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Was his hair too spiky? Was it not spiky enough?
It didn’t look that different from how it usually did. But, wasn’t that the point? Shouldn’t he do something special? Maybe he should wear his hair down this time, a couple people have told him that it looks dressier when he wears it down. However, he didn’t really feel like it was true to his nature to wear it down - though, it might also stop him from getting recognized. Not that he got recognized very often, but it still happened and he really just wanted it to be them tonight. Maybe . . .
Kirishima stared mournfully at his reflection, wishing, and not for the first time, that he was better at things like this. Mina had helped him pick out his outfit - a button up shirt not too dissimilar from his hair color and dark jeans - so he was pretty confident in that, but his hair, what was he supposed to do with his hair.
“Ya know,” He heard Kaminari drawl from the doorway, and he glanced out of the corner of his eye at the blond. “If you don’t leave soon, you’re gonna be late.”
Kaminari was leaning against the doorway, dressed in his ‘eat my feelings out’ outfit, which was just a pair of Kirishima’s sweatpants (because they were bigger, he had explained once) and an old band shirt. The smirk on his lips told Kirishima that he was amused by his antics, but the concern in his eyes said that he was also concerned by Kirishima’s antics. Kirishima gave one of his spikes an experimental flick and sighed when it swayed but otherwise remained where it was. The gel had set, and if he wanted to change his hairstyle, he’d have to wash it all out and then he probably actually would be late.
“Do you think my hairstyle is too recognizable?” Kirishima asked, turning his face toward his friend. He tentatively touched his hair again; his hair was his calling card, a flash of bright color for civilians to latch onto in the chaos of battle for hope while also working as an homage to Crimson Riot. However, as his calling card, it made him easy to pick out in a crowd.
“I want it to just be us tonight, you know?” He said to Kaminari, who scoffed.
“You’re going out with The Ground Zero, one of the biggest rookie heroes in Japan - did you really think you could get out of this without being recognized?”
“Don’t act like that,” Kirishima muttered, turning to the mirror with a frown. “We’ve known him since he wanted his hero name to be King Explosion Murder.”
He hadn’t thought about that, actually. Kirishima didn’t really get recognized outside of Kansai, and if he did it was usually for his days at UA; he forgot that there were heroes like Bakugou, Todoroki, and Midoriya who got recognized throughout the country. Maybe this entire night was futile, and he should have just invited Bakugou over and so they could have a more lowkey sort of night.
“Exactly,” Kaminari said, startling Kirishima. He hadn’t said any of that out loud, had he? Kaminari pushed his way into the narrow bathroom of the apartment they shared and put his hands on Kirishima shoulders so that the redhead had to turn in his direction.
“This is Bakugou,” Kaminari said, and then Kirishima was lost because he didn’t understand where this conversation was going. “Don’t get so worked up about it, you guys are like, best friends.”
Oh.
Kirishima felt like Kaminari was being unfair. Sure, this was Bakugou, and sure, he knew Bakugou well enough to know he was a massive dork instead of that sauve bad boy that the media liked to play him up as, but this was also Bakugou, who Kirishima had been in love with since third year if not longer, and had also agreed to go on a date with Kirishima. Of course he’d be nervous; he knew Bakugou well enough to know that he wouldn’t be forgiving about the way the night would go should it go wrong, and even if he would be, Kirishima wanted it to be perfect anyway.
“When is Sero flying in?” Kirishima asked instead of voicing any of those thoughts, though, because Kaminari had picked up the nasty habit of giving people the equivalent of a static shock when he felt they were being stupid. As Kirishima’s roommate and the receiver of all of his neurotic moments, he shocked Kirishima a lot for being stupid.
The expression on his face told Kirishima that he was wholly unimpressed by the unsubtle topic change but he was Kirishima’s long-suffering friend, so he would let it slide just this once. Kirishima sent him a smile and he hoped it conveyed his thankfulness.
“He should be touching down in the next thirty minutes or so,” Kaminari said, pulling away to lean back against the doorway. Kirishima turned back towards the mirror to give himself one last unsatisfied once-over. This was It, the big moment he had been waiting on for five years, and he looked like the same old plain Kirishima he always did.
“You aren’t going to go pick him up?” Kirishima asked, eyeing his black sweatpants that sagged dangerously low on Kaminari’s hips. The blond snorted, and he brought his eyes back up to his face.
