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Kirishima’s heartbeat pounds in his ears, sweat dripping down his back and pooling between his shoulderblades. There’s only a few seconds left on the clock, but the match isn’t over. He won’t let this game end in a tie – his team’s practiced too much and worked too hard. Someway, somehow, they’ll make another basket.
He pushes his legs to move faster, the glossy floor beneath him passing by in a rush. Bodies blur in his vision. The only thing his eyes focus on is the ball bouncing off the rim, now in midair. Launching upward, he snatches it from its free fall and runs in the opposite direction, dribbling around one opponent, then another, now sprinting down the court, home free. One layup later, their team takes the lead, the sound of the buzzer barely registering over his thundering pulse.
A shout tears through his lungs, victory burning a satisfying trail through his veins. In the blink of an eye, he’s swarmed by his teammates, all of them celebrating, thrilled to have won their first game of the season.
He plans for it to be the first of many.
_________________________________
Still riding the high from their last-minute win, he’s buzzing as he moves to exit the gym with a few of his teammates, almost through the double doors when he hears, “Kirishima!”
He’d know that voice anywhere. It’s the same voice that shouts through drills and helps keep him on his toes on the court. It halts his steps and turns his heel. “Hey, Coach! What’s up?”
“I need to speak with you privately.”
The statement twists his brow, as he feels he played well. Signaling to the others with a smile, he gives them a nod of encouragement to continue on without him. “I’ll catch up later!”
The chorus of goodbyes warm his heart.
“Bye, bro!”
“Great game tonight!”
“Thanks for saving our asses!”
Adjusting the duffel bag hanging on his shoulder, Kirishima follows the coach into his office, taking a seat across from his desk when it's offered. A look’s thrown that’s difficult to place. It shifts Kirishima’s body weight, prompting him to sit a little straighter.
“Nice job tonight,” his coach finally states to break the silence, staring him straight in the eyes. “You really drove it home those last few seconds. We wouldn’t have clinched the victory without your reflexes and speed.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You’re a standout player, Kirishima. That’s what landed you at this university – why I chose you to be a part of this team. You always work hard.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I need you to apply that same level of enthusiasm to your coursework if you’re to remain an active starter.”
Kirishima’s neck snaps back, mouth searching for words that are currently eluding his brain. He’s a fine student, always has been. Sure, he’s not at the very top of every class but he’s up there with the best of them. People always expect him to be an idiot because he’s big and tall and plays college basketball. They judge him without the knowledge that he plans to study geology and has a special interest in volcanic rocks and sediment. “I’m sorry but I’m not sure I understand.”
Coach laces his fingers together and rests his elbows on the desk. “I received an email this afternoon from your Biology instructor. They’re concerned about your performance throughout the semester thus far.”
He begs his face to remain neutral.
Why the hell would professors already be emailing about anything? Classes have only been in session for a few weeks. He hasn’t even had a formal examination yet! Professor Aizawa does seem like a hard-ass, but damn. He’s only had two assignments. All this because he might’ve forgotten how many ATP molecules are produced in the electron transport chain during a surprise quiz last week?
Wise enough not to speak despite the colorful dialogue unfolding in his thoughts, Kirishima keeps his mouth shut and listens.
This is college – an entirely different ball game. This isn’t his rural hometown. Standards are clearly high here and he intends to meet them, whatever it takes. He needs this basketball scholarship because his parents certainly cannot afford to contribute to his expenses. It’s no secret that to remain on the team, grade requirements are expected to be met. Kirishima simply didn’t realize they were this…severe.
After a moment of silence, Kirishima chooses his words carefully. “What was said, exactly?”
“He claimed he’s concerned that your work is subpar for the university level, however, he’s confident that it’s early enough in the semester for you to course correct.”
Forcing that down like a bitter tea, Kirishima’s suddenly very interested in the color of the tile beneath his feet. “I’ll study hard and improve quickly.”
“I truly hope that’s the case, Kirishima. You seem to be a bright young man with a bright future to match. Let’s not let this little mishap get in the way of that, yes? I spoke with your instructor and he recommended a peer tutor. You’ll meet with them for scheduled study sessions a few times a week until you’re back on track. Of course, you’ll still be expected to excel in your other courses and attend required practices as well.”
“I understand.”
Coach adjusts the towel resting on the nape of his neck, appearing visibly relieved. “Very good. I’ll follow up with your instructor in a few weeks to gauge your progress. If by that time your performance hasn’t improved, you’ll be placed on the bench.”
And Kirishima’s determined for that to never happen.
“I’ll do my best.”
_________________________________
A few days later, Kirishima finds himself waiting outside the library for his tutor, enjoying the cool breeze that carries the promise of an impending autumn. After spending the first part of his day inside and attending lectures, the fresh air is more than welcome.
He can’t help but scan his surroundings, wondering who he’ll be working with. He hopes they're friendly and that he can prove from day one that he isn’t a giant moron. To be honest, he even pre-gamed this session, re-reading some of the text and reviewing his notes.
Kirishima’s grip tightens on the strap of his backpack. There’s no way he’ll be riding the bench. Operation show coach and this fancy university that he’s here to stay has officially commenced!
A low hum pulls Kirishima from his thoughts, neck turning toward the sound. Subconsciously, he knows what he seeks – the chance to steal a glimpse of the most beautiful man he’s ever seen. Kirishima isn’t even certain it’s his motorcycle. He’s just hoping it is.
From the first day Kirishima stepped foot in Biology, he was dumbstruck by the blond. Like a creep, he even stopped in his tracks and stared at the guy for a few seconds, mortified once he realized the mistake. Kirishima’d barely had time to wipe the drool from his chin and keep walking before the dude made eye contact.
