Kirishima is staring at Bakugo’s spine. He’s testing himself on his memorization of the junction at the base of his best friend’s neck, where his shirt collar doesn’t cover. The doors to the balcony are flung open to let in the spring air and the sunlight seeps into the room. He studies the way the light turns Bakugo’s skin golden while Bakugo rifles through papers on his desk, trying to find whatever it is Kirishima’s supposed to be learning. 

Kirishima’s the only one who gets to see this. He’s probably the only one who knows there’s a tiny mole by Bakugo’s shoulder blade, or at least the only one who cares enough to commit it to memory. Bakugo has a scar that curves around the back of his neck, so short and thin it’s almost invisible. He doesn’t know how he got it. Sometimes Kirishima wonders if he gave it to him, grabbing him too hard with sharp hands in their spar. There’s something intimate to the idea of his hands leaving marks, of him being engraved in Bakugo’s skin. 

“Got it,” Bakugo mutters. He turns back around with a piece of paper between his fingers. He flops onto the bed beside Kirishima, slapping it onto the tiny lap desk between them. 

Kirishima stares down at Bakugo’s most recent math test. His eyes flick to the perfect score. He frowns.

“How does your bragging help me?” 

Bakugo rolls his eyes. He taps the grade, “This is what you’re supposed to be aiming for. Consider it motivation.”

“It’s definitely motivating me to give up entirely,” Kirishima mutters to the paper. Bakugo snorts, reaching over to shove at his shoulder. Kirishima can't withhold a giggle of his own.

“Focus, idiot. The score’s not the point,” Bakugo flips the page over, snatching the pencil from Kirishima’s hand and twirling it between his fingers. “I’m gonna show you how I did this shit. Listen.”

He does. Well, he tries. But Bakugo’s getting really good at twirling his pencil– Kirishima’s pencil, actually, since he stole it so casually– between his fingers. He remembers Bakugo trying to learn the trick back in first year when he’d agreed to be the drummer for the festival. There’s a fond memory the motion always calls back. It’s one of Kirishima slumped on his bed, watching Bakugo curse as he sends another drumstick flying across the room. Kirishima telling him to let it go. Bakugo insisting that he needs to know how to do this for the show. Both of them knowing it was just a point of pride, his refusal to give up. 

Even in third year the habit hasn’t faded. Bakugo only stops when he needs to use the pencil to point something out or circle something on his page. Kirishima nods along, but he’s distracted by everything. He’s distracted by the calm, low rasp of Bakugo’s voice, and the patience in it just for him. He’s distracted by the placid expression on Bakugo’s face, the small smiles slipping through when he teases Kirishima for a particularly egregious mistake. Kirishima is distracted by the pencil and the way Bakugo holds it, by the shape of his fingers and the scars that dot his palms. He’s distracted by the smell of Bakugo’s shampoo when he leans closer to point to something, by the smell of his detergent when he leans across Kirishima to grab an eraser. 

He’s distracted by how irrevocably, unmistakably in love he is with his best friend. Adrift in the hopelessness of his situation. Katsuki Bakugo is sitting on his bed and tapping a pattern on Kirishima’s forearm with his free hand while he explains math with the patience of a saint. Failing his test seems insignificant, comparatively speaking.

Bakugo’s eyes flick up, frowning as his hand stills on Kirishima’s skin.

“You’re not listening.” He says. There’s frustration in his tone. It’s attractive. Kirishima’s screwed. 

It’s kind of endearing that Bakugo can tell. It’s even more endearing how any real irritation fades as soon as Kirishima smiles sheepishly. He turns his arm beneath Bakugo’s hand, brushes their fingers together for a second. “Sorry, sorry.” He mumbles. 

Bakugo presses his lips together. He catches Kirishima’s hand and huffs. He takes one small breath, reigning in all his anger, and adjusts how he’s sitting. “I’ll start over.” He says simply. 

“Okay,” Kirishima whispers. He’s distracted again by Bakugo holding his hand. He’s been doing that a lot, recently, holding Kirishima like they’re something they’ve never been. Kirishima tries not to make a big deal out of it. One time Bakugo had said it was good for rebuilding his grip strength or something. He’d laughed like it was a hilarious joke, but given no other reason. Kirishima wasn’t about to ruin it, so he’d accepted the explanation and ignored every time Bakugo held on with his good hand.

It’s one of the many ways their closeness has felt like distance, lately. They aren’t too far into third year, but Kirishima can’t shake the thought that something changed over the summer. Like he missed the news of an earthquake or a meteor, and everyone else had time to adjust to the ground shifting but him. He’s always stumbling. Bakugo doesn’t hesitate anymore, or pull away or restrain himself. He lingers close to Kirishima, he reaches out, holds on. He laughs louder and smiles more and he doesn’t care when their friends tease Kirishima for being the cause. They feel more like symptoms than best friends, these days. They’re a series of strange behaviors, repeated causes for concern. Kirishima keeps waiting for someone to tally it up and give him the diagnosis, but no one seems to notice they’re sick. Like Bakugo guiding him with a hand on his back or falling asleep in the common room with his head on his shoulder is a natural progression, not a cause for alarm that leaves Kirishima nauseous. 

Pretending everything is normal is insufferable. It’s a taunt, a tease, a test Kirishima is going to fail. He’s wanted this for so long there’s no way Bakugo can’t read it on his skin but he likes it too much to ask. Clarification means sacrifice. He won’t risk these little indulgences by making Bakugo aware of them, by telling him he notices.

There had been a wonderful, brief period of their friendship where they really did tell each other everything. After the war, when hiding things felt so trivial. Now Kirishima feels guilt like a tattoo. It’s a permanent stain across his skin. Because Bakugo still tells him everything, it’s him who retreated. Kirishima recognized his own feelings one day and it turned their friendship from stone to glass. Kirishima’s always too afraid to touch it, he doesn’t want to be the one to make it shatter if he knocks it from the mantle.

He doesn’t remember when it happened. He would’ve stopped it if he could’ve, if falling in love had been something he could grab, something he could kill. Maybe it started with voices and hands and rescues or maybe it was somewhere dark and cold with bleeding arms and feelings of failure. Maybe it was in a hospital, bored of waiting with nothing else to do but fall in love with who he was waiting for. Maybe it was none of those, it never felt quite so desperate. Maybe they had pencils in their hands and smiles on their faces, or costumes on and classmates leaning on their shoulders. Kirishima doesn’t know. He just knows he looked back to try and retrace the steps he took to being in love and saw no footprints in the snow, like he never travelled at all. Like he’s always been here.

“...And you’re not fucking listening at all. Again.” Bakugo snaps. He shoves a hand against Kirishima’s chest. “Eijiro. What the fuck?”

Kirishima blinks himself out of his daze. “What?” He mutters.

Bakugo stares, deadpan, “I just spent five minutes telling you about how Dunceface confessed his undying love for me.”

Kirishima blinks, a little too out of it for shock. “Oh.” He stares. “Did he? I kind of thought he had a thing for Hanta.”

Bakugo’s whole expression twists. “Did–” He sputters, incredulous, “No he fucking didn’t, obviously! I was testing to see if you were listening, idiot! Another test,” He gestures aggressively to Kirishima’s papers beside them, “You fucking failed. Miserably.”

“Ah,” Kirishima snorts, facepalming, “That makes more sense, yeah. Sorry dude.” He scrubs at his eyes, suddenly exhausted. 

He looks up when Bakugo goes quiet and finds his expression tight. He hesitates before his hand finds Kirishima’s again. He squeezes it once before he pulls away and starts collecting the papers. “Okay, we’re done for today.”

The sense of failure stings at the back of Kirishima’s throat. He sits up straight, slapping a hand over Bakugo’s, pinning the papers down beneath them. 

“No, I’m sorry. I can do it, I swear.” He insists. Bakugo glares at him.

“You’re burnt out.”

“But I haven’t figured out anything!” Kirishima whines. He tries to keep the real emotion in check, tries to ignore the heavy hurt in his chest from the rejection. He attempts to quell the fear that Bakugo thinks he’s too stupid to keep up. “I’m no better off than when we started and I can’t stay this–”

“Don’t finish that sentence.” Bakugo snaps. In a beat, there’s a warm hand against the side of Kirishima’s neck. Bakugo pulls him closer, his eyes serious, expression cautious. 

“You’re fine.” The blond runs his thumb across Kirishima’s skin. They’re so close it’s intimate. Bakugo looks determined and severe. “We’re not stopping ‘cause I don’t think you can do it. You’re not stupid, but you’re obviously tired.”

Kirishima meets his eyes. He swallows, nods. Bakugo’s gaze flicks across his face, searching. His eyebrows furrow. For a second, his stare locks somewhere low. Somewhere that looks a lot like Kirishima’s lips. He takes a breath so deep it rattles the rest of him, sends vibrations all the way through him. Kirishima feels it where Bakugo’s fingertips rest on his neck. 

“We have time. We’ll try again tomorrow.” Bakugo says as he pulls away. He sounds suddenly wrecked. Like a man grieving. Kirishima feels adrift in an ocean of wrongness, unsure when he jumped ship. Unsure where the water came from, or when it filled his mouth.

He scrambles to snap out of it, collecting the last few pages and passing them to Bakugo. It’s like the blond purposely tries to make their hands brush when he takes them. He keeps his stare on Kirishima. After a second, he smiles.

“You doubt me as a tutor?” He taunts.

“Of course not,” Kirishima says instantly.

Bakugo smiles wider, satisfied. He smacks Kirishima on the top of the head with the papers. “Good, ‘cause you’re not failing as long as I’m around.” He stares at Kirishima, raising an eyebrow. “Right?”

Kirishima can’t help it. Hope is a contagious thing when Bakugo’s around. He smiles, wobbly but there. “Right.” He says.

“Damn right.” Bakugo repeats. He tosses the papers onto his desk and grabs his laptop instead. 

Kirishima moves the lap desk onto the floor, shifting to make room for Bakugo beside him. He watches him settle, opening Netflix and scrolling for something to watch. He feels oddly fond about the fact that Bakugo doesn’t need to ask if he’s staying. 

Before Bakugo manages to pick anything, his fingers pause over his trackpad. He glances at Kirishima.

“Do you really think Dunceface is into Sero?”

Kirishima laughs, throwing his head back as Bakugo flushes.

“I’m serious.”

“You’re so nosy.” Kirishima taunts. “And why did that take you so long to question?”

Bakugo visibly bites back a laugh, face screwing up from the effort, “Well it was such a ridiculous fucking concept I took a second to process it.”

Kirishima snorts. “You don’t think Denki likes him?”

“I think he likes kissing him. The same way he likes kissing anyone who kisses him back. Just ‘cause they’re kissing doesn’t mean they actually want each other like that.”

Kirishima hums, leaning over to hover the mouse over some All Might movie. “I guess that’s fair. It’s hard to tell when Denki’s serious about that stuff.” 

“Is he ever serious?” Bakugo mutters. Kirishima laughs. 

“Not usually. Unlike you.”

Bakugo whips his head to the side, grabbing Kirishima’s wrist before he can back out of his space. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Kirishima can’t bite back the grin forming. He pokes the bear by poking the crease between Bakugo’s eyebrows. 

“You saying I’m too serious?” Bakugo snaps. There’s a smile wavering on his lips too. Kirishima snorts.

“Maybe.”

Bakugo stares at him for a second. His expression falls blank. He lets go of Kirishima and calmly shuts his laptop and sets it on the floor. He turns back to Kirishima, stares at him, then lunges.

Kirishima yelps, crumbling into a manic fit of laughter as he hardens his arms just as Bakugo’s hands clamp around them and explode. He feels the heat of it on his skin.

“Maybe if you took shit more seriously I wouldn’t be able to beat your ass like this!” Bakugo snarls, laughter in the threat. The sheets thrash beneath them, getting caught up in the fight as Kirishima squirms. He kicks at Bakugo’s stomach and tries to wrench his arms free. Bakugo cackles as he dodges and clings. Kirishima uses an ankle to sweep one of his knees out and hears the way it winds Bakugo when he lands on Kirishima’s chest. He digs a knee into Kirishima’s thigh and pushes his elbows into the bed, successfully pinning him as he sits up. 

“Yield.” Bakugo snaps. Kirishima tries to move his other leg and Bakugo pins it too, sitting all his weight on Kirishima. “Yield, Eijiro.” He snarls when Kirishima squirms again. There’s a crazy grin on his face. His high on winning is contagious even to the loser.

“I yield, I yield.” Kirishima says through his laughter, going limp beneath Bakugo. The blond hums, satisfied, but he doesn't move. His grip on Kirishima’s arms loosens. His fingertips slide up to his wrists, but he never lets go.

“To who?” Bakugo says. His voice is low now, taunting. Kirishima, aware of their closeness, tries and fails not to blush.

“I yield, Dynamight.”

“That’s not my fucking name.” Bakugo murmurs.

Kirishima rolls his eyes. Bakugo is sitting on his hips, but he’s breathless like his ribs are being crushed. “I yield, Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight.” Bakugo grins. Kirishima stares with mock exasperation. “Happy?” 

“Thrilled.” Bakugo drawls. Kirishima can't hold it in. He laughs, throwing his head back against the pillow, chest rising and falling with it. When he opens his eyes Bakugo is smiling down at him, laughing in his breathy, quiet way too. 

Kirishima regains composure, still chuckling as he pulls a hand free from Bakugo’s hold and scrubs at the tears. He flicks his stare back to Bakugo, still glassy-eyed with the remainders of joy scrunching his grin, showing off his teeth. 

Something happens. Something changes as Kirishima smiles, as his laughter fades. 

Bakugo’s expression shifts. His grin falters. His eyes trail slowly across Kirishima’s face. He takes a breath and lets go of Kirishima’s wrists. Kirishima sits up, which puts their faces infinitely too close. Bakugo’s breath ghosts his cheek. The blond stares and stares at all the wrong places, too low to be Kirishima’s eyes. 

Tension fills the silence like a third body between them. Kirishima clenches his hands into fists, feels the sheets warm against his palms. Bakugo’s hands drift around him but never land anywhere. He shifts slightly in Kirishima’s lap. There’s uncertainty across every inch of him.

“...Kats?” Kirishima whispers. Nerves crawl up his spine, slipping beneath his skin like a needle. “You okay?”

“Why won’t you kiss me?” Bakugo whispers.

Kirishima stills. The world around him feels suddenly distant. Everything is dulled and quiet except for the image of Bakugo in front of him. He wracks his brain, trying to make sense of what he heard. He tries to figure out what Bakugo actually said, because it couldn’t have been that. That wasn’t right. Bakugo refuses to break eye contact, but Kirishima can tell that he wants to. He’s twitching like a dying livewire, breathing like a man buried alive. 

“What?” He whispers. It’s all he can manage. It’s not the right answer, but he can’t fathom any world where Bakugo wanting to kiss him wasn’t some misunderstanding. 

Bakugo frowns, the tight, gritted-teeth kind that means he’s actually upset. Now, his eyes dart away to the sheets beside them. 

“We’ve been doing this shit for so fucking long, Ei.” He blurts. “I didn’t want to– to rush you or force you but I’ve been trying to give you so many damn signs and you won’t fucking–” He grasps wildly at the air between them, “Meet me halfway.” He drops his hands into his lap. “If I fucking did something to piss you off, or if–” Bakugo chokes on the words. Kirishima watches him swallow the emotion. He shakes with the force of it, looking devastated. “If you aren’t…into me,” The blond flushes, stare piercing as he glares at the bed, shaking his head, “I mean I fucking thought– but if we– if you don’t want us to be–”

“Wait,” Kirishima blurts. He cuts off Bakugo’s spiral before he loses him to it. “Wait, Katsuki.” He grabs at Bakugo’s shoulders. Bakugo meets his eyes again. It hurts to see him so hurt. “I’m into you.” He blurts. He’s a little embarrassed that Bakugo seems to have known, but in the moment it feels like a small, irrelevant thing. Most things seem insignificant when compared to the way Bakugo is staring at him right now, with some fusion of devastation and unfathomable need. “I didn’t realize–” Kirishima stops, composing himself. “I, uh, didn’t realize you were waiting for me.”

“Of course I was.” Bakugo says instantly. And, well, Kirishima shouldn’t be surprised. But he is. And he’s confused. 

“I didn’t realize you wanted to kiss me…” He hesitates, “So badly?”

Bakugo leans a little closer, voice low and quiet, “Eijiro, I don’t know how much more fucking obvious I can make it. I’m dying over here. I’ve been fucking dying for months.”

“Oh,” Kirishima squeaks. He clears his throat, “Uh, months?”

Bakugo raises an eyebrow, like that shouldn’t be astonishing. “Yeah, idiot. Months. That’s how fucking long it’s been. Obviously.”

“Right,” Kirishima whispers. “Right.” He feels more lost than homework has ever left him. It feels like all of this is both completely out of the blue and like Bakugo’s want has been an elephant in the room for years. Kirishima is blindsided by the hope he’s been staring down forever. And he quickly realizes he doesn’t particularly care about the why or the how, just that he apparently has the option to be kissing Bakugo and for some reason, he isn’t doing it.

“You can.” He blurts, clumsy and embarrassing. “Kiss me.”

Bakugo hesitates, a small smile appearing on his face. It’s a nervous thing, out of place on him. It’s horrifically endearing, the kind of stuff that boots Kirishima face-first into love again. 

“Can I?” Bakugo asks. It’s half-teasing, half-uncertainty. “I was serious, Eijiro. If there’s some sort of fucking issue–”

“The issue is that you’re still talking.” Kirishima blurts. Bakugo’s mouth snaps shut, his eyes widening. “Instead of kissing me.” Kirishima adds quickly. “Which. You are allowed to do. And should do. Please.”

