Competitive boyfriends breakup

Katsuki Bakugou sat on the edge of his bed, elbows pressed to his knees, hands clenched so tight his knuckles ached. The faint smell of smoke and sweat still clung to him from training earlier, but he barely noticed. His crimson eyes were locked on the floorboards, jaw tight, teeth grinding against each other as if anger alone could swallow the thoughts tearing through his head. He hated this. Hated the way his chest twisted, hated the heat crawling up his throat that had nothing to do with explosions. Most of all, he hated the truth pressing down on him—that the thing between them had started for all the wrong reasons.

He remembered it too clearly: the way she had confessed to him months ago, raw and unguarded, only for him to spit rejection back in her face. At the time, it had felt necessary, almost righteous—he wasn’t about to let someone get close, not when everything in him was already straining against failure. Then Deku, damn nerd, had gone and gotten himself a girlfriend. The sight had lit something ugly in Bakugou’s gut, not jealousy, not exactly—it was competition, pure and simple. If Midoriya had someone, then Bakugou sure as hell wouldn’t be left behind. So he’d gone back to the girl who’d confessed, asked her out in the most brash, graceless way possible. He’d told himself it was strategy, another battlefield where he’d crush Deku, prove himself better.

But it hadn’t stayed that simple.

The first kiss had been awkward, too quick, his hands clumsy, his temper hiding how badly his heart hammered in his chest. She hadn’t mocked him for it, hadn’t looked at him with pity. She had just... smiled. The second time was better. By the third, he found himself leaning in before he could even think. Somewhere between stolen kisses and the night they lost their virginity, the walls he’d kept around himself began to crack. He told himself it was just lust, just practice, but deep down, he knew that wasn’t the truth. He’d started to care—really care—in ways that terrified him more than any villain ever could.

But then Deku and his girlfriend broke up.

The moment Bakugou heard it, something ugly coiled inside him again. That same drive, that same twisted logic that had pushed him into this relationship in the first place, came roaring back. If Deku wasn’t in the game anymore, then what the hell was Bakugou still doing here? His pride hissed the answer: nothing. He didn’t need this. Didn’t need her. Not if the whole reason he’d started was just to win some invisible competition. Admitting otherwise would mean facing the feelings he wasn’t ready to name.

So here he was, fists trembling, heart pounding, about to set fire to the one thing that had managed to feel good without him even trying. He told himself it was necessary, that cutting her loose now would save them both from a bigger mess later. But the tightness in his chest called him a liar.

When she finally walked into the room, his head snapped up. His scowl was already in place, sharp and defensive, the only shield he knew. He leaned forward, elbows digging harder into his knees, trying to look like this was easy when it felt like ripping muscle from bone.

“Oi,” he muttered, voice rough, more gravel than sound. His eyes darted to hers, then away just as quickly. He couldn’t hold that gaze—not when it softened something in him he refused to acknowledge. He flexed his palms, faint sparks crackling, and drew in a breath that tasted like gunpowder.

“This... whatever the hell we’ve been doing—” He cut himself off, grinding his teeth. No, he couldn’t let hesitation creep in. He had to be sharp. Brutal. Clean. “It’s over.”

The words dropped like an explosion in the silence, sharp and final. He didn’t let himself flinch, didn’t let the tremor in his chest show on his face. He forced his mouth into a hard line, crimson eyes blazing like he dared her to argue.

“I don’t need this anymore,” he added, the words tasting bitter, acrid, like smoke clogging his lungs. “I don’t need you. I never did. I just—” He broke off again, hands curling into fists. If he admitted it, if he said that she’d meant something more, then this would all fall apart. His pride wouldn’t let him. “I just don’t see the point. Deku’s crap’s over, and so is this.”

His voice cracked on the last word, just barely, but he covered it with a sharp exhale, like a growl dragged from his chest. He looked anywhere but at her—at the wall, the floor, the window—anywhere that wasn’t her face. His leg bounced restlessly, every muscle in his body screaming at him to either fight or run.

He could already feel the guilt sinking claws into him, whispering that this was cowardice dressed as strength, that he was burning down something real just because he was afraid. But Katsuki Bakugou didn’t do afraid. He didn’t do weak. He didn’t let anyone see how close he was to breaking.

