Archive of Our Own ^beta

Everything hurt.

His mouth tasted chalky and dry, his throat shredded and raspy, and his head threatened to split open at any minute. Even opening his eyes caused him pain, eyelids crusty and stuck together.

He looked around, waiting for clarity, but both his thoughts and vision stayed hazy. Everything seemed white and a little too bright. Somewhat familiar but only in the most distant, generic sense. 

Despite the pain he tried to shift, just a little, and when his right arm didn’t respond, panic shot through him. Had he lost the use of his arm? What had he done? Vision still cloudy, he looked to his right, slightly down and found—

Bakugo.

Something was off. It had to be, for Bakugo of all people to be asleep at his hospital bedside, fingers interlaced with his own. But it wasn’t just that. The costume was slightly different, the hair a little shorter, the shoulders too broad. Scars where Kirishima knew there shouldn’t be any. 

A ring on the left ring finger of the hand that gripped his so tightly that he’d temporarily lost feeling.

An ugly feeling settled in the pit of Kirishima’s stomach. So many things were wrong about this Bakugo but that ring and how jealous it made him was the worst. 

“Kirishima?” Bakugo groaned, waking up as Kirishima fell back asleep. 

“What’s wrong?” Deku asked immediately. He watched as Bakugo paced in the little waiting room designated for visitors. He’d known by Bakugo’s text that something wasn’t right. Ending up in the hospital wasn’t ideal but it also wasn’t particularly rare in their line of work; if something wasn’t really, really wrong, Bakugo wouldn’t have even bothered to mention it.

Bakugo’s voice was gravelly and so strained it almost hurt to listen to it. “The last thing he remembers is fighting Rappa, trying to protect Fat.” Only now did he meet Deku’s eyes.

Deku gasped, feeling as if someone had sucker punched him in the gut. “Are you serious?” he whispered.

“You think I would fucking kid about something like that?” Bakugo growled but had the sense not to yell.

“W-what—” Deku swallowed. “What caused it? A Quirk? Head injury? Something...else?”

“They don’t know,” Bakugo ground out through clenched teeth. “Fucking doctor said she thinks it might’ve been triggered by some repressed regret or subconscious trauma or some shit. Fucking useless fucking doctors anyway.”

“That’s not fair,” Deku chided out of habit. “Is— is he alright otherwise?  Physically?”

Bakugo nodded wearily. “Yeah. At least there’s that. I mean, he’s pretty beat up. But no broken bones, no actual concussion, nothing like that.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“What are you going to do?” Deku whispered.

“What can I do?” Bakugo snapped back. 

“Well, I mean, are you— to your— he thinks he’s fifteen.”

“What else am I supposed to do? He lives with me. I can’t send him to the fucking dorms at UA just because he thinks he’s fifteen again. And I don’t want to, either. I’m going to fucking take him home—our home—and we’ll figure this shit out there.”

The silence stretched on as Deku mustered up the courage to voice his next question. “Are you going to tell him?”

“No,” Bakugo replied immediately.

Deku looked up, startled. “Y-you’re really not going to tell him you’re married?”

“No,” Bakugo repeated, irritation in his voice. “So don’t any of you fuckers tell him either.”

“B-but—”

“He’s already going to have a helluva shock getting used to...everything. What the fuck do you think it would do to a macho man fifteen-year-old to find out he married a fucking dude? What if that is his ‘regret’ the stupid fucking doctor is talking about?”

“Kacchan, he’s going to find out—”

“Then let him find out later! If there is a later! The last thing his rocks-for-brains fucking needs is to be fucking overloaded with the shock of his life after he’s trying to come to terms with being fifteen fucking years older than he thinks he is!” Bakugo sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe...maybe he’ll wake up tomorrow and be normal. That could happen. We...we just have to get through a few days, take it easy, let him heal up.”

Deku resisted the urge to point out that Bakugo sounded as if he was trying to convince himself more than anyone. “Well, if you need anything...”

“Ground Zero?” the doctor interrupted them. “We’re just finishing up the paperwork for Red Riot’s release. Since he believes himself to be a minor, would you like to sit in on the—”

“Yeah, I’m coming.” Bakugo brushed past Deku without another thought, heading into Kirishima’s hospital room.

“Wow, I really live here?” 

Bakugo looked at Kirishima. Again. He couldn’t look at him enough, noticing the little differences. The unguarded expression, the lack of confidence around the shoulders, the innocence in the eyes. It was somehow the same body he knew, the same thirty-year-old body, but at the same time...not. But then the more he looked, cataloguing all those tiny things, the more it hurt to look at him. With every minute difference was more proof that this was his Kirishima but it also wasn’t.

Since they’d been more or less inseparable the last fifteen years, Bakugo hadn’t realized how much Kirishima had changed. Sure, he’d gotten a little taller and a lot broader. But to see the hesitance in his stride and hear the wonder in his voice was jarring. When had Kirishima grown out of that? When had he settled into his confidence? 

“Yeah,” Bakugo said, unlocking the door.

“This place is huge!” Kirishima gawked as they stepped inside. “We both live here? That’s so cool!”

Bakugo frowned slightly. “You’re taking this awfully well. Are you sure you’re not faking?”

“Huh?” Kirishima asked, eyes wide and completely guileless. “Nah, it’s just... I mean, yeah, it’s weird but...” He smiled crookedly. “Future me lives in this sweet house with one of my besties as a roommate? That’s awesome!”

“One of your besties?” Bakugo asked before he could help himself.

“Uh, yeah?” Kirishima canted his head to the side. “Aren’t we besties?”

Bakugo clenched his jaw. “That’s not what I meant...Nevermind. Anyway,” his voice became something a little too soft, “do...do you remember this at all? Or do you need me to show you around?”

“Oh.” Kirishima hesitated, looking around. “I...don’t. Remember. Could you..?”

“Yeah,” Bakugo sighed, trying not to sound too disappointed. “C’mon.” The living room and kitchen were pretty obvious with the open floor plan so Bakugo headed down the hallway to the spare room. It had always been Kirishima’s room, ever since Bakugo bought the house, for those platonic sleepovers back in the day. But fuck if Bakugo could remember the last time Kirishima had actually slept in there. It had to have been years ago at this point...before...

“That one’s yours,” Bakugo explained. He couldn’t blame Kirishima for looking a little disappointed as he opened the door and looked inside. Yes, it was Kirishima’s room, but since it hadn’t been used in years, it looked a little plain and felt a bit stale.

“And this is my room,” Bakugo pushed open the door directly across the hall. “You’ll use this bathroom, it has the best shower—”

“Whoa! Your bed is huge!”

Bakugo nearly choked, trying his best to keep a straight face. “Quit looking at my fucking bed,” he blustered, trying to redirect Kirishima’s attention. 

“Why do you get such a ginormous bed and mine is so small?” Kirishima asked with a pout.

“Because it’s my house!” Bakugo barked. 

“I thought I lived here?”

“You do. But, uh, it was my house first.”

“We didn’t buy it together?”

Bakugo groaned. “No.”

“Oh.” Kirishima’s face fell.

“Is that— is that a problem?” Bakugo had to ask. Kirishima had never said anything...before...about the fact that it had originally just been Bakugo’s house. Was that something that had been bothering him?

“No, I guess not. I just...” Kirishima shrugged. “I guess, I just thought, we were like, y’know. Equals or something. The fact that I just live in your house makes me feel like some kinda freeloader or something...”

“Oh, don’t worry, asshole, you pay plenty to live here.”

Kirishima blinked, then burst out laughing. “Alright.” He crinkled up his nose. “Uh, what were you saying about a shower? I stink.”

“Yeah you do,” Bakugo replied easily, causing Kirishima to laugh again. “You’ll use the master shower, in here—”

“Ooh, ‘master shower.’ Sounds fancy.”

Bakugo rolled his eyes. “It’s a fucking bathroom.” 

“Do I have a bathroom?”

“Use this one.”

“But isn’t it yours?”

Bakugo clenched his jaw. “Yes, but it’s the best and it’s the easiest for you to use all fucked up like you are. So just fucking listen to me and use this shower.”

“Okay,” Kirishima said hesitantly. “Um...”

“What?”

“Can I use it now?”

“Yes, Kirishima, you can use it now.” Bakugo rolled his eyes again then a thought occurred to him. “Do you need help?” he asked seriously.

Kirishima eyes widened and he turned bright, bright red. “Wha—? Um, no—” he stammered.

“Not like that, dumbass!” Bakugo growled to hide his own embarrassment. “I didn’t know, with how hurt you are...” 

“I’m fine,” Kirishima squeaked. “I can do it myself.” He hurriedly ducked into the bathroom.

“If you need anything, just holler—” Bakugo called through the door.

“Holy crap!”

Bakugo opened the door without thinking, revealing Kirishima in front of the mirror in nothing but underwear. “What’s wrong?”

“Look at me, dude!” Kirishima’s face lit up in excitement. “I am so jacked!” He flexed for good measure.

Bakugo sighed for what felt like the hundredth time. “Yes. Yes, Kirishima, you are so jacked. Good for you. Now quit fucking flexing like some fucking teenager—”

“But I am,” Kirishima pointed out, still eyeballing himself in the mirror.

“Get in the shower, you fucking dickwad! You were really fucking hurt, don’t do stupid shit like flexing in front of the mirror!”

“But I look really good!”

“I know!” Bakugo yelled. “I see your stupid fucking face every day—”

Kirishima’s face fell. “Yeah. I guess you do. Sorry.”

“Gah.” Bakugo scrubbed his hands through his hair in exasperation. “Don’t look like that.”

“Look like what? I can’t help my stupid face.”

Bakugo fought back a smirk. He wanted to hug him so badly. Which was sorely out of character; normally he’d just flick his forehead or throw a towel at his face. “Just— just take it easy for a couple days, okay? Then you can flex in front of the mirror all you want. Fucking...okay?” 

“Okay,” Kirishima said, still sulking. “Can you get out of here now?”

Bakugo stepped outside. “You can tell me I have a stupid face if that’ll make you feel better,” Bakugo teased.

“But you don’t,” Kirishima mumbled, shutting the door in his face. “And I’ve never thought that. Ever.”

Bakugo sat on the couch, rubbing at his temples. He’d never imagined this would be so difficult, that Kirishima would be so different. Fuck, he’d known Kirishima at fifteen; why was this so hard? Apparently it was much easier dealing with teenage Kirishima when he was a teenager too. He kept expecting him to react the way now-Kirishima reacted to things. To have that same level of comfortability around each other. But this was too fucked up; they weren’t the same anymore. Bakugo had grown up and Kirishima hadn’t. He’d forgotten how...well, fragile seemed like such a stupid word to describe Kirishima, even as a teenager, but looking back on it all—and Bakugo definitely didn’t want to look back on himself at that age—they were fucking kids. Kids that were growing up way too fast, probably. But kids all the same. With the same fears and insecurities and all that fucking bullshit.

And if Bakugo was having trouble parsing out the different Kirishimas, then it made sense that Kirishima was looking at a Bakugo he didn’t know what to do with either. They weren’t equals anymore. Adult Bakugo should act like...an adult. And saying he had a stupid face probably wasn’t very adult-like.

His Kirishima would’ve just laughed it off or turned it around on him with something stupidly flattering. But this wasn’t his Kirishima. This was a Kirishima who was still young enough to get his feelings hurt when Bakugo said stupid shit he didn’t mean.

“Um, Bakugo?” Kirishima hesitantly peeked into the living room, wearing only a towel. Bakugo tried not to ogle; it felt creepy, knowing that body so intimately but also knowing there was currently a fifteen-year-old residing in it. He absently thanked his lucky stars that he hadn’t left any bites or hickies lately. With as much as Kirishima enjoyed checking himself out in the mirror (something that he did regardless of age, apparently) those wouldn’t have gone unnoticed and Bakugo didn’t know how he’d explain them away. “Do I not keep clothes here?”

“Huh?” The question derailed Bakugo’s train of thought. “Of course you do. Did you look in— Oh.” Oh. Bakugo closed his eyes for a moment, cursing himself for not thinking of it sooner. “Sorry. Look in the closet in my bedroom.”