Bakugo blinks. He laughs, loud and sharp. He regains his composure quickly. His hands drift to Kirishima’s face. He cradles Kirishima like he’s a trophy. A hard-earned, precious, pretty thing. 

“Fuckin’ dork,” Bakugo whispers as he leans in.

Their lips meeting is a staggering event. It’d knock Kirishima off his feet if he was standing. He shuts his eyes and matches Bakugo’s pressure. Bakugo kisses like a man kept waiting. He’s trying to hold back, Kirishima can feel it, but as soon as Kirishima’s tilting into it Bakugo lets his want take over.

He hooks his arms around Kirishima’s neck and pulls himself closer until their bodies are flush against each other. Both their breathing gets heavy quick, frantic. Bakugo slides a hand up Kirishima’s neck and grabs at the back of his hair, turns his head to deepen the kiss. Kirishima tries to match his pace, breathless and dizzy from disbelief. It’s not really gentle or clean, but that wouldn’t be like them. It’s fast, fumbling, hands and lips and curses muttered into the space between them. Kirishima lets a quiet “woah” escape at some point and Bakugo laughs down his throat. Eventually the blond pulls his hand free of Kirishima’s hair and braces it behind him. They get carried away fast. Kirishima lets Bakugo lower him to the bed. He’s occupying himself with shoving his fingers under Bakugo’s shirt, revelling in the way the blond shivers when Kirishima scratches at his abdomen. 

Bakugo drops all his weight onto Kirishima, like now that their lips have touched he can’t stand the thought of any other parts of them being separated. He nips at Kirishima’s lip, breaks away for air only to start travelling down Kirishima’s neck, with a mix of heat and pressure that has Kirishima trembling. 

Bakugo starts to sink his teeth in somewhere sensitive and Kirishima falters. He yelps a little as he grips at Bakugo’s shoulders. It’s overstimulating, suddenly. He doesn’t mean to shove Bakugo back, but it’s instinct. The blond pushes away, flushed and panting. He doesn’t look offended. He looks sated, a little giddy.

“Too much?” He breathes. 

“Uh,” Kirishima nods. His saliva feels thick in his mouth. 

“Sorry,” Bakugo rolls off of him. There’s still a dopey grin on his face. “Got too excited.”

Kirishima laughs. It’s a sound of pure disbelief. They lay beside each other in Bakugo’s bed, breathless and disheveled. It doesn’t seem to bother Bakugo that they stopped so abruptly or that they started at all. He doesn’t seem to worry about what lines they’ve crossed or how. Kirishima tries not to think about it either. He’s elated, drifting in his contentedness. 

“I’ve, uh,” Kirishima huffs between the words, watching Bakugo watch him. “Kinda wanted to do that forever, man.”

Bakugo snorts. “Yeah?” He rolls closer again, shoving at Kirishima’s chest. “Then why the fuck did you wait? Take some initiative, Red.” He teases. “You know you could’ve done this whenever the hell you wanted.”

Kirishima blinks. “Um. No, I didn’t know that.”

Bakugo’s smile fades into confusion, brows dipping. A second later, it fades with a sigh. “Dammit, Eijiro.” He places a hand on Kirishima’s face, pushes his ankle between Kirishima’s legs. “Didn’t I tell you not to overthink us?”

“I don’t overthink us.” Kirishima argues weakly. 

“Sure,” Bakugo scoffs. He sighs again. “You can do this whenever you want, Eijiro. You…” Bakugo flushes, eyes darting away. His voice lowers to a grumble. “You have me, or whatever.”

“Oh,” Kirishima whispers. Bakugo stares at him, not quite a smile but something gentle. He lets Kirishima trail fingertips over his arm, lets Kirishima shift a little closer. He doesn’t understand where any of this is coming from, but he isn’t about to argue. “Okay.”

Bakugo smirks like Kirishima said something funny. He wrestles the blanket out from under them and pulls it over, tucking it tight around Kirishima’s shoulders and under his chin, until Kirishima laughs and swats him away.

“S’past our bedtime.” Bakugo grumbles.

“So stop trapping me here and let me go to bed.” Kirishima says, trying to shove the blankets off of him.

Bakugo catches his hands. He tosses his leg over Kirishima’s, pinning him to the bed.

“Stay.” He says. 

He frowns, leaning into Bakugo a little. “Are you having nightmares again?”

Bakugo rolls his eyes. “I think we’re past needing those excuses, Ei.” He tosses an arm over Kirishima’s ribs and curls the other between them, tucks his hand under his cheek. “I have no good reason. Stay ‘cause I want you to.” 

“Oh,” Kirishima mutters. “Well, that’s a good reason.”

With his eyes already closed, Bakugo smiles. “Damn right.”

Kirishima relaxes into Bakugo’s hold. It’s not a hard thing to do. He sleeps in Bakugo’s bed more than his own these days. He feels guilty for enjoying it and guilty about not stopping. His best friend trusts him in his sheets and trusts him not to fall in love, and Kirishima did it anyway.

With the quiet of night descending around them, Kirishima starts to think about it. He’s not particularly caught up on the fact that it happened, but Bakugo’s lack of surprise about it. In all his years of crushing Bakugo’s reaction had been the thing he feared the most. But the blond hadn’t been thrown off at all, like he’d been waiting for Kirishima all that time. 

What would they be when the sun rose? What were they now? Were they together? Dating? Bakugo had made it seem like Kirishima should’ve known how desired he was. Instead it hit him like cold water to the face. A shock no matter how refreshing. 

Did Bakugo want him to be his boyfriend? He didn’t know what that would look like. When he really thinks about it, he’s not sure what would change. The only frame of reference he has for a relationship is Midoriya and Uraraka. They’ve been together since late second year, and honestly sometimes when Kirishima watches them, he thinks that they don’t act much different than him and Bakugo. Aside from the kissing.

But now they do that too.

Frowning, he traces shapes onto Bakugo’s skin. What was it Bakugo had said earlier? Just because two people kiss doesn’t mean they want each other. But he’d– well, Kirishima couldn’t deny that when Bakugo was kissing him he felt wanted. Bakugo actually made him feel more wanted than anything else in the world most of the time, even when they were just standing next to each other. 

But maybe that was all he wanted to be. Kaminari and Sero, friends who kiss. Was Kirishima weird for wanting something more like Midoriya and Uraraka? He withholds a sigh and tries to find comfort in Bakugo’s arms, tries to let the sleeping blond hold him steady in the uncertainty. It’s hard not to feel safe here, but Kirishima feels itchy as he falls asleep. He just can’t shake the certainty that he’s missing something. 

“Gooooood morning my– oh dude, you look terrible.” Kaminari cuts off his own greeting as his face scrunches in concern.

“Thanks.” Kirishima sighs as he slumps into the chair beside Ashido. He loves his friends more than anything else in the world, and he loathes that they’re all morning people.

“Gotta give him time to wake up before he’s ready to socialize, man.” Sero drawls from beside Kaminari, waving his cup in the air as he talks, “We get no productive conversations from Ei before 8am, you know that.”

“A guy can dream,” Kaminari insists. Sero chuckles and Kaminari snorts at his own joke. They lean closer to each other in their laughter. Kirishima stares.

“Didn’t sleep well?” Ashido hums beside him. She rests a hand on his arm. She’s much less abrasive than the boys. Kirishima sighs with relief. 

“Something like that.” He says. He moves to run a hand through his hair, but stops when he remembers he’s already spiked it. He drops it to the table instead, too hard. 

“Uh oh, someone had a wild night.” Kaminari wiggles his eyebrows. 

“Ugh, don’t be gross, Denki.” Ashido whines. She pulls her hand away, fiddling with her glass of juice instead. “If Bakugo’s the reason you look like this,” She gestures to Kirishima, long nails clicking together, “I do not want to know.”

The teasing is typical and wouldn’t normally get a reaction. But today, Kirishima can’t stop the blush. He definitely can’t stop all of his friends from noticing it instantly. Sero chokes on his drink as Kaminari gasps.

“Holy shit, Mina,” Kaminari leans forward, “You’re actually right.”

“Gross,” Sero says, still laughing through a nose full of apple juice. “But congrats, I guess.”

Ashido waves a hand, her curls bouncing as she shakes her head. It’s feigned exasperation, not surprise. Kaminari’s eyes roam over Kirishima’s skin, narrowing as he lands on the collar of Kirishima’s shirt. Before Kirishima can stop him, he lunges across the table and pulls the collar of his dress shirt down.

“Dude,” He laughs as he flops back. Kirishima quickly shoves a hand against the fabric, fixing it to cover the red mark Bakugo had left before Kirishima stopped him. “Honestly, gentler than I thought he’d be.”

“Gross!” Ashido and Sero groan in unison.

“Okay, okay,” Kirishima glances around the common room frantically, “He kissed me. Can you guys keep it down?” 

Kaminari chuckles. Sero shrugs. Ashido goes back to scrolling on her phone. For once in their lives, all of them are being too normal about this. Kirishima looks around, waiting for more questions, for any of them to poke and prod about his new relationship or his crush being possibly requited, but none of them blink.

He glances back at Kaminari and Sero. Kaminari tugs his cell phone out of his pocket, sliding his plate with the last waffle on it over to Sero, who picks it up without looking over. He’s got a notebook open in front of him where he’s squinting down at some last-minute homework.

“Are you guys dating?” Kirishima blurts.

Kaminari freezes. Him and Sero look up in unison, eyes wide for a second. They glance at each other and burst out laughing. 

“Couldn’t hold that one in any longer?” Sero chuckles. Kaminari wipes a tear from the corner of his eye, a pink blush across his cheeks.

“We’re not dating, dude.” Kaminari laughs.

“As much as Denki wants to be.” Sero adds, which earns him an elbow to the ribs.

“Yes, I’m hopelessly in love with Hanta and endlessly awaiting the day he returns my affections. Every day I try to seduce him relentlessly. We are intimate together almost every night. It’s casual though. Bro stuff.”

“Bro stuff.” Sero nods. “Denki’s a really good kisser. And I’m great practice for him.”

Kirishima blinks as Ashido laughs. He groans, hiding his face and pressing the heels of his hands into his forehead. He hears Kaminari shift in his chair.

“Eijiro,” Kaminari says, his voice serious. When Kirishima meets his eyes, he’s smiling in a small, worried way. “What’s actually bothering you?”

He sighs. “I’m trying to figure out how screwed I am now that I’ve kissed him.”

Kamiari glances at Ashido, then Sero. He settles his stare on Kirishima again.

“Screwed? Why would you be screwed?”

Kirishima waves his hands, frustration mounting rapidly. His friends always understand him, he doesn’t know why they aren’t getting this.

“Because of the massive, unrequited crush I have on Katsuki!”

The table is quiet for one collective beat. Sero stares at Kirishima with genuine confusion.

“The unrequited crush you have…on your boyfriend?” He asks.

Kirishima freezes. Stares. “Katsuki isn’t my boyfriend.” He says.

He’s met with only more silence. All three of his friends look at him like he’s said something particularly absurd. 

“We’re not dating.” He insists.

Kaminari’s eyebrows furrow. He hesitates before he leans across the table. “Eijiro…” He says slowly, “...Are you sure?”

“What do you mean am I sure?” Kirishima blurts. “Yes, I’m sure I don’t have a boyfriend, Denki!”

Kaminari puts his hands up, “Okay, okay, well, we all just kind of assumed!”

“Assumed?” Kirishima stammers, “Wait, assumed what?”

“That you were together, babe.” Ashido says quickly. She puts her hand between the boys on the table, drawing their attention. “We all thought you were dating.”

“What?” Kirishima rasps. “For how long?” 

Sero tilts his head back and forth. “None of us could agree on exactly when it happened. But the general consensus was at some point last year.”

“Last school year.” Kaminari clarifies.

“Last year.” Kirishima repeats, a little hoarse. “He doesn’t even–”

“Like you like that?” Ashido interrupts. “I think he’s proven that’s not true, Kiri.” 

Kirishima stutters, shaking his head. “That’s ridiculous. He’s never asked me out.”

“You go on dates literally all the time,” Sero points out.

“They’re not dates!” Kirishima says, “We’re just hanging out!”

“Alone. Consistently.” Kaminari says. “Doing romantic things like going to the arcade or to dinner or–”

“We’ve gone to the arcade before!” Kirishima insists, gesturing between them, “We can go again!”

“Dude, if it leads to that,” Sero nods to Kirishima’s neck, “I have zero interest in the arcade with you.” Kaminari muffles a giggle behind his hand.

“My point is that those things aren’t inherently, like, romantic!” Kirishima insists. “Katsuki’s my best friend. Of course we hang out alone often!”

“Don’t you have a double date with Midoriya and Uraraka, like, this weekend?” Ashido asks quietly.

Kirishima freezes. “It’s dinner.” He says. “It’s just dinner.”

“With another couple…” Sero says slowly.

“Yeah but Midoriya just calls them dates for fun. He’s always teasing us. It’s a joke, it’s not like–” Kirishima waves his hands around. “Katsuki has never asked me out. He’s never called me his boyfriend. We hadn’t kissed until last night. This is all ridiculous.”

“Yeah but does he seem like the type to do any of that stuff?” Sero suggests. “Pet names, labels, sappy gestures…it doesn’t scream Bakugo.”

“Do you hear yourself right now?” Kirishima sputters, “You’re saying– what? You’re suggesting I’ve been dating my best friend for the past half a year and he forgot to tell me?”

“He doesn’t believe us.” Kaminari says somberly. “Bring out the list.”

Sero sighs. He fishes his phone out of his backpack and clicks through it. He sets it on a table open to a note that Kirishima glimpses the title of. It reads: Katsuki Bakugo Favouritism: Evidence File. Sero scrolls for a horrifically long time to get to the bottom. He slides the device to Kaminari, who clears his throat and adjusts his tie.

“Okay, so here’s last week.” He starts to read, “Monday: Ei wearing Baku’s shirt in the morning. Baku shares his drink with him. Tried to blow up K,” Kaminari glances up, “That’s me, when he asks for a sip. Ei and B held hands on the walk to class. B did Ei’s homework for him. Refused to do ours the night before. At lunch, Baku shares snacks with Ei, threatens S life when he asked for a bite. B gives Ei his jacket when he shivers. B gives Ei his water bottle when Ei complains about a headache. B looks at Ei’s lips no less than ten times when he laughs throughout the lunch period. B fixes Ei’s hair for him. B compliments–”

“Okay!” Kirishima shouts. “I get it. Oh my god.” He buries his face in his hands. “How long have you been doing this?”

“A couple weeks.” Sero says with a shrug. Kirishima shrinks in humiliation at the thought that all of that scrolling was only two weeks of notable interactions.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” He whines.

“Not really, no.” Kaminari smiles. 

“Hang out with the teenage boys, Mina,” Ashido mutters to herself. “Surely they won’t all be horny, gay, and dense.” She holds a finger up for each descriptor.

“I’m horny,” Sero nods.

“I’m gay.” Kaminari says.

“Wait,” Kirishima pouts, “Does that mean I’m dense?”

“The kicker is that all of you are all three of them.” Ashido insists. She tosses her phone onto the table and sighs, sitting up straight so she can lean into Kirishima’s space. “Look, none of you are giving Bakugo enough credit. He’s marginally less horny and dense than the rest of you.”

“Notice how she didn’t say less gay?” Kaminari mutters to Sero. He snorts. Ashido pointedly ignores them.

“My point is that I’m sure things might’ve gotten lost in translation, but I’m also sure he would’ve at least asked you out. You’d know if you were dating.” She says, “Probably.” She taps a nail against her lip, thinking. “We could all tell that Bakugo had a crush on you, so I guess we just assumed when you guys started getting more comfortable that things had evolved. But hey!” She claps her hands together, beaming, “This is a good thing! You were already acting like a couple and now you have the confirmation that he likes you, so you can take the next step and it’ll probably be like nothing’s changed!”

“Right,” Sero drawls, “Unless Bakugo already thinks you have taken the next step. And then you break the news that you haven’t been his boyfriend, you know, ever.”

“Oh god,” Kirishima whispers. He leans on his elbows on the table, fingertips in his hair. 

“Yikes,” Kaminari mumbles. 

“Enough out of you two.” Ashido says, “You’re not helping.” She rests a hand on Kirishima’s shoulder. “Kiri, you should just talk to him. Make it clear that you’re into him and that you want to be sure you’re on the same page about how you’re defining your relationship. This doesn’t have to be world-ending.”

“Right,” Kirishima mutters, “And then I can just say something like ‘sorry I didn’t know we were dating all this time even though I probably agreed to it somewhere along the way and just didn’t realize what I was saying yes to because I’m stupid and oblivious.”

Ashido winces. “Okay, yes, I can see why that might not go over well.” She sighs softly, “But Kiri, you’re not stupid or oblivious. You’re very insightful, especially when it comes to Bakugo. Miscommunication is a two-way street. If things have gotten lost between you that’s not only your fault. Bakugo cares about you enough to recognize that, I’m sure.”

Kirishima frowns at her, uncertain. “What if I’ve had a nice thing all this time and I didn’t even recognize it? And then I ruin it by opening my mouth?”

“What if you’ve had a nice thing all this time and you learn that you can keep it forever?” She counters. Kirishima can’t really argue with that. He smiles, wobbly and forced.

Ashido leans against him and rests her head on his shoulder, a soothing, comforting action. Some of his tension leaks away as her curls tickle his chin.

“You’ve got this, Kiri. Just don’t overthink it.” She pauses, “And figure out what’s going on with that double date. That’s probably a good start.”

“Probably,” Kirishima chuckles weakly.

“Loverboy incoming,” Kaminari warns quietly. Kirishima turns to see Bakugo and Jiro approaching the table. Everyone drops the subject, and Bakugo drops himself into the seat beside Kirishima, instantly slinging an arm around the back of his chair. He leans in closer than he needs to and it really is business as usual for them. Any other day, Kirishima wouldn’t have questioned it at all.

