Archive of Our Own

The storm rested over the kingdom like a living thing, quiet in the morning. From the balcony of his chambers, Bakugo watched it coil above the distant cliffs, a pale silver mass stretched lazy across the dawn. The air still hummed faintly with the residue of last night’s lightning, thin threads of static brushing over his skin like invisible fingers.

He could always feel the sky. It was his inheritance, his burden, the blessing that tied him to the throne he never wanted.

The sun had only just begun to climb, still half-hidden behind a curtain of thick clouds, but the palace courtyard was already stirring far below. Stable boys tugged open heavy wooden doors. Gardeners carried woven baskets through paths lined with morning-wet jasmine. The guards changed shifts in quiet, punctual rotations.

All so normal. All so calm.

But storms had a habit of pretending to be gentle before they bared their teeth.

Bakugo rested his forearms against the cool stone railing and exhaled slowly. His breath fogged faintly in the cold. The balcony was high enough that the wind felt sharper, and it pressed against him the way a hand might test the tension in a bowstring.

He had woken before sunrise again. He rarely slept through the night. His thoughts paced too loudly.

Behind him, the bed shifted.

Bakugo didn't turn immediately. The sound was soft, familiar. Sheets dragging. A quiet groan. The kind of half-mumbled complaint that came from someone who’d stayed up far later than they should have, reading over half-finished compositions or strumming quiet chords into the dark while the king worked through documents he hated.

The kind of sound Kaminari made every morning.

Bakugo let the corner of his mouth tilt up for only a breath before he forced it flat again. Anyone else would never have detected it, but Kaminari would. He always did.

He pushed off the railing and looked back.

Kaminari was still curved into the nest of blankets, blond hair wild on the pillow, mouth soft with sleep. One arm stretched across the empty half of the bed, the place where Bakugo had slept for barely three hours before giving up and slipping out from beneath him. The bard’s fingers were slightly curled, as if they still expected someone to be there. His breathing was slow. Deep. Unbothered.

Bakugo let his chest soften around the sight. 

The bed in the king’s chambers was far too large for a man who rarely slept, yet there were mornings like this where it looked barely big enough for them.

Kaminari always sprawled without shame, limbs thrown everywhere, as if claiming space in the one place he was allowed to take it. Encouraged, even.

Bakugo walked back inside the room. The stone floor was cold beneath his bare feet. He slipped one hand through his hair, pushing the short blond spikes back from his forehead. Kaminari stirred again, this time more awake than asleep.

“Katsuki?” his voice rasped out.

“I’m here.” 

Kaminari blinked his eyes open, squinting at the pale light seeping through the balcony curtains. He lifted his head slightly from the pillow and winced at whatever knot lingered in his neck.

“You left the bed again,” Kaminari murmured. “Too early for that.”

“It’s not early,” Bakugo replied, though it was. He crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to tug the blankets too much. “You were drooling on me.”

“I doubt it.”

“Right on my shoulder, idiot.”

Kaminari’s lips stretched into a sleepy grin. “You would’ve shoved me off if you hated it.”

Bakugo snorted and looked away, annoyed at how easily Kaminari could make him do that this early in the morning.

“Get up,” Bakugo muttered. “I have council meetings. And you have work.”

“I’m the great king’s favorite. I decide my own schedule,” Kaminari mumbled into the blanket.

“You don’t.”

“I do.”

Bakugo grabbed the pillow near Kaminari’s head and smacked him lightly with it. Kaminari laughed, tugging the edge of the blanket higher to his chin.

For a moment, the world felt like it always had before everything went wrong. Before sickness. Before funerals. Before the sky cried lightning for him alone on the night the palace confirmed that the king and queen weren’t coming back.

Bakugo’s throat tightened just slightly. He rubbed the heel of his palm against his brow.

“You should eat,” he said. “Breakfast will be brought up soon.”

“You’re avoiding something,” Kaminari said quietly, eyes half-open.

Bakugo had charged lightning, command over storms, a kingdom on his shoulders, and armor thicker than steel. Kaminari saw through it anyway. 

Bakugo hesitated. Only for a breath. Then he shifted further up the bed, leaning back against the carved wooden headboard. Kaminari immediately scooted closer, curling against his side like it was the most natural thing in the world. His head rested against Bakugo’s ribs, blond hair brushing bare skin.

Bakugo let him.

Kaminari wrapped one arm loosely around his waist, thumb drawing soft, unconscious circles over his hip. 

He was the only person in the palace who could sit this close without the king tensing, without that instinctive readiness to command or defend rising in him. With Kaminari, there was no crown. No ritual. No titles.

Just someone who’d known him longer than most of the people who now bowed at his feet.

Bakugo’s gaze drifted across the room, over the heavy bookshelves, the carved storm-oak pillars, the weapons mounted as ceremonial displays. His eyes paused on the small lyre resting on a stand near the foot of the bed, strings still faintly shimmering with last night’s magic.

Kaminari had played until Bakugo’s paperwork stopped feeling like a chain around his throat.

His voice had always been like that. Like it could loosen anything.

Bakugo looked down at him now, the sleep still clinging to his lashes. Kaminari’s face was angled up slightly, as if waiting for Bakugo to speak.

He just ran his hand through Kaminari’s hair, fingers moving absentmindedly. Kaminari melted against him with a small sigh, shoulders relaxing.

The kingdom believed that the storm blessed their king with power. But mornings like this, Bakugo knew the truth.

Kaminari grounded him more than lightning ever could.

A soft knock at the chamber door made Kaminari flinch, immediately sit up and try to tame his hair.

“Enter,” Bakugo called, voice shifting instantly back into the tone expected of a king.

A maid stepped inside, head bowed, carrying a tray of breakfast. She kept her gaze pointed strictly at the floor, because everyone in the palace knew better than to look too closely at the king’s bed in the morning. Everyone had suspicions. None dared to confirm them.

“Breakfast, your majesty.”

The tray was placed on the low table near the window. Warm bread. Soft fruit. Tea steeped exactly how Bakugo, actually his bard, liked it.

When the maid left, Kaminari snorted quietly. “She heard me laugh earlier. Now the whole staff will know I’m in your room again.”

“They already assume you never leave,” Bakugo said.

“True. But they think you kick me out after… you know. The affectionate parts.”

Bakugo rolled his eyes. “They also think I’m not capable of being affectionate.”

“They’re wrong?” Kaminari looked up at him with a grin.

“Shut up.”

Kaminari pressed a lazy kiss to Bakugo’s ribs. “You’re so cute.”

Bakugo felt something spark beneath his skin. He gripped Kaminari’s shoulder gently, thumb brushing over the curve of it.

Only soft like this. Only this man. Only this room.

It had been like this for years.

He remembered Kaminari at fifteen. A kid with nothing but a too-big smile and a voice he barely knew how to control.

The villagers called him stupid sometimes, because he talked too quickly, because he laughed too loud, because he tripped over his own feet.

But when he sang, people stopped talking. 

Bakugo had also been fifteen then, dragged by his mother to yet another festival in the lower town. He’d seen Kaminari standing on a crate, holding a battered instrument, pouring his whole heart into a melody he clearly didn’t even know the words for.

It had been terrible.

And somehow unforgettable.

A year later, palace scouts brought Kaminari along with a dozen other boys to sing for the midsummer banquet. He was awkward, clumsy, overexcited, and dressed in robes that were definitely not meant for someone who moved that much. The other boys sang cleaner. More elegant. More polished.

Kaminari sang like he wanted to set the sky on fire.

Bakugo, still a prince then, still half lost between childhood and the expectations of kingship, had found himself sneaking to the east hall after dinner just to hear him practice.

At sixteen, Kaminari had been recruited for formal training.

At sixteen, Bakugo had started climbing out of his windows at night.

He had spent years meeting Kaminari in quiet corners of the palace, both of them young and reckless and curious in ways neither understood. They’d grown together, tangled together, hidden together.

Then the plague reached the capital. Then the funerals came. Then the throne was forced onto Bakugo far too early, heavy and merciless.

Bakugo had wanted to send Kaminari away for his safety. Kaminari had refused, eyes bright with anger and something too fierce to name.

“I’m not leaving you.”

“You don’t have a choice,” Bakugo had said.

“I do. And I choose you.”

Bakugo closed his eyes now at the echo of that memory, letting his hand drift again through Kaminari’s hair.

He never asked for him.

And yet Kaminari stayed.

He shifted against him, blinking up fully now. “You’re thinking too hard again.”

“I’m thinking the appropriate amount.”

“You’re thinking enough to cause another storm.”

Bakugo snorted. “You’re annoying.”

“Yeah, change the subject.”

Kaminari finally pushed himself upright, stretching his arms overhead. His shirt slid up slightly with the motion, exposing the line of his waist. 

“What time is the council meeting?” Kaminari asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Late morning.”

“That gives us plenty of time.”

“For what?” Bakugo asked.

“For breakfast. And for you to actually get some sleep.”

Bakugo opened his mouth to snap at him. Then closed it again. Kaminari was right.

They moved slowly off the bed, Kaminari’s movements loose and half-dragged by sleep. Bakugo followed, grabbing the robe draped over the back of a chair and shrugging it across his bare shoulders.

Kaminari poured tea for both of them, humming a tune under his breath. A soft one. One Bakugo recognized. Kaminari’s hands moved instinctively, gracefully even when tired, fingers brushing the lip of the porcelain cup.

“Drink,” Kaminari said, offering him one.

The room was quiet except for the storm outside sighing against the balcony pillars. Kaminari took a slow sip of his own, eyes closing at the taste.

“You know,” he said, voice soft, “it’s been peaceful lately. Calm winds. Clear skies. Makes it hard to remember we’re a storm kingdom.”

Bakugo looked toward the clouds forming on the horizon. “Storms come when they’re needed.”

“And you know when they’re needed?”

“I always know.”

Kaminari hummed. “Good. Because the week ahead’s going to be loud.”

Bakugo glanced at him sharply. “What do you know?”

“Only gossip,” Kaminari teased lightly, acting like it was just a rumor like he didn't have it on their schedule. “Nothing official. Something about a visiting prince arriving tomorrow.”

“Tch.” Bakugo rolled his eyes. “They’re arriving today.”

Kaminari’s brows rose. “Today? That soon?”

“Peace negotiations.”

“Ah. So expect stress. Thunder. Maybe you brooding dramatically on the balcony again.”

Bakugo kicked lightly at Kaminari’s ankle. Kaminari grinned as if that proved his point.

