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“He’s overrated.” Bakugou’s dry voice drifted from behind Todoroki, where he was walking with Kirishima. The entire class had come together for the last few days of their break before the third year, and had (miraculously) managed to coordinate a five day beach trip. Even Bakugou had been persuaded to come—Todoroki still remembered overhearing Ashido and Kirishima at lunch, their whines rising above Bakugou’s annoyed growls of refusal.
“Come onnn, Bakugouuuu, it’ll be fun.” Kirishima had been pestering Bakugou for the better part of the day, and Ashido, much to Bakugou’s apparent exasperation, had been supporting him wholeheartedly.
“You can still stick to your normal old man sleep schedule,” Mina had added, poking at his shoulder.
Todoroki had wanted to say something, too. The trip—anything, really—felt odd without Bakugou’s presence. It was strange; he’d tried thinking of another friend, perhaps Jirou, being unable to join them. He would have missed her, but it hadn’t brought him the same bereftness he’d felt at the thought of Bakugou’s absence. He’d chalked it up to how he’d gotten used to Bakugou’s companionship, and that had been that.
Now, they were trailing behind Izuku and Todoroki, Izuku’s eyes were bright as he leaned over to show Todoroki a particularly interesting thing he’d found on the guide brochure. In the same hand as the brochure was his Campus notebook, where he had, in extreme Izuku-like fashion, scribbled down the famous hero sites and agencies that existed there.
“Oh, we should definitely visit the hot springs here. Todoroki, look at the pictures—it’s kind of far, though.” Izuku had handed him the brochure as they passed by a hero costume shop, advertising hero-themed apparel for children. A cartoon version of All Might and Endeavour smiled at them from the shop sign.
It wasn’t that far of a distance, and the springs did look enticing, and Todoroki said so, just as he heard Kirishima’s surprised tone. “What do you mean? Okay, All Might is still number one to me, but Endeavour’s always been top three.”
Todorki could almost hear him roll his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. So what if he’s top three? His attitude’s fucked up, it’s like he forgets he’s a role model and there are still people that look up to him. His ambition’s over the damn top.”
“ You’re one to talk about role models and ambition,” Kirishima sniggered. It earned him a shove in the gut, judging from the ensuing pained protests.
“ Ow! Okay, okay, I didn’t know you suddenly hated Endeavour.”
“What, do I have to like every fucking pro hero?!”
The rest of their bickering was lost as they rounded the street corner, coming across the tonkatsu restaurant they’d been looking for. Both the brochure and the caretaker of their lodgings had recommended it, and they were all famished after a whole morning of fooling around at the beach.
The group found a long table to accommodate all of them. Todoroki was wedged between the wall and Bakugou along the bench—he found that he didn’t particularly mind, that odd feeling in his gut making itself known again. Todoroki blinked. Yes, he was just more used to Bakugou now, more than the rest of his class.
“Oi, Half-n-half. Stop daydreaming, do you want number eight?”
The waiter had passed the menus across the table, and there hadn’t been enough menus to go by, so Bakugou and Todoroki had to share. He had to shift close to Bakugou to get a look at the specials, acutely aware of how he was leaning heavily against Bakugou’s exposed shoulders. He was wearing a sleeveless, dark red shirt—a color that Todoroki had once told him he looked good in, the words slipping out thoughtlessly before he could take them back.
It was more distracting than Todoroki would care to admit. “Ah. Yes.” Todoroki managed eloquently. Number eight offered the shop’s signature fried pork cutlet with housemade soba, in either cold or hot soup. It was strange that Bakugou remembered what he liked, but it’d probably been obvious when they’d been forced to eat together during their license exam days.
Bakugou tilted his head to where Kirishima was listing off their orders to a waitress. “Shitty hair! We have one more—Todoroki finally made up his mind.”
He’d forgotten to tell Bakugou he preferred soba cold. He moved to speak, but Bakugou was already ahead of him. “Number eight. Cold soba, separated.”
“Oh—you know?”
Bakugou rolled his eyes, but there was a small curve to his mouth. “Of course. Besides the instant noodles you can’t even make, that’s the only thing you order all the fucking time.”
Todoroki felt mildly offended. “My instant noodles are fine.” Sure, maybe he’d activated the smoke alarms once, but it tasted like what Todoroki supposed instant noodles tasted like. He’d even tried to make his own cold soba once.
