Talk Is Cheap

by orphan_account

Summary:

Bakugou looks dead on his feet, pale face hidden beneath bangs, shoulders slumped beneath his oversized hoodie. His knuckles are bone-white where fingers twist painfully into a threadbare towel covered in singe marks.

He doesn’t say a word, just gingerly sits on the floor next to Kirishima with his legs crossed, back hunched against the couch.

Notes:

this has been buried in my drafts since January nobody @ me

They’re in the common room playing Minecraft with Tetsutetsu and some other Class B students over discord when it happens. 

 

It's been a relatively peaceful day. No kitchen fires, no broken bones, no unnecessary PDA. The weather was nice and the homework was done and the villains were quiet. Really, it felt like a vacation to the class of 1A.  

 

Kirishima, Sero, Mina, and Denki are taking advantage of the quiet dorm commons when Bakugou shows up. 

 

He looks dead on his feet, pale face hidden beneath bangs and shoulders slumped beneath his oversized hoodie. His knuckles are bone-white where fingers twist painfully into a threadbare towel covered in singe marks.

 

He doesn’t say a word, just gingerly sits on the floor next to Kirishima with his legs crossed and back against the couch. 

 

Everyone is silent for all of five seconds before Mina and Sero pick conversation back up with practiced ease, the moment of shocked silence not enough to tip their friends off over the active voice chat. Tetsutetsu’s tinny voice continues its aggressive back and forth with Mina while Kirishima tunes them all out. 

 

The controller sits forgotten in his hands while he leans over, attempting to catch his friend’s eyes. They’re bruised, bloodshot. Despite his sallow complexion a light flush colors his cheekbones. 

 

“Bakugou?” 

 

The boy doesn’t look at him, just wraps his hands tighter around the towel and tilts sideways until his shoulder is resting against Kirishima’s. 

 

Kirishima’s breath catches as concern floods his chest, but he ignores it and forces himself to relax, to allow Bakugou his space. Even if “space” does include pressing up against Kirishima’s side feeling like a human furnace and smelling strongly of burnt caramel and stress. He’d speak up if something was wrong, right? Kirishima shouldn’t jump to conclusions based solely on this completely out of character behavior. Besides, maybe he’s okay. Maybe he’s just...touchy tonight? Pushing his boundaries? While looking like an ER waitlister?

 

Kirishima is vibrating with the need to drop everything and make sure Bakugou is alright, but he knows how the boy works, knows that if he pushes too far too fast he’ll push back and things will only get so much worse. So instead, he grabs the controller and attempts to start playing again. He can hear his friends talking above their heads, feel their concerned gazes on the backs of their necks. 

 

After a while the tension has nearly drained away completely. The conversation has kicked back into its natural flow, Kirishima even manages a quip every couple minutes.

 

That is, until Bakugou’s head falls like a stone onto his shoulder and his hands go lax within the towel’s confines. 

 

Kirishima places the controller to the side and shifts until he can see the boy’s face. It’s still pale, still flushed. Kinda sweaty. His eyes are closed, breath whistling a bit through chapped lips. Passed out. Kirishima brings his palm up and pushes the boy’s bangs up, confirming what he already knew. 

 

“He has a fever.”

 

The others pause the game and lean over the couch.

 

“Should I call Aizawa-sensei?” 

 

“Do we take him back to his room?”

 

 

“What’s wrong with him?”

 

“What’s going on? Is someone hurt?”

 

“Bakugou is sick.”

 

“Explodey-boy? Didn’t think that was possible!”

 

Kirishima lets his hand drop and wipes the damp sweat on Bakugou’s sleep pants, silently apologizing for the rude gesture. He figures being rude to the unconscious boy is better than having the explosive oil on his own clothing. The towel in Bakugou’s lap catches his eye and he carefully unwinds it from pale fingers, revealing just how soaked through it is with the nitroglycerin his body secretes to create nasty explosions. He must have been trying to absorb it before it got too dangerous. Considering the small piece of cotton now dripping with nitroglycerin, the well-meaning action has had the opposite effect.

 

Kirishima hardens and does his best to keep it from touching anything but himself and Bakugou as he says, “yeah, call Aizawa-sensei. I think we need help.” 

 

He turns to place his arm around Bakugou’s limp shoulders, adjusting them so that he can hold the blond against his chest. Kirishima knows that because of his quirk Bakugou runs hotter than most, but the heat literally radiating off of his body in waves makes the concern boil in Kirishima’s gut. And not just because the boy is covered in a thick layer of one of the most unstable explosives in the world. 

 

He can hear Denki on the phone behind them. 

