Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It started out as a simple question.

“Katsuki, can we talk?”

Eijirou padded up to the kitchen doorway, hands tucked in the pockets of his sweats, and leaned a shoulder up against the wall. Katsuki was just inside, still doing dishes with his back facing away from where Eijirou stood.

“Katsuki?” he asked again, just a little louder, when the other didn’t reply.

“I have nothing to say,” was Katsuki’s answer.

Eijirou made himself swallow. “Well I do,” he managed. “You know you can talk to me. And you know I’m not oblivious to how distant you’ve been lately... since the whole thing that happened with Edgeshot and Kamui Woods.”

“What about it?” Katsuki gritted out. Immediately Eijirou knew he’d hit a nerve.

“I just wanted to say it’s okay, man. I think... I think you’re taking it too personally, y’know? You don’t have to blame yourself for—“

“Please,” Katsuki huffed, dropping the brush into the soapy water and turning around. “Of course it’s my fucking fault, Eijirou! You know it was only a matter of time before something like this was going to happen!”

Eijirou shifted his weight to both feet. “Hey, don’t do that, man—“

“No! Fuck that! After all the shit we’ve been through and how much people have always hated me for my Quirk, I should’ve known better! And now all the shit that happened is all over the media and there isn’t jack shit I can do to turn it around and make it right. They’re all back to speculating that I’m a villain or a fake hero, especially because I was fucking stupid enough not to listen to the orders of my superiors and stand the fuck down like you did.”

“We all make shitty mistakes, man! Yeah, you’ve had it rough—we both have—but that doesn’t mean every little mistake is some sort of... catastrophe!” Eijirou tried to reason, feeling his voice rising in volume as much as he really, really didn’t want to end up yelling—end up fighting.

Katsuki was calmer when he spoke again, though, which scared Eijirou more than the borderline yelling, the vein showing in his forehead, the redness of anger in his eyes. Now he’d relaxed, only his jaw rippling while his gaze shifted to the floor.

“When everyone’s got eyes on you like a hawk and picks apart every tiny little thing you do, just waiting for you to fuck something up so they can blame and accuse you, it is almost like a damn catastrophe. Everyone’s always had my name in their mouths, Eijirou, and it hasn’t gotten any better. And now they’ve got yours in their damn mouths too, because of me.” His eyes flicked up, glossy and liquid crimson.

That one look alone made Eijirou take a physical step back. “What are you saying?” he murmured. But he didn’t want to know the answer.

“You already know, Ei.”

“No—“

Katsuki’s throat constricted with a swallow and he moved forward, squeezing through the doorway around Eijirou and heading down the hall to disappear into their bedroom. Eijirou couldn’t bring himself to move. The shock kept his muscles and joints in place. It was only a moment later when Katsuki re-emerged with a duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

And then it hit Eijirou. He’d been planning this. He’d had a bag packed. He was prepared for it in advance. All Eijirou had wanted was a conversation and to find a way to make Katsuki—his love, his whole fucking world—feel better after the argument and scuffle that went down a little under two weeks ago.

But instead he’d given Katsuki the opportunity he’d likely been waiting for.

“Katsuki, don’t—“

“I can’t keep dragging you down with me, Eijirou.”

“You’re not , man, you’re just making things out to be worse than they are!” Eijirou could just hear the pleading edge creeping into his voice; his heart felt like it was about to burst and damn, he didn’t wanna cry...

“No. I think it’s the opposite—you’re so blinded by thinking I’m so great for whatever fucking reason and... being in love with me that you don’t see how shitty this whole thing is—how shitty it’s always been.”

“And...” God, it hurt ; Eijirou didn’t know if he could bring himself to say it out loud, but he started again, making himself say it even though it was through a thick voice. “And you think leaving is the only solution?”

Katsuki took the few steps that brought him past Eijirou, closer to the door. “Maybe not the only one,” he said with unmistakable reservation, “but it’s the best one.”

His foot lifted to carry him forward again, but Eijirou acted on pure reflex. His arm shot out, his hand snatching Katsuki’s—warm and rough and familiar. “No,” he choked out. The tears were inevitable now. “It’s not, Katsuki. It’s—you can’t...” It felt like the floodgates opened when his eyelids fluttered and the built up moisture that’d been turning Katsuki into something of a watercolor painting slid down his cheeks. He couldn’t even choke out a simple sentence.

“Yeah, I expected that. You say that now but I know in the long run you’ll thank me later, Ei. It’ll suck for a while but eventually things’ll be better than they are now, like before you even met me.”

No, no, no. Eijirou wanted to scream it, to pull Katsuki back and knock some sense into him, make him see that this was the dumbest thing he could possibly do for him—for both of them, for so many reasons on so many levels.

And yet he still couldn’t choke out the words. Hell, he couldn’t even find the right ones. Katsuki had that glint in his eye—the stubborn one, the one that told Eijirou he was dead fucking serious, and no amount of anything could stop him or bring him back.

And he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t seen this coming. Katsuki’d been distant ever since the disagreement with Edgeshot, weeks back—the very one that’d resulted in a civilian casualty while they were on duty, trying to prevent that very thing from happening. A back-handed comment in the heat of the moment had sent Katsuki into this... stupor, almost. He’d been distant and quiet. Unwilling, almost.

“Please...” Eijirou choked out.

Katsuki pulled his hand from Eijirou’s, curling it into a fist. “I’ll admit it’s more than that,” he said.

“More than...?”

“Dragging your name through the mud with me. I want to go for that... but for another reason, too.”

Eijirou’s breath caught.

“I don’t wanna be with you anymore.”

It was only when it fell back to his side, limp, that Eijirou realized his hand was still extended toward the other. The tears ceased. A hole tore open within him. In any other situation he might think Katsuki was kidding, but no. Not now. Not like this. Not with everything that’d been happening the past few weeks, with Katsuki pulling away from him, and with the way his eyes said everything Eijirou needed to know—that he meant it. Every word.

“I didn’t wanna tell you because I still care about you,” he said. “Just... not like that anymore. Not in the way you want me to. So it’s better that I go so we both can find peace.”

Bullshit! Eijirou wanted to yell, but his knees could hardly hold him up anymore, much less his voice being able to handle what he needed to say.

“Goodbye, Eijirou.”

With that, Katsuki turned his back and pulled the door open, letting a rush of cool air enter the otherwise warm apartment.

“Don’t go...”

But it was too quiet. Too late. The words didn’t reach him, and as Katsuki pulled the door shut, Eijirou’s knees gave out and with nothing to keep him from crumpling, he curled toward the floor, his forehead meeting the rough texture of the carpet.

—

Artist: Shinedown

Chapter Text

{Youtube Video}

{Present Day}

-Eijirou-

Eijirou Kirishima always dreamt in vivid color. Bad dreams, good dreams, sensical or non, realistic or completely impractical—it didn't matter; they were always, always bright and memorable, always so clear and real-feeling. Most of them were good, he remembered—he was lucky, rarely having suffered a nightmare in his life—and he was always eager to spin the story together for someone else, to share the way such crazy dreams made him feel. Katsuki always said he had a ridiculous imagination.

And that was why this dream, black and white and so fuzzy, had him chilled to the bone.

It wasn't so much the images of the dream that had him waking with a start, grasping blindly at the sheets beside him for that warmth he wouldn't find, but the terribly potent feeling of anguish it left him with. It sat in the pit of his stomach and spread throughout him, touching every one of his nerve endings, soaking into his bones, causing a heaviness in his muscles that left him barely wanting to move, the echoes of an intense argument still ringing in his head.

Katsuki was the person—the one person—he trusted to never leave him. And now the moment he'd stepped out the door and out of Eijirou's life for good was not only ingrained in his memory, but recurrently haunting his nightmares.

Every morning for the first several days he would sit there, staring down at the empty sheets beside him as though with a look he could make Katsuki appear, as if he could summon him from wherever he was and bring him back. But of course, he hadn't been blessed with a quirk like that...

Sleeping alone was hard. Waking up was even harder—unimaginably harder—now that he knew what it was like to have the privilege of waking up and searching the sheets for warmth that wasn't his own before he'd even managed to peel open his sleepy eyes. On a typical morning, he'd find the surface of Katsuki's muscular back (he almost always slept on his right side, causing him to face away from Eijirou) and pull himself over, wrapping himself around the other and tucking his head against Katsuki's shoulder, breathing in the scent that was home to him. Katsuki would barely stir, and then they'd fall asleep again together until the blonde was the one to wake up again not long after, sliding his fingers through Eijirou's from the back of his hand and lifting it to his mouth to place a gentle, sleepy kiss on his palm.

Katsuki was surprisingly affectionate when he was half asleep or less, and it was little things like that—even after almost eight years of being together, of being in love, and ten of being best friends—that still managed to give Eijirou butterflies. On most occasions, Eijirou was the sensical one—the one trying to coax Katsuki into a fuller state of consciousness, telling him they had things to do that day—while Katsuki was the opposite, trying to keep Eijirou from leaving or dragging him out of bed while he was still half asleep.

It worked, but never for long. Eijirou had a habit of pampering Katsuki—pressing kisses to his warm skin, massaging his shoulders, running his fingers through his soft, unruly hair, murmuring about how much he adored him. Katsuki would often mumble that he was too much of a 'damn sap' and to 'stop being gross', but he'd still lean into him and return the kisses to where he could—Eijirou's hand, arm, and cheek when he could reach by turning his head until he'd woken up enough for Eijirou to tug him out of bed. (Though sometimes Eijirou would have to threaten to shower without him to get him up—and then he'd pop up like a friggen jack-in-the-box, glaring in accusation; it always gave a good laugh.)

This was normal routine now, though—sitting there, staring blankly at the empty side of the bed, remembering. It took a while until he willed himself to get up, to drag his heavy limbs into the bathroom and relieve himself. It was pathetic and Eijirou knew it, and if Katsuki were there, he'd be planting his fists into his head (not hard, of course) and trying to knock some damn sense into him.

Eijirou was trying—desperately—to stop those thoughts. 'If Katsuki were here...' Those words never failed to leave him with a hollow feeling.

The mirror reflected a wreck. He didn't look awful, but in comparison to the glow he'd had before (Katsuki's words— 'You're so goddamn happy you're fucking glowing, you weirdo.'), he barely looked like himself. His eyes were tired, bloodshot (almost Aizawa bloodshot, impressively). Black roots were beginning to show through the red, and he hadn't even touched his gel in weeks. The shirt he wore (Katsuki's shirt, with the UA logo on it) was wrinkled; the sweats he wore hanging crooked from his hips, and he'd lost a sock sometime during the night.

He was in the middle of splashing cold water on his face in an attempt to bring some life back into his features when three loud raps on the front door carried down the hall. After patting his skin dry and running a hand through his hair to get it out of his eyes, he dragged his feet down the hall, yawning halfway through unlocking and opening the door.

"You're alive!" cried an enthusiastic Mina, tossing her arms around his neck as soon as the door was out of the way.

"Hey, what're you guys doin' here?" he mumbled, returning the hug and finding it in himself to smile over the girl's shoulder at Sero and Kaminari who stood just past the threshold.

"We figured you could use some company," Sero said.

"Looks like ya just woke up," Kaminari added.

"Guilty," Kirishima said with a slight laugh. "C'mon in, guys." He stepped aside, allowing the three of them through.

"Also, we brought food," Sero said, holding up a plastic grocery bag holding what was clearly several cups of instant noodles and a bag of coffee.

"You guys didn't have to do that," Kirishima said, still grinning lightly, pressing the door shut behind him.

"Yeah we did, since someone keeps forgetting to feed himself," Mina said pointedly with a slight glare.

"And keeps sleeping until noon or later," Sero added.

"So you guys came to judge my lifestyle choices?" Kirishima joked.

"No, we came 'cause none of us have heard from you in a few days and we were getting worried, and because you know yourself that this behavior isn't normal for you," Mina stated, planting her fists on her hips. Her worried stare was enough for Kirishima's smile to fade and be replaced by an apologetic gaze.

"Sooo, on that note, how're you doing, man?" Kaminari quickly butted in. "All things considered, I mean."

"And don't tell us you're okay if you're not," Mina scolded. "We're tired of hearing that."

Just as Kirishima was opening his mouth to respond, not really sure what he should tell them, Sero spoke up again. "If he's wearing Bakugou's shirt, I don't think he's doing too well," he said, frowning.

"Hey, how do you—"

"'Cause your UA shirt is red, Kiri."

"Maybe I got a new one!" the redhead defended, crossing his arms as though it would erase the big yellow logo across his chest.

"C'mon, dude, we know that's crap. Here—let's get something to eat and we'll talk, yeah?" Kaminari was already heading for the kitchen as he spoke. "Hope ya don't mind if I take over your kitchen for a minute."

"I'ma help him," Sero said, slipping into the kitchen after Kaminari and leaving Mina and Kirishima alone in the entryway.

"In all seriousness, Kirishima, how have you been doing? I mean it when I said we're all super worried 'cause you haven't been yourself lately."

"I know," Kirishima said, managing an apologetic smile—one that only lasted for a flicker. "Can ya blame me, though?"

"Of course not, but you know you don't have to be alone, right? We're all here for you. Always."

"...I know," Eijirou murmured again, the guilt he felt making itself known in his tone. He wasn't meaning to shut his friends out so much, and he wasn't entirely ignoring their phone calls and text messages on purpose. He hated that he was making them feel like they weren't needed. "I've been a crappy friend, and I'm sorry about that."

Mina's features softened. "You're anything but a crappy friend, Kiri. You know none of us blame you for being so upset, right? Maybe we can't exactly identify, but we understand that the past couple weeks have been hard on you. That's why we're here, you know? Not to bug you... but to make sure you're at least taking care of yourself while you're dealing with this."

"Yeah..." the redhead mumbled, eyes dropping to his feet, only one still missing a sock. "That's kinda the problem, though... 'cause I don't really know how to deal with it all. And I feel kinda pathetic." The sentence was punctuated with a dry laugh.

"You are anything but pathetic, Kirishima. If anyone is pathetic, it's Ba—"

"Please... don't say that, okay?" Eijirou cut in. He forced a swallow past the lump in his throat. "It's not true. And I'm not just defending him 'cause I'm biased. He left for fair reasons."

Mina relented, shifting her weight back onto her heels. "Alright. I apologize," she said, though by the way her hands folded behind her back proved she didn't agree with him.

And that was fine. She didn't know Katsuki like Eijirou did.

"Guys, the noodles are almost done!" Kaminari called from the kitchen.

"C'mon," Mina said, nodding in that direction. "You look like you could use a good hot meal."

So, as much as that one little conversation made him almost want nothing more than to go back to bed, he followed his friend into the kitchen and let the other two place a steaming cup of artificially flavored noodles, complete with a set of disposable chopsticks, in front of him. Conversation bubbled up around him, and of course he took notice of the fact that the others kept the topic away from Katsuki, away from what had happened, and he knew it was to spare his feelings.

Katsuki is gone, he thought—painfully, with a heart in pieces having taken residence in his stomach—but at least I've still got good friends.

Eijirou wouldn't think about how it wasn't the same. He couldn't talk to these three—or anyone at all—the way he could talk to Katsuki. He couldn't trust them the same, and they wouldn't know how to comfort him the same as Katsuki, with his always warm palms and the deep rumble of his laughter as Eijirou heard it through his chest as he used it as a makeshift pillow. They couldn't tell him he was being a dumbass when he was feeling insecure about his ability as a hero in the same way Katsuki could, and they would never find the right words—with lots of curses and insults that under the surface weren't insults at all, but the exact opposite—to help restore his confidence. They didn't know how to play with his hair, gently weaving it into messy braids and such the way Katsuki did when he'd wake up in the middle of the night to find Eijirou still awake, unable to sleep from another bout of insomnia, but feeling too bad to wake Katsuki and ask to help him get the sleep he needed.

They couldn't sync with him doing hero work the way Katsuki could, on another level no one else could understand. They had his back, but not nearly the way Katsuki always did. Not the way he always had Katsuki's back, too. Their Quirks weren't compatible with his the way Katsuki's was. Their hands couldn't warm him. Their eyes couldn't understand him.

They were there for him, and for that he was eternally grateful. But they weren't Katsuki. And Katsuki was the only one who could make all of this better.

But Katsuki didn't love him anymore.

"Kiri?"

Mina's soft voice broke into Eijirou's thoughts and pulled him back to the present only for him to realize he'd stopped eating, the tips of his chopsticks resting on the table while his hand was limp around them.

"Huh?" he blurted, blinking up at her to find her gold eyes gazing at him, liquid with sympathy. Wordlessly, she reached for a napkin and held it out to him, and that gesture alone was enough to bring his attention to the sensation of dripping from his chin and the moisture coated on his cheeks.

"Aw crap," he mumbled, gingerly taking the tissue and quickly trying to erase the moisture on his face with it. "Sorry, guys."

"Don't be," Mina murmured.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Sero said.

Kirishima resented the collective pitying look on the faces of his friends as he bunched up the damp tissue in his fist. Did he... really look that pathetic? He sure as hell felt like it, but for the longest time he'd been able to suppress expression of his emotions. Long ago he'd seemingly mastered the art of putting on a smile even when on the inside he was freaking screaming. The only one who'd ever seen through him was—

"We were gonna try and not talk about it and give you something else to focus on for a while, but I think maybe we should talk about it," Mina said.

"What's there to talk about?" Eijirou asked, eyes fixed straight onto the barely steaming noodles in the cup in front of him.

"A lot, dude," Kaminari interjected. "You're seriously not handling this well."

"So, what?" Anger bubbled up, heat seething through his veins, tension tightening through his muscles. "You wanna talk about how much you guys blame Katsuki for being a 'bad boyfriend,' and tell me you 'always knew he'd hurt me one way or another'? 'Cause I seriously don't want to fucking hear the 'I told you so's and the 'I knew he would do something bad eventually, it was only a matter of time' shit."

"No, Kiri, that's not it at all," Mina interjected, resting a hand on his shoulder and shaking her head. The sympathetic shine in her eyes made Kirishima's stomach churn.

"Then what?" he snapped. "There's... there's nothing you guys can say that's gonna make it any better, alright?" Emotion shook in his voice, tightened his throat and made his eyes sting with more tears. Quickly, he blinked them away, swiped the bunched up napkin across his forehead, and stood up. "Look, I'm sorry. And I appreciate that you guys came, but I just... seriously need to be alone right now." Shaking himself and trying to pretend his voice didn't crack on the word alone, and that it wasn't terribly ironic for him to say such a thing, he repeated, "I'm sorry."

Three sets of wide, bewildered eyes stared up at him for a long, quiet minute. Kaminari was the one to break the insufferable silence.

"Hey, don't be sorry, man," he said, rising to his feet as well. "We've been super worried about you, but we shouldn't have just shown up outta nowhere like we did."

"We just thought... surprising you might help you feel better," Mina said with a small, apologetic shrug as she and Sero, too, rose to their feet simultaneously.

Kirishima shut his eyes and, running his hand across his face again, sucked in a deep, grounding breath. "I know. I'm sorry for snapping at you guys. I didn't mean it, I'm just... having a hard time right now. I... I meant it when I said I wanted to be alone, though."

"That's totally fair, Kiri," Sero said. "We'll be off, then."

Eijirou's throat was tight as he followed his friends to the door. "Oh, the food's yours, by the way," Sero told him with a smile. "Don't forget to eat every once in a while, alright?"

The fact that Kirishima needed such a reminder only proved to him how bad he must've really looked to his friends. He managed a nod in response.

"Is it okay if we still check up on you every once in a while? By phone?" Mina asked before she followed the boys out the door.

"Yeah. Of course," he told her. And he tried to smile—he did, but by the way the girl's eyes melted further into sympathy and she reached out for a hug that he let himself accept, he knew it looked nothing like the way he wanted it to.

"Let us know when you feel up for hanging out," Kaminari said. "We miss you, man."

And again the only response Eijirou could muster was a weak nod. The three of them murmured their last goodbyes before the door slid shut behind them, the lock audibly clicking in place. With that, Eijirou planted his back against it and slid to the floor, huddling in on himself and shakily crying silently into his knees until he ran out of tears.

---

Song Artist: Mike Shinoda

Chapter Text

{Present Day}

-Eijirou-

Eijirou wanted to say he was used to being alone. He wanted to feel like the quiet of the apartment around him was normal, that he was accustomed to the bed beside him remaining cold, that it didn’t bother him having no one to talk to as he shuffled about the quiet abode, trying to implement some sense of normalcy in his life.

Truthfully, it had been years since he’d known what being so alone was really like. That was all the way back in middle school, before he met the one he’d end up giving his entire life to, before he’d discovered what it was like to have someone who understood that crippling loneliness. The kind that made you feel completely hollow and so painfully aware of the endless ringing in your ears.

Back then he’d been accustomed to it. He was used to going home to an empty house where he might have managed a small conversation with the foreign housekeeper, who only knew Vietnamese, before his parents fired her and pinned all of the household responsibilities upon his shoulders. He was used to that kind of contact—telling him to keep up with the chores and make sure he kept up with his homework—being the only time his parents ever really spoke to him. And even then he knew that they only told him to do his homework because they didn’t want to have the son who was a school dropout.

But now? Now was different. Sometimes he’d walk in the door and still habitually announce his arrival home only to be acknowledged by nothing but a gaping silence that was nothing but a painful reminder that there was no longer anyone to greet him as he kicked his shoes off. No one to come kiss him hello. No one at all—least of all the person he wanted.

Now it was like the silence was so loud it was ear-splitting, the emptiness of the apartment so thick it was practically tangible. And he’d forgotten how to occupy his mind and forget, even for a while, that he was alone.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Eijirou knew how pathetic he was being. Though he wished he hadn’t pushed his friends away that day, he still couldn’t find it within himself to call them, to ask them to spend some time with him. If anyone knew how to distract him it was them, but it was almost like… he wanted to sit in that terrible silence and think of nothing but the one who should be filling that void beside him.

What kind of masochist have I turned into…?

Quickly and suddenly, he sat up from his place on the couch and, throwing off the blanket he had draped across his lap, stood up. He needed to get out of that damn apartment for a while; he needed to do something besides sit around and wallow in self-pity. Katsuki would smack him across the head if he saw him like this.

No. He shoved that thought aside. “I gotta do it for me,” he said aloud to himself. “For me .”

The words very nearly caught in his throat, but it didn’t stop him. Before he could lose his resolve, he stalked over to the door, stuffed his feet into his shoes without bothering with socks, yanked his keys off the hook, and pulled the door open.

The walk to the mailbox only took up a minute, and inside was nothing but junk anyway. Things were still arriving with Katsuki’s name on them, and only recently had Eijirou found it within himself to toss the ads and such addressed to him in the trash.

Katsuki might want this , he’d kept telling himself despite damn well knowing in the back of his mind that Katsuki never wanted to keep any of it. “A waste of paper,” he’d always said.

He kept the other things, though--the more important pieces of mail--and had a steadily growing pile of it waiting for him back at home. He left it there in hopes of Katsuki’s return for it, or any of the other little things he’d left behind that Eijirou hadn’t touched. It was a futile little hope; a silly thing to keep as if it was reason enough for Katsuki to come back at least once when every other minute he was remembering some of Katsuki’s last words to him, when he knew Katsuki wasn’t coming back.

Eijirou headed back toward the apartment empty-handed, his hands hidden away in his pockets while he kicked a rock along the sidewalk. He shuffled along slower than he’d come, somehow reluctant to go back. He’d barely left that little apartment in the few weeks since Katsuki’s departure despite everything there reminding him of the other. This was the first time he managed to pry himself away for something other than necessity, and it was like a breath of fresh air—one he’d desperately needed.

So when Eijirou made it to the corner that would take him back up the path to the door had he turned left, he instead kept walking. No destination in mind, no purpose for walking other than just that—to walk.

For once the day was fairly clear after a few weeks of the sky having been blanketed by rainless clouds. The air was stagnant and warm, the neighborhood the apartment building was tucked into peacefully quiet. Things hadn’t been this quiet, this serene since before Katsuki left; every other day it was windy or thundering, the sun barely managing to peek out of the clouds, whereas now its light touched almost everything. It was hot. Almost too hot.

Eijirou couldn’t be bothered by it. The heat of the sun pressing against his back, seeping into the dark fabric of the shirt he wore, pulled at his memories. He tried, though subconsciously, to imagine that such warmth against his skin was another body—one that had always run a little warm because of the Quirk it contained. Tried to imagine that the hair brushing against his neck in the slight, barely there breeze lifting the strands wasn’t his own, or that the whisper of that wind against his ear was brushing out past a pair of soft lips.

I’m losing my mind , he thought as he realized just what the hell he was thinking.

It was foolish—so damn stupid —of him to put his whole world inside of someone else. He should’ve known, from countless lonely nights of lying in his bed inhabiting a house otherwise void of life, that nothing was permanent. No amount of promises had the power to tether anything down, let alone to him. He was barely strong enough to scrape by as a hero… how in the world could he have thought that a person, let alone someone so obstinate and hotheaded such as Katsuki Bakugou, would remain at his side, unconditionally?

“I don’t wanna be with you anymore.”

Eijirou would be lying if he said he hadn’t seen it coming. Katsuki had been distant. Less affectionate. Less… present. And he’d been evasive whenever Eijirou tried to talk to him about it; he didn’t come first when given space Eijirou thought he might need. It’d been months. He was at a loss. While for so long he’d known how to console Katsuki, knew just what to say to bring him back or calm him, how to chase his problems away… he’d been completely and utterly powerless.

It led to an argument, and that had led to the door being shut right in front of Eijirou without another word.

He never told anyone he’d fallen to his knees the second it latched, leaned over so his forehead met the carpet. He was left broken, so broken, that he couldn’t even find it in himself to cry.

Katsuki’d only packed the one bag. Clothes were missing. Toiletries were missing. A few other things that Eijirou was still noticing the absence of. Yet everything else remained, and Eijirou refused to touch any of it. He left it all in its place, just in case. As ridiculous as he knew it was, leaving those things be left him with just enough hope to keep from breaking down completely.

By the time Eijirou managed to pull himself from his thoughts, he’d walked at least a mile, headed west. And even then he had no desire to turn back. Despite the heat, fresh air felt nice after breathing the stale air in the apartment for at least a week straight.

So he ran some errands, all on foot—the grocery store, the bank, and even a small bookstore, just to browse. He couldn’t help noticing the… semi-strange looks he got everywhere he went, but whether it was due to his being a pro hero walking around like a normal citizen or because he was a pro hero who hadn’t been on the scene of any crimes or battles in weeks, and he was sure he looked vaguely homeless, he couldn’t tell. So he kept his head down, refusing to make eye contact.

His last stop was the post office, though he’d planned to head home after the bookstore. The P.O. box he and Katsuki had opened nearly a year ago for fanmail hadn’t been checked in months, and if he remembered correctly from the past, it was likely overflowing by now.

Sure enough, all of the letters and things packed within the little metal container needed an entire box to be carried in. Colorful envelopes and small packages practically slid out of it as soon as he unlocked and opened the door. As he carefully pulled them out and into a cardboard box (big enough to carry his grocery bags, too), he pretended not to notice that every single one he caught sight of had his name—and only his name.

“Been wonderin’ when you’s were gonna come empty that,” the elderly man behind the counter said just as he lifted the box. He looked up at the wrinkled face and deep blue eyes. A toothpick hung between aged lips, and a ballcap concealed any hair he might’ve had.

“Sorry,” Eijirou said with a rueful grin. “Kept forgetting.”

“Got tired ‘a packing all that mail in there, so ‘s about time.”

“Right. I, uh, won’t let it happen again.”

The man nodded and, without so much as a dismissal, went back to his keypad. Eijirou was just pushing the door back open when he spoke up again.

“Say, you givin’ up on that hero stuff?”

Immediately Eijirou remembered why he didn’t leave the house often—for reasons other than those having to do with Katsuki. Somehow he’d made it through most of his trip without this question popping up. He had no answer. He didn’t know himself.

Because the one thing that kept him going as Red Riot had slammed the door in his face nearly a month ago, and he hadn’t been the same since.

He wanted to pretend he hadn’t heard the man and slip back out into the heat, but he’d already made the mistake of looking back up at him.

“Uh… I’m not sure,” he said honestly. Tried to force a smile, because it was in his nature.

“Don’t.”

That was it. Don’t. No wise words. No motivational speech. No list of reasons why he shouldn’t give up, or why people supposedly needed him (something he’d always had so much trouble believing). Just… don’t .

With a simple, “I’ll think about it…” Eijirou left the post office. No one spoke to him on the way home. No one, it seemed, was even looking at him anymore. And he began to wonder if it had all just been in his head.

~✵~

The box of fanmail required a hundred times more emotional energy than Eijirou found he could muster, and it didn’t take him long to figure this out. It was no surprise a majority of them came from young, aspiring heroes. There were letters about those with late-blooming Quirks, one or two about a few who had yet to develop a Quirk and feared they never would, and even some—those to which he could relate to best—who said they hated their Quirks.

Many were thank-you letters from people he’d been around to save from things anywhere from burning buildings to villain attacks. The few gifts he opened were jewelry, toys, or handmade crafts.

It was all way, way too much.

Eijirou tossed the letter he held back in the box after slipping it into its envelope and leaned forward, burying his face into his hands. As if he wasn’t already having a hard enough time facing reality as it was, he had to go and get these letters as if he thought, for some reason, it would kick his ass into gear.

Just how hopeless could he be if letters, and so many of them, from fans and people he’s saved, couldn’t motivate or inspire him to get back to work?

These letters meant… so much to him. More than he could express. But he had to admit it, even if it was in a small, timid voice in the back of his mind—they weren’t Katsuki, and Katsuki was what he needed. He would be the one doing everything he could to kick Eijirou’s ass into gear—though at that point he wouldn’t even need it.

So he did all he could and gently gathered the letters back up from being fanned out across the table to put them back in the box.

A hundred strangers looking at him and one man in a post office on a hot afternoon were feeble. That word was futile: ‘ don’t’. If only it were that easy. If only he could pull himself up by his bootstraps and kick himself into gear with the motivation of a single word.

Years ago, Eijirou had known—known damn well —that he wasn’t cut out for hero work. He wasn’t then and now that he was somehow even weaker than his puny thirteen-year-old self had been, it was hopeless. Entirely hopeless. He was better off disappearing altogether.

---

Song Artist: OneRepublic

Chapter Text

{Past}

-9 years earlier-

-Eijirou-

“Hey… do you guys know why that kid always sits alone?”

“Huh? Who?” Simultaneously, Ishida and Sato twisted in their seats to see where Kirishima’s eyes were pointing. It only took them a second to realize who he was talking about; it was blatantly obvious. The only person in that corner of the cafeteria, surrounded by an entire table of empty seats while others had crowded around nearby tables in an evident effort to remain distant from him, was a spiky-haired blonde kid with a semi-permanent indignant frown twisting up his whole face. In front of him was a tattered blue lunch box that he was shuffling through, yanking lunch items out of it like the poorly made sandwich and bag of crushed up potato chips had personally offended him.

The same way Ishida and Sato had turned to see him, they swiveled back in perfect unison, eyes wide. “Dude, you seriously don’t know?” Sato asked, appalled.

Kirishima felt himself frown as his eyes landed back on his friends. “Should I?”

“Yes!” Ishida practically squeaked. “That’s Bakugou. Literally everybody knows better than to sit next to him.”

“What? Why? What did he do?”

“Well, nothing’s confirmed of what he’s done yet. Right now it’s just a buncha rumors. But the one thing we do know is about his Quirk,” Sato began, voice hushed.

Growing impatient, Kirishima brought his palms down onto the table. “What about his Quirk? And why are you guys whispering?” he demanded.

“Shh!” the two others hissed, again at the same time. “They say if he hears you talking about him he’ll blow your brains out,” Ishida said.

“What the hell are you guys talking about?!”

“Alright, alright! Don’t lose your shit, man,” Sato said, holding his hands up.

“So then what’s his Quirk?”

Sato and Ishida exchanged a look, and one that had Kirishima deciding that if they didn’t tell him within the next two seconds, he was going to go ask this ‘Bakugou’ personally what his damn Quirk was.

“You tell him,” Ishida mumbled to Sato. “I don’t wanna say it.”

Sato’s eyes finally met Kirishima’s again. “Explosion,” he said in an eerie voice. “That’s his Quirk.”

“Really?” Kirishima mumbled, his back straightening, his eyes sliding over to the blonde across the room. He was halfway through chomping through that sandwich, keeping his angry glare pointed straight down at the table as if expecting to burn a hole through it.

“Yeah, man.”

“Like, that Explosion?”

“Yup,” Ishida said with a visible shudder. “The exact same one.”

“How did you not know about that, man? Rumors were flying all over campus the first couple weeks of school when he was transferred here.”

“Kiri was out sick the first two weeks of school, remember?” Ishida said. “And once that thing went down with Midoriya, everyone was too scared to keep talking about it. It’s no wonder he didn’t hear anything until now.”

“Wait, what thing went down with Midoriya? Why are you guys being so vague?”

“‘Cause like I said, man, if he hears you, he’ll try and blow your brain out,” Sato said. It seemed as though with every sentence their voices became more and more hushed, and with the chatter echoing through the cafeteria, Kirishima was leaning forward so far his shirt was nearly in his food just to make out their words.

“Okay, but what happened with Midoriya?” he pressed.

Kirishima’s friends exchanged that look again. “You tell him. I told him the Quirk,” Sato said.

With a pout, Ishida huffed, her emerald eyes falling back on Kirishima. “Guess Midoriya has known him for kind of a long time. Since they were kids, supposedly. And y’know, since Midoriya doesn’t have a Quirk, he makes fun of him. A lot. Like, flaunting his own ability in front of the poor kid who can’t even defend himself. And one day a couple of weeks ago, Midoriya tried being nice and offering to let him sit at their lunch table, and he just got, like, super mad and used his Quirk to turn Midoriya’s lunch bag to ash while he yelled at him and stuff before he stormed out. Everybody thought he was gonna get at least suspended, but they only gave him cleaning duty detention for a week.”

Kirishima blinked at her a few times when the story was over, trying to picture innocent little Midoriya Izuku getting bullied by the blonde across the room. “Did you guys actually see this happen?” he asked.

“Well… no,” Sato mumbled. “We just heard about it. So maybe it’s not all true, but something definitely happened because we did see him doing his detention time.”

“And like we said, no one even wants to talk about him anymore ‘cause they’re scared of what he might do.”

Finally, Kirishima leaned back, once again looking over at the blonde who had his head tipped back, emptying potato chip crumbs into his mouth from the little plastic baggy they were in. Sure, he looked kind of abrasive. But only kind of. Really, more than anything, he looked lonely sitting at such a big table without anyone beside him to tell him stupid jokes and laugh with him.

“Don’t you guys think that’s a little unfair, though? To judge a guy you don’t even know because of his Quirk?” Kirishima found himself asking.

“C’mon, Kiri! You heard the story about how he bullied Midoriya! He’s practically on the same path as The Bo—”

“Oh my god, don’t say it!” Ishida screeched as she slapped her hands to her ears like a little kid.

“I think you guys are overreacting,” Kirishima reasoned.

“Dude, that’s like going to the same school as a freakin’ serial killer’s kid,” Sato said. “Acutally, it’s worse. I mean, maybe he’s not directly related to that villain, but he’s got the same Quirk. That, plus all the anger and the bullying, definitely isn’t a good sign.”

“But he’s a different person, even if he has the same Quirk, man. The Bomber’s been dead for almost two decades now, anyway. There’s no way he could be his son.”

“But with a Quirk like that, no way he wouldn’t grow up to be a villain. It’s probably ingrained in him, y’know? And damn, sorry if I don’t wanna be a victim of mass genocide?”

Kirishima could only shake his head at his friends. It felt incredibly wrong to be condemning some kid they barely knew over something he very clearly couldn’t control, even if it was something he had in common with who everyone said was one of the worst villains in history. It wasn’t like it was Bakugou’s fault that The Bomber essentially committed mass genocide using his Explosion Quirk with Quirk-boosting drugs. Nor was it Bakugou’s fault that he somehow inherited that same exact Quirk—supposedly.

And past the scowl and the way he was crumpling the plastic baggies his food had been stored in, Kirishima couldn’t help thinking he really did look lonely, even if it only was because of the giant table surrounded by empty chairs he sat at. He knew what loneliness like that felt like, and just seeing the blonde by himself manifested memories of that terribly empty feeling.

“What would you guys do if I went over and sat with him?” Kirishima asked. It sounded like a joke, like one of those stupid pranks middle schoolers often played on others to make fun of and laugh at them. But no, he was completely serious.

Sato and Ishida laughed anyway. “Call you an ambulance, probably,” Sato snorted.

“Hey, I’m serious,” pressed Kirishima. “Maybe he just needs a friend, you know?”

“Kiri, I don’t think he wants friends,” Ishida said cautiously. “If he did, don’t you think he would sit with someone? Like Midoriya, since he offered?”

“I don’t think he’s sitting alone entirely by choice, guys. You already told me everybody wants to avoid him. I think people are staying away from him rather than the other way around.”

Wordlessly, Sato craned his neck around to peer at Bakugou. “I dunno, man. I don’t recommend it, but hey, it’s your funeral.”

“Hey, that’s probably why he’s mean,” Kirishima defended. “‘Cause everyone expects him to be some sort of villain. Maybe he’s not like that.”

Surprisingly, Ishida gave him a smile. It wasn’t exactly an encouraging one, but she sounded at least a little proud when she said, “That’s our Kiri—always giving everyone the benefit of the doubt.”

“Looks like you missed your chance though, dude,” said Sato. Kirishima’s eyes bounced back across to the blonde, who was standing up and tossing his backpack, tattered and torn in the same way his lunchbox was, over his shoulder. “Looks like he’s headed outside already.”

“Crap,” Kirishima mumbled, quickly tossing his trash on his tray. “I’m gonna catch up to him, okay? I’ll see you guys after school,” he said. Hurriedly, he fumbled to grab his own things and then nearly tripped as he stumbled toward the trash can and the tray station. Just before he dumped the contents of his lunch tray into the trash, a flash of bright, shiny green caught his eye. Upon further inspection, he found it to be a silk ribbon with gold lettering across it, and definitely not something that belonged in the trash.

With two fingers he pinched it and pulled it out to read the sewn in inscription:

Happy Birthday, Bakugou.

Frowning, Kirishima quickly dumped his tray before haphazardly stacking it with the others. Keeping hold of the ribbon, he started after the blonde.

Kirishima was practically forced to jog to catch up to Bakugou, who was already halfway down the hall to the doors that led to the recess area. Even though his feet were slapping the linoleum rather loudly to catch up, the blonde didn’t turn around—not until Kirishima was calling after him, anyway.

“Hey!” he called breathlessly just as he caught up. “Hey, man,” he said, waving the little green ribbon in front of the blonde. “I think you threw this away by accident.”

In the next second, Kirishima knew he would never forget the instant Bakugou’s piercing gaze landed right on him. His eyes were slightly bloodshot and narrowed, wrinkled at the edges, and an intense brown so dark they were almost black. His long lashes that somehow, despite his blonde hair, were thick and black, brushed his cheekbones when he blinked. Beneath that cold stare were subtle dark circles and bags beginning to form, though Kirishima probably wouldn’t have noticed them had he not been so close.

Bakugou’s thin blonde brows were smashed together, and his mouth had instantly twisted up into a hard scowl when he’d turned to face Kirishima. A little unnerved as he was coming into contact with that glare, Kirishima smiled and held up the ribbon again. Bakugou hadn’t even stopped walking.

“Who the fuck are you?” the blonde growled in a gruff voice, already deepened by puberty, unlike Kirishima’s own.

“Kirishima Eijirou,” he said cheerfully, holding out a hand in offering.

Bakugou promptly ignored it. “Go away.”

“Don’t you want your ribbon?”

“Fuck no. I threw it away on purpose.”

Kirishima felt his smile fade. “How come? It looks like it was made specially for you.”

“‘S none of your goddamn business, fuckstick. Now leave me alone.”

“C’mon, man. I saw you sitting alone. It can’t be fun to be alone on your birthday,” Kirishima countered.

Bakugou shoved the door open, a rush of warm, rain-scented April air rushed in to meet them. He didn’t bother holding the door, of course, but Kirishima persisted in keeping up with him, even as he was crossing the asphalt toward the fence that lined the area and closed them in.

“I’m always alone. Like I want to be right now,” Bakugou spat.

“Alright, alright, a guy can take a hint,” Kirishima said in surrender. “But at least take this, okay? It’s not nice to throw out gifts.” He held up the ribbon once more.

Bakugou finally stopped and whirled around. His backpack nearly smacked right into Kirishima, who didn’t so much as budge as that stare fell right on him again. “Why the fuck are you talking to me?”

“Why not?”

“Don’t you know who the fuck I am?”

“No. I mean, I’ve heard about you, but I don’t know you.”

“Then that should be enough for you to run screaming to your mommy,” Bakugou muttered. “Nobody fucking talks to me ‘cause of who I am, and you’re probably just fulfilling some shitty dare, right? What’s in it for you? Money?”

Again Kirishima’s face fell. “No, man. Nobody dared me to do anything. I just wanted to return your ribbon. And then if you want, we can go get a basketball and—“

Suddenly, the green ribbon was snatched from between Kirishima’s fingers. Bakugou had yanked it from him and, just before it settled in the palm of his hand, a small explosion—one that couldn’t be any bigger than a simple firecracker—erupted from Bakugou’s palm, promptly disintegrating it. The ashes were blown away in a cool breeze before they could even float to the ground.

“See? Now you’re fuckin’ scared.”

But Bakugou’s interpretation of Kirishima’s widened eyes had been completely off. “No, man! That was awesome!” he said, smiling easily again. “I mean it’s a shame about the gift, but your Quirk is seriously cool.”

For once, Bakugou’s face relaxed, but it was into an expression of complete bafflement rather than one of relent. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Uhm… nothing?”

“Like hell there isn’t! Shouldn’t you be fucking terrified like every other shitrag in this school?!”

Kirishima could only blink at him, dumbfounded. He could think of nothing to say, so after a moment Bakugou had just shrugged around him without another word and left him standing there on the asphalt by himself.

Kirishima could take a hint, and he understood that Bakugou wanted to be left alone—but he wasn’t convinced he really wanted isolation from everyone else. There was no way a kid who had no friends and sat alone at lunch every day could want to always be alone. Kirishima knew what it was like to be so alone, and he also knew that even the strongest, hardest of hearts couldn’t take such loneliness and not suffer. There was no way he was going to give up.

He’d given it a little less than a week since initially talking to Bakugou before making a move to approach him again. It was on a rare day when the busses were late picking them up, leaving a mob of temporarily rideless kids standing on the sidewalk waiting. Kirishima had been staring down the street a little ways when Ishida waved her hand in front of his face, bringing his attention back to her.

“What are you staring at, Kiri?” she asked.

“Huh? Oh… him,” said Kirishima, jerking his chin in the direction of a blonde tuft of hair over a pair of hunched shoulders, slowly moving further and further away as he seemed to trudge down the sidewalk.

“Him again?” Ishida mumbled, evident disappointment seeping into her tone.

“D’you know why he walks home alone?” Kirishima asked her without looking away from Bakugou.

“I dunno. There are rumors that the bus drivers refuse to take him home, but I think it’s just ‘cause he lives too far away and the bus routes don’t go by his house,” she told him. “Why are you so hung up on him, anyway?”

“‘Cause nobody deserves to be so alone all the time,” Kirishima told her. “I think I’m gonna go walk with him.”

Just as Kirishima started off in the direction of Bakugou, ready to break into a jog to catch up, a hand caught his shoulder and stopped him. He promptly shook it off, frowning at the girl behind him.

“What?”

“Are you crazy?” she said, eyes wide. “Are you trying to get hurt or something?!”

“He won’t hurt me, Ishida,” Kirishima told her firmly. He held up a fist, and, unbothered if anyone was watching—knowing using Quirks in public is against the rules—hardened his arm. “He can’t.”

“But Kiri—“

“I’ll be okay,” he reassured her with a smile. “Go ahead and get on the bus without me. I promise I’ll call you when I make it home, okay?” He was halfway down the sidewalk as he shouted at her; she could only watch him go with wide, worried and confused eyes. He spared her just one last wave before he pivoted around and jogged to catch up with Bakugou.

Fortunately he’d been walking along at a slow pace, making it easy to reach and sidle up with him. Bakugou turned as soon as he heard the slapping of shoes against concrete impending and that same hardened scowl as before greeted Kirishima.

“What the hell do you want?” he grumbled before Kirishima could say a word.

“Nothin’, just decided to walk with you,” Kirishima told him casually, hooking his thumbs through the straps of his backpack and falling easily into step beside the other.

“Hmph. Why?” Bakugou’s hard stare cut away from Kirishima. He sidestepped a bit to put some distance between them.

“‘Cause it’s a nice day, man, and I live in this direction, too.”

“And? Why the fuck are you walking with me?” Bakugou spat. “Shouldn’t you be running away screaming like everybody else who gets near me?”

That again. Kirishima’s brow pressed into a frown as he glanced back over at Bakugou, though his gaze was not met as he hoped it might be. “No?” he said. “Should I have a reason to? Do you plan on hurting me or something?”

A long pause followed Kirishima’s question; Bakugou’s hands slipped into his pockets, his shoulders hunching even more. “...no,” he responded finally. “Not yet, anyway, unless you keep annoying me.”

Gently Kirishima nudged Bakugou with his elbow, an easy smile replacing his frown. “Aw c’mon, dude. I’m not afraid of you.” He held up his hand, grabbing Bakugou’s attention. “Plus, I have my own way of protecting myself.” As he explained he curled his fingers into a fist, activating his Quirk and hardening the lower half of his arm.

Bakugou’s eyes only lingered for a minute before he went back to deliberately avoiding eye contact with Kirishima. “Good for you,” he mumbled. “But you never answered why you’re walking with me.”

“‘Cause I see you’re alone a lot,” Kirishima said, his voice edging on a gentler side. “And… I kinda know what that’s like, so I thought maybe you’d like to walk with someone.” The sentence was punctuated by a halfhearted shrug.

“And his the fuck would you know what it’s like to be alone? Don’t you have a bunch of shitty friends or whatever?”

For an instant, a pigment of elation bubbled up in Kirishima’s chest. Bakugou had paid attention to him before—he had known of his existence before the other day at lunch. For someone who tended to feel pretty invisible to anyone who he wasn’t friends with, that was pretty amazing, especially coming from someone like Bakugou.

But that, for now, was beside the point. “...my parents are away a lot,” he said tentatively.

“Hmph. That sucks.”

Kirishima reached up and ruffled a hand through his hair, trying to swallow around the sudden thickness in his throat. “...yeah. So, um, hey—have you played the new Smash Bros game yet?” he blurted.

It was a minute before Bakugou answered, and Kirishima easily picked up on the roughness of his voice when he did. “No. My foster parents don’t let me play video games.”

Foster parents. Oh. Kirishima did his best to pretend his stepping didn’t falter. “Really? Dude, that sucks,” he said in an attempt to cover it up; inside, though, he was reeling from this new information. It explained so much, and yet left him with tons more questions. “Hey, how ‘bout you come to my house sometime and we can play it together?”

“Why should I?” Bakugou was quick to respond.

“‘Cause it’s fun. I think you’d like it,” Kirishima reasoned.

“Idiot. You say that like you know me,” scoffed Bakugou.

“Touche… but if you come, I can get to know you,” he pointed out, a grin finding its way onto his lips in pride that he’d thought of an excuse—a reason to hang out with Bakugou. “Whattaya say? Your foster parents will let you hang out with a friend, right?”

“We’re not friends.”

“Well no, not yet, anyway.”

Bakugou’s eyes snapped back to his left, landing in a somewhat confused glare on Kirishima. “How damn persistent can you be?” he huffed.

Kirishima let himself shrug. “I dunno. I mean, you don’t have to come over. I just thought it would be fun.”

For once, Bakugou didn’t respond right away and in the silence Kirishima tried to predict what he might say when he did speak up again—if he did. “Don’t you have some other shitty friends to play with?” “Why are you so damn annoying?” “I don’t wanna hang out with someone who’s got such a lame Quirk, that’s why I don’t hang out with anyone.”

But it turned out to be none of those things. They’d gone at least another block before Kirishima himself decided to break the quiet.

“So, is that a no?” he asked cautiously.

“I’ll fucking think about it.”

Just like that, Kirishima let a smile push his cheeks up toward his eyes. “Alright! That works out, ‘cause my parents are leaving for another trip abroad next week, so we won’t have to worry about ‘em.”

“What, your shitty parents just leave you home alone all the time?”

“Uh, yeah.” The smile faltered a bit. “They do. But there’s usually a housekeeper around I can talk to,” he said with a shrug. “She won’t bother us, though. Um, if you decide to come, that is.”

“Hmph.”

“So uh, good timing ‘cause I gotta turn here,” Kirishima said, jabbing a thumb down the next right turn. “Come find me and let me know, okay? My parents leave next Tuesday, so any time after that is good!” he called after the other when he made the turn.

“You’re an idiot,” Bakugou muttered.

Kirishima only laughed. “See ya, Bakugou!”

---

Song Artist: P!nk

Chapter Text

“You invited him over to your house?!” Sato hissed the words under his breath, evidently shocked.

“He’s not that bad, man,” Kirishima insisted. “Plus, I think he’s super lonely. He doesn’t have any friends.” And it seems like he barely even has a family. But Kirishima purposely neglected to tell anyone else about the fact that Bakugou was a foster kid—something he couldn’t get off of his mind since the second he found out.

“Sure, that’s what you think now . He’s probably just manipulating you.”

Kirishima looked up from copying the problem from the chalkboard in front of him, a frown manifesting across his features at his friend. “But I’m the one who went after him ,” he said. “And it’s not cool for you to think something like that, man.”

Sato leaned forward and dropped his voice even more. “But The Bomber . He’s gotta be a descendant of him, and that guy was said to be a master manipulator!”

“Stop, man,” Kirishima said. “You can’t judge somebody just because of their ancestors, or their Quirks. Like, look at Midoriya. He doesn’t have a Quirk but he’s really smart, and every time I’ve talked to him he’s seemed like a cool guy.”

“...I guess, man. I still think you’re crazy, but like I said before, it’s your funeral.”

Kirishima just shook his head and continued working out the math problem in front of him. He really didn’t believe Bakugou was bad, or that just because his Quirk was the same as one of the worst villains in history, his fate was sealed in following the same path. Quirks didn’t define people, and he firmly believed that in spite of himself—how his own Quirk was painfully plain, easily reflecting his personality. He… was just the exception. And he hoped that Bakugou somehow—as his other friends had—wouldn’t just brush him off because of that.

~✵~

Kirishima made it a point to join Bakugou for lunch every day for the rest of the week before meeting back up with his friends for basketball outside when they were finished. While Bakugou did continue trying to get rid of him, putting on what Kirishima could only assume was a hostile front, they ended up falling into conversation a few times before Bakugou stiffened up as though he realized what was happening and was trying to push Kirishima away again.

It was a failed attempt every time, though, and little by little they got to know each other. Kirishima learned that Bakugou had just turned fifteen and that his hair was naturally spiky the way it always was, among other things. He shared things about himself, too, which seemed to be the thing that got Bakugou to open up in the first place (other than the fact that Kirishima was pretty sure he was grateful to have someone to talk to, regardless of his borderline hostility and irritation that came in bursts—kind of a resemblance to his Quirk).

Bakugou was even quick to shoot down rumors Kirishima informed him of, like the one where he‘d supposedly threatened Midoriya as well as a few others Kirishima had heard people murmuring about in the past few weeks.

Eventually, he gave up on trying to brush Kirishima off or get him to leave him alone after the first couple of days, and by Friday Kirishima felt that was good enough to take the initiative and ask about coming over.

“So have you decided yet? If you wanna come hang out?”

Bakugou gave a noncommittal shrug in response; he’d been tearing apart the plastic baggie his sandwich had come in for the past little while without saying much, and Kirishima had found that to be fairly normal. He wasn’t all that talkative, and Kirishima could only assume that was due to lack of friends. He probably didn’t know how to socialize very well.

“Well my parents are still gone and they won’t be back ‘til sometime next week. The offer’s still open.”

“Fine,” Bakugou muttered, suddenly crumpling the plastic in a fist.

“...fine?” Kirishima asked stupidly. “What do you mean, ‘fine’?”

“I mean fine, I’ll come over to your shitty house. Are you fucking stupid?” he grumbled, disintegrating the plastic in one small explosion emitting from his palm. Smoke curled away from it, smelling of exactly what it was—burnt plastic.

Kirishima couldn’t even be bothered to think about how using Quirks unauthorized was highly against the rules because he was perking up, smiling. “Really?”

“Yes really, dumbass. You have the IQ of a fucking walrus, don’t you?”

Even Kirishima smiled through the insult. “Sweet, man. When do you wanna come? Today’s good for me, but if you have to ask permission from your parents—“

“They’re not my fucking parents,” Bakugou snapped, his dark eyes cutting sharply toward the other. “And they don’t give a shit what I do, so I don’t have to ask permission.”

“...ah, okay,” Kirishima said. “In that case, let’s meet over by the buses after school, okay? We can walk to my place together.”

“Whatever.”

~✵~

For the rest of the day Kirishima was distracted by his excitement. Really, he didn’t know why , exactly, he was so anxious for the final bell to ring so he could go hang out with Bakugou. He barely knew the guy after all, and his friends had continuously been warning him and reminding him how crazy they thought he was for wanting to hang out with a guy who had the same Quirk as a guy who committed genocide almost half a century ago.

Maybe that was why, he figured—he wanted to know more about Bakugou. What was his life like, having such a strong Quirk? Clearly things weren’t too easy on him, what with being alone so much. And what caused him to be in the foster system?

Kirishima seemed to suddenly have so many questions and wonderings, and all he could do was get to know Bakugou bit by bit.

Besides, he couldn’t just sit back and watch someone be so isolated from everyone, especially when he knew what it felt like to be so painfully alone.

Regardless—or perhaps because—of his excitement, the remainder of the day felt like it dragged on, and as a result his old habit of impatiently bouncing his knee resurfaced as he tried his best to concentrate in class.

And when that last bell finally rang, he was one of the first out of his seat and out the door.

It had been years since he’d had a friend visiting his house and while at that point he wasn't sure if Bakugou could exactly be considered a friend—at least not yet—it didn’t lessen his eagerness. As a result of it, he was one of the first to the parking lot where the buses lined up to pick up students, so he hopped up onto a nearby concrete wall to wait.

The entire time he waited, watching kids flood and then trickle out of the nearby doors in pairs and groups, very few of them walking alone, he kept his eye out for a spiky blond head. The longer it took for Bakugou to show, the more Kirishima felt his heart beginning to sink into his stomach. Did Bakugou forget? Or was Kirishima being stood up? He really didn’t like to jump to conclusions, but—

As soon as that thought was beginning to form, Kirishima hopped from the wall and waved a hand over his head, trying to grab the attention of the blond he spotted just seconds ago coming out of the same door he’d practically skipped through a while ago. Bakugou saw him immediately and slinked over, hands in his pockets and his shoulders slightly hunched.

“Sup?” he muttered as soon as he met up with Kirishima, dark eyes not meeting the other’s.

“Ready to go?” Kirishima asked.

Bakugou gave an indifferent shrug, but it was enough for Kirishima to begin leading the way towards his house. It was only about a twenty minute walk to get there, and the clear skies were in their favor as they walked.

Kirishima did his best to make conversation as they strolled along without getting too invasive—he hoped. He kept the topic towards video games, something Bakugou incidentally hadn’t played much of because he’d apparently lived in a foster home since he was very young and was scarcely allowed television time. That, of course, led to a whole new slew of questions buzzing around Kirishima’s head; for some reason he was so… so intrigued by Bakugou—and not scared of him at all.

Sure, Bakugou could be kind of abrasive. He had the biggest potty mouth of anyone Kirishima had met his age and seemed to think rather lowly of other people, but even Kirishima could see that the insults were empty under the surface.

“So why don’t you ask your actual friends to come hang out with you, huh?” Bakugou muttered at one point.

“You mean Sato and Ishida?”

“I don’t know their fuckin’ names.”

“Well… they’re pretty busy,” Kirishima mumbled, skidding the sole of his shoe along the sidewalk. “And I mean, they’re more just school friends. We don’t really hang out outside of school.” He shrugged in an attempt to seem nonchalant.

“So you invited some random guy?”

“I don’t think you’re just someone random. I thought you’d like a friend, too, but we only have lunch together. Plus Smash Bros is more fun with multiple people.”

Bakugou grunted like that didn’t make sense to him, but he refrained from further questioning. In hindsight, Kirishima realized he had a point; he could have tried inviting Sato or Ishida over to play his new game, but he wasn’t lying when he said they were busy. Sato was on the football (soccer) team and Ishida had drama club every other day after school. When they weren’t doing that, they were busy with homework or chores. Kirishima himself wasn’t too physically inclined, nor was he one for acting. He’d considered joining the art club a while back, but by the time he made the decision, it was already past the application deadline.

And, maybe he was crazy for it, but Bakugou having inherited the Explosion Quirk fascinated him. Besides, if anyone could relate to such loneliness, it was him.

The proof of his own frequent isolation was evident as soon as he unlocked the door to his house and let Bakugou in. It was so quiet inside it sometimes felt like a gaping hole of emptiness. His parents didn’t like dander so he was never allowed to adopt a pet, and it was nearly every other week they were going on another trip so it wasn’t like he had anyone to call out a greeting to upon his arrival.

Bakugou followed him quietly inside, keeping his hands in his pockets after he’d shed his shoes and discarded his schoolbag in the entryway. He hovered in the doorway of the kitchen while Kirishima rummaged through the refrigerator for something to snack on. When they decided on apples and peanut butter, Kirishima took the apples to a counter with a cutting board to cut them up.

“You can relax, man,” he said. “Come have a seat, yeah?”

“I know that,” Bakugou muttered. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

In spite of his words, he did shuffle over to the small breakfast table in the corner of the kitchen nearest the door to the dining room and plopped into one of the chairs. Kirishima was already busy slicing the apples, using a hardened finger instead of a knife—something he found to be easier to control and clean up.

“So what kinda Quirks do your parents have that gave you that one, anyway?” Bakugou mumbled.

“Oh uh…” Kirishima began as he moved to wash his hands. “My dad’s able to harden small parts of his body at a time and my mom can run an electric current over her entire body. They kinda combined so I can harden my whole body.” He shrugged as he dried his hands and took the plate of apples and bowl of peanut butter over to the table, joining Bakugou by taking a seat across from him.

Bakugou plucked an apple up with a small huff. He dunked it into the peanut butter before tossing the entire thing in.

“...I’d ask about your Quirk but I guess you might not know, huh? Since you’ve been in foster care for so long.”

“Nope,” Bakugou mumbled, immediately going for another apple slice.

Kirishima shrugged, grabbing one as well. “Maybe it’s better that way, ya know? You kinda get to start from scratch.”

A small ‘hmph’ sounded from Bakugou’s throat as his teeth broke noisily into the apple slice and he said nothing else. As a result they snacked in silence for a few more minutes.

“So we gonna play your dumb game or what?” Bakugou asked to break the silence.

“Yeah, man,” Kirishima said with a grin.

That was all the encouragement he needed. It only took a minute to clean up their snack before he led Bakugou into the living room were the game console and the brand new game—unopened, because he was waiting and hoping Bakugou would be joining him—were waiting for them.

Kirishima quickly found out that Bakugou really hadn’t been lying about never really having played a video game before. He knew the basics of how to use the controls, but anything else was lost on him. That was, until Kirishima spent a good ten minutes giving him as detailed of a rundown of everything as he could, at least for Super Smash Bros. Even then he struggled with it for a bit, though Kirishima couldn’t really blame him—everyone was a beginner at some point, and in all honesty he found it felt good to help Bakugou like this, knowing how alone he was all the time.

Fortunately, Bakugou was a quick learner and it was only an hour or so later when he was really falling into his own kind of groove and Kirishima had to up his game a bit to compensate. He lost track of how many times Bakugou muttered—or even shouted—”Die!” as they each were trying to button mash their way to victory.

“Man, you really have a knack for this,” Kirishima said after tossing the controller down onto the rug, his thumbs tired from pressing the buttons so hard.

“You expect me to be a weakling or somethin’?” Bakugou muttered.

“No way, dude! I like a challenge. You keep improving at this rate and even I’ll have a hard time defeating you, and I’ve been playing this game for a couple years now.”

“Let’s play again. Bet I could kick your ass right now,” Bakugou said with some semblance of a grin—a cocky smirk—but a grin nonetheless, something Kirishima hadn’t seen from him before.

“Hey, gimme a few for my thumbs to relax, man. My hands were startin’ to cramp ‘cause I was pressing the buttons so hard.”

“Hmph. Don’t be a baby.”

“I’m not!”

“Aren’t you the one with the hardening Quirk?”

“Yeah, but if I used it I’d break the controller and then we couldn’t play together any more.”

“Can’t you just make your parents get you a new one?”

Kirishima leaned back against the couch and rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. “...nah,” he mumbled. “They’d take one look at it and know what happened, say it’s my fault and that I’d have to make my own money to buy a new one.”

Bakugou followed his actions, folding his arms behind his head and propping a knee up. “Your parents must be assholes.”

Kirishima shrugged, trying to play it off like it was no big deal. “They’re okay, I guess. They’re gone most of the time so I don’t have to deal with them a lot, so ‘s no big deal, really,” he mumbled.

“Why do they just abandon you here, anyway?”

“They don’t… abandon me, really…” Kirishima cleared his throat. “They just… like to take trips, but I can’t go ‘cause I have school. I’m pretty sure that if I wasn’t around they wouldn’t even have a house because they’d just travel all the time.”

“Sounds like they don’t even give a fuck about you.”

“...that’s not true,” Kirishima said weakly, but even he couldn’t convince himself that it wasn’t. They were gone a lot, and they always brought things home. Always had to have the biggest, most expensive things. His dad was an accountant who worked exclusively online, so he could work from anywhere, and he made enough money for all of their travel endeavors and to pay for the house and the housekeeper.

Kirishima always tried to tell himself it was a good life—he hardly had any rules to follow. He only spoke to his parents once or twice a day on the phone when they were making sure he was doing his homework and being responsible. He always had food to eat and could essentially do whatever he wanted when he was alone.

That was how it’d always been, as far back as he could remember. For himself, he tried to pretend that it was normal—or okay, at the very least—that he didn’t really… know his parents. That the babysitter he grew up being supervised by was more like a mother to him than his own. That the rest of the house felt like an empty void as he fell asleep to the ringing in his ears every night…

“Well. Can’t be any worse than my shitrags of parents,” Bakugou muttered, breaking Kirishima from his thoughts—the ones he was used to but that, admittedly, never got any easier to bear.

It was enough to make him turn his head, curiosity bubbling up once more. “‘Cause they put you in foster care?”

“Yup.”

“How come they did that?”

Kirishima saw Bakugou’s throat bounce with a swallow. He did not return the gaze when he spoke.

“‘Cause of my Quirk,” he said, almost reserved, like he was trying to hold something back. “Just like every other piece of shit who knows about it, they were fucking terrified of me the second it showed up, and they wanted nothing to do with me so they dropped me off at the nearest orphanage the next day.”

That’s all Kirishima needed to hear to cause him to sit up, eyes wide, and stare at his new friend in shock. The words of Sato and Ishida echoed in his head; all the things they said about Bakugou’s Quirk, and how it was the same as the worst, most destructive and deadly villain in history to date. He remembered all the times they said he should be scared of Bakugou for that one reason alone.

“And word has it he’s got a pretty villainous personality, too,” Ishida had whispered to him one day at lunchtime. “I really don’t think you should get close to him if you know what’s good for you.”

“It’s just ‘cause of your Quirk,” Kirishima mumbled, putting into words what he already knew. “That’s the reason people avoid you and say bad things about you.”

Suddenly Bakugou, too, sat up. “Obviously,” he muttered, holding up a hand with curled fingers. A few firecracker-like explosions emitted from his palms, smoke curling almost delicately away from it. “People are fucking scared of me before they know me all because I have the same Quirk as that fuckface who killed lots of people way back fucking when. They automatically peg me for a shitty villain before they understand shit. Even my own parents thought I was gonna turn out the same way!” He huffed out the words, frustrated. “If they hated me and wanted to get rid of me so much they may as well have fucking drowned me in the bathtub!”

