Chapter Text
Kirishima is /not/ scared of heights. Absolutely not. He’s spent his childhood climbing trees and jumping off them.
Kirishima is not scared of heights.
However, Kirishima /is/ in fact terrified of plummeting to his death because as it turns out, there’s one hell of a difference between a tree branch and a windowsill on the fifth floor of the hotel he’s staying at for his wedding.
He doesn’t dare glance downward, not for the fraction of a second, but he can hear them, the honking of cars and screeching of tires on hot asphalt.
A shoal of piranhas ready to decimate him if he dares take one wrong step.
/Why the fuck did I think this would be a good idea?/
One deep inhale gets his body out of its frozen state and back in movement, slithering across the edge linking his window to his neighbour’s.
/I can already imagine tonight’s headlines. Man unaware of the invention of doors falls to his death like the idiot that he is./
“Fuck.” He whispers under his breath, frustrated at the thought of dying such a silly laughable death. And scared. Has he mentioned he’s scared? He’s fucking terrified. He could’ve just walked down the hall!
Actually, he barely even had to walk! There were less than six feet between his door and Mina’s!
At first, he was hoping to catch her by surprise so she wouldn’t have the chance to say anything before he confronted her. However now...the altitude and soft spring wind have cleared his mind, and he’s come to a great realisation.
He’s an idiot.
An idiot who seems to be quite loved by the universe because his foot finally reaches his neighbouring window which happens to be opened.
Kirishima immediately throws himself inside, onto the safety of hard uncarpeted floor.
“WHAT THE /FUCK/?!”
Kirishima’s ears are ringing in alarm as what’s left of his brain cells has been eradicated by his head knocking into hard tile. His eyes flutter open as he tries to get himself off the ground, but dark dots of possible oblivion still cloud his vision. Nevertheless, he doesn’t allow his compromised senses to ruin his plan.
He needs to muster all the anger he’s got built inside.
He didn’t just almost risk his life to end up embarrassing himself and leaving with no word spoken.
“Mina! How could you-“
Oh. /Oh/. This is /not/ Mina.
It doesn’t take Kirishima more than a few blinks to realise the person whose room he just jumped into is in fact /not/ his childhood best friend and bride’s bedroom.
The redhead slowly rises off the ground, keeping a safe distance between him and the blond man with rage burning in his crimson eyes.
The quite underdressed, very hot, absolutely Kirishima’s type, blond man.
“You...are not Mina...” Kirishima declares sheepishly, but it comes off as more of a question, and the blond’s scrunched eyebrows only dig deeper, feeling like a fishhook pulling at Kirishima’s dignity, suffocating it out of water.
“NO FUCKING /SHIT/ IM NOT WHAT THE /FUCK/ ARE YOU DOING IN MY ROOM!?” The man must be scolding the hell out of Kirishima from the way a vein is pulsing across his neck, but all Kirishima can focus on is the glistening remains of a hot shower escaping their safe haven behind a collarbone, racing down the stranger’s torso, sliding between his /holy shit/ well defined abs all the way down, until they meet their finitude as they’re absorbed by the soft cotton of the man’s boxer briefs, the only piece of garment he has one.
Kirishima’s eyes immediately snap up to meet a pair of seething fire, a light blush dusting his cheeks and clouding his thoughts.
“Shit- um- sorry, wh-what did you say?”
The man takes a step closer, shattering the rainbow-coloured haze Kirishima was seemingly stuck in.
/Oh shit, I’m about to get decked. I’m gonna show up to my wedding with a black eye/
“Give me” His voice is lower now, threatening, but so insanely hot, Kirishima thinks he’d give him anything if he asked with this same gruffness “one fucking reason not to throw you out the window you just jumped in through.”
No matter how intimidating the man sounds, no matter how soul-crushing the hardness in his eyes is, Kirishima doubts the blond could take him, at least not in a fight.
Kirishima might not be one for violence, but that doesn’t make him weak.
With years of training, and also thanks to his type of profession requiring a strong build, he’s managed to maintain a strong muscular physique, and he’s just noticed that he’s definitely several inches taller than the understandably angry man.
Yeah, no, blondie can’t take him.
However, this doesn’t imply he wishes to fight, or to disobey. Kirishima most certainly prefers conversing over punching, and if it’s words the blond requires, then it is words he’ll be granted.
