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Four months ago, if someone had asked Katsuki Bakugou to upend his normal routine to fly out to God knows where for some random techy nerd event he didn’t give a shit about—with a plus one, no less—they wouldn’t have lived to tell the tale.
But no matter how much he may deny it, Bakugou’s happy to know someone who doesn’t look at him like he’s a ticking time bomb. Someone who Bakugou feels, to his dismay, sometimes sees right through him. Bakugou’s become less likely to pounce at any minor fleck to the walls he’s carefully crafted around himself for years. When Kirishima’s around… he’s a little calmer.
All that calmness dissipated as Bakugou huffed up the staircase of I-Island’s grand hall to the 80th floor.
“Where the fuck is this party!?!”
“Hey, man, you’re the one who insisted we didn’t need to ask for help.”
“And you’re the dumbass who somehow led us up 79 FLOORS.”
This trip was not worth the 6-hour flight, Bakugou thought, unknowing of what was really waiting ahead of him.
Until he heard a crash across the hall, that is. The duo immediately recognized what they heard: the beginnings of a battle. Kirishima turned around, checking for him in a way that Bakugou used to consider patronizing before it started to feel comforting. They rushed into action.
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Bakugou was eager to rip off the suffocating tie that Kirishima’s puppy-dog eyes had somehow convinced him to wear the moment they got back to their room.
He glanced at the clock—10:41 PM. Way past his bedtime. (No, having a bedtime was not “childish.” It helped him be well-rested for the next day and to replenish his strength after long days of training. Kirishima would probably find a way to call it “manly.”) Bakugou was ready to go to sleep, not even caring that he was still in his borrowed suit. But after lying down with his eyes closed for a while, the silence that stretched over the room felt… out of place. Kirishima was never this quiet. At a time like this, Bakugou figured that he would normally try to fill the void with some silly conversation like the insufferable extrovert he was, or at least be a lot more antsy and fidgety. Not that he was complaining. Now Bakugou could actually get some sleep.
Then Kirishima had to let out a stupid fucking sigh. Like Bakugou could just ignore that.
“Just spit it out, Shitty Hair.” He almost didn’t even have a growl in his voice.
Kirishima’s head snapped toward him, his eyes wide like he’d been caught with his whole goddamn arm stuck in the cookie jar. Then he flashed Bakugou a soft smile, though his gaze shifted downward. “It’s–it’s nothing. It’s stupid.”
That pissed him off. Kirishima was always an honest guy; if something was bothering him, why wouldn’t he just fucking say it?
Bakugou settled on a “whatever.” But he shifted up to a sitting position, urging him to continue in his own small way. It was the kind of sign Kirishima would notice.
A few beats of silence grated by. Then, “Well, it’s just that we were finally together as a class, you know? And we were doing something fun somewhere safe with no grades or training or villains to worry about. Until the villains showed up, anyway.”
“Heh. That is pretty fuckin’ stupid.”
“Yeah.” Kirishima laughed, but it was airy and joyless, and his face scrunched up into a frown.
The Bakugou of a couple months ago would’ve left it at that, satisfied to have gotten the last laugh in their little kerfuffle (the last real one, anyway) and content knowing that he was above the need for interpersonal relationships. But now, guilt gnawed at him when he saw how hurt Kirishima looked. Ever since the Sports Festival, Kirishima had always made an effort to be friends with Bakugou despite his thorny persona–even if it meant getting pricked, like he did just now. He actually smiled whenever Bakugou walked in the room. He would never admit it out loud, but it felt… nice. Bakugou couldn’t think of anyone else who does that. Maybe, just this once, it wouldn’t be so bad to return the favor. He wasn’t used to saying ‘sorry,’ though; he’d have to find his own roundabout, Bakugou-style apology. So, he took a deep breath in and a long exhale out.
“You’re crying over the ball getting cancelled?” Bakugou got up from the bed and walked forward until he was face-to-face with Kirishima. Too late to back out now.
“Then let’s dance.”
