Part 3
wHOOPS I LIED - there will be one more part after this! After this part got as long as it is (7.7K words, eesh I'm sorry!) and I still hadn't gotten to the end, and when I had a spark of inspiration from a comment on chapter 2 on ao3 to add a few more details, I decided a fourth part was needed so this one didn't end up being 11K words long ._.
(also, idk how many of you do this--if any--but don't scroll to the end notes unless you're prepared for a pretty major spoiler x3)
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Kirishima didn't see Bakugou for nearly two weeks after that.
The following day—a Tuesday—after Bakugou's strange behavior on the bus was the first day in weeks he didn't show up to the Starbucks, knowing that was where they usually met unless they'd decided otherwise, and they hadn't. Remembering what he'd said about not feeling well, though, Kirishima decided there was no good reason to bother him and to leave him be to get the rest he probably needed. Wednesday followed suit. It wasn't until Thursday night, not having heard from Bakugou in a few days, did Kirishima decide to check up on him with a text.
Yo, Baku. How ya doing?
The response didn't come until nearly noon the next day.
Meh
As Kirishima sat at the desk in his room, halfway through a drawing of a lion, he bounced his leg in a sudden burst of worry for his friend.
-Still sick, huh?
-Yeah
-Anything I can do, man?
-Idk, you magic?
Kirishima managed a small smile.
-Sadly, no. Chicken noodle soup is about the closest you're gonna get, I think
-Ew. That shit is nasty
-Whaaat? You seriously don't like chicken soup?
-It ain't even real chicken, moron
-Wtf. Yes it is.
The conversation came to a sudden halt after that, and Kirishima could only assume Bakugou had probably fallen asleep. After about an hour, he sent one last text.
-Hope you feel better soon, dude. Srsly lemme know if I can help.
That was the last he heard from Bakugou for several more days. By nature, Kirishima was anything but nosy, and the last thing he wanted was to end up pushing Bakugou away by being overly concerned and annoying him. He refrained from texting him again despite his worry and his mind being on his newest friend a good majority of the time.
It didn't take long for Kaminari to notice said worry, either.
"What's got you so tense, Kiri?" he'd asked.
"Nothin'. Just worried about Bakugou, y'know?"
"Yeah. Seems like he's been sick for quite a while now. Have you talked to him at all?"
Kirishima shook his head. "It's been almost a week now. I just don't wanna be super nosy. But it feels kinda weird... not having him around."
"He probably caught something from being at the hospital so often," Kaminari pointed out. "Diseases and shit are in and out of there all the time, so he was bound to catch something sooner or later."
It was a good point, but it didn't dissipate Kirishima's concern any. Still, he decided to give it a few more days before he tried to contact the blonde again if he still hadn't seen or heard from him.
And try to contact Bakugou again he did after those following few days of the blonde being MIA, but to no avail. His texts went unanswered. The one time he made the decision to call, it went straight to the automated voice mail. After that, Kirishima knew there was little more he could do. His last resort was to ask around at the hospital to see if Bakugou had been there at all. It was nearly a week later when he decided to do so, hoping he wasn't being too dramatic about Bakugou's sudden disappearance.
The day he saw Bakugou again, though, changed things between them for good.
Just as Kirishima was about to step up to the reception desk—the same one they'd gone to when looking for Bakugou's wallet, a day that felt almost like eons ago now—the elevator doors slid open to reveal a familiar puff of spiky, ash blonde hair and eyeliner-darkened eyes. Quickly he swerved toward the elevator just as Bakugou was stepping out, his face twisted up into a hard scowl.
"Yo, Bakugou!" Kirishima said as the blonde was making a beeline for the door. He skidded to a halt when he heard his name, though, and his eyes found Kirishima as he was closing the distance between them.
"What the fuck are you doing here, Dumb Hair?" the blonde asked, voice hard.
"I..." Kirishima hesitated for a second, unsure of how to word his answer. "I came looking for you," he said.
"Hmph. Well you shouldn't have." With that, Bakugou—tense and shaking—continued toward the door. Kirishima remained, reeling for a moment from the venom in Bakugou's voice, in the intensity of the scarlet in his eyes.
Still, he skipped after the other, catching up to him just outside the hospital doors. "Hey man, what's the matter?" he asked.
"Nothing," Bakugou deadpanned.
"Doesn't seem like nothing. What's up, dude?" Kirishima hoped to hell that the desperation he felt wasn't making itself known in his voice, but his stomach was tight. Something was off. Way off.
"Leave me the hell alone, shitty hair," the blonde growled.
"Bakugou—"
"Seriously. Fuck off. We can't be friends." Bakugou pushed ahead a bit, but was unsuccessful in gaining too much distance between himself and the redhead, who had a sudden pang in his chest from the blonde's words. It wasn't enough to get him to leave, though—no, he needed an explanation.
"What are you talking about, man? Of course we can. What happened?" he pressed. He knew he sounded desperate, but he was worried.
"It's none of your damn business!" Bakugou shouted.
