Chapter Text
Kirishima is starting to think the villain missed. He sits with his legs dangling off of the back of the ambulance, feeling way too normal for someone who supposedly just got hit with a mysterious quirk. Honestly, he feels fine. Just a bit tired, but that’s pretty normal after chasing a villain halfway across the city.
Fatgum stands in front of him with his arms crossed tight and mouth turned down with concern. Amajiki lingers beside him, watching the scene with triple the worry.
“I dunno, Red. You’re sure you don’t feel any different?”
“I’m fine,” Kirishima says for the third time, reluctantly pulling on a shirt. “Seriously, Fat. I feel totally normal.”
Fatgum hums, clearly unconvinced. “I still think you should head home, take the rest of the night off, just to be safe.”
“What? I’ve barely even started!” Kirishima whines, “I promise I’m fine. I’d tell you if I wasn't.”
Fatgum shakes his head. “Sorry Red, that’s an order, not a suggestion. If this is some kind of delayed effect or something with a trigger, I won’t risk it hitting you in the middle of patrol.”
Kirishima groans. He sends a pleading look to Amajiki, who shakes his head and waves his hands frantically as he steps away. “Don’t look at me,” He mutters, “I agree with Fat.”
Kirishima groans again, slumping back onto the floor of the ambulance. He pretends he can’t hear Fatgum laughing at him. He sits back up when the man starts talking again. Admittedly, getting up is more difficult than it should be. There’s a growing heaviness to his limbs, but Kirishima shrugs it off as the aforementioned exhaustion.
“Suneater can escort you home.” Fatgum says. Amajiki nods quickly, but Kirishima lurches forward.
“What? No way! I don’t need an escort, it’s way more important that he’s out here to help people in need!”
“Kid, as far as I’m concerned you are one of those people in need,” Fat says, “Even if we aren’t sure exactly how yet.”
Kirishima pouts up at him until Fatgum sighs again, relenting. “Could you at least text one of your friends to see if they can come pick you up?”
He winces. It’s Hagakure’s birthday today. The rest of Class A was planning on partying tonight, and almost all of his friends were either passed out from the alcohol or far too intoxicated to drive. The only one unquestioningly sober was definitely already asleep. “Uh, none of them are available tonight.” Kirishima says, unconvincingly.
Fatgum scoffs, smirking slightly. “Right…your friend’s birthday.” Kirishima flushes and chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. Fatgum only shakes his head and mutters something about the youth as he taps on his phone. “Okay then, I’ll have my driver from the agency to take you back. No arguments. And you need to text me when you get home.”
“Yes sir,” Kirishima mumbles.
“Oh don’t give me that,” Fatgum insists. He ruffles Kirishima’s hair until he gets a smile. He raises his phone again and adds, “I’ve explained the situation to Easerhead, he knows you’re on your way back and is going to head over to help us interrogate the villain who made contact with you. He’ll be the one to update you as soon as we have a better understanding of the quirk.”
“Alright, thanks Fat.” Krishima says, getting to his feet. Now that he’s standing he can really feel the exhaustion.
“Stay safe, Red. Make sure at least one of your friends knows what’s going on, okay? And text me!”
“I will, I will,” Kirishima promises, laughing as he walks towards Fatgum’s car, the driver is already waiting by the door for him. He slides into the passenger seat and feels the way his body sags when he hits the cushion, like every twitch of a muscle takes more effort than the last. He hopes some good sleep will fix him.
The driver starts the car. Kirishima makes pleasant conversation with him, mostly to keep himself awake. He slips his phone out of his pocket. It's just past 11pm. He has one message from Aizawa sitting at the top of his screen.
Dadzawa
Fatgum has explained the situation to me. Text me when you reach the dorms safely.
Kirishima smiles and scrolls down a little further. Kaminari’s been sending him the stupidest photos he can take of drunk Sero throughout the night. He has a bunch of texts from the group chat, mostly from them planning when to head downstairs. He glimpses the most recent ones at the top.
[9:33pm] denki’s babysitters
smellophane
where ARE you guys
ji-bro
One thing about me and Mina is we r going to be 30min late
Kirishima smiles at his friends’ antics as he opens his phone. Bakugo is definitely in bed by now, but Kirishima texts him anyway.
Kirishima: hey! omw back now
He clicks his phone off and drops it in his lap, not expecting an answer. But his screen lights up again a few seconds later.
Kats 💥: You’re early. What happened?
He grins as he grabs his phone to respond.
Kirishima: how r u still awake
Kirishima: wayyyy past ur bedtime
Kats 💥: Shut the fuck up. The idiots kept me up all night.
Kirishima: awww so u did go to the party!
Kats 💥: Stop avoiding my question.
Kirishima: I’m fineee, fats being paranoid. long story, i’ll tell u tmrw
Kats 💥: Why the fuck tomorrow?
Kirishima: well i assume ull b asleep by the time im back tnt
Kats 💥: I won’t.
Kirishima: okayy well then ill b back soon
Kats 💥: K.
Kirishima rolls his eyes at the dramatics and moves to tuck his phone away, only to get a text from Ashido a second later.
#1BESTIE4EVA: GIRL R U DYING 😭😭
Kirishima: IM NOT DYING ??!!?
#1BESTIE4EVA: slayy ok see u when u get home ✨💗💋😘🥰🥳
He laughs to himself. Ashido is obviously drunk and hanging around Bakugo, whose concern radiates off of him the same way most emotions do: in hard to differentiate waves of vague murderous intent. She's easily appeased by Kirishima’s basic reassurance, he doesn’t get any more texts for the rest of the drive.
Without the distraction, it becomes increasingly obvious how tired he is. Maybe the motion of the car is lulling him to sleep, but Kirishima doesn’t think that’s it. It feels more like teetering on the edge of passing out, his limbs heavy and his vision blurring. He slumps against the window and hopes it’s only exhaustion, though it seems to be worsening every second.
When the car finally stops in front of U.A.s main gate, Kirishima isn’t sure he can stand. He manages to pull himself off of the door as the driver gets out and comes around to open it for him, and through sheer willpower he forces himself to his feet. He makes it two steps before he has to harden his knees to keep them from buckling, and he’s clearly not doing a good job at hiding it.
