Work Text:
The dorms were quieter than usual that night.
Not silent—never truly silent with Class 1-A—but subdued, like the building itself had decided to tread carefully after the day they’d all had. Doors were closed earlier than normal. Laughter was softer, more tired. Even the lights in the hallway seemed dimmer, casting long shadows instead of their usual sharp brightness.
Izuku Midoriya padded down the hall in his socks, shoulders slumped, arms aching in a way that went past muscle and settled deep into bone. Every step felt heavier than the last. His hero notebook was tucked under his arm, pages bent and smudged from sweat and dirt, but he didn’t have the energy to care right now.
The training exercise had gone on too long.
Too intense. Too many variables stacked on top of each other until even All Might had finally called it, voice heavy with concern. They’d been pushed—harder than usual—and it showed. Midoriya could still feel the phantom echo of explosions, the burn of overused power humming faintly under his skin.
He stopped in front of a familiar door.
Room 221.
He hesitated.
Bakugou Katsuki wasn’t exactly known for being… approachable. Not after a long day. Not after a day like this. He was probably inside, scowling at the walls, replaying every mistake in his head with brutal precision. The thought made Izuku’s chest tighten, because he knew that feeling. Too well.
Still.
He raised his hand and knocked, soft enough that it almost didn’t make a sound.
For a moment, there was nothing.
Then: “What.”
It wasn’t shouted. That alone told Izuku more than any explosion could have.
“It’s me,” Izuku said quietly. “Deku.”
Another pause. Longer this time. He imagined Bakugou standing there, debating whether to tell him to go away or pretend he wasn’t home. The lock finally clicked, and the door opened just enough to reveal Bakugou’s sharp red eyes, dulled with exhaustion.
“What do you want,” Bakugou muttered, not looking at him directly.
Izuku swallowed. “I—uh. I was just… checking on you.”
Bakugou scoffed, but it lacked heat. “I’m not dead.”
“I know.” Izuku offered a small, tired smile. “But… today was rough.”
Bakugou’s jaw clenched. For a second, Izuku thought he might shut the door anyway. Instead, Bakugou stepped back, opening it wider with a rough jerk of his hand.
“Get in, nerd,” he said. “You’re letting the heat out.”
Izuku blinked, then quickly slipped inside before Bakugou could change his mind.
The room smelled faintly like smoke and detergent—Bakugou’s usual combination. His uniform jacket was tossed over the back of a chair, boots kicked off near the bed instead of lined up like usual. That alone was telling. Bakugou didn’t leave things messy unless he was too tired to care.
Bakugou shut the door and leaned back against it, arms crossed.
“Well?” he said. “You gonna stare or talk?”
Izuku shifted his weight, suddenly aware of how out of place he might be. “I just… thought maybe we could… sit?”
Bakugou stared at him.
Then he rolled his eyes. “You’re unbelievable.”
But he pushed off the door and flopped down onto the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees. “Fine. Sit. Don’t make it weird.”
Izuku nodded a little too quickly and sat beside him, hands folded in his lap. The mattress dipped under their combined weight. They didn’t touch. Not yet.
For a few moments, neither of them spoke.
The quiet wasn’t awkward. It was heavy, but familiar. The kind of silence that came from shared exhaustion, from knowing the other person understood without needing words.
Bakugou finally exhaled sharply. “You overdid it.”
Izuku glanced at him. “You did too.”
Bakugou snorted. “Yeah, well. Somebody had to keep up with you.”
Izuku huffed a soft laugh, then winced as the motion pulled at sore muscles. Bakugou noticed, eyes narrowing.
“Idiot,” he muttered. “You okay?”
“I will be,” Izuku said. “Recovery Girl said I didn’t do any real damage. Just… pushed too far.”
Bakugou’s hands curled into fists. “That’s what you always say.”
Izuku looked down. “You’re not exactly careful either.”
Bakugou clicked his tongue. “Don’t deflect.”
