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"I am going to die."
Everyone collectively groaned.
"No, you're not. Quit being a baby," Sero handwaved the claim off without even bothering to check the allegedly critical condition of his classmate.
"Just hang on a little, okay? We'll have time to visit a cafe later," Ashido reacted a little bit more sympathetically, but it's not like she turned to look at him, too.
"Dude, why didn't you eat something beforehand?" Kaminari asked, his light tone indicating he found the situation very silly and not at all serious.
"I ate a full breakfast back in dormitory!"
"Then there's no way you're that hungry now, it's barely midday!"
"So what! My body grows fast, it needs lots of energy for that!"
"Man, you probably should've packed a lunch with you then."
"There was no time for that- Oh, look, a grocery store, I'll go get something quick!"
"We're already running late for the bus, dude!"
Kirishima was going to die with his friends ignoring his cries for help. He knew that for sure now. Gnawing hunger in his stomach mixed with sucking pain of self-pity. It was entirely his fault that he didn't think to take at least a snack with him.
This day, the class A went on a history tour in a city where All Might had one of his iconic battles. They had no classes before the bus, so Kirishima and friends decided to hang out the city for a bit, and now they were almost late for departure. And Kirishima - the idiot - had expended all of the energy he had from a morning meal. He wasn't eager to spend a couple of hours on a roadtrip and a tour while nauseatingly hungry.
They passed a stall with street food without even stopping. Kirishima caught only a whiff of the scent from there and near choked on his own drool.
"I am so dead. I think I see my ancestors waving at me."
"God, Ei, you're sooo dramatic when you're hungry."
Kaminari and Sero sighed. Bakugou, at the head of their procession, just bulldozed his way through the morning street crowd without ever slowing down.
Everything sucked, and his friends were cruel.
At some point of this misery walk, Kirishima kind of went into power saving mode. All non-essential systems - namely, his brain, - were temporarily shut down, and he only came back to reality once they reached the bus station and he caught the driver giving them a stern look for being late. He waved apologetically, and got dizzy just from raising his hand.
He took the seat and stuck to the window to distract himself from the terrible void inside him. Passing landscapes didn't help his imagination of what hunger could do to him.
Sometimes he regretted learning how his body worked back when his teachers helped him develop workout regime and preferable diet for it. Sure, thinking about tasty, protein rich food and how it was broken down and reassembled into rapidly growing muscle mass on his arms and legs and back made him salivate in excitement. But right now, when he was literally dying from starvation, his brain decided to be a complete dick both by wasting precious energy on such stupid things as thinking about nightmarish things on what starvation could do to him, and showing him those nightmarish things.
Out of immediately available glucose, his body was looking for other sources of fuel. He had little to no body fat to speak of. So that left only glycogen in liver and muscles. If the storage of quickly available energy in liver was running low - and it felt like it, with how weak he was - then his body would just switch to the pitiable amount of glycogen in muscles. Then to stripping away the muscle fibers themselves. He was probably at this stage now already, all his hard earned body mass vanishing with each turn of the bus wheels. He couldn't even complain anymore, so he just kinda slid down the window miserably, feeling wobbly. He was sure: by the time they arrived to their destination, he was going to be nothing, an emaciated and desiccated ghost of his former self, a husk.
He scolded himself once again. His body was growing fast and required constant supply of fuel to ensure he's going to become the strongest and the manliest shield, an unbreakable hero. Or, well, prevent something like this from happening. How could he be forgetful about it? He could've grabbed a protein bar from his stash in his room. Or two. Or the whole pack...
If he fainted now, he might not have any strength in him to get up again...
An elbow collided with his side.
Puzzled, somewhat dizzy from hunger-induced hallucinations and depression, Kirishima turned his head towards his neighbor.
Bakugou kept looking at his phone, as if nothing happened. His free hand was outstretched towards his idiot classmate with something wrapped in foil.
"Shut the fuck up already," Bakugou grumbled, even though Kirishima was quiet the whole time to preserve what little energy he got left.
Kirishima stared at the present, struggling to figure out where he was and what was going on and what was that thing. Bakugou moved his hand in exasperated gesture, urging to finally take it, and only then it started dawning on Kirishima that this triangle mystery under the wrap could be edible.
Kirishima took the precious offering with shaking hands and tore the foil off. His mouth watered and his eyes became wet with tears when he saw the contents of it, instantly smitten by Bakugou's unfathomable kindness.
"Thank you!!"
It came out a bit muffled: the moment his mouth opened, his instincts took over and put the treasured onigiri into it before he finished saying his thanks. Bakugou didn't even turn to look.
The sheer simplicity of a rice ball with a tuna filling was so fulfilling and divine, Kirishima felt genuine tears running down his cheeks. Onigiri was such a genius dish - equally good for a full meal and a snack, made of energy-rich rice and varied delicious fillings, it was a perfect remedy for his state. It slotted into the triangle-shaped void in his stomach and patched the hole in his soul, invigorating his will to live and trust in his friends at the same time.
It was the single most delicious thing Kirishima ever ate in his life (well, realistically, in last three hours).
Only after he wolfed the whole thing down in about a picosecond and was about to give his eternal thanks and offering of servitude to his savior, Kirishima realized that his face was uncomfortably hot. He slapped palms on his cheeks and found them warm and wet with tears.
Well, no wonder: look at who just saved his life! Bakugou shared with him his lunch, an event as unlikely as a gravity wave hitting a bucket of liquid xenon in some bunker and knocking out a neutron or two. With watery eyes, Kirishima squinted at his classmate with a dorky smile plastered on his face, unable to properly express even a fraction of gratitude he felt. Bakugou could be so nice when he tried, but of course he'd never, ever admit to it. Even now, Bakugou just kept pretending that he didn't do anything, glued to his phone all that time, his profile sharp, the hard line of his tightly shut mouth harboring a spring-loaded snarl, and his bangs falling over his scowl just so beautifully.
Something fluttered in Kirishima's chest, and he licked his lips, finding a trace taste of the divine rice ball on his mouth, and-
Wait, shit, no, emergency alert. His brain blared with sensory inputs that he finally wasn't too dumb to understand.
