Chapter Text
Yawning, Kirishima knocked on his grandmother’s door, the rhythmic clapping of the waves against the shore trying their hardest to lull him back into a sleep he was trying so desperately to avoid. When there was no answer, he knocked again, harder.
The door was yanked open and his grandmother frowned at him. “Heavens, boy, I heard you the first time.”
Attempting a smile through yet another yawn, Kirishima said, “Nice to see you, too, Baba.”
“Coming in, I suppose?”
“That’d be great.”
“What have you got there?”
“Uh…” Glancing down, Kirishima peered into the brown paper bag he was holding. He’d bought whatever it was over fifteen minutes ago and that already seemed like a lifetime ago. Remembering the distance of lifetimes was not a simple thing. “Muffins?”
“Why are you awake?”
“Why are you?” Kirishima shot back.
“Five thirty is not early for me and you obviously knew that because you’re here.”
“Baba…”
“Oh, very well.” She stepped away from the door and Kirishima took the invitation in an instant, retreating to the fireplace. There wasn’t a fire built, as he expected, but he’d had enough practice by now that he could’ve lit one in his sleep, which was good, because if he’d tried two years ago this early in the morning, the whole entire coastline would’ve been in flames. And considering how damp it was here, that would be saying something.
It took a minute for his grandmother to reach the living room, but when she did, she settled into her favorite chair and resumed her latest knitting project. She wouldn’t say what it was, but Kirishima was pretty sure it was a blanket for Bakugou. The colors were fiery, attention grabbing, not his grandmother’s typical. They were heading into the cold months, too, and she’d definitely noticed Bakugou’s penchant for oversized jackets and blanket togas. It was hard not to.
“So,” she said, “why the early start?”
“Why not?”
She stared at him, disbelieving, eyebrows raised.
Dropping the act immediately, Kirishima mumbled, “Bakugou’s coming home.”
“And would it have killed you to wait three or four hours later to see him?”
“Maybe.”
“That doesn’t explain why you’re here,” she said, her knitting needles clacking together.
“His flight got delayed and I’m worried if I go back to sleep, I’ll miss his text, because I don’t know exactly when he’ll be getting in, and I knew if I was alone, there wouldn’t be anything stopping me from sleeping, and I really, really don’t want to miss his text.”
“And how long was he gone this time?”
“Five days.”
“Another show?”
Kirishima nodded, feeling a swell of pride. In front of him, the fire flickered to life. They didn’t talk as he gently tended it, prodding the scattered flames into a proper blaze. Then he dug through his paper bag and found bagels, not muffins. Shrugging, he drew one out and bit down. Holding out the bag to his grandmother, he made a gesture indicating she could take one.
“No thank you.”
“Did you eat?” he said around his bagel.
She ignored him. Laughing to himself, Kirishima swallowed and then tried again. This time, she said, “Yes, I did. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“So you’ve said.”
“Is this a conversation you’d like to engage in?”
The undertone wasn’t pleasant, so Kirishima shook his head furiously, taking another bite of bagel. Scooting closer to the fire, until the heat was flooding his back, likely to unbearable in just minutes, he closed his eyes, not to sleep, but to relax. This is actually what he’d come here for. His grandmother, her house, this fireplace… they were the only things that could settle his thoughts when absolutely nothing else was working.
“Talk to your mother.”
“Huh?” Kirishima asked, taken aback by the sudden turn.
“She keeps calling me. It’s tiresome.”
Kirishima winced. “Yeah, sorry about that. I keep meaning to, I just…”
“Don’t know what to tell her.”
“She keeps asking me to come home and she also wants to meet Bakugou, but she seems to think she already doesn’t approve and Bakugou won’t want to go and it’ll be really hard to arrange, anyway, and it’s hard for me to get that much time away from work and…”
“So tell her that.”
“I’ve tried, Baba,” Kirishima said.
“How hard?”
Kirishima groaned. “It’s like you know me.”
“Hmm.”
“Aren’t you supposed to like talking to your daughter?”
“I do,” she replied. “In doses.”
“You know, we’re not that different. If she’s tiresome, so am I.”
“I see you. That’s a difference.”
“Yeah,” Kirishima said.
