Work Text:
"It's just not fair," Kirishima mumbled into the cool surface of his pint glass, half his face squished against Jirou's shoulder as she visibly struggled not to shove him off. The bar buzzed softly around them, dim lights casting playful shadows on their booth as music filtered faintly through speakers.
"What's not fair, exactly?" Sero laughed from across the booth, raising an eyebrow as he took a casual sip from his drink. "You're acting like you've never been hit on before."
"That's the point!" Kirishima gestured vaguely toward where Kaminari and Ashido were still standing near the bar, both laughing as strangers practically tripped over themselves to get their attention. "Everyone gets hit on except me. What's wrong with me? Do I look unapproachable?"
Jirou sighed deeply, fighting the urge to roll her eyes as Kirishima leaned even heavier against her shoulder. "Dude, you literally get thousands of thirsty comments on every social media post. Your DMs are full of marriage proposals and thirst traps. Why do you care about getting attention at some random bar?"
"Because it's different in person!" Kirishima pouted, blinking dramatically as he leaned even harder. She finally relented, gently pushing him upright again with an exasperated snort. "You know I wouldn't date a fan, especially after that whole fiasco Hanta dealt with. I get that people like my hero image, but it's like the moment we're out together as a squad, I'm suddenly invisible. It's weird, right?"
"You realize how weird you sound right now, right?" Sero teased lightly, glancing around the crowded bar with amused disbelief. "Kiri, you're literally the 'dependable, unbreakable hero' type. You're everyone's best friend, and people usually don't flirt with their best friend."
"Yeah," Kirishima sighed dramatically, swirling the liquid in his glass thoughtfully. "But dependable isn't exactly sexy, is it? Sometimes I just wanna feel—I don't know—special, I guess. Like, what do I have to do to stand out?"
He fell quiet, turning introspective as he stared into his drink. Truthfully, he was lonely. All he wanted, just once, was someone who'd actually want to kiss him, who'd look at him with genuine desire instead of admiration from afar. Deep down, Kirishima knew exactly why he felt this emptiness, but he pushed those feelings down each time they surfaced. Feelings he had no right to act upon—feelings he was certain would never be returned.
"Grit is manly," he reminded himself quietly, gripping his glass tighter. He'd endure it, just as he always had.
Jirou glanced toward the bar, squinting skeptically at Kaminari, who was currently animatedly laughing at something a pretty stranger whispered into his ear. "You really wanna be like Kaminari right now? He's two bad pick-up lines away from embarrassing himself permanently."
"Maybe I do!" Kirishima insisted, voice rising with playful indignation. "Maybe just once, I'd like someone to look at me and think, 'Yeah, I'm gonna shoot my shot.'"
Sero exchanged a meaningful glance with Jirou, barely suppressing a smirk. "Uh, Kiri, hate to break it to you, but there's probably a pretty obvious reason no one's making moves on you when we're out together."
"And what's that supposed to mean?" Kirishima blinked innocently, genuinely confused as he tilted his head, red eyes wide and earnest.
Jirou quickly elbowed Sero in the side, shooting him a pointed look. Sero grimaced slightly, reconsidering his next words carefully. "Just—you know—maybe people think you're already... involved." He asks, eyes darting to Ashido for some support, but she just waves at him to cut it out and downs more of her martini.
"Involved?" Kirishima echoed, brows knitting together in confusion. "Involved with who? What are you talking about?"
Jirou sighed louder, leaning back in her seat and rubbing her temples in mock distress. "You’re impossible, Kirishima."
"Seriously, Eij," Sero added gently, shaking his head. "You're insanely popular, hot as hell, smart, heroic, and likable. Trust me, you're not lacking anything."
"Then what am I missing?" Kirishima asked earnestly, eyes searching his friends' faces for an answer he didn't quite understand.
Jirou patted his arm comfortingly, her eyes half-lidded with a knowing kind of exhaustion, effortlessly nonchalant as always. She couldn't exactly tell Kirishima the real reason—that no one approached him because he was usually either practically grinding shamelessly on Katsuki whenever he managed to drag him onto the dance floor, or practically sprawled over his lap like a clingy blanket anytime he had more than six drinks. Instead, she opted for subtlety. "Kirishima, think about it," she started, voice calm and edged with blunt honesty. "You're either glued to Katsuki all night or—well, you're glued to Katsuki all night. People aren't blind. They notice. Maybe they’re just cautious about approaching someone who looks very obviously spoken for."
Kirishima blinked rapidly, confusion spiraling quickly into panic. Katsuki? Why was she bringing up Bakugou? Did people seriously think he was off-limits because of his best friend? Was Bakugou—his utterly uninterested, notoriously prickly, completely platonic best bro—somehow cock-blocking him? His stomach twisted uncomfortably, heat rising to his cheeks as realization dawned. Did everyone really assume he and Katsuki were involved, despite the fact that Katsuki had shown exactly zero interest in him—or anyone else, ever? Kirishima swallowed hard, his mind racing in disbelief. How had he never noticed this before?
