Taynado's Thought Process

“I’m sorry?” Bakugo hisses, voice cataclysmic. The others cower beneath his glare, even Iida using the opportunity to take a step or two back “You thought what had happened?”

Kirishima stifles a laugh into his elbow, catching the panicked eyes of Kaminari and Jirou. He smiles at them but makes no effort to step in. They’ve long past the point where him stepping in would make any difference.

Plus, he muses, this is on them. It wasn’t him that decided it was a good idea to snoop around Bakugo Katsuki’s room. In fact, even now – as his honest to god partner, boyfriend, best friend – he wouldn’t dare step foot in the general vicinity of his room without reason or invitation.

And he’s basically immune to his Howitzer attack. He has nothing to fear.

Except for his friend’s impending deaths.

He sips on his juice, damn this shit is good, he’s glad he requested it. The perfect amount of fresh orange and an icy slush to keep the whole drink cold.

“Look, we weren’t unreasonable in our assumptions,” Midoriya began – “I mean, with all the alarms last night…”

Kirishima winces, he had forgotten about those. Almost completely. It’s true they had been activated – but he thought he had managed to de-active them before they woke anyone up. Both times. And in his memory – they don’t even really exist at all.

In his memory, they’re drowned out by the thick smog of smoke that had drifted in through his open window. Drowned out by the uncontrollable heaving and breathless pants as he rubbed Bakugo’s back – the sound of the entities of his stomach echoing off the toilet bowl as he pukes.

In his memory he pounds against the door, begging to be let back in once Bakugo regained control of his senses. Arguing that he didn’t need to take this all on alone, that Kirishima is here for him to lean on.

It took hours for either of them to calm down, and hours more to fall into a fitful sleep.

“So, you concluded that I managed to get fucking kidnapped again?” Bakugo turns the full weight of his apocalyptic glare at Midoriya. “On what fucking planet is that a normal assumption to make?

“Well, none… but –”

“No fucking buts! You thought I got kidnapped.”

He feels a little bad for Midoriya, considers even stepping in to make sure Bakugo’s sparking hands don’t end up anywhere near his face. But honestly, the entire situation is far too amusing to warrant his intervention.

And he’s far too tired.

“Yes, well,” Midoriya splutters. “Look Kacchan, I was just worried about you, and I guess I just assumed the worse and-”

“Why didn’t you just ask me where Bakugo was?” Kirishima interjects mildly.

Midoriya glances at him, “I did? This morning when I called.”

Kirishima frowns, wracking his brain for any remanent of an early morning phone call. He remembers something… vaguely.

“I asked too!” Kaminari adds, head peeking out from behind Iida’s rather intimidating form. “We’ve been asking you all day!”

Kirishima frowns a little, unsure of which conversations they’re referring to… unless.

He was indeed woken up in the early hours of this morning, long before his usual alarm was due to go off. And if he forces his brain to work, it was almost definitely Midoriya calling. Asking where Bakugo was… Fuck.

But in his defence, Bakugo had been right next to him; blonde hair splayed on the deep red of his pillows. His obnoxious ringtone had caused him to curl into Kirishima’s side and mumble at him to hang up on whoever the fuck is calling at this hour.

So of course, his wasn’t really paying attention to Midoriya. And perhaps he wasn’t as soothing as he had intended to be. Rather he was consumed by the pressure of cracked lips against the skin of his collarbones.

“Ah,” he apologises. “Sorry, I thought you were just asking if he was okay –”

“On what planet can any of that be taken as us asking if he’s okay-”

“My bad guys!” He smiles sheepishly, owning up to his mistakes.

Although he really isn’t sure if he deserves the full blame. Bakugo is right – on what planet is it reasonable to assume he’s been kidnapped again? Don’t they think he would have noticed? That he would have done something?

It sort of hurts his feelings, that they think so little of him…

Which is why he continues to sip at his drink as opposed to intervening further. This is on them to figure out.

“Let me get this straight,” Bakugo growls. “I take a single self-care day-”

“Since when do you take self-care days,” Kaminari asks incredulously – to which Kirishima silently pleads with him to shut the fuck up do you know realise how much danger you’re in.

Luckily for him, Bakugo ignores him. Instead choosing to take another menacing step towards Midoriya. “And you immediately call my boyfriend -”

His heart flutters at being called Bakugo’s boyfriend, even if the term isn’t exactly new.

“Like he’s my fucking babysitter or something, and after he tells you everything is absolutely fucking fine -”

Midoriya’s gulp is audible, and if he were in his shoes, Kirishima would have already been running.

“You continue to push it, dragging in all of your little fucking friends-”

He doesn’t point out that technically, Kaminari is actually their friend. Rather he nudges at Jirou, mouthing the word run in hopes that she understands that they really need to get the fuck out of here right fucking now.

“And now you’re trying to break into my fucking bedroom.” He ends his triage almost pressed against Midoriya, using both his height and impressive muscle mass to his advantage.

