Chapter Text
Realistically, Kirishima had to go for it at some point, right?
It was either that or pine away endlessly from the sidelines, dooming himself to the infinite torture of the unknown, which, damn. Kirishima supposed a rejection was also possible (if not probable), which would result in the above pining scenario but with an adjacent flavor of infinite torture- torture of the immutable, devastating known. Which, again: damn.
But in between the two sides of the coin of misery lay a sliver: the thin edge of hope that the feeling was mutual. That Kirishima’s confession could maybe, possibly, feasibly warrant an affirmative response, and he and his beloved would ride off into the sunset to fuse two souls into a single whole. Maybe even physically…
Ahem.
Which brought Kirishima back to the first point. Regardless of the (un)likelihood of his fairytale ending, he had to give it a go. Logical conclusions aside, it was the manly thing to do. When a man falls in love, he fights for that love, goddammit! He does not cower in the face of the unknown.
And Kirishima couldn’t take full credit for the sudden resolve, which was at least partly fueled by his friends’ bitching (“Oh my fucking god if I have to hear about Bakugou’s abs one more time I swear I’ll—!”). Not to mention the constant stream of innuendos and wiggling eyebrows thrown his way every. single. time. Bakugou, Kirishima, and his friends occupied a common space. And Kirishima may or may not have recently teared up (read: sobbed into his pillow) watching Wall-E the previous weekend. If a robot that can’t even talk could confess his love, goddammit, then so could he.
So it was settled, then. Kirishima Eijirou - hero in training and man - would 100% confess to his longtime crush (and fellow man) Bakugou Katsuki. Yep. Any day now, too! And it was going to be a very manly confession. Kirishima was definitely going to confess manly-ly to Bakugou soon. Sooner.
How soon was sooner? Definitely rather than later, Kirishima could tell you that much.
If there was anything he’d learned from hero training, it was the importance of a plan. Also, the importance of gaining insight from your colleagues. Leveraging their experience to fill gaps in your own when designing your path forward and, uh, workshopping ideas until optimization.
Basically, Kirishima asked his friends for advice.
“Ahhh!!” Ashido squealed, reaching an impressive octave. “You’re really gonna do it, like really really?!”
“That’s the plan,” Kirishima smiled, not at all feeling like he might throw up just thinking about it. “But I don’t really have any experience with romance so I wanted some input.”
Sero snorted. “I’m flattered, dude, but I’m afraid your faith might be a little misplaced. We’re pretty much the bozo brigade here. The person with the most experience is Denki, and that’s saying something.”
“Hey-!” The bozo in question pouted. “You don’t need to take your desert of a love life out on me, man.”
“Oh really? Remind me– how exactly did you score dates in the past?”
Kaminari’s pout deepened. “…pickup lines.”
“That’s right, pickup lines. Now I may not have a degree in Baku-ology like our buddy Eijirou here, but I’m 99% sure trying that would end up in smoke, cursing, or a combination of the two.”
“Sero’s right,” Ashido chimed in. “You need something more sincere. You’re confessing, not just asking him on a casual date. This is big!”
“Aha, it’s big?” Kirishima repeated weakly. “Totally, yeah.”
“But not in a scary way!” She backpedaled hurriedly. “More like in a, ‘show ole Blasty what you’re made of’ kind of way.”
“Yeah, if by that you mean like 5% body fat,” Kaminari grinned. “Oh yeah, I’ve seen Bakugou stare in the locker rooms. He ain’t slick.”
“A-ha!” Ashido yelled triumphantly. “That’s it! Kirishima, you show up at his door in a towel. Just a towel.” She lowered her voice in imitation. “‘Oh, Katsuki, I just showered~ I hope it isn’t a problem…’”
“Shut up.” Kirishima’s face started imitating his hair even as Ashido laughed. “And I don’t even call him Katsuki yet.”
“‘Yet’? Loving the optimism, bro!” Kaminari slung an arm around his shoulders. “For now, you can just call him Bakugou when you seduce him with those killer abs. It’s a perfect plan - foolproof!”
