Archive of Our Own

Bakugou had told Kirishima he loved him forty-two days ago. He didn't mean to keep counting, but every morning, he’d wake up with the next number in his head. It would probably stop eventually, but at this point he wasn't sure he wanted it to. They had gotten together months before, and yet Bakugou had only proclaimed his love six weeks ago. Kirishima didn't mind. He had said that he could take as long as he needed, and Bakugou had taken that to heart. Forty-two days ago, he had taken Kirishima to a hole-in-the-wall ice cream shop, and kissed him to the taste of strawberries. ‘I love you,’ he had said.

And he knew Kirishima loved him too.

“I love you,” the redhead in question exclaimed, pulling him onto the bed with him, paying no mind to the snacks that Bakugou barely had time to set down.

“Fucking idiot,” he grumbled. Kirishima laughed at the words, at the way they contradicted how Bakugou leaned into the kisses that were peppered over his cheekbone.

“Yeah,” Kirishima agreed. “Come on, it’s starting!”

They settled in next to each other, popcorn spilling over the bowl and into their laps. Kirishima swore he would clean the bedspread after, so Bakugou said nothing, even if he knew he would forget and end up sleeping on salty kernels.

“There are only so many shitty superhero movies I can take,” Bakugou warned. He glared at the laptop screen where the Marvel logo flashed to life.

“This one’s good, I swear.”

“You said that about the last three.”

“Those were good! You just have no taste.”

Bakugou raised his eyebrows, forcing himself not to laugh at the look of realization that dawned on Kirishima’s face, and the following annoyance. “Yeah?”

“Don't even, man.”

“Well, my bad. I was under the impression I didn't have any taste. I guess you're pretty shitty then, aren't you?”

“You can't make this joke every time I say that!” Kirishima groaned, but he was giggling.

“It’s not a joke. Why do you think I always call you Shitty Hair? It’s ‘cause I have shit taste.”

“Har har, are you done?”

“You should feel damn honored to be subject to my comedic genius.”

“I'm honored to be here with you,” Kirishima said earnestly, making Bakugou falter. He scoffed and rolled his eyes, turning back to the movie with what he knew was a not-so-subtle blush.

“Cheater,” he muttered.

Kirishima let out a hoot and fell onto him, poking at his reddening cheeks. “You're too easy.”

“You're too honest!”

Because even though he had said it to tease Bakugou, it was sincere. He really believed it. How was Bakugou supposed to respond to that?

The obvious answer was to get back at him.

Now, Kirishima was solely focused on the movie, which Bakugou used to his advantage. He scooted closer and brought one hand to the redhead’s waist, ghosting his lips over the shell of Kirishima’s ear. He jumped at the contact, whipping around to face him, eyes wide with…was that fear? Before Bakugou could ask, it was gone, and Kirishima was leaning into his touch.

“Hi,” Kirishima squeaked. Bakugou didn't bother responding, choosing instead to swoop in and catch Kirishima’s bottom lip between his teeth. Just like that, the movie was forgotten. “H-hi,” Kirishima said again.

“Shut up,” Bakugou murmured. He pulled Kirishima onto his lap, threading his hands through an unruly mane of red hair, and kissed him harder. “God, I love this. I love you.”

“Love you, ‘Suki.”

For a moment, Bakugou thought that they would be able to keep going. He tried not to lose hope as his hands traveled lower, but when he felt Kirishima shimmying away from his touch, he knew his efforts were futile.

“Wait, Kats—”

“I know,” he sighed, dropping his head onto Kirishima’s chest and letting his hands fall limply. Neither of them spoke until he straightened and gently pushed Kirishima off of him. “Am I…doing anything?” Bakugou asked quietly. He wasn't quite able to meet Kirishima’s eyes as he asked. “Anything wrong, I mean. Is it me?”

“No,” Kirishima whispered. He didn't explain further.

“I just—I don't get it, Ei. You were fine with it—with me—a month ago.”

“Please just drop it, Katsuki.”

“I can't drop it!” Bakugou said sharply. “I can't just let it go if I’m hurting you or you're not attracted to me anymore or if I'm making you uncomfortable!” At that last one, Kirishima looked away, lips pressed together in a thin line.

“Oh,” Bakugou breathed. “I'm—oh. I didn't mean to,” he said lamely. “I'll go.” Bakugou stood, not bothering to brush off the popcorn that clung to his sweatpants. Kirishima didn't want to be touched, at least not by him. Was something wrong with him?

