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Eijirou shifted awkwardly in his seat and stared down at his pen, trying to resist the urge to glance across the table at Bakugou. They had been working on their homework together for about an hour, but for the last five minutes, his boyfriend’s gaze had been burning into him. Eijirou didn’t know why, but in the end, it was the very real fact that Eijirou hadn’t written anything down in those five minutes that finally made him burst.
Clenching his hand around his pen, Eijirou snapped his head up and met Bakugou’s eyes. Bakugou himself jerked back slightly at first, but then his shoulders stiffened and he glared back, confronting Eijirou head-on.
“What are you looking at?” Eijirou asked, proud of the way his voice stayed calm and unwavering, in the same instant that Bakugou snapped, “What do you want, Shitty Hair?”
They both paused and looked at the other. Bakugou broke first, turning his head to study the rest of the room and crossing his arms.
“Your shirt slipped,” Bakugou muttered. His—? Oh. Blushing, he reached down and pulled his shirt back into place, covering the bit of stark white bandages that had peaked out.
“Sorry, man,” Eijirou said. He added a small laugh to try and ease the tension between them, but it came out awkward. He stopped, but not fast enough—Bakugou’s shoulders had already tightened more.
“It’s not a big deal,” Bakugou said.
“No, it is,” Eijirou insisted. Bakugou’s body language and the way he still refused to look back at Eijirou made that clear. “Or, I mean—it’s not serious, I”ll be fine anyway, so you don’t need to worry! I’ll be back to full strength before you know it!”
At that, Bakugou finally whirled back around, red eyes blazing, hands crackling with uncontrollable mini explosions, and mouth twisted in a snarl. “Shitty Hair!” he barked, and stood without a care for how his chair hit the floor behind him. He was focused entirely on marching around to Eijirou and grabbing his shirt in a fist.
“I’m not—you don’t understand—” Bakugou stumbled over his words.
Eijirou reached up, wrapping his hands around his boyfriend’s, trying to steady him even as his own smile wobbled. “I’m right here, Bakugou. I’m not going anywhere.”
“But you almost did!”
Eijirou watched, eyes wide, as Bakugou finally exploded.
“You almost died, and I wasn’t there! And I wasn’t there because I messed up in the exam, and—and those bandages are—” Bakugou’s hand shook. Eijirou tightened his hold on it, and made sure his voice was unwavering when he spoke.
“They’re a reminder. But, Bakugou—you don’t have to take responsibility for this. Because it’s not yours to take.“ He squeezed Bakugou’s hand once. “Fatgum and I got separated from everyone else, so you wouldn’t have been with us anyway, but even if you had—I made the choices that got me hurt. And I would make them again, because I’m going to be a hero. And you’re going to have to let me make the same choices in the future, just like I’m going to do the same for you. Ok?”
Bakugou stared down at their joined hands, and then slowly relaxed his own, letting Eijirou’s shirt go. “Shitty Hair,” he scoffed. “You’re already a hero.” And though Bakugou seemed steadier now, when he looked up, Eijirou could see the embers of his anger still flickering there.
“I love you,” he said. And meant it. That Bakugou was so mad about his injuries, that he wanted to protect Eijirou, and that he was willing to let Eijirou go anyway—the trust Bakugou gave him nearly brought him to tears.
“I love you too,” Bakugou said. And when he smiled crookedly at Eijirou, using his free hand to smooth down his ruffled shirt, Eijirou knew he meant it, too.