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It’s been a long day. But everyday is long—hero training is hard work. They all knew that when they signed up.
Kirishima takes off his mask first. Sometimes the headpiece makes his jaw hurt, but it’s okay.
He takes off his sleeves next, folding them right away. Back in his first year, he’d have thrown everything around. But time had tempered his carelessness.
It’s a methodical ritual, getting ready for bed. But there’s always something to look forward to after the sunset. Something to come home to.
The day had been loud, but the night is always quiet.
Most people wouldn’t believe Bakugou could be so quiet. Not like this.
Kirishima tip-toes into Bakugou’s room, just in case he’d gone to sleep early. But Bakugou always waited for Kirishima.
Softly getting into the bed, Kirishima lies down facing Bakugou, nearly brushing noses.
Some nights, there were words, other times there weren’t. They weren’t always necessary.
Bakugou moves forward the slightest bit and Kirishima follows his motion. A gentle press of lips, not longer than a few seconds. But warm enough to make Kirishima melt.
As they part, he lifts a hand to brush through Bakugou’s hair. It seems like another wordless night.
Bakugou reaches behind him to grab something. Kirishima waits patiently, hand still in Bakugou’s hair.
When Bakugou’s hand returns, a single red rose comes with it. It’s pressed gently into Kirishima’s grasp.
And Kirishima just looks down at this flower placed in his palm, and he feels an unstoppable smile form on his lips. It’s not a wide grin that stretches from ear-to-ear—it’s a quiet smile for a quiet night.
A sudden thought, a realization, sings like a melody in Kirishima’s mind.
Without glancing away from the rose he’s rolling between his fingertips, Kirishima asks in a whisper, “Hey Katsuki. This—this is love. Isn’t it?”
“You know what Eijirou,” Bakugou’s voice makes Kirishima want to meet his eyes. And he’s glad for it.
The look in Bakugou’s eyes would have been answer enough, but Kirishima gets more still, “I think it is.”