Chapter Text
When they were much younger, Katsuki created a list of reasons why it was a bad idea to have a crush on Kirishima.
It’s a mental list–one that was stored in his mind, because no fucking way was he going to scribble it down on his notebook. No way was he going to take that risk and write totally inane shit on paper. He wasn’t Deku.
The list was solely in his mind, never to be seen by anyone else unless some moron with a mind-reading quirk somehow strangled it out of him. As the years passed and it became more difficult to deny that he was undeniably in love with his best friend, the list got shorter and shorter.
Still, some items on the list have stayed there for years.
Katsuki laughs to himself when he recalls the very first reason he put down… ‘Kirishima isn’t into guys.’
That one was shot down pretty quickly, probably faster than the time it took Katsuki to think of it in the first place. With Kirishima shouting about manliness every other second and the type of posters he hung on his wall, Katsuki didn’t doubt that Kirishima was into men.
Instead of taking it off the list completely. Katsuki tweaked it a little for it to make more sense.
His first and foremost reason why it was a bad idea to crush on his best friend: ‘Kirishima isn’t into guys me.’
Katsuki’s had horrible days before and this day is definitely the worst.
Okay, fine– maybe that’s an exaggeration. This day’s no fun, but at least he’s safe.
He’s in the emergency room, still in his hero uniform. The place smells of antiseptic and there’s a constant murmur that resounds through the too-clean rooms. Deku’s there with him–he tries to remember a time that would’ve bothered him more–listening to the doctor who’s saying words that Katsuki can’t be bothered with.
There’s soot all over him and half his mask is torn off… and his hands–they’re wrapped in thick bandages all up until his elbow.
It feels strange.
His hands are his prized possessions, and it’s surreal how he can barely feel them right now; whatever painkillers they gave him, they did their job all too well.
“So, when will they completely heal?” Katsuki asks, cutting off the doctor who was in the middle of explaining… something. She adjusts her spectacles and stares at him with a frown.
“Were you not listening to a thing, at all?” she accuses.
“Kacchan, your hands won’t be back to normal for at least two weeks,” Deku says.
“ Two weeks!?” Katsuki asks, incredulously. “All this top-notch technology and quirks, and it’s going to take that long to fix my hands!?”
“Yes,” the doctor sighs. “As I was saying, the villain’s quirk damaged your nerves and because of your quirk, we have to be very careful. We can’t speed it up or else you risk damaging your–”
Katsuki gapes; her explanation’s long-winded and he understands it, but the idea of being unable to use his quirk–his hands– for that long has his mind reeling. He stares down at his hands and attempts to move his fingers. They twitch, uselessly. His head buzzes with anxiety and there’s a sour sensation in his stomach as anxiety twists in him.
“You’ll slowly regain sensation and control, but please do not push it. Maybe in a day or two you’ll be able to use your grip again, albeit very weakly. It’ll take time and I know how you heroes can be so impatient. We’ll schedule you for physical therapy and see how it goes,” the doctor continues. “I do suggest you take the painkillers as prescribed, which will affect your coordination… and you’ll have to come back here every few days so we can slowly heal your hands. Or you can get confined, too. Might be better, so you can have a nurse help you move around.”
Sounds awful.
“I’m heading home,” Katsuki grumbles.
“Kacchan, do you want me to stay with you for a couple of days?” Deku asks, concerned.
Katsuki resists the urge to bite out a ‘fuck off, Deku’ and shakes his head. “I’ll be fine.”
Except, he’s not fine. Katsuki gets up and stomps over to the door, and he can’t–the fucking handle, he can’t even turn it– his hands are numb and wrapped in bandages and he can’t bend his fingers, can’t make a grip. His face burns as he seethes, hands groping uselessly over the doorknob. And even before he knows it, Deku’s right beside him and opens the door for him.
If this had happened when they were a lot younger, Katsuki would have yelled at him for the indiscretion. Now, even if he’s annoyed, he’s able to swallow down the anger that threatens to surface.
“Kacchan, let’s share a cab. I don’t want to take the train in my uniform,” Deku says, making a show of gesturing at himself–dirty uniform and all. Katsuki rolls his eyes, knowing full well that Deku’s purpose is to watch him.
“Fucking fine, whatever. Let’s just go.”
“Dynamight,” the doctor behind them calls. Katsuki turns to stare. “Do not even attempt to use your quirk until you’ve gotten clearance.”
The entire cab ride to Katsuki’s house, Deku doesn’t really talk–thank god. He’s glued to his phone, expression contorted into frustration as he types furiously. Katsuki watches him from the corner of his eyes, praying that the nerd doesn’t start mumbling a hundred words per second like he usually does. He’s not sure what’s got Deku’s attention, and he has a hunch Deku is arguing with All Might antis or something. He’s pretty sure the nerd runs a fan account on twitter.
The cab stops in front of Katsuki’s apartment building and Deku immediately buries his phone in his pocket, scrambling to get out and help Katsuki open his own door. Katsuki rolls his eyes but lets him, because he can’t deny that his hands simply don’t work.
“What are you doing?” Katsuki snaps. He stands outside the cab and watches Deku pull out bills from his wallet to hand to the cab driver. Is he staying?
“Let me help you settle down. I’ll be gone before you even know it.”
Katsuki seethes, squinting his eyes. He should’ve expected this. Of course, Deku tricked him with the pretense of sharing a cab ride with him. He thought it’d end once he reached home, but of course not.
