Chapter 52

₊˚⊹✷ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍
⤷ so can we do this, or what?

THEY ALL PASSED OUT IN Kaminari’s room a little after four in the morning, bodies strewn wherever there had been space once the credits of the last movie rolled. They’d watched something like four movies after they got the mac ‘n cheese, the night blurring together into a haze of glowing screens, and the comfortable weight of exhaustion. Oda had fully intended to go back to his room once things wound down, or maybe Bakugo’s out of sheer habit, but the day had wrung him out more thoroughly than he’d realized, and fatigue dragged him under before he could follow through on any of those plans.

When he finally woke, the first thing he felt was disorientation, the second was mild panic.

For a brief, tense moment, Oda lay perfectly still, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling as his brain caught up, heart thudding as he checked inward for the telltale signs of his gravity quirk having gone off in his sleep. The idea of waking up to floating furniture and panicked classmates made his stomach knot. But Kaminari’s room was undisturbed, nothing hovering, nothing smashed into the ceiling, and as his eyes adjusted he could see that everyone was still knocked out exactly where they’d fallen.

It had been dangerous, something Oda mentally made a note never to do again, letting himself crash like that in a room full of people, but there was something undeniably nice about it for one night. 

The other quirk that hadn’t gone off in the night was Bakugo’s.

Oda’s gaze drifted inevitably to the bean bag across the room, where Bakugo was passed out hard, curled up slightly on his side, arms tucked in close like his body had folded in on itself sometime in the early hours. His expression was slack with sleep, tension eased from his face. He was lucky nothing had gone boom in the night, because it would’ve woken everyone around them instantly, even with how dead to the world they all were. 

Granted, it had only been about four hours of sleep. Bakugo’s nightmares usually woke him up three or four hours into a night’s rest.

Oda hated that he knew that.

He shifted carefully, becoming aware of the awkward tangle he’d ended up in. His legs were trapped somewhere under Kaminari’s butt and Kirishima’s legs, pins-and-needles already creeping in as he tried to free himself without jostling either of them too much. He worked slowly, gently tugging one leg free and then the other, pausing every time Kaminari shifted or Kirishima let out a sleepy huff.

Kaminari rolled slightly when Oda finally managed to slide off the bed, mumbling something incoherent, but he didn’t wake. Oda stepped carefully, navigating the minefield of limbs on the floor, lifting his feet high to step over Jiro and Ashido, who were bundled together in blankets.

Once he was out in the hallway, the quiet hit him all at once.

He moved on instinct, padding up the stairs to the fifth floor and then slipping through the hidden stairwell that led to the roof, the familiar route grounding him as much as the cool morning air that greeted him when he pushed the door open. The sky was just starting to shift colors, deep blue bleeding slowly into pale orange at the horizon.

He sat near the fence around the rooftop, back against the cold metal as he lit a cigarette, the small flare of the lighter briefly illuminating his face. He inhaled and let it out slowly, eyes fixed on the UA campus spread out below him, the H-shaped school cutting a dark silhouette against the rising sun.

His mind went to the Bakugo-situation. It usually did when he was alone. He could have worried about Ango, or his grades, or the shortening time he had at UA. But instead, it when to Katsuki-goddamn-Bakugo.

Oda had given up intimacy shortly after Ango had lectured any interest in it out of him. Maybe refusing to want anything was a coping mechanism. He couldn’t have it, so there was no point resenting its absence. Not that Oda had much interest in it at the time, anyway.

Befriending his classmates was perhaps a poor idea, but he could manage it just fine.

Getting involved like this with one of them was just plain idiocy that he didn’t really have the freedom for. 

Oda hadn’t meant to toe that line or invite Bakugo across it. Chances were he wouldn’t have to worry about it, considering Bakugo’s vocal dislike of him. Still, Oda was not in the mood to have to turn the guy down flat. Nor was he really sure he wanted to. 

He could tell himself all day long that is was the smart thing to, but if he really cared that much about what was smart he wouldn’t have lied to Ango in the first place. He would have left when the world saw him win the sports festival or when All For One recognized him. Oda had been doing one stupid thing after another since he started at UA and this had turned into the best months of his life in a long time. 

