Chapter Text
Shitty Hair is being quiet today. Suspiciously quiet.
He barged into Katsuki’s room like the no-boundary asshole he is a while ago, and since then hasn’t said a word. Not that Kastuski is complaining. The idiot usually blabbers so much during their study time that they have to stick around much longer than necessary so he can actually get his work done. It’s not like Katsuki likes that. Fucking stupid.
He’s nearly finished with their English assignment when he figures he’ll glance over at Shitty Hair just to make sure the idiot hasn’t died, and is a bit surprised when he sees his mouth moving. Katsuki knows that sounds are usually muffled a little after a hard day of training, and Shitty Hair unknowingly has started raising the volume of his voice whenever he talks to Katsuki, which he begrudgingly appreciates (mostly because he’s sure Shitty Hair would get the sad-puppy look on his face if he thought Katsuki was ignoring him….kind of like the look on his face right now). The idiot must be speaking pretty softly for Katsuki to not hear him.
“What, Shitty Hair?” He asks, prompting him to speak up.
Kirishima’s face falls even more, his lips downturned in a way that feels unnatural to look at. He opens his mouth, but Katsuki doesn’t hear what comes out.
Katsuki doesn’t hear what comes out.
“What?” He asks again, and is hit with the sudden realization that he can’t hear himself, not even a little bit. His eyes widen and his breathing comes faster. He looks up to Shitty Hair, not sure if he’s going to ask for help or for...well, he doesn’t fucking know, but Shitty Hair is already standing up looking sad. His lips move, no sound finds its way to Bakugou’s ears, and suddenly Shitty Hair is leaving.
“Wait!” He calls (is he really calling? He doesn’t know the volume of his own voice. He can’t hear his own voice). Kirishima doesn’t turn around.
Fuck. Fuck!
Shitty Hair must have thought he was ignoring him and decided to stand up for himself once in his life instead of letting others walk over him. Fuck, what a god-fucking-awful time to decide to stop being a doormat. And god, he had looked so sad...dammit-fucking-all why did Katsuki have to be such a fuck-up?
He holds up his hands to his ears, clapping and snapping and even setting off small explosions by his ears but...nothing. Shit.
Katsuki would like to say that he approaches the issue with the same grace and practicality that he approaches every problem he encounters (yeah, yeah, he can hear his old hag laughing at him in his mind. Grace? Not exactly the best way to describe him. But he’s cool under pressure, yeah?). He’d like to say that he does something pragmatic, like text his mom or finish his homework.
But that would be a lie. And Bakugou Katsuki is not a fucking liar.
He wonders how long panic attacks last. If they can go for twelve consecutive hours, he thinks that that’s what this is. Katsuki feels like he’s been stuck in fight or flight since last night, and every time he dozes off he wakes up in a terror, visions of his classmates screaming for help in front of him, but him not being able to hear any of them. His dreams are horrifyingly silent. In one, Gravity Bitch is falling, mouth stretched wide in a scream. She makes eye contact with Katsuki as she mouths “Help me,” but he can’t hear her, he can’t move, and the sound of her body hitting the ground echoes in his mind but doesn’t hit his ears.
In another, Kirishima is restrained like Katsuki was when he was taken by the shitty League of Villains, and his eyes beg for help just as much as his sharp-toothed mouth does. “Tell me how to help you!” Katsuki yells, immobilized only a few yards from his friend, and Kirishima opens his mouth but Katsuki can’t fucking hear him and then it’s late, it’s too late, and creepy hand asshole reaches out and grabs Kirishima’s face. As it crumbles away, Kirishima’s ungodly shrieks somehow reach Katsuki’s ears and he gasps awake, still in his desk chair, a high-pitched ringing filling his head. Ah, fucking tinnitus. An old friend that Katsuki wishes he could take to the courtyard and shoot with his full gauntlets.
The tinnitus gives him a little hope, but he still can’t hear when he snaps his fingers by his ear. Fuck. He digs the heels of his hands into his eyes, willing his head and his heart to calm the fuck down. It’s going to be fine. Everything will be fine in the morning, and if it isn’t then he’s going to fucking fix it. He’s not sure how yet, but there’s never been a problem he hasn’t been able to solve. It might not be immediate, but he’ll fix this.
