Archive of Our Own

“So we can’t get close to him?” Kaminari asked over the noise, raising his hand afterward, you know, for formalities.

Aizawa sighed, “You can, as long as it’s calm. He needs to stay calm, okay?” he repeated for what must have been the hundredth time, and for the hundredth time he worried about the hands in which the future of the country was in.

“Bakugou calm? You’ll ask Midoriya not to break any bones next?,” Mina laughed, and after her her friends. The only thought of it was funny: Bakugou’s frown easing, his eyes unfocused, his hands idling here or there, maybe an aloof smile on his face. It was way too much to ask.

“Mina, this isn’t a joke, his health is at stake and I expect you all to be understanding,” the teacher tried, his voice each word more pleading, each more hopeless. “Yes, Midoriya?”

The green-haired boy’s eyes wandered for a moment as he lowered his hand slowly. “How can we know if we’re, you know, stressing him out?”

Not unexpectedly, a sparkling hand slammed on his desk. “Motherfucking nerd! You’re always. Fucking. Stressing me,” Bakugou yelled. Izuku had appreciated Bakugou’s apology more than he could put into words, but he had never for a moment expected things to really change. Not for now, anyway. Bakugou is irritable to the extent he is Bakugou, it’s insane to ask him not to be, and he hopes Aizawa realizes that.

However, there was not much time for him to reflect on their friendship or Bakugou’s temper before his attention was snatched away. There was a beeping trying to hide under Bakugou’s voice, but the beat was way too steady and mechanical to disregard. Midoriya’s ears picked up on it quickly.

“What’s that noise?” asked Jiro as she stepped into the classroom. 

“Heart monitor,” Aizawa provided. “If it beeps, it’s bad. Get that, Kaminari?”

“Beep bad, got it,” the blond parroted with a finger gun.

“The doctor has declared him at risk of heart attack for the time being, so if the heart monitor goes off, please get him to calm down, if the beeping gets louder, it means it’s over 180 beats per minute, get a teacher or go to Recovery Girl immediately, okay?”

“I can do that myself,” Bakugou mumbled. The desire to argue and the will to stay calm were fighting fiercely inside him, so that was the best he could come up with. It had been the worst week of his life (except probably when he was kidnapped and that one time he died), and it was especially infuriating because it shouldn’t have been. The war had ended, the League of Villains had been taken down, and he’d finally made it out of the ICU. These were supposed to be happy times. They were, in most ways. There was a promise of normalcy in going back to school despite the wrecked picture of a man their homeroom teacher was and the bitter sight of a new Japanese teacher. The world had practically settled into its new order. The streets were being rebuilt and the fallen heroes honored. Still, Katsuki wouldn’t say he was doing fine . 

If the scar across his face wasn’t enough of a reminder, his parents had been talking his ear off all week about taking care of himself and other kinds of bullshit. The doctors too. Doctors were the worst. There was this chick who thought she was someone for having finished med school telling him every day to take life more stoically and avoid stressful situations until his heart was fully recovered because it had exploded blah blah. She clearly didn’t know who he was. He was Bakugou motherfucking Katsuki, and he didn’t need to take things more stoically. Yet his stupid heart monitor was determined to contradict him.

“Hey, Kiri!” sounded Kaminari’s voice over the turmoil, and Katsuki couldn’t help looking up.

“Hey,” Kirishima greeted back, steps away from the doorway. His tie was crooked, his hair lazily put together, and his smile strained. Bakugou wondered what had kept him up late.

Apparently unbothered by his tired look, or probably knowing it wouldn’t last long, Kaminari smiled back. “Guessssss what,” he chirped, head nodding in the direction Kirishima expected to find the empty seat he had gotten in the habit of staring at, only to find someone in it.

“Bakugou!”

One might have thought he shared Tooru’s secondary quirk, for he shone so brightly he seemed to have lightened up literally. No one could catch him before he leaped onto Bakugou, arms spread wide and the dopiest grin on. The retaliation mattered little to the redhead when they had a hug so long overdue.

“Man! It’s so good to see you!” 

Bakugou remained still, as still as he could. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been looking forward to this moment, to meeting with his best friend again and being able to pretend nothing had happened. The world always changes, but he was certain Kirishima wouldn’t. Not in what mattered, anyway. He was like a boulder in a river, which the current never moves, though its edges it will round and mold.

But he’d also been expecting this moment with dread. There was a lot to talk about that he hadn’t come to terms with yet. There was that nasty scar on his face, too, and a patch still over his right eye, and he was really hoping Kirishima would react the right way about it.

Despite knowing better, he let himself be squeezed by Kirishima’s strong arms while he tried to put a name to the feeling of anxiety and joy that was making his chest tingle and which he could only compare to that during a fight or before a final. The problem was, even though his hands were trembling, he wanted to chase that feeling.

“Dude, what’s that beeping?” Kirishima’s voice interrupted.

And, much to his horror, Bakugou realized the class had gone silent, endeared by the spectacle, but distracted by his heart monitor picking up speed. “Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. ” He could feel his face turning red. “Get the fuck off me, shitty hair!”

Midoriya had considered it a good idea to trade seats with Kirishima for the time being, since the redhead was the only one he had ever ever seen succeed at calming Bakugou down, but he redirected himself to one of the empty seats in the classroom and wished for the best for the days to come. 

“I’ll fill you in,” laughed Kaminari as the school bell rang.

“So basically the doctor ordered him to take some chill pills,” Kaminari said with a definite nod at the end of his speech. The blond’s nonchalance didn’t sit right with Kirishima though, who would definitely ask for a more faithful explanation later.

“It sounds pretty bad,” he whispered back, sharp teeth worrying his lower lip. To be completely honest, he had, without much thought, expected to find a perfectly healthy Bakugou, and he was feeling now, above everything else, the guilt of having forgotten that Bakugou was the one to sacrifice the most during the war. Bakugou had fought alone, Bakugou had fought, for the first time, to lose. For them.

Eijiro turned to look at him. He couldn’t see how Aizawa’s lesson was relevant, especially after having done as much fieldwork as everyone in that class, so he wasn’t paying a lot of attention. When he turned his head, his eyes met Bakugou’s (or the one that wasn’t patched), and, having been unprepared, they stared at each other for an instant. Then Kirishima smiled, trying to convey whatever he would have said if they had been closer. He made it sweet and empathic, hoping it showed just how glad he was to have his friend back on his feet. Bakugou looked away, and everyone else at Bakugou, for the beeping of his monitor had become once more a magnet to everyone’s attention.

“Everything alright, Bakugou?” Aizawa asked, and, though it meant to help, it did rather the opposite. 

“ 1,2,3,4,5.” Bakugou tried to count to ten in his head just like the doctor had advised despite having vowed to himself he wouldn’t use any cheap tricks for anger management not now not ever. But his life was at stake here and his dignity too. “ 6,7,8,9,10.” The little screen on the monitor went down a few numbers, and the annoying beeping that was getting drilled onto Bakugou’s head stopped for Aizawa to resume his class.

Heaven and hell, Bakugou wasn’t sure they were so different. In fact, he was sure they were the same place, and he was sure he was there right now.

