Archive of Our Own ^beta

The little girl’s cries pierce through the chaos, louder than the shouts of panicked civilians and the distant crackle of fire. Bakugou’s jaw clenches as he races toward her, weaving through the rubble. Her voice is raw, jagged, and terrified, echoing off the shattered remains of the building they’re trapped in. His heart pounds against his ribs like a war drum, the rush of adrenaline pushing him forward.

When he spots her — tiny, shaking, and covered in dust — his eyes narrow, determination flaring hot in his chest. She’s curled into herself, her hands over her ears, tears streaking down her dirt-smudged cheeks.

“Hey!” he barks, skidding to a stop in front of her. His voice is sharp, but it slices through the noise, “I’m here to get you out, so quit screaming and hang on.”

She flinches at first, her wide, tear-filled eyes snapping up to meet him. For a moment, she freezes, her small body trembling like a leaf in a storm. Bakugou doesn’t wait — he scoops her up in one fluid motion, cradling her against his chest with surprising care. She’s so light, fragile even, and he holds her as if she might break.

“Just hang tight,” he mutters, softer now. “I’ve got you.”

But her cries don’t stop. They’re muffled against his chest, her tiny fists clutching at his hero costume, and every sob seems to cut deeper into him. His grip tightens as he turns toward the exit, scanning for the fastest way out. She’s terrified of him, he can tell.

Her hands — small and trembling — press against his face. For a moment, he thinks she’s just panicking, clinging to whatever she can. But then there’s a glow. A soft, pink light flares from her fingers, and Bakugou’s body locks up.

“What the fuck?” His voice falters, his knees buckling beneath him. A wave of weakness crashes over him like a tidal wave, pulling him under. His head feels heavy, his eyelids dragging down as his vision starts to blur. He stumbles, teeth gritting as he fights to stay upright.

The girl’s cries are distant now, muffled like they’re underwater. His legs tremble, the strength draining from them, and he lets out a weak, strangled shout. He calls for the first thing he can think of.

His voice cracks as his balance falters. He twists at the last second, instinct taking over as he shields the girl in his arms. He can barely feel the jagged debris scraping against his knees as he collapses, but he doesn’t let go. His grip on her is unyielding, his body curling around hers even as the last of his strength fades.

Then, warmth — solid and steady. Arms, stronger than his own, wrap around them both. Bakugou feels himself being pulled into a familiar embrace, the scent of iron and ash filling his senses. He blinks sluggishly, his vision swimming, but he catches a flash of red hair, sharp and bright even in the dim light.

“I’ve got you,” Kirishima’s voice is loud, steady, and grounding, cutting through the haze clouding Bakugou’s mind, “I’ve got you, man, you’re not going down like this.”

Bakugou tries to respond, tries to force out a sharp retort, but his lips won’t move. His body feels heavy, too heavy, and the world tilts again. He sees Kirishima’s face twist with worry, his crimson eyes darting between him and the girl.

“Stay with me, man,” Kirishima shouts, his voice tinged with desperation. He shifts his grip, cradling Bakugou and the girl like it’s second nature.

Bakugou’s vision flickers, dark spots creeping in at the edges. His head lolls against Kirishima’s shoulder, and the last thing he hears before everything goes black is Kirishima’s voice, steady and unwavering, “I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got you both.”

The world slowly fades into a thick haze as Bakugou drifts in and out of consciousness, his mind caught somewhere between the chaos of the battle and the overwhelming weight of the girl’s quirk still clinging to him. His thoughts are murky, flickering like the remnants of a dying flame, each one disappearing before he can grasp it fully. The only constant is the steady thrum of his heartbeat, drowning out the muffled sound of voices in the distance.

Kirishima’s grip on him is strong, unwavering. Bakugou can feel the warmth of his presence, the pulse of life that pulls him back from the edge, as if the very essence of Kirishima’s being is keeping him tethered to reality. It’s that same warmth, that grounding certainty, that’s always been there when Bakugou felt like he might slip into the darkness. Kirishima won’t let him go. He never does.

But even Kirishima’s presence can’t drown out the discomfort, the growing sense of unease that tightens around Bakugou’s chest as the minutes stretch on. There’s something else pressing at the edges of his consciousness, something he can’t push away, no matter how hard he tries. It’s the girl. The soft, pink glow of her hands. Her terrified sobs. The way she’s holding onto him like a lifeline, like he was the only thing standing between her and whatever nightmare had claimed her.

The thought of it makes his stomach twist, but he can’t push it away. It lingers, curling like smoke in his mind.

Kirishima mutters something, his voice low, as though trying to keep Bakugou grounded. The sound of it is distant, warping as though Bakugou’s very senses are failing him. “Stay with me, man,” he hears, sharp with panic now. “We’re almost there, just stay with me.”

Bakugou’s body is too heavy to respond, too heavy to do anything but feel the pressure of his own limbs as they drag like lead beneath him. He wants to yell, to snap at Kirishima to stop treating him like a baby, but the words never make it past his throat. His vision tilts, warping with the pain that lingers just below the surface, the bruises of an attack that never truly went away. The fight had ended, but in some way, it was still going on inside him. He could feel it. The anger. The frustration. The heat of it rising, searing, but it was dull, muted by the girl’s quirk.

His fingers twitch, but they don’t move. His arms feel like they belong to someone else entirely. The girl’s hands still burn against his cheeks, that strange pink light, the weight of her touch. It’s all so foreign to him, so wrong.

“Stay with me, Bakugou,” Kirishima repeats, louder now, and Bakugou feels his best friend shift beneath him. He feels the careful balance Kirishima strikes, keeping them both secure, ensuring nothing — no one — slips away.

But the words don’t quite reach him, not in the way they should. Bakugou’s mind lingers, half-fogged, too clouded with everything — the weight of the girl’s quirk, the fire, the battle, his exhaustion. He knows Kirishima is there, feels him, but something inside him is too far gone to reach. Something darker, something uncertain, lingers on the edge of his thoughts, pulling at him, twisting his insides.

His head lolls forward, and the ground shifts beneath him. His body lurches in Kirishima’s arms, instinctively trying to fight the weight pulling him under, but it’s no use. There’s nothing left to fight with.

Then, just as quickly, the world disappears entirely.

˚₊‧꒰ა 🍙 ໒꒱ ‧₊

The little girl’s sobs have quieted, her tiny body trembling in exhaustion, her cries now nothing but a soft, shuddering exhale. Her grip on Bakugou has loosened, but still, her hands — those glowing pink hands — cling to his face, as though unwilling to let go. The glow of her quirk flickers like a dying ember, and Kirishima knows that they’re in danger, the girl’s quirk working against them in ways they can’t fully understand yet.

Bakugou hasn’t budged. His chest rises and falls with the steady rhythm of sleep, but there’s a tension in his posture, one that Kirishima knows too well. It’s the kind of stillness that comes before the storm, the kind that says Bakugou’s mind hasn’t quite caught up with the rest of him. His hands are clenched into fists, but his body is limp, no longer fighting. Kirishima can only guess at the exhaustion, the strain of holding himself together through the chaos.

Kirishima looks down at the girl, her tiny frame trembling against Bakugou, and his stomach churns. She’s so young, a child, and yet her power is enough to bring even someone like Bakugou to his knees. She must have been terrified, her desperation feeding into the quirk that had forced her hands upon Bakugou, knocking him out with the touch of her glowing fingers. Kirishima’s jaw clenches, the weight of it all settling deep into his bones.

He can hear her parents get called over, the soft rustling of footsteps behind him, apologies tumbling from their mouths in frantic whispers. They explain quickly, too quickly for Kirishima to follow at first. The girl’s quirk. It knocks people out, just like that, and when they wake, they’re bound by a strange, fleeting love — love for the first person they see.

