Chapter Text
It didn’t end there, which made Bakugou feel all sorts of mixed emotions.
On one hand, he hadn’t ever received an actual nickname before. Sure he had been called less savory things or that hideous nickname that Deku would never drop. It had spread to the rest of the class, sometimes people like Mina and Kaminari joining in with that demeaning bullshit.
Of course, that hadn’t been a problem in quite some time since he had essentially moved out. Sure, all his things were still there and he went back to the dorms in preparation for classes and to do his homework, but whenever he had a free afternoon or the opportunity to sleep in…well, he never slept alone now.
There was a strange level of intimacy and exposure that came from being…well, exposed. Bakugou hadn’t been a particularly shy person, but he had created great lengths to avoid the sort of extra skin or indecent exposure that others would look at. He had taken to changing into his hero outfit in the comfort of the washroom stalls. He had clung to the long sleeve and high neckline of his winter hero outfit even when inside a heated building. He showered and bathed more often than not at the upper classmen dorms where Tamaki shared a private shower with only one other classmate who Bakugou hadn’t really interacted much with.
Hell, even during his lunch break when he swam laps he dropped the smaller bottoms and grabbed something closer to a wetsuit. Was it expensive? Sure, but it stopped people from staring at him oddly and pointing out every inch of his flaws.
Fuck, Bakugou didn’t even like looking at his reflection anymore. Every glimpse he had made him think of a spiraling cycle of repetition: inadequate, pathetic, you have all these opportunities at your fingertips and you’re still doing shit.
Bakugou didn’t like mirrors, and he didn’t like his own skin. In an odd unsettling paradox, he didn’t actually mind his body if he wasn’t the only person there. He disliked his shoulders, how they bulged weirdly and didn’t arc gracefully in comparison to professional heroes with actual muscle. He didn’t like his legs, too thin and gangly compared to the athletic raw power of heroes like Miruko. He hated his back and his waist where he tapered so tiny every notch in his belt made his brain radiate: tiny, pathetic, fragile, going to go break your bones like fucking Deku?
He didn’t mind when he didn’t have to look at all his failures alone. He didn’t mind when Tamaki expressed his odd tactile fixation with textures and other things, the older student had a weird interest in poking and pressing on Bakugou’s muscles and tendons in a way that wasn’t at all sexual. Hell, if it was something as weirdly dumb as a kink or a sexual interest, Bakugou could deal with that. But no, the fucker was just weird and would spend hours contently playing with Bakugou’s hand or ankle, rolling and bending it through its range of motion and pressing on each little nodule of bone and sinew.
“You’re tense,” Tamaki told him the following morning, lazy and relaxed. The sun had risen a while ago, Bakugou had taken advantage of it and already had slipped away to run with the dynamic duo: Korra and Yoko. The two were classmates to Tamaki, each with quirks that didn’t appear as offensive until you took one of them on a spar.
Korra reminded Bakugou a fair amount of Yaomomo, but had a quirk oddly opposite to hers. Hero name Retaliate, she didn’t have anything special about her until you struck. In a weird mimicry of Tamaki’s manifestation mixed with a good old fashion revenge arc, her quirk appeared only in the presence of a different quirk mutation- adapting directly in response to it. Bakugou hadn’t understood what she meant until she requested he hit her a few times in a friendly spar- before his eyes and after a good half dozen hits, she was durable just to the point of his normal strikes. Adding in that level of resistance to his normal nitroglycerine blasts, if she didn’t instantly explode under the first wave, eventually she’d become resistant to that as well.
For a personality, she was chipper enough with a frazzling level of optimistic nihilism. Runs with her always were shitty initially until she caught up after a few minutes and literally gave him a run for his money.
