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-- AGE 16 --
1.
Kirishima sits next to him the whole time they’ve returned to UA, in the infirmary for a checkup. Refuses to leave his side.
“You just got kidnapped, dude,” he says, trying for a laugh. It comes out too high pitched, too forced, faintly hysterical. Bakugou can feel his hand shaking from where they’re resting on the seat, next to his own. “I’m not letting you out of my sight anymore.”
Bakugou prickles. “I’m not fucking—”
“I know! I know you’re not weak, God, I’m not saying that, it’s just—” the words tumble out too fast, too forced. Kirishima exhales. “This is for me, okay? I was really worried.”
Bakugou scuffs his shoe on the smooth tiles and looks down. He’s so, so tired. “…Whatever,” he acquiesces. His hand is shaking too.
2.
Bakugou dreams.
Rubble. Smoke. Yelling. One two three six one of him too many things coming in at once—Maskface knives heroes won’t get there in time he’s on his own they won’t kill me but they’ll sure as hell take me by force he’s not going to be able to take them all down—
Black shit glops up his throat—
Bakugou jolts awake, breathing hard. Things come back in patches.
Knock on the wall. “Bakugou, you okay?”
“Fuck off, shitty hair!” Hoarse voice. Had he been screaming? He wouldn’t doubt it. He hates himself. “I’m fucking fine!”
Pause.
“Sure doesn’t sound like it. I can’t sleep either, I’m comin’ over.”
“What part of ‘fuck off’ did you not understand?” Bakugou seethes, but there’s a knock on his door anyway. Unfazed.
“Hey,” Kirishima says through the keyhole.
Bakugou doesn’t open the door.
“Bakugoou. Open up~”
“God in fucking—” Bakugou takes a deep breath. He’s so fucking sick. He’s sick of the nightmares. Sick of living a life painted with fear, of all things. Sick of how people tiptoe around him like he’s fragile. He’s not. He feels like he is. He hates it. He’s not he’s not he’s not he won’t let himself be— “Leave me the fuck alone, Kirishima! I don’t need you, stop butting your nose in my fucking business! Just fuck off already!”
Pause.
“Bakugou.” Kirishima sounds tired, too. “I told you, we’re not saying you’re weak. Nobody is, okay? We just want to be there for you. I want to.”
“I don’t need you,” Bakugou seethes.
Thump on his door. Bakugou imagines what Kirishima leaning on the door, resting his head on it. “Look, I had a really shitty night. You’re not the only one having nightmares, y’know. Can I at least see my friend, so I know he’s fine, safe and sound, before I go back to my room?”
Bakugou notices Kirishima doesn’t say back to sleep.
Bakugou opens the door.
“Here, fuckface. In all my fucking glory—”
Kirishima hugs him.
Bakugou stands there in shock.
“Shitty hair, what the fuck—I don’t need your fucking pity—”
“God,” Kirishima cries, his voice splintering in half, a million pieces, “this isn’t about you right now. I keep telling you nobody’s fucking pitying you! We’re all just trying to be—here for each other!” He hugs Bakugou tighter, his hands clutching him like he’s never going to let him go again. “Please—I just—”
His words crumble into half-broken sobs.
Bakugou’s not used to comforting people, or people worrying over him—in his house, it was always his dad who did the worrying, but his dad’s a weak-ass shit. Here, Kirishima is strong. Kirishima is his equal. But Kirishima was also, apparently, worried sick over his disappearance.
He still has an easier time wrapping his head around the idea that Kirishima thinks he’s too weak to handle the villain alliance, but with his equal, his friend crying his heart out on his shirt, Bakugou doesn’t especially feel like pushing it.
He lets Kirishima leave wet patches on his shoulder and cling to him like he’s anchoring him, trying, for the first time, what being there for someone means.
3.
Kirishima’s waiting for him when Bakugou comes out of his room in the morning, still yawning. His hands loop something around his neck and Bakugou’s so sleepy he doesn’t even bother. Best friend is putting something soft and worn on him. Kirishima probably has his reasons. If it’s something stupid, he’s sure it can wait five minutes before he eviscerates him.
“I told my mom I have a friend who hates the cold, so she was all, ‘Eijirou, remember to take care of him!’” he explains as his hands finish tying the scarf, stepping back to admire his handiwork. “Whaddya know, it suits you.”