He can hear the fear in the mother’s voice as she continues, “It lasts longer the longer she holds onto them,” she reaches out for her daughter, “and she hasn’t let go yet,”

Kirishima blinks, his hands tightening on Bakugou and the girl. His breath catches in his throat as he processes the words, the weight of them sinking in. The thought cuts off, and he shakes his head, trying to clear it, trying to stay calm. The reality of it settles like a lump in his throat.

He lowers them gently to the ground, Bakugou’s body limp in his arms. The girl’s hands stay wrapped around Bakugou’s face, glowing faintly still. The girl’s parents crouch beside them, murmuring apologies, their hands trembling as they try to pry her fingers away. Kirishima’s breath hitches in his chest as her fingers finally slip off, but something cold grips him when he sees how reluctant her parents are. They’re scared. Scared of their own daughter’s quirk, of the harm it could do. And Kirishima’s scared too, but there’s nothing he can do to fix this, nothing he can do but wait.

“Do you think he’ll be okay?” the girl’s father asks, voice small. He glances from the girl to Bakugou, his eyes wide and full of worry.

Kirishima runs a hand through his hair, trying to keep his cool. He looks down at Bakugou’s face, the faint bruising from where the girl had pressed her hands into his skin, the harshness of his features softened by sleep. He knows Bakugou. He knows him better than anyone. And right now, all he can do is wait for him to wake up.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice a little hoarse. “He’ll be fine.”

But he doesn’t know that for sure. Bakugou waking up could be anything. His mind, twisted and confused by whatever emotions this girl’s quirk is bound to stir up, could lash out in a way they’re not ready for. And it could be worse than that — what if Bakugou doesn’t wake up the same?

Kirishima watches the girl’s parents, their panic barely held at bay, as they try to soothe their daughter. Her small face scrunches up in confusion, her glowing hands reaching out as if searching for something. And Kirishima feels a pang of guilt — this was their mission. They were supposed to be the ones to protect her, to bring her back to safety. But the longer she held onto Bakugou, the worse it got.

As the last of the girl’s sobs fade into quiet breaths, Kirishima’s stomach churns again, a knot of worry twisting inside him. He can’t help it. He just wants Bakugou to be okay.

He carries Bakugou back to the dorm in his arms, unable to look away, shielding his head in his chest. The rest of the class was gathered around him as they watched Bakugou take each breath, but the air was thick with uncertainty. Bakugou lay unconscious in Kirishima’s arms, his body still and unmoving, the tension of the situation hanging over them all like a storm waiting to break.

“We can’t let him go anywhere but his room for now,” Aizawa’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and matter-of-fact. He stood by the window, arms crossed, his gaze focused on the outside world as though expecting trouble at any moment, “Not until we know what we’re dealing with.”

Kirishima nodded absently, his mind a whirl of thoughts, but nothing felt solid enough to grab onto. Bakugou was down, sure, but that wasn’t what terrified him the most. It was the after-effects of the girl’s quirk that weighed on his heart. They still had no idea how long it would last, or if it could even be reversed. He kept coming back to one thought — Bakugou didn’t deal with things like this. He wasn’t a person who could just sit back and let things happen to him. Bakugou took control — always. But now they weren’t sure if he could handle whatever was coming next.

“Recovery Girl won’t work,” Aizawa continued, his voice neutral, but there was a flicker of something darker in his eyes. “We can’t risk her being here when he wakes up. If we don’t know how the quirk affects him, who knows what could happen if she tries to intervene?”

Mina shifted uncomfortably, “But we can’t just leave him in that state, what if he’s hurt? What if something happens to him while he’s like this?”

Kirishima’s fist clenched involuntarily. He hated the uncertainty, the helplessness in the air. He wasn’t used to feeling this way, not with Bakugou, “We should be there when he wakes up. It has to be one of us. He’s not going to let anyone else be the first person he sees, right? It should be me.”

Mina blinked, surprised by the sudden determination in his voice, “You think he’ll listen to you?”

“Is he going to listen to any of us?” Kirishima asked, a wry grin flickering on his face, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m the only one who can handle this without getting blown up.”

Aizawa’s gaze softened for a fraction of a second, before he spoke again, “If it’s going to be anyone, it has to be you, Kirishima. But we can’t move him just yet. You’ll need to wait, keep him calm when he wakes up. We can’t have him panicking.”

“Right,” Kirishima said, swallowing back the lump in his throat. He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing towards the hallway where Bakugou lay. The thought of his friend, still unconscious, vulnerable in a way they’d never seen him before, gnawed at his insides. Bakugou wasn’t someone who ever let anyone in. His pride, his anger was armour. But if this quirk was as dangerous as Aizawa said, there was no telling what it could do to him.

The door to Bakugou’s room was still shut, the silence on the other side weighing heavy. Sero leaned against the wall, his usual easygoing nature subdued for once, brows furrowed as he stared at the door. “How long is this gonna last? I mean, we don’t even know how long the quirk sticks around for, do we?”

Kaminari let out a frustrated sigh. “Yeah, and even if Kirishima’s the first one he sees when he wakes up, how long is that gonna last?”

“We’re not even sure if that’s the only effect,” Aizawa replied, his voice low and steady, but there was a trace of concern. “If this affects him the way it sounds, we need to be prepared for anything. And we need to make sure Bakugou isn’t in a position to hurt himself or anyone else when he comes to.”

There was a long pause, one that stretched on far too long as everyone considered the gravity of the situation. Kirishima bit down on his lip, his mind working overtime. He wanted to protect Bakugou, wanted to be the one to make sure his friend wasn’t alone when this all went south. But nothing felt concrete, nothing felt like it would fix things, and the weight of the uncertainty threatened to crush him.

Finally, it was Mina who spoke, her voice small but firm. “What if we give him some space when he wakes up? Just for a little while? Let him process things. We don’t need to push him into anything. And we can figure out what to do after,”

“I’ll keep him calm,” Kirishima said before anyone could protest, a quiet promise in his words. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone.”

Aizawa gave a small nod of approval. “We’ll give it a few hours. Keep watch. But don’t let him out of your sight. Whatever happens, don’t let him feel like he’s alone.”

Kirishima’s throat tightened at those words, and for the first time since they’d gotten back, he realized just how much weight was on his shoulders. He wasn’t just looking out for Bakugou’s safety anymore. He was looking out for his friend’s heart—the one Bakugou refused to show anyone, the one he kept buried beneath layers of anger and pride.

Kirishima crouched beside Bakugou, watching his chest rise and fall with each breath. He’d seen his friend unconscious for far too long, and the weird tension in the air wasn’t helping his nerves. He could feel the weight of his other friends’ eyes on him, the group still lingering outside the room, unsure what to do, peeking through the gap in the door. The camera from Mina’s hand flickered with an eerie brightness, her eyes wide in confusion. Even Sero’s usual confidence seemed to have dulled, the faintest hint of doubt crossing his face. The atmosphere was tight, their concerns about Bakugou’s current state barely contained.

The first thing Bakugou did when he finally stirred was grunt, his eyes snapping open, immediately burning with irritation. Kirishima had to bite back a relieved laugh. The anger hadn’t left him, not even in the face of the situation he had just endured.

“Stop staring,” Bakugou snapped, shoving Kirishima’s hand away, “What time is it? I’m not some experiment you can just poke at,”

Kirishima could feel the tightness in his chest ease as Bakugou continued to scowl, his usual irritation flaring back to life. As if all their collective worry had been for nothing. Kirishima watched, still frozen in place, as Bakugou sat up and glared around the room, his arms crossed over his chest, a low growl escaping him. The fact that Bakugou was still furious made Kirishima’s heart race faster than it should, but it was a relief too.