The cab drives away, and Deku finally turns to see Katsuki glaring at him. He hides his wince behind a laugh. “Kacchan, your hands don’t work,” he says matter-of-factly.
“I’m fucking aware, nerd!”
“I know you need help. Let me just–make sure everything’s in order and that you have everything you need. Then I’ll leave, I swear.”
Katsuki sighs, knowing he’s lost. He can’t keep being stubborn, not when he can’t even open doors on his own. He’ll get Deku to put everything he needs in reach and make shit more accessible, and that’s it.
They make their way inside the apartment building and ride the elevator to Katsuki’s floor.
“What’s the code…?” Deku asks, blinking at the keypad on Katsuki’s door.
“Zero-four-two-zero.”
“Your birthday…? Oh… okay. I thought it’d be harder to guess.”
“...Shut up and get us in.”
Deku laughs, used to Katsuki’s temper by now. Katsuki himself knows he’s improved a lot since they were kids, but his hands are damaged, and he’s sure Deku’s not taking him too seriously. If anything, he’ll return the favor by doing some of Deku’s paperwork later on.
“Okay, so I’ll… open all your doors and cabinets, and… um…”
Katsuki frowns, struggling to kick his boots off. His mind’s still abuzz from all the painkillers they’ve given him, and that’s not helping him in any way. He takes way longer than he should to remove his boots without being able to pull them off with his hands, and he almost trips over once.
He realizes Deku paused in whatever it was he was saying, only to meet his gaze and see that Deku’s watching him. Concerned.
“Maybe we should call your mom, Kacchan,” Deku mumbles.
“...No.”
He won’t be able to stand his overbearing mom. She coddles him way too much and nags even more. It’d be a nightmare. Katsuki grits his teeth and enters his apartment, scanning through the room to analyze just how difficult this will be.
And he’s hit with the harsh reality that this will be a total fucking impossibility. Even drinking water would be too much, seeing as he can’t grip the pitcher, can’t hold a glass in his numb and bandaged hands.
“What about Kirishima?” Deku tries, not giving up.
“He’s got better shit to do. I’ve got some water bottles with straws on the top shelf,” Katsuki grumbles. “Gonna need them.”
Deku nods, completely understanding that he won’t be able to use normal glasses at the moment. Katsuki eyes with a frown as Deku reaches for the bottles, finding three. they‘re all Dynamight merch, orange and black with a bomb pattern. They’re hideous and his agency had given them to him when they were just released, and he’s kept them hidden since then.
“Cute,” Deku says, filling them all up with drinking water and keeping the straws up so Katsuki doesn’t need to fumble with them later on.
Katsuki glares.
It’s unnerving to watch Deku move around his apartment, making everything more accessible for him. Katsuki wonders how he’s going to survive–how’s he going to eat? How’s he going to change his clothes? The doctor said he’d regain some of his grip by a day or so, and he contemplates starving himself until then. His television’s got voice features. Maybe he’ll binge on some crappy shows for twenty-four hours.
He takes too long to realize that Deku’s squinting at him.
“You sure you don’t want me to stay?” Deku asks, in all seriousness.
“God, I’ll be fine!” Katsuki barks. “Just go!”
Deku rolls his eyes, heading back to the door to slip his shoes back on. Katsuki follows him with a scowl. “Call me for anything, Kacchan.”
“Yeah, yeah. Thanks, nerd.”
Scoffing at the nickname, Deku laughs and takes his leave.
As expected, everything’s a disaster. It takes way too long for Katsuki to struggle out of his clothes and put on a shirt and sweats. He wants to take a shower but decides it would be much too troublesome at the moment. Sighing, he plops down on the couch and stares at the blank screen of the television. The sun went down hours ago and the streets are quiet, and without Deku talking his ear off, he’s left alone with the silence of his apartment.
Katsuki stares down at his hands. The bandages wrapped around them are fresh, and the doctor told him he had to change them every twelve hours and put some salve over his skin. He wonders what they look like right now–he’ll find out in the morning. He’ll figure out how to care for them on his own… not that he has a choice.
They’re still numb–it’s strange. His hands are right there . He can see them but he can’t feel them, and when he tries to move his fingers, he gets nothing. It sends a rush of panic down his spine, and he curses and grits his teeth, trying to think of literally anything else.
His phone rings, breaking the silence, and he almost jumps up from the couch in surprise. He peers at his phone, which is right beside him, and sees the name flashing on the screen: Shitty Hair.
“Hey, dumbass, answer the call on speaker,” he mumbles. Katsuki had named his phone dumbass when he was setting up the voice controls almost a year ago, never actually thinking he’d have to use it. Thankfully, it works as expected.
Kirishima speaks before he does. “Bakugoooou! Midoriya told me what happened. How are you doing?”
Of course Deku did that. Katsuki exhales and says, “I’m fine. Don’t fucking worry about it.”
“Have you had dinner?”
“No–aren’t you supposed to be on a shift right now?”
“Denki asked to switch shifts with me because he wanted the weekend off, so no! Anyway, I’m nearby. I’ll bring over some food. Are you good with sandwiches?”
Katsuki gapes, stunned. He should’ve expected this, honestly. Still, having anyone over at the moment would be horrible… even if it were Kirishima. “No. Don’t–what the hell, Kirishima, don’t come over.”
“Too late, I’m on my way!”
“Kirishi–”
Click.
