Work Text:
Kirishima didn’t cry for the first six months Bakugo was gone.
Bakugo disappeared over the summer, after they had all moved out of UA for the break, so all of his things were where he would have liked them. Kirishima was a little grateful for that, at least. Mitsuki and Masaru didn’t deserve to have to pack up Bakugo’s things, and neither Kirishima nor Deku would have been able to do it, physically. Aizawa would’ve done it, and after losing his leg and his eye, it would’ve been almost impossible (not counting that, really, Aizawa was also grieving too hard to really have been able to do it).
When Kirishima found out Bakugo was gone, he didn’t cry. He didn’t panic or throw up or any of the movie shit.
He didn’t even really feel sad, not for the first few weeks.
Bakugo was always independent. He was spontaneous, in his own way. Sometimes he went a few cities over without telling anyone, or went up into the mountains in the south for a week to climb and hike. So Kirishima just thought he might be there. In the mountains. It would’ve been stupid of Bakugo to do so; his heart was still pretty weak after everything, but he was always so headstrong, so Kirishima thought he just needed a break. He texted him two days after Mitsuki reported Katsuki missing. He told him to make sure he was drinking water.
They found him after three weeks.
There was an abandoned train station right outside of town. It was a sort of hangout for small-time criminals. Nobody big, nobody organized, but junkies, vandals, people wanted for third-degree assaultists, and petty theft. Bakugo’s body was found on the tracks by a young couple who had only run into the abandoned station to get out of the rain.
The coroners said he had been dead for a few weeks, but since no cops went down there and none of the criminals reported it for so long, they weren’t exactly sure.
They said it was a heart attack. His heart just… gave out. It was too weak, and it gave up.
Kirishima hadn’t been able to help the little bit of laughter. Bakugo would’ve been so pissed off, if he heard the medical examiner call his heart weak. He would've been so pissed off he’d have given himself a second heart attack.
Kirishima spent the first month in denial. It wasn’t so bad at first, just him talking about Bakugo like he was still around, like he was on vacation. Kaminari would text him asking to go see that movie they’ve been meaning to see for months and he would text back, “We should wait till school starts again, Kats will be pissed if we go without him LOL” or Deku tried to give him one of Bakugo’s hoodies he found in his room and Kirishima said, “Oh cool, I can drop it at his place on my way home, he’s been looking for this one”.
He ignored the way his friends, his parents, and everyone looked at him. Like he was some sad kid, a sick dog, something to pity.
The second month, school started. And Kirishima…he was pissed off. He was angry- really angry, the kind of anger he had never felt before. Not really. When he was younger, he got pissed off a lot, sure. What twelve, thirteen, fourteen-year-old doesn’t? But this was the type of anger that boiled under his skin, the kind that itched, that made him burn all over.
The kind of anger that, in a way, made him feel closer to Bakugo.
He was mad at Bakugo. Mad he hadn’t come back to school. Mad that Kirishima had to get a new training partner (he didn’t, he just went alone). Mad that Bakugo hadn’t called for help that night- if he was trying to get out of the rain, Kirishima would have picked him up. If he were fighting a criminal, Kirishima would have backed him. He was mad. Bakugo was always so headstrong. Maybe if he had just chilled the fuck out, his heart would be fine.
He was mad that Shinso tried to sit in Bakugo’s spot. Shinso was transferred into the A class in place of Mineta, who had dropped out after the war. The problem came when, instead of sitting in Mineta’s old seat, he tried to sit in Bakugo’s seat during English with Yamada. He had yelled loud enough that Aizawa had heard from two floors down and came to calm him down.
He was mad Bakugo had left him. Bakugo was his best friend, and he just… left. No ‘I love you’. No apology. Not even a goodbye.
By the third month, Kirishima had taken to praying. It started at his funeral, which had taken the Bakugo’s two months to plan, because they were grieving so much. They buried him (Mitsuki wanted him to be cremated, but his body was resistant to heat. They couldn’t really cremate him. She didn’t like the idea of burying her son, but she didn’t have a choice.)