That wasn’t really a reason to accept this, but it didn’t mean Oda had to reject it, either. Time wasn’t something he had a lot of, not with the way the year was going, anyway. Maybe he’d make it to the end of the school year, maybe something would happen and he wouldn’t. There was no real way to knowing. He told himself not to think about it right now, but his mouth still remembered the weight of Bakugo’s and that made his hair stand on end.

The door opened about half an hour later.

Oda didn’t flinch. He’d been expecting it.

Bakugo always seemed to notice when Oda made an escape to the roof, like some sixth sense keyed directly into his absence. Oda had been counting the minutes until it happened, even as he pretended he wasn’t. He didn’t turn around when he heard the footsteps approach.

“If you’re going to tell me it’s early, I missed my last night smoke,” Oda let out, voice calm despite the way his chest tightened, eyes staying on the horizon where the sun was finally cresting over the school.

“Figured that was why you were up here anyway,” Bakugo replied, voice gruff and rough-edged from sleep, the sound of it low enough to make Oda’s stomach do an unwelcome somersault.

Bakugo crossed the rooftop without another word, socks scuffing softly against the concrete before he dropped down onto the ground a ways back from where Oda was sitting on the stone ledge. He sat with his knees bent and his arms braced loosely against them.

It was quiet for a long moment. The early morning air was cool enough to bite, the campus below them still half-asleep, and the only real sound was the faint rush of wind against the fence and the soft crackle of Oda’s cigarette as he took a drag. Bakugo’s gaze never left him, sharp and unblinking, while Oda resolutely refused to look back, eyes fixed on the horizon.

Then Bakugo spoke again, voice low and blunt, cutting straight through the silence.

“Yesterday… we kissed.”

Oda choked on smoke instantly, coughing hard enough that he had to bend forward, one hand braced against the ledge as his lungs burned. It took a full minute before he could breathe properly again, eyes watering, chest aching, and when his head finally snapped around to glare at Bakugo it was with a mix of irritation and pure disbelief. “Don’t just bring it up casually!”

Bakugo didn’t even flinch at the reaction. He just watched Oda like he was gauging something, expression unreadable in the soft morning light. “Can we… keep doing that?”

Oda stared at him, stunned into stillness, cigarette forgotten between his fingers as his brain tried to catch up. That was—outright. Too outright. Bakugo had never been one to beat around the bush, but this still felt like getting hit head-on without warning. 

The seconds dragged as Oda searched for words, jaw tightening, before he finally looked away again. “…No.”

“What? Why not?”

“The fuck you mean ‘why not’?” Oda snapped, heat flaring as he turned back on him. “This sleeping thing is weird enough. I would know, I had to explain it to fucking Kaminari. And I don’t know why it would matter to a guy who very loudly declared he ‘doesn’t swing’. Whatever the hell that means.” The last part came out sharper than intended, but Oda didn’t bother trying to soften it.

Bakugo stared at him for a long, hard moment, eyes narrowed like he was chewing on the words, before he finally answered. “I didn’t swing because I’d never thought about it.”

“You never thought about it?” Oda shot him an unimpressed look, incredulous. Even Oda had thought about it, and Oda had been locked away in a facility for being too dangerous.

The blond shook his head anyway, gaze dropping to the concrete between them. “Even back in middle school… the only thing I ever thought about was being the best at everything. I never bothered with what other kids thought were important.”

“Shocker,” Oda commented sourly, taking another drag and exhaling slowly. “If you wanna experiment with your sexuality, go do it with a girl. You’d be better off.”

“You not interested?” Those red eyes flicked back up, sharp and searching.

“Not interested in being an experiment,” Oda stated flatly. “I know what my references are. I have no interest in you using me to figure out your’s.”

Bakugo scowled, teeth grinding faintly. “Who says you’re being used?”

“You’ve never thought about it before and suddenly I’m the thing that does it for you?” Oda scowled back, irritation buzzing hot under his skin. “Piss off.”

“You piss off,” Bakugo shot back immediately, temper flaring. “If you’re not interested, why are you still talking to me?”