Or…had Bakugou been forcing himself onto his boyfriend? God, what was wrong with him?

“‘Suki—”

“You know where to find me,” he interrupted, swallowing down the bile that rose in his throat as he reached for the doorknob. “I…I love yo—Ei?”

The redhead was trembling fiercely, and it took a minute for Bakugou to realize that he was crying. He rushed over just as Kirishima collapsed to the side, shoulders shaking as he sobbed. “Pl—please don't go,” he cried, weakly clutching at Bakugou’s shirt. That was all it took for Bakugou to fall back onto the bed next to him.

“I won't,” Bakugou promised. He held his boyfriend tight to his chest, rubbing his hands up and down Kirishima’s spine. “I won't.”

Belatedly, he realized the laptop was still playing a ridiculous looking battle scene as Kirishima cried, and hurriedly turned it off. The room was filled with the sound of Kirishima’s sobs and occasional whimper that nearly broke Bakugou’s heart into two. Whatever was making him feel like this—Bakugou would destroy it. He was pretty sure by this point that it wasn't him, since Kirishima seemed to want him there. Anything else was fair game.

Bakugou maneuvered them against the headboard, settling Kirishima between his legs with both of his legs pulled over one of Bakugou’s own, and hugged the side of his head to his own chest. He could count the number of times Kirishima had gotten so upset on his fingers. This was obviously more serious than Bakugou had thought.

“You don't have to tell me anything,” he said when the thought entered his head. If it were Bakugou, he wouldn't want to talk, that was for sure. “I'm here, okay?” To emphasize his words, he ran his hand along Kirishima’s calf, hoping that the action was grounding.

“I'm sorry,” Kirishima gasped, hunching in on himself even further. “God, I'm so sorry, ‘Suki.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about.”

“I do!” He wailed. “I-I lied to you.”

Bakugou stilled. “About what?” He asked. There was no way he would guess. Not when the only thing flashing through his mind was sirens. Kirishima loves me, he reminded himself. And I love him. If there was one thing Bakugou was sure of, it was that.

“When ‘Raka and I went shopping a few weeks ago,” Kirishima whispered. Bakugou remembered that. There had been a villain attack, and Kirishima had been out of it for days after. Uraraka told them that the man had a ‘chill’ quirk, and part of it reached Kirishima’s brain. A real life brain freeze, as Kaminari had so adequately put it. “There was—there was this man.”

He loves me, he loves me, he loves me.

“He was the one who attacked me,” he continued. Crying less, but still refusing to look up at Bakugou.

“The villain? The one with the freeze quirk?”

At this, Kirishima paused. He took a shaky breath before finally meeting Bakugou’s eyes. “It was a suppressor,” he said. “Not freeze. We lied.”

“…why?” Bakugou asked. He had no idea where this was going, but judging by Kirishima’s body language, it wasn't anything good. “Shh,” he tried, heart racing and thoughts going every which way. Kirishima hiccupped as he took deep breaths, obviously trying to calm himself down. Jesus, Bakugou wasn't good at this. He didn't know what to do when his boyfriend was falling apart so completely in his arms. Almost desperately, he resumed petting the redhead, scratching gently at his scalp and running his hand along his arm. Added a kiss for good measure. “Listen, are you sure you're okay with telling me? Because it’s fine if—”

“He touched me.”

Time stopped.

There were a lot of ways Bakugou could have reacted to that. He could have waited for clarification on whether Kirishima was saying what he thought he was saying. He could have taken another second to really process what Kirishima had said, the obvious pain he was in. He could have hugged his boyfriend tighter and told him how much he loved him.

But no.

“He fucking what?” Bakugou snarled. Instantly, he knew he had messed up. Kirishima scrambled out of his arms, crying harder than Bakugou had ever seen him cry before, and ducked his head down.

“I'm s-sorry! I'm sorry, Katsuki!” Kirishima swiped furiously at his eyes, but the tears just wouldn't stop. Bakugou watched, frozen, as they dampened the bedsheet below. “I know it’s gross and you probably never want to touch me again but I swear I didn't want it, I didn't mean to let him do it! I'm so sor—”

“Jesus, stop apologizing!” Bakugou yelled frantically. He lurched forward, cradling Kirishima’s blotchy face in his hands. “I’m not mad. Well, I am, but—no! Not at you!” He explained when Kirishima tried to pull away again. “Not at you, Eiji. I love you so much, okay? It wasn't your fault. It wasn't your fault,” he repeated, hating the doubtful look on the redhead’s face with everything in him. “Come here, Ei.”