She leaned back casually, exchanging another silent, loaded glance with Sero, her expression carefully neutral as if silently daring him to deny it. "Tonight is literally the first night he hasn't been out with us. You always manage to rope him into these things, but he's got that mission in Osaka, so it can't be helped, yeah? " She shot him a sympathetic smile at the sight of his neurons firing in the wrong places all at once. "Look, just...trust us on this one, okay? And stop worrying so much."
Kirishima blinked slowly, his confusion plain as day. "Huh? What does Katsuki have to do with literally any of this?"
Instantly, the atmosphere at the table grew tense. Sero glanced sideways at Jirou, who quickly averted her gaze, suddenly finding her drink incredibly interesting. Kaminari let out an overly loud, nervous laugh, breaking the awkward silence, only to receive a sharp elbow from Ashido.
"Uh—well, you know," Kaminari stammered, waving his hands around wildly as if to physically catch the words that had escaped him. "It's just—sometimes it seems like—"
The squad's fumbling attempts at an explanation were mercifully cut short as a shadow fell over their table. Kirishima looked up, breath hitching in surprise. Standing before them was a tall, muscular figure with broad shoulders and defined arms that clearly hinted at hours spent in training. His dark hair fell in effortless waves around a sharp, strikingly handsome face, framing intense, playful eyes that sparkled beneath the bar's dim lighting. He carried himself with the relaxed confidence of someone who knew exactly how attractive he was, flashing a charming, winning smirk toward Ashido.
"Hey," he said smoothly, his voice rich and deep enough to send shivers down Kirishima's spine. "My friend thinks you're cute, but he's being a coward about it. So, I figured I'd set an example by shooting my shot first."
The stranger turned his attention downward, meeting Kirishima's wide-eyed stare. Kirishima felt warmth surge into his cheeks, the gaze directed at him unexpectedly gentle, softening the sharp lines of the stranger’s face.
"Hiruta," he introduced himself, extending a large hand towards Kirishima, his smile turning disarmingly genuine. "I know your hero name, but that's not really important to me. What's your real name?"
Kirishima swallowed, momentarily speechless as he shook the offered hand. Hiruta's grip was firm but careful, sending a new wave of warmth down Kirishima's spine. "Kirishima," he managed, voice barely above a murmur, suddenly feeling unusually shy at being hit on for the first time in years.
"Kirishima," Hiruta repeated slowly, testing it out with another charming smile. "It suits you. You know, I thought your smile was lethal from a distance, but up close? It's downright criminal how easily it steals my breath."
From beside him, Jirou snorted quietly into her drink, earjack nudging Kirishima teasingly. "Smooth," she muttered just loud enough for him to hear, clearly entertained by the shitty pickup line. Kirishima barely noticed, too caught up in the way Hiruta's eyes lingered on him, calm and steady, as if he were genuinely interested—not just in the guy he recognized from hero billboards and ads and TV, but in Eijirou himself.
Hiruta seemed to sense the sudden weight of the awkward silence that had settled heavily around their table, shifting slightly on his feet as he cleared his throat gently. A faint trace of uncertainty flickered behind his confident demeanor, though he kept his composure impressively intact. "Oh," he started again, voice maintaining its smooth cadence but now softened with a cautious sincerity. "I'm sorry—I didn't even ask if you weren’t straight, or maybe just not interested. I definitely shouldn't have assumed anything."
The entire table seemed to collectively hold their breath, eyes wide and jaws slightly agape as they processed the unexpected candidness. Kaminari, never able to handle tension gracefully, sparked audibly, a small electric crackle snapping everyone from their stunned stupor. Kirishima felt his cheeks grow impossibly warmer, panic and embarrassment mingling rapidly as he stumbled over his response.
"No, no!" Kirishima blurted out quickly, shaking his head vigorously to reassure the other man. His heart was practically hammering against his ribs, and he held his palms up earnestly as if to physically ward off the misunderstanding. "It's not like that at all—I promise! It’s just..." he paused, voice dropping softer as genuine vulnerability edged into his expression, "Nobody ever really notices me like this, you know? Nobody approaches me. I mean, I get a lot of fan attention, but in real life, it's—it's different, y'know?"
A slow, relieved grin spread across Hiruta's features, lighting his eyes with a warmth that instantly dispelled the earlier uncertainty. "Seriously?" he murmured, visibly relaxing again as he let his natural charm resurface effortlessly. "Honestly? That blows my mind. With a face like yours and a smile that's practically addictive, you'd think you'd have trouble getting people to leave you alone."
Kirishima laughed softly, the nervous tension in his shoulders melting into relief and growing excitement. His embarrassment faded into a bright, almost cocky grin, pride swelling as he glanced triumphantly at his friends. "See?" he said pointedly, eyes sparkling as he turned back to Hiruta, "I told you guys it wasn't just me!"
Hiruta chuckled softly, leaning in just enough to make Kirishima's pulse spike again, eyes sparkling playfully. "Trust me," he said, voice dropping to a smooth, intimate murmur, "if they're missing out on someone like you, that's entirely their loss. Personally, I'm grateful—they've just made tonight that much better for me."
Kirishima beamed openly, his heart racing from the unexpected validation. For once, he felt seen—not as just another hero or a good friend—but as someone genuinely desirable. He tilted his chin up playfully, clearly pleased. "Guess I have you to thank for proving me right tonight."