Later, he learned the guy’s name is Bakugou and it takes everything Kirishima has not to stare at him when he’s within range. Even right now, watching him effortlessly park the bike and pull off his helmet threatens to give Kirishima a nose bleed which is insane. He’s never wanted to pursue a man before. Sure, he’s found them attractive in the past – a secret he’s kept to himself – but this is a new level of thirst. Bakugou could run him over with his motorcycle and step on him afterwards and he’d probably thank him.
It’s not appropriate in the slightest.
Busying himself with taking a swig of water, Kirishima gazes up at the sky, redirecting his ruminations. These aren’t thoughts he should be having about another man. Besides, he can’t get distracted. Too much is riding on these study sessions.
“Oi, Hair for Brains, you’re Kirishima, yea?”
If he hadn’t just swallowed, Kirishima’s certain he would’ve choked. Eyes snapping downward, he’s shocked to see Bakugou is standing right next to him, helmet nestled under his arm. His other hand grips the strap of his backpack that’s effortlessly slung over his shoulder.
It takes him an embarrassingly long time to respond. “I-uh, yea. And you’re Bakugou, right?”
“The one and only. You ready to get this shit rolling or what?”
Confusion must show on his face because Bakugou raises an eyebrow and nods in the direction of the library. Mouth suddenly a desert, Kirishima gulps, his throat sandpaper. “You’re…my tutor?” This is who his professor recommended?
“Fuckin’ obviously,” Bakugou quips with an eye roll.
It isn’t obvious at all. It’s not like he has tutor written across the front of his leather jacket. He isn’t even holding a book. “How is that obvious?” Now that Kirishima’s thinking about it, he doesn’t think he’s ever witnessed him speak to anyone before.
Ignoring his question entirely, Bakugou blows past him and scales the steps to the library, not looking back. Kirishima’s legs manage to get with the program, albeit after a delay. He catches up quickly, on Bakugou’s heels and following him to an empty table tucked away in a forgotten corner that’s surrounded by towering shelves. It’s secluded. So quiet that Kirishima swears he can hear his own heartbeat.
Bakugou’s helmet is placed on the far side of the table while he removes the textbook, a notebook, and a pen from his backpack, eyeing Kirishima expectantly when it’s evident he hasn’t moved a centimeter. Following his lead, Kirishima withdraws his own things and takes a seat directly across.
“Let’s start at the very beginning,” Bakugou speaks quietly, flipping through the pages of their text. “If you haven’t mastered the basics, we won’t get anywhere. Tell me everything you know about cell theory.”
Now it’s Kirishima’s turn to quirk a brow. Obviously he’s not in a place to toot his own horn, but he definitely knows this like the back of his hand. “Everything?”
Crimson irises practically peer into his soul. It heats his skin and quickens his pulse. “Everything.”
Mustering up some confidence, Kirishima leans forward on his elbows. He can do this. He can absolutely handle having Bakugou tutor him – can prove that he’s not stupid. “You got it.”
An hour later, Kirishima’s speechless as he watches Bakugou leave, having reached full understanding of why he was recommended to tutor.
He might be a genius.
Bakugou was able to break every concept down and dissect the smallest details, prompting him to consider things more deeply. Ask questions that he typically wouldn’t. He ensured Kirishima had a full understanding of whatever was being discussed before progressing to the next topic. Bakugou even complimented him, the statement, “You’re not a complete idiot,” echoing in his head, its accompanying smirk on replay behind his eyelids.
Kirishima was wrong. He can’t handle Bakugou tutoring him.
He’s so fucked.
_________________________________
Kirishima had no idea just how right he was.
Bakugou’s enthralling. Never in his life has another human being had this effect on him. At first, he tried to smother it.
After all, he’s only ever dated girls. Would his family disown him if he suddenly began pursuing a guy? What would his teammates think? Would Coach bench him?
What makes Bakugou different? Is it because he’s effortlessly cool? Unapologetic in being himself? One of the most intelligent people Kirishima’s ever met?
Kirishima eventually rationalized that it was only envy – that he was reading too far into his thoughts and desires. It’s normal to notice when other people are attractive. It isn’t unusual to think about your friends at night as you stare up at the ceiling.
Yet as weeks passed, all of his excuses went up in smoke. No better than ash. Completely useless.
Because friends don’t ensure their hair is perfectly fixed and their breath is fresh before discussing DNA replication. They don’t find themselves getting distracted mid-review by how the light is reflected in their bro’s eyes or forget how to breathe when they smile.
Eventually, Kirishima accepted that he's unable to shake these developing feelings. His reality.
He likes Bakugou Katsuki.
Once he stopped lying to himself, it was oddly freeing. Who gives a shit if he likes a dude? He’s a good student. A great basketball player. Someone who always tries to be optimistic and aims to be the best version of themself.
If that best version involves Bakugou? Well, everyone who has a problem with that can shove their opinions where the sun doesn’t shine.
There’s…just one problem: Bakugou hasn’t shown a lick of romantic interest. They occasionally discuss information unrelated to studying, but it isn’t nearly often enough in Kirishima’s opinion. He wants to know everything about his tutor. What are his hobbies? Why is he proficient in biology? Does he have a girlfriend or a boyfriend? Can Kirishima take him on a date? All important topics.
But to Kirishima’s disdain, the insanely hot man is a professional. He’s truly interested in tutoring which is quite disheartening considering the fact Kirishima longs to sweep him off his feet.
He manages to restrain himself during their sessions by sheer willpower, keeping things professional on his end too. Because even though his feelings aren’t disappearing, Bakugou is good as hell at what he does and Kirishima’s understanding of the subject matter has increased exponentially, reflected in the high marks he receives on their first exam.
