Chapter 4 — Unspoken

The door to Director Takahashi’s office slammed open hard enough to crack the frame.

Katsuki Bakugo stormed out, his palms crackling with barely contained explosions, his scent so sharp and aggressive that the two sidekicks in the hallway pressed themselves against the wall to let him pass. He didn’t acknowledge them. Didn’t acknowledge anyone. Just kept walking, boots striking the floor with enough force to leave scuff marks, until he reached the stairwell and took the steps three at a time toward the roof.

The rooftop access door banged open, and he strode out into the late afternoon air, finally letting the explosion rip from his palms. The blast scorched a patch of concrete near the ventilation units, leaving a blackened circle that matched the half-dozen others already scattered across the rooftop.

His agency had learned to budget for roof repairs.

“Fucking useless.” He paced the length of the roof, hands still sparking. “Every single one of them. Can’t follow a simple goddamn formation. Can’t anticipate a basic flanking maneuver. Can’t do anything without having their hands held like a bunch of—”

“Yo, Bakugo.”

He spun, palms raised, and found Kirishima leaning against the stairwell door with his arms crossed and a knowing look on his face. The redhead didn’t flinch at the threatening posture. He never did.

“Figured I’d find you up here.” Kirishima pushed off from the door and walked over, seemingly unbothered by the scorch marks and the lingering smell of nitroglycerin in the air. “Heard about the teamwork session. And the thing with Director Takahashi.”

“Then you heard he’s a moron.”

“I heard you threw a chair.”

“It was in my way.”

Kirishima snorted and dropped down to sit on one of the concrete barriers that lined the roof’s edge. After a moment, Bakugo joined him, settling onto the barrier a few feet away. His palms had stopped sparking, but his scent was still thick in the air, burnt sugar sharpened to something almost acrid with frustration.

“It’s getting worse, isn’t it?” Kirishima’s voice was quieter now, more serious. “The teamwork stuff.”

Bakugo didn’t answer immediately. He stared out at the city skyline, at the buildings painted gold by the setting sun, at the distant shapes of heroes on patrol moving between rooftops.

“They don’t listen,” he said finally. “I tell them where to position, they argue. I tell them to hold the line, they break formation. I tell them to cover the exit, they’re too busy trying to get the flashy takedown.” His jaw tightened. “And then when it goes to shit, I’m the one who gets called in for a lecture about ‘collaborative leadership’ and ‘respecting my teammates’ perspectives.'”

“To be fair, you did threaten to blow up Hayashi last week.”

“He deserved it.”

“He forgot to bring coffee to the morning briefing.”

“Exactly.”

Kirishima laughed, a warm sound that cut through some of the tension in the air. Bakugo felt his shoulders loosen slightly, though he’d never admit it out loud. Kirishima had always been good at that. At seeing through the anger to what was underneath.

They sat in silence for a while, watching the sun sink lower. The city noise drifted up to them, muffled and distant, a constant hum of traffic and voices and life continuing on far below.

“You know what’s weird?” Kirishima said eventually. “When you work with Midoriya, none of this is a problem.”

Bakugo stiffened.

“I’ve seen the footage from those joint operations you two keep ending up in,” Kirishima continued, apparently oblivious to the shift in Bakugo’s posture. “It’s like watching a completely different person. You don’t yell. You don’t threaten. You just… move. Both of you. Like you’re reading each other’s minds.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

Bakugo opened his mouth to answer, then closed it. How was it different? He’d never really stopped to analyze it. Fighting alongside Deku just felt natural in a way that fighting alongside anyone else never had. There was no friction, no miscommunication, no need to explain or justify or argue. Just instinct and trust and the bone-deep certainty that Deku would be exactly where he needed to be.

“He gets it,” Bakugo said finally, the words dragged out of him reluctantly. “He doesn’t need me to spell everything out. He just… knows.”

“And no one else does.”

“No one else even comes close.”

The admission hung in the air between them, heavier than Bakugo had intended. He could feel Kirishima’s gaze on him, steady and perceptive, and he resolutely did not look over to meet it.

“Your scent’s been different lately,” Kirishima said, shifting topics with the bluntness that was either his best or worst quality. “Thicker. More intense. A few of the Betas at the agency have mentioned it.”

“So?”

“So that usually means something. With Alphas.” Kirishima paused, choosing his next words carefully. “Have you ever thought about Midoriya in, you know, a different way?”

