Chapter Text
Kirishima paused at the entrance of Bakugo’s apartment building, pulling air into his lungs like he had been underwater too long. Patrol had chewed him up and spat him back out, a chain of falling structures, screaming civilians, and crooks wild enough to swing at heroes with nothing left to lose. Every step up the stairs pulled at sore muscles, and even his gear dragged at his shoulders now that the fight was over, not to mention that one rib flared each time he breathed too deep.
All he wanted was Bakugo’s couch. No speeches, no uniform, no Red Riot, just the comfort of being somewhere he trusted. He pictured the living room, city noise dulled by thick walls, a beer from the stash Bakugo pretended not to guard jusr for him. There would be an empty insult about overworking himself, followed by an ice pack tossed at his head like that counted as concern.
Showing up this late never felt strange. Messages never mattered between them. Ten years blurred the lines between guest and family. That apartment held a version of him that didn't have to perform.
His fist stalled in front of the door, and it was then that he noticed that the door was hung slightly open.
Every alarm in his body lit at once. Break in. Ambush. Someone stupid enough to try their luck with Bakugo. His fingers brushed his comm out of reflex, though part of him knew Bakugo would level the building before going down.
The door moved inward under gentle pressure, just enough to see past the frame. The hall inside sat dark except for kitchen light spilling across tile, where light footsteps followed, and it was completely wrong for Bakugo.
Then, the door swung wide.
A guy stepped out, dragging one of Bakugo’s black shirt down his torso, and the fabric caught on one shoulder before sliding into place. Kirishima stood frozen, watching the stranger smooth the hem over a lean frame while his hair stuck out in every direction, like he had slept hard or not slept at all.
Recognition hit the stranger a second late, making an easy crooked grin appear. “Oh,” he said, like finding Kirishima there meant nothing. “Didn’t see you there, man.”
The redhead just blinked at his direction.
The stranger tipped his head, looked him over once, then glanced back toward the apartment. “Anyway,” he added. “Tell him to text me if he wants to do that again.”
Then, just like this, he left, with his sneakers whispering down the stairwell.
Kirishima stayed planted where he stood.
His brain snagged on useless details; his citrus cologne hanging in the air, the way the shirt stretched across shoulders built narrower than Bakugo’s, the soft click of the door sealing shut. His thoughts scattered, then collided.
Bakugo slept with people.
Sure, Kaminari and Sero joked after too many drinks, but Bakugo always shut it down with an ugly look, so Kirishima assumed it sat low on his priority list, but apparently he was wrong.
Apparently Bakugo did sleep with people.
With men.
Heat crawled up his neck, burned across his ears, and lodged behind his tongue, because how? How did he miss this? In ten years he saw Bakugo shattered and rebuilt and everything between. He knew the foods he hated, and the foods he could demolish without blinking. He knew the expression that appeared when exhaustion softened his mouth. Every scar, every rough patch of skin across his hands, all memorized without trying, so he believed that meant he knew him.
But this sat outside that knowledge. This was a life that didn't include him. A life where men walked out of that apartment late at night wearing Bakugo’s clothes and what else? He refused to finish the thought.
The door jerked open again hard enough to snap him back.
“Oi, bastard, that’s my shirt!” Bakugo barked down the hall, loud like a warning flare.
Then he noticed Kirishima and everything about him stalled for half a breath. His mouth parted mid shout, and the words there stalled while red eyes locked onto him, taking in the way he stood like he got dropped into the wrong scene.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Air scraped dry across his throat before he could say, “Patrol ran late. Figured I’d stop by.”
Bakugo shifted, shoulder hitting the frame and arms folding across his chest. He wasn't angry, but he wasn't relaxed either.
“And texting me didn’t cross your mind?”
His heart stumbled, and the truth slipped out before he filtered it. “I never had to before.” Regret followed fast. The words sounded fragile, so he cleared his throat and added, “And I didn’t want to bug you.”
Bakugo narrowed his eyes, then he groaned. “You saw him.”
Silence answered.
“Tch.” He clicked his tongue, gaze sliding aside. He shoved the door open wider and stepped back. “Are you coming in or not?”
The landing felt foreign under his boots. Still, he crossed the threshold.
Bakugo headed straight for the kitchen, where the fridge opened and two beers appeared. “You’re acting strange,” he said, leaning against the counter and offering one bottle to Kirishima.
An awkward laugh escaped from his lips. “Am I?”
“Yeah, Eijirou, you are. What’s wrong with you?”
He glanced toward the door without meaning to, half expecting that guy to still be there with his messy hair and with Bakugo’s shirt stretched across his body.
“Who was he?”
A scowl settled in place immediately. “None of your business.”
“I’m not trying to pry.” He stopped there, swallowing the rest. “I just didn’t know. About you.”
“What the fuck do you mean about that? About me what?”
Kirishima's hand lifted like he was about to point out something, but they dropped again. “About... Well, guys.”
“What, you expect me to broadcast it to the world?” He lifted one shoulder. “It’s not a big deal.”
“It matters.” The reply came out before the redhead could catch it.
“Why?”
He had nothing ready, so he only whispered, “I don’t know.”
“You’re an idiot.” He brushed past him toward the couch. “If you’re staying, grab the ice pack. You look like hell.”
Familiar words, even if there was an unfamiliar space between them.
