Archive of Our Own ^beta

Bakugou Katsuki does not have time for this.

He was a busy kid, alright? Not only did he have to maintain his ranking as the third in the class in terms of grades, but also keep up his reputation as the school’s resident delinquent. He knows, it’s a hard thing to juggle. Though, in all honesty, most students don’t know how high he’s ranked and most teachers don’t want to admit that one of their best students also gets into fistfights in the parking lot, so Bakugou lets people think what they want. They see him stomping around in his dirty, DIY black jean jacket, knuckles bandaged and bound to be bleeding again before the end of the day, and assume he doesn’t even bother going to class. They see him in the back of the class, chunky boots up on the desk, perpetually in a bad mood and ready to yell at anyone who dares talk around him during a lesson, and they would never guess that he is actually paying attention.

It helps that he walks around school scowling and glaring at anyone who dares try to speak to him, but they don’t know that he does this because it’s easier to focus on schoolwork when people don’t talk to him. Well also because people annoy him, but you get the point. They would never guess that the boy who smokes under the bleachers and carries around matches in his pockets is above the school’s resident nerd, Midoriya. In fact, if they were shocked by that, they would laugh in your face if you told them that he is only behind Momo and Iida, and is currently desperately trying to pass them, aiming for the number one spot in the grade. 

Knowing all that, as many of his teachers do, you should be aware that he simply doesn’t have time for this. What is this, by chance? At the end of the day, Mr. Aizawa asked him to stay after class, which the rest of the class immediately started whispering about, gossiping about what ‘Trouble-maker Bakugou’ did now. Bakugou knew better. Mr. Aizawa had been desperately trying to get Bakugou to tutor some dumbass for days. Each time he asked, Bakugou would deadpan a simple “No,” before stomping away. He didn’t have the time to help some asshole who couldn’t fucking multiply when he had to worry about passing Iida. 

“Bakugou,” Mr. Aizawa started as Bakugou sauntered up to his, believe it or not, favourite teacher’s desk after everyone had left. “You know I wouldn’t ask if you weren’t my only option.”

“Why am I your only option anyway? Go ask the other nerds to tutor the idiot.”

“They don’t do one-on-one tutoring.”

“Neither do I, in fact, I don’t tutor at all!” Bakugou snaps, crossing his arms and glaring at the very exhausted looking man in front of him. “Honestly, why would I even agree? I have no desire to get paid by some dude with Daddy’s credit card, if I really needed money, I still wouldn’t stoop that low. There’s nothing in it for me!” 

Bakugou is already halfway to the door, thick-soled boots pounding on the floor, when Mr. Aizawa’s words stop him dead in his tracks, “Extra credit in me, Mr. Toshinori, and Mr. Yamada’s class.”

“What?”

“Principle Nezu has a particular interest in making sure this student passes, and he already okayed the extra credit, all you need to do is make sure he passes all those classes.” As Bakugou turns around, he sees it. To anyone else, Mr. Aizawa would look as deadpan and tired as he normally does, but Bakugou sees it. The subtly raised eyebrow, the sight smile, Aizawa knew he dangled the right bait in front of him, not just extra credit, but an opportunity to pass Iida, and win his spot as the second-ranked in the class, one step away from first.

“Who’s the dumbass that I need to make sure passes?” Bakugou grunts, making no moves to move back to Aizawa’s desk.

His teacher doesn’t seem to notice the curse, and if he does, he doesn’t care, he simply throws a pile of papers on the desk closest to Bakugou. “Kirishima Eijiro.”

Oh .

Now, for as antisocial and socially inept as Bakugou is, he knows who Kirishima Eijiro is, everyone does. Kirishima, or, more affectionately titled Red Riot, is the school’s golden boy. Captain of the football team, where he gets his nickname for how absolutely batshit he goes when he’s playing. He’s sickeningly friendly and, somehow, becomes friends with literally everyone he talks to. He has a sharp tooth smile that lights up every room he’s ever been in (Not that Bakugou noticed), and always wore that stupid letterman jacket over either a muscle tee or nothing at all (Not that Bakugou stared). He had this loud ass laugh that is impossible to ignore, (Bakugou knows, he tries) and bright as fuck, red hair that he spikes up, if he’s not wearing a snapback (Not that Bakugou has ever paid that much attention to it, or how soft it looks). 

Point is, Kirishima is insanely popular, and apparently, according to the stack of his tests Aizawa threw down, failing math and English. And now, he was Bakougo’s student.

“ Fuck! ”

The first time Kirishima and Bakugou meet, Kirishima is five minutes late and Bakugou is quickly losing his patience. It didn’t take much effort to find Kirishima’s number, apparently half the school had it, including his bandmate, Momo, who also happens to be his best friend’s girlfriend and the captain of the cheer squad. He texted Kirishima a simple “i’m bakugou, your tutor. front of the school, tomorrow, 4, don’t be late.” What he wasn’t expecting was the very quick reply of “You got it bro!!!” accompanied with an obscene amount of emojis. And he definitely, definitely was not expecting to be standing here, alone, waiting for some dumbass for now ten minutes. Bakugou wanted to punch someone, hopefully, the very late quarterback. 

Until, oh until, Kirishima comes running towards him, yelling and attracting attention. “Hey! Baku-bro!” Kirishima sprints towards him, dripping wet and wearing damp gym clothes and his bright red UA letterman jacket. His dumb red hair is down and little droplets drip onto his broad shoulders-

“You’re late.” Bakugou snaps, glaring at him and anyone else who looks at them. The many eyes of the extras quickly look away as they filter out to the parking lot, pretending to be interested in what they were doing before they decided to gawk at him and the bright red puppy dog who stands in front of him.

“Yeah, sorry, practice ran late!” He laughs, scratching the back of his neck, muscles flexing as he does. Bakugou kind of forgets what he was talking about for a second.

Bakugou crosses his arms, “You know, I don’t need to be doing this, right?” Kirishima’s smile doesn’t even stutter, just as bright and persistent as before. Bakugou scoffs, turns on his heel, and heads for the front door of the school.

He’s halfway into the lobby when he realizes Kirishima isn’t following him. Rolling his eyes, he tosses a look over his shoulder, “You coming, Shitty Hair? I thought you wanted to pass.”

He doesn’t stop walking as Kirishima attempts to catch up, but if he doesn’t walk as fast as he normally does, that’s no one’s fucking business. The two walk in silence, but once they reach the library Kirishima stops, but Bakugou keeps on stalking toward his destination. “We aren’t studying in there idiot! There’s no way I would be caught dead in there, let alone with you!”

“So, where are we studying then?” Kirishima asks, following Bakugou rather excitedly, as if hanging out with the school’s resident troublemaker was some sort of adventure.

Bakugou simply smirks and aggressively shoves his hands in his pockets, “You’ll see.”

As Bakugou heads for the stairs, he thinks that he might see a slight blush light up the jock’s face, but he chalks it up to the slight jog Kirishima has to do to keep up with his new tutor. Finally, they reach their destination, a forgotten classroom on the third floor that, by the looks of it, hadn’t been used in years. Kirishima glances around nervously as Bakugou grabs a crowbar that was strategically hidden behind a dusty filing cabinet. The football player actually yelps as Bakugou wedges the crowbar underneath the window with a surprising amount of force and yanks it open.

“Are you sure we should be doing this?” Kirishima questions as Bakugou starts to climb through the now open window.

“What are you? Fucking scared?” Bakugou taunts, slipping the rest of the way out the window. As he jumps down, his boots crunch against the gravel and concrete of the roof.

“No, ‘cuz that wouldn’t be manly, and if I am anything , it’s manly!” Bakugou chuckles at Kirishima’s words, unsure if they are more for himself or for Bakugou. Regardless of how unsure he looks, Kirishima jumps out of the window, bright red sneakers settling next to his scuffed boots.

The chains attached to Bakugou’s belt rattle as he sits on the edge of the roof, feet dangling in the open air. “Sure, Shitty Hair. Why don’t we focus on making sure you pass.”

Bakugou pulls out a pack of cigarettes as Kirishima sits down, his back against the lip of the roof, facing the opposite direction as Bakugou. As the redhead pulls out his books, Bakugou offers him a cigarette, which he very loudly turns down, starting on some rant about how unhealthy it is and how we need to take care of our bodies. Bakugou simply rolls his eyes and blows a puff of smoke into his face as he leans over to look over Kirishima’s math notes. Kirishima stutters and yells and Bakugou laughs so hard he nearly falls off the roof.

Kirishima and Bakugou never meet in the same place twice, but they still meet three times a week. They move around to all of Bakugou’s favourite spots, and, when Bakugou’s feeling generous, even some of Kirishima’s favourite spots. They study in empty classrooms and under the bleachers and forgotten patches of grass behind buildings. Today they take up residence actually on the bleachers once, as per Kirishima’s request, and it feels weird for Bakugou. Bakugou had never been a school spirit type of guy. He didn’t go to games or pep rallies, and if he did, he would hide under the bleachers, and he thinks this is his first time ever sitting on them.

The two boys sit, knee to knee, straddling the metal bench, Kirishima’s heavily highlighted copy of The Taming of the Shrew seated between their open legs. Bakugou, sort of getting ahead of himself, starts on his own little rant about Shakespeare, one that he thinks only his mother has heard. Honestly, he’s always been a little bit of a sucker for this type of stuff, romance novels and elaborate comedies about people falling in love, Shakespeare just happens to check a lot of those boxes. Secretly, he has a box sitting at the bottom of his closet that is filled with romance books, some of them stolen from Barnes & Noble , some bought from second-hand shops, and most importantly, his mom’s old copies, filled with notes and doodles. Not that he would ever let anyone know that they’re his most prized possessions.

