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Bakugo inviting him to stay over for the weekend feels surreal. It doesn’t matter how many times he’s pseudo-imagined him and Bakugo finding themselves alone to the backdrop of sleepovers at Sero’s. Those only happen once every few months, and in their year and a half at UA, Bakugo has only shown up twice. The earliest to sleep every time, there was never an opportunity for the screenplay that seems to creep into Kirishima’s mind.
The question to stay over at Bakugo’s place came as a pleasant surprise. Discovering that no one else got asked to, however, was a mini-nightmare of embarrassment. Kirishima’s blatant excitement at Bakugo’s gesture of opening up turned into bashfulness the moment blank stares were directed at him, Ashido screeching, “He asked you to what?!”
Texts of winking faces sent by Kaminari and Sero over the next few days only added to his embarrassment, and Kirishima would be lying if this whole scenario wasn’t sowing a seed of hopefulness in his heart. His long-standing crush on Bakugo had recently become a light yearning, an itch that remains unscratched. He knows it’s only a matter of time before it can no longer remain ignored.
Undoubtedly, it grows itself into something more.
Standing where he is now, leaves Kirishima an entity of a nervous wreck. Beyond the open front door of Bakugo’s house, Bakugo dresses in a comfy-looking black T-shirt and grey sweatpants. Nudging his head to the side, he retreats back inside, Kirishima following after.
Heart thumping, he calls out a ’thanks for having me over!’ towards the kitchen, where Bakugo’s mother might be, carefully closing the door behind him and removing his shoes. He joins Bakugo at the dining table, where they are greeted with silence.
“My parents aren’t home for the weekend,” and Kirishima’s eyes go wide, his heart jumping. His tongue feels hardened, a heavy weight in his mouth that leaves him unable to speak.
Bakugo, unphased by the sudden quiet, asks, “You hungry yet?”
“Oh! Yeah man, kinda!” Kirishima replies, thankful as Bakugo stands, busying himself in the kitchen.
In the proximity of Bakugo, in a way school or going outside never gave him a chance to savour, Kirishima’s heart doesn’t quiet. It’s restless, beating alive in Kirishima’s chest, and the domesticity that is tied to this situation blooms a quiet yearning in his chest. He’s never been an over-romantic, but the dawn of a gentle want for this image burnt into a longer forever sits silently at the bottom of his heart.
With no ideal confidant present in the situation, the silent agonising of ‘what-if’s coming alive in his head, he pulls out his phone’s chats instead, a valiant attempt to quieten his heart before the words slip from his lips.
Kirisharks: Dudes help me
There is a group chat without Bakugo to plan the hangouts he refuses to go to; what started as a way to avoid getting yelled at for unnecessary messages had turned into an occasional gossip group about Kirishima’s obvious feelings. Praying for any form of salvation, he fidgets as Bakugo retrieves a dish from the fridge out of the corner of his eye.
Spiderboy: you there yet??
Spacegirl Ashido: what’s happening!
Kirisharks: I’m dying I’m at Bakugo’s house
Spiderboy: enjoy ;^)
Spacegirl Ashido: !!!
“Hot tea or a calpis?”
“Calpis, please.”
Electrick: late to the game but ;)
A couple of texts back and forth settles him in comfort, and before long his nerves come to a rest. This is him and Bakugo, he thinks, there is no reason for him to waver. He speaks with no fear of the words tumbling out.
“What’s for lunch?”
“Salmon,” Bakugo says, just as he puts fish into the pan, the loud whistle of oil piercing the silence of the room. Snapping a picture, Kirishima captions it ‘Bakugo’s making lunch’, sending it to the group chat. Standing, he gathers the plates and cutlery, scooping rice into two bowls. Placing them on the table, Bakugo tells him the fish is almost done, to sit down and wait, so Kirishima does, going back to his phone.
His phone lights up at the barrage of texts, Ashido’s myriad of punctuation marks flooding the chat, Kaminari’s periodic and suggestive emoticons getting lost in the flow.
Suppressing a silly smile, Kirishima locks his phone. This time, Kirishima keeps his eyes on him.
The array of food Bakugo presents him is a buffet for two. Four dishes and two bowls of rice is an unexpected feast for a homemade lunch. Bakugo digs in, food an unlingering ghost at the speed in which he consumes it; there one second, and gone the next.
Picking up his chopsticks, Kirishima begins to eat, teriyaki sauces mixing with bites of fluffy omelette, the rice momentarily housed in his mouth soft and warm. Bakugo is one hell of a chef, and Kirishima makes sure to let him know. They talk through eating, about school, exercise and sportswear, friends, and the latest Marvel movie.
The familiarity has long ago seeped itself into Kirishima’s bones. Like two long last friends by an ancient lake lifetimes ago, they share a sacred space in comfort of the other’s grounding company.
Bakugo picks up the last of the salmon, setting it in Kirishima’s bowl. Surprised, Kirishima makes work to split the piece of fish in half, but Bakugo stops him.
“Nah, just take it,” he says, shovelling the last of his rice into his mouth, miso soup following soon after. A kind, simple gesture, yet it makes Kirishima’s hearts ricochet like a bullet trapped in a cage.
Laughing through it, he says ‘thank you’, and the smirk that bleeds on to Bakugo’s lips makes his throat dry up and his voice a distant memory. For now, he reaches for the miso soup instead.
They get enraptured in the latest season of The Flash. They’ve been binging the fourth season, and though the battles of speed are exciting, Kirishima’s bones are starting to ache. His shoulders are stiff from propping himself up on the bed, belly laid-on, legs bent at the knees jerking with the occasional kick. Bakugo should be keen on a stretch soon too, an evening run the perfect remedy for sleepy muscles.
As the episode comes to a close, he’s about to suggest so when Bakugo leans over a little closer, head angled on Kirishima’s shoulder, tips of his hair brushing against Kirishima’s neck.
Tranquil and still, the light, feathery touch that kisses his skin sparks his soul, sets his being on fire.
For a moment, Kirishima doesn’t move.
Then, Bakugo’s hand comes up around him, cradling his jaw as he tilts Kirishima’s head to rest atop his. The light press of Bakugo’s palm keeps him there, before the hand drops and find his, entangled between the sheets, their strewn duvet a sanctified fortress.
Breathless, Kirishima doesn’t trust himself to speak.
A minute stretches into two, three, and then, an infinity. Kirishima lays there, the weight of a boy, now blooming into a man, on his shoulder, a gentle, yet firm weight resting on top of his palm. There’s a warmth swelling in his chest; tight and brimming with an unspeakable feeling. Tongue a tangled ball, words a swimming secret that he swallows, this time, it is Kirishima who wants to explode.
Adjusting his grip, Bakugo lifts both their hands, a kiss caressing the inside of Kirishima’s wrist. Though he is by no means gentle, his movement carries no carelessness, each action carefully considered with only his absolute attention.
Eyes meeting Kirishima’s, he never turns away. He has never turned away.
Like wildflowers planted atop a hill, this unspeakable feeling etches itself deep within Kirishima; a want so ferocious it's chiselled into his bones. HIs heart beats loud like triumph trumpets singing, only this time he is part of a duet instead of a one-man show.
In the world, there are 8 million hearts beating each second. To Kirishima, his heartbeat is the only one that matters.
Bakugo Katsuki — fearless, unwavering and resolute.
With Bakugo by his side, Kirishima has no reason to fear.