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When Bakugo first wakes up it’s so dark that he’s not sure he’s awake at all. His head is pounding and he has no idea where he is. He’s laying on his side. The ground is cold and uneven beneath him. Something is poking his ribs uncomfortably and it hurts to breathe. He gets his arm free from under him and reaches forward, blindly trying to get a feel for where he is. His hand curls around something jagged and cold. Rock.
“Bakugo?” A voice calls, quiet and fearful. “...Are you awake?”
He stills as his eyes adjust to the darkness. The rock he’s clinging to is lighter than the rubble around him, skin-coloured. A skin tone he recognizes. Not a rock, a very familiar forearm. He pulls his hand back like he’s been cut as he snaps his head to the side. He sees a set of red eyes he knows better than his own.
Suddenly he’s completely aware. He’s aware of how dark it is, and how they’re encased by rubble, and how the only thing that stopped said rubble from crushing him to death is Kirishima on his hands and knees above him. He’s instantly very aware of Kirishima’s hands braced on the ground on either side of his head, his knees pinning Bakugo’s legs between them.
“Get the hell off of me, Shitty Hair.” Bakugo shoves at his chest, which is bare because they’re in their stupid fucking costumes.
“I can’t.”
“That’s not fucking funny, I’m seri–”
“Bakugo .” Kirishima’s tone is so severe it shuts him up. “I can’t .”
Kirishima’s voice cracks on the last word. Bakugo grits his teeth as he really looks at him for the first time. His eyes are pleading and his breathing is ragged. Bakugo can see the rubble piled on his back. It hits him then that Kirishima hadn’t just tackled him to safety, he was still actively holding the remains of the building off of him. He was literally shielding Bakugo from an inconceivable amount of weight by hardening his body. If Kirishima moves, Bakugo dies. If Kirishima’s quirk gives out, they both die.
Bakugo’s sense of urgency kicks in alongside a healthy dose of dread he refuses to show. Slowly, he turns to lay on his back so he can see Kirishima better. It’s a horrible decision, as it leaves his arms nowhere to go except up beside Kirishima’s hands, and if Kirishima was straddling him any lower they’d be hip to hip. Instead, Kirishima shifts to let him roll and ends up above his abdomen while Bakugos’ legs bump his. A catastrophically bad decision on his part, but he’s here now, at least he can see the guy.
“How long was I out?” Bakugo asks, now hyperaware of the fact that they had a time limit.
“I’m not sure. A few minutes, maybe?” Kirishima tries to smile at him in reassurance, but he looks tired. Bakugo tries not to think about Kirishima alone down here in the dark, shaking under the weight as he calls out to an unconscious Bakugo beneath him over and over again for minutes. “Can you do me a favour, man? You hit your head pretty hard, I need you to check if you’re bleeding. I’d do it but…” He chuckles weakly as he nods to one of his elbows, “I move my hands and it’s over for both of us.”
“I’m fine.” Bakugo growls.
“Check,” Kirishima begs. “Please. For my own peace of mind.”
Grumbling, Bakugo lifts his head and runs his hands through his hair. He’s covered in dust and pebbles that clatter to the ground beneath him, but his fingers come away from his scalp dry.
“I’m good.” He mutters. He shows Kirishima his hands, not sure if he can see them in the dark. “Happy?”
“Does your head hurt? Are you dizzy, or nauseous?”
“You’re holding half a building up, worry about yourself, idiot.” Bakugo snarls. Kirishima had saved his life at the risk of his own, Bakugo had no right to covet his concern now. He didn’t deserve it. He hates the way it makes his chest warm and his stomach twist. He watches Kirishima press his lips together, debating his words. Bakugo pulls his stare from those lips and finds meeting his eyes isn’t any easier. He settles for a grimace aimed at the gear around his shoulder.
“Concussions can be serious, man. How much do you remember?” Kirishima asks. His eyebrows are furrowed as if Bakugo’s un-cracked skull meant nothing to him. He’s still got worry sunken into every jagged line of his face. Even with his hardening, his concern runs so deep it’s carved into the stone of his skin. Bakugo feels unworthy to have it all aimed at him.
“Fuck, I don’t know, Shitty Hair. We were doing a class exercise at one of those fucking training buildings. The ones they used in the exam. I was going to use a big explosion to take a wall out and then…” He trails off. Guilt rises as he comes to the realization that he’d put them here.