“Are you alright, Red Riot?” The driver asks carefully, “I could escort you to the door–”
“I’m okay, thanks.” Kirishima says quickly. He waves to the man and thanks him again, his arm burning from the effort of lifting it. He unhardens his knees and walks through the gate, scanning his student ID to get in. He promptly stumbles back against it when it shuts behind him. He takes a few deep breaths, but breathing isn’t the issue. It’s moving. It feels like trying to walk through the ocean, every limb weighted and uncooperative. He has half a mind to reach for his phone and text Bakugo to meet him at the gates and carry him back. It’d be humiliating for both of them, but the blond would do it. Kirishima knows he would, it’s exactly why he doesn’t ask.
His phone stays in his pocket and he stumbles forward towards the dorms. The walk is both agonizingly slow and entirely non-existent at once. It’s a long trudge through murky awareness, he blinks and he’s at the doors.
He blinks harder to clear his vision, sends a quick text to Aizawa and Fatgum, and shoves his way into the common room. He gets a second of a clear picture of the people still here. He can see the mess of blond of the back of Bakugo’s head. Light glints off one of the cuffs around Ashido’s horns. Midoriya is curled up against the armrest of the second couch, in a button-up open over his t-shirt and cargo shorts. He’s scribbling something in one of his notebooks. Kirishima can see the legs of someone on the third couch, but can’t see who it is from here.
The door clicks shut behind him and everyone snaps to attention. Ashido is close enough to fill his vision in a second.
“Kiri!” She squeals, skipping up to him. She’s still dressed for the party, in a short, tight dress that’s so sparkly it almost hurts to look at. She has elaborate wings of eyeliner in a matching shade of gold around her dark eyes, jewelry dangling from every bit of her, so she jingles like a bell as she approaches. She’s got a black zip-up hoodie open over her outfit, just a little too big for her. Kirishima is pretty sure its Bakugo’s, not that he’d ever admit to handing it over when he undoubtedly noticed her shivering in her little dress. He gets the confirmation when Ashido launches herself at him, and as he catches her the first thing he notices is that she smells like Bakugo under her own perfume.
“I’m so glad you’re okay!” She says, winding her arms tight around his neck. He hugs her back around the middle, just as tight, dropping his forehead onto her shoulder. It feels like the hug breathes life back into him. He feels more awake and aware instantly.
“Hi,” He says, incredibly delayed. Even he hears the relief in his own voice, “I’m okay.” Rejuvenated by his relief and his surge of energy, he laughs as he tightens his arms around Ashido’s ribs, “You,” He lifts her easily and spins her as she squeals in a way that’s both a complaint and a laugh, “Have had too much to drink.”
She shoves him away and swats at his shoulder, pouting with a level of exaggeration that would give her away if everything else already hadn’t. “Have not!” She snaps, hands on her hips.
“Have too,” Kirishima flicks one of the dangling stars on her horn cuffs, “Katsuki is only this nice to you when he knows you’re too drunk to remember it in the morning.” He tugs on the end of the hoodie she’s wearing to illustrate his point.
She pushes at Kirishima’s chest, laughing through her attempts to defend herself. His eyes flick past her and find Bakugo’s, like a key clicking into a lock. The blond is standing beside the couch, arms crossed and stare calculating. Kirishima catches the way he was smiling slightly only because he watches it fade.
As soon as Ashido backs out of Kirishima’s reach, the energy he’d regained dwindles. He doesn’t feel as exhausted as he had before he got to the dorms, but it still feels like he’s a phone that’s had the charging cord yanked too soon. He can’t stop his shoulders from sagging slightly and his smile from twitching. Judging by the shift in Bakugo’s expression, he notices it too.
Maybe if it were just the two of them he’d feel more inclined to blurt out the full explanation, but Ashido’s lingering and he can feel the second piercing stare of Midoriya’s eyes from the couch, scanning and doing the same calculations as the blond who insists they have nothing in common. He stopped writing when Kirishima walked in, and now he’s clutching the remote in his hand, having muted the television in front of them when Ashido announced Kirishima’s presence. Kirishima stares at the screen to avoid looking at anyone else and realizes they’d been watching the news. Trying to figure out what had happened to him. But it hadn’t been a scene worth any cameras. Most of the people watching the fight probably didn’t even notice anything was wrong. Typical story for Kirishima.
But Bakugo notices now. Before Ashido can blurt something else or Midoriya can ask any questions— because Kirishma can tell that he really, really wants to– Bakugo is in front of him, chin turned down, looking up through his eyelashes. He doesn’t touch Kirishima, or reach out at all, only fills the space in front of him, close enough for Kirishima to feel the proximity like electricity in the air.
He doesn’t ask, not yet. His voice has the rasp to it that comes when he speaks quietly, like he’s trying to make sure no one else hears them despite the words being nothing special at all.
“I put on some rice when you texted.” Bakugo says, almost harsh. Except coming from him, it’s a million vulnerabilities tucked behind a mask of simplicity. He jerks his chin towards the couch, where Ashido is plopping herself back down with an impressive lack of grace. “Sit down.” Bakugo commands. “You need to eat.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer. He knows by now to leave no room for Kirishima to argue. He spins on his heel and stalks towards the kitchen. Midoriya jumps to his feet as Bakugo passes, tossing the remote and eyeing Kirishima. He wrings his hands, opens his mouth, then Bakugo glares at him and he presses his lips together and promptly sits back down.
Ashido slaps the empty cushion beside her, tucking her legs in underneath her as she makes room for him. Kirishima can feel the exhaustion worsening. Bakugo’s proximity had been a distraction, not a cure. He’s starting to feel lethargic again, eyelids heavy.
He stumbles towards the couch and finally realizes who the other body is. Jiro’s asleep, sprawled out and snoring softly on one of the smaller couches. Her hair is mussed and her platform boots have been abandoned, kicked off haphazardly onto the floor beside her. There’s a pile of earrings on the coffee table, and she’s in a hoodie that is too bright to go with her shredded black jeans and blacker makeup. Kaminari’s, undoubtedly. Someone’s put a cup of water beside her jewelry. That was probably Bakugo.
