Disclaimer: I don't own BNHA or any of its characters. Obviously.

Chapter Ten: Endgame

[Day Seventeen]

[Bakugou]

In the end, the villains had done a lot of monologuing before turning tail out of Bakugou's cell. They hadn't asked him anymore questions or offered him a place among their ranks like the last time. Bakugou thought, maybe, they didn't think they needed to offer. After all, with the way they were talking, they already thought of him as one of them. One and the same. A leech. A fucking snake. A villain. They were at least confident enough in themselves and the situation to keep their needle to themselves. And, according to them, UA thought the exact same thing about him—

They were lies, he knew it, but it still tugged at the corner of his mind. For some reason, Eraser Head kept popping into his consciousness—the way he ate up Bakugou's lies about the sparring with Uraraka, how easily he accepted terrible shit, his dead eyes staring through him doubtlessly, without a hint of surprise, how quickly he administered punishment, how rapidly he might have been kicked out of UA even though he'd pretended like it wasn't a big deal…

There was a pit forming in his stomach, heavier than lead, sickeningly terrifying, threatening to throw off his resolve.

He didn't care what everyone else thought of him. Or… he didn't want to care what everyone else thought. What did the pros and his teachers think when they looked at him? His classmates? If the villains weren't lying through their teeth, then… what would the world think of him? He wanted to be number one. He wanted to stand on that stage, on that podium, just like All Might did… had. He wanted to inspire kids, just like All Might had inspired him. He wanted people to see him and stare in awe, to use him as the bar they strived for, to look at the figure he'd strike when he'd win and think: that's the number one hero.

"Bakugou, I'm sorry. I kept thinking you'd be disappointed if I went to see Recovery girl for my bruises… But that was so stupid! I wanted to… be like you, I guess?"

Holy fucking shit. What the hell? Did having a crush on some weird, round-faced girl really mean he was going to fucking think about her every single time his own thoughts threatened to pull him under the crashing waves in his mind? There was a part of him, the part from before, that wanted to be irritated that she kept popping up whenever his determination wavered. But right now he knew he didn't have all his strength, so he decided to be grateful—it made him feel stronger. She made him stronger. Right now, it didn't matter why. He'd take it. She was the reminder that even if every single person in the world looked at him and they weren't sure whether or not to label him as a hero or a villain, there was at least one person who could always see the truth. There would always be one infuriating, gravity-defying hero that could smack some sense into him, even from far away.

No. No, that wasn't quite right—there were more. Kirishima. Kaminari. Even that shitty fucking mop. And everyone else was the reminder that no matter what the hell they thought, he'd prove them wrong if he had to.

He'd deal with the turmoil later—with the supposed investigation, whatever they were claiming they had framed him for, and bullshit labeling. He couldn't do shit about it from the confines of a cell. There were more important things to deal with first. Like getting the fuck outta here.

Bakugou wasn't sure if the villains were so focused on telling their story that they forgot to inject him with the drug this time around or if it was a conscious choice, a reward for his groveling, some kind of trap, or a gesture of good will… but he'd use it to his advantage. These fuckers had the foresight to deny him water and cover his hands in moisture wicking shit in an effort to stop his quirk, but they'd still underestimated him. Idiots. Bakugou grinned as the excitement rose again and ate away at the pit in his stomach. He'd been hoping they would be dumb enough to get rid of some of his restraints, but that hands-guy was right on at least one account—he couldn't be trusted.

The gloves were practically dripping with sweat inside the casing. This was no time to hold back. He wasn't sure just how strong the metal was, and he had to break it in one go. The migraine was already setting in from the dehydration and exertion. It had been awhile since he'd had to work this hard with his quirk. If he fucked up, there wouldn't be time for a second try. If the explosion was large enough, he would at least damage the rest of the restraints even if he didn't break the chains. His body was strong enough to withstand a lot of the damage but that didn't mean his own quirk didn't take a toll on him under the right conditions. He hadn't used this much force since he'd started wearing the gauntlets with his costume to limit the effects on his body... Worst case scenario: he fucked up the muscles in his arms and burned the absolute shit out of himself.

Whatever. It wasn't like he had much of a choice anyway.