Hiruta's smirk widened, cocky and playful, drawing Kirishima further into his charm. "Although, I can think of a few ways you might thank me..." he murmured flirtatiously, eyes telling his intentions clearly. Beside him, Kirishima felt Jirou trembling slightly, suppressing laughter with obvious effort. Kirishima flushed bright red, warmth spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears as he tried to regain composure. Hiruta seemed thoroughly amused by his reaction, offering a softer, reassuring smile. "But that can wait until later," he continued smoothly, never breaking eye contact. "For now, can I buy you a drink and tempt you to dance?"
Kirishima smiled shyly, his heart fluttering with a mix of excitement and nervousness as he hesitated for just a moment, glancing uncertainly toward his friends for reassurance. Jirou shrugged casually, her shoulders shaking slightly with restrained laughter as she rapidly tapped away at her phone—undoubtedly spamming Yaomomo with live updates. The rest of the squad remained frozen, mouths still slightly agape as they stared between Kirishima and Hiruta, clearly struggling to process what was happening.
Brushing off his momentary hesitation, Kirishima drew a deep breath, steadying himself before breaking into an eager, bright smile. He nodded decisively, rising from his seat with renewed confidence. This—this was exactly the boost he'd been hoping for all night, and the fact that Hiruta was effortlessly attractive only sweetened the moment. Hiruta’s friend was already approaching Ashido, clearly having forgotten his earlier reluctance as they exchanged bright smiles. As Kirishima brushed past, he overheard Sero's voice murmuring softly behind him.
"One night without Blasty around and he can finally get laid? We're seriously not gonna do something?"
Kirishima’s heart lurched painfully, an unpleasant knot forming deep in his stomach. He clearly wasn't meant to hear that, but the words sank heavily into his thoughts. Had he really let Bakugou's constant presence—his stubborn feelings and unspoken pining—interfere with his life this much? He realized suddenly how he'd never even thought about being hit on or pursuing anyone else, not since Bakugou had been around. It felt oddly wrong, like he'd been living with blinders on.
Taking a determined breath, Kirishima steeled himself. Tonight was different—tonight he refused to let that dull, familiar ache keep him from something as simple and joyful as a good kiss again.
"Lead the way," Kirishima said warmly, eyes sparkling with newfound enthusiasm. Hiruta's smile widened, pleased and confident as ever, as he extended an arm, gently guiding Kirishima towards the bar and onto the dance floor. Behind him, Kirishima could practically feel the squad's stunned gazes following their every step—but tonight, he couldn't bring himself to care. For the first time in far too long, he felt genuinely desired.
The dance floor pulsed with music, the bass vibrating through Kirishima’s chest as Hiruta effortlessly drew him closer. Hiruta moved with confidence, rhythm smooth and magnetic, clearly comfortable commanding the space around him. Kirishima found himself relaxing into the moment, the earlier unease melting away as their movements synced, playful and electric.
He laughed as Hiruta leaned in, voice warm against Kirishima’s ear, teasing him with another flirtatious comment that sent heat rushing uncontrollably to his cheeks. Hiruta’s hands settled comfortably, almost possessively, on his hips, guiding him gently yet firmly through the beat. Kirishima felt a sudden rush of longing flood through him—a desperate ache he'd pushed away far too often. He hadn't realized just how starved he was for this kind of closeness, the simple intimacy of touch. He leaned into it instinctively, breath catching at the warmth radiating from Hiruta’s fingertips, soaking up every ounce of affection as though he'd been deprived for far too long.
Between songs, Hiruta pulled back slightly, his gaze intense yet affectionate. "Having fun?" he asked, voice just loud enough over the music.
Kirishima nodded eagerly, genuinely smiling. "Definitely," he admitted breathlessly, feeling genuinely carefree for the first time in a while. This was nice—no expectations, no weight of unspoken feelings. Just two people genuinely enjoying each other's company.
Kirishima looped his arms comfortably around Hiruta’s neck, closing the remaining distance between them until their chests nearly touched, lost in the intoxicating warmth radiating from him as he let his hips sway freely. He briefly wondered if his publicist would have an issue with him openly kissing a random, albeit incredibly attractive, guy in public. The thought amused him, making him smile to himself.
As the songs changed, Kirishima learned more about Hiruta—his voice warm and captivating as he talked about his interests: practicing judo, a genuine love for music, and an enthusiasm for cars. Each detail resonated with Kirishima, who found himself appreciating the effortlessly masculine and authentic charm Hiruta exuded.
In a momentary glance away, Kirishima noticed Ashido seated at the bar with Hiruta’s friend. Her expression, though smiling politely, seemed distracted, her eyes flickering continuously back toward him and Hiruta like they were a ticking time bomb. Kirishima appreciated his friends' concern—he really did—but couldn't help the faint irritation tugging at him. He could handle himself. Couldn't they see he deserved this chance at happiness, even if just for tonight?
