Chapter Text
Bakugou Katsuki had seen Kirishima Eijirou listed right underneath his own name at the very top of the Entrance Exam results and thought: Who the hell is that?
Their score had a near-perfect balance between Villain and Rescue points. Hidden metrics within the examination process aside, not every quirk allowed for maneuvers with both offensive and defensive qualities; not every quirk user could execute a fighting style like that, even if technically possible.
It was… interesting. That one line on the list made the rest of it a blur as it stuck in Bakugou’s mind, made him think. He kept an eye out, on the first day of class, forced himself to tune into the pointless chatter around him in search for that name and the person it belonged to.
Until fucking Deku had shown up at the door and he remembered what a steaming pile of bullshit that entire exam was if a quirkless nobody like him was allowed to enroll into U.A., too.
Bakugou figured it out, eventually. Between regular lessons in the morning and hero training afterwards, numbers and letters turned into spikes of bright-red hair and a sharp-toothed smile that showed up whenever someone as much as looked at him, apparently. Kirishima Eijirou is an idiot, was what Bakugou realized. A happy-go-lucky guy stuck between being an airhead and somewhat competent in a fight – if he’d stop pulling his punches, that is, which rarely happened because the fucker was polite to a very frustrating fault.
That’s fucking that, then.
Bakugou had already stomped out any sense of idle curiosity and moved on with his life when the attack on U.S.J. happened. When he and Kirishima found themselves dropped into a room full of villains together, when they’d fought back to back in tight quarters without getting in each other’s way a single time and Kirishima had let that stupidly strong quirk of his truly shine. Tenacity was carved into every rigid line, every gutsy move, down to the confident grin he threw Bakugou’s way mid-brawl.
It was hours later that Bakugou realized Kirishima never flinched from his explosions, not even once – and looking away suddenly became infinitely harder.
Since then, so much other shit has happened it’s unfathomable to Bakugou that it’s only been a handful of months. Stressful shit like the king of all garbage fires that was the Kamino Ward Incident (which his brain still manages to waste precious hours of sleep over so fuck that), plain baffling shit like Kirishima’s dog being called Riot because of course it is (and because Kirishima was a fucking idiot even as a kid, it seems), and objectively awesome shit like Unbreakable.
All of which, through various twists and turns, drops a whole new kind of problem directly at Bakugou’s feet.
The truth is: Bakugou isn’t used to having a best friend. Friends in general were a murky concept for most of his life, much less how one goes about… hanging out with them on the regular and keeping up with their lives, or maybe even making them happy. There’s a lot of friendship stuff Bakugou simply never bothered to learn – never had much of a reason to revisit, either, not after the Sludge Villain got him and there’s another fuck that memory, urgh – so Kirishima’s sheer stubbornness to befriend him anyways… It shoved Bakugou into territory that is pretty damn uncharted for him.
Like finding out Kirishima’s birthday out of absolutely nowhere and blanking on what to do with that information.
Once again, there’s a string of numbers attached to Kirishima Eijirou and the bold RED RIOT underneath; 20XX年10月16日 says Kirishima’s provisional hero license, next to his dumb face laughing that unique smile Bakugou is dead certain will be his call sign once he hits the pro scene. Next to him, Kirishima himself is half-yelling, half-gesturing the story of his debut, and he keeps throwing those little glances at Bakugou like catching his reaction to key moments is the best part about retelling it.
Which means Bakugou can’t, under any circumstance, let even a fraction of that strange tingling of nerves in his gut show on his face.
There used to be a time when maintaining an indifferent sneer by default was the easiest thing in the world. Good ol’ comfortable routine. But Kirishima is observant as all hell when he wants to be, which seems to be always when it comes to Bakugou’s mood, and Kirishima knows that sneer and how out of place it has become when it’s only him and the other idiots around.
Nobody told Bakugou that making friends and keeping them could at times feel effortless… or like a high stakes mission hanging on by a single, very flimsy thread.
“…so I went Unbreakable and like, screw the knives ‘cause nothing could touch me!”
Bakugou snaps back into the conversation so suddenly he gives himself mental whiplash. And because Kirishima is Kirishima, aka a shitty-haired sniffing dog for human emotion, he looks at Bakugou. The chance to indulge him is there, so ridiculously obvious from the hopeful glint in his eyes, so Bakugou leans in and asks:
“And then you fucked him up?”
