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Kirishima tells himself that feelings are like bus seats- he leaves them open for other people and tells himself standing is fine. Which it is. He's a nice person.
“Heroes stationed in Hokkaido are fucking useless,” Bakugou says once they’re out of the police station. “They couldn’t handle a guy with a quirk as weak as that?”
Kirishima shivers and wraps his scarf tighter around his neck. “They probably aren’t very experienced, though,” he muses, “since crime rates are higher in the city than in rural parts like this. But I guess it wasn’t very professional of them to just hand over their case so easily. Well, we got a decent bonus for that, so I’m not complaining.”
Bakugou shrugs in assent and scratches his arm. He’s wearing only a thin windbreaker and fingerless gloves, cheeks barely red from the cold even though it’s already past minus-five degrees outside and windy. Kirishima reaches a hand out without thinking to brush Bakugou’s cheek, warm under Kirishima’s fingers for only a second before Bakugou jerks away, eyes blown wide.
“Ah- sorry,” Kirishima says quickly. “It’s just that you’re wearing so little, see, and I was checking to see if you’d gotten sick or something, because Mom always says that even if you don’t feel the cold, it’s affecting you, and it’ll be bad if you catch a cold or something.”
Bakugou makes a little choked-off noise, and then scoffs, “I would’ve packed more if I’d had time, so whose fault is that.” But his cheeks are turning a healthy shade of red, and Kirishima wonders if Bakugou hadn’t yet realized how cold it really is.
“Well, there’s got to be a store somewhere,” Kirishima says, brushing off his embarrassment. “I’m not letting you go back to the hotel until you get something appropriate to wear for this weather. The reports are saying there’s going to be a blizzard later, you know, so it’s going to get even windier.”
“Like hell I will,” Bakugou retorts, but there’s no bite in his words.
“There’s probably some Christmas sales on,” Kirishima tells him. Bakugou sneers but doesn’t protest.
#
The shopkeeper is an old lady who, thankfully, doesn’t seem to recognize either of them. Her granddaughter does, though, and Kirishima smiles genuinely when he autographs the receipt paper she offers him. Bakugou has a dark expression on his face the entire time but stays quiet, although he thrashes around when Kirishima tries to force him into his new jacket, snatching it away and shrugging it on by himself. It’s already dark when they leave, streetlamps illuminating snow flying through the air.
Kirishima shivers still, catching his scarf so that it doesn’t flap around. The streets are empty in preparation for the upcoming weather, and it’s quiet aside from the wind whistling and locked doors rattling. Bakugou stomps ahead of him, grumbling something about how his socks are going to get wet. Kirishima follows.
It’s nice, Kirishima thinks, even though the wind is howling so hard he feels he might be blown off his feet. The snow in Bakugou’s hair makes it look pure white, aside from the glare of the yellow streetlight. It takes them half an hour to get back to the hotel, where Bakugou attacks the elevator button and then glares expectantly at Kirishima until Kirishima goes to take a shower. They don’t talk, but Kirishima curls up in his bed and watches a TV channel he knows Bakugou won’t object to, and Bakugou doesn’t.
It’s really nice.
#
Kirishima wakes up to the sound of Bakugou muttering into his phone with gritted teeth, a muted version of his normal growl. He jabs at his phone a moment later and then says, “They’re asking us to stay.”
“Is there another case?” Kirishima asks, although he already know the answer. It’s more of a formality at this point.
“Some girl went missing yesterday. She was supposed to be at a family gathering, but didn’t show up. Couldn’t find her this morning, and her phone’s gone completely off the grid.”
Kirishima glances at the clock and starts. “It’s eleven?”
“No shit,” Bakugou says. “Trains and shit are all cancelled because of the snow last night.”
“When did you wake up?” Kirishima asks, then yawns and scratches his head. It’s unusual for him to sleep for longer than six hours, but this isn’t bad.
“Go shower, stupid,” Bakugou says instead, and that’s the end of that.
