Archive of Our Own

Kirishima used to call himself a hopeless romantic. Actually, no, that isn't correct, he still did, even if the feeling in his chest had changed from pride to exhaustion.

He would've never been associated by his friends with the idea of exhaustion, but he was - tired and frustrated to bottle up so many feelings inside of him and not be able to do anything to get rid of them or set them free.

Like any other boy, he had expected that the first person he was going to care so much for was going to be a girl - a small, delicate flower that he was going to save, to protect, to cherish and cover in roses. Someone that was going to need him and love him in return.

Years passed though, and Kirishima learned new things about himself. He found a way to see past his self-worth issues, found strength in places there used to be none, found ambition, found UA and, in the end, found himself and accepted all his scars and past mistakes.

He also realized with little surprise that delicacy had nothing to do with what his body seemed to crave for. Solid muscle, rough hands, full of scars - that's what his instincts longed to hold. The male form had fascinated Kirishima for years, but only recently he understood the depth of his interest.

And that his heart must've hated him.

He was a boy back then, a boy that fell for another. It had been gradual - from curiosity to outspoken admiration and then feelings too intense to even comprehend. But that hadn't been the problem. It was the fact that no matter how much he wanted to protect the one he wanted, to save him, to appreciate every moment and every touch - he couldn't. Not without having an explosion blast in his face and a sea of curses following the action.

Bakugou was... Intense. Raw. Different. Too smart, too powerful, too closed off to be compared to anyone else. He couldn't be understood, not completely.

But Kirishima still tried.

It hadn't been easy to approach Bakugou. He refused to connect. Refused to see people care about him, refused to represent anything else but a set-up level for the others to try to reach but never to touch.

Sometimes, Kirishima wondered if Bakugou wished to be regarded as a human being at all.

Despite everything, Kirishima approached him. And that seemed to matter to Bakugou - not too visibly, it wasn't a big deal or anything, but Bakugou seemed to push him away less.

Whenever Kirishima dropped next to him, the other threw a few words of protest and two well-placed glares, but that was all. There were no more threatening explosions. No real danger.

And Kirishima was content for a while, or, at least, how content one can be while their hearts pounded loudly, desperately, for more. It had taken two years for the warm feeling in his chest to turn into a passive ache. Two years of countless jokes and battles, of laughter and masks of anger.

Two beautiful years of memories shattered in a matter of seconds with five simple words.

"I don't care about romance."

Bakugou said them - of course he did - with the same emotionless tone he used to talk about something that annoyed him. The fact that it seemed completely out of the blue didn't matter. And that wouldn't have hurt the way it did if Kirishima hadn't been thinking at that exact same moment about closing the distance between the two of them. He's dreamed of pushing himself towards Bakugou countless times, but never did it hurt so much.

"Of course you don't," he smiled at Bakugou back then. And it must've been the fakest smile he had ever formed because, during those horrible seconds, he could feel the corners of his mouth turning downwards. Having Bakugou not even look at him during this whole exchange made his eyes sting even more.

That's when Kirishima decided that if he couldn't have Bakugou as a partner in the way he wanted, he was going to do everything in his power to become the best partner Bakugou deserved in the only way he could've ever been needed - as a hero of equal power standing next to him in battle. As a punch, as a spear, as a shield. A useful weapon. After all, all Bakugou seemed to crave was power and a crowd to watch and marvel at his technique. And Kirishima had no problem doing them both, even if his heart was asking for more.

The saddest part about hearing those five words hadn't been the acceptance they brought, though. It had been what followed after.

A petal. That's what marked the beginning. A single red petal, vibrant and delicate, which promised an even worse kind of hell than the one Kirishima had been living until then.

The irony would've made Kirishima laugh if he had been someone else. But he wasn't, so he just swallowed once and sat up from his chair, feeling the need to get a sudden breath of fresh air.

He went out and ran.