“Nah, that was always your shtick. Now that you’re too busy to mope with the rest of us singletons on Valentine's Day, Sero has to get his own ride here,” Kaminari said in a haughty tone, and Kirishima rolled his eyes at him.
“You’re not even going to pay him back for the taxi?” He checked his teeth in the mirror, then turned to push past the blond, who looked affronted that Kirishima had even dared to offer that suggestion.
“Me? Poor, little rookie hero me? Pay him back? With what funds? All my monies must go towards feeding my poor, small children.” Kaminari said dramatically, holding a hand to his heart. With somewhat fond exasperation, Kirishima fished some money out of his wallet and threw it as Kaminari’s chest, his mind impolitely bringing up that one time that Bakugou did the same to him during first year. His brain did that often: assess a situation and then bring back some old half-forgotten memory that involved Bakugou and was relevant.
Kirishima hated his brain for this, and had considered a lobotomy once or twice.
“You know,” Kirishima started, stuffing his wallet back into his pocket and checking the time on his phone. “There are other things that two, single men could do with their time than eat ice cream and watch movies.”
“What do you mean?” Kaminari asked, holding his hand to his chest again and casually stuffing the money Kirishima had given him into his pocket. “Eating ice cream and watching action movies before we give up trying to maintain our image as manly men and watch romantic comedies until we cry is tradition.”
“Hey, the only unmanly thing about watching Romantic Comedies is if you don’t cry,” Kirishima said, going to slip his shoes on. “I’m being serious, though. When are you going to actually ask Sero out?”
“Bro, the thing that you don’t understand about Sero,” Kaminari said, following Kirishima and going to throw an arm around his shoulders. “Is that Sero is a difficult beast that you have to be gentle and subtle with, or he’ll spook.”
“So you’re too scared to ask him?”
“Oh yeah, definitely.” Kirishima chuckled and Kaminari removed his arm from from his shoulders. He ran his hands over the front of his shirt, trying to smooth it down over his stomach. The shirt was fitted, just tight enough to accentuate his broad shoulders and the muscle definition of his chest. He looked up at his roommate for approval. Kaminari stared at him for a second, holding his chin like he was appraising art, and then reached up to unbutton Kirishima’s shirt until the divot of his collarbone was in sight, then he gave Kirishima a thumbs up. The redhead nodded, and then took a deep, steadying breath.
“He wouldn’t reject you, you know?” Kirishima said, and Kaminari gave him a Look.
“You’re stalling.”
“You’re right,” Kirishima said, and then he opened the door and stalled some more. Kaminari groaned and walked over to plop down on the couch.
“Dude, the only way this date is going to go to hell is if you don’t show up,” Kaminari said, and the positive enthusiastic side of Kirishima believed him, it really did, but the darker, sticker insecure side of Kirishima that he still hadn’t quite manage to shake away clung to him and whispered all the ways it could go wrong.
“He’ll kill you if you don’t show up; like, actually murder you, kill you, if you don’t show up,” Kaminari pointed out and Kirishima sighed and stared plaintively down the hallway. There was a disgruntled noise and Kirishima looked back towards Kaminari just in time to see him pull out his phone. The sound of it ringing filled the apartment as he climbed over the back of the couch and started stomping towards Kirishima, purpose etched onto his face.
“Hello?” Ashido’s voice rung out crystal clear in the space between them. Kirishima closed his eyes, embarrassment flaring in his chest.
“Mina, tell Kiri he’s being ridiculous,” Kaminari demanded, and Kirishima opened his eyes again to glare at his roomate.
“Kiri, you’re being ridiculous,” Ashido said, her voice admonishing. Kirishima gaped, because she didn’t even know what was going on and yet, here she was, just going with what Kaminari asked.
“Is this about the BakuDate?” Ashido asked, and Kirishima’s mouth closed shut with a click while Kaminari confirmed her suspicions. His embarrassment surged even more. Was he that predictable? How did Ashido even know about the date? Had he told her? Were secrets just impossible to keep from Ashido? Not that the date with Bakugou was a secret, he was fucking thrilled that it was happening, but he was pretty sure he hadn’t told anyone but Kaminari and Sero when he cancelled their usual tradition.
“Listen, Ei,” Ashido said, her voice impossible to ignore. He sighed, and took Kaminari’s phone from him. “You and Bakubro have been best friends for how many years?”
“Seven years,” He muttered.
“And how many times other than like, the first few months, has he been an ass to you?”