The real reason why Kirishima's face felt hot with blush and he had tears running down his cheeks was because Bakugou was a goddamn freak who put chili sauce all over this single onigiri with a ratio that felt like three parts sauce one part rice. Only severe hunger allowed Kirishima to swallow the whole thing down and not even notice.
He wheezed a little trying to put out the fires in his mouth, and downed down half of a water bottle to soothe the burn, unsuccessfully, fretting in the seat and wasting scarcely acquired energy.
"Thank you again, Bakugou! I'll buy you something once we get off the bus!" He said once he didn't feel like he was sure he could move his burning tongue in his mouth without accidentally chewing on it.
See, Kirishima rationally supposed that it would be impolite to complain about spiciness of food that literally just saved his life. And especially - about the food that was given to him by Bakugou.
"No need," Bakugou instantly responded, "I packed my lunch with me, 'cause I'm not a fucking moron." He eyed him shortly, examining the redness of his face and wet eyes.
Kirishima laughed, because what else was he gonna do.
He couldn't exactly argue he wasn't a moron in this moment, could he?
***
A light autumn breeze went over his neck like an ice cold blade, and sent shivers all over his body.
"Warming up by sitting on a bench, eh?"
"Fuck off."
"Dude, I'm trying to sympathize."
The supposed warm jackets of their training tracksuits weren't warm at all. They were designed for active movement, all thin and stretchy and saving just a little bit of warmth before giving it all away to the wind. What you were supposed to do if you wanted to keep yourself warm was to get your ass off the bench and run some laps.
So, on the surface, these two things should combine together smoothly and perfectly - a non-restrictive training clothing and physical exercises that this tracksuit allowed for, right?
Fuck you. Wrong. Some moron made a fatal flaw when designing their training uniform that felt entirely perpendicular to the idea of moving through wet and cold autumn air. The collar was so short, Bakugou could just rip it away and not feel the slightest difference when the winds blew over his exposed neck, and through that gap, he quickly chilled all the way down to his bones.
He should have brought his scarf with him.
But no, he had to be a fucking idiot about the weather, thinking instead how uncool it'd look to run around in sports uniform with a scarf around his neck like some dweeb. Now he had to endure his classmates passing by him with little to no concern, not even mocking his severe aversion to cold weather leaving him with a lengthy wind up before he could properly fire off his explosions. Everyone just knew that Bakugou, the great Dynamight, suffered from late ignition in such conditions. His only companion in misery was Asui, who slumped on the bench row before him and seemingly went into hibernation until summer. Frankly, Bakugou sympathized. For benchwarmers, they did a terrible job and warming even their own bodies.
Mind you, he wasn't going to die from those conditions.
Probably.
He totally was imagining how his fingers and toes were getting numb from lack of circulation.
Okay, he was pretty cold, sure - he flexed his palms and found it difficult to straighten out his phalanxes, and terrible lack of fresh hot blood in his exposed ears was beginning to give him the worst kind of headache. He totally needed to get up and do some laps, just to get his blood running and break a sweat. Once he got up, surely he'd forget about this stupid nonsense-
Another wind gust touched his neck. This time it felt a bit like putting on a wool sweater drenched in cold water. The hair on Bakugou's forearms stood up with goosebumps so quickly, his skin fucking hurt.
"Motherfucker," he complained to himself in hushed tone.
He looked over the stadium, where his classmates were busy with their training. On sheer lack of blood supply to his brain, he idled his gaze on a bright red spot in the distance. Kirishima always stood out like a sharpie dot on a pristine white shirt of school uniform. Or like a reflective sign warning about construction work ahead in the night. Or like that one spot on the monitor you always notice and spend half an hour trying to scrub it off before remembering it's just a bad pixel there and there's no way of removing it.
Or- okay, fine. Kirishima's bright red mane always magnetized eyes on him, like a beacon in the sea of grey. Bakugou frequently found himself searching for it, because following that beacon had always led him to somewhere nice - or somewhere nicer than where he was before.
He probably could walk up to the idiot and demand to entertain him with a fight. For some reason, the idea already made his body reconsider its warmth-saving tactics of concentrating all of the hot blood around his internal organs because it spared a portion of it to heat up his cheeks.
Unfortunately, there was one small detail about Kirishima right now that made Bakugou feel like he was frozen into a solid icicle, something so revoltingly unnatural, Bakugou couldn't shake off a feeling that he was seeing a nightmare.
Kirishima ditched his jacket. And the shirt of his tracksuit. In cold autumn morning that already sprinkled the stadium grass with chilly moisture. Like a goddamn freak he was. Bakugou wasn't an empathetic person, like, at all. But seeing so much naked skin exposed to winds that was more like ice needles to him was making Bakugou fucking catatonic with sheer knowledge how godawful it should feel.
Feeling acute kinship with hibernating Asui, Bakugou watched with disgust how Kirishima sparred with Ojiro, shivered when Kirishima patted Ojiro's tail and briefly hid his face in the fluff (it was probably wet from the weather! why did he do that!), and ran off to pester Kaminari about something. Surely he wasn't going to suggest sparring to that noodle-armed dweeb. Kaminari engaged him in an agitated conversation that culminated in Kaminari pointing towards the benches where Asui and Bakugou were chilling. Kirishima slapped his classmate on the back, near sending Kaminari tumbling down onto the ground, and strode towards the benches with intent sparkling around him like a halo.
Kirishima's mouth moved, clearly enunciating three syllables. It was still too far away to hear him, but it was very much obvious that he said:
"Bakugou!"
He waved his hand while running towards Bakugou, too, and grinned so brightly, it sort of mitigated his half-nakedness. It was almost comical that Kirishima did that to get his attention, throwing all these strobing signals at him.
As if Bakugou could miss even one.
The radioactive smile couldn't divert Bakugou's attention away from the exposed torso, and Bakugou tried to shrivel into his inefficient jacket. He loathed the weather for making him feel disgusted to look at Kirishima's abs.
"Bakugou, hi! I'm so glad you came! The weather is so bad, I was sure you're gonna skip the training today."
"I should have fucking done that."
Kirishima laughed at his gloominess. Bakugou was not fucking joking.
"Well, too late! You gotta do the laps and stuff now. Come, spar with me! That'll get your explosions going in no time!"