And Kirishima smiles, bright as the sun itself.
“And then I fucked him up.”
(For once in his life, Bakugou decides procrastination is the way to go. It’s more than a month to Kirishima’s birthday – enough time for future-him to come up with a battle plan and put it into motion.
One thing’s for sure: His present will be the best Kirishima has ever gotten, bar fucking none.)
*
It hadn’t occurred to Bakugou how omnipresent Kirishima is in his life until he texts him one morning and doesn’t get a reply.
It’s 5:22 AM, Bakugou gasped awake from a nightmare two minutes ago – not thinking about it, nope, nope – and he can’t stand being alone. Sweat clings to every inch of exposed skin, palms emitting what threatens to become a red-hot glow, and it’s by pure luck that Bakugou gets his bearings quick enough to cut his quirk short.
Breathe.
Okay. Nothing’s going on. Just his room. There’s nothing burning, because he made damn sure everything in here has been fire-proofed to hell and back. Everyone’s still fucking asleep, there’s nobody in here with him, and there, the sun is starting to rise. The night is over.
Bakugou swallows hard, a hand pressing on the center of his chest in a silent bid for his heart to calm down.
Yeah. Another normal ass day.
Waking up like this used to be more of a daily thing. The recent decline doesn’t change the fact that nightmares suck, especially when they’ve become uncommon enough to leave him shaken when they do happen. It’s a struggle to drag himself out of bed and onto his feet but Bakugou manages. All lights are flicked on, the shower he takes long and close to boiling, his windows opened wide to vent both the steam and the residue smell of fear in the air.
Kirishima hasn’t even read his message yet, which means he’s asleep. That’s fine.
Bakugou throws on the first semi-clean set of clothes he can find and goes on a jog. A good, extensive lap around U.A. grounds to clear his head, some coffee to push back the weariness hanging under his eyes, straightening up the mess the extras left behind the night before for his own fucking peace of mind. Life passes him by on autopilot until he’s suddenly standing in the kitchen with a plate in hand, pancakes stacked high and more frying in the pan.
Huh.
Phone set aside, Bakugou finishes up the final stack and gets to making different types of filling. Anko for himself and Jirou, matcha cream for Ashido and Sero, strawberries and chocolate for Kirishima and cheese and bacon for Kaminari, that heathen. Here and there some early risers drop by, those Bakugou can somewhat stand – like Tokoyami, who might think of himself as a creature of the night but is willing to risk it all to appease his sweet tooth – getting one (and exactly one) pancake.
Kirishima still isn’t fucking checking his phone, which is fine. The guy is glued to the stupid thing any other day and replies in zero-point-five seconds. Today of all days, when Bakugou has to defend a pile of freshly-made breakfast from shitty classmates who can’t for the life of them mind their own business, that’s when he chooses not to.
Totally fine. No problem… at all.
Leaning against the wall, Bakugou sends a follow-up text and waits. Five minutes. One of Shouji’s limbs peeks around the corner, a singular eye staring right at him. “One”, Bakugou warns him, voice tight with annoyance. “You too, Vice Prez, I know you’re there.”
Shouji and Momo take their stuff and go, the latter sneaking out a tin of her loose-leaf tea, too. Bakugou sends Kirishima a knife. Last call, fucker. Then he changes tabs.
See? Ain’t that hard, Bakugou thinks in the general direction of Kirishima, huffing to himself in the quiet of the morning. The grey ticks next to his messages stare back at him, mocking. Rubbing in that either Kirishima’s sleeping in (it’s fucking fine), not on his phone due to… unspecified reasons, or that Bakugou is being ignored entirely.
Bakugou frowns. Kirishima has never ignored him before.
Ghosted? Isn’t that the term? But that would require some sort of passive-aggressive intent or a reason to be petty. The times Kirishima has been pissed at him can be counted on one hand, all attached to a specific thing Bakugou did to cause it and like, it’s Kirishima. It’s questionable he’s even physiologically capable of feeling pettiness, much less acting on it. In case Bakugou did hurt his feelings – which he hasn’t… right? – the weight of his big, sad eyes would be palpable from three countries away, much less a few floors.
