Archive of Our Own

Dancing in the dark, you between my arms
Barefoot on the grass, listening to our favourite song
When you said you looked a mess, I whispered underneath my breath
You heard it, darling you look perfect tonight

Perfect, Ed Sheeran

The trouble with love songs is that they change.

Okay. Fine . Maybe songs don’t change so much as your perception of them does. Time and experience weave into the chords and the lyrics, imbuing them with something…more, some intangible quality.

Songs are kinda like scents that way. How they can wrap themselves around a memory. Little moments of timelessness. You hear a lyric and you’re transported. You hear a melody and suddenly it hits you, the feeling evoked by the music, be it joy or sorrow.

Well.

There’s always a little bit of sorrow. That’s just the way nostalgia is. You’re either sad for the sad times, or you’re sad for the good times. Because they’re over now.

Kirishima bit his tongue. Stop that. He was doing it again. Thinking. Well, overthinking . He’d been doing that a lot lately. That was why he was here with his friends instead of back at the apartment working on the stupid playlist he’d been assigned.

A playlist full of love songs. 

It was mid-spring now. The cherry blossoms had already come and gone, but the world was still caught in that delicate between, no longer trapped in the frozen stalemate of winter, but not yet fully alive. Leaves were just starting to peek out on branches. The sun still set a little too early. The night still came a little too soon.

And Mina Ashido was not easily satisfied.

“You’re not letting it dangle enough!”

He sighed and readjusted. ”Is that better?”

“Seriously?” She sounded exasperated. “No. Now it’s dangling too much.”

“You’re just being picky. Sero, is this dangling too much?”

“It’s dangling too much,” Sero said, not bothering to look away from the rented wooden dance floor he was assembling in the middle of the yard.

“Oh, come on. You’re just agreeing with Mina because she’s your girlfriend.”

“That is correct.”

“How does one judge the proper amount of danglage?” Denki mused, leaning back from the flower bed he was weeding. “Is there a golden ratio? A shapely parabola or a comely curve we should aspire to—”

“Oh my god, Denks, stop .” Kirishima groaned, letting the patio lights drop. “You’re just trying to make it sound dirty.”

“Yeah. And?”

“ And? Bakugou’s parents are just inside. What if they hear you?”

“Ah yes, the future in-laws. Whatever would they think if they overheard your friends attempting to objectify the backyard decor?”

“Oh, come on, man. You can’t joke like that, we’re not even dating.” He sighed. “We’re not even anything .”

“Not yet ,” Mina grinned, bopping him on the nose for emphasis.

“Not ever,” Kirishima muttered. And yep—there it was. Despite his best efforts, he was definitely back in his feelings.

Mina seemed to have noticed it, too. “Tell you what,” she said. “I’ll hang the lights, ‘kay? You just hold them so the bulbs don’t trail along the ground and get ruined.”

“So you want me to just follow you around and hold things?”

“Dude, welcome to my life,” Sero deadpanned. “That’s half of what being a boyfriend is.” 

“Okay, first. Rude ,” Mina said. “And second! I don’t want you to just follow me around and hold things. I want you to cheerfully follow me around and hold things.”

Kirishima winced. Point taken, Mina. But she wasn’t wrong. He hadn’t been himself today. Hadn’t been himself these past two weeks, if he was being honest. 

Ever since he’d lost a day.

Sure, it was only one day. And true, it was only his memories of that day. A minor quirk mishap with a girl on a train. It wasn’t that big a deal. It shouldn’t have been, anyway. How many days had he forgotten over the years? How many cumulative moments adding up to weeks, months, years even? What was twenty-four short hours in the scheme of things?

Well, that was a bit more complicated.

Because it had been Bakugou’s birthday.

If it’d been any other day, he wouldn’t have worried. If it’d been any other day, he could have just asked his friends what he’d missed. Only, because it was that day, he’d spent it with Bakugou. Only with Bakugou.

And the man wasn’t talking.

“The hell do you mean you can’t—yes, I know it’s not the season, that’s literally why I contacted—I thought you could convince them to—”

At least, he wasn’t talking to Kirishima.

“Inhumane? Are you for real? They’re fucking bugs!” The patio door slid open, Bakugou crashing through—still yelling into his phone—only to stop dead when his eyes fell on Kirishima. “I—” He froze and then turned back towards the house, his voice soft and subdued now as he mumbled into the phone. “Yeah. Yeah, I hear you.”

Kirishima couldn’t help but notice the looks Kami and Sero gave each other. The way Mina bit her lip.

“It’s—okay, whatever. Yeah, I’ll give her a call. Thanks.” Bakugou sighed before he ended the call and turned back around, his face red and nervous when he looked at Kirishima. “Didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Fat let me off early. Wanted to take a new intern out on the route.”