Cold burned his palm as he pulled the ice pack from the freezer, and somewhere in the back of his mind, a thought formed that things might not slide back into place this time.
Sleep never came easy that night.
He lay across the futon in the living room, staring at the ceiling with his arms folded behind his head. City noise filtered through the cracked window, and usually that blend of distant traffic helped him drift off, but tonight it only made room for his own thoughts to get louder.
His attention drifted to the sofa nearby. Countless nights there. Games. Arguments over bad movies. Bakugo always claimed the better cushion like a king. Kirishima never cared as long as he sat beside him.
Now all he saw was possibility.
Did that guy sit there earlier? Did he lean back, stretch out, act like he belonged? Did he sit close to Bakugo? Did he touch him there? Did he pull him closer?
A rough sound escaped Kirishima as he sat up, dragging his hands over his face like he could wipe the pictures away. Not your business. He repeated it over and over, but it meant nothing against the scenes replaying in his head.
How many men had touched him?
He wanted the thought gone.
How many had traced those scars that he knew? Fuck. He knew every one of them because he watched Bakugo clean them, bandage them, swear at them. He even helped patch a few himself. Those marks told stories he felt protective over without ever saying it out loud.
Now strangers might know them too.
His nails pressed into his palms as the spiral kept going. How many held his skin. Kissed him. Said things meant only for him.
Then there were his hands. Strong. Rough. Careful in ways people never expected. How many people held them, felt the strength in them.
And the scent he carried after showers. Had someone pressed close enough to breathe it in?
He shoved his hands through his hair, chest working harder than it should. None of this broke rules. They were not together. They never talked about this side of life. Bakugo owed him nothing. Still, picturing other people seeing his best friend stripped down emotionally and physically in ways Kirishima never had made something ugly bloom inside him.
Jealousy hovered at the edge of the thought.
He rejected it. Tried to, anyway.
Best friends. Teammates. Brothers. That was what they were.
Right?
He dropped back onto the futon with a rough exhale, pressing his palms against his eyes until color burst behind them. Rolling onto his side, he glared at the back of the sofa that held years of memories, laughter and arguments because now it felt claimed by ghosts. By people who did not belong there.
People who weren't him.
His eyes closed again, but sleep still refused to come.
Every corner of that apartment felt crowded by invisible strangers who got closer to Bakugo than he ever did, and he did not know if he felt angrier at Bakugo for letting them in, or at himself for standing outside the door.
Then, it happened again.
Not like the last time, but something close enough to unsettle Kirishima in a way he didn’t fully understand.
They were at the supermarket, doing something so familiar, so them. Their baskets were already half-filled with vegetables, rice, and packs of meat, quick meal staples they’d long since perfected for those nights when patrol left them no time for anything fancy. Bakugo, as usual, was grumbling about prices, holding up a bundle of leeks like it had personally offended him. Kirishima trailed just behind, nodding along with a distracted smile, enjoying the comfortable rhythm they’d fallen into.
It was easy, the kind of moment that didn’t ask for anything, that didn’t feel complicated or strange.
And then, like a crack of thunder on a clear day: “Bakugo?”
The voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the hum of the supermarket all the same, so he turned toward the source, and there he was; the guy was tall and strong, dressed in a leather jacket that looked more expensive than practical. His hair was slicked back with just enough effort to look effortless, and his grin was confident and unapologetic, like he knew exactly what kind of effect he had on people and didn’t mind wielding it.
Bakugo’s eyes flicked up from the leeks, narrowing as he looked at the guy. For a moment, his expression was unreadable, but then he shoved the bundle back onto the shelf and said, “Oh. It’s you.”
That was it. No surprise, just matter-of-fact acknowledgment.
Kirishima blinked, his gaze darting between them. It’s you? That was all Bakugo had to say? The way the guy was looking at him, grinning like he’d just won the lottery, he had expected more.
The guy laughed, stepping closer, clearly unfazed by his brusque tone. “Man, you haven’t changed a bit. Still grumpy as hell.”
“Yeah, well, some of us don’t have time to stand around being fucking cheerful.”
The words were harsh, but there weren't cruel, and that, more than anything, set Kirishima on edge. Bakugo knew this guy well enough to skip the usual venom he reserved for strangers.
The guy’s eyes slid briefly to Kirishima, taking him in like he was an afterthought, before zeroing back in on Bakugo. “You look good, though. Been keeping busy, huh?”
“Yeah.” Bakugo shrugged. “So what do you want?”
The guy smirked, clearly enjoying himself. “Nothing. Just nice running into you. Thought I’d say hi.” And then, as if the guy hadn’t already claimed all the space in the aisle, he leaned in and smiled before saying, “Y’know, if you ever want to catch up, I’m around.”
Kirishima froze.
The flirty tone made him feel out of place, like an intruder in a moment he had no right to witness, while Bakugo didn't react at all.
“Yeah, sure,” he said, turning away to grab something off the shelf like this kind of thing happened to him all the time.
The guy lingered a moment longer, his grin lingering too, before chuckling to himself. “Alright, I’ll see you around.” He strolled off with the kind of confidence that made Kirishima’s skin itch.
Kirishima watched him go, his heart thudding uncomfortably in his chest.