Mina, ever the optimist, raised her phone, a confused expression on her face. “Maybe the quirk just takes a little longer to kick in?” she suggested weakly, but her words were more of a guess than a certainty. The camera light blinked again as Sero, standing behind her, nodded in agreement.

Kaminari scratched the back of his head, his voice light, “Maybe it was the sweat? Like, the quirk didn’t really connect because of the distance or whatever?”

Kirishima shook his head, still unsure. “It didn’t feel like that. The girl’s parents were pretty clear about it. The longer she touches someone, the stronger the effect — so it’s gotta be a pretty big deal,”

The whole group waited for Bakugou’s reaction, but he just stared at them, unmoving. Then, after a long pause, he scoffed loudly, cutting through the awkward silence.

“The hell are you all talking about? I’m fine,” he growled, rolling his eyes like he didn’t have a care in the world. “I don’t know what kinda joke this is, but that quirk didn’t do jack shit to me. I’m fine,”

Kirishima exhaled sharply. He should’ve known Bakugou wasn’t going to let a child’s quirk get the best of him. He wasn’t that easy to break.

Kaminari looked a little defeated, his expression faltering as he glanced between the group, “But the parents told us you’d fall desperately in love with the first person you saw,”

“No,” Bakugou cut him off with a glare, “It didn’t work. You’re all just making a big deal out of nothing. It’s not like I’m suddenly gonna be in love with some idiot because a quirk dictated it,”

The room went dead silent for a moment. Even Kirishima’s usual exuberant energy seemed to falter under the weight of that single statement.

But then, Bakugou huffed again, looking even more irritated than before. “Stop looking at me like that. I’m not gonna be caught up in some weird quirk thing. I’ve got things to do.”

And there it was, that familiar brashness. Bakugou was the same as always, shouting, snapping, pushing everyone away.

Aizawa, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, sighed deeply. He’d been watching from the back, his usual tired expression betraying none of his thoughts. “We’ll take you to get checked up on by Recovery Girl, Bakugou,” he said dryly.

˚₊‧꒰ა 🍙 ໒꒱ ‧₊

Bakugou feels the cool air of Recovery Girl’s office wash over him as he stumbles into the room. The familiar scent of antiseptic lingers in the air, but it’s almost a distant hum to him, drowned out by the thudding pulse in his head. His steps are heavy, reluctant, like he’s walking through molasses, and he can feel his teeth gritting tighter with every step he takes.

The door swings shut behind him, cutting off the soft murmur of his friends outside. It’s just him, Recovery Girl, and the quiet hum of the medical machines surrounding him. He almost wishes it were louder, just to drown out the thoughts in his head. The ones that won’t stop turning, pulling, gnawing at him no matter how much he tries to ignore them.

Recovery Girl gestures for him to sit down, her eyes gleaming with concern, but Bakugou doesn’t need to see that. He’s seen it before. She’s been around long enough to know when something’s off.

“I’m fine,” he mutters through clenched teeth, pulling up the chair with a little too much force, causing it to scrape across the tile floor. “It’s just a damn headache. Nothing to fuss over.”

Her wrinkled eyes scan him, her lips pressed into a tight line. She doesn’t say anything at first, just watches him, and Bakugou feels the weight of her gaze like she can see right through him. But he doesn’t break. He won’t. Not to her. Not to anyone.

“You know all the scans can tell there’s quirk effects running through you,” Recovery Girl finally speaks, her voice gentle, but there’s no mistaking the underlying seriousness. “We’ll need to monitor you, Bakugou. It’s not normal that you’re not experiencing anything but mild discomfort,”

Bakugou’s jaw tightens at her words. He knows exactly what she’s talking about. The quirk. That damn little girl’s quirk. He’s not an idiot. He remembers the way it felt when her hands touched his face. How his body had weakened, how everything had turned blurry right before he passed out. But more than that, he remembers the last thing he saw was the one person who was there when it all went dark. Kirishima. His face. The one thing that stuck with him through the haze.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it?

It’s not the quirk. It’s not the damn girl’s power. It’s that his heart already knows what it wants. It’s always known. He’s always been in love with Kirishima. It’s nothing new. The sky is blue, the grass is green, and Katsuki Bakugou is in love with Kirishima.

Bakugou runs a hand through his hair, his fingers trembling just a little as he pushes away the thoughts that threaten to surface. He doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t want to deal with it. But he already knows. He’s known for a long time. This quirk? It didn’t change a thing.

His lips curl into a snarl. “I told you. That quirk didn’t do jack shit to me. I’m not some puppet for some quirk to control,” he growls, his fists clenching so tight his nails dig into his palms.

Recovery Girl doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t need to. She’s seen his type before — hard-headed, stubborn, refusing to acknowledge what’s right in front of them. But she lets him have his moment, her gaze never leaving him, her expression unreadable, but Bakugou knows she’s not fooled.

He shifts in his seat, suddenly restless. “I’m fine. I’m not in love with anyone,” he says, the words heavy in the air as if saying them will make them true. But it doesn’t change the pounding in his chest, the ache he’s tried so hard to bury.

He can’t stop the thoughts. Every time he closes his eyes, it’s Kirishima’s face he sees. It’s his stupid laugh, the way his hair glows in the sun, the way he always has Bakugou’s back, even when he’s being a pain in the ass. Bakugou had told himself for so long that it didn’t matter — that he wouldn’t push things, that their friendship was enough. But it’s not enough. It never was.

He scowls, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head as if to rid himself of the thought. Recovery Girl’s eyes soften, but she says nothing. She doesn’t need to. She understands, just like everyone else does. Bakugou isn’t fooling anyone. He can scream and shout and act like nothing’s wrong, but they all know the truth. And deep down, so does he.

The silence stretches out, thick and suffocating, before Bakugou opens his eyes again, locking onto her with the same fiery glare. He’s not going to break. Not here, not now. Not when everything he’s tried to bury is threatening to surface.

“Get it over with,” he grumbles, straightening in his chair. “Just finish checking me out and let me go. I’ve got shit to do.”

Recovery Girl nods, finally moving forward, but there’s something unspoken in the air. Something that lingers between them, hanging heavy in the space around him. Bakugou knows it, feels it — just like he feels the quiet, painful throb of his heart every time he’s around Kirishima. He’s in love, and the weight of it’s finally catching up to him.

He’ll live with it. He always has. And that’s all he needs.

The days drag on, each one feeling like it’s suffocating him a little more. Bakugou doesn’t understand why it feels so heavy now, why his chest feels like it’s being crushed under the weight of his own thoughts.

Bakugou’s temper is sharp as ever, his mouth as foul as always. But there’s something in the way his eyes flicker to the door when he hears Kirishima’s footsteps. Something in the way his fists clench, not out of anger but out of a feeling he’s desperately trying to swallow. It’s suffocating him, and the worst part is Kirishima notices.

Kirishima’s always good at reading him. He’d never admit it, but Bakugou’s had it drilled into his skull from years of friendship. Kirishima can read him like a book, no matter how hard Bakugou tries to shut it all down.

It’s been a week since that mission. A week since the little girl’s quirk pressed into his skin, making everything that should’ve been simple feel like it’s been turned upside down. He remembers how the world seemed to freeze when her hands touched him, when everything felt out of place but perfectly right at the same time. The last thing he remembers is the sheer panic of seeing Kirishima’s face, the relief of being caught in his arms. His mind blanked, everything became hazy, but the feeling of Kirishima holding him — that’s the feeling that stays. It burns deep into his chest, a warmth he doesn’t know what to do with.

