Kirishima was beginning to realize he needed less sleep than Bakugou did. Even on nights they stayed up late, he found himself waking around dawn, only to see the other boy still fast asleep.

This morning was no different. Kirishima sat up groggily and stared at the ashes of last night's fire, feeling cold but not willing to expend the effort to start it again. The sun had risen, but just barely, and the clouds were painted pink and orange and gold. Bakugou was still fast asleep. He lay on his side, the sealskin still wrapped around his back and shoulders, and his legs were curled tight against his body.

The affection Kirishima always felt when he looked at Bakugou was hampered somewhat by the sharp pangs of hunger he'd been feeling since he had first opened his eyes that morning. He got up and walked down to the edge of the water. As he'd thought, there were no fish visible near the shore. The effect Bakugou had on them seemed to only happen when he actually touched the water, and went away quite rapidly after he left it.

Kirishima dipped his feet in the waves, wincing at how cold it was. Even though it was summer and the air was warm enough during the day for humans to swim comfortably, the sea was still chilly, particularly in the early mornings. Kirishima wasn't used to feeling cold at all; normally, whenever he began to feel it, he'd shift to his seal body and ride it out.

He waited a little while, walking along the shoreline, but he was beginning to feel antsy and impatient in addition to hungry. Kirishima's conversation with Bakugou from the night before was still fresh in his mind, and he couldn't help playing it over and over again, as if by thinking back on it he might find new meanings in Bakugou's words and reactions. He would have to tell Bakugou, just to make sure the boy knew, or else the uncertainty of it would kill him.

After what seemed to him like a very long time – though it was probably less than half an hour – Kirishima made his way back up the sand to Bakugou, who was still asleep.

He crouched next to the boy and looked at him, willing him to wake up. But Bakugou didn't even shift in his sleep. His arms were crossed at his chest, one hand on each shoulder, keeping the sealskin in place. It was endearing, and would have been more so had Kirishima not been so damn hungry.

"Bakugou," Kirishima whispered.

No reaction.

Fine, Kirishima thought, as if it was some great hardship to touch him. He reached out and put his hand on top of Bakugou's, rocking him gently. "Bakugou."

"Mmm?" He let out a sleepy moan but did not open his eyes. "What'ssit?"

"I'm really hungry," Kirishima said. "Either go step in the water, or give me my sealskin."

That made Bakugou crack open an eye. "Haah?"

That noise again. Kirishima smiled, wanting to smooth the boy's sleep-mussed hair. "I said, you should either go step in the water, to attract the fish," he said, "or give me my sealskin, so I can hunt."

Bakugou opened both eyes now, unconsciously pulling the skin tighter around his shoulders. "What the hell are you on about?" he said, his voice gravelly with sleep.

"Do you know what I am?" Kirishima said gently, folding his hands in his lap. He wondered if he was hiding how nervous he felt or if Bakugou would be able to pick up on it, even half-asleep as he was.

Bakugou, apparently able to sense that this was an important conversation, struggled into a sitting position. He glanced at the sun, still low on the horizon, and wrinkled his brow. "Uh," he said, scratching his neck and squinting. "I, uhh…"

"I am a selkie," Kirishima said, speaking slowly. He did not want to be misunderstood, did not want to mess this up, this of all conversations. He was almost glad Bakugou was so sleepy; it made him guileless, and Kirishima could see the boy's emotions more clearly in his face. "Do you know what that is?"

Had he been more awake, Bakugou probably would have blanched at the overly-patient tone Kirishima was taking, but as it was he just shook his head.

"With the skin I can transform into a seal," he said, "when I'm in the water."

"Oh-hh," Bakugou said, glancing away. He let go of his grip on the sealskin. "So you're… half human, half seal?"

Kirishima smiled, feeling tired. What a very human thing to say, he thought. "No," he said, "I am a selkie. I'm not a human or a seal – I'm always a selkie. But I have a human form and a seal form, and I cannot transform into my seal form without the skin, and I cannot hunt like this," he gestured to his own body, "and I'm really hungry, so would you please give me my skin?"

He was half ready to tackle Bakugou into the sand to get it back, but the other boy, maybe sensing the hard, audible shift in Kirishima's tone from amusement to annoyance, handed it over. He continued to stare at Kirishima expectantly, still blinking the sleep from his eyes.

Kirishima knew what Bakugou was waiting for, why he was watching so carefully. It was time to show him, wasn't it? Kirishima turned towards the water, throwing the sealskin over his shoulders. The material was still warm from Bakugou's body heat, and it had even picked up some of his scent, earthy and dense and undeniably human in a way Kirishima couldn't describe with words. Familiar because it was Bakugou, unfamiliar because it was human, and altogether quite a good smell.

He reached the shore and chanced one look back. Bakugou hadn't moved from where he sat on the sand, his legs curled up into his chest, his arms around them. His gaze, steady, impenetrable, still fixed on Kirishima.

