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Kirishima was sitting on his bed, with a lamp lit on the table next to the bed, while he clenched his tongue between his lips as he concentrated on the video game in his hands. There was a short but loud knock. Immediately afterward, the door opened and a visitor entered without the room’s occupant inviting him in. The visitor began pacing back and forth across the room like a tiger that had been locked in a cage for far too long. Kirishima didn’t even have to look toward the door to know who had come in. Only Bakugou knocked and paced like that.
He paced around for a moment when he suddenly stopped in the middle of the room, his arms crossed over his chest, breathing heavily. “I screwed up,” he whispered. No one could hear him, yet he wasn’t able to say it out loud. He was ashamed that he was even capable of such emotions.
“What?” Kirishima asked, without taking his eyes off the video game. From the sound of his voice, Bakugou seemed more confused than like he’d caused a problem involving acid, black trash bags, and a solid alibi.
“I… him…” He paused.
Kirishima paused the game and looked at Bakugou, who had lowered his chin until it was almost touching his broad chest. “Him?” he repeated cautiously. Bakugou turned his gaze toward his best friend. As soon as Kirishima noticed how he was looking at him, he set the game down on the nightstand and sat down on the edge of the bed. He patted the spot next to him. Bakugou smacked his lips but walked over to him anyway and sat down beside him. Kirishima spread his legs, so their knees brushed against each other and smiled. “Who, Katsuki?” It had been Bakugou’s suggestion that they call each other by their first names. Still, it felt strange when he called him that.
Especially since he’d heard his name so many times today. He swallowed hard. “I met him.” He had to take a deep breath to be able to say his name. “Kariage.”
Kirishima frowned. He’d heard that name before, but he couldn’t place it. Bakugou gave him a moment to think it over. “Oh, is that your friend from elementary school? The one with the shaved sides? Undercut?” He pointed to his hair to illustrate what he meant. Bakugou just nodded. Kirishima nodded in understanding. They’d only met a few times—once in their freshman year, when Bakugou was tutoring him and they happened to run into each other at a café, then three more times at the festival when they passed each other, and once he saw him at an event at their former elementary school, where he’d gone with Midoriya and Bakugo as their chaperone because the green-haired boy had promised to show him photos of Bakugou from sixth grade and Bakugou wanted to stop that from happening. That’s when he noticed that when he walked away from them and Bakugou was left alone with Kariage, something was different. The air around them was thick with questions, and it didn’t escape Kirishima’s notice how the tips of Bakugou’s ears were turning red and how he was acting more nervously than Kirishima was used to seeing him. On the way back to the dorm, he remained silent and kept checking his phone, as if he were expecting a call from someone he hadn’t heard from in years.
Meanwhile, Bakugou said nothing. Kirishima asked cautiously, “What happened?”
“I was in town,” Bakugou said, resting his hands on his knees. He was staring at the floor, as if he was replaying the whole day in his mind. “I ran into him by chance—I was just on my way to pick up a package with some new stuff for my costume, and he was coming back from his course at school. We were going the same way, so we chatted, and I—I completely forgot that I was supposed to pick something up, so I suggested we go to the arcade together. The one we used to go to when we were in elementary school. We were there all the time. I always beat him, and he promised me that one day we’d go there as adults and he’d beat me. It didn’t happen.” Kirishima smiled. Bakugou looked content as he talked about it. “And then we went to get something to eat. Nothing fancy. Just a food truck selling chilli buns. We laughed, we talked…” He paused. He swallowed. He started fidgeting with his fingers. He fixed his gaze on them. “We were at the bus stop. Alone. His bus was supposed to leave in ten minutes, and I…”
Kirishima patted Bakugou on the back. He knew he needed it.
Bakugou remained silent for a moment before saying in one breath: “I didn’t want him to leave; I felt like I might even miss him, or – I don’t know how to describe that feeling.” He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “I just wanted us to stand there together a little longer. Until nightfall. I didn’t want him to leave. And I…” He took a drag. Tears welled up in his eyes.
Kirishima stepped closer to him, wrapped his arms around his shoulders, and pulled him close. His nose brushed against his hot palm. It burned with both shame and mutual excitement. He closed his eyes. “Tell me, Katsuki,” he encouraged him.
“I kissed him,” he whispered wearily. He closed his eyes. He’d said it. He’d actually said it out loud. What had happened there. What he still couldn’t believe he’d done. “I kissed him,” he repeated, “I was so scared when I did it that I jumped back and felt like blasting him into the stratosphere, but instead he grabbed me by the neck and he—he—he k-kissed me too,” he began to stammer. This always happened when his emotions were stronger than what he was capable of processing. “God, he kissed me, Eijirou,” Bakugou whispered, curling up in Kirishima’s arms. He rested his head on Kirishima’s shoulder, his ear pressed right against his chest, listening to his heart beating calmly. Kirishima wasn’t shocked at all. He was calm, quiet like water that surrounded him and encouraged him to let all his emotions out. “I-I don’t know for how long, but I couldn’t breathe at all afterward, but I was afraid that if I stopped, he wouldn’t do it again and might say he was sorry or that he didn’t like it. I was so scared out of my mind that I just stood there and let him kiss me.”
