Work Text:
The dorms were too loud.
Bakugo had known they would be. He’d known it the moment Kaminari started stringing lights across the common room like he was decorating a bargain-bin festival stall instead of a hero dorm. He’d known it when Mina dragged the speakers out and declared it “illegal” to play anything without a beat. He’d known it when someone, he refused to identify who, announced there was mistletoe this year, complete with a smug little laugh that suggested consequences.
He’d stayed anyway.
That alone should have told him something was wrong.
Bakugo leaned against the wall near the kitchen, arms crossed, jaw clenched so tight it ached. The smell of cheap cocoa and sugar cookies clung to the air.
Laughter bounced off the walls. People brushed past him without fear, without hesitation, like he wasn’t a live explosive waiting to go off.
Kirishima slid up beside him, easy as always, like proximity to Bakugo was the most natural thing in the world.
“You’re doing that thing again,”
Kirishima said, voice light.
Bakugo didn’t look at him. “What thing.”
“The jaw thing. Means you’re five seconds from blowing up Kaminari’s lights.”
“Tch. Maybe I should.”
Kirishima laughed, warm and
unguarded. “C’mon, man. They worked hard on those.”
Bakugo snorted. “That’s not the word I’d use.”
Kirishima bumped his shoulder gently.
“You could bounce if you want.”
Bakugo’s glare snapped sideways. “I’m not running.”
“Didn’t say you were.”
“You implied it.”
Kirishima lifted his hands in surrender.
“Okay, okay. Just saying you don’t gotta stay if it’s bugging you.”
Bakugo hated that Kirishima never
pushed back the way others did. Hated that he didn’t flinch. Hated that he could tell Bakugo was wound tight without calling him out.
“I’m fine,” Bakugo growled.
“Bakugo.”
The way Kirishima said his name, steady, grounded, made something in Bakugo’s chest hitch.
“Don’t,” Bakugo snapped. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Talk like you know what I’m thinking.”
Kirishima’s smile softened. “I kinda do.”
That was it.
Bakugo shoved off the wall and stalked toward the hallway, boots heavy, shoulders tense. He didn’t look back.
He didn’t need to.
The dorm hallway was quieter, but not silent. Laughter bled through closed doors. Someone down the hall hummed along to the music. Bakugo stopped suddenly and spun around.
“You done following me?” he demanded.
Kirishima blinked. “I wasn’t-”
“You always do.”
Kirishima frowned. “That’s not fair.”
Bakugo scoffed. “Isn’t it?”
“No,” Kirishima said, voice firmer now. “It’s not. I check in. You bite my head off. That’s not the same thing.”
Bakugo’s fists clenched. “You think I don’t know that?”
“Then why act like I’m the enemy?”
Bakugo opened his mouth. And froze.
Red berries. Green leaves.
Taped crookedly to the ceiling above them.
Mistletoe.
Bakugo stared at it like it had personally declared war.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he muttered.
Kirishima followed his gaze and snorted. “Wow. Guess Kaminari really committed.”
Bakugo took a step back instinctively.
“Move.”
Kirishima didn’t.
Instead, he looked up again, then back at Bakugo, grin threatening to break through the tension. “Guess we’re stuck.”
Bakugo’s temper flared. “No. We’re not doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“This stupid holiday crap,” Bakugo snapped. “It’s a joke.”
Kirishima tilted his head. “Doesn’t have to be.”
The hallway felt too narrow. Too close.
“You think everything’s easy,” Bakugo growled.
“I don’t.”
“You act like it is.”
Kirishima stepped closer, voice low.
“Because I don’t want you tearing
yourself apart every time you feel something.”
Bakugo’s vision tunneled. Feel something.
There it was. The thing he refused to
name.
“Shut up.”
“Make me.”
Bakugo didn’t think.
He grabbed Kirishima by the front of his shirt and kissed him.
It was heat and frustration and every unsaid word colliding at once. Not careful. Not planned. Just need.
Kirishima stiffened for half a second. Then melted.
Hands came up, not demanding, just anchoring Bakugo in place. Like he always did.
Bakugo broke the kiss abruptly, breath harsh, eyes wild.
“Don’t,” he warned. “Don’t say
anything.”
Kirishima didn’t smile. Didn’t tease.
“Bakugo-”
Bakugo turned and stormed away.
The next morning, Bakugo trained until his arms shook.
Explosions cracked through the cold air, sharp and controlled. Sweat dripped down his neck. His hands burned.
Good.
“You’re gonna overdo it.”
Bakugo turned. Kirishima leaned in the doorway, arms crossed.
“What,” Bakugo snapped.
“You kissed me.”
