Chapter Text
His heart pounds as if there’s a door that opens and slams closed on every beat. A musky scent fills his every sense, and it’s of vanilla and cinnamon and bonfire smoke.
Arms twine around a slender waist, and he’s tugging him, closer, closer, closer. Their intermingled breaths kiss pale, sweating skin, and there’s a murmur, a ghost of lips against his bare neck. Heavy lidded eyes stare back into his, cloudy and dark, and they’re centimeters away, closer, and closer…
——
Eijirou awakes with a start. His heart is thumping too hard, too loud, too quickly in his chest, and his sheets are tangled around his boxer clad legs. His skin is sticky with sweat and he’s hot and uncomfortable in the muggy atmosphere of his room.
His gaze slides to his nightstand for the time—it’s barely seven in the morning—and he groans and rolls back onto his side.
His hands are abnormally clammy and his hair sticks to his face and god, Eijirou feels absolutely disgusting. He spares another glance at his alarm—now two minutes past seven—and yeah, screw it. It’s too hot to lie in bed anymore and he untangles his feet from the white sheets and plants them on the hardwood floor. It’s cool beneath his feet, a nice refresh from how hot and bothered he feels.
Eijirou scowls once more at his clock, before climbing to his feet. He grabs a towel hanging on a rack on his wall, along with his bag of toiletries, and makes his way downstairs to the dorm common rooms.
The dorms are quiet, save for the hum of the heater and the chirping of the birds. Someone had left the window open on his floor, Eijirou thinks as he looks out through the glass.
The sun had already risen, not yet at its peak, but the rays are warm and they torch his already overheated skin. The sky is a radiant blue, and the trees are green, dotted with yellow and red and orange. It was nearing the end of summer season, falling into autumn, and the heat had still yet to die.
On his way down, Eijirou turns off the heater on his floor and hum of the machine dies, leaving the building even more silent than before. As he gazes up and down the empty halls, a sort of relaxation takes over his being—he’s used to the rooms that are normally teeming with his classmates and filled with bright chatter that could be heard several rooms over, but the new silence is tranquil and he basks in it.
When Eijirou reaches the first floor, he ambles into boys’ bathroom and begins his daily routine: brushing his teeth and then a shower. As the water rinses over his bare back, Eijirou allows his thoughts to drift.
He’s never awoken from such a dream so bothered and sweaty, though he’s had similar ones before; they’ve become a sort of commonality in his life. He goes to sleep after a long day of classes and hero training, and falls into a world of heated touches and teasing brushes of lips against everywhere but his lips. It’s regular he awakes to frustration and a jabbing, longing pain in his heart, but it’s so, very rare he wakes up to a pounding heart and beads of sweat dripping down his forehead.
Eijirou finishes his shower, turns off the cascading blasts of water, and wraps a towel around his waist. He tightens it with a sharp tug and quickly gathers his belongings back into his bag.
When Eijirou exits the bathroom, the warm aroma of coffee hits him in the face, and his attention directs to the kitchen. A mess of pale blonde hair and lean muscle greets him, the figure’s back against the counter and facing away from Eijirou. There’s a ripped open packet of instant coffee surrounded by delicate powdered particles that dust the granite countertops. The kettle sings at high pitch, steaming, but it’s all white noise to Eijirou. His attention is on one person only, and that’s Bakugou Katsuki, his best friend and crush since the beginning of third year.
“Hey Bakugou,” he calls out.
His greeting doesn’t go unnoticed, and Bakugou turns his head to look at him.
He’s still in his pajamas, Eijirou observes, and his shirt is a little oversized and slides off one side of his shoulder. He’s in a pair of loose, basketball shorts that hang off his slender waist, and a hip bone juts from the hem of his briefs.
“Morning,” is all Bakugou says, and he turns back around to watch the kettle.
Eijirou smiles; even after three years, Bakugou is still a little rough around the edges. But, he can’t blame his best friend this time—Bakugou has never been a morning person.
“What are you doing up so early?” Eijirou prompts, dropping his toiletries on an armchair to circle the counter and stand next to Bakugou.
“Woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep,” he grunts.
“Ah. I see.”
They stay in silence for a few beats longer, eyes not really looking towards each other, but not quite looking away either. Eijirou’s hung out with Bakugou long enough to know his mannerisms, and despite his partially asleep state, his eyes keep flickering towards Eijirou, and Eijirou knows he’s doing the exact same thing.
“So, coffee?” Eijirou asks.
There’s a scoff from his companion. “Well, if I have to be up this early, then I might as well be awake.”
Eijirou grins widely and he suppresses a chuckle. “You practically live on that stuff, dude. It’s not good from you.”
Bakugou doesn’t respond, opting to grab the kettle and pour it into the awaiting mug. He stirs the mixture in silence, his spoon clinking against the edge of the mug every now and then.
His movements are annoyingly, unbelievably graceful, and Eijirou hates himself for noticing such a small thing. He really, honestly, should not be mooning over his best friend of three years.
Bakugou licks the spoon lazily (Eijirou’s eyes follow the curve of his tongue around the silver spoon; it’s almost ridiculous how sensual he finds it), before flicking it into the sink and takes a long sip of his coffee, before he answers.
“Coming from the guy who does nothing and then stays up cramming. Don’t fucking criticize me for drinking coffee every morning when you can’t even pull yourself together to get a decent sleeping and homework schedule together. I swear, you haven’t changed since our first year,” Bakugou grumbles.
Eijirou laughs outright this time, not even bothering to hide it, and Bakugou shoots him an exasperated look.
“I’m serious. Get your shit together, or you’ll never fucking graduate, Shitty Hair,” Bakugou snaps and Eijirou lets a giggle escape before he completely clams.
“You sound like my mom but worse,” he tells him, and the blonde growls.
“Fuck off, Shitty Hair.”
Eijirou throws his head back and laughs and Bakugou takes another long sip from his mug, shaking his head disdainfully. It’s two heartbeats later when he finally sets the drink down without a sound.
“Is it good?” Eijirou queries. He rests his elbow on the countertop and leans his cheek into his hand. He’s closer to his best friend that way, his face hovering several inches away.
“Tch. Instant coffee is crap, you know this.” Bakugou raps his knuckles against Eijirou’s head. “Has my cooking lessons not taught you anything at all?”
