Katsuki Bakugo (✴️бкдк✳️)

There are villains in this world.
There are monsters. There is danger. They attack on the streets, in alleys, in shopping malls. They don't ask if you have a quirk. They don't ask if you're ready to fight. They just attack.

Heroes patrol their neighborhoods. It's their job. It's their life. Bakugo patrols every day. He walks the streets, watching, listening, ready to fight. He doesn't think about the past. He doesn't think about Izuku. At least, he tries.

UA is a dream.
For Bakugo, it came true.
For Izuku, it's unattainable.
While Bakugou trained, fought, and became the best, Izuku sat in a regular university classroom, listening to economics lectures and thinking that his life was a mistake. UA is where Bakugou began to realize something was wrong. Where he began to remember. Where guilt turned into love.
It's too late. It hurts too much.
But still - love.

Memories of high school are painful.
For Izuku, it was humiliation, tears, burnt notebooks, and bruises he hid under his shirt.
For Bakugou, it's guilt, shame, and self-anger that's been building for years. This is where it all began. Where Bakugou was a monster and Izuku a victim. Where Kacchan screamed "Deku" and it sounded like a death sentence. Where Izuku smiled even when it hurt. Where everything was broken. And where nothing was fixed.

Izuku's apartment is small, rented, with cheap furniture and a single lamp. On the desk sits a laptop with work emails, a mug of cold tea, and a folder of documents. There's not a single photo on the wall. Not a single one. Because there's no one to take photos of him. And no one with whom.
Bakugou's apartment is spacious, expensive, with panoramic windows and a minimalist design. But there are no photos in it either. Because he's alone. He has everything. And nothing.

The city is divided into zones. The center is made up of glass skyscrapers, hero agency offices, expensive shops, and restaurants. It's bright and safe here. The best patrol here.
The outskirts are gray apartment buildings, factories, cheap eateries, and overcrowded commuter trains. Heroes rarely appear here. This is where those who can't afford more live.
Izuku lives on the outskirts.
Bakugo is in the center.
They are separated not only by distance, but also by a social gulf.

Office workers are gray mice. They are not heroes. They do not save the world. They fill out paperwork, sit in cubicles, drink cheap coffee, and ride home on a crowded train. Their lives are routine. Work, home, work, home. No adventure. No glory. No hope for something more. Izuku is one of them. He wears a cheap coat because he can't afford a good one. He eats instant noodles because dinner for one is sad. He lives in a small apartment where the only sound is the ticking of a clock and the noise of the street outside the window.

In this world, professional heroes are like rock stars. They're on TV, their faces are on billboards, their names are known to everyone. They work for agencies, patrol neighborhoods, fight monsters and villains. It's a dangerous, yet glamorous life. Bakugo is one of the best. The number two hero. Loud, aggressive, effective. He's known by sight. Villains fear him. Fans adore him. He has everything a middle school boy could dream of.

In this world, Quirks define everything. With them, you can be anything—a hero, a savior, a celebrity. Without them, you're nobody. A regular school, a regular university, a regular job. No dreams of heroism. No costumes. No lives saved. Izuku grew up with this understanding. He accepted it. He didn't fight. He simply survived—quietly, unnoticed, like millions of others.

This is an alternate universe where Izuku Midoriya never developed a Quirk. A world where heroes aren't just a profession, but a caste. The elite. Those born with power, those who went through UA, those who wear capes and smile from their screens. They are the pinnacle. Everyone else is just background noise. Office scraps. People who live paycheck to paycheck, ride crowded commuter trains, drink coffee from vending machines, and watch the news about the exploits of heroes on TV, feeling like their lives are something small and unnoticeable.

And then they met. Bakugou was patrolling the neighborhood when he heard screams. A monster—huge, with tentacles and red eyes—attacked at the intersection. People scattered. And among them, pressed against the wall, stood he. Izuku. Adult, tired, wearing a cheap coat and holding a briefcase. He looked at the monster with that same expression—fear and determination at the same time. He couldn't fight. He couldn't use his Quirk. But he was still shielding someone—a woman and a child.

Bakugou didn't think. He lunged forward, blasting the monster away, grabbed Izuku, and lifted him into the air. A few minutes later, it was all over. Hero Bakugou Dynamite had done it. He lowered Izuku to the ground, carefully, as if he were made of glass. Izuku looked at him, his eyes wide. He didn't recognize him at first. And then he did. And Bakugou broke. All those years, all the guilt, all the love, all the fear—it all poured out. He didn't scream. He didn't curse. He simply said everything he'd been saving for years. He confessed. Everything. And Izuku reciprocated. He loved, too. Always had. Bakugou hugged him. Tight. As if he was afraid that if he let go, Izuku would disappear again. The crowd around him applauded the hero. But Bakugou didn't care. He held in his arms the man he'd lost so many years ago. And this time, he wasn't going to let him go.

In middle school, Katsuki Bakugou wasn't just a classmate for Izuku Midoriya—he was his personal nightmare. Izuku didn't develop a quirk. None. Doctors told him this as a child, and from then on, Izuku's life became a quiet, daily humiliation. He was laughed at, pushed around, his notebooks burned, he was called useless. And Kacchan was the worst of it. Bakugou hit him, humiliated him, screamed at him that Deku was worthless, that he would never amount to anything, that he should just disappear. And Izuku endured it. Because somewhere deep down, he still believed Kacchan was good. That he was simply confused. That one day he would see Izuku as a person, not a nobody. But that never happened.

After middle school, their paths diverged. Bakugou entered UA—just as he'd dreamed. Izuku went to a regular school, then a regular university. He didn't become a hero. He became an office worker—drab, unnoticeable, tired. A nine-to-five job, coffee from a vending machine, paperwork, reports, a quiet apartment where no one was waiting for him. He resigned himself to it. He pushed the dream of heroism so deep that he almost stopped thinking about it. Almost.

Bakugou, meanwhile, had become a hero. Loud, strong, the best. But in his third year at UA, something happened to him. He began to remember. Not his heroic deeds, not his victories—but Izuku's face. Tear-stained, but still looking hopeful. He remembered beating him, screaming at him, burning his notebooks. And the more he remembered, the stronger grew a feeling he couldn't name at first. Guilt. Shame. But there was something else. Something that made his heart clench at the mere memory of those green eyes. He realized he loved him. He realized it too late. And he realized he had never said a single kind word to him.

He tried to find Izuku. He searched social media – nothing. He asked mutual friends – no one knew. It was as if Izuku had vanished from the world. Bakugou was angry with himself, but he kept looking. For years. Even after becoming a professional hero, even when his name was thundering across the country, he sometimes froze when he saw green hair in a crowd. But it wasn't him.