Archive of Our Own

The plan wasn’t moving back to fucking Nikkō in the middle of nowhere in the middle of November. Actually, no, the plan was never moving back there. Not in a million years. Not even as a last ditch effort to unfuck his increasingly disastrous career. Yet here he was, gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles burned, staring at the sputtering excuse of a car that had just betrayed him.

Steam billowed from under the hood in mocking, angry bursts, blending into the frosty air before disappearing altogether. Outside, snowflakes were thickening into a proper storm, fat and relentless, the kind that piled up in minutes and turned roads into traps. Bakugo leaned forward, resting his forehead against the freezing wheel, and groaned. He could feel the tension gathering in his shoulders, coiling tight as a spring.

“Great. Fantastic.” He barked, lifting his head and slamming his fist against the dashboard. The dull thud didn’t satisfy him in the slightest.

He kicked the door open with enough force to send a shudder through the old vehicle and stumbled out into the cold. The icy wind hit him immediately, sharp and unrelenting, carving its way through his layers like they weren’t even there. He pulled his coat tighter around himself, but it didn’t make much of a difference. The cold was already gnawing at his fingers, his ears, the tip of his nose. Tokyo didn’t get this kind of cold. This was a different beast altogether.

"Of fucking course.” he hissed under his breath, stuffing his hands deep into his pockets. His breath puffed out in front of him, short and sharp, only to vanish into nothing. He stood there for a moment, staring down the long, snow covered road stretching out ahead of him. Empty. Silent. A void. The kind of place where you could scream and no one would hear you.

He glanced back at the car, hoping for some kind of miraculous recovery, but the hissing under the hood told him otherwise. It was dead. No question about it.

His phone was the next betrayal. He yanked it out of his pocket but the screen taunted him with zero bars of signal. No calls. No texts. No fucking help. Just like that, any slim hope of salvaging this mess disintegrated.

“Shit.” He spat, shoving the useless device back into his pocket.

This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. He’d left Tokyo to clear his head, to finish the goddamn sequel that everyone, including his editor, wouldn’t shut up about. It had been over a year since his bestseller hit the shelves, and now the pressure was unbearable. Fans clamoring for more. Publishers breathing down his neck. Even his own reflection in the mirror looked disappointed.

So he’d thought: fine. He’d pack his things, leave the distractions of Tokyo behind and throw himself into his work. Just him and the blank page. A clean slate. A quiet little town in the mountains. It sounded almost romantic in a self-flagellating kind of way. And besides, the house was free. His parents, in their infinite wisdom, had handed it over like it was some kind of treasure instead of a crumbling relic from his childhood.

“It’ll be good for you.” His mom had said, her voice tinny over the phone. “You could use the space. The peace.”

Bakugo had scoffed at the time, but somewhere deep down, he’d wondered if maybe she was right. He hadn’t exactly been thriving in Tokyo, stuck in a too small apartment with walls so thin he could hear his neighbors arguing at all hours. Maybe a change of scenery would help.

But now? Standing in the middle of nowhere, shivering like a wet dog, he was ready to march back to Tokyo and beg his landlord for forgiveness. His parents could keep their sentimental garbage.

He kicked the tire out of spite, his boot connecting with a dull thunk that sent a jolt up his leg. It didn’t make him feel any better, but the sting in his toes at least distracted him from the wind biting into his face.

The town was still a few kilometers away. He knew because he’d checked the GPS before the car died, though now that knowledge felt more like a curse than a blessing. Walking wasn’t exactly an appealing option, but it was that or freeze to death in his car.

He clenched his jaw and turned toward the road. The snow was coming down harder now, falling in thick, swirling sheets that blurred the world around him. His boots crunched in the fresh powder as he started forward, each step dragging like he was moving through molasses.

“Just a few months.” He whispered, his voice barely audible over the howling wind. “Just long enough to write the damn book.”

He wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince, himself, the snow, the universe that seemed hellbent on ruining his life. Either way, the words rang hollow in his ears.

The road stretched on, endless and empty, and for the first time in a long while, Bakugo felt the weight of true loneliness settle over his shoulders. 

Yeah, he couldn't do it.

The wind outside howled like a living thing, whipping around him with an almost malicious intensity, slicing through his coat and biting into his skin with a cold so sharp it felt personal. It clawed at him, relentless and punishing, until his body moved on instinct, dragging him back toward the car. His boots crunched through the snow and by the time he wrenched the door open and threw himself inside, his hands were trembling and his face stung from the bitter air.

“Piece of shit!” he barked, leaning forward to slam his forehead against the wheel. It thunked against the icy plastic, cold enough to make him wince.

He lifted his head, glaring at the pathetic excuse for a car he’d somehow convinced himself would survive this trip. The snow was coming down harder now, swirling in relentless waves that swallowed up everything beyond the windshield. The road? Gone. The trees? Just vague shadows swaying ominously in the storm. His hope? Frozen solid, buried under six inches of icy hell.

Bakugo groaned like a desperate maniac. “And this is how I fucking die. In Nikkō. In the middle of nowhere. A goddamn snowstorm!”

The temperature inside the car was dropping fast, his breath misting in front of his face, curling into tiny clouds that disappeared almost as quickly as his patience. His coat, layered over a sweater and two shirts, wasn’t enough to stop the chill sinking into his skin. His boots were soaked through, his socks clinging uncomfortably to his toes. His fingers were starting to tingle, and not in the good way, more like the you-might-lose-these-if-you’re-not-careful kind of way.

He slumped further into the seat, pulling his coat tighter around himself, but it was like trying to fend off a blizzard with a wet napkin. His editor’s voice popped into his head, uninvited and thoroughly unwelcome. “I need that manuscript by the end of the year, Bakugo. Don’t make me come after you.”

Oh, he’d be pissed all right. The thought of him showing up at his funeral just to chew out his corpse made him laugh bitterly. His laugh turned into a groan as he imagined Izuku, sobbing so hard he could barely breathe, wailing something embarrassing about what a waste of potential or how Bakugo would’ve written so much more if he’d just...  Whatever.

“Goddamn nerd.” Bakugo groaned, shoving his hands into his armpits for warmth. His funeral was already shaping up to be the worst one in history.

He was still grumbling under his breath when the knock came.

It wasn’t loud, but in the quiet, it sounded like a gunshot. He yelped, jerking upright so fast he nearly smacked his head against the roof. His heart thudded painfully in his chest as he whipped around to stare at the frost-covered window.

There was someone outside. A figure, tall and broad, barely visible through the curtain of snow but unmistakable all the same. A stupidly bright red scarf flapped around their neck, standing out like a beacon in the gray.

For one brief, blissful moment, Bakugo thought Oh, thank fuck. Someone had found him. This was salvation. A Christmas miracle, even. He could get out of this freezing hellhole, maybe even live long enough to write the damn sequel.

But then his brain caught up.

The figure shifted closer and Bakugo squinted, his breath fogging up the glass as realization hit him like a truck. The wide shoulders, the scarf, the messy hair sticking out in the snowstorm, all of it clicked into place and his stomach plummeted.

Eijiro Kirishima.

Of course. Of fucking course. His life wasn’t a Christmas miracle; it was a goddamn comedy sketch. Because who else would find him stranded in the middle of nowhere but his first boyfriend? 

He stared, his mouth hanging open slightly, unable to process the sheer absurdity of it. Kirishima knocked again, his stupidly cheerful grin somehow visible even through the frost-covered glass.

“Oh, fuck off.” Bakugo hissed under his breath. He rubbed his eyes with both hands, hoping maybe he was hallucinating, but when he looked again, there Kirishima was, still grinning like a dumbass.

Resigned, Bakugo reached for the door handle, cracking it open just enough to let the freezing wind blast him in the face. It felt like the universe’s finishing touch, a perfect little fuck you to round out his day.

Kirishima crouched down to eye level, snow clinging to his hair and scarf. “Bakugo?” he called, his voice annoyingly bright despite the blizzard. “Holy crap, man, it is you! What are you doing out here?”

Bakugo groaned, leaning back in his seat. “Freezing to death,” he grumbled, “but don’t let me interrupt your reunion tour.”

Kirishima’s grin widened, his teeth practically sparkling. “Good to see you too, man.”

Bakugo scowled, too cold to muster a proper retort. His life was officially a joke.

“Need a hand?” Kirishima asked, completely unfazed by the blizzard swirling around him, like he wasn’t currently half-buried in snow and freezing his ass off.

“No, I’m just fine.” Bakugo snapped, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Thought I’d take a nap out here. Cozy up with frostbite. Real relaxing.”

Kirishima chuckled, the sound warm and familiar, and Bakugo hated how it didn’t immediately piss him off. “Still the same Bakugo, huh?” he said, standing up and brushing snow off his scarf. “Let me grab a tow rope from my truck. We’ll get you out of here.”

“A truck?” Bakugo blinked, glancing past Kirishima. Sure enough, there it was, an old, sturdy pickup parked a few meters away, its headlights cutting through the storm. Of course, Kirishima would have a truck. Of course, he’d be prepared for a snowstorm.

Kirishima gave him a thumbs-up, as if he needed the extra confirmation. “Be right back!”

Bakugo slumped further into his seat, dragging his hands down his face as he said, “I’m in hell.” He peeked through his fingers to watch Kirishima jog to the truck like it was a sunny spring day, the red scarf trailing behind him like some stupid heroic cape.

He let out a long breath, the air fogging up the windshield. The last time he’d seen Kirishima was years ago, during a break-up that still left an uncomfortable knot in his stomach whenever he thought about it too long. And now, of all people, Kirishima was the one pulling him out of this frozen mess.

Because that’s how the universe worked, apparently.

Kirishima returned quickly, hauling a tow rope like it weighed nothing, his cheeks flushed from the cold but his grin still intact. “Okay, just hang tight. I’ll get you hooked up and we’ll get moving.”

Bakugo watched him work, the flash of bright red hair and scarf standing out against the endless white. He sighed, already bracing himself for the inevitable small talk that would follow once he was stuck in Kirishima’s truck.

Bakugo hunched over in the passenger seat of Kirishima’s truck, arms crossed, trying not to look as pissed as he felt. The heat blasting from the vents was lukewarm at best, but after the icy hell outside, it felt like a luxury.

And to top it all off, Christmas ballads were playing.

It was the worst kind of festive nonsense, the overly cheery, painfully saccharine type with jingling bells and a chorus so sweet it could rot your teeth. Bakugo glared at the radio like it had personally offended him.

“Really?” he asked, voice dripping with disdain.

Kirishima glanced over, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

Bakugo gestured vaguely at the speakers. “This.”

“Oh, come on.” Kirishima said, laughing as he turned the wheel to navigate around a particularly icy patch. “You don’t like Christmas music?”

“No.” Bakugo said flatly. “It’s obnoxious.”

“Obnoxious?” Kirishima gasped in mock offense, a hand pressed to his chest. “It’s festive! It’s fun! You gotta get into the spirit, man!”

“The only spirit I’m getting into is whiskey.” Bakugo said, slumping further into his seat. “Turn it off.”

“No way. This is a Christmas truck now and Christmas trucks play Christmas music. Non-negotiable.”

“I hate you.”

“You’re just grumpy ‘cause your car broke down.” Kirishima teased, his tone light and easy, like they hadn’t spent years apart. “I bet if you weren’t freezing your ass off earlier, you’d be singing along.”

“Yeah, in your dreams.”

Kirishima laughed again, the sound so bright and genuine it almost cut through Bakugo’s sour mood. Almost.

The truck rumbled along the snow covered road, the town slowly coming into view through the haze of the storm. Twinkling lights were strung up along the main street, their warm glow cutting through the gray, and the faint outlines of decorated shop windows peeked through the snow. It was picturesque, disgustingly so, like something out of one of those sappy holiday movies Bakugo avoided like the plague.

Kirishima seemed completely at ease, one hand on the wheel, the other tapping along to the beat of the song. His red scarf hung loosely around his neck now and snowflakes still clung to his hair, melting into damp streaks.

Bakugo risked a glance at him, the familiar tilt of his jaw, the way his smile hadn’t changed a bit. It was infuriating how little Kirishima seemed bothered by everything, like they weren’t in the middle of a snowstorm and their history wasn’t hanging in the cab like an unspoken weight.

He turned his gaze back out the window, scowling as the truck pulled closer to town. “You’re taking me straight to a mechanic.”

“Uh, no mechanics open this late.” Kirishima said, shooting him an apologetic look. “But you can crash at my place tonight. We’ll figure it out in the morning.”

“Crash at your,,,” Bakugo started, then clamped his mouth shut, feeling a twist in his gut that wasn’t just from hunger. “I have a place to stay.”

Kirishima’s brows rose and he shot a quick glance at Bakugo, a mix of surprise and curiosity flashing across his face. “Oh yeah? Where?”

Bakugo turned his eyes out the window, focusing on the blur of white in the storm outside, anything to avoid the weight of Kirishima’s stare. “My parents’ house.”

Kirishima’s laugh was soft but genuine, the kind that managed to make even the snowstorm feel a little warmer. “Your parents’ place? Man, that’s been empty since May.”

“So?”

“So, I don’t even know if the power’s still on. Did you, uh, call to turn it back on before you came here?”

The question hit Bakugo like a sucker punch to the gut. He froze, the weight of his own stupidity crashing over him in waves. His stomach churned, and the fleeting warmth of the heater seemed to vanish in an instant.

“Fuck.” Bakugo said under his breath, rubbing his face with both hands. The thought of trudging all the way to his parents’ place, only to find it pitch black and cold, was enough to make him feel like he was about to suffocate.

Kirishima’s grin faltered, but he raised a hand in mock surrender. “Hey, it’s not a big deal. You can figure it out tomorrow.” His voice was easygoing, but Bakugo could tell he wasn’t trying to make him feel worse, just giving him the space to breathe. He leaned back against the truck seat, the cold creeping into his bones from the outside. The thought of going back to the middle of the road, lying down in the snow and freezing to death didn’t seem so bad. At least it would be quicker.

“If you don’t want to stay at my place, that’s okay.” Kirishima said after a moment, his tone casual but a little hesitant. “There’s a new hotel in town. Fancy. You’ll probably like it.”

Bakugo glanced at him, eyebrow twitching in annoyance. Fancy? Was he serious? What did that even mean? The idea of staying in some posh hotel made his stomach twist in disgust. He wasn’t some idiot who needed to be pampered. He was already spiraling and Kirishima’s cheerful attitude wasn’t helping.

“Hotel’s just down the main road.” Kirishima added, seemingly oblivious to the inner turmoil playing out in Bakugo’s mind. “Real nice place. Heated floors and everything, I think.”

“Heated floors?” Bakugo repeated, his voice flat as he processed the random detail. For some reason, his mind latched onto it, the absurdity of it all pulling at him.

Kirishima nodded, his grin widening again. “Yeah. They’ve got a bar, too. Might help you relax after, y’know.”

Bakugo’s eyes narrowed at the road ahead, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He couldn’t decide whether Kirishima was messing with him or genuinely trying to help. Either way, the weight of everything, the car breaking down, the storm, the guilt over the power situation, and now this absurd suggestion, was making him want to snap.

“Whatever, just drop me off there.”

“Sure thing, man.” Kirishima replied, not a hint of offense in his voice. Instead, he just seemed to roll with it, turning the truck onto the main road. The truck’s engine hummed softly, the only sound cutting through the air until the soft, familiar notes of a Christmas ballad began to play on the radio.

Bakugo shifted uncomfortably in his seat, arms crossed tighter, his eyes staring out the window at the blurred lights of the town. The upbeat melody of the holiday song only served to make the whole thing feel more surreal.

Fancy hotel or not, this was shaping up to be the worst night of his life. He would’ve rather been alone, freezing to death on the side of the road. At least then, he wouldn’t have to deal with this feeling, this awkwardness, this reunion with the last person he ever expected to see in the middle of a snowstorm.

The hotel turned out to be exactly what Bakugo should have expected from the universe’s cruel sense of humor. Fancy? Sure, it was all marble floors, polished wood and overly elaborate chandeliers, but the moment he stepped into the room, he knew he’d been lied to.

The room was enormous, yes, like a small apartment, but it felt colder than the outside air. The heating system seemed like an afterthought, barely managing to take the edge off the chill that crept into his bones. He glanced around, his breath coming out in visible puffs as if he were still standing in the middle of the goddamn snowstorm.

And the blankets. What kind of high-end hotel didn’t have enough blankets? There were two thin ones, barely enough to cover a single person, let alone someone who had spent the last several hours freezing his ass off on the side of the road.

“Fucking great.” He cursed, pacing back and forth across the cold marble floor. His boots clicked loudly in the quiet, the sound of his frustration echoing around the oversized room. His mind was running a mile a minute. The power company. The car. His editor breathing down his neck. He couldn’t catch a break.

A few minutes passed and he realized he wasn’t getting any warmer. In fact, he was getting angrier. The situation was a goddamn nightmare and no matter how much he paced, nothing was going to change.

He made up his mind. If he was going to freeze to death, he’d at least go out in style.

“Fuck this.” Bakugo grumbled, yanking the door open and heading toward the hotel bar.

He didn’t care how fancy it was. He just needed something to burn away the frustration, the cold, the nagging thought that tomorrow would be just as bad as today. He was going to get a drink and he was going to get it now.

The hotel lobby was quiet, too quiet, but it was a good distance from the bar. He moved quickly, ignoring the luxury around him, focused only on the need to forget .

As he approached the bar, he saw the bartender leaning over the counter, eyes half-lidded. He probably had better things to do but Bakugo wasn’t here to make friends. He needed something strong, something that would knock him out of his head.

“A bottle of your strongest stuff.” Bakugo grunted. He wasn’t looking for subtlety. He was looking for oblivion.

The bartender didn’t blink. “You want it to go or here?”

Bakugo didn’t even hesitate. “Here.” He was going to sit down and drink himself numb. He deserved it.

The bartender slid a glass in front of him, the ice clinking softly as it settled. Bakugo didn’t bother to ask what it was, he didn’t care. He grabbed it and took a long, sharp sip. The burn spread down his throat, a welcome sting that made his muscles unclench just a bit.

He was ready to drown everything in a place that might as well have been a snow covered prison.

He took another sip, savoring the warmth spreading through his chest, when he heard Kirishima’s voice from across the room.

“Yeah, just get it figured out by tomorrow, alright?” Kirishima said, his tone loud enough to cut through the quiet buzz of the hotel lobby.

Bakugo’s eyes flicked toward him, not out of curiosity, but because his brain was too tired to ignore the sound. Kirishima was standing at the reception desk, talking to someone, probably the clerk, his hands moving animatedly, his usual smile wide as ever.

Kirishima said something else, and then, without warning, he turned to leave. He glanced around and his gaze locked with Bakugo’s from across the room.

For a split second, time seemed to stretch, and then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, Kirishima smiled. It was that wide, goofy grin that Bakugo could never forget. The kind of smile that always made him feel like he was on the receiving end of an inside joke he hadn’t been let in on.

Kirishima raised a hand, his fingers wiggling in a little wave. The motion was so casual, so warm and Bakugo had to stop himself from doing something stupid, like flipping him off. He wanted to, oh, he really wanted to.

Instead, he just stared. His lips pressed into a thin line, eyes narrowed in that way that made it look like he was trying to burn a hole in the back of Kirishima’s head with his glare.

Kirishima seemed unfazed, his smile only growing as he turned away, heading for the exit. Bakugo clenched his jaw, hands tightening around the glass.

Fuck.

Kirishima’s presence, as always, was like a slow motion punch to the gut, reminding Bakugo of every stupid thing he’d left behind, every mistake he had no intention of confronting. And now, as he watched Kirishima disappear out the door, the cold reality of the situation hit him with a heavy weight.

This was going to be a long, cold night. A night full of memories he didn’t want to remember and things he couldn’t stop thinking about. And yet, somehow, despite everything, it was a night that was too quiet, like the calm before some inevitable storm.

Bakugo sighed, slumping back in his seat, eyes drifting to the empty space where Kirishima had been. 

The next morning, Bakugo felt like he was dying. He’d barely slept two hours. His mind was in a constant swirl, relentless thoughts slicing through his brain, too fast for him to catch up with. Every time he closed his eyes, it was like Kirishima’s stupid grin was still there, making fun of him in the back of his mind, reminding him that everything was spiraling. He didn’t want to deal with any of this. He didn’t want to deal with his car breaking down, his stupid book deadline, or Kirishima’s face, which seemed to be following him around everywhere. He just wanted to finish the damn book, get everything over with, and get the hell out of Nikkō.

The shower was the only thing that gave him any relief, but it was a fleeting one. The water was hot enough to burn his skin, but it didn’t make the exhaustion go away. It didn’t stop the fog of frustration that hung over him, suffocating him with every breath. At least it loosened up his muscles, letting him feel something other than tension. The warm steam filled his lungs, but it was no miracle cure. He still felt like crap. He had to keep moving, though. He had no choice. So, after a quick rinse, he got dressed quickly, bundling up in layers of jackets and scarves, doing his best to block out the chill. His boots creaked with every step, and he tugged the scarf tighter around his neck as he stepped out into the bitter morning air. The cold outside was sharp enough to cut through his layers, biting at his exposed skin. He was already dreading it.

Down in the hotel lobby, his frustration was bubbling up again. His hands were still cold, and his mind was still racing with things he couldn’t control. As soon as he reached the front desk, he opened his mouth to lay into the clerk about his car, the power and just everything. But before he could get a word out, the clerk surprised him by looking up and giving him a smile.

“Good morning, sir! We’ve already taken care of your car. It’s at the mechanic’s just down the road.”

Bakugo blinked, surprised enough to pause for a second. “What?”

The clerk continued, too chipper for Bakugo’s taste. “Mr. Kirishima handled it for you. He arranged everything.”

Of fucking course. Kirishima. Again.

Bakugo’s jaw clenched, his hands twitching at his sides as the irritation sparked up inside him. The last thing he wanted was someone else handling his problems, especially not Kirishima. The guy was practically impossible to avoid, even in the middle of nowhere. He had a bad feeling that Kirishima would somehow be involved in the next problem that came up. But what could he do now? Nothing.

“Great.” Bakugo said, his voice flat, trying to mask the frustration gnawing at him. “Thanks.”

