Archive of Our Own

The page turned with a rustle, breaking the silence.

But silence did not really, truly exist. Low humming could be heard through the curtain to his right, a colleague grunting orders to a patient behind the curtain to his left, and their voices mingled with the ringing phones at the nurses' station. There was chaos, but milder compared to the chaos usually going on in the hospital's — or any hospital's — emergency room. Yet the noise was constant, it was unchanging. Bakugou Katsuki could ignore it, as if it was silence.

He turned a another page. With a pen, he scribbled a series of notes. Neat letters, unhurried.

His nurse told him she would take her leave five minutes earlier, that the next shift would be arriving in any minute. Katsuki told her he didn't need her anyway. He kept reading.

When he looked up again the clock on the wall pointed at 7:40pm. Only twenty minutes until his duty in the emergency room was over; only twenty minutes until he could go back to the ward and munch on the dinner he always brought from his home for the longer days. He had worked at the hospital long enough to know that the habit of eating at the cafeteria too often hid a bunch of risks he didn't wish to take. Not when he was to go home the following day at noon.

With a small yawn, Katsuki turned his attention back on his book and soaked up the words. It was a new book he had purchased under the guidance of his mentor and colleague, Aizawa. You always study, the man had said with a bored look on his face, Might as well learn something from it.

The further he got into the book, the truer Aizawa's words became.

A door opened and closed, a phone rang again, the voices chattered up louder and footsteps shuffled against the floor. Katsuki kept his eyes locked on the page. It wasn't until the footsteps came into a halt in front of his examination room, and a rough baritone topped over the cacophony of the emergency room that he looked up.

"Excuse me?"

Before anything else, Katsuki's gaze caught on the striking color of his hair. Bright red it was, the same hue of the poppies during spring, or the warm red of fire — impossible, artificial, but he wore it as if it was natural. It reached all the way down two broad shoulders, messy and tousled, as if he had just got out of bed or went through an event so stressful he had run his fingers through it many many times.

It was then Katsuki noticed the forearm the young man cradled to his chest. There was a towel wrapped around the wrist all the way to the fingers, and a patch of it had just started to soak up in blood.

"So," Katsuki started blankly, breaking the silence for the first time. He closed his book. "What happened to you?"

The red-haired young man was tall and strong. The face looking back at him was youthful, brick-red eyes slanted but wide, the skin clear and shining with freckles across the bridge of a straight nose. He was very attractive, Katsuki realized, and he stared right into his eyes, cheeky almost, and unwavering, while his lips had a tentative pout, pink and chapped — he probably had the bad habit of biting them.

They parted then, and opened and closed a few times before the same voice from before uttered, breathy, "You...You're the doctor?"

Katsuki paused, raised an eyebrow. "S'there a problem?"

The guy laughed, high-strung and nervous. "N-No, I was just..." He trailed off, shaking his head. For the first time, he lowered his hand and with half-a-smile, he said, "I cut myself with a knife and a nurse told me to come here. I suppose it needs stitching."

Katsuki rolled his tongue in his mouth. It felt dry all of a sudden. "Sit," he instructed.

The young man took a step in the examination room at the same time Katsuki stood from his chair to get a pair of gloves. "I was cooking," the young man said. He sat on the examination bed, "Trying to fillet a fish but it seems I ended up filleting myself."

Katsuki snapped the gloves on. Tentatively, then, he turned the man's wrist up and began to unwound the towel. Before removing the last part of it, the part covering the wound, he stopped. "Don't look if you don't like blood," he grunted, "Fainting makes my job harder."

The young man blinked at him, twice, then he chuckled. "No worries with that." He shook his head. "I'm used to the sight of blood. I'm a firefighter — our job can get just as bloody."

Firefighter, Katsuki repeated in the privacy of his head. He removed the final part of the towel, uncovering the cut for the first time. It was at the base of his thumb, extending down to the wrist. The wrist that linked to a strong forearm, which connected to a bicep thick enough for both of Katsuki's hands to not be enough to encase. Of course he's a firefighter, Katsuki mused. Few career paths required such a physique.