Bakugou put his hands in his pockets. “Oh? That’s—uh—that’s nice, I guess.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

There was a beat of silence. Kirishima felt the cord of lights tighten, biting into his skin, before he realized that he was the one pulling them. Any more pressure and he’d probably have snapped the line.

“You doin’ okay, Blasty?” Mina finally asked.

“M’fine.” Bakugou sounded exhausted. “Just…got more shit to do than I anticipated.”

“Anything we can do?”

“Nah. Just wanted to check in with you guys before my patrol, but apparently, I’ve gotta go talk to Goggles now, too.”

Kirishima examined the lights while the others chatted. The smoothness of the strand. The filaments in each bulb. They were the old-fashioned kind—or, at least, designed to look that way. 

“You alright, Eij?”

He was so caught off guard by the question, and by the softness of Bakugou’s voice, that he would have dropped the lights altogether if they hadn’t been halfway wrapped around his hands.

“Huh?” he spluttered. “Why wouldn’t—I mean—yeah, of course!” He tried to cover his fumbled words with a thousand-watt smile, but he knew it didn’t reach his eyes. 

Bakugou wasn’t buying it either, not if his expression was anything to go by. He didn’t force the issue, though, just excused himself with a tired smile and a half-hearted threat to make sure the backyard was perfect. And left.

Kirishima found himself staring after him, then staring at his own reflection in the glass doors, long after they’d slid shut.

Which was why he didn’t immediately notice the other three. Staring at him .

“What the hell, Kiri?” Denki finally broke. “I could feel the temperature drop all the way over here.”

Kirishima sighed. “I know, right? I told you guys, he’s been like that ever since it happened.”

“ He’s been? Kiri, you’re the one who was weird. You practically ignored him.”

“No, I didn’t! He was talking to Mina.”

Mina huffed. “He was only talking to me because you were staring at your hands. He kept glancing over at you the whole time.”

“Oh.” Kirishima bit his lip. “I—look, it’s just been so awkward lately. I don’t even know how to act around him anymore. He’s hardly in the apartment, and when he is, it’s usually just to grab some food or go to bed. We barely interact, let alone talk.”

“He’s on that secret mission, though,” Sero said, pushing a rogue lock of hair back behind his ear. “He’s probably just busy and tired. And it’s not like he can talk to you about what he’s been doing.”

“Maybe, but I don’t think that’s it. He’s less tired and more…I don’t know. Distant, I guess? Stand-offish.”

Denki snorted. “Isn’t that just normal Bakugou?”

“Not with me,” Kirishima said. It came out quieter than he meant it to. “I think I did something to piss him off.”

“Oh hon’,” Mina said, coming over and placing her hands on his. “I’m sure you’re just overthinking things.”

“Look, I wish I was, but… No. Something’s wrong. Maybe he’s normal with you guys, but he isn’t with me. Which I guess is why I think that it is me—that I’m the problem.”

“Listen. I know where your head’s at, but you didn’t see him that night. After you collapsed on the train, he ran all the way to the hospital with you in his arms. I’ve never seen him like that. Like, worked up and worried, but also…possessive. He refused to leave your side until you woke up. Pissed off quite a few nurses.”

“Really?”

“Totally,” Denki chimed in. “He practically bit my head off when I tried to brush some of your hair out of your face. Said my hands were too germy and cold and I’d make you sick or something.”

Kirishima laughed. “Yeah, okay. I can see that. But...I don’t know. Maybe he just doesn’t know how to act around me either.” He swallowed. “Maybe because I did something to make it awkward.”

The other three exchanged worried glances.

“Are you trying to say you remembered something?” Mina asked. 

“No,” Kirishima shook his head. “It’s just—even though I don’t know what I did, I know what I’d planned on doing. And—and I’d planned on confessing to Bakugou. I don’t remember how I was going to do it, because apparently that’s gone along with everything else. But I know I had a plan. And what if I did it? And what if Bakugou didn’t reciprocate? It makes sense. I mean, honestly, it makes the most sense. That would explain why he’s putting so much distance between us.” He laughs, but the sound is hollow. “Maybe I should be grateful, huh? At least I don’t have to remember getting rejected.”

“No. Nuh-uh,” Mina said, poking him in the chest for emphasis. “You don’t get to talk like that, Kirishima Eijirou. Got it? You don’t know that Bakugou rejected you. You don’t even know if you asked.”

Denki nodded. “Look, dude. You’ve been planning on telling Blasty for years now. Odds are you chickened out again. And anyway—” His phone dinged, interrupting that train of thought.

Sero jumped in instead. “Yeah, you’re too in your head. Besides, if Bakugou was actually angry with you, you’d know. It’s obvious he still cares.”

“Is it?”

Denki’s phone dinged again, but this time he jumped up and stomped over to Kiri. “Of course, he cares,” he scoffed, shoving the screen in Kiri’s face. 

It was a text conversation with Bakugou, the last two messages having only just come in.

