Work Text:
It's Just Bakugou Speak for "I Like You"
When I was 10, my dad handed me a book called The Call of the Wild by an American novelist named Jack London. It was his attempt to get me to read more since the only media I consumed were the same fifty videos of All Might, an obscene amount of video games, and shitty Internet memes. I also think he was worried about my communication skills because all I ever spewed were “NO WAY, OLD HAG” and “SHUT THE HELL UP, DEKU!” and a shitload of expletives. Perhaps reading something by an old dead guy from a million years ago would help expand my vocabulary.
I mean, the old man was on to something. Have you read The Call of the Wild ? That shit is gruesome and I ate it up like candy. These ancient authors had some dark ass minds. Les Miserables by Victor Hugo. Rebecca by Dame Daphne du Maurier. Every single book by Edith Wharton. I read as much as I could and soon my grades in Language Arts were just as good as the ones in Physical Education or any hero course.
The only dilemma now is that the Narrator in my head - that is, the Bakugou I hear when I talk and write - is apparently a completely different person from what you all are experiencing. For some reason, the stuff in my head is getting lost in translation when I open my mouth.
Which is the most irritating thing in the world. I mean, come on. What the hell?!
So, when I yelled, “THAT’S A SHITTY IDEA! NO ONE’S EVER GOING TO COME TO THAT,” what I meant to say was, “We can’t do that, I heard Class 1B is putting on a play for the school festival.”
And at the dorms, when I snapped at Todoroki and shouted, “MIND YOUR OWN DAMN BUSINESS, HALF-AND-HALF BASTARD!”, what I meant to say was, “I don’t really want to talk about the remedial courses for the provisional license. It’s super frustrating.”
And earlier this morning, when I told you, “YOU’RE SUCH A PAIN IN THE ASS, SHITTY HAIR,” what I actually meant to tell you was, “I really hate it when we fight. Please don’t ignore me...I like you, Kirishima. I always want you near me.”
Anyway, what I’m trying to convey is: I suck at words. At least when I’m speaking. I don’t mean half the things I say out loud. And I’m trying really hard to fix it. I hope this letter is a start.
And I guess what I’m also trying to say is: I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bail on you. I knew how important that interview with Crimson Riot was to you. You have every right to be angry with me. I’m really, really sorry.
And the last thing is: I like you. I really like you. In a way that friendship isn’t enough. In a way that I can’t stand when you look at other people. In a way that not being able to hold your hand drives me insane. In a way that it’s starting to hurt like hell when we’re apart.
Part of me wishes I can see your face as you’re reading this. I bet you were expecting some half-assed apology bribing you for forgiveness, huh? You must be so shocked.
And yet I’m really glad I’m not watching you read this. I’m way too chicken to be vulnerable in front of you and would be tempted to snatch the letter from you and shred it to pieces. I can’t have that happen. I need you to know how much you mean to me.
So, if you’re not thoroughly freaked out, I’m in my dorm room if you want to chat. I’m not sure if you’re going to yell at me or hug me or completely ignore me. I suppose I’ll just be prepared for anything.
Yours,
Katsuki
\\\
The torn piece of notebook paper crumpled in Kirishima’s trembling fingers. His heart pounded like a heavy drum. He scanned the last half of the letter again, anxiously wondering if he had misread or misinterpreted something and eagerly wishing that he hadn’t. He brushed over the ink on the page that read “I like you. I really like you” with his thumb. It made his skin tingle.
Kirishima folded the letter carefully and held it against his lips. Bakugou’s words were pretty direct and that clarity sent shivers up his spine. I must be dreaming , Kirishima thought, trying not to smile. In fact, he resisted jumping on his bed and squealing like a five-year-old who just found out he was having pizza for breakfast. That wouldn’t be manly at all. Taking a deep breath, he slipped the note in his pocket and headed for Bakugou’s dorm room, refusing to let any more time go to waste.
On any other day, the walk to Bakugou’s room was no more than five minutes, but today it felt like it took hours. A series of jumbled thoughts raced through Kirishima’s mind: What do I say? Do I wait for him to start? Should I start with how I feel? Or should I accept his apology first? What does that make us? Does that mean we’re boyfriends? Can I kiss him? Is this his first kiss? They were all questions with no answers.
Kirishima stopped in his tracks and blinked a few times. Bakugou’s door somehow materialized in front him. He must have been more lost in thought than he realized. He raised his hand to knock when a horrifying thought entered his mind: What if this is all one big prank?