"Hey! Talk to me." Kirishima jogged ahead, intercepting Bakugou's path and earning a glare in the process. "What happened? Did something happen with your mom, or—?"
"Yeah, she fucking died when I was two, got it shit for hair? Now fuck off." Using the pause the shock of his words caused Kirishima, Bakugou quickly sidestepped to go around him as his eyes were wide with confusion.
"Wait, what?" Kirishima blurted as he quickly thawed out. He spun around on his heels to see Bakugou still storming off. "Bakugou!" he called, only to be ignored as he started after the blonde. He could think of only one way to get the blonde to stop, to come back and explain what the hell was going on. "Katsuki!"
Bakugou whirled around just as the redhead caught up to him, an unimaginable amount of anger in his eyes, hiding something Kirishima couldn't easily place. But he'd be damned if he didn't figure out what it was so he could help, even if it made Bakugou hate him.
"Don't fucking call me that," the blonde gritted out through his teeth.
"Okay, I'm sorry," Kirishima apologized quickly, briefly holding his hands up in surrender. "But I got you to stop, didn't I?" Before Bakugou could begin his angry stomping toward the bus stop again, Kirishima took hold of his shaking hand, and though his muscles tensed at the contact, Bakugou did not pull away. "The hell do you mean, your mom died when you were two? I thought—"
"You really are a goddamn idiot. I lied to you, hair for brains. She's fucking dead, has been for sixteen years."
"Then why—?"
It was as if Bakugou had been through this before; he seemed to know exactly what Kirishima was going to say before he said it. He huffed angrily. "Because I'm the sick one, got it, dumbass? I've been coming to this shitty hospital for two years trying to figure out what the fuck is wrong with me, but they don't know. Six months ago they finally found something that worked, but turns out the past couple treatments have been making this shit worse again, so I'm back to square fucking one. Okay?! I'll be a fucking cripple in a few years, so there's no point trying to be my stupid friend 'cause I'll just be a burden. So you can get back to your life and out of mine."
Kirishima was stunned silent; all he could find it in himself to do was tighten his hand around the other's, not willing to let him get away without an explanation. He needed more, had so many questions suddenly flying through his head. And, to his mild surprise, Bakugou didn't pull away. Didn't even try to. He merely stood there, breath coming in huffs that manifested in the chilly air surrounding them, eyes hard but glossed over. Tremors rocked through his shoulders all the way down to his hands.
But now wasn't the time for questions; it was time to fight for someone who was about to leave—someone who he really didn't want to lose. Bakugou was on the verge of trying to stomp his way out of Kirishima's life (and straight over his heart, if he was being honest). If he wanted to keep Bakugou Katsuki in his life, he needed to say something—the right thing—and quick.
"You won't be a burden," Kirishima managed to say, finally breaking the silence that'd stretched between them. "Not to someone who wants to be there for you. Not to me."
"And why the hell do you want to be there, huh? What's in it for you?"
"I don't know. Maybe nothing. Or maybe just being with you. Is there something I should want?"
"You make no damn sense, Kirishima. You shouldn't want to be around someone who's probably gonna be fucking paralyzed in a year." As he spoke, the shaking only kicked up, his brows smashed together and the darkened edges of his eyes wrinkled in frustration. He was on the edge—close to losing his cool, but in a completely different way than Kirishima had seen before.
"Does it have to make sense?" Kirishima asked softly. "Can't I care about you regardless of whatever sickness this is, or where it might make you end up?" His hand tightened more. "Can't I care about you with all that stuff?"
"And what if I told you I'll be dead in five years? Or a year? Or six months? Would you wanna stick with me then?"
Kirishima felt Bakugou's words like a blow straight to his gut. His throat grew thick with fear—fear that Bakugou wasn't just saying that—but it did nothing to change his resolve.
"That would only give me more reason to stay with you so I can spend as much time as I can with you."
"You don't..." Bakugou's free hand ran frustratedly through his hair. "You don't fucking know what it is, idiot. I haven't told you shit about it. You're not gonna want—"
"That's not gonna matter, Bakugou," Kirishima said, letting himself smile at the other. "No matter what it is, there's no deal breaker for me. I think the only thing that's gonna make me leave is if you said you didn't want me around, and believe me, that's gonna take a lot of convincing."
Bakugou turned, the muscles in his jaw visibly flexing. Still, he kept hold of Kirishima's hand despite his shaking, despite the way he was trying to get rid of him. "You'll get tired of me," he muttered. "You say this shit now, but you'll be gone the second I can't fucking walk anymore."
"Bakugou—"
"I'm fucking serious, Kirishima. The same thing happened to my damn mother."
"Baku—"
"My shitty father knew about her illness and when she lost feeling in her limbs he was out the door, and she was left to fucking die—"
"Katsuki."
Bakugou's teeth snapped shut. Kirishima didn't hesitate in tugging his hand from the other's just long enough to encircle his arms around the other's shoulders, pulling him close and tucking his chin into Bakugou's shaking shoulder. The blonde stood still as a statue, not returning the embrace, but not pulling away, either.
