Archive of Our Own

Hearing any teacher talk about love or romance is enough to make Bakugou want to barf until his throat bleeds. 

Classes taught by Midnight always tend to be his least favourite, regardless of whatever bullshit subject matter she drills into their heads. Modern Hero Art History in particular is the worst and most useless U.A. course in his opinion. He hates it so much that he’d even prefer to fall victim to Mic’s hellishly loud English monologues than spend a single minute in this class. He supposes that he can objectively appreciate its value, but he doesn’t really see how this subject is absolutely necessary for becoming a hero. He wishes it were an elective or something so he could’ve avoided it and used his time more effectively. 

Bakugou sighs. Regardless of his distaste for Midnight’s lessons, he listens, because he is not a bad student and he refuses to do poorly on a test because he couldn’t sit through an hour of her droning on about love languages or whatever.

The concept is new to him, he ponders as he twirls his pencil in his right hand, his other holding up his head as his elbow leans on his desk. Midnight stands back from the chalkboard and faces the class, five rows of text written out neatly.

“The concept of the five love languages comes from Gary Chapman, an American marriage counsellor and author who insists that there are five main ways that people tend to give and receive affection among their loved ones,” she explains, pacing back and forth, high heels clacking as the students diligently scribble in their notebooks. “He argues that everyone has a specific way that they prefer to give and receive affection. The way that a person expresses this kind of love may be indicative of the love they’d like to receive for themselves from others. We can see depictions of these love languages in various art pieces from the beginning of time, all over the world up until today. Now, Chapman categorized these types of affection like this.” She turns to the board, using her pointing stick refer to the first line she’d written.

“The first love language is Words of Affirmation,” she explains. “Some people like to be told outright that they are loved and appreciated. Maybe not every second, but every once in a while. Hearing things like ‘I’m proud of you’ or ‘you mean so much to me’ go a long way.”

Huh, Bakugou thinks, his mind instantly flashing to Kirishima. He subtly shifts his gaze, watching as the redhead’s tongue sticks out in concentration as he furiously writes his notes. Bakugou just barely stops his lips from quirking up at the sight.

Kirishima is never hesitant to voice his appreciation and admiration for all his friends, for people he looks up to. If Bakugou had a dollar for every time Kirishima said stuff like “You’re amazing, Bakugou!” or “Bakugou, you’re so strong!” or “Bakugou, you’re my best friend” he’d be richer than fucking IcyHot. And now that he thinks about it, Kirishima’s mood always seems to perk right up when he gets a compliment, too.

“Then we have Acts of Service,” Midnight says, snapping Bakugou back into focus. “People who appreciate having things done for them out of love. Maybe running an errand, helping out on a project. Just doing small things that add up in a big way to show them that they’re appreciated and that you’re willing to help out, even unasked.”

This time Bakugou’s gaze goes to Jirou, who’s twirling an earjack as she writes. Her foot is tapping a silent rhythm on the ground, her head bobbing ever so slightly. Bakugou wants to hear what’s playing in her head. He thinks about how she always passes him a cold glass of water when he returns to the dorms, sweaty and shaking from intense training. How she always joins him as he washes the dishes, humming quietly as she rinses the suds away. She’s always doing stuff like that, he realizes. Small, silent favours that make life just a bit easier. 

“Third is Receiving Gifts,” Midnight continues. “Pretty self-explanatory. People enjoy giving or receiving gifts. Not because they’re greedy or materialistic, but because they like to know that they’re being thought of, even when apart. That they can see the love in a physical form and have it serve as a reminder of that love.”

Bakugou’s eyes drop down to the handmade orange, black, and green pleather bracelet on his wrist, courtesy of Kaminari, who gave a custom one to everyone in their squad. Bakugou thinks about his room, which houses an ever-increasing number of books, snacks, and photographs, all given to him on random occasions by the other blond who always insisted that he have them because he thought Bakugou would like them. (And surprisingly he always has.)

Kaminari currently seems to be doodling in the margins of his book rather than actually writing notes, Bakugou realizes with a roll of his eyes. He bets himself a bag of chips that Kaminari will be showing up later that evening begging to go over the day’s lesson.

“Next is Quality Time,” Midnight recites. “People who don’t care what you’re doing as long as you’re doing it with them. They just like to be in your company and have you around, knowing that they have your attention and time.”

Now his mind goes to Sero, who’s scratching his neck and looking tired. He wonders if the other had stayed up for a horror movie marathon again. Sero asks him to join those movie nights a lot, even though he usually declines, Bakugou notes. He likes to hang around when Bakugou’s cooking too, happy to provide commentary as he plays on his handheld or to help chop vegetables. And he’s the best listener, always paying close attention when Bakugou groans about whatever new thing is bothering him at the moment. 

“Finally, there’s Physical Touch, which again, is quite obvious,” Midnight concludes. “People who enjoy physical affection—hugs, kisses, pats on the back. All different ways to show someone that they’re loved.”

Ashido is looking at Midnight with stars in her eyes, pencil abandoned as she listens intently. Bakugou suppresses a snort. Of course she’d be all over this shit, the sappy ass romantic that she is. He’s not even worried that she’s not writing anything down. He doubts she’ll forget a single word.

Bakugou thinks about how he stopped being fazed when the pink girl latches onto his arm whenever they stand together before training. She always greets him with a hug, always throws her legs over his lap on the couch or otherwise runs her hands through his hair as she perches on the armrest, chatting away happily. 

Midnight goes back to pacing as she continues to explain. “And remember that love languages don’t have to apply to romantic partners. They can, and do, but people also express their love to their friends and family. Some people strongly identify with one love language while others may have more overlap between them. All forms are valid and deserving to be acknowledged. Pay attention to how your loved ones treat you to learn how you can better treat them.” 

The bell rings at that moment and the reverie Bakugou has fallen into breaks as the class erupts into its normal chaos. 

Love languages, huh.

For some reason, he can’t get Midnight’s lesson out of his head. 

All Bakugou can think about are his friends and the way they treat him, treat each other. He’d thought it was strange that he instantly thought of his friends when Midnight was going through her explanation of the five love languages. With a title like that is it surprising that he’d just automatically assumed it only applied to romantic couples? But then she had quickly dismissed that thought, insisting that these forms of affection apply to friendships too.

