Chapter Text
Bakugou Katsuki spends the summer before he’s shipped off to his prepatory high school, U.A. Academy, to kick ass and prove to everyone that he’s the best (at least in the chemistry department). He works out with the few middle school extras who follow him around like lost dogs, deciding to try out for either the track or soccer teams when he gets to U.A. He’s been doing both sports since he was a little kid, so chances are he’ll do well in either sport. He studies hard, stays in touch with his old chemistry professor, who loads him up with reading material and study guides. Katsuki still lets his mom use him for cosmetic tests and his dad tries out new fashions on him. There isn’t a moment of his summer that isn’t filled with some rushed activity. He looks in the mirror the night before he’s to move to the U.A. dorms and sees the beginnings of a new person. There are muscles he didn’t have before and the baby fat has melted off his face. Bakugou flexes this way and that, impressed at his progress. He’s going to keep getting better, stronger, and smarter. It’s a constant competition for him, to be the best. His mom, Mitsuki, tells him to stop being such a brat and work on his attitude and friendships. He snaps back that he’s got not time for “that kiddy shit.”
Once he’s laying in bed, Bakugou scrolls through his phone to play “The Balcony Scene” from Pierce the Veil. And because he’s secretly becoming a sad romantic, Katsuki thinks about the boy he gave his first kiss. Looking back, that was kind of reckless and stupid. They barely knew each other and he didn’t even ask Kirishima if that was okay to do. Bakugou had just gone for it. The other boy had kissed back like he liked it, but Bakugou wished to himself that he had another chance to see the guy and properly woo him, or whatever. From his nightstand, the song played its’ rising tune.
Have you ever really danced on the edge?
Is something still scaring you?
Have you ever really danced on the edge?
The count of three is up
Have you ever really danced on the edge?
All right, then, tell me so
Have you ever really danced on the edge?
Just hold my hand and jump
How utterly sappy. Bakugou muffles a groan into his pillow because he’ll be damned if his parents hear him languishing over some random guy. Where did Kirishima go off to? Did he think about their kiss? Did he still wear his hair like that? Where did he get that scar from? The questions bounce around his brain with ferocity. Pulling the blankets over his form, Bakugou sets the 6:00am alarm for his moving day and closes his eyes.
Behind his eyelids, in the theater of his mind, cherry red eyes framed by thick eyelashes stare at him with adoration while a pop punk band sings about dancing on the edge plays around them.
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Kirishima’s head is spinning the first couple days at U.A. Academy. It’s still mind-blowing that he got in, but his sports scholarship for wrestling has granted him a place amongst the kids of wealthy, famous and those more academically gifted. The dorms are lavish, offering accommodations better than most universities. Eijirou keeps smoothing out his sheets and admiring the bay window in his room. His roommate, whose room is connected by their shared bathroom, is a guy named Kaminari Denki. His grades are god awful, but his parents sent him to U.A. to “apply himself”. This means he’s going to have to fake it ‘til he makes it.
The guy already has a small electronic project set up in his room, a mess of wires and batteries that Eijirou doesn’t want to even look at. He’s pretty sure this guy is going to electrocute himself. Returning to his room, Kirishima reviews his class schedule. His homeroom teacher is a guy named Aizawa Shouta, and then Kirishima has all the basic course, two electives for nutritional science. Altogether, his eight-class schedule, plus wrestling should keep him pretty busy. Being at a school where only one person actually knows him is like a new lease on life. Kirishima has changed so much of himself over the summer.
He works out often, keeping up his muscle mass for his sport. His hair isn’t the ink black it was in high school. Ren had just about fainted from joy when he asked her to dye his hair red. Now he spiked it up and wore it proudly. The style kept his mane out of his face and draws attention to him, attention he wants to get used to. Ever since that fateful concert, Eijirou has committed to changing his attitude and in turn, his appearance to match it. He smiles even if he feels weak inside and brings cheer to others. His old friend, Mina Ashido, thinks it’s a far cry from the nervous, fearful, non-confrontational version of himself. He hopes that if he just keeps pushing, he’ll better himself.