But when he woke up — when everything seemed normal, when the others were convinced that the quirk didn’t affect him — Bakugou felt a sharp sense of guilt that he couldn’t shake. Kirishima had been the first person he saw, and somehow that felt like it should’ve meant something, like it should’ve mattered more, but it didn’t. At least not in the way Bakugou thought it should. It didn’t fix anything. His chest still felt tight, his thoughts still a swirling mess of confusion. He should’ve been relieved. He should’ve been happy that nothing changed, that his heart wasn’t suddenly torn in two by some ridiculous quirk. Instead, he was left with the dull ache of knowing he couldn’t escape his fate, destined to be stuck in a cycle of loving and getting nothing in return, not even being given the opportunity to be torn apart and experience love towards anybody else.

But Kirishima doesn’t know that. He doesn’t know that Bakugou’s been wrestling with something deeper than he could ever put to words, something he’s been burying for years now. Bakugou doesn’t know if he’ll ever have the guts to tell him. The guilt weighs him down even more every day, knowing that he knows this isn’t right for either of them but too selfish to step away. He pulls away from Kirishima. He can’t risk it. Not now. Not when he’s terrified that if he lets his guard down just a little, Kirishima will see it—the truth he’s been hiding for so long.

It’s easier this way. Keeping his distance. Letting the silence between them grow instead of filling it with the words that might betray him.

Kirishima doesn’t miss it. Bakugou knows it. The way he watches him out of the corner of his eye, always looking for a sign of what’s going on inside his volatile head. Bakugou can feel the weight of his gaze even when he’s not looking directly at him. It’s the intuition Kirishima has — always too sharp, always too perceptive. It’s making Bakugou paranoid, every small move, every awkward silence, is adding to the pressure.

When they’re all gathered in the common room, when Kirishima claps Bakugou on the back with a grin and tries to drag him into some impromptu sparring session, Bakugou feels the coldness in his chest. He doesn’t want to fight anymore. Doesn’t want to spar. He wants to be alone, away from Kirishima, because every time they’re close, it hurts. It aches in a way he doesn’t want to acknowledge.

“Bakugou, man,” Kirishima’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts, and he looks up to find his best friend standing right in front of him, that wide grin stretching across his face. “You’ve been quiet lately. You good?”

Bakugou’s heart skips a beat. The question is casual, like any other, but it stings in a way he can’t explain. He wants to say something sharp, something to throw the question away and end this conversation, but instead, his throat tightens. The words are stuck.

“I’m fine,” he grunts, glaring at the floor. “Just tired.”

It’s a lie. A lie, and Kirishima knows it. He sees through it. Bakugou can feel the redhead’s gaze on him, steady and unwavering, like he’s waiting for Bakugou to let the wall crack just a little so he can pull him in. Bakugou doesn’t let it happen. He turns away, gritting his teeth, pushing the feeling down, the shame, the fear that if he lets Kirishima get too close, it might break everything.

“You sure?” Kirishima’s voice is soft now, concerned. “I don’t know, man. You’ve been off.”

Bakugou doesn’t answer. He just brushes past him, shoving his hands deep into his pockets, focusing on the sound of his boots hitting the floor. His steps are loud, almost angry, but it’s just a distraction. Anything to drown out the sound of Kirishima’s voice.

And maybe it’s cowardly. Maybe it’s pathetic. But Bakugou doesn’t know how to fight this. Doesn’t know how to keep pretending that this damn friendship, the one he’s built for years, is just that — friendship. When the truth is, he’s always been in love with Kirishima. He knows it’s a losing battle. The quirk might not have changed anything, but it’s never really mattered. His heart has been set on this for years now, and no amount of distance, no amount of pretending he doesn’t care, will ever change it.

But maybe he’ll get used to the ache. Maybe he’ll learn to live with it.

He just doesn’t know if he can keep lying to himself, or to Kirishima, for much longer.

˚₊‧꒰ა 🍙 ໒꒱ ‧₊

Kirishima had convinced him to go with him to visit the girl's family, and they stood in the front doorway of the little girl’s house, a fruit basket in hand as a gift. The smell of warm tea wafts from inside, the sounds of muffled laughter and the occasional clink of dishes. Everything feels off to Bakugou. The way the sunlight pours through the window, how the world seems to move a bit slower, like time is stretching in ways it shouldn’t. He shifts uncomfortably, hands stuffed deep into his pockets, his usual brash posture muted by the tightness in his chest.

Kirishima’s beside him, his usual warmth, always so inviting, feels like a weight now. A confusing one. Bakugou doesn’t look at him. He can’t. He’s afraid that if he does, something inside him will crack wide open, and that feeling will be too much to handle. He doesn’t know how to keep pretending that everything’s fine even though nothing has changed.

“Yo, man,” Kirishima says, breaking through his haze, his voice bright but laced with concern. “You okay?” He nudges his friend lightly, but Bakugou just grunts in response, not meeting his eyes.

Before Bakugou can respond, the door swings open with a soft creak. The girl’s parents stand there, their faces kind and understanding, yet something in the way they look at Bakugou makes his stomach churn. They’ve been waiting for them, but it’s not just to check on the girl. Something else hangs in the air, something heavier than just pleasantries.

“Welcome,” the father says, his voice gentle. “Thank you so much for coming to check in on our daughter. We know how stressful things must have been after the mission.” He steps back to allow them in, offering an inviting smile.

Kirishima smiles back warmly, stepping forward with his usual energetic attitude, while Bakugou hesitates. “It’s no problem,” Kirishima says brightly, his voice full of reassurance. “We just wanted to make sure she’s doing okay, and, you know, get some answers about Bakugou. We’re all still a little confused about what happened.”

Bakugou doesn’t speak. He just stands there, his hands still buried in his pockets, his gaze focused on the floor. His throat tightens at the mention of the quirk, of the thing that’s been slowly unraveling him over the past week, and he feels the sting of frustration rise up again. Why hasn’t it worked on him? Why does he still feel the same, as if nothing’s changed? It doesn’t make sense. But he knows why. He’s known why all along.

The mother of the girl steps forward, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “We’ve been trying to figure that out too,” she says, her voice gentle but carrying a quiet wisdom. “It’s never not worked before. The emails you sent were quite the shock. Usually, if the person’s affected, it’s instant. But, I guess maybe your reaction is different, Bakugou?” She eyes him with an almost knowing look.

Bakugou stiffens. There’s something in the way she says his name, something that makes his chest ache in a way he doesn’t want to acknowledge. His hands tighten into fists, nails digging into his palms, and he almost snaps out an angry response. But something stops him. Instead, he says nothing.

Kirishima glances between them, his eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion. “So, you’re saying it’s definitely worked, right?” His voice is soft, trying to make sense of the situation, trying to make it okay.

“Well,” the father begins, his tone becoming more thoughtful, “I suppose so,” He glances at Bakugou, then back at his wife, as if they share some silent understanding between them. “We’ve seen her quirk before, with others. It’s always the first person the affected person sees when they wake up. The bond they form is,” He trails off, smiling faintly as he watches Bakugou, who remains stoic, unmoving. “But maybe it just takes some time to settle in.”

Kirishima furrows his brows, clearly unsettled by the lack of clarity. “But why hasn’t Bakugou, you know, fallen for the first person he saw? If he’s affected, then why isn’t he acting differently? Distant maybe, but not different,” He looks at Bakugou, his face full of concern, confusion still lingering on his features.