“Uh, okay.” Kirishima turned to go, then waited. “Um, why are my clothes in your closet?”

“Because I have the walk-in,” Bakugo said, attempting to sound nonchalant. “You don’t have enough space in your room so I let you use half of the walk-in closet in mine.”

“Oh!” Kirishima perked up. “That’s pretty cool of you, dude!” He beamed, then turned to go find some clothes.

Bakugo flopped over on the couch, burying his face in a pillow. 

Thank god the love of my life is an idiot.

The next morning Bakugo cooked breakfast on autopilot. As he watched the eggs and bacon sizzle away, he mentally chewed over what to do next. He’d slept fitfully, dreaming that he woke up next to Kirishima who reassured him it had all been a dream. But when he’d actually woken up, so relieved, he realized that that had been the dream. He hadn’t seen Kirishima yet this morning so there might be a slim possibility that his Kirishima was going to walk into the kitchen, lured by the smell of bacon at any minute. 

And as much as he hoped that would happen, he had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that wouldn’t be the case.

“It smells really good in here,” Kirishima yawned as he came into the kitchen, scratching at his stomach. “Do you...do you always cook?”

“Yeah,” Bakugo said. How many times over the last nine years had Kirishima come up behind Bakugo and wrapped his arms around him as he protested, bitching and threatening to swat him with the spatula, Kirishima giving a squeeze and a laugh and a quick kiss on the shoulder before retreating? He surely hadn’t done that every day, but it was enough to seem like it now. Enough that the routine felt incomplete, that somehow the bacon and eggs weren’t fully cooked without it.

“Do I? Cook?” Kirishima asked, sitting down at the table.

Bakugo snorted. “No. You suck at it.”

“Aww,” Kirishima pouted, disappointed. 

With a considerable thunk, Bakugo set a loaded plate in front of Kirishima. “Here you go.”

“All of this for me?” Kirishima asked, eyes wide.

Bakugo tried not to smirk. Feeding Kirishima was one of his favorite things, though he’d never admit it out loud. And while Kirishima still complimented his cooking, it had been a long time since he’d been this obviously excited about it. “Yeah. Where do you think all those fucking muscles came from?”

Kirishima smiled shyly, blushing a little. Bakugo snorted. “Shy” and “Kirishima” didn’t usually go together; it was a cute expression but definitely one Bakugo hadn’t seen in a long while.

“Oh, um, Bakugo? Do you...um...can I have my phone?”

“Your phone?” Bakugo asked blankly. That is not going to fucking happen.

“Y-yeah. I wanted to look some stuff up, see what’s changed...what I’m doing so I can try to fit in...”

That was definitely not going to fucking happen. Bakugo didn’t know how exactly he was going to keep Kirishima off the internet, but the second he looked himself up, he’d find a lot of things that Bakugo was not ready for fifteen-year-old Kirishima to know.

“We don’t have phones,” Bakugo said, keeping his face as blank as possible. “This is the fucking future; that shit is implanted in our brains now.”

“Whoa! Really?” Kirishima’s eyes lit up.

Bakugo laughed. “No, dumbass. I’m just fucking with you.”

“Oh,” Kirishima deflated. He took another bite and chewed, quite obviously sulking and pondering at the same time. “Y’know,” he said with a frown, “I kinda hoped you’d be nicer when we got older.” Bakugo’s eyes widened in surprise. “But you’re still mean. And call me names all the time.”

“I cooked for you. Isn’t that nice?” Bakugo said, sarcastically.

“Yeah.” To his surprise, Kirishima sounded sincere. And looked sincere, with a little half-smile. “I guess you are still an actions-speak-louder-than-words kinda guy. Which is saying something, because your words are pretty dang loud.” He looked at him critically. “And mean,” he said around a mouthful of bacon.

Kirishima woke up in the middle of the night, disoriented at first from the still-unfamiliar surroundings. He’d been dreaming, which he didn’t think was normal, but he couldn’t remember what about. It left him feeling unsettled and itchy. 

The door to his bedroom—his bedroom that he didn’t remember—was slightly cracked, and the dim light made him wonder if Bakugo had a lamp or nightlight or something in the hallway. Did Bakugo always sleep with a light on (maybe it was for his nightmares? did he still have them, even now?) or was it something he’d done out of consideration for Kirishima? Doubtful, but it made him feel a little warmer all the same.

Quietly he opened the door, thinking if he just got a quick drink from the kitchen he might be able to wash away the last of the uncomfortable residue of the dream-he-didn’t-remember and could go back to sleep. As he quietly wandered out of the hallway, he soon realized it wasn’t a nightlight or a lamp at all; Bakugo had fallen asleep on the living room couch with the tv on.

He was supposed to be getting a drink from the kitchen so Kirishima didn’t really know how he ended up crouched down in front of Bakugo’s sleeping face, studying him in the flickering light of the tv screen. A part of him stayed tense, knowing too well that this was a good way to potentially get an explosion to the face. But something in him couldn’t help but look. 

It was odd, seeing Bakugo like this. Kirishima thought he could almost almost, if he let his eyes soft focus, see the Bakugo that he knew. But this one’s even prettier, he thought to himself, then immediately shoved that thought down as far as it would go. That couldn’t be right, could it? Okay, sure, he and Bakugo were bros and he had been super stoked when Bakugo actually started treating him like a friend and maybe at Kamino when Bakugo’s hand had grasped his over the battlefield he had thought Bakugo was the most beautiful person he’d even seen in his life, but that didn’t mean—

Kirishima took a breath, careful to be as quiet as possible because he knew Bakugo was a light sleeper. And a violent one.

It was probably normal to think your bros were pretty, right? It couldn’t be that weird. Hot people were hot. That was just fact; it didn’t mean anything. 

Just because that little crease between his brows even as he slept was kinda cute and damn, Kirishima couldn’t help himself from leaning in and kissing it—

Kirishima stopped himself a hair’s breadth away, freezing and waiting for the explosion. When Bakugo didn’t even stir, Kirishima carefully eased away, not even breathing for fear of waking him. 

What the fuck had he been about to do?

They spent the next several days taking it easy, which gnawed at Bakugo horribly but he didn’t want Kirishima doing anything too active or jarring. So they filled their time with playing video games and watching movies, which was a familiar routine but now felt entirely different. It was weird, watching movies that they’d watched together a hundred times be suddenly new to Kirishima, playing games that Kirishima had to learn all over again.

Bakugo waffled between trying to expose him to things that might jog his memory and trying to avoid shocking him too much. It was a balance that he had no compass for and it drove him crazy. Kirishima was entirely in his hands and while that was how he wanted it—fuck if he’d trust anyone else with him—he also hated the fact he didn’t know if he was doing the right thing. He could be reckless with himself because he would be the one suffering the consequences but he couldn’t afford to be reckless with Kirishima. 

Bakugo was good at a lot of things. Taking care of people was not one of them.

“I don’t want you on the internet.” 

It was a battle that had been brewing since he’d brought Kirishima home. At first Kirishima had kind of put verbal feelers out but now that he was both bored and a bit more comfortable, he’d asked outright. And Bakugo had to shut him down immediately.

“Why?”

“Just—” Bakugo scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I really don’t think it’s good for you right now. If—if things don’t change I promise I’ll rethink it. But for now, can you just...wait?” He looked at Kirishima with pleading eyes. It was playing dirty, since he knew Kirishima couldn’t refuse him when he looked at him like this (at least modern Kirishima couldn’t, but he was gambling that it was at least partially effective on any-age Kirishima) and asked, “Please?”

Kirishima stood there, eyes wide in shock and lips slightly parted. Bakugo wondered if he’d laid it on a bit too thick and broke him.

“Um, sure,” Kirishima said finally. He swallowed thickly. “If it’s that important to you.”

“I know you wanna see what’s changed, so I’ll try to get you out, see some of the cool shit,” Bakugo promised. Though it kind of rankled that Bakugo alone wasn’t enough to restore Kirishima’s memory, he hoped that maybe seeing their agency or some of their accomplishments—fuck, even his stupid friends—might do the trick. “Maybe we can even visit Kaminari, eat some fucking pizza or something.”

“Kaminari!” Kirishima’s enthusiasm rubbed Bakugo the wrong way and he immediately regretted the suggestion. But he would do anything for Kirishima and at this point he was grasping at straws.

“Yeah,” Bakugo replied through clenched teeth. “I’ll see if he has time.”

Much to Bakugo’s irritation and complete lack of surprise, Kaminari took to Kirishima as if the last fifteen years had never happened. The two played video games—loudly and stupidly—while Bakugo talked quietly with Jiro in the next room. At Bakugo’s request, the twins were staying over with Jiro’s parents. It would be tricky enough keeping Kaminari from blurting out something that was supposed to remain secret; the kids were way too much of a wild card.

“He didn’t seem too surprised,” Jiro said, taking a sip of coffee. “About me and Kaminari.” She waited for Bakugo to say something and when he didn’t, she pressed on. “I don’t think you’re giving him enough credit.”

“What good would it do for me to tell him?” Bakugo groused. “He already doesn’t know how to act around me half the fucking time. Why would I go and confuse him more?”

“I’m just saying,” Jiro said coolly. “Maybe it wouldn’t confuse him. Maybe it would help some of the pieces fall into place. I’m not saying sleep with him—” she waited for Bakugo to finish choking on his water before she continued, “—but maybe it would help him understand.”

Bakugo shook his head. “I get what you’re saying but...I don’t think so. Besides,” he said, his voice dropping, “maybe this is something he subconsciously wanted. To go back. Get a do-over.”

“With you, you mean?” 

“Yeah.”

Jiro rolled her eyes. “You already put yourself—and him!—through this once. How many times are you going to make him pick you?”

“I’m just saying!” Bakugo hissed defensively. “If he’s stuck like this, this is his chance—”

Jiro opened her mouth to say something but was interrupted by a loud fart and the resulting uproarious laughter from the other room.

“I’m just glad now I’m not the only one married to a teenager,” she said drily.

“Pretty crazy that Kaminari is a dad! Hard to imagine! Now I want to meet his kids, but I guess maybe that would be kinda confusing for them,” Kirishima babbled on as they walked home. “I guess I’m not a dad yet, huh?”

“Did you think you would be?” Bakugo asked, trying to keep his tone neutral.

“Maybe.” Kirishima chewed his bottom lip nervously. “And apparently you aren’t.”

“Definitely not.”

“Hey. What were you talking with Jiro about?”

“Grown-up stuff.”

Kirishima looked at him skeptically. “Isn’t Kaminari a grown-up too?”

Bakugo snorted. “Dad or not, Kaminari will never be a grown up.”

“You were talking about me, huh?” Kirishima wilted slightly.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

Kirishima sighed. “You’re so mean. I can’t believe you don’t grow out of that.”

“Yep. I’m mean forever. Just think, if this was a time-travel Quirk instead of your brain, when you got back you’d know to quit being friends with me in first year because it doesn’t get any better.”

“I wouldn’t.”

Bakugo raised an eyebrow. “Knowing what you know, you wouldn’t give up? Cut your losses, quit while you’re ahead?”

“Nope,” Kirishima said. “I’d never give up on you.”

Bakugo almost tripped. Almost. “And you wonder why I call you a dumbass.”

Kirishima snorted. “You could just say what you mean for a change and tell me thanks.” They kept walking and when Bakugo didn’t reply, Kirishima spoke up again. “Besides,” he glanced over at Bakugo, “you obviously never gave up on me.” His voice was a whisper, almost as if he was just mumbling to himself. “Even now.”

Bakugo’s heart hurt. He’d never been the touchy one in the relationship (Kirishima was fucking physically affectionate enough for the both of them) but fuck if he didn’t want to touch him now. Grab his hand, hug him, kiss him, something. Here he’d talked a good game with Jiro, acting like it was insane to just tell him they were married and yet now look at him, wanting to kiss him until his toes curled, just like he had—

At their wedding.

Bakugo took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment.

“Bakugo?” Kirishima stopped, waiting for him. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Bakugo said, voice raspy. “You know I never will.”

“Huh?” 

