Bakudeku/Dekubaku Oneshots

Twin Stars

Everyone knows that things are… different.

There’s an Izuku Midoriya-sized hole in class 1-A, and the whole class knows that, but it takes them a little while to establish the full scope of the damage. They hear the absence of constant muttering. They see the empty desk in the classroom, and the dorm door that never opens. They stop looking for Midoriya’s sleeping form on the couch when they come inside, knowing that he’s not here to fall asleep there on late nights.

Some things are obvious. Some things are glaringly apparent.

But for some reason, even though it should be crystal clear, it takes them a while to realize that Bakugo has pretty much stopped speaking.

They notice the lack of muttering in the silence, but somehow they fail to register the absence of loud, angry yelling and mini-explosions in the common room. They miss Midoriya’s anxious squeaks when people snuck up behind him, but they don’t put the pieces together when Kaminari asks a stupid question, and Bakugo quietly answers him instead of shouting that they’re all idiots. They see that Midoriya’s never in the kitchen making a giant mess, but they don’t realize that Bakugo doesn’t have the energy to kick them all out of said kitchen when he’s making dinner anymore.

And it’s not until a few weeks later, when Kaminari stumbles into the common room rambling about another dumb idea, when they see Bakugo simply stare at him with a blank look on his face and nod absently every few minutes, that they finally see. They finally understand why the whole dorm feels like it’s been flipped upside down overnight.

Midoriya left UA, and he took Bakugo’s voice with him.

Outwardly, Bakugo’s fine, because he’s Bakugo — of course he’s fine. The class doesn’t know a world in which Bakugo actually lets his emotions show, where he isn’t anything but supremely put together. He’s not breaking down or destroying things or yelling or going to sleep at bizarrely early hours or… really, doing any of the things that make him Bakugo.

And after days of Mina, Kaminari, Sero, Jiro, and even Kirishima trying and failing to get a rise out of him, the whole class is forced to admit that something’s really wrong.

Bakugo’s fine. He still gets the best grades and aces combat drills and keeps a regimented workout schedule like he always does. He’s just… quiet. That bright, blazing fire that seems to follow him wherever he goes has dimmed, and now it seems that nothing but smoldering embers remain.

The silence is deafening, because Katsuki Bakugo is never quiet.

And, with the kind of clarity that can only come from pain , Class 1-A realizes that it’s not just Midoriya that exists at the center of their class’ little bubble. It’s Bakugo too.

It’s Bakugo, and his loud, aggressive brand of support and torment simultaneously. It’s his angry biting jabs at those who aren’t taking care of themselves properly, the violence masking how much he cares.

It’s Midoriya and Bakugo , and their deafening arguments and competitive rivalry and underlying respect and affection that the rest of them pretend they can’t see. They’re the twin suns that keep their entire system spinning, and, evidently, one doesn’t burn as brightly without the other.

For a while, none of them know how to help. They all know Bakugo is a short fuse on the best of days, and these past few weeks have decidedly not been the best of days. They’re all hesitant to break whatever fragile equilibrium is keeping the entire class balanced on a knife’s edge, so they leave him alone, for the most part. No one wants to be on the receiving end of a right hook, or an explosion, or… something. They don’t know enough about Bakugo to know what to expect. None of them have ever seen him like this, not even after Kamino. The one person who would know, who would try and help without hesitation, is gone.