He didn’t know what he’d expected, maybe for Bakugo to snap at the guy, to shut him down, to make it clear he wasn’t interested, but Bakugo had been fine.
Way too fine.
“Who was that now?”
Bakugo didn’t even glance at him as he started down the next aisle. “No one. Just some asshole.”
“Didn’t seem like just some asshole.”
“Yeah? Well, he is.” The other man said flatly, his tone making it clear the conversation was over.
They finished shopping with barely any conversation, moving through aisles like strangers forced into the same space. The easy back and forth they usually slipped into never came, and every small interaction felt stiff, like both of them were waiting for something neither wanted to say.
Walking back toward Bakugo’s apartment didn't help since the scene replayed over and over whether he wanted it to or not.
That guy’s confidence stayed burned into his brain. The way he leaned close like it was habit, like he had done it enough times to stop thinking about it. Like he understood parts of Bakugo that Kirishima had never even thought to look for.
By the time they reached the apartment, Bakugo moved through the kitchen like any other night, tossing grocery bags onto the counter, already reaching for a pan.
He stayed near the doorway, feet stuck in place while his thoughts spun in tight circles. None of this made sense. He didn't understand why it dug under his skin this deep, why it felt like something fragile between them had shifted position, like there was space now where there never used to be.
And that space kept stretching wider, and wider, and wider, while he stood there with no idea how to close it.
Kirishima lay flat on his back with his arms flung wide across the mattress and the television throwing shifting blue light over the ceiling. The news anchor kept talking in that practiced way, words tumbling out fast enough to fill the quiet apartment. He barely registered most of it until one name sliced through the haze.
Pro Hero Dynamight.
The screen cut to footage immediately. There was Bakugo mid-launch, body angled forward like a missile, gauntlets already spitting sparks. Then the detonation was swallowing the frame in orange and smoke. Three villains hit the pavement hard, out before they could even scramble. The camera loved it, zooming in tight as he touched down, knees bent, chest working to pull in air.
Kirishima pushed up onto his elbows without thinking. He had watched clips like this one a hundred times, sometimes standing right beside the guy while it happened in real life, but right now, the way the lens held on Bakugo’s face after the blast, the quick scan he did over the ruined street, the flash of teeth in that sharp, pleased grin, everything felt different.
The footage looped.
This time he noticed the sweat shining along Bakugo’s hairline, the flex in his jaw when he straightened, the easy roll of shoulders that said he knew exactly how good he looked doing it.
A stray question slipped into Kirishima’s head and refused to leave.
Does he look like that when someone’s fucking him?
The thought arrived fully formed with no warning. Heat crawled up his neck, and he tried picturing literally anything else, but it stuck. Bakugo sprawled out somewhere, head tipped back, mouth open just enough to show teeth, that same smug curve still there while hands moved over him, while he decided how much he would allow.
He pressed the heel of his palm against his eye socket, hard, until colors burst behind the lid, but it didn’t help. The picture kept playing behind his closed eyes: Bakugo’s throat working on a rough sound, fingers digging into someone’s back, that arrogant tilt to his lips never quite fading even when his breathing turned ragged.
He dropped his hand and stared at the television again. The loop had started over. Same takeoff, same explosion, same landing, same fucking smirk.
He could turn the TV off, roll over, shove his face into the pillow, and force himself to think about patrol schedules or meal prep or anything normal. Instead he kept watching, letting the footage run, letting the question circle wider and wider until it wasn’t a question anymore.
It was a want.
And the worst part was how little he wanted to kill it.
Kirishima sat on the couch in Mina's apartment, the chatter of friends drifting around him like background static. His thoughts had circled the same loop for days, picking at every angle until the words finally felt solid enough to say out loud.
After one long inhale, he let them go. "I think I might be bisexual."
Mina kept painting Kaminari's nails bright pink, brush moving in careful strokes while Kaminari scrolled on his phone without looking up. Sero stayed curled against Kaminari's thigh, snoring softly, dead to the world.
A second passed, then she lifted her eyes just enough to meet his. She gave a small shrug. "Okay."
Kaminari tapped something on his screen. "Okay, cool."
He sat there waiting for the rest of the reaction that never arrived. "That's it? Just okay?"
Mina laughed under her breath and dipped the brush again. "Yeah, babe. That's it." She glanced over once more, expression easy. "We're your friends. Why would we lose it over something like that?"
Still glued to his phone, Kaminari nodded once. "Doesn't change a thing. You're still you."
Kirishima looked from one to the other, the knot in his chest loosening faster than he'd prepared for. There was no interrogation, no awkward pause where they searched for the right thing to say, just this ordinary moment carrying on like always.
He let out a short laugh that surprised even him. "I really built this up in my head for nothing."
"Pretty much," Mina said, grinning as she switched to the other guy's other hand. "I mean, you're not the first queer person in the squad." She jerked her chin toward Kaminari without breaking rhythm.
Sero snored again, arm flopping once like he was agreeing in his sleep.
He tilted his head at his friend. "So you're not straight either?"
Kaminari finally set the phone down and flashed a grin. "What gave it away? The part where I flirt with every cute guy who breathes in my direction?" He leaned back, shoulders relaxed. "Honestly, I'm shocked it took you this long to clock it."
Kirishima barked a laugh. "Guess I've always been slow to catch on."
