Chapter Text
Kirishima’s hair is a bright red doused in summer warmth and winter fires, a halo of determination, the bloodied spearhead of a victorious warrior.
Kirishima’s hair isn’t always red. It is far too truthful for his own good. It screams his emotions when he’d rather keep them hidden behind layers upon layers of unbreakable armor.
Kirishima’s hair changes colors to match the rhythm of his heartbeat, a synesthetic soul with only outlet the vibrant crown atop his head.
However, nobody knows of such occurrences, for his hair is red when his heart is at ease, and it is always at ease around Bakugou.
Maybe, if he’d told anyone, they’d notice the slight shifts from vibrant to darkened red.
Maybe, if they’d known, they would catch the way his bedroom door doesn’t close behind a redheaded boy.
Kirishima’s hair changes colors, and sometimes it loses them.
***
His mane turns black in the privacy of his bedroom as his eyes lose their warm shine. But when he crawls into bed, seeking some warmth as his own body starts to feel cold, he lays his head on their shared wall, red strands blending into black.
On the other side of the wall, a warm hand is urging to reach out, ash blond hair is yearning to tangle with red and black and any color of Kirishima, as they fall asleep by each other's side.
Because Bakugou knows. He's seen Kirishima in his worst of states. He's seen the explosion of colors that this boy is, and all he wishes for is to keep painting him red for as long as he lives.
The first time he witnessed his best friend's hair fading from its vibrant red to a darker shade of the color, it was after a particularly difficult sparring session. Kirishima was sitting on the locker room's floor, his knees tucked to his chest and his face buried in his hands, which was probably why he didn't notice as Bakugou walked into the room, his eyes immediately falling on the bundle of cherry red turned wine.
Bakugou didn't say a word. He just stared for a long moment, his eyes boring holes into the redhead's skull, his brain going over every potential word combination to use in this situation, but coming back empty handed.
"Bakugou?"
Maybe words didn't really matter then, the pained expression on his best friend's face enough to get his body moving.
He crossed the room before Kirishima had the opportunity to stand, crouching in front of him, taking those familiar calloused hands in his, and suddenly he was too close. The crinkles in Kirishima's eyes too clear, the traced lines of salted rain suddenly stark against his cheeks.
"Where's my red?"
His voice came out shakier than he'd intended, his concern unmistakable.
"Where's my red, Eijirou?"
It took Kirishima a moment to process the words, caught up in how soft and safe Bakugou sounded. He really liked his friend's voice.
But once he registered the spoken syllables, there was no stopping the trembling in his shoulders and the shattered sob that escaped his chest.
"I don't know" he choked out, tears refilling once again the canyons dug along his cheeks
"I don’t /know/... I-" struggling to catch his breath in between sobs, he settled on squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head, frustrated, scared, and even though he didn't want to admit it, - there's nothing wrong with crying! It's manly to express emotions - he also felt ashamed.
He didn't want Bakugou of all people to see him in such a pitiful state.
Walls didn’t just crumble after one hard blow from freezing winds.
"What the-" Bakugou's voice was cut off as he grabbed a lock of Kirishima's hair only to pull his hand away with a start, as if his best friend's hair had burned his skin.
"Ei." he gently grabbed his crying friend's chin between his fingers, pleading him to meet his eyes with just this subtle touch, but Kirishima only dug his face deeper into the crook of his shoulder, too embarrassed to face the blond.
"Ei, Eijirou. Damn it, look at me!" His voice was clearer now, maybe slightly sharper, but Kirishima knew better. That was still in Bakugou's "I'm concerned and trying to be comforting" range.
The redhead reluctantly allowed himself to meet eyes with the boy whose hands had settled on holding his shoulders, stopping them from rattling against the cold metal lockers pressed against his back.
Cold.
They should've been.
But they weren't. Not really. Because he was much colder. The metal was warm against him as his skin felt like a thick layer of frost cradling his being.
Was Todoroki in the room?
No. It was just the two of them. And Bakugou's hands were warm. Too warm. He almost felt the need to harden his shoulders against his friend's burning fingers, but he chose to allow the fire emanating from the blond that was trying his best to seep into his body.
He was so proud of Bakugou, it made him want to smile. And how couldn't he be? Anyone who'd known him for more than a month would note the clear progress the boy had made.
He was /so/ proud of him.
/Why don't I ever try my best? / His own voice whispered into his skull.
/Why don't I try my best why don’t I have a best why is my best so far why is- /
"Kirishima!" Bakugou's voice was finally back to its usual volume, but the concern still tangled around every phoneme.
"Look at me, shi-" he sighed, the redhead finally acknowledging his presence again as their eyes found each other once more, a dimming candle facing a roaring fire.
"Just look at me."
Kirishima was definitely looking. He didn't think he could look at anything else even if he'd tried to avert his gaze. Bakugou was so close, invading his field of view. It was all just Bakugou.
Safe. Good.
"Why did your hair just turn grey?" Bakugou asked, carefully, but still as straight to the point as one could be. "Actually, fuck that, why are you crying?"
In a world of pro heroes and infinite quirks, color changing hair shouldn't be something so surprising, or any of his concern really, especially when his friend was in such a distressed state.
Kirishima swallowed a clandestine sob trying to sneak its way from his chest to his throat, to dance around his vocal chords, causing his voice to break once more.
No. He was unbreakable. At least part of him. At least he needed to be. Because the heat of Bakugou's gaze could shatter his glass walls back into sand.
"It's nothing, man. Can we just forget it?" He broke the intense eye contact as he spoke, fighting the soreness in his calves while trying to stand, out of Bakugou's sight, out of his warmth.
He was really cold.
And as he twirled a lock of his hair between his fingers, bringing it up to his lips to chew on the tip, something he tended to do when he was nervous or embarrassed, he noticed what Bakugou had been asking about.
His hair was a dark shade of grey. Unsaturated. Drained out of its vibrant color. A new wavelength his mind could relate to.
Yet Katsuki wasn't the type to just nod and walk away.
No. Of course not.
He was /so good/.
Why was he so good?
Kirishima couldn't come up with one reason why.
Katsuki was good. Which is why his brows furrowed at Kirishima's stupid request and instead held the boy tight in his arms.
There was that warmth again.
Kirishima wanted desperately to relish the wave of comfort that flooded his being whenever the blond offered him his heat, but he couldn’t. It was a risky thing to rely on, for the more he basked in it, the colder he felt as they separated.
But in that moment, he let Bakugou embrace him like a soft blanket draped over his shoulders, fighting the frost from within.
Yeah. There was that warmth again, and maybe it didn’t have to go away.
At least not for now.
That day, as Bakugou gently helped Kirishima wash his hair under a stream of hot water, to clean off the dirt and sweat and sorrow, as he carefully rubbed his fingers along the boy's scalp, massaging his temples, feeling some of the tension seep out into the air, blending in with the steam fogging up the room, he watched as his best friend's hair regained its comfortably familiar color, strand by strand, from roots to tips.
On that day, Bakugou swore to keep Eijirou draped in red. Always.
And tonight, as he sits on his bedroom's floor, his head pressed against the wall he shares with his best friend, he listens, attentively, for the slightest shift in the mattress, the muffled sound of a sob hidden into a pillow, waiting for any sign of faded red, to reach out his hand towards Eijirou.
He knows the usually redheaded boy needs help. But he also knows how hard he finds it to ask for it when he's been training so hard to become independent, strong, and a reliable hero.
What Kirishima fails to understand, as Bakugou has noticed, is that heroes also get their fair share of being saved. Bakugou's learned this the hard way. And funnily enough, the first person to ever save him was a quirkless green haired boy, nevertheless a hero.
And Bakugou wants to be Kirishima's hero.
God, he wants to be it so badly. Wants to find the right words to turn his tears into chuckles, the right movements to chase away the tension in his shoulders and the shake in his hands.
But he also wants to give him time.
He knows Kirishima's mind like his own. He knows of the broken mirror behind his pupils, the distorted image of the truth Kirishima has plastered in his head. The way "help" has slowly morphed into "weak".
Sometimes he blames himself for it. Blames himself for Kirishima's insecurities. Maybe if he was better with words, if he was better with accepting his own inadequacy, Kirishima wouldn't have adopted his mindset.