“You asked me for help, remember?” Oda fired back without hesitation. “Being a decent person and all that— isn’t that what you called it?”

“So help me with this,” Bakugo said, too casually for the tension in his posture. “The sleep-thing was basically a goddamn experiment too, wasn’t it?”

“It’s not the same thing and you know it,” Oda shot him a glare, cigarette burning low between his fingers.

Bakugo scowled, irritation flashing sharp across his face as he leaned forward slightly, hands digging into the concrete. “What the fuck do you want me to do? Kiss a girl and see how I feel about it?”

“I want to never talk about this again,” Oda shot back without hesitation, voice flat and final, like he was drawing a hard line in the air between them.

Bakugo huffed out a breath, jaw tight. “If I knew this was gonna be a problem, I wouldn’t have done it.”

“No,” Oda snapped immediately, turning his head. “You knew it was gonna be a problem and you still did it.” His voice sharpened, frustration bleeding through. “Why, I can’t figure out, but still.”

Bakugo’s shoulders hunched a fraction as he looked away again, gaze fixed somewhere on the rooftop instead of Oda. “Wanted to,” he grumbled, quieter now. “And I’d never wanted to before so I just…” He trailed off, the sentence dying unfinished in the cold air.

Oda scoffed softly, the sound more tired than mocking, and shook his head.

In truth, he kinda believed Bakugo. Believed that Bakugo had never thought about it, not really. It probably wasn’t romantic—more like sharp, inconvenient teenage curiosity mixed with impulse and proximity—but that didn’t make it any easier to deal with. It wasn’t like Oda had much experience to compare it to, but he still knew what he wanted and, more importantly, what he didn’t. This thing with Bakugo had been in a downward spiral from day one, Oda just hadn’t realized it until now. Honestly, they’d probably always been bound to end up here eventually.

Oda was at a loss as to what to say or do now, words tangling uselessly in his chest.

Finally, he settled on the one thing that felt distant enough.

“Kaminari says the our classmates are taking bets on your sexuality,” Oda informed him, tone dry. “Apparently, they’re split down the middle.”

Bakugo snorted. “It’s a waste of time and money.” He glanced back at Oda, expression stubborn and sure. “They’ll all lose. I said that I didn’t swing and I meant it. Generally. What happened with you didn’t make me look at any of them differently.”

Oda believed that too, and the certainty of it twisted uncomfortably in his gut, making the situation feel heavier instead of clearer.

“Well, that’s a terrible choice,” Oda stated quietly.

“Probably,” Bakugo agreed without argument.

“I kinda doubt I’ll make it to the end of the year,” Oda said suddenly, eyes dropping to the cigarette burning low between his fingers. “So if you get attached, it’s your problem. I’m pretty good at compartmentalizing.”

“Tch. I’m not attached to anyone,” Bakugo scowled, bristling at the implication.

“Good. Keep it that way,” Oda shot back at once.

He lowed the cigarette to the concrete and crushed it, grinding it out completely with his fingers. Bakugo watched him do it, eyes tracking the motion. Then Oda shoved his hands into his pockets and started past him, heading for the door without looking back.

“Where you going?” Bakugo asked, pushing himself to his feet.

“Inside,” Oda replied coolly as he reached the door, fingers wrapping around the handle. “It’s cold, and I’ve got homework to make up.”

He pulled the door open, but the sound of Bakugo standing and rushing after him followed immediately.

Oda didn’t comment on it as Bakugo followed him down from the roof and through the quiet halls. Bakugo seemed to take Oda’s noncommittal answer for what it was, because when they reached Oda’s room he just stepped inside when Oda opened the door. He shut the door behind them with his foot and stood there for a second too long, looking around.

They hadn’t spent much time in Oda’s room. That realization hit the black haired harder than he expected, uncomfortable in a way he didn’t quite have words for. They always defaulted to Bakugo’s—Bakugo’s bed, Bakugo’s space, Bakugo’s nightmares dictating the routine. Oda’s room had always been neutral ground, a place he changed in and left, nothing more.

Now Bakugo was in it.

