Archive of Our Own

Snow had been threatening all afternoon this christmas eve, the sky pressed low and gray all over U.A. like it was just waiting to break loose. 

Bakugo only noticed it because Kirishima kept glancing out the window. 

“Relax,” Bakugo muttered, shoving the last of his things into his bag harder than necessary. “It’s not gonna trap us here.” 

Their training dragged on longer than either of them had planned. One more set turned into three. One spar turned into another. The gym echoed with the sharp smack of explosions and blows. The scrape of their shoes against the floor, breath fogging faintly in the cooling air every time they paused. 

Bakugo barely noticed the time passing, only the familiar burn in his muscles, the way Kirishima kept pushing just a little harder every round, grinning through it as he always did. Sweat cooled too fast against his skin whenever they stopped, and outside the tall windows, the light dimmed gradually.

Kirishima laughed as they finally broke apart, hands braced on his knees, breath coming easy despite everything. It was easy and warm like always, Katsuki’s favorite sound, even if he’d never admit it. 

“Hey, man,” Kirishima said, straightening. “I’m not worried. It’s just…kinda nice, y’know?”

Bakugo huffed, toweling off his face. He didn’t say that he thought so too. He didn’t say that the quiet hum of the nearly empty dorms made his chest feel a little strange. Winter break always did that, everyone leaving, the dorms suddenly too big. 

But also not big enough, not when he kept glancing at the redhead beside him. 

The rest of their class had cleared out fast. Sero left tinsel half-hanging from the stair railing like he was dragged out. Mina had hugged everyone within reach three times as tears threatened to spill from her eyes. Kaminari promised, loudly, to text memes to them the entire time. Even Midoriya had rushed out, cheerful and buzzing. 

Kirishima was the only one still here beside him. 

It wasn't an accident. Bakugo knew that. He just didn’t know what it meant. 

A quiet ding came from Bakugo’s phone cutting through the silence. He glanced at the screen immediately scowling. 

WINTER TRANSIT UPDATE: ALL OUTBOUND TRAINS SUSPENDED DUE TO WEATHER CONDITIONS.

Bakugo clicked his tongue. “Tch.”

Kirishima leaned over his shoulder before he could move away, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating off of him. “Whoa. Seriously?”

“Looks like it.” Bakugo locked his phone and shoved it in his pocket. “Storm must’ve picked up faster than we thought.”

Outside, the first real snow started the fall. Thick flakes, steady and unapologetic. Sticking immediately instead of melting away.

For a quiet second, neither of them spoke. 

Then Kirishima scratched the back of his neck, fingers absently twisting the soft red strands at his nape. The smile he gave was easy, but the gesture was nervous.

 “Guess…guess we’re stuck, huh?”

Bakugo should’ve been annoyed. Should’ve snapped something sharp, should’ve hated the idea of being snowed in when everyone else had somewhere to go. 

Instead, he glanced at the redhead next to him and his shoulders loosened, just a fraction. 

“Yeah,” he said gruffly. “Looks like it.”

Kirishima’s smile softened, not wide or bright, just quiet. Comfortable. 

And Bakugo had to look away, because the uninvited thought hit him all at once.

Christmas. Alone. With you. 

The snow kept falling.

The kitchen lights buzzed softly overhead, the only sounds beside the wind battering the building outside. 

Bakugo shrugged off his sweater and rolled up his sleeves. “Sit,” he told Kirishima, jerking his chin toward the counter. “You’re in the way.”

Kirishima listened without argument, hopping up onto a stool and resting his elbows on the cool surface. “You know,” he said, watching Bakugo move, “most people would’ve just ordered takeout.” 

Bakugo snorted. “Most people have garbage standards. Plus did you forget the literal snow storm outside.” 

The stove clicked on. Oil warmed up in the pan, popping faintly when Bakugo tested it. He moved automatically, knife striking the cutting board in a practiced rhythm, garlic crushed under his palm, seasoning measured by instinct instead of sight. The scent bloomed quickly, warm and grounding, filling the small space until it felt less empty. 

Kirishima leaned forward slightly. “Smells amazing.”

