Chapter Text
Bakugou sat in his room, the soft glow of his phone casting shadows on the walls. It was well past his usual bedtime, but sleep seemed to evade him recently. All he could do was think. Think about everything he ruined. He’d argued with Izuku last time they talked, not like that was anything new but this one had hit different. He couldn’t keep his mouth shut for two goddamned seconds and blurted out something he regretted the moment it left his mouth. After that he’d avoided him like the plague, knowing that if he was the one to try to apologize he’d fuck it up like always. He can’t count the number of times he had attempted to say he was sorry and ended up hurting Izuku more somehow. It felt like a curse, or maybe it was genetic, god knows his mother had always done the same. But at least she could say that. The words always got stuck in his throat, and the inevitable hacking up of some bullshit came out instead.
It’d been this way seemingly forever, barely a single memory from his past included an actual point-blank apology that hadn’t been taken as something else. He knew it was his own fault though, he could feel the insecurity crawling up his chest and throat, ready to spew acid to whoever happened to be around, yet he never could push it back down.
His thoughts drifted towards middle school, the worst of it. He was so pathetic, clinging to any sense of admiration or power no matter if it was out of ass-kissing or fear. His anger seemed insatiable, bursts of violence at the slightest hint of someone (Izuku) under-estimating him. Looking back on it now though, he knew that a majority of those “under-estimating” him really weren’t, his ego was just so fragile that even the tiniest jab would send him spiraling, spouting threats that regrettably weren’t empty.
At least he could admit that to himself now, finally matured enough to recognize his own bullshit, he just didn’t know how to do anything about it. He wished he could blame everything from middle school on hormones, figuring himself out and all that crap, but it was deeper than that. He knew that lashing out only made things worse, but his brain didn’t know what else to do, seemingly trapped in fight mode 24/7. Izuku didn’t deserve any of that taken out on him. No one did. He knew what it did to him. He could still hear Inko’s sobs echo in his memory, scared to death of losing her only child. He could still feel the fear coursing through his veins when he’d read that text.
The guilt came creeping back, even though it never left. God, if he’d just gotten his head out of his own ass for once he might’ve seen it. The warning signs. The strange goodbyes. The worst part is it could’ve worked. Izuku would be gone, he’d never smile again, never ramble on, never be the hero he’d always wanted to be. Bakugou would never get to tell him- fuck, something, anything. He’d be stuck, forever 14, god maybe younger.
A tear slipped down his cheek. He didn’t know he’d started crying, internally cursing at himself for the display of weakness, despite being alone. He hadn’t magically been cured of his fragile masculinity quite yet, just acknowledged part of it.
A ping from his phone pulled him out of his thoughts, picking up his phone from where it lay beside him.
It was a text from Kirishima;
“Goodnight. Thanks for everything.”
He froze. He heard the blood rushing in his ears, mouth going dry. In reality it was a perfectly normal message, nothing weird about it, but it was all too familiar to Bakugou. The last time he’d read those exact words he almost lost him. Fuck, had he missed something? Had Kirishima shown any signs? He couldn’t lose him. He couldn’t go through that again. A panic induced haze slipped over him, and suddenly it wasn’t Kirishima texting him anymore, it was Izuku.
Adrenaline rushed through him, stumbling through a desperate text, begging him to stay. He gave up halfway through, hands trembling too much to form a coherent message, and shakily pressed the call button, silently praying for him to pick up.
He let out a choked sob of relief when the call was answered. He didn’t have time to think about how vulnerable he was being, just that he needed to keep him alive. He barely got anything out, hyperventilating too much, but what he did wasn’t much more than a string of pleas and cries.
“Please- you can’t do this, please, don’t go, we can talk I swear-”
He sounded desperate and pitiful, his voice already raw from crying earlier and not helped by the continued sobs.
“Woah, hey, what’s going on? Bakugou? Are you okay?”
Kirishima’s voice was flooded with concern, all sorts of alarms going off in his head. He’d never heard Bakugou sound like this, much less out of the blue.
“You can’t do it, please, don’t kill yourself-”
Bakugou hadn’t even registered the response, too wrapped up in frantically begging. His thoughts kept on repeating, he couldn’t fail again, he had to be quicker, he had to save him.
There was a pause on the other end of the line, where Kirishima sat shocked.
“I'm not going to! Hey man, it’s okay I'm not going anywhere!”
He did his best to console Bakugou, and after around half an hour he seemed more or less successful when his sobs gradually subsided to shaky breaths.
While Kirishima’s steady reassurances helped sooth him, his gut still twisted with dread. The fear still lingered, even long after snapping out of it and remembering it was Kirishima who was on the other end.
Despite this though, he adamantly refused when Kirisima offered to come to his dorm. He’d finally regained his composure, but he still felt like a mess. The last thing he needed was for someone to see him like this, especially given how the delayed shame curled in his gut.
Kirishima only let him go after much resistance and making him promise to talk in the morning, and Bakugou was glad for once that he knew enough about him to know that what he needed was to be left alone.
The phone finally fell silent, a small mercy given his newfound headache.
He let his head hit the pillow, striving for sleep, but of course it wouldn’t give him that. He lay awake a little longer, staring at the ceiling, wondering what the hell that was, regret swirling through him. Why had he reacted like that? He knew those days were over. He dreaded the next day, the infinite questions bound to come, most he either didn’t know the answer to or wasn’t ready to say, maybe he never would be.