Archive of Our Own

My jejune bluegrass, why do I eat your light? There are grasses growing up the shabby fence. All of them fluid blade. We sway. Creep easily. What parts of me are wild. What parts storing up for the choke. How do I tell the difference?
- Francine J. Harris, from 'Tatterdemalion'

Eijirou Kirishima considered himself to be man enough to admit when he was failing miserably at something. 

As he saw it, it was always better to recognize your humanness and own up to your own mistakes than to flaunt an ego that would eventually do more harm than good. This was a principle he lived by, which made things even more ironic when he decided to accept lessons from somebody who believed quite the opposite.

Katsuki Bakugou made for one intimidating tutor, but Kirishima was eager to learn.  

+

“Damn it!”

Kirishima couldn't help but swear, running a frantic hand through his cherry-red hair. The written exam results were in and he’d scored just enough to scrape by a passing grade, but he was really teetering on the edge here. Great. This was just what he needed, to fail the end-of-term tests. He knew he had to up his game, despite having high hopes for the practical exam, especially considering the sort of people he was up against. 

Kirishima wasn’t an overly competitive person, he believed that it was the Riot way to display humility and be supportive of one’s teammates. After all, everyone here was training to be a hero. In-fighting would only provide the villains with the opportunity to further rupture the integrity of their reputations as aspiring heroes and have them all questioning where their loyalties lie. People hated talking about it, but Kirishima had noticed ever since the Sports Festival, how easy it was to forgot whose side you were on, how easy it was to turn against one another—even if it was all just under the pretense of a game.

It was something he’d been attempting to get through Bakugou’s thick skull; that threatening the very wellbeing of his classmates on a daily basis wasn’t the most heroic way to handle things. Then again, sometimes, talking to Bakugou was like attempting to have a conversation with a burnt fuse, you could never quite predict when it’d blow.

Sometimes, despite trying his damnedest to keep a cool head, Kirishima couldn’t help but feel the searing pressure of the superiority of his other classmates. 

Kirishima curled his fist over his ugly, freshly-graded paper and glanced up around at his peers.

Momo wasn’t even pretending to hide the prominent pink glow of triumph gracing her pretty features, eyes practically sparkling as a dazzled Ashido, Kyoka and Sero shamelessly fawned over her, probably in desperate attempts to gain tutelage. Todoroki sat at the back of the class looking bored at everybody else’s celebration and/or outrage, his mind most likely wandering elsewhere as was typical of him. Sometimes Kirishima had to wonder what the guy spent his time thinking about. Probably something with heavily unpleasant connotations like dead puppies and furious fathers. Either way, even though Todoroki wasn’t being smug about it, his grades were second highest in the class, and Kirishima had to beat down the small pang of envy that crept up his chest at how ridiculously effortless it seemed to be for him. At least Midoriya had a reason for not faring as high, but he made up for it by being practically superhuman. He was doing his usual weird Midoriya thing, head buried in his notebook as he rambled away to himself under his breath, tapping his pencil frantically against his desk. 

Something that in turn, had Bakugou fuming like the hot spring that he was. 

Unsurprisingly, he had scored third highest in class and everybody knew it, just from the haughty expression plastered on his face. The way his nose twisted upwards in considerable disgust as if he were smelling something foul, his chin jutting out in careless self-importance. He sat in his usual insouciant demeanor, ankles crossed up on the desk (much to Iida's utter horror), arms shielding his chest, anger rolling off his shoulders in dark, permeable waves as if he were prepping to go head-to-head with a very pissed off bull. Wait. Maybe he was the pissed off bull in question. 

He even sat with his spine straight enough that Kirishima had to wonder if he had a beanpole shoved up there.

It was a far from relaxing way to carry oneself, but seeming as though he was leaps and bounds above the rest of them was obviously more important to him than his own comfort or lack there of. 

“Midoriya,” he growled lowly, before kicking the back of Midoriya’s seat so hard it sent the thing ramming so that Midoriya was now wedged painfully in between the desk and his own chair.

“Stop that fucking shit.”

Midoriya scrambled, not unlike a dying leaf barely managing to stay attached to its tree branch against unprecedented winds.

“Wha—What’d I do?” he sounded so timid sometimes that it was easy to forget how powerful he actually was. 

It was kind of sad, really. Kirishima felt bad for him. Bakugou only had two ways of dealing with things: verbal threats or physical ones. It was a bit like being stuck in between a rock and a hard place, there was no easy option. When it came to Midoriya though, it was like nothing else in the world existed but his hatred and unrelenting desire to prove himself the superior hero. 

Sometimes Kirishima idly wondered if it was tiring, to live like that, as if the whole world was a gun with its barrel pointed right in between your eyes.

Kirishima's stomach turned just thinking about it. He couldn’t help but admire Bakugou for it. Kirishima was inherently curious, always had been. Ever since he was little he’d needed to know why the sun always set in the west, why everyone’s quirks were so important, why their society functioned in the way that it did.

He wanted to get to know Bakugou better too, wanted to learn how he ticked, if there was anything that didn't make his head explode, what he was like when he wasn’t attempting to fight everything that possessed a pulse.

Kirishima hadn’t realized when he’d begun staring, but now he couldn’t get himself to stop. He propped his chin under his hands and openly watched in ill-conceived wonder as Bakugou launched into a spiral of creative curses when Midoriya tried to get him to explain what it was exactly, that he wanted him to stop doing (to which Bakugou promptly replied—breathing). Uraraka intersected, immediately defending Midoriya, and Bakugou redirected his outrage at her, in turn making Midoriya considerably panickier. Seriously, it was like watching a house mouse stuck in between the turf of a wolf and a panther. Iida swooped into the picture right after, reminding them that this was far from appropriate classroom behavior and Bakugou proceeded to rear his hot head at their class president. It was like watching a child leap from stone to stone, but instead of merely stepping on them, he was crushing each one under his weight until they sank despairingly into the lake.

The world was Bakugou's stomping ground and... It was kind of sexy.

“It’s not sexy,” came a familiar, reprimanding voice from somewhere behind him.

Since when did bros read each other's minds?

“It’s a little sexy.” Kirishima replied.

“Negatory,” Kaminari said, before physically grabbing Kirishima’s shoulders and whirling him around. “Do you find all your friends sexy? Maybe this could do it for you instead?” he teased, with a shit-eating grin as he gestured exaggeratedly at his own body, as if it were a museum painting on display. “Now, I prefer the ladies myself, but maybe if you get me drunk enough…” 

“Ha-ha,” Kirishima replied dryly.

Kaminari shrugged. “Anything to get you to stop obsessing over that psycho, dude.”

“I’m not obsessing,” Kirishima snapped, more than a little defensiveness trickling through his voice. “We’re friends.”

“Riiiight,” Kaminari muttered, nodding patronizingly. “And Kyoka’s my wife. See, we’ve all got fantasies.” Kirishima huffed out a breath as Kaminari continued. “People like Bakugou don't have friends. He’s like, anatomically incapable or something. Plus, he’s such a jerk for no reason. I’m glad someone intervened before he tried to blast poor Midoriya through the ceiling.” 

“He is,” Kirishima acknowledged. “But everyone’s got their reasons, right?”

“Nah man, some people are just downright fucked in the head. I’m betting Bakugou’s got like, a dozen screws loose. Besides, did you even see him when he won first place at the Sports Festival?"

He shook his head. "What a freakshow.”  

Kirishima frowned and turned back to look at the scene unfolding in front of them. Midoriya and Uraraka had gone back to chatting in between themselves while Bakugou stared up at the ceiling as it were the sole cause of his every grievance. 

“Dude,” Kaminari said, snapping his fingers in front of his face and diverting his attention once again. “Shouldn’t you be more concerned about those shitty grades?”

“Yeah,” Kirishima replied, flatly. “I think I’m just trying to distract myself from the inevitable consequences of my utter and complete failure.”

“Look. Just ask Momo if you’re bummed out about it. She’s already taken a charity under her wing.” He said, eyeballing the drooling swarm of their peers now encroaching her. Delight danced behind her bright eyes at all the attention. 

“Hate to burst your bubble my man, but didn’t you get a really low grade too?”

“Why do you think I’m suggesting Momo?”

“You just need an excuse to spend more time with Kyoka.” 

“At least I’m crushing on someone relatively sane.”

“I’m not crushing on anyone! No crushes here! All I crush is bones! With my bare hands. My manly hands! Yeah. Shit. Why am I still talking!?” Kirishima felt his cheeks flare as he stumbled over his own words.

Kaminari threw his head back and broke into uproarious laughter before punching Kirishima lightly in the shoulder. “If you say so, dude.” 

Before Kirishima could even attempt to save his dignity, Mr. Aizawa slithered into class, enwreathed head-to-toe in a blanket cocoon. Immediately, silence descended upon everyone as he passed a laser-sharp death stare over them all before breaking into a sigh and officially calling class. When the bell rang, instead of getting up, Kirishima only further slumped into his seat, secretly hoping he’d melt into it. He was going to fail. He would never make his family proud, never follow in the footsteps of Crimson Riot, never be a professional hero. All because he couldn’t write some stupid words on a stupid piece of paper without screwing it up.

