The bulletin board is the same, but today it burns more in my chest. My name is aligned with his, operative: "Midoriya Izuku and Ino Junko". (Okay, here we go. The decision was in the "procedure" box, remember? This morning it opened on its own. Post-graduation program or not, some boxes have a life of their own.)
I feel it before I see it: an immense warmth, like summer air in a cold corridor.
Bakugo Katsuki.
He stops a step away from me, in that shadow that becomes closeness. He doesn't say hello. His red eyes focus on the paper in my hand, then shift to me. His gaze returns to the bulletin board, then back to me. His lip quivers...half a millimeter, but I see it.
"Who's your partner?"
I breathe as I was taught. Four in, four out. (Yes, count with me.)
"Midoriya."
"Tsk." Not loud, but clear. His knuckles whiten, his hands make that micro-crackling sound of captured sparks. His voice comes out rough, scratchy toward the end.
"What the fuck are you doing? Hiding behind Deku now?"
(I knew he'd say it. And yes, part of me was already prepared. But the word "hide" still finds the door without knocking. Why? Who knows. Maybe because he knows where my defenses are.)
"I'll put myself where I need it most," I say softly. "With Midoriya, the synergy is clear. Period."
He doesn't like the word "clean." I hear it, I sense it. It sticks in his throat like a speck of dust. I see it in his eyes, that brief flash of "it doesn't concern me" that moves his jaw once too often.
Iida places himself between us with the precision of a brand-new street sign. "Bakugo! Assignments aren't discussed in the hallway. Follow the procedure."
He doesn't waver.
Uraraka comes closer, touching my elbow. "Is everything okay?" (Her voice lowers the buzzing in my head a notch.) I nod.
Midoriya breathes calmly: "If there's a problem, we'll solve it as a team. There's no need-"
"Shut up, Deku." Says Bakugo, but he doesn't look at him. He looks at me. And there, I swear, jealousy is a feverish edge: it doesn't scream, it heats.
"How long will it last?" he asks, in a low tone. "Two weeks? Three? Are you planning on having your hand held for the whole semester?"
The hand. The word "hand" just slips out.
(Here I look at you and tell the truth: it's not anger at Midoriya. It's that other thing. The thing that eats away at him when he can't name what he feels.)
"I asked for a change to work better, I told you..." I reply. "The end."
He stiffens on "asked," as if asking were a crime. His gaze slides over my measured breathing, my fingers still on the edge of the paper, even the way Uraraka touches my arm. Everything bothers him a little, like sand under his skin.
"Are you starting to change everything now?" he hisses. "Do you even need a metronome to walk?"
"Bakugo," Iida tries, "I invite you to-"
"I said procedure," he interrupts in a shrill voice, as if trying to imitate him. "Procedure" sounds like "wall" when it comes out of his mouth.
I could tell you that right now I'm not thinking about that sentence from that night. But I am. I'm thinking about it. "It was just a quickie." Neutral, like a medical report. And yet look how his eyes tremble when he hears a name that isn't his next to mine. He doesn't like "Izuku" written next to "Junko." He doesn't like my breathing that doesn't stumble. He doesn't like that I put a lid on and closed it tightly.
(Okay, let's be clear, you and me. What did I expect? A "happy for you"? No, thanks.)
"Okay," I say finally. "See you in group training."
His "tsk" is small but precise. His eyes linger on mine for a second too long, then on the paper, then back on me. Territorial, that's the word.
Iida ends the scene with a wave of his hand, Uraraka gives me a smile that's warmer than it looks, Midoriya nods as if to say, "I'm here." And him? He takes a half step back, the bare minimum. But the fever remains there, until the last glance. And it doesn't seem like indifference. (At least not today.)
End of the autopsy, bulletin board version. (Now I'll put the report in the "procedure" folder and, if you like, stay here with me for a minute. Just to remind me that the lid is securely closed. He can knock all he wants, I can hear the noise, but I won't move an inch.)
