Chapter Text
Shinsou does not want to be in the middle of a crowded bar, yet, here he finds himself. Pressed between Kaminari and Kirishima in a corner booth nursing a whisky sour and regretting pretty much everything. The background noise is nice though, the low roar of voices doing its best to drown out the louder roar in his head. Ignoring whatever conversation Kaminari and Kirishima are having between him, he sinks into the soft leather of the booth and lets his head fill with the white noise and chatter. He has three separate escape routes planned floating in the back of his mind, the alcohol is softening the anxious static collected across his skin. He lets himself slip, body syrapy and loose. He registers the tug, the strangeness of being in a public place, wearing his own face. Although he’s a little unsure of how it looks right now, moving into that liminal space of quiet, he probably looks drunk, he probably looks bored. He’s not bored though, just tired, a fumbling exhaustion that prickles with underlying anxiety. The people around him are familiar, friends, he idly recognises the connections there, basks in it for a second. A moment of safety, trust.
“You’re out of your mind, Hitoshi tell him he’s out of his mind!” Kaminari’s voice yanks him from his delicately crafted moment of relaxation. Shinsou blinks at the blond, purple eyes suddenly focused. He feels a slow wave of guilt roll through his stomach, Kaminari looks a little drunk but mostly concerned. Shinsou feels the strain there, Kaminari is always good at filling in the gaps after Shinsou takes a stint undercover, but there’s always a moment where they have to recognise something is different, something has eroded. Four months isn’t really that long, only it is. The quiet look of hurt at his obvious disinterest has Shinsou taking a swig of his drink and offering a token comment.
“I don’t know what you want me to say, I’ve been living large in the cities underbelly since May, I’m not even remotely up to speed.” The reminder seems to give Kaminari pause.
“Criminals don’t watch RuPaul’s Drag Race?” He asks, a look of genuine curiosity making the question even more ridiculous.
“If they did, they wouldn’t do crime.” Shinsou offers dryly, causing the pair to snort laugh and return to whatever argument they were having before Shinsou interrupted like an unsociable stick in the mud. Eight hours of sleep in the past three days is not helping much. Usually after coming off a stint undercover he crashes for a solid day, but but no such luck this time. Shinsou takes another sip of his drink without tasting it. Glancing around the room he takes stock of the other friends crowded into the seat, caught in loud conversations. Mina, Sero and Jirou seem to be encouraging Momo over something, who looks more than a little flustered at the enthusiastic praise from her friends and girlfriend. Half hiding behind her long hair. Jirou grabs her hand offering a teasing remark that must be an inside joke because Momo breaks into a surprised laugh, hiding her smile with her other hand. It’s sweet, Hitoshi muses without a hint of bitterness. Before loneliness can come crashing in he glances away from the couple falling right into red eyes. He and Bakugou share a second of eye contact, the latter barely acknowledging it before Shinsou diverts his attention to the blond and redhead still bickering across him. Shinsou registers Bakugou’s dark button up and well fitting jeans, lounging across the edge of the booth, taking up more space than he needs to because there’s just so much ego to account for. Shinsou feels it like the tugging of a thread, a fish hook and line urging him to look again. It’s a useless impulse, lowered inhibitions drawing him to the most dangerous man in the room. Shinsou squashes the desire. His head, overtired and just generally overwhelmed, makes him disregard the exchange. He needs to leave, he needs to be alone, he needs to eat something and sleep and process his emotions like a grown adult. He needs to visit his therapist. He settles for at least the first one. Finishing his drink he knocks Kaminari’s leg.