His arm fell to his side. Kirishima’s heart dropped to his stomach. Was that possible? What if Bakugou didn’t write the letter? What if Denki or Sero snuck it in his bag as some big, fat joke? What if this wasn’t real? That’s ridiculous , Kirishima thought. Those two wouldn’t be able to write something like that. But, Bakugou would. He’s intelligent, honest, and so damn h -
Before Kirishima could finish his thought, the door swung open. Bakugou stood on the other side with half-lidded eyes and his signature scowl. “You breathe too hard,” he said plainly.
Pins and needles climbed up Kirishima’s neck all the way to his ears. He shrugged his shoulders and replied, “You heard me breathing ?” He shoved his hands in his pocket, the love letter rustling beneath his knuckles. Loudly. Kirishima blushed.
Bakugou glanced at Kirishima’s pocket before meeting his round, ruby red eyes. Bakugou turned around and scoffed, “You coming in or what?”
Kirishima froze. “Nervous” didn’t even scratch the surface of what he was experiencing. He willed his limbs to move, but couldn’t get a single foot across the threshold. His shoes were filled with lead and he didn’t have enough strength to carry himself over. Be strong , he told himself. How many times have you been in his room? Hundreds of times! Come on, Eijiro.
Kirishima’s eyes went wide as he felt Bakugou’s warm, calloused hand slide in his. He watched as Bakugou pulled him inside without a word, his body suddenly lightweight, as if he could float all the way up to the ceiling. He closed the door behind him and waited for Bakugou to let go of his hand. A long, awkward minute passed by and their hands were still adjoined. When it was clear Bakugou wasn’t going to say or do anything else, Kirishima decided to speak first.
“I read your letter,” he started, now realizing how sweaty his palm was getting.
“And?” Bakugou snapped, though half-heartedly. Kirishima tried to ignore his tone and remember that this was just Bakugou Speak for “I like you, so tell me already!” He replayed the words he read not too long ago: “I suck at words...I don’t mean half the things I say out loud. And I’m trying really hard to fix it.”
“And,” Kirishima continued, giving his hand a squeeze. “I want to thank you. It was really thoughtful. And, yeah... I accept your apology.” He felt Bakugou’s fingers twitch slightly in his hand. Kirishima’s lips curled to a smile. This gave him just enough courage to keep going. “And I like you, too.”
Bakugou didn’t move. Kirishima thought he even stopped breathing. Bakugou’s eyes were glued to the ground, his shoulders hunched to his ears. There were a couple of times Kirishima thought Bakugou would respond, but his lips remained pursed.
“I have an idea,” said Kirishima, slowly peeling his hand away. Instantly, it felt as if a part of him was missing and he longed for the next opportunity to touch him again. He gestured to Bakugou’s desk. “Maybe you can write me another letter? It doesn’t have to be long. Besides, I, er… think it’s pretty romantic?” His voice felt small in those last few words, but he was proud of himself for blurting them out despite how hot his cheeks were burning.
To Kirishima’s surprise (and relief), Bakugou smirked and took a seat at his desk to compose another love letter. It took everything Kirishima had to keep his heart from leaping out of his chest. He thought about the countless letters Bakugou could write to him; Bakugou’s feelings immortalized on a page; words that Kirishima could read over and over every night until they were etched on his heart. He wanted to know the Bakugou underneath the surface. How many others were privy to this Bakugou? Kirishima wanted to be the only one.
“Done.” Bakugou slapped the pencil down and extended the piece of paper to Kirishima.
Kirishima bit his lip, another idea popping into his head. He walked over and pushed Bakugou’s hand back. “Can you read it to me?”
Bakugou’s mouth dropped. “You want me to what ?!”
Kirishima plopped on the ground in front of him, legs crossed. He looked at him with the most pathetic look he could muster. “Please, Katsuki?”
Bakugou reddened. He sighed, slowly bringing the letter in front of him, and started reading.
\\\
My Eijiro,
One day, maybe soon, I’ll be able to say these words out loud. But, for now, this is enough. You just standing in my room, reciprocating my feelings, is enough. You existing in my life is enough.
And I don’t really care about what people think, so let’s just call it how it is, okay? I want to be boyfriends. I want to be able to hold your hand like that whenever I feel like it. Or whenever you feel like it. I want to be able to do more than that, and I don’t want us to worry about how people will react.
I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I’m really happy. I really am. Thank you for not ever judging me; for always accepting me for who I am. I’m not easy to get along with, let alone like. You must be someone truly special.
I can’t wait to spend all the days moving forward as yours.
Love,
Katsuki