Bakugo looked away. “…You gonna make it a thing?”
Kirishima shook his head. “No.”
That made Bakugo pause.
“I’m just saying,” Kirishima continued gently, “you don’t get to pretend it didn’t happen.”
Silence stretched.
Bakugo exhaled slowly. “…I’m not good at this.”
“I know.”
“…Didn’t hate it.”
Kirishima smiled, soft, real.
“Good.”
The mistletoe still hung crooked in the hallway.
And neither of them walked under it again.
Training Ground Gamma was cold enough to sting.
Bakugo liked it that way.
He launched himself forward, explosions sharp and precise, boots skimming the concrete as he cut tight arcs through the air. Every movement was controlled. Every blast measured.
No wasted motion.
Kirishima watched from the sidelines, arms folded, jaw set, not worried, exactly, but attentive. Bakugo could always tell when he was being seen like that. Not judged. Just… tracked.
“Oi!” Bakugo barked mid-landing. “You gonna stare all day or you jumping in?”
Kirishima blinked, then grinned. “You always say that like it’s an insult.”
“Because it is.”
“Cool.” Kirishima rolled his shoulders.
“Let’s go.”
They moved together without counting it out. No verbal cues. No plan spoken aloud. Bakugo surged forward;
Kirishima followed, hardening just in time to take the shockwave without flinching. Bakugo redirected, Kirishima pivoted, their spacing instinctive.
It was… different.
Not worse. Just sharper.
Bakugo noticed it when Kirishima didn’t crowd him like usual, gave him space when he needed it, closed ranks when he didn’t. Kirishima noticed it when
Bakugo didn’t snap at corrections, didn’t explode when a maneuver went sideways.
They weren’t talking about it.
That made it easier.
They broke apart after the final exchange, both breathing hard. Bakugo wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his glove.
“Tch. You’re slower.”
Kirishima laughed. “You’re meaner.”
“Always have been.”
“Yeah,” Kirishima said, softer. “I know.”
Later, the dorm common room was quieter than usual. Late afternoon lull. A few people scattered around, Mina on the couch, Kaminari half-asleep at the table, Sero fiddling with his phone.
Bakugo dropped onto the armchair near the window, scowling out at the gray sky.
Kirishima hesitated, just for a beat, then sat on the floor beside the chair instead of across the room like he normally would. Close, but not pressing. Present, but not demanding.
Bakugo noticed.
Didn’t comment.
“Hey,” Kirishima said eventually.
“What.”
“…You good?”
Bakugo’s jaw tightened. Then loosened.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Just… loud in my
head.”
Kirishima nodded. “You want quiet, or distraction?”
Bakugo thought about it. Actually thought.
“…Quiet.”
So Kirishima stayed quiet.
That was the thing Bakugo couldn’t
shake. Kirishima didn’t fill the silence.
He respected it. Sat there, solid as a wall, like Bakugo could lean if he needed to, but didn’t have to.
At some point, Bakugo rested his forearm on the armrest. Kirishima’s shoulder brushed it when he shifted.
Neither of them moved away.
It was Mina who noticed first.
She paused mid-sentence, eyes flicking between them, grin slowly spreading.
“Oho?” she said brightly.
Bakugo stiffened.
Kirishima didn’t.
“What?” Kirishima asked, tone casual.
“You guys are weird today,” Kaminari added, squinting. “Like… quiet-weird.”
Bakugo shot him a glare. “You got a problem?”
“Nope!” Kaminari said quickly. “Just sayin’.”
Mina leaned closer, clearly delighted.
“You two hanging out more lately?”
Kirishima laughed, scratching the back of his neck. “What, we’re not allowed to train together now?”
“I didn’t say that,” Mina sing-songed.
Bakugo pushed to his feet. “I’m getting
food.”
“Same,” Kirishima said immediately, standing with him.
Mina’s grin sharpened. “Orrrr you could-”
“They’re busy,” Kirishima cut in easily, clapping his hands once. “Right, Bakugo?”
Bakugo blinked.
“…Yeah.”
Kirishima stepped just slightly in front of him, not blocking, not shielding, just there. A presence that redirected attention without confrontation.
Mina pouted theatrically. “Aww, fine. Be mysterious.”
They walked away together.
Bakugo didn’t speak until they reached the hallway.
“…Thanks,” he muttered.
Kirishima glanced over, surprised, but pleased. “Anytime.”
They didn’t walk under the mistletoe again.
They didn’t need to.
And when Bakugo later caught his reflection in the dark window, Kirishima beside him, close but not crowding, he realized something uncomfortable and undeniable.
For once, someone knew when to stand with him.
And when to stand between him and the rest of the world.