And… Bakugou tries to avoid that. Hurting Kirishima is like kicking a tiny, fluffy kitten into a pool full of piranhas or something. It’s taboo; it’s just not done. Besides, best friends support each other no matter what, even Bakugou knows that.
Overall, the scenario is unlikely at most. What is it, then? Is Kirishima even–
Ah. There’s always a fourth option, these days.
“Yo!”
Kaminari marches in without a care in the world, the greeting trailing into a jaw-cracking yawn. Two steps in, he notices the cloud of irritation gathering over Bakugou’s head. “Huh?” A quick look around. “Where’s our best boy Kiri? Isn’t he usually first?”
Wouldn’t we all like to fucking know?
Tossing his phone on the counter, Bakugou growls, “Late”, as he stomps over to warm up Kaminari’s abomination of a dorayaki. It doesn’t matter. Kirishima will answer whenever he can, Bakugou will tear him a new one for wasting his time and good food, and that’ll be that.
*
Later, with breakfast had and Kirishima remaining a no-show, they will put together the pool of people entirely absent. Bakugou’s eyes will meet Iida’s across the room, and he will remember how worried Kirishima had looked in the moments he thought no one was paying attention.
Later, Bakugou will snatch up the remote of the TV and flip the channel to something, anything running the news, and he will stare with his arms tightly crossed and his foot tapping the ground, a tense, helpless rhythm. Sero will tell him it’s probably nothing, they’re all fine, despite the tremor in his voice. Ashido will try to place a soothing hand on his shoulder, which Bakugou will shake off immediately, and Jirou will stand right next to him, wordless and wavering just like him.
Later, they will all watch as a banner flickers across the screen, announcing Breaking News! in obnoxious primary colors. As the anchor loses composure for a one breathless moment before they start to speak. As the screen cuts to a live recording from high above, and they see smoke and destruction and there, right there, in the middle of everything–
Later, it will be 9:15 AM. Bakugou will feel his heart stutter in his chest, will hear Kaminari gasp behind him, will spot, with wide eyes, a shade of red he would recognize anywhere.
Time grinds to a complete standstill.
*
Bakugou calls.
Once an hour, he calls, lets it ring until he hears Kirishima’s voice explain how to leave a message. He hangs up. Bakugou paces, up and down and up again, eyes remaining fixed on the TV where they’ve started analyzing the same footage for the third time.
His hand is on his chest, calm down, palm resting over the rabbit-quick beating of his heart. Breathe.
It’s not working.
Bakugou calls again.
*
That night, Bakugou holds his phone to his ear and listens to Kirishima’s breathing even out. The hours of stress, that intense, cathartic sense of relief at having his call finally go through – it’s catching up to him, and doing so fast.
“Ei?”, he asks, his voice threatening to give under the weight of his heart. “You still there?”
I remember it hurting, Kirishima had said, words a little slurred from the drugs or exhaustion or perhaps both. He should let him rest, he knows he should, but Bakugou isn’t ready to let him go yet.
The rustling of sheets. A drowsy hum.
This isn’t about him, though. Bakugou smiles, because Kirishima can usually tell when he’s smiling, and he tells him, “I’m glad.” It’s the truth, even with the corners of his eyes itching and his vision starting to swim.
“I’m so glad you’re alive.”
The only answer he gets is a slow, soft snore and it’s fine. Kirishima will continue to recover in the morning, and Bakugou will move heaven and earth and hell too to be at his side when he wakes.
For now, all he can do is bury his head in his arms and choke on the tears gathering behind lids clenched shut. Bakugou lets them spill in hot, wet lines down his cheeks; he makes a mess of his hoodie as he wipes his nose, over and over, trying to catch his breath despite how impossibly close he got to a future without Kirishima in it.
And if he stays on the line for a while longer, well, nobody needs to know that.
*
On day two of Kirishima’s hospitalization, Bakugou adds every member of the squad sans Kirishima to a group chat, names it Don’t Fucking Invite Kirishima and texts:
Predictably, his phone chimes a soft ding with multiple notifications, all of which Bakugou ignores. The thing is usually muted – Bakugou can’t even stand the constant buzzing when it’s set to vibrate, it’s so irritating and distracting – but Kirishima is in the hospital and the thought of missing an urgent call… Fuck that.