“Gotta piss, lemmi out.” He grumbles, Kaminari giving him a mildly pleading don’t leave look before scooting back so Shinsou can stand. He’ll have one more drink at the bar then go home. It’s not like he’s actually contributing anything to the group, Kaminari will have more fun without him. That was the general sentiment when they stopped dating, anyway. He pushes that particular line of thinking out of his head before he can sink any deeper into a self deprecating spiral. The bar itself is packed and Shinsou decides on self care for a change and to just get the hell out of there. The noise feels less like a calming ocean and now more of an impending storm. The hairs on his arms stand on end, a ripple, a shudder, a warning. Skin starting to feel prickly, covered in nervous static. Yeah, time to leave. He’s almost home free when Bakugou emerges from the bathroom, effectively blocking exit number one as Shinsou pulls on his coat. They regard each other in the hallway leading out of the bar.
“Pussying out already?” Bakugou jabs, Shinsou shrugs without energy.
“Have fun.” He mutters blandly.
“Might do now your mopey ass is leaving.” Bakugou retorts with a jerk of his head. The blond has to look up a little to make eye contact. Shinsou straightens to his full height out of pure spite, his wild purple hair making him appear even taller. Bakugou, who is trying not to seem mad about it, leans against the wall. Shinsou tugs his soldiers back, they fill out his jacket nicely, he knows he’s less of a beanpole than he was when they were teenagers. It’s a stupid, posturing move, Shinsou has the introspection to feel a little embarrassed about it. Puffing out his chest like a meat head trying to impress a pretty girl. But Bakugou is pretty. His face is sharper now, high cheekbones and fierce eyes. Eyeliner Shinsou thinks in passing, the black lines framing garnet. It’s devastating, striking, Shinsou swallows the thought down.
“Precisely,” He grouses, moving to leave. At that moment someone in the bar starts shouting, it’s deep, male and obviously aggressive. Shinsou feels his body come alive, already on a hair trigger of overtired anxiety. He shifts, automatically moving into a grounding stance, shoulders lock, he jerks his head towards the noise. Heart beat thrumming in his veins, the burst of adrenaline white hot and suddenly everything is saturated with colour. The shouts die off as quickly as they started and the swell of conversation across the bar begins again. For the second time that night Shinsou and Bakugou share a look. In his reaction Shinsou has crowded him against the wall, arms pressed either side of Bakugou’s torso. Bakugou’s first instinct is to shove him off, make a crass comments about sexual harassment before he catches Shinsou’s eye. The purple haired hero looks grim, eyes tight and suspicious, body tense and guarded. Bakugou recognises the look, trauma meet trauma, he thinks darkly.
“Interesting way to make a move.” Bakugou gives Shinsou a calculating look before the taller man steps back awkwardly. Visibly shrinking back into the slouched zombie he’s been for most of the night, the spark of protective strength extinguished from his violet eyes.
“Sorry, I’m not in the right headspace to be here.” Shinsou mumbles, trying to leave a second time. Bakugou’s hand grasps his wrist, Shinsou flinches at the contact. Way to not look like an oversensitive moron. To Shinsou’s surprise Bakugou let's go immediately. Putting on his best ‘I’m not in the mood asshole’ face, Shinsou turns to the blond, still leaning against the wall.
“I can see that, Mindfuck,” Bakugou almost laughs, smirking darkly, “want me to help you out of your head?” The low rumble of Bakugou’s voice leaves no room for interpretation. Shinsou startles, schooling his expression so it doesn’t show. A proposition? Bakugou Katsuki is propositioning him. Shinsou’s skin feels tights in a completely different way now. The fibres of his coat scratch his neck, he wants to shake himself, check this isn’t some waking dream. Instead, he very obviously gives Bakugou a once over, noticing the way his shirt strains over his muscular shoulders, hands now looped in his jean pockets. The posture is casual, relaxed, but Bakugou’s eyes burn, turning the air between them into something tactile. And Shinsou thinks back, he’s sixteen again, face down, biting his pillow, thinking of those eyes, warm hands and tiny waist.