[Kacchan] Why the hell did Ei look so sad? What’d you fuckers do to him?

[Kacchan] Just fix it. Cheer him up, dammit. 

Oh.

Okay, then. 

And that was all it took. Just two messages. The smallest evidence of Bakugou’s affection—rough and indelicate though it was—and Kirishima was melting, the smile that’d been absent now taking over his face.

But then another text came through.

[Kacchan] And don’t forget to practice the switched lyrics. I don’t want your stupid ass messing up the whole thing by calling him a girl.

“Lyrics?” Kirishima asked.

“Huh?” Denki grabbed the phone. “Oh, that. Just a thing with Jirou,” he said, typing something back and mumbling, “As if I’d forget. It was my idea.”

“ Anyway ,” Sero said. “I think the most important lesson to take away here is to stop assuming the worst. Give him until tomorrow at least. He’s supposed to be done with the mission by then.”

“Yeah!” Mina squealed, grabbing Kirishima by the shoulders. “Just in time for the party!”

Right. The party. The one they were decorating for. “Do we really have to do this?”

“Have to?” Mina frowned, putting her hands on her hips. “Come on, Kiri-babe. It’s gonna be fun. Besides, we’re doing this for you!”

Kirishima groaned. “You keep saying that, but I don’t understand what any of this has to do with me.”

“What’s wrong, dude?” Denki put a hand on his shoulder. “We thought you’d love this. Remember back in third year when we threw that spring dance party? You were so excited about planning it. Said it felt like the end of one of those romantic movies you always made us watch.”

Oh. Well, of course, he remembered it. Remembered blowing up balloons and carrying speakers to the roof of their dorm building. Remembered how he’d practiced slow dancing with Denki and Sero, and had let Mina help him out with his hair and eyeliner. He’d even had the courage to ask Mrs. Bakugou for advice on picking out a suit.

Yeah. Yeah, he definitely remembered. How nervous but excited he’d felt at the start.

And how disappointed he’d been after.

(Not that any of his friends knew that.)

“Guys. That’s—that’s really sweet of you all, but I still don’t understand. Why would you throw a party for me ?”

“Because you’ve been down, dude,” said Denki.

“Because Mina’s making me,” said Sero.

“Because we thought we were gonna lose you, you dumb idiot!” Mina burst out. “And maybe the fact that we didn’t feels like a thing worth celebrating, okay?”

“Uh—what?”

“ Mina ,” Denki hissed. “You were supposed to keep at- thay on the ownlow- day .”

Sero snorted. “I don’t think pig-latin’s gonna help anything, Denks. Kiri’s not a toddler.”

“At-thay? At... that ?” Kirishima muttered.

“I stand corrected.”

Kirishima shook his head. “Hold up. What aren’t you guys telling me? It was just a simple memory quirk. I know I was out for a couple hours, but I wasn’t in any real danger.”

The other three looked at each other again, Sero pinching the bridge of his nose and Mina biting her lip.

“Guys?”

“Okay…fine! But don’t tell Bakugou we told you or he’ll freak.”

“I—what?”

“It was just a memory quirk,” Denki cut in, “so yeah, you weren’t in danger of outright dying, but the doctors weren’t sure how much time you were going to lose. They said it could be anywhere from a few hours to—well—years.”

Oh.

“Yeah,” Mina sniffed. “So even though we wouldn’t have ‘lost you’ lost you, we sorta could have. Because—”

“—because you might have forgotten us,” Denki finished for her.

And okay. Yeah. That was…a lot. He could have forgotten his friends. He could have forgotten he was a hero, and all the training he’d done to become one. He could have forgotten—

“Bakugou.”

Mina nodded. “He was such a mess that night. God, it was awful. When I got to the hospital—when I saw his face? Kiri, I thought you’d died .”

“It was pretty rough, man,” Sero agreed. “But he made us swear not to tell you. Said you’d feel bad about it and he didn’t want that for you.”

And yeah. Kirishima could see why. He did feel bad, knowing what his friends must have gone through. What Bakugou must have gone through.

But he also felt—

Warm. Like a ball of light had ignited in his chest—glowing, spreading—heating his face and tingling his fingertips.

Bakugou being worried meant that Bakugou had cared . And because even in the middle of all that, all the fear and the chaos, he’d been looking out for him .

It must have shown on his face, because his friends were smiling again, too.

“There it is,” Denki said, shoving him playfully. “You done being an idiot now?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Kirishima blushed.

“Well, good!” Mina said, pushing Denki back toward the flowerbed. “‘Cause we still have a lotta work to do! I don’t need to hear Bakugou complaining that we did a half-assed job, and besides, I want our pictures to blow away the ones Todoroki posted from Hawks’ private beach party last week.”

“Ah yes,” Sero sighed, “the real reason for the party. Showing up the Number Two’s Instagram photos.”