He turned and stormed out of the lobby, fighting the urge to slam the door behind him. Once outside, the cold hit him again, sharper this time, like it had been waiting for him to come back. He wasn’t ready to deal with any of it, but he had to, he had no choice. He walked over to the phone booth, digging in his pockets for the power company’s number.

By the time he finally got through to someone, his patience was already hanging by a thread. The woman on the other end was far too cheerful for his taste.

“Good morning! How may I assist you today?”

“I’m calling about the power.” Bakugo cut her off, already irritated. “It’s out at my place, and I need it back on. I’m staying at a hotel right now but I can’t stay here forever.”

“Sure, sir. Unfortunately, it may take up to 48 hours for the power to be restored.”

Bakugo froze. “What?”

“Yes, sir. It’s a standard procedure. We’ll let you know when the power is back.”

“Are you kidding me?” he growled. His mind spun with all the things he’d need to take care of. All of it seemed like too much.

“It’s just a temporary inconvenience, sir.” the woman said, clearly trying to calm him down.

Bakugo didn’t even hear the rest of her words. He gritted his teeth and ended the call abruptly.

He didn’t want to go back to the hotel. He didn’t want to sit there in his frustration. It was cold and the space felt suffocating. He needed to move, to get out of his own head. There was no way he was staying in that damn hotel room any longer.

So, he put on all the jackets and scarves he could find and threw them around himself like armor, trying to shut out the frustration. He stepped out into the cold again, the bitter wind hitting him like a slap in the face. He didn’t know where he was going, hell, he didn’t care. He just needed to get his body moving, to feel something other than the gnawing feeling in his chest.

The streets of Nikkō were quiet, peaceful in a way that made it seem almost surreal. The snow kept falling and the soft white blanket made everything feel too still. He could barely make out the shapes of the buildings ahead, blurred by the snowstorm. He kept walking, letting his feet guide him, not thinking about anything.

His mind kept going in circles, thoughts flitting around like moths in a dark room, never landing long enough to make sense of them. Kirishima kept popping into his head, the stupid grin, the annoying way he always seemed to make everything better just by showing up. 

He walked for what felt like hours, pushing past the discomfort, pushing past the frustration. The chill in the air numbed his body, but it didn’t clear his mind. At least his legs were sore, at least his chest wasn’t so tight.

It wasn’t enough, but it was a distraction. And for now, that’s all he could ask for.

As Bakugo walked aimlessly, he felt the bitterness of the cold seep into his bones. It wasn’t just the physical cold, it was everything. The sense of being out of place, of not belonging, kept screaming at his face and it was only getting worse the longer he stayed in this damn town. Christmas decorations were everywhere, like some kind of invasion. The streets were strung with twinkling lights, fake snowflakes adorned shop windows and even the houses were covered in garish, over-the-top displays of red and green. Everywhere he looked, it felt like he was walking through a winter wonderland, but all he could feel was the ridiculousness of it all.

Christmas is not even a fucking Japanese holiday, he thought, grinding his teeth as he passed another house with oversized inflatable reindeer in the yard. What the hell was this? A gaudy circus or a goddamn contest of who could put up the most obnoxious display of "festivity"?

He had no time for any of this. It wasn’t his thing, not by a long shot. All of the cheer and fake happiness felt like some sick joke. He hated how it made everything feel even colder, like the world was rubbing his nose in it. Every passing house felt like a reminder that everyone around him was pretending to enjoy something they probably didn’t care about and Bakugo just wanted to scream.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t even notice the slippery patch of ice in front of him. One second, his foot caught, and before he could react, he was stumbling forward, arms flailing in an attempt to regain balance. He could already see it, him, crashing face first into the snow like an idiot, looking even more ridiculous than he already felt.

But just as quickly, a hand shot out and grabbed him by the arm, yanking him back from the edge of total humiliation. Bakugo’s heart was pounding from the near fall, but the relief was short lived as his gaze snapped to the person who saved him.

“Jesus Christ.” Bakugo growled, rolling his eyes and trying to brush himself off. But it was impossible to ignore the fact that Kirishima, of all people, was standing there.

Kirishima’s grin was wide as ever and he stood there like he had all the time in the world. “Whoa, there, man.” he said with a chuckle. “Didn’t know you were trying to break the Grinch record for most un-festive person in the city. Should’ve seen that coming.”

Bakugo blinked at him, irritation flashing in his chest. “What the hell are you talking about?” he spat, his face flushing with both anger and embarrassment.

“The Grinch, man! You’re like the human version.” Kirishima said, crossing his arms with a teasing smile. “I mean, look at you. You’re practically radiating ‘bah humbug’ energy. What happened to the holiday spirit, huh?”

Bakugo opened his mouth to fire back, but nothing came out. He just glared at Kirishima, annoyed that he even felt like explaining why he hated all this crap. Kirishima, on the other hand, just stood there, completely unfazed, clearly amused by Bakugo’s barely contained frustration.

“I don’t do Christmas.” Bakugo mumbled under his breath, his fingers tightening around his scarf as he tried to block out the ridiculousness of it all.

He kept walking, determined to ignore Kirishima’s insistent presence. Kirishima, however, wasn’t about to let him go. He followed closely, like some overzealous puppy that just wouldn't get the hint. His constant cheerfulness seemed to radiate, making Bakugo’s frustration grow.

"Hey, how about buying me a hot cocoa to say thanks for the ride yesterday?" Kirishima asked, his voice casual, like it was no big deal.

Bakugo’s hands clenched into fists, his irritation bubbling up. He had every urge to tell Kirishima to get lost, to walk away without a word. But a nagging part of him knew better, he owed Kirishima and that fact alone kept him from brushing him off. Kirishima had already gone out of his way to help and Bakugo hated the feeling of guilt gnawing at him for it.

Rather than snapping, Bakugo just kept walking, boots crunching against the snow as he pushed through the thoughts swirling in his head. He didn’t care where he was going, he just needed to keep moving, needed to shake off the frustration building inside.

Minutes passed, maybe more, and the only sound was the rhythmic crunch of snow beneath their feet. Eventually, Bakugo’s eyes landed on a coffee shop tucked away down the street. He didn’t acknowledge it, kept his eyes straight ahead, but his mind registered it all the same.

No, don’t stop, he thought, don’t let him follow you in there.

Yet, when he glanced over his shoulder, there was Kirishima, still grinning like an idiot. Bakugo’s chest tightened, part of him secretly hoping Kirishima would just keep walking past.

But, of course, Kirishima didn’t. With a cheerful shrug, he caught up, voice teasing. “Well, looks like you found the place.”

Bakugo sighed, irritation bubbling up again, but he didn’t have the energy to argue. He shoved the door open with more force than necessary. “Just go inside.” he grumbled, not bothering to look back at him.

Kirishima, unaffected, followed him inside without a second thought.

The warmth of the shop enveloped them immediately, the contrast to the cold air outside almost comforting. The scent of coffee, cinnamon, and something sweet made Bakugo’s stomach rumble just a bit.

“Get whatever.” 

Kirishima raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just get whatever.” Bakugo repeated, fishing out his wallet and slapping it on the counter, because there was no way he was going to listen to Kirishima go on about it otherwise.

“Thanks, man.” Kirishima said with a genuine smile, softening his grin for a moment. Bakugo grunted in response, his mind drifting back to the cold reality of the day.

As they sat at the small table, Kirishima took a sip of his hot cocoa and Bakugo couldn’t help but watch. He looked fucking adorable, sipping his drink with that goofy, innocent look on his face. Strands of his bangs kept falling into his eyes and the tip of his nose was flushed red from the cold outside. 

Kirishima finally broke the silence, setting his cup down with a soft thud. “So, how’s life in the big city?” he asked, leaning forward a little, his eyes genuinely curious. “I mean, it’s always been my dream to leave here, right? Head off somewhere bigger.”

Bakugo frowned, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. The question hit him harder than he expected. “It’s fine, I guess. Busy. Doesn’t really feel like much of a dream anymore.” He rubbed his thumb across the edge of his cup, trying to keep his face neutral.

Kirishima hummed in acknowledgment, his gaze never leaving Bakugo’s face, sensing the subtle shift in his mood but not pressing.

Bakugo cleared his throat, then, pretending not to be that interested, he asked, “Did you finish college?”

Kirishima looked up at him, pausing before answering, a little surprised by the question. “Oh, I did.” He leaned back in his chair, the smile still lingering on his face. “You’re looking at the teacher at the city’s primary school.”

Bakugo just blinked at him, a bit taken aback. Kirishima had always talked about wanting to teach, but hearing it out loud made it feel more real. 

The corner of his mouth twitched, despite himself. “Huh. That’s pretty cool.” He didn’t mean to sound as genuine as he did, but a small flicker of pride bubbled up inside him. Kirishima had talked about this for years and here he was, actually doing it.

Kirishima’s eyes sparkled at the comment, the pride in his own voice impossible to hide. “Yeah, I love it. Kids are a pain sometimes, but it’s worth it.” He looked like he was about to say more, but his grin faltered for a moment, like he was measuring how much to share.

Bakugo nodded, his fingers tapping against the cup. “I always thought you’d make a good teacher.” he said, not really looking at Kirishima, but the words were there before he could stop them. 

Kirishima paused, blinking in surprise, like he wasn’t sure how to respond to that. But instead of acknowledging it directly, he just smiled, his usual grin creeping back onto his face.

“So,” Kirishima began, shifting in his seat, clearly trying to lighten the mood, “what about you? Best-seller writer, I heard.”

Bakugo’s eyes flickered up, almost defensively, but he fought it down. “It’s nothing special.” he said quickly, trying to downplay it, even though part of him swelled at the mention of it. “Just a book. Some people bought it. Doesn’t mean shit.”

Kirishima tilted his head, clearly not buying it, but he let it go, still smiling. “Nah, man. I bet it’s more than that. You’ve got the talent. I’m sure you’ve earned it.”

Bakugo scowled, looking away quickly, but his stomach twisted in a way he couldn’t ignore. Kirishima wasn’t about to let him off the hook that easily.

“You won every school literature competition. You literally stole my heart when you wrote that poem for me.” Kirishima said, his voice light but tinged with sincerity. His eyes softened as he looked at Bakugo, a knowing smile curling at the corner of his lips.

Bakugo’s heart skipped a beat. His eyes snapped up and his chair creaked as he nearly toppled over in his attempt to sit up straighter. “We were nine years old!” he spat out, instantly regretting the words as they left his mouth. The heat in his face burned through.

Kirishima only grinned wider, unfazed. “Still,” he said, eyes bright and voice unwavering, “I hold every word in my heart.”

Bakugo’s face reddened further, his jaw tight as he shot Kirishima a warning glare. “Don’t you dare…”

But Kirishima wasn’t listening. He took a breath and, with a dramatic flourish, began to recite the poem Bakugo had written all those years ago.

“Your eyes are like embers, burning so bright, flickering with laughter in the dead of the night. The world spins around us, fast and unclear, but in your presence, there’s nothing to fear…”

Bakugo’s eyes widened and he was on the verge of bolting from the table. He instinctively clamped his hands over Kirishima's mouth, as if trying to shut the entire memory back inside. The embarrassment hit him like a freight train and he wanted nothing more than to melt into the seat and disappear entirely.

“Shut up!” Bakugo growled, his body rigid from the onslaught of memories Kirishima was so effortlessly pulling out.

“Through every season, through thick and thin, I know I’ll stand by you, through loss or win. So no matter where life may take us to roam, you’ll always be the one I call home.” Kirishima's voice was muffled by Bakugo's hands but he just laughed, the sound easy and genuine, and Bakugo hated that it was so fucking infectious. “I told you, I remember every word."

Bakugo tried to push the heat rising in his chest down but it was impossible with Kirishima grinning at him like that. He shoved his hand over his mouth again, trying to block out the ridiculousness of it all, but Kirishima wasn’t letting up.

“Man,” Kirishima continued, his voice full of mock seriousness, “it’s like I’m carrying a part of you right here,” he tapped his chest, “like a permanent imprint. Like you’re my personal treasure.” He smiled so wide that Bakugo couldn’t help but snort, the sound slipping out before he could stop it.

“Oh, shut the hell up.” Bakugo groaned, his voice half-hearted as the laugh he had been holding back finally slipped out, more out of disbelief than anything else. His lips twitched, and despite himself, a small chuckle escaped, though he tried to suppress it with a scowl.

Kirishima’s laugh was warm, rich, and totally genuine, filling the small coffee shop with an energy that seemed to make everything around them feel lighter. But then, after a moment, Kirishima glanced at his watch and his expression shifted slightly. “Shit, it's almost noon.” he said, his eyes widening as if he’d just realized how much time had passed. “I gotta go, man. Mrs. Minamoto asked me to help her wrap some presents for her grandkids.”

Bakugo blinked, surprised. “Seriously?”

Kirishima shrugged with a grin, standing up from the table, his movements smooth as he pulled on his jacket. “Yeah, it’s like my honorary Christmas duty or something, but hey, thanks again for the cocoa. I really appreciate it, Bakugo.”

He opened his mouth, ready to brush it off with a halfhearted remark about how it wasn’t a big deal, but for some reason, the words didn’t come out. Instead, he just nodded, keeping his gaze fixed on the table, suddenly feeling too tired to fight off the awkwardness. “Yeah, whatever.”

Kirishima smiled again, that goddamn bright, infectious smile that seemed to light up his whole face. It tugged at something inside Bakugo, something he couldn’t quite explain, but it was definitely there. He watched in silence as Kirishima grabbed his jacket, slipping it over his shoulders, and with another wave over his shoulder, he turned to head out the door.

“Catch you later, Shakespeare!” Kirishima called, his voice carrying across the room, and for a brief second, Bakugo almost reached out, as if to stop him, but then he quickly shook the thought away.

Kirishima disappeared into the snowy street, his red hair a bright splash of color against the dull white of the city. Bakugo stayed frozen in his seat, his eyes tracing the door where Kirishima had just left through. 

With a frustrated groan, Bakugo leaned back in his chair, trying to shake it off. He took another swig of his cold cocoa, but it did nothing to quell the simmering frustration in his mind. His thoughts felt all jumbled up, like they were tangling around each other, but no matter how hard he tried to focus, all he could think about was the way Kirishima smiled at him, the easy way he’d said goodbye.

“Fuck this.” 

Maybe it was the cold, or maybe it was the holiday nonsense. Either way, he knew that his thoughts wouldn't stop bothering him anytime soon.

Two days later, Bakugo stood in front of his parents’ house, staring at it with a mixture of frustration and hesitation. The day wasn’t as grim as before; a few rays of sunlight broke through the clouds, casting weak shadows on the snow covered ground. Still, the house looked rough. Snow piled high along the walkways and the seven months of abandonment had left their mark. The once pristine garden was overgrown and neglected, and even the white gate at the front hung slightly crooked, creaking faintly in the occasional breeze.

Bakugo clenched his fists at his sides, his luggage sitting next to him like unwelcome reminders of his temporary return. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing there, staring at the house, before he heard voices nearby.

“Is that Bakugo?”

He turned sharply, his scowl already in place, and spotted two familiar figures approaching from down the street. Kaminari and Jiro walked hand in hand, their heads leaning close together, each carrying a couple of grocery bags.

Kaminari grinned widely as soon as he saw Bakugo, his golden hair catching the faint sunlight. “Holy shit, it is you!” He called out, nudging Jiro lightly with his elbow.

Jiro smiled, her dark hair tucked beneath a knitted beanie, and gave Bakugo a small wave. “Welcome back, I guess.” She said, her tone carrying its usual dry humor.

Bakugo sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “What the hell are you two doing here?”

“We live here?” Kaminari said with a grin. “Down the road. Literally three houses that way. You should come over sometime. I make a mean instant ramen.”

“Did you forget how to boil water again, Kaminari?” Jiro teased, shifting one of the grocery bags in her hand.

“Hey, that was one time! And I was distracted!” Kaminari protested, giving her an indignant look before turning back to Bakugo. “Anyway, yeah, we’re basically neighbors now. Wild, right?”

Bakugo raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of them. “Are you married to this moron?” He asked bluntly.

Jiro laughed, her breath visible in the cold air. “Yeah.”

“You’re insane. You could’ve done so much better.”

“Rude!” Kaminari exclaimed, pretending to be wounded. “I’m an excellent husband. Tell him, Jiro.”

Jiro smirked, tilting her head as if considering. “Hmm. Well, he does vacuum sometimes.”

“See?” Kaminari puffed out his chest like it was a major accomplishment. “Husband of the year, right here.”

“You vacuum once a month.” Jiro corrected with a roll of her eyes.

“It’s quality over quantity, babe.” 

Bakugo groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I can’t believe I’m standing here listening to this.”

“Oh, come on, man,” Kaminari said with a laugh. “You missed us, admit it. Bet you didn’t get this kind of entertainment in the big city.”

“Yeah, I missed you like I’d miss food poisoning.” Bakugo deadpanned.

They chatted for a few more minutes, Kaminari doing most of the talking with his usual over-the-top energy. Bakugo stayed mostly quiet, though he found himself answering a few of Jiro’s questions about his time away without too much resistance. She had always been one of the few people he didn’t mind talking to and he respected her for not being obnoxious like her husband.

Before they left, Jiro shifted the bags in her hands and glanced at him. “Hey, you should come to The Hollow Lantern on Friday.” She said. “I’m performing there. Singing, mostly. A bunch of our old classmates will be there, too.”

“Yeah, dude, it’ll be fun!” Kaminari chimed in. “You can see how much everyone’s hairlines have receded. It’s like a real-time documentary.”

Bakugo frowned, the idea of spending an evening in a crowded pub with people from school already making his head hurt. “Sounds like hell.” 

Jiro smirked, catching the comment but not taking offense. “Figured you’d say that. Still, you should think about it. It’s been a while.”

“And I’ll buy you a drink!” Kaminari added. “Or like... Ten. You probably need it.”

Bakugo shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. “Yeah, maybe.” he said, though he had no intention of showing up.

“Take care, man.” Kaminari said as they started walking away, the bags swaying in their hands. He turned back briefly and yelled, “Don’t be a stranger, Bakugo! Come over for ramen!”

“Shut up, Kaminari!” Bakugo barked, his tone more exasperated than angry.

He watched them disappear around the corner before turning back to the house. His fingers tightened around the handle of his luggage as he said, “This place is already a fucking circus.”

After Kaminari and Jiro disappeared around the corner, Bakugo turned back to the house, exhaling a puff of frustration that swirled in the cold air. Grabbing his luggage, he trudged up the snow covered path to the crooked white gate, giving it a nudge with his boot when it resisted. It creaked open reluctantly, and he made his way to the front door.

The key still worked and with a quick twist, the lock clicked open. Bakugo pushed the door inward, and the faint smell of dust and something faintly antiseptic greeted him. He stepped inside, his boots echoing slightly on the hardwood floor.

And then he froze.

“Jesus Christ.”

The place had changed completely since the last time he’d been there. Gone were the mismatched rugs, cluttered shelves, and cozy chaos his mom used to insist gave the house character. Instead, it looked like someone had hired a professional decorator with a fetish for sterile, high-end magazines. The once warm, slightly chaotic home was now cold and sparse, with massive minimalist windows letting in the weak sunlight. Outside, the large trees were coated in snow, their branches casting spindly shadows into the room.

The furniture was minimal, if it could even be called that. A single sleek couch sat in the middle of the room, its sharp edges and muted gray fabric giving the space an almost clinical feel. A glass coffee table with nothing on it and a few abstract art pieces on the walls completed the scene. The stark emptiness of it all made Bakugo feel like he was standing in a goddamn museum exhibit instead of his childhood home.

“Guess Mom really went all out.” The sound of his voice echoed through the eerily empty space.

At least the power worked. The soft hum of the heating system kicking on was a small mercy. He’d have to make a trip into town to buy food and some firewood for the old fireplace, assuming it hadn’t been turned into some kind of art installation, but that could wait. Right now, he just wanted to get settled.

Dragging his bags behind him, Bakugo made his way upstairs. His footsteps were muffled by the thick carpet on the staircase, but the moment he reached the second floor, he stopped in front of his old bedroom door. His hand hovered over the handle for a moment before he shook his head and walked past it.

There was no way he was sleeping in that room.

Instead, he headed to the guest room at the end of the hall. It was smaller, more impersonal, but at least it didn’t have years of memories clinging to the walls. He set his luggage down, yanked the plain white sheets off the bed, and replaced them with fresh ones he found in the closet. Then, he piled on three thick blankets, muttering curses under his breath about the cold.

Once the bed was ready, Bakugo sat on the edge, letting out a heavy sigh. Being in this house made his skin crawl. It felt like a shell of what it used to be, like someone had taken the idea of a home and stripped it down until it was nothing more than walls and furniture.

Bakugo spent the next few hours unpacking his meager belongings, trying to make the guest room feel slightly less sterile. It wasn’t much, just some clothes, a few books and his laptop, but at least it was enough to keep him busy. When he was done, he took a long, hot shower, trying to shake off the chill that seemed to seep into his bones every time he thought about how long he’d be stuck in this godforsaken place.

By the time he was ready to head into town, the afternoon light was already fading. He zipped up his coat, pulled on his boots, and stepped out into the cold. The snow had started to fall again, light but persistent, and the walk to town felt longer with every step. His breath fogged in front of him as he trudged along the roadside, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

It wasn’t long before he heard the low rumble of an engine behind him. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. The sound was unmistakable and his suspicions were confirmed when he glanced over his shoulder and saw a familiar red truck heading his way.

“Fuck.” He cursed, eyeing the side of the road for an escape route. He considered diving into the nearest snow-covered bush but before he could make a move, the truck slowed down and pulled up beside him.

The window rolled down, and Kirishima’s grinning face appeared. “Need another ride?” 

Bakugo scowled, but the snow was starting to fall harder, and his pride wasn’t worth freezing to death over. “Fine.”

Kirishima chuckled as Bakugo slammed the door shut, brushing snow off his coat. “Man, you really know how to make a guy feel appreciated.”

“Drive.”

Kirishima just laughed, shifting the truck into gear and pulling back onto the road. The interior was warm and Bakugo could already feel his fingers thawing out. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was glad for the ride.

“So,” Kirishima started, glancing over at Bakugo, “what were you doing walking out here? Thought you’d be holed up in that fancy house of yours.”

