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Eijiro keeps waking up, caught in a dream—one that won’t let go, that keeps dragging him back down, no matter how hard he tries to wake up. It’s exhausting him, which is the opposite of what sleep’s supposed to do.
The dream is a cluster of images on repeat, out of focus and too bright. There’s a big guy. A crazy big guy, like, guy isn’t the right word, giant is. And there’s Ashido, flying through the air, reaching and reaching and—
—oh, crap.
His eyes snap open, and this time, they stay that way—the dream, or rather, the memories, shatter against the ache that winds through his body. The air is burning, crackling with something more than fire—with destruction. With death.
“Kirishima!” Ashido is there, black eyes wide and a little wet. “You’re okay! Thank goodness!” She throws herself onto him and wrings her arms around his neck.
“Ashido,” he manages, voice raw. He plays everything back: the monster that wouldn’t stop moving, wouldn’t stop destroying everything. All those flames, and Ashido, brilliant and bold, jumping into them. That massive hand lurching towards her. And Eijiro moving, without conscious thought. His body, determined not to repeat his past mistakes—never again.
He got the sleep agent in there, didn’t he? It had to have worked. Ashido is here. It must have. They’re in a field with a few tents set up; they’re still standing, that has to mean something.
“Did it work?!” His classmates flash through his mind, all the things he was trying to protect. All the things that made him strong enough. Ashido and Yaoyorozu and Aoyama, and the rescue teams in the city: Uraraka, and Tsu, and Midoriya, and…
He’s talked himself out of worrying about Bakugo so many times; Bakugo has redefined the word badass in Eijiro’s head, so it’s not hard to assume he’s fine. It shouldn’t be, which means the spike of anxiety at the thought of him, of all people, is absurd. Bakugo would find it deeply insulting, which is exactly why Eijiro is going to tell him about it the second he sees him again, and he is going to—because Bakugo is okay. He has to be.
But, then, why hasn’t Ashido answered him yet?
“The city…” He shakes his head. “Is everyone…?”
Ashido pulls back, knees folded beneath her as her shoulders slump. No. After all that, there’s no way they…
He recognizes the look on her face, the sort of despairing uncertainty—all these wrong colors and dark shades that don’t belong on Ashido. He can’t make himself get up, can’t make look over the horizon towards the city. They couldn’t have failed. There’s no way. He did everything right—how could they have still failed?
“Ashido,” he tries again, quieter.
She sucks in enough air that he half expects her to float away like Uraraka. “It… worked,” she finally says, and he almost gasps with relief, almost, before, “but it took longer than we thought it would to kick in. There was… a lot of damage to the city, and…”
He surveys the field around them. The tents seem to be a temporary measure as bodies are airlifted towards what he can only figure is the nearest hospital. He recognizes Yaoyorozu, face obscured in shadow, tending to an injured student. Then, there’s Jiro with a hand on Kaminari’s shoulder, a shoulder more damaged that Eijiro remembers it ever being. Oijiro, Sato… They’re hurt, but okay. Everyone is okay.
But…
“And? And what?” he asks, more harshly than he ought to. “Have we heard from the other group? The rescuers. Are they—”
“I’m sure they’re fine.” Ashido plasters a smile across her face, but it quivers, like if he touched it, it would fall apart. “We’re waiting on everyone to regroup. The fight’s over for now, at least… so, we’re just…”
“Kirishima, man!” Tetsu walks over and he puts his hands on Eijiro’s shoulders. “That was absolutely incredible. The manliest thing I have ever seen in my life. You were so brave. You put us all to shame. Well…” He cuts his eyes towards Ashido. “Most of us, anyway. You guys were great. Class-1A never fails to impress!”
“Tetsu…” It’s a welcome reprieve; Tetsu’s so loud and bright that it’s easy to focus only on him when he’s in front Eijiro. “You woulda done the same if you coulda.” Eijiro grins, though it doesn’t feel right on a battlefield like this, without knowing what else they’re going to hear, who else is hurt, who else is…
“You really were amazing,” Ashido says, “you did it. You really did it.”
“Hey,” he says, nudging her with his elbow. It still hurts to move. “You don’t gotta sound so shocked about it.”
She giggles and then sniffs. “Just happy to see you finally growing up, Red Riot.”
“Ashido,” he presses, because something is definitely wrong. “What aren’t you telling me?”
A thousand scenarios blare through his head. There are so many people who aren’t here, who aren’t accounted for, but Eijiro’s mind keeps wandering back to Bakugo, of all people. No matter how many times he tells himself it’s unnecessary, impossible even, seeing as there’s no way he’d go out without taking half a continent with him.