“Like -”
“If your answer isn’t none, you’re wrong.”
“ . . . none. But what if he like, doesn’t like me as much as I like him?” Kirishima asked. He felt like that was a reasonable concern - he liked Bakugou a lot, like, entirely too much.
“Dude, he skypes you like every other night, which, first of all, that’s a huge sign right there, and second, I have never seen two thirstier people in my entire life,” Kaminari protested, and Ashido snorted over the phone.
“And he looks in the mirror like, every chance he gets,” She said, and Kirishima sighed.
“I’m being serious, guys.”
“I understand that this is scary, Kiri,” Ashido said, her voice gentling. Kirishima could imagine the soft, sympathetic look on her face. Even if it actually wasn’t in front of him, he still found it comforting. “But if there is literally anyone who can survive a date with Bakugou Katsuki, it’s you. He’s always had a soft spot for you.”
“You’re right,” Kirishima said, sighing again.
“I always am. Now, don’t you need to be going?” She asked, and Kirishima glanced at the time on the phone and almost yelped. He tossed the phone back to Kaminari and ran out of the door, only remembering to say goodbye over his shoulder in his hurry.
-~-~-~-
Kirishima had left without grabbing a coat, and he immediately regretted it.
It had dipped below freezing, and all Kirishima was wearing was that one layer. Each breath that he breathed came out in a white puff of vapor and anxiety, and the cold caressed him and snuck frozen fingers under his clothing and stroked his skin, raising goosebumps. It was a clear night, and somehow the endless black sky above him only made it feel colder.
Luckily, he had his quirk. Maybe it wasn’t the flashiest thing, but being able to make yourself impervious to temperature changes was a nice benefit. He hardened his skin just enough to keep most of the cold out but stopping just short of ripping any parts of his shirt. It was a nice shirt, an expensive shirt, and he found himself wishing that Yaoyorozu was still on hand any time they needed something.
He dropped his hardening as soon as he stepped foot into the resturant. He could hold that light of a layer of hardening for the better part of the day, but that didn’t mean it was easy. Besides, the warmth of the restaurant was almost overwhelming compared to the coldness of outside and he didn’t really need to hold it any longer. The restaurant looked busy, and while he knew he had a reservation, he still couldn't help but get nervous at group of people huddled around the entrance, shells folded over arms and shivering in their coats each time someone opens the door.
With more confidence than he felt, he stepped up to the hostess podium and waited until the girl there looked up from the tablet below her. He wrung his fingers together and resisted the urge to check his phone. The restaurant had been decorated to the nines; it’s usual dark wood furnishing now outlined in red, whether that be with throw blankets or flowers or candles that were carefully sat in the center of each table.
“How many?” The girl in front of him drawled, not even looking up. It was a simple question, but his nerves had come back and he stumbled over it at first.
“Um, two?” He said, and then glanced around in a panic. “But the other - he isn’t - they’re not here yet.”
“We’re on a 45 minute wait; would you like to leave your number and name with me? You’ll get a text message when a seat becomes available,” The girl drawled again, and she sounded remarkably bored for a busy night.
“Oh, um. I have a reservation?” Kirishima said, and the girl sighed before finally ripping her eyes away from the tablet. She opened her mouth to say something, but then stopped, and froze.
Everybody’s look of recognition was different, but there was always similarities. There was the second where disinterest was clear in their eyes - not a rude disinterest, just a this-is-a-stranger kind of disinterest - but in the literal blink of an eye, it goes from disinterest to a bright, concentrated form of focus. They widen slightly, the pupils darted around the features of the person they were recognizing to make sure that their eyes were indeed not deceiving them. Then, their jaw would slacken, and depending on the person, they’d either part their lips slightly or drop their jaws to gawk. And, finally, depending on how they were acting prior to the recognition, either embarrassment or excitement would overcome their features.
This hostess looked absolutely mortified.
“Oh my god, you’re Red Riot,” She whispered in one breath, and his face flushed. He was glad that she was being quiet, and he smiled a lopsided grin at her in appreciation. He never knew what to say to these kind of things, but she didn’t seem to need him to respond.
“Oh man, you’re so cool and oh wow that outfit and oh my god I almost didn’t give you a seat - we’ve had a table in the VIP rooms for you set for the last hour,” She said, all in a rush and Kirishima's grin came more naturally to him. VIP. He appreciated their discretion; maybe he wouldn’t necessarily need it, but he remembered what Kaminari said and he knew Bakugou would be making quite an entrance when he appeared.