The room itself was painfully unremarkable. Bare walls. A neatly made bed, a desk pushed against the wall with stacks of papers organized, textbooks aligned, pens lined up with almost clinical precision. Nothing personal. Nothing sentimental. No photos. No decorations. It looked less like someone lived there and more like someone passed through.

Bakugo took it in without comment, eyes flicking over the space before settling back on Oda. “So,” he said gruffly, “what do you need help with?”

Oda exhaled slowly, grateful for the shift, and dropped his bag by the desk. “A couple late papers,” he said, already kneeling down and tugging folders out. “Analysis stuff.”

“Tch,” Bakugo scoffed.

They ended up sitting on the floor, backs against the side of the bed, papers spread between them in uneven stacks. Bakugo leaned forward immediately, elbows on his knees, grabbing one of the assignments and skimming it. Oda watched him for half a second longer than necessary before looking away and sorting the rest.

It was quiet. Not awkward, exactly—but it made Oda hyperaware of every small movement. The brush of Bakugo’s knee against his when they shifted. The sound of pages turning. The faint smell of smoke still clinging to Oda’s clothes, mixing with Bakugo’s natural smell of nitroglycerin. 

“This argument’s weak,” Bakugo said after a minute, tapping a line on the page with his finger. “You’re dancing around the point instead of saying it.”

“It’s contextualizing.” Oda muttered, reaching over to grab a pen. 

“Contextualize faster,” Bakugo shot back. “You know what you mean. Write it like you do.”

Oda paused, pen hovering, then adjusted the sentence the way Bakugo suggested. He hated how easily it worked.

They settled into it after that, a rhythm forming without either of them acknowledging it. Bakugo critiqued bluntly. Oda rewrote without arguing. Occasionally their shoulders brushed when one of them leaned too far, and neither commented on it. It felt strange—having Bakugo here, in this space that Oda kept deliberately empty.

If anything, it felt weirdly normal.

And that, more than anything else that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, made Oda’s chest tighten as he bent back over his work and pretended not to notice how comfortable Bakugo looked sitting on the floor of a room that wasn’t his.

Oda was nearly done, pen scratching steadily across the last page as he double-checked citations and tightened phrasing, the familiar calm of finishing something settling into his shoulders. The room had fallen into that quiet working bubble again, broken only by the faint sounds of the building waking up around them and the occasional rustle of paper. He let himself believe—briefly—that they’d actually managed to drop the other topic for the day.

Then Bakugo spoke.

“You know, you’re the last person I thought would lecture me for not having my fucking references figured out,” Bakugo said, leaning back against the side of Oda’s bed, posture casual but eyes sharp.

Oda frowned, pen pausing mid-sentence as he looked up at him. “I didn’t lecture you. And why?”

Bakugo shrugged one shoulder, gaze fixed on Oda in that uncomfortably direct way of his. “You said you were in a facility for years or something. Is it that crazy for me to assume you’ve got nothing figured out?”

“No,” Oda answered evenly, voice steady despite the way something tight curled in his chest. “But you assumed wrong.”

Bakugo hummed thoughtfully, eyes narrowing just a fraction. “How’d you figure it out?”

Oda exhaled, leaning back on his hands for a second as he searched for a more complicated answer and found there wasn’t one. “I just… realized and moved on.” He shrugged faintly. That really was all there was to it.

“Simpleton,” Bakugo commented, tone almost fond in its bluntness.

“Yeah, whatever,” Oda sighed, glancing back down at his work and making one last correction.

Bakugo didn’t say anything for a long moment. Oda could feel the weight of his stare even without looking up, the silence stretching thin again. Finally—

“So can we do this, or what?”

“Do what?” Oda asked, lifting his head to look at him.

Bakugo didn’t answer with words. Instead, his eyes flicked deliberately from Oda’s face to Oda’s mouth and back up again, slow and unmistakable. Oda blinked, genuinely dumbfounded for a second, brain short-circuiting on the sheer audacity of it.

“Wow,” he said dryly. “You really know how to set a mood.”

“I’m just fucking asking,” Bakugo replied, leaning closer, space shrinking without him ever actually touching yet. “It’s not like I like you.”