He placed the towel on the bed next to the man's thigh, examined the lips of the wound with tender fingers, its depth, any structures that might be damaged underneath, but found none. Firefighter, he thought again. "That's why you don't whine like a little bitch," he said.

"I suppose," the man replied with a voice full of humor. "So, how is it?"

"It's deep, but not too deep to worry." Katsuki walked around the examination bed, disposed of his gloves and rummaged the nurse's shelves. With his long gone, he himself picked up what he needed — needles, the local anesthetic, sutures and the sterile field. "How the f—" he paused, pressed his lips together. "How did you manage to do this?"

The laugh that echoed caught him off guard. "You can cuss," the guy said, "it's fine."

Katsuki turned and walked towards his patient. "How the fuck did you do that?"

Eyeing the loot in Katsuki's arms, the young man shrugged. Always with a smile. "That's a question I still haven't answered. So you'll stitch it?"

Katsuki kicked the metal stand closer to the bed. He rolled the stool next to him too. "Fuck you think?"

"That you will."

"Observant. Now shut it until I set everything up."

He clamped his mouth shut with his good hand, mirth in his eyes, and watched every move Katsuki made closely. He watched as Katsuki spread out the sterile field and drop the equipment on it; he stayed quiet as Katsuki cleaned the wound with iodine — didn't hiss as it was poured all over it, didn't wince as Katsuki snapped the cap of the anesthetic off and drew it in a syringe. He only ever made a face as Katsuki inserted the needle at the base of his thumb.

"This hurts a bit," he stated. Expected.

"It's to numb the area," Katsuki explained. He withdrew the needle and inserted it around the lips of the wound, once, twice, three times, four. "So you don't hurt when I stitch you. It'll wear off in an hour. Put your hand on the metal stand."

The young man complied with a nod. Katsuki spread out a green sheet under the hurt hand, covering it with another sterile sheet that had a hole for the thumb, adjusting it as best as he could without coming in too much contact with it. Lastly, he slipped in his sterile gloves and flexed his fingers in the latex. He hated latex — it gave him a nasty itch afterwards.

"Looks like you've been doing this a while," the young man pointed out as Katsuki rolled over with his stool, "You seem pretty accustoment to what you're doing."

"Fuck you thought?" Katsuki snapped, "You're at a goddamned hospital — we are supposed to know what we're doing."

Unbothered by Katsuki's lack of tact, the guy added, "How long have you been working here?"

"Three years."

The young man gasped, laughed. He kept smiling even when Katsuki's face didn't change. "That's quite a while!" he exclaimed. "It makes me wonder how come I have never seen you before, since I've been on duty for four years. Well, to be fair, I only ever meet with the rescuers on the field and, rarely, with some nurses — doctors are hard to catch, aren't they."

Katsuki shrugged, "Dunno."

He opened his mouth and closed it again, made a sound and trailed off — like he was gathering his gut, his courage for what he was to say next. "Had I known the doctors here are as handsome as you are," he said and it held a different tone, "I'd be a bit more persistent."

Katsuki paused, tweezers lifting one edge of the wound, the tip of the needle just about piercing the skin. He glanced up. The young man was smiling at him, broad and shitty. Ah, that's what it was, Katsuki realized at last. It wasn't the first time a patient flirted with him. It was the first time his mouth twitched in response to such a playful jab. "I'm holding sharp shit," he warned, the young man; himself, "Watch your goddamned mouth."

It earned him barking laughter. "I'm only speaking the truth, nothing more. You could pass up as a model, if you ask me."

"I didn't ask."

"I'd rather you be a doctor though! It's what I need currently." He glanced over as Katsuki finished the first stitch. "How many of them will you do?"

"Do you ever stop talking?"

"But I gotta know!"

Katsuki let go of an exasperated sigh. "Three," he grunted, "Now stop yapping and lemme do my job."