His breath wafts over Eijirou’s face, smelling of coffee and he really has to try to not let his heart rate raise. But with the way Bakugou Katsuki looks in the early morning light; pale blonde hair ruffled and soft like spun gold, his crimson eyes shimmering like the blood that thrums under his skin, it’s hopeless to even try.
“I’m gonna head back to my dorm room,” Bakugou continues, ignoring the silence from his friend. “It’s about time those extras get up and I don’t feel like seeing them just yet.”
He downs the last of his coffee and rinses it under the sink, before sauntering upstairs with that easy grace and confidence that he never seems to lack.
Eijirou licks his lips and releases the heavy sigh he had been holding in, before grabbing his toiletries and trudging upstairs. His heartbeat thunders in his chest, and he clutches a hand to his chest, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks.
It’s so, so unfair how beautiful Bakugou Katsuki is.
When he reaches his room, he shuts the door and collapses onto his bed, staring up at his ceiling for several long moments.
Next door, there’s the shuffling of feet and shifting of belongings as his neighbor gets ready for the day, and Eijirou has to bite back a sickeningly, lovesick sigh as he imagines a toned chest and lean muscles.
He imagines his fingers threading through gold spun hair, trailing feather light kisses down his neck and over his chest, hands leaving bruises up and down the curve of his hips and back.
He imagines soft laughter in the mornings, the heat of another next to him, confessions at 2 am that would never be repeated in the light of day, legs and hands tangled within each other underneath heavy covers.
And it all terrifies him, because his feelings are a new, unexplored territory and he’s afraid to really express what he’s feeling, because he’s never wanted anything more than he wants Bakugou Katsuki.
——
The soulmate system had appeared around the same time as Quirks. As the first boy born with a Quirk grew up, the media followed him throughout his life.
When he was four years old and finally gained consciousness of the world, a set of tattoos graced his skin: of golden flowers tracing down his back, of pink blossoms curving around his neck and ankles. The tattoos were not added, contrary to popular belief—they just appeared on his skin one night and never disappeared after. At first, it was believed that with the mutation of his body, it had given him new ‘birthmarks’, colored birthmarks in the shape of flowers. Although it was a weak explanation, the belief followed him throughout his life, along with other newborn children born with the new Quirk mutations and blossoming tattoos.
The assumption came crashing down when the boy turned twenty six years old. He had kissed a young woman and when he had returned home, he found a singular flower across his chest, complete with a stem and roots that faded into his skin. He was thought to be the only one, but as the mutated children grew up and fell in love, the supposed phenomenon kept occurring throughout each person, with no explanation from scientists. It had later been deemed the “soulmate system” and joined alongside Quirks as a natural mutation that was part of life.
Romance and floral tattoos became more prominent than ever before, and in order to obtain the stunningly detailed tattoos that all soulmates bore, rather than the simple dotting of blossoms, it became common for people to grow up having already kissed multiple people, just to determine whether they found their soulmate or not.
Not that he had done that, Eijirou thinks idly as he rolls his pencil up and down his desk. Whereas most of his peers had done their kissing tests as grade school children, he didn’t even have his first kiss until he was in junior high.
It had been with Ashido, he recalls. They had gone to the park together after school and he remembered an exchange of shy smiles and a sweet kiss on the lips. They had gone to a clothing store for a mirror right after and he remembers the disappointed and yet wistful look on her face.
“Mm, I was thinking you could be the one,” Ashido says. Her eyes are brighter than ever, luminescent amber against the black pupils. “Guess I was wrong.”
“I thought so too,” he admits with a laugh. “But…”
“But what?”
“I think I’m more into guys than I am into girls,” he answers and Ashido leans back against her chair, a thoughtful expression on her face.
“I’m glad I helped you realize that then, Kirishima!” Her smile is beaming, yet shy, and he reaches out for her hand. She grasps his hand back willingly.
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” he says. “For...you know. Us.”
Ashido shrugs. “You can’t change who you are, Kirishima. If it’s not meant to be, then it’s not meant to be.”
Ashido became his best friend that day, and she became the only person in the class to know about his hopes on Bakugou Katsuki.
“Oi, Shitty Hair.”
He jolts out of his thoughts to stare at the towering figure over his desk. Bakugou is, by no means short (he had grown quite a bit over the past three years), but when Eijirou shoots to his feet, he stands above him by exactly three inches and Bakugou has never let that die (“I’m gonna grow taller than you, Shitty Hair. Mark my words,” Bakugou had snarled and Eijirou had laughed. “Love to see you try, Baku-bro. I’d love to see you try.”).
“Hey Bakugou. What’s up dude?” Eijirou tries his best for an easygoing smile, but his nerves are at its peak and his hands twitch at his sides.
Slitted crimson eyes narrow at his hands, but Bakugou doesn’t call him out; instead, he shoves his hands into the pocket of his uniform and looks him dead in the eyes. “You wanna head to a cafe and grab a coffee before we head to Work Studies?”
Eijirou nods quickly and mirrors Bakugou’s earlier movements in order to hide his hands. “Yeah, that’s cool. After class?”
“Yeah. See you then, Shitty Hair.” Bakugou stalks back to his desk, an air of assured confidence around him and Eijirou’s eyes follow him every step of the way (it’s almost impossible to tear his eyes away, because it’s Bakugou and Eijirou will always be attracted to his magnetic force).
——
The cafe isn’t crowded, which is a blessing. Eijirou is suffocated underneath the amount of work his teachers assigned, so he’s beyond pleased that he won’t be choked by people as well. The cafe Bakugou picks is a charming place; there’s succulents framing the homey, cabin-like walls, and strings of lights cross back and forth across the ceilings like a fringe of bangs across foreheads.
“Stop staring,” Bakugou says sharply. “You look like one of those American tourists.”
A laugh escapes his throat (Eijirou has never been able to control his emotions when it comes to Bakugou—it’s hard to after all; he likes Bakugou and everything just seems to come out when he’s around him).
“Sorry, sorry! I just didn’t think you’d like such a cutesy place like this!” Eijirou admits and Bakugou scoffs and rolls his eyes.
“Please. It’s just good coffee. Nothing that has to do with the decoration, or whatever the fuck.” Nevertheless, Bakugou’s eyes do rove the cafe with a sort of familiarity and a fond smile curls on his face for a split second, before it rearranges into his regular scowl. “Shut up. We’re getting coffee, and then Work Studies.”