“I don’t know her, Eijirou. I know you. It’s one of life’s greatest lies, the assumption that family, holistically, knows each other or that they love each other enough that it matters little if they do or not. And maybe it is that way. If she came here, I’d treat her as I always have and it would be fine, but it doesn’t change the truth and the truth is I don’t know her. In the slightest. Talking to her this often strains the few topics I have to pull from.”
“You raised her.”
“Knowing her once is not the same as knowing her now.”
“This is pretty heavy for this early, Baba,” Kirishima said.
She laughed and nodded. “Silence it is, then. Do hurry up and finish that bagel before I decide the crumbs are enough to warrant a plate. Because I will not be the one fetching it.”
Catching her eye, Kirishima ripped off a big chunk and shoved it all in his mouth. He was so sure it would make her laugh and he thought it almost did, but the only quantifiable result to his antics was rolled eyes.
B: Here.
K: like airport or home?
K: LIKE AIRPORT OR HOME
B: Jesus.
K: that isnt an answer
B: Home, dumbass. Who gives a shit if I’m at the airport?
K: i would
B: I called you a dumbass already. Don’t make me say it again
K: im coming over
B: I’m just gonna shower and unpack and shit.
K: uh huh
K: b right there
B: Whatever.
K: psh u kno ur excited
Giving a hurried goodbye to his grandmother, he jogged out of her house and into his car, twisting the key in the ignition. It didn’t take and Kirishima swore quietly, then loudly when it didn’t catch for a second time. “Come on,” he pleaded. “Not today, please. Please, please, please. You just gotta run for like five minutes, buddy. Just five minutes.”
He was on the verge of abandoning his car and running for it—he hadn’t exercised yet today, anyway—when the engine rumbled to life. Leaning forward, he hugged his wheel and kissed it. As he shifted into drive, his phone buzzed. Foot on the brake, he caught the text in the tail-end of his screen being lit up.
B: Hurry the fuck up.
Grinning, Kirishima stepped down on the accelerator.
Opening the door, Bakugou scowled at him. “Fucking yellow?”
“I thought I’d bring the sun to you. Better than waiting for it to come out. You’ll be waiting forever in this place.”
Bakugou mumbled something to himself.
“Got something to say, Katsuki?”
“Liked pink better.”
“Really? Or are you just being contrary? Because I can definitely paint it again, return it to it’s…”
Rolling his eyes, Bakugou dragged him into the house by the front of his t-shirt and kissed him soundly once, twice. “Yellow’s fucking fine.”
“You were the one complaining about the color of your door, you know.”
“Wasn’t an invitation to paint the goddamn thing.”
“Kind of sounded like one.”
“To you,” Bakugou said, pulling him further into the house, all the way back to the kitchen, where something was already sizzling in a pan.
“Well, sure, but you know me.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“Hey,” Kirishima said, halting his movement. Bakugou turned to look at him. “Trip okay?”
Mellowing substantially, Bakugou nodded. Kissing Kirishima again, more softly, he said, “Fine. Just glad it’s fucking over with.”
“Me too.”
Smiling—a revelation of a thing and one that had only revealed itself after at least eight months of this, reserved, but practically soft—Bakugou strolled over to the pan and settled in, immediately looking comfortable. Rolling up his sleeves, he set to chopping up onion.
“How are you cooking right now?” Kirishima asked, settling on a stool across from Bakugou.
“Hungry.”
“And tired, I’d bet. You suck at jet lag.”
Putting down the knife, Bakugou stared him dead in the eye. “Four?”
“Huh?”
“Three-thirty?”
Catching on, Kirishima said, “Three-thirty? Seriously? Bit extreme, even for me. That’d be a whole two hours before you were supposed to arrive.”
Bakugou kept staring.
“Four.”
“Idiot.”
“At least I’m predictable?” Kirishima said.
Humming in something like agreement, Bakugou scraped the onions into the pan, mixing with the oil and scallions already there. As he worked, he seemed to be mulling something over, a crease between his eyebrows. When he finally looked up, satisfied with the food, he said, “You don’t ever eat when you’re…whatever the fuck you are when you’re waiting for me. So I’m feeding you. Then I’m going the fuck to sleep and if you wake me up, I’ll kill you.”
“Anxious.”
“Hah?”
“I get anxious. Like butterflies, you know? Except less fun. Well, actually, those are never fun. I don’t know why people pretend…”
“Point?”
“Oh, right. Just that I get anxious to see you. Cause I miss you when you’re gone. A lot.”
