Notes: Uhhhh, I don't know. The prompt was just Kacchako angst and maybe this didn't hit the mark entirely since the angst involves someone else, but this idea hit me and I couldn't let it go. Let it be known that I've read like one character death fic and I cried the entire time. I'm a huge baby. Writing this was very difficult for me. I don't know why I thought it up. I'm sad; you're sad. I tried to end it on a vaguely hopeful note, but still... I can't believe I've done this.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Bakugou was drunk and he hated it, but there was no getting around it now. He'd known it was a bad idea the second he wrapped his hand around the first beer. He'd really known it was a bad idea when he chugged it like it was water. Four beers and two shots later, all of it resting on a near empty stomach, he was feeling the effects of the alcohol, somehow dulling his mind and making his emotions jump from one shaky pillar to the next.

He hated it.

To be honest, he didn't drink that often. There wasn't a lot of downtime when it came to being a hero. If he wanted to rise to the top as fast as possible, he had to put in extra hours at the agency instead of slacking off. He was twenty-four with his own agency and a wide variety of sidekicks under his belt, some of them older than him. Through trial and error, he'd managed to get in the top ten when he was twenty-three. The whole world was at his fingertips. He could accomplish everything and nothing could ever bring him down.

And then Bakugou had found himself stuck in his own agency, staring at a television, as one of his closest friends died, two hours away and completely out of his reach.

It was still hard to believe what had happened. It seemed like they would live forever - like they were invincible, especially one whose quirk specifically made him so. Bakugou struggled to remember ever seeing him scratched or bruised. Hell, he'd had one of those zero point robots fall on him in the obstacle course of their first Sports Festival and he'd survived. It hadn't seemed like anything could break though his hard exterior, much less kill him.

But Kirishima was gone and Bakugou felt sick to his stomach, the alcohol rolling uncomfortably as his mind fell back to his friend.

It had been three weeks since Bakugou had last seen him. With the fact that they worked in different parts of the country and the hours that they worked, especially Bakugou, it was hard for them to see each other often. How many times had he turned down Kirishima's invites to hang out? It hadn't been from a lack of wanting - he had missed his friend - but he hadn't had the time. He had things to do, goals to meet, people to save, villains to capture. There hadn't been the time.

Bakugou dug his fingers into his hair and hid his face. He should've given it the time. He should've made it a priority. He should've called Kirishima more often, made more of an effort to see him and the others, fucking anything but this. He was proud of all that he had accomplished, but he hadn't realized the cost until now. All the times that he'd put his hero work above anything else meant little when he just wanted to see his best friend one more time.

"Bakugou?" a timid voice asked.

Fuck. He closed his eyes and didn't move, thinking that maybe she'd leave if he didn't give any indication that he'd heard her. He didn't want her here - he couldn't take the pity or anything she might give him - but then she was as stubborn as Kirishima. She didn't leave people in their time of need. She'd seen his pain in the way he hunched his shoulders and the misery he'd tried to drown in the empty shot glasses in front of him. She wouldn't leave him alone, not now, just as Kirishima wouldn't have if it had been her instead of him.

"What do you want, Round Face?" Bakugou asked, his voice raw from the burning alcohol. He hadn't been crying, but damn if his throat wasn't constricting like it wanted to. Maybe he had to throw up. It wouldn't have been the first time today since he'd thrown up on the way to the funeral.

"A drink," Uraraka replied, sitting down next to him at the bar. Bakugou peered at her from a small opening between his arms and watched as she ordered a drink and then gave a signal that told the bartender to cut him off. Irritation flashed through him, but he didn't fight it. His stomach rolled at the thought of drinking more. She took the shot, made a face, and then set the glass down. Her face smoothed out and her shoulders slumped. "You haven't called me that in a while. I kinda missed it."

"You didn't come here to wax-nostalgic about the past," Bakugou grumbled. "What are you doing here? Come to babysit me?"

"Can't I just have a drink or two?" Uraraka questioned, her tone a little sharp. "It's been a long day."

Bakugou pulled his head out of his arms and resting his chin on top of them so that he was slumped over the batop. "Didn't peg you for the drinking when you're sad type."

"I could say the same about you."

"That's because I'm not sad," Bakugou replied dryly.

Uraraka didn't respond to that. She knew that it was bullshit and he knew that she knew. It didn't matter. Everyone had struggled today. Seeing all of his classmates, former teachers, and pro heroes bunched up in one area had been painful. Having Kirishima's mother hug him and sob had been even worse. Bakugou hadn't wanted to drink until that moment, but he had to forget the way he froze on the spot. He had to forget how he'd failed to properly take care of her, like Kirishima would've wanted. All he could do was hold her mutely while she rambled on about how much her son had respected him and that he was like family.

If he was so close to Kirishima, then why had it been so long since they'd last seen each other? They texted and called each other frequently, but Bakugou could've done more to see him. Hell, he'd only been able to swing by Kirishima's for the holidays last year. What kind of friend was he?

