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Kirishima feels it deep in his bones—the unavoidable hopelessness of a losing battle.
In his life, there have been so many instances where he felt like the finish line was near. That if he closed his eyes, he would see the bright light at the end of the tunnel. Yet every single time, he pushed through and went home to his dorm safe and sound. Call it a miracle or some shit. How he got home never really mattered as he would never enter a battle and think it might be his last—he just went into a battle for justice’s sake. Today, that thought consumes his every breath.
Explosions go off around him, blasts resulting in debris flying all over the toppling building. The force almost makes Kirishima lose his stance but his hardening state stands solid. He’s growing really sick and tired of the forsaken detonations but there’s nothing he can do about it. Every time he tries to move, another goes off.
Kirishima has gotten to recognize the pattern of the blasts. He uses the tiny window of silence to move without any risk of tumbling down on the floor. Sprinting down the hallways, he counts the seconds until the ground starts shaking beneath him. At this point, Kirishima seriously wonders how the hell the building is still standing up.
He makes his way to the lobby after having to wait out a few explosions and yells out whatever name comes to mind. Midoriya, Iida, Kaminari. Nothing. ”Guys? Anyone?” It’s probably a dumb move to keep yelling when he’s in enemy territory, but the anxiety is getting to him. Furthermore, he has never been the strategy-guy. Only the fighting-guy.
”Goddamn, Bakugo,” Kirishima hisses to no one in particular. He cringes at the coppery taste of blood in his mouth and spits it out, coating some debris next to him in bright red. He hopes Toga isn’t somewhere near to get a taste of it or whatever her quirk is. He would ask Midoriya, but chances are, he will die before that happens.
Some noise breaks the silence and it’s not from Bakugo’s explosions. It’s much quieter and closer. If Kirishima had to guess it was coming from the office room he was just occupying. Moving quickly, he crouches down behind a reception desk, wincing at the pain coming from his left leg. Still, he bites down on his bottom lip and holds his breath. If he’s lucky, whoever’s near him will miss his slumped body.
Footsteps creep closer, echoing loud against the teared up walls. Tap, tap, tap. The breath that Kirishima has hidden in his lungs burns. His hands shake from where they’re gripping his lower face in order to contain the sounds that are threatening to burst out. Whoever’s here heard him yell earlier. If it was one of his friends, they would’ve spoken up and not loomed around him like this.
This is not one of his friends.
”You’ve always been so loud, even when you try not to be,” a voice speaks out, cutting the eerie silence in half. It’s a familiar voice that has every nerve in Kirishima’s body igniting, exploding with so many overwhelming emotions. The footsteps come to an abrupt stop just behind the desk he’s sitting under. ”Come on now, Kirishima. Don’t hide. That’s no fun.”
Kirishima remembers back in their first year when he felt like an impostor in U.A. He thought that he didn’t belong because he was never in the center of the drama that surrounded Midoriya or Shouto. Continuously, they got up to no good but it made them stronger and gave them experiences even pro heroes haven’t experienced. Kirishima remembers how much it hurt back then.
Now, he has a chance at that; a chance at experiencing something that will make him an equal to the rest of his class. The only issue? He doesn’t want to. Not like this. So, he continues to steady his breathing, begging that just this once, Bakugou’s stupid enough not to do something thoroughly.
A chuckle followed by a cracking noise jolts Kirishima, making a chill run down his spine. ”You’re really making me go down there? That’s embarrassing, even for you.”
Fuck that. Bakugou doesn’t get to have the upper hand, not after everything he put Kirishima and their friends through. It’s been a year now, yet the wound is just as fresh as it was that same night Bakugou turned his back on them and joined the League of Villains. Determined, Kirishima stands up in his soft state but with a hardened expression, and turns around to face him.
The smirk Bakugo sends him is downright filthy. ”Well, look at you. Fighting your own battles for once. Must feel good not having to live behind my shadow anymore, huh?”
”The world doesn’t revolve around you, Bakugou, despite what you think.” The words sound like they’re coming from a faraway place, almost like he’s listening in on a conversation between two people, and not himself speaking.