Suddenly, halfway through describing Shakespeare’s use of words that have double meanings, he stops. Kirishima is just looking at him, no, not looking at him, staring at him. Instead of looking at his book, or taking notes, he’s sitting, head resting on his hand, staring at Bakugou. “What the fuck are doing, Shitty Hair?”

Suddenly, Kirishima blinks then sits up straight, shifting his eyes from Bakugou to stare very intently at his book, “I, um-”

“You’re supposed to be paying attention to the text,” Bakugou yells, aggressively jamming his finger on top of the pages, “Not spacing out! I think you’ve been tackled too many times, the brain damage might as well be-”

Kirishima isn’t listening again, no, his eyes are trailing up Bakugou's arm. Bakugou watches Kirishima’s eyes start at his finger, up his hand, and finally, with wide, amazed eyes, stopping at his forearm. Bakugou realizes a second too late that, since they were outside, he got hot and took off his jacket. “Holy shit, do you have a tattoo ?” With a wide smile, Kirishima snatches up his arm, hand wrapped around his wrist, and Bakugou thinks he stops breathing. Suddenly, before he can school his thoughts, he gets images of Kirishima’s hands, images he shouldn’t be thinking. Tan hands with fingers intertwined with his own, hands running through blonde hair, hands cradling his face, hands pinning his own down- 

Abruptly, Bakugou tries to pull his arm away, but Kirishima holds steady. Bakugou can do nothing but watch as Kirishima’s other hand comes up, thumb quickly swiping across the uneven lines of his tattoo, as if he expects it to wipe away. His fingers start tracing the lines of his stick and poke, a grenade that takes up part of the skin under his elbow, and Bakugou feels his breath catch. “What about it?” He snaps and holy shit, why is he whispering?

“That’s literally so manly and cool! Your mom let you get this? Mine would never even consider-”

“That hag doesn’t know! I did it myself, okay?”

Kirishima finally looks away from his tattoo, fingers still brushing the black lines and hand still wrapped around his wrist, and he smiles at Bakugou, eyes shining with admiration and surprise, “You’re so cool, dude!”

Bakugou pulls his arm again, yanking it so hard that Kirishima lurches forward with his arm before finally letting go. He just won’t stop looking at him, red eyes trained on his own, and it’s driving Bakugou insane! Quickly, he grabs the back of Kirishima’s head and forces it down so he’s forced to look at the book in front of him, “Yeah, whatever Red. Would you do your work now?” Bakugou starts glaring at the football field, deciding that if anyone sees how red his face is, he can tell them it was just because he sat in the sun for too long right before he kicks their ass.

“Bakugou! Hey, Bakugou, wait up!” He swears half of the hallway stops, maybe in fear of getting caught in the crosshairs of Bakugou’s anger or maybe to catch the fistfight they think is about to go down. Kirishima runs up to the blonde, either not noticing everyone’s fear or simply not caring. Bakugou hunches over, both hoping that Kirishima won’t come up to him, and also sort of hoping he does.

“What do you want, Red? I’m trying to go home!” Bakugou grunts as Kirishima throws an arm over his shoulder. 

Bakugou shoves it off and Kirishima just laughs, bumping their shoulders together, “And you can! I just…is there any way we could move Thursday’s study session to Saturday? Something sort of, came up.”

Bakugou raises an eyebrow at Kirishima, who, for the first time since Bakougo had met him, looks sheepish and insecure. Bakugou decides he hates it, and really wants to get rid of it. “Why?”

“It’s personal. Just, please?” The sea of people part for the pair as Bakugou reaches his locker, a dark blue piece of dented metal. Designs are spray painted and scratched into the surface, no matter how many times Admin replaces it and reprimands him, each time it is cleaned, it gets covered the next day. It was around the third door that they finally gave up on stopping him. He yanks the door open, he doesn’t use a lock, he knows no one is dumb enough to steal from him.

“Fine,” He huffs out, watching Kirishima lean on the locker next to his in relief, shoulders rising and falling in a sigh. I suppose Jirou will have to move practice. You see, normally, he has band practice with Jirou and the rest of their band on Saturdays, but, for whatever reason, he’s willing to cancel his only weekend plans to make sure that Kirishima gets that sad look off his face. “I don’t know where to do it tho’, the weekend guard is a total bitch and far too willing to call the cops on a group of teenagers.”

Kirishima smiles that dumb, a million-watt smile, “Perfect, we’ll do it at my house! My Ma’ will make dinner. I’ll pick you up at three, see you then!” Bakugou gawks as Kirishima winks, shoots him a pair of finger guns and then proceeds to run away, waving at his angry tutor like an idiot. To anyone who was listening in, which was probably half the hall, it would have sounded like Kirishima was picking up Bakugou for a date. 

Huh , Bakugou thinks to himself as he shoves the last of his books in his locker and slams the door shut, letting the metal ring through the halls.

So, that Saturday, he yells to his mom that he’s going out, and his mom yells back about being home before curfew. He flips her off and she returns the gesture, not even looking up from her sewing project. He hears her laugh as he shuts the front door, and he can’t stop smiling either. It’s their way of saying ‘I love you’. 

He hikes his backpack higher up on his shoulder as he stares at the Kirishima Eijiro, who is currently leaning against his beat-up, red pickup truck on Bakugou’s curb, one leg up on the tire and arms crossed over his chest. His stupid hair is spiked up, and he’s still wearing that god-awful letterman jacket with a grey tank top and black pants. He smiles as Bakugou slams the front door, pushing off the truck, “What, Bakugou? You not going to invite me in to meet your mom?”

Bakugou pushes past him, making sure to bump his shoulder as he passes, “No fucking way.”

Kirishima just laughs as he jumps into the truck and immediately starts talking. The radio plays quiet rock music, which Bakugou can tell the jock actually listens to by the way Kirishima taps the beat onto the steering wheel. Bakugou has to bite back a smile, and he’s not entirely sure why it’s so hard to do. Before they know it, they pull up to Kirishima’s house, and Kirishima is still talking, but, for whatever reason, Bakugou isn’t as annoyed as when others talk to him.

“I’m home Ma’!” Kirishima yells the second he opens the door, immediately kicking off his shoes and Bakugou follows suit.

Immediately, Bakugou feels out of place. There is a desk next to the door, and above that, a mirror and Bakugou can’t help but stare at how much he looks like he doesn’t belong. He stands in the hallway in all black, heavy combat boots thrown down next to him, hair unruly and a variety of spikes and chains hanging from his ears, belt and around his neck. A spiked leather bracelet decorates his wrist, and he probably should have rebandaged his hands, since a little blood is starting to peek out through the cloth. Black rings cover his fingers and bandages and oh god, his jacket. The black jean is old and distressed and still has some blood on that collar from that one time that bastard Todoroki punched him and broke his nose. Patches and buttons litter the jacket, but also orange paint splatters and spikes on the shoulders.

He honestly didn’t realize how well he fits the title he was given until he was standing in Kirishima’s hallway, watching as he threw his keys into a novelty bowl that looks like a cat. The hallway is red and warm and covered in photos of Kirishima, a variety of other kids, and two women and oh no, what if his mom tells Bakugou to leave, not wanting their son to be tainted by this trouble. Oh shit, oh no!

“Hey, Sweetie!” A middle-aged woman wanders out, wiping her hands on her pants. She looks warm, with dark hair and soft chocolatey eyes. She smiles the same way Kirishima does, Bakugou can’t help but notice. She goes on her tiptoes to kiss her son on the cheek, who gladly accepts the older woman’s affection and leans into her hug. When they separate, she looks at Bakugou, and the teen feels his heart stop. He would die if it meant getting this woman’s approval, he decides, why, he has zero clue. He watches as she looks him up and down before she sticks her hand out, “And you are?”

He takes the hand and shakes it, not too firm but not too soft, “Bakugou.”

“Well, it’s nice to finally put a face to the person Eijiro has been going on about!” She smiles and her eyes shine with something he can’t quite place. “We truly can’t thank you enough for helping him.”

“ MA’ !” Kirishima yells, face bright red and voice cracking. The jock grabs his wrist, quickly pulling Bakugou toward a set of steps, “Well, you know, lots of studying to do! We should leave and not be disturbed -”

“Wait! Is he here?” Another female voice yells, and then a woman comes barrelling into the now crowded front hall. The woman is the same age as Kirishima’s other mom and has dark skin and very curly hair, which is currently pulled back with a bandana. She’s wearing reading glasses and has a worn book in her hand, and a rather alarmed tabby cat follows her around. Her already wide smile only gets wider when she sees him.

“Momma, please don’t do this!” Kirishima begs, trying to pull Bakugou, but he digs his feet in, refusing to move.

“Oh, hush Ei! I’m doing absolutely nothing! I just wanted to meet the boy who you called the best tutor he’s ever had-”

“Momma!”

“Oh, honey, he looks just like you did when we met,” Kirishima’s curly-haired mother coo’s, leaning on her softly smiling wife.

“Oh, those were the days.” She says dreamily before snapping her eyes back to Bakugou, “You know, I had a jacket just like yours when I was your age, I think I know where it is, if I could just-”

“ NO !” Kirishima yells, grabbing both of Bakugou’s hands and dragging him up the steps, “No trips down memory lane, no soft backstories, and don’t you even think about telling the motorcycle story! We will be in my room, studying ! Do not disturb!” With those final words, a blushing Kirishima rushes into his room, slams the door shut and slumps against it. While burying his head in his hands, he slides down the wood until he’s seated on the hardwood flooring. “So uncool,” He mumbles into his hands, “So unmanly.”

