The Confession
Chapter 2
———————❖———————
The next day Katsuki isn’t avoiding the locker room, he’s just taking the long way round. And waiting until most people have finished showering. And pretending he needs extra cooldown stretches even though his muscles are already screaming at him to stop. It’s absolutely not avoidance.
He pushes open the door to the showers and steam rolls out towards him in a thick wave. The room’s almost empty and he can only hear water running in a single stall. Good. He goes to his locker and yanks it open, grabbing his towel. He can get in and out and—
A locker door slams shut somewhere to his left, seeming far too loud in his opinion. Katsuki turns his head automatically to see what other extra is lingering and then he freezes.
Kirishima’s there with his back turned and his towel slung low around his hips. His stupid hair’s dripping down his spine and Katsuki can’t help but follow the trail of a few heavy water droplets as they roll across Kirishima’s bare skin. The other man’s reaching for his shirt in a way that has Katsuki’s attention drawn from the water to the way his muscles shift in a way Katsuki’s never paid attention to before.
Except now he is. He’s hyper-aware. He’s painfully aware as he feels blood rush both northwards to his face and south to something more humiliating.
He knows he should look away but his eyes won’t move. They’re stuck, glued to the lines of Kirishima’s shoulders, his back, the curve of his waist and downwards—
Katsuki’s stomach flips almost violently.
Oh nope. No, no, no.
More heat floods to his face so fast that he feels dizzy and his pulse spikes. Sweaty palms curl into fists as Katsuki feels his body going rigid in more ways than one. Not just a curl of heat low down but actually hard enough that he’s sure he’d see his pants beginning to tent, if he could rip his eyes away from Kirishima’s goddamn skin.
He finally manages to jerk his gaze away, the motion so harsh he’s sure his neck cracks. He takes a glance down only to become absolutely mortified at the state of his dick. There’s no way that you’re supposed to get an instant boner from looking at your friend at eighteen fucking years old.
Katsuki feels like his breathing’s too shallow and presses a hand to the locker next to him. As if it could ground him, yet it doesn’t do jack to help. He’s never reacted like that to anyone, ever.
He’s not noticed anyone in that way, not their body or their skin, or the way they move. Nothing. Attraction was always something nebulous that other people talked about. Background noise Katsuki didn’t give a shit about and felt completely irrelevant in his life, something just not for him.
But this? It’s new and weird and terrifying because it’s so sudden Katsuki feels like he has whiplash. Like a truck coming out of nowhere and t-boning him. How can one awkward evening confession change him so much?
Why now, of all times, is he starting to see Kirishima like that? Is it even fair of him to, after not giving the guy a second glance as more than a comfortable friend for so many years?
Katsuki feels like a can of worms he isn’t sure he wants to touch has been opened. Not only does it feel like they’ll never be able to go back to the way things were, he has absolutely no idea how to navigate what’s happening to his body and mind. He feels raw and exposed in ways he hates. He feels completely out of control of the situation, and that’s something he’s not used to feeling. Doesn’t like feeling.
Katsuki risks a glance upwards, Kirishima is pulling on his shirt now and still unaware that he’s being watched. Something hot and sharp twists low in his gut and Katsuki slams his locker shut just to have something to do with his hands.
The sound echoes and he instantly regrets it as Kirishima startles and turns around.
“Oh—Bakugou! Didn’t see you there.” He’s grinning like an idiot. Like usual. But somehow it’s off.
Katsuki’s entire body feels like it locks up and he suddenly can’t look Kirishima in the eye. If he does he’ll give everything away from the panic in his eyes to the boner in his pants. Which, suddenly remembering he has, Katsuki shoves his hand deep in his pocket and angles his hips away slightly, holding his dick down against the crease where his hip meets his thigh.
He mutters something that might be “t’ch” or could just be some sort of dying animal noise and shoulders past Kirishima to the showers.