Despite the coldness between them, he still lets his eyes roam over Bakugou; his covered hands, his bloody upper body, his seemingly sharper jawline, his piercing red eyes. Refusing to fall into the black hole that is Bakugou, Kirishima rounds the desk and steps forward until he’s facing Bakugou head-on. From up close, Kirishima can spot several bruises blossoming along Bakugou’s jawline and cheekbone. He wonders which one of his friends managed to get their hands on him first, not to mention how they’re doing right now.
”Gotten cocky, have you?” Bakugou speaks slowly, jaw tensing up as his eyebrows furrow up at the bottom of his forehead.
Because there’s still a part of Kirishima that feels like Bakugou’s still redeemable, that this past year hasn’t changed his core morals, Kirishima says; ”It doesn’t have to be this way, Bakugou. You can come home with us.”
” Home ?” Bakugou spits out, igniting an explosion that only blasts in his palm. ”I’m exactly where I should be.”
They stare at each other in taciturnity. Kirishima has no idea what’s going on in Bakugou’s mind. He isn’t even sure if he has ever actually known. Bakugou is a force to be reckoned with, an unkillable flame that burns furiously, and no matter how much Kirishima tries, he always gets burned by his flame in the end. Deep inside of him, he wonders if he knew from the first time they met that his inevitable demise was going to be in the hands of Bakugou.
It feels bittersweet standing here. Their surroundings are completely scattered and people are running down the streets below them crying out in pain, yet they take the time to look at each other. When Kirishima used to think of the future, he used to imagine them in this exact same scenario, the only difference being that they’d be on the same side.
”Bakugou—”
”Don’t fucking speak. Are you here to fight or not?” There’s spit flying down between them with every word Bakugou cusses out. His fits are curled up by his sides, so hard that the leather of his gloves squeals whenever he tightens the hold.
Before Kirishima’s resolve crumbles, several things happen at once. The only thing that he manages to catch is the figures that enter the lobby, yelling and grunting. He recognizes some of them as his friends, beat up and bloody, while others are strangers. The next couple of minutes pass by in a flash. Explosions, fire, fog, and everything in between fly all around him. A voice screams inside of his head, urging him to fight. To help his friends. To make Bakugou see.
It’s a full-on battle between them; heroes and villains. Kirishima doesn’t know who he throws hits at and who he dodges punches from but he manages to shake off several bodies. The end might be near, but he would never give up without a fight.
”Kirishima, watch out!” Midoriya yells from somewhere, making Kirishima turn back just in time for him to duck a knife being thrown his way. Already transformed into his hardened state, the knife in itself wouldn’t have hurt him much, but villains are sneaky bastards and that’s not a risk he wants to take. He learned his lesson from that laced bullet that took Tamaki’s quirk away.
The lobby is too small for this many people and all of their quirks combined, so it’s only reasonable that the fight moves outside. Thanks to Bakugou’s explosions, the building gains a hole in the wall so large that it fits all of them rushing through to chase each other.
Kirishima’s latest target is some large dude with a disgusting mustache. His quirk has something to do with metal, as he seems able to pull metal objects towards him at will. His quirk was practically useless back at the lobby since ninety percent of what was around them was made out of brick, stone, or glass, but it’s different out here. Here, he has cars, utility poles, billboards and you name it. A wicked smile covers his face as he pulls whatever he sees in Kirishima’s direction.
The creaking sound that emits following Kirishima’s hardening gets buried underneath all the noise from the collisions and the fighting. He can’t hold this state for long, but it gives him cover as he rushes through the crowd to finally get his hands on Mustache man. All the metal breaks against his skin before bouncing off. He pays it no mind, he just wants the villain to fuck off.
”Argh!” Kirishima breaks through the final care that gets thrown his way and clings onto Mustache man. His hands are starting to lose their strength as the clock is ticking down. He only has ten seconds give or take to end this man once and for all.
Raising his clenched fist, he spares the man one final smirk before drilling his fist into his stomach hard. That’s all it takes for him to fly back several feet, colliding with the building across the street. His body slides down the busted wall before collapsing into an unmovable pile.
