Limerence
(Confrontation)

His head throbs.

It's the first thing he's aware of as he claws his way back to consciousness. It's not the piercing agony he'd suffered in the latter half of the fight, but it's a pulsing, throbbing ache that's unbearably uncomfortable.

But pain means that he's alive, at the very least.

His eyelids are heavy, and opening them is another fight all on its own. He catches a glimpse of sterile white walls and curtains before they resist his will and slip closed again. He takes a breath and tries again. He tries again. He tries again.

At last, he gains the upper hand and reduces the amount of time his eyes are closed down to mere blinks. He winces against the pain in his head as he pushes himself up, and takes a moment to figure out where he is.

"You're at UA, son," a voice says to his right. He snaps his head around to see who it is, gritting his teeth against a stab of pain as his brain protests. His father sits beside his bed. He holds a book in his hands, but it hangs forgotten as he directs his concerned gaze toward Katsuki.

Katsuki blinks through the fog as he tries to process what's happening.

"That was one hell of a fall, Katsuki. Your mother nearly ripped her hair out – you're lucky you're not hurt any worse than you were."

Something finally clicks. "Uraraka –"

"The girl you tried to save, right?" his father says. "She's going to be okay. I knew you'd want to know, so I talked to Recovery Girl. In addition to her injuries, she was dehydrated and hypoglycemic, so Porisu Masa Hospital is keeping her overnight on an IV just to be safe.

Katsuki nods, and immediately regrets it. "Her quirk –" his voice is scratchy. He coughs and tries again. "Her quirk makes her throw up if she pushes herself. She was using it all fucking day."

A wave of anger washes over him. What was she thinking? He and the others had at least stopped for the occasional protein bar throughout the day – had she not eaten anything since the fight started?

Of course not – she would've just puked it back up again. The idiot. Did she think she had something to prove? Because she didn't. Doesn't.

And he's a hypocrite.

His father doesn't even try to reprimand him for language. Instead, he hands over the water bottle he had by his feet. Katsuki snatches it and drinks gratefully.

Ooh. His palms are definitely still tender. Yikes.

"Take it easy," his father says, and Katsuki resists the urge to flip him off. He wouldn't hesitate if it were his mother, but his relationship with his father has always been slightly less antagonistic.

"Was this all Recovery Girl could do?" Katsuki asks when he lowers the water bottle, looking at his reddened, tender palms.

His father raises his eyebrows. "She had to tend to almost all of your classmates, and a couple kids from the years below you. Be grateful she did what she could."

Katsuki just grunts in response.

The man smiles, shakes his head, and sighs as he pushes himself to his feet. "Get some rest, champ, it's late. I've gotta get back to your mother and let her know you're doing alright. I insisted she stay home because we both know her bedside manner is … less than stellar." He ruffles Katsuki's hair, and Katsuki pouts as he restrains himself from batting his father's hand away.

"Yeah, yeah. Tell the old hag I'll come visit when I get the chance."

"Love you, kid. Try not to be so reckless in the future."

"I can't promise anything."

"I know."

And then his father is gone. Katsuki groans as he leans back onto the pillows again. His head is still throbbing and the room is spinning and he knows that Recovery Girl will probably be in soon to check on him and whoever else is there in the room with him, but it wouldn't … kill him … to close his eyes for a little bit again, right?

It actually doesn't matter, because that's what's going to happen anyway. He sighs and slips peacefully back into steady unconsciousness.

He wakes to the sun streaming in through the windows of the infirmary the next morning. This time, it's easier. His sleep-crusted eyes open readily, and there's only a whisper of a headache tickling his brain. He squints against the harshness of the day. His mouth is dry and dusty, and he grabs at the water bottle he left on the bedside table the night before.

"Here, dude."

Katsuki looks up to see Eijirou offering him the water bottle. He's dressed in casual clothes, and his hair is down around his shoulders. That's odd. Wasn't yesterday … Tuesday? So today would be Wednesday. Shouldn't Eijirou be wearing his uniform?

"Nedzu gave the day off to everyone who was involved in the fight yesterday," Eijirou says, seeing the consternation on Katsuki's face. "That's everyone in our year and about half of the second years."

"Ah," Katsuki says, grabbing the water bottle. He takes a gulp and instantly feels a hundred times better. "What time is it, anyway?"

"It's like half past noon, bro. Recovery Girl said you needed to sleep it off, and nobody had the heart to wake you. That was one hell of fall you took!"

