everyone knows krbk are dating except for Kirishima and Bakugou (thread)

Despite his well-established preference for the privacy of his bedroom, born from his long-standing commitment to brooding, the couches of the common room occasionally find Bakugou alone and lose him to additional presences.

The open floorplan is nice in the right context, and the wall-to-wall natural lighting provides a specific ambience that occasionally suits his headspace just right.

Also, there's a sixty-five inch flat screen television, no glare at any angle, and he's got the remote.

He's just found something to watch that doesn't look like utter dog shit when Midoriya enters the room and ushers Bakugou's peace of mind out the same door he came in.

Bakugou crosses his arms and digs the side of his body into the adjacent armrest, not yet willing to concede his reign over the television just by virtue of Deku Dekuing.

Midoriya sits down and it's great, he loves it. He puts a throw pillow between them.

Midoriya is amused when he rolls his eyes. "What are we watching?"

"/I'm/ watching Hell's Kitchen."

"New episode?"

"Rerun." He clicks the volume up, too loud, despite the fact that it's subtitled.

There's something in the code of their tenuous and strained relationship that clearly reads that small talk, being alone together without clear intent, etc. - anything that produces a nauseating pretense of faux-amicability - is always unmerited.

Considering this, Bakugou clicks his jaw and strains the joints of it, staving off the inevitability of teeth-grinding, refusing to allow Deku to be the reason for another exorbitant dental bill.

In the periphery of both his vision and his patience, he notices that Deku's nonchalantly scrolling on his phone. The bastard smiles and punches air out of his nostrils at Something, keeps scrolling, and Bakugou's fists clench at his passiveness, the /domesticity/.

He's one tense beat away from spitting "What?!" when Midoriya says something, but Bakugou's momentarily distracted, off-hand wondering if Deku'd deliberately waited the exact amount of time it took for him to boil over.

Probably, Bakugou figures, grinds his teeth once, and then takes a second to process what it was he'd said to him.

"When have I ever gone to a Hanami festival?" Bakugou rumbles, hoping his threatening tone alone is enough to disengage whatever Deku is still here for.

It's not, though - it hasn't worked like that for a while now. Midoriya taps his chin and lowers his phone to his lap. "Well, once, when we were about five, our moms took us to one, and it was pretty cool. Kinda big for where we grew up, and-"

"Fuck off," Bakugou interrupts, remembering that occasion, damn it, and thinking about it. He almost desperately longs to move this along. "The hell are you asking me for?"

"Well, since Aizawa gave us the greenlight to go to Tokyo's biggest this year, I'm pretty sure the entire class is going."

There's really no reason for Bakugou to be down here anymore; his mood is thoroughly soiled and his room sounds better than anywhere else right now.

He stands up, hands dug into his pockets. "Doesn't have shit to do with me."

Midoriya holds his phone closer again, diverts half his attention and crosses his legs. Bakugou's already walking away when he adds, "Kirishima-kun was talking about it."

Bakugou's pace falters, then resumes.

Midoriya doesn't have to look back to know he's still there. "He was talking to Ashido-san and Kaminari-kun about it. Ashido-san was super excited about how pretty the trees were going to be-"

"Spit it out, ner-"

"-and Kirishima-kun seemed excited, too. He mentioned specifically how cool it would be to be there with someone after the sun sets. Ashido-san and Kaminari-kun got really quiet after that."

Bakugou stops in his tracks, and even from across the room he's pretty sure Deku is actively texting someone else while talking to him. He wants to wring out whatever gives him the audacity.

"After the sun sets," Bakugou repeats and it's quiet but his low voice carries. "So?"

"Couples go together at night."

Bakugou's tooth enamel is beginning to look like a lost cause. He punches the elevator button. "You came in here to bother me with the fact that shitty-hair is finally making a move on pinky? Riveting shit, Deku."

"Pinky-?" Midoriya turns in his spot, folding a leg over the other, leaning over the back of the couch. "Ashido-san?! Oh my god, /Kacchan/." He's laughing now and seems to be genuinely trying not to. "Come on."

The elevator is here and the doors are open, waiting on him, but /what the fuck/ was that reaction? Bakugou's nails are digging into the skin of his palm, loathing the choice he's faced with, hating how easily he's baited.

But if he went up to his room now, he'd only end up pacing, grumbling to himself like he does only when granted solitude, wondering where the fuck Deku's attitude came from-

He crosses the space between them in three long strides

and jerks at the collar of Midoriya's shirt, wishing the action still resulted in him being hoisted into the air (it used to be a pretty intimidating tactic).

