Kirishima takes great care of his hair: he uses expensive shampoos, conditioners, even expensive brushes. He ties it up and sculpts each spike with care and purpose each morning.

Its routine, its grounding, and its his pride.

He seldomly lets others touch it, because he's afraid his friends will get too close to something too personal. It's /his/ hair, its the symbol of /his/ growth and its the only thing he's not willing to share with just about anyone.

((cw panic attack ?, hurt/comfort))

Thats why, when Katsuki finds him crying in the communal bathroom one night, lit only by the white lightbulbs above the sink, he senses something must be wrong before he even fully registers what hes looking at.

He blinks, and the image in front of him invades his sense all at once, leaving him dizzy.

Kirishima is there, staring at his own reflection, his eyes vacant and tired.

Below him, many of the small braids he puts up before sleeping lay in the sink, puffy and forgotten.

"What the fuck?" Katsuki breathes out, finally sprinting into action. He speed-walks to the row of sinks, until he can grab Kirishima's wrist and pull- an involuntary attempt to stop him from doing whats already been done.

Kirishima jerks his arm away, yanking his wrist to cradle it. He only gurgles a pained, wet growl, shutting his eyes close to block everything out.

Katsuki stands there, baffled.

He quickly looks down to the sink, then back to Kirishima's face. Back and forth, back and forth.

There's no sign of premeditation, he notes: no scissors, no shaver, no nothing. He quickly realizes Kirishima must've used his quirked-up finger to hastily cut his braids, seeing as his head is all uneven and wild.

His eyes are red-rimmed, and he can barely keep from hiccuping.

Truth be told, Katsuki doesn't know what to do. He figures Kirishima wouldn't wanna be touched right now, nor he would appreciate if someone else stepped in and saw him like this, either.

And honestly, Katsuki doesn't wanna touch him either, or he might break whatever thin thread is keeping Kirishima together.

"Kirishima," he finally says, voice heavy and low, "Wash your face and let's get out of here. Your snot looks gross."

Kirishima whines a little and he doesnt nod or shake his head, he simply complies. Fucking hell, that's bad, Katsuki thinks.

Kirishima moves to wash his face, but the braids are still in the sink, and maybe its best he doesnt look at them, so Katsuki pulls him+

towards the sink closest to himself. Kirishima passively accepts the new position and proceeds to do as he was told. While he dries his face on the towel Katsuki offers him (his towel, that he intended to use for himself), Katsuki carefully plucks the braids from the sink.

Something inside of him stirs and makes him want to vomit.

The hair is soft, just like he imagined it to be, and he knows, in that area of his mind where his honesty resides, that he would've loved one day to experience this softness.

He wanted to be given the privilege of getting close because it was /hard earned/, and he knows he would've made the cut. As much as he might deny it, he /knows/ he thought about it more than once.

He would've liked to comb his fingers though it, and travel up to maybe touch Kirishima's temples and pull him closer. He would've loved to simply lay with his nose buried deep into the texture and smell of Kirishima's mysterious hair.

And while things often dont go the way Katsuki wishes they did, this time it's a different kind of irony.

The braids are a bit damp from the wetness in the sink, compact, lifeless in his palms as he's forced to wrap them in some toilet paper to throw them away in the trash.

He cleans up whatever hair has stuck to the sink with more toilet paper, then grabs Kirishima by the arm and pulls him towards the door, mumbling a 'let's go'. Again, Kirishima complies, even if he drags his feet a little and slowly sinks his head towards Katsuki's shoulder.

They fake the elevator and Katsuki wants to guide them both to Kirishima's room, figuring that he might want the comfort of his own place, but Kirishima falls with his back against the wall next to Katsuki's door, letting him silently know what's his pick.

Katsuki opens his door, biting his tongue. They get inside, just as Shouji appears at the end of the corridor to go in his own room, and Katsuki quickly locks the door.

There's a million questions buzzing through his mind: what happened? Why did Kirishima do this? What is he supposed to do?

He takes no joy in watching his best friend miserable like this, so he obviously needs to fix this... Somehow.

