the birth of cool

by amukWrites

For a new classmate, Kirishima was annoying and loud and never understood personal space. It was everything Bakugou hated in a person. Yet, after Kirishima helped him in a fight, he owed him one. Unfortunately.

Title: the birth of cool

A/N: For the Not My Forte zine! I wanted to do a Kids on The Slope-inspired AU (basically 1960s Japan with lots of Jazz music).

Summary: For a new classmate, Kirishima was annoying and loud and never understood personal space. It was everything Bakugou hated in a person. Yet, after Kirishima helped him in a fight, he owed him one. Unfortunately.

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Bakugou didn't believe in luck. Why rely on such a wishy-washy thing? Either you wanted something bad enough to do it yourselves, or you didn't want it in the first place. He didn't believe in fate or destiny either—no one, not even a god, could force him to do anything. His future was his own to grab.

Unfortunately, there was no other word to explain how he met Kirishima. It was pure chance that he was in class that day, that his last suspension had ended last week and he hadn't fought anyone since. Most people must have expected him to ditch; he barely attended class as it was. Yet, despite what everyone thought, Bakugou liked class, liked learning, liked picking up facts and figures and the world slowly clicking into place with each new info.

He just didn't like everyone in his class, his school, or the world for that matter. They didn't find any aliens last year when they landed on the moon, but he was certain that even if they had, they wouldn't be any friends of his.

If he could tolerate anyone, it was his teacher. Aizawa-sensei seemed to hate the world more than he did. Even the morning attendance was done gruffly, with barely any expectation or desire for a response. Bakugou liked it better that way.

Just as he was about to put down the sheet, Aizawa frowned. "Almost forgot. We have a new—"

The door slammed open. A redhead burst in, all smiles and sunshine as he bounced to the front. "HI!"

Everyone stared at him. Bakugou wasn't sure what was brighter, the new guy's smile or his hair.

"—student from Kamakura." Aizawa set down the attendance sheet and yawned. As usual, he looked utterly exhausted, big dark circles under his eyes. "Introduce yourself."

"I'm Kirishima Eijiro!" His smile was still as blinding as the sun and he waved. "I love the Crimson Hero and I'm gonna be just like him."

Bakugou scoffed as the class erupted into flames. Who wanted to be like a third-rate comic book hero? At least Kirishima had the build in it—the school uniform couldn't hide the strength in his stocky build, the muscular arms and legs built up from years in martial arts training. Maybe he should challenge him to a fight later. Just to see if he hit as hard as Bakugou guessed.

"Done? Good. You could sit in the back. There's an empty seat next to Bakugou," Aizawa drawled. "Raise your hand."

Bakugou glared. The empty seat was a buffer between him and the assholes. Like hell he wanted to lose that to someone like Kirishima.

Unphased, Aizawa gestured. "He's the one who's angry."

"Alright!" Kirishima trotted eagerly down the aisle. As he reached his seat, he grinned at Bakugou. "Nice to meetcha, neighbour!"

"Fuck off," Bakugou snarled.

-x-

If there was something worse than Kirishima sitting next to him, it was the fact that everybody surrounded him like locusts during the break. For once, Bakugou's glares and snarls did nothing to scare the pests away, his class more interested in learning about Osaka and who their new classmate was.

"I can't believe you left the beach for here!" Mineta bemoaned, his hands in his hair. "The babes! The swimsuits! The nip slips!"

Ashido elbowed him out of the way. "Of course he'd come to Tokyo! Everything's here."

"The sea ain't," Kirishima replied good-naturedly, his head turning from one classmate to the other. He looked overwhelmed. "But you guys get so many movies here! Even the Hollywood ones!"

"Once a month the theatre shows them," Asui croaked. For some reason, her voice was always a little hoarse. "You didn't get any at home?"

"We did but…they're real hard to find." Kirishima's voice rose, excitement rolling off him in waves. "And music's even harder. We always had t' go t' the city to get 'em."

"What else was hard to get there?" Uraraka asked, pushing a stray lock behind her ear.

"Do you really live in the middle of nowhere?"

"Is the fish cheap there?"

"What was your old uniform like?"

Bakugou twitched at the tsunami of questions. They asked them faster than Kirishima could answer and at the rate they were going, they'd be at this for two days. He could not handle this noise for two fucking days. He could barely handle it for ten minutes.