"Fuck off, that's exactly what my old man said last night," Katsuki grumbles. He stares down at the water bottle clasped in his hands. The curvature of the bottle and the water inside distorts his fingers, and it fascinates him. At least, he pretends it does.

One hell of a fall.

One hell of a fail.

He wants to ask about Uraraka, but …

But.

This is Eijirou. This is the best friend he's ever had, the man who can read him like an open book. He knows that if he opens his goddamn mouth, Eijirou will know. Eijirou will know, and that's not something he's ready for. His feelings for Uraraka are a secret shared with only himself, and he doesn't want anyone else to know. Not when it doesn't fucking matter.

He's … ashamed of himself. Not of her – never of her – but of his own goddamn self.

Hell. How can he call himself a hero, when he couldn't even protect her?

"The others came back to the dorm earlier this morning, but as I said, we didn't have the heart to wake you," Eijirou continues, ignorant of Katsuki's inner turmoil. "Uraraka isn't back yet, but Tsuyu says she'll be back later this afternoon."

"That's. Good." Katsuki cringes a little bit at his own words. Could he be any more obvious? "What … happened, anyway? It all went so fucking fast there at the end."

Eijirou lights up. "Dude, it was like something straight out of a movie! I heard from Ojirou that one of the villains broke free from Ryukyu – I mean, he didn't really break free but he got an arm free and that's all he needed because he had a throwing quirk. He scooped a piece of rubble off the street and threw it at the most obvious target, which was Uraraka. Then she went down and you yelled – dude, your voice cracked – and I told you to go because you had the best chance of saving her but!"

He pauses to take a breath, and Katsuki holds the water bottle out to him. He shakes his head, and plunges on.

"But like, after a couple blasts you were just totally at your limit, and suddenly there was only smoke coming from your palms and no explosions and you were just a little too far away from her to break her fall. I didn't actually see this bit, but apparently Iida made it just in time – not to catch you guys, unfortunately, but he baseball slid beneath you and broke your fall just enough that it wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been."

So that was Iida that he'd heard before he blacked out. Goddamn, why did Glasses have to go and upstage him?

Except his heart isn't in his anger. If Glasses hadn't been there, things would have been a hell of a lot worse for both him and Uraraka. There are … some things that are important than his pride.

"He was actually here last night," Eijirou said. "I guess you guys landing on him broke a couple ribs, and Recovery Girl was spread too thin last night to really fix him up. I think Jirou was here too."

Katsuki shrugs a shoulder. "Like I give a shit. They're not here now."

Eijirou laughs. "Sure, Katsuki."

Silence falls between them, and Katsuki feels himself getting antsy. Does he have to wait for Recovery Girl to come back and clear him before he leaves? Because if so, fuck that.

"Come on," he says, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "I've had enough of this place. Let's get out of here."

"Katsuki, wait," Eijirou says, stopping him in his tracks. Katsuki pauses, perched on the edge of the bed, and glares up at him.

"What?"

"It's … about Uraraka."

Katsuki's heart leaps into his throat and threatens to choke him. "What is it?" he demands, "Is she okay?"

"Y-yeah," Eijirou says with a nervous grin. "She's fine. I just –"

His eyes skirt away, and Katsuki loses his patience. "Just spit it out."

"You like her, don't you." It's not a question.

God. Fucking. Dammit.

What should he say? What can he say? He can't just say no – y'know, like a liar. Eijirou already has him pegged; besides, Uraraka deserves better than that. Deserves better than him.

The truth hangs heavy between them, and Katsuki sighs.

"How?" he demands.

Eijirou shrugs. "I didn't know for sure until yesterday, but you've been calling Uraraka by her name since we were first years, and the only other person you call by name is me. And she's been hanging out with us more in the past few months, and … I dunno how to describe it, dude, but you're just … softer? When she's around?"

"Softer? What kind of bull fuckin' shit –?"

"I know!" Eijirou cuts him off. "I know it sounds silly. But I also know you've been texting her since she got your number from me and you've been smiling at your phone while we hang out, and you're not texting me because I'm there and you're never that happy to be texting your dad."

Katsuki doesn't try to argue. He knows Eijirou's right. He had tried to be subtle, but apparently he'd failed miserably.

"And then yesterday," Eijirou pushes on, "you called her name when she was in danger – her real name, not her hero name – and your voice cracked, bro. I've never seen you that blatantly worried about anyone – you usually hide it beneath your bluster and sarcasm and whatever."

Wow. Katsuki isn't sure how he feels about getting stripped down and peeled open. Actually no, he is sure. He hates it.