When Kirishima laughed, his pectorals jiggled. Bakugou completely missed what he just said.
"The fuck you're laughing at? You're the problem!" The best defense was always offense, kinda, at least for Bakugou's solid frozen, smoothened like a curling stone brain. That way he didn't need to respond to whatever Kirishima just asked him.
"What? Why?"
"'Cause looking at you makes me fucking cold! And I'm already fucking cold."
Aghast, Kirishima covered himself with his arms, slapping his chest in the process.
"Oh! Sorry! You're right, it's so inconsiderate of me!" Kirishima was immediately apologizing. "I'll go fetch my shirt in the instant!"
And thus, he disappeared, leaving Bakugou in no warmer state, his numbly aching ears filled with the echo of the slap Kirishima's palms left on his pecs.
This was unbearable. His body was getting only number and more rigid, and he anticipated a sudden, lethal rush of warmth to flood him any moment. Soon, his blood vessels were going to relax and release all the hot blood stored at his core into his limbs, relieving his misery before the inevitable shutdown.
At least, the last thing he saw before dying was Kirishima and his sweet smile, his genuine concern for Bakugou, and the way his pectorals flexed, unafraid of any cold, with tight, perky nipples-
"Hey, man!"
He was dead.
Well, at least it was over quickly.
The angel who greeted him in the afterlife bore Kirishima's face and spoke with Kirishima's voice. Bakugou instantly knew it was a fake because this Kirishima wore a shirt of school training uniform. The creature grabbed his hand and exclaimed:
"Dude, you're freezing! Sorry I kept you waiting- here, take this."
Bakugou still hasn't processed just how hot the angel's palm was when the world became completely dark, and-
Wait, what the fuck, he wasn't dead. What the fuck was wrong with him to even think like that? Bakugou struggled in the fabric wrapped around his head, cussing and hissing like a snake in a bag, until Kirishima helped him pull the hoodie down.
"There, this should warm you up," Kirishima - absolutely not an angel, this freak, - said with approval.
Bakugou pulled the lower hem of the hoodie. The inside was laid with fine, soft microfiber that instantly warmed up to his touch and began giving heat back to him. And more amazingly, it had a wide and tall collar that covered his neck all the way up to the nose. His cheeks began buzzing with newly circulating blood and felt full of icy pinpricks as his body cautiously allowed itself to believe it dodged death by hypothermia.
It was a nice touch, this collar. His winter costume needed something like that.
"Woah, your hands, dude! You're totally freezing!"
Bakugou missed the moment when Kirishima snatched his hand and clasped palms around it. They were dry and very warm, and soon Kirishima began rubbing each individual finger with enthusiasm to stimulate blood circulation and heat them up with friction. Shortly after he was done, Bakugou's other hand kind of fell naturally into Kirishima's scorching hot palms to get the same treatment.
"I should have taken thermos today, it could be a great help to you right now," Kirishima then lamented, even though by now Bakugou felt like he sat by a bonfire for long enough to start melting a little.
"Shut up, I'm not fucking dying," he said then, like, three minutes later than he normally would've said.
Cold weather really made his ignition start slow.
Fretting for no reason, Bakugou pulled the hoodie down again, stretching it. The black fabric actually had some sort of print on it, bizarrely painted in glossy black paint, hiding the whole picture unless one looked at it for a long time. A smaller patch sewn onto the top of a pocket gave him a clue what that could depict.
"Is that a fucking Crimson Riot hoodie?" He asked incredulously, recognizing design of Kirishima's beloved hero's attire on the patch.
Kirishima looked to the side, a little sheepish.
"Yeah! A limited edition release, all that. Just had to get it, you know," he said with an embarrassed smile.
It looked very nicely made for a merch item, and probably cost some exorbitant amount of money for the same reason. Bakugou examined the finely embroidered patch and the lines of the near-invisible print that definitely was Crimson Riot's logo, all angular and manly. He had to admit that he liked the subtle design. Visible only when looked at closely, by a knowing eye, conveying that the owner of the item wasn't satisfied with tacky, mass produced hero merchandise branded to yell about itself as loudly as possible. Bakugou could respect that, surprised to discover that Kirishima, evidently, had decent taste at least here.
Though it wasn't like Kirishima never had any taste whatsoever. He just frequently chose combinations of clothes that made Bakugou wish he would get rid of them. And also Kirishima very frequently, very eagerly got rid of those clothes, too, as if knowing what he was wearing wasn't worth keeping on.
"Sorry it makes you look like a Crimson fan, I know he's not your favorite hero," Kirishima said after a prolonged silence filled with Bakugou's scowling and thinking about Kirishima in this hoodie or without it. He sounded a bit self-conscious about it, with a hint of apologetic that snapped something inside Bakugou and made him all but bark.
Kirishima was always so effortlessly nice, so genuinely helpful, it was hard to measure the true depths of his considerations until something like this popped up. An apology for incorrect branding on a thing that just saved Bakugou's life - just who the hell does that shit?
"I don't mind," Bakugou said as evenly as he could and hid his face in this wonderful warm collar again. "I don't give a fuck what's printed on it. As long as it's not what-that-fuckface-name. Hawks or whatever."
And it was good that Kirishima had no trouble understanding him no matter how terrible Bakugou was at expressing himself. He let out a small, relieved laugh:
"Noted." His eyes shone despite the lack of sun in the ambient autumn gray light. "Let's go spar together, that'll warm you up!"
Bakugou finally got up from the bench. Though it felt like he had no need for that warm up anymore.
***
Something very strange was happening in the class A. The odd disruption of the regular flow of school life was subtle enough that now the classmates were left wondering why they didn't catch onto it sooner.
"I'm telling you! He has some dirt on Bakugou! Why else would Bakugou act so weird around him?!"
"Weird how?"
"Huh? You think that him throwing our shark boy a snack once in a while means he's blackmailing Bakugou?"
"He's what?"
"And how does that work as a blackmailing scheme? Kirishima will stay silent if he gets paid with food? That's ridiculous!"
"Ridiculous for you maybe, but we're talking about Kirishima. He totes would think he's made a sweet deal for himself here."
"Hmm. When you put it that way..."
"Guys, what the hell are you talking about?"