The mother’s gaze is steady, kind, but there’s an almost knowing twinkle in her eyes, as if she sees straight through him. “Perhaps,” she says softly, her voice carrying a subtle warmth, “love lingers in different ways,” She looks at Kirishima as she speaks, her words simple but piercing. “Maybe, for him, the quirk hadn’t changed anything.”

The room goes still. Bakugou freezes, his throat clenching, heart thudding in his chest. The words hang in the air, reverberating around him, twisting in his gut. He doesn’t look up. He can’t look up. He just stares at the floor, his hands trembling ever so slightly, fists still clenched.

Kirishima’s expression falters, but he doesn’t say anything. Bakugou can’t bring himself to look at his eyes, in case there’s a flicker of realisation. Kirishima nods in that familiar way of his, trying to piece together the confusion in the air, “So like, it’s not as potent yet?”

Bakugou’s chest feels tight, his heartbeat a slow painful rhythm. He doesn’t notice the way his hands are shaking, the way his breath comes a little too quickly.

The mother’s gaze softens as she watches the two boys. “There’s no rush, Bakugou,” she says quietly, her voice carrying a gentle understanding. “I know the faster it comes the faster it wears off, but take your time. Talk about it when you’re ready.”

Bakugou’s head drops even further, eyes squeezed shut. His chest tightens painfully, like a vise gripping his lungs, and he can feel his heart beat harder, faster, as though it’s trying to tear itself out of his ribcage. He can’t do this. He can’t let them see him like this, weak, vulnerable, his emotions spilling over in ways he’s never allowed them to before.

The father gives a warm smile, his tone soothing. “Be patient, with yourself. And with him.” They don't need to say anything more. Their words, however gentle, carry the weight of an understanding that hits too close to home.

Bakugou nods stiffly, his throat tight as ever. Kirishima claps him on the back, his usual friendly gesture, and Bakugou barely reacts. He lets Kirishima guide him back to the door, out into the crisp air, and for a moment, just a moment, he allows himself to feel the cool breeze against his face. It’s the only thing that feels like it makes sense anymore.

As they walk away from the house, Kirishima’s voice breaks through the silence. “Are you doing ok, man? It was a good sign right? You’re just working through it or something. We’ll figure it out, like always.”

Bakugou’s eyes narrow, but his voice remains steady, betraying none of the turmoil he feels inside. “Yeah. Whatever.”

Kirishima doesn’t push further, but the lingering concern in his eyes is there.

˚₊‧꒰ა 🍙 ໒꒱ ‧₊

The walls Bakugou built around himself weren’t supposed to crack like this. For years, they had held strong, impenetrable, unyielding to anything the world threw at him. But now, every time Kirishima laughs, his guard waivers. Every time Kirishima claps him on the shoulder, the fissures widen. It’s unbearable. The weight of his own feelings presses against him, relentless, suffocating. He can’t escape it — doesn’t even know if he wants to anymore.

When Kirishima is near, it feels like Bakugou is walking on a wire stretched tight, threatening to snap beneath him. His breath hitches when he catches Kirishima’s easy smile out of the corner of his eye. His chest aches when Kirishima says his name, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like it doesn’t hold the weight of everything Bakugou can never say. It’s too much. Every moment around Kirishima is another reminder that Bakugou is teetering on the edge of something he can’t afford to fall into.

So he’s trying to keep his distance. He doesn’t cook for the group anymore, not even when Kaminari complains that no one else can make spicy food like him. He hasn’t sparred with Kirishima in days, no matter how many times his friend tries to convince him it’s “just for fun.” He avoids lingering in the common room too long, slipping away before Kirishima can pull him into one of their easy conversations. But no matter how much space he tries to create, it’s never enough. Kirishima is always there, breaking through his defenses with that bright, unyielding warmth, the one thing Bakugou has no idea how to protect himself against.

And the worst part is, Bakugou feels like he’s failing. He’s spent his entire life perfecting the art of control — control over his emotions, his strength, his quirk. But now — now, he’s falling apart. He feels raw, exposed, like the feelings he’s worked so hard to bury are clawing their way to the surface. His heart races when Kirishima is near, and no matter how much he scowls, no matter how hard he tries to push it down, it won’t go away. It’s like he’s on fire from the inside out, every crack letting the flames seep through.

By the time the common room is empty that night, Bakugou feels like he’s suffocating. The quiet should be a relief, but instead, it presses against him, amplifying the roar of his thoughts. He sinks onto the couch, his shoulders tense, his jaw tight. He’s so caught up in the storm of his own mind that he doesn’t hear Kirishima come in until it’s too late.

“Bakugou.”

The voice is soft but firm, and Bakugou freezes. He doesn’t need to look up to know who it is. He doesn’t need to see the expression on Kirishima’s face to know what’s coming.

“I’ve had enough of this,” Kirishima says, stepping closer, his tone tinged with something that sounds almost, hurt. “You’ve been avoiding me. You barely talk to me anymore. What’s going on?”

Bakugou stiffens, his hands curling into fists on his lap. He doesn’t answer, doesn’t even look up. His throat feels tight, and the words he wants to say — needs to say — lodge somewhere deep, trapped beneath the weight of his fear.

“Come on, man,” Kirishima continues, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I’m your friend. You can tell me anything, you know that, right?”

Bakugou’s chest tightens, his breaths coming shallow and uneven. He wants to believe him, wants to let the words spill out, but he can’t. The fear is too much. Fear of what Kirishima might say, fear of ruining everything, fear of losing the one person who means more to him than anything else.

“I’m fine,” Bakugou snaps, his voice harsher than he intends. He finally looks up, meeting Kirishima’s gaze for a fleeting moment before looking away again. “Just drop it.”

But Kirishima doesn’t drop it. He steps closer, his expression steady but full of concern. “No. I’m not gonna drop it. You’ve been acting weird ever since that mission, and I’m not just gonna stand here and pretend everything’s fine when it’s not.”

Bakugou grits his teeth, his nails digging into his palms. He can feel the walls cracking again, the pressure building, and it’s taking everything he has not to let it all come spilling out. He shakes his head, trying to hold himself together.

And then Kirishima says it — the words that shatter what little resolve Bakugou has left.

“Put some weight on me man, I’ve got you.”

The words were spoken with such quiet certainty, and Bakugou feels like he’s been punched in the chest. His breath catches, his vision blurs for a moment, and all he can do is sit there, frozen, as the guilt crashes over him.

Because he knows Kirishima means it. He knows that if he were to lay everything bare right now, Kirishima wouldn’t walk away. He’d stay, like he always does, like he always has. But that doesn’t make it easier. It only makes it harder.

“I don’t need you to have my back,” Bakugou growls, his voice shaking despite his best efforts. He stands abruptly, turning away so Kirishima can’t see the way his hands are trembling, the way his face is twisted in something dangerously close to breaking. “I’m fine. Just leave me alone.”

There’s a long, heavy silence. Kirishima doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to stop him as he storms out of the room. But Bakugou can feel his eyes on him, and can feel the weight of his concern lingering in the air long after he’s gone.

By the time Bakugou reaches his room, slamming the door shut behind him, he feels like he’s come undone. He sinks to the floor, burying his face in his hands, his chest heaving with the effort of holding everything in.

He knows Kirishima doesn’t deserve this. He knows that pushing him away isn’t fair. But he doesn’t know how to stop.

Because every time Kirishima says something like that — I’ve got you — it only makes the truth harder to bear. And Bakugou doesn’t know if he can survive losing him. So he keeps building the walls, even as they crack and crumble beneath the weight of everything he’s trying so desperately to hide.

