Chapter Text
Kirishima wasn’t quite sure what he was expecting – his imagination of his larger than life best friend’s living quarters always involved some kind of loud, explosive aesthetic.
As it turns out, Bakugou’s room has a quiet, cozy aura that immediately throws him off. The setting sun streams through a gap in the burnt orange curtains, glinting off the cymbals of a drum set that sits in the corner. Kirishima inches past a tall bookshelf to take a good look as Bakugou perches on the edge of an immaculately made bed with more pillows than Kirishima expected to find there. A singular poster of All Might reflects the light from the window, sitting directly above the bed.
The drum set is all black, with what looks like little red and orange flames painted along the edges by hand. Kirishima squints, admiring his friend’s crude but careful handiwork. He cautiously extends a finger to tap on the snare, and hears Bakugou snort from behind in unison with the sound the instrument makes.
“You play?” he turns around.
“A little bit”, Bakugou shrugs, leaning back onto his elbows.
“That’s so awesome! Let me hear it!” Kirishima exclaims, eyes growing wide with wonder.
Bakugou regards him for a second – Kirishima holds his breath. Their hair is still slightly damp from the pool; he thinks that if he could convince the blonde to go swimming with the rest of the class over the summer then perhaps this request would also be indulged.
“Tch”, Bakugou answers, and pushes himself off the bed. He goes to fiddle with something on his computer, and Kirishima pumps his fist into the air.
Bakugou saunters up and sits on the stool, picking up a set of drumsticks. He glances at Kirishima. “Hit the spacebar.”
“Huh?” he blinks, confused.
“Hit the spacebar on the keyboard, moron. I’ve set the song up”, the blonde rolls his eyes.
“Oh! Sure, man!” he presses the spacebar, and a song starts playing, and he sees Bakugou brace himself for a moment.
He doesn’t really recognise the song – it isn’t the kind he typically listens to, but he perches himself tentatively on a beanbag to watch his friend play. Bakugou starts off with a simple but fast beat, and Kirishima watches his arms move with awe.
It sounds simple but looks complicated, and Kirishima thinks some of his questions about his best friend’s insane hand-eye coordination have been answered today. He probably wouldn’t be able to do this even with eight arms, and Bakugou is sitting there, punching out beats with the same fervour with which he punches villains.
The blond moves into a drum solo, and this is clearly where his concentration peaks. The beat sounds intensely complicated and intensely cool, and Kirishima watches as Bakugou’s limbs move with precise movements at insane speed, his head banging with the rhythm, a light sheen of sweat forming on his bare arms. The sound is deafening inside Bakugou’s room, and some part of Kirishima is sure he heard some nearby birds flee their nests at the sheer volume of it all. But Bakugou is captivating, frantic and serene at the same time, hitting in time with clearly practiced movement.
The beats echo in the quiet of the twilight, the last light of the day streaming softly through the window, bathing Bakugou in gentle pinks. It softens him, blurring the edges of his spiky exterior, juxtaposing the fury with which he moves. Kirishima watches, entranced, as shadows dance across his face, the deft movements of his hands highlighted by the pale peach that dances on his skin in the light.
The violence of the combative Bakugou that he knows seems contained in this little bubble of music in this one corner of his room, equally explosive, equally at ease, but oddly tranquil at the same time.
The solo eases into something quieter as the song draws to an end, and Bakugou opens his eyes as he too seems to relax with the rhythm. The pink of the light fades to purples and the red in Bakugou’s eyes soften with it, a small smile of contentment on his face, his perpetual scowl relaxing to give him a more youthful, calm expression.
It’s enchanting, seeing him so at ease with himself, the tension forever contained in his shoulders melting away with the music as his hands perform one last little movement with flair when the song ends.
He looks up at Kirishima finally, eyes soft and relaxed, face devoid of its usual frown, putting away the drumsticks. “There.”
Kirishima is a little speechless. “Whoa”, he manages to croak after a few seconds, and his friend’s lips quirk up ever so slightly in amusement.
The redhead gathers his wits and his enthusiasm. “That was amazing! You’re amazing, Bakugou!”
“Tch”, the blonde clicks his tongue and gets up. “That’s all you’re getting.”
“You’re so talented, man! You totally rocked that song!” he claps his hands together, and he can almost feel himself vibrating with excitement.
“It was alright”, Bakugou shrugs, strangely subdued as he walks over to reclaim his spot on the bed.
“Oh man, what’re you saying, that was super cool”, Kirishima jumps up. “Why didn’t you tell me before that you played?”
“I don’t really play that much anymore”, Bakugou answers, stretching out again.
“When did you start?” Kirishima bounces and Bakugou rolls his eyes at him.
