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It's weird, going to his apartment like this.
Or maybe it's weird that he's never been before, that he didn't even know where he lived and had to ask around at his agency to get his address. Aren't they friends? How did they even get to this point, too busy to even know where the other lives...
Honestly, the whole day's been fucking weird. The whole week. Denki had texted him at 9:07 am, asking if he knew where Bakugo was. The idiot hadn't shown up to get Edgeshot at the airport, and Kaminari had been roped into picking up the ninja guy. Kirishima's glad they didn't call him to deal with it because Edgeshot's a little unnerving. He's like five feet tall now. Tall, long? Who knows. He looks like a little dragon, but he's human-sized now. Anyway, it wasn't like Katsuki to flake out, so Kirishima had called up his agency to see if he was in.
He wasn't. He hadn't shown up and wasn't answering texts or calls.
So he'd gotten his address, and here he was.
He lives in ----------.
It's a nice area. Not surprising, given his money, but it’s not nice enough, given his money. Maybe he figured he’d just never be home because he’d always be working, or he just wanted something near the agency and this was the best he could get. Whatever though, it’s still much better than what he himself has.
It's 11:14 in the morning when he leans on the doorbell, and it's a full two minutes before Bakugo gets on the intercom and growls out a hostile "what do you want?"
"It's me."
"Fuck off," he grumbles into the mic, but a moment later he buzzes him in.
When he enters the apartment, he's immediately hit by the stench of alcohol. Bakugo isn't known to drink much; even at parties he'll only have one or two before backing off. So it's weird to see him sitting on the floor, back to the couch, half-sprawled beside a kotatsu littered in beer cans. He's wearing what looks like the same t-shirt from last night with his boxers. At least he's dressed, which is more than Kirishima can say about himself when he gets plastered. He looks exhausted, somehow like he hadn’t slept in a week but also hadn’t gotten out of bed in the same amount of time.
"You look like shit," he says bluntly. Because he does, even if he is still cute in that weird way that sometimes bothers Eijiro.
"Yea."
"This why you didn't pick Edgeshot up?"
He nods. "Can't exactly drive like this."
"And you ghosted everyone at work."
He nods again instead of telling him off for possibly getting up in his business. It's so unlike Katsuki that Kirishima doesn't now what to say for a moment. He absently looks around the room until his eyes land on the far wall, where a display case stands below an array of paper certificates and medals hanging up. There's a blank space, something recently removed, and it doesn't take Kirishima more than a moment to see the framed certificate from the first UA sports festival lying on the floor. He steps over a laundry basket to pick it up while Bakugo pointedly ignores him. It all falls into place then.
"Last night was tough, huh?"
"Guess so."
He's going to be here a while, he realizes. So he steps into the kitchen to grab something to drink himself, get the idiot some water or a cup ramen or something so he can sober up.
The kitchen, if it can even be called one, is a dump. The sink is full of cans and noodle cups. There are several bags of trash, poorly sorted and spilling onto the floor. There aren’t many dirty dishes though, which tells Kirishima he hasn’t bothered even trying to cook in some time. He’s just living off convenience store food, the plastic packages all over the place. He absently picks one up and recoils at the date on it.
This isn't from one or two benders or a bad weekend. This is from months and months of neglect and barely holding it together.
Shit.
He'd been really close to Bakugo back when they were at UA, one of the only people who knew he was an omega, just as Katsuki was the only person through all of school who knew he himself was secretly a beta and not an alpha at all. Funny how back then, they both thought stuff would eventually change. But even now, thirteen years after a teenage Hawks was the first public omega to ever make the top 10, no other heroes were exactly jumping to admit they weren’t alphas. As far as Kirishima knows, he’s one of the only people who knows about Bakugo. Back then at least, not even Midoriya knew. He’d been happy then, 15 and knowing the guy he thought was pretty fucking cute was an omega who told him.
They'd stayed in touch upon graduating, getting together pretty often, especially as they both stayed in Shizuoka prefecture despite a lot of their classmates spreading out over the country. But they'd definitely drifted, adult life getting in the way just as all the adults in their kid lives say it does. He remembers scoffing when his mother had gently told him that high school relationships don't usually last, and he probably shouldn't be talking about marrying Mina when he was only 17. They'd broken up six months after graduating, swore they'd still be best friends, and then life did what it did, and his mother never said I told you so. But he'd figured that friendships lasted, stayed the exact same as the years passed. He'd assumed that 24-year-olds still hung out with their friends five times a week, screwing around with them all day at school only to go hang around someone's bedroom trying to play guitar, complaining about who's dating who, hours leeching into days into weeks, the texts and calls blurring the concept of time until it's hard to tell where you end and your best friend begins.