As he sorts through his last box of various keepsakes, Eijirou sees something very special. The ticket from the Pierce the Veil concert. He picks it up to tack it to a corkboard his parents had bought him and feels the worn paper between his thumb and forefinger. There hasn’t been a night, or even a memory, as exhilarating as that concert. Kirishima felt invincible, dancing to the beat of a pop punk anthem, sweat beading on his back and chest, like this was the only chance he’d ever get to feel that alive.
Then there was Bakugou. Golden, red-eyed, snarling Bakugou, who had kissed him in the gravel parking lot with no warning or preparation. He’d never even answered Eijirou’s question that night, but it didn’t matter. The redhead would always remember the feeling of slightly chapped lips pressing to his like a sucker punch. He wishes he could’ve kissed that furious boy again, but maybe it’s for the best. Some things are so beautiful that they only happen once. Or maybe that’s for rare things? Eijirou tacks the ticket to the corkboard, fantasizing about a pair of red eyes catching his in a mosh pit.
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The prep school is huge, with walkways and gardens all over. Every building looks the same, all brick and marble, so Kirishima and Kaminari go to the wrong building three times before finding the general studies hall. Class 1-A can be heard from the hallway, with one student telling another to get their feet off the desk. Kaminari takes the lead and walks on in, no worry whatsoever about the yelling coming from the classroom. Kirishima follows his lead, walking tall and straight, refusing to shrink himself down. He’s already fashioned his hair into a spiky crown of sorts, so blending in is impossible. He sees a taller guy with glasses and blue-black hair reprimanding the same student (he thinks) for putting his feet on the desk in front of him. When the small brunette girl next to the yelling student moves, Eijirou’s heart quite literally skips a beat.
It's Bakugou.
There he is, sitting there, like he owns the place, grinning angrily at the other student. Summer has treated him well. The blond has filled out, with broad shoulders clearly sheathed under his uniform’s blazer. Kirishima sees a hint of collarbone from where Bakugou hasn’t buttoned his undershirt or worn a tie. There’s a mole there. Eijirou wants to touch it. He knows he’s staring like a complete freak when Bakugou turns his attention on him and barks “What are you looking at, Shitty Hair?”. Wow, what a rude thing to say. However, Kirishima is not going to back down. “My bad! You looked familiar! I must be mistaken…” Eijirou says, not wanting to make Bakugou uncomfortable. The guy probably forgot him, which is fine, because Kirishima is not memorable. He knows he was probably just a pretty face and Bakugou was curious and now he’s blocked that memory out.
Kaminari waves Kirishima over to a quad of desks across from Bakugou, where a guy with short black hair and, well, wouldn’t you know, Mina, is sitting. “Dude, are you gonna sit or what?” Denki teases, gesturing to a seat next to him.
Kirishima bites at his lip, two of his filed teeth almost piercing the skin. He’s not upset that Bakugou doesn’t remember him. Not at all.
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The first week of prepatory school sends Bakugou reeling because there are so many gifted people here, with talents that make him feel inadequate and frustrated. He doesn’t want to make friends with any of them; they’re all either trying to get the one-up on him or are too stupid to realize he’s not here for friends. His parents didn’t pay all that money for him to be buddy-buddy with people he’s competing against for scholarships and awards. The problem is that the other students do not care that he doesn’t want to make friends. Tenya, their class president, is up his ass for track tryouts; Midoriya, a classmate from his middle-school, still follows him around like a lost puppy; and then there’s this Kirishima guy. Bakugou knows the name from somewhere but can’t recall.