It’s the last clear thought Kirishima has. He doesn’t get much warning when his knees finally give. He doesn’t remember closing his eyes, but he must, because he only hears Ashido’s sharp gasp and Midoriya’s frantic shout of his name. He has to snap his eyes back open when he feels hands fumbling to get a grip on his shoulders. He sees wide green eyes. He watches the flickering light of One For All fade around Midoriya, and feels a twist of guilt that he wasted precious sparks of the embers just to reach him in time. Bakugo would surely hate the sacrifice.
Except in a second Bakugo is there, and none of his worry is aimed in Midoriya’s direction. Instead he’s nudging Midoriya aside, voice frantic and hands fluttering.
“ Eijiro ,” He hisses. His hands are all over him, two fingers on his neck, the back of his hand against Kirishima’s forehead, a thumb grazing his lips. When none of those reveal any immediate answers, Bakugo only gets more frantic. “Are you hurt?” He grabs at Kirishima’s shirt, tugging it up, “Where are you fucking hurt?”
“‘M not…” Kirishima mumbles, but he barely gets the words out before Bakugo grabs his chin in a grip that would be bruising for anyone else.
“Do not fucking pull this shit right now–”
“Kacchan!” Midoriya snaps. Bakugo’s glare locks onto him, but it’s focus, not rage. “Help me get him to the couch.”
Bakugo catches Kirishima’s other wrist and swings himself under his arm. The three of them stumble towards the couch as Ashido frantically pushes herself off of it. Jiro starts to stir with the commotion.
Kirishima is feeling better by the time they get him seated, though he’s a little overwhelmed by the strange and sudden fluctuation of his physical state. Bakugo stays on the couch beside him, Kirishima’s arm still half across his shoulder, but Midoriya is back on his feet beside Ashido.
“Should we call Aizawa?” Ashido’s asking him. Midoriya shakes his head.
“Recovery girl is faster. I have her contact information. Or maybe All Might–”
Jiro sits up, rubbing at her eyes as she looks around. “What happened? ‘S Kiri back?”
“Eijiro,” Bakugo grabs his chin again, forcing his focus onto him, “You need to focus. What the hell happened?”
“I–” Kirishima starts, but the voices around him are rising, a wave of growing panic he is undeserving of, and is entirely an over-exaggeration for what was probably something he could sleep off. He stares at Bakugo, but can’t tune out the overlapping voices of his friends.
“I’m going to text Recovery girl.” Midoriya’s saying, “Maybe call an ambulance.”
“Wait–” Kirishima tries to interject, shaking his head as much as Bakugo’s grip allows. “Don’t do that.”
“What’s going on? Who needs an ambulance?”
“Kiri keeps falling unconscious!”
“Wait– woah– is he okay?”
“Guys, I’m fi–”
“We don’t have time to explain! We have to–”
“Everyone shut the hell up! ” Bakugo screams.
The room falls silent instantly, but Bakugo doesn’t even wait for it, just snaps his stare back to Kirishima. He releases his face, hand resting on his shoulder and squeezing for only a second before he pulls away.
“...You here now?” He mutters, eyes still flicking across his expression. He’s close enough for Kirishima to feel the pressure of his knee against his thigh.
Kirishima nods. “I’m good, sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Explain.” Bakugo snaps.
“I can’t. I don’t know what’s going on either.” He insists. He glances at the other three, lingering nervously. He gives them a small smile. “But I’m okay now, seriously. Don’t call anyone.” He singles out Midoriya, “Thanks for the catch.”
Midoriya sighs, body visibly slumping with relief. Ashido echoes the noise, dropping onto the floor and collapsing against the couch where Jiro is propped up on her elbows, in probably about as alert a stance as she can manage.
Bakugo meets Midoriya’s eyes and jerks his chin towards the kitchen. Kirishima has watched them do this a million times, have entire conversations in stares and gestures. Now that it’s about him, he wishes he were able to decode it, but he’s always known it’s a language not meant for anyone else to learn.
Midoriya nods stiffly and moves for the kitchen. Jiro groans and slumps against the couch. Ashido wordlessly hands her the water, bracelets jingling softly as she reaches over to pat the top of her head.
Bakugo is still staring at Kirishima like he’s expecting him to spontaneously combust at any moment. His hands are in his lap, but they linger just close enough to the hem of Kirishima’s shirt to be telling. He’s still expecting blood, or some other form of physical evidence. It’s always driven Bakugo a little crazy when people don’t bleed. He doesn’t enjoy seeing people hurt, but he knows how to apply pressure to a wound and make it stop. Applying patience to a mind to make it confess is an art that requires less brute force and more careful strategizing. That’s always been Midoriya’s specialty. And Kirishima’s specialty has always been silence and stillness. He never breaks in a way that Bakugo can stitch up, but Bakugo still sees the wounds. Kirishima recognizes the madness that always comes with realizing it’s not the kind he’s good at fixing.
But time and war make for powerful educators. They have leapt this hurdle before, enough times that it feels lower now, or they’ve just gotten taller. Either way, Bakugo’s acceptance comes with the withdrawing of his hands and the softening of his expression. With it is a short silence that Kirishima knows represents the most patience he can muster. Kirishima smiles, a silent agreement to meet him halfway.
“Tell me what you do know.” Bakugo says, the gentleness of the words sounding a little forced. Kirishima doesn’t mind, he likes that he can hear Bakugo making an effort.
Midoriya returns and sets a bowl of rice and a glass of water on the table in front of Kirishima, lingering to listen.
Kirishima flops back against the couch with a sigh. “When I was on patrol with Fat these villains tried to pick a fight. We caught them trying to mug a few girls walking home. I figured if they were attempting a crime like that they probably had physical quirks, so I put myself between them and the civilians they were trying to hurt.” Kirishima shrugs, “I thought it’d make them back off, but one of them lunged at me, except all she really did was touch my chest. It was pretty gentle, all things considered. Just like this, here,” He reaches over and presses his hand flat to Bakugo’s chest, fingertips aligning with the jagged edges of scarring that peek out beneath the low collar of his shirt. Kirishima winces and pulls away, realizing he shouldn’t be risking anything if this quirk is contagious. Bakugo doesn’t seem to care, only stares at him and nods for him to keep going.
“I was so focused I didn’t really see anything, but Fat pulled her off of me and insisted that he saw her hand glowing with this purple light when she touched me. So she at least tried to hit me with her quirk. But I didn’t feel any different.”
“Did you get her?” Bakugo asks.