They fell quiet again. Bakugou’s knee bounced slightly, a restless tell Izuku had learned to recognize. He reached out without thinking, resting his hand over Bakugou’s knee.
Bakugou froze.
Izuku realized what he’d done a second too late. “S-sorry—!”
“Don’t,” Bakugou said immediately.
Izuku paused.
Bakugou’s knee stopped bouncing. Slowly, he shifted closer, their shoulders brushing. “Just… don’t pull away.”
Izuku’s breath caught. “Okay.”
They sat like that for a minute, warmth seeping through the thin fabric of their shirts. Izuku could feel Bakugou’s heat, steady and grounding. His own body finally started to relax, tension draining out of him in small increments.
Bakugou leaned back on his hands, staring at the ceiling. “I hate days like this.”
Izuku nodded. “Me too.”
“Feels like no matter how strong you get, it’s never enough,” Bakugou continued, voice quieter than usual. “Like there’s always someone pushing harder. Faster. Stronger.”
Izuku hesitated, then leaned back as well, shoulder pressing fully into Bakugou’s. “I think… that’s part of it. Being a hero.”
Bakugou scoffed softly. “You always find a way to make it sound noble.”
“I don’t mean it like that,” Izuku said. “Just… we’re always chasing something. An ideal. A version of ourselves that doesn’t exist yet.”
Bakugou turned his head to look at him. “And you think that makes it better?”
Izuku met his gaze. “No. But I think it makes it… survivable. If we don’t have to do it alone.”
Bakugou looked away again, jaw tight. “Tch.”
But he didn’t disagree.
The room felt warmer now, quieter in a different way. Izuku shifted slightly, heart pounding. “Kacchan?”
“What.”
“Can I…?”
Bakugou sighed, long and tired. “Just do it, damn it.”
Izuku gently leaned into him, resting his head against Bakugou’s shoulder. He tensed for half a second, then relaxed, shifting his arm so it rested awkwardly at first around Izuku’s back.
They both adjusted, slowly, carefully, until it didn’t feel awkward at all.
Bakugou’s arm settled more securely around Izuku’s shoulders, pulling him closer. Izuku curled into him, knees drawing up slightly on the bed, head tucked under Bakugou’s chin.
Neither of them spoke.
Bakugou’s heartbeat was steady and strong beneath Izuku’s ear. He focused on it, letting the rhythm anchor him. The ache in his body dulled, replaced by a deep, bone-level exhaustion that felt safe instead of overwhelming.
Bakugou rested his chin lightly on Izuku’s hair. “You always smell like soap,” he muttered.
Izuku smiled sleepily. “You smell like smoke.”
“Hate it?”
“No,” Izuku said honestly. “It’s… you.”
Bakugou huffed a quiet laugh, barely there. His grip tightened just a little. “Idiot.”
Izuku’s fingers curled into Bakugou’s shirt, clutching gently. “Kacchan… thank you.”
“For what.”
“For letting me be here.”
Bakugou was quiet for a long moment. “You’re always here,” he said finally. “Even when you shouldn’t be.”
Izuku tilted his head up to look at him. “Is that a complaint?”
Bakugou met his gaze, eyes softer than Izuku had ever seen them. “No.”
They stayed like that as the minutes stretched on, the world shrinking down to the small dorm room and the warmth between them. Bakugou’s breathing slowed, evening out. Izuku could feel sleep tugging at him, heavy and insistent.
“Hey,” Bakugou murmured.
“Mmh?”
“Don’t burn yourself out trying to be perfect.”
Izuku blinked, surprised. “You too.”
Bakugou scoffed. “I didn’t say I would.”
Izuku smiled, pressing his face back into Bakugou’s chest. “Still.”
Bakugou didn’t respond, but his hand moved, rubbing slow circles into Izuku’s back. The motion was clumsy, unpracticed, but incredibly gentle.
Eventually, Izuku drifted, half-asleep, held together by the steady presence of the person who had always known him best.
Outside, the dorms settled fully into night.
Inside, two future heroes rested, tangled together, ready to face tomorrow—together.
---