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Kirishima glanced into the mirror, his reflection sporting a fatigued smile, a periwinkle lip print still on his cheek from where Mina had kissed him goodnight and ‘happy 18th, sunshine!’ He figured the nickname would suit Denki a bit more, what with his electric hair and equally electric personality, but his close-knit friend group all insisted that he was the glue that held them together, no matter what. Well, having a group of friends as incredible as they were had been his dream since his first day of class.
Third year wasn’t pulling any punches. In three minutes, Eijirou Kirishima would be 18 years old, and he sure as hell felt like at least that. First year, he’d slept like a rock, but the reality of devoting his life to heroism had started filling his head with unpleasant dreams. He’d watched heroes die. He’d been injured himself. He knew it hardly took anything to end up another casualty, another number, a statistic. Sometimes, he wondered if he was really prepared for it.
He could almost see the timid face of a raven-haired middle schooler in his mirror.
“Ah, shit …” Kirishima muttered as he pulled his hair back into a loose ponytail. His roots were coming in faster than he was used to, blackness swallowing nearly half of the artificial red he’d chosen to change his image. He’d had to stop bleaching the absolute shit out of his hair second year, and even if he’d been uncomfortable without his metaphorical safety blanket, his friends liked how he looked either way. The freckles, the scar over his eye and along his jaw, the crimson eyes and oddly sharp teeth. He guessed he was still himself in the end: hair red, or black, or fuckin’ rainbow.
He pulled the black tank top he’d borrowed from Katsuki over his head, careful not to rip it. It was easier since it was sleeveless, and Katsuki's chest was definitely not narrow, by any means, but Kirishima was still always so surprised when he tried to wear his boyfriend’s clothing. Maybe his perception of himself and his boyfriend was stuck in first year, where they were exactly the same size, and Katsuki's power over him wasn't almost entirely because of his intelligence and incredible quirk application. Now, since Kirishima decided that the bigger he was, the best he could use Hardening: that's what he focused on. It went hand-in-hand with his quirk training anyway. The better his strength, the better his stamina, and the better his defense became. He knew Katsuki'd spent a large amount of his work-outs doing gymnastics, keeping himself flexible, yet strong enough in his upper body that Explosion's recoil didn't do too much damage. It made sense. If he could do handsprings and flips and whatever else without Explosion, he'd be able to put less of his quirk to movement and more into attacking. Bakugou had such a small waist and at this point was probably 45kg lighter than him (okay, maybe not THAT much, but Bakugou was so lightweight!). Being able to bench-press his boyfriend was cute, and it came in handy anyway. During fights, Bakugou’s lithe and agile frame combined with his destructive Quirk made him a human missile, their difference in physical strength being something the two of them gladly took advantage of.
Oh, and it was pretty hot.
“‘M starting to think the grey sweatpants were a bad idea,” He grumbled to himself before flicking off the bathroom light and walking into the dorm room he shared with Katsuki. The blond was turned to the side on their bed, wearing his leisure clothes from first year. He’d gotten taller - he was around 6’1” - so the pants no longer sat low on his hips, the shirt barely covering his toned stomach and stretching to accompany broad shoulders and muscular arms. He hadn’t wanted to participate in Mina’s huge explosion of a party earlier that day, and Kirishima let Katsuki do whatever he wanted at this point. It was kind of strange that he’d become so mellow compared to first year.
Their classmates thought it was improvement.
Kirishima saw it as apathy.
It didn’t change his love for the blond, though, and he smiled as he sat on the bed next to him. Katsuki had insisted that he ‘wait until his actual fucking birthday’ for whatever present he’d gotten for him, and he’d complained, but agreed. He’d tried not to wake Bakugou up when he’d sat down, but he was soon looking into the gorgeous eyes and beautiful features he’d been enamoured with from first glance. Man. He never understood how the girls thought Todoroki was more attractive. Bakugou had an almost impossible beauty - if he hadn’t been set on being a hero, he’d be swimming in the money he’d earn from being a model.