Kirishima Eijirou is obnoxious, with his bright red, spiky hair, and shark-toothed smile, and “can do” attitude. He always tries to partner up with Bakugou in their physical education class and invites him to sit with his friends at lunch. Bakugou doesn’t because he thinks they’re all idiots riding on sports scholarships or sent to the school to smarten up. It’s ingratiating how the redhead will find all kinds of ways to be by his side. After the first week of class, Katsuki runs into the guy at the on-campus gym power lifting like it’s his day job. What kind of teenage guy can lift that much? Bakugou is baffled when Kirishima adds on well over a hundred pounds on the bench press. He’s got to be out of his mind.
Bakugou takes to one of the treadmills, obviously not watching Eijirou deadlift at least eighty pounds. His shoulders and triceps bulge aggressively and Katsuki shivers to think of what it might be like to get squeezed by those arms. Wait a minute. I didn’t just think that. His mind whispers it with suspicion, but Katsuki knows he thought that. Kirishima is his type, even if he is a moron who goofs around in class. Bakugou increases the incline on the treadmill and puts his earbuds in his ears, letting the sounds of Fall Out Boy pound into his head.
The relief is only momentary because the redhead takes to the treadmill next to Katsuki, taking huge gulps of his water. A tiny rivulet of drink trickles from the corner of his lip, which Eijirou wipes off with the back of one of his large, brawny hands. If this guy looks like this NOW, he’s going to be even more irresistible when he’s an adult. Bakugou hopes he won’t be tortured by that result, because he might just beg the guy to wreck him. “Hey Bakugou! How are ya, bro?” Kirishima rasps, tapping around on the treadmill’s console to select and endurance program. He breaks into a light jog, babbling about their assignments for English and History. Katsuki starts to run as well, thinking that if he’s going to be on the track team he should at least be practicing. He rips his earbuds out of his ears because he figures if Kirishima is just going to keep talking, he might as well listen.
“If you’re so damn worried about your grades already, you should study more, Rocks for Brains.” Katsuki criticizes, starting to sweat more profusely. The pair are almost racing each other, occasionally upping the speed or incline. Kirishima gives a thoughtful hum eventually, decreasing his incline and slowing to a walk. “You’re right. I’m just sort of crap at focusing on assignments and classwork. Ever since I was a kid I’ve had trouble, ya dig? Like I know I need to get it done but then a million other thoughts go through my head.” Bakugou has noticed the guy staring off in class, that far away look in his eye glazing over his features. It makes him look gentle.
As Bakugou slows to a power walk, he grits out “Well if you want to keep that wrestling scholarship, you better focus. I’ll beat it into you!”. It’s aggressive, and kind of rude, but Bakugou doesn’t like quitters. Kirishima doesn’t seem like a quitter either. He looks and clearly is strong as hell, so he’s a fighter. When Katsuki takes a glance at Kirishima, the guy is smiling at him, his eyebrows raised, looking quite soft. He notices a small scar on the guy’s right eyelid.
Now where has he seen that before?
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Kirishima takes Bakugou up on his offer. They study together in between track and wrestling practices and meets, visits to their parents, and respective time with their friends. Sero, Kaminari, and Mina joke that Kirishima has terrible taste in guys. They’re probably right that he’s a lowkey masochist, because Katsuki is relentless. Their study sessions revolve between their dorm rooms, the cafeteria, a private study cubicle provided for Bakugou, and a barbeque joint that Kirishima frequents for their Thursday night specials. Bakugou always gets their spiciest curry.
Kirishima is in Mina’s dorm, letting her blow dry his hair after she helped him touch up the dye. The minute his roots start showing, Eijirou has his mom deliver the dye and gloves so he can do it himself. He’s reveling in her gentle brush strokes and the warmth of the dryer over his neck and ears. His wrestling match has left him sore and with more bruises than he’d been hoping for. His shoulders have a deep burn in them that his liniment hasn’t helped. Mina is bopping around to some new EDM album she picked up at the mall over the past weekend. Her pixie cut bubblegum pink hair is pushed back by a polka dot head band and she’s wearing leopard print pajamas. She hasn’t changed much from their high school days.