He was aware what the petal represented. It was the starting point of a disease so rare that it was considered a myth, but still talked about enough to have it kept fresh in everyone's memory.

Hahanaki disease. Lethal and connected to the feelings of the one infected. A dreadful infection that lead to suffocation, all thanks to one-sided feelings and a bouquet of flowers that was going to turn a positive emotion into a nightmare. All thanks to a sadistic God that must've chosen Kirishima's emotions as its object of amusement.

As Kirishima passed the park close to his home, he already realized something crucial: he wasn't going to tell anyone. Not Kaminari, not Sero, not Mina, nobody. Bakugou, of course, was out of the question. If he was feeling anxious about receiving pitiful looks from the others, he didn't even want to think about Bakugou's possible reaction. Was he going to be angry? Was he going to force him to get the surgery - the only medical cure known? Was he going to pretend to go out with him out of remorse? After all, a thing that he had managed to learn about Bakugou during their time together had been that the guy was a lot more thoughtful and generous than he was given credit. That has been one of the reasons Kirishima ended up in this complicated situation in the first place.

He shook his head. Thinking about scenarios wasn't going to help. Besides, even if they were going to get into a one-sided relationship, that wasn't going to help him anyway. And Kirishima wasn't under any circumstances going to get the surgery. Those feelings weren't something to be ashamed of, years of manliness taught him that much.

He didn't know how fast the disease was going to evolve. How much time he had left. Nobody knew how long it took until a petal turned into whole flowers - it was rare enough to not have studies regarding a specific average of development.

He was going to keep the knowledge locked down, to have it acknowledged as nothing but a part of himself that he couldn't get rid of. He was going to use it as a boost to remind him that every day was special, that every day was worth living and fighting for. He was going to save lives, as many as possible, to make up for the ones he wasn't going to be able to save in the future. And he was going to smile through all this, to make the others happy, to make himself happy. He wasn't going to let a disease taint his memory. If he was going to die so young, he wanted to be remembered as a positive influence, as a ball of energy and goodness. As much as he might've wanted to be regarded as selfless as well, he knew that wasn't really possible. Few people were indeed selfless and the desire to be seen that way definitely eliminated the possibility just by principle.

It was going to be fine. He knew it. He was strong enough to get through this - he might've not been before he got into the hero course, but he was now. He was going to handle it.

When he got back - sweaty and smelling like dirt, he was feeling a lot better than when he went out that door. He was determined not to let such a thing change anything in a negative way.

That's how he kept going for his remaining time at UA. Pushing forward, smiling, always surrounded by the people he cared about, throwing any unnecessary petals as soon as he coughed them out. By the time he finished and received his license, he had no regrets.

It had been better than he expected. With no more than four, sometimes five petals disturbing him three or four times a day, he was still fine.

He was a hero - both on paper and in the heart - and he had all the intentions to live up to that title. And he was going to do it as he both wanted and was needed for - by Bakugou's side, as equal partners in combat.

Any sane person might've chosen to distance themselves from the one that got them into that sort of situation, but not Kirishima. After all, it was all happening because Bakugou was such an incredible person that Kirishima not only cared for him, but did it immensely, aggressively, beautifully, and there was absolutely no chance he was going to give that up for the sake of a disease that was out of their control.

And Bakugou only grew up to be more incredible with each day passed. He had changed in every good way there was, turning from an aggressive, intelligent, ambitious, cruel and selfish boy into a man that had reasons - people - to fight and win for. Not titles, not fame. A man that still hid his emotions under scowls and curses, but turned a punch into a gentle shove and used that sharp mind of his to plan, to coordinate, to save. And sometimes, instead of the rage he showed before, there was an almost fond look in his eyes, a softer shade of red, but just as vibrant as ever.

(Just like the petals Kirishima learned to loathe less and less each day.)

He had no idea how he managed not to get himself caught by the others. And how the disease never got worse when Bakugou was around. But he wasn't going to complain. Any second was a gift and he appreciated every single one of them.