"Understatement." Kaminari's energy kicked up a notch. He sat forward. "Hey, if you're up for it, I could drag you to a queer club sometime. Nothing intense, just good music, decent people, no one giving you side-eye for existing. You'd blend right in."
Kirishima raised an eyebrow. "You mean like a gay club?"
"It's not all strobe lights and shots. Plenty of spots where people just hang out, talk, be themselves. No explaining required."
"You think I'd actually fit?"
Kaminari gave him a deadpan look. "You're a walking hug with abs. You'd fit anywhere decent people are." He smirked. "Plus it's nice to go somewhere you don't have to edit yourself."
Kirishima turned the thought over. A place where no one would blink at him figuring things out, where the default wasn't assumption.
"Alright," he said. "Maybe I'll take you up on that."
Kaminari whooped, fist pumping the air and nearly toppling his phone off the cushion. "Hell yeah! You're gonna love it, trust me."
Mina finished the last nail and capped the polish. "I'll be waiting for the full report, Ei. Bring back the juicy details."
"I'll see what I can do." He smiled. "But no guarantees."
The club pulsed with energy. The rhythm of the music seemed to sync with Kirishima’s heartbeat, and the lights, flashing in every shade imaginable, sent colorful streaks of light cutting through the dim space. The hum of conversation and the distant sound of laughter echoed around him, but despite the crowd, he felt strangely alone.
Kaminari, naturally, was in his element. He wove through the crowd, chatting with people like he had known them for years, laughing and tossing flirtatious remarks around with ease. Kirishima tried to follow, but it felt like his feet were glued to the ground. His mind was too preoccupied, the weight of everything swirling around in his chest, making his stomach turn with nerves. Every person who passed by, every casual glance sent his thoughts spiraling back to one single person.
Does this guy know Bakugo? Has he ever... Been with him?
The thought gnawed at him. It was ridiculous, but it didn’t stop the flurry of questions flooding his mind. Every flirtatious smile, every lingering look made Kirishima feel like he was somehow being judged, scrutinized in ways he didn’t know how to handle. The overwhelming sense that he wasn’t just in this club, but also in his head, was suffocating.
He tried shaking it off, trying to focus on the vibe of the club, the music, the colors. He even tried to match Kaminari’s energy, flashing a few smiles here and there, but it felt hollow. His thoughts kept drifting back to one person. And the strangest, most infuriating part was how much Kirishima couldn’t stop thinking about Bakugo in this context. What if Bakugo had shared moments with these guys? What if he had let them into places Kirishima never had?
His mind spiraled, racing faster with each passing second. It took everything in him not to completely zone out. He wanted to be here, wanted to connect, but there was a knot in his chest that wouldn't loosen. Finally, needing a break from the intensity of it all, he made his way to the bar.
The coolness of the counter beneath his hands grounded him as he ordered something light, something to dull the edge of his thoughts. He could feel the lingering tension in his shoulders, the pulse of his heart too fast for comfort. His fingers drummed nervously against the polished surface as he waited for his drink.
Then, a voice broke through his haze.
“You look a little lost, friend.”
Kirishima turned, surprised at how calm and casual the voice sounded, given how much was rushing through his head. The man who spoke was leaning against the bar, effortlessly cool. His hair was dark, just a little too long, and his sharp features softened into a playful grin. His eyes locked onto Kirishima’s like he could read his thoughts. He was dressed simply, in a black t-shirt, dark jeans, and a jacket, but there was something undeniably magnetic about him.
Kirishima’s heart skipped a beat before he could stop it, and his stomach tightened in a way that felt uncomfortable. This guy was attractive, confident, and now Kirishima was stuck wondering, does he know Bakugo?
The thought came before he could stop it. His mind was flooded with images of Bakugo, of his intense stare, of moments that Kirishima had shared with him and how, sometimes, those moments felt more than they appeared. What if Bakugo had been like this with someone else?
His stomach churned.
“Uh, nah, I’m good.” Kirishima said, his voice a little more strained than he intended. He tried to smile, but it came out thin, his usual confidence buried under a thick layer of self-doubt.
The guy didn't seem put off. Instead, he chuckled softly, not mocking, but as though he was amused by the nervous energy Kirishima was putting out. “You sure? You look like you've got a lot on your mind.” He said, his voice rich and smooth.
Kirishima shifted uncomfortably, gripping his drink a little tighter. The way the guy was looking at him made him feel exposed. Like he could see through the wall Kirishima had put up.
He shifted his weight, trying to act casual, though he could already feel the heat creeping up his neck. “Just not used to this place,” he said, his voice a little off. He hated how out of place he felt. “Here with a friend.”
The guy’s smile didn’t falter. In fact, it seemed to deepen, the confidence in his posture growing as he leaned in slightly. Kirishima could smell the faint hint of cologne-sweet but musky-and it sent an unexpected shiver down his spine. “Lucky guy.” The stranger murmured, his gaze never leaving Kirishima’s. “I’m sure he’s not the only one enjoying your company tonight.”
Kirishima’s breath hitched, the words striking a nerve he wasn’t prepared for. He hadn’t expected this. Not here, not tonight. The guy’s tone was warm, casual, but it still felt like an invitation. A challenge, almost. Kirishima flushed, his heart suddenly racing in his chest. What was happening? Why was it so easy for this guy to say something so forward?