From across the room, Kirishima spotted Sero and Kaminari, clearly engaged in an intense, panicked debate, their hushed whispers punctuated by exaggerated hand gestures. Jirou, rather than mediating, seemed more inclined to snap impatiently at them, visibly exasperated. Kirishima smiled, momentarily tempted to join his friends and tease them about their dramatics. However, the gentle, enticing sensation of a hand trailing softly down his back quickly drew his attention back to the captivating brown eyes staring warmly into his own. Right, he thought, his pulse quickening pleasantly, this was exactly the kind of fun he needed.
They'd been drinking and dancing for what felt like hours. Kirishima’s laughter came easy, a warm, vibrant sound blending effortlessly with the rhythmic thump of the bass echoing around them. Hiruta had introduced him to his friends—a group just as lively and welcoming, who quickly folded Kirishima into their conversations. Most of the night had been spent on the dance floor, bodies pressed close and movements synchronized, but in quieter moments, they shared stories, played rounds of twenty questions, and scrolled through Hiruta's extensive collection of car photos on his phone.
Now they were back on the dance floor, lights swirling and music pulsing through their veins. The drinks they'd shared throughout the evening had left Kirishima pleasantly tipsy, loosening his muscles and making every step feel fluid, every touch electrifying. He wasn't drunk, not exactly—but he hovered at that perfect, dizzying edge where inhibitions blurred and everything felt just a little more vibrant, a little more alive.
He smiled easily, leaning into Hiruta’s touch as they moved together, the world narrowing down to the simple thrill of the moment. Everything else—the squad's earlier concern, the lingering shadow of unspoken feelings—faded effortlessly into the background. Hiruta’s movements grew bolder, his hands sliding confidently down Kirishima’s sides to rest comfortably against his hips, pulling him in closer until there was barely any space left between them. Eijirou laughed, the sound carefree and bright as he tilted his head back, eyes closing briefly to savor the beat thrumming through his body. They had drifted further from his friends, now positioned near the front, close to the DJ’s booth, lost in their own private rhythm. He felt exhilarated, breathless even, under Hiruta's increasingly confident touch, his heart racing with a thrilling mix of excitement and disbelief. It felt surreal, almost—being desired so openly, so unapologetically. There was still an ache, a lingering uncertainty in the corner of his mind, but tonight he refused to give in to it. No more holding on to doubts, no more holding back his happiness. For once, he was determined to let himself fully experience this moment without reservation.
Kirishima felt exhilarated, breathless even, under Hiruta's increasingly confident touch, his heart racing with a thrilling mix of excitement and disbelief. It felt surreal, almost—being desired so openly, so unapologetically. There was still an ache, a lingering uncertainty in the corner of his mind, but tonight he refused to give in to it. No more holding on to doubts, no more holding back his happiness. For once, he was determined to let himself fully experience this moment without reservation. Hiruta’s touches became more sensual, his fingers threading softly through Kirishima's hair, sending tingles down his spine. Kirishima gasped quietly as Hiruta's lips grazed his neck, feather-light and warm despite their slight height difference, pulling him deeper into a blissful haze. Hiruta smiled against his skin, gentle and confident, and Kirishima felt a rush of gratitude and awe. His insecurities—about his desirability, his worthiness of such affection—had plagued him relentlessly, but here, in this moment, he felt genuinely lucky. Truly lucky, for once, to finally be wanted just as fiercely as he'd always longed for. Kirishima laughed softly, almost sheepishly, unfamiliar yet enthralled by the sensation of Hiruta's attention but making no move to pull away. "You're good at this," he murmured, voice filled with playful awe, though admittedly he didn't have much recent experience for comparison.
Hiruta chuckled warmly against Kirishima's neck, his voice dropping to a smooth, flirtatious murmur. "Glad you're enjoying it," he said, eyes bright with mischief as he leaned back just enough to meet Kirishima's gaze directly. "You know, maybe we should get out of here—or at least find somewhere a little more private? I'm really enjoying myself." His thumb gently traced circles on Kirishima's hip, sending a pleasant shiver through him. "Are you having fun too?"
Kirishima hesitated for a brief moment, his heartbeat quickening at Hiruta's suggestion. He'd wanted exactly this—attention, desire, closeness—but now that the possibility was right in front of him, he felt a wave of uncertainty. He wondered if moving too quickly would spoil this rare, beautiful moment he'd found himself in, or worse, if it would bring up memories and feelings he'd carefully tried to bury.
Kirishima blushed deeply, warmth flooding his cheeks as he nodded shyly, swaying comfortably in Hiruta's arms. "Yeah," he murmured softly, relief washing through him as he leaned closer again, grateful for Hiruta's easy patience. "That sounds good."" Kirishima hesitated slightly, warmth blossoming fiercely in his cheeks as he searched for words. "Kirishima hesitated slightly, warmth blossoming fiercely in his cheeks as he searched for words to jump off the deep end and hope he didn't get hurt.
Hiruta noticed this gentle hesitation immediately, smiling reassuringly as he brushed his fingers tenderly along Kirishima's jawline. "Or," Hiruta began smoothly, his eyes soft yet playful, "maybe we could stay here a bit longer. The waiting game is kind of my specialty—and it definitely makes the payoff more rewarding, don't you think?"
Kirishima blushed deeper, swaying gently to the music and nodding bashfully, unable to hold back the shy but genuine smile that lit up his face. "Can... is it cool if we wait a bit more?"
