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It’s been a while since Kirishima has had a hug.
Not that he doesn’t like hugs, or whatever - in fact, he’s pretty fond of them - but it’s just been a while. He thinks Class 1-A have got it into their heads that he isn’t the biggest fan of physical contact: he has no idea where they got that from, but he also assumes that everyone would think it wouldn’t be all that comfortable, hugging someone with a hardening quirk.
The thought makes him frown a lot, if he’s being honest. Kirishima would take a hug from almost anyone. It's not the kind of thought that’s constantly on the forefront of your mind - he has much more pressing things to be thinking about - but it’s the kind of thought that nags at you, quietly but maddeningly, reminding you just when you’d forgotten about it.
Sure, it’s not something that keeps him up at night, but he is up at night, and now he’s thinking about it. Kirishima concludes it’s no use moping around inside his dorm room, so he decides to step out into the hallway and mope out there instead. Well, not the hallway itself - but he closes his room door as quietly as he can and tiptoes to the door to the stairway. He’s barefoot, which makes his step a lot lighter than it normally would be, though he just hopes he hasn't woken anyone up; because although his footsteps are quieter, they're still far from silent.
He makes a conscious effort to turn the doorknob as discreetly as he can. A glance at his clock before he left his room told him that it was, unsurprisingly, the early hours of the morning. And it’s not a rare occasion Kirishima’s up at this time, especially on a weekend, but the other students might not be so happy if they’re woken up by him pounding down the hallway.
The lights are already on when he gets to the dorm’s kitchen, though he doesn’t think anything of it, because the lights are always on. It’s strangely quiet - he’s used to lots of noise all the time, especially in these dorms, especially in their common area. But now, at this time, there’s barely any sound - no birds chirping outside, no friendly chatter, no unfriendly chatter, no clattering of furniture or kitchenware and no familiar laughs. Despite this, it’s not a distressing, eerie kind of silence, but a nice, welcome one. Kirishima thinks that, sometimes, it’s nice for everything to just be calm.
The soft ticking of the clock mounted on the wall might even be enough to lull him to sleep - but instead, he just yawns, pouring himself a glass of water and leaning with his back against the kitchen counter. He has his hair down and he lets it fall over his eyes as he stares down at nothing in particular. It’s a weird thing to do, he supposes, just stand in the common area this early in the morning, doing nothing, but it’s not like anyone is going to see him.
It’s now when he realises that when he’s awake with no-one to talk to, he has a lot of time to just think. And it’s not that Kirishima’s salty that nobody’s hugged him in ages - but, actually, he’s pretty salty. And it wasn’t even a thing that had a simple fix: because if he just surprised someone with a hug, then they wouldn’t mean it if they hugged him back, not to mention the fact that they’d probably be weirded out, and Kirishima would feel terribly guilty for not asking them beforehand.
So no, it’s not a problem with an easy fix. And it’s not like he can just ask someone. He’d probably die from embarrassment before he did. And also, it was the question of who to even ask.
“Hey, Shitty Hair.”
Oh, right. Bakugo.
He wonders if he could successfully get a hug from Bakugo without being blasted an indefinite distance, but then he wonders if Bakugo would think of him as weak, vulnerable, too dependent. Kirishima’s certainly never seen him hug anyone, and he wonders vaguely if the other is opposed to it - he’s so set on being the best, on not needing anybody else, so would he even let somebody-
“Hey. Shitty Hair.”
Wait, Bakugo?
He jerks his head up only to see Bakugo himself, in the flesh, standing in the doorway to the kitchen with his arms crossed over his chest. He’s dressed casually, a loose black T-shirt and black jeans (why he’s wearing jeans at two in the morning, Kirishima has no idea) and white socks.
“Oh! Hey, bro,” he says with a smile, disregarding how gloomy he was just a moment ago - he tells himself that it’s fine, it’s just physical contact, and he doesn’t need it. It's not a life or death matter. “What are you doing up?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” Bakugo says throatily, and doesn’t elaborate any further. Which is fine, obviously, Kirishima won’t push him - though he’ll admit he is a little disappointed the conversation isn’t carrying on.
Bakugo leans up against the doorframe in what can only be described as a brooding manner. He’s not so hard to read, Kirishima thinks, watching as his blonde hair stays flawlessly in place as he locks his gaze on the floor, putting his hands in his pockets. His eyes catch the kitchen light, and they don’t glitter or sparkle or whatever they usually do in rom-coms or romance novels, but they’re just… pretty.
