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Kirishima was walking a fine line.
On one side, was all of his complicated admiration for Katsuki Bakugou. Complicated because it was Bakugou. And admiration, well, because it was Bakugou.
The manliest guy of Class 1-A.
He was a bit of an asshole (Complicated Reason #1), his temper was as explosive as his hands (Complicated Reason #2), and he really didn’t give a shit about learning anyone’s names (Complicated Reason #112). But he was still Bakugou.
He had the fighting instincts of an animal: knew his quirk inside and out. Despite his foul mouth, Bakugou had a sharp mind, and when he calmed down enough to give a shit, he’d give deadpanned advice for other people’s quirks too. He just got it. He had it. That magical, awesome, electrifying drive top heroes must have to winwinwinwin every fight. Bakugou had that.
Every time Kirishima saw Bakugou fight—
The fire,
The rage,
The confidence,
The strength,
The smile only a devil could love—
Kirishima admired the hell out of it.
But he was walking a fine line. And on the other side of complicated admiration was something else. Something he didn’t know or understand, or, when his heart squeezed something painful, didn’t want to understand. He was fine where he was.
Kirishima admired Bakugou.
They lived next to each other in the dorms, but Kirishima didn’t visit as often as he would have liked. He thought about it a lot. But acted on it maybe 30% of the time. He admired his bro, but when he was just about to leave his room to go say hi, or ask for help on homework, or whatever—most of the time, he ended up falling back on his bed with a sigh.
He’s probably doing something important.
In the mornings though, Kirishima always woke up happy. As happy as the sun. It took maybe fifteen minutes of wrestling with his alarm, but once he was up, he was ready-to-go. He’d shuffle out of his room whistling a random tune, tossing his towel over his shoulder and ruffling his hair. Once in the common bathroom, he’d shower and spend far, far too long styling his hair. It was one of the reasons he awoke so early.
Kirishima was alone for about forty-five minutes every morning. He had it calculated. He even had a playlist. And he’d sing (somewhat) quietly along to the songs while he showered and dried his hair. Once he started styling, his eyes flickered to the time on his phone. He wiped his hands on the towel wrapped around his waste and turned the volume down on his phone. A few minutes later, Bakugou walked in.
“G’morning!” Kirishima greeted happily, his fingers working the gel into his red hair.
Bakugou, now more-or-less accustomed to the routine, grunted a reply. He’d just woken up, and had shuffled into the bathroom in his pajamas of a blank tank-top and baggy pants (almost identical to what he usually wore). He’d make brief eye-contact with Kirishima before disappearing into a stall.
Bakugou would then reappear to wash his hands near where Kirishima was styling his hair. He’d make the same comment every morning.
“How much time do you waste styling your shitty hair?” Bakugou shook his hands of the water as he walked to the paper dispenser behind Kirishima.
“Bro, perfection demands patience!” Kirishima replies as always. He flashes a bright grin.
Bakugou, still soft with sleep, never managed a real glare. His red eyes were almost curious. But not enough to stay for long. He grabbed the paper towels roughly, drying his hands, and tossed them into the trash. As he walked by he swiftly tossed a hand through Kirishima’s hair, trying to push it down again.
Kirishima gasped every morning, and laughed. “Dude!” he exclaimed, hands frantically trying to push his hair back up. “I’m trying to make perfection!”
Bakugou’s eyes lazily watched him fix his hair. “Just give it up already,” he grunted, and left the bathroom.
Kirishima pouted, but it was for no good. Bakugou never made eye contact once he’d said his parting words.
“Bakugou! Dude!” Kirishima cried as he slammed his hands onto Bakugou’s desk. It was still free time before homeroom started, and Bakugou groaned. He had his head laid in his arms, looking like he was trying to take a nap.
“What the fuck is it?” he cursed, looking up at Kirishima with a scowl.
Kirishima was never deterred. Not anymore. “Bro, you gotta tell me if there are any other secrets you’re hiding.”
Bakugou furrowed his brows, levelling Kirishima with a questioning glare that asked What the hell are you talking about you idiot?
“Your drumming!” Kirishima added loudly, arms open. “Seriously man. Is there anything you can’t do? Are you some kind of secret genius?”