Kirishima, of course, steps aside easily as if nothing’s wrong.
“Didn’t mean to hog the place. I’ll get out of your way.”
Katsuki doesn’t answer. He can’t. Not when he feels like shit for the way he’s treating Kirishima yet he still can’t stop. Not when he’s hard in his pants and drowning in the sort of humiliation only a misbehaving dick can cause.
Katsuki gets into the nearest stall and yanks the curtain shut before throwing his towel onto the hook on the wall. He pulls his clothes off too, and tosses them to hang over the curtain rail.
He turns on the shower and steps beneath the spray before it even has time to heat up, gasping at the sudden shock of cold. Bracing his hands against the wall and pressing his head to the tiles, Katsuki stares down at his erection. It’s completely unperturbed by the cold water.
Great.
His breath’s shaking and his heart won’t slow down as his mind replays the vision of Kirishima half naked and wet from his shower. Over and over again.
Katsuki whispers into the spray and his voice cracks.
“What the hell is wrong with me?”
But he already knows it’s because something’s shifted, something he can’t shove back into place and that he’s not ready to name. It doesn’t even feel like something new, not really. Just something that he’d buried deep and suffocated with every ounce of his stubborn will.
His is the only shower running now, so Katsuki gives in to the ache between his legs by pressing a palm against himself and squeezing. He lets his hips push into the sensation for a few moments, hand wrapping around his dick as he gives a few shallow thrusts into it. But he’s not about to jerk off to Kirishima in the goddamn shower.
It’s harder than he wants to admit to pull his hand away and finish washing himself like a functional human being.
———————❖———————
Katsuki spends the rest of the afternoon pretending he’s perfectly fine.
He’s not.
His brain keeps replaying the moment in the locker room—the ambient steam, the shape of Kirishima’s back and the way the water dripped from his hair and slid down until it disappeared into the soft fabric of the towel around his hips.
Every time the memory surfaces, Katsuki's stomach flips and his pulse spikes like he’s about to detonate or something. He doesn’t understand it. Seeing Kirishima like that’s nothing new. At least it shouldn’t be, so why does it feel that way all of a sudden?
By the time he gets back to the dorms he’s vibrating with the kind of restless panic that feels too big for his skin. So full that the thought of cooking and eating anything makes his stomach turn, so he heads straight for his room.
He almost makes it. Almost.
“Katsuki!”
Kirishima’s voice hits him like a freight train. Warm, bright, and familiar. Katsuki’s whole body goes rigid—when will it stop doing that damnit?—and he doesn’t turn around. If he looks at the other man right now he’ll self-combust or something. He’s sure of it.
“Busy,” he mutters and keeps walking.
“Katsuki, wait—”
The sound of footsteps behind him makes his chest seize with guilt and embarrassment, a messy tangle. He speeds up and he’s two seconds from slamming his door shut when Kirishima catches up and moves to grab him. He stops short from touching, though, instead leaving his hand to hover awkwardly beside Katsuki’s arm before dropping again.
“Hey,” Kirishima says softly. “Are you okay? You rushed out of training earlier and—”
“Don’t,” Katsuki snaps louder than he really means to. “Just don’t.”
Kirishima freezes. “Don’t…what?”
“You keep getting up in my space!”
Katsuki stares at the floor as he snaps. Fists clenched so tightly his knuckles ache.
“You keep looking at me like that, and smiling like a dumbass at me even though I’m being such a dick.”
Katsuki glances up for just a moment and then growls “Stop looking at me like that!”
“Like what?”
This was becoming a conversation they repeat way too often for Katsuki’s liking.
“Like you care!”
The silence that follows is sharp enough to cut. It makes Katsuki’s lungs ache, feeling like he’s barely breathing.
Kirishima steps back a little, hurt flickering across his face before he masks it. “I do care.”
“Yeah, well, stop.”
Kirishima’s voice cracks. “Why?”
Because I saw you in the locker room.