(In a bro way, obviously! It’s just that the colour reminds him of the roses he used to have in his garden when he was a kid… but of course, he wouldn’t be caught dead comparing Bakugo to a flower).
“Hey,” Bakugo says bluntly after a bit, interrupting the silence. The ticking of the clock is almost mesmerising, and Kirishima’s half-asleep at the table. “I said hey, Shitty Hair. You good?”
Kirishima jerks back to reality, snapping his head up, seeing Bakugo not staring mindlessly at the floor, but rather at him. His eyebrows are furrowed and his gaze is intense, and Kirishima's not sure whether it's in mockery or concern.
“...Huh?” Kirishima shakes his head quickly, trying to wake himself up out of his daze. His head feels so much warmer with his hair down, it's early in the morning and he needs to catch up on sleep, and everything is so uncharacteristically quiet, so surely it’s not his fault he’s so tired.
“Kirishima,” he- okay. That wakes him up. He tries not to make a huge show out of it, though. He knows Bakugo noticed his little internal freakout from the smirk that edges its way onto his face, but he chooses to ignore it. “You good?”
“Me?” Bakugo rolls his eyes because yes, of course, you, but Kirishima just smiles. “Yeah, man. I’m good. You?”
“' M fine,” he says curtly, clearly expecting a proper, more in-detail answer, and annoyed at the fact he didn’t get one. “You sure?”
Kirishima smiles again. “Yeah, dude. I’m good. Tired, though, but I think we both are.” Bakugo raises his eyebrows. It’s an honest answer, for sure, but he doesn’t think it’s the full truth. (Because even though Class 1-A might not see it, he isn’t totally unobservant. And he does care). “At least we don’t have class tomorrow.”
“Right,” he says, taking his hands out of his pockets and stretching slightly. “I’m going, then.” He doesn’t miss the way Kirishima falters, and he sure does hope his ‘plan’ is going to work, because otherwise he just looks like an asshole.
“Okay, bro. You… you do that,” Kirishima smiles again, but it’s not as wide, or as bright. Bakugo turns slowly, ever-so-slowly, and takes one step towards the door. Then two, and he’s in the doorway. Three, and he’s stepping out of the kitchen, then four, and-
“H-hey. Bro, wait.”
Bakugo turns back to Kirishima, not saying a word, but raising his eyebrows instead in a silent go on, because he knew this was going to work. Of course it did.
“I- um.”
“What?”
Kirishima looks like he’s questioning all his life decisions, and Bakugo feels for him.
“It’s- it’s really stupid. And… you probably wouldn’t… ah. It’s nothing, bro. You can go to bed. It’s cool.”
“So I can go to bed now, and you’ll be completely fine? Won’t have something nagging at you that you refuse to tell me about?”
Kirishima sighs. “You kind of got me there,” he says, laughing breathily. He touches the back of his neck awkwardly and his face is starting to resemble the colour of his hair. “It really is nothing though.”
Bakugo says nothing, just stares at him as hard as he can (but not as hard as he can, that would be a bit too mean) and stands completely still.
“You’re really gonna make me say it, man?” Bakugo smirks and nods. Kirishima exhales, seemingly trying to hype himself up. “Okay. This is… dumb, by the way, but I just-”
“God,” Bakugo says impatiently. “You’re fine. You don’t have to worry about it. I’m not that much of an asshole, I won’t make fun of you for it. Just spit it out, Kirishima.”
He visibly splutters, then lets out a string of words that are spoken so fast they're barely coherent. “Well, I just- it’s- Ihaven’thadahuginareallylongtimeandI'mkindofmissingit.”
“You… what?”
“Ah, jeez, don’t make me say it again, dude-”
“You haven’t had a hug in a while,” Bakugo says. "And you want one."
Kirishima looks at the floor. “Well… yeah.”
His face is such a vivid red now that Bakugo can hardly differentiate between his face and his hair. He’s visibly fighting the urge to hide behind his hands, cheeks a hot, flaming colour, and eyes averted to the ground.
Please, say something, Kirishima thinks, because god, does the silence make it worse. The previous cosy silence has definitely morphed into an uncomfortable one, and he wants nothing more than to run back to his room and try and convince Bakugo tomorrow that no, it was definitely just a dream, I was in my room asleep the entire night, bro. And though he's not sure whether that plan has even a minuscule chance of working, it’s better than what he’s feeling right now.
Bakugo’s at a loss for words.