The call ends and for a few seconds; Katsuki stares at his phone; he’s at a loss for words. Did Kirishima–? What just happened–?
“Hey dumbass, call Shitty Hair!” Katsuki barks, and his phone screen lights up once more as Kirishima’s contact photo shines on the screen. It’s an old selfie of Kirishima grinning at the camera with his hand up in a v-sign. Kirishima had taken the photo himself years back and saved it to his contact details, and Katsuki never changed it.
Kirishima picks up on the second ring. “Hi! Want me to pick something else up for you?”
“Don’t come here, Kirishima.”
“Why not, man? We haven’t hung out in forever and I want to binge the newest season of Survivor with you! Is it because you don’t want a sandwich? I just figured it’d be the easiest since you can’t hold chopsticks right now.”
Katsuki’s impressed by how he’s able to wait until Kirishima’s all done with his spiel. He blurts out, “I don’t want anyone over right now!”
“Ouch, hurtful.” His tone’s playful, so Katsuki doubts he’s actually offended. Katsuki also doubts anything he says will deter the idiot at this point. “I’m already on your street though, and I want to hang out with you. You really want me to leave?”
Katsuki exhales, summoning all the patience he can muster. Kirishima lives all the way across town and it seems way too rude, even for him, to make him go all the way back at this point. Chewing his cheek, Katsuki stares at his hands for what seems like the hundredth time that night. He’s not sure if he wants anyone else to see him in this state–injured and useless, practically nothing without his quirk.
But it’s… Kirishima. He’s always had a weak spot for the dumbass.
“Fine, if you as much as look like you’re sad for me, I’m kicking your ass,” Katsuki grumbles.
“Haha! Shit, you’re hilarious–okay, I’m near!”
Kirishima knows the key code to his house and invites himself in. By the time he gets there, Katsuki’s already moved around to hit light switches with his elbow, brightening up his apartment. He turns the television on and pretends he was watching some old movie, letting the noise travel through the apartment. It’s dumb, but he wasn’t about to let Kirishima get there to find a dark and silent apartment. Katsuki didn’t want Kirishima to find out just how this entire thing was messing with him.
“Bakugou, I got you an egg sandwich!”
Katsuki grunts in response, waiting for him in the hallway of his front door. His hands hang uselessly by his sides, making him feel anxious, but Kirishima acts as if there’s nothing unusual.
His friend’s wearing a button-down shirt with a pair of jeans; he looks like he’s on his way to a party… or a date. Katsuki raises his eyebrows in question. “Are you supposed to be somewhere else?”
They don’t really talk about it–it’s one of those few topics that are off-limits between them–but he’s pretty sure Kirishima’s seeing someone. He’s seen the rumors on social media, and he’s heard Kaminari tease Kirishima about it. Katsuki visibly scowls at the thought that Kirishima blew off a date to be here.
“Yeah, but never mind that.” Kirishima grins, cheeks flushing. He kicks off his shoes and avoids Katsuki’s scrutinizing stare, instead holding out the bag of sandwiches in front of him. “Let’s eat!”
Sighing, Katsuki leads the way inside. Kirishima mentioned he wanted to watch tv, so they head straight to the couch instead of the kitchen. Still grinning, Kirishima plops down beside him and pulls the coffee table closer. He ignores the way Katsuki glares at him when the table’s legs make an awful skidding sound against the wood.
“Lemme see your hands,” Kirishima says, finally addressing what they’ve both been ignoring. He twists on the couch until he’s facing Katsuki, holding out his palm outwards and waiting expectantly.
Knowing that the idiot will not relent, Katsuki bites his cheek and holds his hands out upward, eyebrows furrowed so tightly that it's giving himself a headache.
“Oof,” Kirishima says, holding the backs of Katsuki’s hands. There’s still not much sensation, so Katsuki can’t even feel the warmth of it. “Does it hurt?”
“Not really. They gave me a shitton of painkillers.”
“Can you move them…?”
“Barely. I can bend them a little now, but there’s no strength in them,” Katsuki tries once more, bending his fingers–but he does it too quickly, too sudden. They curl as he wanted them to, but he winces because it sends a sudden and painful sting from his fingers to his elbows.
Well, at least he can move them again.
“Don’t do that,” Kirishima laughs, finally letting go. “Here, I’ll unwrap your sandwich for you.”
“Shitty Hair, if you’re going to fucking baby me, I swear to god–”
Katsuki’s cut off mid-sentence because Kirishima just goes and slams the sandwich in his mouth, and Katsuki almost chokes in surprise. He glares at Kirishima and bites off a huge chunk of the sandwich, swallowing it whole.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing!?” Katsuki yells, and since he can’t use his hands–he kicks Kirishima’s shin instead.
“Ow, Bakugou!”
“Leave!” Katsuki kicks him again.
“You don’t mean that,” Kirishima says, laughing. The sound of it resounds through the room.
Katsuki gapes at the idiot, eyes wide and cheeks flush because how dare he!? Still, Kirishima’s impressively unaffected by Katsuki’s fury and reaches for the remote. He searches for a stream of Survivor, ignoring the death glare that Katsuki’s now throwing in his general direction.
“Here, take another bite,” Kirishima says, holding up the sandwich in front of Katsuki’s face. He waggles his eyebrows as if teasing him, and Katsuki resists the urge to smother him with a pillow. He wouldn’t be able to, anyway.
“Give me that, asshole,” Katsuki grumbles, holding out his hands.
