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The room was too big.
It was smaller than his bedroom back home, but the space felt bigger, the walls thinner, and the quiet heavy. Every creak of the floorboards down the hallway echoed.
Katsuki sat on the edge of his mattress, his wrists resting on his knees. His chest burned with the same suffocating tightness that hadn’t fully left him since the Kamino Ward. Every time he closed his eyes, he wasn’t in the U.A. dorms. He was back in that hideout, strapped to a chair with a restraint pressed against his windpipe, surrounded by League members watching him like a caged animal.
He gripped his knees, knuckles white, forcing his breathing into a strict four-second count. In. Out. Control It.
He choked out a sob in frustration, gripping and pulling his hair as he curled in on himself. He couldn’t stop it. He just wanted it to end.
A soft, hesitant knock on his door shattered the silence.
Katsuki’s shoulders jerked, his jaw snapping shut so hard his teeth clacked, and he dropped his hands from his head, letting them twitch as tiny, involuntary sparks popped against his skin before he crushed his fists closed.
“I’m busy,” Katsuki barked, his voice rough, raspy from disuse.
The door didn’t open, but the shadow beneath the frame shifted.
“It’s just me, Bakugo,” Kirishima’s voice came through the wood, muffled and quiet. Uncharacteristically quiet. “Can I come in for a second?”
Katsuki stared at the brass doorknob. Every instinct screamed at him to say no. To lock the door, pull the blankets over his head, and force himself to sleep, hoping the tremor in his hands would go away. But Kirishima was the one who was there in Kamino. Kirishima was the only person in this entire hellhole of a school who didn’t look at Katsuki like he was made of glass or like he was on the verge of snapping and blowing up an entire city block.
“Whatever. It’s unlocked,” Katsuki growled, turning his face toward the dark window.
The door creaked open, throwing a warm strip of golden light from the hallway onto the hardwood floor of his room. Kirishima stepped inside, holding two convenience store bottles of cold tea. He was wearing an oversized T-shirt and grey sweatpants; his usual spiked red hair was flat and messy against his forehead, giving him a softer, unarmored look that Katsuki hated himself for noticing.
Kirishima stepped in quietly, gently shutting the door behind him to cut off the noise from the hallway as a couple of their classmates walked past.
“Thought you might be up,” Kirishima said softly, walking over and tossing one of the bottles onto the bed next to Katsuki.
Katsuki didn’t touch it. “I’m fine. Go back to your room.”
“Yeah, you look super fine,” Kirishima replied, ignoring the dismissive tone. He leaned back against Katsuki’s desk, crossing his arms and watching him with a look that was way too perceptive for his own good.
“Your hands are shaking.”
Katsuki immediately slammed his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, his scowl deepening. “They’re not shaking. I’m fucking fine; mind your own business.”
“It is my business,” Kirishima said, his tone dropping into something impossibly gentle. It lacked his usual bravado; instead, it carried a raw sincerity that made Katsuki’s chest ache. Kirishima took a step closer, stopping just short of Katsuki’s knees. “You’ve barely eaten since we moved in today. You didn’t say a word during dinner; you didn’t even yell at Kaminari when he bumped into you because he wasn’t looking.”
Katsuki looked up, ready to yell, ready to tell Kirishima to shove his pity where the sun didn’t shine. But the words caught in his throat.
Kirishima wasn’t looking at him with pity. There was no judgement in his crimson eyes, no fear, no delicate tiptoeing like the rest of Class 1-A was doing. There was just a quiet, unshakeable solidness.
“I don’t need you hovering,” Katsuki muttered, though the bite had drained completely out of his voice, leaving it hollow.
“I know you don’t need it,” Kirishima said, offering a small, tentative smile that barely reached his eyes. He pointed toward the foot of the bed. “Can I sit?”
Katsuki didn’t answer. He just shifted his weight slightly to the left, opening up a fraction of space.
It was an invitation, and both of them knew it.