He’s starting to understand his friend’s confusion. It adds exponentially to his own. 

He would know if he had a boyfriend, right?

Kirishima is always aware of Bakugo, but this is something different. Before he never questioned anything. Touching and laughing and inside jokes and targeted quips were the gears integral to how they tick. Now he searches for meaning everywhere. Every brush of skin feels targeted and intimate. Every stare feels hungry and wanting. Every quip feels like a call for attention. Kirishima feels like a target Bakugo won’t stop shooting at, a sun suddenly aware of the planet that orbits it.

Every time Bakugo touches him he wonders if it’s a boyfriend way or a friend way, if it’s different than how he was doing it before they kissed. He doesn’t mean to fixate, obsess, overthink them. He’s just trying to figure out if he’s missed something. Kirishima knows when he first gets the idea that it is not the answer. It’s not an intentional thing he does, but once he starts, he can’t stop.

He starts keeping score.

It’s Kaminari’s fault, really. Him and Sero and that list. Kirishima doesn’t want to keep his own, but he does. He couldn’t stop it if he tried. And admittedly, he doesn’t try.

It goes like this:

Katsuki Bakugo Favouritism: Evidence File

Bakugo holds his hand on the walk to class. It’s a subtle, quiet thing. Kirishima makes some taunt to Kaminari and Bakugo catches him while he’s laughing. Kirishima expects him to let go long before he does. He expects everyone to make a big deal out of it. They don’t.

Their unit files into class early as always, crowding around Bakugo’s desk without discussion. Sero and Kaminari are distracted quickly by leaning over to talk to Midoriya. Bakugo slumps into his own chair, pretending to ignore them all as if Kirishima can’t tell he’s eavesdropping. Kirishima slides onto Bakugo’s desk as he greets Midoriya. It’s subconscious, comfortable. His knee bumps Bakugo’s ribs and sticks like glue. He tries to study Midoriya’s reaction when Bakugo spins to snap at him, when Bakugo’s elbow lands on Kirishima’s thigh, when all their closeness becomes apparent. Midoriya doesn’t even blink. He’s grinning as he bickers with the blond.

Then Ashido catches Kirishima’s knee and spins him around to get his attention. She’s asking a question about the homework. Kaminari, eager for someone new to copy from, slides onto Bakugo’s desk beside Kirishima, trying to look over his shoulder.

“Get the fuck off my desk,” Bakugo snaps. He shoves a hand between them. It lands somewhere around Kaminari’s ribs and shoves him clean off the surface. Kaminari yelps, crashing into Sero, who hits the wall trying to steady them both.

Ashido cackles, leaning over onto Jiro’s desk behind her. 

“I’m so sick of your favouritism bro.” Kaminari grumbles. Bakugo gives him the middle finger. Ashido laughs louder.

“What’s so fucking funny, Pinky?” Bakugo glares, but he’s grinning. He leans forward to meet Ashido’s eyes until his chin is practically touching the desk. His arm comes up around Kirishima’s waist, wrapping around him and holding him in place as he looks past him.

Kirishima blushes with his whole body. Bakugo’s arm is a warm, heavy presence across his abdomen, an obsessive reminder that he is demanding Kirishima stay.

“You.” Ashido wheezes. Jiro steps around her and shakes her head as she takes her seat. “You two are ridiculous.”

“Jealous?” Bakugo sneers.

That goes straight into the evidence file, because what the hell? Kirishima, desperate, snaps his gaze over his shoulder to Midoriya behind him. The boy is shuffling through his notebook on his desk. He feels Kirishima’s stare and looks up. He smiles and shakes his head, fond exasperation.

“Not jealous in the slightest.” Ashido says. There’s a layer to her tone that Kirishima knows Bakugo hears but doesn’t understand. He watches the blond’s eyebrows furrow, feels him tighten his hold on Kirishima, ever so slightly. 

She spins away as the bell rings. Bakugo still doesn’t let Kirishima go.

“What’s up with her?” He mutters to Kirishima. His chin on the desk, his cheek against Kirishima’s thigh. Kirishima could almost laugh at how Bakugo’s pouting, at the flicker of concern for their friend. 

“No idea,” Kirishima lies. He stares down as Bakugo’s gaze flicks up. He suffocates on the sight of him. His eyes are soft and his grip around Kirishima is firm. Bakugo frowns again, but sits up and pulls away when Aizawa enters the room. Kirishima slips off of his desk and makes his way to his own. 

What’s up with us? He imagines asking. He doesn’t. Class is starting. He adds it to the mental note.

Evidence: There are spaces Bakugo carves just for him. Places he can be where no one else is allowed. 

In the changerooms after heroics, Kirishima snaps his last elastic. He curses as he stretches it too far. It flings across the space and slaps Kaminari perfectly in the eye. He hollers dramatically and falls into Shinso. The boy rolls his eyes and shoves him off.

“Targeted attack!” He shouts with a hand still over his eyes. Kirishima and Sero’s laughter harmonizes. Iida stumbles over to check on Kaminari.

“Sorry dude!” Kirishima says.

“Do it again,” Sero calls. Midoriya giggles as he pads across the room with a towel still over his shoulders. 

“Couldn’t do it again if I wanted to.” Kirishima pouts, holding his wrist up. “That was my last one.” He huffs as he runs his fingers through his damp hair, feeling them catch in the tangles. He’s been growing it out recently, which makes spiking it up after heroics more work than it’s worth. They’re all going to do nothing but lay around on the dorm room couches for the rest of the night. And he doesn’t have to prove himself to any of class A anymore. 

He’s accepting defeat when Bakugo shows up. He’s a wrist in his peripherals first. Kirishima turns towards him, eyes focusing on his best friend. Bakugo’s scrubbing a towel through his hair with his other hand. There’s two red hair elastics on his outstretched wrist. When Kirishima doesn’t react fast enough, Bakugo gestures with his wrist again.

Slowly, Kirishima reaches out. Bakugo doesn’t help, but he doesn’t pull away. Kirishima hooks his finger under one of the elastics, fingertip curling against Bakugo’s pulse. He tugs the elastic off of Bakugo’s wrist, feeling oddly reverent about the motion.

“Thanks,” He breathes. Bakugo nods. He tosses his towel into the nearby hamper and then he just. Lingers. Sticks in Kirishima’s space, the second elastic still hugging his wrist like a brand. Kirishima stares at it. Bakugo hands him elastics all the time. For the first time, he registers that that means he’s always carrying them around, a wrist dedicated to Kirishima. A spot against his veins reserved for thoughts of him. His hair isn’t long enough to need them. And they’re red. Has he been purposely buying the red ones? 

“Kats?” Kirishima blurts. Bakugo turns to him with an eyebrow raised, nothing but a quiet grunt to acknowledge that he’s listening.

Kirishima smiles, overwhelmed with fondness. He bumps his shoulder with Bakugo’s. “Thanks.” He mutters. 

Bakugo smiles instantly, wide and bashful. He looks away, belatedly trying to contain his reaction. He shoves a hand against Kirishima’s chest. 

“Yeah, yeah, sap. Go put a damn shirt on.” 

When Kirishima makes a show of complaining, Bakugo shoves him towards his locker, grabs his shirt and throws it at him. They’re a brief tangle of limbs and laughter. The other boys have to duck out of their path so their bubble doesn’t bowl them over. Bakugo shoves the shirt over Kirishima’s head while he’s still laughing. He relents with it loose around his neck. He stops to put his hair up before he puts his arms through the sleeves. He flushes a little at the way Bakugo stares. He doesn’t try to hide the way his gaze curves across Kirishima’s chest, up his arms as he raises them to tie his ponytail. Kirishima stares back like it’s a fight he can't lose. 

He drops his hands. A few bangs still too short by his ears fall free of the elastic instantly. Bakugo smirks. Kirishima flushes and tugs the shirt all the way on. Kaminari makes a gagging noise from somewhere behind him. 

The blond bumps Kirishima’s shoulder again as he passes. He catches his arm and pulls him with him. Kirishima’s eyes the red elastic again. He watches Bakugo let go of him only to dig the pack from his backpack and put another on his wrist to replace the one he gave Kirishima, keeping a constant stock. It’s so Bakugo of him to be so prepared. And so sickeningly sweet to do it for Kirishima. 

As they meet up with their friends and start the walk back to the dorms, Kirishima adds another thing to the list. 

Evidence: There are things Bakugo does just for Kirishima. Things that do not benefit him at all, but make Kirishima’s life a little easier. For some reason, that’s enough for him. 

On Tuesday, Kirishima sprains his ankle.

He misjudges his kicking prowess and the strength of hardening. He tries to kick a door open in the hallways of ground beta and his foot goes straight through it instead. He ends up stuck in a door that’s still closed.

“Shit,” He mutters, staring at his leg through the metal.

“What did that door ever do to you?” Kaminari asks.

“Please be stuck.” Sero says, “It would be so funny if you’re stuck.”

“He isn’t stuck.” Ashido rolls her eyes.

“He’s definitely fucking stuck.” Bakugo glares at him, equal parts disappointed and amused. He sneers, “You stuck, Red?”

“I’m stuck.” Kirishima sighs, trying to tug his foot back through. 

He tries a second time with a little more force to no avail. He frowns. Surely if he was able to bust through one way it shouldn’t be hard to break back through again. He yanks his leg hard.

“Next one will do it, I’m sure.” Sero says, not helping. 

Frustration flaring, Kirishima tries again. He almost loses his balance and all his friends shift. Kaminari dives for him, steadying him with a hand on his back. Sero moves to try and examine the door closer. 

“Kiri wait, I don’t think you should–” Mina starts to say. But Kirishima’s already moving. He bends his knee and tries to yank his foot back as hard as possible. The force of it sends both him and Kaminari teetering, off balance. He turns and lands on top of the blond when they fall, his leg twisting awkwardly, a sharp twinge of pain lancing through his ankle.

He swallows a yelp, quickly getting his palms against the ground to shove himself off of Kaminari. The pain in his leg spreads to a steady burning, further twisted by the franticness of his movements.

“Idiot,” Bakugo hisses. He shoves Sero aside as he crouches beside the door. “Don’t move.” He grabs Kirishima's shin with a gentleness that doesn’t match his tone as he steadies his leg. “Harden.” Bakugo commands. Kirishima obeys, activating his quirk up his entire leg. Bakugo presses his hand to the door and blows a hole through it with ease, then does the unnecessary step of guiding Kirishima’s leg to the ground.

Kirishima exhales a sigh of relief as some of the pressure fades. His ankle still throbs. Bakugo’s hands linger like he wants to look at it but Kirishima pulls away. He turns his attention to where Kaminari is still trapped beneath him.

“Sorry man, you okay?” Kirishima asks as he pushes himself onto his knees. 

Kaminari sits up, unperturbed. “There are worse fates than being crushed by your pecs.” He pats Kirishima’s chest cheerily. Kirishima laughs and pushes him away. He looks over his shoulder and finds his other friends have all crowded into the space behind him, staring down at his ankles like kids watching a bug on the sidewalk.

“Do you think he broke it?” Ashido pouts, reaching out. Bakugo slaps her hand away.

“Don’t fucking poke at him.” The blond snarls. 

“I can’t believe the door won that fight.” Sero says solemnly. 

Kirishima rolls his eyes, waving his friends out of his space.

“The door didn’t win. I’m fine. Just twisted it.” He insists. The others rise with him as he gets to his feet. All of them are hovering with ready arms, concerned. He laughs at the image. Sure, it stings a little to stand, but he can walk it off. “Guys, seriously. I’ve had worse.”

Bakugo’s glaring at him with the glare that means concern and disbelief. Kirishima tries to prove him wrong by taking a step forward and immediately crumples when he puts his weight on the ankle.

Bakugo catches him before he has time to fall. His hands are warm through his gloves, gripping Kirishima’s shoulders. He steadies him with the ease of breathing. 

“S’Looking like the door won, Ei.” Bakugo says, a little smirk on his face.

“I’ll get him next time.” Kirishima mutters. Bakugo tosses his head back and cackles. He’s still laughing when he ducks under Kirishima’s arm to hold him up. He’s radiant in his laughter. For a second the pain clears and Kirishima feels nothing but the hollowness in his chest, the black hole of want. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if this has meant something all along? He would be so thrilled to be wrong, to have had what he’s wanted all this time.

But he isn’t wrong, probably. It was nothing. That’s all this was, a million words of nothing. Two and a half years of nothing. A friendship he is lucky to have and should not be so eager to ruin. Kirishima leans on his bad ankle until there’s something that hurts more than loving Bakugo. 

When they step out of the building, Aizawa sighs at the sight of them and reminds them they do not all have to walk Kirishima to the infirmary.

They all walk Kirishima to the infirmary. 

Kaminari spends the time crafting an elaborate revenge plan on the door that starts with befriending the walls around it and ends with arming Bakugo with a rubber mallet. Kirishima’s a little more focused on not making audible noises of pain with every second step, and repeatedly insisting to Bakugo that he’s fine, he doesn’t need to be carried. And then repeating it again every time Bakugo mutters, slower or be careful.

Recovery Girl confirms that it’s just a sprain and easily kisses it better. Kirishima lingers on the infirmary bed, swinging his legs and turning his ankle slowly, letting her check it over one more time before clearing him.

“See? I knew it wasn’t broken. Why?” Ashido declares proudly. She points to Sero, prompting.

“Unbreakable.” He says with a nod. They fist bump. 

“You specifically said it was broken.” Bakugo grumbles. He has to glare up at her, since he’s sitting on the bed beside Kirishima.

“I was asking if it was broken.” Ashido insists, holding a finger up. “I was being inquisitive.”

“Woah, word over three syllables moment.” Kaminari says.

“Yeah, yeah. You better me. Get over it.” She waves a hand at him as Kaminari chuckles. Bakugo glances at Kirishima with visible exasperation.

“I never understand what those fuckers are saying.” He grumbles.

Kirishima pats him on the shoulder in consolation. Bakugo smiles to himself, private and fond. He’s still smiling when his stare flicks to their three friends. Kirishima reads the joke in his supposed misery. 

As Recovery Girl clears him, Kirishima sighs. He’s left exhausted by her quirk as always. He drops his head onto Bakugo’s shoulder. He’s too tired to dwell on how natural the motion is. It’s a passing thought that this is probably one of those boyfriend things they’ve been doing for months now. It doesn’t bother him like it should.

“Don’t pass out here, idiot.” Bakugo grumbles. He nudges Kirishima off of him and catches his hand, pulling him to his feet. He doesn’t let go when they’re standing.

They all thank Recovery Girl quickly before leaving. As they trudge out into the hallway, Kirishima drags his feet. The exhaustion is more palpable when he has to move through it. He yawns. His whole body feels sluggish. Actually, it’s kind of hard to see. His eyelids are heavy and–

“Eijiro.” 

He sees red, then his vision sharpens into a full palette of memorized shades. Bakugo’s face in front of his, soft with care and concern. 

“Can’t sleep and walk at the same time, dumbass.” Bakugo says. There’s no bite to the insult. He says it more like a pet name. 

“Mhm, watch me.” Kirishima says. 

Bakugo rolls his eyes. Before Kirishima can protest, hands are on his thighs, hoisting him up and pressing his heartbeat against a familiar spine. 

“Oh,” He mutters. He rests his chin on Bakugo’s shoulder and turns his face in towards his throat. He welcomes the piggyback too easily. “Actually, this is way better.” He mutters. He wraps his arms around Bakugo’s shoulders. He feels the thump of his best friend’s heart against his palms. It’s not fast. His pulse doesn’t race at their closeness. It relaxes. Settles. 

“No shit.” Bakugo scoffs. He starts walking again. Their friends are still with them, falling back into conversation without pause. They’re a little shield of comfort and safety around Bakugo and Kirishima, protecting both of them from any further trouble.

He falls asleep against Bakugo to the sound of Kaminari and Mina arguing over the spelling of a word that Sero insists doesn’t actually exist. He’s aware that him and Bakugo are the closeness of something more. It should freak him out, make him wonder what they are.

He doesn’t wonder. He just sleeps.

On Wednesday, Kaminari overexerts himself in training. He doesn’t quite fry himself into unawareness, but he does zap himself into sluggishness. He stumbles towards Bakugo and whines, and begs for him to carry him to the locker rooms. 

“No.” Bakugo snaps. “You have legs. Fucking use them.”

“But you carried Eijiro!”

“Yeah? You look in the mirror recently, shithead? You’re not Eijiro, are you?”

Kirishima has his back to them. He stares at his feet and smiles. 

Evidence: Special treatment.

Kirishima wakes up on Thursday sore. He’s in Bakugo’s bed again, and he’s not sure where else he’d be. His room doesn’t really feel like his anymore, and Bakugo’s room doesn’t feel like Bakugo’s. Both rooms just feel like theirs, now. Co-owned by the collective that is the two of them. That’s probably not typical best friend stuff. Kirishima would care more if he ached less.

Bakugo notices. That’s another point to add to Kirishima’s note, that Bakugo watches him like a movie he’s never seen before. Unblinking, attentive, decoding every detail. He’s already up and moving, standing by the closet and working on the buttons of his uniform when Kirishima sits up and winces. He thinks it’s subtle, but apparently there is no subtle when it comes to Bakugo.

“What hurts?” Bakugo mutters quietly. He doesn’t give Kirishima a chance to deny, as if Kirishima had made it so obvious. All he’d done was stretch and frown.

“Back,” Kirishima says, rolling out his neck. His hair falls across his shoulder with the shifting. He catches Bakugo tracing the movement. 

