wood hall

Backfire

Angsty headcanon is now an angsty fic. Whoops


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 Bakugou’s.

“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 looked up.

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.

“Dude, did you burn yourself?”

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