He hugs his knees as tightly to his chest as he can, eyes glazing over as he loses the minutes. His mind feels lost in a thick fog of panic and irrationality. If he could just convince his dumbshit brain that this isn’t the end of the world, of his possible hero career….
Katsuki startles with blind panic when he feels a pressure on his right shoulder. Visions of the League of Villains, of the sludge monster, of All Might, of All for One flash before his eyes before he can finally turn his head.
Kirishima. It’s Kirishima.
Shitty Hair stands there, a disquiet look on his face. His hand is still outreached, frozen in its place from where it had touched Katsuki in what he’s sure was supposed to be comfort. He catches a glimpse at his alarm clock. Fucking...is it really the next morning?
When he looks back at Kirishima, the other boy’s mouth is moving, words obviously not reaching their intended recipient. Katsuki focuses on Kirishima’s mouth, hoping that he might be able to catch something with his shitty lip reading skills (or damn near lack thereof), but he’s quickly distracted by a tiny droplet of blood on Shitty Hair’s bottom lip.
He leans out of his chair to reach up, unconsciously moving to wipe the blood away. Fuck, Shitty Hair only bites his lip when he’s really worried. Is this because of him? Is it selfish or sadistic to wish that Shitty Hair is worried about him? Kirishima’s lip is soft under his fingers, and the idiot is still trying to talk, even when Katsuki is touching his lip.
His eyes flicker to Kirishima’s, and he’s taken aback by the utter concern reflected in them (why is he surprised? Shitty Hair has always been too nice, has always cared so much, has - for some unknown, goddamn reason - decided to care about Katsuki despite his efforts to push everyone away. Shitty Hair’s compassion is his strength rather than the weakness that Katsuki has always thought it to be).
Kirishima reaches out his hand again, gently holding Katsuki’s shoulder. “Bakugou?” Kirishima’s lips round gently on the word that Katsuki doesn’t have to hear to know. He’s startled by the care Kirishima takes when he says it, like his name is precious. It feels precious, when it’s being said by someone like Kirishima, who does everything with kindness.
He’s struck by the sudden realization that he might never hear Kirishima say his name again with his overjoyed inflection, and it’s that thought mixed with the lack of sleep and the stress of the situation that makes his eyes burn persistently. Fucking hell. And now he’s about to cry like a damn child. In front of Shitty Hair. Great. This is the best day of his fucking life.
Shitty Hair is obviously panicking, which would be hilarious if Katsuki weren’t so humiliated. Kirishima drops to his knees beside the chair that Katsuki is sitting in, and he’s gotten so tall in the last year that he’s now the same height as Katsuki is sitting in the chair. Yet another thing to be annoyed about, and something to take his mind off of his embarrassment.
He didn’t want to tell anyone, didn’t want to let anyone in on his weakness, but when Kirishima nearly falls into a hysteria when he sees a punk ass stray tear escape from Katsuki’s eye, he feels the explanation rip from his throat. “Kirishima,” he knows he isn’t talking loud, and a part of him hopes that his friend can’t actually hear him. “Kirishima. I can’t hear you. I can’t hear anything.”
I can’t hear anything.
Kirishima’s expression is one he’s never seen before. It’s surprise, but there’s no underlying excitement or happiness: just dread and helplessness. Another tear falls down his face, and he’s so angry and embarrassed and shocked by Shitty Hair’s reaction that he doesn’t reach for it. Maybe if he ignores it, Shitty Hair will, too.
It’s asking too much, he finds out. Because Kirishima reaches out a large hand and brushes away the tears with a gentleness Katsuki knows he doesn’t deserve. And then Kirishima hugs him. And this whole hearing thing is his own damn fault, his own problem, but here his friend is, holding him and speaking to him (dumbass, he can’t hear, remember?), and Katsuki wants to sob in relief. He doesn’t, because he’s not a little bitch, but when Kirishima pulls away he feels the loss like it’s a piece of his heart that Kirishima takes with him rather than just his warmth. He fucking hates that he already misses it. When did he grow so dependent?
Kirishima, the dumb smart bastard, starts writing to him so that they can understand each other. Their conversation passes in a haze that he’s unfamiliar with until Kirishima mentions their teacher.
“No.” He says firmly. He is not getting Aizawa involved. It’s bad enough that Shitty Hair has to see him be weak - see him cry - but Aizawa-sensei? The only teacher he respects at this goddamn school? He doesn’t think he would be able to stand seeing pity in the old man’s eyes.
