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The room was a flushed color. Low lighting reflected off the numerous inspirational posters lining the walls. Mindless white background noise trickled out of the speaker tucked in the corner behind a potted plant. The whole atmosphere was created to soothe and comfort the ailing students who seek shelter there. It was so incredibly obnoxiously fake it raised Bakugou’s blood pressure whenever he set foot in the office. The chair he was forced to sit in made his skin itch and his palms crackled with small irritable sparks. What he hated the most was the pitiful looks the counselor sent him whenever his palms lit up. Bakugou once saw the counselor write in his notebook that the uncontrollable miniature explosions were caused by a spike in sweating due to nervousness. Bakugou wanted to plant a nice hand to the fucker’s face. And then another one to Aizawa sensei’s for mandating these sessions.
And so every Monday and Thursday afternoon he trudged his way to Yuuei’s counselors' office to numbly pick at his lunch while fuck face spewed on and on until the hour and a half was up. Bakugou paid just enough attention to nod his head or offer a word or two of input. He knew how these things went. If he participated even just a little bit, they’ll gush and praise about how attentive he is towards his ‘progress’. Whatever the fuck they thought he needed to improve on was beyond him. And if he plays his cards just right at the end of it the counselor will state he has been cleared and no longer needs to seek ‘therapeutic guidance’. If he plays his cards even better, he could probably knock a session or two off.
Bakugou knew how to play these bastards and the dense man sitting across from him at this moment was no exception.
“You’ve made immense progress Bakugou,” Bakugou sneered as he delicately picked up small bits of rice, “your grades are immaculate. Your teachers say that you’ve improved in training greatly these past few weeks. Cementoss has praised how relaxed you have become in class. He says you don’t shout as much and aren’t agitating classmates as often. Like I’ve said, immense progress.”
Bakugou pushed the remaining bits of rice to the corner of his bento. He had taken a few bites of the rice and vegetables he had made; his teriyaki chicken went left untouched. There was a faint discomfort in the gut of his stomach. It twisted and pulled at his insides. It’s become a familiar presence over the past few weeks. The sensation always seemed to worsen the longer he spent in the office. And he wished the feeling went away when he left. But it never did. It stayed buried deep inside him causing at times for tears to swell up in the corner of his eyes and for his lips to quiver just enough. It was seriously pissing him the fuck off.
His throat tightened the longer he looked at the food. He closed the lid of his bento before the counselor saw how little he had eaten again.
“I’m proud of you Bakugou.” The words made the air seem heavy. They were practiced and rehearsed. Whatever-his-name-is probably says it to a dozen students a day. Bakugou huffed and shoved his near full bento into his bag.
“Class starts soon,” Bakugou grunts and is out of the chair before he received any reaction.
The man just smiles wide and brightly at him and gestures for him to leave, “I’ll see you Monday.”
Five more weeks. Five more. And then Bakugou never has to set foot in this makeshift hell again. He’ll live. He’ll manage. He’s dealt with a lot worse, “right.”
Just as Bakugou reaches for the door handle the bastard speaks again. He always likes to get in the last word. Bakugou stopped fighting him on it three sessions in. “Monday, there are a few things I wish to discuss. You haven’t mentioned Kamino or your home life once. Let’s change that, shall we?”
Bakugou falters, just for a moment. But then he grips the handle and shoves the door open before the counselor can even notice his hesitation. Bakugou leaves without a word. He’s a minute late to English. He ignores Present Mic’s loud greeting. Present Mic doesn’t mention the tardiness. Bakugou knows his teacher won’t mark it in his attendance record. Present Mic knows where he has just come from.
He ignores Iida desperately trying not to scold Bakugou. Bakugou makes a mental note to leave the classroom before the class president can even his damn mouth to reprimand him the minute class ends. He keeps his head down and tucked it into his chest as he makes his way to his desk. And he ignores the persistent feeling of lead limbs and aching eyes. He grits his teeth and grips his pencil. His notes come out flawlessly and he breathes a sigh of relief at the aching blisters on his fingers. The pain has centered itself around his fingers instead of his whole body. It’s a distraction, one he welcomes greatly.
And has he promised himself the second Present Mic dismisses class Bakugou is out the door and heading in the direction of the dorms. He can hear Iida rambling on about the importance of punctuation. He hears Deku laugh softly towards his friend and Bakugou rounds the corner and away from the sounds.
He picks up his pace. He hears Kirishima first. The familiar set of steps as Kirishima rushes to catch up to Bakugou. Kirishima loops his arms over Bakugou’s shoulders and Bakugou doesn’t need to look to know the other has a wide smile. All canine teeth and brightness. Bakugou settles for harshly elbowing Kirishima in the side, he doesn’t have the energy to shove the other off him. The weight of Kirishima’s arm over his shoulder is a familiar feeling but a hindrance. It leaves Bakugou’s skin warm to the touch. Sizzling with the ghost of a touch for hours afterward. Bakugou hates it.
“We’re thinking of getting dinner tomorrow,” Kirishima states like it’s something Bakugou should know already.
“What are you talking about, Shitty Hair?” Bakugou hisses, sending little jabs of the elbow into Kirishima’s side. The momentarily confused look Kirishima sends him is another thing he decided to ignore that day.
“The class. Momo is trying to get Aizawa sensei’s permission. I don’t think we’ll be allowed to leave campus, but sensei will probably let us get something delivered again,” Kirishima smiles at him. Bakugou doesn’t ask about the again part. Bakugou just shakes Kirishima’s arm off him and enters the dorms. He knows Kirishima will trail after him.
“Okay,” is all Bakugou says. He sets his bag on the large island in the kitchen. And he doesn’t toss the countless piles of papers from his classmates littering the space. Maybe the bastard counselor was right. He pulls the bento from his bag and empties the food into the garbage. He was raised to never waste food. But the meal was leftover from a dinner he made two days ago and he knows he won’t eat it by the end of the day.
He can feel Kirishima watching him from where he’s draped his upper body across the island, “are you going to join us? You didn’t respond.”
“Because you didn’t ask,” Bakugou shoots back. He keeps his back turned. Hunched over the sink cleaning his dishes. He angrily cleans the other dishes stocked in the sink as well.