“They’re not supposed to still be crunchy once they’re cooked,” Bakugou said, exasperated. There was a strange look on his face—it was as if he didn’t know whether to be irritated or not.
“Maybe I like my noodles crunchy.”
“You activated the smoke alarm because you set your noodles on fire.”
Todoroki shrugged innocently. “I have more control over my quirk than that, you know.”
“It wasn’t your fucking quirk and you know it,” Bakugou glared at him when he opened his mouth. Todoroki wisely shut it again.
“Not everyone can cook like you—”
“You put the dry noodles in a pan. With no water.”
Todoroki was very sure that he heard Jirou snort, her conversation with Momo opposite them coming to a quiet pause. He was not about to let Bakugou tarnish his reputation like this.
“It’s been a year.”
“And if I didn’t cook breakfast for all of the helpless fuckers in our class you would still be eating undercooked instant noodles.”
The food had the good sense to arrive then, thankfully. Plates of steaming cutlet and freshly chopped cabbage were placed at their end of the table, along with small dishes of pickled plum.
Slices of pickle appeared in front of him, and he looked up to find Bakugou’s chopsticks transferring them from their dish to his plate.
It made no sense—the dish was as far from him as it was for Bakugou, and Bakugou never would’ve helped Kirishima or Mina like this. Or Camie and Inasa, for that matter.
Momo had stopped eating and was looking at Todoroki. Good, it meant he wasn’t going insane—yet. Jirou, despite sitting in front of them too, was unfazed, though she looked strangely smug. Beside her was Kaminari, blissfully unaware.
“Maybe,” Bakugou continued, as if everything was perfectly fine, “if you bothered to ask someone who can actually cook, they could actually show you how to make some damn instant noodles.”
Oh. Yes. He’d thought of asking Bakugou before, but had never thought of the right opportunity to do so. “That would be nice,” Todoroki said slowly, even as he felt heat flush his cheeks, though he didn’t know why.
There was a hint of gruffness to Bakugou’s voice as he turned away. “Good.”
—
The thought that’d been itching at the back of his mind surfaced at last. Night had fallen, and the group had gone back to their lodgings, all chatter and chaos as usual. “I thought you admired all the pro-heroes.”
Bakugou turned, towel thrown over a shoulder. They had rented a service apartment large enough to house them all, and Bakugou was alone in its kitchen, bent over the fridge. A cup of tea steeped on the counter beside him. He stopped mid-grumble about how someone had used up all the milk.
“What?” His frown melted infinitesimally when Bakugou realized it was Todoroki. He straightened, kicking the door shut with a foot. “Yeah, well. You can’t expect me to hero worship all the heroes.”
Todoroki leaned against the kitchen counter. “Why not? Everyone else seems to.”
“A lot of heroes don’t have—” Bakugou shook his head, as if he could shake off his previous words, searching for new ones. He took a sip of his tea, his scarlet eyes curious over the rim. No, not curious— knowing . “Some have goals that aren’t completely selfless.”
Like my father? Todoroki wanted to blurt out. But how could Bakugou have known that? It was true that Endeavour had been extremely… vocal during the Sports Festival. Especially after Todoroki had pointedly ignored him in front of the public. God, it felt like it had been forever since then.
Since they’d torn at each other at the battlefield, barely controlled fire and ice against explosions that still rang in his ears if he thought back hard enough. Since Todoroki had felt the fire fill his veins too, frighteningly alive against Bakugou’s sparks. Quirks enough to rival pro-heroes, some had said. They could’ve destroyed the arena.
“Why the fuck did you ask this out of the blue anyway, Half-n-Half?” Bakugou snorted. He dunked his tea mug into the sink. “Suddenly asking for everyone’s opinions on all the pro-heroes?”
Todoroki realized he was staring. Bakugou’s hair was still drying from the shower, water dripping from the wet ends, the drying tips of his blond hair sticking up like duck fluff. It made his gut do an odd flip.
“Quit staring,” growled Bakugou, his eyes sliding away from Todoroki’s as he slung the towel on a chair. He was in a sleeveless t-shirt again, Todoroki realized, flushing. Bakugou wearing an article of clothing should not have made him this excited.
It was probably the food from earlier. Yes. That was it. Although the soba had been delicious. “Nothi—not everyone. Just you.”
