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Bakugou Katsuki can not remember a time when he wasn’t surrounded by people who loved him.
Well…that’s a lie. What he had all throughout his childhood was less like love and more like attention, pressure, expectation. The love he’s given now is not critical; it doesn’t lock him on a pedestal, demanding absolute perfection. It’s forgiving and patient. In his third year at Yuuei, Katsuki would say he has a pretty good grasp on what love looks like. So, it’s more like, the memories of his middle school peer’s idolization is foreign, unremarkable in the face of real, honest friends. Right now, he’s bracketed between Sero’s bed and the floor by pillows, blankets, and stuffed animals, empty shochu bottles, cooled ashtrays, and takeout bags strewn around the dorm.
The TV illuminates the dark room, the start screen to an old DVD plays on repeat, its jingle long since muted. Sero and Kaminari are curled up on the bed, faces lit by a Nintendo Switch. Ashido is draped across the blanket-padded floor, head resting on a bean bag. Jirou’s in the hammock, lazily scrolling her phone, losing her fight against drooping eyelids. And Kirishima. He koala-d Katsuki when he first sat down hours ago. Now, Kirishima’s held tightly to his middle, hiding his face in his lap. Katsuki’s carding his fingers through relaxed red hair, gently massaging his scalp. They’d been whispering back and forth throughout the movie, but if he’s honest, Katsuki hasn’t been able to focus on much. Just the sensation of Kirishima’s warm body draped across him and the giddy feeling that comes with it. He’s coming down from his high, now, but the lingering wooziness of weed still makes his head and arms feel like they’re floating. He feels Kirishima shift and he looks down, meeting the gaze of heavy eyelids. Red irises are almost imperceptible, Kirishima’s pupils blown wide. He’s furrowing his brows and scrunching his nose as he dazedly looks up at Katsuki.
“What’re you starin’ at?” Katsuki asks, voice low.
“We should go hiking,” Kirishima whispers back.
Katsuki snorts. “Not like this, we shouldn’t.”
“No, not like... Like, we’re graduating next month. We gotta celebrate. You don’t like big crowds, so no party. Hiking. Boom.” Kirishima closes his eyes as he speaks, focused on forming words. He twists in Katsuki’s lap, laying on his back to properly look up at him. “We should do a new one. Like, far away.”
“Out of country?” he asks, joking, but Kirishima’s eyes shoot open and he looks at Katsuki like he’s the smartest man on god’s green Earth.
“Yeaah,” he whisper-shouts.
“Nooo,” Katsuki whisper-shouts back and shakes his head. “I’m kidding. We don’t have that kinda money, dumbass.”
Kirishima pouts, closing his eyes again. Katsuki lets out an amused huff.
“We can take a week, 'Shima. Been thinkin’ ‘bout the Northern Alps, anyway. The Yomiuri Shindo route looks challenging. It’s an estimated five to six days, yeah? S’posed to be real beautiful, too.”
He nods at that, satisfied.The bed shifts above them, Sero wiggling out from under a snoring Kaminari. He slinks a foot to the floor, lowly croaking an exaggerated ‘scuuse me' and pads off to the ensuite. The pair watch him close the door, then look at each other and snort. It’s quiet for a while as Katsuki resumes carding through Kirishima’s hair.
“Ohh,” Kirishima groans through a yawn, quietly breaking the silence and lifting a hand to pinch blond strands between his fingers. “Y’know what I just ‘membered?”
“Hmm?”
“I hav’ta ask Fat for time off.” Kirishima’s eyes take on a faraway look, face suddenly screwing up in disgust. He slaps his hands over his eyes, whining, “I’m an adult now. Who…who has a job. An’…and PTO. Eugh, who am I?”
Katsuki chuckles, gently grabbing Kirishima’s wrists to reveal his face. He smiles at the pitiful look on his features.
“C’mon. Fatgum will give you time to adjust. I’m sure he’ll let you disappear into the mountains for a week before expecting you, young and seventeen, to be on salary.”
Kirishima steels his face and declares in a mockery of professionalism, “I’m a salaryman.”
Katsuki levels him a look, “Oh, come off it, you are the furthest thing from a salaryman. You could only dream of earning your paycheck in air conditioning.”
Kirishima huffs a laugh, wiggling Katsuki’s hands off his wrists and into his own. “You should work w’me.”
Kirishima looks at him with stars in his eyes, hope written across his giant puppy dog face. His eyelids still droop, an air of relaxation engulfing him with the remnants of alcohol and weed. His hands follow Katsuki’s when he takes one to push unruly bangs from Kirishima’s face, exposing the scar that tears through his eyebrow.
Katsuki smiles, toothy and sweet. Kirishima’s gaze follows his lips when he leans down to murmur quietly, “E, y’know Izuku and I are starting our own agency, yeah?”
Kirishima scoffs and rolls his eyes, then turns his head away from him, into his middle. Katsuki suppresses a barking laugh.
“Don’t pout.”
“‘M not pouting,” Kirishima mumbles into Katsuki’s stomach.
“Yes, you are.” He succumbs to the bubbling feeling, letting out a quiet chuckle. “You are so clearly pouting.”
“Move in with me, then.” Kirishima looks up with that same exact hope just seconds prior.
Katsuki sighs and really takes in his face. Kirishima is here, so open and honest, asking him to stay close, putting words to the feeling Katsuki is too afraid to even approach. It feels like desperation. To keep these people who mean the world to him only a doorstep down; with lively living rooms and dinner made by too many hands. He wonders if Kirishima feels the same.
“Okay,” Katsuki’s voice is no louder than a whisper, rough around the edges, “Yeah, okay. You better not choose some shitty box, though, ‘Shima. Else I’ll ditch your ass.” It’s all bark, but he’s got a reputation, dammit.
Elation floods Kirishima’s features, he sags his full weight into Katsuki, squeezing his waist in an organ-crushing hug. He stares openly with his dopey, toothy grin; eyes squinting shut with how wide he smiles, filled with mirth; the way he inhales his next breath like spring, all at once, directed at Katsuki. And, not for the first time, he thinks Kirishima is beautiful.
I’ll find the perfect place. Nothin’ less, man,” he says. Then, reverently, like a well worn secret held close to the chest, Katsuki just barely hears Kirishima murmur, “God, this’ll be great. I love you so much.”
Katsuki’s grin falters a little. Kirishima says that to everyone, he has to remind himself. Even if Kirishima has never said that to him before. Kirishima is drunk and high and he says that to everyone.
When he refocuses, he’s greeted by a wavering hand reaching for his jaw, determination etched across Kirishima’s exhausted face. His eyes are fuzzy and he’s clearly fighting sleep. Gently intercepting his path, Katsuki places Kirishima’s hand back onto his chest.
“You should go to bed, ‘Shima,” he says.
Kirishima groans, “‘M too tired. Just stay here.”
“I’m not sleeping on the floor.”
“Carry me.”
Sighing, Katsuki shifts them around so he can get a good grip. On the count of three, he lifts Kirishima up, who immediately moves to wrap his legs around Katsuki’s waist, latching on to any point of contact he can make. Katsuki is just finding his balance when the ensuite light clicks off and Sero emerges back into the dorm.