Kirishima chuckles. “Yeah, man, you hit a lot more than one wall.”
“Shit.” Bakugo breathes.
Kirishima hums in agreement. Bakugo stares up at him. He swallows the apology that tries to crawl up his throat. He’s too low on oxygen to be wasting words.
“Are you hit?” Bakugo asks. The worlds come out like bile, burning on their way up. If Kirishima was hurt, that’d be his fault entirely. For no reason other than his desire to show off.
“Ah,” Kirishima chuckles again. It’s fake, forced. Bakugo has memorized it because it drives him fucking mad how often Kirishima does it. “Don’t worry about me–”
“ Kirishima ,” Bakugo growls, “Answer me.”
“I’m uh…no.” He shakes his head slightly. “I’m not hit.”
“You’re a terrible fucking liar, dumbass.” He snaps.
“I’m not lying.”
“You think I so stupid that I haven’t learned how to tell? Where are you hit, idiot?”
“I’m not!” Kirishima insists. His eyes dart away. His eyebrows furrow. “I…uh, thing is…” He takes a shallow breath. “There’s a piece of metal, o-or something, it’s lined up with my lower back and it’s pretty jagged from the feel of it. There’s a lot of weight pressing it down. I’m fine now, really! But, uh, well, when my quirk drops…”
It’ll go straight through him .
“Shit.” Bakugo says again, voice weaker this time.
“Yeah.” Kirishima agrees.
It’s quiet for a moment. Bakugo realizes he should be providing reassurance.
“The class was watching.” He says. “Someone would’ve seen it. It’s not like no one knows we’re here.”
“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Kirishima mutters. “We just gotta wait it out. They’ll dig us up.”
Bakugo can hear the uncertainty in every note of Kirishima’s voice. He can see the fear in his eyes. A fear his actions have caused. He feels sick. Maybe it’s from the head injury. It’s probably not.
“You gonna be able to hold on, Shitty Hair?”
“Don’t have much of a choice, do I?” Kirishima jokes.
“Dumbass, don’t avoid the question.”
Kirishima’s expression softens. It’s unbearable. “I’ll be alright.” He says. Another lie, as terrible as the first one.
The silence that follows is worse.
Kirishima tries to shift on his knees, which only threatens to result in him fully seated on Bakugo’s stomach rather than hovering safely above. He feels Kirishima freeze.
“Uh, sorry.” He chuckles anxiously. “You must hate this. My bad.”
“You saved my life, dumbass. I got no right to complain about it.”
“I could’ve tackled us into a slightly less awkward position.” Kirishma mutters, which makes Bakugo realize that he’s also thinking about their position. He feels the blush on his face despite his best efforts to shove it down. He hopes Kirishima can’t see it in the dark. “I just saw the roof over you give and, y’kno, moved without thinking.”
Panicked . He doesn’t say.
“Was a stupid move.” Bakugo growls. “You should’ve gotten yourself out.” He snaps, because he’s incapable of saying why would you risk yourself for me ?
“I knew I could take it.” Kirishima says. And that you couldn’t , he doesn’t say. Bakugo shuts his mouth and looks away because that’s the way this goes. All their most important conversations happen in silence. He never taught Kirishima how to understand all his unspoken confessions, but Kirishima learned anyway, studied him with more diligence than he’s ever put into school. “It wouldn’t have been very manly to leave my best bro in the rubble.”
“I don’t need you to go dying for me.” Bakugo snarls past his attempt at levity. There was no comedy in the slow crush of Kirishima’s spine.
Kirishima goes oddly quiet, as if he’s read the book of Bakugo a little too well again, like Bakugo is his first language. Bakugo’s chest tightens. His flinch of disbelief to Bakugo’s bark of concern feels like a knife to the chest.
“There’s no way you still expect me to ditch you, man.” Kirishima says, voice gone soft.
“I don’t need saving.”
“This time you did.”
“I’m not some goddamned damsel in distress.”
“No, you’re my best friend .” Kirishima says. A note of frustration seeps through his gritted teeth.
“You can’t be rushing to kill yourself for everyone your soft heart considers a friend, dumbass.”
“You want me to stop following you into shit?” Kirishima finally snaps. A sudden wild desperation alights in his eyes as he looks at Bakugo beneath him, his sharp teeth bared, “Then stop running. You don’t want me in danger, don't go into danger, because you know by now I’m wherever you are.”