Brushing his hands against his pants, Kirishima can’t help the smile that tugs on the corners of his lips. It might sound cringy to some, but the feeling of making society better by taking away one villain at a time still fills him with so much pride. It’s because of him no more people have to suffer in the hands of this fool.
Assessing the situation, it seems like their team is winning. He sees Midoriya trading punches with a Nomu, handling that situation fairly easily. At this point, they’ve gotten more than well acquainted with the beasts. Iida’s Recipro Bursting civilians away from the scene, two people at a time. Everything seems to be going great. The hope that Kirishima always carries with him returns back as if it never left, filling his senses with the sweet sensation of adrenaline.
There’s just one small detail Kirishima can’t help but wonder about. Where the hell is Bakugou? Usually, he’s the main character of their battles, blasting his way through one person onto another. This sudden silence of him is jarring. It feels wrong.
Granted, he shouldn’t worry about Bakugou. He’s a villain now. His sudden disappearance should make him happy since Bakugou’s usually the main reason why their missions don’t play out the way they want them to. They have to be careful around him—not just because of his quirk but also his knowledge. His history.
”The fuck is wrong with you,” Kirishima mumbles to himself before sprinting towards an incoming Nomu. For some reason, the Nomu turns the corner and walks toward an alleyway instead of engaging in the battle. Suspicion arises in him right away. This is unusual. Those things don’t have a mind of their own, all they do is fight.
Sneakily, Kirishima trails behind him. He exchanges a quick look with Midoriya as he’s running, both of them nodding before turning their focus back to their individual missions. Thankfully, Kirishima doesn’t have to run far as the Nomu abruptly stops in the middle of the alleyway, back facing the entrance. He stands there silently, wheezing loud enough for it to be heard all the way over to where Kirishima is standing.
”What the…” Kirishima takes a step forward but doesn’t get too far before a pain unlike anything he has ever felt before explodes in his shoulder, making him scream out in agony. Losing his posture, Kirishima drops down on the uneven concrete, the collision making the pain burn even harsher.
”Kirishima!”
There he is, Kirishima manages to think between his screams. He tries to claw at his shoulder to find what could’ve possibly pierced his skin, but lifting his hands feels like an impossible task. All he can do is lay there and take it, begrudgingly. Even that eventually becomes too challenging, so Kirishima allows his body to slump down on the cold and dirt-filled ground in hopes of easing the burning pain.
It never goes away. He isn’t sure how much time has passed since the hit got him; maybe hours, realistically seconds. The pain just rolls in waves, shocking him every now and then with a fresh bolt of ache. Because it’s so overbearing, all of his other senses close down. He hopes he at least remembers to breathe.
Two hands grab his face roughly, bringing him back to consciousness. ”Hey, Kirishima. Open your fucking eyes.”
Fog clouds his mind. He has adjusted to the pain by now, but it doesn’t mean it makes it any less painful. Still, he takes whatever power he has bottled up and flickers his eyes open. Immediately, he has to squint at the harsh light illuminating from a streetlight that does no wonders to the headache that’s banging in his brain. ”B-” Blood spills out of his mouth, forcing him into a coughing fit.
Bakugou lessens the tight grip he has on Kirishima’s face and shifts their bodies so that Kirishima has his head on his lap. ”Oh, fuck. Please. Not you.”
This new position feels nicer, and it’s only then Kirishima registers the fact that whatever hit him is out of his body now. He can feel the blood gush out of his shoulders and onto Bakugo’s legs, but he doesn’t seem to mind that. Swallowing the heavy liquid in his mouth, wincing at the feel of it scratching against his throat, Kirishima croaks out; ”Go, Baku. They could come back. They could hurt you too.”
Red eyes stare at him in disbelief, wide with rage, grief, and a thousand other emotions Kirishima can’t dissect right now. He’s bleeding out for god sake. ”They wo-I’m on their fucking team, Kirishima. Don’t you get it?”
So why are you holding me?, Kirishima wishes he could ask but he would rather not his final moments being a fight with Bakugou over something so stupid. At the end of the day, he was the one that left—him holding Kirishima means nothing. It can’t mean anything now that Kirishima’s starting to accept his doom. ”Just go,” he repeats, staggers because the nausea is coming back to him.