“Bed time?” he asks, amusement clear in his sleep-addled voice.
“Yeah, ‘m not sleepin’ on the floor,” Katsuki grunts out, hefting Kirishima up a little.
“Understandable. Night, man.” Sero waves them off, something on his face that screams ‘I know what you are’ that Katsuki isn’t sure what to think of. A nasty voice in the back of his mind spits that it’s pity. He just puffs out a breath in return, shutting the door quietly.
The elevator ride down a floor is mostly silent. Kirishima is tucked into the crook of Katsuki’s neck. He can feel every exhale of breath, warm against his skin. He wonders what it’d be like were he allowed to acknowledge the closeness, to encourage that warm breath closer. He knows this isn’t for him, though. This softness. He knows he’s just a warm body. Katsuki’s sure he’d act the same, were he in Kirishima’s place. When the elevator door opens, he pads his way to Kirishima’s dorm. He opens the door, doesn’t bother to turn the lights on, and carries Kirishima to his bed. Laying him down takes some effort, having to coax him into letting go of his shoulders, but eventually he does it. The battle’s almost over. Katsuki can retreat to his own room and never think about this night again. He pulls the covers up, and when he goes to stretch his shoulders, he feels Kirishima grab his bicep, keeping him close.
“Stay.” It’s mumbled into the pillow, one eye opened blearily, trying to meet his.
Removing the grip on his arm, Katsuki tucks the sheets higher, just under Kirishima’s chin.
“Can’t,” he mumbles, “Your bed’s too small and you’re too big. You’ll see me in the morning, E.” It’s a blatant lie, they both know the bed’s size was never an issue after three years of exhausting study sessions, game nights early into the morning, or dead-to-the-world nightmares.
Kirishima grumbles lightly, but lets it go. His eyes are shut and he wiggles further into his pillow. As Katsuki makes to leave, he hears a quiet, “Night, Katsu. Love you,” before Kirishima finally slips into sleep.
Katsuki’s chest constricts. There it is again. “Night,” he says, gruff. And when he’s back in his own dorm, he reminds himself that Kirishima says that to everyone. He lays down, determined not to think about it anymore. Kirishima is his best friend, of course he loves him. It’s whatever.
His heart can’t help but break a little.
He’d never admit to it, but when he first recognized the shift, it was frightening. Katsuki didn’t know what to do with the care these people showed him. Didn’t think himself deserving of it, really. What would the Great Explosion Murder God have to do with love? He didn’t need it. He’s just fine on his own. Right? Gone his whole life without it. He’s self-sustaining, so it doesn’t matter if people actually like him now. They’ll lose interest eventually, and it won’t matter because Katsuki didn’t need their attention in the first place.
Class A graduates, and Katsuki expects to lose contact with most of his peers. It takes half a year for Kirishima and him to move into an apartment together. Through the whirlwind of graduation, establishing themselves into the pro hero scene, buying an empty building worthy of an agency, taking sidekick gigs, it takes a while to save enough money for a housing down payment. But they do it, and it’s the first time in months Katsuki has something to really look forward to. The anticipation of seeing his friends again leaves him giddy.
Katsuki listens as Kirishima settles back down on the couch, maneuvering his legs as Kirishima sits so they rest over his lap. He’s content to lay on his side and let the room spin, head cushioned by a pillow on the armrest. Kaminari and Shinsou left some time ago, the exact numbers slipping away in the haze of good alcohol. They brought over a bottle of scotch to christen the new apartment. The Wolf Pack—he still has to kill Kaminari for making that stick—decided they’d throw a proper housewarming party tomorrow, much to Katsuki’s chagrin. He’d much rather unpack what feels like hundreds of boxes littering their hallway. But that’s morning Katsuki’s problem. Right now, nighttime Katsuki doesn’t have any and just gets to relax on his new couch, in his new apartment, with his new roommate who he’s crushing heavy over…whose room is right next to his, who he’ll share a morning routine with, share an intimate space with, who’s currently tapping a mindless rhythm onto his shins. Hm. Nighttime Katsuki might have more problems than he first thought.
“Hey, Katsuki,” Kirishima breaks the silence, interrupting his contemplation.
He grunts, unwilling to move his head from the armrest, his eyes remaining closed.
“I’ve been thinkin’.”
Katsuki snorts, quipping, “That’s no good.”
Kirishima groans and pinches his knee. Katsuki tries to kick at his stomach but Kirishima catches his leg and pins it down.
“I’ve been thinkin’ that movin’ here was a great decision. It’ll be like a…a sleepover, e’ryday,” Kirishima rambles. He’s lost count of how much he’s drunk, but it seems he’s elected to stop. Good, Katsuki thinks. He doesn’t want to juggle guests and a hungover Kirishima tomorrow.
“Mhm,” Katsuki replies. “Y’know, this’s basically like the dorms, yeah?”
“Well, sure. But it’s our home, too. That makes it—makes it different.”
Our home. Katsuki mulls over those words, running them over his tongue, tasting the promise they leave behind. It fills him with a warmth he never thought would be his. Lots of places have housed him, sure, but home has always been a faraway concept, something reserved for cliche rom-coms and late night yearning. He stays silent. Kirishima takes it as permission to keep going.
“Permanent sleepover. Like. Like, c’mon, yer just a room over. Don’t’cha think that’s special?”
“Yeah, like the dorms, dumbass,” Katsuki snickers, breaking out of his reverie and pushing his socked foot into Kirishima’s thigh. He doesn’t think this conversation is actually going anywhere, but boy is it entertaining to hear about Kirishima’s ‘revelation’.
“Mmm, we should make a fort. Play truth or dare,” he snickers. “Paint our nails and talk about boys. Then you’ll see.”
Katsuki snorts, “Okay, E.”
He twists onto his back, turning to face Kirishima. Kirishima looks over to him, his eyes are heavy and he has a playful grin plastered to his face. Katsuki smiles back, letting himself imagine, for a second, the future they’re working towards. He hasn’t brought it up yet, it’s way too early, but when he and Midoriya are properly recognized as capable pros—and their agency is finally renovated and organized and employed, all that jazz—Katsuki wants Kirishima to be by his side. Sure, he and Midoriya may be recognized by all of Japan as the Wonder Duo, but Kirishima is his unwavering horse. He’s Katsuki’s standard of strength, soft for those he loves, not so much for the ones he doesn’t, undeterred in the face of fear and resolute in being a pillar of stability.
Kirishima sighs and drapes himself over Katsuki. His weight settles over him, like the world’s heaviest security blanket. Kirishima is wrapping his arms around his middle, resting his head on his chest. “God, this’s great.” His rumbling voice reverberates through Katsuki. “Yer so nice. So…” he trails off for a second, collecting his thoughts, “I love you, ‘Tsuki.”
