Chapter Text
It all happens one simple afternoon, during one of their training classes. All the students are divided in pairs, and Bakugou and Kirishima are practicing their usual sparring, in a shower of explosions and rubble. Through the faces twisted by effort and tension, two smiles face each other as one blow follows another. They're enjoying that, like they always do when they practice together. They rarely agree to switch partners, except on rare occasions, and only when prompted by their teacher who wants them to be prepared for any eventuality, able to react instinctively to any villain or quirk. Bakugou thinks it's ridiculous, because who else than Shitty hair could measure up to him? Who else could be such a suitable training partner? As if the rest of their class could compete with him. Kirishima is the only one who comes close to him, with his hardening quirk that allows him to endure Bakugou's blasts. At least when they fight together, he doesn't feel like he has to hold back.
In that way, this afternoon is no different from every other one. Except for one thing. Except for one fucking thing.
Bakugou quickly gains the upper hand over Kirishima, and after some resistance, finally manages to tackle him to the ground, before placing his knee on his chest. Defiantly, he brings his face so close that his sweat drips down the red-haired boy's face, from his chin to the scar above his eye. “I win”, he says with a grin on his face. When Kirishima doesn't return his smile, and has a dumbfounded look on his face, Bakugou's grin widens. “What, Shitty hair, surprise because I got you in less than 5 minutes that time?”
The other boy doesn't say a word. Instead, his eyes seem to wander on Bakugou's face, scrutinizing the blond strands tangled in sweat, the narrowed red eyes, the gently parted lips. And then, slowly, his effort-weary eyes widen as if struck by realization. He opens his mouth as if he wants to say something, and then closes it again. Bakugou, all too aware that they've been in this stupid position for too many seconds, doesn't like that. At all. “What?”, he asks violently.
“I-I like you”.
The words hang in the air for a few split seconds, unclear, as if Bakugou had created them from scratch. He must have imagined them. Wait. What the fuck did he just said?
“What the fuck did you just said?”
“I-Sorry, sorry!” nearly screams Kirishima, his eyes wide open, now trying to get back on his feet. But Bakugou is too fast, and he slams him to the ground again, so hard that the other boy seems to gasp for air a moment.
“Repeat what you said or i'll fucking blow your head up!”.
“No really I didn’t mean to say it!”
Bakugou doesn't know what his face looks like at that moment, but it must be pretty scary, because Kirishima stops all movement, rests his head on the ground, lets out a deep sigh and closes his eyes. “Shit”. Slowly, he clenches his fists, and opens his eyes again. He seems to be searching for something in the red pupils that are facing him.
"I said, I like you." he whispers. For a second time, the words hang in the air, the silence between the two boys only interrupted by the sounds of fighting still raging in the training room. But Bakugou hears nothing more, nothing but those three words repeating in a loop in his head, circling in his brain like a vulture around its prey. And at some point, the words stop circling. They hit him with all their weight, and then it’s his turn to be struck by realisation. Now he's the one gasping for air. The surrounding noises fall silent as his anger rises, coursing through his veins from his heart to his sweaty palms. Distantly, he hears the familiar crackling sound of small explosions like fireworks, and before he knows it, he grabs Kirishima by the collar and send him across the room with a deafening blast.
Next thing he knows, he's walking fast towards the exit of the training room, deaf to the screams of fear and incomprehension of his classmates and teacher. He doesn't hear anything but a buzzing sound, unsure whether it's because of the noise of the explosion reverberating in his ears and limbs or because of the words he just heard. Fuck. Those words. What was it again? I like you. I like you. The words don't even make sense, they don't add up, something is wrong with the way they were thrown into the air.
He passes the various buildings on campus without even noticing, and soon finds himself in front of his room door, which he pushes open with one big kick. He slams the door behind him, still deaf to the sound that pierces the silence. He soon realises that it was a mistake to come here. He wants to smash everything, to tear apart the cushions of his bed, to shatter the glass of his mirror, to shred the pages of his books, to let the anger that pulses through his veins flood in. The anger is so strong that it hurts, compressing his heart in his chest and preventing the air from circulating properly in his lungs.
The words are still circling in his head.
His eyes fall on a sweatshirt laid out on the chair of his desk. A red sweatshirt, forgotten by Kirishima after their last homework session. He grabs it, feels the fabric under his sweaty fingers, smells the still fresh scent of the boy who wore it not so long ago. With a scowl, he throws it across the room. Stupid sweatshirt. Clothes don't break, and now he feels like smashing things. But instead of listening to his anger just aching to be unleashed, he throws himself flat on his bed, with only one thought in mind – sleep. It's only half past six, but Bakugou has no other option to soothe the painful pressure of his rage than to keep it quiet until the next day. Only then can he think seriously about what has to be done. And just like that, he falls asleep before he can once again hear the three words that have been playing over and over in his mind.