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From early on in his childhood it was apparent to everyone that Kiri didn’t have a quiet personality. He made friends everywhere he went. The girl on the swings at the park, the old lady in the grocery, the university student at the coffee shop? His close friends in the way that children create short-lived bonds with strangers who can’t help but smile at innocent kindness.
He had no idea that the way he spoke was different until he was in kindergarten.
A realization that made him stop speaking entirely.
All through Elementary School, Kiri played the part of the shy kid. He learned to lie because it was less painful. A shy kid who occasionally stuttered was cute.
Until it wasn’t.
Middle School was hell for most kids, but Kiri wasn’t most kids. He learned quickly that there’s only so much you can be mocked for when you don’t say anything, so he stopped talking altogether.
There was only one kid who had it worse in Kiri’s mind. Kiri's seen him being escorted to the principal’s office on several occasions, kids with bloodied noses in tow. There were rumors about him ranging from anger management issues to a bad home life but they all pointed to the same thing – he was a delinquent. Likely the worst the school had to offer.
But, somehow, he was able to avoid expulsion and that made Kiri curious. There had to be something else. So he waited for a chance, for the right opportunity to sit down with the sullen boy and try to understand him just a bit.
He found an opening toward the end of the year when they were assigned group projects. Kiri never minded groups, he was smart and people liked working with him, even if he ended up doing most of the assignment himself. The blond boy sat at his desk, the other students seemed to quietly evade him.
So Kiri made a beeline for him.
“Hello!” Kiri all but chirped, but the boy kept staring out the window. Kiri didn’t want to let his nerves get the better of him so he pressed on, “I’m Kirishima Eijirou.” His name was always safe, words practiced in front of the mirror so he couldn’t stumble. When the boy still didn’t say anything Kiri reached out to touch his arm.
He wasn’t expecting the boy to fall out of his chair.
Shock plainly displayed on both their faces. “I’m s–“ he could feel the anxiety pushing through even his most practice-steadied phrases. So he stopped and reached a hand out sheepishly.
But the boy just slapped it away and snarled. “The fuck do you want?”
Kiri swallowed hard, rubbing the back of his hand. “I would like to b... like to be in y-your group.”
“Why?”
“I want to be friends.”
The last few weeks of seventh grade were an absolute dream for Kirishima. The boy hadn’t known was to say to Kiri, so he blurted “I’m Bakugou Katsuki.” And, even if only because the boy didn’t say no, or because he’d meet him in the library every lunch period from then on, Kiri didn’t feel so alone.
One Summer day, when the boys were hiking a familiar trail behind Bakugou’s house, Kiri discovered the reason his friend was so jumpy. Like they’d been waiting for him, Shigarki and his goons were hanging around the end of the path.
Kiri remembered Shigarki had been expelled during his 8th-grade year for a physical altercation with a 6th grader. He remembered watching the taller boy trudge to the office, face bloodied with a smaller blond boy behind him.
Bakugou gave him a look of fear before shoving Kiri back the way they came. So he bolted.
He didn’t realize Bakugou wasn’t behind him until he was back at his friend’s house out of breath and shouting for the boy’s mom. He pleaded with himself to keep it together, to be able to tell her quickly. But he was too out of breath and too scared–having to fight down the tremors that come with adrenaline.
“Take your time, sweetheart. What’s going on?”
“Bakugou... we were h-hiking to the clearing a-nd... and Bakugou’s fight... he told me to... run.”
Bakugou had once called his mother the Dragon Lady and now he could see why. With not so much as a word, Kirishima was ushered to the couch by Bakugou’s dad while Mitsuki sprinted out the back.
Kiri waited for them to come back. He waited, counting the minutes and trying to remember how long the trail was.
When they returned it was in the company of the Police. They wouldn’t let Kiri see his friend but his mother was covered in blood.
When his parents came to pick him up they took him for ice cream and bought him a new video game. He couldn’t bring himself to eat. He couldn’t, knowing he left Bakugou in the forest. He left the game on the coffee table and locked himself in his room. He curled around his pillow and cried, cursing himself for the sputtering hiccups causing his sobs to stutter.
The police came to take his statement the next morning.
He spoke slowly, trying so hard to speak coherently. He wanted the officers to know how Bakugou had protected him. They needed to know Bakugou wasn’t some delinquent. That he was a brave and loyal friend.
It was Mitsuki who called the Kirishimas. She asked if Kiri wanted to visit her son in the hospital. He was there within the hour.
When he saw Bakugou, the boy was barely conscious. Mitsuki explained his injuries, how he was already passed out when she found him, the high schoolers long gone.
Kiri remembered how red Mitsuki’s clothes were. He’d hoped it was from the older kids, but that wasn’t the case.
“They kicked him. Really hard in the head. Hit his ear.” He could hear her trying not to cry. “He has a terrible concussion and a couple broken ribs.” She breathed heavily a few times. Kiri took her hand and squeezed it. “His wrist is fractured. And–God, I kept getting pissed at him for not wearing his hearing aids. But if... if he had been wearing them–”
Kiri wasn’t sure what to do so he wrapped his arms around his friend’s mother. He’s 13 and doesn’t know what to say, or doesn’t think that he can say it without ruining the sentiment with his stutter. So he just hugs her. Sometimes a hug is all you can give.
“Thank you, Kiri. Because of you my son is okay.”
When Bakugou was coherent enough to realize Kiri was in the room, he smiled. Not a cocky smirk or feral grin but a genuine look of admiration.
"I’m glad you’re okay." He said, looking up at him from the bed.
Kiri took the boy’s good hand. His eyes were on the floor and he was trying so hard not to break down again.
“Hey, Kirishima, let me see your face.”
“I’m sorry.”
Bakugou looked confused. “Repeat that. Slower.”
“I’m s... am so sorry, Bakugou.”
Bakugou let go of his hand and brought it up to his friend’s face. He wiped away the tears Kiri didn’t realize he’d let slip.
“The fuck are you apologizing for, idiot. You did everything right.”
They stayed like that until Kiri had to go home. He came back every day to visit Bakugou, even when his friend got mad and told him he was wasting his summer in the hospital.
Kiri promised that wasn’t the case, that he would rather be hanging out with his best friend than be anywhere else in the world. Bakugou pretended to be angry but Kiri recognized the joy in his eyes.
“Why are you so fucking quiet all the time?” Kiri was caught off guard by the question, but he trusted Bakugou.
“My stutter... I always m-mess yo what I’m trying to say.”
“So?”
Kirishima looked confused.
“Shitty hair, my hearing’s worth shit. My personality’s shit. I yell at people even when I can hear them. You’re the kindest fucker I’ve ever met. When you let yourself speak your damn mind, you’re stupidly positive. About everything. And everyone. Even the people who aren’t worth a damn. Even me.”
“But I–”
“No, Kirishima, no more bullshit. You hate your stutter? I’m teaching you JSL.”
Every visit, Bakugou would hammer the signs into Kiri’s head. Once he was discharged, Mitsuki took up his lessons.
By the time high school rolled around, they would have conversations completely in sign language, though Bakugou protested at times, claiming he wanted to practice lip reading. Kirishima knew he was turning up his hearing aids.
He wouldn’t know why until years later when they were signing their vows to each other as they spoke them for their family members, that Bakugou had been memorizing Kirishima’s voice.
And when Bakugou completely lost his hearing years later, their children, two young members of the deaf community and a little girl with the most adorable lisp, could still tell their dads how much they loved them with the utmost confidence.
“Because,” Ei signed to them. “Your hands will never stumble.”