As Bakugou pushes the door and steps into the gym building, he can’t help but reassess all the happenings that lead to this exact moment.
So, yeah, okay, it all began a few weeks ago…
« Wait !— Wait ! Waiiit! »
With a groan, Bakugou stopped for what seems like the fifteenth time in the past twenty minutes and turned around. Uraraka was standing ten meters behind him, hands on her knees, struggling for air. Bakugou let out a frustrated sigh.
“Why do you even fucking bother if you can’t keep up?!” he shouted.
Uraraka didn’t answer. Her face was red, she was sweating. She looked like she was about to throw up, too.
Uraraka wasn’t particularly bad at running. One might even say she was actually quite good. It’s just that it was Bakugou. Meaning: being way too intense in anything he was involved in; and that, of course, included workouts.
“You’re too fast for me!” she finally replied, walking to him.
Bakugou rolled his eyes. Guess they were done with the running for today. Or more like the lack of it, since Uraraka made him stop every ten fucking seconds. Time to go home.
“You don’t have to follow me. Just run on your own.”
“I thought we were workout buddies,” she whined with a pout.
“Hell no. Being your roommate is already too much.”
“But I— …”
“You suck at running, round face.”
“Fucking weak,” he cut her off again.
So, yeah, basically, it all began with him telling Uraraka she fucking sucked at running, and to, please, fuck off, and find another workout. Because, then, she actually took him seriously, and listened, for once, and did, in fact, find another workout.
It’s Friday, and earlier this afternoon, Uraraka walked into the living room of the small apartment she and Bakugou shared. He was about to tell her that it was her turn to pay for dinner, because that’s how it worked: every Friday night, they went out together to eat, that’s what they’ve been doing since the day they started living together. That’s more than a year and a half. Turns out Uraraka wasn’t that bad of a roommate. Except for when she insisted on joining him for runs and then made him stop every goddamn meter.
So, he was about to tell her about dinner, but instead, he paused, and took a moment to stare at her. Not that much at her, but more at her clothes. “What the fuck are you wearing?” he finally asked.
“I signed up for a Zumba class,” she answered proudly, “So you don’t have to put up with me anymore!” and Bakugou was so about to ask her if she was planning on taking a little stroll on the highway during nighttime or something, because that neon green top she was wearing probably glows in the dark.
He furrowed his brow. “The fuck is that?”
“That’s like, huh… Fitness? Dancing, I guess? Different kinds of dancing…” she explained, gesturing with her hands. “It’s at that gym down the street. I already went there four times… It looks a bit like salsa, but faster. They told me to wear something colorful and…”
“You suck at dancing,” he interrupted.
And then, she left, and twenty minutes later, Bakugou got a text from her telling him to come and wait for her at that gym down the street around 8pm, so they can go get food right away after her class. And also bring her some water. Of course she forgot her goddamn water.
It’s 7:45pm, it’s Friday night, and if it wasn’t for him telling Uraraka she sucked at running and her signing up for some dumb whatever-that-shit-was-called-dance classes, he would be sitting in a restaurant right now. Eating. He’s fucking starving.
So. There he is. Standing in the main entrance of the gym building.
He glances around. There’s nobody there, except for some bored-looking girl sitting at the front desk. The girl notices Bakugou as he walks to her; and she removes her headphones. Her nametag says ‘Jirou Kyouka’.
“Can I help you?” she sounds almost annoyed. But then again, most people would sound annoyed if they had to work on a Friday night.
Bakugou’s usual response to this kind of questions is pretty much always something along the lines of ‘fuck off’, but this time, he decides to swallow his pride, because; let’s face it, he has no idea where Uraraka might be and going through the whole building by himself looking for her sounds like something he’d really rather not do right now.
He opens his mouth, and then realizes he really doesn’t recall what’s the exact name of the classes Uraraka goes to. He scowls, trying to remember. Dancing. She said something about dancing, because he told her she sucks at that. “Is there, like, a dance class thing going on right now?” he asks.
“No dance classes on Fridays,” Jirou stands up from her chair and goes to rummage through the files on the table behind her, then picks up what seems like a printed out schedule, checking it for a second, and then turns back to Bakugou. “Or do you mean Zumba? That’s kinda like dancing, I guess.”
“Yeah. That shit.”
“And why are you looking for that class?” she eyes him, now looking suspicious.
His eye twitches. The nerve of some people. “Like it’s your goddamn business?!”
She crosses her arms. “Well, actually, yes, it is. It’s a ladies-only class. You’re no lady.”
Bakugou sighs. Makes sense. “My fucking roommate goes to that thing. She told me to come get her. Satisfied?”
Jirou doesn’t seem fazed by his swearing, still keeping that poker face. She just blinks at him for a few seconds, probably internally deliberating on what to do with him, then finally says: “Okay. I’ll show you where it is.”
As they climb the stairs, she asks Bakugou his name.
“Well, then, sorry about earlier, Bakugou. It’s just that we got this creepy guy who keeps trying to sneak into ladies-only classes…”
“So you just assumed I was a fucking pervert?” he spits. Yeah, he’s fucking offended, all right. People he never met just assuming shit about him. Rude.
“I said I was sorry,” she rolls her eyes. “He’s always lurking around, staring at girls and stuff. He got me all paranoid.”
“Gross,” Bakugou comments with a grimace.
“I know, right?” she sighs.
“Can’t you call security or something?” he asks, absentmindedly, looking around. The building’s pretty empty.
“Right,” Jirou replies, bitter. “They’re already underpaying me for sitting behind that desk for twelve hours straight, but yeah, sure, they got budget for security.”
“That’s bullshit,” Bakugou mutters.
Jirou leads him through the building. They end up walking down a long corridor, mostly in the dark. Every door they pass seems locked and it’s strangely quiet. Bakugou usually goes to another gym because it’s better, but he’s been here before, and he has never seen this place so empty. People have probably better things to do right now than working out. Who the hell teaches dancing classes on Friday nights anyway?
Jirou pushes one or two more doors, they turn to their right, and then, they’re standing in front of a big hall and suddenly, it’s like they just walked into a fucking summer beach party or some shit.
The light feels extremely harsh after going through that long ass corridor. People are wearing bright neon clothing. The music is the worst: it’s so damn loud.
“I know,” Jirou says, nodding slowly, arms crossed. “I know.”
No, scratch that; the worst thing is the dude in the front, apparently leading the class, sliding from one side of the room to another with ease, having the time of his life judging by the grin on his face, wearing baggy pants that are the most fucking horrible shade of neon yellow Bakugou has ever seen. The shitty red hair, the bright orange tank top with the word ‘Zumba’ written across it in huge bold letters, the goddamn pants and the green sneakers. Talk about a fucking combo.
“That’s not a lady,” Bakugou states, squinting at the dude.
“That’s Kirishima. He’s the instructor,” Jirou simply replies and goes to sit on the floor. Bakugou imitates her, groaning a bit through the process. His back has been giving him hell lately, and sitting on the cold hard floor doesn’t exactly feel the best. They can still see the instructor and some of the people from where they’re sitting.
The song is over, and the instructor jumps up, high, throwing his fist in the air, cheering. Everyone gets a few seconds to drink some water, and then, another song starts.
“You told me there was some fucker lurking around,” Bakugou begins, still staring at the instructor.
“And that guy over there,” Bakugou says, pointing at Kirishima, “couldn’t get rid of him?”
The instructor is fucking ridiculous, he’s wearing ten different shades of neon, for fuck’s sake, but he certainly could kick someone’s ass. Bakugou knows a gym rat when he sees one, okay? That dude is fucking ripped, and that certainly wasn’t from just doing some dancing to loud latino music.
“Oh, believe me, he tried. The little shit kept showing up anyway.” She wrinkles her nose in disgust, and then shakes her head and points at a girl with a ponytail who’s dancing in the front row, just behind the instructor. “That’s my girlfriend over there,” she tells Bakugou.
Bakugou leans a bit to see more inside the room, searching for Uraraka. “There’s my roommate,” he says when he spots her, and he nods toward her. She still hasn’t noticed him. “In case you still don’t fucking believe me.”
“Oh, it’s cool, I believe you. You don’t look like the type who shows up to Zumba classes to ogle girls anyway.”
“Thanks,” Bakugou replies, sour.
“Nah, you…” she pauses and follows Bakugou’s gaze. “You just… ogle dudes,” she adds with a shit-eating grin.
