Chapter 36

₊˚⊹✷ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐖𝐎
⤷ how the tables have turned.

THE ALARM TORE THROUGH the room like a siren. Oda woke with a violent jolt, his body snapping from stillness to full awareness in a fraction of a second, heart slamming so hard it physically hurt. For a brief, disorienting moment he had no idea where he was or why there was noise or why the world felt too close, too warm, too confined.

Then everything hit him at once.

The mattress beneath him. The unfamiliar weight draped across his torso. The sharp, insistent beeping coming from somewhere just above his head.

Oh.

Oh no.

Oda sucked in a breath that caught halfway in his lungs as he realized exactly where he was and, more importantly, who he was still pressed against.

Bakugo.

Still asleep and sprawled half on top of him. Oda froze so completely he might as well have been carved out of stone. His quirk stayed dormant by sheer force of will, every instinct screaming at him not to move, not to react, not to do anything that could wake the human grenade currently using him as a pillow.

The alarm kept blaring.

A obnoxious sound, relentless and cruel, vibrating through the nightstand and into Oda’s skull. Each beep felt like a countdown to disaster.

Bakugo groaned.

The sound was low and irritated, a half-conscious noise dragged up from sleep, but it was enough to make Oda’s stomach drop straight through the floor.

Bakugo shifted.

Just slightly.

Enough that his arm tightened reflexively around Oda’s middle, fingers curling into fabric like his body had registered the movement and decided to correct it by pulling Oda closer. His forehead pressed into Oda’s collarbone, warm breath ghosting over skin, and Oda’s brain short-circuited entirely.

Don’t breathe. Don’t move. Don’t exist.

The alarm kept going.

Bakugo’s other hand slapped blindly toward the nightstand, missing the phone entirely and smacking the wood with a dull thud. He let out a muffled curse that was more breath than word.

“Shut—up…” he muttered.

Oda stared at the wall so hard it felt like his eyes might burn holes through it.

Bakugo shifted again, dragging a knee over Oda’s thigh, effectively pinning him in place. The weight wasn’t crushing, but it was unmistakable, and the fact that Bakugo was doing this completely unconsciously somehow made it worse.

The alarm did not shut up.

The blond growled this time, louder, more awake, and finally managed to fumble his phone off the nightstand entirely. It hit the floor with a clatter, the sound abruptly cutting off the alarm mid-beep and plunging the room into a thick, ringing silence.

For a few heartbeats, nothing happened.

Oda didn’t dare move.

Bakugo didn’t either.

Then Bakugo exhaled, long and slow, and his body slackened just enough that Oda could feel the difference. The tension drained from his shoulders, the grip around Oda’s waist loosening to something closer to an absent drape than a hold.

Oda very carefully took a deeper breath.

His heart was still racing, but the immediate danger had passed. The explosions hadn’t come. The room hadn’t been destroyed. No one had been launched through a wall.

Yet.

Bakugo stirred again, this time lifting his head slightly, eyes still closed, brow furrowing as his brain started catching up to reality. His face scrunched in irritation, lips pulling into a familiar scowl even in sleep.

“…tch,” he muttered. “Too early.”

Oda closed his eyes for half a second and silently begged the universe for mercy.

Bakugo cracked one eye open.

Then the other.

The exact moment awareness fully set in was almost visible, like a switch flipping behind his eyes. His gaze drifted unfocused for a second, then sharpened abruptly when he realized two things at once.

One: he was not alone in his bed. Two: the person in his bed was very much awake and very much not supposed to be there. There was a long, dangerous pause. Oda braced himself.

Bakugo stared at him.

Oda stared back, absolutely motionless, brain empty except for a single, looping thought: If he yells, the whole dorm is going to hear this.

“…Why,” Bakugo said slowly, voice hoarse with sleep, “are you still here.”

“Don’t look at me like this is my fault,” Oda snapped before Bakugo could even finish processing what was happening. His voice came out sharper than he intended, pitched somewhere between defensive and mortified, and he shoved at Bakugo’s shoulder just enough to create a sliver of space between them. “I’m not the one dragging people into bed in their sleep.”