“Car’s still at the mechanic. Had to get into town somehow.”

Kirishima nodded, his hands steady on the wheel. “Makes sense. Not much to do around here without a car.” There was a pause before Kirishima spoke again, his tone light. “You settling in okay? Must be weird coming back after all this time.”

Bakugo shrugged. “It’s fine.” He didn’t elaborate, and Kirishima didn’t press.

Kirishima nodded, his hands loose on the wheel as he kept his eyes on the snowy road ahead. “Alright, I’ll take that as a yes.”

The rest of the drive was quiet, the low hum of the heater filling the space between them. When Kirishima pulled into the parking lot of the market, Bakugo reached for the door handle, but before he could get out, Kirishima cut the engine and unbuckled his seatbelt.

Bakugo froze, turning to glare at him. “What the hell are you doing?”

Kirishima grinned as he opened his door. “Going inside, obviously. What does it look like?”

Bakugo narrowed his eyes. “Are you a stalker or something?”

“Can’t a man buy a protein bar anymore?” Kirishima shot back, his grin widening as he hopped out of the truck and slammed the door behind him.

Bakugo let out a sharp exhale, dragging a hand down his face before stepping out into the cold. “You’re fucking annoying, you know that?”

Kirishima just laughed, unbothered as usual, and followed Bakugo into the market, his boots crunching against the icy pavement.

Once inside, Bakugo grabbed a basket and headed straight for the produce section, his pace brisk. He figured if he moved quickly enough, Kirishima might get distracted and wander off. That hope died almost immediately as Kirishima stuck close to his side, hands shoved casually into his coat pockets as he surveyed the neatly arranged fruits and vegetables.

“Are you planning on throwing a party or something?” Kirishima teased, watching as Bakugo placed a bag of apples into the basket.

Bakugo glanced at him with an exasperated look. “It’s not because you only eat protein bars that other people don’t eat like real adults.”

Kirishima laughed, the sound easy and infectious. “Fair enough. But seriously, man, you’re buying enough food to feed a small army.”

“I just don’t want to come back here every damn day.” Bakugo replied, tossing a bunch of bananas into the basket before moving on to the meat section.

Kirishima followed, leaning casually against the edge of the refrigerated case as Bakugo inspected a pack of chicken thighs. “You know,” Kirishima said after a moment, his voice softer now, “I kinda missed this.”

“Missed what?”

Kirishima shrugged, his usual grin turning more subdued. “Hanging out with you. Even if you’re still a grumpy bastard.”

Bakugo didn’t answer right away, instead grabbing the chicken and adding it to his basket. He felt something strange in the back of his mind, a sort of warmth he didn’t want to think about too much. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it.” 

Bakugo steered the cart toward the back of the store where the firewood and fire logs were stacked high. Kirishima followed, hands tucked into his coat pockets, his breath puffing out in little clouds as they walked.

“Not planning on getting soft, huh?” Kirishima joked, raising an eyebrow as Bakugo picked up six bags of fire logs in quick succession, each one heavy enough to make Bakugo grunt under the weight.

Bakugo scowled, not looking at Kirishima as he shoved another log into his basket. “Shut up. It's fucking cold.”

“Man, looks like you're ready to keep this place warm for the next few months,” he said, nudging Bakugo gently with his shoulder. “Still not a fan of the cold, huh? Some things never change.”

“I’m not freezing my ass off. I’m making sure this place doesn’t turn into a fucking icebox. Not that you’d understand.”

Kirishima chuckled, taking a step back to let Bakugo move through the doorway first. “Guess not. You always were the cold one.” He shot Bakugo a grin, letting his words hang in the air with an unspoken familiarity.

Bakugo didn’t respond, only carried his load to the counter, silently annoyed but not actually bothered. There was something oddly comforting about the routine of it all, and he couldn’t help but feel a bit lighter without fully understanding why.

They made their way through the rest of the store, Kirishima sticking to Bakugo’s side and throwing in the occasional comment, complaining about the price of eggs or making a terrible joke about the bag of potatoes Bakugo picked up. Bakugo found himself snorting at some of it despite himself, and by the time they reached the checkout line, he realized he couldn’t remember the last time he’d done groceries with someone else.

The act of just being in a store, picking out food and listening to Kirishima’s chatter, felt oddly normal. Almost cozy. 

Once they were outside, Bakugo adjusted the weight of the bags once again, his arms aching from holding so much. It wasn’t even that bad, just inconvenient, but before Bakugo could even think about it, Kirishima was already reaching out, taking all the bags from his hands without a second thought. He carried them as if they weighed nothing, effortlessly lifting them like they were mere feathers.

Bakugo stood there for a moment, frozen, watching as Kirishima started walking toward the truck, not even giving him a chance to protest. His mind was still catching up when he realized he was just standing there, staring. His ears burned and his gaze followed Kirishima’s broad shoulders, the muscles in his back flexing with each step.

It wasn’t that Bakugo hadn’t noticed before, but damn, Kirishima was hot. He’d always been handsome, sure, but now? Now, he was something else entirely. That confident, easygoing smile and the way he moved, strong but casual, it hit Bakugo in a way he wasn’t prepared for.

Shaking his head, Bakugo quickly snapped himself out of it and hurried to catch up with Kirishima, his thoughts a little too jumbled for his liking.

As they drove back to Bakugo’s place, Kirishima glanced out the window as they passed the front yard. His gaze lingered on the old fence, the wood warped and sagging in places, and a particular spot that creaked whenever the wind picked up. He tapped the steering wheel a few times, then turned to Bakugo with that easy grin.

“I can fix that for you.” he said, nodding toward the fence.

Bakugo snorted, not even looking up. “Of fucking course you can.” he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You teach kids, help grandmas and now fix fences for everyone?”

Kirishima chuckled, his eyes lighting up with amusement. “Not everyone.” he said, his tone a little softer now, as if there was more to it. 

Bakugo blinked, the words catching him off guard. His stomach did a strange little flip, and before he could stop it, his face flushed. He quickly turned his head toward the window, hoping Kirishima wouldn’t notice. “Yeah, sure. Real nice guy you are.” 

Kirishima’s grin widened, though there was a slight blush creeping onto his cheeks now too. He glanced at Bakugo and then back to the road, a little quieter now, but still that same warmth in his voice. “You know I’m always down to help, man.” he said with a light chuckle. “But seriously, if you want, I can come by tomorrow. Fix that thing up for you, no problem.”

Bakugo felt his heart race a bit, the mix of awkwardness and something else he couldn’t quite place settling into his chest. "Don't bother. I can do it."

Kirishima shot him a sidelong glance, trying to keep his voice steady. “Do you even know how to hold a hammer?” 

“Do I look like a damsel in distress to you?” Bakugo’s words were half-spiteful, but the playful glint in his eyes betrayed the fact that he wasn’t actually that upset.

Kirishima grinned widely, letting the truck roll to a stop. “Kinda."

Bakugo’s brow furrowed as he looked at him, lips pressing into a thin line. He could feel his cheeks warming again, the ridiculousness of this entire exchange making him flustered. "You're a real pain, you know that?"

Kirishima shrugged, still grinning like an idiot. “I like to think of it as being a good friend.”

“Don’t push it.” Bakugo growled, but the softness in his voice betrayed how much he actually appreciated it.

Kirishima laughed, letting the silence settle between them as he turned off the truck. “Alright, alright, I’ll let you get to your fence.” Kirishima flashed one last grin before he opened the truck door. "Catch you later, tough guy." he said, his tone light but with an underlying sincerity. He gave a quick wave and started walking back to his truck.

Bakugo stood there for a moment, still holding all the bags, feeling an odd sense of reluctance to move. Kirishima’s easy smile, the way he always managed to make everything feel less heavy, it stuck with him, even as he watched the redhead get into his truck, the engine roaring to life.

For the briefest second, he found himself wishing that Kirishima would stick around just a little longer.

Bakugo ran through the streets, the cold air stinging his skin, the rhythmic pounding of his feet on the pavement syncing with the frustration swirling inside his chest. He'd tried to write a new chapter earlier but the words felt like they were slipping through his fingers, and every sentence he forced out felt wrong. It was like his mind was too cluttered, too noisy.

By the time the sun was low, casting the sky in hues of orange and pink, Bakugo found himself running past the gym he used to walk by regularly when he lived here. It was a small, no-frills place, just a few blocks from his parents' house. His gaze shifted, half-heartedly, toward the window.

And that’s when he saw him.

Kirishima.

The redhead was in the corner of the gym, working the hell out of a sandbag. He wore nothing but a tight tank top and a pair of gym shorts, his muscles straining with every punch. His hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, beads of sweat glistening on his skin as he moved with a fluid intensity that made Bakugo's breath catch in his throat.

Kirishima's biceps flexed, veins running along his arms as he delivered hit after hit, the sound of his punches muffled by the thick walls of the gym. Bakugo took a few steps back, his heart pounding in his chest. His breath hitched as he caught sight of the sweat dripping down Kirishima’s neck, the way it gleamed under the fluorescent lights.

His throat went dry.

Fuck.

He hadn't expected this, hadn't prepared himself for this feeling. He had never been one to get distracted by the physical, but Kirishima... Kirishima was always different. Always more.

Bakugo clenched his fists at his sides, trying to shake the image from his head, but it lingered, too vivid. The way Kirishima moved, the way his muscles bunched and flexed with each punch, the determination in his gaze. It was so fucking hard to look away and Bakugo hated it. Hated how something so simple, so ordinary, could send his pulse racing.

And now, feeling all hot and bothered for his first ex-boyfriend... That was not part of the plan. Not in the slightest.

With a frustrated grunt, Bakugo turned away from the gym. He had no idea what the hell was going on with him, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to stand there and watch Kirishima work out. Not when he felt like he was about to combust just from looking at him.

His mind was already in chaos, and now this? Perfect.

“Fuck me.” He sighed, forcing himself to focus on the run again, trying to ignore the heat creeping up his neck and the feeling that something had shifted in him that he wasn’t ready to deal with.

He just needed to finish his damn run.

Bakugo woke up to the sound of something scraping against metal. It was faint, but enough to drag him out of his sleep-deprived haze. Groggily, he squinted at the clock on his bedside table. It was way too early for any kind of activity outside.

With a sigh, he shuffled over to the window, rubbing his eyes and cursing the fact that his sleep had been interrupted. As he opened the blinds, he froze.

The redhead was in the garden, kneeling on the cold ground with a toolbox beside him. He was hunched over the fence, one hand gripping a hammer while the other held a nail in place. The scene looked almost surreal, Kirishima in his flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up, focused on fixing the damn thing.

“Are you fucking serious?” His brain still trying to process what the hell was happening. Kirishima was actually out there, fixing his fence.

A soft laugh bubbled up from the back of his throat despite himself. Of course, Kirishima would do something like this. He was always the one who went above and beyond, never asking for anything in return. Always doing shit that wasn’t even his problem.

Still, Bakugo couldn’t just leave it at that. With a frustrated groan, he wrapped himself in his thickest blanket and padded downstairs, trying not to trip over his own feet as he made his way toward the front door.

He swung it open, the cold air immediately hitting him like a slap to the face. He stepped outside, blinking against the chill and staring at the scene before him.

Kirishima didn’t notice him at first. He was too busy hammering the fence into place, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Bakugo cleared his throat, his voice raspy from sleep. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Kirishima looked up, his face breaking into that trademark grin. “Morning.” He said easily, as though it were the most natural thing in the world to be fixing a fence at the crack of dawn. “Just taking my favorite hammer for a walk.”

Bakugo stood there, wrapped in his blanket, trying to process what was happening. His mind was still foggy and the warmth of the blanket was making him feel oddly comfortable, which was the last thing he wanted to feel when Kirishima was standing there, looking way too good while fixing his damn fence.

“Why the hell are you doing this?” Bakugo’s tone was gruff, defensive. He wasn’t sure if he was more irritated or confused.

Kirishima shrugged, swinging the hammer down again with a satisfying thud. “What? Can’t let you keep living with a broken fence, can I?”

"Just fix this fast then and come inside. I’ll make some coffee, it's fucking early." Bakugo said, his voice still gruff, though there was something about the offer that felt almost natural.

Kirishima gave a small nod, not pressing his luck. He didn’t seem put off by Bakugo’s gruffness at all, as usual. “Alright, alright. I’ll wrap it up quick,” he said, returning to the task at hand. He swung the hammer down with a rhythmic thud, and Bakugo could hear the sounds of the fence being mended from where he stood.

Bakugo turned and shuffled back inside, pulling the door closed behind him with a bit more force than necessary. His heart was beating a little faster than it should have been and he couldn’t help but wonder why he’d just invited Kirishima in. It wasn’t like they were strangers, but there was something weirdly intimate about it. He pushed the thought aside.

Quickly, he moved to the kitchen, putting the coffee maker to work while his brain buzzed with thoughts he didn’t want to deal with. Why the hell was Kirishima out there in the first place? He had plenty of other things he could be doing, but no, he had to show up, being all helpful. And it was kind of annoying. But also... Not really? Fuck, Bakugo thought, trying to sort through the confusing feelings swirling in his head.

He grabbed a mug from the cupboard and leaned on the counter, arms crossed. His mind kept drifting back to the image of Kirishima outside, hammer in hand, working effortlessly. There was something so simple and dependable about him. Bakugo couldn’t deny it.

The sound of Kirishima hammering reached him even from inside, and he leaned his head back against the cabinet, eyes closing for a second. He was trying to play it cool, but the weird feeling in his chest wasn’t going away.

Kirishima’s voice broke his thoughts. “Coffee sounds good, man.”

Bakugo straightened up, opening his eyes and trying to shake off the rush of nerves that suddenly flooded him. “Yeah, yeah. It’s brewing,” he said, his voice a little more dismissive than he meant. He grabbed the sugar and milk from the fridge and set them on the counter, trying to focus on something other than the fact that Kirishima was working outside, probably finishing up the damn fence just for him.

Minutes passed and as the coffee maker gurgled to life, Bakugo took a deep breath. He wasn’t going to freak out. He wasn’t.

When the coffee finished brewing, he poured them both a cup, handing one to Kirishima when the redhead finally walked in, wiping his hands on a rag. His hair was slightly messy from the work, but even with a bit of sweat on his brow, Kirishima looked... Well, pretty damn good.

Bakugo quickly looked away, clearing his throat. “Here.” he said gruffly, holding out the mug. “It’s not much, but it’ll get you through your work.” He added that last part with an eye roll, hoping Kirishima wouldn’t notice the flush creeping up his neck.

Kirishima grinned, taking the coffee. “Thanks, man,” he said easily. He took a sip, humming in appreciation. “This is perfect.”

They stood in the kitchen for a minute, the quiet hum of the coffee machine still lingering in the air. Bakugo leaned against the counter, trying to act like everything was perfectly normal, like having Kirishima in his kitchen wasn’t making his heart race for reasons he couldn’t quite explain.

Kirishima, meanwhile, was casually sipping his coffee, looking around the space with mild curiosity. “Not bad,” he commented, setting his cup down. “You’ve got a nice setup here.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not exactly a five-star resort.” 

Kirishima grinned, taking another sip. “It’s got character. I dig it.”

Before Bakugo could respond, a loud crash sounded from upstairs, making both of them jump. Bakugo's heart skipped a beat as he stood upright, eyes darting to the ceiling.

“What the hell was that?” 

Kirishima was right behind him, his large frame quickly catching up as they both dashed up the stairs. “Is something broken? Are we getting robbed?” Kirishima joked, but there was an edge of concern in his voice.

Bakugo’s heart was still pounding as they reached the second floor. They followed the noise toward the door of Bakugo’s old room, a place he hadn’t dared to step into since moving out.

The noise came again, a loud thud, followed by the flurry of wings. Kirishima pushed the door open, and they both froze in place.

A pigeon was perched on the windowsill, flapping its wings frantically, trying to get inside but failing to find a way through the closed window.

"Dumb bird." Bakugo grumbled, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed as frustration bubbled in his chest.

Kirishima chuckled softly, the sound vibrating in Bakugo's chest in a way that caught him off guard. "I got this." He stepped forward, moving with calm confidence.

With a few smooth motions, he slid the window open just enough to shake his hand, trying to make the bird go away. The bird hesitated for a moment, then flapped its wings once, twice, before finally soaring into the open sky.

"Better luck next time, buddy." Kirishima said, watching the pigeon fly off into the distance.

Kirishima turned back to him, wiping his hands on his pants as he looked around the room. His expression softened. “Wow, it’s been a decade since I’ve seen your bedroom.” he said with a small, surprised laugh. “It really hasn’t changed, huh?”

Bakugo’s face flushed a little, not sure why. “It’s not like I was living here.”

Kirishima looked around, eyes scanning the familiar old walls. “Yeah,” he continued, “It’s exactly the way I remember it. You haven’t really moved anything?”

Bakugo couldn’t help but shrug, even though something about Kirishima’s words was making his stomach flip. “What’s the point? It’s just stuff.”

Kirishima nodded, his face serious for a moment before the grin returned. “Still, it’s cool. Feels kinda nostalgic, you know? Like nothing’s really changed.” Kirishima, still standing in the doorway, gestured toward Bakugo’s bed with a casual tilt of his head. “I literally lost my virginity in this bed when we were nineteen.” 

Bakugo’s eyes widened, then he snorted, unable to hold back his amusement. The sound was louder than he intended and he quickly clamped a hand over his mouth to hide the fact that he was laughing.

“What? You didn’t think it was funny?”

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” He said, trying to sound gruff but clearly fighting a smile. “Why the hell would you even bring that up?”

Kirishima shrugged nonchalantly, clearly enjoying the way he had caught Bakugo off guard. “I dunno. Just felt like it. You never forget where stuff like that happens, right?”

Bakugo rolled his eyes, but the flush on his face told a different story. “You’re so fucking weird.”

“I’m just keeping it real, man.” Then, his expression softened as he glanced around the room again, his eyes lingering on the old furniture and mementos scattered across the room. “It’s funny, though. Feels like a lifetime ago, huh?”

Bakugo, suddenly feeling a little more self-conscious, crossed his arms and looked away. “Yeah, well... Things change.”

Kirishima’s smile faded just a little, but he nodded, “Yeah. They do.”

There was a brief moment of silence between them, the weight of their past lingering in the air, before Kirishima broke it with a cheerful, “Anyway, I should get going. You’ve got a lot to handle around here.”

Bakugo blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. “Right.”

As Kirishima walked back down the stairs, Bakugo stood frozen in the middle of the room, his heart pounding in his chest as he tried to shake off the unexpected warmth that the other's presence had left behind.

Bakugo stood at the entrance of The Hollow Lantern, his eyes scanning the crowded room. He didn’t expect much, but it was warm and full of people, and he was tired of being in his head, staring at a blank page. He needed a drink.

The place smelled of wood and beer. There were a few familiar faces in the crowd, some he barely recognized, others he didn’t recognize at all. The air buzzed with conversation and laughter.

It wasn’t until he reached the bar that he spotted her. Mina. Her pink hair stood out against the dark bar, and her bright smile was impossible to miss, just like it always had been. She was behind the counter, chatting with a few patrons, but when her eyes caught Bakugo’s, she broke into a grin.

“Oh, look who Santa’s reindeer brought to town.” Mina called out with a playful tone, her words carrying over the chatter. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen you, Bakugo! Where the hell have you been hiding?”

“Too busy with other shit.” he replied, taking a seat at the counter, trying to act casual. 

Mina’s smile lingered as she slid Bakugo’s drink across the bar. “You’re lucky I even recognize you,” she teased, her grin widening. “Haven’t seen you in ages and here you are, back in town. Something must’ve drawn you here.”

“Don’t get any ideas.” Bakugo said, leaning back on his stool and trying to act like he didn’t care.

Mina just smiled wider, unfazed. “Fair enough,” she said, but her eyes were still gleaming with curiosity. “Live music starts at 8pm, if you’re sticking around. Jiro’s up tonight.”

Bakugo barely acknowledged her, taking a sip of his drink and turning away from the bar. His eyes scanned the crowd, though he didn’t have much interest in any of them. People laughed and chatted, some huddling close at tables, others leaning against the bar like he was. The noise of the room felt like a dull hum in the background, but Bakugo’s mind was elsewhere. He couldn’t stop looking, couldn’t stop wondering if he’d spot a certain redhead among the crowd.

The thought of it made him feel ridiculous, so he tried to focus on his drink instead.

He leaned forward, swirling the amber liquid in his glass as he tried to push away the thoughts circling in his mind. He wasn’t even sure why he came here in the first place, other than being bored, but now that he was here, it didn’t feel right. There was nothing for him here, nothing to keep his attention. Maybe he should just leave and forget about it.

But just as he stood up, ready to head out the door, a voice cut through the noise of the bar, sharp and unmistakable.

“Is this Katsuki Bakugo?”

The words hit Bakugo’s ears like a slap. His blood froze and his stomach turned in immediate, familiar irritation. He didn’t even need to turn around to know who it was.

Fuck no.

Yo Shindo sauntered up to him, looking like he’d had a few too many drinks. His breath smelled faintly of beer, his steps unsteady as he came closer, flashing a grin that Bakugo could already tell was full of shit.

Bakugo’s grip on his glass tightened, but he didn’t speak at first. His eyes narrowed as he looked at the last person he wanted to see tonight. The stupid grin on Shindo’s face just made him hate him more.

"You were hot when we were in school, but you're looking even hotter now, Bakugo." Shindo said, his voice dripping with that smug confidence Bakugo couldn’t stand. The words were like a weird mix of admiration and condescension, and they made Bakugo’s skin crawl.

Bakugo didn’t bother responding right away, instead taking a slow sip of his drink to buy himself some time. His mind was racing with how to handle this. He didn’t want to get into some pointless back-and-forth with Shindo.

The other guy leaned in a little closer, grinning even wider, as if he thought Bakugo would just roll over and take the bait. "You still don’t talk much, huh? Same old Bakugo." His voice was tinged with mockery, like he was trying to provoke a reaction.

Bakugo glared at him over the rim of his glass. "Why the hell are you even talking to me?" he asked, voice low and dangerously calm. The words felt like they were forced out through clenched teeth, but he wasn’t about to let Shindo see how much his presence was getting to him.