“In the group chat, Momo asked if everyone was going to join. You never responded.” Bakugou can hear the pout in Kirishima’s voice. He rewashes a few dishes. He bites the inside of his lip and then winces when the metallic taste of blood touches the tip of his tongue.
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Shitty Hair,” Bakugou is scrubbing at the plate he’s holding. He hears Kirishima pull out his phone. The pads of his fingers tapping lightly at it. He nearly drops the plate at the wounded whine Kirishima makes.
“The class group chat, I thought you were in it I could have sworn you were in it,” Kirishima murmurs.
Bakugou rinses the plat and sets it aside to dry. He slams the handle down, “I don’t care about some lame group chat.”
“Don’t worry, bro, I’ll add you to it!” Kirishima smiles brightly at Bakugou when he turns around like he wasn’t just pouting moments ago.
“I don’t care,” Bakugou picks up his bag and heads to the elevator. His chest feels tight and all he wants to do is get started on the essay Midnight assigned them earlier that morning. The elevator door begins to close as the rest of his classmates file into the dorm. Kirishima is looking at him from where he still stands at the kitchen island. Bakugou breaks eye contact first and hits the button for his floor.
He shuts and locks his bedroom door. He sets his bag by his desk and turns the lamp on. He routinely pulls out his notebook and textbooks. He marks the day off on his calendar and arranges his assignments in order of due date. He pulls out the notes he needs to begin the rough draft of Midnight’s assignment. His phone buzzes from where he had sat it face down at the corner of his desk. He picks the phone up out of curiosity, though it’s most likely dunce face asking if Bakugou could help him with the homework for Ectoplasm. They’d just started a new chapter in geometry and he knew the boy was already struggling to comprehend the work.
Instead, he sees a group chat labeled Aizawa sensei’s problem children. There’re five new messages from it. He takes one look at the latest text from Mineta ‘who added Bakugou??’ and he hits hide alerts. He turns his phone on do not disturb and pulls up his study playlist. He jams his earphones into his ears and blocks out the rest of the world. And when Kaminari and Mina come banging on his door later to help tutor them he drowns them out with harsh and fast drum beats.
He indulges himself in work. Bakugou skips dinner and opts for reading ahead in Cementoss sensei’s class. The music loud in his ears and the words blurring together on the page. He rereads passages over and over again. Blinking the pain from his eyes. Bakugou ignores it all.
He goes to bed at his scheduled time. He wakes early to do his routine stretches and morning jog. He pushes and pushes himself. He adds an extra mile to his jog and pretends not to notice the shaking in his legs as he pulls ingredients out of the fridge for breakfast. Breakfast has become his prime and main meal. No one is awake at this hour. No one will wander into the kitchen and disturb him with their presence. He makes a bento of rice and fried egg. He doesn’t have a session today. Kirishima will most likely drag him to sit at a table with the self-proclaimed ‘bakusquad’ and Kirishima and Sero will question him if he doesn’t eat. And a part of him wonders if his assigned counselor would mind him dropping by instead.
As he eats his breakfast, he cracks more eggs into the skillet. He sets the scrambled eggs next to a pot filled with fresh rice. It’s routine. It’s familiar. It settles the ache in his joints and nausea climbing up his throat. Bakugou thrives on routine. This is routine. Bakugou is fine. He is. He ignores Round Face and Frog as they ignore him. And when he hears Deku call out ‘Kacchan!’ he leaves the kitchen.
And when he settles into his desk ten minutes early, he just grunts in reply to Aizawa sensei’s greeting. He watches his teacher lazily grade papers and then stares out the window when his teacher glances up. There’s a slight droop to Aizawa’s mouth. Bakugou knows the teacher is thinking and probably overthinking. When the rest of the class stumble in together laughter and jokes filling the air the frown worsens. And Bakugou looks away.
Momo raises a hand, “Sensei, were we permitted to leave campus?”
“The outing has been declined from the school. You have permission to have food be delivered,” Aizawa drawls. He begins handing back the papers he had just finished grading to the class. When Aizawa hands Bakugou his quick with a large red 99% written in the top right corner he feels nothing. He feels nothing when Deku peeks over his shoulder and mutters under his breath that ‘Kacchan’s grade is four points higher than mine.’ He tunes the other out once he begins his usual fast-paced mumbling of what exactly caused him to lose points on the short answer responses. And he feels nothing when Aizawa gives them a free homeroom that allows the whole of the class to start debating what movie they should watch and where should they order from.
He hears Kirishima’s loud voice cut through the mass. And he turns to stare blankly at his quiz when the other’s voice warms his insides and sends flutters to his heart. When he catches Kirishima’s eye from the corner of his. And when Kirishima’s smile grows a fraction wider and his eyes crinkle up just a bit more. He pretends he feels nothing. He feels nothing.
The school day drags by. Bakugou can feel the seconds tick by. The class is buzzing with excitement, it sets his nerves on fire. The corner of his desk is chipped black around his vice grip. In between classes, the classroom is filled with playful banter. By math class, they’ve decided on three movies to watch. The perverted purple bastard wins the next game of rock paper scissors and it’s up to him to decide the fourth movie. He tightens his hold on his pencil. His notes are perfect. He knows that the four idiots will hound him to let them copy it. He tightens his hold and the blisters become a dark irritated red.
“Bakubro! C’mon it's lunch!” Kirishima drapes his arm over Bakugou’s shoulders and all but drags him to the cafeteria. He shoves away from the boy when he gets in line for lunch. Bakugou sits at an empty table. It doesn’t matter in a few moments it’ll be filled by the others. He pulls his bento out. He doesn’t start eating. He tells himself it’s because he isn’t hungry right this second. Not because he was waiting for the others.
“I’m so excited for tonight!” Raccoon eyes, Mina, Bakugou corrects, squeals, “I’m bringing face masks for the girls. Do you guys want some?”
“Can you bring me one? I’m trying to better my skincare routine,” Sero agrees around a bit of noodles.