It was a cruel turn of events that Bakugou would have lived happily without witnessing. The heart is wickedly fond of irony, and Bakugou’s had decided to fall for the very boy that would mean his death.

It was not Kirishima’s fault, either, but why in the ever-fucking hell did he have to be so pretty and so clingy? That had to be illegal. Attempted murder!

Ever since they’d exited their class Kirishima had decided to torture him by draping an arm over his shoulders. Normally, Bakugou wouldn’t mind. He would welcome the touch, even, but things had changed, you know? There’d been a goddamn war, for the love of God. And there was that very stupid heart monitor to rat him out in what used to be a very deeply closeted secret.

Kaminari chatted with Kirishima on their way to the cafeteria, both boys completely oblivious to his struggle. Bakugou tried to breathe, he tried to count to ten, he tried everything . But then Kirishima laughed and Bakugou made the mistake of looking at him. There was a beep.

Both of his friends turned to face him, and Bakugou immediately flushed red. 

The doctor had advised him not to get angry or stressed, not to do too much exercise and not to take sports drinks, but she hadn’t said a single thing about this. That played in his favor, he guessed, in his reputation’s favor. If everyone assumed it was only anger… then maybe not all of his dignity would be lost. So, basically, the game he’d already been playing for a long time.

“Get your fucking arm away from me before I rip it off and shove it so far up your ass you’ll touch those stupid teeth of yours,” he grunted all in a long, shaky breath. Too much , the more rational part of his mind scolded him, but Kirishima was so close to him with that stupid, flashy hair of his that— well, he saw red. Isn’t that what people say?

“Whoa, okay,” Kirishima retreated his arm quickly, mildly alarmed. He took a step out of Bakugou’s personal space too, and Bakugou felt like he could finally breathe without stuttering. Kaminari blinked at the scene, and he shared a look with the redhead, which really pissed Katsuki off, but they resumed their conversation soon after.

“It’s just, I don’t know, do we really need all that stuff?” Kirishima complained, hands moving on their own to grab his tray of food, “I get that we haven’t graduated and all, but we didn’t need any of that stuff when we fought the freaking LoV, you know?”

Bakugou side-eyed him, “It’s no good being all brawn no brain, stupid-hair.”

“I know,” Kirishima whined, “But it’s just— freaking kanji, what imma need that for?”

“Not being illiterate?” Bakugou raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah well, whatever,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “A nerd like you wouldn’t get it, anyway.”

At that, Bakugou snatched him by the collar of his shirt, even though he was having a very hard time concealing the smile that was threatening to appear on his face at the sight of the two of them joking around like they used to. “Whatcha just call me, punk?” 

Kirishima’s laugh filled the air. It seemed to rise above the noise of the crowd. It was loud and boyish and Bakugou loved it.

He let go of his shirt, putting some much-needed space between them. “Fuckin’ piece o’ shit,” he muttered under his breath, feeling his cheeks heat up.

“Hey, you wanna sit with them or…” Kirishima asked, nodding towards the table where Kaminari had just joined Sero. The other option he was suggesting was easy to guess. They often had lunch in the yard or at that table by the corner that only allowed two people. However, it often happened in the opposite order. Bakugou chose to eat alone, Kirishima followed, and he didn’t bother to push him away. Sero would always tease them about it afterward: “ The lovebirds needed their space,” or something along the lines. His comments were hardly original anymore, honestly.

Bakugou headed for the small table without a word, trying not to think too hard about why Kirishima would want to have lunch with him alone like he’d suggested he did.

“It’s nice to catch up,” Kirishima said as they sat down, just in order to bring a new conversation to life before the silence tensed up.

“I guess,” Bakugou replied with an uninterested sneer, picking at his food.

Kirishima smiled at the fact that he hadn’t straight up denied it. “How have you been, by the way? I haven’t had the chance to ask. You must have been bored out of your mind, right? I was in the hospital for just five days and I wanted to shoot myself,” he said, putting a finger gun to his temple and making a little “poom” noise Bakugou found endearing.

The blond shrugged, finally bringing a piece of pork to his mouth. Lunch Rush’s food wasn’t anything special, but compared to the hospital food he had been surviving on it felt like heaven. He just wasn’t too hungry. “I guess.”

“It’s just a really depressing place,” Kirishima shrugged, and then he looked up at his friend “By the way,” he said, though what he was about to say wasn’t in the “way” at all, “That scar you got there, how did it happen?”

Bakugou felt all of his muscles tense up. Oh. Of course he knew Kirishima would notice, but, to be honest, he had expected him to pretend he hadn’t. 

Not to sound too cocky, but before all of this, Bakugou thought he was fairly attractive. Not idol-pretty, but at least he had a decent face. And he thought — hoped — maybe Kirishima believed it too. Now, though, he’d spent weeks without looking at himself in a mirror, fixing his hair by muscle memory and hoping for the best. It just hurt, to see a face he liked turned into this, consumed by a shapeless patch of pink, wrinkled skin, and stitches. He clenched his chopsticks in his fist.

“My face exploded,” he forced out, trying his best to sound nonchalant.

Kirishima chuckled at that. “Yeah?” he asked, fist pressed against his reddening cheek to hold up his head. “It looks manly as hell, to be honest.”

Bakugou blinked at him. Was this what did it? Did his stupid scar hold the strength to turn the kindest person on the fucking continent into a jerk that laughed at him? Because it surely had to be what this was. Kirishima was laughing at him. Yet it was so hard to believe. 

“You can’t be serious,” Bakugou scoffed, forcing his voice not to wobble. “I look like freaking half ‘n’ half.”

Kirishima laughed again. At him, he laughed at him. “Ain’t Todoroki supposed to be pretty?”

“ ‘cause the chicks in our class are delusional,” the blond said with a roll of his eyes. He didn’t really see the whole fuss around Todoroki. He’d grown to admire the guy, but, in his eyes, a worthy man had to have passion.

“You’re prettier than him anyway.”

Bakugou bit the inside of his mouth, warning himself not to believe Kirishima’s sweet talk. 

“See? That’s just how fucking ugly he is.”

Eijirou’s eyes widened slightly at that. His heart squeezed. “Whoa, dude, what? You’re not ugly,” he hurried to clarify. Shit, God knows Bakugou isn’t ugly. He is very not ugly, in fact. The first time Kirishima had seen him in real life he’d had to rub his eyes, unable to believe at first that that kind of guy existed in real life and not just in photoshopped Instagram pictures or cheesy K-dramas. And his scar didn’t change anything. It suited him so very much, made him look like a gladiator or a pirate captain, and that morning, for the first time, Kirishima had had the very embarrassing thought that he wouldn’t mind too much being the damsel in distress of the movie.

And Bakugou had the audacity to shrug.

“Dude, no, I mean it, you’re so freaking pretty, what the hell, I wish, and your scar? Makes you look so fucking badass, man,” he hurried to say, his voice a note offended. 

“I mean, you are badass, but— it suits you, you know? And I don’t mean to say it’s a good thing you were injured, obviously, but I think you look good, that’s all.” Kirishima was rambling, he knew he was rambling but his words were snowballing and he couldn’t find a stop. His face was so hot perhaps it would explode, too. Until a fist slammed against the table, making the two trays of food jump.

