Sometimes, Izuku forgets that Dabi has had a rough life. He puts up a convincing front, a tough persona of cool anger and quiet, confident self-sufficiency. He forgets that Dabi works low-level villain jobs to make ends meet, and that he's probably starving more often than not, and even though he's been to his apartment on numerous occasions, he forgets that he's basically a hobo with an address.
It's hard to forget all that as he watches Dabi raid his fridge and eat just about every speck of leftover food there is to be had. He doesn't know exactly how he'll explain the missing food to his mom, but he can't find it in himself to ask Dabi to stop.
"Holy fuck," Dabi says as he shovels a container of leftover yakisoba into his mouth. "Your mom can cook."
"I know." Izuku smiles, taking the praise for her food as if it's his own.
"I'm formally proposing to this yakisoba. No, I'm proposing to your mom, so she can feed me all the time."
"First of all, I think that was offensive—women don't exist to take care of you. Second of all, stay away from my mom."
"I'll be your new daddy, Yami! Think of how happy we'll be, son."
Izuku throws the nearest weighty object—the TV remote—at Dabi's head with extreme prejudice. It smacks him in the forehead, but he's too engrossed in eating to care about it. He cackles around the slurping noodles.
When Dabi is finally finished eating, a trail of dirty Tupperware left in his wake, he settles on the couch like a dead weight. Izuku laughs when he notices the distinct paunch protruding from is usually flat stomach. Maybe he'll tell his mom the truth about the food. She doesn't seem like the type to begrudge a hungry person some extra food.
"She wants to meet you, you know."
"Sounds like a bad idea. I'm not one for good first impressions."
"Yeah, no shit. I don't think she's expecting someone good, though. From what I've gathered, she thinks you're a bad influence," Izuku says truthfully. She hasn't asked many questions about Dabi, or said much, but he can just tell by the quiet, cautious way she brings him up sometimes.
"I'm the bad influence? The first time we met, you bribed me with cigarette money to buy you a fucking taser."
Izuku waves a hand at that, as if to say that detail is entirely irrelevant. He has a point, though. Izuku was already neck deep in his twelve step plan to take on vigilantism when they met, so Dabi is hardly an influence on him in that regard. If anything, Dabi only gave his recent illegal activities more weight, more gravitas. Dabi helped him see that he wasn't just saving people, he was shouldering an ideal, calling attention to the inherent evils of the villain-hero binary. Izuku used to think in black and white, but Dabi might be the most morally grey person he's ever met. Izuku himself was going more grey as time went on, and it didn't bother him one bit.
Izuku abandons that train of thought and turns on the TV, trolling for minor distractions. The TV in the Midoriya home is almost always tuned in to one hero news station or another, so it's no surprise that the first thing he sees when it blinks on is coverage of Endeavor's latest villain fight. He settles into analysis mode, out of sheer habit. He doesn't even notice the sour look on Dabi's face, pulling his staples into a sneer. He rips the remote out of Izuku's limp hand and changes it to nothing in particular.
"Turn that shit off. I hate that bastard," he grumbles.
Izuku frowns at Dabi's obvious fury, trying to understand what made him go from fat and happy to pissed off and disgusted in a matter of seconds.
"You know he has the highest kill count of any hero in history? Two hundred fucking years of heroics and no one's murdered more people than Endeavor." He says the name like it's a slur, like it's the worst word in anyone's vocabulary.
"How do you know that?" Izuku asks, bewildered. He's a grade A hero nerd, his favorite pastime is hero research, but he's never come across anything so damning. He's not Endeavor fan by any stretch of the imagination, but he'd ever imagined he was that bad.
"I pay attention. And I don't get my news from hero worshipping assholes." Dabi's words are pure vitriol, acid spewing from his tongue.
Dabi is in a perpetually snarky mood, but he's rarely angry. It makes Izuku feel uneasy. It makes him think of Kacchan and popping explosions igniting across Izuku's blistered skin. Dabi wouldn't do that—even if Dabi were prone to violent outbursts, he doesn't think he'd intentionally burn him. Anyone who's been burned as badly as Dabi must know how powerful fire can be. And that thought ignites something in the back of his head, a spark leading him on a trail of clues all piecing together slowly. His eyes dart over to the TV, where Endeavor was previously on the screen. He looks at Dabi's icy blue stare and his patchy dye job. He remembers that Dabi guards his real name—his entire identity—so closely, almost as closely as Endeavor guards his family and his home from the press.
"Dabi," he says slowly, placing a light hand on the shoulder of Dabi's tattered jacket. "Fuck Endeavor."
He knows it's nothing profound, but maybe it's what Dabi needed to hear anyway. His staples pull at his cheeks, a rare smile, and he grunts out a laugh.
"Fuck Endeavor," he says, like he's making a sanctimonious toast. The awkward air dissipates and the mood feels lighter as Izuku puts on one of his mom's favorite dramas. They spend his second day of suspension laughing at poorly written dialogue, overwrought acting, and insane plot twists.
—
Katsuki sits at his desk waiting for the final bell to ring, his fingers tapping in anticipation. He has a plan and he's ready to execute it with the same flawless finesse with which he does everything. The buzzer dings and he makes a beeline for the teacher's desk. He hopes he doesn't look like the cat that ate the canary, but then again, he doesn't really care either.
"Hey, teach. I promised Deku's mom I'd bring his assignments by on my way home," he lies, smoothly. The teacher doesn't look like he cares enough to question him.
