Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Hey, Bakugou!” 

The loud, familiar voice cuts through Bakugou’s thoughts as he halts walking through campus. As the sound of feet rushing to catch up with him get closer and closer, he feels something inside of him click off, which he assumes is probably—no, most definitely—the last remaining ounce of patience he has left in his body for the week.

He swivels around, meeting Mina face-to-face as she huffs, trying to catch her breath. The sight itself short circuits his brain, knowing there’s something following this; he takes back what he said—he just lost his last ounce of patience for the entire month.

“Finally. I found you,” she says, wiping nonexistent sweat off her brow. “Have you checked your email since this morning?”

Bakugou thinks back to the beginning of his day, all the way to now, bypassing the meaningless two hours he spent in biology and calculus that equate to nothing in his future, yet he’s still forced to take for some ungodly reason. In those hours, he hadn’t checked his email once—he had barely even gone on his phone if not to check the time.

“No,” he responds, snappy as always. “I don’t think I care too much either if it’s about some school rally or whatever the fuck.”

Mina frowns at his sour tone, but brushes it off. “I’m not talking about a school event this time! And even if I was, you should be totally hype about it like everyone else instead of being a sour tart.”

Bakugou glares at her. If he knew Mina wanted to come and nag him about his lack of school spirit, then he could’ve kept walking. “Look, Pinkie. I don’t care. Why the hell are you talking to me?”

“Aizawa sent out an email three hours ago,” Mina says, a smile gracing her face. “It’s about our fall production. He said to meet him in his classroom for more info—apparently, he said there’s someone else writing the script this time.”

Someone else? Bakugou raises a slight eyebrow. Aizawa always wrote their scripts, never anyone else—the thought of it is both appealing and unappealing. “What time?”

“Three, I think,” Mina says.

Bakugou turns on his heels away from Mina, back on his original course towards his next class. “I’ll be there.”

That must’ve been enough to appease her, because just as he walks away, Mina starts running the opposite way, waving her hands as she yells out Uraraka’s name louder than she needs to. 

He rolls his eyes and keeps walking forward. 

━━━━━━━━━

Bakugou arrives at Aizawa’s classroom at three, just like Mina said to, pushing past the doors to hear the low chatter of everyone talking inside. 

Everyone as in Deku; the boy sits at the far right of the room—just like he does in class, which Bakugou hates noticing because he hates the thought of sharing any class with him—talking animatedly with Todoroki and Asui, probably about something stupid as per usual. 

He glances towards Aizawa’s desk and finds it surprisingly empty. Aizawa treats his classroom like a second home; he never leaves unless it’s necessary. 

He pitches himself a seat at the way back, disappointingly besides Denki, who waves enthusiastically towards him as he walks down the aisle.

“Bakugou! You’re here!” he says, with way too much energy. “Sero was saying how you’d probably skip out on this meeting because you just love Aizawa’s writing so much to never cheat on him.”

Bakugou drops his bag besides the chair and plops down. “Sero can shut the hell up.”

Sero glares back at Denki. “I didn’t say that, dumbass. You said that.”

Denki scoffs, splaying a hand across his chest. “Who’s a dumbass? I’m not a dumbass.”

“You are a dumbass. A certified one at that.”

“You can’t talk about me being certified when you have a PhD in dumbassery.”

“Dumbassery? What kind of degree would that even—”

“Guys, shut up,” Jirou looks back between the bickering pair, gesturing towards the front of the classroom. “Aizawa’s here.”

Bakugou looks up, and there he is, just like Jirou said. Aizawa stands at the head of the classroom—casually rumpled as always—with his black hair pooling over his shoulders paired with his normal all-black attire. He stands talking to someone else; a guy, maybe about their age, with messy purple hair and that same exhausted look eating away at his eyes. 

From here, they almost look like father and son, two breeds of the same thing, with their dark clothes and unkempt hair and their deep, sunken in gazes. 

Is this supposed to be who’s writing the script? Bakugou wonders to himself, just as Aizawa turns to the quieting classroom as they stare at the duo.

“I’m assuming everyone knows about the email I sent a few hours ago.” Everyone turns and looks directly at Mina as she smiles sheepishly; Aizawa continues. “As I mentioned, I haven’t written our script like I usually do for our fall production—he has.”

Everyone turns their eyes towards the guy as he stands motionless besides him. 

“Introduce yourself, please,” Aizawa says, tiresome as always.

The guy takes a slow inhale before speaking. “My name’s Shinsou Hitoshi. This is my second year of college, and I’m majoring in creative writing, hoping to become a playwright. Since… May, or June, I’ve been doing an internship with Aizawa.”

Internship? Since when had Aizawa been doing internships with people? Not to mention, although Shinsou was in their grade, Bakugou had yet to ever recognize him in any of his classes or around campus. And judging by the rest of the class’ faces, he hadn’t ever appeared in theirs either.

“This is Shinsou. He’s been working besides me these last few months, which is why I’ve chosen to let him come up with the play concept and script this time,” Aizawa says, glancing at the boy. “He’ll be talking about the concept today and handing out a revised draft of the script for all of you to study before auditions.”

Bakugou smiles to himself at the mention of the auditions. He doesn’t know the concept yet, but whatever it is, he plans on conquering wholeheartedly by himself and making a show worth watching for the public. That’s how it’s been since forever—he aces an audition, gets the best role, then steals the show right from underneath everyone’s feet.

Aizawa once told him that he’s a prodigy who knows exactly how good he is, one with no limits who takes over the stage with every line and step he takes. It’s the utmost truth; he’s amazing, fantastic, and a gifted actor in every way possible.

As Aizawa sits down at his desk, letting Shinsou take the group’s attention, he rubs his eye, speaking. “The concept I chose… or the description of the play is this: twenty-five-year-old Sugiyama Haru works at his father’s carpentry business and dreams to become a successful actor one day, but fears it might be too late. With the help of his many friends, he finds himself joining the industry, trying to make a name for himself.”

A low chatter erupts among the class, light compliments or ideas, and Bakugou feels it in his bones—no, soul—that he’ll be playing Sugiyama Haru. It’s a role that’s screaming his name from every inch of its existence, begging for him to perform it in front of a crowd like every other show he completes amazingly.

A hand pops up from the front of the class, sporting a familiar voice. “What are the supporting roles?”

Bakugou recognizes the voice as Kirishima’s—Shitty Hair’s—as he grins widely. Kirishima’s new to their little acting group—a decent actor at that—and he sports an enthusiasm he’s only ever seen in people like Deku, which should equate to him hating Kirishima all the same, but he doesn’t. 

He just finds Kirishima… annoying. Painfully annoying, all of him—his stupid hair, and pointy teeth, and undying love for the color red. 

Shinsou hums. “There’s a bunch of supporting roles. A few of the main ones are Arai Juro, Haru’s best friend and the second main character, working as an underground lounge singer. Miyake Hisoka, Hirose Azumi, and Arakawa Fuji are also all lounge singers and friends of Juro. There’s boss roles like Seo Ryoko, a huge director scouting local actors, and Inaba Yuudai, the man Haru’s father owes his livelihood too. All the characters are on a separate sheet stapled to the revised draft I have.”

Kirishima nods, looking too bright in the eyes for a moment, before Shinsou turned around and grabbed a stack of papers off Aizawa’s desk. 

“Here’s the script. It’s not a final—obviously, but I worked all summer to write it, so I hope everyone likes it and finds a role they can relate to.”

Shinsou takes each half of the stack and hands to each side of the room, person-by-person handing the stack back, until it finally reaches him. On the cover page of the script in bold Courier reads, Sincerely, Yours. 

Bakugou flips through the script, skimming over each line and each stage direction, until he finds himself convinced enough to like the script. It’s not a coincidence Shinsou writes just like Aizawa—it’s already obvious they’re twinning in more ways than one—but Bakugou finds himself intrigued by the amount of detail stretched onto each page in every scene. There’s a reason Shinsou’s his assistant.

Denki practically lights up next to him. “Oh my god,” he glances at over Bakugou. “What role are you auditioning for? I wanna be one of the lounge singers. I’m thinking… Miyake, maybe. I don’t know! There’s, like, a bunch of supporting roles.”

Bakugou flips to the last page where all of the characters and their descriptions are listed. “I’m getting Haru whether anyone likes it or not.”

“Oh. Typical. He’s your type of role,” Sero pipes up, glancing behind at them. “I think I’m getting a lounge singer role too! I definitely know I have the singing abilities for it.”

Denki snorts. “No you don’t. The only person who has singing abilities that I know of is Jirou.”

Jirou turns bright red beside Sero as she turns over the character list. Bakugou glares his eyes at the boy. “What the hell does that mean?”

Sero shrugs, mindlessly. “I don’t know. You just get all the—what’s the word? Exciting roles. You always place a main role in our shows. Aizawa’s obsessed with you, dude.”

“Like he fucking should be,” Bakugou says, loud and proud. “I’m the best actor this school’s got.”

Sero rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, and I’m a dumbass.”

At the same time, both Denki and Mina chime in to say, “You are a dumbass.”

Sero winces—not at the tone, but more of Mina’s compliance with Denki—and sinks into his chair. Jirou snickers and Bakugou sports a smirk; they’ve won this argument today.

Another hand flies in the air, suddenly—Iida’s—making Bakugou roll his eyes. He already knows there’s bound to be some pointless question awaiting the class in a few seconds.

Shinsou nods towards him as Iida puts his hand down immediately. “Excuse me, but I read through the beginning, and there are singing roles, yes? So at the auditions—assuming you’ll be there—will there also be a singing portion of the audition?”

Shinsou glanced back towards Aizawa, half-way asleep. The man blinks away his drowsiness, rubbing his eyes. “For those auditioning for the singing and acting roles, I’ve asked Yamada to come and sit in with us and help make the decision. He’ll also be helping writing songs that we can use in the show, so we’ll be teaming with the music department.”

Last year, Bakugou had Yamada for English and hated it with a passion because of Yamada’s insistent chattiness. He can’t imagine spending as much time with him as Aizawa does without voluntarily ripping your head off.

“Ah, okay. Thank you for the answer,” Iida says, nodding to the two. 

“Is that all, Shinsou?” Aizawa asks. 

He nods. “I’m done explaining now.”

“Great. Everyone has a script now and has looked over it, yes? The last announcement I have to make before you all leave then is about the auditions,” Aizawa says. “They’ll be held in the first U.A. auditorium next week on the eleventh from ten to four. I’ll email each of you for your preferred time. If you’re over ten minutes late, you can’t audition, so come as early as you’d like. Come with a character and scene in mind you’ll be auditioning for, and if it’s a singing-acting role, come with a song of choice.”

The class sits in silence for a moment, comprehending Aizawa’s statement, before Denki pipes up from beside him. “That’s it? We can leave?”

“You can leave now,” Aizawa says, dully.

Nobody wastes time getting up from their seats and shuffling out of the classroom onto their separate ways. Bakugou feels the energy radiating off of everyone, the familiar buzz that sparks in his and everyone’s stomach still, awaiting the auditions with a deep hope and excitement they’ve all felt a million times over. 

No matter how much he ignores it, he knows everyone is amazing as him. Not as amazing, but still great in their own glory. Bakugou never lets himself falter below the expectations of anyone, especially his own. 

It’s the exact reason why he knows he’s getting the role of Sugiyama Haru, whether or not anyone likes it.

━━━━━━━━━

Bakugou attends the auditions a week later on the eleventh, just like Aizawa mentioned. He pitches his audition at eleven thirty, after Mina’s, and finds that even though guests are present, it’s the same as every other audition.

Shinsou watches just as carefully as Aizawa does, and Yamada makes brief noises of encouragement like “ooh”’s and “ah”’s whenever he’s amused. 

At first, Bakugou wasn’t sure what scene would be bold enough to to make Aizawa weak in his hands like puddy, but once he read it, he knew exactly what scene—one of the first scenes, following the hook into the rising action, where Haru argues with his father about being an actor and leaving the business behind to somebody else. 

Haru’s audacious and loud about his passion to act, exactly why he had to choose it.  

Every word he says echoes throughout the auditorium as he stands on stage, bellowing out Haru’s cries about a fallen childhood dream and the scary thought of being some failed person forever. He doesn’t mean it, but it comes out more heartfelt and personal than ever; once he finishes, even Yamada’s quiet, staring at him with what Bakugou assumes is amazement by his performance. 

After that, Aizawa dismisses him, and leaves knowing he most definitely landed Haru as a role, no questions asked.

The time after his audition drips and molds into each other, slow class after slow class, and the growing itchiness in his chest waiting for the casting list to come out. Even though he’s sure of his place, the idea still doesn’t soothe him completely—it’s engraved in him, or more like human nature, to be nervous about what comes next. 

But, finally, on Friday, it comes out in an email sent by Aizawa while he’s in a lecture. 

Bakugou doesn’t hesitate, opening up his email and ignoring whatever unnecessary chatter is going on in the background, pulling up the email from Aizawa Shouta, PhD. 

He scrolls down past the message complimenting everyone on their auditions and apologies for any roles someone may have wanted, but got placed another one instead. And under it, in a Google Docs attachment, is the list. And like Bakugou’s known this whole time, even before the auditions, he lets out the breath of air trapped inside of his throat.

He’s got the role. 

At the top of the list, typed beside Sugiyama Haru, is his own name—Bakugou Katsuki, next another word he reads as main character. Damn right he’s the main character. He always has been and always will be, till the day he dies acting on stage.

Bakugou looks through some other supporting roles cast. Playing the second key character—Arai Juro—is someone he’s never expected to play a role like that. 

Kirishima. Shitty Hair. The walking personification of not the sun, but a huge, bright star that never leaves your sight of vision at night when it should be pitch black.  

Kirishima’s only played minor roles in their shows so far since last year, and never has had over ten lines, but Bakugou’s watched and seen how much life he puts into his few lines and makes them his own. Hell, he probably makes the short stage-time he has his own—he’s the same as Bakugou, always taking over a show in energy and passion. 

Bakugou respects that more than he can admit.

He scrolls down, reading the other roles. Sero as Miyake Hisoka (how the hell did he land a singing role?), Mina as Hirose Azumi, Jirou as Arakawa Fuji. Denki as Sugiyama Takeshi, Haru’s dad, Momo as Seo Ryoko, Todoroki as Inaba Yuudai, Uraraka as Tao Aya, Deku as Ando Masanori, Asui as Yamasaki Miwa, and Iida as Muranaka Kunio. 