Kirishima sat down, the mattress dipping under his weight. He didn’t force conversation. He just popped open his own tea and let his shoulder lightly rest against Katsuki’s arm. It was a warm, solid pressure in the middle of a dark room that suddenly didn’t feel quite so big anymore.
Katsuki stared down at his knees, his chest heaving with a slow, shallow breath. He hated how much he needed this. He hated how easy Kirishima made it feel.
The room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence, save for the hum of the lights above.
Kirishima didn’t move. He kept his shoulder pressed firmly against Katsuki’s, an unyielding wall of warmth. To anyone else, it might have seemed like nothing significant, just two guys crowded into a small dorm bed after a long day of moving in. But to Katsuki, that touch felt like a live wire sparking straight to his chest.
His heart began to hammer against his ribs. One, Two, Three, Four. He tried to count his breaths, but the air refused to go down. The walls of his dorm room seemed to shrink, closing in until the ceiling felt inches from his head.
A sudden, sharp gasp tore out of Katsuki’s mouth.
He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath.
His body jerked back, his back hitting the wall behind his bed. His hands flew out of his pockets and clutched at the collar of his shirt, tugging on it as if he could loosen it to make it easier to breathe. His breath came in shallow, useless pants that didn’t get enough oxygen into his lungs.
“Bakugo!” Kirishima turned instantly, his eyes wide with concern, but he didn’t grab him. He held his hands up where Katsuki could see them, keeping his voice impossibly calm. “Hey. Look at me. You’re at U.A. You’re in your room.”
“Shut up.” Katsuki wheezed, his knuckles digging into his thighs as he dragged his knees up to his chest. “Shut the fuck up, I’m fine”
“You’re having a panic attack,” Kirishima said softly, cutting through his lie. He shifted closer, unbothered by the tiny explosions singing the air between them. Funny, Katuski thought; he hadn’t even realized that his quirk was going off.
“I’m going to touch your arm, okay?”
Katsuki couldn’t even nod. He just stared with wide, blown-out eyes as Kirishima reached out.
Kirishima didn’t flinch as a rogue spark bit his palm. He slid his hand down Katsuki’s forearm, his skin softening into a gentle touch as his fingers wrapped around Katsuki’s wrist. He didn’t pull or squeeze; he just held on, firm and solid. Slowly, Kirishima slid his hand down further, until his palm rested against Katsuki’s, holding his hand.
“Feel that?” Kirishima whispered, his eyes locked onto Katsuki’s. “Real room. No villains. Just me and you in your room together.”
Katsuki’s fingers twitched, his fingers curling around Kirishima’s. He let out a long, shuddering exhale, his forehead dropping until it rested against Kirishima’s collarbone. He was completely undone. Stripped of every shred of armor he had spent his whole life building, his body trembling, he pressed against one of his classmates.
Kirishima didn’t pull away. Instead, he raised his other hand, hesitated for a fraction of a second, and then gently rested it on the back of Katsuki’s neck. His fingers stroked softly over the blonde hair at the base of Katsuki’s skull, a soothing, rhythmic motion that made Katsuki’s eyes burn with unshed tears.
“I’ve got you,” Kirishima murmured into the quiet dark of the room. “I’m right here. Take all the time you need.”
Katsuki squeezed his eyes shut, leaning into the touch despite every alarm bell screaming in his head. “I don’t need you,” he choked out.
“I know,” Kirishima muttered, tightening his hold on Katsuki.
The terror of his kidnapping was fading, for the moment, replaced by a new, insidious fear. Kirishima’s hand was so warm; the weight of his hand against his was so comforting. It made his lungs tighten in a way a panic attack never had.
He didn’t want this to end.
No, Katsuki thought desperately, his fingers tightening around Kirishima’s hand as he forced his breathing to slow down. No, no, no.
He couldn’t afford this. He was dangerous, a target, a liability who had nearly ended All Might and almost got his classmates killed. Getting attached like this was a mistake. It was a weakness.