Kirishima looked up, immediately shushed. “Shit,” Bakugo said, his face burning, “just fucking shut up, will you?” And, as if he wasn’t embarrassed enough, his heart monitor joined in.

“O-Oh,” Kirishima stuttered, obviously startled, “I’m sorry, sorry.”

But he looked so cute when he worried about Katsuki. That little crease between his eyebrows and those big, concerned eyes sent Bakugou to the ninth cloud.

That’s why he had to shut his eyes as he stood up, trying his best not to think about the terrible loss. But everybody was staring, and what else could he do? “Just shut up.”

The rest of the day was ruled by a terrible silence. Bakugou had gone to the roof to have lunch by himself, and Kirishima had known better than to follow and joined Sero and Kaminari instead. The air in the class was dense after that. No one went near Bakugou as if they perceived, somehow, call it hero instinct, that he was a ticking bomb about to explode.

Against his better judgment, Kirishima decided to ignore his classmates’ silent plea and go chat with his best friend. It was true that they had put somewhat of a scene back in the cafeteria, but Kirishima didn’t think it automatically meant they were on bad terms. He’d just run his mouth, sure, he’d touched a sensitive topic or been too cheeky with his compliments, but Bakugou always forgave his slips. And he’d gotten pretty good at pretending nothing happened and carrying on like usual. At this point, it was a skill over which his and Bakugou’s friendship was built.

“Hey dude!” he said with a bright smile when he spotted his friend, who had already arrived at the class. Knowing better than to bring up the incident from earlier —if Bakugou had forgiven him, there was no use in it, if he hadn’t… well, he’d care to bring it up himself— Kirishima placed a safe bet and made conversation out of their next class.

He sat on Bakugou’s desk, feet finding the empty spots on Bakugou’s chair to rest so they could properly face each other. The blond didn’t say anything about the fact that he’d totally just interrupted what he was doing by sitting between him and his notebook, so he took that as a good sign.

“I’m so behind in Ectoplasm’s class, dude,” he complained with a smile, “It’s like I forgot everything over these past weeks. We had homework for today and I swear I couldn’t do it for my life. I guess you were excused from doing it, right?”

Bakugou scoffed, “I was just doing it before you dropped your fucking ass on it,” he grunted, reaching out for the notebook. Kirishima laughed at that with a quick, amused apology, and Bakugou tried very hard to ignore the way Kirishima’s ankles were pressed against his tights.

“But now you’re here, so maybe you could help out your good ‘ol friend a little? I guess I took your tutoring for granted but it really saved my grade!” he laughed. Bakugou gritted his teeth tightly. He wanted so badly to believe that Kirishima was just sweet-talking him to get him to help, but deep down he knew the idiot probably meant it because he was just that stupidly honest. “ Or… I was thinking, ” he continued, swinging his feet back and forth, at the same time stroking the length of Bakugou’s thigh like his heart wasn’t beating a beat too fast already, “maybe we could go out.” 

Bakugou’s pencil snapped in two. It caught the redhead’s attention for a moment, and he put his mind on peeling Bakugou’s fingers one by one off of their grip on the two pieces of wood that were digging into his skin as he kept talking. “It would be nice to get out. We could study in that diner by the library, for old times’ sake? Or maybe you’d rather do something… chill, I wouldn’t mind if we went to the arcade or something, huh? Or the mall. It’s been a while since I went to that meat restaurant next to the comic-book store.”

It was driving him crazy, Kirishima’s feet pressed against his thighs, his fingers easily manhandling his, and his stupid rant about their bro-time or date or whatever the hell Kirishima wanted him to think it was, so sue him for losing it, fucking sue him for not being able to put his heart under control and letting it get lost in the madness that was Kirishima’s voice.

Through the corner of his eye, Bakugou caught Aizawa entering the classroom, and he was certain that his monitor would go off any moment. It was driving him crazy, and in his mind, even over Kirishima’s presence, was that warning of just how much he couldn’t allow what was about to happen to happen. He was feeling sweat drip down his forehead, his fingers burning holes onto the desk, his monitor itching to make a fool out of him, Kirishima rambling away though the class was going quiet. And he just lost it. 

“Get the fuck away!” he shouted, standing up and flipping the desk over just as his monitor started beeping. Kirishima fell down to the floor with a yelp along with the desk and a chair that cracked under his hardened form. 

The class went deadly silent. Kirishima looked up at him with big, worried eyes. Bakugou was heaving. He just wanted to keep screaming, but he held himself back because Kirishima looked so hurt and Aizawa was hurrying to intervene anyway.

The class didn’t start for another twenty minutes. 

Without trying to look into who was to blame, he ordered Bakugou to go wash his face and cool off and sent Kirishima to his office.

Aizawa took a while to join him there, and Kirishima guessed Iida or Yaoyorozu had ratted them out because the teacher knew about what had happened at the cafeteria too. 

It hit him like a blow in the guts when Aizawa told him in his cold, grave voice that he wasn’t allowed to go near Bakugou.

Kirishima’s eyes widened and he stood up, desperate to defend himself. “It wasn’t my fault!”

“I don’t care,” Aizawa replied harshly, “this is not a punishment, it’s a matter of Bakugou’s health.”

And against that Kirishima had nothing to argue.

“For how long?” Kirishima asked in a last desperate attempt to remain hopeful.

“Indefinitely.”

Aizawa made sure to tell the class and Bakugou himself to ensure the order was followed. Midoriya, though in his discretion said nothing, was sure this decision would be their downfall. It was like setting two beasts loose.

This must be Karma. It must be. His mother often warned him, but he’d never thought being a bit of an asshole would put the universe against him like this. He’d saved the fucking country, and all he’d gotten was a pat in the back and the stupid heart monitor?! It had to be a fucking joke. That, or Karma.

He tried to focus on stirring the vegetables in the pan on the stove. He was barely hungry, but it was dinner time and he held tight onto his habits. Besides, the doctor had advised it. “ Do something calm, like listening to music or cooking.” He was doing both right now, but he didn’t feel calm at all. Before he could realize how strongly he was gripping the wooden spoon it snapped in two. “Fuck,” he muttered, making a show out of throwing away the useless utensil. 

He was supposed to have immaculate control over his body, but his heart seemed to be the only annoying muscle that wouldn’t listen to his commands. He wondered for a moment if Eyeshot’s intervention had anything to do with it, but he knew it didn’t. His heart had always been the most stupid and stubborn part of him, and it had decided to go crazy for Kirishima a long time ago. So what? It wasn’t a crime, and he was pretty fucking sure it was impossible to go into cardiac arrest because of a stupid fucking crush or whatever it was that people called it. Aizawa’s order was pretty fucking ridiculous. He didn’t need and didn’t want Kirishima away from him, as much as he had thought he’d never say that about anyone. It was pretty fucking stupid. He was one day out of the hospital and he’d spent half of it alone because he couldn’t control himself. It was pathetic.

At that moment, his phone rang with a notification. It was from Kirishima. 

He should have expected it. Or, more accurately, he had expected it. The red-head had looked all defeated when Aizawa had told them to stay away from each other, so of course he would try to reach out. Bakugou only wondered why it had taken him this long. 