“How’d you score, hair-for-brains?” Kirishima could literally hear the legendary scowl in Bakugou’s voice. He really wasn’t in the mood to deal with his derisive criticism right now. 

“How’d you think, dude…” he dropped his forehead onto his desk and made a dramatic show of hammering it lightly against the wood. “Just leave me here to die.”

“How pathetic,” Bakugou sneered. 

“Thanks,” Kirishima’s voice was heatless. “Damn it, damn it, damn it,” his forehead thumps were now in sync with his complaints. “Should’ve grabbed Momo’s virtuous help when I had the chance.”

“Virtuous,” Bakugou scoffed. “I can be fucking virtuous. Listen up, idiot.” He dug his cold knuckles into Kirishima’s shoulder hard enough that it would’ve hurt if it weren't for his quirk. Kirishima glanced up at the looming boy, wearily. “What is it…?” 

Bakugou dropped one hand only to wrap the other around the back of Kirishima’s neck, this time digging his nails into the skin above his shirt collar. His face then grew close—eerily close. Close enough that he could smell the mint on Bakugou's breath and felt the immediate need to hold his own. “I will tutor you until you bleed. Got it?” 

“I… Uh, yeah?” 

“Hmmph,” Bakugou huffed, pulling back immediately. “We’ll start tomorrow. Here in class after the extras have pissed off. 6.45 PM. Don’t be fucking late.” He then turned on his heel and began to stomp away. Kirishima’s throat had turned to quicksand, sinking down on itself. 

“…Thank—“ Bakugou had already thundered off. “…You?” he finished, confusion swarming his voice.

When a minute passed, it was like something had fixed the broken bulb in his brain. 

Had Bakugou really just offered to help Kirishima with what was left of his final exams? Newfangled buds of hope bloomed through him. 

This was could prove to be very interesting… 

“He what—?” barked Kaminari, eyes wide with disbelief. “That murderous freak offered to teach you? Teach—as in educate, as in impart knowledge upon, as in enlighten?”

“Well, he enlightens people on the daily,” Sero snickered.  

“Yeah,” Ashido added. “If by lighten you mean light up!” 

“Ashido,” Sero mumbled, sounding disapproving. “Don’t ruin the joke by pointing out the joke.”

“What’s the big deal? It’s still funny to me.” Ashido argued. Sero sighed, exasperatedly. They were sat in the cafeteria at the table farthest from the window. Kirishima was stuffing his face with bread, Sero and Kaminari were downing bowls of rice and roasted vegetables, while Ashido nibbled on an apple.

“What’s he even gonna do? Scare you into becoming a good student?” asked Sero, only half-joking this time. “If you think about it, that’s so suspiciously nice of him it’s kinda adorable!” Ashido was grinning widely, her face brightening up. 

“In what definable sense of the word?” Sero scoffed. 

Kaminari piped up at that. “No. You’re crazy. You’re both crazy if you think he doesn’t have some sort of ulterior motive. As your nominated best bro—“ 

“Self-nominated,” Kirishima cut in.

“As your nominated best bro, I simply cannot allow it.” Kaminari said, shaking his head.

“Oh come on,” Sero groaned. “I kinda wanna grab some popcorn and see how this all plays out. It’ll be like watching a plane crash in live action!” 

“Really? I was thinking more along the lines of a train wreck.” Ashido replied, thoughtfully.

“If you were to pull out a bag of popcorn in either of those situations you’re in the wrong profession, dudes,” Kirishima muttered.

“Am I the only sensible person here or what?” Kaminari looked positively furious. 

“All I’m saying is, it’s pretty obvious that Sparky’s a Smarty,” Ashido muttered. “And he is relatively less hostile towards Kirishima, maybe he’ll even come out of this whole thing alive.” 

“I really appreciate the support you guys,” Kirishima mumbled, pressing a hand to his heart mockingly. “But I think I can handle Bakugou.” 

“Uh oh,” Ashido said. “Speak of the devil.”

Kirishima dropped his bread to stare up in the direction Ashido was looking to see Bakugou stalking furiously across the room, body tensed and wound tight as a needle. He seemed to be headed directly for them. That was really weird. Bakugou never ate his lunch in the cafeteria with the rest of them. What had he done? Had he said or done something wrong? He tried to rack his brain for any discrepancies during their last encounter and came up empty-handed.

Sero gasped. “Did you poke the beast, man?”

“He looks like he’s about to rip someone a new one,” Kaminari muttered. 

Every muscle in Kirishima’s body felt like it was aflame. He stood abruptly up at the same time as Bakugou barreled past him, towards where some kids from class 1-B were seated. Bakugou hadn't even spared him a glance, probably hadn't even noticed his presence in the throes of his vexation. Kirishima grimaced, mortified, before craning his neck to see who Bakougo was really after.

His eyes widened as Bakugou slammed his hands down on one of the tables, loud enough that it echoed throughout the whole cafeteria and startled everyone into anxious silence. Kirishima could hear a couple of sniggers from people who probably saw this as free entertainment. Besides him, neither Kaminari, nor Ashido or Sero were moving. It was like Bakugou had stolen everyone’s breath away.

It would have been impressive, if there wasn't this unwelcome sense of dread that had dropped into the pit of Kirishima’s stomach like a dead fish.  

The next thing he knew, Bakugou had Neito Monoma halfway out of his seat before dragging him up over the edge of the table and grabbing a fistful of his shirt collar in his hands. The expression on his face was dangerously incendiary, so much so that some of the younger students literally scuttled out of the room, either to call on a teacher or save themselves from a potentially volcanic situation. 

“Oh man, I wonder what he did this time,” Sero said, sounding astounded.

“What else can you expect from that Monoma guy? He’s such a sleaze ball.” Ashido added.

“Yeah,” Kaminari muttered, eyes rapt on the conflict. “Maybe even more so than Bakugou.”

The fish in Kirishima’s gut was flopping its way up to his windpipe. He watched, frozen in his spot as Bakugou leaned close to Monoma and whispered something in his ear. Whatever he said wiped the coy, indolent smile right off his face, to be instantly replaced with a pale terror.

Itsuka Kendo, the practical mother hen of 1-B, leapt to her feet and attempted to dissuade Bakugou from whatever it was that he was going to do next, but one of her classmates pulled her back down, perhaps knowing better than to attempt reasoning with a maelstrom. 

Bakugou then raised a hand as if he were going in for a slap, but Kirishima knew better than that. “I’ll kill you,” Bakugou growled. “I’ll fucking kill all of you!” Bakugou was perhaps a millisecond away from blowing this guy the fuck up. 

Kirishima’s feet moved on their own accord. 

He heard Kaminari curse out an urgent “don’t!” but before he knew it, he’d come up to stand behind Bakugou, arms flung out to restrain him. If anyone could stand one of Bakugou's insane blows, it was Kirishima. After all, his body would act in the form of a shield. He wrapped his fingers around Bakougo’s forearms and squeezed hard.

“Bakugou,” he said, attempting to keep his voice from quavering. “Whatever he did, it’s not worth it. Okay? It’s not worth it, buddy.” 

Bakugou froze. He was breathing hard, Kirishima could feel his flying pulse where he held his arms down. It was like he couldn’t even hear him. In that moment, Bakugou wasn’t just an embodiment of wrath, he’d become the wrath. Bakugou seemed to snap back into his senses enough that he began fighting back against Kirishima’s grip, threshing in his arms like a provoked snake. Kirishima had to use every ounce of strength within him to keep this atomic bomb in the form of a boy restrained. He could feel the tremors that wracked through Bakugou's body against his own.  

"That is enough!” snapped a stern voice. 

Bakugou's weight suddenly felt lighter against him. Kirishima turned to face an undeniably irked Shota Aizawa, his hair pretty much defying gravity atop his head. He’d temporarily seized Bakugou's powers using his own.

At this, Kirishima breathed a languid sigh of relief and Bakugou's spine went rigid against his chest. There was a minute of stiflingly painful silence where nobody moved a muscle or breathed a word. Then Bakugou attempted a step forward and slammed the back of his elbow hard into Kirishima’s chest, conveniently prompting him to let go. Luckily, he’d also released his grip on a shivering Monoma. 

“Bakugou Katsuki,” said Mr. Aizawa. “I advise coming with me right now if you’d like to avoid severe repercussions.” Bakugou seethed in heart-stopping silence for half a minute before pushing off behind an already retreating Aizawa. His entire body still looked poised for a fight, but something vital had drained out of his eyes. Kirishima felt as though someone was stabbing at his heart with a very sharp stick as he watched Bakugou turn away. 

“Everyone else, back to your plates. Don’t think this means you’re excused to be late to your next class.” With that, Aizawa disappeared out of the cafeteria, with Bakugou trailing lifelessly behind him. The quiet was drowned by a rustling eruption of chattering voices.