The words, shouted, rough, and full of angry pain, slammed Kirishima straight in the chest. He was speechless, and Bakugou was on his feet, storming toward the door.

“Wait, Bakugou!” Kirishima managed to choke out, but it was too quiet and too late. Bakugou had already snatched his bag and shoes from the floor and as the words struggled out, the door was already slamming shut behind him.

---

Song Artist: Twenty One Pilots

Chapter Text

{Past}

-Eijirou-

Kirishima approached Bakugou with a certain kind of reservation the next day during lunch. He’d gone right past Sato and Ishida, too, having a goal in mind. Rather than sliding into the seat beside Bakugou, he perched himself rather delicately across from him. He was quiet, but Bakugou looked up from his lunch anyway.

Wordlessly, Kirishima slid a small silver gift bag across the table in his direction before pocketing his hand and waiting.

Bakugou remained equally as silent as he took it and opened it, his brows pressed slightly inward in skepticism. He tugged out the tissue paper and unrolled it to reveal the little rubber keychain of an old style Nintendo controller.

Bakugou’s dark eyes flicked up to Kirishima’s crimson ones quizzically.

“It’s an apology,” Kirishima explained, “for yesterday.”

“...the fuck you need to apologize for?” Bakugou muttered.

“For prying, I guess.” Kirishima shrugged a shoulder halfheartedly. “We barely know each other and I kept asking personal questions. I know a little keychain doesn’t make up for it, but—“

The sudden crumpling of the tissue paper stopped Kirishima’s sentence short. “Don’t go blaming yourself for stupid shit, dumbass. ‘S my fuckin’ fault for getting so emotional about dumb shit, so whatever. It’s in the past now anyway.”

Kirishima blinked at him a few times, unsure if he meant the conversation or the issues with his parents as a whole. Still, it was a relief to know Bakugou wasn’t upset with him.

“Are you good now, though?” Kirishima couldn’t help but ask, remembering the look of anguish that had smoldered in Bakugou’s eyes as he shouted about his parents—the very look that haunted him throughout the night and following morning.

“Yeah. It’s whatever. Shouldn’t you get back to your loser friends now, though? They’ve been fucking staring over here since you sat down and it’s pissing me the hell off.”

Automatically Kirishima twisted in his seat to see Sato and Ishida trying, but failing, to make their stares subtle. Nonchalant. As soon as Kirishima’s eyes met Sato’s, his eyebrows lifted almost expectantly.

“Mm, I think I’d like to have lunch with you today, man,” Kirishima said to Bakugou, turning back around. “If that’s cool.”

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Why?”

“Why not?” Even in the slight turmoil Kirishima continued to hold within him from yesterday’s conversation, he managed a grin. “I can have more than two friends.”

“...who the fuck are you?” Bakugou muttered. It seemed a rhetorical question as he stuffed the tissue paper back into the gift bag and returned to his lunch, so Kirishima refrained from giving an answer as he pulled out his own lunch—the one he’d made for himself that morning because he’d spent the rest of his lunch money on the keychain.

“Seriously,” Bakugou said, tugging at Kirishima’s attention again. “Why the hell are you so hell bent on being friends with me?”

When Kirishima met his eyes again, they were still narrow with skepticism, maybe even defense. The only way Kirishima could think to answer was with a question of his own.

“...people really haven’t tried to be friends with you before, huh?”

Bakugou sat back a bit. “With a Quirk like this? Hell no. People are too fuckin’ scared. ‘Sides,” he said as his arms crossed, “I’m too good for ‘em anyway.”

Kirishima couldn’t help raising his brows a bit, skeptical himself. “You don’t really believe that,” he said. It wasn’t a question, and he made sure Bakugou knew that.

“And who the fuck says I don’t?” Bakugou muttered defensively.

“...your eyes, man,” Kirishima murmured after a moment’s hesitation.

“Shut up,” Bakugou retaliated quickly. “Stop getting all deep on me. Freaks me out.”

Kirishima let himself relax and manufactured up a smile, trying to reassure the other. “Sorry,” he said sincerely. “But… if it makes you feel any better, my Quirk hasn’t exactly done any good for me, either.”

Fortunately, Bakugou seemed receptive enough to Kirishima’s attempt to lighten the mood, make it seem less like he was trying to corner him as he, too, relaxed and focused back on his lunch. “The hell are you talking about?”

“Well, my parents… weren’t exactly excited when I got it like I was,” he explained, finding himself suddenly unable to meet Bakugou’s eyes and used the lunchbox he’d prepared as an excuse to keep his gaze away. “They don’t really care at all, actually. It’s nothing flashy. Sure, it can be good at defense, but that won’t make me popular and it doesn’t really make me strong, either. It won’t get me much at all, so they kind of ignore it so I tend not to use it, especially in front of them.”

Kirishima thought he’d made a mistake when he glanced up at Bakugou, but when their eyes met he found a look of almost… bafflement.

“So fucking what if your Quirk isn’t flashy or exciting?” he asked, louder than before. “It’s still a Quirk and you’re their damn son. They should be proud.”

For some reason those words, coming from someone like Bakugou, made Kirishima feel somehow… warm on the inside and he smiled—real and genuine this time. “Thanks, man. I think the same thing about you. Shouldn’t matter about the past ‘cause you’re a different person.”

And yet that was all it took for the mood to do a complete one-eighty, and Bakugou clicked his tongue as he tore the bread of his squashed sandwich apart. “Yeah. Fuckin’ tell that to them,” he muttered.

“I wish I could,” Kirishima said quietly. “Sorry for bringing it up again.”

“Stop apologizing, loser. Don’t act like this isn’t shit I think about all the fucking time, ‘cause it is, and if you keep up with that pity bullshit I’ll blow your stupid shark teeth out of your mouth.”

For some reason the threat, so empty, had Kirishima laughing. “Sure, man. And I’ll punch yours out of yours when ya do, ‘kay?”

“Fuckin’ try me,” Bakugou challenged. Despite the rough nature of the words, there was a spark of passion in his eyes. A small one, but there was, and it was a mighty improvement over the angry and standoffish Bakugou Kirishima had met just over a week ago.

An instant such as that, though, with a more open Bakugou, was extremely short-lived. Over the next few days as Kirishima continued to tag along with him at lunch and after school, he continued to question Kirishima’s motives for sticking around and even tried to push him away at times.

“I don’t need friends. Just shows you’re weak,” he said at one point. “I only need myself.”

It wasn’t enough for Kirishima to leave, and as time went on they ended up bonding over what seemed at that point to be a mutual kind of loneliness, though Bakugou’s ran far, far deeper. Not once in his life had Kirishima ever bonded with someone on such a level or gotten to know them as quickly as he seemed to Bakugou; before too long he was even considering Bakugou a friend, though he wasn’t sure he could say the same on the other end.

As a result, however, his other friends began to look at him differently. Treat him differently. They distanced themselves more, were less talkative with him and sometimes seemed to be avoiding him altogether. It hurt, he had to admit, but he couldn’t pretend to not know why.

Still, he valued them as friends; they were the only ones he had besides Bakugou, and he missed their general lunchtime shenanigans together. He couldn’t get as deep in conversation with them, but he still had fun with them.

Or… used to, as proven by a conversation a week or so after he’d given Bakugou the keychain. Kirishima wasn’t one to head straight into conflict, but he also wasn’t one to give up so easily on something he cared about, so he had to communicate.

But when he sat down in his old usual spot with them at lunch on a particularly sunny afternoon, they looked at him as though he was a foreigner, their backs straightening and their conversation falling silent as soon as he was present.

“What’s up, guys?” he asked, trying to remain casual.

“Not much,” Ishida quipped.

“Yeah… uh, how come you’re not sitting over there with your new ‘friend’?” Sato asked, his tone almost hostile as he jabbed his thumb over a shoulder in Bakugou’s general direction.

“‘Cause you guys are my friends, too.”

“Are we?” Ishida asked. “‘Cause it seems like you’d rather go play prey than be friends with us anymore.”

“There’s no reason I can’t be friends with both, you guys.”

In that second the other two exchanged a look —something they did often, having been on the same wavelength for as long as Kirishima had known them. He’d been the one to join them a few years back, when he was the new kid who’d transferred from several towns over and no one was talking to him . They welcomed him with open arms and ridiculous antics back then, and they’d been virtually inseparable ever since. Of course, that rope clearly wasn’t as strong as Kirishima thought…

“You’re allowed to have other friends, man,” Sato said. “But just…” He stopped, looking uneasy.

“Just not him,” Ishida hushed, leaning in a bit like it was some big secret.

Kirishima hated that he hadn’t seen this coming. Of course these two were no exception when it came to those who feared Bakugou for one simple thing. They were the ones who dished out all the gossip before he approached Bakugou those few weeks ago, and they had been talking about him like he would actually blow their brains out or something.

So why would they want to be associated with someone who was associated with him? Bakugou was already pegged for villain material to most of them; with the way middle schoolers worked, surely Kirishima was headed down the same path just for being his friend .

More and more every day, Kirishima learned just how awful and unfair the world really was.

It wasn’t fair for him, who’d been abandoned without actually being abandoned by his parents. Whose parents didn’t care about his Quirk or bother to ask how he was doing. What he wanted to be when he grew up. Only ever cared about his grades to make sure he got into a good high school to get into a good college to get a good job that paid a lot. Who hardly ever really… talked to him.

It was even less fair for Bakugou, whose family was so afraid of him they cast him aside to forget about him, and whose foster parents were almost the same way if not for laws forcing them to take care of him.

“I’ve jumped around between foster homes my whole fucking life,” he’d told Kirishima a few days back as he was tearing off the petals of a dandelion one by one. “I only vaguely remember my actual parents ‘cause they fucking got rid of me as soon as my Quirk came along. And none of the foster bitches want anything to do with me, either. They don’t give a fuck what I do. They couldn’t care less if I got hit by a fucking truck.” He’d disintegrated the remainder of the weed without bothering to check if anyone was watching. “In fact they’d probably welcome it so they wouldn’t have to worry about me anymore.”

And now the world wasn’t being fair to either of them, seeing as no one but Kirishima had the decency to see beyond something trivial as a Quirk to the person who contained it. And because people who were supposed to be his friends wanted nothing to do with him because of his basic human decency.

Irritation—or frustration, maybe—bubbled up from the pit of Kirishima’s stomach. “If you guys don’t like that I made a new friend no matter who it is, you aren’t really my friends.”

Ishida sat back and crossed her arms, looking positively offended. “Sorry I don’t wanna be associated with a kid villain,” she scoffed.

“Yeah, man,” Sato agreed. “I don’t wanna be pegged for a villain myself before I’m even out of middle school.”

It was definitely irritation, Kirishima decided, as his face began to feel hot from his rising anger. “How do you guys think he feels, huh? His own parents didn’t even want him for the same reason you guys are so afraid of him, and now you’re acting like he’s gonna blow up the whole school before you even bother to get to know him!”

“That’s his own fault for having such a bad attitude and showing off his Quirk every chance he gets without getting in trouble,” Sato muttered, his own kind of anger showing on his face now.

“Fine then,” Kirishima said, already in the middle of gathering his stuff. “Peg me for a villain if that’s how you see it. I can’t be friends with people who can’t even bother to keep an open mind.”

With that, he stood up and turned his back to them, marching right over to Bakugou’s otherwise empty table and making a point of taking a seat with him. The whole way, he could feel their stares boring right into his back, but not once did he let himself turn around again.

~✵~

That was the last Kirishima ever associated with Sato and Ishida, and Bakugou wasn’t happy about it.

“Why the hell are you gonna let an asshole like me come between you and your shitty friends, huh?!” he’d shouted, fists clenched and his face reddening.

“I’m not gonna be friends with people who judge others before they even get to know them, Bakugou! I don’t care what they think of me now!” Kirishima had yelled right back.

Bakugou dropped it soon after that, but it was clear to Kirishima that it still frustrated him. He knew it didn’t make sense in Bakugou’s head why, after his entire life of being cast aside and even feared, someone suddenly wanted to be friends with him.

But Kirishima hadn’t been lying—not a bit. While he had to admit losing the only two friends he’d had—save for Bakugou himself—since starting middle school stung, he felt as though the two had shown their true colors. They were just like everyone else, fearing and judging Bakugou—and now him, too—merely because of his Quirk.

And, okay, his attitude, too. Sato hadn’t been wrong about that, but how could Kirishima blame Bakugou for it? In turn, he had also been right; Bakugou was rejected by everyone , and just knowing a small taste of what Bakugou had been through his entire life in the past couple of weeks as people began to avoid him and shoot strange looks his way, too, for hanging out with him, the attitude was justified. It was a defense mechanism. He expected everyone to hate him, to fear him. All he could do was compensate with a facade of pride to hide the insecurity to protect himself.

In the weeks following, Kirishima came to understand why Bakugou sat alone at lunch, why crowds in the hallway parted when he walked by, why even teachers sat him in the far corners of the classroom and only surrounded him with the kids who had the strongest Quirks, just in case. And it wasn’t because Bakugou himself was a threat or because he himself had done something to instigate their fear; it was simply because of their own irrational thoughts of what they expected him to become simply because of something he couldn’t control—what his Quirk was, and the villain who’d had the same Quirk decades ago and used it to cause so much pain and destruction. He understood it because, while it was on a smaller level, it began happening to him, too.

Just like Sato and Ishida, people didn’t want to be associated with the one associated with Bakugou. Even indirectly, they were scared. Afraid Bakugou was ‘brainwashing’ him, or so he’d overheard during his English class once, into wanting to become a villain, too. To be his partner in crime, or whatever.

Kirishima was slowly but surely teaching himself to tune it out. He had a new friend, and one he could relate to. That was something Sato and Ishida could never give him, having grown up with intact families who cared for and loved them unconditionally. Regardless of what they—or anyone—thought, he’d stay Bakugou’s friend. Period.

---

Song Artist: OneRepublic

Chapter Text

{Present Day}

-Eijirou-

The blaring sound of Eijirou’s ringtone jolted him to consciousness, his hands scrambling for his phone in the somewhat frantic realization that he’d forgotten to silence it before crashing for the night—on the couch, again.

“Hello?” he muttered into the receiver, only half awake, though his heart was still racing.

“Dude, have you seen the news?” came none other than Denki’s voice from the other end.

“What? No, I just woke up,” Eijirou mumbled, but he was already scouring the room for the television remote. “Why?”

“Turn it on. There’s somethin’ you gotta see.”

Eijirou’s stomach was in knots as he moved to his feet, feeling groggy and unsteady from the sudden wake up. Eventually he found the remote wedged under the couch cushions, not having been touched in the better part of a month. He fumbled with it for a minute to turn on the television, the sleepy blurriness of his eyes only just then beginning to subside. To his fortune, the news channel was what it was apparently left on the last time it was turned off, and he was sucked right into the story.

Said story was about the explosion of a twenty story building just a few towns over, with the shaky image of a hooded, relatively muscular figure with a tuft of ash blonde hair sticking out from under the hood, though the face below it was indistinguishable.

It’s Katsuki. There was no doubt about it—not to Eijirou, who would know that figure anywhere regardless of a blurry picture.

“It’s gotta be,” Denki said, bringing Eijirou to the realization that he’d said that out loud. “They suspect he’s the one who caused the explosion.”

Eijirou sat forward, completely awake now, staring unblinking at the screen where the news anchor was in the middle of the story.

“...suspect that the image caught by the surveillance camera of a nearby gas station is that of Bakugou Katsuki or ‘Ground Zero,’ a pro hero who’s seemed to have fallen off the radar only about a month ago. It appears he’s fleeing the scene. Whether he is the cause of the explosion is still unknown, but given his background and his Quirk, officials say the possibility of arson is very real, though they will continue to investigate as they search for Bakugou as a suspect.”

Eijirou’s throat went completely dry. “He wouldn’t,” he managed. “He’s not like that. He’s not a villain.” Is he…?

“I agree, man,” Denki said. 

Eijirou shook himself immediately, shaking off that last, absolutely blasphemous thought. He knew Katsuki, even if he hadn’t seen him in more than three months now. Regardless of where he ended up or what happened, he wouldn’t become a villain.

“What do you think he was doing there, though?” Denki asked.

“I don’t know,” Eijirou mumbled, eyes still glued to the screen. “I really don’t…”

By then the news channel had skipped over to an aerial view of the smoldering building, surrounded by firefighters and heroes doing what they could to put the fires out.

“At this time officials are unaware of any casualties or injuries. Heroes with proper Quirks and equipment are inside the rubble looking for anyone who might still be trapped inside. Fortunately, fire alarms went off soon enough and signaled the majority of the office workers to the danger, allowing the majority of them to escape without injury.

“As of right now, we are assuming this to be a villain attack until the fires are out and the cause of the explosion can be investigated further.”

Eijirou’s stomach was in knots, and he hadn’t realized until the channel went to commercial that he’d been edging toward the end of his seat, clutching the phone to his ear so tightly his fingers were sore.

“You okay, Kiri?” came Denki’s voice.

“Yeah. Think so. I’m just… confused.”

“Me, too.”

“Do you… think I should try and call him?” Eijirou asked without thinking much.

“Hmm… maybe you should. It’ll let you know if he’s responsible. Plus, maybe you can get some closure. I know you need it.”

Eijirou was nodding slightly, his hand coming up to scratch through the mess of hair on his head.

In that second the phone buzzed and he tugged it away from his ear to see a text from Mina. He expected it to be about the same thing as he put Denki on speaker, but when he pulled up the message it was merely a question.

Did Kami call you?

Yeah , he typed back, on the phone with him now.

“D’you want some company, man?” Denki spoke up in the silence between them. “I’m s’posed to go on duty in an hour but if you need someone—“

“Nah, ‘m okay,” Eijirou told him. “Thanks for letting me know.”

“No prob. Figured it’s something you’d wanna know. I know I would. If you need anything, just shoot me a text okay? And if you call him, you should let me know. I wanna make sure you’re all good.”

“...yeah,” Eijirou mumbled, half distracted by another text. “Thanks.”

“Yup. Talk to you later.”

“Bye.”

Eijirou let Denki be the one to end the call as he responded to Mina’s message: Of course he did exactly the opposite of what I asked

What do you mean?

Call me when you hang up with him, kay?

In only a few seconds, Mina was the one on the other line in place of Denki.

“How’re you holding up?” she asked in that soft, concerned voice Eijirou was getting to know a little too well. He knew he’d been a mess, but he was really starting to hate the pitying voices of his friends.

“I’m alright. What did you mean about Kami?”

“...he was the one who told me about the explosion, and he said he was gonna call you to tell you, but I told him he shouldn’t. I don’t think knowing something like this is gonna help you, y’know? You need to heal.”

Eijirou felt himself grit his teeth. It wasn’t the first time Mina and Denki had been on opposite sides of an argument for something like this. Again, he knew he’d been pretty bad—though he was getting better—but he was still an adult , and he was taking care of himself. He needed to. He knew that. He hated being babied.

“I guess,” was all he could think to say, because he knew that part of him—a very potent part, if he was being honest with himself—was still holding on strong to Katsuki. That part of him was glad to know where he was and that he was safe (or safe-ish, he guessed). That part of him, in fact, was just under the surface screaming for him to call Katsuki, knowing now that he was closer than Eijirou could’ve guessed, given how much time had passed since his departure.

One thing Eijirou knew for sure, though, was that Mina would oppose his attempt to contact Katsuki. Her comment made that clear, even if he hasn’t asked her directly.

“Do you want me to come over?” Mina asked. “I understand if it’s hard to be alone right now.”

Eijirou hesitated, weighing the options in his head. It wouldn’t matter much if someone came to be with him; it wouldn’t change the situation or his reaction to it.

But then he remembered they were suspecting Katsuki was responsible for the explosion, and that the authorities were likely on his tail trying to apprehend him. And while the more rational part of his brain adamantly believed Katsuki wasn’t behind it, that it was some other cause, there was a small part—one that left his stomach churning at the thought—that maybe he was . Really, who knew what Katsuki was up to? He’d left. Maybe… maybe he’d changed. Eijirou didn’t know what he’d do if it came to that, and he realized that if it did, being alone was a very, very bad idea for him.

“Kiri?”

“Yeah. If you could. I could use someone to talk to… face to face. Unless you’ve got hero duties you have to attend to,” he tacked on, remembering Denki’s words.

“No, I’m off duty today. I’ll be over in twenty, okay?”

“‘Kay. See ya then,” he said, trying to sound as much like himself as possible but knowing he failed as soon as the words were out.

After they hung up, Eijirou knew he should tidy up the place before Mina showed. It wasn’t messy , but he hadn’t actively kept up with vacuuming and dusting in a while. Had no incentive to; rarely anyone but him was in the place.

And yet instead he found himself gnawing on the chapped skin of his lower lip, his brows pressed in a frown as he stared down at his phone. On the screen was one specific contact, one that was still just a nickname from several years ago that he hadn’t the heart to change.

His finger hovered over the ‘call’ icon, though he hesitated. The likelihood of Katsuki answering was slim to none; in fact, Eijirou had an inkling that he’d changed his number or gotten rid of his phone altogether. Plus, Mina was right; seeing Katsuki on the news, knowing where he was and what he might’ve been doing didn’t help his cause. Didn’t help him in his (rather feeble) attempt to move on with his life, to let go of the hope that Katsuki wasn’t coming back, that he hadn’t really meant it when he said those words that still haunted Eijirou: ‘I don’t want to be with you anymore.’

Calling him would make things worse, even if he didn’t answer. And if he did—hell, he couldn’t even form the thought. He hated how broken he was. It was pathetic. He knew it.

But even that didn’t stop his thumb from descending onto the call icon, or even stop him from raising the device, warm now from his tense hand, to his ear.

---

Artist: Mike Shinoda

Chapter Text

{Present Day}

-Eijirou-

The phone rang. And rang. And rang. Eijirou lost count of how many times around the seventh, until one ring was cut off by the voicemail greeting.

It was the same—the simple robotic greeting that Katsuki muttered his name into several years ago. Hearing his voice, even in a simple recording, caused a slight hitch in Eijirou’s breathing. After the beep sounded, he fumbled for a second, not having decided whether to leave a voicemail or not. Without really thinking, he started talking.

“Uh… hey. ‘M just calling to make sure you’re okay. I… I heard about the explosion and everything, so I was worried. Yeah. Sorry.”

In an almost frantic manner, Eijirou scrambled to hang up, feeling like a complete idiot. If Katsuki wasn’t answering to talk, why the hell would he be listening to a voicemail?

...oh well. No going back now.

After a minute Eijirou managed to peel himself from the couch, always keeping an ear on the television in the background, and went to comb his hair, change his clothes, brush the morning breath flavor from the backs of his teeth. He made himself look… less than decent, he decided after staring at his eyes encased in dark circles, the faded, grown out state of his hair, and the exhausted condition of his posture as a whole in the mirror. Sleep evaded him often, especially in the too-quiet state of the apartment, so it was no wonder he looked the way he did.

Regardless, Eijirou did manage to present himself with the best smile he could muster when Mina’s knuckles tapped the other side of his door.

“Hey,” she greeted sweetly when he pulled the door open, “you’re looking better.”

The comment took Eijirou off guard, especially after having just seen himself in the mirror, leaving him to suspect she was just saying that, maybe in a weird, roundabout attempt to make him feel better.

“...oh, thanks,” he managed. “I managed to get some sleep for once.”

“Glad to hear it,” she said.

“Come in,” he murmured, stepping aside.

Mina needed no more encouragement so she stepped in and he pushed the door quietly closed behind her.

“How are you holding up?” she asked.

“Fine,” he said with a casual shrug. “It was kinda crazy waking up to Kami’s call about the explosion, but otherwise I’m alright.”

Mina nodded. “I told him not to call you,” she said just as she had earlier. “But he’s never really been known to listen to me, and I didn’t get ahold of the one person he does listen to until it was too late.”

Sero, Eijirou thought. The one Denki had been having an on and off thing with since they were first years together. They were currently ‘off’ as far as he knew, but Hanta was still one of the few that managed to break through Denki’s stubborn barrier.

“S’okay, I’m glad he did,” Eijirou told her, following her to the couch where she took a seat where his head had laid, entirely asleep, head trapped in some dream less than half an hour prior.

“I guess you would have found out sooner or later,” she said, patting the couch beside him, inviting him to sit as if it were her apartment rather than his. He was glad she was so comfortable there, though; he really didn’t have the energy to play host. “I was just hoping it would be later, once you were a little more stable.”

“Hey, I’m perfectly stable,” he argued with a smile that was, for once, mostly natural.

“Oh, you know what I mean,” she said, sending an elbow towards his ribs.

The two settled in with their eyes on the news for a while. The stories surrounding the one about the explosion blurred together for Eijirou, and the longer time went on before they went back to it urged him closer and closer to the edge of the couch in anxiousness. When it did come back around, he found his lip trapped rather harshly between his teeth. There wasn’t much of an update, though; the fire was mostly out and they were still collecting a headcount of the people who were inside, but there was nothing that was of any importance to report.

It would be another couple of hours before they heard anything new about the incident as the story was simply being repeated for new viewers. The fires were out, everyone was accounted for, and it would be awhile before they determined what exactly caused the explosion in the first place. 

The two mulled about the apartment—eating, checking their phones (Eijirou neglected to tell Mina he’d tried calling Katsuki), talking. Mina’s conversations were always good to keep Eijirou’s mind distracted, but in the back of his head he was still thinking of Katsuki, wondering so many things at once he could hardly keep track of them.

It was nearly ten in the evening when there was an update on the situation. The television had been on so long and fading to mere background noise that Eijirou almost missed the story’s return, had it not been for Katsuki’s name being restated as they repeated the story. His head snapped over, and it held his full attention.

“As firefighters and experts have been searching the building for several hours, they found the cause of the fire to be surprisingly simple and obvious—a furnace in the building’s underground boiler rooms malfunctioned, exploding and sending flames through the intricate tunnel of vents throughout the entire building, making it easy to catch fire. This clears the name of the supposed pro hero Ground Zero but then begs the question, what was the hero who’s seemed to disappear from his own personal spotlight in recent months doing at the scene, and why was he seen fleeing not long after authorities and other heroes made it to the scene? We have Yukimura Ayame on the scene with a few witnesses that may help clear up the story.”

There was a pause, and then the screen blinked over to another anchor standing in front of the still smoking building, holding a microphone as he stared straight into the camera.

“Thanks, Rin. I’m currently here at the scene with Iwata Ai, an employee of the company who works on the fifteenth floor. She claims to have been trapped in her office with no way out but the window fifteen stories high when someone who we suspect is the hooded Ground Zero in the surveillance footage broke in and rescued her. Iwata, can you recount for us what happened?”

The camera zoomed out to include a young, green-tinged woman with tentacle-like appendages for hair and snake-like features, clearly a Quirk that wouldn’t have aided in her own escape.

“Of course. I was merely in my office working on case files when I heard a strange bang and felt the heat. Being a reptile type, I was immediately looking for an escape from the heat without really knowing what happened. That was when I saw the flames. There’s—or was—a furnace vent in the ceiling right outside my door, and the carpet immediately caught fire. With the one door being my only exit, I was trapped. All I could think to do was bang on the outside window in a panic, hoping help would come before it was too late. I could hear the alarms going off and people scattering around outside, and I was sure the rest of the floor was evacuating. I knew trying to break the window was hopeless because it’s six inches thick and I’m not too strong myself. I was up there desperately trying to think of a way out for a good five minutes when a sudden figure appeared to catapult or something right to the window. Instinct told me to back up. The window blasted inward and while I sustained a few scrapes from that, the man who came to my aid took me down to safety. I’ve never been more thankful in my life.”

By the end of the story, her eyes were swimming with tears. The anchor placed a comforting hand upon her shoulder.

“We’re all glad you made it out safely. You do believe—and correct me if I’m mistaken—that the one who came to your rescue was the hero Ground Zero?”

“Oh, absolutely,” she replied without hesitation. “I recognized the explosions from his hands that seemed to cushion our fall. As soon as he put me down he was gone, but there’s no mistaking it.”

The anchor nodded, sympathetic. “ Thank you, Iwata,”  “he said before returning his gaze to the camera. “There you have it, folks. We can confirm by several witness accounts as well as the blatant evidence in the basement of the facility that Ground Zero, the hero who bears the same Quirk as The Bomber, a man who committed an absolutely devastating crime just half a century ago, is not responsible for the incident that happened here this morning. We are glad to know this for certain that speculation can now be put to rest. Back to you, Rin.”

The anchor in the studio went on to thank the one at the scene, and it was in that second Eijirou had allowed himself to breathe. A long, drawn-out sigh blew through his nose, bringing his awareness to the fact that he’d been holding his breath throughout that entire segment.

“You had your doubts, didn’t you?” Mina murmured, drawing his attention back to her.

“If I’m being honest… a little,” he said. “He… was really unstable after what happened with Kamuy Woods and Edgeshot, y’know? And then when we had our fight when he left he kinda… looked less like himself than I’d ever seen him. I was worried, but I still think he’s much more of a hero than he’s ever been a villain. He was probably just in the right place at the right time. Or… wrong time?” he mumbled, scratching his head. “I dunno.”

Mina gave him a smile. “I think you’re right, Kiri. I was worried too, but I’m glad his name has been cleared.”

“Hm. Yeah…” Eijirou trailed off, mildly distracted.

The distraction didn’t last long, though, because Mina was jumping up, pulling his thoughts back to her. “C’mon, let’s go get something to eat, yeah? I think you could stand to get out of the house for a bit.”

As much as Eijirou didn’t much care to go out in public anymore, he humored her and agreed. He’d been trying so hard to get back into a normal swing of life that didn’t consist only of being at home alone, drowning himself in something until he was too tired to concentrate, and only leaving the house for necessities. He’d occasionally get a spark of motivation to clean or cook something other than instant noodles or a crappy microwave dinner, but that only seemed to happen once a week or so.

He knew his sulking around like this, barely talking to anyone and keeping to himself so much was so unmanly, he just… didn’t know, exactly, how to live without the thing he’d been unknowingly relying so much on since he was in middle school. Going out with Mina would help, as much as the part of him that was still broken tried to tell him not to go.

After everything, the night turned out to be surprisingly pleasant. Mina kept Eijirou’s attention with recent hero stories, how she was happy to have signed on with an agency alongside several classmates from UA, and what it was like living with Toru as they both rose in the ranks of fame. Most of all, she gushed about how good it felt to save people and put to use all of her hard work and knowledge from school.

While Eijirou was happy for her, smiling more that night than he had in months, there was an almost… bitter feeling sitting on the back of his tongue, in his throat. Jealousy, he thought? He couldn’t be sure, and it only grew more potent when she asked him, tentatively, “...do you think you’ll ever go back to doing hero work?”

Eijirou made somewhat of a show of piling his dishes up for their server to take when she came by again when he answered, making an excuse not to look his friend in the eyes.

“Not sure. ‘S gonna be kinda hard if I did, since my agency dropped me about a month ago. Understandably. Dunno if anywhere else would accept me after something like that.”

“Oh please,” she said with a wave of her pink hand. “Remember how many agencies were reaching out to you when we graduated? I’m sure you’ll find somewhere. Maybe you could even ask Iida if his family’s agency would be open to accepting you, since you know him already.”

“Hm. Maybe.”

There was a moment of silence as Mina sat back, a little more reserved now. “You’re not really thinking about going back, are you?”

The disappointment in her tone coaxed Eijirou’s eyes back up to hers. “No, that’s not what I said!” he defended quickly. “Right now it’s just… kinda hard. I—I relied on Katsuki a lot. Too much. So trying to find my own footing in life in general is… a lot harder than I expected.”

“I understand. His leaving really crushed you. We’ve all seen it,” she murmured. “And we’ve all been trying to figure out how to help you. At first we hoped you just needed time to get things together, but it’s been months now and you don’t seem to be doing better.”

Flashes of his fight with Katsuki—the one he’d been dreaming about and the last conversation he had with him—flitted in the front of Eijirou’s mind. Crushed . Yeah, he was crushed alright. His Quirk may have been hardening and he might’ve had the ability to make his body unbreakable, but his heart was a different story. Even after all the lonely nights of his childhood and early teenage years, after being virtually rejected—or worse, ignored by his parents, he still hadn’t figured out how to harden his heart, to make himself invulnerable to being left behind like that.

“I know!” Mina exclaimed a moment later, perking up and planting a fist on the table. “You may not like it, but I have an idea that might help you.”

“Okay…?” he mumbled, skeptical.

“We should take a vacation. Get out of town, away from everything that reminds you of him. Clear your head a little bit. Go see part of the ocean we’ve never been to before. Meet some new people, even.”

Mina’s eyes sparkled with the excitement of her proposal. She really believed it would help, and who was Eijirou, with his recent reclusive behavior, to argue? Maybe it would help. As used to this new lifestyle as he was, even he knew he couldn’t mope around forever.

To the mild surprise of both of them, he agreed.

---

Song Artist: Starset

Chapter Text

{Past}

Bakugou was pissed—no, more than pissed that a dumbass like Kirishima was letting himself be pulled down to the sewer in terms of reputation right alongside him. It made his eyes sting, watching as the bright kid who was once friendly with most people—even if he wasn’t friends with them—was avoided like the plague, just as he himself was.

And yet that dumbfuck didn’t even seem to care! He continued to stick right by Bakugou’s side like he was lacking in brain cells. No matter what Bakugou said, he wouldn’t budge, either.

“Why the hell do you stick around me?” he muttered as they walked home. “The fuck’s in it for you?”

“C’mon man, we’ve been over this a million times already,” Kirishima said in a tired tenor.

“I don’t give a damn that you’re a fucking loner like me, got it? You’re only makin’ that shit worse on yourself by sticking around me. Do you see the way the other fuckwads at this school look at you now? Like you’re a piece of fucking garbage, or like they’re afraid you’re gonna take their damn lunch money? It’s sickening.”

“...they look at you the same way, Bakugou.”

“You don’t think I know that?!” he shouted. “I can hardly fucking stand it, which is why I keep to myself and let them be too scared to bully me or whatever! How the hell do you put up with it?!”

“I try not to care what they think too much,” Kirishima said with a shrug. “It’s a waste of time if you ask me.”

“Hmph,” Bakugou grunted. “You’re fucking weird.”

Weird as Kirishima was and as much as Bakugou didn’t even try to pretend he understood it, he couldn’t let it go. Why he seemed to care so damn much about one stupid kid getting treated like shit because of him, he had no fucking clue. Still, Kirishima was bound to get tired of the looks and the isolation from every fuckwad in school eventually. Or he’d show his true colors as to why he insisted upon hanging out with Bakugou. He figured he may as well try to knock some damn sense into the idiot and make him leave before things really started to get fucked up.

“So the fuck what if your parents are shitty? At least you have them . Can’t imagine what they’ll do when they find out you’re hanging out with the guy who has Explosion as his Quirk,” he’d muttered to him at what was seeming to become their usual hangout spot—a space at the end of a brick wall, at the edge of the blacktop, where nobody would bother them outside after lunch.

“They don’t even care enough to know who my friends are,” Kirishima said with a shrug. “‘S not even… that they’re shitty,” he said with a certain amount of reservation. “They’re just ah… what’s the word? For not caring or whatever?”

“Indifferent,” Bakugou spat.

Kirishima snapped. “Yup. Indifferent.”

“So’s that make you indifferent by nature, too? Indifferent to people talking shit about you ‘cause of me?”

“...maybe.”

“Who the hell are you!” Bakugou growled, throwing his hands up. It wasn’t the first time he’d asked this and damn he knew it probably wouldn’t be the last. He didn’t fucking get it! “Nobody in their right fucking mind has ever gone out of their shitty way to be friends with me! I don’t care how damn lonely we both are! You must’ve been dropped on the fucking head about a thousand times when you were a baby to make you think being friends with me is gonna get you anything good!”

Despite his yelling and the turning of heads closest to them, Kirishima remained unfazed—almost. His thin, dark eyebrows pushed together in frustration, but before he so much as opened his mouth Bakugou knew he was going to argue.

“Maybe I like hanging out with someone who gets me,” he shot back, quieter than Bakugou but not by much. “Maybe—maybe they’re all the ones who were dropped on their heads and I’m the only one who wasn’t, and that’s why I see someone who’s different below the surface of your dumb Quirk!”

Bakugou sat back, perplexed. “That doesn’t make any fucking sense!”

“...I know,” Kirishima grumbled, hands curled into fists now. “I don’t care what other people think, man! How many times do I gotta pound that into your head?!”

“Even when they’re looking at you like you’re a freak?” Bakugou shot back.

“Yes! Because maybe I’d rather hang out with someone who’s genuine and human than a bunch of people with some stupid mob mentality that makes ‘em petrified for no good reason!”

By then they had the attention of half the people around the blacktop, though they were backing away, surely not listening to the words—just the yelling. The two freaks , Bakugou thought. The two freaks sitting in the corner yelling like goddamn idiots. Rumors were probably already spreading, people making shit up about them planning to plant a bomb under the school or set loose venomous snakes indoors. He almost laughed at the absurdity, had it not been for the sinking in of Kirishima’s words—of what they meant .

Genuine. Human. Kirishima’s big, round red eyes reflected those words with ferocity. They were in the downward curve of his lips, the crease between his brows, the flexing of his jaw muscles and the way a huff escaped his flaring nostrils. He was an open fucking book—everything he felt was right there on his shitty face, whether he wanted it to be or not. His eyes were as open and vast as the sky as he was as hard and tenacious as his own Quirk.

“...fine,” Bakugou mumbled, a caving sensation in his chest. “Do what you want, but don’t cry when you can’t handle the whispers and dirty looks anymore.”

And despite thinking Kirishima was a bloody idiot, Bakugou could no longer find it within himself to argue.

~✵~

Weeks went by, and then faded into a month. The end of the semester was quickly nearing and the anxiousness of summer break was evident throughout the student body, Bakugou and Kirishima included. Though Bakugou didn’t seem quite as thrilled as most, and Kirishima took notice. They’d been essentially joined at the hip since their argument, something neither of them (namely Bakugou) brought up again.

“‘S cause I have to go back to a shitty foster home where nobody wants me,” he’d muttered when Kirishima asked him. “As shitty as this place is, at least I don’t have to be there.”

That only caused about a thousand questions to bubble up in Kirishima’s mind about Bakugou’s life. When they hung out outside of school, it was always at his house. Bakugou made it clear that his foster parents wouldn’t allow guests. “Not that you’d wanna go to that shithole, anyway,” he’d muttered.

After that, Kirishima welcomed him into his own home to stay as long as he wanted. It wasn’t like they weren’t spending all their free time together as it was, anyway. It was at first by accident that Bakugou ended up spending a night with him when they lost track of time and fell asleep in the living room. Bakugou had practically rushed home, afraid he would be in ‘deep shit’ for disappearing, yet when he got there he found a rather indifferent pair of foster parents who hadn’t even seemed to notice his absence.

That was all he needed to continue spending time at Kirishima’s whenever his parents were gone. It was a hell of a lot quieter without four other kids, all younger than him, and with Kirishima’s parents gone the majority of the time, they were allowed to eat whatever they wanted. The housekeeper didn’t bother them, either. Eventually it was the norm for Bakugou to head straight to Kirishima’s after school rather than to his stupid foster home. As a result, Kirishima began letting him borrow some clothes until he started sneaking them out of his own house, just so he’d have a supply of his own.

Admittedly, it was… weird at first, to have a friend. Most of the time he found he didn’t know how the hell to act, but Kirishima was bothered by so little and ready to jump in and help him when he needed it, no questions asked.

Of course, that didn’t mean there were no questions at all . The longer time went on, the more questions and surprises filled Kirishima’s head about Bakugou. He didn’t know much about cooking. There were many different kinds of food he’d never tried—simple ones, ones that were everyday in most households. Having grown up in the foster system clearly didn’t do much for Bakugou, leaving Kirishima determined to show him things—the little things that made him happy, even when everything else was a mess.

Only a few months after they met was Kirishima already considering Bakugou his best friend. The first time he said it, Bakugou stiffened uncomfortably, unsure of how to take it, but while he didn’t agree he also said nothing against it. Already they understood each other on a level no one else had ever seemed to reach, and the longer time went on, the more the two managed to settle into that fact, to accept it, even to embrace it (even if it did take a little more time on Bakugou’s end).

When summer did roll around, finals came and went, and they were released on their break, Kirishima’s parents began a new trip—one that would last nearly the entire school vacation—leaving the house to him.

On any normal occasion, Kirishima would hold a pit in his stomach, feeling empty, abandoned . He hated being left behind by them, especially when they went on their extended travel trips abroad. As much as it was in his nature to be, he couldn’t find so much as a sliver of happiness for them, simply making the excuse that he could never join because of school while he knew deep in his heart it was because they didn’t want him there.

But this time was different. This year he had his new friend by his side, and he was sure it was going to be a good summer.

---

Artist: X Ambassadors

Chapter Text

Because Bakugou didn’t have a phone, nor was he allowed access to the landline in his foster home, the way they managed to stay in touch was by Bakugou ‘sneaking’ out and heading straight to Kirishima’s, who always let him in without a second thought. He kept Bakugou as updated as he could about his parents’ travel schedules, but because of this extended trip they had the entire summer—save for the last week—to hang out. Inevitably, Bakugou ended up spending the vast majority of his time at Kirishima’s.

It wasn’t really like Kirishima’s parents cared so much that he had a friend over; they let Sato and Ishida hang out on the daily before. Where it would become a problem, however, was if they found out about Bakugou spending multiple nights, even weeks at a time, with him.

But it wasn’t like they were there to know about it, anyway.

Unfortunately, though, life was already in the habit of screwing Kirishima over in one way or another. Just as he was finding a kind of happiness he’d never really known before, a blow came down upon him the second day into summer break when the housekeeper had gathered up her things and informed him she’d been fired.

“What?” he mumbled. “Really?”

“Afraid so. Your father let me know this morning, and told me to make sure you called him as soon as possible.”

“...um, okay,” he said, baffled. 

When he made the call, he should’ve been expecting what his father told him.

“Your mother and I are trying to save money,” he explained, “and since you’re old enough to be doing the chores on your own, we’re giving that responsibility to you.”

He must’ve been on speaker, because his mother chimed in, “And if the house is anything less than spotless when we return, expect to be grounded and to lose privileges.”

Kirishima almost, almost hung up on them—but he knew that would result in worse punishment, and the only thing that kept him from doing that was Bakugou. He didn’t want something to sabotage their time together, now that he finally had someone who understood him. All he could do was accept it, conflicting feelings of anger and sadness in his chest. Anger because it wasn’t fair for them to dump all of that on him, and sadness because they didn’t seem to care. Didn’t give a single damn about him. They didn’t even know about Bakugou, having brushed him off the time he tried to tell them he’d made a new friend, just the way they had when his Quirk manifested…

Bakugou did show up later that day in the middle of Kirishima trying to figure out what he needed to clean. The house was already tidy enough from the housekeeper’s work, but because she only came weekly he knew how things could pile up, something he was used to ignoring.

“The fuck are you doing?” Bakugou muttered, having walked right in to see Kirishima in the kitchen, shuffling through the cleaning supplies beneath the sink.

“Parents fired the housekeeper,” he mumbled. “They decided to make me responsible for everything instead.”

Bakugou had stopped at the end of the counter, leaning on it with his arms crossed. “Seriously? They just fucking abandon you here and then treat you like a fucking slave?”

Kirishima pretended he didn’t wince slightly at that word by covering it up with a shrug. “What can I do, man? They’re my parents, and if I wanna keep hanging out with you I gotta do it.”

Despite Bakugou’s gritted teeth and remark about how it was bullshit—something Kirishima wholeheartedly agreed with—he plopped down onto the floor beside him and helped him figure out what was what.

In the coming weeks, in fact, he quietly helped Kirishima with the chores. They made sure to do dishes after every time they ate so they wouldn’t pile up and Kirishima made sure to vacuum at least twice a week. He found it easier to have the company during the work the housekeeper used to do, especially when he couldn’t exactly figure out how to work the washing machine. The two of them talked as they alternated work and hanging out—a lot. More than they had before, during school. Not having homework and classes to fill their time made a big difference.

One conversation Kirishima knew he would remember for the rest of his life happened during a video game break in the evening. The two were settled on the couch, lights off and curtains drawn with nothing but the glow of the television illuminating their faces, washing out their already fair skin. Bakugou’s eyes had been rolled upward toward the ceiling while Kirishima sat cross-legged and slightly angled toward him, habitually picking at his nails.

“Why’d your shitty parents cancel the dumb maid anyway?”

Kirishima had long since stopped correcting him when he said ‘maid.’ “Said they wanted to save money or something,” he mumbled.

“What? Save more money for their shitty trips they don’t even need to go on? They can afford this big house and to leave you behind on cruises and shit but can’t afford a stupid housekeeper anymore?”

Kirishima shrugged. “I stopped pretending to understand what they’re doing a long time ago, man,” he sighed.

“...parents fucking suck,” Bakugou muttered, lifting his head.

Kirishima bobbed his head in agreement. “Guess we both know that pretty well, huh?”

Bakugou huffed out a “yeah” before quiet fell over for a moment, his eyes watching Kirishima’s fingers picking at one another before he spoke up again when a sudden question bubbled up. “You said they don’t give a fuck about your Quirk too, huh?”

That grabbed Kirishima’s attention, his eyes flicking up. “Yup. I mean no, they don’t.” He lifted a shoulder in a mild shrug. “S’okay, though.”

“Hmph. Hardly. Can’t decide if that’s worse than your parents completely hating you ‘cause of your Quirk or not,” he mumbled, eyes slightly unfocused like he was beginning to zone out.

“Definitely not. I mean, at least they didn’t completely reject me. I can’t imagine what that’s like.”

“...fuckin’ sucks,” Bakugou said, voice hushed a but now. Through all of their many conversations—about school, homework, other people, video games, or other miscellaneous things that wasn’t off superb importance—talk of their Quirks hardly came up. “‘Specially when your first memory is the look of horror on your mom’s face when you show it to her.”

Kirishima’s hands fell straight back into his lap. “Whoa,” he mumbled, unsure what else to say. “That’s—rough,” he settled with, knowing before the word spilled from his lips that it was an understatement.

“It’s fucking unfair is what it is,” Bakugou muttered, voice rising again. “I was four fucking years old playing outside and it happened as an accident. I didn’t hurt anybody or anything and the other kids on the playground said I had to tell my parents ‘cause it’s the law or whatever since you have to register your Quirk with the government and shit. So I did. Ran home like an excited little puppy, thinkin’ maybe I could be a hero like All Might because my Quirk was so cool… naive shit like that. As soon as I found her I showed her what I could do.” Bakugou’s eyes really were distant now, as he remembered, and his fists were clenched around the controller, knuckles white. “I can still fuckin’ see her face, transforming instantly from a smile to absolute fucking horror. She called my dad and made him come home early from work. A week later I was being dropped off at my first foster home.”

Kirishima’s eyes were locked on his friend’s face, unblinking, completely still with no inkling of how to fathom what he was told. All he could think was yes , being completely rejected and abandoned, left on the doorstep of a stranger’s family for a reason he couldn’t understand at the time for a simple Quirk was worse, so much worse, than a Quirk merely being ignored. At least Kirishima had his parents. Knew them. They still took care of them, even if they weren’t present most of the time. They didn’t… hate him. But Bakugou’s? They must’ve. Or maybe they were afraid, just like so many people at school.

An empathetic ache settled right into the center of Kirishima’s ribs.

“That’s… definitely worse than I have it,” he managed in a quiet tone. “I’m sorry…” he said lamely.

“Don’t apologize for shit that isn’t your fault, dumbass,” Bakugou mumbled, having come back to the present, letting the controller slip from his fingers again.

“My parents just… didn’t care when I got mine,” Kirishima went on, Bakugou’s dark eyes meeting his in the dim television light for the first time in a long while.

“The fuck did they do? Tell you some dumb shit like ‘that’s nice’ and look the other way?”

“No, not even that,” Kirishima told him with a shake of his head. “I was only like three, I think. I don’t remember it much, but the babysitter I had at the time was with me for five years after that so she was able to tell me. My parents were traveling like they always do, so I was just with her. I woke up in the middle of the night ‘cause I had to pee, I guess, and rubbed my eye right when my Quirk manifested. Cut my eyelid by accident. The babysitter called my parents to let them know. She told me they were excited to see it when they got home, but she lied to spare my feelings since they scolded her for calling at such a bad time for something pointless. I found out pretty quickly that they didn’t care, though. I’ve kinda… hated my Quirk ever since.” He shrugged a bit once more. “But again, I don’t really remember it and I wasn’t kicked out or anything…”

“That’s such bullshit,” Bakugou retorted, tossing the controller onto the floor. “You’re lucky you don’t remember it though.”

“Yeah,” Kirishima agreed. “All I have as a reminder is the little scar on my eyelid,” he said, tapping the tip of a finger near his right eye.

Bakugou leaned forward, squinting a bit. “What? What scar?” he muttered, moving even closer.

“Here, I’ll show you,” Kirishima said, hopping up. Bakugou followed him silently to the bathroom where he turned on the light and gently held his own eyelid shut, turning to give Bakugou a good look. “See it?”

“Shit,” Bakugou muttered. “I never noticed that.”

Kirishima released the lid. “‘S no big deal. I’m glad it’s so small so it’s not some huge reminder.”

“I got shit like that, too,” Bakugou mumbled, stepping into the bathroom, putting Kirishima between himself and the door. “Not a scar, but somethin’ similar.”

“Hmm?”

“...figure while we’re being honest and shit right now, I might as well tell you…” Bakugou muttered, leaning toward the mirror. Before Kirishima had much time to react, his hand came up to his face and his forefinger and thumb seemed to almost pinch his eye, and a second later a dark circle came away from it. The same thing with the other eye, and the whole thing was over in two seconds before he was turning toward Kirishima, the dark circles still resting on his fingers.

Kirishima couldn’t find words as he stared into intense, newly revealed red irises. And when he said red, he meant red . They were deep, but bright. A crimson not too entirely unlike Kirishima’s own. His favorite color.

“Whoa,” he mumbled again. “That’s really cool, dude.”

“Hmph, not really,” Bakugou muttered, swiping at the built up moisture in his eyes.

“...how come you’ve been hiding your real eyes?”

“‘Cause if people are scared as fuck of me with just my Quirk, finding out I have the same damn eyes as that fucker from back then will only make it worse, and I guess ‘m a fuckin’ coward for hiding behind contacts, but I can hardly deal with this shit as it is.”

“I understand,” Kirishima managed, despite being unable to tear his gaze from Bakugou’s. Those eyes… such an intense, fiery red suited him so much better than the washed out brown of the contacts. They were almost mesmerizing, but not in an intimidating way. Deep, deep down, Kirishima might even go as far as to say he thought they were beautiful.

But Bakugou was looking at him in a guarded way he hadn’t looked at him since the first couple months of their friendship. “I get it if you’re scared, too,” he muttered. “I’ll just fuckin’ get my stuff and go—“

“No!” Kirishima protested quickly. “I’m not scared, man. Why would I be? I think your eyes are cool.” The smile that punctuated his sentence was entirely genuine, and with one look—a clearer look, now that the overused contacts were out—Bakugou could tell that. Hell, he could feel it .

Kirishima really was a freak, just like he was.

~✵~

It was late that night when Bakugou came clean about his name, too—like one last thing he needed to get off of his chest.

“...Bakugou isn’t even my original name,” he said. “It was a ‘fake’ surname my parents used so I wouldn’t be associated with them. I was nine or ten when one of my foster parents found my legal birth certificate because of some custody law thing they needed settled. They told me my given name really was the same as what they were told, but I refused to let them tell me what my real surname was… before it was legally changed. I didn’t—and still don’t—wanna fucking know. I hate knowing just my given name. Hate that they’re the ones who gave it to me and left it, like some stupid token or whatever. Whenever teachers and shit call it in class it makes me sick to my stomach.”

Kirishima wanted nothing more, in that moment, than to know what Bakugou’s given name was. It wasn’t until then when he realized he’d never learned it. Even in their time studying together, he never wrote his full name on any of his worksheets.

“But since I’m being honest and you’re a weird loser who wants to be my friend, I’ll tell you.”

Kirishima scrambled to try and stop him, holding his hands out. “You don’t have to—“

“It’s not that big of a deal, dumbass! It’s Katsuki, okay? So now you fucking know. Just don’t tell anyone or you can say goodbye to your stupid shark teeth.”

Kirishima felt himself relax into the couch. “I won’t,” he promised solemnly, despite Bakugou’s words contradicting themselves. It was a promise he intended to keep—not that he had a habit of breaking them anyway. Bakugou Katsuki . The full name of his friend—his best friend , who had eyes the color of an intense sunrise.

Never before in their lives had either of them—especially Bakugou—felt closer to someone than they did in that moment. It was a night they would carry with them, always.

---

Song Artist: Pink

Chapter Text

{Present Day}

White, tense fingers gripped a pair of clippers relentlessly, so tightly that the plastic creaked in protest. Just a little tighter and the whole thing was at risk of shattering to pieces.

You fucked up so bad.

A pair of heated, angry crimson eyes bored into themselves in the dirty, cracked mirror of the convenience store bathroom. The place smelled bad; the employees clearly didn’t care to keep it tidy. The walls were filthy, cracked. A chunk of the linoleum was missing. The toilet lid was broken off, and the paper towel dispenser was empty.

But all Katsuki needed was the outlet just beside the mounted sink, the clippers, and the drive to use them. To change himself. And that, he had more than enough of.

Without looking down at it, his thumb flipped the little switch into the on position and the clippers buzzed to life in his hand. He didn’t wait. Lifted his hand and buzzed off the side, going in stripes across his scalp, getting every last bit of hair and paying no mind to where it fell in clumps at his feet. His hands shook as he chopped away at it, using every possible angle to make sure he got it all.

By the time he was done, the person in the mirror was hardly recognizable, especially with the wet streaks down his cheeks, the tears dripping from his chin.

It didn’t matter that the explosion in that building wasn’t his fault; everyone blamed him anyway. Didn’t matter that he’d managed to pull several people out of the flames, saving their lives. He’d been at the wrong place at the wrong time, just his luck. They were probably looking for him now… had probably made some shit up to make it look like he was responsible just to get him off the street and in prison to suffer the same way he did, all those decades ago…

Maybe that’d be better .

Three meals a day. A place to sleep. No more hitchhiking, no more scrounging for money or squatting in random strangers’ motel rooms for any number of things as payment. Maybe then he’d finally be at peace, away from everyone who believed he was a fucking monster—everyone but one.

One.

Eijirou .

That name, that one little name was the only thing that kept him from attempting to turn himself in. The dumbass left a voicemail on his phone the day of, because of course he heard about the explosion. And now he was probably wondering if Katsuki was the one who caused it.

He wouldn’t think that, would he? a small voice in the back of his head questioned.

He was the only one who didn’t see Katsuki as a monster, not at all. Maybe he knew…?

There was no way to know. All he could do was keep himself from being recognized.

One final touch. It’d been years, but the contacts were easy enough to remember how to place. When his eyes adjusted to them and ceased watering, he looked up. Had he not been taller, not had a much more mature look about him, it might’ve felt like he was looking at himself in the mirror fifteen years ago…

Eijirou would’ve hated it. The little shit was always telling him how much he loved the color of his eyes.

It’s not about him , Katsuki thought bitterly. He’s not in your life anymore.

With that, he focused solely on getting ready to leave—slipping on his jacket, stuffing the clippers and contact case back into his backpack, picking up and flushing as much of his hair as he could.

In a single moment of weakness, he took just a moment to peek at the column of photos of him and Eijirou he made sure to grab from home. He didn’t let it last, though; it hurt to look at, so he replaced them, pulled his backpack on, tugged his hood up, and exited the little convenience store without so much as a backwards glance.

~Eijirou~

The train ride was a long one, but a pleasant experience. Eijirou found himself gawking out the window at the passing landscapes, the cities, the fields they zoomed through. Mina insisted upon commuting to the resort she also insisted upon going to by train.

“When you aren’t in a hurry, trains are such a nice way to travel,” she practically gushed, a piece of her high school personality peeking through the relatively more reserved woman she’d matured into. After that, he couldn’t find it within himself to disagree.

She was right, after all. For a while—just a bit—it was enough of a distraction from his thoughts of Katsuki, of home, and how far he suddenly was from it. He tried his best not to hope that maybe, for some reason, they’d run into Katsuki while they were there. It was a ridiculous thought, but that didn’t stop him from hoping, silently, in the back of his mind.

Having Mina beside him the whole time definitely helped in his attempts to keep his thoughts away from all the stresses he was doing his best to leave behind him, at home. She had a brochure of the resort she booked for them and spoke excitedly about everything there was to do. After that, she was on her phone using the train’s complimentary WiFi to find things they could do nearby as well to keep them busy.

Silently, Eijirou wasn’t so sure keeping busy and completely distracted was what was going to help him get back on his feet, mentally. Sure, this was already a nice change, but distractions in the past only ever really seemed to force him to ignore the problem, letting stress and anxiety and every repressed emotion build up behind a wall until it burst, and things became worse than before.

Regardless, he wasn’t about to start complaining. Mina was paying for this trip in full, had taken the time off to help him, and there was no way he could accurately express his gratitude for that.

It was mid-evening when they made it to their final train station, and the sun was very nearly set by the time their Uber dropped them off at the resort hotel. He had to admit, he was impressed, what with the fancy interior, the twenty-story height, and the complimentary this and that—candies at the check-in desk, hand sanitizer cloths and trash cans in the elevators, and even more candies in their room as a welcome gesture.

As tired as he was from six straight hours of travel, the day was one of the better ones he could remember having in a good, long while. Mina’s presence, her upbeat and optimistic energy—that reminded of the way his own was just a few months ago—helped quite a lot. Being out of the apartment where everything surrounding him reminded him of Katsuki, Katsuki, Katsuki was refreshing. A change of scenery. This was what he needed.

At least, that’s what he kept telling himself. There was no doubt he felt better, lighter, being away from home for awhile. Even still, it didn’t erase the heaviness. In fact, in some small ways, it added to it; a small part of him was already homesick and anxious, being the part that was adamant about believing Katsuki was coming home in spite of his final words the day he left.

I don’t wanna be with you anymore.

That part of him wanted to remain back home. Wanted to be there just in case he did come home.

With Mina’s banter, it wasn’t too difficult to ignore those hushed thoughts. They ordered room service—a tasty, perfectly cooked steak with steamed rice and mixed vegetables. Mina ordered a strawberry shortcake she shared with him, and then they hung out on the small balcony in the warm, humid, almost tropical air. Less than half a kilometer away was the beach, and beyond it the ocean, calm, was reflecting the waxing moon. It was peaceful. Something Eijirou found he could get lost in for a while.

But inevitably, when his tired body finally found sleep after attempting to get used to the hotel bed softer than the one at home he was used to, his dreams were consumed by him—by Katsuki, Katsuki, Katsuki.

---

Song Artist: Billie Eilish

Chapter Text

{Past}

After their conversation, their heart-to-heart on the couch late that night before they fell asleep on opposite ends of the sofa, things changed between the two. It was easier to open up about more sensitive subjects, easier to get deeper into conversation than they dared go before. They both found they laughed like they never had with anyone else when they were with each other. To Bakugou, it was a fucking miracle that he actually had a friend, and little by little he was starting to forget his fears, his defenses, the expectation that Kirishima would up and leave one day. Kirishima found that while he thought he’d had best friends in the past, those relationships were nothing compared to the one he was developing with Bakugou.

A stronger bond wasn’t the only thing carried forward from that night, though. Certain words Bakugou had said continued to repeat in Kirishima’s head every so often, sparking up a feeling he hadn’t had in years, and once he’d since forgotten.

“...thinkin’ maybe I could be a hero like All Might because my Quirk was so cool… naive shit like that…”

Kirishima kept his mouth shut about it, as much as it was stirring up inside him. Yet he found himself, on the occasion he was alone in his room, finding YouTube video after YouTube video of shaky footage of hero rescues, of epic battles happening in the streets, of heroes being heroes . Mt. Lady. Midnight. Edgeshot. Kamuy Woods. Endeavor. Best Jeanist. Cementoss. Crimson Riot. All Might . He found himself in awe of them, simply because of his friend’s words, where he’d never truly paid attention to them before. And inside of him, blossoming like some sort of flame being kindled by something he didn’t entirely understand, was a strange sense of… of longing.

It was to the point where he could hardly hold himself back from saying anything nearer to the end of summer until one day, seemingly without conscious thought, the words were spilling out of his mouth as they were elbow to elbow, doing dishes.

“Remember what you said that night we talked, and you told me about when you got your Quirk?” he asked.

“What about it?” Bakugou asked, setting a dish aside and accepting another from Kirishima to dry it.

“...about how, before you showed your mom, you thought you could become a hero like All Might with your Quirk.”

Through the small contact of their arms, only barely brushing from time to time, Kirishima could feel Bakugou stiffen. “And?” he mumbled, his tone taking on a guarded edge.

“...well, I thought the same thing once, y’know? A long time ago, not long after I understood more about Quirks and heroes. I thought maybe I could use my Quirk to be a hero, too. It was… kinda just a pipe dream, though. A false hope, since my Quirk isn’t all that great.”

A huff blew from Bakugou’s nose. “The hell does this have to do with anything, anyway?” he muttered.

Kirishima swallowed and shut off the stream of water after pulling the drain plug and rinsing the suds from his hands. He watched the soapy water swirl down the drain as he spoke, tentatively. Cautiously. Worried about Bakugou’s reaction, but not to the point where he stopped himself from speaking his mind.

“Remembering that, I’ve been thinking about what you said a lot, man. And I’ve been watching a buncha hero videos online. It kinda… made me feel like maybe I’d want to try it anyway.” He took a risk in looking up at a relatively defensive Bakugou, whose arms were crossed, eyes narrowed, the towel slung over his shoulder. The glare might’ve intimidated Kirishima had he not been wearing those contacts. “I haven’t thought about the future much, or what I want to focus on in high school. Not ‘til now, anyway. There’s somethin’ inside me that wants to try enrolling in a hero course, even if I fail, just to see. Y’know?” he shrugged. “...maybe I’d even try out for UA.”

As soon as those last words were out of his mouth, Bakugou walked away, bumping shoulders with him in the process. “Yeah, you have fun with that,” he muttered.

“Where are you going?” Kirishima asked, turning around. Sure enough, Bakugou was going for his shoes by the door.

“Back to the foster shithouse,” he muttered.

“Wait, why?”

“‘Cause there’s no damn way we can be friends if you’re going to try and be a hero.” Bakugou’s voice shook, his chest tight, as he fumbled to stuff his shoes on his feet.

“Why not, man?” Kirishima approached him timidly. “I was going to try and say we should do it together, and—“

The belting out of a sarcastic laugh stopped him in his tracks. “That’s rich!” Bakugou shouted, whirling around with only one shoe on. His eyes were glossy, filled with something akin to rage but much, much sadder. “You think they’ll let someone like me , with the Quirk of the guy who committed mass genocide, into a haughty-ass school like UA? They barely wanna keep me at our shitty little middle school because they’re afraid I’ll blow the place sky high! No way in hell would UA even consider letting me take the entrance exam once they know my Quirk, even if I could be the best of all the losers out there.”

Kirishima let his shoulders relax. “I don’t think they can discriminate based on stuff like that, man. Besides, if you’re applying for UA, they’ll have to know you’ll be using your power to be one of the good guys . They’ll know how powerful you could be.”

Bakugou, too, seemed to deflate a bit. Even kicked his shoe off and tossed the towel onto the counter. “Doesn’t matter,” he muttered. “How could I be a hero?”

It seemed like an afterthought, that last mutter. “You apply if you want. I can’t afford to think like that,” he said. “Let’s just go play some games or something.”

That made it clear Bakugou wanted the subject dropped, so Kirishima respected his wish and followed him into the living room. It didn’t mean, though, that he was done trying. For once, he wanted to be stubborn like his Quirk. He wanted to he manly , to believe in something and live without regrets like Crimson Riot, and he’d be damned if he didn’t do it with his best friend by his side.