“I don’t think you can handle me, pretty boy.” Shinsou purrs, hand coming up to pinch Bakugou’s chin. Bakugou doesn’t flinch but his lips part, the movement betraying an eagerness Shinsou didn’t expect. “Can’t guarantee I’ll give you what you want.” Despite the flirtatious tone, it’s a genuine warning. Bakugou smirks at the challenge. There’s something in the way Shinsou is looking at him right now and he doesn’t want it to stop. The way Shinsou has been holding himself all night, drifting, dazed and vacant. There’s no trace of that now, his purple eyes are razor sharp and holding Bakugou’s own with a vice grip. Bakugou watches his pupils spill out, the white shrinking his purple iris’ to thin rings. The energy is a little messed up, a little frantic, but it’s more than Bakugou has ever felt from him and he wants more.
“I always get what I want.” Bakugou’s voice is low, dark, and does something to Shinsou’s insides. Shinsou registers the rapidly closing gap of his self control. He wants to leave, he wants to run, he wants to tear the burning energy from his limbs. He wants to touch, to be touched. He realises, as the desire floods his system, eyelashes fluttering, head tipping back as the pull sends fresh waves of goosebumps down his arms. This is such a bad idea, Shinsou warns himself as the temptation twists in his gut. Still his imagination spins, what would it feel like to have those warm hands on him? His mouth goes dry, a sudden need swims in his belly. It’s just sex, it would just be sex, a warm body, a way to break this awful, exhausted tension. Bakugou looks strong, alive, irresistible in the warm lighting. His head lifted, throat bared, breath heavy.
“And what do you want, Bakugou?” Shinsou all but whispers, crowding Bakugou against the wall again, dropping his hand to press into the brick. Lips, Bakugou’s lips, ghost across his own, not a kiss but enough to make Shinsou’s head spin.
“I want you to get that fucking look off your face.” Bakugou growls, he feels the shape of each word as micro-touches across his lips. Shinsou keeps his face impassive despite the heat rising under his skin. He takes a breath, blowing air out of his nose. Unsurprised that Bakugou flirts like a bull in a china shop. The touch feels good, real and maybe this is actually a fantastic idea.
“You’re going to have to try harder than that,” Shinsou breathes, pulling his head back just enough so their lips are no longer brushing, “can you do that for me, sweetheart?” The pet name is a shot in the dark but judging by the dilation of Bakugou’s pupils it hits the mark. Bakugou’s face sours.
“Call me that again and I’ll leave you on the side of the street.” Bakugou scoffs, cheeks pink.
“Only if you try harder.” Shinsou smirks. He feels like he’s playing with fire, like Bakugou is a volatile substance and that itself is a new rush. Bakugou narrows his eyes, embers in the low light. A hand, hot and firm, presses into Shinsou’s hip, slipping under his shirt. Shinsou’s body reacts before he can stop it, a shiver travelling all the way up his spine. He watches Bakugou’s lips, smells the sweetness of his sweat, the earthiness of his skincare. He wonders how soft he would be to touch, the skin of his face, the muscles under his shirt. Shinsou shivers again at the thought, lips parting as a shaky breath spills into the space between them. Bakugou’s hand rubs circles into his hip bone and Shinsou wants more contact. When was the last time he just wanted? As himself, without a hundred tiny strings and lies and possibilities to mentally track. When he wasn’t someone else, or acting as a hero, or a blur of the two. If he’s honest with himself, at that moment Shinsou has no idea who he is. After months of pretending his own face feels strange, ill fitting and loose. It’s the reason he hasn’t been home to see his fathers, it’s the reason Denki won't stop giving him those quiet concerned looks. Shinsou hates it, hates twisting his mind and body into someone else only to forget his own shape. He has no idea who he is, but he knows what he wants.
“Are you really offering?” He whispers, tracing a long finger down Bakugou’s cheek, feeling the thundering heartbeat underneath.
“Are you really hesitating?” Bakugou replies, cocky and beautiful and real. His hand travels down from Shinsou’s hips, over the fabric of his jeans to trace the outline of Shinsou’s rapidly hardening dick.