At his funeral, there was a priest there. (Kirishima thought it was stupid. Bakugo didn’t respect religion, and he hadn’t been raised religious, but apparently, Masaru wanted one there. He said it was at his father’s funeral, and it only felt right). The priest led them in a little prayer. That Katsuki would find peace, that he would be let into heaven. That his soul would rest easy and that he would watch over his friends and family.
Kirishima prayed too, but not the same prayer. He prayed that maybe, maybe, God could do him a favor. He apologized for not going to church in a few (10) years. He promised he would start going again, if maybe he could just… bring him back. He prayed a lot. He prayed that God could bring him back, or let Kirishima talk to him, or at least give him an answer. Give him closure. He knew it didn’t make sense, in the back of his head. He knew he wouldn’t get a miracle, but he thought he kind of deserved it. He had to watch Katsuki die once, and God just… brought him back to rip him away again? How was that fair? He deserved closure, he thought. He deserved answers.
(Really, he thought he deserved Katsuki back, but he didn’t want to ask for too much. Bargaining only works on compromise, and compromise only works when both sides are only mildly satisfied. Not quite happy, not quite angry, just lukewarm acceptance of the deal.)
It took another month of prayer to realize he was really gone, and there was nothing he could do about it. He felt empty, gutted. Like a pumpkin on Halloween, smiling and shining and hollow, with all his guts out back, feeding the birds and bugs. He didn’t want to get out of bed. He couldn’t anymore. He couldn’t keep sitting in class, seeing Katsuki’s seat empty. He couldn’t keep training alone, running alone, going to class alone. Sure, Kaminari and Mina and Sero were there, but it wasn’t the same. He turned to laugh with someone who wasn’t there to listen, wrote notes for someone who wouldn’t read them, and grabbed extra water for someone who wouldn’t drink it. He couldn’t sleep. He laid in bed for hours and hours, but he couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t eat- not out of an active avoidance or some skewed self-discipline, but out of a real lack of appetite. He wasn’t hungry. He couldn’t focus, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t move. All that was left for him was an empty space by his side and a pit in his stomach, eating everything, swallowing any joy or energy. The void left nothing, nothing except the things so awful it couldn’t even bear to eat; it left Eijirou with his longing. With his sadness. With his anger and his tears and his pain. It left Eijirou with just enough energy to stay awake, to feel it all, but not enough to change it.
He didn’t leave his room the first week of the month. When he did, it was only because Aizawa did a safety check on him, and when he saw the state he was in, he called Eijirou’s parents.
They came, and they told him to get up, and then they brought him home. He was home for another week before he finally needed to leave. He couldn’t do it- he didn’t want to consciously accept the fact that being this far from anything remotely Katsuki was making him worse. So he put on a smile- one that was very taxing, one that made him almost want to cry harder- and he apologized to his parents and promised to go to the therapists, and he went back to campus. He stayed in his dorm room for another few days, before Izuku came to check on him.
The door creaked open. There was no knock, or if there had been, Eijirou hadn’t noticed it.
“Kirishima?”
It was Deku’s voice, quiet and calm and apprehensive. Eijirou didn’t move.
“You okay?”
Kirishima still didn't answer. Midoriya sat on the edge of the bed, sighing like he understood.
He probably did. He might be the only person who even came close to understanding Eijirou right now.
“Is it about… is it Kacchan?” He asked, whispering, as if saying his name might set Kirishima off.
He wasn’t wrong either, though. Kirishima couldn’t help but hold his breath when the other said his name. He couldn’t help the choking feeling he got whenever he remembered.
“He would call me a baby,” Kirishima said, his voice rough, his throat sore, “If he saw me right now. He’d call me a baby.” He croaked. It occurred to him that he hadn’t spoken a single word since coming back to campus.