“Okay so it all started when I was nine, I think? Maybe eight. But anyways, there was this kid in the park, super cute-“
“What the fuck Shitty Hair? Straight to the point, /now/.” It’s a threat, it should have its desired effect of installing fear in Kirishima’s heart, but all it does is make the latter beat faster for a completely different reason.
“Aha, speaking of straight” The redhead giggles his nervousness, hand scratching at the back of his neck “I don’t do straight, never really vibed with it, which is /why/ my family’s making me marry my best friend! And I thought she’d have my back! But she just agreed!” His arms have joined in on the conversation as he gestures his disbelief and annoyance, disappointment etched in every syllable that rolls off his tongue.
“/So/ I was trying to have a talk with her before the ceremony, maybe have her help me escape or some shit I don’t know! I’m stressed man! But I got the wrong window and-“
“Enough. Shut up.”
Silence falls upon them in an instant. Kirishima doesn’t dare move a muscle or even blink.
“Come.” The nameless man doesn’t say anything else as he walks out the door, leading Kirishima into the living area of his hotel suite.
It’s only then that Kirishima realises he’s landed in the stranger’s bedroom.
“Sit.” The blond gestures towards the couch opposite his.
Kirishima does as he’s told.
“Here, you sound like you need it.”
The redhead doesn’t immediately register the words but then a plastic bottle is being thrown right at him and by pure luck and maybe a dash of reflex he manages to catch it.
“Uh, thanks? But I’m not thirsty-“
“It’s vodka you idiot.”
Oh.
/Oh this is a bad idea/...is what Kirishima’s brain cells would yell at him if they weren’t still scattered into pieces across the asphalt far below.
***
Bakugou is /not/ an idiot.
He knows most people would call the cops when a random crazy bitch breaks into their bedroom that happens to be dozens of feet above the ground. That would be the rational thing to do, of course.
/But/.
But. Bakugou is not most people. And he’s most certainly not a coward.
“It’s vodka you idiot.”
So yes, maybe he did just let a complete absolute idiot of a weirdo into his hotel room – well he didn’t exactly let him in, but didn’t kick him out either – and yes he just offered him a drink, but that’s not stupid.
That’s just him feeling good today.
Murder is, unlike most days, not currently on his mind, and from the way the man rambled about his less than ideal situation, he’s chosen to spare him.
Poor guy being forced into a marriage with the woman he’s always seen as his best friend but ended up betraying him by agreeing to their engagement?
Yeah, he’s gonna need another bottle to cope with that shit storm.
“So tell me...” Bakugou’s words trail away into a silent question, and the redhead answers it in a heartbeat.
“Oh, right, Kirishima, you can call me that, well I mean, it’s my name, of course you would-“
“Kirishima. Why exactly are you being dragged into this? No offense, but you’re old. Why the fuck do you let your family do as they please? Are you too much of a coward to refuse them?”
Kirishima’s eyes drop to the ground, embarrassment written all over his face, a darker dash of frustration cutting through it. His soft features morph into stone, carved lines of held back anger trace across his skin like fissures, begging for his facade to crumble, begging to be released.
“I have my reasons. I can’t really tell you why, but I am no coward, man.” His voice shakes with held back rage, dark and low.
This might be the shortest answer Kirishima has given him so far, and suddenly the lack of nervous rambling and useless details is pissing Bakugou off.
He doesn’t want him to hold back. He wants to see what raw emotions lay beneath those sunshine eyes.
The blond is no fan of gossip, but he does enjoy knowledge. Understanding. Clarity.
This vagueness he’s just been presented with will remain an annoying itch urging to be scratched at the back of his mind until Kirishima agrees to give him the facts that will replace the blank spot that has now contaminated his well organised mental folders.
“Right, whatever, it’s not like I care. Just drink, loosen up, and go home. Maybe when you throw up at the altar she won’t want to marry you anymore.”
Bakugou would pay good money to see that happen with his own eyes. He doesn’t know this Mina bitch but he already hates her. Who does something so shitty to their fucking /best friend/ ?
He silently hopes she trips down the aisle and breaks her nose. And leg. And anything not deadly because again, he’s feeling good today.
“No. Please no, I don’t want to go back.”
***
Bakugou is no saint. He knows it, his family knows it, the extras who call themselves his friends know it. It’s not like he ever makes the effort to hide his hostility and aggression.
That’s just how he is. Take it or leave it.