Kirishima knew it was a risky move, saying his given name and hugging him out of the blue like that; Bakugou could easily decide to shove him into the pavement, scream profanities at him, and storm off. Yet as the redhead kept himself wrapped gently but securely around the blonde, he seemed to deflate. The sound of his swallow met Kirishima's right ear as he felt the other's shoulders relax—still shaking, but not nearly as bad now. It was something Kirishima could only assume was a good sign.
"What are you doing, Dumb Hair?" Bakugou mumbled after a moment.
"I thought a hug might help calm you down," Kirishima said, lips pulling into a grin. "Looks like it worked."
"I am fucking calm," Bakugou muttered. "I meant why the fuck do you care so much? What the fuck have I done to make you do all this shit?"
Kirishima pulled himself back, finding Bakugou's eyes as he kept a gentle hold on his shoulders—shoulders that never stopped trembling, rocking visible quivers throughout his body. "No matter what happens, you don't deserve to be alone when it does. Hell, you don't deserve to be alone now, or for as long as you have been." He dropped his hands. "But if you really, really don't want me around, I'll understand and go, okay? But just know that it isn't gonna change how I feel about it. Or you."
Bakugou's eyes narrowed again, and Kirishima didn't miss how his body seemed to tense up again after contact was lost.
"You deserve better than this shit, Kirishima."
"'This shit'? You mean you?"
"And this bullshit disease," Bakugou confirmed.
"Nah, man, you're plenty good enough for me. I don't need much, y'know? I'm a simple guy."
"I'm not."
"That's okay. We'll balance each other out."
Bakugou threw his hands up in a sudden burst of frustration. "Jesus fuck, shitty hair!" He growled, hands running through his hair again.
"What?" Kirishima shrunk back a bit, watching as Bakugou walked in a senseless circle. The other's anger was practically tangible in the air.
"Does it even matter what the fuck I say? There's no getting rid of you—you're like a goddamn cockroach!" Bakugou shouted.
Oh.
Cockroach.
...oh.
The word hit him like a truck, and Kirishima felt himself flinch as he let out a nervous laugh, eyes pointed at the ground now, a hand absently rubbing the back of his neck. He'd been called stubborn before—a bull, a mule, and many names similar—but 'cockroach' was new. And it stung.
"It's alright, Bakugou. I said I'd go if that's what you really wanted, remember? I get the point." This time he made himself smile. Despite the sudden heaviness in his chest. Despite the stinging in his eyes. Really, though, he got it, and he couldn't really blame Bakugou for this reaction.
"But hey, listen... sorry for smothering you. I'll see you around, maybe?" he said, backing up a step.
"What the fuck? No!" Bakugou yelled.
"Okay, okay!" Kirishima held up his hands, palms out, stumbling back a few more steps. Bakugou's eyes were like fire, and Kirishima wanted nothing more than to plunge himself into a freezing lake. "I'm sorry, man. Really."
"Fucking wait."
Bakugou's hand was suddenly wrapped around Kirishima's wrist. It was a weak grip, one Kirishima could easily pull himself out of, and Bakugou's entire body down to the tips of his fingers seemed to be shaking now, but he kept hold of him with seemingly everything he had. It was more than enough for Kirishima to stop in his tracks, to stare—shocked—into Bakugou's face, still scowling but suddenly desperate, almost... panicked, with the way his eyes were suddenly wide.
"I never said I wanted you to fucking leave," Bakugou said.
"But you said—"
"I fucking suck at saying what I mean. Haven't you figured that out?"
Kirishima blinked slowly at Bakugou, trying to make sense of what was happening, to figure out why Bakugou's entire hand, wrapped around his wrist, was tightened to the point that he was shaking so badly that Kirishima could feel it throughout the entirety of his own arm.
"So... you don't want me gone?" Kirishima managed, hoping he sounded less confused than he felt.
"No. I fucking don't, okay? I'm just saying, it... it'll be better for you if you leave because I don't have shit to offer you."
"I... don't really get it," Kirishima said. "First you call me a cockroach and then you say you don't want me to leave..."
"You're stubborn as fuck is what I meant, idiot."
"I don't...?"
Bakugou pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. "You're a goddamn moron," he muttered. "Or maybe I suck with words more than I thought..." He huffed, hand dropping. "I don't fucking want you to leave, stupid. But I don't want you to feel obligated to stay with me just because I'm gonna end up a damn cripple, and I sure as fuck don't want you here if you're just gonna up and leave when it happens anyway just 'cause you don't wanna deal with someone who's a fucking burden."
Kirishima relaxed, tugging his wrist from Bakugou's grip to slide his hand into it instead. Light flurries of snow were beginning to dance toward the ground around them, and Bakugou's fingers were much cooler than they'd been a minute ago.
"I'm not that kinda guy, Bakugou," he said. "I don't abandon my friends, especially if they need me. If you need me, here I am. If not... that's okay, too. I don't wanna smother you or be too invasive or whatever, alright? I shouldn't have been that way earlier as it is, so I'm sorry."
