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“Oh my god, Mina, you would not believe the day I’ve had!” Eijirou calls out as he opens the successfully unlocked door to his apartment.
The lights are off, meaning she's likely fast asleep in her room, and Eijirou sighs, a bit disappointed that he missed her. It feels like they haven’t gotten to spend any time together lately.
As quietly as possible, he closes and locks the door behind him, toeing out of his boots when he’s done.
Groaning, he stands back up and stretches his arms above his head, feeling his back pop satisfyingly as his muscles scream out in pain. Today's shift was even more intense than usual; they'd fought fire after fire, saved countless lives, and it's all very rewarding, but Eijirou is fucking tired .
He's daydreaming about his bed as he crosses the kitchen when suddenly, a bellowing yell echoes through the apartment and movement catches Eijirou's eye. An axe is hurtling towards his head and his body moves out of the way before he even registers the threat.
He's only just dodged the first swing when another is aimed at his throat. Adrenaline now coursing through his body, he takes a step back to keep his head on his shoulders and finally, he's able to see who's on the other end of the axe. Blond hair glows a moonlight yellow in the dim oventop light and red eyes pierce Eijirou as the man swings once more, even faster this time as he snarls threateningly.
Eijirou wheels back, the axe only inches from his nose, then rights himself with a grunt. Upon seeing the man wind up for another swing, Eijirou ducks with a shout, "Hey!" The axe sticks in the wood of the door right next to where Eijirou’s head just was with a resounding thud, only to be yanked out and swung again. This time, however, Eijirou doesn’t just dodge, he grabs the handle of the axe and stops the swing midair, much to the intruder’s dismay. “You’re—”
“Bakugou fuckin’ Katsuki, yeah, dumbass.”
“—not Mina.”
The intruder’s grip on the axe slackens as he cocks his head, spiky hair falling into his face. “Who the fuck is Mina? This is my apartment!”
“Pink hair, kinda short, always wearing bright animal prints?” Eijirou quickly jerks the axe from the blond stranger’s hands and sets it down out of arm’s reach. “And uh, no, dude, this is Mina and I’s apartment. 2B. Lived here for over a year, man.”
“This is 2C, you absolute moron! How the hell do you live somewhere for a year and not know which apartment is yours?"
“I’m not a moron, asshole! I know for a fact that this is,” Eijirou throws the door open and takes a step outside to point matter-of-factly at the placard beside the door, “2C. Wait, what the hell? ”
“I fuckin’ told you, dumbass! How the hell did you even get in here?”
“Well, Mina broke our lock, so the keys don’t work anymore. I’ve been so swamped at work, I haven’t had time to change them yet, so I usually just pick it with a bobby pin when I come back from late shifts and she’s already asleep. Guess my little trick works on normal locks, too,” Eijirou chuckles sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m really sorry about this, dude. I just worked 18 hours straight, so my brain is completely fried. Let me make it up to you somehow.”
The blond raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms and making his black skull t-shirt strain around toned biceps, and Eijirou takes this as a sign to continue. "I make the world's best spicy curry. Let me come over tomorrow and make dinner for you."
"Fine," he relents. "I'll be the judge of that."
"I won't disappoint you, man!" Eijirou asserts, knocking his fists together and grinning.
"Now, get the hell outta my apartment, I have to work in three hours and I'd like to get back to fuckin' sleep."
Eijirou bows, crying out one last apology, before leaving the apartment. He double-checks the placard of the door to the right—2B, there we go—then jimmies open the lock and slips into the dark of his and Mina's apartment.
After stripping down to his boxers, Eijirou flops down face first onto his bed and falls asleep the moment his head hits the pillow.
The following night, Eijirou gives himself one last once-over in the mirror before deciding he looks presentable enough for dinner with Bakugou. He feels like a live wire, jittery and restless like electricity is running through his veins. Despite all the chaos of last night's fiasco, it was impossible for Eijirou to miss just how stunning Bakugou is and now Eijirou is all nervous energy as he thinks about seeing the man again, about being alone with him.
Time ticks by slowly, minutes stretching into eternities as Eijirou paces back and forth in his apartment. Sharp teeth dig into slightly chapped lips, nearly drawing blood in his worrying.