Because I can’t stop seeing you.
Because something’s wrong with me.
Because I don’t know what this feeling is and it scares the hell out of me.
Katsuki can’t say any of that so he says nothing.
Kirishima swallows. “Did I… do something?”
Katsuki’s chest twists painfully. “No.”
“Then why are you avoiding me so hard?”
Katsuki’s throat closes. He backs up until his shoulders hit his door, he feels cornered, trapped, exposed.
“I’m not avoiding you.” The words come far too quickly.
“You haven’t looked at me once today.”
Katsuki flinches.
Kirishima’s voice softens, breaking at the edges in a way that actually makes Katsuki want to cry. “If you need that much more space, I’ll give it to you. I won’t talk to you or come over to you but please don’t shut me out without properly telling me why.”
Katsuki’s breath stutters as his vision blurs at the edges with panic. He can’t do this. Not here. Not with Kirishima looking at him like that—all open and worried and hurting.
He reaches for the doorknob to his room with shaking fingers.
“Katsuki,” Kirishima says quietly, “talk to me.”
Katsuki’s voice comes out raw. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” Katsuki’s voice cracks. He squeezes his eyes shut. “Because I don’t know what the hell is happening to me.”
Kirishima’s breath catches. “Is it really because of what I said? Did I—Did I ruin it? Us?”
Katsuki doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to.
Kirishima’s face falls like something inside him is crumbling.
“Oh,” he whispers. “I really didn’t mean to make things harder for you.”
“You didn't,” Katsuki says, too fast. “I’m just… I’m messed up. That’s all.”
“You’re not messed up.”
Katsuki’s eyes snap open, anger and fear tangling in his chest. “You don’t know that.”
“I know you,” Kirishima says softly.
Katsuki’s breath keeps shaking as he looks away again, unable to hold Kirishima’s gaze. The awkwardness over his body reacting to Kirishima earlier is nothing compared to how awful it feels to be causing that expression on his face.
“I don’t know how to act, or what to say… I just… need space.” It’s a pathetic excuse and he knows it. What does that even mean? It’s not like he wants Kirishima to disappear.
“Please.” Katsuki finishes, feeling lame.
Kirishima nods slowly. “Okay.”
Katsuki slips into his room then, before anything else can be said. He shuts the door before he breaks but as soon as the sound of the lock clicks into place he feels the sting. The telltale tickle of tears sliding down his cheeks. It takes a few moments but then he can hear Kirishima’s soft footsteps walking away, and the sound of the other man's dorm closing next door.
He feels like he can’t breathe and without knowing when it happens he’s kneeling on the floor with his head pressed against the back of his door. The room feels too small. The air feels too thin. His heartbeat is a frantic, uneven thing he can’t get under control.
Katsuki presses the heels of his palms to his eyes hard until he sees stars.
“Shit,” he whispers. “Shit, shit, shit.”
———————❖———————
The dizzying mix of emotions almost makes Katsuki feel sick to his stomach. Shame, guilt, sadness, desire, warmth, and more he hasn’t got a name for.
Even now, he can’t stop getting flashes of Kirishima in the locker room. The memory of his exposed back, and then his chest when he turned, mingled with the way Kirishima’s face had dropped. The sadness in his expression. All Katsuki’s fault.
He buries his face in the crook of his arms against his knees. Katsuki can feel the burn in his cheeks and the frustrated tears burning in his eyes. He’s never felt like this before for anyone. Not ever. He can admit that, yet it makes it no less terrifying.
He lets out a bitter sounding laugh. How pathetic is he? Losing his mind over this, when he can fight villains without being afraid. Dire circumstances fuel him with the type of adrenaline he craves.
But this?
Katsuki knows he’s thinking in circles again. Spiralling.
Because Kirishima means something to him. His best friend, even when Katsuki is being a complete asshole, Kirishima sticks around to make sure he’s okay when everyone else still backs off and leaves him to it. Aside from Deku, sometimes, but that feels completely different.