Shindo chuckled, clearly amused by the irritation he was drawing out of him. "I dunno. I missed the old tension between us, you know?" He raised his eyebrows, as if he were making some kind of joke Bakugo wasn’t supposed to get.

Bakugo’s jaw tightened, and he set his glass down with more force than necessary. "Don’t flatter yourself." he shot back, turning to face Shindo fully now. "You’re not even worth the hassle."

The words hung in the air for a moment and Bakugo wondered if Shindo was actually going to leave him alone. But of course, that wasn’t his style. Never was.

"Ah, still as charming as ever." Shindo said with a fake sigh. He crossed his arms, giving Bakugo an exaggerated once-over. "I’d offer to buy you a drink, but something tells me you’re too proud for that."

Bakugo rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to walk away right then and there. "You can keep your drink and your shitty comments. I’m not in the mood." His tone was sharp, like a warning, but Shindo didn’t seem to take it.

"Fine, fine." Shindo shrugged, but his grin never faltered. "You’ve changed, Bakugo. More of a brooding badass now. Kinda sexy, if you ask me."

Bakugo’s skin burned at the comment, not from flattery but from how fucking annoying it was. "Shut the fuck up." he said through gritted teeth, turning back to his drink, desperate to escape the conversation. He felt the heat rising to his face, his patience wearing thin. He stood abruptly, grabbing his jacket, ready to make his exit, but before he could even turn fully, he felt a hand grip his arm.

"Where you going, Bakugo?" Shindo’s voice was laced with something that sounded almost too playful, like he was enjoying the irritation he was causing.

Bakugo’s jaw clenched, his body tensing as he tried to pull away, but Shindo’s grip remained firm. He threw a furious glance at the guy. “Let go of me, you asshole.”

Mina, who had been keeping an eye on the situation from behind the bar, noticed the exchange and stepped up quickly, her tone stern as she wiped her hands on her apron. “Shindo,” she called out, her voice cutting through the noise of the bar. “Drop it. He doesn’t want to talk to you.”

Shindo’s eyes flickered to Mina for a second, before he shrugged with a lazy grin. "Oh, come on, Mina. We’re just talking. What’s the harm?"

"You're not just talking." Mina shot back, her tone colder now. "Let go of him. He clearly doesn’t want any part of this.”

But Shindo wasn’t ready to back down. He tightened his grip on Bakugo’s arm just a little, leaning in with that same smirk plastered on his face. "He’s always been like this, huh? Tough guy on the outside, but underneath... Still the same old Bakugo. Still got that fire, don’t you?"

Bakugo’s breath hitched in his chest as the annoyance and anger built up. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep his cool.

Then, to his horror, Shindo leaned closer, his words a venomous whisper that made Bakugo’s stomach churn. "Maybe now I can finally dick you down after so many years of wanting to fuck you."

“Fuck you!” he barked, the words explosive as he yanked his arm free with enough force to shove Shindo back. His heart raced, his body shaking with a mix of fury and disgust. “You’re such a fucking creep!”

Mina, seeing how close it was to getting out of hand, stepped between them. “That’s enough, Shindo!” she snapped, her voice final, sending a clear warning. “Go somewhere else if you can’t act like a decent human being.”

Shindo ignored Mina’s warning, his grin twisting into something more dangerous. He leaned in a little closer to Bakugo, his voice dripping with mockery. “Maybe all you need to stop barking like a little bitch is a big cock inside your m...”

Before he could finish, a fist connected with the side of his face, snapping his head to the side with a sickening crack.

“Shut the fuck up.” Came the deep, low voice that Bakugo never thought he’d hear in this situation.

Kirishima stood there, his hand gripping Shindo’s shirt, pulling him back to face him with a furious expression. Without missing a beat, he punched Shindo again, this time with more force, knocking him back into a nearby table. The crowd around them immediately stepped back, shocked by the sudden outburst.

Shindo stumbled, his eyes widening in disbelief as he wiped the blood from his split lip, his smirk now replaced by a look of confusion. “What the hell, Kirishima?” he spat, a little dazed from the punch.

Kirishima didn’t even flinch. He stepped forward, towering over Shindo, his voice calm but carrying an edge. “You don’t get to talk to him like that, so, I suggest you leave. Now.”

Kirishima shoved Shindo with a swift motion, sending him stumbling back a few steps. As Kirishima turned his body to face Bakugo, clearly looking to make sure he was okay, Shindo’s instincts kicked in. He swung a punch, catching Kirishima in the jaw.

The impact wasn’t enough to make Kirishima falter, but it was enough to trigger something inside Bakugo. His blood boiled, the frustration and anger he’d been holding back for far too long snapping. Without a second thought, he rushed forward, his fist connecting with Shindo’s stomach with a sickening thud.

Shindo crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath, his eyes wide in shock as he tried to catch his wind. He groaned, struggling to sit up, his face contorting with pain.

“Leave now,” Bakugo growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Or the next thing you’re gonna see is a letter from my lawyer suing you for harassment.”

Shindo glared up at him, his lip bleeding and his pride bruised, but the fear in his eyes was unmistakable. He could tell Bakugo wasn’t joking. He pushed himself to his feet, clutching his stomach as he staggered toward the door, muttering curses under his breath.

As soon as Shindo was out of the bar, the tension in the room seemed to dissipate. The patrons who’d been watching the confrontation from the sidelines started to murmur amongst themselves, but no one dared approach. The low hum of chatter returned to the bar, but the air still felt thick with the remnants of what had just happened.

Bakugo turned his head to glance at Kirishima, the words already on his lips, but before he could say anything, Mina was there. She slid a bag of ice onto the counter in front of him, her movements sharp and efficient, as if she had dealt with situations like this a hundred times before.

“The staff bathroom is empty.” Mina said, her voice low and firm. “Enter through the kitchen.”

Without waiting for an answer, she lifted the counter lid and nodded toward the back. Bakugo grabbed the ice bag without a word, his fingers brushing the cold plastic as he quickly shoved it against his knuckles, feeling the sting of the impact sink in.

He didn’t look back at Kirishima. He didn’t have to. He could feel the redhead’s presence behind him as he moved toward the kitchen entrance. He could feel the weight of Kirishima’s eyes, even if he didn’t see the look on his face. Bakugo didn’t need any more questions or reassurances right now. He just wanted to get some space.

Without a word, he walked toward the kitchen, ducking through the door and heading toward the staff bathroom at the back. He could hear Kirishima following close behind, the faint sound of footsteps echoing in the small space, but Bakugo kept his focus ahead, not slowing down.

He pushed open the bathroom door with a soft creak, the fluorescent light overhead flickering slightly as he moved in, the cool air of the small room a welcome relief after the heated confrontation. Bakugo set the ice bag down on the counter, trying to steady his breathing as he winced, his hand still stinging from the punch.

The door opened behind him, and Kirishima stepped inside, looking like he wanted to say something, but he stayed quiet for now, watching Bakugo carefully.

Bakugo could feel the tension between them, the silence thick in the small room, but he didn’t know what to say, or if he even wanted to. Instead, he just focused on the ice bag, pressing it against his knuckles and feeling the chill slowly numb the pain. The adrenaline was still pulsing through his veins, and he needed a minute to cool off.

Kirishima shifted behind him, his presence close, but Bakugo didn’t acknowledge it, his mind still racing. He wasn’t sure what to do with the jumble of feelings he was trying to sort through. One thing was for sure: he wasn’t used to having someone like Kirishima so close, in this kind of way. Not anymore.

The bathroom felt smaller with each passing second, the tension hanging between them like a thick fog. Bakugo tried to steady his breath, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts that refused to settle. He shifted on his feet, avoiding Kirishima’s gaze for a moment as he tried to calm the overwhelming pull he felt.

"Sit." Bakugo said, his voice gruff but his intent clear. Kirishima hesitated, but then obeyed, settling onto the toilet. The space seemed even tighter now, the air heavier.

Bakugo swallowed, his throat tight. He stepped closer, the pulse in his ears louder than ever. Kirishima’s bruise was already darkening, an ugly mix of purple and red, and Bakugo reached out almost automatically, placing the ice pack gently on his cheek.

The warmth of Kirishima’s skin made his heart hammer. He felt the thrum of something deep in his chest, pulling him toward the other man, but he fought it. Focus. His fingers brushed against Kirishima’s face, and for a brief moment, time seemed to slow. Bakugo’s chest tightened as his breath hitched, feeling the heat rise to his face, but he forced himself to stay composed.

Kirishima’s silence only amplified the intensity of the moment. He wasn’t saying anything, but Bakugo could feel the tension building, the quiet pulling at him like a current he couldn’t escape. The air between them was thick, suffocating, making his head spin with conflicting thoughts.

He wanted to shout at Kirishima, ask him why he had to get involved, why he had to protect him like that. Why he couldn’t just leave things alone. He wanted to break the silence, the unbearable weight of it pressing down on him, but another part of him was too aware of the way Kirishima was sitting there, so close, his body radiating heat, his expression almost vulnerable in the dim light of the small bathroom.

Stop. Bakugo clenched his jaw, pushing the dangerous thoughts away. He focused on the ice pack, his fingers lingering on the cold surface, trying to steady his breathing. The last thing he wanted was to lose control.

Kirishima shifted slightly and Bakugo felt his breath catch in his throat. The faintest noise from Kirishima’s lips, his chest rising a little quicker. But Bakugo pulled his hand back, clearing his throat as he took a small step back, trying to gather himself.

"Stay still." 

Kirishima’s hand reached out gently curling around his fist. The heat of his touch against bruised skin made Bakugo freeze, his heart stumbling into a faster rhythm. He didn’t say a word, just lifted Bakugo’s hand and pressed a soft kiss to one knuckle, then another, barely grazing the skin.

Bakugo’s breath caught. Every kiss sent a pulse through him, too much and not enough all at once. It wasn’t just the touch, it was how careful Kirishima was.

The room felt smaller. He could feel the closeness like static, like pressure behind his ribs. Part of him wanted to jerk his hand away, say something harsh, break the moment before it got worse, but Kirishima’s eyes were calm. It was the calm that kept Bakugo still.

He hated how much he felt it, how much he wanted to stay.

When Kirishima finished, he didn’t pull back immediately. His hand lingered on Bakugo’s, and it was in that moment that he finally snapped, his mind breaking through the haze of confusion, his thoughts flooding back to him.

“Why did you do that?” Bakugo’s voice was low, an attempt to hide the storm inside him, to place some distance between them. He wanted to push, to make it all feel like just an accident, like it didn’t matter. But his words came out shaky, uncertain.

Kirishima simply smiled, “I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to.”

The simplicity of Kirishima’s answer, his gentle touch, only made the confusion in Bakugo’s mind swirl faster. 

Mina’s knock on the door broke the tension, the sound of her knuckles against the wood pulling Bakugo back to reality. He blinked, his pulse still hammering in his ears, as he tore his gaze away from Kirishima.

"Everything okay in there?" Mina’s voice was light, but there was an edge to it, like she was trying to keep the situation from escalating any further.

Bakugo cleared his throat, suddenly aware of how thick the air had become. "Yeah, fine."

"Need more ice?" Mina's voice floated in from the other side of the door. He hadn’t even realized he was still holding the ice bag, his fingers frozen from the contact.

Kirishima shook his head, his voice low. "No, we're just leaving."

Bakugo watched in silence as Kirishima stood up, a quiet tension lingering in the air as Kirishima stepped out of the bathroom. He didn’t look back, and Bakugo didn’t try to stop him. The door clicked softly behind him.

The silence that followed was almost deafening.

Mina’s presence loomed just outside the door, her eyes narrowing slightly as she looked at Bakugo, gauging him like she always did. "You know..." she began, breaking the quiet, her tone casual but carrying something unspoken. "When your book came out, Kirishima was the first person in town to buy a copy. In fact, he bought so many copies that he had to hand them out as gifts to everyone. I got a copy, the teachers at the school where he works got a copy... I think the whole town has your book."

Bakugo’s gaze flickered to her, and for a moment, he didn't say anything, just letting the words sink in. He understood exactly what she meant, even if it was unspoken. It wasn’t the first time he’d thought about how much Kirishima had supported him, how much effort he'd put into showing up for him, back then and still now.

Mina saw the understanding in his eyes, her grin widening as she pushed herself off the doorframe. "I’ve never been much of a fan of thrillers, but I think I’ll give it a chance." she said, her voice laced with amusement.

With a wink, she turned and walked away, leaving Bakugo standing in the quiet of the bathroom, his mind racing, trying to make sense of everything that had just happened.

The house was unnervingly quiet, every small creak of the floorboards and distant hum of the air conditioning louder than it should have been. Bakugo lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, restless beneath the covers. The bed felt like it wasn’t his, the sheets cold and stiff against his skin. His knuckles still pulsed with a dull warmth, a reminder of the tension that had surged through him earlier, the heat, the adrenaline, the fury. It didn’t stop.

Frustration built up in his chest. It had been hours since Kirishima left, but the weight in his chest hadn't eased. His thoughts wouldn’t stop spiraling, clashing with each other, refusing to quiet down. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t clear his head. Every time he closed his eyes, it all rushed back: the words, the looks, the pressure of everything building to that moment. It was too much, and yet, it wasn’t enough.

With a sharp exhale, Bakugo finally sat up, dragging his hands through his hair. The air felt suffocating, too still. The bed was uncomfortable, his body too tense. His mind wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t let him escape it all. He grabbed his laptop from the nightstand, irritation making his movements sharp. Why the hell was he even trying to write right now? He wasn’t in the mood for this, not when his thoughts were consumed by everything that happened earlier.

He opened the laptop and glared at the blank screen, his fingers hovering over the keyboard, desperate to do something, anything, to distract from the storm inside his head. But nothing came. The silence around him felt louder than ever, and the thoughts in his mind were getting in the way of every damn thing.

A soft groan escaped him, his fingers pressing the keys out of habit, but there was no flow. No inspiration. Only the unbearable quiet.

He closed his eyes for a second, trying to breathe, trying to focus. But all he could see was Kirishima’s face, the way he’d looked when they stood in that bathroom, so close, so goddamn close.

Bakugo’s hands clenched around the laptop. He needed to stop thinking about it. About him. About everything.

He opened his eyes again and started typing.

“Mr. Hayashi was dead. The air in the room hung heavy with an unsettling stillness, the kind of silence that seeps into the very bones of a place, lingering long after the final breath has faded. A faint, almost sickly fragrance of expensive cologne, too sweet for a man of his cold demeanor, mingled with the acrid, metallic scent of blood that had pooled on the polished hardwood floor beneath his motionless form. His once sharp, calculating features now appeared unnaturally serene, as though death had stolen all the malice from his eyes and replaced it with a fragile semblance of peace…”

Late Saturday, Bakugo stood frozen in front of Kirishima's door, a bag clenched tightly in his hand. He could feel the weight of it, felt every inch of the ridiculous thing like it was a stone around his neck. His heart pounded louder than it should’ve and he considered just turning around. He’d been through worse, hadn’t he? 

It had taken everything in him to get here. He’d had to threaten Kaminari with violence just to get the address and now that he was here, with the cold biting at his skin and his breath coming out in sharp bursts, all the confidence he usually carried felt like it was slipping through his fingers.

What the hell was he even doing?

He’d tried to tell himself it was no big deal, that it was just a quick visit. Kirishima would probably laugh, maybe offer him some of that ridiculously sweet smile of his, and Bakugo would go home. But deep down, there was a gnawing thing that kept pulling him forward. The bag in his hand, the one that was meant to be some kind of gesture, felt heavier by the second.

The door creaked open.

Kirishima’s face appeared in the doorway, expression frozen, as if Bakugo were some kind of ghost, a fucking mirage, something impossible. His bright eyes blinked and Bakugo swore he saw disbelief flash across his face. He wasn’t sure what to do with that look. He hated it.

The silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable, the kind that reminded Bakugo just how out of place he felt. He didn’t even know what had made him come here, why he had to do this. All he knew was that if he left now, if he turned and walked away, the frustration would probably swallow him whole.

So he said the first thing that came to mind, his voice sharp, trying to cover the unease bubbling beneath his skin.

“Are you going to invite me in or are you going to leave me to die in the cold?” The words came out clipped, like they were the only armor he could throw up around himself.

Kirishima stepped aside, his voice low as he murmured, “Come in.”

Bakugo hesitated for a moment, but the warmth of the house called to him, and he stepped inside, the door clicking softly behind him. The moment he crossed the threshold, it was like something inside him shifted, he felt a strange sense of comfort, of familiarity, settle into his bones.

The smell hit him first; eucalyptus wood mixed with the sweet scent of apple pie, filling the air and wrapping around him like a cozy blanket. The house was warm, inviting, nothing like the cold emptiness he’d left behind. The walls were covered with pictures and mementos, frozen moments of laughter and memories. Some faces he recognized, others he didn’t. But it was clear this place was full of life, of stories.

The large sofa near the fireplace caught his attention next, the flickering flames casting a soft glow across the room. Everything about the space was comfortable, lived-in, like a home.

Kirishima, still standing near the door, didn’t move. His eyes were fixed on Bakugo, wide and disbelieving, like he couldn’t quite process that the man standing in his living room was real. His posture was stiff, unsure, and Bakugo could see the tension in the way he held himself, the silent question hanging in the air: Why are you here?

Bakugo swallowed but he didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure what to say either. There were too many thoughts swirling in his head, too many things left unsaid. He just stood there for a moment longer, allowing himself to feel the comfort of the space before he spoke.

Bakugo cleared his throat, suddenly aware of the weight of the moment hanging between them. He had meant to say it earlier, back at the bar, but everything had spiraled too quickly. Now, with the warmth of the house wrapping around him, it felt like the right time. "Hey," he began, his voice quiet but firm, "thanks. For what you did last night. For stepping in." Kirishima blinked, surprised at the sudden shift in the conversation. "You didn’t have to," Bakugo continued, his words deliberate. "but you did."

Kirishima was still processing the words when Bakugo reached into his bag and pulled out a package. He held it out to Kirishima, the edges crinkling slightly in his grip and the other's face immediately lit up, a genuine grin spreading across his face the moment he saw the mango chocopies inside. "Oh man, I love these!" he said, his voice filled with warmth. 

He took the bag from Bakugo’s hand, his fingers brushing against his for just a moment longer than necessary.

"I know." Bakugo whispered, his tone suddenly heavier. He wasn’t sure why it felt so important to say, but it did. The simple truth of it hung in the air between them.

They stood there for a moment, both staring at each other in the quiet space. Bakugo’s gaze lingered a little longer than it should have, caught in the depth of Kirishima’s eyes. 

“So… You're a secret fan of my work or what?” He pointed to the bookshelf in the corner of the room, where his book was prominently displayed.

Kirishima’s smile faltered slightly, his eyes widening in surprise as Bakugo spoke, the weight of the moment lifting just a little. The casual comment broke through the tension.

“Mina told me you have my book.” Bakugo said with a sly grin, his voice light, teasing. “Want an autograph?”

Kirishima blinked, his face going red almost immediately. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips as he tried to regain his composure.

“I mean…” Kirishima stammered, his cheeks flushed a deep shade of red. “Sure?” His voice trailed off in disbelief, his embarrassment only deepening.

Bakugo watched him for a moment, trying to read his expression. He didn’t know why it pleased him so much to see Kirishima flustered, but it did. The truth was, seeing Kirishima blush, hearing the slight nervousness in his voice, made Bakugo’s stomach tighten. It reminded him of everything unsaid between them. 

His thoughts churned again, but before he could think too much about it, he forced himself to focus on Kirishima’s flustered expression. “You want an autograph or not?” Bakugo asked, trying to play it off with a half smirk, but even he could hear the slight nervousness in his own voice.

Kirishima’s cheeks remained flushed as he tried to compose himself, but his smile quickly returned, shy and a little sheepish. “Yeah, I’d like that.” He laughed nervously, but his smile was wide, his eyes filled with something Bakugo didn’t quite want to dissect just yet.

Bakugo swallowed, feeling the heat of the moment curl in his stomach, but he didn’t say anything more. Instead, he moved to grab a pen, suddenly feeling like the room was too small for both of them.

Bakugo’s hand hovered over the book for a moment before he opened it to a clean page. He didn’t say anything as he scribbled his signature, but then, an idea struck him. A small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he added something else beneath his name.

He held the book out to Kirishima, not looking at him as he did. "Here." he said gruffly, avoiding his eyes for a moment.

Kirishima took the book from him, still flustered but clearly pleased. He flipped it open and his eyes skimmed the page. When he read what Bakugo had written, his face immediately broke into a loud, genuine laugh. The sound echoed in the quiet of the room, a light, bright noise that made Bakugo’s heart do something strange in his chest.

Kirishima’s voice, filled with amusement, read aloud. “Now you really have a personal treasure. If you need some money, sell it on Ebay.”

Bakugo rolled his eyes, though the hint of a smile tugged at his lips. "Shut up." he whispered, trying to look annoyed, but his own voice betrayed him, sounding a little lighter than he intended. Kirishima just kept laughing, his grin wide and honest.

"You really put that, huh?" Kirishima said between chuckles, shaking his head. "Man, you never change." Bakugo felt his cheeks warm slightly at the comment, but he shrugged it off, trying to act unaffected. “Thank you.”

Bakugo felt a flutter in his stomach at the sincerity in Kirishima’s voice. He didn’t respond immediately, not trusting his own words. Instead, he just looked at Kirishima, for a moment longer than he should have.

But Kirishima didn’t seem to expect anything more and that was a relief. He just smiled, clutching the book a little tighter as he took a step back. 

"Do you… Wanna go grab a drink with me?"

Bakugo blinked at the question, caught slightly off guard. Kirishima’s voice was casual, but there was a flicker of something else beneath it, a hint of hope, maybe. It wasn’t like Kirishima to let his guard down so openly, but the question felt natural coming from him.

“Yeah.” Bakugo found himself saying before he could overthink it. The word left his mouth quickly, almost impulsively and it surprised him how easily it came out. “Sure.”

Kirishima’s smile widened, brighter than Bakugo expected, and for a moment, the sight of it made his heart stutter. “Cool. Let me just, uh, I’ll grab my jacket.”