“Obviously.” 

Bakugo stirred, added ingredients, and adjusted heat without thinking. His hands were steady. His mind was finally quiet. 

Kirishima sat there and watched him like it was the most normal thing in the entire world. 

Snow trickled against the window in uneven bursts, growing heavier by the minute. The outside lights blurred, haloed by white. It felt like the world was shrinking, narrowing down to this room, this night, them. 

Bakugo slid a plate in front of Kirishima when he was done. “Eat.”

Kirishima’s eyes lit up. “Dude. This looks incredible.”

He took a bite and made a low sound of approval that went straight down Bakugo’s spine. 

“Holy crap,” Kirishima said, grinning wide. “You seriously don’t miss.”

Bakugo turned away to grab his own plate so he wouldn’t see the faint heat creeping up his neck. “Shut up and eat.”

They sat together at the table, shoulders almost touching. The meal was warm and filling in a way takeout wouldn’t have been able to. Outside, the storm raged louder, but here it was just them. Their clinking of forks, shared silence, and comfort settling deep. 

After, Bakugo rinsed the dishes while Kirishima dried them. Their hands brushed once, then again, accidental and unavoidable. Soap bubbles slid down Kirishima’s wrist, Bakugo handed him a towel without comment. 

“Hey,” Kirishima said suddenly, voice softer. “Thanks. For doing all this.”

Bakugo shrugged. “It’s Christmas Eve.”

Kirishima smiled at that, something fond and unreadable in his eyes. 

Later, hot cacao steamed in their hands as they both sank into the couch. A blanket half draped over their legs. The lights were low, the string lights still glowing faintly along the wall, casting everything in warm gold. 

They put on a random Christmas movie. It ended. Another started, Kirishima commented on the ridiculous plot, Bakugo pretended not to care but didn’t turn it off. 

Kirishima leaned back, cheeks a little pink. He looked…good. Relaxed. His hair was slightly damp from the snow earlier, the faintest curl playing at the edges. 

Bakugo tried not to stare, really tried. 

“So,” Kirishima said quietly, eyes glued to the screen. “Do you like it when everyone leaves? Being alone like this?”

Bakugo hesitated. He could deflect, he usually did anyways. 

“It’s fine,” he said, then paused for a beat. “I mean…it’s quieter.”

Kirishima hummed. “Yeah, I kinda like that it’s just real. No pressure y’know?”

Bakugo glanced at him, then really looked. The flush on his cheeks. The slight reflection of the tv in his eyes. The way his hands cradled the mug like it mattered. The way he leaned just slightly toward Bakugo, like his body was doing the work for him. 

That pull tightened in Bakugo’s chest, sharp and undeniable. The feeling was back, the one that showed up when Kirishima laughed too close, or smiled at him like he meant it, or looked at him like he was something solid. Something good. 

I like him.

The thought wasn’t new. It just felt louder and inescapable tonight. 

Say something, his mind urged.

Say it now.

His mouth opened. 

Instead, he said, “You’re going to burn your mouth if you keep drinking it like that.” 

Kirishima laughed, soft and surprised. “Wow. Thanks, Mom.”

Bakugo scoffed, but his heart was pounding too hard for comfort. 

Time passed. The cocoa was refilled once, then forgotten. The movie droned on. Kirishima shifted closer, slow enough that Bakugo could’ve stopped it.

He didn’t. 

Bakugo liked the way Kirishima filled space without crowding it. Liked how his presence made the cold feel less sharp. Liked how strong he was, how he made Bakugo feel unbreakable just by being there. 

He just didn’t know if Kirishima felt the same. 

Kirishima’s head tipped, resting against Bakugo’s shoulder. His weight was solid, reassuring. Bakugo went still, breath caught tight in his chest. 

“You good?” Kirishima murmured, already half asleep. 

“Yeah,” Bakugo said, voice rough. “Don’t get used to it.”

Kirishima smiled, eyes closed now. “Mmh…okay.”

His breathing evened out, slow and steady, warm against Bakugo’s chest. 