He went out with everyone as often as they could. Three times a week and even in-between the missions. Teaming up was a common thing and neither he nor Bakugou minded it when it happened.

But, usually, it was just the two of them.

Or, to be exact, the two of them and countless little petals that promised an uncertain final line.

A part of him still couldn't believe it. Not the final line thing, he had grown to have it always in the back of his mind. The partnership part. Especially because Bakugou had been the one to propose it, even if Kirishima had tried to bring it up for way longer than his pride supported.

"Oi, Kirishima!" had shouted Bakugou from the other side of the courtyard, just a few weeks into their final year. "When this useless mess is over, let's fight the fuckers together."

And Kirishima, because he wasn't expecting that in any way and had no idea how to react, managed to only throw back a confused look.

"A partnership, Shitty Hair," Bakugou explained (as in shouted), grabbing his arm and dragging him inside the building. "What do you say? Can I count on you not to stay in my way and kick some ass?"

There was enthusiasm in Bakugou's eyes. Real, visible enthusiasm to have Kirishima as the one to guard his back in the years to come and to have him as an extension of himself.

The sight itself might've been one of the most beautiful things that Kirishima had ever seen. The desire to jump on Bakugou out of stupid happiness and kiss him senseless was more powerful than before.

Thanks to some unknown force, he managed to control himself and shout a warm and clear "Hell Yeah!", marking the beginning of something beautiful.

That night also marked the first time Kirishima saw nine petals leaving his mouth.

The next day it had reverted back to a smaller number, but the sight of that organic red the day before still scared him a bit.

It hadn't been that urgent back then, not yet. The urgency came three years into their partnership when the flowers started to form properly.

Their bodies were already full of scars. Kirishima had a huge mark across his right cheek, going from the corner of his mouth to a few millimeters below his eye thanks to an incident with a guy having katanas instead of hands (how did that guy wash himself, Kirishima had no idea), as well as lots of cuts across his chest and arms, done either because of some excessive use of his own quirk or due to normal fights.

Bakugou was the same, but somehow, every single mark on his arms, knuckles, neck and face made him even more beautiful. He never gave up on his tendancy to act recklessly in the middle of a battle, to attack immediately, passion written in every contraction of his muscles as explosions rang around him like a symphony of war. Kirishima was glad he didn't. This knowledge turned any injury into a work of art on that pale skin - and the little line that cut the corner of the left side of his mouth into a painted foil.

They both smiled during battles. It was their thing, even if they did so for very different reasons. Bakugou loved the adrenaline, Kirishima simply loved to still have the force to save others.

The disease was getting so much worse already. Coughing fits happened hourly and Kirishima knew that his time was reaching its end. Bakugou was going to find soon enough and he still had no idea how to act once the truth came out.

Bakugou might've been stronger than most heroes, but he wasn't indestructible. It had been the last mission of the day when a bullet (since when did quirkless people become such a threat?) bit into Bakugou's leg, forcing him to kneel on the ground in pain. Kirishima caught the villain while Bakugou cursed and fired explosion after explosion, keeping his movements to a minimum.

They knew the drill already. No minor wounds were worth letting a criminal escape. And yes, a bullet wasn't that much of a big deal, at least in Bakugou's books. It was still a nasty situation but in no way bad enough to risk any other casualties.

(Bakugou didn't mention anything about what they were supposed to do if the situation was reverted and Kirishima was the one who got shot in a non-vital area. But Kirishima wasn't expecting it to be any different than the usual.)

Even if seen as no more than a scratch, the wound was still bad enough to give Bakugou no other choice than to go home to disinfect the wound. Kirishima wanted to go with him, to help in any way he could, but he was aware that Bakugou wished for only one thing from him in that moment, and that was to continue and finish the whole thing.

