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Bakugou’s brain feels like fucking mush.
Slowly, he blinks away the fog, flexing his arms to regain the feeling in them as he takes in the room around him. Bare—just concrete on all four sides, the chair he’s tied to, the shoddy fan whirring in the corner, the singular lightbulb flickering above him. All in all, it’s a stereotypical hostage room. It might have even been worrying, waking up here, if it wasn’t Bakugou’s fifth fucking time in this exact position.
There are makeshift binds around his wrists that he unties with ease. Honestly, he doesn’t understand why they go through the trouble of drugging and restraining him if they’re going to do such a shitty job with it.
He stands up, stumbles a bit before righting himself. Fuck, the sedatives they used this time must be new. He stretches languidly, his shoulders popping with the effort. He lets out a small groan of satisfaction, which lasts for three seconds at best before annoyance takes its place. Kidnapped. Again. Not only that, but being used as some sort of damn drug guinea pig? The irritation guides his feet as they stomp towards the entrance.
Bakugou slams the door open (unlocked—did they even fucking try—) to the sorry excuse for a villain hideout he’s been sequestered to. The extras bustling around the expanse of the room don’t even stop to acknowledge him.
One of them pats him on the shoulder as they pass. “Hey, Dynamight.”
Bakugou scowls at them. “You couldn’t have used something less strong?”
They shrug. “You take that up with the boss. We don’t have any say in how he chooses to flirt with you.”
Bakugou's scowl deepens. The lackey is gone before he can get another word in. Without missing a beat, Bakugou starts stalking towards the one place he knows he’ll get his questions answered.
He hears his stupid laugh before he sees him. Bakugou rounds the corner to find his captor grinning heartily at another extra, slapping her on the back before he turns back to the table and begins fiddling with some gadget or another. The extra catches Bakugou’s eye as he stops, and waves at him sheepishly. He must not look amused, because she runs out of the room right after, leaving him alone with his captor.
Bakugou leans on the door frame, some of the fight involuntarily leaving his body as he takes in the sight of his husband at the large table.
“You know, the excuse of kidnapping practice only works if your goons actually fucking try to keep me locked up,” Bakugou breaks the silence, letting a smirk grace his face when Kirishima jumps, whipping around to look at him.
“Katsuki! You’re awake!” He drops whatever gadget he was working on, bounding towards Bakugou like some sort of human puppy, wrapping his arms around him and pressing three kisses quickly to his mouth. Bakugou accepts it grudgingly and rests his hands on Kirishima’s neck.
“Yeah, yeah, don’t sound so surprised,” he grouses. “You used a stronger drug on purpose, asshole.”
Kirishima grins at him, slightly abashed. “I wanted to test it out.”
“You can test it on some other fucking extra.” Bakugou smacks the back of his head. “Not on me. Especially not when I’m on patrol.”
“But Katsuki,” Kirishima whines. He tugs Bakugou closer, burying his face into his neck. Bakugou tries to push him away half-heartedly, attempting to keep up the pretense of anger. “I missed you. You’ve been so busy lately with the agency. This was the only way I would even see you today.”
“I actually have to work, dumbass,” he says. “You do too.”
“I am working,” Kirishima argues. “It’s training day. My guys were able to catch you off guard, right? That’s what I call improvement.”
Bakugou raises an eyebrow. He chooses not to mention the fact that he had heard them coming from miles away and let them capture him. “Those fucking idiots don’t know how to tie people up to save their damn lives. The knots were sloppy.”
“One thing at a time, Katsuki,” Kirishima hushes him. “We’re improving slowly but surely.”
“Too damn slow.” Bakugou grins sharply. He traces a teasing finger along Kirishima’s jaw. “At this point, me and Deku are gonna catch you in no time, Blood Riot.”
Kirishima’s eyes gleam dangerously. “I’d like to see you try, Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight.”
Bakugou sees the challenge in Kirishima’s eyes. The way he knows exactly how far to push to get Bakugou teetering on that edge. He traces the lines of Kirishima’s face like they haven’t seen each other in ages, not like they were in the same bed just that morning. Bakugou could never help himself when it came to Kirishima.
The want tugs at him like he’s a puppet on a string. A man with self-control would pull away now, recognize the provocation, the enticing grin Kirishima wears as danger.
But, well, Bakugou has never been characterized by his self-control.
He suddenly grabs Kirishima’s hair by the root, pulling his head back roughly. Kirishima gasps as Bakugou latches onto his neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses along the length of it. Bakugou bites down viciously on the spot he knows makes Kirishima squirm, delighting in the way Kirishima shudders with each point of contact.
