Work Text:
“Hm. Maybe if I look at it this way? If I just— ow! Jeez, that hurt.”
Kirishima rubbed his knee, sucking his teeth at the pain that pulsed through his leg, spiraling out from where he’d knocked it against the edge of the desk. Gingerly, he leaned forward, craning his neck to the side as he stared hard at the menacing piece of lined paper before him. Unfortunately, the scribble of his boyfriend’s writing wasn't suddenly making any sense.
Before he’d really gotten to know him, Kirishima had been so sure that the perfect Bakugou Katsuki would have perfect handwriting, too. That was before he’d studied with the guy. No, in Bakugou’s own words, ‘why the hell would I make my writing neat when I'm the only one who’s ever going to read it? It’s about efficiency, fuckhead.’
Which, granted, made sense! It made sense. Kirishima definitely wasn't one to question whether the things his lovely boyfriend said made sense. The odds were, if it was Bakugou saying it, it did, no matter what Kaminari seemed to think. And it wasn't that Kirishima couldn't read any of the notes, just this one word! What the hell was a shothe supposed to be?
Maybe he should look it up.
With that lightbulb-over-his-head type genius idea, Kirishima leapt up, snatching his phone from where he’d thrown it on his bed earlier to prevent himself from getting distracted. Not that it had really worked, if the three text conversations with his friends from within the last hour meant anything. The important thing was that he hadn't texted Bakugou, which meant the blond had no idea and wouldn't rage on him all night.
“What…is…a…shothe…” Kirishima mumbled to himself as he typed. “Or is it shothe?”
Neither of the pronunciations felt right on his tongue. He scrolled through the first page of seven-point-eight million results, which was a lot of results for a word that didn't seem to exist.
Still. This was Bakugou. Somewhere, somehow, it made sense, and both Kirishima and the rest of the goddamn world were apparently too stupid to see how. Honestly, it was kind of admirable, Kirishima mused. His boyfriend was just so damn smart.
(5:21) Me: even when u r not around u cause me pain
Even from next door, Kirishima heard the loud exclamation of ‘the fuck?’ from Bakugou’s room. He stifled his laugh, absentmindedly settling on his bed even though he knew he probably shouldn't. It was cute how quickly Bakugou opened the message. The typing bubble appeared, then disappeared, then reappeared.
(5:21) Kats<3: Good
After a couple seconds, he added:
(5:21 )Kats<3: What did I do
(5:21) Me: u made me stub my knee
(5:22) Me: can u stub a knee? idk
(5:22) Me: anyway
(5:22) Me: what does shothe mean
(5:24) Kats<3: What
(5:24) Me: what what
(5:24) Kats<3: Are you stupid?
(5:24) Kats<3: That isn't a fucking word
(5:25) Me: no it has to be u wrote it
(5:25) Kats<3: No I didn't
(5:25) Me: u did
(5:25) Kats<3: No tf I didn't
(5:25) Kats<3: Because it’s not a goddamn word
(5:26) Me: kat ur paper is right here in front of me you def wrote it babe
(5:26) Kats<3: Don't call me that
(5:26) Me: u luv it<3<3<3<3
(5:26) Kats<3: No ew
(5:26) Kats<3: And I wouldn't write something that isn't a fucking word
(5:26) Me: its not a fucking word its a regular word
(5:26) Kats<3: I'm going to kill you
(5:27) Me: cute
(5:27) Me: lookie
Kirishima stood, shuffling over to take a picture of the homework and sending it to the blond. Now he was genuinely invested. If Kirishima didn't think it was a word, Bakugou didn't think it was a word, and the rest of the world didn't think it was a word, why the hell was it on the paper? Sure, Present Mic had assigned them a difficult article to take notes on, and sure, the English language was a patchwork of a hundred other languages, and yeah, Kirishima had a hard time with it on a good day, but nothing had ever left him this stupefied before.
(5:30) Kats<3: Wtf
(5:30) Kats<3: Did I write this
(5:30) Me: yes
(5:30) Me: u didn't write it upside down either dw i checked
(5:30) Kats<3: You
(5:30) Kats<3: You checked if I wrote it upside down.
(5:30) Kats<3: You thought I flipped the mf paper over to write this one fucking word down the wrong way??