Running with Yoko on the other hand, was very different. The girl reminded Bakugou either of Aizawa-Sensei, or the bird-headed guy in his class, or even in some weird way of Midnight. She wasn’t eccentric or occult with a skull aesthetic, but her presence itself made him uncomfortable. Something about her screamed predator! Despite her boredom and polite courtesy to his tentative side-stepping. Yoko, hero name Crosshair, had gotten in academic problems with UA, apparently severely injuring a student during a spar and the paperwork and legal affairs escalated to the point where Nedzu had to step in. Knowing her quirk, homing beacon, it was easy for him to understand why she fucked up. You can’t dodge if everything is going to lock onto you regardless of how well you dodge.
The two were a duo that often left Bakugou wheezing through unexpected laughter. Korra’s blunt dark humour had shocked him at first, but one dry comment from Yoko left him keeled over hacking up his lungs outside the swimming courts.
Running with one of them was his new usual, running with both of them was a rare delight due to hero schedules, but one he gladly took up. It was a fuck ton less lonely running with two soon-to-be professionals, and better yet they deterred any familiar faces from approaching him.
His regular runs slowly incorporated their way back into his schedule, the new thickened scar tissue on his heels now a firm sore comfort that didn’t totally destroy his shoes. Getting back to the upper classmen dorms, he had just enough time to shower, and slide back into bed with a self-satisfied slump to his body.
Except apparently, Tamaki woke up exceptionally touchy-feely and was poking just shy of his spine with prodding fingers. Groaning into his pillow quietly, he tensed his back enough to try and jolt the other away from poking him.
“You’re tense,” Tamaki repeated stupidly, pressing on the long thick line of muscle stretching parallel on both sides of his vertebra, “this muscle is called the multifidus.”
Then, with the absolute malicious intent of Recovery Girl healing a broken bone, the fucker pressed down with his knuckles just above Bakugou’s hip along his spine. Bakugou yelped, spine arcing under the sharp ache radiating all the way to the base of his ribcage.
“You should stretch that,” Tamaki stated simply, rubbing small circles with his thumb as he relieved the pressure before trailing his hands higher to find another area that didn’t pass his scrutiny, “oh, this one is called the longissimus dorsi.”
Bakugou gargled something as his jaw dropped reflexively from the bright spark of pain as the man pressed down savagely. Going limp but certainly not relaxed, he swore into the pillow as Tamaki poked around his shoulder blade curiously.
“You’re very tense,” Tamaki noted, thankfully not pressing down on his body anymore, “why?”
“Why are you so fucking weird?” Bakugou growled back, bones still aching, “how the fuck should I know?”
“Are you stressed?” Tamaki asked, like being stressed wasn’t a constant at this damn school, “is it an assignment?”
“I’m just stiff from running,” Bakugou growled, swiping the other’s hand away pointedly, “get your dumb clammy hands away from my back!”
“I haven’t even eaten clams,” Tamaki said, wilting under Bakugou’s scowl. With a sigh of abrupt dissatisfaction, the other collapsed back on the bed, making it bounce below his body weight, “is it because you don’t think you’re making any progress?”
Bakugou stilled, his back tensing up further. Tamaki watched him with one eye, pupil weirdly slit and vertical for how early it was. Bakugou wondered if the idiot had manifested caffeine or some other weird thing this early.
“You are, if you’re wondering,” Tamaki told him casually, “but I think it’s normal to think that way. We all did, I mean…well, we still do. It’s annoying, but I think it’s just how it is to be a hero now. Our success is literally on a list for the public to look at and judge, so it’s almost impossible not to be worried about that.”
“I don’t give a shit about what others think of me,” Bakugou snarled, metaphorical hackles raised at Tamaki’s wry knowing look, “stop that!”
“It’s my face,” Tamaki sighed, slumping a bit at Bakugou’s bristling hostility. “If you don’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to.”
“Good,” Bakugou grumbled.
Yoko, in all her scary intense focus, apparently had a rebellious streak wider than most. UA was a strict place, but apparently lenient enough that some of the staff would turn a blind eye to the older students. Having alcohol on campus was illegal, yet it existed in the shadows. Marijuana and drugs were certainly illegal but here Bakugou was, shoving an ungodly amount into a decorative tea container stashed in Tamaki’s closet. It wasn’t like he was going to openly smoke back at his dorm, plus, he spent more time with the upperclassmen anyways.
