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Another contest won.
It had been tight, UA only beat Shiketsu by fractions of a point, but it's a win nonetheless. Kirishima and Kaminari laugh at Bakugou when he shouts that they could have done better, for he only truly felt accomplished after they had made it clear that they were indisputably the best.
The trophy gets passed around as it always does, people taking pictures of themselves holding it, gratification in their eyes. Despite how magical the concept seems, Kirishima will never claim that it’s quick and easy. It’s almost impossible to maneuver around the bus clutter after a contest, so by the time someone and their seat-mate found the position to take the picture in, they're sweating. Luckily— or unluckily if someone were to ask Kirishima— Bakugou didn’t take or get a picture like everyone else due to his pride. Kirishima would just have to wait to see the determination swirling in the blood of Bakugou’s irises another day.
It's blue in the bus. Kirishima’s eyes flit in and out of consciousness without anyone sitting next to him to keep him engaged. There is no reason for him to not give in to his exhaustion because he knows, while he has no care to check his phone for the time, that it's past midnight. He stares across the aisle to the seat adjacent to his where Bakugou takes up most of the room, his legs only leaving a sliver of space near the edge. Kirishima can only see Bakugou’s sleeping black silhouette without the lights on the highway to aid his sight, but as the bus hits a bump, Bakugou shifts to where the lines of the road reflect into his hair and cheek.
Kirishima’s heart swells.
He and Bakugou only sit together when they need to, which mostly includes going to contests and away games, but it’s rarely necessary on the way back. It’s often that parents come to see their children compete at contests, and it’s often that they sign them out and drive them back themselves as well, leaving for a significantly less crowded bus. The sweat from competing was never completely gone until a shower and the smell stayed with it; the chill of the night only dried and bonded it with the skin in a gross yet negligible musk. Bearing that, Bakugou would be damned if he had to endure someone else’s body odor right next to him for a minute, much less a three-hour bus trip home.
Kirishima reaches his leg over and nudges Bakugou’s foot with his own. When it doesn’t move in response, Kirishima stretches a little further to push Bakugou’s right leg off of the seat to make room for himself. As Kirishima hovers from his seat to Bakugou’s, he notices that the other boy had put on a hoodie and shed the shirt that would have been underneath, if his collarbone was any hint. Kirishima doesn't mean to wake Bakugou with his movements, but he stirs anyway, and his once smooth forehead wrinkles in annoyance.
Though they aren't touching, Bakugou still withdraws his legs behind an invisible wall and curls even further against the window. “Go away,” Bakugou says. Kirishima tries not to shiver at the gravelly voice.
Instead of answering, Kirishima leans in and presses a kiss on the corner of Bakugou’s mouth.
At this, Bakugou bristles, more out of embarrassment than in anger. With one hand, Bakugou pulls his hood over his head and jerks his hoodie strings away from him, causing the material to scrunch around his eyes, “We’ll get in trouble, idiot.”
“The chaperones are sleeping,” Kirishima says, suddenly noticing the adults snoring behind him.
“Driver will hear,” Bakugou grumbles.
“We’re in the back.”
“Be quiet.” Bakugou hisses. In any other situation, Kirishima would oblige, but he just couldn’t take his friend seriously with the hoodie comically covering his eyes. He presses one of Bakugou’s shoulders into the wall of the bus. As the other shoulder slips forward to face him, Kirishima goes in for another kiss. A wet one, too, for the hoodie pushes Bakugou’s cheeks enough for his mouth to pucker, the strip of skin on the inside of his lip barely but definitely transferring saliva. It took great care for Kirishima to separate without making a smacking noise.
“Stop it,” Bakugou mumbles with no bite, his hand around Kirishima’s wrist making a halfhearted effort to push him away. Kirishima backs down regardless, resorting to slipping his fingers between the spaces in Bakugou’s. Both of their arms fall to their sides and Bakugou relaxes his tensed legs. Kirishima slumps his head over the top of the seat, his eyes closing to the soft sound of Kaminari and Tetsutetsu whispering to each other near the front. He rubs circles into Bakugou’s hand, the action seemingly more calming for himself than for the recipient.
When he stops, Bakugou pulls their intertwined hands onto his thigh. The unexpected affection inspired a pleased hum from Kirishima, “You’re warm.”