While Kirishima has a crisis, Bakugou examines his room. There’s a punching bag hanging from the ceiling in the corner, along with weights and what looks like a yoga mat. In one corner sits a desk, messy with papers and books, a clock with flexing arms hanging proudly over it. In the other corner sits a bookshelf, packed with comics and memorabilia, and a little cat tower next to it. His bed sheets are camo, the same design as the backpack that sits next to it, which makes Bakugou chuckle. His walls are plastered with football and wrestling posters, along with select action movie posters. It’s comfy, it’s lived in, with his gym bag thrown in the corner and books spread out from the last time he studied, and it’s so unbelievably Kirishima that it makes Bakugou ache.

Bakugou lightly throws a couple punches at the punching bag, watching it sway, “So, best tutor you’ve ever had, huh?”

“No, get out! Get out of my house, I can’t deal with this from you too. Out!” Kirishima yells, throwing the closest thing he could find, a clearly well-loved comic book, at Bakugou.

Bakugou laughs and catches it easily, “Let’s work on your math homework before you kick me out, alright, Red.”

Bakugou leans against a tree in the courtyard, slowly eating his lunch in complete peace when Kirishima comes running at him. Actually, Bakugou hears Kirishima before he sees him. “ SHIT! SORRY, IN A RUSH! OUT OF MY WAY, I HAVE TO FIND MY AMAZING GRUMPY GENIUS!” Bakugou watches as Kirishima skids into his vision, nearly falling over as he runs at top speed at the blonde. “ YOU! ” Kirishima yells from halfway across the courtyard, not slowing down in the slightest. Bakugou barely had time to put down his lunch before a giant ball of energy and muscle barrels into him at full speed. 

Bakugou’s back slams into the tree with the sheer force of the hug, the redhead’s arms wrapping around his neck, hands stopping his head from slamming into the bark. Bakugou stands completely still, eyes wide, as Kirishima squeezes him and then pulls away, hands squeezing Bakugou’s shoulders. “Look!” Kirishima yells, stuffing a piece of paper in his face with a smile.

Bakugou snatches it, looking down at the paper and immediately recognizes it as the math test Kirishima took last week. “Holy shit,” Bakugou mumbles, thumb brushing over the chicken scratch of equations and eraser markers.

“Read it,” Kirishima commands, violently poking the large red pen marking in the corner. “What does that say?” 

Bakugou looks up from the paper to look at the boy in front of him, basking in the sight. Kirishima is practically glowing, smile so wide and excited that it can only be described as beaming, eyes wide and bright. He is practically radiating pride and excitement, it’s infectious. “Ninty-fucking-two,” Bakugou says proudly, unable to stop the smile that paints his normally scowling face.

“A NINTY-FUCKING-TWO!” Kirishima repeats, only when he says it, it is much louder and it is accompanied by an excited jump and an overly dramatic fist pump. Somewhere in the back of Bakugou’s brain, he registers that this is the first time he’s heard Kirishima say ‘fuck’, and he decides he likes it. “I’ve never gotten an A on a math test before! NEVER! And it’s all thanks to you!”

Despite the fact that Bakugou is absolutely basking in the compliment, he stops himself, “Nah, dude,” He starts, pride and fondness filling his eyes, though he can’t seem to make his blush fully go away. He throws an arm around the quarterback and pulls him into an almost affectionate headlock, “That was all you. You just needed someone manly enough to beat that into your brain. Someone strong enough to get past all that hair!” Bakugou teases and jokes, but neither of their smiles ceases. Bakugou eventually shoo’s Kirishima away to finish his lunch in peace, but he can’t stop smiling for the rest of the day, which makes people look at him like he’s lost his mind, but he honestly couldn’t give less of a fuck.

Bakugou showed up to their study session with two slushies from the convenience store next to the school, a red one for Kirishima, because Bakugou remembers him mentioning that cherry is his favourite flavour and a blue one for Bakugou. You know, to celebrate.

If Bakugou Katsuki is anything, he is a fighter, has been his entire life. He got in his first fight at the tender age of 6 when he punched Deku in the face for implying that he needed help. It was his first fight, but it was far from his last. As he grew up, his temper and ego grew with him, and so did the number of people lining up to try and take him on. Bakugou had always been a fighter, so when people lined up to try and take him down a peg, he simply smiled at their anger, yelled at them to give him their best shot, and proceeded to kick their teeth in. He had yet to lose a fight, and he intended on keeping that streak.

Another irrefutable fact about Bakugou Katsuki is that he is gay. Freshman year, almost four years ago now, he showed up at UA with a reputation and a chip on his shoulder. Bakugou, who had never lost a fight, who beat up a high school junior without breaking a sweat. Bakugou, who carries a switchblade, a vial of gasoline and a box of matches with him at all times. He heard it all, and at this point, he doesn’t care what’s true and what’s not, after all, no one else does. So when he showed up to school with a pride flag pin on his jacket and a giant patch stitched to his back proclaiming BE GAY, DO CRIME, the masses didn’t quite know what to do. 

Some people thought that because he was gay, that meant all the stories of tough and strong Bakugou were fake. They were wrong. On the first day of school, Bakugou had a total of four boys come up to him, teeth bared and homophobic slurs on the tip of their tounges. Bakugou broke two jaws, one nose and four fingers that day, a new personal record. No one ever tried to fuck with him about being gay again after that, and he showed up to detention with Not gay as in happy, but queer as in fuck you stitched across his heart.

He had been dealing with this shit for so long, it doesn’t really phase him anymore, so when some blonde extra comes up to him, he doesn’t think much of it. As Bakugou stalks through the cafeteria at lunch, he hears some girl yell “Monoma, don’t!” right as the blonde appears in front of him.

“Hey, Bakugou,” Bakugou doesn’t like the way he says it, all sly and superior, it makes his fingers twitch, itching for a fight. His thumb brushes over his unbandaged knuckles and inwardly groans, and my hands just started healing. Fuck.

“What?” Bakugou snaps, probably a little too loud. As the two blondes size each other up, heads turn toward them, some people already preemptively forming a circle around the pair, preparing for the inevitable fight.

“So, there’s a rumour going around that you’ve been sneaking around with Kirishima,” the grey-eyed blonde taunts, and it makes Bakugou’s stomach drop. Oh no.

Bakugou just scowls at him, but this makes the extra’s smirk grow, “Who told you that bullshit?” 

“Oh, Bakugou, there’s no need to be coy , everyone already knows! It is a shame tho, I mean it was bad enough that the person everyone in the school is scared of is gay, but now he’s poisoning the captain of the football team ? So embarrassing that our school’s role model is a fa-”

Bakugou does even let him get the word out before his fist makes contact with the bastard’s jaw. Anger burns through him like an explosion as someone in the crowd yells “ FIGHT! ” and people run to the scene. Monoma smiles at him, which only makes Bakugou’s anger double in size, spits a little blood onto the cheap linoleum tile and raises his fists. You want a fight? Bakugou thinks to himself, alright, Extra, bring it. You fucked with the wrong dude. 

To his shock, despite Monoma's lanky and skinny appearance, he’s not the worst person Bakugou has ever fought. He’s fast and smart when he fights, but he’s not faster or smarter than Bakugou, and he’s most definitely not stronger. Maybe he punches a little harder than he normally does, and when Monoma’s on the ground, writhing in pain, Bakugou’s anger hasn’t ceased yet, so he keeps fighting. He towers over Monoma and is able to get a few good punches in before he gets dragged out by three teachers, kicking and screaming the whole way.

He is properly reprimanded by Principle Nezu, and given two weeks of detention. It’s honestly nothing new, so whenever Bakugou gets annoyed or pissed off, he flexes his hands, feeling the pain of the split and bruised skin, and remembers Monoma’s beaten and bloody on the ground. Totally worth it . After school that day, Bakugou stumbles into detention, an old classroom that resides right next to the bathrooms and therefore no one wants. He nods to Recovery Girl and takes a seat in the back corner, a desk that all but has his name engraved on it. Everyone who’s ever been to detention knows it’s his and avoids it like the plague. 

Recovery Girl shakes her head at him, muttering a small, “Oh, Katsuki.” Recovery Girl is everyone at UA’s nickname for the nurse. No one really knows where it came from, but it stuck, for whatever reason. She’s this adorable little old lady, white hair always up in a neat bun and smile always warm and inviting. She always walks around with blue-rimmed square glasses and a long doctor’s coat that is fondly adored with doctor-themed pins and patches. She’s probably Bakugou’s second favourite teacher, in fact, one of the pins she wears on her lapel, a little syringe squirting black liquid, is from him.

Bakugou and Recovery Girl have an interesting relationship, she’s almost like his disappointed grandma. She is both the nurse and the only detention teacher, so she sees him quite often. She treats his wounds with a disappointed smile, as if saying ‘you’re better than this’ without words. But, she also sees his victims, so he’s not sure why she hasn’t run away from him yet. Then, during detention, she sits with him and they exist in this little bubble of their own creation, a mutual peace for him to study and for her to read her shitty romance novels (No one has to know that he smiles sometimes when she throws down her book and starts ranting about how dumb the two main characters are, listening to her exclamations happily). If the other delinquents bother her, Bakugou makes them back down with some harsh words and a quick glare. If it’s just the two of them, Bakugou will sit and listen to her drone on about her children, husband, and, admittedly, adorable grandchildren. 

Today, he’s in no mood, and Recovery girl can clearly see that. His lip aches from where Monoma split it, his knuckles pulse with an angry, blood-red pain, and he can feel a bruise forming across his ribs. He groans and buries his head in his arms, relishing in the momentary darkness and peace. That is, until he hears the door open. He should have known he isn’t lucky enough to get a day of detention alone. He’s getting ready to throw up his persona, all angry and ready to bite someone’s head off, when a familiar voice stops him, “Hey, Recovery Girl! You happen to have a first aid kit on hand?” 