“But–”
“I’m not fucking around, Kirishima.”
Sheepishly, Kirishima grins. There’s probably something in Katsuki’s tone that catches him off-guard–and he’s always been good at that, at knowing when Katsuki’s genuinely pissed. And right now, he is. Shrugging, Kirishima completely unwraps the sandwich and holds it up between them. Katsuki traps it between his palms, struggling not to drop it. He curls his fingers around it, attempting to grip it, and there’s another jolt of pain that makes him wince.
It’s pathetic.
Kirishima says nothing about his obvious struggle, looking away instead to stare at the screen as if he’s trying to figure out what season of Survivor he wants to watch. When Katsuki finally has the sandwich secured, Kirishima lets go and reaches for the remote.
They settle into a comfortable silence, Kirishima’s eyes secured on the screen as he chews on his own sandwich. He’s so engrossed with the dumb show; Katsuki’s never actually seen what the hype is about, but Kirishima’s been obsessed with it since high school and Katsuki’s never told him he wasn’t really a fan.
Katsuki’s much more focused on not dropping the stupid fucking sandwich. Some of its sauce drips down to his bandages, and he grits his teeth in annoyance. Disgusting. Annoyed at everything–at the injury, at being unable to do anything, at being babied by his friends–Katsuki shoves what’s left of the sandwich in his mouth and chews it in frustration.
“Want one more?” Kirishima asks, looking at him from the corner of his eyes.
He actually, genuinely, wants one more. Katsuki frowns, staring at the mess in hands. He’s going to have to change the bandages, which will clearly be a whole other annoying problem. “Okay,” he mumbles.
Kirishima unwraps another sandwich, going off on a wordy rant about how the teams on the show suck and have no drive. Katsuki’s not really listening to him. When he goes through another bout of trying to hold the sandwich, Kirishima’s as patient as ever.
They watch the rest of the episode in silence. It’s actually not that bad, plus having Kirishima as company isn’t too annoying. Despite his complaints, he probably needs the distraction, anyway. It keeps his thoughts from spiraling.
An obnoxious song suddenly plays from Kirishima’s cellphone. He doesn’t understand why it has to be loud, and he scowls at Kirishima who grins.
Katsuki doesn’t mean to pry, but he sees the name Mina on the screen.
“Give me a second,” Kirishima says, hopping off the couch. He heads to the kitchen, cellphone in hand. “Hello!”
Katsuki contemplates pausing the show, except that trying to hit that one dumb button would require too much coordination. Sighing, he stands up and heads to the bathroom. He passes Kirishima on the way, who has a slightly frustrated look on his face. Kirishima’s lips are a thin line and he’s staring at the floor, a hand anxiously tapping against the counter. Katsuki can’t make out what he’s saying, but the tone of his voice isn’t its usual cheerful way.
Weird.
He goes to the bathroom and stares at his hands. The bandages are stained yellow from sauce. Gross. Fucking disgusting. He wasn’t planning on changing them tonight, but it didn’t look like he has a choice. This, again, is going to be an entire struggle–he doesn’t even have enough coordination to hold a sandwich, much less change his bandages.
He’ll need to ask Kirishima to help him.
Katsuki opens the cupboard–with difficulty, of course–and grabs the kit with fresh bandages in it. He traps it against his chest using his arm, thinking he looks silly this way, but it’s whatever.
“Kirishima,” he calls out when he steps into the kitchen.
He’s still on the phone. Kirishima’s startled at the sound of his name. He blinks, puzzled, and lets his stare drift towards the first aid kit. Katsuki can practically see how the gears in his head turn when he puts two and two together.
“Yeah, that’s Bakugou. I’ll call you later, alright?” Kirishima says to whoever he’s speaking to. He puts down the phone and smiles. “You need help?”
“You didnʼt have to hang up.”
“Doesn’t matter. C’mon.”
They take a seat by the dining table and Kirishima takes Katsuki’s right hand, starting there. He unwraps the bandages, unbothered by the mess–even if the stains disgust Katsuki, even if he feels like a damn child at the moment.
“Looks painful,” Kirishima comments, holding Katsuki’s hand in between his. The skin’s inflamed and there are burns. Kirishima rubs circles against his open palm, as if testing it, and Katsuki can’t feel it .
He wants to feel it, though–Kirishima’s touch. That’s a thought he has to unpack later… or never. It’s been years. He’s learned how to push these thoughts away.
“The hell are you doing,” Katsuki grumbles.
Kirishima meets his gaze. “Nothing.”
“Put the damn ointment on.”
“Okay, okay! Geez!”
Kirishima’s gentle, his touch is so light and fleeting that Katsuki wouldn’t know what was happening if he closed his eyes. He can’t even feel the warmth of Kirishima’s skin, and he hates that. Kirishima spreads the ointment across the back of his hands, over his fingers and between them, over his palm. He’s so careful not to bend Katsuki’s fingers.
He can’t help it–Katsuki stares at Kirishima’s face. Their chairs are facing each other and Kirishima’s leaning in on his space. They’re so close that Katsuki can smell the obnoxious cologne he uses. His gelled up hair is falling down like it does when the day is almost ending. Kirishima absently tucks some loose strands behind an ear and Katsuki’s stare follows the motion, finally landing on that small scar above his eyelid. He’s always wondered how Kirishima got that scar.
Biting his cheek, Katsuki forces himself to stop staring at Kirishima’s face. He instead watches Kirishima’s hands wrap clean bandages around his.