“I know,” Bakugou said roughly, as though it made him angry. Kirishima knew it was just because he didn’t know quite how to process that information.
Leaning across the counter, chin resting on his linked hands, Kirishima grinned. “You miss me, too, don’t you?”
“Here we go,” Bakugou mumbled to himself, absolutely perfect at sounding disgruntled, like an old man two drinks in as the sun dipped to early afternoon.
“Don’t you?” Kirishima asked, drawing out the ‘oo’ sound.
Ignoring him, Bakugou cracked eggs into a bowl. Unbothered, Kirishima kept trying and Bakugou stayed resolute, barely making eye contact. It was so familiar, so normal, and exactly what he’d missed. This was his favorite part of when Bakugou came back, when he drew them back into routine and Bakugou oh so willingly followed.
Pointing the egg-soaked whisk at Kirishima, Bakugou said, “I will beat you with this if you don’t shut the fuck up.”
“We’ve already made it to threats, huh?”
“Long ass day.”
Dropping the subject, Kirishima leaned back in his chair and stared unashamedly. There wasn’t anything new to Bakugou’s face, nothing he needed to be accustomed to, nothing that required any particular attention. Kirishima simply liked staring. Some would say familiarity and repetition couldn’t be beautiful or thrilling, but Kirishima would argue they were two of the most beautiful and thrilling things in the world.
Slamming eggs down in front of Kirishima, Bakugou said, “Eat.”
“I did have a bagel, you know.”
“Sure.”
“I did! You complained about the same thing last time and I thought this time, I’d try and actually eat so you wouldn’t be worried or anything when you got back.”
“Don’t fucking care,” Bakugou said, walking around the counter and kissing the side of Kirishima’s head. For a second, it seemed as though he was going to leave, wander upstairs and start his nap, but then there was a shift in his body, a different decision, and he lingered, kissing Kirishima again, then burrowing his nose into Kirishima’s hair.
“How was the show?”
Bakugou shrugged, a movement sharp enough that Kirishima could feel it. “Fine. Sold some shit, talked to some people—you know, some of that networking bullshit Toshinori told me to work on—wore that stupid suit you forced me to buy.”
“Gotta look the part.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Any good stories?”
“That one of you sold,” Bakugou said, words muffled in Kirishima’s hair.
“On the rock?”
“Yeah.”
“Ah, man, I loved that one. Glad someone else did, too.”
“Shouldn’t have sold it.”
Nudging Bakugou, Kirishima swiveled around so that they could see each other. “Why not?”
Bakugou remained silent. Adept at reading these silences now, Kirishima saw through any attempt to change the course of the conversation. This silence was of the nervous and unsure sort, the sort typically associated with any instance that Bakugou was even considering being emotionally vulnerable. These were the silences Kirishima always pressed. Even if Bakugou hated it, it was good practice for him. Reaching out and taking Bakugou’s hand, Kirishima tangled their fingers.
Sighing loudly, a hiss of breath between teeth, Bakugou said, “Can’t tote it around with me anymore and it was the one goddamn thing that… that made you feel there.”
“I wish I could go with you.”
“It’s fucking boring as hell, anyway.”
“Yeah, but I hate that I can’t support you.”
“You’re the best goddamn support I’ve got, dumbass,” Bakugou said, squeezing his hand. Stepping in, he bent down and kissed Kirishima. When their lips parted, he stayed close. Another silence followed, but this one was Kirishima’s favorite. It filled the room with the same energy as a purring cat. It meant Bakugou was happy and safe. It meant he was home.
“I’m gonna go sleep.”
“Kay. Thanks for the food.”
“Sure.”
“Can I come up later?”
Bakugou didn’t turn as he walked away, towards the stairs. “You can do whatever you want. If you wake me up, it’s your own goddamn fault.”
“Oh, yeah, because I can be at fault for my own murder.”
Whatever Bakugou said in response, Kirishima couldn’t hear, but he had a pretty good idea of what was said. Laughing to himself, he dug into his eggs, the fluttering in his stomach finally ceasing. In it’s place was a warm humming, like a well-oiled machine, chugging onward without a hitch.
“Fucker,” Bakugou grumbled scooting backward, closer to Kirishima’s chest.
“Ouch.”
Tensing in his arms, Bakugou cracked his eyes open and turned slightly, frowning. “The fuck did I do now?”