They ate together, unhurried, Kaminari stealing half of Bakugo’s fruit and Bakugo pretending not to notice. They stood close enough that their shoulders touched whenever one of them reached for something.

Outside, the storm clouds thickened, a low rumble echoing in the distance.

Bakugo lifted his gaze toward it.

Kaminari followed his line of sight, then nudged him gently with his hip. “Don’t start summoning it just because you’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“You’re lying.”

Bakugo clicked his tongue.

Kaminari set his empty cup aside and leaned fully against him, head resting briefly on Bakugo’s shoulder.

“Whatever comes today,” Kaminari murmured, “I’m with you.”

Bakugo looked down at him, the quiet promise settling deep in his chest. He let his hand rest on Kaminari’s back, barely a touch.

“I know,” he said. And the storm shifted above the kingdom.

The storm thickened by midday. Thunder rumbled somewhere behind the far cliffs, like a creature settling deeper into its den. The palace felt it. Everyone always did. Storms and kings carried the same weight here.

Bakugo descended the stairs toward the front courtyard with Kaminari at his side. He walked a half-step behind him, close enough to speak if needed, far enough to look like nothing more than the king’s favored advisor. Bakugo felt him there, a quiet heat at his back, a presence he had leaned on for years.

The closer they walked to the gathering at the gates, the more Bakugo’s shoulders straightened, expression sharpening back into something colder, something fitting. Royal masks were required in daylight.

Kaminari let his hand brush lightly against the king’s as they turned the last corner, a fleeting touch, a soft grounding. No one saw it. No one ever saw the things that mattered.

The palace gates were thrown open, guards lined in neat rows, armor polished, spears high. Courtiers clustered near the steps, whispering behind fans. The air was charged with anticipation. Across the courtyard, the visitors approached.

Bakugo’s first impression was simple.

Big.

Prince Kirishima was tall even by foreign standards, broad in a way that made him look carved from something ancient. His hair was a deep red that caught light like fire at the tips, tied loosely behind him, and his features were open, sincere in a way Bakugo rarely saw in other royals. There was something soft in the shape of his smile yet everything about him radiated strength. 

He wore formal attire from his homeland, layered silk threaded with faint scale-like patterns that shimmered when he moved. A sign of his bloodline. A respectful nod to the dragon ancestry his kingdom was famous for. And behind him, trailing with delightful chaos, was his younger sister.

Mina moved with the energy of someone who had never been told to sit still in her entire life. Her skin was a soft pink hue, striking against the white stone of the courtyard, and her eyes were pitch black, round and curious, darting around in open fascination at every guard, statue, or bit of polished marble she found interesting. Small horns curled from her head, decorated with thin gold bands. She smiled at everything, even the guards startled by her enthusiastic wave.

Behind the siblings came the rest of the delegation. Older advisors in formal robes. Officials dressed in deep reds and silver. Soldiers with halberds and long braids. The weight of an entire kingdom’s hopes walked with them.

Bakugo stepped forward.

Kaminari remained one step behind, straight-backed, expression perfectly polite. But his eyes stayed sharp, flicking over every arrival, measuring small details.

This was part of his unspoken role. Even if no one said it aloud, Kaminari handled half the things Bakugo didn't want to deal with. 

Logistics. People. Subtle threats. Even uninvited emotions.

Kirishima approached first and bowed respectfully. Not shallow. Not hesitant. Deep enough to show sincerity without submission.

“Your Majesty,” Kirishima said, voice rolling with that warm tone that carried across the courtyard. “I’m honored to stand in your kingdom. Thank you for receiving us.”

Bakugo watched him closely. Something in the prince’s gaze lingered for a fraction longer than usual. Not quite admiration. Not quite curiosity. 

Bakugo ignored the flicker of it.

“You’re welcome here on behalf of your king and people,” Bakugo said, tone flat. “We hope this week benefits both our nations.”

Kirishima lifted his head with a smile that felt too genuine for politics. “I’m certain it will.”

Then his gaze shifted, only slightly, to Kaminari.

And there it was again. That same flicker. A glimmer of something that softened his expression, something brightened by recognition even though they had never met. It was subtle, barely a breeze, but it brushed Kaminari like a new current of wind.

Kaminari dipped his head in a polite nod.

“Your highness,” Kaminari said, voice carrying warmth that had made entire banquet halls fall silent before. “Welcome to our home. I’m Kaminari. I’m in charge of coordinating most of your itinerary this week.”

Kirishima’s smile widened with gentle surprise, like he had not expected the king’s bard to be the one speaking to him. “It’s an honor, Kaminari. Your singing is known even beyond the eastern borders. My people love stories of this kingdom.”

Kaminari blinked. The compliment caught him off guard for half a heartbeat, his posture loosening. “I’m flattered. Truly. I didn’t expect our music to reach so far.”

Bakugo resisted the urge to step slightly closer to Kaminari. He reminded himself that he was his advisor in public. His bard. His staff member. Not his lover. Not the man who curled against him in the mornings. Not the one he almost pressed against the balcony railing last night just to kiss the sleep from his lips.

Still, Kirishima’s attention felt like an ember landing on something dry.

The girl abruptly stepped forward, interrupting any quiet tension that had begun to form.

“Your palace is so shiny,” she announced with absolutely no restraint.

Bakugo blinked. “Thank you?”

“Like, insanely shiny. Do you polish the marble every day? Or is it magic? Wait. Is it magic polishing? That would be sick.”

The head of Kirishima’s delegation looked like he wanted to sink into the ground. Kirishima laughed softly, placing a gentle hand on his sister’s shoulder.

“Mina,” he murmured, “maybe wait until we’re fully inside before interrogating the king about cleaning spells.”

“I’m not interrogating,” she said quickly. “I’m admiring, admiring!”

Bakugo exhaled through his nose, more amused than annoyed. Kaminari bit back a grin beside him.

He stepped to the side and gestured toward the palace doors.

“Let’s get out of the courtyard,” Bakugo said. “Your rooms are prepared. Kaminari will lead you there.”

Kaminari stepped forward smoothly.

“This way,” He said, voice melodic, his stride confident. The delegation followed him automatically, drawn in the way people always were.

Bakugo watched how effortlessly Kaminari took control, directing servants, answering questions, adjusting small details without needing instruction. He had an authority no one ever named out loud. An invisible crown woven into the way he spoke, the way he moved.

People listened to him.

People trusted him.

And Kirishima noticed.

As they walked through the grand entrance hall, Kirishima drifted naturally toward Kaminari. Not close enough to crowd him, but close enough to show subtle interest. His gaze flicked between the bard and the architecture, but lingered more often on the former.

“You must be important here,” Kirishima said quietly to him.

Kaminari laughed under his breath. “I’m not.”

“You walked ahead of the king,” Kirishima said. “That’s not nothing.”

Kaminari almost stumbled for a second, caught by the directness. “I just know how this place runs,” Kaminari said. “The king trusts me with the smaller things so he can focus on the real problems.”

Kirishima hummed thoughtfully. “I see.”

Bakugo, walking close enough to hear, felt something coil lightly in his chest. Not jealousy, but aware of something. A faint spark of instinct he did not appreciate.

Still, he said nothing.

They entered the sunlit hallway that led toward the guest wing. Vibrant tapestries hung along the walls, storm motifs woven in silver thread. Windows opened to terraces lined with glowing sky-flowers whose petals shimmered with soft electrical currents. The visitors murmured in awe.

“This place is amazing,” Mina whispered behind her brother. Then louder: “Do the flowers shock you if you touch them?”

“Yes,” Kaminari answered without looking back. “So please don’t.”

She immediately put her hands behind her back, lips pursed. “Okay. No lightning flowers. Got it.”

Kirishima snorted a laugh and Bakugo caught the way his shoulders relaxed for a moment, tension easing as if the palace had already begun to wrap itself around him in warmth.

Kaminari continued leading them, explaining the artwork, naming the historical events depicted, gesturing gracefully as he spoke. He was effortless. He always was.

Kirishima watched him with that same curiosity.

“So you’re the king’s bard,” Kirishima said, voice gentle, a little intrigued. “What does that really mean?”

Kaminari’s steps didn’t falter, but his mouth twitched as if amused by the question. “It means I sing during ceremonies and work with the scholars to keep our histories accurate. I handle cultural affairs.’’ He paused, leaning in to whisper. ‘‘And it means I get yelled at if the king hates the music at his festivals.”

Kirishima’s smile deepened. “It sounds like you do more than entertain.”

Kaminari shrugged. “Someone has to handle things when he refuses to.”

Bakugo clicked his tongue lightly, eyes moving around as if he was pretending to not eavesdrop. “I don’t refuse.”

“You complaining about them is basically refusing,” Kaminari replied, still walking.

Kirishima laughed under his breath again. “You speak very freely with him.”

Bakugo stepped forward before Kaminari could.

“Kaminari is the best at what he does,” Bakugo said evenly. “That’s all anyone needs to know.”

Kirishima’s gaze flicked to him. “Of course,” he said softly.

They reached the guest wing soon after. Large doors of dark wood carved with explosion and storm motifs swung open. Kaminari stepped aside, gesturing into the main suite.

“These will be yours for the week,” He said to Kirishima. “Your delegation has rooms down the adjoining hall. If anything isn’t to your liking, tell me and I’ll get it fixed.”

“Thank you,” Kirishima said with genuine warmth. Then he paused, studying Kaminari again before turning to Bakugo. “Your kingdom is beautiful. Your people seem devoted. I’m grateful to be here.”

Bakugo nodded once. “Rest after your journey. We’ll meet later for the formal welcome.”

Kirishima bowed again, then guided his sister inside. Mina immediately gasped at the enormous carved bathtub, shouting something about wanting to swim in it. Their advisors followed, murmuring respectfully.

When the doors finally closed behind them, the hallway fell quiet.

Kaminari exhaled, slumping slightly.

“He’s polite,” Kaminari said.

Bakugo watched the now-empty hall before looking at him. “He is.”

“Charming too.”

That earned him a click of his tongue.

Kaminari snorted. “What? You didn’t see it?”

“I saw it,” Bakugo said. “Doesn’t matter.”

Kaminari arched a brow. “You’re acting weird.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Bakugo turned away, walking a few steps toward the staircase. Kaminari followed, hands tucked into his sleeves.

“He likes you,” Bakugo muttered.

Kaminari stopped walking, blinking. “What? He talked to me. That’s it.”

“He looked at you.”

“He looked at you too.”

Bakugo huffed softly, almost irritated. “Not the same way.”

Kaminari stepped in front of him, setting a gentle hand on Bakugo’s wrist, subtle in case anyone happened to walk by.