Kirishima shivered and turned away again, wading into the water. Normally at this point he would already be in his seal form, but all of a sudden he felt self-conscious about it. Not that he wanted to hide it; it was too late for that, of course. No, just that he wanted to minimize it, make it less visible, because Bakugou, as a human, would find non-human things less appealing than human things.

So you're half human, half seal?

Kirishima knew it wasn't true. As he'd told Bakugou, he was neither human nor seal. Seals were animals, humans were humans, and he was a selkie, between the two but also wholly outside of them. Even in seal form, selkies were people, not animals. Being called half seal had annoyed him than he'd expected. He thought his patience towards Bakugou might be endless, but whether it was his nerves or hunger or just the offense he'd taken at Bakugou's implication, he felt cold and hurt.

Kirishima didn't transform until the water was up to his neck, but when he did, it was instant relief: this was a body made for the water, for coldwater. As a human, he'd had to fight to walk through the water as it had gotten deeper, but now his control was absolute. He turned around and looked toward the shore, although his vision was too poor now to make out whether Bakugou's attention was still on him. Kirishima did not doubt it was, though.

Then he dove beneath the water.

He'd missed this, he realized: the dimness of the ocean, the quietness, the way it felt to cut through the water as gracefully as a bird flies through the air. Kirishima could hold his breath for a long time, at least an hour without difficulty or discomfort, and he intended to not surface for nearly as long as possible.

Kirishima caught several fish and ate them the way seals do, raw and quick, consuming them in two or three bites apiece. They tasted mostly of blood, because he was eating too fast to catch much flavor from the fish's flesh. It was good nonetheless. To do it this way made him feel more selkie, because it was how selkies usually ate, how they were taught to eat – quick, without wasting time.

As he swam, Kirishima began to think, and realized this situation he'd found himself in was uncharted territory. He had no idea how things would be when he rose from the water and turned back to his human form again. Bakugou might be gone, after all, and even if he wasn't, it was possible things would be irrevocably changed between them.

Bakugou has no one but me, Kirishima reminded himself, and hated the way thought made him more happy than sad.

At least, whatever way it went, things would be out in the open, and he would know where he stood.

xxxxxx

In the end, he was called out of his daze by the fish passing him by on their hurry to reach the shore. It was just like the day they'd met, except at that time, in the very last moments in the long-gone era of Before Bakugou, Kirishima had felt merely bored; he'd been floating idly in the sea, luxuriating in the sway of the current. Now, anxiousness made his pulse thrum in his ears. He snagged one last fish, tore it in half with a jerk of his head and tasted it on his tongue as he approached the land.

Its blood was still in his mouth as he turned back to his human form. He wiped his lips with the back of one wrist and saw a smear of red there, shocking red like a wound. He washed off his hands in the water but kept the taste of blood on his tongue, savoring it.

Bakugou was standing at the shore, just as Kirishima knew he would be. He had his arms crossed in front of his chest, as if he was angry or perhaps cold. Kirishima shook the water from his hair, smiling without meaning to at how good the sun felt as it warmed on his shoulders.

"I never heard of selkies until today," Bakugou said, as if there'd been no break in their conversation.

"No?" Kirishima stepped onto the land, and together they made their way back towards their campsite.

"I told you, I didn't live by the ocean. Of course there weren't selkies. There weren't seals, either."

"But had you heard of seals?"

"Well, yeah, but…"

Kirishima laughed. "I'm teasing you, Bakugou." It felt so good to be able to look over and see the boy standing there, an over-exaggerated scowl on his face like being teased was the worst thing in the world. Kirishima could have sung with pleasure. "Selkies try not to mingle with humans. We figure, the fewer humans know about us, the better."

Bakugou looked skeptical. "Is that so?"

"I'm a bad selkie," Kirishima said quickly, knowing what Bakugou was thinking. "Don't judge selkies by how I am. Other selkies are nothing like me."

"I might not like other selkies, then," Bakugou said. Immediately after, Kirishima saw his face turn pink, as if he hadn't intended to say the words at all.

Kirishima stopped walking and turned to look at him. It was the closest Bakugou had ever come to anything resembling a compliment, and Kirishima felt a silly grin on his face. Bakugou, for his part, hadn't stopped walking, and Kirishima was forced to run a few steps to catch up to him again.

He felt light on his feet, as graceful and fluid as he'd felt just a bit ago in the water. It seemed almost as if he'd passed some sort of test, or perhaps Bakugou had, and a great weight had been lifted off of Kirishima's shoulders. Lack of disgust was perhaps a rather low bar, but Kirishima didn't know how these things normally went; he would take what he could get.

xxxxxx

That night, Bakugou didn't take his sealskin. Kirishima only noticed because of the boy's quite obvious shivering; he was coming to realize that Bakugou was more sensitive to cold than he was, even when he was in his human form.