Bakugo blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Then his eyes narrowed in slow, dawning horror as memory started catching up with him, fragments snapping together whether he liked it or not. The explosions. The nightmare. The way the room had felt too small, too loud, too close. The feeling of grabbing onto something solid, something warm, something that didn’t disappear when he reached for it.

“…You,” Bakugo said, his voice rough and incredulous all at once. “You were supposed to be in the chair.”

“I was,” Oda shot back immediately. “I was literally sitting in your stupid desk chair like I said I would. Then you started blowing shit up again, and I got up to stop you from setting the room on fire, and then—” He cut himself off, jaw tightening, ears burning hot. “And then this happened.”

Bakugo looked down. At the way his arm was still draped across Oda’s waist. At how close they were, close enough that Bakugo could feel Oda’s heartbeat if he focused on it, fast and uneven and very much not calm.

He recoiled like he’d been shocked.

The movement was abrupt and clumsy, Bakugo scrambling backward until he nearly hit the wall, dragging the blanket with him in the process. He caught himself at the last second, planting a hand on the mattress, chest heaving as if he’d just finished a sprint instead of waking up.

“The hell—” Bakugo ran a hand through his hair, fingers digging into the messy blond spikes as if trying to yank himself awake harder. “Why didn’t you wake me up?!”

“I tried,” Oda snapped, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed as fast as he could. “You’re not exactly easy to wake up.”

Bakugo scowled, clearly hating that he didn’t have a comeback for that.

Silence settled between them, thick and awkward. Morning light filtered in through the blinds, casting pale gold stripes across the floor and the rumpled bedspread, illuminating just how close they’d been and how long they must have stayed that way.

Bakugo glanced at the clock on his nightstand.

6:32 AM.

“…Shit,” he muttered.

Oda followed his gaze and felt his stomach drop. “You have an alarm?”

“Yeah,” Bakugo snapped automatically, then frowned. “I don’t remember setting it.”

“You sad, sleep deprived bastard.” Oda commented flatly, already standing and grabbing his hoodie off the back of Bakugo’s chair. 

Bakugo bristled. “Watch your mouth.”

“Watch your sleep-grabbing habits,” Oda shot back without missing a beat, tugging the hoodie on and shoving his hands into the pockets. His heart was still pounding, but now it was fueled more by adrenaline and embarrassment than panic. “I came here to help you not wake the building, not—” He gestured vaguely at the bed, at Bakugo, at the entire situation. “Whatever that was.”

Bakugo opened his mouth, probably to yell, or insult, or threaten him again.

Then he stopped.

His expression flickered, something uncomfortable and unreadable passing over his face before it hardened back into its usual scowl. “…I stopped blowing shit up.”

Oda paused at the door, hand on the knob. “What?”

“I stopped,” Bakugo repeated gruffly. “After you came in. Don’t even remember the nightmare.”

Oda hesitated, then shrugged like it didn’t matter. “Good. That was the whole point.”

He pulled the door open and stepped into the hallway. Oda didn’t look back as he left, but behind him, Bakugo sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the rumpled sheets with a clenched jaw and a pounding heart, trying very hard not to think about how quiet the night had been once Oda was there.

𓏵

WHY THE HELL would Katsuki have done that? The thought nagged at him relentlessly as he stood on the concrete platform, boots planted wide, sweat cooling unpleasantly at the back of his neck. Yank Edogawa into bed. That was stupid. Weak. The kind of thing he would’ve torn into anyone else for doing, the kind of needy bullshit he prided himself on never showing. Even if it had been subconscious—some half-awake reflex driven by panic—it still made his stomach twist with irritation.

And yeah, maybe there was a reason for it. Maybe it was because when he was a kid, when the nightmares had been smaller but sharper in their own way, his mom used to come into his room and sit in his bed until his breathing slowed and the world stopped feeling like it was ending. Maybe his brain, half-feral with exhaustion and fear, had reached for the closest thing that felt solid and familiar and safe.

That didn’t make it acceptable.

It was childish. Beneath him. Proof that he’d slipped, that the League had gotten under his skin more than he was willing to admit. Katsuki Bakugo didn’t cling to people in his sleep. He didn’t need comfort. He didn’t need anyone.

And fucking yet—

Training on Tuesday was easier than it had been in a while.

That realization irritated him almost as much as the memory of the night before.