Katsuki’s distracted by how Kirishima’s folded up his sleeves to his elbows. His arms look so strong–he’s moving gently so they’re relaxed right now, but Katsuki wonders what they’d look like if they were tense. If Kirishima had his hands on either side of Katsuki’s head, Katsuki on his back on the bed, his arms straining as he keeps himself up and hovering over Katsuki.
Fuck, fuck, FUCK.
He needs to stop thinking about Kirishima like this. It’s been too long. Katsuki grits his teeth and looks away.
“You okay, man?” Kirishima asks, shaking him out of his reverie.
He fights the blush that threatens to spread across his cheeks. “Just tired.”
“Yeah, I get it.” Kirishima chuckles, sounding tired as well, and gently lets go of Katsuki’s now bandaged hand. He takes his other hand, ready to do the same thing for it.
Katsuki can’t be sure, but it kind-of feels as if there’s a different air to Kirishima. His friend’s forcing a smile and humming some stupid tune Katsuki can’t recognize–and yet Katsuki can sense it, the anxious way he moves, as if there’s something in his mind he can’t get rid of.
Did it have something to do with whoever he was on the phone with?
Katsuki mumbles, “What’s messing with your mind, Shitty Hair?”
He expects Kirishima to deny it. Instead, Kirishima avoids his eyes and smiles. “You wouldn’t be interested.”
“Don’t decide that for me.”
Kirishima laughs, meeting Katsuki’s gaze for a second. Annoyingly, Katsuki’s heart takes a small leap at that. “Ashido’s upset because she set me up on a blind date, but I canceled last minute. It was real shitty of me, honestly.”
“The fuck?” Katsuki startles at that, reflexively pulling back his hand–which is a bad idea, because he does it too quick, that pain surges through him again. Kirishima sees the wince on his face and places a hand on his elbow, keeping him from moving. “You didn’t blow off a date to be here, did you?”
“Well, kind of, but… it’s not what you think. I didn’t blow her off because I thought you couldn’t be alone, if that’s what youʼre worried about. I didn’t want to go.”
Katsuki blinks–Kirishima is his best friend and they talk about nearly anything, except this. Dating is that one thing that they never speak about, and it’s been that way ever since Katsuki can remember. He always scowled when their friends brought up Kirishima’s girlfriends or boyfriends. And it goes both ways–while Katsuki himself has never actually seriously dated anyone, any hint of a fling has always appeared to annoy Kirishima.
Once, back in high school, Kaminari and Sero were teasing Katsuki about a girl who had confessed to him. Katsuki didn’t care much, so he ignored them, but after a few minutes of their teasing there was a sound of splintering wood. Startled, they all turned to see that Kirishima had accidentally hardened his hand and stabbed his desk. Kirishima spluttered, apologized, and hid his face in his arms.
(His ears had been bright red. Katsuki thought it was cute.)
Their friends stopped teasing Katsuki about dating in front of Kirishima, then. Katsuki still doesn’t understand why Kirishima reacted that way–perhaps he was annoyed that someone might steal his best friend away?
Either way, this was not something they usually talked about.
“Ashido’s been trying to set me up with someone these past few weeks and I just don’t feel like doing the dating thing right now, honestly. Still, I shouldn’t have canceled like that–I get why she’s upset,” mumbles Kirishima. “But… I don’t know, really did not feel like going to a fancy restaurant and making small talk tonight.”
“You’d rather come here and baby me, Shitty Hair?”
Kirishima laughs. “No, I wanted to spend time with your very pleasant personality, actually!”
“Shut the fuck up.” Katsuki rolls his eyes, resisting the urge to smack him–because it’d hurt him more than it’d hurt Kirishima. “Why did you even agree in the first place if you didn’t want to?”
“Have you met Ashido? She’s pushy as heck! She’s on some mission to find me someone because she has it set in her mind that I need it.” Kirishima appears more frustrated than Katsuki initially thought, which isn’t a common occurrence. “I think she’s worried that I’m lonely so I agree once in a while, but, eh–was thinking of powering through it tonight but realized that wouldn’t be fair to her friend, you know? So I called her friend and said something else came up… and her friend was totally cool with it. Ashido wasn’t, though.”
Katsuki frowns. If he were Kirishima, he’d be more than annoyed at Raccoon Eyes. Kirishima has always been much too kind for his own good.
“Dating is so exhausting… It never works out with anyone, you know?” Kirishima continues, still annoyed. And no, Katsuki doesn’t know. He’s never actually dated before. Aside from a few one-night stands and awkward morning afters, he’s gone nowhere remotely close to a relationship. “And I try. I swear I try, man! There was this guy I was so into and after months of what I thought was a great time, he broke up with me.”
So much for thinking they were best friends. Katsuki didn’t even know Kirishima was in the midst of a break-up. He noticed that his friend’s been out of it recently, but he didn’t know it was because of this.
“When did you break up?”
Kirishima shrugs. “A month ago, maybe.”
“...So this thing Ashido’s doing is to find you a rebound, huh?”
“Hah. Yeah, I suppose. I’ve been down about it for a while… because he didn’t even give me a good enough reason.”
“Uh…” Katsuki says, not smartly. He does not know what to say. Even if they’ve been best friends for years, this is the first time Kirishima’s actually opened up about his dating life. Katsuki didn’t even have a clue that Kirishima was running around with all these thoughts in his mind.