Gloomily, Kirishima skulked back over to where his friends were seated, their mouths agape. 

“What on earth was that about?” Sero wondered out loud. Ashido was looking at Kirishima with great concern, but didn't speak a word.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Kaminari snapped.

“I just didn’t want him to get in trouble.” 

“I don’t think he’s the one you should be concerned about. If Aizawa hadn’t walked in when he did, he might’ve actually killed the guy!” 

Kirishima said nothing, instead he slumped back into his seat and pushed his tray away, losing his appetite over the outpouring of anxiety burning him up from the inside. 

“Rest in peace, dude,” even Kaminari’s sarcasm lacked its usual heat. “You’re in the lord’s hands now.”

Kirishima made it just in time, practically gliding through the empty school halls to keep from witnessing another bout of Bakugou's insurmountable fury.

It was 6.45 pm on a Thursday evening, and Bakugou was sat at one of the desks in the corner of the room with his head poured over a pile of books, messy tufts of blond hair hiding his face. He was dressed in a pair of jeans with a couple of rips in the knees and a black muscle tee. The kind that left the length of his chiseled arms on grand display. Kirishima was already strategizing how he was going to keep his attention from constantly wavering to those goddamn manly arms. 

The room was bathed in murky evening light dribbling in from the wide open windows, which slanted onto the floor and adorned Bakugou's face in pink-golds. He almost looked like something soft in the dull gleam of the late evening sun, but there was a sad part of Kirishima that knew it was merely a mirage. Bakugou was all hard edges and brimming brutality. 

Was there anything malleable left within him? 

Kirishima sure hoped so. Hell, he was going to prove that there was. If Bakugou just gave him the chance… As if he’d tripped a wire, he suddenly became aware that if he spent one more second drooling over Bakugou with that dumb starstruck look on his face; the other boy was going to notice and call him out on it.

“Hey man,” Kirishima muttered, dropping his bag down by his feet and sliding into the seat beside Bakugou's. Bakugou merely growled something beneath his breath in response before slamming a book down in front of his face. “Page 253. Start from the fourth paragraph.” 

They spent two and a half hours covering various aspects of their exam portion. Bakugou was a surprisingly capable teacher when he wasn’t smacking Kirishima over the head with rolled up textbooks. Bakugou's voice ventured to an octave Kirishima hadn’t known he was capable of as he explained to him some boring formula, Kirishima had to hang on every word to keep himself from getting hung up over how impossibly gentle he sounded when he was explaining something in depth. 

Kirishima had known Bakugou was intelligent enough to always come out at the top of the class, but he’d just figured Bakugou had an eidetic memory or something.

Now, Kirishima discovered that Bakugou was truly interested in the subjects that he studied, and he could tell that it wasn’t something that Bakugou had always enjoyed, but something he’d taught himself to appreciate over time. That was something Kirishima not only had to applaud but also, it was something he empathized with. No wonder it was so hard for Bakugou to sit there and watch Midoriya get handed everything that he’d ever wanted... With what at least on the surface, looked like relative ease. It was really evident how hard Bakugou worked to meet the impossible expectations he had set for himself. To be constantly undermined and outwitted, maybe Bakugou had taught himself to be so rough because that was the way his fate had always played out. 

Kirishima stared at Bakugou as he talked, noticing for the first time how long his eyelashes were, the way they fanned over his cheeks as his eyes skimmed over the pages of some book about quadratic equations. For once, even his forehead was almost completely unwrinkled and the deceiving red of his eyes reminded Kirishima of sunsets. Maybe this glass shard of a boy did have it in him to be something other than serrated. 

Something quiet and unbreakable and luminous. 

Kirishima ran a hand through his hair in exasperation and stared out at the darkened sky outside the window. They were bordering on three hours now and even though he felt as though they’d been making timely progress, Kirishima was almost at his wit’s end. He needed a study break or his attention span would continue to gradually shorten. He told Bakugou as much, and the other boy snorted. “Strong as your stupid quirk may be, it isn’t gonna save you from your piss weak resolve.” 

“Yeah, fine. I’m weak, okay? Let’s just take a breather.” 

“You’re breathing just fine.”

“Are you?”

“What’d fuck you say, tomato-head?”

Kirishima stretched and ran a hand over the back of his neck to work out a kink before shrugging. He’d been hoping to sneak in the question all evening, so now that the time had come to finally fess up, he got straight to the point. 

“What the hell happened yesterday dude?”

Bakugou's lip curled up in a snarl, as if he’d remembered that there was dirt on his shoe. “About that,” Bakugou said in between gritted teeth. “Are you suicidal or something, you fuckhead?”   

Whatever Kirishima was expecting, it certainly hadn’t been that. 

Taken aback, he frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Shit, for coming after me like that,” Bakugou replied begrudgingly, without a shred of gratitude in his voice. “Are you looking to die?”

“Why would I be—“ 

“I could have seriously injured you, idiot.” 

“Nah, you wouldn’t have.” Kirishima replied, blindly confident in his statement.

Bakugou glared at him, his expression leaking something volatile; eyes blood-bright. He looked positively floored Kirishima had the damn audacity to make such a surefire statement about him. People had probably been making false statements about him all his life. 

It made it unacceptable. 

Kirishima, despite the developing knot in his throat, only tilted his chin higher and eyed him right back.

“You won’t hurt me,” he said, resolute. 

His heart skipped multiple beats. It was like tousling with a tsunami or sidling up to a fire-breathing dragon. 

“If you don’t stop talking I’m going to hurt you right fucking now.”

“Okay.”

“Okay—?” 

Bakugou's eyes actually bugled out of his head and the word came out more as a hiss than a question.

“Do it then,” Kirishima insisted, even as alarm bells went off in his head. “Hurt me.”

“You challenging me, hair-for-brains?”

“It’s only a challenge if you’re willing to go through with it, right?” 

“You willing to bet your fucking life on that?”

Kirishima gulped.

Was he? 

From day one, everyone else had seemed to uniformly decide that Bakugou was the murderous swamp goblin of 1-A, someone to steer clear of. Kaminari had even once joked that the guy had probably come out of the womb dressed in caution tape. Kirishima wouldn’t deny how horrible he was capable of being, the proof had been right in front of his eyes. The way that Bakugou treated Midoriya was unfair, his superiority complex was eating him from the inside out and somehow, all he had to do was walk into a room to piss off everything within his vicinity. Hell, there were even teachers that were convinced Bakugou was one day gonna end up in prison or worse.

Kirishima couldn’t pinpoint why, but he saw more than a ticking time bomb when he looked at Bakugou. He saw conviction and mind-blowing strength (the mental kind). He saw possibility for change. The problem wasn’t Bakugou exactly, it was the way everything around Bakugou molded itself in retaliation to him. He’d somehow traded every errant emotion inside of him for anger. 

What Bakugou needed was for someone to remind him that he was human...

And that it was okay to be.

People and circumstances had told Bakugou that he was a monster incapable of basic decency and devoid of emotions outside of that mind-numbing rage, and somewhere down the line, he’d started to believe them.

If that was all the world wanted from him, that was all he would give. 

Nothing more, nothing less.

It was the kind of thing psychologists often spoke about, defense mechanisms or whatever. Kirishima had gathered that the anger was just as defensive as it was offensive. Not just a sword to battle the world, but a shield to protect him from it. 

What they refused to see was how tirelessly Bakugou worked, how hard he pushed himself, testing his own limits; surpassing them. What they didn’t see was how Bakugou was an animal who ran on pure, unadulterated belief. Belief that he could make the world a better place, even if his methods were less than conventional.

Belief that he could be the best. 

It was extremely manly but most importantly, it was heroic. 

“Yes.” 

It took everything inside of Kirishima to keep his eyes rapt on Bakugou in that moment, to keep from wincing when Bakugou lashed out by raising a fist like a warning in the air. It paid off though, when his hand dropped to his side a millisecond later, in ostensible defeat.

Before Kirishima could break into a giddy smile at being proven right, Bakugou shot off the chair so fast the wooden legs creaked under his weight in protest as he rolled his shoulders indignantly and began to dump all his stuff into his bag at the speed of light. 

“Hey, wait! Bakugou?” Kirishima yelped in surprise.

“Lesson’s over.” Bakugou replied, gruffly, before slinging his bag over his head and beginning to stomp out of the room. 

“What happened to fixing my piss weak resolve?” Kirishima called on after him.

“Fix it your goddamn self, asshole.” 

Then he was gone and Kirishima’s ears rang like the aftermath of a car crash.

Bakugou didn’t show up to study period the next day, and Kirishima had to pretend not to be totally unhinged by it.

So he sat there in class, fists clenched and jaw tight. It wasn’t until Kaminari nudged him in annoyance with his foot that he noticed he’d snapped the pencil he’d been clutching in half. He dropped it on his desk and watched the bottom half roll onto the floor before pressing a hand to his forehead in agitation, his cheeks flushing. 