There are other less important roles, minor ones, like store venders and assistants, that underclassmen will play too. The line-up pleases him greatly—he smirks to himself as he scrolls down to the typed note at the bottom of the casting list.

Hope you all are pleased with your roles. I’m sending this at noon, so meet me at the classroom at two (if possible), to discuss major script and plot changes we’ve made. We will discuss other important notions like practice days and times along with show dates. Thank you.

Bakugou furrows his eyebrow. Major plot changes? Isn’t it too late for that? 

He clicks out of the attachment and email and closes his laptop. Whatever is going on, he’ll be attending Aizawa’s meeting to hear about it. Hopefully “major changes” refer to whatever plot holes there might be, and not each character’s role, even though he doubts they’d change around Haru from a main character to a secondary one this late in writing. 

Bakugou can’t really imagine what exactly would change in the plot. Even as his lecture finishes, and he heads to Aizawa’s classroom all the way across campus, something nags at the back of his mind screaming that something’s not right and is teetering on the edge of hate for him, whatever it is.

As he opens the doors, he finds a handful of the normal group waiting and talking amongst each other. Deku, Uraraka, Kirishima, Mina, Todoroki, and him—the others are probably in class or failed to see Aizawa’s email early enough. 

He picks a seat next to Mina, who waves at him excitedly to come over and join whatever conversation she’s having with Kirishima. 

He sits down and lets his bag rest on the floor besides him. Mina doesn’t even let him have time to settle down completely before she’s saying, “Ah! Bakugou! You got Haru! How exciting that is that?”

Bakugou wants to say it’s more relieving then exciting, but he doesn’t. Instead he says, “I knew I was getting it from the beginning.”

Mina laughs, loud and bright. “Right. Mr. Cocky never lets down his guard.”

Bakugou glares at the girl. “My name’s not fucking ‘Mr. Cocky.’” 

“It isn’t! You’re right. My bad,” Mina says, still laughing hard. “What’s the name you said you call him in your head, Kiri?”

Kirishima grins, then bursts into laughter. “Blasty.”

Bakugou glowers at Kirishima for many reasons, but the main one being the fact he gave him an internal nickname that he didn’t even know about till now. Not to mention, Blasty? What the fuck kind of name is that? 

“Blasty? What’s so fucking funny about that?” he asks, not bothering to lower down his voice despite the low tone of the room. 

Kirishima catches his breath. “I don’t know, I give nicknames to everyone in my head just based on what superpower I think we’d all have in some alternate universe. It’s a thing I’ve been doing since elementary school. Mina’s Alien Queen, cause I think she’d be super cool and funky with acid powers. And you—you’re Blasty, because you’re so cross and uptight all the time you’d probably have explosion powers.”

Superpowers? If Bakugou had superpowers, his superhero name wouldn’t be Blasty even if some paid a million fucking dollars. Who does Kirishima think he is?

Before he can contemplate leaning over and choking the daylights out of him, Aizawa claps at the front of the room, signalling everyone’s attention. Shinsou stands next to him like last time—a tree and its familiar apple—and holds a stack of scripts similar to last time.

“I hope you’re content with the casting list. You all did great at your auditions, as usual. In my email, I mentioned major plot and script changes, which we’re here to talk about,” Aizawa explains, then glances over at Shinsou. “Talk about what you changed, please.”

Shinsou nods, clutching the stack a little tighter. “I didn’t change a lot of things—the main plot following Haru and his road to success is still the same. But I wanted to have at least two subplots, one being a romantic one, but I ended up ditching it in my revised rough drafts.”

Romantic subplots? Bakugou raises an eyebrow. Where would a romantic subplot even fit into the story? Would it even benefit the story or just delay Haru’s success? 

“But I’ve been thinking hard, and I looked over all the past productions from the years, and only a few of them focus on romance or have romantic side couples in them,” Shinsou falters for a moment, as if it’s hard to speak. “So I added back in the romantic subplot, and tweaked it so that the romance adds something as a story itself and to the main plot entirely.”

An inaudible hum encases the classroom as a few people whisper, and Bakugou hears Mina say, “Whew. Thank god. Everyone needs a little romance.”

Deku’s hand spurts into the air, suddenly. “Can I ask which characters are getting the romantic subplot?”

Shinsou nods. “Uh, yes. It was a hard pick between Tao Aya and Ando Masanori, but I decided that it’d be different if I chose Haru and Juro.”

Bakugou’s heart freezes in his chest. For a moment, all he can feel is his blood pressure increasing painfully, rising to his head, making it pound endlessly.

He’s playing Haru for many reasons. He’s the pivotal character, he’s bold and passionate and won’t let anything weigh him down anymore, which—big fucking hint—a romance with his best friend will. Shinsou would’ve been better off having the romance lie between two side characters rather than the two main ones; it’s something that just actively makes sense, which doesn’t with Haru and Juro.

“Oh wow. Bakugou—” Mina says, but cuts off as she notices his state. “You good?”

No, he’s not good. He was good, but Shinsou ruined it by telling him he now has to act like he’s falling in love with Juro, a.k.a. Kirishima—Shitty Hair—the most annoying person he knows besides Denki.

“No,” he says, not bothering to censor his anger. “Why the fuck would you need to add a romance to this story at all? It defeats the purpose of Haru’s entire purpose, which is to make it big. I don’t think having him fall in love with his best friend is too much of a boost to becoming famous. It just adds extra problems and unanswered questions to the story.”

He must’ve said it a little too harsh, because, suddenly, the entire class is staring at him with wide eyes—even Aizawa, though still sleepy-eyed. Shinsou, also still sporting that look, doesn’t even blink an eye. 

“I thought about that a lot. But I concluded that Juro supports Haru a ton through friendship, a close relationship already, and turning it into romance can’t hurt anybody. I thought changing their relationship into a romance enhanced the plot more in so many ways I can think of.”

Bakugou has to admit that a Haru and Juro relationship isn’t a terrible idea for diversity causes and to show something that’s never been done before in U.A. show history, but still, it tugs, and tugs at his brain telling him it’s the worst idea ever. Something about the romance aspect of Haru just doesn’t sit right inside of him, telling him he’ll regret it.

Before he even knows it, the words are pooling out of his mouth into the classroom. “I can’t play Haru anymore.”

The classroom goes dead silent as Deku gasps, but shuts his mouth as Bakugou glares at him. He stands up and goes to grab his bag, but stops short as Aizawa calls his name out. 

“Bakugou.”

He meets the man’s stoic gaze, and for once, he feels small again—that same petulant child looking his parents in the eyes. He manages a quiet, “What?”

“There’s nothing wrong with Haru’s role. You and me both know that very well,” Aizawa says, still looking him dead in the eye. Bakugou feels a tinge of embarrassment knowing Aizawa knows a million things about him other people don’t know, only because their history goes back before college professor and student, back to the beginning of high school and the local theatre. “If you give up the role now, I can’t stop you. But I’m telling you now, and being honest with you, if you leave, Midoriya gets to play Haru.”

Bakugou feels every bone in his body go rigid, his pulse slowing down by the millisecond, processing the words Midoriya gets to play Haru. 

God, he really fucking hates Aizawa sometimes.

“He auditioned for the part too, so it’s only fair he gets it if you leave. It was a hard decision already between you two, but if you’re willingly giving it up, it shows that he was meant for it all along,” Aizawa speaks with that meticulous tone of his, the same tone he’s heard a million times since he was fifteen years old.

Bakugou lets go of the handle of his bag he’d been subconsciously gripping onto and slinks back into his chair. The classrooms seem to be frozen in place, still watching him, so he says, for good measure, “I’m not giving up shit. Haru’s my role.”

Aizawa lets his gaze fall along with everyone else’s, and Shinsou decides it’s a good time to hand out the stack of scripts he’s been holding.

“These are the final scripts, so I hope everyone likes it a little more than the last one,” Shinsou says, halving the stack and handing each side of the room a half. 

Mina hands him his script as she glances over at him with her wide, dark eyes clouded with something Bakugou can’t detect. Probably pity by the way she pouts at him empathetically. 

Bakugou ignores that discomfort welling up in his chest, and flips open the script to skim. Sure enough, Shinsou wasn’t making some shitty joke, because it’s true—Haru and Juro are inevitably in love. In all of their scenes and actions, it’s hard not to notice how inept they are in each other’s worlds and how much they care about both each other and their careers at hands. 

By the end of his skimming, Bakugou decides he hates Shinsou just as much as Aizawa too.

“Wow. He didn’t hold back,” Kirishima says for the first time in a few minutes, looking at one page. “I thought it’d be like… subtle, but not at all.”

Mina scoffs. “Kiri, don’t you know?” she asks, putting on her poshest voice. “ Love isn’t subtle. By no means is love some quiet, paltry thing. It’s large and bellowing—”

Kiri lightly punches her. “Okay, okay, calm down Shakespeare. Your sonnets are over.”

Mina laughs, loud. She clears her throat and puts on the voice again. “No, no, my sonnets are never over. They live in books and the mouths of scholars, lovers, everyday people! My dear Kiri, you just don’t know—”

“Can you two shut the hell up?” Bakugou spits, making the pair look at him with confused eyes. For a moment, he almost feels bad, but notes on Mina’s terrible posh British accent.

“Look, we’re just playing around, Blasty. Just because you’re going through some deep, inner monologue doesn’t mean we have to be upset,” Mina retorts. “What’s your deal, anyway? What was that whole outburst with Aizawa?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“Wait! I think—are you… unsupportive of the romance between Haru and Juro? Because if you are unsupportive, I don’t think we can be friends anymore, Bakugou. You have to get your head in the right place, stop being so closed-minded! What’s so wrong about an innocent love between two—”

Bakugou closes his eyes together, tight. “Pinkie, shut the hell up. I’m not homophobic if that’s what you’re implying.”

Mina’s eyebrows raise, then fall slowly. “Oh. Then what is your deal?” 

Bakugou opens his eyes. He doesn’t have to explain himself to anybody—especially not Mina, who’s practically majoring in the art of being too fucking nosy, sticking her nose in places it doesn’t belong. He ignores her and continues to stare at his script.

Mina goes to ask another question, but is cut off by Aizawa clapping at the front of the room. They all turn their attention to him as he speaks.

“I’m assuming you all have gotten acquainted with your scripts and roles in this time, yes? Well, the last thing I have to talk about is our practice days. We’ll start practicing every Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and sometimes Saturdays if I say anything about it. They’ll be from four to nine, and I’ll be supplying snacks. We haven’t told the dean an official date yet, but we’re settling for October 16th, 17th, and 18th for show dates,” Aizawa says. “Questions?”

Everyone looks between each other, confirming the lack of questions, and Aizawa nods. “Dismissed. I’ll see you on Wednesday, not Monday to start. Bring your scripts, highlighters, whatever. Make sure you tell those who missed out today to come and see me for their new scripts and given info.”

Bakugou doesn’t bother hearing the rest of his statement and is out of the door by the time Aizawa says to bring their scripts. The classroom was feeling too stuffy—he needs time alone to regenerate and think about how much he despises Aizawa. No, Deku—stupid fucking Deku who auditioned for his role and might’ve taken it if he hadn’t stopped short at Aizawa’s warning.

He needs to go home (home as in his terrible, cramped dorm he shares with Sero) and calm himself by stealing his sweet and salty granola bars despite the Sharpie-written note on the box saying Bakugou don’t touch! 

He’ll shower in their god-given private bathroom and turn on some light jazz music to fall asleep to. All he needs is to calm down, reevaluate, and remind himself what a great fucking actor he is and how he’ll make it someday once he graduates.

Except he can’t do that. Because running after him, yelling out his name is no other than Kirishima, waving stupidly towards him as people stare at them in confusion.

Bakugou keeps walking as Kirishima catches up to him, panting from the run. “Jeez, you walk, like, really fast.”

“Leave me alone, Shitty Hair,” Bakugou says, much harsher than he means to, but Kirishima doesn’t react, anyway.

“I am! Or… I will once we’re done talking. I just need to ask you a question,” Kirishima says, his face scrunching in on itself in thought. “Am I the reason that you don’t like the romance subplot? I mean, you said you weren’t homophobic or anything, so I’m assuming it’s me, right? I know we don’t know each that well yet, but I—”

“It’s not about you. Or anybody, for that matter,” he admits, his voice shallow. “It’s my business and nobody else’s.” 

The words seem to have soothed Kirishima as his face loses its wrinkles and molds itself into the enthusiastic ones he always sports. A grin works up his face as he speaks. “Wow. That’s good news. Cause I was feeling terrible thinking, ‘Am I that bad of a romantic partner to play?’ but I guess that’s not the case.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes so hard, he almost sees the back of his head. If he thought Yamada was bad, then Kirishima is worse; he rambles on like everything he says is meant to be a monologue.

“Look, Shitty Hair, you asked your question so are you done now? It’s not you I’m concerned about. Shoo, now,” Bakugou says, gesturing his hand like the pesky bird Kirishima is. 

“Sorry! I have another question to ask,” he says, which makes something inside of Bakugou spark in the worst way. “Okay, so, while looking over the script I noticed we have a lot of scenes together. And I’m a rookie actor—not a pro like you or Mina yet—and I’m really bad at remembering my lines. Even the few lines I usually receive mess me up, so I guess I’m asking this: can we hang out sometimes? Maybe, on our days off of group practice, we can meet up somewhere and practice together.”

The words can we hang out sometimes twists and turns in his stomach in that sweet, sickly, unpleasant way. It’s not the way he means; Bakugou knows, but still the words invite heart palpitations to come and make him feel like he might pass out any second now.

 He needs to say no. It’s bad enough playing the role at normal practice, but secret practice between just them? No, no, no, no, no, no—

“Whatever, Shitty Hair.” The words come lashing out as they keep walking side-by-side. He’s just betrayed himself in every single way possible. “Text me a place. I’ll be there.”

Kirishima grins widely, lighting up his entire face. “Great! Cool. I guess I’ll see you… Tuesday? Is that good?”

Bakugou doesn’t answer as they near the end of the hallway, right where the exit doors are. Kirishima stops walking beside him, and as he walks out of the double doors, he yells, “Okay! Tuesday it is!”