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Kirishima had set up some kind of ballroom music playlist on his phone. It wasn’t really to Bakugou’s taste. It was too ballad-y for him, the kind of music that made him wonder how the hell he had ever agreed to try slow dancing. Something about Kirishima’s stupid ass smile made Bakugou’s throat close up whenever he tried to say no to him. He’d rather not think about it.
“Okay, you’re taller than me, so… I’ll be the ‘girl,’ I guess,” Kirishima said. “Your hand goes here.”
And just like that, Kirishima grabbed Bakugou’s left hand and put it at his waist. He took his hand as if it wasn’t an explosive that Bakugou could use to break someone at any moment if his mood soured. Hell, if anyone else had gripped Bakugou out of nowhere, that probably would’ve been the outcome. Kirishima laid his right hand over Bakugou’s gently, as if it were worthy of such a gesture, before placing it on Bakugou’s shoulder. As much as he hated the metaphor, butterflies practically tore apart Bakugou’s stomach. Kirishima pressed play on his phone before bringing his free hand up to cup Bakugou’s.
He walked Bakugou through the basic motions of dancing, and Bakugou picked it up pretty quickly. Kirishima would take a step to the left, and Bakugou would follow. He would bring his right foot back, and Bakugou would bring his left foot forward, as if in a constant chase. Bakugou felt really awkward at first, but as the minutes passed, he sank into the repetitive rhythm of it all.
He was honestly shocked by how good Kirishima was at this. Considering his general disposition, Bakugou expected Kirishima trying to dance to be more akin to a shark trying to hula-hoop.
“My little sisters love this kinda stuff, so I’ve had a lot of practice with them,” Kirishima explained, as if sensing Bakugou’s confusion. Fuckin’ wizard.
As they danced, Bakugou let his mind wander. He thought about the way the two of them moved to the music. Bakugou’s foot made contact with the ground in sync with the counts in his head. 1-2-3, 1-2-3, 1-2-3, over and over with each passing measure of violins and strings and pianos. It was structured and predictable and accurate. But Kirishima’s movements felt different. When he danced, it was like the song was inside him, and it flowed through his entire body. Like the music was conducting him. It was spontaneous and fluid and mesmerizing. Occasionally, he’d add his own little flare to their routine–a tap of his foot, an attempt at a spin. He was chaotic and bright and bold.
He was an explosion.
The insane corniness of that thought gave him the immediate and overwhelming urge to run his head straight through the hotel’s gaudy wallpaper.
He must’ve given it away on his face, because Kirishima apprehensively went, “Uh, you alright?” Bakugou just clicked his tongue and avoided eye contact, which Kirishima fortunately took as a sign not to pry.
Eager to be on any other train of thought, Bakugou redirected his mind to school. He thought about his other classmates: Pikachu’s terrible sense of humor, Pink Girl’s constant energy, Deku’s annoying ass muttering that Bakugou is subjected to every class since the guy sits right behind him. He thought about what he’d do if one of those obnoxious extras walked in on them right now, his right palm briefly heating up before he remembered that Kirishima’s hand was resting above it. He thought about villains attacks–the USJ, the fucking slime monster, the one they just went through tonight. His eyes drifted down to his left sleeve, which had gotten completely torn up in combat.
Kirishima followed his gaze. “Oh, don’t worry about the suit; it wasn’t your fault. You don’t need to pay me back or anything, either, okay?
“Shut up, I wasn’t worried!” Fuckin’ wizard.
“You were so manly out there! I mean, your explosions are always insanely powerful, but you really showed them who’s boss tonight!”
“‘Course I did,” Bakugou answered with a smirk. “Those dumbasses had no business messing with us.”
Kirishima’s face lit up. “Us? Did you just say us? Awww, you totally see the class as your team now!”
“Ugh, goddammit. You suck.” Bakugou plastered on a neutral face, but still looked away in embarrassment.
There was a pause before, mockingly, Kirishima added, “That fight must’ve taken up a lot of energy. Sorry to keep you up past your bedtime.”
Ohhh, he knew exactly what he was doing. This was war.