“When I was seven, I think.”
“That’s so cool!”
“Calm down, it ain’t that big a deal”, Bakugou grunts.
“It is though! It’s so cool that you can play the drums! I couldn’t do that…” he trails off sheepishly, rubbing his neck.
“’Course you could. It ain’t that hard, y’just need to learn how”, Bakugou scoffs at him, sitting up.
“I mean maybe-”
“KATSUKI! YOU COMING DOWN FOR DINNER OR WHAT?” a feminine voice floats up loudly to the room and Bakugou’s scowl returns.
“WE’RE COMING, HAG! STOP YELLING!” he shouts back and then grumbles, “…come on, we need to go down and eat before she brings the roof down.”
He shoves his hands into his pockets and leaves the room. Kirishima finds himself hesitating.
He turns towards the drum set, sitting quietly in the corner, the bright designs on it having taken on a more muted tone in the dim light of dusk. He takes a few steps forward, and reaches out a finger again.
The metal of the cymbal is cold. It sits, quiet and unassuming, pink and purple and violet at the same time, offering no hint of the lifeforce it contained just a few minutes past. A streetlight comes on outside, and the metal catches the light – it glimmers back to life, winking at Kirishima, his comrade in secret-keeping.
Kirishima lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and goes to join the Bakugou family for dinner.
***
Kirishima walks in to find Bakugou casually lounging on the bed, clad in his trademark black sweatpants and a tank top. He rubs his wet hair a little more with the towel and plops beside his friend. The blonde doesn’t look up from his phone, but does shift slightly to accommodate the redhead.
“Oi. Bakugou”, Kirishima nudges at a pale shoulder.
“What.”
“Can we hang out on the balcony?” he points to a set of doors that have remained tantalisingly closed the entire time he’s been here.
“You’re so annoying”, Bakugou grunts, but gets up nonetheless.
It turns out that Bakugou does indeed have a balcony attached to his room. Kirishima is very impressed. Two cushions sit on the floor, and Kirishima picks one with enthusiasm. The summer breeze feels crisp, and a soft halo forms around the branches of a tree that guards the balcony from the nearest streetlamp.
“Your house is really cool, Bakugou”, Kirishima comments, leaning back on his arms to look up at the sky.
“Tch. You said that last time”, Bakugou grumbles, and pulls out his phone again.
“Come on! It’s such a nice night! Let’s have a manly chat tonight!” Kirishima sits up and knocks his fists together and is greeted with an eyeroll.
“What in the everloving fuck is a manly chat”, he deadpans.
“Any chat you have with a manly man is a manly chat!” the redhead clarifies and Bakugou snorts a laugh. Feeling hyped up at his friend’s engagement in the conversation, he goes on, “And you’re super manly, Bakugou! Having a heart-to-heart with your friend in the moonlight is very manly!”
At this, Bakugou clamps a hand over his mouth to hide his sniggering. “You’re such a dumbass”, he almost (almost) giggles through his fingers in a muffled voice.
At this, Kirishima wilts a little. “Yeah, I suppose I am a little”, he says, voice softer than his usual boom.
“Oi, you’re the one who wanted to have a “manly chat”, don’t be a little shit now”, Bakugou elbows him with annoyance.
“No, I mean – you’re right, I am kind of stupid”, he rubs his neck and grins up at the sky.
“The fuck?” Bakugou’s face scrunches up incredulously.
“I mean…you’re so smart. You figured out a way to pass the midterms and everything, whereas I just…” he trails off, wincing slightly at the memory of his utter defeat.
“Yeah. From what I heard, that part was stupid”, Bakugou agrees and Kirishima hangs his head with a sigh.
“BUT-” the blonde bonks his head and he looks up in confusion. “Just ‘cause you couldn’t figure out a strategy one day doesn’t mean you’re stupid.”
“I kind of am, though.”
“Can’t argue with that, I’ve seen your grades, but- no, LISTEN TO ME, DUMBASS- I mean you’re not stupid where it matters. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, you just need to fucking use it”, he pokes a harsh finger between Kirishima’s eyebrows and the redhead’s eyes cross.
Kirishima grabs the finger before it can jostle around his brain any further, and thinks for a few moments. “What would you have done?” he asks quietly.
“Blasted Cementoss into oblivion, easy.”
“No- I mean, what do you think I should’ve done?”
“Figured out a strategy. Split up, probably. Cake-for-brains should’ve stayed upfront, because he gets dumber by the second but even an idiot could’ve kept punching for a while. You’ve got better stamina and can stand through big blows, so if I were you I’d have ambushed Cementoss while he was concentrating on Sugarfuck. Just bulldozed through with maximum hardening, maximum force, right on his head, one-hit KO”, the blonde responds after a few seconds.