Kirishima nods. “They tried to run after that, but we arrested her and her group. We couldn’t get her to talk, though. Apparently Aizawa went to help with the interrogation. I’m supposed to wait until he figures it out.”
“Well clearly it did something,” Bakugo snaps, patience finally dwindling, “You walked in here looking half asleep and nearly dropped dead in the middle of the fucking common room.”
“And now you’re feeling fine?” Midoriya asks. He’s seated back on the adjacent couch, his notebook open on the armrest again.
“Yeah,” Kirishima nods, “Better by the second, actually.” He feels Bakugo’s glare and turns his head to meet it. “I’m serious.”
Bakugo narrows his eyes slightly, deciding if he believes him. His stare flicks to Midoriya. “Sound like anything familiar?”
“Nothing off the top of my head.” Midoriya frowns, tapping his pencil on his notebook. “But it would probably help if we could go through the events of the night in more detail. The exhaustion must have something to do with the quirk you were hit with. Maybe if you can think of the specific moments you felt weakest, we can narrow down potential triggers.”
“Wait, can quirks even do that?” Jiro mutters, rubbing her forehead with her fingertips, “Like, linger and keep, what, re-triggering themselves?”
“It would be uncommon, but not unheard of.” Midoriya says.
Jiro drags her hand down and pinches the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut. “Damn.”
“Drink more water.” Bakugo snaps. Jiro flails for her cup until Ashido passes it to her again.
“I dunno guys,” Ashido mutters, her black eyes wide as she hugs her knees to her chest, “If Kiri’s fine now, maybe we should just camp out here until Aizawa gets back.”
“There’s no harm in theorizing.” Midoriya argues gently.
“There’s harm to me, and my already weakened brain.” Jiro groans, face still hidden behind her hand. “Not that I don’t care, no offence, Kirishima.”
“None taken.”
“Been hangin’ out with Dunceface too much,” Bakugo sneers in Jiro’s direction. “You’re catching his stupid.”
Jiro lifts her free hand to give him the middle finger.
“You guys don’t have to stay up with me,” Kirishima says with a small laugh. “I’ll be fine.”
“All the drunkards are probably only making the situation worse anyway,” Bakugo snaps in Jirou and Ashido’s direction. Pointedly making zero implications about leaving himself.
Jiro looks relieved at the permission, lifting her head to meet Kirishima’s eyes for the first time. “If you want me to stay…”
Kirishima waves a hand, “No reason for all of us to be exhausted tomorrow. Get some rest, ‘Ro.”
She smiles warmly, expression still groggy. “M’kay,” She says, slipping her legs off of the couch. She cradles her glass of water against her chest, “Keep me updated, though.”
“Of course,” Kirishima promises. Bakugo grumbles something and reaches for the table, shoving the bowl of rice into Kirishima’s hand. Kirishima laughs and takes a few bites as Midoriya stands. His green eyes linger on Kirishima before they move to Bakugo. Another silent conversation happens in seconds, then Midoriya grabs his notebook off the couch and stretches.
“I can walk you up, Jiro.” He offers.
“M’kay, thanks Midoriya.” She grabs her earrings and shoves them in her pocket, trudging after Midoriya. They fall into a quiet conversation as they disappear into the stairwell.
Ashido sighs to herself, fumbling with the zipper of her hoodie until she closes it successfully, then she nudges Kirishima over so she can sit on the other side of him, her phone practically materializing in her hand. Kirishima listens to the quiet click of her acrylics on her screen as she types out a text.
“I’m explaining the situation to the group chat.” She says. “Babysitters.” She clarifies, since Ashido’s in a lot of group chats.
“You don’t have to stay either,” Kirishima argues, glancing at Bakugo. “Neither of you.”
Ashido waves his comment off at the same time Bakugo scoffs loudly. Kirishima takes another bite of rice to hide the small smile of fondness. Bakugo’s knee is still pressed into his thigh, and Ashido’s shoulder brushes his. Bakugo leans across him to get the remote from the table, and Kirishima basks in the comfort, in the feeling of his friends' weight against him, the faint smell of Ashido’s perfume and Bakugo’s shampoo, the mess of the living room that reveals the night’s earlier activities. It feels like home, and existing in it makes Kirishima feel alive again.
Ashido finishes her text message. Kirishima watches his screen light up as he receives it. She tosses her own device next to his and turns to face him, outstretching her hands for his empty bowl.
“You don’t have to do that…” Kirishima protests weakly as he passes her the dish.
“You’re right, I don’t have to.” Ashido says, “Want any more?” Kirishima shakes his head. She smiles at him and turns towards the kitchen. In doing so, she fully faces the mess that has become the common area, and is now sober enough to really notice it for the first time.
“Ohh shit,” She groans, tapping her nails against the bowl. “If Aizawa is gonna be in here tonight we’re gonna have to get this under control.”
Kirishima’s eyes roam the room. It’s not the worst mess they’ve left, not by a long shot. It helped that they had a class with a lot of try-hards and perfectionists, namely Iida and Yaomomo, who were always cleaning as the night went. But still, there were signs. Plastic cups were scattered around on tables and by the sink, some left on the floor beside couches. One of the dining tables had the skeleton of a beer pong set up remaining. Most of the cans and bottles had already been put in the recycling bin, but one or two were still laying around, and the recycling bin was overflowing. A few pairs of shoes were kicked off and forgotten by couches or tables. Someone had knocked one of the blankets off the couch onto the floor, and two sweaters had been abandoned on the backs of chairs at a table where a forgotten round of uno spilled cards across the surface. The sink had a stack of chip bowls beside it, and the other coffee table still had a few bags of snacks sitting open.
They were all very good about cleaning up the morning after. The early risers would take out the recycling and everyone else would pitch in with whatever was left as they woke up. The people who were too hungover to be out of bed before noon usually got a free pass. They were heroes, after all, no one complained about carrying each other when necessary.
They were usually responsible enough to avoid any serious partying on school nights, but birthdays were the one exception. And Hagakure had really wanted a party.
Not that Kirishima suspected Aizawa would care. With how perceptive the guy was, he had no doubt the teacher knew what was going on. As long as they were partying in the safety of the dorms and it wasn’t affecting their performance in class, he didn’t seem to care. Keeping the common room clean was more of a courtesy since they all shared the space.