He's running through his ingredient list in his head a dozenth time, double-and triple-checking that he bought everything he needs, when a knock on the door wrenches him from his agonizing.
"I can hear you wearing a hole in the floor from my apartment," Bakugou grunts when Eijirou opens the door, leaning against the doorframe and leveling Eijirou with an unimpressed look. "You fuckin' coming or what?"
Embarrassed that he was caught fretting, Eijirou flushes and lets out a small, distressed noise.
That makes Bakugou's mouth tick up in the hint of a smile before he turns around and walks over to reenter his own apartment.
With a sigh, Eijirou grabs his bag of ingredients and follows Bakugou, making sure to lock the door behind him.
"This shit better live up to my expectations," Bakugou says as Eijirou enters the apartment and sets his things down on the kitchen counter.
"Ask any of my friends and they'll all tell you it's the best spicy curry around!" Eijirou pauses in taking out the ingredients to start cooking. "Hey, I should introduce you to them!"
"If idiots of a feather flock together, then I'll pass," Bakugou drawls, leaning against the counter and watching Eijirou's hands as he starts to wash the vegetables. "Might be better to introduce yourself first, dumbass."
"Oh my god, I can't believe I forgot! I'm Kirishima Eijirou!"
His eyes narrow slightly. "Do you really not know who I am?"
Eijirou searches his face for a moment, not recognizing him in the slightest. "...Should I?"
This apparently offends the man because he turns on his heel and stomps out of the room, disappearing further into the apartment. Eijirou is opening his mouth to shout an apology when he returns and slaps a magazine to Eijirou's chest.
Curious, Eijirou furrows his brows and turns the magazine over to examine the cover. Right on the front is the man standing across from him, piercing red eyes framed with smoky makeup, hair artistically spiked, and donning a cream turtleneck sweater.
"Oh," he breathes because wow, Bakugou looks incredible and it's doing things to his heart, but Bakugou just smirks, looking smug as if he caught Eijirou in a lie. "So you're a model?"
This makes Bakugou's face contort in a confused scowl, any smugness gone in an instant. "What the fuck?" he mumbles under his breath. "Yes, I'm a model, dumbass! The number one fuckin' model in Japan! Do you live under a damn rock?"
Handing the magazine back to Bakugou, Eijirou gives a shrug. "I don't know what to tell you, man. I work long hours. Fires don't have a schedule, y'know? I barely have time to breathe. Makes sense though! Definitely suits you.”
"What the hell does that mean?”
Eijirou shrugs again, feigning nonchalance. “What do you think it means?”
“You’re an idiot,” Bakugou grumbles, but there’s a light blush on his cheeks that Eijirou finds endlessly endearing.
“Break into the wrong apartment one time and suddenly you’re labeled an idiot,” Eijirou bemoans dramatically, letting his head fall into his hands as he holds back a fit of giggles.
Bakugou scoffs, but when Eijirou peaks through his fingers, he sees a small smile playing on Bakugou's lips. "Feel like you'd be labeled an idiot regardless."
"That," Eijirou moves his hands away from his face and purses his lips in thought, "might be a fair assessment, I'll give you that one."
Bakugou huffs, sounding satisfied, and Eijirou gets back to preparing the meal, chopping vegetables and cutting some chicken before adding them, along with the sauce ingredients, to a large pot.
"Hope you can handle some major spice," Eijirou says, adding an ungodly amount of spice to the pot without waiting for a reply.
"'Course I fuckin' can."
Eijirou looks over his shoulder as he stirs the pot and grins. "That's what I like to hear."
Miraculously, the longer he spends with Bakugou, the less tense Eijirou feels. There's still a bit of residual jitteriness due to the crush Eijirou is rapidly developing, but it's easy with Bakugou, verbally sparring with quick quips and biting banter as he cooks. Something about them just fits and Eijirou doesn't find it hard to imagine them becoming close friends. Doesn't find it hard to dream that they could be something more.
"So how'd you get into modeling?" he asks, doling out the finished curry into two bowls filled with rice.