“Bakugou, look!” he exclaims, handing over his written test for inspection, smiling wide enough that it hurts. “I only partially missed one question!”
“Look at you go, Shitty Hair. Knew you had it in ya.”
“I have a great tutor,” he compliments with a wink, determined not to let his expression fall when Bakugou immediately turns around and makes a beeline for the exit.
“Helping you isn’t so bad. See you tomorrow.”
“Sounds good! I’ll go show Coach my test. Thanks for everything!” With this development, he’ll still be starting at their next game without a doubt and he’s incredibly relieved. Riding the bench has been avoided and that possibility is hopefully in the rearview mirror.
_________________________________
Needless to say, Coach was impressed by the score and confirmed he’d be starting in their upcoming game – words that were highly celebrated by himself and his teammates. A surrounding chorus of “Thank god,” “hell yea,” and general hoots and hollers echoed throughout the gym and puffed out his chest. Yet even though he worked hard and definitely put in the effort, everyone knows the real hero of the story is his tutor.
It isn't long before that fact is blatantly put on display. The next day, he and Bakugou are minding their own business, in the middle of a practice test review, when they are spotted from afar by a few of his basketball teammates.
“Bro,” Okata – a point guard – exaggeratedly whispers, approaching for a quick fist bump. “Is this him?”
Bakugou’s eyebrow lifts.
“Huh?” Kirishima questions.
“Is this the guy who’s been tutoring you?”
“I am,” Bakugou interjects, looking at each player directly. “What about it?”
“Ah, shit, dude. We owe you so much!” Okata laughs. “If it wasn’t for you, our star first-year would be riding the bench and all of our asses would be suffering.”
Bakugou appears incredibly disinterested in their company after the response, gazing back down at the text spread open on the table. “He worked hard.”
“Not as hard as you, I’m sure,” Irahara – a shooting guard – quips back, and Kirishima decides instantly that he does not like the way his teammate’s staring at Bakugou. He looks him up and down as if he’s something to devour. Something he wants a piece of.
It causes Kirishima’s fists to clench and his skin to crawl.
Bakugou’s gaze snaps upward, razor sharp. “Much harder, actually. You should know about the drive he has better than anyone, but perhaps you’re unobservant.”
Kirishima’s brows raise toward the ceiling.
“We’re all like that,” Irahara remarks, leaning a bit closer. When he places his palm flat against the table, it takes a surprising amount of restraint for Kirishima not to stab through it with his pen. “Spend a little time with us and you’ll see for yourself.”
He has the inkling that this asshole means him moreso than the others.
Bakugou’s line of sight must have returned to the coursework while Kirishima was convincing himself not to injure his teammate, because he isn’t even looking at the guy now. “No.”
“Come on, man!” Yoshida – a forward – chimes in. “You could at least come to our next game and see your star student in action.”
Kirishima throws on a smile, though it doesn’t meet his eyes. “You’re wasting your time, guys. I already tried inviting him and haven’t been able to get a straight answer. Sports aren’t his thing.”
“I might come,” Bakugou states in a monotone voice that screams he doesn’t mean it. It has Kirishima’s eyes doing backflips. At this point, he’s likely only saying it so they’ll leave.
“Yessssss,” Yoshida celebrates, shaking a fist into the air.
“Yea, think about it!” Okata adds, beginning to lead the group away. “We’ll win the next game too, for sure! It’ll be worth watching!”
“We’ll let you two get back to it,” Irahara comments with a smirk that flares Kirishima’s nostrils. “And I look forward to seeing you in the crowd,” he tacks on, glancing at Bakugou over his shoulder who doesn’t even twitch. It’s like nobody had spoken to him.
Which Kirishima greatly appreciates. He internally rejoices, to be honest. Obviously his tutor isn’t into Irahara’s vibes and is entirely ignoring his advances.
Yet his mood plummets shortly after upon the realization Bakugou’s reaction might simply be due to the fact that he’s on the straight and narrow path and is only interested in women. That’d be about Kirishima’s luck – the one guy he wants to pursue being heterosexual.
Bakugou never mentions going out. Ever. Kirishima couldn’t even find any social media profiles under his name. He can’t…he can’t just ask about his orientation. Kirishima pinches the bridge of his nose and begs himself to get it together.
“What’s your deal?”
Kirishima’s chin snaps up so quickly it is a wonder he doesn’t get whiplash. “Huh?”
“The hamster wheel in your brain is spinning so fast smoke should be coming out of your ears. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” he lies, biting his tongue. “I’m just tired. Glad to hear that you ‘might’ come to my next game, though. That was really convincing. Academy Film Prize worthy.”
Bakugou scoffs. “What? I might.”
He can’t resist the deadpan expression swallowing his face. “Then I might be a superhero in my next life.”
Shockingly, Bakugou barks out a laugh. “Shut the hell up. If anybody’s being a hero in their next life, it’s me. I’d blow villains to smithereens with my bare hands! I’d be number one.”
“You’ve clearly thought about this before,” Kirishima teases, leaning forward.
“We were all kids once.”
“You pretended to be a superhero? Bakugou, that’s so cute that I think I’m gonna die.”
“Don’t act like you didn’t do shit like that.” Kirishima could swear a blush darkens his cheeks. “My best friend and I would play Hero and Villain for hours. We had the posters, the figures, the works. I still have some of the collectibles.”
Learning that Bakugou is even more of a nerd makes Kirishima want to kick his heels in glee. It’s adorable enough to broaden his grin. “So you’d have flame powers?”