Ashido materializes at his doorstep practically out of thin air, a flurry of knocks preceding her almost ripping the door off its hinges. Panting profusely, she stomps inside and stares him down where he’s sitting on the edge of his bed, black eyes lit with a fury Bakugou fully expected.
“Whatever you’re planning, we gotta keep Kiri in the loop. You know he gets anxious, Bakugou, stuff like this–”
“Mina.” Bakugou keeps his voice even, his face serious.
Searching his expression, Ashido chews on her tongue. Her nose scrunches. “It’s just… I don’t like this at all. But I trust you, okay? If you’re absolutely sure.”
“I’m sure.”
“Okay”, she repeats and sits down next to him. “I’ll listen.”
Kaminari and Jirou arrive together, even more out of breath. They probably took the stairs up three steps at a time. “Please tell me we’re not potentially freaking Kirishima out for no reason”, Kaminari says before he’s even in the damn room. “Dude. I’m serious. He’s already stressed enough as-is.”
Jirou shakes her head, “Bakugou wouldn’t risk upsetting him over nothing.” Her eyes meet Bakugou’s, adding a silent: Right? There’s no point in explaining before–
On cue, Sero knocks into the two from Floor 3, his tape shooting out to stop his own momentum before he bowls them over entirely. “Oh, cool, are we vetoing already? ‘Cause I’m vetoing. This is gonna backfire and it’ll be terrible for everyone – which, okay I guess? – but it’ll be terrible for Kiri and that’s unacceptable.”
Ashido shakes her head, “Bakugou says he’s sure about it.” The nail of her thumb works away at already-chipped polish, electric blue giving way to a shade of pink that’s all her. “Let’s hear him out.”
All eyes go to Bakugou, then. An eyebrow is cocked in response. They all grumble and grab a seat, their tight-knit circle fundamentally off without Kirishima there to complete it. Bakugou pushes past the sting of that little observation and nods.
“Kirishima’s having a shitty time.”
The statement is met with solemn looks all around, as if Bakugou saying the same damn thing they just yelled at him is somehow different. He sighs, leans forward, hands clasped between his knees.
“Listen. I don’t wanna do this without him either, got it? But for it to work, he can’t catch wind of it. Any of it.”
Kaminari groans, “Please, bro”, muffled through the two fingers in front of his mouth where he’s biting at his nails. “Just say what you mean, I can’t take the suspense at all right now.”
Fine. Shrugging, Bakugou decides: Brute force it is. “Kiri’s birthday is in three weeks. October 16th, it’s on his hero license.” It’s sound information, Bakugou needs them to know that – the next part isn’t and it’s making him uncomfortable as hell.
“For once, social butterflies like you people might know this better than me. Just… correct me if you gotta. But birthday presents have to be a surprise or whatever, and I got an idea. It’s a good fucking idea, or I wouldn’t–” Bakugou clenches his teeth. Not the point. “Anyway. I can’t pull it off by myself. And it’s only a surprise if Kiri isn’t involved. So.”
When he finally glances up from his hands – because somehow his gaze landed there – he’s surrounded by a variety of emotions he’s not looking forward to micromanaging to get what he wants.
The easiest to read is Jirou. Knees pulled up to her chest, she props her arms on top and shrugs. “See? It’s for a good cause. Just so we’re on the same page, though: Whatever the present is, it would be from all of us?”
“Yeah.”
“Cool.” A shy smile. “Count me in, dude.”
Bakugou nods. This is why Jirou is one of the good ones.
In terms of who’s the most rational, Sero is next. When Bakugou’s eyes fall on him, there’s a frankly concerning amount of guilt on his face, thin eyebrows pulled together in his rendition of that stupid emoji with the pleading eyes. Oh joy.
“Man, Blasty, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have doubte–”
Bakugou sighs. “Sero. I don’t give a shit.”
“But you do! Like, this is super sweet of you and I’m definitely in. Kiri deserves the best birthday present ever.”
Bakugou is willing to ignore the comment about being sweet only because Sero automatically assumed his idea for a present is the best. (It is.)
Unsurprisingly, Kaminari is cutting it even closer to unleashing the waterworks. To be fair, his warning that his nerves aren’t what they usually are – which is all-over-the-fucking-place on the best of days – was accurate, Bakugou can give him that much. What is a surprise is that he gets a grip on himself before he speaks, back straight and shoulders lifting from their slump.