“Ambushing isn’t manly though.”
“Winning is manly. It’s strategy.”
Kirishima puts his head in his hands. “Aaargh”, he wails, and gets an elbow to the chest.
“Look ahead, idiot. Do better next time”, Bakugou tells him seriously.
“I- Yeah, yeah.”
“Don’t be a pansy, fucker. You’re strong.”
Kirishima puffs out a little breath through his nose and Bakugou narrows his eyes at him.
“Fuckin- what NOW.”
“I just- you and the others are so cool. You can do so much with your quirks and I just have my hardening. It’s kinda lame is all.”, he says dejectedly.
“I retract my statement. You are stupid if you think that”, Bakugou punches him on the shoulder.
“Come on though, Bakugou. You and Midoriya took on All Might and won-”
“Don’t fucking compare yourself to that nerd!”
“But-”
“You can do so much better.”
For a second it seems like Bakugou has declared the conversation over. Until Kirishima speaks again, softly, tentatively. “Why do you get so angry whenever I bring up Midoriya, man?”
“He’s a useless fucking nerd, that’s why”, Bakugou spits.
“Bakugou”, Kirishima sighs.
“He’s been useless his entire life. And now he’s here with ME in fucking U.A. pretending to be all cool and shit, but I know him, I grew up with him – he ain’t shit, that little nerd – he thinks he can go around saving everybody, fucking- cosplaying heroism, hell, he thinks if he can pretend to be someone he’s not for long enough he’ll stop being useless”, he grits, hands curling into tight fists.
Midoriya Izuku has always been a touchy topic for the blonde, and it seems his recent cooperation while fighting All Might hadn’t done too much to change that. He practically vibrates with rage in the quiet summer night, face torn up with fury.
A few moments pass. Bakugou turns to investigate the oppressive silence. He finds a set of wide red eyes and an unexpectedly wobbly lip.
Bakugou sits, still as a statue, suddenly startled by his friend’s reaction. He chides himself internally for being so harsh – winning against All Might had lifted Deku a little bit in his eyes from absolute scum to perhaps a large spider – but Kirishima held his friends in high regard, and right now he looks mortified.
A disgusting feeling of guilt crawls its way up into Bakugou’s guts as he watches Kirishima look away with misty eyes and bow his head.
“Oi-” he reaches out tentatively, touching the redhead lightly on the shoulder.
“I guess you’re right”, he sounds like a ghost. “You can’t become a hero by pretending you’re strong.”
Bakugou has the distinct feeling that Kirishima is about to cry – in his mindless ranting about Deku, he seems to have struck a nerve somewhere with someone who he respects and values. Unable to decide how to act, Bakugou simply panics a little.
“No, that’s not – oi, idiot, look at me – what’d I say – fuck, I didn’t mean-” he stumbles frantically, unsure of what to do.
Kirishima doesn’t answer.
“Oi, Kirishima-” Bakugou grabs his arm.
“My hair isn’t actually red, you know”, comes a small voice from behind a curtain of loose red hair.
“I- what”, Bakugou blinks.
“My hair isn’t actually red. I dye it.” Kirishima looks up and swallows, eyes red.
“Okay”, Bakugou blurts.
Kirishima offers him a pained smile and doesn’t say anything else, and Bakugou’s grip tightens around his arm.
“It uh…it’s not bad though”, he offers.
“You call me Shitty Hair”, Kirishima smiles at him again, and it’s terrifying.
“I mean the shade – fuck, it’s a nice shade of red-”
“Bakugou.”
Said blonde regards his friend with increasing discomfort.
“I’m also pretending to be someone else. Don’t you think I’m useless and weak too?” the redhead continues smiling at him while his eyes fill with tears.
“No, what – you’re strong as fuck, that’s what I’ve been saying! Have you not been listening to me-”
“That’s not what I meant.” He bites his lip. “I – I’m not strong. I just keep hoping that maybe if I lie to myself about being a hero for long enough it’ll be true one day.” His voice wavers dangerously, but the tears do not fall.
“Kirishima”, Bakugou croaks, feeling somewhat frantic.
“Back in middle school, I watched some girls get cornered by a huge villain, but- but I just stood there. My legs froze, and I couldn’t move. I just stood there and watched, because I’m so weak. I want to think that I can do better. I want to become a hero who jumps into danger no matter what. I want to live a life with no regrets.”
“Shit.” The blonde mutters quietly.