Ashido sighs as she accepts her fate as the last one standing and heads towards the kitchen.
“I can help,” Kirishima offers, but when he shifts to stand up Bakugo’s hand flattens against his chest, shoving him back into the cushions.
“No, you cant.” He says firmly, with a pointed glare.
“Yeah, it’s not your mess anyway, Kiri,” Ashido agrees from the kitchen. “Rest.”
Pouting, Kirishima sinks further into the cushions in acceptance. Bakugo pulls his hand away and grunts softly as he stands, stretching his neck before he starts helping Ashido with the cleanup.
Kirishima watches them dart around the room and feels fondness consume him again. Any guilt he’d had about leaving patrol early is almost entirely assuaged by getting the chance to do something as mundane as watch Bakugo load the dishwasher. Or the bickering that ensues when Ashdio insists rolling up the chip bags is enough, but Bakugo wants her to put a clip on them. Kirishima giggles to himself when Bakugo calls her an animal and she sticks her fingers into the cup in her hand and flicks the liquid into Bakugo’s face. He growls curses and lunges at her, and they chase each other in circles around the kitchen, Ashido screaming that it was just water while tiny explosions crackle in Bakugo’s hands. She has to stop running because she’s laughing so hard. Bakugo catches up to her and tosses her over his shoulder with ease. She cackles until she’s crimson in the face as he drops her in front of the sink and tears the cup from her hand, dumping the contents out. Kirishima has one of those quiet moments where he thinks that he loves his friends so much his heart might explode, and even better is the thought that they all love each other. In first year he would’ve been over the moon if he’d been able to get Bakugo to sit at the lunch table with the rest of his friends, and now the blond lets them borrow his clothes and tosses them around when they’re annoying, and all his menaces and insults have become meaningless teasing. Kirishima is glad to have found his people, and for his people to have found each other.
His body has become heavy again, but Kirishima doesn’t mind. It’s not scary anymore, now that he’s home with them. Maybe all he really needs is to sleep it off. He would sense if something else was wrong. Drifting off to the background noise of Bakugo and Ashido bickering sounds like a fantastic way to get some sleep, the high-pitched trill of her taunting matched with the low rasp of Bakugo quiet snarls, a lullaby composed of all his favourite notes. Yes, sleep is a good plan. Kirishima lets his eyes shut, his hands going limp beside him, head dropping as the world gets darker behind his eyelids. He feels his body tilt, but he doesn’t really care. He’s too tired to care.
Warm hands stop his fall, catching his shoulders tightly before he can bump his head on the couch’s hard armrest.
“Eijiro.” Bakugo’s voice snaps. Kirishima forces his eyes open and is taken aback by the intensity of the concern in the blond’s face.
“‘M just tired,” He grumbles, with a small stab of annoyance. If they just let him sleep it off, maybe this would all go away.
“Bullshit.” Bakugo growls, “For all we know this quirk is some crazy power that puts you to sleep right before it turns you into a frog or something.”
Kirishima raises an eyebrow lazily, smirking slightly. “A frog?”
Bakugo’s blushes, “You get the fucking point.”
“You’d still love me if I was a frog.” Kirishima mumbles. He’s able to lift his arm again, so he pats Bakugo’s shoulder, “You’d take good care of me. I know it.”
“He’s delirious.” Bakugo says over his shoulder.
“I dunno, he sounds like normal Kiri to me.” Ashido giggles.
Bakugo grumbles something under his breath and moves to sit beside Kirishima again, close enough that Kirishima can lean his full weight against him, until they’re connected from elbow to shoulder.
Ashido crouches down in front of him, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead as she frowns. Her skin is cold from rinsing out the dishes. Kirishima blinks up at her like a kid awaiting a diagnosis, but they both know it’s nothing more than a display of affection, a touch so she can feel like she’s helping. Neither of them are expecting answers on the second try.
And she doesn’t get any. She sighs and pulls back. “Still no fever or anything.” She glances at Bakugo, “Maybe we should bring him to Recovery Girl.”
“She wouldn’t be in the office this late. I’m texting Aizawa.” Bakugo says, phone in hand. Kirishima’s eyes flick over to his screen.
Bakugo
When are you going to be back?
The response comes almost instantly.
Aizawa
Bit of a hold up here, hopefully I’ll be on my way back by 4am. Is this about Kirishima? How is he?
Bakugo
He keeps losing consciousness.
Aizawa
Side effect of the quirk. Shouldn’t be an immediate cause for concern. Stay with him.
Bakugo clicks his phone off with a huff, then clicks it back on again to check the time. It’s almost 1am, they still have a long while to wait.
Ashido grabs the last few plastic cups off the table and dumps them into the trash, turning back to take her spot on the other side of Kirishima.
“What’d he say?” She asks as she drops her head onto Kirishima’s shoulder.
“4, if we’re lucky.” Bakugo grumbles.
“Yeesh,” Ashido mutters, “Better get comfy, boys.” She reaches behind her to tug the blanket off the back of the couch, throwing it over them messily. Bakugo picks up the other end and meticulously adjusts it. “Anything we can do to pass the time?”
“Sleep,” Kirishima begs.
“Not worth the risk–” Bakugo starts.
“I agree with Kiri’s idea.” Ashido interrupts. She squeezes her eyes shut hard enough to smudge the corners of her sparkly liner, “My headache is finally forming.”
Kirishima nudges Bakugo’s shoulder with his own. “C’mon Kats, it’ll be fine. Plus, maybe I’ll end up sleeping off whatever this quirk effect is.”
Bakugo glares at him, but it’s all worry, not anger. His mouth twitches down as he looks away. “Fine, sleep if you want, but tell me if something feels off.”
Kirishima grins. “How can I tell you if I’m asleep?”
Bakugo shoves his shoulder with his own, jostling Ashido on the other shoulder enough for her to reach over and slap Bakugo’s knee in reprimand. The blond rolls his eyes.
“Just be careful, that’s all I’m trying to say.”
“Whatever you say, Katsuki.” He teases. Bakugo rolls his eyes and grabs for the remote. Kirishima opens his mouth to ask if the blond is going to sleep, but stops himself, because he knows the answer and he doesn’t want to hear it. Bakugo hates messing up his sleep schedule, but clearly the thought of not being able to check on Kirishima bothers him more. Kirishima is too fond to feel guilt about it. Curling slightly closer to Bakugo’s side, and tilting his head to rest it on Ashido’s, he lets himself drift off.