He swallowed hard, his fingers tightening around his glass. Every part of him wanted to pull away, to put space between himself and this stranger. But a part of him, a big part, couldn’t seem to look away. The guy was looking at him like he knew exactly what Kirishima was thinking, and that terrified him.
“So,” the guy continued, leaning a little closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, “you gonna let me buy you a drink, or you just gonna keep staring at me all night?”
The words were playful, teasing, but there was a weight behind them, an invitation Kirishima wasn’t sure he was ready for. He wanted to look away, to avoid the heat pooling in his stomach, but instead, he found himself caught by the intensity in the guy’s gaze.
What if this is what it’s supposed to be?
The thought hit him like a bolt of lightning. The more he looked at the guy, the more everything around him seemed to fade into the background. He was still figuring it out-what he wanted, what he felt. But standing here, right now, with this guy looking at him with that same knowing, flirtatious gaze it was the first time in a while he felt like maybe, just maybe, he could be something more.
But the thoughts of Bakugo didn’t leave. Was this how guys flirted with Bakugo? The question lingered, twisting inside him like a knot. What was he supposed to do with all of this?
The guy was still smiling, still waiting for his response, but Kirishima didn’t know what to say. His mind was a mess. Maybe this wasn’t just about the guy at the bar. Maybe it was about understanding himself, about understanding what he wanted, what this all meant.
“Yeah, sure.” Kirishima said, forcing himself to meet the guy’s gaze again, trying to calm his racing thoughts.
The guy’s grin widened, clearly pleased. “That’s the spirit.” He said, and the conversation picked up from there, but Kirishima couldn’t shake the feeling that he was standing at the edge of something he wasn’t ready for.
Kirishima’s mind was spinning. One moment, he was standing at the bar, trying to make sense of his feelings, the next, he found himself in the dimly lit confines of a club bathroom. The air was thick with the scent of cologne and something sweet that made his head swim. His heart hammered in his chest, too fast to be comfortable.
The guy, he didn’t even know his name, had pulled him away from the bar with ease, his hand sliding confidently around Kirishima’s waist, guiding him through the crowd. Everything had felt like it was happening in a blur, a moment of carelessness in the midst of the confusion that had taken over his thoughts.
And now? Now Kirishima was in a bathroom stall, pressed against the cool, graffitied wall, the stranger’s lips on his like they had all the time in the world. The kiss was fierce, urgent, as if the guy needed this like it was his last breath. Kirishima’s mind barely registered the heat of his body against his, or the soft, insistent press of lips moving against his own.
He could feel the guy’s hands roaming, but Kirishima froze. His chest tightened, his thoughts swarming like a storm. The softness of the guy’s hands didn’t feel right, the way he moved, it wasn’t the touch he was used to. It was too soft, too gentle, too delicate. And his scent, too sweet and cloying, made Kirishima’s stomach churn.
Something inside him jolted. This isn’t it.
Kirishima pulled back abruptly, his breath ragged. He stumbled away from the guy, who was still standing there, looking slightly confused, but the urgency in his eyes didn’t waver. Kirishima felt a knot tighten in his stomach, the discomfort gnawing at him.
“I, uh, sorry.” Kirishima stammered, his voice low and strained. He stepped back again, his back pressed against the cold, tiled wall of the stall. He didn’t know what was happening, but it felt wrong. He felt wrong. The kiss was nothing like he expected, nothing like the intense, sharp feeling he associated with him.
The stranger raised an eyebrow, seemingly surprised by the sudden retreat. “You okay?” He asked, his voice a little softer now, still warm but tinged with concern.
Kirishima wiped his mouth, still trying to catch his breath. He didn’t know how to answer. Everything was off. The feeling, the taste, the way the guy kissed, it wasn’t what he wanted. It wasn’t what he’d been searching for all night.
“I just... I don’t think this is right.” Kirishima admitted, his voice quieter now, the words coming out more uncertain than he intended.
The guy blinked at him, his expression softening a little, but then a chuckle escaped his lips, almost like he found the situation amusing. “Fair enough, man. No harm done.” He took a step back, giving Kirishima some space. “I get it. Not everyone’s vibe, right?”
Kirishima nodded, still feeling the awkwardness between them. He wasn’t sure how to feel about what just happened. Was that what I was looking for? he asked himself, but deep down, he knew the answer was no. The kiss, the guy, it just wasn’t it. And he was left with that unsettling thought that maybe what he was looking for was still somewhere else. Somewhere familiar.
He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry again.” He whispered, giving the guy an apologetic smile before turning to the door. He wasn’t sure what was next, but he knew he needed to get out of there before his head completely unraveled.
As he pushed open the door and stepped back into the chaotic pulse of the club, the rush of noise hit him like a wave. But it felt distant, like he was standing outside of it all. He didn’t belong in this moment, not in this way, not like this. Not with this guy.
Kirishima pushed through the crowd, his mind still racing. He needed to find Kaminari, find someone he could talk to, someone who might understand. He needed something real. Something that didn’t feel wrong. He needed answers, but more than that, he needed to feel like himself again.
Was I just looking for the wrong thing? The question lingered, and though he didn’t know the answer, he could feel it in the pit of his stomach. What he had just experienced wasn’t what he wanted, and deep down, he knew it wasn’t what he was meant to find tonight.
