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“You still look hella pale, dude.”
It’s not the incoherent scream of rage that convinces Kirishima once and for all that Bakugou is back to normal, though his lung capacity and sheer volume is pretty impressive. It goes a long way towards proving that he’s back to his old self, sure. A quiet Bakugou is a beast humbled, licking its wounds and ready to lash out: ergo, on the opposite end of the spectrum, a loud, boisterous Bakugou is a positive sign, a sign of good health. This is true. But what really, truly nails it down for Kirishima, what pushes him those last steps over the finish line of knowing that Bakugou is back on his feet, no lasting adverse effects to speak of, is the fact that Bakugou is smiling.
He’s trying to hide it, to force it to twist into gnashing teeth and a tilted smirk, but Kirishima can see it clear as day. Honestly, once you know what to look for it’s so fucking obvious. Like the posters still rolled up in the corner of his room, like the weak form of the teacher who guides them all in hero training every week, even like Midoriya’s funny little bunny ears, Bakugou’s smile evokes something greater than himself. He glows with the pride of coming out of this whole stomach bug mess victorious. He is triumph, exultation—the rays of sunlight shining down on him are his trophy and his halo, lighting him in planes of brilliant golds. The turmoil inside him, Kirishima knows, is still there—still as binding as ever—but… in this moment, just the two of them, getting back to their feet after being knocked flat on their backs? Yeah, in this moment Kirishima knows that Bakugou could take on the world and win.
…Kirishima’s not about to say that out loud, though.
“You know what will really sell me on the fact that you’re ‘fine’?” he says instead, pretending to examine the nails on one hand as the other makes air quotes.
“What?” Bakugou growls. He looks like he’s about ready to just abandon Kirishima and book it across the green at top speed, his fingers twitchy after two days of enforced bed-rest and all the lectures that went with. Kirishima, who returned to class that morning, is amused to see the argument clearly going down in Bakugou’s head—to do as Kirishima says and prove that he’s back to normal versus not doing that just to be contrary.
He comes down on the side of the unfortunate realization that Kirishima has complete control of the situation here. It is Kirishima’s voice in Recovery Girl’s ear that will release the feisty boy from his period of enforced recovery… or, alternatively, condemn him to another day of sitting around doing absolutely nothing. They both know that Bakugou is biting at the bit to get back to his studies. He could probably force his way through them with very minimal sweat—even if his stamina is still on the low side, he’s definitely recovered enough to get back to his usual routine of being an ornery, stubborn ass. Still, the power Kirishima holds is very real, and they both also know that Kirishima can say whatever so pleases him. And oh, does he plan to do exactly that.
Struggling to hold in his grin, Kirishima takes sincere pleasure in laying out his one request. “You,” he says, gesturing at Bakugou. “Me,” he points a thumb back at his own chest. He pauses there.
“Me and you what?” Bakugou demands.
Kirishima grins, drawing it out as long as humanly possible—right up until the threat of explosives starts getting too real to avoid. Then he opens his hands, holding them up in a benevolent offer as he says, “…Piggy-back. Right here, right now.”
The boy beside him takes a deep breath, looking up at the sky as if to ask for patience. After a moment his shoulders untense, and he turns a sharp eye on Kirishima, beckoning him over with a grunt that sounds suspiciously like 'let's get this over with'.
Honestly not the response Kirishima was expecting. He was ready to get blasted into next week for even attempting to put Bakugou through something so childish in order to get back to class. “Wait, really?! Hell yeah!” he says, pumping a fist in the air. Best day of his life.
He gets into place as Bakugou goes to kneel down with his hands out behind him. Kirishima is careful, because two hundred pounds of rock is still a significant amount of weight, but he can’t contain the excitement because this is it, he’s gonna get a piggy-back ride and it’s going to be glorious—
—And just like that, Bakugou’s eye flashes dangerously over his shoulder. In one swift motion he spins on the balls of his feet, one shoulder driving into Kirishima’s stomach and his arms clamping around Kirishima’s waist. Kirishima only has time to let out an oomph of air before he’s jerked forward and hefted off the ground, his pitiful meatsuit going ass up in the air over Bakugou’s shoulder. The world spins disorientingly for half a second before Bakugou claps him on the back and starts jogging down the green, Kirishima along for the ride like the world’s heaviest set of saddlebags.