Something that few people seemed to be aware of was what happened after a villain was arrested. There was a lot of boring stuff, from annoying paperwork (which reminded Kirishima of the endless homework given by Aizawa-sensei during their UA days, which always ended up being pushed away and forgotten in a corner of his backpack, unless Bakugou found a way to motivate him), to talks with journalists and sometimes even interrogations.

It had been just his luck to have that day as one when he was ordered to deal with the third scenario. The police demanded it since he had been the one to finish the job. They expected him to make the other fear him enough to spill something of use. Kirishima might've had a huge respect for the police force, but he seriously questioned their aptitude to make decisions. He wasn't fit to act as an interrogator. He wasn't intimidating enough - that was Bakugou's thing. Kirishima's aptitudes laid in the way he managed to make himself liked by anyone easily and that worked with journalists and all that stuff that Bakugou wasn't comfortable with. It had nothing to do with being feared.

Despite all this, he found himself standing in a monochrome room, seated on a cold, metal chair, with just a table separating him from the quirkless guy from earlier.

He wasn't even thinking about the interrogation. All he could focus on was the image of Bakugou alone in his own room, struggling by himself to get the bullet out and treat it accordingly.

"Are we starting this or not?" asked the guy, definitely pissed to be in that position. Kirishima couldn't blame him, but he still wished for what felt like the billionth time that the people he was supposed to question were going to be nicer.

"Yeah, sure," replied Kirishima unprofessionally (he wasn't even going to try to do it the proper way, he always screwed that up, despite all his good intentions), as he looked through the file he's been given. "Do you have anything you'd like to confess?"

The guy scoffed at his attempt to start.

"Fantastic, I got an idiot. My day couldn't have been better," he said sarcastically. "I've got a foot fetish, does that work for you, sweetheart?"

Kirishima smiled forcefully. He already hated it. There was nothing he liked less than to be mocked and called an idiot, both in the span of 30 seconds.

"That's not the kind of information we need, man," he tried to keep it casual. "We're interested in reasons, thoughts -..."

That's when it happened. That's when he started to cough urgently and it all went downhill.

It lasted less than two minutes, minutes in which he's been observed by the villain as petals and flowers escaped between his fingers. It had been humiliating. Breathing normally was already a difficult thing to do and it was clear to anyone who watched.

Worst part? There were policemen on the other side of the glass, usually taking notes of the interrogations. They definitely saw the flowers as well.

Kirishima pushed the thought away. He was going to deal with that later. He still had to finish this.

He waited for the cough to calm down and changed his position on the chair awkwardly.

"Ahem, let's... Let's ignore that," he said, voice raspy. "So, as I was saying..."

"Hanahaki, huh? Sweet," interrupted the guy. "Is it the angry blondie? That would be hilarious."

He was smirking, probably feeling so smug about himself in that moment.

Kirishima wasn't an overly aggressive guy by any means, but he definitely longed to punch himself because - of course - a stranger, and a villain nevertheless, had to guess after knowing them for no more than a day.

His hand tightened its hold on the chair instead, knuckles turning white.

"This isn't about me. So, tell me..." he tried to bring the attention back to the main subject.

But ended up being interrupted. Again.

"Not even denial there? Auch, that must hurt. How much do you have, dude? Weeks? Did you even tell the guy?"

No. And he wasn't going to.

It hurt the be mocked this way. He couldn't do this anymore.

With the most real smile he could manage - that was still so, so fake (when did so many of his smiles turn to be like that?) - he sat up and said: "We're done."

"C'mon, man, entertain me. I thought we were having fun."

Kirishima didn't answer.

"Fine, then. Doesn't matter, we'll see each other on the other side soon enough," said the man.

That sort of statement wasn't something Kirishima could just ignore.

"What?"

"I'm quirkless. I stole some guns and started firing them at people out of rage. Of course, they won't lock me up like the rest. I'm an abomination. I'll receive the death penalty as soon as they write down everything they need. And you? You're already in the final stages of that thing. I'll call it a miracle if you get to the end of the next week."