His head felt clearer, like someone had wiped grime off a fogged-up window. The constant buzzing pressure behind his eyes had eased, and while his reactions weren’t perfect—still a fraction of a second slower than he wanted—they were worlds better than they’d been the previous week. He wasn’t fighting through molasses anymore. He could actually focus.

He’d been throwing himself into developing his ultimate move, channeling all that restless energy into something sharp and controlled. AP Shot. A concentrated blast, focused and precise instead of wild and explosive. Power with direction. 

He stood lined up with the concrete wall Cementoss had raised for him on one of the higher platforms of the mountain in Gym Gamma, the structure looming around him. His palms itched with familiar heat as he shaped his hands, forming a tight ‘O’ with one while the other sparked to life, sweat already beading along his fingers.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed movement below.

All Might had entered the gym with Aizawa.

The sight of him—smaller, skeletal, wrapped in that loose yellow shirt—made something unpleasant curl in Katsuki’s gut. It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t quite guilt either, but it was close enough that he shoved the feeling down hard. The Symbol of Peace like that was wrong. It was unsettling. It made everything feel more fragile than Katsuki wanted to acknowledge.

He turned his attention back to the wall.

Focus.

He fired.

The explosion shot through the ring of his fingers in a tight, screaming line of force, drilling straight through the center of the concrete. Dust and debris burst outward as a clean hole punched through the wall.

“Ha, ha! I did it!” Katsuki let out triumphantly, a sharp grin breaking across his face despite himself.

Then he heard it.

A crack.

The sound spiderwebbed through the structure instead of stopping where it should have. His eyes snapped to the corner of the wall just as it fractured, a massive chunk breaking free and plummeting downward—straight toward where the teachers were standing.

Toward where All Might was standing.

“Hey! Watch out!”

Panic surged through him, hot and immediate, but his body didn’t respond fast enough to match it. His muscles locked for a split second too long, brain screaming orders his limbs refused to obey. Aizawa’s scarf shot out, too far away to reach in time—

And then there was a flash of green.

The chunk of concrete exploded midair, obliterated in a blur of motion and raw force before it could hit the ground. Someone landed in a crouch where the debris should’ve been, fragments raining harmlessly around him.

Deku.

“You okay, All Might?” Deku asked once he straightened, concern written plainly across his face. “That was close.”

“Yeah,” All Might nodded easily, like his heart hadn’t just almost been stopped by a falling slab of concrete.

Katsuki’s teeth ground together.

“Dude, Midoriya, what was that?” Kaminari asked as he wandered over with Kirishima, eyes wide. “You swooped in and wasted that rock.”

“I always thought you were more of a puncher,” Kirishima added, impressed.

“I am. Or, I was,” Deku replied, lifting one foot as he started gesturing animatedly, the damn nerd already launching into explanation mode. “It’s these new soles. Hatsume suggested them, and I think they’ll really up my game. Plus, Iida’s been showing me how to use my body better, and I’ve been watching Edogawa so my fighting style’s changed. I’ve only just figured out what direction to go in. I still have a lot of work to do. Nothin I’d call an ultimate move yet.”

Katsuki bristled at the mention of Edogawa without meaning to.

“I dunno,” All Might chimed in, voice warm. “Based on that kick I’d say you’re further along than you think. So, you should be ready for this test.”

Aizawa stepped closer, eyes flicking over the cracked structures above. “Hey, All Might. It’s dangerous in here. You should be careful.”

“Yeah, I know,” All Might sighed, then looked up toward Katsuki’s platform. “Sorry for the scare, young Bakugo!”

“Tch.” Katsuki scowled, irritation flaring hot and familiar. He turned away sharply, lighting off an explosion beneath his feet to reposition himself higher up the platform. “You watch yourself, All Might!” he shouted back, more bite than concern in his voice as he forced himself back into position.

Back to work.

𓏵

KATSUKI LAID IN bed that night, staring up at the ceiling. The glow from the hallway lights leaked in faintly around the edges of his door. It was around ten—ten-ish, anyway. He’d checked his phone twice already, even though he knew exactly what time it was. He’d wanted to be asleep two hours ago, wanted to be unconscious before his brain had a chance to start chewing itself raw. That restless, crawling sensation that told him if he closed his eyes now, he’d just be buying himself a few hours before the nightmares dragged him under.