"My folks are in the fashion industry so I've been doing this shit since I was a brat." Eijirou hands one of the bowls to Bakugou and takes the other for himself, following Bakugou to the table. "I'm getting my degree in chemical engineering right now so I can start doing what I actually want, though."
Eijirou frowns. "You don't like modeling?"
"It's fine, I guess," Bakugou grunts, sitting down in the chair opposite Eijirou. "But I'm the fucking best there is, so there's no challenge anymore. Plus my hag of a mother is a damn pain to work with. I want to do something new."
"You must be some kind of genius if that's what you're pursuing, huh?"
Taking a bite of the curry, Bakugou smirks. "Damn right."
Eijirou can't help but find his self-assuredness manly as hell. And hot as hell. Suddenly, the need to impress him is even more pressing.
"So? What do you think?"
Bakugou cuts his eyes over to the wall. "Not bad for an idiot."
Pumping a fist into the air, Eijirou cheers, "Ha! That means it's great!" The grin on his face slowly morphs into a smirk. "It's okay, Bakugou, you can admit you like it. I won't tell anyone that the number one model in Japan loves my spicy curry."
"Fuck off, it's not that good. I'm just surprised you managed to make it without burning the damn building down."
"Hey, I'm a firefighter, I take fire safety very seriously!"
Rolling his eyes, Bakugou huffs. "You really are a dumbass," he grumbles, but Eijirou doesn't miss the almost affectionate tone it's taken or the way his lips pull up the slightest bit.
In an attempt to hide his own smile, Eijirou takes another bite of his food and thinks that accidentally breaking into the wrong apartment might have been the best thing that's ever happened to him.
After their dinner together, Kirishima makes it a point to come knocking on Katsuki's door every Thursday and cook for him, slowly wiggling his way into Katsuki's life and Katsuki can't even find it in himself to be annoyed by it.
Katsuki might not have any experience with this stupid mushy shit, but he's not stupid. He knows why his heart feels like it's going to explode out of his chest when Kirishima laughs at something he says, why Thursday has quickly become his favorite day of the week. He knows why warmth spreads through his whole body when he sees that shitty hair and why he feels as if he's stepping out into the arctic air after spending hours in front of a roaring fire when Kirishima leaves.
He's not stupid, but he does his best not to dwell on shit he can't change.
He knows that these less than platonic feelings for the first true friend he's ever had can never be reciprocated.
Since becoming friends, Kirishima has made it his mission to integrate Katsuki into his squad—which was promptly renamed the Bakusquad upon his initiation despite his adamant protests—and he's seen how Kirishima acts around all of their idiots, how goddamn friendly he is to everyone.
The way he treats Katsuki isn't special, no matter how much Katsuki wishes it was, and there's also this feeling of tension, of apprehension surrounding them that Katsuki can't seem to shake.
Katsuki doesn't like to dwell on that either.
Sighing harshly, Katsuki runs a hand over his button-up shirt to smooth out the wrinkles and nods to himself. He finally broke down and wore one of the dozens of brand name shirts that his hag of a mother forced upon him and paired it with tight jeans that accent his body in all the right places and he has to say, he looks fuckin' fantastic.
Maybe tonight he'll finally catch Kirishima's eye, show Kirishima that there's potential for something more than friendship with him and finally dispel the weird energy between them.
There's a knock at the door, disrupting Katsuki's thoughts and he growls low in his throat as he ruffles his hair one last time and walks out of the bathroom to answer the door.
He wasn't expecting anyone and he has to leave soon, so they better fuck off—
"Hey, Blasty!" Ashido greets him when he yanks open the door, shouldering her way into his apartment without waiting for an invitation. "Oh my god, is this the gouge from the swing that just barely missed Eiji’s head?” she cries, tracing a finger through the groove on the inside of the door as Katsuki grabs his jacket and slips on his shoes.
“Yes, dumbass, and it’s gonna have a buddy with chunks of pink hair in it if you don’t get the hell out of my apartment right now . I told the idiot I’d meet you all at Dunce Face’s apartment! I don’t need to be escorted like a child!”
Ashido puffs out her cheeks in a huff and wags her finger at Katsuki. “You’re so rude, Bakugou! Eiji sent us to make sure you’d actually show up! It’s his birthday, you could at least be nice and not call him ‘the idiot’!”