"Red Riot is down! I repeat, Red Riot is down!"

Bakugou gripped an empty beer bottle, smoking sizzling from his palm as he readied to explode, when Uraraka put her hand over his. It had to burn her at least a little. Her palms weren't soft like they had been in school, not after years of being a pro hero, but they weren't built to hold explosions like his. Nonetheless, she didn't let go, not until the smoke cleared.

"What do you need me to do?" Uraraka asked him quietly.

Leave me the hell alone. What good am I? What kind of friend can I really be when it's obvious that I only give a shit about myself?

"Catch up," Bakugou said instead.

Uraraka's face hardened. "Only if you drink some water."

Bakugou groaned and said, "Gods, you're so fucking considerate," but waved down the bartender to get two shots for her and a water for him. She jumped in to request a chaser. "Baby."

"I didn't eat much today," Uraraka pointed out.

"I didn't either and I'm still alive," Bakugou shot back. She rolled her eyes, but turned to thank the bartender for the drinks. She reached for her wallet, but then Bakugou grabbed her wrist with one hand and pulled out his card with the other. It was a surprisingly deft move, considering how much alcohol he had in his system. Uraraka didn't fight him like she normally did when he paid for her. That was one small mercy.

She took the shots a lot slower than him, drinking the chaser in between. Once she was finished, her whole body shook with a shudder. It must've burned her something fierce. She smacked her lips and finished off her chaser. "Ugh, that was disgusting. I haven't drank in months."

"Doesn't feel very good, does it?" Bakugou drawled.

"Then why do it?" Uraraka asked.

"Because I already feel like shit," Bakugou said, "but I want to feel worse."

Uraraka sighed. "If you're punishing yourself for not being there-"

"I'm not," Bakugou interrupted. She stared at him with a little frown and disbelieving eyes. So deep and brown, like the bark on a tree. So sad too. He could tell that she'd been crying, red rimming her eyes despite her best attempts to fix it with makeup. "Really, I'm not. I was two hours away working on a murder investigation with the police. There was nothing I could do."

"Then what are you doing here?" Uraraka asked, throwing his earlier question back in his face.

At first, Bakugou didn't know what to say. What was he doing here? It wasn't like him to drink himself into oblivion when he was upset or angry. Not that he'd ever felt like this before. Even when All Might had been forced to retire after saving him from the League, he'd not felt this much pain. It felt like his insides were being ripped out and put on display. It was savage and unforgiving and all he wanted to do was call Kirishima and vent to him, but he couldn't.

"There were a lot of things that I could've done that I didn't," he settled on.

"Isn't that what being a hero about?" Uraraka asked.

"That's not what being a friend is about," Bakugou countered.

Uraraka's face softened. "Bakugou, you're a great friend. You were his best friend, above all else."

"I definitely didn't act like it half the time." He couldn't handle the look on her face. It wasn't pity; it was understanding, which felt worse somehow. He knew that she understood what he felt and that only made him want to hide more. Damn her. "I should've taken the time…"

"He knew," Uraraka told him gently, a sad smile on her face. "You're hard to deal with sometimes and you can be distant and push people away when you're in your own head and your role as a hero is more than a job to you, but he knew."

Bakugou wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe it more than anything. Come in a few weeks, maybe he would. It didn't make things any easier. Kirishima was gone and no amount of alcohol could fill that void in his chest. It just made him feel dead inside, the alcohol having dulled all of his senses, as if that might make him closer to his friend, but instead it only made him alone and he couldn't even manage to be pissed off about it.

"C'mon," Uraraka sighed, sliding off the stool, "let's get you home."

"You can't drive either," Bakugou said.

Uraraka waved her phone in the air. "That's what cabs are for."

Even though he didn't really want to go home, not where his apartment was empty and stifling, he found that he didn't want to stay here either, especially if she was leaving. He paid his tab and then dropped off his stool, slinking out of the bar after her.

It was cold as hell outside, the air chilly enough to make him grit her teeth and bury his hands in his pockets, but the alcohol in his system gave him a false sense of warmth. Next to him, Uraraka shivered and he thought to give her his jacket, but he didn't move. When the cab pulled up, he shuffled inside and was faintly surprised when she followed and gave the driver his address. Oh, did she not trust him to go home or did she think that he shouldn't be alone? Shouldn't she be taking care of herself right now?

(Maybe she didn't want to be alone either. She and Kirishima had gotten closer after school. They'd done a lot of missions, particularly rescue ones, together over the years.)

Once they reached his place, the two of them shuffled out of the cab. Bakugou stumbled a little more than he would've liked (which meant, he didn't want to stumble at all), but recovered before Uraraka's outstretched hand could catch him. He experienced the memory of her quirk being used on him, but instead of making him feel free and wanting, it made his stomach roll. Fucking alcohol. This is why he hated being drunk. It turned everything on its end.