~✵~

Kirishima didn’t push the idea too much with Bakugou as school started back up. He wanted to give the other some time to cool off, and then talk to him a little more rationally about it. In the meantime, he did his research and found out as much as he could to try and convince Bakugou to at least apply .

When school did start back up, it was easier for the both of them to overlook the stares and whispers that followed them down the hallways, the rumors that swirled through the student population around them. It was clear when people were beginning to accept that Kirishima being Bakugou’s friend wasn’t some sort of ‘rebel phase’ because teachers began rearranging seating charts, sticking him closer to the back than he’d ever been before. There seemed to be a bubble of space around him that forced people to back up whenever he walked by. More often than not, others appeared uncomfortable when he spoke to them, though some hid it better than their peers. He lost count after a dozen or so the amount of times he heard his name in the same sentence as the word ‘brainwashed.’

It didn’t matter. He knew who he was. He knew who Bakugou was. They didn’t need the acceptance and approval of others as long as they were friends. Besides, as Bakugou pointed out, it was amusing to watch them concoct new rumors that never rang true about them, to see what kind of bullshit they’d come up with next.

It wasn’t like everyone was completely petrified by them, anyway. Several people—the majority of which bore stronger Quirks than average—were indifferent to them, would even team up with them during Phys Ed, not caring one way or another. Those were the only ones who held any amount of respect from the two of them, especially Bakugou. They were the ones who weren’t afraid, nor did they care to hate. Even if they didn’t care to be associated with them because of their bad reputations, it was more than could be said for the majority of people.

A mere few weeks into the term, Kirishima was armed with all the information he needed to convince Bakugou to apply to UA with him. He was ready to go and lay it all out for his friend when a bomb was dropped on him—on them both.

Bakugou showed up late to lunch on a Friday afternoon and practically slammed his tattered lunchbox down onto the table, flopping himself into the waiting seat across from Kirishima. Irritation—even straight up anger, maybe—shone right in his eyes and the way his eyebrows were smashed together, his teeth gritting against each other.

“What’s the matter?” were the first words spilling out of Kirishima’s mouth, even before a greeting.

“Fuck this school, that’s what,” Bakugou muttered, yanking the zipper of his lunchbox open.

Kirishima put down his drink. “What’d they do?”

Bakugou took the time to frustratedly pull all of his food—smushed from being in his backpack all morning, and not carefully made to begin with—from the box. He tore a bite off of his peanut butter sandwich and spoke around it.

“Fuckers wanna make me do some counseling bullshit,” he muttered. “Quirk counseling or what-the-fuck-ever, ‘cause they’re so fucking afraid I’m gonna grow up to be some shitty villain just like that Bomb fucker was.” He stuffed in another bite, and just like that half of his sandwich was gone. At least, though, he was taking his anger out on the food rather than the table… or something else.

“...everyone gets Quirk counseling, Bakugou,” Kirishima tried to reason calmly.

“Yeah, in fucking elementary school!” Bakugou half-shouted. “I had that shit too! But no, the bitchass counselor tried to tell me they’re fucking ‘worried’ or whatever, like I’ve done someshit to make them think I’m planning on being some sort of shitty villain!”

“But you haven’t.”

“You think I don’t fucking know that, dumbass?!” Bakugou huffed a long breath out through his nose, and when he spoke again he was calmer, more reserved, even if the irritation still burned in his eyes. “They’re fucking singling me out because of my Quirk and the fact that I’m so ‘isolated’ or whatever. Said they see the way other kids look at me like I’ve done something to make them afraid of me or whatever, and how I don’t have any friends, and some other bullshit I stopped paying attention to.”

“...jeez, am I invisible or something?” Kirishima mumbled, more to himself than the other.

“Fuck if I know. They probably think I’m corrupting you or someshit, if anything.”

Kirishima shrugged. “I mean, I don’t usually make a lasting impression on anyone, anyway… so ‘s no big deal.”

Bakugou lowered his last bite of sandwich, half-glaring at his friend. “The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“Aw c’mon, man. You know I’m not interesting. I don’t really leave any impression on anyone. I don’t have anything cool or unique about me. Even my Quirk is lame… not flashy or memorable at all.” He shrugged again, weakly this time, and doing a poor job of masking his discouragement with a lame smile.

Bakugou stuffed the rest of his sandwich in his mouth. “Stop being so damn down on yourself. ‘M already pissed off and I don’t wanna have to pound your dumb head in,” he muttered.

“Sorry, man.”

“Just ‘cause your Quirk isn’t ‘flashy’ or whatever doesn’t mean shit,” he went on as if Kirishima had never spoken. “It doesn’t have to look cool to do cool shit. ‘S how you use it that matters, not how it looks.”

“You’re right,” Kirishima murmured, neglecting to meet Bakugou’s eyes.

“‘Sides, if you wanna be a hero or whatever like you were saying, you can’t have so little faith in yourself or you’re never gonna make it.” He tore open his bag of crushed chips next and tilted his head back, pouring the crumbs into his mouth.

“I know.” Kirishima’s back straightened, a bit more hopeful now. “Guess it’s just habit to think that way.”

“Well fuckin’ stop. Makes me sick.” He crumpled the bags into a fist. “You done? Let’s go outside.”

Kirishima scrambled to follow Bakugou to the trash cans and fell easily into step beside him as they headed toward the door. “So’re you gonna apply for that hero course or what?” Bakugou asked when they stepped out into the warm, early September air.

“I want to,” Kirishima said, firm. “And I’ve… done a little research about it. About UA.”

“So the fuck’s stopping you?” Bakugou asked, stuffing his hands into his pockets. They began their usual laps around the inside of the fenceline where no one else was or ever went.”

“I could ask you the same thing, man,” Kirishima said carefully.

“...I already told you, shithead. No way they’ll let someone with a Quirk like mine into a hero course like that.”

“Just because you have the same Quirk as The Bomber’s, right? That’s why you think that?”

While Bakugou kept his eyes pointed at the ground, Kirishima’s hardly left Bakugou’s face.

“Obviously. The shitfaces at this shitty school already think I’ll end up a villain or some rogue punk or someshit. Why would a prestigious school like UA think any differently?”

“‘Cause they’re not allowed to think like that, man,” Kirishima said. “I said I did research, remember? They’re not allowed to discriminate based on stuff like that. When you apply, they just look at your Quirk in the government database and decide if you’re eligible for the entrance exams based on your Quirk’s potential and like, scientific scores and stuff. Then to get in you take the exams, and if you pass, they have to let you in and the only way you can be kicked out is if you flunk out.”

Bakugou’s eyes, narrowed, cut in Kirishima’s direction. “...why the hell did you waste your time finding all that bullshit out?”

Kirishima stopped, his own hands sliding into his pockets. “‘Cause I want to apply,” he said. “But I don’t want to do it alone. I wanna do it with my best friend… with you, Bakugou.”

Kirishima tried to smile—he did , but it felt more like a grimace, and a plea-filled one, at that. Bakugou merely stared him down for a while, expression unreadable.

“...I understand why you’re hesitant, man, I do. I’m scared as hell, too. But that’s why I wanna do this together,” Kirishima elaborated. “We can support each other.”

“So what, you’re sayin’ you won’t apply if I don’t?”

“I haven’t decided ‘cause I haven’t given up on the possibility that you’ll join me.”

Bakugou was the one to keep walking, and unless Kirishima wanted that to be the end of their conversation, he had to follow.

“You think I can be a fucking hero?” Bakugou muttered, skidding the sole of his shoe along the asphalt. For once he didn’t sound doubtful; quite the opposite, really.

“Of course, Bakugou.” Kirishima held out a fist. “Your Quirk is super strong! You can save a lot of people with it. You can win a lot with it,” he added, remembering just how elated Bakugou always got when he won in their video games, just how driven he was to come out on top in the rankings no matter what it was. “And best of all, you can prove all those assholes wrong.” He gestured in the general direction of the school. “Everybody who says you’ll just be a villain… all the teachers and jerks who think you’re just a copy of The Bomber. You can be a hero and shove it in their faces!”

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed, hating that Kirishima was right. They continued along, finishing their first lap before he said anything.

“You don’t have to decide right away,” Kirishima said. “There’s still about six months till the entrance exams and as long as we apply by the deadline a month before that it’ll be fine.”

“The fuck’s there to think about?” Bakugou said suddenly, surprising even himself, if just a little. “If I get to rub all the bullshit everybody’s said in their faces and win at the same time, why the fuck not?”

Kirishima stopped again, his eyes widening and his mouth quite literally popping open. “Wait, are you serious?” he asked, knowing he sounded way too hopeful but couldn’t be bothered to care too much. “You really wanna apply with me?”

“Sure,” Bakugou muttered. “Fuck it. ‘Sides, I’m not gonna be the asshole who holds you back from living your damn dream, and since you’re so damn stubborn ain’t no way I’ll be able to talk you into doin’ it by yourself.”

“Hell yeah, man!” Kirishima exclaimed, fist-pumping the air. “Let’s kick some ass!”

“Stop fucking shouting,” Bakugou hissed. “I don’t want anybody to know. I wanna see their pathetic fuckin’ faces when we show up for the entrance exams.”

“Ohh, good one.” Kirishima was beaming. “Man, now I can’t wait .”

“You’re too eager, dumbass. You told me you don’t have complete control of your Quirk, right?”

“Ah, yeah. Right.” Kirishima’s shoulders slumped, his grin fading. “I can only harden my arms or my whole body all at once. Can’t localize it to certain areas like my mom can with her electricity,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, and I can’t emit an explosion much bigger than a lame firecracker. No damn way we’ll pass the exams with these lame ass Quirks. So we gotta train.”

“True. But… how? Use of Quirks without permission is illegal.”

“Hmph. Who cares? But since some people do, we gotta sneak around. There’s this back alley I pass by on my way to and from your house from my foster place. We can go there after school and early in the morning and shit. As long as we’re careful, nobody’ll notice and we can get strong enough to pass the exams… then let the school train us the rest of the way into being pros.”

Just like that, Kirishima’s smile was back. “Sounds like a plan,” he said, holding out a fist for Bakugou to bump his own into. “We got this, bro!”

Bakugou hesitated, staring down at Kirishima’s fist for a moment before giving in and bumping it with his own, finalizing their sort of unspoken promise.

In that second, a feeling of absolute determination and conviction filled Kirishima to the brim. He was ready for this; only one more obstacle stood in their way, and one he hadn’t quite figured out how to break to Bakugou yet.

In order to apply, they needed parental permission.

---

Song Artist: Shinedown

Chapter Text

{Past}

The weather was already beginning to cool off when Bakugou and Kirishima vowed to begin their training together. Summer was clearly on its way out; in the mornings they could see their breath puffing out in front of them, and though throughout the day it remained decently warm, the sun was already making its descent and abandoning the air to the clutches of the cold. And, of course, these were the only times the two had to tuck themselves in the back alley Bakugou found and work on training their Quirks.

It went well, regardless. The entire place was surrounded by high brick walls, giving them a space where they couldn’t do much damage. Kirishima focused on hardening specific parts of his body while Bakugou worked on controlling the sweat glands in his hands and using it to create differently sized explosions. Fortunately, they weren’t at too big of a risk of being overheard because the place was so discreet and on the outskirts of a less populated neighborhood—the one Bakugou’s current foster home was in.

During downtime, they studied other heroes and people with Quirks similar to theirs. Kirishima found an entire website dedicated to Crimson Riot and soaked in all the information he could. Bakugou found a history book at the library about The Bomber—one he made Kirishima check out to avert some ‘bullshit suspicion’ away from him, as he put it (though Kirishima didn’t understand how that would work, being Bakugou’s only friend; but he was determined to get into UA, so he did what he had to).

They researched fighting styles and techniques from other heroes—especially All Might. Kirishima had found what seemed to Bakugou like an entire arsenal of shaky, phone-camera YouTube videos of All Might’s fights and work as a hero that he showed him when they spent time together at Kirishima’s while his parents were away. It showed them more of what it was like to be a hero, too, which only motivated them that much more, even if it was for different reasons.

For once—other than the fact that it let him spend more time with Bakugou—it felt like a good thing that Kirishima’s parents were away a lot. It didn’t provide them with much, if any, opportunity to question him on his drawn out absence after school or why he was consistently bruised and bloodied, all from their training. When they were home, he was sure to skip around their suspicions—not that they paid too much mind to him, anyway. Their concerns were his grades and how clean the house was. Only once or twice did either of them ask how he was doing, and it was more of a passing, obligatory comment than in genuine concern.

He was safe for now—until he had to ask them to sign the application form to get into UA.

September faded into October, and with it the weather continued to worsen. They remained relentless, however, adamantly continuing to train even when the sky threatened snow and the trees were bending over in the icy wind. Bakugou was mostly unaffected by it, what with his hot-headed nature and the Quirk that kept him warm. Kirishima, on the other hand, had a relatively hard time coping but did everything he could to keep warm and remain healthy so they could utilize all the time they had. There were only three months left until the entrance exam, and he couldn’t afford to lose any time.

Unfortunately, his efforts turned out to be in vain. The first day he woke up with a headache and a sore throat, he ignored it, refusing to believe he was coming down with a cold, and trained anyway. It proved too much, though, and the next day—a day after his parents came home again—he could hardly get out of bed, he was rendered so weak. When his mother checked his temperature he was running a pretty strong fever, and she ordered him to stay in bed for the day—if not for the rest of the weekend.

What was worse—he had no way to tell Bakugou he’d be absent from school. Bakugou was a foster kid without a phone or internet access, and it wasn’t like Kirishima had anyone he could ask to pass along the message. All he could do was hope Bakugou put two and two together and wasn’t too bothered by it…

~✵~

Kirishima spent the day in bed, sleeping on and off. His fever refused to break and he used nearly an entire box of tissues on his own. His mother brought him meals—warm soup, grilled cheese, even a small bowl of ice cream. He accepted it, though it all held a bitter flavor, knowing that being ill was the only way he could get her to be motherly. His father only poked his head in once or twice to check up, but was otherwise missing in action…

It was just before sundown and Kirishima was blearily watching a few more YouTube videos, still wanting to be somewhat productive, when there was a tap on his window that nearly startled him out of the bed. He whirled around, fist automatically hardened in defense, to find none other than Bakugou perched on the outside sill, two stories up.

“Dude!” he hissed, scrambling to get up and open the window to let the other in. “What’re you doing here?!” he whispered, making it back across the room in four strides to lock the door.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Bakugou hushed.

“Here,” Kirishima said. “I got sick.”

“...fucking figures,” Bakugou grumbled, plopping down onto the messy bed.

“Why’d you come, man? You know my parents are here. And how’d you climb the house?!”

“Remember that thing The Bomber could do, using his explosions to propel himself into the air?” Bakugou asked with the ghost of a smirk.

Kirishima’s eyes widened. “Dude, you figured it out?!”

“Fuck yeah I did,” said Bakugou, proud.

“...well that doesn’t explain why you came.”

The other’s face fell. “I came ‘cause you weren’t at school and I have a fucking emergency.”

“What?” Kirishima sat down. “What happened?”

“...the fucking foster shitrags told me last night that I’m being fucking transferred to a new home. One that’s far as fuck and is gonna make me move schools again, and be too damn far to go to UA.”

Kirishima felt his stomach drop straight downward. “No…” he whispered. “They can’t do that!”

“Yeah, they fucking can. I don’t know what the fuck to do, and now they’re more serious about it since I was pissed and got in trouble with my fucking history teacher today, so they don’t wanna listen to shit I have to say.”

“Huh? Got in trouble for what?”

“...walked out of class to go to the bathroom,” Bakugou explained. “She got pissed ‘cause she said no when I asked, so I left, and when I got back she tried to yell at me or someshit, so I yelled back. Since everyone and their fucking dog is afraid of me or hates me, she sent me right to the fucking principal who gave me some bullshit after school detention, which is why I’m here so late.”

“Aw man,” Kirishima sighed. “Why’d you yell back?”

“‘Cause I’m fucking pissed, dumbass! I didn’t wanna deal with that bullshit on top of dealing with not knowing where the fuck you were and knowing they wanna move me again, so I got mad!” Bakugou’s voice rose as he spoke.

“Okay, okay! Shh! I get it, but don’t be so loud. My parents seriously can’t know you’re here.”

A huff blew from Bakugou’s lips, his hand coming up to comb frustratedly through his hair. “The fuck am I s’posed to do, Kirishima? If I move, all this shit we’ve been doing and planning for will be for nothing. I’ll start back from square fucking one, and then I don’t know if anything will stop me from jumping off a damn building.”

Reflexively, Kirishima nudged Bakugou with an elbow. “Don’t say things like that, man. Not funny.”

Bakugou turned a short-lived glare upon him. “Does it look like I’m fucking joking?”

“All right, all right. Understandable. Just… lemme think for a sec, okay?”

Bakugou grunted, his eyes averted toward the window. Kirishima’s head was pounding from the sudden flood of information on top of being sick, and he had trouble stringing his thoughts together what with the fever he hadn’t yet managed to break. His eyes were fixed on Bakugou’s hands, fidgeting restlessly with a string on his hoodie.

For once, it was almost as if the solution dropped right out of the sky and landed in his lap, and he was snapping his fingers.

“I got it,” he said with a grin, pulling the other’s attention back to him.

“Well spit it the fuck out!” Bakugou hissed.

“...so, I didn’t tell you this yet ‘cause I was afraid it might be a huge problem and I didn’t want you to get mad or discouraged, but just to submit the application for UA, you gotta have your parents sign it.”

Bakugou’s brows shot up. “How the fuck is that a solution? That’s only gonna make it harder!”

“Calm down, bro! Just listen,” Kirishima said, making a ‘quiet down’ gesture with his hands. “If you tell them—your current foster parents or whoever it is that makes you move—that you wanna go to UA and be a hero, and that you need their permission, they’ll have to let you stay close by. They’ll realize you don’t wanna be a villain like they all think, and since UA is such a good school for crafting heroes, they’ll think it’s a good path for you.”

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed, skeptical. “...maybe,” he mumbled. “Don’t know if that’ll be enough. ‘S kinda far-fetched.”

“I know,” Kirishima hushed. “But we have to try something, right? We can’t… we can’t just let them move you away.” Kirishima did his best to cover up the crack in his voice with a cough, one that wasn’t hard to fake because of his cold.

“Yeah,” Bakugou mumbled. “Guess I’ll try it. ‘S not gonna be for another week or so before they decide where I’m going if it doesn’t work, so I’ll let you know at school.”

Kirishima nodded. “I believe you can convince ‘em, man,” he said. “Oh!” He jumped up and went for his backpack, digging through it until he found the folder he needed before rejoining Bakugou on the bed. “I printed this out for you yesterday since you don’t have internet access. It’s the paper form of the application.” He slid the stapled packet from the folder pocket. “You can just fill it out and mail it in, or turn it in at the school itself in the dropbox by the front gate. If you have this, they’ll probably take you more seriously. I bet even more if you have it filled out as much as you can.”

Bakugou took the packet gingerly, eyes scrutinizing the large yellow UA logo on the top right corner. It was suddenly… real , that this was what they wanted to do. That this was their plan, and all of their training was going towards something.

“You can do it, Bakugou. It’s just another step you gotta take to be a hero.”

Bakugou’s eyes lifted to that dumb, toothy smile and he snorted. Kirishima could hardly be taken seriously with his reddened nose and stuffed up manner of speaking. Still, that smile proved enough.

“You better be at school Monday,” Bakugou said, “or I’ll kill you.”

“I’ll be there. Promise.” As Bakugou stood up, rolling the application and tucking it into his pocket, Kirishima held up a fist. “Don’t back down.”

“Fuck that,” Bakugou snorted, bumping his own fist against Kirishima’s. “See ya.”

“Later, bro!”

Kirishima watched in awe as Bakugou climbed back through his window and dropped to the ground, using a small explosion as cushion just before he hit the sidewalk but high enough not to leave a mark.

Things would be okay. They had to be, because if they wouldn’t, Kirishima didn’t know what the hell he would do.

~✵~

Even though he knew it wouldn’t help, Kirishima was increasingly anxious to get to school the following Monday and, as a result, hurriedly got ready and retreated out the door with but a brief farewell to his parents. They’d be leaving again soon, but he’d say his routine goodbyes later that evening, after he knew whether his idea worked with Bakugou.

As expected, though he was still hopeful under the surface, he was one of the first people to school that morning. Only a few other kids were mulling around--those whose parents had ridiculous work schedules and had to drop them off early. All he could do was find a vacant table at their usual spot in the cafeteria to sit and wait for Bakugou, bouncing his leg as he--distractedly--fiddled around on his phone.

“You’re a fucking genius!” was what caught his attention, causing his head to snap up to see none other than Bakugou himself plopping down into the seat across from him.

“It worked?” he said, already having discarded his phone. He leaned across the table, heart picking up.

“It fucking worked ,” Bakugou hissed, a somewhat maniacal grin forming across his face, but it was a grin nonetheless. “I didn’t get to talk to my foster mom ‘til yesterday afternoon but when I did, I shoved the application in her face and told her they can’t move me if I’m gonna be a hero. She looked like she didn’t believe me at first--fucking figures--but I managed to convince her. She said they still wanna have me moved but they’re gonna keep me somewhere close by--maybe even closer to the school so I can attend if I get accepted.”

“Dude, that’s awesome!” Kirishima exclaimed, unable to contain his own smile--not that he’d want to. He held out a fist which Bakugou promptly planted his own into. “You’re absolutely sure?”

“Yup. Even heard her talking to them on the phone last night about it. My shitty foster father wasn’t happy about it but who gives a fuck what that old bastard thinks?”

“Hell yeah!” Kirishima laughed. The small outburst grabbed the attention of a few people sitting nearby and in the back of his mind he was already trying to predict what kind of rumors they’d come up with this time, but overall he couldn’t bring himself to care. “Dude, we’re going to UA!”

“Fuck yeah we are.”

For the rest of the day, Kirishima found he couldn’t erase the slight smile on his face no matter how hard he tried.

---

Song Artist: Imagine Dragons

Chapter Text

{Past}

As the rest of their third year of middle school started winding to a close, Kirishima and Bakugou continued their training. Kirishima took every precaution he could not to get sick again; he couldn’t afford that. While he was getting better-- much better, he would say with pride--he still had a lot of work to do if he wanted to have any hope of passing the entrance exam.

In their off time, around secret training and homework, the two continued to do research. There was a surprisingly scarce amount of information on UA’s entrance exam, and from what they did gather, it was different every year--and difficult . Only a small percentage of attendees actually passed the thing each year, information that left Kirishima with a nervous tight feeling in his chest.

“Don’t fuckin’ let it discourage you or I’ll have to beat some sense into that shitty head of yours,” Bakugou threatened him. “We’re both getting in. I don’t give a fuck what you’re scared about.”

Despite the harsh nature of the words, Kirishima did feel a strange sense of encouragement from them. They helped. Bakugou helped, always right there beside him and doing what he could to help with his Quirk development and control, just as Kirishima was doing for him.

Still, even Bakugou had an increased heart rate the day applications were opened. He shakily filled out the entire thing right beside Kirishima, who did so on his laptop on the floor of his living room.

“Okay,” Kirishima huffed when they both finished everything they could. “Now all we gotta do is get parent permission.”

“Yeah,” Bakugou muttered.

“Still no word about whether you’re moving?”

“Nope. I’ll probably find out tomorrow, though. Then I’ll know if I gotta wait or if I should just get it done.”

Kirishima tipped the laptop shut. “My parents come back the day after tomorrow, too, so I’ll talk to ‘em about it then.”

“...you really think they’ll go for it? Even though they hardly seem to give a fuck about you?”

Kirishima shrugged. “I don’t really know, to be honest. I can only hope, y’know? I mean, heroes make a lot of money and UA is the most prestigious school to craft heroes in the country. They’re always talking about how they want me to get a good career to make a lot of money so I can take care of them when they’re older. They say it like they’re joking, but my dad always gives me this pointed look that tells me they’re serious.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes, stuffing the application into a folder. “Assholes,” he grumbled, sliding said folder into his pack. “When you become a hero and make a ton of money, you can move the fuck out an support yourself , and they can suck it.”

Kirishima forced out a light laugh in response, but said nothing more on the subject.

His hunch about his parents’ reactions turned out to be right, though. He almost timidly brought it up at dinner the night after they came home.

“I, um, have a question I’d like to ask you guys, if it’s okay.”

“Mhm?” his mom hummed.

“So, I’ve… been doing a lot of research lately about high schools I might wanna go to? And it might be kind of far-fetched, but I was thinking of maybe trying to get into UA. You know, the hero school? The one All Might graduated from?”

That had definitely caught their attention. While his mom continued chewing a mouthful of rice, his dad’s hand descended to the table, brows raised in disbelief.

“You think you can get into a course like that with a Quirk like yours?” he asked. The tone of his voice didn’t say he meant anything ill by it, but the words still stung.

“I’ve been training,” he said cautiously. “Not anything huge, I promise. Just… trying to localize my hardening to certain parts of my body and maintaining it longer. Plus, I’ve watched a bunch of combat videos on YouTube I’ve learned a lot from. I think I might have a shot at passing, but I need your permission first. You’re, uh, supposed to sign the application.”

“You haven’t been getting in trouble for using your Quirk, have you?” his mother said pointedly, an edge of accusation in her tone.

“No, of course not!” he scrambled to say. “I only do it while I’m here and you guys are away. So y’know… when I’m alone,” he said, hoping to god the uneasiness of lying to them didn’t show in his face.

“Hmm,” his mother hummed. “Alright then.”

“...are you agreeing?” he mumbled.

Her eyes flicked to his father. “It couldn’t hurt,” she said, talking more so to him than to Kirishima himself. “Heroes do make quite a lot of money, after all. I’m sure with the training UA has to offer, his Quirk can be made into something decent.”

After a moment’s hesitation, his father nodded. “I agree. Sure, we’ll sign the application.”

It took everything Kirishima had not to jump out of his seat and hug them both in celebration. He’d have to save something like that for when he saw Bakugou again at school the next day. Instead, he simply smiled and thanked them, promising to do his best.

The following day, he broke the news to Bakugou who, in turn, slapped down his own application with a very scribbled, adult-like signature on the bottom of the final page.

“We’re fucking going,” he said. “I’m not moving. We’re going. And nothing can fucking stop us anymore.”

The entrance exam could, Kirishima thought, but it was one he kept to himself. After school the two of them met up outside the front entrance and started their bus commute to UA so Bakugou could put his application in the drop box. Neither of them would ever forget the feeling they had, walking up to that huge school for the first time.

The dropbox was at the very edge of the campus, and the building towered over them from behind the security gates with its big yellow logo mounted on the front, rendering it unmistakable. Students were mulling around the campus still--pro heroes to-be, of all shapes and sizes. Some, they could guess the Quirks of by simply looking at them. Others it was hard to guess. A feeling of intimidation crept up Kirishima’s back as they approached the box, but Bakugou was unfazed as he marched right up to it and dropped in the application, sealed in an envelope and everything.

“This place is… huge,” Kirishima mumbled, still gawking around. “And there are so many strong looking kids.”

“Please,” Bakugou scoffed, “as soon as we’re in there, we’ll kick ‘em all to the ground.”

A chuckle escaped Kirishima’s chest, but this time Bakugou’s words didn’t put a dent in his uneasiness. But even that amount of intimidation didn’t cause his will to waver, nor did it Bakugou’s. They could do this. They could do this. They would be heroes, despite what everyone else said--despite peoples’ fear and assumptions about Bakugou, despite Kirishima’s parents’ doubt in his ability and indifference to his life. This was but one step, but to both of them, it felt more like a huge leap toward their futures.

~✵~

“Dude, I have an idea,” Kirishima told Bakugou a few days later as they were sat down to lunch. “Once we get our letters, let’s not open them right away so we can do it together.”

“What are you, a twelve-year-old?” Bakugou muttered.

“Come on, man. Do you really wanna be by yourself if you find out that for some reason you were rejected?” Kirishima said. “I know I don’t.”

“I’m not gonna be rejected, dumbass,” Bakugou scoffed. “But fine. I’ll do it if it’s gonna make you feel better or whatever.”

Kirishima merely grinned because the underlying intention of those words didn’t escape him.

Both of their letters showed up on a Saturday. As soon as the envelope with the yellow UA logo was tossed at Bakugou, who’d stayed home just in case the stupid thing arrived, he was stuffing his feet into his shoes, grabbing his things, and practically booking it over to Kirishima’s. He was winded when Kirishima opened the door, but all he had to do was hold up the envelope for Kirishima to understand.

“Shit! I haven’t checked the mail yet,” he said. “I’ve been cleaning all morning.” Quickly, he put his own shoes on--remaining sockless--and the two flew to the end of the driveway to collect the mail. He ignored everything else that had his parents’ names on it until he came to the last envelope in the stack--the one identical to Bakugou’s, save for his own name and address stamped on the front.

“Should we do it at the exact same time?” Kirishima asked once they were back inside, seated on the floor in the living room, facing each other. “Or one before the other.”

“Same time,” Bakugou concluded.

The sound of ripping paper filled the otherwise quiet air, followed by the shuffle as the letters were removed and unfolded. Kirishima’s hands were shaking so badly that he could hardly make sense of the contents printed neatly across the page, forcing him to flatten it against the couch beside him. Bakugou held his steady enough, but his heart was pounding so damn loudly he half wondered if Kirishima could hear it .

“Holy shit,” Bakugou breathed.

“Dude,” Kirishima mumbled.

“Did you make it?”

“Yes. Holy shit, yes!”  Kirishima said, holding up the paper again. “Did you?!”

“Fuck yeah I did! I told you I would!” Bakugou half-shouted.

“Holy shit, man!” Kirishima managed past his sudden burst of uncontrollable laughter. “We did it! We actually got accepted to take the entrance exam!” With that, his arms practically flew around Bakugou’s shoulders. The other stiffened for a second, but the elation of seeing the word ‘Congratulations!’ printed at the top of the letter mixed with Kirishima’s stupid enthusiasm didn’t allow it to last long, and then he was laughing in his own kind of celebration, too.

“When’s the exam?” he muttered after a second, waving Kirishima off. His eyes skimmed through the rest of the letter. “January. We have just over a month.”

“We’re gonna pass,” Kirishima said, never losing his smile. “We’ve already made it so far. A whole extra month is only gonna help.”

“Fuck yeah,” Bakugou said.

“...man, this hardly feels real!” Kirishima huffed. “A year ago I never even imagined I’d get accepted for the UA entrance exam, let alone apply or even… want to be a hero. ‘S all ‘cause of you!”

“Don’t go getting all fucking cheesy on me, shithead. ‘Sides, you’re the one who decided we should do this shit.”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t have if it weren’t for you.”

“Shut up, Kiri. Anyway, we still gotta train and shit so let’s go.”

“Aye aye!” Kirishima agreed, eagerly following Bakugou back to their alley, elation and excitement, as well as determination, filling the both of them the entire time.

~✵~

As the month wore on and school continued to wind down, as well as Christmas and New Year’s plans bubbling up around the community, the two trained, and trained, and trained. Bakugou’s explosions increased in size; he milked every ounce of knowledge out of the books about The Bomber he could and used it to his advantage, knowing all the while he was going to use his Quirk to be a hero and kick ass, not to do the same bullshit that fucker did all those years ago.

Kirishima, too, eventually progressed to the point where he could harden his entire body for a good few minutes without getting tired. Easier and easier it got to localize his Quirk to different points, from the tip of his finger to his whole arm, or even to a random spot on his stomach or perhaps just his forehead.

By the time Christmas was over and the New Year was upon them--the year they’d take the exam and hopefully get into the best hero school in the country--the small back alley with the alcove was a mess of cinder block debris and scorched ground. They remained careful, cleaning it all up and doing everything they could to make sure it looked the same as when they started. After the new year, they knew they wouldn’t go back. They’d have to save their energy for the exam; overworking themselves was one sure way to be too strained to succeed.

Typically, Kirishima’s parents were out of town the night the fireworks went off. The two ditched the end of the school year, end of the year festival to simply hang out at Kirishima’s and fall easily into their old routine of video games, movies, and food, though they kept it healthier, wanting to remain as strong as they could.

In their heads, the both of them were quietly counting down the days until the exam. They were grateful Kirishima’s parents would be out of town until a few days after it, so they weren’t forced to be alone with their anxieties (and excitement, though it was hidden under the surface) leading up to the day of.

The night before, they were much too distracted to focus on any of their video games and resorted to a random movie neither of them paid much attention to, either. It had been quiet between them for a while, neither of them knowing much what to say. It didn’t feel real, and yet the exam was looming right over them, leaving them restless.

It was so sudden when Kirishima turned, abruptly, that Bakugou actually flinched in surprise.

“I had an idea,” he said.

“What?”

“I’m kinda thinkin’... if we pass the exam, I want something to change. Like, with me.”

“...meaning?” Bakugou prompted.

“Meaning I don’t wanna stay the same I’ve been forever. I kinda wanna have a physical representation of the change I’m gonna go through at UA, y’know? Reinvent myself.”

“I guess. What’re you thinking?”

Kirishima reached up, scratching uneasily at his cheek as his eyes strayed away from Bakugou’s. “It might seem kinda dumb, but y’know how I can actually harden my hair, and how it sticks up when I do?” When Bakugou gave a small nod of affirmation he continued, “I was thinkin’ I could style it that way, and dye it. Red. ‘Cause of Crimson Riot.”

“Why the fuck do you think that’s dumb?”

Kirishima’s eyes locked straight back onto Bakugou’s. “You don’t?”

“Fuck no. I think it’s badass.”

The smile was forming before Bakugou finished the sentence. “Seems pretty manly, huh?” he asked, automatically curling his hand into a fist.

“Hell yeah.” Even Bakugou had the hint of a smirk—a devious one.

“What about you? Do you think you wanna do something to change?”

The smirk vanished. “I dunno. I like my hair the way it is.”

“Hey, you don’t have to change your hair, bro,” Kirishima said. “You could do something else. Like…” His eyes narrowed, eyes scoping over the other for ideas. “I’d say change up your style a little bit, but they’ll surely just give us uniforms…” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“What if—“ Bakugou stopped himself immediately. “Nah. Fuck that.”

“What?” Kirishima leaned forward.

“Nothing. ‘S stupid.”

“I doubt that. Tell me,” he pressed. “Please?”

Bakugou’s shoulders relaxed a bit. “I mean, it’s no big change like dying my hair or whatever, but I could… stop wearing these shitty contacts.”

Instantly, Kirishima’s spine went straight as a pin. “Dude! Yes! Do that!”

“Really? Don’t you think that’ll just freak people out more?”

Kirishima waved a dismissive hand. “Nah, bro. Didn’t you see all those kids at UA when we turned in your application? They’re all so… strong . Super manly. People like that won’t feel threatened by your eyes. ‘Sides, I think your real eyes will show how passionate you are about being a hero.”

“...I’ll think about it,” Bakugou said quietly.

“‘Course,” Kirishima said, grinning. “Whatever you decide, I’ve got your back.”

“Yeah, whatever, idiot. Let’s just play a game or somethin’. I needa get out all this shitty tension.”

“Sounds good.”

With that, Kirishima slid to the floor and the two dove into one of their fighting games, all the while having in the back of their heads the fact that the exam was only a little over twelve hours away.

---

Song Artist: Kesha

Chapter Text

{Past}

Once it was over, the exam felt as though it took no time at all. Both Kirishima and Bakugou considered themselves lucky in the fact that the practical portion of the exam--the more important one between that and the written portion--was fairly straightforward. Use Quirks to take out giant robots worth different amounts of points and score as many points as possible within a ten minute span.

Ten minutes. That’s all it took. For both of them, it felt simultaneously like the longest and shortest ten minutes of their lives.

Because the two came from the same middle school, they were divided into separate groups with others. At first, merely looking around, Kirishima felt a knot of intimidation in his stomach. So many of the kids around him looked so strong , so damn manly , and as soon as the buzzer went off they wasted no time rushing into the mock urban area to take down the giant machines. It took but a second for the cacophonous crushing sounds to snap his mind into perspective and get him rushing out there, too.

Bakugou, on the other hand, paid no mind to the idiots around him and was one of the first to rush in with a blast to his back, propelling him forward to the nearest robot the second he saw it. He could do this . He didn’t care if he was getting shitty looks from the others because of his Quirk, because of how strong and badass it’d gotten in the span of the last few months. He was going to get in. He was going to win this . Screw what any of the other shitrags thought!

...or so he told himself, because less than two minutes in he was already hearing some of the others shouting about his Quirk and how they recognized it. The dumbasses even put their own exam on hold, if for just a few seconds, to gawk at him. It pissed him off, and as he was trying to teach himself to do, he channelled that angry energy into his blasts, into racking up as many points as possible, just as Kirishima suggested.

“If people start to freak out when they see your Quirk, don’t get mad. But if you do, just show ‘em how it’s done!” He’d stabbed a fist into the air with that passionate, toothy smile of his. Remembering those words in the back of his head was all he needed in order to keep going and block out the muffled words of those around him.

After just five minutes, Kirishima felt himself beginning to grow tired but it wasn’t nearly enough to make him give up. He continued to pummel his way through. I can rest later, he thought, panting, sweat already dripping down his face. His Quirk and how it’d developed seemed to make up for the strain and fatigue his body wasn’t quite used to yet. He was stronger when he used his Quirk, his skin less susceptible to heat, and he used that to smash through the robots one by one, not stopping, never stopping.

...until his vision began to blur a bit, and he was forced to back himself against a wall momentarily to catch his breath. Inevitably, in those mere few seconds of downtime, the anxious, self-depricating thoughts swarmed into his mind. Was he really strong enough for this? Was his Quirk good enough for him to rise to the ranks of hero? Did he really have what it took?

“ Don’t fucking doubt yourself like a loser. You’ve come really far in our training and if you back out and don’t make it in, I’ll kill you!” Bakugou’s words from the previous night, right before they settled in and attempted sleep, swarmed into his head. It was true, he had come really damn far! He’d passed the written test already; all he had to do now was smash through a few more of these stupid robots and he’d soon be sitting next to Bakugou in class, with a brand new uniform and a brand new goal (not to mention new hair).

With the encouraging words of the other ringing in the backs of their heads, they pushed on, sweaty but determined.

~✵~

For nearly an entire week, the two waited in a new kind of anxiety for their letters-- acceptance letters, as Bakugou continued to press.

“We both scored higher than more than half of the others, and we both passed the stupid written exam. If they don’t accept us, I’ll start a frickin’ riot,” he’d growled.

Kirishima had smiled at that. He was glad to see Bakugou’s spirits so high, especially after the past several months of knowing him to be rather pessimistic. He was glad the things the others said during the exam didn’t get him down.

Still, they both knew they had to remain realistic, even if they didn’t say it. There was still a possibility, regardless of their scores, that they might not have made it for one reason or another. Deep under the surface, Bakugou still held the worry that the faculty at UA were going to reject him simply because of his Quirk and its relation to The Bomber, even if it supposedly was against policy to discriminate based on things like that.

It was a long week, and a painful one at that. Bakugou had gone back to his foster home near the end of it, not wanting to miss the moment his letter arrived, leaving Kirishima home alone to ponder over everything that’d happened. Anxiously, he paced around the house, cleaning a bit as he went along and trying to slow his thoughts along with his heartbeat that stuttered and kicked up every time he thought about it. Every time he passed the front window he glanced out the curtain, hoping to see the mail person walking by and dropping things off. After two days of this, it got to be too much and he started going to the end of the driveway, checking multiple times a day.

Once again, it was a Saturday when the letter arrived. It was again unmistakable, with the UA logo stamped onto the top. His heart immediately skipped a beat when his eyes caught the flash of yellow, but immediately he was taking a deep breath to keep himself in check. He promised that he wouldn’t open it until he was with Bakugou, and because there was no way to get ahold of him, he would just have to wait until Bakugou showed back up with his own letter.

He left the envelope on the dining table, but no matter where he was in the house or what he was doing to try to distract himself, it was almost like he could feel it staring at him, or beckoning him to open it. A few times he even considered opening it without Bakugou, but he knew that if his friend found out he’d done it without him he’d definitely get an earful. Besides, this was something they were doing together . They trained together, applied together, opened their first letters together, took the exam together (kind of), so it was only right for them to open these letters together, too.

Bakugou burst into the house later that same evening; Kirishima’d left the door unlocked for that very purpose.

“I fucking got it,” he panted; clearly, he’d been running.

“Me too,” Kirishima said, swiping his envelope off the table and holding it up. “C’mon, let’s open ‘em.”

Trying to mask the shaking of his hands, Bakugou gripped the stupid envelope tightly as they sat down at the table together. After the count of three, they ripped into the envelopes together and tugged out the awaiting letters--the letters that would tell them what the near future held for them.

“Holy shit,” Bakugou hissed, his eyes unblinking as he stared at the piece of paper.

Kirishima glanced up from his own, his own fingers white from holding onto it so tightly. “Did you make it?” he whispered, though he didn’t know why he felt the need to be quiet.

“Did you?” Bakugou asked without looking up.

“You first,” Kirishima insisted.

“Don’t be a fucking nerd and tell me!” Bakugou half-shouted.

“Okay, okay! How ‘bout we just trade letters at the same time?” he suggested.

“Fine, whatever. Gimme,” Bakugou said, holding his hand out.

Kirishima was almost timid as he placed his letter in Bakugou’s hand and, in turn, took the other’s. They turned them around to see the results of the others’ at virtually the same second. Kirishima swore he felt a burst of absolute exhilaration as his eyes caught the word ‘Congratulations!’ printed at the top of the paper.

Bakugou got in. He did it, just like Kirishima knew he would!

Bakugou himself even let himself grin; it was a grin that was full of nothing less than absolute and pure pride for his friend because Kirishima, too, got into the most prestigious school in the whole damn country, because of course he did. He was strong.

“We’re gonna be heroes,” Kirishima whispered, gently letting Bakugou’s letter drift down to the table. “We… we actually did it .”

“Hmph,” Bakugou huffed, tossing Kirishima’s letter down. “Of course we did. How many times did I fucking tell you?”

“You were right, man!” Kirishima said, sudden laughter bursting from his chest. “You were so freaking right !” He stabbed his fist into the air. “Hell yeah!”

“Looks like we got some more work to do, though,” Bakugou said, never losing the ghost of his own smile. “We gotta design our own costumes and send ‘em in so they can be made.”

“Wait, really?” Kirishima scrambled to pull the letter back toward him and skimmed his eyes over the rest of its contents. “Dude, that’s awesome! I didn’t think we’d get to design our own!”

“Why the fuck not? Pros always design their own costumes.”

“True, man. C’mon, I think I have some blank paper somewhere in my room we can use,” he said, jumping up and already heading up toward his room, waving Bakugou along.

The two spent the remainder of the evening sketching, sketching, sketching. Kirishima managed to find an old notebook that he’d designed a prototype of a costume back in elementary school. Back then it’d been a pipe dream, something he never, ever thought he would be able to make, let alone use. It was dated, of course, and there were a lot of things he needed to tweak. Bakugou, on the other hand, had absolutely zero idea where to start, resulting in them turning to the internet for help.

By the time they decided to call it quits, at least for that night, there were papers strewn about the table and even the floor surrounding them with rough sketches scattered all over them. As they strolled down the road toward a nearby fast food joint--Kirishima offering to use his allowance money to get them a celebratory meal, even if it was cheap--they continued to chatter about it, bouncing ideas between them. Some, they had to admit, were a little out there and unrealistic, but they swore they would ride the high of this buzz from officially being future pro heroes as long as they possibly could. They deserved it, after all.

~✵~

“Sure your parents won’t kill you for this?” Bakugou muttered as he flipped the box of hair dye over in his hand again.

“No, but it’s not like they pay that much attention to me, anyway,” Kirishima murmured, spreading out the thin paper that contained the directions of the bleach printed across its surface.

“I think they’re gonna fuckin’ notice when you hair is bright ass red.”

Kirishima shrugged. “They’ll get over it,” he said. Truthfully, his parents’ opinions were among some of the furthest things from his mind. He was more nervous about trying to do this bleach and dye job by himself. Well, with the help of Bakugou, anyway--though neither of them had ever used hair dye before, much less bleach. Worst case scenario, he would screw it up and end up bald (even though that wasn’t even something he wanted to think too much about…).

Bleaching, it turned out, was the hardest part. His hair was stark black, just like his father’s, and bringing it to a blond light enough that the red would look good on took three hours and two bleaches. Somehow, though he’d read about a thousand ‘horror stories’ online of bleaching gone awry and the hair becoming brittle or falling out, his retained the same texture and strength as it had before they’d started. In fact, had the color not been so drastically different, it was as if they hadn’t done a thing to it to begin with.

“Maybe it’s my Quirk,” he mused, running his fingers through the white-blond strands over and over. “Maybe it makes my hair super strong, too.”

Bakugou had snorted at that, but didn’t argue against it.

Dying was easy after the bleach job. The red only had to set for twenty minutes, he hopped in the shower, and as soon as he got out and turned toward the mirror, he hardly recognized himself.

His hair was red . Bright, fiery red--and it was awesome. Already he knew he’d never go back to black hair. He was gonna be just like Crimson Riot, but brighter. Redder. Manlier.

“What do you think, Baku?” he asked when he left the bathroom to show his friend, though he didn’t expect to be overshadowed by what he saw heading into his room where Bakugou waited.

Bakugou’s eyes lifted, and as soon as they did Kirishima stopped in his tracks. They were… red , just like Kirishima’s hair. Like his eyes. His favorite color.

He’d taken out his contacts.

“Whoa,” he mumbled.

“Damn,” Bakugou said at the same time. “‘S pretty cool.”

Kirishima blinked, having forgotten about his new hair for a second. “Thanks, man. But… your eyes,” he said stupidly. “You took out your contacts.”

“Yup. Trashed ‘em,” Bakugou said, jerking his chin in the direction of the waste basket next to Kirishima’s dresser. Sure enough there was the small contact lense container sitting at the top, broken in half and open with the contacts, each ripped in half, near it. “Decided to do what you said. Fuck it.”

A wide smile broke out across Kirishima’s face and he bounded forward, offering a fist for Bakugou to bump with his own. “Hell yeah, man!” he said, unable to help himself from throwing his arms around his friend in the excitement of the moment. “I’m so freakin’ proud of you!”

“...shut up, ya damn idiot,” Bakugou grumbled in his ear, awkwardly patting him on the back. The fact that he didn’t jerk away as he probably would have just a few months ago made Kirishima’s heart swell.

They felt brand new, the both of them. They were going to UA. They were going to be pro heroes. Things were finally looking up.

{Present Day}

-Eijirou-

“Kiri, is it okay if I ask you a question?” Mina asked after popping another M&M in her mouth.

“Mhm,” he hummed. The two were perched on a log bench together near the end of the beach, snacking and watching the sun sink lower and lower to the horizon, casting soft oranges across the greenish water that was, for once, relatively calm.

“Are you really that unsure about continuing as a pro hero?” she asked.

Eijirou would be lying if he said he didn’t have a hunch that something like this was coming. The vacation had been extremely peaceful and easygoing so far; he was grateful for the time away from home, even if the situation was still on his mind more often than not. Mina, up until that point, had nothing but fun planned for them for the week they were there. She’d probably just been… waiting for an opportunity to bring this up, waiting for him to be in a bit better headspace before she asked.

And he couldn’t blame her.

“I am,” he murmured, taking another piece of candy, chewing on it slowly. “I don’t exactly… know how to get back into it,” he elaborated.

“You can ask for help, you know,” she told him, casting her gaze in his direction. He, too, pulled his eyes away from the wispy, colorful clouds above them to meet her eyes. The yellow-orange glow of the sun looked odd on her pink skin. “That’s what I’m here for. What all your friends are here for. Just say the word, and we’re there.”

“I know, Min, but it’s not that easy,” he told her. “Everything I did as a hero was with Katsuki. Finding a groove without him having my back is much easier said than done.”

“I think…” She stopped, hesitated. “I think you relied on him too much,” she said.

“I know,” he repeated, looking away from her again, down to the soft texture of the sand. “Believe me, I think about that all the time. But even though I know how true it is, I don’t regret it. Katsuki’s the reason I became a hero in the first place. Without him, I probably wouldn’t be sitting here right now. I probably wouldn’t even know you.”

“And you’d be stuck in a crappy office job somewhere, right?” she said with a small grin. “I can’t pretend to understand how important he is to you, Kiri. I haven’t experienced that yet, so I’m sorry if I seem presumptuous or something. I just want you to be happy, you know? You’re one of my best friends, and you’re freakin’ strong !”

Eijirou felt himself flinch; he could hear Katsuki saying those exact words in the back of his head. As much as it hurt, he let her continue.

“You’ve saved a buttload of people, and you had fun doing it! You’ve stopped a lot of villains and kept people safe. So many people looked up to you. I think you’d be stupid to just throw all of that away.”

Internally, Eijirou sighed. He wished she would tell him something he didn’t know. Of course he loved being a hero. He loved saving people, kicking ass, and even kind of enjoyed the small spotlight he had as Red Riot. He also knew how stupid he was for acting like such a baby now that Katsuki was gone, and how much he wished his heart hadn’t been absolutely crushed when Katsuki closed the door on him that day. The problem was… how could he be a hero without his right-hand man? Without Katsuki ? They were a duo. A pair. A team. That was a huge part of what made everything so fun and worth it, but he couldn’t see himself continuing in that way when half of him was missing…

“Listen,” Mina murmured, “I understand you still need time, but don’t think I’m not gonna be buggin’ you a little and making sure you’re okay, and seeing when you’re ready to get back out there. Heck, when you are, I’ll help you update your costume and re-dye that hair of yours! It’s hard ‘cause you relied on him for so long, but I think you can find a new groove yourself if you try. I believe in you, Kiri.”

Eijirou smiled at her, and while it wasn’t a big smile, it was genuine. He murmured his thanks, and they returned their attention to the sunset. Maybe one day he could get back out there, but for now all he could do was try to find a way to believe in himself.+

---

Song Artist: Awolnation

Chapter Text

It took both of them up until the day of their first day at UA to get used to their ‘new’ features, but as soon as they day arrived, the surprise of looking into the mirror and seeing something they weren’t used to was overshadowed completely by nerves and anxiety.

Kirishima’s parents, for once showing something more than complete indifference to him, actually flew back into town to see their son off for his first day of high school, forcing Bakugou to stay at his foster home that night. It wasn’t like Kirishima’s parents didn’t know about him at that point; Kirishima had told them the reason he wanted to go to UA, and that the thing that put it into motion was Bakugou himself. They met. They were a little uneasy, having been told what his Quirk was, but were otherwise unbothered by it—surprisingly. They really were too wrapped up in their own stupid travel agenda to care much about what was happening that didn’t concern them too much…

It could’ve been worse, Bakugou told himself. They could’ve flipped out like he’d expected and told Kirishima he wasn’t allowed to hang out with him anymore, and that he had to find a different high school to go to and a bunch of other parental bullshit. For once, he was glad for their weirdly convenient indifference.

The first day he’d gone back to his foster home, he was questioned about his eyes. They’d known, of course, that he’d been wearing contacts, and because they weren’t exactly enthusiastic about taking in the kid with the same Quirk as the man who committed one of the worst genocides in history, they didn’t say a thing. When questioned about why he wasn’t wearing them, he just muttered that he didn’t want to anymore and locked himself in one of the downstairs closets—the only place he had away from the four other kids and his foster parents, seeing as he had to share a room with one of them and it was taken over most of the time—with a handheld gaming console Kirishima gave him. No one ever looked for him. None of them could care less if he died in a ditch somewhere, anyway.

The first day of school, he left early. With his hands stuffed into his pockets and only half aware that he was chewing the skin of his lower lip raw, he headed in the direction of Kirishima’s. He’d be damned if he was gonna walk up to that giant school by himself with rumors about his Quirk already spreading throughout it. Sure enough, Kirishima was happy to see him when he walked out of his house with that… ridiculous hair.

“Your hair looks weird,” Bakugou muttered, shifting a bit uncomfortably in the new uniform he wasn’t quite used to yet. Kirishima’s hair stuck up in about a thousand different directions and cemented into place by what could only be some magic kind of hair gel.

“Hey, it’s not that much different from yours!” Kirishima defended. “Besides, I think it looks manly as hell.”

“Yeah, well, it sure as fuck suits you,” Bakugou said as he turned. “Let’s just go already.”

Bakugou had to admit his nerves were calmed a little, having his best friend walking by his side up to the school. Still, he expected looks between terror and awe as he headed toward the front doors once they scanned their ID cards at the security gate, but as they made their way to class 1-A, hardly anyone glanced their way. For once, he wasn’t in the fucking spotlight. It was a miracle.

The miracle didn’t last long, though. He and Kirishima had been in their seats in the large classroom not five minutes before the door open and on the other side of it stood a wimpy, green-haired weakling that Bakugou had known off and on since childhood. Instantly his limbs tensed as the broccoli-resembling shitrag moved into the room and found a place to sit.

“Whoa, isn’t that Midoriya?” Kirishima asked as he leaned over to whisper. “I thought he didn’t have a Quirk.”

“He doesn’t,” Bakugou grumbled.

“Really? How do you think he got in, then?”

“How the fuck should I know?!”

Bakugou’s heart was thudding needlessly hard as he watched the shitrag settle into his seat while others were continuing to file into the room. It made no fucking sense how a Quirkless weakling could get into a school like UA, or why he would want to.

Bakugou had always hated the little shit—outwardly, at least. On the inside there’d been a kind of burning envy. Sure, the dude— Deku , he called him when they were in elementary school together one year—was weak, but being born without a Quirk was sure as fuck better than developing one that made everyone who knew about it look at you like you were some kind of demon before you’d even done anything . He’d take being weak and made fun of over the isolation and demonization any damn day.

Turned out, though, during the first little exam that had them missing the entrance ceremony and supposedly getting one of them expelled had they failed, Deku proved he did have some bullshit Quirk. All it explained was how he managed to get into the damn school, but left about a million new unanswered questions in Bakugou’s brain.

It didn’t matter. After that first exam, he had more important shit to worry about because it was then when his own Quirk was revealed to the rest of the class. The second it was, he could already hear the whispers he was so used to—but not immune to. Just hearing them again, even in a place like this where most people were crazy strong—made his eyes burn with resentment. He’d moved back to Kirishima’s side with his fists clenched after the first task, trying to will away the noise.

The teacher, at least—Mr. Aizawa—seemed unfazed by the show of his Quirk. That was already a step in the right direction, away from shitty middle school teachers who always seemed to have an eye on him as if he’d go ballistic and blow up his desk at the drop of a hat.

“Hey man, chill,” Kirishima whispered to him after the second task when the rest of the idiots were still glancing at him, their expressions ranging from nervous to curious. “You’re here to show ‘em what you can do and how much potential you have to be a pro. Whatever they’re saying about you means nothing.”

Leave it to the shitty-haired idiot and his whole reason for being there to find the right words to motivate him, at least for the time being. He tore through the rest of the tasks with vigor, and in the end sat at the number one spot. That same night, he and Kirishima celebrated with a trip to the arcade.

The whispers and glances didn’t stop, though. Soon enough rumors had spread through the majority of the first year population and he could hardly walk around the place without being stared at by at least one person.

It was middle school all over again, only so much worse because here he had a goal, and all the shit swirling around him served to distract him from that goal. Kirishima’s words to ignore them could only motivate him for so long before he’d forgotten them.

The isolation came quickly for both of them. While the rest of the class had begun to make friends with one another (probably bonding at his expense, he was sure), he and Kirishima still had no one to talk to but each other. That was, unless they were paired with someone else, and in that event whoever was ‘unfortunate enough’ to get paired up with him, their faces couldn’t hide the uneasiness they felt.

A week into the semester, and Bakugou’s doubts felt like they were about to swallow him whole. It was no surprise when Kirishima finally brought it up, either. They’d been trying to get through a quest in one of Kirishima’s new games and continuously failed because Bakugou was so distracted.

“Baku, you know you can talk to me, right?” Kirishima said, setting his controller on the coffee table.

“What the fuck am I s’posed to say?” Bakugou grumbled, tossing his aside and pulling his feet up onto the couch.

“Anything. We’re friends. I’m here to listen.”

Bakugou’s forehead fell against his knee, a rough, long sigh escaping his chest. It was a good long minute before he said anything.

“If I fucking say it, you can’t get mad at me.”

“I wouldn’t bro. You should know that.”

Sure I do , Bakugou thought bitterly. He sucked in another breath and let it out in the form of a sentence. “I’m starting to think going to UA was a really fucking bad idea.”

He felt the couch shift as Kirishima moved, and it coaxed him to look up, finding his friend positioned similarly to him—legs up, arms wrapped around them, one wrist in the opposite hand. It was a casual position, though, and not one that conveyed so much insecurity like it used to.

“It’s ‘cause of what everybody’s saying, huh?” he asked without looking at the other.

“And all the fucking stares and rumors and shit. ‘S like fucking middle school all over again, and it’s bullshit.”

“Yeah. I’ve noticed it too, man.”

Bakugou let a leg fall. “And you’re fucking isolated and not making any friends because of me.”

“Hey, man,” Kirishima said with a small simper, “ you’re my friend. My best friend. Sure, having other friends would be pretty damn cool, but not at the expense of my best friend.”

“Hmph…” Bakugou’s head leaned back down against his knee.

“We’re in this together, man. We have been since the beginning, so don’t feel guilty about things that aren’t your fault.”

He was right, of course—nothing about the stares, the whispers, or the rumors were Bakugou’s fault. His own Quirk wasn’t his fault, nor was he to blame for what The Bomber did in his prime. That didn’t mean the whole situation didn’t feel shitty.

“I’m just fucking stupid because I thought this dumb school might be different, but that was a ridiculous thing to assume.”

“Well I mean, if ya think about it, we all just got outta middle school. Old habits die hard, y’know?”

Again Bakugou just grunted, feeling conflicted but not having the means to put such feelings into words. Kirishima was the one to break the silence.

“Remember what I said the first day? About how you’re there to be a pro? You should think about that. I know it sucks ass that everybody has something to say about you and the awesome things you can do, but you’re there for you, not for them.” Bakugou peeked up at him again, a bit skeptical. Of course, Kirishima was fucking smiling like he was proud of someshit. “The whole point of going to UA was to become heroes and do somethin’ good. You’ll just be proving all those assholes wrong while you’re at it. But if you let their words get to you so much, you’ll only be giving in to what they think of you and focusing less on training to be a hero, y’know?”

By that point, Bakugou’d given his friend his full attention and he grunted. “What are you, some kind of fucking counselor?”

“Nah,” Kirishima laughed a little, scratching his neck. “Just your friend. I’m s’posed to tell you things how they are and kick your ass into gear.”

Bakugou sat up, letting his other foot fall back to the floor as he reached for his controller. “Considere my ass kicked,” he said. Consequently, Kirishima burst into laughter which resulted in Bakugou shouting to defend himself, that the words had come out wrong, before he decided to get his revenge in their game rather than planting his fists into Kirishima’s head as he normally would have.

Kirishima, with his new, weird, shitty hair, was fucking right. Going to UA was never about stopping the rumors and shit that never failed to arise when people learned of his Quirk. It was about being a fucking hero, like the badass that was All Might, and mowing down every rumor in his path.

That said, it wasn’t overnight that it took him to find a way to ignore the stares and focus on school . It was still difficult for a few more weeks, but every time the doubts started to take over, Kirishima was there to give him a toothy smile and a thumbs up, or merely have his head buried in a book for Bakugou to find that spark of motivation again.

Now all he could do was hope someday he could find a way to repay all the shit Kirishima had done for him.

---

Artist: Mike Shinoda

Chapter Text

{Past}

Bakugou couldn’t find a speck of surprise within himself when Kirishima did start to make other friends. He was like his own freaking source of light that was impossible not to be drawn to in one way or another, and he was easy to work with when they were paired up in practical training and exams.

Jealousy had a bitter taste, and Bakugou learned that quickly. It wasn’t like Kirishima was ignoring him or anything; in fact, Bakugou wasn’t jealous of the other idiots he was talking to at all. Not that he’d ever say it—it was hard enough merely admitting it to himself—but he was jealous of Kirishima .

Fuck if he’d ever need friends, or so he used to think. He was used to being alone, seeing as he’d been that way most of his life. He sucked at socializing and was always under the assumption that people feared or were disgusted by him, a defense mechanism he’d developed over the course of his life. Even still, that didn’t mean he didn’t feel a sort of… longing when he saw Kirishima getting along with other losers in class.

Bakugou bit his tongue on the matter. Kirishima himself said he wasn’t at UA for other people—here was there for himself, to become a hero. Any friends other than Shitty Hair himself would probably just get in the way.

Regardless, those thoughts went down the drain quickly because Kirishima—being Kirishima—didn’t waste much time before he was introducing his new acquaintances to Bakugou. They were sitting down to lunch one afternoon when the idiot trampled over to their usual table with three others from the class in tow—some pink chick with black eyes, a guy with bright yellow hair who always ended up with a Dunce Face whenever he overused his Quirk, and a dark-haired plain-faced guy.

Kirishima was happy to introduce them as Ashido—who supposedly went to their middle school, though neither of them ever really noticed her—Kaminari, and Sero. Bakugou brushed off the names in favor of his own nicknames, just as he’d been starting to use ‘Shitty Hair’ for Kirishima, who’d given up arguing with him about it weeks ago.

The three of them didn’t seem like they were holding their guard up against him, nor were they shooting him the familiar, accusing glares he was so used to. That didn’t mean he didn’t keep his own guard up, though, and it was after a few days of consistent lunches with them, Kirishima decided to bring it up.

“Y’know, you don’t have to act so hostile toward them,” he pointed out as they were on their way home.

“Hmph. I don’t trust anybody.”

Except me , Kirishima thought. That was one thing he knew he could use to an advantage. “I know, man. But they’re super cool and they’re more impressed by your Quirk than scared of it, like me.”

“What, you tell ‘em not to say shit about it?”

“I mean, yeah. They asked me about it but I told ‘em it doesn’t matter since you’re your own person who’s gonna be a badass hero! They agreed and said they wanted to meet you.”

Bakugou snorted but said nothing more. It was true that the other three hadn’t said shit about Bakugou and his Quirk, and of everyone he was pretty sure they were some of the few who hadn’t been partaking in spreading rumors and shit about him. They were annoying, but could Bakugou really argue with their presence, given that gross jealousy he’d been feeling up until then?

“Hey, I know you’re used to being defensive around people who know your Quirk,” Kirishima said, filling the silence with a soft voice. “But I mean, you know who you are, right? So what does it matter what anybody else thinks?”

“...yeah, whatever,” Bakugou muttered.

Outwardly he remained aloof, but Kirishima was right, because of course he was. Little by little he forced himself to relax around the others until he was hardly tense at all whenever they were around. It helped that the longer time went on, the less likely it seemed they were going to say a thing about his Quirk or The Bomber.

In fact, as the school year continued, the rumors and whispers he was so used to began to quiet until they ceased altogether, and he couldn’t help noticing it was in succession with each new acquaintance Kirishima made and introduced Bakugou to, some of which approached him without Kirishima around—which hadn’t happened a single time in the first couple of months of their first year. 

It felt… weird, making friends—or at least acquaintances, but eventually that bitter taste of jealousy, the one he hadn’t even admitted to Kirishima he had, was little more than a distant memory.

~✵~

New challenges continued to arise in the shape of training, studies, and exams. Kirishima and Bakugou stuck together, helping each other out where they could. Kirishima had trouble with the written portions of things and while Bakugou called him a dumbass—or some semblance of the same insult—more times than either of them would ever be able to keep track of, he was still happy to help, and grateful he had someone to study with.

When it came to practical training and studies, they had each others’ backs and were a stronghold duo unrivaled by any other in the class. Outside of school, they ended up going back to their little alcove in the secluded back alley to continue their training and apply what they’d learned.

Both of them had the most fun in the training areas where they were faced with direct combat. While they didn’t necessarily score the highest—Kirishima especially—they learned a lot, and their marks were reflecting that. Because of his high scores on the written exam, Bakugou ranked number three in the class overall come midterms while Kirishima was lower, somewhere in the average range, but not bad overall.

To celebrate, they made a mess of Kirishima’s kitchen in an attempt to bake a cake.