“What is this?” Kaminari asked, voice low so only Bakugo could hear. “Are you bothered?”

Bakugo looked away, jaw tightening.

“I’m not bothered,” he said.

Kaminari laughed quietly and let his fingers slip from Bakugo’s wrist.

“He’s a prince of a neighboring kingdom,” Kaminari said. “Nothing more.”

Bakugo knew that.

He still remembered the way Kirishima’s eyes softened when they met. The way he had listened to Kaminari like his words were worth something. The way he had watched Bakugo as if measuring the storm behind his eyes.

Not dangerous, but not neutral either.

Bakugo turned his head away, letting Kaminari walk beside him again as they headed down the hall.

“He’s fuckin’ weird.” He murmured. 

Kaminari just leaned closer with a carefree grin on his lips.

The formal meeting was scheduled for early afternoon, after the visiting delegation had settled into their rooms and Bakugo had endured a brief but exhausting strategy discussion with three senior ministers who insisted on reminding him of protocol he already hated.

Kaminari stayed with him through that meeting, mostly silent but present, leaning against a side column like he was part of the stone itself, vibrating quietly with the same tension Bakugo felt.

By the time they entered the council chamber for the negotiation, the storm outside had grown thicker, pressing its weight against the dome of the palace. Bakugo walked at the front, posture sharp, cloak trailing behind him in threaded silver. Kaminari followed, movements quieter than usual, the beads tied into his rattail catching the faint light and chiming soft notes when he turned his head.

The council chamber was a massive circular room carved from pale stone veined with streaks of lightning granite. Tall windows lined one side, letting in the darkened afternoon light. A large round table stood at the center, surrounded by high-backed chairs. The atmosphere buzzed with tension, the kind that rose whenever two kingdoms with long histories and too many misunderstandings shared a room.

The dragon delegation was already seated on one side. Prince Kirishima rose to greet them the moment Bakugo stepped inside. His sister Mina bounced to her feet as well, though her advisors gently tugged her back down into her chair. Bakugo watched Kirishima’s posture as he bowed again, respecting the chamber’s formality. His movements were fluid, graceful despite his size.

“Your Majesty,” Kirishima said with a warm calm that spread through the room like sunlight. “Thank you for seeing us so soon after our arrival.”

Bakugo nodded solely once. “I don’t like delays.”

Kaminari slipped into the empty seat slightly behind and to the right of Bakugo, the traditional place for the king’s bard, though many in the room assumed it was symbolic. Only Bakugo knew that Kaminari heard everything, remembered everything, and often whispered truths later that the council refused to see.

Kirishima took his seat again, hands folding neatly in front of him. Mina sat beside him, swinging her legs softly, earning a disapproving tap from the advisor on her left.

Bakugo took his seat last, settling into the carved storm-oak chair. The room quieted instantly.

A senior minister cleared his throat. “We begin today’s session with the topic of border disputes. Over the past ten years, several villages near the eastern ridge have reported incidents of trespass by—”

“Not intentional,” Kirishima interrupted gently. “The fog in that region thickens without warning during colder months. Our people never crossed with malicious intent.”

The minister stiffened, clearly unused to such direct correction from a foreign prince. “Intent or not, the incidents pose a threat to—”

Bakugo lifted a hand, stopping him. “We know the fog shifts. It’s documented in our maps. Pretending it isn’t a factor wastes time.”

The minister swallowed hard and bowed his head. “Apologies, your Majesty.”

Bakugo kept his eyes on Kirishima. “Your people claim the ridgeline belongs to you. Ours claims it belongs to us. That’s the center of the dispute.”

Kirishima nodded. “I’ve brought documents from our historians. I hope they help clarify the confusion.”

He turned to one of his advisors, who slid a rolled map onto the table. Kaminari watched it with subtle interest, leaning forward just a fraction. He had always loved maps. Loved stories built on land.

The advisor unfurled the map, revealing an ancient script and worn ink. The border was painted in deep red, but the ridge line wavered, its position shifting faintly as the map aged.

Kaminari blinked, then opened his mouth. “That’s not drawn with the old scale. It’s off by three measures.”

The room went silent for half a heartbeat.

Kaminari froze as if he had spoken without thinking. Which he had.

The senior minister sighed, long and pointed. “Kaminari, perhaps refrain from commenting until after—”

“He’s right,” Kirishima said before the man could finish.

Every head turned toward the prince.

Kirishima leaned closer to the map. “The scale on this copy is from the century before ours standardized. If you redraw the ridge based on modern calculations, it would shift closer to the valley.”

Kaminari blinked with embarrassed caution. “I only noticed because the western borders on these older maps always look stretched.”

Kirishima smiled at him. “I appreciate the observation. Truly.”

The senior minister shut his mouth with an audible click.

Kaminari relaxed slightly, though the tips of his ears remained pink. Bakugo hid a grin behind a neutral expression. It pleased him more than he let on when Kaminari’s knowledge aligned with official policy.

Kaminari didn’t always speak in these chambers, not because he lacked intelligence, but because years of being dismissed had taught him to conserve his voice.

But Kirishima noticed him, valued him.

It was interesting. And unsettling.

They moved on to the next topic. Trade routes.

“Our merchants are requesting safer passage through your northern trails,” Bakugo said, fingers tapping lightly on the arm of his chair. “Bandits have increased recently.”

Kirishima nodded. “We’ve had the same issue. A group of raiders has been moving through the mountain passes and targeting travelers. We haven’t found their base yet.”

“Storm scouts have,” Bakugo said. “But they won’t attack outside our borders without political agreement.”

One of Kirishima’s advisors frowned. “Your scouts tracked them deeper into our land?”

Bakugo’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t accuse my scouts without listening. They tracked from our border. They didn’t step past it.”

The advisor’s mouth tightened. “We have no proof of—”

Kirishima raised a hand gently. “Jinro, enough.”

The advisor bit his tongue.

Kirishima bowed his head slightly in Bakugo’s direction. “I’m sorry. He spoke out of caution, not accusation.”

Bakugo accepted the apology wordlessly.

Kaminari cleared his throat, speaking softly. “If the raiders are using old mine tunnels, that might explain why patrols haven’t found them. Those tunnels spread for miles under both territories.”

Most of the ministers ignored him.

Except Kirishima.

“That’s a good point,” Kirishima said, eyes thoughtful. “The mines were abandoned generations ago. No one has mapped them in centuries. If the raiders know the tunnels, they could move unseen through both lands.”

Kaminari nodded, relieved to be taken seriously. “It’s just a thought. But old places like that don’t stay empty for long. Something always takes root.”

Bakugo looked at Kaminari with a flicker of warmth hidden behind his eyes. Kaminari was brilliant, despite his easy smile, despite the way officials acted like he was decorative.

Another minister shifted in his seat, clearing his throat loudly. “Back to the main topic. If the raiders threaten both kingdoms, joint patrols might be considered.”

“Agreed,” Kirishima said before anyone else could.

Bakugo raised a brow. “You’re open to it?”

“Of course.” Kirishima smiled in a way that carried honesty. “Our kingdoms have been divided for a long time. Working together benefits everyone.”

One of Bakugo’s generals scoffed quietly. “Working together isn’t so simple.”

Kirishima turned toward him calmly. “It can be. If pride is set aside.”

The general stiffened.

Bakugo almost laughed. Almost.

He liked the guy.

The discussion grew more heated as the hour passed. Diplomacy always grated on him, and Kaminari felt it too. Every time a minister talked too long, Kaminari fidgeted with the beads at the end of his braid. Every time the conversation circled needlessly, he sighed softly, notebook still empty because no one had said anything worth writing down.

At one point, a senior advisor from Kirishima’s side raised his voice in frustration.

“Your kingdom monitors every gust of wind like an omen,” the man snapped. “How can we expect clarity when your people turn storms into superstition?”

Bakugo leaned forward slightly, dangerous calm rolling off him like a gathering bolt.

But Kirishima moved first.

He placed a single hand on the table, steady, eyes sharp as flint.

“Watch your tone,” Kirishima said quietly.

The advisor froze.

Kirishima continued, voice soft but unyielding. “We were invited here as equals. Speak with respect or don’t speak at all.”

The advisor bowed his head immediately, shame coloring his face.

Bakugo watched the exchange with a flicker of approval he didn’t bother to hide.

But Kaminari.

Kaminari watched Kirishima with something else. Something thoughtful. Almost grateful.

And Bakugo felt something prick faintly under his ribs.

There were more small clashes.

A minister from Bakugo’s side dismissed Kaminari again after he suggested a compromise about shared resource rights. He didn’t even look at him when he said it. “The bard should let the officials speak.”

Again, before Bakugo even opened his mouth, Kirishima had already straightened in his chair.

“He’s is showing more tact than half this chamber,” Kirishima said. Not loud. Not confrontational. Just true. “His suggestions have been insightful. I’d like to hear the rest.”

Kaminari froze slightly, caught between embarrassment and surprise. He glanced toward Bakugo, who was hiding a snort behind his gloved hand.

Kirishima had stepped in for Kaminari three times already.

It made something inside Bakugo coil tight.

The meeting dragged on until the sun dipped lower behind the storm clouds. Lanterns were lit around the chamber, casting warm flickers across Kirishima’s face, sharpening the gold of his eyes, catching the faint scale-like shimmer at the edges of his cheekbones.

When they finally reached a stopping point, Bakugo stood.

“That’s enough for today,” he said. “We’ll continue tomorrow.”

Everyone rose. Papers gathered. Cloaks adjusted.

Kirishima stepped forward slightly, addressing Bakugo directly. “Thank you for hearing us with patience. I know these matters are difficult.”

Bakugo nodded, talking without thinking. “Your presence has made them easier.”

Kirishima’s smile softened. “I’m glad.”

Then he turned to Kaminari.

And the air changed just a fraction.

“Your insights helped more than you know,” Kirishima said. “I’m grateful for them.”

Kaminari nearly tripped over his bow. “I’m happy I could help, even if it was small.”

“It wasn’t small,” Kirishima said.

As the delegations filed out, Mina waved cheerfully at Kaminari, shouting, “Your hair is so shiny!” before being dragged away by an advisor.

Kaminari laughed.

Kirishima lingered for a moment, studying both Bakugo and Kaminari with an unreadable expression. Something gentle. Something curious.

Then he bowed and left the chamber.

The doors shut behind him.

The room emptied.

Kaminari leaned back against the table, arms crossed tightly.

“That was… a lot,” he said.

Bakugo stepped toward him, the storm’s energy brushing faintly along his skin.