”No.” Bakugou hisses and lifts his hands to run them through his sweaty hair. He pulls at it from the scalp, thrice, before letting them flop down on the part of his lap that isn’t occupied by Kirishima’s head. ”Why did it have to be you? Why? You’re… you’re the best of us. You’re supposed to be unbreakable, Kirishima. I thought you could defeat them, so why are you lying here?”
Kirishima knows better than anybody the expectations everyone has on him. After all, they barely compare to the ones he has on himself. A tear falls down his cheek, followed by an uncountable amount as he tries to hold Bakugou’s wavering gaze. ”I’m sorry.”
”Don’t fucking say that. Don’t apologize.” The expression that falls on Bakugou’s features is something so foreign Kirishima starts to doubt if the man above him is even his old best friend. His eyes are teary below his furrowed eyebrows and his bottom lip wobbles with every exhale. ”Fuck. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. I need you. I’m sorry, please just don’t… go.”
Now, it’s Kirishima’s turn to be confused. He forgets the pain and the hurt for a moment to let the words sink in. If he dies, he wants to die knowing that he understood what happened in his final moments. Still, the memories of the past year flood his brain. All those nights he spent beating himself up for letting Bakugou go, for not doing something more, for not holding on tighter. ”Bakugou, you left. You don’t need me at all.”
Once again, Bakugou grabs a hold of him. He cradles Kirishima’s weak body in his arms, shaky hands both rough yet careful at the same time. When he speaks, it’s to the spiky red hair on Kirishima’s head. ”I will explain, I promise. Just promise me you’ll stay. Kirishima, fucking promise me.”
Answering that won’t do them any good. It’s a lie and they both know it, yet Kirishima leans away from the embrace to look right into Bakugou’s eyes. There’s one last thing he has to say, one last thing holding him back from getting his well deserved yet uncalled for rest. He tries to lift his hands, but they only get to the center of Bakugou’s chest before his shoulder screams out in pain. Stopping, he rests his hands on top of the intersection of the red cross on his shirt. ”Bakugou, I lo-“
Of course, Bakugou has never allowed Kirishima to run past him at anything and he won’t stop now. Kirishima was foolish for considering such a thing. ”Don’t you dare fucking say it. Not now, okay? Later when you’re all healed up. I need you to say it later, okay? So please, stay .”
Kirishima wishes desperately that he could stay just to get it out of the way but his eyes fall shut on their own accord. Maybe he doesn’t have to say it, maybe Bakugou has known all along. With that realization, the pain becomes nothing more than a dull throb, as does the yelling in his head. He feels lighter than he has ever felt in his entire life. He’s fading away, rapidly. Somewhere far away, he registers a muffled scream. He thinks it’s his name, but he isn't sure. He just floats into a still abyss.
The after-life is surprisingly very mundane, Kirishima thinks when he regains consciousness. It takes some adjusting, but he spots white walls, large windows, and machines around him. One of the machines beeps successively, one beep at a time. Other than that, he’s alone in this burdening silence.
He tries to stand up in order to look around the room he’s in more thoroughly, but bandages around his upper body hold him down. Even the tiniest movement makes him groan in discomfort. It’s at this moment everything returns back to him. The mission, the villains, the explosions, the weird Nomu… Bakugou. The fact that he made it out alive.
The beeps become irregular as well as his breathing. Tossing his head to the side, he sees that the machine that’s making the only noise in the room is hooked up to him by some stickers on his chest. It’s showing his erratic heartbeat, the line running in a zigzag pattern. Just as the line starts to spastic, the door to the room opens up, revealing an elderly man with a white coat. Behind him is Aizawa with bloodshot wide eyes. ”Kirishima, you’re awake.”
Kirishima finds out that the injury came from Mustache man (he has another name but Kirishima likes this one better) that managed to launch one final knife towards him. The knife had been laced with some drug that deteriorates whatever it comes in contact with, meaning Kirishima had decayed from the inside out. Thankfully, his team got him to the hospital in time and managed to treat the worst injuries before it was too late. Basically, it’s a miracle that he’s alive right now.