“What?” Bakugou replied gruffly. His eyes were alight.
Kirishima crouched down to Bakugou’s level and crossed his arms over the desk. They locked eyes. Kirishima’s voice was quiet deadly serious. “Do you have a secret?”
Bakugou was still silent, eyes a little wider now, scrutinizing Kirishima. The corners of his lips were twitching, but his mouth remained downturned and determined. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. I’m good at everything I do.”
Kirishima let his head fall on top of Bakugou’s desk with a groan. “Ugh, share your secrets man. I wanna be manly like you!”
“The fuck?! Get off of my desk!” Bakugou’s hands shoved at Kirishima’s arms. They wouldn’t budge. Kirishima was a rock after all. He was waiting for an answer. “You fucker—I just wanna win, all right? So I try to be the best. Is that good enough for you?”
Kirishima peered up at him. “Not really,” he mumbled.
“Ugh,” Bakugou pushed again, this time harder. “Just get off already, Jesus!” Kirishima stumbled off of his desk and back to his feet.
Bakugou returned to resting his head in his arms, and Kirishima waited for something else. Eventually, Aizawa called for class to start and he went back to his seat.
Kirishima had the habit of looking to Bakugou’s desk during class. He can’t remember when it started, but he looked to his desk at least three times during class.
It was usually much, much more.
Bakugou rarely went to the cafeteria for lunch. Maybe it wasn’t his thing – too many people – but once in a while he did.
Kirishima was putting away his notebook after class when Bakugou suddenly appeared by his side, looming with arms crossed. He looked at Kirishima expectantly and Kirishima stared dumbly back at him.
“I’m hungry, shitty hair. Let’s go,” was all he said, and began to stride forward.
Kirishima was caught off guard. This had happened maybe once or twice before, but not enough for him to be used to it. The others still lingering in the class watched curiously as well.
“Oh—bro! Wait,” Kirishima stammered, finishing up his tidying. He stumbled to his feet and rushed to catch up to Bakugou, smile plastered on his face as he matching pace. “You eatin’ lunch in the cafeteria today, that’s new,” he commented.
“Didn’t feel like cooking,” Bakugou grunted. His eyes stayed forward.
Kirishima tended to babble around Bakugou. He could hardly remember what he was even talking about. But when Bakugou wasn’t fighting, or arguing, he was eerily silent, and Kirishima couldn’t help but try to fill the void. Occasionally, Bakugou would chip in with a grunt or a short curse, but for the most part it was a one-sided conversation.
“Am I talking too much?” Kirishima blurted over lunch. His curry was still on its fork, and Bakugou was in the middle of chewing his.
Bakugou raised a brow as he swallowed his food. “I thought talking a lot was your thing.”
Kirishima blushed and looked down at his food. “Well, no. I was hoping manliness or… I don’t know—heroism would be my thing, you know?”
Bakugou’s expression didn’t alter, and it didn’t give Kirishima any comfort either. Slowly, Bakugou returned to eating his food, and he said, “You talk a lot, shitty hair, but I’m used to it.”
…I’m used to it?
Kirishima gawked at Bakugou, waiting for something, anything more, but there was none. Was that Bakugou’s version of acceptance?
Bakugou’s fist slammed against the table and the plates shook. “Hey,” Bakugou said. Kirishima’s eyes met his. “I said it was fine. Stop fucking thinking about it.”
A slow smile spread across Kirishima’s face. He didn’t reply to the comment, because Bakugou’s eyes told him not to. But eventually, he resumed conversation, and now he noticed, that Bakugou’s shoulders ever so slightly relaxed as he talked.
Sometimes Kirishima would throw an arm around Bakugou’s shoulders and lean on him. Other times he’d rest his chin on Bakugou’s shoulder to see what he was doing. In the back of his mind, Kirishima knew it must have been odd. Bakugou didn’t let anyone get that close. Ever. For any reason.
But for some reason he could, maybe because he’d been trying for so long, or maybe because his quirk made him deaf to Bakugou’s threats.
