Work Text:
Bakugou Katsuki was Kirishima’s best friend beyond a shadow of a doubt, everyone in their class knew it like gospel by now, but Kaminari and Kirishima understood each other.
Not in the deep, philosophical way that Kirishima knew Bakugou. No, that would be preposterous, and Kaminari had an incredibly personal vendetta against every philosopher to exist with the singular exception of Garfield (Not Jay Lazar Garfield though, oh no, he was very much talking about the cat). So, while they didn’t know each other very well on an intimate, personal level, they understood the way the other worked, more or less. They both felt the half-obligation to be pretty high-energy most of the time, they were both known for being prone to distraction when something didn’t draw their particular interest, and had a hard time resisting temptation when they’d subconsciously set their mind to something. They shared a similar sort of thought process on matters where that came into play, and they could respect each other For that.
That respect had been a large part of why the self-proclaimed ‘Bakusquad’ had been able to form as it did, barring their collective hivemind desire to harass Bakugou into enjoying their company. It was nice, Kaminari thought, being able to find a way to make friends with the whole group, despite there being some clear favouritism in regards to some parties (Read: Bakugou really needs to get better at pretending he wouldn’t break all of their shins for Kirishima).
He and Mina take solace in each other by griping about work together with the sort of world-wearing camaraderie of being the lowest test-scorers in the class. He and Sero have almost exactly the same sense of humour, and favour the exact same method of expression- which just so happens to be spamming the other with memes at questionable hours of the day. He and Bakugou have an… enigmatic friendship, but he’s also the only person who can get away with calling him ‘Kacchan’ whose name isn’t Midoriya Izuku, so at the very least he’s not on the other boy’s hit list.
And he and Kirishima, while not sharing quite the same level of pop-culture expertise, both possess the innate urge to partake in the odd bout of tomfoolery, and are incredibly opportunistic when what seemed like the appropriate time for it arose.
As such, however, it was only natural that they’d end up egging each other on when perhaps it would have been wiser to anything but. A prime example of this would be back when they were moving into Heights Alliance. It had been a week since they’d arrived, and though everyone was settling in nicely, they’d wanted to thoroughly dispel any lingering awkwardness within the dorms.
“Y’know Aizawa’s gonna kill us, right?” Kirishima says, only now deciding to pipe up with a logical concern. Kaminari shrugs, grinning with an expression that he thinks rather suits someone who’s about to absolutely trash the place with only vague thoughts towards the consequences.
“I’ve made my peace with that.”
See, the problem with moving into a new place- especially when their residence is school issued- is that you’re always terrified of making a mess of it in the beginning. Until you’ve properly settled in and made at least some mess, you think spilling a glass of water on the carpet is some kind of cardinal sin. Kirishima and Kaminari have decided to take upon themselves the mantle of instigating that first milestone. Which really just means they’ve gone out and bought a metric shit-ton of silly string.
It’s midway through a perfectly pleasant Sunday, time encroaching into the early afternoon. Kaminari had put a lot of thought into the date and time this event should occur at, and had decided that now was the optimal opportunity- Sunday was a free day for everyone, and this point in time is one wherein it’s early enough not to be too tired for it, and too late not to be eager enough. Besides, it’s been a kind of tense few days, what with the reasoning behind the move being so awful, so he and Kirishima agreed that it’d be an excellent stress-reliever for everyone involved.
Right now, they’re waiting outside the door to the common room, where they know everyone in the class is gathered. They know this because Kaminari went in there twenty seconds ago and yelled really loud, and because everyone in their class is a Hero-hopeful, they all came running to see what the ruckus was. All they had to do was make their entrance.
“You ready, dude?” Kaminari asks, gaze dipping towards the phone in Kirishima’s hand, hovering over the play button. Once it’s hit, they’ll have exactly eleven seconds to gather all the silly string cans in their arms in order to kick down the door on the beat drop for what Kaminari is calling peak bad-bitch energy (the trademark, he thinks, is not stated, but very clearly implied).
With a hard-set grin, Kirishima nods, and the music immediately begins to blare from the speaker they’d put on the coffee table.
“HOW MANY SHRIMPS DO YOU HAVE TO EAT-”
Several people scream. Kaminari and Kirishima scramble to fill their arms with the cans. With all the harried fervour of men whose remaining life-spans could be better counted in minutes than months, they ready themselves in front of the door, waiting for the final lines like a call to war.
“-SHRIMPS ARE PRETTY RICH-”
The second the beat drops, they’re out the door, arms shifted so they are both able to operate the spray of one can each. Kirishima sprays his directly into Bakugou’s face- blond hair becoming overwhelmed with neon orange string. The music is practically making the floor shake, and yet everyone is suddenly quiet, waiting eagerly for how their angriest classmate will react.
Bakugou stares, almost bewildered, until Kirishima suddenly decides that he has no need of a future and throws a can at the other boy- again, hitting him in the face.
A pause. A grin stretches across Bakugou’s face as he grabs the can and aims the nozzle. Not at Kirishima, though- that would be too easy- he presses down on the can and the pink string sprays directly onto one Izuku Midoriya. Kaminari follows it by throwing a can at him.
It spirals quickly from there. Midoriya sprays the string right back at Bakugou, Kaminari sprays Sero, Sero sprays Mina, Mina sprays Ochako, the list goes on until it devolves into an all-out war. The cans are all distributed soon enough, each spray a different colour just for the satisfaction of knowing who got who. Although the song ends eventually, hardly anyone notices and nor do they care much as they completely douse each other in silly string. The sofa, the floor, the coffee table, even the walls- none of it is safe from the line of fire, either, and the whole place becomes a canvas for every colour under the sun and just as bright.