“You always look so bored, never seen you look like this before,” Bakugou breathes, hand shifting against Shinsou’s growing erection. Shinsou’s breath catches in his throat, he leans forward, pressing Bakugou into the wall. The kiss is warm, almost tender. It feels like honey in Shinsou’s mouth, his whole face tingling. Slotting together he feels Bakugou sigh into it. Body rolling forward, magnetised. He feels the press of Bakugou’s hand on the front of his jeans, insistent, teasing, breaking the kiss with a soft moan he notices Bakugou smile. He realises it’s a nice smile. Releasing Shinsou’s now throbbing cock Bakugou pushes past him heading for the door.
“Are you coming?” He barks over his shoulder. Maybe Hitoshi is thinking with his dick, but the state his head is in right now, it’s probably the better option. He follows Bakugou into the night.
* * *
Whatever the fuck is going on with Shinsou tonight Bakugou can’t help but guess. Now that he thinks about it, Kaminari did mention something about wanting Shinsou to come out after not seeing him for months. Bakugou takes that, coupled with the flighty and anxious look on Shinsou’s face right now to mean he’s just come out of some undercover op. Now Bakugou’s attention is on him fully, he recognises the remnants of it, those months underground. The way he tracks the available exists as they make their way through the underground station. The sliding gaze across the interior of the carriage, counting and noting the number of people crammed into the space. Bakugou is a hero, he recognises the cogs turning in Shinsou’s head. Sometimes his brain will do the same, he knows off the top of his head the number of potential hiding spots as well as emergency exits of his parents house.
However, he also notices the firm line of Shinsou’s shoulders under his jacket, the large, strong hands gripping the overhead rails of the train carriage. He looks as mysterious and aloof as he did when they were in highschool, now with a higher muscle mass and even smarter mouth that Bakugou can’t help but idly fantasize about kissing again. He glances up at Shinsou, who is quietly watching the entire fucking carraige for anything suspicious and Bakugou hates it. He thinks back to the searing look Shinsou had given him at the bar, it had made his heart beat thrum in his veins the way it does before he gets into a fight. The underground hero is jaded and a little unstable at the moment and Bakugou had been drawn to it like a horny moth to a flame. He wants that attention back, he wants it now. Turning slightly so his back is to Shinsou, clinging to the overhead handrail Bakugou presses his body backwards. Using the momentum of the train he grinds a little into Shinsou’s crotch, not enough to be obvious, but enough that Shinsou can tell it’s intentional. He feels the man behind him stiffen, breath catching in his throat as he leans into Bakugou’s space. Bakugou grins to himself, letting the shifting momentum of the train roll him back into Shinsou’s body, occasionally sparking hot fraction against the growing bulge in Shinsou’s pants. It’s addicting, the hot pressure, pressing into his ass. Bakugou thrives under attention, seeking it, demanding it from everyone he can. His parents, his peers. Now, a hero, that attention feels a little hollow, a little suffocating. His therapist has a few theories on that, and he’s working through it, sure. But here, now, Shinsou is looking at him. Bored, disinterested Shinsou is watching. He came alive at the bar, Bakugou watched the desire flare, the want cracking that guarded expression. Bakugou feels a little drunk on it, feeling wanted, desired, anticipation thrums in his veins. Hyper aware of every touch. Even if it’s just physical, a night, a heady exploration of bodies, he’ll take it. He’ll take everything he can. He forces the embarrassingly desperate thoughts down, vibrating with whispered pleasure. Shinsou’s hand wraps around his own on the rail, possessive, Bakugou feels it all the way down to his toes.