*   *   *

He hadn’t added any new songs to the playlist. Hadn’t removed any either. Just kept staring at the list, looking up the lyrics, listening to them. Once. Twice. 

It was kinda stupid that they wanted him to pick out music anyway. Jirou was already making a playlist. He was just supposed to suggest some to add to the mix.

Same as the last time he’d helped plan a dance party.

Honestly, he could probably just send the same songs. He doubted anyone would notice that the list hadn’t changed. He was pretty sure the only reason they’d assigned him the task was to give him something to do. Busy work, just something to make him feel included. 

After all, he wasn’t good at decorating like Mina. Or planning, like—well—like Mina again. And he wasn’t especially handy or technical. He tended to be more “blunt force” in his actions. Which meant for events like this, he was mostly just called on to carry stuff.

Or to pick out sappy love songs, apparently. 

It’d all started back in second year when he’d overheard some of the girls talking in the common room about their dream wedding playlists and how they were already curating them. Of course, he’d had to chime in, saying one of the songs they’d just mentioned was on his, too. 

Cue the girls gasping and demanding to see said playlist, and then gushing over it once they had. It’d felt good in the moment—the approval and camaraderie, the chance to show that masculinity shouldn’t preclude someone from sentimentality.

But now? Now, the songs he was staring at—the same ones he’d submitted to their third year dance playlist—were just…sad. Reminders of what hadn’t happened that night. Reminders of his dream.

God, he was an idiot. It was just a dream. A good one—an amazing one—and one he kept on having, but still, only a dream. And honestly, hadn’t it only ever ruined things, in the end? Gotten his hopes up, set his expectations impossibly high?

And it was ridiculous, anyway—a naive and idyllic amalgamation of all the things he found romantic rolled together like the end of some teen romance movie. A dance under the stars. There’s music playing, something soft and steady. But he’s standing alone, watching the other couples wistfully. Until—

God, it made his face heat up just thinking about it, even now. It was embarrassing, really. How much even the thought affected him.

Of Bakugou, walking up to him. Cocky and confident and so damn beautiful. Stopping in front of Kirishima of all people, to ask him to dance.

So they do. They dance and they dance, while the cherry blossoms sway in the breeze and swirl around them, fireflies suddenly lighting up their corner of the floor like it’s just for them, like it’s only them. And then it is. And then Bakugou’s kneeling in front of him, a question on his lips.

Yeah. It was stupid. Stupid to still be thinking about. It was just a dream. A fantasy. And it was never gonna happen. He knew it’d be better if he made his peace with that, with the knowledge that he and Bakugou would never become more than they were right now. Maybe then the dreams would stop. And then? And then it would be fine. It was fine. They were best friends, after all. And if he was honest, he knew the man loved him in his own way. It was already more than Kirishima could fathom. He should be happy. He should be satisfied.

If he’d thought that way last time, he might have actually had fun. He might not have been disappointed at Bakugou standing surly and alone off in the corner for most of the night. He might not have died inside when he watched him finally stalk over to the dance floor, only to grab Uraraka’s hand, laughing and sticking his tongue out at Midoriya over her shoulder as they spun.

He might have actually stayed for the whole thing.

Yeah. He was done dreaming. And he was definitely done looking at love songs.

He shot off an email to Jirou, sending her a link to the old playlist, and was just about to head to the kitchen for a glass of water when he heard the door open. He froze, listening. To the rattle of keys, to the dull shuffle in the hallway—Bakugou taking off his shoes, to the clink of coins in the change jar. Familiar sounds. 

Part of him wanted to go out there, to greet him, to convince himself that his friends were right and that things were fine—that they weren’t broken. 

He stayed instead, telling himself that Bakugou would be too tired to talk anyway. That it’d be better to give him space, to let him rest. So he waited until he heard the man’s door open and shut before he tiptoed out into the common area.

Their apartment was small, but he loved it. When they first moved in together, it was an awkward mix of his and his. Bakugou’s and Kirishima’s. But after a couple years, it shifted. He no longer felt weird using Bakugou’s plates, because they didn’t feel like Bakugou’s plates anymore. They felt like theirs . And at this point, a lot of their stuff truly was that—theirs. They bought the couch together, and the TV, the coffee table and the lamp. And as for the rest, Kirishima couldn’t even remember which of them owned this movie or that, this book, that cup. The place had meshed. Two people, one home. Because that’s what it was now.

They shared a refrigerator and an address, a bathroom and a change jar—never minding who put in how much. They even shared the moments’ shelf.

Growing up, it’d hung in his room, stacked with hero trading cards, his favorite manga, and Crimson Riot action figures.

Once in the dorms, he’d ditched most of the merch for more personal items. Souvenirs of moments that had mattered. Just little things. Like the small bit of brick from the wreckage of Kamino. A shard of metal he’d deflected at his debut. Half an eraser.