"Shut up and stop apologizing for stupid shit," Bakugou muttered. "I don't fucking know if I need you. I don't try to need anybody because they'll all just run off eventually. But—" Bakugou's teeth came together with a snap.
"But... what?"
The blonde turned again, facing away from him and staring somewhere down the street. "But if you decide to stay I'm not gonna stop you," he muttered. As he spoke, his fingers held more firmly to Kirishima's hand; the redhead's eyes dropped straight to where their fingers were clasped together—where Bakugou's fingertips were paling from grasping so tightly despite his weak grip.
"Are you sure?" Kirishima finally managed to ask.
"Yes, I'm fucking sure. So are you staying or what? Decide now, 'cause I wanna go home and get the fuck out of the snow."
"That was the plan to begin with." Kirishima found a smile again.
"Fine. Let's go, then."
Bakugou withdrew his hand to stuff his fists into his pockets and, without waiting for the other, started toward the bus stop again. Kirishima stood back a minute, staring after him, slightly dumbfounded at how... easy that was. He couldn't shake the image of Bakugou's eyes in that split second, wide and desperate, when he realized Kirishima was backing away, about to leave. It had been a perfect reflection of the way he'd felt when Bakugou was the one walking away from him.
"Are you fucking coming or what?" Bakugou tossed over his shoulder, shoulders still hunched as his pace slowed a bit.
Kirishima jogged up to him easily, trying not to be too sad about the loss of Bakugou's hand as they walked. Really, he was happy to simply be walking next to the blonde, to know that for some wild reason, in that moment, Bakugou wanted him around.
"You want me to make sure you get home okay?" Kirishima asked.
"You think I'm helpless or someshit?" the blonde grumbled. "No, but you're fucking coming over."
"Oh. Okay." Kirishima felt his smile widen.
It was a lot—a lot to take in in what was really only a few minutes. Twenty minutes ago he'd been under the impression that Bakugou's mom was alive, that his whole reason for visiting the hospital was her. Thinking back, though, Bakugou never really said much about her, and he'd often hesitate in answering any questions about her that he couldn't answer with vague nods or grunts. He'd never met Kirishima's eyes when the topic came up, either. Kirishima hadn't thought much of it until then, but the more he thought about it, the more those small puzzle pieces—Bakugou's behavior; all the shaking, the occasional stumbling, having to rest often, and the faint glint of pain that seemed ever present in his eyes—fell together.
Bakugou was sick. Kirishima didn't know what with, but it sounded bad, and it left a terrible feeling of uneasiness in his gut.
"So what, you're not gonna ask me about it?" Bakugou muttered as the two of them sat in their usual spot at the bus stop.
"Ask you about what?"
"The disease, moron. Or why the fuck I lied to you. Do you lose brain cells by the second or something?"
Kirishima shrugged, trying to come off as nonchalant as he could. "I figure if you wanna tell me, you will."
"Fine, then..." Bakugou's fists clenched where they were stuffed beneath his arms; he kept his eyes pointed straight at the ground in front of him. "I'm sorry, okay?"
"For what, exactly?" Kirishima tucked his own hands into the pockets of his jacket, though his gaze never left the blonde.
"What the fuck do you think, moron? For calling you a cockroach, and for lying to you like an asshole."
"It's alright, man. I understand that you had your reasons for not telling me you're sick. You don't have to explain yourself to me."
"What? So you're seriously not mad?"
The redhead shook his head, grinning lightly. "Nah. No reason to be, I think."
Bakugou huffed but said nothing more, leaving them in one of their usual silences. Kirishima was all too aware of the shaking person beside him, of how his entire body was tense and the puffs of mist in front of his face were twice as frequent as Kirishima's own.
"You cold?" he asked.
Bakugou merely lifted his shoulders in a shaky shrug, saying nothing, but prompting Kirishima to sit forward, slide his backpack off, and then tug his arms out of the sleeves of his coat. "Here, 's already warmed up," he said.
"You don't have to fucking do that for me," Bakugou said, though with how he was shaking it was more of a chatter.
"There's lotsa stuff I don't have to do, Bakugou, but I want to. So here." He reached out—tentatively, half expecting the other to flinch or pull away from him—and gently placed the jacket over Bakugou's shoulders, adjusting it until it rested over him comfortably. "Good?"
"Yeah, but now you're gonna freeze your ass off."
"Nah, I've got my hoodie and I'm wearing flannel underneath. Don't worry about me, alright? But you should put that on and keep your arms warm, too."
Bakugou responded with nothing more than a grunt as he worked on stuffing his arms into the sleeves of Kirishima's jacket. After a moment's silence, he spoke up again. "Tell me something, Dumb Hair."
"What's up?"
"Did you seriously not know?"
"About you being sick?"
"Yeah."