***
It's Saturday, and the cafeteria is filled with its usual sea of trays and clattering spoons. Bakugo is sitting across from me. Yes, perfect for relaxing... for sure. (Help me!)
Uraraka leans close to my ear, takes my arm, and whispers.
"Aizawa set me up with Bakugo. I... honestly preferred Iida." I squeeze her wrist for a moment. I understand you, I think, but I don't say it. And yes, even more than she realizes. I try to convey it to her with my eyes, though.
Kaminari and Sero arrive, and the chatter starts like waves when the sky is cloudy. Behind them is Kirishima, with the tray and that kind smile that makes you smile back. (Kirishima is so cute! Haha). I tap two fingers on the table, right in front of me.
"Here."
Kirishima sees me, nods, and sits down next to me. His face is red as always. (His ears are on fire!)
Bakugo sees it. He feels it. His eyes flick from him to me, then back again in an instant.
"What kind of idea is this?"
"About what, exactly?" I ask. I inhale four times. I exhale four times. (You're here with me, right? Keep count.)
"Bringing people before me." He shakes his chin at Kirishima. "I don't need barriers between me and you."
("Barriers." There it is, the jealousy that isn't called jealousy. It circles us like a dog before a door: it scratches without entering.)
"It's a free seat, Katsuki." I raise my eyebrow a notch. "We're having lunch, not playing territorial chess."
Kaminari tries to laugh to put out the fuse. "Heh... guys, chill? It's just a table-"
"Shut up, asshole," Bakugo cuts in, his eyes still on me. He stares at the edge of my plate as if he's done something personal. Then he turns back to me.
"Do you really need someone to shield you now?" He says it softly, but every word grates.
"I need to eat." (And keep my breathing steady.) "Monday I'm working with Midoriya. Today I'm hanging out with my classmates."
Another "tsk". He looks at Kirishima's spot (my "here" from earlier) as if it were a "no parking" sign posted in front of his house. The spoon lingers in his hand a second too long; then he drops it into the rice with a soft thud.
"I've decided to eat in peace today," I say while talking to Kirishima and smiling at him.
"With your bodyguard?" Bakugo raises his chin at Kirishima. "Cute. Do you need a leash too?"
"I need space, not noise." And yes, I tell him right to his face. "If your ego gets in the way, move it to your side... or just change tables."
A second of silence. A silence that fills half the dining hall. Uraraka holds her breath, Sero observes, Midoriya clutches the tray as if it were a file. Everyone is worried about Bakugo's possible reaction.
But he simply leans forward, his red eyes a breath away from my green ones.
"Don't try to dodge me. You're not the center of everything."
"Neither are you." I lift my chin half a millimeter. "And I don't need your permission to decide who sits next to me."
And that's it. I'm tired.
I pick up the tray. I stand up. I do it without a moment's hesitation, without a fuss. Just an unspoken "let's go." He stands there for a moment, his mouth open. I swear: his mouth open. He wasn't expecting me to get up to change seats.
"I'm coming with you," says Uraraka, already standing with the tray in hand.
"Me too!" Kaminari says, too fast to be brave, but that's okay. Midoriya joins us silently, his gaze tense but steady.
We sit at another table, near the window. And here's the outburst. I let him out without any nice clothes.
"I can't take it anymore," I say. "I can't stand it anymore. Every time it's a tug-of-war over everything: chairs, air, breathing. Enough."
Kaminari whistles silently. "Yes... I mean... I understand."
Uraraka touches my elbow. "We've all noticed, I agree with you."
Midoriya, in a low voice: "If you want, I'll talk to Aizawa about team dynamics. It shouldn't get personal."
I close my eyes for a second. I inhale four times. I exhale four times.
"It's not personal," I say. (And to you, who are here with me, I tell the truth: it is too personal!) "I just can't work with someone who measures even the way I hold my spoon."
Kaminari nods, serious for once. "Okay. From today, we'll stay at this window table. New rule."
Uraraka smiles. "Good rule, I agree."
Midoriya adds: "And... if necessary, we can all talk together. As a team."