Bakugou gave an exasperated huff and threw up his hands, muttering something about how damn incorrigible he was. He turned away from Todoroki towards the door. “I’m going to get some milk at the convenience store because one of these assholes finished it.”
He looked back, and Todoroki could make out a slight tinge of pink to Bakugou’s cheeks, supposedly still flushed from his shower. “Are you coming or not?!”
Todoroki blinked, looking down at his clothes—a black t-shirt and sweatpants. Ah well. The convenience store wasn’t a pro-hero dinner event anyway.
They stepped out into the street, still dotted with the odd pedestrian. Ashido’s shout of get us some chips while you’re at it! and Bakugou’s ensuing yell of I’m not your fucking butler, Alien face! was still reverberating in his ears. He was pretty sure Bakugou was going to get the chips, anyway.
Perhaps it was something about the quietness of the little town that made him ask, “Were you talking about Endeavour?”
Bakugou stopped outside the convenience store’s fluorescent-bright window. He’d shoved his hands into his pockets, turning on a sandalled heel to glare at Todoroki.
“Yes. Is there a reason you’re suddenly interrogating me, Candycane?”
“I heard you talk about it with Kirishima, earlier today,” Todoroki shrugged.
Bakugou sighed. He threw back his head to survey the night sky as if in split-second contemplation, exposing the arc of his throat.
“It’s been fucking ages,” muttered Bakugou. His words seem to echo Todoroki’s earlier thoughts. He tilted his head back down to meet Todoroki’s gaze with his own, the fluorescent lights highlighting every curve and cut of his features. “I’m just going to say you were having this conversation out in the open, and I wasn’t some kind of nosy ass following you around to eavesdrop”
Eavesdrop on what? Todoroki frowned, but Bakugou wasn’t finished.
“I was behind you in the hallway when you were talking with your dad, and then your—” he gestured a hand at Todoroki, “—your family with Deku.”
I was the result of a quirk marriage. My father had me trained since I was born to be like him, once he knew about my quirk. I’m his replacement to beat All Might. He remembered pulling Izuku aside, the first person who had involuntarily made him use his fire. It had been… unexpected, but he hadn’t thought he’d feel elated . The rest of his past had come pouring out, as if an already-cracking dam inside him had broken down right there and then. And to Izuku no less, someone he’d only known for a few months.
Izuku, who he’d thought to be a rival but had become his first friend, his closest friend, who had looked horrified when he’d spoken about his scar, but had never pitied him. Never treated him as other than who he was, a rival, equal, friend.
Wasn’t Bakugou a close friend of his, too, then? Yet the thought of Bakugou being a friend sent something unpleasant curling up his throat.
He heard Bakugou exhale. “Look, Half-n-Half, I can’t take back what I’ve heard, but I’m not going to bring up this again—”
“No, wait. I’m glad you know.” And he was. It was...nice, that Bakugou knew almost everything about him. It didn’t make him uncomfortable—it felt like the exact opposite, and Bakugou, like Izuku, did not think him lesser, or felt the need to treat him differently even after he’d known. Perhaps the only thing that had changed was Bakugou being ready to argue (read: fight) any time someone or something associated good with Endeavour.
Bakugou’s apparent hatred for Endeavour didn’t bother him either. In fact, Todoroki found himself enjoying it.
Bakugou blinked. “Okay. Great.” He turned towards the store, and Todoroki followed him through the automatic sliding doors.
Todoroki found him in the snacks section, with a bag of what he was fairly certain was Ashido’s least favourite flavour of chips in his basket. He was also holding a pack of Todoroki’s favourite soy-flavoured crackers.
“Oh,” Todoroki observed critically. “I like those.”
Bakugou made a disgruntled noise. “Yes, I’m fucking aware. Go make yourself useful and get some milk.”
Todoroki stared at the brands of milk in the cooler, not really paying attention. Any brand was probably fine.
If he didn’t want Bakugou to be his friend, then what did he want?
He closed the cooler door shut. The carton hung from his fingers as he made his way to the counter where Bakugou was already paying for their things, back turned to Todoroki.
Bakugou peered at the milk Todoroki handed him, but said nothing as he shoved their haul into a bag. He was vaguely aware the kid in line behind them was having a small episode after recognizing them as the really cool UA students I saw on TV! It seemed like the Sports Festival wasn’t going to be forgotten anytime soon. Todoroki was just hoping he could’ve at least gotten until pro-heroism to have to deal with public attention.