“Fine by me.”
They approach the counter, wallets in hand, and Bakugou’s mouth is open to order when the barista’s eyes blink in surprise.
“Wait, Kirishima-kun? Is that you?” The barista peers over Bakugou’s shoulder, his eyes widening in recognition.
Eijirou blinks once, twice, before the name and face click. “Ah! Tomo-kun! How are you?”
“Fine, and you? I’m surprised to see you here! How’s U.A. treating you?”
“It’s a blast!” Eijirou beams, and he’s about to say more when Bakugou bumps him, his crimson eyes dark and slitted—almost the color of dried blood and sharp as a snake’s.
“You know this fucker, Shitty Hair?” he hisses and Eijirou nods.
“Right, yeah. We were buddies in junior high! Tomo-kun, this is Bakugou, my best friend. Bakugou, this is Tomo!” Eijirou grins, his gaze swiveling between his two friends.
Tomo offers a hand in greeting. “The Bakugou from the first year Sports Festival, ‘round two years ago, right?”
Bakugou, who had been in the motion of dutifully copying the movement, retracts his hand as if he’s been burned. His already narrowed eyes harden into more of a glare and his mouth is opening to snap a retort, but Eijirou places a hand against his friend’s chest.
“Ah, yeah, that’s him! But it’s a sore subject; I wouldn’t bring it up,” he rushes out and Tomo relaxes visibly.
“My apologies, Bakugou-kun,” he says and Bakugou responds in a harrumph.
“ Aren’t you a barista?” he snips instead. “Why don’t you take our orders instead of chitchatting away, huh?”
Tomo shakes his head, as if in a daze. “Ah, right! Sorry again. What would you like to order?”
Bakugou rattles off his order, though his tone is several shades icier than before, and he steps aside to let Eijirou order when he finishes. His gaze is everywhere except for Tomo.
As Tomo writes their names on their cups, he says, “Man, you look so different with your dyed hair. I almost didn’t recognize you.”
“You sayin’ he looks ugly, dipshit?” Bakugou snarls and Tomo visibly shudders.
“N-No! That’s not what I’m trying to say at all! He looks good, but like—I mean—
“Oh holy fuck,” Bakugou snaps, and he turns on his heel, walking straight to the door. It slams shut behind him and Eijirou gaps open mouthed at his friend’s actions.
“Ah, Kirishima-kun, was it something I said?” Tomo asks, his eyes glued to the door as well. His shoulders are tensed and a terrified expression is permanently stuck on his face, creasing the space in between his forehead. “Is he like that?”
But Eijirou doesn’t hear Tomo. His thoughts only ring of the slam of the door and Bakugou’s biting words. He turns back to the counter, his smile rueful. “I’m really sorry, he’s just touchy today, I guess. He’s not like this normally—I promise he’s amazing and super manly and really nice. Do you mind if I pay for both of ours and go? I gotta find him.”
Tomo nods and there’s no words exchanged as Eijirou waits for the drinks. When Tomo comes back, cups in hand, he says, “I hope you find him.”
Eijirou accepts the cups ruefully, a slight smile curling on the corner of his lips. “I know I will.”
——
The bus ride is fifteen minutes long. Eijirou only knows this for two reasons: he keeps checking the time on his phone and he and Bakugou take the same ride every weekend to hike.
When the bus stops with a groan, Eijirou is the first off. He blows past the tourist guide booth and runs until he sees a familiar deadened tree on the side of the trail. From there, he proceeds off the trail, nimbly ducking under branches and sliding down hills until he finds what he’s looking for: a meadow of brilliant red and orange flowers.
They had found the fields in their second year over spring break. It was one of their weekly hikes, and they regularly took the same, familiar trails, except that morning, Bakugou had said, “Let’s go off-trail.”
There had been a delicious gleam in his eyes, a challenging one that Eijirou had always accepted. “Alright. Let’s do it.”
They had been covered in scrapes and scratches that day, from the ungroomed trail and fallen branches. The cuts ran across Eijirou’s legs, crisscrossing across a series of pink and yellow and magenta flowers. Even now, the faded scars left indents in his legs.
Finding the fields had been by pure accident. They had gotten lost, taken several wrong turns, and had miraculously found themselves at the meadow. The burning fields, he had always joked. Bakugou had rolled his eyes at the name, but had called it the same name two weeks later. The fields, from that day, had been their place. It was somewhere they went on a bad day, on the aftermath of a good day, on a day where they craved relaxation. Whenever one of them had a bad day, they knew where to find the other and that was amongst the fiery flames of the flower fields.
From Eijirou’s spot, he could spot the outlying pale yellow spikes amongst the burning flowers and he carefully makes his way to Bakugou, drinks in hand (it’s honestly a whole miracle they didn’t spill, but Eijirou’s practiced enough that he can make the hike without worrying about spills).
“Hey, I thought I’d find you here.” Bakugou stares up at Eijirou as he makes a spot for himself amongst the flowers. He offers Bakugou the cup in his hand, along with a smile. “How have you been?”
“The usual,” Bakugou grunts, looking away and Eijirou can’t help but sigh. It would definitely be a challenge to get his best friend to talk.
And so, he doesn’t, opting to lean back to stare at the glow of the setting sun. The colors are vivid crimson and tangerine orange, searing his eyes like a live flame to a crumpling paper and he has to look away (it’s too brilliant, too vibrant for his bare humanity to handle, almost like Bakugou himself).
They don’t bother Bakugou, however; he seems mildly adjusted to it, his ochre eyes boring into the horizon, as if he wanted to keep his eyes on anything but Eijirou.
“You can look at me,” Eijirou tries again. “I won’t bite,” he adds teasingly, and Bakugou barks a dry laugh.
“‘Course you won’t. Too much like a goddamn puppy to bite anyone,” he says. He doesn’t redirect his attention from the sunset, but Eijirou catches his dark eyes flicking over at him every once in a while and a self-satisfied smile crosses his lips.
“You seem...out of it. Like, way more than usual dude. Are you alright?”
Bakugou rolls his eyes, finally tearing away from the sky to meet Eijirou one on one, and the crimson pupils are as piercingly dangerous as ever. But Eijirou holds him to it, standing his ground, for he’s never feared Bakugou and all his blistering anger.