Leaning back in his chair, he slammed his foot down on his desk.

Ashido and Uraraka jumped, their heads snapping to him.

In response, he glared harder and slammed his other foot down.

Iida, the class president, recovered first. Glancing at the clock, he clapped his hands. "Break's almost over, everyone!"

"R-right," Yaoyorozu nodded, shakily gesturing at their seats. "Let's sit down before class starts."

It only took seconds, but the quiet returned. The flies were gone. Bakugou could finally sit in peace.

And Kirishima was looking at him with wide, adoring eyes. He leaned forward, invading Bakugou's personal space, his hands grasping Bakugou's tightly. "That was AWESOME!"

It was hard not to feel pleased under that gaze. Bakugou yanked his hands free and turned away. "Like I need you to tell me that."

-x-

Bakugou wasn't hiding. Hiding wasn't a word in his vocabulary. It was something cowards do.

No, he was merely avoiding Kirishima when he sat up on the roof, chewing the bun he'd bought for lunch. Ever since that first break, the guy followed him around like a puppy and all of Bakugou's usual insults and jabs rolled off him like water off a duck. If he weren't so goddamn annoying, Bakugou would have respected his resilience.

As It is, he was wondering if murder was worth it.

The rooftop door slammed open and he tensed, expecting to find red. Instead, an unfortunately familiar raven-haired boy walked out, followed by a tiny blonde girl and lanky blue-haired senior. Bakugou gritted his teeth.

Dabi.

Toga.

Shigaraki.

He wondered how long his suspension will be this time.

"You." Dabi noticed him at the same time and sneered. His piercings glinted in the afternoon sun and his burned and bruised skin made him look like a patchwork zombie. "Look who's back?"

"Ohh, I was just thinking it was boring!" Toga grinned, pulling out a switch knife from god-knew-where. She licked the blade. There was nothing innocent about the way she looked at him.

Shigaraki smiled, all teeth and menace. He cracked his hands. "Think they'll kick us out this time?"

"If you're lucky," Bakugou growled, cracking his knuckles as he lurched to his feet. He was never one to back down from a fight, no matter how stupid it might be. "Guess you forgot what I taught you last time. I'll make sure you don't forget the lesson this time."

"So aggressive." Dabi pulled out a lighter. He flicked it once, twice, his lips curling into a smirk. "Just like your American mom, half."

Bakugou didn't know if they actually cared about why his hair was so light it was almost blonde, if they cared that he could speak Japanese and English. Not that it mattered; they'd still fight for some other inane reason even if he looked just like them.

It was fine by him. There was no way he'd ever see Dabi's smirk and think of it as anything other than punchable. Hell, even now, he didn't wait for their taunts before launching at Dabi. it was a familiar dance, a drill he knew by heart.

Anticipating it, Dabi took the blow to the cheek and swung back, hitting Bakugou in the gut.

Bakugou coughed, the breath knocked out of him, and staggered back. Toga joined in, her switchblade grazing his cheek as he narrowly dodged. His body's reactions were automatic. They always made the same opening moves. Next was Shigaraki—

The door banged open, catching them off guard. Kirishima popped through, a goofy smile on his face as he waved. "Hey."

They all stared at him. Kirishima stared back. Noticing Toga's weapon and their positions, Kirishima immediately tackled Shigaraki, shouting, "That's not a fair fight!"

"Who the fuck is this?" Dabi snarled.

Bakugou didn't know the answer. He had known Kirishima for three hours. The guy was fighting like his life depended on it. This didn't make sense.

What did make sense was Dabi's open face. Bakugou jabbed him in the nose.

-x-

There were few things Bakugou hated more than owing someone. He was used to suspensions, used to the way his cheeks stung and his knuckles ached, the bandages only stopping the bleeding and not the pain. These were all things he knew. What he didn't know, though, was why Kirishima came to 'help' him.

He didn't need it.

He didn't want it.

He didn't even ask.

Yet, it still hung over him like an axe. Bakugou owed Kirishima something. It was the guy's first day at school. It wasn't his fight. Yet, despite that, he was suspended for the week too, as though he was just as bad as the rest of them. Something heavy settled in Bakugou's gut, akin to guilt.