“Thank you,” He said, his words full of gratitude, and she smiled widely at him before gathering some menus in her arms and gesturing for him to follow her. Instead of leading him down the aisles between the tables like he had expected, she ducked into a small hallway and pulled open a wooden door that hid stairs.
She led him upstairs to one of the tables in the corner, and when he glanced around at the sparse patrons on this floor, he recognized several other pro heroes with dates and a few other stars. Off to one side the wall was cut halfway, and when they walked by he could see the massive group of people standing by the door, some looking annoyed that he was just whisked away the way he had been. The hostess placed the menus on either side of the table and smiled at him, pulling his attention away from the entrance of the restaurant.
“You can stand over there to wait for your date, if you want,” She said, and he nodded and smiled gratefully at her. He had arrived early, had done that on purpose because Bakugou was not a particularly patient person, but he wished he hadn’t because now he had to wait. He looked at himself in the reflection of his silverware, poking and prodding at the stiff peaks of his hair and wishing, again, that he had done something unique with it. The waitress brought over water and bread and Kirishima drummed his fingers and waited, resisting the urge to pull out his phone. Eventually, he walked over to the half wall and leaned over it, and waited there.
He heard his entrance before he saw him.
Have you ever heard the collective gasp of a large group of people? Even in a crowded restaurant, it was loud. The hostess at the stand, different than the one that had lead him to his seats, looked up and her face immediately blanched. Bakugou was such a magnetic person that Kirishima knew it was him before he could ever actually see him, because his heart started to race and an odd mixture of excitement and nervousness and attraction ran through his veins and dug under his skin.
Then, Bakugou stepped past the crowd and into Kirishima’s view, and the world around him seemed to slow down.
Bakugou had, following graduation, (begrudgingly) shed his delinquent wardrobe. His behavior, feats, quirk and natural good looks had already started a reputation for him that he had decided to capitalize on with his parents’ help. So, instead of the thug he used to look like, he characterized your classy bad boy type.
And wow, did he wear it well.
He sauntered through the doors like he owned the place, his carmine eyes surveying the floor with a critical gaze. When he turned towards the hostess, she didn’t seem like she knew whether to shrink away from his gaze or to lap it up, and Kirishima felt a pang of sympathy; having the full attention of Bakugou Katsuki was an overwhelming thing indeed. Bakugou was dressed in a slate grey peacoat - cinched and accentuating his thin waist - over fitted black slacks and shiny black dress shoes. He wore dark leather gloves that came to tug his pale yellow scarf - the only splash of color he was wearing - out of its European knot. He growled something to the hostess, face impassive, and Kirishima had to swallow around a mouthful of spit.
It had been a few months since he had seen Bakugou last, and he had forgotten how unfortunately attractive the man was.
Well, that wasn’t true, because Kaminari recorded every last bit of news that had Bakugou in it to tease Kirishima, and Kirishima might have a poster and a magazine or two that had Bakugou’s face plastered all over it, but Bakugou in person and Bakugou recorded were such different animals. A news camera couldn’t capture the self-assured way that Bakugou carried himself, the way his back was ramrod straight but his shoulders were completely relaxed like he had been built to be wherever he was at; it couldn’t capture the way that his eyes roamed restlessly, the way they burned at Kirishima’s skin like they were branding him. It was daunting, and Kirishima felt his insecurity creep back on top of him, clinging to him.
Then, Bakugou looked up and caught his eye, and the world melted away until no one else existed but him and Kirishima.
Kirishima’s breath was stuck in his throat, but he couldn’t look away, was trapped by that intense gaze, by the way his scarf was pulled taunt across his pale and long neck from where Bakugou had paused while taking it off. His expression probably hadn’t changed to anyone standing around him; However, Kirishima had a degree, possibly two, in Bakugou’s micro-expressions, and he sure hell noticed the way Bakugou’s jaw had loosened just slightly until his lips were no longer pressed into a tight line, just barely still touching, or the way that Bakugou’s eyes had widened just a little bit. Kirishima felt his anxiety quiet because he knew this look was good, because this look meant that he was caught just as off guard as Kirishima was, and when Kirishima grinned at him his lips quirked in the corners and this was good.