Katsuki takes a second to register what Kirishima just said. He’s thrown back a few months to that night everyone gathered in Sero’s dorm. He thought, maybe, that Kirishima had determined their relationship close enough to say ‘I love you’ like the rest of their friends. That he’d have to get used to hearing it from him so casually. But, Kirishima didn’t say anything the next morning and Katsuki hadn’t been elevated to any form of a higher status. As if it was just a fluke, or the alcohol. Kirishima never said it after that night, and Katsuki pretended not to think about it. But here they are again, Kirishima saying words Katsuki doesn’t trust.
“So much, y’know that?” Kirishima continues, oblivious to Katsuki’s inner turmoil. “Yer always pushin’ me…pushin’ me to be good.” Kirishima’s rambling, and his weight is really coming down full force onto Katsuki. He must be falling asleep. “Y’make me good.”
Katsuki averts his gaze as he listens. If he’s being honest, his words hurt a little. Kirishima is wonderful, outgoing, and empathetic. He’s always giving words of encouragement, always doing his best to set the gold standard example of a good man, a good friend, a good hero. Katsuki is anything but: brash and brazen, uncaring of how rude he comes off to people, unchecked in his language, his mannerisms. Sure, he’s determined, dedicated, he’s a fine hero, but he’s not kind like Kirishima, he isn’t gentle or patient. If anything, Kirishima’s the one keeping Katsuki in check. Where does he get off telling Katsuki it’s him that makes him good?
Bringing his hands to Kirishima’s arms to stabilize himself, he grunts out, “What’re you talking ‘bout, Red? You’re great on yer own.” Kirishima just hums, wiggling further into Katsuki to get comfortable. He’s warm, and gentle, and all-encompassing. It’s unfair. He’s hung up on that confession, still dealing with the whiplash of Kirishima’s other declaration. He gives in to the fantasy of having this fully. Being the person that really does make Kirishima better. The person that’s made better by Kirishima. Partnership, give and take, building each other up when all they can do is fall down. Wishing this were his, then realizing the dangerous path that set of thoughts leads to, he pats Kirishima’s shoulder twice.
“You’re a caring hero, Red. And a heavy one, too.”
Kirishima huffs and wiggles further into Katsuki’s chest. He’s tired, and loose, and he knows he’ll say something he’ll regret if he stays here. He pokes Kirishima’s shoulder again.
“Up, ‘Shima. We got guests in the morning.”
Kirishima huffs and slinks off Katsuki, now halfway on the couch, halfway on the floor. “Cancel it,” he groans, muffled by the rug.
“Sober you’ll be pouty all day if we do that. C’mon, drink a glass of water. It’s bedtime,” Katsuki says as he sits up, nudging Kirishima on the floor. When Katsuki stands, Kirishima shoots his arms up and makes grabby hands. Sighing, Katsuki lifts him up and supports his weight while he finds his footing. Kirishima pats his back before wobbling over to the kitchen. Katsuki watches him as he pours himself a glass. He chugs it, and Katsuki finds him ridiculous. “Go pee before conking out, yer gonna be up in the middle of the night if not.”
“Aye, aye,” Kirishima salutes him, clunking his cup into the sink.
Katsuki huffs, snarling at his noisy mind when it mocks him, the Great Dynamight, for being so desperate. This better not become a damn habit.
Over the course of the next few months, Katsuki saw the Wolf Pack more and more thanks to Kirishima’s insistence. Living with someone who actually puts effort into maintaining his relationships changes Katsuki. He’s still unsure if it’s for the better, but he spends more of his time out on the town now, so he supposes something good must come of it. Some of his days off are still spent at home doing his own thing, but even then, he’s not completely alone. The apartment is rarely quiet, there’re always footsteps or moving objects, soft muttering, music playing or the TV running. It doesn’t bother him as much as he thought it would. It’s comforting. Keeps the worries of isolation at bay. He doesn’t know when he started worrying about that, being left alone for the rest of his life. He used to think it’d be a blessing to not be bothered by any extras yammering away just to hear themselves talk and waste his time. But, he’s grown now, and with that comes maturity. He doesn’t mind when Kirishima makes mindless chatter, unconsciously narrating what he’s doing or recalling some unexpected encounter he had on patrol when he comes home. He can’t really complain about Sero’s commentary while watching movies, or when Kaminari and Ashido bait him into a debate on All Might’s best era, when they whine to him about how much paperwork they have. He doesn’t hate it, not after having gone without them all for so long. He didn’t expect to miss them as much as he did.
A year passes and he’s reminded once again of that night, a month prior to graduation. This time, it's of the intense want that washed over him when Kirishima asked about living together. Of keeping his friends close. He’s accepted that feeling now, giving himself the grace to acknowledge he, too, is allowed good things. Katsuki likes to think his life is good.
Quietly, Katsuki absorbs his surroundings: muted clinking of glasses against the wooden table, the smell of beer, the sound of people talking, laughing, quiet music and the steady hum of the aircon. It’s all familiar. The waiter smiles at the table as he asks if they need anything else. Katsuki turns his gaze to his friends as a ring of ‘no thank you’s’ chime out and wonders why he’s here on a Tuesday night.
He knows why. His why is sitting across from him in the other booth, laughing and talking and smiling with their friends. Kirishima had just come back from a successful away-mission, one that took months to gather intel, plan, and organize; one that took three weeks to actually execute; three weeks spent in the field, three weeks spent thousands of miles away from Katsuki.
Thinking back all those months ago, he remembers how Kirishima looked so ragged every time he came home from Fatgum’s agency. He’d tell Katsuki all he was allowed to. How it started off as an unassuming case against drug imports. How it involved a handful of pharmacies and now there was paperwork on withdrawing medical licensing and how confusingly complicated filling everything out was for the action oriented, number one paperwork hater. How they found a whistleblower and it became so much worse than just drugs, because now there are children’s lives involved. And, as Kirishima kept talking, more waves of panic would crash over him because this case reminded him of high school and the yakuza raid Katsuki only heard about.
It reminded him of Eri. And now that he’s talking about Eri, he’s recounting how her case reminded him of his younger sisters, that it took so much out of him to witness her situation, unable to stop imagining his sisters in her place as he laid awake in his bed at the dorms, mind whirring a mile a minute, wondering if they were safe, when he’d see them next, and as he kept talking he kept spiralling further and further.
Katsuki did everything he could every night to calm him, to ease the fear that he wasn’t doing enough to push this case forward, to remind him that everything would be okay because he cared so much, because he was working on it, because so many heroes were working on it. Everything he whispered into the dead of night, holding a shaking, anxious ball of Kirishima, one strung so tight, begging to snap, turned out true. Everything ended just fine like Katsuki promised. The heroes were successful, the criminals were detained, the children were rescued. And for the cherry on top, the gold star on Kirishima’s report, absolutely no casualties. No one died.
Kirishima came home exhausted Monday night.
When the Wolf Pack caught wind of his return, they invited everyone to their favorite izakaya to celebrate. So here he is, instead of the day he planned on—lazing around the apartment with Kirishima, helping him recalibrate his nervous system to their no-stress daily routine again—he’s sitting in a sticky booth, at a half-cleaned table littered with glasses filled to the brim with alcohol and baskets upon baskets of fried food.