“I’d have explosive powers, Shitty Hair, like a fucking bomb. Get it straight. I’d melt the bad guys’ faces off and blast them across the city.”
“Excuse me,” he snorts, “that doesn’t sound very heroic.”
“And what do you suggest? We kindly ask them to stop being menaces to society? I’m sure that’ll work out perfectly. Be my guest.”
“I’m sure there’s a happy medium. What do you think my super power would be?”
“You’re huge and built like a tank. Your head is as hard as a damn rock. You’d probably be unbreakable.”
Unbreakable. For some reason, that makes him flush, heat crawling up his neck to kiss the tips of his ears.
“Which leads me to our next point,” Bakugou continues, staring at the text. “Ossification…”
And it’s back to business as usual. Kirishima sighs, resting his chin in his palm. That’s ok. He’ll gladly watch Bakugou read from his notes or listen to the facts he recites – anything to stretch out the study session a bit longer.
Kirishima chews on his lip. How long will this last now that his grades are improving? Will Bakugou dismiss him because he’s performing well or will he continue tutoring throughout the semester?
He hopes it is the latter and crosses his fingers.
Only time will tell.
_________________________________
“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” Coach shouts, running halfway down the side of the court, arms flailing as one of his teammates rushes toward the other team’s basket after a particularly wild rebound. Kirishima and the others close-in until they’re in the thick of the play, his wide wingspan and powerful legs attempting to keep opponents from interfering. Their shooting guard, the one Kirishima’s decided he isn’t fond of, rings a nothing-but-net shot just shy of the 3-point line, the audience erupting in a series of screams and clapping.
The game just started and they are already several points ahead. But the tide can turn quickly, so it’s important for him to stay on his toes and not get distracted. As soon as that thought materializes, he’s intentionally fouled by some asshole who thought it was a good idea to shove him away from beneath the basket. The ref catches it almost instantly, a shrill whistle being blown.
Kirishima lines up at the foul line, ready to score his two free throws and get things moving again. The room grows quiet. A deep breath enters his lungs. He dribbles the ball for a moment and situates himself just right before allowing the basketball to roll off his fingertips. The thunk of the ball against the backboard paired with the swish of the net is music to his ears, his teammates and the crowd cheering him on for his second shot…which is also successful.
Hell yes.
Shaking his fist in victory, Kirishima, along with his teammates, turn and begin sprinting to the other side of the court, only for him to almost stop in his tracks. There, standing near the entrance is none other than Bakugou Katsuki. Kirishima’s heart rams against his ribcage and his eyes instantly track where he walks to take a seat, helmet tucked under his arm.
Oh my god.
Bakugou is here. He’s here.
Kirishima always aims to play his best, but that compulsion is intensified to new extremes in a matter of seconds. Not only does he want his team to win, but he wants to impress the pretty blond even more. He’s engulfed by an intense focus, practically blacking out. He runs faster, jumps higher, captures rebound after rebound, and scores at least half of their points single-handedly.
Their opponents, quickly determining Kirishima is an immense threat, begin sending multiple people to cover him which is annoying as shit yet nothing he isn’t accustomed to. It doesn’t stop him from playing what is possibly the best game of his life. The competition is crushed, Kirishima solidifying a 20-point lead with a final shot only seconds before the last buzzer sounds.
The gymnasium roars. His basketball bros, even those that were on the bench, rush onto the court. An arm wraps around his shoulder, then another. He responds to fist bump after fist bump.
…Yet none of that matters. He becomes numb to pats on the back and whomever sweeps him off his feet and spins him in a clumsy circle, almost dropping him.
Because Bakugou’s leaving. Kirishima catches a final glimpse of the blond before he disappears through the double doors and Kirishima’s mood plummets. The only person he really wanted to see is gone.
He was hoping they’d be able to talk. That his tutor would be the one congratulating him with a smile. He’d been hyping himself up to invite Bakugou to hang out with him afterward. He was going to ask if he’d join him for dinner. See if he wanted to watch a movie. Something.
Accepting a clean towel from his coach – who says something that Kirishima doesn’t process – he moves through the next few moments on autopilot.
Maybe his performance wasn’t impressive, after all.
_________________________________
Now freshly showered, Kirishima throws on clean clothes and towel dries his hair. He doesn’t care that his hair falls flat against his forehead, more than ready to throw himself into bed. Duffel in tow, he moves to exit the locker room and is swarmed by a handful of teammates waiting on the other side of the door. He attempts to smile despite the fact his mood is shit.
A chorus of questions and statements echo through the gym.
“What are your plans, bro?”
“Come party with us!”
“Yea, hang out with us tonight, first-year!”
His free hand rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know, guys-”
“Oh, come on!”
“We gotta celebrate!”
“Thought we were a team, yea?”
An arm is thrown over his shoulders, followed by another, and before Kirishima realizes what’s happening, they’ve guided him outside.
“Come for a while,” one of the more rational guys suggests with a shrug. “If it’s not your speed or you get tired, just head home.”
Kirishima sighs. To be honest, the more he thinks about it, he could use the distraction. “Yea. Yea, ok, I can do that.”
Cheers, clapping, and a plethora of elaborate handshakes finally turns his frown upside down. It won’t hurt to go out for a little while. And if he isn’t enjoying himself, he can leave. Simple as that. It’s not like he has anything better to do tonight, anyway.
Which sucks.
His already sour mood plummets further.
The more rational teammate – a third-year – nods toward the parking lot. “You can ride with me, if you want.”
His grip tightens on the strap of his duffel. He’s literally wearing joggers and a white t-shirt. His hair lies on his head as flat as a board. He isn’t wearing his good cologne.