He kind of feels like a horrible best friend.
Kirishima blinks, realizing that he went off on a rant. “Sorry,” he laughs awkwardly as he puts the finishing touches on Katsuki’s bandaged hand. Kirishima’s cheeks redden as he nervously cleans up the first aid kit, putting everything back to their place.
Fuck. What does he say? Katsuki stares at his hands, planted firmly on his lap. Kirishima grabs the dirty bandages and gets up, his chair skidding on the wooden floor when he pushes away much too frantically than needed. Any other day, Katsuki would have chewed him out for ruining his flooring again .
Katsuki exhales. Fine, maybe it was time to have this conversation. Kirishima’s probably had it with all the other people in the idiot brigade–aka their friends–anyway. Katsuki mumbles, “What did he say when he broke up with you?”
A weak, humorless laugh escapes Kirishima. He’s on the other side of the room, tossing the bandages into the bin. “He said I’m great, the best person he’s dated, but that it was always like I was missing something. As if I’m never satisfied… as if I knew there was someone out there for me, but that it wasn’t him–what does that even mean!?”
Katsuki can’t help but snort at that. “Seems like a dick reason.”
“Exactly!”
Strangely, Kirishima’s spirits seem to have lifted. Perhaps all he really needed to do was pour his heart out. He turns and leans against the counter, grinning at Katsuki, sharp teeth and all. The corner of his eyes crinkle in amusement and Katsuki thinks–not for the first time–that he looks good.
“Anyway, yeah, that’s why I’m over the whole dating thing,” Kirishima says.
“So tell Raccoon Eyes. She’ll understand! Woman’s annoying as hell, but she’d be the last person to make you do shit you didn’t want to.”
Kirishima looks stunned at that. His eyes widen a fraction, and he tilts his head to the side with a playful expression. He looks as if he’s about to tease Katsuki about saying something nice about Ashido–and decides against it. “You’re right,” he says, instead.
If Katsuki didn’t hate sappy heart-to-heart talks, he’d tell Kirishima about something he heard in a movie long ago–that there comes a time when you’ll meet someone and realize why it never worked out with anyone else.
He almost gags at the thought of even uttering that quote. Way too sappy.
After cleaning up, Kirishima leaves. It’s so late that Katsuki almost asks if he wants to stay in the guest room–he decides against it, because Kirishima would only end up babying him more. And Kirishima’s got better things to do than sitting around and having Katsuki depend on him.
It’s fine, it’s whatever. He’ll get used to not being able to use his hands much–of not having his quirk.
He was wrong.
Three days of not being able to use his hands and his quirk and Katsuki thinks he’s about to go insane.
There’s more sensation back in his hands, but it’s not enough. He still can’t move them easily, and quick movements continue to send a jolt of pain through him. His grip’s still weak as fuck and he can barely do anything useful–though at least he can bend his fingers further at this point. Bending them doesn’t really do anything, especially not without a grip, but at least he can see an improvement–no matter how miniscule.
Several times, he’s tempted to see what would happen if he used his quirk. Thankfully, he has the sense to not actually do it.
He’s able to do the most necessary things to function without needing someone to babysit him, so that’s a plus. Kirishima and Deku call him up now and then to check up on him and he has to answer, else they take it upon themselves to come over uninvited–in the end, he appreciates it. Of course, he’d never admit that out loud.
Today, he’s supposed to head back to the hospital. They’re going to check how his hands have healed on their own and do some therapy or whatever. Perhaps he should’ve paid more attention when the doctor was telling him about it.
He leaves way too early since he wants to walk the entire way. It’s about half an hour's walk away and he needs the fresh air and the exercise–these past few days have found him cooped up in his apartment and it’s been awful. The weather that afternoon is great, clear skies and warm enough to go outside without a jacket.
It’s turning out to be a better day than expected… that is, until he hears the screams.
The fuck…?
Katsuki stares at the crowd of people rushing past, all the alarms in his head going off as he quickly assesses the situation. Looking across the street where they’re all running towards, thick smoke envelopes the side of an apartment building–it’s from a unit on the third floor, it seems.
And there’s a child.
A young, crying child who’s clutching at the balcony rails as the flames rise behind her.
With horror, Katsuki sees several of the surrounding crowd on their phones as they call the authorities. Several people are urging the girl to jump, saying they’ll catch her–and there’s a woman on the street screaming at the top of her lungs and it only takes a moment for Katsuki to realize it’s her mother.
Is there nobody with a quirk that can help right now…?
The girl refuses to jump despite her mother and the crowd’s pleas, frozen in place in fright. Katsuki stands in the crowd, wide-eyed and heart racing, because he can’t use his fucking quirk… it’d be so easy if he could, he’d blast his way up three stories, take her, and it’d be over just like that. Fuck.
“Mom! Help me!” The girl screams. “I can’t breathe!”
“It’s going to take five minutes before a hero can come here!” A civilian yells, a phone pressed against his ear.
That would take too long.
Katsuki grits his teeth as he’s reminded of an incident from years ago–when a crowd surrounded him as he yelled in desperation, a villain keeping him from breathing. He remembers the looks of those who were just watching as he struggled–just like now. The crowd was simply standing there, horrified but unable to do anything.
Katsuki has no choice. Wincing and biting down the pain when he moves his hands, he quickly yanks his bandages off. He makes small sparks in his hands, as if testing if he can actually use his quirk–it feels foreign, which is strange because he’s had this quirk his entire life. Not being able to use it for only a few days is surreal. Even just the small sparks send some pain up his arm, but it’s bearable… and he’s sure that if he uses it to its full extent, the pain will be so much more.
