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“Stop that!” Kirishima said with a sharp growl in regards to Bakugou letting loose yet another explosion onto the red chain keeping them trapped to one another. A simple chain of interlocked links that looked much more appropriate in a medieval dungeon than in the middle of Alliance Heights’ common room. Why the hell they were trapped was anyone’s guess. Kirishima had walked inside with Uraraka, gym duffels still strapped around them when Kirishima jogged over to drag Bakugou from the kitchen, blabbering about something only to shut up at the cuffs slapping around their wrists. Cuffs linked by a fiery red chain that no one else could notice until Iida tripped over it when he approached the panicked boys.
Bakugou let loose a stronger, louder, blast onto it, but just like every other hot and eardrum shattering explosion, it proved useless. “Someone's gotta get us out of this because I’m not going to be tied to you all day!” Another blast to the red chain. It wasn’t even scratched, or glowing from heat.
“Stop treating me like Midoriya!” He made sure to pause and apologize to the man watching him from their crowd of schoolmates, “These things cut through Unbreakable so if you don’t mind I gotta get my wrist patched up and I would like to not lose my hearing, dude!” It was just as he got ready to yank at the chain that his best friend, and fellow captive, Bakugou paused to look up. Crimson eyes locked onto trickling lines of warm blood making their way across Kirishima’s forearm, all of it sourced from a ring around his wrist where the red cuff lay. It didn’t take a genius to put together how the cuff managed to dig itself into it even through Unbreakable.
“Should’ve said something,” Bakugou grumbled low enough for their audience to not hear the concern laced in his words. Kirishima understood it wholeheartedly, albeit still peeved.
Kirishima tugged their chain, signaling to get moving. “Hard to yell over you, Blasty.” And shit. That nickname used to be something Kirishima said to tease him, it eventually became McBlasty and finally Little Explosion Boy, and Blasty was relegated to when Kirishima was actually annoyed by his antics as opposed to spurged competitiveness. Bakugou knew it. The class knew it. With that nickname Kirishima charged the atmosphere with a thick enough blanket of tension that made everyone under it sweat. And Bakugou was in the wake of it, following him to Recovery Girl.
*******
Just their luck to not have Recovery Girl on duty. It was one of those days she spent patrolling the hospitals of the city for any major medical disasters, there wasn’t supposed to be any hero training exercises scheduled after all. They took some time to figure out the nuances, or at least some, of the chain linking them. Not only did it keep them connected, it grew in length by summoning links similar to Momo’s quirk. That was all they needed to confirm this was quirk related. That length had a limit though, about seven feet was allowed between them before snapping taught. But if one held onto the chain itself they could yank it around without it growing, explaining how Kirishima was able to use it like a leash on their way to the nurse’s office. Another aspect that Bakugou noticed was an odd sensation emanating from the cuff on his wrist. It’s constant, a soft buzz that was more like a hum against his pulse point. Yet sometimes that hum became the lurch of a tug as if his entire being was being latched onto by firm hands and pulled towards a source of heat like sun soaked sand ready to engulf him. Whenever it happened he turned away from Kirishima’s back facing him and towards his wrist only for it to dissipate to that itch tempting him somewhere. He wanted to ask Kirishima if he felt the same sensation, but his chatty friend was uncharacteristically silent on their journey of recovery. They were almost back to the dorms with a goodie bag of basic first aid supplies and Kirishima had really only spoken when addressed.
“Why are you mad at me?”
To anyone else that question matched with Bakugou’s scowl would obviously be a violent confrontation in the making, only Kirishima wasn’t just anyone when it comes to the explosive guy. Even among their friend group was the knowledge that Kirishima’s and Bakugou’s relationship was unique to any other at UA. To all outsiders, Bakugou was something you might need a bomb squad to diffuse; to Kirishima, Bakugou was as easy to unravel as cotton twine against his hardened claws. Bakugou’s question was a direct one. Like his hero work, he went for the neck when it came to solving his issues, especially issues involving Kirishima. Bakugou couldn’t have an issue exist and not kill it until it’s fixed, afterall.
Kirishima sighed, tired and weary from the ordeal. At least that’s how Bakugou viewed it. “Issa not your fault.” It was like Kirishima paused his sigh midway and now his cheeks were puffed up in his pout. He looked- cute. Cute. Yeah, that was the word Bakugou settled on, even amidst the chain vibrating with some power reaching his very core deep in his sternum. He snapped from that train of thought when Kirishima continued. “I might have snuck out to the mall today. So it’s my fault we’re stuck, man.”
“What the fuck, Red?” Kirishima flinched and the chain seemed to crackle around their wrists with static. “You told me you and cheeks went to the obstacle course. I told Mic Sensei that’s where you went, dontcha think they’d believe I just helped and abetted you?” Bakugou screamed, his voice overshadowing the clanging links of their chain as it grew agitated, writhed in the air with the charge it embedded into him.
“I’m sorry!”