His apartment was much more lavish than hers. It came with growing up in a household where aesthetics were part of the job. He actually really liked his place, but at this moment, he hated every inch of it. There weren't a lot of personal touches, so he only had a few pictures. Would it have killed him to have more of his friends? Take away a few pictures and this apartment could've belonged to anyone. There was so little in it that suggested someone was living their best life - that they had people that they loved and loved in return.

Uraraka flicked on a light and started for his kitchen. "Do you have anything to eat? You should get something on your stomach."

"I'm not hungry," Bakugou told her flatly, kicking the door shut.

"Good thing I wasn't asking if you were hungry," Uraraka said as she dug through his fridge.

Bakugou stared at her back, thinking of all the times someone else had been in his place. She'd come here a few times, along with Kirishima, Sero, Kaminari, and Mina. It wasn't very often though. His place was his own sanctuary. He should've had them over more. It didn't make sense that he'd kept them out of it. He'd gotten better about letting people in, hadn't he? She acted more familiar with his place than she was, perhaps in a bid to keep things calm and him under control.

No, not control. Keep him from breaking - from exploding.

Ah, but that was the issue though, wasn't it? Because that was what he did.

It had been work, work, work for so long that Bakugou had missed out on so much. He'd missed birthdays, marriages, births even. His friends had made other steps in their lives while he had made himself stagnant in order to get to the top. Maybe the only one who could understand all that he had sacrificed was Deku, who had put half of his life on hold as well to become number one. Kirishima used to always joke that Bakugou needed to get out more. Live a little, if you will. Smell the roses.

"It doesn't have to be lonely at the top," Kirishima would say.

But it was. He'd done it to himself. He had goals and he couldn't afford any distractions, even ones that were sweet and light and made him feel like he was in the clouds. Kirishima knew that too and often nagged him about it. He could take so much to the grave with him if Bakugou let him. No one knew him so well as Kirishima did. Had.

Alone. He'd made himself alone. He had stood in a crowd of friends, former classmates, heroes, old teachers, family and he had felt utterly alone. After all had been said and done, he had gone off to the bar on his own, vanishing before any of the others could try to rope him into doing something as a group. He couldn't bear the idea of reminiscing when all he wanted to do was forget. The awful thing was that all he could do was remember. All the good times and the bad ones and the ones in between and the times that he'd missed.

He couldn't take it. He'd fled like a fucking coward. It was only when Uraraka had appeared, bright even in the middle of her own grief, that he could admit it. He wasn't being strong and he knew that she would say that he didn't have to be, but then why was she here, pulling leftovers out of his fridge and humming a slow, sad song under her breath? He could see the exhaustion in her body no matter how much she tried to hide it with the pep in her step.

Was she afraid of being alone after today as much as he'd been afraid of not being able to handle being around others?

Without thinking, Bakugou flicked the lights off and Uraraka stopped immediately, turning around to query, "Bakugou-?" But he didn't give her the chance to finish, not when he was on her in a flash, cupping her face and digging her fingers in her hair so that strands of it fell out of her carefully done bun. There was only a second when their eyes met, the moonlight glowing in hers through the window, and he saw not fear or even surprise in them. It would've taken him nights lying awake to figure out what rested in her eyes in this moment.

He pressed his lips against hers, not the gentle and sweet kiss that she deserved, not the one that said how much she should be cherished. It was crushing and needy, all consuming in how much he demanded from her. There was little time for them to breathe as he kissed her and he could hear both of them gasping for air every time their lips parted a hint. He shoved her back until she was pressed against the fridge and slid one of his hands down to rest on her hip, gripping the material of her modest black dress and pulling her against him.

"Bakugou," Uraraka breathed and he wanted to groan or growl and he couldn't breathe. He could taste the liquor on her tongue and it made his head spin. She pressed her hands against his chest, spreading her fingertips, but was careful to keep her pinky fingers in the air. "Bakugou, stop."

And he did, just like that. It wouldn't have mattered how much alcohol he had or how unsettled he felt today. The moment she spoke that one word, he did as she told him.

Instead of pushing him away though, like her palms suggested, she leaned her forehead against his, both their eyes closed. Their air between their lips smelled intoxicating. "I don't-" She gripped the front of his vest tightly as he pulled his hands away. "I can't. Not tonight. Not like this." He swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing, and barely nodded his head, moving hers with his. She loosened her grip, slid her arms around him, and rested her head against his chest. "I won't let you do this alone though. It's not right."

Bakugou almost laughed, cold and desperate, but caught himself. She would be able to cut to the heart of his fear and it terrified him, but instead of running and doing it on his own, he wrapped his arms around her and held her against him. There were a lot of things he could say - a lot that he should have - but they would have to wait until the morning. It was piss poor timing and he felt vulnerable and spiteful and utterly worn thin, but he wasn't alone. He took a deep breath and then let it out with a sigh. Kirishima wouldn't have left him alone either.

You were right, Bakugou thought. I don't have to do everything on my own.

But it would take time to accept that even further, especially without someone goading him along. He had to take the first step, the first one of many to move past this, and he would. Just maybe he didn't have to do it alone.