The hair dryer clicks off and Mina pumps a few dollops of citrus smelling oil into her palms, smoothing it over Eijirou’s hair and taking her time on the ends to protect against hair splitting. “Now you’re ready for your date!” she jeers, pointing to her mirror so Eijirou will observe her work.
When he sees his hair down, it’s like he’s back at the concert night, but this time, his hair is red, he’s wearing athletic gear, and he doesn’t look like a scrawny middle schooler. “Cat got your tongue? Better yet, Kat-suki—” Mina teases before Kirishima cuts her off, laughing and shoving at her gently. “It’s not that…it’s just…I like him, obviously? It’s a crush but he’s fun. It’s been a month and I’m trying to play it cool but Mina, there’s something else.” He’s fidgeting, twiddling his thumbs around each other. She’s sitting in her beanbag chair, peering up at him with those dark, inquisitive eyes. “What is it, Kiri? Does he like you? Because if he does and you two aren’t dating, I’m going to rip my hair out.” She jokes but recognizes that uncertainty in Eijirou when his shoulders fall and his eyes hit the floor.
“I met him once before. At the Pierce the Veil concert. He was kind of my first kiss.”
Mina is about to explode, kicking her feet and sighing deeply. “Kiri, you sweet, sweet fool, you really know how to pick ‘em. If you two have a history, what’s the problem?”. Mina’s music ends, replaced by white noise and the sound of Eijirou’s nails scratching against his sweatpants. “He doesn’t recognize me or at least he doesn’t act like he does. Maybe he remembers and isn’t interested at all. Fuck, he’s probably uncomfortable about it, and I’m making it weird for him. I’m the idiot!” Kirishima agonizes, looking anywhere but his friend’s eyes, which are boring into him like they always do when he doubts himself, or starts to go overboard in a panic attack.
“Alright, that’s probably not it. You’re awesome, and that’s super sad that Bakugou doesn’t remember you. I highly doubt he is hiding his memory of kissing you. You did look way different back then, so maybe he doesn’t recognize you. The last thing you’re allowed to say about this situation is that you’re the one at fault. You like him, big deal. If he doesn’t like you, that’s on him. The best thing you can do is put yourself out there and hope for a positive reaction. Kiri, I’ll be disappointed if you go back to your middle-school ways now. You’ve come too far.” Mina is looking at him with overwhelming determination and expectation. He tries his best to meet her gaze and almost falters under the weight of it. He looks at her dresser and noticed her eyeliner pencils, and an idea pops into his head.
“Can you put some eyeliner on me? I am thinking of something.” So she does. Kirishima thinks this might jog Katsuki’s memory.
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He can’t be real, this is too much, Bakugou’s internal monologue whines when Kirishima arrives for their study session. He’s in his normal sweats and tank top, which is already a test for Bakugou because Kirishima’s arms and pecs are on full display, but there’s two new features tonight. Kirishima had his hair done. Someone evidently blowdried it, giving it a soft wave that helps frame the redhead’s square jaw. The locks shine vermillion under the lamplight. The killing blow is the makeup. Smudged eyeliner on Kirishima’s lashlines that triggers a memory in Katsuki’s mind theater. Red eyes framed by black clouds in a rock show. But he’s probably just fantasizing, so Bakugou doesn’t ask. He just stares at this beautiful boy, who is biting his lip while solving Algebra homework and rubbing at one of his shoulders.
Over the past month and a half, there’s been this unspoken bond forming between Kirishima and Bakugou. They share workout routines and tips, eat lunch together, study together, and even go to each other’s sporting events. Kirishima thinks Bakugou moves like the wind and could run with the Olympians but should still try out boxing in the future. Bakugou is secretly intimidated and turned on by the hulking strength Kirishima displays in his wrestling matches and has not so secretly asked him to spar. They swap reading material on Chemistry and Nutritional science. Their iPod playlists are oddly similar, comprised on pop punk bands from their middle-school years. Bakugou feels something wriggle in his chest at the sight of Pierce the Veil and Fall Out Boy in Kirishima’s “Most Played” playlist. They do have some differences there too. Katsuki enjoys metal and rap where Eijirou has a noticeable amount of electronic pop and dance music.