It was after midterms when Mr. Aizawa brought up something they’d both put to the backs of their minds out of anxiety—the annual televised Sports Festival. They were coming up on it quickly, and the next few weeks would be dedicated to preparing for it.

Over the course of those few weeks, Bakugou lost sleep. His thoughts kept him awake, and his mind kept reeling with different made-up scenarios of how it all might go down—none of them ending in his favor. He was distracted during training and studying, and even during their late night gaming sessions during the weekends when Kirishima’s parents were away.

Kirishima couldn’t pretend not to notice. He tried reassuring his friend in the small ways he knew how, but even he was questioning the sincerity of it. In the back of his mind he, too, was wrapped up in anxieties, fearing he wouldn’t do well, that he was too weak and not nearly smart or strategic enough to make himself notable during the whole thing.

It didn’t help when Aizawa brought up the fact that the Sports Festival would be when the pros were looking for potential heroes in training to take on as interns, and even side-kicks once they earned their provisional hero licenses in the following semester.

The pressure was on, and neither of them felt equipped to deal with it.

That, of course, resulted in a night similar to the one before the entrance exam the evening before the Sports Festival was to kick off. They’d been avoiding the subject between themselves for a couple weeks now, afraid it would stir up the anxiety and only make things worse.

Kirishima couldn’t keep his mouth shut anymore, though, and the first thing out of his mouth was so like the things he used to say—before Bakugou walked into his life—that it left even him reeling a bit.

“Hey, d’you think I’ll be excused from the Sports Festival if I die of nerves before it starts?” he asked with a light, but forced, laugh.

“You’re not allowed to fucking die and leave me alone,” Bakugou muttered, not taking his eyes from the movie they’d thrown on in an attempt to keep themselves occupied, distracted. “If you die, I’ll fucking kill you.”

“...at least I won’t have to deal with embarrassing myself that way,” Kirishima mumbled.

“You better not fucking leave me alone,” Bakugou snapped, turning his glare to the other.

“Don’t worry man, I won’t,” Kirishima said, mustering up the most sincere smile he could, given the circumstances. “I seriously wish we didn’t feel so freaking anxious about it, though.”

“Yeah,” Bakugou mumbled, pulling up a knee and draping his forearm over it. “It’s already fucking hard enough to deal with everyday people terrified of me or judging me to be a villain. What the fuck am I s’posed to do when it’s the whole fucking country looking down on me like that?” he pondered. “And yeah, before you say it, I know—I’m not doing it for them and I shouldn’t give a fuck what people think, blah blah blah.”

Kirishima’s face contorted into a frown. “...no, man. I… I understand what you mean. I’m worried, too… ‘cause I dunno what I’ll do if everybody’s laughing at me for how weak and unskilled I am.”

In that moment, it felt like they were back to square one, like they’d jumped back in time to middle school, to before they’d even begun to seriously consider trying to get into UA. Insecurities and fears swirled within them. Anger and anxiety. Worry.

“...this is fucking stupid,” Bakugou huffed, letting gravity pull his foot back to the floor. “We’ve made it through almost an entire fucking semester at UA perfectly fine. Hell, we’re stronger than ever! You’re strong as fuck now. Why the fuck would anybody be laughing at you?”

Kirishima shrugged lamely. “‘Cause my Quirk is lame, and I can’t use it to its full capacity.”

“So the fuck what, Shitty Hair? You’re a fucking first year, so of course you have room to improve. And you’ve improved already! A few months ago you could hardly control your Quirk, but now look at the shit you can do. The whole point of being an intern is to learn and get better. Show your potential and then you’ll probably have a hundred heroes who wanna take you in.”

“...yeah? You think so?”

“Obviously.”

A smile—a more effortless one this time—cracked into Kirishima’s face. “Thanks, Bakugou.”

“Hmph. Someone has to knock some sense into that shitty brain of yours.”

“Guess so,” Kirishima chuckled. “But… what about you?”

Bakugou leaned back, folding his arms behind his head. “Dunno. The whole point of going to UA was to prove everyone wrong. Might as well use this as an opportunity to do that with a shitload of people at once.”

That small smile spread into something much bigger, much more Kirishima. “Hell yeah, man! I bet you’ll even win!”

“Fucking duh . What kind of hero doesn’t win?”

Kirishima laughed again. He wouldn’t say that there were heroes who lost all the time, that not even All Might had lost a few battles in his day. He didn’t need to weaken Bakugou’s morale. For now, they’d vow to do their best and improve upon whatever they failed at later. As always, they had each others’ backs and they would do their best regardless of their insecurities, and that was what mattered most.

---

Song Artist: Twenty One Pilots

Chapter Text

{Present Day}

On the trip home, Eijirou had a lot of time to think, and more clearly than he had been in months. He didn't much realize how desperately he needed the getaway until they were on their way back, and there was a subtle sense of dread in the pit of his stomach.

He didn't want to go back to the way he'd been, moping around the apartment, thinking too much about Katsuki and every little thing he regretted from the past fifteen years, and just getting by without any real purpose. As he watched landscapes and cities fly by in a blur out the window, he was forced to reflect, to try and recollect himself and remember why he wanted to be a hero in the first place.

The immediate answer was Katsuki, but deep down he knew that wasn't right. Sure, Katsuki had been the driving force, the thing that kicked him into gear to go to UA, to at least try, but he'd wanted, deep down, to be a hero for far longer than he'd known Katsuki. When he was a kid, his brain just barely beginning to retain memories long-term, he'd sit on the couch in the living room with his babysitter and watch news coverage of heroes, not unlike what he did in preparation for his entrance exam. He was in awe of them, of what they could do. It was before his parents had shut him down and were unimpressed by his Quirk, virtually ignoring him and making him feel useless, weak, incapable.

It'd taken years before that drive was rekindled and then yes, it had been because of Katsuki. But, he figured... just because Katsuki was what got his ass into gear didn't mean he was the reason he wanted to be a hero in the first place.

He wanted to be a hero because heroes were badass and manly. They did so much good for the community, and had people looking up to them from all angles, admiring them. He wanted a spotlight of his own and, more than anything, he wanted to save people. That was why he should get back into it, resign with another agency, let Mina help him update his costume and re-dye his hair. It would be what his younger self wanted.

...and part of him wanted to believe that Katsuki would want it for him, too, even if he was long gone. Even if he supposedly didn't care anymore... right?

~✵~

Eijirou cleaned when he made it home. He went throughout the entire apartment and got rid of little things he didn't need anymore, scrubbed the surface of everything, vacuumed, dusted the fans and tabletops, did every last bit of laundry he could find, and organized all of his own belongings in a new fashion. When he finished that, he decided it wasn't enough and changed up the furniture, too, maneuvering the television set to the corner of the living room rather than flat against the wall and positioning the couch to face it, and then he adjusted some things in the bedroom, too.

He cleaned up and rearranged absolutely everything he could where it made sense, save for anything Katsuki left--everything he was determined to leave untouched. He wouldn't admit it even to himself, much less aloud to anyone else or even the walls of the apartment, but deep down he knew why he did it, why he merely let his eyes skip over those things instead of do something with any of it.

After that, he sat down and made himself call his friends, his parents, everyone he'd been neglecting keeping in touch with since Katsuki's departure. His parents were more or less indifferent to be hearing from him, something he expected, but his friends were borderline ecstatic about it. Just like them, they offered to help whenever he decided to swing right back into the line of duty as a hero.

It would be a few months, still, before that happened, however. The change of all the furniture turned out to be a bit too much and he ended up moving some things back. At one point he resorted to sleeping on the couch again, just as he had the first couple of weeks after Katsuki left. At the same time, he forced himself to keep up with the dishes, the laundry, grocery shopping and checking the mail--the P.O. box in particular. He kept in touch with his friends who always had stories to tell him about their hero experiences, and in the back of his mind he knew there was another reason for it, shadowed in their forefronted excitement.

In moments of weakness, he found himself hunched over his phone scrolling through news articles, looking for signs of Katsuki somewhere out there in the world. There were none, though, and knowing Katsuki it made sense that after the incident with that building explosion, he'd lay low and stay under the radar. It was nights after that when that fuzzy, black and white nightmare showed up in his subconscious again and forced him back out to the couch, only to stare at the ceiling until the sun rose.

On one particular night where a dream was vivid again, he was fighting enemies that kept coming at him over and over, like a video game that had a respawn glitch. He could feel his body growing tired but inside the drive to win, to protect the crowd of people behind him remained strong. Still, he never won because his eyes were opening to the grey light of dawn before it was over and he swore as he sat up his body could feel the fatigue of that fight though he'd been asleep for a good ten hours.

Without entirely realizing what he was doing, he shuffled along the carpet, having lost both of his socks sometime during the night, and stopped in front of the closet beside the front door. Stiffly, his hand pulled it open. A waft of musty air met his nose; he hadn't opened this closet in months, and there they were--the two long black plastic bags hanging side by side, being the only two things in that one tiny closet.

The one on the right was his, but how he remembered that as he pulled the hanger from the rod, he wasn't sure. He took it back to the bedroom and laid it across the bed once he haphazardly pulled the blankets into a more or less presentable position. It was easy to push the bag up to the hanger to reveal it--his hero costume, unworn for the better part of half a year. It looked just the same as it had before, with a few stitches and patches on the pants, scratches on the shoulder gears and face mask.

It needed updated. It had for quite some time. Before, he'd had plans to get the entire thing made out of the same material as the sleeves, and the capital R on the belt was rather childish, if he was being honest.

Somehow, he managed to smile at the sight of the whole thing, though. As much as his mentality in these past months wanted to deny it, there were more good memories associated with this costume than bad. Sure, he'd gotten hurt more times than not. He'd been scared and gotten tired; his clothes had ripped and he hadn't always been successful, but he'd saved so many people, stopped so many villains, and had a lot of fun doing it.

That in mind, he found his phone on the table beside the bed and shuffled through his contacts until he found Mina's name, tapping it without a second thought and letting the call go through.

~✵~

Getting back into hero work was amazing--at first. The agency he'd been signed to before welcomed him back with open arms, surprisingly enough, and getting his costume up to date turned out to be pretty damn enjoyable. Of course, Hatsume Mei from the support class was one of the most renowned developers and engineers of their generation, and having been acquainted with her during their time at UA, Eijirou was more than happy to take her suggestions (even if she was still pretty crazy about it).

He started out with regular patrols and such, intervening when only necessary. In the mornings and on days off he'd hit the gym--a different one than Katsuki and he used to frequent--to build his stamina and strength back up, as it'd deteriorated after months of neglect. He stayed in close contact with Mina, Denki, and Hanta as he had before, and didn't allow himself much time to think about anything else for several weeks.

It didn't last, and he hated that he'd seen it coming.

Hero work was getting him out of the house exceptionally more than he had been since Katsuki left, and as a result, he was looking. Looking for signs of him everywhere he went, from tufts of blonde hair to explosion-like incidents. The training he'd gone through at UA and throughout all of his spars with Katsuki over the years, it was ingrained in him that someone would have his back, which resulted in more mistakes than he'd like to admit during battles.

No matter what he did, where he went, or how he tried to live, there was always a shadow looming over him, one that had him trying to continue on as though nothing had ever happened, as though Katsuki was still there or worse, as though there was never any Katsuki to begin with. The old habits were ingrained in him too deeply, and the more time went on, the more he tried to find a new groove, the less he enjoyed being out in the field. It became increasingly harder to pull himself out of bed in the morning and make himself get to work. He stopped opening the letters that came in the P.O. box, the flow of which had increased since his reappearance in the hero scene. He ignored the news. Being Red Riot just wasn't the same, and eventually that neglect and feeling of discouragement reflected in his actions, which would consequently scar him--literally.

It was a simple mission, or so it sounded to begin with. A couple of villains were attempting to rob a bank somewhere down south, but what was thought to be 'a couple' turned out to be more than a dozen, outnumbering the heroes called to the scene by more than half. As he'd been attempting to do for weeks, Eijirou forced the thoughts and hesitations to the back of his mind to focus on the mission, on apprehending the villains and turning them over to the police.

Things were rocky from the start, and only seemed to go downhill as the villains' Quirks overpowered the heroes' by a longshot, taking them down and incapacitating them one by one. Eijirou was one of the last standing, and because of his instinctual battle techniques, being so used to having someone right at his back, he'd taken a hit across the right shoulder with a whip, eventually losing too much blood and losing consciousness himself.

The whole thing wasn't much of a battle; once more heroes were called in, the majority of the villains were detained and aside from a few concussions and flesh wounds--Eijirou's included--there were no serious injuries. The civilians inside the bank were virtually unharmed and nothing was stolen, though the interior of the building had definitely seen better days prior to the fight.

Eijirou needed stitches, though, and a good two pints of blood pumped into his system to replenish what he'd lost. Fortunately he was only forced to spend one day in the hospital before they released him and when they did, he didn't say a thing to anyone, least of all his friends who'd come to seen him, not having been at the scene themselves. All he had the motivation to do at that point was go home and sleep, having no other way to escape the world.

~✵~

It felt eerily familiar when a knock on the front door awakened him the following morning and he opened it to find Mina, Denki, and Hanta on the other side of it, this time joined by Kyouka.

"We just came to check up on you," Mina said, "since we heard about what happened... that you took a nasty hit and all."

Eijirou shrugged a shoulder and winced in immediate regret; he'd yet to take his pain medication that morning, and of course the injury stung.

"'S no big deal," he said. "Thanks for coming, though."

It sounded like the dismissal it was, but Mina wouldn't let him close the door as she stepped inside before he could. He relented and let them in, despite how much he wasn't in the mood for company. He even showed them the line of stitches, and even smiled a bit when Denki and Hanta were mumbling something about battle scars. Still, he was quick to try and avert the subject from himself, from his scar. The key word was try, though, because before he could find a change of subject, Kyouka spoke up.

"How'd it happen?" she asked.

"Ah..." he mumbled, pocketing his hands. "Just an accident. I was caught off guard. Y'know." He shrugged again, and then internally cursed himself for forgetting, again, that such a movement was gonna sting for some time.

"Were you surrounded or something?" Hanta questioned.

"Nah. I'm just... uh, used to someone having my back most of the time. Stupid mistake," he said, trying to remain nonchalant. The regret for not thinking to lie was instant, though.

"Oh, 'cause of Bakugou, huh?" Mina murmured.

"Guess so," he said, forcing a laugh.

They knew him to well, though; hell, even if they didn't, that laugh would probably be hard for a complete stranger to fall for, unless they were deaf. Maybe. Mina's features softened a bit.

"Hey, don't beat yourself up over it," she said. "We all make mistakes. Obviously you're used to a certain way of fighting. Surely it's hard to break those old habits."

Harder than you'd think, he thought as he nodded. Much harder, especially when around every corner he was still looking for signs of Katsuki despite knowing, knowing that he was gone—probably long gone, after the explosion incident. Add that on top of the fact that without his partner, being a hero didn't provide the same fulfillment as it had before, and you had one discouraged, struggling hero.

Even when the others decided to depart, Mina chose to stay behind for a few minutes. Eijirou braced himself for the interrogation.

"You're still not feeling yourself, are you?" she asked. He hated the pity in her eyes.

"I'm okay," he told her.

"But not okay enough. You still don't really know how to be a hero without Bakugou, huh?"

"It's not that, it's just... he's the reason I got where I am. I'd never be this far without him, and... and trying to go on like nothing happened feels wrong in a way. I can't really enjoy it like back then."

"I understand. I'm sorry if we pressured you into all this. It really wasn't our intention."

"Naw, s'okay. I know you guys are just lookin' out for me. And I do feel better. Finding my footing's even harder than I thought."

She nodded, her smile indicating she accepted his words. As usual, she left him with a hug and reminder to reach out to her if he needed anything. He extended the same offer before shutting and locking the door.

And then he let himself cry for a good, long while, even if he didn't really know why. He needed it. He'd been holding in a lot, and he still didn't know how to get started again.

Chapter Text

{Past}

Determination took over nerves the morning of the Sports Festival. It was like being surrounded by countless other victory-hungry kids snapped things into perspective, and as the rules of the first challenge were being explained, both Kirishima and Bakugou felt their resolves settling in place.

Bakugou was going to win, and he was gonna show the world that he was no damn villain. He was going to show them he was strong and capable of being a hero, like All Might—no, better. After this, no one would be able to say shit about him anymore, and all the idiots who had before would come to regret it.

Kirishima was going to prove his strength and stand right alongside Bakugou as one of the top students, he swore. It didn't matter if his Quirk wasn't flashy or didn't necessarily stand out, because he would. He'd prove his parents wrong, and prove to himself that he and his Quirk were just as capable of rising up to make a name for himself.

Kirishima's heart was pounding with determination as he stood beside Bakugou, waiting for the first buzzer to sound and the doors to open. A race, it turned out, straight through a narrow alleyway. Kirishima may not have been the fastest, but there were still more challenges to come—ones in which he could show his strength.

Bakugou, fingers curled and ready, was pumped full of adrenaline. He was fast; he'd been practicing propelling himself with his Quirk for months. How easy it would be to fly right over all the other idiots' heads and make it to the other side before any of them made it halfway.

That was exactly what he started to do the second the buzzer went off. It wasn't as easy as it seemed, though; many, using their own powerful Quirks, managed to keep up with him--including some asshole with two-colored hair, making an ice skating rink out of the entire damn thing with his right hand alone and skating along it like it was nothing. Determined, Bakugou pushed himself forward. Easily ignored was the strain on his arms, his elbows and shoulders specifically. He'd have to grow past that shit if he wanted to win.

And then, much to his almost crippling surprise, a green-headed, freckled weakling was somehow managing to keep up with them from just behind. With a roar, Bakugou used two simultaneous, relentless blasts propel himself forward; the second he let them loose he knew he'd regret it later, what with the repercussions his joints and muscles got with such big blasts, but he'd deal with that later.

In the end, with the majority of the rest of the participants still in a slightly scattered group behind them, Deku of all fucking people was the first to cross the finish line, followed by the half-and-half shitface, who was only about half a second sooner than Bakugou himself. He skidded to a halt on the other side of the line, panting and sweating, his vision blurry with the shock of it all. Every instinct he had wanted to march right over to that damn nerd and blow his fucking brains in, but before he could even make a step in his direction, a hand wrapped around his wrist and held him back.

"Don't do it, man," Kirishima said in his ear, panting himself. "You're not here for that, remember? You're here to win. If you attack somebody, you're gonna blow it."

That was all it took for him to relent. Kirishima was right; he'd have to save the revenge on the nerd for later, for when it really counted.

As soon as the second round was explained that they'd be working in groups of four, Bakugou felt his stomach drop. Of course Kirishima was right there by his side while the others started scrambling around getting into their groups, but where the fuck were they gonna find two more people?

"C'mon man, let's go talk to them," Kirishima said with his classic smile, nodding toward a group mulling around trying to figure out how to split themselves up, having six people. With his teeth clenched, Bakugou begrudgingly followed; at least the majority of the ones in that group were the ones Kirishima was starting to make friends with, so it wasn't completely awful...

In the end, the pink girl with the acid Quirk and the guy with the tape Quirk ended up joining them. As soon as they were in formation, Bakugou cracked his knuckles, rolled his shoulders, and put on his best game face.

He was relentless, going into the battle. Sure, he hadn't won the first round but that was more or less child's play that wasn't fair for the majority of the people there. This he could take more seriously, more head-on, and he would. With Kirishima being an unwavering asset, supporting him from below and holding a drive that was just as fiery as his, plus the two other idiots that had a kind of spunk of their own, he felt confident that victory was his.

And yet, it wasn't. Once again he'd overestimated his own abilities, or maybe underestimated that of others', and half-and-half--Todoroki, he learned his name was--ended up snatching the stupid headband with the most points, pushing him and his group back into second place.

The last round would be where it really counted, though—a battle tournament. Sparring was something Bakugou and Kirishima had been doing together regularly for months, using each other to strengthen their Quirks and better their skills. This was the same, only more serious, and they'd get to rival opponents with other Quirks and concoct a whole slew of new battle strategies. This was what Bakugou had been waiting for, and where he knew he'd shine the most no matter what anybody else said or thought about him or his Quirk. 

"I can't believe we got second!" Kirishima gushed during the noonday break between the Cavalry battle and the battle tournament. He went straight in for a high five, which Bakugou accepted, unable to hide his own smirk. "It's awesome that we get to be in the third round and show what we can do."

"Hell yeah it is," Bakugou said.

Curling his hand into a fist, Kirishima grinned. "Gald to see you're so fired up, man. I think most of the audience is pretty awed by you, too, which is definitely a good sign."

Bakugou had stiffened. In the heat of battle and competition, he'd admittedly nearly forgotten how worried he'd been that morning about how people would look at him because of his Quirk. Figured it didn't matter now, though—they all knew, and letting himself be paranoid over what they were all thinking would only serve to distract him from this last round.

The last round left him—left both of them completely exhilarated. Neither of them held back, using the matches to their advantage as best they could and honing their skills in the way the best knew how, using them as learning experiences while trying to make it to the top at the same time, no matter what.

Bakugou did everything he absolutely could to stifle, to bury, to smother all the doubtful thoughts swarming around his brain before each match he went into. Questions kept trying to bubble up and give him cold feet--would people forfeit as soon as they saw they were up against him, because they were scared? Would they refuse to fight someone with the Explosion Quirk? Or would they take this too seriously and try and take him down, believing he's going to follow the same path as that shitty Bomber from fucking forever ago?

With every question he let his nails bite into his palms and ground him. He was here to be a hero, not a villain. He was here to show that to everyone, to prove himself, and make it to the top. And when the nail tactic didn't pan out, his eyes found Kirishima, with his bright, awe-filled eyes and fired up grin, and that was enough for him to forget his anxiety.

Kirishima, too, wasn't spared from worry despite his outward energy, and he felt it like a blow to his gut when he was set to go against a silver-haired guy from class B who had a Quirk that was disturbingly similar to his, though it resembled steel more than it resembled stone the way his did. Still, this whole time trying to stand out felt almost wasted when someone who could do essentially the same thing he could stood across the arena from him.

In the few seconds before the match started, his eyes shifted upward toward the stands where the rest of his class were watching the match, Bakugou included. Despite how far away he was, Kirishima was sure Bakugou's eyes were on him, telling him that this was his opportunity to stand out, even if there were people out there who could do what he could. This was his chance to show them that he was better, stronger, more resilient in spite of it all.

And that was exactly what he did his very best to achieve. In the end, the silver-haired guy--Tetsutetsu--seemed to have the same idea, though, and each punch Kirishima threw everything into seemed to be met with one of equal strength. The longer it went on, no matter how strong his Quirk made him, his vision eventually began to blur and be invaded by black spots from so many blows to the face, the head, and his body was aching from the metal fists being planted over and over into the rest of his body. Just when he felt he was about to completely lose consciousness and the match as a whole, Tetsutetsu's eyes seemed to go unfocused. Just as Kirishima did black out, the last thing he saw was the guy just in front of him collapse in a heap in front of him, too.

Did I win...?

It would be a while before he found out, waking up in the infirmary with the school nurse, Recovery Girl, standing just beside them between the two beds, the other occupied by none other than Tetsutetsu himself.

"Your match ended in a draw," she explained. "You're all healed up now, but you'll be having a tiebreaker after the next match. Better get back out there," she said, shuffling back towards her desk.

"Wait, tiebreaker?" Tetsutetsu asked. "What kind of tiebreaker?"

"Arm wrestling. Hope you have what it takes," said the woman with a small smirk.

Arm wrestling. Kirishima couldn't remember the last time he'd arm wrestled someone. It had to be way back in middle school, with Sato and Ishida when they were just goofing around. Back then he hadn't used his Quirk, partially because it wouldn't have been fair to his opponent but mostly because back then he had very little control of what parts of his body he could harden, on top of the fact that his stamina had been next to nothing.

But now? Now he was going to win, no matter what. Tetsutetsu had proven a worthy opponent, and while he wished he'd won in the first round, he was glad to have a second chance to prove himself.

While in the infirmary he'd only missed one match between Midoriya and some blue-ish haired kid from an entirely different class who'd used his brainwashing Quirk to nearly cause Midoriya to walk right out of the ring. After that he had the privilege of watching his best friend go up against Uraraka Ochako, someone who was probably one of the sweetest girls he'd ever met. On the battlefield, though, she was feisty. Bakugou's blasts, unrelenting and so powerful Kirishima was convinced he could feel the heat of them all the way up in the stands, tore up the arena that she used her Quirk to cause the debris to float up above them as she avoided them. To Bakugou, it surely looked like she was entirely on the defensive, seemingly oblivious to all of the rocks floating just meters above his head.

Kirishima's heart was pounding the whole time he watched, the anticipation of how the battle would end pushing him to the edge of his seat right beside Kaminari who seemed to be much the same way, eyes unblinking. Inside he was urging Bakugou to look up, look up!

But even Kirishima, who'd sparred with him more times than he could count at this point, who'd been there as he developed his Quirk over the past year or so, had underestimated him. Uraraka's fingers pressed together, releasing the rocks from their position against gravity, and in the same instant as they began to pummel back down, heading straight for Bakugou's exposed head, he angled an arm upward, palm out and fingers spread with the other hand bracing his forearm, and sent out a blast bigger than Kirishima had ever seen. This one he did feel the heat of, if just a little. It completely obliterated the rocks, reducing them to nothing more than dust to rain down to the arena.

In the midst of her exhaustion, Uraraka collapsed, and Bakugou was the winner.

Unfortunately for Kirishima, he hadn't the time to congratulate Bakugou on his win and fire questions about him about that huge blast, because it was his turn to do his rematch against Tetsutetsu. 

When he got down to the fixed up arena and stepped up to the slab of concrete in its dead center with Tetsutetsu right across from it, his heart was pounding in anticipation. He rolled his shoulders, cracked his knuckles, shook out his arms, and sucked in a deep breath. The air still held the slight smell of Bakugou's explosion, and he let that motivate him.

And it was all the motivation he needed. Tetsutetsu didn't relent, just as he hadn't before, but Kirishima held his ground and pushed harder, harder, even if for some reason he broke himself. He was going to win this.

Even still, it felt more like a dream than reality when the back of Tetsutetsu's hand crashed into the concrete, causing the corner to crumble, and his victory was announced by the hostess, Midnight. In fact, it didn't feel entirely real until he was walking, somewhat in a daze, back up to the stands to watch the next match and Bakugou jumped up the second he saw him coming and practically rushed him, slapping his hand with a high five so hard it left his palm stinging for a good five minutes.

"You fucking did it, you badass!" he shouted.

"So did you," Kirishima said with a grin cracking through his shock. "How did you even make a blast that big?! You've been holding out on me!"

"Didn't even know if I could do it, but in that situation I couldn't not try," Bakugou told him as they went to their seats, plopping back down side by side.

"It's freakin' crazy, dude! You're so strong!"

"...hmph. Just hope that all these assholes don't see that as a bad thing." Bakugou mumbled it almost as though it were an afterthought or something Kirishima wasn't necessarily supposed to hear.

Regardless, Kirishima nudged an elbow into his arm. "Don't think about that right now, Baku. After this fight between Midoriya and Todoroki we get to go up against each other. Think about seeing if you can beat me," he challenged.

"Of course I can, Shitty Hair! Just watch me," Bakugou growled.

"That's the spirit!"

The battle between Midoriya and Todoroki turned out to be one of the most intense battles of the entire Sports Festival. By the end all of Midoriya's fingers were broken, seemingly beyond repair, and his arms were seriously bruised up--from his own Quirk, no less. Halfway through the match it felt as though he wasn't even trying to win, but coax Todoroki into using the left side of his body, the part of him that could use fire as opposed to the ice he'd been sticking with since the beginning of the festival--no, since the beginning of the year. Kirishima had trouble understanding what was going on, as if there was something he didn't know, and even Bakugou's mutterings of 'what the fuck is he doing' showed Kirishima wasn't alone.

In the end, Todoroki did end up unveiling his flames, and eventually Midoriya was rendered unconscious and had to be carted away on a stretcher up to the infirmary.

Midnight didn't hesitate on their introductions despite everyone already knowing who they were--everyone who knew them knew they were best friends, and she took the liberty of using that to hype up the audience for their fight, calling it 'a rivalry for the history books.' Her words seemed to sink themselves into both of their veins, their muscles, their bones, and made them do everything they could to live up to those words.

And it did, being almost nothing like their sparring that was little more than playful in comparison to this. From the get go it was clear Bakugou had the upper hand. Kirishima was forced to be close-combat, which was dangerous with Bakugou's blasts being so ranged. Still, the strength boost and heat-resistance his Quirk gave him allowed him to go as strong as he could, for as long as he could. He adopted a few of the evasion techniques he saw from Uraraka, and managed to get a few punches in to Bakugou's face, his sides, trying to pinpoint his weak spots and knock him out.

Even when it felt his stamina was running out, it seemed like Bakugou was barely even winded. His skin was shiny with sweat and flushed from the exertion, but Kirishima's lungs were burning, and his Quirk was losing momentum. The blasts felt like they were rattling his brain even more than Tetsutetsu's steel punches did. Inevitably, it seemed, he succumbed to his exhaustion and the lack of stamina of his Quirk, and fell to his knees in defeat.

No hard feelings, though, because if there was anyone Kirishima wanted to win this thing, is was his best friend, of course. He had what it took, and now he just had to prove that to everyone—himself included. And that was just what he did, in the final round facing off against Todoroki. He went all out, letting his strength be known, challenging his opponent to do the same, but halfway through it was almost like Todoroki had given up. The win didn't come hard for Bakugou after that; it was like the next thing Kirishima knew, he was passed out just past the boundary line, and Bakugou was the winner.

With Bakugou's victory didn't come thunderous applause and cheers as Kirishima anticipated, but a seemingly collective shocked silence. It wasn't until Midnight declared him the winner that there were applause, and hesitant ones at that.

Kirishima was naturally the first one at Bakugou's side after he left the arena from being crowned first place and given his gold medal presented by All Might. Neither of their faces held excitement or even pride, but shock themselves. Bakugou's eyes were narrow, his muscles tight and his hands clenched into fists sealed away in his pockets.

Neither of them said much of anything when they were allowed to shower and change out of their gym uniforms. They opted out of the end-of-the-Sports-Festival celebration that was happening right after school in favor of heading straight back to Kirishima's. Bakugou had since shoved the medal deep down into his backpack, almost like he was trying to forget about it as they were walking.

"Hey, I'm really freakin' proud of you, man," Kirishima told him as he was unlocking the door. "Regardless of what everybody's saying--"

"They think I'm a monster," Bakugou grumbled, scuffing his shoe on the ground. "I could hear 'em all muttering about me. They think I'm trying to show off my Quirk and scare them, that going to UA is just an act to gain trust only to betray 'em later, or get intel about heroes so I can fuck everything up and show my true colors later or whatever..."

Kirishima paused with his hand on the knob and looked back at his friend, whose head was down, face scrunched up in frustration. "...did you hear people saying that?" he asked.

"Not that exact shit, but it's not hard to guess," Bakugou told him.

"They're just not used to you yet, Baku," Kirishima reasoned. "It's hard for them to believe someone with your Quirk could wanna be a hero, but you know you're at UA to step out of his shadow. If anything, winning the Sports Festival should prove your drive to be a hero."

"...yeah," Bakugou muttered. "Let's just go inside, I'm fucking starving. Plus I wanna see what kinda shit they're sayin' about me on the news."

Kirishima bit his tongue on how he didn't think that was such a great idea, but even he was too curious not to want to check out the news, too.

Sure enough, the news channel was all over UA, buzzing about the Sports Festival and recapping the challenges and battles as well as showing clips of highlights. Both of them saw their faces a lot, as well as those of their classmates. The main topic, though, was of course Bakugou's victory and speculation about him, about his Quirk, and reminders of The Bomber. One channel and anchor in particular who was standing outside the front gate of the school was staring intently into the camera and asking the very questions the rest of the country probably had, too.

"What are the motives of this student? Where did he come from, and could he possibly be a descendent of the man who went down in history as one of the world's deadliest villains, The Bomber? With so many questions swarming around the media right now, we've turned to Bakugou Katsuki's homeroom teacher, Aizawa Shouta—better known as the hero Eraserhead."

The camera zoomed out and panned to the right to include none other than Mr. Aizawa himself, looking outwardly bored but with a relatively irritated glint in his eye from being on camera.

"What do you have to say about your student who won the Sports Festival?" the anchor asked.

"He's strong," Aizawa said. "The country is shaken up at his victory solely because of his Quirk, but it's ridiculous. The school keeps a close eye on all of our students, their mental states, and regularly counsels them to make sure they're healthy, happy, and on the right track. If any of us had any reason to believe Bakugou has any intention of following in The Bomber's footsteps, there'd be an intervention and he wouldn't have been allowed to participate today. He's got the drive to be a hero, and judging his character based on his Quirk and someone from the past that isn't related to him whatsoever despite sharing that power is practically blasphemous. Keep your negative opinions to yourselves, and watch us craft him into a great hero."

The anchor withdrew the microphone. "You heard it here first, folks..."

Kirishima's face had already relaxed from all of the other coverage and even panned out into a small smile, his attention turning to his friend. "See? Even Mr. Aizawa has faith in you," he said.

But Bakugou's brow was still furrowed, his jaw clenching and unclenching. "...yeah," he murmured.

"What's wrong, man? I know everybody's sayin' shit, but you--"

"He was wrong," Bakugou said.

"Huh? About what?"

Kirishima sat back a little when his friend's eyes lifted to his, serious as ever. "He was wrong about me not being related to The Bomber, because I am."

Chapter Text

-Present Day-

Katsuki

“Room for one night, please.”

“You want a queen bed?”

“Don’t care.”

“That’ll be 5,000 yen.”

Katsuki tossed the bill on the counter for the receptionist to take. Quickly he stuck it in the cash drawer and swapped it out for a key card.

“Room 10. Enjoy your night.”

Without another word, Katsuki swiped the card off of the counter and retreated out of the cigarette and coffee scented lobby, back into the sheet of rain pouring down from the dark blanket of clouds that haven’t seemed to move in several days. Luckily, room 10 was at the very end on the bottom floor, putting him further away from most people.

The first thing Katsuki did after dumping his backpack on the bed was check the mini fridge and yep, sure enough inside were small bottles of alcohol. They were accompanied by cans of soda and water bottles, but he cast those aside in favor of the vodka, wasting no time before slumping at the end of the bed and twisting the thing open, taking a swig.

This was routine now, and he was used to the burn as the stuff seared down his throat; the warmth it left him with, sitting in his belly and fueling what was left of the fire within him, was worth it. At least he thought so, and he wasn’t about to think too much deeper into it than that.

Cheap motels—sometimes hotels—and their cheap alcohol, passing out when his thoughts began to slur together, and leaving the room early in the morning once showered and slapping down a bit of cash to cover at least some of the alcohol he took. After that he’d head down the road, and depending on the area, stick his thumb out until someone stopped. More often than not the car he slipped into would smell of tobacco or marijuana, but with his relatively tattered clothes and dirtied appearance, they pegged him for one of them.

And lately, they weren’t entirely wrong. He kept a pack of cigarettes on him, but he’d had the same pack for almost a month now and it was still half full. He never sought out getting high but he never denied a joint or a pipe being passed his way, either, and always made sure he wasn’t getting himself into some other shit that would seriously fuck him up. He wasn’t that desperate. Yet.

Katsuki was only recognized once by one of the many people who picked him up on his hitchhiking travels, though he never took his contacts out and once his hair grew back in enough he was keeping it dyed dark, just to be on the safe side. The driver hardly reacted, and then offered to let him stay on her couch for the night. The second he realized what she really wanted, having stripped down to her underwear almost the second he stepped into her tiny, cluttered first floor apartment, he was out. He was polite, at least, waiting until she was in the shower (having offered to let him join her) to slip back out the front door and find another motel for the night.

~✵~

As many times as he told himself he shouldn’t, he fucking shouldn’t, it’ll only turn out horribly if they find out who you are--he found himself getting involved in nearby villain or disaster situations where people needed help. He’d jump into action, quickly, and take out villains or rescue people who were trapped in situations usually caused by villains. No matter how much he yelled at himself for how risky it was, because it was so easy for the media to pin the blame on him, his own internal scolding couldn’t override the other voice in his head--the one that sounded remarkably like someone he’d spent the majority of his life with…

“You can’t just sit around and do nothing!”

“See? You saved them. You’re a hero, Katsuki.”

His hands would shake after every little event; he’d hide in the most secluded place he could find nearby, and in his backpack fish out the one thing he cared about. The rest of the damn thing could get disintegrated for all he cared, as long as this was safe.

A strip of paper, no longer than his hand. It was tattered and a little worn, yes; the corner of it had ripped off somehow, but the ink was still visible, the faces it swirled together to create still there.

Gazing down at never failed to leave his chest feeling heavy, tight. One little picture did very little justice to the face in reality—the one he hadn’t seen in months—but it was all he had to hold onto, the only thing that kept his mind, often soaked in the influences of alcohol, from forgetting what it looked like entirely. Almost two decades with that face didn’t seem enough, not nearly…

He always tucked it back into the pocket of his backpack reserved specially for the photos, internally muttering to himself.

“You’re the one who left, idiot. You don’t have any right to be sad.”

That in mind, he all but chugged the next bottle of vodka he could find.

~✵~

Contrary to what it often seemed like, it wasn’t all alcohol, hitchhiking, and cheap motels. He met people—a lot of people, many who seemed wayward and lost, just like he was. They shared hotel rooms, got drunk together, told stories. At least, they told him stories; he kept all of his to himself. He wouldn’t risk outing himself to them, wouldn’t risk them seeing him with those same wide, intensely fearful or hateful eyes that everyone else who knew who he was looked at him with at one point or another—save for one. So he soaked up their words, and held them within himself after parting with those people, almost as though he was hoping they’d fill up the empty space within him.

The still-rainy Tuesday night following the last motel he left turned out to be a bit different, though. He was the farthest away from home than he’d ever been before—he might even dare say he was lost, at least somewhat, and only had enough cash left to buy a few snacks from a convenience store before he’d have to find another odd job or something to get more (though if that didn’t work out, he wasn’t exactly above pickpocketing). He was still browsing the chip aisle, trying to make a decision, when he felt a presence behind him and stepped aside, quickly glancing around to the right.

Just behind him he found someone clad in black, their hair cropped short, and their eyes so dark they reminded him of the night sky. Upon sight he couldn’t really determine whether they were male or female, or more importantly what class their Quirk might be--assuming they had one--but he didn’t get any negative vibes, at the very least. Still, his shoulders automatically hunched a little in defense.

“‘Scuse me,” they murmured in a voice he could only describe as… sharp, somewhere in the alto range… he thought. They bore a slight, apologetic grin as their dark eyes met his. When they did, though, their grin faded just a little, and before their thin lips parted again to speak Katsuki knew what was coming—because he’d seen that look in the eyes of more people than he could even remember at this point. Still, once the recognition seemed to settle into their face, the smirk was back and even wider, somehow, which only served to raise Katsuki’s defenses even higher. “Yo, you’re Ground Zero, aren’t you?” they asked. “Never thought I’d see you in a place like this. Though… I guess you have been on something of a hiatus, huh?”

I should lie. Katsuki knew he should; his hair was still brown, albeit faded quite a bit, and he rarely removed his contacts on top of the fact that he was sporting more stubble than he had in, well, ever, but some people had a keen eye, and this kid--whoever they were--seemed to be one of them. Still, he should mutter something about being mistaken for that hero often, brush them off, and make his escape.

But they didn’t give him a chance to speak. “No worries, I won’t tell anybody who you are or anything. Makes sense that you’d want to lay low.”

Katsuki’s eyes narrowed. “The fuck’s that supposed to mean?” he muttered.

That only served to widen the idiot’s smile. “Nothing personal, dude. I can only imagine what it’s like to have a Quirk like yours and all that. I’m sure you know what I mean.”

Obviously, because it was only Katsuki’s whole life--living in that shadow. Instinctively his fingers curled into a fist, his throat constricting with a relatively dry swallow. The irritation burning behind his face must’ve shown more than he thought, because the other relented a bit, holding up their hands, now holding a small bag of chips they’d snatched off the shelf in the midst of their talking.

“I didn’t mean to insult you,” they say, going so far as to take a slight step back. “I’m sorry. Really.”

“...whatever,” Bakugou grunted, trying to turn his attention back to the (very limited) selection of chips left on the rack, hoping they’d get the cue to leave him the hell alone. But when had he ever been that lucky?

“Hey, how ‘bout you let me buy you dinner?” they offered suddenly, and so casually that Katsuki couldn’t help looking back at them, at their eyes that seemed to almost suck him in, like black holes. A shiver skittered down his spine. “As an apology, of course,” they say. “And you look pretty hungry anyway. Doritos aren’t exactly the most nutritious of meals, and I know of a great restaurant just up the street.” Their thumb jabbed over their shoulder. “You can order whatever you want, on me.”

How the fuck does someone look hungry? Katsuki mused somewhere in the back of his mind. In the front, though, he was going over what little change he had left and how the only food to his name was a half-eaten sleeve of crackers crumbled from being stuffed in his pack alongside everything else he was carting around. It was a free invitation for dinner, albeit from some random stranger who recognized him the second they laid eyes on him, but could he really refuse? And if they had some shitty intentions, he did have a strong Quirk at his disposal (ignoring the fact that he hadn’t used it in months).

“You can say no,” they went on when he didn’t answer right away. “I get it, I’m a stranger and you don’t seem the type to trust very often or easily, so--”

“Fucking fine,” Katsuki grunted, “if it’ll shut you up.”

They chuckled. “Fair enough. My mom always told me I need to learn to shut my mouth every once in a while. Oh! By the way, name’s Kai. My Quirk’s Shapeshifting, just in case you were curious. Figure it’s only fair if I already know your Quirk, too.”

Shapeshifting. Maybe that explained why they looked so… androgynous. The skepticism flashed across Katsuki’s face, and then they were explaining.

“Don’t worry, this is what I really look like, I swear. I can only shift between a more feminine or masculine form, or this one. It’s a pretty unimpressive Quirk, if I say so myself,” they say, shrugging.

“Whatever,” Katsuki muttered again, turning to head up to the checkout counter. Just as he figured, Kai followed, they purchased their snacks, and then Katsuki was the one following Kai out of the convenience store and up the street.

When they said ‘up the street’, they quite literally meant up the street, because the small diner was about two blocks north of the convenience store. It was pretty rundown, merely one shop nestled into an entire wall of others, and it was in pretty desperate need of a fresh coat of paint. Still, the inside was warm, the smell of the food inviting enough (or maybe Katsuki was just that hungry for a decent meal).

The two were seated in a booth upholstered with worn red leather, the table between each bench checkered but scratched and chipped from years of wear and tear. Katsuki noticed cracks in the ceiling and where the carpet was very nearly bare from years of being trampled on. Most of the money, it seemed, went to the decently sized flat screen television mounted above the counter separating the dining area from the server’s station and doors back to the kitchen.

Despite the rundown nature of the place, the cups and dishes seemed decently new, and the coffee was rich and hot when the server set it in front of them, pouring them each a generous amount from the kettle.

As she did, Katsuki’s attention was focused upon the television, tuned to a local news channel covering a story about a villain’s release from prison. His eyes caught the words ‘member of the former League of Villains’ in the captions scrolling across the screen and his stomach tightened, eyes narrowed. Just as the image of said villain flashed upon the screen, Kai was bringing his attention back to the table.

“Sugar?” they offered, holding out the class container of the sweet substance.

Katsuki shook his head. He hadn’t had sugar in his coffee in months—not since… he left. The subtly sweet flavor brought back memories he wanted nothing more than to avoid.

“I mean it when I said you can order whatever you want,” they reminded him with a light grin. “Fill yourself up. Kinda looks like you haven’t had a decent meal in a while.”

“How the hell d’you know that?” Katsuki mumbled, taking a tentative sip. The bitter liquid was still scalding and burned his tongue, but he kept his reaction hidden.

Kai shrugged. “It’s not hard to spot when someone’s struggling,” they said. “I’ve seen struggle myself quite a bit, believe it or not. I’ve been wandering aimlessly up until recently, just like you.”

It’s not aimless, was Katsuki’s first gut response. But it was, he quickly realized, so he said nothing.

“So what’s the story, then? Weren’t you signed on with an agency a lot closer to Tokyo?”

“I was,” Katsuki quipped. “Doesn’t matter why I left, though.”

Kai’s brows lifted. “No? I don’t believe that for a second. Why would a strong hero like yourself up and leave town, just like that? And weren’t you super close with that other hero, Red Riot?”

Katsuki sat back to try and mask the flinch he felt at the sound of those words; all he could seem to do to hold himself together was have a stare down with the yellow reflection of the light on the surface of his coffee.

“Hey, I don’t mean to pry,” Kai said quickly, holding a hand up. “Really. You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.”

“Yeah,” Katsuki found himself saying before he knew what hit him. “I was close with him. Not anymore.”

Thin, dark brows went from neutral to bewildered, and Kai leaned forward again, just a bit. “Yeah? What happened? He get too famous and stop talking to you?”

Katsuki’s teeth ground together. “No. I left him.”

“...ohhh,” Kai murmured, piecing it together. “He was more than just a friend, wasn’t he? Makes sense, I guess. So what happened?”

“...nothing. It’s not important. Or interesting,” Katsuki said quickly, taking another sip.

“I get it,” Kai murmured. “I mean, I ran away from home when I was seventeen as an act of defiance against my grandparents who kept trying to force me into law school. Never went back, and then last year they both died in an accident. We all have our reason for doing things, even if nobody else can really understand it.”

“I didn’t leave to hurt him,” Katsuki muttered before he could stop himself. “I left to protect him.”

Kai cocked a brow. “Yeah? From what? Someone after you?”

“No. From myself.”

A beat of silence, and then Kai was humming a bit, like they understood. Katsuki’s fingers were vice-like around his mug. “You really think he’s better off without you, huh?”

“With a Quirk like mine? Shit’s a no brainer.”

“It’s pretty clear you love him, though. Did you hurt him by accident?”

“No. It’s everybody else and all their bullshit about being afraid of me…”

By the time the server came back, took their order, eventually returned with steaming plates of food, and their plates were emptied, Katsuki ended up spilling more to this more-or-less stranger than he’d ever told anyone, besides the one he left behind himself. He kept certain details under lock and key, but everything else seemed to spill out like some shitty dam within him had burst and there was no way he could scramble to repair it fast enough before the one across from him knew more than they should.

It wasn’t one-sided, though. Kai opened up about their past, too, though they seemed far less bothered by it than Katsuki felt, despite the fact that their parents dumped them with their grandparents for daycare one afternoon only to flee the country and never be found, leaving their grandparents to raise them until they ran away.

“And you really believe leaving was the best solution, do you?” Kai asked when their conversation had come to a steady lull.

Katsuki kept his jaw locked shut.

“Because I don’t think it was—I mean, if you want my opinion. Seriously, even though my grandparents pissed me off with their pushiness and shit, I regret leaving. I left on a terrible note, and now they’re dead. I can’t take back the awful things I said, or even mend my relationship with them. I have to live with that now, and it haunts me every day.”

Katsuki’s throat grew tight, felt almost like it was closing up.

“Seems like your leaving did more harm than good,” they continued.

“Doubt it,” Katsuki muttered through his teeth. “He’s probably doing fine.”

“You sure? ‘Cause it doesn’t seem like it with that voicemail you said he left. And I didn’t hear about him getting back to his hero duties until very recently, and even then there’ve been reports of him not being himself out on the battlefield and everything. So—“

“Stop,” Katsuki cut in, almost growling. “I get it, alright? Thanks… for the food. ‘Preciate it. But I… gotta go.”

He was already out of the booth by the time he finished, slinging his backpack over his shoulder, tugging his hood back over his head, and setting off toward the door. Just before he was out of earshot, he heard Kai’s voice trail behind him.

“Good luck.”

~✵~

Sleeping on a bus was impossible. Too many bumps and stops. Too many people bustling around. Talking. Crying or babbling babies or toddlers. Some inconsiderately playing music out loud, and the almost constant shuffle of feet of those getting on and off.

Katsuki didn’t think he’d be able to sleep anyway. He’d gotten on the bus without entirely thinking, without knowing where he was going. He’d traded in the last piece of jewelry he’d grabbed from home for cash, giving him something to pay for his fare, and then hopped on with no destination in mind.

Everything Kai said was still echoing in the back of his head. The strip of photos he’d slid into his pocket felt like it was a hundred pounds. His hand gripped his phone, though it’d been dead for a few days now.

“This is the last stop,” the driver told him later in the evening, having pulled to the curb just before the turn into the company garage. “Night bus’ll be here in an hour if ya wanna keep going. There’s a rest stop a block up if ya need a break. Have a good one.”

Katsuki mumbled a half hearted thanks before he stepped off the bus and into the humid night air. Only a second passed before the bus pulled away from the curb and swung onto the road that led it down to the garage, leaving him alone on the curb.

All he could do then was look around, find his bearings. The garage seemed to be at the edge of the city, the road in the direction the bus had been heading in extending out into empty fields for as far as Katsuki could see.

With reservation, he shuffled back the other way to find a place to grab something to eat and hopefully figure out where the hell he was. It was only about half a kilometer up the road when he turned a corner, hoping to find an open restaurant, that the big blue highway sign came into view. As soon as the white words on it registered, he stopped in his tracks.

Unknowingly, he’d been heading west. Every time he was picked up by a car or hopped on a bus up until then, he’d been taken further and further east—as far east as he could possibly go, hundreds of kilometers away from where he began.

But now? Now there was but one thing he could think of—he was less than a hundred kilometers from home.

Chapter Text

{Past}

Bakugou expected rejection. He’d kept this secret for almost a year now, and it was the one he’d been way too damn afraid to spill. Why he let it tumble off of his lips now was a mystery even to him, but now it was there, hanging in the air between them. He waited for Kirishima to tell him to leave and never come back, was even preparing to grab his shit and go, go, go .

As usual, though, Kirishima surprised him—and at this point it made him feel like a damn fool for still thinking Kirishima was going to turn out like everyone else and fear him. Sure, he sat there with wide eyes and without saying a word for a moment that, to Bakugou, was a small eternity.

And then his face relaxed. “I guess that makes sense, doesn’t it?” he murmured. “Most of the time Quirks are genetic, so for you to be unrelated to him and have the same Quirk would be kinda weird.”

Bakugou choked back a swallow. “...that’s all you have to say?” he mumbled. “You’re not mad at me for lying to you for so long? Or scared because I actually have the blood of that bastard runnin’ through my veins?”

Visibly Kirishima’s shoulders lifted and then fell with the deep, tired breath he took and blew back out through puffed cheeks. “Nope. You didn’t really lie, man. You just… didn’t tell me, and that’s not the same. And really, who cares who your family is? I mean, my family is neglectful and don’t care about me… does that make you think I’m the same way?” He shrugged halfheartedly. “You’re your own person, and you’re my best friend . I hope one day you’ll realize that I’m not goin’ anywhere. Really.”

Bakugou’s teeth picked anxiously at the inside of his lip as he searched his friend’s face for any sort of doubt or deceit, but of course, he found none. It was Kirishima , and if anything, Kirishima was getting tired of his insecurities, of his fears of being left alone again, of Bakugou’s inadvertent attempts to push him away under the assumption that he’d flee one day.

“Actually,” Kirishima went on, “I’m more curious about how you know that—about being related to him, since you’ve been in the foster system for so long.”

“It’s… complicated,” Bakugou said lamely. “‘S ‘cause Bakugou isn’t my original name. It’s the name my shitty parents gave me before they dropped me off at my first foster home.”

Kirishima’s brow ruffled. “Really?”

“Yeah. Dunno why for sure, probably ‘cause they didn’t wanna have any association with me like I was already a fucking villain when I was four years old. When I was eleven or so, my foster mom at the time… who was the only one who ever seemed to care at least a little about me, found my birth records. Like, my birth certificate and everything. She offered to show it to me so I’d know my real name and could maybe find my birth parents anyway, but at the time I refused. In fact, if I didn’t already know it, I’d still refuse because those shitrags can rot in hell for all I care.”

Kirishima nodded solemnly in understanding. He turned himself to face the other directly, already engrossed in the story.

“When I was transferred out of that house and into another like a year later just before I turned thirteen, she sent the birth certificate with me. It’s mine after all. I sorta… saw it by accident when I found it, and for some reason it made me think about a lotta shit… the main thing being whether I’m related to that asshole. I couldn’t fucking sleep at night because of wondering about it, so I sucked it up and spent some time at the library doing research. It took a couple weeks of digging ‘cause my bio family changed their names after the incident with The Bomber. ‘Course, right before I was about to give up I found it—the name change record, and traced it back to my bio parents and voila, turns out that shitty Nazi villain is like my great uncle or someshit.”

“...wow,” Kirishima breathed when he was finished. “That’s crazy. And I didn’t know Quirks could descend through generations like that… or come from people who aren’t your parents.”

“I didn’t either,” Bakugou murmured. “‘S rare. Rarer than Quirkless people, even after what he did. Doesn’t help that my parents’ Quirks probably combined to make mine, too.”

Kirishima sat up fractionally. “What are their Quirks?”

“Guess my mother’s is some Glycerine shit, and my father’s is some explosive sweat shit or whatever, which is like mine but not nearly as powerful. ‘S like they weren’t even thinking about what my Quirk might be when theirs combined…” Tiredly, Bakugou ran a hand roughly through his hair. After the exertion of the Sports Festival and having to remember all of that shit he always, always kept hidden away, he was exhausted both mentally and physically.

Kirishima, on the other hand, had about a million questions running through his head, none of which he knew Bakugou could answer. They were about his parents and why they decided to have a child knowing what their Quirks combining could create? Did they know they were related to The Bomber? Did they just hope that their child wouldn’t end up with the same Quirk? Or were they truly clueless, and that was why Bakugou said he remembered his mother looking at him with shock and fear the second he showed her his Quirk? None of it seemed to add up.

“So now you know, but don’t fucking tell anybody, got it?” Bakugou asked, leaning toward the other. “If you do I don’t know what the fuck they’ll do to me, and--”

“Dude, of course I won’t tell anybody,” Kirishima said with a grin. “You have my word.”

All Bakugou could seem to think for the rest of the day was how Kirishima was too damn good for him--probably even for the whole freaking world.

~✵~

Bakugou’s Sports Festival victory was talked about all over the place for a few weeks following the event itself. Other students at school had their eyes on him, ranging from awe and even admiration to fear and even disgust. The media continued to address it, and many of the teachers--even if they had no direct association with Bakugou--were flooded with questions about him. While it wasn’t all about him, of course, because there was a lot more about the Sports Festival to talk about, he seemed to be the main focus--and not because he was the winner.

There was skepticism and theories flying around all over. Neither Bakugou nor Kirishima could make it through the day without hearing a new one for a good long while, or hearing the words ‘The Bomber’ being whispered here and there. They wanted to know what his intentions were, how he got the same Quirk as the villain who supposedly didn’t have any children, if they were amongst the person who would become the ‘second Bomber’ or worse.

“It’s all the same shit,” Bakugou muttered at lunch, neglecting to eat because his stomach was in knots from the entire fucking world talking about him, it seemed. “They all think I’m a villain. Or will be. Just when shit was starting to calm down, I let the stupid Festival go to my head and win, and now this.” He flung his arm out in no particular direction at all before leaning down onto the heel of his hand, his cheek squishing up into his eye.

“I get ya,” Kirishima said though a slight sigh; even he was growing tired of it all. Still, he had to be the one to lift Bakugou up. “But you’re gonna be a hero, not a villain. That’s why you’re here. It’s gonna feel so damn good when you’re proving them all wrong in a few years and you’re one of the top heroes. Trust me.”

Bakugou wasn’t convinced as his eyes slid over to Kirishima, a brow raised. “Sure,” he muttered.

“Really,” Kirishima pressed. “It feels good to be proving my parents wrong. They thought I was super weak and had no talent--definitely not enough to get into UA, but here I am, proving ‘em wrong every day.”

“...I guess,” Bakugou said.

All they could do while they did their best to block out the rumors, theories, and skepticism all over the media was focus on their studies. It was nice that their own class wasn’t skeptical of him anymore, even if most of them still tended to stay away from him save for the few Kirishima had befriended and only saw him as hero material--somehow. After all, Kirishima did make a good point when he’d said letting it all get to their heads and distract them would only hurt their grades and performance, so there was no use.

It was only when Mr. Aizawa was finally caught by the press after doing everything he could to avoid them when they found out he’s Bakugou’s homeroom teacher that the buzz about Bakugou’s victory and intentions began to calm down. Neither Bakugou nor Kirishima realized he’d been interviewed on camera until they got back to Kirishima’s and reluctantly turned on the news to see what new bullshit they were spewing when they saw him.

“...homeroom teacher, correct?” an anchor with a microphone was asking at the same location he’d been the day of the Festival--right outside the front gates of the school.

“Yeah,” Aizawa answered, staring off somewhere to the side with clear agitation in his eyes.

“What are your thoughts on your student, Bakugou Katsuki? And how do you feel about his victory at the Sports Festival while having the Explosion Quirk--the very one that caused a mass genocide less than half a century ago?”

“Bakugou’s a diligent student. A model student, if you will. He’s got a drive I’ve never seen in anyone. Sure, he’s got a temper and can be abrasive, but can you blame him when everyone is pegging him for a villain before he’s done anything? He’s strong, and that’s why he won the Sports Festival. Put every theory and speculation you have about his intentions to rest right now, because there is no one more driven in class 1A--perhaps UA as a whole--to be a hero . Let him and the rest of our students study and train in peace so they can be the ones protecting you when the time comes. That’ll be all.”

With that, Aizawa turned to head straight back onto campus without a backwards glance, despite the reporters and others shouting his name and begging for one more question. Just as the gates closed at his back, the TV went black.

Bakugou’s head swiveled to see his friend, who sure enough was holding the television remote with his thumb on the power button. Unlike Bakugou himself, Kirishima held a side, almost devious smile on his face. As their eyes met, there was nothing more they needed to say.

~✵~

The days following Aizawa’s interview felt like a complete decrescendo of the buzz surrounding Bakugou and the fact that the world knew about him now. Somehow his words were what were needed to get through to most of them; his interview was replayed over several news stations and across the internet, settling peoples’ skepticism.

“I never realized how much of a voice UA teachers had,” Kaminari was the one to say when they noticed life returning to normal very quickly.

Kirishima didn’t, either, but he was glad. Now they could get back to their normal lives and routines of studying, training, sparring, and spending their free time as usual--hanging out and playing games or watching television, or going to arcades. Peoples’ eyes tended to pick Bakugou out in a room more than ever before, but they kept their distance, and Bakugou himself kept his reactions minimal until he could overlook it entirely. He had more important shit to worry about, especially as the school year was winding down to an end.

That wasn’t to say there were no hiccups here and there. Sometimes one or the other of their resolves would falter a bit, they’d question their motives and purpose, and would need the other there to pick them back up. Thoughts like those were a product of lower than hoped for test scores or slip-ups during mock battles. A rumor popping up about Bakugou because of his short temper would cause him to start down a spiral of doubt. But when Kirishima didn’t feel strong enough or Bakugou felt like he was too much, the other was there. Unwaveringly. They needed each other. Relied on each other.

And by the time the last day of school rolled around and they settled in for final exams that would place them in their class and year, both of them knew they wouldn’t have made it without the other. They did their very best, and in the end Kirishima came up thirteenth overall while Bakugou made—

“ Second?!” Kirishima practically squeaked out the word, eyes bugging out of his head as he stared up at the screen where the rankings were posted. “Dude!! That’s fricken amazing!”

Just as he turned to give his friend a high five he stopped short, seeing the wide-eyed but otherwise blank look on Bakugou’s face. It was like he couldn’t process what he was seeing.

“Baku? You okay?”

Bakugou’s lashes fluttered. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Just can’t believe it.”

“Believe it, man,” Kirishima said proudly. “You’re really freakin’ smart and strong! You deserve your spot.”

“Even though everybody thinks I’m a villain?”

“Hey, you know that has nothing to do with your scores. And not everyone does. Who cares about what anybody thinks, anyway?”

By the way Bakugou’s shoulders twitched just slightly it was clear that he did , even though he didn’t want to. Ever. At all. It was ingrained in him, and finding a way to dig that out and throw it away was hard.

“C’mon, man, you got freaking second !” Kirishima said, laughing as he inadvertently threw his arms around Bakugou’s shoulders, who stiffened momentarily under his touch. “We should be celebrating, not sulking!”

“...damn,” Bakugou murmured, managing a light pat on Kirishima’s back. “Yeah. Guess you’re right.”

“Damn right I’m right!” Kirishima backed up and impulsively wrapped a hand around Bakugou’s. “Let’s go! I think I still have enough money left to stop for ramen.”

“Fuck that, I want curry,” Bakugou muttered, willingly following him, seemingly having forgotten the shock of ranking second, and without having yanked his hand out of Kirishima’s as he might’ve just months before. “Spicy ass motherfucking curry .”

All Kirishima could do was bark another laugh. He was beaming all the way to the restaurant, so unbelievably proud of just how far they’d come— together.

Chapter Text

{Past}

It felt like no time at all had passed before they were suddenly starting their second year together, just like that. In the couple of weeks they had between they worked out, making sure to keep up their strength and be ready for whatever year two would be throwing at them.

A new year meant a new class, but still they were fortunate enough to be put in the same class again (though both of them would be lying if they said they didn’t suspect it was on purpose, what with their reputation—particularly Bakugou’s, and how Kirishima was always the one to hold him back in his angry outbursts). It meant new teachers as well, and new training regimens and tougher things to learn. Much of it had to do with gaining experience, which meant taking advantage of the provisional licenses they were granted after last year’s exams for it—and that meant internships.

Bakugou was nervous, and he hated that he was. Sure, shit had calmed down quite a bit since last year’s Sports Festival. In fact, things were probably more calm in the realm of skepticism surrounding him and his Quirk than they’d been in years—maybe ever . But did that mean there was a hero—a decent one—that would be willing to take him under their wing?

For once, he refused to let his uneasiness, his doubt , show. He was so tired of thinking that way, and at that point he knew it was little more than habit anymore. Not a day had gone by when he didn’t think about it since he realized why everyone was afraid of him because of his Quirk, even during the easy, low-key days hanging out with Kirishima.

But he’d made it through an entire year at UA High, and he’d made second for crying out loud. Why wouldn’t at least one hero want him to intern under them, to ensure he’ll be the hero he wants so badly to be?

Those thoughts in mind, he was still admittedly a little surprised when he got four different offers from heroes of various ranks and agencies. Kirishima himself got six offers, and though none of them were from the same heroes (they rarely were), the two of them found they couldn’t be more excited to start their internships once they made up their mind about whose offers to accept.

Having done most things together up until that point had them both feeling a little strange branching off from one another during the months they were interns. It didn’t take much of a heart-to-heart pep talk before the day they began to know it was good for them, though. They needed experience with others, and it wasn’t like they wouldn’t be touching base with each other often—almost every day, save for the few weeks Kirishima’s parents were home.

Things were good— finally . Finally they were managing to go about their lives without anything getting in the way. Kirishima’s parents continued to be borderline apathetic about him, but being so used to it and focused on his work and his friend (now friend s , because the two of them found themselves with Kaminari, Sero, and Ashido quite often), it hardly fazed him. Bakugou’s foster parents continued to essentially ignore him, barely checking up on him and never questioning where he disappeared to when he spent weeks at a time at Kirishima’s. They were earning good marks, getting praise from the heroes they mentored under, and were finally gaining the experience and the satisfaction that came with being a hero, even if they were only provisional.

Even so, they couldn’t be too surprised when it didn’t last.

It was a chilly February evening when Bakugou was making his way to Kirishima’s, having waited until after his parents took off for the airport that evening to make the trip. His face was tucked into his scarf, his hands hidden away in the pockets of his coat as he hurried down the sidewalk and wanting to get the hell out of the cold--the conditions that made his Quirk weaker, and left him feeling vulnerable--when the unmistakable click of a gun (he’d watched enough movies with Kirishima that he’d know) sounded right in his left ear and he stopped short in his tracks. The cold metal of a gun barrel pressed to his temple in the same second his breath caught in his throat.

“Don’t scream or run,” a relatively muffled and unrecognizable voice said, “or I’ll shoot.”