“The fuck you said?”
She doesn’t give any reply and eyes the instructor too for a brief moment, “Can’t blame you, I guess,” she sighs, and then goes back to inspecting her unkempt nails.
Bakugou takes a moment, pondering if he should take everything she says as an insult and if he should fight her for it or something, then decides against it.
Bakugou goes back to observe the class. He eyes Uraraka first. She’s still not aware of his presence. Making him drag his ass all the way there, and then ignoring him. How fucking rude.
She looks like she’s having a hard time getting the moves correctly, but she’s obviously having fun. Most of the ladies are not getting it right, actually. Four or five people, at best, are doing okay. The only one doing as good as the instructor is the ponytail girl. It’s probably a beginner’s class. There are some girls his age, but also older women. There’s even one lady who might be in her seventies.
And then, there’s the instructor.
He looks fucking ecstatic. The energy emanating from him is so insane, the rest of the class looks like they’re all half-dead. Why is he putting so much spirit into that shit? Is he getting off on dancing? What the fuck. He’s sweating a lot; his skin (he has a nice tan; and everything feels more and more like summer now) is glistening.
The instructor shows the girls the steps, holding up three fingers for three steps to the left, then three to the right, then spins, hips drawing the figure eight, arms open wide.
When he’s not giving them instructions like “turn around!” or “to the right!”, cheering or counting steps, Bakugou notices that he’s mouthing the lyrics. Dude won’t shut up, yet never gets out of breath. He even sings some parts out loud. Some girls enthusiastically join in. Except everyone just fucking sings off-key and it sounds dreadful.
“Looks like a fucking cult,” Bakugou comments.
Jirou shrugs. “Kinda is.”
Bakugou doesn’t know shit about dancing. Uraraka told him that it was a bit like salsa, and he has only a vague idea about what that shit might look like. That thing they’re doing doesn’t seem that hard, just unnecessary exhausting, with all the jumping and shit. Why aren’t they getting it? The moves are so repetitive. It’s always the same steps.
Kirishima takes five steps backwards, then turns around, rolls his hips, stops for a few seconds, making eye contact with some of the girls, then and motions for them to move forward. That’s when he notices Bakugou and Jirou outside, sitting on the floor, both looking at him.
“Oh my!” he screams over the music. “We’ve got an audience today! Hi!!!” he waves energetically at Jirou and Bakugou, still dancing. Jirou waves back (not as vigorously, though). Some women turn around. Uraraka does it too and finally notices Bakugou, and she smiles at him, making a thumbs-up gesture. Bakugou thinks she looks like she’s dying while being very happy about it.
“Momo, your bae is watching!” Kirishima tells the girl with the ponytail. Jirou makes a heart with her hands to her when she glances their way.
Kirishima is still looking curiously in their direction, grinning. Bakugou knows that his eyes are on him. “I’ve never seen you before!” Kirishima shouts.
That guy is getting on Bakugou’s nerves already, but he knows that whatever he might reply, the music will probably cover it, and he really doesn’t want to yell profanities at some dancing dude he never met before in front of twenty five random ladies. Hell, half of them are old enough to be his mother. He hears Jirou snicker.
“Spin!” Kirishima instructs, then lifts up four fingers to indicate to go four steps to the left, then to the right, then to the left, then to the right, and Bakugou doesn’t understand why Uraraka isn’t getting it, because it’s always the same shit. Kirishima turns back to Bakugou again, “Why so grumpy?!” he asks him loudly. Some girls start laughing. Uraraka is one of them. Fuck her. Bitch should save her breath. “We’re all having fun here, don’t make that face!”
Kirishima’s smile is now wider than ever. “Wanna dance with me? I can teach you some moves!” he says, making ‘come here’ gestures with his fingers, rolling his shoulders, and Bakugou hears Jirou almost choke beside him.
Bakugou mouths ‘fuck you’ at him and now, Kirishima is laughing so hard he messes up a few steps and almost trips. “Girls, who brought this one?!” he asks.
“I did!” Uraraka shouts, raising her hand, like she’s proud of herself or something. Now she’s out of breath. “It’s my roommate!” she clarifies.
“Ochako!” Kirishima gasps, fake-shocked. “He looks so mad at me! Do something!” he brings his hands to his mouth, pretending to be scared.
“Okay, that’s it, I’m going back downstairs,” Jirou says, getting up, and Bakugou sees her shoulders shaking with laughter.
And, well, fuck Jirou too.
Kirishima tells the girls they did a good job and makes them stretch for five minutes at the end of class, then thanks everyone for coming.
“I’ll see you next week! Don’t forget I also give classes on Mondays and Wednesdays same hour, you’re all welcome to join!” he says, while packing his stuff. Some ladies go to him to thank him, say bye or to probably ask questions.
“I hate you for making me come here,” Bakugou immediately tells Uraraka. “Here’s your fucking water,” he hands her the bottle.
“Yeah, yeah. Thanks. Just wait for me for a few more minutes, okay?”
Bakugou looks over her shoulder, and sees Kirishima glancing at him while talking to some woman. “I’ll wait downstairs,” Bakugou replies, and gets up. “Fucking hurry.”
“You didn’t tell me it was a dude.”
Uraraka pauses, mid-bite, and blinks. “What?” she asks, mouth full. Bakugou fights back the need to tell her to chew with her fucking mouth closed. “The dude. The instructor.”
At least she swallows before replying. “Why would I tell you?” she pouts.
They’re sitting in one of those restaurants near the gym building. Uraraka is now looking at him like she’s trying to read his mind. He curses himself for bringing it up. That was stupid. He didn’t even know she was going to that dance class shit.
“I don’t know, you tell me about meaningless shit all the time.”
“Okay, now I remember why I didn’t tell you,” she says, rolling her eyes. “He’s so friendly, though. The first time I walked in there I was nervous I would mess up, and he was so welcoming… He’s always nice to everyone! Last week, there was this new girl, and he…”
“You have a crush or something?” he says to stop her from her rambling.
“No… I think some girls in the class do, though,” she frowns. “I had a lot of friends who used to tell me they wanted to date someone who knows how to dance,” she crosses her arms, leaning back in the chair, and shrugs. “I guess that’s because of what they say about dancers.”
“What do they say about dancers?” Bakugou sighs, uninterested.
“You don’t know?” she asks, raising an eyebrow, and Bakugou doesn’t like the way she’s smiling now. He glares at her, because he hates when she does that shit where she doesn’t tell him the thing right away. She does it a lot.
“Just fucking tell me,” he grumbles.
She leans a bit forward, like she’s going to tell him a secret, and pauses. “That they’re good lovers.”
Bakugou blinks. “What the fuck.”
“You didn’t know that dancers were good in bed?” she giggles.
“Pretty sure that’s bullshit,” he mutters, and Uraraka shrugs.
Bakugou squirms uncomfortably in his chair. Sitting on the floor earlier didn’t do him any favor.
“Is your back hurting again?” Uraraka asks softly, showing concern. Bakugou hates when she does that, but he just nods. “Maybe you should stop going for runs,” she advises.
“Maybe you should mind your damn business,” he retorts.
“Fine! Then don’t start crying at 3am because you need someone to bring you a hot water bottle!”
“I didn’t fucking cry!” he slams his fist on the table and the tableware shifts a bit. People are looking at them now.
“Just a bit,” Uraraka says, not bothered at all. She’s getting way too used to his temper after being his roommate for so long.
“Leave me the fuck alone.”
“Okay, but the fuck alone alone or the fuck with a hot water bottle alone?”
“Dude. Get this.”
Kaminari glances from the TV to his roommate. They’re both sprawled out on the couch in their tiny, tiny apartment.
Kirishima sits up. “Today, in class, okay…”
“Yeah, about that.” Kaminari interrupts and sits up too. “I still wanna come and watch,” he points the TV remote accusingly at Kirishima.
Kirishima furrows his brows and shakes his head. “Nah. The girl from the front desk will kick your ass because you’ll be staring at her girlfriend. Then she’ll kick mine for allowing you to come over. And then I’ll kick yours for being gross.”
Kaminari sighs, disappointed. He lowers the volume of the TV to listen to Kirishima’s story.
“No, but like, okay, I’m doing the thing, dancing, right? Then, I turn around, guess what I see?”
“A hot chick?”