Bakugou can’t ignore the teeth-rotting feeling welling up in his stomach. 

━━━━━━━━━

Kirishima texts him the next day somehow, despite Bakugou’s lack of memory of ever telling him his number.

(XXX) XXX-XXXX

i got it from Sero lol!! apparently he gives it out free of charge which is good :)

Of course Kirishima would think it’s good. After all, he’s not the one getting his number leaked without his permission to god-knows-who. Scratch that. God-knows-who and all his stupid friends who he’s forced to hang around, Kirishima now included apparently.

Me

Tell him he has a fucking death wish giving out my number without my permission.

Shitty Hair

it’s a good thing! otherwise how was i supposed to get in contact w/ you??

Me

You don’t get in contact with me cause I hate you.

Shitty Hair

blasty, you’re funny!! so cold but i know you have a big, warm heart in there somewhere.

Me

No, I don’t. And don’t call me Blasty, Shitty Hair.

Shitty Hair 

:( 

Even though they’re just texting, and it’s a stupid frowny face, a tinge of guilt settles over him at the thought of upsetting Kirishima.

Shitty Hair

oh!!! i have a place we can meet at. you know the old park a few blocks from school??

Me

Yeah. What about it?

Shitty Hair

i live not too far from it in an apartment w/ mina!! i know you live in the dorms too, so it’s not too much work for either of us to get there by foot

Shitty Hair

and!!!! i love going there just to sit under this really old big tree so i was thinking we could meet up there. it’s hard to miss, so are you down?

Me 

I’ll be there on Tuesday.

Shitty Hair

great :)

Bakugou turns off his phone and leans back on his bed. Something tells him this is going to be an interesting few weeks. 

━━━━━━━━━

The tree Kirishima mentions is hard to miss.

It’s painfully old; gnarled roots, twisted, inter-colliding branches and the way the bark seems to wrap around the tree in a spiral, unlike the way other tree’s bark sits up and down. The leaves at the top of the tree have started changing over from earthy green to heart-wrenching yellow and orange, all falling down like an autumn storm.

Bakugou realizes that it’s impossibly scenic. From the soft, tousled grass to the leaves falling every second around him, it feels like Kirishima’s set him up in some kind of trap where they’re playing some romantic couple at the end of a movie, standing beside each other under the changing trees as to say, we’re changing and shedding our disguises, showing our true selves to each other. 

He shudders at the thought and he sits down underneath the tree and pulls out his script from his bag. As he flips to the first scene they have together, he contemplates calling Kirishima and asking him where the hell he is, but he hears his voice first, calling out to him halfway across the park.

“You made it! I thought you’d totally ditch me or something,” Kirishima says, a little breathless. He’s bundled up in a red jacket that’s the same color as his hair—and everything else he owns, apparently—and Bakugou notices the way the tip of his nose is dusted red. “I’m glad you’re here.”

He ignores the way Kirishima settles ever-so close next to him on the grass. “Whatever, Shitty Hair.”

Kirishima digs in his pocket, digging out a crumpled piece of paper Bakugou recognizes as his script, badly rough-housed in the five days he’s had it. He unfolds it and opens it to their first scene together. 

Kirishima huffs out, his breath clouding slightly in the air. “Okay! I’m ready now.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes as he adjusts his posture and starts off first. He speaks smoothly, with pride, like Haru’s meant to and he finds himself a little surprised when Kirishima speaks out exactly like he imagined Juro to, with awkwardness and charm, but that same fiery passion he can’t let go of.

The scene flows smoothly, line-by-line, until they finish and go onto the next scene. Bakugou finds himself comfortable by their roles and responses and the way Kirishima’s acting compliments him and vice versa. 

By the end of the third scene, Kirishima mentions he’s thirsty, so Bakugou lets him water fall from his water bottle in his bag until he’s content. They sit in peaceful silence for a moment; the trees sway, the ducks honk a few feet away in the pond, people talk and laugh as they walk by. It’s this moment that Bakugou realizes how much he likes sitting under this tree with Kirishima and practicing.

“Hey,” Kirishima says softly, looking at him. “I have a question. Or… I guess a request.”

Bakugou leans back against the tree. “You always do, apparently.”

Kirishima laughs at that and leans back against the tree next to him. Bakugou tries to ignore the way that his hair is tickling his neck and the way he can feel his jacket against his own jacket. 

“I thought that maybe…” Kirishima looks away, with a glossy look in his eyes Bakugou’s never seen before. “I don’t know. Or, I do know, actually.”

“Can you just say it already, Shitty Hair?” 

Bakugou’s the one looking at him now, his patience dripping thin for more reasons than one. The main one probably being the way he can see each breath Kirishima takes that clouds out from his nose in the chilly air. 

“Okay, okay. Did you—did you know there was a kiss scene in the script between us?” Kirishima asks quietly, meeting Bakugou’s gaze which he’s sure is probably lost because no he didn’t know there was a kiss scene. “Oh… well, I was thinking since it’d probably be awkward and all if we avoid it until the show’s almost here, we should practice now for good measure. Only if you want to, though.”

Bakugou stares at him for a long moment, a million thoughts racing through his mind. He knows the longer he stares, the more Kirishima looks more and more freaked out like he’s said the worst thing ever. Everything his brain is telling him not to do in that moment, he does anyway. “Whatever. I don’t care. As long as it woos the audience or whatever the fuck.”

Kirishima seems to have let out whatever deep breath he was holding and let the tension in his shoulders dissolve to nothing. He sits up and turns around so he’s facing Bakugou; they’re so close that Bakugou is convinced he could count every one of his eyelashes.

“You’re sure?” he asks again, like he can’t take what he just said into account. 

“Just kiss me Shitty Hair before I regret saying yes,” Bakugou says, a little flushed by their growing proximity together. 

Kirishima nods meekly, and stations his hands at the back of Bakugou’s nape. They’re freezing—a result of neither of them bothering to wear gloves—but the coldness dissolves the longer his hands stay there. Bakugou takes this as the moment he’s supposed to situate his hands too; he puts his hands on Kirishima’s waist where his body tenses at the touch.

“Okay,” Kirishima breathes out, so close that Bakugou feels the breath land on his nose. “I’m gonna kiss you now, okay?”

Bakugou can’t help but nod, too mesmerized by the way that Kirishima’s eyes sparkle underneath the treetops. He leans in close, and then they’re kissing; their lips sit stiff against each other, soft and unmoving, until Bakugou makes the first move, moving his lips.

Kirishima follows afterwards, following the rhythm, kissing him back in a tempo of lips and tongues and everything Bakugou recognized as a fear of his before now. There’s a certain feeling sparking in his chest and guts, that continuous churn of what exactly? Bakugou doesn’t know. 

The kiss lasts for what seems like forever—if he can even call it is a simple kiss, considering they’re teetering in makeout territory—and it’s the slight sound Kirishima makes, some mix in between a gasp or moan, that pulls them apart, flushed and warm from each other. 

Kirishima is sporting all red now; his nose, cheeks, lips, and he looks embarrassed by the entire ordeal in every sense. Bakugou’s sure he looks just as flushed, maybe more, because of his lightening skin as fall’s settled in and the weather’s got chillier, and he feels too embarrassed to meet Kirishima’s gaze. 

Maybe because they’re both thinking, what the hell was that?

It’s clear that that was more than Kirishima’s simple suggestion of a kiss. That’s obvious in every sense. Not to mention, the details about it all; the quietness of the park, the leaves falling around them, and their quiet breaths between each other. 

A leaf falls on Kirishima’s head.

“That was… a lot,” he says finally, quietly, picking the leaf off of his head. “I think that’ll definitely woo the audience a million times over.”

Kirishima lets a grin grow on his face, shaking off whatever embarrassment there was before, and picks up his script from the side. He meets Bakugou’s gaze. “We should continue, right?”

Bakugou nods, the best he can, and picks up his script. “Probably, yeah.”

They continue on like before, script-reading while the world goes on around them. But this time as he reads Haru’s lines, he can’t help but think that they just kissed as themselves, not characters. There was no Haru and Juro between them then, just Bakugou and Kirishima, which was much more terrifying than the former. 

Eventually, as they near midway through the play, Kirishima gets a text from Mina saying she brought back lunch for them. They head back through the park together, quiet, save from Kirishima’s remarks about the trees or ducks, and Bakugou stays quiet.

As they near the street, Kirishima turns to him. “Practice on Thursday here again?”

He has nothing better to do, though the thought of them kissing again like that on Thursday moves him to want to say no, fuck off, please never speak to me for the rest of my life, but he doesn’t say that. He just shrugs, crossing the street as he mumbles, “Whatever, Shitty Hair.”

He can’t his face, but he knows Kirishima smiles from behind him. “Cool! It’s a date.”

Kirishima goes the opposite way, and as they get farther and farther away from each other, Bakugou knows he’s just made the worst decision of his life.

━━━━━━━━━

They get into a routine of practicing at the park and managing group practices. 

It’s been a long two weeks since their kiss; neither of them have spoken about it—probably because they know it was nice in ways that’s excruciating to admit aloud—but it doesn’t mess up anything between them. 

Kirishima still talks excessively—non-stop rambling about random things at the moment,  things on his mind that are bothering him on any kind of level. Bakugou learns that he’s open about many things—his past, politics, interests, fears. He’s an open book in a lot of ways that Bakugou can never be. He assumes that’s why he puts up with him, even when he tells himself that he should duct tape his mouth closed forever.

A sea of applause blasts throughout the auditorium, cutting through his thoughts. On stage, stands the lounge singers—Jirou, Mina, Sero, and Kirishima—and Jirou’s just finished singing, her face red as everyone whoops for her in the audience below. Bakugou claps lightly as she steps back, letting Kirishima take the mic.

He looks tiny standing behind the mic, Bakugou notices. He holds the mic carefully, identical to the way his hands sat carefully at his nape all those days ago, and he seems to take a sharp inhale as Yamada says, “It’s just like we’ve been working on these past few days, Kirishima. Deep breaths and a clear head.”

Bakugou realizes that he hasn’t even processed Kirishima has an acting and singing role. He never sang at their practices, only played his normal acting part of Juro, always chattering on about music, but never singing like it says he does. 

Until now. Kirishima’s about to sing. 

He nods at Yamada’s encouragement shakily and squeezes his eyes shut. In that moment, Bakugou feels something overtake him; pity, maybe, by the way Kirishima looks like a nervous puppy, afraid of the world at every loud sound and bright thing. 

But then he opens his mouth and sings. And what comes out is nothing like what he looks like at the moment. His voice isn’t nervous at all. It’s velvety and warm, almost like cheese on a pretzel at the amusement park. Maybe that’s a poor example, because his voice is more —light, dark, shallow, and deep. Anything and everything all at once. It’s beautiful, and by the way everyone seems to gape at him widely (Denki gasps, mouth wide open in shock) his voice is a new discovery to everyone.

The song ends relatively fast, and before Kirishima can even open his eyes, everyone’s clapping and whopping for him and his performance. Iida is forced to manually close Denki’s mouth shut—and Bakugou feels a breeze run up his arms.

He looks down and sees all of his hairs on edge, standing tall, because of one reason: his voice. Kirishima’s voice gave him goosebumps. 

He glances up at the stage and finds Kirishima embarrassed by the sudden applause and scoots back to let Sero sing next.

Sero sings with a shockingly delicate voice, even managing a falsetto somewhere in the middle, but it comes as more of an annoyance than a surprise considering it’s Sero. He’s heard him a sing a million times anyway while he’s in the shower having a performance and Bakugou’s trying to fucking sleep. 

Mina follows him with her honey-sweet voice, opposite to Jirou’s deeper one, singing like she deserves to be in some girl’s pop group. 

They’re all much better than he expects them to be—Kirishima especially, though the thought of him singing never crossed his mind before—and by the time they’re done, practice is over and they’re heading out to leave home before it gets any later. 

Bakugou grabs the last of the fruit snacks and a CapriSun (“Bakugou!” Mina said, pouting) and then he’s ready to walk back on campus to the dorms with Sero, like they’ve been doing for the past couple of practices. 

While Sero finishes talking to Yamada about maybe changing their formation on stage, Bakugou waits outside in the cold, leaning against the brick wall. The past September’s been chilly—freezing, if he’s honest, and the wind nips at his face and ears as he stands patiently.

A gust of warmth hits him gratefully as the double doors open, but disappears as soon as it comes, as the person lets go of the doors and steps under the streetlights. Bakugou instantly knows it’s Kirishima; the red knitted scarf and jacket and stupid smile encasing his face.

He steps ever so close to Bakugou. “Hey,” he says, quietly. “I was looking for you.”

The words hit him like a truck, something he’s not expecting to hear from him, and they creep from inside his ear all the way to his cheeks. Thank god it’s cold already, he thinks to himself.

“No, you weren’t.”

Kirishima laughs, and it seems to shake the world around them. “You’re the only person who says stuff like that. It’s funny.”

Bakugou wants to tell him he’s not funny at all and he’s just hallucinating terribly, creating some fake figment of Bakugou in his mind, but he doesn’t. He never does. 

“Why the hell are you out here, Shitty Hair?”

“I should ask the same about you! You can wait inside like the rest of us with roommates, y’know,” Kirishima retorts. “And I already said what I’m out here for. I was looking for you.”

He scoots closer and pokes Bakugou’s chest, which should make him furious and yell at Kirishima to never touch him again, but he finds no such thing harboring inside of him for once. Only that churning feeling, always constantly churning god-knows-what.

“Say what you need to say then.”

The statement takes him by surprise. “What?”

“You have something to say don’t you, Shitty Hair? Then say it,” Bakugou says, the words falling sappy on his tongue at the lack of venom they usually hold. 

Kirishima hums and nods. “Yeah, you’re right, I do have something to say,” he pauses, looking for the words. “You did amazing today. I mean—you always do. You’re one of the greatest actors I’ve ever met. At our practices, you still do so good, but I can tell that’s not everything you have inside of you. Even today, that wasn’t everything inside of you, but it was still something… more, if that makes sense.”

“You never make sense,” Bakugou says, too soft and warm for his own liking. He needs to go lie down and erase this from his mind.

