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Parties are stupid. They’re loud, there’s too many people, and the place always ends up smelling like cheap beer and body odor.
Or. At least. He imagines they do. Katsuki usually avoids shit like this on a basic principle because again, too many fucking people. So he’s never actually…been to one. Really. In middle school, he kept his record squeaky clean. Always home before curfew, never smoking like those shitty extras did that hung around him all the time, never wasting time chasing skirts or whatever stupid shit the guys always got up to around the girls in his old school. He’s always had one goal in mind, after all, and like hell he’s gonna fuck it up because of something stupid like stealing his parents’ sake bottle or getting caught making kissy faces in the bathroom.
Here at Yueii, shit’s a little different. For one thing, there’s hardly time to breathe outside of all their training and homework and work studies. Plus, the dorms make parties a little harder. The constant supervision means no illegal shit, like alcohol, and Aizawa would literally skin someone if they tried to be loud past curfew. But that hasn’t stopped people from lingering in the common room and creating pseudo parties, like movie nights, or…whatever the fuck this is.
He glowers. Somehow, he’s gotten roped into lingering . Music’s playing from someone’s phone speakers– songs Katsuki doesn’t recognize. Laughter layers over it, and an elbow bumps into his side. Katsuki turns his snarl to Kaminari, who doesn’t even look sorry. He just flashes a shit eating grin and nods to the floor in front of them, where a stupid ass, empty soda bottle sits. “I betcha’ Mineta’s hoping his spin lands on Yaomomo,” he says, laughing. Katsuki just glares.
“Good for fucking him.”
“What about you, Blasty? Hoping for someone in particular?” Kaminari leans in his space and waggles his brows like an idiot and god, Katsuki wants to punch him. He grounds his teeth and shoves at him with sparking hands, irritation boiling just beneath his skin.
“Get the fuck outta my face, asshole.”
God, parties are stupid.
“Hey, chill, man,” Kirishima says, shoulder bumping against his. “You know...you don’t have to play if you don’t want. You can just hang out.”
What he wants is to go up in his room and sleep. But when he looks over at Kirishima and that earnest expression of his, he finds himself deflating. Which. Is how he found himself agreeing to be here in the first fucking place. He opens his mouth to grumble out an answer, when Kaminari leans over his shoulder and beats him to it.
“What, are you too chicken for a little spin the bottle?”
Katsuki’s temple throbs. “Fuck off,” he spits, “I’m not scared of shit.” He shoves Kaminari’s laughing face away and crosses his arms over his chest, fixing his glare on that damned bottle again. He isn’t fucking scared– spin the bottle is the dumbest, most cliche bullshit game, but it’s not scary. Still, his nose crinkles at the thought of having to put his lips on anyone sitting in the circle with him, and once again Katsuki finds himself internally cursing his own stubbornness.
Whatever. He’ll play a round to show Kaminari he isn’t a pussy and then he’ll fucking leave.
“Okay!” Ashido claps her hands, and the group falls silent. Her grin is feral as she swings her gaze around, assessing. “You guys know the ground rules. You spin the bottle, and whoever it lands on, you kiss!” She leans forward and grasps the bottle, grin growing wider. “I’ll go first.”
One expert flick of the wrist later, and the bottle’s spinning. Katsuki watches it with what he can only pin down as trepidation. For a minute, he wonders about the bottle landing on him. She’d have to crawl across the circle, get in his space…his face scrunches. Yeah, no. He’d rather not, thanks. Something akin to lead settles in his gut and Katsuki’s scowl deepens.
This was a mistake.
The bottle lands on Asui. Which. Katsuki’s brows knit. Is there some sort of rule for this sort of thing, or–
Ashido leans over and plants one right on her, and Katsuki can only stare because oh. Okay. That’s. Huh. Distantly he’s aware of hooting and hollering rising from around the circle, and how red Asui’s face is when Ashido draws back, wiping a hand across her mouth with a smirk. “Your turn,” she says to her with a wink.