Katsuki is a perfectionist. He hates his flaws. His weaknesses. He beats himself up over the smallest inconvenience.
But his brain is wired to tolerate his personality. It's who he is.
Kirishima is not that type of person. Kirishima laughs at his mistakes, he quotes stupid old sayings with a stupid smile on his face when he does anything stupid, which is many times a day.
Kirishima forgives himself. Something Katsuki has yet to learn from him.
But he thinks the opposite has happened, and he hates himself for it. He hates the fact that Kirishima now holds grudges against himself over every little misstep.
All because of his influence on the boy. All because he always had things his way, until his way became Kirishima's way.
He presses his ear closer against the wall, yet he doesn't hear anything, which is really odd. If there is no sobbing, then his friend isn’t feeling too blue. And when Kirishima isn't sad, he's rather pretty loud, or sitting in Bakugou’s bed reading a graphic novel and chatting with his best friend.
Something's wrong.
"Eijirou?" His knuckles tap the wall three times, trying to get his friend's attention through the thin wall.
"Katsuki." His voice is a whisper, but it's there, and Bakugou finally releases a breath he hasn't noticed he's been holding.
"I'm here." Is all Katsuki manages to say, before the familiar sound of sniffling and hiccups fills the bubble they're sharing, pressed against the same wall.
"Kat- I'm scared."
Katsuki can't tell how fast he reaches Kirishima's door. One second he's sat by the wall, the next moment he has his hand on the handle and opening the door into the unusually dark room.
Eijirou hates the dark. Katsuki knows that because whenever they're sleeping in the same room, Kirishima keeps a little dragon shaped nightlight on so he can fall asleep.
Eijirou hates the dark.
Yet as Bakugou walks into the room, the dark oblivion engulfs him, his eyes unable to make out any shape in the total absence of light.
Kirishima never pulls his curtains closed.
Kirishima never leaves his lights off before curfew in case one of his friends needs him, so they know he's up.
Kirishima's never sounded so terrified either.
Bakugou's hand wanders across the wall in search of the light switch he knows is at the left side of the door.
Bakugou wishes he didn't find the switch.
Because now he doesn't feel his legs. Which he considers quite the inconvenience as he needs them to get moving.
/Move. /
Just a few steps towards the boy curled up on himself in his bed.
/You can do it Katsuki. Just. Move. Your. Legs. /
He's never frozen up like this before. His body has never betrayed him even when facing the worst of villains.
Yet here he is, struggling to close the small gap between himself and his best friend, the boy with charcoal black hair and bleeding lips, and suddenly he wishes he couldn't see red.
Because the red that is supposed to be nestled in his hair has bled out onto his sheets.
Red. So much of it. But not the right kind. Not the right hue. No no no.
Everything is wrong.
Too dark. Too light. Too shiny. Too dry.
This isn't Kirishima's red.
This isn't /his/ red.
Why is Eijirou looking at him like that? Why are his eyes so dim? Where's his red?
/Stay with me, red riot. /
/Stay with me, red. /
Oh, but his familiar red is long gone. The embers burning in his best friend's eyes now replaced by smoldering carbon.
Everything is grey.
Not the pretty bluish grey of icy hot's eyes.
Not the glistening silver of tin man's skin.
Everything is a dull, dark, lifeless grey, slowly shifting to black.
Kirishima's own blood traces lines down his chin, but the darkest red is the one dousing his comforter, right under his abdomen .
***
It's funny how time works sometimes.
Bakugou could swear he's been standing there, watching, processing, for ages.
But no. No.
The clock says it's been thirty five seconds.
Iida's yelling in his ear says it's been five minutes.
The sun setting outside Kirishima's window says it's been an hour.
Aizawa asking him to come back to the dorms says it's been a week.
A week?
A week of what?
Life?
A week out of his lifespan?
That can't be right.
He stopped breathing at exactly 5:32 PM a week ago.
He's not alive.
Or at least he doesn't feel like it.
It's strange really, how drastically things can change in the blink of an eye. How a lifetime of plans just crumbled before his eyes the moment he lost his best friend's colors.
Going to class felt useless. So did training. So did eating, breathing, talking, opening his eyes.
Just. Everything. Gone. Meaningless.
His only purpose became watching and waiting and watching and waiting.
And now, as he sits in the small couch that he's grown familiar with, so familiar he's almost certain it now has a permanent crease shaped like his body, he watches.
Watches the ups and downs of his best friend's life, memories carved in the slopes of his heart monitor.
Up.
Kirishima is wearing his baby blue hoodie after having accidentally spilled hot chocolate over his mustard yellow turtleneck.
Kiri looked good in his clothes.
He wishes they shared them more often.
Down.
Kiri accidentally punches a hole through their shared wall, tears streaming down his face, a waterfall of repressed emotions. A fluid kept under pressure for far too long, and now it's erupted.
Katsuki quickly learns that his friend's quirk is wild in unstable hands.
Up.
And down again.
It always goes back down.
There's never a pleasant surprise after the first slope upwards. Never another hill to go higher.
Just.
Down.
"Kat-"
A small bump upwards.
A shaky hand trying to lift itself off the white bed.
A voice muffled by an oxygen mask, but still so loud in the emptiness of Bakugou's mind, pulling him out of the spiral of despair he's let himself be dragged into.
He doesn't remember allowing himself to cry, but the tears attack his vision anyway, making it hard to make out his best friend's features behind the blurriness of liquefied emotion.
He wants to throw himself atop Kirishima, hug him tightly and never let go, but he can't. The thick bandages hugging his torso stop him in his track, so he settles on taking his best friend's hand, and squeezes.
At the touch, at the movement, at the warmth of Katsuki's hand, red finds its way into the grey.
It's just a few reddish strands, but they're there, and Katsuki could cry again, but he hasn't even stopped.
"I missed you, red."
Bakugou would love to have a beautiful emotional reuniting moment with Kirishima, cry into his chest and tell him never to scare him like that again.
But Bakugou is a hero. And heroes assess victims' physical state before taking any further step.
And so, he leans over Eijirou's figure still laid down on the bed, unable to sit up even if he tried, he watches as his eyelids flutter with the effort of trying to wake up, and presses the red button on the other side of the bed, letting a nurse know the patient's awake.
It only takes a few seconds for footsteps to be heard rushing through the corridor.
After all, Kirishima was deemed a priority when he was rushed to the hospital in a critical state.
Katsuki is still focused on Kirishima's closed eyes, feeling him slip in and out of consciousness, hoping to soon see those irises that match his own again, when two nurses and a doctor walk into the room.
Before giving way to the professionals, he bends down slowly, his nose an inch away from his best friend's, removes the oxygen mask off Kirishima's face, places a quick peck to his cold cold lips, and then walks out of the room.
He doesn't miss the way red finds its designated place back across more strands of the injured boy's hair.
And he definitely doesn't miss the way that same red sneakily nestles in his own cheeks, starting small fires under his skin.
***
When Kirishima is finally in a conscious enough state to carry a conversation, Bakugou is already at his hospital room's door, - not that he'd left, he was just grabbing a cup of water - ready to start over.
Ready to pour all of the red he has in him onto the darkened canvas that is Kirishima.
Ready to give him his colors, all of them, if only he promises to never go back to black.
At least, not anytime soon. Not before Bakugou is strong enough to help him heal in the comfort of his arms.
/Please be okay. Please be okay just long enough for me to learn how to wipe away your tears, how to stand with you in battle. Be okay, just long enough for me to learn how to love you properly. Then give me all of your black. I'll make it ours. /
/But for now, I beg you, bring me back my red. /
"Bakugou!"
Cheery.
Cheery cherry boy in his short hospital gown.
Kirishima's smile is the first thing his eyes drift towards, bright as the sun, wide as the distance between Katsuki and relief.
This is not his good smile.
This is his nervous smile.
He knows, because his best friend's left dimple isn't making an appearance.
He tells himself that's ok. At least he's awake.
As he walks towards the bed, he repeats that to himself, trying to convince his mind.
It's okay.
As he hugs Eijirou's shoulders, making sure not to apply too much pressure.
He's fine. He's alive.
As he grabs his face to gaze into those ruby eyes he's missed so dearly.
He's back.
/He's my red. /
Kirishima mumbles something incomprehensible into his shirt, causing Bakugou to break the hug, asking him to repeat his words.