After moving into the apartment, Bakugou encouraged him to display it out in the living room. In return, he’d insisted that Bakugou add his own items as well, like his old provisional license. Like the All Might card. 

And…a rock?

There was a rock on their moments’ shelf. 

That was new.

It was fine, obviously. Weird, but fine. Only, Bakugou hadn’t mentioned putting it there. He frowned. He knew about all of Bakugou’s items, what they were and what they meant. So what was this? 

He picked it up, turned it over in his hand. It wasn’t even a pretty rock. Just a small piece of gravel.

It bothered him, the not-knowing. Like when he’d put it there, or why. Maybe it had something to do with his mission. Maybe Bakugou would fill him in once the thing was done. Still. It felt like being left out. Felt too much like the day he’d forgotten. 

Which now he was thinking about again. 

Wonderful.

But how could he not? What had he done? And what had his-doing-it done to the two of them? He had no idea, and Bakugou had always managed to ditch or change the subject when he tried to bring it up. The only actual clue he had was the ticket stub for the zoo he’d found in his pocket. But why would he—?

There was a thud from the other room—Bakugou hanging up his gauntlets, probably. 

He put the rock back on the shelf. It wasn’t any of his business, and even if it was, it could wait for another day.

*   *   *

“Oh my gosh, Kiri, I love it!!” Mina was glowing, staring up at him in the mirror’s reflection as she took in his work. 

They’d been doing this for ages now, getting ready for events together. She’d pick his clothes, he’d do her nails. They’d both help each other with makeup and hair. This time she’d come with two garment bags slung over her shoulder and an armload of flowers.

She’d grown her hair out quite a bit over the last few years so that it fell just past her shoulders, but for tonight he gathered it up in a loose bun, two braids on either side wrapping under and over, and into which he placed sprigs of baby’s breath and a gorgeous stem of pale blue orchids. They matched her dress, a nineteen-twenties inspired number that draped at her neckline, showing off a lustrous strand of pearls.

He’d planned on wearing his best suit, a dark navy ensemble he’d gotten for the hero gala last year, but instead she pulled out a new one, courtesy of the Bakugous. It was something he never would have picked out himself, but after putting it on, he couldn’t deny it was—

“Oh my god ,” Mina squealed, hopping from one foot to another as she watched Kirishima examine himself in the mirror.

The suit was light gray, with a matching vest embroidered with subtle rose details—an obvious homage to the one he’d once bought for Bakugou—the inside of both lined with sleek red fabric, the same shade as the tie.

He stared at his reflection. “This is too much. Isn’t it? It looks expensive. It feels expensive. Why would they—?”

Mina rolled her eyes. “Because you’re their favorite. Duh.”

“They really shouldn’t have.”

“Oh no, hon’,” she said, “they absolutely should have. Bakugou is going to combust when he sees you.”

He blushed, despite himself. “Please don’t tease me. Not tonight. I don’t think my heart can take it.”

“It’s not your heart I’m worried about at the moment,” she said, and grinned, tucking a loose strand of hair back into the messy bun he was sporting for the evening before turning to find her shoes.

They were just about to leave when she stopped and ran back to the fridge. “I almost forgot!” she said, pulling out two plastic containers. One was a delicate wrist corsage made of the same colored orchids as the ones in her hair. The other—

“Mina, you didn’t have to—”

She waved him off, pinning the boutonniere to his jacket. It was designed with small white rosebuds and some sort of accent greenery. “I didn’t, really. We’re all wearing one! Mine matches Hanta’s.”

“Still. Thanks, Mins. For everything,” he said, taking the corsage and placing it on her wrist. “You look stunning.”

She blushed, and pushed him playfully. “ You look stunning.”

“Thanks,” he managed, but didn’t quite meet her eyes. This deflection apparently did not go unnoticed. Not by his oldest friend.

She took his face between her hands and looked him straight in the eye. “You are beautiful, Kirishima Eijirou. And you are going to have the night of your life. Just you wait and see.”

*   *   *

Kirishima blushed when Mitsuki answered the door. He couldn’t help himself. It was practically a reflex at this point. Whenever she greeted him, it was always with some teasing remark, a too-knowing smile, or simply that smirk. The one she shared with her son. The one that never failed to affect him. 

She was wearing it now, looking over the pair of them standing at the door. “Katsuki,” she yelled back inside, “your friend is here.”

And yeah. There it was. His face heated even more at the phrase. Because even though Mina stood beside him, there was no question who Bakugou’s mother was referring to. Her gaze was firmly on his.

So he blushed, and she grinned. He was fairly sure at this point that the woman did it on purpose, getting some kind of kick out of flustering him.

Fortunately, Mina seemed unaffected by the exchange. “Hi Mits! Thanks again for letting us take over your yard tonight!”

“Of course, Mina,” Mitsuki said, backing up at last and pulling the door wide for the pair of them to enter. “God knows we wouldn’t see any of Katsuki’s friends if we left it up to him.”