Bakugo stared ahead, heart hammering. One arm hovering awkwardly at his side before, carefully, settling behind Kirishima’s shoulders. Just enough to keep him there, with him. 

Beyond the building, the snow fell harder, sealing them in. 

Bakugo let himself stay still. Let himself hold onto the moment and more importantly, Kirishima. He studied him quietly, committing it to memory: the red hair, the soft breaths, the weight against him. 

He rested his head gently against Kirishima’s.

And for the first time in a long time, Bakugo thought that if Christmas was going to be anything this year…maybe it could be this. 

Bakugo woke up warm and that alone was wrong.

He blinked, disoriented, ceiling unfamiliar in the early gray light filtering through the windows. The storm outside had quieted, muffled into something soft and distant. 

Then he realized why he was warm. 

Kirishima was still there. 

Curled against his side, heavy and solid and very much real. One arm slung loosely across Bakugo’s torso like it belonged there. His head rested just under Bakugo’s chin now, hair tickling his jaw every time he breathed. 

Bakugo froze.

Shit.

He stared down at him, heart immediately picking up speed. Kirishima’s face was slack with sleep, calm and unguarded in a way Bakugo never saw him. His lashes were resting dark against his cheeks, mouth slightly open. He looked younger like this. Softer, completely peaceful. 

Bakugo glanced up, his arm was still around his shoulders. 

He hadn’t moved it all night. 

A slow, dangerous warmth spread through his chest. Equal parts of panic and contentment. 

Don’t freak out, he thought. He adjusted his breathing, careful not to wake him, but Kirishima only shifted closer. His nose brushing against the collar of Bakugo’s shirt. A quick sound leaving his mouth, half hum and half sigh. 

Jesus. 

Bakugo swallowed hard and looked away, deciding the window was more interesting instead. Snow blanketed everything outside, completely pristine. The school grounds suddenly transformed into something unrecognizable. No alarms, no class, no training schedules. No expectations. 

Just this. 

Just him.

Just Kirishima breathing softly against his chest like he trusted him without question. 

Bakugo let his fingers curl slightly at Kirishima’s shoulder, grounding himself. He didn’t pull away. He didn’t need to. Not yet. 

Eventually, Kirishima stirred. 

He shifted, stretching a little, and that was when he realized exactly where he was. His eyes blinked open slowly, unfocused at first, and then widening just a fraction. 

“Oh,” he yawned. 

Bakugo stiffened. “Morning.”

Kirishima blinked again, then laughed quietly, the sound low. “Guess I knocked out, huh?”

“Yeah. You drool when you sleep.”

Kirishima laughed, louder now, unguarded. ‘That’s a lie.”

Bakugo scoffed, but didn’t deny that he hadn’t moved. Kirishima pushed himself up just enough to look at him properly. His cheeks already pink and hair a complete mess.

“Uh,” Kirishima started, scratching the back of his neck. “Sorry if I, y’know. Took up space.”

Bakugo grunted. “You’re heavy.”

Kirishima grinned. “But you didn’t shove me off.” 

Bakugo opened his mouth, then closed it again. His grip loosened, but only barely. 

“...Didn’t feel like it.” 

Something unreadable flickered across Kirishima’s face. Something warm and hopeful, something gone too fast. 

They sat in quiet for a moment, neither of them moving far, neither of them willing to name what the night had been. Through the window, snow drifted lazily from the sky. 

Kirishima glanced toward the window. “Wow. Still snowing.”

“Yeah,” Bakugo said. “The storms over though.”

Kirishima nodded slowly. “When are you leaving? I don’t really…have anywhere to go today.”

Bakugo didn’t think.

“You’re coming with me then.”

The words were out before he could even stop them. 

Kirishima froze. “...what?”

Bakugo sat up, heart screaming for an entirely different reason now. “My parents, they won’t care. The house will be loud but there’s food and…well if you don’t have anywhere else to go, you can crash.”

He looked away, jaw tight. “Unless you don’t want to.”

Kirishima stared at him for a long second before his smile spread, slow and bright

“Bakugo,” he said softly, “I’d really like that.”

Something in his chest eased, just a little. 