“Woah, so manly,” Kirishima fawns huffing out a quiet laugh when Sero gently pushes him. Kirishima knocks against Bakugou. Bakugou doesn’t pay mind to it. Until. Until Kirishima doesn’t move. He doesn’t straighten up; he keeps his chest pressed lightly against Bakugou’s shoulder and it burns. Bakugou distracts himself by shoveling in food.
“Bakugou, want me to bring you one?” Mina asks him. Her eyes are wide in anticipation. He never understood how someone could be so openly expressive. She and Kirishima. It makes his head pound.
“Bring me what?” Bakugou takes a bit of food. He keeps his eyes trained on his bento.
“A facemask for tonight,” Mina replies.
“No.” And that’s the end of that conversation. She quickly shifts and moves on to pestering Dunce Face.
Kirishima leans more into him. Bakugou can feel the ghost of his breath on him, he shivers slightly. But it was enough to catch the other boy’s attention. Kirishima brings an arm around him and rubs at Bakugou’s arms, “are you cold, bro?”
Bakugou elbows him in the side, “no, get off.”
Kirishima squeezes him arm, just once, and then let’s go. But he keeps his chest pressed to Bakugou’s side. Their thighs pressed together and Bakugou can feel every twitch and shift. Bakugou is sweltering. The heat radiating off the redhead is too much. His palms are slicked with sweat. He clasps them together under the table. Small crackles scorch and sizzle against his skin. He stills at the press of a napkin. Kirishima dabs and wipes at his palm, “your quirk makes you sweat more than usual, yeah?”
Bakugou doesn’t answer. He just lets Kirishima clean him up. Kirishima moves away for a moment and Bakugou unconsciously follows. But then he’s back again in a second with a fresh napkin lightly damp with water. Bakugou doesn’t speak. He’s afraid if he opens his mouth, he’ll cough up his heart and spew out all the buzzing within his chest. So, he lets Kirishima clean him up and when he’s done, he moves his hands away. But he keeps his chest pressed to Bakugou.
He’s fine. Really Bakugou is fine.
Lunch is over and class must continue. Bakugou inwardly whines at the loss of touch. The loss of warmth at his side. Kirishima flashes a smile and Bakugou’s breathes deeply. He doesn’t notice Kaminari dragging him to the middle of the group as they walk back to class. He ignores everything they were saying. He keeps his hands in his pockets and his eyes trained on Kirishima’s back.
Bags are thrown on the ground and bodies are flung onto the common room couches. Groans and complaints about the school day echo around the room but they’re just as quickly replaced with the girls running off to gather pillows and blankets to decorate the couches and floors for tonight. Mina has already begun setting up décor of facemasks and other beauty supplies on the coffee table. His classmates rush around filling bowls with chips and candy. Iida is trying to create some form of order. Bakugou stands off to the side and just watches. Half and half bastard and Deku are setting up a movie on the television. It’s a superhero movie. It’s newer, Bakugou remembers seeing the trailer and remembers it looked interesting.
Bakugou shuffles to the elevator. Ignoring the ringing in his ears and what sounded like ‘Bakubro’ in Kirishima’s voice. It’s still early. He can probably finish Midnight’s assignment by tonight if he wanted to. He places his bag on the floor. It falls over and his bento peeks out. He had lunch. He probably won’t need dinner. He doesn’t want to go back downstairs. He might have a protein bar lying around if he gets hungry.
He falls into his routine. Marks a day off the calendar. Lays out the assignments due. He’s completed everything due up until Wednesday. He sets up his notes. He plugs his earphones in and hits a random playlist. And Bakugou drowns out the excessive loudness coming from below.
He’s just completed the essay when over the quiet hum of a ballad he hears knocking at his door, “go away, Shitty Hair.”
The knocking falters for a moment before picking up again. Bakugou angrily rips the earbuds out and stomps over to the door. He yanks it open, “I said go away.”
Deku shuffles from foot to foot anxiously, “Kaccan.”
“The fuck you want, nerd,” Bakugou sneers. He’s half tempted to slam the door in Deku’s face. Instead, he leans against the doorway. His handshakes slightly around his grip on the doorknob.
“You haven’t come downstairs,” Deku mumbles. He’s holding a take-out container in his hands. Bakugou can smell the aroma of meat.
“Why would I want to spend time with a bunch of extras,” Bakugou crinkles his nose and scoffs. His words sound hollow in his ears.
Deku glances down the empty hallway and then back again, “when we ordered food, I got something extra. For you. If you want it.”
The thought of eating makes the feeling of nausea crawl up his throat. He can taste the sour bile at the back of his throat. His stomach feels as if it turning inside out, “fuck off.”
Deku shuffles more. And for a moment Bakugou thought he was going to fuck off and finally leave him alone. He wasn’t expecting the bastard to harden his face and force his way into Bakugou’s bedroom, “what the- get the fuck out, Deku.”
But then Bakugou closes the door behind them. Deku sets the container on Bakugou’s desk, he pauses briefly to look at the work laid out. Bakugou doesn’t know what to do. He feels as if nowadays he never does. He starts to shuffle on his feet as Deku stands proud and confident. Deku takes a seat at the desk chair. Bakugou collapses onto his bed.
“Are you alright?” Deku asks. Bakugou stops breathing. He sees flashes of red. He sees himself running through the woods, Deku behind him. Deku always behind him. Deku always asking if he was okay. If he was alright. Deku always looking down on him. “Kacchan?” Bakugou breathes again.
“The fuck you asking that for?” Bakugou snarls. His voice is rough and it cuts through the tension in the air like a knife.
“It- it’s just you- you haven’t seemed like yourself,” Deku glances up at the ceiling. His thumbs twiddling, “you- you aren’t loud anymore. I don’t remember the last time you had dinner. You- you just seem distant.”
“I’m not fucking weak,” Bakugou seethes. His jaw locks and his teeth grind together, “I can fucking take care of myself.”
Deku waves his hands, “I know that, Kacchan! I just. Is everything okay?”
Bakugou doesn’t say anything. He feels like he can’t say anything. They sit in silence. The tension in the room slowly growing and growing until Bakugou feels like he’s going to suffocate. He and Deku. He knows what they have is complicated. He can’t remember the last time they spoke like this. He doesn’t think they’ve ever spoken like this. And Bakugou wants it to stop.