As Kirishima turned to grab his jacket, Bakugo stayed rooted to the spot, hands stuffed into his pockets. His eyes wandered around the room again, the warmth of it, the personal touches everywhere, the lingering scent of apple pie and wood smoke. It wasn’t just a house; it felt alive, like it was an extension of Kirishima himself.

When Kirishima returned, shrugging on a worn leather jacket, he glanced at Bakugo with that same easy smile. “Ready?”

Bakugo nodded, stepping toward the door.

The bar was warm and lively, a welcome contrast to the biting chill of the night. Golden light spilled across the polished wood, illuminating the cozy space in a way that felt intimate, almost too intimate. The low murmur of conversation surrounded them, broken only by bursts of laughter and the occasional clink of glasses. Kirishima navigated them through the crowd with an easy confidence, leading them to a booth tucked away in the corner.

Bakugo slid into the seat across from him, his sharp gaze sweeping over the room as if it were some battlefield to analyze. The warmth of the place seeped into his skin, but it did nothing to calm the restlessness inside him, the weight of unsaid words that had followed him here.

Kirishima picked up a menu, his grin widening as he scanned it. “This place has killer wings. And their cocktails? Top-notch.”

Bakugo snorted, his brow lifting in disbelief. “Cocktails, huh? Didn’t think you were the fruity-drink type.”

Kirishima chuckled, leaning forward slightly. “Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it. Besides, you seem like the ‘straight whiskey, no bullshit’ kind of guy. Am I wrong?”

A smirk tugged at Bakugo’s lips. “You’re not.” He leaned back, folding his arms over his chest as he eyed Kirishima with a mix of amusement and challenge. “Guess I’m just predictable, huh?”

“Not predictable.” Kirishima replied, his grin softening. “Just... You.”

That simple statement caught Bakugo off guard. He said nothing, opting instead to pick up the menu and bury his reaction. His thoughts, however, raced. Kirishima’s easy confidence, his warmth, it was disarming in a way Bakugo wasn’t prepared for, like he was chipping away at something Bakugo wasn’t ready to let anyone see.

They ordered drinks, a whiskey for Bakugo and something rum-based for Kirishima. The tension from earlier in the night had eased, replaced by a lightness that Bakugo wasn’t used to but found himself oddly craving. It was unsettling in its simplicity.

Kirishima swirled his drink after the first sip, his gaze settling on Bakugo with a teasing edge. “Didn’t take you for the type to show up at someone’s door with mango choco-pies as a 'thank you’.”

Bakugo rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward despite himself. “They’re your favorite. Figured they’d shut you up.”

Kirishima laughed, the sound warm and unguarded and something in Bakugo’s chest twisted. “Man, you really know how to win someone over.”

Bakugo narrowed his eyes, leaning forward just slightly. “Is it working?”

The question hung in the air, charged, and Kirishima faltered for just a second before recovering, his cheeks turning faintly pink. “You tell me.” He said, his voice softer now, less playful but no less sincere.

Bakugo’s pulse quickened, his usual defenses scrambling to piece themselves together under Kirishima’s steady gaze. It wasn’t just the words, it was the way Kirishima looked at him, like he was seeing something no one else could, something Bakugo wasn’t sure he wanted seen. He forced a smirk, trying to regain the upper hand. “You’re a flirt, you know that?”

“Only when it’s worth it.” Kirishima said, his grin turning softer, more vulnerable. “And you? You’re giving me plenty of reasons.”

The statement hit Bakugo like a sudden gust of wind, unexpected and impossible to ignore. He didn’t hate it, but it left him unbalanced.

“Better watch yourself, Eijiro.” he muttered, his voice low enough that it made Kirishima pause, his expression turning curious. “You keep that up and I might start thinking you’re serious.”

Kirishima leaned forward slightly, his gaze never wavering. “What if I am?”

The quiet certainty in his voice took Bakugo’s breath away. For a moment, the noise of the bar receded, leaving only the two of them, locked in a silent challenge. Bakugo felt his pulse thunder in his ears, his usual sharp retorts slipping through his fingers. Instead, he leaned in closer, his elbows resting on the table as his lips quirked into a lopsided grin.

“Guess you’ll just have to prove it.” he said, the challenge in his voice tempered by something softer.

Kirishima’s laughter was quieter this time but it carried the same warmth, the same steadiness that seemed to draw Bakugo in. His eyes sparkled as he sat back, his smile widening. “Oh, I plan to.”

Kirishima didn’t break eye contact, and neither did Bakugo. The space between them felt charged, like the energy crackling before a storm. The noise of the bar faded into a dull hum, the conversations around them a blur. It was just the two of them, locked in a silent push and pull neither was fully ready to name.

“You’ve got a lot of confidence, huh?” Bakugo finally said, his tone laced with a mix of challenge and curiosity. His lips curved into a smirk but there was a tightness in his chest that he couldn’t shake.

Kirishima grinned, his hand casually resting around his glass. “What can I say? I know what I want.”

The statement hung heavy in the air, and Bakugo felt the heat rise to his neck. He shifted in his seat, trying to keep his voice steady. “Big words. You always talk this much or is it just me bringing it out of you?”

Kirishima leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, and suddenly the distance between them felt smaller. His smile softened, his gaze steady. “It’s you.” He said simply, his voice quieter but no less certain.

Bakugo’s stomach twisted. Kirishima’s intensity wasn’t overbearing; it was something else entirely. Something that made Bakugo’s walls feel thinner than usual.

“You’ve been throwing out the bait all night. I’m just biting.” Kirishima said, his grin turning just a little cheeky. 

Bakugo nearly choked on his drink, coughing slightly as he set the glass down with a clink. “Tch. You’re full of it.”

Kirishima chuckled, leaning back in his seat, but his gaze never wavered. “Am I? Because you haven’t told me to stop.”

The words hit harder than they should have, and Bakugo hated how accurate they were. He leaned forward, his sharp gaze narrowing as his voice dropped. “What if I don’t want you to?”

Kirishima’s smile faltered for just a second, replaced by something deeper, something more vulnerable. For all his boldness, Kirishima didn’t laugh this time. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, studying Bakugo like he was trying to figure out a puzzle.

“Then I guess we’re on the same page.” Kirishima said softly, his voice carrying more weight than Bakugo was ready for. His eyes flicked down for a brief moment, lingering on Bakugo’s hands resting on the table, before meeting his gaze again.

Bakugo felt his throat go dry. He wasn’t used to this kind of attention, it wasn’t teasing or fleeting. It felt deliberate, like Kirishima wasn’t afraid to push, to take the next step if Bakugo let him.

Finally, he reached for his glass, his voice low and laced with amusement. “Keep talking. You’re gonna have to work harder than that to win me over.”

“Oh, I don't mind.” Kirishima shot back, his grin turning playful again, but the look in his eyes said everything Bakugo wasn’t ready to hear out loud.

A new round of drinks arrived and as the night wore on, the banter continued, each word layered with a tension neither of them fully addressed. But beneath the playful teasing, something heavier simmered, waiting for the right moment to surface.

And then the drinks kept coming and it was like the air itself had thickened. Bakugo could feel the buzz of the whiskey humming in his veins, loosening the sharp edges of his thoughts but sharpening his awareness of Kirishima. Every laugh, every glance, every casual brush of his hand against the table sent a jolt through him he couldn’t ignore.

Kirishima leaned back against the booth, his drink cradled in one hand as his other drummed lightly on the table. “You know, I didn’t expect this when you showed up tonight.”

Bakugo raised an eyebrow, “What’d you expect? A yelling match? Maybe a few more punches?”

Kirishima chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah, not really. But I didn’t think we’d be here, either. Feels kinda surreal.”

“What, having a drink with me?”

“Having you here.” Kirishima corrected, his smile softening. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you like this. Relaxed, I mean.”

Bakugo scoffed, looking away, but the weight of Kirishima’s words pressed against him. “Tch. Don’t read too much into it.”

“Too late. It’s just nice, you know? Seeing you out of your own head for once.”

The comment hit closer to home than Bakugo wanted to admit, but he masked the discomfort with a roll of his eyes. “You’re really good at overanalyzing, huh?”

Kirishima shrugged, grinning again. “Only when it’s worth it.”

The ease of Kirishima’s confidence made something twist in Bakugo’s stomach. He took another sip of his whiskey, the burn grounding him, before setting the glass down with deliberate care. “You keep saying that,” he muttered, his voice low. “Like I’m worth something.”

“You are.” Kirishima said simply, the words carrying an unshakable certainty that Bakugo wasn’t ready for. He said it like it was a fact, not something up for debate, and it made Bakugo’s chest tighten.

Bakugo clicked his tongue, leaning forward with a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You always this damn sentimental or is it just the rum talking?”

Kirishima laughed, the sound warm and unguarded. “Guess you’ll have to stick around to find out.”

The challenge hung in the air, and Bakugo wasn’t sure if it was the whiskey or something else, but he felt himself leaning into it. His hand brushed against Kirishima’s as he reached for his glass again, the contact fleeting but enough to send a spark up his arm.

“You’re a piece of work, Eijiro.” Bakugo muttered, his voice quieter now, but the edge was gone.

“That's why you dated me before.” Kirishima said, his grin softening as his eyes locked onto Bakugo’s. There was no teasing in his tone this time, just quiet confidence and something that felt a lot like hope.

Bakugo didn’t respond immediately, his throat suddenly dry. He wanted to say something sharp, something to break the weight of the moment, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he held Kirishima’s gaze, the silence between them stretching out until it felt like the rest of the bar had faded away.

Kirishima’s fingers drummed lightly on the table again, his smile turning almost shy. “If this is too much, just say the word. I’ll back off.”

Bakugo’s heart kicked against his ribs and he thought about shutting it down, about retreating into the familiar safety of his walls. But something in Kirishima’s expression made him hesitate.

“Don’t back off.”

Kirishima didn’t grin this time, though his expression softened into something warmer, steadier. He set his glass down slowly, his hand reaching across the table, and placed it lightly on top of Bakugo’s.

Bakugo’s breath caught at the contact, his fingers going still beneath the weight of Kirishima’s hand. It wasn’t heavy or demanding; it was just there.

“I won’t.” Kirishima said quietly, his voice steady and sure. His thumb brushed against Bakugo’s knuckles, a small, deliberate movement that sent a shock of something sharp through him.

Bakugo swallowed hard, his eyes locked on Kirishima’s hand. He should have pulled away, should have said something to break the tension, but he couldn’t. Instead, he just sat there, letting himself feel the warmth of Kirishima’s palm, the quiet reassurance in the touch.

Of course things would end this way. Bakugo knew it the moment he started playing with fire. He had been reckless, flirting with Kirishima at the bar, leaning too close, letting their knees touch under the table. They weren’t kids anymore and this wasn’t a second chance at something sweet and easy. No, this was different. Messier. He was trying to grab hold of something that might no longer be his.

But none of that mattered now.

Kirishima shoved him onto the bed, their mouths glued together in a kiss so hot it felt like it might burn through him. Bakugo groaned into it, fingers gripping Kirishima’s shirt like it was the only thing keeping him from floating away. His head spun with the heat of Kirishima's lips, the taste of alcohol on his tongue, the sharp edge of teeth against his bottom lip.

Kirishima, Kirishima, Kirishima. His name was a chant in Bakugo’s brain, pulsing in time with his racing heartbeat. Everything in the world had narrowed down to the man pinning him to the bed, to the weight of Kirishima’s body pressing him into the mattress.

His hands were frantic, tugging at Kirishima’s shirt, desperate to feel the skin beneath it. He didn’t care how clumsy he looked or how breathless he sounded as he growled, “Get this off already.” Kirishima laughed into his mouth, the sound low and rough, before pulling back just enough to yank the shirt over his head and toss it aside.

Bakugo barely had a second to drink in the sight of him, broad shoulders, muscles that rippled with every move, before Kirishima’s mouth was on his again. This time, it was hungrier, rougher, like Kirishima had been holding himself back and couldn’t anymore.

Bakugo shivered when Kirishima’s hands found the hem of his shirt, fingers brushing the bare skin of his stomach. He lifted his arms, letting Kirishima strip him, and his shirt joined the pile on the floor. The cool air hit his skin but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating from Kirishima, from the way his hands slid up Bakugo’s sides, thumbs grazing over his nipples just to make him squirm.

“Shit.” Bakugo hissed, his breath catching as Kirishima ducked his head to nip at his neck. He felt teeth, the scrape of stubble and then the wet heat of Kirishima’s tongue soothing the mark he’d just made. Bakugo’s hips bucked up instinctively, seeking friction, but Kirishima just chuckled, pinning him down with a hand on his thigh.

“Easy...” Kirishima murmured, his voice rough and breathy. His lips moved lower, trailing kisses down Bakugo’s chest, over the curve of his ribs, until Bakugo thought he might lose his mind.

“Don’t tell me to fucking take it easy.” Bakugo snapped, but his voice cracked halfway through, and it sounded more like a plea than anything else. His fingers buried themselves in Kirishima’s hair, tugging just enough to make Kirishima groan against his skin.

Every touch, every sound, every kiss made Bakugo’s head spin. He felt raw, exposed in a way he hadn’t in years, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. All he could think about was Kirishima. The weight of him, the heat of his mouth, the way his hands seemed to know exactly where to touch to make Bakugo arch off the bed.

He didn’t want to think about the past or the future or what this might mean. Not right now. All he wanted was Kirishima.

And when Kirishima finally leaned back, breathless and flushed, to work on the buckle of Bakugo’s pants, Bakugo didn’t even try to hide the way his hips lifted to help. His brain was too hazy with want, his body too desperate for more. He heard the soft clink of the buckle, felt the tug as Kirishima worked his jeans down his thighs, and then the cooler air brushing over his straining cock through his boxers.

Kirishima didn’t waste a second. He pulled Bakugo’s boxers down with the same urgency, freeing him completely. Bakugo let out a sharp breath, his head tipping back against the pillows as his cock sprang free, hard and already leaking.

“Fuck.” Kirishima muttered, his voice low and rough. His hands gripped Bakugo’s thighs, spreading them wider as he settled between them, and his eyes stayed fixed on Bakugo’s cock like he couldn’t look away.

Bakugo barely had time to process the look on Kirishima’s face before he felt the wet heat of Kirishima’s mouth on him. A loud, broken groan ripped from his throat, and his hips jerked up involuntarily, chasing that heat. Kirishima took him in slowly, his tongue pressing firmly against the underside of his cock as he slid further down. His hands gripped Bakugo’s hips, holding him in place, but it wasn’t enough to stop the way Bakugo’s body twitched and arched under him.

“Shit...” Bakugo gasped, his voice ragged and desperate. His hands flew to Kirishima’s hair, his fingers tangling in the red strands as he fought the urge to just shove his head down and fuck his mouth.

Kirishima hummed around him, the vibration sending a shock of pleasure straight through Bakugo’s body. He pulled back just enough to swirl his tongue over the head of Bakugo’s cock, lapping at the precum there before sinking down again. His pace was deliberate, almost teasing, like he wanted to drive Bakugo out of his mind.

And it was working.

Bakugo’s chest heaved as he panted for breath, his fingers tightening in Kirishima’s hair. Every drag of Kirishima’s mouth over his cock was electric and the wet sounds of it only made him harder. His thighs trembled, his muscles straining with the effort of not losing control completely.

“Don’t fucking tease me.” he growled, his voice trembling at the edges. “If you’re gonna do it, do it right.”

Kirishima pulled off with a low, breathless chuckle, his lips shiny and red. “When do I ever do anything half-assed?” He teased, before wrapping his lips around Bakugo’s cock again and taking him in deeper this time.

The heat, the tightness, the way Kirishima’s throat worked around him, Bakugo couldn’t hold back the string of curses that spilled from his lips. He didn’t care how loud he was, didn’t care about anything except the man between his legs.

Kirishima set a faster rhythm, his hands gripping Bakugo’s thighs to hold him steady as he worked him over. Bakugo could feel the scrape of teeth every now and then, just enough to make his hips jolt, and the deliberate pressure of Kirishima’s tongue on every upward pull.

It was too much and not enough all at once. His body was wound tight, every nerve lit up and screaming for release, but he didn’t want this to end. He didn’t want to lose the sight of Kirishima’s head bobbing between his legs, the feel of him taking him apart piece by piece.

“I’m... Fuck...”

Kirishima didn’t stop. If anything, he took Bakugo in even deeper, his nose brushing against Bakugo’s skin as he hummed around him again, and that was it. Bakugo’s head snapped back, his back arching off the bed as he came hard, his fingers pulling tight in Kirishima’s hair.

He could feel Kirishima swallowing around him, could hear the low, satisfied groan he let out as he kept going, working Bakugo through every wave of his release until Bakugo was trembling and boneless beneath him.

When Kirishima finally pulled off, his lips were slick and curved into a smug grin. Bakugo could only glare weakly at him, his chest still heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

“Shut up.” He muttered before Kirishima could say a word. His voice came out rough, almost wrecked, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t in the mood for Kirishima’s cocky attitude right now, not when his own body was still burning, not when he could feel the heat pooling low in his stomach again.

But Kirishima didn’t laugh this time. He just looked at him, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, his lips still shiny and swollen. The weight of his gaze made Bakugo’s skin prickle, made his cock twitch despite how wrecked he already felt.

“Damn, Katsuki.” Kirishima said, his voice deep and teasing as he leaned in, planting a kiss on Bakugo’s jaw. “I forgot how good you look like this.”

Bakugo growled low in his throat when he heard his given name, turning his head to capture Kirishima’s mouth in a bruising kiss. It wasn’t neat or controlled, it was all teeth and tongue and desperation. He tugged Kirishima closer, feeling the heat of his body, the hard press of Kirishima’s cock still trapped in his jeans.

That was the breaking point. Bakugo tore his mouth away, panting, his nails digging into Kirishima’s shoulders as he growled, “Just fuck me already.”

Kirishima froze for a second, like he hadn’t expected Bakugo to say it out loud. But then his grin came back, sharper this time, and Bakugo’s whole body flushed under that look.

“You want me that bad, huh?” Kirishima teased, leaning back just enough to let his hands roam over Bakugo’s body, palms rough and warm against his skin.

Bakugo snapped, his voice trembling with need. “I’m serious, Eijiro. Don’t make me beg.”

Kirishima’s grin softened at the edges, something almost fond flickering in his eyes. But he didn’t push any further. Instead, he pressed a quick kiss to Bakugo’s lips and murmured, “Never gonna make you beg, Katsuki.”

He moved quickly after that, standing to shuck off his jeans and boxers in one smooth motion. Bakugo watched him, swallowing hard at the sight of him naked, hard and ready, his cock flushed and thick against his stomach.

He grabbed the lube from the nightstand, of course he had some ready, the bastard, and climbed back onto the bed, settling between Bakugo’s legs. He kissed him again, slower this time, like he wanted Bakugo to feel every second of it.

Bakugo gasped when he felt Kirishima’s slick fingers pressing against him, teasing for just a moment before sliding inside. His body tensed at the stretch, but the burn only fueled the heat spreading through him, made him claw at Kirishima’s back and pull him closer.

“Fuck, Katsuki...” Kirishima groaned, his voice low and wrecked as he worked his fingers deeper. “You’re so tight.”

“Hurry up!” Bakugo hissed, rolling his hips to meet the movement of Kirishima’s hand. “I said I want you to fuck me, not take your sweet-ass time.”

Kirishima chuckled, leaning down to kiss him again, swallowing the sounds Bakugo made as he stretched him open. “You’re impatient as ever.” he murmured against his lips, his tone warm but teasing, like he knew exactly how much he was testing Bakugo’s patience.

“Fucking right, I am.” Bakugo growled, his fingers tightening in Kirishima’s hair. “So quit dragging it out.”

But Kirishima didn’t move to give him what he wanted. Not yet. Instead, he slid his fingers free, leaving Bakugo clenching around nothing, and shifted lower, pressing kisses down Bakugo’s stomach.

“What are you...” Bakugo started, but his words cut off in a sharp gasp as Kirishima spread his legs wider, his hands gripping Bakugo’s thighs to hold him open.

“Relax, Katsuki,” Kirishima said, his voice low and gravelly. “I just wanna take my time with you for a bit.”

Before Bakugo could snap something back, Kirishima leaned in and licked a slow, teasing stripe along his entrance. Bakugo’s whole body jolted at the sensation, a surprised, broken moan spilling from his lips.

“Shit!” he hissed, his hands fisting in the sheets as Kirishima licked him again, this time swirling his tongue in slow, deliberate circles.

The heat of it, the wet slide of Kirishima’s tongue, was almost too much. Bakugo’s head tipped back, his chest heaving as he tried to get a grip on himself, but Kirishima wasn’t making it easy. His hands squeezed Bakugo’s thighs, holding him steady as he worked his tongue deeper, fucking him with slow, deliberate strokes.

Bakugo groaned, his voice cracking on the name. “Fuck me.”

Kirishima just hummed against him, the vibration shooting straight through Bakugo’s core. He pushed his tongue deeper, his movements messy and wet and filthy in the best way, and Bakugo’s thighs trembled with the effort of keeping still.

Every nerve in his body felt like it was on fire and the tension coiling low in his stomach was almost unbearable. Bakugo’s cock twitched against his stomach, leaking steadily, and he gritted his teeth against the urge to start begging.

“Eijiro, if you don’t fuck... If you don’t hurry up,” he growled, his words slurring with desperation, “I’m gonna...”

Kirishima pulled back, his lips slick and red as he grinned up at Bakugo. “You’re gonna what? Cum again?”

“Shut the fuck up!” Bakugo snapped, his eyes blazing as he glared down at Kirishima.

Kirishima laughed softly, pressing a kiss to the inside of Bakugo’s thigh before reaching over to the nightstand. He grabbed a condom and ripped the foil open with his teeth, his movements smooth and practiced.

Bakugo watched him roll it on, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his body practically thrumming with anticipation. When Kirishima settled between his legs again, his cock lined up and ready, Bakugo could barely keep from dragging him down immediately.

“You ready?”

“Been ready.” Bakugo growled, hooking his legs around Kirishima’s waist and pulling him in.

Kirishima didn’t tease this time. He pushed in slowly, his cock stretching Bakugo open inch by inch, and Bakugo’s breath hitched at the intensity of it. His fingers dug into Kirishima’s shoulders, nails biting into his skin as the burn mixed with a deep, overwhelming heat.