Kirishima .

Bakugou looks up and sees the redheaded jock in all his glory, handing a bright pink slip to Recovery Girl. A detention slip? Bakugou thinks to himself, raising an eyebrow at his student, not that Kirishima has even looked at him yet. Recovery girl trades the piece of paper for a first aid kit and Kirishima thanks her with a wink and an award-winning smile before immediately turning around and striding up to Bakugou like this was his element, not Bakugou’s.

“Hey there, Hothead, mind if I sit here?” Kirishima doesn’t wait for an answer as he pulls out the chair from the desk in front of Bakugou and sits on it backward. He drops his bag onto the floor with an unceremonious thud and slams down a water bottle and packet of portable tissues on the desk between them. Bakugou would almost be angry if he didn’t still feel so baffled. 

“What are you doing here? Did you get detention?” Bakugou asks as he watches Kirishima reach for his hand. The delinquent’s hands immediately jerk back, retreating back to the safety of his chest, right next to his quickly beating heart.

“Yep,” Kirishima says, popping the ‘p’ as he busies himself with getting disinfectant and tape out of the first-aid kit.

“ How ?”

Kirishima places the supplies on the desk next to the water and looks Bakugou in the eyes, red on red, “I asked.”

“You asked?”

“Yes, I asked. I heard what happened at lunch and I asked Mr. Aizawa for detention so I could spend it with you. He said yes.”

Bakugou was so busy trying to stop the blush that spreads across his face that he lets his guard down, just for a second. Kirishima sees this moment of weakness and takes advantage, immediately grabbing Bakugou’s hands, careful to not touch the cuts that sit there, and placing the damaged hands between the two of them. Bakugou, almost outside of his body, watches as the school’s star player softly runs his finger along the lines of the school’s delinquent hand, watching each tiny finger twitch and inaudible intake of breath, and registering it. He sees himself,  dark and scary and sharp, and he sees Kirishima, all soft edges and pretty smiles and gentle hands, and he feels all of his sharp edges melt away, softening until they fit perfectly next to Kirishima’s, like puzzle pieces. “Doesn’t that mean you can’t play on Friday?”

Kirishima laughs, taking his hands off Bakugou’s ( sadly , Bakugou thinks.) and picking up the water bottle and tissues, “Nah, this isn’t going on my record, in fact, no one knows I’m here except Mr. Aizawa, Recovery Girl, and you. A lot of teachers tend to let some things slide, if I ask nicely.”

Bakugou scoffs, eyes following the movements of Kirishima’s hands as he pours some water onto the tissues, “Teacher’s pet.”

Kirishima raises an eyebrow at him, “Troublemaker.”

Suddenly, pain lights up Bakugou’s hand and he sucks in a sharp breath, “ Fuck !” He attempts to pull his hands away but they stay firmly in place.

Kirishima sits, one hand holding his in place, the other cleaning the dried blood off the cuts that dance across his knuckles. “Let me help you,” Kirishima says, kindness and authority laced through his words, but also concern, and, if Bakugou was right (which he prides himself on being), a little anger.

“Fine, Shitty Hair,” Bakugou mumbles, and when Kirishima seems to relax a little, an easy smile painting his features, Bakugou decides that the little bit of pride he loses is worth it.

The two sit in silence as Bakugou watches as Kirishima works on his hands. Tenderly whipping the blood off his skin, fingers caressing his own. For whatever reason, Bakugou can’t seem to breathe correctly as the red-haired boy does this. When Kirishima rubs some disinfectant on the cuts, Bakugou sharply inhales. Kirishima smiles at this, a little crooked smile accompanied by a quiet, almost intimate, chuckle. “Baby,” he teases, and suddenly, Bakugou’s chest aches, and it has nothing to do with his bruised side. 

Silence settles between them again as Kirishima starts bandaging his hand. Bakugou’s eyes follow the movements, hypnotized by the steady rotation of the bandage. Around, and around, down and around. As Kirishima ties off his first hand, he finally breaks the tension-filled silence, “I wanted to thank you, for you know, lunch.”

It makes Bakugou’s heart jump, and he seems to break out of the spell that is Kirishima wrapping his hand with a second of delay, “What?”

Kirishima sighs, starting on Bakugou’s right hand, “I heard, about what Monoma said before the fight started. I wanted to thank you, for defending me, but I also wanted to give you an out.”

“Ex-fucking-cuse me?” Bakugou grits out, eyes snapping up from his hands to glare at Kirishima.

Kirishima finally finishes tying Bakugou’s hands, probably tying the last knot a tad too tight as his voice grows weak, flooded with a tone so foreign to Bakugou’s ears he can hardly believe it’s coming out of Kirishima’s mouth. Insecurity. “I know what he said, and I get if you wanna stop tutoring me so that you don’t get bothered about it again. I would totally get if you were weirded out by the whole thing-”

“Shut the fuck up,” Kirishima stares intently at Bakugou’s bandaged hands, unable to look him in the eye. Nah, fuck this! “Kirishima!” Bakugou snaps, using his freshly bandaged hand to grab Kirishima’s chin and force him to look into his eyes. “I don’t give a fuck. I don’t care if people talk or spread dumbass rumours. It doesn’t matter. I’m going to keep tutoring you and if that bothers them to try to give you or me shit again, I’ll beat their ass, got it, Red? I’m really surprised you aren’t trying to back out, honestly, with what Monoma said.”

Kirishima’s face is almost as red as his hair and jacket now, has been since Bakugou grabbed him, but now he’s got a determined look in his eyes, eyebrows drawn together and lips pressed into a thin line, “Because it’s true.”

Bakugou’s heart picks up speed in a way he’s a little embarrassed to admit, “Huh?”

“It’s true, I like guys. I mean he had no right to say what he did, or to drag you into it, but it’s not wrong.” 

“Oh...cool,” Bakugou says lamely, unsure how to continue, not sure he can with how fast his heart is going.

Kirishima’s eyes drift down from Bakugou’s eyes down to his lips, and his determined look shifts into a frown. Kirishima leans forward over the desk, Bakugou’s hand falling away as he moves. His fingers are rough and calloused, but his touch is soft as he cradles Bakugou’s face, thumb slowly sliding underneath the split in Bakugou’s lip, “Does it hurt?”

Bakugou officially short circuits. His brain stops functioning, it’s all too much. Kirishima is so close, he’s never been this close before, and Bakugou decides that he would rather die than have him pull away. Bakugou can always see the bright red of his eyes and the cute downturn of his frown, but when they’re like this, he can see so much more. He can see the way his nose crinkles slightly when his eyebrows draw together. He can see that there is a small but deep scar that dances across the skin around his eye, starting at his eyelid and finishing right before his eyebrow. He can see that Kirishima needs to redye his hair soon, dark black roots mixing with the bright red of his hair. He’s always felt Kirishima, felt his presence and his heat, but this is different. Bakugou can feel the calluses on his fingers, built from years of football and working out. He can feel his warmth as it soaks into his skin and numbs the pain. He can also smell him, and now, for whatever reason, it’s very important to Bakugou that Kirishima smells like sweat and pine and Old Spice soap.

“Not anymore,” Bakugou says, relishing in the way Kirishima’s thumb sways slowly, back and forth on his skin, grazing his lip. Bakugou Katsuki realizes right there, that he might be in love with Kirishima Eijiro. Bakugou knew he had a crush on Kirishima, I mean it was Kirishima , there wasn’t a person in this school who didn’t have a crush on him, but Bakugou thinks he actually might love this idiot. It hits him like a bomb, an explosion of emotion rippling through him. But, as he watches Kirishima smile and brush this thumb fondly on his lip one last time, he decides it's worth it. He accepts the heat and the pain, gladly.

“So,” Kirishima starts, pushing himself up so he’s sitting on Bakugou’s desk next to the delinquent’s heavy boots.

Bakugou looks up from the book he’s reading, glaring at the football player that is officially in his space and a hundred percent not in the right class. “What?”

“What are you doing tonight?” Kirishima asks, adjusting so that his sneakers rest next to Bakugou on his chair. 

Bakugou can’t quite shake the blush that sneaks up his neck, and for a second, he humours himself. He thinks that, what Kirishima just asked him, sort of sounds like he’s about to ask Bakugou on a date, but then, his brain catches up. Kirishima is wearing jeans and his hair is spiked up, but instead of his letterman jacket, he wears a white t-shirt under his bright red jersey, Kirishima stamped across the back in big white block letters and a 01 stamped across the front. It’s Friday. “I’m not going to your ridiculous game, Red,” He mumbles, going back to reading. He chooses to ignore how attractive the asshole looks in his jersey, all broad shoulders and pecs and it makes Bakugou want to slam his head into his desk. 

“Aww, come on Bakugou! It’s the playoffs and I need you there to be my good luck charm!” He declares, placing a hand on the book and forcing Bakugou to put it down.

Bakugou elbows his knee, Kirishima bumps his arm with his leg, “Not happening. I don’t go to football games, never have, never will.”

“Not even for me?” Kirishima asks, pulling his best puppy dog eyes.

Bakugou slams his boots down on the ground with a heavy thud and leans up so there is no more than six inches between their faces. Bakugou takes a second, letting the silence hang between them, maybe lingering longer than necessary, but sue him, he likes being this close to Kirishima. Likes that he can see all the little details of his face, like the freckle that sits right on his jaw that Bakugou makes bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from kissing it, or all his subtle movements, like the way he gulps when Bakugou’s eyes trace his features. “ Especially not for you.” Bakugou breathes out, before leaning back into his seat.