“Fucking fine. Don’t ask,” is all he says, and he gets to his feet, lifting his arms to the sky. His shirt lifts just a bit, and there’s a hint of show-stopper orange, connected to a green stem, and Eijirou forces himself to look away.
The flower’s probably for his mother, he thinks. Bakugou is known for having such a minuscule amount of flowers (it’s rumored he only has two), whereas the rest of the world is painted in them.
Eijirou himself has sprawling designs of flowers, decorating his arms and legs, all for his friends and family. He’s not entirely sure which flower belongs to who (he had stopped keeping track too long ago), but he knows for sure that the crimson gerbera curling on his bicep belongs to Crimson Riot, for his admiration for the hero had gone quite a long way, and the bouquet of lavender and pink flowers on the back of his calf was for his moms and sisters.
The rest of his flowers, scattered and without stems, are various colors, one for each of his friends and classmates and teachers. Eijirou has an inkling about which flower belongs to who (the almost neon pink flower on his wrist is most likely Ashido’s, the golden sunflower resting on his hip had a high chance of being Kaminari, the violet curving around his ear is possibly Jirou’s, and the white flower winding around his pinky finger might’ve been Sero’s), but he doesn’t bother trying to keep track of which flower belongs to who.
Eijirou has learned to love, from his mothers, his sisters, and Crimson Riot, and it shows on his body, in the way that the flowers are colored and several are stemmed and rooted, how he doesn’t have many flower scars and bruises, from where the flowers fade away.
But Bakugou? There’s barely an inch of color on him, only displaying pearly pale skin. Perhaps in another world, showing such simple skin is normal, but in the world they live in, where Quirks reigned dominant and floral tattoos are the norm, Bakugou is the outcast.
The whispers follow him to every class, hushed ghosts wondering about his tattoos, or the lack thereof.
Eijirou himself burns with questions, of his lack of tattoos, but he restrains himself, because Bakugou is his best bro and he can’t bring himself to corner him like that. Besides, flowers or not, Bakugou is his best friend and always will be.
“I’m heading back,” Bakugou says abruptly. “You can come back with me, or I can just fuckin’ abandon you here. Your choice.”
He turns his back on Eijirou and he scrambles to his feet, running after him.
“Wait for me dude!”
The sun has set by the time they reach the bus stop; the sky is a dim color of navy blue and speckled silver, almost but not quite ethereal. But either way, Eijirou’s content to sit next to his best friend, whether it’s a glowing sun or a starry sky.
——
After the coffee shop incident, Bakugou seems particularly inclined to stay by Eijirou’s side and away from that particular shop. Though Eijirou feels guilty about avoiding Tomo, it never lasts longer than a split moment, because hanging out with Bakugou makes his heart fly in his chest and learns to cherish every laugh he manages to squeeze from his best friend’s mouth (how could someone look so beautiful, so angelic, while laughing? It’s simply unfair, but because it’s Bakugou Katsuki, Eijirou’s willing to surrender every caught breath, every butterfly beat of his heart, to those split moment laughs).
Eijirou is ridiculously smitten, and he knows it, knows it from the bottom of his heart, but he can’t keep himself from falling more and more in love with his best friend.
It’s a Friday night when Ashido texts him if she can sleep over in his room. Despite Bakugou claiming the spot as his best friend, Ashido comes as a very close second. It’s easier to talk about the little things with Ashido, he thinks. Especially with topics about boys and love and relationships.
Though he loves Bakugou as his best friend (and yes, likes him very much as more), he couldn’t bear to discuss half the things he discusses with Ashido.
So when Ashido throws open his door without warning, her sleeping bag under one arm, and another bag full of god-knows-what in another, he can’t help but throw his arms around her and babble about the needless thoughts in his mind.
Ashido laughs, dropping her belongings to the ground to hug him back, before reaching up to ruffle his hair. “C’mon Kiri! Let me in first and then feel free to tackle me.”
Eijirou grins broadly at her and rolls his eyes playfully. “Fine, fine.”
He picks up her bag and she carries her sleeping bag and they drop them on the floor, before locking eyes. There’s a brief flash in Ashido’s glimmering raccoon eyes, before Eijirou shouts, “NO!” and she yells, “YES!”
She launches herself onto his bed, thoroughly scattering his neatly made (for once) sheets and pillows and he groans, nudging her playfully in the ribs with his elbow. She yelps, before returning the sentiment, kicking his soft stomach with her foot and he pretends to fall back hard onto the floor with an ‘oof.’
“Weak,” she teases and Eijirou shoots her a glare.
“I let you win that one.”
Ashido snorts, but doesn’t answer as she falls back on his pillows, eyes closed, and Eijirou sits up on the floor, cross legged. “So, what do you wanna do?” he asks and she opens a black and gold eye to peer at him. Her gaze is strangely analytical and Eijirou finds himself wanting to cower underneath it, but he stays his ground, watching her back.
(Ashido’s always had a dominating personality that fills the room and maybe, just maybe, in his first year, Eijirou would’ve cowered, bowed down to her rule. But Eijirou is no longer that cowardly first year and he’s strong enough now, to hold his spine straight and stare down people who intimidate him.)
She suddenly springs up, matching his crossed legs, and Eijirou catches a flash of her skin as the hem flips up: there’s a brilliant white daisy, stark against the pink of her skin, blooming and curling up the side of her ribs and he wonders who they’re for. Ashido’s never once told him of a crush, and he never knew to ask. He opens his mouth, poised to question about the daisy, but Ashido tugs the hem down, as if knowing what he’s about to say and says, “So. Boy talk.”
“Nothing there,” Eijirou blurts immediately, but his answer is too quick to be truthful and he averts his gaze from her keen eyes, though he can still see an impish grin curving on her lips.
“C’mon Kiri,” Ashido’s bubblegum pink hair hangs off the bed, her black eyes almost leering at him. “You and Bakugou?”
“Not me and Bakugou,” he says firmly, prodding her head from his seat on the floor. “We’re just friends.”
She arches an eyebrow, her expression deadpan, and she flips herself over to stare at him. Ashido herself isn’t a very intimidating person; she’s outgoing and regularly exuberant, with a bright smile and energy to spare by the end of the day, but her black eyes are the most unnerving feature about her, and Eijirou feels his instincts cower under her.
