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Chapter Text

By the end of their freshman year, most of 1-A would call Kirishima and Bakugou good friends, and the Kamino group knew—it had to be Kirishima.

Come end of their second year, 2-A would guess a Red Riot/Ground Zero team-up to be inevitable, or at the very least a co-agency down the line. Even if Bakugou did say it’d be 100% his own, Kirishima would only laugh and agree.

Now, as their third and final year began to close, 3-A found themselves facing the end of something significant. Relationships began changing, as tentative deals for partnerships or confessions seemed to be brought out by the fear of losing grasp with others. Conversations about the future were becoming frequent, sometimes repeating, and more and more of 3-A lingered in the common areas, spending each spare moment with friends or significant others. The mood that had settled over the class had brought up ideas of communal game nights, movie nights—anything to have a few more memories of their group.

Tonight was one of those nights. Every single person in 3-A had found themselves in the common area, whether by choice or vague coercion. The practical lesson on facing losing situations weighted heavily on many of them, and as a result the class as a whole had an agreement to spend the evening in some proximity of each other.

“So, Izuku finally decided to go with Lemillion’s agency, huh?” Ashido asked, her eyes glued to her phone as she laid sprawled out across Sero and Kaminari’s crisscrossing legs. The three of them had refused to give up their respective spots on the couch, choosing to dogpile on each other.

“Duh,” said Sero, stretching out as he watched Tsu and Uraraka’s videogame, “I can’t believe he waited so long to sign with him. I mean, who else was he gonna go with?” he asked, his question directed at Uraraka.

Uraraka shrugged, not wanting to be distracted as she—in her opinion—wiped the floor with Tsu. “He didn’t give me much of an answer, but Iida and I have been telling him to go with Lemillion all year.”

“And you’re okay with working so far?” Ashido grinned, “I mean, if I’d only been with my boyfriend for two months, I don’t know how I could handle working an hour away from each other.”

Uraraka’s character missed its combo, and Tsu took advantage of Uraraka’s stumble. The brunette sighed, stealing a glance at her boyfriend across the room discussing something with Iida and Todoroki. She smiled, “Yeah, it’ll be difficult, but it’s worth it, ya know?”

“I guess so,” Ashido sighed, taking a moment to lament her lack of relationships recently. She flopped back, narrowly missing Sero’s face with her phone. “I can’t believe I made it all the way through high school completely single! Ugh!”

Sero pushed her to the side, frowning, “What’s wrong with being single?”

“I know Hanta,” she groaned, not wanting to start an old topic again, “But some of us want a little romance in our lives, and all I’ve got is the drama and happiness of my friends to live vicariously through.” She jerked suddenly, turning a glare towards Kaminari. “Speaking of which, Denki, if you don’t stop poking me in the back, I swear I’m gonna get Jirou to stab you!”

“Hey!” Kaminari whined, “I can’t help it! I was just trying to get settled.” He wiggled deeper into the cushions, suppressing a small smirk.

Jirou glanced over from her place on the floor in front of the couch, raising one eyebrow and slowly edging an ear jack towards Kaminari.

“You should just move,” she said, “I still don’t get why you guys pile up like that.”

Kaminari, Sero, and Ashido all had the decency to look offended at the suggestion. Jirou shrugged, returning to her book, “I don’t see Kirishima joining the dog pile every time you guys hang out.”

“Of course not. Bakugou wouldn’t join our pile to save his life,” Kaminari stated as if that explained everything. At Jirou’s deadpan expression, he waved his hand lazily, saying, “Bakugou’s still not about group touchy-feely stuff, and Eijirou’s not gonna do anything to make his hubby feel left out.”

“Oh my God, shhh!!!” Ashido bolted up, slapping one hand over Kaminari’s mouth and glancing around franticly.  “You know they aren’t to that point yet!!”

“Wait, what? Are they finally a thing?” Jirou asked, looking again to Kaminari for an explanation. Five sets of eyes turned to look at her. “What?” she said, staring right back, “I don’t keep up with any of this stuff.”

Ashido scoffed, throwing herself dramatically back against the couch, “Yeah but you have eyes, don’t you? Where have you been this whole year?!”

“To be fair,” Sero added, “It’s not like they’ve changed the way they act much. They’re just… ‘kinda’ a thing. I could see how it might not be that obvious.”

“Ribbit, I’m not so sure about that,” Tsu joined in, “Remember the duo race at the sports festival?”

“Yeah,” Uraraka said, pausing as the game switched to the next round, “Something’s changed with the way they act in class, too. It’s kinda hard to describe it. They just fit.”

Jirou glanced around as the others agreed. “Okay, so if that’s the case, then are you sure they aren’t already together?”

“That’s the thing!” Ashido held up one finger, leaning closer in a stage whisper, “Kiri swears they’re not, but he’s also a crap liar and always looks so guilty!”

“And I’ve said it’s just Kirishima being lovestruck, not that he’s hiding something,” Sero adds.

“Uh huh,” Jirou says, looking as if she’d just casually asked about the weather and gotten an in-depth look at the historical weather patterns of Japan in return.

Kaminari sighed, stretching his arms over his head, “It’s complicated. It’s probably better to demonstrate.”

Much to the chagrin of the others, Kaminari sat up, sending Sero and Ashido halfway spilling onto Tsu and Uraraka. He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled with a mischievous glint in his eyes towards the kitchen where Bakugou was prepping dinner with Sato.

“How could you say Eijirou’s combo with Bakugou last week wasn’t awesome, Hanta! It wasn’t that weak!”

“Wait, wha--!!” Sero whipped around at his friend in horror. The sounds of pots falling to the floor and Bakugou’s yell of “WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU SAY SOY SAUCE?!” echoed from the kitchen, causing many of the others gathered at the dining tables to look toward the TV group.

“Dude!” Sero started as Kaminari said, “Wait, watch this!”

Before the others could flinch away at Bakugou’s impending attack, Kaminari scrambled towards the other side of the room where Kirishima laid curled up under a blanket listening to music on his headphones. He yanked off the headphones and yelled back towards Bakugou’s direction, “Quick, Eijirou, control your husband!!”

“My what...?” Kirishima said, coming out of a daze.

The scene-- which had already gartered the attention of everyone in the common room-- played out quickly, but just slow enough for the experienced young heroes to pick out the details. Bakugou-- mere meters away from grabbing Sero-- hesitated at the word ‘husband’, while Kirishima startled out of his daydream and snapped his eyes straight towards the blond. A blush bloomed across their expressions as Bakugou realized it had been Kaminari who’d caused everything, and while the moment lasted seconds, the reaction was blatant.

“I’m going to murder you, dumbass,” Bakugou growled, sounding eerily like his first-year self, small explosions already gathering in his hands.

“No, wait, Bakugou, I didn’t mean it!” Kaminari started, waving his hands in surrender. At the same time, Iida was already crossing the room with shouts for Bakugou to stop.

“Bakugou.”

The name came out as a low growl, thick with sleep and frustration, and its effect was again instant. Bakugou looked away from his target, explosions dying out as his attention shifted abruptly towards the redhead who’d called him, his anger dying down to a smolder. The moment had morphed from comical to dramatic and now—to everyone’s surprise—something quiet and unexpected. Several classmates turned away out of privacy. Tsu and Uraraka’s videogame provided the only distracting sound in the common room, as even Sato’s noises from the kitchen seemed to have died down. The pair were off in the furthest corner of the room, Kirishima now standing with his blanket and headphones on the floor.

“He insulted us,” Bakugou said, a snarl accompanying the statement.

A sigh, and then, “You know he didn’t mean it.”

“It’s bullshit. That combo—”

“Katsuki.”

This time spoken with more force, then another sigh, “Just stop. We’re all together because of today. Don’t—” A pause as more of the common room attempted to tune out the moment. “Go finish dinner. I’m going to my room.” A shuffling of items, the ding of the elevator, and then 3-A was left with a deathly quiet Bakugou, his back still towards the room.

After a moment, with no further explosions, Bakugou silently heel-turned and strode straight back into the kitchen. Which left the attention to fall back to Kaminari, the instigator of the situation.

Iida, already having crossed the room, gave him a disappointed look. “That was highly inappropriate of you, Kaminari! You should know better than to willingly provoke Bakugou, though his reaction was equally uncalled for.” 

“Sorry! I didn’t know that was gonna happen!” he waved his hands, attempting to prevent a full-on lecture. He plopped back down onto the couch, “I was just trying to show Kyoka how Bakugou and Kirishima are basically-together-but-not!”

“Still, you should know better than to tease Kirishima after what we went through today!” Iida frowned, crossing his arms, “And whatever their relationship, you should respect their privacy!”

“Okay, okay, sorry Class Rep,” he groaned, thankful when Iida left them to rejoin Midoriya.

“You’re an idiot,” Jirou snickered.

“Still though,” Ashido frowned, looking over to Bakugou working in the kitchen, “The tension is so obvious it hurts. I can’t tell if they’re together and are trying to hide it or if they’re actually that dense about each other.”

“I think they’re afraid,” Tsu spoke up, passing her controller to Sero and standing up to stretch.

“Afraid?” Uraraka asked, “Of what others would think?”

Tsu shook her head, “Bakugou wouldn’t care about that, and Kirishima knows he’d have full class support. They’ve been friends practically since the beginning of UA. I think they’re afraid to change it. They may even know they like each other, but they just seem afraid to change the status quo.”

“OI! Extras!” Several people flinched at the old name Bakugou used. “Dinner’s ready, and I don’t wanna hear any complaints!”

Bakugou and Sato emerged from the kitchen carrying the pots of curry and desserts they’d worked on respectively. As Bakugou set the pot down, he sneered, “If it’s fucked up then blame that dumbass Kaminari. Speaking of,” he turned straight to the blond, who’d started sinking down below the sight line of the couch, “You can clean all this up when everyone’s done.”

Kaminari grimaced but exhaled in relief. “Yeah, sure dude, no problem,” he said, giving a thumbs up as a peace offering. Bakugou scoffed but didn’t take a seat. Instead, he turned and walked back into the kitchen, reemerging after a minute with what appeared to be bento boxes.

Everyone tactfully chose to ignore Bakugou as he crossed the room and headed up the stairs, avoiding the elevator that would confirm what everyone already suspected his destination to be. As soon as his footsteps died out, the conversation erupted among the class.

“Okay,” started Sato, “Anyone care to fill me in on why Bakugou dropped everything and left the curry to almost burn?”

Everyone from the previous conversation turned to Kaminari, who threw his hands up in surrender. “How was I supposed to know it would end like that? I was just trying to get them flustered! I mean, come on. They’re getting painful to watch lately, it’s so obvious,” he finished, slumping down in his seat, “I feel bad for Kirishima though. I didn’t know he’d felt so drained from today.”

Sero spoke up, stirring his food thoughtfully as he frowned, “Seriously dude? Today was horrible.”

Several classmates nodded, and Tsu added, “It seems like Kirishima didn’t handle it very well either.”

Kaminari flinched. The practical from earlier had been an individual instruction, so no one knew what each of their classmates had faced, and they had been expressly told not to discuss the details until the class debrief and discussion on Monday morning. The prep they’d been given beforehand was that each hero would be given a losing scenario that might be traumatic but could realistically happen at any point during their careers. It had been a part virtual and part practical setting to create the most realistic scenarios. And though no one had yet broken the rules to speak freely about what they’d faced, everyone knew that the exercises had been tailored to a personal weakness.

Ashido propped her arms on the table—to Iida’s chastising—and said with a sigh, “If something doesn’t happen soon, we’ll have to stage an intervention.”

“Are you crazy?” Sero exclaimed, “Do you want Bakugou to kill you??”

Hagakure interjected the conversation, “Honestly, I’m surprised Bakugou hasn’t acted yet since Midoriya and Uraraka are together now.”

“Eh?!” Uraraka squeaked, a small blush dusting her cheeks, “What do we have to do with anything?”

Midoriya, who’d been listening in while quietly working through his dinner, looked contemplative. “I don’t think he’d get competitive over something like this,” he said after a moment, “Kacchan doesn’t do things in half-measures, and Kirishima’s important to him.” He glanced between the others from the Kamino group. The memory of ‘It has to be you, Kirishima!’ running through their minds.

Iida folded his arms. “I don’t think anyone should get involved. A relationship is a highly private matter. It wouldn’t be right to interfere.”

Ashido threw her arms up, “Aw, come on, Iida! The anticipation of ‘Will they, won’t they?’ is killing me!”

Iida looked affronted, “Their private life is not your personal show! What kind of hero behavior is that?”

“It’s not about hero behavior! It’s about teen behavior! And as a teen girl I need to know what’s going on in my friends’ love lives!”

The argument went back and forth, which allowed for other topics of conversation to take over, until Todoroki finished his meal and decided to comment, “Why not ask Shoji’s opinion, Ashido?”

That brought the conversations at their table to stop, and Ashido to ask in confusion, “Why would Shoji know about Kiri and Bakugou?”

Todoroki remained neutral, no infliction to his reply, “Because he’s the only other person on their floor.”

“Oh my god you’re a genius!” she shrieked, causing the whole dining area to become quiet. She jumped up out of her seat in excitement, calling over to the next table, “Shoji! You have to tell us—are Bakugou and Kiri an item? Please tell me they’ve been secretly sneaking around! Or one’s been staying the other’s room! Have they sworn you to secrecy?!”

Shoji raised a brow as one tentacle morphed into a mouth, “I don’t typically pay attention to others’ love lives, but either way, no. I haven’t noticed anything like that. They walk to class together, but they’ve done that since we’ve been in the dorms.”

“Oh,” she frowned, sinking back down into the chair, “Well thanks anyway.”

With that answer, the group deflated. Most of the table moved on to discussing the upcoming unit on mentoring interns, but Ashido, Kaminari, and Sero remained thoughtful. Afterall, they were the ones who caught the brunt of their friends’ constant orbiting. Ashido let her head fall onto the table in defeat. “I want to do something,” she groaned.

“Dude,” Sero replied, “Just give it up. Bakugou would kill us all, and Kiri would be too busy holding him back to even admit his feelings. They’ll figure it out eventually.”

Kaminari remained silent, tapping his chopsticks against his empty bowl. He knew Sero was right, but so was Ashido. Kirishima had all but admitted to the three of them how he felt about Bakugou, and they knew the blond well enough to see he was almost whipped by Bakugou standards. The fact that Kirishima had gotten to the point where just saying his name—his given name that no one else could say—and Bakugou would usually listen was an astounding progression from where they’d begun. They were the most coordinated pair in all of their year, and Kaminari smirked as he remembered how their group had taken first in the cavalry battle this year largely due to the duo’s improved teamwork. Tsu was probably right. They were likely just too afraid to act on what was too obvious to ignore.

/////

Kaminari thought about it that night as he worked on cleaning up the mess Bakugou had left behind.

‘They need a push, but not an obvious one,’ he thought, ‘No point in trying Kirishima—his confidence for that isn’t there yet. As for Bakugou...’

He continued trying to think of the best way to broach the subject, working quietly as he watched several classmates head up to the dorms, leaving him mostly alone in the darkened common area. As he finished the dishes and began to wipe down the counters—thoughts still working on his friends—he spotted a stock of bright red hair moving into the light of the kitchen.

“Oh hey--uhh, what happened?” he turned to greet Kirishima, only to be taken aback by his friend’s appearance.

Kirishima was there, wearing his faded Crimson Riot hoodie, hair wet as if he’d come straight out of the baths, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy. He ducked into the fridge, mumbling a tired greeting back at Kaminari.

“Are you okay? Did you and Bakugou have some kind of fight?” he asked, any plans of get-togethers now pushed firmly out of his mind.

Kirishima looked up in confusion, “What? Why do you think we had a fight?”

“Dude, your eyes,” the blond pointed, pulling out his phone and flipping on the camera mode to show his friend.

Kirishima flinched. He closed the fridge and dodged around the blond to grab a drink of water. He sighed, seemingly more to himself than to Kaminari. They stood in silence, Kaminari waiting to see if Kirishima wanted to talk, and Kirishima tapping his glass with a faraway gaze.

“So...,” the blond started.

“We talked about our practicals today.”

Kaminari’s brows shot up, surprised, “Wow, okay. Aizawa’s gonna kick your ass when he finds out, you know that, right?”

At that, Kirishima snorted. “Yeah, Aizawa’s got eyes everywhere doesn’t he?”

Another pause. Kaminari turned his back to Kirishima, continuing to wipe down the counters and hoping that it might make anything Kiri wanted to say easier, if he didn’t have to say it to anyone’s face.

“… He knows now.”

Kaminari paused, keeping his back towards his friend. “Knows what?” he asks, though really it was clear who and what they were talking about. The reply was so quiet the blond almost missed it.

