Chapter Text
Class 1-A did not notice it all at once, which in hindsight was embarrassing, because the signs were not subtle so much as they were aggressively mundane.
They were in the common room after a long day of training, sprawled across the couches and floor like a pile of exhausted puppies. Midoriya had dropped his water bottle during a particularly intense spar with Todoroki, and it rolled under the coffee table. Without thinking, he muttered, "Kacchan, could you—"
Bakugou, who had been scrolling on his phone with his feet propped up, didn't even look up at first. But then he sighed quietly, reached down without a word, picked up the bottle, and handed it back to Midoriya. Their fingers brushed for a second, and Midoriya smiled that bright, genuine smile of his. "Thanks!"
Bakugou just grunted, eyes back on his screen. But across the room, a few heads turned.
They began noticing.
And in the blink of a crinkling eye
I′m sinking, our fingers entwined
Cheeks pink in the twinkling lights
Tell me 'bout the first time you saw me
1.
The outdoor training field was buzzing with the usual post-class energy. A handful of Class 1-A and 1-B students had stuck around to work on individual routines, some sparring, some weight training, others just stretching. But as always, whenever Bakugou Katsuki started his routine precision drills, a small crowd formed.
Izuku sat cross-legged on the grass near the edge of the mat, notebook forgotten in his lap, eyes bright and focused entirely on Katsuki. He was chattering to himself as usual, though a small crowd had gathered around him anyway, like usual, because naturally, people wanted to eavesdrop on his running commentary and Izuku was a real joy to be around.
“—Kacchan’s form is so beautiful today. Look at that extension on the blast. He’s favoring his right again, though… see how he pulls the recoil back faster on that side? He’s compensating for the strain, but he shouldn’t have to. If he shifted weight to the left more, the balance would—”
Iida adjusted his glasses and nodded seriously. “You’re correct, Midoriya-kun. Over-reliance on the dominant arm could lead to long-term tendon issues.”
Midoriya startled slightly, realizing he had an audience, but he just grinned sheepishly and kept going. “Right? I should tell him…”
“Waaah!” Izuku exclaimed as Bakugou finished his routine, sweat slick and hair stuck to his forehead. True to form, Bakugou came straight to him, wordlessly, and accepted the water bottle Midoriya held out. He drank, wiped his sweat with the back of his hand, and glanced up.
“So…?”
Izuku launched into it immediately.
“That was superb, Kacchan! Really—the buildup on the third sequence was perfect. You held the charge half a second longer, and the propulsion was way cleaner! I could see the difference immediately!”
Katsuki’s mouth curved into the smallest smile as he dropped onto the bench across from Izuku, legs stretched out.
“But you do still favor your right more,” Izuku said, reaching out without thinking. His hand settled gently over Bakugou’s right forearm, fingers pressing lightly over the muscle. “Doesn’t this side hurt more after long sessions?”
Bakugou glanced down at the hand on his arm, then at Izuku’s worried face. He frowned slightly. “True,” he admitted, standing and stretching briefly. “Alright, watch. Okay?”
Izuku nodded eagerly, hands clasped in his lap.
Bakugou ran through the routine again. This time, he made a very deliberate effort to lean on his left, shifting the strain as Izuku had suggested.
When he finished, Izuku clapped enthusiastically. “That was perfect, Kacchan!”
Kaminari, standing at the edge of the circle, nodded with wide-eyed approval. “Yeah, man! It’s so hard to incorporate Midoriya’s advice spontaneously like that! Well done!!”
Bakugou exhaled, walking back as Izuku stood up, stretching and getting ready.
"Eh? Midoriya you're going now?" Kaminari asked.
Izuku bowed quickly. “Sorry, Kaminari-kun! I know you were next, I just really want to try Kacchan’s adjusted routine while it’s fresh in my head!”
Kaminari waved him off with a grin. “No worries! I want to rest a bit anyway.” He glanced at Bakugou with open admiration. “Yeah, man! I wanna try it too! Looks efficient!!”
Izuku turned to Bakugou, eyes questioning.
Without a word Bakugou stepped onto the mat again, standing behind Izuku, positioning him correctly and guiding his posture. He didn’t say much, just watched, corrected subtly, and occasionally leaned to adjust Midoriya’s arm or stance.
Izuku started and Katsuki hummed appreciatively.
“Oh, yeah, you should definitely focus less on the buildup,” Bakugou murmured, his tone low, matter-of-fact. “Your natural punch is like… five times better than mine.”