“Seriously? Have you—” Ashido cuts herself off abruptly, and curses underneath breath. “Nope. Nope. Wasn’t gonna say a word.”
“What?” Eijirou demands, standing up. He towers over her lithe figure on his bed, but she doesn’t flinch; rather she gazes defiantly back. “My crush on Bakugou? You know about that, but we’re just friends.”
“No...not that,” Ashido shakes her heads “Of course you haven’t noticed.”
“Noticed what?”
She massages her forehead, her eyebrows knitting together and her dark eyes squeezes shut, before she says, “Take off your shirt, Kirishima.”
“What?!” Eijirou stumbles backwards, wrapping his arms around himself as if his best female friend is going to jump him. “No way!”
Ashido rolls her eyes, sitting up on the bed. “Just do it!”
Their eyes clash, black on red, and between his height and muscle and her smaller frame and delicate build, Eijirou’s pretty sure he should’ve won their contest. But Ashido is determinedly persistent, and with a groan, he removes her shirt.
“Now look at yourself in the mirror,” she orders.
“Whyyyyy?” he whines, but he faces his floor length mirror. “What am I looking at?”
“Goddamn. I have to do everything,” Ashido mumbles, and he hears her shuffle off his bed. Small, pink hands rest on his shoulders and gentle swivel him around, until his back is towards the mirror and oh—
“You see?” she breathes. “ This is why we thought so.”
For a wave of color had overtaken Eijirou’s back, in blazing colors of red and orange and various flowers, stemmed and rooted in place. A garden, he thinks dazedly. A garden had grown on his back, in every shade of red and orange and any flower that symbolizes love, respect, admiration, love, love, love.
“I—
“There’s only one person that could be for,” Ashido says softly. “Only one, just one.”
He wants to protest, tell her she’s wrong. But the flowers never lie, and the truth is painted on his back, clear as day and honest as night.
He’s in love with Bakugou Katsuki. Not just like-like, not just a simple crush, but love.
“The flowers...I guess you never saw, but they’ve been growing there since our first year,” Ashido says. “It wasn’t as grand or big before, so it was passable as a cluster of flowers, but it’s only recently they’ve been rooting…”
“The coffee shop,” Eijirou realizes. “When we went out together, that one day, and Bakugou saw Tomo and I went after him to the field—”
“Yeah. And it’s been developing for a long time. No one, and I mean, no one ever grows that many flowers overnight,” she adds gently.
Eijirou looks back at the mirror, and amongst the explosion of color, he sees almost the same flower, over and over. Gerberas, gerberas, gerberas. One of his first flowers had been a gerbera, he recalls faintly. A gerbera for respect, for admiration, for Crimson Riot.
And now, the only thing that reads on his skin in the flurry of crimson gerberas is Bakugou, Bakugou, Bakugou.
The horror strikes not too long later and Eijirou sucks in a breath, feeling his chest tighten. He’s in love with his best friend.
“I’ll leave you alone,” Ashido says softly, her pale pink hand brushing his shoulder, light and delicate like a flower, like the flowers that burst and bloom on Eijirou’s back, in so many colors of redredred red—
(He’s suffocating under the garden on his back, and oh god, what should he do? He’s in love with his best friend and it’s not just a crush, and to the deepest pits of his heart, shivering in his bones, he knows that he is truly, deeply, madly in love with the boy with explosions in his hands, who makes explosions in Eijirou’s heart.)
He reaches out to grasp Ashido’s hand, because she knows him, she understands his heart and Ashido, wait—
“Kiri?”
“Mina. Stay,” he whispers, and she moves around to sit next to him on his bed.
They’re silent, the shock still swimming in the air, and Eijirou’s gripped with the realization that he doesn’t know what to do now. He voices his thoughts out loud and Ashido sighs next to him, and squeezes his hand.
“What do you think you should do?” she asks softly. “What do you want to do?”
“I want to tell him.” The words are out of his mouth before he can think. Eijirou knows how bad of an idea that is; he’s all too aware of Bakugou’s terrible handling emotion, too aware of the walls around his heart, the ones he built up to avoid being hurt.
Of all people, he knows this best.
——
It started as a regular day, as they all do. Eijirou and Bakugou had gone out together as friends, (nothing more, shut up Ashido) to the nearby mall that weekend. It was three days after their midterms and Bakugou had approached him when class let out, with a grunt of, “Go to the mall with me tomorrow.”
Eijirou had beamed at him, feeling his heart flutter. “Sure!”
There had been a tingle down his spine when he entered the mall, one he regularly associates with the feeling of an attack, but he had disregarded it: it was probably just from the breeze that had blown by when they had entered the mall.
Had Eijirou listened to his instincts, maybe they wouldn’t be caught here.
An explosion had broken out at the shop next door to them when they were looking at training gear on the top floor of the mall, and the ground crumbled beneath their feet. The store dropped and there had been the screams of the customers as the store collapsed into rubble.
And then there’s screaming, shouting, and so much of it that Eijirou barely manages to hear the scream of ‘help’ from next to him. He turns just in time to see a wall waver unsteadily, before dropping onto the girl curled against it. His feet move before he can think, Eijirou catches the wall and all its load of extra shelves and merchandise on it from the next store over.
“Move!” he shouts and the girl utters a small ‘thank you,’ before scrambling out.
Eijirou lets the wall collapse and he breathes a sigh of relief, before he remembers: Bakugou. Where is Bakugou?
“Kirishima!” a familiar voice shouts, half a groan, half a cry, and Eijirou whirls around to see Bakugou, back against a pile of rubble. His foot is bent at an awkward angle, and Eijirou runs towards him, just as there’s a creak and the remainder of the mall ceiling comes crashing down. And this is where Eijirou finds himself in the predicament:
He catches the crumbling chunk of ceiling on his shoulders, staggering under the weight and Bakugou gapes at him, dark eyes blown in disbelief.
“Shitty Hair, you’re so stupid, you’re holding a goddamn ceiling,” he hisses, glaring up at his friend,
“Well, it was gonna fall on you, so someone had to catch it,” Eijirou gasps out. The concrete digs into his shoulders and he winces at the pain, before he lets his Unbreakable form creep over his body. The soft tanned skin hardens into jagged spikes and he sighs in relief: the heavy burden of the ceiling is numbed by his Quirk. He flicks a gaze down to Bakugou, whose stunned expression had died to a marring frown and scrunched eyebrows. “Can’t move?”