The police station is a fifteen minute walk in the snow, and Bakugou stares at the ground like he’s trying to melt it. A constable hands them the case file when they get to the station and scampers away without any explanation, so Kirishima tracks down the officer they had worked with previously and tells him they’ll take it from there.
The missing person is one Inoue Akane, twenty-three years old and newly engaged. Bakugou’s eyebrows furrow deeper at this, which to anyone would signify anger or disgust but Kirishima knows means determination. Kirishima’s cell phone buzzes when they’re outside the hotel and he motions for Bakugou to go inside, but presses the speakerphone button still.
“We got a call,” comes the muffled voice of the officer on the other end. “Someone says they saw a girl matching the Inoue’s description sitting alone at a park twenty minutes from here.”
“We’ll be there,” Kirishima assures him once he gets the address, and hangs up. It’s not as cold today – there’s no wind – but he wonders if it’s the weather that has Bakugou quiet like this.
The main streets have all been plowed, so they hail a taxi and ride as far as possible. The park in question is small, with a colourful playground in the center. Benches line the cobblestone path, covered in snow save for faint footsteps from the morning.
“I can’t believe we’re playing police,” Bakugou snaps. “What if there’s someone getting murdered and the villain gets away because we’re stuck doing stuff that the constables are too fucking lazy to do.”
“At least we don’t have to file the paperwork,” Kirishima reminds him, at which Bakugou visibly bristles. “Just think of this as a vacation.”
“Some fucking vacation,” Bakugou mutters, and Kirishima laughs.
“Anyways,” Kirishima says. “The snow on all the benches is even, so she would have left before the snow started getting heavy, right?”
“Why would a girl be alone on a Friday night at a place like this, anyways,” Bakugou says.
“She could have been meeting someone?” Kirishima tries, and Bakugou narrows his eyes.
“Must’ve been here damn early, then, if she planned on getting to her party on time.”
Kirishima’s phone buzzes then, and he stops to pick up, putting it to his ear this time rather than on speakerphone. “Hi. Oh, really? Bakugou and I were just thinking that she was meeting someone, actually. Well, that’s useful. Thanks. Bye.”
Bakugou cocks an eyebrow and says, “So she was meeting with someone.”
It’s not a question, but Kirishima nods anyways. “Her fiancé didn’t say at first, but she’d been talking to someone- her ex, actually. He’d offered to meet her here yesterday. Didn’t say why.”
“Why’d she fucking go?” Bakugou says. “That’s fucking sketchy, meeting with your ex-boyfriend alone, and at night.”
Kirishima opens his mouth to say something when there’s a distant thump, and they both look back to see a figure lying in the snow. Bakugou gets there first and throws himself onto his knees, in the middle barking “Are you alright?” when he suddenly stops, eyes blown wide.
Kirishima sees the coppery brown before he sees anything else, staining the snow underneath the body they both know belongs to Inoue Akane. He whips his phone out as Bakugou goes to check her breathing, but after a night spent pelted by snow after losing that much blood, there’s no way she’s still alive.
The police get to the park in what seems like hours. Kirishima walks away trying to ignore the sound of sirens and crime scene techs. It’s too technical. Kirishima has seen death before, has gotten to the scene of a split-second killing just barely too late and had to settle with the praise of the crowd as he defeated the killer but couldn’t save the victim. Now he doesn’t even have that privilege, and it settles deep in his chest. Kirishima thinks about Bakugou, who takes the feeling of helplessness harder than anyone. He thinks about the morning, when he had gotten up feeling refreshed, and wonders what that feels like now.
Kirishima heads straight to bed when they get back to the hotel. He can’t tell if he falls asleep, but when Bakugou knocks him on the head with a knuckle, it’s dark outside.
Bakugou clears his throat and glances away when Kirishima looks up.
“Look, dumbass,” he starts, glowering at the bed and clutching the sheets between his fingers. “You slept for seven fucking hours.”
