Chapter Text
The bell rang like a bullet, sharp and final, marking the end of another exhausting day at U.A. High. It rattled through the halls, over the heads of groaning students gathering their things and talking shit about homework like it was the biggest enemy they’d ever face. Bakugou Katsuki slung his backpack over one shoulder, jaw tight, eyes forward. The noise didn’t bother him. It never really did. What got to him was the quiet after—the part where everyone went their separate ways and the day was over.
He liked the noise. It covered things up.
“Yo, Bakugou!”
Kirishima jogged up to him, full of dumb red-haired energy that Bakugou didn’t even hate anymore. Mina followed, her yellow and black eyes gleaming, glitter makeup catching the last rays of the sun through the high windows.
“We’re hitting the 7-Eleven down the street. You coming?” she asked, bouncing beside Kirishima.
Behind them, Kaminari and Jirou were in their usual orbit—her earbuds in, him talking too much but somehow still keeping her interested. Sero was already halfway out the building, skateboarding like it was his job, and Shinsou trailed behind all of them, hoodie up, eyes half-lidded, but still tuned in.
Bakugou shrugged. “Nah. Got shit to do.”
“Lame,” Denki groaned. “Bro, we were gonna light up at the hill. Not like you have homework you’re actually gonna do.”
Bakugou didn’t reply. He just gave them a middle finger and kept walking. It wasn’t mean. It was just him. They got it.
Kirishima clapped him on the shoulder. “If you change your mind, we’ll be at the usual spot. Come chill.”
Bakugou nodded once, not really looking at them, and kept walking until the halls emptied behind him. His boots echoed against the tile as he moved past classrooms, stairwells, teachers' lounges. He didn’t go to the dorms. Not yet.
Instead, he slipped through the back entrance of the school, took the winding path through the trees, and headed toward the maintenance shed—the one that wasn’t locked because someone (probably Mic) forgot to fix the busted latch.
Kariage was already there.
Leaning against the shed door, cigarette between his lips, all black hoodie and jeans and eyes that looked like they’d already seen too much. His smile was lazy and slow when he saw Bakugou.
“Took you long enough.”
Bakugou rolled his eyes, but his heart eased up. “Had to lose the groupies.”
Kariage huffed out a laugh, then took another drag. “You mean your little stoner crew? You’re part of it too, asshole.”
“Not like they know that.”
Bakugou pulled out a vape from his jacket pocket, put it to his lips, and exhaled. Mint. Always mint. He couldn’t stand the burn of cigarettes, but something about the way Kariage smoked them made him nostalgic.
They passed the vape and the cigarette back and forth until the sun dipped low. Kariage flicked the butt away and pulled a small baggie from his pocket. “You wanna?”
Bakugou didn’t answer. He just reached out, took it, and started rolling.
They laid in the grass later, buzzed and soft around the edges, Kariage’s fingers tracing idle shapes on Bakugou’s chest. It wasn’t loud out here. Just cicadas and the occasional rustle of wind through leaves.
“I missed this,” Kariage said.
Bakugou grunted. “We saw each other last weekend.”
“Yeah. And I still missed it.”
Bakugou didn’t reply right away. He shifted closer instead, resting his cheek against Kariage’s shoulder. It was one of the only places he let himself relax.
At home, everything was sharp.
Saturday night was lonely. when he came back home from hanging with Kariage The hallway smelled like stale beer and bleach. Mitsuki’s voice echoed through the apartment.
“Where the fuck have you been? You think you can come and go like this?”
Bakugou dropped his bag by the door and didn’t respond. He kept walking. A bottle hit the wall behind him.
“Don’t you fucking ignore me, Katsuki!”
He shut his bedroom door quietly. Sat on his bed and stared at the scuffed floorboards. His hands shook a little. He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. Pulled out his vape and dab pen from his pants. Inhaled.
In. Out. In. Out.
Went to the closet to gather his clothes for next week and left for the dorms the next day.
Just a few more months, he told himself.
Just a few more months until he turned 18 and could get out for good.
Back at the dorms on Sunday night, no one said anything about the faint bruise on his jaw or the red in his eyes. Or even the way he laughed a little too loud at Kaminari’s dumb jokes during dinner.
“You good, man?” Kirishima asked, voice low.
Bakugou grinned, crooked and bright. “Always, shitty hair.”
And he was. At least while they were watching.