What he was searching for... It wasn’t here. Not with this guy. And maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t about kissing random strangers. Maybe it was about finding something real. Something that made sense.
And for some reason, the only face that kept coming to mind was Bakugo’s.
Kirishima’s legs moved faster than his brain, his sneakers hitting the cold pavement as he ran through the night. The city streets were quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic and the occasional flicker of a streetlight. His breath came out in visible puffs, the chill of the air biting at his skin, but he didn’t care. He needed to get to Bakugo.
Please be alone, please be alone, please be alone, the mantra repeated in his head with every step, his heart racing more than it should. He didn’t even know why he felt like this, but the urgency to see Bakugo, to have him near, pushed him forward.
His mind was still a mess, thoughts tumbling over one another, but there was one thing that was clear: he needed to be with Bakugo. And he needed to figure out why this felt so different. His encounter at the club had thrown him off balance, and every time he tried to shake it, all he could think about was Bakugo.
By the time he reached Bakugo's apartment building, his breath was ragged, and his legs ached, but he didn’t slow down. He stood there in front of the building for a moment, staring up at the door. What the hell was he doing? He didn’t even know how to explain this, how to say the jumbled mess in his chest.
Kirishima stepped forward, his fingers trembling as he rang the doorbell. The sound of it echoed in his ears, and suddenly, he felt stupid. What was he even doing here? Bakugo would probably ask him what the hell was wrong, and Kirishima wouldn’t even have a good answer.
He was about to turn and leave, to let the night swallow him up again and try to figure things out on his own when the door swung open with a creak.
Bakugo stood there, eyes bleary from sleep, his hair a mess and his clothes rumpled like he had just crawled out of bed. For a moment, he looked confused, like he wasn’t entirely sure if he was still dreaming. But then, when his gaze landed on Kirishima, his face immediately changed. His brow furrowed slightly, his expression softening in an instant, and Kirishima could swear he saw something akin to concern in Bakugo’s eyes.
“Is everything okay?” Bakugo’s voice was low, rough from sleep.
Kirishima opened his mouth but couldn’t find the words. The reality of the situation hit him all at once: he was standing in front of Bakugo, in the middle of the night, looking like a mess himself. His heart was still hammering, and his thoughts were still a whirlwind. But all he wanted in that moment was Bakugo’s presence, something stable, something he could rely on.
Instead of responding, Kirishima simply stood there, feeling the cool air between them. He was suddenly acutely aware of how much he wanted to be close to Bakugo, how much he needed to feel something solid, something real. He was terrified of what he might say or do, but at the same time, he couldn’t bring himself to leave.
Bakugo’s eyes softened further, and he stepped aside, holding the door open. “Come in,” he said, his tone gentle in a way Kirishima rarely heard.
Kirishima hesitated for a second, but then stepped inside, his body still buzzing with a nervous energy he couldn’t shake. He wanted to explain, to say something about what had happened, to spill out the mess that was making him crazy. But the words wouldn’t come.
Bakugo led him to the couch, his movements slow but deliberate, like he was giving Kirishima space without being too distant. He grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch and threw it over Kirishima’s shoulders, his touch surprisingly tender. “Sit down. You look like you’ve been running a marathon.”
Kirishima sat down on the couch, his body still feeling tense, but the warmth of the apartment and the softness of Bakugo’s care calmed him just enough to breathe. Bakugo dropped down beside him, his usual brashness replaced by something quieter, more careful. His gaze lingered on Kirishima for a moment before he spoke again, his voice much softer.
“What happened?” Bakugo asked, his eyes searching Kirishima’s face for any sign of what was wrong.
Kirishima couldn’t meet his gaze at first, unsure of how to start. The emotions swirling in his chest felt too big, too overwhelming. But Bakugo’s presence was grounding, steadying him.
“I don’t know,” Kirishima admitted, his voice tight. “I went to this club tonight and I thought I was ready for it, but something felt off. I didn’t... I didn’t feel right, Katsuki. It was all wrong. And I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
His breath hitched slightly as he spoke the last part, the vulnerability of saying it out loud, of admitting how much he had been thinking about Bakugo, made him feel exposed in a way he wasn’t used to.
Bakugo didn’t pull away, didn’t say anything snide or dismissive. Instead, his expression softened further, his hand coming to rest on Kirishima’s shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze.
“You don’t have to explain anything right now,” Bakugo said quietly. “I get it. Just breathe, alright?”
Kirishima nodded, his throat tight with emotion he couldn’t fully understand. But in that moment, sitting beside Bakugo, wrapped in the blanket, he felt like maybe, just maybe, he didn’t need to figure it all out alone. Bakugo didn’t need him to have all the answers right away. He just needed him to be here.
Bakugo didn’t say anything more. He just sat there with him, and Kirishima was grateful. It was a strange, tender kind of comfort, and for once, he let himself lean into it, even as his mind still spun with questions he didn’t know how to answer.
Kirishima shifted uncomfortably on the couch, his heart pounding as he struggled to find the right words. It felt like something heavy was pressing against his chest, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t push it down. The space between him and Bakugo suddenly felt impossibly wide, even though they were sitting so close.
He didn’t know why he was so nervous. After everything they had been through together, after all the times Bakugo had been there for him, had backed him up without hesitation, why did this feel so different?