˚₊‧꒰ა 🍙 ໒꒱ ‧₊

The gym echoes with the sharp, rhythmic sounds of fists meeting flesh and boots scraping against the polished floor. The air is thick with tension, more than what usually hangs between them when they spar. Bakugou’s palms twitch, the faint crackle of his explosions already licking at his fingertips as he squares off against Kirishima.

“I’m not holding back today,” Kirishima says, grinning despite the weight between them. His tone is light, but there’s an undercurrent of something else. Something that tells Bakugou this isn’t just about the fight.

“Like I care,” Bakugou growls, his stance shifting low, his muscles coiled tight like a spring about to snap. He needs this. Needs the fight to drown out the noise in his head. The noise that’s been screaming ever since Kirishima started pushing, ever since he refused to let Bakugou hide.

Kirishima moves first, charging forward with his usual tenacity, his skin hardening just in time to block Bakugou’s first blast. The explosion sparks violently against his forearms, sending a ripple of heat through the gym. But Kirishima doesn’t falter. He pushes through, aiming a swift jab at Bakugou’s side.

Bakugou dodges, his movements sharp and fluid, and counters with another explosion, closer this time. The force of it drives Kirishima back a few steps, his feet skidding against the floor, but he doesn’t fall.

“You’re holding back,” Kirishima says, his voice steady but edged with something sharper. “Stop it. Fight me like you mean it.”

Bakugou’s teeth clench, his jaw tight. “I’m not holding back!” he snaps, launching forward with a flurry of attacks, each one more aggressive than the last. He doesn’t give Kirishima room to breathe, doesn’t give himself room to think.

But Kirishima is relentless, meeting him blow for blow, his hardened skin absorbing the brunt of Bakugou’s explosions. He ducks under a wide arc of heat, his fists aiming for Bakugou’s midsection. The hit lands, and Bakugou staggers back a step, his breath hitching.

“You think I can’t see it?” Kirishima says, his voice louder now, cutting through the crackle of sparks. “You’re not fighting me. You’re running from me.”

The words strike a nerve, and something inside Bakugou snaps. “Shut up!” he roars, his palms igniting with an explosion so fierce it sends a shockwave through the gym.

Kirishima braces himself, crossing his arms as the blast slams into him. The heat scorches the air, the force sending him skidding across the floor until his back collides with the wall. The impact echoes loudly, a dull thud that reverberates through Bakugou’s chest like a warning bell.

For a moment, the world is still.

Bakugou’s breath is ragged, his hands trembling at his sides, smoke curling up from his palms. His heart sinks as he watches Kirishima slump against the wall, his hardened skin already beginning to soften as he shifts back to normal.

But then Kirishima moves. Slowly, painfully, but he pushes himself up, his hands braced against the wall for support. He’s not hurt — not seriously, at least. His quirk had done its job, protecting him from the worst of the blast.

Still, the look in his eyes cuts deeper than any physical blow ever could.

“Bakugou,” Kirishima’s voice is quieter now, the usual brightness dimmed with something heavier. “What the hell was that?”

Bakugou can’t answer. His throat feels tight, the weight of his guilt pressing down on him like a vice. He hadn’t meant to lose control. Hadn’t meant to hurt him.

“I’m just trying to help you,” Kirishima says, stepping closer, his movements slower than usual but steady. “Why won’t you just—”

“Shut up!” Bakugou’s voice cracks, raw and desperate, as he cuts Kirishima off. He takes a step back, his eyes wide, his chest heaving. He can’t do this. He can’t stand here and face him, not when the cracks in his walls are threatening to split wide open.

“You don’t know anything!” he snarls, his voice trembling with barely contained emotion. “Just fuck off and leave me alone,”

Before Kirishima can respond, Bakugou turns on his heel and storms out of the gym. The door slams shut behind him, the sound echoing loudly in the empty space.

Kirishima stands there, still and silent, the heat of the fight lingering in the air around him. His shoulders sag, his hands falling to his sides as he watches the door, the frustration and hurt etched deeply into his expression.

But Bakugou doesn’t look back. He can’t.

He makes it to the hallway before his knees feel weak, before the fire in his chest burns too hot to contain. He leans against the wall, his head tilting back, his eyes squeezed shut as he tries to catch his breath.

This is why he can’t do this. This is why he has to keep his distance. Because every time he gets too close, every time he lets his guard down even for a second, he risks losing control. And the thought of hurting Kirishima again, in any way, is more than he can bear.

His hands shake as he presses them against his face, his breathing uneven. He can still see the look in Kirishima’s eyes, can still feel the weight of his words. I’m just trying to help you.

But Bakugou doesn’t know how to let him. He doesn’t know how to let anyone in without falling apart completely.

So he keeps walking. Keeps running. Because it’s the only thing he knows how to do.

The dorms feel suffocating that night. The air is heavy, like it’s pressing down on Bakugou’s chest with every breath. He’s been pacing his room for the past hour, but the walls are too close, too confining, and the sound of his own footsteps is driving him insane.

He runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. His palms are clammy, his pulse erratic, and no matter how hard he tries to focus on anything else, his mind keeps circling back to the sparring match, to the explosion, to the look in Kirishima’s eyes when Bakugou turned his back and walked away.

He grits his teeth, his jaw aching from how tightly it’s clenched. The memory of Kirishima’s face — so open, so forgiving — makes his chest ache in a way he can’t put into words. Kirishima should be angry. He should have yelled, fought back, anything to match the storm Bakugou feels raging inside of him. But he didn’t. He just stood there, watching, his eyes full of quiet hurt that cuts deeper than anything else ever could.

He doesn’t even think about where he’s going, just lets his feet carry him out into the hallway, up the stairs, and out the roof door.

The night air bites at Bakugou’s skin as he steps out onto the roof. It’s quiet up here, save for the distant hum of the city beyond UA’s walls. He’s wearing socks with holes in them, his usual tank top and sweats doing little to stave off the chill, but he doesn’t care. His chest is too tight, his head too loud. He doesn’t know what he’s even doing here — he should be in bed, staring at the ceiling, letting his guilt eat away at him like it has every night for the past week.

But when he spots the familiar figure sitting near the edge of the roof, his stomach twists.

Kirishima is there, sitting cross-legged with his back to Bakugou, his head tipped back to look at the stars. His red hair is a soft halo around his face, and the soft glow of the moonlight washes over him, making him look almost unreal. Something Bakugou could never reach.

The urge to leave is immediate. He doesn’t deserve this — doesn’t deserve him — not after the way he’s been acting. But his feet stay planted, heavy as lead, and before he knows it, the scrape of his footsteps betrays his presence.

Kirishima turns at the sound, glancing over his shoulder. His eyebrows knit together, and his expression is cautious, almost guarded, as if he’s bracing himself for whatever Bakugou is about to say.

Bakugou hesitates, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. His heart pounds so loudly it’s all he can hear, drowning out the buzz of his thoughts.

“I,” His voice comes out rough, cracking on the first syllable. He clears his throat and tries again, his gaze dropping to the ground. “I’m sorry.”

Kirishima doesn’t respond, doesn’t move, but the subtle shift in his face is enough. His brow furrows just slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line, and there’s something in his eyes — something that makes Bakugou want to crumble on the spot.

“I shouldn’t have,” Bakugou stops, his breath hitching. His throat feels like it’s closing up, the words clawing their way out of him despite his every effort to swallow them back down. He forces himself to meet Kirishima’s gaze, and the look on his face — the quiet hurt, the worry, the unshakable patience — nearly undoes him.

“I’m not good at this,” Bakugou mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to — how to deal with this kind of shit.” His hands twitch at his sides, and he has to shove them into his pockets to stop them from trembling.

