Everything was over.

"Well?" Shigaraki's hoarse voice rang like the bell on a safety coffin. "What else do you heroes have up your sleeves? I don't think there's anything you can do now."

As much as he hated to admit, Bakugo knew the villain had a point. He and Shitty-Hair have been fighting for hours, opponents turning up at every crack, every corner of this damn hideout. At the beginning, they'd been separated from the rest of the group, and they could only hope that the others were having better luck than they were.

He coughed, blood coming up his throat, and snarled. "Why don't you just shove it, Crusty Ass!"

Shigaraki chuckled, a disturbing sight to anyone in a one-mile radius. "Bakugo, I don't think you nor red-head over there are in really any position to insult me."

Bakugo studied Kirishima behind him, and bit his lip. He didn't look so good either. He was decorated with all kinds of scrapes and bruises, but the most concerning was his skin. He was starting to become so brittle that he was literally breaking off. He had been hardening over and over again; there was only so much they could take.

The League of Villains's leader didn't wait for a response, instead choosing to walk towards the machine at the other side of the room. He picked up a small remote, eyes glinting behind the pale hand on his face. His grin was chilling, and even Bakugo felt something cold run down his spine.

Suddenly, he felt a hand clasp his own.

Kirishima squeezed his hand, a solemn expression on his face. He didn't quite look at Bakugo just yet, but the small gesture told him everything he needed to know. The blonde's face transitioned from confusion to mortification to understanding to remorse in a matter of seconds.

"I don't like how things are looking for us," the red-head started. He cleared his throat, swallowing, and continued. "But I wanted to let you know that I like you. I've always liked you. A lot. And for a long time, too."

He glanced at Bakugo, whose eyes were as round as disks. Kirishima swallowed again, a single tear escaping. His lower lip quivered, and he took a deep breath. When Bakugo didn't answer right away, he looked down.

"There were so many things I wanted to do with you." His voice was soft, like flower petals cascading as a little kid asked 'Does he love me? Does he love me not?' He closed his eyes, trying to subdue the sob that sat at the back of his throat when he felt his face being grabbed by two hands. His eyes flashed open.

Bakugo brought his face so close to his that Kirishima stopped breathing. Even though their eyes were both red, he would insist that Bakugo's were more enticing. They were always so full of life, energy, passion. The man was so driven to do everything and anything he wanted, always. He only knew how to work, and how to work hard.

And his eyes still held those traits, but now, they were glazed over with another emotion, something tender. Something, Kirishima realized, as his own eyes widened, like love.

Bakugo's jaw was tight, and at first, he still didn't say anything. He just looked deep into Kirishima's eyes, conveying a type of longing the red-head didn't even know existed. Then, without warning, tears quietly streamed down his flawless cheeks, and he released a small noise of heartache.

"You don't have to be so fucking dramatic about it, Shitty-Hair," Bakugo whispered, his breath tickling Kirishima's face. He struggled to keep going. "Because once we're done here, once I beat this third-rate's ass, we're going on a date, okay? And we're going to start doing what we should've done a long time ago."

Kirishima could've cried right there and then, but knew Bakugo would punch him for, as he put it, being "so-fucking-dramatic."

"That's a nice thought," he said, laughing softly. "But I don't think it's going to work out."

Bakugo looked more confused now more than anything, rough thumbs tracing circles into Kirishima's cheeks. He instinctively leaned into his touch, closing his eyes again, before his friend moved his head so that it was level.

"What are you not telling me?" Bakugo questioned.

"It's too late for me," Kirishima smiled. He pulled himself away from warm hands to turn around, exposing his battered and bruised back. There were four—no, seven—knives in his back. Really big knives.

"When," Bakugo breathed, "when?"

"I thought I could shield you a couple opponents ago, but what I failed to realize was that one of them got me. I don't know how long it'll last, but I can't harden my body," he replied. "When the third knife sunk in, I figured a couple more didn't matter."

Now that he looks at him, Bakugo realized that Kirishima really didn't look well. He was pale, sweaty, and swaying on both his feet. He could hardly stand. He didn't even have a quirk to protect himself, but he never once complained.

What did he do to deserve such a man?

"You," Bakugo choked. "You really are the greatest man I know."

The red-head grinned, his features brightening like Christmas lights. It was the most beautiful thing Bakugo's seen all his life. All he really needed was that smile. It made him feel like such a boy, such a boy in love, and he wanted to lose himself for an eternity in them. Bright eyes, thin lips, and a smile that could cure every bad thing in its way. He was so entranced that he didn't notice his hand move on its own until Kirishima stiffened. The air suddenly changed, charged. It was as if someone had pulled back an arrow, waiting for the sweet moment they could finally release. The Explosion user could've sworn he was going to have to back away soon from nerves: the last thing he needed was to accidentally blow Kirishima's face off. As soon as he was sure his quirk wasn't going to malfunction, Bakugo leaned in. He heard Kirishima's little gasp, and had to stop himself from smirking. They both closed their eyes, faces only inches apart, five, then four, three, two, one—

"You seem to be forgetting that your attention should be on me."

Bakugo let out a feral sound, like he was an animal tucked away in the corner of a cage. He growled in Shigaraki's direction, enraged at the gall he had to interrupt their moment. If Kirishima wasn't so drained, he just might have laughed. But approaching death was no joking matter.

"Thanks for reminding me," the hot-head seethed, "that there's some trash I need to take out first."