“You spoke well,” Bakugo said quietly.

Kaminari scoffed. “People still look at me like I’m a decoration.”

“Not him,” Bakugo said.

Kaminari blinked. “The prince?”

Bakugo looked away. “He listens to you.”

The other blond just tilted his head with a smile, almost shy, before tugging at the king’s cloak to get out of there.

Bakugo stayed in his chambers longer than planned, letting the hot steam from the bath fade from his skin while Kaminari moved around the room with the familiar ease of someone who had long ago memorized every inch of the space. There was something calming about the way Kaminari hummed under his breath, a wandering melody that shifted and softened depending on whether he was focusing or thinking. Bakugo pretended he was adjusting the collar of his formal coat, but really, he was watching the way Kaminari’s fingers skimmed across the fabrics laid out on the bed.

Kaminari paused and looked up at him with a small grin that drew slow warmth into Bakugo’s chest.

“You should wear the darker one,” Kaminari said, picking up the deep storm-blue coat embroidered with silver thread. “It compliments your eyes. And your whole, you know… terrifying monarch aura.”

“I’m not terrifying,” Bakugo said, even though he knew he was. Or at least he was when he wanted to be. Kaminari only laughed and stepped closer.

“You are to everyone else,” Kaminari said, teasing. “But not to me.”

Bakugo didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. He lifted his chin slightly as Kaminari adjusted the collar for him, fingers brushing over his throat in a touch that lingered a little too long to be formal. He stood close enough that Bakugo felt the warmth of him, the steady breath against his jaw, the familiar scent of citrus and parchment ink clinging to his hair.

For a moment, it felt like they weren’t a king and his bard. Just two young men who had found one another in the dark halls of a too-large palace many years ago.

Kaminari stepped back but kept his hands on Bakugo’s shoulders, thumbs absently smoothing the fabric as if evening out invisible wrinkles. His smile dimmed into something gentler.

“You should rest more,” he said. “The negotiations tomorrow will drain you if you keep going at this pace.”

“I’m fine,” Bakugo said. “Besides, I have you to nag me about it.”

Kaminari’s eyes softened, that quiet fondness that rarely surfaced outside these walls. “You’re such a sap.”

They finished dressing together, their motions practiced, comfortable. Kaminari muttered to himself while tying his sash, something about hoping Mina wouldn’t climb onto the dinner table again, and Bakugo snorted, remembering last night’s chaos. Kaminari reached out and flicked Bakugo’s forehead lightly, earning a glare that had no real bite.

When they finally stepped out of the room, the palace staff already stood waiting. Two footmen bowed deeply, then moved to guide them down the corridor. Everyone in the palace knew that Kaminari walked beside the king rather than behind him, though they pretended not to.

The grand hall glowed with warm golden light, chandeliers glittering like suspended suns. The air smelled of roasted herbs, honeyed root vegetables, and the faint tang of the sea breeze drifting through the open balcony arches.

Bakugo’s and Kaminari’s seats were always at the center. Usually, visiting royalty sat across from them, far enough for comfortable formality. Which was why the entire table seemed to hold its breath when Kirishima strode in with the relaxed confidence of someone who had never once feared judgment.

Instead of moving to his assigned seat across the table, he veered directly toward them and dropped into the empty chair at Bakugo’s right side.

Kaminari blinked. Bakugo stared. One of the servants nearly dropped a water pitcher.

Kirishima grinned like this was the most natural thing in the world. “Evening, your Highness. Evening, Kaminari.”

The informal greeting alone should have been enough for Bakugo to snap. Normally, he would have. Instinctively. Automatically. But something made him hesitate. Maybe it was the ease in Kirishima’s posture, or the strange warmth of his presence, or the fact that he looked genuinely happy to sit there and expected no praise for it.

Bakugo only narrowed his eyes and muttered, almost mocking, “Sit wherever you want, then.”

Kaminari shot Bakugo a sideways glance that said he also wasn’t sure what had just possessed him, but Bakugo ignored him. 

Mina plopped into the seat beside Kirishima, practically bouncing.

“This hall is amazing,” Mina whispered loudly, black eyes wide. “Everything smells so good. Oh wow, is that caramelized squash? We never do that back home because he burns it.”

“Mina,” Kirishima groaned.

“What? You do!”

Kaminari bit back a laugh, and Bakugo felt his shoulders relax in spite of himself. The tension in the hall slowly melted as servants resumed moving, plates were laid out, goblets filled.

For a few minutes, there was only the quiet clatter of utensils, small murmurs of conversation, and Mina’s occasional gasp at something shiny.

Then Kirishima straightened, reaching into the small satchel at his hip.

“I brought something I thought might be useful,” he said, pulling out a handful of dried leaves and small bundled stems tied with twine. They were deep green, edged with faint gold. Even from a distance, Bakugo smelled the sharp scent.

“They’re herbs that grow near our eastern cliffs,” Kirishima explained. “They don’t seem to grow here. They’re really good for strength. And for clearing the head. I figured your healers might like to try them.”

He placed them gently on the table in front of Kaminari, not Bakugo, which was an interesting choice. Kaminari blinked and picked up one sprig, rubbing the leaf between his fingers.

“They’re warm,” Kaminari said, surprised. “Are they supposed to be warm?”

“They stay warm if they’re harvested correctly,” Kirishima said, leaning a little closer, his voice quieting as if sharing a secret. “It means the magic inside them is still alive.”

Kaminari smiled, genuinely charmed. “Then the harvesters back home must be really skilled.”

Kirishima’s cheeks colored faintly. “Something like that.”

Bakugo watched their exchange with an unreadable expression. Kaminari wasn’t usually quick to be drawn in by strangers.

He cleared his throat pointedly.

Kirishima snapped out of it and straightened. “Ah. Sorry. I got distracted.”

“You tend to do that, Ei,” Mina said, leaning forward to poke his arm. “Mother always said your mind wanders more than your wings do.”

Kirishima hissed her name under his breath, mortified.

Kaminari laughed, and Bakugo felt something sharp flicker low in his chest. Not jealousy, exactly. Or maybe something close to it. He wasn’t used to people openly gravitating toward Kaminari. Not like that.

But the feeling didn’t grow bitter. 

The dinner continued as Kirishima asked questions with genuine interest. Kaminari answered them with his easy wit. And every so often, something subtle flickered beneath the surface of Kirishima’s expression. A faint awareness. A quiet pull.

Bakugo noticed. The way Kirishima instinctively made space for Kaminari. The way he angled his body toward Bakugo without being confrontational. The way his presence settled into the room like he belonged there, even though he had only arrived that morning.

Something was shifting.

Bakugo could feel it in the air. In the flicker of torchlight. In the way Kaminari’s shoulder brushed his when he leaned forward to smell the herbs. In the quiet, warm glow of the rising moon outside the hall windows seeped inside.

A change in the wind, a storm gathering. Or something gentler than that.

He wasn’t sure yet.

By the time Bakugo and Kaminari returned to the royal chambers, the palace had settled into the kind of deep quiet that only arrived after midnight. 

Torches burned low in their sconces, throwing long shadows across the stone floor, and the soft hum of distant night wards vibrated through the air. The dinner had stretched much later than anyone intended, mostly because Mina had discovered a dessert she liked too much and Kirishima kept apologizing for her by rambling in circles that would have lasted until dawn if someone had not stepped in to cut him off.

Bakugo locked the door behind them with a soft click. Kaminari stretched his arms above his head, letting out a yawn that shook his whole body, then flopped onto the edge of the bed without bothering to untie his sash.

“Gods, my feet hurt,” Kaminari mumbled into the blankets. “I said I was going to keep it simple tonight, but the princess had so many questions about the embroidery on my sleeves and I didn’t want to be rude. I think she thinks I’m secretly made of gold.”

“She probably thinks everything sparkles,” Bakugo said, shrugging out of his coat. He tossed it onto a chair, then began undoing the clasps of his shirt. Kaminari rolled onto his back to watch him with half-lidded eyes.

“I’m seriously about to fall asleep right here,” 

Bakugo snorted, but before Kaminari could get fully comfortable, he snapped, “Take them to get examined.”

Kaminari blinked up at him, eyes still hazy with sleep. “Huh? Who? Mina?”

“The herbs,” Bakugo said, pulling his shirt over his head. “From the prince. Make sure the healers check them.”

Kaminari sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. “The herbs?”

“Might be poison.”

Kaminari stared at him, unimpressed. “Babe, they’re not poisonous.”

“You can’t trust everyone on the first day,” Bakugo said sharply, tossing the shirt aside. “You should know better.”

Kaminari let out a surprised laugh, leaning forward on his hands. “You think Kirishima would hand me poison at the dinner table?”

“It would be an effective way to get my most beloved,” Bakugo muttered, quiet like he didn't want to admit his fear.

Kaminari pushed himself off the bed, came close, and placed a soft kiss on Bakugo’s cheek. Bakugo stiffened slightly at the contact, then softened against it with an exhale.

“I’ll take them,” Kaminari said, his lips brushing Bakugo’s skin for a moment longer than necessary. “But you owe me if you’re wrong.”

Bakugo grunted something noncommittal, and Kaminari laughed again before slipping out of the room.

Bakugo watched the door close behind him, standing there shirtless under the dim light, jaw tense even though he knew Kaminari was right. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to settle the strange tightness in his chest. 

Kirishima had not given off a single hint of dishonesty. If anything, he felt almost too honest. Too open. Too easy to read.

Bakugo sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, leaning his elbows on his knees. The room felt too quiet without Kaminari in it.

It was another twenty minutes before the door opened again. Kaminari slipped inside silently, then shut the door with equal softness. Bakugo straightened when he saw the faint smile on Kaminari’s face.

“Told you they weren’t poison,” Kaminari said, holding up the small bundle of herbs wrapped now in healer’s cloth. “The senior healer said they’re actually really potent. Said he’s never seen anything stay this warm after drying, he didn’t even need to check, but I gave a branch anyway.”

Bakugo rolled his eyes, but Kaminari was already walking toward him. He climbed onto the bed, crawling close until he was sitting right beside Bakugo, one knee brushing Bakugo’s thigh. The warmth of him was instant, familiar, grounding.

“You good?” Kaminari asked gently.

Bakugo didn’t answer right away. Kaminari leaned in and pressed a small kiss to Bakugo’s shoulder, just above the scar that cut across his collarbone. Then another kiss at the hinge of his jaw. Then one at the corner of his mouth.