Kirishima watches him, his expression softening ever so slightly. He leans forward just a bit, his elbows resting on his knees, but he still doesn’t say a word.

“You’re always—” Bakugou cuts himself off with a sharp inhale, his jaw clenching. The words feel too big, too dangerous, but they’re sitting on the edge of his tongue, begging to be spoken.

“I don’t know how to be around you anymore,” he says finally, his voice shaking. “Ever since that damn quirk, I can’t—”

He stops again, the weight in his chest threatening to crush him. His eyes drop to the ground, and his teeth dig into his bottom lip hard enough to hurt. He’s never felt this exposed, this raw, and it’s terrifying.

“I lied,” Bakugou says after a long pause, his voice so quiet it’s almost drowned out by the wind. “About why it didn’t work. That kid’s quirk—it did work. But it didn’t — it didn’t change anything.”

Kirishima’s eyes widen slightly, his lips parting as if to speak, but he stays silent, his gaze fixed on Bakugou.

“Because I—” Bakugou’s voice catches, and he has to force himself to take a steadying breath. He feels like he’s on the edge of a cliff, staring down into something he can’t come back from if he falls.

“I’ve always—” His voice breaks, and he squeezes his eyes shut, his shoulders hunching as if bracing for impact.

The words finally tumble out, quiet and fragile and laced with every ounce of fear he’s been carrying. “I’ve always felt that way about you. Before the quirk. Before all of this.”

The silence that follows is deafening. Bakugou’s chest heaves, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts as he waits for the response he knows he can’t handle.

But Kirishima doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, doesn’t speak. And Bakugou can’t bear to look at him, can’t bear to see the reaction on his face.

Bakugou shakes his head, his voice trembling. “I needed to say it. That’s all. I—” His breath catches, and he takes a shaky step back.

He turns on his heel and runs away before Kirishima can stop him, before he can hear whatever response he has. His hands are shaking, his heart pounding so loudly it drowns out the sound of the door slamming shut behind him.

The world around him is a blur, the city lights smearing into streaks of white and yellow as Bakugou runs.

His feet pound against the pavement, the sound muffled by the blood rushing in his ears. He doesn’t know where he’s going — he doesn’t care. His lungs burn, his legs ache, but he doesn’t stop.

The cold bites at his skin, the wind slicing through his thin shirt like a blade. He barely registers the wetness soaking into his socks from puddles he’s splashed through, his breath fogging in the freezing air. All he knows is that he needs to get away. Away from the roof, from Kirishima, from the weight of everything he said.

When he finally stops, his chest heaving and his knees trembling, he doesn’t recognize where he is. The streets are quieter here, the chaos of the city dulled to a low hum in the background. Neon signs buzz faintly above him, their light casting soft glows onto the wet pavement. He looks up, his vision still blurry from the tears he’s refusing to let fall, and spots the glowing logo of a 7-11.

Without thinking, he stumbles toward it, his feet moving on autopilot. The fluorescent lights inside are harsh, making his head pound, but the mundane normalcy of the store is grounding. He grabs the first thing his hands land on — onigiri, his usual go-to. His grip tightens around the packaging, the plastic crinkling under his fingers as he takes a second one off the shelf.

He doesn’t notice it at first. The motions are mechanical — grab, pay, leave. But when he steps out into the cold night again, the rain just beginning to fall, he looks down at his hands and sees the second onigiri.

Kirishima’s favorite.

It hits him like a punch to the gut, the realization knocking the air from his lungs. His hands tremble as he stares at it, the small, unassuming package feeling heavier than it should. His chest tightens, his throat burning as he sucks in a shaky breath.

He doesn’t even remember picking it up. It was instinct, second nature. Loving Kirishima is so deeply ingrained in Bakugou that he didn’t even think twice. His body just knew.

And that’s what breaks him.

The sob bursts out of him suddenly, violently, like a dam finally giving way. The onigiri slips from his hands, landing with a soft thud on the wet ground. His knees buckle, and he collapses against the wall of the convenience store, his hands covering his face as the tears come in full force.

It’s ugly. His whole body shakes with the force of his cries, the sound raw and guttural as it echoes in the empty street. The rain starts to come down harder, mingling with the tears streaming down his face, soaking into his clothes, his hair. But he doesn’t care.

He doesn’t know how to go back, how to fix the mess he’s made. The words he said, the distance he’s put between them — it feels irreversible, like he’s shattered something he can’t glue back together.

He clutches at his chest, his fingers digging into the damp fabric of his shirt as if he can physically hold himself together. But it’s no use. The ache in his heart feels unbearable, raw and exposed, like someone has torn him open and left him bleeding.

He wants to go back. Back to before the mission, before the quirk, before he ruined everything. Back to when things were simple, when he could stand beside Kirishima and not feel like he was breaking apart.

The onigiri sits forgotten at his feet, its packaging smeared with dirt and rainwater. And Bakugou cries. He cries until his throat is raw, until the cold sinks deep into his bones, until he feels like there’s nothing left inside of him.

The rain begins as a light drizzle, soft against his skin, but it quickly turns heavier, each drop cold and sharp like needles. Bakugou doesn’t move, doesn't try to shield himself from the downpour. His head hangs low, droplets dripping from his soaked bangs and onto the crushed onigiri at his feet.

His chest feels like it’s caving in, the ache radiating outward and swallowing him whole. It’s a raw, unbearable kind of pain, like his heart is breaking apart piece by piece. Every breath feels like a struggle, shallow and uneven, as if the weight of his regret is pressing down on his lungs.

The rain runs in rivulets down his face, but it doesn’t hide the tears slipping free, hot and relentless. He presses a trembling hand to his chest, as though he can physically hold the pieces of himself together, but it’s no use. The ache is too deep, too overwhelming.

He doesn’t even care that he’s soaked to the bone, his clothes clinging uncomfortably to his skin, the cold biting at his fingers. The only thing he can feel is the crushing guilt, the raw sorrow that’s tearing him apart from the inside out.

Bakugou lifts his head to the empty street, his vision blurred with rain and tears, and for a moment, he doesn’t think he has the strength to keep standing.

The rain beats harder against him, relentless and unyielding, but it feels fitting somehow—like the sky is breaking alongside him. And in the middle of it all, with the cold seeping into his skin and his heart shattering in his chest, Katsuki Bakugou feels like he’s falling apart.

The rain falls heavier now, a relentless rhythm against the asphalt and Bakugou’s shivering frame. He doesn’t know how long he’s been standing there, the crushed onigiri forgotten at his feet, when he hears it—a voice calling his name.

It’s faint at first, barely cutting through the rain, but it grows louder, closer. His heart stutters, torn between the urge to run and the need to stay frozen in place. And then he sees him.

Kirishima bursts into view, rain-soaked and breathless, his red hair plastered against his forehead, dripping streaks of water down his sharp jawline. His pajamas cling to him, his shoulders rising and falling with the effort of running in the storm. In the pale streetlight glow, his ruby eyes seem to burn brighter, like a beacon cutting through Bakugou’s haze. For a moment, Bakugou forgets how to breathe.

He wants to run, to put distance between them before he does something stupid, but his feet refuse to move. His chest aches at the sight of Kirishima, at the way he’s staring at him with a mix of concern and something else Bakugou can’t place—or maybe doesn’t want to.

“Bakugou!” Kirishima’s voice is steady despite his breathlessness. He takes a step closer, shaking rain from his face with a swipe of his hand. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

Bakugou bristles automatically, a weak attempt to shield himself. “What the hell are you doing out here?” His voice cracks, betraying the turmoil he’s desperately trying to hide. “You’re gonna catch a cold, dumbass!”