* * *
As soon as they exit the station near Bakugou’s apartment Shinsou’s hands are on him. Pushing them both down a tight alley that Bakugou is sure Shinsou automatically cleared for danger. His back is against a wall again and Shinsou’s lips are on his. Shinsou’s coils his hands in Bakugou’s hair, fingers tightening. He feels the warmth, Shinsou’s body is a furnace in the aching autumn cold and Bakugou craves it. Craves the contact like the night will overtake him without it. The intensity of the kiss is heightened in the darkness and Bakugou feels his body respond to it instantly. Back arching off the stone, hands grasping at the fabric of Shinsou’s jacket. His body ripples, breathing hard through his nose. Shinsou’s greedy hands release his hair, brushing down his face, chest, stomach to run underneath his shirt. Bakugou has to angle his head upwards to meet his mouth. He feels small, Shinsou’s crowding him in, blocking out the rest of the world, until Bakugou’s head is swimming with him, only him. He smells like coffee, Bakugou tastes the citrus and lingering fumes of alcohol on his breath. Shinsou kisses like it’s his mission on earth and Bakugou’s head spins. This is what he wanted, the fire burning in Shinsou’s eyes flickering across the contact. Lips crashing, hungry and searching. Bakugou feels a low moan rumble out the back of his throat, slotting their bodies together, leaning into the friction it creates between their goins. He feels Shinsou’s breath hitch, the kisses move from Bakugou’s lips to his jaw, sucking and nipping up to the sensitive spot behind his ear. Bakugou can feel the soft needy sound slip from his lips as Shinsou sucks. Bakugou’s knees weaken and he grinds forward with purpose. Shinsou breaks off for a moment, breath hot and erratic in Bakugou’s ear.
“I’m gonna blow you in this fucking ally.” Shinsou’s voice is already wrecked as he slips his hand over Bakugou’s straining erection. Palming him through his tight jeans. Bakugou shivers, the motion not lost on Shinsou who looks practically predatory at this point.
“What?” Bakugou growls, trying to remember precisely why it would be a bad idea for him to get his dick out in a fucking allway. He feels himself twitch in Shinsou’s hand as the purple haired man pushes even closer, slotting his leg between his thigh. Mouth dry as he registers that dangerous gleam in Shinsou’s eyes.
“You heard me.” Shinsou’s voice is raw with want and Bakugou’s knees very nearly do give out this time. It’s overwhelming, Shinsou’s lips are on his neck again and the hot wet glide of his tongue threatens to pull a whine from his throat. He’s turned on, but not that fucking desperate. He has enough pride not to let this happen in a fucking alley, right?
“Wanna make you feel good, baby.” Shinsou moans into Bakugou’s neck, grinding his own erection into Bakugou’s thigh.
“I’m not that— fucking-- ah-- desperate.” Bakugou murmurs, rolling his hips forward, lashes fluttering closed, mouth slack with hazy pleasure. Shinsou’s mouth makes its way down to Bakugou’s collar bone, nipping and worrying the flesh between his teeth before Bakugou gasps.
“You’re so quiet, no one will hear us. I can be quick baby, please,” Shinsou works his mouth along the outline of a scar, “ I need to hear you say it, please darling I want you now.” Shinsou whispers, breath hot against his skin. Hand rubbing lazy circles through the straining denim. Bakugou’s thighs open at the words, sinking lower to thrust up into Shinsou’s palm. Face flushed he bites back a whimper.
“Fine,” he breathes, not trusting his voice to say more. Shinsou’s gasps, a small shaking breath that trembles through his core. Something unravels in the darkness between them and Bakugou feels weightless, tethered to the Earth by Shinsou’s touch alone. Shinsou pulls back, tugging at the button and zipper of Bakugou’s pants. The bastard gives him a wry smirk that is far sexier than it should be, before dropping to his knees.
Wet heat envelopes the head of Bakugou’s cock through his underwear, erection straining against the fabric and Bakugou moans. Mortified at the sound he bits his bottom lip as Shinsou works his mouth over the dark spot in the fabric, slow and teasing and not enough. He feels Shinsou pull off, the head of his dick wet and sensitive to the hot breaths ghosting over the spot.
“Is this what you want, baby?” He hears Shinsou purr from the darkness below. Eyes closed, teeth biting his bottom lip, Bakugou nods. He knows Shinsou can see it in the half darkness but all he gets are light touches teasing his straining erection, dancing across the waistband of his pants.
