Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Kirishima woke up tired and, though he wasn’t a morning person, he could typically shake the groggy feeling within just a few minutes. He pulled on his school uniform that morning, eyes desperately avoiding the scars on his arms, and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to fully wake up today. He opened his door, ready to go down to the bathrooms to freshen up when he saw a bright white envelope on his door. He took it into his hands, haphazardly ripping the top open, and pulling out a letter. 

No school for the rest of the week. 

Students are welcome to go home to visit their families. 

S. Aizawa

Kirishima read the letter and, though he was glad he wouldn’t have class today or for the next two days, anxiety still rapidly pooled in his stomach-

He hadn’t called his parents yet.

He was instantly back into his room, tearing apart last nights clothes, his bag, his bedsheets- nothing. He thought back to last night- it had been in his pocket at USJ, he remembers checking it for the time on the bus, it had been dead then. He remembers setting it on the bench in the shower and-

Bakugo had tossed it in his own bag. 

Kirishima was out the door before he could give it a second thought, taking off towards the blonde’s door. He pounded on it with fists that fizzled in and out of rock hard skin, nerves flooding his mind and taking control of his quirk - he grit his teeth, that hadn’t happened for years, not since middle school. How had he forgotten to call his parents? They would be worried sick by now- he was sure that they’d heard about it on the news by this morning, if not last night. 

The door flung open with a glaring Bakugo on the other side, hair mused with sleep and eyes barely open. He must’ve just woken up. He started to open his mouth with what Kirishima was sure would be some sort of beratement for pounding on his door so early, but Kirishima pushed on, his voice detached from his body.

“Where’s my phone?” His voice is ragged, desperate, and Bakugo’s eyes widened slightly as he began. He turned around, leaving his door open, which Kirishima took as an invitation, and rooted through the bag that Kirishima had seen last night. He stepped into the room, hardly having time to register his surroundings, and dropped to his knees beside Bakugo in his search. Bakugo winced as his knees slammed into the wooden floor, briefly tossing a concerned look over his shoulder. Kirishima’s eyes were watering now, each second feeling like minutes as Bakugo pulled things out of his bag, strewing them across the room. At last, he pulled out Kirishima’s phone, red case and all, and Kirishima took it greedily. Bakugo stood up, a blurry figure in his peripheral. His heart was pounding, and he could distantly hear blood rushing through his ears. He fumbled with it for a moment, trying the on button though he knew that it was dead already, hoping for some miracle. The screen remained black, and Kirishima looked around the room for a charger. 

“-ty Hair… Shitty Hair!” Bakugo’s voice cut though to his chest as a tear ran down the bridge of his nose, falling onto his screen protector. He looked up at Bakugo, and was somehow humiliated by his position. 

He was on his knees, hunched over his phone in the middle of Bakugo’s room, tears streaming down his face and his hair framing his face, his black roots sticking out as if some sort of  twisted symbolism- how had he allowed himself to do this? He’d only been caught like this twice before, and he was supposed to be past this now, past all of this desperation and clinging and franticness, he was supposed to be calm and cool, like a hero. How was it that he still was so panicked?

Had he ever really changed, after all?

Bakugo knelt down next to him once more, a hand firmly on his knee. He spoke, and Kirishima latched on to his each and every word. He ached to be like Bakugo, who seemed so unfazed despite everything. 

“What’s going on?” 

“I never called my moms,” Kirishima spoke desperately, and his voice was wrought with tears. His shoulders shook, and he bit his lip hard, drawing blood instantaneously. 

“Here,” Bakugo reached a hand up to his nightstand, drawing his own phone from a basket there. He rapidly typed in his password, opening up the phone app, and handed the phone to Kirishima. As if on autopilot, Kirishima took it and typed in mama’s number, and the room became silent as it rang. Both of the boy’s breathing was stilled. 

Click.

“Hello?” 

His mom’s voice hit his ear, and Kirishima shook once, harsh and sudden. Tears spilled over the brims of his eyes, pouring down his face in uncontrollable streams. He cried loudly, pressing the phone closer to his ear and sinking down. He held the phone carefully with two hands, as if it were something far more fragile than it was: if he allowed it to so much as shift in his grasp, she’d disappear, his mom would be gone. He bent down into his knees, his forehead resting on the carpet as he loudly wept, his mouth wet and locked open, unable to form words. 

“Oh Eijirou…” His mom was breathless, her own voice teary, “Baby, we’re here.” He heard his mom call for his mama, heard her fumble with the phone to put it in speaker. He felt a reassuring hand on his back, right between his shoulder blades, and he melted into the contact. He turned the volume up on the phone, pressing it closer to his ear, listening carefully to the sounds of his parents. 

“Mom-“ He whimpered, wiping at his face messily with his sleeve. Tears soaked into his shirt, into his cheeks and his neck and his ears, and he wondered if he’d ever cried so much in his life. He blinked blearily at the carpet, close enough that his eyelashes brushed against the fraying gray fibers of it. He’d been so scared yesterday, and maybe it hadn’t fully set in until now, until he heard his mom’s voice and he’d considered the possibility of never hearing it again. 

His moms were patient, reassuring as he cried. Kirishima wasn’t sure how long it was until he could speak, how long that steady hand remained still on his back. He was careful, tested the waters when he first spoke, scared to break down again. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you last night I- I wasn’t thinking and-“

“Eiji… It’s okay, baby. Your teachers assured us you were okay and… we would’ve liked to talk to you, don’t get me wrong, but we understand, babe.” His mama murmured, and his lip could only wobble in response. He brought his other arm up around his face, almost like a shield, his hand fisted firmly in his darkened roots at the crown of his head.

“Exactly, baby, we know it must’ve been so scary, and you must’ve been so tired. Are you okay, hun?” He nodded frantically, his forehead rubbing into the cold tear-soaked carpet.

“I’m okay, I was dirty and- and I only got a few scrapes, I’m okay. It… it was scary I- I almost…” His voice shook,

“Do you want to talk about it, Eiji?” His mama asked, voice soft and slow. He appreciated it, his brain foggy and almost lagging behind. 

“I don’t know.” He gasped, “I didn’t… it was so difficult. I would’ve gotten hurt so much more badly if it weren’t for… everyone for- for one of my friends that I got put in the same spot as.” He cleared his throat, closing his eyes and thinking back on the day prior. “I couldn’t even… clean myself after I- I was so sore and my skin…” He heard his mom’s hum of approval, her having a similar quirk. 