Bakugou looks down. What greets him is the ugliest scarf he’s ever fucking seen. He may be tired, Kirishima may have his reasons, but that doesn’t mean he’s not going to kick Kirishima’s ass.
Kirishima laughs the whole way Bakugou chases him down, palms exploding, but not even Bakugou can deny the smile on his own face.
-- AGE 17 --
4.
“Bakugou!” Kirishima bounces up to him, grinning radiantly. “I missed seeing you, man!”
Bakugou scowls at him. “It’s been a week,” he says. School’s broken up for holidays, UA sending the students home with precautions of villains this, alert them if anything happens that. There hasn’t been a day they weren’t texting each other.
“Yeah, but still! I have so much to tell you, typing isn’t fast enough for me and my ADHD.” Kirishima starts walking, eager to get going. Bakugou falls into step by his side perfectly, familiar. “Like, I told you what my drug dealer said last session, right?”
Bakugou rolls his eyes. Kirishima’s taken to calling his psychiatrist his drug dealer, insisting it was cool. What a fucking nerd. “Yeah.”
“Yeah, so—” They reach a crossroads. The light blinks red. Kirishima’s too caught up in his talking, and his feet don’t stop. Bakugou, used to this kind of shit, reacts before Kirishima’s taken one extra step.
“Hair-for-brains, the light’s red,” he snaps without heat, a reprimand more than anything else, and pulls him back.
Kirishima doesn’t say anything, but realization dawns on Bakugou even without prompting. Kirishima’s hand in his is warm and rough from years of fighting.
It’s also not something he dislikes holding, he realizes.
He drops it like it burns. Kirishima is his first honest-to-god friend; he barely knows how to make conversation that isn’t made of insults, much less show affection. “Shit, it’s—fuck, goddamnit, it’s not like that, shitty hair!”
“No, it’s—” Kirishima’s cheeks are pink, but he’s starting to grin again, jokingly reaching for Bakugou’s hands and tucking his own into them like two jigsaw puzzles that fit. The light stays red; the world around them continues to stay still. “I didn’t know you felt that way, Bakugou~”
Bakugou stares down at their joined hands, Kirishima’s palm warm and rough in his. He counts to ten, knows that Kirishima’s reaction time has improved enough for his next move, and explodes as hard as he can.
5.
“Hey, Bakubro,” Kirishima asks one day, when they’re both lying on the ground cooling down after sparring, an obvious shit-eating sparkle in his eye, “are you ticklish?”
“Fucking try me,” Bakugou says, regretting the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth.
Kirishima doesn’t waste time; he pushes himself up in one quick move and sticks one leg between Bakugou’s legs, effectively trapping him, and grins, “I’ll have you know I’m the champion tickler in my house.”
“See if I give two shits—” Bakugou starts, but then Kirishima’s fingers wiggle up his torso and shit—
Bakugou hears the giggles before he realizes they’re coming from him, his face betraying him as his mouth twitches once, twice, and finally splits into a smile, a laugh.
“Fuck, Kiri—ha haha ha—shima—fuck—you—” He kicks at him, but his friend is relentless, his fingers running down his sides and his stomach and laughing himself, the piece of shit.
“You lose all your edge when you’re laughing, man,” Kirishima grins. He sticks his hand further up Bakugou’s shirt, in search of more attack spots, but when his fingers graze the edge of his top surgery scars, he jumps. “—Sorry!”
Bakugou rolls his eyes. “It’s fine, they don’t hurt, dumbass.” Kirishima’s still chewing on his lip, looking like a kicked puppy. This is a topic they’ve had their fucking heart-to-heart about before, and Bakugou’s not about to let this day delve into talking about the dark pit of gender dysphoria™, so he takes the moment to his advantage and flips their positions, clumsily poking at Kirishima’s sides until he’s forced to start laughing, too.
“They don’t hurt,” Bakugou says later, when he catches Kirishima still looking uncertain. “It’s fine.”
“I feel bad, though,” Kirishima says. “Like—that’s probably not a place you wanna be touched.”
“Listen, fuckmunch,” Bakugou informs him, “I knew what the fuck I was getting into when I let you tickle me. It was fair game. And besides, I’m a guy, there’s nothing wrong with being touched on the chest.”
Kirishima grins at that. “That’s such a manly thing to say, Splodey.”
Bakugou snorts. “Of fucking course.”
6.
