Chapter Text
Kirishima's boots crunched against the gravel quietly but rhythmically as he walked; it was a cold evening, and the air bit at his face.
Kirishima wore layers today, something rare for the guy, as a thin vest and slacks were his usual.
He runs hot and doesn't need thick clothes really, unless he wants to melt—but the December weather forced him to bundle up.
He wore a riot hoodie with a dark green jacket and beanie paired with off-white sneakers and thick white pants that went past his ankles and touched his shoes.
Kirishima was warm, with his body's natural temperature, his layered clothing, and, most importantly, his heart beating a mile a minute as he approached a figure leaning against a wall a few feet ahead of him.
Hot nerves ran up and down his spine, through every artery, as his palms began a cold sweat from where they rested in his hoodie pocket.
The constant sound of a lighter clicking to ignite as he approached closer only made him more nervous. It's something he can't quite shake--his anxiety--sure, he can push it down; Kirishima can deal with it, but it still catches him.
He took a breath in as he halted a few spaces away from the other man, who remained braced against the wall; his posture was loose and almost uncaring, and his face was mostly relaxed aside from the annoyance creeping in as he constantly flicked the ignition on the lighter only to have no spark or flame appear.
Kirishima released the same breath a moment later; he was standing here already, and even if he wanted to turn and walk away as the other hadn't even acknowledged him, he couldn't.
Steeling himself, he decided to acknowledge the man first; having a conversation sometime in this century was the ideal outcome.
"Katsuki Bakugou?" He started, rhetorically, of course. Kirishima knew Bakugou; the man was a powerful player, and he sported as if he was going to war.
The blonde finally ditched the lighter he had, reaching into his pocket to yank out a new one instead; while doing that, he turned to Kirishima finally, his face rested into a serious expression as the cigarette between his lips shifted slightly and he pulled his nose in with a sniff.
Just like Kirishima, Bakugou had on many layers: an orange hoodie paired with black shoes, pants, and even a beanie, and that allowed some of his spiky blonde hair to peek out from under it.
Their eyes met, both similar shades of red. Only, Bakugou's stare was intense. Kirishima watched as the other glanced at him, his eyes running over his whole form before returning to the shared eye contact.
Kirishima smiled, trying not to make things awkward already, "Eijirou Kirishima." He said, reaching a hand out. "I just wanted to introduce myself, but I've seen you play, man. You're really cool to watch." He greeted her, deciding that starting with something friendly would break the ice a bit.
Bakugou simply looked at his eyes, then his gaze fell to Kirishima's hand, which made him shift a bit on the balls of his feet.
Bakugou sniffed again, and as Kirishima could see his tongue move against his teeth through closed lips, the blond shifted his weight onto the other foot and replied with a short, "yes." His accent was heavy in the single word.
The blonde didn't even reach out his hand for the other man to shake, which shocked Kirishima a bit, but he decided that not everyone owes him a returning gesture—or more than one word, he supposed.
The fact that he was left hanging really made the redhead want to just turn around and beat out of the blonde's vicinity; stupidly, however, he spoke again as Bakugou began to light his cigarette, bending his head and cupping his free hand around the lighter.
"I—I'm not sure you're supposed to smoke here." Kirishima said, his hand uselessly coming up from his hoodie pocket—if it were anyone else, he would land that hand onto the other man's shoulder—but assuming the blonde wouldn't appreciate that had him just stuffing it back into his hoodie.
Bakugou blew some smoke from his lips and looked up at Kirishima once more. He paused for a moment, his brow furrowing at the concept of Kirishima telling him what to do or something.
Kirishima wondered if he was even going to say anything at all—the awkwardness of the situation genuinely made him want to just evaporate and forget this ever happened.
But the blonde spoke before he could plan on how to become vapor and drift away.
"Ok."
That was the only word he spared for Kirishima. Bakugou had this expression on his face as if he was examining Kirishima, peeking under his skin, waiting for something.