"And what does it fucking matter?" he demands, glaring at Eijirou. If looks could kill, the other man would be dead a hundred times over. "Why couldn't you leave it the hell alone?"

"Well," Eijirou says bashfully, reaching up to scratch the back of his head. He doesn't quite meet Katsuki's eyes. "Two reasons, really. You've been happier recently, with her around. I'm really happy for you, bro, and I want to make sure you don't screw that up …"

He trails off, and Katsuki's frustration spikes. "And?"

Eijirou sighs. "But Uraraka's also my friend, and I don't wanna see her get hurt again. She's trying to be strong, but the thing with Midoriya and Todoroki really affected her. You're leaving for America after graduation, which doesn't give you much time, and she deserves so much more than a quick fling –"

"You think I don't know that?" Katsuki asks, incredulous. He can feel his temper rising, and he clenches his hands into tight fists as he tries to control it. "Why do you think I haven't fuckin' said anything to her? I know she deserves more. She deserves so much more and … and I can't give that to her. So I'm not gonna say anything, fuck off to America, and it won't be an issue."

Eijirou bites his lip. "It's only November," he says. "You're going to be okay holding that in until next August?"

"Doesn't fucking matter," Katsuki says, standing. "It's what I gotta do. Now come on, I'm not fucking talking about this anymore. Let's go back to the dorms."

Eijirou looks as if he wants to say something more, but he doesn't. "Okay," he says, pushing himself to his feet as well. "Let's go."

Uraraka returns to the dorms later that afternoon.

The entirety of their class has been waiting in the common room all afternoon so that they'd be there for her arrival. The news plays on the television – they had been watching it at first, but had muted it once it began repeating itself. The attack had indeed been a distraction, but it was a red herring – there hadn't been any movement of the League itself, and that leaves everyone more on edge than if there had been.

"Hey guys!" Uraraka says when she enters, "I'm back!"

Her voice is an arrow that pierces Katsuki's heart, and he freezes. Everyone else scrambles to crowd around her, but he stays in place on the couch, his gaze locked on the silent TV. Eijirou – who had been sitting beside him – gives him a sympathetic pat on his knee when he stands to join the rest of their class.

Katsuki hates it.

The television flashes images of yesterday's fight, and for every shot of all his other classmates, there's one of Uraraka floating high above everything, relaying information and issuing orders with that determined look on her face that fucks him up so bad.

They show the footage of his failure far too often.

It's too much. He can feel the anger and frustration and … and whatever other emotions he's feeling roiling just beneath the surface of his skin. He needs to get out of here before he explodes. He doesn't know why he lingered this long in the first place.

Well, he does, but it's a shit reason.

He grabs the remote and turns the TV off with a barely audible click before standing up and stalking out of the common room. Against his better judgement, he looks over at Uraraka as he passes. Their eyes meet, and Katsuki's heart lodges itself in his throat as he rips his gaze away.

He doesn't want this.

This needs to stop.

"Bakugou!" Uraraka calls after him, and it's a second shot to the heart – the only reason he survives is because his heart is still lodged firmly in his throat. He ignores her, and walks straight out of the room without a second glance.

How is he supposed to face her?

Eijirou's words echo in his mind as he slams the door to his room behind him and turns the lock. He knows someone is going to come chasing after him – be it Eijirou or Uraraka – and he wants nothing more than to just be alone right now.

His palms crackle. The sound and sensation helps to ground him, but it's not enough. He paces his room, eager to let off some of the energy burning within him. Sitting still would not do him any good at the moment.

He can't say anything to her. He needs to get his shit together or else someone other than Eijirou will start to notice. He should have squashed these feelings right when they made an appearance, but when had that been? Had it been the Sports Festival this year, when he realized he was fucked, or did it go back further than that? Had it been the Sports Festival their first year, and he was just so emotionally stunted and single-mindedly focused on his rivalry with fucking Deku that he hadn't realized and written it off as respect?

God damn it.

The crackles turn into a small explosion, which helps but doesn't help enough.

And then she had to go and be all fucking noble, like fucking Deku, and nearly gotten herself killed in the process because she wasn't paying enough fucking attention! He's not always going to be there to save her, and he's never going to be there to save her come August. And she … she shouldn't fucking need his help in the first place!

… She didn't need his help this time, either.

Katsuki's knees go weak and he lands on the edge of his bed. If he hadn't gone rushing in like he had, knowing as he did that he was at the very limit of his quirk, then maybe Glasses could have actually caught her. As it was, he'd had to worry about the both of them, and they'd been just far enough apart that he couldn't catch them both.