“That I like him. Like that.”

Kaminari stopped and turned around to look at Kirishima. He was clutching his glass, looking more tired and anxious than Kaminari had seen him since Bakugou’s kidnapping in their first year. He frowned, throwing the rag over his shoulder and walking over to the redhead. He placed his hands on Kiri’s shoulders.

“Hey,” he spoke softly, “it’s okay. Did he say anything?”

Kirishima let out a breath, “No. I mean, we—it was complicated.” His head dropped forward, shaking as he held back some strong emotion. Kirishima took a few deep breathes, and Kaminari pulled him into an embrace. Now he really felt like shit for starting the scene earlier. Before Kaminari could think of something to try to comfort his friend, Kirishima spoke again.

“He likes me, too,” he muttered, “Like that.”

Kaminari grimaced, then pulled away to look at Kirishima. He really, really didn’t understand why these two were making it so hard on themselves. He said as much.

“What’s holding you back then?” he smiled, trying for encouragement, “What happened to being manly about things? Taking a chance on the one you love sounds like one of the manliest things you could do!”

To his credit, the comment caused Kirishima to give a little smile.

“Point taken,” the redhead said quietly, “But there’s more to it than that. I think part of it, for me at least, is all the lectures we’ve been getting lately.”

Oh.

Now it makes sense.

As they’d begun their last semester, the kinds of lectures they’d started getting in the heroics course had turned more practical. It’d started with things like setting up and maintaining an independent agency, but over the weeks the lessons had morphed into pseudo-advice sessions, and the last few lessons hit home about relationships and the danger to loved ones.

Midnight’s had been simple, reminding them of not being overly careless when there were loved ones to come back to. She’d used the example of the married water heroes that had both died leaving their son orphaned (which had hit close, given that many of them remembered the anger Koda had shown towards heroes).

Mic’s had been short, telling them any relationship could be used against them if the villain was ruthless or vindictive enough. He reminded them of the news story only a couple months old about the hero in America whose wife and children had been killed in revenge for putting away a kingpin villain. The villain had been jailed 10 years prior. The one to kill the hero’s family had been the trained daughter of the villain.

All Might’s had been sobering. He’d told them about life as the number one hero and how he’d chosen not to build relationships beyond friendships as both a precaution to loved ones and as what he’d thought at the time was his duty to the number one title.

But Aizawa, per usual, had been the one to drive the point home. He’d taken all the prior examples, plus others from real life sources, and created the practical that they’d faced that day.

Kaminari felt himself pale slightly, grip tightening on his friend.

“Let me guess,” he heard himself say, “You got each other on the practical?”

Kirishima nodded, eyes darting away from the blond’s. “He actually told me first. He almost failed the objective because of me-- said he got careless. I don’t know what frustrated him more—that he almost failed, that it was over me, or… what that meant about us. But then I told him my scenario, and how I choked up.”

Kirishima broke away from Kaminari, turning his back and roughly throwing his glass into the sink, breaking it. Kaminari jumped. “Dude,” he whispered, reaching out to the redhead’s back.

“He looked at me, and I saw his eyes. He knew,” Kiri continued, shoulders tensing. He gripped the granite countertop. Kaminari worried it might crack. “We both knew. It felt like something out of a movie.” His back shook as his voice broke. “I- I should’ve manned up. I should’ve said ‘Screw the statistics!’ and told him outright.” A sigh, his voice turned flat. “But I couldn’t say that—not after today. I’m a coward.”

At that derisive remark, Kaminari snapped. “Stop it!” he said, rougher than he intended. Kirishima stiffened, turning to glance at the blond. Kaminari grabbed him, pulling his friend around to be face-to-face. His eyes shown with resolve as he said, “Look at me, Eijirou. I refuse to let you two dramatic idiots ruin years of what is probably the best damn relationship any of us have ever had!”

Kirishima’s eyes were wide, startled by the declaration of his friend. They’d all had to pull each other back from the brink of negative thinking—it was remarked as their greatest strength as a class, second only to their resolve. Kiri took a breath, slow and steady. He met Kaminari’s stare, and Kaminari continued.

“Today was the worst exercise we’ve ever faced. I know the teachers have been pushing all the negative aspects of relationships as heroes, but that doesn’t mean that’s all there is. There are tons of heroes with families, and they’re fine! Look at Iida’s family! Do you think they’d be so blatant about the family aspect of their agency if the risks were too great? Aizawa’s just being Aizawa. He always wants us to see the message hidden in the bullshit he puts us through! Come on, man! Is Bakugou worth so little that you’d let lessons about risk stop you?”

Kaminari realized belatedly such a question was a low blow, but now was not the time to hold back. Kirishima scrubbed his face with the sleeve of his hoodie.

“Of course he’s worth it,” Kirishima relented, exhausted, “But that doesn’t make the risk go away. Bakugou wants to be number one. You heard what All Might told us. Being number one puts the biggest target on the backs of anyone close to them.”

“Didn’t he also end his lecture saying he wasn’t discouraging us from that though?” Kaminari pressed. This was not the way he’d imagined helping his friends admit their feelings, but he couldn’t stand by and watch their happiness be denied because of what might be. “Are you saying the first time some villain tries to take you down to get to Bakugou, you’ll just lie down and surrender?”

“You know I wouldn’t,” Kiri grimaced. He turned to the abandoned cup in the sink, activating his quirk as he slowly picked up the pieces. “I get what you’re saying. Heroes take risks every day, so something like this shouldn’t be different… but it is, Denki, and I can’t help that I feel that way. I don’t know how I’d handle losing him.”

“And what does Bakugou have to say about it?” the blond asked, “He has to face the same possibility of losing you, doesn’t he?”

At that, Kirishima shrank in on himself. “He didn’t say much. Just that we wouldn’t let it happen. I kind of… left before he could say anything else.”

Kaminari swore he heard an echo of the exhale he let out. He rubbed both his hands over his face and through his hair. Today had been long enough as is.

“Kirishima, I love you like the brother I don’t have, but trying to help you with your lack of self-confidence has been like pushing a square rock uphill.”

The redhead grimaced. “Gee, thanks.”

“Let me finish!” his expression changed, turning sharp, “I’ll be blunt. You’re going to lose him. Whether it’s to a villain, illness, freak accident, or by giving up on yourselves before you’ve even started. If you like each other—and good God ask anyone on this whole campus and they’ll say yes—then you both deserve a shot at happiness, even if it doesn’t last. So, stop doubting yourself! …Give it a chance.”

Kaminari’s momentum died out, his last words sounding more pleading than convincing. They both stood facing each other, as the moments stretched out, before another voice decided to make itself known.

“You two have no idea how to have a private conversation, do you?” Bakugou spoke, stepping into the light of the kitchen. He had both hands in his pockets, expression schooled into something neutral, but his shoulders remained tense.

“Bakugou!” Kaminari and Kirishima exclaimed together, the latter forgetting the glass in his hands and letting out a pained cry. Before Kaminari could turn to see what was wrong, Bakugou had crossed the room and taken Kirishima’s hand.

“You were holding onto broken glass without your quirk on?” he scolded, though he proceeded to take the shards from Kiri’s hands. Kirishima’s face turned bright red as he muttered, “I fucking forgot, okay?”

And if the protective moment Kaminari was witnessing wasn’t enough of a flag to tell him to leave, hearing Kirishima sound so much like Bakugou definitely was. There was a silent agreement among 3-A that the day Bakugou started rubbing off on Kirishima signaled the end of civilization. That or some not-safe-for-work stuff was about to go down. Either way, it was nothing Kaminari needed to be around for.

“Okay, well, glad you’re here now, Bakugou,” he said, his confidence now severely reigned in, “Remember what I said, Kiri! And again, sorry about earlier, Bakugou!”

Kaminari retreated up the stairs, their conversation fading away as he heard Bakugou’s voice, low and rough.

“We need to talk.”

Chapter Text

Bakugou knew he looked more pissed off than usual, if the way Sato kept side-eyeing him as he chopped the vegetables was anything to go by.

The good thing about Sato, though, was that he knew better than to acknowledge it, and they’d grown to work well in the kitchen because of that understanding. Bakugou—sometimes with assistance from Kirishima—would work on the savory dishes while Sato’s domain rested solely in the prep of anything sweet. The class they’d had earlier that day had been time consuming, lasting from lunch through near the normal time they’d all be having dinner at the cafeteria. With how drained everyone was, and the unspoken agreement that had everyone lingering about the common area, the decision to opt for a communal dorm dinner was essentially thrust upon the default cooks of the class. Bakugou had started to complain, despite the compliments and attempts to soften him up, but it was when someone found the bright idea to mention it to Kirishima that the fiery blond had relented.

The request from Kirishima was unusually quiet, and they’d hardly spoken since the end of class. The silence unnerved Bakugou, though he wouldn’t admit it.

“I’m only doing it so you’ll all stop bitching at me,” he’d told the others.

As he waited for the beef to brown, he stole a glance at the other end of the common area, studying the pile of plush blankets and stock of red hair curled up in an isolated armchair. It was a stark contrast to how he’d been greeted at the end of Kirishima’s run through the practical.

////

Bakugou had been the first to go, finishing so early that he’d found himself pacing the exit area hours after his turn, hero outfit already put away and uniform haphazardly in place. Iida still scolded him to this day about looking like a delinquent. Bakugou didn’t care.

He’d already watched a dozen other classmates trickle through the door, and like him, some attempted to wait outside the exit for each other. He realized quickly the mental toll the exercise had taken on all of them, as even the more reserved of his classmates showed signs of relief and joy at reuniting with those closest to them. He’d had to turn away when Hagakure had burst out of the corridor, tackling Ojiro to the ground and sobbing over how she’d failed. They were then given a sharp reminder from Aizawa about not discussing details and made to move further out of the area.

As it turned out, Kirishima was the last to emerge. Aizawa had already dismissed them and instructed everyone to head straight back to the dorms, but Bakugou refused. Aizawa forced him to wait outside the locker rooms, reminding him that curfew was in an hour—no exceptions. Bakugou had snapped about how it wasn’t his fault the test had lasted all damn day, but Aizawa leveled a glare at him, reminding him that insubordination was still grounds for expulsion no matter how close to graduation he was. Bakugou had seethed at the old threat, but complied and moved along.

The thought of leaving Kirishima to make it back by himself had crossed Bakugou’s mind, but he’d stayed nonetheless. At this point, it was his own pride in having waited that told him not to leave. And after seeing the state of his classmates, a quiet part of Bakugou admitted that Kirishima would likely appreciate not walking back alone.

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sound of a locker slamming, and Bakugou held himself back from going immediately inside. Steeling himself, he kicked open the door with the full intention of verbally laying in to Kirishima about taking so long. What he found, however, took him off guard.

The sound he’d heard was not that of a locker slamming, but of Kirishima’s fist going straight through the door of said locker. His hero outfit lay discarded around him, his uniform half on with the shirt still to be buttoned.

“What the fuck’s your problem?” Bakugou said automatically. He knew Kirishima was upset, but he couldn’t stop the question before it was out.

Kirishima, whose head was also leaned against the lockers, looked up. “I failed,” he said, the hoarseness of his typically light voice catching Bakugou off again. He looked at Bakugou like he’d lost the world, like it was all over for him. Bakugou tsked.

“You realize that stupid exercise wasn’t actually graded, right?”

Kirishima glanced away, buttoning up his shirt with a long sigh. “Yeah,” he muttered, “Of course you’d say that.”

Bakugou scowled. He never knew what to say after the emotional exercises they went through, but usually Kirishima could endure them largely unscathed and smiling. It was admirable. Wallowing in negative emotions from a fake exercise, however, was not.

“It’s fucking true. You’re not the only one who failed either,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Kirishima’s head shot up. “Did you...?” he started to ask.

“Hell no. That invisible chick Hagakure did. Nearly knocked me over tackling that blank face Ojiro,” he added, turning towards the exit as Kirishima deposited his hero outfit in the bin for cleaning and repairs.

“Hagakure?” Kiri asked, more to himself than Bakugou, “But she went hours ago.”

The blond huffed, “Yeah, so are you coming or not? The idiots have been blowing up my phone asking about you, and we’ve got ten minutes to make it back before Aizawa finds a way to make shit worse.”

Kirishima’s shoulders relaxed, his eyes met Bakugou. “Sure,” he said, looking more exhausted than Bakugou had originally assessed.

////

On their return to the dorms, they’d both been promptly tackled by a dozen or so classmates, inviting them for things in the common area and volunteering Bakugou for dinner duty. Kirishima had only had to mention that yes, he was hungry but had declined to join anyone’s group for anything, promising instead to stay nearby. When Bakugou had come back down from changing out of uniform to find Kirishima curled up in an armchair, clearly dozing, Bakugou had merely turned and—to the surprise of many—began cooking without another complaint.

He knew the others in their class had noticed whatever weird air had descended between them after the practical. As much as he hated to admit it-- even to himself-- their class was largely a perceptive bunch, and if the recent comments were anything to go by, the dance that Bakugou and Kirishima had entered was becoming painfully obvious.

And yes, Bakugou knew.

He wasn’t so in denial to reject that what he had with Kirishima ran deep. Definitely deeper than the vanilla bullshit Deku had started with Uraraka a few months back. But Bakugou was aware of his own weakness, and he’d be damned if he let himself fuck up things as they were.

Not when it came to Kirishima.

His thoughts were interrupted when Kaminari practically screamed from the common area. “How could you say Kiri’s combo with Bakugou last week wasn’t awesome, Hanta! It wasn’t that weak!”

He snarled. It was bait. He knew it was fucking bait. But it was an excuse to let the thoughts of today slide from his mind, easing him back into the everyday shit like this.

Bakugou could handle this.

“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU SAY SOY SAUCE?!” he growled, slamming a lid over the near finished curry and cutting the heat off before diving over the counter. Most of the class were used to these kinds of antics, so his actions could be easily overlooked. As he locked on to where Sero had ducked near Ashido and the others, Bakugou started crossing the room at a predatory speed. Mere meters from Sero, his hands already crackling with the familiar sound of tiny explosions (enough to sting but not leave marks), the voice of Kaminari brought Bakugou to a screeching halt.

“Quick, Eijirou, control your husband!!”

Bakugou froze, explosions dying off instantly. He could feel the heat rising across his face as his eyes met with the dazed ones of Kirishima. As the wording dawned on both of them, a brilliant red blush spread over Kirishima’s face as well, and Bakugou set his sights on a new target. Gathering more visible explosions, he strode straight towards Kaminari.

“I’m going to murder you, dumbass,” he seethed, embarrassment and indignation spurring him on. Kaminari had dropped to his knees and waved his hands in surrender, but Bakugou was still agitated from earlier and wanted to vent. He vaguely heard Iida beginning to scold him from somewhere, but Bakugou’s mind had long since put Iida’s ranting somewhere between ‘background noise’ and ‘leaving the tv on’ and was thus, ignored.

“Bakugou.”

His name came out husky, sending flashes of late-night talks and private smiles running through his mind. He couldn’t stop himself from searching for its owner, and when he locked eyes with Kirishima his priorities shifted. He stepped over towards the redhead, who now stood with blankets pooling at his feet and headphones discarded on the floor. He suddenly felt aware of how petty his actions had been—something he was supposed to have moved on from at this point.

“He insulted us,” Bakugou tried, jabbing a finger in Kaminari’s direction.

Kirishima sighed, and Bakugou noticed the stress that rolled over his shoulders. “You know he didn’t mean it.”

“It’s bullshit.” Because it was, because the dumbass on the floor knew exactly what to say to rile him up. “That combo—”

“Katsuki.” And Bakugou stopped, because Kirishima never called him that in public, never said that when it wasn’t about the most important things.

And he watched, as Kirishima stared at him like he was a burden—like it was too much, right now.

“Just stop. We’re all together because of today. Don’t—” He broke away, picking up his things and refusing to look at Bakugou as the blond stared him down in shock. “Go finish dinner. I’m going to my room.”

A shuffling of items, the ding of the elevator, then Kirishima was gone.

Bakugou took a moment to breathe, just as he’d been shown. Inhale. Exhale. Repeat. He knew the others were watching him, waiting for him to full-on explode possibly, though that was much rarer for him now. Instead, he turned around without looking at anyone, and went straight back to the kitchen.

Sato had tried to give him a concerned look, but Bakugou scowled and set to serving up the meal. He had more important things to do than worry about what those extras thought-- because right now, this pissed and embarrassed, they were all extras again.

Because right now, the only one who mattered was Kirishima.

Chapter Text

‘END SIMULATION. STATUS: MISSION FAILED.’

He’d failed the practical.

Aizawa met him at the exit, stopping Kirishima before he could take another dazed step. He wasn’t sure what to say, if anything, to his teacher. He was too distracted by the memory of Bakugou’s face, his eyes fading from crimson to grey.