“I’ll never give up on you.” Bakugo ruffled Kirishima’s hair and resumed walking.

“Dude, you just totally messed up my hair!”

“It’s stupid anyway,” Bakugo threw over his shoulder.

Kirishima laughed, catching up to him. He intentionally bumped their shoulders together. “So mean,” he said with a little smile.

Bakugo just smirked.

“Fuck’s sake, Kirishima, your fidgeting is fucking distracting,” Bakugo said with a huff, setting down the dumbbell and wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “I guess if it’s bothering you that fucking much, you can join in.” Kirishima looked a little awkward and a lot surprised. “Just take it easy at first,” Bakugo admonished.

“O-oh. Okay.” Kirishima’s hesitant smile lit up the room. “Thanks!” 

Bakugo rolled his eyes and went back to his curls. It’s not like the doctor had prohibited Kirishima from any activity, since they had no clue what was wrong in the first place. As long as he eased into working out, that should be fine, right? Besides, weight training had been part of Kirishima’s routine for a long fucking time at this point; maybe doing something so familiar would stir something in his memories. Or at least make him feel more comfortable.

If nothing else, his body needed it. Whether “old” Kirishima ever came back or “young” Kirishima stayed, that physique he was so proud of needed to be maintained.

Bakugo watched surreptitiously at Kirishima testing the weights. Naturally, he’d start at his old regimen, which for his current body would be plenty light. 

“This is pretty handy,” Kirishima said after a while. “Having your own gym here at home.”

“Our own gym,” Bakugo corrected without thinking. 

Kirishima looked a little flushed at that, though it might have just been from exertion. “Our own gym,” he said so quietly Bakugo didn’t know if he heard correctly. “Anyway. It’s pretty convenient.”

“Well we are heroes,” Bakugo pointed out. “It’s part of our job to keep in shape. Stay in peak condition.”

“Right,” Kirishima said with a nod. “Wait. So...” Kirishima frowned. “Um, you’ve been with me for a week. Are you...are we...skipping work?”

Bakugo flinched. “Well,” he said, scrambling to think of a good explanation. He settled for the truth. “We’re taking time off. You’re healing up and I don’t want to leave—”

“You’re a hero and you’re taking time off to babysit me?” Kirishima said.

“I don’t want to leave you alone,” Bakugo explained. 

“But I’m fine,” Kirishima insisted. At Bakugo’s skeptical look, he tried a different angle. “Or, if you don’t want to leave me alone, how about we both go back to work?”

“Hah?”

“I got my provisional license before you did,” Kirishima pointed out.

Bakugo scowled at that, though he did let Kirishima enjoy his triumph for a second. Letting Kirishima go back to work with him could be...bad. There were too many unknowns. But the fucker did have a point; he’d actually been allowed to do hero work with Fat while Bakugo was still doing all those fucking annoying makeup lessons. It wasn’t fair to keep him pent up for too long. Plus, if he never got his memories back, they’d have to tackle this sooner or later—

Bakugo grimaced. He hated feeling like a chicken but he really, really didn’t want to think about that possibility. This was temporary. 

It had to be.

“Give me a little more time,” Bakugo coaxed. “Give yourself a little more time.” Kirishima opened his mouth to protest but Bakugo held up a hand to stall him. “Tell you what, we’ll ease into it. Get your body back in shape, we’ll swing by the agency so you can check it out, maybe even stop by fucking Deku’s building so you can say hi and see all his stupid shit—” Kirishima’s eyes lit up at that, “—maybe start sparring a little so you can get comfortable with where your Quirk’s at...”

“Sparring!” Kirishima said, looking for all the world like a kid at Christmas.

Bakugo fought a smile at how stupidly cute that was. “Well, we can’t turn you loose on the public when you don’t know your own strength. Doctors would probably be furious with me—”

“I’ll take it easy, I swear!” Kirishima promised unbidden. “Sparring!” He repeated, with a manic grin.

“So just be patient, okay?” Bakugo ruffled Kirishima’s sweat-damp hair, returning the grin this time. “We’ll get you there. I promise.” Didn’t matter that Bakugo had no clue how they were going to get there; he’d gladly promise Kirishima the world and he would fucking deliver.

Kirishima nodded enthusiastically. “I will.” He resumed his workout, his tongue peeking out slightly from concentration and determination. Bakugo kept an eye on him, making sure that he wasn’t overdoing it in his excitement to get back to work. Though how he could get “back” to it when he didn’t remember doing it in the first place, Bakugo didn’t quite know, but knowing Kirishima he was immune to the finer details. If anything, it was just cute at how excited he was at the prospect. 

Now Bakugo just had to figure out how to let him work yet keep him insulated. Fortunately, they’d been married for seven years and together for nine, so it’s not like they were tabloid material anymore. Probably wouldn’t be something brought up in casual conversation because it wasn’t anything new—it’s not like there was a reason for it to be brought up.

Theoretically.

“Hey, Bakugo?” Kirishima’s tentative question brought Bakugo out of his thoughts. “Um, why is there a drum set in here?” 

Because you bought it for me, Bakugo wanted to say. You bought it for me and said it was a gift more for you than me, because you love to watch me play. You got the idea at Kaminari’s a while back. I was fucking around and he ribbed you for getting distracted and drooling, you fucking weirdo. You just laughed and said, “Can’t I think my husband’s hot?”

“I play,” Bakugo said instead. Kirishima’s last “memories” were of his fight with Rappa; he wouldn’t remember the festival their first year. 

“Oh cool!” Kirishima said. “Can I see?”

Bakugo opened his mouth to scoff, to blow him off, say he wasn’t in the mood. But fuck if Kirishima didn’t look so stupidly excited, like he seriously thought it was the coolest thing ever, and hell, it had been an anniversary present, just maybe the sight and the sound would bring back those memories—

How many things had Bakugo done in the last week, just hoping it would “bring back memories”? 

Bring back his Kirishima?

“Sure,” Bakugo said gruffly, pushing the thought to the back of his mind. It was his nature to be calculating, to always be looking at the endgame. But maybe he was going about this the wrong way. Maybe...instead of constantly wondering what would bring Kirishima’s memories back, he could just...just do some shit simply because Kirishima asked him to.

He settled in behind his drums, thinking about the completely shameless look on Kirishima’s face back when he’d surprised Bakugo with them. The mischievous twinkle in his eye and that megawatt smile and Bakugo had burst out laughing. 

His heart clenched painfully at the memory.

Taking a deep breath, he started to play. For a moment he got caught up in the rhythm and the noise and the recollection. Thankful for the distraction, he played longer than he’d originally intended. Coming back to himself, he finished up and looked out at his audience of one.

Kirishima stared at him, eyes wide and mouth slightly open, color high on his cheeks. “Wow,” he breathed in awe. Then, at his normal too-loud volume, “Dude, that was so cool!”

He’d gone from Can’t I think my husband’s hot? to Dude, that was so cool! 

Well, isn’t this what he wanted? To sincerely give Kirishima his second chance? 

Dude, that was so cool! might be all he ever got from here on out.

“Stare any harder and you’re gonna burn a hole through me,” Bakugo grumbled. After he said it, he flinched. His Kirishima would definitely have turned that into something lewd. Then again, his Kirishima wouldn’t stare so intently, he’d just unabashedly ogle outright.

“Oh, sorry,” Kirishima mumbled, shuffling awkwardly in his chair at the table. “I just...I just like watching you cook. You’re just so cool.”

Bakugo loved praise but he’d heard enough “you’re so cool” to last him a lifetime. His eyes flickered to Kirishima, whose unguarded expression made it easy to see he meant every word that he said. Bakugo sighed; he’d also thought enough “you’re so fucking cute” to last him a lifetime.

“D-do you think you could teach me?” Kirishima ventured. “Even just something simple? Or maybe there’s something I could do to help?

Bakugo tried not to flinch. He was a control freak in most aspects of life and the kitchen was no exception. There wasn’t really anything in the moment he needed help with, but Kirishima sounded so fucking desperate to do something. And it had to be better than having him sit there and stare at him.

“You could peel these boiled eggs, I guess?” 

“Okay!” Kirishima bounded up, so disproportionately excited that Bakugo snorted. He’d have to think of something to teach him. It would be a good distraction to keep Kirishima from bugging him about the internet or going back to work, at least for a few hours, anyway. Fuck, if he could teach that baldy Yoarashi how to make shit and not poison himself doing it, he could definitely teach Kirishima, right?

“Whoaaa,” Kirishima said, trying to peel the eggs without gouging them up too bad. Which he’d probably do a better job of if he watched his hands instead of Bakugo’s. “That knife looks awesome. Way manly.”

Bakugo looked down at his knife, even though he knew what it fucking looked like. “It is fucking awesome. It’s custom-made,” Bakugo said. Then, without thinking, “You bought it for me.”

“I did?” Kirishima asked in surprise. 

Mentally, Bakugo kicked himself. “Yeah.” For our anniversary. “For my birthday,” he lied.

“Cool!” Kirishima looked absolutely thrilled. His hands stalled, unable to talk and peel at the same time. “You like it, then? It was a good present?”

“Of course I like it, dumbass!” Bakugo glared at him. “I fucking love it.”

“Oh.” Kirishima blinked, turning back to his egg peeling. Embarrassed at his own words, Bakugo risked a glance and saw the red dusting Kirishima’s cheeks and the tips of his ears, even as he tried to hide it by turning away, focusing on his work. But in true Kirishima fashion, he couldn’t stay quiet for long. “So...is that, like, normal?” 

“Hah?”

“I mean, well...” Kirishima fumbled. “Like, so, did you buy me a birthday present?”

“Of course,” Bakugo frowned. “I’ve always bought you really nice fucking presents.”

“Oh,” Kirishima said quietly, and Bakugo realized his mistake too late. He’d acted like Kirishima should know, of course Bakugo bought him shit. Like he should fucking remember. And of course the dumbass felt bad because he didn’t. 

“I mean,” Bakugo tried, then growled in frustration. “We’ve known each other a long time,” he said, starting over. “I’ve lost track of all the shit we’ve bought each other over the years.” But then, because he didn’t want Kirishima to think he was a flake or a cheapskate, “For—” our anniversary “—your last birthday, I bought you a vacation.” A honeymoon. Seven years late.

“A vacation?!” Kirishima squawked. Hearing it out of Kirishima’s mouth, it did kind of sound stupid, Bakugo realized. “Where did we go?”

“Uh, we didn’t. Yet,” Bakugo said. “It was just...wherever and whenever you wanted, I promised we’d go. I’d make it happen.” He smiled slightly at the memory of it; his Kirishima had been stunned yet ecstatic. Dumbass had even started crying. But this Kirishima’s confused yet awed expression was more than he could take. “Sorry. That probably sounds like a dumb gift to you.”

“No, dude, it sounds...” Kirishima bit his lower lip, thinking. “But seriously, you buy me a vacation and I buy you a chef’s knife? Is that really a fair trade?”

Bakugo burst out laughing at that. “It’s more than a fair trade,” he said, hating how soft he sounded even as he bumped his shoulder into Kirishima’s. “You don’t know how much a custom knife costs, do you?”

“Uh, no,” Kirishima admitted. “I guess it’s a lot?”

“Way more than your night-vision goggles,” Bakugo said with a smirk.

Kirishima blushed at that, returning to his long-forgotten egg peeling duties. “Guess I must think you’re worth it, then,” he mumbled to himself. 

The moment stretched between them, Kirishima focused on eggs and Bakugo working on chopping and sautéing. The actions of cooking were too automatic, allowing Bakugo’s mind to wander. He debated the wisdom of what he was about to do, hating that he had an ulterior motive, that for the moment he was once again treating the person he loved like a puzzle to be solved. But his gut kept telling him this was a gamble worth taking.

“So,” Bakugo said, trying to sound nonchalant and not like he’d been mulling over what he was about to say for the last five minutes, “think about where you want to go.”

Kirishima’s head snapped up to look at him. “Huh?”

“On your vacation,” Bakugo prompted. “Think about where you want to go.”

Kirishima frowned, uncertain. “But weren’t you saving that for...” His frown deepened.