It would have been better if he hadn't tried.

It would have been better.

It would have been.

But he's brash and he's selfish and he has a hero complex a mile wide and she deserves so much more.

And where does that leave him?

Katsuki sighs and falls back onto his bed. His palms still crackle, but the energy seeps away from him as a much darker, heavier, cooler feeling permeates his soul.

He has to give it up, doesn't he?

He's known this all along, of course, but he thought he could handle it. He thought he could handle it, but it's becoming very clear very quickly that he cannot, and … and he needs some space while he figures out where to go from here.

He craves her attention and the validation that comes with it. He has a love-hate relationship with the way his stomach twists when she sits down with him at lunch. Receiving her texts quickly became the best part of his day.

But he's gotten too close, and if he stays this close, it'll only get worse. He wishes there was some way to extricate himself without hurting her, but nothing other than the truth would suffice – and telling her the truth would create a whole new slew of problems.

It shouldn't be hard. He's Bakugou Katsuki, fucking … 3-A's resident Asshole Extraordinaire.

It's barely five o'clock, but Katsuki turns out his light and buries himself under the covers. When Eijirou comes knocking, he doesn't answer. When … Uraraka … comes knocking, he doesn't answer.

When he asks himself if this is really the best choice to make … he doesn't answer.

He forgets to count on Uraraka's tenacity.

For the next two weeks, he doesn't look at her in class. When they're told to pair up for partner work, academic or otherwise, Katsuki is next to Eijirou before Uraraka even has a chance to turn around. She still sits with them at lunch, but Katsuki stops engaging and leaves Eijirou to carry the conversation. In the dorms, he doesn't stick around the common area if she's there.

He doesn't respond to her texts.

He's gunning for a clean break – she deserves nothing less. He refuses to give her a sign that he wants things to go back to the way they were before. He doesn't want to lead her on.

God fucking dammit, he makes it sound as if they'd actually been in a relationship, which they hadn't – and isn't that the crux of this whole goddamn problem in the first place?

"Dude," Eijirou says one day after Katsuki snubs Uraraka yet again, "this is exactly what I told you not to do!"

Katsuki just shrugs.

The frequency of her texts dies down, and he should feel relieved. He does feel relieved, in a sense, but there's a part of him that keeps waiting for his phone to buzz. He's given up on her, but he doesn't want her to give up on him. Just how sick and twisted is that?

When his phone does buzz with a text from her one night for the first time in nearly five days, he just about has a heart attack. He scrambles to open it –

Okay, fine.

– and his heart drops down into his toes.

So that's that, then, he thinks as he drops his phone back onto his bedsheets with a huff. He's done it. He's successfully regained his ability to push away the people who mean the most to him, and he's never felt shittier about it.

BANG!

He nearly jumps out of his skin.

BANG!
BANG!

Someone – or something – is knocking on his door. But not his bedroom door, no. His balcony door.

BANG!
BANG!
BANG!

A wave of fury rolls over him. He's not thinking straight; the only thing on his mind is his desire to blast something to smithereens to make himself feel better, and he's just been granted with the perfect opportunity.

BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!

He flings the curtain aside and glares out the window, but there's nothing there. Shaking with ill-contained anger, he throws the door open and steps outside.

"I know you're out here, fucker," he calls. "Why don't you show your –"

A heavy weight drops down on him from above, knocking him back into his room. His prepared explosion pops off harmlessly as he falls backward, but he catches himself and he's ready and raring to strike back when the sight before him stops him in his tracks.

"What the hell is your problem?"

Uraraka stands before him in her black tank top and a pair of worn sweatpants, hands on her hips and her arms akimbo. She glares up at him with an expression that can only be described as a cross of righteous indignation, incredulity, and ire. Her brown eyes pin him in place like an insect to a card.

"W- What the hell is my problem?" he bites back. "What the hell is yours? What the fuck do you think you're doing, dropping in on me like that?"

"Oh no," Uraraka snaps with a slight shake of her head. One hand comes off her hip; she holds a pink-padded index finger up before her and brandishes it at him. "You don't get to pull that with me, not after how you've ghosted me the last couple weeks! This was the only way I was gonna get you to talk to me, so talk."

"No."

He can't do this right now. He can't do this, ever. If he opens his mouth, he doesn't know if he'll be able to stop himself from saying everything he doesn't want to say. He turns away from her and sits back at his desk, determined to focus on his math assignment and not her.