“No, I meant: I see a hot dude. There was, like, some guy sitting there, watching the class.”
Kaminari looks extremely offended at that. Here it comes again. “Okay, so he’s allowed to watch the class and I’m not?” he protests. “Is it because you think he’s hot? I’m hot too! Not cool, man.” he whines.
Kirishima rolls his eyes. They had this discussion at least a hundred thousand times since Kaminari found out Kirishima is an instructor for ladies-only Zumba classes.
Well, no, actually, first, Kaminari made fun of Kirishima, because, Zumba, what the hell, that sounds ridiculous, bro, isn’t it like a girl’s job or something, and Kirishima let him know, that, excuse you, it was in fact very manly to know how to dance.
Kaminari finally drops the complaining. “So? Who was it? Someone’s boyfriend?”
“Nah. There’s this one girl, right? It’s her roomie,” Kirishima sighs. “That dude looked so angry. And then, like, I asked him, why so grumpy, right…”
Kirishima had quite a few people who came to watch the class. Mostly Jirou because she was working there and had nothing better to do, especially on Friday nights. And, well, because her girlfriend was taking part in the classes. There were some girls who came to watch because they weren’t sure if they wanted to actually sign up. Kirishima always offered for them to join, no matter their level, letting them try the class for free, taking some time to show the steps slowly and making sure everyone was getting it. Passersby often stopped to watch for a few minutes, probably enjoying the good vibes, or maybe, just being curious. Unless they were being creepy (like that weird guy who came around a few times and got his ass kicked), Kirishima was pretty chill about people watching the classes.
Husbands, boyfriends, friends,... Even kids, because some women had no other choice than to bring their children to the classes with them. Kids were fun; they were quick to learn, and very dynamic. Most of them wanted to dance too, and Kirishima always let them.
“Oh,” Kaminari laughs. “Now I get it why he was angry…”
“No, but like, he kept glaring at me.” People usually smiled at him! Maybe he went too far when he made fun of him? But that doesn’t explain why the dude was glaring in the first place...
“Did you talk to him?”
“Nah, he took off at the end of class.” He actually planned on going up to the dude and maybe apologize for teasing him, but he kind of ran away too soon.
Kirishima pouts. He really wanted to talk to him.
“What did he look like?”
“Uhu…” He didn’t get a chance to get a closer look, but from what he saw, he was blond, pretty good-looking….
“Lemme guess: angry,” Kaminari sneers. “Find him on Facebook. I wanna see the angry dude.”
“How? I don’t have his name.” Which was sad.
“He knows one of the girls, right?” Kirishima nods. “You have their names. If it’s her roommate, she probably has him as a friend.” Of course Kaminari would find a way.
“Dude, that’s like, not ethical and stuff.” Kirishima mumbles, biting his lip. The idea of going through Uraraka’s Facebook profile to stalk her roommate really doesn’t sit well with him.
“Who cares?” Kaminari shrugs. “If nobody finds out.”
That’s not really stalking, is it? If he just shows Kaminari a picture of the angry dude? Besides, he really wants to see his face again. And find out his name too… Even though, he could just ask Uraraka… Kirishima sighs and picks up his phone, opening the Facebook app. Kaminari scoots over, to take a better look at the screen. Kirishima quickly finds Uraraka’s profile.
“She’s cute,” Kaminari points out.
“Stop it,” Kirishima groans. He already feels bad about doing this. He really doesn’t need Kaminari adding more creepiness to the situation.
Kirishima starts scrolling through her friends. It takes him only a few seconds. “That’s him!” he says. Bakugou Katsuki. Cool name, he thinks. He clicks on the link to his profile. Kaminari moves even closer.
In the picture, Bakugou is sitting at a table, probably in a restaurant, looking outside the window, away from the camera, frowning at something. That’s the only picture they can see, the rest of his profile being private. “He does look angry,” Kaminari approves.
“He looks hot.”
“Uh, yeah, whatever you say, man.”
“I hope he comes back,” Kirishima sighs.
Kirishima is brutally honest. Honesty is good, right? It’s manly. Real men are honest. —
“I looked up your roommate on Facebook!”
Uraraka blinks at him.
Kirishima hides his face in his hands. It’s 6:50pm and Uraraka always shows up early because she lives only a few minutes away. There are two other women who are already there too, so when Kirishima arrives, he drags Uraraka to a corner to talk to her. He feels so guilty about this.
“You… what?” she asks again.
That was so unprofessional. Why did he listen to Kaminari and his stupid idea?
“I’m sorry! I’m so, so, sorry! I went to your profile and…”
“Oh! Why didn’t you add me then?” she pouts.
Kirishima finally looks at her. “You’re not mad?”
Uraraka taps her finger against her chin. “No?” She frowns. “Kinda disappointed you didn’t add me, though…”
“I wanted to apologize,” he scratches his head, “I thought it was weird…”
“Looking for Baku on Facebook? Yeah, kinda…”
“No — I mean…”
“Don’t worry about it!”
This is so embarrassing. Kirishima just stands there, not knowing what to say next, Uraraka grinning at him. “So… Is your roommate coming back today…?” he finally asks.
Something changes in the way Uraraka smiles. “Do you want him to?”
Bakugou almost crushes his phone, staring at the text Uraraka sent him. ‘Oops forgot my water again’, it says.
He knows he’ll regret this, even before stepping into the gym building once again. Jirou is not behind the desk this time, but Bakugou remembers the way. He finds her sitting on the floor, watching the class.
“You’re back,” she says, raising an eyebrow, looking almost impressed if it wasn’t for her eternally bored expression.
“Bitch forgot her water. Again.”
“We have vending machines,” Jirou mumbles, turning back to watch the class, pointing behind Bakugou, and sure enough, that’s a vending machine he hasn’t noticed, and it sells fucking water bottles.
“I…” Bakugou furrows his brow. “Fuck. I didn’t notice,” he admits.
“Of course you didn’t, you were way too focused on Kiri’s ass.”
It’s the same song that last time. Kirishima is wearing a neon yellow t-shirt today, it says ‘Zumba’ in the back, and ‘Never Stop Dancing’ in the front. He abruptly stops in the middle of his movements, and turns around, pausing, smiling wide, nodding, hands on his hips, watching the girls repeat over and over the steps on their own; he scans the whole room, and then, his gaze falls on Jirou and Bakugou sitting outside.
“You’re back!” Kirishima shouts and waves at him, before going back into doing the rest of the steps. He looks so overjoyed. “He’s back!” he tells the girls, like they haven’t noticed themselves. “Suddenly so hot in here,” he says, fanning himself with his hands. He giggles when Bakugou gives him a glare. What the fuck is wrong with this guy?
All the girls are looking at Bakugou with a little smirk, probably waiting for him to explode.
“Just sit down already,” Jirou tells him.
“Hey. You’re like, super early,” Jirou greets Bakugou when he shows up.
His back is killing him and spending another hour waiting in the living room for Uraraka was out of question. He doesn’t sit near Jirou like he usually does, and decides to lean against the wall instead.
Bakugou notices that Jirou’s girlfriend is not even there. He points it out.
“Yeah. I just… like watching his classes, I guess.” Bakugou doesn’t say anything, so she keeps talking. “He just loves what he’s doing so much… He’s a natural born dancer. I saw a lot of instructors teaching classes, but he’s like, I don’t know, he has so much passion? It makes me kinda happy? I guess.”
“Why?” Bakugou finally asks. It’s like she doesn’t even know what she’s talking about. She doesn’t look that happy. She looks jaded as fuck. Maybe that’s just her face. Okay, maybe he shouldn’t be the one to judge that; having himself the ultimate resting bitch face.
“Positive energy? He’s, like, full of sunshine, or something. Takes away all the bad thoughts.”
Those songs Kirishima uses are never clever. You probably don’t need anything too deep for dancing, but in the end, all those words sound so hollow. But Kirishima knows most of them, from giving class three times a week, plus practicing outside of class. And also, because all of those lyrics are pretty much the same anyway. Sometimes, he closes his eyes while dancing, and everything just comes to him naturally, the movements, the words, everything. The way he moves, it’s as if waves are washing over him.
Those songs he uses are never clever, and they’re pretty much always about love, as if there’s nothing else to sing about. But Kirishima doesn’t mind, and that’s probably because he’s that kind of person. He’s full of sunshine, as Jirou phrased it, and that’s just how they are, the sunshine people, they hold the whole sun within themselves, and they glow, and that’s probably their affection overflowing. They have so, so, so much love to share, and they just want to give everyone a piece of themselves.
