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After their performance at the school festival, the beauty pageant, and the obstacle course, Bakugo and Kirishima go to the sunflower patch. It’s near the outskirts of campus, almost obscured by the stands and bouncy castles. When they arrived, the patch was modest, but pretty. It’s run by one of the business classes, and Kirishima suspects they only did this because growing sunflowers is easy and inexpensive, and people seem thrilled to pay five hundred yen to take pictures with them.
They don’t take pictures, of course. That’s not their thing. They walk through the tall stalks, their big yellow heads turning west towards the afternoon sun. It’s not a flashy attraction, but Kirishima’s impressed. Most of the sunflowers stand far taller than them—six, seven, eight feet. He watches Bakugou crane his neck up, blinking at their heads when they see the tallest ones.
When they reach the exit, he sees a little booth that sells them in small bundles. The prices range from questionable to downright criminal; he supposes they wouldn’t be the business class if they didn’t jack their profits.
“Bakugou, hang on.” Kirishima jogs to the stand, forks over the money, and comes back. He only feels a little warm around the cheeks when he hands a bundle over to Bakugou. “For you.” He smiles.
He sees Bakugou’s eyes widen for a split second, only to disappear under a glare. “You just let those business morons scam you.”
“Normal people say thank you.”
The glare intensifies, but Bakugou replies. “Thank you. Dumbass.”
A pause. Kirishima’s arm remains extended. He doesn’t understand why Bakugou won’t just...
“Normal people also take the thing that they’re being given.”
Bakugou’s eyes dart to the side. “You should hold them for now.” He turns and starts to walk.
Kirishima hardens, stabs him in the shoulder, and blocks his way. The warmth in his face is threatening to heat up, but he stares him down.
Bakugou looks away and shoves his hands in his pocket. When he finally speaks, it comes out a murmur. “I shouldn’t hold anything alive right now.” He sighs and pulls out his hands. “Flowers don’t do well under nitroglycerine.”
“But...you hold things all the time.” Kirishima dumbly replies. “It was never a problem, so why—”
“My hands are never sweaty unless I want them to be.” Bakugou rolls his eyes. “But right now, they are."
Oh.
Oh.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.” At that, Bakugou continues walking.
Kirishima follows, and they fall into an easy silence. “So, like, you wouldn’t be able to grab a crepe?”
A beat. “Probably not.”
“Would you be able to hold a cat?”
“Nope.”
“Not even human contact? Are you like E.T.?”
“What the hell is an E.T.?” Bakugou says. His looks at his hands, then lets them drop to his side. “Skin gets irritated.”
“Does it explode?”
Bakugou looks at him and Kirishima can see an insult forming, but nothing comes out. Instead, Bakugou just answers him. “No. It can affect your oxygen and blood flow, or whatever. It can mess with your inner system.”
Kirishima thinks for a minute. What if...
“Not with me.” Kirishima lifts his hand, rock-hard, and grabs Bakugou’s. “See?”
Bakugou’s mouth opens ever so slightly, but he stays quiet. Their interlocked hands sway as they walk. He hopes Bakugou doesn’t notice that his own palms were sweaty, too.
Kirishima ends up carrying the sunflowers for the rest of the walk home, but he really doesn’t mind.