Kirishima seems frozen for a second, which Bakugou can’t help but smirk at, before the jock shakes his head and breaks into a giant smile. “Fine, if you’re going to be lame and not support me, will you at least come to the party Denki is throwing after? We’re going to celebrate our victory and my friends have been asking to meet you.”

Now it’s Bakugou’s turn to freeze, “Fucking what? Why?”

Kirishima just laughs, doing that dumb thing where he scratches the back of his neck that makes his white t-shirt tighten around his arms and Bakugou either wants to punch him in the face or make out with him, “Yeah, they’ve been bugging about who’s been stealing their best friend, their words, not mine, three days a week, and when I said I was getting tutored, they insisted they meet you. Figured it would be easier this way.”

Bakugou just scoffs, “I repeat, for the second time in this dumbass fucking conversation, not. Happening .”

Kirishima just rolls his eyes, crosses his arm and starts pouting, and holy shit, who let him be this cute , Bakugou thinks while his heart goes into overdrive, “I’m not going to class until you agree.”

As if on cue, the one-minute bell rings. Kirishima stays put. People are starting to look at them. “Shitty Hair, go to class, you have an English test this period!”

“Not until you agree to come to Denki’s party tonight.”

“I’m not going.”

“Then I’m not moving.”

The pair stare at each other for a long, heated second, Bakugou acutely aware of the clock and people rushing to class. “Fucking fine ! I’ll go, now get your sorry ass to class and get a goddamn A, or I’ll kick your fucking ass!”

Kirishima grins one of those million-watt smiles again, already jumping off his desk and running out the door, yelling a quick, “Bet, I’ll see you tonight, Bro!” over his shoulder as he barrels toward his English class.

Bakugou shakes his head and smiles to himself, picking his book up again. Fucking idiot.

That night, Bakugou walks up to a rather large house, lights and music pouring from every window and door. They’re playing some shitty pop music and Bakugou feels it in his bones and he hates it. He fucking hates parties, it’s why he never fucking comes to them. They’re loud, and not in the fun metal concert type of way, and there’s too many people, all bumping into him and too drunk to know to be scared. He tends to just avoid them at all costs. If he really wanted to get drunk and make bad decisions, he’d do it on his own where there are no witnesses. So why is he here? Well, for him , not that he would ever admit it.

The second he walks into the party, he’s assaulted by bright lights and red confetti in his hair and he already wants to die. He starts making his way through the throng of people, pushing past anyone who is too dumb to get out of his way, eyes looking for bright red spiked hair. While passing, he sees Jirou and Momo leaning against the wall, Momo’s arm right next to Jirou’s head. Bakugou nods in acknowledgement, and Jirou nods back subtly, but Momo, who clearly has already started celebrating the team’s win, waves enthusiastically. Bakugou can’t help but laugh at the two as he gets to the kitchen, feeling his quickly thinning patience and boiling blood ease a little. A little more help couldn’t hurt, though, Bakugou thinks as he grabs a beer from the fridge, tears off the cap with his teeth, and turns around, ready to go looking for Kirishima again. 

Bakugou wanders around for at least thirty minutes, he goes upstairs and downstairs, has about a million people bump into him and just got a beer dumped down the front of his shirt. Bakugou is officially at the end of his rope. He lets out a growl at the very drunk teenager in front of him who finally has enough brain cells to immediately apologize and run into the sea of drunk teenagers. Bakugou feels heat and anger working its way up his chest, but he stops. He seethes for a second, allowing a moment of fury in the chaos in the crowd. Breathe in. Breathe out. Clench fist. Unclench fist. You’re going to be fine, just don’t punch anyone. Don’t get thrown out of the party before you find Kirishima. Just find Kirishima . Bakugou thinks to himself, pushing his way back to the center of the house, where all the drunk idiots are dancing. Just find-

Oh.

Bakugou freezes. Standing in the middle of the crowd, smiling like the fucking idiot he is, is a vaguely tipsy Kirishima. Dancing with someone, someone else . Some bitch with a bright pink afro in a bright ass mini dress and a cropped fur coat is currently dancing with, no not with, on Kirishima. Bakugou can’t seem to move. His chest starts to fucking ache , like his ribs are broken or something. His heart has goes into overdrive until all he can hear is the all too fast pounding of his stupid fucking heart. His stupid heart that got him into this mess in the first place. Of fucking course, he never said he only liked guys. They’re so perfect for each other. All extraverted and bright as the fucking sun. There’s no way he would like me . He’s the sun, all bright and happy and so fucking nice and I’m. I’m me.

And then Kirishima looks up. He looks directly at Bakugou, and his carefree smile falls. Bakugou can’t seem to breathe. Of course, he doesn’t want you. People around him don’t exist anymore, nothing really exists except the three of them. Kirishima, Bakugou, and the person Kirishima actually wants. Fuck this. 

Bakugou just walks away, pushing past people a little more forcefully than necessary. Anything to get to the front door. Fuck this party. Bakugou makes it outside, but the fresh air does nothing to help with how much trouble he’s having breathing or his rapidly beating heart. Fuck that girl, whoever she is. He’s very quickly walking away, and completely ignoring the fact that he hears someone calling his name behind him. Fuck the fact that I spent half an hour looking for you and you didn’t even care. He makes it to the street, and he honestly doesn’t know where he’s going. All Bakugou cares about right now is getting far, far away from the shitty music and the girl who has the one thing he truly wants and the person who keeps yelling his name. Fuck these people and fuck the fact that I put up with them for you . He makes it to the sidewalk and he crosses the street, flipping off cars as they honk at him. He likes the fact that they drown out Kirishima’s yells. Fuck you, Kirishima.

“Bakugou, wait! Come on, Bro, talk to me! We’re friends, aren’t we?” Kirishima finally reaches him and grabs his arm, turning him around. The pair stand on the sidewalk, alone, the sounds of the party far behind them. Kirishima’s hand is wrapped around his bicep. His hair is down, the normally bright strands looking almost rusty under the old street lamps. His eyes are wide and pleading, somehow still looking beautiful in all this bullshit. In any other circumstance, Bakugou would be swooning, but he’s too upset to care right now. Fuck you Kirishima Eijiro, fuck you for making me fall in love with you. Something in Bakugou snaps, and that little voice, that voice inside him that ruins everything good he’s ever had, screams at him, break him. Break him the way that he broke you. Break him so you don’t get broken.

Bakugou hears a laugh crack through the air, cold and mocking, and he doesn’t realize that it’s his. It’s been a while since he’s been this mean, he almost doesn’t recognize it. He’d gone soft, all for some stupid jock with gorgeous eyes and a sharp-toothed, thousand-watt smile who doesn’t care about him. Not in the way that Bakugou cares for him, not in the way that matters. And it hurts . So, Bakugou Katsuki does what Bakugou Katsuki does best. He breaks others so no one sees the cracks in his own skin. He shakes off Kirishima’s hand and yells, “ Friends ? God, you really are dumb! You think that’s what this was?” 

Kirishima stumbles back, as if Bakugou had punched him, and he looks like it too. That dash of hurt across his features, that kicked puppy dog look, it fuels the fire inside Bakugou’s gut. “Get fucking real, Shitty Hair! You’re nothing more than some extra credit! You think I would even look twice at you, let alone be friends with you, if Aizawa wasn’t giving me something out of it? You’re fucking nothing to me.”

Bakugou expected, no, he wanted Kirishima to be sad, to be heartbroken, just like he was. And he relished in the hurt and pain that he saw on his face. But Bakugou didn’t expect the anger. He didn’t expect to see the expression of sorrow morph into one of rage. He didn’t expect the mass of muscles and sunshine that he had come to know to push him back. To place both hands on his chest and shove so hard that Bakugou actually stumbles back. “ Then why are you here? ” Kirishima roars, and for a second, in the dim lighting of the street lamp, it looks like he might start crying.

“The fuck did you just say to me?”

“Why are you here ? Why did you come? Huh, Bakugou?” Kirishima starts marching toward him.

“Watch it, Kirishima.” Bakugou snaps, staying firmly in place.

“Why did you come to the party, only because I asked? Why did you come to my parents’ house, just because I needed to switch the day? Not to mention you were fine with the fact that I never even told you why!”

“I fucking mean it-”

“Why did you keep tutoring me three times a week even when my grades improved so much that you could have got your precious extra credit and never spoken to me again-”

“Shut up-”

“And why the hell did you not take the out when I gave it to you ! Because everything you said is bullshit -”

“ I SAID SHUT UP! ” Bakugou roars, and before he can think, because if he had stopped to think he would have never done it, punches Kirishima square in the jaw. Because Bakugou is a fighter, always has been, always will be. He’s a boy built to destroy, and so he does that. Even if he shouldn’t be a fighter in this scenario, even if the thing he’s destroying is someone that he loves.

Kirishima is strong, but he still ends up falling on his ass. The jock just glares at the blonde who towers over him, “You’re a coward, Bakugou Katsuki.”

Bakugou grabs him by the collar of that stupid letterman jacket and hoasts him up, “Take. It. Back.”

“No,” Kirishima insists, eye’s determined as hardened by rage. “You can hurt me all you want, but it won’t change what you are. A fucking coward , who would rather punch me, and scream hurtful lies, and run away than admit-”

“Admit fucking what ? What do I have to be scared of?”