“To Red Riot!” Ashido cheers, lifting her tallboy up. The rest follow suit, shouting out various reworkings of Ashido’s congratulations to Kirishima and raising their respective glasses up high.
“Thank you!” Kirishima exclaims, taking a swig of his cocktail.
“Man, we’re so glad you’re back! And in one piece! I can only imagine how difficult being out there for more than a week was,” Kaminari says, leaning to nudge Kirishima with his shoulder.
“Yeah, I’m happy to be back,” Kirishima replies at the same time Sero mumbles, “Maybe we should talk about something else.”
Ashido takes that as her cue. “Hey, hey! Let’s go around the table and all say one thing we’re looking forward to this week. I’ll go first. I~” and she draws out the vowel in suspense, “am buying a house in the suburbs! Yay! I’ll be a little farther away from you boys,” she smiles sympathetically at Sero and Kaminari but pushes on, “ Bu~ut, a house means more space, so more room for hangouts! And, I’ll finally have a yard!”
“Oh hey! That’s great! We can have proper camp fires now, huh? What’s the bed-bath situation?” Jirou asks.
“Okay, so technically it has three bedrooms and two bathrooms, but I’m thinking of making the third bed a craft room instead.”
“Oh damn, this is like a house house, huh?”
“When did we get excited about homeownership?” Kirishima mutters, looking like he’s entering some quarter-life crisis. “Are we really that old?”
Kaminari just pats Kirishima’s shoulder comfortingly.
“Me next!”
As the prompt makes its way around the group, Katsuki starts to space out. It’s late, and all that worry for Kirishima is catching up, and he knows Kirishima would rather be at home than anywhere public; but the man has no concept of when to say no, so of course he said yes, I’d love to get drinks with you guys, what time do you wanna meet? instead of the no that Katsuki attempted to bore into his brain by staring really, really hard when listening to that phone call.
“What about you, Blasty?” Ashido asks, expectantly.
Katsuki flounders a little, not expecting to be addressed. “I’m looking forward to the shots I’m about to order.”
That earns him some cheers, some whoops, a laugh or two. It wasn’t a joke, but whatever. Leaving the booth, suddenly everyone wants to order something. He ignores all their requests, shouting over his shoulder, “You’re all getting tequila, ya bastards!”
A shameful amount of shots in and not being at home starts looking just fine to Katsuki. He’s not blasted, but he’s definitely relaxed far more than he’d be sober. He doesn’t even mind all the excited yelling of his tablemates, and how, even after he tapped out, most kept going. Kirishima’s got himself in a drinking contest with Kaminari as Ashido and Sero place bets. Jirou is smart, Katsuki thinks, when she decides to stay out of it.
Indulgent in the atmosphere of appreciating Kirishima and all his accomplishments tonight, Katsuki orders everyone karaage and yakitori when the man simply asks. He just rolls his eyes at the loud cheering from, what must look like to anyone, five children freaking out over mom buying ice cream. Through the clamor of loud whoops and slurred gratitude, one voice rings much more prominent than the rest.
“I love you so much, Katsuki! Thank you!” Kirishima shouts, then leans into Sero, voice just as loud despite the close proximity. “I’m so excited for this fried chicken, holy shit. I could kiss him.”
Sero snickers and pushes Kirishima away by his face.
Katsuki scoffs as he takes in the admission. Kissing Kirishima sounds nice—great, even. His lips are chapped, but he doubts Kirishima would care. He thinks about Kirishima’s teeth, and how fun they’d be, nipping at his lips, his tongue, his skin. He wonders if Kirishima would bite him, if Katsuki asked. No. He has to stop entertaining that rabbit-hole. Kirishima is drunk and Katsuki has just ordered meat, of course Kirishima is thrilled. He’d say, do, much more for food. It doesn’t actually mean anything. Shaking himself from his thoughts, he looks up to see Ashido staring at him as though she can read every self-indulgent, fantastical scenario Katsuki has. He hates that look, hates how he knows she knows, hates how much alcohol lowers his guard. After placing their order, he excuses himself to the restroom.
He’s washing his hands when the bathroom door behind him opens. In the mirror he sees a mass of pink.
“Ashido Mina, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asks, irritated that she’s caught him alone and vulnerable. He’s confident smoke would be billowing from his nose like a bull as he exhales, were his quirk slightly to the left, just a little more fiery.
Ashido shrugs, doesn’t wait for him to dry his hands, and pulls him into the corridor. “Just here to say what everyone already knows, Blasty,” she declares, “Apparently, everyone but you.” That last part is muttered. “You can’t be that dense, Katsuki, c’mon. Listen to what he’s telling you!”
“What?” he scoffs. “Drunk words, sober thoughts? Is that really what you’re saying to me right now?”
“Yes! That’s exactly what I am saying. God, you are so difficult.”
“No. This isn’t that, Mina. This isn’t some silly little rom-com you get to tune in to on your days off. Not something you can send a vote in and sway to your liking. Kirishima is drunk. I ordered him food. And he just says things. It doesn’t mean anything. So leave it.”
“But it would if he weren’t drunk? Would you believe it then, or does he ‘just say things’ sober, too?” she accuses, exasperation lacing her tone.
Katsuki presses his lips into a thin line, breathing deep, and just stares at Ashido. The whole point is he doesn’t say anything while sober. He can’t believe he’s having this conversation with her right now. He can’t believe how easily she slipped past all the walls he’s built up and is now looking directly at him; all his tightly held insecurities and deep-seated fears just up for display, laid nice and pretty for her to pick through. He’s going to say something he’ll regret if he starts a fight here. He knows she won’t stop prodding ‘til she gets the answer she’s looking for, and he’d rather be sober, when he has stronger defenses. So he stares, and fumes, and wracks his brain for anything that’ll end this conversation quick.
“It’s not like that,” he settles on. “We’re friends. Nothing more.”
Ashido just groans, loud and irritated. She looks like she’s about to retort but Katsuki is done. He turns around and walks back to the table, but not before hearing her shout.
“But you want more. Don’t you?”
The fascinating thing about it is Katsuki didn’t expect to find love for himself. For so long, he functioned off of the assumption that those allowances were not his to have. Whether platonic or romantic, love stayed an arms length away. Truthfully, it didn’t evade him so much as he just didn’t know how to handle it. It wasn’t until Kirishima entered his life that Katsuki no longer had a choice in the matter. Kirishima showered him with such devotion that it was impossible to avoid. And he brought so much love into Katsuki’s life, opened his eyes to how much it surrounded him. He thinks his younger self foolish having turned his nose up at what he deemed unnecessary. Nowadays, he can’t imagine any other future, any other life.
It’s not just receiving love. Katsuki has spent plenty of time learning to reciprocate what he’s given. He learns his friends' favorite dishes, cooks them when one celebrates a victory. He carries fruit in his gym bag for Kirishima because Katsuki knows he gets peckish after working out. And he makes sure Ashido always has salt pills on hand after overusing her quirk.