They go quiet the same way they do everything; together. Devotion is not a word that tastes good on Bakugo’s tongue, yet Kirishima keeps feeding it to him anyway. Sweet and undeserved. Like ice cream before dinner. It’s a bitter reminder that despite his every menace Kirishima won’t let him run. They both know he’ll keep reaching out to Bakugo’s every recoil because they both know he needs it, this dance. They both know he’s taken his hand before. The fact simmers between them constantly, haunts them like a ghost every time Bakugo dodges another offer for help from Kirishima. They both know when he really needed it, he’d cling. It was a devastating confession cradled in his sweaty palms. Part of everything they are is eternally intertwined with their hands in Kamino. Neither of them would ever escape its weight. It’s heavier than the building Kirishima bears on his shoulders for Bakugo. Every word and look and joke and swing at each other is just another hand at Kamino that Bakugo wishes he didn’t yearn to hold.
Kirishima breaks.
Bakugo’s breath hitches as Kirishima’s left arm goes soft, human, vulnerable. He crumples at the elbow, tilting sideways until it cracks against the ground. Bakugo grasps at him wildly but still can’t fully break his fall. Kririshima’s skin splits on the jagged rubble before he regains control over his quirk and hardens his arm again, braced above Bakugo now by one hand and one forearm. Bakugo stares at the blood that runs over the rocks and tastes it like failure on the back of his teeth. He grips Kirishima’s biceps furiously in some attempt to hold him up as he steadies himself. Even when Kirishima’s stable again, Bakugo clings.
And Kirishima’s fine. He’s fine . But the scare had shot a second of terror through Bakugo’s nerves regardless and he’s suddenly struck with a horrifying image of how this ends, like a vision from a sadistic prophet. He sees himself, trapped in the dark with Kirishima dead on top of him. They’re both dying down here but with the weight on his back Kirishima goes first, from the metal going through his spine or suffocation or some sick, unforgiving combination of both. And Bakugo is pressed against him as he feels his body go cold and there’s nothing he can do because all he’s ever taught himself is destruction. His quirk can’t heal, his hands can’t fix. He let Kirishima close because he was the only one he couldn’t hurt and Bakugo still finds a way to break him in the end. He is alone and not dying fast enough and Kirishima is gone, dead, lost forever because Bakugo got cocky in class.
The thoughts hit Bakugo like the opposite of a revelation. Acceptance coated in a sheen of terror. He knew, he’s known for a while– of course he has, he isn’t stupid– he knew Kirishima was special. Anyone who pays attention for even a second can see it. Bakugo knew he was important to him. But until now, faced with the very real possibility that both of them don’t make it out of here, grappling with the thought of Kirishima’s dead weight on his chest, Bakugo hadn’t let himself accept quite how much.
He snaps back into the present and his fingers snap tighter around Kirishima’s arms, as if he can pour his own strength into him through the contact of their skin so at least he can pretend he’s doing something . His head is swimming and his ribs ache and he knows he isn’t in much better shape, but in the moment he’d give anything to get Kirishima out of this. The reality is that he can’t risk twitching a thumb, lest an explosion shift the rubble wrong and drive that shrapnel straight through Kirishima. All his life he’s been a paragon of controlled and wrangled anger and he can’t weaponize it the one time he desperately wants to. His years of perfecting his explosions do nothing to get his best friend out of here, and all the anger’s done is misdirect every other thing he’s said so Kirishima doesn’t even know how much he cares about what he’s done. Bakugo can feel his skin threatening to split from how tight he grips the jagged edges of Kirishima’s arms. They’re looking into each other’s eyes, torn naked in their shared terror. There are no characters to play anymore, no Unbreakable Red Riot and King Explosion, no Shitty Hair and Bakubro to hide behind. Kirishima bleeds and struggles to breathe while Bakugo holds him and it is only them, Katsuki and Eijiro buried in the uncertainty together.
“Are you okay?” Bakugo exhales the words. Kirishima’s face is closer now that he’s been knocked to an elbow. It lets Bakugo see the flicker of surprise that crosses his expression when Bakugo says it out loud. Guilt twists low in his chest to think that Kirishima’s ever believed his anger ran deep enough that he wouldn’t care even now.