Then, he steps back, letting pleasure course through his veins as Kirishima stumbles, bereft without Bakugou holding him up. He pants lightly, staring at Bakugou so intensely he can swear he feels it thrumming under his fucking skin.
Bakugou lets sparks crackle across his palms, bending his knees. “All right, let’s fucking do this. I got places to be, Riot.” He smiles wildly. God, this rush is un-fucking-beatable. Fighting Kirishima never gets old.
Kirishima laughs breathlessly. The absolute breadth of him shakes with glee as he realizes Bakugou’s intent, and as a hand comes up to push his hair back, Bakugou follows the movement with his eyes hungrily. In an instant, his skin hardens, the sharp, dangerous edges making Bakugou’s blood sing.
“I’m not going easy on you, babe,” Kirishima sing-songs, the gravel of his voice while he uses his quirk is familiar and glorious.
“I’m fucking counting on it.”
They both lunge at the same time, a massive blast echoing through the hideout.
A massive stack of paper is slammed in front of Bakugou as he sits at the table. Arguments and incessant chatter go around the table, contributing to the stabbing fucking pain he feels throbbing in his head. He can’t tell if it’s an aftereffect of the drug Kirishima’s goons injected him with, or if it’s just from the sheer stupidity of everyone currently in the room with him.
“This is the fifth time!” Mina’s shrill voice sends another needle careening through Bakugou’s skull (metaphorically, though it doesn’t fucking feel like it). “Bakugou is one of the top 5 heroes in the country, and yet Blood Riot and his goons have managed to capture him five freaking times!”
He doesn’t know what’s going on. Bakugou hates not knowing things.
“We need upped security,” Denki chimes in, his arms crossed like he’s trying to look serious about the whole thing. All it does is make Bakugou want to punt him out the fucking window. “Blood Riot is dangerous. We can’t keep letting him capture Bakugou and get away with it. That’s just showing the villains we’re not capable of keeping our heroes safe.”
“Guys, come on—” Deku tries. His hands are up placatingly. “Blood Riot is a vigilante, not a villain. Sure, his obsession with Kacchan is…” He risks a glance towards Bakugou, who is valiantly trying not to explode the pair of idiots in front of him. “...worrying, but he’s cooperated with heroes and authorities before. There’s no reason to blow this out of proportion.”
“We need contingency plans,” Mina bulldozes on as if she didn’t even hear him. “We need something that’ll keep Bakugou safe. I mean, just look at him! He looks awful. Blood Riot is ruining his life. We need to stop him.”
“Ruining his life is a bit of an overstatement—” Deku says.
“Shut up, Pinky,” Bakugou growls. “You shut the fuck up right now or I’ll send you through the goddamn roof.”
The whole room goes silent, all heads turning to stare at Bakugou. He glares at each of them murderously.
“Do you idiots think I can’t handle myself?” He asks lowly. “Do you think I’m fucking incapable of fighting off some weak-ass vigilante?”
“Come on, man, that’s not what we’re saying—” Denki attempts.
“No, dunceface, I’m tired of hearing your fucking voice.” Bakugou snaps. Denki looks properly chastised as he slumps back onto the wall. “There will be no fucking contingency plans. There will be nothing different from here on out. Is that understood?”
“We’re just worried about you,” Mina says. “Blood Riot—”
“Blood Riot is not a fucking hazard,” Bakugou says. “He’s helped us more times than we can count. Don’t forget he saved you from that collapsed building last month.” Mina looks to the side, put out. “He’s just some vigilante with a crush—”
“He hurt you,” Denki says. Bakugou is momentarily shocked by the interruption, looking over to where Denki looks uncharacteristically solemn. “We just don’t want you to keep getting hurt.”
The room falls into silence again. Bakugou doesn’t know how to respond, doesn’t know how to tell these well-meaning idiots that they have nothing to worry about, and that Kirishima wouldn’t do anything without Bakugou wanting him to. But the bruises on his body from their spar spell a picture he doesn’t know how to explain away, not without telling the truth of it all and putting Kirishima’s identity at risk.
“Listen, I know we’re all worried about Kacchan,” Deku sighs. “But we can’t make these decisions without Bakugou’s consent. If he doesn’t want anything to change, then nothing changes. This is his agency just as much as it is mine.” He looks at Bakugou, understanding and a strange sort of promise in his eyes. He turns back to the rest of the room. “If he says there’s no issue, then there’s no issue. We’ll touch base on this when there’s actually something to address. For now, go home and get some rest. We’ll see you all tomorrow.”