“Fuck, fuck!” Bakugo hissed, his head tipping back against the pillow. His thighs trembled against Kirishima’s sides, his whole body clenching around him as he adjusted to the stretch. It felt like too much and not enough all at once, the pressure so intense that Bakugo could barely keep his thoughts together.

“Shit, Katsuki...” His hands gripped Bakugo’s hips tightly, holding him steady as he sank in to the hilt. 

Bakugo barely heard him over the pounding of his own heart. All he could focus on was the heat, the way his body strained to take all of Kirishima, the way every nerve felt like it was on fire. When Kirishima finally stilled, fully seated inside him, Bakugo opened his eyes to meet his gaze.

“Tell me if it’s too much.”

Bakugo’s glare was sharp despite the flush on his face. “The only thing that’s too much is how slow you’re fucking going.” He growled. His legs tightened around Kirishima’s waist, pulling him in even closer. “Move, Ei.”

Kirishima chuckled softly but didn’t hesitate this time. He pulled back, the drag of his cock making Bakugo gasp, and then thrust back in with a steady, deliberate rhythm.

Every movement sent a shock of pleasure through Bakugo, sparking low in his stomach and spreading outward. He groaned, his nails raking down Kirishima’s back as he rocked his hips up to meet him, desperate for more.

“Fuck, yes...” Bakugo panted, his voice raw. His body moved on instinct, chasing every thrust, every jolt of friction that made his vision blur.

Kirishima’s pace picked up, his hips snapping forward with more force, and Bakugo could feel the tension building again, hotter and heavier with every thrust. His head spun, his breath coming in ragged gasps, and the only thing he could think was more.

“Katsuki...” Kirishima groaned, his voice wrecked, and hearing his name like that, low and desperate and filled with so much need, pushed Bakugo even closer to the edge.

“Harder. Don’t fucking hold back.”

Kirishima didn’t hold back. The second Bakugo growled those words, something shifted. Kirishima’s grip on his hips tightened, strong enough to bruise, and his rhythm turned rough, his hips snapping forward with a force that made Bakugo gasp. Each thrust was deep and fast and overwhelming, dragging moans from Bakugo that he didn’t even try to hold back.

“More.” Bakugo hissed, his head tipping back, baring his throat as his body rocked under Kirishima’s relentless pace. The sound of their bodies meeting filled the room, wet and messy and loud, but Bakugo couldn’t care less. All he could think about was the heat building between them, the sharp, electric pleasure that surged through him every time Kirishima buried himself to the hilt.

Kirishima leaned down, his chest pressing against Bakugo’s as he growled against his neck. “You’re taking me so fucking good, Katsuki,” he said, his voice low and wrecked. His teeth scraped against Bakugo’s skin, leaving marks that sent jolts of heat straight to his cock.

“Eijiro, please...” His nails dug into Kirishima’s shoulders, pulling him closer, his body desperate to keep him there.

Kirishima just chuckled, low and dark, before biting down on Bakugo’s collarbone hard enough to make him cry out. The sharp pain melted into pleasure, mixing with the steady, pounding rhythm of Kirishima’s cock driving into him.

“Fuck, Ei, just…” Bakugo’s words broke off in a strangled moan as Kirishima angled his hips just right, slamming into a spot that sent sparks of pleasure racing through him. His whole body jolted, his back arching off the bed as his hands clawed at Kirishima’s back. “There, fucking stay there...”

Kirishima obeyed, thrusting into him with a brutal precision that left Bakugo shaking. The pressure coiling in his stomach tightened, hotter and heavier with every rough snap of Kirishima’s hips. His cock was trapped between their bodies, leaking and throbbing with every jolt of friction, and it was driving him insane.

“Goddamn, Katsuki... You look so fucking good like this... Falling apart under me.”

Bakugo whined as Kirishima slammed into him again, hitting that spot with devastating accuracy. “Fuck... Don’t stop...”

Kirishima didn’t. His pace didn’t falter, every thrust rough and deep and perfect and Bakugo felt like he was on fire, his body stretched too tight, too close to snapping. His cock throbbed against his stomach, the friction making him see stars, and he knew he wasn’t going to last much longer.

“Ei, I’m close...” He gasped, his voice raw and desperate.

Kirishima growled low in his throat, his hand sliding down Bakugo’s body to wrap around his cock. The slick heat of his palm, combined with the relentless rhythm of his hips, sent Bakugo over the edge in an instant.

“Fuck, fuck...” Bakugo’s whole body tensed, his back arching as he came hard, his release spilling over Kirishima’s hand and his own stomach. The pleasure was blinding, ripping through him like a storm, leaving him trembling and gasping for air.

But Kirishima wasn’t done with him.

Before Bakugo could catch his breath, he felt Kirishima’s strong hands gripping his thighs again, spreading him open wider. His fingers slid to Bakugo’s ass, firm and unrelenting, pulling his cheeks apart and leaving him completely exposed.

The sensation was overwhelming, the cool air brushing against his oversensitive skin, the filthy vulnerability of it making his face flush hot. “Shit, Ei…” Bakugo groaned, his voice cracking as his body jolted at the intensity of being laid bare like this.

Kirishima growled low in his throat, the sound thick with need, and Bakugo felt the heat of his gaze. “You’re fucking perfect.” Kirishima muttered, his voice wrecked as he shifted, gripping Bakugo’s hips tighter to hold him in place.

Bakugo didn’t have time to respond, not when Kirishima snapped his hips forward, slamming into him with a force that made Bakugo’s breath hitch. His cock was still twitching, sensitive and aching from his release, but the rough thrusts sent sparks of pleasure shooting through him all over again.

“Ei, fuck...” Bakugo gasped, his hands clawing at the sheets as Kirishima fucked into him. Every movement deep and rough, pushing Bakugo to his limits and dragging him further into the haze of heat and sensation.

Kirishima leaned over him, his chest pressing against Bakugo’s back, his breath hot against Bakugo’s ear. “You feel so fucking good,” he growled, his hands roamed over Bakugo’s body, squeezing his hips, his thighs, his ass, like he couldn’t get enough of him.

Bakugo could barely think, his body trembling as Kirishima drove into him harder, faster. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, filthy and desperate, and Bakugo couldn’t stop the moans spilling from his lips, couldn’t stop himself from arching back into every thrust.

“You like that?” Kirishima murmured, his tone low and rough, almost taunting. He thrust deeper, grinding against Bakugo in a way that made him cry out. “You like being fucked like this, Katsuki? All spread out for me?”

“Shut, shit, shut up!” Bakugo hissed, but the way his body tightened around Kirishima’s cock gave him away.

Kirishima’s pace turned frantic, his breaths ragged as he pounded into Bakugo, chasing his release. Bakugo could feel the tension in Kirishima’s body, the way his grip on him tightened, the low, guttural sounds spilling from his throat.

“Katsuki...” Kirishima groaned and with one final, rough thrust, he buried himself deep, his whole body trembling as he came.

Bakugo could feel the sharp jerk of Kirishima’s hips, the shuddering breaths against his back as Kirishima spilled inside the condom. The heat, the weight of Kirishima pressing him into the mattress, left Bakugo dizzy, his heart pounding as he tried to catch his breath.

They stayed like that for a moment, Kirishima’s forehead resting against Bakugo’s shoulder, both of them too wrecked to move. When Kirishima finally pulled out, slow and careful, Bakugo let out a shaky breath, his body still thrumming with the aftershocks of everything they’d just done.

Kirishima collapsed beside him, his chest heaving, a lazy grin spreading across his face as he looked over at Bakugo. “You okay?”

“Yeah. It wasn’t like this before.”

Kirishima’s chuckle rumbled through his chest. “What, you mean when we were dumb kids trying to figure things out?”

“Yeah,” Bakugo grumbled, shifting slightly to get more comfortable against him. “Back then, it was... I don’t know. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t like this.”

Kirishima laughed, the sound warm and familiar. “We were basically teenagers. I didn’t have the stamina or the experience I’ve got now.” he said with a teasing lilt, his hand lazily brushing over Bakugo’s back. “Gotta admit, though, I think we made up for it with enthusiasm.”

Bakugo snorted, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk despite himself. “Enthusiasm doesn’t make up for being shit at it.”

“Oh, come on!” Kirishima protested, “I wasn’t that bad."

Bakugo yawned, his eyelids heavy, the playful banter starting to fade into the background as exhaustion crept in. He rubbed his face with the back of his hand, then collapsed back into the soft warmth of Kirishima’s chest. “Yeah, yeah, you weren’t that bad.”

Kirishima’s laughter was soft, but Bakugo barely registered it as his body relaxed further into the warmth of Kirishima’s embrace. The steady rise and fall of Kirishima’s chest beneath him was comforting, grounding him in a way that felt both unfamiliar and welcome.

“You’re quiet.” Kirishima remarked, his voice low as he ran his hand gently up and down Bakugo’s back.

Bakugo shifted slightly, his eyes already half-closed. “M’just tired. Long week.”

Kirishima didn’t press him, instead letting the quiet stretch between them. The sound of their breathing filled the space, a gentle rhythm that made the world outside seem far away. Bakugo’s thoughts, once buzzing with uncertainty and discomfort, started to slow down, the exhaustion finally catching up with him.

He nuzzled into Kirishima’s chest, a small sigh escaping his lips as he let the warmth and security wash over him. He didn’t care about the outside world right now, didn’t care about the mess of his thoughts or the things he couldn’t understand. All that mattered was the feeling of being here, of being held, of not having to fight it.

Kirishima shifted a bit, careful not to disturb him. “You okay?”

Bakugo mumbled something indistinguishable in response, his grip on Kirishima’s shirt tightening slightly, as if anchoring himself to the moment. He didn’t have the energy to say much more. His body, finally feeling like it could unwind after everything, urged him to rest, to just let go of all the noise.

“Stay.” Bakugo whispered, his voice barely audible as sleep began to claim him fully.

Kirishima smiled softly, his heart feeling lighter than it had in a long time. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And with that, the weight of the day, the tension, and everything else that had been buzzing in Bakugo’s mind faded away, leaving nothing but the quiet peace of the moment.

Bakugo groaned into the pillow, his eyes squinting against the harsh light spilling in through the curtains. His phone buzzed again, vibrating relentlessly on the nightstand, dragging him further from the last vestiges of sleep. The noise felt like an assault, interrupting the comforting warmth of Kirishima’s embrace. He wasn’t ready to face the day, not after the exhaustion of the night before, and definitely not when he had finally found some peace in Kirishima’s presence.

The bed was too damn comfortable. The smell of Kirishima’s shampoo still clung to the pillow and the warmth of his body was a steady, soothing presence against his back. For a split second, Bakugo considered ignoring it, pulling the covers up over his head and retreating into sleep. But the phone wouldn’t stop vibrating, growing louder with every second.

“Fuck.” Bakugo muttered under his breath, his voice rough, barely more than a rasp. With a sigh of frustration, he shifted away from Kirishima’s warmth, the cool air hitting him like a bucket of ice. He grabbed the phone, his thumb swiping over the screen as he saw his manager’s name flashing on it. His gut tightened, but he answered anyway, his tone already sharp and irritated.

“What the hell do you want?” Bakugo snapped, rubbing his eyes as he tried to shake off the sleep fog that still clung to him.

The manager’s voice came through fast and frantic, cutting through the haze. “Bakugo, you’re not gonna believe this! Taylor Swift just mentioned your book in an interview. It’s everywhere.”

Bakugo froze for a moment, blinking as his brain tried to process what he had just heard. "Who the fuck is that?"

His mind was still slow from sleep and he couldn’t comprehend why someone would care about his book enough to make a fuss over it. The more the manager rambled, the more annoyed Bakugo got.

“She’s one of the biggest singers in the world.” the manager explained, his voice tinged with urgency. “Look, we can’t let this opportunity slip by. Your book is hot right now. The editor’s already breathing down my neck, wanting the second one out. The hype is huge right now and we need to take advantage of it.”

Bakugo rubbed his forehead, the pressure of the conversation weighing heavily on him. His stomach churned at the sudden onslaught of attention he wasn’t prepared for. “Whatever,” he muttered, cutting the manager off. “I will see what I can do.”

He ended the call with a quick swipe, tossing the phone back onto the nightstand with a frustrated growl. He couldn’t shake the feeling of being overwhelmed, the weight of expectations pressing down on him. It was too much, too fast.  

The bed shifted behind him as Kirishima began to stir. His familiar voice, still thick with sleep, reached Bakugo’s ears. “Everything alright?”

Bakugo didn’t answer immediately, still staring at the ceiling as his thoughts raced. He was trying to make sense of it all, but it felt impossible. The sudden flood of attention felt like it was choking him. “Fuckin’ ridiculous.” he muttered, dragging a hand through his disheveled hair, his tone harsh but tinged with exhaustion. He sat up on the edge of the bed, trying to ground himself.

Kirishima sat up slowly, blinking sleep from his eyes. “What’s going on?” His voice was low and rough, a far cry from the usual enthusiasm that Bakugo was used to.

Bakugo glanced over at him, still trying to shake off the unease in his chest. “Some Taylor Swift chick mentioned my book or some shit. Now it’s trending and I’ve got a bunch of people in my ear.” He frowned, his fingers tapping against his knee in a restless rhythm.

Kirishima gave him a sleepy smile, “Sounds like a good thing, though, right?”

“Doesn’t feel like it.” Bakugo muttered, standing up and pacing the room. His mind was a mess, the pressure of it all starting to press down harder. He wasn’t used to this kind of attention, it felt like a burden, not a win.

Kirishima watched him for a moment before getting up himself, stretching his legs. “I get it, but you’ve got this. You’re good at what you do and people are noticing.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t ask for this kind of attention.” he grumbled, reaching for his clothes. The urge to retreat was strong, but he fought it, knowing there was no way to avoid the situation now. “I just wanted to write, not deal with all this hype.”

Kirishima watched him with a small, understanding smile. “I know. But it’s happening now, and I think you’re gonna handle it just fine.” He placed a hand on Bakugo’s shoulder, offering silent reassurance. “One step at a time, alright?”

Bakugo stood there for a moment longer, his mind still racing, his thoughts jumbled. Kirishima’s hand on his shoulder was grounding, but it wasn’t enough to chase away the knot of anxiety tightening in his chest. He felt suffocated by it all, by the pressure and expectations that suddenly seemed to weigh so heavily on him.

“I gotta go.” Bakugo said, his voice strained, like he was trying to force the words out past the tightness in his throat. His stomach churned with nerves and the room felt too small. The sudden onslaught of attention, the need to perform, to live up to whatever people thought of him, it was all too much, too fast. He couldn’t breathe under it.

Before Kirishima could say anything, before he could offer more words of reassurance or comfort, Bakugo turned sharply, heading for the door. His footsteps were hurried, almost frantic, as he pulled on his jacket, his mind set on just escaping the situation, even if it was only for a little while.

The door slammed shut behind him and Bakugo didn’t look back.

He could feel his chest tighten as the cold air hit him outside, the anxiety still gnawing at him. He needed space, needed to think. His breath came out in short bursts as he walked quickly, trying to outrun the overwhelming feeling that he was losing control of everything that was happening to him.

“A single drop of blood broke free from the pool, slipping slowly along the edge of the floorboards. It traced a dark, deliberate path, as though it had a destination in mind. But nothing followed. No footsteps, no voices. Just the sound of the clock on the far wall, tick, tock, tick, tock, counting the minutes as if time had any meaning now.

There was something else, though. A presence. Not physical, but palpable. A sensation that crawled beneath the skin, whispering that someone had been here. And they weren’t gone yet.”

Bakugo stopped typing, staring blankly at the screen of his laptop. The words blurred together as if they were part of a fog he couldn’t shake. He rubbed his eyes, trying to focus, but it was no use. He hadn’t slept in the last 3 days and the exhaustion weighed heavily on him. A few cans of RedBull sat scattered around his desk, the half-empty cans a testament to how far gone he was.

His head pounded, his eyes felt gritty, and the restlessness in his body wouldn’t stop. He hadn’t even bothered to check the time. It didn’t matter. What mattered was the overwhelming pile of emails and messages from his manager and editor that he still hadn’t read through. Every notification felt like a new pressure, a new expectation he didn’t know how to handle. He wasn’t sure what to do anymore.

With a frustrated sigh, he pushed himself back from the desk, rubbing his face with both hands, trying to chase away the fog in his brain. Everything felt distant, blurry, like he was watching his life from the outside.

Bakugo stood up, his legs feeling heavy as he stumbled toward the kitchen. He needed something to wake him up, something to clear the fog in his mind. Coffee. It was the only thing he could think of. If he didn’t stay awake, everything would slip further out of his control.

The kitchen was quiet, and the harsh overhead light made everything feel too bright. He opened the cabinet, his hands moving mechanically as he grabbed the coffee grounds and set up the machine. He didn’t care that it was late, or early, he didn’t know which. All he knew was that he had to finish this book.

There were so many chapters still unfinished, so many words left to write. The pressure of it sat on his chest like a weight, and he couldn’t stop thinking about how much time he was wasting. Every second felt like a betrayal. Kirishima had told him to take it one step at a time, but it felt impossible. He needed results, he needed the book done, he needed to be back in control.

As the coffee brewed, Bakugo leaned against the counter, his fingers tapping impatiently on the edge of the countertop. The sound of the coffee machine gurgling was the only noise in the room. His thoughts raced, spinning in every direction, none of them leading anywhere he wanted to go.

Bakugo’s vision swam, the dizziness settling in deeper. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, heavy and disoriented. The knocks at the front door sounded muffled at first, almost like a dream. He blinked, trying to focus, but the sound persisted, sharp and real, tugging him back into the present. He rubbed his eyes, wondering if he was hallucinating.

He closed his eyes for just a moment, trying to steady himself, and when he opened them again, he wasn’t in the kitchen anymore. The surroundings were different, dull, white walls, a couch that looked like it belonged in the '90s, and an unfamiliar smell of homemade food wafting through the air. The stupid fucking ugly sofa that his mom had bought years ago. It was as uncomfortable as ever, hard as a rock, digging into his back as he tried to sit up.

Bakugo’s heart raced, and his stomach twisted, nausea threatening to take over. He shot up from the couch too quickly, and the world around him spun violently. The dizziness hit him like a truck, his vision blurring.

“Hey, calm down.” a familiar voice said, sounding far too close. Kirishima appeared in his line of sight, dropping everything in the kitchen and rushing over to him. His hands were warm as they gently pushed Bakugo back down onto the couch. “You okay?” Kirishima asked, concern clear in his voice as he knelt beside him, steadying him with a hand on his shoulder. “You scared the hell out of me.”

Bakugo didn’t answer right away, his breath still unsteady. He felt a wave of frustration wash over him, but it wasn’t directed at Kirishima. It was everything else. The stress. The pressure. The exhaustion.

“I’m fine.” Bakugo whispered, the words coming out more harshly than he intended. He exhaled sharply, trying to push the dizziness away, but it clung to him like a heavy fog.

“Yeah, I don’t believe that for a second.” Kirishima replied with a soft laugh, his fingers brushing through Bakugo’s hair in an attempt to calm him. “Just breathe, alright? You need to slow down.”

Bakugo leaned back, but his mind was still racing. "I have to finish the book."

Kirishima’s eyes softened, his hand still resting on Bakugo’s shoulder. “You’re not gonna finish anything if you burn yourself out, man. You gotta take a break, get some rest. You’ve been pushing yourself way too hard.”

Bakugo swallowed hard, his body aching with fatigue. For a moment, he just stared at the ceiling, feeling the weight of everything that had piled up on him. He didn’t know how to stop. How to slow down. The pressure wouldn’t let him.

Kirishima looked at him with a knowing, soft gaze, his expression shifting from concern to something that resembled resignation. Bakugo could see it, the understanding in Kirishima’s eyes. There wasn’t anything more he could do to make him relax, no way to force him to stop. Not when Bakugo was this far gone, this determined to keep pushing forward. Kirishima sighed, the sound deep and heavy, before speaking again.

“Alright, at least eat the food I made, and then take a shower.” Kirishima said, his voice steady but laced with a hint of amusement. “You stink, man.”

Bakugo blinked, the words registering with a small, frustrated frown. He didn’t want to be babied, didn’t want anyone telling him what to do. But Kirishima wasn’t wrong. He did feel grimy, his body covered in the weight of too many sleepless hours and the lingering stress that refused to let up. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a proper meal, let alone a shower. His mind was a whirlwind of unfinished chapters, deadlines, and the suffocating pressure that was making it all harder than it needed to be. But the truth was, as much as he hated to admit it, he was exhausted. Physically and mentally.

"I don’t need you treating me like a fucking kid." Bakugo muttered, his voice raspy with frustration, though the words lacked real heat. He felt too tired for that. Too drained to fight back.

Kirishima just chuckled, a soft, knowing sound, before ruffling Bakugo’s hair. “I’m not treating you like a kid, idiot. I’m just trying to make sure you don’t completely burn out.”

Bakugo didn’t argue. His shoulders slumped, and he closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a deep breath. As much as he hated it, his body was starting to feel the consequences of his actions. He couldn’t keep running on fumes forever.

“Fine.” he said, his tone softer now, but still laced with that stubborn edge. “But I’m not staying in that damn shower for hours.”

Kirishima just grinned, giving him a small nod. “Take all the time you need, man. I’m not rushing you.”

Bakugo dragged himself to the shower, his body feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds. The water felt good, but it was a struggle to stay under it long enough to really feel clean. Every movement was slow, mechanical, his thoughts swirling in a dizzying mess. He couldn’t focus on anything for too long before his mind would jump to something else - the book, the deadlines, the phone call from his manager, the pressure, the endless pressure. It felt like it was crushing him, but the warm water was the only thing that offered him any relief, even if it was temporary.

When he finally stepped out, he felt no more awake than before, just less filthy. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin too pale, but he was too tired to care. The noise of the house felt distant as he trudged downstairs, dragging his feet like he was on autopilot. He didn’t even look at the food Kirishima had made, but the smell hit him immediately; comforting, familiar, and warm. It made his stomach growl, but his appetite was a faraway thought. He sat down at the table, not bothering with much of an effort, and just picked at the food in front of him.