And then came the second act.

Waking up choking on panic, heart slamming so hard it hurt, palms sparking with sweat and heat as his quirk insisted—loudly and violently—that something was wrong. That there was danger. That he needed to fight or run or explode his way free. Even when there was nothing. Nothing real. Nothing he could see or touch or punch.

It didn’t matter. His body never listened.

So he’d lie there afterward, jaw clenched, eyes burning, waiting out another four hours of half-sleep and half-waking misery while his brain refused to stand down. 

He was losing it.

That much was obvious.

He could feel it in training, in the way his reactions lagged just enough to piss him off, in the way his fuse had shortened to a hair trigger. He hated that part most—the slipping. The sense that he wasn’t as sharp as he was supposed to be. Katsuki didn’t get sloppy. Didn’t fall behind.

And he had four more nights.

Four more days.

Before the goddamn provisional exam.

If this had been any other time—any random stretch of bad sleep—he would’ve gutted it out like he always did. Grit his teeth. Powered through until his brain got bored of torturing him and moved on. But this wasn’t just any week. This test mattered. And showing up half-dead on his feet wasn’t an option.

And also—

Last night had worked. Friday night had worked. That fact sat heavy in his chest, sour and irritating and impossible to ignore. It pissed him the fuck off.

How dare Edogawa be the stupid solution to all his stupid problems.

Katsuki scowled into the dark, rolling the thought around like it might cut him if he held it too long. He couldn’t figure out why it worked. Or maybe he could, deep down, and that was exactly the problem. Acknowledging it meant acknowledging things he didn’t have the patience or the energy to deal with right now.

So he didn’t.

He shoved the covers off, sat up hard, and jammed his hands into his pockets. The decision came sudden and sharp, the way most of his decisions did when he was exhausted and fed up. Before he could second-guess it, he was on his feet and stalking out of his room.

The hallway was empty.

Thank god.

The dorm lights were dimmed for the night, the air quiet in that strange, holding-its-breath way buildings got after curfew. Katsuki’s footsteps were silent against the floor as he moved, shoulders tense, jaw set. He stopped one door over and stared at it.

Was Edogawa even in there?

Probably. It was late. But then again, the bastard could be off doing something stupid with that electric idiot, or out somewhere, or wide awake like Katsuki was, staring holes into his ceiling too.

Katsuki raised a hand.

Dropped it.

Swore under his breath.

Raised it again, forcing himself to pause for one more second, like that might magically restore his dignity. Then he knocked, fist hitting the door harder than necessary, the sound sharp in the quiet hallway.

He gave it ten seconds.

If the door didn’t open, he was leaving. Going back to his room. Pretending this never happened.

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

His jaw tightened.

There was movement inside.

Seven.

Six.

His stomach twisted in a way he refused to examine.

Five.

He almost hoped it wouldn’t open.

Four.

Three.

Two—

The door opened.

Edogawa was always dressed the same way.

Katsuki had noticed it before, distantly, in the way you notice patterns without really caring. Black or dark blue clothes, every single time. Hoodies, crewnecks, long sleeves even when it made no sense for the weather, and sweatpants that looked soft enough to sleep in but worn.

Up close, in the dim hallway light, Katsuki noticed more.

Edogawa’s eyes were pitch black again, fully opaque, with none of that unsettling gray-blue sheen Katsuki had seen back in Kamino. The markings along Edogawa’s cheeks glowed faintly, thin lines of red light cutting through his pale skin, matching the ones Katsuki knew were hidden along his arms beneath the fabric. And right there, dead center on his forehead, the small diamond-shaped stone gleamed softly.

“How the tables have turned.” Edogawa smirked a bit, agitatingly smug.

Katsuki’s jaw tightened instantly.

That smugness was always there, tucked into Edogawa’s calm. It wasn’t explosive or dramatic the way Bakugo’s anger was. It lingered. Like Edogawa knew he was getting under people’s skin and took some small, private satisfaction in it.

It wasn’t like Todoroki, who stayed monotone until you practically shook him. No, Edogawa talked back by default. He just never lost his composure while doing it, and that somehow made it worse. Or more impressive. Katsuki hadn’t decided which.