“Yes, thanks,” Kirishima echoed. “It’s good to see you, Mrs. Bakugou.”

“Didn’t we talk about this, Eijirou? Call me Mitsuki. All your friends do.”

“Oh, right,” he said, apologizing. “I’m sorry. It’s just—”

“Good grief, kid,” she laughed. “No one’s upset. Just loosen up a little, yeah? Everything’s good. The suit fit alright?”

“Yes! I mean, thank you so much! I wasn’t expecting it and you really shouldn’t—I mean—it was awfully kind of you.”

She laughed again, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said, fighting to catch her breath, “you’re just too adorable. Masaru? Eijirou is here! Come check it out! Kats and I totally won!”

Wait, what?

Mina was already drifting away, but Kirishima stood nervously while Bakugou’s father came around the corner, his eyes thoughtful as he took him in.

“Hello, Eijirou,” he said, with a soft smile. “You doing okay? Sure the suit’s not too tight?”

Did it look too tight?

Mitsuki snorted and punched the man in the shoulder. “Stop that, you’re making him nervous! And of course it’s not too tight. It fits perfect, just like the brat knew it would. Told you not to size it up. And look at him! Come on, kid, give us a spin, won’t you?”

“Um. Sure?” He turned in a quick circle. “That okay?”

She gave him a grin and a thumbs-up before turning back to her husband. “See?”

Masaru sighed. “Yeah, yeah.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Your son’s going to—” she cut off, then turned back to the stairs. “Katsuki? You coming?”

“I’m trying to, but I can’t get my—Dad, could you help me?”

Adorable . Kirishima grinned. If he had to bet, Bakugou was probably having problems with his tie. Back in high school, he’d always given Midoriya a hard time about not being able to tie his right, but Kirishima was one of the few to know that Bakugou also had trouble from time to time. When his hands were too sweaty.

When he was nervous …

“Anyway, sorry for keeping you, Eijirou,” Mitsuki said, while Masuru headed upstairs. Her smile was softer now. “Go catch up with your friends. I’m sure that Katsuki’ll be out to meet up with you soon enough.”

Kirishima inclined his head. “Thanks again, Mrs—I mean—Mitsuki,” he said before turning to head out back.

*   *   *

The sun was just floating above the horizon when Kirishima stepped through the patio door, the sound of soft music and conversation greeting him. Most of the other guests had already arrived. Mina and Sero were laughing and chasing each other around the empty dance floor. Denki, Momo and Uraraka were crowded around Jirou on the makeshift stage set up in the corner, admiring one of her new guitars. It was basically a class A reunion, give or take a few. He took it in—the sound of Mina’s laughter and the brightness of Denki’s smile. 

Yeah. He was done moping. It would be a good night. How could it not be? With friends like these?

And there was Midoriya, with Todoroki trailing just behind. And there was Eri, running up to the two of them, bouncing on her toes and talking a mile a minute, Aizawa and Mic and Fat Gum—

Wait. Fat Gum?

And now the patio lights were glowing brighter as the sun went down, reflecting off the punch bowl and the glasses and lighting up the cherry blossoms as they swayed in the—

Wait. Cherry blossoms?

But they’d already bloomed. Weeks ago . Bloomed and fallen and gone.

“You like them?” The voice came from behind him. 

Kirishima whirled to face him and—

And god was he beautiful. 

“Hi!” he burst out. “I mean—yes! Yes, of course, I like them! But how did—?” He saw Eri again, just off to the side, flitting across the lawn toward the stage. “Did she do this?”

Bakugou nodded. He was smiling softly, hands in his pockets, looking more at peace—more himself —than he had since…

Well. Since then .

Kirishima grinned. “That’s amazing! Though I’m surprised Aizawa let her use her power for something so trivial.”

“I don’t think it’s trivial,” Bakugou said, watching the girl chat with their old classmates. “And it was less hard to persuade him than you’d think. Besides, she wanted to. You were there the day she was rescued. She hasn’t forgotten that, you know.”

Kirishima swallowed. It really was a beautiful night. Perfect. The sun was fading fast now, the first few stars peeking out overhead. 

And he was standing alone with Bakugou.

“So. You done with the mission, then?”

Bakugou chuckled. “Pretty much. Just got one thing left to do.”

“Cool,” Kirishima said, sticking his own hands in his pockets and forcing himself not to stare—to look at the trees, at their friends—at anything that wasn’t him.

“You look really nice,” Bakugou said.

“I—what?”

Bakugou smiled. “I said you look nice.”

“Oh! Um. Thanks, man! So do you.” And now that he had an excuse to look—to really look—he noticed it, the delicate rosebud boutonniere pinned to his chest.

“Hey!” Kirishima pointed. “You got the same kind I did.”

