Chapter Text
Kirishima Eijirou is not a morning person. If he has to get out of bed before 10am, he’s a veritable beast, grumbling and snarling his way through the day until late afternoon when his double espresso finally hits him and he can open his eyes all the way. All of his friends are intimately acquainted with this fact, refraining from spamming the group chat until at least noon, and for the two unlucky souls who live with him, avoiding him when he’s on his early-morning rampage.
He’s a college student who attends the prestigious Yuuei, which is nothing spectacular in itself, considering he got in on a boxing scholarship—he didn’t really earn his spot here, unlike his peers. He knows this because his grades aren’t great and pretty much everyone he’s ever met here has been smarter than him. But honestly, at a certain point, all that matters is that he graduates. C’s get degrees, as they say. Since he’s a senior this year, his mediocre grades won’t matter much now that he’s essentially just racking up credits to meet the 120 hour minimum. He’s a Wildlife Ecology and Conservation major and he loves it, so besides Physics 2, the few classes that he still has to take for his degree requirements barely feel like work.
Except Animal Science. Fuck Animal Science.
Animal Science is a hands-on class about livestock animals, so it’s not like the subject itself is boring or anything. In fact, it’s incredibly interesting to him, and he’s excited to work directly with the animals and get his hands dirty in the barn. No, the problem with Animal Science lies in the fact that there’s only one section, that meets at one time, unlike most other classes he’s had. Many classes, especially the gen-eds with their hundreds of students, have multiple days and times and even professors for students to choose from, but not Animal Science, oh no. Of course not.
Animal Science meets three days a week on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. That’s not a big deal, all things considered, because he’s taken classes that met four or even five days a week. Those are annoying as hell but manageable. No, the problem with Animal Science is that the only existing section meets at 7:25am. Seven. Twenty. Five. In the goddamn morning.
Normally, when Kirishima ‘I would rather die than be awake at 8am’ Eijirou has a morning class, he just skips it, because fuck all that noise. It ain’t worth it—most university classes don’t bother to take attendance, so there’s no real reason for him to go besides to get the information. Many of them even post all the lecture material online, so he can just take the notes later, once he’s woken up at a decent time. Animal Science, of course, takes attendance, because why wouldn’t it? It also accounts for 25% of the grade, which seems absolutely egregious, but considering how hands-on everything is, it kind of sort of makes sense.
That, of course, doesn’t make it any less annoying. Sometimes Kirishima wonders if God hates him. Is this about that vase he broke and then lied about when he was six? It’s been 15 years, man, just let it go already!
For the first day, he just doesn’t sleep the night before. He’s no stranger to all-nighters, seeing as he’s very much a night owl, so it’s no big thing, really. It’d be a different story if he drove to campus because then he’d have to be alert enough to drive, but he takes the bus. So, when he looked at the clock last night and realized he was still up at 2:30am, he decided to just bite the bullet and stay up. He’s got a pretty bad track record of getting out of bed in time when he needs to if he doesn’t get enough sleep—he’s notorious for sleeping through alarm after alarm, and Kaminari and Sero will kill him if he does that shit at 6am. It was maybe not the best decision, but he did it anyway, because when does he ever make the best decision?
He leaves extra early to make sure he has enough time to find the classroom, considering he’s never been to the Animal Science building before and Yuuei famously awards room numbers seemingly at random. There’s no logic to the floorplan and it’s wise to account for that. He pretty much has to go early anyway because there’s only one bus that goes all the way out there, and if he misses it, he’s toast.
That morning, he’s riding his extreme exhaustion second wind of manic energy while eating his Lucky Charms, feeling pretty jazzed about life. The apartment is flooded with pink sunbeams from the sunrise he can see through the sliding glass door that leads to their balcony, adding to his uncharacteristic enjoyment of the early hour. Since he’s feeling so good, he doesn’t bother trying to make coffee with Sero’s stupid French press. He’s already fired up, he should be fine, right?
Wrong. He’s such a fool. This isn’t the first time he’s done this, and it probably won’t be the last.
By the time he makes it to the bus stop for his apartment complex, he’s dead on his feet, eyelids drooping and yawn after yawn erupting from his chest.
Climbing onto the bus with half-lidded eyes is difficult, but he manages it somehow, flopping into a seat in the back next to some guy wearing a flannel with the sleeves rolled up in a douchey way. It should be no surprise that within seconds of his ass meeting the itchy fabric of the seat, he passes out cold, slumping against the wall to his left.