So he wasn’t wrong in thinking about his friends. Fucking peachy. But now that he’s started thinking about it, he just can’t stop. 

He’d always known that his friends care about one another—it’s almost painfully obvious with the way they constantly hang off each other and give each other compliments. But he supposes that having a concrete definition to match their actions just made him more aware of them and their significance.

How could he have been ignorant of something so obvious? 

He sees it so clearly now, days later as he and the idiot brigade make their way to their usual table in the cafeteria. Ashido ruffles all of the boys’ hair as she passes them by, except for Kirishima, whose meticulously styled locks are always exempt from the treatment. She squeezes Kirishima and Jirou’s shoulders, returning their grins as she takes a seat next to Bakugou, her arm pressed against his.

“Sero!” Kirishima exclaims, enthusiastically pointing his chopsticks at the boy in question as everyone begins to eat. “You did great during that debate, man. You held your own against Midoriya the entire time! Seriously impressive, bro.”

Sero grins at him, looking proud. “Thanks! You wouldn’t believe how much time I spent preparing. But it was so worth it. I’ve never felt so smart before.”

“You’re definitely gonna get a good mark,” Ashido encourages. “You had a counter-argument to literally everything, I was gagged and gooped.”

Sero laughs with a shrug. “It’s what happens when you grow up with lots of siblings,” he says. “You have to learn to hold your own and get the third party to believe you even when the odds aren’t in your favour.”

“Dude, my older sister used to blame me for everything,” Denki complains. “I used to get in so much trouble because of her! Moving to the dorms was the best day of my life.”

“I’m convinced that at least 75% of the claims made against you by your sister were true,” Kirishima teases, Kaminari pouting at him while the others laugh. 

“You guys are coming to this week’s sleepover, right?” Sero asks, grinning as everyone gives their affirmation.  “Sweet. I have a plan for how we’ll keep Bakugou and Ashido from kicking us in their sleep this time.” 

“Oi,” Bakugou growls in warning as Ashido groans. 

“It’s not on purpose!” she whines, taking a sip of her strawberry milk. “We’re just restless sleepers.”

“Well our kidneys can’t handle your restless sleeping," Sero responds, returning her outstretched tongue with his own. “The evil must be defeated."

“Oh! Jirou! I have something for you!” Kaminari announces suddenly, almost choking on his food in his haste to speak. Kirishima pats his back as he turns to rummage around in his backpack to look for whatever he’s giving her.

“If it’s not a will to live then I don’t want it,” she deadpans, taking a bite of her lunch. Bakugou snorts and she smirks at him.

“I don’t have one of those but I’ve got the next best thing!” he says, making a pleased noise as he finally locates the object in his mess of a backpack. “Here ya go!” Kaminari looks extremely proud of himself as he passes Jirou a pack of five dark-coloured guitar picks across the table. “I stopped the robbery of a music store while I was on patrol yesterday and the owner let me have these for free!’

Jirou gapes, her usual casual composure gone as she eyes the detailed patterns on triangle-shaped items in front of her. “I can’t take these! They’re yours!” she insists. “You said you needed some the other day, didn’t you? You deserve them for saving the store—”

“Yeah, but I saw these and I wanted you to have them. I thought they’d match Amethyst,” Kaminari interrupts, referring to Jirou’s beloved purple electric guitar. “Besides, I saw another pack with different colours that match my guitar so I bought those for myself. So it’s a win-win!” He pushes the pack further into her hands, grinning widely as she finally takes them, blushing slightly. “Make sure to shred some awesome tunes with these.”

“Thanks,” she says, smiling up at him as she finally allows herself to meet his eyes. “I will.” She puts the pack away in her bag and turns to Ashido. “Anyway, Mina, do you still want help painting your nails later?”

Ashido gasps and claps her hands in glee. “Yes, please! I got some new colours the other day and the company says it shouldn’t chip as easily despite my quirk, so I’m super excited to try them out!”

“Awesome. My room or yours?”

As the group devolves into chatter, Bakugou can barely keep his thoughts straight.

He can’t believe that they all expressed their love languages so easily. Ashido with her easy affection, Kirishima’s compliments, Sero’s sleepover invitation, Kaminari’s gift, Jirou’s quick offer to help. In the span of ten minutes, they’d all expressed themselves to one another with such ease.

And all Bakugou had done was sit there, watching. 

What a great fucking friend.

________________

He lays in bed that night, thinking hard.

Bakugou knows his friends care about him. He now has no doubt that they do. Not when they always trap him in hugs, tell him how amazing he is, how they force him to hang out and are pleased by his mere presence. 

But what about him? Do they know how much he cares about them? Do they know that he’d rather rip out each one of his toenails and force them down his throat than see anything bad happen to them? Do they know just how lucky he feels to be in their presence, to be loved and appreciated by them when he thought he’d spend the rest of his life alone?

How could they?

How the fuck could they know just how big of a piece of his life they take up when he never voices it? When he never takes the liberty to say I love you as casually as they do. When he gripes and groans as they ask him to hang out, even though he doesn’t actually mind. How could they know when he snarls and hurls insults at them, when he doesn’t let them in the same way they do for him?

Bakugou is determined to change that. 

He refuses to be the one just receiving affection. There’s no way he’ll ever let them doubt just how much he appreciates having them around. He’ll learn their love languages until he’s fucking fluent, until they’re choking and drowning in his love, unable to escape it. 

...God. U.A. really has changed him. 

He’s not mad, though. 

“Today you have free time to train your quirk however you want,” Aizawa drawls from the front of Gym Gamma. “Develop some more ultimate moves, practice your endurance...anything productive towards further strengthening your quirk. Make smart decisions and stay safe. If you need help don’t be afraid to ask. That is all.” He turns away from the class to slide into the sleeping bag rolled out in the corner. Within moments he’s snoring softly. 

“Kirshima,” Bakugou says before the asshole can even think of partnering up with someone else as the class erupts into loud chatter. He has something in mind he wants to try out. “Help me with something.”