Kirishima shifts his head to rest on the crook of his elbow, and Bakugou sighs.
“Her quirk was that she’d basically turn invisible if she stayed still for too long, you know. There’s no way we could’ve found her until that one breeze pushed her off the bench.”
“Aren’t you angry,” Kirishima mutters. “For once, we can’t do anything about it.”
Bakugou scoffs and reaches over to flick Kirishima on the forehead. “Of course I’m angry, dumbass. You know the guy who sent in that tip? He turned out to be her fucking ex. Tried to lead us off his trail, somehow.” He sighs again. “I want to fuck him up. But it’s because of him that we found her body, right? So we did what we could, and now her family won’t have to wait for closure.”
Kirishima smiles a bit at this. “That didn’t make any sense.”
“Fuck you, Shitty Hair,” Bakugou retorts. “I’m hungry. Let’s go.”
#
Another snowstorm hits the town that night, and Bakugou stomps down to reception to extend their stay while Kirishima showers. They end up seeking refuge in a tiny pub next to the hotel, licking grease of their fingers and shivering when gusts of wind sneak through the cracks in the windows. In the morning, Kirishima wakes up to grayish light filtering through the curtains and on to Bakugou, whose bed is closer. It casts a shadow over his features, which don’t have the hard lines that they do when he’s awake. It’s not really anything new, that Bakugou is a different kind of beautiful when he’s asleep.
Kirishima thinks Bakugou is sort of beautiful all the time- that’s not really new either, but he’s past his days of using sheer manliness as a disguise for his lack of interest in girls. It’s just that pretty much nobody else knows.
Kaminari still asks him every time they meet how he can still stick by Bakugou, and the answer is always something along the lines of “when you look past the assholery and swearing, he can be a pretty respectable person”. Which is true. And Kirishima never fails to point out the compatibility of their quirks (and their personalities, although he only thinks about that last part).
It’s easier to ignore his feelings when they’re in the midst of battle, when the priority sits on the fence between taking the villain down and making sure Bakugou doesn’t kill himself doing just that. Kirishima allows himself to let his concern show under the guise of “how am I going to be a hero if my partner goes and gets his dumbass-self killed”.
Bakugou begins to stir, his face twisting back into its normal scowl, and Kirishima gets out of bed, yawning and pretending that he hadn’t just been thinking mushy thoughts about Bakugou.
“Morning,” Kirishima says, stretching out his shoulders. He thinks he catches a glimpse of Bakugou’s eyes going wide behind him, but doesn’t check. Kirishima isn’t a girl. He doesn’t care about those sorts of things.
#
The guys from the police station invite them to go drinking to celebrate solving the case, but probably also so that they can get pictures with two top heroes. Kirishima doesn’t like drinking because he has a tendency to say things he’d want to keep under wraps- like his feelings for Bakugou, which he’d drunkenly admitted to Kaminari one time.
“Bakugou’s a total lightweight,” Kirishima lies, because not drinking would be rude otherwise. “I’ll have to keep him in check tonight, or else he might blow something up.”
Bakugou glares at him and opens his mouth to protest, but Kirishima gives him that help me out here look, and that settles that. Bakugou sips sullenly at his beer, getting fed up an hour in and tugging Kirishima out the door.
An officer calls them the next day, asking if Bakugou is okay, and Kirishima shrugs and says, “What can I say? He’s a total lightweight.”
They buy flowers – lilies – to lay at Inoue’s memorial. One of the benches at the park has been cleared of snow, a tarp put up to protect it from the weather, and piled with notes and a single candle. Kirishima looks at Inoue’s picture, from her college graduation, and feels something well up in his throat. Bakugou catches the flowers and sets them down in an empty spot, then rushes over to where Kirishima has his hands on his knees, breathing hard.
“I’m okay, I’m okay,” Kirishima says between gasping breaths, and gets up. “It was just…I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
Bakugou knits his eyebrows together and grumbles, “Don’t be.”