Shitty Hair, asshole extraordinaire and ‘mama-ain’t-raise-no-quitter’ boy, just taps annoyingly at the sentence, insisting that they see Aizawa.
“What if he thinks I’m weak!?” He bursts out, finally looking at Shitty Hair again. He throws his cards out on the table. “What if he says I can’t be a hero?”
Kirishima’s eyes are compassionate. They are red like the sunrise, they burn like stars, they feel like warmth. He leans over and writes It’s going to be fine. Katsuki isn’t sure that he can fully believe that, but Kirishima does, and for now that’s enough.
He regrets his decision to trust Shitty Hair. Because right now they’re in a stuffy ass elevator with Bird Brains and his muppet pal and he wants nothing more than to curl up and die. He almost feels bad making Shitty Hair deal with it, but then again. He really doesn’t. He figures that losing your fucking hearing is a good enough excuse to be a little rude.
He’s right when Shitty Hair snatches him by the wrist as soon as the elevator stops moving and drags him out of the building as fast as humanly possible. He sees Kirishima waving at someone but he doesn’t stop at all. Katsuki tries to keep the blatant gratitude from his expression, though his chest is bursting with it. Even though he’s not the asshole he was in first year, he’s still an asshole, and not a lot of people like him. Tolerate him, yes. But liking him is a stretch, he knows this, and having him blatantly ignore them all because he can’t hear them just seems like a recipe for disaster. He can imagine them all talking about how rude he is, speculating about how Katsuki must feel so superior that he can’t even bother to engage in conversation.
It disappoints him to know that that’s how his classmates probably feel anyways, but ultimately it doesn’t matter. You can’t make everyone happy. He learned that a long time ago. He also learned that he’s an acquired taste, something given in small doses or completely abstained from when possible.
He feels Shitty Hair’s hand tighten slightly on his wrist, and he blinks up at his friend. Well, he’s an acquired taste for most people. Shitty Hair is different. He’s...fucking...Kirishima. That shouldn’t make much of a difference, but for some reason it does, dammit.
They reach the teacher’s quarters and Kirishima leads him inside, as if he didn’t know where he was going. Okay, not fair. Shitty Hair is probably keeping his grip so tight because he’s afraid that Katsuki is going to bolt. He’s not wrong, so Katsuki can’t be too mad. But he’s going to be annoyed as all get out, and no one can stop him.
While they’re in the elevator, Kirishima tries to let go of his wrist, a light blush starting to make its way onto his face, but Katsuki refuses to let Kirishima’s delicate sensibilities get in the way of his need for comfort. Knowing Kirishima has been good for him, even if he’s reluctant to admit it. He only feels a little shame when he immediately grabs for Kirishima’s closest hand, intertwining their fingers gently. Kirishima glances at him, but Katsuki’s gaze is firmly on the ground. From the corner of his eye, he can see Shitty Hair smile and he squeezes Katsuki’s hand comfortingly. It’s involuntary, but he relaxes at the acceptance of his need for comfort.
He can tell that Shitty Hair is overthinking things as he’s pulled unceremoniously out of the elevator, but Kirishima seems to get himself together long enough to lead them to Aizawa’s door.
Katsuki feels his hands sweat more than before. It’s kind of real, now. He’s about to admit to a pro hero - to the teacher that he respects the most - that he’s deaf. That he might not be a good hero anymore. He’s pretty much signing his own retirement papers before he even gets the chance to be a hero. It hurts, knowing that this could be the end. No more training exercises with Round Face. No more snarking with Jirou. No more making fun of Pikachu and Raccoon Eyes. No more trying to beat out Yaoyorozu for first in the class. No more weekend spars with Shitty Hair, watching his red eyes flash with amusement and joy and competitiveness as they meet each other blow-for-blow, laughs and grunts and cries of triumph filling the air once the sounds of their blasts and punches dissipate.
All of it, gone.
He feels the loss before it’s all even taken from him.
Kirishima breaks him from his thoughts by lifting their linked hands and tapping at one of the sentences he wrote in the notebook.
It’s going to be fine.
Kirishima has a comforting smile on his face, and Katsuki makes himself nod. It’ll be okay. Everything will be fine. Don’t overthink don’t overthink don’t-
Kirishima barely squeezes his hand before Aizawa’s door is opening and their teacher stands in front of them, tired yet no less imposing, something akin to concern hidden in his eyes.