He eyed the message from the lock screen “ Hey I’m sorry about everything….” There was only one text but it seemed to be long, he’d have to enter the chat to see the rest, but the thought of having to come up with an answer to whatever bullshit Kirishima had written was putting him on edge. 

He let out a long-suffering sigh, turned the stove off, and gathered his meal into a plate. Once he had sat down, he retrieved the phone from his pocket again and felt the weight of it in his palm as he stared at it for countless seconds. “ It’s just Kirishima,” he had to remind himself, and it worked like a charm because he was soon smiling at the dark screen. Kirishima always made him feel better, his smile, his voice, the only thought of him, and surely whatever he had texted him would too.

He stopped the music and unlocked his phone while his food grew cold on the table. “ Hey I’m sorry about everything. I didn’t mean to piss you off. I’ll stay away I promise. If there is something I can do for you tho just tell me. I’m just glad you’re back, I’ve missed you a lot.” Bakugou could feel his heart performing a crescendo, yet his heart monitor made sure to point it out anyway.

Kirishima had missed him. Bakugou felt stupidly giddy about that fact. He bit his lip, pushing down a smile. And Kirishima had the balls to apologize for who knows what. He probably had spent an hour overthinking his text too. What a guy. 

Katsuki wanted to tell him not to apologize to him ever again, that he didn’t piss him off, that he shouldn’t stay away. He was aching to tell him he had done more than enough, and that he’d missed him too. But the words just didn’t seem to come out. He didn’t know where to start, and instead reread Kirishima’s message again and again with a hand clamped over his mouth and his heart going into overdrive until the text almost felt unreal. 

He tried his best to ignore the fact that his fingers shook as they typed. “ I missed you too .” His thumb hovered over the send button, which looked back at him like some sick test of courage. Saving face be damned when backing down would be such a cowardly action, yet he didn’t seem able to just press the damn button.

“Bakugou!” someone shouted from the doorway. Startled, he let the phone fall onto the table.

“Bitch, what the hell!” he shouted at Uraraka as she closed the distance between them, Kaminari and Todoroki followed her. 

“Your heart’s above 180 beats, you have to get to Recovery Girl!”

Somehow Katsuki had failed to notice the alarm going off on his monitor. Or maybe he’d just resolved to ignore it.

“What happened dude?” Kaminari was asking, with a dosed amount of concern. “What were you doing?” And of course he would notice the phone lying innocently over the table, but Bakugou hadn’t expected him to reach for it. 

“Give it the fuck back!” Bakugou shouted, leaping onto the blond. At the lack of time for any gentleness, he knocked the table over, and with it the plate and glass, which broke into a million pieces on the floor. 

Kaminari and Uraraka shrieked at the same time, and Bakugou’s phone fell from Kaminari’s hand and onto the floor with the rest of the mess.

Silence followed. The four of them looked down at the floor in shock. “Fuck,” Denki muttered. Bakugou was about to yell at him, but he couldn’t find his voice. He swallowed hard. He could only feel the hammering of his heart and the pain in his chest. Sweat trickling down his body yet he couldn’t bring himself to form an explosion. He was sure the others were saying something, but he couldn’t hear it. Maybe he was having a panic attack, only he didn’t know why. He tried to breathe, but it seemed to have the opposite effect of what he wanted. If he didn’t know better, he’d say his heart was going to burst out of his ribcage. Maybe it was a heart attack. Whatever spell Kirishima used to calm him down would come in really handy, but he couldn’t bring himself to guess what it was, and he was sure Kirishima wasn’t going to magically appear to save him despite how many times he had done it before. Bakugou was sure it was Karma, because there was no other explanation for him to run out of luck so suddenly.

He heard more voices and rustling, some kind of pill was shoved into his mouth, something else pressed against his left arm, he thought he was beginning to see something, but, just like that, everything went blank.

When he woke up he found himself alone in the infirmary.

He had a terrible headache, so he decided against calling someone and just surrendered himself to the mattress. He wasn’t sure what had happened in the kitchen, or what Recovery Girl had done to him, but he felt fine enough to know he wasn’t dying. Everything else could wait until morning.

When the sun rose and the infirmary started coming to life, Bakugou woke up again. He was still alone in his little room until Recovery Girl made an appearance and gave him several pills that, because they were offered with her usual bedside manner, Bakugou couldn’t refuse.

Shortly after, Aizawa appeared. Katsuki thanked all deities that he didn’t demand an explanation and only warned him to avoid whatever had happened in the future.

“You’ll stay in for the day,” he ordered, very close to the line between indifferent and positively irritated. “And, if you cared to follow my advice, longer, but you won’t, will you?”

Bakugou bit the inside of his cheek. “No way in hell.” He’d spent a hellish month confined to his hospital bed, dying to get out. He wouldn’t go back so soon.

“Your heart is not in shape, and it’s dangerous. If your friends hadn’t reacted on time you could have had a heart attack, I hope you understand that.”

Bakugou gritted his teeth. He’d never get over it if the Great Lord Explosion Murder Dynamight was kicked into the other life by a stupid crush. “I’m not a goddamn toddler,” he grunted despite very much feeling like one.

Aizawa only sighed.

It hadn’t been a good day for Kirishima. It wouldn’t be a good night for him either.

As soon as he finished training he’d gone straight to his room. Mostly because he was really tired and not up for small talk, but also because he didn’t want Bakugou to go out of his way to avoid him, when this was all his fault.

He really should text Bakugou. Let him know he was sorry.

“ Bakugou,” “Hello,” “How are you? ” he typed the words in his phone, read them in his head, decided they were total garbage, and untyped them. Over and over again.

“ Hey ,” he settled for, “ I’m sorry .” But that didn’t seem enough because he wasn’t sorry just about what had happened in class, but also about the dining hall, and about that morning. But he was especially sorry about not having realized earlier just how on Bakugou’s nerves he got. He had always thought Bakugou was just bad at feelings, just fond of saving face, but today he’d realized that it was him who overstepped, who neglected Bakugou’s feelings and crossed too many lines. He was cheeky and careless and now they were both paying the price.

Or maybe that assumption was cheeky and careless too. Maybe it was just him paying the price. He had never been too self-assured, but he may be overdoing this whole “confident-guy” act, because after all that had happened, he was still stupid enough to assume that Bakugou was missing him just as much as he was missing him. Maybe Bakugou was glad. Maybe he was finally getting the space he had been asking for all along. Kirishima had just been too stupid to listen.

He wasn’t sure when he had started crying, but he was sobbing now. He brought a hand to his face to hiccup into. 

He’d fucked up. Fucked up for good. His best friend was not a day out of the hospital, and he’d already gotten himself a freaking restraining order against him. He couldn’t go near him, talk to him— and right now he couldn’t breathe either, no matter how hard he tried to gasp for air. And for how long? Who knows, because he was no doctor, but he was under the impression that heart problems did not disappear from one day to another. Or at least his hadn’t, because it had been more than a year since he’d met Bakugou and he still couldn’t bring himself to act rationally around him.