Bakugou was frozen, his eyes only able to vaguely make out the dark shape of a human figure holding the gun to his head.

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” they said. “Really. I just--you’re a UA student, right? Bakugou Katsuki.” As always, the sound of that name sent a stab to his chest. “I’m with a special League. We’ve seen what you can do. You even won last year’s Sports Festival, and ranked second in your year overall. Bet you could do even better this year. We want to recruit you to join us.”

“What… kind of league ?” Bakugou muttered, fists clenched in his pockets as he desperately willed them to secrete more sweat, though in the cold it was taking much longer than usual to accumulate enough for a decent blast.

“You’ll find out if you join us. We’re banding together to overrule the unjust system of heroes, and with your background of having the same Quirk as The Bomber, we know you’ll fit right in.” They shifted slightly to their left, putting them further in his line of sight. Of course, they wore a ski mask and gloves; he couldn’t even tell what color their damn skin was. “Here,” they said after shuffling around in their pocket a minute before retrieving a slip of pastel paper--a sticky note , of all things. “Call this number when you’re ready to join us, and don’t tell anybody or there’ll be consequences. We’ll be watching you.”

After the sticky note was placed in Bakugou’s palm, though he hadn’t even realized he moved to take the stupid thing, they were gone. Vanished, like the wind swept them away into nothingness. And on the sticky note was nothing but a telephone number scribbled in black ink.

~✵~

Bang bang bang!!

Kirishima jerked at the sudden pounding on the front door to the point that his mug of tea nearly slipped from his fingers had it not been for the handle. His heart felt like it was about to jump right out of his chest with how quickly it picked up speed. He scrambled to get up and over to the door, peeking only briefly through the peephole before yanking it open. A blast of cold air greeted him and swirled into the room as none other than Bakugou practically tornadoed in, huffing as he pushed the door shut behind him and locked all three locks as tightly as he could.

“Dude, what’s up?” Kirishima asked, eyes widening as if to reflect Bakugou’s own. “Did something happen?”

“Yeah,” Bakugou huffed, eyes cutting toward the window. He seemed to relax when he realized the curtains were already closed, but only slightly. “Look.” He thrust a fist with subtly reddened fingers out in Kirishima’s direction, and when he opened it he was holding a simple yellow sticky note, crumpled from his grip.

Kirishima’s eyebrows knitted toward one another as he plucked the note up and smoothed it out enough to make out the borderline chicken scratch on its surface. His eyes lifted back to Bakugou’s.

“So… someone gave you their number?” he mumbled, scratching his cheek.

“Not just fucking someone . It was some villain. ”

“What? How do you know?”

“Considering the motherfucker held a gun to my head and was wearing a fucking ski mask, and threatened me not to tell anyone? I’d say it’s a villain, Shitty Hair!”

“Wait, what? A gun? But why’d they give you this?” Kirishima held up the note.

Bakugou rubbed his hands down his face, pacing into the room as he stripped off his coat and tossed it on the back of the couch haphazardly. “They want me to fucking call them or whatever, and join some shitty league of villains that supposedly want to overthrow the hero system or whatever!” The words were falling out of his mouth. “I shouldn’t even be telling you ‘cause they threatened me if I did, but I can’t just… not fucking tell you!” he huffed.

“Wait, slow down,” Kirishima said, taking a few tentative steps toward him. “A league of villains? Like, a group of ‘em who wanna take over or whatever?”

“Fuck if I know, but probably,” Bakugou said looking like he was ready to tear his own hair out. “They said they saw me at last year’s Sports Festival and my ranking in our year. They obviously know about my Quirk and just like every other jackass out there, they think I’m a villain too, or going to be one. Knowing what that bastard Bomber did, of fucking course they wanna recruit me or whatever! And I bet they’re probably planning on taking me hostage or someshit and threatening to blow up the whole fucking world if I don’t cooperate with them or whatever anyway…” It was as though he could no longer hold himself up under the weight of the stress and sunk down onto the arm of the couch, burying his face in his hands.

Kirishima could see his shoulders shaking, but whether it was out of anger or fear he didn’t know. His eyes glanced back down at the scratched number, brows knitting further together.

“I can’t believe I let my guard down!” Bakugou growled, planting a fist into his knee. “Fuck!”

“Hey, hey, calm down man,” Kirishima reasoned, taking another step towards him. “Just take a deep breath, okay? We’ll figure this out. You’re not a villain, and they’ve gotta know that since you’re going to UA. You’re gonna be a hero , and no matter what they say or do that’s not gonna change.”

Bakugou’s eyes, liquid and shining in such a way that told Kirishima yeah, it was definitely fear more than anything he shook with, lifted to meet the other’s. “How can you know that?” he asked weakly. “What if… I’m fuckin’... indisposed to it or someshit? I’ve got that fucker’s genes , Kiri. His fucking DNA.”

Unable to help himself, Kirishima knelt down in front of Bakugou, crumpling the sticky note up in one hand while the other raised to place gently atop the fist still planted on his knee. He held firm.

“I know it ‘cause I know you , and what your genes say is like… your hair color and stuff, not what you’re gonna make out of your life. I mean, if that was the case don’t you think I’d just care about material crap and stuff just like my parents?”

Bakugou swallowed hard, his throat visibly constricting with it. “Yeah. I guess.”

“So you’re a hero . Or… even if you’re not gonna be one for some reason, you’re definitely not going to be a villain. You’re not a bad guy no matter what anybody else thinks. So here’s what we should do--take this stupid sticky note to the teachers and tell them what happened so that we can--”

“No,” Bakugou cut in suddenly. “That fucker said there’ll be consequences if I told anybody so who the hell knows what I’m risking just by telling you ? I… can’t tell the teachers, or anybody else. And you have to swear on your own fucking grave that you won’t, either.” Bakugou’s eyes were hard now, his lips tight, though he didn’t remove his hand from beneath Kirishima’s.

“But Baku--”

“I’m fucking serious, Kirishima. You. Can’t. Tell. Anyone.”

It was Kirishima’s turn to force back a swallow. He glanced back down to the note, its yellow barely peeking out between his fingers. What should he do? What should he do ?

“Kirishima.”

“Okay,” Kirishima said, looking back up. “I won’t tell anybody. Swear. But I feel like you probably shouldn’t walk alone anymore.”

“Fuck off, I can take care of myself.”

“Well yeah,” Kirishima agreed, rising to his feet, “but still. They’re villains , and sure you’re strong as hell, but there’s strength in numbers and who knows how many of them there are? Just to be safe, don’t go anywhere without me, okay? And…” He backtracked to the kitchen table to shuffle his cell phone out of his backpack before moving back and holding it out. “Take this. For some reason my parents still have a landline so if you need you can call until I can get you a disposable one, ‘kay?”

Bakugou bore no hesitation as he wrapped his hand around the phone, relaxing a bit. “I’m not a baby,” he muttered.

“Hell no you’re not, but it’s just a precaution. Hopefully this was just a one time thing and they won’t be back and we can go back to normal.”

“I hope so,” Bakugou sighed, ruffling a hand through his hair again.

“Meanwhile… what should I do with this?” Kirishima held up the sticky note, but Bakugou did nothing but wrinkle his nose.

“Fucking burn it. I don’t wanna look at that shit anymore,” he muttered, turning away to head to his usual spot on the couch.

“Gotcha. Let’s shoot some zombies to burn off some tension,” Kirishima said, stuffing the note into the corner of his pocket to deal with later.

Chapter Text

{Past}

The next few days were quiet--suspiciously so. Bakugou and Kirishima never strayed far from one another; Kirishima never allowed Bakugou to walk anywhere by himself and, as annoying as it was under the surface, Bakugou was paranoid enough to let it happen. The second Kirishima got his next allowance transfer from his parents, he took a trip to the convenience store to buy a disposable cell phone for Bakugou, just in case.

The two even found themselves sitting closer, gravitating towards one another without consciously realizing it at first. Where they used to sit on opposite ends of the couch or a few feet apart on the floor while they watched some show or played a game, or ate across from each other on the rare occasion they actually used the dining table to eat, they instead sat together. They ended up so close on the couch, in fact, that it was often that their knees or shoulders brushed together. They even seemed to walk closer--close enough for their hands to bump more often than not. Yet neither of them made a single move in the opposite direction.

The quiet from this supposed league that was trying to ‘recruit’ Bakugou didn’t fool him, though--in fact, the longer time went on without a single peep from them, the more tense and paranoid he felt himself getting. He was even beginning to question the damn thing as a whole.

“What if it was just a prank?” he muttered as they were both lying on the floor of the living room atop the air mattress Kirishima’s parents kept in the closet. They’d elected to blow it up and sleep together since the incident happened, rather than Bakugou crashing on the couch while Kirishima slept in his room as usual. It felt… wrong to leave Bakugou alone in the living room, especially with the big windows, even if they were covered by thick beige curtains that no light ever had the hope of seeping through.

“I don’t think it was,” Kirishima murmured back. “You said the dude had a gun, right? Pointed right at your head?”

“Yeah. But what if it wasn’t loaded? Hell, what if it wasn’t even a real fucking gun?”

Kirishima shifted a bit, his eyes blinking slowly, tiredly up at the ceiling. “So you think maybe if you called that number it would’ve been some stupid gag?”

“How the fuck should I know?” Bakugou said.

“...I guess you don’t.”

“So what the fuck am I supposed to do? Live the rest of my life being all paranoid and shit about it?”

“No, man. That’s why I told you we should tell the teachers--”

“ No ,” Bakugou said firmly. “I’m more convinced that it was a real threat than a prank, so no fucking way am I risking that shitty ‘or else’ factor.”

Kirishima’s chest deflated visibly with the breath he let out. “S’okay, Baku,” he said, eyes falling shut. “Let’s just… get some sleep. We got practical training tomorrow so you gotta be well-rested.”

“...whatever,” Bakugou muttered, shifting onto his back. Despite his mild irritation at the other and the fact that he probably wasn’t going to be well-rested, just like he hadn’t been for the past week and a half since that shitty gun was pressed to his head, he let Kirishima do the same and felt the warm, steady surface of the other’s back press firmly against his, just the same as every night since then.

“G’night, Baku,” Kirishima hummed sleepily.

“...night, loser.”

~✵~

The quiet didn’t last, and as soon as Kirishima swiveled his laptop in Bakugou’s direction to see the message on it, his suspicions were confirmed. It wasn’t a prank. Not even close. That gun had to have been real, and the threat too.

The villains’ next message came in the form of an email sent to Kirishima, and it left their stomachs churning.

This message is for Bakugou Katsuki;

We knew you’d tell your little friend, and being a foster kid we know you don’t have your own computer so it works in both of our favors. Still, tell anyone else and the consequences will be dire, especially if it’s any of those loser teachers you call ‘heroes.’

Joining us is a promise for revenge, Bakugou. Revenge against anyone who’s looked at you wrong and made assumptions about you before they even spoke to you. Revenge to your silent bullies and the people who isolated you, like your very own parents. This is a golden opportunity for that. We can give you what you need. Join our League of Justice, put those who deserve it in their place, be a new kind of hero. It’ll be so much better than anything UA has to offer you, that’s a guarantee.

And if he wants, your friend can come too. Respond to this when you’re ready to accept our offer. Don’t, and you know what’ll happen.

-The League of Justice

“...the League of Justice…?” Kirishima mumbled, brow furrowed. “What the hell?”

“Must be what these idiots are calling themselves,” Bakugou gritted out. “But they obviously know about you, and on top of that they know more about me than some random ass people should, like the fact that I’m a foster kid and have been ostracized my entire life because of my Quirk…”

Kirishima’s head lifted. “You’re right,” he said. “Damn.”

Bakugou sat back, still glaring at the screen while his heart hammered. “And as fucking unprofessional and shit as this email is, the fact that they know that tells me they probably are pretty dangerous.”

“How do you know, though?” Kirishima asked. “I mean, they haven’t even made a direct threat, just saying ‘don’t tell anyone, or else’ or whatever, y’know? Maybe they’re just bluffing.”

“After putting a fucking gun to my head? Doubt it.”

“Ah man…” Kirishima scratched his head. “I guess you’re right. They somehow found my email, too. It’s almost like we’ve got a stalker or somethin’...”

A chill ran down Bakugou’s back because yeah , it sure as fuck felt like that. The only person Bakugou ever told anything important to was Kirishima , so how the hell would anybody else know any of those details? Sure, maybe some other peers knew he was a foster kid and didn’t have a phone, but everything else? It didn’t add up. The only other thing Bakugou could think of was that Kirishima himself was behind this, but it was a theory he immediately shot down. Kirishima was the first person to ever see him as a person rather than some sort of delinquent, befriended him out of kindness rather than curiosity or for some shitty blackmail like Bakugou had always expected growing up, let him stay at his house to get away from shitty, neglectful foster parents, understood being alone and, more important than anything else, was the one who talked him into going to UA to pursue becoming a professional hero. Besides, he knew Kirishima, and there wasn’t an evil bone in the kid’s body. Suspecting him would be foolish.

“This is a weird ass email address it came from, too,” Kirishima said, bringing Bakugou back to the present. “Look.” He pointed, and Bakugou’s eyes followed his finger to the ‘from’ address. It seemed like little more than a keyboard smash with an @ site he didn’t recognize--not that he’d been on the internet all that much.

“What site is that?” he asked.

“I dunno, man. Never heard of it.” Kirishima clicked to open a new tab. “Let’s see what it is.”

Before the dumbass could start typing, Bakugou snatched his hand. “Wait, idiot! What if they trace you or someshit, or crash your computer?”

“Don’t worry,” Kirishima said, giving him a brief but reassuring smile. “I have lots of virus protection, promise. And that includes spyware.”

Bakugou pursed his lips, slightly unconvinced, but released Kirishima’s hand anyway and watched him type the site. Rather than opening to some cryptic site as Bakugou expected, it simply said the page wasn’t found. After that Kirishima did a quick Google search but still came up with nothing.

“How the hell…?” Kirishima murmured.

“Fucking creeps,” Bakugou hissed.

“...I think we should take this to the teachers, Baku,” Kirishima said, meeting his eyes again. “Seriously. They’re the pros, y’know? They deal with villains all the time, and it was pro heroes who took out The Bomber all those years ago too. They can handle it, and it’ll be less likely something happens that way.”

Bakugou forced back a swallow, feeling a lump beginning to form in his throat as it went down. Seeing his hesitation, Kirishima discarded the laptop on the floor in front of them and placed a hand, sturdy and warm, on his friend’s shoulder. Completely sincere, he said, “We gotta keep you safe, y’know? I know they threatened you… or, us, I guess… but I think it’s safer to tell somebody and not risk something worse like them kidnapping you or whatever when you either tell them no or just never give them an answer, or maybe even worse. I dunno.”

Bakugou ran a hand through his hair, blowing out a long breath. “...you think so?”

“Absolutely, dude. My gut’s telling me we need to take this to the pros.”

As tense as his jaw was and as much as he wanted nothing more than for shit to just go back to normal , the way it was just a couple of weeks ago, Bakugou relented. “Fine. Let’s do it.”

Kirishima, as expected, relaxed just a bit. “Good.”

“Too bad we don’t still have that shitty number.”

“Uh, actually…” Kirishima mumbled, his hand sliding off of Bakugou’s shoulder as he twisted himself around to lift up a cushion on the couch. Underneath it was none other than the bright yellow sticky note with the obvious wrinkles in it, though it was folded into quarters now. “I kept it, just in case something else happened and I got you to agree to go to the heroes. Maybe they can trace it or something. Don’t be mad.”

“Fuck, Kiri, I don’t have the energy to be mad. ‘M too fucking freaked out.”

The corner of Kirishima’s mouth twitched upward in some semblance of a smile, but nothing about it touched his eyes. “Me too, man. Let’s go first thing tomorrow, okay? I’d say right now but it’s getting dark and the school’s probably all locked up by now.” He replaced the note and stood up to head for the curtains, yanking them closed at the same time Bakugou double checked the locks on the door and all the other windows.

“Yeah,” Bakugou mumbled, side-tracked with the odd, jittery sensation crawling all over his skin, feeling like he was being watched.

~✵~

The door to Mr. Aizawa’s office was cracked when the two padded quietly up to it the following afternoon. In one hand Kirishima had his phone clutched, in the other the sticky note. Bakugou was tense enough for both of them as Kirishima raised a hand to tap his knuckles against the door despite the evident conversation leaking out of the crack in the door.

“Come in,” Aizawa called.

The boys spared each other but a brief glance before Kirishima pushed the door open and stepped in, revealing their usually exhausted-looking homeroom teacher as well as the colorfully suited up All Might standing on the opposite side of his desk. The mountain of a man turned, playing his heroic smile on the both of them.

“Afternoon! What can we do for you young men?”

“Don’t act like this is your office,” Aizawa retorted before his crimson eyes slid in Kirishima’s direction. “What do you need?”

“We’ve, uh, got something we need to tell you,” Kirishima began. “It has to do with Bakugou.”

Both of the teachers’ eyes shifted to the one behind Kirishima whose shoulders were hunched and jaw was flexing; Kirishima could only imagine how much he was freaking out in his head and wished, if only for a fleeting second, that his Quirk was some sort of emotion manipulation so he could keep his friend calm. Really, he loved seeing that fire in Bakugou’s eyes—the one that ignited after they passed their entrance exam and were accepted into this school, but when it was like this, tense and serious in a completely un-passionate way, it made Kirishima’s stomach turn.

“Did something happen?” Aizawa asked, eyes narrowing fractionally.

“Kinda,” Bakugou gritted out.

“...well?” Aizawa prompted when Bakugou refrained from explaining.

Impulsively, Kirishima lifted his hand and placed the items clenched within them on the desk, and the sticky note began to uncrumple slowly. “Someone gave him this.”

Aizawa cocked a brow, tentatively reaching for it to smooth it out. “A phone number. What about it?”

Bakugou huffed. “A phone number from a… villain, ” he managed to spit out. “I was walking the other day and this crackhead dressed in all black with a ski mask held a freaking gun to my head and gave me the note, said them and their dumb ‘league’ want to recruit me and to call that number when I was ready or whatever.” He jerked his chin in the direction of the note, still in their teacher’s hand, and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

That got their attention, unsurprisingly. Even All Might’s constant smile faltered a bit. “When was this?”

“The… the Thursday before last, I think,” Bakugou said tightly.

“And why did you wait so long to come to us with this?” Aizawa jumped back in. “Why didn’t you immediately--”

“Because they threatened him,” Kirishima cut in, knowing his voice gave away his desperation. “It--it wasn’t a specific threat, right?” he glanced at his friend. “But they told him there would be consequences if he told anybody. We were hoping it was just a joke or something so we didn’t do anything, but then…” Kirishima lifted the phone, unlocked it, and proceeded to the email. Without another word he held it in the heroes’ direction; All Might was the one to take it. The device looked small and fragile in his big hand as he leaned over for both he and Aizawa to see the message at the same time.

The air was tense as they waited for their teachers to finish it; another second and Kirishima thought Bakugou might actually explode.

“Dated yesterday,” Aizawa murmured. “I’m forwarding this to myself.” He took the phone to begin tinkering with it as All Might recollected himself, planting his fists firmly on his hips.

“You were right to bring this to us, boys,” he said. “It’s certainly not a prank or a joke.”

“How do you know?” Kirishima asked before Bakugou could, likely with spitting curse words in between. His face was flushed, albeit subtly, and his eyes were more intense with panic he was doing everything he could to stifle.

All Might glanced back at Aizawa. “Should we tell them?”

“Tell us what?” Bakugou gritted out through his teeth.

Aizawa sighed, reaching across his desk to hand back the phone. “It just so happens that we were discussing a similar incident when you two knocked.”

“What?” Bakugou blurted. “What do you mean?”

As Aizawa gave the two a long-suffering look, almost as though he regretted saying anything (or so Kirishima presumed), All Might was tapping at his own phone. When he turned it around for them to see, the screen showed a familiar news source website with a video playing. The anchor sat stiff at his desk, speaking.

“An unknown source of what authorities are assuming are potential villains they haven’t seen before leaked a video just under a minute long, addressing the public about who we know as last year’s UA Sports Festival champion, Bakugou Katsuki. The supposed villain’s face is concealed, and their voice disguised, but their intentions are anything but.” He nodded, and then the video covered him. Sure enough, it was the same damn thing Bakugou saw when that gun was pressed against his temple—someone in all black and wearing a ski mask, though there was no way for him to tell if it was the same person.

“Last year’s Sports Festival,” they began, their voice altered electronically to prevent it from being recognized or analyzed, “was one for the books, because a villain emerged from the ashes left by the once powerful Bomber. You know him as Bakugou Katsuki, and someone who bears one of the most dangerous and powerful Quirks known. And you’ve seen his temper, seen that evil glint in his eye. You’ve speculated that he may have a relation to The Bomber, and you weren’t wrong to do so. He’s dangerous. Reckless. Only a child, but with the intention of UA can be crafted into someone even more powerful than The Bomber himself. And he’s on our streets without any supervision, on top of the temper and short fuse we’ve all seen. So why let him run free? Speak up! We can’t afford to let a future killer walk around like nothing! Expel him from UA. Better yet, expel him from freedom!”

Chapter Text

{Past}

Everything seemed to spiral out of control after that. It was as if the past year had never happened in the following days; people were back to staring and whispering. The video of the unnamed person spread like wildfire. Once again, Bakugou seemed to be the center of attention in the news.

All Might and Aizawa acted quickly, though, and got the authorities on the case of tracing the email and phone number to find the source of the threat. Despite whoever is behind the whole thing calling their supposed ‘league’ the ‘League of Justice’, authorities and heroes alike dubbed them the ‘League of Villains’ instead, because of the nature of their threat.

And because of the threat, neither Bakugou or Kirishima were left to walk anywhere alone. One of the school’s security guards was appointed to escort them to and from school. On top of that, Kirishima’s parents were contacted about the threat, but clearly they either didn’t care or were in a place with no cell service because they never once picked up.

To put the cherry on top of the Shit Sundae, as Bakugou put it, as soon as his foster parents were informed of what was going on and warned about the threat from these still-unknown possible villains, they kicked him out. Legal or not, they took what little he had left in their house (seeing as most of his belongings were stashed at Kirishima’s--not that he had a whole lot to his name to begin with) and threw it out onto the street, literally, and threatened that if he ever showed his face near their property again there’d be ‘consequences.’

“Whatever that means…” Kirishima mused when Bakugou showed up with the rest of his things and explained it.

“They’ve got a shotgun in a closet,” Bakugou told him, “so it’s probably got something to do with that.”

Needless to say, when authorities caught wind of their actions there were consequences for them. Bakugou hadn’t heard the explicit details of it, but he was sure they, at the very least, lost their license to foster orphans as well as other legal shit. It didn’t matter, though--he had more important shit to worry about than what happened to those shitbags.

For safety purposes, it was determined that Bakugou would stay with Aizawa while the investigation continued on the League of Villains who, almost too eagerly, adopted the nickname. It limited the time in which he and Kirishima spent together, but for Bakugou’s safety it was more than worth it.

As the weeks went on, Bakugou felt like he was fucking spiraling into madness, with so many eyes suddenly back on him, being away from Kirishima more than he was used to after the past couple of years, and knowing that there was a group of shitty villains trying to taint his name and get them to join him for his Quirk. In some ways he almost wanted to be flattered that they saw his strength and wanted to utilize it for their own (though they’d never get to, and that was for certain), but he couldn’t. It was because of that shitty Bomber--that’s all they saw when they looked at him. Hell, it was all most people saw. They didn’t care that he was his own goddamn person, didn’t care that he was a hero in training and not a villain. It made him feel sick.

And he couldn’t shake it. Couldn’t bury himself in his studies and training nearly enough to block it out, especially during the days where the authorities had no new information to report to Aizawa, and that they would ‘keep digging.’ Bakugou wasn’t patient--far from it, in fact, and the continued stares and whispers as well as seeing his name in the news as reporters and journalists tried to dig up everything they could surrounding the situation, like they didn’t have anything else to fucking talk about made his stomach churn to the point where he could hardly eat.

Day by day he could feel his anger and panic building, swelling in his chest and tensing through his every muscle. He found himself snapping at Kirishima unintentionally, looking over his shoulder almost unnecessarily more often than he should, and zoning out with his thoughts diving down a rabbit hole of shitty scenarios, no matter how impossible they were.

Bakugou couldn’t take one more damn reassurance from Kirishima, or he was going to fucking lose it. Even though he didn’t mean that literally, that was exactly what ended up happening.

The two were pacing around the rear courtyard at lunch one afternoon because Bakugou needed to get out of the damned cafeteria, and because the weather was still decently warm they were permitted to get some fresh air. It helped, but not enough it seemed.

Kirishima, being the good-natured soul he was, did everything he could to try and keep Bakugou’s head on straight and keep him calm, keep him steady.

“I bet they’re finding something right now,” he was saying after Bakugou had muttered how much he was tired of waiting for the police and detectives to dig up enough dirt on the League of Villains to issue an arrest warrant or something. “I mean, villain activity has increased lately, right? And they know the League has been recruiting others, too, trying to bring their dumb ‘justice’ or whatever. I bet they’re finding their leader and arresting ‘em right now, and then everything’ll go back to normal. Everything’ll be okay--”

“Stop fucking saying that!” Bakugou yelled, belting out the rage and fear that’d finally boiled over. “Stop fucking saying it’s gonna be o-fucking-kay, because you don’t fucking know that!”

“Whoa,” Kirishima breathed, taking a step back and holding up his hands. “Sorry, dude. Just take a deep breath, alright?!”

No, no, no, he fucking couldn’t. Bakugou felt… hot, his eyes watering and his fists curling so tightly his nails bit painfully into his palms. A tinge of red clouded over his vision, and that was it. He’d fucking had it!

Kirishima hardly had time to react; Bakugou was red in the face, and he’d never seen him look so angry. In that second he was grateful for the past year and a half of training he had under his belt, because his reflexes stopped the sudden blast of heat and smoke from hitting his face and instead slammed into his forearms as he held them up, hardened. Still, the blast emitted from Bakugou’s outstretched palm was enough to push him back, his shoes skidding along the concrete.

“This is all your fucking fault!” Bakugou screamed at him, coming again with another blast already glowing in his other palm. “Yours, Kirishima! Yours!”

“Bakugou--” he began, only to cut himself off to defend against another blast that pushed him further back. Bakugou was wasting no time, though, and kept the distance closer, continuing to yell.

“You! You’re the one who made me come to this fucking school in the first place!” Another blast was at the ready, and Kirishima reached for his hand to try and stop it, but it only ended up rattling through him with nothing but his Quirk to defend against the impact and heat of it. “Everyone’s fucking terrified of me! Everyone talks about me like I’m already a fucking villain! My own shitty parents didn’t even want me!” The blasts were coming faster and faster now, and Kirishima was completely on the defense--for the moment. “And now I’m in the fucking spotlight because of you!” The biggest blast yet headed straight for Kirishima’s face and, despite the hardening, he could feel its heat searing against his skin.

That didn’t mean he backed down.

“Fine, Bakugou, maybe it is my fault!” he yelled back, crossing his arms and planting them against his friend’s chest, pushing back. “And I get it, you’re fucking pissed! So let it out! Hit me with everything you’ve got, and don’t hold back!”

With a roar unlike any other Kirishima had ever heard, Bakugou’s hands came up, both glowing with imminent blasts. This time Kirishima was more than prepared. He’d felt Bakugou’s blasts before, but nothing like this. This wasn’t a spar. This was a fight, and Kirishima wasn’t going to let Bakugou hold it all in anymore.

The cacophonous sound of their yelling and explosions filled the courtyard, and they were both only vaguely aware that they were being watched--gawked at. Bakugou continued to roar, to yell, his face red. Kirishima fought back with everything he had, too, defending against the blasts and encouraging Bakugou to let it out, to keep it coming, he could take it.

“You’re a fucking hero,” he belted. “Everyone has a reason for wanting to be one, and you’re no exception! You came here wanting to prove everyone wrong and make them see that you are not him! You came here to prove that you can use your Quirk to save people and win, and that’s what you’re gonna fucking do!” He pushed Bakugou back again, their hands clasped together. “The only thing holding you back from that right now is you, Katsuki!”

There was a pause as the name spilled from his lips, and then it was Bakugou pushing back, angrier than before. With a sudden burst of fury and strength not even Kirishima knew he had, he sent a blast that knocked even Kirishima off of his feet. Bakugou grabbed for the front of his shirt, yanking him back to his feet and pushing him back to the wall of the school behind him. Kirishima resisted, keeping hardened arms up against Bakugou’s own shirt, torn up and singed, while Bakugou yelled in his face.

“It doesn’t fucking matter, shit for hair!! No one’s ever going to believe that I can do good! Nobody fucking believes it now, so why bother?!”

“That’s not true, you idiot!” Kirishima spat back. “Even if nobody out there or anywhere else believes in you now, it doesn’t matter! Because I believe in you! And if that’s not good enough for you then tell me what is, because I’m not letting you fucking give up!”

With another growl Bakugou yanked the other off the wall and tossed him aside, only to come after him and knock him to the ground again with another blast. Tears were streaming freely down his face now, his teeth baring and his breathing labored. As he knelt down over Kirishima, seemingly let gravity pull him down over him, pinning Kirishima’s worn out body to the concrete, Kirishima couldn’t place his intentions. In a last-ditch effort of defense, knowing his Quirk’s stamina was on its last legs, he kept himself hardened from the shoulders up.

Hot tears dripped from Bakugou’s eyes onto Kirishima’s face, his neck, into his hair, onto the ground beside him. A smoking hand pressed across his face. Bakugou’s lips twitched like he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words.

All Kirishima could think to do was lift his hands and press them to either side of Bakugou’s face. His eyes locked unwaveringly with Bakugou’s as he spoke.

“You’re not alone anymore. Can’t you see that?”

What happened next went down so quickly that Kirishima barely had time to keep up. Somehow his brain managed to register the shock taking over Bakugou’s features before he was suddenly gone, as if he’d vanished into thin air. Gasping aloud, Kirishima scrambled to sit up, breathing labored and heart pounding as his eyes sought out his friend. He found him across the courtyard, all the way toward the doors leading back into the cafeteria with the good majority of his body encased in a familiar gray scarf. Behind him stood Aizawa, eyes glowing and hair seemingly defying gravity with his activated Quirk, surely erasing both of their own.

Other kids stood around, gawking in silence. A few bordered the courtyard while there was a small crowd behind their teacher and others flooding the windows. There wasn’t a single sound for a good half minute.

And in that minute Kirishima’s eyes never left his best friend’s. Bakugou’s tears had slowed, perhaps ceased altogether, but that same look of shock Kirishima couldn’t have been sure he saw before was frozen right into his features.

Chapter Text

{Past}

The two of them were taken to Principal Nezu after that—separately. Bakugou’s whole frame was shaking the entire way, and he couldn’t manage to get a single thought straight in his head. The only thing that made sense was the remaining image of Kirishima, of his best friend, and the warmth of his hands holding his face so delicately, almost like he’d break if he used too much pressure (in spite of the already violent situation).

“You’re not alone anymore. Can’t you see that?”

Something about those words and the way they were said—gently, kindly, almost… affectionately—snapped Bakugou out of his rage. The red faded from his vision, blurry with hot tears, and then he was wrapped in something and flying backwards before he even knew what hit him.

His mind only seemed to fade into the present when he was being held a bag of ice wrapped in a few layers of paper towels by Aizawa, who hadn’t stopped glaring at him with disapproval. He’d been led into what looked like some sort of conference room while Kirishima had gone who knew where with Present Mic.

“For your cheek,” Aizawa muttered.

It was only when he pressed the cold against his face that the pain of Kirishima’s punch—the only one that hit his face, only because he’d ducked too late when Kirishima had gone for his shoulder—registered. His entire skull throbbed.

“So what happened?” Aizawa asked, leaning back against the large desk in the center of the room, crossing his arms with a scrutinizing glare.

“Dunno,” he managed, voice rough from all of his screaming and yelling. “We… were talking about the crap with those villains. Next thing I knew I snapped.”

“Why?”

“...I don’t know.” Bakugou cleared his throat and winced when it stung. “It’s stressful when everybody’s staring at you and acting like you’re a villain. But yeah, I get it, that’s no excuse.”

“No, it’s not,” agreed Aizawa. “Regardless, I don’t blame you. We should’ve been checking up on you more, making sure you were handling things okay. That was a mistake on our part.”

Bakugou had nothing to say, so Aizawa continued.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re considering suspending or even expelling you from the school after an incident like that. I’ll do everything in my power not to let that happen because I believe in your drive to be a hero and use your strength to keep people safe, but once Principal Nezu himself makes the decision, it’s out of my hands.”

Bakugou merely kept his eyes pointed at the floor, his jaw tense, and the only thing keeping him grounded being the ice pressed against his cheek that, from the inside, he could already feel swelling up. With a sigh Aizawa stood up straight and said he was going to go find out what the other teachers were discussing and to stay put before he strode out of the room, leaving Bakugou with nothing but the ice pack and palpable silence around him.

Kirishima probably hated him. He hated himself, after all; who the fuck attacks their best friend out of nowhere like that? And with such a poor excuse? Sure he was mad, he was stressed, and he was pissed that after all the work he’d done to show people that he was no damn villain, it was as easy as a stupid video from some unknown villain to put him back to square one. Living in the shadow of that bastard Bomber was going to haunt him for the rest of his life no matter what he did, and he knew it. That’s all he could fucking think about, and it was clear he didn’t have the self-control to hold himself back from the impulse to attack.

Those last words of Kirishima’s had to be from the heat of the moment. The way he held his face, even screamed at Bakugou to let out his anger because ‘I can take it!’ was probably of his own frustration. What good could’ve come from being friends with Bakugou, anyway? Kirishima had faced nothing but isolation from everyone else, save for the few idiots who didn’t seem to know any better, as well as frustration and grief just by being friends with him.

Those thoughts were weak, though. Petty and standard for him. He’d grown up thinking things like that and while, yeah, the past two years had been shifting his point of view, it was two years against almost fifteen--or eleven, if you didn’t count the first four before his Quirk manifested (not that he remembered those years, anyway). It was more out of instinct and conditioning than what he truly thought, and it was because of Kirishima, because of him and those words, the way he fought back, and looked at him with something so, so very much deeper than the friendship they had, even on the level they were. So much deeper and more potent than anything he’d experienced or seen before.

Kirishima didn’t hate him. But now that he’d snapped, they were probably about to send him away from his best friend forever--maybe even to some juvenile facility so they could put him away and try to ‘fix’ him, or whatever…

The click of the door had Bakugou sitting up straight a few long minutes later, his eyes shifting up to it as the knob turned. He expected Aizawa, of course, but instead walked in none other than Kirishima himself, with a few bandages on his face here and there, his clothes still torn much like Bakugou’s, and his hair a complete disaster. Regardless, the idiot smiled as soon as he saw him.

“Hey, man,” he said, pressing the door shut behind him. “How ya feelin’?”

“Hmph, shouldn’t I be asking you that? Why’re you even here?”

“I talked ‘em into letting me talk to you,” Kirishima explained, pulling out a chair and plopping into it. “They’re pretty mad, but I guess I’ve got a way with words.” He shrugged nonchalantly.

“Sure, it’s your words…” Bakugou muttered under his breath.

“What?”

“Nothin’. Talk to me about what? Shouldn’t you be pissed at me for attacking you?”

“No, ‘cause I know why you did it. Actually, I kinda wanted to apologize. I kept talking about it even though I knew it wasn’t helping you feel better, I just hoped, I guess. I don’t really blame you for snapping. I can’t even imagine the pressure you’ve got on you right now, so I’m sorry for making it worse.”

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed. “So you’re sayin’ you blame yourself for needin’ those bandages? And the… fuckin’ burn mark on the side of your face?” he tacked on as he saw it--the reddened skin on the skin above and behind his right eye, extending down onto his cheekbone and then fading out.

“Please, dude, I’ve had sunburns worse than this,” Kirishima said to brush him off. “And no, I’m just not blaming either of us ‘cause I get it, man. I do.”

“...doesn’t make it okay,” muttered Bakugou, averting his eyes again to stare down a white freckle in the carpet. “You should be fucking pissed with me, Kiri.”

“Eh, that’s a waste of energy I think,” Kirishima said. “When I told All Might what happened and why you suddenly snapped, he said the same thing I’ve been saying all along… that you’re here to prove everyone who doubted you wrong. And maybe this whole… League of Villains thing trying to take you in is just an opportunity to show that you’re driven to be a hero.”

“How the fuck does that make sense?”

“‘Cause, dude, tons of people know about it now and when you blatantly reject their ‘offer’ and continue to strive to be a hero, they’ll know you’re serious about it.”

“I guess. If they don’t expel me, anyway…”

“They won’t,” Kirishima said with another grin. “They can’t expel one of their top students and someone who’s on track to be a member of the Big Three next year.”

Like lightning, Bakugou’s eyes shot back up to his friend’s face, the ice, halfway melted because of his warmer-than-usual-hands, lowering to his lap. “You’re fucking kidding. You’re just bluffing to motivate me,” he accused.

“Well…” Kirishima said, scratching his head. “Maybe a little. It’s only a rumor I heard about you being one of the candidates. They start looking at that stuff your second year, you know? But with how freakin’ strong you are--and I’d know--and how great your grades are on top if it, they’d be foolish to kick you out. Besides, if they did expel you, who’s to say that wouldn’t push you to go join those stupid villains, anyway? And then they’d be partially responsible.”

“Hmph. Good to know you think I would,” Bakugou grumbled.

“Nah, I don’t. I know you wouldn’t, but they don’t, necessarily.”

“Yeah, well, they can’t not punish me for fighting on school grounds when it wasn’t permitted for training or something.”

“I mean, they might put you on some extra cleaning duties. Maybe suspend you for a week or so. But I really don’t think you’ll get kicked out, Bakugou.”

“I hope you’re right, Shitty Hair…”

Kirishima reached out casually and placed his hand atop Bakugou’s where it rested on his own knee. “They won’t,” he assured. “But even if they do, I’ll go with you. I don’t wanna be a hero without you with me, too.”

Bakugou’s jaw tightened, his lashes fluttering. “...shut up, dumbass,” he muttered, swiping a hand across his face at the sudden rush of emotion--gratitude, mostly--that overcame him. “Don’t… don’t let me stop you from being a hero.”

“Nope. Both of us are gonna be heroes together or neither of us will be. No ifs, ands, or buts.”

Bakugou snorted. “You’re a loser,” he muttered.

Kirishima just laughed and squeezed his hand. “Whatever you say, man. Anyway, I should probably go tell the teachers you’re ready to hear your punishment, yeah?”

“Yeah. Guess so.” Despite the relatively hopeless nature of the words, even Bakugou couldn’t resist mirroring Kirishima’s big, bright smile at least a little. It faded, though, as soon as Kirishima’s hand slipped from his and he stood up to head for the door. “Hey,” he called after him, not watching him.

“Sup?” Kirishima asked, turning around with his hand on the knob.

“I’m sorry,” Bakugou told him, looking up once again. “For attacking you. That was a dick move and you’re the last person I should take my shitty anger out on. So… sorry.”

Smiling seemed to come second-nature to Kirishima because yet another one slid onto his face and he crossed the room again. “C’mere, man,” he said, taking Bakugou’s hand once more to coax him to his feet. Before he really realized what was happening, Bakugou did as requested and then suddenly Kirishima was pulling him into a hug--a tight, warm, secure bear hug that somehow, despite not being one for much physical affection, Bakugou sank into and then returned. His arms encircling Kirishima’s waist only served for the other’s to tighten around his shoulders.

The stupid tears stung in his eyes again. Kirishima smelled like… a guy--like his room--but also subtly like dirt and soot, surely a remnant of all of the explosions that tore his clothes apart. It was only slight, but Kirishima had seemed to grow taller than him, too.

“Oh, I’m sorry too—for calling you by your given name,” Kirishima said quietly.

“Mm… ‘s fine,” Bakugou said. “You can call me that. If you want.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Only if you call me Eijirou, yeah?”

“Hmph. Deal.”

A chuckle rumbled through Kirishima; Bakugou had never felt more secure in his life as he did in that moment. He wanted to hold onto Kirishima, onto his best friend as tightly and as long as he could because Kirishima was his family. Kirishima—no, Eijirou was his home, and in spite of everything else, that was all he needed.

Chapter Text

{Past}

While Bakugou was suspended from class activities and would have to play catch-up once the two weeks were up, and was assigned extra cleaning duties after school hours, Kirishima didn’t get off without punishment either. He was to join Bakugou after school on those extra cleaning duties for fighting back and adding to the chaos of the situation. While Bakugou gritted his teeth against the punishment, especially because he was required to stay on campus during school hours not only so he could be there for the cleaning duties but for safety reasons while the League of Villains was still on the loose (though the heroes were hot on their trail), he didn’t argue.

“I told you they wouldn’t expel you,” Kirishima murmured to him as they were leaving Principal Nezu’s office, trailing behind Aizawa.

“Yeah,” Bakugou murmured, tossing the bag of what was now nothing but water into the nearest trash bin.

The suspension and cleaning duties started the next day. It felt strange and empty not to have Bakugou in class right beside him on top of him being absent from Kirishima’s house, and Kirishima kept finding himself glancing over toward the empty desk. Without the other’s steady, obstinate presence he felt off-kilter, even just slightly. He was so accustomed to his best friend always being there that he had trouble to adjusting to the empty space, even though he knew this wasn’t permanent.

While cleaning definitely wasn’t high up on the list of things he wanted to do with his time after school, Kirishima was more than glad to get to it to see Bakugou again.

“It’s weird without you in class, man,” he said to Bakugou as they were headed to a supply closet together.

“Yeah, ‘s fuckin’ boring sitting in Aizawa’s office all day.”

“Sounds like it,” Kirishima agreed.

The cleaning turned out to be fairly easy, even when they were told to get to the nitty-gritty of things. The place was already decently clean from general daily cleaning duties, which left almost nothing but the nitty-gritty. They were allowed music and to work together, though, which made it more bearable. Kirishima caught Bakugou up on what was going on in class and Bakugou kept Kirishima updated on what he knew about the heroes’ pursuit of the League of Villains.

A week seemed to go by quickly despite how much Kirishima was being reminded how much he hated falling asleep on his own in a big, empty house. He found his sleep to be more fitful and less restful than before Bakugou was kicked out of his foster home and was temporarily living with Mr. Aizawa, and though it’d been weeks since then, it seemed next to impossible to get used to after over two years of growing accustomed to Bakugou being there when his parents were gone.

As a result, he found himself doing everything he could to extend his time with Bakugou at the end of the day. Bakugou couldn’t pretend not to notice when he suddenly seemed to have to use the restroom every day as they were on their way out, or had supposedly forgotten something in the supply closet or classroom and waved for him to join him. Regardless, not even he said anything about it and merely shrugged when Aizawa himself made a comment in passing about it.

As it turned out, the second to last day of their cleaning duties was one neither of them would forget and, in hindsight, they both realized they should’ve seen it coming. It sure as hell felt like any other cleaning day from the get go. The two were headed down to get supplies to clean a stain on the floor of one of the training rooms while an early season thunderstorm was rumbling the building from outside.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how quiet this place is when hardly anybody’s here,” Kirishima murmured as they walked.

“Yeah, ‘s creepy,” Bakugou agreed, stopping at the closet to unlock it.

Wordlessly they filed in and rummaged around as usual, heading toward opposite sides to find something suitable to clean the stain that neither of them bothered to ask the origin of. With a bucket and a couple of brushes--the biggest ones he could find, which happened to be all the way at the back of the shelf--in hand, Kirishima turned to find Bakugou already heading toward the door with a mop and a bucket of bleach.

“Whoa,” he called to stop him. “You’re not planning on using straight bleach on the floor, are you?”

“What’s it look like I’m planning?” Bakugou scoffed. “What the hell else would I use?”

“Bleach is fine, but you gotta dilute it with water.” He held up the bucket in indication.

“No you don’t,” Bakugou argued. “It’s not as effective if you do.”

“But if you don’t, you’ll ruin the floor. Trust me, man--our old maid made sure I knew before she was fired. And that mop isn’t really gonna do much good if the stain is as bad as they said. You’ll have to scrub, which is better with a brush.” He held up the brushes, too, and then dropped them into the bucket.

Bakugou’s brows knitted together, and Kirishima knew he was going to argue. It wasn’t like this was the first little argument they’d had, especially about cleaning products and, as usual, Kirishima readied himself to reason with Bakugou, taking a step forward.

“I’m not a fucking slave so I’m not getting on my hands and knees to scrub a fucking stain,” Bakugou muttered. “ You use the sponge.”

“Brush,” Kirishima corrected, “and I’m gonna. But you’re s’posed to help me, and I promise the mop isn’t really gonna do much.” As he spoke, he reached for the mop, hoping Bakugou would drop the argument as he usually did in the past and let go of it. Instead, he tugged back, and Kirishima had to stifle a frustrated sigh.

“The mop is fine . What the fuck else is it for if not for cleaning stains off of a floor, huh?”

“C’mon bro,” Kirishima reasoned, gently tugging the handle of the mop his way again. By then the two were less than a foot apart. They really, really should’ve seen it coming… “It’ll go faster if you just use the brush.”

“Stop acting like you know everything,” Bakugou grumbled, but there was less heart in it than there usually was, and rather than expressing further frustration his face seemed to relax.

“I’m not, I just…” Kirishima began, but his words trailed off and escaped him completely.

It wasn’t the first time they’d had the same idea, the same thought, at the same time, and it wouldn’t be the last. It felt… magnetic , almost, when they inched toward one another, tilted their chins forward, and, like it was easy as breathing, their lips pressed together for what couldn’t be longer than a mere two seconds.

Kirishima was the first to yank himself back, a cold kind of heat rushing to his head as he blinked, utterly confused, at Bakugou, who seemed incapable of anything but staring.

“Katsu--”

Bakugou shoved the mop handle toward the other. “Gimme the damn brush, idiot,” he grumbled, eyes cutting sharply to his right.

“But--”

“No.”

Kirishima forced back a thick swallow. “...o-okay,” he mumbled. After a second’s hesitation of trying to figure out what the hell just happened, he replaced the mop back in its corner. His hands shook as he reached for one of the brushes and held it out to Bakugou, hoping like hell he couldn’t see it when he took it and turned to head back into the hallway and retracing their steps to the training room without a word in between, even when they stopped to fill the bucket with water to dilute the bleach.

Silences between them were usually easy, and neither of them really felt the need to fill them unless he had something to say. Kirishima was comfortable around Bakugou, and vice versa--awkwardness was not something they ever really experienced around each other.

And yet the uneasiness in that training room as they worked on scrubbing at the stain was so thick that one could cut it with a freaking butter knife. Hardly another word was said for the rest of the day and when they parted ways, it was with a meager fist bump and no eye contact to speak of.

~✵~

Kirishima couldn’t sleep a wink that night, what with the deafening silence of the house and the fact that he’d kissed his best friend.

And he… couldn’t stop thinking about it! What the hell did it mean? How did they have such a crazy idea at the same time ? And in the middle of an argument? Why did they do it to begin with? Was it just impulse, or was there something else that drove them to it?

On top of that, he couldn’t stop replaying the moment over and over in his mind until it was starting to feel distorted, and soon enough there were things he wasn’t sure he’d made up or not. We’re Bakugou’s lips really that warm? Did he truly smell so… sweet ? Sure, he’d been close enough to Bakugou to smell him before—they’d hugged quite a bit, and in the midst of the anxiety about the League of Villains they kept close for comfort, but he’d never really paid attention to how Bakugou smelled , in particular. And it really only lasted like a second, right? Not ten or fifteen, the way he seemed to be thinking it had?

It was almost as if he was purposely keeping it going in his head because he wanted to savor it, but his mind was foggy enough from tiredness that, by the time he finally did manage to fall asleep—only three hours before he had to wake up for school—the only thing he could truly be sure of was that they had, in fact, kissed.

~✵~

Accompanying them everywhere they went together for the next few days was a giant, invisible elephant. It squished itself between them, somehow managing to fit in the slightly widened space since the whole thing happened. They didn’t address it. They tried as hard as they could to go on as normal—normal conversations, normal study times, normal everything until once again they were forced to part ways at the end of the day.

Kirishima was losing so much sleep, and Bakugou’s muscles were beginning to grow sore in certain places from being so tense all the time. Tense from not knowing what to do or say, and forcing himself to keep his distance—to not move closer, no matter how much he may have wanted to.

By the end of another week, Kirishima couldn’t take it anymore, or he was pretty sure his head would end up resembling Bakugou’s Quirk. No matter how scared he was or how many doubts he had, he had to say something.

“Hey… is it cool if I say somethin’ real quick?” he asked. They were on their lunch break, back in the courtyard near one of the far corners, close but far enough away that someone could sit between them if they wanted. Bakugou was stripping apart a weed he’d picked from between the cracks in the concrete while Kirishima was merely watching others wander about.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Bakugou murmured without looking up.

Kirishima made himself swallow once, twice before exhaling a long breath. “I just wanted to apologize for the other day. Y’know, in the supply closet? I… don’t really know what came over me and I know it’s been bothering both of us for a while. I just hope you’re not mad, man.”

Bakugou did look up then, though his fingers kept picking at the weed. “You’re takin’ responsibility for that shit?” he asked.

Kirishima’s confused gaze met his narrow eyes. “Am I not responsible?”

“I dunno.” Bakugou went back to the leaf he was tearing into strips. “I thought I was.”

Kirishima hummed, scratching his head. “Well I dunno about you, but I can’t exactly remember… uhm, who went in first. I just know it took me by surprise and that I’ve been really paranoid that you’re mad, or… weirded out or something.”

“Not mad,” Bakugou said. “Just fucking confused. I don’t remember who made it happen, either. I guess we both did, but I don’t get why. ” He tossed a handful of leaves onto the ground in front of him.

“I’ve been wondering that, too,” Kirishima murmured, feeling himself stiffen up. “I… never really thought of there being anything like that between us. Not until now, anyway…” He swallowed again, harder this time. Getting embarrassed was the last thing he needed. Actually, no—the last thing he needed was to lose Bakugou as his friend, his best friend, over some silly feelings he was pretty damn sure he had to come clean about.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bakugou asked. It wasn’t defensive or malicious in any way, but it still made Kirishima’s chest tighten.

“It’s hard to explain, I think,” he said, eyes following a kid across the courtyard. “But… ever since it happened I haven’t been able to sleep much. I keep trying to tell myself it’s ‘cause the house is super empty and quiet and I’m not used to it anymore, but obviously I could just turn on the TV or some music, but I don’t. And when I’m laying there alone and stuff… it’s all I can think about. And… you. ” He stopped. Cleared his throat, rubbed the back of his neck and hoped like hell Bakugou wouldn’t get up and walk away from him for good. “If I gotta be honest right here, right now, I… think I’ve been kinda feelin’, er, that way for a while now, but even I was oblivious to it until what happened in that stupid closet.” A nervous laugh escaped from his chest, yet somehow he managed to look up at his friend again. “I never gave much thought to stuff like that before, or even if I liked girls or guys or whatever so… yeah, it took me by surprise. But man, you’re my best friend , and the person I trust the most, and shit, you mean more to me than I can ever say! So it… makes sense, I guess.

“That said…” He took another deep breath. “That said, I don’t want you to feel obligated to anything. And I sure as fuck don’t want this to screw up our relationship ‘cause before absolutely anything and everything else, you are my best friend . So I’m sorry for this.”

Not once through Kirishima’s confession—impromptu as it may have been—did Bakugou try to interrupt, or react in a negative way. He merely sat there holding a steady gaze on his friend and listened.

And when he was over, his eyes shifted back to the ground and his back pressed more firmly against the brick wall behind them.

“The fuck you apologizing for?” he murmured after a silent moment. “‘S not like you can help it, even if I don’t get why the hell it’s me . Shit, I still don’t get why you’re even friends with me sometimes. But just ‘cause of… all this… doesn’t mean I don’t wanna be friends anymore or whatever bullshit you’re probably thinking. And I get it ‘cause I keep thinking about it too, but I don’t know how the fuck to feel. There’s so much shit going on already that I don’t know how to deal with, so trying to sort out the giant ass mess of feelings from what happened feels fucking impossible, Eijirou.”

“It’s okay, man,” Kirishima said quickly. “Really—I understand. I wasn’t exactly planning on confessing or whatever today. Hell, I didn’t even really know what I was feeling myself until I said it out loud.” He gave a weak half-shrug. “I’ll be fine as long as I know we’re still friends.”

Bakugou tossed what remained of the weed onto the ground with the shredded leaves that came from it. “Don’t be an idiot, Ei. Of course you’re still my best friend.”

Kirishima’s resulting smile was genuine, even if it was smaller than usual. They were okay, and he would be too, in time.

~✵~

The tension eased up after that, though it didn’t do much for the lack of sleep—for either of them. Focusing in class was hard, between their conversation and the capture of the League being so imminent.

A group of heroes led by All Might had been working with the authorities and doing everything they could to track them down for weeks now. The latest news that they’d found their hideout via an incognito stakeout mission came the morning right after Bakugou and Kirishima’s conversation in the courtyard. They were planning an attack—an ambush of sorts, as All Might said himself—in three days.

Bakugou’s stomach was tight. Sure, they knew more than they had weeks ago thanks to the information he and Kirishima gave them, but they didn’t know what kind of shitty firepower those damn villains might be holding. Didn’t know most of their Quirks or what they might be capable of. He was confident that they’d come out victorious in the end, but even he had a feeling in the very core of himself that it wasn’t going to be that easy. He remembered every day the voice and the threat of the one who held a gun to his head…

So when the day came, he was grateful Kirishima was allowed to hang out at Aizawa’s with him. He brought a gaming console for something to hopefully keep their minds off of what they knew was going on downtown, but it was fruitless. Eventually they ended up turning on the news and watching what little coverage they managed to get of the situation. Most of it took place inside the warehouse-looking building, and the outside was secured by police and a few minor heroes which didn’t give the cameras access.

In less than fifteen minutes, whatever battle went on inside seemed to be over when the police force rushed in. Bakugou’s shoulders were tense, his eyes glued to the screen until the very second, just minutes later, the police reemerged with people in cuffs. They were accompanied by heroes, some looking a little worse for wear but on their feet. It seemed none of them had sustained any injuries that they wouldn’t fully recover from, or so the anchor’s voice-over was saying, until…

Bakugou and Kirishima simultaneously felt their hearts drop down, down, down. They hadn’t seen the stretcher go in, but they sure as hell didn’t miss it coming back out. Its occupant was unmistakable—muscular, wearing bright blue with a messy mop of dirty blond hair…

“All Might.” Kirishima breathed out the name so quietly that Bakugou would’ve missed it had the two of them not been sitting so close their thighs were right up against one another.

All Might’s condition was unclear, just by looking at him from the helicopter view, but he was pale. Scratched and bruised up. His costume was torn to shreds, exposing what little could be seen of his bare chest and stomach. The rest was concealed by… steam that seemed to be curling right off of his body itself.

And yet his face, as soon as he seemed to make sense of the cameras outside the police barricade, broke into a slightly crumpled version of the smile the entire world knew and cherished. A hand came up, albeit weakly, and he stuck his thumb in the air.

The entire room, though it was just the three of them (because Aizawa had stood behind the couch watching just as intently), breathed a sigh of relief.

Once All Might was lifted into the ambulance, the screen cut back to the anchors in the studio.

“They got ‘em,” Kirishima said, eyes wide as they turned toward Bakugou. “They did it.”

As Bakugou’s gaze met his friend’s something he couldn’t entirely explain came over him, and his arms were securing tightly around Kirishima, more relieved than he ever remembered feeling before.

Chapter Text

{Present Day}

-Eijirou-

Knock knock knock.

Eijirou dumped the handful of miscellaneous paper and things into the recycling bin before heading to the door, not even bothering to pause the music he’d had on while he was cleaning. He had no idea what he was expecting when he opened the door but he definitely wasn’t anticipating what he saw.

He’d manufactured a smile in anticipation of one of Mina’s surprise visits or a mail carrier dropping off a package, but as he took in the all too familiar yet somehow… unfamiliar face looking at him from beyond the threshold, the smile faltered into an expression of pure shock.

Katsuki’s throat visibly constricted. “Hey.”

“... Katsuki, ” Eijirou breathed out.

An impulse—instinct, maybe—pushed him forward. He threw his arms around the other’s shoulders as tight as he could manage through the surprise, his eyes wide with disbelief.

Katsuki stiffened the second Eijirou was suddenly up against him, his hands drawing out of his pockets. After a moment’s hesitation, though, he couldn’t help gently patting the other on the back, a bit awkwardly.

“Shit, sorry,” Eijirou said quickly, drawing away. He was unblinking when he met Katsuki’s tired gaze again and looked him over.

He was Katsuki… but not, somehow. There was no mistaking the nearly six foot tall man in front of him, but still, in the last several months since he walked out he’d changed. He was… skinnier. Less muscular. Maybe it was something his mind was making up, but Eijirou almost thought his cheekbones were a little more prominent. His jaw, too, peppered with stubble. His hair was shorter, if just a bit, and shaved into an undercut. The tips of it were a faded brown, like it’d been dyed months ago. What of his skin was visible was a bit dirtier than Eijirou remembered, with a bruise here and there and some extra scars and scratches. Had he… been getting into fights? Or…? And the slight whiff he’d gotten of the other wasn’t what he’d committed to memory, either—wasn’t sweet like burnt caramel because of the function of his Quirk, but more musty. Smoky, almost...

It was almost painful to look at his eyes. They seemed sunken in, ringed with dark circles, though it was subtle. It had only been nine months or so, but it was as though Katsuki had aged several years…

And to Katsuki’s eyes, Eijirou had looked better, too. Instead of sticking up in a thousand different directions the way he’d for some reason been expecting, or even hanging around his face, it was pulled back into a messy bun-thing. He wasn’t as muscular as he was before, either, and the smile he’d only gotten a glimpse of when the idiot had opened the door had been so forced it was almost robotic. Sure, his hair was still red, which told Katsuki he’d kept up with dying it, but not as much seeing as a couple centimeters of dark, dark roots were peeking out, and the crimson wasn’t as vibrant as he remembered, either.

One glance at Eijirou’s eyes told Katsuki just how little he had expected him to be the one at the door. Those damn eyes were widened and glossy, but not nearly as bright and lustrous as they’d been back then. Before. That alone left his chest aching.

All this was taken in within just a few seconds before Eijirou stepped back, pulling the door open wider.

“Um, c’mon in,” he managed. His heart seemed to have forgotten how to beat at a normal pace, and there were so many questions flying through his head at a pace he couldn’t keep up with, much less verbalize.

Katsuki seemed reluctant but he did as asked and took it upon himself to press the door shut in his wake, his eyes scouring over the… surprisingly unchanged apartment, though it smelled a little different than he remembered. He couldn’t explain it.

“So, um…” Eijirou mumbled, “you’re back…” His tone was hopeful— too hopeful.

“Yeah, I just… needed to grab some shit,” Katsuki mumbled back, scratching the back of his head before slipping both hands back into his pockets.

The flash of disappointment in Eijirou’s eyes, though it only lasted a split second before he masked it with a neutral expression, was enough to make Katsuki’s chest ache even more and he made himself avert his eyes.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have come.”

“No, s’okay,” Eijirou said, and there it was again—that fake ass smile that didn’t come close to shining through his eyes. “I haven’t really moved much so… whatever you need shouldn’t be too hard to find.” He gestured at the apartment. “Go ahead.”

Eijirou should’ve expected something like this as soon as he opened the door. He should’ve immediately been reminded of some of the last words Katsuki said to him before walking out. ‘I don’t wanna be with you anymore.’ Why would that have changed? Hell, Eijirou hardly wanted to be with himself anymore, knowing just how damn dramatic and weak and unmanly he’d been since that day.

The only way Eijirou could think to describe Katsuki’s walk back to the bedroom was ‘slink’. He used short, quiet steps with his shoulders slightly hunched, his hands never leaving his pockets. It was nothing like the way he used to walk around the house, casually but still holding an air of confidence…

So much had changed.

And yet so little was different, Katsuki noted when he stepped into the familiar bedroom. Nothing had moved, really—all of the furniture was in the same position. The few wall hangings they had were the same, even the ones Katsuki himself was the one to pin up. There was even still a cobweb hanging in the corner above the closet door that he’d meant to brush down for months before he left…

As Katsuki pulled the closet door open Eijirou merely waited in the doorway to the hall, his arms crossed tight. He couldn’t take his eyes from the other, and while he felt he should say something it was as though his tongue had been paralyzed. What would he say? What could he say? He had a million questions—where had Katsuki been, was he okay, did he want something to eat or drink, how far had he gone, what the hell was so important that brought him back, was he… really going to leave again?

None of them felt right. Katsuki was there for whatever it was he was shuffling around the closet for and that was it. He’d probably forgotten something important (what, Eijirou couldn’t think of, but he pushed that thought away) and had every intention of leaving again once he found it. As much as Eijirou wanted to keep him there as long as he could and spill all of his questions, try to convince him to stay, to come home, he knew he had no right.

Katsuki did not love him anymore. This was no longer home to him. And Eijirou loved him way too much to feel okay trying to make him stay somewhere he didn’t want to be.

A sudden thought turned Eijirou around and guided him back down the hall and towards the front closet. It took only a minute of shuffling through a box but he knew them when he found them, and counted them again to make sure they were all there—17. He pushed the box back in its place and then shut the door, neatly stacking the envelopes as he did so.

It was then that Katsuki wandered back down the hall, holding another bag—his old school backpack, Eijirou realized, as he slung it effortlessly over a shoulder. It wasn’t weighed down by much, leaving a wondering thought of what the hell he could’ve been after in the back of Eijirou’s mind.

“Here,” he murmured, holding the stack of envelopes out at arm’s length. “Fan mail. Came for you while you’ve… been gone.” He cleared his throat to mask the falter in his voice. “Thought you might want them.”

Katsuki’s hesitation was clear, but in the end he did lift a hand and accept the stack, careful not to make contact with the other. “Thanks.”

“‘Course.”

There was the hint of Eijirou— his Eijirou, the one he’d known so well for so long—in that one word, but it wasn’t enough. It didn’t tear through the shell that he’d seemingly become, with his robotic smile and stiff movements, even if his eyes gave away the pain and longing he harbored within him (something Katsuki suspected he was the only one who could make out).

The two stood in an awkward silence for a moment before Katsuki tucked the envelopes into the backpack alongside whatever else he must’ve grabbed and then meandered toward the door.

“Guess I should get going,” he murmured.

Eijirou merely bobbed his head in something of a nod, pushing a few loose strands of hair away from his face.

And Katsuki couldn’t take it. Just before he made it to the door he reached out and tugged Eijirou toward him by the shoulder. He refused to stop himself from folding him into a hug, even when Eijirou stiffened in evident surprise, the slightest of gasps drawing into his lungs.

It only lasted a second, not even long enough for Eijirou to piece his thoughts together and return the embrace, and then Katsuki was at the door, placing his hand on the cool brass knob.

Unable to think of anything else to say, Katsuki turned the knob and opened the door. Just before he could step back outside, though, Eijirou spoke up.

“Hey,” he called softly. When Katsuki turned back, his eyes were trained right on him. “Um… if you ever need anything, I’m… I’m here, okay? I mean, I know you probably don’t really wanna come back but just in case. I’m here.”

Katsuki’s jaw flexed, his nostrils twitching just a bit. “Thanks,” he said.

“No worries,” murmured Eijirou.

With but another nod, Katsuki stepped through the threshold and gently pulled the door shut behind him. As soon as it was closed Eijirou let out a breath and moved to the coffee table, scrambling through the scattered mail and things he was in the midst of cleaning up for his phone. He needed to call Mina— now.

Chapter Text

{Past}

Everywhere they went was buzzing with the news--All Might was injured. All Might was injured, but he had almost single-handedly taken out the majority of the grunt villains in the place as well as their leader, someone the media wasn’t yet disclosing the name of, who’d been the one to inflict the wound. By the end of the week the doctor who’d been attending to All Might in the hospital agreed to an interview with the news.

“He should make a full recovery,” she said with a smile. “The wound was much worse than it looked and he’ll surely have a scar, but the All Might you all know and love will be back on the streets fighting villains in just a few weeks’ time.”