Kirishima grins wide and sends him a double thumbs up. “‘Course, man! As long as you help me out with my training after,” he says as if Bakugou wasn’t going to do that anyway. 

Bakugou nods and turns away from him for a moment to look over their classmates. He needs someone else for this too...

“Yo Beakface!” he shouts, Tokoyami sighing heavily from across the room before he makes his way over. 

“Bakugou,” Tokoyami says as he stands before the two. “I believe I have already requested that you stop referring to me by that moniker.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he dismisses with a wave of his hand. “You’re helping Shitty Hair and I with something.”

“And why should I provide you two with assistance instead of attending to my own training?”

Kirishima snickers and Bakugou lets out an annoyed sigh. Why do his classmates have to be so fucking difficult? “Because when you look in your backpack you’re gonna find a limited edition 10-year anniversary copy of Cryptic Abyss’ first album.”

Tokoyami staggers back and his eyes go wide in disbelief and excitement. Dark Shadow pops out and envelops Bakugou in a hug and it feels really fucking weird. “Wh- You can’t be serious!”

“I can be and I am,” he grunts, pushing the entity off of him. “Don’t go freakin’ out or some shit, got it? My old man is friends with some music producer guy and he got a whole bunch of copies so I snagged a couple,” he says by way of explanation, because he knows the damn birdhead wouldn’t budge until he got one. ”So are you helpin’ us or not?” 

“I would be most honoured to lend you my darkness,” Tokoyami says with a bow, dramatic as fucking always.

“Great, let’s go.”

As the three (or four, he guesses) of them walk off together, Dark Shadow engages in conversation with Tokoyami, so Bakugou uses this as his first chance to try out this love language thing. He looks toward Kirishima and sends him his trademark wild grin. “You gotta be the first person I try this out with,” he tells him. “No one else is strong enough and I don’t trust these fuckers with it. You’re fuckin’ badass, Kirishima.” 

Kirishima pauses in his steps for a moment, eyes widening before a large smile comes on his face. 

“Thanks, man! I’m excited to see what you have planned!”

Once they’re a good distance away from their classmates, Bakugou explains his plan. The Explode-a-Pult was an idea he had once in a dream. He instructs Tokoyami to fly Kirishima high in the sky, throwing him at him so Bakugou can catch his hand and throw a hardened Kirishima into the crash dummy lined up against the wall.

“You’re crazy,” Tokoyami says with a shake of his head.

Kirishima grins and bangs his fists together. “Let’s do it!”

Bakugou blasts himself to the ceiling, watching as Tokoyami covers himself with Dark Shadow before hooking his arms under Kirishima’s armpits and flying him a ways away from Bakugou. 

“Ready?” he calls, and the two of them nod. He grins. This is gonna be fun. “Drop him!” 

Tokoyami does what he says, letting go of Kirishima and letting him plummet through the air. Bakugou blasts his way over to him quickly, outstretching one of his hands as he approaches. Kirishima grabs onto his outreached hand and Bakugou yells, “EAT SHIT!” as he swings Kirishima around, his free hand lighting up in a huge explosion. Bakugou uses the power and momentum from the blast to spin them both around, Kirishima whooping in delight as he’s sent absolutely flying into the crash dummy, his hardened body meeting the stone with a large CRASH!

Bakugou and Tokoyami make their descent, rushing over to the huge dent Kirishima left in the wall. The redhead rises from the ash and rubble, throwing both arms up in victory. “That was fucking awesome!”

Bakugou lets out a bark of a laugh, swinging his arm around Kirishima’s neck so he can rub his knuckles roughly in his hair. “Hell fucking yeah it was! Your quirk is damn strong, Kirishima. Come on, let’s do it again.”

The three of them continue their various training until class is over and Aizawa kicks them all out. As training progressed, the easier it was for Bakugou to let the compliments escape him, to tell Kirishima when he was doing particularly well or when he’d done something to impress him. And every single time, Kirishima sends him a massive grin, looking positively elated.

So far this love language thing doesn't seem half bad.

“Bakugoooou,” Kirishima whines, putting his pencil down before leaning back in his chair. “Can we please take a break now? I think my brain is melting out of my ears.”

The others groan out their agreement, sending pleading looks his way.

Bakugou huffs. Fucking lightweights. He checks the time on his phone. It is about the time when they start to burn out. “Fine,” he agrees and the rest of them practically deflate in relief. 

“Can your brain get a cramp?” Kaminari asks. “Because I think my brain is cramping."

“Have you tried turning it on and off again?” Sero asks, yelping as Kaminari shocks him in return.

“What are you guys doing after this?” Ashido asks, waving to one of her friends in General Management that passes by.

“Ugh, I need to tune my guitars but I don’t have any time,” Jirou groans, slumping over her books. “All these assignments have me stressed, and I play guitar to de-stress, but with them out of tune I can’t which causes me even more stress… I hate it here.”

Kirishima rubs her back comfortingly.

“I can do it,” Bakugou offers, not looking up from his work as she whips her head up to look at him. 

“Seriously? You really don’t have to, I’m sure I can find the time. I know you’re busy too—”

“Stuff it, Headphones,” he grumbles. “I said I will, so I will. Miruko’s out of town for a couple of days so I have some free time. And unlike you slackers I do my work ahead of time.”

“Alright,” she agrees, looking less defeated than she did a second ago. “Thanks, Bakugou. Is it cool if we go now?”

Bakugou nods, putting away his things, Jirou doing the same. “Let’s go.” He turns to Sero as he stands, giving him a stern look. “You motherfuckers better not leave here until all your shit is finished,” he instructs. “I’ll fucking know if you do.”

“How?”

“Trust me. I will.”

“See you later!” Ashido calls a little too loudly, cringing as one of the librarians quiets her down. 

He and Jirou walk in silence to the dorms. Bakugou really appreciates her presence in the squad. Among the balls of boundless energy that are their other friends, it’s easy to get caught up and feel overwhelmed. Her relaxed and unbothered demeanour always serves as a grounding point, and she never seems to force conversation. 

“I’ll meet you up there,” Bakugou tells her as they make it to the dorms. She gives him a confused look but nods nonetheless, taking his bag for him and walking to the stairwell.