“I think I’m into guys.” Kirishima said, low and hesitant, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.
Bakugo didn’t say anything at first. He just stared at him, his face frozen in surprise, his usual intensity replaced by something softer, something that Kirishima couldn’t quite read.
Kirishima felt a flush creep up his neck, his hands clenching the blanket tighter as he looked down at his lap. “I’ve only ever dated women, you know? I’ve never even thought about this before, but tonight, at the gay club...” His words stumbled over one another. “I don’t know what happened.”
Kirishima’s heart raced, the weight of his confession still heavy in the air between them. He could feel the heat rise in his neck, his face flushing under Bakugo’s gaze. He wasn’t sure how to explain it. He wasn’t sure he even understood it himself.
Bakugo’s eyes snapped to him, his brows furrowing in a way that was all too familiar. The calm, understanding expression he had earlier shifted into something else, something sharper. Annoyance.
“You went where?” Bakugo's voice was rough, like the very thought of it irritated him. “A gay club?” He leaned forward, arms crossing over his chest, his eyes narrowing as he stared at Kirishima.
Kirishima froze, unsure how to react to the sudden shift. Bakugo’s annoyance felt like a cold splash of water, but it wasn’t the type of anger that usually came with harsh words or insults. It was more concern. Protective, even. Kirishima’s chest tightened, but he pushed through it.
“I don’t know.” Kirishima mumbled, looking down at his lap again. “I just needed to go. I guess I was trying to figure something out, you know? About myself. And I got kind of lost.” He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed by how much he was stumbling over the words.
Bakugo let out a frustrated sigh, but his tone softened when he spoke again. “You don’t have to go to some damn club to figure your shit out, Eijiro. You could’ve just talked to me about it.”
Kirishima’s head snapped up. There was a strange intensity in Bakugo’s gaze, but it wasn’t the usual fire. It was something deeper, something more personal.
“I didn’t know how to talk about it.” Kirishima admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t even know how to talk to myself about it. But tonight, it just kind of hit me. All these things I didn’t even think about before... And now I don’t know what the hell to do.”
Bakugo’s jaw clenched, and for a second, it looked like he was about to say something else, something sharp. But instead, his expression softened again, the annoyance fading from his features.
“Idiot.” Bakugo said without real heat in his voice. “You should’ve just come to me.”
Kirishima’s heart was thundering in his chest as the words tumbled out of his mouth, raw and unfiltered. He didn’t know what had possessed him to say it, but now that it was out there, he couldn’t take it back.
“Would you teach me?” His voice shook, nerves coursing through him like electricity.
He had no plan, no idea how to even begin with something like this. But his desperation to understand what was happening to him, to understand himself, led him to this moment. And there, in front of him, Bakugo stood like a silent wall, his eyes wide with confusion, his posture stiffening like he wasn’t sure if he’d just heard Kirishima right.
“Teach you what?” Bakugo’s eyes were searching Kirishima’s face with a furrowed brow, his arms crossing over his chest as if to shield himself from what was happening. He didn’t know how to process this, didn’t know how to even react. Kirishima had always been his rock, his dependable, strong friend. And now... Now Kirishima was standing there, his words throwing them both into uncharted territory. It rattled him more than he’d care to admit.
Kirishima’s stomach twisted. He hadn’t meant for it to come out like that. What had he expected? That Bakugo would just nod and agree, like it was nothing?
“Well...” Kirishima stuttered, his voice faltering, eyes dropping to the floor as his face burned. “How to do it... With a guy.” He could barely believe he’d just said that. His hands gripped the blanket tighter, his fingers white, knuckled in an effort to steady himself.
The silence that followed felt like it stretched on forever. Bakugo’s expression morphed, his mouth slightly parted in surprise, eyes wide as he tried to make sense of what Kirishima had said. Kirishima couldn’t meet his gaze, he just wanted to disappear. He had never felt so exposed, so vulnerable, in his life.
Bakugo didn’t move. He didn’t flinch, but Kirishima could feel the shift in the air, the tension in the room thickening. Slowly, Bakugo dropped his arms to his sides, and for a long moment, he just stared at him. His face was unreadable, his expression sharp, but Kirishima could see the subtle shift in his eyes. Was it confusion? Maybe even a little disbelief?
“What the hell, Eijiro?” Bakugo’s voice was strained with confusion, but there was no anger in it, no sharpness. Just a kind of disbelief, like he was trying to comprehend a new reality. He was trying to wrap his head around this, around him, standing there, so openly vulnerable. “You’re talking about doing it? With me?”
Kirishima flinched, his throat tightening. This was so much worse than he’d thought it would be. Maybe Bakugo wasn’t the right person to ask, but then again, who else could he turn to? His whole world felt like it was shifting beneath him, and it made him dizzy just thinking about it. But Bakugo’s presence. His constant, steady presence was the one thing that kept him from falling apart.
“Yeah.” Kirishima managed, though his voice was barely above a whisper. His eyes searched Bakugo’s face, willing him to understand. “I thought maybe you could, uh, show me?”
Bakugo blinked at him, processing the words, the question. His arms were crossed again, posture defensive, but his brows were drawn together, a deep crease forming between them as he tried to make sense of this. Kirishima could see it in his eyes, he wasn’t angry. No, there was something more like confusion and maybe even concern. But there was also a tightness there, a little something Kirishima couldn’t place.