 

“Aizawa-sensei? Yeah, sorry. Bakugou is really sick. He passed out on Kirishima. They’re on the floor. No, he’s fine, he's holding him up.” 

 

 “Ask him to bring his capture gear and a bag or something for this,” Kirishima gestures at the towel, “I don’t really know what to do with it.” 

 

“Kirishima is covered in nitroglycerin. Yeah, okay.”

 

“That’s not what I said.” 

 

Denki hangs up as Mina moves a bit further away on the couch. Her acid and Bakugou’s quirk don’t mix on a good day. They’d learned that lesson the hard way. She watches Bakugou in concern as she relays the situation to their 1B friends over her headset. 

 

The blond jolts a bit in Kirishima’s arms, hands rolling into fists and pressing against his own stomach as he groans, head rolling. 

 

“Bakugou? Can you hear me?” 

 

The boy doesn’t answer, his groan fading into heavy breathing. 

 

Kirishima places his palm on his forehead again, frowning. “Kats?”

 

“F’k off,” comes the rough answer. 

 

“Oh thank god,” Denki sighs. 

 

Sero laughs nervously where he sits above Kirishima, “if he can curse still then he’ll be fine.” 

 

Kirishima drops his hand, wrapping it loosely around the other’s elbow, “think we can make it back up to your room?” 

 

He doesn’t even get an answer before Bakugou is lurching up onto wobbly limbs, overcompensating as Kirishima yelps in shock and tries to catch him before he falls face-first into the coffee table.  

 

“Warn me first!” He reprimands shakily, drawing them both back up to standing, “You don’t need a concussion on top of whatever this is.”

 

“M’ fine.” 

 

Kirishima throws an exasperated glance at the others on the couch. 

 

“If you can convince Aizawa then I’ll listen, but until then you’re sick and you need to go back to bed.” 

 

“...kay.”

 

“He needs to see Recovery Girl,” a gruff voice announces behind them. Aizawa.

 

Katsuki tenses in the redhead’s grip. 

 

“He’s really sick,” Kirishima relays to their teacher. The man leans down to scoop up the soaked towel discarded on the floor and stuffs it into a plastic bag, setting it down on the coffee table. He turns to regard the kid in question. 

 

“How long has he been like this?”

 

“He came down like half an hour ago,” Mina pipes up, “Just laid down against Kiri, it was so cute.”

 

Aizawa shot her an unimpressed eyebrow before leaning over to attempt catching Bakugou’s bleary gaze. The blond can barely keep his eyes open as it is, he probably doesn’t even realize their teacher is here. 

 

“Bakugou? Can you hear me?” 

 

He twitches and sags heavier in Kirishima’s arms. 

 

Kirishima looks pleadingly up at Aizawa, “do I take him to Recovery Girl now?” 

 

“Yes, I’ll go with you,” He grabs the contained hand towel as they head out. 

 

They barely make it down the stairs before Bakugou's legs give out and nearly takes Kirishima down with him. The redhead grunts and shifts his grip until he can scoop him up in a bridal-carry, nodding at a tense Aizawa before they start walking again, faster now that they don’t have an invalid dragging his feet on autopilot. 

 

Recovery Girl is quick to act, asks Kirishima all he knows as she gets Bakugou settled in a bed and takes his vitals. Aizawa listens as he discards the towel, face blank but shoulders tense. 

 

“I’ve never seen him get sick before,” Kirishima says, worrying his lip between two sharp teeth. He bounces on his heels at the foot of the bed, staring at his best friend’s flushed face against the stark pillows. Pale, oil-slick hands curl loosely next to his hips. It’s startling, compared to the careful control Bakugou usually keeps his body under.

 

Recovery Girl nods as she prepares an IV, “His records don’t show many instances of illness, even before he came to this school. I’ll have to contact his parents for further inquiry. Aizawa, if you want to escort young Kirishima back to his dormitory, I’ll call you once I’m done here.” 

 

The man nods and gestures for his student to follow. Kirishima ignores the tight ball of worry pulsing in his chest and forces his feet to move, tearing his eyes away from the pale blond. 

 

“I’ll text you updates,” Aizawa grunts once they near the 1A dorms. He’s probably only taking pity because of the anxiety washing off Kirishima in tangible waves. “If you want to grab his phone and a change of clothes, I’ll take them back with me.”

 

“When can I go see him? Do you think he’ll be alright?”

 

“Stop chewing on your lip, yes he’ll be alright. You can see him once he comes back.” 

 

“What?!” Kirishima immediately flushes in embarrassment at the outburst, “Sorry, sensei.” 

