the shock was directed at Katsuki. His usually proud, defiant posture was subdued; his hand clasped tightly in Jirou’s and his face marked with a red, unmistakable outline, his eyes rimmed with redness.
Izuku looked up, catching Katsuki’s eye with a hesitant look. “Aren’t you supposed to go home, Kacchan?” he asked, his voice gentle, though it held a tension that Katsuki could feel even across the room. Katsuki could tell Izuku wasn’t entirely sure if he wanted him there, not with everything that had happened earlier. And, really, neither did anyone else.
Then they saw the way Jirou held onto him. They saw his trembling, the visible mark on his cheek, the way he seemed lost in the warmth of her presence. Denki, standing near Iida, was the first to break the silence. “What… what happened?” he asked.
Katsuki swallowed, his voice coming out quieter, rougher than usual. “Um… my dad thought it’d be better if I didn’t go home tonight, so…” he said, his words faltering.
Jirou stepped closer, her hand still holding his.
The room fell into a heavy silence. Even Iida, with his bandaged nose, seemed to hesitate, his earlier frustration melting into something that looked like genuine regret.
Mina patted the spot beside her, her arms wide open and a gentle smile on her face. “Come hither, Kitty Kat,” she teased. Katsuki rolled his eyes, but he didn’t hesitate, making his way over to her, still attached to Jirou. He let himself sink down next to Mina, surprising everyone. He brought her down with him, their hands still intertwined as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Mina snuggled up against his side, resting her head on his shoulder and wrapping her fingers around his cold hands, which brought Jirou’s hands along with them. “Jeez, you guys are freezing,” she muttered, frowning at the chill in their skin. Katsuki’s cheeks tinged a faint pink from more than just the cold, but he didn’t pull away.
Kirishima, who had been closest to the fire, immediately got up, beaming as he gestured for them to scoot closer. “Yeah, c’mon, let’s get you guys warmed up!” He moved away from the fireplace, making space for them.
Katsuki huffed but let himself be shuffled over, Jirou and Mina guiding him toward the warmth. For once, he didn’t protest, letting himself be cared for.
As they all settled by the fire, Mina’s hand rubbing gentle circles on his back, he let out a shaky breath, feeling the heat begin to seep through his skin and chase away the coldness he’d been carrying.
The room was silent as everyone cast sidelong glances at Katsuki’s cheek. The red mark was still visible, faintly bruising against his skin. It wasn’t as stark or severe as Iida’s bandaged nose, but it was obvious enough, and no one was willing to bring it up.
Even Mina, who was usually quick with a joke or a comforting word, kept her mouth shut. She traced soothing circles on Katsuki’s back, exchanging a worried look with Kirishima, who seemed equally uncertain. The mark was unmistakable, and while everyone could make a good guess as to who’d left it there, no one wanted to be the one to ask.
The fire crackled, filling the silence that had settled thickly over the room. Denki cleared his throat, trying to break the tension. “Hey, uh… how about a movie, huh?” he suggested, offering a weak smile.
Katsuki snorted, but there was a hollowness to the sound. “Yeah. Whatever.” He leaned back, shifting his weight into the warmth of Mina and Jirou beside him. His gaze flickered down, not quite meeting anyone’s eyes.
Izuku, watching from across the room, bit his lip, his brows knitted together.
With a silent agreement not to mention it, Kirishima nodded to Denki, who quickly grabbed the remote, and soon enough, a movie started playing.