“I’m going to kill those fucking idiots,” Bakugou curses, stomping out of his and Deku’s agency. God, if he had a chance to redo it all over again, he’d choose not to work with such absolute fucking morons.
“This is why you should just tell them about Riot, Kacchan,” Deku sighs. “They’re just worried, and you know that.”
“They can worry about other stuff, like their low fucking rankings—”
“Okay, rude.”
“Shut the fuck up, Deku.”
“All I’m saying is—”
“Kirishima doesn’t want that.” Bakugou shoves his hands into his pockets. He sighs loudly. “It’s—”
There’s movement beside him. He looks over to see Deku holding out a chocolate bar—his favourite kind, spicy. “Complicated?”
Bakugou takes it, calmer than before. “No.” He unwraps it and takes a bite. He puts away the rest of the chocolate to give to Kirishima when he gets home. “The work he does. It’s important to him. The rehabilitation he does for young villains is next-fucking-level. But if people knew who he was…”
“He’d be a target.”
Bakugou grunts. “Yeah. I’m not gonna be the reason that happens.”
Comfortable silence follows the two of them until the station. Bakugou’s about to turn to his platform before Deku speaks up.
“You’re not going to be able to hide it forever, Kacchan.” Bakugou scoffs, about to argue, when—”It’d be good to tell them.”
“Those idiots—”
“Care about you,” Deku interrupts. “It might make things easier. Less workplace tension.” He smiles at Bakugou knowingly. “You care about them, too. Think about it. Just them. The ones who are important.” He turns and leaves before Bakugou can get another word in.
Walking home, Deku’s words echo in his head far longer than Bakugou cares to admit.
“Dude. We have got to stop meeting like this.” A gruff voice wakes Bakugou up from his sleep, a contrastingly gentle hand brushing stray hairs from his face. Bakugou squints his eyes open, scowling.
“You did not just call me dude first thing in the morning.”
Kirishima answers with a grin. “You love it.”
It’s dim in their bedroom. The curtains do their best to block out most of the sun from the outside, but Kirishima’s smile does its own job in being bright as hell. Bakugou gets that familiar warm, twisty feeling in his chest, the one that appears every time he wakes up in the same bed as his husband. Kirishima leans in.
“Morning breath,” Bakugou grumbles teasingly, planting his palm haphazardly on Kirishima’s face and pushing him away. Kirishima whines.
“You liar,” Kirishima says. He pulls Bakugou’s hand away just enough to press kisses to the palm of it. “I already brushed my teeth.”
“You did?” Bakugou raises an eyebrow. “'Cause it still smells like shit.”
“Katsuki.” Kirishima drags out the ‘i’, flopping back down onto the bed. He knocks their foreheads together cutely. “I just want a kiss. One little kiss, for your poor, neglected husband.” He looks up through his lashes at Bakugou. “Please, baby?”
No matter how many years go by, Bakugou still cannot fucking resist those eyes of his. It’s a lethal combination when paired with that gravelly morning voice. He kisses him, quick, and because he can’t help himself, allows them two, three, maybe four more insistent kisses before he pulls back.
“Ei.” Bakugou glares at him half-heartedly. He knows it won’t do much to Kirishima’s persistence—he’s an immovable object when he wants to be. Kirishima looks forlorn, knocked off-kilter just because Bakugou stopped kissing him for one second. “Don’t fucking look at me like that.”
“But babe,” Kirishima groans. His hands move from Bakugou’s arm down to his waist, his fingers pushing under Bakugou’s tank top and sliding up his back. His touch sends shivers up Bakugou’s spine, the reverence of them reaching Bakugou’s core. Kirishima pushes Bakugou gently onto his back, presses him into the mattress with wandering hands and light kisses to his neck. “How else am I supposed to look at my wonderful—” a kiss at his jaw, “—beautiful—” Kirishima noses near the bottom of his ear, “—gorgeous husband,” he finishes, pressing unyielding kisses to Bakugou’s clavicle.
Bakugou squirms in his hold, leaning into the generous touches. Kirishima’s lips feel like fire against his skin, coaxing and inviting and fucking undeniable—the way he makes Bakugou feel is absurd. He’s about to give in, let Kirishima continue his tempting ministrations and keep him in bed the whole day when his phone starts buzzing incessantly on the nightstand.