Kirishima didn’t say a word, just watching him from the other side of the table with a quiet understanding. He knew Bakugo wasn’t in the mood for conversation, and frankly, he wasn’t sure what to say either. The silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t awkward. Bakugo wasn’t sure if he appreciated the quiet more than he hated it, but right now, there was nothing left in him to break the stillness. Every bite felt like a chore, but Kirishima made sure to fill the silence with nothing more than the sound of chewing, no pressure to engage, just the quiet companionship that Bakugo wasn’t used to but was strangely thankful for.

Bakugo’s head throbbed with every movement, the ache in his temples a constant reminder of how far gone he was, how he’d let everything spiral to this point. He wanted to feel something more, wanted to have the energy to break the silence, to make it feel less suffocating. But all he could do was eat, mechanically, trying to restore just a little bit of the strength he had lost over the past few days.

When he finally put his fork down, he didn’t look up at Kirishima. He just stared at the plate, trying to will the headache away, his thoughts still tangled and heavy.

“Thanks.” Bakugo muttered, his voice low. The words felt like a heavy weight in his chest, but he knew he needed to say them. Even if he didn’t have the energy for anything else, even if his gratitude was buried under exhaustion.

Kirishima smiled softly, his eyes warm and patient. “Anytime, man.” He didn’t push for more, just let Bakugo sit there in his silence. 

Bakugo sat down on the couch, the stiff, uncomfortable thing that he hated, but in that moment, it felt like the only place he could be. Kirishima had turned on the fireplace, and the warmth from the flames spread through the room, making the harsh edges of the sofa almost bearable. He opened his laptop, but the screen was a blur of text, words that didn’t seem to make sense anymore, like they were mocking him. He stared at the screen, blinking, trying to force his mind to focus, but it was as if his brain had already shut down for the day, and no matter how hard he tried, it wouldn’t restart.

The thoughts in his head were scattered, lost in the fog of exhaustion, and he could feel his body shutting down slowly, one muscle at a time. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep this up, and the weight of it pressed down on him until he felt suffocated.

But then, he felt the warmth of Kirishima’s hand on his knee, the touch grounding him in a way that the chaos in his mind couldn’t. It was soft, steady, not pushing, just there.

“Wanna tell me what you’re writing? Maybe it’ll help. Brainstorm, you know.”

Bakugo blinked, the words barely registering at first. He hadn’t even realized how tightly he’d been gripping the laptop until he felt Kirishima’s hand on him, pulling his focus out of his head, grounding him in the moment.

It took him a few seconds to answer, but when he did, his voice was quieter than he’d meant it to be. “I don’t even know where to start anymore.” he muttered, staring at the screen again, trying to make sense of the words. “Everything I’ve written in my life is just garbage.”

Kirishima’s hand stayed there, gentle but firm, not letting go. “You’re pushing yourself way too hard. You don’t have to do this all at once.”

Bakugo clenched his jaw, frustration building, but Kirishima’s words were there, hanging in the air, pulling him back from the edge of the spiral in his head. 

“I just need to stop thinking about it.” Bakugo mumbled, his fingers lightly tapping the laptop’s keyboard. He hated how lost he felt. It wasn’t like him, not like the person he’d been when he first started writing. “I just... I don’t know if I can keep up with it. Everything’s just too much.”

Kirishima squeezed his knee, reassuring but not overbearing. “I know you’re capable of more than this, but you’ve got to take a breath first.”

Bakugo closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a frustrated sigh, and then nodded without opening them. The tension in his chest was still there, but it wasn’t as suffocating. He could feel Kirishima there beside him, like an anchor in the storm of his thoughts.

“Yeah.” Bakugo whispered, his voice hoarse. “Maybe I need a break.”

“You do.”

Bakugo stirred slowly, his body heavy with sleep, and blinked groggily as he tried to make sense of where he was. The warmth of the blanket draped over him felt like a cocoon, and it took him a few moments to register that it was already night. The fire had died down, and the room was quiet. He rubbed his eyes, feeling the weight of exhaustion still lingering in his muscles.

When he swung his legs off the couch, he realized he was wearing a hoodie, Kirishima must have put it on him at some point. The comfort of it made him pause for a moment, feeling strangely cared for in a way he wasn’t used to. It was a small thing, but it made a bigger impact on him than he’d like to admit.

He trudged downstairs, still lost in the haze of sleep, his mind slowly beginning to clear as the scent of something warm, dinner, or something close to it, drifted through the air. He found Kirishima at the sink, washing dishes, his movements calm and steady. There was a sense of quiet contentment in the way he moved, and Bakugo’s heart almost melted at the sight of him. Kirishima didn’t say anything, just focused on the task at hand, but the sight of him doing something so simple, so domestic, felt like a soft reassurance.

"Hey." Bakugo muttered, his voice rough from sleep.

Kirishima turned around with a grin, his eyes lighting up at the sight of him. "Oh, hey. Glad that you're awake." he said, wiping his hands on a dish towel before setting it down. There was something comforting in Kirishima’s smile, the warmth in his gaze that made Bakugo feel more at ease than he had in days.

Bakugo grunted in acknowledgment, still blinking away the remnants of sleep. He leaned against the kitchen counter, rubbing his eyes. “How long was I out?”

“Hours.” Kirishima replied, chuckling. “You were out cold. I didn’t want to wake you.”

Bakugo nodded, feeling that familiar knot of guilt in his chest for letting himself slip into such a deep sleep. He wasn’t used to letting his guard down, but something about the way Kirishima had been there, making sure he was comfortable, made it easy to let go.

Kirishima picked up a glass and rinsed it under the faucet, still humming softly to himself. Then, almost casually, he looked over his shoulder at Bakugo. “Hey, you wanna go somewhere with me?”

Bakugo raised an eyebrow, a little confused. “It’s almost 1 a.m. and it’s fucking freezing outside.”

Kirishima didn’t seem deterred. He simply shrugged, his grin not faltering. “Yeah, but I really want to take you somewhere.”

Bakugo gave him a skeptical look, but something in Kirishima’s expression made him pause. There was no pressure in the way Kirishima asked, just the quiet insistence that made Bakugo wonder what kind of place he had in mind.

He stood there for a moment, considering. The weight of the day still sat heavy in his chest, but the warmth from Kirishima’s smile, the way he just seemed to be there without pushing, made it hard to resist.

“Where?” Bakugo muttered, already feeling the exhaustion tugging at him again.

Kirishima’s grin widened. “It’s a surprise.”

Bakugo slouched in the passenger seat, arms crossed, his breath fogging up the window as he stared out at the dark, empty streets. The air outside looked colder than he imagined, and the question of why the hell he agreed to this still nagged at him. He shot Kirishima a side glance, the redhead humming along softly to the low music playing on the radio, as if this late night adventure were the most normal thing in the world.

When they pulled into a familiar parking lot, Bakugo straightened up, his brows furrowing. His old high school loomed in front of them, dark and shadowy under the dim glow of the streetlights. He squinted, trying to make sense of what was happening. “Why the hell are we here?” he asked, his tone sharp and incredulous.

Kirishima grinned as he cut the engine, unbothered by Bakugo’s irritation. “You'll see. Come on.” he said, opening his door and stepping out into the biting cold.

Bakugo groaned, reluctantly following. The chilled air hit him immediately, and he shoved his hands deep into his hoodie pockets, his breath coming out in visible puffs. “Are we gonna break in or something?” he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Why would we do that if I have the keys?” Kirishima replied, holding them up with a smug little shake.

Bakugo stopped in his tracks, blinking. “Oh, right.” he muttered, the realization dawning on him. Of course he’d have keys to the damn place.

The main door creaked as Kirishima unlocked it, and they stepped inside. The building was eerily quiet, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the empty halls. The air was cold, and the faint smell of floor cleaner lingered, the same one Bakugo remembered from years ago.

“This place feels like a ghost town.” Bakugo muttered, looking around at the darkened corridors. His skin prickled as if the shadows were alive and watching.

Kirishima laughed softly, the sound light and unbothered. “Winter vacation. These hallways haven't seen people for a few days.”

“Did you bring me here to try to kill me?” Bakugo asked dryly, though there was an edge to his voice.

“This is not a ‘Scream’ movie, Katsuki. Chill.” Kirishima shot him an amused look as they walked deeper into the building. “You don’t trust me?”

Bakugo didn’t answer, but he stayed close, his sharp eyes scanning their surroundings. The dark hallways were just as he remembered, rows of lockers, faded posters on bulletin boards, and that faint, metallic smell that always seemed to linger in schools. The familiarity was unsettling.

After a few minutes of walking, Kirishima led him down a hall Bakugo hadn’t been in since his teenage years. At the end of it, they stopped in front of the library doors. Kirishima pushed them open, revealing the sprawling room. Even in the darkness, Bakugo could make out the towering shelves filled with books, the faint outline of tables and chairs, and the smell of old paper hanging in the air.

“Why the library?” Bakugo asked, his voice quieter now, the cold and darkness settling into his bones.

Kirishima flipped on a small desk lamp near the entrance, its warm glow spilling over the immediate area. “You’ll see.” he said simply, his smile softening.

Kirishima led him down one of the narrow aisles, the tall shelves casting long shadows in the dim light. The air was cool and heavy with the scent of old books. Bakugo’s gaze darted around, his unease growing with each step, until they stopped at a specific shelf near the center of the library. Kirishima gestured toward it with a soft smile, his eyes sparkling with something Bakugo couldn’t place.

At first glance, it looked like any other shelf, rows of neatly arranged books, their spines of varying colors and sizes. But then Bakugo’s eyes landed on it: his name, Katsuki Bakugo, engraved in gold across the topmost panel of the shelf. It gleamed faintly in the soft light, prominent and undeniable.

He froze, his breath catching in his throat. His heart raced as he scanned the shelf, realizing that every single book and notebook on it bore his handwriting, his name, his work. Pages he thought had been forgotten. Thoughts, poems, stories, even the roughest, most unpolished scribbles he’d written over the years.

“That’s not possible.” Bakugo said, his voice barely above a whisper. The words felt hollow, like they couldn’t possibly match the weight of what he was seeing.

Kirishima stood beside him, his expression gentle and understanding. “Your mom donated them to the library a few years ago,” he explained, his tone warm. “And some of our old teachers had saved your homework and papers. They wanted to share them with the students here.”

Bakugo blinked, unable to look away from the shelf. His mind reeled, struggling to process it. His work, his words, preserved like this. In this place, of all places. It felt surreal. Almost too much.

“Believe it or not,” Kirishima continued, his voice quiet but firm, “you’re the pride of the city, Katsuki.”

The pride of the city. Bakugo couldn’t wrap his head around it. Him? Pride? He’d never seen himself that way. Never thought of himself as someone people would look up to. His chest felt tight, his stomach twisting in knots. He wanted to deny it, to push it all away, but the evidence was right in front of him.

Kirishima reached for one of the books, opening it to a random page. He turned it toward Bakugo, pointing to a column of names scrawled neatly inside. “See this?” he said, his voice soft. “These are all the students who borrowed this book over the years.”

Bakugo stared at the list, his eyes moving over the names, the dates. There were so many. So many students had read his words, held his thoughts in their hands, cared enough to take them home.

“You’re pretty famous with the students.” Kirishima said, a grin tugging at his lips. “They really look up to you. You’ve made a difference here.”

Bakugo’s chest ached, his emotions teetering on the edge of spilling over. He felt raw, exposed, like someone had peeled back a layer of him he didn’t even know existed. He didn’t know whether to feel proud, embarrassed, or utterly overwhelmed. All he knew was that he couldn’t look away from the books, from the tangible proof of something he’d never allowed himself to believe.

The words came slowly, almost broken. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

Kirishima shrugged lightly, his smile kind but a little sad. “Maybe they thought you already knew. Or maybe they didn’t think it’d matter to you. But it does, doesn’t it?”

Bakugo didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His throat was tight, his heart hammering in his chest. All he could do was stare at that shelf, at the life he thought no one had cared about, now immortalized in the most unexpected of ways.

Bakugo’s voice was low, almost hesitant, as he asked, “Why did you bring me here?” His eyes didn’t leave the shelf, still struggling to make sense of the emotions storming inside him.

Kirishima stepped closer, his presence steady and grounding in the cold, quiet library. His voice was soft but unwavering, carrying the weight of a truth Bakugo hadn’t let himself believe. “To prove to you that your words matter. That they’ve always mattered. It’s not garbage, Katsuki. Never was, and never will be.”

The words hit Bakugo harder than he wanted to admit. He felt his hands clench at his sides, his nails biting into his palms as he tried to steady himself. He wasn’t used to this kind of validation, this proof that the pieces of himself he’d poured onto paper weren’t meaningless. He had spent so long convincing himself that they were, that his words were little more than fleeting thoughts destined to be forgotten.

And yet, here they were. Collected, preserved, cherished.

He opened his mouth to respond, to deflect, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, his gaze flickered back to Kirishima, who was watching him with that same unwavering warmth, that stubborn belief that Bakugo could never quite shake off.

“You don’t have to believe me,” Kirishima continued, his voice gentle. “But just look at this, Katsuki. Look at what you’ve done. You’ve made people feel something. You’ve inspired them. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?”

Bakugo’s throat tightened, and he turned away from Kirishima’s gaze, his eyes dropping to the book Kirishima still held open in his hands. The list of students who had borrowed it stared back at him, their names like tiny echoes of connection. He couldn’t ignore it, no matter how much he wanted to.

“I...” he started, but the words faltered. He didn’t know what to say, how to respond to something that felt too big, too overwhelming. So instead, he stayed silent, his jaw tight, his chest heavy.

Kirishima didn’t push. He just stood there, patient as ever, letting the moment settle. “You don’t have to say anything,” he finally said, closing the book and placing it back on the shelf. “But I hope you’ll think about it. Because you’re more than you give yourself credit for, Katsuki. You always have been.”

Bakugo stayed silent for a long moment, his eyes fixed on the row of books that bore his name. His thoughts churned, tangled in a mess of disbelief, humility, and something he couldn’t quite place, gratitude, maybe. It sat heavy in his chest, a foreign but not unwelcome weight.

He let out a slow breath, his voice quiet when he finally spoke. “Thank you, Eijiro.”

Kirishima’s head tilted slightly, his expression softening into something that looked almost relieved. “You don’t have to thank me. I just wanted you to see it.”

But Bakugo shook his head, his fingers brushing over the edge of one of the books on the shelf. “No,” he said, his voice steady but still low. “I mean it. Thank you.”

The words felt heavy in his mouth, like they’d been waiting too long to be said, but they came out honest. He wasn’t used to saying things like this, wasn’t used to needing to. But if there was anyone who deserved to hear it, it was Kirishima.

Kirishima’s grin was warm and easy, but his eyes shimmered with something deeper, something understanding. “You’re welcome.” he said simply, like it was the easiest thing in the world to give Bakugo his patience, his time, his unwavering belief.

They stood there for a moment longer, the silence between them heavy but not uncomfortable. Bakugo’s hand hovered over the spine of a book before pulling back. He wasn’t ready to open it, not yet. But he wasn’t rejecting it, either.

“Wanna head out?” Kirishima asked after a while, his voice light but careful, giving Bakugo an out without pressing.

Bakugo nodded, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket as he turned toward the door. “Yeah.” he muttered. “Let’s go.”

“The silence stretched longer than it should have, the darkness pressing in from every angle. Her breath came shallow, trembling as she forced herself to turn and face what she already knew was coming. The door, once so sturdy, was now splintered, its edges jagged, ready to collapse at the slightest push. Yet, the thing she feared most wasn’t the imminent entrance of her pursuer. It was the realization that she had been running toward this moment all along. Every choice, every misstep, had led her here.

She didn’t wait for the door to break. Instead, she stepped forward into the blackness, unarmed, but with a strange calmness settling over her. The shadow at the threshold paused. No words were needed. The silence between them was no longer one of tension, but of understanding, of inevitability. She had no more fight left, but she had never been more certain that it was the end she had always been waiting for.”

Bakugo gritted his teeth as he paced around the living room, his hand gripping the phone tightly. His manager’s voice was a constant hum in the background, praising his progress and talking up the editor’s approval. But all Bakugo could focus on was the headache building behind his eyes and the fatigue that had been gnawing at him for days.

“Look, the editor’s ecstatic.” the manager continued, his voice chipper. “He’s really impressed, Bakugo. He said it’s better than expected and that you wrote it in record time! They’re just excited to get the next steps underway. Some minor revisions, but this thing is really coming together.”

Bakugo scoffed, rubbing his forehead. “I don’t care how impressed they are.” he muttered, his words sharp. “I’m never doing this shit again. I don’t care if it’s a singer, the president of the US, or if even Jesus himself promotes my book. I won’t be pressured like this again or I’ll just start working with another fucking editor and manager.”

He could practically hear his manager stammering on the other end, trying to smooth things over, but Bakugo didn’t have the patience for it. His body felt like it was about to shut down, his mind overwhelmed by everything that had happened in the past few days. The idea of doing it all over again made his stomach twist.

“I’m serious.” Bakugo continued, his voice low but firm. “I don’t care if it’s a hit or not. I won’t let anyone drag me around like this again. You get it?”

There was a pause on the other end, and Bakugo could tell his manager was trying to gauge whether or not he should back off. Finally, the manager sighed, the tone shifting a little.

“Alright, alright.” he said, his voice calming. “I hear you, Bakugo. We’ll dial it back. I’ll make sure you have more time for yourself. But listen, the editor’s happy, and so are we. Just... Take a breath, alright? You’ve done something really good here.”

Bakugo let out a slow breath, his mind still buzzing from the conversation. He didn’t want to think about the next step, the promotion, or the whirlwind of everything that had happened so quickly. His eyes remained closed, his body sinking further into the couch as he tried to quiet the storm in his head.

The manager’s voice broke through his thoughts again, a touch too cheerful for Bakugo’s liking. “Alright, Bakugo, I’ll be waiting for you in Tokyo in January to talk about the promotion schedule, yeah?" The words hit Bakugo like a punch, a reminder of everything he hadn’t even had time to consider, like how quickly everything had spiraled and the fact that he hadn’t really had a chance to enjoy anything. "Merry Christmas, Bakugo! You deserve to have the best one!”

"Yeah, Merry Christmas." Bakugo muttered, his voice quiet, not even fully realizing he'd said it until the call ended.

He dropped the phone onto the coffee table with a sigh, staring at the screen as the call ended and the silence flooded back into the room. His chest felt tight, a mix of frustration and exhaustion tugging at him. He wasn’t sure what to do with himself now, not after everything that had happened. 

"Merry fucking Christmas." He repeated to himself bitterly.

Bakugo glanced at Kirishima, who was practically glowing with excitement, his breath visible in the cold air. Kirishima’s cheeks were flushed a bright pink, a mix of the cold and his sheer enthusiasm. Bakugo told himself it was just the cold making his face look like that, but the truth was, he didn’t really want to think about it too much. Instead, he focused on the way the soft beanie made Kirishima’s hair look even more like a pillow, his messy strands looking too inviting.

The Christmas lights twinkled around them, casting a soft, warm glow that contrasted with the cold night air. Pine trees covered in snow lined the paths, creating the perfect winter scene. It almost felt like a dream, a reality that felt out of place. But Bakugo didn’t want to get lost in it. He wasn’t in the mood to let his guard down, not when everything else was a blur.

They found a small bench beneath one of the trees, the snow around them undisturbed, and sat down. Kirishima immediately smiled, shifting to face Bakugo with wide, eager eyes. “Thank you for inviting me to the fair.” he said, his voice cheerful, full of warmth. His breath puffed out in the cold, his hands stuffed into his pockets.

Bakugo glanced at him but didn’t immediately respond. Instead, he looked away, trying to avoid eye contact. It was hard to concentrate when everything felt so... heavy. He could feel the pressure of finishing the book, and the weight of all the things he hadn’t said yet. His body was still exhausted from the last few days, his mind sluggish and drained.

He finally broke the silence. “I finished the book.” he muttered, his voice lacking the usual fire.

Kirishima’s eyes widened, and he immediately leaned forward, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. “That’s amazing! Congratulations!” he said, practically bouncing in his seat.

Bakugo looked away again, unsure of how to respond. He wanted to be happy about it. He should’ve been happy about it. But all he felt was an overwhelming sadness, a sense of emptiness that he couldn’t quite explain. The weight of what had happened to get to this point felt too much. He had written the book, sure, but now everything felt like it was slipping out of his control.

“Yeah.” Bakugo said, his tone flat, even though his chest felt tight. “It’s done.” He glanced at Kirishima, seeing the way his eyes sparkled with pride and Bakugo felt a pang of guilt. Kirishima was genuinely happy for him, but Bakugo couldn’t share that joy, not when everything around him felt so heavy.

Kirishima seemed to sense the shift in Bakugo’s mood, but he didn’t press. Instead, he just nodded and gave him a small smile, his eyes softening. “You did it, Katsuki. That’s something to be proud of.”

"Eijiro, I came here to write the book and now it's done." Bakugo repeated, his voice rough, as if saying the words out loud might somehow make them feel real. He stared ahead at the flickering Christmas lights, his chest tight. He needed Kirishima to understand the weight behind what he was saying, but he wasn’t sure if he could even explain it properly.

He waited in silence, his thoughts muddled, and then he saw it, the shift in Kirishima’s expression. The cheerful grin that had been there just a moment ago faded, and for a few seconds, Kirishima’s face tightened into something Bakugo couldn’t quite read. His smile disappeared entirely, replaced by a kind of sadness that Bakugo couldn’t ignore.

Bakugo's heart sank at the sight, his chest tightening even more. He had no idea how to make this right. It was one thing to be angry at the world, but this was different. The pain in Kirishima's eyes felt like a direct hit to his gut.

"Fuck." Bakugo muttered under his breath, shifting uncomfortably. He wanted to apologize, to take back the words that had caused that sad look, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It was too complicated, too heavy.

Kirishima finally broke the silence with a soft, almost forced smile, but Bakugo could tell it wasn’t genuine. It was the wrong kind of smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. It hurt Bakugo more than he cared to admit. Kirishima exhaled slowly, then asked, his voice quiet and careful, “When are you leaving?”

The question struck Bakugo harder than he anticipated, a sharp jolt to his chest. His heartbeat raced, and for a brief moment, he was frozen, unable to find the words. The space between them felt thick with the weight of everything left unsaid.