“Aw, bro, come on! Don’t be a tease!” Kirishima wheezes between breathless huffs of laughter. He kicks his feet out and wriggles his hips, trying to rock the boat and knock Bakugou off balance, but a swift pinch to his side stops that. He yelps. “Hey! This isn’t a piggy-back ride! I call deceit—!”
There’s a grunt from somewhere near his midsection. “Be grateful you get this much, you two-hundred pound sack of shit.”
Ah. How the tables turn. He’s completely at Bakugou’s mercy. “Bakugou, ple—” he starts, winded giggles still bubbling out of him.
He doesn’t get a chance to even finish the word. “Hup.”
Oh, fuck. Kirishima scrambles for purchase as he’s tossed headfirst over Bakugou’s shoulder, the ground rushing up to meet him. He’s saved from impact by Bakugou’s strong arm locking around the back of his knees, leaving him draped across Bakugou’s back like a literal sack of shit. Dislodged from his pocket by gravity’s crooning call, his phone tumbles past his ear and hits the ground. Step after step it’s left in the distance. A fallen soldier. Kirishima can’t do anything but cling to Bakugou’s thighs as the kid continues to march forward, leaning into every stride to counteract the weight on his spine.
“Blood… rushing down… head… spinning…” Kirishima mewls pitifully. All he gets in response is a condescending pat on the calf and a snort of laughter from the chest under his tensed thighs.
For fuck’s sake.
Fine. Kirishima fights against the lightheadedness. Bakugou wants to do this the hard way? Then the hard way it is. Time to fight dirty.
In one swift movement, Kirishima kicks one leg free and pins Bakugou’s head between his thick calves. At the same time, he wraps both arms around Bakugou’s knees and draws them together, hardening his entire body as he does. Suddenly immobile, a literal rock statue hanging off of him, Bakugou sways and snarls. Explosions pop against Kirishima’s knees and calves, but he’s not budging. This time when he squirms, twisting his legs to the side, the body underneath him struggles to keep it’s feet under it. In minuscule increments, it starts to surrender to the pull of gravity, despite a frenzy of increasingly desperate nitro-blasts.
Eighteen seconds of grappling later, Bakugou goes down with an enraged yelp, and that is officially the funniest noise Kirishima has ever heard. He plants his forearms across the backs of Bakugou’s knees and levers himself up, careful to keep everything within reach of Bakugou’s swiping hands impenetrably hard.
“So,” he says conversationally, ignoring the fact that his chest is pressed up against Bakugou’s ass and Bakugou’s head, though facedown, is between his legs. A stream of muffled curses shoots back at him. He deflects him with a wave of his hand. “Are you ready to listen to reason?”
Another stream of muttering.
“What was that?” Kirishima crows.
“I said,” Bakugou spits, lifting his head as far as Kirishima’s knees will allow him, “that you can’t keep your hardening up forever, jackass.”
Uh, oh. Kirishima has sparred with Bakugou enough time to know that tone of voice.
It’s with dignified resignation that Kirishima achieves air, launched head over heels by two twin blasts aimed at the dirt. Bakugou also lifts off, muddied from head to toe, and hits the ground rolling. Halfway across the field, Kirishima lands on all fours, gouging long strips of grass right from the dirt until he comes to a stop. He meets Bakugou’s eyes from across the gap between them, lit like fireworks above the sharp curve of his lips.
That smile… it gives Kirishima’s heart palpitations. Strips it of the weight of every past mistake, draws out wings that lift Kirishima from the inside. He is rock made weightless—he is anxiety made determination. He’s never felt lighter than he does when facing down Bakugou Katsuki—one on one, no holds barred, with that smile aimed, straight and true, right
at
him.
He will never get enough.