Wiping his tears away with his bedsheets he tried to collect himself and finish typing the stupid message. The sky was gray and the sun was setting, so by the time he finished typing his phone screen was the brightest thing in the room. “ Hey I’m sorry about everything. I didn’t mean to piss you off. I’ll stay away I promise. If there is something I can do for you tho just tell me.” And then, because if he’d already fucked up he might as well fuck up entirely, and because he meant it: “I’m just glad you’re back, I’ve missed you a lot.” Then pressed send.

He stared at the screen for several minutes. Then for several more. Then until his eyes began to ache because of the bright light in the dark room, the tears, and how very tired he was. Then until the little check marks at the bottom of the text bubble turned blue, which told him Bakugou had read it and chose not to reply.

It started raining, and Kirishima resignedly accepted it, resignedly got under his covers and cried to join the lullaby of the rain drops hitting on the glass of his window, because it didn’t matter that his loathing session would last “ indefinitely, ” he found no reason not to start now.

Kirishima had thought it couldn’t go downhill from there, that there was nothing past rock bottom. Apparently, he’d been an idiot. Although that wasn’t particularly a surprise. He seemed to be excelling at it lately.

When his alarm clock, with no bedside manner or mercy whatsoever, had woken him up, he’d only had the energy to snooze it past breakfast and throw his uniform on. He’d felt as compelled as ever not to fix his hair that morning, but pushed himself to take the time if only because not doing it would have felt like letting go of himself beyond the no-return point.

It made him arrive late to class, so Aizawa would probably scold him, but he couldn’t be too bothered. When he got there, however, everyone looked surprised, and it made him believe they had not expected him to show up at all. Or that they’d hoped he wouldn’t.

“Morning Kiri,” Sero whispered as he walked past his desk. Something is wrong, Kirishima thought, and it had to do with him. But he had too many things on his head right now, and whatever it was, he was sure it couldn’t make things worse. Or that was at least the reasoning he was holding onto until he noticed Bakugou’s empty desk.

“Where’s Bakugou?” he asked, in an impulse. He was interrupting class, asking about the guy he was supposed to avoid, admitting his concern out loud, but, truly, saving face was never one of his priorities. Bakugou was.

“Dude,” Kaminari grabbed him by the wrist and forced him to sit down at his desk, “chill,” he said with that relaxing voice of his that always managed to downplay big problems. “He’s at Recovery Girl’s, but he’s fine, will be out by tomorrow.” 

“What the hell do you mean he’s at the infirmary?!” he whispered back, “What happened?!”

Kaminari considered straight up lying, but he didn’t think that was the smartest move, considering Kirishima was going to find out one way or another. “Something to do with his heart, but it’s just some safety measure, no big deal.” He’d learned how to be assertive and how to treat Kirishima. He knew to avoid words like “probably” or “Aizawa said” because anything but absolute confidence would make Kirishima doubt him and invent every horrible possible scenario. But Kirishima had gotten good at dealing with Kaminari too, and he saw past his tricks.

That way, he knew he wasn’t going to get anything else out of him. Or anyone in class, probably, because they all insisted on protecting his feelings like he wasn’t the goddamn sturdiest one amongst them. He had to rely on his guts for information then, and his guts with their horrible way of churning were telling him it was his fault Bakugou was back in a hospital bed.

In one way or another, he was sure it had been his fault. And it was depressing, really, to know he could fuck up Bakugou’s life without even being around. Or because he wasn’t around, although that would have never occurred to him.

And what made everything worse is that if he felt frustrated, sad, or embarrassed he knew that Bakugou was feeling more frustrated, sadder, and more embarrassed. And he wasn’t even allowed to pay him a visit. Bakugou had been one (1) day out of the hospital, and not only had Kirishima brought his new freedom to an end, but he’d also made it hell while it lasted. He wasn’t sure he could forgive himself for that. Hell, he wasn’t sure Bakugou would forgive him for that. This was the unmanliest he’s felt.

“Dude, cheer up,” Sero tried as they made their way to their table. 

“It’s not the end of the world. He’ll be out tomorrow,” added Kaminari.

“I just— I feel guilty,” Kirishima confessed, scooting to the furthest corner of the table. 

But if someone knew anything about guilt that was Kaminari, debating between facing the embarrassment to allay his friend’s feelings or keeping everything to himself. “Dude it– it really wasn’t your fault. Actually… I was the one who fucked up. I mean, I think Uraraka played her part too… but it was mostly just my fault, man.”

Both Kirishima and Sero seemed surprised at the sudden confession, and their silence only made the whole deal worse. He was holding his face in his hands, hiding it from his friends, and that’s why it took them a while to realize he was crying. And one thing was to see Kirishima cry, but Kaminari crying was a whole other deal. “K-Kaminari! Didn’t you say it was no biggie? He’s fine, Aizawa said so,” Sero hurried to comfort him, “Right, Kirishima?” 

He looked at his other friend, pleading for back up, only to find out that Kirishima had started crying too. “K-Kiri! What are you crying for?!”

Kirishima ran both of his uniform’s sleeves through his face, trying to wipe away the mess it was but not succeeding in the slightest. If you asked him why he had started crying, he wouldn’t have been sure how to answer. Partially because he’s a sympathetic crier, partially out of guilt, but mostly because something old and deeply buried inside his chest had seemed to break loose (abruptly and carelessly like uncorking a champagne bottle) and he couldn’t put an end to it even if the dining hall was the last place he had wanted it to happen at. “I-It’s not just that, m-man,” Kirishima sobbed, “It’s everything. W-We left him alone to f-fight freaking Shigaraki, didn’t even pay him a visit at the ho-hospital.”

“They didn’t let us!”

“That shouldn’t have stopped me!” Kirishima cried, “And now that he’s back I had the opportunity to make it up to him, and I fucked it up. I made everything worse. What if he never wants to talk to me again?!”

“C-Come on Kirishima. You know that’s not going to happen,” Sero got closer to him to rub circles on his back, looking daggers into all the unwelcome spectators around the cafeteria. “You guys always make up.”

“B-But it’s been a long time. What if things have changed?” he cried, realizing, upon saying it, that this had been his fear all along, the thought that had driven him to so forcefully try to push normality onto Bakugou.

Sero did his best to show him a kind smile, while he thought, without much success, for something witty and comforting that would change Kirishima’s mind. “The day Bakugou changes I’ll throw a party.”

“That’s unfair. He’s grown a lot and—.”

“Dude, I’m having a crisis over here too, you know?” Kaminari whined from the other side of the table, eyes still red but not looking as hurt anymore. The interruption managed to make Kirishima laugh. 

“Sorry, dude,” he said, finally smiling, and it worked like a charm to lighten the mood, because Kirishima’s smile was contagious like the flu, even when it was fake.

It didn’t go over Sero’s head. Between his friends, most attempts to cheer someone else up meant actively neglecting cheering themselves up, and that never ended well, but he chose not to push the topic further.

Kirishima was uneasy for the rest of the day. He was waiting for Bakugou to return to class so he could check on him, but he didn’t. He knew Kaminari had gone to apologize to him earlier that day, but he hadn’t had the heart to ask him how it had gone.