He flexed his fingers at much as he was able inside their prison and turned his head as far to the side as his muzzle would allow, squeezing his eyes shut. Whatever the outcome, it was better than falling into their bullshit again. He'd given them enough of his pride.

Now or never.

Bakugou exhaled and ignited his fuel in the same instant—the sound grew from a low rumble, echoing in the metal, to a deafening whistle as it splintered the casing and lit the room with fire and smoke. Thunderous vibrations shifted the floor, skewing the concrete under his feet. Even behind closed eyes, the light was blinding and the heat scorching, Bakugou could feel it searing his skin, tearing at his tendons, but the adrenaline was coursing through his veins, masking any semblance of pain in the aftermath.

Even as the explosion died and the smoke evaporated, light spilled into the small space, revealing the crater he'd created. The door had been blown backward off its hinges and even though there was no sign of the villains yet, he knew they wouldn't be far off.

Luckily the only restraint still in place was the charred muzzle covering his face. The pillar was crumbled, the chain links scattered and glowing a deep orange. Bakugou grinned as he looked around but didn't spend too long admiring his destruction. His legs were already moving, though not as quickly as he had hoped, and he was pushing himself out of the remains of the doorway. The room was empty save some old furniture, blown askew from his shockwave. He looked around and his eyes landed on the only other door. Of course there was only one exit. If it was the only way out, it was the only way in. Blowing a hole in the wall would likely prove fruitless, there were no windows. Underground. Bakugou grit his teeth and ran toward the door, shoving it open and throwing a preemptive explosion into the waiting stairwell that met only air.

"Tch."

Of course. Fucking stairs. As if his legs weren't already screaming and shaking with exhaustion.

Bakugou groaned and took three steps at a time, skidding on the landing and propelling himself up the next flight with a quick burst from his palms. His head was pounding. Bakugou was certain that the only reason he could still produce a single drop of sweat was from sheer fucking determination. It felt like his arms were still burning, he could feel his rapid pulse radiating from his palms to his elbows. His body was going to pay for all this abuse later.

After six flights without an exit and alternating between explosions and the failing strength of his own legs to continue moving upward, he finally reached the door and didn't give himself a moment to hesitate or catch his breath.

He blew it off its hinges and shoved his hands out in front of him, wincing at the movement, preparing for an assault as a figure appeared behind the debris. Bakugou tensed his fingers as he sparked the sweat on his palms. This was it. He dug his heels into the floor and let his rage color his vision red—

But in an instant, just before detonation, the light in his palms flickered to nothing and his quirk was unreachable. There was a familiar face beyond the dust, beyond his cloud of anger and confusion, eyes wide and bloodshot behind yellow goggles.

Bakugou stumbled, flooded with an embarrassing mixture of relief and exhaustion. It was like his entire body was collapsing in on itself—his legs turned to jelly, his arms fell to his sides, his vision twisted and blurred to white as his eyes rolled back into his head and his lids fluttered closed. He felt himself falling but he didn't care.

His consciousness left him just as he fell into the arms of his teacher.

[Day Eighteen]

[Uraraka]

Uraraka held Bakugou's hand in her own as gently as she could manage. She could see the burns and scratches peeking from behind the bandages, proof of his effort, strength, and stupidity all in one. Even with Recovery Girl's kiss, Bakugou was practically comatose in the infirmary and his body was still healing, so even though all she wanted to do was squeeze the life out of his hand, she restrained herself. Aizawa had been kind enough to come to the dorm, wake her up, and allow her into Bakugou's room in the middle of the night after the pros raided the abandoned warehouse the villains had been keeping Bakugou in… So, it would probably be rude to impede on her project partner's regeneration…

Still…

Uraraka smiled and pushed Bakugou's singed hair from his forehead with her free hand, "Welcome home, dummy…" She murmured, gently thumbing the edge of the bandage over his eyebrow. He looked tired. She hadn't seen him so beat up in a long while and she'd certainly never seen him so ragged because of his own quirk. She hadn't even known it was possible. With the way Bakugou abused his quirk all the time, she thought he was practically invincible to it. This was the real damage he could cause to himself if he went all out. She could only imagine the destruction he'd caused with the explosion that had left his arms like this. It screamed desperation.