"If you don't tell me what's going on in that self-righteous fucking head of yours-"

Midoriya seemingly can't hold back his laughter any longer. "That's kinda rich, coming from you."

The elevator slides shut, empty.

Bakugou inhales to say (shout) something, but Midoriya continues talking and Bakugou's blood spikes, his ferocity adopting a distinct sense of urgency at Deku's insolence alone.

He's trying not to breathe like an enraged bull as Midoriya goes on, "I think you know what I'm implying. I think you know why I'm 'bothering' you about it, and I think you're lowering yourself by acting dense like this."

There's no way Deku knows how he's feeling right now - Bakugou is sure - and the histrionics he puts on at the very idea that Deku /could/ possibly know are, unfortunately, an entirely genuine reaction: he seethes, he sputters.

Bakugou's backed up a foot before he's conscious of it, his gaze is focused on his own palms, coated in sweat, before he wipes them on his shorts and levels Midoriya a raw glare.

There's a slew of verbal poison breaching his throat, but Bakugou is actually trying to get somewhere with this 'conversation', he's trying to find closure in being subjected to Deku in such a capacity, so suddenly, without his volition.

"You've got some nerve accusing /me/ of beating around the damn bush when you won't just spit out what you fucking mean."

Midoriya smiles and looks at his phone again. "So you do know what I'm saying."

Bakugou feels played.

"Look," Midoriya sighs, glancing at him. Bakugou's still grappling for a response, fingers curling in his fists and toes digging into his slippers, wondering if Deku had rehearsed this. He would, he thinks.

"I know how you feel about Kirishima-kun, and I'm pretty sure I know how he feels about you." Midoriya pauses to type something very quickly on his phone. "Most of the class already thinks you two are dating, anyway."

"The hell are you talking about? You don't know shit."

He must've sounded noxious, because he could've sworn he saw Deku shiver. Maybe it was a twitch, but for the sake of his ego- "Kacchan, if nothing else, I'm good for my observation skills, and we both damn well know it."

Bakugou does know that. "Look at me when we're talking to each other."

Midoriya locks his phone. "Sorry." He stands up as well.

"I'm not about to go into details, but even you have got to be at least somewhat aware of how you two act around each other. I really am trying to help, as unwarranted as it is."

Midoriya steps forward, Bakugou steps back. "What makes you think I would ever need your damn help?"

Midoriya's phone cuts the atmosphere with two succinct vibrations. "I can see this going badly if one of you doesn't actually do something soon. At this point, I'm pretty sure both of you are kinda...n-nevermind." He sighs again. "I just think you need a push."

"/You're/ the one about to get pushed if you don't fucking-"

Bakugou steps up to him again, but before he can raise a hand, Midoriya's got his phone shining in his face. "Kirishima-kun's in his room right now if you want to go talk to him."

Bakugou snatches his phone away from him, shamelessly scrolling through his conversation with Kirishima, pushing away his grabby hands. Once he's affirmed that they hadn't been talking about him, he tosses his phone towards the farthest end of the furthest couch.

He pushes Midoriya away from him, though he'd already turned around, making for his phone.

Bakugou heads for the stairwell this time, all but stomping, slouching. "I already knew that."

◇◇◇

Bakugou isn't going to talk to Kirishima about it, because that would be fucking stupid. Deku meddling about his business with his so-called "observations" has soured him to the very idea of ever even thinking about it.

Encouraging more unusual feelings about Kirishima by virtue of talking to him about his uninvited thoughts or his new and atypical behavior sounds a lot like exacerbating the issue.

Deku doesn't know anything.

Deku doesn't know about worrying about one person's well-being when you're not used to worrying about anyone. Deku doesn't know about feeling gross about feeling happy about receiving a text from a specific person-

- when receiving texts from anyone had always felt like a bother until /him/. Deku doesn't know about the way it feels when a specific person touches /other people/ and how it feels, in contrast, to have that specific person's presence to oneself when one can.

Deku doesn't know shit, and Bakugou's not going to talk to Kirishima about any of it, but seeing Kirishima right now does sound pretty good, now that he's thinking about it.

He's already halfway down the corridor, and if he picked up his feet upon his decision then that's between him and the tacky hallway carpet.

He knocks once, with one knuckle. "Kirishima," He says, close to the wood.

Bakugou hears office chair wheels quickly scrape a short distance over the wooden floor and the heavy padding of socked feet before the door in front of him is harshly yanked open. "Bakugou!" Kirishima leans to the side, looking behind him. "It's just you?"

He lifts a brow. "Who would I bring?"

"Oh, it was out of the blue, but Midoriya texted me asking if I was here." He scratches his head. "I was just wondering what was up with that when you knocked."

