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Chapter Text

“Dynamight, duck!”

Bakugo drops to a knee just in time for Kirishima to throw a nasty right hook over his head. The punch collides with the villain’s jaw hard enough to scatter teeth. He throws a hand out and aims his palms, explosions propelling him out from under Kirishima’s chest, around and over his back. His free hand buries itself in the spikes of Kirishima’s hair as he shoves him down and out of the way to send a blast right into the face of the still-stunned villain. He hears Kirishima chuckle as he slides away, unaffected by the explosion. They swap spots effortlessly as the villain recovers, with years of synchronization that’s been beaten bone-deep, so when he swings at Bakugo he’s already gone and it’s Kirishima’s solid chest his knuckles crack against. Bakugo shoves a hand between them and lets loose. Kirishima stumbles back laughing while the other guy is sent flying through the air, landing on the crumbled shelving units of the convenience store. 

“You’re fuckin’ small fry,” Bakugo sneers, letting off a few minor explosions as he menaces the man now smoking on the ground. He plants a boot on his chest and crushes him down into the wreckage. “Can’t believe they sent us in to deal with someone as pathetic as you. Waste of our goddamn skill.”

He shoves his hands onto his hips and turns to look at Kirishima. “Red, tell the police we got him! Then tell them not to waste my damn time with any more of these–” He stops when the villain rolls out from his boot and lunges. Kirishima shouts something as a cold hand grabs Bakugo’s neck and there is a second where all his training goes out the window and his mind and muscles are rendered useless by memory. He is frozen, suddenly in sludge, suddenly in Shigaraki’s hold. He blinks it away in a second but a second is all the villain needed. He pulls Bakugo closer, hunched over with a wild look on his face. A green glow fills his eyes and Bakugo’s entire body goes limp. His knees crack on the floor when they give out. He feels impossibly exhausted and entirely cold.

“Let him go!” Kirishima’s screams. He’s nothing but a flash of red. He rips the villain’s hand off of Bakugo and there is a moment where their eyes meet and he sees the flash of worry, watches it spark to rage as Kirishima throws the villain into the wall. He lunges for him, hardened fists raised, and Bakugo knows this will be the last hit. He can’t do much anyway. He realizes with a slight horror that he can’t get his palms to ignite. He wasn’t that exhausted, was he? At least Kirishima can handle it from here. 

He watches Kirishima swing. The villain pulls a knife in a flash of silver and Bakugo grins. Idiot picked the worst possible weapon. The two collide. Somehow, something lights. A small explosion cracks between them. Then Kirishima screams and Bakugo sees red. 

Suddenly everything is silent and slow. It’s a haze of panic and confusion as Kirishima stumbles back a step and Bakugo realizes that the blood is his . Horror echoes through his heartbeat in his ears. The villain got through his hardening, somehow. He slashed Kirishima from waist to chest and it is deep and he is falling. Bakugo tries to stumble forward and catch him before he hits the ground but his legs won’t move beneath him. He reaches to trigger an explosion and buy Kirishima time, but nothing sparks. The villain lunges for Kirishima again and Bakugo screams something incoherent as the villain plunges the knife into his soft, human chest. Home run right beneath the dip of his collarbones. It probably stabs crooked when it glances off his sternum. Kirishima stumbles back and grabs at it, staring down at his body like it’s betrayed him. Panicking now, he scans the room until his eyes find Bakugo. He tries to say something as their gaze meets. He coughs a spray of blood, and then he collapses.

Bakugo isn’t cold anymore. Everything spikes to fever temperatures, blinding madness heating his veins as rage takes hold. His body finally moves.

He lunges, shoving himself in front of Kirishima and pushing the villain back hard enough that he trips over his own feet. “You’ll die for that.” Bakugo snarls. He launches at the villain and tries again to light an explosion. In his fury all he knows how to do is throw a hand forward and trigger his explosion. Instead, he feels a prickling sensation and when his swing goes through his punch is rock solid. 

It knocks the villain to the floor again, which allows Bakugo a second of confusion. He stares at his bloody fist. His bloody, hardened fist. He tries to do the same with his other hand and it works. It’s the same instinct he uses to spark his explosion quirk, only this time it turns his skin to stone.

There’s no time for analysis, Kirishima is bleeding.

“This will fucking work.” Bakugo growls. He lays blind punch after blind punch into the villain, as fast and hard as possible until blood splatters his skin. Only when his rage subsides does he stumble back. The villain slumps with half his face in a different shape. Bakugo collapses beside Kirishima. He’s unconscious and still bleeding. He tries to crawl to him but finds his body sluggish, still strangely drained. 

“Do not fucking die on me, Eijiro.” He snaps, reaching. He pulls himself to Kirishima, breathing heavily as he fumbles with his gauntlets, ripping them off so he can press his hands to Kirishima’s skin and try to slow the bleeding. He curses under his breath, panic taking hold as the blood seeps sticky between his fingers.

A series of clatters by the door announces the arrival of backup.

“Dynamight! Riot! Location?”

“We got a fucking situation over here, Chargebolt!” Bakugo’s never been more grateful to hear the idiot. Kaminari darts around the remaining shelves and almost trips over the mess their fight had made. He sees Kirishima and his eyes go wide.

“What the hell? How’d they get to him?”

Silent in his exhaustion and distress, Bakugo raises a hand in front of him and hardens it. 

Kaminari’s eyebrows furrow, then his entire face goes slack.

“Oh,” He whispers, “Oh shit.”

Chapter Text

Bakugo is quiet at Kirishima’s bedside. They’re in the hospital. Some nurse with a healing quirk stopped by and closed up his wounds until they were nothing but fresh, pink scars. Bakugo hadn’t listened to the explanation or any of the chatter, the world around him had been mute and out of focus until Kirishima’s chest was rising and falling at a normal rate and the blood had been cleaned off his body. 

Someone hooks Kirishima up to an I.V. A nurse tries to talk to Bakugo and he ignores them. At the moment, there’s only one person who matters in this room, he refuses to divide his attention. He’s hunched in his chair, elbows on his knees and hands clasped tight together, clenching his jaw and watching Kirishima breathe. The knife had gone in so easily. Bakugo was used to Kirishima being unbreakable. It was horrifying to see him be brought down so easily, a terrifying reminder he was mortal beneath his quirk.

Eventually, medical professionals stop trying to talk to him. Bakugo holds his hand out in front of him. He tries to summon his quirk and watches as his skin sharpens and hardens. He turns it back to normal, then hardens it again, looking with a grim fascination. Kirishima’s strength was wasted on him. 

The door to the hospital room opens and shuts. The new arrival sighs. Bakugo feels a flash of irritation at the sound. He looks up and meets mismatched eyes.

“Why the hell’d they send you?” 

Todoroki is in his hero costume. He's entirely unphased by Bakugo's tone as crosses his arm and tilts his head, wearing the same placid expression he’s worn since high school. “The rest of the hospital staff are afraid of you. They sent me to kick you out.”

“That’s fuckin’ funny.” Bakugo snarls. “I’d like to see you try, half-n-half.”

“It was a joke.” Todoroki says flatly.

“A bad one.”

He shrugs, not disagreeing. Bakugo’s shoulders slump. “Fucking tell me, then. Get it over with.”

Todoroki nods. His eyes fall on Kirishima, his guarded expression shifting into a frown as he steps closer. “You aren’t going to like it.”

“Didn’t fucking expect to.” He mutters.

Todoroki looks down at Kirishima in silence for a while. Then, he says, “He got away.”

Bakugo’s entire body goes rigid. “ What? ” He jumps to his feet, leaning over Kirishima as he glares at Todoroki, “What the fuck was Sparky doing?”

“He was focused on trying to stop Kirishima from bleeding out.” Todoroki says sharply. “Are you going to argue that that shouldn’t have been his priority?” 

Bakugo grits his teeth as he glares. They both know, technically, that capturing the villain should have been Kaminari’s priority. And they both know Bakugo isn’t going to argue.

“You falling unconscious didn’t exactly help keep Kaminari focused.” Todoroki adds quietly, almost smirking at Bakugo’s expression. “We think the villain had help escaping, maybe from someone with a teleportation or speed quirk.”

“Fucking fantastic.” Bakugo grumbles, “So we’re stuck like this?” He raises a hand and hardens his skin. Todoroki raises an eyebrow, then his gaze narrows.

“Can Kirishima make his hands blow up?” He asks quietly.

“You know damn well that’s not how my quirk works!” Bakugo yells. 

Todoroki smirks, then his eyes drop to Kirishima’s hands, one of which is wrapped in bandages almost up to the elbow. His expression falls flat again as his voice softens. “Oh. I suppose that answers that.”

Bakugo swallows his guilt. In the heat of the moment he hadn’t processed what the explosion between Kirishima and the villain had been, but it made a gruesome sense when he woke up and saw them treating the chemical burns up Kirishima’s arm. His body wasn’t used to Bakugo’s quirk. It was some kind of sick fucking joke for the universe to pull that shit again. He braces his hands on the edge of Kirishima’s bed.

Kirishima was supposed to be unbreakable. Now Bakugo’s quirk would be a threat to him for the unforeseeable future. Bakugo’s explosion had never, could never hurt him before. This was a mess. 

“What are we doing about it, Shoto?” Bakugo hisses. 

“Tenya’s whole agency is on it.” He holds a hand up when Bakugo opens his mouth, “Which will have to be enough for you, for now. We both know you can’t go out there and help in this state.”

“It’s not like Kirishima’s quirk is fuckin’ frail.” 

“No, of course not, but that doesn’t mean your body knows how to use it.” Todoroki says calmly. “Besides, he definitely can’t run out like that. So unless you want to go without him–”

“Fine.” Bakugo snaps, “Whatever. You’re not the boss of me.”

Todoroki hums. A buzz comes from his pocket and he pulls out his phone. He sighs, a mix of fondness and exasperation. “I do have something for you two to do in the meantime.” He says. He flips the screen to Bakugo and waves the device. There’s about ten new notifications clogging his home screen, all from the same name. “Your fight was on the news. Izuku is going to make my phone explode if he doesn’t hear from one of you soon.”

“He can cry about it. I’m busy.” Bakugo snarls.

“He wants to help.” Todoroki insists. “When Kirishima wakes up, stifle your pride and go to U.A. We both know if anyone will know about the quirk that did this it would be him. Or maybe Aizawa can help.”

“I don’t need you to tell me how to fix this.” Bakugo slumps back into his chair. “Obviously I was already going to go to Izuku.”

Todoroki smiles faintly. “Yes, I assumed. I was only making sure.” His phone buzzes again, he looks down at it with the same dumb surprised look he always wears. He looks back to Bakugo, “Text him.”

“Fine.”

In his bed, Kirishima stirs. A low groan escapes his throat. Bakugo darts forward in his seat. Todoroki looks relieved as he steps away. 

“Look after him.” He says quietly.

Bakugo meets his eye, “Obviously.”