“You’re right.” Kaminari nods at Bakugou, full of determination like they’re talking about going to war together. “We’ll just have to be sneaky, act natural. Easy. Just… Can we change the name of the group? You gave me a heart attack earlier.”
Bakugou’s phone is out and the group re-named in a few quick taps. “Done.”
Ashido’s head tilts. “…Mission: Sirius A?”, she reads out loud. “Sirius? Like–”
“The star.”
Sero hums, brow deeply creased. “Isn’t that–?”
“It’s a fucking star, okay? Y’know, stars? In space? Spheres of gas held together by their own gravity, burning intense enough to be seen by the naked eye millions of light-years away? Sirius A is the brightest–”
Brain catching up to his mouth, Bakugou snaps it shut, heat rising to his face. Two out of four idiots look like they’re this close to saying something and Bakugou knows whatever it is will be undeniably stupid.
“Who cares about the name! You morons said yes to a plan you’ve heard fuck-all about.”
“Not me!”
The triumphant grin Ashido sends his way makes Bakugou squint. “I only said I’d listen. So: What’s the plan, Blasty? As Kiri’s oldest friend, I challenge thee to make your case. Convince me and your petition for help shall be granted!”
Bakugou’s squint turns into an intense stare, a smirk pulling his lips back until his canines show. Leaning over, he reaches for the drawer of his desk and pulls out a few pages worth of sketches and notes.
“Glad ya finally asked, Pinky.”
*
Kirishima has more than one scar now.
They’re not like Deku’s, deep where the skin burst open and healed in crooked patterns, or obvious and clear-cut like Aizawa’s. Too fresh to be anything like the old burn on Todoroki’s face, for sure.
Kirishima’s scars are faint, a shade or two paler than the rest of him. Thin, jagged lines that branch out like strokes of lightning, interconnected where they take shape on the back of his wrists, along his arms and at the center of his chest. It reminds Bakugou of fissures in the bedrock, the rifts and little nooks he’d search for to stick his fingers into and gain a new foothold on a steep climb – fault lines where, a decade or a millennium from now, the stone will break off, create a new boulder or fall into the ocean below and leave the cliff face altered forever.
It’s simple physics, really: Hard material cracks under too much pressure, and it either leaves a mark or gives way entirely.
Applying the same logic to Kirishima with visual proof of how far those scars go – it leaves Bakugou with a static-like feeling between his lungs and his stomach, like he wants to be sick but his body forgot how to go about achieving that. In the hospital, seeing Kirishima wrapped head-to-toe in gauze had been one thing. The worst had been covered yet Bakugou had known, to an extent, the kind of damage it took to make a person look like that, after Recovery Girl’s quirk and a night of rest no less.
Somehow, through all of that, Bakugou hadn’t imagined Kirishima literally breaking into pieces.
“That bad, huh?”
Bakugou actually startles out of his shock, tearing himself away from the sight of Kirishima’s bared chest – they even got to his chest, where his regular squishy human heart continues to beat even in Unbreakable mode – with a staggered breath.
“W-what?”
Gym ɣ takes shape around him, its concrete pillars not thoroughly exploded to rubble for once. They agreed to test the waters when it comes to Kirishima’s quirk, to work up to it after poking at his general stamina and flexibility a bit. It had been going… okay. Not as smooth as Bakugou had secretly hoped it would and Kirishima seemed to have expected, if the frustrated twist to his mouth is anything to go by.
It had been the sun dipping lower in the sky that ripped away all ambiguity and revealed the harsh reality carved into Kirishima’s skin, its golden hour light wandering across the floor and irradiating outwards.
Bakugou, arm pulled back for his signature right hook, had hesitated.
And the sadness that had been lurking in Kirishima’s eyes ever since he came back from the hospital, still smiling and socializing with everything that moves but a little subdued, a little more quiet – it melts that crimson gaze into something soft, achingly vulnerable.
“It’s…” Words, words, Bakugou’s biggest weakness coming to bite his ass. He shifts his weight, the soles of his shoes scraping against concrete. “It caught me off guard. ‘s not bad, Kiri, just– New. Yeah.”
Kirishima looks at his own hands, at his arms, red eyebrows pinched tight. Bakugou wonders if he even heard what he said.