Kirishima pauses (and fuck, if Bakugou wanted anything less), lets out a full-body sigh that tickles Bakugou’s neck before letting his entire weight sag into Bakugou, landing with a small grunt from both of them. “Don’t tell me.”
Bakugou blinks blearily at the emergency notification from his agency, accompanied by a couple of texts from Deku that, unfortunately, call him into work earlier than anticipated. “Times up, Riot.”
“The one morning I’m off,” Kirishima laments, rolling to the side to let Bakugou up.
“Oh, so no kidnapping attempts today?” Bakugou throws his legs over the side of the mattress. He gets ready sluggishly, the loss of warmth hitting him like a truck. The feeling of Kirishima’s hands all over him still hasn’t left, and he hopes the phantom touch stays with him just until he gets to work today.
“I never said that,” Kirishima says behind him. Bakugou risks a glance over his shoulder to meet Kirishima’s mischievous eyes, glinting with mirth. “Who knows? Blood Riot doesn’t operate on a schedule.”
“Yeah, well, Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight does,” Bakugou huffs. Once he’s ready, he turns around quickly to press one final kiss against Kirishima’s forehead. He admires the sleepy view in front of him for another moment before turning away. “I’ll see you later, Ei.”
“See you, baby.”
“Sayonara, fuckers!”
Bakugou groans in frustration as the villain disappears behind the street corner, blasting after him hurriedly. “What the fuck are you, twelve years old? Who the hell says sayonara anymore?”
“I do, fucker!” The villain yells behind him. Dune, Bakugou vaguely recalls. Can turn any surface he has both feet on into sand. Uses a support device to surf on the sand he creates, making him fast enough that he hasn’t been caught yet.
Not fast enough, though.
Bakugou catches up to him quickly, cursing at the shards of glass that whiz past him with every explosion he creates with the sand. In his ear, he can hear Deku reporting on the situation back where the chase started—minor robbery, suspects armed, danger to the general public.
“Pros are to protect civilians at all costs—”
“Blood Riot is here!” Mina cuts in. Bakugou almost loses focus, dipping in the air slightly before ramping up his explosions to make up for his distraction. “We need to catch him now!”
“Don’t you dare—” Bakugou barks, chasing after Dune with renewed vigour. “Pinky, I swear to fucking god—”
“Pinky, he is here to help, do not engage—”
“Chargebolt and the other pros have evacuated all civilians from the nearby area,” she grits out. By the fact she’s already out of breath, Bakugou can tell she hasn’t been listening to a word he and Deku have been saying, and is already chasing after Blood Riot like a fucking moron. “I’m going after him.”
“You stupid fucking—” Bakugou lets out a frustrated noise when Dune suddenly rounds a corner. He, frustratingly, flies past the opening in his momentary confusion. “Deku! Fucking stop her!”
“Kinda busy right now, Dynamight!” Deku’s voice crackles in his ear. “We’ll deal with it later!”
Bakugou growls in annoyance, circling back to the alleyway where, thankfully, it’s a dead-end. Dune has himself pressed up against the wall.
“Nowhere to run now, dumbass,” Bakugou lets himself drop to the ground where the remnants of sand grit beneath his boots. He stalks closer to Dune, who, for some reason, looks smug. “Just come quietly, and it’ll be a lot easier for both of us.”
“Dynamight, you are so fucking predictable.” Dune grins. “Honestly, you’d think a top pro would be smarter than this.”
“The fuck are you talking about?” Bakugou’s lip curls. “Because to me, it looks like you’re the one backed into the corner.”
Mina’s voice cuts through his commlink. “I’ve got him! He’s heading down the alley—”
For the briefest moment, Bakugou’s distracted. That’s all the time Dune needs to reveal some hidden device in his hand and hurl it towards Bakugou, who blasts back just in time to avoid it colliding with his body. It clatters in front of him, unassuming.
Bakugou stares, unimpressed. “Is that all you—”
Smoke explodes from the device in an instant, enveloping the alleyway. It’s invasive, seeping into Bakugou’s airways before he has a chance to fight against it.
“Fuck—!” Bakugou chokes, stumbling back and trying desperately to stop inhaling more. The smoke immediately settles deep into his lungs, forcing him down onto one knee. “You fucking”—cough—”coward.”
Dune steps towards him, crouching down to his level. “You know, I may be a coward, but I was right about one thing.” He leans in close, tauntingly. Bakugou feels the lethargy weaken his muscles, his vision darkening at the edges.
“You’re weak.”