“Nobody will be seducing anybody, alright!” He protested, face burning even brighter. At least not on my end.
“Aww, he’s blushing!”
“Yes, Sero, I’m blushing. Because I actually happen to really like the guy and want to give him the confession he deserves. Not some, some cheesy porno intro.”
“Oh!” Kaminari perked up. “You could do the old student/teacher cliche. Next time he tutors you , be all like ‘oh, sensei, I’m still not getting it– maybe if you were a little more…hands on.’”
“Denkiii,” Kirishima groaned, willfully ignoring the fact he’d had more than one tutoring-centric fantasy. “Be serious. I need help.”
“Ok, ok,” Ashido held her hands out placatingly. “We’ll think about it for real. C’mon guys.”
A beat passed. Then another.
“Maybe you could buy him a gift?” Sero offered. “Is there anything he’s been wanting?”
“I could probably think of something.” Kirishima scrunched up his eyebrows. “Last time I gave him something, though, he was weird about accepting it. And then he immediately paid me back for it.”
“Ok, so gifts are out. At least expensive ones.”
“Hmm, confession, confession,” Kaminari closed his eyes in concentration. “Maybe bring flowers? That’s a classic.”
“Flowers?!” Sero laughed. “Not unless you wanna sweep their ashes off the floor. This is still Bakugou we’re talking about.”
“I know, smartass, but it’s also Eijirou we’re talking about. You know, the only guy that’s allowed within five feet of the asshole.”
“Hey, don’t call him an asshole.” Kirishima frowned.
“Aha, my bad. You know I didn’t mean it like that.” Kaminari smiled sheepishly. “But for the record, he totally is one. I guess it’s just hard to imagine any sort of setting involving Bakugou and romance. At least, it’s hard for us.”
“True,” Ashido hummed. “He still hasn’t even let me in his room, and you’re in there like three times a week.”
“And he actually texts you more than one-word answers,” Sero added. “And works out with you. Not to mention the tutoring.”
“So basically,” Kaminari made a sweeping gesture, “There’s nothing we know about Blasty that you don’t. So the best advice we can give you is…”
“Just be yourself!” The trio chimed, all three giving Kirishima a synchronized thumbs up. And…nothing else.
Now, Kirishima loved his friends, but that was probably the least useful advice he’d ever received, barring a ‘just be better!’ from Bakugou during one of their first spars. But he didn’t want to make out with his friends, so it was a little more irritating.
Ugh, back to square one it was.
If there was anything Kirishima had learned from hero training, it was the importance of improvisation. So what if his friends hadn’t given him any ideas? He would just figure out a plan himself; after all, it was only his most precious friendship on the line.
His first thought was to take Bakugou somewhere nice, maybe a scenic hike. He’d heard the blond mention his love of mountain climbing and, as such, had totally daydreamed a sunset confession before. Unfortunately, thanks to the chaos of their first year, students were rarely authorized to leave campus for purely recreational purposes.
So UA it was. But where in UA?
Common areas were too risky, the gym was too casual, and study rooms didn’t exactly scream romance. He could find a nice spot outside, or one of their rooms could work (although somehow, that thought made Kirishima incredibly nervous).
Outdoors it was, then.
Admittedly, there were some pretty beautiful spots around campus. The school groundskeepers did a commendable job of maintaining large green spaces, and there were even a couple small gardens near the athletic facilities.
One sunny Tuesday after class, Kirishima found himself pointedly ignoring the roiling in his gut as he surveyed one of such gardens. This one was located right off of a path to the gym and sported a variety of flowers and even some trees. While it was certainly no mountain ridge, it wasn’t half bad; the garden even had a small path that wound through the flora. The redhead swallowed thickly as he walked along it, stopping at the halfway point, which just so happened to fall under a picturesque cherry blossom tree. It really was perfect- like something straight out of a shoujo manga. So this will be ground zero…
“Ok,” Kirishima thought out loud, clapping his hands together. “So what’s the plan?” He needed to prepare himself; maybe he could practice what he wanted to say and avoid his word-vomit habit. Bakugou wasn’t exactly one for long speeches, particularly the saccharine, soul-baring kind.