“They’re so light, I forget they’re even there when I’m not directly looking. It’s not like I want to change what happened or– I don’t regret what I did, and it’s not like I can make the scars undone. But…”
Nothing. Kirishima’s voice trails off and silence takes its place.
Bakugou realizes there’s something fragile to this. Dragging Kirishima out here had the double purpose of giving him a place to start rebuilding what he lost and keeping him busy for hours on end so the others can work on the mission. They got so used to hanging out as a squad together that having a few members absent is bound to attract unwanted attention – Bakugou had accounted for that and gave himself the job of Kirishima-sitting every chance he got.
What he hadn’t considered was that Kirishima thrived off social stuff and things staying the same. Jumping back into training is Bakugou’s preferred method of coping with shitty situations: Keeping his eyes fixed on the finish line on the far horizon and making progress, no matter how incremental, has a way of calming him down like little else does.
Kirishima draws stability from the people around him and Bakugou has taken that away from him, even if the other isn’t aware of that. Kirishima wanted to pretend the scars don’t exist and Bakugou–
Perhaps he had hoped that this, too, would go smoother than it has any right to.
“D’you wanna stop?”
Bakugou keeps his tone neutral, pretending to fix the fit of his gloves like he’s not watching every shift in Kirishima’s expression. Kirishima blinks and looks up, lips pulling into a tentative smile. Apologetic.
“I think so, yeah. Would that be okay?”
By this point, Bakugou wouldn’t be above sacrificing a limb just to see Kirishima flash his teeth and laugh about whatever-the-fuck he currently finds so cool and manly. Since that option’s out, he gives him a gruff, “Sure”, and motions for the changing rooms.
Kirishima follows a few steps behind, eyes on the ground. Seeing him like this hurts, the wounds he carries raw and plain to see although they’ve long stopped bleeding.
Bakugou can’t think of anything else to do but wait for Kirishima to catch up. Shoulder to shoulder with him, Bakugou throws an arm around his neck and tugs him into one of those casual side-hugs he’s seen Kaminari pull countless times. He might not be doing it right, a tad too forceful given Kirishima stumbles into him, but Bakugou refuses to back down even here.
Leaning in, he tells him, “Scars are a good thing”, his forehead brushing Kirishima’s for a brief moment. “Means you fought for your life and won, Ei. There’s nothing stronger than that.”
Kirishima swallows, whispers, “Yeah?”, so soft it can only exist in their embrace.
“Yeah.”
Bakugou lets him go. Kirishima’s hair is gelled up and hard as shit, he can’t ruffle it like he wants to, so Bakugou tugs at one of those horn-like strands at the front.
“C’mon, Shitty Hair. I still owe you some dorayaki.”
*
*
“Nitro? Can I ask you something?”
Legs in Kirishima’s lap and phone in hand, Bakugou hums. “You just did but yeah. Shoot.” Kirishima doesn’t really have a line of sight on his screen but he locks it anyways, the progress pic Kaminari sent him going dark.
Sure enough, Kirishima isn’t looking at him but at the manga he was reading. Black Cat, the series he picked up at Bakugou’s an eternity ago – the moment Kirishima got back from his assignment, Bakugou tossed all twenty volumes in a box and dumped it on Kirishima’s desk, a pointed look reminding him to treat them with care or else.
Now, Kirishima’s thumb runs idly over the top right corner of the page, the paper rustling under the absentminded gesture. There’s a small frown on his face.
“Are you and the squad fighting?”
…What? Bakugou puts his phone away and sits up, the armrest of the common room couch digging into his lower back. “Explain.”
Maybe he should’ve said ‘No’ first because the alarm in Kirishima’s expression doubles. “It’s like. You know I love hanging out with you, right, bro? But it’s been two weeks – three, maybe? – and you’re barely around ‘em anymore. Did something happen?”
The observation, albeit cautious, has a core of steel to it. A statement of fact worded as a question for the sake of politeness, and Bakugou holds back a sigh. Sniffing dog for emotions. Right.
Thankfully, the common room is empty. Most of the extras are out on a shopping trip or some shit like that – Bakugou doesn’t care, so he only listened to their chitchat with an eighth of an ear – and the squad is busy which means the built-in audience feature of this fucking dorm is turned off.