And the cigarette remained in his mouth.
Kirishima genuinely started to wonder if the other hated him already. Maybe he was just a socially introverted guy? Maybe he didn't know English well? He's Russian, right? That seems to make sense.
Kirishima chuckled a bit at the thought of them having a language barrier. And sighed slightly; if the guy wasn't going to talk to him, then he guessed he should end this now and just dip; his team was waiting for him to start practice after all.
"Alright, well, I'm just gonna—they're waiting for me anyway, so I'm going." He said quite stiffly, as if he was making excuses to a pushy friend or something. Gosh, nothing was casual about this interaction—it's like they were held at gunpoint to speak to each other—maybe that's how Bakugou genuinely felt.
Kirishima's ankles began to quake at the idea of the other thinking he would rather do anything else than have Kirishima speak to him.
"Uh—good luck in the tournament." He said, hoping for something.
He did wait a bit for a response, but after a few seconds past what he thought was a good window for a reply, Kirishima gingerly turned around and began to head back towards the building. A few more seconds passed before the blonde behind him scoffed.
"You will not be so nice—"
Bakugou said, tilting his head as Kirishima turned around.
"-when we beat you." He concluded, a wild smile full of teeth slithering onto his face.
Kirishima's heart rate picked up again, glad that at least the blonde said a whole sentence to him, even if it was a bit crude.
He smiled just as wide, challenging the blonde's. "That's not going to happen." He replied, holding his fist up for a hypothetical fist bump, holding it just for a moment before he let it drop.
"See you in final." The other man said quickly; he clearly didn't know English well.
Kirishima nodded and continued to walk away, the smile etched onto his face remaining even as he journeyed all the way back inside to the rest of his team.
It's been six months.
Six months have passed since that first interaction with Bakugou.
Six months since his team lost the tournament against Russia's team, the Boston Raiders.
He watched the videos of the game that were all over his phone; he always does, even as his mother advises him not to.
The commentator said that Kirishima was one of the greatest hockey prospects right now, the other of course being Bakugou of all people.
The words of praise did nothing to Kirishima's ego.
Those men said a whole lot of nice things about Kirishima, about how social he was, his strong and fast playstyle, and his knowledge of the game.
Yet none of those words quelled the uneasy feeling that crept up at his failure.
He remembers the words one of the men said, about how he was an "incredible shot."
The redhead mulls those words over in his brain and guesses that he wasn't incredible enough this time.
They spoke about Bakugou, how he was a strong player with the puck, and how easily he gets under players' skin.
Yeah, Kirishima would fucking know…
Bakugou had said to him, "You cannot tremble and score, Kirishima," with a snarky light tone and a glass-cutting grin as he skated by when the players were prepping for second period.
The man honestly sounded like Kirishima's coach, but the fact that it came from Bakugou's mouth and not toyomitsu was just offensive.
Kirishima guessed his nerves were more obvious than he thought—but up until that moment no one had ever mentioned him looking anxious—Bakugou calling him out like that shook him more than his hands already were.
The commentators said that it was an unfortunate loss for Canada, for a promising team who were "finding their identity," and that Kirishima "couldn't get past Boston's strong defense, while Bakugou kept getting past theirs."
His team played amazingly, and Kirishima won't try to put them down, but the way that blonde man kept shoving past them, and on top of that, scoring while seeing straight through him just made his blood boil.
Forget under his skin; Katsuki fucking Bakugou is swimming around with Kirishima's organs.
It was almost humorous; Kirishima was sure that Bakugou slammed him against every wall in that rink and the net, all while he was just trying to take the puck away from the guy.
He sighed at the memory.
Kirishima wanted to stop thinking about it; he really did. But the scene of the opposing team celebrating their win came crashing back. The players were all shoving against each other, hugging, kissing, and bashing helmets.
All except Bakugou.