Bakugo turned his head slightly, catching Kaminari’s lips without meaning to. The kiss started small, barely more than a brush, but Kaminari always had a way of leaning in just enough to coax something deeper. Bakugo brought a hand up to cup his jaw, fingers brushing the soft skin beneath his ear.

Kaminari smiled against his mouth, then kissed him again, slower this time. Bakugo felt the tension in his chest loosen, replaced by that familiar ache of wanting Kaminari close. He tugged lightly at Kaminari’s sash until it slipped loose around his waist.

Eventually he shifted, curling into Bakugo’s side, one hand resting over Bakugo’s ribs. They laid together in the dim light, his breath steady against Bakugo’s throat.

“They really are cute,” Kaminari said suddenly.

Bakugo’s eyes opened. “Who?”

“The Kirishimas,” Kaminari said, sounding amused. “But especially the prince. He’s polite. Sweet. He seems sincere.”

Bakugo grunted, letting his fingers slide through Kaminari’s hair. Kaminari leaned into the touch like he always did, eyes half-closing.

“He also defends our rights on the borders,” Kaminari continued. “More than most kingdoms nearby. He pushed back on the trade tax changes last season so we wouldn’t take the loss alone. And he called out the council guy who dismissed me today.”

Bakugo’s hand stilled for a moment in Kaminari’s hair. He remembered that moment clearly. Kirishima stepping forward with a quiet, sharp tone that cut through the room without aggression. It had been instinctive, the way he defended them. Not calculated for politics.

Bakugo swallowed once, jaw tightening.

“…I don’t know,” he said, even though the truth sat warm and certain in the back of his mind.

He did like the guy. Against his better judgment. Against the years he spent learning how to see the worst in foreign courts.

He liked that Kirishima stood up for Kaminari without hesitation.

He liked that Kirishima had watched him with a kind of respect during the meeting.

He liked the way Kirishima had placed the herbs in Kaminari’s hands like he wanted to give something meaningful, not something strategic.

He liked that his presence didn’t feel like a threat.

He liked that he made the hall feel lighter, somehow.

Bakugo exhaled, fingers threading deeper into Kaminari’s hair as hecurled closer with a soft sigh.

“You do know,” Kaminari said quietly, though not accusingly. “You’re just being careful.”

Bakugo didn’t reply. His hand slid down to cup the back of Kaminari’s neck, thumb rubbing small circles there. His bard hummed in response, tilting his head so Bakugo could press a slow kiss to his temple.

They stayed like that, wrapped in dim light until Kaminari shifted again, lifting his face to kiss Bakugo gently. He chased the kiss without thinking, pulling Kaminari closer until their breaths mingled.

Kaminari finally pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against Bakugo’s.

“He’s not a threat,” Kaminari whispered. “You’re thinking like your mom.”

Bakugo closed his eyes, letting the moment settle between them.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Maybe.”

Kaminari smiled before tucking himself under Bakugo’s arm again, warm in the quiet of the night.

Outside, the wards hummed low. The moon climbed past the high windows.

And Bakugo held Kaminari close, pretending the tightness in his chest wasn’t a strange new anticipation he didn’t quite know how to name.

The next morning rose gray and heavy with mist, the kind that clung to the castle’s stone pathways and softened the sound of every footstep. Bakugo had barely slept, though Kaminari’s warmth beside him had made the night softer than it would have been otherwise. They woke to a servant knocking softly on the chamber door, informing them that the morning negotiations would begin earlier than scheduled.

Bakugo groaned, Kaminari winced, and both needed a moment before pulling themselves out of the comfort of the blankets.

The meeting stretched from the cool morning into the dull glow of early afternoon. Representatives from Kirishima’s kingdom arrived in formal attire, voices prim and practiced. Bakugo sat at the head of the long table, expression carved from stone, Kaminari at his right side with quiet attentiveness. Kirishima attended as well, though far more composed than the night before. Mina attended too, fidgeting with a polished stone she claimed was her “thinking rock,” though Bakugo doubted it helped.

Discussions looped through trade routes, sky-border patrols, fishing rights, and access to the eastern mountain pass. Kaminari offered small bits of input here and there, though the older officials rarely looked in his direction when he spoke.

Kirishima noticed every time, jaw tightening in disapproval, and whenever someone raised their voice a little too sharply or dismissed a point with curt impatience, Kirishima stepped in with calm authority. He did it so naturally that it caught even Bakugo off guard.

The meeting was productive enough, but exhausting.

When they finally adjourned, the sun had begun its slow descent. Servants swept into the room to clear tables and gather documents. Bakugo rubbed at his temples while Kaminari leaned down to quietly ask if he wanted tea or a nap.

Before Bakugo could answer, one of the royal attendants reminded Kaminari of his own duties.

“Your preparations for tonight begin promptly, First Bard.”

Kaminari groaned dramatically. “Already?”

Bakugo grinned immediately. “Go get ready.”

He stuck out his tongue. “Only because the king commands it.”

The other blond just nudged him in the hip. “Move.”

Kaminari laughed and brushed his fingers briefly along Bakugo’s shoulder as he passed. It was quick, discreet, but Bakugo felt it all the same. Then he disappeared with the attendants, carried off to be fussed over and dressed as the head of the evening’s choir.

Bakugo watched the door shut, then exhaled. The silence felt strange without Kaminari’s subtle presence next to him.

The gala started hours later, the sky outside shifting into a deep violet. The great hall had been redecorated entirely for the event, lanterns strung high along the pillars, soft golden spells drifting in the air like suspended fireflies. Distant kitchens filled the hall with the scent of citrus glazes, roasted meats, and delicate pastries.

Guests filtered in, murmuring with excitement. Not commoners, but wealthy families, well-connected merchants, political figures, distant nobles, people who had bought or inherited their way into these rooms across generations. They dressed in shimmering fabrics and jewels, filling the air with a hum of anticipation.

Bakugo entered with the same cold authority he always carried during public events, dressed in storm-blue once more, though this time silver threads glinted sharply around the edges. Even so, whispers followed him as if dragged along like a cloak.

And just as the night before, Kirishima and Mina arrived moments after him, bursting with bright energy that cut through the tension in the room like a warm wind. Mina practically bounced in place until she spotted Bakugo, then gave a cheerful wave with both hands, as if greeting an old friend rather than the ruler of a kingdom.

Kirishima followed behind her, horns polished, coat neatly pressed. He wore a polite, charming smile that made a few nearby nobles flush without realizing it.

He approached the table with no hesitation at all.

“Evening, Bakugo,” Kirishima said, sliding once again into the seat at Bakugo’s right before anyone could correct him. He did it so naturally that the attendants simply stopped trying. Mina dropped into the seat beside her brother and immediately reached for the fruit bowl in front of her.

Bakugo stared at Kirishima for a moment, waiting for the irritation to rise. Waiting for the impulse to tell him to return to his assigned place, or to address him properly. Waiting for anything normal.

But nothing came.

He only felt that same strange, unexpected warmth stirring in his chest.

Kirishima’s tail, tucked behind him but clearly restless, thumped against the chair leg once. Then again. He caught himself and cleared his throat, as if pretending the small burst of excitement had not happened at all.

Kirishima looked around the hall with an expression that hovered between wonder and alertness. “Is Kaminari not joining you for the first course?”

Bakugo watched a server pour him a drink before answering. “He is performing tonight.”

Kirishima’s eyes widened. “Performing? As in singing?”

“Yes,” Bakugo said. “He’s the head of the choir.”

Mina clapped softly, eyes sparkling. “Oh, I wanted to hear the famous palace choir! Mother said they’re one of the best in the region.”

“They are,” Bakugo said.

He didn’t add that Kaminari had trained every new singer since he was nineteen. He didn’t add that Kaminari had rewritten half the choral arrangements in the last three years. He didn’t add that the choir had once been good, and then Kaminari made it exceptional.

Servants glided past the tables with crystal decanters, filling goblets with light sparkling wine. The guests settled into their seats. The lantern light above dimmed, glowing softer, warmer.

Then the first notes of music drifted from the far balcony.

A hush fell almost instantly.

It wasn’t even a grand opening. Not a flashy entrance. Just a gentle rising of sound, the kind meant to be atmospheric, a soft background for conversation. But Kaminari didn’t know how to sing plainly. Even the simplest melody bloomed under his voice.

Bakugo recognized the tune before he even saw him.

A slow, calm piece. A song meant to glide over the crowd without demanding attention. But Kaminari’s voice had always been difficult to ignore. Warm. Golden. Catching attention like the sun.

When Kaminari stepped into view above the hall, dressed in soft whites and muted golds like a trophy, every head tilted toward him as if drawn by instinct. His hair had been brushed and loosely tied back, letting the light strike the sharp edges of his smile.

Kirishima’s breath caught audibly.

Bakugo turned just in time to see it happen.

Kirishima sat straighter, ears pinning forward, red eyes fixed on the balcony. He looked mesmerized.

Mina leaned over the table until her horns nearly hit the dessert tray. “Oh my gods, he’s amazing.”

Bakugo didn’t move, but his eyes lifted to the balcony above. Kaminari stood near the railing, dressed in soft ivory robes that shimmered in the firelight. His posture was graceful, his expression calm, focused, serene. He sang without holding anything back, but without flaunting anything either. A perfect balance.

Kirishima’s tail thumped again. Then again. Then again.

He seemed to realize it a moment too late and grabbed it to hold it still, cheeks flaring a warm red.

“Sorry,” he whispered, though no one had commented. “I just… wow.”

Bakugo couldn’t help the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Kirishima shook his head slowly, still staring upward. “He’s really incredible. Better than the bards at our court. And they pride themselves on being the best.”

Bakugo grunted, lifting his drink to his lips.

“He trained for it,” Bakugo said. “He puts in more hours than anyone else. Of course he’s good.”

Kirishima looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “You speak very proudly of him.”

Bakugo only hummed, looking back up before Kirishima could dig any deeper.

The next song began, softer, lilting like the breeze above the cliffs. Kaminari’s voice slipped between harmonies and whispered notes with a skill that felt effortless, though Bakugo knew it came from years of relentless work. The bard’s eyes remained half closed, lashes catching the firelight, expression serene in a way that made half the crowd lean forward unconsciously.

Kirishima’s tail slipped from his hand and started wagging again. He groaned under his breath, covering his face with one hand. “I swear I have control over this. Usually.”

Bakugo let out a snort under his breath.

The hall glowed with candlelight. The air hummed with music. The crowd watched in quiet awe as Kaminari guided the entire atmosphere with nothing but his voice.