The bus goes over a speed bump and he jolts awake after only God knows how long, glancing around frantically at the other commuters, who are ignoring him for the most part, bleary eyes trained on their phones or staring out the windows. He sighs, thankful no one saw him make an ass of himself, and slumps back into the seat. He has a fleeting thought about how warm the guy next to him is before immediately passing out again. Kirishima get your shit together challenge!
This time, he wakes up when whatever he was resting his head on moves away from him, causing him to tip over into the now-empty seat beside him and smack his head onto the metal grab bar. His eyes catch a puff of blonde climbing off the bus and all the color drains from his face. The pain in his forehead is peripheral compared to the abject horror that clenches at his heart.
Holy shit, he was sleeping on some random stranger! Holy shit! God, how embarrassing. He wants the ground to swallow him up, this is the absolute worst.
A girl is waving a hand in his face and he startles, looking up into big brown doe eyes. “It sounded like you hit your head pretty hard. Are you okay?” She asks, voice soft and warm like caramel, reaching out to gently touch his forehead. Her fingers are cool against his flushed face.
Kirishima laughs self-deprecatingly and rubs the back of his neck, cheeks turning even more pink. “I’m fine! I have a pretty hard head, so it didn’t even hurt. No worries!” He pauses. “Wait. Where are we?” He looks out the window and blanches, realizing that he missed the stop for the Animal Science building. Shit. As if his day couldn’t get any worse.
He swears under his breath and stretches up to tug on the stop signal cord. “God, I slept through my stop. Thanks for your concern, dude, I’d love to stay to chat, but I’m gonna be late to class so I gotta go ASAP!”
The girl laughs like a windchime. “I understand! Don’t worry about it. I take this bus every morning, so I’ll probably see you around again, right?”
“For sure,” He hums in agreement, standing as the bus pulls into the next stop. As he quickly shuffles off the bus, he waves at her, and she grins and waves back. He hopes to make it up to her with coffee or something, but he has more important things to worry about right now than random girls he met on the bus, like getting to fucking class on time. It’s probably only syllabus day, so it’s not really a big deal, but Kirishima hates being late to things. It’s not manly to keep people waiting!
He digs his phone out of his pocket once he’s on the sidewalk and opens the bus app, pulling up the map of the route and seeing how far he is from the Animal Science building. He’s actually not too far—it’s an easily walkable distance, which is surprising but welcome news. For once in his life, he’s glad that he left as early as he did, because he should make it with time to spare if he hoofs it.
It takes him way too long to find the classroom, though, so he slides into an empty seat in the back almost ten minutes after lecture started. He made it, but at what cost?
The lecture hall is a large room with rows of seats that descend toward a lectern with a big projector screen beside it, a shape reminiscent of the seating bowl of a sports stadium. There’s a desk covered with papers shoved against the right wall, across from a door that presumably leads to the basement of the building. Kirishima’s stuck in the far-right corner because he was so late, which is absolutely off-brand and miserable. He usually aims for the middle of classroom because he’s not nerdy enough to sit at the front, but his vision isn’t good enough to sit too far away. Reading through a squint gives him a headache and who needs that at the asscrack of dawn?
God, is this what every morning is going to be like? Is he doomed to be miserable and squinty forever? He really can’t see himself faring any better if he’d slept. He probably still would’ve fallen asleep, or not even made it here at all.
The professor is a tall man with bright blonde hair, tight jeans, and a scarf wrapped around his mouth despite the stuffy August heat. His syllabus PowerPoint has little clipart cows and goats all over it, so Kirishima likes him already. Too bad he was too late to catch the guy’s name; he’ll have to get it off the syllabus. Maybe. Probably not. He never reads the syllabus.
The professor also off-handedly mentions a TA that will be grading every written assignment, but of course Kirishima came in too late to find out the TA’s name, too. Now he really might have to read the syllabus.
Well. Still doubtful. Syllabi are boring, man.
About halfway through class, Kirishima notices someone sitting at a small desk that’s strangely separate from the rest of the lecture hall, tucked in a small alcove next to the lowest row of seats. It’s a guy, Kirishima thinks, and he’s reading a book, looking thoroughly bored out of his skull. Kirishima’s stomach drops when he gets a good look at the guy’s hair; it’s an explosive puff of blonde, and holy fucking shit, that’s the guy Kirishima was sleeping on earlier on the bus. He’s wearing the same flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up in a douchey way and everything—it’s definitely him. Oh man, what are the odds? God really does hate him, he’s sure of it, now. This can’t be a coincidence.