Then, in a daze, Bakugou was turning away and the world slowly started to seep in. Kirishima tried not to mourn, and it got a little easier when he realized that the hostess had glanced up at him and was now leading Bakugou away and up the stairs. He glanced back down at the crowd, at the way that some people clearly didn’t care but how most of them were bowing their heads and whispering to each other. He wondered, for a moment, how he ever really thought that this could have just been them.
Then, he looked up and carmine eyes were staring at him, and his brain fogged over.
Bakugou ignored the hostess - who looked too starstruck to care - and made a beeline towards Kirishima. He walked with such long and purposeful strides that, when he stopped just a few feet away, Kirishima partly expected his momentum to keep carrying him forward. He gave him a very obvious once over and then smirked.
“Eijirou,” He greeted, his voice low and intimate, and Kirishima felt warmth flare up his entire body.
“Katsuki,” Kirishima responded, his voice shaking a little. Bakugou tilted his head just slightly, and his smirk grew a little more.
“Fuck, are you nervous?” Bakugou asked and Kirishima blinked, because of course he was. This was Bakugou Katsuki, his best friend and also the man he had been harboring the most intense crush on for the last several years and he was standing in front of him, explicitly on a date, on Valentine's day, looking absolutely gorgeous. He was also on a date with Ground Zero, one of the most up-and-coming rookie heroes in Japan.
Instead of answering, he just sighed raggedly. Bakugou snorted, the gesture mocking but the tone not. He closed the space between them and threw his arm around Kirishima, casually directing him towards the table that was obviously theirs.
“You dumbass,” He said fondly. He pushed Kirishima down in one of the chairs and shrugged his coat off, revealing the charcoal blazer and black turtleneck he wore underneath all of that; Kirishima almost started drooling at the sight. Then he laid the peacoat over the back of the chair beside Kirishima, stuffed his gloves and scarf into the pockets, and then sat down.
“It’s just me,” He said, leaning forward to grab a piece of bread that was probably cold by now, ripping a piece off of it and pushing it into his mouth. It was a habit that was so wholly Bakugou, and the ball of nerves in Kirishima’s throat loosened just a little bit.
“Bro, that’s like, the problem,” Kirishima whined, and Bakugou paused his attack on the bread to glance at him, his eyebrows raised. He looked a little affronted, and Kirishima started rushing to explain himself. “It’s just, you’re so you, Katsuki. I mean, you’re just so cool and manly and attractive, holy shit are you attractive, and I’ve obviously had a crush on you for like, years now, and now we are here, and it’s a date, and it’s Valentine's Day and -”
He hadn’t even noticed Bakugou moving until there was half of a piece bread in his mouth; Bakugou’s reflexes really were killer. While he struggled to chew and swallow the bread in his mouth, Bakugou pulled back his hand, inspecting his fingers as if to make sure he didn’t nick them on Kirishima’s teeth, then he looked back up. His exasperation was clear on his face, but his eyes were warm and amused.
“You talk too fucking much - I’ve also been your best fucking friend for years, chill the fuck out,” Bakugou said. He grabbed another piece of bread, glancing at Kirishima from under his eyelashes. “Also, I fucking agreed to this didn’t I? Clearly I like you too, you dumbass.”
Kirishima managed to swallow down the bread, and then he grinned widely at Bakugou. “You like me?”
“God, you are a dumbass,” Bakugou said, snorting again. “Fucking obviously I like you.”
Bakugou’s words weren’t the kind that would probably comfort most people, but they were so earnest and just so Bakugou that Kirishima felt himself relaxing just a little bit. Bakugou eyed him, his expression impassive, and then he turned back towards his bread, breaking it apart to stuff small pieces into his mouth and he started recounting some of his more notable work stories over the last few weeks, talking more than he tended too, and Kirishima knew that he was doing it to distract him. Eventually, the familiar, rough cadence of his voice served it purpose and Kirishima was relaxing to the sound of his colorful commentary. The anxiety still buzzed in him like white noise, but it was much quieter now, much easier to ignore.
Bakugou scarred the waitress with his mouth, and the conversation started to come easily to Kirishima and then by the time the entrees had come out, Kirishima could almost forget that they were on a date and not just hanging out. Then, Bakugou would press his knee against Kirishima’s and look at him from under his eyelashes and Kirishima would swear that his heart was going to explode.
He wasn’t used to Bakugou flirting with him so blatantly in person. Kaminari had been claiming that Bakugou had been flirting with him for years, and even he knew their last few skype calls had been a little flirtatious, but these heavy, heated looks that the beautiful blond kept sending him? He had no idea what to do with them. It kept reminding him that he had never been on a date before, much less in a relationship.