The blonde chose instead to skate around his team, not doing much more than bumping fists with some of them and shouting up in their faces.
He was sure Bakugou and some other player—Kirishima doesn't remember the name of—were about to literally touch tongues with how close their faces got during a screaming match at one point.
The readhead was at the center of the rink; he watched as the blonde's eyes scanned the area before landing on him. He wished the blonde didn't catch him staring; his face heated up immediately.
Bakugou's words slithered into his head.
"You will not be so nice when we beat you."
Kirishima had said that wasn't going to happen; now look at him. A loser.
Bakugou smiled at him, skating slower now, still close to his shouting team.
It wasn't even a challenging smile like the redhead had seen before; it was purely happy and blissful.
Kirishima was uncharacteristically burning up inside.
"You will not be be so nice when we beat you."
Since the blonde ended up winning and being right about that, Kirishima decided not to let him have the last, last laugh and smiled back at him, as big and as real as he could muster in the moment.
Once the teams were lining up to shake each other's hands in respect, Kirishima had already been in his head about all the wrong moves he made; he robotically shook everyone's hands and nodded at them, making eye contact sometimes but not really seeing the person he shook hands with.
He did notice how his teammates stopped reaching for Bakugou's hand to shake because he simply ignored them and didn't touch anyone but his own team at all. What was with the guy--
Kirishima skated up to Bakugou, and he didn't reach for the blonde's hand; however, the other man did reach out and grab his hand to shake, which thoroughly shocked Kirishima.
He's sure he gasped a little. embarrassing.
Kirishima snapped out from his own head, and his eyes once more found Bakugou's. The other didn't smile this time as he shook Kirishima's hand but said, "See you at draft."
Automatically, Kirishima made to nod but he doubts that the man actually saw as he had skated past him already, which led Kirishima to almost doze off again before clumsily shaking the following player's hand.
Six months ago he lost the tournament to Boston, and a week ago he got second place in the drafts.
The first-place position went to Russia.
The position Kirishima wanted went to Katsuki Bakugou.
He remembers everything clearly, it seems.
Even now after all of that, he stands here, at a table, at a party in LA, with his parents;
Remembering.
That moment happened almost an hour ago, just almost an hour ago.
The shame that coursed through him as he stood beside Bakugou, holding up his fingers to show two, as per the cameraman's request.
"C'mon, let me see those numbers." The friendly cameraman said with a big smile.
Kirishima did after a moment of hesitation, showing boldly that he wasn't good enough for first place.
Being told to smile even while he felt the blonde turn to him, watching Kirishima with a smile on his face that was wide, feral, and so fucking real it made Kirishima want to fall.
He remembered Bakugou as his parents spoke to some hotshot bigwig. Kirishima didn't even know; he didn't care to listen to what they were saying. His mom always spoke for him and spoke about him—she was basically his manager, nitpicking everything he did to make sure he was fitting for the publicity.
He loved her, and she wanted the best for him, but it's been too much recently.
Everyone was taking both of his losses easily except Kirishima; even now the stranger in front of them said the Montreales didn't care that Kirishima came second, how they were popping champagne anyway, and that the Kirishima family shouldn't get him wrong—he was "thrilled" Kirishima was Asian-Canadian.
Which got him to shift a bit; even his white mother glanced at his mom as she nodded along to what the guy was saying.
The guy continued, saying something about breaking barriers, yadda yadda; none of it mattered to him.
Kirishima's mom tapped his arm, clearly wanting him to contribute something; if he remembers correctly, her last words were about being excited to be a part of a huge hockey franchise or whatever.
He had no words, honestly, and his nerves spiked up, but Kirishima had to pull something out of his ass.
That he could do.
He breathed in. "Yeah, I—" he stuttered and then made a quick excuse. "I'm still in shock, but I'm—I'm so excited." He said with a small nod of his head, everyone laughed a bit, and his mom took over once more.
Kirishima maintained a bit more eye contact with the man before he glanced upwards randomly.