“Just a scrape.” Kirishima forces the words out with a shaky smile.
“Not just your fucking elbow.” Bakugo says. At this, Kirishima’s smile drops. He tries to answer, but when he opens his mouth a strangled whimper is all that escapes. Like he can’t keep the mask on anymore. Bakugo’s stomach drops at the sound. His chest tightens like something is trying to crawl out of his ribcage. It sounded too hurt, worse than a bump to the elbow. Kirishima hangs his head and looks away, embarrassed. Bakugo feels nothing but horror. He scans him frantically for whatever other injury he’s concealed and finds nothing.
“ Kirishima ,” He pleads, choking on the name. His eyes dart to the left and he sees Kirishima’s right arm quivering. His elbow shakes, threatening to give, and the tremors rip across the rest of his body. His balance was thrown off by his uneven shoulders.
“Let go.” Bakugo commands. His hands still cling. He tries to pull Kirishima down. He resists.
Kirishima stares at him with watery eyes. He’s fucking crying . He’s crying from the strain of protecting him. Usually Bakugo would dedicate himself to singeing the skin of the person who made Kirishima look so defeated, but he can hardly turn his hands on himself. Bakugo can’t bear it.
“I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.” Kirishima wheezes.
“Fucking idiot,” Bakugo hisses, “Who gives a shit?” Even though he knows the answer is him. Eijiro gives a shit . “Drop.”
Kirishima exhales like he’s been waiting his whole life for that word. He drops to his elbow on his right side too. Bakugo should’ve noticed his shaking sooner. He should’ve known that even with his quirk they’ve been down here for minutes or hours or some other unbearable length of time that Kirishima has spent holding the weight of death off of Bakugo’s chest. As the rubble falls with him it forces all the air out of his lungs. Bakugo feels his breath brush his lips. Their noses bump and some of Kirishima’s hair has also cracked under the pressure, falling around Bakugo’s face. A sick part of him relishes in the second. Kirishima is gorgeous in his martyrdom. In a perfect world with a braver version of himself, Bakugo could find reasons to touch him without the violence as a preface.
“Can you hold on?” Bakugo asks instead of how much time do we have? When Kirishima’s expression twists again he says, “Drop more if you need to.”
“The weight–” Kirishima starts, breathless.
“Good.” Bakugo growls, “Fucking let me carry some of it.”
Kirishima lets out something close to a sob. Bakugo instantly does everything in his power to ensure he doesn’t remember the sound. Kirishima curls his arm around Bakugo’s head. He lets him tuck his head into his chest before he finally gives in. Bakugo instantly aches everywhere, not from the injuries.
They were going to be heroes. They’d practically signed up to have their last acts be dying for someone, but not here. Not like this. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Kirishima was meant for bigger things than dying for Bakugo during a training exercise. Kirishima deserved better karma for his dedication than a slow crush and a long suffocation.
Bakugo feels the full weight of his actions as Kirishima collapses. He’s as gentle as he can be, but it’s almost futile. Bakugo is rocked by the realization of how heavy the rubble was. He’d been holding so much for him. It makes him wish Kirishima hadn’t saved him at all.
His face is turned against Kirishima’s chest and their bodies are pressed together and their legs are tangled. It’s all horrifically intimate, and Bakugo feels no revelry or revulsion because all he can think is that this is one step closer to his fear of feeling Kirishima die against him. As they are now, Bakugo’s ear is pressed to Kirishima’s chest. He can hear his heart beating. He will hear if it stops.
Bakugo is crushed not by Kirishima’s body or the weight of the rubble but the way it all represents his complete uselessness. He desperately wants to do something . He’d hug Kirishima if he could. He doesn’t care if it would usually humiliate him, he knows Kirishima would appreciate it. He just wants to hold him, reassure him, put their usual silence into some better form, but his shoulders are pinned and even if he could get his arms up he couldn’t get his hands around Kirishima’s ribs because of the fucking rubble on top of him.
“Hold on,” Bakugo wants it to sound more commanding. Instead, the emotion he usually withholds so well bleeds into every syllable. “Fucking hold on. Don’t– you can’t fucking die for me, Kirishima.”
“Not dying.” Kirishima says weakly, like he’s running out of air. “If I’d known this was all it took to get you to use my name, I’d have tried it sooner.”