Alright, time to set the scene. It would be another beautiful day like this one, and Kirishima would find some excuse for Bakugou to meet him here, in the shoujo garden. Maybe he could say he saw a hilarious, pervy shape in the shape of the tree, or something.
Uh, he’d keep workshopping that part. Regardless, Bakugou would humor him and show up, meeting at the appointed time. The breeze would tousle that fluffy golden hair, and the warm afternoon sun would highlight surprisingly delicate features. As the blond approached, Kirishima wouldn’t be able to help but notice how soft his lips looked, especially when the boy began talking, his voice cutting straight to Kirishima–
“–the hell are you muttering to yourself over there? I guess your brains finally scrambled under that crazy head of hair.” Bakugou tutted. “It was only a matter of time.”
Oh god, this was no daydream. Bakugou was right here, actually here. Literally standing on his mark as if part of some play that only Kirishima lacked the script of.
Most likely a comedy, with Kirishima as the butt of the joke as he stared dumbly, paralyzed with indecision. He’s right here! Should I go for it?! But I’m not prepared!
“Oi, dumbass, are you listening to me?” Bakugou demanded.
“Uh, yeah,” Kirishima answered weakly. God, he was hot when he was angry. Wait, no– focus! It was time to man up. “Just, um, enjoying the flowers.”
At that, Sero’s laugh from yesterday began bouncing around the back of Kirishima’s skull. ‘Flowers?!’ Suddenly, apocalyptic images of a garden reduced to ashes filled Kirishima’s brain, and he felt his courage shrink.
Meanwhile, Bakugou narrowed his eyes. “Didn’t take you for the botanical type. Or wait, let me guess, you’ve suddenly become a dedicated ornithologist-”
Nodding along distantly, Kirishima frantically debated his next move. On the one hand, it was the perfect chance: not even five feet away stood his crush, in the flesh, with nobody else in sight. But if he did go for it right now, what should he say?! He hadn’t gotten a chance to work out his words! What if he got carried away in the heat of the moment and said something really intense, something that scared Bakugou off? Something like, oh, maybe: ‘You’re the reason I push myself to become the best version of myself I can be, so I can be a hero you’re proud to stand next to. Also your pecs are massive.' Kirishima flushed.
“-on a fucking Tuesday.” Suddenly, Bakugou paused in his rant, eyeing Kirishima intensely, which, wow. His blush deepened. The blond stepped forward, moving so that there was little more than a foot between them, granting Kirishima a clear view of angrily-slanted eyebrows.
Oh god, the last thing he wanted was to confess to a pissed-off Bakugou, sexy or not. He needed to get out of here, before he made an even bigger idiot out of himself.
“You’re acting weird,” the blond accused. “At least, weirder than normal. What‘s bouncing around in that thick skull of yours? Spit it out.”
Damn, it was a perfect opening. “I,” Kirishima started shakily. “I just wanted to, um, just wanted to tell you that…” That I like you, that I want to date you, that I’d be honored if you’d consider me. That I love you more than I realized I could even love anybody. Shit, he felt light-headed; his heart rate was probably pushing Mach 1. Bakugou’s eyebrow twitched impatiently, and with that tiny movement, Kirishima’s remaining resolve collapsed like a Jenga tower. “…That I might need help on some assignments tonight.”
Pathetic. And Kirishima called himself a man.
“Hahh? That’s it?” Bakugou scowled deeply.
“Y-yeah.” Kirishima attempted a laugh, but the end result more evoked a dying rodent. He felt like he was recovering from a sucker punch. “Sorry to bother you.”
“Bother me? With that weak shit?” Bakugou scoffed. “Fucking whatever. I’ll see your dumb ass at practical training.”
And with that, the blond stormed off, stomping yet somehow perfectly avoiding trampling any flowers (classic Bakugou). When the coast was clear, Kirishima leaned against the sakura’s trunk heavily, letting out a big sigh. That couldn’t have gone much worse.