“I don’t like you either,” Oda bit back automatically, heat rising even as he held Bakugo’s gaze.

“Good.”

“Good.”

For a heartbeat, Oda thought that would be it—that Bakugo would scoff, pull back, and let the moment die like it should have. Instead, Bakugo moved.

His hand shot out, catching the wrist Oda had been writing with. Oda barely had time to react before Bakugo pushed, momentum carrying them both as Oda lost his balance and went sideways down onto the carpeted floor. Bakugo followed him without pause, the movement controlled and intentional, weight settling over him.

The short carpet was rough against Oda’s knuckles where Bakugo pinned his hand. Bakugo’s other knee braced near Oda’s hip, heat radiating through layers of clothing. Oda’s breath hitched despite himself, chest tight, not from fear but from the sudden closeness and the way Bakugo’s eyes never left his.

“I wanna,” Bakugo let out, voice low and rough as he leaned down.

Kiss you was the part he didn’t say, the words hanging unspoken between them, and Oda caught it instantly.

Suddenly, a naughty impulse came over Oda, sharp and impulsive in a way that felt almost foreign to him. 

His hand came up without warning and covered Bakugo’s mouth before he could get what he wanted out of him, palm warm against Bakugo’s lips, fingers firm like he was putting a hard stop to a runaway train. The contact made Bakugo freeze, eyes flaring briefly with surprise, and Oda felt a strange, electric satisfaction at being the one to interrupt him for once.

Since Bakugo was insisting like this, maybe Oda could do it for just a semester. Neither of them had any romantic feelings anyway and they’d already become so tangled in each other’s routines and nights that there was no real escape. And just maybe… it might be a good chance to attempt to tame this angry idiot.

“You wanna what?” Oda asked calmly, eyes steady on Bakugo’s as his hand stayed firmly in place. “Finish the sentence.”

Bakugo’s eyes narrowed at him, irritation sparking there even as he stayed silent, jaw working under Oda’s palm.

“Ask nicely instead of being a jackass about it,” Oda added, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his mouth despite himself, emboldened by the fact that Bakugo hadn’t immediately shoved him off.

There was a scoff as Bakugo backed off a bit, leaning back just enough to break the closeness, irritation radiating off him in waves. 

But Oda took it as an opportunity. 

He was physically stronger than Bakugo anyway. He rocked forward smoothly, shoving Bakugo down in the same motion, his hand hitting the carpet next to Bakugo’s head as Oda braced himself over him on a straight arm. His other hand was flat against Bakugo’s chest to keep him down, feeling the solid resistance there, his legs straddling the blond’s waist.

“Be good and listen to me and I’ll kiss you however many times you like,” Oda added, voice low and far too smug about the sudden power he’d been handed, or taken.

Bakugo’s answer was silence, his expression caught somewhere between offended and stunned, a grumpily dumbfounded look that Oda had never seen on him before. Oda would’ve laughed if he wasn’t focused on getting something out of this jerk who, for once, wasn’t firing back immediately.

And still, silence.

“Fine.” Oda sat up, already pulling away. “If you’re not gonna answer me, I’m going to lunch—”

He started to get up, weight shifting off Bakugo, but a hand snapped out and yanked him back down by the wrist. Oda nearly face-planted into the carpet, barely catching himself, ending up right back in the position he’d been in before. Bakugo’s hand caught the wrist of the hand Oda had on his chest, grip firm, like some kind of unspoken forfeit of power.

“Okay. Fine.” Bakugo finally spoke, jaw tight. “I’ll be good.”

Oda would’ve smiled in victory, would’ve said something sharp and self-satisfied, but Bakugo leaned up and kissed him before he could, cutting him off completely.

Time stopped making sense.

Seconds stretched and folded into each other, becoming days, becoming years, becoming nothing but the space between breaths and the heat where their mouths met. Oda registered the feeling of the carpet against his back as Bakugo rolled them over, the shift in weight smooth and controlled, the scrape of teeth against his lower lip pulling a sharp, involuntary sound from his chest. 