"Sit down, i have a water bottle somewhere," he eventually settles on saying, padding to his closet to grab a water bottle from his little stash and offer it to Kirishima.

He uncaps it for him and sits down next to him on the bed, letting Kirishima lean into his space. He watches him attempt to drink, but when it's clear that his mind and body still not 100% there with him, Katsuki takes the bottle back and inhales deeply.

Then, he rests the lip on the bottle to Kirishima's lips and tips it, watching him drink slowly, eyes closed in concentration. Kirishima takes only a few sips, then pulls away to let Katsuki know that that's enough. Katsuki accepts it, and closes the bottle.

They fall into an odd kind of silence that Katsuki doesn't know how to deal with. He feels awkward, on his bed with Kirishima's cut braids sitting heavy in his pocket, and Kirishima's butchered hair brushing against the long column of his neck.

He thinks back to when he fought with Deku during their first year, and how easy it had been for Kirishima to let him in and acknowledge him without having to say a word. He had just held him the whole time, until it was time for them to get up and start a new day.

But is silence and a friendly touch what Kirishima needs right now?

Probably not.

Katsuki can see it in the way his friend's gaze keeps going in and out of focus, like he does when he's fighting to stay awake during late nights, and Katsuki has to talk to him to keep him awake.

"Look," he finally says, clutching the water bottle a little to hard, making it crinkle, "You dont have to say anything, okay? You dont gotta tell me why you're upset, or why you decided to give yourself a haircut on a fucking Thursday of all days. Not right now, anyway."

He inhales again, and Kirishima inhales with him. He exhales, and Kirishima follows.

He must keep talking- he knows that, but it's fucking hard, and he doesn't even know what to say.

How can Kirishima do this so easily is still beyond him.

"Just... Don't go around thinking you broke or whatever bullshit your peanut brain is probably telling you right now. I may not be a mind reader but your head is so single-tracked that i might as well have learnt all the stops by now."

He looks over to Kirishima, hoping to see him smile. A quirk of the lips, a snort, a ghost of anything- anything at all would be enough to put his anxieties at ease.

Kirishima sighs; that's a reaction at least.

Katsuki holds the water bottle with one hand, so that he can wrap one arm around Kirishima's shoulders and hold him close.

Several beats pass, and the uneasiness Katsuki was feeling slowly dissipates with each slow, deep breath Kirishima finally takes.

"You with me?" he mumbles, and Kirishima nods a little.

"Water, please," he mutters, and Katsuki thinks he's never held out a plastic bottle so quickly in his life.

Kirishima uncaps it and drinks slowly, looking somewhere in the distance.

He downs it in three big gulps, then blinks, and then turns his head away from Katsuki.

"What?" Katsuki asks, a bit petulantly, "Don't tell me you're embarrassed now." Kirishima winces a little. "...You've gotta be kiddin'."

"I'm not," Kirishima says, and something in Katsuki breaks at how watery it sounds, "I'm-- I fucking- I broke, Bakugou. I broke /again/."

Bakugou groans, digging his nails into the shoulder he's still holding, "And what did i tell you? To stop saying that. So quit it!"

((cw: mentions of off-screen death))

"You dont know what happened!" Kirishima accuses- but its pained, and he curls on himself, hiding his face in his palms, "You werent the one holding yet another dying person in your arms today! You weren't the one there!"

A loud sob bubbles from his throat, wracks his body with hard shivers- Katsuki can feel each and one of them against his body.

"I- i cant do this anymore- i broke, Katsuki!"

"If you /think/ I'm gonna let you get away with this bullshit mentality you're dead wrong," Katsuki says, and he doesnt mean to get loud, but fuck, watching Kirishima cry makes him powerless in a way that he cant control and he doesnt know how to deal with.

"Oi, look at me!" he holds Kirishima's hands and forces them away from his face, forces himself into his line of sight. "Look at me and /listen/. You did your best. You didnt /break/, you just reached your fucking limit."