Bakugou enters the kitchen, nodding at Shouji, who’s heating something up in the microwave. He opens up the cabinet with the wide assortment of coffee, tea, and juice packets. He scans the items, looking for a particular one until...there. Bakugou snatches the box of Ponytail’s fancy Valerian root tea, turning on the kettle as he does. As the water boils, he grabs some sugar and a purple mug with music notes all over it. There are some peaches and strawberries in the fridge too, so he cuts them up and puts them in a bowl. With the water done boiling, he preps the tea. He returns everything else to their proper places before making his way out of the kitchen, mug and bowl in hand. 

He knocks on Jirou’s door and enters when given the go ahead. Jirou’s already sitting at her desk, head bent where she works diligently. Silently, he places the tea and fruit safely in the corner. Noticing the movement she looks up, blinking.

“Oh. Thanks, Bakugou.”

He grunts in response, swiping a couple peach slices before he moves over to her guitars. “Which ones do you need me to do?”

“All of them need tuning, but I’ll do Amethyst myself,” she tells him. 

Bakugou grabs the nearest guitar—a black acoustic—and sits on Jirou’s bed. The tuner is resting on her pillow, so he grabs it and places it on the head of the instrument. 

Indie music plays softly in the background as he tunes her guitars while she finishes up the schoolwork she’d begun in the library.

Even though Jirou is the quietest of his friends, she’s constantly making noise as she works. Her fingers and toes tap out to the beat of the songs playing. She hums and sings quietly to the words sung, adding her own harmonies and melodies. It’s comforting, sitting with her as she fills the room with her voice.

“Ugh,” Jirou eventually groans, slamming her laptop shut and turning in the chair to face him. He’s long since finished the task of tuning her guitars and has moved to the task of cleaning up her room. It had been a surprise to walk in and see it so messy considering she likes to keep her space organized and neat. The mess was indicative of the stress she was under, the lack of time she has. 

“Done?” he asks, pushing the last of her records into its proper place.

“I’m done with the modern lit paper, but my art final is due in a week and I haven’t even touched it yet,” she bemoans, wrapping her earjacks around her neck like a noose. “I haven’t chosen a subject yet either, oh my fucking god.”

Bakugou glances at the thick black sketchpad perched on the corner of Jirou’s desk. He knows she draws but has only seen a handful of her pieces. She’s super secretive about them—had almost ripped off Kaminari’s head one time when he tried to take a peek. The few sketches he’d been able to look at were cool as fuck, and he wished she’d let him see some more, but he’s not about to beg and make her feel uncomfortable.

“I can do it,” he offers, even though he fucking hates sitting still for long periods of time. “If you want.”

“Bakugou, seriously dude, you don’t have to keep doing all this stuff for me.”

“I know I don’t have to,” he tells her. “But I fucking want to, so I will. Got it?”

“Got it, got it,” she says, putting her hands up placatingly. “Thanks. You mind going outside? We still have a few hours before sundown.”

The pair make their way outside once again, Bakugou letting Jirou guide him to wherever she wants to work. They end up walking all the way to the tree where their group normally eats lunch outside, sitting under the shade of a cherry blossom tree.

Jirou gets him situated,  telling him where to sit and how she wants him positioned. She tells him when to turn his head, to drop his shoulders as she sketches, eyes going back and forth between him and the page. He takes her instructions in stride and she compliments his ability to pose, so he tells her about all the photoshoots his parents made him do as a kid.

“Holy shit, are you serious?” she laughs, bringing the back of a graphite stained hand to her mouth. He glares at her but doesn’t move his head from its position.

“Fucking yes, it was so stupid. I hated every second of it. Eventually they stopped being able to force me to go, thank god.” 

“Dude, you have to show us your modelling pictures,” she insists. 

“In your fucking dreams, Wires,” he growls. “I’d rather bite off my own fucking fingers.”

“Does this mean you won’t do any photoshoots as a pro?”

“Of course I’ll fucking do them, I’m not stupid. That doesn’t mean I’m gonna be happy about it.”

Jirou echoes the sentiment about not particularly liking being on camera and such and how her dad is the complete opposite. 

They talk music the whole time, her arguing some bullshit about why Desa from the band Split Lip is a better drummer than Yui from Bleeding Spirit like an idiot. They talk heroes, books, and fashion as the hours pass, Bakugou feeling nothing short of content.

The sun is setting and Bakugou’s stomach has officially moved from kinda hungry to absolutely starving when Jirou finally puts down her pencil with a large huff. 

“Okay, I’m done,” she sighs, looking tired but pleased.

Bakugou lets himself flop back into the grass with a groan, slightly sore from staying in the same position for so long. He can’t wait to take a hot shower later. He forces himself to sit up, turning to Jirou whose gaze is locked on the sketch.

“It’s still pretty rough, but I know what I’m gonna do now. Thanks, Bakugou. It means a lot.”

Mission accomplished, he thinks, glad that he was able to help her out. She looks a hundred times less strung out than she did earlier this afternoon.

He feels selfish for it, but this time he really, really wants to see what she’s drawn. He doesn’t want to push any boundaries or anything, but it’s fucking him on the page, of course he wants to look at it! “Can I like… see it?” he manages to ask her, even though he’s pretty sure he already knows what the answer is going to be.

Jirou looks up at him in surprise, because he hasn’t asked to look at her work in a long time. She opens and closes her mouth a few times, seemingly struggling for an answer. ”When it’s done,” she finally says. “I promise.”

Bakugou nods at her. “Okay.”

Jirou nods back and closes her sketchbook. She stands, holding her hand out to Bakugou and he lets her pull him to his feet. “Let’s go, I’m starving and Shinsou’s cooking tonight.”

A week later and Jirou’s showing him the final product. He’s in awe at how well she managed to capture his likeness, to use colours in the background to really make the linework pop.

“That’s fucking sick,” he tells her, and she sends him a wide smile.

"I’m fucking starving,” Kaminari groans as he wraps his arms tightly around his stomach, head banging on his desk with a loud thud.

“That’s what you get for sleeping in and skipping breakfast,” Jirou tells him, looking completely unconcerned about the grimace on Kaminari’s face.