He felt a hand on his bicep, and turned to see Kirishima's gentle expression. He was just about to snap at him—why was he taking forever to help him beat Shigaraki to a pulp—when the red-head pulled him by the front of his hero costume to plant a solid kiss on his lips. Bakugo stood dumbfounded, lips tingling as if they fell asleep; however, he couldn't help feeling very much awake right now.

"You don't know how long I've wanted to do that either," Kirishima chuckled, a slight flush across his cheeks. "Let's get this loser, Bakugo."

Bakugo cleared his throat. "That's what I was just saying moments ago, thus the trash comment, you idiot. Pay more attention!"

"Yes, sir," his friend responded, cracking his knuckles.

Before they could run at said villain, Bakugo placed a hand on Kirishima's chest. He glanced over with worried eyes and a crease between his brows.

"Don't overdo it, doofus," he pleaded. "I don't care what you think, what you might want to try to pull off in a shit attempt at a sappy plan to save me—you are not allowed to die on me. Clear?"

"Crystal," Kirishima said, "but that goes for you, too. Mr. 'once-I-beat-this-third-rate's-ass.'"

Bakugo gruffed, annoyed but not really. "Whatever, Shitty-Hair."

They didn't waste any time charging at Shigaraki, who'd actually become rather complacent where he stood. Hand on hip, he didn't look the slightest bit concerned about two Pro Heroes in the making coming after him. In fact, he almost seemed to welcome it.

With two fingers, he peeled the hand off his face, deranged eyes replacing the glinting ones from earlier. He had a look of determination that didn't sit well with Bakugo. Something was going to go wrong, he was sure of it. There was no telling what would go wrong, how wrong, or anything. But it was there.

Nevertheless, they charged, Kirishima sticking closely behind Bakugo, who ignited an explosion in each hand.

"You're going to regret being born, Flaky Face!" He jumped, ready to feed Shigaraki a handful of flames.

"Already do," the light-blue haired man said, "yet here I am."

Bakugo despised how calm this psychopath was, and changed his trajectory mid-air so he barely missed the villain and landed behind him. He landed nimbly on all fours, feeling a painful shift in his ribcage, but ignored it. Standing up, he scowled.

"What's wrong? Scared or something?" Shigaraki sneered.

"I'm not scared of shit, Dusty," Bakugo retorted. No matter how much he tried, he couldn't ignore his instincts telling him this whole situation was bad news. It seemed too convenient.

"Hey Shigaraki! Where are the rest of your henchmen? Woulda thought you'd have bodyguards or something, at least." Kirishima voiced his concerns, cracking his neck.

But the pale, pasty man just cackled, as if he had just been told the funniest joke in the world. He had to stable himself, placing both hands on his knees. His laugh was loud, and the only noise in the room.

"For people who are so set on saving the day, you don't use your brain much, do you?"

Shigaraki sobered up, once again holding the small remote with a single button in his hands. He held it as if it was the answer to everything. Green with a big, black button, Bakugo could only guess what it did when someone pushed it.

"I was hoping no one would find the only path leading here, but," Shigaraki paused, a deserted look in his eyes, "we can't always get what we want, eh?"

"You're talking in circles," Bakugo growled. "What the fuck does that button do?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Blood-shot eyes mocked the two U.A. students, and cracked lips smiled.

Bakugo was beyond irritated. He hated not knowing what they were doing wrong, he hated feeling uncertain, he hated all seven knives in Kirishima's stark back. The least this creep could now is explain what the remote was for! When Bakugo took a step forward, he saw crimson pass him by.

Kirishima threw the first punch.

It wasn't the most powerful since he was already so beat, but the shock factor played an important role. He wasn't usually the one to explode and run headfirst into a situation: that was Bakugo's speciality. But the latter didn't bother worrying about the consequences right now, instead opting for an explosion to Shigaraki's face.

"Shit!" The older man leaped back, light on his feet. "You brats!"

"Well," Kirishima threatened, "are you going to tell us what that button's for or not?"

"It's your funeral, dickface!" Shigaraki screeched, pulling at his face. "You have NO idea what you walked into! None! Nothing! Zip!"

"What are you talking about?" Bakugo blurted, genuinely confused. He'd seen Shigaraki when things didn't go his way, but not this close.

The villain shook the remote in his hands, frantically waving it as if he was summoning something greater than he was. He heaved and heaved, grinding his teeth so hard it could've echoed off the metal walls.

"This button," he said, barely above a whisper, "will destroy everything you love. Nothing will last."

He stilled, and continued. "You think it was a pure coincidence that I'd be staying in this room, all by myself, just for your convenience? You weren't supposed to find this room. It's about time I push this button and leave, because I don't want to be around for the aftermath."

Bakugo blinked. Suddenly, realization washed over him like a cold shower. In the room there was an elaborate machine with wires going everywhere and every which way. Near the top, there was a box that said Countdown with a blank screen under it.

Bastard.

"You aren't going to get the chance!" Bakugo lunged forward, reaching for the remote, but Shigaraki just barely stepped out of his way.

"That isn't for you to decide," he said coolly.

"What about your henchman? Does it matter what happens to them?" Bakugo tried again, only to be just a few centimeters short.

"It doesn't," the villain replied. "Most of them are replaceable. Despite what you think, whoever you see here isn't even half of the people I have under me."

Swipe.

Kirishima now held the remote in his hands, and tore it in half. Sweat drops traveled down his temples, his breath shallow.

"Game over for that," he said, and tossed the remote halves over his shoulder. "But we still have to turn you in."

Shigaraki only licked his lips. He slipped off his gloves, flexing each of his fingers individually.

"You shouldn't have done that."

He reached forward for Kirishima, his hand clawed, fingers curled, and impatient to shatter everything he touched.