"Its the same fucking /thing/!" Kirishima spits out, and there's anger and desperation in his wild, red eyes, and Katsuki steels himself harder for the blow that's inevitably to come. "And what do you know anyway? You weren't there, how can you--"

"Oh i dont know, maybe its because i know you well enough?" Katsuki hisses back, clutching Kirishima's wrists harder, and he knows he's trembling as he tries to not explode. "Maybe i can say that because that you're the /last/ hero i know who would give up a fight?

You've fought enemies and situations that would've /broken/ other, weaker people, but you've always kept going. You're the Sturdy Hero for a fucking reason, and its not just about your quirk. How many times am i gonna have to repeat myself?"

"You don't fucking get it! You never will!" Kirishima yells, trying to yank his hands away, "Fucking let me go!"

Katsuki grits his teeth, digs his fingers harder, "Oi, watch it, Kirishima. Im trying my fucking best here and youre making it unnecessarily hard-"

"Oh yeah?" Kirishima mocks, and its so out of character that Bakugou gapes a little, "How does it feel to try your best and have everything crumble in your hands, huh?" He sniffles, and his eyes are shiny in the dim lights of the room, "How does it feel, Bakugou?"

"You think i dont know what defeat feels like?" Katsuki finally lets go of him, and Kirishima falls on his back with how hard he was pulling. "You think ive never experienced /loss/?" He growls, standing up and walking to the head of the bed.

Kirishima sobs and hiccups, covering his eyes with his forearms. Katsuki leans down, hands by either side of his head, looming over him. "You know i did. You know i did, because you were there with me. So stop rejecting me and fucking let me be here for you, for once."

The dam breaks, and Kirishima starts crying louder, his arms wrapping tightly around Katsuki's neck to hold onto him. His tears spill heavily and soak the cotton of the t-shirt, and slowly, Katsuki lets himself collapse on top of him.

He keeps his arms by Kirishima's head and settles as gently as he can between his legs, laying his stomach flat against his. He drops his head forward, and one hand moves to caress the crown of those short, red locks.

As he lets Kirishima cry it out in his neck, Katsuki finds himself making up a plan for the aftermath. He figures Eijiro will need liquids, or he's gonna wake up tomorrow with a killer headache, and that's the last thing Katsuki wants. He will be hungry too, will he not?

"Fuck. Let it out," he says into Kirishima's temple, holding him until his crying devolves into hiccups, and his breath is a bit more under control. "How long have you been keeping all this in?"

Kirishima sniffs, holds onto Katsuki's tshirt as he mumbles that it's admittedly been a while. Katsuki sighs dramatically, pulls away just enough to level their faces and bump their foreheads together.

"Have you been talking to your therapist?"

Kirishima looks away. He frowns.

"We'll talk about that another time," Katsuki says, cutting Kirishima short before he can even defend himself, "But for know, just know that you can stay here tonight. Im not letting you sleep alone after all of this."

Kirishima looks back at him, and finally, a small, minuscule smile of gratitude graces his lips. His eyes are puffy and tired beyond imagination, and Katsuki cant stop his hand from reaching over and stroke the small scar there with his thumb.

Kirishima closes them, and Katsuki lets him be for a few seconds before he murmurs, "You'll pick yourself back up, Eijiro. I know you will, like i know that it's hard to forget shit like what happened today. I've seen it first hand, too. You'll become even stronger."

Kirishima sighs heavily, and his lips turn downward, and his brows draw tight together. "Im so tired of being strong," he almost whispers, "Im tired of these fights, of having to hear all these people scream and attend all these--"

"Stop stop stop," Katsuki intervenes, stroking his cheek a bit harder, "Dont go back there right now. Its been a hard fucking day, so keep these thoughts for tomorrow. You're here now, and you're safe. You're tired? Then let's just sleep, yeah?"

"...Yeah," Kirishima sighs.

"Good," Katsuki agrees. When Kirishima burrows his face into his calloused, almost completely numb palm, he doesn't say anything and instead meets his brushing with his fingers. "But there's something we cant ignore."

"Hm?"

"Your hair."

"Ah... Right."

Kirishima frowns deeply, and Katsuki wishes he could pick the bad thoughts forming in his head and physically squash them between his fingers.