It was enough to earn him a few minutes of silence. The young man busied his mouth with his lower lip, his free hand with his phone, shoving it right back in his pocket when Katsuki glared at him for moving too much. The door slammed open and close again, and Katsuki saw the young man stiffening at the rising voices. He was restless. But who in their right minds would be able to relax in a hospital?

Katsuki clenched his jaw. Goddamn it.

"Keep it clean and dry," he started as he cut the thread of the second stitch and wiped the blood away. Those brick-red eyes darted at him immediately, and he continued, "Avoid hard labor. Take a day off—" He repeated the same procedure for the third. "Come find me in two days. I wanna check how it's healing."

"Here?"

"No, at my house." Katsuki caught the young man's gaze just to roll his eyes at him. "Here, half-wit. Come around eleven at the surgery ward. S'when I finish my rounds."

Red creeped under the collar of his shirt, to the tips of his ears. "Right, uh," the young man stammered, "Mind telling me your name then? So I know who to ask for at the ward."

Katsuki dapped a gauze soaked in iodine against the wound. "Bakugou Katsuki."

"Bakugou Katsuki," the young man repeated. He smiled, "Alright, I'll remember that name."

His smile, Katsuki noticed, broad and genuine like a child's, it was infectious. The more he flashed it, the harder Katsuki found it to keep his face neutral. Then lifted his arm to look at the wound. Katsuki heard him gasp over the rustling of the equipment being shoved in the infectious bin. "Those are very neat stitches man, woah."

"Fuck did you expect?"

"Nothing less, of course. But allow me to be awed by your skills and not only your face."

Finally, it was too much to bear and his mouth stretched a hint too without his permission. Katsuki discarded his gloves last, grabbed another gauze and an elastic bandage. A light ripple of air escaped though his nose. "Did you hit your goddamned head too or you're naturally so full of shit?"

"Dunno," the other shrugged as he sat up. His eyes visibly lit up, "But I made you smile. I'm good with that."

Shaking his head, Katsuki turned to his until then forgotten notebook. "Give me your personal details. Need to write down your case."

"Is the health insurance card enough?"

"Hand it over."

He fumbled with his pockets and yanked a leather wallet out of the front right, making sure his hurt hand wasn't involved. Katsuki reached to clutch the other end of the card. Their fingers touched, their gazes locked. A tense moment passed, eyes spitting fire like in one of those movies, but it was Katsuki who broke the spell first to glance at the letters sported at the front of the plastic card.

Kirishima Eijirou.

Katsuki jotted down the name and the insurance number, scribbled the case, then handed the card back. Without looking up, he stamped the case closed on the book and said, "Again keep it dry and avoid physical labor. When the anesthesia wears off it's gonna hurt, so pop some painkillers. The OTC kind." He looked up and steeled his gaze against the molten lava in Kirishima Eijirou's eyes. "In two days, seek me out. If you don't, I'll kill you."

Kirishima Eijirou beamed brighter then, grin reaching the corners of his eyes. "Even without the death sentence," he drawled, "I'd seek you out."

"Get the fuck outta here."

"I shall. Thank you very much!" He waved enthusiastically as he took a few steps backwards, "See you in two days."

He bumped onto Inasa who had just entered the through curtain, broad back to chest. Kirishima Eijirou jumped around and apologized quickly before turning to Katsuki one last time, with one last wave. Katsuki watched him walk away with a tug at his mouth.

Inasa glanced back and forth, his sharp brows and lips pulling towards each other. The grey of his scrubs made him look older than he actually was, much older than the two years that separated them, and the buzzcut of his hair which had started to grey in places didn't work in his favor. The stethoscope hung loosely around his neck, shifting as he turned at him.

"How the hell are you patients coming out smiling when you're such a dickhead?" he asked.

Katsuki sneered, "At least I don't look like a dickhead."

"Hey!"

"He was my last case," he said, shoving his stamp in his pocket and gathering his book, "I don't have anything pending."

"I'd expect nothing less from you." He patted Katsuki on the back. "Go get some rest; a long night awaits for us."