Bakugou nearly let a few tears of his own slip out when Kirishima wrapped his arms around him.

“It didn't fully happen,” Kirishima said quietly. “I'm lucky, I guess. Uraraka was there and she—she stopped him. It didn't even happen. Nothing happened, he just touched—I didn't want it,” he said again.

“I'll fucking kill him, I swear to god, Ei, I'll fucking kill—”

“Kats,” Kirishima interrupted. He pulled back to give him a watery smile. “Just hold me.”

“But—fine,” Bakugou sighed. If there was ever a time he had to be an actual, functional human being, this was it. He couldn't have his own fucked up-ness getting in the way of helping Kirishima through this. It only took a couple seconds for Kirishima to melt back into Bakugou, who tried to convey as much love as he felt, pressing kisses to Kirishima’s forehead, cheeks, nose, and mouth. “I'm sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” Kirishima said, repeating his words from earlier.

“I fucking—I made you so uncomfortable, didn't I? I just wouldn't fucking give up. God, I'm so stupid. I can't believe I just—”

“You didn't know, ‘Suki. Hey, it’s okay.” They leaned into each other, Bakugou thumbing away the tears that still fell quietly down Kirishima’s cheeks.

“I love you so much, Eiji,” he said. “I'm so fucking sorry that that happened to you.”

The silence after his words was haunting. Somehow, Bakugou just knew what Kirishima was going to say next, and braced himself. Reminded himself to calm the fuck down and not get mad, because his anger wasn't what his boyfriend needed right now.

“I should have been able to fight him off,” Kirishima croaked. “If I hadn't rushed into the fight I could have done something. Uraraka had to save me because I was so goddamn useless.”

“That’s bullshit,” Bakugou said bluntly. “Maybe the biggest load of bullshit you've ever spewed. You're the strongest fucking person I know, Eijirou. I'm not going to let you beat yourself up over something like this.”

“But—”

“Tell me about the quirk.”

Kirishima glanced at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. If Bakugou was right about the kind of quirk the villain had, there was no way Kirishima could argue with him. Would logic even work in a situation like this?

Bakugou wasn't fucking good at this.

“You said it was a suppressor, right? What did it do?”

It was obvious that recalling the event wasn't doing any good for Kirishima, but just as Bakugou was about to backtrack, he spoke. “It made my quirk weak,” he mumbled. “And my muscles. I could barely move compared to him. It activated by touch.”

“Fuck.” Bakugou blew out a breath, wincing at the sight of Kirishima’s lower lip wobbling. “I'm sorry,” he said again.

“S’okay.”

“It’s not. And it’s not your fault. It’s not about being strong when you can't even move, Ei. He—he fucking hurt you, and you couldn't even defend yourself. That’s not your fault, and I swear I'll make sure he pays. I'll beat him up in the cell if you want me to. Or—or if you haven't told the cops about this yet, there’s probably a way to testify anonymously and under a truth quirk, and then he’ll rot in jail even longer.”

Bakugou was rambling, he knew that. He just wanted Kirishima to believe him. To believe that it could never be his fault. To believe that Bakugou loved him so much.

“Katsuki,” Kirishima giggled. Honestly, Bakugou didn't know if it counted, because the redhead was still crying, but he was so happy to hear that laugh again. “Thank you.”

“I didn't do anything.”

“Just you being here with me,” Kirishima said, eyes crinkling as he nuzzled into Bakugou’s chest. “You're so—I just love you a lot, you know? And I know it probably isn't going to be the easiest, doing stuff with me now that you know someone else tried to—but—”

“That’s bullshit. Again.”

“It’s not. It’s going to be weird, even if you don't want it to be.”

“It won't, Ei. you're not fucking gross or some shit like that because of this. That’s stupid, and anyone who thinks that is stupid. I'll fuck you right now if—”

“Katsuki!” Kirishima laughed again, much louder than before, and clamped a hand over Bakugou’s mouth. “Fine, I believe you, you big pervert.”

“Oi! Who are you calling a perv?” Bakugou asked indignantly, voice muffled against Kirishima’s hand. He masked his smile, but internally, might as well have been jumping with joy at the sound of Kirishima’s laugh. The hand dropped from his mouth, and Kirishima wound his arms around Bakugou, hugging him fiercely as if afraid he’d disappear. “I’m never leaving,” Bakugou said. “You'll have to fucking kill me to get rid of me, got that?”