“Dude,” Kaminari snapped. “You may wanna cool it with the male-protagonist of a teenage romance-novel levels of brooding.” 

“I’m not brooding."

“That’s a class A brood if I’ve ever seen one, pun unintended. Bakugou’s not your damn problem so quit it.”

“Aren’t you the least bit curious as to what Monoma did to piss him off?” Kirishima quizzed, raising an eyebrow in the direction of his best friend.

“Maybe all he did was exist.”

“Huh?”

“It’s Bakugou. Not like he needs a reason to get pissy.” 

“He wouldn’t have gone that far without having a legitimate reason, I’m sure of it.”

“Toddlers that throw temper tantrums see no reason,” Kaminari said, with a nonchalant shrug.

“What are we whispering about, guys?” said Hagakure, leaning in between their heads, or at least Kirishima assumed she was leaning in, it was a bit hard to tell with the whole invisible schtick, but he wasn’t going to make the mistake of asking. 

She tended to get very insulted by people pointing out the obvious. This one time, she’d waltzed into class after getting a new haircut and asked everyone what they thought about it, when Kirishima had pointed out he couldn’t exactly answer her question since he couldn’t see it, she stomped on his foot before proceeding to proclaim him an insensitive dick.

“Nothing,” Kirishima replied, at the same time as Kaminari said, “Someone’s having boyfriend trouble.”

“Ignore him,” Kirishima hissed, as Kaminari shot him a teasing grin and Hagakure let out a nervous, confused laugh. 

“Silence!” Iida bellowed, eyes narrowed and arms folded like an angry missionary as he stood in front of the whiteboard. His voice probably carried all the way to the back of the class and into the hallway. “Mr. Aizawa is on his way. We must greet him accordingly as a class.”

“It’s so creepy how he always predicts that!” Hagakure mumbled. 

“Does the dude have X-RAY vision or something?” Kirishima wondered.

“Nah, he obviously snuck into the homes of all the UA teachers and installed tracking devices in them while they were sleeping,” Hagakure supplied. 

“Maybe it’s a nerd thing. It’s popular in the nerd community to be able to detect professor movement, from like, a mile away.” Kaminari supplied. 

“Do they also breathe fire through their mouths?” Hagakure asked. 

“And program calculators to sing them happy birthday?” Kirishima added. 

“Maybe they communicate to authority figures the way dolphins do, at frequencies we can’t hear.”

They all sniggered and Iida got this close to having an aneurysm over it and then Mr. Aizawa was floating into class, looking his usual apathetic self. 

“Settle down people,” he said, sounding bored. “We’re discussing a really important topic today, so if any of your fellow peers seem to be conveniently missing from today’s class, you might want to fill them in on what we discussed here, as it may contribute to saving their lives in the near future.” 

It turned out the topic of interest was fatal flaws and the appropriate handling of them. Aizawa explained that every hero possessed a fatal flaw, a tragic flaw which was the secret weakness of a hero that brought about a hero’s tragic downfall. The sooner one recognized their own fatal flaw, the sooner they could work on better coping with it. 

“Sometimes, a fatal flaw is so ingrained within oneself that it cannot be completely eliminated. After all, even heroes are human. However, learning to better veil, handle and accept your fatal flaw will be the key to your success. I won’t sugarcoat it. Your enemies, should they discover your worst weakness; can wield this to their advantage and destroy you from the inside out in the process. Naturally, that is what we’d like to avoid. So, how do you overcome a seemingly impossible flaw? How do you learn to better keep it concealed? How do you come to terms with it?”

“The first step is in identifying it. Many a hero have fallen to their insatiable pride and refused to admit they even possess one in the first place. If you tend to think that way, think again because that won’t end well.”

“Remind you of someone?” Kaminari muttered, rather offhandedly.

“Let me tell you the truth. We all have our indispositions. Same goes for me, even All Might has a fatal flaw. However, it is up to you to figure out what yours is. Nobody else can tell you. People can make guesses, but ultimately, you know yourself best. So, don’t make the foul mistake of thinking yourself infallible. Learn to use your weaknesses in a way that plays at your strengths.” 

After that, Mr. Aizawa told them to take a month to really think about it and come up with their respectful flaws in the first class of the following month. “Do not share these with your peers up and until Monday’s class discussion. Your insight may be tested upon on the day. I’ve given you a lot to think about so do not take this lightly.”

And with that, class was dismissed.

The entire class broke into nervous chatter. People were already making stale attempts to guess at each other’s worst weaknesses. Midoriya looked positively pale, Mineta had been reduced to actual tears and Tsuyu was scratching her chin, seized in contemplation. If there was a single person who looked completely unbothered by the bulk of the lecture, it was Todoroki, who merely stood up, poker-faced, and headed outside of the class without uttering a single word to anyone.

Kirishima knew he should be thinking about his own fatal flaw, but he couldn’t help but wonder what Bakugou’s would be. Pride? Rage? Assholicness? The undeniable need to be the very best?

Kirishima still felt like shit about the way things had transpired that evening with Bakugou, and it had only been their very first tutoring session. 

As Kirishima got to his feet, Kaminari shot him an exhausted look. 

“Don’t tell me,” he began. “You’re going to find Bakugou.”

“I’m going to find Bakugou!” Kirishima declared.

They pretty much chimed it in unison. 

“Let me know if you need backup when he breaks your itty bitty heart.”

“I will,” Kirishima mumbled, dryly, before grabbing his things and bolting out the classroom.

He’d only made a couple strides out the door when he bumped straight into the man in question. 

Bakugou’s lips curled into a familiar snarl. “Yo, are your pants on fire or something?”

“I was looking for you, man! Where have you been? Why weren’t you in class?”

Bakugou’s scowl deepened. “I’m not interested in a class discussion about weaknesses.” He said it as if the word itself tasted foul.

“Anyway, shithead. Same time same place today evening.”

“I—Okay.”

“Don’t be fucking late.”

Bakugou turned on his heel and was gone.

Kirishima had been afraid Bakugou would call all future lessons off but there he was, sitting with his legs curled up on the desk, dressed in a pair of baggy cargos and an unfairly tight black t-shirt that totally didn’t make Kirishima want to swallow his own tongue to keep from saying something massively inappropriate.

Soon as he sat down, Kirishima yanked his textbook open, but Bakugou was eyeing him with a decidedly short-fused look on his face. 

Kirishima looked up to meet his gaze. “What are we kicking off with?” 

“You should be afraid of me.”

“I uh… Don’t think that’s on the portion.” 

Bakugou frowned. “You think this is fucking funny, Ketchup King?”

“Hey, ketchup’s delicious. You sure that was an insult?”

“Are you not fucking hearing me, you fuck?” Then, to further drive home his irascibility, Bakugou slammed a fist down on the desk. 

“Heard you perfectly,” Kirishima replied, unimpressed. “What’d ya want me to say?”

“That you’re afraid.” 

Kirishima scoffed. “Fear never solves anything.”

“You better be afraid! Even everyone’s precious Deku knows to be afraid of me!”

Kirishima leaned in and rested his chin in his hands. “Is that why you act the way you do? You think you scare people? I think you’ve gotten so used to people fearing you that you don’t know how to deal with it when anyone acts otherwise.” 

“Don’t pretend to know me or I’ll kill you.”

“Dude, enough with the empty death threats. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

At this, Bakugou’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and some of the heat thawed from his face before he burst into hysterical laughter.

“Friends!” 

"Have I been misjudging our affiliation all this time?"

“You,” he pointed at Kirishima’s chest. “Want to be my friend.”

He was careful to pronounce every word like a personal jab.  

"Okay now I’m feeling a little hurt,” Kirishima admitted. 

“Like I give a shit.” Bakugou snapped. “I’ve singed people’s eyebrows off for saying far less.” 

When Kirishima merely stared at the other boy, blank-faced, Bakugou broke into a sneering laugh. There was nothing sweet about the laugh, instead it came out wretched and bitter, like the final breath of a dying animal. “Huh,” he pinched his lips together. “Guess you’re right.” 

“I am?” Kirishima replied, puzzled. 

“I kept asking myself why I didn’t hand you your ass when you made that bullshit announcement about me being incapable of hurting an idiot like you,” he continued, through pinched lips. 

“Because that’s not what you do to your friends…?” Kirishima mustered.

“The fuck even is wrong with you!?” Bakugou demanded.

“Are you doubting my sanity because I want to be a part of your life?” Kirishima asked.

“A fucking little, yeah. Maybe your stupid hair really does make up a large percentage of your brain.” Bakugou said, wine-red eyes alight.

Kirishima broke into an indignant smile. “Stop trying to push me away,” he said. “You’re stuck with my stupid hair-brain.” 

Before Bakugou could chew him out for it, Kirishima leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips; which quickly parted in bewildered surprise at the contact. Kirishima heard Bakugou intake a very shaky breath, but then his movements mirrored his own. Bakugou pulled away first, and Kirishima let him. They stared at each other in silence for a minute. Now that their mouths weren’t pressed against one another’s, Kirishima felt slightly empty, as if he’d skipped a meal or something. They were still sitting pretty close to one another, so much so that their knees brushed under the table, but the distance felt like lightyears. Bakugou’s expression was steely and betrayed nothing. There was something warm and ignitable brimming behind Kirishima’s ribcage.