At the beginning of the year, Bakugou would elbow and wrestle out of Kirishima’s hold, cursing Get off of me fuckface or What the hell are you doing Shittyhair. But slowly, without Kirishima really understanding when or how, he was allowed into Bakugou’s sacred personal space. If under a time-limit. But like the curses, even that slowly disappeared.
When Kirishima bounced to where Bakugou was sitting on the couch in the common area, he’d throw himself onto the seat next to him. Bakugou’s eyes slowly slid to Kirishima, revealing nothing.
“Heya, Bakugou,” Kirishima greeted, edging closer until he was leaning on Bakugou’s shoulder. His perfume was cinnamon and ash. “Whacha doing? Playing a game?”
Bakugou grunted, eyes returning to his phone. “What does it look like?”
“Oh wow man, you’re really good at this! Mind if I watch?” he’d ask as he already made himself comfortable.
Bakugou’s shoulders rolled under Kirishima’s weight. “Whatever.”
Bakugou and Todoroki were such an awful pair.
Awful in the sense that not only did they detest being around each other, but everyone else detested it too. They were matched up to spar during class, already dressed in their hero costumes. Bakugou’s arms swung violently back and forth as he shouted at Todoroki. They were walking to the arena.
“Half n’ Half you better not hold the fuck back, you hear me? I wanna kill you fair and square!” Bakugou spat, hands sparking into his palms.
Todoroki’s replies were too quiet for anyone else to hear, but there was surely something latently snarky. They always riled up Bakugou even more.
“These two,” Ashido complained, hand wiping over her face. “They’re too much.”
“They’re not even fighting yet and I’m already depressed,” Kaminari whined. “Just look at them,” he gestured to the arena, “they’re in their own world.”
Kirishima laughed softly and pat Kaminari on the back reassuringly. He didn’t say anything though. Perhaps because he agreed.
Bakugou, Todoroki, and at times, Midoriya—they were on a different plane than the rest of them. It wasn’t just their skill or talent, it was their intensity, their drive. They not only knew what it took to become a hero, but they were prepared to do it. They were doing it.
Kirishima felt like he was close to Bakugou. He felt like they were good friends, maybe even best friends. But sometimes, like now, when he watched Bakugou fight Todoroki, he swore he was still so, incredibly far away. Just a spectator in the distance watching ice and fire and explosions collide.
Kaminari and Kirishima were like two peas of a pod. They meshed instantly, and were best friends since the first day of school. They had a bro-handshake and everything to prove it. But Kaminari wasn’t comfortable around Bakugou like Kirishima was. It was better than before, but he still only hung around if Kirishima was there as a buffer.
“Dude, you’re my shield in case anything goes wrong!” Kaminari said once, eyes wide.
Kirishima laughed and brushed it off.
In truth, Bakugou didn’t do much when the three of them hung out. They were in the common area at the moment. Bakugou sprawled across one couch reading a strategy book, and Kirishima and Kaminari sharing another couch and looking over a hero magazine. It had stats and interviews and gossip about all of the top-ranked heroes. Kirishima and Kaminari loved reading it together. They were being ridiculously loud, but Bakugou wasn’t cursing them out for it. Maybe it was because they were talking about heroes, so he was mildly entertained.
He still rolled his eyes at some of Kaminari’s comments though.
“Dude, she’s going out with him!!” Kaminari shrieked pointing to two heroes in the magazine. “Ugh, life isn’t fair. How am I supposed to compete with a hero like that?”
“What are you? A teenage girl?” Bakugou remarked, flipping a page of his textbook.
“She’s like thirty anyway, bro. I don’t think she’d go for someone half her age,” Kirishima giggled. It was late at night and his hair was down from its usual style.
Kaminari pouted. “Yeah, I know. Sometimes I just feel so damn lonely, you know? Wouldn’t it be nice to have a girlfriend and be a regular high schooler?
Kirishima opened his mouth to agree, but Bakugou was faster.
“Why the hell would you want any of that crap?” he hissed, eyes judging the hell out of Kaminari. “That’s a distraction. It won’t help you become a top hero.”
Kaminari blushed and fidgeted with his hands helplessly. “Yeah, man. I know. I know you’re right. But still, it’d be kind of nice though, right?” He offered Bakugou a small smile, trying to convince him.