After the initial check-up, the doctor leaves them alone to catch up. Aizawa’s sitting by his bed with his head hung low. He’s never known the man for having many words but right now he wishes he could say anything to brighten the situation. Kirishima even sighs to send a signal, but when that’s ignored he takes matters into his own hands. ”Is...?
Aizawa eventually lifts his head, posture wary and withdrawn. ”Everyone’s alright, Kirishima. You don’t have to worry.”
Relief washes over him. They won. That’s all that matters. Kirishima can take this pain if it guarantees his friends’ safety. There’s one person though that Kirishima isn’t sure Aizawa’s including in his speech. He hopes he doesn’t have to specify when he asks; ”Even him?”
Thankfully, he doesn’t. Aizawa stares at his shoulders when he answers. ”Even Bakugou.” Kirishima assumes that the conversation is over since most of his discussions with his homeroom teacher never extend longer than this, but Aizawa continues speaking. ”You know, I’ve always been against you children fighting our battles. We’re the adults, this is our job. And because we didn’t do our job properly two nights ago, you almost lost your life. I feel ashamed, Kirishima—not just as your teacher but also as a hero.”
”Mr. Aizawa…” Kirishima gasps. He’s sure his eyes are blown up in shock since he’s never seen his teacher look so defeated before. Although they won the battle, Aizawa lost a part of his pride and Kirishima supposes he would feel the same. Ever since the get-go, he’s been wary over their internships. Aizawa wasn’t comfortable over this arrangement then, and he sure isn’t comfortable about it now either, given the circumstances. Damn, his teacher is so manly.
”You should rest.” Aizawa stands up from his chair, taps Kirishima’s head before heading out. Just before he crosses the threshold of the room, he turns around and says; ”Heal up quickly, we miss you in class.”
It takes two kisses from Recovery Girl and a whole week at the hospital before Kirishima gets discharged. The bandages are off his body and the pain is nothing more than a distant, yet gruesome memory. The relief he feels the second his body hits his bed is unlike any he has felt before. The poster-covered walls welcome him like a mother’s hug, as do the messy appearance of his desk.
Everyone at school acts as nothing has happened, which truthfully, Kirishima’s thankful for. He’s had enough tear-filled meetings with friends and family that the current thought of emotions makes him feel sick. He dives deep into catching up with the homework he’s missed (that Iida kindly put aside for him with labels) and training his body back to its top shape again.
It’s normal but it’s far from perfect.
Even if everybody has moved past the battle, late at night, Kirishima finds himself replaying those last moments over and over again until sleep forces him to calm down. If someone were to ask him to recite exactly what happened in those short minutes, Kirishima would’ve been able to point everything out down to the dirt particles on Bakugou’s cheek. In class, they were taught that near-death experiences usually result in amnesia, that the victim wouldn’t be able to remember those traumatic moments as a defense mechanism. Kirishima calls bullshit. He remembers everything and it fucking sucks.
It sucks because Bakugou has yet to come back. Not once has Kirishima’s phone lit up because of a message from him. Never has the door to his room opened up, revealing his forsaken face. He’s faced with a radio silence so deafening that he has a hard time doing anything without feeling like he’s losing his mind.
So, he works out to keep himself busy. Runs up and down the sidewalk of the neighborhood their dorm is on until his legs throb, threatening to give in at any second.
Today’s one of those days. He had woken up shouting and shivering in a cold sweat that undoubtedly had awoken the entire hallway with him. Before anyone could knock on his door and give him eyes full of pity, he had grabbed his sneakers and a random hoodie and taken off into the midnight.
Underneath the stars, Kirishima loses track of time. He has either been running for an hour or three; there’s no telling in the vastness of the night. It calms his nerves immensely, cracking down one insecurity at a time at least until the next night when he has nothing to distract him from the ghosts that are haunting his psyche.
When the sun starts peeking through the horizon in all of her shyness, Kirishima figures it’s a good time to return back to the dorms. School starts in four hours, meaning he could squeeze in a good three hours of sleep if he manages to fall asleep right away. Turning around, he starts heading back.
