Chapter Text
“What’s the situation at the doors, Deku?”
“ Exactly as we expected. Fingerprints required at the front entrance and again to get into the ballroom. Roughly fourteen minutes of waiting time between both entrances. ”
“They're not as stupid as I thought. Designed to keep out your run-of-the-mill print forgery, eh? Too bad no one expects any crook to be as nerdy as you.”
“ You should be grateful you have me, Kac—Dynamight. The ink I designed lasts hours. ”
Regrettably, Bakugou had to admit that his partner had a point. He crouched, mouth curling in distaste at the clammy skin of Aza Chobe, the man he was about to impersonate. The uncanny resemblance he bore to Bakugou made his job all the more easier—though Bakugou was good enough that he could have impersonated Deku’s scrawny ass if he wanted to. Essentially, the man was a guard dog. Bakugou was lucky: the man was so low level that even his boss, who had probably done nothing more than check his name before assigning him this mission, wouldn't know how he acted. Bakugou hated putting on a front at these things. Sure, he’d have to be polite so as to not draw any attention to himself, but Bakugou at least wouldn't need to constantly check his mannerisms and eye twitches tonight. For now, Aza was just a dog that Bakugou would have to make a fingerprint stamp out of in the approximately three minutes before he was expected to arrive.
Most copies used the standard black market ink: the kind that lasted three minutes, maybe four if you were lucky, but Deku had long since perfected his own blend that had served Bakugou well in the past. A clear, gooey substance that coated his finger, absorbed into his pores without leaving a single trace. To an amateur, the security measures here might've warded them away, but Deku’s mix lasted hours, more than enough time to get Bakugou through the night.
Just to be safe, Bakugou scanned Aza’s eyeballs, mourning his lack of foresight in bringing gloves as he pinched his leathery skin. Swiftly, Bakugou swapped his gray, forgettable clothes with Aza’s silky button down, donning the facial aspects of the disguise with careful hands. Orange contacts, coded with the man’s signature. A touch of plaster to broaden his nose. A mole below his ear. Blond, spiky hair separated into thicker sections. Finally, the sleazy smile he’d been practicing in the mirror for days, scaring his sort-of-daughter on more than one occasion.
Deku’s countdown chirped annoyingly in his ear until Bakugou had cut in front of distracted party-goers to reach the first checkpoint. Really, he needed to have a chat with Kaminari about these strange communication devices he’d made. Sure, it was reassuring to have a teammate monitoring the area, but did they really have to be someone so talkative? Bakugou almost envied the agents who didn't have a little freak like Kaminari Denki around to provide them with technology that shouldn't exist.
Smoothly, Bakugou recited to the doorman all the information given to him by his organization, the Commission, adding in extra details that Deku muttered frantically into his earpiece, a constant stream of chatter that had Bakugou’s hand twitching as he fought the urge to silence it.
And then he was through.
True to Deku’s word, the line moved at a snail’s pace, allowing Bakugou the moment to take in the scene around him. This event was a high profile, high stakes theater with the heads of every relevant crime syndicate around in attendance, with D-list celebrities and actors sprinkled in to keep up the facade. On paper, Bakugou was attending a ‘talent party’ as Aza Chobe, a place where agents and their talents, consisting of mostly actors and models, could mingle and discover one another.
In reality, if Bakugou were to make one small mistake and reveal himself, there would always be at least five people in arm’s reach that could end him where he stood.
There was a strict no-children policy, which was precisely why Deku was babysitting Mahoro at home. It was strange: sometimes, Bakugou got the uncanny feeling that she knew more than she was letting on. She’d been oddly complacent about his evening in the town without her, even hugging him for a solid three minutes before he left, like she somehow knew he was walking into a pit of snakes. Children were just like that, Bakugou presumed. She hadn't been giving Deku any trouble, which was all he cared about. That stupid nerd wasn't getting enough sleep as is.