He wakes only once, with no idea what time it is, to the sensation of Ashido removing herself from his side. He catches the short, hushed conversation she has with Bakugo.
“You’ll stay with him?”
“Yeah, I got it Pinky. Take some water up with you.”
“Okay.” Kirishima feels her kiss the top of his head. “G’night.” She whispers to Bakugo.
“Night.” He murmurs back.
Kirishima starts to let sleep claim him again, but is still awake long enough to feel the way Bakugo drops his head onto Kirishima’s shoulder, and the way he curls his hand around Kirishima’s arm, so gentle it almost tickles. He settles two fingers on the inside of Kirishima’s wrist, like he could pick up on something as quiet as the change of his pulse in his sleep.
The gesture is so protective it sends a flare of warmth through Kirishima’s chest, that extra layer of affection he keeps reserved for Bakugo lightning like a flame. Kirishima falls asleep reminded that he is a little in love with his best friend, and all the quiet comforts and special treatment the blond allows him when the two of them are alone. He is so exhausted and so at peace that the thought doesn’t even bring the usual spike of anxiety. Kirishima is only pleased by the thought. In the moment loving Bakugo doesn’t scare him, it warms him. He is soothed by it like a child falling asleep in front of a fireplace.
He wakes up the second time to a hand gently shaking his shoulder. Krishima’s eyes flutter open just as Aizawa leans away and stuffs his hands into his pockets.
“Morning. Feeling okay?”
Kirishima nods, blinking himself more awake as he lifts his head. He’d slumped onto Bakugo at some point, and they’d only drifted closer in sleep. Bakugo is snoring softly and has one leg tossed over Kirishima’s knees, and he’s still gently clutching Kirishima’s wrist, their elbows pressed together where the blond hooked his arm under Kirishima’s. His head is on Kirishima’s shoulder.
He glances out the window and sees the sky turning pink with the promise of sunrise. He looks back to Aizawa. “What time is it?”
“Almost 6. I ran late, my apologies.”
“Nah, don’t worry about it. I feel fine.”
For the first time, Aizawa’s eyes flick over to Bakugo. Though if he’s at all surprised to have found them here like this, he doesn’t show it. He looks back at Kirishima and says, “Yes, I expect you do.”
Kirishima tilts his head in question and Aizawa nods towards the door. “We managed to get an extensive description of what you were hit with and how it works. It might be hard to explain, could we go to the office?”
“Sure,” Kirishima starts to shift away from Bakugo, only for the blond to jolt awake as soon as he pulls his wrist free.
“Where the hell are you going?” Bakugo grumbles with his eyes still half closed.
“Aizawa’s office, so he can explain everything.”
Bakugo rubs at his eyes as he sits up fully, waking up as he looks over and realizes their teacher is there.
“Okay,” He pulls his leg off of Kirishima and tosses the blanket aside. “Let’s go.” He looks at Aizawa while he says it, like he’s daring the man to argue.
“If you’re still tired you don’t have to–” Kirishima starts to protest.
To his surprise, it’s Aizawa who cuts him off. “Actually, it might be best if Bakugo comes with us. If you’re okay with that.”
“Oh,” Kirishima stammers. Unease twists in his chest as he wonders if the news can really be that bad. “Uh, yeah of course. If Katsuki doesn’t–”
“I don’t care.” Bakugo grumbles, already making for the door to put his shoes on. “Let’s go.”
The walk to the office is done in silence. Kirishima is lost in his thoughts, anxiety clawing up his throat as he tries to work through all the worst-case scenarios, trying to brace for the news but having no idea what to brace for. Bakugo is a quiet but steady presence beside him, hands tucked deep into the pockets of his baggy jeans, not touching Kirishima but still close enough for him to feel it.
As they reach the school’s main building, Kirishima feels that same sense of sluggishness returning. His limbs start to grow heavy with exhaustion again, despite him feeling fine when he first woke up. He tries to blink it away. It’s slight enough to ignore for now, but he’s aggravated by the thought that sleep didn’t fix it.
By the time they reach the office, the weariness has grown. The only other teacher here this early is Cementoss, who leaves the room to them on Aizawa’s request. Aizawa guides them to one of the couches, but he stays standing in front of it.
“Alright, before we get into this I have a couple of questions. I’m testing a theory, so work with me here.” Aizawa waits for Kirishima to nod before he continues. “On a scale of 1 to 10, 10 being very alert and 1 being entirely exhausted, where’s your energy at right now? Be honest.”
“Uh…probably a 4.” He confesses.
Aizawa nods. “Alright. Next question. While I’m explaining this next part, would you rather hold my hand or Bakugo’s?”
Kirishima blinks. “...What?”
“It doesn’t have to be a hand hold, necessarily. The idea is just to maintain physical contact.”
Bakugo grumbles, shifting closer on the couch until their shoulders are pressed together. “Is this fine?”
Aizawa nods. “Let me explain. The villain that attacked you has a quirk called ‘Energy Vacuum’. It allows her to pull physical energy from people through touch and add it to her own, which gives her perks like enhanced endurance and speed in battle. It seems that through time and practice, she’s trained it to have an offensive use as well. By hitting someone with a particularly large burst of her quirk, she can suck out even more energy than she needs. This leaves her victims with a vacuum of missing energy in their own body. You lose it faster, and the only way to fill the void is to leech it off of others through touch, because the bit of her quirk left inside you wants that. Essentially, until you refill the hole left behind by her attack, it won’t go away entirely. But since that vacuum was put there unnaturally, it requires more energy than your body alone can produce.”
“So…what? I need to keep touching people until this goes away?” Kirishima mutters.
Aizawa nods. “The more physical contact you can maintain for longer, the faster you’ll fill that vacuum up and be back to normal. Shouldn’t take more than a few days, as long as you have a couple of friends willing to help. But you’re going to expend energy faster than you’ll gain it for a while. You should notice that now that you’ve been maintaining contact with Bakugo, you feel less physically exhausted.”
