Sorry for the language it's Bakugou's pov so there's a lot
"Why do you always have to do this?"
Bakugou could feel the burning heat of rage beneath his skin, ready to burst. How dare this - this coward accuse him?
"Enlighten me, will you? What the fuck am I doing that you're so pissed about?"
"You just can't let anyone do anything for you, can you? You're too good to accept kindness. Too good for friends. That's what it is, isn't it? The mighty Bakugou can never accept the friendship of a lowly peasant like me. Well, I sure as hell won't force you. Bye, Bakugou. Enjoy your life alone. Maybe you'll regret it someday, I don't know. I don't even care anymore."
And, just like that, he was alone.
He expected there to be relief: he could finally breathe, without the weird pressure in his chest Katsuki always got around the red-haired boy. The hallway was quiet, now, but the tension of their argument still hung in the air.
All he could feel was a tightness in his chest that shouldn't have been there.
He couldn't blame Kirishima, not after all Bakugou had done. Avoiding him, yelling, cussing him out, just being flat out rude…
The list went on far longer than he would've liked to admit.
And Bakugou didn't even understand why he did it. He didn't understand any of it, really; the things his heart and his brain were telling him were so totally different. All he really realized was how fucking brave Kirishima had been to put up with all of it for as long as he did.
Not that he'd admit any of this to himself, of course. Let alone out loud.
Bakugou was annoyed at himself now. All the feelings were just... too much. He needed some fresh air. Fighting the small part of himself that suggested begging for forgiveness on his knees, he turned away from Kirishima's now-closed door.
It was all too easy to sneak out, to leave the campus, to board a metro to the other side of the city. He ended up on the bad side of town, where villains roamed freely and any normal hero should be afraid of going.
But Bakugou Katsuki had never been a normal hero.
And so he went.
It took a while for any villains to show their faces. Occasionally there were movements in the shadows on either side of Bakugou, but going after them yielded no result. It was nearly three in the morning before the alleyway Bakugou was walking through opened up into an enclosed area, graffiti-covered walls towering high above his head.
The perfect place for an attack.
Someone agreed with him, apparently, because a dark figure dropped from the rooftops, springing off a dumpster before landing in a crouch about ten feet in front of Bakugou.
They stood, flashing Bakugou a grin and dusting their hands off before holding one out.
"I suppose we should properly introduce ourselves instead of going straight to the fighting like barbarians, shouldn't we? The introductions are half the fun, after all." He had an odd accent, like silk knotted together. Something you'd expect to be dressed in a suit and tie, not the mix-matched outfit of someone living out on the streets. "You can call me The Reader."
His hand was still outstretched, enticing in the same way sirens from the old Greek myths were. Bakugou didn't take it, having no knowledge of who this guy was or what his quirk allowed him to do.
The Reader, seeing this, let his hand drop. "Not in the mood for formalities, then? No worries, no worries. What shall I call you?"
He received no answer.
The antihero was beginning to annoy Bakugou.
The Reader, though, only smiled. "Smart boy. Don't worry, I already know who you are. Bakugou Katsuki. Winner of the Sports Festival. UA's villainous hero-in-training. It was only a matter of time before we met, I'd figured, and I was correct, wasn't I? You'll find I'm right quite a bit of the time. So tell me, my friend, why have you come all the way here? It wouldn't have anything to do with your little love interest, would it? Forgive me for the assumption."
Acting now on pure rage, Bakugou flung himself at the villain, who merely sidestepped.
"I don't fucking love anyone!" The last couple words came out slightly higher-pitched than he'd meant for them to, for some reason.
"In denial, then? Perfectly understandable. Love is such a cruel emotion, isn't it? One moment, everything's fine, the next, your world's been turned on its head."
With a yell, Bakugou charged again. The Reader dodged again, then ducked to avoid what would have been a direct kick to the head.
Bakugou's brain was working at a hundred miles per hour, though his thoughts were still clogged by the need to work off his energy and what had happened with Kirishima just a few hours earlier. The Reader. His quirk was probably about reading something, based on his name and ability to dodge every attack Bakugou tried. Movements? Predicting what someone would do next? It wasn't a controlling quirk, most likely, since nothing had happened yet.
Asking couldn't hurt.
"The hell's your quirk?"
The man stood about eight feet away, out of striking range but still well able to be hit by one of Bakugou's explosions.
He laughed.
"So the police haven't let the word out yet? Stange. Or perhaps," he said, stepping closer, "they don't even know about me. Unsurprising, as no one has yet lived to tell the tale."
His hand was on his pocket. Too late, Bakugou realized what was happening.
The Reader held a knife in his right hand.
Bakugou feigned a dodge, about to kick the knife out of his grip.
But The Reader tossed the blade into the air, catching it by the handle in his opposite hand, grabbed Bakugou's leg as it swung in, and used the momentum to pull him close enough to grab onto his shirt collar, knife still in hand.
"Any last words, hero?" he spat the last word with so much malice, Bakugou recoiled. Or tried to. The Reader still had his leg, so Bakugou, off-balance, collapsed to the ground, his throat evading the knife by mere inches. Too close.
What was he doing? He was Bakugou Katsuki. And Bakugou Katsuki never lost. He raised a hand, prepared to blast this guy into next Tuesday.
He didn't even realize when the knife plunged into his exposed side, but he felt it twist, then exit his flesh.
The Reader rolled to the side just as a humongous BOOM echoed off the walls around them.
And stood back up.
"You're going to have to try harder than that to defeat me! I am, after all, The Mind Reader. And you are going to die. How unfortunate it is that you couldn't have swallowed your pride and run away sooner."