He needed Kirishima here right now just to stop his head from spinning. He greedily, selfishly clung to him for warmth. But as Kirishima softly thumbed the nape of his neck, completely unaware of the terrifying shift, Katsuki felt the cold dread settle in his stomach.
The cold dread sat like lead in the pit of Katsuki’s stomach, but he couldn’t bring himself to push Kirishima away.
For nearly twenty minutes, neither of them moved. The frantic, shallow gasps gradually slowed into heavy exhales against Kirishima’s shoulder. Katsuki kept his forehead pressed there, listening to the comforting muffled beat of Kirishima’s heart beneath his cheek. The thumb stroking the base of his neck never faltered, steady and unhurried, as if Kirishima had all the time in the world to sit in the dark and hold him together.
Eventually, the tension in Katsuki’s spine melted away. His grip on Kirishima’s hand loosened slightly, though he didn’t let go entirely.
“You done breathing like you’re dying?” Kirishima's voice broke the silence.
Katsuki pulled back slowly, his throat dry and stinging. He refused to look Kirishima in the eye, keeping his gaze fixed firmly on their joined hands. His skin felt unaturally hot where Kirishima was touching him.
“Shut up,” Katsuki rasped, swallowing hard. “I wasn’t dying.”
“Sure,” Kirishima said softly. He just gently uncurled his fingers from Katsuki’s, though he didn’t move off the bed. “Tea’s probably warm instead of cold now, but you should drink some.”
Katsuki didn’t touch the bottle; he stared at his own lap, his hair falling over his eyes. The room felt closer without Kirishima’s hand touching his. He hated himself for noticing it. He hated how pathetic he was for craving his touch.
Kirishima seemed to notice the subtle shift. He leaned back against the wall at the head of the bed, bending one knee up. “Have those been happening a lot since the training camp?” Kirishima asked, tilting his head.
Katsuki didn’t want to answer him; he had already looked weak with the breakdown he had just had over the past half an hour in front of him.
“I get it,” Kirishima said, stretching out.
“I felt helpless when the villains attacked. I was stuck inside and not allowed to go out to help anyone, and then having to watch our classmates at the hospital and you go missing.” Kirishima rambled, “Well… what I’m trying to say is I know what it’s like to feel helpless.”
Katsuki’s jaw set hard. Helpless. The word tasted like ash in his mouth, but when he glanced at Kirishima, he didn’t see pity. He just saw a friend who had carried his own guilt the last few weeks, and was trying his best to share.
“Shut up,” Katsuki grunted, though there was no real venom behind it. He finally reached out and grabbed his bottle of tea, twisting off the cap and taking a long swallow just to give his mouth something to do.
Kirishim let out a soft, tired breath, resting his head back against the wall. “I mean it, Bakugo. You don’t have to deal with this by yourself.”
Katsuki didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Admitting out loud that he couldn’t handle his own head felt like admitting failure. He just leaned back against the wall and stared blankly at the dark ceiling as the hum of the air conditioner filled the room.
Minutes ticked by in heavy, quiet increments. Katsuki waited for Kirishima to stand up, stretch his arms, and say he was heading back to his own dorm. He wanted Kirishima to leave so he could stop feeling so exposed, but the thought of that door shutting and leaving him alone in the dark made his pulse spike all over again.
Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen.
The heavy, steady sound of Kirishima’s breathing suddenly shifted, slowing into a deep pattern.
Katsuki turned his head slightly. Kirishima had slumped sideways against the headboard, his chin tucked toward his chest, his eyes closed. His red hair, soft and messy without its usual styling gel, flopped over his forehead. One of his hands was still resting open on the mattress between them, just inches from Katsuki’s hip.
He had fallen asleep.
Katsuki stared at him, his brow furrowing. “Hey. Kirishima,” he rasped out softly. “Get up. Go to your own damn bed.”