“So.” Edogawa leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, completely at ease. “What do you want?” He tilted his head slightly, eyes sharp. “Can’t be a noise complaint because I’m not makin’ any noise in here.”

“Are we gonna do this shit or not?” Katsuki snapped back.

Edogawa blinked once, brows knitting together. “What?” His head tipped a little further, confusion genuine this time. “Do what?”

Katsuki ground his teeth together, the sound sharp in his own skull. “The thing you came up with last night.” He forced the words out through clenched teeth, every syllable tasting like pride being chewed to pieces.

“Pardon me,” Edogawa shot back immediately, voice cool and cutting, “you’re the one who was all pissy about it this morning.” He snorted softly, rolling his eyes as if this entire exchange was already exhausting him. “I didn’t offer to help just so I could be yelled at.”

He turned, already reaching to shut the door.

Katsuki moved without thinking.

His hand shot out and slammed against the wood before the door could close, palm flat, muscles tight. The impact echoed down the hall. He sucked in a breath, ready to explode, to bark something angry and defensive—

And then he stopped.

Kirishima’s voice cut through his head, uninvited and annoying and persistent. Yelling doesn’t fix shit, man.

Katsuki blew the breath out hard through his nose, shoulders rising and falling once.

“Ey, piss off—” Edogawa started, irritation flashing across his face, but Katsuki’s hand pushed firmer against the door, anchoring it in place.

“You were right.” The words came out sharp and clipped cause they hurt to say. “You were right, okay? I need help.” His eyes burned as he stared straight ahead, refusing to look away. “And I’m for damn sure not asking that fucking campus shrink for it so—”

He stopped.

His jaw locked, teeth clenched so hard his head ached. Every instinct in his body screamed at him to yell, to lash out, to reclaim control by sheer force of will.

Instead, he swallowed.

“Sleep on the chair,” Katsuki forced out, voice low and rigid. “Stop me if I need it. I won’t get mad.” The words sat uncomfortably on his tongue, but he pushed through it. “As long as I’m doing better in training, I really don’t care.”

Silence settled between them.

Edogawa stared at him for a long moment, black eyes searching Katsuki’s face like he was looking for cracks, for bullshit, for some sign this was a joke or a trap. Then his gaze dropped, just briefly, before he shook his head once.

“To be clear,” Edogawa said evenly, “the only reason I’m agreeing to this despite your bitch-ass attitude is because you saved my life, so…” His mouth tilted into a thin, unapologetic smirk. “Just wanted to make that clear.”

Katsuki glared at him, heat flaring instinctively. “Got it.”

“Cool.” Edogawa stepped backward into his room, the faint red glow along his skin shifting as he moved. “Gimme a sec.”

The door shut between them.

Katsuki turned away and went back into his room, the familiar space somehow feeling different now that he knew he wasn’t going to be alone in it tonight.

The room still smelled faintly of smoke and ozone no matter how much he aired it out, the walls bearing tiny scorch marks that he kept telling himself he’d fix later. He sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor and listening to his own breathing, half-expecting himself to change his mind and storm back out before Edogawa ever showed up.

He didn’t.

A few minutes later, there was the soft sound of the door opening again, much quieter than Katsuki ever did anything. Edogawa stepped inside without announcing himself, carrying a small blanket folded over one arm and his phone in the other. He didn’t look around. He didn’t comment on the smell, the scorch marks, the general chaos. He just crossed the room, pulled out Katsuki’s desk chair, and dropped into it like this had been the plan all along.

No words. No commentary. No smug remarks.

The chair creaked faintly as Edogawa settled in, pulling the blanket around his shoulders and down his arms before leaning back. He turned his phone on, the screen lighting up his face more than the overhead lights did, casting sharp shadows across his cheekbones and under his eyes.

That was when Katsuki noticed.

Edogawa’s eyes weren’t black anymore.

They were that same goddamn gray-blue again, pale and cold and unsettling in a way Katsuki couldn’t quite put his finger on. The color made his face look different somehow, softer and sharper at the same time. Katsuki hated that he noticed. Hated that his brain latched onto it immediately.

“Hey.”

Edogawa’s expression, previously blank and focused on whatever he was scrolling through, shifted instantly into annoyance as he looked up. “What?”