"I'm not nice, he knows that!" Katsuki grouses as he ushers her and Sero out of his apartment.
"Got that right," Sero mutters under his breath as he's being pushed towards the stairs and towards what is bound to be an eventful evening.
By the time that Katsuki, Ashido, and Sero arrive at Kaminari's apartment, Kaminari, Jirou, and Kirishima are already two shots in. Kaminari is a lightweight and an extremely clingy drunk, so the moment the group enter the apartment, he's hanging all over them, slurring out ' hello 's and ' welcome 's to everyone.
"Damn, we gotta catch up now!" Ashido pouts, jutting out a glossy lip before detaching from everyone in search of alcohol.
"Thanks for coming, guys!" Kirishima greets them as he passes the bottle of shochu to Ashido, who brings it to her mouth and starts to chug, unflinching.
Draping an arm around Kirishima, Sero grins, showing off perfectly straight, white teeth. "Wouldn't miss it for the world. Happy 23rd, man."
"Thanks, Sero. I'm glad we all could get together! Feels like forever since we all hung out! I've missed this!"
"It's been two weeks, idiot," Katsuki gripes as he slips out of his shoes, leaving them next to Kirishima's godforsaken red Crocs.
When Katsuki catches Kirishima's eyes, there's something unreadable there, a blip of uncertainty before Kirishima brightens back up to his normal demeanor. "Still!"
A scowl finds its home on the familiar planes of Katsuki's face at that fleeting moment of hesitance, at the way that Kirishima is now avoiding his eyes. He finds himself wanting to reach out to Kirishima, but something holds him back, a hesitance he's grown unfamiliar with since Kirishima broke down almost all of his walls.
As drinks are distributed and the group catches up, Katsuki finds himself gravitating close to Kirishima, like a hopeless planet stuck in the orbit of a shining sun. At one point, when Kirishima is animatedly telling a story and gesticulating wildly, their arms brush against each other and Katsuki feels Kirishima freeze up, stutter in the middle of his story. Kirishima is so damn tactile, always slinging an arm around Katsuki or patting him on the back, so this is extremely out of fucking character for him; paired with that fleeting moment of hesitance earlier, it's hard for Katsuki not to notice that Kirishima isn't comfortable, isn't acting like himself.
And there's only one common denominator in this equation: Katsuki.
All of a sudden Katsuki's feeling nauseous and it's not from the alcohol.
Arms crossed tight around his body in a subconscious act of protection, Katsuki dodges groping hands and loud pleas to stay in the kitchen and makes his way into the living room.
When Katsuki isn't followed like usual—Kirishima opting to instead chat with Ashido as they get more drinks—he's suddenly aching with something bitter and acrid like doubt as he takes a seat on one of Kaminari's sofas.
Pair of beers in hand, Sero hops over the back of the couch and lands next to Katsuki, offering the blond one of his beers only moments later.
Reluctantly grateful for the distraction, Katsuki offers a small nod in thanks, then twists the cap off to take a drink, hoping it'll chase away the quickly spiralling thoughts about Kirishima.
Kaminari trails after him, stumbling a bit as he makes his way over to the other couch in the room, plopping down and settling in with a small huff. "Great party, huh?" he asks, holding up his beer as he smiles lazily.
"Hanging out with you assholes isn't exactly my idea of a good time."
"Nah, just Kirishima, right?"
Katsuki sits up straight, shooting a deadly glare at Sero. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
" Means ," Sero emphasizes, sounding vaguely annoyed, "that Kirishima is obviously your favorite. If it were up to you, it'd just be you and him here and the rest of us as far away as possible."
"The idiot wouldn't want that."
"Which idiot?" A new voice emerges from behind Katsuki and he feels the cushion behind his head give under the weight of Jirou leaning on it.
"Kirishima," Kaminari answers, looking starry-eyed as he gazes at the newcomer. "Sero says Kacchan here would prefer some quality alone time with Kirishima for his birthday, but Kacchan says Kirishima wouldn't want that. Ridiculous, right?"
"Don't you two hang out alone all the time?" Jirou drawls, walking over to perch on the arm of the couch Kaminari's sitting on.