Bakugo’s head snapped toward him so fast it was a wonder he didn’t give himself whiplash. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m just saying.” Kirishima held up his hands in a placating gesture, but he didn’t back down. He never backed down. “The way you talk about him. The way you keep showing up on his patrols even though he’s not even at our agency. The fact that he’s literally the only person you can work with without wanting to murder them.” He shrugged. “It’s just… I’ve always kind of had this feeling that there was more going on there than you let on.”

“There isn’t.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yes.” The word came out sharp, automatic. Bakugo could feel his scent spiking again, burnt sugar flooding the air around them. “Deku’s my rival. That’s it. We’ve been competing since we were kids. We push each other to be better. That’s all there is to it.”

Kirishima just looked at him, one eyebrow raised, clearly unconvinced.

“That’s all there is to it,” Bakugo repeated, but the words felt hollow even as he said them. Something twisted in his chest, uncomfortable and unfamiliar.

The silence stretched. Bakugo’s jaw ached from clenching it.

“I don’t know what I feel, okay?” The admission ripped out of him before he could stop it, rough and angry and utterly unlike him. “About any of it. About him. It’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

Bakugo stared at the skyline, at the sun now half-hidden behind the distant buildings. His hands were trembling slightly, and he curled them into fists to hide it.

“He’s the only person who’s ever…” He stopped. Tried again. “When I’m with him, I don’t have to be anything other than what I am. I don’t have to hold back or explain myself or pretend to be less than I am so other people feel comfortable. He can take it. All of it. And he throws it right back.”

He let out a breath. “I’ve never had that with anyone else. And I don’t… I don’t know what that means. I don’t know what to call it. But it’s not nothing. It’s definitely not nothing.”

Kirishima was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was gentler than before.

“That sounds like something worth figuring out, man.”

“Yeah.” Bakugo scrubbed a hand over his face. “Maybe.”

They sat together until the sun finished setting and the city lights began to flicker on, one by one, like stars being born in the darkness below.

Across the city, in a cozy apartment filled with soft lighting and the smell of fresh tea, Izuku Midoriya was having a very different conversation.

“So then he said, and I quote, ‘I believe we should proceed with deliberate intentionality toward a mutually beneficial romantic partnership.'” Ochako Uraraka dissolved into giggles, nearly spilling her tea. “And I just stood there like, Tenya, are you proposing or writing a mission briefing?”

Izuku laughed, the sound coming easier than it had in weeks. Being here, curled up on Ochako’s couch with a warm mug in his hands and nowhere he needed to be, felt like a gift. The last month had been exhausting in ways that went beyond physical, and he hadn’t realized how much he needed this until he was already here.

“That’s so perfectly Iida, though,” he said. “I’m surprised he didn’t present you with a PowerPoint.”

“Oh, he offered.” Ochako’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “He had a whole presentation prepared about the statistical advantages of romantic partnership with compatible quirk types. I told him if he showed me a single slide, the answer would be no.”

“And yet you said yes anyway.”

“Of course I did.” Her expression softened, something warm and private flickering in her eyes. “He’s Tenya. He’s been my best friend for years. The presentation thing is just… him. And I love him. Quirks and all. Pun intended.”

Izuku smiled, but something bittersweet curled in his chest. He was happy for them. Genuinely, truly happy. But watching Ochako talk about Iida, seeing the easy certainty in her eyes when she said she loved him, made him acutely aware of the absence in his own life.

“What about you?” Ochako turned the question on him, tucking her legs underneath her. “Any luck on the dating front?”

Izuku groaned, tipping his head back against the couch cushions. “Please don’t ask me that.”

“That bad?”

“Worse.” He took a long sip of tea, stalling. “I went on three dates last month. Three. The first one spent the entire dinner explaining why Omegas shouldn’t be in combat roles. I don’t think he knew I was one, which somehow made it worse.”

Ochako winced. “Yikes.”

“The second one was actually nice until he found out I was Deku. Then he spent the rest of the evening asking me to introduce him to other pro heroes. He wanted Endeavor’s autograph.”

“Please tell me you didn’t.”

“I pretended to get an emergency call and left through the bathroom window.”

Ochako burst out laughing. “The bathroom window? Izuku!”

“I panicked!” He couldn’t help but laugh too, even though the memory still stung. “And the third one… honestly, I don’t even want to talk about the third one. Let’s just say it involved a quirk activation and a very expensive restaurant and leave it at that.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

They dissolved into laughter together, and for a moment the ache in Izuku’s chest eased. This was good. This was what he needed. Just being with a friend who knew him, who didn’t expect him to be anything other than himself.

When the laughter faded, Ochako was looking at him with an expression he couldn’t quite read. Something thoughtful. Almost calculating.