“Kirishima, won’t you join us?” Mina asked, peeking from the back of the common room couch. When the war ended, the class presidents (and everyone, really) had made an effort to spend more quality time together, playing games or watching movies. Today was one such day in which most of the class found themselves in the common room, chatting and invading the sofas under the artificial light that, for once, didn’t feel intrusive or unnatural but too much like home. Before the war, Kirishima was usually all out for nights like this, but without Bakugou he hadn’t been able to wholeheartedly enjoy them. It didn’t seem fair to him to have fun while his best friend was suffering and most likely lonely.

“Not today, ‘m goin’ to bed early,” he answered, giving her a tired smile that he hoped was convincing.

“You scared I beat you to twister again? Pussy,” Mina insisted, letting out a histrionic kind of guffaw. 

Kirishima found it in himself to laugh at that, and felt disgusted with how genuine he made it feel. He wasn’t conscious of what a good liar he had become till now, but he knew Mina’s smile was no better than his, and it’s not that difficult to be dishonest to people that aren’t honest to you, like the only appropriate reply to a white lie is another. That never happened with Bakugou, who was so brutally honest it forced him to do the same. “I’d beat yer ass anytime. Just not today,” he replied, spinning on his heels so they could deem this exchange finished, “Night!” 

“He’s not getting any better, is he?” Sero asked once Kirishima had disappeared behind the elevator’s doors.

“I don’t think he will until he makes peace with Bakugou,” Mina sighed, taking back her seat on the couch.

“Or love,” Mineta supplied.

“No one’s talking to you!” Mina yelped, sending a pillow flying to the boy’s face.

Kirishima really would have liked to join them. He just wasn’t in the mood. He locked himself in his room, thinking that he didn’t even know if Bakugou was back to the room next door already, or if he’d be anytime tonight. He wasn’t sure he could handle it, being so close and still unable to talk to him, or see him, or ask him if he was fine. Kirishima didn’t think Bakugou was ready for that kind of proximity, either. Since it was still early, although the sun, following its Autumn schedule, had already left, he went out to his terrace to breathe some fresh air. The air was crisp, so he was forced to return inside to grab a blanket he could wrap himself with as he watched the stars, leaning onto the railing and going in circles in his mind about everything and anything he could have done better in these past days. From time to time, he reminded himself how unmanly it was to have regrets, but then again, he wasn’t feeling very manly overall, so maybe it was natural that he had started having regrets. Then, when he’d ran out of things to beat himself up over, he sat on the floor, and stared at the stars a while more, holding onto a very vague feeling that if Bakugou was dismissed tonight, he might return to his room, and that if he returned to his room, he might go out to his terrace, and that if that happened, they might get a chance to talk, or, at least, to see each other. He held onto that hope for an hour, and then, he thinks, for two. Bakugou, of course, never appeared, but it was worth the try. 

When he was tired enough, he went back into his room, where the stars didn’t shine and the darkness was darker, making the night duller and all-in-all more depressing, and tucked himself into bed.

The next morning, Kirishima woke up without an alarm and with the off putting feeling of being hours late to class. After frantically looking for his phone, however, he realized it was still a few minutes before his alarm went off, so he let himself lay in bed for a while, muttering a painful farewell to his bed before he actually mustered the strength to get up. Sitting in bed, he let out one last, long yawn that was interrupted by the sound of a door closing. If he had to guess, Bakugou’s door. He sat then very quiet, perked up and awaiting any other sounds that could confirm his suspicions, but he couldn’t hear anything else, which either meant that he was too tired and hallucinating, or that Bakugou had been on his way out.

A smile made it to his face. Bakuguo was out and about. That was good news, wasn’t it? But the more he twisted the facts around in his head the scarier facing Bakugou felt. What if they met in the bathroom, forced to awkwardly brush their teeth in adjacent sinks? or what if they bumped into each other in the corridor? Kirishima, fearing the worst, didn’t think he was prepared to see how Bakugou would take on things between them. He’d rather live in obscurity than have the end of their friendship confirmed.

After deciding that showers were overrated anyway, and soaking himself in deodorant and hair spray to ensure his hair was on top shape, he headed for class, making sure he was late enough that Bakugou, punctual to a fault, wouldn’t surprise him in some private place that would force them to face everything.

When he finally got to class, he was relieved to see Bakugou there. And surprised, at the same time, that the first emotion that came to his head was relief, but there really was no mystery to it, because although he cared a great deal for their friendship, Bakugou’s health was on top of his priorities. And the blond didn’t particularly look like someone who’d just gotten out of the infirmary. There were no visible signs of his visit, and he looked like he’d gotten a good night’s sleep, with no bags under his eyes despite his hair being an unruly mess, which was more a character trait by now. He looked almost great, with the late stages of sunrise lighting him from behind and his pen spinning swiftly between his fingers. Perfectly beautiful if it wasn’t for his expression, that didn’t quite match his usual bravado.

Kirishima must have been staring for a long time, or must have been doing very pointedly, because Bakugou turned around to face him. Flustered and concerned, Kirishima took too long wondering if a smile there would have been out of place, and before he could make up his mind Bakugou was looking him up and down and, with an indecipherable look, turning back to the blackboard in which Ectoplasm was doing a bad job on getting them to understand math.

After that, the redhead had let his face rest in his arms over the table, and his eyes, slowly but surely, had lost all of their will power and given in to their impulse, lulled by the background noise of Ectoplasm’s dull voice and his classmates' constant whispers.

The sleepy daze into which Kirishima had fallen was interrupted by the all too familiar beeping of Bakugou’s monitor. He perked up immediately, looking, like the rest of his classmates, to where Midoriya was recoiling back into his seat, body language betraying how much he was regretting whatever he did or said. 

“Fucking Izuku, get off my back!” Bakugou whispered, but it being Bakugou, it was hardly a whisper. He slammed his fist against the desk behind him, albeit more quietly than he would normally have.

Obviously, it called Ectoplasm’s attention nonetheless. “Bakugou,” he called out, nodding towards the door, “return when you calm down.”

“What?! It wasn’t my fucking fault!” he tried to defend himself, but, as it’s become common knowledge, Ectoplasm is unrelenting, and Katsuki eventually had no choice but to obey, although not without swiping everything on Midoriya’s desk and to the floor.

Kirishima would have usually said something. Usually gotten up to help Midoriya gather his things or asked for permission to go after Bakugou. Now, though, he didn’t feel like he was in a place to do anything, so, as much as it hurt, he stayed put. 

Rationally, he knew that Bakugou blowing up was better than a quiet Bakugou, but for some reason the exchange had had a sour flavor to it that Kirishima, despite having trouble deciphering it, knew in his guts was no good sign.

Bakugou didn’t return for the remainder of Ectoplasm’s class. Kirishima couldn’t blame him. If he had had such a perfect excuse to ditch it, he would have taken it as well, but he was worried that might not be Bakugou’s only reason.

When the next class started, however, Katsuki went back to his seat like nothing had happened, except his hair was soaked as if he had stuck his head under the tap, making his bangs stick backwards or to his forehead whimsically. Kirishima also noticed how he gripped his pen with a little more force than necessary, but he had to gulp down the urge to get up and ease his grip, remembering how that had gone down the last time he’d done it.