"Don't tell me what to do."

Inasa mumbled something, but Katsuki couldn't be bothered to pay attention as he walked out of the emergency room. There was a pleasant space in his chest, a flutter in his stomach, like an air balloon that had just been inflated and tickled his insides with static. His step held a skip that did not characterize it.

Kirishima Eijirou, he repeated as the elevator ascended to the surgery ward. Katsuki's mouth stretched again.

He, too, would remember that name. Maybe.

Probably.

~ * ~

The blood samples were on the tray, in the hands of the nurse Katsuki asked to take them to the lab. A glance at his wrist watch told him it was still early for his rounds yet, but it was never too early to start when he already had twenty patients to cater to. He walked briskly past a nurse and pushed into the doctor's office. Two pairs of eyes landed directly on him.

"You look awfully rushed."

She wore a black shirt tucked in black trousers and black leather horse-riding boots to go with underneath her white coat. Her auburn hair was tied to a ponytail, and though it sharpened her features, it did nothing to taper the curve of her smile. A cup of coffee was nestled warmly in both her palms. "What got you so riled up already?" Camie asked.

Katsuki clicked his tongue at her, a specific kind of sass that stemmed solely on the fact that she got one of the three spots that existed when he had joined. "Some of us have a job to do," he said. On his desk, his pocket-sized notebook laid spread open. He took it, shoved it in the pocket of his white coat. "Also Aizawa gotta be awake when I tell him about the patients."

For the first time, Inasa spoke too. It was behind the rim of his coffee cup. "The further in the day we go, the drowsier he gets. Dang and then it's what? Todoroki?"

He and Inasa clicked their tongues at the same time, Inasa for his own reasons, Katsuki because he knew. He knew who Todoroki Enji was.

The door opened then and he walked in the office. He was a Todoroki too, but he was not Enji, he was Shouto, the youngest son, the father's pride and joy, the only good thing that came out of the man. Todoroki wore his hospital uniform, petrol blue it was, and his face was furrowed — furrowed because the burn scar on his left eye pulled during the winter. Katsuki had spread ointment on it one too many times during their study sessions at university.

Todoroki's eyes fixed on him immediately and a small smile blossomed on his face. "Good morning," he said evenly.

"You sure took your sweet time sleeping," Katsuki grumbled.

Todoroki stopped walking only when he was only inches away from Katsuki. Then, he shrugged. "I didn't sleep until six."

That was two hours ago.

Inasa put his coffee on the desk. He didn't look too pleased. "Something happened?"

"Just emergency sutures and the ward..." Todoroki sighed and his exhaustion soaked in his face. "The ward just couldn't sit still."

"I bought you a cup," Camie said sweetly. She pushed the third cup on her desk towards him. "Thought your pretty face might need it."

"Thank you." Todoroki took it in his palms, took a sip, sighed again. "I will do my rounds and I will leave — ok?"

"Sounds fair, handsome."

Katsuki rolled his eyes. Leave it to Camie to flirt with Todoroki every single day of her life and not find any reciprocation — because Todoroki was the biggest idiot Katsuki had ever met in his entire life. He simply sipped on his coffee while Camie gazed at him in a way any man or woman would melt on the spot. She did not seem to mind though. She hadn't minded it for three years.

He tapped his pockets and tugged at the stethoscope drapped across his shoulders. "I'm going," he said, "Can't waste my whole day on you idiots."

A grip on his forearm as he headed for the door grinded him to a halt. "Wait, Bakugou." Katsuki turned, chin over his shoulder. Todoroki's eyes were intense. "Come to my house after work," he said.

"I have better things to do."

"Fuyumi brought mapo tofu. It's too much for me and it might go bad."

Katsuki pressed his lips together and clenched his jawline, angry at himself more than anyone else. Out of all the Todoroki offspring that existed, Fuyumi was his favorite. When Katsuki first met her it had been over a family dinner she had prepared — a family dinner that had gone bad, but they still weren't talking about it — and for a terribly long while he had thought he had a crush on her only to realize it was the food. He loved her cooking that much. She was excellent at it, and it made him mad he was so weak to it.