“Good,” he muttered. “Get dressed. We’re leaving before they decide to shut down the trains again.” 

Kirishima laughed and stood, stretching his body out from the weird position he took last night. Before he walked away, he paused. 

“Hey,” he said, much quieter from his usual tone. “Thanks.” 

Bakugo didn’t look at him. “Don’t make it weird.” 

But when Kirishima walked off to grab his things, Bakugo let himself glance at him for just a second longer than necessary. 

The snow crunched under their boots as they made their way up to Bakugo's house. The street still covered in a blanket of snow. When Bakugo opened the door, warmth and the smell of cinnamon hit him immediately, making the chill outside feel miles away. 

“Welcome! You two made it!” Masaru called from the kitchen, waving a hand. His voice was rich and easy, filled with the warmth that made Bakugo relax slightly more than he normally would. 

Kirishima stepped in behind him, immediately scanning the room. His eyes lit up at the twinkling string lights along the mantle and the candles on the table. He smiled warmly at Masaru. “Good to see you again, sir. It smells amazing in here!”

Masaru chuckled. “Good to see you too, Kirishima. And you, Katsuki. Come on in, warm up.”

Kirishima didn’t hesitate. He shrugged off his coat, hanging it neatly. He even made a point to help Bakugo with his, brushing the leftover snow off his shoulders. 

Bakugo’s chest tightened slightly. This is going to be a long night. 

Mitsuki appeared from the kitchen doorway, her eyes flickering to the two of them. Her lips curved into a faint, knowing smile as she looked at Kirishima. “Ah, Kirishima, It’s nice to have you back,” she said softly, voice warm. Her gaze lingered longer than necessary, noticing how naturally he carried himself. Then, turning her attention to Bakugo, she added, “And, brat…try not to blow anything up, hmm?”

“Old hag,” Bakugo muttered under his breath, earning a pointed glare and surprisingly a soft chuckle from her. 

Kirishima laughed, the sound easy and infectious. “He’s grumpy today…” he said lightly. Gesturing with a wink thrown at Bakugo, who grumbled under his breath but couldn't help the blush rising to his ears.

Mitsuki shook her head. “You two better behave. This is Christmas…no roughhousing in the kitchen.” 

Kirishima nodded cheerfully, moving around the kitchen to help Masaru set out a few last items on the table. He carried himself with a natural ease, handing plates to Masaru and Mitsuki, adjusting silverware, and chatting lightly about school. “You guys made everything look amazing,” he said, gesturing to the lights and small decorations around the room. 

Bakugo watched him quietly, noticing his small gestures. Like how he smiled when Masaru laughed at a joke, how he helped Mitsuki by passing a napkin, how he leaned in just slightly closer when speaking to Bakugo so their shoulders brushed. The warmth in Kirishima's presence was effortless, but Bakugo still couldn’t help the tug in his chest.  

Dinner was a blur of smells, laughter, and clattering dishes. Masaru reminisced on stories from Bakugo’s childhood, Kirishima already knowing some, some being new. 

“Remember when you accidentally started a fire on the tree?” Masaru said, holding back laughter. 

“I was seven and still learning to control my explosions!” Bakugo snapped, cheeks heating. 

Kirishima laughed, nearly choking on a bite of bread. “Oh wow! I never heard that one.” 

Bakugo huffed and tried to lean back in his chair, but his elbow brushed against Kirishima’s again. Stop noticing him.

Mitsuki’s gaze flicked between the two of them once more, a small, subtle smile tugging at her lips. She leaned closer to Bakugo as she passed, voice low, barely a whisper. “Don’t make him wait.” 

Bakugo scowled but said nothing. He already knew that. 

The table was cleared, the room alive with warmth and soft holiday music playing in the background. Masary clapped his hands. “Alright! Now that you two are settled, let’s get started on finishing the tree!”

Mitsuki laughed, tugging Bakugo to his feet. “Yes! You two finish the tree.”

Bakugo groaned, dragging Kirishima up with him. “Oi! I swear–”

“Brat,” Mitsuki called back, smirking.