“Right,” Kirishima mutters, a little in shock. It’s true, he feels much more awake now. The weight in his body has lifted, vanishing slowly enough that he didn’t notice it leaving, but he can feel that it’s gone. Worry eats at him. This was the only way out of it? He couldn’t ask Bakugo to be glued to his side for days. The blond would get uncomfortable. He wasn’t the physically affectionate type, and though he was willing to tolerate Kirishima’s occasional clinginess, that was very different from touching him constantly.
“Wait,” Kirishima breathes, horror coating his tone. He jolts away from Bakugo until there’s a space between them. Bakugo shoots him a confused look. “You said I’m taking energy from other people? Won’t that hurt them? Don’t they need that?”
That gets a sharp exhale and an eye roll from Bakugo that Kirishima pretends not to see. Even Aizawa’s blank expression shifts to some kind of muted surprise, a single eyebrow raising slowly.
“They don’t need it as much as you do, at the moment.” His teacher says.
“But I can’t steal people’s energy.” Kirishima argues.
“You’re not stealing it, they’re giving it to you.” Aizawa says easily, “I’m assuming you will catch your friends up on the situation so they’ll know what they’re consenting to if they touch you over the next few days. But I don’t get the sense you usually touch each other without the general understanding that it’s allowed.”
“But won’t they get tired?” Kirishima despairs.
“Are you feeling tired, Bakugo?” Aizawa asks.
“Never been more awake.” He grunts.
Kirishima flails a hand in flustered protest. “He would say that no matter how he was feeling!”
“You aren’t stealing an excessive amount.” Aizawa says, “You’re not stealing an entire body’s worth of energy. Your body is still making the same amounts of energy it always does, you just have that void– think of it like a debt that you need to borrow small amounts from other people to pay. You’re not draining Bakugo of all his energy, you’re borrowing the excess he has until your own energy isn’t all being drained into that void.”
“But–”
Bakugo cuts him off. “What happens if the idiot doesn’t touch anyone?”
“Yeah,” Kirishima nods, “Can’t I just stay in bed, not move too much and wait it out?”
Aizawa shakes his head. “Do not do that.” He says, “That hole of stolen energy is going to keep eating up more than your body can produce, even if you were to make an effort to burn less than usual.”
“And what would happen to him?” Bakugo asks again, his voice getting lower.
“He’d face the same symptoms as anyone suffering extreme exhaustion.” Aizawa looks directly at Kirishima, a warning in his voice. “It’d take a while, but eventually he’d die from it.”
Kirishima jumps when Bakugo’s hand flies to his arm. He doesn’t pull his eyes from Aizawa’s face, and his expression betrays nothing, but he clings to Kirishima tight enough to bruise. Kirishima can read the grip, Bakugo’s quiet insistence that this is okay, Kirishima is allowed to take the pieces of himself he’s giving.
“We’re not gonna let him die.” Bakugo says firmly.
“Yes, I figured as much.” Aizawa nods, the shadow of a smile on his face.
“But they can’t be with me all the time.” Kirishima mutters. “Like at night. Can I sleep alone? How long can I go without touching anyone before it becomes dangerous?”
“It’s not just about the danger,” Aizawa notes, “Avoiding contact with people will elongate your recovery time too. But I see your point. Sleeping does bring up some questions. To be completely honest, I’m not entirely sure about the answer. Assuming you sleep for roughly 8 hours, that shouldn’t be long enough to kill you, but you’ll certainly wake up feeling drained. I’d worry that you’d have trouble waking up in the first place. Then again, you were fine last night, weren’t you?”
Kirishima stills. He’d been fine last night because he’d fallen asleep practically attached to Bakugo. Aizawa knows that, he saw them on the couch this morning. He stares at his teacher, wondering if Aizawa is playing dumb to save him the embarrassment or implying that there is a blond solution to Kirishima’s can’t-sleep-alone problem.
Even if he was implying the latter, it wasn’t true, it wasn’t an option. Bakugo was not an option. The horrifying thing about this stupid quirk was that it made everything between them different. Kirishima and Bakugo falling asleep next to each other on the couch was normal, a casual comfort that happens naturally for the two of them. That was entirely different from Kirishima asking Bakugo to share his bed. Asking implied need, it implied preference, worst of all it was an invitation . And that implied want . Kirishima had not preserved their friendship for so long by voicing what he wanted.
Plus, it was all sullied by the fact that Bakugo would say yes because he cares, not because he wants. It would be a yes because he doesn’t want his best friend dead, because it’s necessary. Kirishima does not want a yes out of necessity.
Unwilling to voice all of that, Kirishima just nods.
Aizawa sighs, the long-suffering kind he does when he’s about to say something he really doesn’t want to.
“It is a risk…to be alone for so long in your condition.” He says slowly. “We should try to minimize risk.” He runs a hand across his brow as his expression pinches. “Obviously I can’t encourage you to have another student in your room for the night. But logistically speaking, if there’s anyone you wouldn’t mind sharing your bed with, it might be safer. Just don’t tell me about it.” He adds quickly.
Kirishima tries to keep the blush off of his face. He suspects that he fails.
“I don’t want you to respond to any of that.” Aizawa says, scrubbing his hand across his face one more time. “Does anyone have your spare room key?”
Kirishima nods again. “Katsuki does.”
“Good.” Aizawa says, “If you’d rather sleep alone you should be fine, as long as someone nearby can access your room to check on you in the morning.”
“Okay…” He mumbles, feeling entirely overwhelmed by how suddenly his world has been overturned, and feeling ridiculous for being so overwhelmed by something objectively trivial. Bakugo squeezes his arm once, grounding him for only a second before it draws his attention to the fact that he’s still holding on.
Kirishima tugs his arm free. Bakugo glares, reaching for his arm again, but Kirishima dodges. It didn’t matter that Bakugo was offering, Kirishima knew he wasn’t his to take. He was already accustomed to the quiet guilt that comes with enjoying touching Bakugo just a bit too much, being just a little too excited by his presence and the closeness reserved for only him. Kirishima has always loved a little too much, a little more than a best friend should. But this, this was even worse. Before touching Bakugo felt like a quiet, accidental manipulation. The kind that gets you what you want without hurting anyone, without anyone even knowing that you wanted it. Now it felt like using him.
