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When it’s about feelings, Bakugou’s everything but a straightforward person.
Yelling, shouting, swearing, fighting… everything’s easier than sitting down and talking about what’s actually going on in that head of his.
The rare times he’s got to open up about matters like caring very much and fearing to lose and wanting to be more thankful but I’m a goddamn fucker who can’t form two single words without swearing, they were all conversations he’s had with his parents – about his dad not returning home on a winter evening when he was 7 and his mother was away for work, Bakugou bursting into tears when the hospital called his house to tell him his papa had been in an accident; about his mother getting super stressed over a deadline, a little into Bakugou’s 10 th year of life, and not cooking for the two of them several times for weeks, resulting in Bakugou learning to prepare some basic tofu sandwiches for himself and eventually bringing food to his mom, finding her asleep on the sofa, sheets of work everywhere, waking her up gently and actually reassuring her that everything was going be alright when she had started crying over the failure she thought she was.
Parents are weird most of the time, but even though Bakugou never holds himself back in front of them – if possible, it doesn’t get much for his mother to bring out the worst in Bakugou – he can also understand when it’s time to chill the fuck down and actually start showing gratefulness for having a family in the first place, but also for them to be still so united despite all their daily problems.
Truth to be told, he’s one hundred percent got his mother’s temperament, even managed to twist it into something worse, if possible, with him being a boy and not giving a slight, single, damned fuck about showing care to anyone.
The only other constancy that’s been accompanying him in through life (completely unwillingly, that is) to the point even UA – which was meant to be a total restart for Bakugou – isn’t left untouched, is Deku. Deku with his fixation of saying sorry, Kacchan all the damn time, his unnerving need to save people even when explicitly asked not to, his sick way of behaving natural friendly to everyone, his fucked up habit of following and reaching out for Bakugou whenever he got the chance his green mass of hair popping up at every place Bakugou frequented; his hand reaching for Bakugou’s whenever Bakugou fell on the ground or was feeling too excited, as if a simple touch would mend all the angry feelings Bakugou tried to send him via his mind daily.
It doesn’t matter the intensity of the swearing nor the severity of the injuries Bakugou inflicts to him: Deku would never leave him alone.
Though, Deku had always been easy for Bakugou, in a sort of way. Something Bakugou could work around.
Sometimes a broken leg would mean the the punk ass would have to stay at home for several weeks, so Bakugou didn’t have to see his stupid face at school. Or the promise of not speaking to Bakugou would grant Deku the permission to join him and his gang for their tournament of videogames on Saturday nights, Bakugou winning every single match, eyes full of All Might’s best punches and ears full of Detroit Smash-es, not a single sound from Deku, as he’d promised, despite Bakugou being too much aware of Deku’s head popping up from behind the sofa, pupils wide and sparkling from an almost unhealthy amount of fascination.
Now that they are at UA together, things are both worse and easier: they fight and call each other names constantly, but it gets Bakugou a wild glare and a change of direction to let Round Face and Class Rep come into place for Deku to quickly forget whatever discussion they were having and finally, finally let Bakugou rest.
Despite everything, him and Deku don’t do feelings.
Sure, they have quite a bit of history, and the moment of a final confrontation buzzes wildly between them every time they engage in a combat, but it’s not feelings the word Bakugou would use to describe the connection the two of them have developed – yes, Bakugou hates Deku, and sure, Deku probably hates Bakugou too, deep down, somewhere in that dumb body of his.
Rivalry would probably sound better.
Thus, it’s not a big surprise, when Bakugou meets Kirishima and, despite the guy trying to figure Bakugou out more than any other new classmate (despite being the only one trying to), Bakugou fucking loses it.
Kirishima is every kind of feeling Bakugou never had the chance to embrace.
He’s the warmest smile welcoming Bakugou after having passed the entrance exam – not the kind of smile of circumstance, too forced and polite, that others give him, before being shouted at to run away; neither the tiny, nervous, acknowledging half smirk Deku and a couple of others, whose names Bakugou hasn’t bothered to learn yet, send to him.
Kirishima’s smile is genuine sincerity and happiness, and even if the two of them have known each other for, about, two minutes, Bakugou senses – curiosity mixing with fastidiousness mixing with what the actual fuck – the show of shark-like teeth breaking through his own scary glare and touching something inside him that makes things such as equality and respect pop up in his mind like never before.