Kirishima's knee began to bounce as he thought for a moment, watching as a leaf skittered across the sidewalk in the slight breeze. "...I didn't really wanna assume anything," he said. "I kinda thought something was up with all your shaking and being kinda weak and all that, but I figured it wasn't really any of my business, and you said that you were just seein' your mom in the hospital, and I figured everyone handles stress differently and all that, so I just didn't think about it too much. But..." He laughed a little. "...thinking back, I feel kinda stupid for not seeing it or figuring it out sooner. Sorry, man."
"Stop fucking saying that," Bakugou growled. "It's not your fucking fault, and if you apologize one more damn time I'm going to knock your shitty teeth in."
Bakugou's threat was met with a light chuckle. "No you won't," Kirishima said. "You'd have done it already if you really wanted to."
"Shut the fuck up," the blonde muttered.
"So tell me, did ya have such a potty mouth when you were little, too?"
"What?"
Bakugou felt the shaking of Kirishima's shoulders as he laughed again. "Nothin', man. But hey, does that mean I can ask you a question now, since you asked me one?"
"You're the one who said you weren't gonna ask me shit," Bakugou grumbled. "Just fucking ask. I don't care."
"Right, I just don't wanna like, invade your personal space, ya know?"
"Just. Ask. Dumb. Hair."
"Okay, okay... it's, um, sorta about those prescriptions from back then—"
"Yeah, I'm still gonna pay you back, idiot."
"No, no—that's not it. I'm still not gonna let you do that anyway," Kirishima said firmly. When he turned his head toward the other, Bakugou met his gaze. "But one of 'em... it was a painkiller, huh? Like a really strong one."
"Yeah."
"...so whatever it is, the whole disease you're dealing with, puts you in a lot of pain, doesn't it?"
This time, Bakugou was the one to look away; his eyes trailed down the street a ways, though his expression was suddenly unreadable. Another gust of wind whipped around them, causing even Kirishima to shiver and Bakugou's shoulders to curl inward, a shudder traveling throughout his entire frame. Without really thinking, the redhead slid his hand down and nudged it gently against Bakugou's wrist where his hand was stuffed into the pockets of Kirishima's jacket. He didn't look back as he slid it out and let Kirishima thread their fingers together again.
"Yeah," the blonde said finally in a voice Kirishima very nearly didn't recognize; it was low, lacking its usual roughness, and so much quieter than he was used to—than all of Bakugou's usual growling and yelling and hissing.
"How much?" The question slipped out without permission; Kirishima decided he was too curious—too concerned—to take it back.
"A whole fucking lot. So much I can barely move sometimes."
Kirishima sucked in a breath to try and ease the sudden pang in his chest; his heart was dropping into his stomach, and all he could seem to do was hold Bakugou's hand a little tighter.
"'S fucking scary," Bakugou went on without any prompting. "Sometimes I wake up in so much fucking pain that I can't even roll out of bed, or even reach my damn phone. And I have to lay there practically paralyzed until I can talk myself into enduring it enough to get my pills. I've got a stupidly high metabolism I guess, so my body burns through the painkillers faster than normal and I have to take them more often or I end up like that... barely able to move and shit..."
Kirishima found it suddenly difficult to swallow; he couldn't seem to take his eyes from Bakugou's face, whose eyes were pointed back at the ground now. His cheeks and ears were flushed from the cold, and for once the muscles in his jaw were relaxed.
"Is... was that what you were dealing with these past couple weeks?"
"Yeah. Couple times. It was mostly just being super fucking weak and too shaky to do much of anything... since the shitty treatment I was on put me back to square one."
Kirishima was nodding slowly, trying to take it all in one step at a time. "And... you wake up like that... all alone, huh?"
Bakugou's response was nothing more than a small nod.
"How?" Kirishima breathed, shaking his own head in bafflement. "I mean... how'd you end up so alone like that? How come you live alone even though you're dealing with this?"
"Just did. Don't have any family anymore 'cause after my mom died I went to live with my grandparents and they both passed away a couple years ago within a year of each other so I was forced to live by myself. Fucked up, isn't it? But what the fuck else am I supposed to do?"
"Welp, you're not alone anymore," Kirishima said, louder now, more optimistic.
The blonde huffed. "I might as well just tell you everything about this bullshit so you can decide if you're really gonna fucking stay."
"I already told you—"
"Yeah, you're a stubborn little shit, I get it."
"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, Bakugou."
"Why don't you just get all of your dumb questions out of the way now so you're not bothering me with them at inconvenient times later? Like when I am in a bunch of horrible fucking pain, so you don't freak the fuck out on me?"
"...good point," Kirishima agreed.
It was then that the bus finally pulled up, brakes squealing as it rolled to a stop in front of them. Kirishima didn't let go of Bakugou's hand as he stood and headed for the door. "Oh—my wallet's in the other pocket of that coat," he said. "Gotta pay for the fare."
"Fuck that," Bakugou muttered, reaching into his back pocket for his own wallet and stepping ahead of the other.
"Baku—"
"Don't argue with me about it, Dumb Hair," the blonde said. "I'm not in the mood."