Kirishima laughs again. “I know I’m a bit on the incoherent side. I can’t stay on one subject for too long or I start sounding like the adults in Charlie Brown,” he admits, his voice growing soft. “But you still did amazing today. All of my skills need touch-ups compared to yours.”

Touch-ups? Touch-ups, when Kirishima’s voice sounded like that today? What touch-ups could there possibly be?

“Take that back.”

Kirishima catches his gaze. “What?”

“Take back what you said about needing a touch-up,” Bakugou says, seriously.

“I think it’s true, though. Even though we’re the same age, you’re so amazing and multifaceted. I’m just—”

“You’re amazing too,” Bakugou admits despite the loud voice yelling no! no! no! in his head. He doesn’t normally give out compliments unless necessary, which this is. “Did you hear yourself today, Shitty Hair? Or just in general? Your voice surpasses some professionals out there, whether you believe it or not. Not to mention, your acting skills are fucking great as a beginner. You don’t have to shit on yourself to compliment me, Kirishima.”

Bakugou’s completely sure that’s the first time he’s ever used his actual name in any of their conversations. It feels both awkward and natural on his tongue, like one day he’ll get used to saying it a million times over. 

Kirishima—who looked shocked at his outburst just a moment ago—cracks a huge shit-eating grin like he’s heard the best thing ever. 

“Since when did you hand out compliments?” he asks, the cheeky look spreading over his face. 

“Don’t push it, Shitty Hair.”

Just as he says that, the double doors splay open, and out comes Mina holding a handful of bagged pretzels. The pair stare at her for a moment, before Kirishima laughs and Bakugou rolls his eyes. 

“I have to go home now,” Kirishima says, stepping exactly into Bakugou’s personal space bubble. “And go help Mina lug her pretzels home. So, we have to cut our conversation short.” He lightly punches his chest. “Night, Blasty.”

Even as Kirishima and Mina walk away talking and laughing about whatever odd circumstances made her end up with a million bags of pretzels, Bakugou’s left feeling sick and breathless with the spot Kirishima’s fist had touched blazing a deep hole into his ribs. 

And god, does it burn.

━━━━━━━━━

Momo invites the entire cast over for lunch for a duo lunch practice on Saturday after they finish practice one day.

Without a blink of an eye, Bakugou says no. The mental equation of Momo’s house plus entire cast plus lunch with the entire cast irks him even without a second thought. Everyone seems to understand his refusal—he says no to ninety percent of their group outings—expect for one person in particular.

“Bakugou, why not?” 

Kirishima stands in front of him, pouting practically, as they stand just outside of the auditorium waiting for Sero and Mina. 

“Cause I never fucking do any of their shitty group hangouts or whatever,” he responds. “Friends hang out with each other. I’m not friends with anybody here.”

Kirishima’s pout grows deeper, making a wave of guilt wash over him. “If friends hang out, then they obviously think of you as a friend if they invite you to tag along with them.”

“It doesn’t matter if they think of me as friends. I’m not fucking going.”

Kirishima stares at him for a long moment, possibly accepting his defeat in his inability to persuade him, but he says this that twists his guts inside and out: “What fun is a practice if not for the cool main character? Without you, it’s gonna suck.”

Bakugou melts at the words. Nobody’s ever told him that before—there was a routine in place they’ve all followed for months which was this: they ask, he says no, and they move on and have a good time without him. Nobody ever bothered to persuade him. Nobody ever told him it’d suck if he’s not there either.

He meets Kirishima’s gaze and stares at him, almost like that day weeks ago when they kissed. Something inside of him breaks, then. “You’re taking me there.”

Kirishima’s pout fades away in the midst of the millisecond and is replaced with a grin. “You got it.” 

That’s how he ends up smushed in the backseat of an Uber in between Kirishima and Sero while Mina sits in the passenger seat. Kirishima paid for the Uber like he promised to, and now they’re on their way to Momo’s house. 

“Doesn’t she, like, live in a gated community?” Sero asks. 

“No, I’m pretty sure her house can pass as a gated community alone,” Kirishima admits, looking out of the window. Their arms are pressed against each other and every once in a while he’ll look over and smile at him, making him queasy. “What do you think we’re having for lunch?”

“I hope there are sandwiches. I’ve been craving a sandwich all day,” Mina says, glancing back at them in the backseat. “Please, universe, let Yaomomo have sandwiches.”

It turns out Momo has much more than sandwiches. Her idea of lunch is what Bakugou only knows as a buffet—no, feast—with platter upon platter, and a fucking chocolate fountain in the middle of the table. The sight alone makes him scoff. How rich is she? 

“I’m glad you’re all here!” Momo says, greeting them all with hugs one by one. She looks over at him, smiling. “Even you, Bakugou. I know you don’t enjoy hanging out much.”

Momo envelopes him in a light hug and pats him on the back. She lets go of him after a moment and leads them through the hallway until they end up in what’s meant to be a living room, but Bakugou’s sure is roughly the same square feet as a small house. 

Everyone else seems to have arrived before they did, piled onto couches, chatting and talking amongst each other. The first one who notices them is Deku, waving towards excitedly. 

“Kacchan! You’re here!” 

“I don’t want to be,” he grumbles as he sits on the couch farthest away from everyone else. 

“Don’t be sour, Bakugou. This place is amazing,” Sero says, plopping down besides Denki. “I know everyone saw that giant chocolate fountain out there on the table. She invited us over for lunch, not the fucking Last Supper.”

“Rich people amaze me,” Kirishima pipes up, plopping down right next to him. “Are you rich, Bakugou?”

“Fuck no,” he responds. “Do I look rich to you?”

“A little, yeah. A lot of rich people dress modestly like you do to mask the fact they have money—all plain shirts, pants, loafers . You have the whole look down,” Kirishima says, pointing to his shoes. Bakugou glares at him as he continues. “No, actually, you dress more like a chill dad. Mostly ’cause of the loafers.”

Before Bakugou can argue that loafers are way more comfortable than whatever stupid shoes he’s wearing, Momo stands up at the front of the room and claps, getting everyone’s attention.

“Now that everyone’s here, I can hand everyone copies of the script I made for everyone just in case anybody forgot theirs.”

She picks up a stack of scripts, passing it around the room to anyone who didn’t bring theirs, which turns out to include everyone except for Iida (unsurprisingly) and Kirishima (very surprising). Everyone flips to their first scenes as they get comfortable on Momo’s unnaturally plush, body-hugging couches.

They grow into a steady rhythm of script-reading as they flow from the beginning of the play on forward. During his scenes, Bakugou thinks of what Kirishima said a few days ago outside of the auditorium after practice and that feeling inside of him that’s never quite all of him when he speaks.

What is the feeling exactly? Bakugou wonders. Emotion? Resonance? 

He’s not exactly sure—especially considering the circumstances of this play. It’s been harder and harder these days to think straight like he normally does. It’s probably the reason now that he’s stuck sitting in Momo’s million-dollar gated house in her unnecessarily huge living room with memory foam couches and delicate glass coffee tables and windows. He hates every single portion of this experience right now, from the house, to the way that Kirishima speaks so meticulously, looking him directly in the eyes without looking at his script.

They’ve done this scene a million times over already, so Bakugou knows all of his lines by heart too; each word, facial expression, and tone that matches their conversation. 

If anyone closes their eyes, they might actually think it’s a real conversation. Some snippet into the lives between two very much in love people trying to express that as best they can without completely giving themselves away. 

“And, it’s just that… I want the best for you, Haru. I always have, even since we were kids and you told me you wanted to be on TV,” Kirishima says, focusing his eyes straight at Bakugou. “You know that you’ve come to every show I’ve put on since we were twelve? Every single one. I’m just—I’m realizing I want the best for you, Haru, because you want the best for me.”

“Of course I have. I care about you like nothing else,” Bakugou replies, his heart going stoic at the words despite their place in his mouth a million times over. He can feel everyone’s eyes on them as he continues. “I love you, you know? You’re my best friend through everything. Your support pushes me to go places.”

The room goes silent as everybody’s breath stays hitched in their throats. 

“There’s a ‘but’ to it, though, right?” Kirishima asks, his voice cracking a little. The sound alone sends needles digging into the metaphorical burn in his chest where he punched him. “There’s always a ‘but’ with you, lately.”

His voice sounds so painstakingly sad, like there’s real, deep sadness digging and clawing its way up from Kirishima’s stomach and out of his mouth. Aizawa once told him years ago that’s where fear and sadness lie; at the steepest, darkest part of your stomach where they’ll never want to leave.

He imagines every single fear and disappointment crawling into the earth now, pouring themselves all across Kirishima’s lap and on the floor. 

“I hate disappointing you. That’s all my honesty seems to do to you anymore is disappoint and disappoint. I’m tired of hurting you.”

“I’ve always been hurting, Haru. Just sometimes… I forget we’re older. I still think of us as these carefree kids, running around doing everything and nothing.” Kirishima reaches out and touches the peak of skin in between his eye and ear. “I miss your long hair.”

Bakugou feels his heart contracting in his chest, rapidly speeding up with each second that passes that he has to deal with Kirishima caressing his face and that same glossy look clouding his eyes like that one afternoon. Something should click, maybe some siren in his head screaming out for him to realize that he’s here, he’s pulled out everything inside him for once when he’s not in the middle of a show, but it never clicks. 

At least not right away.

He settles his hand over Kirishima’s and clasps it in his own. In a voice unlike his own, sweet and sappy in ways he can’t decipher, he whispers, “I’ll grow it out for you.”

Quiet envelopes the room still, nobody saying a word despite the scene’s end, and Bakugou feels too embarrassed to meet anybody’s eyes. Kirishima’s the same, his face growing impossibly warm at their close proximity, but they say nothing.

It’s not until Denki says what the fuck that snaps everyone out of their subconscious trance.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait. What was that? That whole little thing you just did there?” Denki asks, eyes wide at the pair. He glances over at everyone else’s stunned faces. “Everyone saw that, right?”

Kirishima’s eyebrows furrowed together. “Saw what? We were just doing our scene.”

“You two were just, like, in love a second ago. Grossly, seriously, in love,” Jirou says. 

“I felt a little bit like a third wheel,” Asui admits, which hits Bakugou like a truck because Asui’s never lied a day in her life before. 

Everyone’s opinions rise into existence as a sea of voices forms around the living room, Kirishima and Bakugou bystanders to it all. It goes on for a solid thirty seconds until Bakugou finds the grounding to tell everyone to shut the fuck up and make the room go silent.

“What the hell are you assholes talking about? Our scene was fine,” Bakugou snaps, feeling that rumble of anger deep inside of him. Their scene was fine—amazing, even—so what are they talking about?

“Dude, your scene was more than just fine. It was scarily realistic,” Denki admits, his face growing scared at the thought. “The whole, ‘I’ll grow it out for you’ part made me shudder. Is that what it’s like when you’re whipped, Bakugou? Terrifying.”

He glowers his eyes at the boy. “I’ll never be whipped a day in my life.”

“I don’t know, Bakugou. That was awfully heartfelt,” Sero starts, putting on a deep voice. “‘I care about you like nothing else. I love you, you know?’ That’s what you said, right?”

Bakugou stands up, ready to stride over and beat Sero and Denki’s ass like they deserve for trying to clown on his acting skills, but before he can do so, Kirishima nudges his calf with his foot.

“They’re just joking, man. Don’t give yourself an aneurysm before lunch even starts.” Kirishima smiles at him widely, the same one he always loves wearing. “We did good, alright?”

Bakugou stares at him for a long moment, contemplating, then turns on his heels. 

“Hey, Ponytail! Lunch starts now.”

Momo sighs and shrugs, and the others follow him back into the dining room where the table’s set up just like before. Bakugou sits down in a random chair, unsurprised when Kirishima joins him a few moments later. 

While everyone settles down, Momo calls out for her kitchen staff to come and help serve, which Bakugou hates—he’s twenty fucking years old and doesn’t need someone to feed him—but ignores it anyway for the sake of getting Kirishima’s concerned eyes off of him like might implode any second.

Lunch is a flurry of food, delicate China, and the Trio of Idiots (Sero, Denki, Kirishima) “ooh”ing and “ah”ing at every fancy dish they see. Everyone ends up talking mindlessly and catching up; Deku went with Todoroki to go see a special-time performance of Endeavor with Todoroki Enji starring. Jirou’s been working freely with Yamada on their songs for the show. Uraraka, Asui, and Iida have been doing practices on off-days with each other, which prompts Kirishima to admit that they’ve also been working on practices alone together.

“The lovebirds hang out together, whaaat?” Mina asks, fake gasping. 

“Of course they do,” Sero chimes. “I’d hang out with someone in private too if we acted like that.”

Bakugou wants to ask what he means by that, what they all mean constantly making comments about their scenes, but he doesn’t. Because Kirishima’s foot is poking lightly at his leg again, they’re meeting eyes and Kirishima’s mouthing don’t mind it. 

Mina mumbles something about wanting a lovebird language too, but trails off as Momo stands up holding a wine glass. She taps the glass with a spoon, getting everyone’s attention.

“Okay, now that I’ve got everyone’s attention. I’m glad you’re all here. It’s been a productive day for us, and I hope everyone’s had fun because I definitely have,” she says, smiling wistfully. “But what I really want to give this toast to is our main characters of the show who are doing absolutely amazing.”

The room explodes in claps from everyone as they look at them. Bakugou freezes in his chair.

“I know the show’s in a few weeks and we’re all starting to be on edge, but after today I’m convinced we’ve been worrying about nothing.” Momo smiles at them, holding the glass higher. “So… to them, our amazing protagonists of the show!”

Everyone raises their glasses up—even him—clicking their glasses against one another. Bakugou takes a sip from it, expecting one thing but getting another; instead of wine, Momo’s given them all sparkling grape juice, because of course she would. She’d never supply alcohol to minors. 

The rest of lunch speeds through quickly, and by two o’clock, everyone’s set on saying their goodbyes. 

Deku, Uraraka, Iida, Todoroki, and Asui leave together first, hugging and waving everyone before they head out. Before they leave, Deku comes up to him, bright-eyed as always.

“I’m glad you made it, Kacchan! You never usually come to things like this. I hope whatever made you come today makes you come more in the future… it’s nice with you here,” Deku admits in that honest voice of his that makes Bakugou want to reach over and wring his neck.

“Whatever. I’m not coming to any shitty event ever again.”

