He has to throw out his first five attempts at making a mask because he can't seem to get the eye holes just right, but when he finally gets it Kirishima spends several minutes with the door locked and blinds shut tight staring at himself in the mirror. Is it manly that I can't wear a shirt or do I look like a tool? I probably look like a tool. He flexes a little and gradually hardens his skin. I look like a monster.

That Saturday he's lying in bed playing some video games when his mom calls, "Kirishima honey, you got a package!" He nearly trips over himself twice sprinting to the kitchen.

"Thanks, mom!" And then two more times on his way to the bathroom. He tears into the package like a rabid dog to pull out the strongest hair gel money can buy. He spends a solid three hours working his hair to stand up in red spikes only to wash it out ten minutes after he smiles at his reflection satisfied.


There's a car accident on his way to school, and that usually wouldn't mean running into the nearest alley way to change, but one of the drivers started lifting the other car telepathically and that's definitely not safe.

He's got a shoulder strap in one hand ready to whirl around so he can dig out sweat pants, but stops, seeing red hair and sharp teeth and a familiar school uniform.

"Oh! Hey, Bakugo!" Oh, fuck.

He keeps moving shifting his trajectory. "Can't talk. Guy. Accident. School. Now." Internally he winces at the incoherent mess fumbling out of his mouth, but he doesn't stick around long enough to see if Kirishima picked up any of that. He turns a corner and then another shoving pants over his uniform and button down into back pack, slipping the mask over his eyes with one hand while blasting off the ground with the other. He uses the other hand to right himself onto the roof and awkwardly stumbles over to the ledge overlooking the street he was just on.

But there's no levitating cars, or screams of panic. What the hell? Beneath him lies the same scene he had just left, but now the angry guy sits on the ground crying into his hands while some masked, shirtless, weirdo hovers with a hand on his shoulder.

Bakugo grits his teeth as he turns away, grits his teeth as he swings himself to the ground and redresses, grits his teeth the whole walk to school. His jaw aches as he throws himself into his first period chair, but a scowl lingers as his mind repeats stupid shitty haired bastard.

His blood is still boiling when Kirishima drops into his seat late for once. Still boiling when Kirishima whips his head around, droplets of water flying off his still wet hair into Bakugo's face and all over the page in front of him.

"Do you not know how to dry your hair? Fuck!" Heads are turning. His palms are sweating profusely like they're ready to fucking fight goddamn it, but now is not the time or the place and just how weird would it be if he pulled out a wet wipe now and wiped the sweat from his hands?

Kirishima's face is as red as his hair that hangs dripping onto damp shoulders. "Ah, sorry Bakugo!" He's still smiling this grin that takes over his whole face and scrunches his eyes shut and laughs in a way that lets the class know there's not going to be fight today; heads slowly turn back to textbooks. "I guess I forgot!"

Bakugo glares because fuck there is no way someone can be that stupid, but he lets it go. He tries to let go of the anger that fizzles to a hard knot of agitation that worms its way between his shoulder blades and the crease between his eyebrows and spends the rest of class trying his damnedest not to touch anything.

He wipes down the desk at a furious pace, careful to reach every divot his sweat could have dripped into.

"Damn, Bakugo. You trying to snap the desk in half?"

He doesn't say anything as he grabs two more wipes to wipe his hands clean and heads to second period. The day passes in a sweaty, sweaty blur with no relief until the final bell rings and he's beelining out of school at top speed to the nearest alley way furiously throwing off clothes and pulling on sweats. He pauses foot halfway in a pants legs at the zzzpp of a seam ripping. God fucking cocksucking shit asshole fuck. It's too small of a rip to really get his panties in a wad over but it's how the seam ripping feels like a part of himself ripping just slightly in half. His body buzzing with a need to burn off the agitation nagging at him, pinching his shoulders and turning his gut.

He can feel the way the fabric brushes each crease in his forehead as he ties it tighter than necessary and the blast he lets out to reach the roof is much stronger than intended leaving scorch marks up the sides of both brick walls.

The afternoon is quiet. He spends hours stealthily staking out alley ways and abandoned industrial districts (you know, the places you're told crime happens). By five he gives up and heads to the abandoned enclosed basketball court a few blocks from his home and spends the next hour and a half furiously swiping at air, kicking, and turning, and punching until the air has left his lungs and his muscles feel heavy. He changes into his school clothes in the bathroom because even the enclosed court feels to big and exposed and when he walks home he doesn't think of anything but the warmth of a hot meal, shower, and bed.


The temperature has been steadily dropping the whole week and when Kirishima steps outside Thursday morning it smells like snow. It's funny, he ponders, how violent crimes drop with the temperature. It's not something he should complain about, really, but he's only handled a few minor altercations since he decided to suit up and none of them have led him any closer to his idol. If anything, they've only led him closer to catching hypothermia.

He's caught on quick, bringing a towel with him to help dry his hair when it's time to let the spikes down, but every morning he can feel Bakugo scowling at the back of his damp head.

That Thursday, Kirishima brings his headphones with him to lunch and sits with Bakugo in the library. He knows if his other friends see him replay the same video of the mall incident again he'll never hear the end of it and it's the only video of the vigilante out there. He doesn't expect Bakugo to look over though.

"What the fuck are you watching?" He hisses and Kirishima's eyes widen as the phone is ripped from his hand. He looks up into Bakugo's face. There's creases between his brows as one lifts up into his hairline, mouth agape.

"I- I just thinks he's neat." Bakugo closes his mouth and hands the phone back before returning to his homework without a word.

Kirishima knows he's blushing, feels the heat spread through his cheeks, but he doesn't understand why the other boy is. He attempts to reason, attempts to form questions and right as he's opening his mouth to try some words out- the bell rings. He forgets about it as the day passes.

By the end of fifth Ashido is cornering him as the class packs up their bags and Bakugo scrubs his desk.

"Kiri! Where were you at lunch?"

Kirishima scratches the back of his neck nervously. "I, uh, was in the library. Bakugo is helping me with Algebra."

"Oh! So that means you can hang out with us! We were going to check out the new arcade on the west end!"

"Oh, uh, I don't know guys, I have a lot of English homework to catch up on and my mom wants me home early to help with dinner-,"

"You said the same thing last week." Kaminari cuts in. "What's the deal dude? Do you not want to hang out with us anymore?"

Shit. I fucked up.

"No! Shit! Guys, I didn't mean to make you feel that way! I'll be there! I'll worry about my homework later." Something in his gut twists and he really does feel bad lying like this, but that's what superheroes with secret identities have to do, right?

The guilt eats at his gut the whole afternoon, but nothing really compares to the feeling he gets when he cuts on the TV that evening and there on the six o'clock news is the same masked vigilante he'd been fawning over at lunch pulling two small kids and a cat from a burning building, clothes singed and breathing ragged. He stares up at the ceiling for eight solid hours that night. I should have been there. I should have been there. I should have been there.