Oh and also, it’s twelve hours to Kirishima’s birthday. They’re so close to pulling this off without major complications. So. Damn. Close.
“I’m not gonna bullshit you”, Bakugou starts and it has to be unhealthy, the amount of worry shining in Kirishima’s eyes. “Kiri. Calm down, yeah? There’s something going on but I got it handled. We’re not pissed at each other or anything.”
Kirishima nods, slowly. Sharp teeth dig into lips that are already chapped and irritated. “Okay? And you’re being vague about it because…?”
Twelve hours. Bakugou could sit here and plot through an elaborate lie to preserve all the work they’ve put into this – in the end, a birthday present is worth jack shit if he has to walk all over Kirishima’s trust to get it done.
Bakugou does sigh, then. He sparks off before he motions for the manga to save it from Kirishima’s fussing; Kirishima blinks, hands it over with a guilty glance to the crease he put into the corner. As if that ranks anywhere on the list of shit Bakugou cares about right now.
“Because it’s a surprise, dipshit. For you.”
There’s one thing Bakugou got right about this guy from the very start: Kirishima Eijirou is an idiot. He has the potential to be clever as fuck – especially in combat, especially with people – but it’s like he gets up most days and simply decides not to use the braincells rattling around somewhere in that thick skull of his.
Kirishima tilts his head at Bakugou like the stupid fucking dog he is and Bakugou groans.
“Eijirou. Do me a favor and think long and hard about what day it is tomorrow.”
A flash of confusion, realization, surprise. “Oh”, Kirishima breathes, finally landing on excitement. The corners of his eyes crinkle from his pleased, close-lipped smile. “Really?”
Bakugou grumbles, “Really.”
“And the entire squad is involved?”
“Ye-up.”
Again, a slow nod as Kirishima processes the information. He gasps. “Wait. It’s been weeks. Really?!”
“Fucking hell”, mutters Bakugou under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying not to smile when Kirishima lets out an amused snicker. “Yes, okay? So, can you wait until fucking midnight or what?!”
“Oh, I’ll wait.” Kirishima, that bold motherfucker, grabs for Bakugou’s legs and plants them right back in his lap. Bakugou turns his surprised squawk into a growl in the nick of time and aims a kick at Kirishima’s thigh. “Ow. I’ll wait as long as you want. I’m totally patient. Not at all dying to know what’s going on.”
“Nosy bastard.” Grabbing the manga, Bakugou throws it at Kirishima’s head, oddly satisfied when he catches it in mid-air. “Your room’s off limits, got it? And pretend to be surprised later, they’ve been busting their asses for your dumb ass.”
Kirishima teases, “So many asses”, ducking behind the pages of Black Cat to hide from Bakugou’s glare. “Chill, dude, it’s not like I actually know what you guys got up to. …Are getting up to? Now that I think about it, Mina and the others didn’t even go to the mall, either. And what’s this about my room?”
“I’m not telling you shit anymore.” Roughly shoving himself into a more comfortable position, Bakugou takes his phone back in hand. “Look at my screen and I’ll blow you to smithereens.”
Kirishima pats his knee. “You got it, Bakubro.”
*
*
Bakugou can admit to himself that he’s nervous.
The display of his phone shows it’s a minute to midnight. He’s pushing a yawning Kirishima down the hall to their rooms. “Wake up already”, Bakugou hisses and lets a flurry of tiny explosions crackle right in Kirishima’s face.
Sleepy eyes widen, then squint against the bright light. “Sorry, sorry, I really am excited. Those couches are jus’ so c-comfy.”
Another yawn. Bakugou is this close to murdering Kirishima a second before he turns sixteen.
They still make it to Kirishima’s door in time because Bakugou will be damned if he doesn’t bring three weeks of careful preparation to a proper conclusion. Looking over his shoulder, Kirishima blinks at Bakugou like he’s silently begging for permission.
“The fuck are you looking at me for? It’s your room. Open the door.”
Kirishima doesn’t hesitate a second; he knocks at his own damn door because he’s that kind of overly-considerate fool before turning the knob. Darkness greets him, and as Kirishima reaches for his light switch, Bakugou’s nerves suddenly melt away.
This is gonna be good.