Kirishima wanted to get out of that room. But he still had one question to ask.

"Was it worth it? Killing so many people?"

The guy had the audacity to laugh.

"I regret nothing," he answered, leaning forward. "The real question is... Do you regret it?"

Kirishima bit his lip, saying nothing in return. He didn't like the answer his mind seed to form this time. Because it didn't look like his usual, defined 'no', that kept him going. It looked like a quivering 'yes'. And he had no idea what to deal with that reaction, with doubt.

He left the room. He left the police station, ignoring the concerned looks thrown his way. He started running.

Where was he running? Did he even have a destination? He didn't know at first but understood everything as soon as his hand rose automatically to knock on a certain door.

It was Bakugou's.

He stopped there, hand mid-air, and spared a moment to really think about what he wanted to do. And what exactly he was regretting.

It wasn't having feelings for Bakugou, of that he was certain. This whole disease might've sucked, but he didn't blame his heart for it. He was sad though. Afraid that he was running out of time, that there was only a limited number of mission left, that his seconds with Bakugou were already turning into zero's.

Maybe what he regretted was how unprepared he was to let go.

He didn't want to die. But he could still feel the soreness of his throat. There was no escaping the inevitable. And no forgetting it.

From the other side of the door, he could hear a loud noise, as if something had been dropped, followed by a river of curses. Kirishima smiled, despite everything. Yeah, he surely didn't regret falling for Bakugou.

He lowered his hand, taking a step back. Nothing had to change just because of a mini-panic attack. Things were the same as that morning. The only difference was that the police probably already knew. And if they were aware of it...

The door got smashed into the wall before he managed to finish that thought.

"What the fuck, Kirishima!" shouted Bakugou from inside the house, hands already extended by his sides and full of explosions. "I just got a call from the police. What's with this Hanahaki shit?" When he noticed Kirishima's uncomfortable face, he added: "And why are you fucking here?"

His lips were pressed into a thin line, eyes full of frustration and rage, with a subtle trace of softness in there as well.

Kirishima rarely saw Bakugou look like that, caring so aggressively. It made him feel warm and cornered him between a surge of happiness and the need to tear up (in a manly way).

So many emotions at once were unbearable. And it showed, deep in his throat, where the soreness was getting worse. He didn't manage to contain it in time, so another coughing fit reached him, as well as two lonely petals.

Kirishima closed his eyes and sighed. That was so not how he had imaged his day to go that morning.

He blinked twice. The morning. Bakugou's leg.

"Hey, how's your wound? Are you meant to be standing?" he exclaimed, looking down for any possible damage, not that anything could be seen under Bakugou's exaggeratingly loose pants.

Bakugou answered by pushing his right hand towards Kirishima, grabbing his shirt and dragging him into the house.

Any other day, Kirishima would've shouted something along the lines of "What about your door?", but with his eyes still closed and all that inner turmoil covered in shame, there was no way he was going to mention it.

"Like hell we are talking about my scratch," raged Bakugou as he pushed Kirishima towards his couch. "Sit and start talking before I explode your ass towards the closest hospital. What is all of this about?"

Kirishima didn't even look at him. He couldn't. Not when Bakugou had those intense eyes. All he could stare at were the petals on the floor and think about the irony that represented his life.

This was not the way he had portrayed himself to bring Bakugou flowers. They weren't even full flowers, to be honest, just parts, and that somehow made the whole thing even worse.

"Talk to me!" shouted Bakugou once again, successfully getting Kirishima out of that unhealthy territory.

"Can... Can we leave this for tomorrow? It's been a long day, man," tried Kirishima as a last resort, smiling at Bakugou. He really, really, really hoped it didn't seem fake this time.

"Definitely not. They told me about entire flowers, not goddamn petty petals. So no, we're not doing this tomorrow. We're doing it now."

Silence.

"Fine then. I'll ask the questions and you'd better answer them. When did it start?"