The reality was vastly different though. Some days, Kirishima wakes up and realizes it's a new month, a new year, and he doesn't remember a single thing but work. Missed his estranged Dad's birthday by a week, never RSVPed to his cousin's engagement party invite and it's come and gone by now, time for his annual checkup again even though he could have sworn he was just at the doctor a month ago.
That's why it's so jarring to see Bakugo's apartment like this, to realize that so much time had passed in his friend's life when to him, it had only felt like a few moments. Or maybe it’s the opposite, where he’s lived a hundred lives in a day while Katsuki’s lived in an hour in a decade.
And he didn't even know where he fucking lived until today.
"Hey. Kacchan."
"Fuck off."
"Whatever. I'm going to hang around, okay? Someone needs to clean this up."
"Aren't you domestic."
He digs through the kitchen to find something quick and easy to make, finds a cup udon and starts the electric kettle. He's used to cleaning. Both his mother, who raised him mostly on her own, and Mina were total slobs. It was always kind of a joke, that the ultra-manly Red Riot was forever doing the dishes, the laundry, organizing the kitchen and tidying the shelves and preventing junk from piling up. He was even sponsored by a dish detergent, the commercial being about how it's cool and manly to give your wife a break in the kitchen. There's no way he's going to start right now though.
Ten minutes later he's back in the living space, sitting across from Bakugo as be places a tray on the table. Two cup udons, a bottle of water for him, a canned coffee for himself even though it's definitely warm and well past the expiration date.
Katsuki finally moves then, reaching for the bowl and the miss-matched chopsticks.
"So what is it?"
"Everything," he says simply, wolfing down the noodles.
"Shoto getting to Number 2?" He knows intuitively that's not the main issue, but it's a safer subject, something that can get Bakugo riled up, pissed instead of depressed, easier to deal with.
"He only got there because he has the Commission President feeding him PR tips," he scowls. "We all know he has no idea how to talk to fans on his own."
Kirishima laughs. The rumor was rampant online, and it was pretty hard to deny. The Shoto they grew up with was absurdly awkward, the type to win hearts over until he opened his mouth or forgot to change his facial expression for six hours straight and everyone realized what a weirdo he was.
Bakugo puts the empty bowl down and sighs. "He won't get to Number 1 though, not with Mirio around."
"Yea, it's like All Might all over again. Number 1 spot ain't gonna move for decades."
He shrugs, and that's when Kirishima knows for sure that it isn't the ranking that's bothering him, even if he’s one of the few people who still seems to care a lot about it. He and Monoma, of course. The two of them had actually gotten into a fistfight a couple of years ago, an event the media ate up that somehow led to Monoma jumping up in the ranks while Bakugo got knocked back. He was still pissed about it, which was fair. But anyway, Katsuki will complain about it any day, sure, but it's not what's getting to him right now.
"It was weird, seeing everyone together again."
And Bakugo just says it then. "Everyone's grown up. And I'm stuck here." He nods at the sports festival award.
Kirishima sighs. "Yea, I thought..."
"Thought that was the case? That obvious?"
"Naw, I mean seeing Mirodirya like that yesterday was weird."
"He barely even uses that suit."
The hero suit, the one that Bakugo had poured all of his savings into. He'd flown to the US at least half a dozen times to help Melissa with the plans, probably getting in the way more than actually helping given he knew jack shit about the process, but it was a big deal to him. Kirishima had donated what he could, but the bulk of the project was funded by Bakugo, followed up by Momo who just had the money to throw around, and All Might. They'd all been excited about it though. Everyone, Bakugo most of all, thought it meant they'd get Deku back.
"Yea that was weird," he says simply. Because it was. Hell of an awkward car ride, when they were on the way to the party and Midoriya so casually mentioned how he liked being a teacher better and being a pro hero was just some side hobby of his now, not a big part of his life.
Talk about getting blind-sided. But he figured it was because he just didn't keep up with Midoriya as much. He figured Bakugo had to know what was going on, them being best friends and all.
Wrong. Katsuki was more surprised than anyone else at the party that day.
"I just figured... Everything would go back to how it was. Wasn't even just that. Just listening to everyone talking at the party."
Kirishima knows what he means, but Bakugo keeps going.
"Even with Todoroki, yea? The reality is he just grew up. Hawks definitely helps him out sometimes, but he's not the kid we knew anymore. Last night was like…a farce."