“Are you clean now? Do you need one of us to come up?” 

“No, I- uh-“ He stammered into the phone, blushing, “A friend helped me, I couldn’t get my gear off or- or anything.” He remembered Bakugo’s presence as the hand on his back twitched, one of the fingers pressing slightly harder into his skin. He sat up slowly and rolled onto his side, his back aching from the prolonged hunched position. His head fell comfortably into Bakugo’s lap. His calloused hand raised to his face, gently brushing away the damp locks of hair that lay on his cheek. He looked up, smiling cautiously at the boy. He only stared, some sort of soft, distant look in his eye. 

He stayed there for at least an hour, the blonde’s hand carding slowly through his hair, him clinging to his phone, to his mom’s voices, like a lifeline, like a child. They talked about everything, about this ‘friend’ that helped him, something that made Kirishima close his eyes, embarrassed to be talking about Bakugo in front of Bakugo. He talked about school, about things he had missed at home. He’d nearly cried when they’d broken the news that they were out of town this weekend, that he wasn’t able to come and visit them despite the circumstances. They broke their goodbyes, them having to leave for a flight for some work thing, and the phone call ended.

Click. 

The room was quiet. 

They sat, Kirishima in that post-cry haze, blinking at the ceiling that had become increasingly brighter as the sun had risen, risen as it had on any other morning. It was here, looking up at the popcorn texture of Bakugo’s room, a room he’d never been in before, lying on the lap of a boy he’d barely touched before, that he felt safe. He thought, at that moment, that if he were with Sero or Kaminari or Mina or Jirou, or any of his friends from back in middle school, that it would not feel nearly the same. If it had been Hanta, he would feel comfortable, though he knew that the room would be flooded with his desperate attempts to make Kirishima laugh, and Kirishima knows that he would, even if just to make the other boy rest at ease. If it were Kaminari, the air would feel awkward. He just didn’t have that kind of relationship with Denki, Sero had always been closer with both of them than they ever had been with each other.. He couldn’t even fathom the situation with Ashido of Jirou, let alone his old ‘friends.’ 

But here he was, dried tears clinging to his face in the sickening way that they do, his hair splayed around his head in a halo, gazing up at a boy he’d only met perhaps a month prior. 

He wonders if time even makes a difference. 

His eyes find Bakugo’s, calm and steady, a simmered version of the ones that hold that boiling passion in a fight, in a moment of pride, and his mind feels at rest. His body is numb, exhausted, and he can’t imagine lifting a finger, daring a move from this position. These moment came fleeting: the kitchen, during training, at USJ, but here it felt as though it could last forever, if both of them were to just hold their breaths. He’d entered the room in such a frightened state, anxious and desperate and almost primal, something only brought down by hearing his parents, and Bakugo had bore witness to the entire act, every second of the scene, and he had remained silent as he’d wept onto his floor, offered silent, easy support in his own form of physical touch. Kirishima had entered so scared, and now, he felt as though he understood what tranquility meant. 

Bakugo was beautiful.

Kirishima had known it for a while, now. His features were sharp, yet gentle in the spaces where they met. His skin was soft - distantly, he wondered how many people knew it, had felt it with their own fingertips - and pale, though Kirishima knew that he had freckles, something he could only notice when the boy was still enough in the best, brightest lighting. Where others saw him as too prideful and rough, Kirishima was only inspired, left in awe. 

He was everything. 

Looking up at him, sharp nose and cupids bow, his gently pink lips and his high cheekbones, at his dark eyebrows and eyelashes, at those encapsulating ruby eyes, Kirishima smiled with his last muster of energy. 

The corner of Bakugo’s lips lifted, they lifted oh-so slightly, and Eijirou’s body burned. 

Katsuki was everything. 

-

The rest of that day had been a sleep-ridden blur. He woke on Bakugo’s bed, though he hadn’t remembered getting there before he’d fallen asleep. He hardly even remembers falling asleep. Bakugo had been reorganizing his closet when he woke up, hanging up the final of his shirts on hangers. Kirishima began to sit up, pinching the bridge of his nose as he was suddenly swept with a headache.  Bakugo turned around at his groan, jumping only slightly. Kirishima smiled at him, and Bakugo turned back to his closet. He propped himself up on his elbows, looking around Bakugo’s room. 

It was cozy, something he hadn’t expected from the boy, but he’d been full of surprises thus far, hadn’t he? A haphazard stack of books lay on the nightstand, ones with titles that Kirishima didn’t recognize. He wouldn’t have expected that Bakugo be into reading, yet each of the books had bookmarks, some of them even had tabs marking specific pages. He smiled at the thought, Bakugo lying on his stomach in this very bed, eagerly feeling around the sheets for his tabs to mark a sentence or scene he particularly enjoyed. He felt the urge to reach out, to flip through each tab and interpret each sentence, the desire to seek out what Bakugo found interesting enough to mark. 

He let his eyes wander further. 

His desk was neat, textbooks and notebooks that Kirishima recognized from their classes in a uniform pile. A cup of pens, one with All Might adorned on the front, muscles broadly wrapping around the cup until Kirishima could no longer see them. Sticky notes, white-out, a tape dispense: it felt so normal. 

He was unsure what exactly he anticipated from the room, but the normalcy of everything was gripping him. 

Even the mundane items stole his interest. The white-out: where had Bakugo messed up? What had he deemed important enough to use white-out on instead of simply scribble out the misspelled word, the poorly worded sentence? The cologne that peeked out from a shelf in his closet- how long had he worn it for? What did it smell like? What did Bakugo smell like? Kirishima ached for knowledge, to know the incredible person in front of him, to study to mundane and normal and to learn. 

Kirishima felt himself blush as his heart raced- this had to be… wrong, invasive, right?

He’d been unable to finish that train of thought, Bakugo having turned around to address him. He’d spoken for the first time since before Kirishima’s phone call to his parents. 

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Kirishima offered a smile, though it was more forced this time- did Bakugo know what he’d been thinking about? It was an unreasonable thought, though one that had so suddenly plagued Kirishima. He felt if he moved wrong, smiled wrong, breathed wrong, then Bakugo would know. 

Know what? His mind prodded,

And the answer came so, so easily.

That you like him. 

“Hey,” Kirishima repeated, his breath catching in his throat. Bakugo pursed his lips, pulling out his desk chair. 

“We don’t have to talk about it.” Bakugo said, and Kirishima let out a sigh of relief. “Not if you don’t want to.”

