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Bakugou stared at the crunched pieces of plastic on his dorm room floor. It wasn’t just any plastic, though.
It was his hearing aids.
How the fuck did they manage to get on his floor when he could’ve sworn he left them on his night table? Did someone sneak into his room to chuck them on the floor? Did they suddenly grow legs and hop off the night table themselves? Maybe the phone sporadically vibrating across his nightstand could be to blame, for the device itself inched closer to the point of a suicide dive off the edge. He huffed and cursed under his breath as he snatched up his phone to see who was about to fall victim to blame. “Idiots,” he murmurs at the continuous flow of text notifications filling the window. He was in another group chat with his so-called ‘friends’ despite the fact he’s left the dozens of other chats they tossed him in for this exact same reason.
It was late in the morning, a quarter to ten of this week’s Saturday, and here these idiots were blowing up his phone about something that probably wouldn’t matter to the ashen blond grump. A simple “what the fuck” was all he texted after skimming through the text log.
Stupid Pikachu
Blasty’s up!
Tape Face
I thought demons only came out between midnight and 3am
Shitty Hair
Bakugou!!
No surprise that the redheaded idiot was already at his door before the blond could say anything more. He could barely hear his knocks, and his voice was just as dulled when Bakugou snatched the door open and snapped, “What the fuck do you want.” Kirishima beamed at him, unfazed by his attitude as per usual, half his shitty hair pulled up into a loose ponytail. Bakugou’s eyes fell to his lips as they moved and he hardly registered the sound of his own name. Flickering his eyes to amicably warm crimson, he tilted his head, probably accidentally yelling, “What did you say?” Kirishima’s smile falters a bit, his brows upturned as he motioned his ear.
Ah, right.
Bakugou turned and led him towards the crime scene. “This is all your fault,” he gestures with a frown and quick motions of his hands, and thank the heavens that the redhead had taken the time to learn sign language because he signed back, “How sway?” almost immediately with a slight chuckle. Bakugou wags a finger at his phone--the accomplice to said crime.
“Your stupid group chats; my phone vibrated and knocked them off my dresser.”
The phone chittered and lit up teasingly. Kirishima pouted. “You want me to buy you new ones?”
Bakugou hesitates. Kirishima smiles and motions, “I’ll be right back,” and then leaves without giving any context. Maybe Bakugou should’ve followed after and asked him what he meant. Bakugou goes to the bathroom instead, kills his germs with a vengeance while glaring at his own foggy reflection. His hair was weighted with water, skin damp, a towel wrapped around his waist, and maybe he should’ve locked his door; maybe he should’ve gotten dressed as soon as he came back into his room. Kirishima’s face was dusted a healthy shade of pink when Bakugou turned around. “I should’ve knocked. Sorry,” he manages to say despite the small box cradled in his hands.
The blond was almost tempted to say, “It’s not like you haven’t seen it all before,” but instead he fishes for some shorts in his drawer and clothes himself. Beads of water still drip from his hair, so he drapes his towel over his head and signs, “So where did you go?”
“I got you new hearing aids!”
Oh?
Bakugou sits on the edge of his bed. Kirishima sits next to him, knee pressing into the soft fat of the blond’s thigh, and something about the subtle contact made his cheeks feel warm. The redhead peels open the box and fumbles with the plastic wrappings and such until the aids are situated in the palm of his hand. They were different than the ones issued to him by their school nurse; smaller and orange--his favorite color. Bakugou let him fix them onto his ear, partially because he wanted more of that sweet physical contact, but also because he was already set on doing it anyway. His fingers gingerly brushed against the cartilage of the blond’s ear, his index scratching into his scalp to tuck back a particular tuft of hair. Red spiky hair and tanned skin filled the entirety of his vision; a canine tugged at the corner of his flushed lips.
And maybe all those little details made the blond’s heart staccato against his ribcage. Maybe his face was as red as his hair. Maybe Kirishima pretended not to notice while he hid his own bashfulness behind a small grin. His lips moved finally, and the blond’s ears quirked at the crystal clear call of his name. “Can you hear me now, Bakugou?”
