Chapter Text
Bakugo slammed his door harder than necessary, the echo rattling through the dorm hallway like a warning shot. He didn’t care who heard it. Let them. Extras always needed reminding to stay out of his way.
Except… one of them never did.
A softer knock came a minute later.
“Katsuki?” Kirishima’s voice, steady as ever. “You good, man?”
Bakugo clicked his tongue, irritation flaring—but it wasn’t the same kind. “Go away, shitty hair.”
The door opened anyway.
Kirishima stepped inside like he belonged there, closing the door gently behind him. He didn’t push. Didn’t smirk. Just leaned back against the wall, arms loose at his sides.
“You’ve been snapping at everyone all day,” he said. “Even more than usual.”
“Maybe they deserve it,” Bakugo shot back, turning away, arms crossed tight over his chest.
Silence stretched. Not uncomfortable—just… there.
Kirishima walked closer. “You don’t have to pretend with me, you know.”
That hit harder than any insult.
Bakugo’s shoulders tensed. “I’m not pretending.”
“Yeah,” Kirishima said quietly. “You are.”
Another pause. Then, softer:
“And it’s okay.”
Something in Bakugo cracked—not loudly, not dramatically, just enough for the edges of his anger to dull. He exhaled sharply through his nose.
“Tch. You’re annoying.”
Kirishima grinned a little. “Yeah. You keep me around anyway.”
Bakugo didn’t answer. But he didn’t tell him to leave either.
Instead, Kirishima sat beside him on the bed. Close, but not suffocating. Familiar.
Minutes passed. The tension in the room shifted—less sharp, more… heavy.
“You ever get tired?” Kirishima asked suddenly.
Bakugo scoffed. “Of what?”
“Carrying everything by yourself.”
Bakugo’s jaw tightened. He didn’t respond right away.
“…I don’t need help.”
“I know,” Kirishima said. “But you still deserve it.”
That did it.
Bakugo let out a harsh breath and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands gripping tight. His voice came out lower this time.
“Everyone expects something,” he muttered. “Win. Be strong. Don’t screw up.”
Kirishima didn’t interrupt.
Bakugo glanced at him, sharp eyes softer than usual. “You don’t.”
Kirishima shook his head. “Nah. I just expect you to be you.”
For a moment, Bakugo looked like he might argue.
Instead, he huffed and leaned sideways—just enough that his shoulder bumped Kirishima’s.
Kirishima stilled… then relaxed, letting it happen.
Now, it was just the two of them in the room. The dim orange glow from the lamp made everything feel a little softer, like the world outside didn’t exist for a while.
His posture was relaxed, but his eyes were distant, like his mind was somewhere else.
“You okay?” Kirishima asked gently, voice low.
Bakugo turned his head, giving him a small smile. “Yeah. Just... thinking.”
“About what?”
Bakugo hesitated, then walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. “You.”
That made Kirishima freeze a little. Bakugo never said stuff like that first.
…Me?” Kirishima asked, voice softer now.
Bakugo clicked his tongue like he regretted even saying it. “Don’t make it weird.”
“I’m not,” Kirishima said immediately, gentle. “I just… didn’t expect it.”
That earned a small huff from Bakugo, but he didn’t move away. Didn’t shut down either.
He just sat there on the edge of the bed, shoulders less tense than before, like something in him had finally stopped bracing for impact.
“I think about a lot of stupid shit,” Bakugo muttered.
Kirishima smiled faintly. “Yeah?”
Bakugo shot him a look. “Don’t get smug.”
“I’m not,” Kirishima said, but he clearly was at least a little.
Bakugo exhaled through his nose, then looked away again.
“…Just you,” he admitted quieter. “When things shut up.”
The room went still.
Not heavy.
Just real.
Kirishima didn’t tease him. Didn’t push.
He just leaned closer. Close enough that their shoulders touched again.
Neither of them moved away from it.
“You’re doing that thing again,” Kirishima said softly.
“What thing.”
“Acting like this is harder than it is.”
Bakugo scoffed. “It is hard.”
“I know,” Kirishima said. “But you’re still here.”
That made Bakugo pause.
His hands tightened slightly in his lap, then loosened.
“…Yeah,” he admitted.
A beat passed.
Then Kirishima turned just slightly toward him, careful, like he was reading every signal.
“Hey,” he said quietly.
Bakugo looked at him.
This time, he didn’t look away first.
Kirishima lifted a hand, stopping just short of touching his face. A question without pressure.
Bakugo didn’t move back.
So Kirishima gently cupped his cheek.
Warm.
Steady.
Real.
Bakugo’s breath hitched—not dramatic, just honest.
“…You’re really close,” he muttered.
“Yeah,” Kirishima said softly. “Is that okay?”
A pause.
Bakugo held his gaze for a long second.
Then, quietly:
“…Yeah.”
Something in Kirishima’s expression softened immediately.
“Okay,” he murmured.
He didn’t rush.
Didn’t pull.
Just leaned in slowly, giving Bakugo every chance to stop it if he wanted to.
Bakugo didn’t.
The kiss was gentle.
Not demanding. Not overwhelming.
Just a quiet confirmation of everything that had been building between them—trust, tension, familiarity, something softer underneath all of it finally allowed to exist without being fought off.
Kirishima stayed close when they parted, forehead almost brushing Bakugo’s.
“You’re still with me?” he asked softly.
Bakugo exhaled, slower this time.
“…Yeah.”
A pause.
Then quieter:
“Don’t stop.”
Kirishima’s eyes softened at that.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ve got you.”
And when he leaned in again, it wasn’t a question anymore.
It was a promise.