He’s been staring at the guy for too long, taking in the little bruises on his forearms and shoulders. The little scar on his eyelid, the plumpness in Kirishima’s bottom lip, and the soft sweep of that red hair. “Hey, Bakugou, are you good?” his friend asks, voice low and husky. Katsuki wants to say “No, I’m not good. I know you from somewhere and it’s fucking infuriating that I can’t figure it out. I’m not okay because you’re gorgeous and kind and I’m a difficult asshole. Please go out with me.” He doesn’t say any of that, and instead stands up and rummages through the nightstand next to his bed. Bakugou hears his phone move onto the next artist. It’s “Dear Maria” by All Time Low. How goddamn cheesy. Kirishima lets out a small gasp from behind him before exclaiming, “Dude, I love this band! How did you know?”. He doesn’t answer until he locates the thing he’s been searching for: Tiger Balm.
Turning around to see Eijirou peering at his playlist with glowing eyes and parted lips, Katsuki takes a deep breath because he feels weak over this boy. “We like the same shit. It’s not that hard to figure out.” He tries to sound unbothered as he plods over to Kirishima, hands feeling clammy already. The other boy glances at the ointment in Bakugou’s hands and looks up, confused. “You gonna give me a massage? Is our friendship reaching a new level?” the guy asks, a red eyebrow quirking upwards. The blond lets out a groan and gestures Kirishima to scoot forward on the bed. “You keep rubbing at your shoulders and not focusing on your work. It’s annoying. I’m fixing it.” Bakugou says it bluntly, but he sees how his friend’s eyes soften at the gesture. No, you idiot, I’m not doing this to be nice! His mind echoes, clearly in denial. The homework is set aside and Bakugou sets out to scoop some balm from its’ metal container.
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Eijirou is in heaven, because Bakugou is massaging the tension out of his shoulders, albeit a bit roughly, but all the same, the guy is touching him. His palms are surprisingly soft, but the pads of Katsuki’s fingers are rough as they drag Tiger Balm over Eijirou’s deltoids and shoulders. Eijirou has died, gone to heaven, and didn’t even get to say goodbye to his family or friends. Mina will be disappointed. At least he went out happy; being touched by the object of his hidden affections. Bakugou is a marvel to look at most of the time, but up close is even more haunting. His nose is sharp and straight, dotted with a few blackheads which will be eliminated via pore scrub. His eye brows are clearly well-maintained, probably either waxed or plucked by a professional. Katsuki’s face is all sharp angles, light falling on cheekbones, brow bones, and chin to create the effect that he isn’t even human; he’s kind of angelic, if you’re into angels that curse at you and insult your hair.
There’s a smell of spearmint and Kirishima is internally screaming because he’s close enough to kiss, to taste the same taste as the night of the show. Knuckles grind into a knot in Kirishima’s right deltoid and release the tension. He groans at the pressure and unraveling of the know under the other boy’s hands. Then Bakugou breaks the silence. “Where did you get that scar from?” He asks, voice low and soft. Eijirou meets the other’s eyes and recalls the day he got that scar. “I was in 5th grade. A kid was picking on my sister and I fought him. My eyelid got cut and they had to put a bunch of stitches in it. Sucked, but they never bothered Akako again.” Eijirou was so upset when they took him to the hospital, thinking that his little sister would have her lunch money stolen again.
Bakugou has stopped massaging and just has his hands resting on Kirishima’s shoulders, preparing to say something. His eyes are searching, and Kirishima notes that Bakugou’s irises aren’t just red: they’re orange and rust and crimson. They’re an explosion. “You don’t go down easy. That makes you strong as hell.” He replies, giving a confident little grin. Kirishima is taking a mental snapshot of that so he can remember it when Bakugou yells or frowns. That little smile is going right in the “Best Memories of Katsuki File” for safekeeping. If Eijirou wasn’t mistaken, there’s even a flash of recognition in his friend’s eyes.