“Kirishima,” the older man said, laying a hesitant hand on the young hero’s shoulder. “Try to see what you can learn from this. Hound Dog’s available through the weekend.”

‘If you need him’ went without saying. Then he’d ushered Kirishima to the locker rooms, leaving the young hero to stand alone, thoughts and stimulus still echoing from the exercise.

He’d failed, and Bakugou had died.

He’d failed-- and the worst of it was-- he hated why.

///

Kirishima couldn’t take it, standing there in the deserted locker room. Disgusted, ashamed, helpless. Everything still felt so fresh to him, the leftover adrenaline spilling over into the anger he felt against himself. Was this how Bakugou felt, when he couldn’t express the anger coursing through himself? Kirishima screamed—frustrated-- and punched his locker, lodging his fist deep into the reinforced metal. His breathing was heavy. Glimpses of the cityscape he’d been dropped into played through his mind. He gulped in more air, remembering the sting of the cold that had hit him. His chest ached at the memory of his breath leaving him, the sight of Bakugou laying crushed under rubble in the middle of a skirmish running through him again.

‘Rubble,’ he’d told himself, ‘That you could’ve easily handled.’

He’d screamed.

He’d pled.

He’d tried every lifesaving maneuver he’d ever been taught. In the end, it hadn’t mattered. The point had been that Bakugou was already dead, and Aizawa had expected him to keep going, to fight as if the most significant person to him wasn’t sprawled on the ground like a piece of discarded trash. Cold. Lifeless.

And he was supposed to process that?

Kirishima wasn’t sure how long he stood there, thinking about the hypothetical Bakugou from the exercise. Of course, the first thing the real Bakugou had done was burst through the locker room door with an impatient scowl at the ready.

“What the fuck’s your problem?” Bakugou asked.

Kirishima couldn’t look at him right then. “I failed,” he replied, unable to trust himself at the moment. He swallowed the lump forming in the back of his throat. Part of him wanted to throw himself at Bakugou—to hug him, touch him. To ensure that he was truly there. He chanced a glance at the blond, the fiery red eyes looking at him with an analyzing intensity. Kirishima wondered if Bakugou could read his thoughts right then. If this would be the moment they’d finally cave and give in to each other.

Instead he’d heard Bakugou tsk.

“You realize that stupid exercise wasn’t actually graded, right?”

And of course Bakugou would say that.  He clearly hadn’t been pleased with the exercise either, but his poor attempt at reassuring Kirishima that—of all things—the damn thing wasn’t for a grade did little to help the redhead’s mood. Bakugou discerned as much.

“It’s fucking true. You’re not the only one who failed either,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Kirishima’s head shot up. “Did you...?” he started to ask. Had their scenarios been similar? Did Bakugou have to struggle with losing him? How did he handle it?

“Hell no. That invisible chick Hagakure did. Nearly knocked me over tackling that blank face Ojiro,” the blond replied, losing the edge in his tone. He turned away from Kirishima.

“Hagakure?” Kiri said, more to himself than Bakugou, “But she went hours ago...”

He discarded his outfit, thinking about what it meant for Bakugou to have witnessed whatever happened between Hagakure and Ojiro. He paused. Bakugou had waited hours to see him. The thought gave him peace. Whatever had happened to Bakugou must have been upsetting, too, for him to want to see Kirishima like that.

Bakugou grumbled about curfew and heading back, and Kirishima found himself meeting his best friend’s eyes. They were still brilliantly red. Alive.

“Sure,” he breathed, taken aback by how Bakugou was looking him over. The blond wrinkled his nose.

“You look fucking exhausted,” he said, leading the way back towards the 3-A dorms.

Kirishima relaxed, allowing the exhaustion to set in. Bakugou only made small talk for his sake.

“Well I am,” he replied simply.

“Then don’t let those idiots pull you into staying up late,” came the grumbled reply.

“I won’t,” he promised, then groaned, “But I’m starving. We should get something to eat before we get back.”

“Weren’t you listening?” Bakugou snapped, his words lacking venom, “Curfew’s in ten. The cafeteria’s already closed.”

Kirishima crossed his arms, an unexpected yawn escaping him. “But I can’t sleep on an empty stomach.”

Bakugou scowled, “I know that. I’ve only heard it for two fucking years. We can eat after you clean up. I could smell you from across campus.”

“What about you? Don’t you need to clean up, too?”

“Idiot. I did that when Aizawa kicked us out of the exit area.”

‘Oh, right.’ Kirishima reminded himself, ‘While he was waiting for me.’

Silence descended on the pair, the only sound being that of the crunch of gravel as they cut across the end of campus to the dorm buildings. Bakugou kept hunched over, hands in his pockets and posture tense. Kirishima watched him, his own stomach in knots.

The sun was setting, leaving them tinted with warm hues of red and orange. It wasn’t the first time Kirishima took in Bakugou’s features and found them to be beautiful. It was such a blunt contrast to the environment he’d been immersed in for the last two hours. He wanted to say something—to tell Bakugou what happened. He stopped walking when they were a few meters short of the dorm entrance.

“Hey, Bakugou,” he said, head down and throat thick with anxiety. “About today…”

“Save it,” the blond replied, “Aizawa said not to talk about it.”

Kirishima frowned, “Yeah, I know that. But—”

“We’ll talk later,” Bakugou interrupted, continuing to walk up to the door. “Tell me what you want to say then.”

///

The area had been dark, the atmosphere chilled.

“MULTIPLE CASUALITIES REPORTED AT BLOCK 64. DURABILITY AND STRENGTH RESCUE REQUIRED. TARGET IS VOLATILE.”

“Deku reporting! Target in sight! Ground Zero is engaging!”

The sounds of explosions echoed through the comm set and the surrounding area.

“Red Riot reporting! On my way to help, Deku! Ground Zero!”

 “Riot! We need you two blocks over for assistance!”

“Got it! Ground Zero, check in!”

“*panting* I’ve fuckin’ got it!”

More explosions.

“Crap!” It was Deku. “No, you don’t!”

It was too much.

“Fuck, Deku!”

He had to trust them.

“*panting* DAMMIT!!”

Explosions. The ground trembled. Kirishima tried to concentrate on the wall he held up, forced to do nothing but listen.

“Ground Zero, NO!”

But it was so much.

“HERO DOWN. Target is moving! Red Riot! Move for backup on Deku!”

“Got it!”

“I repeat GROUND ZERO IS DOWN.”

He’d sprinted faster than anything, intentionally suppressing his quirk to maintain speed. He’d spotted Deku’s eerie streak of green shooting after the target.

But Kirishima had stopped cold.

"Baku… gou?”

No movement. No pulse.

“Bakugou! Dammit, Ground Zero needs med evac NOW! F-fuck he’s--”

The others at the scene were calling him, asking Red Riot where he was.

“Ground! Ground Zero! BAKUGOU!”

And Ground Zero’s eyes were grey, surrounded only by red on the ground.

“BAKU—KATSUKI--!! NO!”

///

“Quick, Eijirou, control your husband!!” He heard someone say.

“My what...?” he answered, the sensation of falling bringing him back to reality.

He snapped awake, jerking up and searching for Bakugou. His heart was still racing, as he locked onto bright red eyes from across the room. The nonsensical thoughts of ‘Alive! Here! Breathing!’ flashed through his head, and he realized slowly that everyone in the common room was watching. He blushed, wilting under the attention.

Whatever the situation, Bakugou had turned his attention towards Kaminari. He must have been the one to wake Kirishima up.

“I’m going to murder you, dumbass.” He heard Bakugou say, as Kaminari began pleading and Iida took off to intervene.

It seemed surreal. Too normal, as the grief and anguish ran through him again.

“Bakugou,” Kirishima called, voice rasping after his earlier screams. ‘Look at me, please,’ he mentally implored.

It was instant. Bakugou’s attention was on Kirishima again, his eyes narrowing as he stepped over to the redhead. They’d worked together for so long; they were the most in-sync fighters. Kirishima willed Bakugou to understand—he didn’t care who was watching. Bakugou was close, allowing his eyes to search every bit of Kirishima, who in return allowed himself to show just how exhausted he was.

“He insulted us,” the blond snarled, his message clear. He insulted you.

Kiri sighed, offering the usual answer. “You know he didn’t mean it.”

He could tell Bakugou was already upset over something else. Whatever happened before he’d been woke up was just the excuse—the fuse to start something normal. Yet Kirishima was too affected by the day to play out their routine.

“It’s bullshit. That combo—”

 “Katsuki,” he snapped. It was manipulative, using Bakugou’s given name so harshly. He’d only said it two or three times before, and he’d hoped the next time would be in a different context. Kirishima sighed, “Just stop. We’re all together because of today. Don’t—” He swallowed, having caught Bakugou’s expression of shock. “Go finish dinner. I’m going to my room.”

‘So we can talk,’ he thought, trusting Bakugou to understand.

He couldn’t bring himself to look at anyone else.

He watched the elevator door close on the scene of a hushed 3-A-- a silent Bakugou rooted to the spot.

They couldn’t go on like this, Kirishima decided. They needed to talk.

Chapter Text

The knock came out softer than he’d intended.

Bakugou shifted from one leg to the other, gripping the boxes tight. He trusted that Kirishima would let him in. The redhead had wanted to talk earlier after all. He knocked again.

“Come on in, Bakugou,” the voice from inside called, rough and low.

Bakugou steadied himself. Inhale. Exhale. Repeat.

He opened the door to find nothing particularly out of the ordinary, aside from Kirishima settled on his bed amidst an even fluffier pile of blankets.

“I brought your food, so you can’t say I starved you,” the blond said, pulling up Kirishima’s desk chair and starting to unpack. He was trying to keep any annoyance out of his voice, an effort he put in only for Kirishima’s sake.

Kirishima let out a long breath, emerging from the blankets and taking the offered food.  “Thanks,” he said, clearing his throat. He wasn’t sure what else to say, and he wasn’t in a particular mood to try.

Bakugou frowned. They’d never had a completely quiet meal together, and the lack of enthusiasm from Kirishima left a sour taste in his mouth. Normally, Bakugou would take this as a rare treat, the option to finally sit in silent company with good food. With today’s context, however, he found the silence grating. He was out of his depth and loathed not knowing what to do, but Kirishima never seemed to mind it when he didn’t. So, for Kirishima, he would try.

“I almost failed my practical,” he offered, staring down at his half-eaten food. He heard Kirishima pause, and took it as confirmation to continue. “I was told the target was a villain group trafficking quirk drugs—similar to the one from your first year internship. I thought you were taking the practical with me, ‘cause I’d heard you over my comm.”

“Me, too,” Kirishima added quietly, head bowed. Bakugou noted he was pointedly not making eye contact. “You were in mine.”

Bakugou smirked, bumping his shoulder against the pile of blankets, “Oh yeah? Of course Aizawa’d pull that shit, knowing our co-agency plans.”

Kirishima nodded, waiting for the blond to continue. Bakugou frowned, his brow furrowed at the redhead’s muted response.

“Anyways, I found some of the lackeys first, but they anticipated pros and chem-bombed the area.” He glanced up, meeting Kirishima’s eyes for a brief moment, “Aizawa had me put on some dumb bulky gloves before I started, so when I came across the gas, the gloves suppressed my quirk.”

Kirishima let out a little gasp, looking fully at Bakugou now. The blond had always had a hang-up about quirklessness, though Kirishima could never ask why.

Bakugou pushed his food away, and continued with a scowl, “It was too late to stop the effects. I had to fall back and head the way you said you’d gone.”

“How’d you know it wasn’t a trap?”

Bakugou hesitated. Kirishima had moved to the edge of the bed, inches away from Bakugou. His gaze on the blond was intense, hanging on each word. The blond swallowed hard, looking away again. He growled, “Of course it was! But I didn’t have a lot of choices, and as far as I knew your dumb ass had already found trouble. Aizawa was probably bitching at me through the control room about it.”

He stood up, throwing his food in Kirishima’s bin. Kirishima simply watched him as he started to pace.

“I ended up in a larger part of the warehouse, all open spaces with no cover. The villains I’d seen earlier were there, with a handful of extras. One of ‘em was this freaky tall fucker with long arms. He was holding you down.”

Bakugou’s hands opened and closed, flexing as he paced. Kirishima was reminded of a caged tiger growing agitated.

“I didn’t have my goddamn quirk, there was almost a hundred meters between me and them, and this asshole had you pinned down with some chick hovering over you with glowing hands. She started ranting some bullshit about knowing you’d be there with me and how they were gonna ‘turn my strength against me’ or whatever. And then—” he paused, both in his words and his movements. He took three deep breaths, licking his lips.

“The hag did something to you. It took me awhile to figure out that she’d taken control of you, but that’s what it was. They released you, and you went full Unbreakable charging towards me.”

He’d gone silent again. The muscles in his neck corded with pent up anger. Kirishima stood, approaching him slowly should he choose to back away. Bakugou still wouldn’t look at him.

“I barely got out of the way, and I knew I couldn’t fucking stop you like that without my quirk. She had you charging like an animal, running into shit and forcing you up like a fucking corpse anytime you stumbled. She had no fucking clue how to move like you. I knew I had to stop her to stop you,” he snarled, two tiny explosions going off in his closed hands.

Kirishima placed one hand carefully on Bakugou’s shoulder, asking quietly, “So what happened? What did you do?”

Bakugou leveled a glare at him.

“The gloves overheated and broke, so I used my quirk to blast the whole fucking place apart.”

Kirishima flinched.

“The whole building went down. I didn’t completely fail only because I kept the asshole target from getting crushed in the fallout.”

Kirishima frowned, “So you killed the others? What about me?”

Bakugou shrugged off Kirishima’s hand, staring hard at the redhead as he crossed his arms, “I knew you’d be fucking fine! If you couldn’t take that shit in Unbreakable then you shouldn’t be graduating anyways! You’d seen worse… I wasn’t gonna let that hag keep controlling you.” He breathed the last part, all mumbled and quiet.

Kirishima frowned. He knew that Bakugou had to be leaving out some big details. Yet, Kirishima didn’t push it. He wasn’t sure if he could tell Bakugou everything that happened either. Not yet at least.

“It’s bullshit!” Bakugou snapped, “None of that shit was real anyway! I don’t give a fuck about what happened. The fucking thing was pointless,” he finished, throwing himself down on Kirishima’s bed, arms still folded and clearly seething over the event. Kirishima settled down near the blond.

“Thanks for telling me that,” he said, “You didn’t have to…”

“Yeah fuckin’ whatever. I lost my damn appetite and threw my fuckin’ food away, so if I get hungry your ass is gonna have to go downstairs and get me something,” he grumbled, pulling out his phone.

Kirishima watched him for a moment, nodding with a toothy soft smile. “Sure,” he agreed, “but I’m eating half your dessert.”

//

They laid around after that, Kirishima finishing his food and Bakugou generally complaining about how long he took to eat. He’d even moved to kick Kirishima off his own bed with comments like “Only a fucking pig would eat on the bed! Move to the desk!”. It was the first laugh he’d drawn out of Kirishima since that morning, and the redhead had easily complied.

Sometime later, Kirishima had moved back onto his bed to squash in next to Bakugou. The small frame really didn’t hold them as well any more, not between their gained height and muscle. Kirishima lamented the days when all of ‘the gang’ could pile in together to watch something on one of their laptops. Bakugou replied with a simple ‘thank fuck’ that they couldn’t do that anymore. He got a rough push off the bed for it.

“I wonder if everyone’s still downstairs?” Kirishima mused, stretching out comically to take up all the bed space. Bakugou kicked him back onto his side.

“Who cares? Fuckin’ emotional extras can just stay down there and wallow,” he scowled.

To which Kirishima defended, “Dude, they’re our friends. You haven’t called anyone that in ages. Do they really deserve that?”

Bakugou rolled over on the bed, clutching Kirishima’s pillow as he said, thoughtless, “That dumbass Kaminari almost got everyone’s dinner burned and woke you up just so he could fuck with us. So, yeah, tonight they’re just extras.”

Kirishima sighed, faceplanting into the cover. After a moment, he said, “To be honest, I’m glad he woke me up. The dream I was having… wasn’t very pleasant.”

“Oh yeah?” Bakugou shifted. They were laying on their sides, face to face. The mood shifted, as it always did when they told each other about their nightmares. It’d been almost three years since Kamino, and they both still dreamed of the place.

“Yeah,” Kirishima said, looking up to check Bakugou’s eyes for the millionth time that evening. Still there. Still okay.

“Then you know the drill, Shitty Hair. Talk or spar?” Bakugou said, bringing up the old nickname to put Kiri at ease.