“Tch, like anything, is wrong,” Bakugou leans back on his hands. His gaze is cold and piercing.
Deku doesn’t look convinced but he knows when he’s been defeated, “wanna come down? We’re about to start another movie. Jirou picked it out, I think it’s a scary movie.”
“Why would I go?” Bakugou cocks his head. Waiting for Deku to get out of his room so he can finally breathe again.
“I- we want you to join us.” Bakugou doesn’t miss the slip-up. It doesn’t come as a shock. It’s something he has always known. He isn’t dense. Deku meant to say I want you to come. Bakugou knows.
“Like I care,” Bakugou feels his façade breaking. He pulls his lips into a thin grimace. He looks away.
“You should join us,” Deku continues. Bakugou wants to punch him.
“I don’t want to. Go join the rest of the fucking extras and leave me alone,” Bakugou meant to bark it out. It comes out cracked. Deku needs to leave and now.
And finally, the fucker nods and gets up to leave. As soon as Deku leaves the air clears out. And Bakugou falls against his bed his arms no longer able to hold his weight. His arms are shaking. He thinks his hands are too. He bites the inside of his lip until he pinches down hard enough to draw blood. And the tears are wiped from his eyes. He stares the out into his room. The only light coming from the small desk lamp. He can hear when Deku returns downstairs. Hears Round Face and Four Eyes ask him to grab more soda from the fridge.
He gets up to settle back at his desk. His legs ache under him. He ignores the container of food. It’s yakitori. The spices fill his nose. The nerd must have asked for added spices for him. He shoves the container away and reaches for his phone. He doesn’t know what he’s doing as he pulls the group chat up. He feels as if an outside source is controlling his motions.
Mineta: who added Bakugou??
Shitty Hair: i did! i noticed he wasnt in it.
Hagakure: lmaoo I think there was a reason for that…
Momo: he wasn’t in it?
Shitty Hair: no its ok tho!
Deku: i didnt notice ☹
Uraraka: sorry i didnt think to include him when i made the gc
Uraraka: he didnt seem like he would wanna join :/
The conversation ends there. Bakugou ignores the shaking of his hands. Ignores the sudden blur of his vision.
Raccoon Eyes: i cant wait for 2nit!!!!!!!!
Tokoyami: Indeed. It had been a while since we last relaxed.
Dunce Face: what food yall want???!!!
Shitty Hair: meat!!!!!
Todoroki: Soba, would be nice.
Shitty Hair: >:(
Momo: there’s a restaurant a few blocks that has a wide variety on the menu.
Iida: Exactly! Everyone can get what they wish.
Momo: I’m going to place the order with Aizawa sensei. I believe everyone has texted me their decisions except Bakugou.
Momo: Bakugou what would you like?
Deku: Bakugou?
Shitty Hair: hey bro??
Tsuyu: order w/o him. he never joins anyway.
Bakugou tosses the phone aside. He presses his palms into his eyes and rubs roughly. He knows Ponytail only asked because of his addition to the group chat. He knows they’ve done nights like these before. He’s never been invited. He doesn’t fucking want to be invited anyway. He doesn’t want to hang with a bunch of fucking extras. He doesn’t. He doesn’t have time to be fucking around when he’s aiming to be the number one hero. He has more important things to do.
He hears Kirishima laugh vibrate through the dorm. It’s the laugh he does when he’s caught off guard, it’s usually a mixture of Sero and Kaminari who gets Kirishima to let go like that. The sound settles deep within him burying its way between his ribs. It melts the frost coating him and he momentarily stops shivering to bask in the beautiful sound. But then it’s gone and Bakugou can hear the other classmates alongside Kirishima. Bakugou plugs his earphones back in.
He doesn’t leave his dorm room the rest of the night. Or all of Saturday. He stretches and does push-ups to compensate for not doing his usual jog. It allows for the itch beneath his skin to simmer. He doesn’t go down for breakfast or lunch or dinner. Bakugou sticks to his routine but he doesn’t question how easy it was for him to drop cooking from it. He eyes the take-out container but opts for the protein bar he found in his desk drawer instead. It’s all his stomach will allow him to hold down. He works out and he does homework. The dorm room is quiet. For the first time, Bakugou doesn’t feel the persistent tightening of his chest. His mind feels clear. And he allows himself to watch a movie after studying. He has a good feeling that he’ll be able to sleep that night. Bakugou allows himself to call this a good day for him and he savors it.
Bakugou wants Sunday to continue the same. Because then Monday and the rest of the week will contain this calm that just soothes Bakugou enough to not want to tear his skin apart and rip hairs from his head in frustration. The calm settles between bones and cools his aching joints. And if it’s because of Kirishima’s laugh still ringing in his ears hours and hours afterward Bakugou doesn’t bring it up to himself. He just leans into the calm.
But of course, the calm does not follow him into Sunday. Why would it when Bakugou so fervently wanted it to. But the end of this came in a means he least expected. In the means of sharp teeth and gentle eyes. Kirishima lets himself into Bakuogou’s room sometime after lunch and Bakugou curses himself for forgetting to lock it after Deku left Friday night.
“Bro!” Kirishima’s voice is loud and deafening. A fleeting thought of wishing he could hear that voice for the rest of his life filters through Bakugou’s mind. He violently shoves it aside. He sniggers at Kirishima. The redhead just laughs and bounces onto Bakugou’s bed. It’s a jumble of knees and elbows as Bakugou pretends to desperately try and kick Kirishima off him. He feigns defeat and lets the other press his thighs and legs up against him, “where have you been?”
Bakugou is confused by the question, “where the fuck do you think I’ve been?”
Kirishima pouts, a sharp tooth sticking out. Bakugou can’t take his eyes away from it. “I didn’t see you yesterday, like at all!”
“I’ve been in here the whole time, Shitty fucking Hair,” Bakugou feels heat rising to his cheeks and he looks away from Kirishima.
Kirishima tilts his head. His cheek rubs up against Bakugou’s shoulder and the sensation hums throughout his entire body. “bro, I didn’t see you for any meals.”