“Stop wasting your breath for stupid jokes.” Bakugo snaps. Kirishima breathes out what would probably be a laugh in less dire situations. The quiet comes again, like it’s waiting for them to die. They’ve been down here for too long. Maybe no one was coming. Made vulnerable by the fear, Bakugo reaches up. He shoves his hand through the dirt until it bumps Kirishima’s. His pride be damned, if they were going out, he would not let Kirishima die feeling alone. Bakugo clings, intertwining their fingers. He feels the surprise in the second it takes Kirishima to squeeze back, and the appreciation in the way his fingers tighten a second later. He can’t ignore the gnaw of doubt, the worry that Kirishima thinks in his final moments that his giving in would be anything less than devastating for Bakugo. But even as he reaches out first, for probably the only time, he can’t force the words out of his throat. Instead, he speaks in the code he trusts Kirishima to understand.
“This was my mistake.” I’m sorry .
“What happened to not wasting air?” Kirishima teases weakly, “Hey, don’t worry about it. I’m just glad I reached you in time.” I forgive you .
“You better make it out of this.” I care about you, I don’t want you dead.
“So bossy, Bakugo. I’ll be fine.” I care about you too, enough to keep fighting this.
“You’d better.”
There’s nothing else to say. Kirishima doesn’t respond. Bakugo agonizes. His breaths feel like they’re getting shallow, his chest doesn’t push against Bakugo’s as much when he inhales. There’s nothing else either of them can do. Bakugo holds on and listens to Kirishima’s heartbeat. And listens. And listens.
And finally, finally , another noise breaks through the quiet. Kirishima’s hand tightens around Bakugo’s. Bakugo strains his neck trying to look, but the noise is behind his head. Rock crumbles, something shifts. There’s a cracking noise, more crumbling, then light.
“I see them!” A voice shouts, frantic. Deku. Bakugo shudders with relief. He’s never been so happy to hear that annoying little trill. “Kacchan! Kirishima!”
“We’re alive!” Kirishima calls, chuckling through the words. As the sunlight hits his face it seems to drain all the worry from him, but it also lets Bakugo see him clearly for the first time. He’s covered in dust, minor scrapes and patches of reddened skin that will probably become bruises despite his hardening. He lifts his face more and Bakugo watches determination etch itself into his weary features.
“Ready?” Kirishima asks. Before Bakugo can figure out what he means, Kirishima slaps his palms onto the ground and grunts as he rises . Bakugo watches in a horrified awe as Kirishima tries to choke down the sounds of strain as he pushes upwards with all that weight still bearing down. “Go!” He shouts at Bakugo, voice wavering from the effort.
In his horror he manages to shove himself out from underneath Kirishima as his whole body trembles from the effort. Bakugo’s foot knocks against his wrist as he slides towards the newly carved exit, he looks back at Kirishima and the light catches on red. Not the red of Kirishima’s hair, or his eyes or his costume, blood. Blood . A lot of it.
It coats the side of his torso, runs down his right ribs from somewhere on his back. His back . The metal. The blood had been splattering onto the ground right beside Bakugo, just far enough that he never felt the warmth of it, never knew. Kirishima lied. He’s been hit the whole time. Bakugo looks from the blood to him. He’s so pale in the light. He meets Kirishima’s eyes and he watches him see Bakugo’s realization. And Kirishima smiles . And then there are hands on Bakugo’s arms and he’s being dragged through the rubble.
He shouts something incoherent and furious, thrashing against the hands. Someone pulls him out into the sunlight. He sees green in the corner of his eye.
“Kacchan, are you–”
He slaps the hands off of him and stumbles to his feet, frantic. He shoves Deku back towards the makeshift tunnel. “Fucking help him!” He snaps. Deku hesitates before he nods, turning back towards the rubble.
The first few seconds in the light are a blur. Everything is too bright. His head throbs. He’s aware of Deku in front of him, crouching beside the rubble as Uraraka pokes her head in. Her arms are outstretched in front of her, presumably to try and float as much as possible. Todoroki’s on the other side of her using his ice to stabilize the the rubble. Uraraka disappears into the hole they pulled Bakugo from. He waits for her to come back with Kirishima. She doesn’t. He surges forward and runs right into someone. He steps back with a growl and meets Aizawa’s eyes. The teacher holds his shoulders firmly.