It was not permitted to bring guests into UA. Sneaking past the security system was already hard enough, but apparently a few secrets and favours passed around could do wonders. At this rate, Bakugou wasn’t even surprised that villains once broke onto campus.
Yoko apparently, had a girlfriend the exact opposite to her. Where Yoko was intense, broody, and likely to stab you with a hairpin, her girlfriend was a chipper ray of sunshine that spoke a little too much and didn’t seem to care about social tact. It was oddly refreshing, and incredibly amusing to see Yoko’s normal stoicism fade into open fondness.
“Her girlfriend? Oh, yeah,” Tamaki explained, dressing in his school uniform. Bakugou didn’t bother eying up the man, he had seen him shirtless enough as it was. There was nothing fascinating about doing a series of buttons on a white shirt. “She isn’t a hero, I think she works in design?”
“How did she get in here?”
“Her quirk,” Tamaki said, shrugging. Then he paused, realizing his misstep. “I mean, uh, not her quirk. Since using a quirk is highly illegal outside of uh, hero work-.”
“Yeah yeah, I’m not blabbing,” Bakugou said, rolling his eyes. He didn’t bother looking at Tamaki, instead laying on their bed staring at the ceiling. “What is it?”
“Uh…a kind of replication I think? Or mimicry. It’s hard to explain, she can return things to a previous state, but takes a…mental picture before?”
“Huh,” Bakugou said, contemplating on it. “So…she makes like…blueprints or something?”
“I have no idea,” Tamaki apologized, going so far as to wince. “But! Uh, ask Yoko. She uh, she’s really good at uh, helping quirk train.”
Bakugou’s eyebrows lifted, still staring at the ceiling. “How the fuck does that work?”
“Well,” Tamaki said, wrapping his tie around his neck. He secured it quickly, looping it through the necessary areas to pull it taut and ready. “It’s convenient when you can get minor injuries repaired to your previous state.”
“Hello!” Yoko’s girlfriend said, offering both hands. Bakugou stared at her, taken aback by the outright friendliness. Yoko rarely initiated conversation and here this lady was, shoving both her hands out happily.
“You must be Bakugo!” she stated, nearly chirping it with the up and down melodic tune of her voice. “I’ve heard so much about you! It is nice to meet you- please take good care of me!”
Bakugou blinked, feeling whiplash hit him from her excitement and odd formalness of speech. “Uh, okay.”
“Mirna, let him be,” Yoko said, his saving grace in all ways. “I wanted to introduce you. Your quirk is dangerous, and I tend to stab people.”
“Yep! She does!” Mirna enthused, looking quite happy. She lifted her hands, angling them like a cliché gesture of taking a photograph. “Can I take a screenshot of you?”
“A what?”
“She calls them screenshots,” Yoko explained with an air of suffering. The poor woman looked like she hadn’t any sleep, or the opportunity to drink a coffee yet. “It’s a…picture of your current physical state. That way, if I end up stabbing you she can revert you back to the previous form.”
“Yep!” Mirna chirped once more, tipping forward and backwards on her heels, “and I can revert back any targets! It’s pretty easy! Oh, but don’t do anything bigger than an injury that can heal naturally! I can’t make you grow a finger or anything, that would be crazy.”
Bakugou blinked, looked at Yoko and stated: “she’s insane.”
“I know,” Yoko agreed, looking absolutely exhausted. “But you would not believe the amount of lawsuits I’d have if it wasn’t for her.”
“Only a few,” Mirna said, laughing openly as if it was some great cosmic joke. Bakugou knew enough about Yoko that the concept of a lawsuit was not a joke at all. “Besides! I’m no hero, I just poke around and draw silly little outfits-.”
“Your sketches are not silly-.”
“Well I’m not out saving people’s lives-.”