Deku laughed, wet and strained, and Kirishima thought he might be crying, but he didn’t want to turn and look. “Yeah,” he agreed, “He would've,” he laughed.
It was quiet for a minute, before Kirishima heard his bedside table drawer roll open, and then heard Izuku shift, before writing something down.
“That’s uh… it’s Auntie’s number. You should call her.” He said quietly, “I think she’d uhm… I don’t know. Like to talk to you. You know him best.. and it might make you feel better too.” He said quietly, “The address is there too, I know Kacchan doesn’t like to give it out. You could go there, she wouldn’t mind you just showing up. She likes visitors.”
So Kirishima visited. A few days later. When it didn’t feel so heavy.
When he had enough energy to get up, to sit in the shower for a bit. He didn’t have enough energy to fully brush his teeth, but he used mouthwash. He didn’t do his hair, so it ended up half curled and down, pulled into some half assed attempt at a bun. He wore sweatpants and a sweatshirt, but it was better than nothing. It was clean, and warm, at the very least. Midoriya helped him pack a little bag, after Kirishima texted him, “hey” and Midoriya just showed up. For as long as Kirishima spent being jealous and bitter of his and Bakugo’s relationship, Midroiya just was, unfortunately, a good person. They packed the bag in silence, Midoriya bringing clothes and toiletries and little things he may need over to the bed, while Kirishima sat there, haphazardly stuffing them into his backpack. They continued like that until Midoriya couldn’t think of anything else to pack. Then Midoriya walked him out to the car, and drove him to the Bakugo's house, and walked with him to the front door, and knocked.
Mitsuki opened the door, and Kirishima bit his tongue. He had never noticed how similar Mitsuki and Katsuki looked, not until that moment.
She let them in. They entered, they talked about small things, then bigger things, but avoided the topic of Katsuki like it was some great big secret they couldn’t talk about.
She invited them for dinner. They agreed. When Kirishima went to use the bathroom, he heard Izuku whisper to her.
“Auntie, can he stay? Just for a day or two? I think he’s finally processing it and… I don’t know. We can’t get him to leave his dorm, we can’t get him to go train, we can’t get him to even talk, really. Sensei already had to do a safety check and I just… I don’t know what to do. I thought… I thought being around his stuff might help.” Midoriya had said, his voice tight with worry.
There was silence, before Mitsuki cleared her throat and said, “Yeah… Yeah. He can stay.” in the most gentle tone Kirishima had ever heard from her.
He ended up staying that night. Midoriya left after dinner, saying he’d be back in a few days with work Kirishima missed. Mitsuki brought Kirishima into the living room, and they talked. About Kirishima’s friends, at first, but then… about Bakugo. About the good things, and the bad things. They talked about everything… almost everything. Not that. Never that. But everything else. Eventually, when it was so late Kirishima could barely keep his eyes open, Mitsuki said, “You can sleep in his room. The couch isn’t very comfortable, and he wouldn't mind. He said you two sometimes slept together when he had nightmares.”
So Kirishima did. He walked up to Katsuki’s room, Mitsuki following him, and he opened the door…and he froze. It still smelled like him. It wasn’t just that the room was filled with his things. It was warm, and it smelled like caramel and sweat and that cologne he used.
Mitsuki laughed, sounding a bit embarrassed, “Sorry, if it’s dusty or the air is stale or anything. I don’t come up here much.” She said, a bit sad and a bit sheepish. Kirishima shook his head, “It’s fine” He said quietly, walking in, before going to his bed, sitting there, then laying down on his side, before he breathed, the pillow smelling so strongly like him it was almost like Bakugo was right next to him in the bed, and Kirishima, for the first time in six months, cried. He cried and cried and cried. Mitsuki sat next to him, rubbing his back and holding back her own tears, muttering, “I know” every now and then, as he cried like a child, his entire frame shaking with gasps.