He doesn’t look up at Aizawa again. Not when they enter his rooms, not when they sit on his couch, and not when Kirishima tightens his grip on Katsuki’s hand repeatedly. Whenever Kirishima looks to him, he merely shrugs. The weight of both of their gazes on him feels like too much.
He startles when Aizawa taps on his knee to get his attention and unwittingly makes eye contact. Oops.
“Is it true? Can you not hear?”
Katsuki nods, lifting his free hand to halfheartedly sign back. “Yes, sensei. It started yesterday.”
“Use both hands. I can’t understand when you mumble,” Aizawa signs back. “You can also speak, if you want.” His mouth moves as he signs, likely to keep Shitty hair updated on the conversation. Katsuki is reluctantly impressed: since JSL grammar works differently from spoken Japanese, Aizawa is doing a lot of immediate translations in his head. He must be pretty familiar with the language to be able to do that. Katsuki, who’s been raised in a household that signed just as much as spoke due to his father’s similar explosive quirk, can barely manage that sort of multitasking.
Katsuki hesitates, then lets go of Kirishima’s hand. “I slur when I can’t hear myself speak,” he admits, his signs small and reluctant. “I hate it.”
“That’s fine. I can understand you just fine with JSL,” Aizawa signs back. There’s a gratefulness he feels for his teacher, and he signs back a thank you. “Now tell me when you realized you couldn’t hear.”
Katsuki quickly recounts his lack of responsiveness right after training, rehashing how he thought it was just the temporary hearing loss he was familiar with, then explains how long it’s been going on for. Aizawa interjects with a few questions, like what the longest he’s gone without his hearing has been and how often something like this happens.
“How reduced is your hearing on a normal day?” Aizawa asks. Katsuki knows that Aizawa and the rest of his teachers are aware of his hearing loss (they put him in the front of the classroom for a goddamn reason, and it’s not because he’s a problem child), but he supposes they don’t know the extent. That shit’s probably in his private medical file, if something like that even exists.
“I can usually hear normal spoken conversation, though if there’s a lot of voices talking at once I can’t follow the conversation. I don’t really hear background stuff, like televisions or fans. Beeps and alarms, I usually do though.”
Aizawa nods, fucking finally looking done with the Spanish fucking inquisition. “We’ll go to Recovery Girl Monday to get her opinion, but I think you went too hard yesterday with your explosions. You’ll get back some hearing.”
Oh. He feels some of the weight on his chest fly off. Kirishima presses a little closer to him in response to his relief, though Katsuki doesn’t think that Kirishims knows he’s doing it.
“Of course I will,” he signs, just to keep up pretenses. From the exasperated look Aizawa gives him, his teacher knows that his reassurances mean a lot more than Katsuki is letting on.
“I’m calling your parents. I think you need to think about getting hearing aids, Bakugou.” Katsuki sets his jaw at his teacher. Hearing aids are for the weak. If he wears those, then everyone will know. Everyone will exploit his weakness. They won’t think he’ll be a good hero. They won’t trust him to save others. “I’m serious. Your audiologist probably agrees. We can add earplugs to your hero costume, if you want. We can talk with your doctor to see what will work best.”
Katsuki chews on his cheek, contemplating his next question. He doesn’t want to seem weak, but…not asking it would be weaker, wouldn’t it?
“I won’t let this stop me from becoming a hero. You won’t try to stop me, will you?” He tries for a defiant look, but he thinks it might come off as nervous.
Aizawa honest-to-fucking-god smiles at him. Katsuki didn’t even know that the fucker could do something like that with his face. “You’re lucky. You have a deaf Hero teaching you now. I know JSL because Present Mic became deaf the first time he used his quirk. But he’s a top 20 hero. He’s well-liked and good at being a hero. Do you think he’s less of a hero because he’s deaf?”
Katsuki stares. He never knew that Present Mic, their overzealous English teacher, was deaf too. He’s never heard of any deaf heroes (and he looked: when he was little, he was obsessed with finding a hero like him, one that had a hard time hearing and knew how to move their hands to make conversation. He had never found one...but if he had looked a few years later, would he have found Present Mic? Would he have seen his deafness not as an obstacle, but just as a part of him, much like his ash blonde hair is or his short temper?). He shakes his head, the new revelation circling nonstop in his mind.