Still, Eijiro can’t escape the oscillation panic and pain as he considers if that’s what’s got Ashido so worked up. She’d know how much that would hurt him; she’d know… but it’s ridiculous, Bakugo wouldn’t be that stupid. He’s too smart to get hurt—he’s too…
But it’s happened before, Bakugo off on his own and Eijiro stuck somewhere else, somewhere out of reach and incapable of helping. He thought facing down Gigantomachias would be enough, but what if it wasn’t?
He’d kill you if he knew you were …
“It’s—it’s…” Fear pulses through Eijiro with so much intensity his Quirk almost activates. His fingers tremble until he closes them into a fist.
“It’s what? Tell me!” He cringes at his own voice, but he can’t regulate it. Not right now.
She closes her eyes and sniffs again, like she can stop the tears already falling, but then she gives in. “It’s Midnight, she’s…”
For a few seconds, Eijiro doesn’t register the meaning. A vivid and visceral relief rushes through him because it isn’t Bakugo’s name. Because he’s so caught up in one nightmare, he’s forgotten there could be others, and then, he recognizes the name she did say, and, “What?”
Everything shatters, breaks into shades of crimson—with the violence of it—the closeness of it. They’d known she was in danger, but danger isn’t supposed to be fatal, not for a hero like her.
“I’m sorry,” Ashido whimpers. “I don’t…” And she’s crying, falling apart, all while he just stares at her. “Kiishima...”
“That’s…” he whispers. “There’s no way…”
Eijiro was there when Night Eye died in the raid on the Shie Hassaikai hideout, but it hit Midoriya harder. It hit Mirio hardest. They were the ones who’d worked with him, who’d worked under him. So of course, Eijiro was upset, of course it was awful, but it always felt far away, like something he could pull away from if he could just fight hard enough.
But Midnight. He knows her. He’s learned from her. He shares a school campus with her. It doesn’t make sense that she could be gone. A paradigm shift like that feels unnatural, like clipping through a wall in a video game. Like now he’s in some dark and borderless, glitched space, and he’ll never be able to get back.
Eventually, the others come over, try in some distant, broken way to comfort each other. Yaoyorozu takes it hardest. She got the call; she heard Midnight’s last words. Eijiro wants to comfort her, but he doesn’t know how, doesn’t even know how to comfort himself. So he walks away and sinks into the grass, watching another helicopter rise and carry out heroes—heroes that could die just like Midnight has.
How many people are already dead?
It’s clearer now, like a knife finally pushed in—that anxiety and fear and worry, it’s been a panic response, a what if scenario, but now, it’s real. Heroes fail. Heroes die. And no matter how good Eijiro is, no matter how hard he trains or how desperately he wants to protect everyone. He can’t.
Bakugo, you better not be dead.
It’s not long before movement shuffles in the corner of his vision, and Tetsu falls onto the grass beside him, not looking at him. “This doesn’t feel real.”
“Yeah…” Eijiro glances over his shoulder, waiting. He hasn’t asked anyone about the rescue group, but surely, surely someone would’ve told them if anything went wrong. “It’s not supposed to be like this. When heroes follow through, when they stand their ground, they’re supposed to win—they’re not supposed to…”
“I know,” Tetsu says, and his voice is almost unrecognizable in the softness. “And I’m sure you’re freaked out because of everything with Midoriya too.”
Eijiro’s jaw locks, and his head snaps towards Tetsu so hard it hurts. “Wh-what about Midoriya? What do you mean?”
Tetsu blinks. “Oh, huh… well, I guess you were knocked out so maybe no one’s told you. During the battle, over the private frequency, they were saying something about Midoriya being targeted.”
“Midoriya?” Eijiro isn’t particularly surprised. Midoriya always seems to find his way to the center of everything, and he generally finds his way out just the same, maybe he’s what’s given Eijiro his false sense of security, but… “What about their group? Was Bakugo with him?”
Tetsu shrugs. “I dunno. Honestly, they didn’t tell me anything. I just overheard a few of the heroes talking about getting him back here and to safety as soon as possible.”
Uncertainty blossoms through him. Lately, it’s taken near-divine intervention to get Bakugo away from Midoriya. He’s not sure why it’s the case, is pretty sure there’s some secret no one’s let him in on just yet. And it’s fine. Eijiro isn’t bothered at all.
It’s absolutely not a big deal.
Bakugo is free to spend his time with whoever he wants.