Bakugou knows the class likes to have meals together on the weekends. Mina calls it team bonding for whatever the fuck. Bakugou never joins. He’s never invited. Bakugou doesn’t answer him. It only causes Kirishima to pout more. He feels Kirishima shuffle into a sitting position, he presses his chest into Bakugou’s shoulder. He lays a gentle hand on Bakugou’s arm, “hey, is everything okay?”
“Is everything alright, Kacchan?”
Bakugou does everything in his willpower to not shove Kirishima off him, “everything’s fucking peachy.”
Kirishima wraps his fingers around Bakugou’s wrist, his thumb pressed against his pulse. And Bakugou hopes Kirishima pays no mind the rapid beating of his heart. His mind wanders to Kamino, to Kirishima calling out for him to come, to Bakugou taking Kirishima’s hand and thinking that he never wants to let go. He thinks the same now. Kirishima’s voice is quiet just above a whisper, “I don’t think it is, Bakugou.”
Bakugou sharply inhales a breath. Kirishima’s thumb presses even deeper and Bakugou knows he can feel the pounding within his chest, “why would I fucking lie to you.”
Kirishima shakes his head. His hair is down, it falls in loose strands around his eyes. Bakugou will never tell the other but he prefers Kirishima with his hair down. It makes the boy look more vulnerable. He likes the way it shapes Kirishima’s face and how it displays around him like a halo when he falls asleep on Bakugou’s floor after a study session. “You know you can talk to me, right, bro?”
“I know.” And Bakugou does. He knows Kirishima likes it when Bakugou opens up to him. Bakugou doesn’t have the heart to tell Kirishima how he hates opening up to him. Bakugou knows he’s weak. He doesn’t need others knowing it as well.
Kirishima’s other hand starts to play with Bakugou’s fingers. Faint little touches that send shivers down Bakugou’s spine and fluttering in his stomach. It’s a nice change of pace from the usual tightness. But it hurts just as much. “You’ve been off, bro.”
Stupid Deku told him just as much the other night. And momentarily Bakugou worries if the whole class has noticed his change. Even if they did, he doubts they would care. Most of them probably sighed a breath of relief that the class monster was taking a break from terrorizing them. Bakugou lies, “It’s nothing.”
Kirishima shuffles again, his knees press into Bakugou’s ribs. It’s sort of uncomfortable and they’re at an awkward angle but he can’t help but to want more. Kirishima’s hand stops fiddling with his. He wants to curse at Shitty Hair and tell him to continue fucking playing with his fingers for fucks safe. But then those fingers are grasping lightly at his chin and forcing Bakugou to look at the other boy. And it becomes all too much all too sudden. A small pop explodes from Bakugou’s palms but Kirishima pays it no mind. Bakugou stares into his eyes. They’re so wide and expressive a million emotions and thoughts are swirling in those red eyes. Bakugou can see himself reflected in them. His eyes are sunken in and his skin sickly pale. And he wonders why Kirishima would want to touch something so painfully disturbing.
“You’re not okay, bro. It’s okay to not be okay,” Kirishima’s voice is soft and it warms Bakugou. But for once Bakugou wants that voice to stop. “Please, Bakugou, let me help you. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Fucking nothing.”
“You’ve distanced yourself from all of us,” Kirishima continues. His thumbs are rubbing circles into his jaw and wrist. And it’s fucking too much, “you don’t hang or eat with us. I don’t think you’ve been eating at all.”
“Why would I hang with a bunch of fucking bloody extras?” Bakugou seethes. Why would he force his presence in a place it’s not wanted? And Bakugou knows what Kirishima is going to say next. It’s the same thing Deku said. And Bakugou feels as if he’s going to snap.
“We wanna hang with you, bro. Maybe you’ll feel better if you socialize a bit more, y’know? Come have dinner with us tonight, you should eat something,” Kirishima says it so casually like it’s the easiest fucking thing on the planet to do. And to Kirishima it is. Bakugou knows how social the other is. He gets along with everyone; the whole class loves him.
“I don’t fucking care,” Bakugou sees red. He jerks roughly out of Kirishima’s hold, “why should I spend my time fucking around with people I don’t care about. They all can fuck off. Stop wasting my time with this bullshit, Shitty Hair.”
“Bro, c’mon,” Kirishima tries reaching for him again and Bakugou’s body acts on its own. He swats at Kirishima’s hands, the sound echoes and it rips at Bakugou’s heart. Kirishima’s lips begin to wobble. But it doesn’t stop him. Of course, it fucking wouldn’t, “Bakugou.”
And Bakugou explodes, “why the fuck would I spend time with you all. I don’t want to be there and no one fucking wants me there. Do you think I don’t fucking know what you all say about me? I don’t need your fucking charity, Shitty Hair. I don’t fucking need any of you. It’s fucking suffocating the way you all try and pretend to tolerate my presence. I’m fucking over it. Stop trying to force me to join your little bonding shit fest. Stop fucking telling me the others want me there or the others are concerned about me when I know half the class wants me to kick fucking rocks. Fuck off, Shitty Hair, and tell stupid Deku to do the same.”
Kirishima’s eyes glisten with tears. And Bakugou hates himself. He hates himself so fucking much. He should have shut his mouth and choked on the words. He always does. “You don’t mean that.”
Kirishima reaches for him again with shaking hands. And Bakugou refuses to let Kirishima touch him. He doesn’t deserve the other’s sympathy. Not after what he just shouted. He stands from the bed and turns around. He can’t look at Kirishima. He can’t look at the tears threatening to spill over and the redhead biting harshly down on his lip to prevent his sobs from coming out. He can’t show Kirishima that he’s doing the same thing, “Fuck off, Shitty Hair. Leave me the fuck alone already.”
His heart sinks in his chest as he hears Kirishima all but rush off the bed. He doesn’t breathe again until hearing the slamming of the door. Bakugou crumbles to the floor and heaves for air but the cold air is burning his throat and lungs. He sits there for minutes or hours Bakugou isn’t sure. But by the time he looks up again the sky has turned dark. There’s a quick sharp rap against his door. He ignores it. But he feels lighter when the pair of feel instantly walk away. The rhythmic pattern isn’t familiar to him. It’s not Kirishima or any of the three fuck faces. It’s not Deku either.