“Aren’t you Kirishima fucking Eijiro?” Bakugo asked point-blank.

Kirishima gave an aborted snort at that. “Yeah,” he said shyly.

“Well that’s who I bought it for. Gave it to. Whatever.” Bakugo gave a dismissive wave with his free hand. “Or what,” he challenged. “You gonna turn it down? Tell me you don’t like my present? It’s not fucking good enough?” He allowed himself the hint of a smile so Kirishima would know he was just teasing. 

“Anywhere?” Kirishima asked.

“Anywhere.”

“Even Antarctica?”

“Why the fuck—” Bakugo rolled his eyes. “I said anywhere, didn’t I? Even fucking Antarctica...” he finished with a grumble.

Kirishima just laughed. “I wouldn’t make you do that. You don’t do well with the cold.” He ignored Bakugo’s startled yelp and kept talking, lost in thought. “But anyway, we’ve already been off work for a week. Now isn’t the time to be taking a vacation!”

“Kacchan! Kirishima-kun!” Deku waved enthusiastically, like they weren’t in Deku’s own fucking building. They’d stopped at their own agency first where Bakugo had given Kirishima the tour and he’d asked plenty of questions, ooh-ing and aah-ing over every little thing. Still it was pretty fucking cute—fuck, there was that word again—seeing how stoked Kirishima was about everything. Then again, Bakugo had to admit, if he’d seen this future at fifteen, he would have been—

Well, probably not as stoked as Kirishima. Simply because he’d never had any doubt. He probably would’ve been surprised at the whole team/partner thing though, just because that hadn’t been on his radar their first year. It didn’t go unnoticed that Kirishima had not only taken that particular fact in stride, but seemed pretty fucking thrilled about it.

Did that mean that ever since their first year at UA Kirishima was hoping to partner up with him?

“Midoriya!” Kirishima boomed back. “Whoa, dude, you look way different. But still, uh, kinda the same? Like, you’re you but...bigger.”

Deku laughed in that slightly self-deprecating way that Bakugo always found annoying. Being All Might’s successor, he’d ended up with some pretty cool shit at his office. And, being just fucking Deku, he had shit of all his hero friends posted in his office too. Like the infamous Hall of Heroes (which was just a fucking hallway) that Bakugo always flicked him shit for yet was the reason that Bakugo wanted to bring Kirishima here in the first place.

“Thanks!” Deku said. “You’re looking good too, Kirishima-kun. I hope Kacchan hasn’t been too rough on you?” he teased.

Bakugo shot him an angry glare from behind Kirishima’s back. “N-no,” Kirishima hurried to say. “Though sometimes I worry that I’m too much of a burden.”

“That’s nonsense, Kirishima-kun,” Uraraka appeared from behind them all, smacking Bakugo on the shoulder even as Kirishima turned to look at her.

“Wow, Uraraka! You look great!”

“Thanks!” Uraraka beamed, striking a pose before laughing. “Even after two kids?”

“Two kids!” Kirishima exclaimed. “Really? Do you have pictures? Can I see?”

“Of course!” Uraraka said, whipping out her phone. “I took some really great ones a few weeks ago when we all got together at Momo-chan’s cabin to play in the snow.” Deku gave Bakugo a panicked look, expecting him to freak out. But Bakugo didn’t think Uraraka would do anything too stupid. Besides, as much as he hated to admit it, she was going to do what she was going to do regardless of anything he or Deku tried to do to stop her.

And hell, maybe seeing some pictures would appease Kirishima’s persistent request to look himself up online or have access to his phone.

“Wow,” Kirishima breathed, flipping through pictures. “This is crazy. Look at all these kids. And is that—” He squinted at the screen before making the gesture to blow it up. He burst out laughing. “Ohmygosh, what is that? Is that really Bakugo?”

“What the fuck are you looking at?” Bakugo snatched the phone away from Kirishima’s hands, making sure he wasn’t seeing anything too incriminating. With an irritated huff, he handed it back to him. “So what. I was cold.”

“You’re in the middle of a pile of blankets and children!” Kirishima said, incredulous. “Awww that is so cute.” It took Kirishima a second to register what he’d said and he flushed bright red.

“It is, isn’t it?” Uraraka said with a knowing smirk.

“I mean—all the kids,” Kirishima stammered. Avoiding Uraraka’s eyes and Deku’s panicked squawk, he looked back at the pictures. 

“Here we are at the pool last summer,” Uraraka said, pulling up a different album. “You haven’t seen Todoroki-kun yet, have you? Here he is holding my Toshi.”

“Who’s with him? Is that—” Kirishima peered closer. “That annoying wind guy?”

Bakugo snorted at that and Deku just gave him a flat look. “Yoarashi Inasa,” Deku supplied. “And apparently Todoroki-kun doesn’t find him that annoying anymore.”

“Huh,” Kirishima said in mild surprise, looking back at the phone. 

“Are you surprised?” Uraraka pressed.

“Huh?” Kirishima blinked at her. “No, um...I dunno. I guess I never thought about it much. Everyone always talked about how attractive he was but I didn’t really get it.” It was Deku’s turn to choke back a snort now, looking way too obviously at Bakugo. “But he looks really happy here. So that’s...cool.” Kirishima smiled. The smile fell as he flipped to another picture. “Who is this?” He looked at Bakugo accusingly. “You said you didn’t have kids.”

“Round Face, I swear, what the fuck did you do—” Bakugo growled, lunging for the phone again.

Uraraka grabbed it before he could swipe it. Her lips pressed together as she fought a smile. “What, you didn’t know that you and Bakugo-kun have kids together?” Uraraka teased.

“I will fucking kill you—” 

“What?!” Kirishima yelped, eyes wide with panic.

“Calm down, both of—all of you,” Deku said, exasperated, plucking Uraraka’s phone away from her. He looked at the picture, turning to share it with Kirishima. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell him about his own niece and nephew, Kacchan,” he scolded.

“Why do you even have that picture?” Bakugo asked Uraraka. 

“Didn’t she take it?” Kirishima asked.

“No, you did,” Bakugo said before he thought better of it. “It was your fucking lock screen or some shit for months.”

“I wouldn’t know, since someone won’t let me have my phone,” Kirishima said petulantly. 

“I would’ve taken it away a lot sooner if I’d known you were going to share that picture with anyone who fucking asked,” Bakugo grumbled.

“Would you like to see the Hall of Heroes?” Deku interrupted hopefully, ignoring Bakugo’s immediate scoff at the name. “I think you’ll like it Kirishima-kun.” He grinned. “Your picture is there.”

So Deku led them down his ridiculously-dubbed hallway. Bakugo had seen it more times than he cared to count but tried to keep from rolling his eyes because this would be the first time Kirishima had seen it. Instead of Hall of Heroes the nerd should’ve just named it Fairway of Friends or Classmate Corridor or something equally stupid since it was basically just an homage to his friends, classmates, and coworkers. Pictures—some damn near life-size—of different pro heroes lined the walls, which is why Bakugo figured this would be a quick and easy way for Kirishima to get an idea what everyone looked like now. What the future looked like.

Some were glamor shots that Deku had actually requested (as well as arranged and financed) for this purpose; others were magazine covers, photo shoots, or articles that had been done on them. Sometimes there was a random action shot taken in the heat of the moment, but those were actually relatively few and far between.

Uraraka hurried them past her designated area at the hallway entrance, claiming it was “too embarrassing” to have them analyze pictures of her. So they moved quickly onto Jiro and Kaminari—theirs always made Bakugo smirk because Kaminari looked way cooler in that one photo than he could ever remember him looking in real life. Ojiro and Hagakure, though obviously Hagakure was just clothes. For some reason, though, it was easy to imagine her smiling, regardless of the fact they had no clue what she actually looked like. Goody-goody Ingenium, just looking like he had a stick up his ass like always. That annoying frog girl, looking...annoying. The cake guy (who Bakugo didn’t really mind) then that one kid that never fucking talked, both of them looking way fucking tougher than they had any right to. The multi-arm guy looked pretty hardcore, but he always had. Goth bird dude, who looked an appropriate amount of tough; wasn’t his fault that his otherwise-awesome Quirk was the worst possible matchup against Bakugo. Bakugo didn’t actually dislike him but for the life of him couldn’t remember his name if he tried. Then Sero and Ashido together, of course—

“Sero and Mina, huh?” Kirishima said quietly.

Bakugo tried to decipher what the fuck that meant. He knew Kirishima had gone to middle school with Racoon Eyes, that she’d known him back before the red hair and the muscles. They’d always seemed a little too close, but that could just be because they were both kind of idiots. If Bakugo had been the type to wonder such things, he might have wondered if Kirishima didn’t have a bit of a thing for her. 

“Didn’t expect that?” Bakugo asked carefully, resisting the urge to flip off Deku and his concerned fucking face he was making.

Kirishima looked at him, momentarily surprised, like he hadn’t meant for Bakugo to hear him or something. “Nah, man. I’m stoked that two of my friends ended up together.” He gestured up at the stupid picture where the two idiots were hamming it up, posing like the fucking poster for a spy movie or some shit. “They look super happy.”

“Hmm,” Bakugo hummed noncommittally and they continued down the hallway. 

Next was Ponytail; he never remembered Kirishima showing any interest, but having a well-endowed, scantily-clad woman in your face might be hard to resist for a normal fifteen-year-old guy. And if whatever the fuck was going on in Kirishima’s brains was a result of him subconsciously wanting a mulligan on his man-marriage, then how long he stared at Yaoyorozu’s boobs should be a pretty good hint, right? He glanced over, trying to watch Kirishima without being too obvious, but he was already looking at the next picture—

“Who is that?” Kirishima blurted. “Is that..? Holy crap, is that Mineta?” Kirishima’s head whipped first to the left, where Bakugo brought up the rear, then to his right, where Deku led the way, for confirmation. “And Aoyama?!”

Deku chuckled to himself; Uraraka showed no such restraint, laughing outright. 

“Wow, they sure...changed,” Kirishima said weakly. Then he brightened. “Good for them!” He stepped closer and looked at some of the framed articles and various pictures of them receiving awards.

“They were the most popular hero team for a while,” Deku explained. “And they won a lot of fan awards.”

“I didn’t even know there was a Hero Teams that Make Me Kyahhh! ranking,” Kirishima admitted.

“None of us did,” Uraraka chimed in. “Until they won it.”

Deku looked at her with a confused blink. “I knew there was.”

With a little sigh and eyeroll she just looked back at Kirishima with a smile. 

Deku didn’t get the hint. “You really didn’t know? It started the year after the Best Jeanist Award. Sure, it wasn’t a well-known award at first, in the beginning people accused it of trying to piggyback on Best Jeanist Award fame while simultaneously critiquing it for being too superficial in a profession where lives are on the line but—”

“Anyway,” Uraraka said, interrupting her husband. “Team Sparkling Grape Juice was a force to be reckoned with. For a while.”

“For a while?” Kirishima repeated, confused.

“You’ll see,” she said with a wink.

Bakugo was hardly paying attention to the next picture until he heard Kirishima’s gasp. Looking over to see what was wrong, Bakugo almost thought Kirishima was going to cry. What the hell? It was just a picture of Lemillion, Suneater, and Eri. Nothing to start crying ov— 

Oh.

“It’s Eri,” Kirishima breathed, a wondrous smile transforming his face. “They got her out.” He looked over at Deku. “You got her out. You saved her.” For once, Deku didn’t say anything and Kirishima’s swallow could be heard in the otherwise silent hallway. Blinking back tears, he looked back up at the picture. “She’s so much older,” he said a bit wistfully. 

It was one thing, Bakugo supposed, to see your friends turn into adults. It was entirely another to see people you knew as children now grown up.

The little girl that Kirishima remembered was now older than he currently thought he was. That had to be...hard.

“They survived,” Kirishima continued. “Amajiki-senpai and Mirio-senpai. I’m so glad they’re okay. And Eri...they all look so happy.” Another swallow and another critical look at the picture. He gave a little laugh. “Look at them, though! They look like a little family!”

Deku coughed uncomfortably, shooting Bakugo a questioning glance.

“They are,” Bakugo said gruffly.