He wanted to try that again, but only if Bakugou would allow him.

Bakugou just sat there, lips slightly parted; shell-shocked and speechless.

He was so damn pretty. That’s all Kirishima could really think.

Bakugou’s face actually looked quite different when he wasn’t wrinkling his nose in disgust or curling his upper lip in infuriation. His hair was the color of wheat fields and his lashes; against the carmine of his eyes, fanned out like sun rays. His cheeks were turning the color of a slow-withering rose, the palest of pinks. He actually had attractive features, a fact that was difficult to notice when he walked around like he was mid-sneeze all the time.

There was a part of Kirishima that felt deeply smug about being the first one to catch a dynamite like Bakugou off guard.

It clearly didn’t happen often.

With his forehead smoothened out, Bakugou looked even more just like a young, misunderstood boy than a force to be reckoned with. There was something unimpeachable about him in that moment, authentic and pregnable. 

The other boy wasn’t regaining his composure, so Kirishima turned his attention back to his textbook and pointed at one of the diagrams. “Can you explain this one to me? I think I’m a little rusty on the concept.” He waited a beat, then two. Bakugou blinked, before breaking into an explanation. Kirishima covered his mouth with the front of his wrist and broke into a secretive smile, much to Bakugou’s chagrin, as he continued.

“Hey,” he said, softly, as they were packing their bags. The sun had set and the stars had wheeled overhead and the time had flit by like scenery through a fast-moving car. Their second lesson had come to an end. Kirishima felt significantly more confident about giving his exams now than he had a few days ago. “What was it that Monoma did? Can you tell me?” 

“Unimportant.”

“It was important to you,” Kirishima insisted. “You wouldn’t have risked expulsion to kick his ass six ways to Sunday otherwise.”

“So?” Bakugou spat in a low rumble. 

“So it’s important to me if it’s important to you. That’s what dude friends are for.”

Bakugou turned an incredulous smirk on him. “Dude friends?”

“Yeah! You know. Homies, pals, amigos… Or… Boyfriends?” he said, hopefully.

“Shut your trap.”
 
Kirishima laughed as Bakugou hooked a hand in his hair and pulled hard. Instead of pushing him away, he pulled him closer until their torsos were flush against one another. Kirishima thought he could feel Bakugou’s heart beating rapidly against his chest, but that could’ve easily been his own. Kirishima looked up at him, his smile fading, to be replaced with something vaguely like awe.

Bakugou grimaced, as if he’d accidentally pulled a muscle, before letting out a breath he must’ve been holding for some time. “Damn it all to hell,” he blurted, and pulled Kirishima into a kiss that rose like a crescendo. Bakugou’s lips weren’t just warm, they were hot. Kirishima didn’t care though, he couldn’t even form a coherent thought over the sound of blood rushing through his ears. Kirishima hadn’t been aware he had so many nerve-endings, his skin felt like the surface of the sea. When he opened his eyes for a split second, seeing Bakugou like that, with his eyes gently closed as his lips tended to his—it sent tremors raging up his spine.

Kirishima wanted to pull out of the kiss, maybe to further prod him about the Monoma incident, but really, it was hopeless. Bakugou poured as much of himself into his kisses as he poured into everything else; which was to say—his entire being. 

His hands were eager without being rough and his mouth was staggering without being engulfing and Kirishima felt like this boy was going to burn him down.

There was going to be nothing left of Kirishima by the end of the night.

“Do you treat all of your valuable possessions this crappily?” Bakugou sneered, lifting Kirishima’s tattered textbook carefully up from its top corner, as if it were coated in poison.

“I wouldn't exactly categorize that as a valuable,” Kirishima retorted. “I treat my valuables with extreme care and respect. Exhibit A,” he gestured to the bright, spiked expanse of his own hair.

Bakugou scoffed. “Makes your head look like a mauled porcupine with that crappy dye job and cut.”

“Exhibit B then?” Kirishima leaned in and brought Bakugou towards him by his shirt collar, pulling him into a soft kiss. Bakugou mouthed words against his lips but they got muffled to protesting hums. They both knew he could easily shrug out of the kiss if he wanted, but he let it go on for a few seconds longer before prying Kirishima away; probably to retain his maverick quotient.

“Get the fuck off of me, Kirishima!” 

Kirishima wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and breaks into a fit of laughter.

They met twice every week for their regularly scheduled tutoring sessions. They studied for a couple hours and spent the gaps of time they found in between making out. It was definitely a superb arrangement. Kirishima couldn’t really ask for anything better. Not only did he genuinely feel more confident going into his final exams, but he was getting to spend more and more time with Bakugou—who was an excellent teacher.

He simplified all that cryptic textbook language for Kirishima, framing things in a way that actually made sense to him. 

There were other things he was coming to know. Bakugou had this way of scraping his bottom lip with his teeth when he was in deep thought that made Kirishima’s heart literally melt into his shoes. This one day, he’d come to their study session with his hair still damp from the shower, his pale curls all matted over his forehead like that made him look like a completely different person. Bakugou could also apparently spend a whole 1 minute and 36 seconds without scowling/frowning, not that Kirishima had been keeping an exact track or anything… He had a thing for beverages that came in those fun little tetra packs, often showing up with either a straw-equipped box of chocolate milk or orange juice. He sipped it with all his indignation so it made him look he were imitating an angry preschooler. Kirishima thought it was the cutest thing ever and it made him feel all warm inside whenever he bought one for him, too. Bakugou had a thing for obscure heavy metal bands with names Kirishima couldn't even pronounce. He claimed the cacophony actually relaxed him. 

He liked learning about Bakugou, testing his patience, seeing how far he could push him without getting blown to smithereens. Kirishima hadn’t received any half hearted death threats in an entire week and a half, again—not that he was keeping count. 

One evening after their tutoring session, Kirishima had somehow convinced Bakugou into letting him rest his head in Bakugou’s lap, insisting he’d concentrate better on the floor than on those annoyingly straight chairs that made his back ache. “What’re you, a hundred years old, shithead?” Bakugou had demanded, but then he’d complied and now Kirishima was staring up at Bakugou as he flipped through a book about Heroes & Ethics.

Kirishima couldn’t keep himself from staring dreamily at the way Bakugou’s features softened as his gaze skimmed over the open book in the late afternoon light. Kirishima closed his eyes. He wasn't sure if it was the sleepy prospect of studying or the sound of Bakugou’s steady breathing or the rustling of the pages as he turned them but he felt at peace. It was a short-lived peace though, every synapse in him suddenly froze when he felt Bakugou's fingers absentmindedly combing through his hair.

He blinked awake and attempted to meet the other boy’s eyes.

“What,” Bakugou growled, a poorly executed objection. 

“Nothing.”

“Then stop gawking, you look like an idiot.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said no. I like looking at you. Is that a crime? You turning this hero into a criminal?”

“Shut the fuck up, Kirishima,“ but Bakugou's voice was weak and he practically stuttered the words out.

Kirishima broke into a self-satisfied, lazy smile. Bakugou was staring back now, radioactive eyes befuddled. 

“I fucking hate you,” he stated, but his eyes were softening. The expression on his face was tender even if the tone of his voice conveyed unhappiness. 

“Right back at ‘ya,” Kirishima replied, not meaning it. 

Bakugou leaned down, gold strands spilling over his forehead and framing his face as he pressed their lips together. This kiss was gentle and reverent and took its time in exploring itself and felt like an unsaid promise. When Bakugou pulled away, Kirishima raised his arm and ran the back of his hand down the side of Bakugou’s face. 

“You feeling like opening up yet?”

“No.”

“Am I not trustworthy?”

“Nobody here’s got a fucking clue about trust.”

“Hmmph. Maybe your fatal flaw is distrust!”

“Watch your mouth,” Bakugou muttered. “I don’t have a fatal fucking flaw.”

“Whatever you say, bud.”

“Don't fucking patronize me, asshole!” 

“Okay, okay. Geez. Sorry.”

Kirishima let out a puff of air. “If I say something, do you promise not to threaten me with vivid proposals of death?”

Bakugou scowled. “No promises.” 

“I’ll risk it! You know I think you’re one of the most capable students at UA, right—?” Bakugou raised a cynical eyebrow at that— “Not flattering you, I mean it! Like shit, man. When I first saw you show off your quirk, I thought that was the coolest, manliest thing I'd ever seen. I think All Might sees it too, you know. You’re going places, there’s no doubt about it. I believe you’ve made it this far because you trust your own judgement no matter what the world tells you… But, you’ve gotta know that even you’re capable of making mistakes, right?”

“Am I now?” There was a certain bemusement to Bakugou’s tone that Kirishima didn’t understand.

“Well yeah, contrary to popular belief, you are human.”