“Oh fuck, you’re getting nervous again,” Bakugou observed, and Kirishima looked up at him from where he had been staring mindlessly at his plate for the last five minutes. He felt panic grip him; he had a feeling that his nervousness was starting to try Bakugou’s patience.
“No! No, no, I’m fine,” Kirishima blatantly lied, and Bakugou just rolled his eyes at him, because Bakugou clearly thought that Kirishima was being an idiot.
“For fucks sake, you’re the one who asked me out on this date, why are you freaking out so much?” Bakugou said, leaning back in his chair, and he wasn’t wrong. Kirishima had managed to get his nerves under control once to actually ask him out, so he didn’t understand why this was freaking him out so much. Bakugou leaned towards him suddenly, quirking one his eyebrows, a sly smirk on his face.
“Come on, Ei,” He said, his voice as slick as oil. “This is pretty fucking unmanly, huh? Why don’t you just take what you want?”
He drew Kirishima in like a magnet and before he realized it, they were only inches apart from each other. Bakugou’s breath blew hot against his face and it just kept reminding him that they were so, so very close. Then, he registered the words that Bakugou was saying and he saw this for what it was: An invitation.
Bakugou wanted him to kiss him.
“Katsuki,” Kirishima said, more on reflex than for any actual reason. Bakugou didn’t respond, just reached out to thread his fingers through the red hair on the back of Kirishima’s neck. His heart felt like it was trying to break through his chest and land in Bakugou’s lap, but then Bakugou’s eyelashes fluttered against his cheekbones, drawing Kirishima’s gaze and once he met Bakugou’s eyes, the restaurant, his anxiety, the world, melted away again. All he saw in those red, red eyes were want and heat - no annoyance, no mockery, no irritation. Maybe Kirishima was making a mess of this, but Bakugou didn’t care, he just wanted Kirishima.
So Kirishima swallowed thickly and reached out to cup Bakugou’s face, and then their eyes were sliding close and Kirishima was leaning in. He closed the precious space between them, his chest tight with anticipation, with the realization that the thing he had been dreaming of for years (well, one of the things) was finally about to happen. He swore his lips were tingling due to the proximity of Bakugou’s before they touched, and then it was only centimeters and then -
“We wanted to give you a complimen- Oh! Oh, my god, I am so sorry!” Bakugou pulled away so quickly that Kirishima felt a draft. In his entire life, during which he underwent three years of instruction under 'logical ruse' Aizawa Shouta, and Kirishima had never been that disappointed. He sat back in his chair, not wrenching his eyes open until he was slumped against it. The waitress was holding some chocolatey dessert in her hands, and Bakugou was glaring so sharply at her that Kirishima would think he was trying to make her explode.
“I’m - oh I am so sorry, I was just - I didn’t notice, oh my god,” The waitress said, and she looked like she was about to cry. Kirishima took pity on her despite his genuine disappointment, and he stood a little bit to grab the plate out of her hands.
“It’s okay, it happens,” He said cheerily, flashing her a smile. Bakugou crossed his arms petulantly.
“It fucking is not okay!” Bakugou growled, and Kirishima couldn’t help but grin goofily. He leaned over to ruffle Bakugou’s hair, earning him a glare similar to the one that Bakugou had been giving the waitress.
“Ignore him; he’s a little grumpy when he doesn’t get what he wants,” Kirishima said, ignoring the glare in turn to curl his arm around Bakugou’s neck, laying his head against his shoulder and smiling. The waitress sniffed tearily and then giggled at Kirishima’s antics, and he felt Bakugou relax just a little bit against him. She glanced meaningfully between the two boys and rubbed her hand under her eyes, wiping away tears she hadn’t shed.
“I can’t blame him,” She giggled, and Bakugou bristled again.
“Did you just flirt with my boyfriend?” Bakugou asked, and Kirishima’s heart squeezed because Bakugou had just called him his boyfriend, which, even Kirishima knew was a little too quick considering this was their first date. Sure, they had planned it a couple of weeks ago, and there had been those skype calls, but this was technically the first time they had seen each other in person since Kirishima had asked Bakugou out. It knocked the wind out of him, making him feel breathless and giddy.
“Don’t worry, Blasty,” Kirishima joked, wrapping his other arm around Bakugou. He had never seen the blond blush so hard. “I only have eyes for you.”