(5:30) Me: don't b mean u never know
(5:30) Kats<3: I'm gonna kms how are you so stupid
(5:31) Me: the better question is how u make me feel dumb when u r not even here!! i know most words katsuki but not this one!!! what does this word mean!!!
(5:31) Kats<3: Calm your tits I'm coming over
(5:31) Kats<3: You're so high maintenance
Kirishima snorted, laying flat on his back as he listened to the sounds of his boyfriend stomping around his room and opening his door. It was only when he was about to barge in that the redhead realized his compromising position. He bolted upright, barely making it into the desk chair before Bakugou slammed the door open, slowing to a stop and squinting at him, giving Kirishima and his rumpled hair a onceover.
“Were you in bed?”
“No!” Kirishima squeaked, only to cave immediately under the blond’s unamused glare. “Yes.”
“Dumbass,” Bakugou huffed. If you asked Kirishima, there was a not-so-subtle hint of fondness in his tone, but any trace of it disappeared when he caught sight of the infamous notes strewn about the table. “Now where the fuck is it?”
Dutifully, Kirishima handed it over, rocking back and forth on his heels as he watched Bakugou's expression twist in confusion. For a minute, all they did was look. Kirishima at his boyfriend and his boyfriend at the paper, the edges of it smoking slightly in his grasp. Watching Bakugou when he wasn't paying attention was one of Kirishima’s favorite things to do. Not in a creepy way! No, in an everything-my-boyfriend-does-is-super-cute kind of way. Like the way he was biting his lip, letting it slip every time he mumbled something to himself. Sometimes, Kirishima just wanted to squish him with all his strength because of how cute he was.
He should probably see someone about that.
Suddenly, Bakugou let out a bark of laughter, making Kirishima jump, his wide red eyes widening even more in excitement.
“Did you figure it out?”
“Idiot,” Bakugou crowed. “Ha! How could you not know what this says, eh?”
“Don't be mean,” Kirishima whined, crossing his arms with a huff. “Just tell me!”
“No. Figure it out yourself, dingus.”
Kirishima’s mouth dropped open incredulously as the blond shoved the paper into his chest, ruffling it impatiently when he didn't immediately move to grab it. “Katsuki! What the hell, dude? Dingus isn't even a word.”
“Uh, yes it is.”
“No way.”
“Yes it is. ”
“Nope.”
“It is too a—I'm not arguing about this with you,” Bakugou snapped. Kirishima rolled his eyes, snatching the paper away from him, determined to get it. Holding it up mere inches from his eyes, Kirishima’s eyes bored into the paper. He turned it this way and that, moved it further away and back again, but no dice.
“I'm totally stumped,” he moaned, walking backwards until his knees hit the edge of the bed and he flopped down, letting the paper flutter to the ground. “Please just tell me, Katsu. I really have to finish copying these down, man. Don't you want me to pass the class? What if you don't tell me and I flunk out?" Having successfully worked himself up, Kirishima slapped his hands over his eyes, rolling around on the bed anxiously. “What if I have to drop out of the hero course because I can't read this super duper important word you wrote down? Katsuki! Please tell me,” he begged.
Silence.
Kirishima sat up, fully prepared to unleash the many tricks up his sleeve, puppy-dog eyes and wobbly lip and all, only to stop short at the sight of the blond. He was looking at the wall, his hands jammed into his sweatpants pockets.
Bakugou scratched his nose.
Even though he had to have seen Kirishima move, he had yet to look at him, seemingly determined to keep his eyes fixed to Crimson Riot’s abs. Granted, they were really nice abs, but surely Bakugou wasn't that interested in his poster. The biggest tell that something was up were his ears. Tinged bright red at the tips, a surefire way of knowing he was either lying or embarrassed to hell and back. In most cases, it was probably both.
“Kat?”
Bakugou jumped.
“Do you…do you really know what that says?” Kirishima asked, a slow grin stretching across his face. “Or were you hoping I would understand and tell you?”
Bakugou reared back, scoffing with every drop of indignity he could muster. “Of course not, idiot!” he hollered. “It means—well, what it says is—look, why would I even tell you, anyways—”
Kirishima collapsed into laughter, drowning out the rest of his rant. “Classic!” He cackled. “And you say I'm the stupid one? At least I can read my own handwriting!”