Katsuki listens to the bands Jirou talks about, taking note of parts he likes and lyrics that stand out, and he watches the movies Kaminari and Sero constantly reference.
He puts effort into embodying the person his friends see him as.
Katsuki shuts the faucet off, placing his plate on the drying rack. Heaving a weighted sigh, he sinks into the couch, body boneless, stomach sated, eyelids heavy. He worked a late shift, getting home well past sunset. Now, he waits for Kirishima to come home. He had the day off and decided to spend it with some of their friends. Katsuki was ever so thoughtfully included on his adventures through periodic text messages, but he hasn’t received any updates in a few hours. His thoughts are interrupted by his phone ringing. It’s Sero. They must’ve gone to a bar or something.
“Yo, Katsuki. Come get yer mutt, man thinks he’s a lap dog. Sho’s reached his limit and Denks is too busy nodding off to give ‘im enough attention.”
Sighing, Katsuki grumbles, “He’s not a mutt.”
That earns him a bellow of laughter. “Not denying he’s yours? ”
“Shut it, or I’ll change the locks and sic him on yer ass.”
“Whatever you say, man. We’re at the Steel Tooth.”
Tacky ass nightclub. “Be there in fifteen.”
The drive over is quiet, typical 11PM traffic. Katsuki is a bit miffed. He’s tired from a long day and he’s dreading his early morning. The Steel Tooth is a popular joint, and it’s always crowded, no matter what day of the week it is. Katsuki parks a few blocks away and walks towards the nightclub, hunched over and scowling. It smells like cheap vodka and puke. As he nears the entrance, what can only be described as a mutt tackles him. Kirishima wraps himself around Katsuki, trying to engulf him completely. Sero is a few steps behind, chuckling as Todoroki releases a relieved sigh.
“God, you weren’t kidding,” Katsuki gripes as he stumbles back, accommodating the added weight. Kirishima smothers him, way bigger than he remembers. He’s pushing his face into Katsuki’s hair, nosing behind his ear.
“Alright,” he coughs out. He can feel his face flame. “Who else needs a ride, then?”
Sero shakes his head and points at the lug. “Just Eijirou. Sho refused to get into the car with him.”
Katsuki can hear Kirishima tisk.
“Mhmm, and you’re good to drive?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“One hundred percent.”
“‘S only had Diet Pepsi the whole night,” Kaminari croaks out. He’s sitting close by, leaning against the club’s wall. His eyes are closed and he’s bent his neck oddly in a disastrous attempt at getting comfortable.
“Eugh, Elbows. Gross,” Katsuki jeers. Sero only shrugs, wrapping his arm around Todoroki. He leans down to ask if they’re ready to go. Todoroki nods, then turns to Katsuki.
“Thanks,” he says, exhaustion evident in that one syllable.
“Yeah, don’t mention it.” Katsuki nods. He turns his head the best he can to eye Kirishima. “Alright, ya big baby, let’s get you home.” Kirishima wiggles his face further into the crook of Katsuki’s neck, breathing deep. Katsuki gives a stilted nod goodbye to Sero and Co. and starts maneuvering them back to his car. Kirishima is mumbling something into his skin and Katsuki is sure he can feel the heat radiating from his full body flush.
“I can’t stand you,” he murmurs absently, not intending for Kirishima to actually hear him.
“M’ sorry. Jus’ warm, man.”
Katsuki’s stride stutters, he pauses to readjust his hold, then keeps walking. He tries to ignore what Kirishima says, reminding himself that he’s drunk and not thinking clearly. He can’t ignore the feeling of lips on his skin; not those lips moving, forming words, the brush of teeth, a little tongue.
“Yer real good t’me, Kats. I like you.”
They’re halfway to the car. Katsuki can do this. Just ignore it, he yells to himself.
“I like when y’hold me. Think about this a lot. Bein’ close.” Kirishima turns his cheek into Katsuki’s neck, his nose resting under his chin. Katsuki can feel his eyelashes tickle when he blinks.
“‘Shima, you gotta hush. You’re embarrassing yourself,” Katsuki tries to upkeep his walls, to protect his heart from hearing something that he’ll never truly get. He doesn’t know why Kirishima tells him these things only when he’s drunk; only when it’s late; only when it’s dark. Maybe it’s the haze of alcohol, makes Katsuki look like someone else; maybe it’s the hour, someone easy in the evening; maybe it’s the dark. He’s not someone desirable in the daylight, that’s for sure.
“‘M not embarrassed.” A moment passes. “Say someth’n’ again. Like yer voice.”
Katsuki suppresses what’s guaranteed to be a mortifying sound. He refuses to let that do him in. He doesn’t say anything, prays that if he ignores Kirishima, that if he doesn’t entertain what he’s saying, he’ll shut up.
“Kaaat,” he lolls his head to Katsuki’s shoulder and holds his jaw with his left hand. Katsuki stares resolutely ahead, eyes on the car. Kirishima leans close, his mouth right next to his ear. “Like the mouth yer voice comes out of,” he whispers, resting his lips into the skin behind Katsuki’s ear, his hand has returned to clutch at his shoulders, holding him close. He feels the press of lips.
It can’t be considered a kiss, he’s too drunk for that kind of coordination. But his heart knows what it’s supposed to be. Katsuki can’t fucking do this. The car is right there. “Kirishima, stop,” his voice falters, “You…I ca—I don’t want this right now. I won’t be some drunken mistake.”
“Nooo, not mistake. Not drunk.”
A few yards, a few strides, the car, some salvation. Katsuki really can’t do this.
“Yes, drunk. You’re fuckin’ wasted, ’Shima. You can’t walk. You’re slurring, you’re bratty, you can’t even fuckin’ kiss right,” Katsuki objects. He’s struggling to think straight.
“Show me then.”
“No.” The car, finally. Katsuki opens the backseat door, places Kirishima behind the passenger seat and fights the seat belt lock trying to yank it over him. He takes a deep breath, in and out, gently clicking him in this time. Fuck.
Kirishima watches him with big eyes the whole time, watery. He looks like a scolded kid. “I love you,” he whispers, his voice watery, too.
Katsuki watches him while he gathers his thoughts, trying to hold onto patience. “Don’t cry, Shitty Hair. It can’t be that bad,” he tries to joke, self-deprecatingly. Because what else can he do? Break down? Beat the shit out of a drunk man? Confess? No way.
“I upset you.”
Patience, he reminds himself, he’s your best friend and he’s drunk. “I‘m not upset.”
“But ‘m back here?”
“Yeah, so you can lay down. The house is twenty minutes away, you’re gonna fall asleep.”
“Wanna be next t’you.”
Katsuki laughs at that, not unkindly, “I’m not even gonna be a foot away from you, dumbass. I gotta get us home.”
“Okay. I love you.”
Katsuki closes the door. He prays that Kirishima is blackout. God, he wishes he could be blackout drunk, too. Fuck this night.
Katsuki fought long and hard over this whole love business. Went from thinking he didn’t need it to feeling it daily. He tried to convince himself that what he felt towards Kirishima was just a passing phase. A fool’s errand, really. It’s been years now, and his devotion has really only gotten stronger.