"Whatever you thought i was gonna say, that's probably not it. I meant we need to make it presentable for tomorrow, for class."

They need to make it presentable, because thats the least Katsuki feels he can do for Kirishima right now.

He messed his beloved hair up, rejected his signature trait in a fit of despair- and if Katsuki can help him to build a new, stronger self, then he will do so.

"I dont know... I dont think-"

"Yeah, exactly, stop thinking and let me do this for you." Katsuki interrupts him, sitting up and walking to his desk. "You didnt ruin it forever, or whatever. Just come here," he says, grabbing a pair of scissors and pulling out his desk chair.

Kirishima looks at him, locks his eyes straight with his. They look at each other, /into/ each other, until Kirishima snorts and stands up, smiling the smallest amount. "I can never win with you, can i."

"No, never," Katsuki grins.

Kirishima sits down, and Katsuki offers his palm again for Kirishima to lay his cheek against. He holds him for a bit, simply being there for him, until Kirishima inhales sharply and and straightens his back. "Alright, let's do this. I needed a restyle anyway... Right?"

He asks, and Katsuki knows that Kirishima never wanted or /needed/ a restyle. He knows, that Kirishima knows too.

"You fuckin' bet you do," he grins, and pushes the chair in front of his floor mirror, "After I'm done, not even i will i be able to call you Shitty Hair anymore."

Kirishima smiles at his reflection, and Katsuki sends a confident grin his way. "Hope you like a good undercut, because that's what you're getting. No refunds, no questions."

Kirishima snorts again, and finally looks at his own reflection.

"You think I'll look good for real?"

"Dont make me laugh," Katsuki scoffs as he starts snipping away, "Of /course/ you will. First of all, /I'm/ cutting your hair, and second of all, you look good always. This will just enhance your profile even more."

Kirishima smiles a bit more, but Katsuki ignores it- or tries to, because his cheeks still tint pink.

"You know that we'll also have to talk... About us, right?" Kirishima says, and it's so quiet Katsuki ccould almost miss it.

But of course, he doesn't.

"Yeah. Sure. No big deal." he shrugs, feigning nonchalance, "But only if you promise to not skip therapy again."

"I promise," Kirishima says, letting Katsuki turn his head this and that way as he cuts cuts cuts. "I owe it to myself. And to everyone."

Katsuki grins, wild and unashamed "/Now/ we're speaking the same language. Dont let me down, got it, Eijiro?"

"Got it," Kirishima replies, and then sits quietly until Katsuki is done.

The end result is, of course, impeccable, but Katsuki already knew that.

Kirishima, however, cant stop looking at himself in amazement, running his hands through the short, dark hair on the back of his head.

"Wow," he breathes,

"I almost feel bad my face is ruining your job, man. It looks... So cool!"

Katsuki rolls his eyes, stepping in between Kirishima and his reflection with a scowl. "Cut down the selfdeprecation, you always look good. Now get in the bed, I'll go grab your night shirt for you."

Kirishima smiles, and its the widest smile he's managed so far tonight, and Katsuki is not-so-secretly happy to know that it's thanks to him. "Thank you. I'll wait for you, then."

"Yeah, yeah. If you're thirsty, there's more water in the closet."

And so, while Kirishima settles on his bed, Katsuki leaves to sneak into Kirishima's room for a second. He grabs Kirishima's night shirt from under his pillow and steps out, and quietly, he jogs to the far end of the corridor.

There's a forgotten bin by the corner, which is barely used by the boys on their floor, because its a bit too far from their rooms.

He pops it open with his foot, and carefully, he fishes the rolled-up braids from his pocket.

He contemplates them for a moment, scrunching his nose.

Kirishima can grow his hair back, it will just take some time. It will take care. His long, fiery mane is not impossible to achieve again- he's still good, he just needs to forgive himself and move forward.

Without any more thoughts, Katsuki throws the dead locks in the trash and jogs back to his room.

Hopefully, Kirishima will let him help him with his hair.

---fin---

((top of thread: https://twitter.com/epiblabbers/status/1391171520240701447?s=19))