Eijiro one-thousand-percent doesn’t care if Midoriya finally shot his shot. It’s not hard to tell he’s got a crush, and well, maybe he gives good blow jobs or something. Honestly, Bakugo is so tightly wound, he probably wouldn’t be hard to please, not on that front. Not that Eijiro’s thought about it.
Okay, he is losing the plot.
The point is Bakugo and Midoriya have been a package deal for the past couple of weeks.
The point is Midnight is dead, and Bakugo isn’t here.
“But no one’s mentioned any injuries?” Eijiro chokes. “Are they okay?”
Tetsu turns his head, kind of slow, then narrows his eyes like he’s found a weakness. “I told you, man, I don’t know! The frequency cut out mid-fight, so it seems like everyone’s as clueless as we are. At least the students are, anyway…”
Eijiro stands, suddenly out of breath, suddenly incapable of processing the pain that sparks and spasms through his legs upon bearing weight. “Well, that’s a big deal! We shouldn’t just be standing around waiting for them!”
“Kirishima—”
He stalks off, heading towards the main tent, looking for someone who might be able to help him, someone who isn’t bleeding or unconscious. His whole world is off its axis. Midnight is dead, and Midoriya was in danger, and, dammit. Why is Eijiro never there when it’s Bakugo?
At the crest of one of the hills, he finds more of his classmates, Uraraka and Tsu are helping load a couple civilians onto a stretcher, with Burnin supervising and looking put out about it.
“Hey!” he blurts, and it’s much, much too loud.
Uraraka looks up, anyway, eyes brightening when she recognizes him. “Kirishima! Are you alright? We can get you—”
“I’m fine!” he answers. “Where is everyone else? Where’s Bakugo?”
Burnin lets out the labored kind of groan-breath that comes standard with any lived experiences with Katsuki Bakugo. “He ran off with that Midoriya kid during the fight. Sounded like they had some way of luring Shigaraki to them, so their plan was to get him away from the city.”
Dammit.
“And you just let them go alone?!” Eijiro holds himself still, tenses every muscle in his body to keep from launching himself at the first available target. “How does that make sense?! They’re students.”
“Our priority was getting the civilians to safety!” Burnin shoots back. “They ran off. I’m not their damn babysitter! We were doing our jobs!”
“They left before any of us really knew what was going on,” Tsu says, somewhere between ashamed and apologetic. “Bakugo’s really the only one who can keep up with Midoriya when he’s sprinting off like that.”
“Yeah,” Uraraka says, voice far away. “Sorry, Kirishima.”
“Well, then we need to go figure out where they are!” Eijiro’s hands flail, and he’s caught back in that moment after their summer training camp, when everyone was just standing around, breathing, walking, talking, as if the center of Eijiro’s whole damn universe hadn’t been yanked out from under him. Just like now. “What if something happened?”
“We’ve got no idea where to start looking, and given the state of things, you really think wandering around on our own’s a great plan?” Burnin glares at him. “I haven’t even been able to get in contact with Endeavor! Trust me, they know where to find us.”
“That’s—”
“Are you actually feral?” Another voice jars all of them to attention. “You physically cannot walk. I’m surprised you can breathe, so will you please stop—”
“Shut it, four-eyes!” And that voice is almost enough to reduce Eijiro to a puddle on the grass. “We’re letting them get away, you idiot! Let go of me!”
“Why can’t you fall unconscious like a normal person?”
“Bakugo,” Eijiro gasps it like a breath he’s forgotten for too long.
He starts moving before he fully recognizes their shapes. It’s Jeanist and a couple other heroes, but the one Eijiro zeroes in on immediately is Iida, wrangling a flailing, frothing Bakugo whose arm is pinned around Iida’s neck by force.
“Here,” Eijiro says, reaching before he understands he’s doing it. “I’ll take him.”
“Screw you, Kirishima!” Bakugo snarls, red eyes glittering with—something much different than usual, there’s the fire, the rage, but it’s trapped behind something glassy, something feverish. And only then does Eijiro’s mind let him take in the ruby liquid smeared across Bakugo’s lips, running down his chin like spilled paint. “Don’t say you’ll take me, asshole! I don’t need to be taken! What I need is for one of you wannabes to go find—”
Iida detangles himself from Bakugo and thrusts him towards Eijiro, and for all Bakugo’s bravado, he can’t keep himself on his feet without the supportive hand Eijiro slides beneath his bicep. “Easy there, buddy…”
The contact brings this dizzying mix of relief and terror, because Bakugo feels too hot, too fragile, too unsteady, because Bakugo is trembling, and then there’s this strained, ragged sound in the back of his throat that jolts Eijiro harder than Kaminari at max voltage. No. Then, he sees it: the horrible, violent rip in Bakugo’s exposed shoulder, smeared in too much blood.