The lights turn on. Kirishima’s jaw drops. Occupying every available seat in the cramped room, Ashido, Jirou, Kaminari, and Sero jump to their feet and yell:
“Surprise!”
It’s Bakugou who adds, “Happy Birthday, Riot”, and he doesn’t hide the big, smug grin on his face.
Because it worked. Kirishima looks like his brain blew every fuse it had and is now struggling to reboot, which is exactly what they were going for with all this and oh, victory is sweet and so, so addicting.
Bakugou’s gaze follows Kirishima’s to the ceiling so he can take it in, too.
It’s a difference of night and day, in the most literal sense: Painted in swirls of lilac purple to indigo blue to deep black, a sky full of stars stretches from one end of the room to the other. Bakugou knew he could count on Ashido’s artistic eye to turn his sketched design into something truly beautiful; there’s Sero’s perfect precision in every constellation finding its right place, with the combined skill of Kaminari and Jirou behind the complex system of LED lights bringing them to life and a few hidden halogen spotlights illuminating vital corners of the room like Kirishima’s desk, or his punching bag.
And there, right above his bed, shines Sirius A, the brightest star in the night sky.
For a solid minute, all Kirishima does is stare. Bakugou rolls his eyes and nudges him inside so he can at least grasp the full extent of it. “But… This is…” Kirishima turns on his own axis, eyes flicking from detail to detail. “H-holy shit.”
(Art by polmcarts, posted with permission.)
While he recovers from getting his mind blown, the members of the squad share a look and a satisfied smile. All of them except Bakugou are covered in multi-colored dots where they weren’t careful enough with the paint, Ashido and Sero especially. The tips of Jirou’s fingers look a little mangled – probably from splicing too many wires and tucking cables into narrow culverts. Kaminari looks the least affected, which was to be expected given interior lighting isn’t the most demanding in terms of voltage.
It’s also no surprise that it’s Kaminari who offers Bakugou an excited fist to bump. Bakugou huffs and meets him halfway, fully aware the others will want one too from now until the rest of eternity. They kept it together this entire time, though, and it's the least he can do for them.
Well, that and– “Thanks”, Bakugou tells them, eyes on the delighted wonder on Kirishima’s face before he gives his friends a wry smile. “Told ya he’ll love it.”
Sero chuckles, shakes his head. “You’ve gotten so soft, dude. Wow.”
Before Bakugou can snark back, there’s a tug to his sleeve. He already knows what it’ll be even as he looks over and into huge black eyes. There’s plenty of time to evade the grasp of strong, pink arms but… Bakugou finds he doesn’t really want to, so he lets the hug happen.
“Blasty!”
“Yeah, yeah. Get it outta your system”, he mutters into Ashido’s hair, giving her shoulders a short squeeze and the rest of the idiots a pre-emptive glare. “And no, we’re not doing a group hug. Fuck off.”
A snort from Jirou, a disappointed noise from Kaminari. A voice behind him asks, “What if it’s part of my birthday wish?”, and Bakugou is flipping Kirishima off after the second word.
“You got your fucking present all around you right now, don’t get greedy.”
Laughing, Kirishima leans his entire weight on Bakugou, shark-tooth-smiling only inches from his face. Bakugou lets him have it. It is his birthday, after all.
“Yeah, I know”, Kirishima sighs happily. “I love it so much, you guys. This is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen and it’s in my room, what the hell?”
And off he goes, gushing about how well the colors on the ceiling match the red everything-else and how excited he is to wake up to this sight every morning. After a few minutes, Bakugou still hasn’t heard what he’s waiting for. He knocks his shoulder into Kirishima’s and nods upwards, over his bed.
“See that?”
And there it is: Bakugou’s favorite smile, pointy and so bright it’s blinding.
“Dude, are you kidding me? That’s the best part! Sirius A is such a manly star, you guys even made it glow blue like it does in real life! It’s perfect! And like, Canis Major is such a pretty constellation. It’s my favorite, did you know that?”
Bakugou did, in fact, know that.
Up on the mountains, with a campfire burning down between them and Bakugou pretending not to feel the cold, Kirishima had told him as much. A sea of stars had stretched above them in all their glory, reflecting in Kirishima’s eyes as he watched the sky and Bakugou watched him and thought: Oh. I have a best friend now.
He lets Kirishima tell him again anyways.