“Your eyes change color or something?” Katsuki demanded, irritation flaring reflexively to cover the unease creeping up his spine. “Why the fuck do they look like that?”

Edogawa squinted at him for half a second before his mouth curved into that infuriatingly smug little smirk. “Why are you paying enough attention to notice?”

“I’m not!” Katsuki shot back immediately, louder than he meant to. “It’s just really damn—”

“Oh whatever.” Edogawa cut him off without missing a beat, slouching deeper into the chair and tilting it back slightly on two legs like he had no fear of eating shit on Katsuki’s floor. “You already know the majority of the big secret. Knowing I wear contacts isn’t gonna reveal much more.” His eyes flicked up briefly. “Not to you, anyway.”

Katsuki scowled, “You wear contacts?” He shook his head. “Why?”

Edogawa shrugged, loose and careless. “Well, considering that I’m practically a clone of my father, if I had my natural looks people would pick me out of a crowd immediately.” His gaze drifted away, unfocused. “Not that it really works. I’m pretty convinced Endeavor and All Might picked me out based on my quirk alone.”

That did it.

Something cold settled in Katsuki’s gut as he leaned back against his bed, arms crossing without him realizing it. The more he thought about Edogawa, the more the kid unnerved him. Not because he was shady, or because of the secrets, or even because of the whole crime-family mess. It was the quirk.

Gravity.

If someone like Edogawa had turned out different—if he’d been cruel, or power-hungry, or even just careless—there was a real chance not even All Might would’ve stood a chance against him. And apparently, according to this compulsive liar with glowing markings and color-changing eyes, there had been someone like that once.

A villain with that power.

Dead, supposedly.

“How many people know?” Katsuki asked despite himself.

“Dunno.” Edogawa shrugged from the desk chair, the movement casual, almost lazy. “It’s not really something they tell me. I’m sure Endeavor figured it out. All Might hasn’t said anything but I’m pretty sure based on the way he watches me train sometimes that he knows. I have no idea what they told Principal Nezu and Mr. Aizawa but I’m sure they were briefed when I was enrolled.”

The words came easy to him, rolling off his tongue like he was talking about class schedules or dorm rules. Like it was normal for adults with that much power to quietly assess him before letting him exist in a space. Like it was normal to be briefed on before being allowed anywhere.

Katsuki felt his teeth grind together.

“You don’t ever get tired of that shit?” he asked, the edge in his voice sharper now.

“Sure,” Edogawa said, unconcerned, eyes flicking down to his phone again. “But if I let it bother me too much then my life would be really sad.” There was a faint shrug in his shoulders. “This is actually the best it’s been in years.”

Katsuki turned his head just enough to look at him, disbelief flashing hot in his chest. “You’re not sleeping and recently got kidnapped by goddamn villains and this is the best your life has been?”

Edogawa didn’t even blink. “Yep.”

For a second, Katsuki genuinely didn’t know what to say. The words sat heavy and wrong, clashing violently with everything Katsuki understood about what counted as acceptable. He huffed under his breath, shaking his head. “If you’re looking for pity, you’re not getting any. Although that all sounds pretty fucking pitiful.”

“Good thing I wasn’t looking for any,” Edogawa shot back instantly, finally lifting his gaze to give Katsuki a snarky, sideways look. “I couldn’t care less what you think of me.”

“Good for you,” Katsuki snapped, already standing, done with the conversation.

He crossed the room in a few long strides and slapped the light switch off harder than necessary. The overhead light clicked and vanished, plunging the room into darkness broken only by the pale glow of Edogawa’s phone. After a beat, Edogawa dimmed the screen, the light softening until it barely painted his face in blue-white shadows.

Katsuki walked back to his bed, movements slower now, the fight bleeding out of him with the light. He hesitated for half a second, hand hovering uselessly at his side, before muttering, “You good?”

“Mhm,” Edogawa replied, simple and final.

That was enough.

Katsuki climbed into bed and turned onto his side, facing away from the black-haired idiot sitting silently behind him. The room settled into a fragile quiet, no explosions, just the faint sounds of breathing and the hum of electricity in the walls.

He’d wake up the next morning right next to him, but that was a problem for morning-Katsuki.