The kid was cute, though.
“For the record, I still think your dad’s a prick,” Bakugou said, snapping Todoroki out of his thoughts. “Your family shouldn’t have to deal with the fucking consequences of his over-ambition, and you’re not him and never will be. Saving people isn’t some goddamn thing to add to your list of accomplishments like it's some sort of game of who’s better. I’m still going to be pissed at Endeavour. For the foreseeable future.”
They stepped out of the storefront’s glare and into the less well lit street. It should’ve felt wrong to be warmed by declarations of hatred towards his father, but Todoroki didn’t particularly care. “I know. That’s what I like about you.”
Oh no. The words had left before he had time to process them—what was it about Bakugou that took away his ability to speak properly?
Bakugou was looking at him. He’d stopped in his tracks, his scarlet eyes almost bright in the dimness. Todoroki had no idea what Bakugou was thinking.
“You—you like me?” Bakugou sounded strangled. Did he?
Oh. He did. He really, really, did.
“Yes.” Todoroki didn’t know what else to say, until he saw Bakugou’s eyes widen. But of course Bakugou wouldn’t—Todoroki shook his head, backtracking. “But it’s okay if you don’t feel the same—”
“What the fuck are you talking about. Are you saying you think,” Bakugou said, incredulous, “you think I don’t like you.” He didn’t look disgusted. He looked annoyed, or offended, as if Todoroki had accused him of chopping scallions wrong. Or as if he was going to burst a blood vessel.
“...Yes?” repeated Todoroki, this time less sure.
“I asked you out on a date!”
He had? “You did?”
“During lunch, dipshit!”
During lunch, when Bakugou had slid the pickled plums and slices of vegetables onto his plate without him asking, and then had said he’d teach Todoroki how to ‘make some damn instant noodles.’
“That’s not how you ask someone out,” Todoroki pointed out.
Bakugou made a frustrated noise that bordered on a snarl. “I cannot believe you, Half-n-Half.”
They’d drawn closer when Todoroki hadn’t noticed, and he found his gaze trained on Bakugou’s mouth. And his face, which was, now that he knew what he was feeling, very beautiful. He’d always been beautiful, whether Todoroki liked him or not. It was the kind of unfettered, fierce beauty lions possessed, wild and unapologetically so.
And then, before he could do anything else, Bakugou was tugging him into the alleyway where they’d stopped in front of. They were still unbearably close, and yet not close enough.
“Can I kiss you?” Todoroki found himself saying, breathless.
“I hate you so much,” He heard Bakugou murmur before their lips met, which sounded more like I like you so much.
Kissing Bakugou made Todoroki wonder why he hadn’t done so much, much sooner. Bakugou was slotting his lips against Todoroki, pushing him back up against the alley’s brick wall. Todoroki reached up to loop his arms around Bakugou, steadying himself.
The brick was hard and cold against his back, but Todoroki couldn’t find it in himself to care when Bakugou was swiping his tongue along his bottom lip—he tasted like tea, salt, Bakugou . He heard the rustle-thump of the bag dropping from Bakugou’s hold, and then Bakugou’s warm, callused hand was sliding up his shirt, up his spine. Todoroki gasped against his mouth, nipping down on Bakugou’s lip. He felt Bakugou shiver against him.
They parted just for Todoroki to slide his hands down Bakugou’s biceps, thankful that Bakugou seemed to have an endless supply of sleeveless t-shirts. “I like you in this.” His voice sounded hoarse to his own ears
Bakugou snorted. “Of course you do. You stare at me like that everytime I wear them.”
His cheeks felt hot, his head giddy and stuffed full of cotton. Todoroki buried his face into Bakugou’s neck with a small groan. “Did you wear them on purpose?”
“Maybe I did.” He sounded so smug, it really wasn’t fair. “I didn’t ask you out properly, huh?”
“Stop being so unfair.”
Bakugou didn’t stop. He was tracing lazy circles on the small of Todoroki’s back. “What if I asked you out to explore the town ourselves, tomorrow? Does that count as a proper date now, Icy-Hot?”
“Yes, it’s a date.” Todoroki looked up. “Wait. Were you flirting with me during lunch?”
“The fuck do you think I was doing?”
“It was an okay attempt.”
“ Asshole—”