In their later years of high school, Todoroki sheepishly pulled him aside one afternoon, claiming he had something important he wanted to tell Katsuki, citing their closeness as comforting and safe. Of which, Katsuki didn’t really believe. With little fanfare, Todoroki came out as asexual, said it took some time to figure out and now he wanted to tell his close friends. Katsuki simply replied saying they weren’t friends, and thought nothing of it since. Except, looking back, maybe he should have listened closer to Todoroki, because he’s starting to think that he’s probably something like that too, at least in any way it matters. He’s sure Kirishima is it for him. And whether Kirishima truly returns his feelings is null and void in the face of his commitment. Katsuki comes to the realization that he just wants Kirishima in his life, no matter how that may be. He’ll settle for friend, colleague, roommate, if that means they stay close. It’s good enough for him. At least, that's what he tells himself.
The problem arises when Kirishima gets himself drunk, because words like ‘love’ bleed from his lips like an open wound. It’s a decently rare occurrence, enough that Katsuki can trick himself into thinking it’s manageable. Kirishima doesn’t talk about it the next day, even when Katsuki knows for a fact he remembers. All of these inconsistencies give credence to his growing suspicions that Kirishima is either messing with him, which makes him an asshole, or he’s clued in to Katsuki’s feelings and is testing the waters, which is a horrible way to do it, especially if Kirishima realizes he isn’t into Katsuki like that, because he’s really getting his hopes up with this, which also makes him an asshole.
Katsuki supposes he should just talk to Kirishima about it. But what happens when he embarrasses himself to no end, forever destabilizing their friendship and has to flee the country and change his name? Kirishima is the one saying that shit, he should be the one to start the conversation, Katsuki decides. It’s only fair.
Katsuki motions for Uraraka to top off his glass. As he watches her pour champagne, Midoriya stands from the low table, clearing his throat.
“So, uh, I’d just like to thank you all for coming over to celebrate Kacchan and I’s grand opening of the Two Pillars Agency. It really means the world to me that you all have supported us in this undertaking and I am so thankful that we have you guys as such great friends. Yeah. Thank you,” he bows quickly before sitting back down.
The living room of no more than four other people applaud his speech.
“Beautiful words, Izuku. You’ve brought tears to my eyes,” Katsuki drawls, wiping at his dry cheek.
“Ugh, Kacchan, it’s no—I just wanted to say something nice.” Midoriya rolls his eyes.
“So formal,” Todoroki mumbles.
“Well. I, for one, thought it was manly! Hell yeah, we’re all here to support ‘n celebrate!” Kirishima raises his glass. Uraraka belatedly speeds to clink hers against Kirishima’s before they both take a swig, giggling at each other.
Swallowing, Uraraka says, “Yeah, Deku, of course we’re here for you both. This is a momentous step in your career!” Todoroki nods.
“Okay, guys, I get it, the speech was unnecessary. Let’s just, like, stuff our faces with pizza and crack open this board game I’ve been dying to play,” Midoriya huffs, a little embarrassed.
After everyone’s settled with seconds, a few who got thirds, the living room’s atmosphere is pleasantly relaxed. Katsuki, Uraraka, and Kirishima are still sitting on cushions at the low table. Midoriya and Todoroki opted for the couch after they finished off their plates, the latter nursing his nth glass. The TV plays a forgotten K-Drama, the table is now not only littered with paper plates and champagne flutes but an abandoned board game too—the group too engrossed in conversation to concern themselves with traditional party entertainment.
“Noo, because I had such a puppy crush on you! In…uhmum…oh Izu, when was it?”
“Second year, third quarter.”
“Yeah, yeah, that sounds about right. And it was the most awkward, confusing thing in all of ever,” Todoroki yammers on, pointing accusingly at Katsuki, flush high on his cheeks. “I had no idea what I was feeling until I spoke to Ochaco about it!”
“I remember!” she laughs, “Gosh, you were so stiff about it too.”
“Yeah, and then? Then! I had to grieve the fact that not only was I gay, kinda, but also! Also! That I was gay for you!” he says, amused frustration lacing his voice. Katsuki bursts out laughing, unable to keep it in any longer. Todoroki is drunk, and when he’s comfortable, all he does is talk. All the walls fall and he becomes a blabbermouth.
“It really pissed me off. But, then I thought about it. I thought about it!” He raises his hand. “And I knew it’d piss my dad off too. So,” he shrugs, “I felt better.”
“Jesus, you thought about using me to fuel your teenage familial revenge plot? That’s cold, princess. No regard to my poor, fragile heart?” Katsuki laughs, feigning a hurt hand to his chest, poking the bear.
“Bakugou, your heart is anything but fragile,” Uraraka butts in.
Snorting, Midoriya raises a finger in the air, clearing his throat, “Okay, but actually, it is.” Katsuki gestures talking with his hand, mouth snapping open and closed, mocking Midoriya’s voice, “Erm actually—shaddup, my heart condition is none of your concern.”
“He says, to his emergency contact,” Midoriya snarks to the rest of the group, hand hiding his mouth like it’s a scandal.
“Y’know who else I liked?” Todoroki doesn’t wait for a response, “Hanta.”
The group collectively groans.
“We know, Icyhot,” Katsuki gripes, “I had to hear both sides of that.”
“Okay,” Uraraka interrupts, “Okay, hear me out. What…did we think…of Power Loader?”
Katsuki spits out some of his drink, hacking up a lung at the same time Midoriya says, “Hear her out, hear her out.”
“No, because Tenya wouldn’t stop talking about him for a good month after our first year’s final exams, and that man is straight.”
“I mean, he is skilled with his hands,” Todoroki says.
“He’s a twink!” Katsuki exclaims. Todoroki only shrugs.
“Ehh? I’d say he’s more twunkish? Doesn’t matter. If we’re talking about ‘hear-me-outs’...” Midoriya starts. Katsuki slaps a hand over his face. He doesn’t want to hear about Deku’s freaky-ass takes, especially if it’s in regards to their old teachers. He’s content to just zone out while the rest entertain themselves. He’s not one to talk about crushes, hear-me-outs, or hot-or-nots. Broadcasting his preferences makes him squirm, not comfortable in sharing the vulnerability of something he deems as intimate as romance. He’s not even sure if he’s ever talked directly about his feelings for Kirishima to anyone. The only person he finds himself comfortable with the hypothetical of talking about that to is, well, Kirishima. And he’s not about to spill his guts to the object of his affliction—affection—whatever. He watches the man in question look back and forth between whoever’s talking. He’s relaxed, propped up on an elbow laying on his side, swaying a little in place. He has a lazy smile on his face, and his cheeks are rosy. Katsuki stares, unabashedly, drinking in how handsome Kirishima is. He watches as Kirishima nods along to the speaker, and at one point, covers his mouth after a laugh barks through. This is when Katsuki tunes his attention back onto the discussion at hand, immediately regretting it.
“Fine! Whatever, but that doesn’t change the fact he’s still the successor of the Nighteye Agency! That adds, like, at least ten points.”