Appearing satisfied, Todoroki nods once and steps out of the room, closing the door softly behind him. 

Kirishima wakes the way he does everything, loud and with his whole body. He jolts upright in bed with a choked gasp and wide eyes.

“Kats–”

“Over here.” Bakugo says quickly. Kirishima snaps his head to the side, part of him visibly relaxing as their eyes meet. 

His breath hitches in his throat. Bakugo thought he had prepared for this, to brave the discomfort of comforting, to face Kirishima’s realization and subsequent devastation and the blame he would undoubtedly assign himself. But then Kirishima looks down at his hands and his chest and back to Bakugo and he looks wrecked . Worse than Bakugo’s ever seen before, and the first words that tear from his throat are:

“I broke. ”

Bakugo is knocked breathless by Kirishima’s horror. He shoves the emotion aside with a practiced ferocity, leaning into Kirishima’s space.

“The villain broke you .” He snarls, harsher than he intends the words to escape. “That’s entirely different, idiot. It’s not like you failed, he fucked with us. Cheated. There wasn’t anything you could’ve done.”

Kirishima only stares at him for a beat longer before he drops his eyes to his hands in his lap. He raises his bandaged arm. Bakugo sees the thought cross his mind and shoots a hand out, catching Kirishima’s before he can twitch a finger.

“Don’t.” He snaps. “It burned you last time.”

Kirishima’s expression twists further. He drops his hand, but pulls Bakugo’s with him, squeezing it tightly. Emotion twists in Bakugo’s gut and his skin feels cold when Kirishima pulls away. He’s sick for enjoying the contact even now. 

“I was kinda hoping it was some messed up dream.” Kirishima rasps. He looks at the scar on his chest, pressing his hand to it.

“You and me both.” Bakugo mutters. He means for it to be comforting, but it looks like it makes Kirishima feel worse. He curls in on himself, only slightly, but Bakugo sees. With a grumble, he reaches for his bag. Someone had brought it to him in the chaos of getting Kirishima settled. He digs his shirt out and throws it to him. Kirishima puts it on fast so neither of them have to look at the damage.

“How long was I out?”

“A few hours.” Bakugo says.

Kirishima winces, looking at him. “You’ve been here the whole time?”

“Where the fuck else would I be?”

Again, Kirishima flinches. Bakugo feels it like a lashing to his spine. He doesn’t understand, usually this shit wouldn’t get lost in translation. Usually, Kirishima would understand his quiet affection and lighten up a little. Instead, he shrinks more. 

“Right. Obviously.” He mutters. “Wouldn’t want to leave me with…” He trails off into quiet mumbles. Bakugo can’t make any damn sense of it. Kirishima looks up at him again. “You haven’t even changed.”

Bakugo jumps before he realizes Kirishima is referring to his clothing. He considers himself for the first time. It wasn’t entirely true, he’d removed his gauntlets in the store and pulled a hoodie over the rest of his costume. His mask was on the ground. He’d shoved it into his hair, then it had fallen out when he’d run his hands through it too many times. He shrugs.

“There was more important shit to worry about.”

At that, Kirishima finally smiles. His eyes go soft, he sits up a little. Bakugo feels relief light through every nerve. “You got your makeup remover on you?”

Bakugo nods. He rifles through his bag and finds the wipes. Kirishima holds his hand out and he huffs as he drops them into his palm. They settle wordlessly, Bakugo swatting at Kirishima’s ankles until he crosses his legs so the blond can sit on the end of his bed. Normally, Bakugo would protest this a little more before giving in, but he knew by now if he didn’t let Kirishima do something for him he’d only feel worse. 

He shuts his eyes as Kirishima leans in. He is as gentle as he can be as he holds Bakugo’s chin still with one hand and gets to work removing the eyeshadow smudged around and under Bakugo’s eyelids. It must be a mess by now, because Kirishima’s hands have to travel over his cheeks and eyebrows to get it all. When Bakugo feels his hand move to his left eye, he opens his right. Kirishima always has the same pinched, focused look on his face when Bakugo lets him do this. It lights something deep and fond in Bakugo’s chest, so he finds ways to catch it. That’s probably why he agrees to this so much. Seeing Kirishima at ease puts him at ease, too. 

“We need to go talk to Izuku, see if he’s got anything on this stuff in his stupid notebooks.” Bakugo says. Kirishima works at a particularly dark spot just beneath Bakugo’s eyebrow, tongue poking out of his lips. Bakugo wonders if his teeth are still as sharp without his quirk.

“Probably a good idea.” He agrees, distracted.

“We could go today. It’s early enough, we could catch him after his last class.” He mutters, more to keep Kirishima talking than anything else.

“Yeah man, sounds good.” Kirishima pulls his hand back, looking satisfied as he tosses the wipe onto the table beside his bed. He seems to be feeling a little better now that he’s been allowed to do something . Bakugo can tell most of his sudden cheer is feigned, but at least an ember of it was real. That was enough for him to fan.

“We’ll figure this out.” He says sharply, leaning into Kirishima’s space to force eye contact. Kirishima meets his challenge unflinching.

“I know, I trust you.”

“You’d fucking better.”

“I do,” Kirishima laughs. Bakugo feels a flare of satisfaction, success. “I do, Kats.” 

He sits up straighter, appeased. “Half-n-half stopped by. Said four eyes has his whole agency on this guy’s ass.”

“That’s good.” Kirishima says quietly. They don’t discuss the fact that he got away. Kirishima’s smart enough to guess why. “It was nice of Todoroki to keep us updated.”

Bakugo huffs. He eyes the edge of the new scar he can see. Annoyed, he hooks a finger on the collar of Kirishima’s shirt and tugs it down, revealing the jagged new mark on his skin where it's centered on his chest. “We match now.” He says, feeling a little sick at the thought. 

Kirishima doesn’t answer. Concern flashes through him. “Ei,” He presses his hand flat, shoving his chest lightly. “You in there?”

He blinks. “Y-yeah. Sorry. What were you saying?”

Bakugo flinches and pulls away. “Nothing, never mind.” He shoves his legs off the bed and stands. “We can get going whenever you're feeling up for it.”

“I’m good now!” Kirishima says quickly. Bakugo squints, trying to analyze if that’s true. But Kirishima’s got the mask on, it’s hard to see anything past the grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He sighs loudly, rolling his eyes as he crosses his arms. Kirishima’s mask slips as he pouts. “What?”

“Fucking stop it.” Bakugo says to the wall.

“Stop what–”

“I don’t need a quirk to read your mind, idiot.” He meets his eye, stare piercing. 

Kirishima flinches. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means this happened to both of us, and you don’t see me moping around about it.” 

“...Sorry,” Kirishima mutters, shoulders slumping.

Shit. That wasn’t how he meant that. Frustrated, Bakugo grits his teeth and forces the words out. “Not every damn thing is your fault, Ei.”

Kirishima pales. He shakes his head quickly. “I– I wasn’t–”

“Sure you weren’t.” Bakugo snaps, “Idiot. Can’t fuckin’ sneak that shit past me anymore. You know better.” Kirishima doesn’t answer, only looks disheartened at being caught as he pouts again. Bakugo huffs and punches his shoulder. Kirishima yelps and smacks him away.

“It’s gonna take both of us to fix this shit. I can’t have you getting distracted in that empty head of yours.” He shoves his hands into his pockets as he leans over him, “You hear me, Eijiro? I’m still relying on your dumb ass.”

This, finally, seems to get through to him. Kirishima’s eyes water a little as he nods, sharp teeth glinting in the sunlight as he grins.

“Right,” He whispers, “I’m with you.”

It takes a while for them to discharge Kirishima and collect their stuff from where it's scattered around the room. They decide it’s best to go straight to the school instead of stopping at their apartment, because it’s already almost 4pm and classes are ending. 

Bakugo keeps glancing at Kirishima as they travel, but he doesn’t stagger or seem otherwise hurt. He flexes his right hand a few times, but Bakugo can’t be sure if that’s a result of pain or anxiety. They don’t speak much. Silence between them isn’t unusual, but the lack of attempts Kirishima makes to break it is. He’s upset. Bakugo doesn’t know what to do about it other than fix this shit as soon as possible. 

They arrive at U.A. 20 minutes after classes are out. The front gate opens when Bakugo flashes his license and they take a back door to the teacher’s lounge, but they still have to cut through a hallway to get there. A few lingering students go wide-eyed at the sight of them. Even with civilian clothes tossed over the base layers of their costumes and Kirishima’s hair half-down, they’re a pretty recognizable duo.

“Holy shit, that’s Red Riot and Dynamight!” One of the students whispers to her friend. The other gasps. Kirishima hears them and grins sheepishly, waving to them as they pass. The girls squeal. Bakugo rolls his eyes. 

When they reach the teacher’s lounge, Bakugo shoulders the door open as Kirishima raises a hand to knock. He locks onto a cloud of green curls as Midoriya stumbles to his feet and stares at them with wide, watery eyes. He's across the room so fast you'd think he still has One for All.

“Kaachan! Kirishima!” He throws his arms around both of them, blubbering. “Oh my god, I’m so glad you’re both okay!” 

“Ugh, get off of me, nerd.” Bakugo mutters, but it goes unheard over Kirishima’s greetings and Midoriya’s tears. “We’re not here to reassure you, we're here so you can fucking fix it.”

He finally releases them, scrubbing at his eyes and nodding. He mutters at Kirishima as he guides them to a couch, “Those bandages look pretty bad, no one could heal them more? I mean I know you’re tough but maybe we can bring you in to see Recovery Girl–”

Despite his unheard attempts to reassure Midoriya, Kirishima smiles brighter as they have their stupid nicest-person-in-the-room competition. Bakugo feels a tiny bit of relief, mixed with a tinge of annoyance that Midoriya was able to break through Kirishima’s bad mood so easily. Then again, Deku’s always been better at that shit. 

They settle across from each other on the couches. A beat of silence falls as Midoriya shifts awkwardly. “So…can you show me?”

Bakugo raises a hand and hardens it. Midoriya’s eyes go wide. He instantly starts muttering as he leaps forward, darting around Bakugo’s hand like a hummingbird. He pokes at Bakugo’s fingertips until he swats him away. He turns to Kirishima, but Bakguo cuts him off before he can ask.

“My quirk burned Kirishima when he set it off.” Bakugo says. “Don’t make him use it, dumbass.”

“Oh, interesting…” Midoriya mutters.

“Interesting?” Bakugo yells. He lurches forward and Kirishima shoves him back onto the couch with an arm. Midoriya turns red, waving his hand and apologizing profusely as Kirishima laughs.

“You’re good, Izuku. I know what you meant.”

Midoriya nods looking nervously at Bakugo.

“I’ve heard of these kinds of quirks before, things that can swap other quirks around. I mean, we’ve seen it before. It’s like–”

“All For One.” Kirishima mutters, sounding terrified. “But I mean, this isn’t–”

“Of course not.” Bakugo snaps. 