Bakugou lets out a grunt, his eyes flickering down to his foot. “No, I think I sprained my fucking ankle.”
Eijirou cusses quietly, intaking Bakugou’s frame: he looks relatively okay, save for his ankle. There’s scraps and cuts on his pearl pale skin, and Eijirou can see the curve of a tattoo where his shirt rips on his chest: there’s a green stem and a hint of silky crimson petals. The burning sight of the red is momentarily distracting: his brain whirs and he can’t help but wonder who it’s for (the thought of them being for anyone else sears the marks on his back and he trembles with both the weight of the ceiling he holds and the intensity of the feelings he holds for the boy before him).
“Shitty Hair, what are you even looking at, god.” Bakugou’s rasp cuts through Eijirou’s daze and he blinks back to reality. The ceiling is suddenly heavier than before and the sight of Bakugou before him is blurrier, fuzzed out, despite their close proximity.
“You,” he breathes out and Bakugou meets him head-on: eyelashes fluttering in surprise. The red of his eyes are smoldering hot and Eijirou’s heart is set aflame (though the fire in Bakugou’s eyes is a flickering flame—waveringly erratic—the raw emotion in them is anything but, and it hardens Eijirou, steadies him where he stands with the quivering world on his back). “Your tattoo.”
Bakugou freezes and his fingers brush over his chest, where the petals bloom. “You—My—”
He cuts off as another groan from above drops more rubble, more weight onto Eijirou’s back. Eijirou releases another string of cuss words and Bakugou scrambles towards him. A wave of pain seemingly washes over him and Bakugou falls backward, grimacing.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Bakugou chants and Eijirou almost starts for him, before remembering the chunk of rubble he holds.
“Are you alright?” Eijirou demands and Bakugou nods, inhaling and exhaling sharply.
“Yeah, forgot about my stupid ankle,” he mutters. “Are you alright?”
Eijirou snorts and puts on a dry smile for his best friend. “‘Course I am. Holding up a ceiling is easy work.”
Bakugou scoffs at the sarcasm, but there’s a fondness in the curve of his lips and the roll of his eyes. “I called for help when the explosion collapsed the shop. It’ll come some time soon.”
“Always thinking ahead, aren’t ya?”
“Someone has to.”
Silence elapses over them, save for the short breaths that Eijirou pants out and Bakugou’s occasional curse of pain and impatience. There’s a shout in the distance, and the sound of Quirks and fighting and Eijirou sighs.
“You wishing you were out there, Shitty Hair?”
Bakugou’s question is abrupt and Eijirou blinks back to him. There’s something in his eyes: a heavy frustration that matches with his chewed lip and hard set of his shoulders.
Do you regret saving me?
“Nah, I think I’d prefer to stay here and hold the world for you.”
The frustration dissipates into parted lips and a simmering hot gaze that warms the pit of Eijirou’s stomach. His mouth goes dry as Bakugou leans forward, his ruby eyes set and aglow.
“ Eijirou.”
His name is a whispered rasp, a purr, and he licks his lips.
“ Katsuki.”
And then the weight on his shoulders lighten, flying into the air, followed by a shout of, “Bakugou! Kirishima!”
Eijirou falls forward into Bakugou’s lap and there’s the brush of warm hands against his back and a soft murmur of his name, before the world goes black.
——
The first thing Eijirou hears is a beep. Though his eyes are closed, the sound infiltrates his ears and he grimaces, blinking awake. A heart machine blurs into clarity at his bedside, and then he shifts his head to find a pair of bright, golden eyes peering at him. They widen and then, yellow hair whips his face.
“He’s awake!” the golden boy crows and Eijirou feels his face scrunch, before the brightness sharpens into the grinning face of Kaminari, with Jirou behind him, expression placid, save for the relieved smile on her face.
“Ah...Denks? Kyou?” he mutters and Kaminari turns back to him.
“You alright, bro? How are ya feeling?”
He manages a slight grin. “Like roadkill.”
Kaminari claps his shoulder gently and Jirou laughs warmly. “Then you’ll be outta here in no time!”
There’s the sound of footsteps skidding across the floors outside the room and the door flies open, Ashido coming in, towing Sero with her.
“Kiri!” she shouts and Eijirou immediately flinches from the volume.
“Mina, lower,” he grumbles and sheepishness crosses her face as she pulls up two chairs for her and Sero.
“Sorry Kiri. How are you?”
He shrugs as much as he can. “I’m alright. I think I’m feeling better? My back doesn’t…it doesn’t hurt.”
“Your Unbreakable neutralized most of the weight,” Jirou says. “So when you released it, there wasn’t too much damage to your back. Just a hell of a bruising.”
“You also got knocked out,” Sero offers cheerfully. “Bakugou was with you and—”
“Wait.” Eijirou flicks his gaze around the hospital room. “Where’s Bakugou?”
His friends exchange a look, eyebrows creased.
“Yeah, so about that…” Kaminari starts.
“He’s been missing,” Ashido blurts and Eijirou feels his jaw drop. “Ochako-chan came upon the attack at the mall while on patrol with her Hero Work Agency and found you guys. They took you to the hospital, got you admitted, and Bakugou had a sprained ankle, but then he got himself wrapped and left. He’s been gone for hours.”
It all floods back to him then: the ceiling on his back, Bakugou’s stunned, yet frustrated and...so completely fond expression and his ruby eyes, gleaming with a heat that left his heart pounding the flowers prickling on his spine.
I’d hold the world for you.
“He...He hasn’t come to see me?” Eijirou says quietly and Ashido shakes her head.
“No, he didn’t even come up to the room when they placed you. The minute he got bandaged up, he left and hasn’t come back since.”
Eijirou frowns, thoughts whirling. Why wouldn’t Bakugou come see him? Where would he have gone? Why isn’t Bakugou here with him?
And then it clicks. Eijirou pulls himself up from the bed and there’s immediately a buzz of activity from his friends.
“Kiri, you gotta lay back down,” Ashido says firmly, as Kaminari yelps, “Bro, you’re injured.”
“Cover for me,” Eijirou blurts and his friends stare at him, as if he’s grown two heads. “I’m gonna go find Bakugou.”