Kirishima kept his lips pressed tightly shut when he noticed her glance away from the interviewer halfway through her sentence. His eyes skipped over to Bakugou, but he hadn’t seemed to notice.

Must’ve been imagining things…

Just over another week after that, Aizawa gave Bakugou the news that a new foster family nearby had agreed to take him in. It was only a little farther in the opposite direction from the school and Kirishima’s, but not far enough that he’d be forced to transfer.

“Plus side is they only have one other foster kid,” he said when he was telling Kirishima. “So I don’t have to deal with a bunch of rowdy children. Guess the kid’s only like five, but I’ll take one kid over seven any damn day.”

Kirishima had just smiled, and a few days later he was helping Bakugou move into the new house. It was relatively small--big enough only for the couple and the two of them, but it was a recent build and just a few blocks from a nice, crystal clear lake. Bakugou even got his own room (though it was the smaller of the two, something he didn’t bother to hide his mild irritation about when he was alone with Kirishima). The couple seemed nice enough, though they spoke to Bakugou stiffly which gave away their uneasiness about him, and they accepted Kirishima.

Of course, it didn’t matter much how Bakugou wanted to keep his room organized or that he hardly had any clothes to stock the closet with. Most of his things were still at Kirishima’s, occupying his closet, and he intended to keep it that way.

“I don’t care how strict they might be, I’m still staying with you when those shitty parents of yours aren’t around,” he’d said.

“You sure? They seem pretty nice… maybe you can build a good relationship with them.”

Naturally, Bakugou scoffed. “Fuck that. Parents suck.”

That was all Kirishima needed to hear. Bakugou had announced casually to his new foster parents his second day living with them that he was going to Kirishima’s to study and that he’d call later (to tell them he was spending the night, it turned out) before they stepped off of the front porch in sync and turned the corner in the direction of Kirishima’s, only a twenty minute walk.

Kirishima found himself walking with a grin pointed slightly upward toward the sky, at the wispy white clouds floating by, changing shape. Things were looking up—finally. The League was gone. Bakugou had moved into a new house, and better yet, he was finally able to come back home with him. Kirishima refused to let himself think about anything else, and merely enjoyed the way the setting sun was fading the bright blue sky into a gentle yellow toward the western horizon.

Kirishima was so caught up in his thoughts that it didn’t register when something bumped into his left hand. It was only when there was the faint click of Bakugou’s tongue and a warm, mildly rough hand was grabbing his that his eyes cast back toward the other, widened in surprise.

“What…?” he mumbled.

Bakugou didn’t meet his gaze, but his fingers adamantly pushed their way between Kirishima’s. “You like me, right?” he said in somewhat of a grumble.

Kirishima’s heart jumped. “Uhm… I mean…” He swallowed. “Yeah, but—“

“Now that all this shit’s settled I figured out all these dumb… feelings of my own or whatever,” he cut in, hand tightening.

Kirishima could only blink at him a few times. Their pace had slowed greatly since Bakugou took his hand, but their steps were in sync now, Kirishima realized as he glanced downward.

“Are you sure?” he murmured, hoping like hell his heart wouldn’t decide to jump right out of his chest and land on the sidewalk.

Bakugou’s eyes finally cut in his direction; despite his rough tone of voice they were calm. Easy. It was strange but… not unsettling. “If I wasn’t I wouldn’t be holding your shitty hand!” he said, and then looked away again.

“Okay…” Kirishima mumbled the word, dumbfounded.

“...don’t be weird about it. Figured you’d be fine with it. Unless you changed your mind and—“

Kirishima’s reaction was completely instinctual—his fingers tightened around Bakugou’s hand. “Nope,” he said quickly as his lips were spreading into a smile he couldn’t help.

As Bakugou’s eyes lifted back up to Kirishima, his first reaction was to scoff and call him an idiot, but the damn light in those eyes as that smile consumed his entire being, it seemed, stopped him in his tracks. His heart, too, seemed to be hammering faster than humanly possible against his ribs, but Kirishima’s hand was too soft, too sturdy to make him even think about letting go.

Of course Kirishima was okay with it—with holding hands with him. It was Bakugou, after all.

~✵~

“I’m so glad you’re finally coming home,” Kirishima was saying through his elation as he worked at unlocking the front door. His hand faltered, however, when he realized what he’d said. “Er… back to my house, that is…” he mumbled.

Bakugou let out a light huff, a small smirk of his own playing at the corners of his lips, his eyes.

“‘Bout fucking time. Shittyzawa’s fine but I’d rather be here.”

Kirishima flashed him the smile that had never really faded before the two stepped into the house together. It remained virtually unchanged, though was maybe slightly messier than Bakugou remembered it. It still smelled the same, though; was still a million times more inviting and safe-feeling than any foster home he’d ever been in. Somehow it really did feel like he was coming home after weeks away…

“Well then, welcome back,” Kirishima said cheerfully as he moved into the house. “The fridge is stocked up again and I know I need to get some more cleaning done. ‘S been kinda hard without your help and with everything going on, but I’m sure I can get it done in just a few minutes and then we can do whatever…” He wandered toward the living room as he spoke. “I bought a new game the other day, figured we might wanna try it. It’s only single player but ya know, we can switch off. And if you feel like studying we can do that too. I’d uh… say we could go out and spar a little bit but didn’t Aizawa say to keep a low profile for a while? Our alley is pretty secluded but we don’t wanna draw more attention to ourselves, just in case, so for now that’s probably out of the question, so we could just get on YouTube and look for--”

“Eijirou,” Bakugou cut in, stepping up toward him as he cut off the other’s almost mindless, directionless babble.

Kirishima stopped short, an apologetic smile beginning to form across his face. That was, until he saw the serious, more hardened look in Bakugou’s eyes, and then it faded to his brows knitting together in a concerned frown.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Bakugou mumbled, glancing away and then back. If he was going to do this-- say this--he needed to be serious about it. None of that baby bullshit. Out with it , he thought. “I wanna kiss you.”

Like the clueless idiot he sometimes was, Kirishima merely stared at him like he didn’t understand.

“I already know I… I like you or whatever,” Bakugou went on, unable to stand the silence. “But I wasn’t expecting that shit last time so I wanna know how it feels or whatever. I get it  if you don’t want to because I know I suck ass at it, but I don’t remember it well enough, and--”

“Katsuki.” This time it was Kirishima’s turn to cut him off. The sound of that name still managed to send a jolt through him, but this time it wasn’t… painful . It was soft. Pleasant. Thrilling and exciting more than angering the way it used to be, but only because it was Kirishima saying it. “You don’t have to make excuses,” Kirishima told him, his shoulders visibly lowering as he relaxed. “I’m… I’m okay with it.”

“What?!” Bakugou spat in instant defense. “I wasn’t making excuses, idiot, I was--”

“Katsuki.” Kirishima said the name more firmly this time, outwardly calm despite the hurricane of nerves suddenly rushing through him. By then he was already beginning to close the distance, slowly, giving Bakugou time in case he wanted to back out.

But he didn’t. He really, really didn’t. Though he was stiff and seemingly couldn’t remember how to relax his muscles and unclench his joints, he let Kirishima inch closer and closer until he could feel the warmth of his breath brushing delicately on his face. There was another beat of silence, and then their lips brushed together, ever so delicately in what Bakugou would later realize was hardly a kiss , but what they’d both remember as a moment of their hearts seeming to stutter in sync with one another, the lightest of goosebumps raising across their scalps.

“ Shit… ” Bakugou found himself breathing out. All at once his muscles seemed to ease up and his hands lifted, finding their way to Kirishima’s shoulders.

“You okay?” Kirishima murmured.

“Again,” was Bakugou’s response.

Kirishima didn’t need to hear any more to comply. His hands found Bakugou’s waist easily, their bodies shifting ever closer until their torsos very nearly pressed together.

A soft, breathy whimper came from Kirishima’s throat when their lips found each other again, and his eyes fell closed upon instinct. Bakugou’s arms circled themselves around the other’s shoulders, a hand sliding up his neck to the back of his head to pull him more firmly against his mouth.

“Whoa…” Kirishima breathed out when they broke apart just slightly again.

“ More.” Bakugou didn’t care if he sounded like he was begging. Didn’t care that he didn’t sound much like himself. This moment, in this small, warm bubble with Kirishima was all he needed, all he wanted . The world could disappear, go down in flames for all he cared, as long as he could remain here, undisturbed.

As they went they pressed closer, closer , until they couldn’t possibly do so any more without it being uncomfortable.

To Kirishima the feeling of Bakugou’s hand tangled in his hair was like a freaking dream and something that grounded him more than he could ever hope to describe. It was like Bakugou was the one holding him to the ground, not gravity. Like Bakugou was the very push and pull of breath in his body.

It wasn’t perfect—Kirishima would be the first to admit that. Their teeth got in the way a few times, their noses bumping awkwardly, and they had a hard time finding a good moment for a breath. None of that stopped them. While they never ventured past the lips, eventually finding a rhythmic movement against one another, soft and affectionate, back and forth like a calm tide, it felt like some sort of magic.

“Don’t let go of me,” Bakugou murmured, barely a whisper, after a while. His arms were holding the other so tight they were beginning to ache just a bit.

“Never,” Kirishima breathed back, his own hold on the other tightening, too, when their lips met again.

Time seemed a foreign concept to them for a while; neither of them knew just how long had passed when they finally did break apart. To both of their surprise, Bakugou was the one to pull back, even retract his arms from around Kirishima.

“ Fuck ,” he hissed, a hand coming up to his face as he pulled himself out of Kirishima’s arms, swiveling around and walking—almost stumbling—a few steps away.

Kirishima stood in place a second, arms still extended where Bakugou had just been, stunned. His lashes fluttered as Bakugou smeared his hand across his face, shaking his head as if to try and regain composure.

“Katsuki, wh—“

“Nothing,” Bakugou cut in. “Gimme… a sec.”

“Did I do something wrong? Did I… take it too f—“

“It isn’t you, Hair for Brains.” Bakugou’s voice was unmistakably thick, prompting Kirishima to take a tentative step towards him. “I mean, it is you, but you didn’t do anything wrong,” he went on, swiping his hand over his face again but making no move to turn around.

“Then tell me what’s wrong,” Kirishima murmured, gently resting a hand upon Bakugou’s shoulder. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me…”

“It’s nothing ,” Bakugou insisted, but he didn’t shrug Kirishima’s hand off as expected.

“C’mon, Katsuki,” Kirishima coaxed. “You know you can talk to me—especially now. I feel like I did something wrong here, and I can’t read your mind.”

“I just told you it isn’t you,” Bakugou grumbled. He finally turned back a bit, though, and despite his hands swiping at his face he couldn’t erase the glassiness from the moisture in his eyes, nor the redness around their edges. “You didn’t do anything wrong, idiot. You—you fuckin’ did shit right , and that’s the whole problem.”

Kirishima’s brows knitted together. “I don’t… get it.”

Bakugou huffed. “You’re the only damn one who’s ever fucking… cared . The only one who fucking sees me. And I don’t know how the fuck to handle that. I’m not used to it. So fuckin’ forgive me for freaking out like a damn baby.” Frustratedly, he swiped at his eyes again, turning away from Kirishima once more to hide his tears.

“Hey, hey,” Kirishima murmured, moving around him to place both hands on his shoulders. “S’okay, man, you don’t have to be sorry or anything, all right? Actually, I’m sorry I didn’t get it.”

“Shut up,” Bakugou grumbled, though he was already beginning to lean toward the other, to find a place to hide his face if nothing else.

Naturally, Kirishima encircled his arms around the other, holding—almost cradling—Bakugou against his chest, tucking his head down as Bakugou pressed his face into Kirishima’s neck. He clung to Kirishima tightly, arms around his waist tighter than he could ever remember holding onto someone before.

In that moment, the small bubble of space the two of them existed in within that moment, seemingly a separate entity from the world, even Kirishima found himself beginning to blink back tears. Bakugou had been… neglected , really. Abandoned and tossed around like an object rather than a human being—a person . The foster system had essentially been playing hot potato with him for the majority of his life because people were too wrapped up in their ideals and irrational fear. They were too damn busy with their assumptions to see the person behind the Quirk.

And as a result, he’d… never really been loved . Not since he was a baby, probably, before he even really knew what love was . It only made sense for him to react this way, when Kirishima was doing his best to convey the way he felt for Bakugou through their touch, their kiss. He loved Bakugou—he did, and though he couldn’t say for sure in what way, there was no denying he was the first one in a long, long time to prove just how much he cared for this fiery, abrasive, hot-headed, absolutely beautiful human being.

It left a bittersweet taste that remained with him for the rest of the night.

And for that night they laid the way they normally did (before the League stuff happened, that was)—under two separate blankets pulled up to their waists, backs pressed together with the only thing separating them neing the thin cotton of their t-shirts.

~✵~

The next couple of months, while they were majorly experimental, truly felt like a light at the end of the tunnel for the both of them, after the incident with the League and being separated so much from one another. And after what happened that night in Kirishima’s living room, they found themselves gravitating towards one another even more than they used to, even if most of the time they didn’t realize it was happening until they were resting together in one way or another.

It was gradual at first, the way they seemed to draw closer to each other without realizing it, almost like they were magnets, or connected by some invisible, ever-tightening string. It wasn’t until they were so close that their elbows were constantly bumping as they were playing a game together on Kirishima’s couch that either of them said anything about it.

Kirishima had let loose a light laugh when they bumped a bit harder than usual and glanced down, subconsciously pressing the pause button.

“What?” Bakugou grumbled.

“Has it always been like this?” asked Kirishima, nodding toward where their bodies rested up against each other near the center of the sofa, leaving the rest of it completely open though there was plenty of room.

“I… don’t know,” Bakugou said, stiffening slightly. “Got a problem with it?”

“Nah, not at all,” Kirishima said with a smile.

It wasn’t to say things were entirely easy between them, what with physical contact or anything they hadn’t really tried before. As they sat through a movie one Saturday morning, Kirishima was unable to pay attention to the plot because he was so distracted by Bakugou --his closeness, his warmth, and his hand resting on his knee. He almost couldn’t fathom just how much he wanted to reach over and take that hand for his own, push his fingers into the spaces between Bakugou’s.

Turned out he wasn’t as good at masking his desires as he thought, because Bakugou’s hand turned, palm facing upward, and Kirishima’s eyes lifted to his face to find him giving him a somewhat incredulous (albeit amused) stare.

“If you wanna hold my hand just do it already,” he grumbled, moving said hand so it rested halfway on Kirishima’s leg, too.

“Are… you sure?”

Bakugou clicked his tongue and reached over, seizing Kirishima’s hand with more force than intended. Kirishima only managed a smile. Their fingers wove together loosely before they came to rest in the same spot Bakugou’s had previously been.

And after that neither of them could focus on the movie.

That little incident gave Kirishima just enough courage he needed to reach out more often, asking to hold Bakugou’s hand on their walks to and from school. When his parents came back again and Bakugou had to go back to his foster home, he’d ask for a hug goodbye. Eventually it got to the point where neither of them needed to ask, they’d just do it.

They kept further away from each other at school, however, and refrained from holding hands or doing anything that might raise suspicion of them being closer than perceived. The last thing they needed was to be shut out even more from the rest of their peers for being different , more so than they already were.

In their decision to keep what was happening between them quiet, away from the rest of the world, it felt once again as though there was an elephant wedged in the narrow space between them that they avoided acknowledging. Whether it was out of fear of the awkwardness or possibly ruining what they had going now was unknown.

So they ignored it.

Ignored it, but grew closer at the same time.

It was a couple of weeks , surprisingly enough, after that kiss in the living room before it would happen again—partially because of Kirishima’s parents’ return home, and partially because both of them (Bakugou especially) were too nervous to initiate it again.

Yet oddly enough, what pushed them to try it again just so happened to be their friends ( Kirishima’s friends, as Bakugou still thought of them as because he still had trouble fully trusting them) questioning them at school.

“Ya know, you two seem awful close lately,” Ashido was the one to say at lunch, a light smirk on her plump pink lips.

“What?” Kirishima blurted too quickly. “What do you mean?”

“I dunno,” she said, gesturing in their direction with her chopsticks. “You just seem to go everywhere together. Like, more than normal.”

“And you sit so close you’re practically in each others’ laps,” Kaminari interjected around a mouthful of sandwich.

“Plus, don’t you guys always hang out at Kirishima’s together? Like, always ?” Sero asked as Bakugou and Kirishima awkwardly attempted to put some space between each other in their booth, trying but failing to be subtle about it.

“Is there something we should know?” Ashido asked slyly, but teasingly.

“Shut your faces, losers,” Bakugou muttered.

“We’re best friends,” Kirishima said with a shrug, though he kept his eyes down at his half-eaten ramen. “Is it so bad that we’re close?”

It was easy to tell the others wanted to prod, but they didn’t. Even Kaminari shrugged (unconvinced) before stuffing the last quarter of his sandwich in.

“Whatever you say,” Ashido practically giggled.

~✵~

“...are we really being that obvious?” Kirishima half-whispered while they strolled their way back to his place for the first time in a couple of weeks because his parents had left again—to visit his grandparents, supposedly, but saying he couldn’t go because he had school.

“Probably,” Bakugou hissed back, skidding the sole of his shoe across the sidewalk. “Fuck.”

“...feels weird though, not holding your hand while we walk. Guess I got used to it.”

With a stiff jaw Bakugou glanced behind them. Seeing there was no one around he was the one to slip his hand into Kirishima’s, who automatically stepped in such a way that brought him closer to the other with a simper.

“Speaking of…” he said a few blocks later. “We um… haven’t…” He paused, cleared his throat and hoped his mind was playing tricks on him and that his hand wasn’t beginning to sweat in Bakugou’s. “We haven’t, er, kissed… since before my parents got back…”

“Figured you didn’t want to,” Bakugou said, eyes pointed at the ground.

“Why not?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know, Shitty Hair. You were always asking if you could hold my hand or hug me or whatever, so I thought if you wanted to kiss me you’d ask to do that too!” By nature, Bakugou’s volume rose in conjunction with his frustration.

“Hey, you could ask me too, y’know,” Kirishima grumbled. “Stuff like this is s’posed to go both ways.”

“Fine, then lemme kiss you right now!”

Kirishima stopped in his tracks, stunned. “What?”

Once again Bakugou glanced around, this time so quickly that Kirishima almost missed it before he was being pulled by the hand off of the sidewalk and into a small patch of grass between two neighboring buildings with a low-hanging ash tree planted in its center. Kirishima’s mind couldn’t keep up with what the hell was happening until his back was pressed up against the rough bark of the trunk, a strong pair of hands were pinning him against it, and a familiar set of dampened lips were molding roughly into his own. A surprised grunt escaped his throat.

“...whoa,” he mumbled, slightly dizzied by the sudden kiss.

“How’s that?” Bakugou asked with a sly smirk.

“Good,” Kirishima managed. “A little too rough… but still good. I… think.”

“You think ?”

“I don’t know! I wasn’t expecting it!”

Bakugou yanked his hands back with a huff.

“But—I wanna do it more,” Kirishima said quickly. He glanced up. “Just not here.”

“Then let’s fucking go, Shitty Hair!”

A laugh burst from Kirishima’s chest. He needed no further encouragement to grab Bakugou by the hand once more and pull him back onto the sidewalk, his feet picking up the pace into a steady run all the way home.

Bakugou was pretty damn sure he never wanted to stop kissing Kirishima, even at first when it was messy and even a little sloppy because they were so inexperienced. Still, it felt good . His center seemed to swell with warmth. He kept inching closer and closer, holding tighter and tighter, never, ever wanting to let go.

For once it felt like a blessing that Kirishima’s parents were always gone. It gave them space and privacy to explore each other, to figure each other out in affectionate, almost intimate ways, to establish boundaries.

Bakugou wouldn’t forget the first night Kirishima fell asleep pressed up against him. They’d been in the middle of studying for an upcoming exam with books and things in their laps when he’d leaned over, mid-yawn, and made a makeshift pillow out of Bakugou’s shoulder.

“Don’t think I’ve ever been more bored in my life,” he mumbled, reaching up to rub an eye.

It was typical of Bakugou’s heart to stutter at the proximity, but this was… different , and damn was he afraid Kirishima could hear the pounding in his chest.

“‘M not a fuckin’ bed,” he muttered half-heartedly.

“Nah? You’re pretty comfy though. ‘N warm,” Kirishima said, the end of his sentence fading into a yawn.

Bakugou clicked his tongue. “Whatever.”

The light laugh that rumbled from Kirishima’s chest made Bakugou’s heart jump again, and while he couldn’t clearly see the other’s face at the angle it was at he was fairly certain his eyes were already closed. He wasn’t entirely unconvinced that someday soon Kirishima would cause him to go into cardiac arrest.

Sure enough it was only a few moments later, after Bakugou--remaining stiff--attempted to go back to reading when he noticed the other’s breath to have deepened, his limbs gone slack and the weight of him relying on Bakugou’s body to keep him from toppling over. 

“Idiot,” Bakugou murmured to himself. Still, he collected their books and stacked them on the empty space to his left, flipped Kirishima’s notebook closed and gently tugged the pencil from his limp hand, placing them both with the books, and then did his best to cover the both of them with a nearby throw blanket without disturbing the sleeping dork on his shoulder.

It was a good hour before Bakugou managed to fall asleep himself, what with the closeness and blatant vulnerability of Kirishima causing his stomach to feel infested with stupid butterflies, but when his eyes finally did fall shut, it was one of the most restful night’s sleep he ever remembered having.

~✵~

“Katsuki? So… there’s kinda somethin’ I’ve been wanting to ask you.”

“Hm?” Bakugou asked, preoccupied with his homework, the end of his pencil pushed into his lower lip as he scrutinized the paper in front of him, working out the math problem in his head.

The two were situated at Kirishima’s dining table just a couple weeks later, taking to written studies rather than practical ones while the weather was trying to make up its mind on whether it was still winter or not. Kirishima was finding it hard to focus. He’d been planning on bringing this up since that morning, and it’d been on his mind all day.

“Can we uh… take a break?”

Bakugou glanced up, a brow raised. “That’s it?” he muttered. “You could’ve just said that.”

“No!” Kirishima backpedaled quickly. “That’s--that’s not what I wanted to ask. I was just hoping we could take a break so I can… ask you the, er, thing I actually want to ask you.” It took all of his willpower not to slam his head into the table after that. Bakugou was his best friend , and more like family than anyone he’d ever known in his entire life. Not only that, in the past few months since the League was taken down and thrown in prison the two had been closer than ever, in more ways than either of them could’ve even imagined when they first met, or even a mere year ago. He should not be so nervous to ask a question he was pretty sure he already knew the answer to.

“Yeah, I’m thirsty anyway,” Bakugou said, tossing his pencil down and putting the math problem out of his mind for the moment.

The two of them wandered into the kitchen together. Bakugou pulled out two sports drink and tossed one to Kirishima before he twisted his open and took a swig. Kirishima merely fiddled with his, leaning his back up against the nearest counter.

“So, what is it?” Bakugou asked, moving in to do the same. He came closer than anyone who were just best friends would (...as if best friends did things like kissed a lot, and held hands, and fell asleep together even if they ended up far apart by the time they woke up, or gave each other massages, and had long talks that extended further into the night than they should’ve). He knew the answer. He just had to be a man and ask already.

“Erm… well, I guess I know it’s kinda silly to ask this since it’s basically already a thing, but we haven’t actually talked about it yet and I feel like it’s only right to ask,” Kirishima said, his voice steadier than even he expected.

“Out with it already, Shitty Hair.” But Bakugou, too, had averted his eyes toward the floor, wrapping his hands around the cool bottle.

“Will you… uh, will you be my boyfriend?” Kirishima blurted.

There was a pause of complete silence, and then Bakugou snorted before he started to laugh, throwing his head back. Kirishima practically jumped out of his skin at the sudden sound, taking a slight step away from him while his features distorted into a frown.

“What?” he asked. “Was that not what you expected? Or did I--”

“No, dumbass,” Bakugou managed. “ Fuck.”

“Then what?!”

Bakugou swiped the heel of his hand across an eye, righting himself and placing his drink on the counter. “‘S just… life is fucking weird , y’know?”

Kirishima’s eyes widened at the familiarity of the way he said that--like he’d picked it up from Kirishima himself.

“I don’t know what the fuck I did to get so lucky, and I sure as fuck don’t know why you of all people like me so much, especially enough to stutter out a question like that.”

Kirishima shook his head just slightly, the confusion twisting his frown a bit. “I don’t… get it.”

“Whatever. You don’t have to.” Bakugou was grinning--it was more of a devious smirk than a grin , but Kirishima would take it--as he reached for the other’s hand. “Yeah, I wanna be your fucking boyfriend.”

Kirishima had only a split second to process those words before Bakugou was kissing him, rough and soft at the same time, very much like Bakugou himself.

~✵~

The remainder of their second year of high school would end up being some of the brightest, happiest days they could remember of their teenage years. Things went on as relatively normal as they had before they made things official and if anything had changed, it was how much more they supported each other. Despite the blossom of their relationship, they didn’t go any easier on each other when they sparred and in fact pushed each other all the harder, wanting nothing more than for the other to succeed.

And when they ended up with scrapes and bruises or other injuries, they were always there to check up, make sure the other was okay and patch each other up if need be. More than that, they were there to give feedback and encouragement, to let each other know when they were doing well (even if it was more on the aggressive side on Bakugou’s part).

And while they kept the romantic level of their relationship a secret from anyone else--especially Ashido, Kaminari, Sero, and the rest of their class--they still managed to find ways to sneak away and be alone with each other. At one instance Bakugou pointed out that they weren’t exactly idiots (in spite of how much he said they were) and they would probably figure it out eventually, if they hadn’t already, but Kirishima had swallowed up the sentence with a smiling kiss and told him not to worry about it.

So Bakugou brushed that thought aside and shamelessly traded clothes with Kirishima, continued to sneak around, and really only bothered to ‘hide’ it when they were in the presence of others.

Not a single moment went by when either of them felt uneasy or awkward about it.

“Y’know what it kinda feels like?” Kirishima murmured after a day of sparring on a Sunday evening. The two were situated on his bed, Bakugou in front of Kirishima, slightly hunched over. Kirishima was kneading his fingers around Bakugou’s shoulders, the joints achy from the impact of his blasts—especially those produced by his gauntlets.

“What what feels like?” Bakugou hummed, eyes closed. He would never admit it, but Kirishima’s strong fingers rubbing gentle but firm circles into his bare skin felt freaking great , even if his shoulders did hurt. He was almost in some sort of trance—in his happy place, dare he call it such a thing.

“This. Us. Being together and stuff.”

Bakugou lazily waved a hand, signaling for him to elaborate.

“It feels complete, y’know? I don’t think I really realized it before but it was like something was missing before, and now it’s not. Especially ‘cause doing stuff like this has never really felt weird. I kept expecting it to but it never did, and before I thought it was ‘cause I was already so comfortable with you as my best friend, but I’m startin’ to think it’s because we were s’posed to be like this a long time ago. Make sense?”

“Hmm…” Bakugou sat up a little. “Like, dating and shit?”

“Yeah. Well, I feel more strongly about it than just… dating , but yeah.”

Bakugou hmph ed a laugh. “You’re an idiot.”

“Aw, shaddup,” Kirishima teased. “Don’t make me harden my fingers.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Kirishima didn’t answer that, but Bakugou was right--he wouldn’t.

Only a moment or so later Bakugou signaled for him to stop and then moved down the bed enough so he could lay back and use Kirishima’s lap as a pillow. Sure enough, Kirishima’s face was brightened in a small smile when his eyes flicked up to see it, and he found that while he was generally pretty good at keeping control on himself and his impulses, this one was too strong to resist. He reached up, tugging the other down by the collar of his muscle shirt, and then pulled his head down once he could reach it to kiss him, tilting his chin upwards to meet him.

For once, it was Bakugou who’s lips spread into a smile at the tail end of the kiss, his eyes remaining closed for a few long seconds once they parted.

“You feelin’ okay?” Kirishima teased.

“Hmph… shut up and let me be happy.”

“Hey, ‘course I want you to be happy.”

“Then shut up .” Bakugou’s eyes peeked open; he was glad to see Kirishima still only inches away from him, his loose, lightly faded red hair having fallen over his shoulders and creating a red curtain around his face. 

Kirishima noticed the change in his face immediately, especially when that damn beautiful smile started to fade. His went right along with it, and he sat up just a little more.

“What?” he whispered.

Bakugou didn’t answer for a moment; his eyes never once moved away from Kirishima’s face, either, nor did he even bother to blink. His only movement was his hand, gently brushing through a section of Kirishima’s hair to tuck it back behind his ear, only to slide to his neck and rest there, warm and rough.

“Katsu--”

“Would it be weird as fuck or too soon to tell you I love you right now?”

Kirishima almost, almost wanted to freaking pinch himself, to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, especially because his dreams were always so vivid just the way this felt, and especially because he’d dreamt about this before--about Bakugou telling him that, even if it wasn’t in those exact words.

But the warmth of that steady hand on his neck and the steady rhythm of Bakugou’s breathing told him it was real, very real.

And yet instead of trying to find the words to answer him, to express just how abso-freaking-lutely okay that was and that hell no, it was not too soon at all , he was forced to blink to keep sudden tears at bay, from condensing and dripping right onto Bakugou’s face.

Bakugou’s face that contorted into a frown the second he made sense of the extra shininess in Kirishima’s eyes being moisture, being tears .

“You could just say it is,” Bakugou murmured. “You don’t have to cry about it.”

A laugh bubbled up in Kirishima’s chest, and in a swift breath he let it out. “Nah,” he said, somewhat reluctantly lifting a hand to swipe at his eyes before placing it gently back on the other’s cheek. The tears didn’t stop, but he didn’t stop talking either. “No, ‘s not weird or too soon or anything like that, Katsuki.”

“Then what’s with the waterworks?” Bakugou huffed, eyes cutting away for a second, though he couldn’t keep them away for too long.

How could Kirishima explain this, though? How could he possibly put into words just how incredible and humbled and… and truly indescribable it was to be told he was loved by Katsuki , who’d been thrown into the foster system at four years old because his parents didn’t want him, who’d been bullied and excluded and shunned for the vast majority of his life? By someone who kept any emotion he thought conveyed weakness behind a sealed door, and had a near impossible time trying to open up to anyone , even Kirishima, even now? By the one person Kirishima trusted and felt that very same way toward?

After wiping his eyes a second time, Bakugou’s face came back into focus. As it did the realization hit him, and he felt silly for not figuring it out sooner. It was simple. Despite their messy, complicated lives, this was simple, so simple, and one of the truest things Kirishima knew he’d ever said in his life.

“It’s because I love you, too, Katsuki.”

Chapter Text

{Past}

If there was one thing Bakugou had learned during his upbringing, it was that good things never lasted. Ever.

For once he wasn’t anticipating the storm, wasn’t awake at night thinking and over-thinking everything around him and questioning when things were going to get flushed down the shitter like they always did. For once he let himself relax. Let himself live and, for the first time, love . Bakugou let himself get caught up in the elation and bliss he experienced whenever he was with Kirishima, let himself get tangled in how damn happy that idiot made him.

He should’ve known better.

School was on break when it started. It turned out that All Might’s injury from the raid that took out the League of Villains was much more serious than his doctor let on all those months ago, because it took a toll on his body and his Quirk. Bakugou wouldn’t forget the heavy, sinking feeling that overcame him when he saw it—the news coverage of the fight that revealed something no one was expecting.

It was All Might, but not, standing in the midst of rubble from the fight that’d taken out several surrounding buildings. Helicopters beat overhead; fires and the flashing red and blue of countless police vehicles illuminated the scene. Reports said he was the one to take down a prison-escaped villain who’d been on the run from Europe for weeks, and it turned out to be his final stand.

His clothes were shredded, his hair a complete mess of blond strands around his face. His posture was slumped, though his feet remained planted firmly on the ground, but his head was down, his eyes concealed by shadows and hair.

The most striking thing of all, the thing that made him very nearly unrecognizable, was how… thin he suddenly was. How small. All Might was known to be tall and almost unnaturally muscular, but this… was little more than a skeleton. With what remained of his costume whipping in the wind the camera managed to pick up what could only be a scar from a wound that’d been deep on his left side. There was no trace of his trademark smile.

Reports and rumors went wild around the media that night. Eventually Kirishima was the one to insist to turn the TV off and ignore the internet for the rest of the night.

“I’m sure there’ll be an explanation tomorrow,” he murmured, trying to comfort Bakugou by keeping a firm hold on his hand.

That grip was the only thing that kept Bakugou from losing it that night, though he wasn’t able to shut his mind off long enough to fall asleep that night, either.

Sure enough, All Might himself—this new skeleton version of All Might, that was—was on the news for an interview the next evening.

“ I’ve been losing my grip on my Quirk for a few years now,” he said. “And a few months back in the battle with the League of Villains, as many of you remember, I was injured, which resulted in my ability slipping away even further. I don’t regret the battle, nor do I regret this one that revealed the truth to the world. Let this be a reminder that Quirks may not be all-powerful, and not to rely on them more than you would wits and basic strength. What makes a great hero isn’t their Quirk but their courage and determination. To my students—do not let this knew knowledge of me discourage you but strengthen your resolve to be amazing heroes one day, and know that even like this I will always be on the sidelines cheering you on. That’ll be all.”

With that he gave a halfhearted wave and walked out of frame, ignoring the bubbling up of shouts and pleas for further questions. The screen clipped back to the anchor in the studio, and then the television shut off once again.

Bakugou hadn’t noticed the tears rolling down his cheeks until a familiar hand was brushing them away. His eyes focused in on Kirishima who looked on the verge of tears himself. Bakugou’s teeth slammed shut and he jerked his head away, turning away.

“Katsuki,” Kirishima murmured.

“Don’t you dare say it, Eijirou,” Bakugou gritted out.

“But it’s not your—“

“Bullshit!” Bakugou boomed. Angrily he swiped the tears away, but it was useless as they were immediately replaced with new ones. “If it weren’t for me that damned League wouldn’t have come together in the name of the shitty Bomber! They wouldn’t have sent me that shit, got you tied up in all of it too, and All Might wouldn’t have gone and gotten himself hurt! Almost killed! And you saw what that shit did to him!” He flung his arm in the direction of the television.

“You don’t know that, man.” Kirishima’s voice took on a pleading edge. “They may have come together even without you being around. Hell, they probably would’ve! You can’t blame—“

“And you don’t know that ,” Bakugou countered. “How is it any damn coincidence that those assholes show up right after I get into UA? Right after the damn Sports Festival during year one?” By then tears were freely cascading down Bakugou’s cheeks but he did nothing to stop them. “They were probably waiting for this.” And though his voice broke, he forced himself to keep going. “Waiting for someone to come along and replace him so they could come together and cause a bunch of shit. I show up and bam …” He sniffled, frustratedly wiping at his nose, his cheeks, unable to talk through the thickness of his throat anymore.

Kirishima’s chest ached, seeing Bakugou’s reddened eyes, his tears. He lifted a hand, hesitated, and then reached out, gently taking the other by the shoulder and tugging him toward himself. Bakugou leaned in willingly, his eyes squeezing shut before he pressed his face into Kirishima’s shoulder—his safe space, his home.

All Kirishima could do was hold him as words eluded him, gently rocking him from side to side and keeping his cheek pressed against the top of his head. With every slight gasp of Bakugou’s as he worked to regain composure Kirishima felt his heart squeeze painfully and held him tighter, letting him ride it out for as long as he needed.

~✵~

For the first time in his life, Bakugou did everything in his power to try and see the positive side to everything going on around him. As their short break drew to an end and they were preparing to go back for their third and final year of high school--the year that would provide the moment of truth for whether they received official heroes’ licenses or not--he forced his guilt down, down, down, refusing to let it rear its ugly head and ruin anything else. 

He’d made it this far. He was starting his third year and he hadn’t given up. He was only a few steps away from becoming a pro hero, something that he couldn’t have even dreamed about just a few years before. With the League locked up, it finally seemed like people were starting to look away from him, like they were finally getting used to his presence and that, by making it this far, he was serious about being a hero .

It wouldn’t last, and once again he should’ve seen it coming.

It was at the opening ceremonies when the Big Three--the most elite and promising students in their third year, the ones that stood above all the rest in terms of strength--was announced, just like every year. As they usually did, Bakugou and Kirishima stood in their respective places and waited, only vaguely listening as this was routine, something they’d been through twice already. There wasn’t enough curiosity in either of them to pay attention to whose names were called, even though they’d more than likely be classmates of theirs.

Not enough curiosity that was, until the last name after two others who no one was really surprised about, Todoroki Shouto and Midoriya Izuku (which Bakugou huffed quietly at), was called.

“Bakugou Katsuki.”

In that same instant as his name rang out through the gym, Bakugou felt his heart lurch forward, a searing heat surge through every one of his nerve endings. He spared the stage but a glance before his eyes sought out Kirishima, who just two rows over was staring at him, wide-eyed, in what had to be just as much disbelief and bafflement as Bakugou felt.

Bakugou didn’t know what pushed him forward, made him put one foot in front of the other and make his way up to the stage alongside Icy Hot and stupid Deku. It wasn’t until he was up there, his eyes unable to fully comprehend every face staring straight up at him while Principal Nezu went on to congratulate the three of them, that he realized no one was saying a word. No excited or curious whispers were traveling around the student body as they had with Todoroki and Midorya. There was nothing but shocked silence staring him straight in the face.

Bakugou’s first destination after the ceremony was over and they were dismissed for class was the bathroom. He beelined it right past Kirishima who was at his heels in an instant and into the closest men’s bathroom to the gym, luckily just a few steps down the hall. Once in a stall he couldn’t even be bothered to lock, he only narrowly made it before losing his breakfast right into the toilet. He heaved until there couldn’t possibly be anything left in his stomach. His throat burned as he sat up, sucking in a deep breath.

“Katsuki?” Kirishima’s voice came from just outside the stall; a quick glance told Bakugou that he was the one holding the door shut. “You okay?”

“...don’t know,” Bakugou managed, wiping an absent hand across his mouth with his eyes, stinging with tears induced by the vomiting, squeezed shut.

“Can I… come in?”

After a few swallows, trying to rid his tongue of the putrid taste, Bakugou hummed in affirmation, pulling himself to his feet and yanking the flusher downward.

The door eased open and Kirishima’s spiky red head poked into the stall, his brow ruffled in concern. “Water?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Bakugou huffed, pulling the door the rest of the way open and following the other toward the sinks. Fortunately the bathroom was otherwise empty, which means no one (except Kirishima, probably) heard him throw up—thank fuck.

Bakugou splashed cold water on his face in an attempt to erase the flush under his skin. Willingly he accepted the bottle of ice cold water Kirishima offered him and sucked down most of it before the putrid flavor sitting on his tongue was more or less gone.

“Better?” asked Kirishima.

“Little,” Bakugou sighed, running a hand through his slightly sweat-dampened hair. He wouldn’t look at himself in the mirror. Couldn’t. Instead he kept his eyes on the marble surface of the counter, his mind whirling with thoughts and panic and disbelief, a hurricane he couldn’t possibly try to keep up with…

“It’s gonna be—“

“Don’t fucking say ‘okay’. Don’t… just don’t.”

Bakugou’s harsh tone didn’t deter Kirishima from reaching for his hand, loosely threading his fingers between the other’s. Bakugou couldn’t help but let him, either, because in spite of the pounding in his head and how much he wanted to run as far away as he could, the feeling of Kirishima’s soft, big hand in his kept him grounded, slowed the winds inside of him if just a little.

“Remember what you’re here for, Katsuki,” he said; the sincerity in his tone coaxed Bakugou’s eyes to meet his and when they did, his lips spread into a gentle smile. “You’re here to be a hero. You’re here for you , and to prove that you’re strong. And man, by being part of the Big Three proves you’re strong as hell ! You’re definitely hero material, and whatever anybody is saying or thinking just because of all that other shit…” His free hand fluttered out in a random direction. “...doesn’t even matter. You know it doesn’t.”

“Yeah. I guess.”

Bakugou knew he was right, and while those eyes touched part of him he hadn’t even known existed until just a few months ago, the words didn’t sink in. Didn’t process or internalize.

His mind was completely preoccupied as they made their way to class; he felt in a daze as Kirishima bought him a granola bar from a vending machine and refilled his water bottle. Hell, the whole day went by in a blur, his mind never straying away from the events of that morning.

~✵~

Something was changing. Kirishima could feel it down to the bone, and he didn’t like it.

The past few months had been amazing , and even that was the biggest understatement of his life. Bakugou was by his side more than he wasn’t, they were so close to finally becoming pro heroes, his parents were around a little more often (he didn’t dare question why) and weren’t bothered by the fact that Bakugou was his best friend (even though they knew of his Quirk, and not even they were a stranger to The Bomber). His grades were good. His performance in practical studies were good. He had good friends and the best damn boyfriend anyone could ask for.

Good things never seemed to last, it seemed, and he couldn’t shake the feeling of something heavy sitting in his stomach.

It started with All Might’s forced retirement from the hero force, and seemed to snowball—his parents telling him they would be heading off for a month long cruise across the Atlantic Ocean, and then the announcement of Bakugou being part of the Big Three.

Kirishima’s entire being filled with pride and joy once he shook off the shock that came with the sound of Bakugou’s name ringing throughout the gymnasium. He could see just how tense Bakugou had been, standing up on that stage beside the other two, but he regretted that he was too far away to see the paling of his face, and then Bakugou was rushing off the stage and into the bathroom as soon as they were dismissed.

Since then, everything was pulling away from him, or so it seemed. Bakugou was more distant, less talkative. His parents would be out of cell phone range for weeks. The stress on Bakugou’s shoulders, from blaming himself for All Might’s retirement and being more responsible for his outward image now that he was one of the Big Three, weighed on Kirishima, too. All of it had him distracted, and as a result his grades began to suffer over the course of a few weeks, if only a little.

If Bakugou had felt as though he’d been trapped in some sort of infamous spotlight before, now it was as though there were hundreds upon him. He couldn’t keep himself away from the media—news sources and websites that kept up with aspiring heroes and UA students specifically—that had their own attention honed in on him. It was as if he was drowning under the weight of the whispers, speculation, rumors, even theories and he’d only had a second where his head broke the surface, allowing him to breathe, before all of this grabbed him by the ankles and dragged him straight down once again.

“D’you… want me to make you something to eat?” Kirishima asked one evening after they finished studying; Bakugou was merely scrolling through Netflix looking for something to watch without a hint of emotion in his demeanor, much like he’d been most of the day.

“...up to you,” he intoned.

Kirishima swallowed. “Okay…” He sat up. “Anything sound particularly appealing?”

Bakugou lifted a shoulder in a lazy half-shrug. Deciding he wasn’t going to get a straight answer, Kirishima reserved himself and stood, padding quietly into the kitchen.

He wasn’t the best cook, but he’d binged enough YouTube videos during his lonely days to know how to do some neat, tasty things to instant ramen. He spent only twenty or so minutes throwing something together before he wandered back into the living room, a bowl in each hand, where Bakugou was staring straight ahead with unfocused eyes, clearly not paying attention to whatever he’d selected on Netflix. He didn’t so much as look up when Kirishima quietly offered him the food.

“Made some ramen,” Kirishima said.

“What? Oh,” Bakugou said, coming back to the world around him as he accepted the bowl.

Kirishima sunk down onto the cushion next to him. “Y’know, ‘s totally okay to feel like crap,” he began. “But keeping it all to yourself and bottling it up isn’t good for you.”

“Who says I’m bottling anything?” Bakugou grumbled. He grabbed his chopsticks and pushed the ramen around in his bowl, a clear excuse to keep his eyes down.

“C’mon, you know you don’t have to say it for me to know. How long have we known each other now? Plus we’ve spent most of our time together since we met. I know you. And if you know me, you know I can’t let you drag yourself down like this anymore.”

Bakugou stabbed his chopsticks into a piece of fried egg. “Or maybe I just know you’re nosy as fuck,” he said under his breath.

Of course, Kirishima was plenty close enough to catch every word. His own bowl sunk into his lap, eyes dropping down to it as well; he hadn’t even touched his chopsticks.

“I just wanna help,” he said quietly. “I’m your boyfriend. I’m your best friend . Things are hard, but we get through it. Always have.”

“Easy for you to say, ‘cause you’re never the one taking the blunt of all the shit,” Bakugou gritted out. “You’re not the one everyone’s fucking terrified of. Not the one who caused the greatest goddamn hero in the world to lose his power so he can’t fight anymore, and aren’t the one being blamed for it.”

Once more Kirishima looked up, but Bakugou was still busy stabbing things in his bowl, cutting the noodles, turning his meal into mush rather than eating it. His knuckles were white, wrapped around the utensils; any more pressure and they’d surely snap in half.

“Who’s blaming you?” asked Kirishima.

“A better question is who isn’t . Have you seen any fucking thing in the news? There are rumors and theories and shit everywhere! Most of them pointed directly at yours truly. ”

“Katsu—“

It only took a second for Kirishima to understand, to figure it out. Bakugou had been spending more time with his laptop while Kirishima was using books to study, or his phone, or playing a single-player game when Bakugou (a bit uncharacteristically) didn’t want to play. He hadn’t been paying too much attention to what Bakugou was doing but figured he was studying or surfing the internet… social media, maybe. But now that he put two and two together he felt like the idiot Bakugou was always half-heartedly saying he was for not figuring it out sooner so he could stop it.

“Katsuki,” he began again, softer now, “you can’t let that shit get to you, and hell, you really, really shouldn’t be seeking it out. That’s—that’s part of all of this, y’know? Part of being a hero, or an aspiring one even. People see us. We’re on TV once a year, for pete’s sake. They get… invested, and make shit up or dig to deep. It’s what the media does , but most of the time it’s all bullshit. Focusing on all the crap they say is just gonna hold you back.”

Bakugou’s hand snapped shut around the chopsticks. “That shit’s easy for someone who’s not the center of everyone’s fear and malice to say!” Bakugou growled; the chopsticks came down into the middle of his chopped up ramen. “You get the secondhand shit from it because for some reason you like me, but fuck if you know what it’s like to be the one everyone is afraid of!” With each word Bakugou’s voice rose and rose. “Stop pretending like it’s all so damn easy!”

“Katsuki, that’s not what I’m trying to do,” Kirishima attempted to reason, but it was too late. Too late. Bakugou had practically tossed the bowl onto the coffee table before lurching to his feet.

“Like hell it’s not! You just tell me all the same shit over and over without trying to figure out how the fuck I feel! You act like all the stares and rumors and whatever the fuck other shit people are saying and thinking about me can be ignored and that’ll fix it all!”

“I’m trying to help , man!” Kirishima defended, absently placing his bowl beside Bakugou’s. The other had already circled around the table, a fisted hand tangled in his hair. His eyes were reddened, his teeth gritted, his breath slightly labored from emotion and frustration. “I know it’s shitty, and you’re right, I don’t know what it’s like for you, but I do know that focusing on it so much only makes things that much harder!” As much as he hated it, Kirishima found his voice rising in volume, too.

“Shit’s already hard, Ei!” Bakugou retaliated. “It was hard from the second I got my Quirk! And now I’m out here, exposed to the whole fucking world, and for what?! I should’ve just laid low like I planned from the start. Should’ve gone to a normal fucking high school to start over and pretended I didn’t have a Quirk so I could try and live a normal fucking life, but no— you came along and screwed all that up, and now I’m a complete fuck-up. Now I’m living this shit show of a life right in the damn spotlight, and I’ve fucking had it! ”

Kirishima sat back, stunned. His breath was caught in his throat, his eyes remaining unblinking at Bakugou who, after just a second, whirled toward the door in a fit of anger. He yanked his coat out of the closet and swiped his shoes off of the floor.

“Whatever,” he muttered. “I’ll… see you later.”

Just like that, with the slam of the door, it was over quicker than it began.

~✵~

The two didn’t see each other again until the next school day, two days later. Kirishima only broke down and texted Bakugou once, just to make sure he was safe, to which Bakugou gave a vague one-word response of ‘yeah.’

As usual, the house felt empty and cold without his boyfriend by his side and Kirishima didn’t get much sleep. Over the past several months his insomnia had only seemed to be getting worse, the only antidote to it being Bakugou’s presence beside him as they slept. It didn’t help that his ears rang in the quiet, or that every time he closed his eyes he saw the image of Bakugou’s back before he slammed the door.

Space was what they needed. They spent so much time together that something like this was inevitable. All couples fought at least sometimes, and this was their first fight—of course it felt terrible.

By the time they had their next moment alone after school, Kirishima had an apology prepared.

They walked to the front entrance together as usual, not saying anything and with a wider gap between them than usual. Kirishima was expecting Bakugou to walk off as soon as they got off outside and head in the direction of his foster home, but he didn’t, and as soon as they’d walked far enough away from anyone else around, he spoke up.

“Katsuki, about the other day,” he began, reserved. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like I was brushing off your feelings and I hate that I got angry to the point of yelling, so I wanted to apologize. I’m sorry.”

Bakugou looked up, eyes narrowed. “ You’re sorry?” he asked. “When I’m the one who got pissed off and started yelling first?”

“Yeah, but I still—“

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Eijirou.” Bakugou cast his gaze forward again. “I’m the one who fucked up when you were just trying to help. So shove your own stupid apology shit up your ass and accept mine. I’m sorry.”

Kirishima cracked a smile. “S’okay, man. Things… really are hard right now. We’re both pretty stressed about it.”

“...yeah.” Bakugou’s throat bobbed with a hard swallow, his hands tucking away into his pockets. Right with them, Kirishima’s heart sunk. Usually by now they’d have locked fingers; on top of that, the one small word was weak and reserved, like he had more to say but was hesitating.

Kirishima couldn’t bring himself to ask, though. If he’d learned anything from this fight it was that he should give Bakugou space. As much as he wanted to help, to be there for him as much as possible, it would only hinder them if Bakugou felt smothered. He would let the other come to him, whenever he was ready. It’d be okay.

He hoped.

But Bakugou never really did go to him, nor was he all that receptive to Kirishima’s relatively subtle attempts to get him to open up in the following weeks. In fact it felt like the exact opposite was happening, like Bakugou was pulling further and further away from him. He was quieter. He gave quipped responses to questions. He seemed to stop trying as hard during their sparring until eventually he stopped wanting to altogether. And then, without any clear reason, he decided he wanted to spend time ‘at home’—at his foster home, not at Kirishima’s, though there was still a solid week left of his parents’ cruise.

It was a red flag, a huge one, but he refused to acknowledge it. He needs space. It’s okay. It’ll be good for me, too, Kirishima told himself.

He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t see it coming on some level. It started with a simple question after school one evening, and would end as being one of the most painful afternoons of their high school career.

“Cool if I come over for dinner?” Bakugou asked, once again walking with his hands in his pockets and deliberately keeping his eyes away from Kirishima’s.

“‘Course,” Kirishima said with a smile, and Bakugou accepted the kiss he leaned in for. In the moment, he’d mistaken it for improvement, and he didn’t let himself dwell on the fact that the air between them that afternoon was unmistakably tense—not until Bakugou opened his mouth and broke his heart.

“We gotta talk,” he murmured as he leaned his back against the wall in the kitchen while Kirishima was shuffling around for dinner ingredients.

“Okay,” he said, discarding the contents of his hands onto the counter to give Bakugou his undivided attention. “I’m all ears.”

Bakugou righted himself; he had to face Kirishima head on for this, had to look him in the eye, as hard as it was. His hands slid from his pockets, back in, and then out again while he swallowed a few times, buying time under the guise of clearing his throat.

A clean break.

“I think we should go our separate ways.”

Even to himself he sounded like he was in a tunnel. Part of him—a bigger part than he realized—couldn’t believe he was actually doing this.

Kirishima tucked his hands away in his pockets, a habit he’d long ago picked up from Bakugou. His eyes dropped, but his head bobbed in a small nod.

“I… had a feeling you were going to say that,” he managed, his voice thick despite how hard he tried to keep it steady and normal.

“I can’t drag you through the mud with me anymore,” Bakugou said. “You… were right about me looking for shit about myself on the internet. I wanted to know what people were saying and thinking about me and my Quirk. And you were right that I probably shouldn’t have sought that shit out. But I did. It’s there. And it’s not just about me, either. Your name is plastered all over it too, ‘cause they know we’re close. I can’t even fucking go into what kind of shit I found, Eijirou.” He raked a hand through his hair, exhaling in a huff. “There’s all this shit about if I deserve to be in the Big Three, if I somehow manipulated my way into it, if I have bad intentions and if I’m brainwashing everyone at this school.” Kirishima opened his mouth to counter him, but Bakugou didn’t let him. “And I know you’re gonna say it’s not true, that I shouldn’t listen to all the bullshit but Ei, it’s hard , man. Because of my Quirk and my shitty attitude on top of the shit from The damn Bomber and his stupid fucking genocide, it’s pretty clear I don’t have much of a chance of being all that successful as a hero, Big Three or not.

“But you?” He leaned against the wall again, letting his head fall back with it, his eyes closing as his face tilted up to the ceiling for just a moment, and then he met Kirishima’s bloodshot, tear-filled eyes again. Somehow he was strong enough to, for the most part, ignore the ache that settled into his chest at the sight of him. “You, Kirishima Eijirou, have so much potential it’s not even fucking funny. If we’d never met and you’d gone to UA by yourself, I guarantee you’d have my spot in the Big Three. You’d be so much more popular with the other idiots there, not to mention the general public. You’d have pros fighting over who got to take you on as an intern. I can’t let myself stand in the way of that anymore.”

Finally Kirishima’s eyelids fluttered, the buildup of tears spilling over one after the other; quickly he wiped them away, taking a slight step back and shaking his head.

“You dunno what you’re talking about, Katsuki,” he said, voice scratchy. “If it wasn’t for you I’d never have come this far. I wouldn’t be as strong as I am… wouldn’t even be a UA student. I—I’d still be that wimpy kid you met back in middle school who could do nothing but… but feel sorry for himself like a loser ‘cause he was so weak.” He had to stop, clear his throat, wipe his nose. “I know you do, but I don’t give a flying fuck what anybody thinks about me for being your friend, or your boyfriend if they knew. I don’t care what they say or what stupid rumors they come up with, and I don’t want the fame or… whatever the hell else you think breaking up with me is gonna give me if it means losing you.”

In the midst of Kirishima speaking Bakugou had grabbed the edge of the counter, holding so tightly to it his knuckles were white. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, too, but he forced himself to shake it off—shake it all off to keep his resolve in place.

“...then let me go for me,” he gritted out. “Let me go so I can stop feeling like the worst fucking person on the planet for dragging you back. And… let me get a reset. I—I gotta figure out what I need, too… and being wrapped up in…” He gestured stiffly between them. “...in this isn’t letting me do that.”

Kirishima shrunk into himself just slightly, the only thing keeping him from buckling under the weight of his fear and heartbreak being the cabinets behind him as he leaned against them. His hand paused halfway through wiping his nose again, his head bobbing loosely in a nod.

“Guess that changes things,” he managed. “I’m… sorry for smothe—“

“Don’t apologize,” Bakugou cut in. “None of this shit’s your fault, got it? It’s me . But I know apologizing to you isn’t gonna fix shit, so I just hope one day down the road you can forgive me for your own sake.”

Kirishima exhaled, the nodding of his head turning into a shake instead. “I’ll love you forever, Katsuki.”

“No you won’t.” Bakugou was already backing toward the door. He had to go, had to get out of there before his own face was a mess of shitty tears and snot; had to get out of there before the last of his resolve crumbled to dust in the fucking wind and he changed his mind.

“I will.”

“...for your sake I hope not. But I… gotta go.”

“No you don’t.”

Bakugou’s hand was already on the knob, twisting. “Bye, Ei.”

The second the door shut in Bakugou’s wake, Kirishima’s knees gave out and he sunk to the kitchen floor where he curled up, hugging his knees in a pathetic ball, crying until his tears turned to hiccups and he wanted to do nothing more than sleep.

I would’ve kissed you longer had I known it would be our last…

Chapter Text

{ Past}

Gray. The world was gray. And cold. And bleak. He knew he was being fucking dramatic, but Bakugou hadn’t realized just how much light and color Kirishima had brought to his life until he was gone. Hadn’t realized how pointless everything felt without him there, steady and strong by his side, all the time.

Regardless, he knew he had to move on, had to find a new rhythm in life by himself no matter how hard it seemed to be with all of that gray staring him in the face. During sleep seemed to be the only time he could escape it, but during his waking hours he had no choice but to push past it. He had to. Had to .

Yet it was easy, so stupidly easy to let it swallow him whole, consume him mind and body alike, while he was trudging through the rain to school or trying to study. An old sack of flour was no substitute for a true sparring partner; the cold, too-soft surface of a pillow no substitute for the presence of a warm, steady body beside him at night.

“Stop being so fucking pathetic ,” he hissed to himself in time with punches to the sack of flour, his face flushed and shiny with a layer of sweat. The weather was warming, but everything around him only seemed to grow colder. “It’s better this way.”

No matter how many times he said it to himself, over and over like his own personal mantra, there wasn’t a single cell in his body that believed it.

Naturally, the two kept their distance from one another. Bakugou ended up joining stupid Midoriya and Todoroki, among a few others, at their lunch table since, being one of the Big Three, the two of them were the only ones he ever really spoke to save for teachers and his foster family (who brushed him off more often than not anyway, too busy with their younger foster child to care about what he was doing). Kirishima remained with Ashido, Kaminari, and Sero. Though Bakugou was using every last ounce of willpower within him to keep his eyes away from that table, just a quick glance to the right, even he slipped up sometimes. He only let himself look for a second, but every time he did Kirishima looked… neutral, almost. There was no evident sign of those tears and the absolutely broken expression he had right before Bakugou slipped out of his house that day. He didn’t look happy , but expressionless. Unreadable.

And it was because Kirishima was perfecting the art of a poker face to keep attention away from himself despite the fact that he felt absolutely hollow. Not really broken, but empty and alone.

“Breakups are always bad,” Ashido had said to him. “And friend breakups are even worse, so it’s okay to feel bad. But you’ll be okay someday.”

She meant well, but not knowing the true extent of their relationship, just how close they were in both their romantic lives and their friendship, it didn’t help. Yeah, breakups were bad. He knew that. He’d seen it a few times, both in friendship and romantic partners. But this was… Bakugou . It was Katsuki. There was so much more to them than he could explain, that anyone else could ever hope to understand.

His parents already essentially abandoned him for a life of material, and now Bakugou had left his side, too. He had nice friends, yes, and the teachers were all fond of him, but none of that could replace his family . Bakugou was his family, and more so than his parents had ever been.

Insomnia seemed to be Kirishima’s closest acquaintance now, though they were by now means friends or even allies. Lack of sleep caused his performance at school to suffer, if just a little, and the quiet of the house was nearly deafening to the point that it brought him to tears more often than he’d like to admit.

All he could do was tell himself he’d be okay, but that, too, was nearly impossible to believe.

He wanted to be a hero… he thought. But for what? It was hard to see now that his original driving reason was gone… or at least no longer within his reach. He wanted to save people, right? But… would it really be worth it without Bakugou by his side? It couldn’t possibly be the same…

Kirishima found he wasn’t the one having a worse time of the two of them despite being the one broken up with, and he found out when Aizawa pulled him aside before lunch one afternoon to talk to him about Bakugou of all things.

“His grades are starting to take a nosedive, especially because he’s late so often. I know you two seem to be pretty distant from one another nowadays, but I was hoping you could give him some sort of… pep talk or something. Nothing I or any of the other teachers say seem to be getting through, and he’s got such promise that we don’t want to be forced to remove his Big Three status due to poor performance.”

Meager as it was, Kirishima promised to try and talk to him because yeah, he’d noticed it too—Bakugou’s lateness and his new tendency to zone out during lectures and not give his best during practical training. He was so used to paying attention to Bakugou; old habits died hard, he figured, so he was less surprised than perhaps was expected about the news from Mr. Aizawa.

The key was finding a moment to try and talk to him, and then getting him to listen . The two hadn’t said a word to each other in weeks, save for instinctual and habitual calls to the other in practical training (more on Kirishima’s part than Bakugou’s). Their eye contact was becoming more and more scarce as Bakugou seemed to drift further and further away. Getting him to listen would be a challenge, and even then Kirishima couldn’t guarantee anything he said would help.

It took a week to get Bakugou’s attention in a way that couldn't be ignored the way he had Kirishima’s other attempts. He literally had to intercept the other’s path as he was headed out the front door at the end of a school day, blocking him from leaving, and say his name firmly.

“Katsuki, I need to talk to you.”

“I have nothing to say,” Bakugou muttered.

Once again Kirishima blocked him as he tried to side-step. He’d sparred with him plenty enough to be able to predict his movements.

“I do, though, so can you just listen for a sec? Please?” He didn’t allow a second for Bakugou to answer. “Mr. Aizawa is worried about you ‘cause your grades are dropping.” Likewise, his voice dropped slightly. “I… I know we broke up, and things haven’t been easy on me either… at all. But you can’t let your potential go to waste because of it.”

“I’m not.”

A blatant lie, and Kirishima saw right through it.

“You are. Shit… sucks , okay, I know. But if there’s anything I know for sure it’s that you were meant to be a hero, man. You’re strong. And you can win at it all. I know it. So please don’t give up.”

For just a split second Bakugou’s features softened, but then his face went blank and his eyes slid away. “Yeah. ‘Kay.”

With that, he did sidestep quickly around Kirishima and catch the door just as it was swinging shut, leaving Kirishima to stare helplessly at the floor.

Talking to Bakugou directly was clearly a bust; Kirishima would have to find other ways to encourage him, and just thinking about it stressed him out. Bakugou seemed to want nothing to do with him anymore--at least, that’s how it looked on the outside--but Kirishima would be damned if he didn’t at least try to help him, even if it was from the background in ways he’d never had to do before.

Subtlety wasn’t exactly in Kirishima’s nature, either, and with how well Bakugou knew him, surely he’d see right through his attempts. Still, Kirishima took it upon himself to cheer the other on during practical challenges, give him the best encouraging and proud smiles he could muster, and tell him in passing when he thought he did a good job. To his surprise, eventually Ashido joined him, and following her were Sero and Kaminari though he hadn’t said a single word to them about his talk with Mr. Aizawa. It was small, but for the first time in weeks he was feeling just a little better with them there by his side, supporting him in both his own performance as well as supporting Bakugou.

Regardless of the effort, he found it to be futile when Bakugou approached him in the locker room one afternoon.

“Look, I know what you’re trying to do and I get it, but you’re wasting your time.”

That was all he said before walking off, leaving Kirishima to once again stare hopelessly after him.

~✵~

“I don’t know what to do,” Kirishima mumbled, staring down at his uneaten food with his head in his hands at lunch the same day. “It kills me to see him give up…”

“You really think he is?” Ashido asked.

Kirishima glanced up. “Can’t you see it? He’s hardly trying anymore. Aizawa told me his grades are slipping really fast, too. None of it makes any sense.”

“Isn’t it ‘cause you guys showed up together?” Sero asked. “You wanted to be heroes together but now that you’re not talking anymore he must have lost sight of his purpose.”

“Yeah…” Kirishima mumbled. He could relate to that, but he hadn’t stopped trying quite as much as Bakugou. He still wanted to be a hero. He wanted to be like Crimson Riot. Like All Might. He wanted to save people. It just felt empty without Bakugou having his back like always.

“I guess he never really had anyone to look up to,” he murmured in realization, his back straightening, arms lowering onto the table. “I’ve always been so inspired by Crimson Riot, but he’s never really had any hero like that. I mean yeah, he looked up to All Might, but who doesn’t? And he… he blames himself for All Might being forced to retire.”

“Wait, he does?” Kaminari asked. “Seriously?”

Kirishima nodded absently. “But he was the one to break off from me , and now this…” He shook his head. “I guess it makes sense, but it kills to see him give up.”

“Maybe you should talk to All Might,” Ashido suggested gently. “Ask him to talk to Bakugou. I’m sure he doesn’t blame him for what happened. If he hears it from All Might himself it’s bound to make a difference…”

Kirishima perked up even more, the tiniest speck of hope lighting up his eyes for the first time in a while. “Dude, you’re probably right,” he said. “Yeah, I’ll talk to him! Thanks, Ashido.”