Kirishima’s head whipped to look at him. “Really?” He grinned brightly. “That’s great!” He looked back up at the picture, giving it a thumb’s up. “Good job, Amajiki-senpai! I’m happy for you!”

“You...knew?” Deku asked, apparently surprised that Kirishima knew something he didn’t.

“Didn’t Mirio-senpai ever tell you he’s the one that gave Amajiki-senpai his hero name?” Kirishima asked after a loud sniff. 

“What?!” Deku squawked in surprise. His eyes darted and his hands twitched at his pockets, looking for all the world like was in notebook withdrawal. “Is that true? Is that what Suneater told you?”

Kirishima nodded. “Yeah. And Amajiki-senpai always said that to him Mirio-senpai was like the sun.” Kirishima laughed. “Pretty obvious, how he feels, when a guy says something like that, I think.” He gave a little shrug, looking from Deku to Bakugo.

“Just being able to keep standing through anything makes you crazy strong” came immediately to Bakugo’s mind, and he choked back an awkward cough. Embarrassing as it was to think about, to remember saying it, he had fucking meant it. Still meant it, for that matter. 

Now he wondered if Kirishima remembered him saying it. 

And if he thought anything about it. 

“Yeah, that’s pretty fuckin’ gay alright,” Bakugo muttered. 

“Kacchan!” Deku reprimanded, scandalized. Kirishima just huffed a laugh, and they moved on.

Though Deku had insisted that the arrangement of the heroes was random, Bakugo knew better. A guy that kept hundreds of fucking notebooks didn’t one day decide to decorate a hallway—that he fucking named—“randomly.” The others might be artfully assorted to look like he wasn’t playing favorites or some shit, but the closer they got to Deku’s office (well, one of them, his building was stupidly huge) the more apparent it became that Deku could deny all he wanted—not all friends were equal. 

Fucking Half-and-Half had more pictures than most, more than a few of the others combined, though whether that was because he and Deku were closer than most of the rest or just because Todoroki got way more press, Bakugo wasn’t sure. Probably both, he figured. Not that he gave a fuck. And he got two giant pictures: one that was just him, looking straight at the camera, Quirk activated on both sides; and the other was with Baldy. If Bakugo wasn’t so biased, he might admit they look pretty badass. 

There were a few smaller pictures from the same shoot framed underneath where things had gotten a bit out of hand. Goofy poses like Todoroki perched on Yoarashi’s shoulder, held up there with one giant arm; another one with the two of them facing off, looking pissed like they’re about to go at it; then the third quite obviously taken about a half second later when they cracked up and started laughing. It took all of Bakugo’s willpower not to make exaggerated gagging noises when he spotted the one of Yoarashi wrapping Todoroki in a hug, giving him a big smooch on his scarred cheek, Todoroki looking sickeningly content and in love.

“Wow,” Kirishima marveled, following Bakugo’s line of sight. “I’ve never seen Todoroki look like that.”

“Aren’t they adorable?” Uraraka asked.

“You’re lucky,” Bakugo told Kirishima dryly, ignoring Uraraka. “I wish I’d never seen either one of them look like that.” It was only after he said it that Bakugo realized that might be pretty fucking insensitive, considering Kirishima’s current predicament. But Kirishima didn’t seem to pay it any mind.

Finally, they made it past Deku’s excessive shrine to Todoroki and his Baldy boyfriend. Bakugo watched Kirishima’s face intently. He wanted to see his expression the moment he saw it.

Kirishima’s reaction did not disappoint. His eyes widened impossibly large and his jaw went slack as he stared. Bakugo fought his own smile even as he watched Kirishima’s lips quiver uncontrollably, as if he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or both.

Eyes glassy and wet, he looked at Bakugo. “It’s us,” he whispered. Then, grinning broadly, “It’s us!” 

“Yep.” Bakugo smirked back at him.

Still grinning like a madman, Kirishima turned back to their significant chunk of wall. There were all sorts of little write ups and articles and whatnot that Bakugo was sure Kirishima would step closer and comb through later. He trusted that Deku had removed any that would be too revealing or mentioned their relationship. Fortunately, this wall was more for hero stuff (despite that gross smoochy picture that snuck onto Half-and-Half’s section) so there wasn’t really any reason for anything too problematic to be posted here. 

There was a giant individual picture of Bakugo, in full hero uniform, palm crackling, looking fucking badass and mean. Similarly, Kirishima got his own Red Riot picture, just him, in his signature pose with his knuckles slammed together.

But in the middle was the third picture. Their picture. Their hero team, the two of them together. 

Fuck they looked good.

Bakugo could feel his lip twitching in a smirk but then Kirishima reached out, grabbing his shoulder without looking away from the picture. Concerned, he looked over. Kirishima still stared up, looking at their hero selves, tears trickling down his face but smiling uncontrollably. 

If this didn’t crack open his thick skull and get those memories back, Bakugo didn’t know what would.

“Hey,” Bakugo said, patting Kirishima’s arm.

Finally Kirishima looked at him, still gripping into Bakugo’s shoulder tightly. “It’s us,” he said yet again. He cleared his throat, “We look so...”

“Cool?” Bakugo predicted wryly.

Kirishima laughed, more breath than anything. “More than cool,” he said earnestly. He searched for the words he couldn’t find, glancing at the banner Deku had added at some point across the bottom of their ginormous team picture: #1 Hero Team. Still awed, he choked out, “We’re the best.”

Bakugo flashed a feral grin. “Fuck yeah we are.”

A large, snotty sniff caused Kirishima to jump and reminded Bakugo they weren’t alone. Which was probably in the nick of time since he’d been about to pull Kirishima into a hug. And while there wasn’t technically anything wrong with that, he still didn’t want to do that shit in front of people. Especially fucking Deku.

“I’m sorry,” Deku blubbered. “You’re just...I was so happy for you guys when you took number one. I love you guys so much.”

Kirishima looked somewhat panicked as he glanced at Bakugo, not knowing what to do. Bakugo just sighed and rolled his eyes. “Yeah yeah,” he groused. “You’re awfully fucking emotional there, Deku. You pregnant again or something?”

“Bakugo!” Kirishima scolded. 

“Well, we are trying,” Uraraka admitted. “But anyway.” She dabbed at her own eyes. “Let’s go get some tissues.”

“Do you mind if I stay and look at these?” Kirishima asked hopefully, gesturing at their expanse of wall.

“Go ahead,” Uraraka said. “Bakugo-kun, come help.”

“What?” Bakugo snapped. “I don’t need tissues—”

“I don’t care,” Uraraka said firmly. “Come with us.”

Bakugo’s mouth twisted into an irritated frown. He grabbed Kirishima’s arm, pulling him close enough to whisper, “I’ll be right back,” into his ear. It was only after the door closed behind them that he wondered why he felt the need to do it. It’s not like he was fucking leaving Kirishima somewhere for any length of time. He was in a hallway in one of the most secure buildings in the fucking country looking at pictures of himself for fuck’s sake. 

Deku wasted no time. “Kacchan, you have to tell him.”

“I’ve already told you I’m fucking not going to!” Bakugo hissed.

“It’s breaking my heart!” Deku protested.

“It’s fucking breaking mine!” Bakugo fired back in a rare moment of honesty. “But his is the one that’s important to me.” He let out an exasperated sigh, as if he hadn’t fucking explained this a million times, had this argument with Deku ever since the fucking hospital. “I don’t want him to feel like he’s...expected to do anything. That he’s stuck.”

“Stuck with you, you mean,” Deku said, eyes intense. When Bakugo didn’t deny it, just clenched his jaw, Deku groaned. “Kacchan, I swear, you are the dumbest smart guy I know—”

“Fuck no, that’s Half-and-Half.” “No, that’s Todoroki-kun.” Bakugo and Uraraka said simultaneously.

Deku just glared at the two of them, unimpressed. “Really, you guys?”

“I do think you should tell him,” Uraraka offered.

“I don’t care,” Bakugo said bluntly. 

Uraraka looked at Deku and shrugged. “There you have it. You can talk at him till you’re blue in the face if you want, but I’m not going to waste my time. I do feel a little sorry for Kirishima-kun, but...” she shrugged again.

“Why do you feel sorry for him?” Bakugo snapped.

“Because he deserves to know,” she said simply, “but once again, you’re insisting you know best.”

“He’s fucking fifteen, Uraraka!”

“And even at fifteen, he’s obviously crazy about you,” Uraraka said. 

“I agree,” Deku said before Bakugo could argue.

“Whatever.” Bakugo grit his teeth. “Just—just give me a little more time, okay?” He sighed heavily, clenching and releasing his fists nervously. Of course Deku noticed the habit. “I’m trying my fucking best and I just don’t want to fuck this up.”

“Aw, Kacchan,” Deku said, stepping forward, arms outstretched to give him a hug. Bakugo took that moment to excuse himself before Deku could wrap him up.

Kirishima half-glanced over his shoulder at the sound of the door closing, but went back to whatever it was that had his attention.

“Whatcha looking at?” Bakugo asked as he came to stand beside him. Kirishima didn’t answer at first, which was fine; it was easy enough to tell what he stared at so intently.

Underneath their exceedingly giant team picture was another large (though thankfully not life-size like the others) photo that had been taken at the banquet the first time they’d gotten number one in the hero team rankings. They were both grinning—Bakugo had wanted to remain cool, look his usual snarly self, but Kirishima’s happiness had been contagious, and when Kirishima had hugged him and picked him up, all he could do was laugh. And the camera had caught that at the perfect time, hugged together, mid-spin, both of them obviously laughing.

Normally it was the type of picture that Bakugo would hate. And, if had been anyone else, he definitely would’ve made puking noises and called it gross. 

But fuck if they didn’t look so insanely, ridiculously happy. 

Because they had been.

“I really like that picture,” Kirishima said finally. Quietly. He risked a glance at Bakugo, obviously preparing to be mocked.

“I do too,” Bakugo said, his honesty and agreement catching Kirishima off guard. 

“I wish I could remember it,” Kirishima whispered, so quietly Bakugo could barely hear it.

Bakugo’s throat tightened and before he caught himself, he ruffled Kirishima’s hair, slightly messing up his spikes. “I do too.” He wanted to grab Kirishima by the back of the neck, pull Kirishima to him, kiss his temple. Instead he gave him a quick rap on the top of the head with his knuckles. Gently, of course. “But we’ll just do it again,” he added, trying to sound confident. When Kirishima glanced at him, he flashed a cocky smirk that he didn’t necessarily feel. “And when we do, we’ll take a picture even better than that one.” Because he couldn’t get enough of touching him, he indulged in a lingering pat on the shoulder that might’ve turned into a squeeze. “Okay?”

Kirishima stared at him for a long moment. Finally he smiled. It was a small one, which was an uncomfortable contrast compared to his usual ear-to-ear grins. But it was at least a smile and Bakugo was willing to take it.

“Okay,” Kirishima said with a nod. Then, “I guess maybe you can actually be nice sometimes.”

Bakugo made a strangled sound. “For fuck’s sake, don’t tell anyone.”

Kirishima laughed.

Yet again, Kirishima woke in the middle of the night. He felt like asking Bakugo if this was normal, then realized Bakugo really had no reason to know. It’s not like they slept in the same room or anything—

Kirishima covered his face with his hands. Gah, why did he think weird shit like that sometimes? Anyway, he didn’t remember having much trouble sleeping before. He didn’t know why he was waking up in the middle of the night all the time now.

He reached for the bedside clock—since stupid Bakugo still wouldn’t give him his stupid phone—and his hand hit something unfamiliar. Startled, he sat up, turning on the lamp on his nightstand.

There were...pictures. One framed, like Bakugo had brought it in from somewhere. The other recently printed. The framed one was the same one from earlier at Midoriya’s, the one where they’d looked so unbelievably happy, winning top spot as a hero team. He’d stared at it while Deku and Uraraka had pulled Bakugo into one of the other rooms. Bakugo could call him a dumbass all he wanted, it was obvious they were talking about him. But he’d learned there was no point in asking; Bakugo was keeping something from him and nothing he could say would make him spill it.