“Yeah. Kirishima’s eyes glint with something Bakugou doesn’t recognise. “I don’t think it’s wrong to want to change yourself, Bakugou. I may not be as strong as you yet, but I will get there one day. I want to keep trying. And- and Bakugou, Midoriya is trying too. You might not like him, I don’t know your past, but he is trying very hard to be a hero and it’s not fair that you call it pretending.”
“I- fuck.” He curses under his breath, and Kirishima’s arm falls away as his fingers loosen around it.
“You’re my friend, Bakugou. You’re so amazing in so many ways- but aren’t we all trying to be something we aren’t yet?” Kirishima asks softly, eyes burning.
Bakugou scrubs his face harshly and sighs into his palms, smelling caramel candies and destruction.
“I – Kirishima, I didn’t mean to say you’re not strong enough-”
“I know, but how can you call me strong and then look at Midoriya and call him useless?”
“I…it’s complicated. Me and Deku are…I don’t know, it’s just complicated. Just looking at him makes me angry.”
“I don’t make you angry?”
“No, fuck. You’re different. I’ve fought beside you. You always have my back. You’re different.”
“Hmm.”
The breeze picks up a little, whooshing around them. Bakugou draws his knees up to his chest and Kirishima wipes at his eyes. Faint music drifts up from somewhere downstairs.
“You’re strong, Kirishima. Incredibly strong. And you can be a hero, weird hair and all”, Bakugou says quietly.
“My hair is weird?” Kirishima smiles at him slightly, and this time it’s more the kind Bakugou recognises.
“It looks like an upside down broom”, Bakugou tries, still somewhat tentative.
“But the shade is nice”, Kirishima’s smile widens and the sparkle returns to his eyes.
Bakugou rolls his eyes at him. “Yeah. The shade is nice”, he parrots.
A fist lightly makes contact with his shoulder, and he smiles at his friend. “I do mean it though. I know I call you names and shit, but you’re strong as fuck. You’ll be an awesome hero. No regrets and everything.”
“Thanks, Bakugou.” Kirishima leans back on his arms.
Their elbows touch and Bakugou sighs quietly.
“What do you think camp is going to be like?” Kirishima asks after a while.
“Knowing Eraserhead, probably full of bees or something.”
The redhead snorts and Bakugou grins at him. This feels better. This feels normal.
***
They go to bed around 11pm, Bakugou grumbling about Kirishima’s lack of discipline and his disregard for the blonde’s bedtime.
“It’s a sleepover, man! You’re supposed to stay up late during sleepovers!” Kirishima chimes as he unfurls the futon.
“Shut up”, Bakugou throws a pillow at him. It’s huge and immeasurably soft.
“Hey. Thanks for letting me stay over”, Kirishima exclaims happily, settling in.
“You invited yourself over, fuckface”, the blonde grunts at him, already sounding half asleep.
“Yes but you let me stay! Bakugou-sama is very generous.”
“I should’ve let you wake up at the asscrack of dawn and trudge all the way to camp from Chiba”, comes a sleepy grumble from the bed.
***
Bakugou wakes up just before sunrise. It’s a little earlier than when he usually gets up, but he has to ready himself for camp. He turns to his side and startles when he is hit with a facefull of wind from the open balcony doors and a very shirtless Kirishima silhouetted against the deep navy sky just before dawn.
“The fuck?” he grumbles irritably, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes.
Kirishima is doing squats on his balcony, it appears. The redhead finishes his reps and stands up to stretch, his joints popping loudly. Bakugou watches in fascination as his silhouette grows sharper against the rising sun.
His loose red hair held back by a white bandana sways ever so slightly in the breeze. The sky starts to change colour, going from velvety blue to purples and violets, fading to a soft pink of dawn.
Bakugou pushes himself to his feet and plods over to join him and watch the sunrise over the skyline.
Kirishima offers him a bright grin. “Good morning Bakugou! I’ve decided, from today – I’m going to try even harder to be a hero! No more regrets!” he booms, his happy voice bouncing around inside Bakugou’s skull in the early morning.
“Morning”, Bakugou greets. Kirishima’s eyes scrunch shut with the force of his happiness and resolution, and he turns around to watch the sun rise, practicing his quirk at the same time.
There is a moment when the light hits him just right – his red hair set aflame by the red sun, the muscles on his bare back cutting sharp shadows on his skin, his body shielding Bakugou from the direct light as he hardens, jagged and sharp, fiery and fierce, solid as a diamond.
He softens as the sun rises higher in the sky, a warm egg yolk dripping golden over red, soft, lending a sparkling sheen to the beads of sweat on his skin as the sharp edges descend back into rounded flesh, enveloping him in a glorious warmth, a riot of colours dancing on wide, dependable shoulders framed by red hair, stunning under the sun.
“Yeah,” Bakugou whispers softly to himself. “No regrets.”