Suddenly very thankful that he hadn’t been paying attention to the shit Midoriya was saying about Centipeder, he shouts, “Oh my god. He’s a bug!”
“He’s a man from the waist down!” Midoriya snaps, not missing a beat as he continues defending his stance to Todoroki.
Kirishima gasps, then. Vocalizing his shock in quick hums before tapping Uraraka on her shoulder repeatedly. She leans over, turning to face him. He pulls his hand up to shield his mouth as he whispers into her ear. Katsuki sees her cover her own mouth with two hands, valiantly suppressing giggles. Kirishima is no better, rolling off his elbow and onto the floor behind her in his own mirth. Uraraka leans down a second later, her hair falling in front of her face, inadvertently covering her mouth, and whispers something back. Kirishima’s cheeks bloom a ruddy blush, and he throws an arm over his face to hide. A drawn out groan comes out before he shoots up and shakes Uraraka’s shoulders, excitedly whispering back. As Katsuki watches their exchange, he can’t help the ugly green thing bubbling up in his stomach. Jealous he wasn’t the one Kirishima was leaning into, trusting him with secrets, whispering in his ear, feeling his breath ghost across his cheek.
Kirishima must say something because the next thing Katsuki watches is Uraraka gasp. She smacks his arm and shouts, “Kiri!!”
Uraraka is laughing and Kirishima’s face is beet red. Suddenly looking so incredibly sober, she snaps her mouth shut and whips her head to stare at Kirishima, wide eyed. She lets out a pitiful sound and exclaims, “Wait! No. Kiri, no! That’s terrible!”
“No! No! ‘S really not!” Kirishima says through laughter. “Don’t gimme that look! C’mon ‘Raka, serious!”
Katsuki leans forward, desperate to know what they’re talking about, intent to figure it out. He wonders what Kirishima could say to garner that kind of reaction from Round Cheeks.
“You should say something!” She shakes his shoulder.
Kirishima laughs at that, though, to Katsuki, it sounds a little strained. “I have.”
“Say what?” Midoriya asks, intrigued by the vagueness of their clearly private conversation. Not that Katsuki is any better.
“Oh! Uhhm…” Uraraka hesitates, looking from Kirishima to Midoriya, then back at Kirishima. He’s chuckling, a little nervous, but his lazy smile is beaming.
“You ‘er sayin’ about your crushes, right?” Kirishima looks at Todoroki and laughs, “And it just reminded me of my very successful one.” He laughs again before looking at Katsuki, and his brain screams who? While he doesn’t talk about this type of thing, he’s pretty sure this is right up Kirishima’s alley, all in tune with his feelings and shit. But he’s never said anything about a relationship before? For all Katsuki knew, Kirishima never brought anyone home, never talked about a new person, didn’t really dress up for any unknown occasion.
“Oh! I didn’t know you had a partner!” Midoriya enthuses, leaning in. Kirishima smiles wider, if that’s possible, and doesn’t break Katsuki’s gaze as he barks out a laugh. “Ha! No, no! Not par’ner.” He turns to Midoriya then, his look conspiratorial. “He’s too stubborn.”
Midoriya furrows his brows and curls his lips in a frown, sympathy in his eyes like he understands. “Like a talking stage you can’t break?” he asks.
Kirishima thinks for a moment, eyes flitting to stare at the ceiling, rocking side to side. He’s concentrating really hard on whatever’s running through his head, face all scrunched up. He hums his uncertainty. “Uhhm, I…am not sure, actually?” He looks back to Midoriya. “Sometimes,” and he laughs loud and boisterous, swaying a little, “Sometimes! I think he’s repressed, ‘n just doesn't realize it.”
Katsuki rolls his eyes. Whoever this mystery guy is isn’t worth Kirishima’s time. If Kirishima is dedicating himself to a relationship with someone who won’t even acknowledge him, he’s gonna get hurt. He wears his heart on his sleeve, offering it to anyone who asks. This guy doesn’t deserve Kirishima—loving, exuberant, devoted Kirishima.
“But s’okay, ‘cause I love him for just how he is, emotion’ly stunted ‘n all.”
“Who,” Katsuki finally speaks, voice gruff. He meant for that to come out as a question, but, blame it on the alcohol, or whatever. He’s ready to kill a man for toying with his best friend.
Kirishima turns his full attention to him, even his body turns to face him. He’s still smiling, still huffing out laughter, still swaying contentedly. He looks elated that Katsuki’s taken an interest in this conversation. Kirishima stares at him from across the table with so much mirth. And the next word that drips out, so sweetly, honey coated and heady, absolutely ruins Katsuki’s night.
“You.”
The table is dead silent. Katsuki frowns as the words settle.
Slowly, his veins turn to ice as realization hits him. The thing is, Kirishima really isn’t drunk at all, tipsy, maybe, but a glass or two doesn’t do much anymore, not since they were younger. Memories flash through his mind, recounting everything he overlooked, ignored, overthought then put away, refused to read into. And he’s disappointed in himself, angry with himself; for not seeing it, for not taking the time to actually look and actually listen.
He’s loath to admit Ashido might’ve had a point.
He doesn’t say a word, just stands up and walks out the door.
The next morning, Katsuki wakes up to a loud clatter coming from the kitchen. The smell of bacon wafts through his bedroom door. Kirishima is making an American style breakfast, Katsuki knows. Back at Yuuei, he confessed to Katsuki in the quiet of his bedroom, after one of the worst nightmares Katsuki ever had, that his moms would make omelets the morning after a rough night. Always filled to the brim with cheese, tomatoes, bacon, onions, mushrooms, bell peppers; anything that they had stocked, if it was savory, it went in. The next morning, far before anyone else woke up, Kirishima walked Katsuki down to the kitchens and made omelets for him. They were gross, greasy, falling apart, and so, so good. In the following years, Kirishima gained ample time to practice. His omelets are near perfect now, his technique is immaculate; and while eating them is still a messy ordeal, the ingredients are perfectly cooked and the eggs reliably hold their shape.
Katsuki groans, guilt wracking his whole chest. His head hurts, his heart hurts. Going over the order of events last night, he knows what his reaction looked like. He’s not stupid. It was all just too much at once. He needed fresh air and a clear head, some time to re-compartmentalize everything. Now, he needs to handle damage control.
Katsuki trudges into the kitchen, yawning. He moves to sit at their island counter and notices the kitchen has gone silent. Kirishima is watching him nervously, wringing his hands on the hem of his shirt, not quite meeting his eye.
“You’ll burn the bacon, pay attention ‘Shima,” Katsuki says, breaking the tension. Kirishima sags at hearing the nickname, turning back to the stove.
“Sorry if I woke you up. Dropped a pan.”
“S’fine.”
Katsuki stays seated, diligently watching Kirishima. Kirishima stays at the stove, diligently watching the food. The sun filters through the open window. Birds chirp outside and they can hear cars passing by. The bacon sizzles in its pan.
Kirishima clears his throat. Here it comes.
