TW: alcoholism, depression
Bakugou wipes the sweat off his forehead with the shirt he managed to rip off. He's happy to be back in his own bed, but his mattress isn't any more comfortable than the one at the hospital. He supposes he's lucky to have gotten away with just a bruised rib cage.
He can feel how sticky his skin is as he peels the hot pack off his abdomen. His arms are stiff and every time he moves, his lungs feel like they're being crushed. He drops the hot pack and swipes the rib belt from his dresser, wincing at the pain shooting through him. He looks down at his bare torso and groans.
"Need help?" asks Todoroki. He's standing in the doorway with his coat on. There's a splint on his left arm right beneath his sleeve.
"No," snaps Bakugou with less anger than he expects. He scowls, frustrated that he can't will himself to heal faster. His fingers tremor as he stretches the rib belt in front of him.
A set of hands rests comfortably on his. Todoroki is behind him, his lips close to Bakugou's ear. "Don't be so stubborn," Todoroki says.
Bakugou's muscles tighten. Whether it's from the pain of his injury or the way Todoroki's touch sends his heart racing, Bakugou isn't sure. Since waking up at the hospital, everything he's been feeling can easily be summed up with one word: confusion. The only person that gives him any sort of comfort is the man behind him.
Todoroki positions the rib belt above Bakugou's abdomen, wraps it around his body, and fastens it behind him. Bakugou can feel Todoroki's hands landing on the sides of his waist and lingering there.
"Too tight?" asks Todoroki, slipping his thumbs behind the fabric to make sure the belt isn't too snug. "How's that?"
Bakugou opens his mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. Todoroki's fingertips give him chills. He notices his ears start to tingle. He can't take it. His body moves ahead without thinking, and he grabs Todoroki's hand. He squeezes, hoping the other doesn't pull away. Steadily, their fingers interweave intricately together and Todoroki squeezes back, much to Bakugou's surprise.
The two men are quiet. Bakugou wonders if Todoroki can hear how loud his own heart is beating against his chest. Moreso, he wonders what Todoroki is thinking, what he's feeling. If the word "us" is anywhere in his wavelength.
Bakugou looks over his shoulder, meeting Todoroki's blue and brown lowers his gaze to Bakugou's mouth. Bakugou has half a mind to close the gap between them. Instead, he raises Todoroki's hand and gently kisses his fingers.
Todoroki tries to hide the smile forming on his lips. "I... have to go."
Bakugou frowns. "You have to?"
"I do." Todoroki releases his hand, a light pink tint rising in his cheeks. He walks back to the doorway and turns his head. "I can come back tonight, if you need me to."
"I don't need you to," Bakugou responds, rolling his eyes. He closes his hands into a tight ball and looks down, embarrassed. "But, I do want you to."
Todoroki doesn't try to hide his smile this time. "I can come back around six," says Todoroki. "We'll have dinner together?"
Bakugou nods. "Yeah." He watches Todoroki walk out of view and waits until the footsteps disappear. He sighs. What am I doing?
All the emotions Bakugou refuses to sort out rush through him: anger, heartbreak, disbelief. Most of all, he feels hurt and betrayed that the two men he cares most about kept secrets from him. It's a lot to deal with, so Bakugou does the only thing he knows how and shoves it deep inside him. He doesn't want to feel anything at all, if he can help it. It's funny. When he was younger, he didn't even think twice about carrying the burden entirely on his own. Then, Kirishima came along and taught him that going at it alone isn't necessary, that it doesn't make him less manly. Opening a door to someone else actually makes him stronger.
There's a sharp ache in his chest. That's the first time Kirishima's name popped in his head since the hotel.
Stop that, Bakugou scolds himself. As far as you know, Kirishima is dead. That was a different man you saw back at the hotel. He's not the same person. He furiously wipes the tears that escape his eyes. You're allowed to have feelings for someone else.
He crosses the room to grab a clean shirt from a hamper of unfolded laundry. He opts for a button-up since lifting his arms to put on a tee is too difficult. The kitchen calls him and he follows it, hoping he has enough mobility to make breakfast. The kitchen has been one of the very few places that has provided any sort of respite from years of heartache, and he's counting on it again to be a safe place for him.
\\\
-Bakugou at age 8-
For Bakugou, eating food was entirely for sustenance. For survival. However, cooking food - more specifically, cooking for someone he loves - was pure joy.
Bakugou's skills in the kitchen were first acquired by observing his father, who often cooked dinners and weekend meals. A young Bakugou would peer over the counter, his eyes following the way the knife sliced a carrot into julienne cuts or how the blade went around and around a potato, leaving the skin behind. He would take note of every smell coming out of the kitchen and especially loved the aromatics toasting over a burner: garlic, onions, ginger, all whetting the appetite.
"Do you want to help with the curry?" his dad asked one day.