Jirou seems to grasp his silent cue, abet a little late, grabbing hold of Kaminari’s hand and bolting from the hallway. Kirishima waves pleasantly as they skid around the corner – which just leaves…

“Bakugo I must insist that you calm down and think rationally about this.”

“I am thinking rational!” He bellows, echoing of the walls and the metal corridor of the emergency stairs and everything in between. “Can’t I have one fucking bad day without you all losing your shit? Can’t I take some fucking time off?”

He had begged with Bakugo to take the day off this morning, alarmed at the red beneath his eyes and the hollow in his cheeks. I’m worried about you he had whispered over and over again, desperately trying to convey the depths of his affection and more importantly, concern.

The early morning softness that settled between them worked wonders, and Bakugo eventually gave in. Okay, he said – defeated in every way possible. I’ll take today off, but you can’t tell a single one of those fucking extras where I am.

Kirishima had agreed without a second thought, and he hasn’t regretted it for a single second, because even now he can see colour return to Bakugo’s cheeks. Can see the bright fiery burn in his eyes that wasn’t there when they woke up.  

“Kacchan we didn’t mean it like that-”

“Fuck you Deku!”

“Bakugo if you don’t stop right now-” Iida once again attempts to intervene

“You’ll what? Give me detention? Report my absence to Aizawa? Well guess what – if you had bothered to ask – he would have told you I had permission to take today off!” Kirishima winces as Bakugo turns, just slightly – to glare at Iida from beneath blond eyelashes. “This is between me and fucking Deku.” He snarls, “so this is your one chance to go the fuck away.”

Iida bites his lip, obviously torn between helping his friend and saving his own ass. So Kirishima decides for him.

“Come on Iida,” he says, flashing him a smile. “Let Bakugo and Midoriya talk it out and we’ll catch up with them later.”

Bakugo shoots him an unimpressed glare. “I know what you’re doing.” His voice softens, just slightly, as he addresses Kirishima.

Kirishima grins at him, all innocence and not a lick of ulterior motive (or so he would have him believe). “Thanks for the juice, Katsuki. I’ll come find you later – yeah?”  

Iida catches on quickly to their exchange, realising that if even Kirishima is giving up, there is no saving the situation. Honestly, Kirishima is proud of him for coming to that conclusion.

“I’ll talk to you later Midoriya,” Iida says, accepting Kirishima’s olive branch.

“Wait Iida -”

Kirishima takes his hand and runs.

And heat swallows his back.

Except Kirishima doesn’t give him much of a choice at all, the latch of his door unclicking which means someone – Aizawa – gave him the fucking key.

“Hey dude,” he says. “I know you don’t want company-”

“Get the fuck out.”

“But Aizawa said I can come in if I’m quiet-”

“Get the fuck out.”

“And I’m not going to leave just because you’re being a dick to me.” And he says it firmly, arms crossed against his chest and red hair illuminated by the harsh hallway light like a goddam halo.

It empties Bakugo’s head of any sharp retort, and all that there is left is –

Kirishima –

Familiarity –

Warmth –

And they’re his emotions, he thinks. Recognisably his.

He rolls away, he figures if he just shuts up then maybe Kirishima will get bored. It’s never really worked in the past, but maybe this time is different.

(Spoiler, it’s never different)

Kirishima takes his silence for acceptance, closing the door behind him and using the faint flow of Bakugo’s lamp to make his way towards the vacant desk chair.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Kirishima asks.

Bakugo doesn’t answer.

“Do you want to talk about anything?”

He remains silent, glare burning holes into his already cracked wall.

(He should put in a maintenance request)

(He literally has no idea how to put in a maintenance request)

“Fine,” Kirishima sighs. “I’ll talk then.”

His chair creaks, and he knows Kirishima is rocking on it. That he’s doing it to piss Bakugo off, to get a reaction.

“It was scary seeing you freak out today,” Kirishima speaks into the room like it’s nothing. Like his words hold no power and that it’s just a normal conversation. “Just, your eyes weren’t here, you know?”

He doesn’t know.

“But I think what really bothered me is that I couldn’t do anything to help.” His voice is soft. The room is soft, his bed is soft. “But I guess I never really can. I feel like I’m living in a permanent space of wrong place, wrong time… you know?”

That’s not true - he should say, because Kamino is still wrapped beneath a band aid he’s not quite ready to rip off – You’re always right where I need you to be

He says nothing, because he’s stubborn to a fault and refuses to crack.

“But I guess you’re fine now, or as close to fine as you can get with that quirk in your head.”

And surprisingly, Bakugo thinks he’s right. His head doesn’t reverberate with sensations, just the coolness of his pillow beneath his head. The warmth that Kirishima radiates, even from a room away. The soft buzzing of his own mind, familiar and unfamiliar all at once.

Everything is just… quiet.

