Chapter Text
[THIS IS INSPIRED BY THIS DRAWING MADE BY PETRICHORCROWN]
Rumors said that if someone managed to take down a dragon, they would have given them their most treasured possession. Only the bravest and strongest warriors would have ever attempted to fight them.
That’s why Bakugou was scrambling up those arduous mountains under a merciless sun, hands scratched by the jagged surface of the rocks, and sweat glistening on his tanned skin. The only visible vegetation was sparse bushes and scrubs, the only animals were the hawks screeching over his head. He had been searching for a dragon for months now and finally had found one.
In the end, he reached a deserted open space between the rocky peaks and looked around with hungry eyes. He saw what it seemed like a cave, the perfect nest for his opponent, and smirked. He adjusted the fur coat on his shoulders and then marched towards the hole with his chin high, eyes brimming with expectation. The gravel cracked under his feet, echoing in the silence.
Suddenly he caught sight of something moving between the rocks above him.
Red.
Bakugou’ smirk widened.
“HEY YOU FUCKER! I’M HERE TO FIGHT YOU! COME DOWN AND FACE ME, COWARD!”
He hadn’t even finished yelling that a flash of red darted in the sky and then landed in front of him with inhuman speed; the ground cracked under its weight.
A majestic dragon with scarlet scales, wings big as sails, silver claws and a pair of flaming ruby red eyes.
It bent toward Bakugou and roared with enough force to make him take a step back. Then turned its jaws to the sun and spat a whirl of fire.
Bakugou cracked his hands, which crackled emitting sparks and small explosions, and licked his lips.
“Glad to see you so fired up as well,” he smirked at the dragon, who hissed smoke in reply.
They were both ready to fight.
Bakugou lunged forward first, and the battle began.
They fought without break till nightfall.
Only then Bakugou finally managed to block the exhausted dragon to the ground; he was standing over his enormous body, with his red, scorched hands pointed at the vulnerable slit between the scales that protected its heart.
He was glowing with pride and satisfaction: It had been the best fight in ages. The dragon had been a worthy opponent, it had fought till the last breath, no matter how many wounds Bakugou inflicted it. It never lost its will to fight, nor its determination to win.
A match between equals.
Bakugou could hear its ragged breaths reverberate through the body, could see the bloody eyes fixed on him.
“I won’t kill you,” he told it, “But I’ve defeated you, so it’s my right to take your most treasured possession.”
The dragon seemed to understand and nod, or so Bakugou interpreted.
Suddenly, its body started to shudder and tremble.
“WHAT THE F-”
Under Bakugou’ shocked stare, the dragon shrank and warped until he found himself with one foot on the ground and the other planted on the chest of a young man, probably his age.
“You…” Bakugou was speechless.
The boy under him would have seemed human if it wasn’t for the red scales scattered on his skin near the elbows, the neck and the cheek, and the horns appearing among spiking red hair. And the eyes, Bakugou could have never mistaken them: Two rubies with black vertical slits.
And he had the same wounds Bakugou had caused to the dragon, in particular, the one on the eyebrow. Bakugou felt almost relieved he hadn’t blinded or gouged that eye: it would have been such a waste of beauty.
“Nice fight…” the boy coughed, spitting blood.
“Enjoyable,” Bakugou replied on instinct, hiding his surprise hearing him speak.
The dragon boy was looking at him with an expectant expression that made him feel uneasy. Was it normal for a dragon to change form? Was it normal to have a handsome human form? Why was he wearing only a pair of leather trousers?
‘So?” he barked out, averting the eyes, “Your treasure?”
“Well, if you stepped down from me maybe I could stand up…”
Bakugou’s cheeks reddened, and he quickly moved his foot from him. The boy giggled and slowly stood up; he wasn’t in his best shape, and every muscle hurt like hell. What a fight! He’d had the honor to lose against a true warrior!
“Better!” he cheered once he had fully straightened, blinding the other boy with a toothy smile.
Ah, he had sharp fangs.
“So?” Pushed Bakugou, impatient.
To his surprise, the dragon boy knelt to his feet, bringing one fist to the heart and the other to the ground.