Right after the bell rang, Bakugou saw a red blur out of the corner of his eye, and was immediately ambushed by a human puppy with god-awful hair. "Blasty!" A flyer waved in front of his face. "Look!"
"I can't see jackshit when you're moving it like that," Bakugou snapped. He took it from the hand shaking the flyer vigorously, but Kirishima kept talking.
"This new café opened today," Kirishima rambled on, “and—wait, what was I gonna say. Hold on.” There was a pause as Kirishima gestured wildly in the air like that was going to bring back whatever the fuck he was going to say. Bakugou waited patiently. “Oh! Right, there's a 90% discount on the first day! 90%!”
"We're still in school today, dumbass," Bakugou said flatly. "Holidays start tomorrow."
"80% discount on the second day," Kirishima shot back, with the air of someone who already knew he had won.
And as a result, here he is. Bakugou sticks his hands into his pockets aggressively as he stares at the clock in the train station, watching the seconds tick by. Piece of shit. He was the one who wanted to go, but yet—
"Sorry!" Kirishima yells, zigzagging through passerby until he skids to a stop just in front of Bakugou, grinning radiantly.
Wait. Radiantly. What the fuck was his brain thinking.
"I got tied up with the girls," Kirishima explains as they start walking, Bakugou falling in step perfectly like he had a year ago, a long time ago. "They kept clinging to me like 'big bro, don't leave!' but then when I said I was gonna hang with Blasty-nii—"
Bakugou gives him a look. Kirishima grins wider.
“—They were instantly cool with it. They said to bring you back home sometime, so I figured we could go to my place after if we still have time. Yeah? They miss you!”
"Whatever."
Kirishima nudges his side playfully. "You're thrilled to see them too, admit it."
Bakugou gives him another look. It is uneffective.
"Speaking of families, I haven't seen yours in a while! How.” Kirishima stares into space. “Wait, fuck, I forgot what I was gonna say.”
Kirishima chatters on and on as they walk, Bakugou nodding and interjecting in places. Bakugou usually hates mindless chatter, but as Kirishima fills the quiet with life updates about the 0.5 days they hadn't seen each other, rants about the game level he’s trying to beat, sometimes stories Bakugou’s already heard before with how much they talk, he finds he doesn’t really mind this.
“We’re here!” Kirishima’s eyes light up like a little kid’s. It’s kind of adorable to see, Bakugou realizes as his heart does a weird flip.
What the fuck is wrong with him today.
There’s no time to ponder on that though, because Kirishima grabs his arm and pulls him, magnetic, towards the place.
Kirishima immediately redirects his attention to the staff behind the counter, table for two, please, and predictably starts making endless excited small talk. Bakugou rolls his eyes—he’s seen this shit a hundred times before. He looks around the café as he waits for Kirishima to finish his shit, taking in the cutesy blue-and-white décor and how it looks something that’d be right up Uraraka’s alley, probably, or Blackeyes, or any number of different people, but Kirishima took him instead.
Well. It’s not much, really; Kirishima drags him to a lot of different places that clearly aren’t his taste. Bakugou feels weirdly triumphant anyway.
“Bakugou! I got us seats!”
Their seats are in the open part of the café, the sun shining down on them. Kirishima’s so excited he won’t stop fidgeting when he sits, bouncing his leg more than usual and tapping his fingers and generally being the poster boy for bouncing off walls. “This place looks really nice! The posters all look like they have awesome desserts.”
Bakugou rolls his eyes and pushes the menu towards him. “Order some then, dumbass.”
The two of them talk when the waiter leaves and talk until they come back with Kirishima’s strawberry ice cream and pancakes, Bakugou’s shaved ice. After Kirishima takes his first bite, Bakugou swears there are fucking stars in his eyes.
“Bakugou!” There is his name is again, clear and bright in Kirishima’s voice. “You gotta try this!” Bakugou makes to take his own spoon, but Kirishima grins slyly and shakes his head.
Bakugou looks at him.
Kirishima holds up his own spoon, sticking it into his face. "Say aah, Splodeyman."
Bakugou glares at him.
"I promise it's good," Kirishima says, grinning wider. Another moment passes before he laughs and surrenders, saying, "Okay, fine—"
"Aah."
Kirishima blinks. "What?"
"Did I fucking stutter?" Bakugou is beginning to regret a lot of his life choices, lately. "Aah.”