Bakugou hesitated before eventually nodding. His father placed a small stool in front of the stove and helped his son step on. Bakugou took the ladle with both hands and peered into the large stockpock. He looked back at his dad with the bravest face he could muster.
His dad smiled and passed his son a spoonful of something that smelled fishy. "Taste this."
"What are you, crazy?" exclaimed Bakugou, scrunching his nose.
"Are you afraid?" asked his dad with a raised brow.
Bakugou pouted. He opened his mouth and his dad tipped the contents of the spoon in. Bakugou gagged. It was like stuffing a whole bunch of anchovies in his mouth. "Too salty."
"How about this?" His dad deposited something soft and crumbly into Bakugou's mouth.
"Sweet!" Bakugou grinned. He opened his mouth again, waiting for his dad to give him more of whatever the sweet stuff was. Instead, his tongue was assaulted with something incredibly tart, like a lemon. His eyes twitched. "SOUR."
His dad laughed. "Why don't we see how our curry is doing? Can you give it a few stirs and we'll give it a taste?"
Bakugou swirled the ladle around carefully. His dad dipped a tasting bowl in and out of the pot, and blew on it to cool before giving it to Bakugou to sample.
"Do you remember how curry is supposed to taste?" his dad asked. "Is it missing anything?"
Bakugou whirled his tongue around his mouth, the spices of the cumin and turmeric intermingling with the bright sweetness of the cinnamon and clove. "It needs salt?"
"I agree." His dad sprinkled a bit more salt into the pot and instructed Bakugou to stir again. His father watched him thoughtfully. "Katsuki? Why the sudden interest in cooking?"
Bakugou turned red. There was a reason, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to share. He decided to ignore his father and continued moving the ladle around, mindful of the expecting eyes on him. No, no. He couldn't tell his dad it was because he wanted to impress his crush whose mother was a chef and always brought delicious lunches to school. That would be way too embarrassing.
"Is it because of someone you like at school?" his dad asked.
Bakugou shrank away, blushing even harder. Of course his dad would figure it out. He nodded.
"A girl?" his dad asked smiling.
Bakugou shook his head. "A boy," he corrected. "Will you pack an extra bento for me?"
"Yes," his dad replied, giving his son a hug. "Of course."
\\\
Dusk comes faster than Bakugou expected. The burnt red sky peeks from behind the curtains. In the depths of his closet is a box of forgotten things: his middle school diploma, a few All Might figures, the medals he won at UA's sports festivals, and half a bottle of single malt whiskey.
Bakugou takes the rectangular bottle and holds it out in front of him. He marvels at the brown-orange liquid sloshing around; at the weight of the glass in his hands; at the memory of drinking until his throat burned and his eyes watered.
Bakugou has been sober for 18 months. He lies to the media when they ask him how recovery is. "I don't remember what it was like anymore," he'll say. But, he remembers every painful moment in great detail.
Since Kirishima's "death", Bakugou has woken up to a black hole in the middle of the floor pulling him into the center. At first, he didn't fight it. He didn't mind it. He allowed the darkness to drag him into nothingness, numbing his entire body. Those were the days he didn't get out of bed. He didn't shower. He barely ate. He didn't return calls. He lost track of time.
At one point, Todoroki busted the door down and found him unmoving, but breathing. Instead of lecturing him, which is what Bakugou expected, Todoroki cleaned the house, cooked him meals, bathed him, and came back a couple of days later to do it all over again. Todoroki did this for weeks until he walked in one day and Bakugou was out of bed, setting the table for dinner.
When Todoroki first suggested therapy, Bakugou declined. He refused to tell Todoroki that he was dealing with the pain by searching at the bottom of countless bottles. One night, Todoroki found him passed out at a bar. He didn't get furious, another thing that Bakugou expected. Instead, Todoroki just took him home and kept him hydrated.
"I have a feeling you're not doing this because of Kirishima anymore," Todoroki said after one of Bakugou's binges. "You like the darkness. It's safe there." Todoroki took Bakugou's hands. "You're not honoring his memory by acting like this. You're tainting it."
The following day he went to an AA meeting and the rest is history. Now when he wakes to the black hole, he makes a conscious choice to give in or not. It takes all of his willpower, months of therapy, and a lot of practice to resist it, but he does.
Bakugou presses the whiskey bottle against his forehead. It's safe in this bottle. I can be safe. Drinking will help me feel safe just for a little. Just for now.
He jumps at the doorbell ringing. Bakugou stuffs the bottle under his pillow and walks to his front door. He realizes he hasn't taken inventory of what's left in his pantry, so dinner might be light tonight. He wonders if Todoroki will mind if they walk to the market to quickly grab a few ingredients. Bakugo opens the door.
His body freezes. Kirishima stands on the other side.
"Bakugou," Kirishima says, tugging his black hair nervously. "Hey."