He looked again at their team picture. Even if he didn’t remember it, it was easy enough to imagine being so overwhelmed and ecstatic that he just instinctively hugged Bakugo and picked him up. Heck, the impulse was understandable. He’d been tempted on occasion even back in school and had caught himself almost trying it recently. Apparently...well, looking at the picture, apparently he’d gotten away with it at least once, huh? Would he maybe...be able to do it again?

There was a sticky note on the frame. 

You said you liked it. You can have this if you want it.
Unless it makes you feel weird. Don’t feel like you have to keep it.

It did make Kirishima feel weird. But not the kind of weird he guessed Bakugo was referring to. 

The second picture, the printed one without a frame, was the same one Uraraka had showed him on her phone. The one Bakugo acted so pissed that “everyone” had. Kirishima stared at it in the lamplight, still having trouble wrapping his mind around it: Bakugo, in nothing but swim trunks, asleep under a pool umbrella with a little blonde girl tucked into his side and a chubby red-haired baby passed out on his chest. 

Tears pricked at his eyes. He wanted to remember this so badly. 

He was the one who took this picture. Why couldn’t he remember it? Why did his heart hurt so much when he looked at it?

Another sticky note on this one: Hanabi is your niece. Eiji your nephew. Named after you, obvs.

After staring for another minute, he carefully set them back on his nightstand, only then very belatedly realizing that at some point Bakugo must have come in while he was sleeping to put them there. He felt a little funny about that but didn’t exactly hate it. 

As he had nearly every night since...well, “being fifteen” sounded stupid, since he didn’t really know being anything else. And he couldn’t really say “since moving in with Bakugo” since apparently he’d actually lived with Bakugo quite some time, even if he didn’t remember any of it. Anyway, every night since he’d come home from the hospital with Bakugo, he startled awake from some dream he didn’t remember and wandered into the living room.

And every night he found Bakugo asleep on the couch with the tv still on, volume down to almost nothing.

Yet again, he crouched in front of Bakugo’s sleeping face, no longer holding his breath as he did so, feeling a bit bolder than the first few times he’d done this. The desire to kiss that little furrow between his brows was stronger than ever. He continued tamping it down, though obviously that wasn’t working. Sometimes he wondered if he could harden quickly enough to avoid an explosive palm to the face if he tried it. Maybe doing it once would finally make that urge go away?

Kirishima didn’t understand any of this. Bakugo was such a stickler for getting proper rest. And he had that huge bed—why the heck did he sleep on the couch every night? That couldn’t be normal. Even if a lot had changed in fifteen years, Kirishima doubted he would have changed that much. 

He thought back to the picture of him lifting Bakugo in a hug. Sure, he’d put on more muscle since high school, but so had Kirishima. He actually thought he could probably lift him pretty easily. Probably. His gut told him he could. 

Could he pick him up and put him in his bed without him waking up?

Or, if he did wake up, would he explode him immediately or give him time to explain? Or at least defend himself?

It was...tempting. And if Bakugo continued to spend his nights on the couch (which, judging by his routine so far, Kirishima thought the odds of that were unfortunately pretty good) then maybe Kirishima would try carrying him to his giant bed.

But in the meantime, Kirishima settled for very gently just laying a blanket over him and going back to bed.

“Hey, don’t bother spiking your hair,” Bakugo said the next morning as soon as Kirishima came into the kitchen. “Sparring today.”

“Really?” Kirishima’s face lit up and he almost bounced with excitement.

So fucking cute. “Really,” Bakugo said, trying not to laugh. “Unless you don’t want to?”

“I want to!” Kirishima slammed his knuckles together. “Gah, I can’t wait!”

“You that excited about getting back to work?” Bakugo asked with a raised eyebrow and a smirk, setting breakfast on the table.

“Yes!” Kirishima exclaimed honestly. 

“Dumbass,” Bakugo said, too fondly. Apparently Kirishima’s mood was too good to be ruined by the misguided term of endearment since he just beamed back. “Remember, though, we’re going slow. Don’t need you fucking hurting yourself and the doctor chewing my ass.”

“I know, I know!” Kirishima garbled out around a mouthful of eggs and sausage.

“Eat or talk! Pick one,” Bakugo said, flicking Kirishima in the forehead.

“Maybe,” Kirishima said after a hefty swallow, “you’re not worried so much about the doctor chewing your ass as me kicking it.” He flashed a toothy smile before taking another too-large bite of eggs.

“Oh really,” Bakugo said, giving him a dry glance and sipping his coffee. “Nice try, but trying to dare me into coming at you full strength isn’t gonna work.”

“Awww.” Kirishima near-giggled. Cheeks full of eggs and meat and resembling a very red chipmunk, he said, “It was worth a try.”

“You gonna eat that or store it for later?” Bakugo rolled his eyes and poked Kirishima’s cheek, nearly causing him to choke. 

“Didn’t you say something about kicking my ass?” Bakugo taunted, smirking down at Kirishima pinned beneath him.

Kirishima barely heard it over the thundering of his heartbeat in his ears. Bakugo’s face was so close—too close—the lights above haloed his blond hair and damn if he didn’t look like some gorgeous god of destruction, the wild, joyful thrill of combat shining in his red eyes, feral grin on his lips, sheen of sweat dewy on his skin.

Kirishima opened his mouth to reply but their proximity blanked his brain. Man, Bakugo looked...delicious. That shouldn’t be right but...all he could think of was how badly he wanted to lick up the column of Bakugo’s neck, tasting the sweat from their exertion, and suck possessive purple marks into that pale skin. So what if he’d never done anything like that before? The need to do it now was overwhelming. His hips almost bucked involuntarily at the thought—they were so so close, close enough to grind—

“Kirishima?” Bakugo asked, the strength of his pin easing but his face still close, pinched in concern. “You ok—”

“Up,” Kirishima said immediately, sitting up as fast as he could, rolling and grabbing for the nearest suitable thing: a towel. He pressed it to his mouth as he dry heaved. 

“Hey!” Bakugo said, panicked.

Wobbling up to standing, Kirishima stumbled into the bathroom, not paying Bakugo any mind. He couldn’t afford to. Covered in a cold sweat, he shut the door behind him, heaving into the toilet again but nothing came up. Sitting back on the floor, his head against the cool tile of the wall, chest heaving as he swallowed down bile.

What the hell were you thinking? What the hell did you want to do? 

You just about ruined everything.

“Kirishima!” Bakugo pounded (lightly, if that was possible) on the locked bathroom door. “Hey, you okay?” At first Kirishima didn’t answer. “Fuck, I guess it was too soon after all—”

“No, I’m fine,” Kirishima lied and they both knew it. He stood, adjusting himself, hating himself for being so disgusted and disgusting and yet turned on at the same time, which made him feel even more disgusted and disgusting. After rinsing his mouth and splashing some water over his face, he opened the bathroom door. In the face of Bakugo’s concern he scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “Sorry. Guess you were right—I need to quit inhaling my food.”

That was the end of sparring for the time being. To Kirishima’s surprise, Bakugo had given him the option of doing a light workout with his Quirk. He’d expected to be ushered back to bed rest or something similarly embarrassing for the day so he jumped on the opportunity. And he tried to focus and make the best of it, to actually make something productive out of the day, he really did. But his concentration kept slipping and every time it did, Bakugo gave that concerned little frown which just made Kirishima feel worse and drove him even more crazy.

So they ended things with an easy workout, which should have cleared the air a bit. “Should” being the key word. Feeling prickly with irritation and sticky with disappointment, Kirishima took a long shower and an even longer bath, trying his best to scrub away the awkward, uncomfortable emotions and thoughts that refused to be tamped down any longer.

The bath left him feeling exhausted rather than refreshed. When he finally got out, the house smelled delicious and meaty but he didn’t feel like eating. Still, he knew that Bakugo had made this dinner especially for him, so he sat and pushed food around his plate while Bakugo talked about training, pretending not to notice.

“Knowing you, you’ve already been practicing a bit in secret,” Bakugo said. Then, with a weak, lopsided smile perhaps trying to lighten the mood, “I know I would’ve.”

Any other time Kirishima would have appreciated Bakugo’s attempt at levity. Would have thought it was manly and maybe even sweet that he was trying to cheer him up. But now, the warmth blooming in his chest felt more like a curse. 

“A little,” Kirishima admitted quietly.

“Well, what your Quirk can do now and what you remember it being able to do are miles apart,” Bakugo said, as if Kirishima needed any reminder. “You’ve leveled up and need to get back in sync. I’m not saying go fucking crazy or anything, but maybe we should focus on that for now. If you’re still wanting to hurry and get back to work.” 

“Yeah,” Kirishima replied vaguely, staring at the floor.

“Hey,” Bakugo said, too soft with concern. “It’s okay.” He stood and walked around the table, his hand going to Kirishima’s hair, as it had so many times recently. Only after the initial ruffle that Kirishima had become used to, Bakugo’s hand stayed. Blunt nails combed through his hair, dragging soothingly against his scalp. Bakugo’s thumb brushed his temple, arced behind his ear, massaging tiny circles. 

Eyelids drooping, Kirishima leaned in. It felt so good and so safe and so right and he just wanted to bury his face into Bakugo’s stomach, hug him as tightly as he could while Bakugo petted and massaged him. Instinctively, his head turned slightly to press a kiss to Bakugo’s palm—

Barely catching himself at the last moment, Kirishima reflexively smacked Bakugo’s hand away from his face. He flinched, afraid to see Bakugo’s reaction.

And rightfully so. When he dared glance up at him, Bakugo looked—well, in a weird, twisted way, this was the closest he’d felt to Bakugo since the incident. Because the Bakugo in front of him now looked just the same as he had their first year: startled, hurt, embarrassed...and trying to act like he didn’t feel any of that. 

“Kirishima. What’s wrong?”

With that question, the dam broke on the thoughts he had so desperately tried to keep contained. 

Everything.

Everything’s wrong. Everyone knows something I don’t. There’s something you don’t want me to know and I don’t know why. But there’s something I don’t want you to know either: I want you, I want you so much and I hate myself for it—

And this gap is too wide. The knowledge, the skill, the experience, the strength. The love—

“All I ever wanted was to be equals. With you. That’s...that’s never gonna happen now, is it?” Kirishima said, the weight of the admission threatening to crush him.

“Why the fuck not?” Bakugo looked genuinely confused. “You giving up?”

“I can’t catch up to you. You have all these memories and experiences that I don’t,” Kirishima said, obviously pained. “And when I ask— I try to figure it out— You won’t...” His voice cracked and he scrubbed the back of his hand across his eyes. “What is it? Why is it so important you keep it from me?”

“Kirishima.” Bakugo looked at him intently. “Don’t you trust me?”

Kirishima sobbed a laugh. Or laughed a sob. The effect was the same. “That’s low, dude.” He sniffled. “You know I do.”

“Then—”

“Do you trust me?” Kirishima asked back, blinking back tears. 

“Of course I do, it’s not fucking that! It’s—”

“It is ‘fucking that,’” Kirishima insisted, giving a sad, wobbly smile. “If you trusted me, if we were really partners, really equals...you wouldn’t hide whatever-it-is from me.” 

“C’mon, Ei—Kirishima—”

Kirishima jumped on the slip up. “See? I’m not the Kirishima you know.” He swallowed and his next words came out harsh and raspy. “I’m not the Kirishima you want.” Kirishima looked like his heart was breaking; Bakugo knew his definitely was. 

“You know that’s not true—”

“No, I don’t,” Kirishima said, scrubbing his face with his hands. “It’s too hard to be around you like this,” he cried, muffled by the fingers over his face. After another loud, snotty sniff, his hands fell to his sides. He didn’t look at Bakugo as he said, “I—I want to go stay with Kaminari.”

Bakugo felt like he was going to vomit up the broken shards of his heart. “Okay,” he conceded, barely above a whisper. “Let me...let me give him a call, let him know we’re coming. Then I’ll...I’ll drop you off.”