“It’s not my fault,” he moans, looking the picture of pitiful desperation as the class waits for Cementoss to arrive. “I barely got any sleep last night, and by the time I did fall asleep I woke up right before I had to leave for class. This is the worst day ever.”

He sits up and continues to grumble to himself, not at all his usual energetic self. The slight bags under his red eyes are a further testament to his claim and Bakugou feels empathetic. He knows all too well what it’s like having to go through the motions after a sleepless night. There’s no way Kaminari will be able to focus in class in such a state.

Glancing up at the clock, he sees that he has a couple minutes before their teacher is meant to show up. Bakugou reaches into the front pocket of his bag and grabs two granola bars and a package of crackers, tossing them all at the blond’s head. 

The food falls to the desk and Kaminari stares at them in shock for a second before he snatches them up, holding them to his chest as if they’re a priceless treasure.

“Bakugou you are an angel sent from heaven and I take back every bad thing I’ve ever thought about you,” Kaminari says, barely sparing Bakugou a glance as he absolutely rips into the crackers, literally shoving them into his mouth. “Please elope with me.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes, leaning back in his seat. “You’re not my type, Sparky.” Kirishima and Sero are laughing as Kaminari shovels the snacks hastily into his mouth, Ashido’s concern about him choking falling onto deaf ears. 

“Kaminari!” Iida shouts, gesturing at the blond with his usual robotic arm move. “You are not meant to be eating in the classroom unless it is lunchtime! Please put the food away immediately!”

“Iida, you can kindly fuck off,” Kaminari responds, his words muffled by the food in his mouth. Bakugou barks out a laugh, ignoring the glare Iida sends his way. Crumbs are all around Kaminari’s lips, some falling to his desk as he opens up the first granola bar, practically swallowing it whole. 

“Thanks, Kacchan,” Kaminari says as he finishes the last of his food, letting Ashido dust the crumbs off his face. He already looks much livelier with some food in his stomach. “You’re the best!”

“Whatever,” Bakugou grumbles, pulling his notebook toward him as Cementoss finally makes his way in the classroom. “Just eat a decent fuckin’ lunch so you’re not useless later.”

Kaminari just smiles at him, putting the empty wrappers in his backpack. Bakugou wonders if they’ll ever see the light of day again. “I will!”

________________

Bakugou can’t decide if Kaminari is more like an annoying toddler or an untrained dog. 

As the two of them peruse the mall, Kaminari runs up to every single store display that catches his eye, more often than not dragging Bakugou into the store with him as he continues to ooh and aah at the various merchandise until he gets bored and repeats the process over again. 

Despite how annoying the process is, Bakugou is having a good time. He and Kaminari joke around, teasing each other as usual. For every time Bakugou makes a snide comment, Kaminari returns with one of his own. Bakugou loves that Kaminari has never been afraid to be downright rude to him. It’s refreshing. 

The other hero-in-training drags him to some skate shop and immediately disappears within its depths. Bakugou just shakes his head and slowly makes his way around, looking at the various skateboards and apparel. 

He’s checking out some dark coloured t-shirts when he hears a large gasp around the corner, the same area he’d last seen Kaminari wander off to.

Putting the shirt he’d picked up back on the rack, Bakugou makes his way over. When he gets there, Kaminari is holding up a sweater, mouth agape, and Bakugou can practically see the sparkles in his eyes. On the black hoodie is an image of a swordsman from some obscure manga that Kaminari is a fan of. Bakugou remembers listening to the other rave about it for over an hour one night, happily rambling as Bakugou read the first couple volumes on his bed. 

“I’ve never seen merch in-store,” Kaminari practically whispers. “Finding it is almost impossible.” The blond quickly locates the price tag and turns it over, pausing as he reads how much it costs. Bakugou can see the exact moment Kaminari’s heart breaks and it makes his stomach roll uncomfortably. “Man, I really shouldn’t have bought all those snacks earlier this week,” he says, crestfallen. He folds the sweater back up and places it where he found it. “I should’ve known it was too good to be true,” he sighs. “Come on, Blasty. Let’s get some food and go home.”

Kaminari starts walking out of the store, head hung dejectedly. 

Definitely a puppy, Bakugou decides as he loses sight of the blond. A kicked puppy rejected by their damn owner. Kaminari’s sadness makes Bakugou’s gut coil. He hates seeing any of his friends being anything other than their usual obnoxious selves. 

He makes his way over to the discarded sweater and checks out the price for himself. Kinda steep, but not undoable considering that unlike his friend Bakugou actually has some money management skills. He finds a sweater that is Kaminari’s size from the pile and looks it over, making sure that there aren’t any holes, or stains, or other bullshit. Satisfied, he returns to the rack of shirts he was looking at earlier and pulls out his favourite one from the bunch.

Bakugou makes his way to the register to buy the two items, thanking the clerk and sticking the receipt in the bag as he gets cashed out.

He’s just walking towards the store’s exit when Kaminari makes his way back in, clearly looking for him.

“There you are! I thought I’d lost you.”

“Here,” Bakugou says gruffly, shoving the bag into his arms. “It’s yours.”

“What…” Kaminari peers in the bag, eyes widening as he sees what’s inside. “WHAT!” He looks back up at Bakugou in complete disbelief. “Kacchan, seriously? I-I can’t take this, dude, go get your money back—”

“You’d better fucking take it because I already bought it and I’m not returning something I got literally thirty fucking seconds ago,” he snarls, pushing the bag further into Kaminari’s arms. “Just take it and be grateful.”

Kaminari looks between Bakugou and the bag, looking conflicted. “You really want me to have it?” he asks quietly. Bakugou nods and his face absolutely lights up, small sparks dancing on his skin. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Kaminari pulls Bakugou in a crushing hug, not even giving Bakugou the chance to reciprocate. Kaminari pulls back and smiles at him, eyes wet. “I don’t know where this is coming from, but I really appreciate it. Seriously man, this is the best thing ever.” 

Bakugou averts his eyes from the blinding grin Kaminari sends his way. “Don’t fuckin’ worry about it.”

Kaminari just laughs, shrugging on the sweater before grabbing Bakugou’s wrist, dragging him out of the store and towards the food court. “Is this a new sugar daddy thing?” Kaminari asks, teasing grin on his face. “‘Cause if it is, I’m definitely not complaining.”