"I, uh, I don't want to talk about it. So, please don't ask."
Ah. That's why his smile didn’t reach his eyes.
Ideally, Bakugou would want to know everything in detail as soon as Kirishima woke up, but the boy deserves having things go his way, so he just nods, willing his questions to wait a bit longer for the satisfaction of being answered.
"Okay. I won't."
"Thank you." Kirishima smiles again, this time his beautiful genuine smile, the one that can only be described as his. /Theirs/.
And suddenly, answers don't matter anymore. /Understanding/ cannot be a priority when Katsuki is too busy /feeling/.
And oh does his heart have it in itself to feel.
So they end up not talking about it. Not that day, nor the day after that, not even when Kirishima gets discharged and is finally back at the dorms.
A few days after he'd woken up, Bakugou started going back to class instead of spending his days at the hospital, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of his best friend's chest with every breath he took.
And whenever he'd visit, they just wouldn't mention it. Wouldn't address the bandaged elephant in the room, the three gashes in Kirishima's side, right under his heart.
It was so close, the doctors had told him once they'd stabilized his best friend's state that first night.
Too close.
It can't happen again.
Bakugou won't allow it.
Kirishima's heart must remain intact, for when he asks to make it his.
Kirishima's lungs must keep rising and falling only to rise again, until he gets to steal the air right out of them.
Kirishima needs to live. A long and fulfilling life, hopefully with an angry blond by his side.
***
Tonight they're studying together, like they always used to do before Kirishima started to grow ever so slightly distant in the few weeks leading up to the incident.
Thankfully, Bakugou was fast to catch up with all of the material he'd missed out on, and so he took his time explaining it to the redhead laid down on his bed, still not too comfortable with sitting up for a long period of time.
"Bakugouuu, we've been at it for hours, can we /please/ take a break?" Kirishima whines into the hem of his hoodie he's buried half of his face into, rubbing at his tired eyes with the palm of his hand.
The blond, sitting on his carpeted floor, trying to write an essay on hero law, glances up at the healing boy now typing on his phone, probably texting dunce face. Sparks has been very protective of him ever since his return, making sure he had everything he needed at any moment of time.
By what tape face had told him once he'd returned to class, the electric boy had been a mess through Kirishima's stay at the hospital, almost getting himself suspended when Aizawa wouldn't let him leave the dorms to visit his friend.
Of course, everyone was insanely worried about Kirishima, but he and Kaminari had become really close with time, the redhead looking after him like an older brother would.
Tape face had even admitted to having been slightly jealous of their blooming friendship, knowing how accidentally flirtatious his boyfriend could come off as.
At that, Bakugou had rolled his eyes, because if there's one blond who would get Kirishima's attention, it would be him and only him.
He didn't say that though.
He only gave Soy Sauce a rare comforting smile, and after class, he'd asked Kaminari to stay behind for a bit.
As they'd stood alone in the emptiness of the classroom while everyone was rushing to the cafeteria, he'd grabbed the lightning boy by his shoulders and had given him an awkward hug, glad to know Kirishima had such good friends.
At that, Kaminari had cried. Genuine tears of overwhelmed emotion.
They never mentioned it to anyone, but Bakugou noticed the unusually soft expression Sero offered him the next morning.
"Fine. Ten minutes. Then you finish the rest of the question sheet."
At that, Kirishima's face lights up, his phone dropping on the bed with a light thud.
"Thanks man! You should also take a break, you look tired."
Bakugou almost laughs at that.
/He/ looks tired?
His best friend is right there struggling to sit up without wincing in pain, his eye bags prominent and cheeks having lost some of their chubbiness after weeks of being fed through a tube, and /he/ looked tired?
Okay so maybe he hasn't slept much the past few days.
Actually, he hasn't slept much ever since Kirishima came back to the dorms.
But that's okay. He doesn't mind. He needs to be awake if anything was to happen again.
He needs to be faster. There are about seventeen steps between his bed and Kirishima's door. But if he sits on the floor, back against their shared wall, he can reach him faster.
So yeah, a bed isn't necessary.
Neither is sleep.
"'m not tired, just bored. This essay's too easy to write."
He misses being challenged. Misses that sudden rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins when he's about to lose, only to flip the situation upside down last moment.
He misses sparring with his cherry boy.
He misses the illusion he'd had plastered in his mind. The illusion that Eijirou was unbreakable. Invincible. Always.
If there's one person he never imagined he'd have to worry about them getting hurt, it was his sturdy rock of a friend.
But he's been wrong before, and now he's paying the price.
Kirishima is, thankfully, healing fast.
At least physically.
But he hasn't been the same.
Not quite.
His hair hasn't shifted to black, not even to that gloomy grey, ever since he's woken up.
But it's not his red either.
He still misses his red.
The wine boy laid in his bed wasn't his.
He wants his cherry boy back.
He'd only gotten a glimpse of that bright and warm fruity color the first time they spoke after Kirishima'd woken up.
After that, his hair had settled on a darker, dimmer, red, a deep crimson he doesn't think he'll ever get used to.
He wants his cherry boy back.
He wants to know Eijirou is strong again, see it with his own eyes.
If he doesn't get his red back, Bakugou believes things will never be the same.
They'll never spar again, because Bakugou would be too /scared/ to use his quirk against a cracked wall.
He doesn't want to watch his best friend crumble beneath his hands.
They'll never hug again, because what if Bakugou's hand brushes over his injured side, what if he hurts him? What if...what if his wound hasn't completely closed, and he infects him with a drop of his explosive sweat?
What if Eijirou has to be rushed to the ER again because of him?
He can't have that.
His friend got hurt the first time because Bakugou was too slow, too slow to register the muffled sound of sobs from the other side of the wall, too slow to find the light switch, too slow to save
He won't let it happen once more because he's rushing things. Because he can't keep his hands to himself and he just wants to hold his best friend tight. Because he misses testing his limits, watching a cherry red boy emerge from the smoke of his own explosions, only to slam him into the ground.
He misses his red.
The one he's fallen in love with.
"Damn Bakugou just say you don't want to cuddle with your best bro." Kirishima teases, giving him a fake pout, dramatically clutching at his shirt over his heart.
"And I was here thinking you missed me." He lets out a soft giggle, his tongue peeking out from between sharp teeth.
Bakugou wants to cry.
So badly.
Because he's missed him.
So. Damn. Much.
The problem is, he's still missing him.
While the boy is right there before his eyes, smile as bright as ever.
He misses him.
"I did miss you, dumbass." Bakugou mumbles under his breath, but Kirishima catches it, because he's always been the more attentive one of the two.
"Oh- I- uh thank you. I-" The redhead's voice trails off, but Bakugou doesn't say a thing, partly out of embarrassment, partly because he wants him to continue.
"I missed you too. I know it sounds stupid, because I was unconscious most of the time, but I did. I missed you."
Oh. It's Bakugou's turn to be flustered, every word he's ever learned shattering into pieces, rendered useless in his search to find the right thing to say.
He leaves his spot on the floor, trying his best to reach the bed without stepping all over his splayed out homework.
Kirishima scoots over, giving Bakugou enough space to lay down next to him, but the blond only sits at the edge of the bed, too worried about accidentally kicking his friend or nudging him with his elbow.
"Do you...do you want to talk about, you know, um, that night?" Trying to get the words out of his throat is the biggest struggle Katsuki's ever had to experience.
What is a life-threatening villain compared to the fear of hurting the one person you've ever wanted to protect?
/Don't rush it, don't rush it, damn it Katsuki don't fucking rush it- /
"Y-yeah. I do."
Kirishima's voice reverberates through Bakugou's skull like an alarm urging him to act.
To silence it.
Oh, Katsuki realizes, maybe he's the one who hasn't been ready to hear the truth.
Maybe deep down he knew, all along, what'd happened, and was just too scared to hear it out loud, making it real.
But he's not about to deny his best friend the therapy of communication because of his own fears.
If he wishes to ever protect Eijirou, he needs to be strong enough for the both of them.
"I'm sorry." Kirishima's choked out sob sends a shiver down Bakugou's spine.
Oh.
"I'm sorry, I-" the crimson boy wipes at his tears with the sleeve of his hoodie, desperately trying to get a grip of his emotions, at least enough to get his words out.