As the song carried through the room, Bakugo leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on the balcony, and allowed himself, just for a moment, to feel the way the world settled when Kaminari sang.

Kaminari slipped into the room long after the halls had gone quiet, soft footfalls muffled by the thick carpets and the dim golden light of the candles Bakugo had refused to snuff out. The king stood from where he had been leaning against the edge of the desk, half dressed, half angry, and entirely restless. The moment Kaminari shut the door and lifted his gaze, Bakugo crossed the room in three strides, fingers curling into the front of Kaminari’s robe and dragging him in like the world had been gray without him.

Kaminari barely had time to laugh before Bakugo’s mouth found his, not desperate but close to it. Bakugo kissed him like he’d been holding his breath the whole evening, like something in him finally unclenched now that Kaminari was here.

Kaminari let out a startled sound, then melted, arms winding around Bakugo’s shoulders as he allowed himself to be swept fully into it.

Bakugo tasted like the fruit wine he hated but drank out of obligation. Kaminari breathed him in, pulling him closer as his fingers slid into his hair with practiced ease.

“I’m gone for two hours and you act like I left for a week,” Kaminari murmured against his lips, smiling, breath brushing Bakugo’s mouth.

Bakugo frowned at him, which only made Kaminari laugh quietly.

He didn’t answer. Words always felt clumsy in moments like this, when his throat tightened and his chest pressed too tight with feelings he rarely let himself acknowledge. Instead, Bakugo kissed him again, slower now, easing Kaminari back until the bard’s spine met the door.

Kaminari cupped his cheek, thumb brushing along his jaw, expression warm, amused, entirely fond.

Bakugo pressed his forehead to his for a breath, then dipped down, lips finding Kaminari’s neck. He kissed, not biting or harsh, just the silent confession he refused to speak out loud. He moved lower, brushing his mouth against the warm skin as his hands slid to the small buttons running down the bard’s shirt.

Kaminari laughed again, breathless. “Katsuki, wait, let me at least–”

But Bakugo already had half the buttons undone, the fabric slipping open to reveal Kaminari’s collarbones, the necklace he wore only in the privacy of their room, the faint flush rising along his chest. Kaminari caught Bakugo’s wrist just long enough to fish something out of his belt.

A small handful of stones, smooth and iridescent, reflecting candlelight in soft shimmering colors.

Kaminari held them up with a grin that was half proud, half sheepish. “Eijirou waited to give them to me.”

Bakugo stared at them for a heartbeat before leaning back in, unimpressed, brushing Kaminari’s hair aside to kiss the curve where his neck met his shoulder.

“Oh, it’s Eijirou now?” he said, voice low, words muffled against skin.

Kaminari snorted. “What, you jealous?”

Bakugo answered by kissing him again, slow enough to be an admission.

“For some rocks?” Bakugo muttered between kisses.

“They’re shiny,” Kaminari countered, laughing.

“They’re bribery.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Bakugo huffed, which Kaminari took as victory, and in the next breath Bakugo was kissing him again, arms wrapped carefully around him. Kaminari tugged him toward the bed, still smiling against his mouth, and he followed like he had no choice at all.

Later, after Kaminari washed the stage makeup from his cheeks, after Bakugo pulled him close and refused to let an inch of space exist between them, after more slow kisses and whispered jabs and Bakugo’s hands settling warm around Kaminari’s waist, they finally drifted into bed.

The room fell quiet.

Only their breathing filled the space between the thick curtains.

Kaminari laid on his stomach, cheek pressed against Bakugo’s shoulder, hair spilling over Bakugo’s arm. Bakugo stared at the ceiling, eyes wide open, thoughts pacing in circles behind them.

An hour passed.

Then another pocket of silence, broken only when Bakugo nudged Kaminari with his elbow.

“Denki,” he muttered.

Kaminari let out a tiny groan of someone who had just reached the edge of sleep. “Mm. What?”

“Bring me the prince.”

Kaminari lifted his head, eyes squinting in confusion. “What?”

“Get him here,” Bakugo said, turning to look at him fully now. “He’s acting weird.”

The other blinked at him, exhausted and amused. “Now?”

“Yes, now.”

Kaminari stared, lips parting, then shutting, then parting again. “Katsuki. It’s the middle of the night.”

“So?”

“So he’s probably asleep.”

“Then wake him up.” Bakugo demanded, like a spoiled kid who always got what he wanted.

Kaminari buried his face into the pillow. “You’re jealous~,” he sang, voice thick with drowsy laughter. “You’re jealous of the cute dragon prince who gave me shiny rocks.”

Bakugo clicked his tongue, sitting up slightly. “I’m not jealous.”

“You are.”

“I’m not. He’s acting weird.”

Kaminari peeked up at him, eyes glimmering with mischief. “You like him.”

Bakugo glared.

He kept going, because he was Kaminari and he was immune to Bakugo’s temper. “You like him and you’re panicking because you don’t know what to do with it.”

“I’m not panicking.”

Kaminari laughed softly, rolling closer and kissing Bakugo’s shoulder. “Katsuki. Come on. Eijirou was polite all day.”

Bakugo didn’t answer. Not for a long moment.

Finally, he said, quieter than before, “He looks at you weird.”

Kaminari sat up a little, eyebrows lifting. “At me?”

“At both of us.”

Kaminari stared at him.

Bakugo looked away.

Finally, Kaminari exhaled, soft and understanding. He reached up and brushed Bakugo’s bangs away from his eyes, fingertips warm and gentle. “Katsuki… you don’t have to worry.”

“Just go check on him.”

Kaminari blinked, taken aback. “You’re serious.”

Bakugo nodded once.

Kaminari groaned again but slid out of bed, one hand dragging dramatically along the blankets. He grabbed a robe, tied it loosely, then leaned down, brushing a kiss against Bakugo’s cheek.

“This is because you like him,” he teased, which only earned him a scowl.

He slipped out the door, laughter trailing behind him like a spark.

Bakugo laid back, staring at the ceiling, hand resting over his chest.

Fine.

Maybe he did like the prince.

But he refused to deal with that alone.

Bakugo spent the better part of an hour lying rigid in bed, staring hard at the ceiling, every sound in the corridor sharpening his senses until they ached. He had half a mind to go look for Kaminari himself, or drag a guard inside and demand to know who else had been wandering the west wing at this absurd hour.

But finally, at last, the door creaked.

Bakugo sat up immediately.

And froze.

Because Kaminari stumbled in like he’d escaped a whirlwind, hair wild, collar stretched, soft bite marks lining his shoulder and neck in crescents. And draped all over him, clinging like a happy, oversized cat, was the prince.

Half shifted.

Horns curved from his head, glinting faint gold. Scales shimmered along his arms and cheeks. His pupils were slitted, glowing faintly in the dim candlelight. His tail swished behind him in a lazy arc. His claws rested very carefully over Kaminari’s waist, like he already knew not to hurt him.

And he was licking Kaminari’s neck.

Delightedly.

Bakugo stared.

Kaminari lifted one hand in a weak greeting, the other attempting to push Kirishima’s face away with no real force behind it.

“So,” Kaminari said, voice hoarse and thin, “good news, he’s not trying to bribe you.”

Kirishima made a pleased little trill in his throat, smiling against Kaminari’s skin.

“Bad news,” He continued, “He’s been courting us.”

Bakugo blinked.

Kirishima tightened his hold, tail swishing harder, rubbing his cheek against Kaminari’s shoulder in a warm, instinctive nuzzle.

Kaminari looked down at him like he wasn’t sure whether he should laugh, cry, or fall asleep standing up. “Eijirou, sweetheart, that’s enough,” he murmured, patting his cheek gently. “You need to explain.”

Kirishima blinked once, then peeled himself away from Kaminari with obvious reluctance. Kaminari exhaled in relief and stumbled toward the bed, collapsing onto it face first before rolling onto his side with a soft groan.

He looked blessed and exhausted.

He looked like he had survived an affectionate dragon.

Bakugo should have been jealous, but he wasn’t. Not even a little.

Kirishima stepped forward, still half scaled, still glowing faintly with some deep instinct humming in his blood. He dropped to one knee with an awkward, endearing thump, tail curling reflexively around his ankle. His cheeks were flushed with heat and pride.

He took Bakugo’s hand carefully in both of his clawed ones.

The room went very still.

Kirishima lifted his gaze, bright red eyes locked onto Bakugo’s, steady as a vow.

“Let me protect you,” he said.

Simple, sincere. Spoken like a dragon who had found something precious. Something he wasn’t planning on letting go.

Bakugo’s heartbeat stuttered.

Kaminari, still sprawled across the bed, covered his face with one hand and groaned weakly. “He means both of us,” he muttered.

Kirishima nodded immediately. His thumb brushed the back of Bakugo’s hand, surprisingly gentle for someone who could crush stone. “You’re supposed to be together. Dragons know these things.”

Bakugo opened his mouth, then closed it. Then opened it again.

Kirishima waited patiently, kneeling like a knight offering fealty, tail flicking with quiet excitement.

Kaminari peeked over his hand, sleepy-eyed and resigned. “I explained that courting customs aren’t shared between kingdoms,” he said. “I also explained that he can’t just… y’know. Claim us like that.”

Kirishima made a small noise of distress at the word can’t, then immediately straightened his spine and tried to look more… princely.

“And then,” Kaminari continued, pressing his face into the pillow again, “he tried to woo me harder.”

Bakugo raised an eyebrow. “Harder.”

“Yeah,” Kaminari said tiredly. “He climbed the walls.”

Kirishima puffed up proudly. “I showed my strength.”

“And then,” Kaminari said, “he brought me stones. More stones. Like… twenty. I think he emptied half his travel bag.”

Kirishima nodded, glowing with pride. “I saved the good ones.”

Bakugo let out a slow exhale, not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh.

Kirishima squeezed his hand. “You let me sit beside you twice,” he said, voice softening with an earnest warmth that made Bakugo’s chest tighten. “And you didn’t yell. And you listened when I talked. And you smell safe.”

His claws eased into a softer hold.

“You’re strong. He’s got the brains. I’m… I’m loyal.” His voice went quieter, almost shy. “I want to stay near you both.”

Kaminari muffled a small laugh into the mattress, like he was too tired to handle the weight of such sincerity.

Bakugo looked down at the prince kneeling at his feet. Red hair wild from shifting, eyes glowing with devotion, hands steady and warm around his own. And something inside Bakugo shifted.

Kirishima waited, breath held, tail curling anxiously.

The blond reached out with his free hand and touched the back of Kirishima’s knuckles, just briefly, grounding the prince before he completely vibrated apart from nerves.