“Thank God.” He gasped, letting out a chuckle. Bakugo grinned, 

“Want to go train? Nobody else is here, they all left to go see their shitty families, nothing else to do.”

And so Kirishima had found himself in a training room, where they’d decided without discussion that they wouldn’t use their quirks, given the state of Kirishima’s skin. With every blow that Bakugo landed on him, Kirishima found his mind wandering to when his hands had been on him softer, gentler, with more care. 

With how gentle the punches we’re landing, Kirishima wondered if those dangerous hands still held such care. 

He wanted to be bitter at Katsuki for treating him as something fragile, but objectively, he knew that he was something fragile at that moment, and for that he appreciated Bakugo, even as the blonde occasionally let himself get pinned by the redhead. 

You like him. His mind supplied, each time he found himself letting his eyes linger on the blonde’s lips, on his figure, on his neck when he paused for water breaks. He did his best to avoid the thought, at it’s implications, but it was nearly impossible. 

He wondered if they were real, or fabricated for The Game - God, he hadn’t thought about that for so many days. Wasn’t it impossible to develop a crush on a person so quickly? Didn’t feelings need to be long, drawn out to have any validity?

What did all of this mean?

The question plagued his mind for days, days in which he’d found himself with Bakugo more often than not. 

It was on the forth day from school, two days until they had to return to classes, that he found himself in the kitchen with Bakugo. This time, it wasn’t late at night, not a hushed midnight meeting, instead it was around seven o’clock, the sun setting outside and soaking the kitchen in that beautiful orange color. The two had fallen into some routine in the past few days, one that neither had them had asked for or addressed. They trained in the mornings, returned for a sort of brunch, hung out for a few hours, took care of some chores, and then returned for dinner. 

It was after dinner that things tended to become inconsistent between the days. 

They hung out for longer and longer after the meal, on the first night, just ten minutes. The next, an hour. Last night, it’d been nearly four more hours, watching movie after movie and talking throughout each minute, the both of them hardly focusing on the films. 

He’d made Bakugo laugh on a few occasions, something that had sent butterflies straight to his chest. He’d cracked a smile as Kirishima spoke, until it turned into sound, into music, his mouth falling open until Kirishima could see each of his beautiful front teeth. He remembers the profile of his face, lit by the TV screen and the moonlight, and he remembers how he’d continued his breathy laugh even far after the joke had ended. He remembers each and every second of it, ensuring that it was properly commit to his memory, as he watched the boy with awe. He can’t even remember what he’d said- isn’t that ironic?

Since his realization of his feelings for Bakugo, shockingly little has changed. 

He wonders if something like this had always been underlying in his admiration of the blonde. 

They were in the kitchen, the sun was setting, and he found himself watching him, as he seemed to be doing so often. He watched, watched his body, watched his eyes, watched his lips as he spoke so freely to Kirishima. He’d never imagine that Bakugo - Bakugo - would be talking with him, that conversation would ebb and flow with such ease between the two of them. Bakugo was cooking some ‘secret family recipe’ that he refused to tell Kirishima anything about, just assured him that he’ll ‘fucking like it if you like good food.’ And Kirishima had trusted him, what reason did he have not to?

It was in the kitchen, in front of the stove, that Bakugo had gone silent. 

“You alright?” Kirishima asked, resting up against the counter next to Bakugo. While he didn’t consider himself an expert on Bakugo, he had learned a few of his cues over the past few days, and that little dimple that he so often had on his left cheek only came up when he wanted to say something, Kirishima is pretty sure that he chews the inside of his cheek. And there it was, clear as day, accompanied by searching eyes and a tapping thumb. 

Kirishima wanted to learn, wanted to know Bakugo, wanted to speak silently in their own fluent language. 

“Are we… friends?” Bakugo asked, albeit hesitantly. Kirishima had partially expected him to just brush off the question, make some comment about the food or training or what they should do tonight, but that had caught him off guard. 

Are we friends?

The question echoed in his own mind. 

Kirishima had lots of friends. He had Sero, he was his best friend, and had been for years. He had Kaminari, a new friend in his life, since coming to UA. They both made him laugh a lot, and had, in their own ways, offered support to Kirishima at difficult times. He had Ashido and Jirou, both of them people who were amazing for a laugh, to go to for advice and to learn from. He had friends, lots of them, and he got along with nearly everybody. 

But the label felt almost.. underwhelming when it came to Katsuki. 

“Yeah, man, if that’s okay.” Kirishima smiled, forcing down his inner questions- what were they? He’d never had his hair washed by Sero, hadn’t ever fallen onto his floor in tears, hadn’t ever wanted to defend him as viscerally as he had Bakugo, had never felt as safe with anybody besides his parents, what did it all mean?

Bakugo was still, the only sound the soft sound of water boiling in a pot. Kirishima picked at his cuticle- had he given the wrong answer?

“What do… friends do?” Bakugo asked, white-knuckle grip on the large wooden spoon in his hand. Kirishima reached out a hand, placing it gingerly on the back of his bicep. 

“You don’t have to worry about that! Everything we do now is cool, we don’t have to worry about doing anything different just because we say we’re friends!” Bakugo relaxed, but only slightly. 

“What do… what makes us…” He let out a huff of frustration, going quiet. 

“We can help each other,” Kirishima offered, “Like… like you’ve done for me, especially the other night. We can just hang out, too, and we can eat together, and do stuff together. We can talk, about serious stuff or not serious stuff, it doesn’t matter! If you need something, then I can help, if you want me to.” Kirishima smiled softly, “It doesn’t have to be some big thing, either, I know asking for help can feel needy and everything, but it isn’t! Like the other night, remember?” Bakugo turned away slightly, looking towards the window, towards the sunset. 

“You called me your friend.” Bakugo said, voice hardly above a whisper. Kirishima pursed his lips, he sounded… sad. “On the phone, you said I was your friend- that your friend helped you at USJ, and your friend helped you clean up.. that was me, right?” When Bakugo turned back to him, his face was relaxed, and his eyes were flickering around Kirishima’s face, searching for any sort of answer. 

“Yeah I- I guess I did, I’m sorry if that wasn’t okay, I should’ve… I dunno-“

“It’s fine.” Bakugo cut him off, “Nobody has called me their friend for a long time, that’s all.” Kirishima frowned, and Bakugo was quick to explain. “I’m not- I’m not a moron, I get called strong and talented, and get told that I’m going to make a great hero, and I am, but I’m not exactly a good friend. I’m not good at the… gestures, and I don’t get all of the touchy stuff, or understanding people’s feelings, and I get…” He waved his hands around, searching for a word, “angry too quickly. I’m not who people think of when they think of a friend and… and you are.” He let out a sigh, blinking down at the stove. His next words were quiet and emotional,

“I just… I don’t get why you would want to be friends with me.” 