“Yeah,” he murmurs, shuffling further onto the bed to press his back against the wall; he didn’t have a reason to be so close to him now. The redhead seemed to notice the withdrawal but didn’t say anything. The bed dipped and creak as he got up with a soft grunt.
“Well, I’ll be right next door if you need me, and this time--” Kirishima gestures to Bakugou’s villainous phone with a wink. “--don’t leave your hearing aids next to that.” Bakugou huffs, watching the redhead’s retreating back until he inevitably exited the room, the echo of the door shutting as he went causing the blond to flinch. He sighs lolling his head back to thud softly against the wall, eyes focusing on the increasing bleariness of his ceiling.
His hearing aids stopped working the next day.
Or rather, one stopped working, so Bakugou disposed of the other one before knocking on Kirishima’s door the next morning. A stupid decision, in hindsight, seeing that Kirishima took out the battery of the remaining one and concluded that water managed to get inside. His cat-like eyes were tired, and he yawned softly. Maybe knocking on his door at five in the morning was a bit much, but it was one of the rare occasions he got to see the redhead with his hair completely down disheveled due to heavy, aggressive sleep. “You could’ve just dried them,” the redhead signs.
“Well, how the fuck was I supposed to know,” Bakugou signs back in belligerence. Kirishima sighs, which quickly turned into another yawn.
“Just take it out of the garbage and let it dry.”
“No, that’s disgusting.”
“Then I’ll buy you another pair. Just wait here.”
Kirishima was frowning, a sign of mild annoyance that should have made Bakugou feel bad for troubling him, but then the blond recalled the red filling his line of sight and tentative fingers brushing against his ear. He pushes past the redhead to sit on his bed with his arms crossing his chest all childlike, head lowered to hide the evidence of burning cheeks. Kirishima languidly dressed over his sleep clothes and left, and maybe Bakugou took advantage of him leaving and relaxed on his unmade bed. The mattress was still warm. His sheets and blanket held a lingering scent of earthy amber. He cradled the blanket to his chest, tangled his limbs in some situation that fathomed what it would probably be like to do this with the real thing-- cuddling . He huffed, gingerly pressing his face into the duvet to smother a threatening chuckle.
Kirishima’s bed was made by the time he got back.
“Here.” Kirishima shakes the box. Bakugou lolls his head at him, brows furrowing. Kirishima’s face drew a blank. His signing was purposeful. “You do know you can do this yourself, right?”
Bakugou blinks. Kirishima laughs.
“You're so lazy,” he says, sitting beside him on the bed. Their knees weren’t touching, but he felt a phantom of contact nonetheless as Kirishima peeled open the box and fumbled with the plastic. This time, there was no towel in his way, but the redhead cupped the side of the blond’s jaw to tilt his head and fold his ear back; and maybe he leaned into his touch this time. Maybe Kirishima noticed.
Bakugou managed to lose his hearing aids sometime during the week.
And okay, there was an offset chance that he didn’t exactly lose them, per se, but actually tossed them when Iida kept bickering at him about putting his feet on the coffee table during one of their off days. As a result, Iida couldn’t see and Bakugou couldn’t hear. Bakugou saw the sag of Kirishima’s shoulders whilst the other heard the soft puff of air escaping his lips. Iida bowed to him and Bakugou vaguely made out his, “We’re incredibly sorry, Kirishima-kun!”
“No need to bow,” Kirishima signs for Bakugou, but says for Iida. The second sentence wasn't for him, however. “Let's get you new frames.” And he had no reason to be jealous of the guiding hand on the small of Iida’s back, but the blond puffed his chest and crossed his arms with a huff regardless. Iida got his glasses soon enough, and after muttering some bitter apology, it was Bakugou’s turn to have the redhead’s undivided attention. They headed up to Kirishima’s room and Bakugou immediately took his place on the edge of the bed, back pressed up against the wall. The redhead locked the door and crossed the room to stand in front of the blond, signing, “What did you do this time?”
“I didn’t do anything!” Bakugou signs fervently with an added kiss of his teeth.