That was another thing they’d developed. Talk about it or fight-- no questions, no objections. Kaminari, Mina, Sero—none of them ever understood the way Bakugou had chosen to work out his stronger emotions, but Kirishima did and always obliged. Eventually he’d grown to do the same when he wanted to vent with the blond. It had become their thing, and Kirishima secretly enjoyed that.

Bakugou yawned, “You better pick talk ‘cause I’m too tired to drag your ass outside.”

Kirishima laughed, “You mean the great ‘King of Explodo-Kills’ is admitting he isn’t up for a fight?”

“Fuck you let’s spar,” Bakugou scowled, taking Kirishima’s pillow and smothering him with it. Kirishima grabbed Bakugou and rolled them onto the floor, hardening as he fell to absorb the fall. Bakugou abandoned the pillow for the small explosions he’d used earlier, knowing Kirishima wouldn’t feel anything more than a tickle. Their pseudo-fighting had inadvertently helped them hone their precision over the years, and Kirishima knew it was something he’d miss, once they were graduated.

“Talk, okay! I choose talk!” he laughed as Bakugou managed to grab each side of his ribs, setting off pop after pop of tickling explosions. “I concede to the King!”

“Damn right you do,” Bakugou outright grinned, looking about as relaxed as he ever would with another person. He sat up against Kirishima’s bed, leaving the redhead to sprawl out over the floor as he’d done earlier. Bakugou jabbed him with his foot. “Get to talking. I don’t have all night.”

Kirishima sighed, letting the moment wash over him before he had to relive the nightmare of Aizawa’s practical.

“Okay, yeah,” he said, rolling on his side and propping up on one elbow. “It was about my practical, too. Which, by the way, Aizawa’s gonna find out we talked about this, and he’s gonna find a way to make the next two months hell.”

Bakugou scoffed, “Are you gonna tell? ‘Cause I’m sure as fuck not. It’s not like he’s got eyes everywhere.”

Kirishima shook his head, “I’m just saying…”

“And I’m just saying get on with it, Kirishima. You’re stalling.”

“I am not,” he replied, though the red on his cheeks told otherwise. “I just… I don’t know how to start. The dream itself was just pieces. Mostly the stuff from comms.”

Bakugou’s expression was neutral. He folded his arms and said, “Then only tell me what you want to.”

Kirishima looked away, picking at the lettering on his Crimson Riot hoodie. “You died,” he said gently, “It was supposed to be a standard R&R with an AVT. You and Midoriya were engaging the target, so I never even saw what it looked like. I wanted to join the fight, but I kept getting called for rescues in unstable buildings. I heard the whole thing over the comms before I got the chance to head your way. It—it was just like Kamino.”

Bakugou inhaled sharply. “What?”

Kirishima flinched. He knew the anger wasn’t directed at him, but Kamino was one of Bakugou’s sore spots. He continued, “The area you two had been fighting in. It was all leveled and blown out, and it was so cold.” He shivered, sitting up next to Bakugou. “Midoriya was in pursuit, and I finally got called to assist. Thing is, once I got there, I didn’t want to go after him.”

“Fucking why?” the blond asked, just as drawn in by Kirishima’s story as he’d been.

“Because you were--,” he stopped, holding back the surge of grief. He pulled his legs up, resting his chin on them. Bakugou grew still next to him.

“You were there, half under this huge chunk of wall that if I’d just been next to you, I could’ve taken instead! You weren’t moving—you weren’t breathing—I mean fuck Katsuki there was nothing there to save.” He sucked in a breath, fresh tears threatening to fall as he held in the memory of his earlier anguish. “How was I supposed to keep moving when you were there like that?”

He looked over to the blond, noticing Bakugou’s pinpoint pupils, his mouth set in a firm line as if he, too, were holding something back.

 Kirishima shook his head, looking up at the ceiling as he painfully failed to blink back the tears that threatened to spill over and down his face. He knew Bakugou wouldn’t care—wouldn’t find him weak or unmanly for it.

“It didn’t matter what I tried,” he whispered, “Saving you wasn’t the point.”

He closed his eyes for a moment and rested his head back against the bed, his rough breathing the only break in the silence. He noted the warmth on his right side, where Bakugou remained unmoving. Kirishima took a long inhale, and continued.

“You were already supposed to be dead by the time I got there. I was supposed to see you like that and keep moving,” his voice cracked, a broken laugh escaping, “What the fuck did Aizawa expect from me? I know it was a test of weakness. I know other lives were on the line, and we’re supposed to push it back and keep going even when we’re hurt, but how could I do my job when you were the one that was dead and I’d never get the chance to tell you that I—,” he stumbled, realizing what he’d almost voiced aloud. Part of him had known he’d be the one to break first, to admit that they’d long passed the line of friendship. He’d simply been too afraid to make the jump to whatever they were now.

Kirishima exhaled harshly. Willing himself not to look at Bakugou, he rested his head on his knees.

“Hey,” he heard whispered to his side.

A firm arm gripped his shoulders, pulling him close to the spicy warmth beside him. Kirishima froze, the thoughts running through his head coming to a halt. He glanced up at Bakugou, whose brow was furrowed with an odd mix of relief and pain.

Kirishima swore his heart stopped.

“I--,” Kiri started, not knowing what to say, “you—”

“Breathe,” Bakugou instructed, looking down at Kirishima, “It’s okay now.”

So Kirishima listened. Inhale. Exhale. Repeat. And for several long moments, that’s how they stayed. Kirishima curled up against Bakugou, and Bakugou keeping him firmly at his side. The redhead wasn’t sure what it meant, but he allowed the feeling of warmth to comfort him, pulling him towards the edge of sleep. He heard Bakugou sigh.

“I absolutely hated seeing that broken, possessed version of you,” the blond admitted, whispering the last part, “It didn’t matter that I knew it wasn’t real.”

Kirishima looked up, scrubbing his face with the sleeve of his hoodie. He could see the deep red on Bakugou’s face as the blond pulled back his arm, rubbing it with his other hand.

They were close, and neither made to move away.

“It’s reckless,” Kiri whispered, unable to look away from the fiery eyes set on him, “To be partners or friends or… anything publicly.”

Bakugou gave him a side glance, unconsciously inching closer. “We’ve been in the public for three years already. People already know we’re a team.”

“You want to be number one,” Kirshima tried, unmoving but unwilling to pull back-- too drawn to the intensity of the gaze set upon him.  “All Might warned against it.”

“Didn’t stop Endeavor,” Bakugou smirked. He brought a hand up to touch Kirishima’s chin, his eyes alight with want.

They were so close.

“But what if something does happen?” Kirishima whispered, his worst fear coming to the surface. The image of Bakugou—an older Bakugou—lying lifeless under concrete flashed before him.

“We won’t let that happen,” Bakugou said simply, as if it was already fact. “I won’t fuckin’ let it.”

Bakugou leaned forward.

Kirishima froze.

It was too close.

Kirishima panicked, ripping himself away from Bakugou. The blond stared at him, confusion replacing the relaxed lines of his expression.

“I-I can’t,” Kirishima heaved, stumbling up towards the door, “We can’t.”

Bakugou started to speak, reaching out to stop him.

He didn’t want to say he fled, but bursting through the door of his own room, and nearly knocking over Shoji in the process, left Kirishima feeling too much like a coward to turn back.

Chapter Text

“We need to talk.”

Bakugou didn’t look up when he said it, eyes focused on picking out the remaining shards of glass Kirishima held onto. He felt the back of Kirishima’s palm harden and heard the sharp, shaky inhale. Bakugou frowned.

Despite the general consensus, Bakugou did have the ability to take the emotional lead in a situation, but he had long recognized it to be his weakest area, and therefore, something not to be publicly displayed. Kirishima seemed to understand Bakugou when he tried to express anything that came out as anger or frustration. While others would hear Bakugou’s criticizing remarks and deem them cruel, Kirishima had found a way to look past Bakugou’s shortcomings and see the intention of his actions.

For that, Bakugou had been able to gradually relax, and he’d grown open to letting Kirishima teach him ways of handling his more explosive side. Kirishima had not tried to change him—Bakugou would never allow it—but the blond had started to see that that part of himself was standing in the way of his eventual path to being a top hero. Kirishima genuinely wanted to elevate him, and while Bakugou would forever be grateful, it also meant that Kirishima sometimes looked at himself as one of the people who would be in awe of Bakugou—as if the redhead would be part of the crowd, looking up to the spotlight of Bakugou’s stage.

Bakugou didn’t want that.

“Go, sit down,” he pointed, shoving a clean towel at Kirishima and gesturing to the barstool on the other side of the counter. The redhead glanced at him, hesitating for a moment before he did as he was told.

They were the only ones left on the ground floor, as seemingly everyone else had managed to head off to bed. Kirishima sat hunched over as Bakugou rummaged around the kitchen, first pulling out the cake Sato had made earlier, then pulling out a small pot he placed on the stove. Kirishima’s knee bounced as he gripped the towel tightly over his slowly bleeding hand. The silence carried on, punctuated by the blond’s movements around the kitchen.

Kirishima couldn’t take it.

“How long where you standing there?” he asked, looking up to see Bakugou’s back to him, stirring something in the pot.

Bakugou grunted, shoulders moving up as a shrug. “Awhile.”

Kirishima bit his lip. He absolutely hated it when Bakugou was vague.

“You were right though,” Bakugou said, reaching over and pulling down two mugs from a cabinet. “You are a coward.”

Kirishima bit his lip, the sting of such a statement numbing his chest, spreading over him. His breathing hitched.

Bakugou continued, speaking uncharacteristically low, “‘Courage is not the absence of fear, but the ability to continue despite it.’ Wasn’t that one of the things they taught us in those bullshit advice courses?”

“That’s not… quite how it goes,” Kiri replied, not following Bakugou’s thinking.

“You ran. Instead of stopping me, instead of talking, you fucking ran,” Bakugou grit out, the snarl on his lips barely holding back, “You told fuckin’ Kaminari more than you told me.”

“It’s not, I—” Kirishima frowned, getting defensive, “I didn’t exactly think about what I was doing, ya know. It’s not like I meant to tell Denki all that.”

“And yet you did,” Bakugou huffed, cutting off the burner with a snap. “You basically fuckin’ confessed, and when I tried to return it, you bolted like I’d fired a damn Howitzer at you instead.”

Kirishima shifted the towel in his hand, face growing hot. “It wasn’t anything you did, if that’s what you mean,” he mumbled.

Bakugou whirled around, both mugs in hand filled with hot cocoa. “How do you think I felt when you ran out of your own room saying ‘we can’t’ to my face? Your intention wasn’t the point. The fact is, that fucking hurt, Eijirou.”

He set down Kirishima’s mug with a little more force than his own, moving on to cut two slices from the leftover cake. Kirishima stared at him, retort dying on his lips as he saw the deep red blush spreading over Bakugou’s face.

“Kaminari was right,” the blond continued, “We’re going to lose each other-- someday. Do you really want it to be now? What the fuck happened to ‘Ground/Riot’? Are you backing out of that now, too?”

Kirishima flinched. Ground/Riot was the tentative name for their joint agency. The one they’d been talking about since their project in second year.

“No, of course not!” Kirishima protested, slapping his open palms down on the counter. His eyes were beginning to sting again, and he berated himself for wanting to cry now. Bakugou’s eerily calm demeanor was setting him on edge—screaming he could deal with, but this? Kirishima was out of his depth.

The blond watched him, placing their desserts down and settling across from Kirishima. He waited for the redhead to calm down, his own expression tense. He could tell Kiri didn’t know how to react to his lack of explosions, which pissed off a part of him. He was trying dammit.

Gradually, Kirishima allowed some of the tension to leave his shoulders. He took a small bite of cake, and reminded himself that Bakugou want to talk about them, which likely meant that he wanted to try. The thought sent goosebumps through him, and he shivered.

Bakugou sighed, drawing Kirishima’s eyes to him. He sat with one elbow propped up, chin resting casually as he stirred his cocoa. The clinks from the spoon hitting the mug echoed in the otherwise quiet space. Kirishima drew his mug to his lips, and Bakugou glanced up, eyes burning as he watched the redhead drink.

“Do you want me?” Bakugou asked, breaking the silence.

Kirishima lowered his mug carefully. He took in a shaky breath, heart racing with renewed emotion. Bakugou’s eyes never left him. He tapped one hardened finger nervously against the ceramic mug.

“Yes,” he breathed— because he had to be honest, with himself and Bakugou.

His heart skipped a beat as Bakugou flushed, fiery red eyes breaking his gaze. Tension rolled through the blond’s shoulders, and Kirishima stabbed at his cake with a little more force.

Bakugou exhaled roughly. “Then why can’t we?” he asked, eyes open and near pleading.

“We—” Kiri stumbled, the looking piercing his heart, “—the risks--”

“The risks are bullshit!” Bakugou snarled, banging his fist on the counter with an explosive pop, leaving a scorch mark running across the surface. “Risks are part of the job and you damn well know it! I heard what you said to Kaminari. You’re afraid! So why can’t you just say it to my face?!” He shot up, leaving his chair to wobble back and hit the floor.

Kirishima stood up and snapped back, his own quirk activating as his fingers dug into the granite. “Yes, I’m afraid, Bakugou! You always speak like your will is the set-in-stone truth, but it’s not! Fake or not, I spent today holding up half a building—helpless, useless—while I listened to you die!” His words punctuated with a crack. He hadn’t realized it, but his quirk had spread beyond his arms—hardened hair, teeth. His eyes edged on the side of Unbreakable.

Bakugou yelled, explosions growing louder, “And what the fuck do you think I felt when I stood there—quirkless, just as fucking useless—while I watched you be tortured by villians who didn’t give two shits about you and were only doing it because of me? I know what All Might said, but fuck him! I’d rather die than watch you get hurt because of me!”

“And I’d rather take a hit for you than watch the fucking life fade from your eyes!!” Kirishima screamed, voice rasping.

“THEN WHY, EIJIROU?!” Bakugou roared. Hot, embarrassed tears prickled at his eyes, and he screamed as his pent-up anger let loose. “Do you actually think so little of me that you believe I’d die easily?! Am I lying to you when I promise that we’ll be okay, because we’ll be strong?! Why do you doubt yourself?”

“BECAUSE I’M NOT. LIKE. YOU!” Kirishima cried, “I can’t promise we’ll be okay, and that scares me more than anything!”

They were both standing now, chests heaving as they took in their positions.

Bakugou’s explosions had scorched large patches of the floor, while Kirishima had completely cracked the granite countertop bar. Their eyes met and each took in the sight of the other. Kirishima’s palm was still angry red, though no longer bleeding. The sleeves of his hoodie were uneven from being pushed up and pulled down repeatedly. His cheeks were flushed, lips parted as he breathed heavily. His eyes were a bright, bloodshot red to match the cherry of his iris and crimson of his hair. The sight seized Bakugou’s chest.

Bakugou as well was covered with a fine sheen of sweat, visibly soaking the front of his black undershirt. His hair stood on end; edges pushed back from the repetitive motion of swiping his hands through it. His cheeks were red, his mouth a thin line as he bit his lip. Kirishima felt a pang in his heart at the sight of Bakugou’s raw eyes, pink as he’d scrubbed back the tears that threatened to fall.

They wanted each other, that much was clear.

Bakugou mumbled something. Kirishima called him out on it.

“I’m afraid, too!” Bakugou confessed, “Because one day, Kirishima, I’ll fuck it up with you. Doesn’t matter what it is—I’ll fuckin’ screw something up and hurt you… and you’ll leave, like you damn well should when I do!”

“That’s not—” Kiri started.

“But that dumbass Denki was right again,” Bakugou barked, a laugh escaping him. “We’d both be fucking cowards if we let this die before it starts, just ‘cause of what might happen.”

Kirishima stared at Bakugou, standing in the middle of the kitchen, breathless and more passionate than he’d ever seen. In that moment, as those same fiery eyes that he’d been searching for all day bore back at him, he was reminded of Kaminari’s advice and encouragement again. Could he call himself a hero—could he call himself a man-- if he allowed the fear of the future to keep himself from happiness?

“So, please,” Bakugou breathed as he stopped fighting back and allowed hot tears to fall, to bear himself in front of the only person he’d loved—the only one worth seeing him so raw. He watched Kirishima from the other side of the counter. A small voice whispered to him that he might have already screwed up, that Kirishima may still decide it better not to become close. But it was too late for that. Kirishima was already the most important person to Bakugou, and likely would be for a long, long time. He couldn’t change that-- wouldn’t change that, no matter the outcome.

The two young heroes yearned for each other, both fighting internal battles for their own resolve.

A choked sob from Kirishima broke first.

“I’m sorry,” he swallowed. There was a long exhale, a moment as he tried to compose himself. “I’m so, so sorry, Katsuki.”

