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When Kirishima was five years old, he had stared in the mirror and practiced his poses so that they matched those of his hero - Crimson Riot. Fists bumps and charming smiles directed at his own reflection. He was just like his hero.
At eleven years old, Kirishima used his childhood mirror, still decorated in red and black stickers, to scrutinize his body. Stretch marks ran all along his shoulders and on his belly, that was too big to be that of a hero’s. The worst of it was his hair. Black and long, covering the scarred parts of his face.
A few years later, at fourteen, Kirishima ran his fingers through his newly colored hair until the spikes formed so that they resembled the peaks of mountains. With careful fingers, he tugged at the hair.
Only months later, Kirishima found himself in front of a new mirror. A mirror that wasn’t decorated in Clifford the Big Red Dog stickers. This mirror was simple, long but not very wide. It was plain, hidden in the corner beside his new desk. All the dorms had come with the mirrors - the same mirrors for everyone.
Kirishima found himself staring at it a lot. After class, he would stretch the skin of his face revealing his dark circles. When he finished using his personal dumbbells, he would flex his muscles, watching as they bulged. And after his first time using his Unbreakable form, he came back to his room sore and stared for an hour.
His arms had scars running all along the tan skin. With his index finger he found a scar and gently pressed on it. It stung, but he continued to trace them. The skin was calloused and cracked where the hardening would usually take place.
When he finally stopped, he stared at the mirror and pushed a smile to his face.
--
The locker room used to be Kirishima’s worst nightmare. Now, he didn’t mind it. He was used to his skin being on display due to his hero costume.
But something about the squeaky floors and the slamming of lockers still left him an awkward mess as he dressed. He never let it show, though, and continued to push through it with charming laughs and friendly comments.
He rushed out of the suffocating room and waited for Bakugou outside the door.
“All done, man?” Kirishima asked as Bakugou stepped out of the locker room.
He didn’t respond, except for a small huff, and the two of them continued to walk towards their rooms.
It had taken a while before Bakugou allowed this casual friendship, but Kirishima was patient.
The walk was silent, Kirishima too busy with his thoughts and Bakugou too tired to make any threats.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Kirishima said with a wave.
Bakugou’s eyes narrowed on the hand, focusing on his palm. “Yeah, whatever.”
When Bakugou disappeared, Kirishima glanced at his hand and noticed the cracked skin that surely needed lotion. He sighed and returned to his room, where the mirror stood ominously in the corner.
That night, he did not look at himself.
--
Kirishima bolted out of his room, already late for class for the second time that week.
Then his foot caught on something, right outside his door, and he came crashing to the ground. He turned, perhaps a tad too dramatically, to see what had caused his tumble. Sitting right in front of his door was a small, light blue bottle of lotion. \
Dusting himself off, Kirishima reached to pick it up. “ Lotion for Quirk Withdrawals: Treats Soreness, Callouses, Scars…” the front label read.
The scar on his palm was suddenly vibrant red as his mind remembered Bakugou’s reaction two days ago.
He smiled and stashed the lotion into his backpack before running off back to class. He would thank Bakugou later, he promised himself.
--
“Bakugou!” Kirishima yelled as he knocked on the door of his loud neighbor.
No answer. It had been five minutes. And Kirishima knew that Bakugou was in his room. The lights were on and he had heard the door open and close twenty minutes ago, announcing his return.
“I’m coming in, man!” Kirishima said with one last knock. Then he gently opened the door.
“Bakugou?” He asked again, this time his voice oddly quiet.
Bakugou didn’t hear him, his eyes trained on the mirror. Kirishima had never been in Bakugou’s room before though Bakugou had been in Kirishima’s many, many times. But still, Kirishima recognized the mirror. It was the same mirror he had, it was even tucked into the same corner.
In front of it stood Bakugou, fingers pulling at the sides of his lips so that he forced his face to smile. Gray earbuds dangled from his ears which answered Kirishima’s first question.
Slowly, Kirishima approached. The closer he got, the more he realized the mirror was decorated in All Might stickers. Not quite as decked-out as Kirishima’s, but enough that it made Kirishima smile fondly.
“Bakugou?” Kirishima said, placing a gentle hand on the other’s shoulders.
Bakugou flinched and in less than a second, he had his arms out and prepared to blast. Once he seemed to realize it was Kirishima, he untangled his headphones and dropped them onto the bed.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I wanted to thank you for the-”
“Stop talking. I didn’t do shit. Leave.”
Kirishima steeled himself and attempted to smile through the harsh words. His eyes glanced over to the mirror, “Bakugou? What were you doing?”
“Fucking nothing. It’s my room!” Even though he was screaming, Bakugou’s ears were red.
“Bakugou? Were you trying to-” Kirishima had to pause, to let himself breath as a real smile made its way to his face, “practice smiling?”