When Kirishima brought his right leg forward and around in the waltz, Bakugou intercepted him with his left foot, causing Kirishima to fumble for balance and nearly trip.
Kirishima looked up at him with a Cheshire grin powerful enough to give Bakugou the teensiest twinge of fear for whatever Pandora’s box of chaos he’d just opened.
With a running start, Kirishima tightened his grip on Bakugou’s hand, yanked his right arm, and pulled Bakugou into a dip. Bakugou tensed up, his gut assumption being that Kirishima would just drop him onto the floor. But he instead hoisted Bakugou back up to a standing position because of course he would. He might’ve caught Bakugou’s initial reaction, though; he paused for just a moment, giving Bakugou a soft smile and a nod. You can trust me.
The next few minutes went by with what was probably closer to horseplay than dancing. As Bakugou pulled Kirishima into a spin, he couldn’t school his expression anymore. He smiled wide.
And Bakugou was laughing, genuinely laughing, for the first time in a long time.
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Kirishima decided right then and there that Bakugou’s smile was the cutest thing he’d ever seen.
A large part of him was surprised that Bakugou had even agreed to do this at all. Dancing seemed like the kind of activity that he would give an autopilot “fuck off” to. But Kirishima was having a lot of fun, and apparently Bakugou was, too.
The two of them eventually lost steam, sinking back into a waltz with labored breaths. Kirishima wasn’t quite sure how it happened, but he came out of the frenzy with two buttons missing from his dress shirt, his right arm hooked around Bakugou’s back, and his left hand pressed against Bakugou’s chest. Bakugou rested his hands around Kirishima’s biceps.
Neither made any attempt to change their positioning.
Kirishima had always been a pretty physical person, but he’d never been like this with his friends before. It felt all warm and fuzzy. Without really thinking about it, he leaned forward and nuzzled his head into Bakugou’s right shoulder.
He chuckled against the fabric of Bakugou’s waistcoat. ”That was wild. You’re the best, man.”
But Bakugou completely froze.
After a few beats of uncomfortable silence, Kirishima dared to look up. He assessed Bakugou’s features in an attempt to determine how screwed he was. Bakugou’s face was about as red as Kirishima’s hair, and he thought he could genuinely see smoke coming out of Bakugou’s ears like a tea kettle about to shatter. A single thought overpowered Kirishima’s brain:
I’m a dead man.
He watched his life flash before his eyes. He saw his mom and little sisters. He saw his younger self, struggling with his quirk and his cowardice. He saw Crimson Riot smiling down upon him. He was pretty sure he saw God, unless that flash of white was Bakugou slamming an explosion in his face. Bakugou. He thought about the day it all started: when Kirishima gave his little pitch to Bakugou before the cavalry battle. The day Bakugou’s confidence and tenacity inspired him. The day he started seeing Bakugou as more than a classmate.
Kirishima was so in his own head that he almost forgot about the situation he was in. He watched Bakugou avert his eyes and slowly unwrap himself from Kirishima’s grasp, opting to step back a few paces and lean against the wall.
He looked… embarrassed? Conflicted? Like he had some kind of epiphany, but not a good one.
Well, there was only one way to find out. “What’s wrong?”
Bakugou’s eyes remained trained on the floor like it was the most interesting thing in the world. The two of them just stood there, the soft ballroom music still playing from Kirishima’s phone the only reminder of reality. When Bakugou finally spoke, what he said honestly confused the heck out of Kirishima.
“A hero is someone powerful enough to stand alone as the victor of a battle. And I’m gonna be the greatest.”
“That’s awesome, and I believe in you all the way, but uh… what does that have to do with anything?”
Bakugou clicked his tongue in frustration. “The only person I can rely on is myself. I’m not gonna be a fucking weakling.”
Kirishima frowned in confusion. That didn’t make any sense at all. There are always so many amazing heroes teaming up to fight villains. What does their class do all that team training for if not to learn how to form trust with their allies and work together in combat? And besides, it’s not like he and Bakugou were fighting anyone just now.