That’s the crux of the issue though. Kirishima and Deku both sort of follow him around and bug the hell out of him. But Kirishima is somehow… more.
His chest aches.
“What the hell is wrong with me,” he mutters into the cradle of his arms. “Why now. Why him.”
But Katsuki knows why.
Kirishima is good, and steady. He looks at him like he’s worth something more than what he can achieve as a Hero. Because Kirishima confessed and now everything is different. But the same, somehow.
He squeezes his eyes shut harder as guilt twists deep in his gut.
Kirishima doesn’t deserve that—doesn’t deserve to be the target of Katsuki’s confused, messy feelings. Doesn’t deserve to be dragged into whatever disaster is happening inside Katsuki’s chest.
“I don’t deserve him,” he mutters.
He’s spent years now trying to be better. Trying to become someone who doesn't hurt the people he cares about. Now he’s ruining it.
Katsuki doesn’t know what he wants. He doesn’t know how to handle the heat curling low in his stomach when he thinks about Kirishima’s body, or the ache in his chest when he thinks about Kirishima's voice, or the fear that he’s going to lose him because he can’t get his shit together.
He doesn’t know anything, except one thing. He doesn’t want to lose Kirishima.
He doesn’t leave his room for dinner. He tells himself it’s because he’s tired, training wiped him out, and he doesn’t feel like dealing with idiots and noise and Kaminari chewing with his damned mouth open.
It’s a lie. He knows exactly who he’s avoiding.
The hallway outside his door stays quiet aside from the coming and goings of people for food and hang outs. None come to his door of course. No-one knocks, no one meekly asks if he’s okay through the wood. Kirishima stays away, keeps his word.
It makes Katsuki’s chest ache.
Lying on his bed, Katsuki moves from staring at the ceiling to throwing his arm over his eyes. As if doing that will block the images replaying in his head. Of course it doesn’t work, nothing does.
He shifts in frustration, blanket twisting in his fist.
This is stupid. He’s handled worse than this. Villains. War zones. Death. He stared down monsters without blinking.
So why does one honest confession and one accidental look at Kirishima’s bare skin have him unraveling like this?
He’s never wanted people the way others do. Never felt that pull everyone jokes about, brags about, whispers about. He always figured it just skipped him. Or maybe he was too angry, too focused, too broken for it. Until Kirishima told him he likes him.
Suddenly Katsuki can’t stop being aware of him. Of his voice, his presence, the space he takes up in a room. Of the warmth that settles in Katsuki’s chest when he laughs. Or the way Katsuki’s body reacted without permission when he saw Kirishima half-dressed and unguarded.
A sharp knock hits his door and Katsuki jolts like he’s been electrocuted.
“Katsuki?” Mina’s voice. “You alive in there?”
He exhales shakily. “Go away.”
She ignores that, obviously. “You skipped dinner. Kirishima’s worried, we all are.”
Of course he is.
Katsuki grits his teeth. “Tell him to stop. You can all stop, I’m fine.”
There’s a pause. Then Mina’s voice softens. “He just cares. You know that.” As if she knows everything plaguing him.
“I said go away.”
Another pause. Then footsteps retreating down the hall.
Katsuki rolls onto his side, staring at the wall. His phone buzzes a few minutes later.
One message.
Katsuki stares at the screen.
His chest tightens painfully.
He types. Deletes. Types again.
His thumb hovers.
He deletes it.
Delete.
Delete.
His hands start shaking again. He locks the screen and tosses the phone onto the bed like it burned him. Katsuki presses his face into his pillow, muffling the sound that escapes him—halfway between a growl and something dangerously close to a sob.
He doesn’t reply but he doesn’t block the other man either.
