Work Text:
“Do you ever wonder about what happens after the hero stuff is over?”
They’re in one of their monthly hair dye sessions. The soon to be redhead is sat on a stool, back slouched against the jagged tiles that encompass the bathroom’s walls. His head hangs low and Katsuki can’t make out Eijirou’s eyes from the position he’s standing, but he can hear the exhaustion in the other’s voice; telling the pain in his chest to fuck off—but it won’t quit.
The lights’ static and echo of gloves moving around in hair dye are the only sounds that surround the two of them in the dim room.
“Bakugo?”
Katsuki’s hands keep moving in Eijirou’s hair.
“Yeah.”
He keeps working on Eijirou’s hair—moving the other’s neck ever so slightly with each centimetre of the surface he has to cover, until eventually Eijirou’s neck is craned up; his hair is pushed back, eyebrows raised, mouth agape, and his eyes—made of roses, swollen lips, sunsets over sand, rubies and the colour of Katsuki’s own trembling heart—reach Katsuki’s matching pair.
He thinks about Eijirou waking him up every morning so they can either go for a run or go down to eat; he thinks about Eijirou asking to borrow a pen, every day without fail; them training every day after dinner until Katsuki’s can’t breathe properly without closing his eyes; their hushed insecurities, shared from the cold concrete of their balconies whenever they feel like shit.
Katsuki likes routines, and he figures that seeing red every day for the rest of his life didn’t seem bad at all. And, if it was the only colour he’d be able to see for the rest of his life, then he thinks that’s alright too.
“Yeah, I think about it a lot.”
It’s a bit like a virus; he can’t think of any better analogy for the way the colour and boy have managed to seep their way into his life. It’s like a virus because it preoccupies his thoughts more often than not and makes his head hurt. It’s like a virus because when he sees red—when he sees him—he feels the weight of his heart in his chest and the way heat travels in his body from his core to the rest. Most days, he has to shut his eyes, whether it’s seconds or minutes, every time he feels that lurch in his stomach—the words waiting on the tip of his tongue.
Sometime later, Katsuki opens his eyes. He doesn’t recall when they transitioned from staring into each other’s eyes to falling asleep—heads on shoulders, legs on thighs, hearts on sleeves.
He lifts himself off Eijirou’s shoulder and rests his back against the wall. His hands run along the edges of the floor tiles as he thinks.
Katsuki doesn’t really seem to recall much when it comes to Eijirou. The change from strangers to teammates to equals seemed so easy. Katsuki hadn’t even realised he had partaken in such a development until Ashido had one day offhandedly referred to him and Eijirou as best friends.
Katsuki had never had a best friend before. What did that even mean? Was it measured by the amount of time spent together? The first person he thinks to tell when something significant happens? Who makes him smile the most? Katsuki had no fucking clue.
Obviously, these questions had different answers, he thinks this is the case for most people.
He spends most of his time with Eijirou, though it can be argued that—since the other initiates the majority of the time—it’s against Katsuki’s will.
(It’s not. Katsuki will never admit that to anyone, and it’s a fault he’s working on, but at least Eijirou knows the truth too—and that’s all that matters really.)
When something important happens he wants to tell All Might about it, but the reality of that almost zero. His next thought is Aizawa-sensei, but it’s always annoying when he acts like he doesn’t care only to bring it up again later to catch Katsuki off guard. Maybe Katsuki needs immediate validation and reactions as a result of his upbringing or maybe he’s just an attention seeker, but he realised that maybe Eijirou is the answer to this question as well.
The best friend in question opens his eyes, quite suddenly, and makes somewhat of an exasperated groan as he stretches his arms. When he meets Katsuki’s eyes, again, a small smile spreads on his face and Katsuki has to bite on his lips to suppress his own lips from involuntarily forming one as well. Eijirou’s eyes flash up to just above Katsuki, and a larger grin greets his face—his eyes crinkle to the point where they’re the galaxy and the stars within it, his dimples are carved like strong mountains and trees marked with the names of lovers, his teeth are sharp (like thorns, Katsuki would know) but accompany the red of his eyes and his hair (and his everything) to make something somewhat akin to a rose.
The answer to question three is Eijirou again, Katsuki concludes.
Maybe it’s a little lame, but Katsuki can’t determine whether or not your best friend is supposed to give you heart palpitations.