Midoriya chews his lip, glancing at Kirishima. “I–I don’t mean to pry, but, can I see your injuries? The ones from Kaachan’s quirk?”

Something sharp twists in his chest at the words. That was a sentence he never thought he'd hear. Kirishima was supposed to be immune to him. Kirishima nods and Bakugo looks away as he tugs at the bandages on his wrist, but he can’t keep his stare on the floor. He looks back as Midoriya reaches for Kirishima’s hand, fingers ghosting his skin as he examines the burns. Bakugo wants to tell him to stop, that poking at Kirishima’s healing arms won't help, but he knows Midoriya has all his stupid nerd reasons for why he does things, so he stays quiet.

“They’re chemical burns.” Midoriya says, drawing back.

“Yeah, from the nitroglycerin, I guess.” Kirishima says, staring at his own skin. 

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Bakugo snaps.

Midoriya taps his chin. “That means that it wasn’t only the heat or fire of the explosion that hurt Kirishima, but the actual reaction with nitroglycerin that burned his skin. That doesn’t happen to you when you use it, Kaachan, presumably because your body built itself with your quirk and its effects in mind. But Kirishima’s body isn’t used to the basic chemical build of your power. That’s what’s hurting him. It’s just like how I was with One for All.”

“So what?” Bakugo growls.

“So,” Midoriya mimics his tone, standing and darting for his desk, “That could possibly mean this guy’s quirk isn’t permanent. I suspect if it was, it would’ve transferred the immunities your body has as well, because it would’ve been a swap down to the cellular level.” He picks up one of his notebooks from his desk as he speaks, flipping through it frantically before he shakes his head and puts it down, rambling never slowing as he picks up another one. “Plus, there was the fact that the guy got away, which means he was probably feigning being incapacitated. Considering Chargebolt and Uravity were both on the scene by the time he ran for it, you’d think that if he could use his quirk again he would’ve done so to them to disorient them and make his escape easier. But he didn’t, he just ran.”

“You think he can only fuck with two people at a time.” Bakugo clarifies. 

Midoriya nods quickly. He grabs another notebook and scrambles back to the couch, setting both down open. “Possibly. Like all quirks, this thing has to have limits. Either a limit as to how many people he can have swapped before the effect starts to drop on the others,” Midoriya taps one page, then moves his hand to the second notebook and taps another, “A time limit,” He flips the page and taps another drawing, “Or it could be concentration based.”

“Like if we could find him and hit him really hard, it might make his quirk stop?” Kirishima asks.

Midoriya nods. 

Bakugo slumps back onto the couch. “So we either have to hit this guy hard enough that he loses focus, wait until he decides to zap some other poor fuckers, or just sit here and do nothing until time runs out?”

Midoriya laughs nervously, “The options aren’t great, admittedly.”

“And none of that matters if we can’t find the guy.” Kirishima mutters. His eyebrows furrow as he stares down at his hands. “And even if we do, there’s always the chance that this is permanent.” Kirishima looks devastated at the thought. A quiet fear crawls into Bakugo’s chest. Does he hate Bakugo’s quirk? Or does he just hate the thought of grieving a piece of himself as it continues to exist beside him? A selfish worry consumes him rapidly as he realizes that if this doesn’t get fixed, his relationship with Kirishima might not survive. They could barely look at each other as is, and he still hasn't figured out what about it is bothering him so much. Bakugo couldn’t lose him, not to injury from his own power, but not to the fallout of this either. What if his quirk tore them apart without a single explosion?

“I really doubt it.” Midoriya says quietly, but Bakugo hears the uncertainty in his voice.

“Or you could all stop driving yourselves mad with pointless theories and hand the guy over to me.” A new voice says. 

Bakugo turns as Aizawa taps the door shut behind him with his elbow. Kirishima mutters a quick greeting with a small bow as the teacher shoves his hands into his pockets and trudges over to stand behind Midoriya, leaning over the back of the couch. “I heard about your predicament. Show me.”

Bakugo huffs as he hardens his hand again. Aizawa squints as his eyes glow. Bakugo’s skin returns to normal, but after the teacher blinks and he summons his quirk again, it’s still Kirishima’s power. 

“Figured that would be too easy.” Aizawa mutters. He straightens as his hair falls back over his face. “I’ll be joining Ingenium’s team on the search. You two will have to suck it up and sit tight until then.” He stares both of them down. “I assume I don’t have to tell you not to attempt hero work while you’re like this, or that you need to keep this out of the news.”

“Right, of course, Mr. Aizawa.” Kirishima says. 

“You’re not the boss of me anymore, old man.” Bakugo snaps at the same time.

Aizawa sighs like he expected both if those answers. He looks to Midoriya. “Any ideas on more immediate solutions?”

Midoriya shakes his head. “Your quirk was really the only thing I could think of. I’ll keep looking and text you guys if I find anything else, but the most important thing will be finding this villain as fast as possible. Tenya has everyone at his agency aware that you’re the first person they should contact if they’ve caught the guy so you can Erase his quirk before this gets more out of hand.”

“That will have to be enough for now.” Aizawa looks to Bakugo sharply. “Give us at least 48 hours before you lose your temper about it.”

“I wasn’t going to lose my temper.” Bakugo says, with a lot of restraint to keep from it escaping as a yell.

“Then again, I suppose your temper isn’t as deadly at the moment.” Aizawa teases. Bakugo catches the way his eyes dart to Kirishima before his expression falters slightly. “Sorry. That was maybe in bad taste.”

Bakugo narrows his eyes at Aizawa, but the man is stepping away from the couch and his hair obscures his eyes as he ducks his head. As he mumbles something else to Midoriya, Bakugo looks to Kirishima beside him to figure out what his teacher saw, but he refuses to meet his eye no matter how long he stares. He clenches his fists. Why was he being so avoidant? He’s not usually so good at hiding the source of his worries, or so determined. It was driving him mad. They were sitting close enough that their thighs were brushing, but ever since he woke up in the hospital it has felt like Kirishima was a thousand miles away.

Frustrated, he bumps Kirishima’s knee with his own, frowning furiously when his best friend finally meets his eye.

What’s wrong? Where have you gone? Why can’t I pull you back ? He asks through his stare. 

Kirishima smiles softly. Nothing. Don’t worry, it says. All Bakugo can think is liar. Liar. Liar.

“Alright.” Aizawa says. Kirishima looks away first. Bakugo drags his eyes back to the man. “That’s all we can do for now, and our shift is done.” He nods to Midoriya. “So get out of my office.”

Kirishima stands too quickly. He says a quick thanks to Aizawa and Midoriya that is loaded with false cheer as he spins for the door, already past the couch. Before he can follow after him, Bakugo feels fingertips brush his arm.

“Kaachan,” Midoriya says quietly. Bakugo spins to face him, annoyed at being kept from Kirishima and stressed by this whole situation. Midoriya flinches slightly at his glare, but it fades into a soft smile. “I know you’re worried about him. I’m going to keep searching for other solutions, all night if I have to.”

Bakugo forces some of the tension out of his shoulders. Whatever strangeness lingers between him and Kirishima, he is reassured that he at least has Midoriya's help. He trusts Midoriya.

“I know you will,” He says, voice softer than he intends. Covering his fondness, he hooks an arm around Midoriya’s neck and ruffles his hair mercilessly with a fist, “You’ll be scouring those notebooks all night, damn nerd. Couldn’t stop you if I tried.”

“Ow, ow, ow! You’re allowed to say thanks, you know!” Midoriya squeaks, though it dissolves into giggles as Bakugo shoves him away. 

“I’ll say thanks when you do something useful.” He grins.

Midoriya grins back, mimicking Aizawa's expression. “Get out of my office.”

“Gladly.” Bakugo gives him the middle finger as he spins on his heel, almost bumping into Kirishima, who’s gone still in the doorway. Bakugo stumbles, gripping Kirishima’s shoulder to prevent further collision. His mood drops instantly. “Okay, seriously, what the hell is up with you?” He growls.

“Bakugo, Kirishima,” Aizawa says before Kirishima can answer. Bakugo could kill the man for his timing. He glares over his shoulder. Aizawa stands close, keeping his voice a whisper. “Obviously, we’re far from giving up, but you should still prepare for the worst-case scenario.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bakugo grumbles. But he knows.

“It means this could end up being permanent.” Aizawa’s eyes dart between them. “So start learning how to live with it.”

Chapter Text

Kirishima has never been more miserable. As soon as he trudges through the door to their apartment all the energy he’d be using to cling to his facade falls. His shoulders drop, his backpack sliding off. He’s distantly aware of Bakugo catching it before it hits the floor, of him shutting the door behind them and locking it, him hesitating as Kirishima stumbles for the couch before he stills and focuses on getting his own boots off. 

Kirishima doesn’t look back at him. He can’t look at him. All he can see is him staring and staring and staring. He can feel his eyes everywhere, on his back, his face, his chest, his hands . He can’t stop thinking about Bakugo giving in so easily when Aizawa told them to stay out of it and keep their heads down. Even Bakugo knew they weren’t fit for heroism right now. Kirishima’s body was too weak to handle a quirk as strong as Bakugo’s, and Kirishima’s quirk was too weak to be of any use to someone else.

The world fades in and out of focus. He rests his hands on his knees and stares at them. Would Bakugo learn to loathe him if they didn’t fix this? Kirishima would loathe himself. Bakugo loved his quirk. He loved the power it gave him, the flashiness, the agility it provided. It was the complete opposite of Kirishima’s. And now, as sick as it made him feel to admit it, Kirishima understood. 

That was another fear that sat deep in his chest, a part he didn’t want to admit to himself. That Bakugo’s quirk was everything Kirishima had always wanted. He’d thought he’d been satisfied, even proud of his own quirk by now. His confidence had been shattered with the swap, with the realization of how it felt to have something this naturally strong. If he didn’t hide it well enough, Bakugo would hate him for it. He couldn’t lose his quirk and his best friend in one fell swoop. 

“Hey.”

Kirishima forces himself back into awareness. There are pieces of hair falling over his brow now. It all seems unimportant. Bakugo is squatting on the floor in front of him, chin ducked so he can meet his eyes. His face is all contorted like he’s mad. He’s not. He’s worried. Kirishima can’t bear it. He looks away.

“ Hey ,” Bakugo snaps, sharper. He swats at Kirishima’s knee. “Stop ignoring me, dumbass.”

Kirishima huffs as he meets Bakugo’s eyes again. He tries to summon the courage to face the oncoming interrogation, but it feels like all of his bravery left with his quirk.

“Are you hurt?”

He blinks. It hadn’t been any of the questions he’d be bracing for. All he can manage in response is an intelligent, “Huh?”

“Your injuries, dumbass.” Bakugo’s eyebrow twitches, “Are you sore? Is that why you’re moping?”

“Oh,” He breathes, “No. No, I’m fine, Kats. Nothing hurts.”