Sero and Kaminari exchanged looks, considering Ashido.
"We're just discussing our resident murderface over here-" Sero grinned, pointing his thumb to the far corner of class room.
"Yeah, he's grown a big soft spot it seems," Kaminari waggled his eyebrows.
The class room was quite noisy with the rest of the class enjoying the big break, which was the reason why the resident murderface in question, Bakugou Katsuki, wasn't on his way to murder his classmates and reinforce the validity of the nickname. Unsuspecting of his role in the conversation, Bakugou furiously tapped on the controls of his Switch.
Ashido leaned in with interested face.
"I'm all ears."
"You noticed how Kirishima doesn't wail how he's dying of hunger lately?"
"Hmm!" Ashido rubbed her chin in thought. "Now that you mention it... yes."
"And why?" Sero went on with fervor. "Bakugou! He's giving him more food than an elderly couple stuffing kids' bags with candy on Halloween."
"Yes, I've seen it with my own eyes!" Kaminari supported. "Hell, I saw him sharing from his bento the other day, I thought I was going crazy!"
"What? You never told me about it!"
Both boys sounded downright conspiratorial now, and Ashido gasped, flabbergasted by the revelation they shared with her. Why, yes, that was consistent with the reality of the mundane lately. She noted how quieter Kirishima got about his constantly empty stomach, recalled a couple of times when she saw her friend and Bakugou munching on snacks together. If she squinted at her memory a little bit, she could plausibly reconstruct an image - Bakugou's hand outstretched towards Kirishima and Kirishima's tears of joy on his face. How come she hadn't noticed that sooner?
She turned to her classmates, hungry for explanations. Satisfied with leaving the thorough impression on the new initiate, Kaminari and Sero returned to the divisive detail in the fabric of their secret theory.
"So what I'm saying is that Kirishima got something on him!" Sero insisted. "And now he's making Bakugou fetch him food for him whenever he pleases!"
"Something - like what?" Kaminari doubted. "Besides, Kirishima and nefarious plans are just, like. Not mixing, dude, they're not mixing together!"
"Why else would he be feeding Kirishima then!"
Both turned to Ashido for support. But instead of siding with either of the boys, she offered a third point of view after giving it a thought.
"That is very odd, I admit. But there might be another explanation."
"Like what!" Sero threw his hands dramatically.
"No, no, let her cook."
"He might be throwing Ei food to make him shut up, you know? 'Cause Ei can be really insufferable when he's hungry- Please never let Ei hear that I said that out loud."
"Why the hell would Bakugou care about that? He'll be glad for any excuse to blow up and yell!" Sero remained skeptical.
"'Cause our Blasty has a brain cell in his head, and he cares about these leadership things. You know he's been getting better at that, too."
Neophyte Ashido made a strong point. Sero mirrored her gesture, rubbing his chin in thought.
"Can't deny that... You're saying he managed to rationalize that it's better to feed the hungry rather than yell at the hungry?"
"Yup! And now we're all reaping benefits of his strongly rational behavior!"
Kaminari sat back, throwing hands behind his head and looking up in the ceiling. It was his turn to present another perspective on the situation.
"Nah, I don't think that's the case," he drawled. "Because then he'd, you know, be rationally nicer to everyone, not just Kirishima."
The trio sat on this point for a moment, engrossed in the possibilities it presented.
"He's cranky around everyone even when he's not being an ass," Sero stood by his observations. "I don't think that counts as him being nice."
"Well, maybe he's being nice, but only for Ei. For some reason," Ashido offered.
Kaminari snapped his fingers and pointed his index towards the co-conspirators.
"We don't know that yet!" He said, ignoring that from him, any finger-pointing gestures came off as vaguely charged threats. "We gotta prove it first!"
"Prove what?" Sero asked, instinctively flinching from Kaminari's index finger aimed at him.
"That he's being nice exclusively to Kirishima, of course!"
With that, he waltzed away from his desk towards Bakugou's, leaving Ashido and Sero behind. The experiment on obtaining the empirical data in support of the proclaimed thesis began right away.
With all the unsubtleness of a teenage boy planning a prank, Kaminari landed on a free desk chair before Bakugou and started off with a variation of inept small talk. Bakugou mumbled something indecipherable from the distance, still glued to his Switch. To someone unfamiliar with Bakugou it could sound like he was on the verge of biting Kaminari's head off, but by now, over years of calibration of their inner Bakugoumeters, his classmates knew it to be just his baseline, neutrally hostile tone. Today it was even slightly conversational.
Encouraged by this, Kaminari went all out. He slumped on the seating a bit, massaging his temples and drawled dramatically:
"God damn it, I forgot my bento today, can you believe that?"
Bakugou's eyes never left the screen of his handheld.
"Yeah."
"And I didn't go for Lunch Rush's cafeteria 'cause I thought I packed my lunch with me, I feel sooo stupid right now."
Another vaguely affirmative grunt and not even a glance up.
"Now I'm so, so hungry!"
Complete silence in response. Kaminari paused his theatrical whining to look at totally deaf to his woes Bakugou in disbelief.
"Damn, that's harsh," Ashido whispered to Sero.
They watched Kaminari repeating the complaint some more, rephrasing and reemphasizing it each time in hopes to get to Bakugou the idea that his friends dying of hunger allegedly were more important than his video game. It was completely fruitless; he'd have more luck trying to make a rock bleed.
"Bro, you just, like, don't care about me, do you?"
Bakugou blinked.
"Huh?"
Finally! He raised his head. But oh no, he looked like he completely missed everything Kaminari was saying prior to that.
"I forgot my lunch today. And I'm very hungry, Bakugou," Kaminari repeated with sadness that might have not been even exaggerated.
Bakugou blinked slower.
"And the fuck do you want from me?" The same baseline neutral annoyance, now confused. The readiness to offer a stashed protein bar from his backpack wasn't even on the horizon. Could it be that all three of them completely imagined that ever happening?
Kaminari sighed and fortified himself mentally.
"Surely you wouldn't leave your friend in such peril?"
With morbid thrill, Sero and Ashido watched Bakugou looking around in short, palpable impulse to check if Kaminari mistook him for someone else and then giving Kaminari a grimace that clearly communicated his desire to ask his classmate whether he hit his head.