Kirishima inhaled sharply at the contact, shoulders loosening in visible relief.

From the bed, Kaminari mumbled, “He means it, you know. All of it. I checked.”

“Checked how?” Bakugo asked.

The bard was still face-down in the blankets, one arm hanging off the mattress, hair sticking in every direction, clothes half tugged out of place by dragon claws and enthusiasm. When Bakugo asked, he only snorted into the sheets and pointed at himself with a limp, exasperated hand.

“You see this?” he mumbled.

Kirishima, still kneeling on the cold floor, still holding Bakugo’s hand between both of his own, perked up like that was something to be proud of. Scales glimmered along his cheeks where the candlelight hit them. His slitted eyes softened as he looked at Kaminari. The faintest rumble came from deep in his chest, a sound Bakugo hadn’t heard from any person in his entire life.

He looked at his bard first. Covered in faint claw marks, flushed down his neck, clothes bitten through in two places, hair sticking out like he’d been blown over by wind. Kaminari looked pleased. And tired. And a little dazzled.

Bakugo had seen Kaminari in all kinds of states over the years, but this… this was a warmth that started under the skin and glowed out.

Then he looked down at Kirishima.

Still holding his hand like Bakugo was something treasured, something chosen. His expression open in a way that felt ancient, instinctual. There was a sincerity there that hit too fast and too deep, the kind Bakugo would have mocked in anyone else.

When Bakugo looked between the two of them, something tugged in his chest.

It hit him all at once that this was the first time he had ever met someone who shone the way Kaminari did. That same rare warmth, that same strange sincerity, the kind that made a person feel seen without ever asking for it.

“Tch,” Bakugo muttered, more to himself than either of them. “Because one secret wasn’t enough.”

Kaminari snorted into the bed.

Bakugo squeezed Kirishima’s hand once, then tugged. “Come on. Bed.”

Kirishima blinked, caught between confusion and delight. “Bed? Here?”

“Yes, you heard me.”

The prince stood carefully, still half scaled, tail sweeping the floor once before curling around his leg. He followed as soon as Bakugo turned, eager in the way only a dragon could be, but slowed himself when he reached the bed as if trying to remember manners. He looked at Kaminari, waited for some kind of permission, then climbed in gently beside him.

The gentleness lasted for three seconds.

Then instinct won.

Kirishima curled around Kaminari immediately, arms slipping around his waist, nose pressing into his hair. He let out that pleased rumble again, softer this time, a vibration Kaminari felt more than heard.

Kaminari whined weakly and pushed at his face with one palm. “No biting,” he complained, eyes half open.

“I didn’t bite hard,” Kirishima said happily, already settling down, tail draped over Kaminari’s thigh. “You taste sweet.”

Bakugo pressed one hand to his face. His heart felt too full, loud in his chest in a way he didn’t have the words for.

Kirishima tried nuzzling again. Kaminari yelped softly and shoved at him, though he didn’t actually push him away. “Stop that, I’m tired.”

“You also smell good,” Kirishima replied, tail flicking lazily.

Kaminari mumbled into the blankets, “Someone else deal with him, please. I’m going to die.”

Bakugo dropped into bed on Kaminari’s other side, propping himself up on an elbow. He watched them for a moment, Kaminari’s face half buried in the pillow, Kirishima wrapped around him like warmth made flesh, scales catching on fabric every time he breathed.

Kaminari relaxed in it. He didn’t even pretend not to like it.

That alone made Bakugo’s chest tighten again.

After another moment of Kirishima trying to lick Kaminari’s cheek and Kaminari smacking his face lightly in protest, Bakugo reached over and nudged the dragon prince’s shoulder.

“Let him sleep.”

Kirishima stilled, then lifted his head, blinking his bright red eyes at Bakugo in confusion. “Ah. You want attention too, your majesty?” he asked, tone teasing, tail swishing with open playfulness.

Bakugo scoffed, but joined in on his act. “Speak properly to me in my land.”

Kirishima only grinned wider.

He leaned across Kaminari, supporting himself on an elbow so he wouldn’t crush him, and pressed a clumsy kiss to the corner of Bakugo’s mouth. The kiss of someone who didn’t know how to pretend.

Bakugo didn’t pull back.

He grabbed Kirishima by the jaw, steadying him, pulling him closer so their lips fit properly the second time. Kirishima made a soft, startled sound in his throat, trembled once, then kissed him back with a kind of wholehearted sincerity that Bakugo had never been kissed with in his life.

Kaminari groaned between them, face still buried in the pillow. “Can you two not do that over my corpse.”

Kirishima paused for only a heartbeat, looking between them with his mouth parted and his pupils round, his head tipped in that way he did when he was more instinct than thought. He looked thrilled. Kaminari looked resigned.

And Bakugo… Bakugo felt something in his chest loosen like it had been waiting for this kind of nonsense.

He slid his hand up, fingers pressing beneath the curve of Kirishima’s jaw, dragging slowly until he found the spot he wanted. The pads of his fingers dug in with a careful pressure. The prince jolted, eyes widening, and that deep, rumbling purr tore out of him like it had been punched free. It vibrated through Bakugo’s palm and straight down his arm.

The purring only got louder when Bakugo tugged him in by the jaw and kissed him again, heat curling between them like something molten. Kirishima pushed forward eagerly, one hand planting by Bakugo’s hip while the other clung to Kaminari’s waist. His tail thumped once against the mattress before swaying in lazy delight.

Kaminari slapped at it without looking, still lying on his back with his shirt half open. “Stop knocking into me, I’m trying to sleep,” he muttered, which fooled absolutely no one.

Kirishima didn’t listen in the slightest. He nuzzled against Bakugo’s mouth, kissed him again, then turned his head and pressed a wet kiss on Kaminari’s cheek just to prove a point. Kaminari sputtered, wiping it off roughly, but his face was already turning bright.

Bakugo kissed the corner of Kirishima’s mouth again, dragging him back with a small bite to the lower lip, like this wasn’t new at all. Like he’d known the prince since forever.

The prince shivered so obviously that the mattress shifted with the movement. Bakugo felt the satisfaction bloom in his chest. He had always liked seeing power respond to him like that, even when he was young, even when it had scared him.

Seeing it now, with Kirishima’s hair brushing his shoulder and Kaminari’s hand rubbing sleepily at his stomach, it made something in him tighten and expand at the same time.

Kirishima leaned into him with that wide, adoring grin he never seemed to hide. “You’re very touchy,” he murmured, breath hot against Bakugo’s mouth.

“Remind me who came to my room draped over my boyfriend?” Bakugo shot back, grabbing him by the back of the neck and pulling him in again. Their mouths met hard, heat crackling between them, Kirishima’s purring spilling into Bakugo’s throat like it belonged there.

Kaminari made a soft noise at that, something fond despite his pretending, and his arm tightened around Kirishima’s stomach. Kirishima leaned down and kissed the top of Kaminari’s head with a sweetness that should not have matched the size of his claws or the heat of the purr still rolling through him.

Bakugo watched the two of them for a moment, the sight grounding him so suddenly it felt like the air thinned. Kaminari’s hair was sticking up in a dozen directions, his collar askew, his eyelids heavy with exhaustion. Kirishima was glowing with joy, practically vibrating between them, his tail curling around Kaminari’s leg like he was claiming him in the most obvious way possible.

They looked like they fit. They looked like they were supposed to be tangled together like this, knocked breathless with each other’s presence.

Bakugo tugged Kirishima back by the jaw, kissed him again, then leaned over and pressed a quieter kiss to Kaminari’s temple. Kaminari hummed at the touch, eyes nearly shut. Kirishima made a pleased little chirring sound at seeing it, leaning in to kiss Kaminari’s skin right after Bakugo’s lips left it, like he wanted to follow him everywhere.

Kirishima looked down at him with a softness that was so pure it almost hurt to look at. Then he turned his gaze to Bakugo, bright and warm and stupidly earnest. “Can I kiss you again?” he asked, like he was asking permission to breathe.

Bakugo didn’t answer. He grabbed the front of his shirt and hauled him in, kissing him deep, letting the warmth of it spill into the space between them. Kirishima melted instantly, pressing his forehead to Bakugo’s when the kiss finally broke.

The room felt too warm, too full, too much and somehow still not enough.

Kirishima’s tail thumped lazily against the sheets, his purring rolling like distant thunder. Kaminari’s breathing softened into the rhythm of sleep, his fingers curled in the prince’s clothes. And Bakugo stayed right there between them, letting himself sink into all that heat and noise and closeness.

Morning came in slow, warm layers, the kind that didn’t feel like dawn so much as someone gently placing a blanket over the world. Bakugo stirred into consciousness only when a soft breath ghosted over his chest. He blinked his eyes open, the ceiling of the room swimming into place, and immediately felt Kaminari pressed to his side, curled in tight like he always belonged there.

Kaminari’s hair tickled the underside of his jaw, and Bakugo shifted on instinct, nuzzling down into it with a quiet grunt, half asleep, letting the scent of him pull him back toward warmth.

But something in the room felt wrong.

Too much movement. Too much pacing for this hour.

Bakugo cracked one eye open again and saw Kirishima walking back and forth across the rug, practically wearing a path into it. The prince kept running his hands through his hair, muttering to himself, turning sharply every few steps like a guard dog trapped in too small of a room. His shoulders were tense, his back straight, breath too fast.

And he looked different than last night.

A lot more human. His scales were gone entirely, his horns barely jutting through the soft red of his hair, no longer proud or gleaming but small enough to mistake for decorative combs if someone didn’t know better. His tail was thinner, shorter, swaying like an anxious cat instead of a threatening beast. Even his eyes, once blazing gold, were closer to their human shade now, bright but no longer glowing.

Bakugo’s face scrunched.

“The fuck are you doing?” he muttered, voice rough with sleep. He tugged Kaminari in tighter without thinking, rubbing his cheek against his hair as if this were any other morning in the world.

Kirishima stopped immediately.

He spun toward the bed like he had heard a war horn. And then, horrifically, he dropped to his knees beside it, elbows resting on the mattress, posture folded and earnest, like someone begging a god for mercy.

“I am so sorry, your majesty,” he blurted, hands clasped like he expected shackles any moment. His voice tripped over itself, panic overflowing in every syllable. “I wasn’t in a right state. We, uh, at night, we get a lot less… human? And I acted on instinct, and it was disrespectful, and God I’m so sorry, please forgive me—”

Bakugo stared at him.

Stared at him kneeling there like someone awaiting execution. Stared at the trembling hands, at the flushed tips of his ears, at the frightened flicker of his tail.