Kirishima holds in a regretful sigh, wanting to drain the sentiments from his words. Bakugou’s hand stutters away from Kirishima’s grip and moves to float in front of his chest, his fingers twitching as if they wanted to yank at the hoodie strings once more. “It doesn’t fucking feel like it to me,” Bakugou says, embarrassed. Kirishima splays his hand across Bakugou’s thigh where the other had left it, he squeezes and drags his fingers down to the knee, where he pulsed one more time before finally resigning his hands to himself.
“What do you want,” Bakugou asks, tugging at the opening of his hood to let it fall halfway off his head.
“Don’t wanna go to sleep yet,” Kirishima shrugs fruitlessly in the dark. He can’t see, but he just knows that Bakugou is rolling his eyes.
“Why?”
“Have a lot of homework to do,” Kirishima absentmindedly leans his shoulder against Bakugou, “I don’t want to waste my sleep time now. I want an excuse to not do it.”
Bakugou scoffs disapprovingly, but he presses into the contact anyway, “How long’s this trip? Like three hours? Makes sense that you’re too stupid to do your homework if you think that three hours of restless sleep in a gross bus is enough to keep you up for the rest of the night.”
Kirishima groans in his throat, “You know me so well, man.”
“What, that you’re not telling the truth?
Yes, but Kirishima can’t say that. That would negate the act of lying in the first place. “That I’m dumb.” Bakugou puffs an exasperated sigh. He brings his hand slowly to Kirishima’s hair and tugs, almost lovingly. Kirishima wills his heart to slow as he exhales from his nose.
“Shut up,” Bakugou says.
“You said it, not me,” Kirishima shrugs again, the movement accidentally pressing Bakugou uncomfortably against the bus wall.
“We both said it,” Bakugou pushes him off, “It’s different when you think it about yourself.”
It was a compliment, coming from Bakugou. He chuckles without mirth, half searching for validation and half deprecating, “That doesn’t make sense.”
Bakugou waves his hand in dismissal and busies his eyes with the black trees zipping by from out the window. “Forget it.”
Kirishima thanks the late hour for hiding his flushed cheeks. Now fully separated, Kirishima and Bakugou could focus on things other than each other. Kirishima hears Uraraka whining from a few seats in front of them, she sounds to be exasperatedly arguing with Kaminari accompanied by noncommittal back-up hums from Asui. Kaminari must have woken them up.
Sweat collects on Kirishima’s brow, he hopes that Bakugou won’t notice it glistening from the reflection of the street. Kirishima feels the passage of time like it’s taunting him, each second sending pangs of pain through his head. Uraraka finally gets Kaminari to calm down and he’s chuckling, low and beautiful, before returning into silence like the girl had requested. That moment was fleeting, but Kirishima tried desperately to chase after it. His ears strain to hear the remains of Kaminari’s laugh echoing from the walls like it was a lifeline.
Kirishima wasn’t ready for it all to end. He never wanted to stop hearing Kaminari get scolded, he never wanted to stop hearing people yell at each other to get in their diagonals, he never wanted to stop hearing Bakugou’s trumpet solos. He never wanted to stop playing snare. He wasn’t ready to leave yet. Kirishima has been through years of this but he was sure that he would never get sick of it. If he could just have one more year, he’d even go through the schoolwork and stress if it meant he’d get to live through it again for one last time.
To slow his rapidly increasing heart-rate, Kirishima steals a glance at Bakugou. He, too, seems to be staring at the seat in front of them raw in thought. Will he miss it, too? Will Bakugou miss scolding his section, will Bakugou miss blowing people away with his ever-exploding playing ability? In a forgotten moment, Bakugou had brought one of his feet up on the seat so that he could rest his cheek in his palm. Kirishima sucks in a breath as if to mimic the rise and fall of Bakugou’s chest, relieved that he had found his calm again. The calm stuttered when Bakugou closed his eyes.
“Bakugou—”
“What,” Bakugou whispers harshly, yet his annoyed eyes stay closed.
“Don’t go to sleep! I came over here for a reason!”
Bakugou grunts and makes an attempt to push Kirishima into the aisle, “Talk to someone else.”