“Don’t tell me what to do!”
Eijiro’s body tingles, shudders like it might buckle, as his eyes drop a little further—to the splatter of blood across Bakugo’s broken armor, to the gaping, open wound that carves straight through his stomach. “Bakugo!” It slips out, more wheeze than word. “You’re—”
“I’m pissed off!” Bakugo snarls, then in a movement that ought to be freaking impossible with his injuries, he gets a hand on Eijiro’s chest and shoves. It’s not enough to knock him back, not when Eijiro catches his wrist, pulling it up and toward him, to steady him—just to steady him. Except, Bakugo looks up, and Eijiro looks down—and their mouths are so close Eijiro can taste blood when Bakugo snaps, “Hey!”
“What happened?” Eijiro begs, holding on tighter, because Bakugo shouldn’t be moving—shouldn’t be awake. Shouldn’t be bleeding like this.
“He took what should have been a fatal shot for Midoriya, then insisted on rejoining the fight afterward,” a soft, ragged voice answers, and Eijiro glances to Todoroki, who’s on Manual’s back, skin charred to near-unrecognizable. “Someone should sedate him before he kills himself.”
Eijiro’s skin feels like ice, a cold and cruel sheet over his raging insides. Bakugo was doing what a hero should do, was putting someone else’s safety first, but Midnight is dead. Heroes die.
“How about I sedate you with my fists, Icy Hot?!” The threat is standard Bakugo fare, but there’s something blurred about it—something hazy, like he’s not sure who he’s talking to.
“Okay,” Eijiro says, firm at first, then softer, “okay.” He pulls Bakugo a little closer, gets a hand on his waist, careful of his injuries, and bites back the lecture he wants to give Iida for holding Bakugo by his injured arm.
And the one he wants to give Bakugo for being so stupid.
“You were exceedingly brave, Dynamight, but the battle is over.” Jeanist’s voice doesn’t betray much emotion, but he watches Bakugo with a look so long it’s almost tender—a look Bakugo is too delirious to catch. “It’s time to cut our losses.”
Dynamight?
So you went with it.
Bakugo had been toying with ideas, casually throwing one or two out for Eijiro after class for a while now, and Eijiro knew he saw a glimmer of boyish excitement when he’d mentioned that one. Bakugo would never admit it, but when Eijiro had gotten hyped about it, his smile had been so, so genuine.
He probably kept the explosion murder god mess too, but that’s fine. Bakugo is one of the few people alive who can make complete disaster charming.
“Are you stupid?!” Bakugo tries to face Jeanist, but Eijiro holds him still, minus some erratic flailing—flailing that is absolutely making his injuries worse.
Just what kind of blow did he take?
For Midoriya…
And then, the ice is back, sinking deeper and deeper into him.
“Bakugo—”
“Cut our losses!? Look around, Best Jeanist…” Bakugo hisses the name like it’s bitter. “Look what happened, look at how bad we got our asses kicked! Now you’re gonna let them run off and get even better?! That freak is gonna come back one hundred times stronger! The whole point of the mission was to stop him, and we’re just letting him—” An awful expression twists Bakugo’s mouth, and a horrible, violent cough tears up his throat and shakes his shoulders until a splatter of his blood paints Eijiro’s chest. “We can’t stop now!”
“Hey,” Eijiro says, trying to mask his panic with a smile. “Forget it. He’ll get stronger, and so will we… let’s just…”
“I said…” The words are slower, lower, speckled with the blood in his throat. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
“Then stop being an idiot!” It explodes out of Eijiro and sends an electric current up Bakugo’s spine, and at least for a second, he’s still, shaking and staring at the ground. Eijiro shouldn’t—he really, really shouldn’t, but he reaches out and catches Bakugo’s chin, tugs it up until he can see the pulses of pain in his eyes—the ones Bakugo would prefer to take to his grave. “You saved Midoriya. You saved the city! It’s enough! It’s enough for now, Bakugo. Just stop.”
Bakugo’s teeth grit, jaw clenched and slick where Eijiro’s fingers are fastened to it—gentle enough that he could pull away, if he thought about it. “You’re all so dumb.”
“Great, so that means we can’t afford to lose you,” Eijiro grits out, still holding his gaze. “That means you can’t push your limits until you die on me.” And then, more desperate, more pleading, “You’re hurt, Katsuki. You’re really hurt.”