Nothing lasts forever, however, and not long after, they’re all exhausted from running around and clutching at empty silly string cans. From across the room, he and Kirishima share matching smiles, proud of what they’ve accomplished. Kaminari looks out from the centre of the absent chaos and thinks to himself that this whole plan was pretty damn successful, watching as the class takes in the mess with beaming smiles. Any of the feather-present heaviness from before is replaced by the content huff of an adrenaline crash, and he basks in the cheerful exhaustion that every one of his classmates has been overtaken by.
That is, until the door handle to the common room twists open, and Aizawa Shouta walks through into the living room looking both pissed beyond belief and utterly world-weary in equal measure. The whole room freezes, catching the not-quite-cold exasperation lacing his face like tied up sneakers. He drags a hand across his face, groaning under his breath like everything’ll disappear if he just ignores it resolutely enough.
“Anyone care to tell me what happened here?” He asks, levelling them all with a glare that might seem more suiting on a kindergarten teacher trying to figure out whose bright idea it was to get everyone to fingerpaint on the walls. It was kind of a similar scenario, he supposed.
Kaminari, brave as he is, steps forward, solemn as the end of the world. “It was my idea sensei.” He announces, not quite apologetic. Kirishima, having been too surprised to do anything earlier, steps forward with Kaminari as well with the same claim, not wanting to throw his friend under the bus.
Aizawa sighs, looking thoroughly unsurprised. “Step outside with me for a moment.” He mutters, making his way towards the door as the pair follow. Kaminari hears Sero say something about the kind of flowers they’ll want at their funeral, but ignores it in favour of closing the door behind them and going ahead until they’re out of earshot.
“So,” Aizawa starts, having aged about five years in the last two minutes. “In what world did you think that was even remotely a good idea?”
Kaminari laughs nervously, pressing and un-pressing his fingers into the palms of his hands. “We, uh, wanted to make things less awkward. You know how you’re always like, unnecessarily scared of doing anything in your new house until the first big mess? Yeah, this was that.”
“It’s been a really tense few weeks for everyone here,” Kirishima chimes in, looking at Aizawa pleadingly, and Kaminari is hit with the sudden thought that Kirishima was already in trouble for Kamino. Well, that’s a huge yikes. “We just thought it’d be good for everyone to loosen up and just do something that normal teenagers do for once. We’re sorry for not asking you first.” He bows then, and Kaminari hurries to copy.
“But you would have done it anyway,” Aizawa finishes, completely fed-up. “…Fine. I can understand that you were coming from a good place, but maybe just warn someone next time? I heard that music before I even saw the building.”
Kirishima looks startled. “Wait, so, we’re not in trouble?”
Aizawa glowers. “No, you’re definitely in trouble. I want you two to go and clean up that mess, and see me on Monday for a break time detention. Just, get out of my sight.”
It’s really not that much, if they think about it. They were planning on doing the clean-up anyway, and just one detention? That’s really lenient given the sheer amount of mess they’ve made. ‘It’s almost like Aizawa’s gone soft’ Kaminari thinks, but doesn’t voice it as they both hurry back to the common room, not ones to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Once they’re back in the room, there’s a minute or two of commendation where they’re congratulated on actually surviving the encounter before they urge everyone out for the clean-up.
“C’mon, Kirishima,” Kaminari declares solemnly- though he can’t quite hide his grin- walking towards the sofa to pull off the string as Kirishima goes for the floor. “Let’s put on our clown shoes and walk this road.” Kirishima laughs, bright and loud, bunching mixes of neon pink, blue, and orange string.
The problem is, while they do make progress, they keep on getting distracted. At one point, Kirishima turns on the TV- ‘For some nice background noise’ he says- but they end up standing there for half an hour when a show comes on that seems interesting. And then they get so caught up in the TV that they start looking for something else to watch until they go for the remote and realise they’ve still got half an armful each of silly string. Then Kirishima accidentally throws a bit of the string at Kaminari, so Kaminari decides to spin some around Kirishima’s hair like a Christmas tree, but then they start talking about neon silly-string’s potential as spray-on tinsel.
A couple hours later, they’ve made good progress, but it’s also the time the class usually eats. Kaminari complains, but they still stay in the living room while everyone goes to eat, because they both know if they stop now they’ll probably never remember to start again. The class come and go, and the clock ticks while they carry on. By the time Aizawa turns up again, the floor is even almost clean, and Kaminari’s attacking the wall with a spatula trying to get the stuff off the walls.
Aizawa looks at them trying their best to clean up, and then to windows reflecting a late Summer’s night sky. “Boys,” He starts, calling them to attention. “Go to bed. While I appreciate that you’re trying to finish, you’ve also got school tomorrow, and you need sleep.”
“You sure, Sensei?” Kirishima asks, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck as Aizawa turns his attention towards him. “We really can carry on if you want.” Kaminari nods in agreement, but Aizawa shakes his head.
“I mean it. Sleep.” He says and, well, there’s no arguing with that- not coming from a man who values sleep as much as Aizawa does, judging by how often he pulls out that sleeping bag in class, at least.
After Aizawa’s bid them farewell, they head to the elevator together, each pressing the button for their own floor as the doors close. “I think that went pretty well!” Kaminari chirps jovially. “I’d call it an overall success. Aizawa was nice, I’m almost tempted to say he was replaced with a lookalike.”
Kirishima snorts as they near Kaminari’s floor, punching him lightly on the shoulder. “Y’know he’s probably gonna make us study in detention, man.”
Kaminari blanches.
“Actually, I’ve changed my mind. This is the worst possible outcome.”