I look at the glass. The reflection shows me a normal face. Inside, though, the ringing in my ears is still there.
"Okay," I say. "Tomorrow we'll work as usual. Today we're free, I don't want to think about it."
And in the background, without turning around, I hear his "tsk." For now, I'll put this in the "procedure" box too and close the lid. (With you here, it's easier.)
Shortly afterward, Kaminari and I are alone. Uraraka says she's going to get more fruit, Midoriya follows her, and Kirishima gets up, using the excuse of the bottle of water. And so... I stay sitting in front of him.
He scratches the back of his neck, a smirk already present. "Oh, wow... I never thought I'd find myself alone at the table with you. Is it like... an honor?"
I raise an eyebrow. "Honor? Why, do you usually sit with rock stars?"
He laughs, a little too loudly. "Haha, no, I mean... I mean, you're cool. Everyone's serious, focused, and you're there with your invisible Quirk that even stops the air. Impressive." (Okay. Compliment. Clumsy, but sincere. Plus sign for him.)
"It's just controlled breathing." I reply, smiling. "Nothing magical."
"Hey, I breathe every day and I don't do anything cool." He leans forward. "So, like… if I asked you out for something that didn't taste like a cafeteria, would you at least teach me how to look a little cooler, too?"
…Yes. He actually asked!
And you're here with me, you feel it: it's Kaminari. He's hitting on me as if he were suggesting a PlayStation game. I'm about to respond when I feel that heat behind my back. No need to turn around: Bakugo. He's not at the table, but he's close enough. I know.
I'm careful with my words: "I don't think a date with me is the surest way to seem cool, Kaminari."
He smiles, taking it as a joke. "Then it's decided. It will be the most dangerous way."
Monday...
Monday at 6:00 a.m. sounds different... it's the sound of Aizawa's clipboards touching like gnashing teeth, the already-warm projector overhead, the teams holding their breath, awaiting the verdict.
"Operational missions, evaluation day. Rotating teams, real-time simulations." His voice is flat, raspy from insomnia. But he records everything.
The first name flashing on the monitor: Uraraka Ochaco + Bakugo Katsuki and Junko Ino + Midoriya Izuku. Okay. Interesting. (You move with me, over here, where we can see better without being seen.)
After breakfast, the red display reads 8:14. The white lines on the floor divide the field into corridors... they look like narrow lanes, like train tracks. Aizawa doesn't waste syllables:
"Couples get ready. Rotate every thirty seconds. Contact allowed if necessary."
Click. Bakugo breaks the silence. "Uraraka. With me." No curves between words.
She nods immediately. I stay with Midoriya. "Easy, okay?" he says and smiles at me. I nod, but my eye slips to the side, where it shouldn't.
Whistle. Off we go.
Bakugo takes off as usual. Uraraka is half a step behind him. He cuts off the extra space:
"FASTER! BEHIND—NO, RIGHT! NOW!"
He corrects her feet with a sharp tap of his ankle, raising her elbow a sharp two centimeters, abruptly but geometrically. And when a blind shot comes from the sideline, he places himself in front of her without thinking: he acts as a living shield.
"HEAD UP! DON'T LOSE THE CORNER!"
Uraraka has that zero-gravity calm...a gentleness that isn't soft, though. He has the same pace you know: determined, tense. And yet… there's a new flaw in the plot. He covers her. He glances at her a couple of times before leaping, checks the blind spot, gives her space, and then closes it. Not "soft," never that. But… thoughtful. Yes, thoughtful. A rough thoughtfulness, that clings to him like a jacket that isn't his but that he doesn't throw away.
(How do I notice? Easy: because with me it wasn't like that. With me it was fire against fire, scratches and sparks. Here it's fire as protection.)
Rotation. Their corridor intersects mine.
"Out of my line," Bakugo shoots before he even reaches me. He doesn't slow down: he brushes shoulder to shoulder with me and pushes me out of the lane with a quick forearm grab.
Clean yank, zero hesitation.