“I can’t hear you sweetheart.” Shinsou’s growls and that nearly pulls a whimper from Bakugou’s lips.
“Yes,” he breaths, pressing his face into his shoulder, cheeks burning. Bakugou hopes it’s enough, unsure if he can bring himself to ask for more. Finally, Shinsou moves, slipping Bakugou’s dick from his sodden underwear. Bakugou swallows down more sounds as Shinsou presses his hands to the blond's narrow hips, pressing him firmly into the wall. After another agonising moment of waiting that has Bakugou biting back an impatient whine, Shinsou finally takes him into his mouth. The warmth and the pleasure is almost overwhelming and Bakugou registers idly that he won’t last long. Maybe it’s the danger of being out, in the open, the risk heightening the sensations. Or maybe it’s the almost constant arousal that’s been rolling through his body since that kiss in the bar. Bakugou doesn’t care, can’t care because at the moment all he can do is sink into the cold brick and work to hold back the cries of pleasure that threaten to spill out. Shinsou works his mouth from the tip, swirling down the shaft to take him to the hilt. Bakugou tries to resist the urge to fuck into his mouth but the hands on his hips are strong, keeping him in place as Shinsou takes him as he pleases. Biting back soft moans Bakugou slips his fingers into the soft purple strands of Shinsou’s hair, desperate to ground himself as Shinsou swallows around him and Bakugou sees stars. He gasps, Shinsou working meticulously, filling his body with waves of pleasure that have him melting into the wall. Thighs quaking as the tension mounts in his body. Bakugou’s breath hitches, he can feel his orgasm building already. The warm pooling of pleasure low in his belly. His legs are already shaking as Shinsou takes him deeper.
“Oh fuck,” he manages, hand tightening in Shinsou’s hair. “Shinsou I’m gonna- you gotta- your throat- I- I can’t-” He tries to warn him of the overwhelming pleasure beginning to crest but Shinsou doesn’t stop. Mouth working slick and fast over Bakugou’s cock now, moaning around the salty sweet taste of sweat and pre in his mouth.
“Shinsou— Shinsou, oh fuck, fuck—” Bakugou comes with a silent cry, legs trembling, hips twitching, hand gripping Shinsou’s hair like a lifeline. He shudders, spilling down Shinsou’s throat as the other swallows, working him through his orgasm. Bakugou buries his face in the crook of his elbow, breathless and wrecked. The reality of what they’ve done sending curls of excitement tinged with shame like smoke through his chest. Blearily he registers Shinsou tuck him back into his uncomfortably wet underwear and do up his jeans. Pushing away Bakugou’s arms he grabs his face and kisses him. Hot, slow, disarmingly sweet, Bakugou can taste himself on Shinsou’s lips. He melts into it, the mortification of getting off in a back alley of his rather nice neighbourhood begins to dissolve. Shinsou’s mouth is warm and Bakugou pushes him away, dragging him with unsteady legs towards his apartment.
***
Shinsou doesn’t register the tasteful decor of Bakugou’s meticulously tidy apartment. Since sinking to his knees in the alleyway his mind has been blissfully blank. If he had his wits about him he would be second guessing this whole situation. But self doubt and his cripplingly low self esteem are on the back burner right now as his body moves on pure impulse. Pressing Bakugou into his stupidly expensive sheets, stripping them both naked and kissing the other man breathless. He’s three fingers deep and has Bakugou almost begging at this point. He gropes for the condom with his free hand, tossed somewhere onto the bed in their haste. The movement twists his fingers hitting that bundle of nerves and Bakugou gasps. Shinsou stills for a moment and just watches him, the soft glow of the bedside lamp makes the sweat glisten across his muscular chest. He’s beautiful, head thrown back, hands gripping the sheets. Mouth twisted, still biting back the moans and pleas that Shinsou is desperate to pull from him. So beautiful, Shinsou flexes his fingers again and watches the pleasure ripple across his body, trembling, cock heavy and weeping on his stomach. He wants him so badly, wants to lose himself to the tight heat. Bakugou’s eyes flutter, a glimpse of carmine, red eyes, red...