“Are you bleeding?” He asks, firm and to the point. His voice is too loud, skull-rattling. “Does anything feel broken?”
“I’m fine,” Bakugo snarls, “Kirishima–”
Aizawa ignores him, looking away as soon as he confirms he’s alright and shoving him into someone else’s arms. “Take him to Recovery Girl.” The teacher says as he turns back to the rubble. Bakugo has no idea who he’s been handed off to, only that everyone needs to stop fucking touching him and get Kirishima out . He whirls around, tearing his arms free of his newest captor. Kaminari holds his hands up in front of him, laughing nervously as he steps back. He doesn’t force Bakugo to go anywhere. He too seems more focused on the people still digging for Kirishima.
Kaminari lingers beside him as they watch the others. Bakugo’s heart thunders in his ears. It was taking too long. Why was it taking so long? Uraraka should make the rubble on Kirishima’s back float and then he can crawl out. It should be simple. Why isn’t it simple?
Sero and Aizawa are both kneeling between Todoroki and Deku now. Bakugo needs them all to fucking move because he can’t see what’s happening past them and he can’t breathe. His vision blurs. He’s faintly aware of a worsening ache in his ribs. He swallows his panic and realizes there might be something else making him dizzy. Kaminari tries to lay another hand on his shoulder and he shrugs it off instantly. Other classmates linger in the distance, watching helplessly. Aizawa ducks into the darkness. Someone shouts something. Then the teacher is backing away and standing up and Kirishima is in his arms, limp and unconscious. There’s blood still dripping from him. His quirk is gone, all his skin soft and exposed in the light. And Aizawa has to hold him at a specific angle because there’s a chunk of metal sticking out of his back.
Bakugo doesn’t know when he falls. He feels the sting of future bruises blooming on his knees like a distant and delayed thing. The chaos around him is muted as he stares at Kirishima and begs him to wake up in that silent way he asks everything of him. Move. Move, dammit. Wake up. Wake up, wake up, fucking wake up.
Kirishima doesn’t hear it. He doesn’t move. Bakugo’s world tilts, and he joins Kirishima in the darkness again.
The light hurts less when Bakugo faces it the second time. He wakes up aware of a thin sheet over him and the beeping of familiar machines. He stares up at the ceiling of the infirmary for a second before it all comes rushing back. He jolts upright and snaps his eyes around the room until they find red.
Kirishima’s in the bed next to his. He’s clearly been cleaned up. There are bandages around his abdomen and his elbow, but his face is still gaunt and pale and he’s still unconscious.
Recovery Girl is seated at her desk beside Kirishima’s bed. She mutters something to herself when she sees that Bakugo’s awake and pushes away from the table. The wheels of her chair squeak against the floor as she hops down and shuffles over. He glares at her as she putters around his bed, checking his vitals on the machine.
“You’ve had quite the day, young man.” She says, with the undertone of a scold her voice always carries. Bakugo glares.
“Did you fix him?” He snaps, nodding to Kirishima.
“Your classmate will be just fine.” She reassures. Relief untangles most of the knot of worry in his chest, but his eyes linger on Kirishima. A part of him will be anxious until he wakes. Sensing his unease, Recovery Girl sighs. “It’s primarily exhaustion that’s keeping him unconscious. From my understanding, he pushed his body and his quirk far past their limit. Because he was already so worn out, I had to stitch the wound on his back closed. Once he sleeps a bit more I’ll be able to heal him fully.”
“But–” Bakugo chokes, “His back– The metal–”
“It didn’t hit anything vital. He’s a very lucky boy. A few inches over and it could’ve severed his spine.”
Bakugo feels nauseous. His hands snap into fists. He clutches the sheets, rolls them in his palms. “But it didn’t.” He whispers.
“It did not.” Recovery Girl confirms. “He’ll be alright.” She gives Bakugo a pointed look. “You had a concussion and a few broken ribs, young man. I was able to heal everything of yours. But regardless, you should worry about yourself.” She moves over to the monitors hooked up to Kirishima, taps a few buttons on the screen and nods to herself. She turns back to Bakugo. “I’ll go inform your teachers that you’re up and moving. They’ve excused each of you from classes for the rest of the day. You’ll be right as rain by tomorrow. However, I suspect your friend might need a couple more days of rest.” She opens the door and steps into the hallway. “Don’t let him strain himself.”
