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Friday rolled up lazily, taking its time to tease the students with its arrival. There was a collective sigh of relief when everyone was able to cross out the day in their calendar, the promise of rest growing closer with every tick-tock of the clock.
The moment the bell rang, Class 1-A was sprinting out of their classroom with a little more pep in their step.
It was tradition by now, the class would set up a movie—it was Tokoyami’s turn, so a horror movie was chosen—and gathered around the common room with some delicious banana muffins that Sato had baked for them. They screamed at the television when the characters did something stupid, half of the time not paying attention to the plot by offering funny commentary in hopes talking would scare them less.
Yet, by 9PM, everyone was ready to go to bed, the exhaustion of that week's training finally catching up to them. One by one, they left for their rooms, silence and darkness settling over the dorms. Except for the faint glow under the door of the second room on the fourth floor, a certain redhead unable to fall into the arms of Morpheus just yet.
The muscle clock on his wall marks 3:15 AM. The cool night breeze enters the room through the open doors of the balcony, making the flame-themed curtains sway as a mock of a real fire. There’s no moon tonight, too cloudy to even see the stars. The fairy lights strung over his bed—courtesy of Bakugou and his insistence on making the space cozier—bathed the room in a warm glow with the main purpose of inviting whoever entered to snuggle under the blankets.
Instead, Kirishima sits on his desk with his lamp turned on to an orange setting, a huge amount of homework and projects due for next week neatly placed to his right. He has no idea how much time he has spent here, hunched over his math homework trying to decipher the formula needed to resolve the equation, but looking over at the completed pile of work at his left makes it worth it.
They say the witching hour is a dangerous one, where the veil between life and death is thinnest, allowing spirits and ghosts to travel between the two worlds. Yet, all Kirishima feels is peace; with the entire world sleeping, it brings everything to a halt, making him feel more present in his body and allowing his mind to finally calm down enough to concentrate.
It makes him feel like a red dot in the middle of the ocean. A sign of life amidst the darkness.
However, it doesn’t mean that the sound of his door creaking open won’t make him jump in his seat. He turns quickly, hand hardening out of pure reflex, but he breathes a relieved sigh when he realizes who it is.
“Fucking hell, man.” He laughs low, trying not to make too much noise, “You almost gave me a heart attack!”
Bakugou stands sluggishly against the door, covered up to his head with his favorite All Might fluffy blanket, messy spikes barely poking out of the cocoon he has wrapped himself in.
“‘Fuck are you doing?” Bakugou grumbles, lifting one hand to rub at one of his eyes. His voice is soft, like he barely has the energy to put his usual rasp into it.
Kirishima takes a moment to analyze him, searching for the tremor in his hands or the shortness of breath that leads to moments like this. When he finds nothing, he offers a small smile. “Just some homework, I’m almost done.”
The blonde waddles his way towards him and Kirishima has to look away to bite his lip so he doesn’t end up letting out an endeared laugh. Bakugou sniffs, staring daggers at the papers that had Kirishima’s attention.
“Do it tomorrow, I wanna sleep.”
Kirishima can’t help but chuckle at that one, deeply amused. “I’m not stopping ya’.”
Katsuki shoves him lightly, letting the blanket fall to his shoulders. It makes his hair puff even more wildly.
“You know what I mean.” He yawns, his blinks becoming slower and Kirishima is sure Bakugou is about to fall asleep while standing. His hand reaches for the edge of Kirishima’s sleeve, pulling weakly. “Come to bed, I’m tired.”
Kirishima blushes, the cold of the night working overtime to cool his heated skin before he combusts in his chair.
It’s the first time Bakugou has asked him so directly. Usually, it just happens naturally, their tutoring sessions extending until it's just a better option to stay in each other’s room.
Other times, it’s not so pleasant, an explosion shaking Kirishima awake in the wee hours of the night that has him rushing next door. They never talk about those times.
“What? Can’t sleep without me?”
It’s a joke or, at least, it’s supposed to be one, even if his laugh comes out shaky and his hands are trembling. It's the first time he brings it up, those nights that they don’t talk about, but are always haunting their every interaction. The moments of vulnerability that are easier to indulge in when it's dark. He hopes that the light near his face is not enough to show his reddened cheeks.
Bakugou doesn’t answer him, but his hooded eyes are too honest, shining with the traces of sleep and something else that Kirishima doesn’t want to hope for but does anyway. Incapable of not reading into it, hope fluttering in his chest that maybe, just maybe, Bakugou feels the same. That those lingering touches, those fleeting but intense glances when he thinks Kirishima isn’t looking mean something.
Breaking eye contact feels like breaking the surface of the water. His lungs stutter against his ribcage and Kirishima tries his best to make his gasp of air not so obvious. He’s too busy trying to compose himself to notice how Bakugou picks up his phone and clicks a few times on it before throwing it across the desk.
Kirishima freezes when Bakugou pushes his chair back enough to give himself some room, climbing smoothly onto Kirishima’s lap until his legs are dangling to the side and his head is resting on Kirishima’s chest.
Ba-thump, ba-thump, ba-thump, ba-thump, ba-thump, ba-thump!
His hands are suspended in the air, too afraid to touch the blonde for him to vanish into thin air, like a mirage concocted by his overworked mind. He questions for a moment if he had fallen asleep over his desk, all of this a (very nice) dream, but the weight over his lap and the soft puff of air he can feel on his neck discard that thought immediately.
Kirishima is sure his face is battling his hair in color and there’s a slight moment of panic at the knowledge that Bakugou’s ear is too close to his heart, probably able to hear how erratic his heartbeat has become.
“You got five minutes.”