“He’ll come around later—” Jirou protests, but Ashido cuts her off. Her dark eyed gaze is sharp, but there’s a familiar shine in them and Eijirou knows he’s won this one. But just to be sure…
“Mina, please,” he begs and his best friend exhales sharply, massaging her temples, before she turns to their small group.
“Sero, bar the doors and Kyouka-chan, please keep a lookout,” she says calmly. “We’ll tell them he’s still sleeping. It’ll hold off the doctors for a few hours, so,” Ashido pins Eijirou with her hard stare, making sure he knows. “So be back here by then.”
He nods. “Easy enough.”
“Mina, why are we allowing this again?” Jirou mutters and Ashido shoots her a look and a shake of her head. Jirou examines Eijirou, before she turns away, shoulders set. “Alright. This better work.”
“Kaminari, I need you to keep the machines going steady so the doctors won’t get alerted. You’ll replace Kiri, and I’ll figure out how to hook everything up to you,” Ashido continues, her fingers already pulling at the cords and pressing them onto Kaminari’s skin. “Kiri, I hope you know where to go, because you’ll need to get out through the window.”
Eijirou answers immediately. “Bus stop. It’s a fifteen minute drive.”
“Alright.” Ashido tugs the last cord off and tosses Eijirou a spare hoodie hanging on the back of the chair. “You’re good to go. Hurry up and go get your man.”
Her smile is fierce and vibrant when Eijirou accepts the hoodie and tugs it over his torso. He grins back at her, and waves at the rest of his friends, as Kaminari slides into the hospital bed, however reluctantly. “Thanks guys!”
“No problem,” Sero responds and Eijirou hikes a leg out the window, grimacing slightly, before he drops himself down.
——
Thankfully, there’s only a couple of people on the bus, so the stops are relatively short and he makes it to the forest within eight minutes. He pays his fare and hops out of the bus, darting past the familiar gates and tourist booth and running down the pathway, until he finds the deadened tree on the edge of the path.
He makes his way down the pathway as the sun begins to set. The warm and bright afternoon light fades into a dimmer orange-red hue and Eijirou has to squint to find his way down the slopes and to the fields. He makes it to the familiar meadow of flowers, already set aglow by the light of the setting sun. The entire field seems to burn with flickering flames and Eijirou searches the fields, until he finds the outlier: a puff of pale, dandelion hair.
Eijirou treads through the fields as he makes his way to Bakugou, who’s facing away from Eijirou and towards the horizon. But his senses are supersonic and he turns his head in shock when Eijirou’s only ten steps away.
“Shitty Hair, what the hell are you doing—”
“I came to find you,” he blurts out and Bakugou’s eyes widen by a fraction. “You weren’t there when I woke up.”
Bakugou averts his gaze first, lips curled. “I couldn’t be. It was my fucking fault that you were put there.”
Fire rises, hot and swift in Eijirou’s gut and he takes a step closer, clenching his fists. “It’s not your fault, Bakugou. Don’t blame yourself for that, I was just—”
“Doing your job, yeah I know,” he spits back and his crimson eyes are darker than usual, flared with fury. “But you wouldn’t have had to hold that goddamn ceiling for long if I hadn’t sprained my ankle like a fucking idiot.”
“You can’t have controlled that, Bakugou,” Eijirou snaps back, feeling the heat rise into his neck and the tips of his ears. “And I told you already, I don’t care if I’m holding the entire world on my back if it’s for you!”
Bakugou’s mouth opens, as if in retort, before closing and he looks away, his forehead knit in irritation. Eijirou’s heart is pounding too quickly and he inhales, exhales slowly on the count of three. And for a moment, it’s silent between them, heavy with unbidden tension and anger.
Eijirou’s heart rate calms, and he chances a look at Bakugou. He’s returned to staring into the setting sky, his eyes still heavy with guilt and frustration, and Eijirou’s heart melts, just a little bit.
Bakugou’s never been the best at expressing his emotions and despite the last three years, not much has improved. He’s better than the earlier days when they had first met, but it's not the best it could be. Eijirou knows this best.
And so, he takes another step closer to his best friend, feeling the tattoos on his back begin to prickle again. “Bakugou,” he murmurs quietly, carefully reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder. “You know we’re friends right? That I care about you?”
“Not in that way.” The words stop Eijirou’s heart and he freezes, mid-motion as he stares at Bakugou's back.
It’s curved inwards, not so much as the straightened posture he tends to favor, and he’s hunched over where he sits on a rock: despairing, pitying, guilty of the one thing Eijirou told him not to be guilty of.
“What do you mean?” he whispers, barely a breath in the sudden breeze that whisks through the flowers and Bakugou’s messy spikes. Bakugou doesn’t respond and Eijirou feels his pulse accelerate. The prickling on his back intensifies. “Bakugou, what do you mean?”
“You don’t care about me in the way I want you to.” His words are rushed and garbled into one sentence and it sounds broken, frustrated. Eijirou’s heart leaps into his throat. “You don’t want me in the way I want you.”
Eijirou steadies himself with an exhale and he puts his hand down, trembling slightly. “What way do you want me, Bakugou?”
“Forget about it. Just fucking leave.”
“No way.” Eijirou takes one step closer, heart pounding. “Katsuki.”
Bakugou freezes. He’s still facing the horizon, and his features are illuminated by the glow of the setting sun: a mixture of red and orange and golden light that warms his cheeks and glosses his blonde hair and gleans in his ruby eyes. Beautifulexquisitebreathtakingstunning irresistible—
“Katsuki,” he tries again, his voice catching on the tail end of the syllable, because he rarely ever gets to use Bakugou’s given name so intimately. “Katsuki, what do you mean?”
“Eijirou, stop.” Bakugou’s voice cracks on the edge of a sob and Eijirou’s breath hitches on the sound of his name and from the utter heartbreak in his voice. “Don’t pretend like you don’t fucking know.”
Another stuttering heartbeat. Another caught breath. Eijirou reaches his hand out again, biting down on his lip until he draws blood.
“Katsuki, tell me,” he begs, and Bakugou turns so quickly, eyes blazing like a wildfire in the midst of burning down the world.