They moved to the tree in the corner of the living room. Most of the ornaments were already hung, but some and the star remained. Bakugo shoved a stepstool in front of Kirishima so he could place the star, as he steadied him from behind. 

“Careful,” Bakugo muttered, hands brushing softly against his back. His chest thumped painfully with every small contact. 

“I’ve got it,” Kirishima said, grinning, and set the star in place. “There, perfect.”

Bakugo stepped back, brushing a hand over his neck. “Yeah…looks fine.” 

Kirishima turned, cheeks pink, eyes sparkling. “We make a good team, don’t we?”

Bakugo’s chest tightened. “Yeah. Don’t get used to this.”

Kirishima laughed softly, leaning slightly closer. The glow of the Christmas lights reflected in his eyes, and Bakugo had to look away. 

He shoved his hands in his pockets and his hand came into contact with the one thing he was pushing off, Kirishima’s gift. He got it weeks ago, planned it even before then, but the idea of giving it to him was leaving a sour taste in his mouth. 

With a playful shove, Bakugo nudged Kirishima’s shoulder. “C’mon. Let’s go somewhere private, I have something for you.” 

Kirishima stumbled slightly but followed. “Wait–actually, I do too. Let me grab it out of my bag.”

Bakugo’s chest pounded as he followed him into the small front room. Don’t screw this up.

“Here, I’ll go first,” Kirishima said, pulling Bakugo out of his thoughts. Kirishima's handed him a small package, wrapped carefully. Bakugo’s hands trembled slightly as he opened it. Inside, was a neat, compact book, edges slightly worn from careful use. He opened it slowly, unknowingly holding a breath. The pages were filled with handwritten notes, sketches, and recipes–everything Bakugo had ever made or tried in the kitchen. 

Filled with everything he has ever made with or for Kirishima, all carefully documented by him. 

“You…made this?” Bakugo asked, voice rough and surprised. 

“Yeah,” Kirishima said, face growing more heated. “So you could…keep track. I thought maybe you’d like it. And there’s still a bunch of space for future recipes.” 

Bakugo’s chest tightened as he flipped through the pages slowly. Every small scribble, doodle, and note was a memory, a laugh, a moment that they’d shared. He’s been paying attention. Every little thing. 

“This…is actually amazing.” Bakugo muttered, closing the book carefully. “I…didn’t think anyone would…” His voice caught. “Thanks, idiot.”

Kirishima's grin softened, eyes widening. “You’re welcome. I wanted it to be something special…for you.” 

Bakugo reached into his pocket again, fumbling slightly with the black box. He could hear his pulse, the heat crawling up his neck. 

He handed the box to Kirishima. “Here. Open it.”

Kirishima’s fingers hovered for a moment before pulling the lid off. Inside was a black bracelet, engraved with a single word: Unbreakable

Kirishima’s eyes widened. “Katsuki…you–”

Bakugo cleared his throat, trying to sound casual, though his hands shook slightly. “I thought it, uh…looked manly. Unbreakable is your thing, but…you also make everyone else feel that way too. Especially me.” 

Kirishima’s mouth fell open, just slightly. He looked down at the bracelet, carefully tracing the outline of it, eyes wide like it might disappear if he blinked. His fingers hovered over it, uncertain. 

“Here,” Bakugo said quickly, stepping closer before he could think better of it. His voice came out rough, almost clipped. “Give it.”

Kirishima blinked. “Oh…okay.” He held his wrist out without question, pulse warm beneath Bakugo’s fingers. 

Bakugo’s hands shook just slightly as he took the bracelet. He tried to ignore it, focusing on the clasp instead, on the way Kirishima’s skin felt under his thumb–solid, warm, real. He bent closer than necessary, shoulders brushing, breath catching when Kirishima went still beneath his touch. 

For a second, the room felt too quiet. The muffled sound of Christmas music drifted in from the other room, soft and distant, like it belonged to a different world. 

Bakugo fastened the clasp carefully, slower than he needed to be. His knuckles brushed Kirishima’s wrist again, and this time Kirishima inhaled sharply. Bakugo felt it. Felt the way Kirishima’s muscles tensed, not pulling away. Just…aware. 