"I'm sorry, Kat, I'm so sorry please don't be mad please it was an accident I swear it was an accident I didn't mean to I didn’t it-"
It's raining in his small caramel and pine scented room.
It's raining in his little sanctuary of sunset colors and evening whispers.
It's raining inside, Bakugou thinks to himself. Because that would be more plausible than the warm tears racing down his face, matching the waterfall that's broken out of his best friend.
His-
Oh.
His ash grey best friend.
"I'm sorry-" Kirishima breathes out between hiccups, still attempting to fight through his loud, bone-rattling, heart-shattering sobs.
"I /swear/ Kat" he's now gripping Bakugou's sleeve, and the blond finally dares look his agonized best friend in the face.
Wrong move.
Big mistake.
This can't be Kirishima, Bakugou wants to believe.
This can't be Ei.
The universe loves his red boy. The universe wouldn't paint this scenery of grey and grime and crystallized sorrow on its favorite boy's face.
This isn't-
"I /swear/ I didn't meant to, please believe me."
But it is.
His voice is weak, a whisper, a plea.
His eyes are squeezed tightly as they fight off the last of tears out of his system.
"I was cold. I was just cold, so cold, Katsuki. And I didn't want to feel cold anymore."
He's heaving, his lungs uncooperative as he tries to breathe through the pain.
"I wanted warmth. I /needed/ it. I wanted to be warm and I didn't know, I didn't think, I thought I was in control."
Katsuki finds his hand cupping the crying boy's cheek, his thumb collecting his tears, wiping them away.
It helps, he thinks.
It helps, by the way Kirishima's grip on his forearm eases, by the way the color in his hair stops getting any darker, settling on a stormy cloud grey, which feels fitting with the rain.
"I just wanted to be warm..." his words are no more than a whisper.
"I went to bed, because beds should be warm, right? Beds are safe, comforting, I should be warm in bed, shouldn't I Katsuki?"
Katsuki’s eyes find his best friend's pleading irises. Pleading for comfort, maybe.
Pleading for reassurance, or just affirmation.
"It wasn't warm. My bed, it wasn't warm. It was empty. And- and cold. And I was alone."
Katsuki is biting at his lower lip, urging it to stop trembling, to be strong, to be the wall Eijirou needs to rest against.
"I was just curled up on myself. Like I do when I'm cold. Just to get some heat. Some warmth. That's all. I swear that's all it was meant to be. I was just tired, I wanted to sleep."
Breathing isn't necessary, Katsuki thinks to himself, the air caught in his lungs. Ei needs it more than me, he rationalizes. And the room is too small. He needs all the air he can breathe.
"B-but I don’t know what happened. I just wanted to rest. I-I wanted to sleep. Just until the next day. I wanted to sleep the ugly shades of grey away, I wanted to wake up to red, but I don’t know what happened then."
Another round of tears, and this time Katsuki doesn't fight the broken sound that escapes his throat. Not that it would be heard among the thunder rattling his core.
"I just wanted a hug. Like the ones Ma used to give me before bed, or after a nightmare. Those were the best. The warmest. I just needed a hug. But- but my hands."
The grey boy shakes his head, fighting off the monster creeping up on him, from the back of his mind.
But when has he ever been strong enough?
"I /hate/ them, Katsuki. I hate my hands. My quirk. The way my skin becomes a weapon. An omen of death. I hate myself, Kat."
He says the last words with a defeated smile.
"I've worked /so hard/ to be in control. To choose what to do with my quirk. To ease the fear in people's eyes when they witness it in action.
/So hard/ Kat. My entire life. Trying to turn a weapon into a shield. Just another safe blanket to bring others warmth. But even as a shield, I'm still a monster. A safety hazard."
Katsuki wants to argue. He wants to yell and shout at his best friend's self-loathing monologue, at the way he looks down at his clenched fists with disgust. Those two fists that would always collide together in a show of strength, oh hope and /manliness/. Those knuckles that the blond wishes to kiss and love and trace a hundred time a day, until he has them memorizes.
But he can't. He doesn't have the words yet. He doesn't know what to do.
Helpless, Katsuki tells himself.
/You're helpless and it's the one thing he needs. /
"I couldn't even protect myself from my own quirk, do you understand how pathetic that is?
I can't hold my own self in the night, when all I need is a bit of comfort. I can't do that. I can't exist with this.../thing/ living within me."
Kirishima lets out a final shaky breath before leaning back into Katsuki's pillow, his hands finding his face to hide his embarrassment, his shame, his weakness.
Katsuki isn't too sure what to do and he hates it.
He knows what it feels like to have a dangerous quirk.
But he's never hated it. He’s never feared it. At the contrary, he's always basked in the glorious light of his explosions, relishing the threat that they pose, collecting the memories of frightened faces like trophies in his mind palace.
But, he can try.
For Kirishima, he can try to understand.
He's his best friend after all. The boy has empathy coursing through his veins, all he needs at the moment is a little transfusion.
And Bakugou's always been compatible with the boy.
"Hey, Ei." His voice is low, gentle, tentative. Testing the waters before diving in.
He only gets a short sniffle in return, which he takes as a green light.
Katsuki's warm, ever so slightly shaky hand finds Eijirou's wrist, and he pulls the other boy's arm out of the way, letting it gently lay on the mattress, allowing himself a better view of his tear stained face.
"Hey." The blond offers with a smile, his lips still wet and salty from the rain.
"Hi" Eijirou's voice is less than a whisper, a short breath, barely carving its path through quivering lips.
"Do you want me to get you a glass of water?"
Kirishima almost jumps out of bed, ready to stop his best friend in his tracks, if he was to try and leave.
As he sits up, he doesn't even acknowledge the sharp stab of pain in his healing abdomen.
"Don't go." Kirishima begs, an unsteady hand finding its spot over Katsuki's own fingers splayed over the soft blanket covering his bed.
"Don't go. Please. Stay."
And Katsuki is so weak for the way his best friend searches his eyes for reassurance, the way his fingers fit perfectly between his own, the way he's given a purpose, a means to help.
Stay.
He can do that.
He can stay.
"Okay. Okay, Ei, I'm not going anywhere."
Ever, he wants to add, but he's sure Kirishima understands.
"I'm sorry Katsuki. I'm sorry I worried you for so long. It's my fault you're so drained and anxious all the time. You think I haven't noticed but I can tell you're always on edge. Your eyes are always moving, your palms almost always smoking on instinct, ready to fight.
But trust me, this isn't a villain that can be burned with the heat of fire or explosions. I know. I've tried."
His hand that isn't resting atop Katsuki's squeezes his own thigh, frustration dousing every word he speaks.
"Oh, I've tried to no avail. This fucking monster always fed off the flames I tried to kill it with, only getting stronger as I would cry out in pain." Kirishima's face falls forward to bury itself in the crook of the blonde’s neck. “Doesn’t sound very heroic, eh?” He mumbles into his best friend’s warm and ever so slightly sweaty skin.
If Katsuki had eaten anything for lunch, he's sure he'd be throwing up right now. Not in disgust or repulsion, but in fear. So much fear settled in the pit of his stomach, and he has no outlet for it.
He’s never been told where to go with fear.
Anger explodes through his quirk. So does annoyance, or confusion, even surprise.
Pride gets its own special fire in his eyes, and a cocky grin on his face.
Happiness usually escapes through small smiles and light squeezes as he holds a cherry redhead’s hand while they run through halls and climb up rooftops in the night.
But fear. Where does it go?
"That night," Kirishima continues, pulling the blond out of his stupor, "when my quirk got out of control, when my hands, those /stupid hands/ of a supposed hero, morphed into evil, I was too careless. I paid it no mind. I just hugged myself tighter, my claws digging into my skin. And I didn't give a shit."
One heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Three- no. Katsuki’s blood only manages to keep flowing through his veins by sheer instinct. To protect. To keep a shivering boy warm.
"I didn't care. I was cold. And-" a moment of hesitation, Katsuki thinks he might cry again, but Kirishima only swallows the lump in his throat and keeps going.
"And when I started bleeding, it was so warm against my skin.
It's all I wanted. To be warm. I swear. I wasn't thinking about anything else. I didn't want to- I didn't- I-"
And Katsuki understands.
He understands the unspoken words. The tremors. The terrors.
He understands the way Eijirou's shoulders start to shake.