But Bakugou wouldn’t consider himself to be completely heartless either – say that to him though and he’ll have you six feet under.
So he lets him stay. Of course he lets him stay. He’s having a /good day/.
It has nothing to do with the way this man’s tears feel like a crime the universe must pay for. Nothing to do with how the grin he offers him makes warmth course through his veins, its fire growing brighter as he offers his many thanks.
Bakugou is simply...bored. Yeah, that’s the feeling. He’s bored and he could use the company. If his idiot of a brother had agreed to come with him, maybe this Kirishima guy wouldn’t still be standing in his living room. Stupid Izuku had to leave him on his own to go do whatever the fuck he’s planned to do with this Todoroki guy he won’t shut up about - okay so they’re married, but no one spends so much time with their spouse on the daily, it can’t be healthy, right?
So anyways, he’ll take this redhead’s company if it’s all he’s given. Not that he minds, the man is... quite the piece of work to look at.
“Uh, hey man,”
Unfortunately, the piece of work can speak.
“Not to be the rudest person on earth, but could I maybe use your shower?”
Bakugou can see the pinkish tint across the man’s cheeks. He might not be drunk yet, but he’s definitely a little tipsy.
A lightweight, apparently, based on how little times the bottle has touched his lips.
Not that Bakugou was counting – it was three times.
“You sure you’re not too dizzy for that?”
Kirishima shakes his head and stands up in demonstration. He didn’t need to add a bright smile to it but he does, and Bakugou can feel himself blush for reasons he cannot blame on alcohol.
“The grey door in my bedroom. If you slip and die it’s on you.” He dismisses the man nonchalantly, while his mind rages and his heartbeat quickens.
/Fuck. Pull it together you gay bitch./
Bakugou thinks he’s got his cardiovascular system under control until he looks back up and the fucking – hot – idiot is taking his shirt off right in the middle of the living room. The blood rushes back to his face and he can feel his body temperature rising the longer he stares.
“Oh my fucking god there’s a basket in the goddamn bathroom for your clothes! Take your stupidly fucking buff body out of here!” This time Bakugou has to physically push the man out of the room and closes the door behind him, but not before he catches a glance of a tan chest and the grooves of an Adonis belt disappearing into tight pants.
“And I swear to fuck if you walk out of there with only a towel wrapped around you I’m kicking you out! Through the fucking window!!” The blond yells through the door, making sure to get his point across.
“Fucking himbos and huge pecs what the fuck.” He mumbles to himself as he makes his way to the kitchen. All this gay panicking has exhausted him, and he’s going to need a snack bigger than the 6 feet tall one in his bedroom.
But of course the universe doesn’t like him enough to grant him a moment of peace and quiet on this strange evening. Of course the moment he opens the fridge to pull out an avocado someone decides to knock on his door. And Bakugou knows it’s not room service because he made it very clear to the hotel’s receptionist, staff manager, head manager, /and/ owner that he wanted absolutely no one to come near his room.
For a moment he chooses to ignore the knocking. His brother never knocks and he doesn’t know anyone else staying in this hotel, so why would he answer to a stranger? Well, a stranger other than the one already using his shower.
However, the knocking persists, and whoever’s on the other side of the door cares not for their knuckles as the banging gets louder and more insistent, almost rattling the door.
“Fucking hell, I’m coming I’m coming!”
The moment Bakugou swings the door open, he has to look down to the point that his neck starts to ache to be able to look the person in the eyes.
A petite woman with pink curled hair is looking up at him like he ended her bloodline and she’s back for revenge.
“Is my fiancé in your room?”
Oh. So /this/ is Mina.
Bakugou won’t lie, he expected Kirishima’s best friend to be, well, different. This woman looks like she works for heaven, with a sweet smile that kids love and adults respect. She looks good too, obviously ready to walk down the aisle, with only her white dress missing.
He wants to hate her, to get mad, but she just looks like a woman on her wedding day. Bright, excited, and absolutely stressed.
/Of course she’d be stressed/ Bakugou thinks to himself as he realises her husband to be is hiding in his suite.
“Excuse me? Who?”
Mina rolls her eyes, less in annoyance and more in impatience, worry most probably eating at her insides.
Bakugou wants to feel guilty, he really does, but he can’t find it in him.
Not when he can still clearly imagine Kirishima’s distress painting him a sad and tired colour a simple shower will definitely not be enough to paint over. Not when he can still hear the helplessness etched in his voice when he refused to go back to his wedding.