Hiruta smiled reassuringly, clearly unfazed by the gentle hesitation. "Of course," he replied. "It's whatever you want."
Kirishima smiled softly, fingers resting lightly against Hiruta's back as he breathed heavily, heart racing. The air felt charged, every moment stretching out into slow, blissful anticipation.
"God, you sound as pretty as you look," Hiruta murmured, voice low and gentle, drawing Kirishima’s gaze up to meet his eyes directly. "Kirishima, can I kiss you?"
Kirishima swallowed nervously, a shy nod escaping him before he even fully processed the question. Finally—finally, he thought. Could this really be the payoff he’d been quietly hoping for, after years spent waiting for something that felt impossibly out of reach? Would this single moment justify all the lonely nights and silent yearning?
He felt himself leaning in slowly, hesitantly, unsure if the deliberate pace was intentional or just his own nerves betraying him. Hiruta moved closer, and Kirishima could almost taste the beer-tinted warmth of his breath on his chin, so close now—
But suddenly, the warmth disappeared, and Hiruta pulled sharply away. Kirishima’s eyes fluttered fully open, confusion knitting his brow as he registered the strange quiet that had descended despite the music still pulsing loudly around them. People had subtly shifted, clearing space as if instinctively sensing danger.
His answer stood directly before him, blazing eyes wild with something primal and terrifying—pure, unchecked rage and a desperate, almost anguished intensity Kirishima had never witnessed before. Bakugou Katsuki stood there, entire body vibrating with barely contained violence, jaw clenched so tight Kirishima feared it might shatter. An empty whiskey glass dangled dangerously from his trembling fist, forgotten, while the other hand gripped Hiruta’s collar so tightly the fabric strained audibly, lifting him effortlessly off his feet. Hiruta, a large and naturally imposing man, let out a small, strangled croak of shock, eyes wide in disbelief and sudden fear, clearly alarmed at being so easily suspended in the air. Kirishima blinked once, then twice, unable to fully grasp the surreal intensity of the moment. Bakugou shoved the empty whiskey glass into the hands of a startled bystander, silencing their indignant protest with a single, blistering glare. Three blinks. His other hand shot up to Hiruta’s collar as well, small explosions sparking dangerously from his palms, a wild and uncontrolled reaction Kirishima hadn't witnessed since their early days at U.A. The raw fury in Bakugou's eyes was so visceral, so overwhelming, that Kirishima felt his breath catch sharply, frozen in a mixture of shock, fear, and something deeper, more complicated and frighteningly familiar.
The entire world seemed to stop, the deafening music reduced to a distant murmur, until it felt like you could hear a pin drop in the sudden, charged silence. Bakugou's chest heaved violently, his breath a harsh, ragged panting that matched the wild fire blazing in his eyes, cheeks flushed vividly from alcohol and raw, uncontrolled anger. He yanked Hiruta even closer, their noses nearly brushing as Bakugou's voice twisted into a feral snarl, "Who the fuck gave you the right to touch him?" His words cracked with an almost animalistic intensity, teeth bared, breath hot with whiskey-fueled rage. Hiruta attempted to speak, panic evident in his widened eyes, but Bakugou's grip tightened further, explosions crackling dangerously from his trembling hands. "Don't fucking talk," Bakugou spat venomously, voice dropping to a vicious whisper, "or I swear to God, it'll be the last thing you ever do."
Hiruta managed a weak, defiant sputter, clearly attempting to hold onto a sliver of dignity. "Y-you have no right to talk to me like—"
Bakugou's expression turned feral, unhinged, his eyes flashing dangerously as his grip tightened even further, choking off Hiruta’s words. His voice rose sharply, a guttural shout tearing from his throat. ""What the fuck do you think you were doing?" Bakugou snarled, voice low and dangerously unsteady, a dark tremor underlying each furious word. His eyes blazed, a depthless pit of rage mixed with something dangerously possessive. "Do you have any fucking idea who you're touching? Any clue how fucking indecent it was for you to lay a hand on him?" His face twisted further into something dangerously unstable, eyes gleaming with an unsettling, almost psychotic intensity. His grip constricted brutally, jerking Hiruta closer until their faces were nearly pressed together.
Around them, the crowd watched anxiously, every face etched with apprehension, yet no one dared to move. Kirishima’s heart pounded violently in his chest, a chaotic rhythm drowning out rational thought. He was trapped between instinctively stepping forward to defuse the tension and being utterly immobilized by the terrifyingly raw emotion pouring from Bakugou. He had witnessed Bakugou angry countless times—but never like this. This rage was explosive, incendiary, possessive, and blisteringly personal, driven by a profound, desperate, and utterly consuming force Kirishima had never imagined Bakugou capable of feeling.
"Honestly, what makes you think you could ever—fucking ever—put your filthy hands on him? Do you have any clue how fucking indecently you were touching someone like him? In front of all these people?!" The other man opened his mouth to answer, but clamped it right shut when Katsuki continued to steamroll him wit his words. "I outta make you vanish without a goddamn trace, erase your entire fucking existence so thoroughly that even your shadow forgets it belonged to you." His threats dripped with ominous detail, promises of unspeakable consequences hanging thickly in the air, chilling everyone within earshot into stunned silence.