Kirishima’s eyebrows knit together, his hand falling from Bakugo’s bicep. The boy refused to meet his gaze, staring at a fixed point of the stove. Kirishima opened his mouth twice, unsure of what he could say. Bakugo bit his lip, he bit down hard. 

Kirishima reached out his arms, unsure of what else to do. 

It was an awkward hug. Kirishima had been standing beside Bakugo, facing his right shoulder, and so it just locked Bakugo’s arms to his sides when he wrapped his arms around him. He was taller than Bakugo, and so he couldn’t comfortably rest his head anywhere. It was terribly awkward, and yet Kirishima was unsure of what else he could’ve done. 

“You’re a great friend.” Kirishima whispered, pouring every ounce of honesty he could into the statement. “You are an incredible friend, Bakugo, I’m… sorry for whoever made you believe that, they missed out on the opportunity to be friends with an amazing person.” 

Bakugo folded into him. 

He turned, slowly until Kirishima got the hint, loosening his arms and letting Bakugo turn fully into his chest. He felt the boy’s nose on his neck, felt his lips catch on his shirt, his eyelashes brushing against his jawbone. Kirishima’s heart hammered in his chest as he adjusted his arms into their new position. His blonde hair was tickling his cheek, soaking up the final fleeting beams of orange sunlight, and Kirishima couldn’t help himself as he turned his face into the soft spikes of hair. His lips brushed against Bakugo’s ear, and he spoke quietly, a whispered secret, 

“I’m friends with you because I really, really want to be.” Kirishima hummed, “There’s no big scheme, no big goal, I like you, and I want to spend time with you, and talk to you and… I like being your friend.” He smiled against the ridge of his ear, and he feels him shiver in his arms, his hands fisting in his t-shirt. 

“Eijirou.” He whispered against his neck and, this time, Kirishima shivered. “I heard it on- on the phone. If you’re my friend then I shouldn’t call you Shitty Hair, right?” Kirishima’s heart pounded, and he was certain that Bakugo could feel it. 

“Katsuki.” Eijirou tried the name, hesitant. 

“Ei.” Bakugo purred,

“Kats.”

-

Hours later, they found themselves on the couch sitting under a stolen comforter from Kirishima’s room. They’d been quiet, almost domestic, in their time since the conversation in the kitchen. Kirishima’s neck still burned where Katsuki’s lips has rested against his skin, where his hot breath had been when he’d spoken, when he’d whispered, 

Ei.

He hadn’t ever been called that, not by a single soul. His parents, his aunts, his cousins, they had nicknames for him, but none of them had ever called him that. 

Ei.

For the billionth time that night, Eijirou felt his face flush red. He hoped it was disguised by the dim lighting. 

They were sitting closer than they had any other night, their shoulders close enough to brush one another whenever one of the two reached for a drink or snack from their laps. Some animated movie was on the TV, Kirishima wasn’t sure what it was, the plot or anything, but it was in that soft, easy to look at style, with gentle music and voice actors. It was almost lulling him to sleep by itself. 

Katsuki’s head fell on his shoulder slowly, surprising Kirishima. He looked down, slowly so as to not disturb the boy. His cheek was puffed out, and his breathing was steady. He must be asleep, Kirishima thought, returning his gaze to the screen and doing his best to stay still. 

“I didn’t know you dyed your hair.” Katsuki whispered. Kirishima jumped a little bit- had he been awake the whole time? Kirishima let out a huff of air,

“Yeah, I try to keep it a- a secret, I guess.” He adjusted his hips slightly, hoping Katsuki wouldn’t move. “I just haven’t been able to, can’t get any of the chemicals from the bleach in my cuts.” He motioned to his arms, his hands. Katsuki hummed, and it was quiet again, just the sounds of the movie filling the room. 

“I could do it for you.” Eijirou looked down, surprised. 

“Really?” Katsuki shrugged,

“I’ve never done it before but… can’t be that hard, right?” 

“Mm, no it’s pretty easy but I mean… you’d do that for me?” Kirishima whispered, a bit breathy. Katsuki looked up just slightly, up through long lashes. 

“Friends… right?” 

Kirishima beamed. 

-

It was two hours later, encroaching on midnight, that the two found themselves in Kirishima’s bathroom, the room reeking of chemicals and vaseline- it worked wonders in keeping the dye off of his skin, something that he’d become a bit of an expert at over the past year, but that he wasn’t sure Bakugo would be able to do first try. 

It was going well. 

Well, in some ways. The dye hadn’t been easy, and Katsuki had scraped a batch already by mixing the wrong products together, blondeing powder from under the sink that was far too strong in the ratio he’d used. Still, his hands had worked through his hair, brushing through it with suprising ease and wetting it, carefully sectioning it out with a comb. 

Kirishima’s heart was racing. 

He watched Katsuki in the mirror behind him, carefully painting his already bleached roots with the red dye, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth with focus as he attempted to avoid the skin right next to his hairline. 

He’s so pretty, his mind unhelpfully supplied, causing his face to flush red once more, this time under the florescent light of his bathroom lights. No hiding this time. Still, Katsuki was too engrossed with the hair dying process to notice. 

His aunt had helped him dye his hair, just one time, the second time he’d ever done it. He’d butchered his hair the first time through, ending up having to chop off inches of his damaged ends by the end of it. She’d practically begged him to get it done professionally but, ultimately, he found himself in their bathroom, shoulders draped in a black trash bag as she talked him through the process. She’d been the only person to help, the only person to be in the room while he did it. Sero knew he dyed his hair, Mina, too. His family knew - obviously - and people he hadn’t talked to since middle school, since he’d walked around with black locks separating him from the world. 

He was unsure how to feel. 

He was glad that Bakugo wanted to help him do it, the thought made his chest hum in that comforting way, but he still felt vulnerable. His hands ached to grab the brush from Bakugo as he painted his hair, wanting to end the process faster. His mind always reverted to self depreciation when he dyed his hair, when he stared into his black roots, all consuming as if some sort of warp gate. 

He longed for the process to end. 

And so he closed his eyes, focused on the feeling of Bakugo’s fingers in his hair, as he had in the shower just a few nights prior. He focused on the occasional brush of Bakugo’s chest against his back, zoned in on the sounds of his breathing in the quiet room. He did his best to keep his mind away from the place that he so often found himself: black-hair framed tunnel vision and rotting. 