According to Aizawa, the villains had fled their hiding spot before the pros even arrived. There hadn't been any fighting. He'd said they heard Bakugou's explosion—the one that did this—before they'd even arrived on the scene. But since the villains were already gone, Bakugou had torn the muscles and ligaments in his arms simply to escape his cell in the basement. Although the League's sudden disappearance before the pros got there was concerning, Uraraka was glad they weren't there. She didn't know how it would have been possible for Bakugou to fight in his condition.

"The blast should have knocked him out," Recovery girl had said with a worried look on her face as she gathered her things to leave, "With the sedative in his bloodstream and the pain, I can't believe he managed to stand, let alone use his quirk."

Desperation, Uraraka thought again, frowning. If she hadn't spent the last 45 minutes sobbing into her new friend's bedsheets, she might've started crying again. But her eyes were tired and red, probably swollen, and it wasn't fair to him to keep on worrying now. She hadn't gone through whatever he had. For now, she'd focus on how relieved she was that he was back in one piece, still alive and kicking.

She resisted the urge to squeeze his hand again. Uraraka wasn't sure just how helpful her realization about the girl in the forest had been; Aizawa told her that it had helped them narrow their search and that it had assisted the police with their questioning of possible witnesses outside of UA but she couldn't tell if he was just trying to make her feel better or not. Afterall, they already had her photo and knew about her association with the League. But they had been able to discern her quirk to a certain degree, so even if the information hadn't helped them find Bakugou, she knew it would be helpful in the future.

Uraraka sighed and ran her fingers through his hair, feeling guilty when she found herself thinking that she was glad he was asleep. If he was awake there was no way he'd let her baby him like this. But it was nice… the closeness. It made her heart swell. She wondered what he'd think if he knew that she was holding his hand and petting his hair. Would he yell and pull away? Or scowl and accept it? Or… would he look at her the same way he had in the gym almost a week ago?

"Whenever you're ready, Uraraka."

Another sigh.

Uraraka didn't bother trying to deny the tightness in her chest. She could lie to herself as much as she wanted but that didn't change the fact that she'd spent the last few days frantic with worry. It wouldn't change how much he'd dominated her every waking thought or that he'd been present in each of her dreams. It wouldn't change how she'd kept thinking about all the things she hadn't said and the regret she felt for having kept quiet. Lying to herself wouldn't change what she knew to be true, especially now that he was back within her reach. Now that he was in her grasp. Now that she could feel the butterflies fluttering around in her stomach as she gazed at his gentle, sleeping expression.

It felt absolutely crazy. Liking Bakugou… like that…

He was almost insane. He was mean more often than he was anything else. He liked to yell and throw tantrums and say terrible things. But things had started shifting, she'd seen it in his face and in his actions. Bakugou was still Bakugou but he was a different version of himself—she couldn't explain it. She didn't know if anyone else could see it. Maybe she was imagining things. All she knew was that it felt so right being beside him right now. No, not just now. Always. It felt right fighting next to him, standing beside him. He made her feel like she could take on the world with or without him, he gave her something to strive for, he had never treated her like something that might break if he pushed too hard. He challenged her to think differently and to see herself differently. She understood him well enough to figure out that he often didn't say what he meant. Maybe that wasn't quite right… he meant the things he said when he said them, but it was like a cover or a mask. She even liked his brashness to a certain degree—maybe that made her just as crazy as he was.

Uraraka's cheeks warmed and she removed her hand from her friend's face. Even though it made her happy, it wouldn't be fair to him. She almost laughed, imagining how he might bristle under her outwardly affectionate gesture. She didn't know if he'd pull away or endure it.

It doesn't matter… She thought with a meek smile. All that was important right now was that he was back.

Still though, Uraraka couldn't bring herself to let go of his hand.

The sun was starting to peek over the horizon as daybreak began and Uraraka yawned, the fatigue of her worry-filled days and sleepless nights finally catching up to her. She pushed her chair back just enough to lean forward and rest her free arm on his hospital bed into a make-shift pillow.