He stands on shaky legs. Anger and resentment still running through his veins and he wants to punch or yell at someone. There’s a bottle of water and two protein bars sitting outside his door. He picks them up and closes the door. He stops in the middle of his room when he reads the note.
I did not mean to listen in. But I hope you do not truly believe what you said.
-Shoji
He throws the water bottle against the wall he shares with Shoji and yells a string of curses. He calls Shoji every name under the sun but wonders when he began to direct those remarks towards himself. He hears Kirishima shuffle around in his room next door and Bakugou has had enough. He just wants to sleep and pretend he does not have to face the two in class tomorrow. But no matter how physically exhausted he feels he cannot sleep. He lies awake for hours staring blankly at the ceiling. He feels himself slip in and out of his body. For once his mind is empty but his heart never stops pounding.
He doesn’t remember getting out of bed when his alarm rang. He can’t recall getting dressed. He blinked and one moment he was lying in bed and the next he was sitting in class. He’s overly sensitive, emotionally, and physically since yesterday. His skin is buzzing and the sensation doesn’t leave no matter how much he scratches at his arms. He vaguely recalls snapping at three of his classmates, though who they were or what he said is left a mystery. He’s pulled in and out of consciousness whenever he hears the remarks from his classmates. He can hear them whispering to each other under their breaths, about his attitude about him. It’s nothing new. He’s heard it all but it still doesn’t mean it doesn’t cut just as deep.
He snarks at Aizawa when the teacher calls on him to answer. He’s seething. He’s coming undone. He can feel himself coming apart at the seams he’s so desperately trying to hold together. He’s falling and he’s afraid to crash because there is no safety net for him. There’s no one coming to save him. He’s shouted at and insulted the only person who might have given a damn about him because that’s what he’s good at. He pushes people away. He pushed Deku away. Now he’s pushed Kirishima away. He refuses to allow them to see how weak and inferior he is compared to them all. He refuses to allow them that satisfaction. Images of Kirishima’s lips wobbling and tears gathering in his eyes flood Bakugou’s mind and thoughts. It’s all he can see and all he can think about. And it’s what’s pushing him over the edge.
He once vowed to never hurt Kirishima, not after he grabbed his hand at Kamino and heard about all he’s done. But Bakugou is a liar. And he’s best at hurting others. He hears the continued whispers. The concerns and soft coos directed at Kirishima. The class can’t stand seeing him upset. It’s the one thing Bakugou has in common with the fucking extras. And then he hears it. He doesn’t know who said it. But he hears it. “Why would someone as sweet as you be friends with a monster like Bakugou?”
Bakugou doesn’t know what was said next. If Kirishima ever replied. The bell rang and he bolted from the classroom. His body running on routine because it’s the only thing keeping him from ripping his mind apart. He’s breathing hard, gasping for air as he enters the bastard counselor’s office. He slams his body into the chair and ignores the pointed look. That’s another thing Bakugou is good at. Ignoring things.
“Bakugou, good afternoon,” the counselor drawls on. Bakugou gives no response, no indication that he’s even listening. His ears block it all out and he’s biting his tongue to keep the whimpers from coming out. He loses track of himself. He loses track of time. He’s roughly shoved back into his body when he hears fuckface ask, “you seem to ignore Kamino as a whole, but especially when the part of your classmates rescuing you comes up. Why is that?”
And it all floods out of Bakugou like a broken dam. He regrets it as soon as the world slip past his tongue, “they never should have done that.”
“Why is that?” the counselor is momentarily surprised. Maybe Bakugou wasn’t so subtle in his aversion and lack of responses in previous sessions. “Because they should have left it to the heroes?”
“They all should have just left me. They should have just left me to die.” Bakugou can’t stop himself. The words slip out. It does not even feel as if he is the one speaking it. He’s shaking and he’s crying. He’s gasping for air. He coughs and he chokes and he sobs. He somehow gets onto the ground, curled up on his side. He doesn’t feel in control of his own body and he loses track of time again. All he can hear is scream and when did he start screaming? Was that him? He can’t see past the tears coating his eyes. He thinks he hears the counselor call for someone or answers a phone. He isn’t sure anymore. He isn’t sure of anything. All he knows is he can’t breathe.
He’s falling and falling. He sees no end or bottom, it’s an endless fall. The wind is whipping past him carving thin scratches into his arms. The blood gets mixed into the air. The scent is metallic and heavy and it’s suffocating. He wants it all to stop. He wants to finally hit the floor and put an end to it all.
But then he closes his eyes and snaps back. And stares right at Aizawa’s face. His teacher is pressing his arms to his side. His arms are littered with cuts, he sees skin and blood under his fingernails. He doesn’t remember doing that. He registers someone calling his name. He doesn’t know who it is, the counselor or Aizawa or All Might. When did All Might get here? When did Aizawa get here?
Bakugou is too tired. His eyes are sore and puffy and they hurt. He feels drained. He feels exhausted. And for once he lets himself go. He leans into the comfort and familiarity of his teacher. He rests his forehead on Aizawa’s shoulder. He’s too tired to fight anymore so he lets himself quiet down into a soft cry. He gripes at his teacher’s shirt and he welcomes the embrace that follows it. He welcomes the warmth and comfort. He doesn’t think anyone has ever comforted him like this before. He can’t remember his parents holding him as he cried. And so, he all but crawls into his teacher’s lap and cries like he’s a little kid again. And he rushes after the gentle hand rubbing up and down his back. He leans into the scratch of Aizawa’s stubble on his head. Bakugou is tired and he just wants to sleep.
Aizawa must have asked if he was able to stand and Bakugou must have nodded because one moment he was sitting on the ground and the next his teacher was pulling him to his feet. His body felt heavy. His vision was swirling. A migraine was pounding against his skull. And Bakugou is so incredibly tired of feeling like this. He tried so hard to ignore it as he does with everything else. But after weeks and weeks of his mind keeping him awake at night and the constricting tightness through his chest and stomach leaving him nauseous at the mere thought of food. Bakugou is tired of it all. No wonder he exploded. He was a ticking time bomb. He was just hoping he could have figured how to live like this before it detonated.