“Ah, okay,” Deku says, smiling softly. “See you at practice next week, though.”

Bakugou glares at him, walking away until he bumps into somebody. It’s Kirishima, of course; grinning, as always, and talking to Jirou and Denki. Apparently, they’re heading out too, which leaves just the four of them set on waiting for their Uber to arrive and drop them all off on U.A. campus. 

As Kirishima waves to them as they head out the door, he catches Bakugou’s gaze staring at him. 

“What are you looking at?”

“You, Shitty Hair,” Bakugou retorts. 

“Right, right,” Kirishima responds, shutting the front doors. He pads over and wordlessly joins Bakugou on the small loveseat in front of the window. “And why were you looking at me, Blasty?”

“Cause I fucking can. It’s not illegal to have working eyes,” he says. “And don’t call me Blasty.”

Kirishima hums. “I was thinking of changing your nickname, anyway. It needs more spice to it. Ooh! I’m thinking… what about Hot Head?”

“Fuck no. Who do you take me for?” he snaps, making Kirishima laugh.

“I take you for a person who gets a hot head all the time. You get mad so easily. It’s kind of cute, y’know?”

No, Bakugou does not know. He doesn’t know a single bit about what Kirishima means by that, or what he’s thinking about, and that thought alone terrifies him because something’s clicked then in that moment.

His face flushes red.

“No, I don’t. Leave me alone, Shitty Hair.”

Kirishima ignores him. “You’re right. Hot Head’s pretty bad, actually. What about… Hot Stuff?”

Bakugou can feel his face grow warmer. This is bad. Very, very, very bad. 

“Stop trying to come up with names,” he says, but secretly pleads, because there’s a siren going off in his brain telling him one thing repeatedly over and over.

Hint: it has everything to do with Kirishima. 

“No! Nicknames are my forté. Everyone I know gets a nickname,” he retorts, pouting a little. “You call me Shitty Hair! That’s a nickname. You deserve a nickname from me too.”

“That’s an insult, not a nickname.”

“Blah, blah, details, details. It’s essentially a nickname—don’t argue with me about it,” he responds.

Even when everything in his mind is telling him to argue back with him, he doesn’t. In his statement somehow, it feels like Kirishima’s put metaphorical handcuffs on his will to decide against him. He thinks back to what Denki said an hour ago about being—

God. This is so fucking bad.

Before Kirishima can think of any more, however, and Bakugou wrestles his brain to death, Sero and Mina come walking out from the living room.

“Uber’s here,” Sero says.

Thank god, Bakugou thinks. 

The four of them leave Momo’s house yelling their goodbyes and scramble into the Uber. This time, he gets the passenger seat—it’s a blessing to not be pressed up against anybody, especially not Kirishima—while Sero sits squished in the middle in between Mina and Kirishima, despite being the tallest. 

The ride is comfortable and nice as the three of them bicker in the backseat about the rules of riding in a car, but Bakugou ignores them. He’s more focused on one thing; the goopy, disgusting, irredeemable thought of this—

He has a crush on Kirishima.

━━━━━━━━━

The thought buries itself in his head for days. 

Every time he tries to think about it, something cuts through the thought and rips it to pieces till there’s nothing left. Maybe it’s for the best—what good is having a crush on Kirishima? To him, crushes are an inherently evil thing.

Every crush he’s ever had ended up badly. Elementary school, middle school, high school. High school was the especially worst one of them all. 

Sometimes he thinks about that spring of his first year of highschool, being a naïve fifteen-year-old taking his first steps to blossoming into the actor he is today. He was more angry back then; things harbored in his mind that he told nobody else—not even Aizawa—until it all came spilling out on that day.

He remembers it exactly. Hours just before their show—Aizawa’s show, Remember That Day in June—he got into a tremendous fight with Deku in their dressing room. He remembers the room always felt tight and smelled like mildew, but in that moment it felt like the walls were squeezing in on him from every side possible. 

A little before that, months ago, Deku had kissed him.

That’s what their argument was about. Their clash of feelings—or, really, lack thereof, and how bad Deku felt about everything feeling confusing in his life except for the heart-wrenching fact he knew that he didn’t like Bakugou. Deku loved him, sure—they’re childhood friends so there’s a drawn out love from seeing and knowing each other for so long—but he didn’t love him in the way he wanted him to, which pained him like nothing else he’d ever experienced. 

Deku broke his heart. He stomped on it with those classic red shoes of his and tore it to pieces. (The color red pained him to see after that—it still does almost, seeing Kirishima all the time.)

Aizawa had walked in on them fighting and broke it up. It’d been a mild fight—he pushed him, Deku punched him and cried because he felt bad, then Aizawa walked in. 

Everything after that followed in a blur. Aizawa took him to sit down as he started crying, accidentally locking eyes with Eri, Aizawa’s daughter, as she stood confused in the doorway. She was probably there to see Deku before the show. Back then, they had gained a likely friendship with each other as Aizawa had just adopted Eri and they were working around her awful separation anxiety by having her tag along while he worked. 

Deku looked defeated as Aizawa directed him to go take Eri to go get some snacks together or to see Mirio. He had to sit down and sob his eyes out while Aizawa waited for him to say something—anything—as time trickled down till the show opened.

It was only until Aizawa asked if he was okay that made him break down even harder. He ended up telling him everything; their childhoods intertwined, the kiss, the rejection, every stupid thing he’d ever thought about him. Aizawa looked neutral then, hard to know what he was thinking, but he reached over and hugged him tightly, which was all he needed to stop crying.

From that day on, he vowed to never have another crush again. His heartbreak—Deku’s rejection—was something he could never face head-on again. Five years he made it without one. Any romantic thought he had ever had wiped away, no infatuations with anybody, nothing.

Until now. He broke that vow without even knowing.

Now, sitting underneath the old tree in the park with Kirishima, he’s scared. Scared of what comes next—the second letdown he must face that’ll ruin him. He can’t hate Kirishima like he hates Deku; it’s different, they’re different, and the thought of shutting him away breaks his heart, almost.

“What are you thinking about?”

Bakugou blinks, looking over at him. He’s bundled up—“It’s not manly to be cold, Bakugou”—and the tip of his nose and ears and dusted a light shade of pink. He’s smiling like always.

“None of your damn business,” he snaps back. 

Kirishima pouts. “You never tell me anything about you! The only things I know are from things I notice myself about you.” 

“And what are those things?” he asks for no reason at all. 

Kirishima hums, thinking. “Well… you’re normally quiet. Like one of those silent-but-deadly types. I already established I think you’re a fantastic actor. You don’t have a huge appetite. Regardless of what you say, it’s obvious you love your friends. Um…” he pauses, looking for more observations. “You always carry that bag around with your script in it and your books and laptop. You have like forty pairs of different colored loafers, which is hilarious—”

Bakugou punches him on the arm. “Shut up.”

Kirishima ignores him and continues. “This isn’t an observation, but you seem like a cat lover. You observe everyone, always. You have a big, jumbo heart. You have a six-pack which is, like, amazing. And…”

He trails off, his eyes glossy in thought.

“You’re a lot like Haru, aren’t you?”

Bakugou blinks. “That’s a question, dumbass, not an observation.”

Kirishima laughs. “I know that already. I’m just thinking aloud. But, you are like him in many ways, you know?”

When Bakugou doesn’t respond, Kirishima goes on.

“You’re both these mean, bold types, yet you both still manage to have tons of people who love you to death. But—but that’s the thing,” Kirishima says, slowly. “That’s a big part of his character. He’s only cold because he’s been hurt by being too emotional when he was younger. Too many things happened, and he felt like they weighed him down from the things he really wanted. He’s this amazing person, and you are too, Bakugou.”

Bakugou says nothing. The words stick and prod into his brain, constantly rewinding himself over and over. He feels like the world’s ending; Kirishima knows who he is, and that’s the worst thing ever. 

He sees past the walls he puts up and the mask he hides behind and every spineless insult he spews, and it hurts. It hurts so bad suddenly. He feels his lungs heaving in on themselves, and the fresh chill of October suddenly feels all wrong and awkward. 

He doesn’t bother looking at Kirishima as he mumbles, “I have to go now.”

He stands up and grabs his bag and ignores whatever Kirishima says afterward. He’s probably asking him what’s wrong or what’d he say that made him upset, but Bakugou doesn’t answer him. He just keeps walking away from their tree—god, their tree, like they’ve made it their own—back across the park to go back to the dorms.

The wind nips at his face as he walks, and as soon he knows Kirishima can’t see him anymore, he runs.

The whole time he runs, he feels sick to his stomach.

━━━━━━━━━

Bakugou avoids him throughout the next day.

It’s harder than he imagines it’d be, solely because the universe is constantly conspiring against him, and the one day his bio professor is out, his class has to merge with the other bio class which—guess fucking what—has Kirishima in it. 

They don’t sit next to each other (thank god) and Bakugou sits at the front of the class listening to whatever the professor is saying about genes, while he feels Kirishima’s gaze burn into the back of his head, burning with guilt.

After he ran away yesterday, Kirishima called him excessively throughout the night and texted him asking what was wrong a million times. Bakugou ignored him even though it was 1) wrong, yes, to walk away without explaining why and 2) shitty to ignore Kirishima’s obvious concerns about his feelings, but 3) this is one of the few thing he knows how to do well, and talking about his feelings isn’t one of them.

It’s better for him now to sit and pretend none of this matters than confront matters about yesterday and talk about it.

Too bad Kirishima’s not that type of person at all.

“Bakugou! Bakugou! Wait up!” 

It’s his running of feet after class is over that follows him as he walks on campus towards the west wing where the auditorium is. He should’ve expected that Kirishima would try to confront him now, but it still comes as a knife in his gut as the boy runs to catch up with him.

Kirishima joins him by his side, panting. “What’s wrong? Or—or what did I do wrong? I know something’s wrong cause you won’t answer my texts, and I know you’ve seen them cause you have your read receipts on.”

He huffs and walks faster. “Leave me alone, Kirishima.”

Kirishima flinches at the proper use of his name and not Shitty Hair, but he continues walking beside him. “No, cause there’s obviously something wrong. You just up and left yesterday in the middle of our conversation.”

Bakugou says nothing as they enter the auditorium’s building, Kirishima close on his heels. 

“Why are you ignoring me? How am I supposed to learn what is and what’s not a touchy subject for you if you never tell me?” Kirishima asks, painfully so, his voice strained in his throat. “I mean your silence is a huge fucking clue, but without words it means nothing.”

Bakugou says nothing and opens the door to the auditorium. He’s never heard Kirishima curse before—he’s probably extra pissed right now—but he pushes the thought down as he sets his bag down in one of the back rows.

“Was it because I compared you to Haru? Do you not like him or something?”

Silence, still, as they make their way down the aisle towards the front where everyone else is getting settled.

“Bakugou, what do you want from me? Was it hard for you to hear me talk about how similar you are to him?” Silence. “If that’s the case… I’ll admit this: Juro and I are similar too. We’re awkward and witty and have a fiery passion for life. I’m happier than he is, but—but I think we’re the same person. You think we’re open books, but we’re—”

Bakugou glances at him for the first time since then, listening intently, but Aizawa walks out on stage clapping to get everyone’s attention.

“We’re on week five, so you know what that means. No more scripts, you should know your lines by now,” Aizawa says, tiresome. “We’ve worked on each part of the play piece by piece, so now we’re running it from the top. We’re starting in five.”

Kirishima frowns like a kicked puppy at the statement. Before they go backstage, Bakugou wants to say something—anything—but he can’t again, almost just like five years ago in that dressing room.

It feels like instead of Kirishima stepping on his heart like he was so sure he would, Bakugou’s stepping on his without even realizing. 

He needs to say something. But he can’t right now; they’re about to start.

The two of them head backstage like everyone else does as the stage crew joins them for their rehearsal today. They sweep the stage quickly and draw the curtains, an act Bakugou’s seen a million times. 

Then—they start.

They go through the play scene-by-scene with no pauses or breaks, just like how a normal school play would. It’s not a long show, maybe an hour, but the scenes and acts today seem to drag on forever it seems, as Haru acts careless and Juro tries to warn him.

There’s an uprise in romantic tension from the beginning in every interaction between them, every touch and their subtle looks. And somehow, even though they’re acting, their sadness pours into Haru and Juro’s, every line some code phrase for I’m sorry, we should really talk. 

They eventually make it to the climax of the play that Bakugou’s been dreading since the beginning. They’ve gone over their lines a million times since the kiss, but they’ve never kissed again, only imagining that they’ll come together and kiss on stage when the show’s finally there. 

Today’s different. It’s obvious by the way Aizawa watches them from the audience and everyone watches from the sideline backstage, expecting the awaited kiss after all this time. 

“I can’t believe we’re here. We’re literally at the top of the world,” Kirishima says, pretending to look out of a window because of the lack of props on stage. “It’s amazing, really.”

Bakugou strides over to where he is and asks quietly, “Are you happy, Juro?”

Kirishima looks surprised—startled. “What?”

“Are you truly happy?”

“I think… I am,” Kirishima says, breathless almost. “We have everything we’ve ever wanted. We’re in a beautiful city, in this beautiful apartment. You’re about to start filming, I’m in a real studio now. It’s—it’s—”

Bakugou steps closer. “It’s what?”

“It’s a miracle we’ve made it here together.”

Bakugou doesn’t wait to ask to kiss him like last time. He positions his hand at the back of Kirishima’s nape, practically cradling his head, and leans in close till their lips are touching.

The stage lights are beating down on them, impossibly warm, and they add to the kiss as they get into the rhythm of it. If he’s not hallucinating, Kirishima pulls him closer—they’re chest-to-chest now, rapidly kissing each as their mouths seem to melt into each other in a mold of teeth, tongue, and lips. 

This is Kirishima’s way of apologizing to him; kissing him like the world’s ending in front of them, like his life depends on it. 

Kirishima bites down on his lip—it hurts a little, but the gasp he makes Kirishima kiss him harder—and Bakugou leans into it, tangling his fingers in his hair in the back, clutching it—

“Boys, let’s not get too carried at practice. The play’s not over, hurry it up,” Aizawa says, breaking apart their kiss. 