“Yaomomo and her fucking canons.” Bakugo grumbles. He trudges over, catching Kirishima’s chin between his fingers. He turns his head and brushes Kirishima’s hair over his shoulder. He presses his fingertips into the junction of Kirishima’s neck. His grip travels, palm flattening against the curve of Kirishima’s skin as he squeezes at the muscles, tracking the tension. “Don’t know why the hell she chooses that, not even practical.” He continues muttering to himself as he runs his hands all over Kirishima. Kirishima shivers under every caress, feeling suddenly bare and raw.

This wasn’t friendship. Bakugo is too close, both of them are only half dressed, and the way his hands roam over Kirishima is intimate. It’s undeniably intimate. It’s not even the position that makes it so. It’s not the bedroom or the early morning or the attire or the movements that convince Kirishima it’s more. Friends could help friends locate their pain. That isn’t the problem. 

It’s that he moves with memorization. With familiarity. That’s what dooms them, the ease. Bakugo doesn’t need to explore to know where Kirishima’s hurting, or where one muscle becomes another. He knows it already. Kirishima can feel it in the certainty of his grip. He’s locating pain, not anatomy. He knows Kirishima’s anatomy. As evidence, it’s damning. As affection, it’s intoxicating.  

“Here?” Bakugo asks. He pinches the worst spot on his first try. The question is a courtesy. They both know he could pinpoint any part of Kirishima blindfolded.

Kirishima nods. Bakugo grunts. He keeps his hand on the spot and crawls onto the bed, seating himself behind Kirishima. His knees press into Kirishima’s hips. Everything feels intimate and everything feels perfectly normal. Kirishima lets Bakugo wrap his hands around his neck and feels safer for it.

“It hit you in a bad spot.” Bakugo mumbles. He presses his thumbs into the base of Kirishima’s neck, digging until it hurts and persevering until it builds and releases. Kirishima trembles with aftershocks from every ministration.

“Then you probably pulled shit lifting the damn thing like that.” He drags his hands across the tension. Scrapes a divot of desire across Kirishima’s softest spots. 

“Yeah,” Kirishima rasps, delayed. He remembers he has to do that, respond. Bakugo breaks him until he heals. Rips the pain right out of him with nothing but his bare hands. 

Bakugo takes a slow breath. His hands explore for a second, pressure relenting. Kirishima’s stomach unclenches. He grapples with the desire building in his body and does not come out on top. Then Bakugo finds the worst knot yet, tucked in along Kirishima’s shoulder blades. He grips Kirishima’s shoulder with both hands and rolls it out in one sharp movement. Kirishima’s relief escapes audibly before he can stop it. He flushes at gasp, the hitch in his breath, the shudder that follows. His attempts to swallow back the noise as Bakugo continues to smooth out the ache only sounds like another groan.

Kirishima clenches his jaw so tight he has concerns about his teeth cracking. Bakugo feels the tension when his thumbs travel up Kirishima’s neck. He leans in closer, breathing across Kirishima’s jugular.

“Don’t be quiet for me,” He says, low and intentional, “I like knowing it’s working.”

Kirishima blushes with his whole body. 

“Katsuki.” He tries to make it a scold. It sounds more like a plead. Bakugo’s chuckle tickles his skin. He retreats from Kirishima’s space, but his hands keep working. Kirishima stifles another groan as Bakugo undoes the last of the lingering soreness.

Still, his hands don’t leave. Aggression and determination shifts to slow intention. He traces circles over Kirishima’s skin, like a silent apology for the necessary pain inflicted. When Kirishima sinks back into the touch, Bakugo’s hands travel up, clinging to his shoulders. Kirishima feels his nose brush his neck and the warm pressure of soft lips a second later, pressing into his vertebrae. 

Bakugo kisses the top of his spine and the world doesn’t end. It doesn’t even notice. Somehow, this is more intimate than lips and spit and tongue. It’s mouth to spine. Teeth to throat. Representative of all the ways Bakugo could hurt him and never does, of all the ways Kirishima lets him be too close. 

Bakugo lingers for a second after the kiss, his forehead against Kirishima’s hair. It should feel like having a lover, but it just feels like having Bakugo. Kirishima keeps looking for signs of disruption, displacement, discomfort, but with his best friend there is never any to be found. Maybe that’s why it's so hard to prove that they’re anything else. Because with each other, they’re never anything but themselves. 

The moment passes without triumph or upheaval. Eventually, Bakugo pulls away and crawls back out of bed and continues getting dressed. When Kirishimaa doesn’t get moving, Bakugo kicks his feet until he starts getting ready for the day. He knows what this looks like. He just doesn’t know what it is.

Fumbling with the buttons on his own shirt now, Kirishima tries to make a note.

Evidence: Friends don’t touch each other like Bakugo touches Kirishima.

The evening finds them on the couch, screen flashing its taunt of YOU DIED at them as Kaminari groans. 

“I’m washed!” He wails. He mocks fainting onto the floor, holding the controller out above him until Sero takes pity on him and plucks it from his hand.

“I told you this game was stupid difficult, dude.” He sighs and takes over. They've been trying to get through Bloodborne as a collective for weeks now, with little success. Bakugo was the only one who could get through most of the boss fights, but he never wanted to play. He preferred watching. And if Mina wasn’t willing to sit on the couch with them they were screwed when it came to the puzzles. 

All of them are here tonight, even Jiro. The girls have one couch together, though they’re mostly involved in their own tasks. Mina’s fixing one of Jiro’s necklaces for her, enraptured in her fight with the clasp. Jiro’s got a headphone in, jotting something down in one of her notebooks, probably her next song. She keeps getting distracted by the game, though, putting down her pencil and watching. She shoots the occasional insult to their skills or asks a question. Kaminari is always thrilled when it's the latter.

The boys are on the floor with their backs against the coffee table, way too close to the screen. Kaminari insists this makes it easier. Kirishima suspects he might need glasses. Sero is beside him in solidarity.

Bakugo and Kirishima have a couch to themself. They always do. Bakugo had stopped paying attention to the game a while ago. His shoulder is pressed up against Kirishima’s, feet tucked beneath him. He’s glued to his phone. Him and Midoriya have been texting about some rare All Might merch they’re trying to acquire for almost an hour. Every time Kirishima glances over and glimpses the extensive paragraphs of elaborate planning they are sending back and forth he has to try not to laugh, lest Bakugo catch him looking. 

“One more time and we give up for the night.” Sero announces as he wanders towards the trigger for the mini boss they’re stuck on.

“Haha!” Ashido cheers from her couch, holding up Jiro’s necklace. “Got it!”

“Seriously?” Jiro reaches out with her hands cupped together, starry-eyed as Ashido drops it carefully into her hold. “You’re the best. I owe you.”

“Oh! You can repay me by letting me listen to what you’re working on!” She claps her hands together and reaches for Jiro’s phone, grabbing at the air. Jiro flushes.

“When it’s done.” She says, defeated.

“Aw, you never think it’s done.” Ashido whines.

“You’re done?” Bakugo looks up.

“No,” Jiro slaps a hand over her notebook protectively. Bakugo rolls his eyes, but he doesn't push. His stare drifts to Ashido. “Does that mean you can fix mine now?”

She blinks at him, tilting her head in question. He frowns sharply and gestures with his wrist, the left one. The silver of the bracelet Kirishima gave him back in first year glimmers. Beneath it, there's a small friendship bracelet Kaminari had braided for him. He’d gone through a phase when he realized keeping his hands busy during class helped him focus. He’d tied one onto Bakugo’s wrist when the boy fell asleep in the common room. Bakugo scowled at it when he noticed and kept it on forever.

“Oh,” Ashido claps her hands together again, “The bracelet I made you snapped, right? Don’t worry about it,” She waves, “It was just plastic, it wasn’t made to last. I won’t be offended if you throw it out.”

“Why the fuck would I throw it out?” Bakugo snaps. There’s a dusting of pink to his cheeks, real frustration in his eyes. “I kept the beads. You can’t fucking fix it?”

Ashido’s expression softens. Kaminari snickers. She reaches over to swat him into silence. She tucks a hand over her lips, smiling behind her fingertips. “I could make you another one. The beads are cheap, I have tons of them.”

Bakugo glares. Ashido smiles brighter. “But you want yours. Alright, I figured.” She giggles, standing and patting him on the head as she passes his couch. “Let me go get my string and stuff. Do you have the beads?”

Bakugo peels himself off of Kirishima and nods, following after Ashido. “In my room.” He mutters. Kirishima hears Ashido poking him with questions about the design, meaningless small talk as they drift out of the common room together. 

Kirishima watches him go, forever endeared by how much he cares despite how uncomfortable it makes him. 

“Sap,” Jiro teases fondly once they’re out of earshot. She’s moved to the ground beside Kaminari. He’s giggling as he clasps her necklace for her.

“Possibly the biggest sap out of all of us.” Kaminari agrees.

“It’s sweet.” Kirishima says.

“It’s over.” Sero mutters, losing to the boss in their video game. Kaminari whips his head back towards the screen and screams in horror. The two immediately start bickering about the loss. Jiro shakes her head and slips back onto the couch. 

Kirishima chuckles as they debate if it’s worth trying again. It’s getting late and he’s growing tired. He sighs as he sprawls out on the couch, adjusting the pillows so he can rest his head against the armrest. Sero and Kaminari decide to switch to something mildly less rage-inducing. Kirishima avoids being pulled into their game of Super Smash Bros, but Jiro accepts defeat, pushing her notebook aside to take a controller. 

“Why would you give her that?” Sero mutters, “She’s gonna kick our asses.”

“Yeah, and it’s gonna be so hot.” Kaminari jokes. Jiro snorts and kicks him in the ribs. He thanks her. She kicks him again.

Bakugo and Ashido return during the round. Ashido’s clutching a sparkly pink plastic case filled with craft materials. Bakugo’s cradling a tiny reusable container in both hands with an uncharacteristic gentleness, like it’s the most precious thing in the world. 

Ashido takes it from him and places a kiss on his cheek before she skips back to Jiro. Bakugo frowns but doesn’t complain. As Ashido settles on the floor in front of Jiro and sets up on the table, Bakugo’s eyes fall on Kirishima. 

He smiles. With an exaggerated ease he flops forward on top of Kirishima, knocking the breath out of him and laughing at the sound he makes.

“Dude,” Kirishima wheezes, winding his arms around Bakugo’s ribs. “Warning next time.”

“Fuck you.” Bakugo mutters into his shoulder. Kirishima laughs. Bakugo readjusts, turning his head so his cheek rests on Kirishima’s chest, his ear over his heart. His legs find his way between Kirishima’s. His hands drift around Kirishima’s ribs for a while, uncertain before he reaches up. Kirishima lifts his head without thinking, without Bakugo asking, so the blond can tuck his arms under Kirishima’s neck.

They don’t say anything, they just lay together and watch Kaminari lose. Every time Bakugo laughs at him Kirishima feels the vibration against his own chest. This would be evidence, a part of him thinks, but this is normal. They do this all the time, the touching and cuddling and sharing of space. Kirishima and Bakugo are like two sides of velcro, their purpose is to be attached. They’re supposed to push together. It would be stranger to have Bakugo anywhere else, weirder for him to not be on top of Kirishima, their heartbeats pushing back and forth.

“Katsuki Blanket-go.” Kirishima says, instead of voicing any of his thoughts.

“Shut up,” Bakugo snorts. Kirishima smiles. 

“That was awful.” Sero says flatly.

“It’s a damn bad night when I’m agreeing with Soy Sauce.” Bakugo mutters. Sero raises a middle finger over his shoulder without looking back. Bakugo smiles and Kirishima’s the only one who sees it. 

They play for a few more rounds. Most of the chatter and teasing quiets as the night gets later and sleepiness seeps in. Kaminari wins particularly impressively and whips around to look at Bakugo and Kirishima with a wide grin.

“Did you see–” He starts some sort of brag, but cuts himself off. His smile turns goofy. 

Everyone else looks over at his abrupt silence.

“Aw,” Ashido coos, “It’s past his bedtime.” 

Kirishima follows her stare and realizes that Bakugo has fallen asleep. All his anger and tension is gone, his face soft and stunning where the television light illuminates it. Kirishima is struck again by the gravity of his want, by how much he would do to keep this forever and the strange suffocation of the idea that he might already have it. It scares him. He wants Bakugo so bad it feels strange to think he might’ve somehow missed getting him. But regardless of if he missed a label or an invite, he does have him, doesn’t he? He’s right here. Kirishima doesn’t want to mess that up. He would do anything to avoid messing that up. 

Kirishima runs his thumb up and down the same spot on Bakugo’s lower back, beside his hip. He knows that there is a scar there beneath the fabric, from another moment he wasn’t there for. Another thing that tried to take Bakugo from him. It’s a consuming terror he can never linger in: that constant threat of loss. The thought of the potential alone is paralyzing. He doesn’t want to lose Bakugo to death or anger or distance or time, or the selfishness of wanting more, of needing some label or understanding that Bakugo doesn’t seem to crave. Kirishima can’t bear to move in any way that rocks the boat. He won’t survive either of them going overboard. 

“I’m screwed.” He whispers. 

His friends still. Kirishima means for it to be a joke but it comes out raspy and desperate. Kaminari practically slaps the controller in an attempt to pause the obnoxious music coming from the television. Ashido gently sets the bracelet down. She’s the first to speak, gentle and cautious.

“Kiri,” She soothes, “Not making any progress?”

“Is there progress to make?” Kirishima stares down at Bakugo’s expression. He’s so vulnerable in Kirishima’s arms, so trusting. Like Kirishima could never hurt him even though he knows exactly how. “What if I’m completely delusional?”

“You’re not delusional, dude.” Sero says, sounding a little exasperated. Kaminari quiets him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Why do you think you’re delusional?” Kaminari asks..

“Because,” Kirishima frowns. He huffs, “I keep trying to prove that he’s treating me differently or– or special or find some sort of pattern of behavior but it’s– it’s not boyfriend behaviour or crush behaviour– it’s just Katuski.” He says. He keeps his voice quiet, but he can’t stop the franticness from seeping in, his rambling speeding up, “We’ve always been like this. Aside from the kiss, nothing has changed. And if we’ve always been like this then maybe that’s all we’ll ever be. And maybe I’m the asshole for needing to label it, or wanting more from him. Maybe I’m the idiot for needing clarification. And maybe the second I voice any of it he’s going to realize how stupid and desperate I am and he’ll never want to look at me again.” Kirishima takes a shaky breath, annoyed and humiliated at the burn of tears in his throat. “Why do I want to ruin this so badly? Why can’t this be enough?”

“Hey,” Ashido says firmly, “You’re not stupid or desperate, Kiri.”

Kaminari nods fervently. “And you’re not an ass for wanting a label. You want to understand what you guys are, that’s pretty basic stuff, man. He owes you that, at least.”

“You’re not getting it,” Kirishima grits his teeth. “All of these things, the sharing, the touching, the staring, the little quiet actions of care it- it has nothing to do with me. That’s Katsuki. It’s just how he cares. Maybe I was the first one to earn it, but he does it for all of you, too. He does it for Midoriya. It’s a hard thing to earn but anyone can earn it. I’m…” He quiets. “I’m not special.”

“He chose your couch, didn’t he?” Jiro says. 

Kirishima glances at her. She’s leaning an elbow on the couch's armrest, her chin in her hands. Her chipped black nails tap a mindless pattern on her cheek. She’d look bored if her stare wasn’t a blatant challenge.

“Bakugo’s a sentimental guy when he wants to be, we all know that by now.” Jiro shrugs. She shifts a little when she realizes all the attention is on her, but continues, “You can argue back and forth all day about who he’d do what for, tally and track every favour and affection, I don’t know. I think you’d all be running in circles, and he’d still be running to you.” She points one painted nail at Kirishima’s face. “He didn’t choose my couch, or to sit with Denki and Sero. He chose you. Maybe that doesn’t make him your boyfriend, but it makes you his first choice. Doesn’t that mean something?”

Kirishima stares at her, floored by her concise destruction of his argument. “I don’t know.” 

“You don’t?” Jiro asks. Kirishima shuts his mouth. 

Kaminari sighs. “I’m sorry, man. We didn’t mean to get you all stuck in your head about this. But if it’s bothering you, you really should just ask. I know it’s Bakugo but at the same time, it’s Bakugo. Kyoka’s right. He’s different around you. If anyone is going to be able to miss the memo about being his boyfriend and get away with it, it’s you.”

“I know,” Kirishima whispers. And he does. But it doesn’t make the thought of being wrong less scary. Jumping still means facing the freefall, even if the landing ends up soft.

Bakugo shifts and everyone goes quiet. Kaminari lunges to unpause the game, scrambling for some feigned normalcy. Ashido quickly snatches her bracelet off the table.

Bakugo’s eyes flutter open and she’s talking before anyone else can try.

“Done!” She cheers, effortlessly drawing his attention to her instead of to the tension lingering in the air. He blinks his sleepy eyes at her and smiles. It’s a soft, easy thing. He holds his hand out eagerly, his excitement borderline childish. Then he wakes up enough to remember himself and Kirishima watches him wrestle the smile into something a little more guarded. But it never fades completely as Ashido slips the bracelet onto his wrist. 

“Thanks,” He mutters. He drops his head back onto Kirishima’s chest. Ashido beams. Kirishima is momentarily overcome with a burst of fondness for all of them. 

With the bracelet done, Ashido announces that she’s going to bed. As she cleans up her materials the others follow her lead, rising and stretching and collecting their stuff, undoing the marks they always make when they claim this corner of the common room each night, moving in and out of it as a unit. Kaminari’s fidget toy and the cans of whatever drink Sero and him had been sharing, Jiro's notebooks and Ashido’s phone are all swept off the table by their owners. Bakugo and Kirishima don’t move amidst the shuffling. They don’t have anything in the space but each other. 