Bakugou stared, dumbfounded. For a moment, it felt like the floor had fallen out from underneath him. Then Kirishima smiled, brighter and lighter than anything Bakugou had seen before.

“You’re right,” Kirishima continued, tears falling softly as he met Bakugou’s eyes again. “I’m a coward. I’ll always worry about what might happen to you, or me, or us… but I can’t let it stop me from being happy or doing my job. I wouldn’t be a real hero if I gave in to my own fears.”

Kirishima laughed, a small quiet noise that Bakugou found much better suited for him.

“Today was meant to show us our greatest weakness, and it sure as heck did that,” Kiri smiled, shaking his head.

Bakugou relaxed, a bare hint of a smile peeking through as he hopped over the counter, stopping short in front of Kirishima.

“Are you done being an idiot then?” he asked, tone more fond than insulting, one hand pushing back the mess of Kirishima’s hair.

Kirishima pulled his sleeves back down and scrubbed his face one more time. This was his best friend, the person he longed to be with more than anyone else he knew.

“Yeah,” he smiled softly, “If you’ll have a stubborn, emotional wreck like me.”

Bakugou’s smile grew, his eyes soft. He grabbed Kirishima by the front of his hoodie, yanking the redhead into a crushing embrace. Kirishima stiffened for a moment before relaxing into him, one hand sneaking up to comb his hair as the other pulled the back of Bakugou’s tshirt taunt. Bakugou’s hand mirrored the same, and he let out a deep chuckle that reverberated through Kirishima.

“You know I’m just as fucking stubborn. You sure you wanna put up with that?”

Kirishima laughed, smile bright as he pulled back to press his forehead against the blond.

“Don’t be an idiot,” he teased, “I’ve been doing that from day one.”

“Fuck you.” Bakugou’s scowl had never been sweeter.

Kirishima laughed again, this time allowing his stress to roll off his shoulders, sagging into the blond’s arms and resting his head against Bakugou again. He heard the blond hum in content.

“Can I kiss you?” Bakugou breathed against his ear, sending something akin to electricity shooting through him. Kirishima snapped his head up, a deep blush across his cheeks and a wild look in his eyes.

“You—” he stuttered, “Did you just--?”

Bakugou’s smile shifted into a more familiar smirk. He tightened his grip on the redhead and shrugged his shoulders, “I know what I like.”

Kirishima closed his mouth that had been hanging slightly open. He let the strong stab of affection hit him as he met Bakugou’s stare. An echo of ‘Plus Ultra!’ ran through him, and Kirishima had always been one to run with it. So, to the surprise of the blond, Kirishima smirked back.

“So you do like my shitty hair after all?” he said, pulling Bakugou forward by the neck for a small, simple kiss. As he let go, he caught a glimpse of the fire reflected back at him, Bakugou’s smile returning as the blond pulled them back in for a second, third, fourth kiss.

Once they’d finally brought themselves to pull apart, arms still loosely wrapped around each other, Kirishima groaned and shook his head.

“I just remembered, Aizawa’s actually going to murder us.”

Bakugou raised a brow. “You’re not still worried about the fuckin’ practical thing, are you?”

Kirishima shook his head and turned Bakugou’s face back towards the damaged kitchen. Bakugou whistled. “Oh yeah, you cracked the whole counter. He’s gonna be pissed.”

The redhead threw his arms up, gesturing wildly to the numerous marks and burnt items over the space. Bakugou tsked, pulling him away from the kitchen and towards a couch across the room. Kirishima tried to protest, but Bakugou simply pulled out his phone and typed up a quick text, throwing his phone onto one of the dining tables and pulling them both over the back of the couch. Kirishima naturally rolled them, a move they’d perfected over years of spars, leaving them a tangled mess of limbs pressed deep into the cushions.

“What’d you do?” he asked Bakugou, yawning as he allowed himself to relax.

“Texted Aizawa. Told him we fucked the kitchen.”

Kirishima’s eyebrows shot up. “At 2am? And please don’t tell me you used that actual wording.”

Kirishima wasn’t sure he could live with himself if Aizawa came charging in, thinking they’d done intimate things all over the common room kitchen.

Bakugou grinned again, this time looking more sinister than sweet. He kissed Kirishima again.

“Better enjoy it now,” he said, pulling Kirishima closer, “He’s gonna work us to death ‘til the minute we fuckin’ step foot off UA.”

Kirishima groaned with dread. Bakugou laughed deeply, taking advantage to attack the redhead again—he could get used to doing this shit.

Chapter Text

It was early.

Iida was the first to wake, per usual. Despite it being a Sunday, he liked to keep a routine which included a few early laps around the dorms to warm up his engines for the day. The elevator gave a soft ding as he reached the ground floor. As he considered what type of post-run smoothie he wanted today, he remembered that the communal ingredients were running low. Perhaps they should make one large grocery run, to stock up enough to last the rest of the month...?

As he contemplated the idea of organizing a grocery run to stock the communal items, his thoughts were interrupted by the crunch of something under his foot. He paused, breath catching and stomach clenching at the sight of the kitchen.

The counter was destroyed, marred with multiple burn marks, and two sets of dishes were haphazardly shoved aside. His mind raced with thoughts of a struggle, and it turned his skin cold. He immediately went on alert, backing up into the stairs and pulling out his phone. He fired off the emergency location that would send to everyone in the dorm, texting a simple “POSSIBLE INTRUDER! EVERYONE REPORT TO 2ND FLOOR BOYS’ HALL IN GROUPS. NO ELEVATOR.”  He tried Aizawa-sensei’s phone, but the signal came back busy.

He retreated up to the second floor, Midoriya and Tokoyami already outside and alert. The others assembled within the minute, everyone looking guarded and alert as their training kicked in.

“Is everyone here? The improvements to the locator app should have ensured everyone was notified,” Iida said, Yaoyorozu coming to stand next to him with a questioning look.

Mineta groaned, “Please don’t tell me this was a freaking test! I’ve had like two hours of sleep!”

Much of 3-A looked to Iida, some groaning at the prospect of it being a false alarm.

“Drills are important for ensuring all systems work!” Iida started, but stopped himself before he could be distracted, “Nevertheless, no, I’m afraid we may have a situation. There may be an intruder on the ground floor. The kitchen is destroyed, and it showed signs of possible struggle and aggression. I’ve already tried contacting Aizawa-sensei but have yet to reach him.”

The tension rose sharply. Iida was satisfied to know everyone was taking their situation seriously.

Yaoyorozu stepped up. “Did anyone notice anything odd on their way here? Do we know if our floors are secure?”

“Good point,” Iida said, “Nothing seemed out of the ordinary on our floor. Ojiro?”

“No, Kouda, Kaminari, and I came down together—nothing odd.”

Yaoyorozu looked to the girls. “Our floor was fine, too. Jirou? Uraraka?”

The girls all shook their heads, muttering the all clear for them.

“Second floor seems fine,” Iida glanced around, as Todoroki and the boys from 5^th confirmed nothing suspicious.

Then it hit Iida.

“Shoji, where are Bakugou and Kirishima...?”

Everyone stilled, turning to Shoji standing at the back of the group.

“I haven’t seen them since last night, and neither of them answered their doors. I didn’t hear their phones going off either,” he answered, the mouth he’d formed turning into a frown.

Memories of their first-year training camp came flooding back, the Kamino group feeling a surge of anxiety at the thought of something happening to Bakugou again. And if Bakugou was missing, Kirishima was likely with him.

“Oh no.”

The words had everyone turning to see Kaminari, eyes wide and hands clenching.

“Last night,” he whispered, “They were the last ones in the common area. I left them in the kitchen.”

--!! That information sent a shock through the class, many prepping their quirks as if ready to charge the common area.

“Then we have to investigate!” Iida said, hands chopping through the tension, “Kaminari, Jirou, you two try Aizawa-sensei again—keep it to him for now until we can confirm the situation. If we must, we’ll inform Cementoss instead. Midoriya, Tokoyami, Shoji—check Bakugou and Kirishima’s rooms again, then recheck the fifth floor and work your way down. Yaoyorozu, take Tsuyu, Uraraka, and Hagakure to clear the girls’ floors. Everyone else, we’ll approach the common area to search.”

Everyone nodded, and Yaoyorozu stepped in to add, “I can make comms for each group so we can keep in touch quietly. Phones might give us away.”

“Good idea,” Iida agreed as Yaoyorozu took a few moments to produce a handful of sets.

“Alright, everyone ready?” Iida said, leading his group and giving a thumbs up to the others.

It took only a moment to reach their area. Iida’s group paused as they reached the ground floor, Ashido gasping with one look at the kitchen.

Ojiro grimaced, “You weren’t kidding.”

Sato nodded in agreement, “The counter’s wrecked. Dammit, most of my big baking stuff was in there!”

Iida hushed them. “Everyone, still clear?” he called, tapping his comm.

“Clear.”

“Still good.”

“Bakugou and Kirishima weren’t in their rooms. Kirishima left his phone, and the battery’s dead.”

“Not good,” Iida said, “Alright, fan out. We’ll check here before clearing the auxiliary areas.”

Everyone nodded, proceeding slowly into the living area. Todoroki noted the scorch marks in the floor, wiping one hand along a particularly nasty one.

“These look like Bakugou’s,” he noted.

Sero studied the countertop, looking at the scratches and puncture marks leading to the crack that ran all the way through exposing the cabinets underneath. “These might have been from Kirishima,” he said, paling, “He would’ve had to have been under a lot of stress to make punctures this deep.”

Iida frowned, nodding as they continued to scan the area.

It was then that Ashido screamed, long and loud enough for everyone to hear.

/\\\\\\\\

They hadn’t meant to fall asleep on the couch, but Bakugou would later admit that it was some of the best sleep he’d gotten in months.

Currently though, he was basking in the warmth of Kirishima’s body pressed tightly against him. Their legs were tangled, and Bakugou’s arm lay slung over Kirishima’s waist. The redhead’s hand rested on Bakugou’s cheek; their foreheads laid pressed together. Bakugou inhaled slowly, taking in his new reality as he stirred. He heard voices speaking low and careful, and it was then that he remembered where they were.

‘Well shit,’ he thought, deciding he would ignore them for now. If Kirishima woke up, then they could move. Otherwise, he was prepared to tell everyone to fuck off-- it’s not like anyone needed their little corner at the moment.

Then he heard Ashido’s scream.

“OH MY GAWDDDDD!!!!”

It sent Kirishima and Bakugou startling awake, Kirishima hitting the floor and instinctively hardening, leaping up into a defensive stance. Bakugou, meanwhile, had set off an explosion on the couch, using the momentum to push himself up and standing back-to-back against Kirishima.

“THE HELL--?”/ “MINA!?” They’d exclaimed, taking in her and about half the class staring at them in absolute shock, with several more classmates pouring in from the stairs.

“The FUCK’S your problem, Pinky!?” Bakugou growled, shaking his hands to wave off his building explosion. He turned to Kirishima, running his eyes over him in a quick check before grabbing his hand, “Your fuckin’ cut opened back up!”

Kirishima hissed at the touch, his reply downright grumpy as he looked to the others. “The hell’s going on? Why’d you do that?” he asked, glaring at Ashido. Sero could be heard muttering “Oh my god the world’s ending, isn’t it?” from somewhere in the back.

Ashido shrieked again, jumping with excitement, “I caught you two sleeping together! Finally!”

“What!?” Iida yelped from the back of the group.

“Dude!” Kaminari shoved past Iida, breathless from his jog from the second floor. He caught sight of the kitchen and groaned, “This is not what I meant when I told you to give Bakugou a chance! And holy shit I am not cleaning that up!”

“Wait!” Iida exclaimed, pushing forward and finding that no, his classmates weren’t in the middle of inappropriate things, “All of this was caused by you two?!”

Bakugou leveled a hard stare at the class. He blatantly slid one arm around Kirishima, who blushed deep, rubbing his non-injured hand through his hair.

“What of it?” he said, and Kiri facepalmed.

“Yeah, uh, sorry. That was. Um, that was us,” he said, leaving out the specifics, “We had a… talk.”

That admission promptly threw the majority of 3-A into shouts of confusion and questions.

“How did you manage to crack the countertop, Kirishima?!”

“Bakugou you ruined the couch! And the floor!”

“Why can’t these two do things without causing collateral damage?”

“Oh my gosh, I owe Mina like 2000 yen now!”

“I knew you guys were up to the kinky stuff! There’s no way Kirishima could be that innocent and be into someone like Bakugou!”

The last comment came from Mineta, who immediately garnered the attention of Bakugou’s ire, which of course then warranted involvement from Iida. Kirishima sighed, praying for some kind of divine intervention—that or for a hole to open up and take him. Instead, he found himself flanked by his friends.

“Sooo,” Sero said, nudging him with one large elbow, “You and Bakugou, huh?”

Kirishima flushed, running his hand through his hair for the millionth time.

“Yeah,” he said, watching Bakugou attempt to suffocate Mineta with his own torched balls. He smiled softly. “Me and him.”

Ashido squealed, waving her hands in excitement at Kirishima’s lovestruck look, “Ah!! I’m so happy for you, Ei! I was ready to stage an intervention after yesterday!”

Kirishima blinked. “An intervention? Why?”

Kaminari sidled up, slinging an arm over Kirishima’s shoulders as he chimed in, “Dude, you two have been painful to watch all year. That’s why I teased you guys yesterday. I was trying to show Kyoka how bad it was between you and him.”

Kirishima gave Kaminari a deadpanned look. “And you thought pissing him off was the best way to show that?”

“I mean, come on, Kiri. Bakugou is whipped by his standards when it comes to you! You stopped him in his tracks just by calling out for him! Hell, you’re the only person I know who can say his given name and not end up as a smear on the pavement!”

At that, Kirishima laughed. He didn’t miss the way Bakugou glanced up to find him, assessing the situation before seeming to come to some sort of conclusion. He ended his tirade against the grape hero, leaving Mineta to be chastised by Iida. Ashido, thankfully, had the sense to pull Sero and Kaminari back from Kirishima just as Bakugou swept into their space, unabashedly grabbing Kirishima’s good hand and dragging him off.

“If you idiots are all done, we’re going back to sleep. Aizawa already knows the kitchen’s fucked—”

“That is NOT what happened! Will you STOP saying THAT—," Kirishima groaned. Bakugou had to be aware of the innuendo in his words.

“And no one short of Ai-fucking-zawa or Nedzu himself better disturb us,” Bakugou glared, slamming the elevator button and throwing an arm over a surrendered Kirishima.

“Bakugou! Kirishima! I cannot condone students sleeping together!” cut in Iida, striding over to reprimand them, one hand slicing through the crowd of students still watching the drama.

Kirishima’s already red face grew pure crimson. He was going to die of embarrassment from all the implications alone.

“We’re not--!” he started, but gave up in favor of scowling at Bakugou, “This is all your fault.”

Iida continued to lecture them-- hand chopping in full swing-- while the majority of the class had elected to stay back from the oddity of an openly protective and affectionate Bakugou.

Just as the elevator opened though, a tired familiar voiced pierced the room.

“I wouldn’t think of going upstairs just yet,” said Aizawa, emerging from the entryway. He moved silently, pausing at the kitchen to survey the damage, one bandaged arm sweeping through his haphazardly tied back hair. It looked as if he’d been dragged fresh from patrol and dumped straight into the dorm. He let out a weary breath, bringing his attention to Bakugou and Kirishima. The pair had a good two-meter space around them, the rest of the class having parted like the sea to avoid Aizawa’s potential wrath.   

Bakugou met his stare evenly, but Aizawa knew where the weak point was. He flicked his eyes to Kirishima.

“Care to explain why you two destroyed the kitchen and only bothered to text me at 2 am while I was on patrol instead of Cementoss-- the one actually responsible for you during the night?”

Kirishima wilted, crumbling under his sensei’s gaze. He threw Bakugou a dirty look. “Technically it was Bakugou’s idea to do that—”

“Oh, fuck you. You didn’t say shit when--”

“But,” he pressed on, hushing Bakugou with a hand slapped over his mouth, “It’s true that we should’ve properly informed a teacher. Things were just a little… tense, after yesterday.”

Aizawa frowned, though Kirishima thought for a moment that the bloodshot eyes staring them down softened the tiniest bit. Aizawa’s reply, however, told differently.

“And you thought taking out your frustration on school property was appropriate?”

“No, it wasn’t that! I—well, we were—” Kirishima stumbled. He wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted to say. He definitely wasn’t going to admit in front of everyone that they’d wrecked the kitchen because they were confessing three years’ worth of pent-up feelings to each other. He glanced over to Bakugou, who gave his hand a firm squeeze. Kirishima cleared his throat, standing up a little straighter.