"What the fuck?" Was all that came from Bakugou after a lengthy stretch of dead silence.
The evidence was clear enough. With such devastating victory, Kaminari got up with a short, somewhat broken "Nevermind" and went back to Sero and Ashido. He declared with gravitas:
"We have a case of preferential treatment on our hands."
No one dared dispute that.
***
"Aw damn! Bakugou, look, it's snowing!"
Back in mid school, Kirishima went on a trip to a big city to visit a zoo once. The brightest memory from that trip was how he spent a solid hour standing in front of just one empty enclosure awaiting its the new inhabitant to appear. His brain compressed the time he wasted there into one taut feeling of impatient thrill, and that made the actual encounter with the animal he waited for so much better.
It was announced that the zoo had a newcomer, a young snow leopard that was born just this year overseas and got transferred there as a part of international program on preserving genetic diversity of captive animals. It was the first day when the animal was let out into its new enclosure after a period of adaptation. Naturally, these details completely went over little Kirishima's head then, but it didn't temper his excitement: he was going to see a snow leopard for the first time in his life then! And quite possibly, this snow leopard was going to see him first too! And so, Kirishima glued himself to the glass and waited and waited and waited.
His friends stalked off to see other animals, and other visitors didn't linger near an obviously empty habitat. It made the patience and waiting all more rewarding when Kirishima finally noticed some movement in the far corner of the enclosure.
The snow leopard showed his snout, sniffing the air and looking around cautiously. It struck Kirishima how fluffy his grey collar looked, how big and round his pale silver eyes were. The cat was quite big, and yet, the expression in these round curious eyes was undeniably of a cub. He stopped breathing, afraid to startle the animal and force him to retreat back to the depths of his new home. The snow leopard took his sweet time just hovering in the entrance to the open area, scanning it for threats and sometimes looking like he was just loading, and then finally, took his first step out. Kirishima was struck again - his paws were so massive compared to the rest of his not-yet grown body, the boy didn't know what to make of it aside from instantly thinking that these paws must've felt terribly soft to touch.
Now, years later, Kirishima was suddenly overcome with this memory and that lingering desire to pat a big, fluffy cat that probably could bite his head off, all while he watched his classmate taking a while to simply exit the school office.
Behind the glass door, Bakugou looked at the outside with a sour expression. He opened the door with distrust, stuck out his head with pale messy hair through and made a snarling grimace of sincere disgust towards the cold air. The late autumn with first snow killed all his excitement about an upcoming patrol.
"Fucking yikes," he gave his opinion on the situation eloquently.
"Oh come on, it's not even reaching the ground," Kirishima placated him with a smile, gesturing at the half-heartedly powdering snow and wet asphalt. "And it's not windy or anything."
In the truest feline tradition, Bakugou didn't hurry to go through the door frame, and when he finally exited the office building, he stomped his heavy combat boots on the porch tiles with annoyance. Kirishima thought about big snow leopard paws again.
He really looked like a fierce young predator acting timid in new environment, and Kirishima had to consciously suppress the sudden urge to pat Bakugou's head, because what the fuck.
They watched a large flake of snow descending on an erratic trajectory together. Unexpectedly, the snowflake got caught on the gust of wind, pivoted towards Kirishima and collided with his his chest where it met its early demise by melting on Kirishima's hot skin.
Bakugou watched that with hollow stare and at the moment of contact between snow and skin, he sneezed in violent disgust into his scarf. It sounded like his stun grenades going off.
"Sorry, sorry!" Kirishima laughed and rushed to zip up his hoodie thrown over his suit - well, sleeves, as there wasn't else of his costume anywhere over his torso, not even shoulder guards. He was being mindful of Bakugou's idiosyncrasies now, even if a little bit late. "Sucks that Support Department dropped the ball with the winter suits."
"Lazy fucks," as usual, Bakugou didn't reserve any pleasantries and tugged the collar of black tracksuit worn under his usual hero attire. He shot a judgmental glare at Kirishima's even more half-assed attempt at gearing up for colder weather. "What did you request for yours?"
"Well, I don't exactly know myself," Kirishima scratched the back of his head. "I just asked for something sturdy and warm at the same time, and they looked at me like-"
"You went through their reserves of extra durable materials in a month?"
"Yeah, exactly, how do you know?" Kirishima laughed. "Then they scolded me for not getting a design ready, but honestly, man, I have no idea what to do about it!"
"Gonna be your own fucking fault if they just make you a furry mask and call it a day."
A grin tugged at the corner of Bakugou's mouth. He looked pleased with their banter, even though he kept scanning the breezy autumn outside with the same alertness and distrust as a young snow leopard cub from Kirishima's memory. Some wires in Kirishima's brain kept getting crossed from that image because again, he felt the enormous desire to put his hand on Bakugou's hair and give it a good ruffle. He could even imagine the texture of Bakugou's hair, how nice it would feel for a whole damn second right before he inevitably died in a nuclear explosion of Bakugou's wrath.
They both were stalling with the patrol though.
"What's up with your winter suit though? I thought it was ready," Kirishima moved the conversation then and smartly hid his hands in the pockets.
"I made some adjustments to the design, and those fucks ignored it and then acted like I'm the asshole for returning their shit and pointing that out."
"Oof, that sucks so bad, man," Kirishima winced.
"I'm gonna fucking die out there," Bakugou grumbled with an uncharacteristic fatalism, trying to squeeze deeper into his clothes, and it honest to god hurt to watch him growing numb and unenthusiastic about an upcoming patrol. Especially - about this rare occasion where he and Kirishima were assigned to go out together.
Kirishima slapped his forehead. He had a disaster plan for this exact scenario! How could he forget?
"Not if I have something to say about it," he declared. "Wait here for a sec, I'll be right back," he said in response to Bakugou's puzzled look and went back into school office.
He returned back in record times and still found that Bakugou relocated back into the building - well, no one would blame him for that, of course.
"Here, put this on!"
He shoved into Bakugou's hands the disaster plan in form of the warmest hoodie he owned. It was light gray with thick soft fleece inside and even fur-trimmed hood. Bakugou narrowed his eyes suspiciously but grabbed it and pulled it on without a question.