And then Bakugo groaned loud enough to cut him off, reaching out with one annoyed hand.

He grabbed Kirishima by the wrist and yanked him forward, dragging him back into the bed like he weighed nothing.

“Shut up before someone hears you,” Bakugo snapped, covering Kaminari’s ear with one hand while keeping a firm hold on the prince with the other. His voice was low, sleepy, irritated more by the noise than the apology. “You’re making it worse.”

Kirishima froze in place where he landed, half sprawled over the covers, looking utterly lost.

He blinked once. Twice. His mouth moved uselessly for a moment before he managed, “I’m… what?”

Bakugo shoved at his shoulder until he toppled properly onto the mattress. Kaminari grumbled softly at the new weight and mumbled something into Bakugo’s chest that sounded like his name.

Kirishima’s eyes went wide.

“I touched you,” he whispered, horrified. “I touched him.”

Bakugo rolled his eyes and pulled the blankets over him aggressively. “You think whispering makes it better? Get in before a servant walks in and thinks I’m corrupting royalty.”

“But I—”

“Eijirou,” Bakugo warned, eyes half closed. “If you wake him up with your guilt spiral, I’m throwing you out.”

Kirishima went silent instantly.

He laid stiff as a board beside them for a solid ten seconds, every part of him radiating confusion and shame and a desperation so strong Bakugo could practically taste it. His hands were knotted in the blanket, his tail twitching nervously against the mattress. He kept glancing between Bakugo and Kaminari like he expected them to suddenly change their minds and banish him.

Bakugo sighed and shoved a hand into Kirishima’s hair, ruffling it just hard enough to disrupt the prince’s frantic thoughts. Kirishima jolted at the touch, breath catching, eyes going soft and stunned. The panic in him faltered.

“There,” Bakugo muttered, fingers still deep in the prince’s hair. “Stop acting like you murdered someone.”

Kirishima swallowed. “But last night I—”

“You were a dragon,” Bakugo cut in. “Congratulations. You think this is the first time someone made questionable decisions in my bed?”

Kirishima choked. Kaminari snorted in half-sleep with the pointed words to himself, face buried in Bakugo’s chest, fingers tightening briefly in the king’s shirt.

Bakugo rubbed slow circles on the back of Kaminari’s head without waking him, the motion familiar, thoughtless. Then he looked at Kirishima again.

The prince still looked overwhelmed, but some of the raw panic eased. His shoulders relaxed by a fraction. His hands loosened their death grip on the blanket.

Bakugo tugged him by the collar this time, pulling him down until his head rested on Kaminari’s other side, effectively sandwiching the bard between them.

Kirishima made a startled noise. “So I’m allowed to…?”

“Clearly you already were,” Bakugo grumbled. “Now shut up and lie down.”

Kirishima didn’t just lie down. He settled like someone sinking into warm water after days of cold, pressing close in a way that made Kaminari sigh softly, shifting his leg over Kirishima’s without waking. The prince’s breath caught again at that, but he didn’t pull away this time. He curled into it, timid at first, then more comfortably as the silence settled.

Bakugo watched him from one half-lidded eye.

The softened face. The human eyes. The way he still glowed faintly with warmth even without his scales. How he seemed so much smaller like this, so much more breakable.

“Mornings are calmer, huh,” Bakugo muttered.

Kirishima flushed. “They are. I’m myself again. Mostly.”

“You’re loud,” Bakugo added.

The redhead wilted. “I’m really sorry, I was just—”

Bakugo flicked his forehead with a lazy grin, causing him to clutch his head like he had been stabbed.

“I said calm down. Which part of that was confusing?” Bakugo murmured, adjusting Kaminari’s leg so Kirishima wouldn’t get kicked by accident. “If I regret something, believe me, you’ll know.”

Kirishima stared at him, stunned quiet.

Then, very carefully, he relaxed fully into the bed, his head resting on Kaminari’s shoulder, one arm draped loosely across the bard’s waist. Kaminari shifted, exhaled, and snuggled closer to both of them in his sleep, completely unbothered.

Bakugo let himself sink back into the pillows, eyes finally closing again, warmth enveloping him from both sides.

And despite the chaos, despite the pacing, despite the prince thinking he had disgraced an entire kingdom in the span of one night, the room felt peaceful.

Kirishima’s voice broke the quiet one last time, “Are you sure this is okay?”

Bakugo reached out blindly and slapped a hand over the prince’s mouth.

“Sleep,” he ordered.

Kirishima nodded vigorously under the hand.

Bakugo smirked, dropped his hand, and finally let the morning pull him back under, surrounded by the steady breathing of the two he somehow let into his bed.

He woke a few hours later to the sound of bickering. Not real bickering. The light, pointless kind that came out of people comfortable enough to poke at each other for sport. Kaminari’s bright voice, mixed with Kirishima’s deeper one, warm even when defensive. They sounded like they were already used to waking up in the same room, used to the same sun, used to each other’s breathing.

The king cracked an eye open.

Kaminari was sitting cross-legged on the far side of the bed, hair brushed but still fluffy, the cloth over him hanging low over his torso. Kirishima sat opposite him on the edge of the mattress, leaning forward, tail twitching with indignation that he clearly believed he had masked. Kaminari held something in his hands, waving it around like it was evidence for a crime. Kirishima kept trying to grab it back.

“I’m telling you, it’s yours,” Kaminari insisted, grinning.

“It is absolutely not mine, Denki,” Kirishima argued, stealing a glance toward Bakugo and whispering the rest as if that made it private. “I would never lose a scale that tiny. That’s a baby scale.”

“It was on your shirt.”

“It’s not mine.”

“It’s red.”

‘‘My baby scales are black—’’

Bakugo groaned loudly, slamming an arm over his face. Both of them went still.

Silence.

Then Kaminari giggled. Kirishima tried to hide his smile behind his hand.

Bakugo lifted his arm and glared at them.

“Are you two five?”

“No,” they both answered at the same time, extremely unconvincingly.

The king sat up slowly, muscles protesting, back cracking as daylight stabbed him directly in the eyes. Kaminari reached out to steady him by instinct, palm sliding over Bakugo’s shoulder. Bakugo allowed it for one second before shoving him off lightly, mostly because Kirishima was staring at the contact with a hopeful wag of his tail.

He threw the blankets off and stood, bare-backed, stretching until his spine popped. The sudden rush of colder air made him grunt. He grabbed his cloak off the chair and swung it over his shoulders, letting the heavy fabric fall over his back, covering skin and old scars alike.

He ruffled a hand through his hair, already annoyed by the brightness of the room.

“Deki,” he muttered. “What’s today?”

Kaminari perked up instantly, slipping into his role with practiced ease.

“Council with the border delegates in the afternoon. Training inspection if you want to show up and scare them. And the evening reception with the visiting families. Also you promised Inko you’d show face for lunch but I told her you were busy so you’re welcome.”

Bakugo grunted an approval.

Then he turned his attention to Kirishima.

The prince’s posture shifted immediately, as if gravity itself centered around Bakugo’s gaze. His tail froze, then curled timidly. His hands pressed against his thighs like he was bracing himself.

“You better go back before someone notices,” Bakugo said.

The words hit Kirishima like a rejection. His shoulders drooped just enough to be noticeable. His tail sank, the tip dragging faintly against the floor. He looked like he wanted to whine, but he swallowed it down with visible effort.

“I’m…” Kirishima stood, hesitated, then stepped toward the balcony where Bakugo was headed. He followed, steps quiet, eyes soft.

When Bakugo pushed open the balcony doors, morning air swept in, crisp and cool. He leaned his elbows on the railing, looking down at the courtyard already bustling with servants.

Kirishima came up beside him and leaned into the stone sealing. Close. Too close. Close enough Bakugo could feel the warmth radiating from him even in human form. Close enough their shoulders brushed.

“I want to stay,” Kirishima said quietly.

Bakugo’s brows twitched.

The prince kept speaking, his voice low, gaze fixed on the horizon as though the world might shift if he looked away.

“I want to protect you two. Protect your land.”

Bakugo snorted, refusing to let the weight of the words hit him the way they threatened to.

“That’s not how it works. I can’t just say ‘I want your prince here’ to your people. They’d riot.”

“They have Mina to take over,” Kirishima insisted, leaning closer, heat brushing Bakugo’s arm. “She’s the proper heir anyway. My hound is here. My duty can be here, too.”

Bakugo closed his eyes, rubbed a hand over his face, and muttered, “I’ll see what I can do.”

Kirishima brightened instantly. It was ridiculous how obvious it was. The small straightening of his posture. The faint color in his cheeks. The barely contained wag of his tail. The big, strong prince looked like someone had just given him a crown made of sunlight.

They stood like that for a while. Just the two of them breathing in the same space, the morning air wrapped around them, the world below moving as if none of it mattered.

Bakugo had never been a man who liked sharing space with people.

And yet here he was, letting a half-dragon prince lean into him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Then the soft footsteps approached.

Kaminari joined them, already dressed properly, looking infuriatingly radiant for the morning. His shirt was embroidered with the kingdom’s crest, his hair braided loosely behind one ear, golden like the daylight itself.

He handed them both steaming cups of traditional tea with a smile.

“Here, before you two start plotting wars without me.”

Bakugo took his cup. Kirishima took his with both hands, mumbling a thank you.

Kaminari leaned on the railing, shoulder brushing Bakugo’s cloak, and took a sip from his own cup before glancing between the two men.

“So,” Kaminari said, voice deceptively casual. “Marriage?”

Bakugo choked. Actually choked.

The king sputtered, coughing into his tea, eyes wide and offended. Kaminari hid his laugh behind his cup, shoulders shaking.

“I’m not marrying a dragon after one night of him licking my boyfriend.” Bakugo barked.

Kaminari burst into laughter. Kirishima’s ears went red, but instead of looking embarrassed, he grinned like someone had handed him the best challenge of his life.

He nudged Bakugo lightly in the side with an elbow, playful, bold.

“You just want me to woo you more,” Kirishima said.

Bakugo stared at him.

The prince’s grin grew wider.

He turned away, cloak swishing, hiding the faintest pull at the corner of his mouth.

Kaminari hummed, pressing close to Bakugo’s side. “So we’ll figure it out, right?”

Bakugo didn’t answer.

Kirishima’s tail thumped against the railing.

The sunlight spilled over all three of them, settling onto a morning that felt like the start of something none of them had a name for yet.

And the day ahead waited, patient, as if it understood the three needed a moment to stand together first.

Whatever came next, they’d figure it out.