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Kirishima Eijirou is a boy.
He's been a boy his whole life, and he knows this. What would he be if he wasn’t a boy?
But it doesn’t feel whole. It’s not wrong, it still fits. It’s like a thousand-piece puzzle and you’ve only finished the edge pieces. The picture is there, but it's not finished.
So, yes, Kirishima Eijirou is a boy, but he’s more than that.
He’s been trying to fill in the holes with overcompensation.
Bakugou taught him that word, by the way.
He wants to be manly, he does! More than anything in the world, but why does being manly have to mean being a boy? Can’t he be a really manly… something else?
The word is so close to the tip of his tongue he can almost feel it rolling off every time he opens his mouth. It’s pressed up against his lips like a secret he’s been waiting to spill.
Because Kirishima Eijirou is a boy, but the other day an old woman tapped him on the shoulder and said, “Young lady?” at the grocery store. His hair had been in a low ponytail as he reached for something on a top-shelf.
He should’ve hated it, but he didn’t. It felt warm, like honey had pooled into his insides the second he heard her.
She’d ripped the moment in half when she threw up her hands and apologized for being wrong.
It didn’t feel wrong though.
He stares into the mirror, sitting criss-cross on the floor as he picks at his hair and feels his biceps. He’d worked hard for this body and he likes it. He does! His face was handsome pretty enough, and he was in good shape.
Kirishima Eijirou is a boy, and that’s right. He knows that right because it feels right. Still, something is missing when he touches the sharpness of his face and the stubble on his chin.
Maybe he just hates facial hair or jagged edges. That’s all he is though, testosterone and roughness.
That realization feels bad. It feels like molten lava is burning away at the little pieces of him as he realizes he wishes his face was soft like Mina’s. He wants to have Ochako’s laugh and Bakugou’s eyes and he wants to be someone else because he doesn’t fit here.
He pulls up on the fat of his cheeks so they look rounder as the tears fall over them. Even when he fixes the problem, another appears. His hips aren’t big enough and his lips are too small and he is a boy but he’s something else too and sometimes he closes his eyes when someone talks about Momo and her pretty face because he wants to be her.
He is nothing and everything all at once.
The other day Bakugou had called him pretty. He’d said, “You look really pretty in the sunlight, did you know that?”
He hadn’t known that.
Right as he had grasped onto his boyfriend’s words, they were taken from him. Denki had rolled his eyes and said, “Boys aren’t pretty .”
He wants to be pretty and handsome at the same time. Is that too much to ask?
A fist tightens in his hair as his forehead hits his knee in time with the tears on the floor.
He put a shirt on his hero costume. Bakugou had asked him if he was insecure. He cares so much more than people will give him credit for and it drives Kirishima insane. If they would stop to look, they could see it. They could see the way his eyes light up when his friends do something they’ve always wanted to. They’d see the far-too-perfect birthday gifts and lunches on hard days.
Bakugou is so comfortable in his skin and he loves in this way that is quiet and boastful. Kirishima can’t keep up no matter how hard he tries.
Insecure didn’t feel right, so he hadn’t agreed. Insecure made it sound like the reasons he hated himself were unjustified. The constantly growing list, however, felt completely fair.
The door creaks open behind him as he clutches his legs, sobbing under the weight of the unknown before him. He doesn’t want to break away from the state he's in, because he feels aware here, unlike the floating sensation he’d been experiencing before.
A hand touches his shoulder, but it’s not enough to lead him away from the dizzying darkness. The floor creaks, arms wrap around his waist that isn’t small enough, and a head rests against the crook of his neck. A warm body presses against his back.
He knows it’s Bakugou. He always holds him like this when he’s upset. It used to be the other way around, but Kirishima has been breaking over time. He’s weak, worn out from the struggle that’s been going on for so long.
Bakugou whispers kind things to him, and he hears the word pretty again. It hits him like the excess of sugar at the bottom of your tea when you put in a little too much.
