another HoH bakugo headcanon with a twist.
~
kirishima becomes so used to flicking the light switch on and off when entering a room because of bakugo that he just…always does it now.
he’ll go into kaminari or sero’s room and just subconsciously flip the switch.
none of their friends want to comment on it because they honestly find it quite endearing because it shows that he cares for bakugo’s comfort since he does it not to startle him. plus, it shows just how much time he spends going to bakugo’s room that it just is second nature at this point.
the rest of the class is just waiting for someone else to comment but they all find it really sweet so they don’t say anything for ages.
…until kirishima accidentally does it coming into class one morning.
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Android Dreams
“So, what am I?” he asks, voice raw.
His body hurt in more ways than he can count, the IV drip the only thing keeping him almost coherent. The doctor looks over a screen, making him question if his question was heard. He opens his mouth to ask again, perchance louder. The doctor holds up a hand, silencing him.
“Technically, you are still the same simple minded Agent you were before,” he answers, almost like he was talking to a puppy. “Just one with a few little tweaks and modifications.”
“Am I an android now?” he asks.
“No, you still have plenty of,” he seems to hold back a retch. “Organic components.” He hmms. “If we have to get technical, you are a cyborg now.” He waved his hand in the air. “I wouldn’t even bother try and explain it all if you weren’t drugged up.”
He sits in the lone chair, backwards, arms crossed on the back of the chair so he can rest his chin on something softer than hospital plastic. Can that man do anything normal? It would be almost comical if he wasn’t having a crisis.
“You are still the same Agent to me Stone,” he growls. “You think some government lackey was in charge of your” he gestures at him as a whole. “Operations. Fat chance I would let anybody near such a delicate operation.”
The doctor reaches over and he flinches before he realises the doctor is simply brushing his hair from his face. It was almost comforting, damn right tender the way he was holding his face in his gloved hand.
“Why are you being so,” he swallows thickly. “Nice to me?”
“Because you won’t remember any of it,” the doctor announces with a free hand. He gestures at the IV drip. “Special blend will wipe this all away in the morning.”
Eyelids suddenly heavy, he barely gets out a muttered “motherfu” before falling back onto the pillow. As he slips into unconscious, he feels the barest sensation of a gloved hand interlacing with his hand.
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