Bakugou should have seen it from the goddamn start, Kirishima wasn’t like everyone else. He didn’t run away from him, not from his glare or his harsh words, he just smiled, because he had teeth of his own, razor-sharp ones. In his own way, he was just as strong and stubborn as Bakugou, and it looks like he’s not giving up any time soon. He just smiles at Bakugou’s anger, eyes narrowing, “That you like me.” Bakugou’s eyes widen and he feels panic clog his throat, no air coming in or out. Fuck, he knows . In his panic and fear, his grip goes lack. Kirishima wastes no time, pushing Bakugou back and getting up off the grimy sidewalk. “Admit it, Bakugou.”

“You’re full of shit,” Bakugou doesn’t seem to have control over what he’s doing anymore, all he can hear is his brain screaming FIGHT! RUN AWAY! DO ANYTHING BUT STAY HERE!

“Oh, I’m full of shit? You can’t even say that you like me, you’re full of shit, Katsuki!”

“You’re fucking delusional-”

Kirishima grabs him by the jacket and pulls him dangerously close, “ Why can't you just admit it? ”

“Because there’s nothing to admit!” He screams back, fighting against Kirishima’s hold.

Suddenly, Kirishima’s voice gets cold, almost terrifyingly calm, “You know, Bakugou, you’re a lot of things, but you’re not a liar.”

“ You don’t fucking know me!” He doesn’t know why, but Bakugou feels tears start to run down his face, and it just fuels his anger. I can’t, I won’t cry in front of him! Bakugou finally pushes Kirishima off of him, watching the jock deflate, finally giving up on this, on him , the same way everyone always does. “You don’t fucking know me so stop acting like you do. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay the fuck away from me, or I’ll fucking kill you, got it?” With that, Bakugou walks away. He doesn’t look back, no matter how bad he wants to.

Bakugou has been fucking miserable. It’s Thursday, and they were supposed to have a tutoring session today, but Bakugou didn’t even think about going to the front of the school. Same way he didn’t go on Monday or Tuesday. Whatever , Bakugou thinks to himself as he slams the door into his house, it’s better this way. He can get a new tutor. 

“Katsuki?” His mom yells from her sewing table, “You’re home early.”

That’s another thing that has been pissing him off. Ever since he got home on Friday night after the party, shaking and on the verge of tears, his mom has not gotten off his back. Always ‘Katsuki’ this, and ‘Katsuki’ that. She knows something is up, and she’s not giving up by the looks of it. She’s not even the only person who’s noticed, even Jirou commented on how off he was at band practice on Saturday, to which he just responded with a Fuck off and stormed out of her garage. He wasn’t dealing with any of this well. “So?” Bakugou snaps, already heading to her sewing room.

He sees his mother, leaning back in her chair, a bright red shirt sitting in front of her, “You’re not tutoring Kirishima today? Are you skipping out on him, again ?”

“Why does it matter?”

His mom just rolls her eyes, “Katsuki, do you think I’m fucking blind or just a plain old dumbass?”

“This is none of your business, Hag. Leave it.”

“Well, I would think that my problem child of a son going through his first heartbreak would be his mother’s business. But, alas, he’s a brat and won’t let me help him,” she snaps, levelling him with a cold stare, and, the way that all moms know how to do, her gaze piercing through his very soul.

“What could you do?” He snaps, and based on the way she smiles, he knows that she knows this is his way of asking for help. 

“Well, if the stubborn, ‘bad boy’ Bakugou Katsuki would listen to his very wise mother’s advice, she would tell him to stop avoiding his shit and talk to the boy so he stops mopping around the house. Preferably on Friday, wearing this,” She remarks, throwing the red shirt at him, which he catches easily. “Seriously Katsuki, you clearly like the guy, so, for once, stop running and fighting, and just talk to him. It’s hard, trust me, I know, but it’s better in the long run. Plus, you seem happier when you’re with him, and your happiness is all I care about, even if I have to force your hand a little.” 

Bakugou opens his mouth to say something, probably his weird version of a ‘thank you’, but then his mom looks at him, and he remembers how similar they are, practically like looking in a mirror. So he just nods. And she nods back, because she gets it, he doesn’t have to say anything and neither does she. “Now get out, I wasted an obscene amount of time on that and I need to get back to work.” Bakugou just laughs and flips her off, and she flips him off back with a fond smile. Yeah, she gets it. 

On his way back to his room, Bakugou looks at the red shirt and smiles, pulling it close to his chest. Yeah, maybe that old hag has a point.

Friday night, the night of the championship game, Bakugou Katskui walks into his first-ever football game, infamous jean jacket buttoned up and pulled tightly around him. The game is already well past half-time, only the last quarter left, and he can already hear words and whispers traveling around him. He just glares at anyone who dares to meet his eye, just remember why you're doing this. Pushing past people, he finds a spot against the fence, closest to the players, closer to him , and furthest from the rest of the crowd. Bakugou leans against the chain-link fence and his eyes immediately find who he’s looking for. 

“ HIKE! ” Crouched on the field, giant 01 printed on his chest, is Kirishima. His fingers are wrapped, not so different from his own bandaged hands as they catch the ball. Bakugou can’t quite take his eyes off him. He’s wearing a tight Nike sleeve that goes from his wrist to his bicep, and you can see the ends of his hair peeking out from his helmet, the red hair practically begging to be played with. Maybe I should have started coming to games sooner.

“HA, holy shit, you’re here !” Fuck, he knows that voice. Now, to make one thing clear, Bakugou doesn’t have a lot of friends, but if he was to call anyone his friend, it would be Kyoka Jirou. Jirou is one of the few other people at his school who dresses like he does, take her right now, with fishnets under ripped black jeans, platformed Docs, and a purple crop top with an oversized leather jacket, affectionately adorned with pins and the words PUNKS NOT DEAD painted on her back. To top it all off, box dyed and choppy purple hair, gauges, a spiked choker, and elaborate makeup that is not unlike a clown’s, but in an actually cool and punk way, which Bakugou is convinced is pure magic.

Bakugou met Jirou his sophomore year, a little less than two years ago, when he skipped a redundant math class in favour of smoking under the bleachers only to find his spot had been hijacked. Jirou sat on the crossbars, notebook resting on one leg and guitar resting on the other. What the fuck are you doing in my spot? He snapped, and without even looking up from her notebook she snapped back, I was here first, Fuckhead. Needless to say, they became pretty good friends. Not to mention the fact that Jirou was the lead singer and bass player for her band, a band that Bakugou is the drummer of, not that they ever do more than play in her garage. 

“Yeah, so? You got some shit to say about it, Ears?” He snaps back, elbowing her as she leans on the fence next to him.

“You just never come to these things, is all,” Jirou teases, a knowing smile playing across the smudged black of her lips.

He scoffs, eyes going back to the field, “Not all of us have a fucking preppy, school spirit ass girlfriend to stare at, asshole.” Bakugou gestures to the field where the cheerleaders are currently doing push-ups since the team just got a touchdown. Front and center, Momo does push-ups, first in the grade, head cheerleader, keyboardist for their band, and most importantly, Jirou’s girlfriend of three years. It’s honestly a sight to behold, the school’s golden girl, walking hand and hand with Jirou, a punk who skips class to hang out in the band room.

“Sure,” Jirou starts, and Bakugou doesn’t like the tone of her voice, “but I bet you wish you had a fucking preppy, school spirit ass boyfriend to stare at.”

“I will literally kill you.”

“Haven’t yet,  Bakugou, and I don’t think you ever will. You love me too much.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles back, leaning against his hand, staring at Kirishima as he runs. Runs towards him. Oh fuck. The offence is finally coming off the field, and Kirishima is running back to where the rest of the team stands on the sidelines. He takes off his helmet, shaking out his hair, which Bakugou can now see is held back with a white headband. Can my heart shut the fuck up for one goddamn second, WHY ARE YOU SO LOUD? Kirishima looks up and their eyes lock. Kirishima’s carefree and adrenaline-laced smile settles into a hard line. Bakugou is vaguely aware that Jirou pats him on the back and wishes him good luck, or something, he wasn’t really paying attention to anything but the fact that Kirishima is walking towards him.

Bakugou stands up straight as Kirishima reaches him, the metal fence between them. A second of silence stretches between them. Bakugou’s hands start fiddling with the buttons of his jacket. Fucking kill me. “So, you’re here,” Kirishima says, emotionless. Actually, not emotionless, but it’s that voice you do when you are upset but don’t want anyone else to know. Bakugou knows that voice too well.

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Why? You never come to games,” Kirishima tries to hide it, but there is a hint of something hidden in his voice. Hope. Bakugou can’t fight the smile that works his way onto his lips, not a big one, but a small one, one that is intimate and personal. One that is only for the two of them.

“Well, there’s this dude,” slowly, as he talks, he starts unbuttoning his jacket, slivers of red fabric peeking between the well-worn jean. “Real asshole, and has some really shitty hair. And he had the balls to call me a coward.”

Kirishima raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms, “Well maybe you were being one, and maybe he was just really tired of you being an asshole about it.”

Bakugou bites the inside of his mouth, fighting back his immediate response of yelling and denial. No, not this time . He finishes unbuttoning his jacket, but Bakugou holds it closed, and, by now, can feel everyone’s eyes on the two of them. Good, I want everyone to know . “Yeah, and as much as I hate to admit it, I was being a coward. So, since Bakugou Katsuki can’t be called a coward unchecked, I decided to prove him wrong.”

“How?”

Bakugou finally, finally , opens his jacket. Beneath the patches and spikes and blood, sits a stupid bright red jersey, 01 stamped across the front. As he shrugs off the jacket and puts it on the fence between them, giving the entire fucking student body on the stands behind him a full view of the word Kirishima stamped across the back in big white block letters. He watches Kirishima’s eyes follow his movements and his face go as red as his jersey, unable to take his eyes off the jersey Bakugou’s wearing, the same one Kirishima is currently wearing. “I decided to stop being a scared little bitch and admit it. I like you, Kirishima Eijiro, and I’m fucking done hiding it.”