Oh.
Oh no.
Shinsou feels something tight and raw inside him snap. Chest straining against his breath, he pulls his hand from the tight heat and Bakugou wines at the loss. Looking down the bed, his expression needy then suddenly horrified, as Hitoshi begins to cry.
* * *
Bakugou has had some strange sexual encounters, drunk sexual encounters, awkward sexual encounters. There was even that one guy with that foot thing. The point is, despite not being the most experienced guy, he’s seen enough to know how things usually play out. Never, and he means never, has someone had a full scale mental breakdown with their fingers up his ass. That’s a fucking new one. Everything was going fine, great even, until he looked down to see the guy, who up until this point was doing an excellent job, freeze, then grimace, then sob.
“What the fuck?” Bakugou snaps jolting forward towards Shinsou as a horribly broken sound escapes his lips. Has he done something? Is he in pain? Did he push Shinsou into this? Fuck. Everything had been fine, right? And consensual, and actually pretty hot. Shinsou now has his arms wrapped around his chest, the hand not covered in fucking lube clamped over his mouth as tears stream down his face.
“What’s wrong?” Bakugou demands, sitting forward on his knees.
“Fuck,” Shinsou whispers, choking out another sob, “fuck, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—“ the purple haired man dissolves into another fit of sobs. His breathing is erratic, huffed and broken around the hand smothering the sounds. He’s naked and shaking and Bakugou is not even remotely prepared to deal with something like this. He’s not exactly known as a pillar of emotional support at the best of times.
“Shinsou,” he tries again, only half managing to hide the panic in his voice, “did I hurt you?” Bakugou asks, hands hovering awkwardly, raised, unsure if he should reach out to the crying man at the foot of his bed. Shinsou shakes his head and a wave of relief washes over him.
“What do you need?” Bakugou asks, he should probably stick to yes/no questions because Shinsou doesn’t seem in any state to talk. The crying shakes his whole body, trying and failing to keep the hacking sobs inside. Bakugou recognises the overwhelming panic in Shinsou’s face, can see it rattle his entire body like he’s drowning. Shinsou gasps, instinctively curling inwards. Panic then mortification at the situation feeds into more panic and the cycle continues until suddenly Shinsou jerks, stands and tries to leave. Bakugou jumps off the bed to try and contain the gasping Shinsou as the taller man pulls on his discarded underwear with trembling hands.
“Shinsou,” he tries to get his attention, “Shinsou Hitoshi!” Bakugou snaps and Shinsou flinches, trying to collect his discarded clothes.
“When’s the last time you slept? Or ate something?” Bakugou tries easier questions but Shinsou just shakes his head, wiping his hand on his jeans and trying to pull them on.
“You’re having a panic attack, do you- do you need me to call Aizawa?” Bakugou gets a frantic look for that one.
“Don’t call Aizawa.” Shinsou’s voice is small and pleading, the verbal response a good sign but the gasping sobs and unsteady breathing doesn’t let up.
“Shinsou breathe,” he risks placing a hand on Shinsou’s forearm. The contact startling the crying man but he stops his useless attempts to dress, instead hiding his face in his hands. Bakugou shifts, slowly entering his space, rubbing circles over Shinsou’s back. The movement feels awkward, but he’s always been a man of action and doing something feels a lot better than standing there watching.
“Breathe, slow down, it’s alright,” the words of comfort sound strange coming from the explosive blond, yet the steady touch grounds Shinsou a little.
“I can’t do this, holy fuck not here—” Shinsou’s voice cracks, a bone rattling sob aborting the sound.