Bakugou snorts and pulls his arm out of Kaminari’s grip so he can shove him, pushing his face as Kaminari continues to cackle obnoxiously. 

When he sees Kaminari wearing the sweater every night for the next week, he supposes he can appreciate the language of gift giving.

Bakugou closes his notebook aggressively, groaning as he presses the heels of his hands to his eyes until he sees spots. Ectoplasm can honestly choke on an entire dick. He doesn’t think he wants to look at another math equation in his fucking life. 

Now that his school work is finally done, Bakugou wonders what he can do with himself now. Usually he’d go train, but he’s on strict orders from Recovery Girl, Aizawa, and Miruko to rest for awhile after a particularly nasty fight with a couple villains two days ago. The lingering soreness all over his body is a testament that they’re definitely right, though he’s not happy about it. 

He leans back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as he thinks. Ideas flit through his mind, all shot down before he remembers that Sero has a day off today, too. 

Sitting up, Bakugou packs away all of his work, leaving the space as tidy as it was when he began. 

Bakugou grabs his phone and his Switch from where they lay on his bed. He turns off the overhead light and slips out of his room, making his way to the stairwell. He bounds up the steps two at a time, ready to spend the fuck out of some quality time with his friend.

He stops at Sero’s door, reading the weekly meme reference he always writes on his door’s whiteboard. Get that bread, get that head, then LEAVE (peace out). Bakugou snorts, reminded of many times he’d caught Sero saying those exact words just yesterday, immediately followed by Kaminari and Ashido doing some weird fucking dance in unison. Idiots.

He raises his fist, knocking at the door. 

“Oh! Bakugou,” Sero exclaims when he pulls open the door, looking the slightest bit surprised. Bakugou’s not one to come over uninvited or unannounced, after all. And that’s exactly why the fuck he’s here. “What’s up, man?”

“Yo,” Bakugou greets. “You busy? ‘M bored.”

Sero’s face instantly lights up, deep dimples on display as he smiles. “Nah man, come on in!” He steps back and opens the door wider, Bakugou walking inside and kicking off his slippers. 

Sero’s room never fails to calm Bakugou right down. The muted colours of his decor, his colour-changing humidifier, and the aroma of one of the various candles he seemingly always has lit can instantly take Bakugou from a 10 to 2. 

“I just finished writing that demon essay Mic assigned to us,” Sero groans as he falls onto his bed, Bakugou claiming his spot on the hammock, as usual. “He always gives us the weirdest prompts for our creative writing assignments. I think he enjoys seeing us suffer and then smiling in our faces after.”

“I’m pretty sure him and Aizawa have bets going on to see who can make more of their students seriously consider dropping out,” Bakugou adds, rocking back and forth in the hammock. God, he loves this thing.

Sero laughs his agreement, flipping onto his belly, resting his head in his arms as he faces Bakugou. “Does it count when Aizawa expels all of them, though?”

Bakugou snorts and they settle into silence for a bit before Sero gasps loudly, sitting up quickly. Bakugou raises an inquisitive eyebrow at him, wondering what has Sero so damn excited all of a sudden. 

“Dude! I have an idea.”

“You know I lose thirty-five seconds off my lifespan when you say that,” Bakugou deadpans, watching as Sero stands and walks over to his closet.

“I think you mean that thirty-five seconds get added to your lifespan because my ideas are so awesome,” Sero responds, his voice slightly muffled behind the massive stack of blankets and pillows in his arms. He drops them onto the ground and sends Bakugou a bright grin. “Bakubro, we’re making a blanket fort.”

“Seriously?”

“Come on, it’ll be fun! I haven’t done this since I was a kid. Plus, I don’t hoard all this stuff for nothing.”

“You’re still a kid,” Bakugou retorts as he stands from the hammock. Sero looks so excited by the prospect of building a goddamn blanket fort—of spending time to build one with Bakugou that he has no desire to deny his wishes. He actually feels pretty damn excited himself. So he picks up a couple of pillows and grins at Sero. “Alright. Where do we fuckin’ start?”

________________

“Okay, this is pretty fucking sick,” Bakugou admits, looking down at their absolute masterpiece. 

The multitude of blankets and pillows are draped over one another artfully, the space they’ve created looking like a plush cave. It spans from the foot of Sero’s bed to the sliding door, some of the fabric is held up by Sero’s tape, giving them a high and stable ceiling. It’s the most kickass blanket fort he’s ever seen.

“I told you,” Sero says, grinning at him triumphantly. “Come on, enough looking! Let’s go inside.” He bends down to crawl into the space, Bakugou following. 

The entire floor is covered in layered blankets and cushions, Bakugou unable to feel the hard ground beneath them as he crawls inside. What would’ve been a dark space is lit up by the twinkling lights strung around, a gift he knows Sero got from Ashido a while back. It’s like a dimension that belongs to only them, completely closed off from the outside world. 

Sero smiles at him as he gets comfortable, looking happy and proud of their work, like he’s more than content to spend the rest of his day hidden away, only Bakugou by his side.

Bakugou’s heart echoes the sentiment.

“Alright, time for me to kick your ass in UNO,” Sero annonces, pulling the deck from one of the corners and beginning to shuffle it. Bakugou sends a challenging grin his way, meeting him in the center of the fort.

“You fuckin’ wish, Stringbean.”

The day passes by in the blur. He and Sero remain in their pillow fortress until it’s dark out, phones forgotten and unchecked as they laugh together, spitting insults and shoving each other as they try to get the upper hand in their various competitions.  

“Suck my dick, you limp flagpole!” Bakugou shouts, cackling at Sero’s despaired face as Zero Suit Samus knocks Villager off the platform for the final time. 

“You know what—” Sero grumbles, tossing his controller to the side before he tackles Bakugou down, trying to pin him.

Bakugou fights him off, both of them laughing wildly as they both try to gain the upper hand in the small, soft space. One of Bakugou’s legs gets caught in a blanket and he tries to free himself, tugging and tugging until the entire fort comes crashing down on top of them.