And he decides that he doesn’t care about any of that. It’s not like the person he wants to impress will be there, anyway. “Thanks.”
When they arrive at the party, which is at a huge-ass house, he can hear the thump of music all the way outside. A few people are scattered across the lawn, and a couple acknowledge their approach with raised cups Kirishima assumes are full of alcohol. When he walks through the doorway, the first thing he notices is the tell-tale scent of smoke suffusing the air and it crinkles his nose. Uninterested in drinking, he immediately begins mingling with the crowd, keen to seek out those he knows.
He chitchats for a while with teammates and others he’s met around campus or in classes. He turns down several dance invitations and entirely ignores every instance of flirting. Eventually, the water in his bottle runs dry and he’s fresh out of small talk topics. And, truth be told, he isn’t enjoying himself at all. Kirishima isn’t in the mood to give anyone here his honest attention. It’s probably pitiful, but he’d rather have his nose stuck in a book in the library with his tutor than whatever this bullshit is.
He's definitely heading out. It doesn’t matter to him if he has to walk or take the train. Solitude is welcome at this point.
Preparing to slip out the back door – desperate not to attract any attention to himself so he can effectively escape – he freezes when his phone vibrates in his pocket. Kirishima’s jaw drops when he reads who the text is from, his heartbeat quickening.
Bakugou: [You played good, Shitty Hair.]
Heat blooms on his face and descends down his neck. Bakugou hardly ever texts him out of the blue. And…and it was to compliment him? His sullen disposition suddenly skyrockets, the man invigorated with new life. He has to respond while he knows Bakugou has his phone.
Hurrying out, he powerwalks through what appears to be some kind of fancy courtyard — how rich are the people who live here? – already composing a response. It should be alarming how quickly a single sentence turned his night around. How easily a genuine smile returned to his expression.
It twists when a familiar voice he knows like the back of his hand growls, “Fuck off.”
The command halts Kirishima's progress. It sounds…close. Walking through the fancy garden, he spots the object of his affection seated outside on a garden bench alone, a small lamp post evidently providing enough light for him to read the book in his hands. But…what is he doing here? This doesn’t seem like his scene.
“I don’t think you really mean that.”
“I do.”
Scratch that, Bakugou's not alone. One of his teammates slinks into view from behind, looming over the blond in a way that makes Kirishima’s blood boil. It’s Irahara, the one who was looking at his tutor in a way that turned his stomach and made him want to bare his teeth like an animal. That compulsion returns tenfold when he leans closer, close enough to whisper in Bakugou’s ear.
“All alone out here, huh? Don’t worry I’ll keep you company.”
“I said fuck off.”
“That isn’t very nice,” the dick croons, following with a laugh. “Your attitude’s a bit shit, but you’re handsome enough that I can overlook it.”
Kirishima’s teeth clank together. Bakugou simply turns to another page.
“I see. Bad boy’s playing hard to get. I like that. You’re one of the tenants here, right? Why don’t we go up to your room and get to know each other a little better? I can be patient.” His hand moves to rest against Bakugou’s shoulder and the blond instantly stiffens.
Something loud roars between Kirishima’s ears. His breaths become shallow. Bile rises up his throat, the sight – the implications – making him fucking sick.
Bakugou’s voice drops menacingly. “Get your fucking hands off me, extra. I said I wasn’t interested.”
Kirishima’s teammate continues to push, and he suspects Irahara might be drunk off his ass, the idiot rounding the bench to stand before Bakugou. “I think you are interested. Why else would you come to the game? I invited you, after all. Made it rather obvious I wanted to see you.”
Kirishima is seeing red.
Bakugou shoots up from his seated position, closing in until they’re almost nose to nose. “If you don’t get the fuck out of my sight within the next ten seconds, you’ll be eating mush for a month and benched even longer. I could beat your ass with my damn eyes closed. You’re a fuckin’ nobody. I don’t even know your damn name and I don’t care to. I went to the game to watch one person and one person only, and you’re not him.”
When the shooting guard tries to close the miniscule distance, something inside Kirishima finally snaps. One moment he’s watching everything unfold, the next he’s sprinting toward the asshole and yanking him away from Bakugou by the scruff of his neck. Kirishima’s knuckles smash into Irahara’s face with a satisfying crunch. He hopes the guy’s nose is shattered into dozens of pieces. The voice that tears through Kirishima is almost unrecognizable. “Get away from him.”
Irahara’s eyes are wide, blood pouring from his nose.
Kirishima punches him again for good measure, then fists his shirt. Alcohol wafts off the dick in disgusting waves. Towering over him like a harbinger of death, Kirishima’s lips pull back in a snarl. “Never touch him again. If I ever see you even speak to him, I’ll beat you black and blue. You hear me? Now get your ass out of here before you make me do something I’ll regret.”
As soon as he releases the motherfucker, Irahara stumbles away mumbling incoherently under his breath, wiping at his face in a clumsy, drunken haze.
Kirishima’s chest heaves, nostrils still flared. He wipes the blood from his knuckles onto his joggers before reality smacks into him like a speeding train.
Turning his chin, he finds Bakugou staring at him with an unreadable expression.
Kirishima, now mortified, simply turns and walks away into the night without saying a single word.
_________________________________
Kirishima never responded to Bakugou’s text.
And they don’t talk about what happened.
Weeks go by and neither of them breathe a word about that night. Everything’s the same on the outside. Kirishima plasters on fake smiles. He laughs to break any tension. He goes to class and studies and plays basketball.
But it’s driving Kirishima crazy. The whole situation is driving him crazy. The mere thought of someone else coming onto Bakugou makes him damn near feral. And the most disturbing part of this nightmare is that it probably happens all the time! How many people throw themselves at him regularly? Ugh, probably everyone because he’s so perfect.