He flips the bacon, letting it scream as he moves to crack some eggs. Katsuki stays seated. Minutes pass. The ambient noise of cooking is all that fills their apartment. The bacon smells good, having been set aside to cool. Kirishima grabs a few strips and chops them up, adding them to the first omelet, along with diced tomatoes, cheese, and red bell peppers. He’s flipping the second one when he clears his throat again. Katsuki tenses in anticipation.
“Y’want orange juice or coffee?” Kirishima asks, setting the spatula down and walking towards the fridge.
Katsuki coughs. “Orange juice is fine.”
“‘Kay.”
Silence settles again.
Wishing he could heave the most agonized sigh known to man, Katsuki knows, knows, that Kirishima won’t bring up last night. He didn’t bring it up four months ago, either; and he didn’t bring it up last year, not twice in the four years since. Kirishima doesn’t talk about it.
The omelets are plated. His cup of orange juice is poured. The stove is off and the fridge is closed. Kirishima is putting cookware in the sink and grabbing napkins. Katsuki makes a decision. He stands up.
“‘Shima,” Katsuki says.
He hums, but doesn’t turn around.
“Eijirou.”
Eijirou hesitantly looks over his shoulder. He’s tense, looks ready to flee. Insecurity washes over Katsuki, then. He’s starting to believe that Eijirou really was just messing with him, that his confession will be followed by some comment about how it was all a joke, that he shouldn’t take things too seriously and now he’s made it weird. Before he can get a word in, Eijirou blurts out an apology.
“I’m sorry. About last night. I was out of line. Please, just forget I said anything.” He’s closed his eyes, bracing for impact. Katsuki just feels lost, a little hurt, a little hopeful, a lotta confused. “It just, slipped out. I guess. Uhm, don’t, don’t think too much about it? It doesn’t have to—”
“I’m not gonna forget about it,” Katsuki interrupts, walking around the counter to stand in front of him.
Eijirou curses under his breath, wringing his hands in his shirt’s hem again. “Okay,” he says, “okay. I don’t have to—I’ll…I’ll get out of your hair.” He moves to do something with his plate when Katsuki interrupts him again.
“Are you serious?” Okay, scratch that, Katsuki is a lotta hurt, actually. It’s unfair, Eijirou having made a decision for him already, not letting Katsuki parse through the turn this conversation has taken. Because Eijirou is implying that he meant it, what he said last night, what he’s been saying, and that's what Katsuki wants…right? Why does he feel so upset, then?
Eijirou takes a sharp breath before squaring his shoulders. “Yes,” he says.
Katsuki’s hurt doesn’t morph into indignation like it usually does. Like he wants it too. He just feels kind of defeated, tired of having his heart pulled around carelessly. His mouth twists and he curses under his breath.
“Fuckin’. Just—you,” he huffs. “You don’t say it sober.” His voice breaks with that sentence and he curses himself for getting emotional. He didn’t want to cry, not today, not to this conversation, not in front of Eijirou. His unshed tears blur his view of the kitchen, his view of Eijirou, and he thinks that’s a good thing. Not having to witness how Eijirou will pull his expression, laced with pity, witnessing Katsuki break down over something as stupid as love.
“Oh,” Eijirou replies, pained.
Katsuki really hates all this love bullshit, it’s too damn draining, and complicated, and exactly what he wants, dammit. He wants Eijirou to love him, wants to trust the things he says, regardless of if he’s drunk off his ass, beaten bloody and bruised, exhausted after an all-nighter, or just stone cold sober. He just needs to hear it, see it, when it’s just Eijirou. When nothing and no one is there to sway his words.
Eijirou takes a small step forward as Katsuki drags his hand down his face, wiping at his eyes.
“Katsuki.” He takes another step. Katsuki’s still scrubbing at his eyes, trying to get the tears to stop when he feels two strong hands grab his forearms, gently coaxing them away. “Hey, what were you gonna say? Before I apologized?”
What was he going to say? There wasn’t so much a plan as he just wanted some kind of answer. If that meant fumbling through a half coherent rant about the years of internal warring, self discovery, and acceptance it took to realize that he, Bakugou Katsuki, both desired and deserved to have good things, so be it. Eijirou could figure it out himself. He’s still upset, that he knows. Katsuki pouts, scrunching his eyebrows together and blinking a couple of times. “You’re an asshole,” he decides.
Eijirou laughs, but wraps his arms around Katsuki all the same.
“I love you,” he sighs, resting his head against Katsuki’s. His voice is firm, confident and devoted. Devoted. He’s jostled, just a little, when Katsuki grips his shirt, returning the hug. He’s sniffling into Eijirou’s shoulder as he listens.
“It’s my fault. I should've said something, the first time. The day after. I’m a coward and you are so beautiful and it just kept happening, and you know I can’t hold alcohol for shit. I should’ve known it hurt you. I’m sorry.”
Katsuki takes in a shuddering breath, a muffled grunt is all he replies with.
“I mean it, Katsuki,” Eijirou pulls back, just an inch, just enough to look at Katsuki. A playful smile graces his lips as he says, “Your off putting attitude and prey-like response to any form of intimacy has captivated me.”
Eijirou just snickers, full-bodied, when that earns him a punch to the arm and a ghost of a laugh. Katsuki’s sure Eijirou counts that as a win. He’s smiling when he meets his eye.
It’s silent for a second, the air lighter now. Katsuki leans forward, resting their foreheads together. He feels, more than he hears, Eiijirou inhale before a question is spilling out.
“Will you kiss me?”
Katsuki snorts and wipes his face again. “I’m gross, you don’t want to kiss me.”
“No, I think I really do, Katsuki.” Eijirou takes Katsuki’s hand in his, pulling it close to his chest. “Please?” he whispers, leaning imperceptibly closer.
And who is Katsuki to refuse? Not after six years of almosts, six years of could-have-beens. And it feels like what hard drugs must be like, because Katsuki finds himself addicted to this, the surrender of what he held so close to his chest for so long. Eijirou pulls him close, the hand not in his moving to cup his jaw. Katsuki meets him halfway, a hand moving to Eijirou’s hip.
Belatedly, and this is definitely the least of his concerns, Katsuki realizes his lips are chapped. Before he can do anything about it, Eijirou kisses him. It’s so tender it borders on sickeningly sweet. Eijirou tastes like sleep, and bacon, a tang of orange, and Kastuki thinks this might be his favorite flavor.
The kiss doesn’t last too terribly long, it’s simple, just kneading of their lips. Eijirou kisses him once, twice, and again for good measure before pulling back to pepper some down his jaw. Resting skin against skin, Eijirou’s voice is low when he speaks.
“I’ve dreamed of this.”
It’s whispered like a secret.
“So you’ve said,” Katsuki drawls, pulling back to level Eijirou a look. He swoops in to peck across his face, kisses the scar that runs through his eyebrow, down the bridge of his nose, under each eye, and back down to his mouth.
In between kisses, Katsuki mutters, “You kiss better sober.”
Eijirou groans, dropping his head into Katsuki’s shoulder, cheeks aflame with embarrassment. “I’m never living this down, huh?”
“No. Now kiss me again.”
“Okay, love."