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Nothing but winding road stretched out in front of them save for the occasional house or marker for one of the small shrines or temples that dotted the landscape. Even the other cars were few, given their increasing distance from the city.
When Bakugou agreed to go on their road trip, Kirishima was honestly floored. Bakugou typically gave in to his whims, his small after-school plans and social gatherings, but nothing on the level of this--spending days in a small space with one person, with nothing but the radio and their own voices to fill the silence.
It was going to be weird, not spending hours each and every day next to his friend; he wondered if Bakugou felt the same. Bakugou would never give any indication of missing someone, or feeling anything akin to loneliness, but Kirishima was confident that he could--did--feel such emotions.
They would be working in different offices, training under different heroes, going on missions in different parts of the city and maybe even different parts of the country. As excited as he was, Kirishima was also worried; he was concerned that Bakugou wouldn’t seek him out, wouldn’t initiate contact, would fall off his radar. And he was little surprised to find that he was hurt that everything up to this point could seem to mean so little to Bakugou. Because they were friends, but also because Kirishima felt a pull towards Bakugou, a bond between the two of them that went beyond anything he had ever known. And he wished Bakugou was experiencing something even a fraction as strong, and that he wouldn’t dismiss it.
*
“Fuck this,” Bakugou yelled, and then put a firm and not very friendly hand on his neighbor’s shoulder. “Pull over.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re a shitty-ass driver.”
Kirishima just grinned crookedly. “I think I’m a perfectly safe driver, thank you.”
“You won’t be fucking safe if you don’t pull over right now.”
“That sounds rather frightening.”
“Cut the bullshit out or else I grab the fucking wheel out of your--”
“FINE, fine,” Kirishima said in a manner that obviously would have been accompanied by hands thrown up in the air in defeat--except both hands were firmly gripping the wheel. But then he sent an experimental glance to the passenger. “Can I at least keep my music on?”
“Whatever, as long as it drowns out the sound of your shitty voice.”
Kirishima pulled to the side at a well-worn patch with a scenic view, but made no attempt to remove himself from the seat. He threw Bakugou another tentative glance before sighing--inaudible to those who weren’t as attuned to him as Bakugou--and turning in his seat to face the other boy head-on.
“Hey, tell me something, Bakugou.”
“What the hell you want now?”
“Why’d you agree to come on this trip, anyway?
“I didn’t know your driving would be quite this--”
Kirishima laughed him off. “You know me well enough to have anticipated our very different driving styles. But even if you didn’t, why would you agree? I just can’t seem to figure it out. Sometimes I think I get you but other times I don’t get you at all.”
Bakugou’s perpetual frown--although Kirishima likened it more to a pout, in his mind--deepened.
“I know you hate talking about feelings,” Kirishima continued, “but just few genuine words once in awhile can go a long way, you know?”
“What, so now I’m a fucking liar?”
Kirishima shook his head, but looked unfazed by the boy’s offense. “No, you just don’t know how to have a normal relationship with people.”
Kirishima’s collar wrinkled around his neck as a fistful of his shirt was grasped in a solid hand. A hand that could burn to ashes but could also boost him up. Kirishima was unperturbed, as calm and collected as if he were having a discussion over konbini ice cream.
Konbini ice cream...that took him back to a whole collection of after-school memories, walks to the store or stops at a local ramen bar or just hanging around the school vending machines. Times when he would get a rare insight into Bakugou’s thoughts, experiences that developed his ability to parse through the expletives and deflections and perceive something real. Real was the wrong term though, he thought; it was all real, all Bakugou, but most people could never see the full picture.
“What do you want from me?” Bakugou asked now, in a voice so quiet, so un-Bakugou, that Kirishima almost doubted his own hearing.
Anything and everything you’ll give , Kirishima thought, was so close to literally uttering, was about to actually let slip from his lips but--
“Kacchan? Kirishima-kun?”