Kirishima huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. “You’re one to talk.” He steps closer again, closing the distance between them. The rain keeps falling, streaking down Kirishima’s face in shimmering trails, but his expression is unwavering — soft, determined, and so achingly warm that Bakugou feels like he might shatter under the weight of it.

“I was worried about you.” Kirishima’s voice is quieter now, a gentleness that cuts straight to Bakugou’s core. “You just took off, and I couldn’t,” He pauses, his eyes searching Bakugou’s face. “I couldn’t let you be alone like this.”

Bakugou clenches his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to handle the way Kirishima is looking at him — like he sees right through the walls Bakugou has built so carefully. His throat feels tight, his chest heavier than ever.

“I,” Bakugou starts, but the words stick in his throat. His heart is pounding so loudly he’s sure Kirishima can hear it over the rain. “I didn’t mean to — fuck me — why the hell are you always like this?”

Kirishima tilts his head, his brows knitting in confusion. “Like what?”

Bakugou swallows hard, his voice rising despite himself. “Like — you’re there! Always there, always, always looking at me like that,” His voice cracks again, and this time he doesn’t care. The dam he’s been holding back for weeks, for years, finally breaks. “You make it so fucking hard, you idiot! You make it impossible not to—” He cuts himself off, biting the inside of his cheek so hard it tastes like iron.

“Not to what?” Kirishima’s voice is soft, coaxing, but there’s an urgency in his tone, a need to understand.

Bakugou closes his eyes, his fists trembling at his sides. The rain beats down on them both, the world around them blurred and distant. When he speaks again, his voice is barely above a whisper, broken and raw.

“Not to love you.” The words spill out, jagged and unpolished, but they hang in the air with undeniable weight. His throat tightens, and he forces himself to keep going, even as the words tear at him. “Not to need you the way I do. You’re — damn it, Kirishima — you’re the only one who’s ever made me feel like this, and it scares the hell out of me.”

His breath hitches, and he takes a shaky step back, his arms wrapping around himself like it’s the only way to keep himself from completely falling apart. “I don’t know how to do this,” he admits, his voice cracking. “I don’t know how to be anything more than my quirk. But you—” His voice falters, and he looks down, the words tumbling out before he can stop them. “You’re everything good I’ve ever known. You’re everything I’m not. And it hurts. It hurts so much because I don’t deserve you, and I know it. But I can’t—” He chokes on a sob, his nails digging into his arms. “I can’t stop. I can’t stop loving you.”

The rain feels colder now, the weight of his confession hanging between them like a storm of its own. Bakugou’s voice lowers, barely audible over the downpour, but every word is drenched in emotion. “You’re in everything I do, you know? Every time I push myself, every time I try to be better — it’s because of you. And I’ve been so fucking terrified that if I told you — if I let you know how much you mean to me, I’d lose you. And I—” He swallows hard, his voice trembling. “I can’t lose you, Eijirou. I don’t think I’d survive.”

The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by the sound of rain striking the pavement. Bakugou keeps his eyes squeezed shut, his breath hitching as he braces himself for whatever comes next. The rejection, the pity — he’s prepared for it all.

He doesn’t expect Kirishima to step forward, closing the last bit of space between them. His hands are warm despite the rain as they gently cup Bakugou’s face, his thumbs brushing away the water — tears — that streaks his cheeks. Bakugou’s eyes fly open, meeting Kirishima’s, and the softness there is almost unbearable.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Kirishima says, his voice steady, the echo of the words he’d said earlier laced with something deeper, “I can’t let you go again. I’ve got you,”

Bakugou’s knees threaten to give out. The warmth of Kirishima’s touch, the sincerity in his eyes—it’s too much. He presses his forehead against Kirishima’s shoulder, his hands clutching at the fabric of his soaked shirt like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

Kirishima wraps his arms around him, pulling him close, and Bakugou lets himself continue to cry.

​​Kirishima’s voice trembles when he finally speaks, and it’s the rawness of it that makes Bakugou lift his head from his chest. “Katsuki,” he says, his hands still firm on Bakugou’s shoulders, grounding both of them. His red eyes are glassy, his face etched with something that looks like heartbreak and hope, both fighting for dominance. “You don’t have to be scared. I feel the same way.”

Bakugou’s breath catches, the words crashing into him with the force of an explosion. “What?” His voice is hoarse, barely audible.

Kirishima smiles, shaky and vulnerable, his lips quivering as tears spill freely down his face now. “I like you, too. God, Katsuki, I’ve liked you for so long, but I didn’t — I didn’t want to push you. I didn’t think you wanted this — wanted me — like that.” He sniffles, brushing at his cheeks with the back of his hand, only to falter when Bakugou’s wide-eyed gaze doesn’t waver.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Bakugou croaks, his voice breaking in the middle. He doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or furious, the emotions warring in his chest.

“Because you’re you,” Kirishima says softly, his hands now moving up to gently cradle Bakugou’s face. The calluses on his fingers are familiar, grounding, as though they were always meant to hold him like this. “And I didn’t want to risk losing you if you didn’t feel the same. I thought I could just be happy with what we had.” His thumbs brush against Bakugou’s jawline, a tender motion that makes Bakugou’s heart ache even more.

The rain continues to pour, a steady rhythm against the concrete, but it feels muted in the space between them. Kirishima takes a deep breath, his forehead dipping forward until it almost touches Bakugou’s. “But it’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice steady despite the tears still streaming down his face. “It’s okay to feel this. To let yourself have this. Because you don’t have to do everything alone anymore, Katsuki. You never did.”

Bakugou shakes his head, his hands trembling as they reach up to grip Kirishima’s wrists. “You’re not supposed to—” he starts, but the words die in his throat when Kirishima’s eyes meet him. There’s no pity there, no hesitation. Just love, unguarded and unmistakable.

“Katsuki,” Kirishima says again, his voice a little firmer, though it still shakes with emotion. “Can I kiss you?”

Bakugou freezes. He’s spent years clinging to control, to the need to be strong, to never let anyone see him falter. But here, now, with Kirishima holding him like he’s something precious, with the weight of everything they’ve said still pressing against his chest, he feels himself let go. Just for a moment. Just for Kirishima.

His grip on Kirishima’s wrists loosens, and he nods, his voice a whisper. “Yeah.”

Kirishima doesn’t hesitate. He leans in slowly, his hands steady on Bakugou’s face, and when their lips meet, it’s not fireworks or explosions — it’s quiet. Steady. Grounding. It feels like warmth spreading through Bakugou’s chest, like something long-buried finally breaking free.

The kiss is soft at first, gentle and full of care, but there’s an urgency to it, too — a desperation in the way Kirishima leans closer, like he’s been waiting for this moment forever. Bakugou feels it in every press of Kirishima’s lips, in the way he shakes slightly as he moves, like he’s pouring every unsaid word, every hidden feeling, into this one act.

Bakugou doesn’t even realize he’s crying again until Kirishima pulls back slightly, his forehead still resting against Bakugou’s, their breaths mingling in the rain-soaked air. “You’re incredible,” Kirishima whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re so incredible, Katsuki, and you deserve this. You deserve to be loved.”

Bakugou doesn’t know what to say. His throat feels tight, his chest aching with the weight of it all. But as he looks into Kirishima’s tear-streaked face, he realizes he doesn’t need to say anything.

Instead, he pulls Kirishima into another kiss, his hands clutching at the fabric of his shirt as though he’s afraid to let go, completely enraptured by the press of Kirishima’s lips against his own. He lets himself feel it all—the fear, the relief, the overwhelming love he’s tried to bury for so long. And when Kirishima kisses him back just as fiercely, Bakugou thinks maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t have to run anymore.