“Doesn’t mean you’re fine.” Bakugo mutters. He grits his teeth hard enough that Kirishima can see the tension in his jaw. Again he braces for the prying, and again it doesn’t come. Bakugo’s expression falls vulnerable for a second only Kirishima would ever be able to catch before he forces a mask of calm. He grabs at the knee of Kirishima’s pants, bunching the fabric in his fist and tugging. “Go get changed.” He stands and turns for the kitchen before Kirishima can argue, which means he has to listen. With a loud, dramatic sigh he stands from the couch and moves for his room. Bakugo rolls his eyes at the noises of protest, but Kirishima catches the quirk of his lip before he steps into the hallway. It makes him smile too. Maybe the two of them would be okay, whatever happens.

Bakugo, as always, is right. Changing out of the remains of his hero costume does make him feel more human. Kirishima lingers in the bathroom, trailing a finger over the new scar, a thick line positioned right between his collarbones. If he squints, he can also make out a thin white scar across his chest from the first slash. It’s another line on the map at the end of the day. If he’s lucky, these won’t mark the start of the end of anything. 

He washes his face, amused by the smudge of eyeshadow that’s somehow made its way beneath his jaw. He flushes as his mind runs away and scrubs it off quickly. He’s always finding little pieces of Bakugo across his skin. Now that he has burns on his wrist, the thought feels twisted. It’s a different kind of shame than he’s used to feeling about his best friend. He hadn’t thought anything would feel worse than burying thoughts of lingering touches and unspoken desire, but this was. When he’d stood in front of this mirror all the times before and thought about wanting to be closer to Bakugo, he hadn’t meant like this.

A thunderous series of knocks snaps him out of his spiral. 

“Move faster, Shitty Hair! Some of us need to piss!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Kirishima frantically tugs his shirt on and grabs a loose elastic from the drawer. He nudges the door open and hurries back to the main living area as he ties his hair back. He’s barely out of the hall before Bakugo’s in front of him. Kirishima’s hands are still tightening his ponytail when Bakugo shoves a hand against his chest. It effectively crumples him back onto the couch. His arms hit the back cushions, knees apart from scrambling during his fall.

“Wh–” Kirishima breathes hoarsely. He feels the heat rise in his cheeks as Bakugo looms over him, standing between his legs. The whole interaction dizzies him. Then Bakugo raises an eyebrow and steps away, setting the glass of water that was in his other hand on top of the coffee table with an echoing thud. Everything in Kirishima’s brain restarts. A flicker of disappointment is rapidly drowned by shame, because of course that wasn’t going anywhere the dirty parts of his mind had leapt to. Bakugo was his best friend, not a muse for his physical fantasies. After this mess, Kirishima should count himself lucky that he still has him at all. 

“Drink.” Bakugo orders. Kirishima’s never obeyed him faster. As he falls back against the couch with the glass of water in his hand, he feels a blanket land on him. He looks over his shoulder to catch Bakugo lowering the hand that tossed it, shoving it back into his pocket as he spins for the kitchen. “I’m cooking.” 

Kirishima smiles behind his glass. “Thanks man.” He pulls his knees onto the couch, tucking the blanket tighter around himself and adjusting so he can watch Bakugo move around the kitchen. He realizes the rest of his costume is on the kitchen table, mainly the gears that fit around his shoulders. His bag has been set carefully beside the couch. He revels in the side of Bakugo reserved only for him in their shared apartment. He knows he’s being taken care of, babied as much as Katsuki Bakugo is able to baby anyone. He feels a small stab of guilt at the thought. This quirk swap mess happened to both of them. Sure, Kirishima was hurt worse in the fight, but he’d been gifted Bakugo’s power. Bakugo had gone from being able to level a building with a palm to a glorified rock. He must be angry, disappointed. Yet here he was, making sure all of Kirishima’s stuff made it back from the hospital, shoving water into his hand and blankets over his shoulder. Kirishima was selfish to let it happen. 

“Are you sick from the quirk or something?” Bakugo blurts over the sizzling from the frying pan in front of him.

Kirishima meets his eye, frowning. “No. Why?”

Bakugo glares at the stove. “There must be some reason you’re not over here talking my fucking ear off.”

“Aw, Kats,” Kirishima falls into the teasing easily. He sets the glass down and tugs the blanket around his shoulders as he stands, drifting over to Bakugo’s side, “Are you saying you miss the sound of my voice?”

“No.”’ Bakugo says swiftly. He turns and tosses the spatula up to flip his grip on it, tapping Kirishima on the temple with the handle. “I’m saying you’re not good at thinking, so stop trying.”

“You totally missed me.” He leans into Bakugo’s space and smiles. A flash of mischief goes through the blonde’s eyes as he lunges for the blanket around Kirishima, yanking one end so the redhead spins away. He yelps as he tries to regain his balance. Bakugo grins wildly as Kirishima laughs. “No fair!” He protests, only to be shut up when Bakugo wads up the blanket and tosses it back in his face.

“Get the hell out of my kitchen, Ei.”

“You asked me to be in here.”

He scoffs. “Did not.” 

“Did too! I totally speak your language now, man. You wouldn’t have brought it up if you didn’t want me talking.”

“Shut up.” Bakugo rolls his eyes as he shuffles the vegetables in the pan.

“No.” Kirishima says decisively, encroaching on Bakugo’s space again as he leans his chin on his shoulder. “I know you don’t really want me to. Too late, you outed yourself.”

“Whatever you say, idiot.” Bakugo mutters, but Kirishima can see him grinning in the corner of his eye.

Overcome by fondness, he throws his arms around Bakugo, blanket and all, trapping them both in a burrito. “I was worried about you too, man.” Kirishima says. Bakugo devolves into yelling, all of which is clearly played up as he twists in Kirishima’s grip.

“You’re gonna make me burn the onions you damn softie!” He shoves at Kirishima’s chest, words wavering as he tries not to laugh.

“But Katsuki! We were having a moment!”

“We were not! I said get off you tall-haired freak!” He shoves at Kirishima’s bicep. There’s a flash of movement across Bakugo’s skin, then Kirishima feels a sudden sting of pain.

His body stumbles back automatically, blanket falling to the floor as his hand flies to what’s now a small but steady burning sensation on his bicep. When the second of shock subsides and he pulls his hand back, it comes away spotted with blood.

Silence floods the kitchen. Bakugo’s entire body goes rigid. His eyes widen as he watches the blood bubble from the thin cut on Kirishima’s arm. It takes them both a second to register what’s happened. Bakugo let his quirk slip out, which would usually be fine. He’d set off a minor, tease of an explosion and Kirishima’s skin would harden reflexivley, and no one would be hurt. It was roughhousing, play fighting. They did it all the time. Except this time Bakugo’s hand had hardened into sharp edges and Kirishima no longer had a built-in shield. The colour drains from Bakugo’s face as he reaches for Kirishima.

“Shit,” He breathes, voice raspy, “Shit, Ei, I didn’t–”

“Hey, don’t worry about it.” Kirishima smiles as he shakes his head. The cut is thin and superficial. It barely hurts, but the way Bakugo’s looking at it you’d think he just drove another knife through Kirishima’s chest. “Seriously man, it was an accident.”

Bakugo growls something unintelligible before he says, “Don’t move.” He turns and darts for the bathroom. Kirishima stumbles forward to the now forgotten stove. He stares at the pan for a second before he decides it’s best not to mess with Bakugo’s system and settles for turning off the burner. Bakugo returns with the same fire of determination in his eyes he gets when he’s facing down a villain or losing in a sparring match. He jabs a finger at the island as he backs Kirishima into it, and his emotions are such a mess of fear and fondness and attraction that his brain barely understands the order before his body is obeying, hosting himself up to sit on the counter. 

Bakugo unfurls the small roll of bandages he retrieved and tears a strip off with his teeth. Kirishima is suddenly desperate to focus on the tiny sting of pain in his arm.

“I really don’t think that’s necessary, Kats.” He says sheepishly as Bakugo tugs his arm closer. “It’s barely a papercut.”

“Shut up.” 

Kirishima listens. He lets Bakugo wrap the cut and tie it off. There’s an unnecessary apology tucked between the bandages and Kirishima’s skin that would get stuck in Bakugo’s throat if he tried to say it out loud. Kirishima letting him bandage the wound is his confirmation that he hears it.

When it’s done, Bakugo doesn’t look like he feels much better. His hand lingers, dropping just below where the cut is. Kirishima almost jumps when his grip tightens and his eyes darken. There’s genuine anger in his expression now, enough that it’s shocking. It was such a small amount of blood to summon such a large amount of distress.

“Kats–”

“We have to fix this.” Bakugo says, voice low and gravelly. His grip tightens further as his eyebrows pinch. His stare drops away to the floor. “I–” He stops, shutting his mouth hard enough that Kirishima hears the click of his teeth. “I can’t–” He tries again, but stutters off into silence. Then he pulls his hand back fast, clenching it into a fist at his side.

“We’ll fix it.” Kirishima hears himself say, but it feels like he’s listening to his own voice from another room. It’s far away, distant. Everything is muted by the horror of Bakugo’s disgust. He hates Kirishima’s quirk. That’s what this was. “We’ll fix it.” Kirishima repeats, unsure what he’s talking about anymore.

Bakugo meets his stare. Kirishima thinks more words are going to spill free, but then Bakugo spins on his heel and turns the burner back on with a violent twist of his wrist, and they’re launched back into another futile attempt at normalcy.

Still feeling dazed by the whiplash of the last few minutes, Kirishima pushes himself off of the counter and grabs the blanket from the floor, tossing it over his shoulder like a dishtowel. He picks up the roll of bandages, and only as he’s tucking them back behind the mirror does he realize, belatedly, that Bakugo never used the bathroom after him.

He stares at his reflection again, smiling. “Hey, Katsuki?” He calls, never tearing his eyes from his own stare.

“What do you want?”

He touches the new bandages on his left arm with his still-bandaged right hand, matching shades of white linked to the same shock of blonde. 

“Thank you.” He says.

There’s a stretching quiet before Bakugo answers.

“Get your ass back to the kitchen.” 

Kirishima obeys.

Chapter Text

“Maybe we should listen to Aizawa.” Bakugo says suddenly. Kirishima feels the air leave his lungs.  They’re walking down the street on their way home from lunch, and for some reason that’s the sentence Bakugo uses to break the silence.

“What do you mean?” Kirishima asks. He hears the anxiety in his tone despite his best efforts to conceal it, and he feels Bakugo’s answer coming the way you feel a punch before it connects.

“We should teach each other how to use our quirks,” Bakugo mutters, “Just in case.” Before Kirishima can answer, he keeps talking, “Don’t fucking freak out. I’m not giving up, I’m just…” He looks down as he kicks at the sidewalk. “I’m just saying.”

“Would it even matter?” Kirishima mutters. He looks down at his hand as he flexes his fingers, “It’s not like you can teach my skin how to resist nitroglycerin and heat.”

“Well we have to fucking try, don’t we?” 