He hated Todoroki too for using it against him like that.

Yanking his arm away, he scoffed, "Better have it ready when I'll be there then," and stormed out without a glance behind. He didn't want to see Todoroki's shitty smile.

His temper tampered away as soon as he started working. He grabbed the trolley with the patches and disinfection for the patients who needed wound changes, scribbled down their vitals and physical examination findings, while he patiently waited for the kind ladies to finish chatting him up as he did so. Men patients did not talk as much. At least most of them didn't.

He was finishing wrapping up a belly suture when his phone rang. Carefully, he removed the gloves and tossed them to the infectious bin of the trolley before he picked it up. He didn't check the caller, "Speak up."

"Bakugou," Camie's voice echoed, distortedly sweet, from the other end. "The cutest little hunk is asking specifically for you and I'm very jealous."

Katsuki frowned. "What the f—" He glanced at the tiny old lady with the cotton-white hair regarding him with round eyes. "What are you talking about?" he corrected.

"A young man," Camie said, "A cute young man with red hair knocked on the door and asked for Doctor Bakugou Katsuki 'cause two days ago you told him to find you today."

Young man with red hair — could have only been one person. Katsuki, with very few exceptions, never remembered his patients' names or faces after they were discharged, but a name flashed in his mind immediately at the sound of Camie's description. "Oh," he exhaled. Suddenly, there was a flutter in his chest. It was there a second, but he noticed it. "Him."

"How underwhelming!" Camie whined. "He's so cute, be more excited! What a smile! Perfect teeth! And those deltoids! Get his number for me?"

Katsuki ended the call and dropped the phone back in his pocket. With a grumble of a goodbye, he shoved the trolley out of the ward rooms into the hall. Kirishima Eijirou was there, waiting outside of the doctors' office in a pair of red pants and an orange hoodie which would normally look tacky and kitsch, but he made them look actually good. What a talent, Katsuki thought.

As soon as he heard the sound of the trolley, his head turned and the same smile that blinded Katsuki two days ago blossomed on his face. They walked to each other, stopping only when the trolley was between them.

"Hey," he said. His hair was down, framing his face without hiding the sharp angles of his jaw. "Hope I don't interrupt."

Katsuki shoved the trolley aside. He reached for Kirishima's bandaged hand and tugged it to himself. "Any problems?"

Kirishima shook his head. "It pulls and aches at night, but I take painkillers like you told me to."

"Good. You listen."

"If I don't listen to my doc, who will I listen to?"

With a snort and not another word, Katsuki slipped into a new pair of latex gloves and unwrapped the bandage from the wound, baring it to the light and examining it meticulously. It was immaculate. It had already started to heal, each of the three stitches perfectly knotted to the sides of the lips and not on top of it — there was no leaking, no infection, nothing. A smirk crawled on Katsuki's face and he looked up to grab the disinfectant.

Kirishima was grinning back at him. "Yep, you did a great job," he said.

Katsuki clicked his tongue. "This is nothing."

"Oh, I'm sure. I just really like your confidence. It's very manly."

The gauze soaked orange with the iodine. Katsuki pressed it against the wound as he said, "If I don't have confidence in my practice then I better fuck off and die."

Kirishima laughed. "Extreme, but I see where you're coming from."

The gauze flew directly to the infectious bin together with the latex gloves. On the second shelf of the trolley, Katsuki looked for the sterile pads and spread one across Kirishima's wound. Then, he let go. "Avoid what I said and in five days come back to get rid of the stitches. I'll be on duty all day."

Kirishima retrieved his hand. "So soon?"

"So soon. You're not a grandpa."