“I, Kirishima Eijirou, the Red Dragon, offer you my utmost loyalty and my humble life. I will stand by your side and protect you till the day death do us apart.”
Bakugou could only stare at him with wide eyes. When Kirishima noticed he wasn’t reacting, showed a nervous smile.
“Ah, sorry, I’ve nothing more than my life to offer you. If you wanted gold or anything else, maybe I could-”
“No,” Bakugou interrupted him, a smirk on his lips.
“No?” Kirishima stuttered, afraid to disappoint him. As soon as he had started to fight with the barbarian, he had felt a surge of respect and admiration for him. Was he let down? Did he think Kirishima was not strong enough?
“No,” Bakugou repeated as in his eyes shined a softer light, “this is more than what I could have asked for.”
Kirishima blushed and lowered his head once again. Bakugou placed a hand over his hair, between the horns.
‘I, Bakugou Katsuki, King of the East, accept your pledge of loyalty. You will be my partner and shield till the day death do us apart.”
Kirishima raised his face and smiled with sparkling eyes.
“Yes, Master Bakugou!”
“-gou! Bakugou!”
Bakugou jolted awake and instinctively moved a hand as to explode his enemy.
But no sparkle or explosion left his palm. Not anymore.
“Hey dude! What the hell!” Kaminari avoided his hand by an inch, only thanks to Todoroki’s quick reflexes, who pulled the boy back before Bakugou could hit his nose.
“These are my words, dank face!” Bakugou grumbled, focusing on his surroundings. Ah, he was still at school; he felt a heart pang. “What the fuck do you want now?”
Kaminari hesitated with a worried expression, “Uhm, lessons are finished… are you okay, Bakugou?”
“Why shouldn’t I?” Bakugou barked back.
“Because I’ve never seen you fall asleep in class before and we’ve been friends since kindergarten. But since that trip… it happens at least once a day now!” Kaminari explained, nervously fidgeting with his hands.
Bakugou blinked at him, realizing the blond was right, but it wasn’t his fucking fault. It wasn’t.
“I’m alright, stop worrying,” he muttered as he stood up and threw all his things in the bag.
“Are you sure?” Todoroki asked quietly, “We’re here if you need us.”
Bakugou rolled the eyes, even if, inside, he was grateful for their thoughtfulness. But that wasn’t something he could discuss with them at all. They couldn’t have done anything for him. It was his burden.
“I know, I know. Stop nagging and leave me alone!” he grunted, stomping toward the door of the classroom.
“Are you coming home with us, today?” Kaminari asked, hopeful, but they already knew the answer.
Bakugou shook his head and waved goodbye without turning, “See you tomorrow, fuckers!”
Todoroki sighed as the boy quickly disappeared.
“What’s going on with him? I don’t understand why he always returns there!” Kaminari frowned, worried about Bakugou’s behavior. “Why that stupid painting is so special?”
“I don’t know,” replied Todoroki, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, “But I hope he'll feel better soon.”
What was special about that painting to Bakugou? Everything. Everything.
It all had begun two months ago when their professor had dragged the whole class to see the new Art Museum they had opened in town. It was a normal painting from the Forgotten Era, a historical period the scholars weren’t sure if it had existed or it had only been a fairy tale passed down through legends and epic poems: a red dragon was flying over a wild land.
But as soon as Bakugou had laid his eyes on it, the memories had returned. All of them at once, an entire life in the span of a second. He had blacked out. When he had woken up, everything had changed and there was no way to go back as things were before. It was too late.
He knew. He remembered. Everything.
From that moment onwards, every day after school he would return to the museum.
The ticket clerk didn’t say anything when he saw him but sighed; then made a small gesture to his right. He didn’t know why that angry-looking teenager had been coming every single day for two months straight, paying the ticket just to sit in front of the small painting till the closing hour, but soon he had grown fond of him. There was something heartbreaking in the way he looked longingly at the dragon. So, he had started letting him enter for free.
Bakugou nodded his head as thanks and quickly walked through the corridors he now knew by heart. As soon as he set foot in the room he was searching for, he inhaled sharply: his heart had immediately leaped in anticipation, he had felt again like he could breathe properly.
