I have a headcanon that Murdoc absolutely loves marine life, especially during his time on plastic beach. When he was there, he’d talk to the crabs, fish and jellyfish. They kept him company during his loneliness. He’d grab some rum and sit by the edge of the big, pink, nasty thing; talking to whatever would listen.
Kirishima had gotten plenty used to the yelling next door.
Even with the wall muffling it, he could make out the cadence of different
swears, peppered with banging, stomping, and the occasional contained
explosion. His floor trembling and desk chattering and lamp wobbling were
almost comforting reminders that he wasn’t living alone. Bakugou was safely
next door, being angry about something.
It made Kirishima uncomfortable the night that nothing
shook. He could make out a muffled something: hisses and mutterings and the
shuffling of feet, all distinctly Bakugou, but this was different now.
Bakugou was trying to be quiet.
Kirishima toyed with the pages of his textbook, skimming to
see how much was left of the chapter. His hair was down, just a bit damp from
the shower, and he’d settled in, wearing sweats and an old t-shirt, planning to
knock out as much homework as he could. His non-rattling lamp lit his desk, the
rest of the room left in a cozy darkness. Kirishima ran his tongue along his
teeth and weighed his options as he heard another muffled snarl through the
wall. He closed the book, picked it up, opened his door, and knocked firmly on
“Yo Bakugou, did you do the math stuff yet? I don’t get the
diagram with the triangle and the sine and cosine stuff.”
The muttering had quieted on the other side of Bakugou’s
door. A brief silence sat between them.
“It’s easy. Go figure it out yourself.”
“Yeah but I’m stupid.” Kirishima twisted the knob of Bakugou’s
door and found it surprisingly unlocked. He hesitated a moment, the door an
inch cracked, before pushing it the rest of the way inward.
“Don’t–!!” was all Bakugou could shout before Kirishima
Kirishima said nothing at first. He only looked, making
sense of the scene. The central light was on, swamping Bakugou’s scarcely-decorated
room. Bakugou sat on his bed, sheets still made, still wearing the UA gym
pants. The shirt had been discarded, apparently in tatters, on the floor.
Kirishima’s eyes were drawn to the awkward bandages, strung like rope around
Bakugou’s shoulders and ribcage. Bakugou’s right arm glistened slightly, painted
with amorphous patches of raw pink skin.