“Yeah,” Kirishima sighed. They laid together in silence for a couple minutes, legs intertwined and arms wrapped around each other, before Kirishima spoke again. His breath warmed Bakugou’s chest, even through his shirt, and sent tingles down his spine. “I know it was a joke, but I don't know if—when—I’ll be able to do stuff like that with you.”

And oh, he still sounded so damn worried. As if this really was going to be a dealbreaker for Bakugou.

“I'm not with you for the sex, dumbass,” Bakugou replied, bopping Kirishima’s forehead with the heel of his hand. “If it never feels good for you, we never have to do that again, okay? Ever. And don't you fucking dare ‘push through’—stop laughing, I'm being serious—don’t force yourself to do anything that you don't want to do, got it fuckface?”

“I won't, ‘Suki.” Kirishima wiped his tears, and when his hands fell away from his face, Bakugou’s breath hitched. The red eyes that gazed at his own were so full of affection that he didn't know what to do with himself. “I love you,” Kirishima breathed.

“I only said it forty-two days ago,” Bakugou blurted.

The redhead raised his eyebrows. “You've been counting?”

“Listen, I know I should’ve said it ages ago, but just—just know I love you, okay? A lot. Like, a lot. And I have for a while, even before. Even forty-three days ago. Even months ago."

“I knew that, idiot,” Kirishima laughed. “I know that.”

“Fucking good.”

Kirishima's smile dropped after a couple seconds. He chewed his lip, and even though Bakugou wanted to shake him for his thoughts, he waited.

Minutes passed in silence, the only sound being the scratch of Bakugou's fingernails on Kirishima's scalp. Finally, the redhead cleared his throat. “Just so you know, I didn't end up telling the cops about…it. We just said he tried to attack us. I was…scared,” he said quietly, looking down, as if ashamed.

“That doesn't make you weak,” Bakugou insisted. “Fuck, I would have been too.”

“No you wouldn't have,” Kirishima said bitterly. He laughed again, but it sounded sour. So different from before, from what Bakugou wanted to hear from him. “You're—you’re you, Katsuki. You would have done something. That villain wouldn't have been able to touch you, not like he touched me, and—”

“Stop,” Bakugou interrupted. He waited until Kirishima’s glare was focused on him rather than his lap, and reached up, attempting to smooth out the furrow between his brows. The redhead leaned just out of reach, jaw set stubbornly. “Ei—”

“It’s not fair!” Kirishima shouted suddenly, writhing out of Bakugou’s arms. He sat up, clenching and unclenching his fists, as if looking for something to punch. Before Bakugou could offer himself up, he continued. “Why did he do that to me? Why does he get to change how I feel about my own body? It’s not fair!”

“You're right, it’s not. And—and I don't know what to say to make it better,” Bakugou admitted. Fuck, he felt so damn useless. Bakugou hated not knowing what to do, and right now? Right now he couldn't say jack-shit to help.

Carefully, he gathered Kirishima in his arms again, holding him as he trembled. Bakugou wasn't sure if it was from anger or not, so he just held him close, running a soothing hand through his hair and pressing soft kisses along his face. He didn't want him to be angry. The villain fucker deserved the wrath of the entire damn world, but it wouldn't help Kirishima to be angry, especially since he would refuse to take it out on Bakugou.

“Let it go,” Bakugou said quietly. “Don't carry this with you.”

“What do you know about letting your anger go?” Kirishima snapped. Instantly, he paled, and dropped his head into his hands. “I'm sorry,” he cried. Bakugou tilted his chin up and kissed him deeply, stroking along his cheekbone, swiping at the fresh tears that fell. “I was so scared,” Kirishima gasped. “And I know how much you love me but I just couldn't stop thinking that this would change things. Just thinking about it makes my skin crawl. I still feel him, Kats, what do I do?”

“I don't know,” Bakugou said honestly. He hugged Kirishima to him and let him cry. “I have no idea how to help and I hate that.”

“I'm sorry,” Kirishima repeated. He looked so fragile, in that moment. Bakugou was afraid that one wrong thing could send him spiraling.

“Don't be sorry about dumb shit. You're right, Eiji. I don't know anything about calming down, about letting my anger go, but you do, and that’s my point. Call me names, if you want—even though you're shit at coming up with insults—but don't hold onto your anger if you're not going to find a place to let it out. Don't want to end up like Todoroki, do you?” Or me.

Finally, Kirishima calmed down, and slumped back against his chest, limp. “I can't forgive him, if that’s what you're asking.”