“You always know what to say to make a guy feel better, huh,” Kirishima huffs, cracking a small smile, and he predicts the “fuck off” that comes his way.
#
On the walk back, Bakugou signs a female fan’s handbag without protest, albeit wearing a sour expression the entire time.
“She your type?” Kirishima jokes, though his heart feels heavy.
Bakugou whips around to glare daggers at him and Kirishima forces himself to laugh, although he wonders if Bakugou can tell how hollow it sounds. “Joking, joking. But, hey, let me guess.”
“Guess what,” Bakugou says, still glaring. He’s stuffed his hands in his pockets now, walking with a hunch that looks almost purposeful.
“Guess your type, dummy,” Kirishima says, and smiles wide. Dummy. It sounds fake just rolling off his tongue.
“Why the fuck,” says Bakugou, “would you want to do that.”
“I don’t,” Kirishima wants to say. Instead, he drops his smile and tells Bakugou with mock seriousness, “I need to let your fans know which ones of them have a chance.”
“That’s dumb,” Bakugou admonishes. “This is dumb. You’re dumb.”
“Black hair,” Kirishima says. “I bet you like long, black hair. And really pretty, uh, fingers. Because yours are so ugly! From blowing stuff up all the time. Yeah. That’s it.”
Bakugou glances at him with a concerned scowl this time, and asks, “Are you okay?”
Kirishima thinks he’s about to cry, but he pretends to yawn instead and blinks hard. “Just, uh. Didn’t sleep well last night. Don’t worry about me.”
Bakugou quirks an eyebrow and mutters something under his breath that sounds like “sort of hard not to”. Kirishima tries his best to think about other things, like television and defeating villains and the way Bakugou’s face lights up when they put another one away, and ends up slapping his cheeks so hard he might bruise.
#
Kirishima only realizes it’s the day before Christmas when his mother calls him in the morning. “Take a proper rest while you can, Eijirou,” she tells him, softly after he shushes her so that Bakugou won’t wake up. “Enjoy yourself. The snow in Hokkaido is supposed to be really beautiful, especially in smaller towns like the one you’re in.”
Kirishima chuckles. “You should see the blizzards. Bakugou almost went out in one without a jacket, y’know? But when you’re not freezing your as- to death, I mean, it’s sort of nice, in its own way.”
They exchange a few more words and Kirishima hangs up, lying back down. Bakugou has his back turned the other way, sides expanding and contracting with steady breaths. Kirishima tries to breathe in time, but buries his face in his pillow instead, sighing.
Bakugou stirs. “What the fuck,” he mumbles, voice thick from sleep.
“Nothing,” Kirishima tells him, then pauses. “I was just thinking about how lucky I am that you’re here. Alive.”
“And this is Kirishima I’m talking to,” Bakugou says, clearing his throat. “Real fucking manly, Shitty Hair.”
“Hey,” Kirishima says, cracking a smile and hoping the light from the window hides the pink in his cheeks. “Real men aren’t ungrateful.”
“Continue that thought,” says Bakugou, rolling onto his back, head resting on his hands. Kirishima swallows hard.
“It’s just…that girl. Inoue. She was just living a normal life, and she still died. And here we are, heroes, who put ourselves into danger every day. So I think we’re lucky to be alive all the time.”
“Or maybe we went to the best hero school in Japan,” Bakugou says, then mutters something incomprehensible. He does that a lot, Kirishima thinks.
“What did you say?”
“I said that I’m going to shower first because you’ve got your head in the philosophical fucking clouds, stupid,” Bakugou says, and stomps into the bathroom.
The plane back home is quiet. Kirishima only half-heartedly fights for the window seat, but Bakugou lets him have it anyway. The girl sitting in the aisle seat texts non-stop until the plane takes off. The couple behind her hold hands when the plane takes off. A man and his daughter are greeted by a woman at the airport, who hugs them both, smiling. Kirishima doesn’t think about Inoue, but he glances at Bakugou and feels like he could cry and smile at the same time.