“Can’t go to bed if you don’t get off of me, man.” Kirishima teases. He trails his arms up Bakugo’s body and clutches at his shoulders. The threat of removing him is one they both know Kirishima won’t act on. 

“M’not moving.” Bakugo grumbles. Kirishima laughs.

“Damn.” He laments. “Guess we’re stuck together forever, then.”

Bakugo shifts. He turns his head, resting his chin on Kirishima’s chest so he can see his face. Their noses brush. Bakugo’s eyes are blown wide, uncertainty and an impossible tenderness in his stare. 

Kirishima had expected a snort or an insult in response. It’s not what he gets.

“I hope so.” Bakugo whispers.

“What?” Kirishima breathes. 

Bakugo looks vulnerable, he looks exposed. He looks embarrassed and enthralled and so gorgeous it shouldn’t be allowed. 

“I hope I’m stuck with you forever, fucker. I hope I never scare you off.”

“Oh,” Kirishima whispers. He doesn’t mean to drift closer, but he realizes he has when Bakugo’s eyes drop to his lips. He stops himself, horrified. He swallows the emotion. He smiles, wobbly with awe and withheld laughter. “I hate to break it to you, but you’re not that scary, Kats.”

Bakugo tightens his arms around Kirishima’s neck. It’s the only warning he gets before he crushes their lips together. Kirishima inhales against his mouth in his shock and then leans in on instinct. Bakugo kisses him like the world is ending, like he thinks it might be their last chance. He pulls himself closer, drags himself up Kirishima’s body. There’s a lot of emotion behind everything Bakugo does and kissing is no exception. He’s as tender as he is frantic. He pushes his tongue into Kirishima’s mouth like he knows he has an open invitation.

And he does, but Kirishima’s brain goes static from it anyway. 

They don’t kiss for long. Bakugo snaps away like he did the time before, looking a little uncertain again, guilty. His eyes flick across Kirishima’s face, looking for something.

“Was that–”

“Okay,” Kirishima says frantically. He nods. “Very okay. Yeah. You can uh, do that whenever.”

Bakugo stares at him blankly for a second. His eyebrows furrow, then his whole expression scrunches as he bursts out laughing. He drops his forehead onto Kirishima’s chest until he pulls himself together. Then he bumps Kirishima’s nose with his own and places one more soft kiss against his lips.

“Idiot,” He says. It’s too fond, again. Kirishima’s starting to wonder if he really is using it as a pet name. “Let’s go to bed.”

“Right.” Kirishima says, feeling a little detached from reality. He asks, “Whose bed?” Because that’s a valid question they need to ask most nights now. 

“Mine.” Bakugo says. He pushes himself off of Kirishima but catches his hand as he pulls away, so there’s never a second where they aren’t touching. Ashido’s bracelet clinks against Kirishima’s when their wrists bump. 

Their friends had trickled off at some point, Kirishima had been a little distracted. He grabs the remote and clicks the television off. He lets Bakugo guide him through the dark. They stumble into his dorm room as two halves holding each other up. Kirishima flops onto the bed while Bakugo sets his alarm and plugs his phone in. He reaches over and sticks his hand in Kirishima’s pocket, pulling his phone out to do the same. Kirishima notes distantly that his phone charger is in Bakugo’s room. He doesn’t know when that happened. 

Bakugo scoffs a complaint about him taking up too much space and pushes Kirishima until he rolls towards the wall. But when Bakugo climbs in he wraps an arm around Kirishima’s ribs and pulls him close with an aggression that suggests he’s mad Kirishima was so far away. 

Kirishima curls up against Bakugo until their spines are matching curves. He has a passing thought that he wishes Bakugo’s heart wasn’t injured the way it was, so theirs would share the same rhythm more often. But it's a selfish thought to want Bakugo’s heart to act a certain way. Kirishima’s grateful to have it at all.

He could ask. He should. It’s just them and with the way Bakugo had been kissing him he has more than enough reason to question. But ruin is a threat he always cowers from. Loss is the monster under the bed, as long as Kirishima keeps his feet under the blanket and his mouth shut, he can pretend it cannot touch him.

He doesn’t ask. He makes a note, but after tonight's crisis and the subsequent kisses, all of it feels muddled and useless. He wishes he didn’t care. 

Evidence: Does it matter? Kirishima isn’t going anywhere and neither is any of this. Does it matter? This should be enough.

Kirishima hits the ground hard on Friday afternoon. It’s heroics and Bakugo’s laughing and grinning like a maniac, flying at Kirishima with fire behind him.

Kirishima rolls away, blocking two swings with each arm. The explosions follow. There’s a beat to their fight, they almost make music. A swing, a roll, a shuffle, an explosion. Boom, boom, crack. Crunch, boom, scrape. A symphony of two people evenly matched. 

They know each other too well for it to not be rhythmic and graceful. Every hit is blocked or caught or met with another. Neither are bleeding or bruised. Both of them are grinning like idiots. 

Bakugo tries something new. He launches himself into the air and then back down towards the ground. The momentum sends him into a slide. He flies past Kirishima and catches his ankle. With another explosion to change his course, Bakugo swings around, hooking both of Kirishima’s legs with one arm and ripping his feet out from under him. Kirishima twists at the last second. He lands hard on top of Bakugo, who tries to aim a gauntlet at him. Since they clearly aren't playing fair today, Kirishima snaps the silver handle of the grenade design in his sharp teeth and rips the thing clean off of Bakugo’s arm. 

Bakugo stills for a second, wide-eyed and wild. He barks out a laugh and shoves his hand against Kirishima’s face. Their tactics instantly dissolve into teenage roughhousing as Kirishima yelps and tries to shake him off. He hardens his hands on the ground on either side of Bakugo’s head so he can’t be moved. Bakugo kicks his knees at Kirishima’s stomach like a kid throwing a tantrum, adding new chips and scratches to the metal of his kneepads with every attempt. Realizing the futility of it, he grips one of Kirishima’s wrists and aims the other arm above his own head. His right hand explodes, and the force launches him through Kirishima’s legs, sends him rolling free of Kirishima’s pin. He launches himself into the air with one palm exploding against the ground and lands wildly on Kirishima’s back, clinging to him with all his limbs, winding himself against hardening. 

Kirishima throws himself sideways, landing hard on top of Bakugo, crushing him. He laughs when Bakugo curses, squirming. He rolls off of him only for Bakugo to lock a leg around his knees, tripping him. Kirishima ends up flopping onto his back instead of being able to roll away. Bakugo practically launches at him. He jams a boot hard into Kirishima's stomach. He can’t feel it through hardening, but the weight does keep him pinned. His knee cracks against the ground by Kirishima’s chest. He catches Kirishima’s wrists in one hand and pins them up above his head. He snaps his other gauntlet off and throws it aside, his hand flying to Kirishima’s throat. He’s always been faster than Kirishima, so by the time Kirishima registers what’s happening he’s already pinned like a bug beneath him. He raises his chin instinctively. He should be trying harder to get Bakugo’s hands off of him, not giving him better access.

They both freeze like that. Bakugo’s straddling him. He has a trigger pressed to every one of Kirishima’s vitals, hands on his wrists and throat and a sharp heel against his heart. Kirishima feels ecstatic instead of afraid. They’re both still moving, heaving on the ground, their chests rising and falling with exertion. There’s sweat dripping from Bakugo’s nose. His mouth is open, showing off his teeth as he pants. Kirishima knows he looks the same, flushed and disheveled. 

Kirishima has never had sex, but sometimes when he fights with Bakugo he thinks he understands why people do. The exertion is exhilarating, the closeness is intoxicating. He likes Bakugo’s hands on him. He likes hearing how he can wreck his breathing, coaxing him into frustration and pulling curses from his mouth. He likes getting reactions out of him. He likes the attention he gets when Bakugo’s hunting him. He likes showing off how well he knows every inch of the blond. He likes how close they have to be, and how they always linger. Even now, Bakugo leans in, drumming his fingers against Kirishima’s throat, taunting.

“Thought we said no teeth, Eijiro.” He rumbles.

Kirishima grins, “Didn’t use them on you, did I?” He says. 

Bakugo shudders against him. “Shut up.” He snaps, oddly hoarse. Something coils in Kirishima’s chest at the sound. “Ruined another fucking gauntlet is what you did. I could kill you for that.”

Kirishima raises his chin, voice breathy. He gives Bakugo better access for the slaughter. “Could you?” 

Overly confident, he drops his quirk. Hardening ripples and fades as Bakugo tightens his hold. His thumb sinks into soft flesh just beneath Kirishima's adam's apple. Bakugo licks sweat off of his top lip. He runs his thumb across the plane of Kirishima’s throat with something that isn’t murderous, but feels oddly close.

“Fucking idiot,” Bakugo growls, “What if I’d actually done it? Would’ve killed the shit out of you.”

“You didn’t do it, though.” Kirishima whispers. 

“You’re fucking crazy.” Bakugo says. He’s smiling. He’s so close they must be breathing only each other's air, delirium induced by their carbon dioxide exchange. 

“Do you want me to tone it down?” Kirishima taunts. He lets hardening fade everywhere, so he can feel every point of contact. Bakugo’s heel hurts where it sinks into his stomach. Kirishima likes it.

“If you did, I’d kill you too easy,” Bakugo growls. His face is so close they’d kiss if Kirishima moved. “Where’s the fun in that, Red?”

“Would never wanna deprive you of your fun.” Kirishima murmurs. 

“Damn right.” Bakugo snaps.

Bakugo is everywhere, all over him. Half the sweat on Kirishima’s body is probably his. His hand is still firm against Kirishima’s wrist, the curve of his calf tracing the outline of Kirishima’s ribcage. Class is over soon. Aizawa will eventually notice that their fight has stopped and tell them to go cool off. Kirishima doesn’t want to cool off. He doesn’t want Bakugo’s weight to leave him. He wants the pressure of his heel in his gut, the sharp pain of being touched, the closeness of his breath on his face. He wants his hands around his wrist and throat and the distant knowledge that Bakugo could be deadly with none of the concern, because he knows they cannot hurt each other. He wants the press of Bakugo all over him. He wants this, he wants more. 

Bakugo pulls away. Kirishima feels itchy all over. He feels antsy, unfulfilled. He wants more.

Evidence: This is not enough.

Friday night is movie night. Most of the class is crammed around the television, bundled on couches and the floor. There’s a bad monster movie playing, with terrible puppetry and cheap animatronics and worse CGI. Kirishima is having the time of his life.

He’s wedged between Kaminari and Ashido, the former's knees in Kirishima’s lap and the latter's head against his shoulder. Sero is on the floor in front of Kaminari, his head against his knees. Kaminari is putting messy little braids in his hair, hands moving even with his eyes glued to the screen. Sero keeps complaining about it but he isn’t pulling away. Jiro’s sitting over with the other girls.

Bakugo’s absence is noticeable. He’s on patrol with Jeanist tonight. He’s supposed to be back soon, though. It’s not that it's strange to be cuddled up with Ashido and Kaminari, but Kirishima always feels when the person beside him isn’t Bakugo. There’s a noticeable difference. 

Sero and Kaminari cheer as one of the characters on the screen pulls out an absurdly big gun. Todoroki makes a confused comment about the effectiveness of such a weapon, which makes Iida and Midoriya start a real debate and Uraraka bursts out laughing. Kirishima sinks into the noise, comforted by the chatter and the bad sound effects.

The final battle continues on the screen in front of them. When the front door clicks open, Kirishima’s the only one who hears it. He snaps his head to the side and sees Bakugo kicking off his shoes. There’s a slump to his silhouette, exhaustion in his walk. It’s too dark to see the details of his face when he’s so far from the screen, but Kirishima sees him turn his head. He feels the second their eyes meet.

Bakugo hesitates before he shuffles over. He doesn’t try to step across everyone. Instead he moves up to the back of the couch and lingers behind Kirishima. Kirishima turns to look at him, which finally makes other people aware of his presence. A few people greet him lazily. He doesn’t acknowledge any of them and no one takes offense. 

Kirishima waits for him to break the silence. He doesn’t say a greeting of his own. With the light on Bakugo’s face now, he can see weariness there. Bakugo clenches his jaw. Slowly, his hands land on Kirishima’s shoulders. He digs his fingertips into the muscle, turns Kirishima around until he’s facing the screen again. He can’t see Bakugo when his hands travel down, sliding across his chest until he buries his nose in Kirishima’s hair. Kirishima hears him take a long, deep breath. Bakugo hugs him fiercely tight from behind for three seconds. Then he mutters, “Going to bed,” and pulls away. 

Something’s wrong. With Bakugo, Kirishima always knows. More than knows, he feels it. It’s a specific tang of unease that rises in the back of his throat. He turns and throws himself over the back of the couch, muttering an apology for jostling his friends. He chases after Bakugo before he can get to the elevator and catches his wrist.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Kirishima asks softly. 

Bakugo shrugs. The lights across his face flash as things change on the television screen, shuttering his expression, muddling his emotions. 

“Don’t have to.” He says quietly. “You’re with our friends.”

Kirishima smiles gently, though he doesn’t know if Bakugo can see it with the way he’s backlit. “I am. But that wasn’t what I was asking.” His chest pangs as he says it, with fondness and worry and the crawling desperation to help. Experimentally, he turns his grip on Bakugo’s wrist. He travels up his arm as he steps closer, until he’s holding Bakugo’s bicep gently, their bodies almost flush but never quite. Bakugo doesn’t pull away, so Kirishima stays. He stares at the blond. His sharp features look sharper in the unlit room, and his stare is an unwavering thing even with the uncertainty in it. 

“I asked if you want me to.” Kirishima repeats.

On the screen behind them, something explodes. The entire room lights up with it, white and orange illuminating every inch of Bakuo’s skin, reflecting in the crimson of his wide eyes. Kirishima sees every inch of the anguish in him. It lights up every second of his reaction to Kirishima, tenderness and guilt and fear and a yearning that Kirishima doesn’t want to identify. It’s worrying, but Kirishima has to remind himself to stay focused. It’s hard to be reassuring when Bakugo is so reverent. Bakugo shudders as the light fades. He drops his eyes, then his chin. He leans a little closer.

“Y–” He chokes on it. He clears his throat, curses. “I–” He tries again. Kirishima hears the word catch. Finally, with frustration in his shoulders, Bakugo reaches across the air between them and clenches a fist in the front of Kirishima’s shirt. He clings until the fabric pulls. He nods. 

“Yeah?” Kirishima whispers, making sure he understands.

Bakugo’s fist snaps tighter. He nods again, sharper. Then again, faster.

“Okay,” He brings his hand to Bakugo’s shoulder, slides his arm around him when he turns his body towards the elevator. “Let’s go.”

Bakugo lets him lead them through the dark. The elevator ride is quiet. Kirishima tries to assess the situation. Bakugo doesn’t look hurt. No blood anywhere. There’s a smattering of pale bruises across one cheek, but it’s not severe. He’ll ensure it later. From here, now, it seems like emotional turmoil. Kirishima knows what that could mean after a return from patrol. He would take out his phone and try to check the news, but he knows as soon as he does Bakugo would know what he’s doing. Instead, he stays quiet and steady at Bakugo’s side. When they reach their floor, Kirishima leads them to Bakugo’s room. He knows he’ll prefer his own bed and clothes tonight.

Bakugo leads them in and Kirishima shuts the door behind them. He drops his bag on the floor and sighs, running both hands up his face and through his hair. His shoulders shake a little, but his eyes are still dry when he drops his hands.

“Need to change,” He mutters. Kirishima nods. 

He steps closer. His hands find the bottom of Bakugo’s tanktop. He curls his fingers under the fabric and looks up to Bakugo’s frown.

“Let me help.” He says.

“M’fine, Eijiro.” Bakugo mutters, seeing right through him.

“Let me see, then.” Kirishima pleads, “For my own peace of mind.”

Bakugo swallows. He nods, raising his arms. Kirishima pushes the shirt up his skin, all their touches soft and warm. They’ve done this before. It’s hard to find intimacy in undressing when you're in their line of work. Fabric becomes associated with blood, with the injuries it’s frantically ripped away from. Undressing is never a pleasant thing, it’s a frantic claw towards the answer of how much time a person has left. Between the two of them, by now, it’s neither intimate nor violent. Kirishima helps Bakugo with buttons and zippers when his hand is bad. Bakugo helps Kirishima pull shirts off of sore shoulders. It’s evidence, maybe. Kirishima doesn’t undress any of his other friends like this, but his other friends aren’t Bakugo. The fingers under Bakugo’s shirt right now are a different kind of trust.

He gets the fabric over Bakugo’s head and tosses it aside. Kirishima hisses at the sight, a hand instantly dropping to hover beside Bakugo’s ribs.

“Kats,” He whispers. There’s a nauseating bruise across Bakugo’s right ribs. Purples and blues in an agonizingly dark shade. It’s the only injury he has, but it’s not a pretty one. “We need to work on your definition of fine.” Kirishima mutters.

Bakugo exhales in what might be a laugh. He winces from it. His hand finds Kirishima’s where it hovers. Gently, he guides it closer, places Kirishima’s palm over the wound to prove he can’t be hurt by him.

“It’s just a fucking bruise.” Bakugo mutters. “They checked my ribs and lungs and shit already, I’m fine.”

Kirishima pouts but doesn’t push. Bakugo rolls his eyes. His stare settles somewhere around Kirishima’s collarbone. He reaches across the space, settling two fingers on the zipper of Kirishima’s hoodie. He pinches and pulls. The first tug is sharp, insistent, but then he slows. He makes stealing Kirishima’s hoodie something intimate and tender. It feels like being stripped even though Kirishima has a shirt underneath. Bakugo shakes the zipper off of its track at the end, then slides his hands under the hem of the hoodie and slips it off of Kirishima’s shoulders. 