"That's very kind of you, Bakugo." He gathers worksheets and assignments for him to take to the Midoriya's house, and just like that phase one is complete. He walks away with books and notes in his hands, a smug smile curling on his lips. I'm surrounded by idiots.
Katsuki walks home, only deviating at the last second to make his way toward Deku's shitty apartment tower. He'll worm his way into the apartment while Auntie Inko is at work, and make Deku tell him what he's up to. Maybe he'll snoop around his room or finally get his hands on that new notebook of his. And Deku won't be able to turn him away because he's sure the nerd is worried about getting his assignments done. It's perfect. He knocks on the door with excessive force, the books hanging limply in his other hand. He refuses to reflect on the fact that this is his first time coming to Deku's apartment in about eight years. He doesn't dwell on the fact that it looks even dirtier than it did back then, rickety stairs and cracking foundation. He's sure the inside is the same though, warm light and simple decorations, spotlessly clean. They may live in a shithole but Auntie Inko knows how to make a home.
There's some muffled speech on the other side of the door, and Katsuki wonders if Auntie Inko is actually home. If she is, this just got a lot harder.
There's a laugh on the other side of the door that gets louder as it opens. Deku's smile falls when he meets Katsuki's eye. He doesn't say anything for a long moment, not until Katsuki breaks eye contact to look at the stranger behind him, a scarred up, lanky individual that looks like he'd be more at home in a Hot Top than on the Midoriya couch. The door closes just enough to obscure his view, and that only piques Katsuki's curiosity.
"Deku," he sneers.
"Bakugo," he says, slow and measured without an ounce of apprehension. Katsuki still hates the way his family name sounds coming from Deku, but he supposes its better than the stupid baby nickname of the past.
"Got your assignments," he says, shoving past the half-closed door, and somehow he knows that Deku let him do it. He rankles at the thought.
"I'll take them and you can go," he says, pointedly holding out his hand for the assignments. "My mom will be home soon and I don't want you here when she gets back."
"I should probably head out, too, Ya—" the scarred guy says, and then cuts himself off with a choked cough, and then speaks again, "Ya...y'all?"
Deku looks tense, grimacing at his friend, and Katsuki has no idea what's happening, but it's fucking suspicious. Deku leans closer to the stranger and they talk in low whispers. Blue eyes cut to Katsuki and then back to Deku before the guy gives a firm nod, and Katsuki is annoyed to be on the outs.
"Who the fuck is this guy, Deku?"
"His babysitter." The guy smirks and reaches out a scarred hand to take the books from Katsuki. He grips it tighter in retaliation, determined to be petty about it.
"Thanks for coming by, Bakugo," Deku says, plastering a fake smile on when Deku's friend pries the book from Katsuki's hand with surprising strength. He didn't expect his noodle arms to do much. "I'll walk you out."
Deku literally shoves Katsuki out the door, but Katsuki is surprised to find that Deku came outside with him. He shoves his hands in his pockets, the tense line of his shoulders hunching around his neck.
"You haven't been here in years, Kacchan. What are you doing?" He sounds tired, but Katsuki can detect that hopeful little lilt in his voice. Katsuki physically jolts when he hears the nickname again, but he tries to hide it by crossing his arms.
"I'm not doing shit. You're the one acting shady," he snarls, his words dripping accusation.
"I'm not doing anything."
Say you want about his strained relationship with Deku. They're not friends by any means, haven't been since they were brats, but Katsuki knows when Deku is lying.
"You're lying," he says, jaw clenching.
Deku looks him in the eye, and they hold all the strain from the last decade or so, all the grief over being too useless to hang around with someone like Katsuki.
"We're not friends."
"No fucking shit, Deku."
"So, leave. I don't feel comfortable with you here, and I deserve to at least have some peace at home."
Katsuki rolls his eyes at Deku's obvious play for sympathy. He doesn't care. And he really wanted peace he wouldn't be hanging around with creepy bastards like the scarred guy inside his apartment.
"I'm going to find out what you're doing one way or another."
For a brief moment, Katsuki see something sharp in Deku's expression. His jaw tightens and his eyebrows pinch and pull together. And as quickly as it surfaced, it was gone, a placid, fake smile put in its place.
"Good luck with that, Kacchan," he says sweetly before going back in his apartment and pointedly bolting the deadlock.
That feels like a fucking challenge, and Katsuki loves a challenge.
—
BONUS
"Honey," his mom calls from the kitchen when she gets home. He's in his room doing those assignments Bakugo brought over under the pretense of sticking his nose in Izuku's business.
"Yeah, mom?" He doesn't move from his desk just yet. His mom will call him out to the kitchen if it's that important.
"What happened to all our leftovers?"
"Oh, I had a friend over," he says, his lip caught between his teeth in a nervous habit. There's a prolonged silence on her end, and Izuku only gets more nervous as time ticks on.
"Your… mysterious friend?"
"Uh, I guess." The idea of Dabi being mysterious is entirely incongruous with the way he acts most of the time, but he supposes anyone his mom doesn't know is mysterious. The thought almost makes him giggle.
"Well, at least he did the dishes…." she trails off, sounding a bit flummoxed—probably by the sheer amount of food he ate. Izuku grimaces because Dabi definitely did not do the dishes before he slunk out of the apartment.
He pulls out his Yami phone when his mom doesn't answer anymore.
Yami: my mom thinks you must be 150 kilos to have destroyed our fridge like that
Yami: and youre a fuckin slob for not doing the dishes
Dabi: the day we get married im shipping you off to the worst boarding school amer*ca has to offer
Yami: ffs