“And that’s my cue to leave,” Bakugou deadpanned. He stood, recognizing when the conversation was turning into something personal. He paused, briefly nauseous for an unknown reason. He shook himself out of it metaphorically, uncaring of the reason why. “I have class now. Bye.”
“Bye!” Mirna said, winking one eye dramatically with another laugh. “Don’t get arrested! And oh, when you come back let me take a good look at you!”
“Look at your girlfriend, bitch!”
Yoko smirked slightly, lifting both eyebrows as Mirna gasped in horror. “Wha- you- Yoko! Stop looking at me like that! Stop!”
The nausea was not something Bakugou had expected.
It came on quite abruptly, in truth he couldn’t put a specific date to when it started. It was suddenly there, and now Bakugou felt nauseous. He had felt sick before, it wasn’t a problem. It came with the territory of having literal nitroglycerin on your hands, and shouting until your voice went hoarse. This was a different sort of nausea though, it was a small cramping bit that he couldn’t identify in his stomach but instead rather his throat. It felt odd, weird. He didn’t want to drink water, in fear that it would make it worse.
When lunch came around, Bakugou left. This was usual, as he normally swam during this time. He had gotten some difficulties from others when they realized that’s what he actually did on break, but the tension lessened after he avoided the pool for a while. Now, he was back to hopefully getting a quick workout in. Tamaki had given him one of his swimshirts, since not every student had to go nearly nude and Bakugou swore someone dropped the pool temperature recently. The elastic material was fine, comfortable on his skin.
What wasn’t comfortable was how his stomach and throat twisted oddly at the smell of chlorine. He wasn’t going to vomit, but whatever gnawing hunger was present very quickly fled. He was thirsty, but it was easier to ignore with the weird sickness hinging on his hindbrain. It took him a few seconds to breathe carefully through his nose when he finished his laps, trying to reduce the feeling in his mouth and neck so it wouldn’t become an actual problem when he got out.
Afternoon classes went similarly. He was nauseous, there was a familiar headache that made him feel even more snappish. Nobody talked to him, nobody asked him any questions. Discussions occurred around him and he ignored the world, listening to aggressive music as something twisted in his gut. Had he eaten something bad? Too much coffee on an empty stomach? Not enough water? Whatever, it was an issue he could work out later.
Two days later, he was wondering if this state of feeling ill was now his new normal. The nausea didn’t go away, which was inconvenient because it made even familiar smells feel disgusting. Strong cologne made him twitch, overpowering spicy food made his nose burn and his throat considered actually feeling exceedingly sick. Bakugou had yet to actually get to the point of being ill, but the potential was there. All the time. And it was beginning to be a norm for him, which was somewhat irritating. Coffee made it slightly worse, juice made it slightly worse. Water diluted it, energy drinks were hit or miss.
He could deal with it, it was just a bit of an extra gag when he brushed his teeth. He didn’t need to use mouthwash anyways.
The amount of exercise Bakugou did per day did not decrease, but his appetite definitely had. It wasn’t even purposeful- it simply was an odd paranoia over the concept of being ill. He didn't have a thing against vomiting, but why pressure himself if he didn’t need to?
He didn’t need foods which upset his stomach, which were thick and dense or excessively sugary. Processed sugars, preservatives all made his gut twist and made his head hurt. He scrapped sugary energy drinks from what he ate, he removed any sort of carbs and the majority of acidic fruits. He didn’t need oranges, he didn’t need grapefruit or anything like that.
Ironically, the only thing which made the nausea go away was a few puffs and a few moments of lightheaded bliss. Tamaki had picked up on his recent sickness, it wasn’t hard to notice when Tamaki ate an enormous amount each day but had ridiculously high expectations for what he ate.
When Bakugou found an energy bar that wasn’t so overpowering to bother him, Tamaki had wrinkled his nose and cringed at the sight.
“The fuck you looking at?”