He pulls it over his own arms, zips it up over his bare chest. Kirishima watches the goosebumps along his neck fade as Bakugo snuggles into it.

“There.” He mutters, “You don’t have to look at it.”

Kirishima sighs as he adjusts the hood around Bakugo’s neck. His hand trails down. He hesitates by Bakugo’s waist.

“I’m not taking your pants off.” He says. It’s as teasing as he dares with Bakugo so fragile. 

Bakugo barely reacts. His eyes meet Kirishima’s, unperturbed.

“I’d let you.” He says. 

The words drift between them. They’re not said like flirtation or anything sexual. It’s fact, a statement. It’s trust. Kirishima feels it in his chest, tastes it like syrup in his throat. Bakugo trusts him, trusts his hands, even in his vulnerable state.

Kirishima takes a shaking breath and starts on the drawstring of Bakugo’s sweatpants. He hooks his thumbs in the waistband, slips them over his hips and lets them drop to the ground. He crouches to help Bakugo get his feet out, and Bakugo puts a hand on Kirishima’s shoulder to steady himself as he steps free. Kirishima tosses the pants in the direction of the hamper, leaving Bakugo in his boxers.

When he stands again, Bakugo is crying. 

“Oh, Katsuki,” Kirishima whispers. 

Bakugo’s break is entirely silent, just two streaks of tears running down his cheeks and a slight quiver to his lips. He shakes a little when Kirishima says his name. When Kirishima cups his face in both his hands, Bakugo lets out one, quiet sob and turns his face into Kirishima’s palm. 

“Come here,” Kirishima says. Bakugo all but falls into him. Kirishima leads them to the bed. They both fumble around after collapsing onto it, but they end up curled up in the corner where the wall meets the headboard. No matter how long it’s been since they reached this level of comfort, the ease with which Bakugo curls into him will always astonish Kirishima. His shins are cold against Kirishima’s calves, but he pulls him closer and further entangles them anyway. This too, is typical. Comfort after patrols is another thing they learned early, and a skill they will need for the rest of their life. Distantly, Kirishima realizes that he wants to be the one Bakugo seeks out forever. He always wants to be the one here, doing this, holding Bakugo in his hoodie and letting him cry. He wants to be the one Bakugo clings to. He wants them to be stuck together forever. 

“What happened?” Kirishima asks quietly. 

“Building collapse.” Bakugo mutters. His arms loop around Kirishima’s ribs, pulling him closer. His cheek is against Kirishima’s chest. His breath caresses Kirishima’s heart with every word. “Apartment building. One casualty.”

Casualty. A hero’s worst nightmare. Kirishima frowns. He rubs a hand in circles over Bakugo’s spine. There’s a million comforts he could say, I’m sorry, it’s not your fault, you did your best, but they are repetitive and meaningless and they won’t undo it in the end. He knows it’s not what Bakugo’s looking for and he can sense that isn’t all of it, so he continues his ministrations and waits. Bakugo hugs him tighter, briefly.

“I got pinned when shit collapsed on me.” Bakugo mutters. “Couldn’t get to her in time. Wouldn’t have happened if you’d been there.”

Kirishima smiles weakly. Bakugo’s been doing that a lot lately, emphasizing that they’re better together, like he spends every second out on the field noting how things would be if Kirishima was there, filling in spaces with thoughts of him. 

“It fucking sucks,” Bakugo rasps. “It sucks and I feel like shit but–” He hesitates. “It’s– I mean the death…that’s the worst part. But I–” His voice catches. He curses and turns his face into the fabric of Kirishima’s shirt.

“I was fucking pissed after, and these goddamn reporters were in my way and I was trying to get to the fucking ambulance so I could check– there was this kid, okay? He reminded me of Deku so fuck me for wanting to go check on him– but these damn microphones wouldn’t let me do my job so I snapped at them to try and scare ‘em off. And one of them said…” He takes a rattling breath. Kirishima is already tense in preparation. “Said I probably didn’t even give a shit, with my attitude.”

Rage is not a common visitor for Kirishima. But when it rolls in, it rolls in like a hurricane. It happens often with things like this, people– usually reporters– who think they know his best friend based on the times they heard him swear in the field. Fuck them. If they had Bakugo’s job they’d be cursing too. Kirishima tightens his hold on Bakugo, trying to keep his voice even

“Didn’t give a shit about…” 

“About the woman. Who died.” Bakugo whispers. 

“Fuck them.” Kirishima snaps.

Bakugo chuckles, but it's tired. “Yea–”

“No, seriously.” Kirishima sneers. “Fuck them. They don’t know you. They don’t know anything about you. How dare they?”

“Ei–” Bakugo looks up at him. His eyes are still glassy and his cheeks are still wet, but there’s a smile drifting onto his lips. Kirishima doesn’t register it.

“After all the shit you do for them? That’s not enough?”

“Eijiro, it’s–”

“They need you to be pleasant on camera after risking your life or else that rest of it, what, doesn’t count? That’s such bullshit. It–” 

He’s silenced when Bakugo kisses him. His anger fizzles and fades too easily. He sinks under the gentle pressure. The kiss is soft, a little salty. Bakugo smiles languidly against Kirishima’s mouth. 

He pulls back, eyes still glassy but entire body soft and fond. 

“Sorry,” He mutters, sniffling. He brushes a thumb over Kirishima’s cheeks, wiping off the tears he transferred. “It’s hot when you’re pissed off for me.” 

“Uh–” Kirishima sputters. That was a decidedly boyfriend-like thing to say, wasn’t it? He tries to note it down, but he can’t even think of the word he was using in the moment.  Bakugo smirks, still weary but looking more like himself. He sits up a little, settling with his cheek against Kirishima’s shoulder this time. 

“It’s fine,” He repeats, sounding a little more certain. “Like I give a shit what those extras think of me. I just…” He frowns. “I don’t know. Sometimes I worry that they’re right.” 

Kirishima tenses. Bakugo sighs.

“Am I still a bad person, Eijiro? What if I was so bad for so long that I don’t deserve to be a hero? Sometimes it feels like…” Bakugo’s voice comes out as a pleading rasp, “It feels like I try to be good and they all see right through me.”

“No,” Kirishima snaps. He turns his whole body towards Bakugo, catches his chin in his hand. “You’re good. They only see what they want to see because they don’t give a shit about looking further. They think they know Dynamight, but they don’t. And they definitely don’t know Katsuki. Do you hear me?”

Bakugo nods, eyes wide and glassy again.

“There is no one in the world who deserves this more than you, Katsuki. You’re good. You’re better than all of them.”

“That’s objectively not true,” Bakugo mutters.

“I believe it.” Kirishima insists. “It’s true to me.”

Bakugo looks at him. He blinks rapidly, a few more tears falling free as his lips quiver. Then, they twist into a smile. He flops forward, his forehead landing against Kirishima’s collarbones as his hands fist in the bottom of Kirishima’s chest. For a second, he’s laughing and sobbing at the same time. Kirishima smiles down at him. His hands trace patterns on his back again as he waits it out. 

“Fuck,” Bakugo says hoarsely, minutes later when he’s back in control, “I feel like your logic is flawed as shit, Ei.” He takes a small breath. Kirishima shrugs, raising a hand to wipe the tears from Bakugo’s cheek. Bakugo chews his lip, eyes softening. “Maybe you’re right, about the hero shit.” He straightens, kicking off some of the blankets so he can get his knee over Kirishima’s legs. “But there’s one thing I’m fucking sure I don’t deserve.”

He closes the distance slowly. Kirishima lets him, and only reciprocates when Bakugo’s committed. He presses Kirishima flush against the wall, their mouths moving in steady rhythm. Kirishima lets it happen, tries not to push back with too much enthusiasm. Bakugo’s hands find their way up to Kirishima’s shoulders. He clutches him desperately as he licks Kirishima’s lips. Kirishima opens his mouth with the ease that he obeys any of Bakugo’s commands, bends as easily as he does to any of his wishes. He groans a little, and finds it hard to be embarrassed when he feels the way it makes all of Bakugo tense. 

“Kats–” He rasps. Bakugo pulls away with heavy eyes and spit trailing between them. He presses his hips closer to Kirishima and Kirishima feels dizzy. He has an iron grip on Bakugo’s waist, knowing he can't go any higher without digging his fingers into a bruise, half-tempted to try just to hear the noises Bakugo would make. He pulls him closer with so much aggression their chests crush together. Bakugo has to slap a hand onto the wall beside Kirishima’s head to stop his collision. His hips are against Kirishima’s stomach, making his shirt ride up. Bakugo leans back in with a hunger, with teeth and heat and a newfound speed. Kirishima gasps into it. He pulls back, tries again. 

This isn’t friendship. This isn’t even a crush. This is something wild and carnal, animalistic. And he needs to ask now. He needs to ask now before things tumble further and he still doesn't know where he tripped. Before it becomes even more unclear what Bakugo expects from him, what he wants. 

“Katsuki–” Kirishima tries. It sounds like a whimper. Bakugo meets it like one, kissing into the words even harder. He kisses so frantically he starts missing, tongue and lips hitting chin and cheeks and always kissing their way back to the right target.

“Katsuki,” Kirishima gasps.

“Eijiro,” Bakugo slurs in return. He shoves their mouths together again. It hurts and Kirishima loves it. He gets a hand on each pec and pushes Bakugo off of him.

“What–” He tries to start.

“You, idiot.” Bakugo says. “You’re the thing I don’t deserve.”

He’s answering a different question, the one he expected Kirishima to ask. Kirishima should correct him, but something primal makes it all fizzle out. He feels cold and desperate with the space between him. And he needs to prove Bakugo wrong.

“I’m here.” Kirishima says, “You’ve earned me.”

He doesn’t get another word in after that. 

Kirishima wakes up the next morning shirtless with a few new marks for his friends to wince at. There’s blood drying on his lip and one particularly nasty scratch right down the center of his chest that didn’t quite fade. He’s starting to think Bakugo really doesn’t think they’re just friends. He shoves all of it aside as the night before comes back, or the parts before everything fades to lips and bodies. He takes out his phone, knowing he has time before Bakugo wakes up.

Minutes later, when the blond does wake, he rolls over with bleary eyes, searching. He smiles when he finds Kirishima, as if he’s relieved he is still there. Kirishima doesn’t know why he always worries he’ll leave. 

“Morning.” Bakugo grumbles. 

“One hundred and fifty seven.” Kirishima says. 

Bakugo blinks. His eyebrows furrow. “What?” He mutters.

“That’s how many people you saved last night.” Kirishima says. “This is where you’re meant to be, Katsuki. You deserve this.”

The look on Bakugo’s face is one Kirishima could memorize. The blond smiles. He reaches over and rests a hand on Kirishima’s jaw, thumb rubbing back and forth across his cheek.

“Yeah?” Bakugo whispers. He stares at Kirishima with the kind of look that would convince anyone they’re loved. “Maybe I’m starting to believe that.”

Evidence, Kirishima thinks to himself. Bakugo trusts Kirishima with every part of him, good and bad. No one else sees Kirishima’s Katsuki. No one else has earned it.

Date night finally rolls around on Saturday. There’s nothing strange about that, Bakugo and Kirishima have been doing this pseudo-tradition ever since Midoriya and Uraraka got together. Bakugo will never admit how much he loves it, but Kirishima knows it’s important to him to nurture his newfound friendship with Midoriya. Getting to know his partner is a part of that. The first few times he’d invited Kirishima, he had assumed he was going for emotional support, because Bakugo wanted him there for comfort, to feel less alone. 

All the times after that Kirishima had blamed habit.

He’d never thought about it until Kaminari brought it up. But now he is in his room with Bakugo, who is picking out a shirt and tossing it to him, and he is much more aware of what this looks like. 

They always get ready for these together. Bakugo insists Kirishima can’t dress himself, but Kirishima suspects he just likes to pick out outfits for him. They always dress up a little, and Bakugo is always there to adjust Kirishima’s clothes and hair until he looks his best. It’s like…well, it’s like they’re going on a date. He can’t deny that.

But all this time he had never heard Bakugo call it a date. Midoriya and Uraraka did, but that’s because it was. For them. Bakugo and Kirishima were just tagging along. 

Bakugo swiftly pulls Kirishima out of his thoughts when he pulls him closer by the collar of his shirt. He grumbles something about being too stiff and pops the first three buttons. Kirishima’s throat feels tight.

He stares at the blond as Bakugo continues to make tiny adjustments. He looks good, which is unsurprising. He has dark jeans on and a dark shirt, with a baggy leather jacket thrown over the outfit. Kirishima is pretty sure it had been his dad's. He came back with it after a weekend visit home and Kirishima could tell by the way Bakugo treasured it that it was important. He wears it with pride and care and only takes it out on special occasions. 

His hair is its usual organized mess, soft in the setting sunlight. The sleeves of his jacket slip up his arms as he reaches to fix the spikes of Kirishima’s hair. His bracelets click. The thin silver chain he wears shimmers around his neck. He’s eye-catching, radiant. Kirishima wishes they were dating. It seems so impossible. He can’t fathom a world where this is already his. 

Kirishima is in loose jeans and a t-shirt, with a dark Hawaiian shirt half open overtop. He didn’t have much in the way of accessories, but Bakugo had given him their bracelet for the night, so the silver was warm against his wrist. Once he’s done nitpicking, Bakugo’s arms fall to rest on Kirishima’s shoulders.

It puts them in an odd position, like they’re kids about to slow dance together. But there’s no music or movement between them, just the weight of Bakugo’s forearms against Kirishima as he stares.

“What are you thinking about?” He mutters. 

Kirishima’s desperation triples every time Bakugo reads him like a book. He doesn’t know how he learned him so well or when he studied, but there’s nothing in Kirishima that Bakugo doesn’t see directly to. With the exception, it seems, of how agonizingly bad Kirishima wants him. There’s no easy way to cram all those feelings into an answer, so Kirishima shrugs.

Bakugo frowns. Insistent and impatient, he tugs Kirishima a little closer. “Don’t do that shit.” He grumbles, “What’s bothering you?” 

Kirishima faces the future when he looks at Bakugo’s eyes. The truth bubbles up, but never quite seeps through his lips. This is the moment where he should ask. He knows. Bakugo is waiting, and listening. But all Kirishima can see is the ending. The bad ones. He sees Bakugo pulling away in disgust as Kirishima reveals he wants more than a friendship. He sees Bakugo reeling in horror as Kirishima reveals he never thought of them as anything more. He sees Bakugo furious that what they are isn’t enough. There’s a happy ending in there somewhere, but it isn’t worth the risk. Better to stay fragile and teetering than knock them to the floor and hope they survive the fall. Kirishima bites back the words. Tonight should clear things up, right? He should know by the end of tonight. 

Bakugo’s expression twists further. There’s genuine concern there now. “Eijiro,” He pushes. When Kirishima looks away, Bakugo catches his chin. He tilts his face back. 

Kirishima takes a shaking inhale. It makes Bakugo even more nervous, which makes Kirishima even more fond. He looks at Bakugo’s lips and wonders if his answers are there. Every kiss they’d shared so far had been initiated by Bakugo. Everyone knew Bakugo gets what he wants. But can Kirishima have this too? Would Bakugo let him? Would there be all the answers in there, on his tongue?

A slow smirk dances across Bakugo’s lips, his grip on Kirishima’s chin tightening. 

“What are you staring at?” He taunts. “Take something if you want it, coward.”

Before Bakugo can ask again, Kirishima’s hands land on his hips. It silences whatever additional prying was about to escape the blond’s mouth. His expression shifts to disbelief. Slowly, Kirishima leans in.

Kissing Bakugo is like shooting a gun. Kirishima pulls the trigger and waits for the recoil. He waits for Bakugo to pull away, to not want this if it’s Kirishima kissing him. The opposite happens. Bakugo’s eyes practically light up, with awe and shock and an absurd excitement before he shuts them. He doesn’t quite lean in, but he drifts a little closer. 

Kirishima keeps kissing him. It tastes as sweet as all the times before. Bakugo kisses back like he has a sugar craving. He pushes in as soon as he knows he’s allowed. His hands clutch wildly at Kirishima’s chest, wrap around his ribs and pull him closer, against him. It sends them both into the wall. Bakugo laughs into the kiss, breathless and giddy. Kirishima kisses him harder to try and hear it again. It’s more excited than their others, less careful. With the way they’d been kissing before Kirishima would’ve thought it impossible that Bakugo was holding back, but it’s obvious he was. There’s an energy to him now, a sort of ecstasy. He keeps smiling into it. Kirishima just keeps his eyes shut and sinks into the feeling, tries to decode if this is more than blind want being met by the safest body. 

The kiss doesn’t really answer his question, ultimately. But the look on Bakugo’s face when he pulls away says a lot. 

Kirishima’s caught up in the allowance when they break for air. He’s reeling with it, with how readily Bakugo had pulled him closer, like he’d been waiting his whole life for Kirishima to be the one who moves first. Before he can fully process the realization that he was allowed, he has to face Bakugo’s smile.

It’s devastating, the sight of his joy. When Kirishima first pulls away, it’s all he can see. It’s the warmest smile he’s ever seen Bakugo wear. His eyes are big and excited, his grin dopey, childish. It’s a victory smile, but this one makes all the others seem like Bakugo didn’t really care about the previous wins. He’s breathing shallow, not even trying to wipe the tenderness away. It’s like Kirishima kissing him is the best present he’s ever received, the biggest accomplishment of his abundantly successful life. 

It’s like the boy he’s in love with finally kissed him back.

A creeping realization ricochets through Kirishima’s lungs. He pulls his arms back, tries to take a breath that doesn’t quite push down his throat the way it should. Bakugo’s smile drops. His hand reaches out instinctively, trying to bridge the space Kirishima puts between them when he steps away.