"None of your fucking business."
"So that's a yes."
"What's different about this, then? Are you seriously avoiding him? On his birthday?"
After taking a long swig of his beer, Katsuki grunts, "I think Kirishima is scared of me."
“Dude, what? No way!” Kaminari shouts, volume control obviously damaged by the alcohol, then lowers his voice when Katsuki, Jirou, and Sero all shush him, “You’re his best friend!”
“Well, you did almost decapitate him with an axe the first time you met,” Sero muses after a moment of silence, swirling the contents of his bottle absentmindedly as he thinks. “I wasn’t even there, and I was pretty scared of you after he told me the story.”
Katsuki’s face must be betraying how upset he is upon hearing this, the alcohol lowering his guard as it starts to cloud his mind, because Sero’s eyes widen a fraction and he’s quick to wave his hands in front of himself frantically, elbow almost catching Kaminari’s jaw. “But Kirishima wasn’t fazed at all, man! He was laughing about it, thought it was, and I quote, ‘ super manly! ’ He’s definitely not scared of you, I promise!”
"Yeah, whatever," Katsuki grumbles, tipping his beer back and draining the contents before standing to go retrieve another.
When he crosses the threshold to the kitchen, he catches sight of a familiar head of obnoxiously bright hair and his heart picks up, a Pavlovian conditioning he doesn't have the capacity to address right now. "Hey, idiot," he calls instead.
"Bakugou!" Kirishima chirps, turning from where he was rifling through the refrigerator. "Hey, bro! Just grabbing another beer, you want one?”
Katsuki nods and a bottle is handed to him with a smile. Leaning against the kitchen island, he twists the cap off and takes a swig. “Didn’t get to say it earlier, but happy birthday,” he mutters, casting his eyes away from what will no doubt be a blindingly bright smile. “Got you something, but it’ll have to wait until you get home.”
"Aw, you didn't have to do that!" he coos, voice and expression dripping with affection as he dives forward and sweeps Katsuki up in a crushing hug.
"It's not a big deal, don't get all sappy on me. Shit's gross." Katsuki rolls his eyes with a good-natured huff, feigning nonchalance while angry wasps buzz erratically in his stomach.
He'll never admit—to himself or anyone else—that he feels at home in Kirishima's arms, warm and content as he brings his own arms up to awkwardly return the hug.
Kirishima pulls back, holding Katsuki at arm's-length. "Thank you, Bakugou," he whispers, grinning wide and blinding. "And thank you for coming."
"Didn't exactly have a choice; you sent the idiot brigade to drag me here."
"You would have come anyway."
"Debatable."
"Nah," Kirishima murmurs, sliding his hands down Katsuki's arms and squeezing his biceps lightly. "You'll deny it until the day you die, but you love us."
Maybe it's the alcohol coursing through his veins and loosening his lips, or the fact that he's been harboring these feelings for so damn long that he's physically incapable of holding them back any longer, but Katsuki finds himself saying, "Fuck no, I only love y—"
"Time for shots!" Mina cries, interrupting his admission and holding a bottle of sake above her head as she crashes into the kitchen with Kaminari and Sero in tow, whooping and cheering.
After that, the night starts to blur together.
When Bakugou crawls up onto the table and screams, "I'm king of the fuckin' world, bitches!" Eijirou decides it's a good time to wrap up the evening before things take a turn for the worst.
Reaching up to stop Bakugou from swaying and falling off the table, Eijirou sighs. “I’m sorry, guys, but I think we’re going to head out. Bakugou has a shoot tomorrow afternoon and he's way too far gone to get home on his own."
“Oh, his knight in shining armour,” Mina singsongs in a teasing coo, pressing a hand to her chest dramatically and falling back into Kaminari’s waiting arms as she swoons.
“Shut up, Mina!” Eijirou hisses, blush high on his cheeks as he turns around to let Bakugou get onto his back.
Bakugou drapes his arms around Eijirou's neck, then presses a kiss to the nape before murmuring softly, "Thanks, Ei."
As Eijirou's blush deepens, he pointedly ignores the wolf-whistles and jeers that follow him out the door.