Embarrassment flooded the redhead, and he buried his face in his hands. ‘Help on an assignment’, Jesus Christ. Ugh, why was he such an idiot?!
On his way to the gym for the entire next week, Kirishima walked along the far edge of the path, as if the garden contained radioactive waste. After that pathetic display, he couldn’t so much as glance at the garden without flushing hotly. Destination: Shoujo Manga was definitely out.
Damn. Looks like it was time for a Plan B.
If there was anything Kirishima had learned from hero training, it was the importance of perseverance.
After a couple weeks, consolation from his friends, and several shame-fueled gym sessions (during one of which he PR’ed his deadlift), Kirishima was ready to get back on the horse. After all, despite near-lethal levels of embarrassment and self-loathing, it wasn’t like he was suddenly freed of his feelings for Bakugou– no, a very, uh, detailed dream a few nights ago had more than proven that point. Incidentally, that had been the night before his PR.
Testosterone was one hell of a hormone.
Regardless, it was hardly productive to mope forever (500-lb deadlifts notwithstanding). So, Confession Plan B was officially a go.
Learning from the failures of his past, Kirishima had spent a considerable chunk of the last couple weeks workshopping the contents of his confession. He’d even gone so far as to act it out, (quietly) monologuing alone in his room like some community theater performer.
He wasn’t planning on going entirely scripted, however—he didn’t want to sound like a robot. Rather, Kirishima was more focused on putting certain truths in his heart under verbal lock-and-key. And why?
Kirishima was well aware of his tendency to be… overly enthusiastic when it came to sharing his feelings, so much so that it occasionally made other, less expressive types uncomfortable. He could remember Sero sheepishly pulling back from an impromptu bear hug Kirishima had launched at his friends (‘I love you guys!’), or how some fellow third years would roll their eyes at the sight of he and Testutetsu’s loud exclamations of bromance. Kirishima wasn’t offended or anything; people were different with distinct boundaries, after all, and he didn’t expect others to wear their hearts on their sleeves just because he did.
But this behavioral dichotomy cranked up to an eleven when it came to Bakugou; forget his sleeve, the blond’s heart was stuffed deep in a vault somewhere, wrapped up in chains for good measure. And while Kirishima liked to think he’d made decent headway through the layers of padlocks, and Bakugou had certainly mellowed out over the years, the disparity in their temperaments was bound to cause some hiccups. Especially when Kirishima’s feelings flowed so strongly; leaks were unavoidable.
Take, for example, back in first year, when Bakugou had just started helping Kirishima with homework. “Wow,” the redhead had breathed before he could catch himself. “It’s not fair that you’re also book smart- you’re really incredible, Bakugou.” With a crackle, the blond’s mechanical pencil had exploded- the latest victim in a string of casualties (first year was a rough time for Bakugou).
Or there was the time he’d complimented Bakugou on his form as he bench pressed, resulting in a charred barbell. Or that time last winter when - overcome with fondness at the sight of Bakugou bundled up in a puffy coat and scarf - he’d accidentally called the blond ‘cute’ in front of several other students. The room had been shocked into silence; Midoriya had looked near-fainting. But instead of adding to his (admittedly plateauing) list of burn victims, Bakugou had simply stormed off without a word.
There were about a million other examples over the course of their friendship, all ending with some variation of an explosion or hasty exit stage left. Needless to say, Bakugou wasn’t necessarily the most comfortable with Kirishima’s overbearing nature. So yeah. This confession was going to require some self-restraint.
Namely, he was not going to drop the L-word, no matter how hard his bleeding heart tugged at him. While loving Bakugou had slowly but surely become a fact of life for Kirishima during his time at UA, nothing quite screamed ‘emotional landmine’ like that word. In the (incredible) event that Bakugou would even consider going out with Kirishima, he didn’t want to squash any chances of a positive response by overwhelming the blond at the outset.
On the other hand, in the (apocalyptic) event of a rejection, ‘like’ was a lot easier to distill into water under the bridge of a continuing friendship than ‘love’. So yes, ix-nay on the ove-lay it was.