As they let go of each other, Bakugou can feel how flushed they must look—for once, he meets Kirishima in the eyes, and like a slap in his face, he sees him grinning. A cheek-to-cheek grin that takes over his entire face like it always does when he’s giddy. 

Then, like the second crash of realization hitting him, he still has lines to say before the scene’s over.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he says, quietly. “I never knew if I could.”

Kirishima’s still grinning like a maniac. “You never asked.” 

“Next time, I will.”

The scene’s over now; a silence coats over them as they wait for the next set of directions.

Aizawa sighs, rubbing his face. “Let’s take a break. Five minutes, everyone.”

Everyone nods as they slowly pile out from the side curtains, onto the stage, and down the stairs. As they pass, everyone stares at them, probably—no, definitely—because they voluntarily made out on stage unprompted. 

Kirishima glances at him as they walk off the stage together. “You’re not mad still, are you? Actually, I know you aren’t because my kissing skills are just that good.”

Bakugou feels too warm and wobbly in the legs. “Shut up, Shitty Hair.”

Kirishima smiles at him and hops away to go get something to drink while Bakugou stations himself in a chair before his legs give out underneath him. Whatever that was—them making out, then getting interrupted by Aizawa—felt like a fever dream. Weird, but nice at the same time.

“Bakugou!” It’s Sero calling out to him as he jogs to come over. “We need to talk. Desperately.”

“No, we fucking don’t,” he retorts with all bark, no bite.

“Uh, yeah we do, because what the hell did you and Kirishima just do on stage?”

“We kissed.”

“No, you didn’t. You kissed for like two seconds and the other two minutes you made out.”

Two minutes? Bakugou thinks. Jeez.

Bakugou furrows his eyebrows. “Are you here to lecture me or something? Cause if you are, I don’t give a shit.”

“I’m not here to lecture you, I’m here to ask when did you and him start dating?”

Dating? 

Him and Kirishima, together together? The thought is too good to be true, almost. It sounds nice to think about, but there’s a problem in that equation, which is this—he likes Kirishima, but Kirishima doesn’t like him.

“We’re not dating,” he admits, despite the voice in his head telling him to mind his damn business and leave him alone.

Sero’s face collapses into confusion. “Really? Mina was freaking out backstage cause she thought you two were together in secret and Kirishima said nothing about it. I think she’s yelling his head off outside right now.”

“Why?” Bakugou asks. “It’d be none of her damn business anyway.”

“I don’t know. Best friend stuff, I guess,” Sero says, shrugging. 

Bakugou could argue that in some distant way this is also “best friend stuff” or whatever the fuck, since they’re talking about the same things as Mina and Kirishima, but of course he doesn’t. He can never admit in a million years he considers Sero his best friend.

The break ends relatively soon after, resuming the rest of rehearsal. It moves quicker than before, and by the time they finish, it’s nine o’clock exactly. 

Everyone packs up to leave and head back to the dorms or their homes.

It doesn’t take long for Bakugou to find Kirishima waiting for him out at the front of the building. It’s just like last time, except the roles are reversed—Kirishima’s leaning against the wall, and Bakugou’s coming out with the rush of heat from inside. 

He freezes once he sees him under the dim street lights. “Why the hell are you out here, Shitty Hair?”

“Waiting for you,” he responds too fast for Bakugou’s comfort. “I didn’t want you to run away before I got the chance to talk to you.”

“I could run away right now, actually.”

“You won’t, though.” 

Bakugou feels his chest tighten and contract in itself. His stomach churns and churns painfully.

“What’s there to talk about?”

Kirishima laughs, shaking the whole world. “Dude, like everything. You were avoiding me for twenty-four hours straight and I had to makeout with you to get you back to normal. That’s something worth talking about.”

It’s quiet outside. It’s just them, their breaths, and the low howl of the wind blowing in between them. 

“You pry too much, you know that?” Bakugou says, hushed. “You’re always asking me questions nobody’s ever asked me before. I never know how to answer them.”

Kirishima’s voice is tiny. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” he admits, albeit the entirety of his brain screaming at him. “It’s not a bad thing.”

“You can always tell me when I’m crossing boundaries, you know. I know sometimes I’m a little unbearable.” 

That’s not true at all, he thinks. What a huge fucking lie.

“What’s wrong with you, Shitty Hair?”

The question seems to throw Kirishima off, making his eyebrows furrow together. “What d’you mean?”

“You’re always putting yourself down somehow. I don’t see how you don’t know you’re practically perfect.”

Fuck. He didn’t mean to say that. But also, he’s not sure what he meant to say at all—he never does around Kirishima anymore. He just wants him to know that he’s not anything he claims about himself. He’s so, so much more and deserves to know and hear that a million times over.

He cracks a huge shit eating grin. “You think I’m perfect?”

“Don’t start right now, Shitty Hair,” he says, grateful for the cold wind nipping at his face to cover up his blush. 

“You’re the one who said it,” Kirishima says, still smiling like he’s just been given the sun. “I can’t believe you’re such a sap. You’re worse than me.”

He glares at him. “No I’m not. I’m not even a sap.”

“Whatever you say,” he responds. “Just remember to call me Mr. Perfect from now on.”

Bakugou feels his face grow hot; his palms feel itchy. “I hate you. I’m going home.”

He turns on his heels, a smirk growing across his face at the sound of Kirishima jogging after him.

“Joking! I’m just joking, Hot Stuff!” 

The nickname really is not helping his case at all. 

Bakugou turns around meeting Kirishima face-to-face. His smile is beginning to blind him a little. 

“Do you like the nickname? After deep thought, I decided on it. I think it suits you a lot,” Kirishima admits casually like it’s absolutely nothing. 

And it turns out it is nothing, because in the split second of a moment, Kirishima’s leaning over and kissing him—actually kissing him, a normal kiss compared to their other ones they’ve had. And just as soon as it comes it goes; Kirishima’s pulling away as he smiles sheepishly at him. 

“Was that okay?” he asks quietly. 

The words come out faster than he can think them. “It was fine. Who’s a damn sap now?”

He shrugs. “Oh, well you got me. I am a sap. A great one at that. Exactly why I’m walking you back to your dorm tonight.”

Bakugou feels his head spinning. What’s going on? First, the nickname, then the kiss, now this? Is Kirishima being normal or is something… more? What’s “more” for him, anyway, when he’s also crossing normal boundaries?

“Whatever,” he manages to get out. “I’m tired, so hurry up.”

That seems to please Kirishima as they start walking together, side-by-side in a comfortable silence. There’re a million thoughts racing through Bakugou’s head, so many questions he wants answered about this—whatever blooming thing this happens to be—and Kirishima.

Just earlier, he was avoiding Kirishima, then he made out with him which snapped him out of it, and just now they kissed and he’s walking him back to his dorm. 

He can’t tell if he’s hit the jackpot or stumbled into the worst experience of his life. 

━━━━━━━━━

Whatever they are, they don’t talk about it much.

Not like they need to, exactly—things between them don’t change dramatically. Kirishima still practices with him at the park on Tuesdays and Thursdays and texts him obsessively. Bakugou listens and makes snappy remarks. The only thing that’s changed are the little details; Kirishima stands closer to him on stage at rehearsals and compliments him more, a kiss or two randomly when he feels like it.

Everything about it is fine. Great even. 

Except it’s not. There’s something different about Kirishima.

In a broad sense he’s the same—he still jokes around with everyone, keeps his scarily enthusiastic energy as the weeks trickle down, and shows everyone support in their performances each rehearsal. But also, Bakugou notices he’s more distant and reserved into himself.

He suspects it might be show jitters. 

The last few weeks before the show pass in a blur covered with a type of anxiety Bakugou can only describe as “set mayhem.” From the props and backdrops arriving from the art department, to the costuming struggles and late poster banners telling about the show, it’s entirely hectic.

He understands why Kirishima would be nervous—it’s obvious in a thousand ways—but considering their circumstances, he feels like it’s necessary to ask around. 

“Kiri? What about him?” Mina asks one day while they’re on a break during dress rehearsal.

“He’s been weird lately. He hasn’t been talking my ear off like he usually does,” Bakugou says, taking a swig of water. “I guess I’m… worried.”

She gasps, clutching her chest dramatically. “You? Worried? I thought I’d never see the day.”

“Shut up, Pinkie. Just answer the question,” he snaps, making her roll her eyes. 

“He hasn’t seemed weird lately to me. I know he’s really nervous about his solo in the show, but every time I ask him about it he changes the subject, so I haven’t pressed him too much. So… I guess he has been a little weird,” Mina admits, beginning to pout. “But—hey! Why are you asking me what’s wrong with him? Why can’t you ask him yourself?”

Bakugou can’t ask Kirishima directly himself for tons of reasons, but the main reason being that every time he talks to Kirishima, his brain short circuits trying to comprehend the fact that he’s managed to somewhat obtain the most cutest, sweetest guy in the world somehow. That in itself makes normal speaking difficult to do without sounding like a complete idiot. 

“Because I asked you now, so mind your damn business.”

Mina snorts after that and mumbles something about wow, he’s whipped which surprisingly doesn’t make him mad, maybe because of the fact that it’s true now—he is whipped, undeniably so.

The days after that interaction pass in an awkward loop of time. Probably because now he knows what’s been distracting Kirishima for the past two weeks non-stop—his amazing goosebump-giving solo coming soon—that Bakugou’s not sure how to assure him about indefinitely. 

Kirishima’s voice sounds holy. Bakugou knows that, Aizawa and Yamada know that, and everyone else does too, so why can’t he believe it himself?

He never gets a chance to ask before opening night hits them like a truck.

Opening night’s always the busiest. It’s a conundrum of setting the stage up right for props and backdrops, any stage light errors that need to be fixed, and a flurry of getting the actors in costume and in their places before it’s too late. 

Today’s not any different from that. 

He sits in one of few dressing rooms backstage getting styled by Aoyama, a main U.A. beautician he can’t stand for many reasons, but especially this: his hair. Instead of his usual spiky, untamed hair, it’s a catastrophe—a slicked down comb-over with a side part, making him look like he’s some middle-aged lawyer.

He almost murders him on the spot.

“Monsieur, don’t be angry at me. Aizawa told me to make it look nice, so I did just that,” Aoyama says, shrugging mindlessly. 

“My hair’s fucking nice as is,” he snaps as he stares at the monstrousity in the mirror.

“Hmm… whatever you say, Monsieur,” Aoyama says, clicking his tongue. “Since I’m done with you, shoo now! I have other patients to style after you.”

Bakugou sends him a deathly glare as Aoyama pushes him out of the room and shuts the door behind him. He’s left standing alone in the hallway—unsure of what to do next—watching as the stage crew pass by him carrying random things like ladders and ropes.

After a moment, he settles on finding Kirishima; they can practice lines together and look over the script a final time which should, hopefully, ease both of their nerves before the show starts. But like a sudden, oncoming storm, the noise hits him at once.

“—no, Denki, I already checked and he’s not there. I don’t know where he is.” It’s Jirou’s voice hitting him as she walks down the hall towards him. She looks up, catching his eye. “Bakugou! Have you seen Kirishima around?” 

He thinks back to when he arrived two hours ago, instantly thrown into the dressing room. “No. Is he not out there somewhere?”

“No, man, we can’t find him anywhere. I mean, he was here, but he totally disappeared thirty minutes ago after he left our dressing room,” Denki says, pulling at his choker. “Aizawa keeps calling him, but he won’t answer. I think he’s trying to bail out on the show.”

Bakugou’s eyebrows furrow together. Bail out on the show? That’s not like Kirishima at all. These past two months he’d been the one advocating and rooting the show on the most besides Deku—he wouldn’t miss it for the world. It all suddenly clicks.

Something’s wrong. Something’s been wrong for the last two weeks and Bakugou’s overlooked it until now—

“I know where he is,” Bakugou says finally after realizing. He knows exactly where he is. “Tell Aizawa I’ll be back in fifteen.”

He doesn’t hesitate to start running through the back halls, past the confused looks of the stage crew, until he makes it on stage and down the stairs where his jacket is. He slips it on as he runs out of the building, off towards a destination he can only know as familiar now—

The park.

Past the school gates, handful of streets, and the pond, just underneath their tree—that’s where he finds Kirishima at. 

At first, he could’ve sworn it wasn’t him. Instead of the stupid, shitty crimson spikes he always wears, it’s something entirely opposite. Marking just below his ears, it’s a black mess of shaggy hair let down naturally. He can’t recognize that it’s even Kirishima until he catches his gaze, then it finally clicks; his big, wide red eyes, usually dimpled and scrunched, filled with huge, baby-like tears.

Bakugou’s heart strains against his chest just seeing it. He makes his way over to him, sitting beside him underneath the tree.

Kirishima sniffles once he sits down, wiping at his wet eyes. His voice is nasally as he talks. “What are you—what are you doing here?”

Of course Kirishima would ask what he’s doing here. 

“The real question is, what the hell are you doing here? There’s only an hour till showtime, and you’re sitting at the park watching the sun set while you cry like you’re some main protagonist or something,” he says, his voice growing softer with each word. He wipes away a stray tear on his cheek with his thumb. “What’s up with you?”

Kirishima manages a small laugh that turns over into sniffling. “I’m a huge fucking coward, that’s what. I ran away when I couldn’t handle the thought of singing in front of a crowd seriously.”

“You’ve sung in front of us tons of time before, though.”

“Yeah, but it’s—it’s different. You’re all my friends; people I’m closest to and hang around the most. The crowd’s not gonna be like that tonight. There’s going to be mostly all strangers—people I don’t know at all who are going to judge me. Hell, probably some people I do know who are going to judge me,” Kirishima says, so hopelessly it hurts his soul. “I’m no groundbreaking singer. I’m not even like Mina, Jirou, or Sero. They’re amazing, man, and I feel like complete shit when I sing after them.”

It hurts to hear Kirishima put himself down so easily like it’s an honest fact he knows about himself, not just his dishonest insecurities yelling at him. 

“And I think the worst part is that I told my parents to come and see the show tonight. They were really surprised when I told them I’d be singing, you know? They know more than anyone how much I’ve loved singing ever since I was a kid, but always knew how bad my performer’s anxiety was,” Kirishima admits softly, but cracks as he continues. “I just—I just don’t want them to be disappointed in me. If they hated it, I don’t think I could ever sing again.”