After a few moments of silence, Katsuki smirked. “Use your other brain for at least five minutes, dumbass.” Eijirou flushed, laughed, and rubbed the nape of his neck in embarrassment. Man, he’d lost time staring at Katsuki again. Again. It was just too easy. Time had been ridiculously kind to him, age refining his features from head to toe. Kirishima was kind of jealous. There was a certain softness to Bakugou’s face that Kirishima had lost completely, being strong angles all around. He knew Katsuki disagreed with that conclusion, calling him ‘sexy as hell’ and always shutting him off somehow when he started comparing their appearances. They were from two totally different backgrounds, he knew, but …
“Hey, seriously. Do you want your present or not?” His gaze was so damn fixated on all the things he'd found attractive about the blond that he'd forgotten to respond. Bakugou’s brow wrinkled in slight annoyance, returning the stare with those ruby eyes of his, framed by near golden lashes. Damn, he was beautiful, and that thought gave his stare clear fondness. Kirishima laughed, pulling the slimmer man into a tight hug.
“You didn’t have to get me anything, you know. You’re the only gift I need!” Kirishima responded cheerfully, kissing the blond’s cheek. Katsuki’s nose crinkled up, clearly in (mostly mock) disgust over the cheesy expression.
“Ew. Just take the damn present, alright?” Bakugou picked it up off their bed and handed it to him. It was wrapped gorgeously - leave it to Bakugou to be talented at that, of course- in black wrapping paper with a red ribbon and bow. Kirishima begrudgingly ended the hug and accepted it with a happy ‘thank you!’ as he began sliding his fingers underneath the tape holding the ribbon to the box. Bakugou scowled as he noted Mina’s lipstick on Kirishima’s cheek, quickly starting to rub it off with the tissues he kept near his bed. “Tell raccoon eyes that the only person allowed to kiss you ANYWHERE is me and your fuckin’ parents, alright?! She needs to fuck off with this shit. And she always does it in these stupid coloured lipsticks, like, seriously, who the fuck wears lipstick this colour? God, she’s so fucking obnoxious.” Kirishima laughed, removing the bow.
“And tacky?” He suggested, turning the box over to work on removing the paper.
“Yeah. And tacky.” Kirishima kept laughing, taking his time with Bakugou’s handiwork.
“I think you’re being a little too territorial there, babe. You know Mina’s a-” His fingers froze as he lifted the paper off the back of the box. “W-wait, there’s no-” He continued, simply tearing off the rest of the wrapping paper in order to look at the front of the box.
It was a box he knew well, something he’d wanted ten years ago; a special release Crimson Riot figure that had been both expensive and selective. He didn’t know too much about figure collection, but he knew this one in particular had an extremely limited run. No more than a thousand of these figures existed, and Eijirou would have been entirely pleased with even a knock-off of it. Knowing Katsuki, though, there was no way this was a counterfeit. His eyes were wide, staring at the figure inside with a look of complete amazement. “Katsuki, how did … “
“It wasn’t easy,” He began, leaning against Kirishima’s shoulder, “but I remember you saying that it was the only Crimson Riot figure you didn’t have. So, you have it now.” Katsuki’s eyes wandered over Kirishima’s face, analyzing his boyfriend’s expression. His lower lip was wobbling, the only tell-tale sign he ever gave off before he started crying. “Hey, don’t start crying on me, you know I hate that shit-” He was cut off when he was pulled into a tight hug, Kirishima grinning impossibly wide while trying not to sob. Katsuki sighed, pressed soft kisses to his boyfriend’s jawline. “Happy birthday.”
It took a few moments for Kirishima to pull away, using a tissue Bakugou had offered to wipe the tears off his face. “This… this must have cost you a fortune. I don’t - Katsuki, you really didn’t have to -” Bakugou scoffed, tilting his head away.
“Shut up. I’d spend way more money on you than I did on this figure if it was important to you. Anything that makes you this happy is worth it. The old hag got bitchy about it, but I think she was just being protective or some shit.”
“I don’t even know if I want to take it out of the box…” Kirishima breathed, bewilderment dripping off his voice. “Man, I don’t even know what to say…”
“‘You’re the best boyfriend in the entire fucking world’ works just fine.”
“Can I say I love you more than anything instead?”
The blond sighed, but turned back to face Kirishima, smiling and pressing his forehead to the other’s. “... Yeah, that works,” Katsuki murmured, tilting his head to kiss Eijirou softly. Gingerly, he took the box out of his hands, setting it off to the side to plant his knees on either side of Eijirou’s hips, kneeling high and tugging on Kirishima’s ponytail to force him to tilt his head upwards. Kirishima whined; Bakugou smirked.
“Too bad you’re going to have to be quiet for the second part of your gift.”