“What now?” Bakugo asked, and Kirishima opened his eyes. He was standing behind him, bowl and brush in the same hand, looking at Kirishima’s finished roots. 

“Now we wait.” Kirishima said, reaching out for the cap he’d been using to secure everything. He carefully eased it over his damp hair, securing it to his head and letting the product sit. He felt silly whenever he put it on, unaccustomed to his appearance without long hair, let alone any hair at all, and he felt… embarrassed, maybe, to wear it in front of Bakugo. 

“How long?” 

“Just half an hour or so, not bad.” Bakugo nodded, wiping his face with the back of his hand. Kirishima turned around, looking up at him and chuckling, he’d smeared hair dye across his cheekbone. 

Kirishima reached up without thinking, wiping it away with the pad of his thumb before it had anything time to sit. He showed it to Bakugo, who just smiled down at him. 

And suddenly, everything he’d felt before, the fear of being vulnerable, faded away. 

-

After they’d dyed his hair, they returned to the living room to collect their things. Bakugo helped haul everything back up to Kirishima’s room, watched out the balcony while Kirishima remade his bed. He opened the glass door quietly, finding a spot next to Bakugo overlooking the treetops. They’d lucked out, each of them getting such a pretty view out of their dorm rooms. 

A comfortable silence fell over them. 

At one point, Katsuki had reached out with one hand, pointing to a bunny on the outskirts of the forest. Kirishima nodded, smiling as they watched it together. Another one appeared from the weeds, nuzzling at the other’s shoulder. 

They watched. 

Kirishima’s voice was a whisper when he spoke, though he hadn’t particularly intended for it to be, it just felt right at the moment. 

“Hey, so… since we’re friends, and no one else is here… would you want to have a sleepover or something?” Katsuki turned to look at him, an eyebrow raised. 

“Aren’t those… like… for girls?” Kirishima smirked, amused. 

“No, man,” The corner of his lip quirked down in thought, “Have you never had a sleepover before?” Bakugo looked back out to the woods. 

“No, they’re dumb.” Kirishima nudged him with his shoulder, 

“You should try it, they’re a lot of fun.” Katsuki went quiet, and Kirishima felt the need to add on. “It isn’t… y’know, you don’t have to-“

“You think I can’t?” Kirishima laughed, but Bakugo didn’t. 

“No, no man it’s just-“ Kirishima smiled, looking down at the boy. “They’re fun.” Bakugo shrugged, 

“Fine, yeah, whatever, Shitty Hair.” He paused, pursing his lips. “Do I- Do I have to call you Eijirou? I just- sometimes it’s-“

“No way, Blasty.” He bumped him with his hip, “No expectations, right? Whatever, whenever.” 

“Yeah.” 

And so they found themselves on the edge of Kirishima’s bed, Wii remotes clutched in their hands as they raced in Mario Kart. 

Round after round passed, an hour had passed, and Bakugo had declared that this was the Final Round- whoever won would win the whole thing. 

And oh, Kirishima loved a competition. 

While they’d been alternating for first place for the past hour, it wasn’t nearly the case here. 

They were side by side, Bowser - Bakugo - repeatedly banging his car into the side of Shy Guy - Kirishima. The end was in sight, and Kirishima was just barely in the lead, he was already cheering as he was about to cross the finish line, just one more corner and-

He couldn’t see!

He reels his head back in shock, so focused in the game that he hadn’t noticed Bakugo shifting beside him. He’d snuck up behind him, taking his remote into one hand and covering Kirishima’s eyes with the other. Kirishima sputtered, desperately trying to get back in the game, and-

Bowser wins!

Kirishima whipped his head to the side, looking up at Bakugo, who was looking back at him with a manic grin. His hand had fallen from his eyes, down to the side of Kirishima’s face. Bakugo fell back down onto the bed from his knees, Kirishima’s head still resting on his chest, and Kirishima could’ve stayed like that forever. 

Bakugo’s eyes were sparkling, he was grinning and laughing, unabashedly happy, his sweet-smelling hand cupping Kirishima’s face, intentional or not. His pointer finger was wrapped around him, splayed across his lips, and Kirishima could feel it on his smile. Katsuki was radiating warmth, one that Kirishima could feel across his back, and he ached. He looked up at Katsuki’s lips and, for the first time in his life, he longed reach out and kiss somebody. His hand twitched, aching to grab him by the collar and press his lips to the others, he would stay there, breathing quickly with eyes squeezed shut, until it felt right to pull back. 

But he didn’t. 

How could he have? They’d just declared that they were friends, Kirishima had hardly processed what all of this meant, and he was sure that Katsuki didn’t even like guys, anyhow. 

And so he allowed himself just one fleeting second to watch Katsuki’s smile, to imagine that kiss, imagine Katsuki pulling him in and Eijirou pushing him onto the bed, he let himself look. 

One Mississippi-

His gaze flickered back to Katsuki’s eyes, and the moment had passed, though it was hardly over. 

Perhaps things had only just started. 

-

Kirishima had insisted on taking the floor, which Bakugo had found ridiculous. Why would you sleep on the floor? We both have beds, this is so ridiculous. Yet there the blonde was, snuggled into Kirishima’s comforter, eyes shut tight and fast asleep. 

Kirishima lay on the floor, looking at the ceiling and at Katsuki in his peripheral. So much had happened, and it sort of felt… too quick, rushed. He hadn’t ever really been interested in somebody before, never had a crush or anything like that. Sure, he’d found people pretty, he’d wanted to make friends, but he hadn’t ever… felt this way about anyone before. His heart raced in a way that nothing else could spark, and he found himself thinking about Bakugo so often, more than he thought about anybody else. He wanted to know him, more than just as friends. 

He’d just have to see how things played out. Like Bakugo said, nobody had called him their friend in a… long time. There’s no telling how he’d react to Kirishima’s feelings, besides, Kirishima isn’t even so sure what they mean yet. 

He tossed and turned, scrolled on his phone, but he just couldn’t get to sleep. It wasn’t that he was uncomfortable, he just couldn’t shut his mind off. 

He found himself back out on the balcony, phone pressed to his ear as it rang. 

Click. 

“Hey man, what are you doing up so late? Everything okay?” 

“Hey, Sero.” Kirishima spoke, voice low so as to not wake Bakugo, despite the sliding glass door shut between them. “You busy?” 