 

Aizawa sighs, shoving his hands into his pockets, “he won’t be stuck there forever, kid. It’s probably just a seasonal virus, it has to run through his system. He’ll be back in a day or two.” 

 

“Oh,” he didn’t want to admit that in his head he’d been imagining the explosive boy gone for a week, completely out of it with illness and only getting worse. He supposes that line of thought is maybe a bit exaggerated. He remembers the weight of his friend’s sweaty form against his side and runs his tongue along his teeth, staring up the steps ahead of them. He can see the glow of the tv screen through the windows. 

 

“He’ll be fine, Kirishima. Go get his stuff and I can text you his status.” 

 

He can tell that his teacher is trying to give him something to do to help ease the worry, and isn't surprised when it works. 

 

“Right, I’ll be back.” 

 

His friends nearly jump from the couch when they see him enter the room alone. 

 

“Is he okay?!”

 

“They say it must be a seasonal virus or something,” he explains in his rush towards the stairwell, “He’ll be alright soon. I’ve gotta grab his stuff!”

 

There’s another towel on Bakugou’s desk, an ice pack melted on his bed. Kirishima ignores it and grabs some clean clothes, folds them neatly into the boy’s backpack before heading back down, phone in hand. He hands all the items off to their teacher dutifully before turning back inside to collapse next to his friends. 

 

His weight on the couch makes Mina fall toward him and she moves with it, leaning against his shoulder as he sighs up at the ceiling. 

 

"How long has he been sick?" He wonders. 

 

Bakugou hadn't shown any hints that something was wrong throughout the week. He'd been his regular stubborn, annoyed, disciplined self up until today when he'd collapsed next to Kirishima with a dangerous fever.

 

They'd invited him down through the group chat earlier only to receive a "SEEN, 12:37" and no other reply. Pretty typical Bakugou behavior. Maybe not for a quiet Sunday, but nothing out of place enough to raise any alarms. 

 

Kirishima feels guilty. He knows there had to be some sort of sign he missed. Had Bakugou said anything? Had he skipped a meal somewhere? Had he be a shade too pale when they sparred yesterday? 

 

"Hey!" Mina snapped her fingers in front of his nose, drawing him out of his concerned pout, "Aizawa said he'd be fine right? Then he'll be fine."

 

"I was with him all day yesterday, I should have noticed something."

 

Sero shot him an incredulous look from the other side of the couch, "are you trying to blame yourself for a virus?"

 

"I'm- I'm not blaming myself," Kirishima sputtered, "I'm just…I could have done something to help, but instead I was down here playing video games!" 

 

Denki rolled his eyes, "as much as you love the guy you can't be stuck to him twenty-four seven, dude."

 

Kirishima's cheeks burst into flame at their snorts of agreement.

 

"I'm- I…"

 

Mina yawned and wrapped around one of his arms, holding it tight like a child would a teddy bear, "he'll be fine, Kiri. Don't worry so much. Besides, he kinda did ask for help. He came down, didn't he?" 

 

Kirishima turned his gaze to the neon flashing across the screen, washing the living room in a static rainbow of color. 

 

Bakugou had always been a man of action. He'd never admitted to Kirishima being his best friend, but he helped him with his homework after school. And always agreed to spar. And allowed him to hang out in his room even if he was studying. 

 

That said a lot more than a few words could really express.

 

"I guess you're right." 

 

"You've got to trust that he'll communicate this stuff. You can't always be hypervigilant."

 

"Bakugou taught you that word didn't he?" 

 

"How'd you know?"

 

"He taught me that word, too." 

 

They broke out into giggles, leaning further into each other on the couch. Sero tossed Kirishima his abandoned controller. 

 

A few minutes later he received a text from Aizawa. 

 

"He's stable and awake. You can see him in the morning." 

 

The tight anxiety in his chest released like a tense muscle and he relaxed further into the warmth of his friends and the playful words of their 1B companions filling the air. 

 

Bakugou was safe in the hands of adults who knew what they were doing. 

 

He probably still wouldn't have been if he hadn't trusted his friends enough to come down and expose his condition like he had. He'd probably still be in his room, pressing his hands to that cold pack until they ached, sweating buckets into the sheets as he suffered in silence. But he hadn't. Even if it wasn't entirely on purpose or in the right mind, his coming down was still an act of trust. 

 

Kirishima couldn't help the smile growing on his face as the truth of it struck him.  

 

If the others caught sight of it, they didn't say a word, just continued to enjoy each other's company as the day faded out and the minutes ticked well into the night

 

Notes:

who even edits anymore?? couldn't be me