A smile breaks out on Kirishima’s face, a dumb, stupid, cute thousand-watt smile, that Bakugou can’t help but match. He’s about to say something, but then Coach Toshinori cuts him off. “Kirishima, you’re on!”

Kirishima’s smile drops and he glances at the scoreboard. Two minutes left, UA needed a touchdown to win. He looks back at Bakugou, and then at the jersey, he’s wearing. He smiles again, and starts walking backwards, “Meet me by my truck after the game! And, just so you know, I like you too!” He breaks out into a run, putting his helmet back on. He runs onto the field, where about half the team slaps his helmet and gives him one of those weird football players headbutt things. Jirou came back over a few seconds later, and when she commented on how Bakugou couldn’t stop smiling and blushing, he told her to fuck off.

Kirishima scored the final touchdown the team needed to win, and maybe, just maybe, Bakugou cheered for him so loudly Kirishima could hear him from the endzone and waved at him like a lunatic.

Bakugou is anxiously waiting for Kirishima, leaning against Kirishima’s rusty red truck. He’s only half paying attention to what Jirou and Momo are saying, every couple seconds glancing at the doors to the locker rooms. Momo stands, still in a cheerleader uniform and a high ponytail, with an arm around Jirou as they try to distract him, which he really appreciates, he really does, he just really wants to see Kirishima. 

“You know, I’m thinking of inviting Kirishima to our next band practice,” Momo comments, bumping her hip against Jirou’s.

Jirou smiles a large, evil smile, and bumps Momo’s hip back, “I think that’s a great idea!”

“No! No, you are not doing that, you menaces! Why do I even talk to you guys?”

“Because we’re your only friends, Bakugou,” Jirou deadpans. Momo laughs, moving to bury the giggle into Jirou’s shoulder

Bakugou is about to yell at them, curse them out and tell them to never speak to him again, when the door opens. His mouth screws shut, and Momo starts laughing harder. Kirishima walks out, changed but not entirely clean. His hair is still pulled back with that headband, and he has smudged eye black still on his face. Bakugou suddenly can’t breathe.

Bakugou watches as Jirou starts pulling Momo to her car, yelling a quick, “Bye, Bakugou! I’ll see you and Kirishima at band practice tomorrow!”

“No, you won’t, bitch!” He yells back, but this only makes them laugh harder as they skip away, hand in hand.

All the anger Bakugou had quickly drained from his body and is replaced with a nervous coil that sits at the bottom of his stomach as Kirishima walks up to him, “Hey, Bakugou.”

“Hey.”

Kirishima moves past him to throw his shoulder pads in the back seat of his truck, Bakugou watching the movements with dedication, as if the way he opened the door would answer the million questions he has, “So, you like me, huh?” Kirishima starts, slamming the door shut and moving to stand in front of Bakugou. Suddenly, he realizes that Kirishima is taller than him, only by a couple of inches, but it’s enough so that Bakugou has to look up to look him in the eye and Kirishima has to tilt his head down. 

“And what about it, Red?” Bakugou challenges, crossing his arms over his chest and pushing off the truck, not that he could go far, since Kirishima places his arm on the edge of the truck bed, effectively caging Bakugou in. Bakugou is still wearing Kirishima’s jersey, and based on how often Kirishima is glancing at it, the football player really likes it.

“Well, since you like me, as you made so abundantly clear, and I like you, maybe we could go out on, you know, a date that doesn’t involve studying?” Kirishima asks, stepping closer, face getting dangerously close to Bakugou’s.

Bakugou wants to say yes, oh, he so badly wants to say yes, but something stops him. The image from exactly a week ago at the party, the thing that started this whole mess. Kirishima dancing with some else. A girl. With a carefree and happy smile on his face. As Kirishima leans in, Bakugou stops him, his palm pressing flat against Kirishima’s chest, “What about your girlfriend?”

Kirishima leans back, giving him a funny look, “Girlfriend? What girlfriend?”

Bakugou’s has been keeping his anger in a tightly sealed jar all day, very carefully stored away in the back of his brain, and the way Kirishima is looking at him like he’s an idiot, it’s just enough to crack open the lid, “What the fuck do you mean ‘ what girlfriend? ’! The girl you were dancing with at the party! You know the one that was grinding on you!” Bakugou yells, very grateful that the parking lot is pretty much empty at this point.

A lot of emotions dash across Kirishima’s face then. First, confusion, which stays there for a second, then realization, and then, finally, disbelief and humour. Kirishima keels over with laughter, clutching his stomach as his, admittedly cute, laughter fills the space between them, “Fucking what, Kirishima?” Bakugou snaps, an embarrassed blush winding its way up his throat and to his ears.

“You mean Mina? The only person I danced with that night was Mina !” Kirishima yells between his laughter.

“Sure, Mina, bright pink hair. Your. girlfriend.” This only makes Kirishima laugh harder. “WHAT?”

“Mina? My girlfriend!” Kirishima takes a second to calm himself, it doesn’t really work. “My best friend since middle school, Mina. Raging lesbian, Mina, dating me, a dude whose name in her phone is ‘Gay disaster #1’! God, what a pair!”

“Well, how was I supposed to know she was a lesbian! She was fucking grinding on you!”

“Holy shit, were you jealous ?”

“Of course I was jealous! She was all over you, and I had been looking for you at that stupid party for over a fucking hour and I couldn’t find you, and you didn’t even fucking care!”

“Of course I cared! The only reason I danced with her was that my friends kept laughing at me about how much of a lovesick puppy I looked like waiting for you and Mina said she wanted me to ‘actually have fun’ that night instead of waiting for you like an idiot when you might not even show up!”

With that, a silence settled between them. Kirishima’s laughter at the entire ridiculous situation had stopped. Bakugou’s anger had stopped as his brain finally caught up with what Kirishima said. And then, Kirishima smiled that dumb, beautiful thousand-watt smile, grabbed Bakugou by the front of his jersey, the jersey with Kirishima’s name and number stamped proudly on display, and whispered, “You adorable idiot,” before pulling Bakugou for a kiss.

This is not Bakugou Katsuki’s first kiss, he’s kissed a lot of people. As a little, deep in the closet middle schooler, he kissed a girl when they played spin the bottle, he hated it. That night, he had, what he considers, his first real kiss, with his friend once they left the party and were walking home. He’s had drunken kisses with strangers in dark rooms, and passionate, adrenaline-filled kisses against walls. He’s had kisses with people he’s known for years, or people he’s met less than an hour before. This is not Bakugou Katsuki’s first kiss, but it is definitely his favourite.

Kissing Kirishima, it’s honestly a little gross, and Bakugou loves it. He tastes like sweat, and he smells like grass and grime, and his hair is still a little damp. That doesn’t stop Bakugou from burying his hands in the red strands, something he’s been dying to do since he first saw Kirishima with his hair down. Nothing could bring Bakugou down from the high that is kissing Kirishima Eijiro, he’s decidedly a little obsessed with it. Bakugou is not a soft kisser, his kisses are always aggressive and fast and angry and passionate and he treats them kind of like a fight, or maybe a game, but those two things are the same to Bakugou, so who cares? He used to think that he liked guys to kiss him the way he kissed, but Kirishima proved him wrong. 

Kirishima kisses are passionate and strong, definitely, but, somehow, they’re also soft and slow. Even as Kirishima fists his shirt, thumbs brushing across his collarbone, there’s something inherently soft about the way he holds Bakugou, like he’s been waiting for this and he wants to savour it. Something in the slow but demanding way Kirishima pulls at him, or the deliberate use of his teeth, very careful to not cut him with the sharp edges. Something in the way Kirishima smiles into the kiss when Bakugou says his name or the way he hums when Bakugou pulls at his hair. Bakugou decides this is the way he wants to be kissed, exactly like this and by Kirishima and Kirishima alone.

When Bakugou decides that maybe breathing is a necessity, after all, he still can’t bring himself to fully pull away. The pair separate, foreheads resting together, breathing heavy and mixing between them but still smiling. “Hi,” Kirishima whispers, his breath fanning against Bakugou’s face.

Smiling, Bakugou playfully tugs at the ends of Kirishima’s hair again, “Hi.”

If you’re a UA student, you have to deal with a lot of bullshit. For example, there’s a rumour going around that if you go into the janitor’s closet on the second floor in between third and fourth period, you will see the math teacher, Mr. Aizawa, and the English teacher, Mr. Yamada making out there. (This is completely untrue, but, if Mr. Yamada is wearing a white shirt, you can see an outline of a ring hanging around his neck that is identical to the one Mr. Aizawa wears.) Then there is the inherent favouritism bullshit you have to go through, because, even though you get perfectly good grades, you will never measure up to Tsuyu, who is the star of the swim team, or Iida, who is a teacher’s pet to literally every teacher. But of all the bullshit you have to deal with, Bakugou Katsuki is the worst of it all.

You always had to be aware of him, make sure you weren’t walking too slow in front of him or too close to him in the halls or talking too loud around him unless you wanted to get your teeth punched in. And yet, more recently, he had, seemingly, calmed down, almost. Now, he couldn’t punch you since his hand was too busy being intertwined with star quarterback Kirishima’s. He couldn’t yell at you since he was too busy listening to Kirishima talk, you simply weren’t worth it, not if it meant that he had to look away from his boyfriend.