What he found was a different set of eyes piercing him; his skin shivered, but he remained cool about it. The person on the higher level, Bakugou Katsuki, had a serious expression on, his face set with not a smile in sight.
It made Kirishima feel scrutinized as he was looked at with blazing red eyes, and he looked away shortly after.
Zoning back out as the prattle continued around him.
Bakugou saw that redhead, Eijirou Kirishima.
Usually he doesn't even give enough fucks to remember names, but this was a special case.
Kirishima was a damn good hockey player.
He's seen it all on video, and he watched his team train in person, but playing with the guy was a whole different story.
He never just let Bakugou have that stupid puck during the tournament; it almost surprised the blonde how much the man got up immediately after he knocked him down again.
At drafts, he was close to first place, but like hell if Bakugou would allow that. Every moment he has trained for doesn't mean nothing; it means he gets on that ice and fucking mashes up the competition.
Bakugou's eyebrows furrowed a bit as he looked down to Kirishima.
It was evident the guy was sailing while everyone around him was yapping.
What was up with that guy, anyway? For someone so social, he was awfully quiet around his family; maybe they were shitty.
His parents, Bakugou noticed idly, were both women; obviously gay, openly gay.
The blonde man couldn't help but wonder what that said about Kirishima…was it safe to assume he would have that much in common with them?
As he finished his thought, the man below looked up and made eye contact with him. Bakugou didn't shy away from the fact that he was openly staring at the other.
He had assessments to make; he wanted to see past that face of his.
Shortly after, Kirishima looked away first. Bakugou wanted to snort at that; the man's expression was calm but so distant—something was off.
He held back a smile at the thought of Kirishima being pissy because he lost twice.
He knew Kirishima put on a face that day at the tournament, even when he first introduced himself to Bakugou.
However, it didn't feel the same as those other assholes do, being nice for "good sportsmanship." Or whatever the fuck.
That man was trying to be nice, but he didn't immediately drop the farce when he lost, no matter how much Bakugou pushed him.
He didn't leave when Bakugou refused to speak to him at the start; that earned the redhead a handshake at least.
Bakugou thinks back to that moment when they first met. He didn't know what to say to Eijirou Kirishima—that redhead has some sort of way that makes Bakugou feel things he doesn't understand.
He feels it, however; it's almost like a pull.
Bakugou sighed internally, deciding to give up thinking about the cryptic feelings flashing through his body, and turned back to the two people in front of him, who he stopped listening to at one point or another.
He couldn't have chosen a worse time to come back to reality, as his lovely mother was giving her two cents now.
"Bakugou," she chuckled, "The brat is an amazing hockey player, maybe the best, but he's—uh—what you say, lazy." She laughed as if her shit talk was funny, and that two-faced big wig laughed along with her.
Pleasantries, of course.
"Needs more discipline."
She added with a careless snort.
Bakugou started to stare at his mother just as the man swirled his champagne and took a sip of it; he heard the guy's voice again but continued to glare at his mother silently.
"With how your boy plays, I doubt he's lazy." The man says lightheartedly, "By the way, the resemblance between you two is striking!"
Bakugou's mother sighed, "Yes, yes, he takes after me in more ways than one." She reached up towards Bakugou and patted his shoulder twice.
"Sometimes I think the brat does not appreciate the thing that he has, everything—it comes easy to him. He's gotten now a huge ego."
She smiled brightly, frivolously gesturing her open palms; as if she wasn't grating on Bakugou's nerves, gently swaying her glass in her hand.
The man across from them hummed, "Well, I'm sure you must know him best, but Katsuki Bakugou is quite a talented prospect; his ability is nothing light." He said before taking another sip.
Bakugou scoffed internally; the prick was obviously saying shit that could get him a pass on both of their sides.
Bakugou decided to suck it up and took a breath before he said, "I promise to work very hard for you, sir." As polite as he could fucking get it.