“There,” Bakugo muttered, finally letting go. 

Kirishima lifted his arm, turning his wrist slightly so the light caught the engraving. Unbreakable.

His throat bobbed when he swallowed. “You put it on,” he said softly, like a secret only meant for himself. 

Bakugo’s chest tightened painfully. He watched Kirishima stare at it like it was something precious. Like it meant more than just metal and a word. Like it was him. 

Something clicked into place in Bakugo’s chest. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just solid. 

Oh.

That was it. The way Kirishima didn’t joke. The way he didn’t look away. The way his fingers curled slightly, like he wanted to reach for Bakugo but didn’t want to assume. 

Bakugo recognized it because he felt the same damn thing. 

Kirishima looked up then, eyes bright, mouth parted like he was standing at the edge of saying something important. Something honest. 

“Bakugo, I-” 

He scowled instinctively, heat creeping up his neck. “Don’t get all mushy on me now,” he snapped, too fast. “You look stupid when you do that.”

Kirishima laughed softly, but he didn’t pull back. If anything, he smiled like he understood exactly what Bakugo was doing. Like he heard everything Bakugo hadn’t said and accepted it anyway. 

The living room felt different when they made their way back in. 

Not emptier, softer.

Masaru dimmed the overhead lights and switched on the lamps instead, the ones that casted everything in a warm orange glow. Christmas music continued to hum low from the speakers, something old and familiar. The tree stood proudly in the corner, lights already laid on the branches, and the star settled neatly on top. Ornaments still littered the coffee table in mismatched piles, worn out and scattered. 

Mitsuki planted her hands on her hips and eyed the tree. “Alright. Let’s finish this before it gets too late.”

They didn’t make a big deal out of finishing the tree.

No announcement or dramatic step back, just a quiet pause as Mitsuki adjusted one last ornament and Masaru flicked the lights on again. The room filled with soft color, reflections dancing across the walls. The tree looked good, full and lived in. 

Mitsuki nodded once, already heading back toward the kitchen. “Good enough, I'm putting the kettle back on. Anyone wants tea, now’s the time.”

“I’m good,” Kirishima said easily, flopping down on the couch. “Thanks though!”

Masaru followed Mitsuki, their voices fading into quiet conversation. The music kept playing, the same low and familiar tunes sweeping through. 

Bakugo hesitated before sitting, then dropped down beside Kirishima anyway, close enough that their knees bumped. Neither of them moved to fix it. 

“I’m glad I got to see your parents again, they’re cool,” Kirishima said after a moment, glancing around. “Your mom’s still terrifying, but…in a good way.”

Bakugo huffed. “She’s terrifying in every way.”

Kirishima laughed, leaning back into the couch cushions. “Still. It’s nice here.” 

Bakugo glanced at him. Kirishima looked relaxed, shoulders loose, hair still slightly messy from earlier. The bracelet peeked out again when he shifted, catching the glow of the faint tree lights.

“Yeah,” Bakugo said quietly. “It is.”

Outside the window, snow drifted down again in a slow, steady fall, softening the world beyond the glass. No wind this time. Just quiet. 

They sat like that for a while. Not talking much. Just existing in the same space, the warmth of the room settling deep into Bakugo’s bones. Kirishima absently traced the rim of his new bracelet with his thumb, eyes unfocused. 

Bakugo noticed. Of course he did, it was Kirishima. 

“You keep doing that,” Bakugo muttered. 

“Hm?” Kirishima blinked, then glanced down. He smiled a little, sheepish. “Oh. Yeah. Didn’t even realize.”

Bakugo shifted, resting his elbows on his knees. His heart felt steady now, not calm, but not panicked either. 

The kettle whistles faintly in the kitchen. Mitsuki swore under her breath.

Kirishima inhaled, then let it out slowly. He leaned closer, voice low. “Hey.” 

Bakugo turned his head. “What.”

“Can we…step outside for a second?” Kirishima asked, with a casual tone and careful eyes. 

Bakugo frowned. “It’s snowing.”

“I know,” Kirishima said, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Just for a minute.” 