Bakugou’s body gives out then, dropping to the ground with a thud that echoes through the alleyway. He fights to keep his eyes open; the last thing he sees is a blur of red catching Dune by surprise. He hears the scuffle before the sedative takes him, dragging him down to the depths of unconsciousness.
Kirishima’s mind will not stop running.
It’s a constant stream of static—white noise full of self-doubt. What could he have done better? How could he have prevented this? Prevented the most important person in his life from getting hurt the way he did, because of Kirishima’s negligence?
What hurts the most right now is that it’s his fault, undeniably. The villain wouldn’t have seen Bakugou’s distraction if he hadn’t kept up the stupid joke of kidnapping his husband during his work hours. Bakugou wouldn’t have gotten hurt if Kirishima had just left him alone.
Fuck, he should’ve done better. Bakugou deserved so much better.
The guilt buries itself deep into his marrow. It weighs down his body until it feels like it’s fused with the shitty hospital chair he sits on, outside of Bakugou’s room, where the nurses say he’s stable, but recovering slower than anticipated. Kirishima’s gaze is rooted to the floor, ‘what ifs’ running rampant through his mind and forcing his thoughts to fixate on every possible scenario that could’ve saved Bakugou from that damn hospital bed.
He’s so absorbed in his thoughts that he doesn’t hear the footsteps in the hallway until it's too late. He looks up tiredly and sees Midoriya trying to hold back Pinky and Chargebolt, who look like they’re about to kill someone. And with the path they’re on now, Kirishima’s pretty sure that someone’s gonna be him.
He spares a thought for how he must look right now—grief-stricken, worn, defeated? The dust of battle settled into his skin; the scratches and scrapes he retained must present an image he doesn’t know is accurate or not. He doesn’t have the energy, nor the patience, to entertain whatever they think he’s here for (especially knowing what Bakugou’s told him about what they think of him).
“You have some nerve—” Pinky finally shoves past Midoriya, stomping up to Kirishima. “You have some fucking nerve showing up here, Blood Riot.”
Kirishima winces as she shoves his back straight from its slouched position. He looks over her shoulder to see Chargebolt, also looking angry as all hell, glaring at Kirishima viciously. Vaguely, he’s grateful that Bakugou has such amazing friends who care about him so deeply. But right now, he’s just focusing on trying not to cry in front of them.
“Guys, come on—” Midoriya puts a hand on both their shoulders. It’s shrugged off almost immediately.
“I don’t know if you live in some fantasy world, Riot, but usually villains aren’t allowed in hospitals,” Chargebolt spits. He digs an accusatory finger into Kirishima’s chest. “We’re getting sick and tired of your obsessive crush over Bakugou, man! I don’t know if stalking and kidnapping are normal where you come from, but it stops now.”
Stalking? Kirishima thinks faintly. Well, obsessed, he understands—but he feels like he has the right to be obsessed about his own husband. And he can’t even really deny the kidnapping part, though that had no ulterior motive other than to be a little funny. He doesn’t even know how to defend himself. His mouth hangs open dumbly. Nothing comes out.
“What, speechless?” Pinky says unbelievingly. “You know, we should just—”
“That’s enough.” Midoriya steps between them, his hands up, forcing Pinky and Chargebolt to stumble back a couple of steps. “You guys need to stop jumping to conclusions, okay?”
“Jumping to conclusions?” Denki’s voice pitches up a couple of octaves. “I don’t know about you, Midoriya, but Blood Riot being right outside Bakugou’s door really leaves only one conclusion. He’s just here to kidnap him again.”
Mina nods, like they both just cracked the code. Midoriya huffs. “Kirishima was the one to bring Kacchan into the hospital. He protected him from the villain while I was busy dealing with the others. You don’t know the full story.”
Denki shakes his head disbelievingly, launching into another tirade accompanied by Mina. Kirishima runs his palm over his face wearily.
God, he hopes Bakugou is okay.
Bakugou’d like to wake up without a headache one day. He thinks that’s too much to ask for, though, as he blinks his eyes open to a cacophony of sounds invading his brain like knives.
There’s the steady, unfortunately familiar rhythm of the heart monitor beeping beside him. The congested sound of his own breathing. Mina and Denki’s loud ass voices yelling outside of the room—
Wait. Why the fuck are Mina and Denki here, and why the fuck are they yelling so damn loud?
He tries sitting up, groaning at the heavy feeling in his lungs, the weightiness that comes with being sedated, the way his muscles ache with movement. The nurse in the room startles. She almost drops the clipboard she had been using to record his vitals. “Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight! You need to sit back down—”
“Tell them to shut the fuck up,” he growls, pointing at the door. His voice comes out a lot more gruff than he means, raspy after the gas.
