Chapter Text
The dinnertime chatter made Bakugou’s head pulse as he pushed the mapo tofu and plain white rice around in his bowl, swirling the food around until it looked like bloody rice porridge. His eyesight blurs as Mina’s shrieking voice pierces his ears and worsens his headache as he pushes his food around, rice grains flashing against mashed tofu and red oil until they begin to look like maggots wiggling on raw flesh. His chopsticks don’t falter as he watches maggots crawl around his food. He stares as a maggot's miniscule claws latch onto the scuffed wooden chopstick grain, inching its way up until its fat, fleshy head was centimeters away from Bakugou’s fingertips. Its front legs touch the tip of Bakugou’s nail as the rest of its fleshy body continues up the chopstick. A prickly sensation shoots up his spine as the bile rapidly rises up in his throat, the maggot continuing its ascent up his finger. His vision darkens, black splotches mottling his vision as his head spins, his stomach tensing and grumbling. He stops stirring the tofu-rice mixture, slamming his chopsticks flat onto the bowl’s edge as he brings a hand to his mouth, willing himself to not throw up on the table. Fuck, he thought, I knew I should’ve skipped lunch. That bowl of ramen was 806 calories, shit took up 81% of my daily intake. Bakugou hunched over, his stomach grumbling louder as the bile continued to push up his throat. I need to throw up. His eyes began to sting, threatening hot tears as he glanced around to make sure nobody noticed his discomfort. I have to get out. I have to throw up. His throat tightens to stop his lunch from spilling over, pressuring him to get up and dash to the nearest toilet when he feels a sharp, heavy poke on his shoulder, snapping him out of his stupor.
“Hey, Bakugou,” Kirishima said, “You good bro? You look kinda pale, and you haven’t finished your dinner yet…”
Bakogu looks up sharply, realizing that the table’s chatter had stopped, their attention on him. He quickly ran the hand on his mouth up his face, ruffling his hair as he leaned back in his seat. His eyes dipped to his classmate’s empty trays, save for a few scraps of food and trash. He looked back at his own tray, the uneaten rice and glass of water glaring back at him. His headache melts away for a split second when he realizes, It’s already been twenty minutes and they’re done, but I’m not. I got so much food compared to them. Swallowing the chunky remains of his lunch, he scoffs. He rolls his eyes as he replies, “I’m fine, Shitty Hair. Mind your own damn business.”
“If you say so,” Kirishima said, lifting his hands up in defeat, “But we’re here if you need us.”
“I don’t need you extras for anything. I’m fine, I’m just not hungry,” Bakugou said.
“Are you a clone!?” Denki said, leaning in to stare at Bakugou. “The great Lord Explosion Murder God: Dynamight, not hungry for mapo tofu?! Quick, Jirou, punch me!” Denki said, quickly sitting down and spinning to face the bewildered girl.
“Shut the fuck up Sparky, I’m not as stupid as you to get my DNA stolen by a villain to make some lame ass second-rate clone! You’re the one whose eyebags rival Mind Freak, you’re obviously delirious,” Bakugou snapped.
“Hey! I’m not—”
“Not now, Denki,” Mina cut in, “Bakugou, you literally adore spicy food. I’ve watched you, grossly, devour two times that amount in ten minutes. What’s up? Has all the ultra-spicy food finally burned a hole in your gut? ‘Cause if it has, you should go see Recovery Girl.”
“My guts are fine,” Bakugou shot, picking up his chopsticks. He pointed them at Mina, saying, “And even if they were damaged, I’d still have more guts than you’d ever have in your entire fucking life, alien quack.” He plunged his chopsticks into the porridge, spooning in a few bites as he felt the group’s judging stares pierce his skull. They all think you’re a fatass, shoveling food down. He continued spooning in the rest of the bowl, head tipping back to drink the mixture when Kirishima put his hand on Bakugou’s shoulder, leaning in.
“Listen man, I get we’re being kinda pushy, but you gotta understand. We already watched you die once,” Kirishima said, the rest of the group nodding along. Bakugou could feel a drop of sweat running down his back as Kirishima continued. “We…,” Kirishima starts, “we don’t want to watch you die again. Whatever problems you may have in the future, you should let us know. We’re your best buds and you’re the manliest man we know, it wouldn’t make us think any less of you. You know we’ll help you get through it.”
Bakugou stiffened, the weight of Kirishima’s hand keeping him in his chair. They know. They all know. He gripped his chopsticks until he felt the wood slip from his sweaty palms. “You’re all so damn annoying,” he finally spat, slamming the empty bowl on the table. “You’re all making a big deal out of nothing. I already told you, I just wasn't hungry,” Bakugou said. He swat Kirishima’s hand away. “I’m going to bed,” he said as he shot up in his seat, moving to the trash area.
Kirishima’s hand shot out, yanking Bakugou down. Bakugou could smell the smokey remains of Kirishima’s dinner as the red head said, “You know where you can find me if you want to talk.”
Bakugou stilled. “I know,” he said.
Kirishima loosened his grip and gave Bakugou a lopsided grin. “Cool. Night, Katspolsion.”
“Tch,” Bakugou replied.