She smiled into her sleeve. Welcome home, Bakugou…

[Bakugou]

Everything ached. It felt like his limbs were made of lead. His skin felt like it was stretched too tightly over his muscles—oh fuck, his muscles. His forearms. Bakugou could tell the pain was dulled from medicine, he could smell the familiar scent of hospital disinfectant, but even without opening his eyes he knew he was swollen. The agony throbbed in time with his pulse. Radiating. Damn it. He really had overdone it.

He shifted, feeling the weight on his right hand, and struggled to open his eyes. Even through hazy eyes he could make out the figure slumped on his bed and he was acutely aware of her fingers messily intertwined with his own.

"Uraraka," He breathed, blinking away sleep from his eyes, still slightly dazed.

She didn't stir and his shoulders shook in silent laughter. Her hair was wild, bangs sticking out every which way; there was a small bit of drool trailing from the corner of her mouth. She looked like a fucking mess, but she was smiling in her sleep. Weird. It made him want to smile too.

"You're snoring, Round-face…" He said, a little more loudly. It was selfish, but he wanted her to wake up. He wanted to talk to her. Hear her voice. Bakugou had no fucking idea what the hell he'd say and no idea what he wanted her to say. But he wanted it anyway.

His face burned at his inner monologue—thank god no one could hear his thoughts. He knew he sounded like an idiot and he didn't need anyone knowing how fucking lame he'd become.

His eyes were stuck to her hand. He was almost angry that he couldn't really feel it under the bandages, but he was more pissed that it was his own fault. He'd been dead to the world since he collapsed in that abandoned building so there hadn't been a chance to hear anyone's scolding or figure out the true extent of the damage he'd caused himself.

Bakugou's mind was reeling with questions about the incident and the League, about all the accusations the villains had thrown his way, but he pushed them away for now.

Right now, he just wanted to stay exactly as he was, looking at Uraraka's goofy, smiling, sleeping face. Feeling her hand gripping his just a little too tightly. He was calm for the first time in forever. There was nothing weighing down his mind, the guilt that had been resting on his shoulders was lighter, the lingering fear was gone, replaced with defiance. Determination. Even though his body was battered and broken, even though he was lying in a hospital bed wrapped in bandages with tubes attached to his arms and monitors beeping behind him, he felt stronger than he ever had.

Bakugou wasn't sure if he would ever be able to say it aloud but he knew he owed a lot of it to the floaty-girl passed out on his bed. There was a part of him that wanted to say it, to thank her, but he knew himself and he knew that at least for now, his pride wouldn't let him. The idea that he had needed help, that he owed anything to anyone else… the fact that he hadn't been able to pull himself up and handle everything on his own made him uncomfortable. He didn't want to rely on others. So, because he thought the words were unreachable, he resigned himself to squeezing her hand. It hurt but he liked it.

He sighed and tore his eyes from her face to look out the window. The sun was getting higher. It wouldn't be long until someone came into his room to interrupt his thoughts. He was curious about everything, but he wanted them to stay away. If anyone came in, they'd probably wake Uraraka. Make her leave. He wanted her to stay.

A small grumble emanated from her as she stirred in her slumber, pulling his eyes back to her face.

"Bakugou…" She mumbled, tugging at his arm, pulling his hand to her face. She practically nuzzled against it and he felt his heart jump to his throat.

He stared, intensely aware of the blush as it bloomed on his cheeks. Was she still asleep? He could feel the softness of her skin as it brushed against his exposed fingertips, the heat of her breath through the bandages. Her smile widened as she held tighter, he winced but his blood was hot under his skin and he wasn't sure he could pull away from her vice grip even if he wanted to. What the fuck, Uraraka?

Nope. No, no, no. He couldn't do this—the monitors started beeping louder behind him, highlighting his embarrassment.

"U-Uraraka," He said, his voice came out loud and wavering like the fool he was, "That fucking hurts."

Her amber eyes fluttered open, glazed from sleep. She was looking at him, but he could tell the situation wasn't really registering in her tired gaze. His breath caught in his throat—had she always been that fucking pretty?

Somehow his face grew even hotter—no, shut up! He scolded himself.

After a few blinks, and maybe from his bewildered expression, Uraraka's eyes cleared and recognition settled onto her face. She practically jumped to her feet, dropping his hand and covering her mouth with her own, "Bakugou!" She kept looking from his hand to his face, panicked, blush building on her already pink cheeks as the silence wore on.