And so the game goes.
There’s a few close calls, where the bottle slows enough to make Katsuki’s palms sweat. He escapes each time unscathed, though, thank fuck. He thinks maybe he can escape this stupid game altogether– it’s a few rounds in and he’s faded into the background in the wake of the chaos unfolding in front of him, what with people hooting and hollering and jeering at the different pairs forced to kiss. Maybe he can just. Pretend he’s gonna take a piss on the next turn and disappear into his room. It’s not like anyone would notice.
“Oh em gee, it’s my turn!” Hagakure’s obnoxiously bright, bubblegum pink sweater leans forward. She gives the bottle a spin and leans back, arms bouncing in front of her. Katsuki makes a face. She’s way too fucking excited for this, what the fuck. He looks down at the bottle as it spins and spins, friction slowing it down and down and down and down until it’s careening into a halt and fuck, is it gonna land on him? Katsuki feels himself go rigid, palms sweating, nerves prickling in his gut as the bottle slows until it stops and thank fuck it’s not him– it lands on the person right beside him, Kirishima.
A few ‘ooohs’ waft up from around the circle.
Kirishima, for his part, looks startled. There’s a ruddy red color to his cheeks, and he shifts beside Katsuki, those sharp teeth of his digging into his bottom lip. Katsuki’s gaze lingers a beat too long– Hagakure’s bright sweater lurches into his line of sight suddenly, and he jolts back, face twisting. She must kiss Kirishima then, because he makes a weird face too, and then she’s gone, those sleeves of hers waving about.
“Oh em gee,” she squeals, the sound ear-splitting.
Ugh. So fucking annoying.
Kirishima chuckles, a small, awkward thing, and rubs at the back of his neck. “Um, I guess it’s my turn?”
“Hell yeah!”
“Spin it, Kiri!”
He does just that. The bottle whips around, spinning and spinning ‘round and ‘round. There’s a weird feeling that settles in Katsuki’s gut as he watches it go. Which. Is weird. His hands curl into fists against the carpet and he clenches his jaw and tries to ignore the way it cramps more as the bottle slows and slows until it’s just riding its last waves, drifting in an agonizing circle until finally, finally stopping.
Katsuki blinks, brows knitting as he stares at the bright red, plastic bottle cap that’s pointing right.
At.
Him.
Heat blooms from within, scorching his face, crackling at his palms, one resounding thought echoing in his head: fuck.
There’s a whistle beside him– Kaminari leers over his shoulder, laughter spilling from his lips. “Damn, your luck’s run out, huh, Blasty? Too bad it’s not a pretty girl, haha!” He nudges at Katsuki like an annoying prick, which only adds irritation to the confusing swirl of feelings in his chest. Katsuki huffs and shoves at him.
“Shut the fuck up. This game is stupid, I’m out.” He goes to stand, teeth grinding harder at the defiant cries rising up all around him.
“Aw, Bakugou, come on! It’s just a kiss. Don’t be such a killjoy!”
“Yeah! You can’t leave Kirishima-kun hanging like that, can ya’?”
“Honestly I’m surprised he lasted as long as he did. Can’t say I’m surprised he’s bailing now.”
“Guys, come on,” Kirishima says. “It’s not manly to force someone to play if they don’t want to.” He’s frowning, face still ruddy with red and, fuck. That weird feeling slams back full force and Katsuki almost gasps at the force of it all. He grips at his shirt and frowns, frozen. It’s…it’s annoying. What is this stupid feeling? Why does it hurt and not hurt at the same time?
Kaminari’s reedy ass laugh crackles beside him again. The bastard’s leaning back on his hands, waggling his brows, taunting. “Aw, come on, Kacchan. I thought you weren’t scared of a little kiss?”
His temple throbs. “Fuck off,” he snaps, “I’m not scared of shit!” He rounds on Kirishima, who’s staring at him with wide eyes.