Kirishima’s face crumbles in on itself as he starts crying again, pawing at his wet eyes. Bakugou envelopes him in a hug; Kirishima’s face against his chest, and his body practically curled into his own. He hugs him with the lifeforce Aizawa hugged him with all those years ago, thinking of the exact words to describe what he wants to say.

“You’re the dumbest person I’ve ever met,” Bakugou says, making Kirishima’s laugh echo throughout his chest. “No, I’m fucking serious. Sometimes I can’t believe the things that you say.”

Kirishima stays quiet, waiting to hear more.

“You… you’re like nothing else I’ve ever heard before. Your voice is fucking breathtaking, Kirishima. I can’t even find a reason why you’d say you’re no Mina, Jirou, or Sero, cause of course you’re not. Each of you sing in four different fucking ways that are all great in their own sense of style. None of you are like each other,” Bakugou manages out, trying his best to slow his speeding heartbeat before Kirishima hears. “That doesn’t mean you’re not good. Fuck, when I first heard you sing I got goosebumps all over. I was shocked, because I thought you’d sing casually or something, but then I realized that was your casual, which is fucking insane. You’re fucking insane.”

“All of you—every single part of you that I know is sensational in ways I didn’t even know existed. Your personality, looks, talents, you have it all.” Kirishiman sits up from his chest, doe-eyed and flushed. “I can’t believe I’m the one who gets to kiss you.”

Kirishima grins then, wide, as he throws his arms around Bakugou’s neck. In the crook of his shoulder he says, “God, you’re a bigger sap than me. I knew it all along.”

Bakugou doesn’t say anything, he just squeezes Kirishima’s body around him tighter. He feels his heart unclutch itself from the prior strain.

“You know… I can be more than a guy you kiss too, if that’s what you want,” Kirishima says softly, breathing against his skin. “I want us to be more.”

I want us to be more. 

Bakugou’s living in one of the best versions of his dreams. He knows this as a fact now. This isn’t some nightmare in disguise, or Deku incident repeat, this is meant to last—it’s meant for him. Kirishima’s a gift from the universe, not someone to spite him. 

His heart fills fuller than ever with what Bakugou’s convinced made the Grinch’s heart grow seven times its size.

“I want more for us too,” he says honestly. “But I don’t think we have time for that right now. I promised I’d come back in fifteen and we’re pushing twenty-five.”

Kirishima sits up pulling away from him. “Shit. When you came you said there was only an hour, right? Then we really are on short time.”

He stands up, helping Bakugou up too, and digs in his pocket for his phone. It’s 5:32 P.M.—the show opens at six exactly.

“We better run back to campus then if we want to make it,” he responds. “We’re the main characters, after all—we are the show.”

“Let’s go then.”

They run through the park back towards campus together. During the run, Kirishima brings up what the hell is going on with his hair, which Bakugou retorts in not saying a damn word about his hair when he’s looking like some Aizawa wannabe. 

(“Jeez, you’re harsh,” Kirishima says once they make it to the school. “This is the natural hair I was born with, you big meanie. This is the look I sprouted until I was fourteen and then I rebranded completely.”

“I like both of your looks, cause they’re both shitty,” he retorts, earning a punch from Kirishima.)

Once they make it inside, everyone practically celebrates. Mina, Denki, and Jirou hug Kirishima, scolding him for running off, while Aizawa nods at Bakugou silently as to say thank you. 

For the first time all day, Bakugou notices how different everyone looks. Aizawa’s clean-shaven for once with his hair tied into a low bun, showing off that complimentary scar at the bottom of his left eye. Everyone else seems to be in clothing that suits their characters; flurries of suits and spunky clothing Bakugou’s surprised to see on certain people. 

Him and Kirishima are the only ones who still need to change.

They head back to the dressing room and throw on the outfits Aoyama’s laid out for them beforehand, panicking as they hear the stage crew confirm that they’re officially letting in the crowd to get firmly seated. 

Before they head back out backstage, Kirishima grabs his wrist, halting him in the process. He pulls him close, before whispering, “For good luck before we go on.”

Kirishima kisses him lightly—barely a kiss, if not the mirage of one disguised as a light peck—but it still sends Bakugou’s stomach bursting into a fit of flames before they step out of the room.

By the time they make it out, Aizawa’s giving his short speech about play etiquette and respecting everyone who worked to make this possible. The crowd claps, and then Aizawa’s off, meaning the first scene’s about to open and—

The curtain draws open and the lights dim.

Bakugou’s on now, like he’s been tons of times now. His heart still beats like it’ll jump out of his chest any moment now like he’s sure it would the first time he went on. 

As soon as he steps out on stage, his heart calms itself. He knows what to do.

~

The show runs smoothly from the beginning. 

Whatever anxiety there was before, it’s tucked away now in the depths of everyone’s stomach as they come out on stage one-by-one. The audience is captivated by the story playing out in front of them; they’re intrigued by Haru and Juro’s relationship and the deafening question of how they’ll make it big together. 

Currently, he’s in a scene wedged somewhere in between the rising action, and it’s a scene Bakugou’s been waiting for since the beginning. 

Kirishima, Mina, Jirou, and Sero all stand on the right side of the stage on a wooden platform built especially for this scene. They all stand with mic stands in front of them as music cues from somewhere—they’re all meant to be in some lounge-bar hybrid singing as they usually do together while Haru cheers them on in the audience. 

It’s Jirou who starts first. Her voice rumbles along the music, complimenting it in a way Bakugou only knows how to describe as the way the moon shines bright in the night sky alongside the stars. It’s beautiful as she finishes, giving the solo to Sero.

He has a different kind of appeal to his voice. The type of voice he knows can only hit those high notes because he took choir all throughout high school, always considering singing a fun hobby of his that he loves doing. 

Mina’s next, her voice light and airy as she brings out the music’s spunky undertones with her own amazingly electric voice. 

And then there’s Kirishima—black-haired, wide-eyed Kirishima who was so nervous about singing he cried and ran away two hours ago, stepping up to the mic with a look he’s never had before while singing, a newfound confidence lying deep inside of his bones. (Aizawa told him that too; confidence strikes deep in your skeleton.)

He takes a breath, and then he’s singing. And it’s like the world’s gone completely quiet for him—Bakugou doesn’t hear the whir of the lights anymore or the gum smacking from the lady in the audience—all he can hear is the music and the way Kirishima’s voice floats on top it, harmonizing with each other. 

It’s phenomenal the way his body feels listening to him sing. Every hair on his body stands up one-by-one as he sings, and then oh god—Kirishima’s looking at him, staring directly in the eyes as he sings his heart out, singing to him—no, for him. Kirishima’s singing for him at this very moment, staring him dead in the eyes with that glossed look of his Bakugou can never decipher. Each second that passes his breath feels balled up in his throat, never releasing, not even when Kirishima finishes, still gazing at him.

The second that follows is a rush of impulse and adrenaline flowing through his body. He’s getting up from the table he’s sat, walking over to the stage, planting his hands around Kirishima’s neck, then looking up and planting his lips on his, and then they’re kissing—

Passionately so, as Bakugou cards his fingers through the back of his hair, and Kirishima wraps his arms around the back of hi as they fall into their own world of fervor and kissing and liking each other as more than Haru and Juro and more as Bakugou and Kirishima. 

Kirishima pulls away first, breathless, still staring and gazing into what Bakugou’s sure is his soul—his bare, naked soul staring right back into Kirishima’s equally exposed soul. They’re sucked into each other’s faces, the looks etched onto them, something that they’ve never seen before.

It’s only the sea of applause that follows that snaps them out of their eye-gazing trance. A handful of people hoot and whoop at them excitedly—Bakugou realizes his heart’s been pounding this whole time, pumping, pumping, pumping blood to keep him alive long enough to get to witness this gold moment.

He knows he’s gone out of character kissing Kirishima—they’re only meant to have one kiss and it comes later—and he’s unsure of how Aizawa probably feels watching him act on what probably is considered improv by the way he can’t seem to remember what his next line is.

He only manages a rough, “You did amazing as always, Juro,” before the curtains are closing and they’re ushering off stage to set up the next scene.

Everyone’s grinning by the time they get backstage—even Aizawa who seems to look amused by the turn of events in the scene from the kiss to the audience’s loving applause. And something’s turned over that wasn’t there earlier; maybe because the tension’s settled down, and now they’re left feeling the addicting sensation that comes with putting on a great show when time comes down to it.

They’re all happy, which is the thing. Happy to max as they step out on stage and play these delicately crafted roles that all stitch together to form this heartfelt story. A story about passion, romance, friendship, and what it means to live with no regrets or fears.

Bakugou’s on his way there. He’s not where Haru and Juro end up at the end of the story, that’s for sure, but he knows he’s somewhere in the middle of his rising action, waiting for his climax to hit him in the face like a baseball bat. 

It’s coming soon—he feels it.

~

The rest of the show passes on with what Aizawa would describe as “astonishing character growth.”

All of the characters by the end have done a one-eighty, changing their lives onto a new leaf for the better. Of course, as expected, Haru and Juro end up together—Juro ends up proposing in the last scene with a childhood bracelet he’s had since they were kids and he’s kept all along for a moment like this. 

The audience coos and hoots, a mess of “aww”’s and “oh my god”’s. The whole scene makes Bakugou flush in a way that he shouldn’t; seeing Kirishima on one knee holding out what represents his love to him makes his stomach crunch and twist uncomfortably to even imagine thinking about. 

But it’s not like he’s focused too much on their marriage-to-be right now. He can wait—there are better things to come before that.

The show ends with Haru and Juro kissing each other lovingly, which Kirishima and him seem to have locked down by now, letting the audience scream their hearts away as the curtain closes on them. They go backstage for a moment or so while the stage crew moves the props off stage to make room for their last bow, and Bakugou feels Kirishima squeeze his hand as they stand beside each other.

“Do you think we did good?” There are sparkles in his eyes as he looks over at him.

“Only one way to find out.”

Bakugou pulls him out on stage as the curtains open back up and they center themselves in the middle of it. It’s the first time either of them are staring directly at the audience—from top to bottom, the auditorium is filled with people. People who enjoyed their performances in some kind of way, big or small.

He smiles to himself as him and Kirishima bow, making the audience go wild as they yell and scream, some throwing things onto the stage—flowers, chocolates, cards, bras. They’re all nice gifts and momentums as a way of saying congratulations, both of you did amazing. 

He glances over at Kirishima to see if he’s witnessing all of this like he is, in high definition slow-mo perfect movie quality, but what he sees is a big enough answer for him as he catches Kirishima’s certain gaze at the audience.

Kirishima’s crying again, sobbing his heart out, but Bakugou knows why. In one of the front rows, standing up applauding and cheering him are a couple that look awfully familiar to the Kirishima he’s seeing right now—his parents. 

His mother looks moved to tears like he is almost, while his father looks proud in a way words can’t describe. It’s an intimate moment they’re having, staring at each other, confirming that he just did the things he said he could never do at one point in time.

A sob racks Kirishima’s body as he holds his head in his hands, and Bakugou reaches over and envelopes him in a hug. He instantly melts into his arms, still crying, as he boo-hoo’s loudly while the audience still yell behind them. 

The rest of the cast file out one-by-one, or—scream-by-scream, as they end up forming a straight line on stage together beside each other. The last ones who come out are Aizawa and Shinsou; each dressed semi-formal with dark blazers and dress pants.

Someone from below the stage hands Aizawa a microphone as Kirishima lets go of him. He sniffles, rubbing at his red nose, turning so that they’re both in correct formation. Even as Aizawa begins to speak, he feels their hands intertwine together mindlessly.

“Hello, everyone. I’ve hoped you all enjoyed the show we put on tonight.” The crowd screams and claps. “I didn’t introduce myself earlier, which is my mistake. My name is Aizawa Shouta, and I’m head of the theatre department here at U.A. Some say I’m the mastermind behind all of our shows, but I have the pleasure of announcing that someone else has been the creator of this show tonight, my intern—Shinsou Hitoshi.”

Everyone claps as he takes the mic from Aizawa, looking sheepish and awkward all of a sudden. “Hello. I’m Shinsou Hitoshi, Aizawa’s intern and student. I’m in my second year of college, and this is the first show I’ve ever written and put on which is fucking mindblowing if I’m honest.”

The audience and cast laughs at him, even Aizawa, as he stares fondly at him.

“I’m so glad to have completed such a big thing like this at only twenty years old. I owe all of my support to the cast and crew, the different school departments who helped such as art and music, and of course—the man who I owe my life to now—Aizawa Shouta.”

Shinsou glances up at him, and as if pigs can fly, Aizawa’s smiling. Full-on teeth and everything—albeit slightly terrifying—but relieving as he puts an affirming hand on Shinsou’s shoulder. He grabs the microphone back to him.

Aizawa finishes up the show thanking everyone again, especially the audience for coming out and watching their show. He talks briefly about their next two nights performing and spreading the word, before he’s dismissing the cast off stage to go and mingle with the audience before they leave. 

He feels Kirishima instantly leave his side as he runs down to greet his parents. His hand feels bare without Kirishima’s there, but he sucks it up seeing the way he hugs his mom and dad like they’re the best things in the world.

He can’t remember the last time his parents attended one of his shows—middle school, maybe? Early high school? 

Their lack of appearance doesn’t bother him much. If his mom were here she’d nag him about his performance being better like she always did when he was younger, and his dad would be clueless of what to even say besides, “Good job, Katsuki. Proud of you.”

He doesn’t need whatever weird parent energy that is clouding up his night. 

He heads off the stage, squeezing himself between two parents talking, back towards the bottom of the stage. The catch about these cast-mingling moments after the show ends is for everyone to chat and talk with family and friends about how nice the show might’ve been and how well they starred in it. 

Bakugou doesn’t have any in those categories outside in the audience waiting on him; exactly why he stays back towards the front, leaning against the frame until the commotion dies down. 

In that time, he people-watches. 

He watches as Iida talks with his brother, Tensei—a former actor officially after an accident occured, leaving him in a wheelchair. Whatever happened back then to him seems to be in the past as he chats animatedly with robotic Iida. 

Next, he catches sight of Todoroki. His sister, Fuyumi, crushes him in a hug as the rest of his family stand behind her—the infamous actor Todoroki Enji towering over everyone in both height and energy, his ex-wife Rei and Todoroki’s mom, Natsuo, and someone else Bakugou’s never seen before. He’s tall, with black hair and dark purple burn marks leading on all of his limbs, even his face, all held together by what looks like staples.