"Y-you look like shit… Round-face." He choked out, cursing himself as soon as the words left his lips. Real fucking smooth, idiot.

"B-Bakugou!" She was looking at him with eyes he didn't recognize, and he steeled himself to apologize as tears pooled in her eyes. But she was on him before he could even open his mouth, wrapping her arms around his shoulders in a tight hug, burying her face in the crook of his neck as she deflated into a mess of sobs.

He couldn't move. His lungs forgot how to breathe. Or maybe it was his brain? Whatever. His whole body was frozen in shock, acutely aware of her wet cheeks against to his bare skin, of her padded fingertips pressed into his back. This was not good; he'd pass out if he didn't get his shit together. It was only after he remembered how to breathe that he became aware of the pain of her embrace.

"You're going to kill me," He hissed, unsure if he meant from the pang reverberating from his arms or from his frantic heartbeat.

Uraraka backed away as quickly as she'd attacked, laughing awkwardly as she rubbed the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand.

He narrowed his eyes, hoping to distract her from the beeping behind his head, "You make a habit of squeezing the shit out of everyone in the hospital?"

She rolled her eyes, but she smiled. Bakugou could see it on her face—she was relieved, her joy was overwhelmingly obvious. Infectious, even. It tugged at something in his chest, the faint glimmer of hope that maybe he wasn't alone in his feelings… Bakugou swallowed hard and stopped himself from matching her grin with one of his own, tearing his eyes from her face. If she kept looking at him like that, he couldn't be held accountable for what he might say.

"Welcome back," She said, practically whispering despite the empty room; even if he hadn't seen that ridiculous smile on her face a moment before, he could hear it in her voice, "And uh… sorry. About the hug. I didn't mean to hurt you; I just couldn't help myself. I'm happy you're okay," She chuckled, seemingly to herself, and Bakugou bit his tongue. She was really fucking testing his self-restraint now. Uraraka shifted on her feet, obviously put off by his silence, "Oh! Aizawa-sensei told me to call the faculty office when you woke up, so…" She turned on her heels and headed towards the phone on the wall.

No. Not yet. Bakugou followed her with his eyes, practically pleading. He wanted to yell for her to stop—but there was a lump in his throat. He wanted to say it. He wanted to tell her. He thought he was going to burst if he didn't let It all out. He wanted to ask her about Deku, he needed to tell her about the nightmares, he wanted to be alone with her for a little while longer. But Uraraka was already reaching for the phone. Coward. He repeated it over and over again in his head. What had happened to the version of him that never shied away from a challenge? Where was the him that could face down anything and everything? The one that had just fucking crawled out of a prison cell and practically blew his own arms off? Fucking coward.

But she hesitated, her hand hovering just over the receiver. That was all he needed. He wouldn't be a coward. He wasn't a coward. He had to stop acting like one. He was tired of dancing around like a bumbling idiot.

Bakugou pushed himself from his sheets and swung his legs over the side of the bed, dragging his IV along with him, pulling the heart monitor from his finger, ignoring the twinge and the frantic look on her face as he stumbled his way to his feet on shaky legs.

"Wh-what the heck are you doing, Bakugou?! Get back in—"

"Uraraka." He steeled himself. It honestly felt like he might vomit at any moment. His throat was drier than a fucking desert. His heart was pounding against his ribcage so loudly it was hard to hear his own thoughts. He hadn't thought any of this out—holy fuck, what the hell was he thinking? "I like you." It didn't feel right. The words didn't feel like enough. But the only other word that might make up the difference alluded him in that moment. No, that wasn't right… he knew exactly what it was. But this L-word was difficult enough to say.

Her eyes widened, something flashed across her expression. Surprise? Embarrassment? Hope? He couldn't tell. But… she didn't look upset. That was probably a good sign. Maybe? Or was that bad? His face was on fire. This was fucking agony.

As her silence stretched on Bakugou tried to think of his escape route—were there words he could use to backtrack his confession? Would she buy it if he did? Did he even want to?

Finally, she smiled, but it was strained. Sad. His stomach hurt.

"I like you too, Bakugou," She said quietly, clasping her hands behind her back, tilting her head slightly, "I'm glad All Might paired us up for this project."