He let his teacher carefully guide him. The route through the school was familiar. So was the pathway leading to the back of the school. Aizawa was probably taking him back to his dorm. All Might was quieting following them. He was aware just enough to recognize the two teachers were talking in hushed whispers to one another. But as they neared the entrance to the dorms Bakugou started dragging his feet. The sun was just beginning to set. The class was probably preparing for dinner. They all would most likely be in the kitchen and common room. Bakugou did not want to see them. He gritted his teeth and pushed his weight furthermore onto his teacher.
And Bakugou has never respected his teacher more than he did in this moment. Aizawa motioned for All Might to take the lead to garner all the attention onto himself as Aizawa shifted to Bakugou’s left and tucked the student under his arm to shield him. Bakugou kept his head down and clung desperately to his teacher.
The onslaught of lights and nineteen voices wavering in volume was too much. Bakugou’s mental and physical state was overstimulated. The surgency of repressed emotions took Bakugou up over the edge and left him weakened and sensitive to his senses. The loudness and brightness caused him to shut down again. Bakugou blanked out from the front door to his dorm room.
“Change your clothing, I’ll be back in a moment,” Aizawa spoke quietly overly aware of the state his student was in. And Bakugou blessed this man.
Bakugou peeled his uniform off scoffing lightly in disgust at the sweat that clung to his skin and clothes. The burnt sweet smell of nitroglycerin filled his nose, but for once the smell was not overbearing. The familiar scent leveled his thoughts and cleared his mind. He found a pair of clean black sweatpants. He swiped the red Crimson Riot hoodie Kirishima had left in his room previously and pulled it over his head, rubbing his nose lightly against the fabric. He remembered all that he said to the boy the previous night. He knew he was going to have to suck up his pride and apologize. He’ll do it. He’ll do it for Kirishima.
As he settled onto his bed Aizawa knocked lightly and then entered. In his hands, he carried a bowl of steaming soup and a bottle of water. He set the meal on the table near his bed and crouched down to be eye level with his student, “do you wish to talk about what happened?”
Bakugou curled into himself, pressing his knees into his chest, “no.”
“Okay, we don’t have to. But I would like for you to see Nakamura-san tomorrow during lunch,” Aizawa said. Bakugou would usually lash out at the tone of voice his teacher was using. The soft gentle tone made Bakugou feel as if he was being treated like glass. Bakugou couldn’t help but loosen up his muscles at the calming voice. “I am not the only one that has noticed your behavior in the past few weeks. And as your teacher, I apologize for not stepping forward and offering my help earlier.”
Bakugou shook his head. If his teacher had spoken to him prior to this Bakugou would have retorted back to his protective layer of insults and pushed the teacher away.
“Eat and drink some water,” his teacher stood groaning as his knees cracked, “would you like me to come check up on you later?”
Bakugou shook his head.
“Would you like All Might?” Aizawa asked. Bakugou shook his head. “Kirishima?”
Bakugou hesitated. He wanted nothing more at that moment than to see the other boy. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” Aizawa echoed.
“I- we, I yelled at him last night,” Bakugou spoke. His voice was rough and scratchy, the words pierced his throat and left it dry and uncomfortable, “I, I don’t know. I said some stuff I didn’t mean to direct towards him.”
Aizawa hummed, “I suppose that was the catalyst for what happened today. I’m going to speak with Kirishima and ask him to check on you. It is up to you to decide if you wish to tell him what has been happening or not. But Bakugou, listen to me, expressing how you feel is not a weakness. Learning how to cope with your emotions and thoughts is not a weakness. You’ve never been taught how to properly express yourself. From what I have heard from Midoriya you have never been able to process and come to terms with yourself, and you have never been given the chance to do so. It takes a lot of courage to start now.”
Then Aizawa forced the bowl into his hands and left. And Bakugou felt the tightening in his chest begin to loosen just a fraction. He took small tentative sips of the soup. The broth warmed and soothed his aching throat. He felt the heat pool at the pit of his stomach. And Bakugou wanted to remain like this forever. He didn’t want to go back to constantly feeling on edge like any moment his life was going to come crumbling down around him. He did not want to go back to living in a body that no longer felt like his own. He knew he was brass and rough. When he was young, he used his aggression as an outlet. He pushed people away with harsh words and even harsher jabs. It kept people from getting too close. And it kept him from discovering who he was. He did it to Midoriya and grew even angrier when the other didn’t give up on Bakugou like all the others. And Bakugou knows he has come to regret it. He knows Deku has forgiven him, probably will say there was nothing to forgive. But Bakugou will always feel like he can never make it up to the other.
And Kirishima. He doesn’t want to do that to Kirishima. The fiery and leveled boy weaseled his way through all of Bakugou’s barriers and made himself home in the frost and explosiveness that is Bakugou.
As Bakugou finished his meal and uncapped the water to take a few short sips there was a knock at his door. He could instantly tell it was Kirishima. It was always a series of three quick raps laid down with a heavy fist trying to not be loud. “Come in.”
Kirishima poked his head in first. A small pout on his lips and his eyes pointed downwards in a fret of worry. And Bakugou hates himself for causing the other to feel this way. Kirishima closed the door behind him and sat at the end of Bakugou’s bed. Bakugou wanted the other to leap and jump onto his bed, for Kirishima to nudge and hit him accidentally with bulky limps as he happily settled down beside him with a doofy grin that was all teeth and serotonin.
“Sensei asked if I could check up on you,” Kirishima started, “I saw him bring you up here. All Might wasn’t very good at trying to distract us. A lot of us were worried, y’know.”
Bakugou doesn’t know. He doesn’t know if the others were worried. All he cares about is Kirishima. “I’m sorry.”
Kirishima blinked at him, “for what?”
Bakugou coughed, the noise rattling in his throat. He was just buying extra time. “For yelling at you. Yesterday. I guess.”
“Kirishima shuffled to cross his legs, “oh.”
“I didn’t mean to direct that. At you, at least,” Bakugou crinkled the water bottle in his hand.