“Soon.” Bakugo finally muttered, looking away.

Kirishima’s gaze softened, but the sadness was still there, lingering. “I just want to know, Katsuki.” he said quietly, his tone more vulnerable than Bakugo had ever heard it. “I need to know what happens next.”

Bakugo’s chest tightened, a lump forming in his throat as Kirishima’s words echoed in his mind. He wasn’t prepared for this. He didn’t know how to answer. He couldn’t give Kirishima the kind of certainty he needed, not when Bakugo was still tangled in his own mess of emotions.

“I...” Bakugo started, but the words failed him. He swallowed hard, trying to push the thoughts away, but they kept crashing into him, each one heavier than the last. His throat felt tight, the weight of what he was about to say clawing at him like it didn’t belong. “This whole thing... It was a mistake,” he finally muttered, his voice thick with hesitation. “I shouldn’t have let you get close to me like this.”

The words tasted bitter, sharp against his tongue, and the moment they left his mouth, regret sank into his chest like a stone. He felt the stillness between them expand, suffocating and cold. The quiet wasn’t just uncomfortable, it was unbearable, pressing on his ribs until he thought they might crack. Each breath he took felt slow and labored, as if the air around them had grown too thick to move through.

He risked a glance at Kirishima, but the sight of him made it worse. He stood there, utterly still, the warmth in his crimson eyes dimming into something quieter, something Bakugo couldn’t bear to face. He wanted to look away, to run, to erase the last few seconds and swallow back the words like poison, but his body betrayed him. His gaze flickered down to Kirishima’s hands, loosely clenched at his sides, and Bakugo wondered if he’d ever forgive himself for this.

A voice inside him screamed to fix it, to say something to soften the blow, but no words came. He felt paralyzed, locked in the prison of his own head as his thoughts spiraled out of control. He hated this, the vulnerability, the way his emotions seemed to spiral out of his control whenever Kirishima was involved. He hated how much he wanted this, how much he wanted him.

“It didn’t feel like a mistake for me.”

The simple honesty in his words hit harder than any argument ever could. Bakugo felt his stomach twist, shame curling around his insides like a vice. 

Those words hit Bakugo harder than anything he could have imagined. His heart stopped and the air left his lungs in a rush, leaving him empty, hollow. His mind couldn’t process what he had just heard. Kirishima’s voice, soft and vulnerable, replayed in his head over and over, each time making the ache in his chest worse. Bakugo opened his mouth to say something, to explain, to make this right, but no words came. 

Kirishima didn’t wait for him. "Merry Christmas, Bakugo.” he whispered and turned away and he didn’t look back. 

Bakugo stood there, rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to breathe. His heart pounded, painfully fast, each beat echoing in his ears like a drum.

Kirishima’s figure receded into the distance, leaving Bakugo standing in the cold. The pain in his chest felt unbearable as if something inside him was breaking, splintering into a thousand jagged pieces. His eyes burned, but he couldn’t cry. He didn’t deserve to.

The pain wasn’t just from the words he had said, from the distance he had pushed between them. It was something deeper, something he hadn’t allowed himself to admit before. It was the fact that he was in love with Kirishima.

A sharp breath caught in his throat as the realization slammed into him with brutal force. He hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it, had buried it deep inside where he thought it couldn’t hurt him. But now, in the silence, in the absence of Kirishima’s presence, it hit him like a wrecking ball.

He was in love with Kirishima.

The thought tore through him with such intensity that it left him gasping for air. He had known it, somewhere deep down, but he hadn’t been ready to face it. And now it was too late. 

Bakugo stood in the corner of the living room, the party swirling around him like a blur. He leaned against the wall, his arms tightly crossed over his chest, his jaw clenched so hard it almost hurt. The chatter, the laughter, it all felt muffled, far away, like he was in a different world entirely. Tokyo, the city he’d come back to in the hopes of finding something, anything that could help him pull himself out of this hole, felt cold and suffocating instead. The celebrations, the cheers for the New Year, meant nothing to him. He didn’t feel like he was stepping into something new. The calendar might have flipped over, but it was just another reminder of how stuck he was.

He had agreed to come to this party only because Ochaco had insisted, no, more like threatened him into it. “You can’t just stay cooped up at home, Bakugo. You’ve been gone too long!”

His gaze flickered around the room, half-watching the people talking and laughing, while the other half of him was somewhere far away, trapped in the dark thoughts that weighed him down. Everyone else seemed so carefree, their faces glowing with joy, their laughter infectious. It was like they were celebrating something that had meaning. But none of it felt real to him. Every time someone approached him to chat, he just shut them down with a grunt or a disinterested look. He couldn’t muster the energy to fake it, to pretend like he wasn’t sinking in his own misery.

When he couldn’t take it anymore, he pushed through the crowd and slipped outside into the cold night air. The garden was quiet, the only sound the gentle fall of snowflakes against the ground and the distant hum of the city far beyond. He leaned against the fence, the cold metal biting into his skin, but he welcomed it. It was better than being surrounded by people. The night sky stretched endlessly above him, the stars distant and cold, offering no comfort. 

He closed his eyes, taking a slow, deep breath, but it didn’t work. He couldn’t shake it, no matter how hard he tried. Kirishima, the book, the loneliness, everything felt like it was pressing down on him, suffocating him with the weight of it all. His chest ached like it was being squeezed from the inside out and no amount of air in his lungs could make it stop. He was tired of this, tired of feeling so out of control, tired of pretending he was fine when everything inside him was falling apart.

The sound of footsteps broke through his thoughts, the crunch of gravel against the ground growing louder. He didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. Izuku. He was always there, always trying to help, always trying to fix things.

“You alright?” Midoriya’s voice was soft, careful, like he was walking on eggshells.

Bakugo didn’t answer right away, his teeth grinding together. He didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to explain what was wrong when he barely understood it himself. He just wanted to be left alone.

“I’m fine.” he muttered, his voice thick and devoid of its usual sharpness. It sounded weak even to him. His words didn’t have the usual bite, the usual anger to push people away. He just wanted to breathe, to forget for a moment that everything felt like it was slipping through his fingers.

Midoriya didn’t believe him, of course. He never did. The silence stretched between them, and Bakugo could feel him standing there, watching him, waiting for him to crack. He hated it. But he also didn’t know how to make him go away.

“You’ve been quiet all night.” Midoriya said gently, his voice almost too soft.

Bakugo wanted to snap at him, to tell him to stop looking at him like that, to stop trying to be the damn hero even now. But the words wouldn’t come. He clenched his fists so hard his nails dug into his palms, focusing on the pain to keep himself grounded. It didn’t work. Nothing did. He was tired, so damn tired, of holding everything in, of pretending that he could fix it all himself.

His throat tightened, and for a moment, the words he’d been holding back were right there, just on the edge of his tongue. He wasn’t ready to admit it. Not to Midoriya. Not to anyone.

"Is this about Kirishima-kun?" Midoriya asked, his voice soft but filled with that familiar concern. Bakugo turned his head so quickly that a sharp pain shot through his neck, making him wince, but he barely registered it. His heart skipped, an unsettling flutter that left him breathless for a moment.

"How do you know?" he snapped, his voice laced with irritation, but underneath it was a rawness he couldn’t hide. 

Midoriya didn’t flinch at Bakugo’s tone, his expression softening as he took a small step closer. “Well, when you told me you were going back to Nikkō, I kind of assumed you’d see him sooner or later.” There was no judgment in Midoriya’s voice, just understanding, so much of it that it made Bakugo feel even more exposed, like he couldn’t hide from this anymore.

Bakugo stood there, frozen, the sting of Midoriya’s words sinking deep into his chest. The truth, the thing he’d been avoiding for so long, was now in the open. It wasn’t that he didn’t know the answer to Midoriya’s unspoken question, but it was the fact that he couldn’t run from it anymore. The weight of his feelings for Kirishima, the pain of letting it all unravel, was too much to carry on his own. His mind felt like it was full of static, thoughts crashing together, too loud to ignore, but he couldn’t make sense of any of them.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Bakugo rubbed his neck, trying to ease the tension, but it wasn’t just physical anymore. 

Midoriya didn’t press him, but Bakugo could feel the weight of his gaze on him, steady and patient. He knew Midoriya understood. It wasn’t the kind of understanding that came from talking. It was the kind that came from seeing someone for who they really were, even when they couldn’t see it themselves. 

The snow continued to fall around them, delicate flakes drifting down and the air felt colder somehow, though the chill wasn’t just from the winter night. It was the silence, the unsaid words between them.

“You don’t have to,” Midoriya said quietly, his voice a little more uncertain now, but still warm. “But I’ve seen you like this before, Bakugo. The only time you were this miserable it was when you left Kirishima-kun behind in Nikkō.”

The shock of hearing Midoriya say it so plainly, so effortlessly, left him frozen for a moment. 

He thought he’d buried that feeling. He thought he’d hidden it so well that nobody would know. But Midoriya had seen through it, seen the cracks in his armor before Bakugo had even realized they were there. The time he came to Tokyo after Nikkō, he hadn’t been the same since. 

Bakugo couldn’t bring himself to answer right away. His chest tightened, the weight of Midoriya’s words pressing against him like a physical force. He wanted to argue, to push it away, but the truth was right there. 

“I...” Bakugo stared at the ground, his fists clenched at his sides, but even that didn’t give him any relief. He opened his mouth, but the words that came out were barely a whisper. “Everything’s a fucking mess.”

Midoriya’s eyes softened, but there was no pity in them, just that steady, patient look that Bakugo hated and needed all at once. It was infuriating how Midoriya could see right through him, peel back the layers he spent years building to keep everyone else out. Yet it was also grounding, that quiet presence that didn’t push too hard or judge too harshly.

Midoriya took a slow step forward, his movements careful, measured, like he was approaching a spooked animal. He stopped just short of invading Bakugo’s space, close enough to be felt but far enough to leave him room to breathe. Bakugo appreciated the distance, even if he wouldn’t say it aloud.

“Look,” Midoriya began, his tone soft but firm, “it’s not as difficult as you’re making it out to be.” He tilted his head slightly, his green eyes warm yet unwavering. “You’re acting like he’s halfway around the world or something. It’s less than a three-hour drive. You’re making it seem like he lives on Mars.”

The words hit Bakugo like a slap, not because they were cruel, but because they were true. His stomach twisted uncomfortably, his mind latching onto the words like they were something to fight against. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and glared down at the floor, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

Midoriya let the silence stretch, giving Bakugo space to absorb what he said. Then he added, his voice quieter now, more deliberate, “You know, it’s not that hard to fix this. You don’t have to make everything so complicated or pretend it’s impossible to get back on track.”

Bakugo’s chest tightened, his heart thudding painfully against his ribs. He wanted to snap back, to tell him he didn’t know what he was talking about, but the words wouldn’t come. Because, deep down, Bakugo knew he was right. He always made things harder than they needed to be, especially when it came to the people he cared about. Especially when it came to him.

“I...” Bakugo started, his voice rough, but Midoriya cut him off with a gentle shake of his head.

“Just listen,” Midoriya said, not unkindly. He took a breath, his gaze steady. “You’re not happy in Tokyo.”

The bluntness of the statement hit Bakugo like a sucker punch, stealing the air from his lungs. Midoriya didn’t waver, didn’t back down, but his tone stayed calm, almost soothing.

“You’re restless. You’re angry all the time. You’re shutting yourself off from everything and it’s not working. It hasn’t been working for a long time, has it?”

Bakugo’s fists tightened in his pockets, his nails digging into his palms. He hated how easily Midoriya could read him, hated that he couldn’t deny a single word. The truth felt like a raw, gaping wound, and Midoriya’s words only pressed harder against it.

“So why are you still here?” Midoriya asked, his voice softer now, but the question carried weight. It wasn’t an accusation, it was a challenge.

The plan wasn’t pack up again and move to fucking Nikkō in the middle of nowhere, not in the middle of winter, and definitely not on New Year’s Day. Actually, no, the plan was never moving back there. Not in a million years. Yet here he was, gripping the steering wheel so tight, driving like a maniac through a blizzard in his ancient, rattling car.

The city was dead silent, as if everyone had collectively decided to hibernate or get drunk somewhere else to celebrate. It was like a ghost town. He could practically hear the snowflakes mocking him as they fell in thick layers over the empty streets. And there he was, alone in his car, as if he hadn't learned his lesson the first time. Driving in the middle of a snowstorm like a madman because he was hopelessly, stupidly, in love with his first ex-boyfriend. His fucking first love.

Bakugo scoffed at the absurdity of it all, muttering to himself, “I’m really doing this. I must be out of my fucking mind.”

His car sputtered and coughed as if it was trying to remind him of the questionable life decisions he’d made. But Bakugo didn’t care. He was in too deep.

Bakugo’s car groaned as it finally came to a halt in front of Kirishima’s house. He sat there for a moment, staring at the dark silhouette of the house in the quiet of the night. The street was empty, the snow gently falling and covering everything in a blanket of white. It was a scene out of some old movie, except it wasn’t.

The house was completely dark. No lights in the windows, no sign of life, just an eerie emptiness that made his stomach twist with frustration. He gripped the steering wheel for a moment longer, trying to steady himself, but the pit in his stomach wouldn’t go away. What had he expected? Kirishima to be waiting by the door, ready to welcome him back with open arms? Yeah, right.

He opened the car door, the cold biting at his face as he stepped out into the snow. His boots crunched beneath him with each step as he made his way to the front door. He stood there for a second, wondering if he should even bother, but then he pushed the thoughts aside and rang the doorbell.

Nothing.

He waited for a second, hoping for some sign of life, but when nothing happened, he knocked. Silence. Maybe Kirishima was asleep, or out partying with his friends to ring in the New Year. But even that thought made Bakugo feel bitter. Why was he standing here, freezing his ass off, while Kirishima was likely somewhere having fun?

He knocked again, harder this time, as if his pounding fists could somehow make Kirishima appear out of thin air. Still nothing.

Fucking amazing. He should have known this would happen. What did he think, that he could just show up at Kirishima’s house and everything would be okay? That he could just fix everything by driving through a snowstorm and knocking on the door like some lovesick idiot?

Bakugo grumbled to himself, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He looked around, feeling ridiculous. The street was quiet, the houses empty. Maybe he should just break a window and climb in like a criminal. Wouldn’t be the first time he’d done something reckless, especially when it came to feelings that made no fucking sense.

He raised his hand to knock again, but before he could, he heard it.

“Katsuki?”

He froze, his fist suspended in mid-air. His heart skipped a beat and he turned slowly, his breath catching in his throat. There, just a few steps away, was Kirishima. He wasn’t standing on the porch, wasn’t peering through a window, he was standing on the sidewalk, just... Looking at him. 

Kirishima’s eyes were wide, not in shock, but in disbelief, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Like he thought Bakugo was a figment of his imagination brought on by the cold or the snow. For a moment, Bakugo felt the same way. He couldn’t believe he was standing here, having driven all the way from Tokyo in a blizzard, hoping that this mess could somehow make sense again.

Bakugo opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a strangled breath. He wanted to say something, anything, to explain why he was here, why he’d driven for hours, why he couldn’t stay away from Kirishima. But the words got stuck in his throat, and all he could do was stare.

“Eijiro.”

Kirishima stood still for a moment, his gaze never leaving Bakugo, his breath visible in the cold air. The snow was falling gently, the quiet of the night wrapping around them like a heavy blanket, and for a moment, it felt like time itself had stopped. Like the world was holding its breath, waiting for them to speak.

“Why are you here?” Kirishima’s voice was soft, almost tentative, like he didn’t believe that this was real. He wasn’t angry, wasn’t frustrated, just confused. And that was worse.

Bakugo opened his mouth to speak, but the words didn’t come out the way he wanted. They never did. Instead, he just blurted, “Because you don’t live in Mars.”

Kirishima blinked, even more confused than before, his brow furrowing. “What?”

Bakugo’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away from Kirishima’s puzzled expression. The weight in his chest felt unbearable, pressing down on him with every second of silence. His hands clenched at his sides, the cold biting into his skin, but he ignored it. The storm inside him was louder, sharper.  

“I said that I’m here because I’m fucking sad in Tokyo.”  

The words sounded ridiculous even as they left his mouth, tumbling out like they didn’t belong.

Kirishima’s expression softened, the furrow in his brow deepening with concern, but Bakugo didn’t stop. He couldn’t. The dam had already burst.  

“I didn’t know what to do, okay?” Bakugo said, his voice rising slightly as frustration tangled with desperation. “I thought I’d fix it if I stayed away. I thought it’d be easier if I just fucking cut it all off. You. Us. All of it. I thought it’d stop hurting if I stayed gone long enough.”  

He laughed bitterly, the sound short and sharp, but it carried no humor. His hand shot up to rake through his hair, his fingers tugging at the strands as if he could pull the tension out of his body.  

“But it didn’t. All it did was make everything worse.” He stopped, the words catching in his throat as his chest heaved with uneven breaths. The cold air stung his lungs, but he barely noticed. “And now I’m here, freezing my ass off, because I’m too much of an idiot to just say it.”  

His voice cracked on the last word, the vulnerability spilling over before he could stop it. He bit down on the inside of his cheek, trying to hold himself together, but it was no use. The truth had clawed its way to the surface, and there was no shoving it back down.  

“I miss you.” Bakugo whispered, his voice barely audible, but the rawness in it carried more weight than anything he’d said before. He swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the ground for a moment before flicking back up to Kirishima. “I’ve missed you for years.”  

The confession hung in the air between them, heavy and fragile all at once. His hands trembled at his sides, the tension in his body threatening to snap as the words settled into the silence. It wasn’t just the cold making him shiver, it was the fear, the anticipation of what came next.  

His voice dropped lower, almost shaking now, but he pressed on, unable to stop himself. “I didn’t know how to handle it back then. I didn’t know what I was feeling, what it meant. All I knew was that it scared the hell out of me.” His breath hitched, his chest tightening with the weight of everything he’d bottled up for so long. “But I know now.” he continued, his voice steadying even as his hands curled into fists. “I know what it is. I know what it’s always been.” His heart pounded in his chest, the words hovering on the tip of his tongue, waiting for him to push them out. “And I know it’s my fault,” he added, his voice quieter, almost breaking. “that we broke up in the first place, that we...” He trailed off, unable to finish the thought, the ache in his chest too raw to put into words.  

His gaze locked onto Kirishima’s, searching for something that might tell him he hadn’t completely destroyed what they had again. He felt stripped bare, exposed in a way that made him want to run, but he forced himself to stay. If nothing else, Kirishima deserved that.  

“I’m sorry.” Bakugo finally said, the words tumbling out in a voice so soft it was almost a whisper. “For all of it. For leaving. For pushing you away. For being too much of a coward to tell you sooner.” He took a shaky breath, his chest heaving as he forced himself to meet Kirishima’s gaze. “But I’m here now.” he said, his voice steadier this time. “And I’m telling you. Because I couldn’t keep pretending anymore. Not to you. Not to myself.”  

His hand waved aimlessly in the air, unsure if he was gesturing toward them, or the life they had, or something he couldn’t fully name.

“I fucked everything up again, didn’t I?” He let out a frustrated sigh, his shoulders sagging slightly. “I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t even know if I can.” Bakugo swallowed hard, unable to meet Kirishima’s gaze for too long, the weight of his words making him feel both vulnerable and terrified. His hands were cold, trembling slightly, but the lump in his throat was heavier than any of it. “I’m really sorry,” he said, the words barely louder than the whisper of the wind. “For being a damn idiot.”

There was a small, almost imperceptible shift in Kirishima’s posture. He didn’t say anything immediately, but he didn’t have to. 

Kirishima took a step closer, his boots crunching softly in the snow, his gaze never leaving Bakugo. The distance between them seemed to shrink with each step he took, and for the first time, Bakugo wasn’t sure whether he was afraid of what would happen next or desperately hoping for it.

“You're really an idiot, Katsuki.” Kirishima said, his voice a little teasing, but the warmth in it made Bakugo’s heart skip a beat. The way Kirishima said it was familiar, comfortable, like a reminder of who they were, who they still could be. Kirishima smiled softly, a quiet kind of affection in his eyes. “And I’ve missed you for years, too.”

Before he could think about it too much, Kirishima closed the remaining distance between them, his hand reaching up to cup Bakugo’s cheek, warm against the cold. Bakugo’s heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing, but it all came to a sudden halt when their lips finally met.

The moment their lips met, it was as if everything Bakugo had been holding inside him, every ounce of frustration, longing, and regret, finally poured out. Kirishima’s kiss was gentle at first, a soft invitation that gave Bakugo a chance to pull away if he wanted to. But there was no part of him that wanted to. Instead, he leaned into it, feeling the warmth and softness of Kirishima’s lips, the weight of everything they had been through fading into nothingness.

Kirishima’s hand slid up to the back of Bakugo’s neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. The world around them seemed to melt away. There was no rush, no urgency, just the two of them, entwined in the quiet intimacy of the moment. The cold air swirled around them, but inside, they were surrounded by a warmth that made everything else irrelevant.

Bakugo's hands found their way to Kirishima’s jacket, fingers curling into the fabric as he held him tighter, closer. 

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless, the sharp bite of the winter air against their heated skin, but it didn’t matter. Kirishima’s forehead rested against Bakugo’s, their breaths mingling in the quiet night. Time seemed to slow, the snow falling softly around them as if the world was holding its breath, letting them be just like this.

Kirishima pulled back just enough to look at him, his eyes soft, a warm smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "It's cold out here," he said, his voice low and filled with that same tenderness. "Do you want to come in?"

Bakugo shivered, his fingers trembling slightly in the cold, and without thinking, he muttered, "Fuck yes, please, I'm freezing."

Kirishima’s soft chuckle lingered in the air, filled with warmth and affection. His hand grazed Bakugo’s cheek, the touch tender but certain, and Bakugo couldn’t help but lean into it, his eyes fluttering closed as if to hold onto the moment.

“Are you staying?” Kirishima spoke, his voice a low, reassuring murmur.

Bakugo opened his eyes and met Kirishima’s gaze, the unspoken understanding between them settling like a weight in his chest. There was no second-guessing, no lingering doubts. He nodded slowly, his voice steady and filled with something deeper than words. “Yeah. I’m staying.”