The words hit a switch, and some of the adrenaline bleeds out of Bakugo, gives way to the overwhelming pressure bearing down. He trembles, worse and worse, starting at his mouth and spiraling into the rest of him, until it infects his fingers as find Eijiro’s still cupping his jaw. “You think I can’t—?” But he falters, and that usually rough, gritty voice goes hoarse enough to crack.
It’s too much; it’s way too much.
“It’s over,” Eijiro whispers. “I’ve got you.”
Bakugo fights it, all effort and energy, for one more breath, before he buckles and falls. His forehead falls against Eijiro’s chest, and Eijiro holds him, cradles the back of his head, and it’s jarring just how impossibly small he is underneath all those explosions.
“We lost,” Bakugo chokes. “Don’t you get it?”
“No, we haven’t.” Eijiro holds him until he feels Bakugo sag into him, completely limp, and then he holds him tighter. “Not while you’re still breathing.”
Eijiro slides an arm beneath Bakugo’s knees and pulls him off the ground. All his heavy gear is broken or gone, so it feels like lifting a child. His head lolls against Eijiro’s shoulder, and Eijiro tries not to think about how perfectly Bakugo fits in his arms—about the powerfully slight line of his shoulders, or the cut of his jaw, or how soft his mouth looks against the rest of him, or the thousand inappropriate directions his mind’s decided to take him when it ought to be focused on keeping his friend alive.
“Nicely done, Kirishima,” Iida says. “You’ve certainly got the magic touch when it comes to him, don’t you?”
And that’s not helping. Eijiro flushes and flashes a grin he hopes looks more clueless than embarrassed. “Let’s just get him to a hospital.”
His gaze scours the group again, and this time, he sees Midoriya draped over Jeanist’s shoulder. He doesn’t know how he missed that before, but then, he does know—painfully well. “Bakugo gets a hole blown through him…” The words quiver, just a little, “and Midoriya still ends up looking like that.”
For nothing…
He did all of that, did something that incredible, for nothing.
“In fairness,” Jeanist answers, “I believe it’s more exertion than anything that knocked him out, but yes, it’s a testament to Bakugo’s spirit that he was still awake, deranged as it is.” Jeanist looks away, then casts another glance over the boy in Eijiro’s arms. “Truly, I have never met someone so relentless. He changed the tide of that battle with a hole through him. I won’t say it while he’s awake, not for a while, but he is certainly impressive.”
“Yeah,” Manual says. “He’s one hell of a hero.”
Eijiro stares, sort of struck, at Bakugo’s face, at the shallow, uneasy way he breathes in unconsciousness. “You have no idea.”
“Impressive as he is, his injuries are grievous.” Todoroki speaks up again, trying to keep his head raised off Manual’s shoulder. “Kirishima was right, we need to get him to a hospital as soon as possible.”
“That goes double for you, Shoto,” Manual says.
There’s a safety, a rightness, in holding Bakugo like this, in his head nestled against Eijiro’s shoulder. But he can’t stop thinking about what Bakugo put himself through, about how he was relentless enough, heroic enough, to impress Jeanist, even with this injury—and he can’t stop thinking about Midnight or Night Eye. Midnight and Night Eye died. Bakugo could’ve died, and all they’d have is the platitude of how brave he was. And Eijiro almost breaks in half, almost lets it get the better of him, until he looks at Bakugo again, not quite relaxed, even now.
From the very start, Eijiro was in awe of Bakugo, from the very start, Bakugo was the one he wanted covering his back. He’s always believed in him. He can’t stop now. Bakugo will make sure they win this, and Eijiro will make damn sure he survives it.
~
It’s over a week later before Eijiro get the chance to visit Bakugo’s hospital room—a room they’ve had to move a few times because of how furious he got when he woke up and found out Midoriya was still asleep, apparently.
The exertion was enough to set back his recovery, so when Eijiro walks into the room, it’s quiet—which means Bakugo isn’t conscious. Eijiro wishes he’d been there when Bakugo woke up the first time, but apparently his own injuries were worse than he thought. Worse than he thought, but nothing compared to Bakugo’s.
Bakugo still has a massive bandage across his abdomen and another one wound over his left shoulder. Eijiro tries not to stare too hard at it, tries not to hate that he wasn’t there—tries not to hate Midoriya for not getting out of the damn way.
And then, he ends up thinking about how crazy it is that a body can look so good while it’s falling apart, and that feels worse.
There’s a chair beside the bed, and Eijiro sinks into it, staring at Bakugo’s hand where it lies, curled with sleep, on top of the bedsheet. Eijiro lifts his own, tempted, as absurd as it is, to touch it—to touch him. Bakugo is so soft and small when he sleeps, all his violent margins and sharp lines muted with a blanket of stillness. Like his body can finally breathe, can finally do something other than slam into overdrive.