Bakugou’s mission was one Tsutsumi Kaina, better known to the public as Lady Nagant, the once beloved golden-girl who fell into obscurity with age. In truth, Nagant had used the excuse to slip away into the shadows, quickly rising on the Commission's watchlist as the number one sharpshooter in the country, using her talents to hunt down their agents—and her former colleagues. Tonight, all Bakugou needed to do was gather as much information as he could. Only a fool would stand around in the midst of a huddle of bodyguards, which meant they would most likely be scattered across the room, dressed as ordinary people and mingling with guests. Easy enough, he supposed, so long as he never encountered the Lady herself.
Then…there was the other reason Bakugou was here:
To find a wife.
An unmarried man in his twenties raised enough suspicions as it was. Even if Bakugou was backed up by other agents planted at his psychiatric hospital, there was no telling what some lunatic on the street might claim about him just because of his marriage status, what with these (quite accurate) rumors of spies floating around. This wasn't the first event where he’d been forced to consider holy matrimony alongside his mission, but it was the first one where his wife might actually be more dangerous than him.
In an ideal scenario, Bakugou would find someone tonight who needed a spouse just as much as him, someone who could lead him straight to the heart of criminal organizations. And, of course, someone okay with a child. Mahoro was essential to the operation, Bakugou couldn't give her up.
“Next,” a bored voice called, startling Bakugou out of his thoughts. Belatedly, he realized he’d reached the second checkpoint, his gaze—tinged orange on the sides from the size-too-small contact lens—flitting over the metal detector in front of him. He nodded, striding forward and holding his thumb to the fingerprint scanner, eyeing the double doors ahead of him.
The scanner flashed red.
“Ah, hold on a second.”
The doorman sighed, fingernails tapping against the table as he searched the packet of names and faces in front of him, not even bothering to pat Bakugou down.
“What's the hold up?” Bakugou asked. Impatiently, he tapped his foot and checked his watch. “I've got important people to meet in there.”
Flippantly, the man waved his hand. “The newfangled technology does this sometimes,” he said. “Can you tell me your name, Sir?”
“Aza Chobe.”
The doorman glanced up at him, then back down to the list, flicking his gaze between the two for a couple seconds. Probably checking to see if Bakugou matched Aza's picture. “Scan again, please,” he said, eyes boring into Bakugou’s own. Dutifully, he pressed his thumb a smidge harder.
Even Deku had gone silent.
“Sir, I'm afraid that we’re going to need to escort you off to the side there if—”
The scanner flashed green, cutting off the doorman’s words. In unison, they sighed in relief, mirroring each other’s small smiles—though they were smiling for entirely different reasons. Bakugou supposed he could sympathize with the man. After all, who truly liked their job?
“Sorry about that, Sir,” the doorman mumbled, bowing at the waist and gesturing to the entrance with a flourish. “Please.”
Without a word, Bakugou continued on.
Well then. Into the viper nest. Adjusting his collar, he held his chin high and pushed his shoulders back, sliding his hands into his pockets as he assumed the air of a man no doubt looking for a promotion: shifty enough to be a believable criminal and yet confident enough that no one would look twice.
The ballroom itself was leagues beyond the entrance hall. The shimmering dome looming high over their heads was lit with lanterns, just bright enough to illuminate the beautiful mosaic art surrounding them. Closer down to the carpet flooring, there were lighting panels behind the walls, as well, illuminating a few doorways leading out into darkened hallways. Still, Bakugou couldn't see the face of anyone more than a few meters away.
Just as intended, he was certain.
From a cursory glance around, Bakugou didn't see Lady Nagant nor any of her subordinates—identified by the perverted version of the Commission’s logo that they wore pinned to their lapel. The evening had just started, and Bakugou knew that the higher-ups always arrived later on in the night, after most of the celebrities had gotten bored and gone home.
“Going off the grid,” Bakugou mumbled under his breath. “You copy, nerd?”
A little crackle sounded in his ear. “ Even when my codename is Deku you still call me nerd, ” he huffed. “ You're good to go, but I'll be tracking you from the base.”