“Bakugou and I were talking about our practicals. I know we aren’t allowed. I know we broke protocol but—,” Kirishima swallowed, Aizawa’s neutral expression as unnerving as ever.

“But it’s bullshit what you did, Aizawa!” Bakugou cut in, stepping in front of Kirishima. “What was the point in traumatizing your fucking students? You used us against each other, like that’s the only goddamn way to test us! It was a shitty test that you didn’t want us to talk about!”

“Yes. And?”

Aizawa stood there, unoffended, good arm on his hip as he waited for the blond to continue. He always managed to absorb whatever Bakugou was throwing out and not feed into the blond’s anger, smoldering it with neutrality. But here, in this instance, Bakugou sensed that Aizawa was merely masking whatever anger was simmering just below the surface of that impassive face.

“Whaddya mean ‘and’? You don’t have anything to say about it?” Bakugou sneered, but started to rein in his anger.

Aizawa frowned, eyes flashing red as he spoke, “I have several things to say. Not the first of which is to remind you that vandalization and damage of school property, disruptive behavior that sent your entire class into a frenzy, disrespectful behavior towards an authority figure, and breach of sensitive information while under mock gag order are all punishable, expellable, inexcusable behaviors that—in the real world, the one you’ll be a part of in two months’ time—lead to fines, restrictions, and/or revocation of your hero license.”

Bakugou bit back his retort, gripping Kirishima’s hand hard enough that the redhead activated his quirk. Kirishima, meanwhile, kept glancing between his teacher and his friend while keeping his free hand on the back of Bakugou’s shirt. Whether it was for comfort or to hold Bakugou back, he wasn’t sure. The class as a whole seemed afraid to move, a collective fear for their teacher emanating throughout the group. Aizawa usually only threatened expulsion, and hearing the soon-to-be real-world consequences put a new weight to Bakugou and Kirishima’s actions.

Bakugou countered, his anger fading, “In the ‘real world’ we would’ve only destroyed our own place, and you can’t tell me that no hero has ever gone home and vented about shit from work. Besides, we were part of each other’s scenarios, meaning it wouldn’t have been a breach to talk about them.”

“Dead bodies don’t talk, Bakugou,” Aizawa snapped, giving the rest of the class an insight to what happened to the pair before them. A few students recoiled, their exercises not having come close to death or loss of a loved one.

Aizawa sighed, fishing his eyes drops out of his pocket.

“Iida?”

“Yes, Sensei!”

“I’ll call Cementoss so he can arrange to have the kitchen repaired,” he said, then pointed to Bakugou and Kirishima, “These two will doing the cleaning up after, so none of you worry about that until they get back. Bakugou, Kirishima, you’re with me.”

Bakugou—still holding Kirishima’s hand—glanced back to the redhead. Kirishima was solemn, giving a gentle push of Bakugou’s back as he took the lead to follow Aizawa out the dorm, tugging the blond along past the looks of sympathy pouring from their friends.

/\\\\\\\\

It was eerie to walk through the main building on a Sunday morning, Kirishima decided. Light poured in everywhere, all soft and quiet. He wasn’t used to the lack of voices, of conversations and sounds of quirks going off here and there. Even Bakugou’s lack of grunts or complaints kept Kirishima tense. Aizawa hadn’t said anything else to them directly, instead making calls and texting various people-- leaving no indication whether he had contacted their parents or the principal. When they had come to a stop at their homeroom, Aizawa opened the door, answering a call as he gestured towards them.

“Wait inside. Sit in the front—no point being in your assigned seats for this,” was the only instruction he gave. He left right after, voice fading down the hall as he spoke to another nondescript person.

Kirishima picked Ojiro’s seat, settling into it awkwardly, his hands fidgeting once again with his hoodie strings. Bakugou plopped down into Shoji’s spot, one elbow propped on the desk, resting his chin and remaining distinctly quiet. He wasn’t looking at Kirishima, and it left the redhead feeling all sorts of wrong.

“Hey,” Kiri said, reaching over to Bakugou, who took his hand easily despite his face remaining turned away. “Talk to me,” he tried, sending his best crooked smile towards the blond.

Bakugou mumbled a short reply, and Kirishima could vaguely see the blush covering his cheeks. ‘Cute,’ he thought, and the fact that he could think those things about the blond now made him shudder.

“You know, I’m gonna need a bit more solidarity than that if we’re gonna survive the next two months,” Kirishima teased, adding absentmindedly, “If they don’t kick us out first, I guess.”

“I’m sorry,” Bakugou spoke a little louder, still not looking quite at him—as if he couldn’t bring himself to do so.

Kirishima paused, raising one brow. “For...?” he asked.

Bakugou sighed and dropped his other hand, letting his head hang for a moment before looking over at Kirishima.

“For snapping at Aizawa and getting you dragged in here with me. He probably would’ve just punished us there in front of everyone if I would’ve just shut the fuck up.”

Kirishima shook his head, unable to stop a small laugh from escaping his lips. He pulled his chair closer to rest their entwined hands on the desk. Bakugou scowled, still blushing.

“We would’ve ended up getting dragged here anyways. Besides, it’s not like he’s really going to expel us now over what we did. It can’t be any worse than that fight you had with Midoriya during first year, right?”

“Hn,” Bakugou frowned, “Still.”

They said nothing for a few minutes, waiting quietly for Aizawa to return from wherever he’d went. Kirishima stayed next to Bakugou, resting his head on the blond’s desk, occasionally humming something to break the silence. Then Bakugou spoke.

“You’re such a pushover.”

“Huh?” Kiri asked, confused at the sudden topic, “What do you mean?”

“Like with Aizawa. You didn’t say anything about the bullshit scenario you were given, and you caved the moment he asked you a question.”

“Well, to be fair, you were already advocating pretty hard for me.”

Bakugou frowned, “Only because you weren’t.”

Kirishima shrugged, “Maybe, but I think I would’ve done okay on my own. I’m just not as… expressive as you are,” he smirked, “Though I do like the idea of sitting back and watching you defend my honor, like you did with Mineta.”

Bakugou growled, face reddening, “I’m not your attack dog, Shitty Hair!”

“Yeah, but you are my… boyfriend, and that’s what boyfriends do!” Kirishima laughed, only mildly stumbling over the new term. Bakugou’s averted gaze, however, caused him to pause. Kirishima squeezed his hand, his voice soft, “I mean… if that’s what we are now?”

Bakugou squeezed back, meeting Kiri’s eyes with the same glint he gained whenever he didn’t want to lose at something. Kirishima adored that look.

“Of course we are, Idiot!” he said, though the sharp note gave away a hint of nerves, “I fucking kissed you, what the fuck else would that make us?”

Kirishima shrugged again, giving him a coy look.

“Friends with benefits?”

Bakugou shoved him to the floor for that. Kirishima fell over, accepting his fate with another laugh. He loved this.

Chapter Text

Aizawa returned soon after, carrying a small stack of folders and a half empty jelly pouch. He shot a glance at them but made no comment on Kirishima’s disheveled look or the haphazardly joined desks. Instead, he set the stack of folders down and turned on the projection screen.

“Tomorrow is the class debrief and discussion. Everyone will be given mock police reports for the class, and we’re going to watch sampled footage from each scenario. Then, the plan is for an open discussion of how each hero performed and what could be improved for the future.”

Aizawa handed them two reports—the mock police reports on Kirishima and Bakugou’s scenarios.

“You weren’t the only pair to encounter a classmate during the practical, but due to your stunt in the dorms, we’re going to go ahead and review your particular scenarios,” Aizawa continued, voice as neutral as ever, “Seeing as how you won’t be in class tomorrow.”

Kirishima felt a weight settle in his stomach. Despite suspecting they would receive house arrest, hearing it from Aizawa made his stomach twist. He looked down at the report.

The words ‘Red Riot’ gleamed back at him, listed under the primary pro responder category. He’d only ever been listed in the support section before, under his real name, school, and provisional license number, with his hero name only listed as an ‘aka’.

Now, seeing his hero name treated the same way he’d seen Fat Gum’s or Suneater’s a dozen times before only served to bring forward a new sense of responsibility, of how soon things were going to be real. Kirishima suddenly felt ashamed that he couldn’t keep himself in check, both in the practical and after in dealing with Bakugou. He glanced over at the blond.

Bakugou’s eyes were wide, his teeth clenched as he clutched the paper. “What the hell is this?” he asked, eyes fixated on his sheet.  Kirishima furrowed his brow and quickly flipped to Bakugou’s page.

“Your mission status,” he heard Aizawa say, just as Kirishima scanned the paper to find the large red marking—the same as his own—in the corner of Bakugou’s report.

‘UNSUCESSFUL OPERATION’ was stamped in a deep red kanji, overlaying the original black that read as a successful mission. Kirishima exhaled sharply, looking between his teacher and his boyfriend.

Bakugou swore lowly, then took a long, deep breathe. “You told me I passed,” he muttered.

“That was before you broke the mock gag order,” Aizawa replied, “And you initially passed by a slim margin, given your performance.”

Bakugou scowled. He continued reading the report, the paper creasing and crinkling. Kirishima glanced between them and worried that Aizawa may take Bakugou’s behavior to mean he was ignoring their teacher, but as Aizawa continued, Bakugou gradually released the death grip on his paper.

Aizawa continued on, “It’s imperative for you to experience the full weight of what is waiting after this. You’re used to being debriefed at the end of a school exercise, but just as in real life, things can happen that can delay that process. You’ll go hours, days, or longer before you’re allowed to discuss the whole picture—if you ever are.”

Aizawa stared hard at each of them, emphasizing each of their names, “Kirishima, Bakugou-- regardless of interpersonal relationships or how cruel this seemed, in less than two months’ time you will be held to the same standard as any other hero responding to a scene. You hesitate, innocents die. You focus on your own wants, then the public you have been charged to protect pay the price. Your job is to protect those who cannot protect themselves.”

The bright light of the projector flickered on, and a paused video of the cold cityscape Kirishima had entered washed over the screen.

“I have never held back the reality of the field you are entering. The odds are some of your class will be permanently injured, disabled, or die from hero work. This is the risk you accepted the day you stepped into UA. My job has always been to prepare you as best I can to avoid these outcomes. That is why you faced this.”

Kirishima’s eyes darted fleetingly over Bakugou, but the blond was transfixed on the screen now.

“You two seemed to have had a harder time dealing with the aftermath, and it seems your personal relationship with each other has changed due in part to this,” Aizawa said, nodding at their proximity. Kirishima blushed and made to pull back the loose grip he had on the blond’s hand, but Bakugou merely squeezed it, keeping his grip firm.

“I pulled the raw footage from both of your practicals. Your classmates tomorrow will only see the news cut, but they’ll also still discuss your performance and any improvements that could’ve been made. However, I won’t allow them to discuss that information with you.”

Kirishima bit his lip. Another wave of shame washed over him, knowing that the whole class was going to see how compromised he was—how bad he’d failed—and he wouldn’t even gain the knowledge of how to improve from them.

‘At least they won’t see everything’, he told himself.

The real news rarely broadcast what was being said live in the field, in case sensitive information was potentially being discussed, and there were limits on graphic images. Kirishima continued his lament about the class seeing his practical, deep enough in thought that he missed Aizawa and Bakugou’s exchange, catching only the end.

“Whatever. Let’s just get on with it.”

Aizawa nodded, “We’re starting with Kirishima.”

The video sprang to life, showing Red Riot dashing across the destroyed landscape. The voice of the simulated coordinator set the scene as Kirishima started towards Deku and Ground Zero before being called to help with the unstable structures in the area. They didn’t make it very far into the recording before Aizawa paused it, right on a shot of Red Riot holding up a dept store entryway, barking for the last of the simulated civilians to keep moving.

“The quality of your rescues was suboptimal,” he said, then asked Bakugou, “What did you see?”

Kirishima turned to Bakugou, the blond having pulled away from Kirishima. He studied the way Bakugou now sat—fingers laced together, mouth resting on his hands. Kirishima had thought the rescues had been pretty standard stuff. None of the civilians had gotten hurt, and he’d secured every area he’d been sent to. What could he have messed up about that?

“You were distracted,” Bakugou said, shooting him a side glance. “You stopped scanning the area, and you continually attempted to move towards the main conflict, without checking with the response coordinator first.”

Kirishima flinched. Looking at it now, without the adrenaline and emotions running through him, it was obvious he’d been focused on getting to Bakugou. He’d been sloppy and had been forced to backtrack a couple times to the areas he was being called to. Then a thought struck him.

“Part of this was a test of trust,” he said, looking to Aizawa, “We always fight together, but in that case, we were needed in separate roles. If I would’ve focused on the areas I was needed in, and trusted Bakugou more to handle the situation without me, I wouldn’t have wasted time backtracking from rescue points. I could’ve worked to streamline where I was needed, which meant I would’ve been available sooner... Does that mean Bakugou wouldn’t have died?”

“No,” Aizawa answered, “Though it is true that you should’ve focused on your own part, and that perhaps there would’ve been a chance for you to arrive to the scene earlier, in this situation it can’t be said that Bakugou died as a result of your distraction.”

“So I was right,” Kirishima muttered as he stared at the wood grain of the desk. “I was meant to find Bakugou… like that.”

“Dead, yes. Your colleague on the field died as a result of the villain,” Aizawa replied.

Kirishima mumbled, “He’s not just a colleague…”

“While you’re a professional hero responding to a scene, he is,” Aizawa reminded him, “He was no more important than Deku or Fat Gum or Real Steel in this scenario.”

Kirishima wanted to disagree, to say something about being a hero meaning more than having ‘colleagues’ or ‘coworkers’. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to voice any of that-- because really-- Aizawa was right. Kirishima hadn’t worried if Tetsutetsu or Midoriya would be okay, even with the latter being just as much a part of the main conflict as Bakugou had been. Part of him thought it was because he had unresolved feelings for the blond, but another small voice nagged him to be honest—Bakugou was more important to him, in that moment. So Kirishima inhaled deeply, meeting Aizawa’s eyes with a silent nod to continue. He would watch the worst of it and sincerely consider his actions. It was the right thing to do, if he wanted to move forward and learn everything he could from this experience.

“I should mention,” Aizawa said, “In addition to the raw footage feeds, I thought it appropriate to pull the audio logs as well.”

He hit play again.

The scene continued on, cutting to another feed that Kirishima recognized as the moment he’d had to stay put, helplessly listening to Bakugou struggle while trying to direct confused civilians out of a crumbling department store. He flinched at the sound of the scratchy audio that played.

Ground Zero- “*panting* I’ve fuckin’ got it!”

Deku- “Crap! No, you don’t!”

Real Steel- “Damn, you okay, Riot? My side of the building’s starting to fail!”

Red Riot- “ ‘m fine!”

Ground Zero- “Fuck, Deku!”

Fat Gum- “Real Steel! Red Riot! I’m moving towards your position for backup! Get those people out of there!!”

Red Riot- “Got it! Ground Zero, Deku! You guys okay?!”

Ground Zero- “*panting* DAMMIT!!”

Deku- “Ground Zero, NO!”

The camera shook with renewed explosions. He peeked at Bakugou—the real one, the one sitting less than a meter away he told himself—to catch his reaction.

Bakugou’s gaze was intense. His fingers remained laced together, the rest of his expression unreadable. Kirishima watched for the moment the coordinator called him to the scene, citing Bakugou’s status of ‘HERO DOWN’. He caught the moment where Bakugou’s eyes went wide, and he forced himself to look back at the screen—to the face burned in his mind.

A fully simulated Bakugou, battle-worn and covered in dust, laid half under a thick, heavy-looking chunk of building. Kirishima’s stomach soured, and he had to swallow back the wave of nausea that struck him at the sight of dark blood seeping down into the ground, staining everything it touched. Kirishima inhaled shakily and torn his eyes away from the screen, taking a moment to focus on the living, breathing, undamaged Bakugou beside him, as the sounds of Kirishima’s pleas continued to play out.

Red Riot- “Baku… gou? Bakugou!”

Now, however, Kirishima was also able to notice the voices of the others chiming in, asking what had happened while the coordinator urged Kirishima to follow Midoriya for desperately needed backup. Kirishima fought the urge to look away again. ‘Learn from this. That’s what it’s for,’ he told himself.

Coordinator- “Red Riot, status!”

Real Steel- “Riot, we’re moving to help Ground Zero! Go help Deku!”

Red Riot- “Bakugou! Dammit, Ground Zero needs med evac NOW! F-fuck he’s--”

Fat Gum- “Red Riot, listen! I know he’s your friend, but you need to go!!”

Red Riot- “Ground! Ground Zero! BAKUGOU!! Don’t die!!”

Coordinator- “Red Riot!”

Red Riot- “BAKU-- KATSUKI--!! NO!”