Does Bakugou remember? Is he about to recreate their first kiss?
He doesn’t Instead, the guy pulls back, hands lingering for another moment before setting the balm to the side and grabbing a washcloth for his hands. When he returns to the bed, Katsuki sets Kirishima’s books back in front of him and mumbles something else. “That means you can do this too.”
The redhead is a little frustrated that Bakugou doesn’t seem to remember that night, but he catches the boy looking at him like he’s a puzzle. Like Bakugou is trying to solve a mystery.
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Two months in, and Bakugou is almost certain Kirishima is the boy that he kissed at the god forsaken Pierce the Veil concert this past summer. He tries to imagine his friend with black hair and less muscle and it seems almost right. Then again, lots of people look similar, which could mean that Bakugou is mistaking his friend and crush for a boy he kissed one time at a concert. That would kind of suck, because it would mean Katsuki has placed certain memories onto a guy who wasn’t a part of them. What’s more is that Eijirou is opening up more and more to him. He talks about doubts, insecurities, and worries that catch him at the worst time. When he’s in class learning a new topic, or doing the leg press at the gym, or out with the aptly named Bakusquad (consisting of Mina, Denki, Sero, Kiri, and Bakugou) and he thinks he’s a bother. Every time, Bakugou works him through the negative feeling, even if he’s not particularly comforting and tends to say that insecurity is bullshit and hindering Eijirou.
Bakugou has been an absolute asshat for two months, not asking Kirishima if he was the boy at that concert. He should just ask and get it over with so there aren’t anymore nagging questions at 2:00am when Katsuki can’t sleep and he thinks about a black-haired boy holding his hand in the pit. To talk Bakugou through his befuddling crush, Jirou Kyoka, musical prodigy and fellow 1-A classmate is video chatting him. She’s home for the weekend, going out to a concert with her parents. “I really think you might be socially constipated. Like you suffered a blockage to your feelings before the age of five and now you’re chronically backed up and can’t have normal conversations with people about feelings that don’t involve anger or competitiveness. Please seek medical attention.” Jirou jabs at him, twirling one of her earbuds between her fingers. She looks a cross between tired and amused. Katsuki isn’t having it. “Listen, I called you for help, so if you’re gonna be a jerk, just go suck eggs,” he groans, turning his gaze away from his friend and sighting a wrestling sweatshirt Kirishima left on Bakugou’s desk chair. Of course he’d leave his clothes here, because Bakugou is being given no rest.
“It’s not that hard to ask him the question. If he isn’t the guy, then so what? You have a crush on him now and whoever you kissed at a dumb punk show doesn’t matter. Unless you’re a sad, sappy romantic and it does matter to you. In which case, you are somehow even more of a mess than I thought. Amazing!” Jirou exclaims, clearly enjoying this. He squirms at the thought of his evolving feelings for his friend, not fully enjoying the strange ache in his chest. Feelings are terrible, aren’t they, he thinks. Kicking a chemistry book away from him on his bedspread, Katsuki huffs and decides to come clean. “The thing is, I kind of want it to be him? Like I think it might be him, the stupid kid I kissed last summer? It’d be dumb and romantic but at least it wouldn’t just be some random person I gave my first kiss to. I’m a moron and should’ve waited, but here I am! 50 bucks says Kirishima is the concert kid, alright?” Bakugou wagers, side-eyeing his friend. Jirou laughs, full and hearty. “I’m not betting against you. I want him to be the concert kid. Please go find him and ask him because it’s getting sad to watch you agonize about this, and I need to head out with the ‘rents. Text me when you’ve solved the mystery, Scoob.” She throws Katsuki a peace sign over Skype before signing out, not even giving him a chance to retort.
At least he knows his first move. Bakugou texts Kirishima.
