Chapter Text
UA’s training grounds were loud explosions echoing through the smoke, students shouting over the chaos but Kirishima barely heard any of it.
All he really heard was Bakugou.
Bakugou yelling. Bakugou charging ahead. Bakugou being, well… Bakugou.
He wasn’t doing anything unusual. No softer tone, no special smile, no secret gesture. Just the same fire, the same intensity, the same refusal to lose to anyone ever, even if it meant yelling himself hoarse.
And still, Kirishima couldn’t look away.
By the end of Aizawa’s surprise endurance drill, Kirishima was exhausted barely holding himself together as sweat dripped into his eyes. His quirk had flickered twice during the run, something he hoped no one had noticed.
But of course Bakugou did.
He always noticed.
“Tch. Oi, shitty hair,” Bakugou barked as Kirishima slowed to a stop, clutching his knee. “The hell was that? You’re dragging like a damn extra.”
Kirishima forced a grin up at him, but something in his chest tightened. “Sorry, bro! Just an off day.”
Bakugou stared at him, arms crossed, chest still heaving from exertion. His glare wasn’t sharp this time it was searching.
“You didn’t harden once.”
“I-yeah.” Kirishima looked away. “Didn’t want to overdo it.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it.”
Kirishima winced. Bakugou could probably sniff out lies the way a shark sensed blood.
But instead of getting louder, Bakugou stepped closer. Just a little. Just close enough that Kirishima felt the warmth radiating off him.
“Are you hurt?” Bakugou asked, voice low.
The question gentle, almost worried landed harder than any explosion.
Kirishima shook his head quickly. “No! Just tired. Promise.”
Bakugou clicked his tongue, but didn’t look convinced. “Then don’t pull crap like that again. If something’s wrong, say it. I’m not letting my partner fall behind.”
There it was. Partner.
Bakugou said it like it meant something.
And the moment it left his mouth, Kirishima’s heart did something stupid—jumping, tightening, warming in a way that felt dangerously noticeable.
He swallowed. Why did that word hit him so hard? Why did Bakugou being worried feel more intense than any hit he’d taken today?
Bakugou kept glaring, but there was a rare softness behind it that made Kirishima’s face go hot.
“Got it?” Bakugou demanded.
Kirishima nodded a little too fast. “Yeah! Totally! No more hiding stuff!”
Bakugou grunted, satisfied, and grabbed Kirishima’s arm to pull him up from where he’d dropped to a knee. The grip was firm, steady, gentler than the voice that matched it.
Kirishima stood, but Bakugou didn’t let go right away.
Just held on.
Just long enough for Kirishima to feel it.
Just long enough for something inside him to crack open.
Later, when everyone headed back to the dorms, Kirishima walked a few steps behind Bakugou, watching him rant about how everyone else’s pacing sucked.
Everyone else laughed or rolled their eyes, but Kirishima’s chest felt too full, too warm, too confused.
Bakugou wasn’t being different.
But Kirishima felt different.
He kept replaying that moment Bakugou’s hand gripping his arm, the brief worry in his voice, the word partner spoken like a promise.
Why did that affect him so much?
Why did it feel… special?
Why did Bakugou, of all people, make him feel-
No. He couldn’t name it. Not yet.
But as Bakugou glanced back for a split second checking that he was keeping up, even though he pretended not to Kirishima felt something warm bloom in his stomach all over again.
Red Riot wasn’t supposed to crack.
But something in him already had.
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END OF CHP 1 !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!