“But you meant it about the others,” Kirishima finished for him.
“Yeah,” Bakugou spoke. His mind was racing trying desperately to find the right words. The right string of sentences that could accurately describe what he was thinking. Thankfully Kirishima seemed to notice that. Kirishima was always able to read him almost perfectly.
“The class likes you, dude.” Before Bakugou could retort Kirishima continued, “they want to at least. They don’t see you the way I do. Or Midoriya. You won’t let them.”
“I know.” Bakugou pushed through chittering teeth.
“Something’s been bothering you,” Kirishima inched closer. And Bakugou sighed a breath of relief. Kirishima lightly jabbed Bakugou’s shins with his own, “I just want you to talk to me, bro.”
Bakugou closed his eyes. Breathed in deeply. And he did. “I’m not okay.”
Kirishima smiled sadly, “I know.”
“But. But I want to be,” Bakugou gasped, feeling the pinprick of tears, “I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”
“I’ll make sure you don’t.”
“I’m- It’s hard to say how I feel. It’s hard to talk about my feelings and thoughts. I don’t know how to. It’s, it’s a lot easier just being mean. People leave me alone that way. But the things people say. I know it’s true- don’t give me that look, Shitty Hair, I know it’s true. But I don’t want it to be. I don’t want to be seen as a monster or a- or a villain. Because I’m starting to feel like I am. I don’t want to lie awake thinking about how you all should have left me to the League because it would have been better for everyone. It’s been just fucking bubbling up inside me. and I can’t fucking eat or sleep. And I don’t want to feel like this anymore.” Bakugou can feel the warm stream of tears down his face. His voice is cracking and straining. He rubs roughly at his sensitive eyes. And he lets Kirishima pull him into his arms.
“You’re not any of that, you aren’t.” Kirishima whispers into his hair. His arms are tight around his waist. Their chests are pressed together. And Bakugou closes his eyes as he feels the beat of Kirishima’s heart beating against his own. “You’re my best friend, you’re my everything Bakugou. You’re trying more than anyone else here to be a hero. You’re trying so hard to better yourself. It’s clear as day. You cook too much food so the others don’t have to worry about cooking. You bake sweets and leave them in the fridge so people think it was Sato. You make sure your notes are the best they can be so you can tutor us. You proofread Kaminari’s essays so he doesn’t get points taken off just because he’s dyslexic. You always leave water and protein bars in my room on days you know I train with Tetsu. You’ve been watching Midoriya train because I know you worry about him hurting himself. You clean our dishes and clean the common room when we aren’t looking. You are the most selfless person I know, Bakugou. You are not a monster or a villain. Some of the classmates have said stuff about you. And they shouldn’t have because they don’t know you. You should see the way Midoriya or Mina tells them off. You have friends here. You have people who love you. God, Bakugou, you mean so much to me.”
Bakugou clutches the front of Kirishima’s shirt. There’s a growing damp spot on the other’s shoulder. Bakugou inches closer and closer until there is no gap between their bodies. He cries. He feels like he has cried all day. But he cries and sobs into Kirishima’s shoulder as the other holds him like he’s the greatest thing on this earth.
“You mean so much to me, Bakugou,” Kirishima whispers, his voice is wet and watery. Bakugou can feel small drops of tears slip down into his hair. And Bakugou presses even closer.
Kirishima is cradling his face and wiping away his tears. And Bakugou loves him. He loves this boy so much it hurts. “I love you.”
It was a slip of the tongue, whispered so gently and soft. Bakugou widens his eyes and goes to take the words back. But then Kirishima is smiling and beaming at him. His laugh is watery and sharp and it’s everything. Kirishima squeezes at Bakugou’s cheeks. And he’s crying and laughing and pressing kisses to Bakugou’s face. And Bakugou thinks he should of have had this meltdown weeks ago if it meant this beautiful boy pressed wet kisses full of adoration and admiration into his skin. He wants to permanently carve this feeling into his skin.
“Dude, you can’t just say that after any already emotional talk. So not manly, bro” Kirishima barks teasingly. But his hands are still cupping his jaw. And Bakugou can feel a million and one ghost kisses floating on his skin. Kirishima’s flushed from the roots of his hair down to his neck. His lips are glistening with a mixture of his and Bakugou’s tears. His pupils are dilated and Bakugou wants to see the world reflected in those bright red eyes. Bakugou has loved this boy since Kamino, since USJ, since Bakugou realized he cannot keep living the way he is.
Bakugou has wanted this for weeks, maybe even months. He wants to listen to Kirishima speak for the rest of time as Bakugou learns and grows. Bakugou knows he has a lot to work on. Bakugou knows he won’t be easy to deal with or be in a relationship with. But as Kirishima scrunches up his nose and pinches Bakugou’s cheeks, Bakugou knows Kirishima knows all this already. They’ll have another talk tomorrow or the day after or whenever Bakugou is ready. Maybe Bakugou will talk about it with the bastard counselor, Nakamura. Maybe he’ll talk about it with Aizawa.
But for now, Bakugou surges forward and kisses Kirishima with every emotion that has been radiating through his body. It’s sloppy and tastes like tears. Bakugou pricks himself on one of Kirishima’s teeth and there’s a quiet gasp. But then they’re laughing into the kiss. And Bakugou feels giddy and happy kissing Kirishima. His heart is pounding but so is Kirishima’s.
Bakugou never wants to stop. He wants to drown himself in Kirishima’s lips and gentle touches. But he pulls away because “I’m still hungry, Shitty Hair.”
And Kirishima looks at him like he just said the greatest thing ever. And maybe after weeks of seeing Bakugou not eat, it is. “Todoroki, Momo, and Aoyama made dinner tonight. It was pretty good, bro!”
So, Bakugou squishes Kirishima’s cheeks and plants another kiss. He lets Kirishima pull him up and off the bed. He smiles and blushes when Kirishima finally notices the hoodie he’s wearing. They look a mess. Their faces flushed red and tears are beginning to stain their cheeks. They know the others will be nosy and want to know what happened. But as Bakugou closes his dorm room, Kirishima offers him his hand. And so, Bakugou takes Kirishima’s hand again and this time he never let's go.