Kirishima didn’t budge. He just let out a quiet, sleep-heavy hum and shifted slightly, pulling his legs higher onto the mattress to stay warm.
Katsuki’s hand hovered over Kirishima’s shoulder. All he had to do was shake him; he just had to shove him off the mattress, bark at him to get out, and lock the door behind him. It was the easy choice. It was the safe choice.
His fingers twitched, brushing the fabric of Kirishima’s oversized shirt.
The room was silent. The shadows felt still, and for the first time Katsuki didn’t feel like something was going to grab him from the shadows and yank him through another portal. He knew if he woke Kirishima up, Kirishima would apologize and walk out that door. And the moment the latch clicked, the walls would start closing in again.
Coward, Katsuki cursed himself, pulling his hand back. You’re a fucking coward.
He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t wake him.
Gritting his teeth against the shame of his own selfishness, Katsuki reached down and pulled an extra blanket from the foot of his bed, throwing it over Kirishima’s shoulders.
Katsuki turned back toward the wall, lying on his side with his back to Kirishima. He kept his eyes open for a long time, watching the faint moonlight filter through his blinds, grounded by the warm presence at his back.
He told himself this was an accident. Kirishima was just tired from moving furniture all day, and Katsuki was just too drained to kick him out. It wouldn’t happen again.
Except it did.
It started with excuses.
Three nights later, Kirishima knocked on his door to drop off a set of class notes, only to end up sitting on the floor studying until his eyelids grew heavy and he fell asleep against the side of Katsuki’s bed.
A week later, he and Kirishima had stayed up until 2 AM talking about school and their friends; the conversation should have died out hours earlier, but Katsuki kept asking him more and more questions until they both could barely keep their eyes open and Kirishima slept in his room again.
By the third week, it was no longer an accident.
It became an unspoken, terrifying routine. Kirishima would come up after hanging out in the common room and slip into Katsuki’s room. Sometimes they talked in low voices about training sessions or class drama; most nights, they didn’t speak at all. Kirishima would just lie on the far side of the bed, a barrier between Katsuki and the dark, and Katsuki would finally be able to sleep.
And every night, as Kirishima’s breathing leveled out and his hand occasionally brushed against Katsuki’s in the space between them, the knot of guilt in his chest grew tighter.
Because with every passing day, Kirishima looked at him a little softer. Touched his shoulder a little longer during training. Smiled at him as if they shared a secret nobody in Class 1-A was allowed to know.
Katsuki knew what it meant, and he knew it was something that he should put a stop to, but he couldn’t help himself.
It had been exactly a month since they had moved into the dorms, and it was now nearly two in the morning.
Katsuki was lying on his side, his back propped against the headboard, watching the ceiling fan spin in the faint moonlight. Beside him, Kirishima was sitting up against the wall, a heavy textbook resting open on his lap, though his eyes had stopped scanning the pages twenty minutes ago.
“You’re not reading that shit,” Katsuki whispered, his voice low so it wouldn’t carry through the floorboards.
Kirishima blinked, snapping out of his daze with a soft, sheepish laugh. “Yeah… guess I’m pretty out of it.” He closed the textbook and set it on the nightstand, stretching his arms above his head until his joints popped.
Instead of settling down under his blanket like he usually did, Kirishima shifted closer. He turned on his side, propping his head up with one hand, his crimson eyes fixed entirely on Katsuki in the dim light.
“What?” Katsuki scowled, pulling his arms tighter across his chest. The intensity in Kirishima’s gaze was making his heart do something erratic and dangerous. “Stop staring at me.”
“I’m just thinking,” Kirishima said gently. His voice had that soft, unguarded edge it only ever took on when it was just the two of them in the dark late at night.
“Don’t strain yourself,” Katsuki grunted, turning his head toward the wall.
He expected Kirishima to laugh ot to shove him. Instead, he felt the mattress dip slightly as Kirishima reached out. Warm, calloused fingers brushed gently against Katsuki’s jaw, tracing the line of his chin before resting lightly against the side of his neck.