“Hey, Ei–” He’s saying. His voice is low, careful. Kirishima can’t breathe. He is going to ruin this. Bakugo either already thinks they’re something they’re not or he desperately wants them to be. Kirishima is going to ruin this. Bakugo had let him kiss him. He’s half convinced Bakugo would let him do whatever he wanted. He wants to breathe. He doesn’t think he can breathe. 

“Eijiro,” Bakugo says, quiet voiced now strained with a panic of his own. His hands are on Kirishima’s shoulders, guiding him to the bed. He crouches in front of him, rubbing soothing circles into his shoulders. “Hey, what the fuck is going on?”

Kirishima shakes his head wildly. Bakugo’s hands travel up and down his arms, soothing but not quite enough. 

“You’re fine, Ei. You’re okay,” He mutters, eyes flicking across Kirishima’s face. “Take a breath.”

Kirishima sucks in air and it stings. He tries to gasp out an explanation.

“You–” He says, “We– are we? We can’t– I can’t–” 

“Hey, hey,” Bakugo clambers onto the bed beside him and wraps his arms around his shoulders, pulls him up against his chest. “Don’t talk, idiot. Breathe. With me. Listen.”

Kirishima whimpers. He shuts his eyes and nods. He follows the rise and fall of Bakugo’s chest. It slowly pulls him back to his body. He knows he’s back in control when his vision clears and embarrassment seeps in for kissing Bakugo and immediately having a panic attack about it.

Bakugo seems wildly unbothered by all the embarrassing parts. When Kirishima sits up, pulling out of his arms, Bakugo’s touch chases and lingers. His eyes are all concern. He keeps a hand on Kirishima’s arm.

“You back?” He mutters carefully.

Kirishima nods, taking one more deep breath. 

“What the hell was that about?” Bakugo asks slowly. “Something I did?” 

Kirishima hesitates. Because, yes, technically. But it felt hard to blame Bakugo. Kirishima’s starting to think it’s entirely his own fault that he’s in this situation. 

“Is this a date?” He says instead.

Bakugo blinks. It takes him half a second to process. “What?”

“Tonight.” Kirishima says, “Is it a date?”

Bakugo frowns. “What the hell does that–”

“I need you to answer me.”

The blond presses his lips together. He hesitates. “‘S just what Izuku and Cheeks call it.”

“Right,” Kirishima says. He can’t stop the bitterness that seeps in. Count on Bakugo’s endless agility to avoid the goddamn question when he thinks Kirishima’s afraid of the answer. “Because you wouldn’t want to call it that.”

Bakugo’s eyebrows furrow, frustration in every feature. “What the fuck are you talking about? We’ve never–” He cuts himself off, softens his tone with visible effort. “Ei, whatever it is that’s bothering you about all of this, say the word and we’ll stay home.”

Bakugo reaches for him, and he looks so nervous that Kirishima won’t let him close that he can’t bear to pull away. He lets Bakugo cup his cheek and lets himself be held. 

“Izuku won’t care.” Bakugo says. “We can reschedule and him and his girlfriend can go be all sappy on their own.”

“You’d care,” Kirishima whispers. Any time with Midoriya is important to Bakugo. They have years to make up for.

“I don’t care about the stupid date more than you, idiot.” He snaps. “If you don’t feel up for it, we don’t go. It’s not fucking complicated.”

Kirishima really does consider it. But his mind sticks on one thing, one name. Midoriya. If anyone will be honest with him about Bakugo, it’s Midoriya. He doesn’t like the thought of going behind Bakugo’s back to get answers, but at this point he’s desperate. 

He shakes his head, placing his hand over Bakugo’s as he takes another breath.

“I’m okay,” He insists. “Let’s go.”

“Right! Right! And then Shoto was like ‘maybe I can make an ice bridge’.” Midoriya cackles, “Sorry, sorry, it’s not funny, but–”

“No, Tenya’s wipeout was hilarious.” Uraraka snorts, devolving into cackles herself as she slaps the table. 

“We never should’ve shown that fucker Frozen.” Bakugo mutters, grinning.

“Right!” Uraraka gestures wildly, “He totally thinks he’s Elsa now!” 

All of them dissolve into another collective fit of giggles. Midoriya slumps over, dropping his head onto Uraraka’s shoulder to hide his expression.

“Was Iida okay?” Kirishima asks. 

“Oh he was fine,” Uraraka waves a hand. “He was all,” She holds her hands up flat, mimicking his gestures in exaggerated sweeps, “Shoto! This plan was neither safe nor reliable. We must put more thought into all possible outcomes of using our quirks as shortcuts! And I was like, dude, you stepped on the ice bridge. I could’ve told you it was going to be slippery.” 

“Aizawa Sensei was so disappointed,” Midoriya mumbles, dragging a hand down his face.

“He was totally trying not to laugh,” Uraraka insists. She slumps back into her seat, still grinning as she blows her bangs out of her face. 

“Both can be true,” Midoriya argues gently. He glances at her as he says it, and for the second they catch each other's eyes it’s visibly fond, both still giggling at the story and the sight of each other. Kirishima used to look at them and feel a void of hunger in his own chest, an ugly twist of joy and jealousy and impatience. Now it brings only fear, because Midoriya looking at Uraraka looks a lot like Bakugo looking at Kirishima. The comparison is easy to make.

“Can’t believe I missed the fucking wipeout.” Bakugo chuckles.

“You were busy prying Kirishima out of a door.” Midoriya says with another laugh. Kirishima chuckles sheepishly as Bakugo cackles. It’s another damning piece of evidence, how much Midoriya always seems to know about them. Bakugo must talk about him a lot. 

He tries to wrestle uncertainty into contentment and it continues to slip through his fingers. He worries the others can feel it. He’s distracted, not as high energy. He couldn’t finish his food. They never go somewhere fancy, just to a small ramen shop close to campus. Aizawa still didn’t like them far, even years later. The dressing up was mostly for fun, and the rest was all just muscle memory, tradition. Kirishima always finishes his bowl. Now he stares at the remaining noodles and the salt on the back of his teeth tastes like another failure. 

Bakugo notices. Of course he does. While Midoriya and Uraraka fall into their own conversation his foot taps Kirishima’s under the table. Kirishima glances at him and is met with a pointed single eyebrow raise. A silent you okay? He forces a smile and taps Bakugo’s foot back. The blond stares a beat longer, visibly unsure. Then Midoriya asks him a question and pulls him back into the conversation. Kirishima sighs in quiet relief, only to turn and see Uraraka eyeing him across the table. Great, so they had noticed. At least they were kind enough not to bring it up.

He resists the urge to sigh again, to scrub a hand through his hair, to pinch at Bakugo’s shirt and plead to go home. He feels bad, because he really loves spending this time with Midoriya and Uraraka, but right now everything feels draining. At the very least, they’re all done eating now. Hopefully they’ll decide to leave soon. 

“We should get moving,” Bakugo says. Kirishima could fall in love with him all over again and it would only be easier the second time. “Aizawa gets all pissy if we aren’t back before dark.”

“He gets worried, you ass.” Uraraka says. “It’s sweet.”

“It’s annoying," Bakugo barks back. Uraraka sticks out her tongue at him. He mirrors the gesture with an added middle finger. Midoriya tries and fails not to laugh at the two of them. They both visibly soften at the sound. 

“Whatever,” Bakugo mutters. He pushes his stool out and stands. “M’gonna run to the bathroom, then we’ll go.”

Everyone agrees, quiet settling over the table as Bakugo walks away. Kirishima turns to the couple across from him. He realizes that this is his moment, his only chance. There’s no time to panic or hesitate. If he wants to ask he has to do it now. 

“Hey, so,” He winces at his start, but he instantly has the attention of both his friends, “Can I ask you guys a question?”

Uraraka perks up immediately, setting down her chopsticks and clasping her hands together. There’s a knowing look on her face. “Oooh, yes! Is it about Bakugo?”

Midoriya winces, smiling apologetically on her behalf. “He just seems worried about you tonight,” He explains, “And you seem quiet.”

“Which is fine!” Uraraka says quickly, waving her hands, “Everyone has bad days, of course. Right Izuku?”

“Of course,” He nods firmly, eyes shimmering with resolve. 

“But I was thinking maybe it was like, romantic stuff. I love giving love advice. Oh! But of course if it’s not about him we are still willing to give you advice. We always want to help you, right Izuku?”

“Of course,” Midoriya repeats, even more impassioned. 

“Uh-” Kirishima says.

“Oh.” Midoriya puts a hand on Uraraka’s shoulder. “We’re doing it again.”

Uraraka stills. She slaps her hands over her mouth and whispers, “Mom and dad-ing.”

Kirishima raises an eyebrow. “Mom and dad-ing?”

“It’s what Shoto calls it when we…” He gestures between them. 

Kirishima can’t help the little laugh that escapes. “Okay, yeah. I see it.”

“Don’t say that,” Uraraka groans into her hands. “He doesn’t need more encouragement.”

Kirishima laughs again. Midoriya’s stare pushes them all back on track.

“What was your question?”

“Right…” Kirishima shrinks a little, already blushing. “Um, it might be weird…”

Uraraka waves a hand impatiently. “You’re fine, Kiri.”

Kirishima nods. He takes a shaky breath. “Is this…are these double dates?” 

Midoriya and Uraraka exchange a quick glance, both visibly confused. It’s Midoriya who answers.

“Yes. I mean, that’s what Ochako likes to call them, but it’s just an excuse for us to hang out.”

“Right.” Kirishima whispers. “Right, because it can’t be a real double date.”

Midoirya’s eyes narrow. There’s a beat before he answers. “Wait, why not?”

“Because Katsuki and I aren’t dating.”

It’s as if the entire restaurant goes silent. Midoriya and Uraraka freeze, confusion across their entire bodies. It’s Uraraka who reacts first, slapping her hands onto the table and leaning forward.

“You broke up?” She hisses, half panic and half disbelief.

“We didn’t break up, we’ve never been together!” Kirishima argues frantically. “He’s not my boyfriend. He’s never been my boyfriend. I don’t know why everyone thinks he is.”

Another silence sticks. Uraraka drops herself back into her seat with an audible thunk. Midoriya stares at Kirishima with mild horror. Then he drops his elbows onto the table and digs the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“Kacchan…” He whispers, with a level of exasperation Kirishima has never heard from him.

Uraraka’s expression has shifted from confusion to pure rage. She’s glaring in the direction of the bathroom just as Bakugo steps out of the hallway.

“I’m going to kill him.” She says, sounding entirely serious.

“Let me talk to him first.” Midoriya mutters into his hands.

“He has five seconds to run once you get your last word out.” 

“That’s fine.” Midoriya says. He stands as Bakugo approaches and starts rooting around in his backpack.

Bakugo takes one look at the table and can tell something’s wrong. His expression twists in a sneer, annoyed that he’s missed something.

“What–”

“Outside.” Midoriya says firmly, “Now.” He pulls his backpack on and drops his wallet on the table beside Uraraka. “Ochako and Kirishima are going to wait for the bill.”

“Now?” Bakugo asks, “The fu–”

“Now, Kacchan.” Midoirya snaps. Bakugo stills. He doesn’t try to argue again. He digs his own wallet out of his pocket and drops it beside Kirishima, then follows Midoriya out of the restaurant. 

Kirishima stares down at the table. Bakugo and Midoriya have the same wallet, some kind of collector's edition from a hero-inspired line. The All Might one, obviously. You can only tell them apart because the leather of Bakugo’s is more beat up around the edges, and there’s a shimmering Crimson Riot sticker on the corner. Kirishima had stuck it there during a mall trip in second year. Bakugo never peeled it off. 

“We’ll just give them a minute.” Uraraka says. Her voice is cheery despite the murderous look that lingers in her eyes. She picks up Midoriya’s wallet and flips through it to find his debit card. 

“Did I mess this all up?” Kirishima whispers.

Uraraka drops her hands onto the table. His lips turn down. “No, Kirishima.” She shakes her head, “Bakugo messed this all up by not doing any of it right.” She sighs loudly. Glancing at his wallet, she smirks to herself. She slips Midoriya’s card back into his wallet and tucks it into her purse, grabbing for Bakugo’s instead. Through his active crises, Kirishima manages to give her a small stare of reproach.

“It’s the least he can do,” Uraraka insists.

They wait a couple minutes for the server to bring the bill. Uraraka taps the card excitedly when the server comes, then slides the card and wallet over to Kirishima. Like it’s his job to guard Bakugo’s stuff, the same way it’s always Bakugo who pays and– damn. Is he stupid?

“Hopefully we’ve given them enough time.” Uraraka says.

They still take their time crossing the tiny shop. When they step out onto the street, the scene isn’t pretty. Midoriya and Bakugo are tense, though Midoriya looks genuinely frustrated where Bakugo seems confused, agitated.

“He’s not fucking stupid.” Bakugo snaps.

“No, but I think you might be!” Midoriya shouts back. Bakugo stiffens, like a snake rearing for the bite, then Uraraka clears her throat and skips over. She loops her arms around Midoriya’s, pulling some of the tension from him. Bakugo snaps his stare towards Kirishima. 

He stares hard. He stares like he’s looking for something. Kirishima drifts to him, lost and uncertain, wondering what exactly Midoriya said to him. 

“Whatever,” Bakugo grumbles to no one in particular, “Let’s just go.”

Midoriya sighs and takes Uraraka’s hand, leading the way down the street. Bakugo walks beside Kirishima. He hesitates for a second before he reaches out. Kirishima holds his hand. It's a reflex to meet in the middle when one of them reaches out. Bakugo squeezes his hand once, eyes still piercing and concerned, still looking for answers to a question Kirishima didn’t hear.

“Is this okay?” Bakugo asks. 

Kirishima nods. It feels like Bakugo is the one prodding now. Kirishima glances at Midoriya and Uraraka ahead of them. He slows his pace slightly to put some space between them. Bakugo falls back with him instantly. 

“What did Midoriya want to talk to you about?” Kirishima tries. 

Bakugo frowns. “Are you playing dumb?”

He hesitates, breath catching in his throat. “Don’t think I’m playing it, at this point.” He grumbles.

Bakugo’s expression pinches. “Hey–” He starts. Someone screams.

Both of them freeze for only a second. At the intersection ahead of them, a car flies past. The few civilians around start running in all directions.

Midoirya and Bakugo are gone in less than a second. Kirishima races after them with Uraraka as they rush towards the noise. They round the corner and see the issue immediately. A villain with some sort of enlargement quirk. He’s a monster of a man, lifting cars and swinging massive fists at nearby buildings. Considering the placement of the nearby bank, Kirishima assumes it was a robbery gone wrong. 

He leaps into action. Midoriya’s already darting around, barely needing the embers as he kicks away rubble and shoves civilians to safety. Bakugo distracts the villain while Midoriya focuses on evacuation, a cacophony of explosions and sparkles flickering around the villain's massive face. 

Kirishima sees another car whizzing towards them. There’s people inside.

“Uravity!” He shouts. 

“On it!” Uraraka responds. He drops into a squat as she sprints for him, intertwining his fingers just in time for her to plant a sneaker on his hands. He launches her into the air with ease. She brushes the bottom of the car just as it soars over them, catching both it and herself with her quirk. She lowers it safely to the ground and propels herself towards Midoriya. Kirishima spins to catch another car the villain hurls. This one’s empty, thankfully. Hardening ripples through his body as the hood crumples against him. His feet slide across the ground, but he successfully shields the people evacuating behind him. He uses the momentum to spin, tossing it aside. The villain roars something about dumb kids. Kirishima can’t help but smile.

He darts to the car Uraraka had saved. The door is dented and the people are stuck inside. Kirishima jams hardened hands into the side of the door, snapping off the latch and yanking it open. The people stammer frantic thanks as Kirishima shoves them towards Midoriya. He kicks the car to the side of the road to keep the path clear. As he turns, he feels the heat of a back meet his own. He smirks as he leans against the memorized weight.

The villain punches the building beside them. As rubble rains down, Bakugo raises his hands above them, pulverizing everything before it can hit them. Sparks tickle the bridge of Kirishima’s nose, but with hardening they don't burn.

When a final chunk of rubble falls, too big for Bakugo to explode, he ducks into a crouch beneath Kirishima. Kirishima’s hardened hands shatter through it, and he shields Bakugo’s head as the smaller pieces rain. 

Bakugo mutters a breathless thanks as he grabs Kirishima’s offered hand and pops back onto his feet. They keep their hands together as Bakugo scans the street. It seems mostly evacuated by now. Uraraka is floating up by the windows of buildings that have been damaged, looking for anyone inside, but the streets are empty. 

“Plan?” Kirishima asks. 

“Deku can use Blackwhip for maybe 30 seconds.” Bakugo says. He shoots Kirishima a wild grin. “Think you can knock him over in 30 seconds, Red?”

Kirishima smacks his fists together, matching Bakugo’s wild smile. “Bet I can do it in 20.”

Bakugo scoffs, shoving at his shoulder. “Don’t get cocky.” 

The blond is gone before Kirishima can make another taunt. He catches Midoriya’s eye and nods as the two of them rush for the villain's feet. Bakugo keeps distracting him with explosions in his eyes as he roars. Kirishima gets behind one ankle as Midoriya launches Blackwhip up. Uraraka catches it, anchoring herself against a building. She tugs Midoriya up into the air. He swings with a grace he has never lost, even with his weakened powers. Blackwhip wraps around the villain's middle as Midoriya spins around him at a dizzying speed. He lands hard on the ground behind the villain. Bakugo drops to the other ankle beside Kirishima. 

“Now!” Midoriya shouts. He pulls as Kirishima charges, unbreakable slamming into the villain's ankle from one direction while Midoriya pulls him in the other. Bakugo blows the ground beneath the villain to bits, further destabilizing him. 