When the lunch bell rang, the blond disappeared. Kirishima realized then how intently he must have been focused on his friend the whole day, because now that he was nowhere in sight, he couldn’t find a place to set his eyes on. 

“Take it easy, buddy,” Sero said, patting his back while they walked to the cafeteria, once again without Bakugou. The words weren’t much, but they worked. Kirishima really was overreacting.

“Yeah,” he said with a smile, because at least Bakugou was fine, and at least, judging by Kaminari’s joyful and more on-brand behavior, he must have accepted his friend’s apology. They had to be extra careful and not trigger him, and in Kirishima’s case that may mean keeping his distance, but maybe (just maybe) it wasn’t all lost yet.

In the afternoon classes, Bakugou avoided making eye contact with anyone, but Kirishima chalked it up as him wanting to focus in class after all the school he had missed, which really was not that crazy. 

But all of his poor excuses and his friend’s kind words got to his head, assembling into the idea that maybe Bakugou and him were ready to talk? Maybe they were, even if it was just a nod of their heads or a simple hello and not the whole “talk” they definitely weren’t ready for yet. 

That’s why, when he saw Bakugou on his way to the changing rooms before training, he decided to push his luck and test the waters despite Aizawa’s restraining order of ambiguous legitimacy still hanging between them. 

He approached him cautiously, leaning in from the side to avoid startling him. Their eyes, then, caught each other for a moment, but before the words could leave Kirishima’s mouth Bakugou snapped his head around and strided ahead, very pointedly and inexcusably avoiding his friend. 

Kirishima watched him walk away, rooted in place because that was, he supposes, as much answer as he needed for his little test. Maybe Bakugou really wanted to have nothing to do with him, after all. Of all the pain Kirishima’s been in, in these past few months and these past few days, Kirishima is convinced this is the worst. He held his stomach, still frozen in place, because he felt like he’d been gutted but also because he was afraid he might throw up. However, he was forced to spring into action when, only a few steps ahead, Todoroki approached Bakugou with a similarly friendly intent. 

“Hi,” he greeted, and it was enough for Bakugou’s fist, which had never let the tension out, to lunge towards the other. Kirishima wanted to jump forward and stop him, but he wouldn’t have been on time no matter what, so it was lucky that Bakugou decided to hold himself back at the last moment and release an explosion instead which didn’t get to his classmate’s face but was enough to knock him off his feet. Todoroki looked up at him, silently surprised, but decided to let it go.

“Go fucking die and rot, half and half!” Bakugou shouted over his shoulder, clenching his hands back into fists.

As he walked away, Kirishima took it as his cue to rush to Todoroki and help him on his feet. “Sheesh,” he sighed, careful not to let Bakugou hear him in case he might take it the wrong way, “You good?”

“Yes,” Todoroki replied, dusting off his pants and not appearing particularly faced. “It was my fault. He just argued with Aizawa-sensei. I should have figured he would be in a bad mood.”

“Argue?” Kirishima repeated, very invested in taking out more information from his quiet peer, who was finally letting go of his arm.

“Aizawa-sensei says he still can’t train because of his heart.”

“No training at all huh?” Kirishima commented. If he couldn’t train, he supposes he’d be in a bad mood too, so he imagines Bakugou must be really suffering. He’s lost count of the times when Bakugou would start a fight with him or ask him for a sparring session just to blow off some steam, in need of a sturdy punching bag. He wouldn’t be surprised if all that pent up energy blew up in some horrible way anytime soon. “Must be getting to him.”

“Indeed.”

To be completely honest, Kirishima hadn’t expected to have his prediction fulfilled so soon, but then again, Bakugou isn’t particularly patient or very good at self control.

It started with the class packed up around the common room and like any other of Bakugou’s quarrels with Midoriya, “I’m half deaf and I can hear you mutter from across the room you nerd!” Bakugou yelled, hands already popping and crackling. 

“S-Sorry Kacchan!” Midoriya was quick to apologize, but his voice, obnoxious in Katsuki’s ears, only made it worse.

“Always the same fucking shit, can you not shut up for a goddamn minute?!” he pushed, getting to his feet.

“He said he was sorry!” Tsuyu retorted in defense of her friend, but she was pushed to a side and no one else could stop Bakugou before he closed the distance between him and Midoriya in a few large, threatening steps, knuckles cracking as he balled the collar of Deku’s shirt into his fist. He was furious. He felt irremediably and irrationally enraged despite being painfully aware that it had little to do with Deku and his annoying muttering. He felt so fucking frustrated. He missed the adrenaline, the rush, the fights. He’d been in a fucking war , goddamn it, and now he wasn’t even allowed to go to the gym because he had to “ take it easy.” He just wanted to punch something. And if that something happened to be Izuku, he wasn’t about to get picky.

The students that were witnessing the scene hurried to them, as much in Midoriya’s behalf as in Bakugou’s, whose heart was rocketing out of control. “Bakugou!” Katsuki knew that high-pitched voice, but he couldn’t focus on putting a face to it. Right now his classmates were only a burden, only a source of shame.

“You’re a fucking dead man, Izuku!” Bakugou shouted as he struggled out of Kaminari’s hold. Jiro and Mina hurried to help him in his attempts to pull Bakugou away while Midoriya stayed frozen in place, trying to come up with the course of action that would benefit them both the most. “Die! Fucking Die!”

“Calm down Bakugou!” Mina yelled, but it was drowned amongst the noise, the explosions, and that beeping that was driving Bakugou insane. He would have reached out to his chest and ripped out his heart just to stop that beeping that woke him up at nights after a nightmare, that beeping that was putting him to shame in front of all of his classmates, making his head ache horribly and his ears sting. He wanted it all to stop.

“Whoa! What’s wrong!?” On his classmates' faces lit up a mix of hope and dread as Kirishima entered the room. Mina tried to stop him from doing something reckless with a worried look, but he wasn’t paying attention and ran to get in front of Bakugou. Midoriya was glad he had arrived. Even though Iida and Uraraka stood between them as well, there was something about their stance, about their scowl, or about the tension in their muscles that gave away that they were protecting Midoriya. Kirishima was different, he just wanted to help Bakugou.

“Hey, dude, calm down,” he tried, a hand reaching forward cautiously as if he was trying to pet a rabid dog. Although it is unlikely that Bakugou had heard him, his scowl faded for a second at the sight of his friend’s face, which was calm and gentle and supportive. 

Katsuki scowled at him, “Get out of my fucking way!” 

“Okay, but you need to calm down first, yeah?” Kirishima tried again, smiling. Everyone held their breath, stood the stillest they could. Bakugou still felt furious, still wanted to relieve his anger onto anything or anyone, but when he had bared his teeth, when he was ready to retort with something hurtful, Kirishima placed his hand over his chest in that placating manner he was used to, like he was trying to soothe his heart, and it disarmed Bakugou completely.

“Take it easy dude,” Kirishima said, and his words sounded loud and clear because there was no sound except from Bakugou’s labored breathing in their way.

Bakugou scoffed, sure he should feel embarrassed but, for some reason, not feeling embarrassed at all. “Eat shit,” he spat, pushing Kirishima’s hand away, and everyone parted to let Bakugou through as he walked out of the dorm building.