Bakugou’s frustrated scowl shrunk in confusion. His expression was blank. “Huh?”
Kirishima covered his mouth so his smile wasn’t obvious. He had to look away.
Kaminari was still trying to get through to Bakugou though. “To have a girlfriend! Be in a relationship! In love! Doesn’t that sound nice?” he even propped up the magazine to point at the hero couple as proof.
Bakugou blinked like he still didn’t comprehend. “Why the fuck would that be nice?”
“Ugh,” Kaminari’s head fell back on the couch and he dropped the magazine in his lap. He turned to Kirishima for help. “Back me up here, bro. You get me, right?”
“Get what?” Bakugou snapped. He stared daggers at Kaminari and Kirishima. All of this was completely over his head.
Kirishima laughed. Despite the heavy text sitting under his hands, Bakugou looked incredibly childish and confused. He didn’t want to hurt Bakugou, but… “I’m gonna have to agree with Kaminari on this one, man. I think it’d be nice.” He smiled and looked away from Bakugou’s gaze. The tips of his ears felt warm.
Bakugou still watched them with something in between bewilderment and frustration. As he continued to stare at Kirishima, maybe a tiny bit of something else too.
“Thanks man, I knew you’d have my back!” Kaminari exclaimed, raising a hand for a high-five. Kirishima gladly clapped his hand to his and they laughed.
Bakugou grumbled and slowly returned to reading his textbook. “Fucking weirdos,” he muttered.
Kirishima was staring. Bakugou noticed.
“What the fuck is it?” Bakugou pointed his toothbrush to Kirishima’s chest, demanding an answer. They were both getting ready for bed. Kirishima had his toothbrush still in his mouth, but had drifted off in thought.
At Bakugou’s voice, he snapped out of it and spat the extra toothpaste into the sink. He looked at Bakugou and laughed. “Sorry man, I must have zoned out.”
Bakugou raised a brow. “Why the hell were you staring at me?”
“Oh, I was just… I was thinking that you have really nice skin,” Kirishima replied meekly.
It wasn’t the answer Bakugou was expecting. He immediately tensed up as though he’d been cussed out. “Huh?”
Kirishima began babbling. “I mean, I was just thinking that I’m really jealous of you! Like teen skin problems blah blah—you don’t seem to have that! You’re so lucky to be good-looking!” Shit. Kirishima’s cheeks were burning. He didn’t know why. Did he say something weird? Or was it just Bakugou being weird about it? What do friends say to each other again? Shit. Shit. He hurriedly washed his toothbrush under the sink.
Bakugou slowly glanced between his reflection and Kirishima, as if analyzing the truth in Kirishima’s comment. “I don’t fucking see the differe—hey! I was talking!”
Kirishima suddenly turned and was walking fast out of the bathroom.
“G’ night, man! See you tomorrow!” Kirishima exclaimed, keeping his gaze forward.
He didn’t breathe again until he was alone in his room.
They weren’t allowed to leave campus much anymore. But eventually they were allowed a long weekend at home to see their families. It was lovely, but disorienting. After forty-eight hours, Kirishima found himself at a loss of what to do.
He rolled around on the couch at home watching TV. His parents were out running errands. He went for a walk, but he didn’t know where to go. He laid on his bed while his cat walked on top of him.
Kirishima was lonely.
In the morning he pushed his cat off of his face and searched for his phone automatically. He saw a notification and unlocked the screen.
Bakugou: Are you as miserable as I am
Kirishima’s mouth split into a grin.
He spent the rest of the break texting.
When things got safer, they were allowed more off-campus excursions, even if they weren’t for long. Jirou organized some concerts. And Ashido organized some movies. Iida tried planning trips to museums, but those always fell through. They had to get a certain number of kids to agree to be allowed off-campus privedge.
Kirishima walked through the common area during one of Jirou, Ashido, and Iida’s field-trip meetings. He went to the fridge searching for a snack, but Ashido called him back over.
“Hey Kirishima! Come over here,” she called, pointing to the empty seat on the couch.