“Do I look stupid to you?” Bakugou asked, fixing him with a glare like the wrath of a dozen pissed off Aztec gods. Kirishima felt his insides curl up, not out of fear, but really, because it was overwhelmingly sexy when he made that daunting face and it had him weak.

“Of course not.” He replied, hoping Bakugou didn’t hear the slight hoarseness of his voice. 

“Don't worry, shitty hair. I know my fatal flaw inside and out, but I’ll swallow a fucking pint of cyanide before I reveal to anybody what it is. Make all the guesses you want and choke on your curiosity. See if I care.”

“Wow,” Kirishima said. “Guess you’re a step ahead of the rest of us.”

Bakugou wasn't listening anymore, more interested in tracing a light finger over the scar along his eye.

Kirishima had to suck in a breath. It was as debilitating as it was surprising. "How'd you get it?" he asked.

"It's a testament to my survival after being struck by lightning."

"Yeah, right."

"I accidentally scratched myself when I first discovered my quirk."

"That's the dumbest backstory for a scar I've ever heard."

"That's why I try to make up cooler ones."

“Alright,” Bakugou snapped, propelling Kirishima’s head up and off of his lap “Fucking back to The Implementation and Overruling of Legalities In Crisis Situations.” 

Kirishima complied, eyeing Bakugou with newfound wonder.

“You what—?” Kaminari demanded. 

“Yep,”

“You guys kissed?”

“Yep.”

“That gremlin actually kissed you back?”

“Yep.”

“And he didn't bite off your head and devour your corpse after?”

“Isn’t that a female praying mantis?” 

“And now you’re dating?”

“Er. We don’t want to label it yet.”

“Right, because in addition to being gay for you, he’s subscribed to the hipster lifestyle too now, huh.”

“Yep.”

Kaminari's eyes were narrowed in skepticism as he tapped a pencil against his cheek, rather thoughtfully. Kirishima’s palms were actually getting sweaty. In a way, it seriously mattered to him what Kaminari really thought about all this.

His feelings for Bakugou were beginning to further bloom and he wanted his best friend's approval. 

“Was there an update in his programming that I was unaware about?”

“He’s more human than you think…”

“You sure he isn’t just an extraterrestrial who’s learnt to emulate human very well?”

“Not particularly. Didn't know you hated him that much, dude.”

“I don’t hate him, bro, but the guy’s a tool. It’s difficult to watch the way he treats everyone and gets away with it. From where I’m standing, it’s easy to imagine he’s incapable of being a decent human. However… You wouldn’t be making this up so now I’m kinda torn.”

Before Kirishima could get out a response Kaminari suddenly snapped his fingers and shot forward in his seat. “Alright! He’s going to have to go through a quick Review Process.”

“Why don’t I like the sound of that...?” Kirishima uttered, dryly.

“Let us accompany you guys on one of your dates!” 

“Who do you mean by ‘us’?”

“Just Sero and I, Ashido might tag along. Nobody else!”

“So you mean you want to watch us together?”

“Yes. I mean—Not like that, no. Gross! No. I meant, like, covertly. Like they do in sitcoms? Take him to a cafe or something and we'll hide behind a pair of menus. That sort of shit." 

“Why?”

“Just wanna make sure he isn’t like, performing witchcraft on you or something.”

“You’re not gonna drop this, are you?”

“Not until the Review Process is initialized.”

“Fine! Do whatever you want, but be super under-the-radar about it. I can’t promise he won’t go apeshit on you guys if he finds out.” 

“Yes!”

Kirishima was busy laying waste to his lunch in the cafeteria when a clamorous reverberation like the din of bombs rattled the grounds outside, loud enough to shatter glass and send birds sprawling away from their nests.

“Holy shit,” he heard someone behind him bark. “What was that!?”

His peers scurried towards the source of the questionable noise, like moths to a turbulent and misleading flame. Kirishima’s heart had begun to pound. That sounded oddly familiar… 

“It was probably just Bakugou sneezing,” someone else cooed.  

Bakugou. 

Kirishima looked up from his plate of fried chicken and began to rise to his feet. Tokoyami, who had been besides him merely seconds ago, was now nowhere to be found. The students who remained in the hall were few and far between, clustering over by the windows to maybe catch a glimpse of whatever was causing the disruption. Mineta was hiding under one of the tables with his eyes squeezed shut and his hands over his head, probably trying not to shit himself.

There was a part of Kirishima that was afraid the League of Villains had returned to finish the job they’d started back at USJ… But no, it couldn’t be.

Kirishima had only ventured a couple of meters away from his table when he came face-to-face with a scowling Bakugou, whose eyes glimmered as he stared Kirishima down. Really, he was only a couple of inches taller than him, and yet he managed to look down on him as if he were gawking at him from a great height.

Kirishima took a cautious step back. “Was that you?”

To his surprise, Bakugou’s expression softened. “The busybodies will flock to anything,” he said, before reaching out of his duffel bag and producing a bulky textbook. 

“Here,” he said. Kirishima couldn’t keep the blatant confusion off his face. “I have my own…?” 

“Yours reeks of ignorance,” Bakugou pointed out. “My textbook contains my notes in the margins. It’ll help you cram for the test. So take mine.”

“You’re letting me use your notes?”

“Just take it, shitbag.” Bakugou snapped, hair ruffled and eyes ablaze; a pair of solid rubies catching the sunlight. When Kirishima just stood there, unable to maneuver a limb, Bakugou tossed the book at his chest. Kirishima caught it out of instant reflex and felt his heart jump-start again before nodding vigorously. 

“Yo, thank you, I mean,” he cleared his throat. “I appreciate it, man.” 

Could it really be? Was Bakugou displaying a rare instance of compassion? 

Had he created an entire diversion just for that?

“What the fuck ever,” Bakugou muttered. “Handle it with care or I’ll end you.”

“It belongs to you,” Kirishima replied, despite everything in him begging him to shut up. “I’ll handle it with care.” 

This made Bakugou’s entire face take on a very flattering shade of pink, starting from the tips of his ears and spreading towards his neck. Then, he turned on his heel to leave, perhaps to keep the blush from infecting his entire body. Kirishima beamed just as Bakugou yelped, “GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY, FUCKING EXTRAS!” at the students who were darting past him. 

“Dude, you gotta stop calling people extras!” Kirishima called back, and Bakugou flipped him off, shoulders dead-set as he skulked away.

Kirishima’s heart was aflutter with warmth as he held onto the textbook as if he’d just won the noble prize.

“Do you think all of hell is freezing over somewhere?” Hagakure muttered suggestively, presumably standing somewhere within his general radius. Kirishima almost leapt out of his own skin. 

“You gotta stop doing that, Hagakure!” 

Kirishima had spent the entire weekend agonizing over what his own fatal flaw might be.

There was a time he thought the extent of his own insecurities would lead to his immediate downfall, especially considering the blubbering bundle of nerves he used to be. He would never forget that incident in middle school. It was as if someone had drained all the blood from his body and suddenly, he’d been encased in glass. 

He hadn’t been able to lift a finger when he should have. 

Sometimes he still felt as though he was far from being a hero, not cut out for life in the fast lane. 

As far as his capabilities went, he was pretty average. No matter how long he could run for without breaking a sweat or how many benches he could press. His quirk was nothing unique like Todoroki’s, or overpowering like Midoriya’s, or even noble like Koda’s. 

He was expendable. 

The most admirable thing about Bakugou, at least in Kirishima’s eyes, was his unabating determination and the fact that he held his own capabilities in such a high regard. It was better than falling victim to crippling self-doubt at the very least.

They were at a local fast food joint, sprawled over a sea of notes and all Kirishima could think about, when he wasn’t mulling over his own inferiority anyway, was the fact that his friends were going to show up at any minute now and risk poking the bear.

“Are you paying attention? I won’t explain this fucking twice!”

Kirishima’s head shot up to meet a pair of bloodshot eyes. If he was being honest, he’d been struggling to concentrate the whole evening, falling asleep to the sound of Bakugou’s voice (gentle when not baleful) or fidgeting with whatever was immediately available to him. Kirishima had even tried to balance a pen in between his nose and upper lip. He let out a frustrated groan and ran a hand through his hair.

It was all pointless. 

It didn’t help that sooner or later, his friends would saunter in through that front door and begin spying on them. He probably shouldn’t have gone ahead with Kaminari’s ridiculous plan.

What had he been thinking? If Bakugou found out, someone was surely going to end up getting blasted through the roof.  

Was it wishful to think he’d go easy on them? Bakugou was in a pair of grey sweatpants and sandals today, seeming more at ease than Kirishima could ever remember. He took in his unkempt hair, the slight curl of his lip, the arrogant jut of his chin. He observed the way Bakugou’s Adam’s Apple jerked as he took a long sip of his soda before slamming it down on the table and narrowing his eyes at him. 

“What’s got you acting like such a moron, huh?” he demanded. “You’re even twitchier than bloody usual. It’s giving me a headache.” 