“Nothing,” Kirishima laughed. “You were just going to murder me, so I was pretending for you.”
Frowning harder, likely unable to process exactly what was happening, Bakugou closed his eyes. Within seconds, his breathing evened out. Smiling, Kirishima trailed a finger down his cheek, then kissed him on the forehead. There were so many things he wanted to say, but he knew he should let Bakugou rest. They barely got time to talk when he was away, though, and even with Ashido and Kaminari, who let Kirishima talk to his heart’s content, it wasn’t the same. There wasn’t a low constant thrum of connection and understanding and Kirishima always missed it. Conversations, deep conversations, particularly, weren’t the same anymore, not since Bakugou.
Lots of things weren’t, actually, and it had been hard for Kirishima to deal with that and all of Bakugou’s prolonged absences.
Shaking Bakugou gently, Kirishima whispered, “Hey.”
“No.”
“Come to the beach with me after work?”
“Fine.”
“Thanks.”
“Whatever. Shut the hell up.”
“You got it, babe,” Kirishima smiled.
Bakugou growled and shoved his head down into his pillow, until the only visible part of him was his hair. Lying back, Kirishima pulled his phone from his pocket. An hour till work. Letting out a sigh, he rolled his head to the side and stared at Bakugou’s back. He’d take just one day. One day where they had no responsibilities at all. One day where they finally got to catch up on all that they had missed, even what the weather was like in whatever city Bakugou had been in lately from the window of a coffee shop in mid-morning.
Fifteen minutes later, he carefully dragged himself from bed, managing to not stir Bakugou. Waiting until the last second possible sounded nice, but he still had to do his hair and Bakugou wasn’t going anywhere. Not today, anyway.
Spotting his latest client, Kirishima kept up a stream of praise and encouragement, something this client—a young woman named Audrey, with a seemingly endless amount of money and an interest in becoming healthier—absolutely thrived on.
Her teeth were gritted as she pushed the weights back up over her head, slow, measured breaths eking out between them.
“Just one more, Audrey. One more and we can break and stretch.” Their eyes met and Kirishima resisted the urge to laugh at how irritated she was. “You’re doing so awesome.”
She rolled her eyes, though he knew she was preening inside, and lowered the bar back down, keeping the pace steady, her entire body shaking with the effort. With one last rep, she let out a loud whoosh of air and let Kirishima place the bar back into place, releasing it almost immediately. Sitting up, she snagged the towel from around Kirishima’s shoulders and wiped her face. “I hate you,” she said, flinging the towel back at his face. Internally, Kirishima sighed. He supposed this was what he was getting paid for. One thing he’d quickly learned here was that his job had very little to do with actual exercise and a whole lot more to do with being an interim therapist for a bunch of people who still hadn’t realized they needed therapy just as much and probably more than exercise.
He didn’t mind it, per say, but it wasn’t what he’d imagined.
His grandmother had reminded him multiple times that this was a job he should enjoy. And he should. It was right up his alley. Exercise, helping people, encouraging them, listening politely and helping in any way he could, but after the first couple of weeks, his enthusiasm had faded into mild discontent.
Why, he hadn’t figured out yet. And until he did, he didn’t see a need for a change. This job paid exceptionally well and he had no way to know if anything else would be better.
“Remember how many you could do when we started?” Kirishima asked, settling on a mat in the next room, reaching for his toes, giving her stretches to follow.
“Less.”
“Exactly. You may hate me, but you’re already so much stronger than you were. I’m really proud.”
She smiled at that and followed his lead. “You are?”
“Course,” he grinned.
“Wanna grab a drink sometime?” she asked, beginning arm stretches so she could sit up and look at him.
And maybe this is why he hated it. A lot of his clients did not have an understanding of the relationship they’d involved themselves in. Kirishima didn’t know what it was about being a personal trainer, but they didn’t seem to understand their money was going directly to him and that their time together was simply his job.
“No thank you,” he replied.
“Why not? Got a girlfriend?”
“Boyfriend.”
“Ah,” she said. “Didn’t peg you as one of those.”
Smiling weakly, Kirishima showed her another stretch, asking her to follow on. They commenced in silence for a long time until she started talking about her brother and his drug problem and how she thought she was going to have to pay for his rehab because her parents wouldn’t and Kirishima did his best to pay attention to the details, not wanting to seem rude. When their session was over, he felt an immense sense of relief. There was fifteen minutes before his next appointment and he decided it was a perfect time to call his mother. Time constraints were good things to have for unpleasant phone calls.