“Creep.”
“ Kacchan, it’s my jo— ”
Smirking, Bakugou finally turned the damn thing off, grateful for the quiet. As his targets hadn't yet arrived, surely his boss—the legendary All Might himself—wouldn't mind if he took a couple minutes to check out the scene, right?
Ha. Like Bakugou cared what that old bum wanted, legendary or not.
Lining the walls of the room were tables stockpiled with food and drinks, manned by waiters who bowed their heads, never looking their patron in the eye. Even more of them whisked through the crowd, coattails brushing against Bakugou’s legs as they hurried about. His head spun at the thought of keeping track of all of the dozen people calling out to you at any given moment.
As he moved around the room, Bakugou kept a keen watch on the door, sorting each newcomer into a box: real guest or crime lord? Were those rings or weapons? A genuine smile or something out for blood?
The real challenge came when a man with startling carmine hair stepped through, a hand on the back of his neck as he no doubt apologized to the doorman for something meaningless. Bakugou knew his type; dumb, shy, attractive people who didn't even realize they were coasting through life with nothing but their looks. Usually, Bakugou rarely took note of such people. At this event alone, he could throw a rock in any direction and hit three men and women just like him.
So why were so many alarm bells going off in his head?
Bakugou’s gut instinct had never led him astray before. Carefully, he took a u-turn around a clump of people shrieking in obnoxious laughter, not worrying even as he realized he’d already lost the man. For a shy one like him—or at least, as shy as he presented himself to be—there was only one option.
The food.
Bakugou had hidden out by the food table more than once or twice in his career, though now he was as practiced in the art of small talk as he was with buttoning his shirts and forced himself to sit through mindless chatter for the sake of keeping his skills in top shape. Clearly, the redhead wasn't the same way, leaning against the wall by the table full of rice bowls and staring intently at the entrance. Now that Bakugou was closer, he could make out the finer details of his face, frowning at the light scar that marred his eyebrow. What was he? Another spy or something else? A hardened criminal or an intern who wished he could go home?
“Excuse me,” the redhead said, flicking his eyes over to Bakugou, who jumped at being noticed. His footsteps had been so light he might as well have been floating, so how on earth did the man know he was there? “You've been staring at me since I got here. Is there anything I can do for you?”
For a moment— just a moment—Bakugou was speechless, too busy processing how the man could have possibly felt his eyes on him from the very beginning to respond. His hair, tied back in a low ponytail, fell to the side as he tilted his head. The redhead pushed himself off the wall, taking one step closer.
“Just admiring your beauty,” Bakugou found himself saying. “Your eyes…there isn't a thing in this world more enchanting.”
What in fuck’s name was he doing? Surely no one with at least half a brain would believe him? After that show he’d put on, walking with light feet—or at least trying to—and observing him from afar for so long, there was no way anyone would believe a half-assed lie like that! Even if it wasn't really a lie, because the redhead’s eyes complimented his hair elegantly in Bakugou’s opinion, that didn't mean the flattery was genuine !
Apparently, the redhead didn't seem to care. He flushed brilliantly, mouth dropping open and closed like a fish out of water, making Bakugou wonder if the dangerous aura around him that he could have sworn was corporal had ever existed in the first place. Bashfully, he ducked his head, stammering out something unintelligible while Bakugou looked on in mild horror. Not quite of the man himself, but of the strange fuzzy feeling in his stomach from watching him. This was ridiculous. He looked ridiculous, why was Bakugou somehow finding this endearing?
“Thank you,” the man mumbled, finally looking back up. He straightened, swallowing audibly and sticking out his hand, fingers wiggling the longer Bakugou stared at it, unmoving. “Um, my name is Kirishima Eijirou.”
The redhead—Kirishima—pressed his lips together in determination, striding forward and grasping Bakugou’s hand in his, shaking his limp hand furiously. “Bakugou Katsuki,” Bakugou said dumbly, instantly wanting to kick himself. That was his real name! His real, government name! What the fuck was he doing, going around telling it to shifty men he found at a place crawling with the most villainous villains this side of the mountain range?