“Bro, it’s okay. You don’t have to–”
Katsuki cuts Kirishima off by snatching at his old, worn t-shirt with sparking hands and yanking him forward, slamming their lips together hard enough it kind of fucking hurts. His face is screwed up, eyes squeezed shut, the smell of burning fabric curling into his nose and god this is fucking weird and awkward and how long is he supposed to press his lips on Kirishima’s? Fuck this is so stupid what the fuck–
A hand, warm and familiar, grasps at his arm, thumb rubbing against his wrist. Kirishima hums, then, head tilting, lips parting, pressing closer and oh, fuck . Katsuki shivers and fucking melts and then they’re kissing for real. Soft presses of lips and against lips, breaths mingling, and then Kirishima licks into his mouth and it should be fucking gross but Katsuki’s brain just. Shuts off. The taste of the goddamn soda’s suddenly the most addictive thing and he presses closer for more, practically crawling into Kirishima’s lap and then Kirishima’s drawing back, lips shiny with spit and eyes burning. Katsuki becomes aware of himself when a hand cups his cheek, thumb tracing against his cheekbone. He goes stiff. Rigid. Blinks, music filtering back into his senses.
Fuck. Fuck.
A circle of ten gazes is trained all on him and suddenly, Katsuki feels like he’s burning for a whole different reason entirely. He lets go of Kirishima’s shirt and scrambles back like he’s been zapped, face on fire and lips tingling. Fuck…fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck– His own gaze catches on Kirishima, who’s lips are pursed and brows knit, worry and confusion and…and something else all burning there, bright and hot like an inferno and it’s too much all at once. Katsuki scrambles to his feet, slapping on his favorite scowl as best he can and shoving his smoking hands deep into his pockets.
“Told you this game is stupid,” he grits out before bolting. Somewhere behind him, Katsuki can hear voices calling his name but he doesn’t give a damn. He doesn’t stop. He just runs on shaking legs until he’s throwing his door open. It slams shut behind him and his back thumps against it and that’s when his legs finally give out, sending him down onto the floor in a heap.
He. He kissed Kirishima. And he fucking liked it. What the fuck.
Is that. Is he. Is he gay?
Katsuki scrubs a hand over his face. Okay, okay, fuck, calm down. Think. He kissed Kirishima. And it was…well, fuck. Just thinking about the press of those soft lips on his own has his heart thumping and his face burning. Katsuki groans, head thumping back against the door. So. Yeah. That’s a thing. But does that make him gay? His brows scrunch.
Honestly, Katsuki’s never really thought much about this shit. He’s always thrown his focus on being the best so he can blast his way to the top and become the number one hero. There’s no time for shit like romance, so why bother with it? Still, he…he assumed he liked girls because well. Why not? That’s what he’s supposed to like, right? Except Kirishima is most definitely not a girl, and Katsuki’s realizing he…he kind of wants to kiss him again?
He presses his head into his splayed palms, groaning. Fuck. Just. Fuck. Okay, okay, enough of that. So he maybe has some sort of possible feelings about kissing Kirishima. So what? It’s. Fine. Probably. He has no fucking clue if that means he’s gay but does that even really matter? He’s still gonna be the number one hero, kissing be damned. So what does it matter that he may or may not be straight?
Katsuki squints through his fingers. The abyss of his room stares back at him, not really offering up any answers. Probably because there aren’t any, really. Aside from the obvious factor that being gay is…well. It’s not exactly seen as normal. He’s heard the comments. Seen the headlines. The way people talk about the few heroes that are out. Katsuki may not give a damn about romance but he doesn’t live under a fucking rock. Still, his mind jumps back to how easily Ashido kissed Asui and no one batted a fucking eye. How easy it was for him to kiss Kirishima…
Heat floods his body and burns at his hands and Katsuki yanks them away from his face with a yelp, eyes wide at the sparks that dance across his palms. Fuck. He hasn’t done this shit in awhile. His jaw twitches, and Katsuki curls his hands into fists, the sparks making his skin tingle. It makes him feel jittery, and the heat still scalding at his face doesn’t help. Irritation simmers, mingling with the confusing ass swirl of feelings already mixing around in his chest, and Katsuki hisses out a breath through his teeth. Blegh. This is so fucking stupid. He’s sitting here freaking the fuck out over nothing because once again– it doesn’t matter. He has no time for romance so who cares? Not him. Yep. Screw this shit, it’s late, he’s tired, and that’s probably why his feelings are all haywire in the first fucking place.