"I wouldn't bring that shithead with me," He states, and then nods toward Kirishima, gesturing for him to step aside. He does, and Bakugou enters. "Don't feel obligated to answer his stupid texts, by the way."

Kirishima clicks his tongue and shuts the door.

"You may not like it, but he /is/ my friend, dude. Leaving your friends on read is unmanly."

Bakugou lets out a curt, sarcastic laugh, and then flops down on Kirishima's bed.

He lies on his back and folds his arms behind his head. Kirishima returns to his chair, facing his desk and the laptop on top of it. A few minutes pass before Kirishima glances over his shoulder.

"Whoa man, what'd my ceiling ever do to you?" He faces his computer again to close his browser. "Come over just to practice your resting Bakugou face?"

"Ha ha," He pushes out, and then eyes him without turning his head. "What, I can't just come over?"

"Sure you can." Kirishima lifts up from his chair and then plops down next to Bakugou, smoothing out his basketball shorts with the heels of his palms. "You don't, though. Or I mean, when you do, you usually have something to rant about." He tilts his head at him. "You're quiet."

Bakugou looks down his nose at him, his expression blank, and then decidedly flips onto his side, facing away in an instinctive attempt to thwart Kirishima's perception. "Talk about you."

"Huh?"

"Don't feel like talkin'," Bakugou mumbles. "Talk about your day, or whatever."

Kirishima does a closed, half-mouthed smile, and it's fond; Bakugou doesn't see it. "Okay." He folds one leg under his other, inching a little closer to Bakugou. "But afterwards, I want at least a hint of what's on your mind. I think I have a penny around here, somewhere."

Bakugou squints at him over his shoulderblade, and Kirishima's grin goes crooked. "For your thoughts, bro!"

"Tch." He scoffs. "You're a dork."

"Just trying to get you to laugh," He admits. "I'll do it eventually."

Bakugou is smiling faintly - a headstart Kirishima doesn't know he has. Bakugou intentionally avoids thinking about the other headstarts he already has on his evolving character. "Whatever."

So Kirishima tells Bakugou about his day, putting an effort into making the parts during which Bakugou wasn't present sound more interesting, granting several pauses in his speech for him to tell him to shut up,

and leaving out the fact that him having come over has been his favorite part of it.

He's run out of things to say, and Bakugou hasn't interjected beyond a stray hum or short grunt to demonstrate his listening skills; it hasn't been a conversation,

it's been Kirishima talking. Bakugou waits to see if he'll come up with more words, while Kirishima is pretty sure he's fallen asleep.

They both let the silence fall over them and Kirishima goes uncharacteristically still.

Bakugou doesn't think much of it, busy weighing the pros and cons of a nap, Kirishima's bed and Kirishima's presence being favorable conditions. Then, he feels a warm hand card through his hair.

The touch starts at the back of his skull, a firm pressure, blunt fingernails against his scalp. Kirishima's fingers move toward his hairline, his hand lifts, meets the nape of his neck, and repeats.

Bakugou tenses imperceptibly, but he soon relaxes. It's not the first time Kirishima's done this, but he doesn't do it often. Kirishima shifts his weight, keeps his touch consistent, and Bakugou's conflicted.

It's against his nature to melt into the feeling, to indulge it,

but he wants to. He's wary that the second he reacts to it all, Kirishima's concentration will waver, or worse - he'll stop.

The pad of Kirishima's thumb rubs behind his ear and Bakugou twists onto his back, straining his neck to keep the angle, to encourage the touch.

It was a purely subconscious movement, but now that he's done it, he doesn't dare open his eyes, fully aware of Kirishima's smile on the other side of his eyelids.

Kirishima, a saint, continues playing with his hair. "Bakugou," He says quietly. "What's bothering you?"

Bakugou's heart does a small flip, but the pressure of Kirishima's fingertips is a wonderful distraction, maybe too good, maybe even borderline disarming.

He opens his eyes to find Kirishima studying his facial features.

Kirishima's own expression is relaxed and soft; it's not a stretch to say he appears captivated as his hand continues to move on autopilot through boundless, fluffy hair.

Bakugou swallows.

"Were you going to go to that Hanami festival?" He's only sure he'd spoken at all based off the way he feels it in his throat, the way Kirishima's face subtly changes.

"Hm? Yeah." He pushes Bakugou's bangs away from his eyebrows. "Why?"

"Who with?"

"Uh, I mean the whole class is going...I was probably gonna hang with Kaminari, Sero, and Mina, though." His movements are less focused. "Are you going?"

Bakugou scrunches his face, bushy brows pushing inward. "Sounds stupid."