“Just…that brand,” Tamaki said, shuffling oddly. He cringed again, fishing around for something expensive and bland in his special cupboard of food. “It’s disgusting, what they put in. The label lies.”
Bakugou stopped chewing. “What do you mean it’s disgusting?”
“It’s all over processed,” Tamaki stated uncomfortably, “it just…doesn’t pair well with me.”
Bakugou casually dropped the bar in the trash. His list of foods were shortening even further, mental calculations being made for what was healthy and what wasn’t. What had enough protein with no complex carbs or preservatives thrown in. What did he need to perform on a daily level? What would keep him functioning but not weigh him down in useless fats.
“What are you eating?” Bakugou asked, shouldering his way to peer into Tamaki’s cupboard. Tamaki didn’t move, indulging Bakugou’s nosy interference. Ducking below Tamaki’s arm, Bakugou wriggled himself into his arms so that they were flush together, Bakugou’s hair rubbing against Tamaki’s nose. Tamaki sighed, dropping his chin onto Bakugou’s head as the two stared into the cupboard with equal interest.
“Raw seaweed?” Bakugou asked, eyebrows lifting up, “this is all…bland shit.”
“At least I won’t turn into a weird processed lump if I try to manifest it,” Tamaki muttered, jaw shifting on Bakugou’s scalp. “You can have any of this, but it isn’t exactly that high in calories. Normally I go out with Fatgum for sashimi, or something else. Plainly made, just to make sure my quirk doesn’t change.”
“Huh,” Bakugou said. His nausea was back, he didn’t know how much of the things in the drawer would be that helpful for him. Nothing greasy, nothing fried. Only healthy, nothing strong in flavour. He couldn’t stomach the drinks in the vending machines anymore, he didn’t want to vomit. He could drink water when he came back from his run. He could eat food at the end of the day. “Thanks.”
Tamaki hummed, nuzzling the top of Bakugou like a large kitten. “Have a good day, Bakatsuki.”
Bakugou swallowed, feeling an odd shift in his throat. It felt odd to receive such a gentle affectionate nickname. He leaned backwards slightly- it was reassuring to feel a larger frame against his back. “Yeah yeah, whatever.”
Tamaki chuckled, snatched something which looked like boring leaves, and vanished for his day. Bakugou felt odd, weirdly empty. He didn’t like it, the nausea and the strange prickling knowledge that he had been unhealthy. He was supposed to be the best, but apparently he had been glutting himself and throwing calories down his throat. How disgusting was he, how much had he ruined his body over the years.
He had to do better, he had to.
“Oi,” Bakugou demanded, slapping his hands down at the kitchen table. Four upper classmen looked at him, all with open curiosity and different stages of exhaustion. “Who here can get me on a patrol?”
They paused, glancing at each other in thought. It wasn’t an unbelievable demand, Bakugou had been on a patrol before. Just with an unfortunate man who hadn’t agreed with his methods. He had done most of the paperwork already, it wouldn’t be that hard to go out on the field again.
“I can take you, probably.”
Bakugou turned, glancing at the stairwell. Holding a mug of coffee and dressed in a bright pink sweater which definitely did not belong to her, Yoko stared at him. Hero Crosshair, already a walking controversy. How long until her methods were brought into public light? Who would employ someone already with a sketchy legal background?
“What hero do you work under?”
“I don’t,” Yoko said, quirking a smile with only one side of her face. “I’m on a private contract. Technically an intern, all the work of a private underground hero. Just need to go through the boss man to see if we could work together for a bit.”
That sounded… fantastic. No hero to boss him around, nobody to manhandle him and insult him when he didn’t fit the shape society wanted from him. An underground hero, meaning he wouldn’t see the bigger bloodier fights but at least he could fucking breathe.
Plus…he liked Yoko. She was funny, dark as hell but already he knew they got along.
“Fine, who is your boss?”
Yoko sipped her drink and said rather casually. “Eh, through the hero commission. I’ll give them a call. I have a feeling they’ll really like you, kid.”