He roars as he crashes to the ground. All four of them duck out of the way, diving to safety as he collapses to the street with the ear-splitting crunching of gravel. It takes a few seconds for the world to stop shaking. Kirishima sits up as the dust is settling, frantically scanning for his friends. He sees Midoriya helping Uraraka up. He meets Bakugo’s eyes from across the street. The blond grins, wide and wild. God, Kirishima hopes they’re more than friends.

“Did we get him?” Kirishima shouts in Midoriya’s direction. His classmate is inching towards the villain's face, checking if he’s conscious. Bakugo leaps over the guy's body with a few explosions, landing hard on his feet beside Kirishima, offering a hand to pull him up. 

“Of course we fucking got him,” Bakugo scoffs, “Beat his ass–”

“Wait!” Midoriya screeches. 

Everything happens fast. Kirishima hears the groan of rubble shifting, sees the shadow moving in the corner of his eye. They’re standing too close to the villain's foot. He barely sees the villain shift, his giant boot swipes sideways, seconds away from colliding with Bakugo and crushing him entirely.

Kirishima moves without thinking. He lunges, slams his body into Bakugo’s and knocks him to the ground. He has the millisecond he needs to activate hardening before the force of a giant’s kick crashes into him.

“Eijiro!” 

The scream is the only thing he hears before his body flies into the wall of the nearby building. Even with hardening the collision is agonizing. His head snaps against the steel, whiplash ripping through his neck. All the air is knocked out of him. He can't get his feet under himself for the landing. His vision swims. He vaguely hears things, explosions, shouting. Flashes of black-green. He needs to stand back up, keep going. But his body won’t respond. It’s all he can do to cling to consciousness. 

Some of the noises settle. Kirishima’s eyes drift closed. When he forces them open again, he sees red.

“Eijiro,” Bakugo’s hands are on his face. There’s fear in his eyes. “Fucking– idiot. Goddammit–” He’s trying to get his hands under Kirishima’s arms. A steady throbbing starts inside Kirishima’s skull. He feels nauseous. 

Trying to distract himself, he focuses on Bakugo in front of him. His eyes are drawn to a small tear in the shoulder of his leather jacket. Kirishima frowns. Bakugo loves that jacket. He’s going to be upset.

“Ei,” Bakugo is saying, voice more strained by the second, “No, don’t you fucking dare– Eijiro!”

He hopes they can fix the jacket when he wakes up.

Kirishima wakes up to an argument. He orients himself quicker than he expects. The dark room lit by screens and filled with gentle beeps is familiar by now. He has enough memory of what happened to be unsurprised he’s waking up in a hospital. 

He can hear a familiar voice arguing with the nurse, muffled through the door.

“He’s asleep right now, it would be best for his recovery if–”

“I’m his fucking boyfriend,” Bakugo snaps, “He won’t care if I’m in there while he’s asleep.”

Oh. Kirishima thinks distantly. 

The nurse outside sighs the typical ‘person dealing with Katsuki Bakugo for the first time’ sigh, then Kirishima hears the door open. She pokes her head in and looks a little surprised to find him awake.

“You can let him in,” Kirishima says with a small smile. 

Bakugo doesn’t push the nurse out of the way, but he definitely doesn’t wait for her to clear the doorway before he’s cramming himself into the room. He shoots her a glare that definitely snaps I told you so and kicks the door shut behind him before she can reach for the handle.

His frustration fades when he focuses on Kirishima. His shoulders slump as he shuffles over to the bed. He hasn’t changed. There’s still dust on his clothes and a smudge of dirt on his cheek, but he’s beautiful even now. 

Kirishima can see the tear in his leather jacket. It reminds him of fragile things, of things falling apart. He thinks of what Bakugo had said to get in here. He thinks of everything Bakugo’s been saying to him for days, for months.

Bakugo places himself at Kirishima’s bedside with his hands in his pockets. He doesn’t look worried, but his stance is protective. Kirishima stares at him the way someone stares at a casket about to be lowered. He’s bracing for grief, mourning the last moments of normalcy. 

They can never avoid themselves in a hospital room, it seems.

“That was smart,” Kirishima rasps. He smiles because he’s afraid and he doesn’t want Bakugo to know. He doesn’t want to hit self-destruct like this, but at this rate he’ll explode either way. “Using the boyfriend excuse.”

For a moment, Bakugo looks overcome with pure relief. Tension leaks from him. His lips twist into a lazy grin. He stares at Kirishima like he’s being handed a medal he knows he earned. “Yeah, well what’s the fucking point of having the boyfriend card if I can’t play it?” He says.

Oh.

Shit.

Confirmation is not a warm thing. The undeniable proof that Bakugo thinks him and Kirishima are dating is not exciting, or thrilling. It’s cold like ice water over his head, it hits him with a weight and the chill of it tears through his system. It makes him feel blind and stupid. How long has Kirishima been leading him on? How long has he been playing a role without realizing he was on a stage? How long has Bakugo been waiting on him?

He finally has to face the fear he’s been avoiding. The reality is the worst-case scenario he’d dreamt of a million times and still never braced for. There is no good way to break the news that Kirishima missed the memo. There is no good way to tell Bakugo he’s been living a fantasy and Kirishima’s been acting out the lie.

“What?” He whispers. Kirishima doesn’t have to find any other words, it only takes one to shatter the illusion. 

Bakugo’s smile slips. Confusion flickers through his brow. Then comes the horror, in a slow crawl through his shoulders and up his neck until it shimmers in his eyes. 

“...What do you mean what?” Bakugo whispers. He figures it out before Kirishima can. His hands tumble out of his pockets, clenching into fists at his side. He takes a step back. Kirishima hears his breath hitch. “Izuku was fucking right?” He rasps. His fingers flutter, panic seeping in now, “You actually don’t– we’re not–”

“Hold on,” Kirishima tries to stop the oncoming storm that is Bakugo’s hysteria with nothing but his hands. He shoves himself forward on the bed, practically crawls to him. He reaches out and Bakugo stumbles away. “Stop–”

“What are we?” Bakugo says. His voice is suddenly deadly calm, clarity cutting through his quickening breaths like a knife to softened butter. “What the fuck do you think we are?”

Kirishima knows lying now won’t get him anywhere. If they want to clean up the mess, they have to face it first.

“Friends.” He whispers. 

“Friends.” Bakugo repeats. His voice cracks on it. The single word guts him.

“Best friends.” Kirishima corrects, frantically. He can feel Bakugo slipping. He can see the terror reigniting in his stare. 

“Best…” Bakugo tries to scoff, but it sounds more like a sob. The shield of anger he attempts to put up shatters instantly. He shoves his hands into his hair. “Fuck. Shit. Holy shit. Dammit, Eijiro.”

“Katsuki–”

“I kissed you. You let me kiss you. We go on dates once a week at least. You sleep in my bed every goddamn night unless we’re in your bed instead. You’re the only person who calls me by my first name, you’re the only person who can touch me whenever you want. You’re the only person I ever want to touch. I’ve had my tongue down your fucking throat. Multiple times.”

“But Denki and–”

“We are not like them.” Bakugo snaps. “They don’t actually–” He cuts himself off sharply. His hands are shaking now. He looks a little teary-eyed. He slaps a hand over his mouth. “Oh shit.” He whispers.

“Have feelings for each other.” Kirishima finishes his sentences for him, staring. He wills Bakugo to get the message, but it’s too late. The blond is already spiraling. 

“You’ve just been–” He stammers, movements jerky and wild, “I’ve been all fucking over you. Dragging you on dates and flirting and kissing you goddamn stupid and you’ve just been fucking letting me? Going along with it in the name of fucking friendship?”

“No!” Kirishima protests. He’s on his knees at the end of the bed like a man praying. He clenches his fists into the skin of his thighs. “I just thought–” He flushes, “I thought I was overthinking us! I like you, Katuski.”

Bakugo freezes. He stares at Kirishima in a wild panic, the most vulnerable he’s ever looked. 

“I like you.” Kirishima repeats. “In a decidedly more-than-best-friends way.” He slides off the bed.

“Stay in bed,” Bakugo mutters, concerned. 

Kirishima ignores him. He catches his shoulders and squeezes tightly. “I have feelings for you. Like, stupid, big, mushy feelings. I was enjoying everything so much and I thought if I asked you about it I'd ruin it. I’m sorry,” His voice wavers a bit. He pulls Bakugo closer, drops his head on his shoulder, “I’m really sorry I missed the signs. I only realized I was missing something when you kissed me the first time. I’m the biggest idiot in the world. But you seemed so happy and sure and I was enjoying it so much and I thought it’d scare you off if I tried to ask about labels and stuff. Didn’t think you’d like it.”

“You’re not an idiot.” Bakugo mumbles. He brings a hand up to wrap around Kirishima’s back. Kirishima thinks he intends to simply hold him, but after a second his other arm comes up, and Kirishima clings, and they crush each other into a tight hug, desperate like they’re trying to fuse themselves into one body. 

Kirishima feels Bakugo exhale, shaky and warm across his neck.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” He grumbles, “I’m sorry I can’t fucking say anything out loud.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t hear it anyway.” Kirishima whispers in response, “I usually do. I think I wanted it so bad it all seemed too good to be true.”

Bakugo scoffs and pulls away. He looks smaller in the dim room, vulnerable still like a healing wound. 

Kirishima knows it’s going to hurt, but he has to ask.

“How long?” 

Bakugo looks away. He hesitates for long enough that Kirishima knows the answer isn’t what he wants to hear.

“End of second year.” Bakugo forces the words out. They’re still quiet.

“End of–” Kirishima chokes. That was almost half a year ago. Bakugo thought they’d been dating for the past 6 months. His heart shatters a little. He steps closer.

“You’ve been so patient.” He whispers. It’s all he can think about. It repaints everything in softer colours. He traces Bakugo’s cheek with a thumb. He thinks of Bakugo begging for a kiss. Bakugo grinning like a child when Kirishima finally initiated. He’d waited almost half a year, thinking Kirishima was just unsure, nervous, and being patient and unwavering through it all, waiting for him. “Even though we were–”

“Doesn’t mean shit.” Bakugo snaps. “S’just a label. I wasn’t gonna force anything on you. You didn’t seem ready.”

“I didn’t think I was allowed.” Kirishima breathes.

“Yeah, well, shit’s making a lot more sense now.” Bakugo grumbles.

Kirishima stares at him, in awe and in agony. He leans in and kisses him gently, slowly, a million apologies on his lips. Bakugo looks loopy when he pulls away, with disbelief in his sharp eyes.

“How did I miss it?” Kirishima asks.

Bakugo shrugs. “I asked you out.”

“What? When?”

He looks away, frowning. “Hiking.” He mumbles. 

Kirishima’s eyes go wide. “That was–” But of course it was. Bakugo had bought them matching scarves and taken Kirishima to his favourite mountain. He’d made them a playlist to listen to with shared headphones and they’d held hands for most of the walk because Bakugo was insistent that Kirishima would trip on the harder parts. He’d packed a picnic for them to eat at the lookout, and Kirishima had never felt more special or more seen. He remembers thinking how Bakugo still looked gorgeous squinting angrily from the sun and how desperately he’d wanted more, unaware he’d had it already.

“You never called it a date.” He says.

“Couldn’t,” Bakugo glares at the ground. “I– fuck. I don’t know. I guess it seemed like the rejection would be easier to face if it wasn’t so obviously you rejecting–” He curses again. “But then you accepted, and you seemed so excited and I figured…I thought you understood.”

“I’m sorry,” Kirishima whispers. It’s kind of devastating. He prides himself on understanding Bakugo. Bakugo trusts him to translate. And he’d failed when it mattered most. 

“Not your fault,” Bakugo insists. He reaches over, nervous like a middle schooler, and intertwines their fingers, just barely. Their hands dangle in the space between them. “I could’ve said it at any other point– should’ve– but, I guess you’re right. It freaked me out to label it. Like if it had a name it’d be something I could lose.” His eyes dart up to Kirishima’s. “And you got me a fucking anniversary present, so I sort of thought you’d gotten the damn message.”

Kirishima blinks. “I did?”

Bakugo glares. “That stupid Crimson Riot plushy. You bought the matching All Might from the same line. Said all that sappy shit about keeping each other's inspirations for when the other needs it.”

He gapes at Bakugo. “I just…saw them when I was out with Hanta. Thought it’d be cute.”

“And you just happened to give it to me on our three month anniversary.” Bakugo states flatly.

“I…” Kirishima stares past him at the wall. “I guess I did.”

For a moment, Bakugo looks incredulous. His fingers curl in Kirishima’s and his lip twitches. The laughter tumbles out from his chest, a tired, wonderful thing. Bakugo ducks his head but Kirishima can still see his teeth. His shoulders shake with the giggles. Kirishima can’t help but smile at the sight. 

“We’re so fucking stupid.” Bakugo hisses through the cackling.

“A little.” Kirishima agrees. “Maybe.” He winces. “Man, our friends are never going to let us live this down.”

“Don’t fucking tell them.” Bakugo says, still catching his breath.

“Too late,” Kirishima winces, “They’re kind of the only reason I figured this out at all.” 

Bakugo groans, muttering something about idiots under his breath. Kirishima laughs, pulling him closer when he turns away to facepalm. 

The mention of their friends does seem to sober the blond slightly. He takes a small breath, staring down at their hands.

“I seriously didn’t mean to force this shit on you, Ei.” He says, gentle and nervous. “I shouldn’t have assumed…I should’ve said it, defined us. Not been afraid. You deserve that shit.” He meets Kirishima’s eyes, unwavering even when the fear is visible. “I don’t want you to think you don’t deserve that. Or that you aren’t worth it to me. You’re worth every fucking discomfort, okay? I’ll kill them all for you.”

“Romantic,” Kirishima whispers. Bakugo glares, but he means it.

“But,” Bakugo continues, shrinking slightly. He pulls his hand away, leaves Kirishima’s fingers loose and cold. “I know I fucked this up. So this is your–” His voice breaks. He swallows visibly. Pushes forward. “This is your chance. Your way out. If you didn’t– don’t want this–”

“Stop talking.” Kirishima blurts. He catches Bakugo’s face in both hands, shaking his head frantically. “Oh my god, you idiot. Stop talking. Of course I want this. I’ve wanted nothing but this forever. I’m sorry I didn’t appreciate that I had it.” He kisses Bakugo again, but on the forehead this time, soft and frantic. He pulls back feeling a little crazy. “A fresh start is fine. Let me start over, but never make me stop. I want to do it right this time. I can be a better boyfriend.”

“Annoying,” Bakugo mutters, smiling, “You’ve been a fucking perfect boyfriend and you weren’t even trying.”

Kirishima laughs. Bakugo glares before he charges forward. He wraps both arms around Kirishima’s neck and knocks them both into the bed, kissing him frantically through his laughter. 

“Does this mean–” Kirishima says through the makeout.

“Yes.” Bakugo says, breathless. “Be my fucking boyfriend, stupid. Date the shit out of me.”

“Easiest order you’ve ever given me.” Kirishima responds. Bakugo grins into their next kiss. The hospital sheets are rough against skin, but Kirishima would find it hard to be anything but comfortable as Bakugo kisses him into the pillow. 

Their friends find them like that, which is their own fault for not knocking. Bakugo shoves himself upright when the door swings open, his lips shining and face flushed. Kirishima looks even more wrecked beneath him.

Kaminari saunters in with the confidence of a man who has never considered his own mortality and all the shock of a person who has just watched a bird fly. He grins at the sight of them and leans his arm on Sero.

“Sorry to interrupt,” He says with so little remorse it’s almost in the negatives. Sero snorts. Ashido giggles as she shuts the door.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Bakugo snaps. He also doesn’t seem particularly embarrassed. Kirishima struggles to sit up, still pinned by his legs and blushing furiously.

“We begged Aizawa to let us come with him to bring Kiri back to the dorms,” Ashido explains. She purses her lips, trying not to smile. “But obviously you’re not injured too badly.” Sero snorts again. 

Kirishima starts to stammer out an explanation, but Kaminari holds up a hand, cutting him off.

“No, no, don’t worry, bro. We get it.”

Sero leans into Kaminari, snickering. “What’s a little tongue between friends, right?”

Kaminari hooks a finger under Sero’s chin and licks his cheek to prove his point. Ashido makes a noise of disgust and shoves them away from each other, both boys cackling.

“We’re fucking dating.” Bakugo snaps, “He’s my goddamn boyfriend, idiots.”

This makes their friends stop. All of them glance at Kirishima, waiting. He smiles sheepishly and nods. 

A slow grin spreads on Kaminari’s lips, “Oh, we know,” He says, “But hey, congrats on realizing it!” He holds out a cheery thumbs up. There’s nothing Krishima can do when Bakugo launches himself off of the bed and chases Kaminari out of the room. 

Kirishima laughs as the door slams behind them. He turns his gaze to Sero and Ashido, who are both unperturbed.

“Ready to go?” Ashido asks. Kirishima nods. He crawls out of bed and finds his shoes, pulling them on. He’s perfectly fine aside from a little headache, but Sero and Ashido walk on either side of him anyway, just in case he falls. 

They catch up to Bakugo and Kaminari where the latter is caught in a nasty headlock at the end of the hall. Even though Bakugo seems to be choking him to death, he manages to make eye contact with Kirishima and wheeze, “I’m so happy for you, dude!”

Kirishima chuckles as he pulls Bakugo off of Kaminari. The blond relents easily at his touch, leans into it like a kid curling up beside a fireplace.

“Thanks,” Kirishima whispers. He must sound fond, because Bakugo leans in and kisses him, slow and intentionally on the corner of his lips. He looks over as the blond takes his hand and guides him towards the exit. 

He makes one last note.

Evidence: There was never a question. Everything that Katsuki does is proof that he loves Eijiro. Every breath and stare and word and touch and movement has always proved the same conclusion:

Guilty, guilty, guilty.