Eijirou finally snapped himself from the shocked trance, swallowing hard against the sickening mix of panic and twisted excitement churning in his stomach. Despite a small, disturbing part of him reveling in Bakugou's possessive rage, he knew this had spiraled dangerously out of control. He stepped forward quickly, voice shaking as he intervened, desperate to deescalate before anyone pulled out their phone to record.
"Katsuki," he said urgently, reaching out but hesitating just before touching him. "Let him go, please."
Bakugou’s gaze snapped sharply to Kirishima, his wild eyes burning with an intensity that seemed almost painful. His chest heaved as he tried—and failed—to reign in his explosive temper, but then he turned back to Hiruta, his voice dropping to a dangerously controlled whisper.
"Here's what you're gonna do," Bakugou began slowly, each word precise and dripping with menace. "You're going to fucking apologize to him, properly, and then you're gonna scamper the fuck out of here with your tail between your legs like the pathetic loser you clearly are." His grip tightened just enough to elicit another strained gasp from Hiruta. "And if you so much as see him again—anywhere, even on a goddamn news article—you'll kick your own sorry ass for ever daring to look at him. Do we have a fucking understanding?"
Kirishima huffed softly, a reluctant surge of pride mingling with his embarrassment and shock. He couldn't help but find it manly that Bakugou would defend him so fiercely, even if it was clearly crossing a line. Hiruta whimpered, eyes flickering anxiously as he managed to choke out a quiet, "What the fuck?"
Bakugou's reaction was immediate and merciless, voice sharp and dangerous as he barked at him further. Hiruta squirmed uncomfortably, trying desperately to bow his head despite Bakugou's tight grip. "I'm sorry, Kirishima-san—"
"Unlearn his fucking name right now," Bakugou spat viciously, eyes blazing with fury. Hiruta stammered, visibly shaken, and corrected himself hastily.
"Right... I'm sorry for ever touching you or thinking I had the right," he muttered quickly, voice trembling as though he were being held at gunpoint. "It was wrong of me." Hiruta muttered quickly, his voice trembling as though held at gunpoint. Bakugou growled lowly, eyes narrowed dangerously, urging him further. Hiruta's large frame seemed to collapse in the hero's grip as he hastily added, "And—and I'm sorry for ever speaking to you, or looking at you." His eyes darted nervously to Bakugou, like he was silently pleading for his life (he was). Bakugou, completely unmoved, glared mercilessly and dropped him to the ground without care.
"Now get the fuck out of here," Bakugou snarled, his voice lethal and cold. "Never show your fucking face here again. Out. I'll be watching." Hiruta scrambled to his feet, scurrying away into the crowd like a frightened mouse. The sight might have been almost comical if not for the simmering tension and the frustration beginning to boil inside Kirishima. He opened his mouth to protest, but the blond was already stalking behind like a jaguar, parting the crowd like the fucking red sea.
Kaminari scampered over, nearly stumbling as he reached Kirishima, his expression frantic and apologetic. "Bakugou's here. Well—he's actually been here for like, half an hour now," he blurted nervously, avoiding direct eye contact. Behind him, the rest of the squad trailed, wearing similarly anxious and apologetic expressions.
"Hey," Kaminari asked, suddenly distracted, "where'd your date go?"
Kirishima's eye twitched visibly, and he turned slowly, dangerously, toward his friends. "What do you mean he's been here?" he ground out, barely restraining the frustration bubbling beneath his skin. "He's supposed to be home around four in the morning."
Sero, visibly uncomfortable but determined to clarify, raised a hand cautiously. "Uh, well, he finished his mission early, so he was already heading back, and Denki might've—um—sent a few sneaky photos in the group chat—"
Kirishima blinked, a chilling, sarcastic smile stretching his lips. "What."
"I literally told him not to," Jirou interjected, rolling her eyes as she glanced around the bar, noting the crowd's fading interest now that the immediate drama was over. "Bakugou didn’t kill that guy, did he?"
The squad quickly attempted to explain, their words tumbling over each other. Apparently, Bakugou had stormed into the bar, immediately demanding they break up Kirishima and Hiruta. They had refused, arguing he had no right to interfere, but lost track of him when he stormed off toward the bar to drink. From that point, they'd been desperately trying to warn Kirishima, unable to reach him because he'd left his phone at their table.
Kirishima felt his head spinning, the fragments of reality he'd carefully pieced together shattering around him like glass. Why would Bakugou care this much? Why would he rush straight to the bar instead of heading home to rest? Kirishima's thoughts raced, feverish and chaotic, brushing dangerously close to an idea he had long dismissed as impossible—ridiculous, even. But now, it seemed all too real, too plausible. His pulse hammered painfully in his throat, an impossible revelation creeping closer, setting his nerves aflame with anxiety and hope in equal measure. Could Bakugou's reaction mean…? Kirishima swallowed thickly, fear and longing swirling together until they were indistinguishable, leaving him utterly baffled, breathless, and on the very edge of understanding something he'd never allowed himself to believe.