Ignoring all the small kids and parents crowding in front of it, he surpassed them and sat in front of the painting, with his legs crossed. He leaned back on the palms of his hands and let his eyes wander over the red brush strokes that formed the dragon.
Kirishima.
Bakugou and Kirishima were walking through the lush woods at the border of the East Kingdom. They could have flown, but Bakugou preferred when he could hear his partner’s voice. Even if they could understand each other perfectly with just a look, Kirishima’s babbling had always a calming effect on Bakugou.
“Where are we going, Master Bakugou?” Kirishima asked bouncing around his king, a puppy-like joy brimming in his eyes.
“To the northern border,” he replied curtly.
Kirishima showed a small frown, “Why?”
“The assholes from the West have asked for help.”
“You mean your friends?” Kirishima grinned, knowingly, and Bakugou smacked his head, without putting any real force in it.
“They’re not my friends!” he growled.
“Sure, sure,” Kirishima whistled.
“I’m not going for them,” he repeated with a scowl.
Kirishima tilted his head to the right, curious.
“Then, for whom?”
Bakugou quickened his pace so that he could leave the other some steps behind and hide his own face from that piercing gaze.
“For my people, for my Kingdom,” he replied in a firm voice, “If that asshole Shigaraki manages to conquer the West, it will be a downfall. The East will fall too. I can’t allow that. I can’t let him ravage the land I love. I have to duty to protect my home and those who live under me.”
The rustlings behind him stopped.
Bakugou halted too and turned; Kirishima was looking at him straight in the eyes, wearing a serious expression Bakugou had never seen before. Ah, how many years have passed since their first encounter? It could have been two or ten, Bakugou remembered every single day, yet he couldn’t remember a time before him. They had become part of each other. Bakugou wore now a necklace with a red scale, while half of Kirishima’s clothes were Bakugou’s gifts, among which the traditional betrothal necklace from of his tribe; not that Bakugou had told him its true meaning, but he had the suspect Kirishima knew and had accepted it gladly.
“We’re going to war.” Kirishima wasn’t asking.
A heartbeat of silence.
“Yes, we’re going to war” Bakugou replied averting his eyes, “That’s why this time you’re not forced to come. I’ll let you free to choose.”
“I’m coming.”
“Hair-for-Brain think before you-”
“I’m coming!” He repeated, clenching his fists, “There’s no way I won’t come! Don’t you remember? ‘Till death do us apart.’ Try to leave me behind and I’ll cage you between my claws, Master Bakugou. If we’re going to fight, we’ll fight together.”
Bakugou shouldn’t have been relieved, shouldn’t have been happy, because bringing Kirishima into a war was the last thing his heart desired, but couldn’t help the smile on his face. His partner understood his feelings and smiled back, full of confidence and determination.
“That’s good to hear, I was already afraid I would have to ask that stupid prince for a fucking horse. I hate those stupid animals!”
“What?!” Kirishima exclaimed, outraged; he had always been jealous of other creatures, “On my dead body, Master Bakugou! You can ride me as many times as you want! I don’t accept you riding anyone else!” He protested fiercely.
Bakugou’s ears became red, “Don’t say it like that, idiot!”
“Uh? Ah- OH!” Kirishima blushed so hard that his skin had now the same shade of his hair. He mumbled something incoherent under his breath, but Bakugou couldn’t understand.
“It’s fine, it’s fine. I know,” he sighed in the end, “As if a stupid horse could ever be your equal…”
At his words, Kirishima’s head perked up, and he looked at him with proud, sparkling eyes. Without his Master saying a word, he quickly changed his form and soon he was standing in his full-fledged Dragon Form.
Bakugou smiled as his eyes softened and filled with awe as every time Kirishima changed. It felt always like the first time.
Kirishima lowered his head and Bakugou’s rested the hand on his warm, scaly nose.
“Hey! You, blond kid! Lower your hand immediately! It’s prohibited to touch the paintings!”
Bakugou blinked back to the present. The woods disappeared, his bracelets with fangs and beads, his fur coat, the necklace… everything faded into his black school uniform.
He still had his hand held high, stretched forward, but instead of Kirishima, he was a few inches away from the painting.