Damn. Kirishima could feel tendrils of gloom creeping up on him, so he headed towards the common room. Maybe his friends would be down to play Mario Kart or something.
Alright, so it was Smash Brothers, but it still did the trick. It was early in the evening, and Kirishima plus three of the usual suspects were gathered around the common room TV. After enduring the obligatory ‘smash’ innuendoes from Kaminari, the game was up and running.
“Get shit on!” Kaminari whooped as his character K.O.ed Kirishima’s. It hadn’t even been 30 seconds.
“Not everyone is into scat,” Sero tutted, eyes narrowed in concentration. His character still had two lives left; Kirishima was easily the worst at the game in the group.
“Kaminari, please! Form an alliance with me!” Ashido bargained frantically as Sero began unleashing a brutal wombo combo on her. “If you save me, I’ll ask Jirou about—” Shink! The telltale sound effect of Ashido’s death cut her off, and she slammed her controller down on the couch angrily. “Goddammit!”
“Wait, what were you gonna say?” Kaminari turned to face her, leaving his character completely vulnerable. “Here, what if we team up next round and then you can-”
“K.O.!” A tinny voice rang out, and Sero shot Kaminari a shit-eating grin.
“Sorry, Sparky, I only work with winners,” she stuck her tongue out, ignoring his protests- a choice she came to quickly regret in the next round, as Kaminari and Sero teamed up against her and knocked her character out in less than a minute.
Hiding in the corner of the screen, Kirishima managed to out-survive Kaminari through the power of simply staying out of he and Sero’s way. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a very permanent strategy.
“So, Kirishima,” Sero grinned mercilessly. “Is getting your ass beat making you feel any better?”
“Honestly, it's just nice to take my mind off of things for a bit. I’m still working on what to do about- B-Bakugou!” Kirishima stuttered.
“That’s my name,” the blond fired off, striding into the room from the hallway without any sort of real greeting. He was wearing an absurdly tight tank top and loose sweatpants, which swished softly as he neglected any further interactions in favor of beelining to the kitchen.
“K.O.!” The screen announced again.
“Damn,” Ashido whistled lowly, eyeing Bakugou’s retreating back. “In times like these, I get it.”
Thankfully, Bakugou didn’t seem to hear her, and a few seconds later, sounds of cabinets opening emerged from the kitchen.
“Holy crap, Eijirou,” Sero snickered. “You look like one of Pavlov’s dogs that just heard a bell. Need a napkin for all that drool?”
“What, can you blame him? I can deny it no longer,” Kaminari sighed theatrically, “The dude’s a beefcake.”
“True, but he’s got nothing on our buddy Red Riot here, right?” Sero paused. “Eiji?”
“He must be cooking,” Kirishima commented absently, still feeling a bit dazed, then jumped when he noticed three sets of eyes glaring at him. “What?”
“What did you mean, ‘what’? Follow him!” Ashido hissed, pushing him off the couch and towards the kitchen. “We’ll keep people out!”
“Huh? Wait, guys-”
“It’s a perfect opportunity, Romeo,” Sero grinned, aiding Ashido in her mission. “Plus, once this is over I can finally kick your ass in Smash without having to hear about blondie.”
Oh god, oh god. Was this it? Kirishima’s nerves kicked into overdrive as the pair pushed him across the common room and he stumbled into the kitchen. Bakugou was across the room, setting out utensils and measuring cups.
“Hey,” Kirishima started, awkwardly. “Is it cool if I, uh, join you?”
“Not my kitchen,” Bakugou grumbled, not even turning around.
Well, it wasn’t a no. “Uh, thanks.” Kirishima stepped forward, separating himself from Sero and Ashido.
“Have fun, you two~” she cooed, winking very conspicuously as she turned to leave.
“Make me some food, too!” Sero called out as they withdrew.