Kirishima gets a weird look on his face that looks half delighted and half something else Bakugou can’t figure out, but regardless he sticks the spoon into Bakugou's mouth and leaves him with the sweetness melting in his mouth.
"Was it good?" Kirishima asks, looking like he’s recovering from something. Bakugou wonders if he really threw him for that big of a loop. "You're really cute sometimes, Blasty."
And oh, there he is, the Kirishima with his grins and teasing. Bakugou relaxes before he'd noticed he'd tensed. "The fuck does that mean? I'm fucking awesome!"
Kirishima snorts. "Yes you are, but not many people would call you cute." He boops Bakugou's nose, leaving him a weird mix of his default annoyance but mostly bafflement. "I would though~. Cute and manly."
"I hate your guts," Bakugou responds on automatic, his heart dying a slow, painful death at the hands of Kirishima Eijirou.
"Sure you do," Kirishima hums, thoroughly unconvinced. "Your shaved ice is melting."
Truth to be told, Bakugou doesn't really like sweet things. He'd only asked for shaved ice because it was the least sweet thing in the whole damn place.
He scoops up a spoonful of shaved ice, and sticks it back into Kirishima's face.
"Say aah, motherfucker."
Kirishima stares at him, incredulous, and starts giggling. "That's gay, Bakubro."
"We're both gay," Bakugou deadpans. "You can't gay me and call me bro in the same sentence, Kirishima. Fucking open up."
Kirishima laughs harder, trying to stop and let Bakugou fucking feed him already, failing miserably. He breaks into giggles again every time Bakugou’s hand attempts to stick the spoon in his mouth, until Bakugou himself can’t help but laugh too.
What a fucking nerd.
When Kirishima finally slurps up the long-melted shaved ice, their eyes wet from mindless laughter, both of them are still grinning like idiots.
-- AGE 18 --
7.
He’s in love with Kirishima. It hits him one day. It hits him in the middle of doing his homework, when he spaces out to the thought of something Kirishima had been telling him yesterday; a joke he’d made, a story he’d told, a smile he’d shown him—
His pen drops out of his hand as he stares down at his books and realizes: fuck.
8.
"I'm so tired," Kirishima moans as he stretches dramatically, intentionally sprawling all over Bakugou's lap and getting way too fucking close. Bakugou pretends his breath doesn't hitch when Kirishima determinedly makes himself comfortable on his lap, pillowing his head on Bakugou's thigh and turning to look at him. He nearly has a heart attack at the way Kirishima stares up at him curiously, all bright and genuine and Bakugou considers if you can have a cardiac arrest at age 18.
Ever since he's realized, it’s been fucking obvious how gay he is for Kirishima. He couldn't be in denial even if he wanted. Which just so happens to be exactly what he wants. Bakugou hates his life.
"You okay there, Splodeyman?"
"Fucking peachy," Bakugou grinds out. "Get off my fucking lap." It’s taking ten years off my life.
"Nope," Kirishima says. He reaches for his textbook a few inches away from where he'd tossed it, and opens it back up. "If you're worried about me not studying, I'll just study like this!"
"You can't fucking study like that," Bakugou says, exasperated. They've had this conversation a gazillion fucking times before. Kirishima falls asleep every time he lays down or puts his head down while studying, much less with his head on Bakugou's lap. He cannot study like this.
"Yes I can!" Kirishima insists.
While part of the reason why Bakugou likes him is the tenacity that mirrors his own, there are some times where Kirishima's determination is just fucking stupid.
"No you can't," he hisses.
Kirishima laughs at that, a short, sweet sound that has Bakugou liking him even more. He hates his life.
"Are we really gonna do the 'yes I can, no you can't' thing, Splodey? I'll prove it to you, I'll be fine like this. Watch me!"
"Fucking fine." Bakugou's positive Kirishima won't last, but he goes back to reading his required book for Japan Lit as Kirishima hums, apparently reading his textbook, just as focused.
Ten minutes later, because Bakugou is always right, there's a thump as the textbook falls to the ground and Kirishima's arms go limp, hanging off the bed and his breathing slow and steady.
Bakugou makes to sigh at him, but instead has another fucking heart attack at the sight of Kirishima asleep.
His expression is calm and peaceful, his lips slightly parted. His hair is down and out of those dumb spikes, fanning across his thigh.