With that quirk of his, Kirishima’s skin is hard as a rock more times than not, but Bakugou soon discovers (unwillingly , he stresses through his consciousness) that Kirishima’s hands are the softest he’s ever touched only after his own mother’s.
Bakugou feels them on a Friday afternoon when they’re coming back from school, Kirishima walking down the hill by his side – a muted, consented deal between the two of them to get to the train station together after classes.
Bakugou’s rage is getting higher and higher with each day Deku gains the approval of the teachers and the respect of the students, and at a cross, vision focused back on the training they were having later that day, he’s not completely aware of a car approaching far too quickly than normal.
The shouted, “Bakugou!” arrives at Bakugou’s ears only after Kirishima’s hands have moved to grip at Bakugou’s arm in order to take him away from the street and closer to Kirishima, on the pavement, safe ground.
After the rescue, Kirishima’s hands don’t move away from their place on Bakugou’s skin: they are hot, almost as hot as Bakugou’s normal temperature – which is usually above average – and mostly soft while steady on their hold, a solid anchor on which Bakugou focuses in order to recollect his breath, the vivid scare of having almost been involved in an stupid car accident only because he was seeing green from envy running wild in his veins…
Along, comes the consciousness of just having been saved by Kirishima.
Kirishima, who is now looking at him gravely, visibly preoccupied. Pitying him? No, Kirishima would never, not with him, Bakugou thinks, a second before one of Kirishima’s hands move up to Bakugou’s flushed-from-adrenaline neck.
“It’s okay, man. You’re alright,” Kirishima says, somehow not daring to retrieve his hand that instant second , and fuck, Bakugou doesn’t want him to do it either.
Bakugou allows himself a few more seconds in which he doesn’t exactly feel ashamed for enjoying Kirishima’s closeness and care, before exploding Kirishima’s hand away and resuming his walk with a, “Fuck off, hair-for-brains,” just because.
♤
What moves Bakugou’s internal organs in the weirdest twist, what makes him feel unexplainable dizziness when he least expects it, what makes unanswerable questions pop up in his mind at dawn, is the way Kirishima’s presence doesn’t feel like a burden at all.
Bakugou actually ends up not completely irritated during free time between classes when Kirishima approaches him to discuss the last huge rescue in Hokkaido and videogames, Pikachu and Racoon Eyes contributing to the conversation every now and then.
He’s okay with Kirishima finding his secret spot on the roof, and with Kirishima ending up joining him for lunch over there more days than not.
He even allows Kirishima to pair up with him when villains break into school for the first time, and Bakugou feels fucking confused and lost and scared, but Kirishima’s shouting somehow motivates him, and he gets how Kirishima makes him talk in order for Bakugou to organize his own thoughts and develop a good plan for winning their battles.
Bakugou may be allergic to feelings, but he’s not stupid.
He understands how the way he acts when Kirishima’s around is slightly different from the way he treats any other classmate. And he gets how this may mean that Kirishima is breaking through Bakugou’s walls in order for them to build a link, something that’s the closest to a friendship that Bakugou’s ever had.
Plus, the fact Bakugou is not rejecting Kirishima, is not putting distance between them when Kirishima’s hand closes around Bakugou’s shoulder in Round Face’s selfies, is not talking to Kirishima via insults only when Kirishima asks him to explain the last English lesson…
Bakugou knows this mean he’s letting Kirishima do as he pleases because it actually pleases Bakugou, too.
There’s not much Bakugou would do for others – and this is an aspect, despite his denial, that Bakugou knows he has to work on, if he actually wants to become the Number One Hero, even surpassing All Might in greatness.
However, the fact he lets Kirishima invade his own space more times than not says a lot.
No matter how many times Bakugou tries to mask his interest by faking to have forgotten Kirishima’s name, when he’s literally the only person in class Bakugou doesn’t call with dumb nicknames all the time.
No matter how hard he hits Kirishima with his most powerful explosions during the Sports Festival, when he’s gotten to be on Kirishima’s back for twenty fucking minutes only a few hours prior.
No matter how much he tries to forget Kirishima’s grades dropping down during the midterms, if it only results in him tutoring Kirishima for finals, afternoons spent at the cosy café down Bakugou’s road which turns into them having ramen at Bakugou’s place whenever his parents are away.