Kirishima flinches. Bakugo reels. They both freeze on the sidewalk, staring at each other. Kirishima gives in first. “Look, Kats,” He worries his lip, “I…I don’t think there’s any point pretending, here. My quirk…it’s…” 

“It’s what?” Bakugo says quietly. There’s a deadly calm to his voice, almost a threat in the undertone.

“It’s never going to match up to yours.” He confesses. Bakugo’s eyes widen. “I mean– your explosions, I can’t– I can’t compare. My quirk can’t compare. I don’t know if you’ll ever be as strong again, no matter how much I train you.” Kirishima fixes his eyes on the ground in front of him, afraid of facing Bakugo’s disappointment, the betrayal, his grappling with the fact that he’s been weakened.

A hand fists in his shirt. Kirishima yelps as Bakugo tugs him forward. Forced to meet his eye, Kirishima goes breathless in his bewilderment. There is a ferocity to Bakugo’s glare, but it’s not the shade of rage he’d expected.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Bakugo snaps.

The window of the shop behind them shatters.

Kirishima moves on instinct. He grabs for Bakugo blindly and throws them sideways, tackling him to the ground and rolling on top of him. Bakugo curses and wraps an arm around Kirishima’s neck, hardening the skin of his hand in time to shield Kirishima’s face from the flying glass. He feels a few stray pieces slice across his back and hisses. The sound has Bakugo using his own leg to sweep out Kirishima’s knees, flipping their positions.

“Idiot.” He barks down at Kirishima. He grabs his chin in his hand, his eyes wide and wild. “Did you fucking forget we’re swapped?”

“Maybe.” Kirishima breathes, “I don’t know! It’s all instinct at this point!”

“I’m your shield now.” He snaps, shoving Kirishima’s face away. “Stay out of the way.”

He throws himself to his feet so fast that Kirishima is left scrambling to follow after. By the time he’s standing, Bakugo has the villain pinned to the pavement. He’s got his legs hardened, knees cracking the sidewalk and trapping the guy on his stomach as he straddles him. There’s a crazed glee in his eyes as he raises a fist, hardens it, and cracks it down on the guy's skull. He’s out instantly, and Bakugo turns to Kirishima with a sharp-toothed grin and Kirishima is, admittedly, distracted.

“This the shit you think is weak?” Bakugo shouts, half-manic and half-giddy. Kirishima stutters over a response. Bakugo shoves himself to his feet. “Still standing, aren’t I?” Then his eyes go wide and panic overtakes his features as he shouts, “ Eijiro! ”  

Kirishima feels something crash into his back. He’s sent flying forward, breath knocked out of him when he hits the ground and skids, skin scraping on the pavement and god , he isn’t used to feeling everything in a fight.

A warm hand stops his slide and he sees Bakugo crouched above him, glaring daggers at the second villain. Kirishima takes the second to breathe and assess the situation as he grabs Bakugo’s outstretched hand. The blonde pulls him to his feet easily. The villains were clearly attempting to rob the place. They both go still as they realize the new guy has the barrel of a gun protruding from each forearm, one wrist aimed into the store at the crouched and quivering form of the clerk. 

“Dammit.” Kirishima mutters. He raises a hand and Bakugo grabs his wrist.

“What the hell are you thinking?”

“We have to do something.”

“We will, help her.” Bakugo jerks him forward and throws him toward the woman. Kirishima moves, diving for her and rolling her behind the counter. His heart leaps in his chest when he hears a gunshot go off. He guides the woman with rushed reassurances into a back room and shuts the door behind her, spinning to face the storefront. The villain shoots again with his gun arm. Kirishima’s stomach drops as he lurches forward. The bullet hits Bakugo square in the chest. He stumbles back, then Kirishima hears him laugh .

He leaps over the front counter and skids to Bakugo’s side, watching as he flicks the two bullets off of his hardened skin, grinning like a madman again. The villain backs up, confused.

“I thought you were Dynamight,” He mutters.

“I am Dynamight, motherfucker.” Bakugo hisses. He’s gone crazy with his sense of immunity. He raises a leg to kick and it connects with the villain's ribs, but Kirishima sees the way Bakugo shifts his weight and how he flexes his hands and knows he’s going to try to follow through and dart away, but with the weight of hardening it won’t be possible.

“Don’t, Katsuki!” He shouts, but it’s not fast enough. The villain catches Bakugo’s ankle as he tries to twist and slams him into the ground. Bakugo’s stunned, and hardening weakens. The villain hits him with a foot to the chest and something cracks. Kirishima doesn’t know if it’s the pavement beneath him or Bakugo’s ribs. He’s blinded by panic, knowing that if Bakugo can’t get a hold of hardening the villain’s bullet is going to kill him. Kirishima acts on an instinct rooted in his subconscious from years of observation. He shoves his hands behind him and explosions burst from his palms. He’s launched forward as he lifts his feet and flails widely as he crosses the distance. He blasts again with his left hand, spinning himself on the spot as he raises his right in front of him. His skin is burning and he can feel blood trickling down his wrists. He hears Bakugo shout something behind him as he reaches for the villain and shoves all his desperation into some sloppy mix of a punch and a slap.

Heat and light explode from his palm. Something snaps, splatters. The force of the explosion throws Kirishima backwards and his head collides hard with the pavement. Blackness swims on the edges of his vision. There’s a ringing in his ears and his arms tingle from his elbows to his fingertips. It feels like he is still burning. He can’t reorient himself through the pain. 

“ ...jiro. Eijiro. Eijiro!” He feels hands on his face, his shoulders, his chest. Blonde hair and red eyes come into focus.

“Kats,” He wheezes. 

Bakugo’s hand stills against his jaw, his other hovering over Kirishima’s wrist. “Fuck,” His voice wavers, “Shit, Eijiro. Fuck .” He whispers a mix of curses and Kirishima’s name over and over again, his eyes dart to the side. Blinking to clear his vision, Kirishima follows his stare.

Nausea overwhelms him. The gun quirk villain has gone still on the ground in a pool of his own blood. Half his face is burned. His shoulder is mangled. Kirishima sits up on his elbows with the burning sensation of tears rising in his throat.

“Don’t,” Bakugo says quickly, “Ei– don’t.” He tries to turn his face away but Kirishima resists.

“Is he dead?” His arms alight with agony as he leans on them. He can feel each pebble as it digs into the open wounds he has yet to look at. He can feel something warm dripping down his face. Blood. The villain's, splattered across him. Realization settles in slowly.  “Is he– Oh god. Oh god , I didn’t mean to–” He shakes his head, tears escaping as he looks up at Bakugo, “I– I didn’t– I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.” Bakugo grabs his face more forcefully, pulls his stare away. He sees fear in Bakugo’s eyes too, though he controls it better. Killing a villain was a logistical nightmare even when it was necessary. The punishment for this would be detrimental to Kirishima’s career, to his life . Sirens echo somewhere. Kirishima's chest seizes. He sees everything he worked for torn away because he couldn’t control Bakugo’s quirk and panicked and now someone was dead–

“We don’t know if he’s dead.” Bakugo says. He looks over his shoulder, and when he looks back all the fear is gone, replaced with sheer focus. “You’re going to be fine.” 

Suddenly Bakugo’s hands are all over him, wiping the blood from his face and chest, and he watches with a horrified confusion as Bakugo smears all the blood on himself . He doesn’t know how much time passes of them sitting there while he does it. Then he’s hooking his arms under Kirishima’s biceps and hauling him to his feet, shouting for a paramedic. Everything is a blur, Kirishima can’t make sense of what he’s doing. Had he just killed someone? Bakugo is shoving Kirishima back and up a set of stairs. He lands on something soft and scratchy. Two white doors slam in front of him, separating them. Bakugo’s voice is the only thing that rings through the chaos.

“You get in there, you treat him, and you keep those fucking doors closed until I come back. You don’t open those doors for anyone or you lose your fucking job, is that fucking clear?”

“Uh, yes, Dynamight, sir.” Someone responds quietly.

The doors open and shut again. Someone starts treating the burns up Kirishima’s arms. An ambulance, he realizes slowly. Bakugo hid him in an ambulance. He answers the paramedic’s questions through his shock, listening to the muffled chaos outside. 

“Dynamight, is it true that you just defeated these villains?” A voice asks. A reporter. The press was here already. Dread curls in his stomach.

“What does it fuckin’ look like?” Bakugo snaps. The sense of dread rises up Kirishima’s throat as he feels the sting of the paramedic disinfecting his wounds. He realizes Bakugo’s plan too late. He’s stuck, even if he could move he’d be too slow to stop it.

“Things seem like they got pretty tense, that villain–”

“You fucking questioning my decisions, lady?” Bakugo snaps. Kirishima can’t stop him. He sees it coming and he can’t stop him. “The villain was planning on using lethal force on the civilian we saved. I did what I had to.”

Bakugo takes the fall for him. 

“R-right.” The reporter hesitates, “Well, it’s clearly your day off. Thank you for always saving us, Dynamight! It’s rare to see you in public without your partner Red Riot. What’s he up to today?”

“He was here saving your asses too. He got knocked out in the fight. They’re taking him to the hospital.”

“Oh no! Will he be okay?”

“Of course he will. He’s fuckin’ unbreakable.” 

The paramedic finishes whatever he’s doing and pulls Kirishima’s attention away from eavesdropping as he clears his throat.

“Do you want us to take you to the hospital now?”

Kirishima blinks at him. “Uh– do you think I need to go?”

The paramedic gets a strange look on his face. “It’s probably not necessary,” He says slowly. He adjusts his grip on Kirishima’s arm, eyes darting between the injuries and Kirishima’s eyes, then over to the ambulance doors, where Bakugo’s voice still comes through muffled. “But if you want us to get you out of here before he comes back, we can do that.”

Kirishima stares at him for a second, then horror overtakes him as he realizes how this all looks. Bakugo hiding his hero partner from the media, Kirishima stumbling around in shock with burn marks obviously from explosions all over his arms. He feels sick at the implication. Then, anger bubbles to the surface. Who was this guy to assume he knew them? To assume the worst of the hero who just protected them? 

Kirishima stands from the stretcher. “Dynamight didn’t do this to me .” He says, almost shouting in his indignation. Then, realizing he can’t explain the truth, he sputters, “This was the villain’s fault.”

The paramedic at least has the decency to look embarrassed as he shrinks away. “Right, of course. My apologies, Riot.”

Kirishima knows his outburst seems strange. The paramedic was only trying to be kind and Red Riot has an image to preserve, but Kirishima’s arms burn and he’s had a shitty day, and he’s unreasonably pissed off by this person thinking Bakugo would hurt him while he’s out there bending over backward to protect Kirishima from the consequences of his own actions. So instead of apologizing, Kirishima huffs, grits his teeth, and slumps back onto the stretcher. 

He tries to listen in on the reporter again just in time to hear her beg Bakugo for more time.

