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Since the beginning, Kirishima has thought that loving Bakugou Katsuki is a little like loving a minefield.
Honestly, up until now, Kirishima sort of figured that getting Bakugou to come to the party in the first place would be the hard part. He figured the idea would get under Bakugou’s skin, set something off. Move Bakugou’s finger to the trigger.
And it was hard. Just... not as hard as Kirishima expected. When Kirishima had asked, Bakugou had glared at him for a long, exceptionally worrying second before shrugging and saying, “Yeah, whatever. I don’t give a fuck.”
Kirishima blinked. “Wait. So. You’ll go?”
“Yeah, I just fuckin’ said I would, didn’t I?” Bakugou had muttered. And then Kirishima punched him in the shoulder, and Bakugou punched back, and if maybe they were both a little more flushed than usual, neither mentioned it.
So, yeah. Getting Bakugou to come to the party in the first place was not the hard part. Apparently, getting Bakugou to stay at the party is.
Uraraka and Iida have been trying to help keep an eye on him, keep him talking and maybe laughing if they can, but the room is dark and the colorful lights make it a little difficult to tell who’s who. Plus, Uraraka and Iida aren’t babysitters, so Kirishima has had to step in to keep him from hiding out in a corner four or five times, now.
Kirishima can tell that something’s off - Bakugou keeps jumping whenever people come near him, glaring at anyone who looks in his direction, giving Kirishima a look bordering on desperation whenever he catches him trying to leave. So, when he finally gets up and heads for the door, Kirishima lets him.
Bakugou leaves, and Kirishima tries incredibly hard to convince himself it doesn’t matter.
But it does.
So, after about fifteen minutes, he sets his drink down and follows Bakugou out of the room.
It takes a surprisingly long time to find him. Despite the way he burns like a lit fuse, the kid can be surprisingly evasive when he wants to be. But Kirishima knows Bakugou - or, at least, he likes to think he does. So he follows his instincts, winds his way upwards until he reaches the roof, and shoulders his way outside.
Ah, Kirishima thinks.
And then he considers the fact that maybe it would’ve been safer to send someone else.
Bakugou is leaning against the railing, staring out onto the city below them, and he looks... softer, somehow. Luminescent. Like the moonlight has smudged him out, pressed down his violence and his jagged edges until they became something quieter and less serrated. His hair looks white-gold, every inch of him alight against the blue-red-purple infinity of the city skyline.
Starlight, Kirishima thinks, and then he wants to punch himself, because what a thing to think about a boy who is built to combust.
“Hey,” he says. And then Bakugou turns around, his mouth twisted into what was probably supposed to be a snarl but just comes out looking like a frown.
“Can I fucking help you?” he snaps, and Kirishima rolls his eyes and nudges Bakugou aside so he can stand at the railing next to him. He feels Bakugou’s shoulders tighten at the contact, like he’s bracing for an impact or a recoil. But Kirishima doesn’t move, just leaves their arms brushing ever-so-slightly, like a reminder.
Maybe Bakugou takes it as a challenge, because he stares at Kirishima with lightning eyes for a long moment before relaxing abruptly, almost aggressively. Like he’s trying to prove he can.
Kirishima gives a tiny snort of laughter. Bakugou looks murderous.
“Can’t you go annoy someone else?” he demands, heated and maybe a little defensive.
Kirishima raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t invite you here so you could hang out alone,” he says, a little dryly.
“You shouldn’t have invited me here at all.”
Kirishima watches him a moment, watches the way something visceral and honest crosses his face like a reflex.
“What does that mean?”
“It means this is below me-” Bakugou begins, lifting his chin, but for maybe the first time, Kirishima is struck by the painfully strong feeling that this is a defense mechanism and not a truth.
“Bakugou,” he says, and Bakugou stops. Presses his mouth shut.
“Fuck you,” he mutters.
Kirishima scowls at him. “That’s not going to work.”