He’s breathless as he drowns in comforters and cushions, following the sound of Sero’s own guffaws as he wrestles his way out. He finally manages to pop his head out of the mountain of fabric just as Sero manages to do the same, a star-patterned blanket covering half of his head. The image of Sero’s red face and ridiculously wild hair has Bakugou breaking out into laughter once again, Sero instantly joining him, falling onto his back.

“We should do this again, sometime,” Sero offers once he’s calmed down, both of their chests heaving as they get back their breath.

Bakugou looks over at him, sees the drying tear tracks on his face and his bright eyes, feeling light and at complete peace.

“Fuck yeah, we should.”

Out of all the love languages, physical touch is the one Bakugou is finding the hardest to express.

He just doesn’t get how his friends can so casually wrap an arm around each other’s necks, how they don’t even think twice about hanging onto his back or pulling him in for a hug. He’s not used to such affection—barely knows how to receive it, much less offer it himself. 

Jirou’s not too touchy-feely either, which makes him feel like less of an unappreciative asshole, but he still made a promise. To himself and to his friends, even if they don’t know it. 

He didn’t decide to do this shit for fun or because it was easy. He can’t back out just ‘cause he’s a little uncomfortable or what the fuck ever. If Ashido appreciates physical touch then he’ll do his damn best to make sure she feels loved every time their skin meets. It won’t be easy, but he’ll get it done.

Bakugou starts small. 

He lets their feet tangle together under the table during lunch, ignoring her when she tries to start a game of footsie. 

He quickly rests his hand on Ashido’s arm one morning as he reaches up in the cabinet to grab some honey for his tea. She just brings her own hand up to squeeze his fingers for a moment before dropping it, getting back to her task of flipping pancakes.

During training, he lays a hand between her shoulder blades as he whispers strategies to victory in her ear. He finds that he doesn’t really mind it when she wraps a hand around his wrist and tugs so she can whisper her own ideas.

It almost makes his skin crawl with how intimate it is. He almost feels vulnerable laying his feelings out so openly. He’s overly aware of where he places his hands, watching for any signs of discomfort or unease caused by his touch. Ashido never seems to mind though, always leaning into him, wrapping an arm around him in turn or leaning her head on his shoulder when they relax on the couch. Bakugou can admit to himself that it’s actually pretty nice.

Bakugou cranes his neck as he looks for a spot among the chaos that is the dorm’s living room. He curses to himself, mad that he’d lost track of time in the shower, which meant that he’d gotten there late, leaving no spots available on the couches. There aren’t many empty spaces on the ground left either with all the tangled sheets and sprawled out limbs and bowls of snacks. 

Just as he thinks about saying fuck it and retreating to his room instead, his eyes catch onto the familiar sight of a thick alien-green comforter spread out at Ashido’s feet where she sits in the corner of the furthermost couch. Pillows are skewed around the hideous UFO-imprinted blanket, but it is otherwise unoccupied, so Bakugou holds his own blanket tight around his shoulders and makes his way over. He steps over the bodies of his various classmates, ignoring any comments and protests sent his way. He steps on the fingers of someone who tries to tickle him.

Ashido smiles up at him as he stands before her, passing the bowl of popcorn in her lap to Hagakure, who’s seated next to her.

“Bakugou, you made it!” she chimes. He lets her grab his hand and swing it back and forth. “You usually do when Shouji picks the movie, but I hadn’t seen you yet so I was worried you’d already gone to sleep.”

“Was in the shower,” he explains. “This spot taken?” Ashido shakes her head so he plops down in front of her, turning to face the TV screen. Bakugou snuggles deeper into his blanket as he rests against her legs, sitting on a pillow as he tries to get comfortable. He just barely hears Ashido let out a little gasp before her hands are in his hair, weaving through the blond strands.

“You know I’m gonna do this the whole night, right?” she clarifies, pulling her legs up onto the couch to sit cross-legged, gently guiding his head to rest on her knee. Yeah. That’s more comfortable. “Your hair is so soft.”

“As if there was anything I could say to stop you,” he grumbles, resting more heavily on her knee. “If you get popcorn kernels or butter in my hair I swear that I will saw your horns off with a dull knife.”

“I won’t, I won’t,” she promises, not even sounding vaguely threatened. “You can trust me.”

Just as the words finish coming out of her mouth, the lights dim and the movie begins. The chatter begins to die down as someone lets out an empowered sssshhh, all attention now focused on the screen. 

Only minutes into the movie and Bakugou is fighting the battle against sleep. He can’t help the way his eyes start to flutter closed as Ashido’s long nails repeatedly scrape gently across his scalp. He feels so relaxed, so at peace in this moment. She could decide to grab his head and melt off all his hair and skin right there and then if she wanted. But instead she gently twirls and untwirls his locks around her finger. She’d told him to trust her and he does, always has since he’s let her in his life.

Soon, his eyes close for good, and he wakes up the next morning with a crick in his neck and numb legs, unable to remember anything past the first ten minutes of the movie.

Damn it.

The weekly sleepovers in Sero's room have always been the squad’s favourite way to spend time together. Whether they spend the night cramming for an exam or just completely goofing off, it’s always fun, and a good way to get their mind off any life stresses. Or to expose those stresses like they have in the past—sharing their vulnerabilities with those closest to them and accepting the comfort and support they’re given in return. 

And on the rare occasion, the sleepovers serve as a good way to hold interventions for anyone who needs it. Like Bakugou, for example. 

“So is anyone else being spoiled by Kacchan recently or am I allowed to feel special?” Kaminari asks, stuffing Skittles into his mouth as they wait for their final member to join them in the confines of Pillow Fort 2.0. He pouts a little as everyone nods.

“Yeah!” Ashido chimes. “He’s been super touchy-feely with me lately. I’m not complaining, but it’s kinda strange coming from him, of all people. He used to hate when I’d hug him or something.”

“He’s been doing me a lot of favours recently,” Jirou mentions. “And he got Kaminari that hoodie he won’t shut up about.”

“Do you… do you think he’s dying or something?” Kirishima asks nervously. “Like, he found out that he’s sick and only has a couple weeks left to live so he’s spoiling us or something—”

“He’s not dying, Kirishima,” Jirou says, slapping him upside the head. 