"Now we're all set for a patrol!"
"Just fucking go already."
And so they were outside once again. Kirishima hopped off the staircase and Bakugou stomped his combat boots on the shallow puddles.
While they walked on the crowded streets, Bakugou kept glancing over the borrowed hoodie all the time, as if searching for something, until he figured out that there was a single phrase printed vertically on one sleeve, and a couple of really tiny logos at the pockets. The gray color of the fabric kept reminding Kirishima of snow leopards.
"Crimson Riot thing again?" Bakugou asked after scrupulously examining the print on the sleeve.
Kirishima felt a bit sheepish.
"It's the warmest thing in my closet," he said. Bakugou hummed, prodding at the inside of the collar with his gloved fingers. "I figured you'd appreciate that, Crimson Riot or not-" He bit his tongue.
What the hell was he saying?
Bakugou kept glancing at Kirishima's own plain black hoodie, seemingly ignoring the glaring undertext of what Kirishima just blurted out loud.
"You got many of these things?"
"Hoodies?"
"No. Crimson Riot merch."
"Uhh... A couple of shirts, like... four hoodies... A bomber jacket, a scarf, and uh... a pair of socks, but that's like, nothing..." Thrown off, Kirishima started listing off everything he could remember he had. Immediately, it made him feel horribly self-conscious about it. "I don't buy everything with Crimson Riot logo! Lots of these things are just so hideous, you know? But sometimes there's something that's actually cool, and..."
He lost the thread of his own thought. He hoped he didn't come across as lame.
Bakugou snickered, but it didn't look like he was laughing at Kirishima, not at all.
"Have you seen what they pass as All Might merch? Legit official shit? I'd rather be found dead in a fucking ditch than be caught wearing that overpriced shit," he said and looked over the gray hoodie once more. "This is nice though."
Completely unexpected sense of relief washed over Kirishima.
Bakugou was famously known for being as sympathetic as a primed hand grenade on its way to blow something up. It was always easy for him to mock, insult and argue with everything, and he rarely had time for anyone's bullshit. Definitely, there should be no patience for Kirishima's lame mumbling caused by a flare up of his insecurities swarming at the bottom of his heart like lampreys and causing him to vocally express how lowly he thought of himself all the time.
At the same time, Bakugou was also known for his directness and acute aversion to insincerity. He simply had no place in his brain processes for something like pity compliments, and if he commented on Kirishima's actions, Kirishima could unshakably trust him to be honest about that. If he didn't jump onto the opportunity to make fun of Kirishima's interests... then it simply meant that Bakugou didn't think of it as a matter to make fun of.
It wasn't enough to completely dispel the deeply seated insecurities Kirishima had, and honest, he wasn't sure Bakugou even noticed his anxious fretting right now. But knowing that Bakugou meant every word he said still made ripples in Kirishima's soul.
"Yeah, still expensive as hell!"
"Worth it," Bakugou insisted, and oh, it felt so nice and validating to hear him approve of Kirishima's choices. "I never see you wearing that, though," Bakugou added, eyes narrowing. "How come?"
Kirishima scoffed, the lightheadedness from the praise budging a little, because hey, that was another thing that highlighted how lame he was.
"My quirk, duh," he shrugged.
Bakugou tilted his head to the side. There were snow flakes stuck to his hair.
"Your..?" He said, and immediately figured out the problem: "Ah fuck, that's why."
"Yeah. I never know when I'm gonna need to harden up and all. I'd rather be wearing something I won't hate to ruin too much, you know?"
He was getting upset just by talking about it. Usually Kirishima tried to keep it to himself that because of the nature of his quirk, he had to be conscious of his whole body every time he choose to wear something nice. Bakugou's inquisitive eyes locked on him didn't really help him hide it right now.
"Bet you’re happy you get to put these on me then,” Bakugou said then, and the half-joking tone caught Kirishima off guard.
“Aw, man, I guess!” He laughed. “Please don’t ruin it, it’s my favorite one I never get to wear.”
Sometimes Bakugou just, like, got him. It gave Kirishima terrible vertigo just thinking about it.
As well as some ideas.
***
“So when are the others coming?”
“They’re not.”
Kirishima looked at his classmate blankly. Bakugou’s eyes were glued to the tablet with the menu. His fingers quickly tapped on the screen, like it wasn’t his first time ordering here and he knew where all his favorite dishes were very well.
The table they were sat at could comfortably fit four people. A bit less comfortably - four rowdy teenagers eager to eat at a restaurant and celebrate their friend’s birthday party. More than four? Impossible. Currently, only Bakugou and Kirishima occupied it, sitting across each other on comfy cushioned sofas. When the waiter led them to this table, it had a reservation sign placed on it.
“You didn’t invite your friends to your own birthday party? That’s antisocial even for you, Bakugou,” Kirishima said after thinking about these details for a moment.
Bakugou’s eyebrow twitched.
“I did,” he said tersely. “Now shut the fuck up an make your order,” he shoved Kirishima the tablet.
Kirishima kind of wanted to argue more about it - who invites only one friend to a birthday party? But he also kind of didn’t. He was also hungry. This place looked fancy. Not so fancy you gotta worry about not even knowing words on the menu, but evidently good enough to be constantly full of people and warrant a reservation. He took the tablet and opened the menu.
“My treat,” Bakugou added.
Kirishima paused for a moment. On pure reflex, he almost opened his mouth to insist on splitting. One glance at his friend told him eloquently that if Kirishima said even a word about it, there was going to be a murder attempt.
“Thanks, man!” He squeezed out instead. His ears felt uncomfortably hot, and why wouldn’t they, with all the adrenaline suddenly rushing in his body.
That was, Kirishima explained to himself, a normal reaction to Bakugou, of all people, treating anyone to a dinner.
He hurried to scroll through the menu. About half of it was taken up by a variety of ramens, the sheer amount of assorted noodle soups dwarfing the tiny selection of European dishes and desserts. Kirishima got hungrier just by looking at pictures of steaming bowls, so he had to place the order before hunger overwhelmed his sense of price. The tablet flashed with an animation of the restraurant’s mascot rushing to kitchen with the cheque. It was really cute.
“It’s strange to order with this thing, right? Why not just hire more waiters?” He said conversationally and placed the tablet back onto its stand.