He stood, tugging gently at Bakugo’s sleeve, light and unassuming, like he wasn’t sure Bakugo would follow. 

Bakugo stared at his  hand for half a second longer than necessary. 

“...You’re such an idiot,” he muttered, standing anyway. 

Kirishima grinned. 

They grabbed their coats from the hook by the door, moving quietly so they wouldn’t draw attention. Bakugo slipped his hands into his pockets, fingers brushing the edge of the small notebook still tucked there. 

As Kirishima opened the door, cold air spilled in, sharp and clean, carrying the hush of fresh snow. 

Bakugo paused just long enough to glance back. 

The tree lights glowed softly. The house felt warm and whole. 

As he stepped outside, the cold hit immediately. 

Bakugo sucked in a sharp breath as the door shut behind them, the warmth of the house cut cleanly away. Snow fell thicker out here, quiet and steady, muffling the world until it felt like it had narrowed down to just the two of them. 

Kirishima stepped down from the porch. 

He didn’t turn around right away. 

Bakugo watched him, how his shoulders were tight, how his hands flexed in his gloves like he couldn’t decide what to do with them. Snow caught in his  hair, darkening the red, melting slowly against his skin. He looked…nervous. Really nervous. 

That alone made Bakugo’s chest ache. 

“You okay?” Bakugo asked, quieter than usual. 

Kirishima let out a short laugh that didn’t quite land. “Yeah. No. I mean…just give me a sec.” 

He dragged a hand through his hair, breath fogging in front of him. “I didn’t plan this part.” 

Bakugo shifted his weight, boots crunching softly in the snow. His heart thudded hard enough that he was sure it showed. “You don’t gotta rush.” 

Kirishima glanced back at him, surprised, then nodded. He turned fully this time, eyes bright and a little wild, like he’d already jumped off something and was just waiting to see where it landed. 

“I’ve been wanting to say this for a long time,” Kirishima said. “And every time I get close, I chicken out.” 

Bakugo swallowed, fighting back the pressure that was creeping up. 

Snow fell between them, slow and endless. The house behind them glowed warm and distant, music muffled through the walls. None of it mattered. 

“I think…” Kirishima stated, then stopped. He laughed again, softer this time. “Okay. I’m just gonna say it.” 

Bakugo’s entire world narrowed on the redhead standing in front of him. 

“I liked you the first time we fought together,” Kirishima said, rushed. “Like…really fought. Not sparring, not training. When I saw how you didn’t hesitate. How you trusted your strength. How you trusted me.” 

Bakugo’s breath caught. 

“I remember thinking you were terrifying,” he continued, confidence starting to mix into his words. “But also…solid. Like nothing could shake you.” he added, smiling faintly. 

He stepped closer, voice dropping. “And then you kept proving me right. Over and over.”

Bakugo felt heat crawl up his neck, unfamiliar and overwhelming. 

“You’ve pushed me to be better at literally everything,” Kirishima said. “Training. Being a hero. Being honest with myself. Every time I thought I was gonna crack, you were there…always there.” 

His hands shook slightly as he clenched them into fists. “You say I make people feel unbreakable…but Katsuki…” he looked up now, gaze intentional. “You make me feel unbreakable. Like I can take anything as long as you’re there.” 

The snow seemed to fall quieter. 

Bakugo stared at him. 

Not like he was bracing for impact. Not like he was angry. 

The snow, the years of unsaid things, it blurred at the edges. His chest felt too tight, like something was trying to crawl out. 

“...you don’t get to say shit like that,” Bakugo muttered, voice rough. “Not without warning.” 

Kirishima’s eyes widened. “Sorry–”

“No,” Bakugo cut in, shaking his head. He clenched his jaw slightly, grounding himself. “I mean–”

He exhaled, trying to find the right words. 

“I thought I made it up,” Bakugo admitted. “All of it. Thought you were just…being you. Thought if I said something, I’d wreck everything.” 

Kirishima stared at him. “You didn’t.” 

Bakugo laughed under his breath, almost disbelieving. “I know that now, idiot.” 

Bakugo looked up and stared at him. 