Kirishima knew there was no getting out of the situation anymore. He answered with a single word, spoken weakly, as his eyes were locked on the floor.

"Four."

"Four weeks?! For real? What the hell!" Kirishima didn't feel like correcting him, so he let him keep going, thinking that maybe the idea of mere weeks instead of years made him less pathetic. "I've heard this thing worked annoyingly fast, but that's fucking absurd."

It's not fast. Or, at least, it wasn't for me, thought Kirishima bitterly.

Not that he really had a reason to get bitter. He had a lot more time than other people. He should've been grateful.

Bakugou stopped shouting for a second, realizing something crucial.

"Wait, does this mean you've been head over heels for some dude for a good four weeks? Why am I hearing this just now? You're like a goddamn open book. Weren't you supposed to shout your declaration of love from a rooftop or whatever people with feelings do?"

A wry smile crossed over Kirishima's features. Bakugou's perception of a person in love was an interesting one indeed. A little detail still irked him a bit, though.

"How could you tell it was a guy?" he asked curiously.

"Please, you love 'manly' shit," backfired Bakugou without missing a beat.

Kirishima couldn't deny that he had a point.

Nobody said anything for a minute.

"So..." Bakugou finally broke the silence, seeming a bit tense. "Who is it?" When Kirishima didn't answer, he pressed even more, this time more aggressively. "Is it Pikachu? Because if it is and he fucking rejected you, I don't care how much you love him or want to bone the shit out of him, I'll fucking murder him and send him into oblivion."

Kirishima bit his lip. The idea of loving Kaminari the way he loved Bakugou was so absurd it was almost amusing.

"It's not," he replied honestly. "Please don't ask me who it is. It doesn't matter."

Bakugou wasn't enthusiastic about his request. It was visible.

"Do I know him?" he still asked.

"Yeah," he answered and kept it as vague as possible.

"Did he fucking reject you?"

"No."

Even though it had felt like he did.

"Then why are you not fucking like goddamn rabbits right now and throwing chocolate in each other's faces?"

Bakugou sounded so confused. And angry, but that was understandable. Yet, the confusion part affected Kirishima a bit. It was as if Bakugou couldn't even grasp the concept that Kirishima might've not even asked. As if that was impossible.

"Bakugou... I didn't confess. That's the thing. Just drop it."

It was no surprise that his throat decided to act up in that exact moment. This time, a fully developed flower came out.

Bakugou watched him powerless. Kirishima wished he could unsee that image.

"Then do it already. What are you waiting for? A ticket to your goddamn funeral? Hell no! Just do it and get it over with so you could get out of this mess and live happily ever after with your shithead prince."

Bakugou's eyes lost their shine for a second in the middle of that aggrieved rambling. Kirishima missed it.

"I won't." He didn't need to look at Bakugou to notice the huge 'Why?' that he was emitting. "It doesn't matter what you say. It'll... It'll make him uncomfortable."

"And this shit will get you dead. So, I'm sorry if I cross a line or whatever, but I refuse to see you throw out your life for a good for nothing dude that might not ever fucking deserve you."

Hearing Bakugou talk that way was what made Kirishima snap.

"He's not like that," he said. "It's you, ok?" He paused before adding "Just drop it, please. I'm not expecting anything."

He was exhausted. All he wanted was a bed. Probably under a rock or something. Dealing with Bakugou could be complicated on a normal day and while Kirishima didn't usually mind it, hell, he loved it, it was an entirely different story on a day as full as that one.

It took Bakugou a grand total of thirty seconds for the words to sink in properly.

"What?!" he shouted, appearing as if he's been transferred to a different planet and slapped repeatedly.

Kirishima already felt bad for putting him in that position.

"Yeah, you heard it. Sorry if it disgusts you or anything."