He doesn’t want to be plagued by these thoughts but they’re constant. He can’t make them stop.
Thankfully Bakugou’s seemingly unaffected by the whole ordeal, treating him normally. He’s never mentioned the altercation, keeping things during their study sessions frustratingly on topic. Eventually, it must prove too much for Kirishima, because one afternoon Bakugou calls him out on being distracted.
A hand lightly smacks the table right in front of Kirishima. He’s been preoccupied with staring at the text in his lap, nevermind the fact he hasn’t absorbed a single sentence. “Oi.”
“Yea?”
“You ok?”
“I’m fine, why?”
Bakugou’s forehead crinkles in disbelief. “I’ve asked you the same question three fucking times and you haven’t answered me once.”
Kirishima rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment, grinning as big as he can manage. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit tired today and…and I just haven’t been myself lately. What did you ask?”
His smile briefly falters when Bakugou studies his countenance for an extended period, something different blazing in his eyes. Whatever Bakigou must’ve considered saying is replaced with swift removal of his studying supplies from the table. “Let’s call it a day.”
“What?”
“Maybe you’re exhausted from doing all this extra work – spending your free hours at the library. You’ve made progress and you’ll be fine without a tutor now. I’ve thought that for a while.”
Panic swells within Kirishima. If… if Bakugou isn’t his tutor, there’s a huge chance he might not see the guy anymore outside of class. He…he’s not ready for that. He’s been faking intermittent difficulty during their sessions at this point to prevent this from happening. Pretending to be an idiot isn’t the most enjoyable thing he’s ever done, but it gets him more time with Bakugou which is more than worth it. “That’s nice of you, but I know that’s not entirely true. There are still things I struggle with and I’m sorry that I’m such a dumb jock or whatever it is you think of me.”
Bakugou genuinely looks at him with a mix of what he guesses is confusion and frustration. “The hell are you talking about? You aren’t stupid. You always remember what we review and you’re getting high marks. You might be a jock but you certainly aren’t a dumb one.”
That combination of words causes Kirishima to blush furiously and feel as if he’s ten feet tall. “You mean that?”
“Did you fall at practice and get a concussion or some shit? Yes, I mean that. I don’t say shit that I don’t mean.”
“I’m not tired from this. It’s…something personal, I guess. That’s the best way I can describe it. Sorry I brought that in with me today and it affected my focus. That wasn’t very considerate of me.”
“It’s fine. If you’re sure you wanna continue, and this doesn’t become a regular issue-”
“It won’t. I promise.”
_________________________________
The buzzer rings. Celebratory shouts resound. Another victory for Yueii is in the books. They’re on a winning streak, having won every game this season so far and Kirishima hasn’t received any additional warnings regarding his academics.
He’s crushing it on the court. His grades are well above average. There’s only one thing that could make life even better: Bakugou.
Kirishima’s growing exhausted from keeping his feelings to himself. He isn’t sure how long he can keep this up. It constantly feels as if he’s about to burst. Hell, he’s losing sleep. He’s long stopped caring about what people will think or say. Kirishima’s greater concern is that someone will swoop in and woo Bakugou right under his nose.
…Or that he’ll ruin their friendship.
What if he says the wrong thing? What if he confesses to Bakugou and it disgusts him? Kirishima’s thoughts quickly spiral, growing more and more dramatic with each second that passes.
Sure, it’s driving him insane, but it doesn’t have to be addressed yet. There’s a few weeks left in the semester, after all. He has more time.
At least he doesn’t have to wait to give the blond a call.
Feeling bold from his recent win – and probably the endorphins currently flooding his brain – as soon as Kirishima returns to the locker room, he steps outside into the fresh, crisp air, leaving the other players inside to make a ruckus while he calls his tutor. If he can’t physically share the moment with him here, he at least wants to hear his voice.
“Oi, what’s up, Hair for Brains?”
“We won the game,” he almost squeals, managing to dial it back at the last second.
“I knew you would.”
Kirishima leans against the wall, staring up at the darkening sky. “Yea? That’s why you didn’t come watch, huh?” he teases, though he’d be a liar if he claimed he wasn’t at least a little disappointed his tutor was absent. “Too boring for you?”
Bakugou snorts and it sounds as if he shifted the phone. “Yea, right.”
“Well what are you up to?” he inquires. “Hitting the books? Being the ever perfect student?”
“Nah, not tonight.”
“Tsk, tsk, Bakugou. It isn’t like you to slack off.”
“Oh, shut it, Red. Don’t you have to dye your hair or some shit tonight? Must do it every weekend to keep it that bright for your adoring fans.”
That makes Kirishima bark out a laugh. “You know me, all about my ‘fans,’” he jokingly accentuates. “Unfortunately, my parents and my dog are back at home so I didn’t have any autographs to sign tonight. Actually, I was gonna see if you wanted to go out to dinner with me, but I might change my mind after that attitude.”
As soon as the mix of honest and teasing words leave Kirishima’s lips, he outright panics. That’s…that’s not what he intended to say at all! That was an inside thought, what the hell? He barely resists the urge to bang his head against the side of the building. Apparently, word vomiting is on the agenda, his subconscious weary of the what-ifs.
There’s a brief pause before his tutor chuckles. “You tired of eating those cheap protein bars that taste like ass? It’s about damn time. I already have plans tonight, but ask me another time.”
The rejection echoes in his skull. Though it isn't entirely a rejection, right? He did mention asking again. “Ok. Another time.”
“I gotta go. Congrats on kicking ass. We can study tomorrow, if you’re free.”