“Well then, why were Iida’s glasses broken and your hearing aids missing?”
Silence.
Though, sign language didn’t exactly make a sound he could hear.
Bakugou kisses his teeth again and folds his arms back across his chest. Kirishima cracks a smile. “Those are expensive, you know. You can’t just chuck them when you’re upset,” he tells the blond, and he’s right, but Bakugou won’t admit it. He does apologize though, closing a fist and slowly dragging it across his chest in a few small circles. The blond’s eyes flicker to Kirishima, who asks, “Where did you throw them?”
“Out the window.”
Kirishima smiles. “Be right back.”
So here he was, left alone in the redhead’s room again surrounded by retro Crimson Riot memorabilia and lingering amber musk. At least his bed was made this time , he thought, though he didn’t know if he favored the lack of body heat soaked into the mattress. He flopped between staring at the ceiling and reveling in fleeting scents with his eyes closed. Time idly passed him by, the room gradually being painted in brilliant orange and sharp shadows before light dissipated altogether. He flicked on Kirishima’s lamp just as he vaguely registered the click of the door. Harsh light framed the redhead’s broad silhouette as he entered the room with a plastic bag fisted in his hand. Bakugou sat upright on the bed, crossing his legs. Kirishima hands the bag to him when he draws near, and naturally, Bakugou opens it and peeks inside, seeing there were multiple boxes of hearing aids inside.
Oh.
Bakugou swallows, signs a ‘thank you’, but he wasn’t thankful in the slightest.
“You need help putting them in too?” Kirishima’s joking. Bakugou knows he’s joking, but his amicable grin doesn’t deter the pang the blond felt in his chest. The chuckle that ruptured his chest broke him and he pushes past the redhead before he could notice the moisture brimming his eyes.
And then he ignores him for at least a week.
Maybe it was less, maybe it was more than that. It felt like fucking forever regardless. Attempts to talk to him went down his line of friends until Half and Half (equal parts unfortunately and unwillingly) blocked the elevator to question him with a stoic gaze. Bakugou only kissed his teeth and took the stairs instead. And maybe the blond carried the weight of guilt for how upset his actions--or lack thereof--affected the redhead. Maybe he heard his quiet sobs and fleeting whispers through the wall, and maybe Bakugou steadily destroyed his spare pairs of hearing aids with a quick crackle of his palms every night until he was down to his very last pair.
Monday morning dawned upon him and he felt like absolute shit.
The heavy bags beneath his eyes could classify as designer, though, he couldn’t say the same about the greasiness of his hair. His uniform shirt is wrinkled and his pants seemingly sagged more than usual. He noticed a sock was mismatched a bit too late, but he was already in class. Whatever. He took his seat and ignored all the eyes burning holes into his back. He turned his weary eyes to the window whenever he caught a blur of pink, yellow or red in his peripheral. Midoriya passed by with a look of concern. Yaomomo whispered something to Iida who only shook his head. He wanted to snap that he couldn’t hear them anyway; he couldn’t hear anything.
He didn’t bother putting in his hearing aids.
And Aizawa was possibly the first to notice when he walked in and emerged from his yellow sleeping bag. He suckled on the applesauce packet wedged between his lips, asking him his reasoning for willingly deafening the world with a quick motion of his hands. Bakugou shrugs. Aizawa’s gaze falls elsewhere. He motions, then after a brief second, nods. The man didn’t bother Bakugou again after that. His teacher signed the lecture for him as he spoke, and Bakugou stubbornly scratched his notes onto his paper with a firm grip on his pen. Lunch came soon after, and the blond made his way back towards his room. There was no sign of the redhead or the other brainless idiots that made up his inner circle.
Good.
Bakugou walks back to the dorms alone, stopping by a vending machine to purchase a ginger soda before calling the elevator from the lobby. He cracked the can open and took his first sip, then another, eyeing the steady change of lights of the call buttons until they reached ‘four’. The cabin sways to a stop and the doors slide open. He crushes the empty can and tosses it into the nearest trash bin before stalking down the corridor. He could take a quick nap, he ponders, jabbing his key into the card slot and pushing the door in when the indicator lit green. His bag hits the floor as soon as he slips out of his shoes, and he would’ve sought solace in the confines of his bed if it wasn’t for the foreign body sitting at its edge.