#
Kaminari sounds reluctant when Kirishima calls him and says, “I’m coming over.” Bakugou gives him a quizzical look on his way out, and Kirishima tries his best to ignore it.
“Weren’t you just on a plane?” Kaminari says, but Kirishima glares at him instead and throws himself on the couch.
“I heard about the case,” says Kaminari, trying to make conversation, but Kirishima groans into the faux leather and grabs a pillow.
“Is this about Bakugou again?” Kaminari asks, which translates loosely to “I’ll get you alcohol”, so Kirishima nods and rolls over, staring blankly at the ceiling.
Half an hour and Kirishima’s slightly slurred, hiccup-y account of the entire trip, the door buzzer sounds and Kirishima tries to roll off the couch so he can hide. Kaminari heaves him up with a telling look.
“You have to man up, man,” Kaminari tells him, grunting with Kirishima’s dead weight.
“I’m past that phase,” Kirishima mumbles. “As you can tell, manly Kirishima is out and high school girl Kirishima is in.”
“Really, Mister ‘emotions are totally manly’. Come on, you can’t keep him waiting forever. Or you can pay for my new door when he tears it down.”
“Bakugou would totally do that,” Kirishima says.
“I’m letting him in,” Kaminari says, and Kirishima slaps him. “Serious. I can’t be your babysitter forever, dude. That would be totally unmanly.”
Kirishima is about to go for Kaminari’s ankles when the door is slammed open. Bakugou stands in the entrance to the sight of Kirishima and Kaminari tangled in a half-drunken heap, his face red and hair half-frozen from the cold.
Kaminari rolls over and stands up. “He’s all yours, dude.”
Bakugou scowls but squats down to haul Kirishima up, and he leaves with an informal flick of his hand and an “I’ll pay for the door”. Kirishima almost slips from his hold and Bakugou shifts his weight so that he can carry Kirishima on his back.
“I know you’re awake,” Bakugou says five minutes into the walk back to their apartment.
“And I know you can carry me all the way,” Kirishima retorts.
“Look at you,” Bakugou says instead. “A pro hero, drunk off his ass on Christmas Eve. It’s fucking pathetic.”
“And look at you,” Kirishima says, sniffling. “A pro hero, lugging around a drunk guy on Christmas Eve.”
“Don’t be fucking sarcastic,” Bakugou huffs.
“You don’t be fucking sarcastic,” Kirishima says. “Let me go.”
Bakugou stops suddenly, and snaps, “What is wrong with you?”
“Well, I’m drunk, clearly,” Kirishima snaps back, but it doesn’t have any fire. He doesn’t even know why he’s angry. He doesn’t know if he’s even angry at all.
“And why the fuck’s that,” Bakugou says. “You better have a good fucking reason for getting drunk today, of all days, and forcing me to carry your fat ass home.” He starts walking again.
“No one told you to carry anyone’s ass anywhere,” Kirishima mutters. The back of Bakugou’s shirt must have a wet spot by now, and Kirishima can’t tell if it’s spit or tears. It might be a combination of both.
Kirishima can’t hear what Bakugou says next, and he can’t very well remember what comes after. He wakes up in his bed at ten feeling exhausted but otherwise fine. He downs the water and aspirin on the bedside table anyways, just in case, and then remembers that they don’t have aspirin. Bakugou is nowhere in sight, and when Kirishima gets up Bakugou’s sneakers are missing.
Bakugou comes back, groceries in hand, to Kirishima sitting at their dining table with his cheek pressed to the surface, staring blankly at the sink.
“What did I do,” Kirishima asks after a minute of uncomfortable silence punctuated by the sound of rustling plastic and the refrigerator door opening and closing. “Did I punch you or something?”
“Stupid,” Bakugou says and scoffs. “Your drunk ass couldn’t even stand by itself.” But it’s quiet, and Bakugou sounds almost tired.