It’s obvious they gravitate around each other, and Bakugou doesn’t want it to end.
♤
It’s because he’s got so accustomed to Kirishima’s strong and warm presence that one summer evening, after having spent the whole day at the school pool, “Wanna come with me to this stupid island?” Bakugou blurts out, sagging more into the bench they’ve been having dinner on, takoyaki and soda from a cheap shop being shared between the two of them.
Kirishima eyes him curiously over his portion of rice. “What?”
Bakugou grunts, trying to avoid Kirishima’s intense gaze, which lately has the weirdest habit of making him blush randomly, “You heard me. Wanna come or not?”
“Wait, wait,” Kirishima exclaims. “What island? Is this gonna be a date or–”
“What the fuck are you talking about!” Bakugou can’t believe what he just heard. A date! Him and Kirishima?
Okay, Bakugou has to admit he’s letting the guy hang out with him a lot, and he may enjoy Kirishima’s company, given the fact he’s never got to share his space with someone his own age that wasn’t incredibly annoying (not that Kirishima is not annoying, sometimes, but he’s mostly passable to have any kind of chats with), but this doesn’t give Kirishima any right to make such… straight-forwarding presumptions!
This earns Kirishima a blast right into his shitty air.
“Ouch!” Kirishima exclaims, only faking pain as his stupid hardening quirk makes it impossible for Bakugou to really hurt him, “What’d I say?!”
“Just shut up!” Bakugou shouts, before trying to recollect himself, “I got invited to Hero Expo for winning the Sports Festival, and they said I could bring someone with me,” he explains, eyes closed, fists still clenched, ready to ignite some nitroglycerin if Kirishima attempts to make another one of his stupid comments.
A date! As if Bakugou would even ask!
“It’s not like I’m gonna bring my old hag or any other of our stupid classmates anyway,” he adds. “You’re the only one left of the list I don’t necessarily want to kill.”
When Bakugou manages to side-eye Kirishima, he finds his face lit up in a smile so huge he might as well have cartoon sparkles surrounding his face, “Man!” he exclaims, “You’re the best! Thanks!”
Bakugou coughs a you’re welcome behind his palm. “Yeah, yeah,” he manages to mutter, before being squeezed by Kirishima’s big (big!) biceps.
And that’s a new flood of feelings.
It’s not the first time Bakugou’s been on a plane – with his big man being an important stylist and his hag a retried model, he’s been accustomed to making big trips since he was very little.
He ignores all of Kirishima’s calls and messages, which mostly involve clothes advices, if they’re planning to go to the beach, if they’re gonna dance, dumb stuff like that. Bakugou doesn’t give a flying fuck about what kind of attire he should wear: he only packs his hero costume, his favourite skull t-shirt, a few trousers and sweatshirts – the basic necessities to survive a couple of days away from home – and he’s ready.
Obviously (obviously) all his annoying classmates are at the Expo, too, and Bakugou finds himself trapped in some sort of nightmare in which he’s got to attend parties and show politeness in UA’s name and what the fuck does it mean they have to wear fancy clothes? His every-day outfit works just perfect for him, fuck off.
For the last five minutes, this is more or less what he’s been murmuring to himself and Kirishima, who Bakugou has to divide the room with because apparently , based on the receptionist’s explanation, there were no more single rooms available, thus the obligation of having Kirishima breathing Bakugou’s same air even in his most private space, and probably putting his damn curious nose in Bakugou’s suitcase, Bakugou’s last number of his favourite manga, Bakugou’s chats on his phone and so on.
What Bakugou feels right now is a tremendous headache threatening to ruin his beauty sleep.
“C’mon, man,” Kirishima whines for the millionth time, “You can’t go to a gala in your shirt and pants.”
Bakugou tsks. “I can do whatever the fuck I wanna do, fuck off,” he says, before turning away on the bed, showing his back to Kirishima.
“You’re not seriously spending your night sleeping like the grandpa you are, are you?” Kirishima asks somewhere behind him.
Bakugou only hums, nodding slightly, eyes already closing and mind contemplating the land of peace and quietness he’s going to get to visit sometime soon.
Only, he would like for soon to be sooner , if it wasn’t for Kirishima’s stubbornness, which makes the redhead comment, “You’re impossible!”, tone on the edge of exasperation, before running to the end of the room where their suitcases are placed. He starts to make a lot of noise, then, which makes Bakugou humph loudly.