[5:15pm]: you left a sweatshirt here. You home?
A few moments of silence before his phone rings.
[5:24pm]: most definitely bruh I am in the house
[5:25pm]: wanna drop by?
Bakugou is kicking his legs now like some lovestruck school girl because there’s no other reaction to have.
[5:28pm]: yeah. I’ll be there in 10.
Bakugou gathers the sweatshirt and his courage.
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Kirishima is a little surprised that Bakugou would come over for something as simple as to drop a sweatshirt off. He’s not the type to go out of his way to make socializing happen, but Denki argues that Bakugou gives Kirishima special treatment. Kirishima doesn’t think so at first, but he notices how the guy is more likely to hang out with the group if Eijirou is there or is the one who asks him. Mina even jokes a few times that “Blasty has a crush on our Kiri!” which is brushed off by Bakugou by way of yelling. As he walks to Kirishima’s door, he clutches the sweatshirt tightly.
With each step, Bakugou runs through all of his clues. The eyes, the scar, the black roots in his hair, the love of Pierce the Veil, the way he looks with his hair down. Kirishima, he thinks, is 99% the concert kiss boy. He just needs confirmation. Arriving at the door, Katsuki knocks much more softly than he normally would. Rudeness isn’t part of the plan. “I’m coming!” Kirishima yells from inside the unit, which is followed by heavy footsteps. The door swings open and the redhead is standing there in possibly the most resolve dissolving outfit Bakugou has ever seen. It’s a U.A. athletic tank top, stretched out over his developing pectorals, and a pair of spandex workout shorts that take no pleasure in clinging to those shapely thighs. This is it, this is how I die, Bakugou thinks, yanking his gaze up to his friend’s face and hair. It’s half spiked up and half falling over, obviously from working out. Kirishima is a delicious mess and Katsuki is a fool to deny it.
“Come in, Katsuki. I don’t think you want to be out in the hallway, unless you do-“, Eijirou starts as Bakugou moves past him into the dorm room, which is surprisingly clean, considering who its’ occupant is. The desk lamp is on, casting the room in a soft yellow glow. Playing over the speakers is “The Balcony Scene” by PTV. That’s a pretty appropriate song, considering that Bakugou is about to jump, metaphorically. He drops the sweatshirt onto Kirishima’s dresser before he sits on the edge of his friend’s bed. He’s not meeting Eijirou’s gaze, too afraid he’ll word vomit under such a caring set of eyes. “If you wanna watch a movie or something, we can after I shower? I just smell kind of gross. Just sparred, you know?” The boy offers, watching Bakugou nod softly and turn his head in Kirishima’s direction, but refusing to make eye contact. In the pit of Bakugou’s stomach, a war is being waged, between lunch and crippling anxiety. Kirishima looks like he’s going to reach out for a moment before he turns on his heel and heads for the bathroom.
The music flows one song into another as the sound of the shower comes through the dorm walls. Bakugou looks around the room for one last clue. Something, anything, so he can figure out that Kirishima is that boy. He’s holding the sweatshirt again like a safety blanket, cradling it to his chest. It smells of Eijirou’s body spray, something earthy and warm, and a little sweaty. It’s a good smell that soothes Bakugou. His eyes land on Kirishima’s book shelf, which is definitely not as full as his own. One book in particular sticks out. A middle school yearbook. Hastily, he gets up from the bed and snatches the book from the shelf. Now he’ll have proof and be able to confess with certainty. Flicking through the pages, Bakugou searches frantically for the picture of that boy, with the ink black hair and catlike eyes. The shower is still running and Katsuki feels like he’s racing Kirishima for the finish line, even though there’s no reason to rush.
Bakugou reaches one of the last eighth grade classes when the shower turns off. A cold wave moves down his spine, even though he isn’t in trouble. Then he sees it.