“They’re busy all the time,” Bakugou noted with a glance around the place. Indeed, with how full the restraunt was, the waiters were zipping there and there between the tables. Maybe these tablets actually saved them precious time.
Kirishima observed him with a grin. Bakugou sat back in his seat, his severe mouth relaxing - a fraction of pressure off a taut bowstring, barely noticeable.
“You come here often? It looks like you know your way around this place.”
“Yeah. It's my favorite.”
Kirishima’s heating ears distracted him from taking a jab at his friend to ask jokingly: how come he didn't invite his friends at his favorite ramen place? On his birthday? The opportunities for teasing Bakugou were endless, and yet Kirishima sat here with his mouth full of cotton.
“I didn't want these morons to make noise here,” Bakugou still responded to this unasked inquiry, arms crossed and brows furrowed defensively.
It was kind of cute that he and Bakugou knew each other well enough to predict where the dialogue beats were to take them, so casually.
“I'm honored to make it on the list of morons you can trust. I promise to behave well,” grin stretched Kirishima's mouth once again. “Happy birthday, Bakugou.”
“It's just a day,” Bakugou shrugged. He looked too pleased to actually feign nonchalance.
Kirishima dug into his backpack for the gift.
“Just a day or not, it's a good occasion to celebrate my amazing friend! I wouldn't be the man I am today without knowing you.”
He offered the gift over the table.
“You sound like an old man.”
“Shut up, you're older than me from today on. If anything, you're the old man here!”
“Harr, harr, idiot.”
Bakugou tore into the wrap.
“I hope you like it. I actually ordered a batch for winter, but the manufacturer took very long to make these, and I was over the budget already- Anyway, they were ready just in time for your birthday, so I thought I’d… I would…”
The longer Bakugou stared at the gift, the more self-conscious Kirishima felt about the whole idea. It was quite simple: a warm hoodie, since Bakugou got cold frequently, but also quite complicated because it wasn't just a hoodie-
“You spent your entire fucking merch budget on that?” Bakugou asked incredulously, his thumb brushing over the embroidered double Rs on the black fabric.
In hindsight, the idea was fucking stupid.
As a part of the hero course program, U.A. High offered its students assistance in establishing young heroes’ presence in media and fanbase growth. It included a merch deal package: small budget and introduction to several manufacturers of choice, so students could make sense of the business and get their first proof of connection to their fans via merch sales.
“Uh… I had to add something from my own savings…”
Bakugou’s eyebrows were somewhere high under his bangs while he kept touching the soft fabric with warm underlayer. He knew exactly how much money the school provided for the merch deal. It was enough to spend on something like stickers or keychains, a card pack with autographs for collectioners, maybe a batch of tshirts or hats with modest, cookie cutter design. Not a custom made, warm hoodies with embroidered logos.
Did Kirishima decide this because he valued every single piece of Crimson Riot he owned and went on great lengths to find high quality items? Yes, of course. He'd be embarrassed to be represented on merch with shoddy quality. Did he get this idea because he was frequently paired with Bakugou on patrols during this winter and saw his classmate curse at cold weather all the time?
Bakugou moved on from examining the logo on the collar of the hoodie to the seams on the inside of the sleeve. Kirishima forgot how his eyebrows looked by now.
“And how many were made?”
Kirishima sighed.
“Twenty…”
“In a single batch? And you paid extra on top?”
“Yeah. It was the smallest batch they could make for me, and since it's a custom design and all, it went over budget real quick.”
Now that he said it out loud, that was an abysmal move for Red Riot’s popularity growth. He prepared for Bakugou to spell it out to him in harsher words.
The waiter showed up, saving his feelings from the inevitable execution.
“Welcome, dear guests!” They said, placing the utensils and water glasses before the bowls with ramen. “Classic ramen, extra spicy-”
Bakugou waved his hand and the bowl appeared before him alongside with several small plates with chilli sauce, sliced red peppers, soy sauce and a glass full of milk. Kirishima sensed the murderous intent coming off this concentration of capsaicin from across the table. Bakugou made a grimace at the milk and rolled his eyes.
“And chanko ramen-”
“For me, for me! Non spicy version?” Kirishima panicked for a second that he could've ordered the wrong thing. The last thing he wanted was the burnt tongue.
His confusion confused the waiter, too.
“Yes, it's classic non-spicy. Were you ordering a spicy one?” The waiter asked and paused putting out the sauces in front of Kirishima.
“No, no, everything is alright! That's the one I wanted, sorry, just wanted ro double check,” Kirishima babbled. “I just can't handle any spice, so-” He laughed awkwardly and waved his hands placatingly.
The waiter tried to reassure him that everything was fine with a polite smile, and left.
In front of service workers, Kirishima strongly preferred to come off as an awkward idiot rather than a capricious client who blamed staff for his own mistakes. Now that he succeeded in that, he could peacefully get to his bowl full of nutritious ramen.
A noise from Bakugou got his attention as soon as he got a mouthful of noodles.
“You just said,” Bakugou stared him down, chopsticks under threat of cracking in his grip, “that you can't handle any spice.”
Kirishima slurped on the noodles before answering.
“Yeah? I'm sure this stuff over here can kill me,” he joked, pointing at Bakugou's bowl with chopsticks. “Sorry, but the rest of the world isn't built like you, Bakugou.”
Bakugou's eyes followed the direction and bounced right back at Kirishima. Deep frown crashed down on his face. Oh, he was mad.
“Why the fuck didn't you tell me?” He asked angrily.
“Umm… It never came up?” What got him worked up?
“Never-? Have you been hit in the head? I've been giving you food for fucking months now!”
Kirishima shook his head sagely:
“Why would I complain about you willingly sharing your food with me out of goodness of your heart, Bakugou? That's rude.”
Somehow, this made Bakugou even madder. So much that he lost speech, his mouth silently forming “Out of goodness of my fucking heart?” in hot, white-faced outrage, and Kirishima nodded and slurped some more noodles. Man, this chanko ramen was really good. As for Bakugou, Kirishima was sure it was just a temporary flare up. He was still struggling to navigate his way through normal interactions between friends in unusual situations, and confusion made Bakugou lash out first and think later. He'd cool down soon-
“You could fucking tell me at least so I don't waste ingredients when I was making your portions!”