“It’s not like I have any kind of suit with me anyway,” he says to nobody in particular, tossing onto the bed to stare at the ceiling.
“That’s what I thought!” comes Kirishima’s unwanted comment, before he manages from this own suitcase a pair of what seem like fancy suits.
Bakugou blinks just for a second, before shouting back, “What the fuck, Shitty Hair!”, trying to mask the surprise.
Kirishima’s not exactly the kind of guy who would pass for fashionable. Hell, he wears fucking red Crocs.
Still, the suit he’s somehow picked up for Bakugou – how the fuck did he guess his size right? – is quite… appealing. It has a great combination of colours, red and greys and a white floral pattern on the sides and back of the corset that would definitely look like too much on every other guy, but Bakugou’s not exactly every guy, is he?
“Why the flowers?” he asks Kirishima anyway, just to break the embarrassing silence that’s settled in the room as they dress up for the night.
“Why not?” is Kirishima’s only response, before disappearing into the bathroom to fix his bangs once more.
Bakugou stares at himself in the mirror. He looks like a fucking ponce, but this is the suit Kirishima has accurately chosen for him – shiny black shoes, tight dressing pants, red shirt, blue tie, fucking grey and flowery patterned corset.
It would only be impolite to refuse to wear it and not to attend the gala, wouldn’t it? Wouldn’t it?
“You coming or what?” Kirishima’s question shakes Bakugou out of his trance. He turns his head to look at the other guy, and actually find himself speechless for a moment.
Kirishima’s not the most handsome man Bakugou has seen in his life. Actors, singers, models: there are plenty of other males out there who would beat Shitty Hair at charming and sexiness fairly easily. It’s okay, it’s how the world turns.
However, as Bakugou looks at Kirishima dressed all fancy for the first time ever, at how Kirishima’s fit body is covered by a gorgeous layer of dark grey velvet, at how Kirishima’s stupid red hair and eyes stand out even more in contrast with the serious yet stunning colour of the jacket, he can’t hold back the fastidious flush that starts at his neck and runs to the tips of his ears. He has to tear his eyes away before he turns into a complete mess.
It’s because he’s too preoccupied avoiding Kirishima’s presence and repeating to himself, hold back, hold back, fucking hold back, that he doesn’t realize Kirishima has crossed the room and is now nonetheless in front of Bakugou’s frozen body.
“Oi, Blasty,” he says, tone strange, something between mellifluous and steady.
Bakugou thinks it’s because he’s still refusing to look at him that Kirishima makes one final step and moves his hand to touch Bakugou’s neck where it’s still flushed from embarrassment and some other fuzzy feelings that Bakugou can’t, won’t admit to himself – pleasure and a whole lot of affection threatening to make Bakugou’s temperament collapse, because he’s not fucking accustomed to it, alright? And the way Kirishima is touching him in the most intimate way, a gesture that’s become theirs since the first time, whenever Bakugou feels not okay and Kirishima is there to calm him down? What should Bakugou do? Explode him away? Let him do as he pleases? What?
“It’s gonna be alright,” Kirishima reassures him, as if he’s able to listen to Bakugou’s rambling about things that should be natural to anybody, but not for the King of Explodokills. He still hasn’t fucking moved his hand away, fingers lightly grazing the fine hair at Bakugou’s nape, soft digits pressing into his flesh.
“One dance and then we can go back to sleep. Sounds good?”
Bakugou has some difficulties gulping, when he finally lands his eyes on Kirishima’s face, taking in his soft gaze, the dreamy expression of a complete idiot who’s just had his first kiss instead of having just touched some boring skin.
In that moment, Bakugou feels it very much indistinctly: they’re both absolutely smitten for each other.
“I’m not gonna fucking dance, idiot,” he murmurs, tone flat and low and shaky and everything he hates when Kirishima reduces him to a bubbling nonsense. “Not with you, not with anyone else.”
Kirishima smirks. “I know,” he comments, pressing his hand on Bakugou’s neck a bit harder before retreating it, “It was worth giving it a shot.”
When they leave the room for the hall, Bakugou’s jacket remains on the bed. He wants to walk around with white flowers meaning passionate dedication standing out for everyone to see.