Kirishima mentally crosses his fingers, praying that the guy won’t look in his general direction for as long as he lives, but there’s very little hope of that. After all, God hates him, remember? His prayers go unanswered, to the surprise of absolutely no one.
He’s never regretted dyeing his hair bright red until right now. There’s no way to mistake Kirishima for anyone else, not with his spiked-up hair, or the loud patterned outfits he wears, or the fact that he’s enormous. Seriously, he’s built like a brick shithouse, there’s no one else on earth who looks like him.
Towards the end of class, the guy shoves his book into his pretentious leather messenger bag with more force than was probably necessary, leaning back in his chair to cross his arms and scowl menacingly at the entire room. His eyes pass over everyone with a critical but still aloof gaze until, last but not least, he looks straight at Kirishima, who is, by this time, blushing darkly in his little corner of shame. The guy’s frown deepens and it’s immediately obvious that he recognizes Kirishima. Fuck.
There is nothing more he wants to do than run away right now. Seriously, he’s thinking about moving out of the country because he’s so fucking mortified. But running away is what the old Kirishima would have done, and that’s not who he is, not anymore. He made a promise to himself to be a stronger person, and he’s not gonna give up on himself now.
So, when the professor sets them free, he gathers up as much mettle as he can and descends the stairs, sights locked on the guy, who is now actively sneering at him like he knows what Kirishima’s thinking. Maybe he does. Dude could be psychic for all Kirishima knows.
Thankfully, he doesn’t stumble during his descent. He’s a pretty clumsy guy, which seems strange because he boxes, and boxing is basically fancy dancing with punches thrown in, but he really and truly has all the grace of a newborn giraffe. The professor nods farewell at the guy, who nods back, and he exits through the side door Kirishima noticed earlier with an armful of paperwork.
“Um, hi?” Kirishima greets the blonde man nervously, stopping a few feet from the desk. A respectful distance, like one would keep from a wild tiger.
The guy looks at him but doesn’t move, arms crossed tightly over his chest, expression blank but still somehow annoyed, like that’s his default. His explosion of blonde looks artistically sculped, undercut really highlighting the height of his cheekbones, which are still covered in just enough baby fat to be cute, even though this guy doesn’t seem to be aiming for cute. His pale skin is littered with freckles across the bridge of his nose and his eyes are piercing red, like Kirishima’s except narrower and angrier. Even under his stupid flannel Kirishima can tell he’s in shape, with the build of a soccer player, or maybe a swimmer. He looks like a model or a movie star and he’s just sitting here, sprawled out in an empty classroom, glaring at Kirishima with more heat than he thought a gaze could hold.
Is this a dream or a nightmare? The jury’s still out on that one.
“What the fuck do you want, Shitty Hair?” The man snaps after the silence drags on a beat too long—what with Kirishima staring and all—which startles Kirishima into jumping a good foot off the ground. He frowns deeply when he processes the insult. His hair is pretty cool! The guy just snorts smugly to himself, because he’s a jerk.
Kirishima swallows the lump in his throat. Sure, this guy definitely seems like a huge asshole and everything, but he’s also hot as fuck and Kirishima is incredibly gay. “I’m, uh—I. I wanted to apologize for sleeping on you? On the bus?”
“Hah?”
“Don’t you remember this morning…?” Oh shit, is this not the guy? God, this might not be the guy! He was so sure, but what the hell does he know? He was half asleep, for God’s sake, he could’ve dreamed the entire thing! Kirishima feels his face start to heat up and he clenches his fists. Can it get any more embarrassing than this?
The guy snorts loudly. “I’m just fuckin’ with you, shit for brains. How could I forget having four hundred pounds of dead fuckin’ weight slumped onto my shoulder like that? I thought you were trying to fuckin’ kill me.”
Wow, this guy sure says fuck a lot, huh?
“Um. It’s more like 200 pounds but yeah. I’m, uh. I’m sorry about that.”
“Oh, fuck off with all that. I don’t wanna goddamn hear it.”
Kirishima, sleep deprived as he is, decides in his jumbled-up brain that now is the time to flirt with the incredibly sexy nasty rude man who just told him to fuck off. “How can I make it up to you? Can I treat you to coffee or something, maybe?”