Then the door closes and they’re alone. Bakugo shoves the shitty thin sheet of the infirmary bed off of him and swings his legs into the space between him and Kirishima. He leans his hands on his knees and stays there for a long time, sitting in silence as he watches the rise and fall of Kirishima’s chest. He’d exhausted himself so much that Recovery Girl couldn’t heal him. And of course he had, Bakugo could’ve guessed that, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear. Every mention of Kirishima’s name and injury and recovery time felt like another silent jab of your fault, your fault, your fault . He’d be out of commission for days, and Bakugo is barely even sore. He exhales sharply, then tries to take a deep breath to counteract it as he drops his head into his hands and runs them through his hair. He can’t stop imagining Kirishima dead on top of him despite the fact that they both made it out. The fabricated image would haunt him for the rest of the month, if he was lucky. The less optimistic reality was that this was another Kamino, Bakugo would carry the feeling of it in his palm forever.
He shoves himself to his feet with a frustrated grunt. He’s angry when the movements don’t hurt. He should hurt. He should hurt for what he’s done. It wasn’t fair that he was fine when Kirishima looked like that. Bakugo storms around the room, pacing for a second before that too becomes tedious. He wrenches Recovery Girl’s chair away from her desk and drops into it beside Kirishima’s bed, pressed close enough for his knees to bump the mattress. He digs his elbows into his knees again and clasps his hands together, hiding his chin behind them. His eyes keep flitting across Kirishima, double-checking and triple-checking as if Recovery Girl would’ve missed something. She hasn’t, of course. Though Bakugo’s less sure by the second that there’s not still an open wound somewhere on his own body. His chest aches. He’s hollow like he’s lost something.
His eyes fall on Kirishima’s hands. They’re resting at his sides, still and flat and out of character for him. It’s so obvious that he was set here by someone else and hasn’t moved since. Bakugo reaches before he knows what he’s doing, but he hovers over Kirishima’s hand and then drops his to the side, their hands barely brushing. He looks back up to his face. The little pieces of hair that usually stick up in front of his mask have fallen, and the rest of his hair is a mess of half-styled, half-disheveled, spread on the pillow beneath him. A quiet part of Bakugo thinks about reaching over to fix it. He smothers the thought.
His fingers twitch. He’s restless and worried and drowning in guilt. He glances at Kirishima’s face, soft in sleep. The scar that cuts over the corner of his eye is on full display. He feels a sudden wave of fierce protectiveness. He’ll spend the rest of his life making up for the times he’s put Kirishima’s in danger. Desperation follows as he pleads again.
“Hey, Shitty Hair, you’ve slept enough.” Wake up, please wake up.
This time, Kirishima hears him.
There’s a soft groan, then Kirishima’s eyes flutter open. Bakugo lets out the last breath he’d been holding. Some of the heaviness in his body vanishes as soon as Kirishima’s eyes meet his. Kirishima blinks, then he smiles. Bakugo feels the stab of protectiveness again.
“G’morning, idiot.” He mutters. There you are.
“Bakugo,” Kirishima sits up slowly. Their fingers bump when he moves his hand. He stills for only a second, then he grins. “Are you okay?”
“Am I okay?” He shouts, “Are you stupid? I’m not the one bedridden for days.”
Kirishima smiles as he takes his hand. “Aw, were you worried? Thanks man.”
“Of course I was worried.” He snaps. Kirishima recoils a bit. His hand tightens around Bakugo’s, almost reflexively. Then, Bakugo’s voice drops. “...You lied to me.”
“Ah, yeah, sorry about that,” Kirishima rubs the back of his neck as he chuckles, “I thought it might freak you out, and I know how you feel about small spaces and being restrained and all that. I didn’t want you passing out on me again.”
“You–” Bakugo’s eye twitches as he tightens his grip on Kirishima’s hand before he tugs himself free and stands fast enough to send the chair clattering to the ground. The emotions swell and get stuck in the bottom of his throat as Kirishima flinches, looking guilty as he pulls his hand back. Bakugo wants to scream. He wants to take Kirishima by the shoulders and shake him until he gets it through his skull that Bakugo was worried and Bakugo cares . Maybe he was reluctant and reserved and shit at showing it at first but he’d thought Kirishima could see through him enough to have watched him grow fond. But he looks down at Kirishima, bandaged and exhausted on the bed and he can see in his tired eyes that even if he wants to translate Bakugo’s ferocity into affection he won’t, because he doesn’t believe it .