And, man, Eijiro just wants to touch him.
He wonders how angry Bakugo would be if he woke up to Eijiro holding his hand. There’s a solid chance Eijiro would be brutally murdered, and for one, terrible second, Eijiro thinks it would be worth it.
He used to think it would be Midoriya, that somehow Midoriya would be the one to show Bakugo he could stop moving—that it was okay to breathe, to stop, that he was more than whatever explosion he could inflict on the moment in front of him, but Eijiro doesn’t think that anymore. Midoriya’s made things worse, made Bakugo feel an even deeper need to move.
Because Midoriya doesn’t stop, and Bakugo will not be outdone.
His current state, if nothing else, is proof of that.
There’s still an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose, IV’s hooked into his forearm, pushing fluids his body can’t maintain on its own yet. For as desperately as he insists he is as untouchable as the explosions he creates, Bakugo is just a boy—a boy who can break, who has broken, again and again, all while no one was looking.
But Eijiro was.
Eijiro has never stopped.
Finally, he gives in to the awful, desperate urge churning through him and lays his hand on the bed, extending two of his fingers until they brush Bakugo’s knuckles. They tremble, almost immediately, and Bakugo’s face pinches, frantic, before those red eyes fly open and find Eijiro, immediately accusing.
Eijiro stands, lightning fast, and puts a hand on Bakugo’s chest, mild but unyielding. “Get out of this bed, and I will go put on such a performance for Recovery Girl that she won’t let you leave this room for the next six months.”
“Whatever.” Bakugo’s whole face sours, first to a scowl, then to a pout, and Eijiro has to work hard to keep from smiling at it.
He wants to ask how he’s feeling—wants to ask a thousand things, but he knows Bakugo, and he knows how much any of it would freak him out, so he says, “Mr. Aizawa came through surgery fine. They don’t know how well he’ll be able to use his Quirk, but he’s awake and making dry comments about things, so…”
Bakugo huffs and glares at the wall, like he knows what Eijiro’s doing. “What about Icy Hot?”
It’s a loaded question, with everything that went on with Endeavor, there’s a thousand questions to answer about Todoroki, so Eijiro starts with the simplest one. “The good news is it looks like his beautiful face is going to remain intact.”
Bakugo’s mouth twitches, and the knife-edged tip of his smile settles onto his face, and Eijiro bites his lip to keep from pumping his fist in triumph.
“Sucks that quilt-faced freak dragged their family drama into the public like that.” Bakugo lifts a hand, flexing his fingers like ensuring himself they’re still working.
“Yeah,” Eijiro says. “Endeavor’s got a lot to deal with.”
“He brought it on himself.” Bakugo doesn’t elaborate, probably because he doesn’t want to admit being angry on Todoroki’s behalf—he’d rather it sound like a blanket criticism of Endeavor. “But that bastard went and made it the whole family’s problem.”
“Yeah,” Eijiro says. “I wonder if Todoroki will…” He isn’t sure what he means to say, so he lets the sentence die, and Bakugo doesn’t press. “Midoriya’s still not up.”
“Tch…”
“All Might doesn’t think there’s anything to worry about, though,” Eijiro continues. “He says it’s got something to do with his Quirk, and honestly, his injuries weren’t that bad…” His eyes fall, involuntarily, to Bakugo’s abdomen.
“Typical,” Bakugo snarls. “Weak-ass loser.”
Eijiro probably ought to chide him for it, but he doesn’t—he’s still mad at Midoriya even though he knows he shouldn’t be. “The weak-ass loser you nearly died for.”
“Shut up!” Bakugo says, glaring, moving for the first time like he might get out of the bed, until Eijiro hits him with a look to reinforce the outstanding threat. “That’s what heroes do. They save people, and Deku was standing there like a useless idiot. He was gonna get himself killed.”
“So you decided to get yourself killed instead.” Eijiro shouldn’t sound so accusatory, shouldn’t be so prickly, but he is, and it’s enough to draw a surprised expression from Bakugo.
Then he frowns. “Aren’t you the one always spouting that white knight crap about acting and protecting people?”
“Yeah, but you’re not supposed to die, you dumbass! People are dead, and you could’ve been one of them, and it doesn’t matter how brave or selfless or great it was, it wouldn’t mean shit if you were dead!”
Bakugo draws back, stunned. “Yeah, that’s part of our job description, idiot.”