“No, no man, what’s up?” 

“I like Bakugo.” 

“Aw, that’s nice, man! You guys friends or something? Maybe it’s good you drew his name for-“

“No, No I-“ Kirishima cleared his throat, “Sero, I like Bakugo.” His voice shakes when he says it, the words unfamiliar. 

“Oh,” Sero paused, “Oh, Kiri…”

Sero listened to Kirishima ramble, about Bakugo’s hair, and about his face and his lips and about every single perfect thing about him. He let Kirishima talk about the past few days, about their conversations in the kitchen, about the morning after USJ, the night after USJ, the care that Katsuki had taken in washing his hair for him. 

“He- He called me Eijirou, today.” Kirishima whispered, looking out over the woods, down at the spot where the rabbits had been previously. “He called me Ei, actually. I… I don’t know what to do- it feels so fast like it just sprang up on me out of nowhere- I didn’t even- I don’t-“ 

“Kiri, it’s okay.” Sero said, “Seriously, having a crush is fun! This is supposed to be good, just enjoy it! It’s like you said to Bakugo, about being friends, just… let it happen, yeah?” Kirishima smiled, nodding. “I mean, I don’t think it’d be insane for him to like you back, right? He’s super touchy and angry and… so Bakugo, except when it comes to you.” Kirishima stopped, thinking about it. 

Maybe he was right, Kirishima supposed. 

“You should just… sleep on it, okay? It’s been a big day for you.” Sero said, and just as Kirishima was about to respond, he heard the door open behind him. He spun around, phone still pressed to his ear, to see Bakugo in a pair of sweatpants, shirtless, standing on his balcony. His hair was mused, his face soft and relaxed, and he looked expectantly at Kirishima. 

“Come to bed, Shitty Hair.” He said, his voice husky with sleep. 

“O-Okay,” Kirishima said, swallowing thickly, “Goodnight, man.” He said, and he swore he could hear Sero snicker from the speaker as he hung up. Bakugo just stood in the doorway, waiting. 

Kirishima went to resume his position on the floor, but Bakugo had nudged him with his foot, prodding his side. 

“Your turn,” Bakugo said, nodding his head to the bed as he himself sunk to the floor, taking the blanket from off of Kirishima. 

“Huh? No, you’re the guest.” Kirishima said, pulling back on the blankets. Bakugo tugged harder, but in reality, just dragged himself across the floor, closer to Kirishima as the blanket refused to budge. 

“Just get up there and sleep, moron,” Bakugo said through grit teeth. Kirishima released the blanket as Bakugo pressed fully into his side, Bakugo grunted. 

“No way, man. We’ll both sleep on the floor if you don’t take it.” Bakugo glared at him, but it felt somehow… playful. 

“I’m keeping you up, just go sleep on the bed.” 

“Bakugo-“

“Kirishima-“

“Katsuki-“

“Eijirou-“

“We’ll share!” Kirishima shouted, exasperated. Bakugo, for once, was silenced, staring at Kirishima as if he’d grown a second head. “C’mon it’s- it’s not like we haven’t before.” It was the first time either of them had addressed it, and it felt taboo, strictly off limits. 

Yet, Bakugo stood. 

Kirishima followed. 

Kirishima took the side closer to the wall, pressing his back against it as Bakugo laid in the bed next to him. There were only inches between them, and Kirishima could hardly sleep, his heart racing as the two of them took turns adjusting every few minutes. It was significantly harder to fall asleep this time: He didn’t have the exhaustion after the USJ attack, and he had come to the realization of just how pretty Bakugo was. 

It really had been an accident when their hands brushed. 

They both froze, Kirishima’s hand over Bakugo’s palm, radiating heat. Kirishima held his breath, until he felt the boy beside him settle. 

This is okay, this is okay, this is okay, this is okay, this is-

“Chill the fuck out, Shitty Hair.” Bakugo murmured beside him, pulling his hand away. Kirishima’s disappointment quickly vanished as Bakugo closed the space between them, turning around and pressing his back to Kirishima’s chest. “Hanging off the edge of the damn bed…” He grumbled, roughly adjusting his pillow. Hesitantly, Kirishima pulled his arm from beneath the comforter, wrapping it around Bakugo’s waist. His heart was hammering, he could see it beating beneath his t-shirt, directly against Bakugo’s bare back. He felt sleepiness wash over his body, which had somehow been at bay for hours by now. He nestled his nose into Katsuki’s hair, taking in a deep breath of his sandalwood scent.

This is okay, this is okay, this is okay-

“Friends,” Eijirou murmured, the sound muffled by Katsuki’s hair. The boy gave a stiff nod, huffing out a puff of air. 

“Sleep.” 

And they did.

-

Their classmates began returning the next morning, and the two had been quickly to separate to their own rooms, tidying up and finishing the last of their chores, though neither of them really had much left to do. 

Kirishima had stuck in his room, not necessarily with the intention of avoiding his classmates, persay, but it was some nice alone time. 

He had maybe an hour before his door swung open with the lack of any knocking. 

“I’m sorry-“

“You have a crush~” Mina squealed in a sing-song tone, followed close behind by an apologetic Sero, who was waving his hands and attempting to explain, though it was droned out by Mina’s excitement. “When did you figure it out, huh? Have you told him yet? Tell me about all of the romance~” 

“You told her?” Kirishima says, looking past her at Sero, who was frowning, guilty. 

“I’m sorry, she was grilling me about how The Game was going for you, and it just kind of came out-“

“Sero,” Kirishima groaned, turning to Mina as she continued to shout, “Keep it down, he’s my neighbor.” Mina covered her mouth, grinning behind her fingers, 

“I knew you’d have a crush on him!” And Kirishima’s jaw dropped, a bit comically in Sero’s opinion. 

“How’d you know?” 

“Oh, c’mon, we’ve all seen how you look at him. C’mon! Tell me all the gay stuff!” She’d lept into his bed, Sero taking a seat at his desk, and Kirishima had sighed.

It would be good to get it off of his chest, he rationalized, he’d slept better.

-

Classes had started up easier that Kirishima had anticipated. It was easy to get back into the swing of things once he got through the first day. After that, it was just another morning, then another night, until the week was near closing out. It was a Thursday, and Kirishima was attempting to study.