Bakugou wants to run his fingers through it, for no other reason other than to touch. The moment feels unnecessarily intimate, and Bakugou's filled with the urge to just. Touch, and commit how Kirishima's hair feels through his fingers, how Kirishima's lips look to memory. How Kirishima's skin would feel against his own in a moment like this, instead of bold, brash movements when they're fighting, or joking around.
His hand moves almost on its own, halfway to tangling itself into Kirishima's hair like he has with Bakugou's life, but he drops it.
Bakugou turns his attention back to reading and tries to concentrate best as he can, given the itch in his fingers.
9.
Kirishima’s bed is fucking uncomfortable.
It’s clearly too small for the both of them, let alone the two of them and a laptop, but Kirishima refuses to budge, so Bakugou’s stuck there, between the wall and him. “Watch this,” he tells Bakugou, angling the laptop so they can both see better. “This is the best thing I’ve ever seen in my life. You’re gonna love it!”
“Yeah, sure,” Bakugou answers, his head pillowed on his arms. The sunlight filters through the curtains and fills the room with a soft, happy glow. “Whatever.”
Kirishima turns to him and grins, teasing. "If you're always so nice to me, people are gonna think you're in love with me."
Somewhere, something in Bakugou wavers, and breaks off completely.
Maybe it’s because with Kirishima there are warm days where it's calm and peaceful, where there isn't a gnawing in Bakugou's mind telling him they’re looking down on you, telling him you need to prove yourself, or else you’ll just be a weakling like them, telling him a million and one things that crawl into his head and grow their roots there. Days with Kirishima are where he knows they're equals, he doesn’t need to prove himself and he doesn’t need to keep his place above him, knows that good-natured teasing is just that, nothing more, nothing like Deku's eyes full of pity and people's gleeful grins waiting for him to fall, nothing like that.
Days where he feels safe.
The safety seeps into his skin and warms him inside and out, making him feel like nothing bad could happen. His heart skips once before the words tumble out: "Well, what if I am, shithead?"
Kirishima stares at him.
The bubble pops. Peace shatters in a hundred million splinters. Bakugou is very aware of panic slamming down heavy on his shoulders. Forcing him down. Wrapping its fingers around his throat, tightening. His thoughts come out in shards. He just fucking confessed—now things will be weird—something it’s never been with Kirishima he just lost his best friend—it’s all his fault—
Kirishima wraps his arms around him.
“It’s okay,” he says softly. His arms are warm and secure around him, not tight, not suffocating, an anchor. “Sh. It’s okay. I’m here.”
And he is, and Bakugou is so grateful for all the times he has been, these three years where Kirishima has been unwavering, consistent, forever there even when he pushed and kicked, convinced nobody could ever stay just for him, not for victory instead.
Years of Kirishima hugs haven’t made Bakugou immune to how safe and nice they feel, only made him more accepting of them as he stays in the embrace, his edges softening. He hasn’t lost his best friend. Kirishima is still here, regardless of his stupid crush on him or not. The thought has him so relieved he starts crying, and dimly, fuzzily, he hears Kirishima chuckle weakly.
“C’mon, Blasty, it breaks my heart when you cry,” he says, patting Bakugou’s back. Bakugou gives up any semblance of holding it together—it’s Kirishima after all, it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before—and just lets it out.
Like the champ that he is, Kirishima pats and rubs circles on his back soothingly the whole time, and if it were anyone but him, Bakugou would feel like he was being babied. Instead it just feels like—like someone’s there for him.
“Calmed down?” Kirishima asks when he’s more or less gone boneless, relaxed, in his arms. He nods.
Kirishima pulls back, his arms still around him, and kisses his forehead. “I’m—” he stumbles over his words, “I’m glad.”
Wait.
Suddenly Bakugou’s face is fucking on fire, and that’s saying a lot for someone with an explosion quirk.
“What the fuck?!”
“I was trying to be smooth!” Kirishima protests, beginning to go red as well.
“No, you piece of shit, you fuck—you—” Bakugou trips over himself, his thoughts doing much the same. Kirishima just. Kissed him. On the forehead, but, after he confessed to him, what the fuck, Kirishima’s not dumb enough to do that kind of shit right after that if he didn’t, feel—feel the same, right? Fuck fuck fuck he hates human interaction what the fuck does this mean what the—
“You’re overthinking again,” Kirishima tells him, grinning weakly, his face still like a fucking tomato. He looks stupid as fuck, but fuck. He’s so in love. “I’m telling you, blasty, there’s nothing complicated here! I really, really, really like you. In the romo, full homo way.”