After three rings, his mother picked up.
“Eijirou, finally. Where have you been? I’ve been worried.”
“I know, Mom, I’m sorry, but I’ve been busy.”
“How is that possible? There’s nothing to do in that place. Trust me, I know.”
Sighing, Kirishima found a bench in an isolated corner of the gym. “Well, there’s work and I painted Bakugou’s door yesterday and before that, I had dinner with Baba, and…”
“You’re ignoring me.”
Grimacing, Kirishima laid his head back against the wall. “Kind of.”
“Why, honey? I just want to talk, hear about your life.”
“Because you keep doing this thing where you take what you hear and criticize it or try to make it something you like better and I kind of wish you wouldn’t. I know that I left to take care of Baba and had every intention of coming back, but stuff changes, you know?”
“Because of some boy.”
“Mom,” Kirishima whined. “He’s not some boy.”
“So you say.”
“I’ve told you, you can come visit whenever you’d like.”
“You know I can’t get away,” she said. “I’m much too busy to drive all that way and I think Mom’s mad at me and I’d have to see her and that just… it doesn’t suit me. It’s much easier for you to visit me. You know that.”
“Right.”
“Think about it, okay? I really do want to meet this Bakugou. He sounds, well it sounds like you care about him.”
“Yeah.”
“Anything else been happening recently?” she asked.
“Nah,” Kirishima replied. “I should get back to work, anyway. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Good,” she said, completely sincere. “I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Hanging up, Kirishima took a second to breathe. It had been nice to hear her voice, but it didn’t change how it made him feel, how it had made him feel every time they’d talked recently.
He just didn’t know what to say to someone who so clearly didn’t understand or approve of a single one of his life choices. It was like he was on one side of a river and she was on the other and there was the fragments of a crumbled bridge, not enough of one to cross, but enough to tease. Trouble was, Kirishima didn’t know anything about fixing bridges.
When he got home from work, he flung his exercise clothes on the floor and changed quickly into something warmer. Without even texting, he headed to Bakugou’s. As expected, the door was unlocked and though it had been a mixed bag of a day, the yellow made him smile.
Figuring Bakugou was still in bed, he headed up the stairs. But when he checked the bedroom, he saw a perfectly made bed and absolutely no sign of his boyfriend. “Great,” he mumbled, turning and going to the only other place he could be.
Entering the art room, Kirishima saw Bakugou sat down in front of his easel, painting away. What he was painting, it was impossible to tell at this stage, but Kirishima stopped anyway and watched for a moment, liking the way Bakugou was so deliberate in each stroke.
“Work good?” Bakugou asked.
“Alright.”
Humming in response, Bakugou kept working. Tapping his finger against his thigh, Kirishima asked, “Did you eat?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. I’m gonna go watch TV, I guess.”
“Kay.”
Nodding, knowing he couldn’t expect anything if he didn’t ask, but not knowing how to ask and not wanting to disturb Bakugou while he was working, Kirishima went downstairs and settled on the couch. Flipping it on, he watched the news, not in the mood to search through channels. A half hour passed and he was debating heading over to Kaminari’s, knowing that if Bakugou was in his zone, not a thing would get him to stop, when the stairs creaked. Swiveling, Kirishima saw Bakugou heading down them, yawning widely, slouching in his sweatshirt and jeans. There were socks on his feet and Kirishima didn’t say a word as he slipped on shoes and began to tie them.
“Let’s go,” Bakugou said, tugging on one of his giant jackets.
“Okay.”
Borrowing one of Bakugou’s jackets, Kirishima followed him outside, keeping pace as they headed towards the beach. They were silent as they walked, but Kirishima could see Bakugou shooting him glances every once in a while. Eventually, he huffed out a breath and bumped into Kirishima. “Alright, shitty hair, what’s wrong?”
“Not much.”
“You aren’t fucking holding my hand.”
“So?”
Bakugou rolled his eyes. “Means the goddamn world is ending.”
“It’s stupid.”
Eyebrows inching together, Bakugou said, “The world ending isn’t stupid.”
“I just miss you, I guess.”
“I’m right here.”