Those songs he uses are never clever, and they’re way too cheerful. They’re just like him, in a way. Everything is so colorful and full of life and radiant, intense, and everything just reminds you of hot summer days, even though it’s still cold and dark outside. Kirishima carries a kind of enthusiasm that spreads just so easily, and Kaminari can make fun of him all he wants, there it is, the perfect part-time job for him.
Bakugou watches him joking with the ladies, and he wonders, if it isn’t exhausting to be this way all the fucking time.
That’s week four. Bakugou shows up in the middle of everyone dancing to Shakira and he thinks ‘what a dumb fucking song’, and the music abruptly stops. The girls make a disappointed ‘oooooh’ in unison. Kirishima, makes a few more steps, making a fake-shocked face that makes some of the regulars giggle. He then finally stops, wipes away the sweat from his forehead and kneels down to inspect the big speaker he brings to every class. He turns towards Bakugou, looking concerned.
“Was it you?”
Kirishima puts his arms around one of the speakers.
“You killed it with your bad vibes!” he whines.
“What the fuck?!”
“Shhh, it’s okay, he won’t hurt you,” he whispers to the speaker, and lightly taps it. Suddenly, the music comes back on. “See! You have to be nice to it!”
“I’ll fucking show you nice,” Bakugou groans. “That dumb song probably killed it.”
The music stops again and everyone goes “Oooooh” for the second time.
“How dare you!” Kirishima gasps. “It’s a good song!”
The music starts again.
“Stop swearing,” Jirou interrupts, motioning behind Bakugou. He turns around, and there’s a little boy sitting there, probably six years old. Jirou shrugs when Bakugou gives her a questioning look. “Some girl’s kid.”
The boy looks bored, and pretty pissed off, actually. He’s probably tired of waiting for his mother. “Sure you don’t wanna go dance with your mom?” Jirou asks the kid, trying to make her voice sound softer.
“I don’t like it,” the kid says with a frown.
“Awww, he’s just like you,” Jirou tells Bakugou.
“Okay, keep going, go low! A little more!” Kirishima says, as he stops and bends down to retie his loose shoe lace, then jumps back up to his feet. “I see you! Go lower!” Kirishima instructs, pointing to the floor, to a woman in the back and then makes a ‘I’m watching you’ gesture with his fingers, then moves to dance next to one of the girls. She’s struggling, showing no sense of rhythm whatsoever. “Don’t worry, girl, you’ll get it! C’mon, with me!” Kirishima reassures her, patting her shoulder. He stays near her for a few minutes, doing the moves slowly. “Smile!” he tells her, with a big grin, and she does.
“Everyone better be smiling!” he says, sliding back to his usual spot in the front, then turns to Bakugou, who’s been sitting there for fifteen minutes. “You too! Smile!”
“Hell no,” Bakugou mutters, more for himself, since nobody can hear him with the damn music. Kirishima is wearing neon pink today, and his t-shirt says ‘Zumba Love’ and Bakugou is starting to really wonder how many of those he owns.
“C’mon, smile! Smile! Smile! Smile!” Kirishima shouts, clapping his hands, jumping, and the ladies start cheering too, and soon, there are twenty-seven people all screaming at Bakugou to smile. Even Jirou is doing it. Uraraka is enjoying this way too much.
Seeing it’s no use to just shout at Bakugou, Kirishima adds; “Don’t make me come there!” and Bakugou thinks, he wouldn’t dare, except, he does, in fact, dare. The ladies seem now familiar enough with the routine to keep dancing without the instructor.
Kirishima leaves his spot and runs up to him. He fucking grabs Bakugou’s face, pinching his cheeks, and stretching the corners of his mouth in something that was supposed to be a smile, but it looks like a grimace instead. The girls are giggling, and Bakugou doesn’t even have time to react, Kirishima already let go of him, and is running in the opposite way, immediately going back into the routine, like nothing happened. Bakugou is about to jump to his feet, but Jirou grabs him.
“What do you even plan on doing?” She raises an eyebrow. “Chase him around? Give everyone a good laugh? And then what?”
She makes a good point.
Kirishima taps his shoulders with his fingers, rolling them. “Everyone smile, or I’ll make you!” he warns the class.
Uraraka has to stop and sit on the floor because she’s in hysterics.
On week six, Uraraka gets sick. Bakugou thinks it’s karma coming for her ass because she made fun of him last week; until he realizes he has to care for her, make her food, and cancel their Friday night out.
“Can you do me a favor?” she asks, voice weak. She’s wrapped into a blanket, sitting on their couch, cup of hot tea in her hands.
“I said I’ll get the fucking cough drops, just give me five fucking minutes, Jesus—…” Bakugou replies, putting on his shoes.
“No, no… Not that…”
He sighs. “What now?”
“Can you please, please, please… go tell Eijirou I can’t attend class?”
“Who?” Bakugou grunts.
“Oh, my God. Kirishima.”
“What the fuck? Tell him yourself.”
She pulls herself up. “I don’t have his number! Please? He’s so worried about us when we don’t show up to class.” She coughs. “Please? Just tell him I’m sick. It’s only two minutes away from the pharmacy.”
Bakugou waits at the usual spot until the class is over, and then gets up and goes straight to Kirishima, stopping abruptly a few centimeters away from him. Kirishima is busy wiping the sweat away from his face with a towel, and then notices that Bakugou is standing next to him, and stares at him, blinking.
“Hi?” he finally says, since Bakugou hasn’t said anything for more than ten seconds now.
“My fucking roommate sent me here to tell you she’s sick.”
Kirishima opens his mouth, brow furrowed. “Ochako is sick?! So that’s why she didn’t come today, uh?” He does look sincerely worried about her.
“Yeah.” Kirishima is still looking at him with concern. “She’ll survive.”
“I hope you take good care of her, then,” Kirishima says, now with a warm smile. “Tell her to rest well, and to take her time.”
“Right,” Bakugou replies. He just stands there. It’s getting embarrassing. He turns around when he sees that Kirishima is about to ask him something and quickly makes his way downstairs. He stops by the front desk because Jirou calls out for him.
“I didn’t see Ochako today,” she points out.
“Yeah, that’s because she’s sick and she fucking sent me here to announce that she’s not dying or whatever.”
“And you did! How nice of you,” Jirou replies flatly.
She talks to him for three more minutes, asking about Uraraka, and then, he finally gets out of the building.
He walks up the street, gritting his teeth.
He hates it, because it’s true, what Jirou said, Kirishima is full of fucking sunshine, because outside, it’s January, it’s cold and dark, and he only spoke with Kirishima for a few seconds, and yet he feels like it’s the middle of June, like he spent a whole fucking day under the sun, sweating, cheeks warm. And butterflies in his stomach.
And now it feels even more like summer, because he hears fucking upbeat latino music, and he thinks that, that’s it, he’s going insane, that watching the damn class every week gave him some sort of brain damage, that he can’t possibly hear…
“Want me to drop you home?!” a voice says, and Bakugou turns around, and realizes that he’s not losing his mind, and that it’s just Kirishima in his car (it’s fucking red), blaring those same songs from his classes, leaning out of the window, grinning at him. Bakugou doesn’t reply, “Or do you wanna go grab some food?” Kirishima offers, cocking his head to the side.
Bakugou stops walking, and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Why the fuck would I go with you?”
“Because I’m cute?” Bakugou starts walking again and Kirishima bursts out laughing, “Kidding! I know you usually go with Ochako. C’mon, I’ll pay.”
Kirishima actually took the time to quickly shower at the gym and put on some clean clothes. It doesn’t make much difference, though.
Bakugou glares at the bright green t-shirt like it personally offended him while they walk to the restaurant after Kirishima has parked his car a bit further down the street. At least this t-shirt is just a bright green one and has no ‘born to dance’ shit written on it.
Apparently, Kirishima is so fucking full of sunshine that it makes him immune to the cold. He keeps his jacket open, even though it’s freezing.
“Is it like a requirement to always wear the most fucking obnoxious colors, or…?” Bakugou mutters.
“What! Colors are fun!” Kirishima says with a pout, as they stop to wait at a red light.
Yeah, no shit, colors are fun, that’s what the sunshine guy with the bright red hair and a neon green t-shirt would say.