Sleep comes late and badly. When it does it’s restless, with his dreams full of heat and Kirishima standing just out of reach. Solid and smiling and half fucking naked, waiting patiently while Katsuki spins himself into knots trying to get closer without blowing everything up. He wakes up tangled in his sheets with his heart racing, dick aching in a way that makes him groan and bury his face in his hands.
“Unbelievable,” he mutters hoarsely. The worst part isn’t even the physical reaction, it’s the guilt that follows it.
———————❖———————
The next day, Katsuki avoids Kirishima with the precision of a trained assassin. Different hallways, different training partners, different lunch tables. He doesn’t look for him yet he always knows where he is anyway. Like some traitorous part of his brain has decided Kirishima is a fixed point it refuses to stop tracking.
And Kirishima lets him avoid, which might be the cruelest part. Knowing that the other man knows he’s being avoided and letting it happen unchallenged.
He doesn’t chase or confront or guilt-trip. He just adjusts and gives Katsuki exactly what he asked for. Space.
By the last session of the day, Katsuki feels hollowed out.
They end up paired for a rescue simulation anyway—Aizawa doesn’t care about personal crises, apparently—and when Kirishima meets his eyes for the first time in hours, there’s no accusation or betrayal there. It nearly breaks Katsuki.
They work well together, of course. Muscle memory, trust, and years of training and fighting back to back.
At one point the debris shifts unexpectedly and Kirishima grabs Katsuki’s wrist to yank him out of the way. The contact is brief. Firm and warm and Katsuki’s entire body lights up like a struck match.
He jerks his hand free too fast, breath hitching. Kirishima notices like he always does and immediately steps back, hands up, apology already on his lips.
“Sorry—”
“It’s fine,” Katsuki snaps, too fast. “Focus.”
Kirishima nods, swallowing whatever he was going to say and they finish the exercise in tense silence.
Afterwards, Katsuki heads for the exit without waiting. He almost makes it before Kirishima calls his name.
“Katsuki.”
He stops but doesn’t turn around. Kirishima doesn’t move any closer either, he just speaks.
“I’m not upset with you,” he says quietly. “I just wanted you to know that.”
Katsuki’s chest tightens. He clenches his fists.
“You should be,” he mutters.
Kirishima exhales. “But I’m not.”
“Why,” Katsuki snaps, spinning around at last, his anger flaring sharp and desperate. “Why aren’t you mad? I’m being a dick. I’m avoiding you. I’m snapping at you. I told you I needed space and now I’m like this—”
“Because you’re struggling,” Kirishima says simply, always being able to see right through him, or some shit. “And because I care about you.”
The words hit harder than any insult ever could. Katsuki’s throat closes and he looks away, his jaw trembling despite his best efforts to control it.
“This isn’t fair,” he mutters.
Kirishima’s voice is gentle. “I know.”
“I meant on you. I don’t know what I want,” Katsuki admits, barely audible. “I don’t even know what I’m feeling. And my body—” He cuts himself off sharply, face burning hot. “It’s fucked up.”
Kirishima is quiet for a moment.
Then carefully “does it scare you?”
Katsuki nods, almost imperceptibly, before he can stop himself. His eyes darting around to make sure no-one is eavesdropping on their moment.
Kirishima doesn’t smile or tease him at all.
“Okay,” he says softly. “Then we can take this as slow as you need. Whatever happens, or doesn’t.”
Katsuki finally looks at him, really looks at him, and sees no expectation there. No entitlement, just patience and care. It makes his chest ache in a way that feels almost unbearable.
“…I don’t want to lose you,” Katsuki says, voice rough.
Kirishima’s eyes soften. “You won’t. Not for this.”
Katsuki swallows hard. He still doesn’t have answers and doesn’t understand himself. He’s also still terrified of what his feelings might mean, the change they’ll bring if he lets them out.
Kirishima isn’t demanding certainty, he's just offering to stay. Like the soft, dependable bastard that he is, and Katsuki feels a little less like he’s drowning all of a sudden.
———————❖———————