The guy eyes him. It seems like he’s searching for something in the still-pink planes of Kirishima’s face, like Kirishima’s some puzzle he’s trying to solve. His eyes flicker down to Kirishima’s body more than once, perhaps assessing the validity of Kirishima’s claim of weighing 200 pounds, perhaps ogling his massive biceps. Could be anything.
He must not have found whatever he was looking for, because after a very long, pregnant pause, he says, “Drop dead.” And with that, he sweeps up the stairs and out the room.
Wow, okay, that went exceptionally poorly. He considers taking the L and calling it a day, but honestly, he thinks that dismissal was a little half-hearted. He’ll try again on Wednesday. He really needs to make it up to this guy! (Plus he’s super hot and Kirishima is super gay, which is totally not affecting his decisions at all, thank you very much.) He can be pretty persistent, so he’ll get that coffee date eventually.
Fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately, depending on who you ask—Kirishima doesn’t actually have to wait until Wednesday to see his sexy mystery man.
On Tuesday after Physics lecture ends at 1:40, he hits the larger gym on campus. He works out three days a week, lifting weights and doing cardio and practicing boxing, and with his new schedule he’s decided to do Tuesdays, Thursdays, and one day over the weekend. He’s gotta stay in top shape if he wants to compete during the season!
He finishes his warmups and cardio and heads into the weight room, making a beeline for his favorite bench in the corner. He won’t actually lift today because his usual spotter, Tetsutetsu, has class late on Tuesdays, but he can still do curls and squats and the like.
When he finds his bench, however, there’s already someone using it. Someone blonde, grumpy, and sexy as all fuck.
“Hey, man!” Kirishima greets delightedly, grinning widely and showing off his razor-sharp pearly whites. The man turns and hits Kirishima with a glare that could level cities.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” He spits, fists clenched at his sides, sweaty and almost ethereal under the bright fluorescent lights.
“This is the nicest gym on campus, bro, where else would I go? You think I look like this without coming to the gym?”
The guy snorts derisively. “I’m not your bro, don’t call me that shit. Now fuck off, I’m busy.”
“Do you wanna bench? I could spot you,” Kirishima suggests, desperate to keep this conversation going as long as possible. A bead of sweat trickles down the man’s neck and Kirishima may or may not drool a little.
“Fuck no. How do I know you’ll be able to catch it?”
Oh, a challenge, huh? Does this guy really think he can lift more than Kirishima can? “Why don’t you spot me first, then? You can see how much I bench and know for sure that I can handle whatever you put on there.”
“You think you lift more?!” The guy is fuming, face flushed and fists clenched even tighter, somehow, and Kirishima can’t help but think he looks like an angry Pomeranian.
Kirishima makes a show of looking the guy up and down. “Yeah, I think so.” The man’s definitely not weak looking or anything, but if you recall, Kirishima is built like a brick shithouse. He’s almost five inches taller and probably had 25 more pounds of muscle—there’s no way this guy can outlift him.
“You’re fucking on, Shitty Hair.”
“The name’s Kirishima Eijirou, not Shitty Hair,” Kirishima tells him firmly. He’s not really upset, though—he’s mostly happy it was this easy to get this dude all riled up, “Let’s have a contest, then! If I can bench more than you, you let me treat you to coffee, and if you win, I’ll leave you alone. How’s that sound?”
The man snorts again. Apparently, he thinks he’s a horse. “Fine. I’m gonna kick your fucking ass.”
“If you say so! What’s your name, by the way?”
The guy crosses his arms and huffs, “Bakugou.”
“Bakugou?”
“Yep,” He snaps, popping the ‘p’.
“Don’t have a first name, huh?” Kirishima teases, grinning when Bakugou rolls his eyes instead of yelling at him.
“Nope,” Bakugou hums, popping the ‘p’ once again, “Now let’s do this shit, Shitty Hair.”
They do this shit and it’s fun. Bakugou can lift a lot more than Kirishima thought he’d be able to, but Kirishima still beats him, of course. Have you seen his arms? They’re bigger than Bakugou’s entire fucking head.
They’ve only known each other for about an hour but Kirishima can already tell that Bakugou is the most competitive person he’s ever met, which is hilarious. He’s also honorable—ugh, how manly—because he does actually agree to get coffee, surprisingly enough. He mutters something about free drinks under his breath but Kirishima can’t quite make it out.
Seeing as they’re both sweaty and tired, they decide to do coffee another time, because no one wants them in a Dunkin Donuts smelling like this. Bakugou looks like he wants Kirishima to forget, but there’s no way Kirishima will.
Wednesday should be a lot of fun.