The ride to Kaminari’s was silent. Bakugo didn’t know what to say anymore that could fix this. Kaminari had been more than happy to take Kirishima in and for once in his fucking life hadn’t asked too many annoying questions. Still, Bakugo parked the car in front of Kaminari’s place, making no move to walk Kirishima to the door. Maybe it was chickenshit but he couldn’t stand whatever look they’d give him—whether it was “I told you so” or pity. Honestly, he didn’t know which was worse. He really didn’t want to leave Kirishima here, to let him go. But he didn’t want to hurt him anymore than he already had.

“Hey,” Bakugo said as Kirishima cracked his door. “Whenever— If— When you want to come home,” he emphasized the word, “just have Kaminari get ahold of me and I’ll come get you.”

“I can get there myself—”

“No, you can’t,” Bakugo said immediately and of course Kirishima bristled. “You’re a famous pro hero and you’re a target. Your reputation might be enough to keep most villains at bay, but if some crazy or stupid fucker goes after you, you’re not in tune enough with your Quirk or your body yet. And I just...no matter what you think, if anything happened to you...” Bakugo let out a shuddering breath. This wasn’t his style but fuck, he was so exhausted and so, so desperate. “If anything happened to you, I’d just die.”

Kirishima snorted, though Bakugo was pretty sure he was sniffling back tears again. “You? Nah.”

“You’re right,” Bakugo said. “First I’d kill the fucker who hurt you, and then I’d just die.” Kirishima at least kind of laughed at that. “Seriously, though.” I love you. Fuck, I love you so much. “As soon as you wanna come home, I’ll come get you. Okay?” He put a hand on Kirishima’s shoulder; he had to fucking touch him somehow. He waited for Kirishima’s little nod of assent then gave a squeeze. “I’ll be waiting.”

Bakugo waited until Kirishima was safely inside Kaminari’s house, the door closed behind him. Then waited another minute—just in case Kirishima changed his mind (he didn’t)—before driving off.

“Uh, thanks for letting me stay, dude,” Kirishima mumbled as he toed off his shoes in the entryway.

“Of course, man! No problem!” Kaminari gave him a smack on the back, trying too hard to sound like nothing was wrong.

“Heyyy! Slumber party!” Mina flung herself at him for a hug, which he half-fumbled out of surprise. He thought it would just be him, Jiro, and Kaminari. “Oh, honey, you look awful. Have you been crying?” She grabbed his face and frowned sympathetically. “Fight with the hubs, huh?” 

Kirishima stared at her, his blood gone cold. “What?”

Of course. 

How could he not have seen it.

Well, why would he.

But still.

Now everything made sense. 

The irrational spike of jealousy when he’d briefly woken in the hospital and seen that ring on Bakugo’s finger. 

The warmth he felt watching Bakugo’s back as he cooked breakfast, the nearly-irresistible urge to hug him from behind and pepper kisses along his neck and shoulder. 

The need to sit too close when they played video games, their legs always “accidentally” touching. Wanting Bakugo to use him as a pillow when he inevitably fell asleep during movies. 

How his heart stuck in his throat when Bakugo looked at him with puppy dog eyes and said please.

The flush in his face, that magnetic attraction watching Bakugo work out or play drums. 

Feeling like his heart was full to bursting at the pictures of them together and of Bakugo with the kids.

The hair ruffling that always felt like a substitute for something far more familiar and intimate. 

That awkward, undeniable desire to get closer, closer, closer until he could taste him when they sparred.

The instinct to kiss the crease between Bakugo’s eyebrows as he slept.

The expression on Bakugo’s face shattering his heart as he said, “If anything happened to you, I’d just die.”

Kirishima sat up, the bodies of his friends asleep all around him. After Mina’s relatively careless (or perhaps absolutely intentional) revelation, they had stayed up, eating pizza (again), answering Kirishima’s questions about the last fifteen years. Including questions about Bakugo. Every once in a while Sero or Kaminari would cringe and mutter about how they were surely going to be murdered for this, but Mina brushed them off. Jiro just shrugged and said the damage had been done; there was no reason to keep any secrets now.

His thoughts buzzed so loudly in his head it was almost painful.

“Can’t sleep?” Sero whispered from a couple bodies over.

Kirishima shook his head. He opened his mouth, then hesitated; he didn’t know what time it was and he had already been enough of a burden on his friends—

“Need a ride?” Sero asked, his broad, knowing smile visible even in the relative darkness of the room.

“Yeah,” Kirishima said quietly, nodding. “I want to go home.”

The sound of the front door unlocking startled Bakugo from his fitful half-doze on the couch and he sat up, turning to look at the door, palm crackling.

“It’s just me,” Kirishima said whispering, which should have been ludicrous since the only person to whisper for was obviously awake and on high alert. “I’m, um, I’m home.”

Bakugo let his explosion fizzle out. “I told you—”

“I got a ride,” Kirishima hurriedly explained. “I didn’t want to bother you. If you were asleep.”

“I wasn’t,” Bakugo said immediately. “But, uh, welcome back.” He peered at Kirishima, frowning. “Is, um...everything okay? I mean, I’m glad you came home...”

“Yeah,” Kirishima said, “everything’s fine.” He nearly cringed at how obvious the lie sounded. “I just couldn’t sleep.”

“Me neither,” Bakugo said slowly, still frowning in concern as he watched Kirishima. Slowly, he sat back down on the couch. To his surprise, Kirishima sat down next to him, staring at something on the tv that definitely didn’t merit any, let alone that much, attention.

“Hey, Bakugo?”

Bakugo absolutely did not like the quiet resolve in Kirishima’s tone. He knew whatever was coming next would be bad. “What?” he tried not to snap. 

“Are we married?”

A chill ran down Bakugo’s spine as his heart dropped to his stomach. “What makes you think that?” 

Now Kirishima glanced at him, knowing the lack of an outright denial was an admission in itself. “Where’s your ring?” His gaze went from Bakugo’s scarred hand down to his own clenched fist. “Where’s mine?”

“What nonsense are you making up now?” Bakugo scoffed, knowing how empty it sounded. 

“Mina,” Kirishima said, as if that explained everything. 

Because it kinda did.

“I’m gonna fucking kill her—”

“It’s not her fault,” Kirishima said, sounding more tired than anything. “I mean, she did dare me to ask. But deep down...maybe I knew. When I woke up in the hospital, you were asleep holding my hand. You had a ring. And I was jealous at first. Because you were supposed to be mine—” His voice cracked and he blinked back tears. “And this whole time, I look at you and— Every time I look at you I want to hug you and tell you how beautiful you are but I have to fight it because I don’t want you to think I’m gross and I don’t know why—” A broken sob escaped him. “I’m scared that you want me to forget that. Or else why didn’t you tell me—“

“Fuck, Kirishima.” Bakugo scooped Kirishima into his arms, as much as it was possible to scoop a mountain of muscle, and hugged him crushingly tight as Kirishima sobbed into his shoulder. What kind of pathetic asshole was he to get a fifteen-year-old kid this stressed out? Fuck it—it didn't matter if Kirishima was fifteen, thirty, or a hundred. He didn’t deserve to be forced into a breakdown. “Fuck, how many times am I gonna fuck up,” he whispered angrily into Kirishima’s hair. 

“I’m a mistake?” Kirishima asked, muffled against Bakugo’s shirt, nose stuffed with snot.

“What? No! Fuck.” Bakugo heaved a sigh, weaving his fingers through that shitty red hair he loved so much. “I am. How many times am I gonna fucking make you cry when I’m just trying to fucking protect you from me?” 

“Huh?” Kirishima lifted his head and looked at him in confusion. 

“I thought maybe you wanted a do-over.” Bakugo thunked his forehead on Kirishima’s shoulder and mumbled into his neck. “That maybe this whole thing was some subconscious self-protection. Something your brain created because deep down, you had regrets and wanted to start over.” He swallowed thickly; he was not crying, dammit. “That’s why I didn’t want you to know. Didn’t want you looking shit up on the internet or seeing the pictures in your fucking phone.” Sighing, he raised his head. “Figured you’d be shocked as shit first. Then I didn’t want you thinking that’s the way it had to be...just because that’s the way it was. If—if you really did want the do-over, I wanted you to get it.”

“So you were...testing me?”

“Hah?” It took everything Bakugo had to resist headbutting him. “Dumbass, did you not listen to a word I just fucking said? I just want you to be happy, Ei.”

“But I’m happy when I’m with you,” Kirishima said guilelessly. “Isn’t that okay? Is it because I think I’m young? Even so, my body is your age. It’s not a crime, we can still—”

Bakugo slapped his palm over Kirishima’s mouth. “For the love of fuck, do not even think about finishing whatever dumbass thing that was about to come out of your stupid mouth.” 

“Well,” Kirishima protested after pulling Bakugo’s hand away. He didn’t let go of it, Bakugo noticed. “What if...what if I’m stuck like this? What if I’m starting over at fifteen?”

“Then you start over at fifteen,” Bakugo said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’ll just wait for you to catch up.” He risked a lopsided, feral grin. “Not like I haven’t been waiting for you to catch up since the day we met.”

“Jerk,” Kirishima laughed, weakly punching Bakugo’s arm. “So, um. When...when I turn eighteen, will you ask me to marry you again?”

“What, you’re actually gonna let me ask this time?” Bakugo teased. 

“Huh?”

“You insisted on being the one to propose.”

“I did?” Kirishima asked, surprised. 

“Yeah. I tried but you wouldn’t let me.”

“You actually let me win?” 

“Uh, no. Cmon,” Bakugo flicked Kirishima’s forehead and Kirishima laughed. “You know that’s not my style.”

“Hey, um...c-can I have my ring?” At Bakugo’s indecisive expression, he continued, “Please? M-maybe that would unlock something and you’d get your Kirishima back.”

“All Kirishimas are my Kirishima,” Bakugo said with effortless certainty. 

Kirishima’s startled expression was too much to take. The wide, awed eyes, the lips parted in surprise, the fucking adoration broadcast on his face. Hell, if nothing else, getting up and fetching his ring would be a good excuse for Bakugo to step away and maybe cool his head before he did something very, very stupid. Soft and delicious and so fucking tempting...but very, very stupid. 

“Fuck. Fine. Hold on.”

As soon as Bakugo sat back on the couch, Kirishima splayed out his hand. 

“What, you want me to fucking put it on you too?” Bakugo groused. Kirishima nodded enthusiastically, eyes a little too wet, which might be why he just relied on gestures, afraid to talk. “This feels so fucking gay. And borderline illegal.” Kirishima huffed a laugh. 

Despite his bitching,  Bakugo slid the ring on Kirishima’s finger...then raised it to his lips and gave it a soft, barely-there kiss.

“W-what was that for!” Kirishima sputtered. 

“What?”

“You k-kissed me— my hand. You got embarrassed over putting the ring on but not over that? That’s way more gay and illegal!”

“Cut me some slack. That might be the only one I get for three years.”

Kirishima laughed. “Y’know,” he said after a moment, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. “Maybe I didn’t go back to fifteen because I regretted marrying you. Maybe I loved marrying you so much I wanted to do it twice.”

Bakugo stared at him, incredulous. “Sometimes, Kirishima, I swear...” He headbutted him, though it was much gentler than the ones Kirishima remembered. “You say the dumbest fucking things.” He lingered, leaving their foreheads pressed together, letting his eyes close for a too-brief moment. Finally, he pulled back and sighed, drained. He stood, holding out a hand to help Kirishima up, not that he needed it. “C’mon. It’s late. Get your dumbass to bed.”

“Hey, Bakugo? Can I—um, can I sleep with you?”

Bakugo’s eyebrows shot up. “Moving pretty fucking fast, aintcha?”

“That’s not what I meant!” Kirishima sputtered, blushing profusely. “It’s just...I don’t sleep like...I did before. I wake up all the time. And whenever I get up in the night, you’re out here on the couch.” He licked his bottom lip nervously. “Have you even slept in your bed since this happened?” Bakugo’s glare was apparently answer enough. “I just think...maybe...” his last words were so mumbled they were almost inaudible. “...maybe we miss each other.” He glanced at Bakugo, prepared for rejection. 

Instead, Bakugo groaned a sigh and scrubbed a hand across his face then through his hair. “Fine.”

“Fine?!” Kirishima squeaked. 