Bakugou spun around so fast that Kirishima couldn’t fathom how he didn’t get whiplash.
“Deku? The hell?”
The green-haired boy popped out of the passenger seat of a car that was slowly backing up to where the Kirishima and Bakugou were, as if the driver had seen the two, abruptly stopped, and was now backtracking. Given the expressions of the riders--Deku’s surprise and Todoroki’s mild amusement and mild exasperation hidden beneath his usual controlled facial features--Kirishima figured his theory was spot-on.
“What are you doing here?” Midoriya continued, ignoring Bakugou’s interjection.
“Just taking a drive” Kirishima said at the same moment as Bakugou replied “None of your fucking business.”
“We could have planned to meet up somewhere, why didn’t you say something?!” Midoriya asked, as if he truly believed Bakugou would have ever, in a thousand lives, planned to meet up with Midoriya in his free time, for fun .
Bakugou’s choice expletives were clearly about to burn out of his mouth but Kirishima, in rare feat, beat him to the chase. “We’re just taking some bro bonding time, wanted to keep it low-key, you know? Better for meditation or whatnot, I dunno, I’m not that deep.”
Midoriya nodded as if he understood, but his personality clashed with the ability to really comprehend the point of the duo’s trip.
*
They ended up pulling into the next town together to grab lunch. Bakugou scarfed down ramen with a pinched expression. Midoriya seemed unfazed. And Todoroki--well, Todoroki usually looked like that. Calm, muted expression, but imbued with something soft when he listened to Midoriya. The sight of it made Kirishima smile to himself. It made Bakugou’s lips twitch downward.
*
On the way back to their cars, Todoroki laid a hand softly on Kirishima’s shoulder. “If anyone can get anywhere with him, it’s you.”
“Thanks, man. Hearing that from you somehow makes me more confident. And hey, good luck on your end as well, seems like everything’s going well.”
Todoroki huffed lightly, a sign that he had become more comfortable, less inhibited with Kirishima and his other classmates. “He’s like that with everyone.”
“Uh, sure, but I really hope he doesn’t look at me like that, because that would be weird, and I know he doesn’t look at Bakugou like that, because I would have noticed.”
Todoroki’s face contorted at the mere thought of Midoriya harboring romantic feelings for his archrival.
“Same, bro, same,” Kirishima chuckled in agreement.
*
Snacks in hand, Kirishima returned from the store to find Bakugou already dozing off in the driver’s seat. Naturally, Kirishima found the idea of messing with Bakugou to be not entirely insane, and proceeded to do what others wouldn’t dare to even think.
Angling in his seat to face Bakugou, Kirishima formed the other boy’s hair into alternative spikes at odd angles, turning the controlled chaos into nothing but a mess. Bakugou’s eyes snapped open.
“What the fuck are you even doing.”
“Making your hair shittier than mine, maybe.”
Bakugou growled and popped the car visor down, checking his disheveled appearance.
Kirishima chuckled. “Hey, you were asleep, and I was bored, so thought I’d have a little fun, who can blame me, right…?” His voice trailed off nervously as he saw Bakugou’s rage-o-meter increase, like the line on a thermometer shooting up when placed in hot water.
*
Somehow Kirishima ended up driving again, in part because he insisted Bakugou give it a rest, and in part because Bakugou wanted to throw his feet up on the dashboard.
He was still ever in control of the vehicle, though.
“Pull over here.” Kirishima shot him a questioning look, a why on his lips, but Bakugou just frowned. “Don’t fucking ask.”
Kirishima silently did as he was told. The two slipped out of the vehicle, and Kirishima quickly realized what had caught Bakugou’s eye--the stars. Kirishima laughed--internally, of course, not wanting to ruin a prize moment--as Bakugou looked skyward, silent, a rare picture. Kirishima could not think of anything to say that would not sounds stupid or obvious, so he just remained quiet, looking at the same view as his companion.
“We got placed on a pretty shitty planet,” Bakugou finally commented after the long silence.