Understands the way his arms wrap around the weeping boy, one hand nestled in his now charcoal black hair, the other rubbing soothing circles on his back.
Katsuki understands a lot of things now.
Maybe he doesn't understand /how/ and /why/ Kirishima has so much hate towards himself, the most wonderful boy he's ever known, but he understands it's there, and it might take him a lot of time to dig these weeds out of the boy's garden, but he's ready for it. He's ready to blow at the unstable dandelions in his best friend's heart, pull the weeds out of their roots, to offer him a garden of roses and sunflowers.
***
"Hey, Bakugou, have you seen Kiri?" The electric blond walks into the kitchen where Bakugou is preparing two warm cups of tea for himself and his exhausted friend.
"Upstairs." He's not really in the mood for aggression. Or any type of interaction, honestly. Well, anything that doesn't involve Kirishima.
"Uh, actually" Kaminari steps further into the kitchen, eyeing the two mugs in Katsuki's hands "I just checked his bedroom, and, he wasn't there."
Katsuki just rolls his eyes, setting the two hot drinks on a tray to carry them back to where his best friend is waiting for him.
"My room." is all he says as he exits the small kitchen area, leaving the other blond to process the information with his slow fried brain.
He can't help but wonder if Denki is still doing those extra training sessions and therapy exercises recovery girl recommended, after she'd found out his electricity did actually affect his brain ever so slightly whenever he'd overdo it.
Something about his myelin sheath slowly degrading time after time, his receptors becoming slower.
It's not like Bakugou /cares/ or anything, but the dunce would be a lot less annoying if he wasn't, well, a dunce.
And Sero deserves to finally be able to kiss his boyfriend without the latter freezing up for a good five minutes.
Alright so maybe that's not because of his short-circuited brain, maybe the boy is just a bisexual disaster, but still.
He makes his way upstairs, nudging his bedroom door open with his shoulder.
"Hey, Ei, I got the-"
The tea is pretty hot, Katsuki thinks to himself. So is the sensation pulsing through his foot where a piece of ceramic has sliced through his skin.
/I should've worn my shoes. /
"K-Kat, what's happening to me?"
Eijirou's voice is breaking apart, kind of like the two mugs Katsuki just dropped to the floor. Or were they just pulled by gravity?
Does it make any difference?
Eijirou is pulling at his hair, tears mapping his face, fear written in his eyes as he meets the blonde’s gaze.
White.
Everything, is, white.
/oh/
/it's snowing in my garden/
/that's not ideal/
/where are my roses/
/where is my red?/
Warm hands wrap around Eijirou, and he finally lets go of the colorless strands of hair to hold on to Katsuki's shirt.
"Ei, I need you to breathe. Can you do that for me?"
Eijirou nods. Well, he thinks he does. He can't really feel his body. Or anything at all actually.
He wants to say he feels empty, but that would mean he's feeling /something/, which he really isn't.
It's almost as if these words were the last thing weighing down on his heart, and now that they're out of his system, he has nothing else to hold on to.
Eijirou's always found himself anchored by his own pain. His only shelter has been the void in his mind where serotonin should be nestled. He doesn't know where to go when he's stood in oblivion, or what to feel when it's not pain.
He's never known how to heal, because he's never known what his options are. What is the spectrum of human emotions? He's so used to these shades of blue and grey that any other hue feels too foreign, too blinding to his eyes.
Except maybe red.
He loved red, and he misses it as much as Katsuki does. He misses the warmth that occasionally flooded his veins, reminding him of his own existence, reminding him that he is human. He can feel so much, and so deeply.
The only thing he's ever known other than the dead trees stood in his garden, are the roses a certain blond planted in his soil.
A soil he believed was long since dead and dry and useless, unable to bring anymore life.
But somehow, his best friend had done it. He'd offered him life in hands known for demolition.
And oh how Eijirou loved those hands.
The ones currently clutching to him like he's about to slip into the deep waters of the ocean and drown away. The ones he's slowly melting into, /feeling/ their warmth against his skin, even through the fabric of his shirt.
The hands that are slowly pulling away, only to cup his face, to lead his eyes towards the one who gave him his life back, on oh so many occasions.
But not this time.
Eijirou can see his reflection in Katsuki's eyes. He can see some strands of hair regaining their pigmentation. He almost looks like a Todoroki, and at that thought he feels a chuckle rise from his lungs.
But no. He cannot always expect Katsuki to spark up his hands and ignite a new sun into his skies whenever his garden wilts.
He appreciates the boy's light. He loves it. But it's not his. He must find his own. Maybe he will need the blonde’s help as a stepping stone, but he cannot count on him to always pave the rest of the way.
He must be strong, bring back his red with his own hands.
He doesn't need to be unbreakable. Not yet. But he needs to know where every piece should go once he reconstructs himself.
Katsuki probably knows him better than his own self now that he's gathered his shards for him so many times.
"Kat." He whispers his best friend's name as the other searches his eyes, hands still squishing his cheeks.
"Yeah, Ei?"
"Thank you. For everything." He tries to offer him a smile but it doesn't reach his eyes.
That's okay, he tells himself. Middle grounds. He doesn't need to feel everything at its highest degree. He can have his joy, and love, in portions.
"I-"
"Don't say it now. Not yet. I want to hear it from red."
But maybe it so happens that the portions Katsuki offers him are plenty enough to grow roses across every inch of his skin.
Pink gardens blossom across his cheeks as he wraps his arms around Katsuki's waist, his smile instinctively stretching wider to reveal his dimples.
"Okay, Kat."
They lay there for a while, in Katsuki's bed, just breathing and existing in each other's presence.
Eijirou insisted Katsuki should go to recovery girl to get his foot checked out, but he refused. Told him he couldn't even feel the burn.
"But what if it gets infected and you can't walk on it for a while?" Eijirou pressed at some point, when he felt Katsuki wince as his toes accidentally brushed past his foot.
He'd finally rolled his eyes, grumbling his own type of agreement as he left the bed to pull a first aid kit from his closet.
The wound wasn't too deep, but it was stretched across his foot in quite an unsettling way.
Just another scar, Katsuki thought to himself. If he wanted to be a hero, he needed to get used to having a lot of those.
And so now, after having cleaned and bandaged his foot, here he is, laying in the comfort of his sanctuary, once again balanced, as red floods his vision.
Cherry and wine tangle together, silks draped over his pillow, and their fingers do the same as they find each other in the small distance between the two boys.
"Hey, Ei."
"Yeah, Kat?"
"Do you like cherry wine?"
"I...I do. It feels. Enough."
"Okay."
"Do you...do you like it?"
Katsuki turns his head to face the boy laid in his bed, in his safe haven, and their noses almost touch. He can feel the blush spreading over his face as he meets his eyes.
/He's still my cherry boy. /
But cherries are seasonal, and he can't force him to flourish all year long.
/He's still my red. /
And even though sometimes his red will grow darker, dimmer, it will never fade to grey again.
Because he believes in the boy laying in his bed, the one who's been occupying his every thought since the very beginning.
He believes he'll tend to his garden, and he'll be there to pick at the weeds that try to crawl around his roses.
He believes in Eijirou Kirishima.
And Eijirou believes in him.
"I do."
***
"Kat-su-kiiiiiii help!" The redhead's whine can be heard across the entire floor, if not the whole building.
He's staring at his own reflection in a full body mirror he borrowed from Aoyama, desperately trying to get things right.
But it's hard.
Everything feels /wrong/.
The tightness of his button-up around his neck, the way his belt bulges weirdly at the front, his hair that just won't! Stick! Up! The tug of his smile feels foreign to his facial muscles, his dimples almost surprising him as they make an appearance for the first time in a while.
As it turns out, middle grounds are not easy to maintain. The better side of things is just over there, one step away from him, and his body desperately aches to cross those last few centimeters, but he knows, if he crosses the bridge too soon, it will be back to square one.
And he'd rather fight the urge to leave this grey area than go back to total darkness.
"Fuckin hell Ei, why do you look like a damn choir boy on Christmas eve?" The blond that just barged into his room at the call of his name looks him up and down, and Eijirou can feel the effort he's making to hold back a snort.
Katsuki and his stupid ugly cute precious snorts.
"Sorry for wanting to make a good first impression." The redhead retorts playfully, rolling his eyes at his best friend's commentary.