Izuku nodded absently, cheeks pink, but he was already concentrating. He went through the routine, mimicking the new balance, the shifted weight. A couple of small corrections from Bakugou’s hands on his arms, a murmured “There” when he got it right.
When Izuku finished with a clean, powerful blast that disturbed the air around them, the small crowd cheered.
“Nice one, Deku-kun!” Uraraka called.
“Fast learner as always,” Tsuyu added.
Izuku turned, breathless and grinning, and Bakugou handed him the water bottle this time, cap already off.
“Yep,” Bakugou said simply. “That was good.”
Kaminari hopped up, rolling his neck. “Alright, my turn! Hey, Bakugou, you gonna spot me too?”
Todoroki, watching from the side, murmured to no one in particular, “Bakugou only helps Midoriya though, doesn’t he?”
Kaminari looked hopeful. “Come on, man, just a quick—”
Bakugou turned and started walking toward the dorm path, hands in his pockets.
Izuku blinked, looked apologetically at Kirishima and then scrambled after him.
Kaminari deflated comically. “Aw, man…”
Uraraka patted his shoulder. “You’ll survive.”
2.
The debate on lunch had been going on for almost ten minutes after training, voices overlapping in increasingly desperate attempts to sway the “chef of the day.”
“It’s Bakugou’s turn to cook!” Mina announced dramatically, throwing her hands up. “And he makes the best spicy mapo tofu! Please, Bakugou, make that again!”
Kirishima grinned. “I’m voting for his curry. Extra spicy, extra meat.”
The class looked forward to every Tuesday because it was Katsuki's turn to make lunch and they loved his cooking.
Uraraka, Tsuyu, and even Todoroki chimed in with their own requests, voices overlapping in a chaotic chorus.
“Make—”
“I'm making omurice. End of discussion.” Katsuki snapped, cutting off the chorus of pleas mid-sentence. “We haven’t eaten rice in the past three days.”
Uraraka immediately looked away, cheeks pink. Three days ago, she’d been on cooking duty and… well… the entire pot had turned into a gluey disaster. She had overcooked the rice to the point of inedibility, and yeah… maybe the class still remembered.
The others grumbled but didn’t push further. Everyone knew Bakugou’s cooking was worth whatever he decided to make.
Izuku wasn’t there to add his own request, he’d been dragged off by Iida and Yaoyorozu for one of their “mandatory study sessions.”
It had started a couple weeks ago. Yaoyorozu, ever analytical, had pointed out over tea one night, “Midoriya studies roughly half as much as the rest of us, yet he consistently places in the top three academically. Imagine what would happen if he applied himself more evenly between training and studies.”
Iida had taken it upon himself to ensure that Midoriya could reach number one if he just studied a little harder. An hour of extra study after every training, enforced by Iida’s inflexible schedule, was now standard.
Yaoyorozu usually joined to supervise and provide extra materials. Nobody else preferred joining them for many reasons. Bakugou studied by himself, or with Izuku. The rest studied with music on. Midoriya, Iida, and Momo studied in pin drop silence. Nobody could really handle that.
Back in the common room, the others lounged, waiting for lunch and gossiping quietly.
Katsuki came down from his room, probably after his own study session hair still damp from the shower, and flopped onto the couch, flicking the TV on.
Izuku arrived shortly after, chattering a mile a minute with Iida and Momo trailing behind.
“—and the way you linked the third clause to the rescue priority amendment was so smart, Momo-san! I never would’ve remembered that connection—”
Yaoyorozu smiled warmly, clearly enjoying the conversation. Even she, usually so composed and measured had started talking with her hands when Izuku got her going on theory.
He slid onto the couch next to Katsuki and let out a long, tired sigh. “Man… Iida-kun made me do twenty essay-style questions. My brain hurts,” he said, shaking his head.
Katsuki huffed, barely looking up. “It’s good for you, nerd.”
Izuku hummed happily, head rest on Katsuki shoulders. "Whatcha watching?"
"Your dumb show. Got me hooked on the worst fuckin' shit."
Kacchan was watching The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.
Izuku bit his lip to keep from laughing out loud. You see, what had started as Kaminari’s solo guilty pleasure had, over the past month, ballooned into a full-blown dorm ritual.
Kaminari had struck gold first and then he’d convinced Mina, Jirou, and Hagakure to give Real Housewives of Beverly Hills “just one episode” during a rainy weekend.