Essentially, if Kirishima was around, you didn’t have to worry about getting your shit rocked, and Kirishima was around Bakugou all the time. Kirishima always walks Bakugou to classes, chilling in the advanced classroom until the very last second when he leans down and kisses Bakugou quickly, yelling a goodbye! as he takes off down the hallway. If you value your life, you know better than to comment on the fact that Bakugou smiles and blushes as he buries his face in his arms. In the hallways, Bakugou waits patiently as Kirishima digs through his mess of a locker, pretending to look pissed but still quietly accepting everything the redhead puts in his arms. At lunch, before you had to worry about finding a seat too close to him, he now sits at a table in the dead center of the cafeteria, cozying up to Kirishima while he talks with Jirou, Momo, Tokoyami, Mina, Kamanari, and Sero (And sometimes Uraraka, if she wasn’t eating lunch with her other friends in the library). The three football players had seemed to adopt the few friends that Bakugou brought with him, and, surprisingly, got along pretty well with Bakugou himself. 

It was honestly a sight to behold, Jirou, Bakugou and Tokoyami, dressed in all black with platforms and chains and an almost inhuman amounts of eyeliner, sitting with Momo and Uraraka, two proud members of the cheer squad, one of them who is the captain, and Mina, Kaminari, Sero and Kirishima, the four-star players of UA’s championship-winning team. A mix of red letterman jackets and black leather and denim. But, despite how different they all look, all of them seem happy, even Bakugou, even though his version of ‘seeming happy’ is just not scowling. Occasionally, Kirishima and Bakugou disappear, and when they come back, Bakugou is blushing and his shirt is a mess while Kirishima’s hair is unsalvageable. Onlookers hold their breath as the group smiles and starts to make fun of Bakugou, waiting for the blonde to launch across the table and kill Mina, leaving the team without a kicker. People are even more shocked when Bakugou just tells them to Shut the fuck up, you assholes as he hides his face in his boyfriend’s neck. No bloodshed, no trips to detention or the nurse’s office, just Kirishima’s laugh and Momo not-so-subtly taking pictures.

It’s deeply weird though, to see how much the town’s resident delinquent has changed. Before, if you were to try and find him, you would look under the bleachers, now, he sits on the bleachers. After school, for hours, he would sit on the bleachers, watching football and cheerleading practice. Normally Bakugou would be there with Jirou and Tokoyami, absentmindedly tapping his drumsticks against the metal while he talks to his two friends. Sometimes he would sit, eyes trained on Kirishima as he runs drills, arms on the bench behind him as lounges back, other times, he would be hunched over a book or some other form of school work. If you happened to be walking by the field, you would most likely hear Jirou comment “Our partners are so hot,” while she leans on her hand, staring at Momo leading a cheer. And if you happen to hear Bakugou reply, “Hell yeah, they are!” you should probably keep that to yourself, for your own safety.

Someone, someone equally brave and dumb, would probably accuse Bakugou Katsuki of going soft, and that would quickly end with that someone in the hospital. It’s not like you can blame them for assuming, there were only so many things you could witness the ‘new’ Bakugou doing without thinking he just wasn’t as mean as before. There are only so many times you can watch a man blush when his boyfriend calls him ‘Manly’ while he kisses him on the forehead without assuming he’d just lost some of his fire. Only so many times you can see him stick his hand into his boyfriend’s back pocket, only so many times you could notice that there was a bright red note hidden between his fingers. Only so many times you could watch him fondly smile at his loud and expressive boyfriend when he thought no one was looking. Hell, if you happened to find yourself at the mall on a Saturday afternoon, which many kids from UA did, you might actually catch a not-as-annoyed-as-he-should-be Bakugou getting dragged around from store to store with Jirou, Mina, Momo, Tsuyu and Uraraka. Jirou and Momo would walk hand and hand, Tsuyu and Uraraka leaning on each other as they laugh, pinkies linked and faces red, all while Mina drapes herself over Bakugou, complaining about how she doesn’t have a girlfriend. And Bakugou, short-tempered and violent Bakugou, would just affectionately make fun of her while she claimed that they only keep him around for his ‘Scary dog privileges’. They all know it’s a lie, especially since Bakugou gives the best fashion advice and somehow always finds the best clothes for the lowest prices. There’s no way that man could still be the most feared guy at UA High School.

And yet, somehow, though Bakugou got in fewer fights and was less mean than normal, he still held his spot as the school’s resident delinquent. And it’s because, though he doesn’t pick fights over meaningless and minuscule things, when he does pick fights, he does them with purpose and the anger the general public at UA has never seen before, not since Monoma. When a guy grabbed Mina’s ass at a party, the short purple-haired bastard had to get his jaw wired shut. When someone yelled some homophobic bullshit at Jirou and Momo, it took Kirishima, Kaminari and Sero to hold Bakugou back, and that was only because there was a police officer less than ten feet away. When someone made fun of Kirishima for being a dumb jock when he got a 50% on his history test, Bakugou got detention for a month. It quickly became known that if you fucked with any of Bakugou’s friends, you got put on his kill list, the worst place on earth to be if you wanted to live long enough to see that weekend, in one piece anyway.

But, after Bakugou gets sent to detention, Kirishima is already there, standing by Recovery Girl, asking how her grandkids are. And after Bakugou had calmed down enough to not kill the guy who yelled at Jirou and Momo, Sero just smiled and pulled some spray cans out of his backpack and helped the angry blonde tag the asshole’s car. After the bastard who dared touch Mina tried to get Bakugou to pay for his hospital bills, Jirou, Momo and Kaminari all gave him an alibi to ‘prove’ he was never near the dude. As much as Bakugou had their back, they also had his.

It was the little things you chose to overlook about the whole situation, mainly for your own health. You overlook the little things, the new pins that sit on Kirishima’s camo backpack, a skeleton hand doing the rock gesture and a tiny grenade, or the quarterback’s black painted nails. You overlook the fact that the words Red Riot gets painted on the collar of Bakugou’s jacket, or the fact that he starts bringing two lunches instead of one, and the fact that he doesn’t even say anything as he slides it in front of his boyfriend. You overlook the fact that Kirishima has a carved-up drum stick sticking out of his backpack, and you overlook the red gerberas tucked behind Bakugou’s ear. You overlook the egregious PDA, always holding hands or putting their head on the other’s shoulder. Always hugging Bakugou from behind and placing chase kisses on cheeks and bright red blushes before the shorter of the pair either hides or drags the other away. You overlook specific spots on campus, the grass spot behind The Pods, the roof of the third floor and the announcer box by the football field, less you want to catch the two in a rather unsavoury position that will most likely end with your head on spike. You overlook the fact that when Kirishima comes to school with his roots touched up, Bakugou also comes to school with red-stained fingertips. You overlook the loud laughter as they run through the halls, and both you and the teachers overlook the fact that it’s halfway through third period and that the two aren’t even trying to hide the fact that they are skipping. 

But the thing you have to overlook the most, and the hardest thing to pretend isn’t there, is Kirishima’s letterman jacket. The jock’s famous jacket, the one he wears to school almost every day, regardless of what the weather is. Bright red, with white sleeves, a big white UA on the left side, his name in cursive on the right side, and a red 01 on the right arm. It was Kirishima’s staple, until one Tuesday morning when Kirishima walked in a muscle tee, no letterman jacket. As he walks in, Mina screams. His friends loudly and obnoxiously tease him about how they barely recognize him without it, but he just shrugs them off and laughs, changing the subject. Normally, you wouldn’t think much of it, maybe it got dirty, or he left it in his car, not a big deal. But, if you were lucky enough to see the spectacle in the hallway and then have AP Calc as your first period, the entire Kirishima interaction would have a whole different meaning, because Bakugou had AP calc first period. Bakugou sits, his normal, everyday boots up on his desk, with his normal, everyday black, ripped jeans, and with a black skull tee shirt tucked into them. He wears his normal chains, rings and earrings, as well as a choker and spiked cuffs, and his hair is the same spikey mess it always is. There is nothing terribly different about his outfit, except, oh except, his jacket. Instead of his normal blood and paint-splattered jacket, the black patch-covered garment is replaced with a bright red cotton jacket. A bright red jacket, with white sleeves, a big white UA on the left side, Kirishima in cursive on the right side, and a red 01 on the right arm.

The jacket almost dwarfs him, the sleeves long enough to cover the edges of the bandages that decorate his knuckles and the shoulders too broad for him. Bakugou doesn’t seem to notice the many classmates that gawk at him, too immersed in whatever book he was reading, not until Momo pushes through the crowd. She waltzes right up to him and takes a picture of him, flash on. “Oh, Jirou is going to love this.”

Bakugou’s eyes go wide and he makes a mad grab for the phone, but Momo is already gone, “Give me that, you bitch!”

Momo just smiles softly and tosses the phone to him. Bakugou catches it with ease. “Sorry, I sent it already,” Momo doesn’t sound sorry at all.

He growls and shoves the phone back to her before he looks around from where he stands at his desk, glaring at the gawking crowd. Bakugou raised a red-clad arm to the crowd, menacingly pointing, and yells, “Any of you extra’s have shit to say? Come on, I dare you!”

Everyone scrambles to their seats, pointedly not looking at the blonde. When the delinquent is satisfied, he huffs and sits back down, letting the letterman jacket swallow him. It becomes a universal rule that you do not mention the jacket to Bakugou, just another thing to overlook around the pair. So when Bakugou shows up the day wearing the jacket again, no one mentions it. And when he wears it for a week straight, no one says anything. And when the letterman jacket slowly replaces his jean jacket, no one makes a sound. If you catch him rubbing the fabric against his cheek or not-so-subtly bringing the collar up to his nose and smiling like a love-sick idiot (As much as Bakugou can smile like a love-sick idiot), well you’ll just have to keep that to yourself.