He knows that they still need to learn all of the academic stuff even though they’re in the hero course: science, English, and math (tonight’s enemy), but it doesn’t stop him from mentally complaining about it. He adjusts his headphones and sighs, slumping over his desk. He wishes he had anybody he could ask for help, but his friends weren’t exactly the brightest when it came to this kind of stuff. Ectoplasm did a great job teaching it, it was just… well, boring, and math class was always right before their hero course… it was really easy to get distracted, given the excitement for the upcoming period.

His headache was starting to be too much, and the numbers were just swimming around each other on the page, some teasing dance as integral symbols faded in and out of view. He’d spent thirty minutes on this single problem and still wasn’t anywhere close to a real answer. Rubbing his temples, he rose from his chair. 

He needed a damn break.

He wandered outside of his dorm, headphones still playing some of his favorite soft music. It felt like he never had time to listen to anything anymore, and one of his favorite artists had released a new album in the weeks he’d been adjusting to his classes. He listened as he walked, closing his eyes and running his fingertips across the cool walls, allowing them to rise and fall with ease over each ridge. He wandered aimlessly, up and down stairs, through rows and rows of dorms, past janitor closets and offices; He had no destination in mind, but there was some sort of finality to his journey when he reached the kitchen. 

He leans against the wall for a bit and just watches Bakugo, turning down his music and uncovering one ear. He watches the boy move around the kitchen in that mesmerizing way that he does nearly, everything by himself. Kirishima can hear him softly humming, though he doesn’t quite recognize the song. He does everything perfectly, whereas Kirishima probably would’ve knocked half of the stuff over, and definitely burned some sort of something. The calculus is long gone from his mind, and all he can think of is the boy in front of him. 

Bakugo’s ruby eyes find him in the dark room, though Kirishima is pretty sure he knew that he was there the whole time. He imagines the blonde, quietly pulling pots and pans from cupboards, boiling water, and waiting for Kirishima.

With a shiver that runs up and down his sore back, he can’t help but think that he would sort of like that. 

He gives a little wave after Kirishima doesn’t say anything, and so the smile that comes to Kirishima’s lips feels so natural. He pulls his headphones down around his neck and walks into the kitchen, opting to sit next to the stove rather than behind Bakugo. He leans his bare back against the cool tile, and it feels incredible on his raw and scraped skin from the USJ incident, something that not many of them had discussed, even after returning to school from the break. His skin was nearly fully healed, but the chill of the wall on his scars felt like bliss. He relaxed into a comfier position, bringing his leg up to his chest as he watches Bakugo. He cooks methodically, but it comes off as entirely effortless. It was like he did everything. His fighting style was so complex, each and every move sought out, a combination of his quirk and experiences, his natural reflexes and his genius, yet he made it look so fluid, like flying, like it was easy to win. He wonders if he’d always been like that. He can’t imagine the blonde faltering in his step, ever tripping or taking a weak swing. He gave his all, in every single thing he does. He doesn’t just settle. 

Kirishima remembers how he’d felt with him against his back when they were fighting and, despite everything, despite his failures, he can’t help that tiny spark of pride. 

He was proud to even be able to say that Bakugo had looked to him when he had gone into the fight, the tone of his voice as he had called out to Kirishima, called him unbreakable. He thinks to how how his fingers had squeezed into Kirishima’s shoulders, teeth grit and nothing but a deathly fueled passion in his voice. He remembers his nimble fingers, wrapping that sweat-soaked cloth around his arm, the care with which he had attempted to stop the bleeding, the care he had taken when taking slow steps, ensuring that Kirishima would be okay, even at the sacrifice of being a part of the action. 

He was honored to help him in battle but, in a way, he was just as proud that he had been able to curl up with the boy in a shared bed, proud to call him his friend. He was powerful, beautiful, and, Kirishima had a feeling, soft beneath all of those rugged outer layers. Kirishima couldn’t help but wonder, if only-

Damn.

For a while, Kirishima had forgotten about the game. 

It wouldn’t be the first time he made a friend out of the whole ordeal. 

Bakugo continues cooking, Kirishima isn’t sure what exactly it is, but it smells perfect, and not nearly as spicy as the other night. His stomach grumbled, and Bakugo gives a little puff of air out his nose, not quite a laugh, but Kirishima is taking it as one for tonight. 

“Do you want to go somewhere?” Eijirou’s voice was timid, the comparison send a pang to his heart, but it almost reminded him of himself from back in middle school. Bakugo looks up from his pan, and Kirishima can’t read his expression. “Just… a walk, for a few minutes. I… I don’t want to go back to my dorm, not yet.” Bakugo chews the inside of his lip thoughtfully, 

“We aren’t supposed to even be in the kitchen this late, dumbass.” He speaks low, and the name-calling isn’t said with any anger at all. Kirishima nods, leaning back against the tile once more, closing his eyes. 

“Yeah, you’re right.” Kirishima picks at his cuticle, listening to the sizzle and pop of whatever Bakugo is cooking.

“What are you uh- thinking about? You seemed fine earlier, what’s your problem? Is it… y’know.” Kirishima let out a humorless laugh,

“Math.” Bakugo looks up at him as he plates the food. 

“Calc?” Kirishima nods. Bakugo shrugs, “Seriously? After USJ, your problem is Calc?” He shakes his head, a teasing smirk on his lips. “It’s easy, you just have to pay attention in class.” Kirishima had tried to, it’s just boring. Still, today, he’d paid attention this whole lesson, it was just hard.

“I know, ‘m sorry.” He mumbles, slinking down. 

“Don’t apologize to me, you’re screwing yourself over if you don’t do the work.” 

“I’m trying.” Bakugo shrugs, setting a plate of steaming food on Kirishima’s thigh. He looks over at him, and smiles just a little, though he can feel tears of frustration in his throat. 

“Look just.. don’t fucking worry about it for five minutes, c’mon.” Kirishima slid off the counter and started following him. He thought he was going to the dining table, but he passed it, walking quieter than Kirishima knew he was even capable of. He was so quiet at night, like a cat, the polar opposite than his boisterous self during class time and training, like a lion. He led him up stairs that Kirishima wasn’t even aware existed, and Kirishima couldn’t help but keep his eyes trained on the blonde’s legs as they went up the stairs. His thighs were strong, definition clear as they moved his body up the stairs further and further. 

He really needs his leg day routine. 

Bakugo was pushing open a metal door, and Kirishima was hit with a blast of cool air as the two stepped out onto a rooftop. It was… beautiful from up here. There were stars shining, dim and far away, and the moon was light above them, casting a gentle glow onto the rustling treetops, and onto Bakugo’s face. 