“Well, yeah,” Bakugou blushed. “I picked them to match.”

“I—what?”

Bakugou laughed. He looked so happy and Kiri’s heart ached in the best way at the sight, as all the worry and all the uncertainty faded away, sure as the setting sun. Bakugou was okay. They were okay. And even if nothing else ever happened between them, at least he had this. Had his best friend back. And—

“Dance with me.”

“I— what ?”

Bakugou shook his head and laughed again. “You keep saying that.”

“Well, you keep saying unexpected things!”

“We’re at a dance, dumbass. Did you really think you wouldn’t get asked?”

“Well—I mean—”

“Well—I mean,” Bakugou teased.

“Oh, shut up, man.” Kirishima punched him in the shoulder. “You know what I’m saying.”

“Not sure I do, actually.” Bakugou’s grin was merciless now. “Guess you’ll have to enlighten me.”

“I—it’s just. You’re you. And I’m me.”

“Kirishima.”

“And you don’t really do the dancing thing anyway. And even if you did, it’d be on your own or in a group. Not with someone one on one. And definitely not with—”

“Kirishima,” Bakugou repeated, stepping closer.

“Yeah?”

“ Dance with me .”

He had no words. How could he? Bakugou’s face had gone impossibly soft and Kirishima watched, almost as if in slow motion, as his best friend—as the love of his life—reached out and took his hand.

And suddenly he was being led to the empty dance floor, just as Jirou and the others started playing. And even before the lyrics started, he knew the song. 

And Bakugou was holding his hand.

I found a love, Denki sang, for me.

And then Bakugou was holding his waist.

Darling, just dive right in, follow my lead.

And then they were dancing.

I found a boy, beautiful and sweet.

I never knew you were the someone waiting for me.

The song went on but Kirishima couldn’t focus anymore, not on the words. Not when Bakugou was holding him like this. So close they could—

No. There was no way this was real. He was gonna wake up any second. He was gonna—

But then, out of nowhere, like magic , fireflies appeared around them, bobbing in the air as they glowed. 

He stopped moving. Honestly, he probably stopped breathing as well. Because Bakugou was saying words now. Something about being good together, and—

He stepped back. “Hold up. This is—oh my god—why does this keep happening?”

“Why does—?”

“I’m dreaming again.”

Bakugou snorted, stepping closer to take his hand back, “You’re not dreaming, dumbass.”

“Uh-huh, sure. Exactly what dream Bakugou would say.”

“Kiri.”

“Look, I think you’re amazing, and I would love to say yes to whatever it is you’re asking, but I’ve had this dream before.”

“Fine,” Bakugou rolled his eyes. “Then fly.”

“What?”

“If this is a dream, and you’re aware of it, then you should be able to control it.”

“You think I'm lucid dreaming?”

“I think you’re an idiot. But if it helps, then try to fly.”

Kirishima grinned. “I mean, if I really am in control, then maybe there's a few other things I’d rather do.”

Bakugou laughed and shoved him. “ Fly .”

“Fine,” Kirishima groaned. And tried.

Nothing. 

Holy crap.

“You’re serious,” Kirishima choked. “This is real?”

“Told you it fucking was.”

“But…why?”

“Because I love you, dumbass. Oh, shit, did I not say that yet? I love you.”

Kirishima wasn’t sure he was breathing. Which was probably a thing he should fix. So he gulped on air and immediately started coughing. Because of course he did. But Bakugou was still there. Patting him on the back and shaking his head at him, but smiling fondly nonetheless.

And then Kirishima was smiling as well. Smiling and laughing so hard that it hurt. But he didn’t care. Bakugou loved him. And maybe he couldn’t fly—not really—but he felt like he could soar. “Oh my god,” he said, grabbing Bakugou’s hands. “Say it again.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes. “I love you.”

“One more time.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” Kirishima giggled, “but you love me. And—hold up—this whole thing? Did you do this all for me?”

Bakugou blushed. “I wanted it to be special. You know, since you forgot it the first time.”

“The first time?”

Bakugou huffed. “Yes. The first time. Took us years and years to figure our shit out and the day we finally get together, you go and get amnesia.”

“I didn’t mean to!” Kiri pouted. “But how did it go? Did I ask you or did you ask me?”

“You asked,” Bakugou said softly. “You were a fucking mess about it, but you asked.”

“Really? How’d I do it?”

“With this,” Bakugou said, and pulled a rock out of his pocket. The rock.

Kirishima stared. “It’s gravel.”

“Yeah,” Bakugou laughed, “I’m fucking aware.”

“I gave you gravel,” Kirishima said flatly. “And you said yes?”

“You tried to get me a geode. Had a whole thing planned out, apparently. Dragged me to the zoo just so we could go to the gift shop with all the polished rocks and shit, but they were all gone. Some third-grade field trip had just cleared them out.