“Shut up!”
Bakugou joined him on the bed, whopping him over the head with his pillow and falling onto his side, hiding his flaming red face behind his hands. Kirishima cooed at him, poking at his cheeks and laughing at the blatant embarrassment. In reality, it wasn't that strange to not be able to read a messily scrawled word, even if it was your own, but Bakugou was particular about the things he found mortifying. Kirishima just thought it was adorable.
They went back and forth for a bit, tanking each other’s attacks like they always did when they were too fired up to think about dodging. Kirishima kicked out, the heel of his foot catching on Bakugou’s elbow. Kirishima yelped in pain, rolling onto his other side and pulling his leg up. Desperately, he waved it through the air to diffuse the pain, while his boyfriend—being absolutely no help—laughed so hard he started gasping for breath and had to call a timeout.
“Fucking—let me breathe, ” he wheezed, slapping Kirishima’s chest like that would do him any good.
“No,” Kirishima pouted, hugging Bakugou around his middle and pulling them flush together, nearly smothering him. “Besides, I think you've lost all teasing privileges for the next month. There’s just no coming back from shothe, Katsuki.”
His words had the desired effect. Bakugou groaned, shoving away from him and covering his heated face with his hands again. Kirishima giggled, and that only seemed to make it worse. ‘Worse’ was pretty subjective. Worse for Bakugou, maybe, but Kirishima was having the time of his life.
“I was tired as fuck when I wrote it, okay?” Bakugou snapped defensively, his words coming out muted from behind his hands. Kirishima paused, head cocking.
“Didn't you write the notes at school?”
This time, it was Bakugou’s turn to pause. He said nothing. Even when Kirishima prodded at his sides, all he did was squirm away from the ticklish sensation.
“These are notes that I missed from class, right?” Kirishima prompted.
“…yes.”
Kirishima squinted at the limp body beside him. “That wasn't very convincing,” he pointed out. “Is everything okay? Did you not get enough sleep the night before? Katsuki, if you're not sleeping well again you can tell me,” he said as emphatically as he could, prying Bakugou’s hands away from his face to squeeze them tightly, peering down at his pinched face. It didn't look to be returning to its normal color anytime soon. “I know that it helps when you sleep with me,” he continued. “You don't have to be embarrassed about it, it’s not like it’s something—”
“That ain’t it,” Bakugou grumbled, cutting off Kirishima’s rambling. “Look, it’s nothing. Let’s just forget this shit ever happened and move on to the next section, okay?”
“No way you think I'll agree to that.”
“I know. Nosy motherfucker,” Bakugou sighed. “Alright, fine. Can't even lie to your stubborn ass properly,” he groaned, smushing Kirishima’s cheek. The redhead didn't let up with his serious expression, and after one glance at him, Bakugou snorted, the hand falling to cover his mouth. “Moron. Anyway, I didn't write them in class. I wrote them after you fell asleep on Wednesday.”
“After I— Katsuki! ” Kirishima yelped, making the blond flinch away from the volume. Undeterred, he barrelled on, concern washing over his features. “Katsu, I didn't fall asleep until after midnight! Why would you stay up for this?”
Flustered, Bakugou shifted his weight, bunching his shoulders up to his chin and nosing at the collar of his hoodie instead of looking at Kirishima. “My notes were barely anything,” he mumbled. “It was all stuff we went over in class, and he was going too fast for me to take more detailed notes for you. I could remember it all myself, obviously, but that wouldn't work for you. I didn't have any time before we slept because I was doing other homework and training and making dinner—”
“The dinner you made for me,” Kirishima finished miserably. Letting out a strangely garbled noise of complaint, he flopped down onto Bakugou's stomach, pillowing his head and muffling his words when he spoke. “Oh man, ‘Suki, I had no idea you did all that! I'm sorry for making you stay up for me.”
“Idiot ‘Shima, I did it because I wanted to. You can't ‘make’ me do shit,” Bakugou sniffed. “Big deal, I was a little tired staying up so late. I'm only mad because the notes reflected that. Dumbass,” he muttered. Kirishima frowned. He knew it wasn't directed at him.