So he sat there, crimson eyes burning, shoulders squared, jaw locked, as if sheer force of will could make the lie true.

Katsuki Bakugou sat hunched at the edge of his bed, shoulders tight, fists digging into his knees hard enough to leave dents in the fabric. The smell of burnt nitroglycerin clung faintly to his skin from training, but for once, the stench of smoke wasn’t the thing suffocating him. His chest was heavy, his jaw locked, his crimson eyes darting restlessly from the floor to the wall and back again, as if refusing to land meant he wouldn’t have to think. He hated this—every second of it.

This wasn’t supposed to be complicated. It had just been a competition. That’s what he kept telling himself, over and over like a mantra. Deku got a girlfriend, so he wasn’t about to sit there and look like he was missing something. That nerd wasn’t going to be ahead of him—not in school, not in training, not in relationships. So when he’d asked her out, it wasn’t because he wanted her. It was because he refused to lose. It had been that simple. It should have stayed that simple.

So why the hell did his stomach feel like it was tying itself in knots now?

He replayed the chain of events in his head like static. The first kiss—awkward, fumbling, his pulse spiking so fast it almost scared him. He’d brushed it off at the time, acted like it was nothing, but the memory still burned like sparks under his skin. The nights that followed, the closeness, the way her laugh had filled spaces he didn’t even realize were quiet. Their first time together—messy, raw, but real. Too real. He’d told himself it was just another first to check off the list, another milestone to prove he wasn’t falling behind. But the way she’d looked at him afterwards, the way it had felt... No. He ground his teeth and pushed the thought away like shrapnel. This was never about feelings. He didn’t do feelings. He didn’t do soft, messy crap. This was a battlefield, and she had been part of a fight he had to win. That was all.

So why did the thought of ending it feel like slamming his own head into concrete? When Deku’s relationship had crashed and burned, Bakugou felt that first rush of relief—like the pressure had lifted. He didn’t have to keep up anymore. He’d already proven he could, already matched that damn nerd move for move. The competition was over. Which meant this thing—whatever the hell it was—was pointless now. Dead weight. That was what logic said. That was what pride screamed. So why did it feel like his chest was splitting open just thinking about saying it out loud?

His hands twitched, palms sparking faintly, and he dragged them back over his knees to keep steady. He could already picture her walking in, and the thought alone made something sting in the back of his throat. Stupid. It was stupid. He didn’t need her. He never had. He just needed to get the words out, clean and sharp, and then it would be done. Over.

The door creaked. His head jerked up, scowl snapping into place like armor. The moment her eyes met his, everything inside him lurched—but he didn’t let it show. He hunched forward, elbows digging into his thighs, crimson gaze burning with false resolve.

“Oi,” he muttered, the word rough, almost a growl. His voice felt raw, like it had scraped its way up from somewhere deep. He looked at her once, then away, clenching his fists so tight his nails bit into his palms.

“This... this thing between us...” He cut off, biting the inside of his cheek. No hesitation. No cracks. He forced himself to look at her again, even though it felt like staring at a live wire. “It’s done.”

The words hit the air heavy, ugly, and final. His pulse jumped painfully, but he locked his jaw, refusing to let it show. He had to believe this was right.

“I don’t need this anymore,” he said, sharper this time, like spitting out glass. “I don’t need you. I never did. This was just... a dumb competition. Deku had someone, so I had someone. That’s all it was.”

His chest burned. The words echoed in his head, and the more he repeated them, the hollower they sounded. So why’s this hurt so much?

He shifted restlessly, leg bouncing, eyes flicking anywhere but her face. His pride screamed at him to stand firm, to keep the wall up, but his stomach twisted like he’d swallowed shrapnel. The truth gnawed at him—maybe he’d started this for the wrong reason, but somewhere along the way, it had stopped being about Deku. Somewhere along the way, she’d stopped being just “someone.”

But Katsuki Bakugou wasn’t going to admit that. He couldn’t. Not when the only way he knew how to protect himself was to blow everything up before it could break him first. So he clenched his fists, sparks biting at his skin, crimson eyes narrowed into fire, and sat there in silence, daring her to argue—because if she did, if she looked at him the way she always did, he wasn’t sure he could keep lying.