“Dumbass,” Bakugou snorted. “Me, really? Asking you to forgive a piece of shit like that? I'll be first in line to murder him, you know that. I'm not asking you to do that, I just—I don't want you keeping all this shitty anger and fear in you. It festers.”

“That sounds a lot like forgiveness.”

“It’s not. You were hurt, and he did that to you, and he deserves everything that’s coming to him. There’s no place in this world for someone like that. That doesn't mean I want you to keep hurting.”

“I can't just get over it!”

“Eijirou,” Bakugou breathed. He pushed Kirishima’s bangs back and leaned down, pressing a kiss on his forehead. “You’re allowed to feel everything. You're allowed to feel shitty, I'm not telling you to suck it up and move on. I don't want—” he cut himself off, letting his eyelids flutter closed, and took a deep breath. “I don't want you to end up like I did. Angry at fucking everything, seeing everything as a threat. I just want you to be happy,” he whispered. “And to feel safe. I'll do whatever it takes to help you, Eiji. I'll fucking—I’ll let you beat the shit out of me if you want, ‘n I won't even get pissy.”

“I don't want to beat you up, Katsuki,” Kirishima huffed. He cupped Bakugou’s face and leaned up to kiss his jaw. “When’d you get all wise, anyway?” he grumbled, throwing up a half-hearted punch. Bakugou caught his fist and intertwined their fingers.

“Fuck you,” he said. “I'm the wisest motherfucker to exist.”

“Todoroki’s fine now, anyways,” Kirishima continued. “And so are you, you know that? I just—God, you're right. As per usual, you're right. I feel so fucking awful about all of this, and I get what you mean about letting it go, really, but I don't think I can just yet.”

“That’s okay,” Bakugou promised. “I'll be right here with you, as long as it takes. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Kirishima whispered, and then let out a quiet laugh. “I don't want anyone to know,” he mumbled. “Isn't that pathetic? Even if it means locking him up for longer, I don't want anyone to know what happened.”

“It’s not pathetic,” Bakugou said, kissing Kirishima’s temple. “That doesn't make you weak, alright? It doesn't make you any less badass. Hey, look at me."

An elbow dug into Bakugou's knee as Kirishima sat up and turned to face him, and he still wasn't quite smiling—not that Bakugou expected him to be. "Yeah?"

"It wasn't your fault."

A pained expression contorted Kirishima’s features. "Kats, please."

"Say it, Eiji."

"But—"

"Eijirou," Bakugou breathed. He leaned forward, resting their foreheads together. "It wasn't your goddamn fault. You're not sick, or disgusting, or weak because this happened to you. I love you, and I really fucking need you to say that it wasn't your fault. I need you to believe it."

"How can I be a hero if I can't even save myself?" Kirishima whispered, voice cracking. "Do you know how shitty it is to be reminded of—of that day every time my boyfriend touches me? And I could have done something, but instead, I just laid there and took it. I can't say that it's not my fault. It might as well be."

Jesus.

"’Suki, are you okay?"

"Shut the fuck up," Bakugou snapped, furiously swiping at the tears collecting in his eyes. He pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes and shuddered. "Just—shut up and listen to me."

"O-okay?"

"Is it the fault of every other person who's ever gotten fucking attacked—"

"You can say the word," Kirishima whispered. “S’not like that’s what happened.” Bakugou faltered, removing his hands, and looked at his boyfriend, unsure.

"It was close enough. Besides, you haven't said it yet," he pointed out.

"It's okay."

"Fine. Fine. Do you think everyone else who's gotten raped is at fault? You think they're all weak for not being able to stop it?"

"Of course not," Kirishima answered quickly. "But I'm supposed to be a hero. I'm obviously not strong enough, especially since it's getting to me this much. Nothing even happened to me. I wasn't raped. There are so many people who have it worse. I shouldn't get to cry about it, it’s not fair to them."

"You were assaulted. Something did happen, Ei, and you're not fucking being fair to your own damn self right now.” When it was clear that Kirishima still didn't believe him, Bakugou let out a long breath. “Am I weak for needing to be saved?" He demanded, spitting the word out. Saved. He hated admitting that yeah, sometimes he needed help. He wasn't fucking infallible. Bakugou understood where the redhead was coming from, but if he could set aside his pride for one goddamn moment and get this through Kirishima’s head, he would.

"You're not weak!"

"Then why are you, Eiji?"

Bakugou curled his hands around Kirishima’s, loosely playing with his fingers. "It wasn't your fault," he said. "You're not weak because it happened. You didn't let it happen. And you're not weak because it's affecting you, even though it might not have happened all the way."