Again Bakugo is smothered by emotion as he stares at the boy. It’s desire, it’s yearning, and yet it always gets lost in the volume of his voice, in his tenderness turning to frustration when it slips past his lips. Kirishima had been willing to die for him back there and Bakugo had wanted nothing more than to trade his own life for Eijiro’s. But that comes out wrong and he pulls away and knocks the chair over and they are here again, in a stalemate of silent stares wondering if they’re mistranslating the longing in each other’s eyes. Bakugo can’t stand it a second longer, but he can’t speak it still, can’t get all the emotion through his lips.
So he puts it on them instead. He ducks down and grabs Kirishima’s chin and slams their lips together. It’s not gentle or careful but Bakugo has never been either. Still, the kiss is real and vulnerable and reveals more of him than anyone else would ever get to see. For a second he shuts his eyes tight as the fear of Kirishima’s reaction threatens to crash down around him. He hears the intake of breath, sharp and surprised. He loosens his hand on Kirishima’s jaw so he knows he can pull away. He doesn’t. Bakugo’s chest tightens as Kirishima kisses him back, far more soft than he was about it, as always.
He pulls away just an inch, meeting Kirishima’s baffled stare.
“I need you alive.” Bakugo says. He revels in the sight of Kirishima undone by him in a way that involves no blood, only wide eyes and the small quirk of the corner of his lip. He runs his thumb over Kirishima’s jaw. “Do you hear me?”
Kirishima nods quickly. He’s blushing. Bakugo knows he probably looks no better. It feels like he’s been holding out for this for an eternity.
“Good.” Bakugo says sharply. Then he pulls Kirishima back and kisses him again.
Seeming to finally register that he is allowed to touch him, Kirishima’s hands fly to Bakugo’s face. He pulls him closer until he’s tripping on the edge of the bed. He clumsily gets one knee over Kirishima’s legs on the mattress until he’s straddling him in the hospital bed and he thinks Yes. This is a much better way to find ourselves in this position . Kirishima’s hands move back until they’re tangling in his hair and Bakugo can hear his heart rate speeding up from the monitor he’s still hooked up to. He relishes in the confirmation that Kirishima is alive.
They break away for air and Kirishima looks at him like he still thinks this is a dream. He shakes his head, his voice a whisper. “I–I thought it was just me. ”
Bakugo grins. “Yeah, well, we’ve established that you’re an idiot.”
Kirishima laughs. “Clearly.”
They stop talking so they can keep kissing. Bakugo knows he’s much better at the latter. He worries faintly about where his knees are in relation to Kirishima’s healing injury, but Kirishima kisses him with an energy that makes it hard to remember he’s still hurting. Bakugo would probably stay here forever, with the sunlight on their face and the sound of Kirishima’s heartbeat in his ears and no terror twining them together, but he hears the footsteps coming down the hall and shoves himself off of Kirishima at light speed.
When the door flies open and Kaminari and Deku stumble into the room, Bakugo is sitting back in the chair, a safe distance away with his arms crossed tight and a bored look on his face. Kirishima is frozen with his hands still hovering in the space Bakugo was just occupying, his face flushed and hair a little extra messy. Recovery Girl and Aizawa step through the door as their classmates launch themselves at Kirishima, telling him how glad they were that he was okay and all that other mushy shit. Kirishima takes a second to realize what’s happened before he snaps out of it, turning to Kaminari and falling back into his easy smile as he accepts his friends’ attention, spewing greetings mixed with reassurance.
Aizawa leans beside the door and narrows his eyes at Bakugo. He only huffs and stands from the chair, waving Deku away as he returns to sit on his own bed, the picture of irritated disinterest. Aizawa turns his attention to Kirishima.
Bakugo settles back onto his own pillow, one knee pulled up with his elbow resting on it. He watches Kirishima talk to the others from the corner of his eye. He knows that they will have to talk about all of this eventually, what has happened between them today and what it changes, what they want to be and how they want to be it from now on, but for now Kirishima is hugging Kaminari and laughing while he heals, and they have time.
For now, Kirishima is still here, still with him. He is content and alive. After the day Bakugo has caused, he is not so selfish as to require anything more.