It is. He’s right; it absolutely is. “I know, I just…” He doesn’t know how to say it, doesn’t know how to explain that Midnight and Crust and Night Eye are dead, and it could’ve been Bakugo. He doesn’t know how to explain that, yeah, he believes in being a hero, in jumping into fire to save people, in dying if that’s what it takes to protect them, but Bakugo can’t do that because…
Because…
And that’s where he falters.
“I’m not saying you shouldn’t have saved him…” He isn’t saying it, but there is some horrible, frightening part of him that wants to. “I just think it’s kinda funny how you’ve been stuck to him like glue for the past couple weeks, and now you almost die for him. You two got something going on I should know about?”
Bakugo’s cheeks go scarlet, and a few micro-explosions crackle along his fingertips before he clenches his fist. “The hell’s that suppose to mean?!”
“Hey, just because I’ve got more restraint than Kaminari or Mineta doesn’t mean I don’t think about stuff like that—and if you’ve managed to find common ground with Midoriya via…”
“You must really wanna die today!” Bakugo draws a hand back, a full-on explosion flickering and casting shadows along the lines of his palms. “That’s not what’s going on, you freak!”
“So what is it?”
Bakugo’s shoulders slump, and he looks momentarily sorry—expression genuine and almost kind, before he looks away and redraws the mask of irritation across his face. “I can’t talk about it…” His voice trails off before it erupts like one of his explosions. “But it’s definitely not-not—that!”
“You don’t have to be embarrassed.” Eijiro wants it to sound teasing, but it’s kind of manic, kind of desperate. “Being into guys is normal.”
“I’m n—”
“I am!” It pulses out of Eijiro, and he wishes his Quirk extended to emotional damage as Bakugo’s face twists into a shock purer than Eijiro thought possible. “So…”
“Wh-why are you…” Bakugo’s voice goes reedy and uncertain, and god, Eijiro would wage wars and split oceans for this boy. “Why would you—I’m not good at this stuff! So you’re, I’m… what am I supposed to say to that?!”
Eijiro falls onto the bed and chuckles. He feels light, weirdly easy, with the half-truth floating between them. Bakugo’s reaction isn’t anything spectacular, but it’s certainly not as bad as it could’ve been. “Nothing,” he says with a shrug. “It’s just all been… a lot, maybe I just needed to tell someone.” He winces. “Sorry.”
“I know it’s normal! You don’t have to tell me that.” Bakugo snaps, and it’s hard not to notice the soft red burn along his cheeks and wonder what it means. “And don’t apologize to me, you asshole! That isn’t—” Whatever he was going to say ends in a frustrated scream. He squeezes his eyes shut, clenching his fists in his lap, and Eijiro forgets how to breathe because something so fiery and violent shouldn’t be so damn pretty.
“Okay, I’m not sorry,” he says. “But now that I’ve been vulnerable and truthful, I think it’s only fair you do the same when I ask you what I’m about to ask you.” Bakugo startles to attention, cheeks still bright red, before Eijiro grins. “How you feeling?”
Bakugo scoffs, then sighs. “Fine.”
“Hey, now, that doesn’t feel vulnerable or truthful.” He leans towards him, bringing a finger down to tap gingerly between Bakugo’s eyebrows.
Bakugo smacks his hand away. “It feels like swallowing glass every time I breathe,” he says. “That what you wanted to hear?”
“Kinda,” Eijiro answers, even though it isn’t. “It’s nice to know you’re at least aware of what your body’s trying to tell you.” He lets out a breath of his own and wishes he could give it to Bakugo, wishes he could breathe for him. “You were like a man possessed out there, you know? Iida told me how hard you kept fighting—how you pretended nothing even happened.”
“Does this conversation have a point?”
He’s circled back to it, back to the thing he swerved to avoid a few minutes ago, only this time, Eijiro grinds his teeth until they hurt. “You’re the smart guy, right? I figured it’d be obvious.”
Bakugo falls back against the hospital pillows, like this conversation has overwhelmed him, and it’s funny—it’s one of the only times Eijiro’s ever seen him concede any kind of defeat. Go figure. “Well, it’s not, so why don’t you enlighten me, spiky-hair?”
“I was scared,” Eijiro says, almost wavering.
Bakugo rolls his eyes. “C’mon, Kirishima…” His laugh tangles into a scoff, and it’s all Eijiro can do to keep himself from closing the gap between them, from pressing his mouth to Bakugo’s and swallowing that sound like a well-earned dessert. “Everyone was scared out there. Don’t tell me you’re beating yourself up for something that stupid.”