Kirishima sighed in resignation as Bakugou passed a couple of bills over to the driver and led the way down the center aisle once the driver gave the okay. After the people in front of them boarded, only one seat was left near the front, prompting Kirishima to direct Bakugou—who was headed for one of the overhead handles—to it.
"Sit," he said.
"I'm not a goddamn dog," Bakugou muttered. "And I'm fine."
The redhead reached for the hand he wasn't already holding, tugging it out of Bakugou's pocket and holding it gently in his free hand, watching the way Bakugou's trembling alone had both of their hands shaking between them. "Ya call this 'fine'? Just relax, alright?"
With a 'hmph', Bakugou tore the one hand away from Kirishima's and sunk down onto the seat just as the bus lurched forward. Kirishima used his freed hand to grip an overhead handle. Their conversation remained at a halt for a few stops until the seat beside Bakugou cleared and Kirishima tucked himself into it.
"The other prescription you got..." Kirishima said quietly, seamlessly resuming the conversation. "What was it?"
"Antidepressant."
Shock coursed through. "Really?"
"No, I'm fucking lying to you. Yes really, idiot."
Kirishima swallowed around the lump in his throat. "Sorry, man. You just... uhm... I wasn't expecting that, is all."
"I'm not actually depressed or any of that bullshit," Bakugou went on to explain. "It's a low dose and more of a precaution than anything 'cause people with chronic illness tend to get depressed and shit, which makes sense I guess. But I'm not. I'm just pissed."
"Understandable. So is there, like, a name? For your illness, I mean?"
Kirishima's answer was met with the slightest shake of the head. Bakugou's eyes were fixed on his feet, his mind seemingly somewhere far from the the present moment. "Nope. Like I said, they don't know what the hell it is. I've been through a dozen different fucking diagnoses but none of them are entirely accurate for whatever the fuck it is. All they know is that there's something seriously screwed up with my nervous system."
"And your mom had it too, right? But after that they still don't know?"
"Nope. Hers was a little different 'cause it didn't advance as quick as it has for me. Go fucking figure, right? And she lost feeling in her fingers pretty early, but I can still feel mine."
Kirishima's eyes dropped to their hands. Automatically he squeezed Bakugou's fingers. "You can feel that, right?"
To the redhead's surprise, Bakugou squeezed back. "Yeah. Fortunately."
"What kinda treatment have they given you?"
"All sorts of shit. I don't even remember what all, and I don't remember the names of anything, either. A lot of it's through an IV. And of fucking course a side-effect of some of my meds makes me bruise like a fucking peach, so my arms are always like six thousand different fucking colors."
"What about the shaking?" Kirishima asked; the questions were coming one after the other now, and though half of them he feared the answers of, he couldn't stop them.
"Just another symptom. Same with the shitty weakness, and getting tired so fast. They don't really know what causes it—any of it—which is just my damn luck."
"What other symptoms are there?"
"That's it, really. I get tired as hell. Shake a lot. Weak as fuck. And the pain, which is by far the worst. I get light-headed a lot, too." Bakugou shrugged lightly. "'S pretty much all the time though, so it's almost normal now."
"And... you got all this from your mom, huh? It's genetic."
"Yup."
It was like the flood of questions that'd broken from behind a dam suddenly ran out, and Kirishima found he could only sit in a mildly stunned silence for a while, unable to entirely decipher exactly what he was feeling, save for the everpresent trembling of the hand he held.
He'd only known Bakugou for a couple of months, but he'd found that already he'd met someone who, at the very least, could be a very precious friend of his, or maybe already was. This was hard, and so much to take in all at once, suddenly learning of this illness and how much Bakugou had to be suffering. For so long. And alone. It made his stomach ache.
Between making it to Bakugou's stop, stepping off the bus, and walking the two blocks it took to make it to a small apartment building, their hands never parted. Kirishima didn't care that his palm was getting sweaty; Bakugou's fingers were finally somewhat warm, and he was determined to keep it that way as long as he could. Why Bakugou himself didn't let go, though, he couldn't know, but he wasn't about to ask just the way he never said anything when Bakugou leaned into his side, watching him draw.
To no surprise, Bakugou's apartment was small, and not much furniture occupied the space. A couch, a table, a small stand holding a television in the living room. A small rectangular dining table just outside a narrow kitchen. A short hallway leading to the one bedroom and bathroom.
As Bakugou slipped out of Kirishima's jacket and moved toward coat closet to hang it, motion from the hallway caught Kirishima's eye. A black and white cat whose markings almost resembled that of a cow had stalked out of the bedroom, tail in the air. It stopped, though, as soon as its big, bright blue eyes landed on him. Seeing it, Kirishima found his smile again and knelt down, extending a hand in offering. The cat hesitated for a second, its tail down toward the ground now with the end just barely flicking before it took a few cautious steps forward. When it reached him, he allowed it to sniff his fingers, though it was clearly ready to turn tail and run. Instead, though, it gave him a slow blink and nuzzled its face against his fingers, only causing his smile to widen as it allowed him to scratch the top of its head and behind its white-tipped ears.
"Damn," Bakugou said.