Kirishima grabs Bakugou’s arms, holding on for dear life as he expels the last of himself into the cold room. He’s being asked what’s wrong, and he can say nothing as he falls back into Bakugou’s body. His chest is being torn apart and when it binds back together can he have a bit more fat around the pecs, please.
Kisses are pressed to his cheek as Kirishima starts to calm down, pulled in by the ever-present Bakugou and his affection.
“Katsuki,” He breathes.
“Yes?” He answers, rubbing sweet circles in his tense shoulder blades.
Kirishima’s lung stutter, “I want to be a girl, but I want to be a boy too.”
Bakugou pauses as Kirishima’s heart shatters. He’d laid himself out bare and he was going to be turned away.
“What do you mean?” Bakugou rasps, pressing his lips to his shoulder.
“I like being a boy, but I want to be a girl too. I want to be both, I think?” He replies, still clutching his boyfriend’s arm for dear life.
He nods slowly, “I thought you liked being manly?”
Kirishima crumbles as the tears start up again, “Being manly makes me feel good, but I wanna be pretty too. I want to have soft skin and pretty eyelashes and, fuck, it doesn’t make any sense Katsuki.”
A calloused hand grabs his thigh as the other wraps under his shoulder and rests against his shoulder, “No, not to me. That doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”
He feels like he’s drowning because Bakugou is supposed to tell him he’s fucked up and convince him he’s a boy and only a boy.
“Do you want to keep explaining?” He coaxes, mumbling against the nape of his neck.
“I want to be pretty, and I want to be manly. I want people to call me ‘miss’ and ‘mister’ and I want people to see me as a girl and a boy,” He admitted, sucking in a breath. “I want to wear makeup and dresses and suits and ties and everything is so confusing all the time. It’s like two people are living inside of me.”
“Okay,” Bakugou nodded, “then be both.”
Kirishima freezes because when he says it like that it seems so easy.
“You don’t think I’m crazy?” Kirishima whispers, turning to look him in the eye.
Bakugou isn’t smiling, but he isn’t frowning either. He also seems trapped between two spaces. Their hands intertwine, “I think you’re hurting and this will fix it. I don’t want you to hurt Kirishima. You should do whatever makes you happy.”
He kisses him softly, fingers attaching to his jaw as Bakugou pulls her closer. It feels right, being connected to Bakugou this way.
“Can you… can you call me pretty again?” Kirishima mumbles against their touching lips.
Bakugou hums before pulling him back in for a moment by the collar. He smirks crookedly as he pulls away just a bit, “My girlfriend is so pretty.”
Something inside Kirishima shifts, pulling him over the edge as the two pieces of him finally start to touch. She starts to cry again, his limbs trembling from the pressure.
Bakugou pulls him in closer, wrapping his arms around him and pushing Kirishima together.
“So pretty,” he mutters, “My boyfriend is so pretty. I love her.”
He can’t contain himself anymore, she’s boiling over onto the floor and splashing onto the wood. Bakugou’s arms never leave her, twisted up in his shirt as he holds him together.
“I love you,” Bakugou rasps, voice snapping off into the abyss right at the end. Kirishima can feel him shake, lungs filling and deflating far too quickly
“Katsuki,” She tries, backing away just enough to look at him.
Bakugou is crying, hands pressed against his eyes as his air is stolen from him, “ Fuck, I was so worried Eijirou. You kept pulling away from me and I thought…” He collapses into Kirishima's neck, hands still tugging at his shirt.
She presses a kiss to his hair, “I’m so sorry.”
“I should’ve noticed,” Bakugou cries, unable to accept his lover’s soothing.
Kirishima pulls his hands away from his eyes and presses his lips to Bakugou’s fingers, running over every scratch and tear. The scars dance across his skin as Kirishima presses bandage-replacing kisses to each wound. He smells like soot and clean water, and Kirishima thinks it suits him.
He flips Bakugou’s hands over so he can stare at them properly.
“Are you going to break up with me?” Kirishima asks.
Bakugou stares at him like it’s the dumbest thing she’s ever said, “Why would I break up with you?”