A nurse walked past them with papers in hand and Kirishima's eyes followed her without actually following her. He had clammed up, hands hiding behind his back and jaw set, he looked like he was drowning in an ocean of words he didn't know which to utter first. He sought safety in the walls around them, at the trolley, at the disinfectant bottles, until he was facing Katsuki's gaze head on again. Then, he spoke. "Should I come back in the meantime? I mean, so I can see you and..." He paused, his face flushing the same red of his hair. "And-and make sure it's not getting worse or something," he stuttered, "Before we, uh, remove the stitches."

Katsuki's mouth twitched, but he suppressed it. He shoved his hands in his pockets and clenched his fists. "I can't guarantee I'll have the time," he said tightly, "Maybe I'll have an emergency and you end up wasting hours waiting."

Kirishima visibly deflated, but a small smile made it to his face nevertheless. "That's fine," he nodded, "Doctors are hard to grasp anyway." He shifted from one foot to another, took a deep breath. "Say, are you free right now? Maybe we can get some coffee at the cafeteria?"

Katsuki took out his phone. He hoped it didn't show how much his fingers shook. "I have twenty minutes."

"More than enough."

The doctors' office door was yanked open right there, breaking the full-of-tension moment. Inasa dashed out first with the clinic's phone on his ear and barking orders, while Camie and Todoroki followed him suit with dead-serious looks on their faces. Katsuki frowned, scowled at them until Todoroki turned at him.

"Bakugou," he said, "Car accident."

Then, he disappeared behind the ward's exit.

Katsuki huffed. "Shit."

"The emergency we talked about," Kirishima chuckled, but there was no real humor in it. He gestured a salute. "Duty calls. I'll see you in five days."

With a nod, Katsuki walked past him. He stopped by the ward's door and his eyes sought Kirishima out one last time.

Kirishima was staring at him. He smiled.

Katsuki dashed down the hospital corridor. There were, unmistakably, butterflies in his stomach.

~ * ~

Katsuki stepped on the gas pedal.

The numbers on the dashboard blinked 9:39 and he clicked his tongue. From the alarm clock that did not go off, to the tea he spilled on his clothes and the traffic that was on the road up ahead, Katsuki's day did not start off well. He had already called at work for his tardiness and was reassured that it was alright, even though it truly wasn't. Bakugou Katsuki did not make mistakes.

A red light brought him to a halt. Fumbling to his side, he picked his tea up and took one sip as he glared at the road in front of him. There were three more traffic lights before the right turn to the hospital, yet his temper did not seem to tamper down one bit.

The light turned green. Katsuki sped down the right lane.

At the gate he did not have to wait. The security guards recognized his car by now, they recognized his face, his driving style, the murder roaring together with his engine. They didn't get in his way.

He haphazardly parked at the doctors' parking lot, which was closer to the hospital than the common one, grabbed his backpack, then rushed to the reception and onto the elevators to head on the third floor. His things, he threw in the doctors' rooms, where he would be staying the night. As quickly as he could, he wrestled out of his clothes and slipped in his black scrubs. Then, with his stethoscope draped across his nape, his oximeter in one pocket and his stamp and phone in the other, he dashed to the ward.

"You sure look a mess for someone who slept plenty," Inasa teased as soon as he stepped in the office.

Camie giggled sweetly. "Wakey-wakey, sleepyhead!"

Katsuki scoffed at both of them. He unhinged his white coat and shrugged it on. "The fucking alarm clock didn't fucking go off," he said. Ran both hands across his face. "Tell me how my patients are."

Inasa took a small notepad out of his pocket, but he was shaking his head. "Nothing out of the ordinary," he said, "I also took their blood samples instead of you, so you owe me drinks."

"You owe me for the times I let you sleep during night shifts, so shut the fuck up."

A frown marred Inasa's features, a purse of his lips made him look like he was pouting — pouting because Katsuki was right, because Katsuki never called them during emergencies and carried out work on his own even during their nightly shifts. He did it not because he wanted his colleagues to feel obligated to him, but because he was Bakugou Katsuki.

"Whatever," he added quickly, before Inasa thought of something witty to say back at him. With his hands, he tapped the coat's pockets, feeling up for the notepad which was unmistakably there. "I'm running late with the shitton of shit I gotta do. Is Aizawa awake?"