“I’m not your personal chef, dipshit,” Bakugou retorted. Kirishima stood awkwardly for a few seconds, unsure what to say. Damn, ever since he’d gotten it in his head to confess, he’d been acting like a total freak around his friend. Maybe this was a bad idea; the thought of every future interaction between them being this stilted was depressing. Despite himself, Kirishima felt the gloom creeping back up.
“Look alive.” Bakugou brushed past him to open the pantry, grabbing some vegetables and an, an…
Apron? That was new. Kirishima watched curiously as the blond returned to the counter. Since when did Bakugou use an apron?
Apparently since right now, as he shook it out and looped the apron over his head, neck strings already tied. It was nothing crazy, just a plain beige material, and yet…
“Get this for me,” Bakugou ordered, using one hand to hold the apron’s untied waist strings at the small of his back. He looked at Kirishima over his shoulder, gaze piercing through pale eyelashes. Hng; it was a critical hit.
“Ok,” Kirishima breathed, vision already zeroing in on where the knot would rest, the tantalizing dip of Bakugou’s lower back that was only thinly (and very tightly!) clothed. God, he’d probably be able to feel the heat of Bakugou’s skin through the flimsy fabric…
“Any day now, dipshit,” Bakugou barked, turning his head back to face the counter, and Kirishima lurched forward, grabbing the strings clumsily. He pulled them away from Bakugou’s body gingerly, staring at the ceiling as if it held the key to acting like a normal, functioning human (it didn’t).
“Let me know if it’s, uh, too tight,” Kirishima wheezed, sending a thousand prayers of gratitude that Kaminari wasn’t present to hear that one. Bakugou just grunted, continuing on with assembling vegetables next to a cutting board.
It was time to bite the bullet; Kirishima looked down to face the task at hand. God, the guy really had a killer physique. And the apron sure as hell didn’t hurt, drawing the eye to that impossibly tiny waist. What if Kirishima were to just… tug on the apron instead of tying it? Would Bakugou resist, or would he allow himself to be guided back, to press that gorgeous body up against Kirishima and arch—
Nope! No, this is what Kirishima was not going to do: pop a boner from fantasizing while standing inches away from the source of said boner. What he was going to do was - very respectfully - secure this essential article of protective kitchen-wear for his friend, no matter how loosely those sweatpants hung on his hips.
Gah! What was wrong with him? Keep it together, Eijirou. It wasn’t manly to perv out on his classmate-slash-best friend like this, longtime crush or not.
So, with a final fortifying breath, Kirishima began carefully tying the apron’s strings, desperately ignoring the fact that he actually could feel the blond’s body heat from the proximity, holy shit. As he cinched the knot to rest comfortably against Bakugou’s back, Kirishima felt the blond stiffen slightly against his fingertips. Oh god, he was making it weird. Just be normal! What even was so nerve-wracking about this situation, anyway? Somehow it felt so… so intimate, despite the objective innocence of the situation. Sure, there was that whole nude apron cliché, but Bakugou was fully clothed– it wasn’t like he was actually naked. If that were true…
The redhead’s fingers fumbled over the strings, and he bit back a curse. Bad thought! Redirect! That was the last thing he needed to be thinking about, a naked Bakugou, bare torso shivering under his hands-
“Done!” He croaked, doubling the knot with a little more force than necessary.
“…Thanks,” Bakugou muttered, not even turning around as he continued his work. Which was a blessing, really, as Kirishima managed to keep at least a shred of his dignity intact. He was pretty certain his face mirrored the color of the bell pepper Bakugou was currently chopping.
“So,” Kirishima began, after taking a minute to regain his composure. “What are you making?”
“Just some stir fry; I don’t really have the energy for anything fancier right now.”
“Dude, don’t sell yourself short. It's impressive enough that you cook in the first place.”
The chopping stopped briefly, but Bakugou didn’t reply.
“Anyway, is it ok if I have some? I’ll buy you a coffee tomorrow to make up for it.”
At this, Bakugou began chopping louder, muttering so lowly that Kirishima could only catch the end: “-anyways.”
“What?” Kirishima frowned.
“I said: Not necessary, dumbass. I was already making some for you.”