He knew immediately that she wasn't picking up what he was putting down. He bristled, frustrated at her dense response but even more so that he hadn't made it clear enough the first time around. She was going to make him say it again. Because she thought he meant as friends—which was true, he did like her as a friend, but that wasn't the confession he was aiming for right now. Maybe he should have started with that one instead... Bakugou knew he could use this as a scapegoat, he could sit back down in bed and pretend like that was that. And, despite his resolve, he might have done just that if she hadn't looked so fucking sad.

Bakugou shook his head and averted his gaze to the floor. He felt so fucking lame. What kind of hero couldn't confess his fucking feelings properly?!

"No," He growled, mostly to himself, "I mean I… I really fucking like you."

Maybe the inflection would help?

Uraraka was quiet again. He couldn't lift his eyes to look at her, so he did what he knew he was good at. He shouted.

"I like you but not like… a friend, alright!" He groaned and glared daggers into the floor, "I mean I fucking like you more than that! More than a friend—ahh, what the fuck am I even doing?!"

This was it. This was how his whole life would end—he was going to have a fucking heart attack and die right here, in the most uncool fucking way possible, blushing like an idiot. He'd just survived a second abduction from the League of fucking Villains to die telling someone he liked them. Bakugou contemplated blowing up the whole infirmary. Maybe the whole school. Maybe himself. If it would get his heart to calm the fuck down and his skin to stop burning, he'd do just about anything.

"B-Bakugou… I—"

He heard something in her voice… something he couldn't place, but the door clicked open, cutting her off, turning her attention elsewhere. He didn't look up to see who it was. All he could do was stare at her profile, wishing she'd turn back around.

Eraser Head's sigh echoed through the room silent room when neither of them spoke, "I thought I instructed you to call when he woke up," His voice was sharp, obviously irritated, "Uraraka, I suggest getting back to the dorms. Class will start soon."

Bakugou watched her hesitate as she looked back and forth between him and her teacher, although he couldn't help but notice that she didn't meet his eyes. He swallowed the lump in his throat as she nodded and turned towards the door, practically running from the room and into the hallway.

Aizawa closed the door and sighed again, finally turning his attention to Bakugou.

"You're supposed to be resting."

He barely heard him. Slowly, he crawled back into the bed and turned to face the window, ignoring the aches that radiated from his arms. He'd been too hasty… hadn't he? Bakugou had never confessed to someone before but he was positive he hadn't done it right. The relief of finally saying the words aloud was dwarfed by his own uncertainty at her silence. He hadn't exactly expected her to return his feelings, not really. He barely understood them. It was stupid to expect her to get it when he was shit at putting them into words. Somewhere inside, he'd hoped she might, though... But she hadn't said anything, and he couldn't decide if that was better or worse.

Aizawa was speaking again but Bakugou really couldn't hear him this time. He just stared out the window, watching the trees bend in the wind, blinking away the burning embarrassment in his eyes, wondering exactly what Uraraka might have said if she hadn't been interrupted.

Morning stretched to night before he could even grasp the time that had passed. Bakugou was bombarded with questions, reports, police, and pro heroes. The principal even came in for a visit at some point, although he'd lost track of exactly when that might have been. He gave him some boring speech, apologizing for his negligence and for UA's inadequacy. Bakugou hadn't known what to say—he felt responsible for his capture, and he felt like UA had responded appropriately when their security system had been triggered. He couldn't look at it from any other perspective than his own. He didn't want their apologies or condolences or assurances. He just wanted to get the hell out of the hospital bed and go back to business as usual. At this point, he was just pissed off that he'd been gone for days and that he'd have to take supplemental lessons to catch back up. That, and the fact that he'd still have to participate in the fucking Pro-Hero/Sidekick assignment in just over a week.

The thought of it made his head throb—how the fuck was he supposed to just continue working on this bullshit with Uraraka after his botched confession? It felt so small. So inconsequential in the grand scheme of everything. Bakugou understood the simple facts about the hero course—it was supposed to shape and mold him into what the world needed. Everything technically had a purpose; everything was supposed to play a role in his journey to becoming a hero. He understood it but that didn't mean he had to fucking like it. Especially if, in this case, that meant playing sidekick to the round-faced girl who had stayed horribly fucking quiet when he'd told her… how he felt.