Yeah. Katsuki nods to himself and hauls his ass to his feet. He’s gonna go the fuck to sleep and tomorrow shit’s gonna make sense again. Probably.
Hopefully.
~*~
Nothing makes any damn sense.
Katsuki’s chest heaves. He glowers at the smoldering excuse of a boulder, fingers twitching. Sweat drips down his brow, neck, arms, and that familiar ache burns in his muscles. He’s been throwing hits at this stupid rock for the past thirty minutes, mind a whirlwind because he can’t. Get it to shut the fuck up.
“Dude! That was so cool!”
Kaminari’s voice drifts up to where Katsuki stands, and he can’t help but whip his gaze over his shoulder, down to where Kirishima’s dusting off his shoulders, the jagged edges of his Quirk melting back into smooth skin. Kaminari bounds to him, face split on a smile. “I can’t believe you drilled through solid rock like that! That’s so badass!”
And, fuck. Katsuki eyes the hole behind Kirishima and sure enough, that fucker really carved his way through bedrock. With his hands. His own hands pop and his face burns, and Katsuki whips around so fast he nearly makes himself dizzy.
It’s been one week. One whole week since he kissed Kirishima and Katsuki can’t stop fucking thinking about it. Just. Soft lips against his own, the taste of soda on his tongue. And, god, just the thought has his face as red as that asshole’s stupid hair, hands sweaty and lighting up like a goddamn christmas tree. The worst part? Just looking at Kirishima leaves Katsuki feeling like this. All weird and sweaty and like he’s gonna explode but it feels weirdly nice at the same time and it’s confusing as fuck. So Katsuki’s just. Avoided it all.
Not that it’s been hard, because Kirishima seems to be avoiding him too.
It shouldn’t bother Katsuki. Because it fucking doesn’t, okay? But…he’s noticed. Kirishima hasn’t waited for him in the mornings, like he usually does. He hasn’t seeked him out for lunch, either, like usual. And Katsuki’s caught him staring, more than once, but every time Kirishima looks away, face dusted in pink.
He has no fucking clue what that means. Does it mean anything? Why does he even care? He shouldn’t care. Katsuki scowls, hands crackling. He doesn’t care.
Kirishima’s laugh rings out like a bell, clear and beautiful, and Katsuki’s breath hitches, hands exploding with a loud, resolute bang that nearly throws him onto his ass.
Fuck.
“Kacchan?” Deku calls. He peers at Katsuki from above, his stupid, freckled pace pulled into a worried frown. “Are you okay?”
Katsuki sneers and flips him off, a knee-jerk reaction. “Fuck off, nerd.” He rolls his shoulder and fixes his glare back onto his rock and hopes to god Deku doesn’t notice how red his face probably is. Stupid. This is so fucking stupid. His scowl cuts deeper and he raises his hand, bracing, squinting. The blast is aimed, this time, leaving a well-placed crater in the center of his rock. Katsuki’s lips stretch into a grin, and he flexes his hand. There. He throws a few more shots, turning his stupid rock into a hunk of smoldering, soot-covered swiss cheese. His arms are burning but it feels fucking great, and Katsuki’s damn proud of how his precise his aim’s getting. Not that it wasn’t before. But he strives to be perfect.
He surveys his little area of Gym Gamma. His rock of choice is kind of fucked, but there’s a little divot in the craggy rockwork just above it that he could probably nail. Katsuki grins, wicked, and aims.