“I don’t think that’s the right word.”
“Whatever,” he shrugs. “You know what I mean. We all got together and pretended nothing changed but it was like we were all strangers.”
“Hey now, Tokoyami was trying to be an edgelord just the way he always did.”
This makes him snort, half laugh. He’s eating Kirishima’s noodles now.
“Maybe it’s just because we’re heroes now. We all know it’s a job like anything else, and maybe it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
Bakugo turns on him, suddenly vicious. “You’re not thinking of quitting?”
“No way,” he holds up his hands.
“Good.”
Time to change the subject. “Hey. How long’s your apartment been like this?”
He looks around, like he’s suddenly realizing what a dump it is. “Dunno. I’m just living and the world moves on without me. Laundry included.”
The half-assed attempt at a joke is something, Kirishima figures. “Okay, no more depressing talk. You gotta call Edgeshot and apologize. Then take a shower and go to bed. I’ll start cleaning.”
He nods slowly before sliding down to the floor, fumbling for his phone and groaning about how low the battery is.
Kirishima goes home that night, but not before pouring all the alcohol he finds down the sink.
-
He ends up calling into his office, saying he has to take a few days off. It’s hardly an issue, as he never takes time off. He has to coax Bakugo into at least texting a few sidekicks to say he’ll be out for a bit, but the idiot refuses to formally call. It’s his agency, why should be?
When he comes back the next day, Katsuki is moderately presentable, though all he says to him is a glum you again before shuffling off to throw himself on the couch and stare at the wall.
“Is this how you spend your days off?”
“This or driving around. Yea.”
“Dude. Gross.” He feels like an asshole. How did he really not notice how depressed he was? “Want coffee?”
“You have to make it. None of that canned shit.”
“I found that canned shit in your kitchen.”
“And how old was it, exactly? I drink real coffee.”
“Mmm hmm.” But it doesn’t surprise him. Bakugo was a good cook, once. When they were still kids, he was surprisingly talented. He hadn’t dwelled too deeply on the expiration date on the coffee can, but it definitely tasted bad. So if he’s going to have coffee today, he’s going to have to make it.
He opens all the cabinets until he founds a bag of coffee beans, a hand grinder that any other day he’d joke about, and a French press. He knows what a French press is. At least, he can identify it on a shelf, but he has no clue how to use it or what it does. There’s also something that looks like a coffee filter with a handle that clearly fits on top of a mug. Great. He has to figure this out, doesn’t he?
He decides to stick with the coffee filter thing. The French press looks complicated, and he’s worried he’ll break it. Better to grind some beans, dump them in the filter, and pour hot water over it. Hot or boiling? He has no idea. He figures he’ll heat the electric kettle up until almost boiling, then pour it over. He’s definitely heard of pour-over coffee, so that must be what this is.
At leask Bakugo’s hungover. He might not notice.
But of course he does.
“This coffee is shit.”
“Thanks.”
“Anytime.” But he still drinks it.
They watch an old anime, a mecha with drills and manliness and a villain with teeth like Kirishima’s that makes them laugh and rage. They order takeout twice in one day. Some half-assed cleaning occurs. They go down to the private gym Bakugo owns on another floor in the building. It’s a total waste of a day, but it keeps Katsuki preoccupied until the evening, when he falls into a slump again. Kirishima’s pretty certain that if he hadn’t been there, the other man would have just stayed on the couch all day doing nothing.
“Do you want to talk about anything?”
He grunts and does nothing, so Kirishima shrugs and begans flicking through his phone. He likes a few posts on his social media, reposts a photo from Miruko of her at a womens’ wrestling event, leaves a meaningless comment on one of Fatgum’s posts. And he wonders how many other Pros out there are depressed, who else is just going through the motions or chasing a high they haven’t felt since they were teenagers in competitions that meant nothing. As he absently scrolls through another social media account, an ad for suppressants flashes across his screen, and he tosses it aside and groans. He has no idea if Bakugo takes them anymore, or if he takes them consistently. He’s a beta himself, not likely to notice either way, but Katsuki had started taking them when at UA. Should he ask? What difference does it even make though? And as he’s mulling over this, Bakugo starts talking again.
“It’s stupid, how everyone seems to care way less about it now. All talking about how soon there won’t be a need for heroes like it’s no big deal. And then Iida saying that shit, that the villain we caught didn’t mean to do anything wrong so there’s no need to punish him. He didn’t have to face All For One.”