"Ei, I know how important this is to you, but you're not going to ask your therapist's hand in marriage. You need to loosen up, be comfortable in every way."
He's right, Eijirou knows he's right, but he's also scared. Worried he might be rejected, the woman refusing to help him. It sounds ridiculous, yes, but he can't shake away the idea that he needs to look totally fine to be given the chance to talk.
That maybe, if he looks as messy as he usually does, no one will want to waste their time on his words. Messy exterior means messy interior and no one wants to unravel all that.
"Ei it's literally her job to dissect your mind and help you polish the rough chunks or whatever." Katsuki states as he starts unbuttoning the boy's shirt, having made it clear that he's not letting him go to therapy if he can't breathe in his clothes.
"You think my anger management therapist was expecting someone calm and collected? You gotta show her the worst parts if you want to get better. No beating around the bush." The last button undone, he helps him slip out of his shirt, handing him a t-shirt that's actually his size.
"Unless of course you don't feel ready to unpack everything. You can go box by box, like moving out of an old crappy apartment."
Eijirou's smile relaxes at Katsuki's attempt to use metaphors in his speech, something he doesn't do too often. At least not out loud, but Eijirou's seen his crumpled-up notes.
Katsuki /writes/. And he's pretty good at it.
Eijirou wonders if he'd ever write about him.
Or them.
"Just know," two warm and safe hands find their place over his cheeks, his vision flooded with blond and red and love "that I'm already proud of you for making this decision. No matter how it goes."
At that, Eijirou knows his entire day will be good, even though it's only 9AM. Nothing can break his spirit when it's tangled with Katsuki's affection.
It's on these occasions of straightforward appreciation that wine escapes his hair, leaving him in sweet fruity ecstasy, cherry red ready to be picked in the arms of a certain blond.
He hasn't said it yet, he promised Katsuki he'd only say it when his mind is clear and balanced, but it's undeniable. It's all around him, grounding him when he feels like abandoning gravity, lifting him up when his body feels too heavy, but never forcing him into relying on its own magnetic field, never making him feel he wouldn't be able to do it without its presence.
It is there for support, never for survival. And it only makes his desire to spill it out grow bigger every day.
He loves his best friend.
***
"Kat could you please pass me the tape?"
Eijirou tries to reach for the object in question but it seems too far for his fingers to even brush over it.
The blond sat on the other end of the bed grabs the tape and throws it at his best friend, hitting him right in the forehead.
"Ouch! That hurt Suki, you know my reflexes are still rusty after weeks of laying around!"
"I don’t care, train harder." Katsuki scoffs at the redhead, though they both know he means absolutely none of it.
Katsuki cares way too much.
So much Eijirou ended up needing more sessions of physical rehabilitation than originally planned because /somebody/ wouldn't let him push himself too hard.
Even now that's he's doing much better - he can harden his once wounded area again! - Katsuki can't seem to take his eyes off him.
Because he /cares/. No other reason. At least none he'd admit to just yet.
Katsuki finds satisfaction in perfection, and now is not the perfect moment.
"What do you even need the stupid tape for? We're doing chemistry."
"I ran out of sticky notes and I need to keep this attached to my notebook!" The redhead says all enthusiastically, waving a small piece of paper between his fingers.
Curiosity gets the best of Katsuki as he leans forward to try and read what the paper says, and he can't help the chuckle that leaves his lips as his brain processes the note.
"Ei this is the wrong formula you dumbass."
He grabs his pen and scratches what Eijirou has written on his precious little piece of paper, fixing molecules and coefficients.
When he's done scribbling his own note for Eijirou to tape to his notebook, he looks up, suddenly noticing how close he is to the redhead, his face turning a hundred shades of red, like litmus dipped in an acid solution.
A few millimeters and their noses could brush. A couple more and their lips could meet.
The distance between them is screaming to be erased, he can see it in Eijirou's eyes, hear it in the way his heart races.
He could have this, the closeness, the affirmation that the love of his life feels the same, but not now. Not yet.
/Not perfect/.
However, he doesn't have the time to lament over what he has yet to earn, as he is attacked by all that he already has.
Red. Red clouds his vision, his thoughts, even the air he breathes is red. Does that make sense? He doubts it, but it's true. As they lose themselves in each other's eyes, all he can see, all he can taste, all he can feel, is red red /red/.
So much of it he might drown in its silky embrace, soft, warm, and safe, like the familiar arms wrapping around his wai-
Arms.
/Arms./
/Oh shit./
Katsuki knows panic. But he's never been prepared for the /gay/ panic that overwhelms his senses as his brain finally catches up to reality, to Eijirou's arms -his quite muscular, quite strong, arms, the ones Katsuki would never admit to daydreaming about being carried around in- snaked around his waist, that suddenly feels so small as he notices each limb almost circling him completely, pressing him closer to the one who is most definitely going to be the death of him.
Katsuki has never felt frail, or vulnerable, but at this very moment, as he basks in Eijirou's heat, his head pressed against a broad shoulder, his legs having found their own will to wrap around the redhead's much wider figure, he reckons it wouldn't feel too bad to be the one protected, to know he'd be fought for.
Heroes also need their own saviors, and he's called dibs on quite the sturdy one.
"Comfy?" The boy he's willing to die for in a heartbeat asks, slowly shifting them backwards to rest his back against a pillow.
Katsuki can feel the way the redhead's body relaxes as it is finally supported, and he cannot help but melt further into him, his head now nestled in the crook of his neck.
"Mhm." He releases a soft breath in affirmation, most probably tickling Eijirou's skin, but the boy doesn't shift, only resting his chin atop puffs of blond hair, letting out a breath of his own.
Katsuki promised to keep Eijirou painted red, yet he is the one being draped in it.
Almost perfect.
Almost.
Now only to share his bliss with the one who's granted it to him.
Maybe then, he'd have chased all the pigments that aren't Eijirou's happy color away, out of his painting, leaving a new space in the boy's canvas to trace himself into.
***
Falling asleep together in Katsuki's bed quickly becomes their most normal routine.
Despite having accepted his feelings for his best friend, Eijirou still tries to justify this closeness by telling himself he's just not comfortable in his own bed anymore, which is, in a way, true.
His bed will never feel like the safe bubble of slowed breaths and dreams again. Bleach might have taken care of the blood stain on his sheets, but not the memory carved behind his eyelids.
He needs Katsuki as much as he wants him. Needs the weight of his body dipping the mattress beneath him, wants the warmth of his embrace through the night. Needs the distraction his presence provides, wants to hear his soft unconscious mumbling for the rest of his life.
And Kat, well, he hasn't complained yet, so Eijirou relishes the blissful proximity, the brush of shoulders and tangled breaths, the rough strokes of red and ash blond across their white canvas of a pillow, the intoxicating fragrance of two bodies, two existences merging into one ball of heat, and finally, Eijirou starts dreaming in colors again.
At first it's just slight hints of red blooming in a world of black and white, but it's not his. Not at first.
This red belongs to the only mirror that's ever shown him a reflection he's proud to be, the boy he is in his best friend's eyes. The one who deserves a chance at life. And joy. And love. He wishes to be this boy forever.
But soon after his own shade of cherry red finds its way into his unconscious mind, hopefully trying to find its exit into the real world as well.
The two pigments lead each other into a dance of equilibrium and warmth that never burns, light that never blinds and love that never stales.
Until, eventually, the remaining colors of Eijirou's being are dragged out to the surface, where they are once again free to dance and paint the world with tones newly acquired, palettes that scream hope and desire.
On some rare occasions, when Katsuki is woken up in the dead of the night, an ache in his heart begging to be eased, his eyes are greeted by the breathtaking sight that is his long lost red.
Cherries preferring to bloom in the safe blanket of the dark, as it is far less intimidating when it is shared. Oblivion becomes simply, night, and the monsters are reduced to shadows.
On those occasions, that Katsuki personally counts as blessings, he cannot help the whispered confession that escapes his lips, hoping it finds its way into whatever universe is being built in his sleeping best friend's mind.
One day, when cherries are back into the sun where he awaits, he won't hesitate to say it, sing it, scream it even, as he stares into the pair of eyes that almost matches his own.
Tonight has been one of those beautiful heaven sent occasions, and as Katsuki brushes a strand of hair out of Eijirou's face, he is filled with the need to give. Give more. Better. Walk into Eijirou's dark and pull him out himself into the light.