Bakugou might be having a good day, but not a perfect one, not enough to feel bad for two people.
He only has the energy for one, and he’s already chosen to feel for Kirishima.
“I’m sorry sir, this might seem like an odd question, but you see, me and my fiancé booked two different rooms and mine is on his door’s left, but I think he might’ve accidentally knocked on the right and felt too silly to admit to his mistake. So, is he here?”
The ever so changing expressions on this woman’s face are giving Bakugou whiplash and he worries for what might come next if he says the wrong word.
First she was staring at him as if she could command his body to self-destruct by pure concentration, however that immediately morphed into sweetness the moment she opened her mouth...and now...
Now she looks like she already /knows/ and is just waiting for him to slip up.
Bakugou decides that he genuinely does not like her.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about. As you can see,” Bakugou points at his still underdressed body as he speaks “You’ve interrupted me while I was just out of the shower. So even if someone did knock on my door, I wouldn’t have heard.”
Mina sighs. Inhales. Exhales. A vein in her neck threatens to burst. The powdered makeup on her face is cracking up as she frowns. Her fists are clenched, long painted nails digging into her skin. And then, she just smiles, every hint of tension leaving her body. She smiles, thanks Bakugou, and just...walks away.
She didn’t lie. Her door is just a few steps to the left. She walks in, disappears behind the ecru painted wood, and doesn’t walk out.
Silence falls upon the hall as Bakugou tries to process what just happened. He could’ve sworn she was about to punch him and drag Kirishima out of the suite, and probably keep dragging him until they reached the altar. But no. No he didn’t get his nose broken by a woman half his size in a hot pink jumpsuit.
However, he doesn’t feel out of the woods just yet, so he’s fast to shut his door and lock it. Just in case.
***
The water is cold. Far too cold. Kirishima does not complain. He barely even notices the shivers rattling his bones.
His arms move subconsciously to detangle his hair, fingers and water carding through the damaged strands begging not to be dyed again. He won’t listen to them, he never does. His red hair is the only thing he’s got left. The only decision he’s ever been able to make for himself.
The water trails down his aching body, muscles sore after sleepless nights spent on hard couches trying to figure out a way out of this mess. Kirishima doesn’t have many choices, he never did.
Unlike her. She always had her say in things. And this would’ve been just another situation for her to reshape, to break his jail bars and save him.
But she didn’t. She promised she would...
It was a long time ago, but Kirishima assumed he mattered enough for her to remember.
/Guess not./
Kirishima’s hand moves to cut the cold water off – he always enjoys spending the last few minutes of his shower under hot water – but he doesn’t have time to reach the handle before his heart almost jumps out of his chest, to leave him in a puddle of foam and blood.
/Was that fucking gunshot?/
Kirishima jumps out of the shower, all wet and soapy, almost slipping on his ass and most probably dying. He grabs the nearest towel he can reach, wraps it around his waist, and bursts out of the bathroom.
That was /definitely/ gunshot.
“Bakugou! Are you oka- WHAT THE FU-“ Kirishima dodges as fast as humanly possible, almost falling to the ground as he ducks to escape the bullet coming straight for his head.
The redhead doesn’t have enough time to process what just happened or even just catch his breath when another piece of compressed death shoots right at him, aiming for his abdomen this time around.
Kirishima dodges once more, jumping away, fear taking control of his body, survival his only motive.
He wants to hide, but the room is far too wide – fucking expensive hotel suites – to reach any piece of furniture large enough to cover his entire body, and he’s not about to seriously use Bakugou as a human shield. That would be...
/Nope, not doing it./
Right. No. Not good.
He does take a few step backwords, getting slowly closer to the still open window from which he made his now regrettable entrance.
Maybe...just maybe, he could make it back to his own room. A loveless marriage currently sounds slightly better than murder.
Kirishima’s eyes don’t dare leave the gun in the man’s hand in fear of missing his index’s slight movement when he’s about to shoot. However, and to his great surprise, a certain blond takes a step forward, blocking the view, and simultaneously protecting him from imminent death.
/Now is not the time to get self-sacrificial man, please./
Kirishima cannot have the death of a man on his conscience, that would simply break him.
He considers pushing him out of the way but doesn’t get the chance to act on his thoughts before a deep voice drowns the room.
“Move, Katsuki. He’s my mission.”