Tomorrow isn’t one of their designated studying days. Is… is Bakugou asking him to hang out?! Kirishima almost smacks himself for the giant leap his mind tried to take. Yet is it really that giant of a leap? There’s only one way to find out, he supposes.
“Tomorrow, huh? Is The Bakugou Katsuki asking me to hang out? How could I refuse?”
“Wise call. I always knew you had a good brain inside that thick-ass skull. Library, 9am. Don’t be late.”
The call ends before Kirishima can respond and he’s floating, excitement fluttering through his veins. Functioning on an all-time high, what was once a downtrodden mood is invigorated with a fresh wind, Kirishima walking into the locker room with newfound pep in his step.
That energy is carried with him as he trails off campus in search of a good meal, a treat he’s decided to afford himself. Most of the time he follows a strict diet and workout routine, but once a week he’s allowed to eat whatever he wants and tonight he’s craving some tasty nikujaga or gyudon. As much beef as he can fit into his stomach, preferably.
He’s trying to decide between the two when a familiar head of blond hair and a leather jacket catches his eye. Kirishima’s heart thuds in his chest and he takes a step toward Bakugou, only to find himself suddenly glued in place.
The smile on Bakugou’s face is beautiful but the reason he’s smiling makes Kirishima’s stomach drop. It falls all the way through his feet when Bakugou’s arms wrap around another dude — an incredibly good-looking one with freckles and curly hair. Apparently a glutton for punishment, Kirishima’s feet remember how to move once the pair enter a ramen restaurant. Now he’s privy to a front row seat – courtesy of the window they chose to sit beside – of what he assumes is a date.
Whoever this date is, he’s nothing like Kirishima. He’s thinner, shorter, and dressed incredibly nice. Kirishima’s certain he’s never owned a button-up that fancy. Unable to stop himself, his chin turns down and his eyes rake over his own clothes — a letterman jacket that the university provided, a t-shirt, and sweats — and chokes on a disheartened chuckle.
He’s delusional. He’s…he’s been imagining everything. How pathetic, pining after his tutor all this time; his tutor that’s been genuinely helpful and surprisingly kind. Bakugou’s helped him all semester and Kirishima’s taken advantage because…a small, naive part of him mistakenly believed he had a chance.
That Bakugou might be interested in him too.
Kirishima’s appetite has vanished and he’s on the brink of vomiting. The fact that Bakugou already has someone hurts, yet what really exacerbates the situation is that not only is he sad, he’s… angry. Jealous. Watching the two men hug did something insidious to his thoughts.
These “plans” Bakugou has upsets him, though he wishes they didn’t. The very idea of someone else spending time with Bakugou this way eats Kirishima alive. Watching it actively transpire is another beast entirely. He wants to be the one on a date. Hug him. Hold his hand. The scene continues to gnaw on him, and Kirishima grows more upset that he allowed himself to get into this predicament – that he allowed himself to become so infatuated with someone that the idea of them with another makes him miserable.
Backing into the shadows, Kirishima watches Bakugou laugh freely and even talk with his hands, gesturing what his batshit crazy mind insanely interprets as shooting a basket. The other guy’s green eyes sparkle, covering his mouth in awe of whatever’s said before reaching to squeeze Bakugou’s palm across the table.
When Bakugou grabs his phone and presents something on the screen that makes his date clap in joy, Kirishima’s by far had enough. It’s time for him to go.
Appetite in shambles, Kirishima never makes it to the restaurant. All he can focus on is getting away from the sickening sight before him. Others might find it heartwarming, but even though it’s terrible of him, Kirishima finds it gutting.
He should be happy that Bakugou is happy, right?
Except he isn’t.
Not only has Kirishima finally accepted a part of himself that he’s suppressed for years, but the person that led to his acceptance, an individual he’s honestly grown to care for deeply, has already given his heart to another.
Once Kirishima steps into his dorm room, he sheds his shoes and jacket before crawling into bed and curling into himself. It isn’t very manly, yet he makes no effort to resist the tears falling down his cheeks in slow, pitiful tracks.
He’ll be fine, eventually. It’s not the end of the world.
But it is his first true heartbreak, so he’ll allow himself a few moments to wallow. Tomorrow when he wakes up, it’ll be with a smile – even if everything hurts on the inside.
Tonight though, Kirishima drifts off to sleep on a damp pillow.
(Art by Carla )
He cancels their studying session the next day in favor of sleeping in and going to the gym. Running and pumping iron successfully distracts him for a few hours. It’s easy to get lost in the music flooding his ears, focusing on breathing patterns, and aiming for new personal records. In his desperation to not think, he actually blows a few of his records out of the water.
It doesn’t excite him like it should.
He cancels their next scheduled session too, claiming he needs sleep. The excuse should be believable enough as he had an away basketball game the night before. As he sends the message, guilt tries to claw up his throat for lying, especially when Bakugou texts back almost instantly, asking if he’s ill. And Kirishima can’t blame him for being concerned. He’s had other away games and never cancelled.
He assures the tutor that he’s fine and only needs a break to relax and recover. Kirishima doesn’t mention the recovery is actually from a wounded heart.
Despite everything, after a few days pass, he misses Bakugou something awful and finds that he’s lost the motivation to avoid him further. Not seeing the guy hurts as much as he imagines seeing him is going to, so what’s the point in staying away? They can simply remain friends. And finals are coming up, anyway. The countdown to the final buzzer has begun.
So, Kirishima takes his feelings and tries his damndest to pack them away. Bakugou cannot learn how he truly feels. He doesn’t want to lose him. No matter how miserable it might make Kirishima, if the only way he can have Bakugou is as a peer tutor, then he’ll keep his big mouth shut. He’ll keep pretending to be a moron and enjoy the small amount of quality time that’s left. He’ll continue to put forth his best efforts in remaining professional and kind, all while keeping the thoughts swarming his head on lockdown – something he should’ve done from the beginning.