“Really, though,” Kirishima says. “What did I do.”
“Nothing,” Bakugou snaps. “Except give me a fucking backache.”
“What did I do,” Kirishima presses, the possibilities in his head beginning to dawn on him.
Bakugou stays silent for a moment, then says, “You don’t want to know.”
“Never took you for someone who would try to spare my feelings,” Kirishima says, almost surprising himself with how brusque it must sound.
“You started crying, okay,” Bakugou says, and it comes out almost a whisper. “And then you kissed me.”
Kirishima’s breath catches in his throat. Bakugou lets the refrigerator close on its own.
“I’ll leave,” Kirishima sighs. “I’m sorry. You can forget it happened.”
“That’s fucking cowardly,” Bakugou says. “You can’t just run away and do whatever the fuck you want, okay?”
“You think I’m disgusting, don’t you,” Kirishima says, voice thick and wavering. “Imagine me, the manly one, turning out to be gay! What a fucking story: the number ten hero in Japan, gay. You’ll be ruined. Of course you will. Better save your career and cut ties with the homo, huh.”
“Is this why you didn’t want to get drunk,” Bakugou asks instead. “Because you were afraid this would happen.”
“I’ll just leave now,” Kirishima continues, hiccupping. This might be the hardest he’s ever cried. It’s definitely the most he’s ever wanted to. “You can send my shit to Thailand or something, I don’t know.”
“Why would I do that?” Bakugou is scowling when Kirishima dares to glance up at him.
“Because,” Kirishima starts, hiccupping so hard he almost chokes on his own spit.
“I don’t fucking care what people think,” Bakugou says. “If they think you’re gross then they can find some other hero to save their asses.”
“But-”
“And whatever! You were drunk, it doesn’t mean anything, whatever. Just stop blubbering like an idiot and make yourself fucking useful.” Bakugou’s hands are curled into shaking fists, and he’s not looking at Kirishima.
“Are you okay?” Kirishima asks, slowly, and hiccups.
“What does that matter,” Bakugou mutters. “Doesn’t mean anything, anyways.”
“Hiding your feelings isn’t manly,” Kirishima says, voice still shaky. Then, again: “Are you okay?”
“You’re- gay,” Bakugou says like he’s just realizing it. “When did- how did you…”
“You really want to know?” Kirishima says. Bakugou bites his lips. “Really, no matter what I say.”
“Just spit it out,” Bakugou grumbles.
“I like you, Bakugou,” Kirishima tells him, and Bakugou looks up startlingly quickly.
“Really? You’re not lying?” he asks.
“Real men don’t lie,” Kirishima quips half-heartedly, pressing his face into the table and expecting to hear the door slam shut. But when he looks up, Bakugou’s face is next to his, and he almost falls off his chair.
“Don’t just sit there, stupid,” Bakugou growls, face redder than anything Kirishima has ever seen, and Kirishima almost asks him what he means when there is something in my face, holy shit, where something is Bakugou’s face, and Bakugou is trying to kiss him. Something like laughter wells up in Kirishima’s chest, and he almost bursts out laughing but instead blows a fat raspberry on Bakugou’s cheek. He ends up giggling anyways. Bakugou pulls away, scowling hard and scrubbing at his cheek, and Kirishima takes Bakugou’s hand in his own and kisses him again, properly.
When he pulls away this time they’re both out of breath, and Bakugou’s palm is sweaty and his neck is red, but Kirishima isn’t that different.
“You’ve been holding out on me,” Kirishima tells him, and his chest feels lighter than it has in maybe years.
“Shut up,” Bakugou says.
“I love you,” Kirishima says. “I have for a long time, you know.”
Bakugou’s lips move but what comes out is incomprehensible, and Kirishima cocks an eyebrow and says, “What was that?”
Bakugou pinches his arm and says, “I said ‘me too’, stupid.”
“Couldn’t hear you,” Kirishima teases, and when Bakugou slaps him he laughs out loud, candid, for real.