It was a hot summer day, and Kirishima was at home - not because he wanted to. He would rather be anywhere BUT at home. A rising pro hero needed to rack up as many days as they could fighting villains. Unfortunately, his hero agency finally cracked down on him and demanded he stay home. He could have been out there, fighting some villain and saving some civilians. Instead, he was lying upside-down on his couch, playing Mario Kart against some bots. Great.
After winning for the 12th time, Kirishima was bored. Absolutely, undoubtedly, bored. Sighing, he slid onto the floor. What would Bakugou do? Bakugou always had ideas… Springing up, he headed towards the kitchen. What would Bakugou do? The answer was always one thing. Cook.
First things first, what was he going to cook? Checking the fridge, he saw beef, carrots, and potatoes. What was made with beef, carrots, and potatoes? Oh! Bakugou’s favorite curry! Kirishima watched Bakugou make curry so many times, so he had to know how to make it, right? Pulling the ingredients out, he was ready.
As the day wore on, Kirishima felt a new appreciation for his quirk. It made such a good substitute for so many things. When he couldn’t find a knife, he simply hardened his hand and stabbed it a couple of times. When the can opener was missing, a nice karate chop worked well. When all the spoons were used up, he could stick his arm in his pot. All in all, his quirk was pretty useful. Maybe he should have picked up cooking.
Finally, the curry was done. Kirishima washed off his arm, then turned back to the pot. Sitting in front of him was an angry red brew, bubbling slowly and filled with little pellets of char. An orange smoke was slowly wafting down towards the floor, bringing with it the smell of sulfur and sweaty clothes. When he approached it, it gave off strong vibes of inevitable doom. Well… all wouldn’t be lost if it just tasted okay, right? Dipping a hand into the pot, he gave it a taste. The sauce tasted of grape jelly and pickles, with the slightest hint of blue cheese filtering through. At least it was hot enough to make Kirishima run to the sink.
This curry, without a doubt, was a fail.
Slumping onto the floor, Kirishima buried his head in his arms. This was why Bakugou cooked. Kirishima sucked, and would always suck, at cooking. How did he forget that? He ruined the beef, the carrots, the potatoes, made a mess of the kitchen, probably screwed the pot, too. Oh, Bakugou would be so mad at him, he would leave.
Just then, the door creaked open, and the explosion hero came home.
“Oi Ei, I’m home. What’s that smell?”’
“Katsuki, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to mess up I’ll-”
“Clean up my stuff now and I’ll be out-”
“By tomorrow and you can have the apartment to yourself-”
Bakugou lunged forwards, wrapping his arms around Kirishima.
“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. I assume that’s curry, so is there any rice to go along with it?”
“Okay, why don’t I teach you how to cook something?”
“Okay, Shitty Hair. Get up. We got some stuff to cook.”
Kirishima gave Bakugou a shaky smile as he stood up.
“I love you.”
“I know, fucker. Let’s go.”
That night, Kirishima made fried rice. Although it was too salty and the meat was slightly burnt, it was the best meal he ever tasted. Bakugou may have helped. Maybe just a little bit.