“So then,” he went on, “you panicked and made us go on a hike. You know that trail with the gravel path? You kept looking down at the ground and not watching where you were going. Nearly tripped about five times in the first half-mile before I finally made you tell me what was up.

“So you grabbed a piece of gravel— this one —shoved it in my chest and said, ‘It’s you, or it would be if it was a geode’. And then you freaked out for a minute, going on about how I have a rough exterior but I’m like a diamond on the inside or some shit like that. Tried to get really fucking poetic,” he laughed.

“And you said yes.” Kirishima’s voice was small. Breathless. “Even though I was ridiculous.”

“Fuck yeah, I said yes. You were nervous as hell, but at least you had the guts to do something about it.” Bakugou licked his lips and pulled him closer. “Manliest damn thing I ever saw.”

“Bakugou—”

“And then four hours later we got engaged.”

Kirishima froze, almost choking on air again. “Did you just say we got engaged?”

“Yeah,” Bakugou smirked.

“But. What? How—what happened? Who asked who? Was it more romantic than the rock?”

“Hell no,” Bakugou laughed. “I guess I asked. Sort of. Honestly, I was just making a joke about how we’d done everything in the wrong order. We already lived together. Said we might as well just get married. And then you basically tackled me to the ground. And you looked so damn happy. Just kept saying ‘yes, yes, yes’ and—well,” he smiled, “it sounded nice.”

It sounded more than nice. Kirishima still couldn’t believe this wasn’t a dream. That he was really standing here with Bakugou, while the band played and the fireflies danced around them. One flew up between them then, landing on the flowers in Bakugou’s boutonniere.”

“Right,” Bakugou mumbled. “Of course, they’d do that.”

“Huh?”

“They’re attracted to flowers. The fireflies—they aren’t real.”

“They aren’t?”

“Nah. Hope that doesn’t ruin it for you. They don’t usually come out for another month or two, so I had to get these robotic bees instead.”

Kirishima blinked. “You bought robot bees. For me.”

“I—look, maybe I should have waited, but it was hard enough keeping everything from you for this long. I tried to get Koda to convince some to flash early, but that was a no-go, so I bought a swarm of these instead and got Mei to reprogram them and add the lights and—oh, god, don’t look at me like that. This was stupid, wasn’t it? It’s—”

“Perfect,” Kirishima breathed.

Bakugou blushed. “I wanted to tell you right away, obviously. About us. But before you got hit with that quirk, you’d told me about your dream with the dance and me proposing and…how could I not try to do this for you? When it was literally in my power to make your dream come true?”

“I–wait. Are you asking me to be your boyfriend or to marry you?”

“Yes.”

Holy shit.

“I mean,” Bakugou backtracked, “if you still want to. I just want you. Boyfriend, fiancé, it doesn’t matter. It’s just—I’m not always very good with my words, and this is too important to mess up, so I want to be crystal-fucking-clear about my intentions, Kirishima. I don’t wanna play around. It’s fine for others to do the casual dating thing, but that’s not me. And nothing about the way I feel for you is casual. So yeah. Whatever term you wanna use or relationship stage you wanna be at is fine, but this is it for me. You’re endgame.”

Holy fucking shit.

Bakugou swallowed. He looked like he was about to combust. “But if this is too much, and you want to take things—”

“No,” Kirishima finally broke in, taking Bakugou’s hands and bringing them to his lips. “I mean no, it’s not too much, because yes . A thousand fucking times, yes, oh my god , Bakugou.”

“Yes to being my boyfriend, or yes to being my fiancé?” Bakugou asked. His voice was still breathy and nervous, but that trademark smirk had kicked back in. God, Kirishima had missed it.

“ Yes ,” Kirishima said.

“Really?”

“Of course, really. Holy crap!” Kirishima laughed and buried his head into Bakugou’s shoulder. “We really don’t do anything in the right order, do we? We’re freaking engaged and we haven’t even kissed yet.”

“Well—”

He looked up. “Well?”

“I mean—that day. We sort of. Did. Kiss and stuff—”

“And stuff?”

Bakugou blushed. “Look, if you really wanna kiss me so bad, why don’t you just—”

That was all he needed to hear. To move. To take his best friend’s— his fiancé’s —face between his hands, the touch alone coursing through him like lightning, because— god —he was about to kiss Bakugou . 

And then he was, their lips finally catching up with their hearts—finally finding each other in that perfect middle. Somewhere between Katsuki and Eijirou. Between friends and lovers and somehow both. Somehow everything. 

Kirishima could hear cheering in the background but it was a small, distant thing. Because his lips were on Bakugou’s, his hands in his hair. And it was real, real, real . Real and perfect, just like the rest of the night had been. 

But in the end, the music didn’t matter. Neither did the flowers or the fireflies or the stars above. 

On a dance floor. On a gravel path. None of it mattered. Either way was perfect. Because either way, all he really wanted was here between his arms.