“You're not a dumbass,” he denied, sitting up again to stare at Bakugou with fierce eyes. “You're the sweetest boyfriend in the world who took awesome notes for me while I was out sick. Sure, you might've written some mumbo-jumbo, but who cares about that? I love you despite your weird little language,” he sang. Predictably, Bakugou shoved at his shoulder, turning his back. Even his sulking was cute.
“Katsuki.”
“Eijirou.”
“Come here.”
“Don’t feel like it.”
Kirishima shook his head, more than capable of sniffing out a half-assed lie like that. Instead of pleading, he fell back against the headboard, suppressing a grin when Bakugou glanced over his shoulder, surprised, only to look away quickly when he saw Kirishima watching him. “Well, to be honest, I still don't really understand all the junk in that article,” he sighed. If he just pretended to need more tutoring, he knew Bakugou wouldn't be able to resist. “Like, what was up with those titles? English people are weird, man. No one needs to be the ‘Supreme Head’ of anything.”
Bakugou froze. “What did you say?” He demanded, whipping around, red eyes blazing with an emotion Kirishima couldn't quite name.
“Uh…no one needs to be called the ‘Supreme Head’ of anything? Heh, do you think they gave supreme—”
“Don't finish that fucking sentence,” Bakugou warned, letting his palm crackle threateningly as he leapt up, fishing the nefarious paper from off the floor and nearly tearing it in half from how hard he was holding it. His eyes narrowed, then widened, top lip curling up in a snarl.
Kirishima was almost afraid to ask, but, tentatively, cleared his throat. Plus ultra and all that. “Erm, Katsuki? Everything alright?”
Furiously, Bakugou thrust his hand out, shaking the paper impatiently in front of Kirishima’s face like the writing had magically changed in the short time since it had been on the floor. “This goddam fucking idiotic piece of shit, ” he seethed. Now appropriately concerned, Kirishima raised his hands in surrender, going cross-eyed as he attempted to look at where the blond was jabbing his finger. Shothe. As expected, it hadn't magically transformed into something that made sense.
“What am I looking at?”
“It’s an acronym, ” Bakugou spat out through gritted teeth. “It stands for Supreme Head of the Heroic Embassy. Look, that’s what the fucking section is about. God, we’re so stupid!” He shouted, honest-to-god shaking his fist at the ceiling. “How could we be so stupid?”
“Wha—it’s all in lowercase!” Kirishima protested weakly. “How were we supposed to know?”
“Well for one thing, I wrote it.”
Right. Hard to argue with that one.
“Okay, then how was I supposed to know?”
Begrudgingly, Bakugou looked at him. “You couldn't have,” he mumbled. The words sounded like they genuinely hurt to say, but all Kirishima could do was look at him with stars in his eyes, more amazed than ever.
“You know what that means?” He gasped, pumping his fists in excitement.
“That I'm an idiot?”
“No, it means that you're not! Even though it was like, four hours past your bedtime, you managed to write me flawless notes, Katsuki!” Kirishima cheered. “There wasn't even a single mistake! The only thing we thought was wrong was actually right the whole time! You're so awesome,” he gushed. Stunned, Bakugou stood there, steadily growing redder and redder while Kirishima flitted about, explaining how he’d honestly doubted seven-point-eight million results because there was just no way his Katsuki could be wrong!
“How is that your takeaway from this bullshit?” Bakugou managed. In Kirishima’s humble opinion, he didn't seem all that upset over it, puffing out his chest and preening under the shower of compliments thrown his way. Really, the redhead wasn't even sure what he was saying. All he knew was that he couldn't help himself. After learning the lengths Bakugou had gone to to make sure he wouldn't fall behind—even though he had specifically warned him about going outside in the rain without a shirt—Kirishima felt like he was bursting with love.
Half an hour later, Kirishima was back on his bed, this time with a handful of papers strewn about. In any other circumstance he wouldn't dare sit on such a soft surface with such boring material in front of him, but he was determined to focus despite it, because these were notes Bakugou had put time and effort into making, and no way would Kirishima take that for granted! Also, he really liked feeling tufts of soft blond hair tickle his chin, and that could only be achieved with Bakugou’s head on his shoulder, which they couldn't exactly do when he was in a desk chair.
It was going well! Really, really well, until they hit a… minor road bump.
“Um, Katsuki?”
“Hm?”
“What does this word say?”