“Aww, Bakugou!”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m a fucking saint,” the blond grumbled. “Just don’t let Scotch Tape know.”
“Yes, sir!” Kirishima saluted, smiling, and Bakugou turned his attention back to chopping vegetables. To make dinner for him. And as the redhead listened to the repetitive click of the knife, his smile grew even bigger. Warmth poured into his chest, threatening to overflow.
Aw man, this feeling. This was the feeling that had caused so many sleepless nights, that had him doing dumb shit like smiling at the smell of smoke. This was the feeling that was spurring Kirishima to confess. Holy crap, he had it bad.
‘Bakugou, I like you. Please go out with me.’ That was all he needed to say; the rest could come later. Not even ten measly words! He could do, he had to do it, goddammit, so Kirishima drew in a deep breath and-
At that very moment, Bakugou stretched to grab a colander from a tall shelf. As he reached, the apron strings caught on the blond’s top and dragged the bottom hem up slightly. Crap, Kirishima had tied it too tight, after all. But before he could dwell on his mistake, the fabric lifted ever-so-slightly higher, leaving a tantalizing sliver of bare flesh in its wake.
And just as the sun rises daily, a compass points north, and every other inevitability, Kirishima’s gaze zeroed in; he was helpless to resist it. Just above the blond’s waistline lay two tiny indentations, no bigger than the pad of Kirishima’s thumb each.
Oh, he thought faintly, Bakugou has back dimples.
A jolt of desire hit Kirishima like a truck. He swore he could hear his blood rush southward at record speed. He took a wobbly step backwards, knocking against the pantry door and shoving his hands in his pockets with a clumsy attempt at concealing his mortifying reaction.
Well, shit. Kirishima may not be a romance expert, but he was pretty sure that stuttering out a half-baked confession while rocking a more-than-half-chub was not exactly Hallmark movie material. Stealing another glance at Bakugou, Kirishima was hit with the sight of him licking a line of stray cooking oil from the underside of his wrist.
Yep, definitely time for a tactical retreat.
“I’m feeling pretty tired, Bakugou. I think I’m gonna head to bed.”
“To bed?!” The blond whirled around, brandishing a spatula accusingly. “It’s not even 8 pm, what the hell?”
“Aha, yeah.” Kirishima avoided eye contact. “I just had a really, uh, eventful day.” Well, at least that wasn't a lie.
“But your food-”
“–I’ll eat it tomorrow!”
With that, Kirishima fled, whipping out of the kitchen into the common room. On the couch, Ashido, Sero, and Kaminari jumped guiltily, scrambling to look busy.
“Oh hey, bro, we were just, uh…”
“Keeping a lookout!” Sero provided for Kaminari. “Wait, where are you going?” His eyes widened. “Did you do it?!”
“No way, they’d totally be making out if so.” Thanks, Ashido, that image was really helping right now.
“Apron.” That was Kirishima’s only explanation as he pushed through the door to the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time.
“What?” Ashido’s confused voice drifted through the hallway.
“Did he just say ‘apron’?”
“More like gay-pron, amirite?”
“Kirishima, wait-!” The door clicked shut.
That night, Kirishima's brain swirled in a very familiar mental spiral, and he stuffed his face into his pillow as it burned in embarrassment. This time, he even let out a muffled scream for good measure.
Maybe he was the unwitting star of a dark comedy, and some distant cosmic audience was laughing their ass off at his stupidity. Ugh; if Kirishima was doomed to make a fool of himself no matter what, could his life at least be a rom-com? Yeah, maybe he was just deep in the second act, forced to endure some silly hijinks before rounding the corner to the long-awaited climax and resolution, with tears and fireworks and a swelling orchestra. And kissing– lots of kissing.
Somehow, the notion - no matter how absurd - comforted Kirishima, and the knot in his chest unwound ever-so-slightly. Yes, these bumps in the road would soon be nothing more than funny stories he could look back on fondly in the future, no matter how demoralizing in the present. Besides, as the expression went: third time’s the charm!
There was no way Kirishima would fail again.