A figure begins to take shape by the dorm entrance when he makes it back. At first, he dismisses it and keeps his eyes on the ground, figuring he must’ve really lost his mind if he’s fucking hallucinating about him. But it’s not a hallucination because the figure actually turns out to be a person. It’s the person that clouds his every thought and the person Kirishima has been trying to run away from.
”Kirishima.”
If a wall was near him, he would’ve slid down against it with his head in his hands. Sadly, there’s no wall holding him up, only the walls in his heart cracking. He breathes, once, twice, for an entire minute until it sinks in. When it does, the ground underneath his sneakers starts to feel bumpy, but that might be his knees.
The figure strides toward him, face now out in the open. Fuck the sunlight for not allowing Kirishima to pretend that this isn’t happening. ”I came to see you.”
”It’s been three weeks, Bakugou.” The words twist and wrap around his throat, making every inhale feel like swallowing barbed wire. Without thinking, he takes a step back to regain the distance between them. ”Why now?”
Bakugou doesn’t seem to care about the mission Kirishima’s trying to achieve. He walks until he’s standing right in front of him, hands hidden in his pocket yet eyes more open than they’ve ever been. One hand slips out of his pocket, reaches out in the air between them before falling down by his side. If Kirishima really focuses, he can catch a tremor in them. ”I promised you I’d explain, didn’t I?”
”What makes you think I want your explanation?” Kirishima says, hoarse. He bites down on his bottom lip and averts his eyes. If he can’t create distance between them, at least he’ll try not to let his emotions show by averting his eyes.
”Because you-” Bakugou snaps, sounding like his old self. As if remembering the tension between them, Bakugou reverts back to the repressed state he was in just seconds ago. ”You were going to die thinking I… thinking I was a monster. I don’t want that to happen.”
”Well, I didn’t fucking die but I still think you’re a monster.” It’s a lie, the biggest one Kirishima has ever said in his entire life, but he holds his posture for his pride. As sick as it is, he wants Bakugou to struggle with this. He wants him to feel how much it hurts not knowing where you stand with somebody.
Bakugou’s jaw tenses up, moving in sharp motions. Looking stricken, he pulls at the collar of his shirt as if he just ran a marathon and is trying his best to his air circulation going. Shakingly, he says; ”You don’t.”
The audacity of this boy never fails to make Kirishima shocked. Raising an accusing finger, he digs at Bakugou’s chest with everything he got. ”You don’t know how I feel.” That too is a lie since he almost did confess back in that alleyway, hadn’t it been for Bakugou’s rude ass. Bakugou had told him not to say it, meaning he knew exactly what Kirishima was trying to do.
Bakugou grips hold of his finger and twists until Kirishima complains. He doesn’t let it go as he murmurs loudly into the night. ”Can you let me fucking explain?”
”Fine.” It’s better to accept defeat than to let this go on much longer than it has. Kirishima already knows he won’t be satisfied with the information no matter what it is, so he might as well get this whole situation over with so he can go home and heal. Moving on is the only thing he cares about now.
Bakugou studies him for a second, and when he realizes that Kirishima isn’t going to run away or start yelling, he sighs. ”I have to be the best and at that time it wasn’t possible because I was kidnapped like some fucking weakling. Do you have any idea what it did to my pride?” He slams his first against his chest twice, hard. ”If I joined them, it would’ve been on my own terms instead of theirs.”
”You want to be the best, is that it?” You chose this life for some praise?” Kirishima doesn’t care about keeping his voice down anymore. He lets all the frustration, hurt, and anger explode out of him like a bomb. ”You were already the best in U.A., what more could you possibly need?”
”You don’t get it,” Bakugou bites out, spits. He paces around in a circle, hands deep in his blond hair. His loud, quickened breathing fills the silence, never allowing it to settle around them. ”Fuck, it was a mistake coming here.”
Sinister laughter rolls out of Kirishima’s tongue. Rubbing his temples to calm the impending headache, he looks over at Bakugou’s surprised face. ”You’re such a coward. I used to believe that you were so powerful, so unobtainable, but no. You’re just as scared of fucking up as the rest of us. The only difference is that you took the easy route.”