Kirishima sighed and dropped his head on the table, staring up at Bakugou through strands of red hair. He’d been so scatterbrained over this whole fatal flaw thing, he’d forgotten to style his hair this morning, so he’d ended up just tying it back in a ponytail, but his bangs still drooped annoyingly over his forehead. What a tragedy. 

“I don’t knowwwwww,” he groaned, dramatically; despite realizing how childish he sounded.

 “Just when I think you can’t get any stupider.” Bakugou growled. 

“I wish I knew myself better, even if I were to be a completely overconfident dick like you— It’d be better than this… Not-knowing.”

“The fuck are you on about?”

“My fatal flaw,” he supplied. “I can’t figure out what it is.”

“If we’re talking flaws, sure, I’ve got plenty,” he prattled on. “My Hardening quirk is useful in a fight, but it isn’t exactly anything special, is it? As manly as it comes across, brute force doesn't solve everything—even I know that. I just feel like… I’m not good enough to know the one thing that could give my enemies the advantage over me. Whenever I try to think of a single, isolated drawback, I come up with a whole number of them.” 

“Are you done?”

“And—And there was this one time, in junior high, when I had the chance to prove myself a worthy hero and I… I chickened out. Like a total coward.” He balled his fists, a stinging regret clouded his judgement. “Before UA… I was somebody else. I thought transforming my appearance meant I could transform the fear in me too, cultivate it into brevity but maybe I’m still that scared little kid. Maybe I’m in the wrong place.”

“Stop talking, will you?” Bakugou riposted, quirking a pale brow. “Fuck. You’re like a radio station.” 

“Sorry,” Kirishima replied. “Back to Heroism Through The Years, then.” He said, peeling himself off the table and staring down at the textbook that lay open in front of him. Great. He’d talked too much. Bakugou probably thought less of him as a man now. Just great. Why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut? It wasn’t Bakugou’s problem he was such a useless, craven mess.

“Kirishima,” Bakugou’s voice cut through his thoughts like the fine point of a knife. There were flames dancing behind his eyes. He looked peeved, expression fiendish and displeased, as if he’d come across a wall he couldn’t just blast his way through. “You can’t keep letting the one time you didn’t stand up deter you from all the times you did.”

He thought his heart stopped beating for a second there, but then he saw three familiar heads pop up from behind a trio of conspicuously highly raised menus. Sero was holding his upside down. Shit. They were here.

Bad timings you guys, we were just having a serious moment!

Kirishima ignored them and blinked at Bakugou, eyes widening. “Do you really mean that?”

“Do I ever say anything I don’t fucking mean?” Bakugou snapped back. “You’re frenzied in a fight. You’re not remotely at my level, but you’re not weak. It takes more than just physical strength to get as far as you’ve gotten. Especially after the shit that went down at USJ. So shut the fuck up and be reasonable for once.”

“Holy shit,” Kirishima couldn’t help himself. “Holy shit. That is the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me! Holy shit!” 

“IF YOU DON’T LOWER YOUR GOD DAMN VOICE I WILL SEND YOUR ASS FLYING!”

Kirishima broke into a big, stupid grin as he practically leaned over the table to reach for Bakugou’s hands, which let off a paroxysm of sparks. Kirishima entwined their fingers despite the outburst, not feeling a thing but a ringing warmth against the hardened skin of his palms.

Across the room, Kaminari was peeking at them, open-jawed. Ashido let out a loud, obnoxious giggle, before being immediately shushed by a triggered Kaminari. Something primal and fierce spread through Kirishima at once. So just to make a whole show of it, he leaned further in until he was practically half-way up on the table, his grip around Bakugou’s fingers tightening. 

Bakugou’s right hand however, slipped out from under their entwined hands to grab Kirishima’s chin. He then proceeded to shove Kirishima’s eager face away. “Kiss me and I’ll rip your tongue out of your head.” Kirishima pouted, but obliged, sitting back down like a toddler that had just been informed they’d had enough candy. 

“Focus on one thing at a time,” Bakugou said. “Any loser with common sense wouldn’t see a fatal flaw as an obstacle. Not when there’s a way to get rid of it. If you’re so hung up on it, think about it with a clear head and the answer will be obvious.”

“I'll take your advice into consideration,” Kirishima replied. “But now I’m distracted for another reason.”

“What,”

“I just wanna jump you.” Kirishima was grinning. “Right here in the middle of this cafe.”

“I will fucking—“

“Yeah yeah. Kaboom. You’ll choke me out with the skin of your teeth, you’ll drag my limp body down the street, explode my skull. Kinky kinky.”

“Kirishima, I swear!” 

Wait a second.

What the fuck. What the fuck!?

Kaminari, Sero and Ashido had abandoned their poor disguise and were now headed straight for them.

Kirishima actually felt his heart shrivel and die. 

Then, to Kirishima’s surprise, without even turning his head, Bakugou said, “What are Portable Charger, Cotton Candy and Soy Sauce doing here?” 

Huh? 

“You knew?”

“They’re more glaringly obvious than a billboard. Of course I fucking knew. Do I look like an idiot to you? What the hell were you thinking?”

“I didn’t bring them here! It’s not what you think!”

“Really?” Bakugou’s eyes were emergency flares. “Because I think you took me for a fucking fool!” 

“Hey, you guys!” called Ashido’s chirpy voice. 

Bakugou turned his glare on them. “You here to snap a picture? How about I leave you with a more permanent souvenir instead?” He got to his feet and rolled his shoulders back, enraged.

Kirishima also got to his feet, stomach twisting. 

“I just wanted to give my buddy my blessing,” Kaminari retorted, despite the perceptible tremor in his voice. “So can you try not to ruin it?”

“Whatever idiots,” he boomed. “Out of my damn way!”

“Bakugou!” Kirishima cried, but he was already half-way out the room.

“I didn't ask for an audience!” Bakugou roared back. “I’m done with your shit. Come near me again and I’ll kill you.”

Everything within Kirishima seemed to rot like bad fruit.

Kaminari’s eyes widened in alarm. Sero was looking at him with a holier-than-thou grin plastered on his face. “Kaminari, I’d hate to say ‘I told you so’ right now, man, but I told you so.”

“We just wanted to say a quick hello!” Ashido promised, grimacing as she turned to look at Kirishima. “The whole covert thing was getting a bit silly…”

“That wasn’t even being covert!” Kirishima snapped, before letting out a sigh and shaking his head. “I’m sorry, you guys. It’s not your fault he’s such a hothead.” 

“Shit,” Kaminari swore. “Shit man. That was my bad. Totally on me! I didn’t mean—My intention wasn’t… He took it the wrong way, didn’t he?”

“He probably thinks I was trying to humiliate him.”

“Like when the popular guy asks the nerdy girl who’s hated by everyone in her class out to prom as a prank?” Ashido suggested.

“Exactly,” Kirishima replied, miserably. 

“You know,” Sero started. “He’s pretty sensitive for a madcap.”

“You should go after him,” Kaminari said, with the smallest hint of a repentant smile.

“How romantic!” Ashido crooned. “Like the prince went after Cinderella!”

“More like Cinder-ella, am I right?” Sero chimed in.

“Oh, ‘cause it’s like combustable matter retains cinders?”

“Ashido,” Sero sighed. “What did we discuss about pointing out my jokes?”

Kirishima, in that moment, only had eyes for Kaminari. “I still don’t love it,” Kaminari said, as if reading his mind.

Tele-bro-pathy.

“But I see the way you look at each other, bro. It’s like something out of a cheesy rom-com. I think—I think the guy really cares about you.”

“Uh, understatement of the century! He’s smitten, Kirishima!” 

“You're regenerating his heart of coal.” Sero grinned. 

Kirishima couldn’t help it, he clapped Kaminari in the back, shot Ashido and Sero a smile wide enough to part the clouds in the sky and dashed off after his dumbass of an ignitable boyfriend.

“Bakugou! Wait up!” he cried, out of breath as he trudged his way up the hill.

It turned out that Bakugou hadn’t gotten very far. The cafe they’d been at was barely a block away from the campus. The trek towards the main building was a staggering uphill jaunt. Kirishima heaved as he tried to keep up with a furious Bakugou, hands stuffed in his pockets and back slouched in malice or defeat or the rare combination of both.

The hill was a yellowing mesh of tall, infiltrating weeds that made sprinting feel like tiptoeing over the maws of a dozen alligators.

The late-evening sun left a deep russet smudge upon the sky, bathing the hill in crisp golden light; a faint crescent moon lounged next to it, haloed by a scattering of barely-there stars. There was a strong wind hefting from down the coast, making shivers wreck Kirishima’s spine. Bakugou must have heard him run up behind him, because he halted dead in his tracks. 

“Leave me the hell alone unless you wanna die.” 

“No!” Kirishima shouted back, resolutely. “Not until you hear me out.”

“Fuck off.”

“Bakugou,” he huffed the name out like a plea before resting his hand on Bakugou’s shoulder, in hopes to turn him around. 

Bakugou actually recoiled at the touch and hurt settled like dust in Kirishima’s gut.

