Archive of Our Own

"The fuck is your hair"

"The fuck is your hair?"

"Your's is weirder. the fuck are these--" bakugou said, pointing at one of the spikes that stuck out at a different angle to the rest. Not that the rest were really at the same angle. Kirishima's hair was a birds nest; an elaborately styled one, sure, but still a birds nest.

"A work of art, that's what they are." Kirishima replied, a shit eating grin covering his face. "Your hair's worse, anyway. It's not only bedhair. It's like... Ultra Bedhair. It's impressive, really."

The usual frown on bakugou's face was replaced by a bigger, angrier one.

Kirishima cackled, and bakugou promptly tried to blow him up.

"No like. For real though. How the fuck does your hair work."

Kirishima paused his game, steepled his hands under his chin, and looked Bakugou in the eyes like he was about to impart a very important secret upon him.
"Dunno, man."

Bakugou threw the pillow he was sitting on at kirishima's head as hard as he could, a string of hastily thrown together but impressively creative curses running from his mouth.

As much as Bakugou hated it, Kirishima's hair intrigued him. How it'd stick up all over the place, disorganised as hell and probably gelled up only it didn't look gelled up it looked soft and kind of strokable, really. It could have been bedhair, maybe, if it wasn't for the almost intentional look of it. Bakugou knew bedhair. You couldn't get it to look as good as kirishima's did. He wanted to punch a wall.

He punched a wall. It didn't help. He put his bruised knuckles in his mouth angrily, before angrily opening up his laptop and angrily typing "how to get really spiky but kinda soft hair" into google, stabbing at each key as it they were Kirishima's shitty hair itself.

The results weren't very useful; something about wax. Bakugou frowned. Had he ever seen a tub of hair wax lying around kirishima's house? Fuck, he didn't know. He didn't spend his time there looking for it, really, at all. The time was mostly spent shooting people in video games, complaining loudly, and threatening to blow Kirishima up for real this time.

It was bugging him, though. How did it look so good? It looked ridiculous, but like... a good ridiculous, and it looked like it would be fun to run his hands thorough and he suddenly wanted to punch something, himself, a wall, anything, really really hard.

"Are you gonna eat that," Bakugou asked, pointing to what remained of kirishima's burger.

"Sweet." Without waiting for a response, he picked up the burger and shoved it in his mouth.

Kirishima raised an eyebrow, looking at him over the top of his sprite.

"You're welcome?"

The sun was doing that thing it does to make people look really pretty. It was shining from just behind Kirishima, turning his hair a frankly stunning gradient of red to sunset orange. Fuck that hair. Bakugou wanted to touch it.

He finished the burger angrily, chucking the wrapper at Kirishima's shoulder. The other boy let it bounce of him with a grin, continuing to suck up his drink until it ran dry and started making that fucking annoying krrr r rr noise.

"If you dont stop i'll rip out your shitty hair and shove it down your throat." Bakugou said, attempting to glower at Kirishima. The effect was dampened by the fact that he had to squint while doing it; Kirishima had shifted, leaving the sliver of sun to shine right into bakugou's eyes.

Kirishima only sucked louder, before resting his elbows on the table, planting his hands on his cheeks and leaning towards bakugou with that shit eating grin.

"You know, you don't look half bad in this light. Better than your usual self, maybe."

Bakugou made a face.

"Are you fucking hitting on me?"

"Yeah."

oh. shit.

Bakugou scowled and wished he hadn’t thrown that burger wrapper away. Something to rip up would have been nice right then.

A variety of responses ran through his head:
"fuck of"
"No really fuck off your hair is distracting and I want to punch you"
"Like really your hair looks really nice I mean your face is pretty decent as well but your hair is fucking incredible right now like its ridiculous but it looks really great and I kind of really want to touch it and see if it feels as warm as soft as it looks like it should--"

He went with the first option, hunkering down in his seat like a petulant child.

Kirishima grinned. He could sense that there was no real malice behind the words. Really, bakugou was easy to read, once you got to know him.

"Nice chat. Good talk. I think we really connected."

He'd shifted back into the light beam and fuck, it looked good. The light shone over his skin like gold, running over his shoulders and up his neck, framing his face and turning his hair into a blazing glory of a birds nest.

Bakugou sat up straight, leaning forward, elbows on the table, matching Kirishima's pose. Fuck it, he thought.

"Can I touch your hair."

Kirishima blinked.

"Oh. Yeah. Ok. Sure" he said, leaning further forward and tilting his head down.

Bakugou reached out a hand; a sweaty one. He wiped his palm on his trousers first. As entertaining as it may have been, he didn't really want to explode Kirishima right now.

He placed that hand on Kirishima's head. He moved it around a bit, tangling his fingers into the mess, and fuck, it was every bit as soft and sun-warmed as he imagined it to be. He could feel Kirishima grinning, laughing underneath his hand. Bakugou grinned back.

"For somone with a haredning quirk, your hair sure is fucking soft. You might wanna get that looked into."

Kirishima nodded sagely, the movement tangling bakugou's hand in further. As nice as the sensation was, his arm was starting to cramp from leaning across the table. He took his hand back at the same time Kirishima asked:

"Want to come back to my place?"

The two sat on the couch. A film was playing in the background; something involving violence and explosions. Kirishima sat cross legged, his head tilted down and towards his video game. Bakugou's arm stretched across the back of the sofa, absently stroking his fingers through Kirishima's hair. He was only half paying attention to the film. Something was bugging him:

He'd searched most of the house and found no kind of hair products.