“I don’t know, it sucks sometimes, but it’s alright, and once in a while it’s even pretty good.”
“Like when? When the villains beat our weak asses? When fucking Deku and Half-and-Half act all superior? When all might shrivels to fucking nothing in front of our shitty useless selves?”
Kirishima blinked, overwhelmed by the honesty of the boy next to him; he felt like he was finally being offered an unhindered view of something essential.
“I dunno, I think being able to stand out here, with a friend, and look up at such a sky, and just be alive after all the crap that went down, is pretty amazing.”
Kirishima could have sworn Bakugou was going to ask him why in his right mind he befriended him, if he was even in his right mind, but Bakugou’s intense gaze was accompanied by silence and soon returned back to the stars. Of course he wouldn’t ask me something like that outright , Kirishima thought, but he could almost hear Bakugou’s voice in his mind, an almost telepathic understanding communicated between them when their eyes had met.
*
By the time Kirishima pulled up to the hotel, Bakugou was asleep, feet up on the dashboard and forehead resting against the car door’s window. Kirishima smiled to himself; Bakugou’s characteristic frown had relaxed, and in sleep he looked more his age, and less an angered and embittered person fostered by the harsh reality that he--that they all--had been thrust into. In this state, he could almost reach out and touch the face of the boy always so closed-off, always so volatile, always so impossible to approach. Almost against his will, Kirishima watched as his hand slowly, carefully, went to brush the blond’s cheek, entranced by the novelty of the opportunity. Guilt overwhelmed him--he knew the boy kept people at a distance for his own reasons--but he dreamed of being able to be on the same plane as this boy, the rift between Bakugou and people--including him--dissolving, even for just a mere moment.
He had rarely seen fear in Bakugou’s eyes, and never the particular brand of fear that he saw when the boy opened his eyes. It was replaced by anger at lightning-speed, but Kirishima caught the fraction of second when Bakugou realized someone had gotten too close--emotionally.
“The fuck?”
“...ah, I was just trying to wake you up, we’re here.”
Bakugou looked unconvinced and on the verge of fire but, being a more collected person than people thought, must have figured it was better not to open that can of worms. Kirishima felt simultaneously spared and disappointed; he didn’t want to be called out or held at arm’s length again, but he also wanted, needed, Bakugou to comprehend how he felt. Neither of them were the best at words--for completely different reasons--but Kirishima hoped, just once, Bakugou would give him the chance to explain, would meet him halfway through the reasoning.
*
Bakugou knew something was off, and he clearly couldn’t contain his need to call it out. He turned on Kirishima the second they walked into the hotel room.
“You nothing but a fucking coward,” Bakugou spat.
Kirishima laughed humorlessly. “Yeah, I am. But you,” Kirishima added, looking the other dead-on, leaving his hesitation behind, for better or worse, “are a ‘fucking coward’ too, sometimes, you know that?”
A dozen emotions--including savage anger and deep self-deprecation--passed over Bakugou’s face in a second before Kirishima felt the blow to his face. He figured it would come, but didn’t even protect himself against the inevitable punch; maybe he deserved it, maybe he wanted to feel some sort of pain to offset some fraction of the damage he just dealt to the boy in front of him.
From the ground, Kirishima looked up at the explosive blond. Something laid beyond the angry surface, but what, and how to reach it, was unclear. If only he’d let me in, just a little .
Kirishima propped himself up on one elbow, wincing a bit at the throbbing pain in his cheek. Bakugou’s wrath looked like it was mitigated--if only minimally--by his bafflement at Kirishima’s lack of defense.
“You’re stronger than I could ever hope to be,” Kirishima began, “but you’re scared of your own emotions, and scared of others seeing them.”
“The fuck I need those for?”
“Those--those are what make us different from villains, don’t you see? Some of our emotions, our human connections, are shunned by that side.”
Bakugou snarled. “So now I’m a villain, after all?”