“Fuck you-”
“Bakugou. Seriously. Why’d you leave?”
Bakugou stops. Drops his gaze to his hands. Kirishima watches the way they curl into fists, like Bakugou wants to punch his way out of this. Bloody his knuckles against his own personality, his inability to make friends, the war inside his chest, the burning need to prove himself inside his veins.
“They don’t like me,” Bakugou finally growls.
Kirishima nods. “You don’t like them, either,” he points out.
“I know,” Bakugou says. And then he opens his mouth. Closes it again. Grinds his teeth down.
“Spit it out,” Kirishima says. Gently, though. Probably gentler than Bakugou would appreciate.
Sure enough, annoyance crosses Bakugou’s face and he yanks his arm away, turning to stride back towards the door. “Never fucking mind.”
“No, hang on.” Kirishima turns with him, reaches out. Catches his hand. Their fingers catch in a way Kirishima wasn’t intending, his own fingertips sliding for a fraction of a second against Bakugou’s palm.
Bakugou freezes.
Kirishima does, too.
“It won’t get better,” Kirishima says, trying to pretend his voice doesn’t break, trying to pretend his knuckles don’t burn every time they bump against Bakugou’s skin. “Not unless you talk.”
“I don’t need to get better,” Bakugou bites out, but he doesn’t turn around, and Kirishima can feel the strain in his muscles. His entire body focused on the places where their skin is connecting.
“Spit it out,” Kirishima repeats.
There is a pulse of silence. Kirishima considers the very real possibility that Bakugou might just explode, lose control. Take a swing. Storm out.
Then.
“They don’t like me,” Bakugou says. Kirishima opens his mouth to respond, and Bakugou plows on:
“You do.”
Kirishima does not breathe. He lets Bakugou’s hand go, stepping backwards, something that is maybe fear and maybe exhilaration catching fire inside his mouth.
And then Bakugou says it again - “You do.” - and Kirishima realizes that there is no confidence inside his voice. No self-righteousness, no mocking, no ridicule.
It’s almost a question. Not quite, but almost.
“Yeah,” Kirishima says. “I do.”
“Okay,” Bakugou says.
And then he turns around.
Despite the smudginess of the moonlight, the strange starry softness of the dark, Bakugou kisses exactly, precisely how Kirishima expects him to. He kisses like he fights, all violence and passion and steel, his teeth dragging against Kirishima’s lower lip, his tongue burning hot inside Kirishima’s mouth.
It’s not a very good kiss, Kirishima thinks. Too desperate, too violent, too full of something insistent and overwhelming that they’ve both kept buried under their skin for what feels like decades. What feels like every day of his existence. Every day he’s been alive.
They pull away a little, Bakugou’s breath warm and heavy against Kirishima’s jaw.
“Again,” he says.
And then it is only this. Only Bakugou’s hands in Kirishima’s hair, knotted, insistent - their mouths slotted together, Bakugou pressing closer until Kirishima is up against the wall of the building, one leg pressing between Kirishima’s, and Kirishima can’t think, can’t breathe, his entire body combusting-
It is only this. Only Kirishima’s hands pushing up, underneath Bakugou’s shirt, pressed flat along the line of Bakugou’s stomach. Only the movement of Bakugou’s body, half hesitant and half greedy, like he knows he wants more but isn’t sure he wants to take it.
It is only this. Only Kirishima’s mouth on Bakugou’s throat. Teeth scraping, tongue pressing flat against the hollow between shoulder and neck, until Bakugou hisses and makes a sound that Kirishima has never, never heard before today.
It is only this. Only them, and moonlight, and starlight, and Kirishima turned to fire.
When they part, they’re both panting. Kirishima’s mouth aches, but it isn’t a bad ache. Bakugou’s eyes burn, heavy-lidded and dragging along the line of Kirishima’s face.
“Come back inside,” Kirishima says, but it sounds like, kiss me.
“In a minute,” Bakugou answers, but it sounds like, yes.