That’s easier said than done throughout their last few sessions, yet Kirishima has never been a quitter. He remains focused, asks a question he already knows the answer to every now and then, and only steals glances when he’s certain Bakugou isn’t looking. He uses any and all free time in the library to make flashcards or reread segments of the text he deems important, taking special care not to bring up outside interests. The fact that he’s trying to memorize the scent of Bakugou’s cologne – and the vision of him leisurely reading a book, glasses perched on his nose in a way that’s unfairly attractive – is nobody else’s business and wouldn’t be great conversation material in the first place.
To be completely honest, a part of him is also paranoid that Bakugou will mention his love life and Kirishima can’t take that in stride yet. So he sticks to safe speaking topics when necessary: study tips, their upcoming finals, and how ready he is “for the semester to be over” (which is a lie).
Kirishima no longer invites his tutor to basketball games – despite the fact they’re still on a winning streak – and never texts Bakugou first to keep a respectful distance.
Naively, Kirishima thought these changes would make things easier in the end. That after their last meeting today, since he had already been creating a smidge of distance while still remaining friendly, saying goodbye wouldn’t hurt as much.
Ridiculous.
After receiving a stellar score on Bakugou’s mock exam, Kirishima packs his things away and prepares to exit their secluded corner of the library once and for all.
And it’s killing him.
With a tight grip on the straps of his backpack, Kirishima forces himself to make eye contact with the beautiful man who’s still seated, peering up at him through thick eyelashes in a way that makes Kirishima want to pull him close and never let go.
“Thanks for helping me all this time, Bakugou. I really appreciate all the effort you spent on me. With your help, it looks like I’ll be just fine. Heh, even made it all season without riding the bench once. Not too bad for a dumb, scholarship jock from the country, am I right?” He laughs and plasters on the most magnificent grin possible. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”
Yea, right. Bakugou probably merely sees him as an idiot basketball player with shitty hair he had to tutor.
Turning on his heel, his heart in his throat, Kirishima only makes it a couple of steps before something latches onto his hand. Looking down, he’s shocked and not at all prepared for it to be Bakugou’s own hand. He almost chokes on his saliva.
“Are you fucking serious? ‘Maybe I’ll see you around?’ The hell is that about, Red?” Bakugou’s staring at him in disbelief, countenance contorted into frustration and…confusion?
“You…you don’t want to see me around?”
Bakugou scrubs his palms down his face before latching onto Kirishima’s shirt, the fabric bunching up in the blond’s fist. The proximity is doing horrible things to Kirishima’s mind. “Why haven’t you asked me out again?”
Kirishima’s thought processes halt entirely, taking several seconds to compute Bakugou’s words. Jaw slack, Kirishima’s mouth flounders, opening and closing without any sound. All the blood in his body rushes to his face, his brain finally kickstarting. “What are you talking about?”
Bakugou shifts closer, sending Kirishima’s spine into a bookshelf with a quiet thud. Thank the gods these are pressed flat against the wall! His senses are inundated with Bakugou. Bakugou’s scent. The intensity of his eyes. His touch. “You know what I’m talking about.”
Thoroughly flustered, Kirishima has no clue what to do with his hands, holding them out as though an officer of the law told him to freeze. Bakugou…actually wanted to go out with him? That…that doesn’t make sense at all!
“After you turned me down, I saw you out on a date. I thought you’d only said that to be nice or because we’re friends. I didn’t wanna overstep or be disrespectful.”
Bakugou’s grip loosens and he steps away to stare at him with obvious bewilderment. “I haven’t been on a date. I don’t do dates, Kirishima. Ever. What the hell are you going on about?”
“Don’t feel as though you have to spare my feelings. I saw you out getting ramen with that green-haired dude-”
“Izuku?!” Bakugou spits out with a cackle that’s much too loud for this setting, shaking his head in amusement. “That nerd’s been my best friend since we were in diapers. I wouldn’t date him if we were the last two people on earth. And he’s straight as an arrow, anyway – engaged to his high-school sweetheart.”
The world briefly spins. Holy shit. Kirishima’s grip on his backpack fails, the redhead suddenly adjusting it over his shoulder again. He remembers Bakugou mentioning that name on more than one occasion. That’s the boy he used to play superhero and villain with; his childhood best friend. “Oh.”
“Izuku goes to another university, so we can only get together once every few weeks. I already had plans with him that night, you idiot. That’s why I told you to ask me again.”
“I thought you just said that you don’t ‘do’ dates?”
“None of the extras have been worth my time, but you would be. After all, you tried faking being a dumbass for months to hang out with me. You were absolute shit at that, by the way. Acting is not your strong-suit. You wear all of your emotions on your face.”
“You knew?”
“Of course I knew. I’m not stupid.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because I wanted to spend more time with you too, Hair for Brains. I thought I was being obvious – the extra studying, my texts, watching your games when I could. Hell, Red, I told you to ask me another time. How could I have possibly been more clear?”
Kirishima doesn’t waste another breath. “Will you go on a date with me, Bakugou?”
Bakugou begins to chuckle and allows Kirishima to lace their fingers together. “Fuckin’ finally. Yes, obviously. We goin’ now or what?”
“Now?!”
“You gonna keep me waiting even longer? I already waited a whole semester!”
Giving zero fucks what anyone might have to say about it, Kirishima nods for Bakugou to gather his things, the two strutting out of the library for their first official date.
He plans for it to be the first of many.