“You don’t understand,” he argued. “I didn’t orchestrate that whole fiasco. Er... At least, not in the way you think. I was trying to get Kaminari to see you for the person you are when you’re with me. Sero and Ashido just tagged along because they’re always bored. They’re my friends, you know? They worry and stuff.”

It was obviously the wrong to say, because Bakugou bristled and suddenly, Kirishima felt extremely stupid. Of course Bakugou didn’t know, had he ever even had a real friend? He doubted Midoriya counted, because Bakugou could never see him in an objective light, and anyone else who he’d ever hung out with in the past, weren’t they just cattle who followed him around because they didn’t want to make an enemy of him? 

“Look, scratch that. What I’m trying to get at is—I…” Kirishima actually had to gather himself before he said it out loud right there against the backdrop of a setting sun. “I like you, alright? I like you so much it kinda freaks me out. I don’t wanna be mushy but I think we make a badass team and I’ve gotten used to having you around so the idea of you being upset with me, well, that makes me feel like shit. I can’t ever accept it.”

When Bakugou just stared at him obstinately, Kirishima merely drawled on. “I’m sorry about them but I won’t apologize for wanting you.”

Bakugou continued to stare at him with that impenetrable look fixed on his face like a broken windowpane. “You with me?” Kirishima asked, skin prickling with heat.

Bakugou said nothing.

“Shut me up at anytime, alright? I think I realized, after what you said earlier, that if my fatal flaw is anything, it’s my tendency to act on whims. I changed myself on a whim but somehow I got stronger for it. You started out as a whim, but now I feel stronger for… You. I’m not making sense. Seriously, shut me up whenever—“ 

“I dragged his ass through the mud because he accused me of being a villain.” 

“Uh… Huh?”

“The 1-B dingbats enjoy placing bets on 1-A students on the regular. That motherfucker opened up a pot declaring I was going to cross over to the villains’ side before the semester's end.” 

“You mean…”

“You wanted to know why I lost my shit on that loser.”

“Monoma did that? That’s so dirty and outta line!” Kirishima muttered, tone shaky with fury. 

“To be expected of a class of inferior loserly wannabes.” Bakugou stated, tight-lipped. 

“I’m surprised you let it get to you, actually. You seem so grounded in your ideals. You aren’t usually bothered by what anyone has to say about you.”

“He called me a villain.” 

That was the thing about Katsuki Bakugou though, wasn’t it? No matter how antagonistic he came across as, he was pursuing the hero course just like the rest of them. Kirishima had fought with him, side by side, he’d taken into account the wild glint in his eyes as he stood up to those villains.

Sometimes, he even caught Bakugou looking at All Might with the same affinity Midoriya sported. The same zealous regard. Anyone who truly understood him knew that there wasn’t a way someone more stubborn than hell itself would ever choose the path of a villain. 

He wanted the same things they all did, to see justice served in a world that crucially lacked it.

“He doesn’t know shit,” Kirishima supplied. “You’re not a villain.” 

At this, Bakugou’s expression actually relaxed, his eyes glassy with something unnameable. 

It seemed as though Kirishima had said the one thing he’d been hoping to hear. He balled his hands into fists and looked away from Kirishima’s inclining gaze, as if he couldn’t bear to make eye contact any longer. His breathing had become labored. The sky was taking on a newfangled shade of burnt purple as the last traces of sunlight further bleached out the tips of Bakugou’s hair.

When he looked up at Kirishima again, his horror was unmistakable. 

“The world lied to me! Made me believe that I was the best! I’ve spent my whole life trying to live up to that lie!” Bakugou's voice was torn and rigid still. “It’s too late now. It has to become the truth. I will be the best! I will!” 

Kirishima was so taken aback by this that his heart had sunk to the bottom of his stomach. There was a quiet chaos brimming there though, brought upon by the passion in Bakugou’s words. 

“But I don’t plan to achieve that by lowering myself to their standards. That would be a cheap, ugly copout. I don’t play to lose but I don’t play dirty either. I’ll win fair and square!” 

“I have no doubt about it, man, out of the sheer power of your will if nothing else," Kirishima felt the conviction burn a hole through his throat as he regarded the other boy. “And when you do, I’ll be right there with you.” 

Bakugou blinked at him and Kirishima smiled. “Don’t you remember what I said to you the first time we fought together?” He remembered it clear as day, rubble was raining down from the dilapidated ceilings, his lungs were burning from overexertion but for some reason, he’d been unable to wipe the rabid smile off his face. Then he’d glanced over at the boy who’d been fighting beside him, the boy who everyone at school including himself had been wary of, and he wore the very same shade of rabid smile. That was the day he’d decided he was going to be friends with Katsuki Bakugou.

Tentatively, he took a cautious step forward, closing the distance in between them. 

“I’ll follow you.” 

“Well,” Bakugou said, clearing his throat. “You’re in for a long damn ride.” 

The next thing Kirishima knew, strong arms were wrapping themselves around his waist and he was being pulled, flush against Bakugou’s chest. Bakugou then slipped his hands into Kirishima’s back pockets and fused their mouths together. Kirishima felt every knot inside him unravel. The honeyed sunset, the half-bitten moon, even the stupid stars all ebbed away. 

Bakugou’s mouth was the only thing that felt real, whatever else there was had been reduced to ashes.

Kirishima ran the tip of his tongue over Bakugou’s front teeth and Bakugou growled softly into his mouth, one of his hands running up his spine and roughing up his hair, bringing the hairband out. Kirishima kissed him back with equal intensity, allowing one of his hands to slip under his shirt, he felt Bakugou’s stomach clench at the gesture, his skin hot to the touch as he bit into Kirishima’s bottom lip—not hard enough to draw blood, but enough that it hurt pleasingly. Instead of pulling back when they ripped their mouths apart to get some air in, Bakugou dragged him down into the grass so that he was now on top of Kirishima, not that Kirishima minded, like at all.

“Hey,” Kirishima said, retrospectively; in between gasped breaths. 

“Mm,” Bakugou grumbled against the skin of his neck. 

“Not that I’m not… I’m uh…” Damn it, he couldn’t think straight while Bakugou was pressed up against him like that, kissing him with intent. “Not that I’m not thoroughly enjoying this, but shouldn’t we do this somewhere indoors where there’s no risk of wasps or snakes or—” he shuddered as Bakugou took the tip of his ear in between his lips.

“…Snake-wasps?”

It was the first class of the prior month and they were back to fatal flaws. Mr. Aizawa had asked them all to jot down at least three possible flaws, so that they were all highly aware of their own pitfalls. He then went on to explain they would conduct a practical exam next, that would test their theories and cement their answers.

Apparently they were bringing in a specialist whose quirk had something to do with sniffing out people's weaknesses. It was going to be one terrifying hurdle to pass, but Kirishima no longer felt that dull pang of fear he'd gotten so used to carrying within him. It had been replaced with a stinging sense of determination. Bakugou had inspired him with his statement the other day, and the words still rang in his head like pleasant windchimes. 

"You can’t keep letting the one time you didn’t stand up deter you from all the times you did.”

He stared down at his open-jawed notebook.

1. APPREHENSION 
2. DIFFIDENCE 
3. KATSUKI BAKUGOU 

By his side, Kaminari was practically shaking in his boots. "Mine is so obvious it's painful."

"Your tendency to turn into a braindead idiot when you use up all your wattage?"

"Thanks for rubbing salt in the wound."

"What else are bros for?"

To everyone's surprise, Todoroki had been the first to own up to the fact that he was keenly unhinged by his own fatal flaw, but smartly refused to reveal it to the class. Midoriya was muttering to himself again while Mineta actually stood up on one of the tables and proclaimed that "BOOBS" were his fatal flaw. Every girl in the class proceeded to ask him to sit the fuck down right after. Aoyama determined that being too irresistible was his fatal flaw.  

Iida had raised his hand high up. "Please sir, excuse my interruption but... I've been unable to stop thinking about this ever since you first brought it up. If every hero has a fatal flaw, doesn't that entail every villain has one too, one that perhaps we could exploit?"

"That is quite the valid question," Mr. Aizawa replied. "Indeed every villain has one. Dare I say they may be better equipped at handling theirs than we are at ours. Being a hero can sometimes feel like a burden, it is easy to feel as though in the world's eyes, you can do no wrong. I believe it is important to address that we screw up sometimes too. Often more times than we would care to admit. People have died because of heroes in the past, when we have failed to save them. It is a difficult pill to swallow, but one that needs to be addressed nonetheless."

Iida nodded eagerly, seemingly satiated with this answer.

"Every fatal flaw has a cure," Mr. Aizawa said. "But that does not mean it can be healed."

"What's that cryptic bunch of crap supposed to mean?" Kaminari snapped, but Kirishima thought maybe he understood.

Bakugou sat with one leg hooked over his desk and his hands buried in his pockets.

From across the classroom, their eyes met.

Kirishima grinned, Bakugou didn't... but his eyes told a different story.