Suddenly, Kirishima's composure shattered entirely. Tears burned at the corners of his eyes, frustration and loneliness spilling out uncontrollably. "I just—I just wanted someone to like me, someone to want me for once! All I wanted was one fucking kiss," he choked out, voice thick with emotion. He turned sharply on Denki, eyes blazing with hurt. "And you had to go and ruin it! Why couldn't you just let me have this?"
He swung his attention wildly around, trembling with anger. "And Katsuki—Katsuki scared him off! He's probably fled the damn country by now. But you know what? Most of all, I'm mad at myself. I'm so—so unlikeable, so damn pathetic that this always happens." His voice cracked, pain raw and vulnerable as he continued to rant, edges fracturing visibly.
Ashido stepped forward firmly, placing a soothing yet steadying hand on his shoulder. "Eijirou," she said gently but with conviction, "Bakugou came all the way from Osaka just to see you. He literally texted you saying he was coming—you just didn't see it."
She took a deep breath, meeting his gaze squarely. "Did it ever occur to you that we've never set you up or played wingman because we all thought you and Bakugou were already together?"
Kirishima's world came to a sudden, violent halt. "No," he whispered, horror dawning across his face, "there's no way."
Kaminari awkwardly cut in, rubbing the back of his neck. "I mean, dude, it’s always been super obvious you had it bad for him. But recently, seeing you constantly all over him and him, well—letting you... y'know? It's clear the guy's in lo—"
"You're freaking him out. Stop," Jirou interjected sharply, silencing Kaminari immediately. She turned back to Kirishima, calm yet firm. "Eij, take a second. Have you seen Katsuki tonight? We're here because we couldn't find him, and now we're worried because the guy you were with isn't here, either. You said he scared him off." Kirishima could only manage a stunned nod, his entire world spinning in chaos.
Katsuki's voice cut through the heavy silence like a chainsaw. "Oi. We're leaving. None of you idiots die on your way home," he said sharply, his eyes fierce and unapologetic as he pushed through the squad, reaching gently but firmly for Kirishima’s arm. "You," he murmured roughly, voice low and commanding, "are coming with me. We're talking about whatever fucking show that was."
Kirishima stared dumbfounded, anger and confusion warring within him. He bit back the urge to snap at Bakugou right then and there, opting instead for a tense nod. "Fucking fine," he spat, shrugging off Bakugou’s hand and shoving his own into his pockets as they exited through the bar's back door into a shadowy alley.
Once outside, Kirishima turned aggressively on his heel, confronting Bakugou head-on. "what?" he demanded harshly.
Bakugou’s eyes narrowed dangerously, voice razor-edged with fury and accusation. "What the fuck do you think you were doing back there? Seriously, what possessed you to pull something like that?"
The alleyway felt suffocatingly tight, tension vibrating between them as Kirishima's voice trembled, building to a painful crescendo. "Look, Katsuki—I appreciate you looking out for me, I really do," he started, frustration crackling through his tone. "But it's not like I can't handle myself."
Bakugou stood motionless, jaw clenched tightly, expression rigid yet eyes betraying an intense storm of emotion beneath the surface.
Kirishima felt the dam burst, words flooding out unchecked, fueled by years of suppressed insecurities. "I just—I just wanted someone to look at me, to actually want me," he confessed, voice breaking painfully. "I haven't felt that kind of touch, or—or affection, in years. Nobody ever looks at me like how I dream they would. God, Katsuki, I'm fucking pathetic. I'm just some hopeless romantic idiot desperate for a single stupid kiss."
Bakugou inhaled sharply, a shaky sigh leaving his lips as his expression softened just barely. He finally spoke, voice rough and fragile. "I didn't want to do it like this."
Confusion flared in Kirishima's chest, mixing dangerously with hurt and anger. "What, didn't wanna scare off the only guy who's shown interest in me since I was twenty-one?" he snapped, resentment clear.
"No!" Bakugou barked sharply, visibly shaking as he struggled to gather his thoughts. "No—fuck, that's not it. I—" He paused, frustration and vulnerability intertwining painfully. "Eijirou, do you even know how fucking selfish I am?"
Kirishima blinked, taken aback. "What?"
Bakugou surged forward, voice raw and unsteady, words tumbling out unfiltered. "I hate seeing anyone else so much as look in your direction," he admitted bitterly. "So I get possessive when we're out, and then I fucking resent you for being so damn touchy because every single goddamn time you touch me, it makes me so weak—makes me fall even fucking harder."
Kirishima stepped back slightly, eyes wide as Bakugou continued.
"You look at me like you trust me, like we've got this open fucking secret," Bakugou breathed heavily, voice straining painfully. "I thought it was obvious. I thought you knew exactly how I fucking felt—how we both felt. But I guess I was wrong. So if you don't feel the same, fine. Fuck, I'll get over it. But you—do you have any idea how fucking hard it was to watch someone else put their hands on you? Someone who didn't fucking deserve it? Because no one does—not me, not anyone."
Bakugou stood there, utterly exposed and vulnerable, chest heaving as his breath misted in the chilled air.