“Sorry you got caught on your shitty date!” Emotions high, they crashed back down when both took notice of the red chain screeching, grinding against their innermost feelings that Kirishima had to grasp his head and Bakugou his heart. It was as if nails were hammered into these points in deliberate strikes. An entrance wound with no exit as it somehow went deeper inside them. Deep driven emotions that had the chain slam the boys together, their wrists now locked in something closer to a pair of handcuffs rather than their previous prison line chain.
Wrists locked together even tighter now, Kirishima and Bakugou found themselves pressed against each other, their hands interlinked between their chests. With the fight yanked out from under him Bakugou looked to Kirishima. For what, he wasn’t entirely sure. Perhaps an answer, or Kirishima’s opinion over what the hell just happened. What he found was Kirishima’s face, boyishly handsome yet rugged, with an underlying blush like sorbet underneath skin blemished by the sun and hits against hardening.
Kirishima gulped. Then he wheezed a short breath he had been holding in since he gasped at the sudden transformation of their red chain. Bakugou watched his lips being teased by the bite of those shark fangs in the way he does before asking a question he’s embarrassed of during their study sessions. “Is now a bad time to say I really gotta take a leak?”
*******
“What’s the big deal?” Kirishima made to reach for his zipper again to which Bakugou immediately pulled his arm attached to the wrist away. “Dude!”
“I just told you no! Use your other fucking hand!”
“I’m right handed! That means I use my right hand for things like taking a leak!” He reached again, and was pulled away, again.
Bakugou for the life of him could not fathom having his hand so near to that while Kirishima acted so nonchalant. “It’s one damn time! You can be ambidextrous enough for one leak!”
“What does being a salamander have to do with using my hand to hold my ween?”
“Because it’s connected to my hand, do not call your dick a ween, and that's an amphibian!” All of this said was immediately shattered by the sound of trickling urine against the porcelain urinal and a sigh of relief from his best friend. “You idiot!” Bakugou shouted along with sparks crackling in his hands, palms as warm as the blush on his face at seeing his own hand so near to somewhere he had never planned to be near. At least, not like this. That was a dangerous path his mind just took and gave Kirishima the opportunity to right his aim before splattering the two of them in urine. Thankfully the stream turned into a trickle and finally stopped very soon after. Bakugou stood dumbfounded as his friend casually zipped up his pants. He whistles washing his hands, Bakugou’s own trapped one dangling before Kirishima washed it for him blabbering about how pee jumps around. Bakugou knows because he watched the same UTube video with him.
“Hey, dude, wanna hit the baths early? I’m kinda tuckered out from-”
“Your trip to the mall?” Bakugou interrupted.
Kirishima stood ramrod straight, mouth clamping shut fast enough to slice his tongue cleanly in half if it were anyone else. He scratched at his head before asking “Bakugou, man, you really think I’d go on a date with Uraraka? She’s head over heels over Midoriya, dude!”
“Oh so you’re just a chivalrous guy taking another nerd’s girlfriend on dates?” Once again the minimal length left of their chain links was beginning to creak, groaning with heat unnoticed by both.
“Hey!” Kirishima grasped onto Bakugou’s collar to pull him face to face before he could escape his gaze. “I need you to get back to being the smart guy because you’re being a mean idiot right now!” The chain glowed red but Kirishima yanked at the collar in his grasp to snap Bakugou’s full attention back to him. “I went to the mall to get an All Might memorial scarf. For you.” Their chain began to silence itself. “Uraraka went to get some memorabilia for Midoriya. We aren’t exactly the biggest All Might otakus like you and Midobro, so we helped each other fight off the other rabid fanboys. Shit was rough, y’know?” Kirishima laughed at the memory. Bakugou wouldn’t quite realize that he and Uraraka barely survived the stampede of people ready to tear limbs over what could be the last All Might merch before official retirement.
“You got me a scarf?” Was the question Bakugou settled on? His brain was filled with a few. Like, “why did you go for me,” or “how did you know I wanted the scarf,” or any order of similar questions that he wanted to ask.
“Yeah. Winter’s coming up, I wanted to get you something useful. Something special. Cause I wanted to ask you a question.”
“You don’t have to get me some shit to ask me a question, Hair for Brains.”
“Fine, I’ll just sell it online.”
“Don’t you fucking dare!”
Kirishima laughed. That full bodied laugh that shook his entire being and echoed in Bakugou’s memories. The last time Bakugou heard this laugh might have been that very morning over some unfunny statement he made to Kirishima about their idiot classmates, and yet it brought a relief like coming home to your favorite meal permeating the building after days of being away in isolation and work. It took some more banter between them before Kirishima realized their newfound space. “Dude! The chain is back to how it used to be!” Instead of handcuffs it was more like their long chain attached to wrist braces. Kirishima jangled the chain to emphasize. “Weird quirk huh?”