"But—but heroes aren't supposed to be scared," Kirishima tried, and wonderful, now they were both crying. "Why can't I just get over it?"

He leaned forward, falling into Bakugou's chest once again, and clutched at his shirt. "I really want to just get over it."

"You will," Bakugou promised. "It doesn't have to be now. I'm not expecting it to be now, and you shouldn't either. But you will, eventually. You'll be okay, Eijirou," he said quietly.

Crying like fools, the both of them.

"I love you," Kirishima cried. "I love you so much."

Bakugou held him, rubbing his hands up and down Kirishima’s back, the tension finally leaving his body. He just wanted Kirishima to be okay.

"How do you feel about telling someone if it’s anonymous?” He asked after a moment. Softly, so as not to pressure the redhead.

“I don't know,” Kirishima admitted. “I don't know if I could talk about it. Would you hate me if I didn't?”

Bakugou glared at him, waiting for Kirishima to raise his head. When he did, it didn't disappoint. Even with puffy eyes and a blotchy face, he let out another laugh and burrowed deeper into Bakugou’s chest. “Stupid question. You love me.”

“Unfortunately. If you don't want to tell, that’s fine. I'll still go beat the fucker up, maybe bribe a few security guards to turn the fuck around, but you don't have to.”

“I don't know,” Kirishima said again. “I'll, uh, get back to you on that?”

“That’s fine too.”

“You're too good to me, Katsuki.”

“No.” Bakugou leaned forward, craning his neck to meet Kirishima’s half-lidded gaze. “No one will ever be too good for you, you hear me? You're the—you're the goddamn sun. I'll do anything for you to believe that. Anything for you, period. Tell me what you need from me, Eiji.”

“You're perfect,” Kirishima whispered. “Just stay here with me. Please don't go.”

“You couldn't make me go if—wait, fuck. If you want me to go, I will, but—”

A loud laugh interrupted him. “You're hilarious, you know that?”

“I wasn't trying to be,” Bakugou said, frowning.

“That’s even better.”

“Look, what I’m trying to say is that I'll stay with you forever, unless you don't want me too. Anything you don't want me to do, I'll stop, okay?”

“Even if I asked you to stop making our food spicier than the devil’s?” Kirishima asked. He grinned, and Bakugou realized just how ridiculous he sounded, explaining his words that had never needed explaining before. Kirishima obviously didn't want to be treated differently after this, but Bakugou might as well have been babying him. Whatever response had been on the tip of Bakugou’s tongue disappeared as he groaned, dipping his head down, and nosed at Kirishima’s hair.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Don't be. I know you're trying to make me feel better, and I love you for it.”

“I fucking love you too, you big dumbass. You know what I don't love?”

"Hm?"

"The popcorn under my damn ass, Ei."

"Oops."

They ended up ditching the movie in favor of ordering takeout (without telling the rest of the class so that they couldn't mooch) and holing up in Kirishima’s room. When Kaminari came up to drag them down to dinner, Bakugou yelled out “don't you dare come in unless you want to see my bare naked ass, Dunce Face!” and they could hear the sound of his screaming even when he reached the common room.

“That was mean,” Kirishima admonished, poorly hiding his grin.

“What, you wanted him in here?”

“Well…no, but still!”

“Then die,” Bakugou said viciously.

After Kirishima fell asleep, Bakugou detangled himself from the other teen and gathered the trash, tiptoeing out and heading all the way down to the kitchen to throw it out. Uraraka, Asui, Midoriya, Shouji, and Hagakure were assembled on the couches, playing some kind of card game.

“Octoarms is using an extra set of eyes to look at Frog-Face’s cards,” Bakugou said offhandedly. He wasn't, but it distracted them enough for him to pull Uraraka to the side.

“What’s up?” She asked cheerfully.

Bakugou shifted, looking at the ground and then back up at her, scowling. “Ei told me what happened that day.”

Her eyes widened, and Bakugou almost felt bad for thoroughly ruining her good mood. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. Anyway, fucking—thanks. For helping him.”

“You don't have to thank me,” she assured him, hands flapping. Her mouth pulled into a frown, and she rubbed her arms, shivering at the memory. “I was too late, anyway.”

“He needed someone, and you were there,” Bakugou said gruffly. “So thank you.”

With that, he walked away, already itching to wrap his arms around Kirishima and just hold him to death. God, he had become way too soft.

But it was for Ei. For Eijirou, he would do anything.