Kirishima felt stripped bare, raw emotion crackling painfully through his veins. He opened his mouth, struggling to form words—any words—but nothing coherent came. Anger, longing, and confusion swirled together, overwhelming. "I—I didn't think you'd ever—" he choked out, fists clenched tight. "I was only doing this because I was lonely and sure you'd never feel the same. I thought this ache wouldn't ever leave, so I was just trying to numb it—"
Katsuki didn't let him finish, didn’t waste another second. He lunged like a man being dragged underwater, like every inch of him was starved and this—this was the only air he'd ever breathe again. His hands gripped Kirishima’s face like he wasn’t sure he’d get the chance to touch him twice, thumbs trembling against sharp cheekbones. His lips crashed into Kirishima’s with a desperation so raw, so completely unguarded, it sent a shiver down the redhead’s spine, not like before, not like anything he'd ever experienced before or ever will. But the kiss wasn’t violent. It was reverent.
As if Bakugou had rehearsed this in dreams he never dared admit to. As if he was begging without words: let this mean something. Let this save me. And beneath the fire, the quake of it all, was the gentlest press of lips—like Kirishima was made of glass and Bakugou had finally learned how to be soft with the things he couldn’t live without.
Bakugou pulled back abruptly, breath catching in his throat, eyes wide like he couldn’t believe what he’d just done. "I—I’m sorry," he stammered, voice impossibly small, brittle at the edges. Still, Eijirou Didn’t give him the space to retreat. He reached greedily for the other man—no, not him, for Katsuki—fisting the front of his jacket like he’d been drowning too and only just realized who’d been holding him up this whole time. And then their lips were crashing together again, heat meeting heat, all hesitation lost in the flood of everything they hadn’t said until now. Katsuki held him like he was something sacred and rare and finally, finally his. Their mouths crashed together again in a kiss so dizzyingly messy it left them breathless, teeth knocking, hands everywhere, hearts stuttering against ribs like war drums. They kissed like they’d waited their whole lives for this moment and hadn’t been sure it would ever come. Like they could make up for lost years in seconds. Kirishima laughed against his lips, wet and shaking, like he couldn’t believe he was allowed this, allowed him.
Katsuki cupped the back of his neck, forehead resting against his as they broke just enough to breathe, gasping against each other’s lips.
"You deserve better," he whispered, like it was the one truth left in the world.
"There is nobody better," Kirishima said, no hesitation in his voice, no room for doubt. And for once, that aching hole in his chest filled, completely. It repaired something in both of them. Something jagged, something long splintered. The exes, the heartbreak, the nights spent wondering if they’d ever be enough—none of it fucking mattered anymore. That was the beauty o it, one thing giving way and them finally able to really be them, unconditionally.
They kissed for what felt like forever—breathless and needy, a storm of laughter and whispered confessions between gasps. Kirishima muttered a dazed, breathless, "finally," against Bakugou’s lips, his fingers gripping his shirt like he never intended to let go. Katsuki kissed him like a man making up for lost time, like someone who didn’t believe in second chances but was being handed one and clutching it with everything he had.
They’d have a hell of a lot to work through—years of repressed feelings, blurred lines, missed cues. But it didn’t scare them. If anyone could make a challenge look easy, it was them.
When they finally came up for air, they made their way back inside, only to be greeted by the rest of the squad still at their booth. Sero handed Jirou a paper bill the second he saw them.
"What?" Kirishima said.
"Fuck off," Bakugou muttered at the same time.
Ashido smiled wide, eyes glinting. "What? You guys are creeping me out."
Kirishima slid into the seat beside her, and Bakugou followed, both trying to pretend like the earth hadn’t just tilted beneath their feet, like the entire foundation of their relationship hadn’t just cracked open to reveal something bright and molten..
"You two," she announced, "are totally, absofuckinglutely, irreversibly getting laid tonight."
"No," Bakugou barked instantly.
Kirishima turned scarlet.
"What we are doing," Bakugou growled, "is taking our fucking time. And you’re all minding your own business." Ashido grinned after booing and waving him off, Katsuki's lips slowly curling into the start of one.
"All it took for you two to confess was Katsuki ripping some poor guy apart." Hanta said. "Boy, oh boy, Shoto and Midoriya are gonna eat this up."
Kirishima, still confused as fuck, bless his heart, sputtered. "Wh-what makes you think that?!"
Kaminari snorted into his beer. "Please. Just look at you two. It's obvious."
And shit, it was. Maybe for the first time, it was. Not just in the way they gravitated toward each other like magnets that had stopped pretending they weren’t aligned. But in the quiet—the way Bakugou’s leg pressed against Kirishima’s under the table like a grounding wire, in how Kirishima glanced at him with something that looked suspiciously like awe. There was a new gravity to the way they sat, like something delicate had finally settled into place, and no one wanted to breathe wrong and unsettle it. It was in the softened angles of Bakugou’s glare, in the way he didn’t shove Kirishima away when their shoulders brushed. In the way Kirishima still looked like he couldn’t believe any of this was real. They were different now. Not entirely, not obviously—but enough that the people who knew them best could feel it in their bones. For once, neither of them cared anymore who noticed. Because for once, they weren’t pretending. And that felt like breathing for the first time. Like life.
Love.