“Shut the fuck up, dumb hair! I wasn’t doing that shit - that’s embarrassing!” And all Kirishima could think as explosions blossomed from Bakugou’s hand, was how absurdly cute the scrunch of his nose was.
“It’s okay, dude. It 's cute!” Kirishima laughed.
Bakugou’s scowl grew as he barked out, “ cute? I’m not fucking cute! I’m fucking tough as shit just like All-” Bakugou cut himself off, caught off guard by his own admittance.
He was copying All Might, Kirishima thought with a melancholy feeling, he was smiling like All Might.
“You looked just like him,” was Kirishima’s next words. The sound of his voice was soft and felt more like a whisper.
“Fucking liar,” Bakugou said instantly, crossing his arms over his chest and ducking his head so that his shoulders hiked up to his ears. “He’s all bright n’ shit. Nothing like me.”
“Bakugou-”
“Just leave, Kirishima.”
The sound of his name was what shut him up. Bakugou was serious. Somehow, that information made Kirishima tense.
“No,” Kirishima said, straightening his back. “No. You need to hear this, Bakugou.”
Finally, red eyes met his and Kirishima smiled.
“When I was younger, I used to pose in the mirror to copy Crimson Riot,” Kirishima started, “he was my idol, obviously. I loved him. Then, in middle school, I started gaining weight and stretch marks and, fuck, scars. So many scars.”
Bakugou’s eyes flickered to his arms, where the faded lines of his Quirk were starting to disappear. They flickered back up and Kirishima smiled, hoping to relay that it was okay. It was okay to look.
“Crimson Riot didn’t have any of that. He was lean and cool and- And I wanted to be like that,” Kirishima finished, somewhat lamely.
“What does that have to do with me, Shitty Hair?” Bakugou snarked, growling so that his teeth were bared.
It took everything in Kirishima not to reach out and tuck the loose strand of hair away from his face.
“Did you know you smile in battle?” Kirishima said instead.
“What?”
“In battle, you grin. And it’s so bright, Bakugou. I swear.”
Bakugou seemed stunned and flustered, face growing red even as his frown grew deeper.
“It’s not like his, though,” Bakugou finally admitted, and it sounded like it hurt. Kirishima didn’t speak, only nodded for Bakugou to continue.
“He 's good, Kirishima. Good like a hero should be and fuck, he’s good like fucking Deku is good. I can’t be that. I’m not good, ” the last word was growled, like it was venomous. Like it burned his throat.
There was silence until the heavy footfall of Kirishima stepping closer interrupted the tense moment. Another step closer and Bakugou finally looked up and met his eyes again. Kirishima gently held the pad of his thumb over the edge of Bakugou’s lips.
He waited for permission which soon came with a sharp nod of Bakugou’s head. Gently, Kirishima pulled the lips up into a silly, fake smile.
“You’re so good,” Kirishima breathed, eyes moving from Bakugou’s lips to his eyes. “You smile in battle because you love winning, sure. But you also smile after. Did you know that, Bakugou? You smile when people are safe.”
Kirishima gently moved one of his thumbs to the apple of Bakugou’s cheek and rubbed a circle. He looked stupid, glaring up at Kirishima with one side of his lips pulled into a smile and the other curved down in a frown. His arms were still crossed.
“You’re just saying that, you big idiot.”
“No,” Kirishima told him because it was the truth. “I’m saying it because it’s a fact.”
Bakugou’s eyes narrowed into a squint as he scrutinized Kirishima’s open, smiling face.
“Your scars are cool,” Bakugou said finally and it was so quiet that Kirishima almost missed it.
Kirishima hummed and moved his other thumb - the one holding the edge of his lip- to finally brush the tip of Bakugou’s scrunched up nose.
“You think so?”
“Manly as fuck,” Bakugou whispered but this time it was certain even when his face burned underneath Kirishima’s palms.
For a second, the pair of them let their eyes roam the planes of each other’s faces.
“You know, I think mirrors are liars,” Kirishima grinned down at Bakugou.
“That’s fucking stupid.”
“Nah, I think it’s probably the smartest thing I’ve ever said.”
The scrutinizing look was back. “You might be right, Shitty Hair.”
But he didn’t clarify what Kirishima had been right about.
Finally, Kirishima stepped away, letting his hands fall from Bakugou’s skin.
(It had been warm and soft under his palms, but he decided not to think of that.)
“I should go,” Kirishima said, flashing a smile.
“You should,” Bakugou agreed through squinted eyes.
Kirishima turned and made his way to the door. Hand on the knob, he suddenly remembered what he had come for. “Oh, and Bakugou, thanks.”
Silence followed and Kirishima left with a smile.
--
When Kirishima had the urge to pull and poke at his skin the following week, he stopped himself. Instead, he pulled out his new pack of All Might stickers and gingerly placed it onto the mirror, right beside Clifford and Crimson Riot.
--