Clicking his tongue, he quickly retreated it.
He heard some people around him snickering and whispering to each other, and sent them a feral growl. He was already unnerved enough they had the right to watch that painting, as if it was a desecrating act, without them purposely pissing him off. He couldn’t wait for them to leave.
Bakugou returned his eyes to the red dragon.
He had recognized him immediately, he was one-hundredth percent sure it was Kirishima. He would have recognized him everywhere, no matter what. It was annoying they hadn’t drawn him on his back, flying toward a new adventure, but those dumb scholars didn’t know a lot of things.
On the plate there was written: “Painting from the Forgotten Era, depicting a red dragon flying over the East Kingdom. Legends say it could be the Barbarian King’s mount.”
Ah! Laughable!
As if Kirishima could have ever been only a mount to him, like a stupid horse.
Kirishima was the most powerful fire dragon of the four kingdoms, capable of defeating armies of enemies with a single wing strike. Kirishima was a guy filled with joy and optimism, who always saw the best into other people and was capable to lighten a room with his smile. Kirishima was insecure and often doubted his abilities, but never stopped fighting to be the best version of himself, never surrendered or ran away from a fight.
Kirishima was Bakugou’s most trusted friend and partner.
Kirishima was Bakugou’ soulmate.
But what did they know? Just a mount, they wrote.
It made Bakugou’s blood boil.
The camp was more silent that night than usual. The troops were tired and disheartened.
Too many had lost a friend in that war. Too many had been buried.
Too many had lost all hope.
Bakugou and Kirishima were seated in front of a small campfire, next to each other, at the border of the camp. A proper tent had been prepared for the Barbarian King of the East and his dragon, but they preferred to sleep under the stars, without people around.
They had just finished eating in silence, both lost in their thoughts, flashbacks of the fight of that day.
“Master Bakugou,” was Kirishima the one who first broke the tension, “Will we lose?”
“What the fuck, Hair-For-Brains!” Bakugou snapped, turning to look at him, “There’s no fucking way we’re going to lose.”
Kirishima didn’t raise the eyes from the flames, keeping his fists clenched and the knees to the chest.
“I-” his voice cracked, and he had to swallow down his crippling fear, “I’m not ready to see you die, Master Bakugou. I- I can’t!”
Bakugou’s eyes widened.
“Die?”
“Yes!” Kirishima repeated, hiding his face behind the arms, “Die! The only thought paralyzes me!”
“OI! Hair-For-Brains!” the boy didn’t move, “Kirishima, look at me. Now,” Bakugou ordered in a stern voice.
Unwillingly, the dragon raised his head. His red eyes shined with unshed tears.
Bakugou cupped his face with more force than necessary and pulled their faces closer.
“Look at me, Kirishima. I’m not gonna die, do you hear me? There’s no way I’m gonna let these bastards kill me. We’ll win this war, I’ve been clear? I’ve you as my shield, there’s nothing that could ever scare me,” he roared as Kirishima let the tears fall.
He should have never told him those words, never; now he knew. But it was too late. All that was left was the time to regret them.
“Please, promise me, please!” Kirishima begged him, holding onto his chest.
He had seen his soldiers die. He had buried his friends.
He couldn’t do the same with his Master. Anything but that.
Bakugou rolled his eyes but nodded.
“I won’t die, Hair-For-Brains.”
“I count on you…” Kirishima mustered a small smile, but the shadows still curled into his eyes.
The only thought annoyed Bakugou to no end.
“You say that yet you already see a corpse in front of you,” he growled as he undid his fur coat and laid it on the ground behind the other boy.
“W-what?” Kirishima stuttered.
Bakugou got on all fours and pushed Kirishima down against the fur, pinning him under his body. With a rough movement, he wiped away the tears from Kirishima's cheeks.
“I’m here, alive,” he leaned down and pressed their lips together, “Let me show you.”
Bakugou kissed him again, devouring his fears away. He bit his bottom lip, making Kirishima gasp, and slid the tongue inside his mouth, tracing his sharp fangs. Kirishima brought the hands behind his nape, grabbing his hair out of pleasure when Bakugou began nibbling his neck.
“M-Master Bakugou!” he moaned, breathless.