His muscles were relaxed, all points of tension released from his face, and his red eyes looked as perfect as ever. He looked straight ahead into the forest’s canopy, lips ever so slightly parted. The light caught on his bottom lip and in his eyes, and somehow, he didn’t look so angry. He turned to look at Kirishima, and Kirishima couldn’t do anything but smile. 

The two walked together to some sort of roof building, an air conditioning unit, if Kirishima had to guess. Bakugo had been the first to sit down on the concrete, and Kirishima followed, leaving less than a foot between the two of them as he dug into his bowl of food. There was something distinctly beef in it, and plenty of vegetables. Maybe it wasn’t just a gym routine that made Bakugo so strong.

“Thanks for showing me this place.” Kirishima whispered, scared to disturb the cool, crisp, crystal-like air. He swears it’s like a photograph, a still image.

“It’s whatever, not like it’s mine.” Bakugo shrugged. Kirishima shook his head, 

“Just take the thank you, stubborn-ass.” Bakugo cracked a tiny grin, leaning his head against the wall behind them. Kirishima couldn’t help but study him, the way the moonlight caught his neck, his crest of his adam’s apple and each of the tiny, neatly shaved facial hairs along his jawline. The pale light dipped into his shirt, making the boy made of pure explosions and energy seem almost… soft in a way. “How come you’re so loud all the time?” Kirishima asked, curiosity getting the better of him. He could hear the husk in the lowness of his voice when he spoke, and it made each passing heartbeat feel immensely more private. Bakugo was pretty, and he was sure that the boy would have a girlfriend if he weren’t so rough around the edges, his off-putting yell of a talking voice wasn’t really doing him any favors. 

“Can’t hear.” Kirishima didn’t answer, expecting some sort of elaboration, but none came. He smiled, despite himself: Typical, stubborn-ass Bakugo. 

“How come?” Bakugo set his food down beside him, and lifted a hand to Kirishima’s ear, popping off a handful of tiny explosions. Kirishima covered his ear, rubbing it and wincing. “Yeah, okay.. I get that.” Bakugo lifted his food again without another word. “It sucks, all of the drawbacks to all of our quirks, huh?” Kirishima rolled up his sleeve, flipping it over to show the thin skin on top of his wrists, “See these?” He traced lightning-shaped scars along his forearm, disappearing in abrupt ends. “My skin split because of how thin it was, and it happens during training, too. I have to like… cover it in this special lotion stuff, and it’s way too expensive. Oh and- here, feel.” Kirishima hardened his skin around his neck, pointing to a select spot underneath his chin. Bakugo hesitantly reached up to feel, and Kirishima could’ve shivered at his soft the boy’s fingertips felt on his bare skin. The rock melted away, “I can’t harden right there, it’s like… my Achilles heel, or whatever they call it.” 

When Kirishima looked over at Bakugo, he looked almost.. distant. 

“You okay, man?” Kirishima winced internally. He’d been talking about himself for far too long, about skin-deep cuts, meanwhile Bakugo was going deaf. He’d been too excited to talk to the boy and hadn’t realized he was trying to open up, despite his silence. 

“I’m…” Bakugo sighed. “I’m losing my hearing, faster than doctors expected, that’s all.” Kirishima frowned, the lotion stuff he had to buy was expensive, but at least his quirk wasn’t taking something as critical as one of his senses. “They thought I would be deaf by forty-five, it’s looking more like late-twenties, now.” Kirishima nodded thoughtfully. 

“I’m sure there’s some quirk-doctor who can fix that for you though, right?” Bakugo shook his head,

“You know the risk of those, don’t you?” Kirishima frowned again, nodding. “I just… it’s whatever, I’ll be fine.” Kirishima shook his head,

“That sounds… really scary, man.” Kirishima shivered at the mere thought, “How will you do hero work?” Bakugo didn’t respond, and Kirishima wondered if maybe he hadn’t heard him. Just as he parted his lips to repeat the question, 

“I… don’t know.” Kirishima blinked, surprised at how unsure Bakugo had sounded. If he hadn’t known better, he’d say there was a tinge of fear in his voice. The boy adjusted, preparing to stand up. 

Kirishima didn’t want him to go.

Channeling every ounce of courage he’d built up over the past month, Kirishima reached out, putting a hand on his shoulder. 

“Can you stay?” Bakugo blinked at him, wide eyed. His body was tense underneath Kirishima’s touch, his mouth slack in surprise. “Just for a minute, I didn’t mean to pry… I… don’t want to be alone right now.” Bakugo stared at him, and the seconds that passed by felt as though they were lasting forever. 

“Okay.” 

Kirishima’s heart was racing as the boy settled back down onto the floor. Silence overcame them, and the air felt more fragile than ever. Bakugo pulled his knees in closer to his chest, wrapping his arms around them and he looked almost… small. Kirishima let his own legs fall open comfortably, his knee resting against the other boy’s. He had to force the words out of his chest, and his voice came out almost strangled. 

“Thank you.” 

Bakugo looked over at him, resting his chin on his own shoulder. His eyes felt piercing, his pupils flitting between Kirishima’s eyes, occasionally to other place on his face- his eyebrow, his nose, his scar- but Kirishima was determined not to break eye contact, not to give in to his discomfort. He felt the need to elaborate, but he wasn’t even nearly sure where to start. Thank you, for the food, for opening up just a smidge, for being vulnerable, for training with him, thank you for not being such an asshole when it’s just the two of them, for staying-

“Yeah, don’t mention it, Kirishima.” 

It sounded so… genuine. Kirishima couldn’t help the flutters that swarmed his chest as Bakugo said his name, and just continued to look at the boy. 

He wasn’t even aware of the time that was passing. He ran his eyes over the boy’s face, over his freckles and over his eyelashes. Up close, everything about him seemed so perfect, Kirishima couldn’t help but wonder why he kept himself so guarded. 

“We should head inside soon.” Bakugo had whispered it, and it was the first time that Kirishima heard him so quiet. 

Distantly, he wondered if Bakugo hadn’t wanted to spoil the moment, either; if, just maybe, he hadn’t wanted it to end either.

“Yeah.” It came out breathy, but neither dared to address it, and neither dared stand up just yet. 

Kirishima isn’t sure how long he ended up sitting with Bakugo on that rooftop, but it was nearly four in the morning when they’d returned to their dorms. Kirishima was tired as he fell into his nest of blankets, but he couldn’t deny that he wouldn’t have traded that night for the world. 

Especially with all of the work going into next week’s preparation.

The Sports Festival.