“I know, but… I don’t know.”
“Can’t read your fucking mind, Ei.”
Sighing, Kirishima said, “I don’t know what’s happening in your life and you don’t know what’s happening in mine and it feels like we never have time to talk and even when you’re here, you’re so busy working, which makes sense, because everyone wants to see your art, which, like, hard to blame them, but sometimes, I’m here and I feel like I’m just waiting for something to happen, even when so many things are happening and…”
“Then talk.”
“Huh?”
“Talk,” Bakugou said.
“You hate talking.”
“Not to you, dumbass.”
Smiling, Kirishima reached down and took Bakugou’s hand. By now, they’d reached the ocean, and for a moment, Kirishima just took it in, letting himself gain a little perspective. Beside him, Bakugou was squinting at the setting sun. His hand was tightening around Kirishima’s and it was obvious that he was suddenly angry about something. It wasn’t a rarity and it was the one emotion Kirishima didn’t have to poke and prod out of Bakugou. He was good at being angry all on his own.
“You fucking telling me you don’t think I like listening to you chatter incessantly?”
“I mean, you did just phrase it like that.”
Swearing profusely, Bakugou slid his hand out of Kirishima’s, shoved it into his pocket and stomped off onto the beach towards the horizon. Trailing after him, Kirishima shouted, “Dude, do you have to do this right now?”
“Got a problem with how I do things?” Bakugou shouted back.
“Are we seriously fighting right now?”
“No.”
“Feels like we are,” Kirishima said, easing into a jog.
“The fuck would I be mad at you for?” Bakugou asked when Kirishima caught up.
“Beats me. Maybe if you’d, like, tell me what’s going on in your head, I’d know.”
“You and your goddamn communication.”
“That’s how this works, Katsuki. Hate to break it to you.”
Shoving his foot into the sand, Bakugou nodded jerkily. Looking out at the sea, he took a deep breath, the tenseness in his shoulders unwinding. “I know. I’m sorry or some shit.”
Kirishima raised his eyebrows.
“I’m sorry,” Bakugou repeated. “I’m just…”
“What?”
“I miss you, too.”
“Oh.”
“See? You didn’t even fucking know. What the hell is wrong with me?”
“Alright,” Kirishima said, taking Bakugou’s face between his hands. “I did know, okay? It’s all good, babe. I know, I really do. I just like to hear it sometimes. And it’s not really you, anyway. I kind of thought I had everything figured out and then I didn’t and it’s thrown me a bit.”
“This about your fucking job?”
“Partly. I don’t know why I hate it, Katsuki. Why do I hate it?”
Bakugou shrugged. “Probably too similar.”
“What?”
“Well, you already do that bullshit all day, don’t you? Exercise, listen to people’s bullshit, whatever.”
“You do art all day.”
“Well I’m fucking insane.”
Laughing softly, Kirishima leaned down and kissed him softly. “Maybe. I like it, though.”
Instead of answering, Bakugou just kissed him again.
“It’s my mom, too,” Kirishima mumbled against his lips. “She won’t shut up about meeting you, but also won’t lift a finger to make it happen. She also clearly thinks I should move back home and break up with you and get my old job back.”
“She say that? Cause I’ll beat her to a pulp for you.”
“I mean, no, not exactly, but it’s pretty obvious.”
“Sucks.”
“Yeah. So,” Kirishima said, pulling away and leading Bakugou down the beach with tangled fingers, the sun low enough that they were only shadows, “what were you painting up there?”
“What else?” Bakugou mumbled.
“Me? Again?” Kirishima asked, feigning surprise.
“I hate you.”
“Love you, too, babe.”
Halting, Bakugou stared at him, intense as always. The waves, somehow quiet within that intensity, almost as if they were simply a lake, lapping gently, settled Kirishima. The mood shifted into Bakugou and suddenly, they were both steady, slow, present. “Yeah?” Bakugou whispered, almost unsure. When he was like this, Kirishima always wondered what he was like as a child, if Bakugou had always hidden this side or if there had been a period in his life where he’d felt free to show it.
“So much, Katsuki. So, so much.”
This time, when they kissed, it erased everything else. There was no earnestness from longing, no desperation from forgetting, no swiftness from necessity. It was simple, just a kiss, just something born from genuine affection and for the first time since Bakugou had gotten home, Kirishima felt he really had.