“Well,” Bakugo shrugged, not making eye contact. “It’s important to get good rest. And I know I’m fucking not. And you usually sleep like a fucking rock, so if you’re not sleeping either...” He gave another shrug and a quick glance. “Just saying it might be worth a try. If it’s no good we can always try something else. Not like we’re gonna be fucking sleeping naked.” 

Kirishima stared at the floor, face heating. “Well, I—”

“Not like we’re gonna be fucking sleeping naked, Kirishima,” Bakugo repeated with emphasis and a glare. 

“I get too hot!” Kirishima blurted.

“I don’t fucking care! I’m not letting my fucking fifteen-year-old husband fucking snuggle me fucking naked!”

“You’re gonna let me snuggle you?” Kirishima asked hopefully.

“No!” Bakugo took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fuck’s sake, Kirishima, just put on some fucking pajamas or whatever the fuck you wear to bed before I start blowing shit up.”

Bakugo had frowned at Kirishima’s boxers and white tank top combo, but apparently it qualified enough as pajamas because he begrudgingly gestured for Kirishima to get into bed—their bed!—before he turned off the light.

Part of Kirishima was exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster of the evening and he expected to fall asleep right away. But the other part of him was just...excited? Comfortable? Happy?

For the first time since this whole ordeal had started, he felt like he was where he belonged.

Well, except for one thing.

“Didn’t you say there would be snuggling?” Kirishima whispered into the too-quiet room and his obviously-feigning-sleep bedmate on the furthest edge of the bed from him.

“Go to sleep or I’m kicking you out,” Bakugo grumbled.

Kirishima tried. He really did. But to be this close—so close!—and still have that one thing missing—

“Canyouhugmeorsomething,” he blurted out.

Bakugo rolled over to glare at him. It was too dark to see, but Kirishima could feel it. “Kirishima, I fucking swear—”

“Please?” Kirishima interrupted him. “Just till I fall asleep! Then you can push me away, push me off the bed or whatever—”

“I’m not going to push you off the fucking bed,” Bakugo gruffed. Without warning, he pulled Kirishima into his chest. “Now,” he knocked his forehead against Kirishima’s, head-butting him in time with his words, “go. to. sleep.”

“Okay,” Kirishima promised. A moment later, Bakugo too-expertly tucked Kirishima’s head under his chin and Kirishima automatically buried his face into Bakugo’s chest, just barely resisting the urge to brush a kiss across his collarbone. He might actually get pushed (or blown) off the bed for that. 

Finally content and satisfactorily drowsy, he tried not to giggle inappropriately at Bakugo’s habit of emphasizing his points with headbutts. Fortunately, like the one earlier, they were gentler than he remembered—

Gentler than he remembered. 

Wait.

Bakugo stirred, frowning as he registered arms snug around him, a warm, naked chest pressed against his back, and kisses lazily dusted across his shoulder. 

“Kirishima,” Bakugo growled in warning, still half-asleep.

“Sorry,” Kirishima’s voice rumbled in his ear. “I know you’re prissy about your ‘no molesting you while you’re asleep’ rule but...” A chuckle followed by another trail of kisses showed how little Kirishima paid that rule any mind.

“Like that’s ever fucking stopped you befo—” Bakugo’s eyes flew open. Fifteen-year-old Kirishima would not know about his ‘no molesting me while I’m asleep’ rule. He turned in Kirishima’s arms so he could see his face. “Kiri—”

The rest of Kirishima’s name was kissed right out of Bakugo’s mouth, along with any doubt he might have had. Fifteen-year-old Kirishima would definitely not kiss like this. This, this was—

Bakugo pulled away, frowning slightly as he searched Kirishima’s face. “Is this another dream?” 

For an answer, Kirishima just lowered his lips to the base of Bakugo’s neck, teeth grazing the junction of his shoulder, and bit down.

Hard.

“What the fuck!” Bakugo yelled. 

“Well?” Licking his lips, Kirishima grinned after he pulled away. “You awake?”

Without warning, Bakugo reared his head and bit him back. “Yeah,” he said, the meat of Kirishima’s trapezius still in his mouth. “You?”

“Oh. Ohgodyes,” Kirishima groaned.

Bakugo laughed as he let go, giving the area a once-over lick. “Pervy bastard.” 

“You missed this pervy bastard and you know it.” Kirishima smiled as he wrapped Bakugo in his arms again, hugging him close. Normally Bakugo would protest and complain that he was being too clingy but...well, he’d allow it. Just this once.

“How much do you remember?”

“All of it,” Kirishima whispered into Bakugo’s hair. “It was like...like waking up from a dream, I guess.” He pressed a kiss to Bakugo’s forehead; Bakugo had a suspicion that he would be getting a lot of kisses in the near future. “All the stuff in the last couple weeks. Everything you said, everything you did. And then I just...came back. Woke up. Consolidated,” he laughed. 

“What was it that did it? That fixed it?” Bakugo asked. “In case it...” He didn’t want to finish the sentence aloud.

He didn’t have to. “It won’t,” Kirishima said with absolute certainty. “It won’t happen again.” Another kiss, this time to the bridge of his nose. “Pretty sure it was a combination of things, but I think the final key was...” He paused, this time for a thorough kiss on the mouth. 

They were never going to get through the conversation at this rate, but Bakugo supposed they had nothing but time. 

Finally Kirishima pulled back, just enough to speak. “All Kirishimas are my Kirishima.”

Embarrassed, Bakugo huffed a laugh. “That’s what did it, huh?”

“It is,” Kirishima said sincerely. “I felt something shift then. That’s when it clicked, I think, that you’d love me no matter what.”

“Dumbass,” Bakugo grumbled affectionately. “You should know that anyway.”

“Sometimes it’s nice to hear it,” Kirishima said, very quietly.

“Kirishima.” The name was barely even a breath, their lips were so close. Crimson eyes met and Bakugo whispered, “Where’s your fucking shirt?”

Kirishima burst out laughing. “I told you I get too hot!” Still grinning, he leaned in to give Bakugo a kiss and quick nip on the jaw. “And now I know why you were staring at me before I got into bed—I’m pretty sure these are your boxers, not mine.”

“Yes, they fucking are. And now that you know that, give them back.”

“Now?” Kirishima asked, raising an eyebrow and not fighting his grin at all.

“Now, dumbass.” Bakugo fought a grin.

Unexpectedly, Kirishima burst out laughing. At Bakugo’s confused frown, he kissed him, which was pleasant enough but didn’t help the confusion any.

“Sorry,” Kirishima said as they eased apart. “I just—that bothered me, the younger me—”

“You did keep bitching that I was mean.” Bakugo hesitated. “Does it bother you?”

“No.” Kirishima shook his head and smiled wryly. “It’s a term of endearment, coming from you. This me knows that. You say ‘dumbass,’ I hear...” He pretended to think. “Beloved?”

“Kirishimaaaa,” Bakugo groaned, his shoulders shaking in silent laughter as he covered his face with his hands. “That is so gay.”

“Yeah, well,” Kirishima laughed. “You’re the one trying to get into my pants, so what does that make you?”

Bakugo looked at him, expressionless. “They’re my pants, actually. My underwear, anyway.”

Kirishima raised an eyebrow. “So you’re trying to get into your own pants? That’s so very...you.”

“Damn straight.” Bakugo smirked. “And that’s why you love me, right, belo—bel—” He burst out laughing. “Fuck. I can’t even fucking say it just fucking around.” 

“It’s okay,” Kirishima said nonchalantly. “It’s a better pet name for you anyways.”

Bakugo looked him, mouth open, aghast. “You fucking wouldn’t.” Kirishima just grinned wickedly and Bakugo’s eyes narrowed in a scathing glare. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

Kirishima silenced his protests with another slow, sensual kiss.

“Y’know,” Kirishima said once they parted. “I wanted to tell you...you were right.”

“I usually am,” Bakugo replied without thinking. “But could you be more specific?”

“Telling me the truth right away wouldn’t have fixed things any faster,” Kirishima elaborated. “I think...I think that would have just caused a different set of problems. Yeah, okay, it would’ve explained why I wanted to touch you all the time and kept thinking how beautiful you are. But I still wouldn’t have known how to act, what was appropriate or expected. Heck, I probably would have felt even more pressure to be someone I wasn’t.” He flashed soft half-smile. “I just wanted you to know. I know you were doing the best you could.” He gave a little laugh at that. “I mean, of course—you always do.” 

“You promise it won’t happen again?” Bakugo asked, despite knowing Kirishima really had no way of knowing or guaranteeing such a thing. 

“I promise,” Kirishima said, this time with a quick kiss to the forehead. Apparently he decided that wasn’t enough so he added one to the lips. “Thank you for taking such good care of me.”

“I fucking love you so fucking much, Ei,” Bakugo said bluntly; Kirishima’s eyes widened in surprise. “You deserve to hear it and I know I’m shit at telling you. I just take it for granted that you know.”

Kirishima blinked rapidly, eyes wet. “I know,” he said after a moment, giving a loud sniff. 

“Are you fucking crying?”

“No,” Kirishima said stuffily, despite all the evidence to the contrary.

“Fuck’s sake,” Bakugo grumbled, quickly wiping Kirishima’s cheeks. He barked out a laugh at the absurdity of it all. “You fucking dumbass, what am I going to do with you?” 

“What…ever you want?” Kirishima asked hopefully. “Or…whatever I want?” He grinned, extra-hopefully. 

“Oh, and whatever could that be,” Bakugo asked drily.

“Mm, I wonder.” Kirishima smiled as he went in for another kiss, completely undeterred by Bakugo’s eyeroll. 

“Kirishima.” Bakugo asked, breaking the kiss after much wandering-hands later. “Where are my underwear?”

“Huh?” Kirishima asked innocently. He moved the hand currently trailing Bakugo’s ribs just a little lower and thumbed at his waistband. “Here?”

“No, I mean—” Bakugo firmly grabbed Kirishima’s now-naked hip. “Mine that you had on.”

“Oh! You said you wanted them off.”

“No, I said I wanted them back.”

“Oh. Well…hm.” 

“You shredded them, didn’t you?” Bakugo asked flatly. 

Kirishima laughed sheepishly. “Maybe?”

Bakugo sighed heavily even as he let Kirishima hug him close. “We never would have survived you being underage for three years, would we,” he said, muffled against Kirishima’s chest. “I swear I have never fucking met a person who found it so fucking impossible to keep clothes on.”

“Pretty sure that’s a feature not a bug,” Kirishima chirped. “One that unfortunately hasn’t rubbed off on you after all these years. I guess it’s not sexually-transmitted.”

“Fuck’s sake will you just fucking shut up,” Bakugo groaned to Kirishima’s amusement. After a sigh and a glare, he asked, “What’s that goofy fucking smile for? You look like a creep.”

“Gee, thanks,” Kirishima said. “I can’t help it. You just…I’m just so happy. Do you have any idea how cool you looked to fifteen-year-old me?”

“Considering you never shut up about it?” Bakugo grumbled. “Anyway, what are you talking about. I look fucking cool to thirty-year-old you. I’m always cool.”

“True,” Kirishima humored him. “But to that me, you were almost too cool. You were somewhere beyond my reach. Unattainable.” The look on his face was so unabashedly sappy and adoring that Bakugo actually had to squint a little bit to deflect some of it. “And then I woke up this morning to everything I ever wanted right here.” 

Kirishima gave Bakugo another crushing hug, enough to elicit a grunt and maybe that sound was his spine popping or ribs cracking, Bakugo wasn’t sure anymore. 

“How can I not be happy?!” Kirishima continued. 

“You’re always fucking happy,” Bakugo muttered.

“But I’m happiest with you,” Kirishima said immediately. His eyes twinkled mischievously as he added, “Beloved.”

Bakugo scowled, red-faced. “Seriously, I will divorce you.”

Kirishima just laughed. “That’s fine.” At Bakugo’s obvious surprise, he grinned. “I’ll just marry you again. As many times as you’ll let me.”

And then, because Kirishima wasn’t anywhere near as dumb as he pretended, he kissed his husband before he could sputter an angry response.