Everyone who has met him knows it, Kirishima is as colorful as inside as outside. How fitting, that he can actually dress that way for his job.
“Fashion nightmare,” Bakugou says and Kirishima snorts.
“Yeah, what about you, then?”
Bakugou didn’t plan on eating out tonight; he’s dressed way too casually. He glances down at his own clothes and Kirishima seizes the opportunity to reach out and try to flick his nose. Bakugou is faster and he grabs his hand.
“The hell did you just try to do?” he squints at him.
“Huh. Flick your nose?”
“Who the fuck does that?!” Bakugou screams. He realizes he’s still holding his hand, and lets go. What the fuck.
Bakugou orders the spiciest dish on the menu and Kirishima won’t stop laughing, resting his chin on his hand, half leaning on the table, watching Bakugou intently.
“Is it, like, some kind of superiority complex?” he finally asks.
“Fucking excuse me?”
“Like, you’re trying to prove something? And you actually hate spicy food, but you just want to show people that you can eat the spiciest dish and assert your dominance?”
“What the hell? No?” Bakugou frowns even more than usually. “I just like spicy food, what the fuck is your problem?”
“So manly,” Kirishima sighs. “You shouldn’t frown that much, dude, you gonna get wrinkles.”
“Who the fuck do you think you are, telling me what to do—” Bakugou mutters.
Now that they’re sitting so close, Bakugou finally notices details he never saw before, like the little scar on Kirishima’s eyelid. Also, dude has some sharp-ass teeth.
Bakugou lets out a deep sigh. His back is hurting again.
“What?” Bakugou groans in reply, and it sounds way too harsh, but he was busy thinking about his spine ruining the evening and if he’s got any painkillers left back at home. Kirishima is blinking at him. “What?” he asks again, less aggressive.
“Did you really came all the way to tell me about Ochako?” He looks way too hopeful.
“Why else would I do that?” and he expects Kirishima to blurt out some flirty shit, as he always does.
“To see me?” Kirishima offers. There it goes.
“We don’t live that far anyway,” Bakugou grumbles, and Kirishima wants to add something, but the waitress interrupts them as she brings their drinks to the table.
Kirishima is as loud and cheerful as during his classes, he won’t stop talking, asking questions, telling Bakugou about random shit, and Bakugou really wishes he could try and enjoy the evening, because Kirishima truly seems like a person he could get along with, which doesn’t happen every day, but the more time passes, the more he feels like he’s about to flip the table and scream from his back pain. Their plates are still pretty full, and Kirishima is in the middle of telling him another childhood story (Bakugou already got three of those, one of them explaining how Kirishima got the eyelid scar), but he just can’t take it anymore.
“Wait,” he interrupts with a groan, and calls out to one of the waitresses. He asks her for the bill, and she nods, walking away. He turns back to Kirishima, who has stopped talking. He’s got an extremely disappointed look on his face, and Bakugou feels his chest tighten.
Bakugou really doesn’t want to apologize, because that’s just something he never does, but at the same time, Kirishima looks like a kicked puppy. Bakugou scratches his head. “Fuck. That’s not… That’s not what you think.” Kirishima blinks at him, curious now, and Bakugou sighs. “I’m not… It’s just my fucking back,” he tries to not move too much, “Fucking chairs…” he curses under his breath, more for himself.
“You have back pain?” Kirishima looks immediately interested. “Where? How often?”
Bakugou nods, picking up his fork, trying to quickly finish his dinner, and leave that uncomfortable ass chair. “Happens sometimes. Lower back.”
“I can give you a massage.”
Bakugou chokes on a piece of mushroom. He coughs for at least ten seconds. How embarrassing.
“Alright, man?” Kirishima immediately asks him, concerned.
“WHAT?!” Bakugou yells in his face instead of answering like a normal person. Luckily, nobody pays attention, because the place is pretty noisy.
“I’m sorry!” Kirishima lifts up his hands in defense. “That sounded so weird. That’s not what I meant. I’m in a training program at a massage therapy school. I actually know some stuff, and, hm, yeah.”
Bakugou raises his eyebrows. “Really?”
“I thought you did that dancing shit for a living.”
“It’s a part-time job. Well, kinda need the money, you know.” Kirishima scratches his head. “But at the same time I love dancing, so like, it doesn’t feel like a job, you know?”
Bakugou doesn’t know, but he nods.
“So? What do you say?” Kirishima says, grinning wide.
“Massage,” and Kirishima wiggles his fingers.
“You were fucking serious?”
“Why?” What the fuck, he’s actually considering on agreeing to that shit.
“I don’t know man, it’s practice for me, and you look like you’re in pain. Kinda wanna help out?”
“Of course you fucking do,” Bakugou replies, rolling his eyes.
“So?” Kirishima insists. “Don’t worry, I’m not trying to do anything weird,” he laughs, “No happy ending massages or anything.”
“What’s that?” Bakugou asks, shoving the last of his meal into his mouth; chewing.
“Huh, massages with that kind of, huh, happy ending.”
“What kind?” he’s getting pissed off now, because that’s the same shit Uraraka does, not fucking telling—
Bakugou chokes on his food for the second time in the whole evening.
“Where did you…—?” Uraraka whines when she hears the door open, and slowly sits up, and freezes.
That’s not Bakugou standing in the hallway. That’s Kirishima. That’s weird. Is she having a fever? Then, she finally notices Bakugou behind him. Okay, maybe she’s fine after all.
Kirishima walks to the couch and sits down near her. “Hi! Bakugou told me you got sick. How are you feeling?” he pats her on the shoulder.
“Tired…” she lays back down. “But I think I’m recovering…”
“Idiot! Don’t go near her, you’ll get fucking sick too!” Bakugou scolds.
“But if I do, you’ll take care of me, right?”
“Fuck no, I won’t!”
“Why are you here?” Uraraka asks Kirishima and Bakugou is glad she’s sick because if she was her normal self right now she would ask questions and it would be waaaay more embarrassing.
“Here are your fucking cough drops,” Bakugou interrupts, dropping the bag on the coffee table.
“Oh… Thank you…” she blinks weakly at it, then at Bakugou.
“Are you falling asleep?” Kirishima chuckles.
“No…,” Uraraka replies, while closing her eyes.
“Let’s get your ass to bed,” Bakugou groans.
Uraraka is now sleeping in her room, and Bakugou locks himself in the bathroom, leaving Kirishima waiting. This is so fucking weird.
This is so fucking weird, but he needs to shower first if anyone is touching his back tonight, because he sure felt himself sweating a whole lot for the past three hours.
Uraraka stole his goddamn shower gel again, used it all up, and now, he has to use hers, so when he exits the bathroom, toweling his hair dry, wearing only his Adidas sweat pants and no t-shirt, he smells like fucking strawberries.
He finds Kirishima where he left him, sitting on the couch, lights dimmed and TV playing, meaning that he touched their shit despite being specifically asked not to.
Bakugou walks past him and to his bedroom, and opens the door. “Are you coming or what?” he groans, and Kirishima jumps to his feet, following him.
“Okay, lay down.”
Bakugou complies. This is so fucking weird, that he has that guy he doesn’t even know that well about to give him a fucking massage because he has fucking back pain that nobody knows about except his parents and Uraraka, this so fucking weird that he trusts that guy enough to let him inside his apartment, inside his room.
He shivers when he hears Kirishima’s light laughter, and feels fingers brush away some of his damp hair away from his neck.
“Relax, man,” Kirishima says, and two warm and strong hands grab his shoulders, rubbing, and Bakugou hisses in pain. “Your back is so stiff,” Kirishima comments after a few seconds.
“No shit,” Bakugou groans, and it sound muffled because he’s pressing his face into the mattress.
“Where does it hurt now?” his voice is so soft, and it’s strange, for someone so loud to be this way.
“Lower back,” Bakugou mumbles.
“Here?” Kirishima asks, a palm resting on the small of his back. He starts massaging that spot. “Is this okay?”
“Yeah…” Bakugou breathes. It hurts, but at the same time it’s supposed to.
“So, like, are you always so bitchy because you’re in pain?”
Bakugou lifts up his head, “The fuck do you—“ Kirishima pushes his head back down, cutting him off.
“Kidding, kidding…” he chuckles. “How often does it hurt?”
“Every few weeks… Started a while back. My parents think it’s because I fell down that creek when I was a kid.”