“What the fuck, Eijirou,” Bakugou barked, and the waitress quickly retreated, giggling again. Kirishima pulled away, grinning at Bakugou who was definitely embarrassed now. Kirishima wagged his eyebrows at him.
“So I’m your boyfriend now?” Kirishima asked, and Bakugou scoffed. He pulled the chocolatey dessert towards him and Kirishima had never seen someone cut into cake with that much aggression.
“You’re real weird about the things that make you embarrassed, aren’t you?” He growled, and Kirishima just grinned happily at him.
“I’m too busy being happy that you called me your boyfriend, ba-”
There was a fork in Kirishima’s mouth that definitely had not been in there a second ago. He wrapped his lips around it and pulled the cake off it maybe a little more lewdly than was strictly necessary. He wished he had caught the name of the dish, because it was the moistest cake he had ever had.
Bakugou’s face was still an uncharacteristic shade of red when he tugged his fork out of Kirishima’s mouth and then cut into the cake again.
“Do you ever shut up?” Bakugou mumbled, and Kirishima just grinned at him again. They shared the cake, Kirishima eating more of it than Bakugou because Bakugou didn’t really have a taste for desserts. They fought over who would pay the bill because Bakugou refused to be paid for, but Kirishima had been the one to ask him on the date, so he insisted on paying and eventually he won out by sneaking the waitress his debit card while Bakugou was listing out reasons as to why he should be the one to pay. Bakugou was not happy about that, and Kirishima felt like he could probably say goodbye to his chances of being kissed again for the night.
When Kirishima’s card was returned to him, they stood to leave, and Kirishima watched Bakugou pull on his various accessories with some amusement. He was about to pull his peacoat over his shoulders, the fabric bunched at his elbows, when he seemed to realize that Kirishima wasn’t putting any other clothes on.
“What the fuck dude? It’s subzero outside,” Bakugou blurted, and Kirishima smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his head.
“I kinda forgot?” Kirishima said, and Bakugou stared at him like he had never heard something so stupid. “I was running late! And I didn’t want to be late, and I sort of just completely forgot to grab a jacket?”
Bakugou was still staring at him. His coat started to slide down his arms, and he was wearing like, two other layers after that but there was something suggestive about the motion and Kirishima had to look away, words bubbling up and out of his throat to try and distract himself.
“But - but it’s okay! Because my hardening makes me impervious to cold weather too! So all I gotta do is harden just a little bit and I’m fine! Just, let’s not spend too much time outside, and I should be fine.”
“You’re such an idiot,” Bakugou said, his tone equal parts fondness and exasperation. He took off his peacoat and his blazer, and handed the latter to Kirishima, who looked at it uncertainly.
“It’s gonna be tight,” he said, which was true because it was perfectly tailored and as in great shape as Bakugou was, he was still more slender than Kirishima was. “However, it’s hell of a lot better than nothing.”
Kirishima grinned, because his boyfriend was giving him his jacket, and he slid it on. It was too tight in the shoulders and there was no way it was going to button around his waist, but it was warm and it smelled like smoke and Bakugou’s cologne. Bakugou then looped that pale yellow scarf around his throat, the fabric soft and well worn, and tied it. Even if it the clothing was more of a gesture than anything that added extra warmth, Kirishima thought that all the feelings he felt inside would keep him plenty warm enough in between now and their next destination.
“You look fucking ridiculous,” Bakugou said, nodding in satisfaction. Kirishima giggled, which made Bakugou smile, which made Kirishima grin widely, and it just kept escalating until they were both grinning stupidly at each other. Kirishima wanted to kiss Bakugou, like most of the times that he saw Bakugou smile. For a moment, the old pain of unrequited feelings came back and dampened his happiness, but then he realized that the feelings weren’t unrequited, and that he could maybe kiss Bakugou, and the rush of affection and happiness he felt was so strong that he was dizzy.
He had been too nervous to really think about it, but holy shit Bakugou had gone on a date with him, he had tried to kiss Kirishima, he had flirted with Kirishima and holy shit. Kirishima had been crazy about this dude for years, had been crazy about the way he was, the way he looked, about everything that Bakugou was and would ever be, and the sheer ferocity of his feelings that he felt for Bakugou were so crazy overwhelming it hurt.