Shock kept him pinned to the ground.
Bakugou found that he was now in a widening pool of red.
Kirishima's favorite color.
Kirishima, who didn't give a shit about him.
Kirishima, who wanted him out of his life.
Kirishima, who Bakugou could swear was looking down at him from atop the slope of a roof. But with a blink, the familiar face was gone.
Just like the unbreakable hero had said, Bakugou was going to live - and die - with no one but himself for company.
And Katsuki had never felt more alone than he did right then.
Bakugou had the perfect view of The Reader's face when he got ambushed from above.
It was the first time he'd seen it as something other than the impassive expression The Reader had always worn before. Like he'd ordered a Happy Meal and gotten an angry bear instead.
Bakugou would have laughed if it didn't hurt so much.
In a blur of red, Kirishima had flattened and pinned down Bakugou's murderer. He'd already begun to see it like that - his murderer. Because the Reader said he'd die. And The Reader was almost never wrong.
But he hadn't expected Kirishima.
Bakugou's consciousness was drifting like a lifeboat in the sea, up and down with the waves. Was this death? He didn't know.
Bakugou saw flashes of red hair, heard sirens in the distance, felt something press against his wound. Dreams or reality? He could no longer tell the difference.
Soon everything came down to three absolutes: the wail of sirens, a persistent beeping, and someone's fingers tangled with his.
He wasn't sure how much time passed. He kept getting visions of that night; his argument with Kirishima, the time before that, and the feeling of the knife in his side again, twisting.
Something in his heart twisted, too.
He kept hearing The Reader's words. "In denial, then? Perfectly understandable. Love is such a cruel emotion, isn't it? One moment everything's fine, the next your world's been turned on its head."
He heard Kirishima's voice, too, but not in the stinging tone of their argument. He couldn't make out any words, but they were there. They felt gentle. Occasionally they came with raindrops on his cheek - why it was raining, Bakugou didn't know.
And always there was the feeling of a palm pressed to his.
His eyes fluttered open, registering bright electric lights and crisp white sheets. Bakugou wanted out immediately, but he forced himself to sit still so he wouldn't disturb the sleeping boy.
Kirishima looked exhausted. There were bags under his eyes that didn't belong there. A bruise on his cheek. His hair was ungelled and black at the barely-showing roots. He was sitting in a chair next to the bed, slumped over the sheets in his sleep, using Bakugou's lap as a pillow.
Their fingers were still laced together.
Bakugou let them stay like that. It felt nice, after all, and he may as well enjoy it while it lasted.
Eventually, Kirishima's eyes opened. He sat up, unclasping their hands to rub away the sleep. Bakugou tried not to feel disappointed.
Then Kirishima noticed Bakugou, who had managed to - quite painfully - sit up.
His face carved into the happiest fucking grin Bakugou had ever seen. And this was coming from years of hanging around Deku.
Kirishima was far too cute for his own good.
"Bakugou!"
What was he supposed to say? Here was the boy he'd been so cruel to, the boy who'd been brave enough to say something about it, only to be shut down. The boy who Bakugou woke up holding hands with. The boy who had saved his life.
"How'd you know?"
"Know what?" the other asked, like he was avoiding talking about anything that had happened. Bakugou wanted to do the same, but his curiosity got the best of him.
"Where I was. How'd you find me?"
"Oh. Well…"
Their gazes met, just for a second, and they both froze.
They glanced away just as quickly.
"Well?" Bakugou said, and the word came out softer than he meant for it to. He blamed the painkillers.
"After - you know - I just really needed to work off some energy. My punching bag wasn't cutting it, and the training rooms were closed. So I guess I did the same thing you did. I ended up walking through the backstreets for maybe an hour before I heard one of your explosions. I guess I felt bad about what I said. Wanted to apologize. So I kind of headed in that direction, only I went over rooftops and stuff instead of on the street because one: it was faster than going all the way around, and two: well, I guess I didn't want you to see me right away in case, you know, you were still upset or anything. And that's - that's when I saw what happened," he broke off, eyes staring into nothingness as if he could still see the attempted kill.
"You've been out cold for almost three days. You - you lost a lot of blood. Had to get a donation," he added, answering Bakugou's next question.
And then Bakugou got an answer he hadn't expected. It came as a tiny whisper, so uncharacteristic for Kirishima.
"I - I was afraid that you wouldn't wake up."
They waited in silence, Bakugou's eyes flitting between Kirishima and the blank sheets.
"I'm sorry," they said at the same moment.
Kirishima looked at him now, Bakugou's apologies being pretty rare. He probably - no, definitely - deserved an explanation, and that was the least Bakugou could do. Maybe the most.
"I don't want to ruin our friendship - if you can call it that - or anything but this is something that needs to be said." Kirishima opened his mouth to say something, but Bakugou held up a hand to cut him off. "No interruptions. I'm only going to say this once. The reason why I've been such a dick lately… I was stupid, okay? Stupid to think that pushing you away would make these - these fucking feelings stop." He fixated on the sheets again, like the fine stitches were a metaphor for his life or some shit. "And, fuck. I've never been good with emotions, I guess, but this time I really fucked up. I-" he stopped himself. Took in a shaky breath. "Love is a strong word and I don't really like to throw it around, but there's really nothing else that can describe it. If - if you don't like it, or feel the same, then whatever. Just - just don't waste my time." Or break my heart, he almost added, but that could happen either way.
As for Eijirou's answer...
Katsuki ended up saying "I love you" more than once.
And he never felt alone again.
Anddd that's the end! Thanks for reading this far, I hope you liked it.