Bakugou momentarily raised the head to meet his eyes, a smug grin on the lips.
“I have a fucking name, Eijirou, damn use it!”
Kirishima’s eyes went wide, and he smiled bashfully.
“Katsuki…”
Hours later, as Bakugou laid looking at the stars with Kirishima safely between his arms, he inhaled deeply.
“Eijirou?”
“Yes?” the boy murmured drowsily.
“Tomorrow, let’s put an end to this war. You and I.”
Kirishima showed a small grin and nodded.
“You and I.”
The worst thing was that Bakugou could remember everything. Every word, every joke, every thought, every emotion, every fight, every kiss. Everything.
He could feel them as if he was touching him right now.
The smoothness of Kirishima’ scales. The perpetual warmth emanating from his skin. His smell of ash, pines and spring breeze. The contagious happiness caused by his smiles. The sweet taste of his kisses. The way his fingers felt running through his hair.
Bakugou could recall all of it.
But all he was left with were haunting memories and an empty heart.
“WHY DID YOU DO THAT? ARE YOU CRAZY? WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING?!”
Red had always been Kirishima’s color: scarlet scales, ruby red eyes, red flames… Bakugou had even chosen the betrothal necklace with the ruby on it, just for that. It was the essence of his soul: warm, powerful, always burning…
But blood? No matter how much red suited him, Bakugou would have given his life not to see him covered in blood.
Bakugou was desperately holding him in his arms, covered in ashes and dirt, but that fucking blood was everywhere, it was all he could see. It seemed to drown Kirishima.
“I’m glad you’re fine, Katsuki…” he coughed with one of his dumb smiles on the face, one of the smiles Bakugou had always loved like crazy.
“YOU’RE GLAD I’M FINE?! DOES IT SEEM I’M FINE?!” He roared as he pressed the hands over Kirishima’s wounds. But it was useless, too many, too large, the blood was everywhere, everywhere, everywhere.
“You’re alive, I’m glad I moved in time…” the dragon replied, blinking not to fall into the darkness that waited for him. Not yet.
“Who asked you that? Who asked you to save me?” Bakugou hissed, crouching over his chest, “Why? Eijirou? Why?”
The boy managed to laugh, blood spilling from his pale lips.
“I told you I wasn’t ready to see you die… I’m your shield, am I not? I’m so happy I could protect you, Katsuki, so happy!” He used all his energy to move a hand to Bakugou’s cheek.
The king raised his face, tears falling from his eyes.
“And do you think I’m ready to see you die, shithead? Do you think I can take it?” He would have liked to scream, to hate him for what he had done, but his heart had broken and there was nothing left in his chest but pain.
“Sorry, Katsuki, I’ve been an egoist in the end. But you’ve always been the strongest one of the two, you’ll survive. I’m sure of it, you promised me.”
Bakugou shook his head, grabbing the hand Kirishima had left on his cheek.
“I may survive, but I’ll never live again without you by my side.”
Kirishima’s eyes filled with crystal tears.
“Hey, Katsuki, can you forgive me for breaking our promise?” he asked as the darkness started to engulf him. But he didn’t want to let go yet, how could he? “’Till death do us apart’, we said. But I don’t think I can stop loving you even after my death…”
Bakugou clenched his teeth and leaned to kiss him as to press his own life back into him.
“What are you saying? There’s no God of Death who could ever pull us apart. I will still love you through the next hundred lives, you idiot!”
Kirishima chuckled weakly, “I’m so glad, I’m so glad you defeated me that day… I’ve always been so happy by your side… Goodbye arrived too soon…”
“Goodbye?” Bakugou yelled as Kirishima closed his eyes, “What goodbye? Eijirou! Don’t you dare leave me, Eijirou! EIJIROU!”
But no matter how many times he kissed him, Kirishima never opened his eyes again.
The sorrowful scream of the King of the East echoed over the entire battlefield.
“Why?” Bakugou hissed through gritted teeth.
The room was now empty except for him, it wasn’t long before he would have been forced to leave too.
“WHY?” He yelled at the painting. He shut his eyes close to stop the tears.