When he got nothing in return, he sighed and got up. It was clear that Bakugou needed some time to think. It was impossible for things to stay the same and they were both aware of that. If Bakugou needed seconds, minutes, hours, hell, even weeks, Kirishima was going to give them to him. He owed him that much.

He dragged his feet towards the exit, trying not to glance in Bakugou's direction. He stopped when he heard the other's voice.

"We're idiots."

It's been said with conviction. No shadow of disappointment or dismissal or repulsion.

"Yeah, sure, but why?" he found himself asking, not understanding what was happening.

Bakugou stepped closer to him.

"Because we could've done this four weeks ago," he said and before Kirishima could question him about the meaning of his words, crushed their mouths together.

It had been a clash of teeth - forceful, clumsy, imperfect. A gesture of buried desperation, both hopeful and hopeless, a gesture that united two people that shared many things, but only ever dreamt of sharing something like this.

Bakugou's teeth pierced Kirishima's bottom lip until he could taste the copperish trace of blood in his own mouth. Kirishima had attacked his mouth a second later, as soon as his brain cought up with the reality, and held nothing back. Just as aggressive, just as wanton.

When they broke apart, both needed a moment to calm their breathing. Kirishima's throat still hurt, but less than before.

Bakugou rested his own forehead against Kirishima's, closing his eyes in the process. There was a subtle redness on his face.

"Idiots, I'm telling you," he whispered in what might've been the softest tone Kirishima has ever heard coming from him.

All he managed to say as a reply had been a simple, breathless "Wow."

Bakugou laughed weakly at that. A full minute passed before any of them said anything else.

"Ok, so, just to check, this is 100% percent real, right? I'm not dreaming or anything?" asked Kirishima, feeling like a complete fool for even opening his mouth.

"Obviously." snorted Bakugou. Then, without giving Kirishima any chance to see it coming, he punched Kirishima in the arm, making the other yelp in pain. "Why didn't you say anything? Were you just going to die like a moron?"

"Auch, don't say it like that," yelled Kirishima, taking his arm to his chest. A little advertisement would've helped a lot. He didn't get to harden in time. "And it's not like you said anything either."

"You're always like an open book. I thought you'd run around wearing your heart on your sleeve and shouting loving nonsense if you were into someone. How the heck was I supposed to know?"

It was a fair point. Kirishima didn't know whether to be proud of his act or ashamed of it.

His lips still itched to touch Bakugou's. Now, that he's had a taste, he couldn't help wanting more.

But there was still something they needed to settle first.

"So..." he started timidly. "Are we dating or am I reading too much into this?"

Bakugou stared at him intensely. "You're not getting rid of me now, moron."

Kirishima beamed at him.

"Do I, by any chance, get to call you my boyfriend?" he pressed, craving the answer to this question more than anything.

Bakugou didn't look as content. "You know I don't like that word." At least he looked apologetic about it.

Thank God that Kirishima knew him enough after so many years to get what he meant. He smiled and asked, "How about partners, then?"

Bakugou definitely liked the sound of that a lot better. The corners of his mouth turned upwards in a sweet, little smirk. "Yeah, that should work."

And that's how it all began. That new chapter, less lonely, less distressing as the one before.

That day, after the waters calmed, they distanced themselves from the other only to grasp each other's hands. They walked together outside (ignoring once again the door), not even staring at the remains of the petals. They were going to be nothing more than a memory now - Kirishima could feel it. It wasn't going to heal automatically, it was going to take some time, but with Bakugou so close to him, representing a limitless future, he knew those were probably the last petals he was ever going to see that had a connection with him.

Things between him and Bakugou weren't going to be perfect. There were going to be obstacles, more fights, more wounds. But there was also going to be affection and warmth and so much more.

As long as they were going to talk to each other from now on, they were going to get through everything - together as partners, in every single sense of the word.

And about that little issue regarding the time the disease started... Kirishima was going to keep that secret to himself a bit longer. Not too long though.

He glanced at Bakugou and smiled.

They were going to be fine.