Feeling unnecessarily dejected, Kirishima scoots to his left, as far away from Bakugou as he can get without leaving the seat. “You know there’s no one else I’d rather talk to, though.” At this, Bakugou stares at Kirishima from where he rests on his palm. Kirishima still can’t even begin to see him. He's not sure if it was a blessing or a curse.
“Obviously,” Bakugou says vaguely.
Kirishima averts his eyes from Bakugou’s intense gaze. In sarcasm, Kirishima bites, “If you keep staring at me like that, you’re going to make me think you like me or something.”
Bakugou makes a scoffing noise, but the intent was overpowered by the smile in his voice, “Because that’s so preposterous?”
“Obviously,” Kirishima mocks Bakugou’s words from earlier with an exaggerated lilt. Kirishima can't see Bakugou’s smile disappear, but he feels it in the twitch of his hands when Bakugou reaches over his shoulder to grab a fistful of Kirishima’s shirt. With his grip, Bakugou tugs Kirishima back into his side.
“Quit fucking around like you’re clueless,” Bakugou whispers.
“Not if it means that you’ll keep touching me all nice like this,” Kirishima flirts. Bakugou grunts, irritated.
Bakugou’s arm stays still around Kirishima’s shoulders as if holding him in place. Uninterested or frustrated, Bakugou loops back to the objective, “What’s really up?”
Ah. The arm makes sense, a disguised trap to hold him there. Kirishima feels gross sitting in the tension between them. “I just wanted to ttalk to you, I guess. It’s lonely over there, man.”
“Never seemed to be a problem for you before,” Bakugou clips.
Kirishima hums.
Bakugou uses his thumb to rub absent patterns into Kirishima’s shoulder. It's most likely meant to be comforting, but it only comes off as jerky and disjointed— as most acts of affection come off when from Bakugou “I’m not going to sleep until you do. So you better hurry up and tell me whatever’s got your dick in a knot unless you want me to be pissed.”
Kirishima rolls his eyes, his desire to lean away from Bakugou’s shoulder ever-increasing, “You’re pissed all the time.”
“But you’re not. That’s why I’m worried.”
Kirishima’s throat closes. He takes in a gasp of air to prevent the heat behind his eyes, “I just miss you, you know?” His voice is hoarse from his aching throat. Bakugou’s chest bristles as if he was about to berate Kirishima, so he elaborates, “And yeah, I know it’s stupid, I see you every day, I know, I know. I still miss this.”
And it's like he knows what Kirishima is saying, because he responds, “Band?”
Kirishima’s silence speaks volumes. He shrugs in a small way, not wanting to rid himself of Bakugou’s hand, “I can’t do anything. Everything reminds me that it’s almost over.”
“You’re fine.”
“I’m not, man! I’m out of it all the time and I just don’t hear anything anymore,” Kirishima says. He keeps his eyes glued to the blue seat in front of him. Bakugou’s once busy fingers still and clutch Kirishima’s shoulders, making him nervous.
“Just enjoy it while it’s happening, if you think you’re going to miss it so much,” Bakugou grinds his teeth after he speaks his uncertain words.
“What do you think I’ve been trying to do? I’ve been telling myself that over and over but it’s the same,” Kirishima huffs. The uneasiness between Kirishima and Bakugou seeks to push them apart, yet they remain attached.
Bakugou inhales, causing Kirishima to rise along with his chest, “Now I’m telling you. You’re going to regret it if all you did was waste your last year away because of a dumbass premonition.”
Despite the harsh diction, the bad air around them seems to melt. Kirishima blinks his wet eyes, “It’s not a premonition if it’s actually going to happen.”
Bakugou puffs a feigned laugh and uses his hold on Kirishima to sit him up straighter. “Look at me,” Bakugou replies sternly, his eyes burning a hole in Kirishima’s cheek. He turns his head, but he doesn't look at the other's eyes.
It's good enough for Bakugou. He sighs, “I know you’re good at it, but could you for once not ruin something for yourself?”
Kirishima starts to shake and Bakugou moved to hold his other shoulder with his remaining hand. Tears slide down Kirishima’s face, but not many. He doesn’t sob or sniffle; he would be ashamed to be crying on a bus littered with sleeping children. A rough thumb swipes across Kirishima’s cheek and smears the tears elsewhere. The action repeats until it became no longer necessary.