“It’s happening here,” Bakugou tries to be soothing, “better here than on the fucking train or something, it’s fine,” he squeezes Shinsou’s shoulder, eyes downcast, “it’s fine.” Bakugou manages to steer Shinsou back to the bed, sitting him down before dashing to his draws, pulling on a pair of old sweatpants so he doesn’t have to do this completely naked. Draping a blanket over Shinsou’s shoulders so he doesn’t feel so exposed.
“Your ugly crying is way quieter than Kirishima’s at least.” Bakugou mutters sitting beside him, returning to the slow reassuring touches as Shinsou’s breathing begins to dial down from ‘full hyperventilation’.
“You’re okay, it’s okay,” Bakugou murmurs as Shinsou hides his face in his hands. He’s quiet, caging the cries in his chest and shaking with shame. The hot humiliation fueling the panic. Shinsou hasn’t done this with anyone to offer comfort since he and Kaminari broke up four years ago, it feels better, and worse. His throat tightens. He cries, there’s nothing else he can do. He’s still in the worst of it, and all they can do is wait it out. Bakugou stays, his touch becomes a spell, voice a mantra. Shinsou’s not sure how much time passes, as he weathers wave after wave. He cries so hard he coughs, hacking up snot and phlegm. Bakugou can see the streaks of tears Shinsou tries to rub from his face, fingers brushing against his cheeks. The motion is small and self soothing. He wonders how many times Shinsou has done this alone. He stays, mindless assurances and gentle comfort until the fits subside and Shinsou is left, trembling and exhausted.
“You’re gross, come on.” If Shinsou wasn’t half dead he would probably tease at the softness of Bakugou’s voice. Instead, he is gently steered, this time into the bathroom. The blond deposits him on the toilet seat and begins to run a bath.
“You don’t have to—“ Shinsou croaks before a sharp look forces him back into silence, he blows his nose on some toilet paper. The bath is heavenly, warm and smelling of jasmine. Bakugou helps him bathe. Shinsou is so drained he doesn’t register the strangeness of it. Bakugou’s hands pressing down his back, fingers rubbing soothing patterns into his hair. His movements thorough and precise. Shinsou’s slips into the silence. Unspooling into the water. Mind disconnecting from his body.
“What’s the soap smell like?” Bakugou asks quietly, voice echoing around the room.
“Flowers.” Shinsou murmurs.
“Is the water too hot for you?”
“No, it’s warm.”
“Can you pass me the conditioner?” Bakugou shifts. “Can you see which colour bottle it is?” He asks, cupping water in his hands and rinsing Shinsou’s hair.
“Blue,” Shinsou whispers.
“Yeah, that’s right.” Bakugou agrees, “blue.” Shinsou feels himself floating, the mindless panic receding leaving him in blurry exhaustion. Bakugou leaves him to soak, returning a little while later and handing him some underwear, joggers that are a little too short and a red riot sweatshirt. Once dressed Shinsou emerges into the living room, Bakugou plates something in the kitchen. Shinsou can hardly keep his thoughts together, he needs to find his coat. Bakugou finds him, spaced out and embarrassed, standing in the middle of the room.
“Sit.” The blond barks, gesturing to the couch, plate of food in hand.
“I should go.” Shinsou mumbles, hand reaching up and brushing the back of his neck, a nervous habit that makes him feel like a child. Bakugou rolls his eyes, bitch face at full force.
“Sit the fuck down.” He looks far too domestic in a tank top and threadbare sweats to be as intimidating as he is. Shinsou complies without another word. His head is filled with sand, thoughts appear, slip under, refuse to solidify. He eats half an omelette and a bowl of rice with tentative movements. He watches Bakugou make sure he’s eating but his mind feels like it’s two streets away. Far removed from the comfortable couch under him, the warm food in his mouth. He’s sure it’s good but he barely tastes it. The whole scene is bizarre, his exhaustion so thick it feels like a dream. When Bakugou returns from the kitchen with tea, Hitoshi is already asleep.