Kirishima didn't seem to notice his inner turmoil, if that dumb smile on his face had anything to say about it. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Bakugou.”
“Ugh, I'm not thirty. Just call me Bakugou.”
Well. The fire had already been lit, no use in mourning the furniture. Bakugou would just have to live with the fact that someone other than shitty Deku knew his identity. Whatever. It was whatever. Definitely not the first goddamn thing they had learned back at the academy, but whatever. He might as well try to glean some information out of this chump.
“So, Kirishima—”
Kirishima perked up like a puppy at the sound of his name. “Yeah?”
“What agency are you signed to? Or are you an agent? You look a little young to be a manager.”
“…Agency?” Kirishima asked, bewildered. Bakugou arched an eyebrow.
“Yes? Why else would you be here, if you have no affiliation with a talent?”
“Hey, I'm plenty talented!”
Bakugou resisted the urge to facepalm. He couldn't tell if Kirishima was really just that stupid or stupidly smart and pulling Bakugou’s leg. Finally, it seemed like the redhead understood what he meant, jaw dropping and eyes widening like a deer caught in headlights. Bakugou squinted. “Well?”
“Right! Haha, my agency! Yeah, I'm with the, uh…League.”
“The League?” Bakugou echoed. Kirishima nodded his head violently, almost shaking his hair free of its tie. A few strands fell forward and had Bakugou’s hand twitching as he fought not to push them behind Kirishima’s ears.
“Yeah, they're pretty new,” he laughed, shoulders dropping as he finally started to relax. “Don't even have a proper office building! My, uh, friend started it, and he has connections with some of the higher ups, if you know what I mean. That’s the only reason an assistant like me is even here. Supposed to be doing some recon, maybe scope out the competition! Heh, it kinda feels like I'm a spy. Don't tell on me!” He joked.
“How exciting,” Bakugou said dryly. It was convenient that his company didn't have an address for Bakugou to verify, but the alarm bells from earlier had finally disappeared for good. It seems that either Bakugou was mistaken, or any outwards hostility Kirishima was harboring had ebbed away since then. Kirishima gave him a questioning look, obviously expecting him to share as well, so Bakugou shrugged. “I don't really know what I'm supposed to be doing here ‘cause my fuckturd of a boss didn't bother to tell me, so tonight I'm focusing on a promotion and meeting someone.”
“Meeting someone?” Kirishima asked, cocking his head curiously. “Surely a man as handsome as you has no problems with the ladies.”
“No, the ladies have a problem with me, ” Bakugou said sourly. “I need a spouse to enroll my child at UA. As moronic as the rule is, there are no exceptions. Both parents need to be present.”
Instead of probing like Bakugou expected—after all, it wasn't everyday you met a single father in his twenties—Kirishima just nodded sagely.
“I see. Well, I'm sort of on the market myself,” Kirishima explained, making a face and looking around furtively before leaning in just a hair, his voice low and conspiratorial when he spoke. “You know how people our age are basically getting snatched off the streets, lately? I think my elderly neighbor is starting to suspect me, even though I haven't done anything. It’s stupid. There’s just something about me that turns people away,” he sighed forlornly. Awkwardly, Bakugou patted his shoulder.
“There, there,” he tried. Stifling a laugh behind his knuckles, Kirishima gently removed Bakugou’s hand, giving it a quick squeeze before letting it fall back to his side.
“You're not very good at that, are you?”
“Says who?” Bakugou demanded. “I'm good at everything, bastard.”
Kirishima laughed again, eyes crinkling as he looked at Bakugou with something akin to fondness in his eyes, something that had Bakugou admitting—to himself, at least—that maybe he wasn't very good at this. He averted his eyes, pushing out his bottom lip as he attempted to save face. Kirishima didn't say anything for a moment, and when Bakugou looked back, he had a distracted glaze in his eyes, watching something over Bakugou’s shoulder.