“Are you serious?” Bakugo asked, edged with something unfamiliar. He was working hard to keep himself in check, trying not to let the sudden shift in their dynamic throw him off balance. “You want me to teach you? What, like how to kiss a guy? How to...?” His words trailed off as his brow furrowed deeper, his tone now laced with a strange mix of uncertainty and reluctance. It was like the question had hit him from an angle he hadn’t prepared for.
Kirishima’s heart sank. Of course Bakugo wasn’t going to just jump into this. Why would he? It wasn’t like Bakugo had ever been someone to just take things at face value. The walls Bakugo had built up over the years had always been sturdy, but Kirishima had never once felt shut out until now.
“Yes.” Kirishima whispered, his voice cracking slightly as he looked away. “I just don’t know who else to ask. I trust you. I don’t want to make a mess of this, and I don’t even know where to start. I’m confused, man. I thought maybe you could help me figure it out.”
For a long moment, Bakugo just stood there. His lips pressed together in a thin line, his eyes fixed on Kirishima as if trying to figure out what to do with the situation. The air between them was heavy with unspoken words, each of them grappling with emotions they hadn’t expected to surface. Kirishima could feel the weight of Bakugo’s hesitation. He wasn’t angry, but he wasn’t exactly sure what to make of this, either.
Finally, Bakugo let out a sharp breath. It wasn’t a sigh of frustration, more like a moment of release. His gaze softened, but there was still a tightness to his posture, like he wasn’t quite sure how to handle the request.
“You really don’t get what you’re asking, huh?” Bakugo whispered as he stepped forward, closing the distance between them, his eyes softer now but still guarded. His usual cocky edge had slipped away, replaced by something more genuine, more grounded. “This isn’t just some damn lesson. I’m not gonna just ‘teach you’ like it’s nothing. This is a lot more complicated than that, Ei. And you don’t just go around asking stuff like that.”
Kirishima winced, the weight of Bakugo’s words sinking in. He hadn’t expected it to be easy, but the reality of it hit him like a ton of bricks. “I get it,” he said, his voice smaller now. “I didn’t mean to make it weird. I just don’t know who else to turn to. And I thought maybe you’d understand.” His words faltered at the end, self-doubt creeping in.
Bakugo didn’t step back, though. He didn’t pull away. He just stood there, his expression softening, like he was trying to process everything Kirishima had said. There was still hesitation in his eyes, but there was also something that Kirishima couldn’t put a name to. Something unspoken.
"Fine." Bakugo said and his gaze met Kirishima’s, for a second, it felt like the world had slowed down. Kirishima’s heart skipped a beat at the simplicity of those words, at the quiet acceptance they held.
Kirishima felt a wave of relief wash over him, so intense it almost made him dizzy. The anxiety that had been gnawing at him-nagging at the edges of his thoughts-started to ebb away. He hadn’t expected it to be this easy. It felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders, and the warm relief settled in his chest, spreading through him like a comforting wave. He couldn’t believe it. He had been so afraid this would end in rejection, that Bakugo would push him away. But instead, Bakugo was here, still standing, still with him.
A small, disbelieving laugh escaped Kirishima’s lips as he took a step forward, his hands trembling slightly. “You... Seriously?” He felt lighter now, like the first real breath he’d taken in hours. "You’ll help me?"
"Yeah, I will." Bakugo’s voice was steady, but the way he said it made something shift in the air between them. There was an unspoken tension now, like a magnetic pull that neither of them could ignore.
Kirishima’s heart beat faster, his breath catching in his throat as he stared at Bakugo. He had never realized how close they were until now, how the weight of Bakugo’s presence seemed to fill the space between them. It was like everything else faded into the background, leaving only the two of them standing there, the quiet of the night pressing in on them.
Bakugo’s eyes didn’t leave Kirishima’s, and for a moment, neither of them moved. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken things neither of them was ready to say. Kirishima could feel the warmth radiating off Bakugo’s body, his scent filling his senses. He wanted to say something, to fill the silence with words, but every time he opened his mouth, the words seemed to slip away. There was something about the way Bakugo was looking at him, something that felt... So warm.
It was subtle, just a shift in his expression, the way his gaze softened, the way his chest seemed to rise and fall a little heavier than before. The air between them felt charged now, like something was waiting to happen, but neither of them was willing to break the moment.
Kirishima swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, and he forced himself to take a small step back, trying to regain some semblance of control. But it didn’t help. His body still felt too close to Bakugo’s, like the space between them was too small for all the things they weren’t saying.
Bakugo’s jaw clenched, his hands flexing at his sides, like he was trying to fight off whatever had shifted between them. The tension was palpable, so thick Kirishima could almost taste it. And yet, neither of them moved, neither of them spoke.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Bakugo broke the silence with a soft grunt. “You’re a real pain, you know that?”
Kirishima’s smile flickered, a sense of warmth spreading through his chest. “I know.” He said quietly, his voice betraying the nervous excitement he felt.
His gaze met Bakugo’s, and there was a vulnerability there that he couldn’t hide.
The thick tension lingered as neither of them moved or said anything else, but the connection was undeniable now, and they both knew it.