"What?" Kirishima asked, glancing up at him as the cat continued to rub affectionately against his fingers.
"Little fucker usually books it under the bed at the sign of anybody but me," he explained.
Of course, that only made Kirishima smile more. "You surprised me again, man. I didn't think you were a cat person."
"I'm not. Or I wasn't. She just kept fucking following me home and I made the mistake of feeding her tuna once, and she never left me alone, so I just let her in. Figured she might as well stay warm if she's gonna be scratching at my door all damn night."
Warmth seemed to radiate from Kirishima's center, hearing that. "What's her name?" he asked.
"Satan."
Kirishima snorted out a laugh, startling the cat and causing her to wrap herself around Bakugou's legs. "Why Satan?" he asked, standing back up.
"'Cause she fuckin' scratches up everything." Bakugou pointed to several frayed spots on the carpet, even a few scratch marks on the walls and the legs of furniture. "And sometimes she acts more like a dumb dog than a cat."
"How long have you had her?"
"Dunno. Like a year."
"Hm. Well, I'm glad to know you haven't been completely alone."
"...yeah," was all Bakugou said in response. "So you want something to drink or what?"
"Sure. Whatcha got?" Kirishima asked, following him toward the kitchen.
"Water. Some Mountain Dew. And I guess I could make coffee, since you like that shit so much."
"Water's cool," Kirishima said, leaning against one of the counters while Bakugou worked on finding a couple of clean glasses and using the dispenser in his refrigerator to fill them up. Just as he was extending one of them to Kirishima was when the redhead noticed the bandage wrapped around his right forearm and the dark bruises extending beyond it. Only then did it occur to him that he'd never seen Bakugou without his arms covered.
Kirishima did his best not to stare, though, as he accepted the water and murmured his thanks. They were a few seconds of silence and sips in when Kirishima realized he was staring at the bandage anyway, thinking about Bakugou's words from earlier.
"...she fucking died when I was two, got it shit for hair?"
"Hey, so, uh... I have one more question, if it's alright," he was saying seemingly before making the conscious effort to speak up.
"'Kay."
Kirishima's glass was almost silent when it was set on the counter, his hand remaining wrapped around it. "You said your mom eventually lost feeling in all her limbs, right? She was paralyzed."
Bakugou's answering nod was slight.
"How long was she like that before she...?" His tongue had trouble forming the word died.
"Little under a year, or so I was told."
"Was she born with it, too?"
"No. Guess it developed when she was a child, though. They didn't think it'd be passed down to me, but obviously they were fucking wrong." Bakugou's glass came down on the counter then, with much more force than Kirishima's had. "Fucking figures."
"And... it was the disease that took her, right? You never actually said."
"Yup. Like I said, it's some nervous system bullshit and it eventually attacked her brain, which caused the paralysis, and then took her life."
"How... how old was she when she died?"
"Thirty-three."
Thirty-three. Bakugou was only eighteen, and he'd already said the disease was developing in his body differently than it had hers, but of course Kirishima was putting two and two together—had already done so a while ago but refrained from thinking about it. But now he couldn't seem to get Bakugou's words out of his head the way he'd shouted them earlier.
"And what if I told you I'll be dead in five years? Or a year? Or six months? Would you wanna stick with me then?"
"You're wondering if this bullshit is gonna kill me too, right?" Bakugou asked, tired eyes lifting to Kirishima's. "'Cause I am, too."
"You don't even know?" Kirishima blurted, shocked.
"The easy answer is probably. If it killed her, why the fuck would it spare me? Yeah, it's different for me. I can still feel my fingers and shit most of the time and hers went numb for good when she was like thirteen or fourteen, but according to my grandparents, she didn't deal with all this shaking bullshit that I do, and they'd never seen her unable to move 'cause she was in so much goddamn pain sometimes. And I don't know if I'll end up paralyzed, either, but that's also probably gonna happen 'cause the universe loves to fuck with me. Or shit, who knows? Maybe all these painkillers will destroy my liver or my kidneys and I'll go out that way. Or maybe it'd be kinda funny if—"
Bakugou's rambling came to a halt as soon as Kirishima's arms were encircling his shaking shoulders again. The embrace was tighter this time, and closer than earlier, though just as before, Bakugou's arms remained stiff at his sides.
"Don't say stuff like that, man," Kirishima murmured without so much as loosening his grip. Again he could hear Bakugou swallow, could hear his teeth snapping shut.
After a few beats of silence, the blonde spoke up. "It's gonna happen whether you like it or not, Dumb Hair. That's why I told you that you should just fucking go. There's no point in being friends with—"
"I don't care."
"...the fuck do you mean, you don't care?"
"I mean I get that you're sick, and that it's probably gonna keep putting you through more shit than you've already been through, and that it's... probably gonna do permanent damage to your body and all that other stuff, but it doesn't make me wanna not be around you. I told you that already, remember? And trying to justify it by saying it might take your life... I mean, I could get hit by a bus next week, but would that stop you from staying friends with me?"