“I have more important shit to do than talk to you guys.” Bakugo’s voice snaps, sounding closer. A second later the door to the ambulance is wrenched open. He jumps in and shuts the door behind him, eyes ferocious and body still covered in blood. He glares at the paramedic as he finishes treating Kirishima. 

“Is he going to be okay?” Bakugo makes it sound like a threat. 

The paramedic nods. “A healing quirk might do some good to prevent scarring, but there’s no risk of permanent or severe damage.”

“Drive us to the hospital.” Bakugo orders. The paramedic nods, then suddenly it’s just Bakugo and Kirishima in the back of the ambulance. 

Kirishima looks up at him. He's bloodstained, arms crossed tight against his chest and still with the post-fight mania in his eyes.

“Why?” Kirishima whispers. Bakugo shuts his eyes and takes a slow breath. “They’re going to think you did that– why– your ranking–” Kirishima sputters.

“Won’t be the first time I’ve done something the media didn’t like.” Bakugo grumbles. The ambulance lurches slightly as it starts moving.

“This is different.” Kirishima breathes, “This is totally different.” Bakugo’s eyes widen as Kirishima fails to swallow the lump rising in his throat or blink back the tears forming in his eyes. Bakugo couldn’t just throw his career away so Kirishima didn’t have to. 

“Hey,” Bakugo sits beside him on the stretcher, hesitating for only a second before he loops an arm around Kirishima’s shoulder and pulls him close. “Stop doing that.”

“Crying?” Kirishima sobs and laughs at the same time. Bakugo squeezes his shoulder.

“Yeah. It’s not like I can’t make my own decisions, idiot. I’m not afraid of the consequences. I can handle it.”

Unlike him, Kirishima thinks. Because Bakugo was right, wasn’t he? Negative attention has never bothered him the way it has Kirishima. No matter what the internet says, Dynamight continues his work unbothered, steady in his belief that he is helping, unwavering in his priorities. Meanwhile, they’ve spent entire nights talking Kirishima down from one judgemental tweet. Here too, Kirishima was weak. 

Bakugo squeezes his shoulder again. Kirishima turns his face into Bakugo’s chest, his blood-soaked shirt. He lifts a hand, pressing it against one of the crimson stains on Bakugo’s stomach.

“Is any of this yours?” Kirishima whispers, gripped by the sudden fear that no one has checked his partner for injuries in the chaos.

“No.” Bakugo looks down at him. “Of course not. Your quirk is fucking impenetrable, Ei. There’s not a damn scratch on me.”

The reassurance falls flat. Kirishima’s too worn out, too embarrassed by the events of the day, too convinced that Bakugo’s only saying these things because he feels like he has to. With his face still against Bakugo’s shoulder, he feels the blonde’s chest rise and fall with his sigh.

“I thought I won this argument back in high school," Bakugo says.

“Huh?” Kirishima pulls away slightly. Bakugo leans back on his hands, one arm still pressed against Kirishima’s back, staring with his sharp calculation.

“Your quirk is strong as hell. You’re strong as hell.” Bakugo says, in a way that leaves no room for argument. “Is that what your whole mood has been about? Why the hell wouldn’t you say anything?”

Kirishima shrugs. Bakugo wasn’t wrong, but he wasn’t entirely right. Kirishima worries that if he starts his confession, it will all spill out here and now in the back of this ambulance. He wasn’t ready for that conversation. A part of him still hoped they would never have it, that this would get fixed and they could pretend it never happened, and Kirishima could regain his confidence and everything would be fine. So he stays quiet and lets Bakugo stare, watches his eyebrows furrow before he finally looks away. Kirishima leans back into his arm a little more as an apology and an expression of appreciation. They both sit in silence and stare at the ambulance wall.

He feels a small swell of emotion as he rotates Bakugo’s words in his head. He replays how thrilled he’d looked in battle, but as always it only brings on a new set of concerns, because maybe Bakugo was right. Maybe Kirishima’s quirk wasn’t the problem. Maybe the problem has always been him.

Chapter Text

Bakugo cooks them dinner again, and this time Kirishima stays out of the kitchen. 

They barely speak. Kirishima lets Bakugo toss a blanket over him and place another glass of water in front of him, but after that Kirishima puts an old Crimson Riot movie on the T.V. and does his best to ignore the feeling of Bakugo’s eyes flicking to him every five minutes. 

He’s not really paying attention to the movie. He’s seen it a million times already, it’s mostly an excuse to stare at something while he spirals so it’s less obvious that he’s doing exactly that. Bakugo had been right, it wasn’t that Kirishima’s quirk was weak, it was that he had to face how naturally strong Bakugo’s was, and with that came the fear that Bakugo was really seeing for the first time how much Kirishima’s hardening was the opposite. Sure, he’d worked to make it strong, but on its own, without him, it was nothing impressive. And without his hardening, Kirishima was missing the thing Bakugo had chosen him for. Maybe that’s why he keeps staring. Maybe he’s trying to see if there’s anything useful left within Kirishima now that he can't withstand Bakugo’s explosions.

Eventually, Bakugo must finish cooking. Kirishima is only faintly aware of the sounds of the kitchen quieting. A moment later a bowl is set in front of him on the coffee table, and Bakugo’s nudging him with his elbow to make room on the couch. They sit and watch the movie as they eat, close enough to be pressed against each other even though there’s plenty of room for them to sit apart, and Kirishima faces the fact that this is what he’s most afraid of, the loss of this. The loss of his right to be Bakugo’s partner in any way, in hero work or at home. They’ve barely been without each other since high school, what would Kirishima do if this was what finally made Bakugo deem him unworthy? 

Nothing has been the same since the swap. Kirishima has felt it in every silence between them. Both of them clearly have things they’re refusing to say. Kirishima worries that Bakugo’s spent all these quiet moments rehearsing his goodbye, figuring out how to tell Kirishima that there’s no point to any of this if he can’t keep up anymore. Kirishima hates the feeling of waiting for the end. It’s suddenly unbearable. He thinks maybe, maybe it’s best to get it over with. 

“What if we never switch back?” He whispers.

And just like that it’s out in the open, nothing left to do but brace for the reaction. He feels Bakugo’s shoulders tense and keeps his stare glued to the table in front of him as Bakugo reaches over and pauses the movie. The silence of the room encompasses them as he tightens his hand around the remote. 

“Do you hate my quirk that much?” Bakugo mutters.

It takes Kirishima entirely by surprise. He swivels to face Bakugo, astonished. “What? No, no of course not. Katsuki–” He hesitates, shocked by how fast the confession almost slips out. “I love your quirk. It’s flashy and powerful and…and…I mean it’s everything I always wanted.”

“You can’t be serious.” Bakugo says slowly. He shifts away from Kirishima, their shoulders separating. It feels like his heart drops into his stomach as the cold air brushes the skin Bakugo was just pressed against. He watches his fear come true in the anger in Bakugo’s voice and the space forming between them. 

“I–” Kirishima stutters.

“You can’t be happy about this.” Bakugo growls. And he’s angry , seriously angry.

“What? That’s not at all what I’m saying, man!”

“Then what are you saying?” He snaps, “Fucking put it into words, Ei. This isn’t usually difficult for you.”

“Why do I have to say it?” Kirishima sputters. His voice raises against his will, “Why do I always have to say it. You know what I’m thinking.”

“No, I don’t! I’ve been trying to figure it out for the last 48 hours! I can’t actually fucking read your mind–”

“Bullshit. I know you’ve been thinking the same thing.”

“You don’t know shit , Eijiro, don’t fucking assume–”

“I’ve seen it in your eyes every time you’ve looked at me for the past two days, Katsuki!”

“What? What do you think you see–”

“I’m weak! ” He screams. He’s on his feet now, shoulders rising and falling with each breath. Bakugo goes still on the couch, his eyes widening at the words. The room goes deathly quiet as both of them catch their breath. “I’m weak without my quirk.” 

It takes a long time for Bakugo to speak. 

“You think…you think I’ve been sitting here thinking that you’re weak?”

His voice is so quiet, so hurt, it knocks the breath from Kirishima’s lungs and the argument from his teeth. 

“Well…” He doesn’t know what else to say. He has no other guesses. “What else would it be?”

“You think–” Bakugo stares at him, eyebrows furrowed. His whole face scrunches, confusion melding back into anger. He stands slowly, like a snake rearing for the bite. He meets Kirishima’s eyes, red on red, and when Kirishima tries to take a step back so they don’t breathe each other’s air Bakugo catches him by the fabric of his shirt, his fist clenched over his heart.

“When,” Bakugo growls, his grip tightens, his words seep through clenched teeth, “When have I ever implied that I thought you were weak?” He shoves Kirishima back. He stumbles until he hits the wall and Bakugo chases him until their noses almost knock together. The blonde has to look up at him now, just slightly, and Bakugo never breaks his stare, unwavering and unafraid. They’ve both changed. 

“Not when I met you,” Bakugo snarls, “Not when I let you be my teammate. Not when I took your hand in Kamino. Not when I agreed to be your hero partner. I’ve told you before that you’re strong. You’re unbreakable, Eijiro.” He jabs a finger into his chest, eyes wild, “That’s not some stupid name, it’s a fact. When did you forget it?”

Kirishima hopes Bakugo can’t feel his heart thundering under his fingertip. He feels the rise of tears in the back of his throat. “I…I don’t know.” He confesses. “I just…you kept staring at me and you looked– you looked like you pitied me.”

“Pity you? We’re both fucking stuck in this shit. Why would I feel worse for you?”

Bakugo knocks his argument down with the same precise ease as always. He blinks down at him, voice raspy. “What else would it be?”

At this, Bakugo finally gives. He stumbles back a step, hand flying from Kirishima’s chest, face turning away. He is gone so far so fast, even though it’s only a single step back it feels like miles. Kirishima’s seen this a million times, Bakugo putting his walls up. He does what he does best, he stands his ground, shoulders raised, feet planted, staring, reaching silently across the gap. For a moment, the quiet stretches enough that Kirishima starts to ready himself for the disappointment of Bakugo running away. 

Then, he says, “Five.”

“...Five?” Kirishima repeats quietly. 

“That’s–” Bakugo looks down at the floor, clenching his fists and unclenching them over and over again, like he has to work the words out of his throat with his whole body. “That’s how many times, in the eight years we’ve known each other, that I’ve hurt you with my quirk.”

Kirishima makes a small, weak noise of confusion. Bakugo glances up at him, winces, then pulls his eyes back down. “Twice in high school, when I got too pissed off during sparring, once when we were evacuating that bank two years ago, and I caught your back trying to blast away the falling rubble, and two in the past 48 fucking hours.”

“Why…” He laughs, part disbelief, part confusion, part adoration. “Why would you count? I don’t blame you for any of it–”

“I know.” Bakugo says sharply. “But it’s– it’s a reminder, I think. That you’re…”

“Weak?” Kirishima whispers.