Of course, he does want to help, but would Kirishima want to hug him? And it certainly wasn’t the problem he was expecting, from Kirishima of all people. (Even with his god awful hair), he finds it hard to believe that no-one would hug him. He even seems like the type of person to enjoy it, so why-
“I might, um. Go upstairs,” says Kirishima quietly, voice barely above a whisper, despite the fact that they’re completely alone. He’s still staring intently at the floor, cheeks the same cherry hue, expression twisted in embarrassment.
He stands upright, shifting off of where he’s been leaning on the counter. Bakugo notices the way he bites his lower lip and swallows around the lump in his throat, and he knows that’s not good - but how, exactly, does he deal with it?
“Do you- do you want a hug?” The words are out of his mouth before he’s even realised what he’s offering. But, he realises he can’t take it back now, not when Kirishima’s head jerks up, hair flopping somewhat endearingly over his face, eyes looking sort of hopeful.
He swears if Kirishima tells so much as a single soul about this, he’ll blast him off of the face of the Earth.
“I- what?” Even with the newfound hopefulness in his expression, he’s still a little shell-shocked, probably having not been expecting Bakugo to offer a hug. Katsuki “explosion boy” Bakugo just offered him a hug. Kirishima’s not sure whether he’s actually being serious or not, but judging by his slightly defensive stance, he doesn’t seem to be. And in all fairness, Kirishima thinks that he wouldn’t stoop so low as to poke fun at him for something he was so reluctant to open up about. He just isn’t that type of person.
“You heard me, Shitty Hair,” he says, letting the nickname seep back into their conversation, to provide Kirishima with a sense of familiarity, remind him that it’s still him, and he’s only offering a hug. Nothing groundbreaking. “I said, do you want a hug?”
“Are you… sure, bro?” He seems awfully hesitant, especially for someone who seemed so sad about this earlier. “You don’t have to, or anything. Like, you’re not obligated just because I told you about it-”
“Shut up,” Bakugo says, marching over and throwing his arms around Kirishima and- oh, okay.
On first thoughts, it was a pretty impulsive decision, and completely unlike him, but- it’s not the worst thing in the world. Kirishima seems pretty shocked, but honestly, Bakugo just wanted him to stop thinking so lowly of himself only for wanting some comfort. He knows he’s not obliged to hug him, because Kirishima doesn’t tell him what to do - no-one does. He's simply doing this because he wants to.
He locks his hands around the back of Kirishima’s waist and feels him tense up slightly, as he's probably not expecting it- but he doesn’t tighten his hold, rather lets Kirishima get used to it, gives him time to push Bakugo off if he wants to. However, he doesn’t do any of this; and after a bit, he gingerly reaches his hands up so his arms rest on Bakugo's shoulders, hands interlocking behind his neck. He feels Kirishima almost melt into him, resting his head on his shoulder and taking a tiny step forward so he’s just-so-slightly closer.
Bakugo opts not to speak, thinking that it would probably ruin the delicate moment they’ve got going on, and Kirishima just lets himself be held. He doesn’t even seem to mind that Bakugo’s the one holding him - he’s just happy that it’s happening.
“Sorry,” Kirishima murmurs quietly, after what couldn’t have been more than a couple of minutes. “You… you can let go, if you want, man- go back to bed or something. I don't mind.”
Bakugo huffs and rolls his eyes because of course, he would be apologising for nothing. He reaches up his hand and places it gently on the back of Kirishima’s head, feeling the soft red locks underneath his fingers, trying to reassure him that hey, it really is fine without speaking. He tells himself he won’t do stuff like run his fingers through it, because he’s already hugging Kirishima, and that part is enough - though he can't stop the part of him, the persistent voice in the back of his mind that really really wants to.
Kirishima's hair is definitely softer than he'd imagined. It's soft, velvety to the touch, certainly not what Bakugo was expecting, with him having it constantly styled the way he does. He barely ever sees it down like this, and he wouldn't ever admit to Kirishima that it looked nice… (but it does). It’s a warm crimson colour, contrasting to the fair tone of his fingers, which are resting peacefully on the top of his hair; enough to bring peace and comfort but not too much that Kirishima might become uncomfortable and pull away.
Bakugo hears a quiet mumble, nearly drowned out by the distant whir of the traffic outside. “Thanks,” he hears Kirishima whisper, picking up the sort of conclusive tone in his voice; he half expects him to pull back, maybe go back to his room, given the time, but he stays right where he is - in Bakugo’s arms. And Bakugo absolutely doesn’t mind.
Because it’s Kirishima. And it’s always been only him.