The easiest way to fix this was to get rid of the debt. And to do that, he had to find out where Kirishima lived. Luckily, there were some highlights to having an idiotic childhood 'friend', Izuku, in class, and it wasn't long before Bakugou was standing in front of a small, two-storey music shop. If Kirishima lived here, the second floor had to be a residence.

Unfortunately, it looked like the only way up was in. A bell chimed as Bakugou opened the door. The soft sounds of a saxophone filled the air, the music a lot calmer than he had expected. Inside there were rows upon rows of records, a variety of genres and artists, and Bakugou lingered on them before looking around for Kirishima.

"Bakugou!" Not that he had to wait long. Kirishima appeared out of nowhere, his eyes wide and smile wider. "You're here!"

It was too early in the day to deal with this. There didn't seem to be an off switch for Kirishima's energy.

"Man! I can't believe you're here!" Kirishima babbled, rocking back and forth. "I really wanted to call but I forgot to get your number. Or your address."

"You're not getting it," Bakugou automatically replied, scowling. "Why'd you fight? I didn't need your help."

Kirishima laughed. It seemed all he did was smile and laugh. He rubbed his neck. "Well, yeah, you looked like you could have taken them all on, but it wasn't a fair fight. Three on one? Nothing honourable about it. Besides, what sort of man just walks away from that?"

"The normal kind." Bakugou rolled his eyes. He shouldn't have bothered to ask. "What'd you want?"

He cocked his head, confused. "What do you mean?"

Bakugou felt off-balanced. He gritted his teeth. "Look, I owe you. I don't like owing you. What do you want?"

"Nothing!" Kirishima snorted, shrugging lightly. He gestured upstairs. "Hey, since you're here—wanna play cards? Man, you'll be like my first friend over."

Bakugou bristled. "Since when were we friends, bastard? And were you even listening?"

"Well, we fought together. Think that kinda makes us buddies." Kirishima scratched his nose. "Right?"

"Wrong—"

There was a soft ding, the bell on the cashier desk chiming, and Kirishima turned around. "One sec. Lemme deal with this first."

"Wait—" The bastard just waved as he jogged to the cashier and Bakugou stomped his foot. He was dealing with an air-head. He should have known better after years of dealing with Izuku. Bakugou glared at the customer but the woman didn't notice, staring instead at the record in her hands.

Bakugou clicked his tongue. There was no point to this. Taking a deep breath, he stomped over to the closest aisle as he waited. Might as well see if there was anything here worth getting. The closet section was jazz and he scoffed as he picked up a record with a black man playing the trumpet. Birth of the Cool. More like 'birth of the lame'. He was pretty sure the mellow music above was also jazz. This genre was made for sleeping and doctor's offices.

There were dozens of similar records on this shelf. All jazz. All equally boring.

"You listen to jazz too?" Kirishima asked, popping in out of nowhere, and Bakugou all but dropped the record back into place.

"No," he snapped, irritated that he got caught off-guard. "It's fucking boring."

Kirishima stared at him for a moment before his lips flattened, his brow furrowed, and suddenly everything that was soft about the guy was now hard. "It's not boring."

Bakugou wondered if he'd look like that if they fought and a thrill ran down his spine. Scoffing, he picked up Kind of Blue and shook his head. "It's slow, fucking boring, and pointless."

Kirishima's eyes narrowed. "You just haven't heard the right ones."

"There were no right ones." Bakugou rolled his eyes.

Kirishima frowned deeper before realization flashed across his face. His eyes widened, taking in Bakugou, and then the record in his hands. He grinned. "Alright, come here tonight."

"Huh?" Bakugou stares. "What?"

"We have a performance tonight, in the basement. Come around eight, it'll be fun." Kirishima stood taller now. "You'll see how amazing jazz could be."

"The fuck am I doing that?" Bakugou growled.

Kirishima smirked. "You said you owe me one, right?"

-x-

This wasn't Bakugou's first time at an underground club. Nothing really got to him as someone telling him no, so he was a regular at the local bars, sneaking in when no one was looking. it was not so much the drinks he was after as it was the fact he needed to prove he could get in regardless.