“Hey, what—”
“You know what, I actually should start mingling,” Kirishima cut in, glancing back at him apologetically. He walked backwards, flashing Bakugou a peace sign, his eyes darting towards the entrance once again. “Nice to meet you, Bakugou. Hopefully it isn't the last time we see each other.”
With a parting wink, he turned and slipped into the crowd, leaving Bakugou alone by the tables, heart beating so fast you'd think a hurricane had just passed through.
The spy slapped his cheeks twice to shake himself out of it. Stupid, getting distracted like that. He was on a mission. Two, actually, and so far he had nothing to show for himself in regards to information or wives. Bakugou glanced at his watch, eyes blowing wide when he realized the time. Deku’s sources had said that Nagant would arrive fifteen minutes earlier. How had he lost track of so much time?
It didn't matter. Bakugou wasn't going to let it happen again.
There were significantly more people filling up the room when Bakugou stepped back into the crowd, which was full of far more menacing people than the glamorous kinds wasting space earlier. Bakugou bumped into a woman with bright green hair, coiled together like snakes. They twisted into themselves as she turned her head to glare at him, bright yellow eyes flashing. Right. Kaminari had been telling him about the sudden surge of body modifications on the black market. Bakugou would do well to watch out for the more dangerous kinds.
Most of the criminals—or villains, as All Might was fond of calling them—were easy enough to spot, but in such shitty lighting, it was hard to watch for any pins while being careful not to stare too hard and attract suspicion.
After searching for nearly ten minutes, Bakugou finally found one.
It laid in a pool of the man’s blood, seeping out from where his throat had been mercilessly slit, the cut thin and purposeful, standing stark against his pale skin. Horrified, Bakugou stepped back before the red reached his shoes, glancing down the hallway at the horde of people making small talk and laughing loudly just meters away. He hadn't expected to actually find anything in this deserted hall just off to the side of the main room, but had acted on a hunch. A hunch that led him to this.
Quickly, Bakugou slipped around the corner, hightailing it further away from the main room and the crime scene.
“Deku!” Bakugou hissed, switching his earpiece on. “There’s someone else here, a fucking assassin. They're going after Nagant’s people, I don't know whose goddamn side they're on. It can't be the Commission, you know All Might doesn't do assassins. Do you think the fucking Chairman hired them?”
“It’s very possible,” Deku said breathlessly. There was rustling in the background, then the clacking of a ballpoint pen. “ He might be crazier than we thought. I'll send a message to All Might, but for now, try to stay out of trouble. You know what will happen if anyone suspects you. ”
“I'm not a fucking idiot,” Bakugou snapped. He turned another corner, freezing as he realized he’d just made a loop and ended up back in the ballroom. “Got to go, I'll let you know what I find.”
Before Deku could so much as say goodbye, Bakugou had muted him and wiped his face blank as he strolled through the ballroom. Careful not to turn his head too much, he glanced around the room, eyeing everyone suspiciously. The blond one over there, the one entertaining a group of people. An actress, perhaps? Her nails were certainly long enough to cut through skin like butter, but Bakugou could see the pristine sheen to them even from so far away. They were covered in a layer of gloss that surely would have faded if she had recently washed them free of blood. The burly man in the corner, maybe? Certainly an unexpected choice, which was precisely why Bakugou expected it, but noo, he was one of the security guards. If he moved from his position he would be caught instantly.
So who?
The second of Nagant’s bodyguards had met the same fate as the first when Bakugou found him. This time, he didn't waste precious seconds running around like a headless chicken to escape. Bakugou slipped past the—still warm—body without a second glance, more frustrated with his lack of information than any of the actual murders. The third body was much the same, a woman slain with her hand clasped around a revolver at her hip. Then the fourth and the fifth, six and seven laying on top of one another gracelessly. Growing more frantic with every corpse he found, Bakugou ran out and into the main room, freezing at the sudden lack of people thrumming about.
