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Fake things aren’t manly.
They embody so many unmanly things, like lies and purposeful deceit. Worse, they are usually enjoyed by the willingly deceived.
It’s probably why the fake grain of wood feels so weird on his fingers.
Its wooden texture is plastic and cold to the touch despite the heat coming from the element underneath. He traces the patterns that look real, rather than feel real and the juxtaposition makes him blink, unfocused.
Lies aren’t manly…yet.
His head lays in his arms, brilliant red hair loose and falling over his face. Unfocused, his ruby eyes follow the trace of his finger on wood. Kirishima sits in his favourite sweats on a small cushion in the middle of the dorm lounge.
Under a kotatsu, the ultimate trap of winter.
It’s a simple concept. A single heating unit, attached to the underside of a small table frame. A thick brown blanket, filled with insulating weaves of faux wool, laid over this said table, reaching to the floor to trap the heat within. All of this warmth sandwiched by the heavy lid of the table top which his fingers trace the patterns of, all thoughts of study and homework forgotten.
“Man…”
Its warmth is undeniable.
“Homework is such a drag…”
His hair is loose, draping around the sides of his face. Kirishima can’t help himself nuzzling against the faux wood like a pup against the belly of its mother, blind and weak to the warmth. His arms stretch out above his head, distantly he can feel the edge of one of his many textbooks but all thoughts are like a dream.
A dream.
His eyes drift shut.
“Kirishima?”
He feels a small hand touch the back of his shoulder. Even through the fabric of his t-shirt he can feel the squishy pads and calluses of kind familiarity.
“Kirishima?” Ochako’s voice above him is sweet and soothing. Her tone changes, “Poor guy. Looks wiped.”
He doesn’t have to guess who the next voice is.
“Tch. Hardly,” Bakugou’s timber crackles like a spark, “Bastard’s probably faking it to make you touch him.”
Kirishima, at last opens his eyes.
“Oiii” he grumbles like a five-year-old on Saturday morning, all emotion and near incomprehensible through the sleep. “Don’t make me sound like a perv.”
“Kirishima!” Ochako gasps, “I’m sorry, we didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Sure, Cheeks,” Bakugou drawls beside her. “I’m not the one touching the sleepy ass bastard.”
She puffs up, said cheeks red and grumpy.
“Hey! Now you’re making me sound like one.”
Kirishima straightens up, stretching like a happy cat. The sun is lower now, a clock in the corner telling him time has passed. Both Bakugou and Ochako look freshly changed into comfortable clothes, but tired all the same. The weight of their bags seems to be pulling them to the floor.
He spots some bandages on Bakugou’s upper arm.
“NVVHW?” Kirishima asks pointedly, head in hand as the pair joins him under the warm table.
(There’s a quiet sigh of relief.)
“You mean Not-Volunteer-Volunteering-Hero-Work?” Ochako perks at the sound of their rotating work experience practical assignment.
(All Might had come up with the name.)
“Fucking drag,” Bakugou grumbles, “Boring ass shit.”
“It wasn’t that bad, Bakugou,” she smiles. “We got some mikan from the lady who ran the shop that we helped stop from being burgled.” She reaches into the backpack, worn and patched, with gusto drawing out a bright orange ball of deliciousness. “You want one?”
“WOO free food!”
The smell of citrus sparks the senses as they turn on the communal television to distract from the cold outside. Some kids program about general safety in natural disasters featuring cartoon versions of the Wild Wild Pussycats plays, and numbs. Kirishima empathises as out of the corner of his gaze Uraraka and Bakugou, too, fall into the trap of the kotatsu.
He watches them melt, turn to pools of tired, relieved comfort.
He sees them lean forward tucking their hands under the blankets to defrost their fingers.
Likely, lacing them together under the table to hide their affections.
It’s incredibly subtle, their arms are angled just so, but the soft smile that appears on Ochako’s face and the relaxation of Bakugou’s brow tells him.
Though he’s known for a long time.
The dorm rooms of UA are a little thick, but they aren’t thick enough to hide the laughter and affection of new love. He’s not entirely sure when the visits started, but Ochako was as bright as the sun and Bakugou as loud as an explosion when allowed to tap into his emotions and while the rest of the dorm seems to have not picked up on the growing friendliness between the pair, he has.
They weren’t very good at the whole subtly thing.
Bakugou pulls a face at him when he’s been caught staring.
“What’s the fucking smile for? It’s gross,” Bakugou grumbles across from him.
Had he been smiling? He hadn’t noticed.
“Nah,” he grins wider as Ochako perks up too, pulled away from the vacuum of the screen.
“You guys just look very happy together.”
She stammers out a blush, Bakugou scowls and Kirishima lets his pointed teeth pull into a smile.
The real thing is most manly thing ever.