Kirishima hums. “Do you lift weights?”
“What the fuck do you think?”
Fingers brush against his bicep. He hears Kirishima clear his throat, “Well, yeah but—”
Bakugou raises his head again from the mattress and glares at him. “Then why the fuck are you asking? Of course I fucking lift, I’ll lift anything, I’ll lift a ton, I’ll lift you right now…”
Kirishima chuckles, and pushes his head back down again, more gentle this time. “Chill, man. Plus, I’m not that heavy. Lifting weights can cause back damage, that’s why I’m asking.”
“You think I’m an idiot?”
“I didn’t say that, it’s just, some people do it wrong and—”
“Next time I’m going to the gym, you come with me, I’ll show you, you fucking dumbass,” Bakugou mutters.
“Okay!” Kirishima responds, and even though Bakugou isn’t looking at his face, he can almost feel him smiling. Disgusting.
Kirishima works on his back, massaging out every knot. Bakugou smells nice, like strawberries or something. His skin is soft, but he’s so tense, like dude hasn’t relaxed for twenty years. Which is probably the case.
Bakugou has a nice back, well defined muscles and all, and Kirishima is trying very hard to not get distracted, he promised he won’t do anything weird, but Bakugou’s body is warm, and he just really wants to lean in and press soft kisses between Bakugou’s shoulder blades, maybe bury his face into his neck and press some kisses there too, let his hands slide up and run his fingers through the blond hair, or even better, let slide them down, and…
Bakugou makes a noise that sounds like a mix between a moan and a groan.
Kirishima pauses, “You good?” Bakugou nods faintly, and Kirishima smiles. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
Bakugou just hums in reply. It’s been probably an hour now, and he feels all the pain leaving his body, little by little.
He closes his eyes and relaxes into the touch. Everything is so nice, warm, and he feels so calm now, and the last thing he hears is Kirishima laughing softly, and saying “Don’t you fall asleep on me…”
And then he falls asleep.
Bakugou wakes up. He glances around, and his eyes fall on his clock. It’s 2am.
“You awake?” a soft voice says, and Bakugou almost screams. He turns around, and there’s Kirishima, sitting next to him, on his bed, the light from his phone giving a spooky glow to his face.
“You’re still here?” Bakugou groans, voice hoarse with sleep.
“Want me to leave?”
“Nah, it’s fine,” Bakugou pulls the covers over himself. There’s a silence, and then he hears Kirishima shift.
“I’m gonna crash on the couch, then, if you don’t mind,” Kirishima yawns.
It’s 2am, and Bakugou doesn’t know what he does or doesn’t mind, he just wants to go back to sleep, “Whatever,” he mumbles.
“Hey, man,” Kirishima says after a few moments.
“What?” Bakugou groans. He was about to doze off.
“Thanks for not making fun of me.”
Bakugou opens his eyes and frowns. “I made fun of your shitty hair and your terrible taste in clothes.”
“No, not that,” Kirishima chuckles. “About my job.”
Bakugou is now awake. He rubs his eyes, and sits up. “Why the fuck would I make fun of that?”
Kirishima is sitting next to him on the bed, scratching his neck.
He tells people he’s a Zumba instructor, and he knows what think when they laugh. They aren’t taking him seriously.
Sometimes they don’t say anything, sometimes, skeptical, they say that it’s only for middle-aged women who are too afraid to do real workouts, and Kirishima doesn’t like confrontation, so he laughs it off, but in his opinion, it’s truly nobody’s business, who comes to his classes and for what reason, as long as everyone wants to actually be there and have fun.
People assume stuff about dancers, that they’re not that bright. And, he’s been told that, and takes no offense, because it’s kinda true, school was always hard for him, still is. But then, people say, it’s not real dancing, and he knows that, he’s not expecting a professional career out of that or anything, that’s why he’s in that training program, but he loves dancing so much, and it’s everything to him, and there are days, he wishes he had something more than this, and; he clears his throat, “People don’t usually take me seriously. You did.”
Bakugou stares at him. “You like what you do…”
“Of course I —!”
“I wasn’t asking, you idiot,” Bakugou cuts him off. “I know you do. You should fucking see yourself,” he snorts.
“Listen.” For fuck’s sake. It’s 2 am and idiot decides that it’s the right time to have an existential crisis. “I don’t get that shit, okay? I don’t get dancing, I don’t get why you like it so much. But fuck people. Do your thing…” As he finishes his sentence, he feels two arms wrap around him. “What the fuck are you doing?!” he groans, trying to push Kirishima away, but not too much, because dude spent one hour and a half on his back just for the sake of being nice and helping out, and Bakugou isn’t that much of an ungrateful bitch as people usually think he is.
“Thank you, man,” Kirishima says and gives him that bright-ass smile.
Bakugou wakes up at noon, strangely relaxed, and notes with a certain satisfaction that the pain he usually feels when he wakes up is gone. He gets up, slowly, stretching, still groggy from sleeping in so late. Something colorful catches his eyes. That’s Kirishima’s jacket on his chair.
He gets out of his room, to find only Uraraka in the living room, sitting on the couch.
“Where is he?” he groans, glancing around.
“By he, you mean Eijirou? He left. Two hours ago. He’s got classes. Did you know he’s a massage therapy student?”
Bakugou frowns. Idiot left his jacket. Now he has to give it back to him. He frowns even more as he goes to pour himself a cup of coffee.
Uraraka has been watching him so intently for at least five minutes now. He loses it. “What?!” he yells. “Fucking spit it already!”
She gets up from the couch, and walks to sit on the table, facing Bakugou. “Are you guys dating?”
“What the hell?! That wasn’t a fucking date.”
She whistles. “If this wasn’t a date to you, what is it that you do on a date then?”
Bakugou just glares at her. She gives him a smile. “He didn’t want to wake you up, and said to tell you that he ‘had a lot of fun, and hopes to do it again soon’,” Bakugou is about to reply something, but she just nods, “But you go, keep telling yourself it’s not a date, that’s fine too.”
On Monday evening, Bakugou shows up at the gym building before class begins to give the idiot his jacket back.
The thing with the sunshine people is that they’re always so hyper and they push, and they push, and they push, and they’re only human, so when they finally shatter, it’s a thousand times worse than your regular old boring not-so-cheerful person. And they never learn, even when they’re broken, they keep pushing.
Bakugou never thought he’d think that, but Kirishima looks like shit right now. It’s so unsettling it’s scary. He even kept his hair down, which, by the way, would look good if he wasn’t sick.
Bakugou doesn’t say a word, he grabs him by his t-shirt, and touches his forehead, “You fucking idiot!”
“Probably caught it from Ochako,” Kirishima mutters, and immediately starts coughing. That version of him is so pitiful.
“I fucking told you to not to go near her! Why are you here?!”
“I’m not missing class!” Kirishima protests.
“Oh, yes, you fucking are!” Bakugou retorts. He turns to Jirou. “Can you tell everyone class is cancelled?” Jirou nods.
“No!” Kirishima whines.
“I hate to say this,” Bakugou glares at Jirou, but she continues, “but he’s right. You need to go home.”
“Sit your ass down!” Bakugou screams, and Kirishima is about to protest again, when a voice interrupts them.
Bakugou turns around. There’s some dude peeking out of one of the rooms, probably alarmed by the commotion they caused when stepping inside the apartment (read: Bakugou forcefully dragging Kirishima through the door). By some kind of miracle, they managed to get to Kirishima’s place, despite of him acting like a five year old. That’s probably the Kaminari guy Kirishima told Bakugou about.
“You’re the roommate?” Bakugou asks Kaminari.
“You’re the angry dude?” Kaminari replies and Bakugou sees Kirishima face palm. “Erm. Yeah. I’m Denki, his room—”
“And you let his dumb ass go outside when he’s sick?!”
Kaminari just blinks at him, probably wondering what the fuck is going on. Bakugou lets out a groan of frustration. He can’t believe he has to do it all over again. Like spending one full week caring for Uraraka wasn’t enough. He goes through his bag and fishes out a pen and a piece of paper, writing down all the pills Uraraka had to take this past week.
“Go to the pharmacy and buy this,” he gives the list to Kaminari, who is still looking pretty dumbfounded by everything that has happened in the past two minutes.
“Huh. Sure. Be right back, then…” he grabs his shoes, his jacket, and in a few seconds, he’s gone.