But he knows better. He cannot open the door for the redheaded boy, nor forge him a key. All he can do is wave from behind the glass, in hopes that the love of his life wants to reach him as much as he does.
Because Katsuki knows his best friend. He knows future pro hero Red Riot, the one who'll always find a way, as long as he has a certain will. A want.
Katsuki prays he's wanted as much as he's been wanting.
***
"Are you doing anything this weekend?"
"Why'd you ask?" Katsuki finds it just ever so slightly odd that Eijirou needs to ask such a question, considering they've been spending every weekend for the past month or more watching movies in their meticulously built blanket fort in the blonde’s bedroom, and going over each week's material when their brains aren't already too exhausted from being overworked for five days straight.
So really, Eijirou has no reason to ask him about any weekend plans, unless he has something in mind himself.
"Well, you see, uh-"
"Spit it out, Ei." The blond cuts him off, finally looking up from his notebook to give his best friend a quick glance, noticing the nervousness traced into every line of his face.
It's not like Katsuki would complain about a change in their routine, especially if it's something the redhead wants to do. With him. As long as it's time spent together, he's willing to agree to anything that might be suggested in a heartbeat.
The boy sat in a chair way too small for his built, even though said chair is Katsuki's, sighs his uncertainty out of his system, though the blond still catches his fingers fiddling with a loose thread from their baby blue hoodie under their study table, and the way his Adam's apple bobs in his throat as he gulps down his words, reconstructing them with every passing breath.
"Kami and Sero are going out on Saturday, and they said they'd wait for my morning session to be over if uh if we'd like to, uh, go with them? Like a, um, a double date?" The last few words are said in a rushed whisper, but Katsuki still catches them, oh he most certainly does.
"Oh."
/Oh shit oh fuck holy shit Ei you absolute dumbass I am so in love with you-/
"Sure."
/this is the best day of my life but fucking hell I wanted to ask him first it's all the damn dunce's fault I'm going to beat his fucking ass to smithereens but first I need to iron my shirt-/
"Really?!" The redhead bolts out of the brave chair that's been trying its best to keep it together as it held his big bulky body in place, almost throwing himself on top of his best friend.
"Suki you're the best!" He hugs his /date's/ waist, snuggling into his side on the bed now shaped like them after weeks of keeping them warm and listening in to their midnight secrets and morning giggles.
Katsuki finds his hand carding through red hair as he hums his appreciation for the boy's praise, the blush on his own face feeling like lava coursing through his veins.
"But this isn't a double date, Ei."
He can literally see the buzzing of energy slowly die out of the room, Eijirou's face twisting into something sad. Shameful. Disappointed?
The redhead's roots grow a shade darker, his hands slowly letting go of Katsuki's small waist, but the blond doesn't allow him to budge as he pulls at his wrists, dragging Eijirou's body further onto the bed, until he's settled in his lap.
"Like hell I'm letting our first date be with these two idiots. Not a fucking chance, Red."
Eijirou's soul is lost somewhere between the cotton candy clouds of his paradise, dancing along with angels to the symphony of two racing hearts pressed together as he lets himself melt into Katsuki's chest.
Existing with Katsuki feels like a roller-coaster of emotions, ups and downs like the unpredictable movements of the lava lamp on their desk. And through it all, he wouldn't have it any other way.
"Tomorrow. At six. That good, Ei?"
"Perfect, Kat." The bright redhead whispers into the love of his life's neck, his arms finding once again their designated place around a waist too small to be unbreakable, and at that moment he can't help but think, that's alright, he'll be his shield, if the boy will have him.
***
"Ei, what did I say about being comfortable in every way?"
"But Kat, this is a /date/. With /you/. Of course I'm going to dress up!"
Katsuki swallows on the short laugh tickling the back of his throat, trying to understand what part of his date's outfit is 'dressing up'.
Not that he minds, he didn't try to overdress himself, kept it casual, except he called his parents to send him his favorite pair of pants.
Eijirou looks good, as he always does, even when dressed as a highlighter pen, he just looks good. Maybe it's his hands smoothing down the folds in his shirt. Sturdy, safe, familiar. Or perhaps it's his face? The cherry of his eyes, the blooming blossoms on his cheeks.
Eijirou is effortlessly beautiful, Katsuki thinks to himself.
Like this very moment, with his hair down, eyeliner much more subtle than usual, his pistachio green button-up worn over his dark blue jeans, and nails only covered by a thin layer of transparent polish, to give them a little shine.
But the discomfort is there.
It's subtle, like the short glances Katsuki always throws his way whenever he gets the chance. The same glances that have allowed him to notice the subtle changes in his best friend.
It's there, in the way he keeps trying to tug strands of his hair behind his ear, or can't seem to decide if he should roll his sleeves up or not. The hesitation as he goes for the little box holding his lenses, before deciding to pick his glasses off his bedside table.
Katsuki takes a few more steps into the room, reaching for the one who's trapped his heart behind his ribcage, right next to his own music box.
"Here, let me help." He offers as he pulls a pin out of his own tuft of wheat blond hair, using it to keep clandestine strands out of the redhead's face, giving him a full view of the beautiful specs of stardust scattered below Eijirou's eyes, from ear to ear, across the bridge of his nose.
He can feel a blush slowly painting his cheeks, all the way to the tips of his ears, betraying his attempt at keeping a straight face, while his soul beams of love and adoration.
"Thanks, Suki. Sorry if I'm too nervous, I just really want this to be good, you know? I want to be good. For you."
Cherry eyes have fallen to the floor, fidgety fingers trying to distractedly pull at cuticles, but Eijirou takes too good care of his hands to find any. At least ever since Katsuki started holding them.
"Dumbass, look at me." The blond takes a hold of Eijirou's wrists, rubbing soft circles with his thumbs into the redhead's palms, hoping to ease some of his nerves.
He can feel the boy's pulse under his digits. Rapid, disoriented, uncontrollable.
Just as Katsuki's fallen for him.
"This is going to be perfect, because you're already everything I've ever wanted. Y'hear me? So stop stressing that pretty head of yours and let's get going."
One hand lets go of Eijirou's wrist while the other slips into his own, tangling their fingers together, gently tucking at it, asking the flustered boy to take the first step into the rest of their day.
And hopefully, Katsuki thinks to himself, their life.
Because today is going to be /perfect/.
He'll make sure of it.
Today is theirs.
And it begins with a burning red sunrise.
It’s the type of day when things /happen/. Eijirou isn’t sure what type of things exactly, but he can just feel it. This is the type of day when the soundtrack of the movie switches drastically as the two main characters lock eyes, realizing that the fate of the universe they’re built into lies on them, that it’s always been /them./
However, this is no movie, no soft music to announce the beginning of a potential romance, only the sound of the redhead’s blaring alarm pulling him out of his slumber several hours earlier than what his biological clock is used to, and as they make their way out of the dorms, Eijirou tells himself he should've probably asked Katsuki what he had meant by 'tomorrow at six', but quickly figures he doesn't really mind.
Not at all actually.
He doesn't mind the fact that birds are still fluttering their wings open as a first greeting of morning.
Doesn't mind that his alarm won't be ringing in another hour, or the fact that their bed had barely started to warm up as he was woken up by a beautiful angel tracing the edges of his face, all the way down to his neck.
He doesn't mind starting today, and every other day of his life, waking up early enough to see the blond with his bed hair and soft features welcoming him into a new beginning, the way his dreams of the night still linger in his eyes, a bright red to match his own.
No, Eijirou thinks to himself, he doesn't mind at all.
***
For the first time in a while, Katsuki feels good. Genuinely, undeniably, good.
With the way his hand fits perfectly into the redhead’s own, and the golden shower of sunrise enveloping them into a painting created for their eyes only, he believes he can finally breathe.
A deep, satisfied, much needed breath, releasing all the stress and anxiety that's been building up in his system for the past two months or so.
His skin is starting to warm up under the gaze of his two suns, and the last hints of sleepiness escape his body in a final small yawn, one at which his one and only red giggles.
"You're like a cat, Suki." His best friend announces behind a muffled laugh.
On any other day, Katsuki would probably answer with a light shove to the shoulder, maybe even an empty snarl.