The celebrities were all gone, leaving nothing but those belonging to the cruel belly of the underworld behind. They murmured in low voices to one another, casting suspicious glances around the room. Bakugou leapt back out of plain sight, fumbling with his trouser pocket for a moment before fishing out a packet of dark brown hair dye that he’d shoved in there at the last minute. Before, he had been glad to find someone so eerily similar to him appearance wise, but now it would only be a hindrance. If any of them saw him leaving the event and then saw him out in the real world, his career in espionage would be over.
“Deku, I'm getting the fuck out of here,” Bakugou panted, speaking over the music still floating through the air, an eerie reprise of an earlier piece. “Nagant’s remaining squad and the rest of the real guests are here, probably looking for the killer.”
“ Did you remember the hair dye? ”
“Of course I fucking did, I'm not an idiot. I'm fine, so stop worrying, stupid nerd. We’ll regroup with Yagi and figure out what the fuck is going on.”
“ Stay safe, Kacchan. ”
Fuck, he had to get out of here. Bakugou couldn't remember the last time he’d had to abort mid-mission. There was something else going on that neither he nor Deku had predicted, something that All Might couldn't have known about either, or he wouldn't have sent Bakugou in. Maybe—
“Bakugou?”
“Fuck!” Bakugou yelped, dropping the packet and swinging a punch reflexively. Kirishima jumped back, eyes wide as he threw up his hands in surrender, a panicked look on his face. “Wha—Kirishima? The fuck are you doing, sneaking up on me like that?”
“I got a bad feeling about this place, man, and it looks like you agree.”
He knelt, picking up the hair dye with a grim smile. Hm. Clearly he was smarter than Bakugou had previously thought, if he was able to understand why the blond was planning an impromptu salon appointment. “You always carry spare hair dye around?”
“I'm a very paranoid person,” Bakugou lied. “You want some? It’ll be hard to cover up that shitty hair of yours, but we’ll make do. In any case, we have to get out of this shithole and fast. I swear I saw a man dead on the floor and I don't want to meet the man responsible.”
“D-Dead?” Kirishima echoed, taking a staggering step back. “But—but how? ”
“Slit throat,” Bakugou said, forcing his voice to drop and take on a hollow cadence, ducking his head as if to hide his anguish. Psh. Like he gave a shit. But the longer he and Kirishima chatted, the more likely it was that they would be found out. “If we’re escaping, we have to do it now.”
For a second, Kirishima didn't say anything. His face was pinched when Bakugou looked up, his hands clenched tightly at his sides. Bakugou felt a momentary pang of sympathy for the man. A mere manager’s assistant who had gotten unfairly pulled into such a mess like this. The least Bakugou could do was help him get away.
Together, they searched the hallway for a supply closet, ducking inside with a quick look to make sure no one saw them, and poured the dye over each other’s heads, massaging it into their scalps and threading it through thick locks. Hardly a proper dye job, but in the dim lighting, they might pull it off, so long as they hurried and didn't talk to anyone. The spots of blond in Bakugou’s hair were horrific, but they just didn't have the time to correct it. Thankfully, Kirishima’s deep red hair merged with the sloppy brown to some extent. It would have to do.
Bakugou left the closet first, smoothing out his button down and rapping twice on the door for Kirishima. The redhead hurried out, swallowing audibly as he looked at Bakugou, eyebrows furrowing questioningly. All they had to do was make it out the doors. If anyone asked, they were interns at Kirishima’s company.
Easy enough.
“They're most likely looking for the person who did it,” Bakugou said lowly. Kirishima leaned closer just a hair to hear him better, his warm breath fanning over Bakugou’s ear and making him shiver, chest tightening at the feeling. Forging on, he ignored the man behind him and instead watched the villains carefully as they made their way back to the ballroom. “I don't know why some of them are still here but they don't look like people I’d want to mess with.”
God, saying bullshit like that physically pained him. Bakugou was certain he could take all those cowardly fucks in a fight.