Kirishima shook his head, a sad smile gracing his lips. “Nah, that’s my point. You HAVE these vital emotions, but you are scared to acknowledge them, and even more afraid to share them with others.”
Bakugou clenched his fists, veins bulging. “...so you want me to show you weakness, is that what you want, shitface?”
“Nothing you could show me would ever make me think, for a second, that you are weak,” Kirishima corrected, voice unwavering as his eyes rose back up to meet Bakugou’s.
Bakugou’s expression screamed why the fuck do you even care? , a mixture of incomprehension and impatience.
“Before you ask me why,” Kirishima cut him off as his mouth began to open, “let me tell you that it’s not something I can explain. Even if I was good with words--and you know I suck--I don’t think I could lay it straight out. I just care about you, okay? And I know you don’t like it when I pry, and for the life of me I couldn’t tell you why you let me stick around. But...hell, I’m here, and unless you punch me a lot harder--into the next galaxy maybe--and punch me like you mean it, will you get rid of me. Because on some level, you seem to want me around, even if the majority of the time you act like I piss you off.”
For once, Bakugou’s face betrayed nothing, unmoving. “Are you done with your shitty monologue?”
“Yep, all finished, I think I’ll just lie down and die now.” Kirishima tenderly poked his face with one finger, eye twitching as he felt the accompanying pain.
Bakugou audibly rolled his eyes, called him weak among half a dozen curses, but extended one hand to the redhead. Kirishima eyed the hand skeptically, as if it might be some sort of trick.
“I’m not going to stand here all fucking day--”
Kirishima grabbed his hand and proceeded to pull Bakugou down to the ground.
Bakugou, Kirishima thought, could easily have avoided falling. Which meant he was either caught extremely off guard (possible) or let himself be pulled down (less possible, but more desirable, in Kirishima’s opinion).
It wasn’t some storybook scene; it was a graceless fall, a mess of tangled limbs accompanied by a loud “ouch!”
“Your own fucking fault,” Bakugou spat back at the origin on the complaint, but his voice harbored less ill-will then the other might have assumed.
Kirishima reached to touch Bakugou’s face next to him, fingers barely brushing the other’s cheek. Bakugou’s eyes read every small change in Kirishima’s expression, but he said nothing. Which served to only make Kirishima more nervous; but at least he felt he had safely crossed a line without being forcefully thrown backwards.
“Yeah, it really is,” Kirishima allowed as he felt his characteristic grin take over his face.
“How is it possible for such idiots to exist?” Bakugou asked aloud, but the true anger was gone, replaced by his typical scathing tone.
Kirishima withdrew his hand slowly, hesitantly, as Bakugou sat up. I don’t know , Kirishima thought, smiling sadly, but I do .
*
“Am I really capable of being a villain?” Bakugou had asked not too long after the kidnapping fiasco, voice measured. The question caught Kirishima off guard; both the content and tone were so un-Bakugou. But his surprise was overshadowed by the sharp pain that shot through him. Not quite pity--never pity--but instead something that lacked any bit of condescension, something close to empathy, almost as if he connected with part of Bakugou himself.
Kirishima wanted to reassure him, wanted to tell the boy that he didn’t have the capacity to be so evil, but he knew his words would not be able to stand amidst the winds that currently surrounded Bakugou.
“If you’re capable of being a villain, each and every one of us is,” he replied instead, looking ahead rather than at Bakugou, “I guess the villains just think you are the most powerful in the class!” Kirishima laughed awkwardly, not even sure what he was saying, but attempting to say something, anything, to break Bakugou of the negative aura that clung to him so tightly.
“Hah?” Bakugou responded, clearly as thrown off as Kirishima, “I mean, you’re fucking right I’m the best, but what the fuck kind of negative shit is coming out of your shitty mouth?”
“If I outright said what I wanted to say--that you would never, could never, go to their side--you would write me off.”