The words are muffled into his shirt, Bakugou burying his face there as he drags his blanket over the both of them, resting his hand on the center of Kirishima’s chest to then lightly fist the fabric between his fingers. He doesn’t even spare the redhead a glance, simply inhaling deeply with his eyes closed as he relaxes in the space he has made for himself.
It takes him almost 30 seconds to understand what Bakugou just told him, his eyes flicking to his phone screen that disturbs the warmth of his room with its bright white light. There’s a timer set on the screen, the numbers at 4:25 and steadily counting down to zero.
Kirishima swallows down his nerves, bringing his arms down painfully slowly and hesitates for a second before placing them around Bakugou’s sleeping form. The blonde doesn’t even move. He exhales, flicking his eyes between the papers at his desk and Bakugou’s face that is squished against him.
Even if Kirishima wanted to, he wouldn’t be able to look away from the boy between his arms.
From this close, Kirishima is able to appreciate the blonde’s surreal beauty. He’s surprised to find freckles that dot the expanse of his nose bridge, a constellation of light browns that is barely noticeable in the day. His blonde eyelashes are longer than he imagined, casting shadows over his closed eyes. His cheek is squished lightly in Kirishima’s chest, which makes his mouth pout making his cupid bows more prominent. The redhead huffs a laugh, his fingers carefully tracing the edges of his face.
Kirishima is used to Bakugou’s sharp features, all angles and model lines, but right now he’s all soft skin and pudgy cheeks. It makes him look painfully younger, more Katsuki than Bakugou, and it makes something acidic burn in Eijirou’s tongue when he remembers where Katsuki had been a few months ago. The only physical evidence of that traumatizing event is the purple eyebags the blonde had started to develop from the lack of sleep.
He’s sleeping soundly now, not a single worry etched into his brow, his breath tranquil and steady and alive, but it’s a reminder that he’s just a boy.
Kirishima’s eyes prickle with unshed tears, instinctively holding Bakugou a little closer while one of his hands runs softly over ash blonde hair, detangling the knots he finds there. He doesn’t want to think about it, tries his hardest to not get lost in the questions that haunt him ever since he extended his hand towards Bakugou in the middle of the air.
Did they feed him? Give him water?
Did they try to convince him nobody would come for him?
Did they tell him he wasn’t meant to be a hero?
Did they keep him awake?
Did they torture him?
Kirishima lifts his head, blinking rapidly, hoping that would make the tears go away. He breathes in and out. When he composes himself, his eyes fall right back to Katsuki’s face.
“It has to be you.”
His inhale is wet, too close to crying again as he curls himself over Katsuki. Hugging him tighter, like he could shield him from the world with his body alone. His head falls near his neck and the smell of caramel and smoke grounds him.
Bakugou is here.
He’s safe.
He’s alive.
Warm and comfortable in his arms.
He took his hand and Kirishima caught him.
Bakugou is here, with him.
That is all that matters.
“Thank you for taking my hand, Katsuki,” he whispers the confession into Katsuki’s skin, hoping it will seep deep enough for him to carry that knowledge with him always. “I’m happy you’re alive.”
There’s another set of words that threaten to spill out—a set of three that will break him open and leave him bleeding if he’s not careful—but he’s quick to clench his teeth, a physical barrier for his sentimental tongue. Maybe one day he will have the courage to tell him, but tonight is not the night.
The timer beeps loudly, making him jump and straighten as fast as he can so he can turn it off. Bakugou groans at the sudden movement, bleary eyes opening to stare at him. The blond blinks slowly and it reminds Kirishima of a cat. The thought pulls at the corners of his mouth. Bakugou huffs, snuggling up until he can fit his head in the crook of Kirishima’s neck. He gently taps his chest, right over his heart.
“Bed.”
Kirishima giggles, resisting the urge to kiss his forehead. “Mine?”
“Obviously,” he mumbles but makes no effort to stand up.
The message is loud and clear and Kirishima shakes his head, little sparks igniting in every point of contact between them. He shifts his hold until his hands are positioned for a perfect bridal carry, and when he’s sure he won’t drop him, he stands up with ease. It’s a little difficult to move his blanket with Bakugou in his arms, but he manages, softly placing him near the wall, which has already become his designated spot.
Bakugou opens his eyes again, eyebrows barely furrowing with how tired he is, but Kirishima knows he’s trying his best to glare him into crawling in bed with him. He smooths down his hair, scratching at his scalp in a soothing motion and Bakugou immediately closes his eyes, leaning into the touch.
It squeezes Eijirou’s heart in a vicious hold, thumping painfully against his ribcage at the sheer tenderness of it all.
“I’m just gonna turn off the lights, I’ll be right back.”
Bakugou hums his agreement and Kirishima turns to do just that. He fixes his desk and turns off the lamp, making sure to charge his phone. The fairy lights are the last ones to go; Kirishima gets under the covers before clicking the switch near his bed.
It doesn’t take long for Bakugou to find him, slithering his way into Kirishima’s space until he’s basically half-draped over him. The redhead always found it funny how no one would probably believe him if he told anyone how clingy a sleeper Katsuki is.
What does surprise him this time is how Bakugou searches for his hand under the covers, and when he finds it, he positions it in a perfect replica of how he had held it in Kamino. The blonde squeezes it twice, moving his head until it’s perfectly placed over Kirishima’s heart.
It's a confirmation for Katsuki as well—that he grabbed Kirishima’s hand, that he got out, that Kirishima is real and that the heartbeat that lulls him to sleep is not his own.
“‘Night, Katsuki. Sweet dreams.”
The breeze carries his words out into the night. The skies have finally cleared, the moonlight illuminating the sleeping forms of two boys who never let go of each other's hands.