There was nothing gentle about it, just heat and the unmistakable slide of Bakugo’s tongue as he kissed him. Oda could feel Bakugo’s heartbeat thrumming under that hand he had against his chest, fast and relentless, a staccato rhythm that echoed in Oda’s and made it hard to think.

Everything about Bakugo felt hot, overwhelming in the best and worst ways.  Somewhere in the haze, Oda finally understood why Ango had rambled about this was such a bad thing. This was distraction and indiscretion all wrapped up in something that felt far too good. It was taking comfort in something he shouldn’t have and probably couldn’t keep. Right now, Oda enjoyed it too much to care.

Maybe he really did have an issue with authority.

It didn’t last long, but by the time a knock suddenly broke through the room, Oda’s mouth was numb and his thoughts buzzed into incoherency. Irritation flared sharp and immediate as Bakugo pushed himself up and away from him, breaking the contact too soon. 

Oda tried to call out for whoever it was to wait a moment, but his lungs still hadn’t caught up with him, breath stuck somewhere in his chest as the knock echoed again.

Bakugo studied Oda’s expression for a few seconds, like he was trying to decide something. Whatever he landed on, he didn’t voice it. He straightened instead, jaw tight, and got to his feet, crossing the room with clipped steps as he headed for the door. Oda pushed himself up into a sitting position with unsteady hands, pulse still racing, fingers digging briefly into the carpet as he twisted around to see who had knocked.

“Hey, Oda—” Kirishima’s voice came through the door the second it opened, but it jumped up a pitch when he realized it was Bakugo standing there instead. “Oh, yo, Bakugo.” He leaned slightly to the side, trying to peer past him into the room, eyes landing immediately on Oda still on the floor. “Whatcha guys doin’?”

“Homework,” Bakugo and Oda said at the same time.

Oda cringed immediately, the word sounding painfully obvious and unconvincing now that it had left his mouth in perfect sync with Bakugo’s. He looked away, heat crawling up his neck as he scrubbed a hand over his face, silently cursing himself for not coming up with literally anything else.

“Oh,” Kirishima said. He rocked back on his heels, hands tucked into his pockets as he glanced between the two of them. “Well, it’s lunch time and the cafeteria’s gonna close soon…” he prompted, the words hanging there like an open invitation. “Kaminari’s already down there,” he added, directing that part at Oda, who still refused to look back.

“Yeah, yeah. We’re comin’,” Oda decided abruptly, voice firm as he pushed himself fully to his feet, whether Bakugo really wanted to or not.

He ran a hand through his hair, making his bangs into something vaguely presentable before crouching down to find his shoes, shoving his feet into them without much care. Bakugo was visibly agitated about the interruption—shoulders tight, posture rigid—shooting Oda an annoyed glare as Oda stepped past him and out into the hall.

Oda didn’t address it. He didn’t look at Bakugo again, just started down the hall, pace steady and expression unreadable, uncaring whether Bakugo or Kirishima followed behind him.

They did.

The three of them headed down the corridor together, the air between Oda and Bakugo taut but Kirishima was happily oblivious as he talked about nothing in particular while they made their way toward the stairs. 

Eventually, they reached the cafeteria and slipped inside to meet Kaminari, the normal hum of lunchtime noise closing in around them and swallowing everything.

author’s note-

ahahahahaha, here’s another chapter that i’m unsure of. i feel like i say that a lot. my biggest fear is us fucking up and mischaracterizing Bakugo in literally any way which is why i feel so unsure about this chapter. i think the struggle is just trying to make Bakugo’s interactions with Oda different from the other UA students, (obviously) and how different of a character Oda is over all. if you have any thoughts or comments, let us know, we can always make changes, as long as they’re in good faith.

hey! i made a new cover for this fic! you like?

also, here’s the deal: we’re currently in the process of writing the next arc. and OH BOY are we struggling. we have a general idea of where the fic is going, getting there is just hard. trying to write a plot that makes sense with what we originally envisioned is proving harder that we thought. and it’s literally just season 4 that we’re struggling with, everything else will be SO much easier…. we think. 

so give us grace and a little bit of time, we’re not tryna leave this fic in the dust, we promise.

that’s all. 
thanks for reading, love you all lots!

collab credits to: zeroraide