“ Human .” Bakugo says. He takes a shaky breath, stepping forward again. Kirishima’s heart moves in rhythm with his footsteps. “You take hit after hit out there without getting knocked down and you never stop smiling . Nothing breaks you, physically, emotionally, mentally. You’re so immovable, goddamn invincible . That’s why I chose you, not because of your fucking quirk, because even without it you were still the only one who wasn’t afraid of me, who I couldn’t scare off, who I couldn’t fucking hurt . And every once in a while it happens anyway and I remember that I– that you–” He stutters over the words, then huffs, frustrated, clenching his fists again. “I’ve seen you bleed too much in the past few days. It’s not something I’m used to. I forget it can happen. I don’t enjoy the goddamn reminder.” He reaches across the space, catching one of Kirishima’s bandaged wrists in a grip that’s a little too aggressive, but Kirishima doesn’t mind, he’s too caught up in his words to care. In the moment it’s only a reminder of one of the millions of things he loves about Bakugo, how he puts a little too much of himself into everything he does.

Bakugo turns Kirishima’s wrist up and runs his thumb over the bandages. “You’re supposed to be immune to me.” He whispers. “You need me to say it, fine. It’s not that I think you’re weak, or worse without your quirk or any of that stupid shit, it’s that I don’t like seeing you hurt, especially not by any part of me.”

Concern. That’s what all of this had been. Not pity, not regret, just…worry. Because he didn’t want to hurt Kirishima. 

“I didn’t realize…” He mutters.

Bakugo squeezes his wrist gently before he lets go. “Clearly.” He grumbles.

“...You cared that much.” Kirishima finished his sentence slowly. Bakugo stares at him like he’s an idiot, like that’s the dumbest thing he’s ever said. And maybe it is, but maybe he needs to hear some reassurance in the moment.

“I didn’t agree to live with you because I tolerate you, dumbass.” Bakugo says. “I didn’t agree to be your hero partner because I thought I needed one. I haven’t stayed for 8 years out of fucking boredom.” 

Kirishima lets the words linger. He can see Bakugo’s eyes, wide and bold and darting across his expression, searching for something. He doesn’t know what. Belief, maybe. He hopes Bakugo finds it, because it’s true. Kirishima never expects him to say it, but he knew he was loved. He wouldn’t have stayed if he didn’t. Bakugo didn’t need words, he had long waits at the hospital and bandages behind the mirror and glasses of water on the coffee table and blankets tucked around Kirishima’s shoulders, and how dare Kirishima ever doubt that. He knew better by now. 

Still, it’s a massive weight off of his chest. He feels like he breathes for the first time since he woke up in the hospital. His lip quivers, and he chokes on a sob as he lunges for Bakugo. The blonde grunts as he catches him, stumbling back until they smack the couch and collapse onto it, a ball of tangled limbs and frantic comforts. Kirishima worries for a second that this is too much, then Bakugo tightens his arms around him and his thoughts go silent. 

“Was that really what this was?” Bakugo mutters into his hair, “You thought I wouldn’t want you without your quirk?”

If he were a braver man, the rest of the confession would follow. This would be the moment where Kirishima whispers all his other quiet desires that stir up the fear of losing his best friend. But he has used up all his bravery. So instead, Kirishima nods into Bakugo’s shoulder. “I know it was stupid.” He mutters, “But you know how I get.”

“It was stupid.” Bakugo snaps, then his voice softens, “And I do know.” He hugs him a little tighter still, for only a second. “You’re not a tool Eijiro, you’re my best friend. I don’t keep you around for your uses, stupidass.” He bumps Kirishima’s forehead with his own, and through his teary eyelashes he catches the end of Bakugo’s smile. “Now get the hell off me, you're ruining my shirt.”

He shoves Kirishima sideways, rolling him onto the other cushions. Kirishima laughs, sniffly and broken but genuine, real for the first time in days. Bakugo smirks at him as he tries to find his balance on the couch and he is not weak, they will get through this, together. Bakugo throws a box of tissues at his head that he barely catches, and both of them chuckle as he fumbles it, the last of their nerves escaping on the sounds. 

“I don’t know what happens if we don’t switch back.” Bakugo says carefully, “But whatever we need to do, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Kirishima nods. And if a part of his heart aches and yearns still, it is a selfish part he drowns. Bakugo’s care was that of a friend, a good, once-in-a-lifetime kind of friend. Kirishima would not ruin that by wanting more than this here and now. He is confident, safe, and reassured. His legs are tangled with Bakugo’s on the couch and he’s insisting he eat more food, and this is love. Kirishima is loved. If it is not enough for him, that’s his own fault. 

If later that night in bed– when he gets the text from Aizawa that says ‘ We got him’ and holds his hand above him, hardens it, and watches the familiar edges in the dark– he realizes it is still not enough, because he has not lost Bakugo, but he has lost his chance to confess why he feared it so much, so he curls up and cries himself to sleep. That too, is his own fault.

Chapter Text

Bakugo stays on the couch for a long time after Kirishima goes to bed. He sets his phone on the coffee table in front of him and stares. And waits. 

Eventually, the screen lights up as it rings. He answers it instantly.

“Izuku.”

“He’ll live.” Midoriya says instantly, “The villain Kirishima hit. He’s got severe burns in a lot of places and he had some pretty serious blood loss, but he’ll live. Also, Aizawa caught the swap guy, you should be all better now.”

Bakugo sinks into his relief. He barely cares about his quirk at the moment, he’s focused on the villain. If it had been any worse, Kirishima would’ve carried that with him until his back broke from the weight. 

“Thank you.” He mutters.

Midoriya is quiet for a minute, long enough that Bakugo knows he’s in trouble. He saw it coming, of course. He sensed this conversation from the second he pleaded with Midoriya to follow up on the villain. When he finally brings it up, it hardly shocks him.

“The reports say you did it.”

Bakugo rolls his eyes and stands from the couch, just for something to do. He hates these stupid leading statements Midoriya always uses, circling around the subject he knows Bakugo wants to avoid. “That was the point, dumbass.”

“It was all an accident, though.”

“How are we supposed to explain that? Don’t play dumb, Izuku, we both know we can’t tell the media.”

“I know,” Midoriya mutters quietly, “I know, but– I mean, people aren’t happy. They’re saying things about you– about your quirk–”

“Then get off the internet and stop fucking reading it.” He snarls.

“Your ranking fell.” He says, so quiet the phone almost doesn’t catch it. 

“So I’ll do some cool shit and get it back up by tomorrow, who cares?” 

Midoriya goes quiet again, for longer this time. “You do. There’s not much you care about more than your ranking.”

“What’s your fucking point?” He grumbles, impatient.

“You know my point, Kacchan.” Midoriya says. Then, with a sigh and a slow breath, he says, “...He doesn’t know how much he means to you.”

Bakugo sniffs, kicking at the corner of the rug beneath him. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure.” 

Their conversation stills again, but neither of them hang up. Midoriya does what he always does and takes Bakugo’s silence as permission to keep rambling. It’s endlessly annoying, even though Bakugo knows he could hang up whenever he wanted. Maybe he wants someone else to talk to about this– all of this. He can’t talk to Kirishima about it. Sure, he has other friends and coworkers, he’s not quite the loner he was in middle school, but still, aside from Kirishima, Midoriya is the only one who has always been there. He’s the only other one who can hear Bakugo without him speaking.

“I think you should tell him.” Midoriya whispers. “I think he deserves to know.”

“I know what you think,” Bakugo grumbles. Midoriya tries this a few times each year, an unending argument that neither of them ever win or lose. Bakugo paces around the kitchen, lowering his voice as he glances towards Kirishima’s bedroom door. “It’s not–” The words get stuck in his throat. It feels stupid, sounds stupid, he hates confessing it. But dammit, if he can’t say it to Midoriya he’ll never be able to say it to anyone. “I did this shit so he would stick around. Why the hell would I go babble all that sappy gross stuff and ruin it now?”

He can hear the exasperation in Midoriya’s voice. “You’re always so worried about scaring him off. It’s ridiculous.”

“Hey–”

“It is. ” He insists. “When have you ever successfully scared him off, Kacchan? And not for lack of trying, either.”

Unable to argue with that, he crosses his free arm over his chest and falls back against the wall. “Why are you bringing all this shit up now?”

“I…” Midoriya stammers, “I don’t know. You don’t think this whole experience has changed you two at all?”

“No.” Bakugo lies. Then says, “We’ll get over it. And we’re not your fucking psychology project.” 

“I know that, Kacchan.” Midoriya whines. “I just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy.”

“Most days I believe that.” He says softly, “Then I catch you watching him when he’s not looking.” He’s quiet for a beat. “I know how keeping secrets hurts. I know that better than anyone.”

Bakugo glares at the empty space in front of him. “I’m hanging up on you.”

“Alright.” 

“You’re insufferable.”

“I love you too, Kacchan.” Midoriya says, laughing gently. “Even if you end up ignoring my advice for another five years.”

“I don’t need you to tell me what to do.”

“I know,” He says instantly, “You’ll face it with your teeth bared and all your explosions ready, God Dynamight.” He teases. His voice goes soft and sincere again. “You are a lot of different things, Kacchan, but a coward isn’t one of them.”

“Goodbye, Izuku.” He snaps. He doesn’t need to listen to the nerd be right for any longer.

He can hear Midoriya smiling. “Bye, Katsuki.”

When Bakugo hangs up, he lingers. He stands alone in the silence of the dim apartment, staring at the black screen of his phone and feeling like he’s waiting for something, but unsure exactly what. 

Slowly, like pulling his feet from quicksand, he makes his way to the short hallway that leads to their bedrooms. Their doors face each other. Bakugo stops in the space between them. He turns to face Kirishima’s and raises a hand to knock, only to freeze when he hears a faint, muffled sniffle followed by an uneven breath.

His chest goes tight, like a wire pulled to snapping. His hand falls limp to his side. What was he planning to do? Confess like some school girl? This whole mess had rattled him, sure, but it had uprooted Kirishima’s deepest insecurities, a poison arrow hitting a bullseye on his greatest fears. It had dug up hurts his best friend has been fighting since middle school. All it had done for Bakugo was make him love Kirishima more. Was he supposed to call that suffering? It was an excessive, unwanted emotion, sure, but he can hear Kirishima crying alone in his room and he can’t barge in there and make this all about him. He could be anything Kirishima asked of him, but he would not let himself be another burden. 

Midoriya was wrong. There’s a first time for everything. He is a coward.

He holds his breath, presses his forehead to Kirishima’s door and squeezes his eyes shut, preparing to feign ignorance, to pretend Kirishima is doing a good job at silencing his tears. He kills every ounce of desire alight in his nerves. He was not the comfort Kirishima needed right now.

“The villain we hit is going to be fine.” Bakugo says. He hears Kirishima stop, try to quiet himself as he realizes Bakugo’s outside his door. “You didn’t kill anyone, Eijiro.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. He turns and steps into his own room and shuts his door quietly, leaning back against it and finally exhaling. He tries to drown the unwelcome sense of anticipation for something he refuses to face.