Kirishima tries to get up again, but Bakugou pins him down on the couch.
“Lay the fuck down,” he snarls, and their faces are close, which isn’t the wisest choice because Bakugou doesn’t want to get sick from him.
“But I can’t miss class!”
“Shut up!” he heard that at least twenty times now, Kirishima is driving him crazy.
“I don’t want to let them down!”
“You’re not fucking letting anybody down! You’re sick, you need to fucking rest! Are you five?!”
“You’re allowed to be sick, for fuck’s sake! Stop fucking pushing yourself all the time!”
Kirishima blinks at Bakugou, and he realizes that they’re way too close now, foreheads almost touching. Bakugou feels his face getting hot, and he’s pretty sure that Kirishima is blushing too, but there’s no way to tell if it’s because he’s sick or if…
And then Kirishima sneezes on him.
“I don’t like taking pills,” Kirishima says with a pout and Bakugou is so about to lose it. How fucking stubborn can a person be?
“Tough shit. Drink the damn thing,” he pushes the glass against Kirishima’s face, and turns to Kaminari, who has been standing awkwardly in the room for a few minutes now, being not helpful at all. “Is he always like this?”
Kaminari shrugs, “Dunno. To be honest, I never saw him being sick.” Bakugou is looking at him with that scary expression and Kaminari can’t tell anymore if it’s just his face, being the ‘angry dude’, or if he’s mad at him. Probably the latter; since Bakugou called him a ‘fucking idiot’ ten times in the past hour. That situation is getting so weird. He didn’t sign up for this. “Well… You have fun with that, then,” Kaminari blurts out, turning to leave “… And… I’m gonna… Just… yeah,” he exits Kirishima’s room and closes the door.
“I don’t like it,” Kirishima tells him again as he finally drinks the medicine. He grimaces and puts the glass down on the nightstand. Bakugou rolls his eyes and presses his hand against Kirishima’s forehead.
“You have a fever. You take them fucking pills or you’ll die—” he stops, because Kirishima grabs his wrists and presses his hands against his face. “What in the name of the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he tries to thug his hands back, but Kirishima doesn’t let go. His lips brush against his palms and Bakugou freezes for a few seconds.
“Your hands are so cold, it’s nice,” Kirishima murmurs, pressing them against his cheeks.
Bakugou finally yanks his hands back. “I’ll get you a fucking towel, or something,” he groans.
What a fucking mess.
Turns out, Kirishima recovers pretty fast, way faster than Uraraka. On Friday afternoon, he’s back to his usual sunshine-y self, standing on Uraraka’s and Bakugou’s doorstep with a box in his hands, and Bakugou tries to shut the door in his face, because he spent three full days caring for that idiot, forcing medicine into him, because, for fuck’s sake, what the fuck does that even mean, real men don’t get sick, what the hell, just swallow the fucking cough syrup, goddamn it. Uraraka interferes.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, cheerful, as she pulls tea mugs of their kitchen cupboards, setting them on the table. Bakugou goes back to sitting on the floor by the coffee table to work on his paper.
“I brought cake. To thank Katsuki for taking care of me in such a manly way—”
“Shut the fuck up,” Bakugou grumbles from the living room as Uraraka opens her mouth and lets out a surprised squeal.
“That’s where you disappeared for three days!” she frowns. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”
“No one of your fucking business,” he mutters, trying to concentrate on his books.
“How’s your back, man?”
Bakugou feels two warms hands coming to rest on his shoulders, and now they almost feel familiar. Kirishima pulls him into an upright position.
“You’re all hunched over! Don’t do that.” He starts massaging his upper back. Bakugou groans. After a few minutes, Kirishima grabs his head and tilts it to one side, then other. “You gotta stretch, you know, if you sit for so long in the same position,” Bakugou hears his joints crack, and Uraraka saying “Ow!”.
His hands stay there, still rubbing Bakugou’s back, while he’s talking to Uraraka.
People who saw Kirishima dance always talk to him about romance. Most of the time, it’s the older ladies who come to his classes, wondering if ‘a such beautiful young man’ has anyone. Not always though, sometimes it’s his friends, teasing him; his family, asking questions. One time, it’s a drunk Kaminari at 4am, after a night at the club, comparing his dancing moves to lovemaking.
People often ask him if he’s in love.
And he asks ‘why’. And they tell him, that he dances like he’s in love; that the way he moves, it’s sensual, it’s like he’s has someone on his mind. They tell him; that when he repeats all those lyrics with sweet, sweet words about tender emotions, it’s like he’s talking to a lover; that when he follows the rapid pulse of the music with so much ease, it’s because his own heart probably beats just as fast; that his hands caress the air, it’s gentle, yet so strong, as if he’s touching a significant other.
They tell him; that every swing of his hips, it’s like an intimate confession; that’s there’s a sprinkle of lust in his movements you can only achieve with infatuation.
They tell him, that the way he dances, it’s intense.
And he blushes, and he tells them that he’s just passionate.
Except for his mother nagging him, and Uraraka making weird innuendos, people don’t usually talk to Bakugou about romance. For their own safety.
“I’ll call security on you.”
“For staring at his ass.”
Jirou is another exception, and has her very own way of talking about romance. And apparently she has a death wish, too.
“What the fuck. You don’t even have security here.”
Jirou is standing in front of Bakugou, blocking his view from the class, a mop in one hand, and a bucket full of soapy water at her feet.
“Kiri does security,” she says, motioning for Bakugou to move because she’s trying to mop the spot where he’s sitting. Bakugou complies with a groan and stands up, stepping away. “When we need him to. I’m sure you’ll be happy that he’ll have to grab you and drag you outside. To his place. Into his bed.”
“Shut the fuck up and mind your goddamn business already.”
“I’m minding my business. I’m on cleaning duty and you’re drooling all over the floor.”
Bakugou is going to fucking drown her in that bucket. She mutters something about ‘no budget to pay a cleaning lady either’.
His eyes go to Kirishima again.
All the things Uraraka said about dancers being good lovers suddenly come back to Bakugou, and yeah, at first he really thought it was bullshit, but now he can see it.
Someone with that much energy could probably fuck you senseless.
That blissful look he has after giving one hour of class was probably the same one than after sex. He’s covered in sweat, euphoric, chest heaving. Seriously, dude looks like he just got laid.
His hair is down today, and he runs his hand through it, biting his lip, and then notices Bakugou staring at him. He flashes him a bright smile.
Maybe Jirou should call security after all.
“I can’t believe you picked him as your workout buddy,” Uraraka whines.
It’s Sunday, and Kirishima texted him this morning, offering to go workout together, and after getting some flashbacks of going for runs with Uraraka, Bakugou agreed, because Kirishima couldn’t possibly be a worse workout buddy than his roommate, and also, because he wanted to show him he’s not a fucking idiot and he knows how to lift fucking weights, all right?
“He ain’t a weak ass-bitch like you are,” Bakugou groans, switching TV channels. It’s almost midnight, and there’s nothing to watch.
Bakugou got home about twenty minutes ago, and only had time to shower, and tell Uraraka that, no, it wasn’t a fucking date, we just went to workout together, for fuck’s sake.
He and Kirishima spent the whole afternoon at the gym; and then, Kirishima offered to go get dinner, and then, he made weird jokes about massages, and then, Bakugou ended up at his place getting another massage, and he’s definitely not telling Uraraka about all of this.
“Rude!” Uraraka protests, punching his shoulder, actually way too hard to be called a ‘weak-ass bitch’.
Bakugou shows up at the end of Monday class.
“What?” Kirishima asks, and stops packing his stuff. Bakugou is staring at him, looking extremely uncomfortable. Seeing that Bakugou isn’t planning on giving any further explanation, “Care to elaborate?”
“I’m asking you if you want to have dinner, you dumb fuck,” Bakugou whispers in an aggressive tone.
Kirishima lights up at that, regardless of the insult, “Sure!”
“Where are we going?” he asks, a few minutes later, as they step outside.
“My place. I’m cooking,” Bakugou replies. There’s no answer from Kirishima, so Bakugou turns to him. He’s staring at him, mouth open, probably stars in his eyes, looking like he might explode of joy.
“You? Like, you’re making the food?!” Idiot fucking starts jumping up and down.
“The fuck does ‘I’m cooking’ mean to you? — Calm the fuck down!”