“Fuck,” Bakugou says eloquently. He hadn’t planned this far. He feels like he might cry again. This is way too much emotion in a short span of time. He buries his face in Kirishima’s shirt.
“You’re being really cute, Bakubro, but how can I kiss you when your face is in there?” Kirishima whines, a smile in his voice. Kirishima wants to kiss him—Bakugou’s face burns harder. Fucker probably gets off on his suffering. He hates him.
He says as much, but Kirishima just pets his hair, unfazed, like he’s a dog or something. Fuck this. “Your tsun coping mechanisms are showing.”
“I am not a tsun, you piece of shit,” Bakugou hisses, falling into anger because it’s familiar. He looks back up from Kirishima’s shirt.
Kirishima’s looking at him, his eyes bright and his expression so impossibly soft and loving, like Bakugou is everything he ever wanted and more. It’s too much for Bakugou’s gay little heart to take in at once. Kirishima is looking at him like he just hung the fucking stars in the sky. This is too much.
“Are we boyfriends now?” Kirishima’s expression doesn’t change. Fuck.
“I don’t—fuck, isn’t that what confessions mean?” Bakugou pauses. “Do you want to be?”
Kirishima snorts, wiggles his body down the bed so they’re eye level, forcing Bakugou to look at him. “Trust me, I’ve been wanting this for a loooong time. Can I kiss you now?”
This is total bullshit. Bakugou’s supposed to be the one in charge and in control, but instead Kirishima’s the one who’s got him weak in the knees and his heartbeat speeding up to, he suspects, inhuman frequencies. He didn’t fucking sign up for this.
“…Yeah.”
Kirishima leans in, and kisses him gently.
Kirishima’s lips are soft and warm and every bit as comforting and safe as the rest of him is, but they’re new, too. Bakugou’s not sure how the fuck you kiss someone back, but Kirishima pulls back before he can figure it out, still smiling like he’s the happiest man in the world.
Well, Bakugou allows himself to think, looking at the idiot’s face, maybe he is.
“Bakugou, I really, really, really like you.”
“Fucker, you said that already, fucking quit it already—”
“Nu-uh! I gotta say it again. I like you a whole lot, Bakugou Katsuki! From the bottom of my heart.” Kirishima pauses for a second. “Don’t you like me too?”
Bakugou wants to look away, wants to turn away from the embarrassment he’s putting himself in. But for the boy who just kissed him—the boy who looked at him like he was made out of everything good in this world—the boy who had stayed because he truly liked him for who he was—Bakugou forces himself to look at Kirishima in the eye.
“I really like you too, dumbass.”
10.
The student lounge is abuzz with chatter today, everyone getting excited about some outing or other they’d been organizing. To Bakugou, scrolling down his phone and plugged into his earphones, it’s only an annoyance in his little bubble.
Well.
Maybe not just his bubble—Kirishima’s arm is loosely around his waist as they sit on the sofa, chattering away with Kaminari and Ashido and the rest of them. Even with music in his ears, Bakugou can hear what they’re saying. “We’ll be there,” Kirishima promises. Even with his eyes on his phone, Bakugou can see Kirishima’s expression, earnest and genuine; one of the reasons he’d fallen for him in the first place. The thought has Bakugou grumping a little. Kirishima would call that his tsundere coping mechanism at work again. Bakugou grumps harder.
“You sure your boyfriend wants to go?” Kaminari’s saying, eyeing at Bakugou. “His expression just got like, 10% more murderous after you said that.”
“Hm?” Kirishima looks over at him and gestures for him to take out his earbuds. When Bakugou complies, he asks, “You wanna go? I kinda assumed you’d be, but it’s cool if you don’t wanna, of course.”
Bakugou considers it for a second, hand pausing his tapping on his phone. “I’ll go if you’re going.”
“Gee, Splodey, that’s kinda gay,” Kirishima teases. He kisses Bakugou on the cheek and goes back to talking with his friends—their friends. His hold on his waist tightens, pulling the two of them closer together. Bakugou leans into the touch and revels in it. The fact that he’s loved so openly and deeply, despite all of his insecurities and flaws and sharp edges; the fact that it’s from someone who he loves back just as much.