There was a long, long silence after that.

“I… will go after him,” Kirishima said, voice full of undisguised concern.

“Wait Kiri,” Kaminari stopped him, “Do you really think you should?”

The redhead looked at him with painful eyes, at the whole class, and he gave a sharp nod before jogging away. 

They let him leave. Even Iida broke the rules with his silence, because they trusted Kirishima with Bakugou.

Kirishima ran through the campus, concerned when he didn’t find Bakugou right away. He searched all of the hidden places around the buildings, on that tree Bakugou liked by the graveyard and on the hole of a set of stairs that led to nowhere where he was sometimes found reading. 

When he finally found him, it wasn’t where or how he’d expected it. He sat on a bench behind the dorms on the seemingly endless field the students knew as UA’s beach because the girls liked to sunbathe on it during the summer, although now, in a crisp autumn afternoon, it was deserted in a sad yet peaceful way.

Bakugou was curled up with his feet up on the bench, surrounded by a small garden of short-living narcissus that had been planted to honor some hero who had sacrificed himself long before they’d even been born. His hair, golden and smooth, matched well with the sunset. His black hoodie not as much so, but it made him stand out in a candid way.

“Hey,” Kirishima said, as carefully as he knew.

Bakugou was nonetheless startled. He quickly dragged one of his sleeves over his eyes, but Kirishima didn’t see any tears, so he was reluctant to assume he had been crying.

“You’re not supposed to get near me,” Bakugou replied, voice husky and almost reproaching. 

“If you’re okay with it, I’ll break that rule for a little bit.” Katsuki only looked away, and while Kirishima is all out for verbal consent and all that junk, he knew that was a yes with all its letters in Bakugou’s language.

He took a seat besides him, mindful to sit close enough to inspire trust but not into the other’s personal space. It’s a skill he’s mastered. He went in circles in his mind for a while trying to think of what to say, until it became suddenly obvious. He looked at Bakugou with kind eyes, hoping to get through to him. “Are you okay?” And he meant about what had just happened, but he also meant a little about everything.

Bakugou let the air out of his lungs slowly, not looking back at him. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t beat yourself up about what happened,” Kirishima said next, daring to place a hand on Bakugou’s back. The action wasn’t immediately shut down, so he was encouraged to put a little more pressure and leave it there. If he had to tell, he’d even say Bakugou leaned in into the touch.

“I’m not.” 

“Okay,” he answered, unsure of having been told the truth but not wanting to push Bakugou in that direction. “What was it about?”

The blond shrugged, finally putting his feet down and letting himself relax on the bench. Kirishima took it for what it was: him putting his walls down. Katsuki ran both his hands through his hair in distress, and then brought them down to motion as he spoke. “Nothing, I– I don’t know. I was angry.”

“Are you still mad at me?” Kirishima asked next, because it seemed important to clear that one point up, now that Bakugou was sitting so close to him and finding comfort in their conversation like everything between them had suddenly fixed itself.

“I never was.”

“Oh,” Kirishima muttered, suddenly flustered. It was a simple confession but, coming from Bakugou, it was all the more meaningful. Bakugou, who always claims to be mad at everyone, even if he isn’t really, telling him he’d misread everything from the beginning and that their “fight” was all in his head. It raised more questions than it answered, but Kirishima wasn’t about to get picky. “Since you weren’t talking to me…”

“Not wanting to talk to you and being mad at you are two different things,” he answered, but he must have realized how dumb that sounded because a small grin made its way to his face.

Kirishima laughed, “If you say so.” With a kinder smile he looked back at Bakugou, taking his chance to question Bakugou now that the mood seemed to be lighter. “You didn’t answer my message either though.”

“My phone broke.”

Kirishima looked at him like he’d just put the worst excuse he’s ever heard, but Bakugou reassured him it was true, and Kirishima suddenly felt really stupid for reading too much into it. “Oh.” He fidgeted for a moment with the brim of his shirt. “Did you read it?”

Bakugou averted his gaze before answering. If Kirishima didn’t know better, he’d say he looked flustered. “Yeah,” he muttered, retreating into his shoulders, perhaps in an attempt to hide his red ears. “It was stupid.”

Kirishima smiled, “I guess,” he bumped their shoulders together playfully. “But I meant it.”

That took a small smile out of his friend. “I know,” he answered, because he very much did. He knew Kirishima cared for him and had missed him, and that was what had been utterly painful about it all. Because his friend cared so much and was so understanding and he still found ways to fuck everything up, against all odds.

“This shit restriction order sucks,” Kirishima sighed, feeling bold enough to speak his mind entirely, sweep his head off of all secrets. “It sucks without you. But I– I didn’t mean to— I didn’t know… that, you know—.”

Bakugou knew more than well what he meant. Just a look at Kirishima was enough for anyone with eyes on their face to know how bad he was feeling, how guilty he felt for riling Bakugou up, probably guessing all the reasons wrong. “Don’t beat yourself up about it, none of it was your fault.” It was unfair to blame Kirishima for the way he made him feel, when the bastard hadn’t done anything but be too good of a fucking friend and too unfairly lovable.

Cautiously putting his hand over Bakugou’s, which was resting on the bench, Kirishima replied “It wasn’t yours either.” It surprised Bakugou, to see Kirishima say just the right thing, even if he should have learned by now that was what all their dynamic was based on.

His heart felt heavy on his chest at the contact of their fingers. It was delicate and unassuming. Kirishima’s hand was warm, and Katsuki was sure his was sweaty. The contact was chaste but way too much for his heart, both in itself and because of everything it implied. Even though he had been hoping it wouldn’t, his heart monitor started beeping.

“Fuck,” he cursed. Right when he thought everything was fixing itself, his stupid monitor wouldn’t leave him the fuck alone. There were certain things Kirishima shouldn’t know, and on top of that list was how damn fast his heart was beating at the simple touch of their hands. There was nothing left of his mysterious persona now, nothing Kirishima didn’t know about him, and it was humiliating to feel himself naked and vulnerable and entirely in Kirishima’s hands.

“Don’t worry,” Kirishima said, and gulped. When Bakugou looked at him in order to complain, he was stopped by how flustered Kirishima looked, “my heart’s also beating really fast.”

Bakugou’s eyes widened, like that was the last thing he’d been expecting to hear. After all this time, he still hadn’t seem to wrap him head around the idea that someone could be as kind as Kirishima, that someone could choose to give everything up just to make him feel better. He couldn’t help but smilebecause, on top of everything that confession meant, he appreciated, now more than ever, Kirishima’s efforts to level the ground, to make himself vulnerable too: it was an act of trust.

And then, because now he could be sure, finally, painfully, that Kirishima felt the same way, he took Kirishima’s head with both his hands and no gentleness whatsoever and kissed him. Kissed him and kissed him and kissed him again because this was long overdue too, because he’d been kidnapped and to war and to hell and back and Bakugou wished that this had happened before all that, but understood that it was meant to happen now, except he wished his goddamned heart monitor hadn’t had a role in it. Speaking of which— it never stopped to pick up speed. Indulging himself, he let his right hand fall from Kirishima’s face and land above his heart, thinking it was only fair that he also got to feel Kirishima’s heart race.