Tommy’s ears feel like they have cotton stuffed in them.
“I-.” Tommy licks his lips, panic is crawling up his throat at what Evan just said, because it can’t be possible. “Can you repeat that, babe?”
Evan grunts, and there’s hushed whispers and slamming doors, and maybe a slightly louder noise of Hen yelling in the distance, and Tommy knows the 118 firehouse well enough to know that Evan is hiding in the corner of the changing rooms.
“I said, Gerrard is captain of the 118.” Evan is speaking so quietly that the phone mic is barely picking him up, but Tommy hears him loud and clear.
His heart skips a beat at the confirmation.
“Fuck,” Tommy whispers. “But how?”
“Good question,” Evan hisses. “Bobby quit, and didn’t tell us, and that’s beside the point.”
Tommy nods, it is beside the point. Tommy should be comforting Evan right now, assuring him that they can talk to someone, that it’s okay, this isn’t permanent, and-
Yet, all his brain is repeating is, “were we affectionate at the ceremony?”
Tommy says it out loud without meaning, and he blinks because that isn’t at all what he meant to say, but his mouth is moving without his permission.
“I mean, I don’t know if Gerrard would have noticed if we were, I know I was very stiff, and yes, he knows I’m gay, but he doesn’t know you’re out and-,”
Evan isn’t speaking.
Tommy can’t shut up.
“-and that doesn’t even matter. He was reassigned for discriminatory actions against multiple members of the 118, two of which are still serving, so how is he even back? Who approved this?”
Tommy’s brain is kind of in overdrive, trying to think of how’s, why’s, and fix it, fix it, fix it.
“I reported him for multiple instances of homophobia and racism, and you’re my boyfriend, and he’s captain again, and-,” Tommy takes a deep breath, “shit, I shouldn’t be complaining about myself. You called to commiserate. Shoving all that back into a dark corner of my mind.”
“That doesn’t sound very healthy,” Evan finally says, and it’s deadpan, dry, with maybe a slight hint of sarcasm to it. (Some part of Tommy blames the frequent date nights, and maybe Tommy is rubbing off on him, but also maybe there’s a layer to Evan that Tommy still hasn’t uncovered yet.)
Tommy hums, biting down on his lip to stop himself from spurting anymore nonsense.
“You ask all the exact same questions that Hen and Chimney just asked,” Evan says with a sigh, and then even quieter, and a little defeated. “You were right.”
“I was…right?”
“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Evan says.
Tommy takes a moment to curse past Tommy for being a cynic, despite being right, because he hates that defeated monotone from Evan’s mouth. It sounds wrong. And Tommy caused it.
Deadpan humour and realism may be how Tommy copes, but not even he could have predicted that a disgraced captain would be invited back into their previous role.
“No, no, I’m-,” Tommy groans, and covers the phone mic to say, “shut up, idiot,” to himself, and then uncover it again. He needs to be calm and collected and reassure his boyfriend right now.
There’s the tell-tale sound of alarms suddenly in Evan’s background and the moment has passed. A clang that Tommy knows means Evan just kicked the lockers.
“I gotta go,” Evan says, close to the mic, it sounds hollow.
Tommy nods, but then when he remembers that Evan can’t see that, you idiot, says, “yeah, I can hear.”
Tommy knows that Evan wants nothing less than to go on calls with Gerrard, but over a decade of dealing with the man comes to mind. “Don’t make yourself a target, keep out of trouble, and please, don’t be insubordinate. Just for today. Just until we know what’s happening.” And unspoken don’t mention me, don’t mention your sexuality, hide yourself, just for a day.
“Tommy,” Evan trails off, and there is an unimpressed air to his voice.
Tommy closes his eyes, grips his hands against his thighs. “Please, Evan,” he doesn’t want to beg, but he’s not above it, because he knows Vincent Gerrard inside and out.
Someone yells for Buck, the sirens get louder, and Tommy feels that panic spike again.
“You’ve got to go,” Tommy insists. “Just today,” he repeats.
Evan sighs, loud down the line. “Okay, okay, I-.” Evan curses. “Just today.”
Relief blossoms in Tommy’s chest, right alongside a kernel of shame that might have found it’s way there during the ceremony and rooted itself regardless of how much Tommy hated it. He hates himself for asking it of Evan, but he doesn’t regret it.
“Thanks,” Tommy says.
Evan snorts. Another person yells for Buck.
“I really-,” Evan starts to say, and Tommy hears the siren and the hubbub of the station as Evan moves through it.
“Go,” Tommy rushes out. “Come over tonight. We can talk about it then, just, at my place. Please.”
“See you tonight,” Evan promises.
“Be safe,” Tommy whispers, hushed, scared that Gerrard might hear him even through Evan’s phone.
Maybe Evan has a similar fear because his reply is equally as quiet. “Of course.”
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There's a lot of validity in the idea that older Bakugo is a traumatized pro-hero with major PTSD... but you know what's kinda fucked up to think about? The fact that Bakugo is also a 22-year-old pro-hero with major PTSD even before that, too.
It's almost easy to imagine that things are actually better when he's older (the therapy finally a routine, the trauma long set and on the path to being healed)... and that it's his whole 20s that are spent as a pool of disaster trying to recover from the war(s).
He looks back and barely even remembers being twenty, much less twenty-five or twenty-seven. Barely remembers how little he slept, not at the hands of trying to balance hero work and getting a degree at the same time, but just out of the pure insomnia that came from trying to move on and every nightmare attached.
Hardly ever showering, never shaving (not that he ever grew much of a beard, but the facial hair was definitely there. There's pictures of him on the news with an awkward, grown out haircut and patches on facial hair that make him look positively... immature), barely even eating more than a few protein bars or an energy jelly drink-a day. It's a blur, and his friends are hardly there to pick him up out of it because they're all going through it, too. Somewhat.
It's definitely weird if you meet him during this period. He's not all there, at least, not all of the time. He doesn't really register your interactions, the friendship you extend to him (a younger, or ever older, version of him would've shown you that deep seeded ferocity in response, tried to bite the hand that fed him, even if it were love... but 20s Bakugo... doesn't seem to notice). Even though only one of his eyes is clouded over, the good one never seems to brighten up.
There's definitely moments when the old him shines through: when he's with Deku, when he's in the midst of battle, when he finds out that Todoroki still does a shitty job at chopping scallions. But it's a long time before he's even close to the same, able to step out from underneath the fog of simply surviving and into the sunshine of recovering.
But I think sticking through it with him is worth it.
(It's a weird moment, a happy moment, the first time you realize that Bakugo has changed. That the pouring rain outside hasn't bothered him since he showed up at your apartment. He forgot his umbrella, he's been quite careless ever since the war—wet and shaggy hair frizzed up, cheeks red from cold—but he doesn't seem to mind, with his bare feet up on your coffee table, his eyes gazing out the window. You hand his tea, and instead of gulping it down in one go, letting it burn in his throat, he winces at the heat.
"Tastes like shit," he says, and you laugh because it always does. Just this time, he noticed.)
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