The audio cut out soon after, with Red Riot having ripped off his comm. The footage continued on quietly for roughly another minute, showing a shell-shocked Red Riot unable to continue the simulation. It cut out just as the lights came up and the stimulated parts of the exercise—dead Bakugou included—phased out.

Kirishima laid his head on the desk, running through the breathing exercises they’d learned for coping. For a moment, his limbs tingled with a numb, static sort of feeling akin to sitting on a leg or having an arm fall asleep. 

There was a gentle scrapping of a chair, then a hand on Kirishima’s back.

“Hey… Kirishima.” A sigh, then, “…Eijirou.”

Kiri exhaled-- a long deep breath to pull away some of the anxiety. He glimpsed up. Bakugou’s mouth was a thin line, one side pulled into a frown. He was glaring at the redhead, but his eyes were soft, darting across Kirishima’s face as he searched him—his brows knitted in quiet concern. All of it was beautiful. All of it alive.

Kirishima grabbed him, pulling him into a rough hug.

“That’s why I was afraid,” he said, not caring if Aizawa overheard his admission, “Fuck, Bakugou, it’s like you’d said. It didn’t matter if a part of me knew it wasn’t real. It was like the worst punch to the gut-- I couldn’t breathe. It’d felt like I’d really lost you. And I couldn’t—It got to me. That’s why I was scared. Cause what if that’s really you one day? I don’t know what I’d do.”

Bakugou let a small sigh escape him. The grip on Kirishima tightened.

“You’d pick yourself up, and keep going.”

Kirishima pulled back to look at Bakugou, searching the blond’s eyes for any lack of conviction. Of course, there wasn’t any—just a look of pure determination. Kiri softened, voice quiet. “I wasn’t strong enough with you as a friend, how can I be strong enough now?” he asked.

Bakugou scoffed, letting go of Kirishima and falling back into his seat.

“Because if you know me, if you give a damn about me, then you’ll know I expect you to keep going. Because you’re not fucking weak! You’re Red Riot, the unbreakable hero, right? You’ll do what has to be done, and then cry about it later.”

Kirishima laughed weakly. “Plus Ultra and all that?” he asked, a small smile breaking through.

“Fuck yeah,” Bakugou met back with a wicked grin.

Aizawa cleared his throat, and Kirishima only felt a little embarrassed by what their teacher had witnessed. He caught a tinge of pink rising on Bakugou’s cheeks just as he turned back to look at Aizawa. He smiled to himself, comforted by the thought that Bakugou had acted without thinking of who they were in front of.

“Working together has made you a strong team,” Aizawa told them, switching the video with a few clicks of his mouse, “And your eventual goal for a joint agency isn’t an illogical one, given your compatibility. However, you are also potentially each other’s greatest weakness. You are a force to be used and played against each other, should a villain choose to do so.”

A new video sprang up across the screen, this one beginning on a shot of Bakugou-- sans his oversized grenades-- wearing a pair of black elbow length gauntlets. The angle was odd, as if shot from a corner, and the space was a contrasting narrow hallway that would’ve restricted Bakugou’s movements with or without the quirk suppressing gloves. Kirishima looked over at Bakugou, only to notice the tension seeping into the blond’s posture.  

Bakugou’s eyes were fixed on the still image of himself, but his attention was unfocused, distracted. Kirishima frowned. Bakugou had glossed over the end details of his practical, and it had taken a lot for him to admit what he had to Kirishima. Was he bothered by some part Kiri didn’t know about, or was he still upset that his mission’s status had been revised to ‘failed’?

Aizawa moved to hit play, asking, “I assume Bakugou already told you what those gauntlets do, Kirishima?”

The redhead snapped his attention back towards their teacher, somewhat embarrassed that he’d zoned out again. He blushed, rubbing the back of his head as he answered, “Uh, yeah. They were to simulate quirk suppression after contact with the drug, right? Bakugou’s always been kinda… sensitive to quirklessness, so it made sense that he would encounter something like that in this kind of test.”

Aizawa nodded, “The beginning is mostly on point, so I’m going to play the entire encounter first.”

The video started, and the coordinator’s voice began to relay the setup to Bakugou.

Coordinator- “The villain group known as Dokuse has been the source of a major quirk drug trafficking operation. They have been traced to this warehouse, where we believe new variations of quirk enhancing and suppressing drugs are being developed. The police are leading a raid against the distribution group, the majority of which are quirkless or have D-level quirks. However, we have intel that at least one A-rank boss could be among them.”

Ground Zero- “Name and quirk.”

Coordinator- “Name: Svelte. Quirk: Binding Tendrils-- tentacle-like appendages whose grip strengthens as the victim struggles. Their leader Pull-String shouldn’t be there. You and another pro are making the initial sweep of the Northeast side, which has the highest probability of coming across Svelte.”

Ground Zero - “Who’s my--?”

Red Riot- “Hey, Ground! I’m up ahead. The corridor splits off to left and right—I’ll take left, okay?”

Ground Zero - “*growl* Why the hell are you running off without me? And who put you in charge!?”

Kirishima let out a small huff of laughter as he watched Bakugou take off with a light jog down the hallway. Honestly, in real life he was happy to let Bakugou have the lead—the blond’s maneuverability and fast hitting explosions complimented his own heavy defense and tank-like moves. Once they’d worked it out, they’d become the best assault team at UA, to the point where Aizawa only let them partner up part of the time so they wouldn’t grow complacent. Thinking on it now, Kiri realized that it was perfect for Aizawa to have him be Bakugou’s partner.

Ground Zero - “Found some extras, they’re gonna know we’re here soon if—”

Villian- “Ground Zero’s here! Release it!”

Ground Zero- “Shi—"

There was a sudden hiss, and Bakugou was backtracking out of the area almost as fast as if he’d used his quirk.

‘The noise sounded like a gas release,’ Kirishima observed, ‘He had to weigh the risk of using his quirk.’

He peeked over at his boyfriend, checking to see if the tension he’d spotted earlier was still there. For the moment, Bakugou seemed to have relaxed, resting his chin on one hand. A sudden coughing from the video brought Kirishima’s attention back to the screen. The Bakugou on the screen was staring at his hands, a growl forming as he pointedly aimed out each arm and attempted an experimental blast. When nothing came, he cursed again.

Ground Zero- “F-fuck!”

Red Riot- “Ground Zero! *static* Come in!”

Ground Zero- “My quirk is suppressed. Assholes knew they couldn’t take me so they chem-bombed the whole fuckin’ area!”

Red Riot- “Crap, you want me to come back? *static*”

Ground Zero- “No, they already ran. I don’t know how long this shit lasts, and it’s still spraying into the area.”

Red Riot- *static* -only temporary. Maybe an hour—”

Ground Zero- “Riot, you’re cutting out!”

Red Riot- “*static * --think I, ugh, found ‘em--*static*”

Ground Zero- “Riot! Status!”

Immediately, Bakugou had turned and started sprinting back the way he’d came. Kirishima could scarcely make out the words Bakugou mumbled as he ran, though he was sure ‘dumbass’ and ‘shitty hair’ were among them. As he neared the starting point, Bakugou’s comm sprang to life with the clear sounds of Kirishima struggling against something.

Ground Zero- “Goddammit, Riot, what’s your status? Did you come across the villain?”

Red Riot- “Ugh, yeah I did. *grunting, scraping noises* It’s that Svelte guy and a couple of thugs.”

Ground Zero- “Where are you? Which way did you take?”

Red Riot- “A right, up some stairs. The corridor’s a straight shot to a fake dead-end. Forward wall’s some kind of jelly—push past it. Ah, shit--”

Kirishima had to admit, listening to a simulation of himself giving directions was eerie. It wasn’t surprising that the teachers would have spot-on impressions programmed in, to invoke everyone’s sense of real… but they even got the particular way he talked to Bakugou during missions, things like if he wanted help—not if he needed it. 

Ground Zero- SMACK. “Augh, dammit!! I thought you said the forward wall wasn’t solid!!”

Red Riot- “It wasn’t!”

Ground Zero- “Well it sure as hell felt solid!”

Red Riot- “*running, rustling* I got past it fine!”

Ground Zero- “YOU’RE the one who’s harder than most building materials, Idiot!”

Red Riot- “Yeah, well—!”

Seeing Bakugou follow his words with such trust that he ran full speed into a wall made his heart light, even as he snorted out a quiet giggle. The punch to the shoulder he got from the growling Bakugou beside him was worth it, too, as Kiri glanced over at his boyfriend, fully expecting to see the blond’s usual grumpy reaction to getting laughed at. Instead, he caught a fleetingly soft look before Bakugou was back to glaring at the screen, the tension edging back into his shoulders. Kirishima turned backed to the video to find that the banter between them had died out. Ground Zero was yelling, attempting to punch or scratch his way through the wall that stayed firm but jiggled against his attacks.

Red Riot- “*coughing, choking* G-groun’!! Svelte’s got me!”

Ground Zero- “For fuck’s sake, THIS is why you shouldn’t have run off without me.”

Bakugou had started tapping and gently laying his hands on the wall. Slowly as his hand began to sink through, Kirishima caught a scratchy quiet remark.

Ground Zero- “…If you die I’m gonna murder your dumb ass.”

It wasn’t the first time Bakugou had chided him like that, and though to anyone else it would be an insult, Kirishima knew it was laced with an undertone of worry more so than actual frustration. He snickered, “Aw, you were worried about me.”

“Shut it!” Bakugou snapped back. Kirishima smiled. He noted the lack of denial as well as the uneasiness still radiating over Bakugou.

“Pay attention,” Aizawa abruptly scolded, “Or I’ll finish your expulsion paperwork.”

“Sorry!” Kirishima yelped, just as the camera angle switched to show Bakugou bursting through the jelly-like wall.

It was just as Bakugou had described. The area was a large industrial-style one, with what seemed to be around 30 or so low-level quirked villains. Kirishima spotted who he guessed was Svelte, with his long dark arm-like tendrils wrapped around a simulated Red Riot. It was uncanny, seeing himself bound on the ground. There was another villain, too, crouched over Kirishima’s head. They looked like they were whispering something-- like a chant-- and each time they began speaking, the bound Kirishima jerked and spasmed in and out of his quirk.

Ground Zero- “The hell? Red Riot! Get up! You’re letting these weak assholes hold you back?!”

The villain crouching over Kirishima continued to whisper, her hands hovering along his body, leaving what looked like deep purple strings. The Bakugou sitting beside him growled.

Ground Zero- “Don’t ignore me!”

Kiri watched Bakugou start to gesture as if to launch himself across the space, before cursing and beginning to dodge the grunts that pursued him. Yet as with everything else, Bakugou was competent in close hand-to-hand combat and utilized his pursuers’ attacks to take a significant amount of them out. The audio logs burst back in with the reconnection of the heroes and police coordinator.

Coordinator- “--RIOT. GROUND ZERO. Report status! We don’t hear you!”

Ground Zero- “Riot’s compromised! Who the hell’s the other villain you said WOULDN’T be here?”

Coordinator- “Pull-String? Our intel said—”

Ground Zero- “Are they a blue-haired muttering fucker with purple coming out of their hands?”

Coordinator- “Matches description but she’s—”

Ground Zero- “*grunt, growl* Well your intel’s shit!!”

Bakugou had tried throwing one of the few nearby grunts at Svelte, only to have them smashed back at him. The villain’s dark tendril appendages lashed out, keeping Bakugou at a several meter distance while the few remaining grunts fell back. Kirishima felt his stomach drop as a violet aura engulfed his own simulated form. The other villain—Pull-String as she was confirmed-- gave a toothy, wicked smile.

Pull-String- “It’s serendipitous that the two of you would be the responding heroes. Such close partners!”

Ground Zero- “Shut up and fight me!”

Pull-String- “With your quirk neutralized, I’d gamble to say Kirishima-kun here is your greatest strength! Svelte, why don’t we give little, quirkless Zero his other half back? Before the poor boy breaks.”

The simulated Kirishima arched up grotesquely, the villian’s long, dark tendril pulling him up and hurling him towards Bakugou. Eijirou felt an odd sense of déjà vu watching Bakugou leap up to grab onto this Kirishima. He’d rolled them to soften the fall, but instead of Kirishima hardening to protect against impact, he’d rag dolled and unfurled beside Bakugou.

 Ground Zero- “Report! Pull-String’s quirk?”

Coordinator- “*static*”

Ground Zero- “Repeat! What is Pull-String’s quirk!”

Red Riot- “P-puppeteering.”

Ground Zero- “You idiot, why didn’t you harden if you were conscious?!”

Red Riot- “…”

Pull-String- “Conscious, yes, but certainly not in control.”

Both villains had appeared above Bakugou and Kirishima, Svelte elevating them with his tendrils and Pull-String holding out both hands. There was a faint glisten that Bakugou seemed to notice, violet strings connecting the villain with Red Riot. She made rapid gestures, and Kirishima pulled himself up. He activated his quirk and latched onto Bakugou, one hand gripping over Bakugou’s mouth and the other wrapping around his arms tightly. Bakugou furiously bit at Kirishima’s hardened fingers.

 Pull-String- “I’m more than just a puppeteer. My quirk allows me to dig into my puppet’s mind—a necessity of course to understand their quirk—but it also gives fabulous information! Civilian names, hero locations, relationships… anything that might help me perfect my craft! Little Red Riot, why don’t you show your precious Ground Zero?”

Red Riot- “Bakugou… Katsuki… my best friend. I—AGH!”

Pull-String- “My, what a strong one! He certainly doesn’t want to give things freely.”

Ground Zero- *muffled*

Pull-String- “He may not have voiced it, but he told me many things. It’s adorable that you want to have a joint agency! Ah, it’s like highschool sweethearts! And I could see why you’d want him, since he helped to save you in Kamino Ward. He’s like your knight in shining armor! Oh, here’s an idea! Let’s have a little show! The quirkless hero fails to save his precious partner!!”

Pull-String made several gestures, and Red Riot shoved Bakugou away. He whirled around just as Riot slammed into him with a partial Unbreakable attack. It sent Bakugou skidding back along the floor for several meters. Red Riot haphazardly ran towards him. When he stumbled, Pull-String began repeating her movements, and Kirishima’s fake self went limply flying into a wall with a sickening crack. Kirishima winced. He remembered Bakugou telling him that the villain didn’t have a good handle on his quirk.

Pull-String- “Now, now, let’s behave, Riot-kun. You’ll only harm yourself otherwise.”

Meanwhile, Ground Zero had hauled himself up and again tried to fire off multiple blasts. He glared as his palms, then Red Riot, the villains, and what little amount of coverage that had been created so far. He darted away behind a steel pillar. Red Riot hastily followed, running straight into and through the pillar. Kirishima noticed the paper-thin, angry, red scratches that peppered his exposed skin. It only happened whenever he took a hit without being properly hardened.  No doubt the villain was programmed to purposefully injure him, if Aizawa’s words were any indication.

Bakugou had continued weaving into and around the structural supports. He was putting on a bit of a show, too, though, breathing harder and making specifically loud pained sounds as if the process was more taxing than it really was. Though Kirishima was caught a little off guard by Bakugou’s abrupt frustrated yell.

Ground Zero- “Your quirk’s pretty pathetic if that’s the best you can do! Come on!”

Pull-String- “Mmm, baiting me? Such a basic tactic.”

Ground Zero- “You aren’t weak! This hag shouldn’t be able to hold you, Red Riot!”

Pull-String- “Oh, you’re trying to free him! Also cliché, but if we’re going to that route...”

Red Riot- “Ugh… Katsuki… You’re quirkless! I don’t want you to get hurt!”

Ground Zero- “HA! Riot knows I’d still kick his ass with or without my quirk! You think these lame attempts can stop me?”

Pull-String- “Eh, I’m just going down the list, actually. If psychological appeals don’t work, let’s try emotional then.”

The real Kirishima gasped as his simulated self dropped to his knees, hardened, and began to smash himself into the ground. The villain giggled, the sound of her laughter mixed with Red Riot’s impacts and echoed across the warehouse. Kirishima glanced over to see Bakugou grimace—his fists tightening over and over.

Pull-String- “Don’t worry, I’m mostly keeping his quirk on. I wouldn’t want to end this so soon.”

Ground Zero—to his credit—refused to look away. Instead, he sprinted towards Red Riot and kicked him hard enough to send the redhead onto his back. He then retreated, leading Kirishima’s possessed self through more structural work. Kirishima already picked up on what Bakugou was trying to do, but the fact that the villain was allowing it to happen when it was so obvious seemed off. Kirishima considered what their motives might have been, or what the point of this test was for Bakugou—when Ground Zero’s guttural scream peaked the mics.

Ground Zero- “So are you just gonna screw around the whole time? Why the hell are you so damn fascinated with us?!”