Another swallow. Bakugou's shoulders expanded slowly with a long, quiet breath. "...no," he said finally.
"See? I guess I just don't see the difference."
It felt almost like a miracle when Bakugou finally relented, his forehead falling down against Kirishima's shoulder, a tired sigh brushing past his lips. "So 'm fuckin' stuck with you then, huh?"
"Pretty much," Kirishima responded with a grin. "Until you tell me you really don't want me around anymore, anyway."
Slowly, Bakugou's arms moved to rest around the other's waist. The gesture was timid, and it almost didn't even feel completely real at first—not until his fingers gently grabbed hold of the fabric of Kirishima's hoodie. The redhead's stomach fluttered, his grin widening.
"That's... probably not gonna happen."
The words were so quiet that it took Kirishima a moment to make sure he understood the blonde correctly. When he was sure he did, he could only find it in himself to hug Bakugou tighter, his own fingers curling, his eyes closing.
"That's good to hear," he said softly.
"...lemme just make one thing clear, alright, Shitty Hair?"
"Hm?"
"If you decide you wanna fucking leave or whatever, spare us both the bullshit and just go, got it? 'M not gonna be mad or whatever."
"I agree with your earlier statement—that's probably not gonna happen."
"Just fucking tell me that's what you'll do, alright? I'm too damn tired to argue with your shitty hair for brains."
A chuckle shook Kirishima's shoulders. "You want me to promise?"
"I don't give a shit what you call it."
"Alright. Then yeah, I promise. But seriously, the odds of that happen are like, less than zero."
"You're a fucking loser."
"Thanks, man," the redhead laughed.
Kirishima tried not to feel too disappointed when Bakugou's arms loosened, his hands coming to merely rest on his sides. "So can you let go of me so I can go sit the fuck down before I collapse?" Bakugou mumbled.
"Ah—yeah, of course," Kirishima said, withdrawing himself away from the other, albeit reluctantly. When he did, one look at Bakugou's face had his stomach tightening. The blonde's eyeliner-smudged eyes had taken on a kind of exhausted Kirishima had never seen in them before. It ran deep—deeper than a simple physical exhaustion, and the feeling almost seemed to seep right into Kirishima as he simply perceived it.
But even still, as those dark eyes met Kirishima's once more and the very corner of Bakugou's mouth quirked upward just slightly, a glimmer of relief broke through, whether he meant for it to or not.
"D'you want me to leave?" Kirishima asked as Bakugou flopped onto the couch with a light grunt. His eyes flicked to Kirishima and then quickly away.
"I mean, 'm not gonna be much fun, so..."
The redhead shrugged. "That's alright. I just like hangin' out with you, but if you want me to leave you alone—"
"It's up to you, Dumb Hair. Just hand me the controller so I can turn on Netflix," Bakugou interrupted, pointing at the game controller sitting on the table next to the television.
Kirishima retrieved it and handed it to the other, saying, "Then I guess you won't mind if I hang out for a bit? 'S nice and quiet here, unlike my place where I gotta deal with rowdy roommates."
"Whatever." Bakugou stretched himself across the couch—one knee up against its back while the other foot hung off and rested on the floor—as he worked his way into Netflix.
The redhead planted himself on the other end of the couch, sitting cross-legged, and settled in to watch what ended up turning into a marathon of Stranger Things—one that left them both content and stretched much later into the night than either of them expected. By the time Kirishima managed to pull his attention away from the show, it was after midnight and they'd nearly made it all the way through the first season.
"Ah crap," he mumbled, glancing over at the other. "I should probably—" The sentence fell short as, in the room illuminated only by the television, his eyes fell upon a totally knocked out Bakugou. By the looks of things, he'd been asleep a while.
Kirishima couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips at the sight of the other. There was no way in hell he was about to wake him up now—not after the day he'd had and how damn exhausted he was—so he (quietly) moved about the apartment to scout out a couple of blankets. After shutting off the television and using one of the blankets to drape gently across the blonde, he kept the other for himself and curled himself into a ball on his end of the couch.
After he was settled in, movement caught the corner of his eye and his eyes followed it to find the cat (Satan; he couldn't help finding the name amusing but fitting for Bakugou at the same time) padding in from the hallway. As soon as her eyes, catching the little bit of light leaking in between the blinds, found him, she halted for a second. Kirishima elected to remain still and merely watch her until she deemed it safe to hop (lightly, he noted) onto the couch and carefully pad her way onto Bakugou's stomach where she tenderly, so tenderly, curled up, wrapping her tail around herself before her eyeshine disappeared.
With a warm feeling held in his chest, Kirishima let himself watch Bakugou for but a moment more before letting his own tired, dry eyes fall shut.
---
This is for sure not my best editing job, so please do let me know if there are any mistakes! Also, again, thanks so much for all the love on the first two parts!
Also, disclaimer: Bakugou's illness is completely made up; any similarity to a real illness is pure coincidence, though if there is one that fits the symptoms and such described in this chapter, please enlighten me ;-; lol
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