Mina and Denki’s voices rise further. There’s a dull throb at the back of Bakugou’s skull that pounds harder in time with their incessant screaming. He can hear Deku’s voice trying to calm them down. He’s still confused as to what could get them so worked up that they would see the need to be shouting right outside Bakugou’s hospital room.
“Let me—” the nurse starts. She gets interrupted by another shout. “I’ll just—” Mina and Denki are, somehow, still fucking going. It looks like she gives up trying to speak and steps out of the room.
The voices lower marginally as Bakugou hears her scold them. They still sound indignant about something, though Bakugou has no idea what could possibly have them so riled up until he hears it— hears him.
“Only next of kin are allowed to be in this wing of the hospital,” she’s scolding them. “Therefore, only Kirishima should be here right now.”
“Who the hell is Kirishima?” Bakugou hears Mina ask incredulously. The heart monitor speeds up as Bakugou finally fucking realizes who they’ve been yelling at this whole time.
The next voice that speaks sends a sharp pang through Bakugou’s chest. “Me,” Kirishima says tiredly. Fuck, Bakugou thinks, ripping out the IV in his arm in his haste to get out of bed. Panic and guilt and anger—so much fucking anger— rush through his mind. He can’t fucking believe that Mina and Denki are out there, yelling at his husband. He’s going to murder them.
Bakugou very nearly trips himself over the hospital sheets trying to get to the door as fast as he can. His instincts scream at him to go to Kirishima and stand between him and his stupid, dumbfuck friends.
He swings open the door, palms already sparking with fury. “I’m going to fucking kill you both.”
Everyone’s heads snap towards him, Mina and Denki losing their nerve at the sight of a half-awake, murderous Bakugou. Deku’s shoulders slump with defeat. Kirishima leaps out of his seat. The nurse looks like she’s about to have an aneurysm.
“Babe!” Kirishima rushes towards Bakugou, wrapping his arms around him and taking the majority of his weight. Bakugou slumps into him gratefully—but he’s not fucking done with the idiot brigade yet.
“You two are such fucking dumbasses—” Bakugou tries stepping towards them. He stumbles a bit. Kirishima holds him fast in place. “That you would yell at my fucking husband right outside my fucking hospital room? And think I wouldn’t care?”
“They didn’t know, it’s okay—” Kirishima tries, instinctively tightening his hold on Bakugou.
“Not knowing doesn’t excuse the fact that they were yelling for no fucking reason,” Bakugou seethes. “At my husband of four fucking years about a situation they know jack fucking shit about.”
Mina and Denki look properly chastised, shrinking in the face of Bakugou’s rage. It’s not enough.
“Kacchan, they were just worried—”
“And you.” Bakugou swivels his glower to Deku, the speed of explosions dancing on his palms rapidly increasing. “You didn’t think to fucking stop them? You, the one person who knows how important Kirishima is—you thought it would be okay for these two dumbasses to yell at him?”
“Okay,” Kirishima interrupts sheepishly, walking Bakugou back a few steps. Bakugou goes easily, but it’s only because his head hurts so fucking bad and Kirishima feels warm and safe enough to follow. “It’s time for this one to get some sleep.”
“I will fucking kill you!” Bakugou snaps over his shoulder. Kirishima shoots a tired, yet apologetic grin to the three standing scared behind them as he continues to gently guide Bakugou back into the room. “You don’t ever talk to Kirishima like that again, you hear? I will explode you to high fucking hell before you ever think of raising your voice to him again, do you fucking understand me, you damn—”
“Sorry, guys!” Kirishima says once they’re both through the door. Bakugou keeps shouting threats despite the ache starting to fight through the painkillers. “We’ll be back once he calms down, promise.”
The door shuts behind them both.
Midoriya glares at Mina and Denki as soon as the door closes. He rubs the bridge of his nose, irritated. “I told you guys to wait until he was awake to jump to conclusions.”
Denki buries his face in his palms. “How were we supposed to know that Blood Riot and Bakugou were together?”
“Context clues?” Midoriya says helplessly. “Using your eyes? They weren’t even hiding it well.”
“We’re never gonna live this down, are we?” Mina groans, starting to walk dejectedly back to the waiting room. “We’re gonna be 50 and still apologizing for this.”
“Idiots,” Midoriya sighs. “Kacchan was right. We work with idiots.”