Weird, he thinks, but he doesn’t focus on it for too long. He keeps it moving.

He spots Deku with his mom as he hugs her tightly, Jirou embracing her dad while her mom snaps a photo of them, Aizawa meeting up with Yamada as he hands him a bouquet of flowers and peppers a ton of kisses across his face in a painfully domestic way he feels awkward witnessing firsthand. A girl stands by Yamada’s side—a mess of grey, curly hair—and Bakugou recognizes that it’s Eri. 

It’s been a year or two since he’s last seen her—she stopped tagging along with Aizawa after him and Deku graduated, apparently since it was no fun without them—and she looks older, albeit still young and wide-eyed. 

In that split moment, she locks onto his gaze, staring for a moment, before a smile winds up on her face. She waves to him.

It takes Bakugou a minute to process the scene before he’s waving back, too. A similar smile stretches across his face. 

After all, in a way they’re childhood friends now too. They met when Eri was six, him fifteen, and she was still coping from the hands that hurt her in innumerable ways. Now she’s eleven; older and happier it seems by the way she grins at him.

For a moment, he wonders if Deku saw her yet. He’d be pleased to see her again after so long. 

“Bakugou?” 

The voice makes him freeze dead in his tracks. He’s heard this voice a million times before—always online, in behind-the-scenes videos or recorded TV interviews—but never once has he gotten the chance to hear it in person. Especially not right behind him calling out his name. 

He swivels around and finds himself hit with that metaphorical climatic baseball bat. Standing there in his glory is Yagi “All Might” Toshinori smiling at him as he holds out a hand. Bakugou can feel his heart stop in his chest for a minute straight.

“You…” He can’t find the words to even get out how he’s feeling. “You’re here. At our show. Why?”

Bakugou shakes his hand as he chuckles. “A friend invited me. Well, two actually—one of them said I should keep an eye on you during the show. I wasn’t sure what he meant, but I wasn’t disappointed at all.”

There it goes, that climatic baseball bat whopping him in the damn face a million times over. 

Yagi continues. “You’re an amazing actor, Bakugou. I’ve had an eye on you since your last show last year, Kiss it Better, but I was unsure of what to say to you, or offer you as a matter of fact.”

Offer?

Yagi answers that question for him. “I want you to star in one of my upcoming plays I’ve written called Smash! Only if you’d like to accept my offer, of course. It’s up to you whether or not you’ll join me.”

The world is spinning on its axis at a million miles per hour, shaking his brain up in incomprehensible ways. It’s only fair he calls incomprehensible, because in what normal world does he live in that Yagi fucking Toshinori is offering him a role in his upcoming play? 

Apparently this world.

“I accept,” he says, more sure than anything he’s ever agreed to. 

Yagi looks surprised. “Really? I’ve been told you strike a hard bargain on roles.”

“I do, but I know that you’re going to give me someone fucking mindblowing,” he says. “And those are the only roles I audition for and accept.”

“Very well, then,” the man says, still smiling softly. “I’ll contact you in a few days with all the details and we can go from there. Once again, it’s been a pleasure meeting you, Bakugou.”

They nod to each other as Yagi parts ways with him and as he heads over towards Todoroki and his family.

Something’s majorly changed, then. Whatever that interaction was—a hit in the face that this is his reality not some stupid dream—it’s changing him by the second. Every bone and blood vessel seems to be breaking and turning over into something more. Something that can withstand the overflowing happiness coming out of his body, overstimulating his brain to the extreme.

He laughs to himself, then. 

He almost gave up his role as Haru, and if he did, he would’ve missed all of this. Now the thought seems ridiculous to even fathom almost giving up so willingly like he did. Without Haru, he wouldn’t be working with Yagi right now from this moment on, or now have a slightly steady friendship with his friends, and the biggest pro of them all—he wouldn’t have Kirishima. 

If he gave up his role all those weeks ago at the cast-listing meeting, he never would’ve had this with Kirishima. Whatever this is—pre-boyfriends, lovers, soulmates, whatever. It never would’ve happened.

Sugiyama Haru was a role gifted to him from the universe too. 

━━━━━━━━━

They clean up after everyone leaves.

Bakugou helps Uraraka and Asui picking up trash in the audience together, while everyone else works backstage setting the props and backdrops in order for the show tomorrow. It’s a surprisingly quick clean-up; by the end of it, they’re all standing near the door waiting for what comes next in their lives.

Momo pipes up first. “Afterparty! If you all are still up for it. Food and drinks too, of course.”

They all end up heading to her house in groups or pairs. Bakugou ends up smushed in the backseat of Jirou’s car, in between Mina and Kirishima. The whole drive Kirishima leans his head on his shoulder, twiddling with Bakugou’s fingers as they all talk mindlessly about the show and how it went.

They arrive at Momo’s house in no time. Inside, downplayed chaos goes on; music playing, food and drinks set up everywhere, and random people standing everywhere. Bakugou realizes she must’ve invited everyone—even the stage crew who had a giant helping hand in the production of a show.

Bakugou ends up sitting on the couch scrolling through his phone out of boredom, while Kirishima and the rest of them mingle around.

After half an hour or so, they all come walking back in—wobblier and more giggly—and Bakugou instantly recognizes that they’re all drunk. He gets up and assists Kirishima besides him as he laughs and reaches over to cradle Bakugou’s face in his hands.

“Wow. The whole world in my entire hands,” he says, grinning like nobody’s business. He hiccups and laughs. “You’re s’cute, y’know.”

“Shut up,” he says, no bite whatsoever. “Why’d you go off to go get drunk?”

“I dunno. I wanted to celebrate,” he admits, catching Bakugou’s gaze. “D’you miss me? Is that why you’re all pouty?”

He feels his heart beating at hummingbird speeds standing with Kirishima like this. Kirishima unclasps his hand from his face as Bakugou sits him down on the couch. 

“You’re annoying, Shitty Hair.”

Kirishima grins. “You like that about me, though.”

Bakugou doesn’t stop Kirishima from scooting over closer next to him and resting his head on his shoulder. He’s right, despite being drunk; Bakugou does like that he’s annoying.

“Hey! Guys!” It’s Denki, stumbling out of the armchair to stand at the front of the room. “We should—we should each give speeches about what we loved most about working together. It’s a—it’s a thing we did at summer camp when I was… seven. Or eight. Maybe thirteen.”

Everyone glances at him as he tries to figure out his age mentally (god, Bakugou wishes he could record him, but Kirishima’s blocking the pocket his phone is in), shaking his head as he brushes it off. “I’ll go first!”

He hums, squinting his eyes at nothing. “Um… okay. I think the best part of working together was… the snacks! God, Aizawa brings the best snacks. You know those—those, um, what are they? Cheesy puffs or whatever… they were amazing. I ate six bags of them every single practice we had.”

A few people laugh as they scoot closer to hear what he has to say.

“And… I loved my friends too, and my role,” he says, wistfully smiling at the thought. “Especially my role. It was fun playing some cranky old man. But I just think I liked the idea of playing Bakugou’s dad too.” More people laugh and some glance at him. “But… that’s it, I think. It was great in a lot of ways. I’d do it again.”

A surge of people surprisingly clap for Denki as he bows—and almost falls over in the process—stumbling back to the armchair. 

The next person who decides to go up is Iida; he stands stiffly as he starts his monologue about the pleasure of working with such “prodigious, young actors” and his experience on the set playing Muranaka Kunio, Haru’s manager and the lack of effort it took to play him.

The room seems to get in a rhythm of hearing people give speeches, because the person who heads up next is Jirou. She talks briefly about how fun it was to sing on stage and play as a lounge singer, but ends it off on a note promising to work harder in future plays with everyone.

As the room claps for her as she sits back down, Bakugou feels surprised to feel Kirishima leap up from his side, walking towards the stage in a way that makes his heart palpitate because it implies he has a speech to make too, about his experience with the show. 

He stands awkwardly at the front—swaying a little, as he tries to keep upright on his feet. He’s still grinning though, smiling like his life depends on it. 

“I don’t think I have just one moment that was the best part of the show,” he starts, slowly. Bakugou’s unsure of what he’ll say next—his heart tenses at every breath he takes. “This was my first show ever where I got the chance to play a main character, which is so weird and fun to think about. That itself is one big, amazing moment.”

He hums, thinking hard. “And my friends always make everything the best. They support me even when I’m a big crybaby before the show and I run off somewhere to hide away.  And—and they always help me come back to my senses. Like, seriously, always.”

A few people laugh, but Bakugou can’t ignore the way Kirishima looks exactly at him in that moment, wide-eyed and unbalanced. His heart aches to stand up and stride over there and kiss him senselessly.

“Basically… everything was the best part. I had an amazing time, and it changed me a lot, I think,” he says softly. “I’m done now.”

Everyone claps for him as he walks back over to the couch they were sitting on together. Bakugou can’t help but squeeze him as he settles besides him. 

A few people go before he decides to. Uraraka talks about how nice her role as Tao Aya was, playing a skillful ballerina like never before. She mentions taking ballet classes as a kid and how fun it was to dance like that again. After her comes Deku; he never fails to express his enthusiasm for his role as Ando Masanori and acting in general, always talking about his inspiration and mentor, Yagi Toshinori.

Next, he decides to go up. 

Sero gasps dramatically as he says from the other couch something along the lines of the silent actor actually has a favorite part of the show? Shocking truly. Bakugou flips him the finger before he goes up.

He doesn’t know exactly what he’s going to say when he gets in front of the room. The way Kirishima seems to be proudly watching him is definitely one of his subjects, but besides that, he’s unsure. He decides to start off honest and true to himself.

“I fucking hated getting cast as Haru at first,” he admits, watching some eybrows raise in the crowd. “I hated a lot of things about him and I loved a lot of things about him. But… he’s not a bad character. Not by far. That’s not what I’m saying.”

What are you saying? he thinks to himself, continuing.

“I hated Haru because there were a lot of things living in my mind that I haven’t confronted in years that Haru reminds me of. So of course I fucking hated him. I almost gave up the role,” he says, staring straight at a point on the wall to avoid making eye contact with anybody. “But I’m glad I didn’t. I’m really fucking glad, actually. Because some of the best things happened to me that I didn’t even know were possible.”

Everyone’s quiet, waiting for him to go on. 

“Tonight… I thought I might’ve been dreaming when I met Yagi Toshinori in person. He said he’d been watching me, which blew my mind because how the hell has he been keeping an eye out for me?” A handful of people laugh, and he recognizes Kirishima’s as one of them. “But that’s not even the best part. The best part is this,” he looks down, meeting his gaze. “Shitty Hair over there. Kirishima fucking Eijirou, my goddamn boyfriend.”

People hoot and yell loudly, all following his gaze at him. Kirishima’s face flushes warmer than it already is; Bakugou hears Mina squeal from somewhere. 

“He’s the best part about any of this show,” Bakugou says, loud and proud. “We practiced together every single week together because of his shitty memory, but we ended up with something even better than remembering our lines on stage—a fucking relationship.”

Everyone laughs at that, even Kirishima; he feels his heart swelling with each laugh he takes.

“I was unsure of working with him as an actor—especially fake-loving him on stage—because there was something so goddamn irritating about him compared to everyone else. He’s different… in so many ways he’s different. But that’s the thing about him. Because he’s different, I couldn’t find myself hating him like everyone else. I just couldn’t,” he admits, slowly. He takes a deep breath before saying, “I realized the reason why I couldn’t hate him is because I really fucking liked him.”

The room surges in applause, seas of “aww”’s and whistling towards Kirishima. Kirishima himself has that glossy look in his eyes—he looks so moved, like Bakugou’s speaking from the mouth of a god’s—for a second, he looks like he might burst into tears. 

He doesn’t burst into tears at all. 

He stands up and strides all the way across the room and captures Bakugou in a kiss that has everyone clapping. Everyone clapping for them. Hell, the universe clapping for them.

Everything unaligned before shifts into place; Kirishima kissing him, him kissing Kirishima, and the goddamn world cheering them in the background. Everything’s finally perfect—Bakugou’s happy.

He thought earlier that his happy ending would come later in his life, a big defining moment that he’d remember forever and give up the world to relive again. But now he knows that there isn’t just one happy ending to his life; there’re millions of them always happening every day he stays alive to witness them unfold.

This is one of those endings. 

He pulls away, breathless, staring at Kirishima. In that moment he thinks he could kiss him a million times over.

━━━━━━━━━

“You really like me, huh?” 

“Shut up.”

Kirishima leans over and kisses his jaw delicately. They’re sitting somewhere in Momo’s massive house—maybe a back room of sorts with chairs and couches—and him and Kirishima are pressed against each other laying down on one of the bigger couches together.

The afterparty still rages on in the background.

“I’m just quoting what you said,” Kirishima retorts, laying his head back down on his chest. Bakugou knows he can probably hear how fast his heart is beating in his chest right now.

“Well, don’t,” he says. “I don’t like it.”

Kirishima laughs, rumbling both of their bodies. “Well you surely like me, don’t you? It’s why you called me your boyfriend.”

Bakugou can feel his face flush at the memory. Back then, it just seemed natural to call him that rather than Attractive Guy Who I Kiss A Lot And Cuddle With. They’re interchangeable, anyway.

He doesn’t respond to that, just keeps listening and feeling each breath Kirishima takes, laying on top of him practically.

“Did you really mean it calling me that?”

His voice sounds awfully quiet in the room.

“Of course I mean it, you idiot,” Bakugou says so lovingly, it disgusts him. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

Kirishima smiles softly. “I know that. I just like hearing you say it.”

“Say what?”

“That we’re boyfriends.”

“We are boyfriends, Shitty Hair,” Bakugou agrees, wrapping his arms around him so they’re directly sandwiched against each other. “I’ll say it a million times if I need to.”

It hits him like a truck suddenly, all too well. Kirishima was right—he is a sap. A huge fucking emotional sap that melts under too much heat and ends up spewing out cute stuff left and right. That’s what’s happening right now—he’s happy, so he’s letting all of his feelings pour out into the air unfiltered.

The words feel safe in his mouth as he whispers. “You make me really fucking happy, Kirishima Eijirou.”