“You know,” she said slowly, “I always kind of assumed you’d end up with Bakugo.”

The tea in Izuku’s mouth went down the wrong pipe. He choked, coughing, face immediately flushing crimson. “What?!”

“Oh, come on.” Ochako rolled her eyes, entirely unrepentant. “Don’t act so surprised. It’s been obvious for years.”

“What’s been obvious?!”

“The way you look at him.” She ticked the points off on her fingers. “The way you talk about him. The way you’ve been basically obsessed with him since we were fifteen. The way you light up whenever someone mentions his name. The way—”

“Okay, okay, I get it!” Izuku buried his face in his hands, mortification burning through him. “God. Has it really been that obvious?”

“To everyone except apparently you and him.” Ochako’s voice was fond but exasperated. “Honestly, watching you two dance around each other for the past five years has been exhausting. Just ask him out already.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

Izuku lowered his hands, staring at the tea cooling in his mug. The warmth from earlier had faded, replaced by something heavier. More complicated.

“Because I don’t think he feels the same way,” he said quietly. “And I don’t want to ruin what we have.”

“Izuku.”

“I’m serious, Ochako.” He looked up at her, willing her to understand. “You don’t know how hard we worked to get here. When we were kids, he hated me. Really, genuinely hated me. And I spent years being terrified of him, admiring him, wanting to be like him, all at the same time. It was a mess.”

He set the mug down, hands restless without something to hold.

“And now we’re finally… good. We’re finally in sync. He trusts me. I trust him. We work together like we were made for it. If I tell him how I feel and he doesn’t feel the same way, I could lose all of that. I could lose him.” His voice cracked slightly. “I can’t risk that. Not when we’ve come so far.”

Ochako was quiet for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then she sighed, reaching over to squeeze his hand.

“You’re an idiot,” she said gently.

“Thanks.”

“I mean it. You’re one of the smartest people I know, and you’re completely blind about this.” She shook her head. “Bakugo doesn’t hate you. He hasn’t hated you for years. And if you’d take two seconds to actually look at how he treats you compared to literally everyone else on the planet, you’d see that you’re not just some rival to him.”

Izuku felt heat creep back into his face. “He just sees me as an equal. Someone who can fight by his side without slowing him down. That’s all.”

“That’s all.” Ochako repeated flatly. “Right. That’s why he keeps showing up on your solo patrols. That’s why he defended you to the entire press corps. That’s why he apparently threw a chair at his own director because someone mentioned pulling you from a joint operation.”

“He did what?”

“Kirishima told me.” She waved a hand dismissively. “The point is, Bakugo doesn’t do any of that for just anyone. He barely does the bare minimum of human decency for most people. But for you? He moves mountains.”

Izuku opened his mouth to argue, but nothing came out. The heat in his face had spread down his neck, and his heart was doing something complicated behind his ribs.

“I…” He swallowed. “Even if you’re right. Even if he does feel… something. I still don’t know if I’m ready to risk it. What we have now is good. It’s safe.”

“Safe.” Ochako’s voice was soft, not quite pitying but close. “Is that really what you want? Safe?”

The question hung in the air between them, unanswered.

Izuku didn’t know. He had spent so long trying to protect what he had with Kacchan, so long being grateful for every scrap of acceptance and partnership, that he’d never let himself imagine wanting more.

But lately, something had been shifting. The warmth he felt around Kacchan had grown harder to ignore. The way his heart raced when their eyes met. The way his skin tingled when they stood too close. The strange, impossible awakening of a scent he wasn’t supposed to have.

“I don’t know what I want,” he admitted finally. “But I know I’m not ready to find out.”

Ochako studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly.

“Okay,” she said. “I won’t push. But Izuku? Don’t wait too long. You might be surprised by what you find if you’re actually willing to look.”

She squeezed his hand one more time, then reached for the remote.

“Now. Enough heavy stuff. I’m putting on that terrible reality show you pretend you don’t like, and we’re going to eat the rest of this cake.”

Izuku smiled, something loosening in his chest.

“That sounds perfect.”

They settled in together, the conversation shifting to lighter topics, the weight of unspoken feelings temporarily set aside. But somewhere in the back of Izuku’s mind, Ochako’s words lingered.

Don’t wait too long.

He thought of Kacchan. Of burnt sugar and fierce red eyes and the way the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of them whenever they were together.

Maybe she was right. Maybe he was being blind. Maybe the safe thing wasn’t the right thing.

But for now, he pushed the thought away and let himself enjoy the simple comfort of a friend, a couch, and terrible television.

Tomorrow he could worry about the rest.