If he didn’t have to, he wouldn’t–but he won’t leave this kid in danger, not when there was nobody else doing anything.
When he blasts himself up to the balcony, a horrible pain surges from his hands to his arms, to his shoulders. His hands burn, as if he’s just used Howitzer Impact for the very first time. Grunting, he stumbles to the balcony and his vision goes blurry–he’s aware enough to see that the girl rushes to him crying, and he immediately scoops her in his arms. The fire’s closing in on them and he knows they have little time left.
“Hold tight,” grits Katsuki. Everything’s so painful. His hands feel like they’re going to fall off, the pain similar to when he overuses his quirk multiplied by a hundred–as if every nerve is damaged.
Any other day, he’d use his quirk to soften the landing, but he doesn’t think his hands can handle it. Pathetic, he muses. Katsuki wraps his hands around the young girl and hops over the balcony railing, jumping three stories down and landing on his feet.
And as soon as someone takes the girl from him, everything goes dark.
He’s not sure how long he’s out, but when he comes to, he can’t feel his hands and arms and he’s on a hospital bed. He tries to move his hands, and–nothing. No sensation. He panics and looks at his sides, only sighing in relief when he sees his arms are still fucking attached to him.
They must’ve put him on some pretty powerful painkillers again. He sits up, placing his hands on his lap and staring at how useless they are.
The door opens and Kirishima walks in, looking tired. He’s in his civilian clothes, which is weird because he mentioned he had a shift today. He smiles when he notices Katsuki’s up, the doctor trailing behind him. “Hey there,” Kirishima says. “They called me as your emergency contact. I think your mom is on the way too, though.”
“Fantastic,” Katsuki says, dryly. “How long have I been out?”
“Three hours,” his doctor answers–Katsuki should probably find out what her name is, at some point. “What were you thinking? You’re lucky the paramedics were already on their way.”
“Was thinking the kid was going to die,” he mumbles in reply.
The doctor sighs in exasperation. She whips out a clipboard and starts scribbling on it, muttering under her breath about how all pro-heroes are so predictable and similar. Katsuki glances over at Kirishima, who’s staring out the window and earnestly watching a bird tend to its nest. Dork.
“You messed up, Bakugou,” the doctor says. “Your hands are twice as ruined, and it’s going to take even longer to get them back to normal now. The work’s going to take double the effort. If you were having a hard time before, it’s going to be even worse now.”
“I didn’t have a choice,” Katsuki groans. “Get off my fucking back.”
The doctor ignores his outburst, continuing to lecture him before telling him what’s going to happen. Katsuki listens with a scowl even if most of it is pretty much what she’s told him before, except that the treatment’s going to take even longer. He has to keep coming back to the hospital for treatment and his stomach twists when she tells him he’ll be out of commission for at least a month.
Fuck.
“If you live alone, I highly suggest you get someone to stay for you until your hands are better,” she says. Katsuki doesn’t miss how she glances at Kirishima when she says that. “I’ll see you in three days, Bakugou. I’ll tell the nurses to discharge you.”
She leaves the room, and that’s when Kirishima finally stops pretending he’s not there. He turns to grin at Katsuki, a smile spreading from ear to ear as if Katsuki didn’t almost kill himself. Kirishima walks over to his bed, sitting down at the edge. There’s a split second where his expression cracks–the corner of his lips twitch in annoyance and he clenches his fists. Katsuki would’ve missed it if he didn’t know the telltale signs of Kirishima hiding his frustration.
“You’re upset with me,” Katsuki states.
There’s no use hiding he’s annoyed, and even Kirishima knows that. “It was a stupid thing to do, man.”
He doesn’t miss a beat. Katsuki states, sternly, “You would’ve done the same.”
“Hm,” Kirishima says, thoughtfully. He studies Katsuki’s gaze, shoulders slacking. Conceding, he says, “Yeah. You’re right.”
Katsuki furrows his eyebrows and scowls, looking down at his hands, which are still on his lap. He feels so utterly useless at the moment–a month of not being able to use his quirk? Of not being able to report to his own job? A month of having to struggle with stupid, basic shit?
“Stop thinking, man,” Kirishima says, and then he puts his hands over Katsuki’s. He rubs small circles on Katsuki’s wrist, and Katsuki can’t feel it. He knows Kirishima’s hands are warm and comforting, but he can’t even tell, for sure. It makes him want to throw up. “Seriously, Bakugou. It’s fine.” Kirishima grins.
There’s no sensation, and it’s the strangest thing to see–Kirishima’s holding his hands and it's as if he’s holding someone else entirely. His hands don’t even feel like his. It’s bizarre and unsettling and Katsuki grits his teeth and hangs his head down, ready to throw up.
“You’re the best, Bakugou. So brave and strong and manly–not a day goes by that I don’t think I’m so lucky I know you,” Kirishima says, softly. Katsuki meets his eyes in bewilderment, because what is he even yapping about? Still, a blush spread across Katsuki’s cheeks. Fucking Kirishima making him question if he has a praise kink. “Can I ask you something?”
“What’s with the sappy bullshit?” Katsuki scowls. “You about to propose to me, you moron?”
A laugh. “Do you want me to?”