“I think I love you,” He breathed. Bakugou’s smile dropped and he stared at Kirishima, and holy shit Kirishima just told him that he loved him. He had just thought that being called Bakugou’s boyfriend was too much and he just said he loved him oh god why?
“Oh shit,” He said. His entire body flushed, and that warmth he felt earlier went from comforting to nauseating. “Oh my god, Bakugou don’t listen to me I just keep running my mouth tonight, you just make me so nervous and I am so sorry I know it’s way too early, and I am so -”
The leather of Bakugou’s glove was warm and supple as it covered Kirishima’s mouth, and dread pooled hot and heavy in his stomach. Bakugou’s eyes were narrowed and he was looking at Kirishima like he was a particularly difficult puzzle, all analytical and calculating. It was the sort of gaze that felt like it was digging through Kirishima and pulling all of his flaws into the light, and being on this end of it made Kirishima feel naked.
Then, Bakugou moved his hand from Kirishima’s mouth, the soft leather sliding into his hair, and his heart started to race, because Bakugou was leaning in.
And then he was kissing Kirishima.
And wow.
Kirishima had been imagining this moment for literal years; how it would feel to have Bakugou’s lips against his, to have his body that close, to feel his warmth and the way his hair fell over his forehead and mixed with Kirishima’s. And nothing, nothing he could have ever imagined, would be as good as the real thing.
Bakugou’s lips weren’t perfectfuly soft; they were a little chapped from the cold weather, but he tasted like the wine they had been drinking and chocolate and warmth, and he seemed to be electrocuting Kirishima, making his heart beat erratically and loud in his ears, making his lungs seize so that he couldn’t breath. This close all he could smell was cologne and smoke and it was an intoxicating cocktail and it had Kirishima’s eyelids falling, his eyes sliding closed and his lips sliding against Bakugou’s.
Bakugou pulled their lips apart for a second so he could tilt his head a little more, his hands grabbing at Kirishima’s hair and then pulling them close again. Kirishima wrapped his arms around Bakugou’s waist and he pulled him against him, being overwhelmed in his warmth and gripping the fabric of his coat tightly in his hands. His heart felt like it was exploding, scattering everything he felt for Bakugou all throughout his body, making his fingertips burn and he felt like he was going to cry he was so happy, so ecstatic, and he felt so much.
Bakugou leaned his forehead against Kirishima’s and Kirishima’s lungs burned when he breathed. Bakugou was still so close, all he would have to do was tilt his head forward a little bit and they would be kissing again and oh shit he just kissed Bakugou Katsuki.
“Okay, I definitely am in love with you,” Kirishima said, because it was kind of true and also because his brain to mouth filter had been obliterated the moment he left his apartment with the knowledge that he was going on a date with Bakugou. The blond just looked at him like he couldn’t really believed Kirishima existed, his eyes wide and mouth dropped in shock. Then he chuckled in the shared space, sending a current of affection through Kirishima.
“Why are you so fucking talkative?” Bakugou asked, bewildered, and Kirishima opened his mouth to respond but then Bakugou was kissing him again, and really anything he had wanted to say would be so much less important than this right now, than Bakugou’s lips against his, unless of course those words were ‘fire’ or ‘we are being attacked’, but they weren’t so that was kind of a moot point.
You know, as nervous as Kirishima had been and as much as he had messed up, he felt like the night had ended pretty well.
“What else have you got planned for the night, dumbass?” Bakugou asked when he pulled away next.
“Um,” Kirishima said, because all of his plans had involved a lot of being outside and they already knew the problems with that. Bakugou snorted, as if he could read Kirishima’s mind, and he ran his gloved hand through Kirishima’s hair.
“Do you think Sero and Kaminari are on romcoms yet?” Bakugou asked.
“Oh, definitely. Between their pining? They’re not going to want to watch actions movies for that long,” Kirishima said, and Bakugou laughed at him. He pulled away, but he hung loosely onto Kirishima’s sides like he didn’t quite want to let go.
“Like you can say shit about pining,” Bakugou teased and, well, he kinda had a point. Kirishima just shrugged, because he was in too good of a mood to really be offended about anything.
“It worked out well for me, didn’t it?” He said, and Bakugou smiled.
“Yeah, shitty hair, I guess it did. Come on, let’s go crash their pity party,” Bakugou said, pulling away now only to catch Kirishima’s hand with his. They left the restaurant hand in hand, and definitely more than one person took a picture of them, but Kirishima couldn’t really make himself care in that moment.