Like he was trying to memorize him. 

Snow clung to Kirishima’s lashes now, melting slowly as his breath came out uneven. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, from the nerves, from saying something that couldn't be taken back. He looked strong, he always did, but there was something open about him now. Vulnerable in a way Bakugo has never been trusted with before. 

And it shattered him. 

Because this wasn’t just a crush. 

This wasn’t just a moment. 

This was years of Kirishima standing at his side. Laughing. Believing in him when he didn’t know how to do that himself. Choosing him, again and again, without ever asking for anything back. 

Bakugo’s chest burned. 

He’d spent so long convinced that if he reached for this, it would disappear. That wanting something this badly meant it was fragile. 

But Kirishima was standing there, steady as ever, offering him something real. 

Something unbreakable. 

Bakugo’s mind ran on autopilot immediately. 

He needed to touch him. Not rough or rushed, just there. To prove he was real, solid, still standing in front of him saying words Bakugo has carried in his chest for years without ever hearing. 

His fingers twitched at his sides before he stopped himself. 

Too cold. 

He glanced down at his hands, already stiff from the air, numb at the tips. The idea of touching Kirishima like this, after everything he’d just said, with hands that couldn’t even feel right made something tight and careful settle in his chest. 

“Tch,” he muttered under his breath. 

He stepped back half a step, sparks snapping softly to life in his palms. Not an attack. Not anger. Just warmth. Controlled in deliberate, small pops of heat until the sting faded and his hands warm. 

Only then did he look back up at Kirishima. 

Only then did he reach for him. 

Kirishima watched him, wide-eyed, breath caught somewhere in his chest. ‘Katsuki…?”

The sound of his name like that did something dangerous to him. 

Bakugo exhaled, slow and steady, then looked back up. Really looked. Snow clung to his lashes still, his hair catching the porch light embers. He looked nervous and hopeful at the same time. Terrified in a way he had never seen him before. 

“I’ve felt the same way,” Bakugo said quietly. No bark, no edge, just truth. “For a long time.”

Kirishima's breath hitched. 

Bakugo swallowed. His heart slammed against his ribs, but he didn’t look away. He couldn’t. 

“You’re it for me,” he said, the words heavy and certain all at once. “Eijiro.”

Kirishima froze.

Not pulled back, stunned. 

Bakugo closed the distance before he could second guess himself, hands coming up slow and sure, warm now as they cupped Kirishima’s face. The heat lingered in his palms, grounding him. Making this real.

The kiss started hesitating.

Their lips brushed, barely there, a soft, uncertain press that felt like testing the ground after a long fall. Kirishima made a quiet, startled sound into Bakugo’s mouth, and for half a second his body reacted on instinct. 

His arms hardened. 

Bakugo felt it immediately. The sudden tension beneath his hands, solid and unyielding, Kirishima’s quirk flaring reflexively with nerves and emotion tangled together. It started him, but it didn't stop him. 

“Hey,” Bakugo murmured, barely pulling back, thumb brushing along Kirishima’s jaw. “It’s okay.” 

Kirishima sucked in a shaky breath. “S-sorry, I–”

Then he softened. 

The hardness melted away beneath Bakugo’s touch, leaving warmth and strength and the quiet trust of someone choosing to stay instead of brace.

Bakugo kissed him again. 

This time, it was deeper. Surer. He tilted his head, pressing in like he meant it, like he’d waited too long not to. Kirishima kissed back with a soft, breathless sound, hands curling into Bakugo’s jacket like he needed the anchor. 

The cold didn’t matter anymore. 

Bakugo’s hands stayed cradled at Kirishima’s face, thumbs warm against flushed skin as the kiss settled–slow, steady, real. Not rushed. Not perfect. Just theirs. 

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested together, breaths fogging in the space between them. 

Bakugo huffed a quiet laugh, something almost disbelieving. “Tch. Took you long enough.”

Kirishima laughed too, shaky and bright. “You’re one to talk.” 

Snow continued to fall around them, soft and endless. 

And for the first time, Bakugo didn’t feel like he was waiting anymore.