‘Course, that’s exactly when all hell breaks loose.
Before he can let loose an explosion, there’s another bang from somewhere up above, and the ground shakes under Katsuki’s feet. He throws out his arms to balance, glare shooting around because, what the fuck?
“Kacchan, watch out!”
His gaze snaps up just in time to see a rock the size of a football flying right at his face. He has time to blink and then– black.
Shit filters back in layers.
His head throbs like a bitch. That’s the first thing he’s aware of. And then, voices, mingling with a high-pitched ringing. Bright lights that make the throbbing in his head worse, so he squeezes his eyes shut and bites back a groan.
“Katsuki?” a voice asks. “Katsuki, hey, hey. Can you hear me?”
“Shu-up,” he slurs. And, ugh. Talking hurts. There’s a touch on his face and Katsuki cracks his eyes open, only to be met with red. Red eyes brimmed with worry, that are too goddamn pretty and Katsuki kind of gets lost squinting up into that glowing sunset because fuck, how has he never noticed before? A notch appears in Kirishima’s brow and Katsuki wants to reach up and smooth it out but his arm doesn’t work. His whole body feels heavy, actually, and he kind of wants to close his eyes and never fucking open them again because fuck, his head hurts.
“Hey, no, eyes on me, okay?” Kirishima says, cupping his cheek. The touch has heat flooding through his body, and Katsuki blinks, dumb.
“M’kay.”
More voices echo overhead, but Katsuki can’t focus on any of them. Everything feels thick and weird, like he’s standing in a bowl of jello. He just keeps his gaze trained on Kirishima, who’s biting his lip with those sharp teeth of his, the fluorescent lights framing him in a too-bright halo. He doesn’t let go of Katsuki’s face once.
Katsuki doesn’t know how much time passes. He hardly even registers the old lady lips smooching his forehead, but the pain lifts like a veil and he blinks, everything coming into focus.
“There. That should make you feel better. Please take it easy, though– that was a nasty head injury,” Recovery Girl says. But Katsuki’s hardly listening because he’s staring.
Kirishima’s leaning over him, hair half falling out of his usual spikes and covered in dust. Worry’s pinched onto his face, and he’s– he’s still touching Katsuki’s cheek. Oh. Oh, fuck. His breath hitches in his throat and his face burns and sparks crackle at his palms. That seems to throw Kirishima in gear because his eyes go wide and he jerks back as though he’s been burned, pink dusting across his face and somehow that makes him look even prettier, and Katsuki feels almost dizzy with one, awful, terrifying realization: he likes Kirishima.
Like. Likes him.
Fuck.
“Bakugou?” Aizawa calls. “Think you can sit up?”
Oh. He blinks. Kirishima draws back, and Katsuki sits up, swaying in place. He’s dizzy and it has not a goddamn thing to do with getting hit by a rock. Aizawa doesn’t know that, though, because he sighs and says, “Why don’t you head back to the dorm early? I’ll write you a note and make sure someone gets you today’s makeup work. Kirishima can go with you and make sure you get there in one piece.”
Just the sound of his name has Katsuki’s stomach swooping, and his gaze snaps to him like a fucking magnet. Kirishima looks away, face even pinker and fuck. That’s. That’s weird, right? Fuck, is he being too obvious and shit? Panic opens up beneath him like a bottomless pit and Katsuki grasps at the ground beneath him, knuckles scraping against cement and stone in an attempt to fucking ground himself. Fuck. Calm the fuck down, heart. He really doesn’t need to black out again, thanks.
Somehow, he manages a grunt, and clamors unsteadily onto his feet. Fuck. He’s dizzy. He teeters in place, blinking away the stars that dance in his vision. A hand grazes along his back, and when Katsuki looks up, Kirishima’s there, that worry dancing in those sunset eyes again. “Hey, take it easy. You good?”