If Kirishima leaned over to slap him, he’s sure he wouldn’t get the same broken expression as he has right now. This time it’s Bakugou’s turn to take a step back, fumbling, almost falling down on the ground. Then, he says something that makes Kirishima standstill. ”You think I have it easy? You want to know the actual truth?”
”Might as well,” Kirishima tries for indifference, but fails miserably. Aiming high and dropping low.
”I’ve gotten so much intel from being around them. I have information on everyone, Kirishima. I feel useful. I do what I want instead of holding back. I-”
Something snaps inside Kirishima’s chest. Voices that sound an awful a lot like himself, his friends, and society fill his head, yelling a thousand things. He ignores them because if what he thinks Bakugou’s hinting at turns out to be true, he might do something stupid like kill him. Or kiss him. ”What are you getting at, Bakugou?”
”I’ve been undercover. I report back to All might and the cops every night before I go to sleep. We’re planning on taking the League of Villains down in a few weeks.” Bakugou shuffles closer again. His words sound steady, like they’re true and not some bullshit Bakugou has come up with.
Tears well up in Kirishima’s eyes. They aren’t heavy enough to fall, only to cloud his sight. It takes so much effort to gather whatever resistance he still has, to keep his withdrawn posture. ”I don’t trust you. All might would never allow that.”
”He knew I’d do it even if he didn’t agree with it. I figure he just… listened because at least then I wouldn’t have walked into it alone.”
”Why didn’t you tell any us?” Kirishima asks, throwing all caution out the window. He’s always been wrapped around Bakugou’s finger, so tight that all he thinks about right now is holding him instead of pushing him away. Despite all the hurt, he still needs him close. Maybe Kirishima’s the coward, after all.
”I didn’t want to risk getting caught or,” Bakugou breathes, steals a look at Kirishima, ”hurt you.”
”A bit too late for that, buddy,” Kirishima snorts, coldly. Exhaustion suddenly creeps up on him, steadily weighing him down. He’s so tired of this. So done with thinking about Bakugou and feeling so shitty. He looks up at the sky and finds it surprisingly brighter. The sun’s an angry orange ball just behind Bakugou’s face, making it act as his own personal halo. Kirishima forces his eyes to pull away from the breathtaking scenery in front of him. “I have to go. Classes start in a couple of hours.”
”Wait.” Bakugou grabs his wrist, winces. ”I made do with my promise. It’s your turn now.”
The touch leaves the skin on Kirishima’s wrist tingling. He can feel how his stomach twists on itself, painfully so. As Kirishima said, he remembers everything about that night, including the part where Bakugou had begged him to say it later. The thing is, Bakugou has never begged him for anything before. Kirishima has never known him to ask for something, let alone beg. He took whatever he demanded whenever he wanted without even second-guessing it. So, to have him sit there and cry out and plead? Let’s just say that’s the reason Kirishima can’t stop thinking about that night.
”Would it change anything?” Kirishima asks, coming out as an exhale.
Bakugou takes a step forward, and whispers; ”It would change everything, so, please. Say it.”
”I’m scared.” Kirishima’s hands shake when they reach out to Bakugou, and they shake even more when they land on his shoulders. He can’t look at his face, not when he’s staring at Kirishima like he has all the answers Bakugou can’t answer. So, he lets his gaze rest on where his hands are holding him. ”I’m scared that you’re going to run again, and I won’t be able to do anything to protect you. I’m scared that even though everyone thought that you had turned to the bad side, I still gave you the benefit of the doubt. I’m scared because despite all the shit you’ve done, I still fucking love you.”
Bakugou kisses him.
It’s exactly how he imagined it happening, yet ten times more overwhelming. Bakugou comes at him like a punch, gripping him as tight as he possibly can with his arms on either side of Kirishima’s cheeks, lips square on his. The hands on his cheeks ground him, makes him sigh in happiness or sadness, Kirishima’s far too gone to tell. He kisses back, just as desperately.
Their lips slot together, wet noises welcoming the morning that’s awakening all around them. Hearing their pants, his whines, and Bakugou’s grunts deepen the flush on his cheeks, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He’s never expected their love story to be a day at the park—if it ever were to exist. He knew he would have to fight for the right to call Bakugou his, to prove himself worthy. When they first met, that thought brought him adrenaline and excitement, but after Bakugou left, it felt like a burden. Now, it’s like that time frame vanished from existence because the excitement is back.