Eijiro smiles sidelong at him, and Bakugo looks away, flustered. “Thanks, but that’s not what I meant… I mean, Tetsu told me something may have happened to you and Midoriya, and I was scared. I was scared because it was you. I saw that hole in your stomach, and I was terrified. Your Quirk is great, Bakugo, and so are you, but I don’t care if you win or lose against All Might or Deku or Shigaraki, so long as you’re not dead…”
Bakugo’s confusion is honestly breathtaking. He can’t even make words.
“You’re the person I’ve looked up to most since I got to UA, so yeah, it’s not like it’s surprising you’d go all hero and save Midoriya. You’re always pushing yourself, trying to win, trying to be the best. And that’s fine… that’s great.” It sounds strange, almost manic, as it tumbles out of Eijiro, and he can’t make himself look at Bakugo. “But it’s more than looking up to you, now. You mean a lot to me, and when I found out what you did to save Midoriya, I wanted to throttle him. I wanted to throttle you. Because it wouldn’t have been worth it, losing you. Not to me.” He grits his teeth. “I know how selfish that sounds, but I can’t help it, I need you to hear me, Bakugo.”
“Huh?” Bakugo’s voice is so soft, so completely lost, that Eijiro can’t keep his eyes off him, no matter how miserably embarrassed he is.
“Sometimes, it feels like you’re so desperate to be the best because it’s the only way you’ll mean something, so you don’t give a shit about the consequences or what happens to you. But you already mean something, to me, and I don’t care if you’re number one or not, I…”
Bakugo’s blush has spread beyond his face, it’s made its way to his ears, his shoulders, all of him. All thanks to Eijiro. “I—what are you trying to say?!” His voice is an octave higher than usual. “You think I’m not good enough to be—”
Words obviously don’t work on this idiot.
“Shut up.” It’s pure impulse that drives Eijiro, impulse that’s been brewing since he saw Katsuki Bakugo panting over broken robots during their practical exam. It’s an instinctive reaction woven through by the jut of Bakugo’s shoulders and the spark in his eyes and the violence in his smile, all the things Eijiro lies awake and thinks about when he should be asleep. It’s inevitable as he leans over, fingers finding Katsuki’s cheek, and kisses the mouth he’s wanted to silence since he first heard it speak.
He kisses him, fully expecting an explosion to the face—fully expecting Katsuki to leap away from him, to scream, or kick, or anything, anything, except soften the way he does or for his lips to part and swallow everything Eijiro’s trying to tell him. He tastes like an inferno, smells like smoke—but his mouth, beneath all those screaming insults, is soft and submissive and safe.
Eijiro’s hand slips away from his cheek, down to the pillar of his throat, to the bite of muscles that shudder with every breath, and Eijiro’s fingers curl and tug—tug him so their teeth bang together, and Katsuki makes this shocked whimper of sound until Eijiro slips a tongue into his mouth, and then he catches the front of Eijiro’s cotton shirt and yanks him closer, kissing with the cruel, jagged thing inside of him. And it burns and pops like one of his explosions.
Eijiro’s slides his fingers up, along the nape of Katsuki’s neck, into his hair, squeezing and yanking him closer, as he deepens the kiss, and Katsuki’s teeth catch Eijiro’s bottom lip between them. Eijiro can’t help the smile that twists across his mouth. Of course Katsuki wants a competition out of this, wants to find a way to win.
Well, this is one fight you can’t win.
Eijiro wrenches free and finds a soft spot beneath Katsuki’s jawline, bites, then sucks until the boy beneath his mouth shivers, until he’s all but bound by Eijiro’s touch.
And then, there’s this sharp gasp, and—right. Katsuki is still recovering from a near-fatal injury, and this is definitely not part of his recovery protocol, so even though it feels like ripping thousand-year roots from the earth, Eijiro wrenches himself back and stands away from the bed, falling apart all over again at the hungry, spellbound way Katsuki stares up at him.
“I don’t just like guys,” Eijiro says, like it’s breaking news. “I like you.”
“Mn.”
“And, honestly, you’re way too good for Izuku Midoriya.”
Katsuki blinks, then flushes again, staring at the sheets, completely incapable of responding, apparently.
“Good, uh, good talk,” Eijiro says, laugh cracking. “I should probably let you, you know, rest. I’ll, uh…” He takes a few long step backwards, because holy shit—holy shit, Katsuki kissed him back, Katsuki is looking at him like he wants to kiss him again. “To be continued, yeah? When you’re not—ow!” He slams into the door frame, skull-first, and rubs the back of his head. If he doesn’t leave now, he’s never going to leave. “Okay, bye!”
And he’s halfway down the hall before Katsuki gets ahold of himself enough to scream, “Idiot!”