Kirishima, third row down, fourth photo from the left. Kirishima Eijirou. His hair is pitch black, a soft inky curtain almost completely obscuring his right eye in the photo (the eye with the scar). His left eye, the one that’s fully visible, is the gorgeous almond shape that still fits on his friend’s face. If there was some eyeliner and mascara, it’d be too real. But there it is, all the proof Bakugou needs. He sits in stunned silence as the bathroom door swings open and Kirishima strides out in clean sweats. The boy stops next to his bed and notices Bakugou has found his middle-school photo.
“Are you…are you surprised?” Kirishima asks, his voice small and a little afraid. Bakugou hates that sound. He straightens up immediately and faces his crush. “Not really. I thought it was you, for a while. I had to be sure. You look…so different.” He replies, not letting go of the book. Eijirou lets out a laugh that’s really a sigh. He doesn’t seem happy. “Are you mad? Mad that I didn’t say anything?” The redhead asks now, his shoulders pulling up to his ears. He’s not wearing a shirt, and the muscles in his back and chest ripple as Kirishima defies his good posture. Bakugou is far from mad, so he has to say it, before this beautiful boy starts doubting himself.
“I’m not fucking mad. I’m happy. I’m really fucking glad. You know that I thought about your stupid pretty face all the time? Every day? Like a total sap. But why didn’t you tell me?” Bakugou is stuttering because he needs to know. Kirishima turns to him, his eyes welling up. As Bakugou reaches up to wipe away a stray tear from Eijirou’s eyes, he confesses. “I’ve liked you for months, and I thought if you found out that I was that wimpy kid or that I hid from you, you’d think I was weak and wouldn’t like me anymore. You don’t like weak people. And I like you so much. It’s hurting me man, to even think about it.” All of Kirishima’s words come out watery and unsteady. Katsuki needs to do this right, the first time. His mom told him that when you like someone, you get real with them. “You’re right, I don’t like weak people, but you’re not weak. You fought someone for your sister and got stitches. You’re one of the wrestling champs here. You try so hard to be smart, and it’s fuckin’ awesome. You’re strong as hell, Ei. I want you because you’re strong.” He’s speaking so freely now that it feels like Bakugou’s whole chest is deflating after so much air pressure. Kirishima is smiling, small and still a little teary. He leans his face into Katsuki’s palm, which never left his face. Eijirou’s left hand floats up to the blond’s waist, shaking.
“Why’d you kiss me and then just run away?” He asks, waiting for Bakugou to spill the beans. “I’m smart, but I suck at feelings. Plus you’re pretty, Eijirou. Fucking really pretty, and I never saw someone like you before. I was a little overwhelmed and stupid, to say the least.” Bakugou confesses, letting his hand thread through the wet strands of his crush’s hair. It’s almost like that night at the concert, but better. Kirishima’s face is so red from the compliment that it makes Katsuki laugh, because he’s never seen this boy so stunned.
“Do you want to kiss me, again? Maybe? Like if you’re not totally turned off or whatever…” Kirishima offers, looking around the room in an anxious manner. All Katsuki does is nod and close the distance.
It’s way better this time. They aren’t standing in a gravel parking lot after a concert, waiting for their parents to pick them up. Bakugou isn’t trying to crush Kirishima’s lips in this kiss, and Kirishima knows how to move when their lips meet. This time, they both taste like spearmint and something else. Bakugou will call the taste expectation on their third date. Kirishima will call the taste comfort by then.
When they break apart, they’re both a little breathless and Bakugou’s free hand has roamed up to Kirishima’s chest rubbing circles into his pectoral. There’s something to unpack. Bakugou speaks up. “One more thing.” Eijirou’s eyes fly open, afraid of what’s about to be revealed. “Smile for me. I remember that smile, the one from the concert. You were so happy.” He asks, the hand in Kirishima’s hair sliding down to his neck. Kirishima does.
Bakugou knows it’s the same smile. A little different, with all those shark teeth, but still so full of happiness and excitement that Bakugou will never forget the smile worn by his first kiss.