“Aw shucks, it’s what I’m here for,” Ashido said with a rather bashful wave of her hand.

Finding a minute to talk to All Might alone was challenging enough, but once he did manage to snag a few minutes with the ex number one hero, it was to be told something he would fear All Might would say.

“I can try and talk to him, but ultimately what path he chooses is in his own hands. He has no fault in what happened with me, so I will let him know that. I think if anyone can get through to him and lift his spirits, it’s you, Young Kirishima.”

“He won’t listen to me,” was what Kirishima wanted to say. “He broke up with me, he doesn’t care what I have to say!” It was out of pure frustration, but he managed to bite back the words and nod instead, thanking All Might before the man gave him a light pat on the shoulder and went around him, walking away.

Kirishima was at a loss. Everything was drifting away from him all the sudden. That miniscule pigment of hope he’d felt at the lunch table was snuffed out with just a few words. He didn’t know how much more of this he could handle, especially on his own…

Over the course of another couple of weeks, after his parents have come home for a few weeks themselves (asking the typical ‘how’s school’ and ‘what are your grades looking like’ questions, not bothering to spare a moment to ask how he was—not that he’d tell them), Kirishima isn’t exactly presented with opportunities to talk to Bakugou again. He got the feeling down in his gut that Bakugou probably knew he wanted to and was even going out of his way to make it difficult, sometimes even impossible. It had to be something All Might said when he pulled Bakugou aside after class the day after Kirishima spoke to him.

It was just as everything became stagnant around him for only a few days that the situation worsened, and Kirishima’s worst fear was suddenly exploding into reality.

“Bakugou said he’s gonna drop out.”

The words came from Jirou who’d never really stuck to one group of friends the way most of them did. She was close to Yaomomo, who was close to Todoroki, who happened to be one of the only people Bakugou could be seen interacting with anymore. In that one instant Kirishima’s stomach dropped. His heart sank. His throat dried, and his lips popped open.

“Really?” Ashido whispered—because of course the news came while they were at lunch.

Jirou’s dark-lined eyes remained on Kirishima. “Yeah. Heard him say it myself. He said he doesn’t really care about being a hero anymore, and when we asked why he didn’t say much. Figured it has something to do with you two no longer being friends and all of the rumors about that, too. He doesn’t show it but he’s not good at being under loads of stress like that.”

Kirishima knew. He knew that all too well, in fact. He’d seen what it did to Bakugou behind closed doors, when the weight of it all caused him to break.

“What rumors?” he blurted.

“You haven’t heard? People are speculating stuff about why you two don’t talk anymore… everything from him threatening you so you broke it off to, like, him having some crazy plan now that he’s part of the Big Three since people still believe he’ll be a villain. It’s mostly coming from underclassmen and the media, but once the two of you were seen talking a couple weeks ago after school most of the threat rumors died down.” She shrugged. “I honestly just think people are making shit up for attention since they have zero proof about him being villainous.”

Something hit Kirishima in that moment, and somehow his eyes seemed to open up for the first time. They shifted left, straight across the room to where Bakugou sat in his usual spot across from Todoroki, sitting back and not saying a word.

He knew what he had to do.

~✵~

Kirishima’s weight shifted from foot to foot in hesitation. The door in front of him suddenly seemed to much more intimidating than it had in his memory, though he’d only been here a handful of times. He could smell something cooking just beyond it, but it made his stomach churn with nerves more than anything.

Do it for him.

With a hard swallow, he raised his hand and tapped the door with his knuckles four times. A few long seconds passed before the knob jostled and the door was being pulled open to reveal a slender dark-haired woman with a pleasant face and laugh lines--Bakugou’s foster mother. She gave him a small smile as soon as she saw him.

“It’s been a while, Kirishima,” she said. “How are you?”

“Uhm… I’m okay,” he managed, manufacturing a smile of his own. “Is Bakugou around?”

Just as the words came out, Bakugou himself stepped into the doorway from the right with a small but clear scowl on his face. His foster mother stepped out of his way. “I’ll let you two talk,” she said before moving back into the house, out of sight.

“Hey,” Kirishima murmured.

“First you send All Might to talk to me and now you show up to my house. How stubborn can you be, Ei?” Bakugou mumbled, stepping out onto the porch and pulling the door shut behind him.

Ei . Kirishima would take the use of the nickname only Bakugou used as a good sign. “Just… hear me out, okay? We really need to talk.”

“I don’t have anything to say.”

“I do.”

The muscles of Bakugou’s jaw visibly rippled. “Fine,” he mumbled.

Kirishima turned around and waved him forward as he began to sink down to take a seat on the step. After a moment’s hesitation Bakugou followed his lead, though he was sure to keep a wide gap of space between them with his eyes looking down the road rather than at Kirishima himself. It was a step, though, and more than Kirishima could say for the past month, so he’d take it.

Regardless of that, though, he suddenly had no idea what he should say. He hadn’t given it much thought, having been so focused on just getting here and convincing Bakugou to talk to him, to listen to him in a last-ditch effort to save him from ruining his future as a hero.

“Jirou… told me you’re thinking about dropping out.”

“Figured that’s what she was over blabbing to you about,” Bakugou grunted.

“Yeah, but don’t be mad at her. You know how fast news spreads anyway.”

“So what, you’re here to try and talk me out of it?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t waste your breath.”

“Why did you decide you wanted to become a hero?”

With narrowed, skeptical eyes Bakugou finally turned to look directly at the other. “You got amnesia or something? You were there . Hell, you were the reason.”

“Besides me, though. Besides what everybody else thinks about you. At your core, what told you it was something you wanted to pursue enough to go to UA?”

Bakugou shook his head, just slightly. “I don’t fucking know.”

Kirishima relaxed, letting his gaze drift upwards toward the sky. “For me it was originally because of you, too. ‘Cause I wanted to help you to not be so alone and use your Quirk to show everybody that they’re wrong about you. And then it was ‘cause of Crimson Riot, ‘cause his Quirk’s similar to mine and I thought he was the most badass hero ever.” Once again he managed to find some semblance of a grin. “But then we got to UA, and we started training for real to be heroes and learning what it’s really all about… and I realized it’s ‘cause I want to save people. I want to save people like I thought I was… kind of saving you from everybody’s shitty words and fear just ‘cause of your Quirk. But I also wanted to inspire people and make ‘em see that there’s hope, y’know? Like the hope you gave me back in middle school and finally agreed to apply to UA with me. So I guess in a way it’s all of those things for me. That’s why I want to be a hero.”

Kirishima’s eyes fell back on Bakugou, who automatically looked away again as was becoming habit for him. “I don’t have anything like that,” he murmured.

“Yeah you do,” Kirishima countered. “Maybe you just haven’t exactly realized it yet, but you do or you wouldn’t have made it this far.”

“...then it was you , but we broke up.”

“I don’t think it was really me, either. Maybe partially, like you are for me, but not fully. You’re a freaking fighter , man. There’s something inside you that wants to be a hero, I know it. You just… have to let it out. Maybe you gotta dig deep ‘cause it’s buried by everything else… all the media shit and whatnot, but it’s there. I guarantee it.”

Bakugou’s shoulders hunched fractionally. “I don’t think it’s that fuckin’ deep, Eijirou,” he muttered. “Pretty sure I just went ‘cause of you.”

“So then… what are you gonna do? If you drop out, I mean. You just gonna hide from everyone, since they know who you are now? Are you just gonna let the fact that your Quirk is Explosion control your life instead of taking control of it yourself? You’re just gonna give up, and let everybody else who’s said a damn thing about you win?”

Bakugou leaned further away, but his eyes did slide toward Kirishima, his shoulders tense.

“That doesn’t sound like you, Katsuki. That doesn’t sound like you at all . Breaking up has been… really freaking hard on me, too, and yeah, I’m… struggling to figure everything out, too, but I know giving up isn’t the answer. Hell, it’s not even an option for me! The Katsuki I know wouldn’t let some stupid thing like rumors and speculation and all the crappy things the media is saying about him get him down to the point where he’d just throw everything he’s worked for away. He’d sand up and fucking fight because that’s who he is.”

“Eijirou…”

“I’m serious.” Kirishima swiveled, angling himself further in Bakugou’s direction. “The Katsuki I know loves to fight. I’ve seen him in practical studies and out on the field when we’re doing provisional work. He’s got this fierce smile and the energy he radiates when he’s fighting, battling villains no matter how small or insignificant is freaking infectious . He’s powerful and his eyes glow with that passion, when all he thinks about is what’s right in front of him and everything else doesn’t exist for him in that moment. And then when he wins… ” Kirishima was smiling a real smile now, his back straightening. “Oh man, is he exhilarated. He loves fighting, but he loves winning even more, so he does it a lot . He kicks villain ass, and he saves people doing it, and even still in high school he’s one of the greatest freaking heroes of today. And I can prove it.”

“Ei--”

“You focus on the negative too much, Katsuki,” Kirishima murmured, already having pulled out his phone and unlocked it. “So I found some positive to show it’s not all bad.” A few taps and he’d pulled up the bookmarks on his mobile browser. He turned the screen, filled with headlines containing Bakugou’s name, toward the other. Bakugou sat up a little, glaring halfheartedly at the little screen.

“The fuck’s that?”

“The good shit people are saying about you,” Kirishima said, holding it out further. “Sure, some of it’s still some speculation, yeah, but there are people who admire you, man. And I don’t just mean me.”

When Bakugou didn’t take it Kirishima held the phone out further, nodding in encouragement. Bakugou hesitated another second before he did eventually take the device, albeit tentatively. Kirishima watched as his eyes skimmed over the page full of headlines, his own name sprinkled throughout all of them.

A few quiet minutes passed; Kirishima’s eyes didn’t once leave Bakugou’s face, and though it hurt, seeing him and knowing he wasn’t… his anymore, there was a kind of bittersweet bliss settling over him as he watched Bakugou read and relent as he did. Eventually the phone lowered into his lap, a long breath blowing through his nose while his eyes slid shut.

“You’re a real pain in the ass, Kirishima Eijirou.”

“Uhm…” Kirishima mumbled stupidly.

Bakugou’s eyes opened as he handed the phone back, which Kirishima took, continuing to keep his eyes on the other’s face.

“You really are as stubborn as they come, huh? No wonder your Quirk is Hardening.”

“I’m serious about this, man,” Kirishima countered. “Yeah… we broke up, and I… know you don’t even really want to be my friend anymore…” Just slightly Bakugou’s shoulders stiffened, his jaw flexing in reaction to those words, but Kirishima kept going. “But I do still care about you… so much, and I believe in you. I believe you can be a hero. You deserve it. You deserve to win, no matter what anybody’s saying about it.”

Once again Bakugou turned his head toward the road. “You don’t know what it’s like, Ei… not the way I do, about everybody pegging you as a villain before you’ve done jack shit. It’s not easy to just… ignore .”

“I know,” Kirishima murmured. “But I’m telling you, you’re strong, and I don’t just mean those manly muscles of yours or your badass Quirk.”

Reflexively Bakugou snorted, his eyes rolling before his hand, uncharacteristically but unmistakably shaky, swiped across his face.

Kirishima only leaned forward. “I’m serious, man,” he insisted. It was hard, admittedly, to see Bakugou in such a state and try to convince him of what Kirishima believed down to his very core—that he was strong. “Besides, even though people do think and say shitty things about you, you know what you gotta do?”

Bakugou kept his gaze averted when Kirishima left the air open for an answer. He kept his jaw locked shut, refusing to answer.

So Kirishima continued. “You gotta prove them wrong.” He clenched a fist in the air. “You have to make sure everybody knows just how crazy strong you are, how heroic you are, and that you’re just as capable of being an incredible hero like All Might was.” Slowly, Bakugou’s head began turning back in the other’s direction, eyes cut sharply towards him in blatant skepticism. “I mean, you love winning, right? You’ve even joked sometimes about making your way up to number one,” Kirishima went on. “There’s no reason you can’t someday take All Might’s place and make them eat their words! If you ask me, that is the ultimate form of winning.”

By the end, an almost… devious smirk had formed on Kirishima’s lips; likewise, and incredulous snort came from Bakugou’s nose and he swiped the back of his free hand beneath it. “Yeah right,” he grumbled. “Like I could be some shitty new ‘Symbol of Peace.’ With this Quirk and all the bullshit that comes with it, plus my shitty attitude? No goddamn way.”

“Nah,” Kirishima said, shaking his head. “‘M not saying you gotta completely embody him or anything. I don’t mean you should be exactly like him. Just… start from ground zero, and be your own kind of number one.”

In that second, Bakugou’s eyes—shinier than before and hardened up with the walls Kirishima knew he fought so hard to build in order to cage in any emotion, any semblance of vulnerability—lifted directly to Kirishima’s, and just like the drain in a bathtub, every ounce of uncertainty and frustration swirled away. Kirishima’s smile was just beginning to widen, the right corner of his lips starting to tilt upward at the secondhand relief even he seemed to feel as he watched Bakugou’s turmoil weaken.

He didn’t have time, though, for a full-on smile because suddenly, without so much as a single warning, Bakugou was lurching toward him.

With a certain kind of desperation and raw need, a hand roughly took hold of the back of Kirishima’s head, pulling him forward and giving him not a second to react before Bakugou’s lips, chapped and demanding, collided with his own. A muffled grunt came from his throat, his eyes wide and his frame completely stiff in shock.

“...dammit,” Bakugou gritted out when he pulled back far enough to give himself room to speak.

Kirishima was still too stunned to piece words together. His hand had lifted between them, though, like he wanted to reach out to Bakugou too, but the shock itself stopped him halfway.

“Sorry,” Bakugou muttered as his eyes opened and he started to lean back.

Something about the warmth of Bakugou’s hand leaving the back of Kirishima’s neck broke him out of his reverie and his hand, the one suspended in midair between them, caught those very same fingers before Bakugou could move too far away.

“No,” he said. “Don’t be sorry.”

Bakugou, to Kirishima’s slight bafflement, didn’t pull his hand away. In fact, he was the one to weave their fingers back together, even if his eyes dropped and the opposite hand lifted to pinch the bridge of his nose, a long, tired breath blowing through his lips.

“What kind of fucking fool was I to think staying away from you would make shit better?” he mused in a murmur. “I still hate that I’m dragging your name through the mud with mine, but you’re already immune to all that shit, aren’t you?” His eyes reopened. Reconnected with Kirishima’s, who hadn’t blinked since Bakugou kissed him.

“I… dunno,” Kirishima managed.

“Hmph.” Bakugou’s hand dropped back to his lap, his head tilting back to lean against the column of the porch behind him. “I’ve been focusing on all the wrong shit. As much as I fuckin’ hate to admit it, you’re right. What all those assholes think and say and theorize and… whatever the shit it is they do, it’s not gonna affect how strong I am or how much I win . Fuck them. They can eat dicks.”

Amusement bubbled up in Kirishima’s chest with a snort escaping his nose. Within seconds he was a mess of laughter, leaning forward with a hand on his chest and tears—the happiest tears he’d had in weeks—pricking the edges of his eyes.

“What, Shitty Hair?!” Bakugou grumbled, his hand tightening, unmistakably heating up.

Kirishima waved a hand, shaking his head. “Nothing, man, nothing,” he managed past the hysterics. “I just wasn’t expecting you to say that last part is all.” He wiped at his eyes, still grinning. “But yeah, you’re totally right.”

“Duh,” Bakugou huffed.

Once Kirishima had regained composure he sat up and faced Bakugou head on. “So… does this mean you’re not dropping out?”

“Was that not obvious?”

The grin only widened. “Good. I’m glad, Katsuki. Really. You deserve this chance. More than anyone.”

Bakugou too sat up, turning himself back toward the road in front of them and maneuvering over until the two were only inches apart—much more normal for them. More along the lines of what they’d been getting used to. Kirishima would be lying if his heart didn’t jump, but he mirrored the action. Their hands never separated.

“...I got a question too,” Bakugou murmured.

“Hm?”

“Does this mean you’ll take me back?” Subtly, his hand squeezed Kirishima’s. “Even though I hurt you?”

“You were hurting too, Katsuki.”

“Yeah but I didn’t have to be a fucking jerk about it. Didn’t have to be an idiot too, and let all that shit get into my head and let shitty emotions rule over logic, and then make you look like a sad freakin’ puppy for almost a month. So—“

“Hey, shut up,” Kirishima cut in. Again his hand came up and gently cupped Bakugou’s cheek, turning his head in his direction so it would be easy to lean in, give Bakugou a moment to reject it, and then kiss him softly when he didn’t. “You can’t be hard on yourself, man.”

Bakugou clicked his tongue, but that didn’t stop him from finally closing the distance between them, letting their thighs rest together. He was close enough, in fact, that it’d be easy, so easy, to lean his head to the side and rest it on Kirishima’s shoulder. 

“You sure ‘bout this?” he mumbled.

“Just… be quiet and let me love you.”

Despite the rolling of his eyes, Bakugou let more of his weight lean into the other.

“Yeah, okay,” he said. “...I love you too, Shitty Hair.”

Chapter Text

{Past}

“Ground Zero, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Bakugou faced the hero Midnight straight on in the small space in her office. His face wouldn’t show it but his heart was hammering against his ribs; his hands remained balled into fists at his sides.

Midnight gave him a smirk. “Not bad. How’d you come up with it?”

“Kirishima.”

The smile widened. “I like it. It suits you. Approved.”

Bakugou left the office after mumbling a stiff  ‘thank you’ with his heart feeling lighter than it had in a while. He found Kirishima just where he left him standing across the hall, leaning casually against it while he scrolled somewhat mindlessly through something on his phone. His head raised when motion caught his eye, though.

“What’d she say?” he asked, an edge of eagerness to his voice.

“She approved it,” Bakugou told him, finding a smirk of his own as he began to relax. Why his nerves had been so on edge before the short meeting with Midnight.

“Hell yeah!” Kirishima laughed, automatically offering a fist for the other to bump his own into—which he easily complied to. “I knew she would. It’s perfect for you.”

“‘Course it is, dumbass, you’re the one who thought of it,” Bakugou scoffed as the two headed down the hall, meandering their way out of the building after another day at school.

“Aw bro, don’t tell me you gave me credit for it,” Kirishima said, ruffling a hand into his stiff hair.

“Why wouldn’t I? You did think of it.”

“I didn’t! I just said it in a sentence or whatever and it clicked with you. You decided it should be your hero name. I didn’t even think of that.”

“Get over it, Shitty Hair, I’m giving you credit for it whether you like it or not.”

With a shake of his head and knowing he couldn’t argue, all Kirishima could do was laugh—and then eagerly reach for Bakugou’s hand once the two were far enough down the road.

~✵~

Weeks went on and the longer they went, the more the whole ‘breakup incident’ felt more like a hiccup—maybe a bump or a crack in the road—than anything. The two of them were more immersed in their studies and training than ever, especially with Bakugou being part of the Big Three. It was evident that cameras and publicity stressed him out and tenses throughout his muscles, and whenever he began to get overwhelmed Kirishima was there unwaveringly to talk him down or build him up—whatever he needed.

Likewise, a sixth sense had developed in Bakugou’s mind. He could feel it when those old thoughts, years ago as they may have been, started to resurface. He was quicker than them, though, and jumped in to remind Kirishima that he was stronger , in any way he could—even if it meant damn nearly butting heads with him.

As their third and final year of high school went by (much smoother than it began), they stopped bothering to hide the true extent of their relationship from others—especially their own group of friends.

“So you two are really together , right?” Ashido was the one to ask; both Bakugou and Kirishima were skeptical of the mischievous glint in her dark eye as she asked.

“How long did it take you to figure that out?” Bakugou muttered and tossed a grape into his mouth.

“I knew it!” she practically exclaimed. She held her pink hand out in Kaminari’s direction with a mischief-swept grin occupying her whole face. “Pay up, spark boy.”

Kirishima expected a pout from Kaminari just as much as he expected a small outburst from Bakugou that they’d been betting on them being a couple. Neither came. Instead, Bakugou sat back and clicked his tongue before shoving in a few more grapes and biting down on them, the crunch audible. Kaminari had stiffened a little, his eyes seemingly doing everything they could to stay away from Ashido’s even while he fished out his wallet. Sero, too, had looked down at his lunch like it was the most interesting thing in the entire world.

“So… are you guys gonna explain this bet?” Kirishima asked as Kaminari reluctantly handed over the money, which Ashido proudly pocketed before returning to her lunch, mischief turned to triumph.

“I’ve suspected something was up with you two for a while,” Ashido said, gesturing between him and Bakugou with her chopsticks. “When I brought it up to these idiots--” the chopsticks turned on the other two “--they denied it.” She squared her shoulders to do the best bad imitation of Kaminari she could. “‘Nah, they’re just close bros, they’ve been best friends since middle school, blah blah blah…’ But I still didn’t believe it. ‘Bros can be super close, right Sero?’ Not that close, I told ‘em, I don’t think anybody is that close to someone they’re, ya know, interested in.” She waggled her eyebrows. “So I suggested a bet, and we all know our boy Kaminari here can’t resist a good bet, especially if he thinks he could win.”

“Aw shush up, Ashido,” Kaminari muttered. There was the pout, but it still wasn’t as profound as expected. Sero still hadn’t looked away from his food.

“And Sero didn’t take part in this bet?” Kirishima asked.

Sero’s head snapped up. “Hey, I don’t like to assume anything about anyone!” he defended quickly.

“Okay, man!” Kirishima held up his hands. “I was just asking.”

Tiredly Kaminari was ruffling his hair. “Let’s just drop it guys, all right?” he mumbled.

Though the four of them complied with his request, Ashido’s smile never faded, and eventually one to mirror it was spreading itself out on Bakugou’s face. As if they were having some silent conversation, glances bounced back and forth between them for the remainder of lunch.

Kirishima didn’t have the opportunity to question him until after school.

“Dude, what was all that about at lunch?”

With a somewhat incredulous glance, Bakugou snorted and hooked an arm around his boyfriend’s neck. “You really are oblivious as fuck,” he said.

“What are you talking about?” Kirishima himself was beginning to pout, regardless of how happy the smile on Bakugou’s face made him.

Bakugou snorted out a laugh that both frustrated and brought joy to Kirishima at the same time. Gently, playfully, he shoved Bakugou off of him. “I’m serious! You better not be screwing with me, man!”

Bakugou shook his head, unfazed by the push as he sidled up to the other once more. “ I’m not fucking with you , but Kami is clearly screwing Sero.”

Kirishima stopped in his tracks. “Wait, what ?”

Bakugou turned, raising his brows and pushing a hand on his hip. “How the fuck do you have such decent grades when you couldn’t even figure thay shit out?” he mused.

“ That’s what you got out of what happened at lunch?” Kirishima blurted. “That wasn’t—“

“Holy shit, don’t say it wasn’t obvious.” Just as Ashido had before, he put on a poor, over-exaggerated imitation of Kaminari, air-quoting as he spoke, “‘Bros can be super close, right Sero?’ Please, Ei. You know damn well we’re not that close and just fucking friends. And Plain Face staring into his lunch like it was telling him a fuckin’ secret? If they’re not fucking I’ll eat my damn hat.” With that he turned and continued down the hall.

After a second, Kirishima followed him, seemingly in a daze as his conscious mind thought back to lunch. Even still, he couldn’t be sure… though, Kami and Sero always were together it seemed, and maybe they did stick close to each other most of the time the way Bakugou and Kirishima did. Still, he wasn’t really sure…

“I mean, maybe you’re right, but I doubt they’re… uhm…” He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Fucking?” Bakugou supplied.

“Katsuki,” Kirishima groaned.

“What?”

Kirishima just sighed and continued walking.

~✵~

Final exams approached little by little, and the two of them never stopped studying and training for them. It was the Final Exam—the one that would determine if the past three years of studying, training, internships, failures, successes, and more lessons than anyone could probably ever keep track of, had crafted into the heroes they aspired to be.

Leading up to it were workshops and visits to different agencies they were allowed to meet with and choose an agency to apply for. It was only natural that they looked around together—boyfriends or not, they’d been training together since they started and had proved over the years to make sidekicks unrivaled by anyone else together.

It was inevitable hen, once again, Bakugou passed at the top of their class. Kirishima was just two spaces behind him at number four, beneath Todoroki and Midoriya. As soon as he saw his name next to that number his knees very nearly gave out; he was sure he’d have crumpled to the floor in shock had it not been for Bakugou’s hand holding steady in his.

Before they knew it, hero certification had rolled around; just like they always had with big events, the two spent the preceding night together and stayed up later than they should have because of nerves.

The two were lying side by side in Kirishima’s bed, long after they’d decided to call it a day to get plenty of rest for the one following. With neither of them able to sleep they ended up lying on their backs, parallel with their eyes fixed on the ceiling. Kirishima’s hands rested loosely on his torso while Bakugou’s were folded behind his head.

“It’s really happening,” Kirishima murmured, probably for the twentieth time that night alone. “Holy shit.”

“You sound like a broken fucking record,” Bakugou told him.

“I know, but it doesn’t feel real.”

“Yeah,” Bakugou had to agree. “Which sucks, because we’ve worked our asses off for this.”

“I know ,” repeated Kirishima. “Do you think my parents will really be back in time to show up to the ceremony?”

“Hard to say. If they don’t though, they’re the lowest of low.”

Kirishima’s swallow was audible in quiet air. “Yeah…”

“Don’t sweat it whether or not they do,” Bakugou told him. “The only thing they’ve done for you is give you a house and made sure the fridge was full, and even I as a fucking foster kid knows that’s not what being a parent is. They don’t deserve you.”

“...hmmm… yeah, you’re right.”

Quiet fell over again, and Kirishima’s mind drifted back to the previous two ceremonies they’d attended for their upperclassmen, and the celebratory festival that followed. Families and friends were always invited. There was more food than the entire city could probably consume on its own. Music. Dancing. And fireworks, of course. A special ceremony for the Big Three. It was always enjoyable, but this time would be different . It was their turn . Their names would be the ones called, along with their chosen hero names, and the agencies they chose to work for out of the ones who offered them positions (Bakugou and Kirishima choosing the same agency, of course; most of them realized they came as a pair anyway). There would be special recognition for the Big Three, and then they’d get to spend the entire night celebrating something neither of them could’ve seen happening just three short years before…

Bakugou was right. His parents didn’t matter that much. He’d already spent too much of his life trying to please them, trying to get them to recognize him, and not once was he successful. Not once did they tell him they were proud; in fact, whenever one or the other asked him how school was going—out of both obligation and to make sure his grades were on par with their expectations—they looked doubtful. Hardly listened. It came to the point that Kirishima stopped trying to give them details, merely said it was fine, proved his grades were good, and never spoke of it to them otherwise.

He couldn’t fucking wait to get out from underneath them...

Suddenly, Kirishima sat up. “Katsuki.”

“What?”

Kirishima turned his entire body to face the other who propped himself up on an elbow and raised a skeptical brow.

“We gotta move in together,” he said. “As soon as we’re able to. As soon as we have enough money, we should look for an apartment together. You can ditch the foster system before they can kick you out and I can get the hell away from my shitty, uncaring parents. We can live together for real . Be heroes together.”

By then Bakugou had sat up all the way. “Dumbass, wasn’t that always the plan?”

Kirishima blinked at him once, twice in the dim light his eyes had long since adjusted to. “What?” he asked stupidly.

“What do you mean what?” Bakugou spat back. “I figured that was already pretty much a given.”

“...whoa,” Kirishima murmured as what Bakugou meant started to sink in. He’d been planning this—of course he had. Why would he want to be a pro hero who still lived in the foster system, even if he was still technically a rookie? Why would he want to stay in the foster system period ? “How… long have you been thinking about this?”

Bakugou shrugged lazily. “Dunno. Year or so I guess, ‘cept for when we broke up. Have you not ?”

“Ah well… no, but I guess I never thought too much about what happens after at all. Guess I just wanted to get to the finish line.”

“Hmph, idiot,” Bakugou murmured affectionately, reaching out to ruffle Kirishima’s soft, newly dyed hair.

Hell yes he’d been planning on this for a while; all he cared about besides finally being certified as a pro freaking hero was getting the hell out on his own, and not once did it cross his mind that he’d do it without Kirishima. Even when they broke up, he felt more lost than ever and was unsure of what to do from moment to moment, much less the freaking future . But they were together now, and he never wanted them to be apart like that again.

“We have a plan, then,” Kirishima said with a smile—a giddy one; Bakugou swore the shine in his eyes was lighting up the whole damn room.

“Duh,” he replied.

With an uncontrollable laugh bursting from his chest Kirishima lurched forward, throwing his arms around Bakugou’s neck and tugging him toward him to kiss him roughly, still smiling into it as their lips molded together. Bakugou could do nothing but comply— wanted to do nothing but comply, and kiss him back with his arms encircling Kirishima’s torso as the two of them moved as close together as they could, what with their legs between them.

“ Fuck, I love you,” Bakugou breathed into the kiss.

The taste of his warm breath on Kirishima’s tongue left his back a mess of goosebumps. “I love you more,” he managed, smiling lightly again.

“Not fucking possible,” Bakugou practically growled, breaking their kiss long enough to push Kirishima back down onto his pillow and toss a leg over to straddle him. Before Kirishima could say anything else he kissed him again, long and passionate until he ran out of air.

Of course, things weren’t exactly happily ever after…

{Present Day}

The spin of monochromatic grays and blacks with only the occasional flash of red or orange had Katsuki’s tired brain mesmerized, almost in a trance, as he watched them tumble through the circular window of the dryer. He was half slumped in a worn metal chair not too far from the machine, head tucked downward, hands in his pockets, the left one fiddling with the last laundry coin he had.

The laundromat was virtually lifeless, save for himself and the manager he’d purchased the coins from who’d gone back to his office behind the small desk. The floor was an old, yellowed tile; a fluorescent light near the back of the place struggled to stay lit as it flickered on and off. Several of the machines had papers slapped on them with letters in messy, almost careless writing that said ‘OUT OF ORDER.’ Katsuki could practically smell the mildew. An old style television was mounted in the corner near the front door; aside from the hum of the dryer and the muttering of the news channel on the TV, the place was quiet.

Katsuki was tired. Exhausted, actually. He hadn’t slept well in… well, months , but even worse in the past few days since seeing Eijirou. He could hardly keep his eyes open, and yet when he found a place to sleep for the night--be it managing to scrape together enough money for a short stay at a shitty hotel, couch surfing in people who may have recognized him and approached from any different angle, or even finding a crappy wooden bench to crash on--his thoughts ran wild, filled to the brim with his visit with Eijirou, not allowing him nearly enough rest.

Is this how he feels? Katsuki found himself wondering. The whole insomnia thing?

He gained a newfound respect for Eijirou because of it, admittedly--like he didn’t fucking respect him already .

Right. Like that’s what I need--more reasons to be attached to him…

Even now his body and brain were fighting between sleep and wake despite the uncomfortable chair beneath him. His eyes were dry and sandpapery, but every time they fell closed, there he was with that look of pure shock etched into his beautiful fucking face. His eyes would snap open again and he’d shake himself.

With a huff Katsuki made himself sit up and lift his gaze to the television where a news channel was tuning back in from commercials. It wasn’t much, but he needed something to distract him or he would lose his fucking mind…

The channel was merely covering the usual--traffic, weather, local events, some crime, yada yada. It wasn’t enough to keep his mind occupied simply because he didn’t care , and once again he began to doze off, feeling himself slumping in the chair again but lacking the energy or willpower to do anything about it…

It was just as the dryer beeped to signal its finish that he jerked awake, and before he could even make himself stand to retrieve his laundry from it, his hearing seemed to hone back in on the television.

“... missing hero Red Riot, police and other official personnel, as well as other heroes who have been on the search including Chargebolt, Cellophane, and Alien Queen, have no new leads. All that is known at this point is that Red Riot--or rather, Kirishima Eijirou who’s been hiatus for the past year--was last seen Wednesday afternoon in the Central Shopping District by Alien Queen herself, who reports that he had left for the bathroom and never returned, nor has he been spotted since. However, a rather cryptic and encrypted audio file was sent right here to our very studio and seems to be addressing someone specific, though no one is quite sure to whom it is addressed. Let’s take a listen.”

The screen flicked to a dark blue and the audio file began in sync with text subtitling the file. Katsuki’s body had moved him to his feet without his realization, and he took several steps toward the television to hear better. Sure enough, the voice was disguised, making it indistinguishable.

“... I’ve got your boy toy. If you want him back I suggest you turn yourself in, or he’ll be the one to pay. If you have any semblance of a soul like he believes, you’ll do what I demand, and don’t {censored} up.”

The screen flicked back to the anchor.

“Due to the nature of this audio file, investigators suspect foul play but have not given us any further information at this time. If you have any leads in the matter of the missing hero, please call our tipline at…”

Katsuki stopped listening; his heart had dropped down, down, down into the pit of his stomach. Any memory of his exhaustion was wiped out by pure panic and denial. Just like that, instinct and intuition took over his entire being and, without bothering to grab any of his belongings, he bolted out the door of the laundromat with only one destination in mind: Hero HQ.

Chapter Text

-Katsuki-

{Present Day}

Thud, thud, thud.

Katsuki’s relatively undernourished body struggled to keep up with the sudden running, even with the surge of adrenaline; his pulse was pounding in his ears. Headquarters wasn’t too far from the rundown laundromat, thankfully, but he was still forced to lean against a nearby tree and catch his breath before taking another step no matter how panicked he might’ve been.

This is what I get for never working out anymore. Not that I can fucking afford to…

It was a quiet thought in the back of his mind that was swiftly swallowed by a million others all about Eijirou, Eijirou, Eijirou. And that was enough to motivate him to stand up and start toward the well-kept building, twenty stories high. In reality it was merely another agency, but it was the agency that all of the top, best known heroes were signed to. It was the agency he and Kirishima had been striving for before…

Just before he made it to the walkway that led up to the revolving door he very nearly slammed right into someone, had it not been for his good peripherals and fast reflexes. He side-stepped quickly, barely giving the other a glance, before readying himself to jog up the path.

But instead he did a double take.

“...All Might?” he muttered, staring wide-eyed at the ex hero that, since the day years ago that he’d been forced to retire, had hardly changed.

“If it isn’t the one and only Ground Zero,” All Might said with a soft, almost fatherly smile.

Katsuki flinched at the sound of his hero name. “‘S just Bakugou,” he said. “What’re you doing here?”

All Might’s brows lifted. “I should be asking you the same thing, seeing as you were in the middle of seeking employment here before you suddenly disappeared off the hero map without a word.” Katsuki had sucked in a breath to give a half-assed excuse, but All Might held up a hand. “I’m a recruiter here now. Being out of the hero scene myself isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. However at the moment, as many of us are, I’m aiding in the investigation of the disappearance… or should I say kidnapping of Red Riot.”

Katsuki’s shoulders dropped. “So ‘s true. I didn’t dream up some shit.”

What was left of All Might’s trademark smile, even looking more like a skeleton than anything, faded again. “Yes. Unfortunately. Several heroes and the police force are using this headquarters as a rendezvous point to conduct the investigation, seeing as we have some of the best computer tech at the moment, what with our budget.” He started toward the door himself, waving Katsuki along. “I’m sure that’s what you’re here for too?”

“...yeah.” Katsuki gritted out the word and followed, stiff.

Though Katsuki expected him to, All Might didn’t ask any invasive questions on the way up to the seventeenth floor where, supposedly, the rest of the heroes were meeting for investigations and were currently attempting to track the source of the audio file at the news station. He only asked how Katsuki heard of what was going on, if he’d heard the audio clip, and if he knew anything else that might help.

Under any normal circumstance Katsuki’s stomach would be in about a million knots, seeing the former number one hero for the first time in months and, even worse, all of the others he’d been working with as well--Ashido, Sero, Kaminari, maybe even Midoriya and Todoroki, or anyone else from UA or the pro hero scene he used to know. But the knots in his stomach now could only be for Eijirou and nothing else. They could have their awkward reunion later, or whatever…

Mina was the first to see him when the elevator opened up right into a big office-looking room with desks, chairs, couches, several computers, a rectangular table, and a small kitchenette area in the corner; the far wall was entirely glass. Only a few others besides Mina were in the room, but he recognized all but one of them.

Mina’s dark eyes widened as she realized who it was she saw coming out of the elevator behind All Might; her lips even popped open slightly as disbelief took over her face. She took a tentative step toward him.

“Bakugou?” she asked.

That was all it took for every other head to lift or turn in his direction. A second later the only two faces in the room not contorted in surprise were All Might’s and Katsuki’s themselves.

“He’s here to aid in the investigation,” All Might explained.

“But you’ve been gone for almost a year,” Kaminari was the one to sputter out. “Why are you suddenly here?”

“Especially after—“ Mina began to jump in again but All Might came straight to Katsuki’s rescue.

“None of that’s much of our business I think, young heroes. Right now the objective is tracing and analyzing the audio file sent into channel 12 news. Have we made any progress, Ishida?”

A relatively plain-looking woman with long dark hair sat up at attention at the computer she sat in. She was young, fair-skinned, and her Quirk or its type wasn’t apparent by appearance whatsoever (assuming she had one). She couldn’t have been much older than Katsuki—or any of the others in the room including Denki, Kyouka, Mina, and .

“None whatsoever, sadly,” said the woman. “Tracing it is nearly impossible since they used an old-fashioned tape and tape recorder. The lab didn’t find any forensic evidence on it, either—no fingerprints, hairs… nothing.”

“Where was he seen last?” Katsuki asked.

After a beat of hesitation, Mina was the one to catch him up, telling him she’d taken him out shopping to get him out of the house and while she was in a certain store he left for the bathroom.

“Half an hour later he still hadn’t come back, so I went looking and I just… couldn’t find him anywhere. He wouldn’t answer his phone or anything. I thought maybe he went home even though it’s not like him to go without a word, and he wasn’t there anyway. I reported it but we didn’t start really digging in until this tape surfaced.”

“A kidnapping,” All Might said, sinking down into a chair. “No doubt about it. The motive behind any of it is a complete mystery, as is whoever the tape is addressed to.”

Katsuki’s eyes quickly scoped over the faces of the room. “...you mean it’s not obvious?”

Once again all eyes shifted to him, some in confusion, others in skepticism, one blank. Katsuki tucked his head downward and crossed his arms.

“Is it obvious to you?” Mina asked gently.

Katsuki’s eyes flicked up. Of course it was obvious who the audio file was directed at. There could only be one person it was for, and it only made sense that, with him more or less off the radar, whoever the fuck took Eijirou would send their shitty message to the news station to make sure there was a good chance the one it was for would see it.

“It’s for me,” he said. “Who the hell else would they say something like that to?”

The group exchanged glances save for All Might whose eyes were pointed down, a hand covering his mouth in calculation. He moved it slightly to speak.

“I figured as much, and that more or less confirms my suspicions.”

“What suspicions?” Denki asked.

“My suspicions that point toward—as much as I hate to say it—the League of Villains trying to reemerge. One of their inside people was released on parole just a few months ago after serving only a few years in prison. She was let out on good behavior.” He sat up and turned back toward Ishida. “Now the audio file is clearly encrypted and untraceable, so this is only speculation, but if it’s Young Bakugou they’re after here and have taken Young Kirishima hostage as bait to give him an ultimatum, the pieces seem to fall into place almost too perfectly.”

“...right,” Mina murmured, “‘cause back then before they were caught it was the League’s goal to get Bakugou to join them before they ‘carried out The Bomber’s will’ or whatever, huh?”

“Exactly,” All Might said. “And I’m afraid we don’t particularly know what this individual is capable of. Clearly she’s evaded police for a while now, and who knows what she might possess in order to do harm to Kirishima? Nor do we know whether or not it’s even her, or if whoever is responsible for this is working solo.”

Katsuki wasn’t sure at that point how he was staying on his feet, what with the exhaustion and, more so, the fear he felt down to his bones for Eijirou as pieces began to fall into place. The world around him felt blurry, like none of this was entirely real, like he was standing in the midst of a dream—no, a nightmare—rather than reality. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to whatever god or higher power who might be listening, that when he opened them he’d be in his bedroom, cocooned in the warmth of familiar cotton sheets with a solid, steady body breathing rhythmically behind him…

But it didn’t matter how bad or how hard he wished, and he knew it, because the room in front of him was the same when he did open his eyes to find five other pairs trained on him, most of which averted as soon as he saw them. Eijirou was gone, and once again, it was his fault.

~✵~

What little sleep Katsuki got that night was nothing less than fitful. Images of the unthinkable kept jerking him awake, sweaty, involuntary miniscule blasts emitting from his palms that left burn marks on the sheets. By the time 6 AM rolled around he couldn’t make himself try to sleep anymore and rolled out of the narrow twin bed.

He’d stayed at All Might’s, much to his reluctance. Initially he’d declined, of course, but when asked where he was planning to stay and having no straight answer other than ‘I’ll figure something out,’ he was offered money for a hotel. No fucking way could he bear to take money from anyone, so he’d stiffly accepted the offer to stay in the small guest room in All Might’s—or Toshinori’s, as everyone else had begun to call him—house. It was small for the ex number one hero and the one people still worshipped to this day, but of course he was humble. Katsuki would expect nothing less.

Katsuki made himself take up the offer to help himself to anything in the kitchen and got a pot of coffee brewing. His body was running on empty, most of the energy he had left being sucked away by his mind creating dozens upon dozens of scenarios, even the most unthinkable, impossible ones. If he was lucky, the coffee would give him a boost in energy. If he wasn’t, the anxiety was bound to spike more. It was a gamble he was willing to take.

And once he’d already sucked down an entire mug and then refilled it, he made himself sink down on the couch and turn on the television. It was already tuned right to the news, which had him leaning forward just as soon as he’d sat back as soon as he saw the headline at the bottom of the screen: ‘Update on Missing Red Riot Case.’

“...terrupting our scheduled stories for a breaking update on the missing Red Riot case. To recap, the pro hero Red Riot has been missing since Tuesday afternoon. During the investigation into his disappearance an audio file of what seems to be a kidnapper surfaced and is addressed to an unknown person, shifting the investigation from a Missing Person case to a case of kidnapping. Just moments ago, a new lead surfaced on the case. Once again the source is unknown but from the video sent in it’s clear that it is the same person who was behind the audio file. However, in this case we were given much more information including the address of an abandoned warehouse where police and pro heroes are heading to as we speak, and information telling us that the surrounding area of said warehouse is filled with land mines and other booby traps. The perpetrator also sent in a note, seemingly addressed to the same person the audio file was directed at, giving whoever it is three days to turn themselves over to the perpetrator before they begin a livestream of supposed torture on Red Riot himself, and that they are to inject themselves with a liquid set out on a table just outside the front doors before the exchange will be made. Most shockingly of all, a short video clip was sent in of what appears to be the inside of this warehouse and depicts Red Riot bound and gagged. Take a look for yourself.”

Katsuki’s throat was closed, his breath caught in his chest, his stomach turning as the screen flicked over to said video, which showed exactly what the anchor described. It was dark for the most part, but enough light was given off from somewhere to the right that Eijirou’s figure could be made out. Sure enough he was sat against a wall, his feet tied together with chains, his arms suspended above him in cuffs secured to the wall. His mouth was gagged. His hair and clothes were dirty, matted. His eyes were closed and he barely moved, the only sign of life being the slight expansion of his chest as he breathed.

“They must’ve realized you wouldn’t know where to find them with that message alone,” came All Might’s voice from behind Katsuki, who was too shocked to tear his eyes away from the screen even after Eijirou’s image disappeared. And when he didn’t move, All Might took it upon himself to move around the sofa and turn the television off, giving Katsuki a look at his tired but shocked reflection in the blackness. “Come, Young Bakugou. We should get to HQ and devise a plan. I’m sure they have all the information that’s been given up.”

The entire way to HQ, Katsuki moved robotically. His brain seemed to have stopped in its tracks the second he saw Eijirou in that dark room, tied up like some kind of animal. He wasn’t processing it. He didn’t know how to wake up, he couldn’t wake up!

Things seem to happen almost too quickly once they make it to HQ. Sure enough Ishida has every bit of information given to analyze. Eventually the ‘investigators’ the news has been muttering about show up—four of them in total, who evidently trust Ishida to do the analysis and tracking on, flushing Katsuki’s assumption that she was kind of a rookie down the drain.

Police and heroes alike are already at the address where, sure enough, an abandoned warehouse sits solitary in what looks like some sort of field, though the news footage shows very little of the surrounding area. They’ve created a barricade a good ten, maybe twelve meters away from it. Ten or so meters away from the large front door was a foldable table with a metal cylinder on it; it could only be the injectable liquid spoken of in the message. The report of ‘boobie traps’ had been tested and now clearly all they could do was bide their time…

“The kidnapper is smart using metal chains to bind him,” one of the policeman murmur as he leans toward the screen, eyes flicking over the image of Eijirou inside the place. “But having read up on his Quirk I feel as though he should be able to break out of them even still. The fact that he’s not…”

“Maybe he’s too weak,” suggested Mina. “Maybe… they’re not feeding him enough or something.”

“No,” All Might said. “The message said for Bakugou to use the serum in that vial before turning himself over and making the exchange of himself for Kirishima. I’m willing to bet it’s the perpetrator’s insurance and the liquid in that vial is a Quirk blocker. If they have it for Bakugou, surely they’ve used it on Kirishima as well.”

“Isn’t that stuff, like, really dangerous?” Mina asked anxiously.

“It can be,” one of the investigators jumped in. “Depends on how much is used.”

“Fortunately studies have shown that it can’t be overdosed on and the worst long-lasting effect is on someone’s Quirk itself,” said another. “So it isn’t life-threatening.”

Mina’s shoulders relaxed, but that news only made Katsuki’s stomach tighten even further. Any more and he was sure his damn intestines would be in a permanent knot and he’d be forced to survive on an all-liquid diet for the rest of his miserable fucking life…

Dizzy, he forced himself to sit down on the nearest couch, leaning over to rub his temples and calm the storm in his mind. Maybe the Quirk blocking serum wasn’t life-threatening in and of itself, but that didn’t negate the fact that Eijirou was being held hostage as bait , for him no less. Didn’t change the fact that, if he didn’t give himself up in the next couple of days, he’d get to watch the thing he loved most in the world, the person who made him who he was in all the best of ways, be tortured to death all because of him …

“I’ll go,” he said, cutting into the conversation bouncing around the room; they’d been brainstorming ways to free Eijirou and apprehend the perpetrator in the process, to no avail.

“What? Go where?” Mina asked.

“Go,” he repeated, sitting up and meeting her eyes. “To the stupid warehouse. Turn myself over so they’ll let Ei go.”

“But--”

“No,” he snapped. “It’s the best and easiest way to get him the fuck out of there . They’re just using him to get to me and I’ll be damned if I let him get hurt anymore!”

“Bakugou, think rationally,” All Might said cautiously. “As soon as you’re in, you don’t know what they’ll do to you and you know Kirishima will want to jump right in to save you, too.”

“Yeah,” Mina said, though her voice had jumped an octave and her eyes were glossy. “I mean, I want Kiri back as much as you--”

“Like hell you do,” Katsuki gritted out.

She ignored him. “But if you hand yourself over he’ll just want to try and save you too, and he could still get hurt in the process.”

“Not if you don’t let him. Not if you get him as far away from there as you can. And if we’re right about the Quirk blocking shit and the fact that whatever fucker holding him hostage isn’t keeping him fed enough and shit, he’ll be too weak to resist.”

“Listen, Bakugou,” All Might said, moving toward him and placing a hand on his shoulder; instinctively Katsuki stiffened. “We have time. Three days is a long time and we’re all putting our heads together. There are heroes and police watching the warehouse like a hawk. We’re going to figure out a way to get him out of there, apprehend the villain, and keep you safe in the process. I know it’s hard, but you have to be rational about it.”

Katsuki’s jaw was aching with how tightly he kept it shut. He shrugged off the hand and paced away, shaking his head. He’d give them some time, but it wouldn’t be much longer before he took matters into his own hands.

Chapter Text

{Present Day}

The following twenty-four hours felt like the longest of Katsuki’s entire life. The only sleep he got was when he accidentally dozed off out of pure exhaustion on the couch at HQ, and it only lasted an hour or so before he was woken up by the sound of something shattering, which turned out to be Mina accidentally dropping a coffee mug onto the floor. He could hardly eat either, and not even taking a walk back to the laundromat to get the shit he left was enough to distract him.

The authorities are constantly watching the warehouse for activity, testing things and attempting to sleuth around it to find a way in. Turned out the damn place was protected more than a maximum security prison for the worst of felons. Land mines were planted absolutely everywhere. Guns with bullets strong enough to pierce titanium were hidden on every corner. How someone was able to rig all of this entirely unnoticed was completely beyond any of them.

“What if we just detonate all of the explosives?” Mina suggested.

“There are probably far too many to be able to do that, and then we still have the guns to worry about, not to mention things we may not even know about,” one of the investigators said.

A theory that the perpetrator would have to deactivate bombs in front of the door surfaced, but once again the problem was those damn guns that, after further analysis, turned out to have radioactive bullets rather than ones strong enough to pierce titanium—making them equally as dangerous as originally thought, if not more.

They try cutting the power, but even that doesn’t work. Whatever invisible trip wires the bombs and guns are set to must be hooked to some kind of back-up generator, and waiting for those to run out of power could take days, even weeks, that they didn’t have.

Katsuki was losing what little hope he’d been forcing himself to hold onto that they’d find a way without him having to turn himself over. Simultaneously hours felt like single minutes and whole days long. Who knew what kind of condition Eijirou was in? He had to be scared out of his mind; Katsuki even wanted to believe Eijirou resented him for being the reason he ended up in this mess—assuming he knew even that much—but he knew Eijirou. Knew him too well, and knew that he’d never think such a thing, even after everything that happened between them.

All of the waiting gave Katsuki way too much time to think, and too much time to regret. Though he couldn’t bring himself to regret letting Eijirou befriend him all the way back in middle school or even agreeing to go to UA, he finds himself regretting letting them rekindle their relationship near the end of high school. He found himself regretting decisions he made after that too, like moving in with Ei, becoming official partners with him, sticking with him so selfishly as long as he did.

And more than anything he regretted that snap decision he’d made in battle.

It had been a villain raid in the heart of the city that required the majority of the hero personnel to subdue. It hadn’t been as big of a deal as the media made it seem despite it resulting in a few civilian casualties. One villain had what they thought were a few civilians trapped in a small convenience store, demanding what they wanted or the civilians would lose their ‘pathetic lives.’ Eijirou and Katsuki had teamed up with Edgeshot and Kamui Woods and were instructed to follow their orders, being the older, more experienced heroes—and yet Katsuki swore he saw right through the bluff. Edgeshot had ordered them to stay back for a moment, to come up with a plan that would allow them to apprehend the villains and take the civilians alive. Through and through Katsuki believed time was a luxury they didn’t have and ignored the orders. In the end it resulted in the casualties of both the civilian and the villains inside the building and, being the hero with the Explosion Quirk, the media was quick to paint him as the villain and drag Eijirou’s name through the muck with him.

It was an ironic mirror of what was happening now, and yet because it was Eijirou on the inside, the severity of the situation sat like a heavy rock in Katsuki’s stomach.

Time and time again he tried to convince them to let him hand himself over, to give the damn kidnapper what it was they wanted so Eijirou could be safe , but no matter how hard he tried or how convincing he felt he was, they refused.

“There’s another way, we just haven’t found it yet,” they’d tell him. “We have to make sure both of you are safe, not just one.”

It was getting to the point where he’d rather rip his eardrums out than hear them say that one more time. So he took to trying to distract himself, which was something he’d never been good at. Distracting himself usually meant he ended up searching for the very thing bothering him so much, so when he tried burying his face and thoughts in some game on his phone that’d been out of service for months, he ended up connecting to the building’s wifi and making Google searches Eijirou would reprimand him for the second he saw them.

Katsuki couldn’t help it. It was like some shitty gravitational force pushed him to the headlines and news stories, made him read every word with precision and pick apart every single one.

Eijirou’s name was splattered all over an entire page of news with Katsuki’s sprinkled in, too. Flashes back to high school flicked in Katsuki’s head as he scrolled through them, eyes only half focused. Speculation. Skepticism. Curiosity. Rumors and theories. All over again it was happening. All over again he was remembering why he’d left in the first place, because despite the evidence, the proof right on their damn screens, people tried to make Eijirou out to be the villain simply because of his association with Katsuki…

And yet maybe, he thought, if he hadn’t left this shit wouldn’t have happened. Before that stupid argument and disagreement with Edgeshot and Kamui Woods things had been… good, maybe even great if you asked Kirishima himself. They were making good money, saving people and winning , getting to work side by side more often than not. When they didn’t they got to go home to each other in their apartment that they earned themselves, away from shitty neglectful parents and the foster system. They had friends—good ones. On their days off they could go on adventures or, if they were too tired, stay at home and watch movies. They’d been saving up money, making plans that at the time were nothing more than pipe dreams but something they were driven to turn into real dreams, like opening their own agency somewhere down the line, complete with a gym, a training center, the whole nine yards…

And they’d been more in love than ever. Though it was only in his mind, Katsuki was even silently toying with the idea of marriage.

No, it wasn’t perfect. People would watch him with eyes like hawks and pick apart every little thing he did. They’d use him as clickbait in their articles. He did his best to keep from giving them anything to latch onto, but when they did Eijirou was there, unwaveringly, always knowing the right thing to say.

Sometimes, too, they’d slip up and make mistakes that resulted in injury or a villain getting away. Eijirou tended to doubt himself as he’d had a habit of doing since the very beginning, and Katsuki did what he could to support him, to build him back up in his own kind of way.

Not perfect, no, but much better than anything he’d had before or since.

And yet he still let people and their petty, weak words get to him. He let them get into his head and run through his veins. Let it consume him to the point where he thought the best solution—maybe the only solution in his mind at the time—was to leave. And that left Eijirou alone and heartbroken, which rendered him vulnerable.

Katsuki held onto as much regret for so many of his actions as he did love for Eijirou, and it was too much. Too. Damn. Much.

Before anyone could spot the stupid hot tears making trails down his cheeks he tossed the phone aside and crossed the room, escaping into the bathroom and bolting the door behind him. In the next second he’d crumpled into a crouch, pressing his temples between the heels of his hands, his teeth biting into his lip so hard the metallic flavor of blood assaulted his tongue.

Pathetic, he was pathetic ! He should be out there doing something , getting Eijirou the hell out of that godforsaken warehouse, not crying like a fucking weakling in the bathroom by himself! Big Three meant nothing! Being one of the strongest young heroes meant nothing ! Nothing at all if he couldn’t save the one person who really mattered!

Katsuki’s fingers curled tightly through his hair, tugging on it; it was all he could do not to stand up and smash the damn mirror out of pure frustration and anger towards nobody but himself.

Katsuki lost track of how long he was in that bathroom trying to regain his composure, but the thing that alerted him to the fact that it’d been a while was a knock on the door.

“...hang on,” he muttered, yanking sheets of paper towels from the roll and dabbing at his tear-streaked face—the very one he couldn't bring himself to look directly at in the mirror. When that didn’t work he took to splashing cold water on his face, and in the midst of it a voice sounded through the door. Muffled as it was, it left Katsuki with a chill.

“There’s news,” All Might said. “You need to see this.”

In less than a second Katsuki had the door open, his eyes still red-rimmed and his chin still dripping. All Might stood on the other side, expression grim.

“What happened?” Katsuki blurted. Nothing about his demeanor did a thing to mask his panic.

“He’s alive,” All Might reassured him, “but another image of him in that warehouse surfaced as a warning.”

Katsuki spared but a second to dry his face before he was following All Might toward the computer where Ishida sat. Before Katsuki was beside her he knew what it was, and somewhere in the back of his mind he realized how much of a miracle it was that he hadn’t thrown up yet.

It was Eijirou, similar as in the video from the previous day, sitting in that dark room with his hands and feet bound, his mouth gagged. This time, though, there was a very clear bruise beginning to bloom across his right cheekbone. His nose trickled blood. His lip looked swollen. His shirt was torn. And he was pale. Too pale. Though his eyes were hooded as he looked down and away, Katsuki could see just how hard he was trying to mask his pain, to remain stoic and not give in.

Right below the photo were two words: “Better hurry.”

“I have to go.” The words were out of Karsuki’s mouth before he realized he’d thought them. “I have to turn myself over to these fuckers before they do anything worse. I don’t care how much you don’t think I should. It’s been almost two fucking days and nobody’s thought of a feasible plan so just let me go. I have to save him.”

As he spoke Katsuki hardly sounded like himself, what with the desperation coating his tone. Regardless, he couldn’t bring himself to give a shit. What mattered was Eijirou . If he couldn’t be a hero in any other way he had to be a hero for him .

“I agree,” All Might said, though the grimness of his demeanor hadn’t faded either.

Every head in the room swiveled in the ex hero’s direction. “What?” asked one of the investigators. “We already said—“

“I know, but things are getting worse. The villain said three days, but since when can we trust a villain to keep a promise? And unfortunately Young Bakugou is right—we’re no closer to finding another way in than we were twenty-four hours ago. We want them both to be safe, but perhaps in the moments during the exchange we can find an opportunity to apprehend the villain, even if we use Bakugou himself.”

“I’ll do anything. He just needs to get the fuck out of there.”

The investigator sat back, eyes narrow as he rubbed his hands together. “I don’t like it,” he murmured, “but unfortunately it doesn’t look like we have a choice.”

Plans were made and set into motion almost immediately after that. The word spread to police and heroes on the scene alike. Backup was called for, and Katsuki kept his mouth shut about how unnecessary he found it. At that point he didn’t much care what any of them wanted to do, as long as they let him go. What mattered was Eijirou’s safety and apprehending whatever damned villain was holding him hostage as bait. He wouldn’t think about how they were giving them exactly what they wanted or how much that infuriated him under the surface. He’d go. He’d use the shitty Quirk blocker. Eijirou would finally be safe.

And then a plan of his own would commence.

Chapter Text

{Present Day}

Katsuki’s hands didn’t shake as the police Hummer bumped over the dirt road leading out to the warehouse. His eyes hardly moved from the stark white shoes on his feet. He didn’t blink. His expression was blank. He was ready.

It was early morning—early enough that the air was still cool, still smelled like nighttime, but the sky was on fire as the sun pushed itself up above the horizon, its light igniting the clouds, casting streaks of blue across the atmosphere.

Despite his lack of sleep, Katsuki felt more energized and ready than ever. Miraculously his stomach seemed to have untied itself, his mind was calm after days of racing nonstop. He was ready , even knowing he couldn’t fully predict how the day would go.

It took just under an hour to get all the way out to the warehouse. It was surrounded by fields and a few large trees, quite a ways away from the city—secluded enough that it made sense to bring someone here after kidnapping them, but close enough to dangle said person in front of the people who cared about them.

As soon as he saw the building, relatively tall and white, once upon a time, the front made up of a line of metal garage doors, Katsuki’s teeth ground together. The place looked like it was falling apart; how it could support the arsenal of bombs and guns and surveillance and shit was beyond Katsuki. Nevertheless, he’d go in. He’d get Eijirou out. He would.

Naturally the place was entirely surrounded. Yellow police tape was tied between the trees, creating perimeter. Police swarmed the outside with heroes scattered here and there, all of them armed whether it was with their Quirks or their firearms. Most of their heads swiveled around as soon as they heard the sound of the Hummer approaching.

They rolled to a stop a good ten meters from the perimeter. Katsuki wasted no time hopping from the vehicle into the unusually dry air, his glare already set upon the front door of the damn warehouse.

“You remember the plan?” All Might was the one to ask as they were escorted by two police officers toward the edge of the perimeter.

Katsuki gave him a nod but nothing more. It wasn’t like their plan much mattered; he had one of his own, regardless of how much of a gamble it might’ve been or what the risk was. Eijirou would be safe by the time he carried it out.

All Might’s hand on his shoulder stopped him before he could duck under the police tape. “Good luck, Young Bakugou. I’m sorry it’s come to this, but for doing it you are truly a hero.”

Katsuki only had a stiff nod in him as a response, because anything else might’ve put too much pressure on the wall he was working so hard to keep up and cause it to crumble, cause the weakness within him to rear its ugly head. Right now weak was the last thing he could afford to be, and as much as those words meant coming from All Might himself, he had to hold his shit together.

Aside from the occasional mumble into a radio or the static response coming through it, or whispers between the police and heroes securing the border, things around the warehouse were eerily quiet. As soon as Katsuki ducked under the police tape and entered the perimeter, it felt like sixty or more different sets of eyes swiveled in his direction. He should’ve been used to it, having grown up with that very same thing happening to him almost everywhere he went, but his back still stiffened, his hands still curled into fists automatically.

“Whenever you’re ready,” one of the police officers who’d been in the Hummer with him said as she joined him within the perimeter. “Keep between the tape. It’s where we’ve determined has no landmines. There are guns pointed at that area, but they won’t shoot you. They want you alive.”

Katsuki nodded, still stiff. With a deep breath and paying no more mind to the eyes trained on him, he stepped forward. Gravel crunched beneath his shoes as he made his way between the tape that had a narrow path leading up to the main door; in its middle was the table with the vial of Quirk blocking serum.

As soon as he stepped up to it, a glint of the morning sun caught his eye and they lifted straight up to a small camera mounted right above the door. Within it he could just feel eyes staring him down, so he stared right back.

As the police and heroes behind him watched, it was a sight, a feeling they found they’d never forget--watching Bakugou Katsuki, Ground Zero, surrender himself. Watching as he picked up the plastic vial on the table and uncapped the needle, ready to go, and stick himself in the bicep with it. The whole world seemed to hold its breath as he pressed the plunger down in, letting the serum that would stop him from using the most powerful thing about him flow through his veins without a second thought.

He tossed the syringe back onto the table, eyes fixed once again on the camera as he held his hands up over his head. No, he didn’t know what awaited him once he stepped through that door. Didn’t know if he’d ever walk out of there alive, despite the plan brewing in the back of his mind. But at this point it was for Eijirou, and he was all that mattered anymore.

“I’m here,” he called, his voice splitting through the silence of the morning.  “This what you wanted? I took your shitty drug and I’ve got nothin’ but the clothes on my back. Now give Eijirou back, or you’ll have hell to pay.”

The world stood still once again for a good long moment; Katsuki’s brows knitted toward one another, his jaw flexing and relaxing, waiting, waiting, waiting. And then there was a metallic click, and the door began to lift, inch by inch. Feet, shins, knees, stomachs, chests… heads . Two bodies stood beyond the door’s threshold as it opened like the mouth of a giant monster and clicked into place at the top.

The relief in seeing him again was almost blinding to Katsuki, but the relief was quickly overtaken by anger--unfathomable anger. Anger that started in his belly and blossomed, sending heat surging throughout his body, his veins; a kind of heat that would’ve given him enough sweat to blow the entire place to smithereens had it not been for the blocker.

Eijirou was bruised. Bloody. His hair was matted, his clothes torn and dirty. All of his weight was on his left leg. One eye was swollen shut, the other so bloodshot the white of it almost blended into the red of his iris. His mouth was still gagged, his hands bound behind his back. A metal collar was closed around his neck, the chain it was attached to in the hand of the one who stood beside him as if they were treating him like a fucking dog .

And, as much as Katsuki wanted to charge in right then and there, all he could do was hold his ground because in the other hand of the one beside Eijirou, clad in all black with a bulletproof vest and a helmet that concealed their entire head, including their face, was a gun pressed right up against Eijirou’s temple.

The last thing Katsuki felt was gratitude, as small as it may have been, that those behind him stood by rather than shooting on sight or charging in to attack this asshole with the bulletproof vest. They were honoring his wish to hold their ground and give him his own chance.

With the jerk of their chin, Eijirou sucked in a breath and limped forward, barely able to put weight on his right leg at all. Still, his one good eye never left Katsuki’s and vice versa. In that one eye alone Katsuki could see the pain he was in, though that was almost overshadowed by the fear and worry he had--not for himself but for Katsuki. As best he could without saying a word, Katsuki did his best to convey reassurance.

As soon as the end of the chain slipped out of the kidnapper’s hand they were quick to pull another gun, keeping the one pointed at Eijirou while the new one took aim straight at Katsuki’s chest. He kept his hands up, even when Eijirou limped by him.

