bnha oneshots (vol 1)

008 ⋆ tell me why 🖤

ship: kiribaku

⋆

"I want an answer, goddammit!"

Bakugou was fuming. Teeth bared, red in the face, brows pinched at the center and nostrils flaring. And maybe he had every right to be mad at Kirishima right now, but their kitchen table didn't deserve to be blown to bits. Kirishima swallows, not knowing how to start or where to end. Bakugou lets out a growl and grabs at his own blond spikes, palms smoking and smelling of freshly burnt caramel, though the crackling of his palms paled in comparison to the blond's irrefutable anger. Kirishima felt himself stiffen when the blond's head snapped in his direction again, eyes wild. Confused.

Hurt.

"What's next, huh? You're gonna say some shit like 'It's not what it looks like'?"

"It's not," Kirishima says, because it isn't.

It was already hard enough for the two pro heroes to live harmoniously under the same room whilst simultaneously hiding their relationship from the outside world. Their relationship wasn't their biggest secret, but it wasn't public knowledge either; as far as the public knew, Kirishima and Bakugou were two of the bestest friends shacking up in the same tiny studio. They left at the same time, fought crime, and left their agency to pick up a couple of takeout boxes on their way home because they were just really good friends.

'Pop Rock!' is what the public knew them as; Pop Rock! was their unintentional brand--their image as friends . They played the role of 'casual best friends' so well that anyone would be confused as to why Ground Zero was currently tearing up their apartment over a tabloid magazine covering 'Red Riot and Uravity's Scandalous Night Out!' If the title wasn't bad enough, the image they used for the cover was surely ten times worse.

Ochako had called to ask if Kirishima knew how to set up a TV stand. Kirishima had gone over there with the intention of building said TV stand. Kirishima ended up staying over for four hours longer than planned because apparently, part of building a TV stand was watching The Conjuring and discussing how shitty, yet oddly compelling the storyline and characters were whilst eating microwaved noodles. Kirishima came with his hair spiked and left with half of his hair held back with a raggedy bandana. Ochako hugged him goodbye and gave him a peck on the cheek that was supposed to translate into a "big smooch" for Bakugou. Someone snagged a picture of that interaction and took it completely out of context--Uravity and Red Riot had "just kissed" and were giving each other the post-shag bedroom eyes.

It was not a good look for either of them.

Bakugou's still glaring at him. "Then explain."

Kirishima wished the contents within the zine were salvaged for his unfortunate reading leisure, but Bakugou burned a gaping hole through most of the pages before the redhead had a chance to see the slander for himself. Kirishima was running out of options and time; Bakugou was shaking with rage and all he wanted to do was hold him close and tell him everything is fine, but it's not.

They're not.

"Katsuki," Kiri starts, tongue dry against the upper roof of his mouth. "It's really not what it looks like."

Bakugou had a bad habit of going into a feral rage first before asking questions, and this was one of those few occasions where he could do both at the same time. Kirishima licks his lips and takes a tentative step towards the blond, ignoring his threatening crackles and murderous gaze. Still, Kirishima found no fear in his actions--no real malice or poison behind those words in motion; it was the way he coped. Put a wall up, act tough. He knew it all too well, and that's why it was always so easy for him to break down that wall with a feather-light touch.

He reaches for Katsuki's cheek. Bakugou flinches and grabs at Kirishima's wrist, palm heated and clearly expecting to come in contact with a hardened epidermis. Eijirou's skin sizzles beneath his palm and he hisses but makes no move to recoil. Katsuki realizes and loosens his vice-like grip on his wrist with a flash of guilt. His jaw is clenched stiff when Eijirou's thumb brushes across the bone. The ball in his throat bobbles as he swallows hard. The flame that once set his crimson irises ablaze had diminished completely. Eijirou traces his jawline like he has a thousand times before. "You know I'd never do anything like that to you, Suki. It's really not what it looks like."

"Then why?" Why us? Why now?

Kirishima understood.

They were three years deep into their relationship with few major feuds to date. Gay marriages had been legalized recently. Eijirou had recently bought a ring.

Katsuki sported it well.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that Ground Zero and Red Riot were more than just really good friends who just so happened to be shacking up in the same tiny studio, who left home the same time, fought crime, and left their agency to order takeout and head home, who kept each other warm when the nights were too cold and took turns fanning each other when the days were too hot. They were more than friends who worked together and watched each other's six, who'd put their lives on the line if it meant keeping the other out of harm's way. They were more than friends who donned an unofficial duo name--a ship name, if you will.

They were friends, yes, but that relationship had since blossomed into something so much more than what the tabloids could fathom. They only knew what they saw and confirmed things with what they were told. They've never seen heroes Ground Zero and Red Riot behind closed doors; they've never seen them beneath their masks. Here in this tiny studio apartment, they had a place of understanding and a community of trust and soft, subtle touches. Yes, a picture could speak a thousand words, but it was all white noise without true contextual emotions. A picture could only capture the moment.

Not the whole story.

Eijirou smiles. Katsuki sighs. "I overreacted. I'm sorry."

"We can go public tomorrow if you want?" the redhead suggests. Kat shakes his head. "Nah, let these idiots piece it together at our wedding."

Ei huffs. "They'll probably peg it as a cover-up."

"'Cover-up' my ass." Eijirou snorts at the blond's remark, and just like that, the shell of misconstruction shatters with humored riffs and subtle touches.