When Eijirou makes it back to his apartment, he notices something is slightly off about his door and it takes him a few short moments to notice the change. His eyes fall on the doorknob, abnormally shiny and obviously new, and Eijirou feels a horde of fluttering butterflies explode in his stomach.
Bakugou's present.
"The key's in m'pocket," Bakugou slurs out, warm breath fanning over Eijirou's neck and sending a shiver down his spine.
With a hum, Eijirou gently lets Bakugou down, making sure he can stand on his own two feet before letting go of him. When he's confirmed Bakugou can remain upright by himself, Eijirou reaches into the front pocket of Bakugou's jeans in search of the key, which makes Bakugou huff out a quiet laugh.
"Is that your hand in my pocket or are ya just happy t'see me?" Bakugou flirts shamelessly, flashing a smug grin and leaning into Eijirou's space.
Blush painting its way across his cheeks, Eijirou rolls his eyes with a laugh and switches pockets, digging around as Bakugou watches, completely unhelpful. When he comes up empty a second time, he sighs and purses his lips before sliding a hand around Bakugou to slip his hand into one of his back pockets.
"If you wanted to touch my ass, you should've just asked, baby."
Bakugou's voice saying "baby" pings around in Eijirou's head like a pinball machine, echoing long after he's unlocked the door and ushered Bakugou into the apartment with his face the same color as his hair.
“That clock’s so stupid,” Bakugou drawls, standing in the middle of Eijirou’s living room and looking up at the flexing arm clock hanging above Eijirou’s TV, “but I like it. Reminds me of you."
Suppressing the smile threatening to overtake his features, Eijirou presses a hand to Bakugou’s lower back to guide him towards the bedroom before he says more sappy stuff that sends Eijirou’s heart into overdrive. “C’mon, let’s get you into bed.”
Bakugou raises his eyebrows, gaze darting down to Eijirou’s arm before flicking back up to meet Eijirou’s eyes. “Damn, Kirish’ma, movin’ a little fast, dontcha think?”
Eijirou throws his head back and groans quietly, cursing the fact that Bakugou is such a flirty, affectionate drunk. This shit is not good for his heart.
Jutting his lip out in an unfairly cute pout, Bakugou runs a hand up Eijirou’s arm, lightly squeezing his bicep and whistling lowly. “You’re a fuckin’ tank, huh? Why dontcha carry me to the bedroom then?”
“Jesus,” Eijirou grumbles, but takes Bakugou’s advice, crouching down to get an arm under Bakugou’s knees to lift him up bridal-style. “There. Happy?”
Running a hand up Eijirou’s chest appreciatively, he hums an affirmative with a smirk. “Very.”
“You’re going to kill me,” Eijirou mutters under his breath, low enough that he hopes Bakugou can’t hear, as he walks them to the bedroom, turning sideways to fit through the door.
After he crosses the room to his bed, Eijirou adjusts Bakugou so that he can hold him with one arm under his ass and the other is free.
“Awful fuckin’ handsy today,” Bakugou teases, and Eijirou doesn’t dignify that with a response as he pulls the covers back and sets Bakugou down carefully in the bed. The moment he hits the mattress, Bakugou is yanking his shirt over his head and Eijirou, blush returning full force in record time, jerks his head away so he isn’t caught admiring the view.
When he hears the telltale thump of the shirt hitting the ground next to him, Eijirou glances back over to Bakugou, now laying down with an unreadable expression on his face.
"Kiss me, Shitty Hair.”
Heat travels up Eijirou’s neck as he brings the blankets up over Bakugou’s legs and tucks him in, working its way up to his cheeks and ears as he hums. “You’re drunk, Bakugou. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”
“You know I don’t say shit I don’t mean.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Eijirou sighs and a pit of guilt forms in his stomach upon seeing how Bakugou’s face morphs into an expression of pure devastation at his words. It’s an expression he never wants to witness again, so he cuts his eyes away as he takes a seat on the bed and busies himself with picking at a stray thread on his dark jeans.
“ Afraid ?” Bakugou whispers, and it’s the softest Eijirou has ever heard his voice, dripping with anguish, with doubt .