If he sounded fake and was barely held together with glitter glue, then that's his mother's fault for ruining his mood by talking shit.
The man seemed pleased with Bakugou's words.
Despite how fake he sounded, Bakugou did mean every syllable. Every time he touches the ice, his absolute best is what he puts forward; all his power and all his focus go into his performance.
Hearing his mother disregard his ability, making him out to be "lazy," absolutely boils his blood; however, he holds his tongue and schools his face.
Doing what he loves means that he has to endure moments like this, but it's whatever. Bakugou can fucking deal with it.
He broke off eye contact with the man to look to his mother once more; her face was neutral, but he saw the way she shifted her weight; she was pissed about something.
The woman's face almost became cold as she turned to Bakugou, but her fakeness knows no bounds.
" You listen. You do not speak. Understood? "
She commanded in Russian so the man in front of them wouldn't understand her words.
Bakugou swallowed the groan he had in his throat and responded simply despite wanting so bad to ignore that hag.
" Yes."
He said switching to his mother tongue as well, and he didn't lose eye contact with her this time, hoping his disdain showed in his eyes.
Kirishima sighed as he looked up at his ceiling.
Well, the hotel ceiling is not his.
Kirishima was alone and very bored in this minimalistic white room.
At least the bed was comfy, he supposed.
He's been itching to work out; he craves some activity. Kirishima wonders if he should go to the gym.
The only thing he could seem to do was lie around in his bed, idly watching above himself, wondering what the people above him are doing right now.
He doesn't know when it started, but Katsuki Bakugou has been infesting his head.
The man's eyes were stuck in his brain; they were so red, like his—just so, so much more aflame.
Kirishima sighed. He doesn't know what's up with him, really. The redhead needed a distraction immediately.
He picked up his phone to check the time, and he decided it was a good moment to actually hit the gym the hotel has.
With a smile, Kirishima got up off the bed, tucking the sheets back in haphazardly before moving over to the small closet beside the bed.
He looked through it for a baggy vest and regular workout shorts. Kirishima thinks about the gym in his own house and reminisces about when he was a teen, training for his high school hockey games.
He smiles at the smaller days he had; they felt like so long ago.
Kirishima stored his memory away once more and pulled on the outfit he chose for his workout.
His phone and his earbuds were the only things he grabbed on his way out the door.
He walked to the elevator and pressed the button that led to the floor the gym was on. It was on a higher floor, which it shared with a spa, and the view was amazing.
With a chime, the elevator arrived at the gym floor, and Kirishima got off. The floor seemed empty, devoid of human life aside from himself, which he appreciated.
From the hallway that was immediately outside of the elevator, there were large glass panes that made up the walls of the gym and spa.
Only those inside could see through the glass, and along them were also many doors for different sections of each room; many signs were near the roof.
Kirishima walked down the hallway and turned left into the gym.
The space was thankfully empty; he felt nervous working out when the room was full. Kirishima knew people in the gym hardly paid attention to others, but the thought of someone judging his methods made him cringe.
Sighing, he walked over to the bike, deciding that he felt like having cramping legs tomorrow.
Kirishima got on and set a casual pace, not pushing himself just yet since he just got here. While his legs moved, he got his earbuds into his ear and turned his music on.
He didn't even notice his volume was high; the shock of eardrum-bursting rock music being directly injected into his brain definitely energized him for an intense workout, however.
Kirishima slammed the stop button on the machine, shaking his head and turning his volume down to zero immediately. He took a couple seconds to relieve his ear canals and then slowly turned it back up to a normal volume, shuffling his playlist away from that song entirely.
Kirishima sighed, pocketing his phone and moving his legs again after starting up the bike once more and setting it a bit faster.
He just let the moment pass by, bending forward to rest his arms on the handle, stretching them outwards as he laid his forehead onto them.
The redhead stayed like that for a moment; he didn't even notice the other person who came in and took the machine right beside him.