Kirishima knows he’s being overly eager when his mouth opens up to chase Bakugou’s tongue. They should slow down because anyone could peek through the window to see them making out in the entrance, but he doesn’t care. His hands journey to Bakugou's hair which he then pulls to get him to open up. With a groan, his wish is granted.
Hazily, Kirishima registers that the sun has fully risen around their third kiss. The intimate atmosphere of the night is broken, but Bakugou’s still kissing him which means he must be serious about this. Feeling giddy, Kirishima leans over to steal yet another taste of his lips, but Bakugou places his hands on his chest to stop him. ”Kirishima,” he murmurs against his lips, which sends a trail of goosebumps on every inch of his skin. ”As much as I want to continue this, Aizawa’s going to kill me if I keep you up any longer.”
”Ugh,” Kirishima scrunches his nose but leans back from the kiss. He keeps his forehead on Bakugou’s, not daring to stray too far. ”Don’t talk about Aizawa while we’re kissing, please.”
Bakugou snickers, quirking an eyebrow. ”Why? He’s kind of hot, don’t you think?”
Kirishima leans back to laugh, feeling lighter than he has in years. There’s still a lot to discuss and he doubts that all of their issues are going to be solved in just one conversion, but this feels good too. Bakugou’s finally in his arms, and neither of them is bleeding to death. It’s a wish come true for people in their line of work, right?
When his laughter simmers down, he’s met with a small smile on Bakugou’s lips. If this was any other person, he might’ve missed it, but this is Bakugou who only has two expressions; indifference or rage, so it feels extra special. Furthermore, it’s because of him Bakugou’s smiling this way, which does things to his poor heart. ”Listen, I-”
”Kirishima, I can’t say things are going to be easier for us. I have to continue on with this mission, which means you won’t get to see me for a while. I can’t promise everything’s going to be alright, but if you trust me, trust that I’m going to fucking end this.” Bakugou intertwines their hands. ”Just hold on, okay?”
Nodding, Kirishima says; ”Okay.”
Bakugou comes back to U.A. two months after their kiss. The plan he and All might constructed worked out in their favor. News headlines can’t seem to get enough of the student that broke the Leauge of Villians . Kirishima sees his face everywhere, on every TV screen, every article, and every billboard. It’s a constant reminder of what kind of sacrifice Bakugou had to go through to end up here, but at least he got what he wanted. To be the best.
Everybody acts like Bakugou never left. He never fit in with their class during their first year, but his presence was still a large part of their dynamic. When he left, a puzzle piece went missing, and now that he’s back the puzzle’s whole again which makes Kirishima realize that maybe Bakugou did fit in after all. Their classmates make fun of him, joke around with him, and fight with him as if no time has passed and he gives them the exact reactions they hope for. As if they didn’t see him as a threat just months ago. As if Bakugou didn’t spend a year lying to them.
That’s the part of moving on nobody talks about. The awkward part where everyone acts like everything’s okay, but the scars are still making their skin itch and their blood freeze. They look into each other’s eyes and communicate as if there isn’t hurt between them, which is absurd. Kirishima’s a hypocrite because he does the same. Although, he wonders how much pretending it takes for them to actually start believing it. Up until then, he supposes he's fine with how things are moving along.
The night Bakugou moves back into the dorms, he spent it wrapped up in his arms. The warmth made him feel safe and that everything that happened was just a nightmare he’d only then woken up from. They kissed lazily and sloppily, barely getting enough air until they fell asleep in each other’s arms.
This becomes a regular occurrence. Every time Kirishima wakes up because of a nightmare, he blindly makes his way to the room next door and Bakugou’s always there to hold him. Despite his tough demeanor, he holds Kirishima with a softness that melts Kirishima’s heart bit for bit. He kisses his forehead until Kirishima sighs out in content. Before sleep overtakes them, Bakugou always makes sure to tell Kirishima that he's going to be there in the morning.
Understandably, Kirishima starts to believe him because eventually, that becomes reality.