"Kinda," Kirishima chuckles. "Nature's pretty cool, though. You had a lot to say about it when you let me go mountain climbing with you."

Bakugou hopes the heat in his face isn't visible, and Kirishima continues, "Biased against cherry blossoms?"

"No," He tsks. "Biased against idiot assemblies." His voice is a drawling baritone, unguarded and aggression-less.

Kirishima only hums, and Bakugou's unsatisfied with the fizzling out of the conversation, where they are now.

He's very frustrated suddenly; his arm shoots up to grasp Kirishima's wrist, pulling his hand away. He sits up abruptly, legs swinging over the side of the bed. He grips the mattress until his knuckles blanch and he doesn't look toward the startled Kirishima next to him.

"Deku said," He begins with gritted teeth, barely intelligible. He tries again, "Deku said he overheard you telling the others that you...damn it, that you wanted to go with someone at night."

Kirishima's eyes are wide but Bakugou still won't meet them. "Midoriya told you that?"

"Yeah."

"I wonder why he'd mention that to you?"

"I don't," He grumbles, entirely indiscernible - he might as well've just growled. "Nosy fucker."

"Bakugou? What's going on?"

"Who did you have in mind?" Bakugou knows the tips of his ears are pink, he can feel it, and he can't stand it. The whole thing's so fucking dumb, makes him feel stupid, so he straightens his posture and faces Kirishima. "When you said that."

It's obvious Kirishima feels scrutinized by the way he shrinks a little, but he still holds Bakugou's piercing gaze. "I mean, you, man. I don't think there's any other way you would go to that sort of thing? There's a lot less people at night - none of our classmates -

and the lights look cooler, and we could go, you know, as bros-?"

Kirishima's jaw snaps shut audibly after he visibly registers the fact that he's been rambling.

"As bros," Bakugou repeats, his demeanor insistent, tone deep, pressing unwittingly on the feebleness of Kirishima's claim.

He hopes it sounded more like clarification than disbelief, wishing for once he possessed some semblance of grace for situations such as these. The frustration stacks.

Kirishima nods at him, and Bakugou hates how unsure he looks.

"I'm not gonna push it, dude, so don't feel like, pressured or anything. I'm totally cool to just-"

He continues talking while Bakugou's thoughts grow ever louder, his auditory processing notwithstanding; the weight of Deku's earlier implication is hitting him like a bus.

Kirishima and Bakugou have been sharing food, clothes, thoughts - for two years. Bakugou doesn't just 'let' Kirishima lean on him anymore - he leans back. They can communicate a notion with just a look or a nod.

There hasn't been a day without some level of conversation between them, even if Bakugou had to be the one to swallow his pride and initiate one. Kirishima is his last thought of every day, and he wouldn't be hard-pressed to believe it was the same for him.

Their hands haven't stopped finding each other since Kamino; Kirishima reached out once, Bakugou reached out in return, and all of their interactions since have echoed it.

Kirishima's twiddling his thumbs, he's flushed and he's still talking, and he's holding a firm tone that keeps slipping by the end of his sentences. He's trying to hold eye contact but he's not even managing it half the time.

Bakugou himself is not much better off - each inhale is a manual effort, his ears still burn, he's getting flammable sweat ingrained into the fibers of Kirishima's duvet.

Bakugou and Kirishima are stupid, and Bakugou can no longer imagine leaving the room with the exact same friendship.

"Kirishima."

Kirishima's eyes are wide, his mouth small and his lower lip protruding only slightly in a noncommittal pout. Bakugou can hear him breathing when he lifts his hand to graze loose red hair away from his eyes, and Kirishima's dilated pupils follow the movement with rapt attention.

Bakugou's fingertips wind up behind Kirishima's ear, and by the time Kirishima minds Bakugou's face again, it's very close to his own.

Bakugou can no longer hear him breathing, and the last thing he notices before pressing his lips against two marginally parted ones is how the glimmer in Kirishima's awestruck eyes casts them an even more brilliant red.

The gesture is a thousand times softer than Bakugou. He pulls back when he feels his palms starting to spark.

Simultaneously -

"Was that-"

"Oh-"

Bakugou's world turns and he's looking at Kirishima's ceiling again, Kirishima in the foreground, pressure firm, warm, and persistent over him. "Thank fuck, Bakugou." His jaw is gripped and he's doled out a much less soft kiss. "Thank god."

Kirishima tries for another and ends up kissing a smile - he's soon flipped onto his back, victim to an entirely new and different type of attack from Katsuki Bakugou.

A week later, Tokyo reports blossoms far more fragrant and abundant than years prior.