It felt like eons passed as the exchange was made, when Eijirou had finally limped his way to safety, the first gun was now trained on Katsuki and people behind him were quick to meet Eijirou halfway before he collapsed. The footsteps told Katsuki he was in good hands; now there was only one thing left to do.

The kidnapper gestured with their left gun, signaling him forward, and so he moved. Each step, small as he made them, brought him closer to them, closer to the unknown, and further away from safety, away from Eijirou. Still, not a single inkling of regret resided anywhere within him as he made it three, two, one step away from them.

He hadn’t missed the handcuffs hanging at their hip or the other chains secured to their back, ready to bind him up even tighter than Eijirou, surely. But before he’d made it close enough for them to begin reaching for it, he knew they’d underestimated him.

Katsuki’s hands lowered, slowly, showing them he was ready to be cuffed with the gun but an inch from the left side of his chest, the other beginning to lower as well. His mind processed it all in slow motion. Instinct was the thing that showed him his second of opportunity, just when they were beginning to look away.

Quickly, faster than he’d ever moved in his life, Katsuki grabbed the guns and yanked with all of the strength he had in his arms, causing the kidnapper to gasp in surprise as their fingers gave way to the force; before they knew it the guns were flying backwards, behind Katsuki, and scattering somewhere far off on the ground.

He didn’t give them time to reach for another weapon, a detonator, the handcuffs, or whatever the fuck they might’ve been holding as insurance. With a roar he crossed his forearms in front of him and slammed straight into their chest with them, pushing them back through the doors of the warehouse. They stumbled backwards, taken off guard, and inevitably landed right on their ass.

Katsuki was never one to waste time. His hands clamped onto either side of their helmet and he yanked once again, pure adrenaline fueling him to break whatever straps were in place to secure the helmet on. He barely got a look at their--at her --face before his fist was flying, a powerful right hook slamming right into her left cheek and whipping her head around. Another and another, maneuvering his body as he punched and punched and punched , relentless, pinning her to the ground with the full weight of his body.

It wasn’t enough, not nearly enough. His arms swung back and forth, fists connecting with her face, her head, her shoulder, her neck, anywhere he could reach that wasn’t covered by the bulletproof vest. His vocal chords protested and burned as he roared in her face, but whether whatever was coming out of his mouth was merely screams or words he couldn’t process. He was blinded by his anger, his rage , taking out every single thing he’d been holding in for years on her damn face.

His pain, build up over years and years of being ridiculed and judged and feared transferred through his fists, his punches, deflecting her hands as she futilely attempted to fight back. He was sick of it, sick of it! Sick of being seen as the damn villain! Sick of being judged and surrounded by shitty talk and rumors! Sick of being so feared! Angry that his parents abandoned him when he was just four years old, and pissed that he’d been put down before he was able to stand the fuck up! Angry that he was the one to drag Eijirou’s name through the mud with his own.

There was no single word that could describe how fucking enraged he was!

Slam, slam, slam!

Over and over his fists, bloodied and bruised themselves now, connected with her face. With every punch came the image of a face that had stared at him in terror or judgment. Everything he’d been holding in came out in the form of tears, punches, and cries of the rage and pain he couldn’t contain any longer.

Eventually, though he didn’t realize it until much later, she stopped fighting back. Stopped squirming under his weight and crying out, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop… didn’t know how to stop, even as his tunnel vision on her face began to fade and he could feel the gravel digging into his knees, the ache in his shoulders and the throbbing of his fists. Even as the world started to come back in.

Suddenly something cool met his back and, with another growl he twisted around, his fist coming up and connecting with something else. It was but a second later he realized what--no, who it was.

Eijirou was knelt beside him, his head twisted to the left, though his hand didn’t move from Katsuki’s shoulder when he twisted back and flexed his jaw. The sight of his face, bruised as it was, sucked Katsuki back to reality. Reminded him where he was and why. Alerted him to the heaving of his chest, the moisture on his face.

“It’s okay,” Eijirou said in a rough, hoarse voice that had Katsuki’s eyes lowering to his neck, seeing the bruise marks there that he hadn’t noticed before. “Look at me, Katsuki.” When he did, Eijirou murmured, “It’s okay now. Okay? It’s okay.” His hands pressed gently to the sides of Katsuki’s face. “I’m here. You don’t have to hurt anymore.”

“... Eijirou ...” Katsuki breathed, eyelashes fluttering, eyes burning. And all he could do was move towards the other and lean into him, reaching up with bloody fists to clutch at the other with all the strength he had left within him.

Chapter Text

{Present Day}

Everything deescalated quickly after that morning. While there was no footage of Katsuki’s assault on the perpetrator who was later named to be Megumi Kiyoko, someone who was, indeed, a member of the League of Villains back when Katsuki and Eijirou were still in high school.

“Her name is Megumi Kiyoko, and she was the mastermind behind the League of Villains, a band of criminals from several years ago who were taken down by some of the country’s most elite Pro Heroes, including the former number one hero All Might himself. Many remember it as the fight of All Might’s fall, but it was much more than that.”

The screen, as the reporter spoke, depicted footage from that very fight—the one that made Katsuki sick to remember, though he couldn’t take his eyes from the screen.

“It turns out that Megumi played a much bigger role in the League of Villains than any of our official personnel realized at the time of her arrest. She served only four years in prison before being released on parole on good behavior last November. Unfortunately, it was much too soon. As soon as she was released, police and investigators have found evidence that she wasted no time setting up her trap to capture Red Riot. Not only that, but Megumi herself has stated so as well. Let’s take a look.”

The screen flicked to a girl with caramel colored hair—she couldn’t have been any older than Katsuki and Eijirou. Her face was swollen with bandages here and there. Her eyes were bloodshot, her nose in some sort of casting, surely broken. She was hardly recognizable as a human being, let alone herself. Still, she was able to speak to whoever was beside the camera, surely interrogating her. Though, it wasn’t much of an interrogation.

“I hate him,” she began. “He’s the reason Quirkless people like me are so oppressed and looked down on, and the reason there are so few of us left. He’s just that {beep} bomber reincarnated. I know it. He needs to go down, and whoever let him become a pro hero is a fool .” She spat the word; Katsuki’s nails bit into his palms. “Since he’s been MIA for the past few months I took the next best thing after arming that warehouse with every possible weapon and explosive I could get my hands on, legal or not. It didn’t matter. Once I killed him I knew I’d be facing the consequences anyway, so I went all out. I tracked down that pathetic Red Riot kid and watched him for a few weeks, and as soon as he went out with that Pinky hero lady I knew I had my opportunity, so I struck. He was completely off guard and hardly anyone was around, so dragging him back to my base was easy. He was nothing more than bait. I roughed him up a little to let that {beep} know I was serious, but he wasn’t the one I wanted to kill. No, that was The Bomber 2.0 himself. There’s no reason someone like that should be allowed to live, much less roam the streets under the guise of a ‘hero’. Please.”

“So… back when you were with the League of Villains, your purpose wasn’t to have him join you, the way you made it out to seem?” asked the interrogator.

“Hell no. That was a trap. A way to try and lure him in because no matter how heroic he wants to seem, he’s a villain down to his very core. I let the others believe that was the case but I had no intention of letting him live once he was within our reach.”

From his hospital bed, Eijirou smashed his thumb into the power button on the television remote as hard as he could, which brought Katsuki to the realization that the edges of his vision were going black and that if he didn’t make it to the bathroom right then , the hospital staff was going to have one hell of a mess to clean up. He made it just in time, and when he staggered back into the room Eijirou’s eyes were filled with so much worry that his gut twisted again. He merely looked away and shook it off.

Megumi went straight back to prison without so much as a trial. All there was, or so they heard, was some sort of hearing with a judge to determine her new sentence. Being in the midst of all of it, twenty years for kidnap, assault, stalking, and a number of other things the news didn’t bother to list didn’t seem like nearly enough. Katsuki’s jaw was beginning to ache from grinding his teeth so hard, trying to hold in his emotions.

“Twenty years is a long time, Katsuki,” Eijirou told him quietly—his voice still rough. It’d only been a day, after all. “And prison’s rough I’ve heard. She’ll get what she deserves.”

“Fuck that,” Katsuki spat. “You’re in a fucking hospital bed , and she gets three hots and a cot for twenty fucking years before they let her walk free.”

Eijirou relented, his subtly shaky fingers from the dehydration he sustained moving to fiddle a little with his IV tube. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Guess you’re kinda right.” His voice dropped to a whisper, and even that was hoarse. “She wanted to kill you.”

“Hmph,” Katsuki grunted. “Sucks for her.”

“Hm,” Eijirou hummed in agreement—or what Katsuki thought to be agreement.

Despite their close proximity in the hospital room that Katsuki rarely left, wanting to make sure Eijirou healed up okay and didn’t have any underlying conditions inflicted by that League bitch, Eijirou was distant. Katsuki would be lying if he said it didn’t make his chest ache, but he understood it. Truth be told he didn’t know if Eijirou even wanted him there, and the only reason he stuck around was for his own selfish reasons.

Just as suspected, Megumi had been keeping Eijirou’s veins chock full of Quirk blocker the entire time she was holding him hostage—and that was it. In the nearly three days he was there he wasn’t given a single morsel or drop of water. His body was conserving everything it had, and several of the doctors and nurses expressed their surprise that his body hadn’t quite begun to shut down due to the dehydration. They had him on a constant IV drip of saline and made him drink what was to Katsuki a fuckload of water while monitoring him closely.

He was weak. He couldn’t activate his Quirk. He had bruises splotching his skin all over his body from kicks and punches. His eye was still swollen, and the bloodshot condition of the other had no obvious cause. He had a minor concussion. There was a hairline fracture in his right tibia, which explained his severe limping and resulted in the lower half of his leg being encased in a cast.

And what made Katsuki’s throat constrict the most (other than the slight bruise on the right side of his jaw from the blow he inflicted himself) were the bruises marking up his neck, his throat . Too strongly they resembled fingers. Coupled with his hoarse voice, it was all too obvious what its cause was; he almost couldn’t even listen to Eijirou recount everything he remembered being done to him when they had a psychiatric evaluation done on him.

Katsuki forced himself to suppress the whirlwind of regret and anger towards himself within him. No matter what he did or how hard he tried to push them away, the thoughts that this was his fault, he was the reason Eijirou was in a hospital bed, refused to cease invading his mind.

No matter what, keeping it bottled up was his only option. He knew Eijirou, and if the idiot caught wind of how much guilt was weighing him down there was no doubt it would hinder his recovery. Between the physical injuries and the trauma of what he went through, Katsuki couldn’t bear to put more on his plate; it was all too easy to imagine Eijirou insisting that he wasn’t to blame, that he shouldn’t be so hard on himself, blah blah blah.

And that was how he knew Eijirou was too damn good for him. Always had been. He had the kindest heart of anyone Katsuki’d ever met. The purest, warmest soul. He was like the freaking sun, and Katsuki’d been shadowing—even stealing his light for too long.

The only reason he stuck around was to make sure Eijirou was okay. As soon as he was discharged to go home, he’d go again. He would, no matter how much it felt like his heart was being ripped out…

~✵~

“How are you holding up?”

The question took Katsuki off guard; his brow furrowed as he looked up from his phone, having tapped into the hospital’s free wifi, and found Eijirou’s eyes trained on him intently. The phone lowered, his back stiffening. “What?”

“I just…” Eijirou’s fingers curled around the sheets in his lap. “Just wanted to make sure you’re doing okay.”

Katsuki’s eyes narrowed. “The fuck you worried about me for? You’re the one with the broken leg and a black eye and shit.”

Eijirou’s eyes slid away, a hand raising to ruffle through his already messy hair. “...yeah,” he mumbled.

Quiet fell back over, but this time the quiet humming of the television on in the background—tuned to something random so they could get the hell away from the news for a while—could cut through the sudden uneasiness. Katsuki didn’t lift his phone again; it was almost dead anyway. Eijirou fiddled with his IV, took another few sips of water, did anything he could to keep his hands busy.

Having Katsuki so close to him for so long all of the sudden was… unsettling somehow. It was all he’d wanted for months now, but now that he was there, though he still kept his distance with the chair as far back against the wall as it could possibly go, it felt… almost wrong. Felt like Katsuki only remained out of obligation, because he was the one to jump in and save Eijirou.

Eijirou was doing everything humanly possible to keep the millions of questions swarming in the back of his mind like wasps from coming through. That would more or less be like opening a can of worms, and he was still too exhausted and achy to want to deal with that. He was sure Katsuki probably didn’t want to hear any of it, either…

For now he had to work on healing. Had to drink his water, keep speaking to a minimum, and focus on centering and grounding himself whenever his mind tried to go back to that dark room with the dirt floor… with discarded needles, wild rats and bugs scurrying everywhere, cold chains and a bone dry throat...

Eijirou was just beginning to start naming the five things he could see to stop himself from slipping back there when Katsuki spoke up, and that was enough to bring him back.

“‘M glad you’re okay.”

Eijirou’s head snapped in his direction again. It seemed to take Eijirou’s brain way too long to process those words, and he couldn’t decide whether to blame his mild concussion or the shock of what he’d just heard.

“Me too,” he murmured finally. “About you, I mean.”

“Hmph. That bitch didn’t have a chance, even with that Quirk blocking shit.”

“Yeah,” Eijirou agreed. “‘Cause you’ve never needed your Quirk to be strong. She had no idea what she was getting herself into.”

Katsuki spun his phone in his fingers. “How’d she manage to grab you, anyway?”

Eijirou too occupied his hands with his water bottle, fidgeting with the crinkles in the straw. “‘S hard to say,” he said. Cleared his throat, and winced when it burned.

“Never mind. You shouldn’t talk—“

“All I remember was bein’ with Mina at the mall. I’d, um, called her after… after you left that day to uh, grab stuff. She wanted to get me outta there for a while so we went shopping. I had to pee. All I really remember was turning down the hallway towards the bathroom and then smelling something sweet-ish, and the next thing I knew I woke up in that… that warehouse place.”

Katsuki lowered the phone, his gaze incredulous. “Fucker used that stupid movie trick of chloroform on you?”

Eijirou shrugged half-heartedly and took a sip of water. “Guess it works. As soon as I woke up I realized there was something wrong with my Quirk ‘cause I couldn’t break free. She only came once or twice a day I think, continuing to inject me with that blocker shit or punch me… or…” His hand shakily lifted to his throat where the bruises still seemed to be darkening. “...but she wouldn’t tell me what was going on. It wasn’t ‘til I got outta there that I heard what the whole thing was about.”

Katsuki sat back, a huff of air blowing through his lips. “Crazy motherfucker,” he muttered.

“Seriously,” Eijirou agreed, though the word was butchered by his crackling voice. He shook his head in frustration; only a moment of speaking and he was already losing it again.

Suddenly, in the midst of Eijirou drinking more water, Katsuki sat up and faced him head-on. “Look… stop being an idiot and stop talking like they told you to, and let me say somethin’, all right?”

Lips still parted as the water bottle pulled away from his mouth, Eijirou could only nod slightly. Katsuki’s eyes were ablaze with a kind of fire he’d never seen before, though it was darker somehow… like the fire was black instead of the passionate orange and red it usually was. It was enough to keep Eijirou silent.

Katsuki pulled in a deep breath, steadied himself as best he could, and began.

“You don’t deserve this shit, Ei. And you sure as fuck didn’t deserve to be targeted and fucking kidnapped by someone who was after me . That psycho bitch could’ve… killed you and it would have been thanks to me.” As Eijirou’s mouth began to open in protest Katsuki held up a hand. His voice then dropped. “I… shouldn’t have left you. The second I heard you were missing it was like everything snapped into place for some reason. Like I could see some stupid puzzle for the whole picture again instead of just the individual pieces and I ran out of that stupid laundromat faster than I thought my tired ass body would ever let me.” Eijirou’s brow lifted fractionally at the word ‘laundromat.’ “Fuck, I wanna say I’d have come for you sooner and maybe you wouldn’t be in that shitty bed, but no. Truth is I shouldn’t have left in the first place. So… I’m sorry, Eijirou, even though a couple dumb words don’t make up for the pain you’ve been going through ‘cause of me. I just want you to know how much I regret all this shit.”

Taken aback, Eijirou wasn’t able to form a coherent thought, let alone find something to say despite Katsuki telling him not to speak, despite his weak voice. He wasn’t given time to put any together, either, because of the taps on the door before it was swinging open and his doctor stepped in, trailed by a relatively young girl clad in scrubs and adorned with midnight blue hair that was so long it reached halfway down her thighs.

Katsuki went back to his neutral position as the doctor did all the usual stuff the nurses did—checking IVs, asking questions, et cetera, all of which Eijirou answered blearily. Every minute or so he’d steal a glance at Katsuki, who pretended not to notice.

“I’d like to introduce you to Shiori,” the doctor said, gesturing at the young girl who’d been quietly observing him. “She’s a new intern here at the hospital though she’s only 16. It turns out she has a relatively keen eye for a lot of medical things, and she has a Quirk that allows her to heal injuries. Personally I’m not unconvinced that her eye for precision in this field is part of her Quirk, but…” He shrugged. “Who knows?” he said with a chuckle. “At the moment her Quirk isn’t quite as powerful as Recovery Girl’s but in time we believe she can perfect it, just as you have.”

“I dunno ‘bout perfection,” Eijirou mumbled with a sheepish grin.

“Give yourself some credit. Once your Quirk abilities come back I’m sure you’ll be stronger than ever.” The doctor clapped his hands. “Now! While Shiori’s Quirk isn’t entirely refined quite yet, I think it could be beneficial to you if you choose to let her use it. The only drawback is that, as she’s using her Quirk, the pain worsens by quite a bit before it subsides, so it’s understandable if you’d rather not go through that.”

Eijirou shifted a little, running his finger down the straw. “Can she heal my leg?” he asked.

The doctor hummed and turned to the girl whose eyes hadn’t really met anyone’s since her greeting, and her arms remained folded behind her. When he turned though, she looked up and watched as he gestured at her—sign language, Katsuki was quick to realize. They went back and forth for a moment before the doctor turned again.

“She hasn’t healed bones before but she’s more than willing to try, if you are. And since your leg is no more than a hairline fracture it should be fairly easy and a great learning experience for her.”

Eijirou gave a slow nod. “‘Kay. Sure. Let’s try it.”

The doctor signed to the girl and she stepped up to the side of Eijirou’s bed alongside him.

“We’ll start with a bruise so you can have an idea of what it’s like, okay? The pain inflicted by her Quirk is relative to the severity of the injury. It’s imperative that you remain still while she does her thing, so if you’d like to squeeze onto your blankets or something that would be ideal.”

Gingerly, Eijirou’s fingers curled around the end of his blanket again, bunching up enough to fill his fists. His lower lip slid between his teeth, uneasy.

That in itself was enough for Katsuki to lurch forward and offer a hand. “Here,” he mumbled. “The blankets aren’t gonna do shit, and don’t bite your lip or there’ll just be another injury to heal.”

Eijirou looked… weirdly young when his eyes lifted to Katsuki. There was no hesitation as he took the hand offered to him with both of his. They were just as steady and strong as Katsuki remembered them to be, and he had to swallow back the reaction he wanted to let out in having those hands in his again—relaxing in relief, letting his guard down, feeling safe…

“Whenever you’re ready,” the doctor said.

“Ready,” Eijurou said, less shaky than he was a moment ago.

Shiori’s long hair had a purpose other than to look pretty, evident in the way that she pulled it over her shoulder once given the signal and wrapped it around Eijirou’s arm just above the elbow where a dark bruise had formed. While Eijirou was stiff, Katsuki watched as the girl’s eyes closed with her hands holding the hair in place. She sucked in a deep breath and on the exhale, a cool colored glow began to emit from beneath her hands. It was her hair , Katsuki realized, that was glowing. He only had a second to feel the awe, though, because Eijirou’s hands started tightening around his, bringing his eyes back to Ei’s face.

Eijirou’s eyes were squeezed shut, his teeth clenched. It was clear he was holding his breath. The longer it went on the more his features contorted in pain.

And then it was over, and Shiori was dropping her hands, letting her hair fall away from Eijirou’s arm. Where the bruise had been was nothing but smooth, olive toned skin without evidence that there’d been any bruise there to begin with.

“Wow,” Eijirou murmured, inspecting the area. “All the pain’s gone too. Thank you,” he said to the girl. She didn’t need a translation to know what he said and the smallest, most modest of smiles quirked on her lips and she gave a small nod.

They went for his leg next. The doctor had to pull the cast and the bandages underneath, revealing a bruise halfway down his calf that was twice as dark as the one on his arm, and a good five times as big. The fleeting thought that he was sort of glad Eijirou’s Quirk was momentarily out of commission crossed Katsuki’s mind, because he’d been known to involuntarily activate it during intense moments in the past, and it could easily shred Katsuki’s skin.

Then again, perhaps Katsuki deserved it after all this shit…

The doctor triple checked that Eijirou was okay, that he was good to go, that he could handle the pain that would be exceptionally more intense than the last, before he gave Shiori the okay to begin. Once again she leaned down, wrapping her hair around Eijirou’s leg twice, and held it in place with her hands. By the touch alone Eijirou was already tensing up, whimpering hoarsely at the pain.

When the glow faded into the long strands of hair, Eijirou began to relax. “Oh, ‘s not so—“ But of course the idiot spoke too soon and he was gasping, his hands clamping around Katsuki’s with all the strength he had left it seemed. His nails dug into skin, his teeth gritting together while a groan escaped his throat.

This was worse—so much worse. Tears rolled down his cheeks, his mouth popping open in a cry of pain. All Katsuki could think to do was withdraw one of his hands from the tangle of fingers between them and run his fingers through Eijirou’s hair, gently, over and over, murmuring reassurances that not even he really heard.

All the while his mind was racing. This is your fault! Your fucking fault! Everything he’d done had led up to this—led up to the one person who mattered being in so much pain like this, laying in this shitty hospital bed with the cardboard fucking food and weird antiseptic smell. Katsuki was so fucking tired of all the regret and guilt weighing him down, yet all he could do was be Eijirou’s hand to hold while he groaned out and shed tears of pain…

Yet he was still so damn selfish because he knew, and it hurt , that there was no way in hell or heaven that Eijirou would want to be with him after this. No way he’d ask him to stay. Katsuki couldn’t blame him, either; he wouldn’t ask to stay, because if he did who the hell knew where Eijirou could end up next. A mental hospital? A fucking coffin? No.

It was agonizing, being without Eijirou, but he had no one to blame but himself.

Chapter Text

{Present Day}

Over the next couple of days, things got easier—physically, anyway. Most of Eijirou’s remaining bruises were already beginning to fade to yellow and disappear altogether, and rehydrating his body helped restore much of the energy he’d been lacking.

As for his mental state, things were still rocky, but he found focusing on his surroundings and what was in front of him in the moment helped pull his mind away from that dark warehouse. That didn’t stop it from invading his dreams—or whatever the strange flashes and mish-mash of fleeting images were while he was asleep. Still, waking up and reminding himself of where he was, that he was safe, that those long three days were over (thanks to no one but Katsuki) helped him cope.

Things with Katsuki… were really back and forth, push and pull. One moment they were sitting next to each other, completely at ease and the next Katsuki would stiffen and shift away or even get up and disappear into the kitchen or bathroom without a word or reason. Had it not been for his inability to look Eijirou directly in the face it could easily be brushed off as hunger or using the toilet, but Eijirou knew better.

Three days after they left the hospital was when Eijirou decided he was feeling well enough for visitors and told Mina, Denki, and Sero they were welcome any time. As soon as he broke the news that they’d be bringing over dinner to Katsuki, his stomach twisted up at the way Katsuki’s eyes narrowed and jaw tensed.

“They know I’m here?” he’d asked.

“Not as far as I know,” Eijirou murmured. “But it’s okay—“

“No. They’re… not happy with me, to say the least. I’m gonna… take off for a while. Give you time with ‘em.”

“You don’t—“

Katsuki was already headed toward the door. “It’s better that I do. Trust me.”

“Wait!” Eijirou called as the other’s hand wrapped around the knob. He turned; Eijirou forced back a swallow, trying to rid his throat of the forming lump. “Are—you coming back?” he asked.

“...yeah,” Katsuki said after a moment of hesitation. “I’ll come back around eleven. Give you guys time or whatever.”

Eijirou could find nothing else to say, leaving Katsuki an opening to step out the door in the midst of the silence.

It was stupid. He knew his other friends weren’t happy with Katsuki; they’d even condemned him for his leaving—Mina especially. As much as Eijirou loved his friends, Katsuki’s inevitable departure was constantly on his mind and he’d rather spend every second he could with him before that happened.

But it was too late, so he spent ten minutes tidying up and erasing any obvious evidence that Katsuki was staying with him, having no desire to open that can of worms with his friends. They showed up not too long later bearing take-out food and an ice cream cake, and Eijirou did everything he could to keep himself reserved, to keep himself outwardly in the moment even if the rest of him was far away, waiting and wondering and wondering and waiting…

Regardless, it was a nice night. He was glad to see his friends again, and as they had known to do before, they kept the subject far away from Katsuki in spite of their curiosity of where he disappeared to after Eijirou was discharged, and that made things easier on him. They caught him up on their hero duties and work from the last few days, also steering clear of what had happened to him. Somehow it was easy to ignore the elephants in the room, what with the food (the best Eijirou had in a while, admittedly), a good movie, and their usual playful banter.

Mina was excited to share that she’d signed on with some sort of modeling agency and that her work would double as publicity; she was basking in her rising fame and loving every second. Denki and Hanta weren’t as invested in such a thing as they were each other despite how much they clearly didn’t want to admit it; over the course of the entire night Eijirou found he couldn’t recall a moment where they weren’t flirting or close enough that their arms kept brushing, their hands bumping, their legs resting together.

In spite of everything that had happened and his own baggage weighing him down, he was happy for them--all three of them. Really, he was. And silently, he hoped he could find some kind of happiness like that for himself…

~✵~

Eijirou stood in the bathroom, hair still damp, dressed in nothing but a t-shirt and sweats. His eyes studied the fading bruise still prominent around his eye socket in the mirror, and in his irises showed his internal conflict.

Katsuki’d only been back half an hour, having walked in not long after Mina and the others left. He had the question right there on his tongue, all he had to do was go into the living room and say it .

He felt like such a damn baby.

“I should just go to bed,” he muttered to his reflection. “He’s gonna say no anyway.”

Nothing he said to himself could’ve stopped his feet from carrying him down the hall anyway, or hovering quietly near one end of the couch where Katsuki laid. His head was at the opposite end, one arm tucked under his head in typical Katsuki fashion while the other held his phone above his head, illuminating his face in the otherwise dark room, save for the streetlights streaming in between the blinds from outside. He didn’t seem to notice Eijirou’s presence until he spoke, though.

“...hey, uh, Katsuki?” he asked softly.

The phone lowered and Katsuki propped himself up on an elbow. “You okay?”

“Mm, yeah, yeah,” Eijirou said quickly. “It’s just… ah, never mind. G’night.”

“What is it, Ei?” Katsuki asked, sitting up the rest of the way before Eijirou had the chance to disappear back down the hallway.

Eijirou swallowed, his hand lifting to rub the back of his neck. “I was just, uhm, gonna ask if you wouldn’t mind… laying with me for a bit. ‘S… kinda hard to sleep after what happened. But nah, it’s a dumb request. Sorry.”

With that, Eijirou planned to escape back to the bedroom, but his feet wouldn’t budge. Somewhere in the back of his mind he counted a good ten seconds—the longest of his life, he thought—ticking by audibly on the clock hanging on the hallway behind him.

“‘S not dumb, idiot,” Katsuki said finally. “All you had to do was ask.”

“I know, I just didn’t wanna make things weirder than they are or ask too much.”

Katsuki huffed, already moving to his feet. “Whatever, dummy. Let’s just go.”

In a daze, Eijirou practically stumbled back to the room with Katsuki following silently at his heels. He’d suspected Eijirou hadn’t been getting as much sleep as he should’ve been, what with his concussion and the trauma he endured. If Eijirou needed him he’d be there, even if it was only for a little while. One last night of sleeping next to him. One last night couldn’t hurt. Just… one. It was all he could ask for—no, more than he deserved, but he wasn’t so selfless as to say no.

For a few moments there was nothing but the shuffling of blankets as they slipped underneath them and got comfortable. They kept their distance, neither willing to push their luck, and ended up lying parallel on their backs.

“Thanks,” Eijirou whispered.

Katsuki could only grunt in response. There was nothing Eijirou should thank him for. All he was doing was what he should’ve fucking done from the beginning—the very beginning.

“Listen,” he found himself saying, keeping his eyes fixed on the ceiling. “This ain’t gonna mean shit and I know it, but I can’t… not say it.” He swallowed once. Twice. “It’s ‘cause of me you got kidnapped by that bitch, since the League has always been after me. And since you’re associated with me you became a target too, and now you’re… like this. Would be worse if it weren’t for that girl’s hair. I’m just… fucking sorry I got you involved in all this shit, sorry it had to be you of all people, so fucking sorry that—“

Katsuki’s apology cut off the second something soft and familiar, so fucking familiar, met his hand—wrapped around it, held it firmly but gently at the same time somehow. His head snapped to the left to find Eijirou suddenly facing him.

“‘S not your fault, Katsuki. None of it’s your fault, and it never has been, man. How many times have I told you that now? You’re not a villain.”

“...ain’t no hero, either,” Katsuki scoffed.

“Yeah you are. You were willing to give yourself up to her just to save me, and while I can’t even pretend to completely understand why, I know that it’s mostly ‘cause you really are a hero. But seriously, I don’t blame you for anything that happened. If I did I wouldn’t have let you come back with me or asked you to lay with me so I can freakin’ sleep.” He forced out a chuckle. “I know I can’t make you see it’s not your fault, but I hope you can find a way to see it yourself. And… if ya want my help…” His sentence faded out to yawn. “...ya got me, ‘kay? ‘M right here. You’re not alone, ‘n ya nev’r have been.”

Katsuki watched as the last of Eijirou’s energy drained, his eyelids struggling to stay open as he spoke—or slurred, really. Somehow he managed a light, brief smile just before he let the exhaustion consume him and, just like that, he was asleep.

There wasn’t a cell in Katsuki’s body that would let him pull his hand from Eijirou’s or tear his eyes away from that sleeping face, even when his vision began to blur with inevitable, shitty moisture. His free hand swiped at his eyes but before it did he knew it was futile.

This damn idiot! Maybe it wasn’t directly Katsuki’s fault that all this shit happened, but peoples’ reaction to him and his damned Quirk was inevitable. The stupid bitch who was (fortunately) rotting in prison had to have grown up with that hatred sewn into her heart, with the thirst for revenge tangled with her very DNA. Everything that led up to this was bound to happen. But had Katsuki kept his distance, hid his Quirk, ran the fuck away or something , Eijirou would be… better, at the very least. Right? He’d have figured it out, found someone else to inspire him or found a way to motivate himself to stand up on his own two feet…

You’re more selfish than that, though , a voice from somewhere in his mind whispered to him.

Like always, that shitty voice was right. He was selfish; had he kept his distance from Eijirou or ran away at any of the thousands of points he thought about it, he wouldn’t be laying there, holding the hand of the one thing that managed to lead him this far. No, not lead him, but hold his hand as they walked the road together. He wouldn’t get to see his stupid, sleeping face or hear his soft breathing.

Fuck , he fucked up. He did run away, though, for reasons he was having trouble remembering anymore. He hurt Eijirou, left a permanent scar on his soul that nothing could heal or erase. He was so bad at doing the right damn thing, and now an ache of regret was settling itself into his chest, closing around his lungs, his heart.

Some scars just couldn’t be healed—he of all people knew that. He’d inflicted damage upon Eijirou and their relationship, damage that was irreparable, damage that no amount of taking care of the other or doing anything he had within his power (a part, albeit a small one, of him was willing to admit wasn’t much) would or could mend it. No amount of wishing or wanting or regretting could turn back the clock or send him back in time to stop himself from walking out that damn door.

Bakugou Katsuki was a selfish bastard, and he knew it.

Still, he found himself lying there, alternating between letting himself gaze longingly, lovingly at the sleeping man—who looked more like a boy as his ribs rose and fell with each soft breath—beside him, letting himself get lost in those features that he swore nothing could possibly compare to, to jerking his gaze away when the thoughts dawned on him and he engaged in a staring contest with the ceiling that he never won. His thumb would absently stroke over Eijirou’s fingers where they were still wrapped around his hand, trying to rememorize their texture, their steady gentleness…

Katsuki lost track of how long he laid there, thinking, conflict passing back and forth like a fucking ping pong ball in his head before he realized his eyelids were finally starting to sink closed. When he did, it was thanks to movement to his left. His eyes fluttered open again to find Eijirou, still sound asleep beside him, sighing softly and shifting himself closer to Katsuki, his free arm reaching lazily out until it rested across the other’s torso, his head tucking downward until his forehead met Katsuki’s shoulder. It was slight, but enough of a movement that made Katsuki’s stomach jump, his heart stutter. He was suddenly awake again.

After everything, dumbass Eijirou still trusted him. Even in this vulnerable state he gravitated towards Katsuki and slept soundly.

And Katsuki couldn’t help himself—he, too, shifted just enough to press his cheek down against Eijirou’s soft head of faded red hair, slid his arm over top of the other’s, and let himself close his eyes again.

He missed him. So much, he missed Eijirou, and hated himself for putting such a rut between them.

Just for tonight , he swore to himself. Just for that night he’d let himself be selfish and hold this idiot close, even let himself pretend nothing had ever changed for them. And then tomorrow he’d let Eijirou go, even though he was sure it meant Katsuki would end right back up on his own aimless path.

~✵~

Telling Eijirou he had to go turned out to be harder than he thought—and not for a second did Katsuki believed it would be easy. Leaving him all over again, giving him a good view of his shitty back as he walked out the door a second time, forcing himself to pull away because he knew, he knew it was what was best.

Eijirou didn’t make it any easier, either, what with being in the best mood he’d been in since everything happened. He was better rested. Some light was starting to shine in his eyes again. He didn’t smile much, but his demeanor overall told Katsuki he was feeling better.

He waited until after breakfast, taking it upon himself to shuffle about the kitchen and whip something up with the limited ingredients in the fridge and making a passing comment that Eijirou should go shopping once he was feeling like himself again. It was simply biscuits and gravy, having found an instant gravy packet in the cabinet and the ingredients to make the biscuits from scratch, using his phone to find a recipe to follow. Eijirou insisted upon making coffee too, and just as they used to they settled in on opposite sides of the small kitchen table to eat.

Eijirou ate his fill and even scraped the bottom of the gravy pan with a spoon when the last of the biscuits were gone. Afterwards he volunteered to do the dishes, refusing any help from Katsuki.

Guess I should be glad he’s doing so well…

He was, that much was for sure, but regardless of how much healthier Eijirou was it didn’t untangle the knot in his stomach for what was coming, bubbling up under the surface.

And then the words spilled out, just like that…

“I should get going, Eijirou.”

The way the light faded from Eijirou’s eyes reminded Bakugou of the way the world darkens when a cloud eclipses the sun. He almost wanted to find a way to take the words back, snatch them out of the air between them where they hung and swallow them back inside of himself.

“Oh uh, right,” Eijirou said, bobbing his head in an awkward nod. “Makes sense. Sorry for, uhm, keeping you so long.”

“‘S nothing.” Katsuki was already headed for his things—the few things he had to his name—to pack them up. Eijirou remained near the kitchen doorway, his arms having since crossed tightly over his chest as he seemed to shrink in on himself, ever so slightly.

For a moment there was nothing but the sound of Katsuki shuffling through his things as he packed them away until Eijirou’s voice broke softly through the air.

“Oh, here… don’t forget your charger,” he murmured, moving forward to unplug the cord from behind the sofa. He carefully curled it up before handing it over.

“Thanks,” Katsuki murmured back.

“No… thank you, man. For being here with me after… that .”

Katsuki lifted a shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Figured I should do at least something good for you for once,” he said as he stood up, slinging his backpack onto his shoulder. After another awkward silent moment he stepped forward, one foot at a time taking him toward the door, further away from Eijirou. “Guess I’m off,” he said.

Eijirou remained quiet. The knob felt abnormally cold in his hand. The door opened soundlessly, and with one last deep breath Katsuki took the last step out of the apartment.

Eijirou lurched forward. “Katsuki,” he managed, arms falling back to his sides.

The other’s head turned, a brow slightly raised.

“Stay.”

Katsuki’s back straightened. With his hand still on the knob he pivoted around, eyes wide.

Eijirou’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “I know you… you don’t want to stick around too long and all that and I… I know you don’t want to be here anymore and I feel really selfish asking, but just one more night—“

A dry chuckle cut Eijirou off; Katsuki’s hand had slid from the knob and ran through his hair, tousling it more. “...you… really believed all that bullshit, huh?”

Eijirou’s shoulders visibly sank, and he blinked stupidly. “...what?” he mumbled.

“When I told you that before…” Katsuki said, arm falling limply by his side again. “About not wanting to be with you. You really believed that, and somehow you still do.” He chuckled again, but there was nothing amused about it—nothing at all. “Maybe I should’ve taken up acting as a career. Damn.”

Eijirou tried so hard to keep his teeth from gritting, but his eyes did drop down to the floor, fixating at a spot just in front of the other’s feet. “I didn’t want to believe it,” he said finally, lowly. “I just put myself in your shoes and figured that if the situation were reversed and I really did love you, I wouldn’t have been able to stay away for that long.”

Katsuki drew in an audible breath. “It’s because I fucking love you that I stayed away, ‘cause it feels like shit to drag you through the mud with me.” He took a small step forward, voice raising just a touch. “And what’d you think I saved you from that bitch for?” he asked, gesturing vaguely behind him. “Kicks?”

“I thought you saved me because being a hero is in your nature,” Eijirou responded softly.

Katsuki relaxed again. “Hmph, of course you did. But you shouldn’t want me to stay.”

Eijirou’s eyes lifted once more, wearily meeting Katsuki’s. “Why not, huh?”

Katsuki threw a hand up. “Because I’ve fucking hurt you, Eijirou! And I’ve hardly done a damn good thing for you! After breaking your heart, how the hell can you possibly accept me back into your life?!”

Eijirou was unfazed by the continued raising of Katsuki’s volume. “‘Cause I love you, man,” he said, “I always have and I know your intentions weren’t to hurt me. You just said it, didn’t you? You thought you were helping even though you’ve already done so much good for me since the moment we met. I… I know we’re both pretty screwed up, and in different ways. We’re not perfect at all, but I want you in my life. So much, Katsuki.”

Katsuki took another step, and just seeing that made Eijirou do the same, though it was slight. “And what if I go and fuck up and hurt you again?” Katsuki asked. “I make shitty decisions all the time, and they’ll all directly affect you. ”

“Then we do what we always do,” Eijirou said rationally. “We work through it together.”

With another laugh Katsuki leaned back, his shoulder meeting the doorframe. “You’re hopeless, Ei. I wish I knew how to be so damn positive like you all the time.”

“...But I’m not positive all the time, Katsuki. Maybe that’s how I used to seem but I’ve always had doubts… especially in this last year, trying to figure out how to live without you. I’d only just begun to… sort of find a new rhythm before all this stuff happened.”

“So then I should go,” Katsuki said, all traces of his sarcastic, dry laughter vanished. “Let you get back to your shit.”

“Just ‘cause I was starting to figure it out doesn’t mean I want to. But…” Eijirou swallowed, having to force himself to get these last words out. “...if you wanna go, I’ll understand.”

“Please,” Katsuki spat, “I never wanted to go in the first place, Eijirou.”

Another step brought Eijirou closer—close enough now that he could almost reach Katsuki with a hand if he really stretched out. “Then stay, idiot!” he pleaded, and tossed up his hands. “What are we even doing? I thought you wanted to leave ‘cause of all that shit you said before, and you thought I wanted you to… for whatever reason!” Now he was the one with the rising voice. “But neither of us ever even wanted to be apart in the first place!”

Katsuki stood up straight again, eyes wide and desperate as he leaned forward, just fractionally. “But I’m not fucking good for you, dumbass!”

Eijirou had had it, his arms flying up again. “Dammit, Katsuki, shut the hell up with that! You’re just… making crap up for some self-fulfilling prophecy bullshit and we both know it! I’m not saying you’re perfect or I’m perfect or that anything is anywhere near perfect, but it’s not like we can’t work on it!” Desperation of his own cracked through his voice, but he wouldn’t stop talking. Hell, Katsuki should know how desperate he was to get through to him, and if this was the only way, so be it. “What’s not good for either of us is… is this pretending to be better off apart when you know that’s never worked out! Not once! Not even before we freaking met ! So why is now any different, huh? Explain it to me, please , because I really, really don’t get it.”

It was visible, the way Katsuki’s resolve started to crack and crumble as Eijirou spoke. His shoulders slumped, causing the strap of his backpack to slide down his arm and the entire bag to flop onto the floor. His brow smoothed out, and when Eijirou finished, his eyes closed for just a moment.

When they opened again he said, “...I don’t know, Eijirou. I really don’t know.”

Eijirou leaned back, if just slightly, trying to figure out if he’d heard Katsuki right. It was so… anticlimactic, that answer. He expected some other sort of argument, expected Katsuki to have something to clap back with to anything Eijirou said. Katsuki… was almost admitting defeat, and it was something Eijirou had never seen—not like this.

“Then…” he murmured once the words sunk in, and righted himself. “Then stay . You don’t have to be alone.”

Those words struck Katsuki in the chest like a fucking wrecking ball. It was like he suddenly forgot how to breathe, and his body went on autopilot. In less than a second he closed the space between them, the backpack entirely forgotten about in the doorway as his hands came up to Eijirou’s face, fingers weaving themselves in relatively tangled reddish hair. He waited for any sign of rejection, of unwant, and when it didn’t come he couldn’t hold himself back any longer—neither of them could.

Feeling Katsuki’s lips mold roughly and slightly off-center into his made Eijirou feel as though his head had finally broken the surface of a deep, dark water he’d been held under for so, so long. He held Katsuki against him with all the strength he dared use, refusing to let him go again.

Katsuki’d had no idea just how damn much he’d been missing this, missing Eijirou and the feeling of being in his arms, kissing him, being so close to him. He’d been pushing it all aside, refusing to let himself think about it knowing damn well that if he got caught up in those feelings and longings he wouldn’t be able to keep himself away, wouldn’t be able to continue doing what he’d thought had been best.

It was all such bullshit, and it didn’t matter. Leaving was the dumbest fucking thing he could’ve decided to do. His only regret now was wasting almost an entire year forcing himself to stay away.

Before long Eijirou found his back was pressed up against the wall near the kitchen doorway, their lips never breaking apart, their bodies not once losing contact. Fully and completely he allowed himself to get lost in the moment, to relish in the fact that Katsuki was there , this wasn’t a dream, that he was beginning to feel whole again.

“... fuck ,” Katsuki hissed as he came up for air, but remained close enough that his forehead still rested against Eijirou’s, their eyes remaining closed. “You sure ‘bout this?”

“Yes,” was Eijirou’s instant answer. “If you are.”

That was when Katsuki backed up enough, eyes opening to find Eijirou’s already were. And that was all it took.

“I’ve never had a doubt about you.”

Eijirou wasn’t given a single second to process the explosion those words elicited through his entire body, touching every nerve, every cell, every facet of his being, because Katsuki’s lips were on his again, rough and demanding but so, so immeasurably loving at the same time.

As they moved against each other, refusing to lose contact, stumbling their way toward the bedroom, it was like pieces of the shattered world they’d been trying to navigate through were finding their places and fitting back together. The picture was once again starting to make sense, but it was… different . More colorful, more vibrant.

Still, it wasn’t perfect. The cracks in the glass were still visible, some pieces didn’t entirely fit together the way they should’ve. A few were even still missing, and in the way they moved together with no regard to anything but each other it was hard to find them.

As Katsuki hovered over him, breath hot and his senses filled with nothing but him —his heat, his weight, his voice, the sweet, caramel-like scent of his skin—reality slammed into Eijirou. Before he knew what hit him tears were pricking at his eyes, filling them, turning Katsuki and the room around them into a watercolor painting.

“...shit,” he mumbled, quickly swiping a hand over his eyes.

Katsuki’s head lifted, lips parting from the supple skin of Eijirou’s neck. As soon as he saw the tears he stiffened, prepared to move. “What? What is it? What’d I do?” he asked quickly.

Surprising them both a laugh burst from Eijirou’s chest. “Nothin’,” he murmured. He swore there was some kind of light suddenly surging through his veins, chasing away the muck and darkness that’d settled itself in over the past year—no, his whole life . “I’m just so damn happy , man. I just realized this is real. You’re freaking here .” His hands came up, pressing gently to the sides of Katsuki’s face. “You’re home , and I’ve missed you so damn much. Nothing my lame imagination came up with compares to you being right here .”

Despite his snort, Katsuki’s face softened. “Dumbass,” he mumbled, using a thumb to brush away the tears trailing down Eijirou’s temples. Eventually it was his lips catching the few remaining tears; Eijirou could taste the salt on Katsuki’s lips when they trailed back to his again.

Hands trailed under clothes, over planes of skin, nudging fabric out of the way only to be tossed aside with carelessness once they were gone. Soon there wasn’t any evidence that the bed had been made whatsoever.

As Katsuki was climbing back onto the bed from pulling the blankets off, Eijirou came to a dead stop, hands catching the other’s shoulders to stop him too. “Wait, wait,” he said, eyes were pointed straight at Katsuki’s thighs.

That was all it took for Katsuki’s heart to drop.

“What are these?” asked Eijirou, hand lowering to hover right above Katsuki’s bare thigh. A pattern of circular wounds marked it up, the skin reddened and slightly puckered, some darker than others, some bigger.

“Nothing,” Katsuki said, pushing forward again. “Fucking kiss me.”

Eijirou resisted, holding him back. “...but Katsuki, they look like--”

“Don’t worry about it,” Katsuki said, hating, hating the way his voice was beginning to take on a pleading tone. “Please just--”

“No, man,” Eijirou said, eyes flicking back and forth between his thighs and his face. It wasn’t too hard to do the math, remembering the almost musky, bittersweet scent that’d clung to Katsuki’s clothes that day he showed up out of the blue. He knew what burns looked like. There was nothing else this could be.

None of them looked particularly fresh, but that did little to loosen the knot in Eijirou’s stomach.

“You were… hurting yourself,” he murmured, eyes lifting once again to Katsuki’s face. “Because of me?”

The other’s jaw flexed and relaxed, the muscles rippling under his skin. Katsuki couldn’t meet Eijirou’s liquid gaze, keeping his own off to the right. “...because of myself, Ei,” he said stiffly. “Not you. ‘Cause I’m an idiot, okay? Don’t ever think it was because of you.”

Eijirou’s hand drifted downward to hover above Katsuki’s thigh, though he was almost… timid. “Still,” he said, “you shouldn’t have… or… or you should have gone to…”

“Who, Eijirou? I was alone. And it’s in the past anyway. It was only… just after I left, but I don’t do it anymore. Haven’t for months. I stopped when I realized—“ Katsuki’s teeth audibly snapped shut. When Eijirou’s gaze lifted again he managed to meet it.

“Realized what? Talk to me, man.”

Katsuki blew a long breath from his nose. “When I realized I shouldn’t have fucking left, and that I wanted to come back,” he said. “But I didn’t, ‘cause I knew I’d hurt you fucking bad and I didn’t think you’d even let me back in if I came, but on the off chance you were stupid enough to do that, I stopped so there wouldn’t be any more.” His own fingers found Eijirou’s that still hadn’t quite made contact with his scarred thigh. “Hell, I wish I hadn’t done these so you would be kissing me right now instead of talking about this shit.”

Eijirou let himself relent, fingers wrapping around Katsuki’s hand. Eyes locked on the other’s he asked, “You promise you’re okay now, though? Tell the truth.”

A familiar cocky half smile tugged at the right corner of Katsuki’s lips. “What’s it look like, you nimrod?” he said, beginning to lean in again. “Of fucking course I’m okay—no, I’m better than okay ‘cause I’m finally with you again. ”

While Eijirou still wasn’t entirely convinced those words weren’t influenced at least a little by the heat of the moment, he still let Katsuki close the space between them again and accepted his kiss without hesitation. He was okay too, he decided, finally being in the other’s arms again.

After that neither of them let themselves think about anything else. They lived entirely in the moment, surrounded by their own warmth and love and pleasure, unbelievably happy to be together again regardless of the circumstances where the proof was still fading in a few spots on Eijirou’s skin.

Being together now, like this, so close and intimate, couldn’t make up for the lost time. While it was beginning to heal the wounds they’d both endured from poor decisions and miscommunication, the scars would remain. Things wouldn’t be the same as they were before Katsuki left; they couldn’t , but neither of them could let that regret get in their way because being together again, even having endured those emotional wounds over the past year, was better than never being together again at all.

As lonely and painful as the past year was, Eijirou couldn’t complain. Even just remembering how it felt to think Katsuki may never return was enough for him to cherish this time with Katsuki that much more. He held him tighter, kissed him harder, reminded him without words just how damn much he loved him, needed him, wanted him.

Katsuki did his best to reciprocate it, too. Even with the regret and guilt hovering in the back of his mind, even without being able to understand how Eijirou could accept him back into his life with such open and loving arms so easily, he’d be damned if he didn’t do everything he could to make Eijirou know just how damn much he loved him. Hell, Eijirou was his whole entire fucking world , and he deserved to know it. Deserved to feel it. Fuck regret.

And when they fell away from each other--though not too far--their skin still pressed together, heat still swirling between them, their breathing labored and in sync, the only thing either of them knew aside from one another was bliss. Quiet settled over for a while. Peace. They found they didn’t want to spoil the moment with words. Eventually Katsuki was the one to roll onto his side, weaving his fingers through Eijirou’s as he did, tucking his head down beside the other’s.

Eijirou was the one to break the silence, but rather than spoiling the moment his voice blended flawlessly with the tranquility.

“So… I guess you’re not leaving, huh?”

Katsuki huffed out a light laugh, pressing a damp kiss to Eijirou’s bare shoulder. “I guess I can stay for a while,” he murmured, eliciting a chuckle from the other that made his heart flutter, feeling more pieces of their complicated puzzle falling into place.

“Can I ask you something, then?”

“Yup.”

Eijirou’s swallow was audible. His insecurity was given away by how he pulled Katsuki’s hand closer to his chest and began to fidget with his fingers. “Did you… really mean it when you said you’ve never had doubts about me?”

“Idiot,” Katsuki was quick to retort, shifting even closer. “‘Course I fuckin’ meant it.” His head lifted just slightly. “It’s… it’s me I’ve had the damn doubts about.”

“Not me,” Eijirou said. “Even when you left, I didn’t doubt you at all.”

“That’s a lie. You believed that bullshit about not wanting to be with you.”

When a rush of warmth flooded Eijirou’s face he turned it away just slightly, hoping the flush from before hadn’t entirely faded to mask this new one. “I… didn’t doubt that you were telling the truth,” he muttered.

Katsuki merely snorted, pulling his hand away to turn Eijirou’s face back in his direction. “Shut up, dumbass,” he muttered before kissing him softly. As he had before, Eijirou sunk right into it like he wanted Katsuki’s touch alone to consume him whole. “I was lying,” Katsuki murmured against his lips. “I do want to be with you, if you’ll let me.”

“C’mon, you know I never wanted you to go in the first place. Why’d I let you go again?”

“...idiot.”

Eijirou’s ‘I love you’ was swallowed up by Katsuki’s lips again. Not once did they lose contact with one another for the rest of that night.

Chapter Text

{Present Day}

-10 months later-

“C’mon babe, I really think you should do it.”

“Tsk. You’ve said that , but you haven’t told me why .”

“‘Cause it’ll be good for you! Seriously, the closure will help you move on and let go of all the resentment you’ve been holding onto for so long.”

With a groan, Katsuki threw his arm over his face. “How the fuck d’you even expect me to talk to them? The fuck you expect me to say?”

“Anything you need, man,” Eijirou reasoned. “Even if you gotta tell ‘em how much what they did hurt you. And no matter what they say, you should forgive them. For you though, not them.”

Katsuki lowered his arm to peer up through narrowed eyes at Eijirou from where he was using the other’s lap as a pillow. “What about you then? Why don’t we go talk to your parents and you can tell ‘em the same shit.”

Just like that, Eijirou’s face fell.

“Not as easy as it sounds, huh?” Katsuki muttered, letting his arm flop back to his side.

“You’re right,” Eijirou said. “I’ve tried, though. I’ve tried getting ahold of them several times in the last month but they’re still ignoring me. Can’t exactly talk to people who pretend you don’t exist.”

Katsuki’s eyes were narrowed to slits at that point, causing Eijirou’s hands to come up in surrender. 

“Okay, okay, you’ve made your point,” he admitted.

“Hmph,” Katsuki grumbled, sitting up. “Shitty Hair.” With that he stood up and slinked toward the kitchen; Eijirou watched him go with a sigh. He’d let it go—for now, but he wasn’t one to give up so easily when he was so sure about something, especially because it was something he truly believed would help Katsuki’s mental wellbeing.

Tracking down Katsuki’s parents was one thing, but getting him to agree to go see them was a whole different ball game, and Eijirou knew that the minute he came up with the idea. Of course, he wouldn’t force Katsuki to do anything; he had to admit Katsuki had a point about Eijirou’s own parents, too, and naturally it was on his mind for the next few days.

As usual, Katsuki was a tough nut to crack. While Eijirou kept the topic casual when he brought it up, it never failed to turn the air tense between them, if just a little.

“I really do think a big part of your issue is your parents,” Eijirou told him. “You’re probably so damn critical of yourself ‘cause of them and what they did to you.”

“Maybe,” Katsuki muttered.

Eijirou expected him to snap, to blow a fuse and go off on him about bugging him so much about seeing his parents, but he never did. Not once did he even seem all that annoyed , which raised Eijirou’s suspicions quickly.

Even so, it definitely took Eijirou off guard when Katsuki spoke up one night as they were lying in bed, scrolling mindlessly through their phones and soaking in hero news and media as they usually did. Katsuki had dropped his phone beside him and tossed his arm over his stomach.

“Fine. I’ll go.”

“Huh?” Eijirou asked, turning his head. “Go where?”

“My shitty parents’ house or whatever. If you can find them, I’ll fucking go.”

Eijirou’s phone very nearly slipped out of his hand and smacked him in the face. Instead he managed to toss it aside and prop himself up slightly, eyes searching Katsuki’s face for even the slightest hint of a doubt. “Really? You’re not just messing with me?”

“Hmph, why’d I mess with you on something like this, dumbass?” Katsuki said. “Yeah, I’m fuckin’ serious.”

All Eijirou could think to do was kiss him.

~✵~

It hadn’t quite been a full year since Katsuki returned home, but quite a lot could happen in ten months, they found. One of the first things was moving; only about a month went by before Katsuki was suggesting it, making the point that they’d lived in that apartment since the second they could afford it, which wasn’t too long after high school was finished. It held too many memories, and after the year they both had they were in unanimous agreement that a somewhat fresh start was in order.

It was in the midst of the move when Eijirou suggested something he’d been almost certain Katsuki wouldn’t go for—therapy. Katsuki’s response was almost exactly what Eijirou had expected—defensive, questioning, irritation; he assumed right off the bat that Eijirou meant he should go, but quickly he clarified. He wanted both of them to go, whether it was together or separately. They had too many issues on their own and between them that, without the help, he feared might drive a wedge between them again. The thought of going so long without Katsuki in his life again made it feel like the world was swaying beneath him, and not in a good way.

Katsuki agreed to therapy much quicker than he agreed to seek out his parents. While they went, once finding a psychologist that suited them, they both kept up with part time hero work to pay the bills, but neither of them were ready to jump right back into the full swing of things yet. That would take a while, but they’d get there. They had to. They wanted to.

Gradually, things truly did start to get better. Eijirou found himself waking from nightmares much less frequently than before while Katsuki was learning how to cope healthily with having been abandoned by his parents so young. Some days were rough, but that was to be expected, but just like before they had each other to turn to unwaveringly if need be.

Independence was what they needed—or maybe less dependency upon one another. For so long their entire lives had revolved around each other more than most other things with their careers as heroes coming in second. They were almost codependent upon one another which, as their therapist pointed out, wasn’t doing any good for anything.

So they worked on having lives separate from one another. Eijirou frequently made plans with Mina, Denki, and Hanta. Katsuki’d picked up a few acquaintances during his travels that he remained connected with, too.

They needed each other, yes, but living their own lives was just as important. After just a few months, they could feel things beginning to balance and steady out. Not six months after Katsuki’s return and their move, their lives were better than they’d been in years. Eijirou found himself waking up naturally, feeling neutral if not in some semblance of bliss, rather than nightmares startling him awake or finding himself unable to sleep because of trauma coupled with his insomnia.

Katsuki’s intrusive thoughts—ones that had been plaguing him for years and had only gotten worse while he was gone—were much quieter now. They still arose time and again but it was easier, so much easier, to combat them with healthier coping skills on top of having Eijirou beside him again.

Life was by no means perfect, but they were doing well enough that they were waiting, almost holding their breath in anticipation of some sort of catch, some sort of shitty thing to happen and rip it all away from them. Katsuki even expected himself to wake up in a shitty motel bed or a stranger’s crappy couch, having had so many dreams of being beside Eijirou again while he was away from home.

It was only a couple of months or so after getting settled into their new apartment together that Katsuki realized just how glad he was to be laying beside Eijirou again, how fucking grateful he felt that even after abandoning him, doing just the thing his parents did that broke him in ways nothing could repair since childhood, Eijirou accepted him back into his life. They’d been lying together on the floor of their living room, somewhere they liked to sleep on clear nights because they were lucky enough to have an apartment with a window that curved into the ceiling, providing them with a view of the sky, when that realization hit him all over again. Typically, Eijirou was laying on his back gazing upward at the stars—the few they could see through the light pollution of the city. Katsuki’d been on his side, fiddling with one of Eijirou’s hands, tracing the lines across it and rememorizing it—the texture, the size, the warmth—when he sat up a little.

“Hey, Shitty Hair,” he said.

Eijirou’s sleepy but content eyes had shifted up to him, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Hm?”

“Wanna get married?”

Eijirou’s smile only spread. “Do you?”

“If I didn’t I wouldn’t be asking, moron,” Katsuki said.

A laugh burst from Eijirou’s chest. “Fair point. Yeah, I do. Let’s do it.”

“Good.” Katsuki laid back down, on his back this time to gaze up at the sky right alongside the other. “When?”

“Whenever,” Eijirou murmured, feeling for Katsuki’s hand and pulling it up to his lips when he found it. “We could go tomorrow if ya want. Or wait a month and plan a whole party. I’m down for either.”

“Fuck it,” Katsuki’d said, “let’s throw the dumb party. Pinky wouldn’t let us hear the last of it if we don’t.”

“True,” Eijirou said, kissing Katsuki’s knuckles again. “A party it is.”

As out of the blue as the question was, it only felt natural. Why wouldn’t they eventually get married? It wasn’t something either of them had thought too much in depth about as they were growing up, making their way through school, riding the rollercoaster that was their lives, but still, it felt inevitable. It was a given, even to the others when they were told. Mina was ecstatic, of course, and that news was clearly what blew away the last of her grudge against Katsuki for leaving.

It would still be a few months because the venue Mina found and insisted upon using no matter what didn’t have an opening until September. For now they continued on working on themselves, their relationship, their careers.

And part of that, Eijirou believed, was making peace with their parents, and Katsuki did make a good point when he said Eijirou needed to do so too. So he did—or he tried. Rarely did he call his parents and even more rare was the occasion where they actually answered him. Since moving out of their house he’d spoken to them only enough times to be able to count them on one hand.

It took a good few days for him to come up with something to say to them when he called. Every time before they seemed uninterested in talking to him and, as usual, only ever asked how his job was, if he was making ends meet, how he was doing popularity-wise (which told him they clearly weren’t paying attention to any media regarding him and, in turn, told him how little they actually cared). Calling them this time would be no different, he knew that, but he needed that one final attempt to build his relationship with them before he could let go and fully accept that they truly weren’t his family.

Eijirou was pretty sure he’d never been more right in his life. It took three days to actually get ahold of someone and at that point it was the housekeeper. It would be another two before either of his parents were home to accept the call and, while he crossed his fingers in hopes that it was his dad, he wasn’t that lucky.

His mother sounded nothing less than bored, and because of her evident anxiousness to be done with the call it only lasted just over five minutes. Her answers were quipped. She didn’t ask a single question about him , and was quick to make an excuse not to join him for lunch sometime soon so they could catch up. In the end he was the one to end the conversation and it took all of his willpower not to smash the damn phone when he hung up.

The way he cried in Katsuki’s arms after that was so unmanly and he knew it, but at the same time it was something of a release. He let out all of his frustration and grief and hurt because of his parents out.

It felt heavy and dirty, knowing there was nothing he could do to make his parents feel like his family. Letting that go would take even more time, but the final attempt still managed to give him enough closure to work on moving on.

After that it was Katsuki’s turn, and that was why they were on their way just over ninety kilometers west to find the house his parents supposedly lived in. All it took was the name on Katsuki’s birth certificate (that only Eijirou looked at because even still Katsuki didn’t want to know his original surname) and half an hour with Google to find an address.

Katsuki couldn’t sit still for the entirety of the ride, and nothing helped. Eijirou tried getting him to talk, get his mind off of where they were going, and when that didn’t work he tried talking himself. Music didn’t calm his nerves, nor did playing a game on his phone. By the time the GPS was down to the last few directions he hadn’t managed to take a single deep breath and, internally, Eijirou was wondering if this really was a good idea. Still, they’d driven that far already and there was no sense wasting the trip or the opportunity.

It was when Eijirou pulled the car to the curb outside of a house with the very name they were looking for painted on the mailbox that Katsuki’s fidgeting finally came to an end. Eijirou couldn’t see his face because he had it turned toward the house, three stories high and made of gray brick. A family home. Through the front window they couldn’t see anyone, but there were pictures hung up on the walls and the clear outline of a pink toy chest near a corner. Anything else was difficult to see, but there wasn’t much else they needed to know.

It was silent for a long moment, and then words were tumbling out of Eijirou’s mouth.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

He expected Katsuki to scowl at him and grumble something about it being his idea, maybe even hop straight out of the car saying something about getting it over with, but he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Eijirou couldn’t see his face, couldn’t even try to guess what he was thinking.

“...Katsuki?” he murmured after a moment when the other still hadn’t spoken up.

“Fuck it,” Katsuki muttered, breaking out of the ice that had frozen him, kept his eyes on the damn house, his muscles tight. He turned, gaze finding Eijirou’s. Suddenly he was more relaxed than he’d been in a while.

“Huh?” mumbled Eijirou, taken aback.

 “What’s the point? I’m fine now,” Katsuki went on. “I’ve been fine ever since I came back ‘cause I realized I fucking need you .” He glanced back up the walk to the house. “Maybe talking to them will help, or maybe it’ll just stir the shit pot of bullshit I’ve finally learned to fucking let go, and things’ll just get bad and stupid all over again. Why do I need to prove shit to anyone, least of all them?” He turned away from the house, tossing a hand in its direction. “‘Sides, if they hadn’t dropped me off at some shitty orphanage when I was a toddler, I probably wouldn’t have met you. Things turned out fine. I’m happy now. They can go fuck themselves.”

Eijirou blinked several times, slowly, sitting back slightly, letting Katsuki’s words sink in. And then finally he smiled, because in Katsuki’s deep, fiery eyes was truth. Truth, and so much damn love for Eijirou himself that it filled the whole car, more, expanded across the entire world, the whole freaking universe , and that was all Eijirou needed to know.

“And maybe soon they’ll see the pro hero Ground Zero show up in the news, realize he’s the son they cast aside, and you can rub it in their faces that way.”

“Hmph, I don’t even give a fuck about that ,” Katsuki snorted. “Let’s get the fuck out of here. I wanna go home and spend some damn quality time with my fiance.”

With a laugh, Eijirou had to lean across the small space in between them and capture Katsuki’s lips with his own. “Sounds like a plan to me,” he murmured.

With that, he shifted the car into drive to pull away from the curb towards home, and neither one of them could be bothered to look back.