“Then what’s the matter with him?”

“There’s only one way to find out. We have to ask him,” Sero says, just as the door is kicked open.

“You fuckers made the fort without me?” Bakugou growls, closing the door behind him. They see the shadow of him bending down, making his way into the fort. As he sticks his head in, he pauses, narrowing his eyes at the way his friends are looking at him nervously. He comes all the way inside to sit in the final spot of the circle, still glaring. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he demands.

The five of them exchange glances, saying nothing.

Bakugou growls. He hates when they hide shit from him.

“Someone stop being a pussy and tell me what the fuck the problem is before I make you,” he threatens. 

“Hey, Bakugou,” Kirishima greets, because of course he’d be the one to say something. “We were just talking and we’ve all noticed that, uh, you’ve been super affectionate lately,” he says, and Bakugou feels his face blanch. Fuck, he really didn’t walk to talk about this. Ever. “Not that we mind! We really, really appreciate it, seriously! But… it’s not like you. So we were wondering if everything is okay?”

“Are you secretly dying?” Kaminari blurts.

Bakugou groans and drops his head in his hands. This is his worst fucking nightmare. He was hoping that he would start being more considerate of his friends and they would just accept it and not say shit about it. But that was naive and stupid of him, because his friends are the nosiest motherfuckers alive and don’t know how to keep their mouths shut.

Bakugou sighs heavily, feeling pissed and embarrassed and more than a little stupid.

“I’m not dying, so shut up about that,” he tells him, rolling his eyes when he hears them sigh in relief. “You know how Midnight was teaching us about those… those ways of showing affection, or whatever?”

“The love languages?” Sero clarifies. “Yeah, what about them?”

He pauses, taking a breath to prepare himself. “I was thinking about how you guys show your modes of affection so easily,” he explains, not meeting any of their eyes. “I wasn’t raised like that, I’m not a fucking affectionate person. I’ve never had people I wanted to be affectionate to. But I… I fucking care about you guys. But I wasn’t sure if you knew that so—”

“So you tried to show us through our love languages,” Kirishima finishes softly. Bakugou nods and resolutely ignores the small aw Ashido lets out. 

“Bakugou… of course we know you care about us,” Sero assures, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “We wouldn’t spend time with someone who we thought didn’t like us. We know that you’re rough around the edges, but we all are in our own ways. We love you for who you are.”

“Besides, how could we ever doubt how much you love us? You make us feel so special all the time!” Ashido tells him.

He blinks at her, confused. 

“It’s actually kind of embarrassing how obvious it is that you care about us,” Jirou teases with a snicker, and he pushes her shoulder, blushing.

“You’re like… the culmination of all the love languages,” Kirishima observes. 

“You may not be super sappy or clingy, but that doesn’t mean we can’t tell you care,” Sero says. “I mean, we can even see that you care about the whole class. Whenever you spar with someone you always give them tips on how to improve. And yeah, maybe you do yell and curse the whole time, but it’s the principle. You could just kick our asses and leave it at that, but instead you try to help us get better. My hand-to-hand combat would still be trash if it weren’t for you.”

“And we know that we’re the most special to you because you do things you don’t do for anyone else,” Kaminari adds. “Like help us study, and make your specialty Bakugou Bento for only us once a week. Everyone else is suuuuuuper jealous.”

Jirou raises a teasing eyebrow. “I mean, no one else is sitting with you in a pillow fort. You may not do big, obvious gestures, but we can still tell. I mean, you sit there and listen to us vent about our problems, and you give us advice. And…” she pauses, tapping her jacks together as she blushes lightly. “You have a way of helping us feel strong. More confident.”

Kirishima nods in vigorous agreement. “Yeah, yeah, exactly! You told me I was strong before the Yakuza raid. When I thought I was at my limit, I remembered your words and it helped me go Plus Ultra and save Fat Gum! I still think about it when I’m feeling a little down. You may not say these things often Bakugou, but when you do we know you mean them.”

“Yeah, dude! I mean, in first year I mentioned that I had trouble with the technicalities of my quirk and you just—” Kaminari pauses, and Bakugou sees that his eyes are suddenly wet, what the fuck. “You gave me a notebook the next day with notes, freakin’ diagrams and everything! And I didn’t even ask you to! You just… heard that I was having a problem and you wanted to help me." He stops again to smile at him despite the tears now running down his face. “‘Cause you care about me, dude. I use it all the time when I’m stuck.”

Sero passes a tissue to Kaminari and Bakugou just. Stares. Blinks at Kaminari, at all of them—unable to fully comprehend what the fuck is happening. 

Apparently these assholes already knew just how much Bakugou cares about them despite him not being fluent in their love languages. This whole time he had himself convinced that he wasn’t doing enough; that he wasn’t being a good enough friend. But here they are, telling him that he couldn’t be more wrong, that what he was already doing was more than enough. It feels almost surreal. 

Something in his chest squeezes tight as he realizes that he didn’t have to do anything different. His friends don’t expect him to change for them, don’t need him to do anything special. They’re happy and loved as it is. What he’s doing is enough. He is enough. The thought alone is enough to make his throat start to close up, his eyes start to water. Damn it.

“I—” he begins, snapping his mouth shut. “I...That—” Bakugou closes his eyes tightly. Come on, you emotionally stunted asshole! Fucking express yourself you miserable piece of shit! 

“I’m glad,” he says finally, quietly. “That you know I care. It… it makes me happy.”

There. He’s said it. He can feel the heat in his cheeks and knows that his face is probably embarrassingly red by now. But as he opens his eyes he sees that his friends don’t seem to care. They’re all looking at him with tears in their eyes, looking happy and proud. 

“You’re such a good guy Bakugou, what the hell,” Kirishima says, wiping his eyes.

“Damn it, get over here, asshole!” Sero exclaims, all of them tackling Bakugou in a group hug, laughing and crying like the idiots they are. He laughs and cries with them, arms tightening around them as the pillow fort inevitably falls once again.

If he has these people beside him, supporting and loving him every step of the way, there’s no doubt in his mind that he’ll be able to accomplish his goal of being the Number One Hero.

Maybe Midnight’s classes are good for something.