"Stay on the edge, idiot, don't trip me."
"I'm staying in my lane," I reply through my teeth. (Or at least I try.)
"Then learn to stay there." Tch.
They start again. Uraraka mistimes a support; Bakugo pulls her up by the wrist before she lets go:
"WATCH OUT! BREATHE. NOW."
He thrusts the water bottle into her hand as if it were a command. "Two sips and stop. Then start again."
Thirty seconds. Another intersection. He's back, back against me. This time he passes too close, takes the band from my wrist and tightens it with two fingers, brusquely.
"It's about to fall off. Don't lose any pieces, or you'll cry."
I jerk free from his grip, the same hand once again pointing Uraraka towards the opening.
"ENTER HERE!"
Midoriya looks at me askance: "Hey, what's his problem with you?"
"Let's forget it, look..." I say. (Maybe. Or maybe not. I don't know.)
"Bakugo," Aizawa calls back without raising his voice, "don't turn the hallways into a construction site."
"I'm working," he growls and accelerates.
New rotation. We pass each other on the edge of the center line. Kirishima's rubber bullet deflects badly and hits me sideways. Bakugo sees it first: he grabs my shoulder, firmly, almost harshly, and sends me half a step behind him; with his other hand, he deflects the shot and misses. All in an instant.
Then he turns on me, pissed off as if it were my fault:
"DON'T STAND IN FIRE!"
"You came at me, damn it!" I retort as I get up.
"Because you can't stand!" Tch. "Lift your chin when you walk!"
With Uraraka, however, his voice cuts, but his stance is surgical:
"HAVE YOUR ELBOW HIGHER LIKE THIS. DON'T LOOK DOWN. WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING."
He shifts her weight onto the ball of her foot with a nudge. When she hesitates, he covers her blind side as if it were normal to breathe for two.
Izuku and I walk around cleanly; he doesn't comment anymore. I count the moments where Bakugo deliberately brushes against me: a ridge of my hip, a hard shoulder, the hand that repositions me without asking, the voice that cuts off my breathing. Not with Uraraka: with her, he screams, yes, but every scream is a bridge, not a push into the void.
"Rotation," says Aizawa. Once again, I cross paths.
"Move," Bakugo says, and doesn't wait: he grabs me by the triceps and puts me where he wants, a step back, off the trajectory. His gaze isn't even on me, he's already covering Uraraka.
"NOW! RIGHT!"
She lunges. He blocks the blow that would have caught her. Perfect.
The timer vibrates. Conversations resume in tatters. Uraraka bends to her knees, breathing again; Bakugo adjusts the strap of her glove with meticulous brutality.
"DON'T HOLD IT LOOSE LIKE THAT!" he shouts at Uraraka.
"Okay."
"I TOLD YOU BEFORE."
I walk a meter away from them. I don't seek contact. He seeks me out: a half-step to the side that forces me to move, his shoulder touching me and knocking me off balance.
"Watch your step," he bites.
"I'm doing it."
"Do better." Tch.
He seems to hate me. (And maybe he does. Or maybe he's just looking for a place for what he can't say.) I don't know. I only see the result: with Uraraka, it's a screaming railing; with me, it's sandpaper.
"I'm switching partners," Aizawa announces.
Bakugo doesn't waste a second: "We're staying like this. Uraraka with me." He tells no one, he tells the camp. Then, without looking at me, he pushes my water bottle onto the table with the back of his hand...it must have fallen out of my bag as I passed.
"Don't leave stuff lying around, you idiot." He mutters. "I don't have time to pick it up."
And he walks away, dragging Uraraka along in a straight line, as if he were teaching the world how to march.
I put on the headband. Midoriya high-fives me. The display reads 8:32. I inhale four. I exhale four.
With Bakugo, I've learned that he screams where he wants to protect, and pushes where he wants to stay. With her, he builds; with me, he scratches...and I still don't understand why. For now, I take him for what he is: someone who comes at you so you won't admit he wants you? (Maybe.)