“What’s the point of this? What’s the point of remembering the past, tell me! What’s the point of remembering you if there’s no one by my side? What’s the point of loving you?” He gripped at his uniform as he wanted to rip it off, pierce his own chest and throw his heart away.
“Why can’t I forget you? Why I still love you?”
“I can’t do it,” he let out a desperate, humorless chuckle, wiping away the tears, “The strongest one? I’ll survive? As if, you fucking idiot! How could I ever survive without you?”
No one answered him.
The painting remained a painting.
Like every other day.
Wobbling, Bakugou slowly stood up and turned the shoulders to it.
“I can’t do it anymore, I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I don’t want this love anymore.”
Like every other day.
“Hey kid!” the cleaning man called out to him as he moved to leave the room, “Don’t go that way! They’re having a lecture right now! Go through room 6!”
Bakugou froze and scowled hard enough to make the man take a step back.
He hated, loathed room 6.
It was the only room with another painting from the Forgotten Era. It depicted his past self, standing fiercely over a pile of bodies, a hand raised up as he screamed to the sky his victory and the sun dawned behind his back. At his feet laid Shigaraki, killed by Bakugou himself: the only sight of him made his anger fuel, his hands twitch as if he could still create explosions, and the desire to murder him would almost blind him.
The plate said: “Painting from the Forgotten Era, depicting the Barbarian King of the East in the moment of victory. In a single day, he managed to halve the army of the enemies and kill their general, entering the legend. The Enemy from the North lies at his feet. This victory has marked the start of a new era of peace.”
Victory, they said? Victory?
Oh yeah, Bakugou had killed Shigaraki, he had fucking massacred him. But they didn’t mention the blinding rage that had guided him to victory through a bloodbath, born from having lost half of his soul. They didn’t say how he, while everyone rejoiced and recovered from the war, had returned to the mountains and the woods where he had lived with Kirishima, forsaking humanity and any kind of company. They didn’t know of the endless days he had lived in total solitude, of the merciless void that had filled his heart, of the lonely nights when he could only dream bits of a happy past destined to never return and the cold morning when he would cry and yell at the sky for having robbed him of his most precious treasure.
They didn’t know.
But Bakugou remembered all of that too, and the same loneliness and void still tried to suffocate him every time he saw that painting. He didn’t want to recall that part of his life that couldn’t bring him anything but a hopeless sorrow; it was the worst part, it fed the desperation in his heart.
That’s why he almost ran through room 6, with his head recessed between the shoulders.
He couldn’t bear to see it. He just couldn’t.
But he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye.
Red.
He stilled, slowly turning his head.
Red.
Red. Red. Red.
A boy was standing in front of the painting he hated, with his shoulders hunched. He had flaming, spiky red hair styled in an absurd hairdo, they almost resembled…horns.
Bakugou’s body moved before he could think about it. He crossed the room in a dash, grabbed the boy from the shoulders and forcibly turned him.
“AH!” the other jostled and tried to free himself as he quickly wiped the tears from his face, “I’m sorry- I know I should go- I just! Sorry, I’ll leave…” the words died in his mouth, “…immediately.”
Bakugou inhaled sharply; his hands were trembling, and he didn’t have the strength to loosen his grip on the boy.
Scarlet hair. A scar over the eyebrow. Sharp teeth.
Ruby red eyes.
He could have recognized him everywhere, no matter what.
“You…” Bakugou murmured with wide eyes. He was terrified to move, he was terrified to ask. What if he was hallucinating? What if he broke the spell? Even if it was a dream, he didn’t care. He didn’t-
“Master Bakugou?” Kirishima asked in a trembling, hopeful voice.
And that was it.
Bakugou’s eyes swelled with tears, and he pulled Kirishima to his chest, wrapping his arms around him and squeezing him as hard as he could. The smell of ash, pines and spring breeze filled his nostrils.
He was real. He was real. He was real.
Real and warm as he remembered.
“Master Bakugou!” Kirishima cried hugging him back, burying the face into the crook of his neck with desperate sobs.
There’s no God of Death who could ever pull us apart. I will still love you through the next hundred lives.
“I have a fucking name, Eijirou, damn use it!”
“Katsuki!”