“G’Night, Gramps!” he heard someone yell. He flipped them off as he dumped his tray and stalked out of the cafeteria, the heavy stares of his friends’ eyes on the back of his head. They all fucking know. Once he heard the cafeteria doors slam behind him, he books it to the nearest bathroom, no longer burdened by their leering gazes. He shoulderchecks someone as he feels tiny maggots crawling up his throat. He gags, feeling their spiky claws inching back up into his mouth, the wiggling bodies exploding in his mouth. His left hand shot up, slamming over his mouth as the squirming insects invaded every inch of his mouth, their fleshy bodies thrashing between the gaps in his teeth.
Slamming his right hand on the wooden frame of the bathroom entrance to stop his momentum, Bakugou hobbles towards a stall and locks himself in it. I shouldn’t have pushed it, I already knew I was close to the limit. Fuck, why’d I let myself overeat? His hand gripped the edge of the toilet seat, knuckles turning white as he uncovered his mouth and felt the maggots tumble from his mouth. Squeezing his eyes, he retched into the toilet bowl until the bugs stopped wiggling. Bakugou panted, drops of sweat falling into the watery pile of crushed insects, his arms braced against the sides of the bowl. He pushed himself off of the bowl, opting to sit on the balls of his feet. I had 75 calories in the morning and paired with the 90 calorie granola bar, making my morning intake 165 calories. Add that to the ramen and that already puts me at 971 calories. Dinner definitely threw me over 1,000 cals. Bakugou let himself shift to sit on his feet when he felt a prickly sensation in the back of his throat. There’s more. Oh god, there’s more. Shooting forward, Bakugou grasps the end of the bowl again, shoving two of his fingers into his throat until he gagged, until he could feel the bile rapidly rise in his throat again. Chunks of meat from lunch, spared from the first wave of the maggot-bile mixture in his stomach caught in his throat as he threw up, the bitter taste stinging his eyes once more. His grip grew weaker as the maggots and rotting flesh left his mouth, tears dripping out of his eyes, plipping into the messy toilet bowl. Bakugou crouched there, eyes squinted, his arms sore and aching. There’s something still in my throat, Bakugou thought, prying his jaw open again and making himself gag, forcing himself to throw up again and again till he couldn’t feel any more chunks of food left in his throat. He sat there, crouched in front of the bowl where his pathetically indulgent meals lay bare in the toilet. He crouched there until tears stopped dripping down his face, until he felt clean. Clean of his unearned indulgence. Only then did he reach over to the toilet paper perched on the tank and scrub his mouth clean of his spit and tears until his skin was red and raw. Bakugou pushed himself off of the edge and flushed the toilet before flopping next to the bowl, resting his head on the cool stall wall, hands folded loosely in his lap. His cheeks felt stiff from the dried tears as he stared blankly at the pale green walls.
What an ugly fucking color, he thought, succumbing to a hazy sleep.
˚₊‧꒰ა ✸ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
When Bakugou came to, the first thing he registered was that he was still in the bathroom. Groaning, he tried getting up, only to stumble back down, back slamming against the front of the toilet seat with a dull bang.
“Shit,” he groaned. Just my fucking luck. He rested his head back onto the stall wall, shifting his body so that his shoulderblade lightly tapped the toilet’s edge, his body slipping slightly forward to accommodate for the changed center of gravity. The bathroom lights were off, his movements left unnoticed by the sensors near the entrance. He closed his eyes, slowly taking deep breaths as he waited for his strength to return. Slipping his phone out of his pockets, he opens his eyes and watches the screen lazily flicker to life. He stares at the time until the harsh blue light stabs his eyes, worsening his budding headache. It’s midnight, he thinks, Past Four-eye’s patrol. He won’t catch me. His phone dies, plunging Bakugou back into the dark, and he closes his eyes again. There’s no way Shitty Hair knows, he’s as dense as a rock. Today was just a lucky guess on his part, Bakugou sighs inwardly, but I need to be careful. Mina’s caught on that something isn’t right. I know she has. A warm wash of exhaustion crashes over him and he sighs, settling into his spot when the throb of his earlier blunder stabs him awake again. Clenching his jaw, Bakugou slowly lifts his head off the stall wall, planting his hands firmly on the ground. He pushes himself from his leaning position into a sitting one and shakily slips his shoes off, ripping squares of toilet paper from the roll. He slouches over, his head hanging between his legs, his arms, one with his shoes and the other holding toilet paper, resting atop his knees. He takes another deep breath before slowly getting up, silently sliding the overused stall lock open. He slips out of the stall, making his way over to the sinks. Quietly, he dabs tap water onto the toilet paper and wipes his face down, making sure there isn’t any evidence left on his face. He double checks the corner of his mouth for leftover spit before quietly frying the sensors and slipping out of the bathroom.
Bakugou’s footsteps thud on the carpeted floor as he makes his way to his room. Soft moonlight shines on the ground as he pads up the stairs, avoiding the loud ones that creak. Soon enough, Bakugou is in front of his door. He slips his shoes back on, his hand turning the knob, the lock of his door clicking open.
Nobody knows, he thinks, stepping into his room.
And not a single fucking extra will ever know.