As he raised up and caught a glimpse of a person in his periphery, Kirishima startled a bit.
He turned to his side to see none other than Bakugou raising up after putting his water bottle into the holder of the bike.
The man was sporting a loose black vest and black shorts--It seemed he absolutely hated colors in his wardrobe.
Seeing him made Kirishima think back again, like he has been doing for months, to the day he and Bakugou first spoke.
Six months ago, He didn't give a fuck about Kirishima, barely said a word; he was so fucking good at the game that he honestly boiled Kirishima's blood up past his collarbones, having huge bursts of magma-hot blood cells well up in his brain.
Then during drafts it was like the polar opposite; he felt so, so cold everywhere at what he deemed a loss.
His body felt rigid during that party in LA, which was this morning; a week after the drafts, and his brain was so clouded he was so obviously out of focus…the only thing he could think of was…Katsuki Bakugou, all night, like a mantra.
Kirishima was so friendly all the time, such a good sport, but this blonde man makes him feel angry...so uncharacteristically angry and then so characteristically sad.
The guy in question was sitting upright beside Kirishima, relaxed as he hadn't started moving yet but undoubtedly watching the other.
Something about how Bakugou is---its just-- hes so observant, and Kirishima can tell that much, but he really doesn't know what the blonde is looking for at all.
He feels scrutinized, as if Bakugou can see parts of him even he can't.
The redhead didn't spare him a long glance; after he identified Bakugou, he huffed and continued his workout.
Kirishima always tried to have his emotions not show through on his face; he hoped that he looked collected, even as Bakugou scanned all his cells with his pure focus alone.
From the corner of his eye, he could see a blur of pale skin lean forward as Bakugou's arms grabbed the handle and he set the speed on his machine with a slow, careful press.
He and Kirishima didn't look at each other for a bit, but small, fast breaths were heard beside him after a moment, and Kirishima immediately became curious about the blonde's speed.
Without being able to hold back, Kirishima turned his head and looked over to Bakugou, who had his bike set faster; he looked only for a moment, and his eyes immediately went to Bakugou's face.
At first, he wasn't thinking anything of Bakugou's faster pace, but that smile the blonde man donned made him almost stutter in his movements.
He had on a face that looked as if he was saying, "I'm winning."
And Kirishima honestly felt a petty competitive feeling surge through his fibers; this guy really had the nerve.
Kirishima looked down to his bike's console and decided that he could give into those competitive feelings this time; they're the only ones in a hotel gym, not with the team on the ice. Sue him.
Hastily, he clicked the button to increase speed and started moving his legs faster. He glanced once more at Bakugou, just to see his reaction, and the blonde wasn't smiling, but his eyes were so aflame that Kirishima almost burned up entirely.
His posture was much better than Kirishima's as well; without breaking eye contact, he reached down to increase his own speed, pushing his body harder, breathing harder.
Kirishima sucked in a breath and held it for a bit, just to calm his heart before he responded with an increase of his own speed, letting his breath now dash in and out of his body freely.
He felt a slight familiar burn in his legs, and he embraced it.
The burn felt amazing; it was what he loved about working out, the signs that show your effort.
Bakugou turned up his own speed once again, and then so did Kirishima in response. The two were like that, back and forth, Bakugou giving way, setting a rope down with a challenge, and Kirishima, rising to the occasion, grabbing it and climbing the steep slope the blonde has created.
Bakugou smiled at one point and reached over, slowly slowing Kirishima's bike down a bit by pressing the button.
The blonde yanked his arm away before Kirishima could catch him. When he made to swat at the man, Bakugou pulled it close to his chest and closed his eyes for a moment as if he were expecting the redhead to slap him. The wild smile never left his face.
Kirishima was a bit shocked the man would even pull something like that, but it felt so friendly, something his teammates would do.
It made him relax a bit more, despite himself, despite Bakugou's presence and his challenge.