Today, there was no need for that. The record shop was still open when he arrived at 8:10, deliberately late to show his irritation with it all. Kirishima didn't seem to care, still smiling like a hundred watts as he opened the door and all but shoved him into the basement. The access was free, there were no drinks, and the entire basement looked like a gym dance. Small tables were scattered across the floor, adults setting their glasses on them as they smoked and talked. There's a hazy glow to the room, cigarette butts bright in the gloom, and this might be the most relaxed club Bakugou had ever entered.

Then again, it made sense. It was jazz. Boring music for boring people.

The only person with any energy was the redhead next to him. Kirishima rocked on his heels excitedly, as though he was filled with too much energy and didn't know what to do with it. He stuck out like a sore thumb. "You're going to like this."

"I'm only here because I owe you," Bakugou ground out, before Kirishima could get the wrong idea. Again. "That's it."

Kirishima clasped him on the back. "Right, right—oh, it was starting! Nothing beats hearing it in person."

On the low stage in the front, four men positioned themselves. One sat behind the drums while the rest stood with a saxophone, trumpet, and trombone. A woman in a silky dress step[ed into the spotlight, her bangs covering an eye as she held the mike stand.

A hush fell over the crowd as the music started, the woman singing low and soft. it was practically a lullaby. Maybe he could just sleep on his feet.

The tempo picked up, the drum growing louder, and a trumpet rang through the room. Bakugou blinked, wide awake, as the woman started singing in English. The trombone was aggressive, the saxophone on fire.

It's like watching an argument on stage. Bakugou stared as the players started to compete for spotlight, each of them calling at another with their instrument, notes shouting for dominance. Kirishima was right—there was no way he could call this boring. This music was alive, a growing beast, and his hands twitched.

Kirishima leaned close, whispering in his ear, "Amazing, right?"

Bakugou shivered at the unexpected contact and elbowed Kirishima in the gut. "Fuck off."

Rubbing his side, Kirishima laughed, undisturbed. "I knew you'd like it."

-x-

Kirishima's grin was no less annoying the next day, when Bakugou found himself in the shop for the second time in as many days. it was like looking at the sun when Kirishima bounced toward him, as though he had personally made his day by just appearing. "Bakugou! Wanna play cards? I'm learning poker!"

"You asking that again?" Bakugou muttered, hands in his pocket, feeling oddly awkward as he stood inside. It wasn't like yesterday, when at least he had a purpose to be here. Here he was, back again, and he wasn't sure why.

"Thought you might agree this time." Kirishima hummed, still rocking on his feet. After a few seconds, he straightened. "Oh, right, I wanted to give you something."

"What?" Bakugou asked suspiciously as Kirishima rummaged through the shelves.

"A gift. Kinda." Kirishima pulled out two records—Bakugou recognized the Birth of The Cool that he'd mocked yesterday—and held them out. "I can't really give 'em away, but you could borrow them for like a day or two."

"And?" Bakugou raised his eyes to Kirishima's, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"And I thought you'd like them?" Just like last time, Kirishima was guileless before his lips part in a soft oh. "You don't have a player? You could listen upstairs then."

There it was again. Just like with Izuku, there was no other shoe. it was unsettling. He still felt like he owed Kirishima something.

"We'll play your stupid cards," Bakugou growled, taking the records.

-x-

Despite his stupid smile and stupid opinions, Kirishima had a surprisingly good taste in music.

Bakuguou almost didn't want to return the records.

-x-

When Bakugou finally stepped into the classroom again, a hush fell over the class as usual.

Only, this time, a moronic redhead waved from the back. "Bakugou!"

Bakugou grunted in response as he slid into his own seat.

"Man, it was nice to be back, huh?" Kirishima grinned, taking in the class. "Not that I really got to do anything last time. Is this still technically my first day?"

"Maybe."

"Man, it's hard to read you sometimes! You're like a man of mystery!" Kirishima leaned over and pats him on the back. "Say, wanna hang out after school?"

To his surprise, he didn't hate the touch. it was an uncomfortable fact.

"Come on, bro!" Kirishima pleaded.

"We're not brothers." Bakugou finally muttered. "And you'd better have some good food this time, none of that biscuit crap."

Kirishima lighted up, somehow looking even brighter than before. "Yeah! We could get chips on our way home."

He regarded him for a second and then nodded. The hand was still on his back. Bakugou didn't shake it off.