Save for Kirishima’s voice.

“I’m sorry by the way,” Kirishima continues. “Kinda shitty that you always seem to wind up in the middle of things even though it’s not your fault-”

“Shut up.” Bakugo breaks his silence, forcing himself upwards and letting his blankets pool in his lap. “Stop talking.”

Kirishima smiles at him, top tooth snagged in his bottom lip. “So that’s all it took to get you to break-”

“I said shut up!” and he stands, moving towards Kirishima with an ungraceful stumble.  

And he takes it in stride, eyes not leaving his face as he approaches.

He’s close, obscenely close, and still, it’s all just silent

Fuzzy.

Warm.

“You’re silent” Bakugo whispers, a tinge of excitement – of wonder. “Holy shit.”

Everyone is just so loud – projecting across rooms to the point that it’s nauseating. It slams against him, wave after wave of images, thoughts – the prickling of sensation across his arms.

Except Kirishima.

But isn’t that normal for them? Isn’t Kirishima always the exception?

Kirishima huffs, one of those half-formed laughs that leave his nose rather than his mouth. “You did tell me to shut up-”

“No,” Bakugo frowns. “I mean I can’t feel you. In my head.”

He trips over his own words, frustrated with his inadequacy with language to find the right way to describe the way Kirishima flattens the waves until it’s nothing but the trickle of a small creek, bullfrogs in the distance and the final verses of the cicada’s song dying out.

“Everything is so fucking loud and you’re…” He reaches out, for his hand, his face, he isn’t entirely sure. “You’re silent.”

Kirishima leans into him, soft checks pressed into his palm and for a brief moment, Bakugo is worried that they’re too rough, years of scar tissue and blisters making them uncomfortable to touch.

Is spark of worry disappears as Kirishima looks up at him, red eyes peeking out underneath long eyelashes.

“I get it,” he says slowly, calmly – everything that Bakugo is not. “You make things quiet too.”

Bakugo doesn’t understand, not intrinsically – not where Kirishima means for the comment to land. But he thinks he agrees, in that Kirishima’s company is soothing to a brain rubbed raw and confused at thoughts that aren’t his own.

“How do you do it?” Bakugo asks – and he’s not sure he said it on purpose (impulsive, reckless) but it’s a question that begs to be answered, one that he needs to know.

And Kirishima shrugs, because he doesn’t know – neither of them do (they’re young, thoughtless – and sometimes things are just unknowable).

Bakugo accepts it for what it is anyway.

Looking down at him, the way his cheeks feel in his hands and the way his hair flutters around his face – Bakugo decides he’s never wanted to kiss Kirishima more.  

The knowing glint in Kirishima eye reveals that maybe he sees it too. And that maybe, he wouldn’t stop him if he tried.

So, what’s stopping him?

“Eijiro…” and where is the edge to his voice? Where is the knife that cuts and the fire that burns? It’s gone beneath this haze, this smoke. “Eijiro, kiss me.”

His smile is blinding.

And in the end, his lips are soft. Softer than Bakugo expected.

He smiles into it, because he can.

“Why the fuck are you laughing?” And Neil laughs harder –

He’s going to die. Like this. Probably here, probably by Andrew’s own hands and all Andrew can do is yell at him.

Typical, expected. Almost predictable.

“Make sure it doesn’t hurt?” Neil asks. “Do you think you can manage that?”

It’s an attack, a call out for everything that Andrew stands for as a person. It’s a plea for help, for someone to take his hand and stop everything.

And most of all, it’s acceptance.

“Fuck Neil!”

Well, fuck indeed.

Andrew still doesn’t look at him, but his tightened fists are shaking uncontrollably against his body. 

“I hate you.” He says, but Neil already knows this. Has known it for a long time.

“I know.”

“You’re nothing.”

“I know.”

“How did this happen?”

He’s not sure how to answer, the hoard of zombies that came out of nowhere – the need to escape, to protect Andrew, to protect his friends. How he reached out his arm to grab hold, that if he was going to live then so would they.

But he feels like that’s not really what Andrew is asking. That instead –

He never meant for them to become close. He was just going to use them to get out of Arizona and then –

He never meant to let Andrew in. 

But now –

“I’m sorry,” Neil says, because what else is there? How else should he respond? “Andrew I’m so sorry.”

Andrew bends as if his words leave a physical blow, leaning against his legs and using his own body as support. “I have to kill you; you know this right?”

“I know.”

“How can you make me do this?”

And Neil shrugs, his wound is a sickening black now. Traces of the poison slowly killing him follow the shadows of his veins, changing his very mind and eating at everything that makes Neil Neil. It won’t be long now, soon he won’t have much of anything.

“If it’s any consolation, you were amazing.”

Andrew finally turns and looks at him, devastated eyes saying everything left unsaid between them. And for Neil, it’s enough.

Afterall, he figures this isn’t a bad way to go. As long as Andrew is here with him.