He looked to Bakugou for some kind of explanation. He got nothing–just a look that anyone else probably would’ve seen as Bakugou being pissed. But Kirishima caught a hint of something else; an emotion he knew very well–regret. Bakugou looked like, deep down, he already regretted what he was doing. Kirishima used what he knew about Bakugou along with his general intuition to try and piece together what Bakugou was thinking.
“Needing other people doesn’t make you weak.”
Bakugou rolled his eyes. “Like I haven’t heard that line before.”
“Come on, man, I’m serious.” Kirishima continued, more urgency stinging his voice with every sentence. “Fighting alongside the people you care about only makes you stronger! I know I’d feel better if you had my back in a fight, because you’re one of the toughest guys I know. And being nice to people is super manly! At least for me, I feel happy knowing I made someone’s day better. And wanting someone to do that for you doesn’t make you weak, either. I had a lot of fun tonight. Not a lot of people get to see that side of you; you should show it off more. They’d love it.” I love it. “Isn’t making other people smile what being a hero’s all about?
Bakugou finally looked up at him, his eyes wide. He stood there for a few moments, processing everything Kirishima said, before letting out a sigh and propping his head up against the wall, tilting it toward the ceiling.
“Goddammit,” Bakugou muttered. “There you go again.”
And then, in a whisper that Kirishima almost didn’t catch, “I fucking hate you.”
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“That was wild. You’re the best, man.”
When Bakugou heard that, he felt his stomach sink. He felt his skin warm up and his head start to ache. It made his world fall apart.
Because he realized he wanted to say it back.
Instead, he said, “I fucking hate you.” So he may have been a bit off the mark.
People have told Bakugou that he’s powerful, that he’s a smartass, that he’s mean, that he’s reckless. But nobody except Kirishima has ever seen everything about Bakugou and said “you’re the best.” Kirishima saw something in him that he didn’t even see in himself, and that freaked Bakugou out. He had let Kirishima get so close without realizing it, let Kirishima change him without realizing it, and it scared him shitless.
How did Kirishima always do that to him? How did Kirishima find answers that Bakugou’s spent his whole life searching for? How did Kirishima make it all seem so obvious? How did Kirishima make everything feel so right? Maybe he really was a fucking wizard.
“You make me think too damn much.”
Kirishima jumped a bit at the sudden noise; neither of them had said anything in a solid minute. “I’m not used to it, but…” Bakugou hesitated, “it’s good.”
Kirishima’s face melted into a relieved smile. “Happy to help!”
But there was a certain hesitance in his voice; it didn’t sound right. Kirishima kept distance between them. He was hesitant, like he wasn’t sure Bakugou still liked having him around after their previous exchange..
Bakugou desperately wanted to get rid of Kirishima’s discomfort, to say what was on his mind. He couldn’t try to explain it, though; the words wouldn’t come out right (see “I fucking hate you”). He had to show him. So, after awkwardly fidgeting with the hem of his waistcoat for far too long, Bakugou took four bold steps forward until he was right in front of Kirishima. He put his left hand on Kirishima’s waist and held his right in the space between them, waiting for Kirishima’s warmth to fill it.
Bakugou locked eyes with him, and the stupid fucker beamed. He hated that his swearing was starting to sound more and more endearing.
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All Might was just about finished making his rounds. After all that’d happened that night, he wanted to check up on the kids to make sure they were managing alright. He walked up to the last room in the guest hall–young Bakugou and young Kirishima’s, if he remembered correctly–and raised his fist to knock. But in the dim hallway, he noticed a sliver of light coming from the apparently open door.
As a teacher and respectable adult, he probably shouldn’t have peeked through the crack in the door. And as a teacher and respectable adult, he probably should have encouraged the boys to get to bed already. But when he saw the smile on young Bakugou’s face, brighter than he’d ever seen it before, he couldn’t bring himself to interfere. It was going to be a struggle to keep this from young Midoriya the next morning, but as a teacher and respectable adult, he knew he had to.
All Might exited the hall, a warmth filling his chest as two boys’ laughter echoed behind him.