It was after sunset, though not terribly late. They were both full of food. These were easy days to get used to, Kirishima thought, not for the first time. He was getting spoiled. These days would be hard to leave behind.

When he noticed Bakugou shivering, Kirishima walked around the fire to stand beside Bakugou, and dropped the sealskin into his lap. "You can use it," he said. "I don't mind."

Bakugou looked up at him, then down at the thing in his hands as if he was conflicted. Kirishima longed to know Bakugou's thoughts at that moment, because his face gave nothing away. He hesitated so long Kirishima thought he would refuse the skin, but in the end Bakugou only nodded and wrapped it around his shoulders, just as he had the night before.

"So you see now," Kirishima said, settling back down near the fire again, "why I can't get another one." He sat closer to Bakugou this time, not directly across the fire from him as he'd been before, and he had a better view of his face. He watched, unafraid, wanting, as always, to see the reaction his words would have on Bakugou, wanting to see the expressions his face took and to hear the cadence of his words.

"Ha," Bakugou said, smiling a little. "Yeah. Didn't think of that."

"You can use it anytime, as long as I don't need it. I'll let you know if I need it. You can use it as much as you want, just don't steal it." Kirishima didn't think Bakugou would steal it, of course. He had said the words only to see what kind of a reaction it would get.

"Wha – why would I steal it?" Bakugou said, turning to look at him, his mouth open in surprise.

"Humans steal selkies' skins whenever they find them," Kirishima said. "It's why we avoid humans as much as we can."

"But why?" Bakugou said again.

"Control." Kirishima could remember having a conversation very similar to this one years ago with his mother; he'd played the pupil's role then, of course. He could almost remember what she'd told him, word for word. "A selkie will do anything to get his or her skin back. Humans like to use that to their advantage."

You are giving him bad ideas, a voice in Kirishima's head said.

I want him to know everything about me, another voice said. Everything. Everything.

He wished he had the words to describe what being a selkie was like, and he wished he knew for sure that Bakugou was curious about it. There was so much inside of Kirishima that he'd never told another soul that he could very well confide right now to this human, wholly and without regrets.

"Of course," Bakugou said, bringing Kirishima back to the conversation at hand. "Of course people will do shit like that. No, I won't steal your skin. God."

The urge to touch him was getting very close to being overwhelming. Kirishima found himself staring at Bakugou, and Bakugou stared back, neither one breaking eye contact, neither moving, neither backing down.

"Ask me," Kirishima said. "Ask me anything you want."

It might have been presumptuous to assume Bakugou even had questions for him, but Kirishima felt he had to say something to break the stalemate, or his hands were going to reach out on their own accord. Bakugou blinked, surprised, and finally looked to the side, thinking. When he spoke, his voice was low and quiet, not a whisper but close. "Why me?"

Kirishima opened his mouth, then shut it with a snap of teeth. There were a thousand responses he could give, most of them wrong, many of them disastrously so, but he didn't know what the right one was. "Because you're the best human I've ever met" was his first impulse, but the follow-up question would of course be "How many humans have you met?" and then Kirishima's answer would probably make Bakugou feel less special than he actually was, and that wouldn't do.

After a long moment, Kirishima finally said, "I want to tell you these things because I feel safe with you. I want to tell you everything about myself." He hadn't actually meant to say that second sentence at all. It was a good thing the fire was growing dim because Kirishima could feel the blush growing on his cheeks.

He waited for Bakugou's look of mild surprise to change to a negative expression, derision or distaste, but it didn't. All Bakugou did was smile a little and say, "Sure."

"Sure?"

"Sure. Go ahead. Tell me about yourself."

Kirishima sucked in a breath and began to speak, giddy with delight.

He talked about cold spring beaches turned gray-brown with hundreds of seal-form selkies; about the joy of the hunt, the sharpness of his teeth and the taste of blood in his mouth; of the loneliness of being a selkie, the way he always wished to linger when others left and swam away. The feeling of being at sea, alone – the way the sky and the sea seemed to stretch forever until you weren't sure if land even existed anymore. The songs the whales sang to each other, distant and alien and somehow sad.

Kirishima spoke for hours, spoke until his throat felt sandy and dry and he could barely keep his eyes open. He knew he would not be done speaking until Bakugou was done listening. It wasn't until Bakugou's eyes began to droop too that Kirishima could bring himself to stop.

"You need sleep," he said, as if he himself didn't also.

"You can talk more tomorrow," Bakugou said, yawning.

Kirishima got up and found more firewood. He wanted to make a pile of it large enough to last through the night and put it next to where he slept, so whenever he awoke he could add more. When he returned from gathering with the wood piled high in his arms, Bakugou was curled up in the sand, although not asleep; his eyes glittered darkly in the dying firelight.

"You really don't mind?" Kirishima said, breathless.

"Tomorrow," Bakugou said again, his voice sticky with tiredness. " 'm gonna sleep now."

"Of course," Kirishima said, smiling and nestling into the sand. "Tomorrow."