But today he doesn't quite feel like it. Maybe it's the fact that he's walking hand in hand with the love of his life, even though they've shared much more affectionate moments before.
Maybe it's because the sky is painted in their colors, fiery orange and passionate red spread in an organized chaos of strokes above the far horizon.
Or maybe, just maybe, the perfection that has fallen upon them as their feet match each other's pace, is simply due to the fact that it's just them, two random boys you couldn't pick in a crowd, sharing a fleeting moment of their existence with the other, silently promising, with each light squeeze of their hands, that this moment will perhaps be longer than expected.
A promise, that if they keep holding on to each other, and keep walking side by side, one steady line through the ups and downs of existence, then maybe, just maybe, one moment could be as long as forever.
"You're cute, Ei."
The blond boy, having accepted his new cat identity bestowed upon him by one stupidly lovable idiot, tugs said idiot closer, nuzzling his head up against a blushing neck, as a safe and familiar arm wraps itself around his shoulders, pulling him closer, until their hips are touching and their chests are sharing their pulses.
Once again, Katsuki feels frail and small, seeking shelter in his sanctuary. And he doesn't mind, being watched by the sun, and the skies, and all of the universe.
He doesn't mind weakness, if it comes in pretty shades of red and a stupidly warm body.
Because something that feels so good, so right, so /whole/, can't be really flawed, it cannot be weak.
No, Katsuki realizes. This is not a weakness. The blooming garden in his lungs isn't asphyxiating, it is only pushing him to breathe in deeper, expand his lungs, and break his limits.
This thing he thought would be a weakness, is just another reason to be strong.
But for now, he'll allow himself to bask just a little bit longer in the protective shield that is Eijirou's much larger build.
Just a moment, he tells himself.
Just one more moment of feeling small and guarded, then he'll rise back, and he'll show him what it really means to be equals.
***
The two love-struck boys begin their day with a quiet walk towards their first destination, enveloped in comfortable silence and contempt. Occasionally a butterfly will find its way into their little bubble, but nothing breaks their shared equilibrium.
Eijirou doesn't feel the need to speak, although having no idea where they might be headed. Having his hand held by one explosively beautiful boy gives him enough peace of mind to walk through a mine field blindfolded.
He believes that maybe, if the blond remains by his side, he'll one day have the guts to adventure into the danger zone that is his mind, and finally put some order in there.
A light brush of a hand against his thigh pulls him out of his thoughts threatening to darken like his after-nightmare hair, and he's back to the present. Back to a reality that feels too good to be true, to the feeling of belonging, of the world finally being /right/.
Back to the scent of caramel and the soft hum escaping his best friend's lips in a soothing melody, most probably a subconscious response to satisfaction.
Back to Katsuki.
Eijirou, somehow, always finds his way back to Katsuki. Whether it's from the suffocating hold of his demons, or the heavy chains of possible death. His way home is always through the blond. /Towards/ him.
And as the sun finally sheds its coat of burning red, draping itself in a softened veil of yellow, Eijirou finds himself near a lake. A beautiful, glistening, mirror clear lake.
His date is already settling himself in the grass as he invites him to do the same.
"I came here a lot." Katsuki begins, and his voice echoes through their bubble now expanding to take in the lake as well.
Eijirou's only been here a minute but this place already feels like it's meant to be their own. He can tell they'll be coming here a lot more often in the future.
"I came here every evening. When they wouldn't let me stay with you. Or when Aizawa would refuse to let me visit all day. I'd come here, and I'd just start talking."
"The reflections in the lake. They're perfect. The symmetry is calming. The permanence, the way it's all so /right/. I needed to see it with my own eyes. To believe such perfection existed, so I wouldn't be chasing an illusion."
Katsuki slowly inhales, taking in the soft scent of aquatic flora and pine.
The pine doesn't belong to the fauna of this area. It emanates from a certain redhead, his eyes focused on the blond, taking in every word, afraid to burst their bubble with any misplaced interjection.
"I love you. Don't say it back."
Cherry explodes behind Eijirou's pupils, and Katsuki has to muster all the strength inside of him to keep looking straight ahead, away from the bright redhead sat only a few centimeters from him. A few centimeters too many.
"I love you, Ei. All of you. And I just want to make sure I'm loving you perfectly. I love everything that you are. The boy, the friend, the hero. The student, the savior, the patient. I love you all the time, in every setting, behind every veil of red. I love you."
"I love you when you're rushing to the scene, your hair fire truck red, or when you come back from a zone of destruction and losses, wine spilled in your hair, ready to crash with you on the bed."
"And when you're embarrassed, God when you're embarrassed, and your hair shifts towards that purplish burgundy shade, it's so adorable I feel the need to blow something up to stop myself from grabbing your face and just kissing you until our lips are the same color."
"I just," An exhale extended into a pensive hum. Eyes darting across the lake's surface, looking for a distortion in the water, an imperfection in spring's reflection, and when Katsuki finds none, he finally faces his sun.
"I just really love you, Ei. Hell, I'm pretty sure I'm more than in love with you? Is there anything beyond that? Any plus-ultra type of love? Because that's probably it. That's what's keeping my heart in overdrive all the fucking time."
"But please," The blond lifts his arms from the soft blades of grass, greener than the other side people only speak of, tries to reach out for his lifeline, but when hesitation stops him in his track, hands suspended in the small space between them, his lifeline reaches back.
"P-please" The boy begins to stutter, the moment catching up to him, his mind beginning to blur as a garden of emotions blooms to life in his lungs "please d-don't say it back."
Hands squeeze his tightly, fingerprints burning themselves into his skin, marking what he wants to be theirs.
But the owner of those sturdy yet soft, kissable hands is rendered silent.
Eijirou doesn't dare breathe. If his mouth is to open, the first thing he'd do is blurt out his own confession, and that is the one thing Katsuki has asked, no /begged/, him not to do.
So he remains quiet, taking it all in.
The moment, the essence of the boy putting his all on the table, the lines of light illuminating his features, his eyes glowing with a fervent desire. A /need/. A necessity.
"Don't say it back until /you/ do. I want to hear it from the boy I know. I want it to be a truth in your heart, not a misplaced interpretation in your head. I want to know that the racing drums in your chest when we fall asleep together are only mine to hear, playing for /us/.”
“I don't want them to belong to nightmares and fears. I want the blush on your face to be a gift for my eyes only, never the sign of a stress fever or a new infection."
"I want the best of you to be ours, and the worst of you to be mine. Let me be the only one who can make you cry. Let me be the only thing in the universe who could ever hurt you. And I promise, you'll smile forever."
"So don't say it back, until you know Red is back home."
The well has been drained of its waters, and the redhead collects the remaining gold in his hands, cradling the blonde’s face as the boy lets his hand fall to his knees.
"Oh, but Katsuki. Home is right here. And loving you is the most beautiful red I've ever been paint ed."
Tears find their pathways down the blond’s face, tracing him with intricate lines, the sun tinting them a warm yellow, like a vase that's been broken and reconstructed with gold.
Kintsugi, Eijirou recalls the name of such beautiful art.
/Katsuki/, he decides to call it now.
His thumbs trace underneath the golden boy's watery eyes, but instead of wiping the tears away, he smears them across those soft pink cheeks, watering his favorite rosy gardens.
"Say it. Oh God Ei please say it, I missed you so much please say it, say it, /say it/, say the words, say it back it, I love you so much, /say it back/." The blond boy is a sobbing mess, melting into relief and anticipation, disbelief and desperation, gasping for air, for Ei.
A warm and delicate smile graces the redhead's face, eyes filled with longing, ears ringing with just the melody of his lover, and the echo of words he has yet to speak out, but that every corner of his skull is desperately familiar with.
"I love you too, Katsuki."
One moment they're a reflection in the lake, and the next they're breaking the water's surface, finally breathing once more, as fingers find their anchors and lips reunite with their perfect pair.
The air once in one's lungs now circulates in the other's veins, melting into one system, one cycle, one breath and one heartbeat.
They gasp for resurrection, only to dive back into life, sinking into one another, flooding their senses with the feeling of becoming one.
If anyone would ask the lake in the future, it would just speak of two beings kissing, obviously in love.
But the sun, it would laugh, then it would smile, for it knows of all that it touches, and it has never touched two boys near a lake. No, it's only ever shone upon a bubble, a universe of one love, of every shade of red.
***