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Kirishima Eijirou is a lucky guy, he knows that.
He’s in his third year at UA, slowly but surely making his way towards becoming a hero that would make the name of Riot proud (he hopes), with lots of friends by his side and one amazing boyfriend.
And Taishirou really is amazing, so soft when he talks to Eijirou but also such a solid presence, and he never fails to make Eijirou feel small and precious, almost delicate, in all the nice ways.
Him being so tall and big really only has one disadvantage, from where Eijirou is standing: kissing. It gets too bloody difficult to kiss whenever they’re both on their feet!
“Wear heels.”
“What?!” he exclaims jumping at Mina’s words, but then Jirou is hissing in his ear to sit still or he’ll mess up all of their hard work.
Thing is, Eijirou has let his hair grow longer so it now reaches halfway down his back, and on some days he’s whisked away by the girls of 3-A and they go wild with braids and elaborated hairstyles. Today is such a day, and he’d been venting a little before the absurd suggestion.
Mina shrugs unapologetic from where she’s interweaving white flowers into Tsuyu’s hair. “You heard me. Heels. You know, the things that make you taller?”
Eijirou simply gapes at her.
She lets out an irritated huff. “Honestly, don’t make such a face. You know I sometimes wear heels on dates with Hanta, I can understand not wanting to crane your neck every time you’d like to smooch your boo.”
“Mina…” Eijirou talks slowly, as if the concept he’s about to lay out will be difficult for her to grasp. “You know we’re not talking a handful of inches here, but almost two feet? I’m not going to go on dates walking on stilts.”
The girls sprawling around on Momo’s bed snort out laughs at that. Kirishima’s answering smile is small and a bit self-deprecating, though. He’s usually amazed by having reached 6’3”, a height he didn’t think himself capable of, but with Taishirou being over 8 feet tall it still feels like not enough.
Mina likes laughing as much as the next person if not more, but she really doesn’t like being laughed at, especially when she thinks she’s right. So really, her pout is to be expected just as much as her retaliation.
“Well, you could gain at least a foot if you weren’t such a pussy!”
There are gasps and ‘ooohh’s around the room, but Eijirou is being called out and he can’t just let that go. Also, she can’t be serious about heels a foot high.
“Who are you calling a pussy?!”
“You, for not daring to wear heels!”
“Have you seen me, Mina?? I’d look ridiculous in heels!”
“Nonsense!” Momo interjects.
“You’d look so cool!” Hagakure adds.
Kirishima snorts. “Yeah, sure, and then I’d trip over my own feet and break my neck, so cool.”
“Hey, no one knows how to walk on heels straight away” Uraraka puts in. “If I managed to learn, you can do it too.”
What?
Tsuyu has a contemplative finger by her lips. “I usually don’t bother because it feels like too much work, but that’s never stopped you before, right, Eijirou-chan?”
Well, of course not, he can even beat algebra when he really puts in the time and effort, but…
“Not all heels have to torture your feet either” Jirou says. “Platform heels rock, and they’re totally manly too, you know?”
That seals the deal.
Kirishima should have known he was being played. Jirou usually never uses the word “manly”.
The next two months are tiring and at times painful.
It’s mostly due to the usual drill of school, interning, etc, but there’s also the “special training” the girls are putting Eijirou through, starting from 3 inches heels and going up.
It would also be expensive if it wasn’t for Yaomomo providing the shoes, as it’s not likely that Kirishima could borrow any that would fit him from the girls and they insist he should work up gradually to the desired height.
Eijirou doesn’t even know what that goal would be, because he has checked and there are 12” heels, but surely he’s not going there. Right? Because not only is Kirishima tall, he’s also bulky, and for how much he can trust Yaomomo’s creations not to break, he’s not sure the same goes for his ankles.
He tries his best anyway, feeling like a new born giraffe the first few times, hand trembling where it’s tempted to reach out for the wall for stability and eyes looking down at his feet. He privately thanks that ceilings are designed a bit high at UA because by the time he makes it to 4 inches he’s pretty sure he’d have to duck to go through the door.
It takes some weeks but he reaches the point where he can walk and move around comfortably enough on 3, 4, even 5 inches if they have a bit of a platform (he drew the line at having too much weight on his toes), without having to look at his every step.
Eventually though the girls insist he can’t only walk inside the rooms, the real world out there is not all one plain surface. So, stairs.
They crowd the deserted stairwell one afternoon, directing him up and down the steps, reminding him yet again not to stare at his feet.
But Kirishima doesn’t want to fall and break something (probably the steps if he has enough presence to harden) so he continues looking down until a surprised “oh” is heard.
Eijirou’s face is as red as his hair when he lifts his gaze to see which one of the guys caught him, but it’s Aoyama, and the blond smiles and sparkles, before running away and coming back minutes later with killer 6” stilettos to try and help Kirishima in his predicament via demonstration.
Eijirou is already mortified enough without Mina, Hagakure and Jirou catcalling and loosing their heads over Aoyama’s flawless stair-descent, so when he hears doors opening and voices questioning the noise he does the only sensible thing. He bolts.
It’s only when he’s safely in his room and panting against his closed door that he realizes he’s run up several flights of stairs while still in his own heels. Uh. Well, a win is a win, right?
After that, as the inches under his feet grow and grow, the subject of different designs is broached and what style would he like for his shoes? Does he have any special occasion in mind to show off to his boyfriend?