He wasn't sure what filled him with more dread: Uraraka turning up to shoot him down and reject his idiocy once and for all, or the two of them continuing on as if nothing had ever happened in the first place.

As much as he wanted to be angry at her for saying nothing, he couldn't conjure up the feeling. Bakugou didn't know how he was supposed to feel. He hadn't been downright rejected. Technically. But… that brought up an entirely different, altogether more important question. What would have happened if she had actually returned his feelings? Did that mean they were dating? Would that have made her his girlfriend? What was that supposed to entail? Their whole dynamic would have to change… wouldn't it? Was that what he wanted?

Bakugou groaned and slammed his head back into his pillow. This was making his head hurt.

Three heavy knocks sounded at his door but didn't bother waiting for him to respond. Eraser Head strolled in, hands in his pockets, looking as fucking exhausted as ever. Bakugou scowled at his teacher—he was too god damn tired for more questions. He wanted to work out the Uraraka bullshit in his brain before he jumped into another round of nonsense.

Aizawa didn't seem to care though; he sat down in the chair next to the hospital bed and sighed, "You'll be out of here tomorrow. Back in class the day after. Your supplemental lessons will start that evening."

It took literally all his self-control to resist rolling his eyes. Even though he'd been gone for a few days it wouldn't make a difference—he was still one of the top students in 1-A. He didn't need supplemental lessons. He didn't need to catch up. He'd been ahead for weeks, anyway. It was a fucking waste of time, but he didn't bother disputing it this time around. The look in his teacher's eyes suggested it wouldn't make a difference.

"That it?" Bakugou grumbled, not bothering to hide the annoyance in his voice or on his face.

Aizawa was unfazed, though.

"No… I wanted to talk to you about this," He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. As his teacher unfolded it, he knew what it was. The report he'd given to the police about the villains. About what they said… about the traitor and the list of suspects.

Bakugou's throat felt dry but he shrugged, "They told me to tell 'em all the shit the villains said," His voice was softer than he'd intended it to be, "I don't believe a word of it." The lie tasted bitter on his tongue.

"There was a list," Aizawa said, all hesitation absent from his tone, "You were on it. Before the summer training camp."

He tried to swallow the lump in his throat. No luck.

"But we decided to remove your name, as well as the names of the other students in my class, as time went forward. It was an investigation, Bakugou, not a personal vendetta. Names were removed when evidence presented itself to counter suspicion."

Bakugou hadn't said shit about what he thought all of it meant. Not aloud. Not to anyone. But it felt like Eraser Head knew exactly what had been going through his head the whole time. It was like he was telling him that they didn't see him the way he thought they might, not in the way the villains saw him. He didn't respond and his teacher continued as if he wasn't expecting him to.

"Also, I don't like liars," He shot him a sharp, knowing glare and sighed, "So, if you and Uraraka are foolish enough to break the rules again, don't think I won't punish you to the extent of your fibbing," Then he stood, folding the report back up and shoving it into his pocket before walking to the door, "Get some rest. You'll both need it for the supplemental lessons I have planned for you."

Eraser Head was gone as quickly as he'd appeared.

Bakugou stared after him for a moment, unable to explain why he felt so much lighter. Things felt like they were falling back into place but—

Wait.

He'd said "you'll both" need rest for supplemental classes… both. Oh, fuck. Bakugou's head spun.

"Shit…" He sighed. There was only one person he might be referring to. One person who might need some catch up for the assignment they'd been working on for weeks because of his absence. His project partner. Uraraka Ochako.

He couldn't tell if he was excited or if he was dreading it. It was either extraordinarily good luck or unbearably bad luck. Even though he found himself uncharacteristically excited at the thought of having another excuse to spend more time with his round-faced friend, this felt unlucky.

The two of them wouldn't be able to dance around feelings anymore—his heart twisted under his chest and his stomach churned anxiously…

The idea of not being able to predict the outcome set his teeth on edge.

This shit was endgame now. Acceptance or rejection. It was one or the other.

Bakugou would deal with all the details later—one thing at a time.