“Because you’re gay… and I’m not a boy,” He whispers, tapping hardened fingers against the wooden floor.
Bakugou touches his face with the back of his hand, causing Kirishima to flinch. He finally stares back, red eyes filling with tears as Bakugou grimaces.
“I’m someone who loves you. I think that’s more important than some stupid label, yeah?” Bakugou says, kissing his temple.
He pauses before detaching, a glint in his eye, “Hold on, I’ll be right back, okay?”
Kirishima agrees, letting him slip through his fingers as he stands and sprints out of the room. She waits, knocking her feet together as she wipes her tears away.
Bakugou rushes back in, tripping over the entrance as he basically knee slides over. He holds out a box, wrapped in pretty wrapping paper. The tape job is shitty, a Bakugou classic.
“I bought it for your birthday but I… couldn’t make myself give it to you in case you hated it,” Bakugou mumbled, rubbing his neck.
Kirishima started it and opened it, tearing at the paper. He pulled it fully open as Bakugou continued, “You kept staring at it when we went shopping downtown and I thought maybe you were too afraid to ask if you could try it on.”
“I didn’t know it was such a big thing at the time, I just thought you didn’t want to ruin your manly perception.” He starts to stumble, “Not that it would! Just that other people might’ve said something and I probably would’ve punched them but maybe you thought I wouldn’t have defended you and-.”
He’s cut off by Kirishima whimpers, hands lightly dusting over the satin, “You bought me this?”
Bakugou nods, clenching his teeth together as he looks away. Kirishima pulls it out of the box, staring at the soft pink as her eyes fill with tears. He pulls it to his chest as he begins to cry again, this time with a smile on his face.
He laughs, looking at Bakugou, “I couldn't bring myself to do anything but look. I thought you’d think I was weird.”
“I always think you're weird,” Bakugou says, smirking, “a dress wouldn’t have changed that.”
Kirishima continues to cry, going to yank his shirt off of his body. His shorts stay on as he pulls the dress over his head, starting to struggle about halfway through. She stands, eyes still covered.
Bakugou sighs, following him, “Here, idiot.”
He helps Kirishima pull the dress down, brushing out the puffiness at the bottom. He’s still fixing pieces while Kirishima stares in the mirror.
The short sleeve falls over his muscles perfectly, waist cutting him into perfect shape as his calves peak out from the bottom. She adjusts the collar and Bakugou stops fiddling, looking at him for approval.
“You look…” Bakugou surveys him over, a full smile taking over his face, “beautiful.”
Kirishima nods along with him because he feels beautiful. Bakugou grabs his hand to kiss it, featherlight.
“Here,” He whispers, grabbing one of Kirishima’s hair ties off the bedside table. He pulls her down by the bed, sitting on the mattress with her between his legs.
Rough hair gently ran through his hair, pulling red strands into intricate braids. Kirishima hums a small tune to himself.
When he’s finished, he pulls Kirishima back to the mirror. He places her right in front of it before wrapping his arms around her waist, resting his face against her shoulder blade.
Kirishima wipes away the tears, constantly touching parts of the satin as she surveys herself. She feels complete. Well, not complete, just more full. More things make sense, and there’s more of him that feels right.
“Do you want me to call you something else?” Bakugou asks.
He thinks about it for a moment, mind whirling, “No. I still like Eijirou. I still am Eijirou.”
“What about pronouns,” He’s messing with the backstitch now.
“I think they’re all fine,” Kirishima says, turning his head so his cheek touches Bakugou’s hair.
“Is there anything you want me to stop doing?” He’s almost silent now, voice unsure.
Kirishima turns fully, grabbing his waist. She pulls him in for a kiss, Bakugou letting the tension go with a shaky breath through his nose.
They merge into each other’s space, and Kirishima thinks this is the closest he’ll be to complete.
“Stop doubting yourself,” Kirishima says, brushing Bakugou’s bangs out of his face.
“You are everything I could ask for.”