Kirishima pulled out two apples and walked over. “Hey guys, what’s up?” he perched himself on the armrest of the couch and bit into his apple.
“You’re still coming to the movie on Friday, right?” Jirou asked, as she fidgeted with her earlobes.
“Uh, yeah. Why?”
“Well, we were wondering whether you could ask Bakugou if he’s coming…” Ashido said a little tentatively.
Kirishima looked surprised. “Why don’t you guys just ask him?”
Jirou and Ashido exchanged looks. “He’ll say no to us,” Ashido replied, “and we need a certain number of people to go and he’s the only one we haven’t heard from.”
“I mean, I can ask him, but he still might say no,” Kirishima chuckled.
Ashido’s smile was cunning. “He won’t say no to you and you know it.”
“What do you mean?” Kirishima laughed again.
“You’re the Bakugou Whisperer! You have him wrapped around your finger!”
Kirishima almost choked on his apple. “I do not!” he denied loudly, cheeks red. Bakugou was not wrapped around anyone’s finger, and oh god if Bakugou even heard that the whole building would be in trouble. Kirishima quickly looked around the room to make sure the coast is clear. “We’re bros, that’s it,” he whispered.
Ashido giggled. “Seriously? That’s what you’re calling it? You saved his life.”
“No, I didn’t! I just helped! Seriously, we’re friends. Just like he is with anyone else,” Kirishima replied, voice fast. His heart squeezed. He felt like he was close to falling.
“Dude,” Jirou deadpanned, “Bakugou isn’t friends with anyone else. He might tolerate us. But that’s about it.”
“He knows you’d do anything for him, so I’m sure he’d say yes to a movie if you asked him,” Ashido continued easily.
Kirishima stopped. It’s not as though what Ashido said was a lie, or that Kirishima himself hadn’t thought this already, but…
You’d do anything for him.
People know that? Kirishima’s face was read and his eyes were wide—they felt like they were stinging. His fingers gripped the fabric of his pants. What the hell was wrong with him? This wasn’t manly at all. Why was his heart doing this to him? He didn’t understand.
He was Bakugou’s friend, right? That’s what it was… right?
He admired the hell out of him, so of course he’d do anything for him. He cared about him. He wanted to help him. He wanted to make him happy. He… he…
“Kirishima?” Ashido prompted, catching Kirishima’s attention again.
Kirishima didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t say anything. But he saw Ashido’s eyes following movement behind him, so he turned around.
His heart screamed because Damn it, of course it’s Bakugou.
“Why the hell are you fucks staring at each other and not saying anything?” Bakugou demanded, eyes flickering to all of their faces questioningly. He noticed how off Kirishima looked though and rested his eyes longer on him.
Oh god no. Kirishima’s heart was pounding now. This wasn’t normal.
You’d do anything for him.
“Uh, sorry guys. You know, I don’t think I’m gonna make that movie after all. I think I’m gonna—I’m gonna go for a run. Yeah!” he stumbled to his feet and backed out of the room. He could feel Bakugou’s gaze trying to keep him there (and fuck him, because it almost worked too), and even Ashido raised her hand in a quiet attempt to call him back.
But suddenly, Kirishima just felt like he needed to run. He beelined for his room, tossed on running clothes and bolted from the building.
He let himself think while he ran.
Something was different about his friendship with Bakugou, and maybe it wasn’t because it was because Bakugou was different.
Maybe it was Kirishima.
Maybe Kirishima was no longer on the side of complicated admiration. Maybe the ruse of being bros had long since evaporated for something else.
Because he didn’t just want to rival Bakugou, he wanted to help him. He wanted Bakugou to be happy. He wanted to be near him always. He—he—
Something electric pulsed through his veins and Kirishima ran faster. He felt strong.
“I love him,” Kirishima breathed. “I love him.”
Bakugou’s relationships were very simple.
He had people he hated. He had people he tolerated. And he had a few people he loved.
One day he realized that Kirishima no longer fit into two of the categories.
Bakugou hands burned through his pillow and feathers bled into the air. He tossed the remains onto the floor. A few feathers stuck in his hair.
“I’m fucked,” he muttered.