He tenses when he hears Kirishima’s door open. He hears the small catch of his breath, the millisecond of sound cut short, the instant silencing of whatever he was going to say when he realizes Bakugo isn’t there anymore. It feels like an impossibly long amount of time passes before Bakugo hears the door click shut again. His legs give out with the sound.

He slides down to the ground, knees hitting his chest. He outstretches his hands and tries to activate his quirk. Small, familiar sparks alight across his palm, ready to explode if he only let them. 

He clenches his fists and slumps forward with his elbows on his knees. He takes long, ragged breaths. As he wipes the sweat from his palms, he desperately tries to understand why it still feels like he’s lost something.

Chapter Text

Bakugo’s alarm goes off at 5:30am. With their quirks back to normal, they’re both expected back at the agency today. Their sidekicks can only keep things running for so long. Bakugo rolls out of bed particularly grumpy and takes it out on his clock, smacking it until it stops beeping, then knocking it to the floor for good measure. He hadn’t slept well.

He rolls out of bed and shivers in the cool morning air. He tugs a sweater off a hanger in his closet and zips it half-closed over his chest. He trudges to his door and yanks it open, freezing in the doorframe.

It takes him a second to calculate what’s wrong about the scene in front of him. Then he realizes he’s staring into Kirishima’s room. Because his door is open. He’s already awake. Bakugo glances to his right, where the bathroom door sits, but it’s open too. Weird. Strange. Concerning. Kirishima was never awake first. They’ve followed the same routine almost uninterrupted for years now. Bakugo wakes up first, showers, knocks on Kirishima’s door until he gets a response, cooks them both breakfast, knocks on Kirishima’s door again until he actually starts moving, they eat, then Bakugo cleans up as Kirishima gets dressed and they’re out the door at 7:30. The only time that ever changes is when Kirishima picks up the occasional night shift.

Something was still wrong. Bakugo darts into the common area of the apartment and his eyes find red immediately. Kirishima freezes by the island, hair already done and half in his costume, a light jacket pulled over his bare chest, gears sticking out of his backpack. He’s got his foot on a stool, his fingers still around the laces of his boot, frozen like he’s caught.

He’d been trying to leave before Bakugo woke up. 

“Where are you going?”

“Uh…work?” Kirishima stammers.

“Our shift doesn’t start for another 3 hours.”

“Yeah, but,” Kirishima lowers his foot, rubbing at the back of his neck. His eyes dart away from Bakugo’s stare, “...I figured I could go in early to get caught up on all the stuff we’re probably behind on.”

“You’ve never gone in early a day in your fucking life.” Bakugo says.

“Hey!” Kirishima meets his eye for only a second before his face flushes and he stares at the floor again, “That’s probably not true. And,” He says it quickly, like the idea’s just come to him. “I wanted to go to the gym for a bit before my shift.”

“You’re a terrible fucking liar, Eijiro.” 

Kirishima’s shoulders raise, and Bakugo expects the outburst of offense followed by more attempts to convince him everything is fine. So when Kirishima sighs and drops his shoulders and turns for the door instead, everything in Bakugo lurches with anxiety.

“Can we not do this right now, Kats?” He whispers. He reaches for the door and Bakugo surges forward, unable to believe that he’s actually trying to run. 

“Is your quirk not back? Is something wrong with it?” He blurts, fear tightening his throat as the words escape.

Kirishima stops trying to leave, but he doesn’t turn back to face him. Bakugo can see the tension running through him, even beneath the fabric of his clothes. “No. My quirk is fine. Everything is– everything is fine.”

“Then what…” Bakugo mutters. “Why?” He steps closer, half reaching for Kirishima. “Why aren’t you happy about this?”

“I–” Kirishima looks over his shoulder and Bakugo catches the glint of light that reflects off the tears in the corner of his eyes. He turns away again, grabbing for the door handle desperately. “Shit. I can’t do this, Katsuki.”

Bakugo’s stomach drops at the words. Suddenly all his fears are real, and Kirishima is leaving, running. And he keeps saying “I can’t do this, I’m sorry.” He’s twisting the doorknob and pulling the door open and Bakugo’s feet move before he can think.

One hand slams the door shut, the other wraps around Kirishima’s bicep, spins him and shoves his back against the door, trapping him between his arms. He doesn’t mean to be so aggressive, but he’s desperate and terrified.

“Try.” Bakugo snarls, “Fucking talk to me , Eijiro.”

“I can’t.” He says, almost a sob.

“Why not?” Bakugo presses, “What are you so afraid of?” He can see in a second that Kirishima isn’t going to answer, so he continues before he can try to lie. “And don’t say it’s ‘cuse you’re fucking weak or insecure or whatever shit, because I know you, I know that’s not it. Not all of it, at least. There’s something else, something that you feel like you can’t fucking tell me for some goddamn reason.”

“I…” Kirishima breathes. Bakugo holds him and Kirishima holds his stare, eyes still watery, voice still wavering. Bakugo waits and watches Kirishima’s jaw work around the words, but nothing else comes.

“What do you want from me?” Bakugo whispers. He squeezes Kirishima’s arm, then drops his hand, leaning his weight on the one still against the door frame. “Do you want me to fucking beg?”

Kirishima’s face turns red. A sob escapes, then he hides behind both his hands and says. “You’ll leave.”

“...What?”

“If you knew, you’d leave. And that’s…that’s what I’ve been afraid of this whole time. That all of this would make it all too obvious and you’d leave. Because I was weak, or pathetic, or useless or strange or too soft or– whatever reason my brain could come up with in the moment, it doesn’t matter, it all ended with you leaving. That’s what I was afraid of. I didn’t want you to leave.”

Bakugo searches his expression as Kirishima drops his hands, trying to make sense of it. Trying to figure out how they were losing each other over the shared phobia of it happening. “Where would I go?”

“Anywhere, without me.”

“What could you possibly say or do that would make me leave at this point?” He asks, and he knows he’s repeating exactly what Midoriya said. It would almost be funny if Kirishima didn’t look so devastated. 

“Just…that.” He mutters, “That I don’t want to lose you.”

“Pretty sure I’m the one that just had to slam the door on you.”

Kirishima exhales, almost a laugh as he rubs at the corner of his eye. “Fair enough.”

“Have I given you a reason to worry?” Bakugo asks, slow and quiet. He pulls his hand away, steps back, trying not to prove his theory correct. “Did I do something to– to scare you? To make you afraid of my reaction to…whatever this is?”

“No!” Kirishima blurts. He steps forward, erasing the distance Bakugo had just put between them. He grabs Bakugo’s shoulders and holds them. “Of course not, Katsuki, I—”

It feels like the entire world freezes when Kirishima shuts his mouth. Horror overtakes his expression, his face turning as red as his hair as he mutters a curse under his breath. A fire lights in Bakugo’s chest, a flicker of hope he refuses to acknowledge, anticipation and disbelief rise up his throat, thick and suffocating like smoke. Slowly, things all click into place.

“You what?” He rasps.

Kirishima smiles. It’s the worst performance of his life. “I love you, man.”

“Why did you hesitate?” Bakugo demands.

“I didn’t.” 

“You did.” He pushes forward this time. Kirishima steps back, shoulders hitting the door again. The fire rises higher, burns through his heart. “You’ve said that shit a million times before, why did you hesitate?”

“Because…” Kirishima’s eyelids flicker, stare darting down to his lips, then back to his eyes, acceptance paints his features. He looks like a man attending his own funeral. “Because I mean it, okay? In a way you probably wouldn’t want me to.”

Bakugo takes half a step back, then stops and regrets it instantly because he watches Kirishima register it as a rejection. “Like,” He stammers, “You’re in …” 

Kirishima nods wordlessly. 

“With me?” Bakugo whispers.

“Yes.” Kirishima says. The word escapes him in a breath, like he’s been choking on it his entire life and it’s finally dislodged itself from his throat. “Yes. With you, Katsuki.” He smiles, soft and nervous and relieved all at once. “Who else?” Then he says, “I’m sorry.”

The fire in his stomach and his chest burns him alive where he stands. He is stunned into silence. He realizes for the first time how many times he’s thought about this moment, or some version of it that ends with him being allowed to hold and touch and kiss Kirishima the way he’s ashamed of wanting to. In his mind, he is bolder and always the first to say it, sure of himself and unwavering. Now he can’t even think of a response, and his hesitation makes Kirishima shrink. He tries to stop the words he sees working their way up Kirishima’s throat.

“Ei–”

“I don’t expect you to feel the same.” He blurts. Bakugo’s too late, he’s already taken too long. “That’s why I never said or did anything. I didn’t want to freak you out because I don’t want to ruin this, I don’t want to lose this.”

“Eijiro–”

“You’re my best friend, Katsuki. My best friend. You’re one of the most important people in my life, and I don’t want you to feel like– like this isn’t enough or that you’re not enough just because I have all these stupid thoughts and feelings that I can’t–”

“Eijiro.”

“Like, turn off. You really don’t have to reciprocate. I never want you to feel like you owe me anything because really I am so happy to just– be allowed to be around you and have you in my life in whatever way I can. I didn’t want to ruin that, and if–”

“Eijiro!” He shouts. He reaches for him, grabs the collar of his jacket in both hands, pulls him close until he snaps his mouth shut.

“Do you think I have shit taste?” Bakugo growls.

“What?” Kirishima shakes his head. “No, of course not–”

“Then why wouldn’t I want you?”

Kirishima blinks. He’s quiet for a minute, disbelief overtaking every inch of his skin as he looks at Bakugo. “What?” He repeats, almost silently.

“You’re such a goddamn idiot.” Bakugo whispers. Then he kisses him. 

There are eight years of unsaid things on their lips. As soon as they collide, it feels like hitting the shore after being stranded at sea, like he didn’t realize he’d been drowning until his chest hit the sand. Kirishima’s hands grasp at him wildly, fisting in the front of his sweater as his head smacks the door. Bakugo presses him flush against it, some final confirmation that he won’t run. He deepens the kiss and learns that Kirishima’s teeth are as sharp as they look and he is shocked by how warm the thought makes him feel, how much relief comes with the fact that there is still more to learn about his best friend and all these new ways to explore.

He pulls back when he needs air and Kirishima is grinning like a madman, still clutching at him, both of them still close enough for their foreheads to touch.

“You know,” Kirishima says, still quietly gasping for air between the words, “You’re really sending mixed signals.”

Bakugo can’t help it. He grins. “Shut up.” He says, kissing him again with a renewed ferocity.

“Yup, shutting up.” Kirishima mutters onto his lips. His hands find their way into Bakugo’s hair and pull him impossibly closer and he wonders, faintly, if they are going to end up late for work.

It’s an unimportant, trivial concern. Because Kirishima’s finger hooks on the zipper of Bakugo’s sweater and they are late for this . They are years and years late for this.

He winds his arms around Kirishima’s neck and tugs him away from the door, confident neither of them are thinking of leaving.