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Face of Thunder

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If you were to ask anyone in 1-A, they’d tell you Bakugou Katsuki was all bark, no bite. Thunder, one might say. Loud and jarring, startling, frightening, but you get used to it eventually. At first he was frightening, but his loud exclamations and explosive threats, were ignored now. Like a repetitive clap of thunder.

 

But, Kirishima never did think so. He was much more than just thunder.

 


 

 

It was a Thursday afternoon and they were lounging around in the common room after class. Kirishima was talking about their recent hero training with Ashido, Sero and Kaminari, when Bakugou stopped in front of him. Kirishima paused his train of thought and grinned up at Bakugou. He greeted the explosive boy, but said boy just looked down at him for a second before clicking his tongue in irritation. He opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something, but nothing came out. He closed it. Opened again. Nothing. Closed. He did it twice before letting out one last growl of irritation and glaring down at Kirishima.

 

“Shitty hair, come spar with me,” he finally bit out. Kirishima cast a confused look over at Sero but the guy just shrugged and, standing up, Kirishima agreed to the invitation.

 

Walking silently with Bakugou, Kirishima couldn't help but wonder why he seemed to struggle with asking him to spar. They did it all the time, most of the time they didn't even need to ask each other. They'd share a look and head over to spar. Kirishima furrowed his eyebrows and cast a sideways glance at Bakugou. The guy was a poster child for tension and anxiety. He was walking stiffly, shoulders tense and fists clenched. His face was twisted in its usual scowl, but it seemed to be a tad bit off. Like he was forcing the scowl instead of just letting it happen. Kirishima couldn't help but wonder what made Bakugou so tense. Maybe he wanted to spar to let out pent up frustrations?

 

Finally, they got to their destination. Kirishima grinned and stretched, getting ready for a good spar (Bakugou was always more aggressive in their spars when he was letting out frustrations). He bounced on the balls of his feet before planting them far apart and shifting into a battle stance. Bakugou huffed and got into position too. They locked gazes and began.

 

People who usually watched them spar wouldn't really say poetic things like ‘it looked like they were engaged in a complicated dance’ or ‘they fluidly worked together as if they knew each other all their life’ or some other beauty in prose bullshit. When Bakugou and Kirishima fought their frustration out, it wasn’t something beautiful or fluid. It wasn't a dance. It was sharp and hard to follow. Swift. Aggressive. Kirishima liked sparring with Bakugou more than he liked sparring with anyone else.

 

(Even Tetsutetsu. But don't tell him he said that)

 

But today, unlike other days, the moves were blunt and sluggish. It was as if Bakugou had been dipped in molasses. They weren't really slow, per-se, but they were certainly different. Kirishima frowned as he blocked another attack. Bakugou’s moves were becoming predictable and Kirishima decided that it was time to stop. He stepped back and crossed his arms. Bakugou glared at him, confused, then apprehensive. He narrowed his eyes. Kirishima asked if something was wrong. No response and Bakugou lurched forward to attack once again, but Kirishima easily evaded him. Bakugou growled and demanded Kirishima fight. Kirishima shook his head. He asked what was wrong again. This time, Bakugou replied with a sharp ‘nothing’. Kirishima frowned and once again evaded his attacks, dodging and sidestepping when necessary. Bakugou was incredibly frustrated now, more than before. Kirishima could tell that much. He pressed his lips together and furrowed his brow. Maybe he shouldn’t have accepted the spar. What happened during the day that could've made Bakugou so tense? Maybe it w-

 

His train of thought was cut short with a sudden hot, sharp pain in his shoulder. Bakugou hit him and he had been too distracted to harden in time. He hissed in pain, but paid his shoulder no mind, instead focusing on the horrified, angry blonde in front of him. Bakugou’s eyes were fixed on his shoulder, a little wide. Kirishima tried to assure him that it wasn't much, that he was fine. He lifted his arm and winced when sharp pain traveled from his shoulder and down his arm. That seemed to shake Bakugou out of his stupor.

 

“Shit.”

 

In no time at all, Bakugou was ushering him out and towards Recovery Girl’s office, ignoring Kirishima’s insistent claims that it was fine. Eventually, he gave up and just let the blonde lead him. He, once again, glanced at him from the corner of his eyes. Bakugou still seemed tense, but his moves weren't molasses anymore, they were jerky and harsh. His scowl twisted into something more pained than angry, and Kirishima couldn't help but get more concerned. What on earth could have happened to make Bakugou this tense? He asked if Bakugou was okay. Bakugou snorted, but it lacked humour. Why is Kirishima the one asking if he was okay? He didn't say anything else. They walked in silence.

 

Recovery Girl just sighed when she saw them and with one kiss, a bandage and some gummy bears, Kirishima and Bakugou were sent their way.

 

The way back was just as silent. They trekked slowly, pace taking forever, until Bakugou suddenly stopped in his tracks, still ways away from the dorms. Kirishima looked back at him and softly called out to him. Bakugou honestly looked… constipated. He was frowning and squinting at the ground, lips pressed together in a thin line. His fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Kirishima frowned a bit and called out to Bakugou once again, a little louder this time. Said boy exhaled sharply and mumbled something. Kirishima inched forward, frowning. He didn't hear what Bakugou said, could he say it again? Bakugou scowled at the ground, but he let out a slow breath and, a little louder, he said:

 

“I'm fucking in love with you, shitty fucker.”

 

Kirishima sucked in a sharp breath. Despite the boy’s harsh language, his voice was light and cautious, like a hesitant drizzle before a storm. He felt his heart thumping loudly in his chest and he couldn’t stop the grin that spread on his face (not that he really wanted to stop it). He stepped forward and reached out.

 

“I love you, Bakugou, ” he told him softly, “so fucking much.”

 

The blonde’s head snapped up so quickly, it was a miracle it didn't fly straight off. A pause, then a flash of utter joy fell across his face, and, in a second, it was gone. Like a flash of lightning lighting Bakugou’s face up. But the scowl was back in place and Bakugou muttered something along the lines of ‘of course you do I'm a fucking delight’. Kirishima grinned and cupped Bakugou’s face in his hands. The boy looked startled and disgruntled, and Kirishima’s grin widened. He leaned closer, closer, closer . Just as their lips were about to brush, he whispered.

 

“Catch me if you can, Blasty-poo.”

 

Then he bolted. A second passed. Then he heard Bakugou literally explode behind him, shouting curses and screaming as usual. He let out an airy laugh and he ran for his life.


Bakugou Katsuki was a storm, with a face of thunder and a heart of rain and lightning. And Kirishima? He loved every second of it.