Pull-String- “Ooo, I touched a nerve damaging your little Red, didn’t I? Well, if you must know, I’m here to keep you busy. My people have already evaded the police by now, so now I’m simply enjoying the show.”

Ground Zero- “Well your show’s running a little long!”

Pull-String- “Aww, is it now? I was just starting to enjoy it--"

Pull-String paused. Ground Zero had stopped, standing firm and staring up at both villains with a bitter look and a grit in his teeth. A bead of sweat ran down his cheek. It was hard to tell at first, but there was a faint popping, and Kirishima realized it as Bakugou took off in a skyward blast towards the villains. He was drenched, and his quirk was working again.

Ground Zero- “Point-Blank Stun Grenade! AP Shot!!”

The video feeds were temporarily overwhelmed by the brightness of Bakugou’s attack, but as soon as they cut back in, Kirishima was barely able to focus in time to understand was happened next. Bakugou had opened a large hole in the rooftop just above the villains. Pull-String looked up at the hole, then whipped back around undoubtedly to mock Ground Zero’s lack of aim. However, both villains were met with Bakugou’s manic grin.

Ground Zero- “HOWITZER IMPACT.”

Pull-String- “You’ll kill us all!!”

The feed they were watching cut out. The video shifted between a few more cameras before ending on one outside of the simulation zone. The simulated parts of the warehouse building flickered in and out, mixing with the dust settling from real components, making it hard to distinguish what the aftermath was. The camera zoomed in and panned until it found the leftover dummy that must have been Pull-String and Svelte, all tangled together but otherwise intact.

“Wow, you did it!” Kirishima couldn’t help but exclaim, shaking Bakugou’s shoulders.

Bakugou shrugged him off. “Keep watching,” he mumbled, “It’s not over.”

Kirishima’s smile fell, and he glanced back at the video. The villains were neutralized and mostly unharmed. Given their rank and how the fight had been going, this wasn’t a terrible outcome.

Then, a different kind of audio cut in.

Aizawa- “Stop searching and clear the area, Bakugou.”

Bakugou- “Haa? I’m not supposed to check the status of my partner? Just supposed to fuck off then?”

Aizawa- “Kirishima was simulated. It would have been illogical to have him participate when he still has his own practical. Now, clear the area.”

Bakugou- “Dammit, just--! *sigh* I cleared enough of the area, right? No casualties?”

Aizawa- “The details of your performance are being analyzed by the system. It’s to be determined, but for now… you’ve tentatively passed.”

The audio ended there, leaving a heavy silence to settle over the room. Kirishima looked at Bakugou. His arms were folded, his head bowed. His breathing was rhythmic, running through the same exercise as Kirishima had. Would he want to be comforted like he’d done for Kirishima?

He gingerly offered Bakugou his hand. “Hey,” he murmured, “I’m here now. We’re both here.”

Bakugou took it, and the grip reminded Kirishima vaguely of that night in Kamino. He silently vowed that Bakugou would always have a hand to take, so long as Kirishima had breath in his lungs and a hand to give.

“I knew it wasn’t you,” Bakugou admitted, “but… I hated it.” He shook his head, running his hands roughly through his hair. His eyes raked over Kirishima’s face, before settling on a point beyond the redhead.

“You’re so much stronger than you think, Eijirou,” he breathed, voice heavy, “And… fuck… I’m stronger, too. With you. I hated that I had to use you.” He sucked in a breath, glaring at the desk. “I wasn’t strong enough, and that asshole was breaking you. I did what I had to to stop it, but… I risked you on the basis, on the hope, that you could use your quirk to save yourself.”

Bakugou’s red eyes met Kirishima’s, burning with a renewed fire as he seemed to settle on something.

“I won’t do that again. I promise you. I’ll be strong enough. We’ll win together.”

Kirishima blinked back the unexpected burning in his eyes. He swallowed painfully and nodded.

“Hell yeah,” he replied, with only a slight crack in his voice, “That was so fucking manly, Ba—Katsuki.”

Bakugou gave him a soft smile, and Kirishima’s expression broke into a wide grin. Aizawa, meanwhile, took a moment to finish off his jelly packet and organize his things. After a beat, he cleared his throat.

“Now that you’ve seen how Bakugou performed, what did you notice, Kirishima?”

“Oh, um,” he stumbled. Aizawa really knew how to kill a moment.

Kirishima ran the scenario through his head, unsure what to make of it. He rubbed his thumb along the back of Bakugou’s hand, now concealed under the desk. It was surprisingly smooth, though Bakugou had mumbled once about how his mom’s glycerin quirk kept her skin soft. He peeked up to catch Bakugou watching him.

“It feels like cheating to admit this, since Bakugou told me what he’d thought more or less as it happened,” he said, “but it was definitely noticeable that once he realized what the villains had done to me, he got agitated pretty quick. When she started to hurt me more, his moves were more frantic. He didn’t stay levelheaded like he usually would.”

Aizawa hummed in agreement. “That was the nature of your scenarios, to face in training one of the worst possible outcomes you could both imagine—losing your partner. Now that you’ve experienced that feeling, and seemed to have grown closer in the face of it, you can focus on what you need to do to mitigate that chance.”

“Just tell me,” Bakugou interrupted, thick and gruff, “Were there any casualties? Is that why the mission status changed to failed?”

Kirishima snapped his attention to Bakugou. He squeezed the blond’s hand. “It’s not your fault,” he tried to reassure him.

Bakugou shook his head, refusing to break eye contact with Aizawa. He was asking if Kirishima had survived, and unlike what happened in his own practical, Bakugou’s actions would have been directly responsible for Kirishima’s death.

“There was a casualty,” Aizawa paused, “…but it wasn’t Kirishima.”

Bakugou swore quietly, his head dropping down, “Then who--?”

“The simulation determined that since the villain Svelte’s role was protection for Pull-String, that he would shield her from any damage. Creating a surprise attack to prevent her from using Kirishima as a shield was successful, but the execution was still sloppy enough that they didn’t end up completely in the cleared radius you’d made. It’s as Kirishima pointed out, you were emotionally compromised. And yes, it was incredibly risky to hope that your partner could protect himself in this situation.”

Bakugou exhaled, and to Kirishima’s mild surprise, inclined his head in a small bow towards Aizawa.

“I understand,” he replied, “And I’m sorry for how I reacted in the dorms.”

Aizawa nodded. He gestured for them to hand back their reports, to which they quietly complied. He tapped the papers against his desk, aligning them with the others. Kirishima waited for the verdict of their punishment. Surely it wouldn’t be too harsh?

“I expect you both to apologize properly to all of your classmates. They were panicking that someone had broken into the dorms while you two were missing, and your actions have made the kitchen and part of the living area inaccessible. Consider yourself on house arrest for the rest of today and tomorrow, as you’ll be cleaning the kitchen and helping to replace the couch you burned. When you return to class on Tuesday, I expect a written apology on my desk, as well as one for Cementoss. He’s the one currently in the dorms having the damaged items replaced.”

They nodded. Kirishima appeared openly shameful, while Bakugou was reserved. Aizawa gave a deep sigh.

“I’ll admit that your practicals will seem unfair when compared to most of your classmates, but given your future plans and now your relationship, it’s a necessary evil. Trust me when I say this is the preferable way to experience such a loss. Too many heroes-- regardless of their relationship-- never prepare themselves for this situation, and when it happens you must be able to endure-- to keep moving forward just as Bakugou said.”

Aizawa’s shoulders sagged, and Kirishima remembered that he’d came straight from a patrol to deal with them. Though really, he wondered fleetingly whether their teacher’s sudden exhaustion had something to do with what he’d told them. Maybe he’d lost someone, too, and that’s why he wanted to warn them, or perhaps it was just the mental toll of being a hero and a teacher weighting him down in that moment. He wasn’t sure, but as their teacher waived them away with instructions to head straight back to the dorms for further instructions from Cementoss, Kirishima found himself bowing lower than Bakugou had at their homeroom teacher.

“Thank you for this lesson, Aizawa-sensei,” he said, “I promise you we won’t forget it.”

Aizawa’s expression softened, ever so slightly. “Yes,” he agreed, “You’re welcome.”

Chapter Text

By the time they’d made it back outside, it was already close to noon.

Kirishima rambled, filling the quiet walk with random thoughts-- how to best apologize to everyone, how cool it was that they were together now, how he was screwed if he missed another assignment from Present Mic.

The sun was bright overhead and only a small wisp of clouds dotted the sky.  A chilling breeze passed around them, and Bakugou tried to suppress a small shiver— cursing the feeling of goosebumps running along his bare arms. He’d grown better at tolerating the cold in terms of his quirk, but it was mid-January, and unlike his rocks-for-brains of a boyfriend, he preferred to bundle up.

Speaking of, Bakugou noticed the shit-eating grin Kirishima had broken into beside him. He raised a brow at the redhead and not a moment later found himself being assaulted.

“What the hell--?!” he growled, as Kirishima swiftly pulled off his own hoodie and started to shove it over Bakugou’s head.

“You’re cold!” Kirishima beamed, “It wouldn’t be manly to let my boyfriend get sick on our first day together!”

“You dumbass,” Bakugou grumbled indignantly. Yet, his protests died off as he pulled his arms through—Kirishima’s brilliant smile keeping his complaints at bay. “Don’t get used to this though!” he added, “I’m not gonna make a habit of wearing your shit like some sap.”

Kirishima clutched his chest in mock pain, as if betrayed. “Aww, no switching clothes?” he teased.

“Why the fuck would I do that?” Bakugou replied, kicking up some of the gravel path.

Kirishima smirked, “You don’t want to see me in your stuff? Wearing your partner’s clothes is like a big ‘Hey! I’m his!’ to the world!”

Bakugou huffed, shoving his hands into the pocket of the hoodie. There was a definite blush deepening on his face, which contrasted the almost sour look he was throwing at the redhead—as if he were debating whether to admit to liking the idea or to continue denying it despite his current participation. The whole scene was certifiably adorable, in Kirishima’s opinion.

“Tsk,” Bakugou said, breaking the lull, “It’s not like you haven’t been wearing my shit for months.”

Kirishima groaned, slapping a hand over his face. “I told you, it was an accident! Our uniform jackets all look the same!”

Bakugou gave him a deadpan look. “Our names are stitched inside of them.”

“I gave it back before homeroom!”

“And what about my gym shirt? It didn’t fucking fit you. How the hell did you mistake it for yours for two weeks?”

“…I thought it shrank?”

Bakugou fully stopped to just stare at Kirishima. After a moment, he scoffed, “I can’t fucking believe you. I’m keeping this hoodie.”

“Ah, but that one’s all nice and worn out!” Kirishima protested.

“Too bad,” Bakugou hummed smugly, “You can have it back when you stop stealing my clothes.”

“Come on, man! That’ll never happen now!” Kirishima laughed, dodging Bakugou’s half-hearted attempt to trip him.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Uh, you mean ‘man’? Do you wanna be babe now or something?”

“Ugh, god no,” Bakugou recoiled. He wasn’t some sappy extra. “Just… call me Katsuki.”

Kirishima felt his heart skip a beat. “I-- you mean-- like, for everyday?” he stammered.

They’d reached the front steps of their dorm now, the door propped open and the cracked counter now leaning against the bottom of the steps.

“Yeah,” Bakugou nodded with a light blush.

“Wow, yeah, of course, Katsuki,” Kirishima said. His limbs were starting to feel like static again-- the rush of excitement that washed over him leaving them shaky.

“Yeah, well, quit dragging your ass, Eijirou,” Bakugou said, hurrying inside.

Kirishima nearly tripped on the last step at the casual use of his name.

///////////

“Oh hey! Looks like the lovebirds survived Aizawa’s wrath!” Kaminari waved as they entered in the common area.

Kirishima flushed, and thankfully, Bakugou just scoffed and rolled his eyes. The kitchen was half sectioned off, brown paper walkways covered the undamaged floor as a few workers seemed to be finishing off the new countertop. Several of their classmates were gathered by the door, probably to head out for the day. Cementoss was there, too, speaking with the delivery driver who was dropping off a replacement couch.

“I think you’ve done enough teasing, Denki,” Jirou said, poking Kaminari in the ear with one of her jacks. Kirishima gave her a grateful look.

“That’s right!” Mina chimed in, a hungry look in her eye as she pushed past the others. “Enough teasing! You never got to tell me the details! Have you kissed!? Who confessed first? What did-- Oh my god! Bakugou!!” she abruptly shrieked, garnering the attention of everyone for a second time that day. “You’re already wearing Kiri’s hoodie?! That’s too cute!”

“Fuck off, it’s cold!” Bakugou growled, the tips of his ears going red.

Sero snickered, “Sure, yeah, that’s the reason.”

“So what if I’m wearing Eijirou’s shit?!” Bakugou snarled, “I’ll wear whatever the fuck I want!”

Kirishima, god help him, couldn’t resist joining in. “Didn’t you just tell me that you weren’t gonna wear my stuff ‘like some sap’ ?” he said, making air quotes with Bakugou’s words.

Bakugou whirled around, pointing a finger at Kirishima, “Don’t you fucking start! You’re the one who shoved it on me with all your ‘manliness’ crap!”

Kirishima held up his hands in surrender, while Sero and Kaminari clutched their sides with silent giggles. Mina was no help— she was too busy eating up the scene. She’d probably make popcorn if she could. Sero stage whispered to Kaminari, “I can’t tell who’s more whipped already!”

Thankfully, Iida and the others wandered over.

“Bakugou, Kirishima,” Iida greeted, “Aizawa asked me to ensure that you met with Cementoss before we leave. We’re headed out to do some grocery shopping to restock the kitchen’s communal items—likely for the last time.”

“Oh yeah,” Kirishima’s voice turned somber, “Guess we wouldn’t want any leftovers… before we move out.”

Iida nodded with a bittersweet look. It was another reminder of how soon everything was going to end.

Bakugou tsked, shoving his hands back into the hoodie and trudging over towards Cementoss, “For fuck’s sake, we’re just graduating. Do a goddamn patrol together if you’re gonna get that soppy!”

Iida frowned at the blonde, but gave a nod to Kirishima, “Well, we’ll be back in a few hours. Try to keep everything intact.”

“Yes sir, Class Rep,” Kirishima saluted, his smile wide.

As the groups parted, however, Bakugou called over his shoulder to Iida, “Hey… bring back some stuff for stew. Or a hot pot, I don’t care.”

Iida replied, “Cementoss said the kitchen wouldn’t be ready for use this evening.”

“For tomorrow then,” Bakugou grunted, “Just text me before and I’ll cover it.”

Iida hesitated, then gave a short nod, “Of course.”

/////////////////////

“Honey, I’m home!” Kaminari announced, sliding up to the brand-new counter with an armful of bags. “Oh, you missed a spot, Blasty!”

“I’m going to murder you,” Bakugou growled as he worked on scrubbing out the last of the scorch marks from the kitchen area.

“Yeah, that’s like the fifth time you’ve said that this month,” Kaminari replied, before directing his attention to Kirishima, who was finishing up the last of the dishes that his classmates had graciously left behind. “He isn’t abusing you, right? Blink if you’re already trapped in a loveless marriage.”

Kirishima chunked a sponge at him. “You’ve gotten bold,” he said.

“Well yeah! You’ve got Bakugou by the ol’ ball and chain now—and everybody knows you can’t kill the future best man!”

“Dude!” Kirishima replied, “Can you not? For like a day.”

Kaminari tutted, wagging one finger at his friend, “Au contraire, my dear Eijirou! The first week of a friend’s relationship is the peak time for making jokes. Gotta get ‘em all out before the embarrassment wears off and you become immune.”

Bakugou stopped scrubbing and just looked the blonde up and down. Kaminari could see the gears turning in Bakugou’s mind, and he wilted slightly under the intense stare. After a moment, it morphed into something wicked. Kaminari had a deep sinking feeling he was about to regret his words.

“Hey, extras, listen up!” Bakugou shouted, a familiar smirk spreading over him. He held out his hand to Kirishima, who seemed to pick up on whatever the hell his boyfriend was up to-- if the equally mischievous grin was any indication.

Over half the class that was gathered watched as Bakugou grabbed Kirishima’s wrist, pulled him to his side, and announced, “If this morning wasn’t obvious enough, this is my fucking boyfriend, and I love him more than any of you idiots combined. I’m gonna be the best damn boyfriend and not give two shits what any of you think about it.”

“That’s the spirit, Katsuki!” Kirishima beamed, then added, “And I love you, too!”

There was a mix of cheers and fake gagging noises as they shared a quick kiss, Kirishima blushing and Bakugou flipping off a defeated Kaminari who both cheered them on and called them fun killers. They both knew their friend had meant no harm, but neither of them were ready to think about getting married anytime soon.

Though really, Kaminari was right again. He was totally their future best man.