By the end of the night they were screaming at the screen over puppygate. Tsuyu joined next because “the drama is oddly soothing, ribbit.” Uraraka got hooked on Potomac after Kaminari showed her a clip of the candle-throwing fight.
Kirishima had initially come in to spend more time with Mina, but he was soon fully invested.
Poor Izuku had been dragged along too.
“Deku-kun, please? It’s actually really fun, and I need someone sane to talk to about it!”
Izuku, who would probably say yes to Uraraka suggesting skydiving without a parachute, folded immediately. One episode turned into three, and now he too was a proud member of the cult.
Naturally, that meant Katsuki showed up, because he never let Izuku out of his sight for long. Katsuki liked to be the kind of pretentious person who said he liked cinema and books and all the classics, but he'd sat down with Izuku and had watched it all. New York, Salt Lake City, Atlanta, Orange County, you name it. He'd watched everything.
Even Iida had joined, spouting something about “group cohesion and shared leisure activities,” and suddenly the common room was filled with the weirdest mix of hero students, all glued to the same ridiculous reality TV show.
Izuku smiled to himself.
Then his eyes lit up as he turned fully toward Katsuki. “Wait—aren’t you making lunch today, Kacchan?"
Katsuki turned to look at him tiredly. He knew what was coming.
He squealed. "Can we have katsudon?! I’ll help!!”
Katsuki nodded.
“Go wash up and get all the shit we need out. I’m coming.”
Izuku beamed and bounced up immediately. “Okay!”
He practically skipped toward the kitchen.
The second he was gone, every head in the room swiveled to Bakugou in dismay.
3.
Evening practice was winding down, and Midoriya was hard at training again. The class clapped, a mix of admiration and disbelief in their eyes as they watched.
Izuku was on his third run-through of the adjusted routine. By now, it was almost flawless. His stance was perfect, weight distribution even, blasts controlled and powerful without wasting motion. Bakugou stood off to the side, arms loosely crossed, only giving the occasional tiny nod instead of hands-on corrections.
When Izuku landed the final sequence with a sharp, clean pop of green-tinged sparks, the small group clapped.
“Nice, Midoriya!” Kirishima cheered. “You’ve basically mastered it already.”
“That was clean, dude,” Sero added.
Izuku rubbed the back of his neck, flushed and happy. “Thanks, guys! I think I’ve got it down now.”
He jogged off toward the lockers to stow his arm braces and towel, humming under his breath. Bakugou lazed on the benches, reading a book with half lidded eyes.
Kaminari was now pouting directly at him. Katsuki hardly noticed.
“Won’t you help me now?” he asked, hopeful.
Bakugou glanced up from the book he was reading, expression irritated. “You watched me and Deku do the seuqence like… five times. Do it yourself.”
Kaminari’s eyes went wide. “Please! You’re literally just sitting there reading! It’ll take a few minutes!”
Bakugou turned a page, completely unbothered.
Kaminari, never one to give up easily, reached over and tried to close the book. "What are you reading anyway?"
“Why the hell are you closing it?” Bakugou snapped, voice low but annoyed. He rolled over again, putting more distance between them. “Get away from me, Dunce Face.”
Kaminari yanked his hand back like he’d been burned and flopped dramatically onto the mat, arms spread out.
Kaminari pouted again and flopped onto the floor, defeated. Just then, Midoriya came back, carrying his gear, blinking in mild confusion as he saw the empty training area.
“Eh? Kaminari-kun?” Izuku asked, tilting his head. “Aren’t you going to train?”
Kaminari sat up instantly, pointing an accusing finger at Bakugou. “I want to! But your Kacchan won’t help me with the routine!” He whined.
Izuku’s eyes softened. He walked over and sat cross-legged right in front of Bakugou, blocking his light just enough to make him look up.
Without a word, Izuku reached out and gently but firmly closed the book with a soft snap.
Bakugou’s brows lifted in faint surprise.
“Page 394,” he said, smiling down at Katsuki's face sweetly. “Kaminari-kun wants your help with the routine, Kacchan.” He said, tone reproachful.
Bakugou let out a long sigh, as he stood up. “Get your ass over here, fast, dunce face. I haven’t got all day.”
Kaminari sprang up like he’d been electrocuted (by himself, probably). “Yes! Thank you, Bakugou! You’re the best!”
Bakugou didn’t reply, just walked toward the mat, rolling his shoulders once.
And if he was less attentive than he had been with Izuku, nobody said a word.