Katsuki’s mouth decides to up and abandon him like a goddamn bitch. All he can do is make a noise and nod dumbly, face scalding hot. Faintly, he thinks about how absolutely idiotic he’s being because Recovery Girl healed him, he shouldn’t be acting like a dazed fuck like he is, but then Kirishima keeps his hand right there at the small of his back and thoughts fall away into a white noise that fizzles across his mind.
He keeps it there the whole walk back and Katsuki feels a little bit like he’s dying. He stares at the doors to Heights Alliance as they approach, face still impossibly hot and mind still fuzzy as hell and frowns at the tugging that he feels in his chest. Katsuki’s legs decide all on their own that they’re gonna stop, and Kirishima goes all tense beside him. “Bakugou?” he asks, voice soft and wavering. Katsuki looks at him, then, and that tugging just pulls harder.
“I fucking like you.” The words spill out without his permission because of course they fucking do, and Katsuki can only stare as Kirishima freezes, eyes going impossibly wide.
“You–you what? ”
He grits his teeth and jerks forward, leaning into Kirishima’s space. “You heard me. I, shit. I like you. Like. In the gay way, or whatever and I can’t stop thinking about it so I’m fucking saying it.”
Kirishima just stares, mouth hanging open and sharp teeth gleaming in the afternoon light. His face goes dark and it really shouldn’t be as cute as it is, watching this idiot look like he’s gonna pass the fuck out. Fuck, Katsuki’s own skin feels like it’s buzzing hard enough that he’s gonna vibrate through the sidewalk or some shit and he kind of feels like throwing up but he holds his ground because he’s not a fucking wuss.
There’s an audible click as Kirishima’s jaw shuts. He looks Katsuki up and down, reaching a hand up to his brow and grazing against it with the slightest touch that sends shivers down Katsuki’s spine.
“I. You. Maybe we should take you back to Recovery Girl,” he murmurs, and Katsuki scowls. He reaches up and snatches Kirishima’s hand in a bruising grip.
“Fuck off, I’m serious, Shitty Hair.”
Kirishima grows even redder if that’s even fucking possible. “Really?” he squeaks. Katsuki draws back, loosens his grip. He doesn’t let go, though– instead he threads their fingers together, heart hammering in his chest like a fucking jackhammer. Kirishima doesn’t pull away.
“Yeah. Yeah. ”
“Oh.”
They both look down at their hands. Katsuki bites his lip. Fuck, it’s too easy to hold his hand like this. The longer he holds on, the less he wants to let go and suddenly it’s like his entire fucking universe shifts abruptly beneath his feet and he can’t imagine anywhere else he’d rather be. He sneaks a glance up at Kirishima, whose wide-eyed stare is filled to the brim with a wonder that drags Katsuki in relentlessly, leaving him breathless.
Kirishima squeezes his hand, hesitant but gentle. “I, um. Me. Me too,” he says. And, fuck. A grin cuts across Katsuki’s face, and he feels almost giddy.
“Good,” he says. There’s a beat where they just stare, and then Kirishima bites his lip. He steps closer, gaze darting about, before it sweeps across him all over again, leaving Katsuki breathless.
“Can..can I…?”
Katsuki’s heart leaps to his throat. He lurches forward, pressing his lips against Kirishima’s and god he feels like he’s gonna burst into a pile of confetti. Fuck, is this why people do this shit all the time? It feels so goddamn good, and when Kirishima presses closer, deepens the kiss, Katsuki’s helpless to do anything but fall further into it all, clinging to Kirishima’s hand like an anchor.
Somewhere in the back of his head, he thinks about how someone might see them. But the thought dissipates as soon as it comes because, who the fuck cares? Let them. Katsuki might not fully understand what this means, yet, in terms of if this means he’s gay, but really that doesn’t even fucking matter.
What matters is what he knows: he likes Kirishima Eijirou more than he’s ever liked anyone, and Kirishima Eijirou likes him too. And for now? That’s enough.