It didn't look like he was cooling down. His face was now covered by splotches of angry red.
Kirishima blinked at him and wondered what set off the seismic activity of Bakugou’s rumbling temper this time. Was it about wasted ingredients?
“My… portions?” Kirishima asked after a pause.
Bakugou’s face was now fully red. He didn't answer, nostrils flaring as he drilled Kirishima with a heated glare.
“You were making food for me?” Kirishima dared to clarify. If he misheard it, Bakugou was supposed to quickly and loudly correct him right away. The implications of his silence on the matter made Kirishima a little light headed for no reason. Bakugou was visibility thinking what to answer, which was telling enough. At last, he grumbled:
“You're always fucking whining how you're so hungry you're about to kick the bucket.”
But Kirishima heard enough in between those words for the jab to lose its sting. He tried to recount how many times Bakugou was there for him with his terribly spicy treats in dire times. The number was pretty high. Knowing the intent behind each of them made it seem even higher.
“Uhh,” he said intelligently. “Thank you. Really.”
The strange feeling in his stomach formed a spark that eclipsed the hunger, making him put away the chopsticks for a moment. Lightheaded and hot, head empty and a little bit woozy.
“So,” Bakugou cleared his throat after another stretch of silence between them, “your weak ass can't handle the spice?”
The reflex to protest being called weak was strong, but the memory of burning tongue and suffering he had to go through while hungry was stronger. Kirishima looked at Bakugou's steaming bowl and then - at his. Perhaps there was no shame in admitting he liked his food just mild and umami and not spicy at all.
“I guess you can say that, yeah.”
Bakugou crossed his hands and frowned deeply, coming to terms with this information.
“Noted,” he said eventually.
He didn't even mock Kirishima for this.
Did that mean that at some point in the future, Kirishima could expect a treat from Bakugou, prepared in a way that wasn't designed to kill Kirishima’s taste buds? The idea was so startling, he felt strange buzzing in his fingers and had to nervously flex his knuckles. It was as if he ate one of Bakugou's treats again, not yet adjusted to his sensitivities. Simply too much.
“We were in the middle of something,” he said then to distract himself and pointed to the hoodie Bakugou put away onto the seat. “Your gift.”
An alien emotion blinked on Bakugou’s face for a moment as he glanced down onto it and picked it up again, almost a deer in headlights expression that was concealed as quickly as it appeared.
“I know it was kinda stupid to make these, but I dunno,” Kirishima found himself explaining his decision unprompted. “I thought that something practical might be useful regardless if there's a hero logo on it. Kinda so it doesn't matter that I'm not well known and popular, people will still wear a nice piece of clothing, you feel?”
As he was speaking, Bakugou checked the microfiber lining on the inside, the deep pockets and took a moment to examine the zip slider with custom puller made in form of Red Riot logo before he unzipped it and decisively put it on.
“Not bad,” Bakugou said after a bit. He pulled the hood on and rubbed his cheek on the inside as if he was settling in a nest of blankets, and suddenly he looked very snug and coozy in a Red Riot hoodie.
A smile broke out on its own on Kirishima’s face at the curt praise. If Bakugou found the result of his ideas acceptable, then it wasn't a waste at all, he thought as the warm pleasant feeling spread in his chest at the sight of his friend dresssed in his hero colors. He was realizing that he lowkey expected Bakugou to object to wearing another hero’s symbols. Especially his classmate’s. All the times with Crimson Riot stuff didn't count, because they all happened in dire circumstances when Bakugou had no choice in the matter. It was a relief that Bakugou didn’t, and it added to the mix of selfish, prideful emotions Kirishima was experiencing.
Selfish. That was the flavor of his feelings about it, right? He got to feel a little smug about successfully pulling off the challenge of making Bakugou wear his hero logo without a threat of freezing weather.
“Is it warm enough? You were always so cold during this winter.”
“It is.” Bakugou’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t waste school money on fucking hoodies because of me, did you?”
Kirishima felt the smile on his face getting straight up dorky.
“It was more of an opportunity to help a friend out.”
“Hmph.” Bakugou rolled his eyes and finally decided to proceed with his bowl of ramen, wrapping up the topic, and Kirishima followed the cue.
“Man, this ramen is really good,” he commented halfway through his portion. “I can’t wait to try your onigiri that don’t try to kill me,” he added, watching Bakugou adding chilli peppers into his ramen. Kirishima had no idea how Bakugou could eat this stuff with such straight face. Though, it appeared that some of it got through as Bakugou’s face was flushed from all the spice.
But then again, Kirishima felt like he had it no better. Merely thinking about Bakugou Katsuki’s Delicious Murderous Tuna Onigiri made his eyes water a little bit, like he took a bite and got hit with the ghost memories of the chili sauce in his mouth.
Oh god, has Bakugou really been making those for him? He sure had strange ways to show that he cared.
“So there are only nineteen other of those in existence?” Bakugou said suddenly. He glanced up at him sharply, and Kirishima couldn’t tell what expression was. Like Bakugou was about to bite his head off, but the blush on his cheeks undermined the intent.
“Yeah, I told you-”
“No one else got one yet?”
“Um, no?”
“Looks like I got some limited edition Red Riot merch here,” Bakugou patted the logo on his chest and smirked.
Kirishima pondered on that for a moment.
“I suppose you’re right. This can become vintage in the future,” he said, hopes that he was going to make it in the hero world rising in his chest. “Stuff from old exclusive collections can sell for good money.”
Bakugou blew his cheeks in a short laugh.
“You think I’d sell this?” He asked him incredulously.
“Why not? It’s not like there’s a shortage of warm hoodies in stores.”
“Never.”
Intense tone startled Kirishima. He glanced at his classmate. Bakugou sat there, head still covered by the hood, shadow falling over his red eyes, cheeks still dusted with pink that Kirishima wasn’t sure was due to spice or anger. He looked like he was about to tell him something important.
And satisfied with Kirishima’s attention, Bakugou grinned and said:
“’Cause I’m your number one fan.”
Kirishima didn’t notice he was holding his breath until he heard chopsticks cracking in his grip.