“Did it bother you?” Kirishima asked seriously.
Bakugou swallowed loudly. Why was his throat so dry? “Y-Yeah? No? I don’t know…,” he said honestly. He exhaled wearily. “I didn’t want him to stop. I liked it. You know I’ve always had a soft spot for him, and now that he’s all grown up? Fuck, he was gorgeous. He looked divine. He still smelled a little of sweat and drywall from the construction site. It was—really beautiful.” Bakugou opened his eyes and looked at his hands, which were still hanging straight down at his sides. He used them to grab Kirishima’s hand, which was wrapped around him, and pulled himself closer to him. “But deep down, I knew I shouldn’t have done it. That it was disgusting. That no one could ever find out. Fuck, we’re both guys, Eijirou. That fucking shouldn’t have happened.”
“Because you didn’t want it, or because you’re both guys?”
Bakugou blinked. He clicked his tongue. Kirishima knew the answer, but he needed to hear it from Bakugou. “You know – the second option.”
“We’ve already talked about this, Katsuki.”
“I know.” That’s why Bakugou said it to him. To his best friend. The man who had openly talked about his bisexuality—about which girls or boys he’d dated and kissed. He admired both men and women equally and made no secret of who he was attracted to. Bakugou was cautious about this. He knew what he liked, but just admitting it was hard. Was it because of his childhood? His own inner world, in which he actually hated himself deep down? “But I can’t… I can’t stop thinking about it. About the feeling of him kissing me. How much I like it, and how I want to throw up into his mouth at the same time.”
“Ew,” Kirishima laughed, trying to lighten the mood a little.
It didn’t work very well. Bakugou was still just as serious and continued: “His bus was there. I pulled away from him, but he hugged me. He didn’t want to let me go. He was whispering something, but my blood was boiling. I couldn’t understand a word he was saying. When he stroked my hair, I pulled away from him and ran off. I ran away like a coward.” Admitting that he’d been a coward in that moment was an incredible step for him.
“You were just overwhelmed with emotion—that’s okay, Katsuki.” He began stroking his hair. “It’ll all make sense.”
“How?”
“Are you planning on seeing him again?” Bakugou shrugged. He’d rather it never happens again and be able to erase the last few hours of his life. “Are you going to text him?” He wanted to—oh God, he wanted to so badly—but he knew he’d definitely write something stupid that he’d later regret. So he shrugged again.
Kirishima knew it would be a long time before Bakugou came to terms with his own sexuality, with the emotions churning inside him. It had been a long and arduous journey. He’d walked it alone. But he’d had the support of family, friends, and partners. Bakugou was on his own. And he’d decided he wouldn’t leave him to face it alone. “Let’s go to sleep,” he suggested. Bakugou lifted his head, his chin resting against his chest, his eyes pleading for an explanation. “Let’s get some sleep, and we’ll talk it over tomorrow. Over a yummy breakfast that you’ll make for me, since I’m staying up until two in the morning because of you.”
Bakugou chuckled. “You were playing a game,” he reminded him.
“But then you showed up.” Bakugou nudged him lightly. “Come on.” He pulled him aside just so he could take off his sweatpants and T-shirt. Bakugou followed him. He took off his clothes until he was left wearing only his black tank top and black boxers. “Come here,” Kirishima said as he squeezed himself against the wall, covered himself with a blanket, lifted it slightly, and pointed to the spot next to him. Bakugou didn’t say anything; he just quietly obeyed. He lay down next to him, with his back to him, so that Kirishima could press himself against him. He kissed him lightly on the neck. Bakugou shivered and parted his lips slightly. The intimacy that existed between them after years of friendship both calmed and confused him. “Good night, Katsuki,” he said, resting his forehead against his bare shoulder.
“Good night,” the blond replied, his face buried in the pillow. “Thank you,” he whispered softly into the fabric. Kirishima didn’t say anything in response, just held him tighter. This grounded Bakugou a little and gave him more assurance that he was in good hands. Finally, he could breathe deeply and let his mind drift into the darkness without any thoughts, holding only the memory of the black-haired boy who used to tuck a cigarette behind his ear.
Kirishima was right. He needed to get some sleep. Together, they’d talk it through, support each other, and get through this. Kirishima would teach him to love himself just the way he really was. All that was needed was for the real, fearless Bakugou to finally come to the surface. They both still had a long journey ahead of them.