He didn't feel that competitive petty feeling when he turned the speed back up.
Their legs were moving in tandem, pushing the pedals fast; their breaths were both labored, and the exertion was unmatched.
Something felt close about this moment. The race felt so friendly; Kirishima loved working out like this.
The redhead was getting weary, but he refused to be the first to back down; he's not giving Bakugou that pleasure.
He heard a click as Bakugou thankfully stopped his machine, and Kirishima didn't even ride a bit longer to gloat; he was already spent.
His legs still moved as he waited for the momentum to leave the pedals. Kirishima raised up to straighten his back, breathing heavy, labored breaths.
Bakugou raised up from the handles as Kirishima looked at him, and their eyes met once more. Bakugou still had a grin on as he intertwined his fingers and braced the back of his head with his hands.
His blonde spikey hair getting shoved to rest more at the front of his head had him looking so…comfortable.
Kirishima swallowed, looking away; he hated when that scrutinizing gaze was on him, really; it seemed that even if he didn't look back, Bakugou would still be searching; however, he preferred not to witness himself being dissected.
When the machine fully stopped moving, Kirishima got up, wiped his sweaty palms on his shorts, and walked over to the nearest matted floor to have a seat and cool off.
There was a large mirror where he sat; Kirishima turned to look at himself in it. His roots were starting to show for sure, and his hair looked much less vibrant than usual—he had to redye it sometime.
As Kirishima panted, puffs of his breath fogged the mirror; he wanted to draw a smiley face into it, and he would have if he was alone. But he feels as though the other would surely laugh at him, and he wasn't dealing with that.
In the mirror he could see Bakugou walk over with his bottle.
The blonde all but dashed himself onto the floor and took a swig of his water.
The redhead worried for his tailbone.
Bakugou breathed out quite heavily and tilted his head to the side a bit, a small smile on his lips as he stretched his legs out.
"Some fucking day, huh?" Bakugou said before taking a long drink from his bottle.
Kirishima blinked the sweat from his lashes, wiping at his eyes due to the sting of the beads on his lids. "Mhm," he replied simply with a nod as he let his hand drop to his thigh.
Bakugou let his head loll further sideways as he held the bottle at his side.
"Is it...everything you dreamed of?" He asked with a thick accent, hanging onto his words.
Kirishima brought a knee up, planting his left foot onto the ground. He was shifting for comfort on the floor.
He thought about Bakugou's question for a small moment as both of their chests rose and fell rapidly and Kirishima's heart hammered so loud in his ribs.
Honestly, what could he say to the man... That he was pissed at Bakugou? That he was sad? That it actually wasn't as he'd hoped it'd be at all?
I mean, all those things were true, but now's probably not the time to shatter the sliver of camaraderie they share currently.
On top of that, Kirishima thinks that maybe Bakugou isn't too bad and that he's been antagonizing the guy, so he gives a simple answer.
"Almost." He said, his voice carried its usual rasp.
Bakugou hummed at his response, then looked off to the side, wincing in fake sympathy.
"Sorry." He said with a shake of his head.
Kirishima looked at the man across from him and snorted; he let out a laugh that was mostly just air and shook his head in return. "Nah, no you're not." He accused with a smile.
Bakugou canted some more water into his mouth, nodding.
His eyes never left Kirishima's.
He removed the bottle from his mouth; the liquid sloshed inside the metal.
Bakugou looked to be thinking for a bit before he spoke again.
"Monterael... It's nice, yes?" He questioned with his finger drumming at the bottle that he held between his legs.
Kirishima smiled a bit. "Yeah, man, it's awesome." He replied honestly, surprised that Bakugou was asking so many questions.
He didn't even expect him to come over here after the cardio.
Bakugou nodded. "Boston is nice too?" The blonde asked next, even though it sounded more like a statement.
Kirishima raised a brow at him. "Yeah, I think? People like it there."