Uraraka throws both hands up in the air in frustration. "Was it something I did?" she demands. "Because I've been racking my brain for weeks trying to figure out what on Earth it could be and I've got nothing."

Something she did? Try everything she did. Katsuki's pencil lead breaks against the paper. "No. It's nothing. Fuck off."

"Yeah, I'm not buying that." The words fall blunt from her lips, and she crosses her arms. "You're not gonna get rid of me that easily, so stop being such an ass and tell me what the problem is!"

She wants a fight? Fine. She'll get a fight.

Katsuki slams his hands down on his desk and stands again, whirling around to face her. There's a cold sort of fire in her eyes. Her gravity-defying brown hair is in disarray, her jaw is set square in determination, and goddammit, why does she have to be so infuriatingly perfect?

Think, think, think …

"You almost died!"

Uraraka freezes at his words, and the anger slips from her features. "I'm fine, Bakugou," she says gently. It makes his heart ache. "It's not even the worst that's happened to someone in our class."

"I know that," Katsuki growls, "but you were reckless! You let your guard down and left yourself wide open to that fucking attack! It was a stupid mistake to make!"

Oh, never mind. Now she's seething. "Yeah, Bakugou. It was a mistake. It happens."

"You made yourself a fucking target up there! It's a miracle that something didn't happen sooner!"

"I knew the risks!" she snaps. "I volunteered for that job – Thirteen wasn't going to make me do it, but I knew that I was the one most qualified. I don't know how many people I saved, but it was a lot – a lot more than would have been saved if I hadn't been up there!"

"At what cost?" Katsuki demands. "Dehydration? Hypoglycemia? Really, Uraraka, did you not eat or drink anything all day?"

"What, so I could lose time just puking up whatever it was anyway? And leave myself vulnerable, which you were just harping on me about?" She shakes her head and steps into his space. She glares up at him, their height difference intensified by the lack of distance. Still, the challenge is clear. "Bakugou, I'm not the only one who took risks that day. I'm not the only one who got hurt or didn't take care proper care of myself, so what's this really about?"

"It's. About. Nothing," he spits through his teeth.

"No. It's. Not," she mirrors, mocking him. "You're not not talking to Kirishima. You're not not talking to Iida. You're acting exactly the same with everyone else in our class except me, so why. Am. I. Different?"

His blood is boiling, and he snaps.

"Because –!"

He cuts himself off, and there's no other way to describe it: he shuts down. He clamps his mouth tight, wipes the emotion from his face, and rips his gaze away from her.

"Because what, Bakugou?" she insists. "It shouldn't matter. I'm a hero like the rest of you. I'm not special."

He wonders, briefly, if she knows exactly what the problem is. He wonders if she's been baiting him on purpose, and he wonders why it works.

To hell with it.

"Yes," he says tightly, still refusing to meet her eyes, "you are."

It's not a confession, but it is.

He hopes it's vague enough that it'll fly right over her head.

But at this point, Uraraka knows him too well. She gasps – a sharp inhale that takes a drag on his heart. When he dares glance at her, she's staring wide-eyed back at him. Her hands are over her mouth, and he …

He … he just fucked up, didn't he?

"Fuck," he bites through gritted teeth. He runs a hand back through his hair and tears his gaze from hers once again. "Forget it. Please get the fuck out."

"W-wait!" she cries as he turns away toward the door. Eight soft, callused hands wrap around his wrist, and everything within him flips and freezes as if it had been ten. His heart stops. His lungs seize up. The fact that his limbs feel like lead is the only thing that keeps him grounded.

"Shouldn't we at least talk about this?" she asks – nay, pleads – in something close to a whisper.

He shrugs, though not hard enough to dislodge her hands. "Does it matter?"

A long few moments of silence follow his question. She searches his face for something – for what, he doesn't know. There's a softness in hers that wasn't there before, and it …

"I suppose not," she says with a sigh, letting his wrist fall from her fingers. "We're so busy, we're months away from graduating … you're moving to America …"

And she's still in love with fucking Deku.

… it breaks his heart.

"Yeah," he croaks. "I know."

Uraraka opens her mouth as if to say something else, but after a moment's hesitation, it snaps shut. She nods curtly, and that's that.

"Okay. I … I guess I'll see you in class tomorrow," she says instead. She slips out of his room – slips away from him – and that's that.

And that's that.

And that's that.

And that's …

Exactly what he wanted?

No.

Not at all.

But it's exactly what he deserves.