The hands on Kirishima’s face drop to his back to pull them together in a hug. Kirishima’s face settles into the crook of Bakugou’s neck where he breathed heavily to distract himself from his thoughts. Bakugou smells bad, yet it's still so good. Band has its way of romanticizing sweat and tears and pain and sleep deprivation. As a contrast to his sporadic exhales, Bakugou’s breath blows breeze over his ear, probably smelling not too much better than their bodies after a day of playing, eating, and most notably sleeping.
“I’ve been thinking about it too,” Bakugou says.
Kirishima reluctantly rests his hands on Bakugou’s hips in preparation to separate the two of them, “Really?”
“Yeah,” Bakugou scoots away but keeps his hand in Kirishima’s hair, “Like what the hell is this band going to do without me?”
Kirishima snorts, “Of course.”
“And without you? It’s going to be a wreck,” Bakugou smirks as if Kirishima was something to be proud of.
Kirishima takes the compliment with a smile, but shakes his head nonetheless, “I’m sure you’re going to be the real loss, here.”
“Nonsense, you know what I always say,” Bakugou says.
Kirishima chuckles sheepishly, “Man, it’s so embarrassing.”
“‘Listen for Kirishima.’ Jirou really needs to thank you at some point, you’re always so in tempo you might as well be doing her job for her,” Bakugou nudges Kirishima’s arm with his fist, “You’re like a rock.”
Kirishima rolls his eyes, “The reason I’m in tempo is because I’m watching Jirou. You're not making sense, once again.”
“You know that’s not what I meant. When we’re told to look to the drum majors we both know that everyone automatically just starts listening to your beat.”
“I guess. You've got to realize how it's the easy way out, though," Kirishima sighs.
With an exasperated grunt, Bakugou pulls Kirishima’s head onto his own shoulder, “Now you’re just fishing for compliments.”
Kirishima sighs and shuffles closer into the contact, “It’s not my fault your voice sounds ten times better when you’re complimenting your bestest friend, the light of your life—”
“Okay, now you’re the idiot not making sense.”
“So you admit that you pulled everything out of your ass?”
Bakugou’s shoulders hike up, “Who knew you were such a fucking downer at night?”
Kirishima nuzzles into Bakugou’s shoulder again, this time exaggerated and mockingly, “And who knew you were such a sap?”
“Go to sleep.”
“Now you don’t want to talk to me?” Kirishima asks.
“Never wanted to in the first place,” Bakugou’s voice dips in finality.
At that, Kirishima chuckles. He finally lets his eyelids fall. Bakugou’s hand loosens in Kirishima’s hair and threads through it until Kirishima’s breathing slows down. He has never found sleep quicker.
Bakugou shakes Kirishima awake when they arrive at the school, Kirishima tries to conceal his disappointment about not waking up in time to feel the warmth of Bakugou’s head resting against his own. The two of them sit at the back of the bus, so it’s a while before they are able to stand and get out.
It’s freezing, and while Bakugou regards it with indifference, Kirishima can’t help but jog in place. Bakugou pokes fun at him but Kirishima can see the flush on the other’s nose. Kirishima walks with Bakugou when he goes to retrieve his trumpet case and they hurriedly shuffle into the band room where kids are calling their parents to pick them up. After Bakugou drops his instrument off in the instrument room, he and Kirishima approach the breezeway that stems off from the back of the band room.
“Did you call your mom?” Kirishima asks. He opens the door that leads to their spot, as Kirishima would call it.
Bakugou pointedly stays silent until the door shuts behind them, “I texted her on the bus. You should call yours.”
Kirishima waves away the thought, “You know I live close. I’ll just stay until you leave.”
“You really need to quit doing that.”
Kirishima shrugs, “I guess. I don’t mind. Kaminari’s dad takes forever so I can always hang out with him.”
“What about your homework?”
“What about it?”
Bakugou hums an affronting laugh. Kirishima and Bakugou sit on the floor of the hallway and press their backs to the wall. It was enough. The two of them scroll through their phones, waiting for the time to pass with the warmth on their shoulders. Bakugou doesn’t speak, having unearthed a lot of Kirishima’s inner thoughts earlier in the night, but Kirishima is okay with that. Bakugou is probably overwhelmed with his own issues that are brought upon by senior year as anyone else would be.