Bakugou clicked his tongue. "We will be seeing each other often; you better be prepared." This tone edged on into a snide teasing one.
Kirishima's eyes slipped down to the blonde's thighs, and honestly he didn't know why; he swore he wasn't looking at him like that on purpose, and he hoped Bakugou didn't realize.
Kirishima turned his head away a bit and closed his eyes, letting his head brace backwards against the wall. "Montreal and Boston do play against each other often, huh?" He replied in a contemplative tone.
The man guessed that he still had a chance to serve Bakugou his ass some time.
He didn't open his eyes when he heard a sloshing noise at first, but when cold metal was pressed against Kirishima's leg, he startled a bit and blinked his eyes open.
Kirishima looked across at the other man, who was offering him some water, leaned forward off of the wall, and stretched his arm out.
Kirishima breathed in a bit, shocked by Bakugou's chivalry.
"I-I'm good, Ma—" He started, but Bakugou interrupted him by tossing the bottle at him anyway, causing him to catch the thing.
Kirishima looked up at the blonde unimpressed but shifted, folding his legs in front of him, having his ankles cross each other.
He raised the bottle up and poured some water into his mouth anyway, wiping it with the back of his hand once he finished.
Something felt so strange about this gesture, and the way the blonde's eyes pierced him felt different than the other moments they've had.
As he swallowed some water, Kirishima noticed that Bakugou swallowed as well, and he couldn't help the way his eyes snapped towards the other's neck.
Kirishima blinked at himself, feeling like looking at Bakugou's neck would be weird.
He tried to avert his gaze, which landed his eyes on the blonde's lips instead, and what's worse is that Bakugou smiled a moment after; he definitely noticed.
Kirishima's face heated up a bit, and he was hoping that it wasn't noticeable too.
He moved the bottle away from his face, licking his own lips.
He was about to hand Bakugou back his bottle, but the blonde shifted a bit as he leaned forward.
Kirishima was watching the shine of the black bottle as he was handing it back over when a different hand met him halfway; Bakugou's, of course.
He was about to let go of the bottle when he noticed that Bakugou wasn't holding it, just pushing it back towards Kirishima.
Their fingers were touching, and Kirishima felt something about it…but he searched for Bakugou's eyes instead of looking at that scene.
He noticed when Bakugou's eyes raised up to meet his. Was he...
"More, dumbass." Bakugou said while smiling, but it was so quiet, and that shocked Kirishima.
Was he really cussing at him right now?
The blonde let go of it; his fingers slid over Kirishima's slowly and so purposefully it almost caused Kirishima to gyrate where he sat.
Their eyes were basically shackled together, and Kirishima swallowed again. He brought the bottle back to his own lips and actually put his mouth to the nozzle this time, taking a longer drink.
When he removed it from himself and handed it back, Bakugou didn't complain this time; he reached for his bottle, dragging his hand over Kirishima's own once more, and took his own final drink, draining it of its content and leaning back into the wall.
Kirishima still looked at him, and Bakugou snorted, his shoulders jumping a bit before he winked at Kirishima.
Fucking winked.
Kirishima's heart stopped beating for a second, in pure shock if nothing else.
But he kept his face neutral, refusing to be a loser about this—maybe Bakugou didn't know he was being…odd? Was "odd" the word for it??
The redhead physically fought the urge to play with his hands out of nerves.
"You know—" Kirishima started, not wanting the moment to get awkward. "-I wasn't expecting you to play dirty back then; you totally cheated when you turned down the speed on my bike."
Bakugou sighed and then clicked his tongue. "I was not expecting you to be in empty gym." The blonde responded.
He leaned forward a bit once more. "Guess we are both in surprise, yes?" He tacked on after.
"Guess we're both surprised." Kirishima corrected, and Bakugou rolled his eyes with a breathy laugh to boot.
Maybe, Kirishima thinks, Katsuki Bakugou isn't that much of an ass after all.