Bakugou looked like he was going to argue against that as well, but then merely cocked his head to the side slightly, contemplating, the gears in his head clearly churning away.
“All Might may have taken a liking to Midoriya, but that doesn’t make you a villain, and you don’t need All Might’s attention to become a great hero.”
“Of course I don’t, I don’t need anyone’s shitty help.”
Kirishima chuckled, but internally disagreed; Bakugou did need support, just as much as anyone else, but was loathe to accept any at all. But to express his these thoughts to Bakugou...Kirishima feared it was simultaneously signing up for his own death sentence and putting up a wall between the two of them.
Sometimes, though, Kirishima just couldn’t keep his thoughts to himself.
“Yeah, yeah, you don’t need anyone, but you can lean on me once in a while, you know?”
“Why the hell would I want to do that?”
“Take advantage of your resources, man. I’m here anyway.”
“That’s for fucking sure, my sight is always blocked by your shitty hair.”
Despite what seemed to be Bakugou brushing him off, Kirishima could tell Bakugou actually did hear, was processing, his words; something in Bakugou’s eyes, the specific angle of his lips as they turned downward, hinted at an emotion beyond anger or annoyance.
“You’re always so headstrong, so independant,” Kirishima began, “but I couldn’t take it when they kidnapped you, you know? I couldn’t live with myself until you were back with us again.
“And I wanted to save you myself, but I knew I needed to gather the support of our classmates...sometimes, you need others to be able to put forth your best effort.”
Bakugou was clearly going to disagree with him, but Kirishima put up a hand to stop him--which, surprisingly, was not bitten off by an irritated Bakugou--as he continued, “...I know you don’t see things the way I do, but I’m just trying to share my perspective, and I’m all ears to hear yours. Always.”
*
Despite his fiery aura, his cocky and confident presence, Bakugou was notably self-conscious. Kirishima thought he had no need to be so defensive--Bakugou routinely amazed him and everyone else who knew him--and despite Bakugou’s temper, Kirishima would seek to assuage his worries as many times as necessary.
“Deku’s going to be the new All Might. And I’m going to be--be second to--”
“You’re going to be your own self, with your own name, doing your own thing, I have no doubts.”
*
He felt they balanced each other out, somehow; Bakugou was always blazing, a red-hot streak of power and passion, while he was more of an ocean, more laid back and less blatantly aggressive, but still full of vengeful wrath when just the right storm struck.
Like when Bakugou was kidnapped...it took all he had within himself to hold off running head-first into the hands of the villains, part of him inexorably tied to his angry blond classmate, a sensation that he thought--worried--went beyond even friendship.
*
Kirishima could cause Bakugou pain too, though, even if Kirishima didn’t always realize it.
He recalls the incident as if it had happened moments before, rather than months ago, and he shivers. He watched the blade cut through his side, mere inches away from ripping apart a number of vital internal organs. Feeling the pain was secondary; the shock of witnessing such a sight, of bypassing death at such close quarters, made all other sensations pause for a moment.
He thought he had heard every angry sound possible out of Bakugou’s mouth, but he was not prepared for the roar that reached his ears, muted as if through a window, as his senses slowly faded into the background amidst his gushing side.
And maybe he had passed out earlier than he thought, or maybe he had fallen prey to delusions, but he could have sworn he felt himself scooped up by Bakugou, handled far more delicately than his rock-solid--albeit injured--defense required. And he remembered straining to turn his head enough to catch a glimpse of Bakugou’s face, hoping to gather just a hint of what was pumping through the boy’s veins. But Bakugou was looking away, jaw strained as he gritted his teeth, until he looked briefly back at Kirishima. He held Kirishima’s gaze long enough to bark orders to stay still, but don’t fucking pass out , but not long enough for Kirishima’s fuzzy consciousness to piece together the emotional puzzle in his expression.