“They look so unnatural,” Kirishima whispered, face twisting in a mix of fear and sick fascination. “When I was walking around earlier, there were so many strange people. Not even just how they looked, but…how they felt. If that makes sense.”
For the first time all night, Bakugou wasn't lying when he nodded. "It does.”
“By the way,” Kirishima huffed, matching Bakugou’s stride and bumping their arms together. “This might be a really bad time to ask, but what do you think about getting married?”
“Getting—!”
Bakugou choked on air, eyes bugging out of his head as he tripped over his shoelaces and face-planted charmingly, limbs splayed every which way. Numbly, he felt Kirishima help him up, not a hint of humor on his face.
“You're serious? ” Bakugou asked incredulously. The redhead shrugged, holding out his hands palm up.
“Just think about it. Neither of us want to be suspected of being a spy, so it’s in both of our interests! I don't mind that you have a daughter—it’s actually super cute— and you need someone soon for her entrance exam, right?”
As insane as it sounded, Kirishima was actually making a lot of sense. Bakugou looked at the ceiling in disbelief.
“I can't believe I'm saying yes to this,” he muttered, spinning on his heel and waving a dismissive hand in the air. “Fine, yes. But this is absolutely not the time you fucking moron, so we’ll talk about this later. And we are going to be talking about this later, got it?”
The next few seconds felt like a blur.
Before Kirishima could respond, a gunshot cracked through the air, too close for it to be aimed at anyone else, if Kirishima yelping in pain and jerking back wasn't an indication. Even with a muffler, the sound reverberated in Bakugou’s eardrums. He whirled around, eyes blowing wide as he caught sight of the man at the other end of the hallway, a crazed, fanatic look in his eyes. Who was he? Had Nagant found them?
He started to move, to run forward or pull Kirishima away, he wasn't sure, but before he could, the redhead rushed forward at lightning speed, startling the gunman enough that by the time he thought to shoot a second time, it was too late.
With a swift roundhouse kick to the neck, Kirishima sent the man crashing into the wall, not even stumbling on his feet as he clenched his teeth, pulling up the hem of his shirt to reveal a bloodstained stomach. The whole thing was over before Bakugou could blink. Kirishima was…fine? He’d just been shot and he was just fine? A glance back told him that the noise hadn't been the gun itself, but the bullet lodging into the plaster behind them both. Then how—
Catching his gaze, Kirishima smiled tightly. “Just a graze,” he assured him. Speechless, Bakugou nodded, glancing at the man, then back at Kirishima. Over the sound of the music and the silencer on the gun, it was unlikely that anyone in the main room had heard them, but that didn't stop Bakugou from halting his movements and straining his ears to listen for footsteps. For a second, he and Kirishima just stared at one another. After a half minute of waiting, Bakugou finally let the tension bleed out of his shoulders, looking at Kirishima with wonder.
He laughed.
“Ha! You—you sent him fucking flying, Shitty Hair! How the hell did you manage that?”
Kirishima blushed, a smile playing over his lips. “I took self defense lessons for most of my life,” he explained. “So…yeah.”
Bakugou stepped forward, concern marring his features as he hovered his hands around Kirishima’s torso.
His very, very fit torso.
Refocusing his attention, Bakugou couldn't help but make a face at the wound. The redhead was right, it was just a graze; the bullet had hit him from the side, which was why it had whizzed past them and hit the plaster wall opposite the shooter, but it was still impressive that he was standing up straight.
“I'm fine,” Kirishima insisted. “And your dye is starting to drip, so we better get going.”
“When we get out of here, I'm buying you a fucking ring,” Bakugou told him. With a bright grin, Kirishima took his hand, pulling Bakugou forward with a laugh.
Well. Bakugou supposed one out of two missions completed was better than nothing. Better yet, in his eyes, a husband was infinitely better than a wife. Kirishima certainly wasn't the worst fake-spouse a guy could have, that was for sure.
He and Mahoro would get along nicely.