Kirishima was in his room sitting on his bed, and it was then that the blond remembered giving Kirishima an illegal spare key. He noticed Kirishima cradling the last hearing aid box in his hands, cat-like eyes trained on him. He balances said box on his lap as he gestures, “What happened to the rest?”
“Destroyed.” Bakugou crackles his palm in demonstration. Kiri nods, then motions for him to come with a quirk of his fingers. Bakugou hesitates. Kirishima stares expectantly. The blond sighs and dips down the bed as he sits next to him and Kiri shuffles, not exactly drawing closer, but not scooting away either. Kirishima moves his hands. “Why have you been avoiding me? What did I do wrong?”
“Why won’t you talk to me?” His eyes looked so sad. Bakugou opens his mouth, but his throat contracts and restricts the vocalization of his emotions save for a few frustrated grunts. Too many questions and not enough answers; they all pointed towards one sickeningly aggressive feeling in particular. The blond huffs and turns his eyes to the floor, shoulders sagging pathetically. Kirishima didn’t peg him for answers, instead meticulously peeling the top of the box open and fumbling with the plastic wrappings and such until the aids were situated in the center of his palm. They were a different brand, seemingly higher-end and polished a cherry red, another color he’s grown fond over the past couple of days. He angles his body towards Bakugou, and the blond let him fix them onto his ear, partially because the redhead was already set on doing it anyway, but mostly because he craved that sweet physical contact again. Kiri’s fingers felt hot as they timidly brushed against the soft bone of the blond’s ear, and all Bakugou saw was red. Red hair, red eyes, flushed lips as he chewed them with a dangerous set of teeth, ruddiness dusting the expanse of his cheeks all the way to the tips of his own ears.
Kirishima cups the side of his jaw and folds his ear back to settle the aid on his other ear and Bakugou shamelessly leans into the touch. Kirishima definitely noticed, and with a click, the blond was able to hear the deafening silence separating them. The redhead removes his hand and settles for a knee instead. Bakugou is still hesitating to speak, but Kirishima reminds him that he doesn’t have to open his mouth at all. “Talk to me,” he says with his hands, tacking on, “Please.”
And really, what did Bakugou have to lose at this point? Bakugou points to himself, then crosses his arms over his heart. Kirishima’s eyes widen when the blond points to him, finishing his proclamation: “I love you, Eijirou.” Katsuki focuses his gaze on red everything. “More than just friends. I didn’t know how to tell you and I’m sorry for being an ass about the hearing aids and ignoring you instead of telling you how I really felt...”
“I’ve felt this way about you for a while now,” the words escape the blond’s lips as he stares at his hands. “I understand if you don’t feel the same way, or if I’ve already ruined my chances because I’m a huge dick or whatever, but--” Eijirou cuts him off with a touch to his knee, and Katsuki hesitates to look him in the eyes.
When he does so, however, he realizes he was... crying?
“I love you too, Katsuki,” the redhead signs, the words slipping his lips in a simultaneous, fleeting whisper, “For the longest time.”
“Can I…” Eijirou hesitates and quiets himself. Katsuki encourages him to continue asking his question with a subtle nod of his head. Ei gestures his lips. Katsuki’s gaze follows. “Can I kiss you?”
And maybe the blond was a little to eager to mash their lips together. Their first kiss was an awkward tooth-bumping, forehead-thumping mess, but they couldn’t be happier. Katsuki releases a disgruntled huff as he pouts and presses their bruised foreheads together, and when he willed himself to peer at the redhead before him, his heart fluttered at the sight of crimson filtering between thick lashes. Eijirou chews his lip. “We have all night to practice, i-if you want,” he stutters. The blond smiles softly and moves his hands.
“Yes,” he signs.
Eijirou leans for him first this time, and he closes his eyes and follows through.