*
When he came to, in the hospital bed, he expected his classmates--Kaminari, maybe, or Midoriya--to greet him with anxious faces. What he didn’t expect was for his eyes to land on the figure of Bakugou, sleeping lightly in a chair, feet propped up on the end of the hospital bed.
Almost guiltily, he watched Bakugou, the rise and fall of his chest, the unexpectedly calm and unmoving expression on his face. Kirishima recalled the events of the day before--assuming it was yesterday--and grimaced.
At some point, Bakugou’s eyes blinked open, met with Kirishima’s own, and shone with something equal parts anger and relief, a mix exclusive to Bakugou.
*
Kirishima didn’t want to make the return trip awkward, much less ruin the entire relationship they had built up so carefully for so long. But in that moment, having made up after fighting, he wanted nothing more than to close the distance between them, bridge the gap that had gotten shorter and shorter lately but still remained.
“What are you looking at? If you want to say something, fucking say it already.”
Kirishima shook his head in defeat. “You said I was a coward before...and it’s true.”
“No coward faces death head-on after nearly getting fucking disemboweled.”
Downward eyes shot back up to meet eyes of pure fire; the redhead boy did a double-take, not expecting to hear something so aggressively supportive from the other.
Is that a compliment? He nearly asked, was on the verge of blurting out, but Bakugou continued his point before he could be interrupted.
“And I don’t let shitty cowards hang around me either, you got that?”
And that was the end of Kirishima’s rope; he reached out to the one in front of him, wrapped arms around a neck stiff with tension, and dragged Bakugou’s lips to meet his own.
Kirishima expected any number of responses--having played out various scenarios in his head practically on repeat in recent days--which included everything from having his face blown off to Bakugou simply pushing him away and giving him a look of complete incredulity. But, of course, he couldn’t have expected the real response of the real Bakugou, no matter what it was.
But of all the possibilities in the universe, Kirishima felt this one was pretty damn decent.
To his surprise, he felt Bakugou’s lips quirk upward in a smirk, something reminiscent of his moments of pride but yet new and different and all its own.
*
Bakugou grumbled as the neurons in his brain slowly started firing. Gaining a sense of his surroundings, bathed in the early morning rays of sunshine from the window, Bakugou blinked to adjust his sight. Kirishima was sitting up, dragging a hand through his terribly messy bedhead.
“Oi, your hair is even shittier than usual.”
Kirishima laughed. “You don’t have a right to say that--you should look in a mirror right now.”
Bakugou’s perpetual frown deepened in protest. He’s pouting , Kirishima thought.
“What? No comeback?”
Kirishima’s hair fell messily over one of his eyes, head cocked slightly as he grinned, and Bakugou had to admit--however unwillingly--that it gave him some sense of peace.
Bakugou pushed Kirishima off the bed, and that smile only grew wider, something calm among the chaos.
*
He had a hard exterior, and nerves of steel, Bakugou knew; but rather than giving off a vibe fitting for a tough appearance, his aura was more simple, laid-back, down-to-earth. Stepping into a room with him, a normal person wouldn’t feel overwhelmed by his talent--both naturally gifted and hard-fought--but instead would feel almost at home.
Such a person would not only annoy Bakugou but make him almost nervous, uncomprehending; but he rarely felt himself genuinely upset at Kirishima, and the boy’s voice somehow massaged any misgivings or anxieties away-- not that he had anxieties.
Having taken a moment too long to mull over these thoughts, Bakugou was snapped back to the present moment by Kirishima, who gave him a questioning look with a tilt of the head.
“Katsuki? You doing ok there?”
Bakugou grumbled, pulled all the sheets towards himself, and rolled back the other way, defiant but sleepy. It was a Sunday morning, after all. He heard a chuckle behind him, lighthearted but deep enough to belong to the strong boy--almost man--occupying the space next to him.
He felt an arm sneak around his waist, and he considered protesting, if only to save face. Instead, he simply let the warm silence continue on, felt their breaths synchronize, felt the warmth of two people and a sense of being whole.