Katsuki froze. “Eijiro…”
“You look less tired lately,” Kirishima murmured, his thumb stroking a slow, feather-light circle against Katsuki’s skin.
Kirishima leaned in just an inch closer. It was subtle, sweet, and heavy with unspoken confessions. He was looking at Katsuki’s lips, then back up to his eyes; he was waiting. Waiting for Katsuki to pull away, or to give him the green light to bridge the tiny remaining distance between them.
Katsuki couldn’t move; a wave of pure, suffocating panic washed over him.
Kirishima was in love with him, and was offering his heart to him, openly, sitting right next to him, believing that Katsuki wanted this too.
And the terrifying truth was, Katsuki did want this. He wanted to lean forward, to grab Kirishima by the collar and sink into his warmth.
No.
He can’t love you. You’re broken. You’re the reason All Might lost his power, you’re the reason everyone has a target on their back, and you’re just using him because you’re too weak to sleep alone.
Panicked, Katsuki jerked his head back, slapping Kirishima’s hand away.
“Don’t,” Katsuki snapped.
Kirishima’s hand hovered in the air for a second before he pulled it back, a flicker of hurt crossing his features before he quickly masked it with an understanding smile. “Right. Sorry, Bakugo. Got carried away.”
Kirishima turned onto his back, pulling the blanket up to his chest and staring at the ceiling. “Goodnight, Katsuki.”
The next morning, Katsuki sat on the edge of one of the sofas in the common room, aggressively typing a paper on his laptop. On the floor below him, Kirishima was leaning back against Katsuki’s leg, studying a hero theory textbook.
“Hey, Kirishima,” Sero called out from the kitchen island, leaning on his elbows with a sly, teasing grin. “You look like you’re about to pass out on the floor. Did you even slap last night?”
Mina looked up from her phone, her eyes lighting up. “Oh, he definitely didn’t! I tried to knock on his door around midnight to borrow some hero theory notes, and he wasn’t even in his room.:
“Yeah, because he was in Bakugo’s room again,” Kaminari chimed in, grinning as he swung his legs over the back of an armchair. “Seriously, Kiri, you’ve basically moved into his room at this point. What are you guys even doing up there every night?”
Kirishima’s cheeks instantly flushed a dark, fiery red that rivaled his hair. He sat up straight, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “Ah, come on, guys, cut it out. We’re just… studying, alright?”
“Right, studying,” Sero snickered, exchanging a look with Mina. “You bring him tea, you wait up for him after training, and now you sleep in his room? Sounds like there’s some romance going on.”
“Are you two finally official or what?” Mina squealed, leaning forward with her chin in her hands. “Because if you’re not dating, you’re doing a terrible job of acting like just friends!”
The laptop screen in front of him blurred. His throat closed up; that familiar, suffocating panic from last night returned.
They were looking at him. The whole class was watching them, seeing right through the weak excuses, seeing the softness he had never shown, seeing how weak and dependent he had become. They thought he was soft. They thought he was in love. They thought Kirishima owned a piece of him.
I don’t need anyone.
The terror and shame curled into something ugly, desperate, and sharp in the pit of Katsuki’s stomach.
“Shut the fuck up!” Katsuki roared, his voice cutting through the common room like a blade.
“Are you idiots, completely blind?” Katsuki barked, “I don’t have feelings for anyone, and I sure as hell wouldn’t have them for him.”
Kirishima’s face drained of all color. His mouth parted slightly.
Katsuki saw the exact moment the light in Kirishima’s eyes shattered, but the panic in his own head wouldn’t let him stop. He had to make it absolute. He had to prove he didn’t care.
“Stop making up stupid fucking rumors about shit that isn’t real,” Katsuki sneered, stepping over Kirishima’s legs without looking down.
Kirishima sat frozen on the floor for three agonizing seconds. Then, slowly, he swallowed hard. He forced a smile to his lips. “Right,” Kirishima whispered, and he cleared his throat. “I’m going to go take a nap.”