Kirishima brings his hands to his heart. “Somebody’s cooking for me! You are cooking for me!!” he gasps. He looks so fucking delighted. Bakugou kicks him, and he yelps, then starts laughing. “Dude, I’m just, like, so happy!”
“You’re always fucking happy.”
“No, but like, maybe one thousand time more happy than usual!”
“Disgusting,” Bakugou mutters.
They eat on the couch, plates on the coffee table. There’s some music playing in the background, Kirishima left the TV on a music channel, of course, and also managed to lose the remote, of course. Or maybe he just hid it so Bakugou won’t turn the music off.
“This tastes better than any restaurant I’ve even been to,” Kirishima moans. Turns out Bakugou cooks very well.
“It fucking better, I spent three hours on this,” Bakugou says, and realizes way too late that he revealed way too much when Kirishima’s eyes widen. Fuck. He wasn’t supposed to know that. Now Kirishima is gonna think things and say things, and, oh, God, he made Kirishima think things, hell no… He gets up, grabbing their empty plates and walks to the kitchen to put them in the dishwasher. He hears Kirishima get up too, and follow him. He puts the plates down on the kitchen counter, and mutters “Don’t you say a fucking word—”
“You’re so amazing,” Kirishima says.
Bakugou sighs. He can feel Kirishima standing just behind him, just a few centimeters away, maybe even less. The music from the TV is still playing, it sounds like something Kirishima would like, one of the rare slow songs that are playing during classes. He’s kind of grateful, because the silence would make this even more awkward.
Kirishima drapes his arms around Bakugou, and starts rocking him gently, swinging his hips. He nuzzles into his neck. “I wish you would dance with me,” he whispers.
“How about you fuck off?”
Kirishima doesn’t let go. “I could teach you,” he says with a pout, now resting his chin on Bakugou’s shoulder, pressing himself against him. “C’mon, I really really want to!”
Kirishima’s body is warm, and he’s breathing down Bakugou’s neck, and it all makes his heart beat a little bit faster. He squirms in the tight grip, turning around, now facing Kirishima who doesn’t flinch, still smiling wide, and goes to grab his hand. He frowns, because his hands are slick with sweat, had been since ten minutes now, but Kirishima doesn’t seem to mind, dragging him back into the living room.
Bakugou doesn’t know shit about dancing. As anyone, he had to dance a few times through his life, and he’s not bad at it, it’s just that he doesn’t get it.
Their fingers are intertwined, and Kirishima slides his other hand to his back, holding him there, close. “Have you ever danced with someone?” Kirishima says.
“No,” Bakugou replies, swallowing hard. Kirishima is trying to make him dance, pressed against him.
“Never?! Not even an high school prom or anything?”
Bakugou stares. “Do you really fucking picture me at the prom?”
Kirishima shrugs. “You’re pretty hot, I figured a lot of people would want to dance with you, I know I would” he says, with a warm smile, and Bakugou’s heart almost stops, because Kirishima is telling him that shit, looking at him, straight in the eye, not even fucking flinching or anything. “If we were in high school I would have totally asked you to go to prom!” Bakugou snorts at that. “No, really!” Kirishima adds, “And we would have danced together! And then, like, I would have done something fancy, like this,—” he pulls him, suddenly, hard, and what Bakugou doesn’t expect is Kirishima to fucking dip him, especially this low, and his arm goes around his neck for balance, their noses touching. They both freeze.
“I almost fucking fell because of you, you fucker!” Bakugou suddenly screams, pushing Kirishima back, and they both end up on the couch, wrestling.
“Sorry, sorry,” Kirishima chuckles when Bakugou pins him down.
“You almost dropped my ass, you fucking idiot,” Bakugou huffs.
“I would never drop your ass, it’s too nice,” Kirishima says with a goofy grin and Bakugou blushes furiously when he feels two hands coming to rest on the small of his back. His eyes widen, and he punches Kirishima’s chest.
Kirishima is laughing now, “C’mon man, that was so smooth!”
“No, it wasn’t!” Bakugou screams, face red. “You suck.”
“Not right now, but maybe later—,” and Bakugou punches him again.
“Fucking stop doing that!”
Kirishima sits up, Bakugou still in his lap. “Sorry,” he whispers. His face is red too, even though he’s giving Bakugou that adoring smile. “Can I kiss you?” he asks in a timid voice.
Bakugou grabs his shoulders and pushes him back down with way too much force. He leans in aggressively to crush their lips together, but Kirishima’s giggling and his hands on his shoulders stop him.
“What now?!” Bakugou explodes. His heart is pounding so hard in his chest. This is too much. He’s almost shaking.
Kirishima, never breaking eye contact, pulls him down gently. Their mouths are almost touching, he stops, for a few seconds, and then, he presses their lips together in the softest of ways.
When they part, Kirishima wraps his arms around his waist, and he looks into his eyes, “I’m so happy right now, you have no idea.”
“What the fuck? I’m happy too, of course I have an idea,” Bakugou groans.
“I know, I know, sorry,” Kirishima pulls himself up. He kisses his neck, slowly, and smiles against him when he feels the other shiver. “How about,” Kirishima now kisses his chin, “going into your bedroom, and,” he kisses his jaw, “I give you a massage,” his nose, “a naughty one,” he whispers against his cheek, grinning, tugging at Bakugou’s t-shirt.
“A happy ending one?” Bakugou asks, and he’s already getting up on his feet and dragging Kirishima by his hand into his room.
From the knowing look Uraraka and Jirou give him, Bakugou feels that Kirishima probably told the entire block about them.
His suspicions are confirmed when, well, first, Uraraka fucking brings up the dancers are good in bed thing during breakfast, please confirm it, for science, second, he arrives to watch the class and the whole group cheers, and Kirishima makes a thumbs-up gesture, grinning.
“He started the class by telling everyone about his new boyfriend,” Jirou explains.
“Why the fuck?” Bakugou groans. Everyone is fucking watching him now.
“Well, first, and I really don’t get why, he seems pretty happy about it,” Bakugou tries to elbow her, “and, second,” she continues, easily avoiding the hit, “to explain that enormous hickey you left on his neck, like, dude, seriously, he’s a Zumba instructor, did you expect him to wear a scarf to his job? Aim for lower regions next time.” Jirou has no fucking filter.
Kirishima keeps doing the same shit he always does during classes. He winks, blows him kisses and smiles at Bakugou, and says things, stupid, stupid things, and makes ‘I’m watching you’ gestures to him. Bakugou being Bakugou, is tempted to just flip him off.
When the class is over, Kirishima walks up to him. His stupid electric blue tank top says ‘Keep calm and Zumba’ in neon green letters. He leans in for a kiss.
“You’re sweaty,” Bakugou mutters, but kisses him anyway. He hears some people gasp.
“That didn’t really bother you that much last night, did it?” Kirishima whispers with a grin. Bakugou’s face turns red.
People who saw Kirishima dance always talk to him about romance.
People ask him if he’s in love, if when he dances, if he has someone on his mind, because he dances like he’s in love, he really does.
Every single time Kirishima dances now, he glances behind his shoulder, and there is a pair of eyes, watching him, and even though Bakugou will deny it, and even though Bakugou will say he doesn’t get it, that he doesn’t know shit about dancing, he’s there, he’s watching him.
People ask him if he’s in love, and he says he is, and they ask him, if when he dances, he has someone on his mind, and he says he does.
They tell him he dances like he’s in love, and he smiles, and tells them that he dances like someone who loves him is watching.
Kirishima is a loud person, but as the sun is rising up in the sky, is voice is quiet and soft, because now he knows that Bakugou already has a hard time waking up, so he tries to make his mornings as peaceful as possible.
Kirishima reaches out and starts slowly stroking Bakugou’s face, who finally opens his eyes and lazily blinks at him.
“Hey,” Bakugou replies, still half-asleep. Kirishima’s hand is now in his hair, he’s slowly running his fingers through the blond locks.
Kirishima always smiles, and Bakugou asks him, why the fuck, and Kirishima tells him stupid shit like, because I’m looking at you, and Bakugou usually snorts.
Kirishima is staring at him right now, with that huge grin plastered on his face, like he wants to say something.
“What?” Bakugou finally asks, and yawns, closing his eyes, relaxing into the touch.
“I like your hair,” Kirishima whispers, and then smiles wider; “it reminds me of sunshine.”