“Good. Will you be okay for the weekend until we see Recovery Girl?”
Katsuki nods and starts to sign back, but Shitty Hair squirms excitedly in his seat, apparently answering for him. He feels like he should be annoyed, but instead he’s just...tired. It’s been a long day.
Aizawa looks like he’s holding back another one of his creepy smiles that Katsuki never wants to fucking see again. His lips don’t move this time as he signs. “Kirishima has offered to stay with you. Don’t cause him too much trouble, problem child.”
Katsuki is furious with himself for blushing. He’s not sure if it’s because of the insinuating smirk on their teacher’s face or the fact that Aizawa called him a problem child, which is what he calls Deku, but he quickly stands, trying to leave with Kirishima before the other boy can ask what they’re saying. Aizawa reminds him about Monday before they leave, the walk back to their own dorm silent and quick.
Shitty Hair does everything he can to make the weekend easy for Katsuki, which shouldn’t make him as annoyed as it does. Shitty Hair is such a good fucking friend, and Katsuki doesn’t feel like he fully deserves him. Yet Kirishima stays with him. They watch a shitty Crimson Riot movie that Shitty Hair gets way too into, even though he’s seen it no less than a million fucking times despite the fact that it only came out a few years ago. The subtitles are easy to follow, though, since it’s one that they’ve seen a few times. Katsuki spends most of the movie watching Kirishima anyways, though he would never admit it to anyone.
Kirishima mouths his favorite lines, throws back his head in laughter at the bad jokes, and moves his fists in tiny aborted movements during the fighting scenes as if to emulate them. He’s more dynamic than any of the action on Bakugou’s laptop, full of a sort of life that the film industry could never even come close to capturing.
He’s almost disappointed when the movie ends (almost, because the Crimson Riot movies are actual shit and he can’t believe that Kirishima enjoys them unironically), but is quickly distracted when Kirishima writes out a request to play videogames. They settle on pokemon, and Katsuki dozes as Kirishima tries to catch ‘em all. The night blurs in more video games, movies, and snacks until they’re back to pokemon.
Katsuki is pressed flush against Kirishima, head as close to his friend’s heart as he can get it without seeming creepy. His ear is against Kirishima’s pulse point on his neck, and he can feel his heartbeat there, pressing gently and steadily against his ear.
“Thank you, Shitty Hair,” Katsuki says. It seems small for what he wants to say. He wants to offer Kirishima the world, wants to hold his hand, wants to run his fingers through his hair and maybe even kiss him until Shitty Hair knows how much he’s appreciated, to hold him until he understands how precious he is, to appreciate him until he comprehends how fucking awful the world would be without him in it.
Anyone who accuses Katsuki of not being a sap has never been in his head, and anyone who accuses him of the opposite won’t live long enough to tell anyone the truth.
He has to stop himself from letting out what is an inevitably embarrassing noise when Kirishima takes ahold of his hand, and Katsuki flips his hand to make it easier for Kirishima to hold. It’s perfect, the way their hands slot together.
In a few months, Katsuki will be raging in frustration because his new hearing aids make it so he can hear everything, and it’s all too loud and too much and he’ll almost set them on fire if not for the gentle hands on his own. He’ll look up and see Kirishima’s gentle smile.
In a few months, Kirishima will set his stupid ass hearing aids to the side and press a gentle hand to the side of Katsuki’s face before pulling back. Kirishima will hesitantly curl his fingers, then slowly sign, “Are you okay?”
In a few months, Katsuki will stare at him dumbly. “How?” He’ll ask.
“Present Mic teaches me. I want to be able to be here for you. Always.” Kirishima will blush as his clumsy hands sign the words carefully. A few are in the wrong order, are slightly messy, but Katsuki will understand anyways.
In a few months, Katsuki will take Kirishima’s stupid, clumsy-as-shit fucking hands in his own and pull the redhead to him, crushing their mouths together in an uncomfortable meeting of mouths that might be the most amazing kiss of his entire life (or it is, he tells himself, until their second kiss. And then their third after that. And their fourth, and fifth, and on and on).
In a few months, Katsuki will be able to tell anyone who asks what it feels like to have Kirishima sign, “You are strong,” into his chest as he holds the shitty-haired asshole close to him.
But for now, holding hands in his dorm room with no one else around, Katsuki cherishes this moment when he finally feels heard.