Digging his sharp teeth into his bottom lip, Eijirou sighs again, resigned and weary. “I’m afraid you wanted to keep your feelings to yourself. That you’re only letting this slip because you’re drunk and you’re going to wake up tomorrow regretting it.”
“The only thing I regret is not telling you this shit sooner, Kirishima.”
Eijirou is quiet for a moment and risks a look over to his best friend. Bakugou looks determined, a fire in his bleary eyes that tells Eijirou he’s deadly serious despite his inebriated state. “Yeah?” he whispers, trying not to let hope color his tone.
“Yeah. So stop doubting me and kiss me, fucker,” he gripes, carding a hand into Eijirou’s ponytail and giving it a small, playful tug.
“Fine, fine,” Eijirou acquiesces and slowly pulls the hand threaded in his soft hair down to his mouth. “One for every swing you took at my head the night we met,” he murmurs, placing a kiss on each of Bakugou’s knuckles, one by one. Once he’s finished, Eijirou gently laces their fingers together and turns over their intertwined hands to press a long kiss to the back of Bakugou’s. “Best thing that ever happened to me.”
“Damn sap.”
Eijirou grins and winks, making Bakugou’s flushed cheeks become even redder. “You know it, babe.”
“Maybe I will regret this.”
“Don’t even joke about that!” Eijirou cries, jutting his lip out in a pout until Bakugou groans and rolls his eyes good-naturedly.
Pulling the covers up invitingly, he grouses, “You gonna get in here or are you gonna sit at my feet all night?”
“Oh!” Eijirou smiles, softer this time, and quickly crawls in beside Bakugou to huddle close to him. Slinging an arm over Bakugou’s waist, Eijirou hums contentedly. “I’d never say no to cuddles with my best bro.”
“Yeah, I definitely regret this shit. Don’t call me bro when we’re dating, dumbass.”
“What can I call you then?”
Bakugou is quiet for a moment, hand tracing mindless patterns on Eijirou’s bare arm. When he speaks, Eijirou can barely hear it over the thundering of his own heart in his ears. “Yours.”
“ Mine ,” Eijirou breathes, sounding awestruck even to himself as he cuddles closer to his best friend. “I’d like that, Katsuki.”
When Eijirou wakes, his head is resting on Katsuki's chest, slowly rising and falling with each of Katsuki's slow breaths. He tilts his head to brush his lips against Katsuki's skin right above his heart in the hint of a kiss, then sighs quietly, contentedly.
Never in a million years did he think he'd get to wake up to this, to Katsuki's soft snores lightly blowing his disheveled hair, to Katsuki vulnerable and trusting with pale hair shining golden in the early sunlight streaming in the window and relaxed face showing no hints of his normal scowl.
Eijirou's never felt so lucky in his entire life.
Katsuki stirs, arm around Eijirou's back tightening its hold for a moment before relaxing once more as a yawn escapes his lips. "G'morning," he slurs, bringing his other hand up to wipe at his eyes lethargically.
"Morning," Eijirou whispers, bracing himself for the inevitable dropping over the other shoe. Once Katsuki is fully awake, he'll have to address the position they're in, and no matter how sure Katsuki seemed last night that this is what he wanted, Eijirou is still wary that the sober light of day will sway Katsuki to take it all back and leave them suspended in some weird in between.
"How long have you been awake? Should've woken me up, idiot." Katsuki's voice is quiet, softly admonishing. Eijirou chances a glance up at his best friend and finds piercing eyes clear and laser-focused on him.
With another quiet sigh, he answers truthfully, "Only a minute or two. No big deal."
"Then what's your problem? Your shitty thoughts are loud as hell."
"Didn't peg you as much of a cuddler." Eijirou chuckles humorlessly, simultaneously dodging the question and hinting at an answer. "It's nice though."
Katsuki is silent for a moment, his heart speeding up just a fraction as it thumps away under Eijirou's ear. "Yeah, it is," he finally admits, hand idly playing with the hem of Eijirou's shirt, and suddenly, the weight that's been crushing Eijirou's chest is being lifted and he's floating up to cloud 9. "Kiss me, Shitty Hair."
This time, Eijirou replies, "Gladly."