“No–what the fuck, shut up–”
“Bakugou Katsuki,” Kirishima says, eyes twinkling, and he grabs Katsuki’s hands and holds it firmly in the space between them. “My best friend, Blasty Mscplode, will you do me the honor and let me stay with you for a month?”
“You know I don’t need my hands to beat your ass, right?”
Katsuki’s heart does a leap when Kirishima simply laughs, and ever so gently grips his hands tighter, and Katsuki wishes he could feel it, wishes he knew what it felt like to have his hands held by his best friend. There’s a memory at the back of his mind, one that’s been nagging him for years, one where he grabs Kirishima’s hand in the middle of a battlefield, and it literally saved his life; it had felt so right then and it still does now. He’s related that dumb memory to feeling secure, to knowing that he’s safe.
If he’s ever wanted anything in his life, this was it–to feel how warm Kirishima’s hands are, again. Unfortunately, his stupid and worthless numb hands won’t let him.
Really, Kirishima has no fucking clue how badly he makes Katsuki’s chest do funny things.
He’s always been affectionate to Katsuki and everyone else, and Katsuki has to remind himself over and over that it’s nothing special. It’s Kirishima being generous with his touch, and Katsuki who lets him on some days.
Kirishima’s just about to say more when the door slams open, startling them both, and his mom storms right in.
“Katsuki, what the hell were you thinking!?” she screams, fists balled at her sides and–are her eyes red? Seriously, he’s been at this job for years and she still does this? “Oh–” She blinks, stands up taut and stares. “Am I interrupting something here?”
Katsuki and Kirishima gape back at her. They’re still seated facing each other, Kirishima holding up Katsuki’s hands close–and it’s not a scandalous position to be caught in but still pretty suspicious.
His mom immediately recovers, putting her hands to her hips and smirking. “Something finally happened between you two dumbasses, huh?”
Kirishima goes red and he splutters, letting go of Katsuki’s hands. He stands up and bows ridiculously low. “Hi, Mrs. Bakugou!”
Fuming, Katsuki yells, “What are you going on about, you old hag!?” When Kirishima stays frozen in place, bowing over at the waist and staring at the floor, Katsuki gets even more annoyed. “Kirishima, stand up straight!”
Kirishima does just that and grins, sheepish; he looks like he wants to bolt out of there.
Stupid hag, Katsuki thinks.
“Katsuki, can’t you take better care of yourself, you damn brat!?” His mom complains, approaching him in quick strides and grabbing him by the sides of his face to force him to look at her. Katsuki seethes, cheeks going red, because Kirishima has front row seats to his annoyingly doting mother. He’s never going to hear the end of this. “Oh god, look at your hands–move back to the house until it’s better, will you?”
“What? No.”
“What do you mean no!? How are you going to survive on your own–you can’t do fucking shit like this!”
“Leave me the fuck alone!”
In the corner of his eyes, he spots Kirishima looking more uncomfortable as ever. He’s staring down at his feet with wide, baffled eyes–he’s always found it strange how Katsuki and his mom speak, even if Katsuki insists that’s simply how they are.
His mom grits her teeth, tightening her hold on his face. “If you refuse to move back, then I’ll stay with you–”
“Kirishima’s staying with me until I get better,” Katsuki blurts out.
“I am?” Kirishima squeaks–Katsuki glares at him. “Of course I am!”
Surprised, that somehow gets his mom to pause. She blinks and finally lets go of his face, her features softening. “I see,” she says, her tone much more relaxed than before. His mom–nosy hag that she is– turns to smile at Kirishima, who looks shell-shocked at whatever the heck just happened… as if he wasn’t just offering to stay with Katsuki, before. Why’s he even so baffled that Katsuki would lie about that to get the old hag to shut up? “Thank you, Kirishima.”
“Uh…” Kirishima says, stupidly. “No worries.”
A grin spreads across his mom’s face and Katsuki groans in exasperation, knowing she won’t make this easy for them. She’s always been convinced that Kirishima had a huge crush on Katsuki.
Thankfully, Kirishima’s phone rings and he takes it as an opportunity to duck out of the room. “My agent–need to take this,” he says, smiling awkwardly. The old hag’s still looking at him with the same scrutinizing and teasing expression, keeping him on edge. “Be right back.”
As soon as he leaves, the old hag turns to Katsuki.
Katsuki grits, “Stop fucking looking at me like that.”
“Pfft, I’ll do whatever I want, you annoying brat. Want some fruits? Which do you want?” She gestures towards the basket of fruits in the corner.
“I’m not a goddamn kid.” His stomach growls.
“The oranges?”
“Yes, the fucking oranges!”
The old hag cackles at that and Katsuki glares as she grabs the oranges, skillfully preparing them. Katsuki’s quiet the entire time, annoyed because he knows he won’t be able to fucking pick up the slices himself. He glowers at the old hag when she holds one up to him, and she doesn’t take no for an answer and practically shoves it into his mouth.
“Would you really prefer that Kirishima stay with you, kid?” She asked, tone a lot softer than it was before. “I know you were lying and that he’s not actually staying with you, but you know he’s going to insist anyway, right? Are you okay with that? It’s Kirishima. ”
Katsuki glares at her. There’s so much to unpack here and he wants to point out that she’s wrong–if she hadn’t summed it up perfectly.
It’s Kirishima.
“I’m fucked,” Katsuki grumbles. He refuses to see what kind of reaction his mother has to do that, and he’s just thankful she doesn’t push the topic further.