Kirishima picked up his textbook, turned on his heel, and walked out of the room.
Bakugo didn’t spend much time in the common room after that. After Kirishima had left, the common room had remained heavy, toxic with awkwardness. Sero had muttered something under his breath, Mina wouldn’t look at him, and Kaminari had quietly packed up his stuff and left.
Katsuki had marched up to his room, slammed the door, and spent the next three hours staring blankly at his desk wall.
He told himself he had done the right thing. He told himself that he needed to put down a boundary; he didn’t need distractions or to be pitied, and he sure as hell didn’t need Kirishima to think they were playing house.
He’ll get over it, Katsuki thought, his jaw clenching as he paced. It’s Eijiro. He gets loud, he gets stupid, and he moves on.
By eleven at night, the silence in the room became unbearable.
Every creak of the floorboards down the corridor made Katuski’s head shoot up to stare at the door, and his stomach drop every time the footsteps didn’t stop. He checked his phone. No texts. No knock on the door. No footsteps hovering outside his door.
Katsuki shoved his hands deep into his hoodie pockets, gritted his teeth, and yanked his door open.
He was going to go down there, tell the idiot to stop acting dramatic, and get back to normal. The plan was already forming in his brain: he would tell Kirishima that he just reacted badly to the teasing, buy him a drink from the vending machine, and they would sit in Bakugo’s room until his hands stopped shaking and it would all go back to normal.
Katsuki stopped outside Kirishima’s door. For a second, he just stood there, waiting for the sound of Kirishima laughing or his TV playing a movie way too loud for this time of night. There was nothing. Just dead, heavy silence.
Katsuki raised his hand and knocked.
“Ejirio…”
No answer.
“Kirishima, don’t play with me,” Katsuki growled. “I know you’re there. Open the door.”
The door swung open just a few inches.
Kirishima stood in the gap; he was wearing his sweatpants and a plain black shirt, his hair down and damp from a shower.
“What do you want, Bakugo?” Kirishima asked. His voice empty.
Katsuki swallowed hard. “What do I want? You’ve been hiding in your room all night. Stop overreacting to what happened in the common room.”
Kirishima let out a quiet, tired breath through his nose. “I’m not overreacting,” Kirishima said. “You made yourself pretty clear down there.”
“I was stepping out of line, and I started thinking stuff that wasn’t true and pushing myself into your space when you didn’t want it.” Kirishima continued.
“I didn’t say…”
“You did,” Kirishima cut in gently. “I’m backing off. You don’t have to worry about rumors anymore. I won’t come up to your room, and I won’t bother you after training.”
“Don’t do that,” Katsuki rasped, his voice breaking, losing every shred of confidence he possessed. He reached out, his fingers trembling as he grabbed the edge of Kirishima’s doorframe to keep Kirishima from closing it. “Don’t… don’t do this, Eijiro.”
Kirishima looked pained to see Bakugo breaking, but he didn’t move to comfort him. Not this time.
“I needed you there, okay?!” Katsuki’s voice tore out of him. Tears he had been fighting for weeks had begun to burn at the corners of his eyes, his knuckles white where he gripped the doorframe.
“I just needed someone to sit in the fucking room so I wouldn’t lose my mind! I never meant for you to catch feelings! I never meant for it to go this far... for either of us!”
The confessions hung in the quiet hallway between them.
Kirishima stared at him. The silence between them stretched.
“You needed someone,” Kirishima whispered, his voice trembling as a tear slid down his cheek. “And I gave you everything I had because I loved you, Katsuki. But… you didn’t want me.”
Kirishima said, stepping back and pulling the door with him.
“I hope you can sleep tonight,” Kirishima choked out. “Goodnight, Bakugo.”
The door clicked shut. The lock turned with a sharp, final sound, leaving Katsuki standing alone in the dim hallway, shaking. Realizing he destroyed everything he had left.