“I’d like you to explain the situation to your friends.” Aizawa says, doing Kirishima the favour of pretending he can’t see the silent fight Bakugo is trying to start with his stare. “It would be best if the entire class knew, but I won’t force you to tell all of them if the idea makes you uncomfortable.” He shoves his hands into his pockets, “I’m also willing to escort you back to the dorms and explain it to them myself, if you don’t want to.”
“I can tell them,” Kirishima says. It doesn’t matter if he’s feeling up for it or not, he can’t be any weaker than he is. “If I tell my friends, Mina will tell the rest of the class for me.”
Aizawa nods. “Alright.” He glances towards the door. “That’s my whole speech. Any questions?”
“No sir.” Kirishima mutters. Aizawa doesn’t look like he believes him, but he does him the courtesy of nodding anyway.
“Like I said, we’re not sure how long this will affect you for. I want you to keep me updated on how you’re feeling each day. Until we’re sure the effect has entirely worn off, you’re excused from all work placement duties as well as class training exercises.” Aizawa levels him with a sharp glare before he even opens his mouth, “This is not up for debate. Fatgum has discussed the matter with me and agrees wholeheartedly. The rest of your teachers do not have a full understanding of what happened to you, but know that you are excused from heroics until I say so.”
He steps a little closer to the couch, crouching in front of Kirishima to fully meet his eyes. “And I know I said we aren’t sure how quickly you’ll heal, and that you can speed up the process with more physical contact, but do not try to rush this.” He says firmly, “Do not lie to me and tell me you feel better if you don’t. Do not force yourself back into things too soon out of fear of falling behind. Focus on getting better, actually, really better. Trust that your classmates and I will help you figure out the rest after that. I know tiredness can seem like a mild symptom, but this can become a real threat to your health if you do not take it seriously. Don’t be afraid to ask for help. You have a class full of friends who are hero hopefuls, they want to help you. Self-sacrifice is not noble, and a dead hero saves nobody. Tell me you understand.”
Kirishima forces back the emotion as he nods. He takes a shaky breath. “I understand.”
“Thank you.” Aizawa pats him on the shoulder as he stands. “So, how are you feeling right now, Kirishima?”
He smiles weakly. “Like I want to be out of this office.”
Aizawa chuckles, dry and quiet. “I guess that’s the honesty I asked for. He gestures lazily towards the door, “You’re free to go.”
Kirishima thanks Aizawa again as he stands. He feels Bakugo a step behind him. He doesn’t know if the blond is actually walking closer or if this quirk is making him hyperaware of his best friend’s proximity. He hates it either way.
They make it outside of the school building before Bakugo reaches for him. He doesn’t grab Kirishima’s hand, that would be too intimate, too close for comfort, but he does cling to his wrist, unyielding when Kirishima tries to pull away.
“Katsuki,” Kirishima says gently. He stops walking so he can turn and face Bakugo. “You really don’t have to–”
“You were dying,” Bakugo breathes. Kirishima goes quiet in his confusion. Bakugo’s eyes flit up to meet his, eyebrows creasing. “That’s what was happening last night, when you collapsed. You were fucking dying .”
“I wasn’t…” Kirishima trails off. He laughs through the discomfort. “That’s dramatic, Kats. You heard Aizawa, it would probably take way longer for this thing to kill me. I was just…falling asleep.”
“Into a sleep we might not be able to wake you up from.” Bakugo says firmly. He adjusts his grip on Kirishima’s wrist, stepping past him to pull him towards the dorms as the sun rises.
“I woke up fine this morning!” Kirishima argues as he stumbles after him.
Bakugo shoots him a glare over his shoulder, tugging him forward until they’re beside each other. He leans into his space. “Because I was there.”
“...Right.” Kirishima hesitates, wondering if Bakugo is following the same train of thought he did. Desperate to avoid facing it, he scrambles for a response. “Thank you?”
“That was not the point, idiot.” Bakugo snarls. “I’m saying you need me right now.” He wrestles in place with him, adjusting his grip on Kirishima’s forearm. “Stop fucking pulling away.”
Kirishima winces. “I just don’t want you to force yourself to do something that makes you uncomfortable.”
“The idea of you fucking dying makes me uncomfortable.” Bakugo snaps. “So I’m not letting go.” He narrows his eyes, tone shifting into suspicion. “And you’re usually all over me. If the thought of touching you disgusted me I would’ve fucking blasted you by now.”
Kirishima softens as he smiles, eyes crinkling. He can’t help the small chuckle that escapes him. “Aw, you’re so sweet, Katsuki. I love you too.”
Bakugo’s eyebrow twitches. He scoffs as he shoves Kirishima’s face away, though the hand on his wrist never loosens. “Whatever, fuckin’ sap.”
Kirishima laughs again, loud and real this time. For a second things feel so normal between them, despite the fact they’re doing the Katsuki Bakugo equivalent of holding hands. When Kirishima glances over at him, he catches the small smirk on Bakugo’s face, illuminated by the morning sun on the horizon and the blues of an early sky. A picturesque reminder of his constant want.
The red of Bakugo’s eyes is almost pink in the morning light, his expression soft and fond as his bangs shift, casting shadows over his face as he turns towards Kirishima. “Do you want me to do the explaining to the idiots?”
“Nah,” Kirishima says, glancing at the dorms as they approach, “I can speak for myself.”
Bakugo rolls his eyes, “I know you can . Doesn’t mean you want to. They’re fucking tiring.”
Kirishima grins at him. “Mhm, soo tiring. Did you ever get your sweater back from Mina?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Bakugo says easily. He laughs as Bakugo smiles, though the blond’s face turns serious as they get to the steps. “Okay if I tell Izuku?”
“Yeah, I’m just gonna let Mina tell the whole class.”
Bakugo scoffs. “She’ll probably have the whole school in the loop before I see Izuku anyway.”
“That’s exactly why I’m telling her first.” Kirishima says. He stops in front of the doors. Bakugo turns to him, stare calculating.
“Ready?” He mutters.
Kirishima nods. He realizes, then, that Bakugo’s hand had drifted as they were walking, his thumb slipping down to his wrist until his fingertips were grazing Kirishima’s palm. He feels a small squeeze, Bakugo’s fingers putting pressure against his heart line before he pulls away entirely and shoves the door open.
Kirishima knows he will soon face the drop in energy that follows with his absence, but for a long few seconds after Bakugo lets go, Kirishima can still feel the echoes of him on his skin.