Eyes and brain burning from the blue cell phone light, Kirishima shifts his knees into himself so he can rest his head on his arms. He's tired of seeing blue wherever he goes. The blue darkness of the night that reminded him that time is unrelenting. The blue seats on the bus that mocked him for loving them. The blue light from his phone that really just didn’t mean anything.
His cheek on his knee, Kirishima stares at Bakugou. The vein near Bakugou’s neck disappears when he unclenches his jaw in response to being watched. Kirishima smiles.
Taking notice, Bakugou’s irises drag lazily over the features of Kirishima’s mouth, his cheeks, and his eyelashes before returning back to the other’s eyes. Bakugou smiles, too. The corner of his lip curves barely to allow Kirishima a peek of his teeth, subtle but just smug enough to where he's skirting on arrogance. Kirishima’s mouth twitches, enraptured by the sight.
Bakugou stands, his smile concrete like he knows that Kirishima will be attracted to him like a moon in orbit. Kirishima can see it on him, and stupidly— so stupidly— he scrabbles to his feet, his pride left behind like it has been so many times. But as Bakugou grabs Kirishima’s shoulder, he’s still smiling, and as he’s leaning in, he’s still smiling. Finally, Bakugou kisses Kirishima first.
Kirishima exhales a held breath through his nose. Bakugou mimics the action, the puff sounding like a laugh, and maybe it was, because Kirishima feels the other’s already smiling lips stretch even thinner against his own and there's a hand attaching itself to his hip. Kirishima is too dizzy for Bakugou to be licking deliciously into his mouth, so he slides his arms around Bakugou’s neck for support. Bakugou hums enthusiastically in response and yes, this never ever gets old.
Bakugou is the one to pull away, but only enough to speak. Kirishima was frozen in anticipation, his eyes fluttering open to see Bakugou. A Bakugou that was so close. A Bakugou that was still smiling. A Bakugou who was the only red thing in the never ending sea of blue. “I’ll see you,” Bakugou says, and they were so close that the hot breath of the words wet Kirishima’s lips.
Drunk beyond reason, Kirishima’s frantically cups Bakugou’s cheeks, desperate to keep him in his sight. Bakugou’s eyebrows draw upwards, and coupled with his smile, Bakugou could either be feeling intense admiration or blatant pity. Kirishima floats forward all the same, his pride still forgotten on the floor from where he previously sat. “I can’t wait,” Kirishima replies in a whisper, dripping in probably too much love for Bakugou to handle.
“Sap,” Bakugou says right before playfully pushing Kirishima away with a forced smile, a forced smile that said, If I don’t leave now, I won’t be able to at all.
“It’s the truth, man,” Kirishima’s fingers buzz at the lost heat. He’s still leaning forward.
Bakugou rolls his eyes as he picks up his bag, “It’s just a weekend.”
“A weekend without you.”
Bakugou chokes on his breath, “You’re going to make me throw up.”
Kirishima runs his hands through his own hair while Bakugou turns around, anything to sate the itch of wanting to reach out, “You leaving?”
“Thought I made that clear,” Bakugou states, fully faced away.
“I love you,” Kirishima says to Bakugou's back.
Bakugou’s hair quits bouncing with his stride as he stops dead in his tracks. It's not the first time Kirishima said it, though he doesn't say it often. He always saves it for the moments when he can't keep it contained. Every single time it happens, Bakugou never says it back. He usually answers with a smile, sometimes a kiss, and in this situation, Kirishima was expecting at most a disinterested wave or maybe a laugh. But that's not what he got.
Bakugou was rigid for a time before his shoulders slump again to their natural posture. A long silence passes before Bakugou lets his head fall limp, seemingly shedding his inhibitions. Kirishima can’t tear his eyes from Bakugou’s ducked body, staring in anticipation.
Bakugou lifts his head back up again, and without turning around, he speaks low but stern, “I love you too.” He keeps walking without daring to spare a look at his long-time boyfriend.
Kirishima could die. He could die happy right there. But he couldn’t leave a hole in their marching show, so there he stayed.