Shit. He’s really just going for it, huh. It hits him then, like a sack of bricks to the face, that maybe he has that PTSD thing. He was medically dead for a little while, wasn’t he? And then he woke up and had to face the nightmare. There’s not much anyone can say to this. The casual attitude so many people have taken in the last few years has bothered him, too, like all villains are actually nice people who made mistakes and can be rehabilitated. It’s a nice thought. He appreciates the efforts Uraraka and Iida are putting into it. But something about it made him nervous, like everyone might be missing something. Maybe he just can’t keep up with how fast the world’s changing either.
“Anyway it’s probably because he knocked up Mei.”
This catches him by surprise. Iida, of all people? “Huh?”
“You didn’t know? They’re engaged. So he’s just gonna be a parent soon and only care about that.”
“Okay now you’re just being a dick.”
He completely ignores him. “Kaminari and Jiro, too, yea? They’re definitely dating. I don’t know why they lied about it. And Hagakure and Aoyama. Midoriya and Ochako soon, I bet, given how weird they were last night. How many Pro heroes keep being Pro heroes once they have kids?” He pauses. “And don’t say that’s the omega in me talking.”
“I wasn’t gonna.” Because it hadn’t even crossed his mind. The thought of Bakugo settling down with anyone, much less having kids, was laughable. Not that he hadn’t thought about it, back when they were kids, when they’d first met and he’d felt a twinge in his gut that made him want to hang around with his explosive classmate, then later when he and Mina parted on good terms not because they didn’t totally love each other, but because he didn’t love her that way, which was kind of how the way he felt for someone else he couldn't tell. Whatever on-again, off-again feelings he had, he knew Katsuki wasn’t the type to ever bother with a relationship. Which was fine.
“Just sucks. I bet half of them will be retired or dropped to part time within five years. And the rest see it like a job. Nobody’s trying to get to the top. Hell, Shoto got to Number 2 and just wants to open a restaurant now. Midoriya just wants to be a teacher even after everything. Nobody’s like they used to be.”
“Maybe you have to stop looking back.”
“There’s where everything is.” He says it like he’s stupid, but there’s a rawness to his voice that makes Eijiro reach out, brush his fingers against his shoulder in a way that seems forbidden, so unlike the manly backslaps and shoulder grips he’s used to.
“Maybe you’re afraid if you start looking ahead, your dream will change like Midoriya’s did, and you think then you’ll have nothing because this is all you ever had.” It’s probably the most intelligent thing he’s ever said, and for a moment he’s proud of himself, at least until he sees Bakugo’s face.
Because the shift in his facial expression is abrupt and devastating, from frustration to confusion to despair in the span of less than a second.
Kirishima wants to hug him, but he doesn’t know if he should, so he gently squeezes his arm instead. He doesn’t know if he’s saying the right thing, but what the hell, if he pisses him off and gets smacked, it’s better than nothing. “You’re not dead, Katsuki. You got up again, back there, eight years ago, and you stayed up. You don’t have to keep pace with anyone, but you gotta keep going.”
There’s a long silence then. His friend doesn’t shove him off or smack him. Instead he slowly leans into him, like he’s starved for even the lamest physical touch, and Kirishima finds himself holding his breath until he nearly chokes. Bakugo smells like dryer sheets, old alcohol, and cheap shower gel that Eijiro recognizes as something he himself advertised for just last year. He wonders if that’s why he’s using it, or if it’s just a stupid coincidence that he wants to mean something more.
He stays still, listening to him breathe and not daring to move for what might be an hour, a second, a lifetime, before Bakugo finally speaks again. “Maybe.” And then. “Reminds me of what I said back then to you, huh.”
Eijiro feels heat on his face because of course he remembers what he’s referring to, that day back when they were kids and he himself had said he didn’t think he could keep up with anyone, that they were all going on ahead without him. He’d kept those words in the back of his mind all these years.
But he hadn’t thought that Bakugo would remember them even more than an hour, much less for nearly a decade.
“Yea, well it was good advice.” He hesitates a long moment before slowly letting himself relax, lean into Bakugo in return. Maybe some things don’t change after all, like him not saying what he should say, what he maybe should have just said nine years ago not long after they first met, but that doesn’t matter right now. Instead all he does is feel that familiar weight against him. “Nice shower gel, by the way.”
“That was without a doubt Red Riot’s lamest commercial,” Katsuki mutters without missing a beat, like he’d known Eijiro would mention it eventually.
“Thanks.” He doesn't have to say anything else, not now, because he suspects there will be time and time enough for them to talk.