“I’m in love with you,” Bakugou spits, as if the words are acid, burning his tongue. “I’ve been in love with you since first year, since fucking Kamino and I haven’t been able to stop loving you since.” He tugs down the edge of his collar harshly, and Eijirou can faintly hear a thread snap, but his focus is only on the blossom of crimson across Bakugou’s chest, the brilliance of the red that paints his skin. No. “You see this fucking shit? These fucking flowers have been growing for the past three goddamn years and they haven’t stopped since. Every day, there’s been a new flower, Eijirou. So, fuck you, don’t pretend you don’t know how I feel when I’ve been hurting with the knowledge of loving you every day.”
The fire in Bakugou’s eyes is blazing, scorching every feeling and igniting Eijirou’s nerves, and though his first instinct is the run from the brimming fire, his heart demands otherwise. Eijirou takes a head first dive into the flames.
“And how do you know I don’t feel the same way?” he says softly and Bakugou blinks twice. The fire diminishes into something akin to candlelight and his mouth parts slightly.
“What do you mean, Shitty Hair?”
“And here you said I was pretending,” Eijirou murmurs as he tugs at the edge of his shirt, lifting it up until his back is displayed. “They’re all for you, Katsuki. The flowers.”
He turns slightly and he can practically hear Bakugou’s sharp inhale as he takes in the blossoms across his back, the vividly colored clusters of buds and flowers, in every color and shape known to man.
Eijirou doesn’t know when Bakugou gets closer, but there’s a warm breath on his bare skin and he gasps softly. “Katsuki—”
“Can I touch you?” His voice is touched with a stunned awe and unfathomable desire and the unvoiced, yet resounding voice of want bruises Eijirou’s heart and he can only nod.
Cool fingers brush across the flower tattoos, gentle and fleeting, as they trace the curves of the petals, the length of the stems, the oval leaves. Eijirou shudders as Bakugou’s touch lingers on the biggest of the flowers: a crimson gerbera that overtakes his right shoulder. And then, right below it: an orange rose, slightly smaller, but as bright and resplendent as the gerbera.
“You’re in love with me?” Bakugou whispers then and the words prickle Eijirou’s shoulder, where the gerbera stands proud.
“I didn’t think I was at first,” Eijirou blurts out. “I thought it was just a crush, and I didn’t notice until a week or two ago, when Ashido came over and she showed me the tattoos and then I realized that it was more than just a crush, but I was too afraid to tell you, so I kept it quiet and then the mall accident happened and I didn’t want you to think it was all your fault that I got injured because it wasn’t so Ashido and the others helped me out to go find you and—”
“Eijirou.” Bakugou’s voice cuts him off sharply and Eijirou silents himself when Bakugou drops the hem of his shirt and comes around to look him in the eyes. His garnet ones are cloaked with an emotion that Eijirou can’t name, but they captivate him nonetheless. “Are you in love with me?”
Eijirou’s heart stops. “Yes.”
“Then say it to me.” It would’ve sounded like a command, had it not been for the underlying plea.
Tell me you’re in love with me.
Eijirou takes a heavy breath and meets the enrapturing crimson. “Bakugou, I’m in love with you—no, I think I love you—”
A pale hand cups his cheek and pulls him closer. They’re centimeters away now, and Eijirou can feel Bakugou’s breath against his lips.
“Again,” he whispers.
“I love you, Katsuki.”
Bakugou closes the distance and Eijirou meets him halfway. The kiss is fire and everything in Eijirou is alive, crackling with the electricity of a live wire. His skin is torched with fire, drowning and burning in flames and flowers and the absolute touch of Bakugou Katsuki. He’s all but flame and Eijirou lets the fire graze his lips, kiss him where the flames lick, leave their imprints on his arms and chest.
When they pull away, Bakugou’s lips are curved upwards into a warm smile and he thumbs the soft skin of Eijirou’s cheek. The touch is gentle, where the kiss had been fiery and rough and Eijirou leans into it, smiling at the sweet caress of Bakugou’s touch.
“I love you,” Bakugou murmurs and heat coils in Eijirou’s stomach, quick and hot, and despite their close proximity, he launches himself into Bakugou’s arms, knocking him down into the fiery field of flowers.
There’s a curse from Bakugou’s lips as he catches Eijirou and falls into the bed of blossoms. “Fucking hell, Shitty Hair, I swear—”
Eijirou meets Bakugou’s gaze for a moment, before they’re laughing and Eijirou’s peppering soft kisses all over Bakugou’s face, down his neck because it’s oh so right and god, he’s so in love.
“I love you, I love you, I love you,” he whispers against bare skin and Bakugou doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. Eijirou already knows.
“Down, Shitty Hair,” Bakugou murmurs and without waiting, he wraps his arm and tugs Eijirou firmly down. And then they’re dyed in every shade of red, set ablaze in the glow of the sunset and the dancing light of crimson flowers. They’re burning together, in flame, dancing amongst the smoke and ashes. if this is love, then love is fire and Bakugou Katsuki and goddamn it all, Eijirou wants to burn.
He doesn’t know when they finally pull away from the heat and fire, but when they do, Eijirou’s treated to the sight of a rolled up shirt and Bakugou underneath him, face flushed and lips swollen.
“Hey,” he breathes softly, tenderly, and he brushes a strand of blonde hair away from Bakugou’s face.
“Hey.” Bakugou’s looking up at him in a sort of awe, his crimson eyes unnaturally soft with vulnerability and it warms Eijirou’s heart, setting his skin aflame once more.
To distract himself, he breaks eye contact and instead, tugs off Bakugou’s shirt to reveal the brilliant tattoo on his chest. There’s delicate, non rooted blossoms scattering his scarred skin, but Eijirou’s focus is the large, blush-red gerbera that paints Bakugou’s heart. It’s stemmed and rooted, drifting beneath the cut of Bakugou’s hips and Eijirou lets his hands trail there, where the stem carries itself to roots and it’s so deeply in place that it hurts Eijirou’s heart (how could Bakugou love him so?).
“I’m so lucky. I’m so lucky that I get to love you and that you love me back,” Eijirou tells him, his voice rising to wonder and Bakugou laughs again beneath him, a low rumble that rolls through his chest like thunder.
“I think I should be saying that, Shitty Hair,” Bakugou says with the delectable grin that Eijirou so loves. He arches an eyebrow at Bakugou, feeling his own smile curl on his face.
“You think so?”
“I know so.” Bakugou pulls him down into a waiting kiss of roses and gerberas and Eijirou follows, dipping himself into the dancing fire.
Art by milkkir. Posted with permission.