Eijirou mulls over it in his spare time, until one day, as he’s doing bicep curls with his smaller weights in his room, his eyes land on the calendar on his wall. Oh, that’d just be perfect.
Six months. Taishirou can hardly believe his luck. He’s about to spend his evening with the sweetest boy in the world celebrating their six months together.
He tugs nervously at the lapels of his suit jacket, wondering if he should have gone for a less posh location: this isn’t a place so strict that it wouldn’t let you in without a tie, but it’s still a pretty elegant venue. Taishirou and Eijirou both have simpler tastes, but the Pro Hero had wanted a more romantic evening, and knowing the owner here ensured a quiet table, discretion against press and customers, candlelight and good food. He only hoped the redhead hadn’t stressed too much over what to wear, and that he won’t get overwhelmed by the amount of silverware that will be on the table. It’s not like Taishirou will judge if the “wrong” fork is used, Eijirou should know by now.
A text alerts him that Eijirou is nearly there. Taishirou had offered to go get him, but his boyfriend had declined, simply asking for an address to give the driver. Taishirou had assumed he meant a taxi driver, but seeing a sleek black car turning into the short driveway of the restaurant he starts to doubt himself. Sure, it could be just another patron, but he reflexively stands up straighter and smooths down his clothes.
He’s nearly fully back to his fat form, having used a lot of energy two days before, so his black suit and dress shirt are not as skintight as usual, but they fit well, and he hadn’t had time to have anything else tailored. He’s wearing all black, slacks, shirt and jacket, because elegant is not his element and while he has no problems with his size on every other occasion, he prefers trying not to look that wide when in suits (even when Eijirou insists that he loves him anyway, no matter what form or size, a notion still novel in its awesomeness).
Still, there are thin white lines accentuating the smart cut of his jacket, and a bright orange flower sits in his breast pocket. He’s prouder still of his tie: he has to have them made anyway, so it was easy to ask for the delicate lines that intertwine over and over on the black satin to be in the exact orange of his hero suit and in Eijirou’s red.
The car stops and the driver even comes around to open the back door. Taishirou is about to dismiss the whole thing and check his phone again when he sees it.
Red.
So, so much red, spilling out of the car in vertiginous heels.
Taishirou’s eyebrows are climbing his forehead because can this person even walk on shoes that tall?
But then the heels touch the ground and a strong hand appears and grips the car door from inside and Eijirou hefts himself out and onto the walkway. He thanks the driver with a small, embarrassed bow and few words, before turning to look at Taishirou. And he starts stalking towards him.
Taishirou doesn’t dare breathe, afraid that if he did the magic holding Eijirou up on those shoes would break. Because Eijirou makes it look so natural, so effortless, like a sinuous predator set on his target, and it’s a thing of beauty.
Taishirou’s eyes travel up the red heels (holy guacamole, that looks like more than a foot of extra height) that thankfully look sturdy enough, like 1970s platform ankle boots with a long addition.
Eijirou’s thick legs are hugged sinfully by black tight slacks, and a charcoal gray coat hangs open emphasizing his large shoulders and trim waist, flaring a little where it ends at his hips. His black, low buttoning waistcoat looks painted on but still it’s the only thing giving Eijirou’s upper body a semblance of modesty because his dress shirt… his dress shirt is mesh and Taishirou didn’t even know those existed but he’s transfixed nonetheless by the way it catches the light while caressing his boyfriend’s skin.
Red hair flows free, no sharp spike in sight, only two small braids starting at Eijirou’s temples and probably linking at the back.
Eijirou’s red eyes are a magnet, his lashes seeming longer and thicker, a thin line of black and a soft smudge of red making them pop even more than usual.
But there’s a touch of uncertainty in those eyes, and Taishirou realizes he’s just gaping while Eijirou has come to stand right before him, not even a head shorter than him. He gets his mouth back in working order. “Stunning.”
Eijirou’s laugh is strained and his eyes dart to the side. “It’s not too much?”
“No!” Taishirou startles them both with his strong denial, so he tries again, softer. “No, it’s perfect. You are… perfect. Always.” He’s already being embarrassing, might as well add extra mush and make sure his boyfriend knows it doesn’t matter what he wears, even if this outfit is certainly something.
Eijirou’s smile is more sincere now, but still small. Time to try and remedy that. “Unless it’s too much for you? I mean, babe, just how high are those things?”
Eijirou snorts out a chuckle, but then some pride at his accomplishment makes him stand up straighter and grin. “14 inches.”
Taishirou gapes. Just gapes at his grinning, self-confident boyfriend, down at his shoes and then at his face again. His very close face.
He has no words beside an amazed “babe” and then with the smallest movement he kisses Eijirou’s forehead because it’s just there and he has to convey his feelings someway.
Eijirou beams all the more at that and raises his hands to cup Taishirou’s face. “Yeah, this really is perfect” and Taishirou is pulled forward and down only a little and their lips meet and it hits him, then, that this might be the whole reason behind those red, red incredibly high heels: to be closer to him, to look at each other in the eye, to kiss without acrobatics or planning, and he has to stop thinking because he might shed a tear or two otherwise, because this is about the two of them, but also nobody has ever done anything like this for Taishirou, so the elation is doubled.
They break their chaste kiss after a second, but Taishirou doesn’t dare let that bright, amazing young man go far. He offers Eijirou his arm and he’s a little thrilled at the easy way he takes it.
Together, they enter the restaurant, the clacking of red heels the accompaniment to their happy moment.