“Wasteful of whoever has it if they aren’t a damn hero,” said Bakugou. Kirishima could tell the meaning behind it though. He was most definitely awed by it. Him and Midoriya had more in common than either would like to admit.
“So, baths?” Kirishima nudged him only to get shoved back in retaliation.
“Whatever it takes to get you to not stink.”
“That’s the spirit, sweaty guy!”
*******
“Don’t get your wrist wet, it just got patched up.” Bakugou chastised his friend who was already reaching to set the shower to the hottest setting. He might be the explosive hero, but he was fond of not becoming a pink lobster when all he’s trying to do is get clean. Kirishima was already a furnace, why the hell did he need to shower with boiling water?
Kirishima was already pouting at being shoved aside. “I told you I’m right handed, dude. And I just want a bath anyways!”
“You can bathe without pouring liquid fire over the both of us. Here,” Bakugou said, taking the shower caddie from Kirishima’s arms and dragging his larger heavier friend like he weighed nothing, stool and all, across the tile. Some final maneuvering, and Kirishima was seated with his back to Bakugou, between the smaller man’s legs which hugged him in a tight embrace that sent shivers up Kirishima’s spine. It would have gone unnoticed if not for the jingling of the chain connected to them. It was embarrassing, but Bakugou watched Kirishima enough times to remember his preferences. He took the shower nozzle to spray the warm, not boiling, stream over his head, back, then front. He used that red shampoo that smelled of sweet spice to lather up his daylong battered spikes. It might have looked to the average passerby that he was yanking at the red locks with death intentioned focus and grip, but Bakugou fooled everyone and himself into thinking he wants to rip that hair off Kirishima's scalp. All of that boisterous scathing became white noise in the care he took scrubbing grime from red. It was the way he combed through the few knots that developed throughout the day with Kirishima feeling nothing more than a faint tug against his head, how Bakugou took to massaging his scalp with firm hands in a soft manner developed purely for Kirishima that goes against every aspect of his quirk but aligns perfectly with his equal.
“Dude, let me return the favor. I’m gonna fall asleep here if you keep that up!” Kirishima moved his head out of Bakugou’s grasp to look back at him. His smile was sharp and a dusty blush coated cheeks underneath soft eyes as he looked up at him, upside down from his point of view.
Bakugou nodded, spraying the nozzle right into that face and kept going as Kirishima coughed and croaked out pleas for help against his murderer. Eventually he rinsed off the suds on his hair. But then it was Kirishima’s turn, and to say he was gentle was absolutely false. Maybe it was from being so used to his own skin that seemingly never gets scuffed or cut by anything softer than silica. Maybe it was revenge even if the sunshine that emanates from his stupid face would say he is incapable of wrongdoing; Bakugou experienced firsthand how evil Kirishima could be when it comes to their competitions. He still had the raw patch of skin on his shin from getting dragged backwards in one of their races. But there was comfort in the rough touches. Kirishima was making sure to hit every spot, to leave Bakugou with the feeling of hands and warm water on every part of his being. To ingrain his breathing, the rise and fall of a firm yet plush chest pressed against his back, into his consciousness so that he would always match that vital cadence. And when Kirishima rinsed him off with a warm spray, when he let go of the nozzle but never let go of Bakugou as he carried him wrapped in sturdy arms to the steaming bath waiting for them, when he walked them in and settled on a ledge to soak was when Bakugou felt he knew the question Kirishima wanted to ask. The way Kirishima wrapped arms around his midsection and hooked his chin over a shoulder, pink from heat and scrubbing, confirmed it. Even now Kirishima hasn't asked it yet. Instead, he hummed and moved the two of them in a clunky waltz. Their red chain felt less like a prison and more like silk surrounding them at this moment.
The chained men left their bath before they could prune. Their chain was much longer and offered them space from one another they did not want. They walked hand in hand to their dorm, Kirishima’s dorm but you might as well expect a doorway between the two by how often they occupied each other’s. Kirishima laughed at how aggressively Bakugou brushed his teeth and Bakugou awed at how a new from the package toothbrush looked a month older after brushing the shark teeth of his friend. Kirishima got the bed ready, placing the manga Bakugou left there that morning on his shelf while Bakugou fixed the notes they studied the night before to place them on the desk. Kirishima used the chain one last time, yanking Bakugou to send him spirling like a ballerina into his arms and proceeded to fall with the both of them landing on the freshly fluffed blankets. Bakugou gave a yelp and Kirishima laughed, then laughed harder as Bakugou punched at his clavicle unable to stop his own snorting that comes from a lack of practice in laughing like a normal person and not the gremlin beneath porcelain beauty. Their chain was still falling however, glowing soft sunset hues as the metallic links rode the air like spider silk as it morphed slowly and effortlessly to a red string still attached to the two.
“Still want me to ask, Katsuki?” The string replaced the links, a red thread impossibly strong.
“Yes,” Bakugou whispered, his voice carried across the distance and with it the red string evaporated amidst the stupidly strong bond that required no chain, no thread. Only them.