"Caught him nursing a cup of coffee at the cafeteria," Camie chimed in. Her fingers were in her hair, tying her ponytail up. "So you have about one hour or so."

"Maybe less," Inasa added and it was bitter, petty. Smug.

"Shit. Fuck, fuck, shit, fuck."

"Language!"

Ignoring Camie's scolding, Katsuki reached for the door. The situation was dire; there were too many patients and too little time for one single doctor to care for, yet it was what it was for hospitals all cross the country — too many patients, too few doctors. Yet Katsuki did not mind the workload as much as he hated running late. Disaster could strike at any given moment in a large hospital like the one he worked at; his hands had to be free and not occupied with petty wound care and cleaning.

Katsuki yanked at the door handle. Then, he almost collided with a mountain in the shape of a person.

"Gosh!" the mountain exclaimed. He grinned then, broad like the horizon. "I was just about to knock."

Brows pulling at each other, Katsuki squinted against the intensity of his smille's glare. "Fuck are you doing here?"

"I came for the stitches, like you told me." Kirishima waved the bandaged hand in front of their faces. His smile progressively turned sheepish. "Is it a bad time?"

Katsuki stared in his brick-red eyes. Gnawed on his bottom lip. It was a bad time. It was a terrible time. Because he had to finish all of his work before Aizawa withdrew in the privacy of his home, because the colleagues that were not on duty had to inform him about their patients before they left, and there was no time, absolutely zero time to do anything. Yet, the sparkles in Kirishima's eyes, the scent of his cologne and his red hair pulled back in a ponytail, slowed the time that kept rushing past his fingers a tad.

"No," Katsuki decided in the end.

"If you're busy, I can—"

"Shut the hell up and follow me."

He brushed past Kirishima's solid form and he headed to the nurses' station without a glance over his shoulder. The moment he barged in, the idle chatter that normally characterized the room was brought to an abrupt halt as all ten of the ward's nurses stood from their chairs and dashed out. Katsuki did not say a word to them. He rummaged around the shelves and drawers for gloves, gauzes and a surgical blade.

Footsteps stopped right by his side. "Damn, they sure fear you." When Katsuki snapped his head at him, Kirishima laughed, "But with that face you're wearing, who wouldn't."

He realized then, the muscles of his forehead cramping due to the deep crease that settled between his brows at times. It was a crease he inherited from his mother, the same scowl and the same glare he took from her, an expression he got yelled at about by many of his superiors. Hastily, he pressed his index at it, to force it to loosen up. "Shit," he huffed.

"No!" Kirishima exclaimed, loud and energetic. Then lower, he added, "No, It's fine. You're angry at something. You're human, you have emotions."

Miraculously, Katsuki's always-tense shoulders began to relax. He motioned at the large square desk in the middle of the room and took a seat right opposite from where Kirishima chose to sit. "Gets me in trouble plenty," he explained, "With superiors, with patients. Mostly with patients. They nag. I hafta think to not fucking do it in front of them 'cause it's so fuckin' troublesome." He paused, pressed his lips in a line. "The swearing too."

Kirishima smiled knowingly. "I can imagine. People can be butt hurt."

Katsuki soaked the bandaid over the wound with alcohol and pulled it off, unable to deny the twitch of his mouth. Kirishima beamed even brighter at him. "Oh, there it is — the smile."

"Shut the hell up."

"It suits you. It breaks the whole blackness you have going on right now." He paused as Katsuki opened up the surgical blade container and pinched at the first stitch. "Not that black doesn't look good on you, but it makes you seem a bit..hostile."

"Like Death," Katsuki said. He cut the first stitch, dropped it on the white gauze and lifted the next. "S'what my colleagues call me."

Kirishima hummed, "If Death looked like you, everyone would be in a hurry to die."

Silence enveloped the room right then, thick and full of tension, Kirishima's words hanging in the air between them, oscillating like a pendulum. Katsuki froze with the tip of the blade against the nylon of the stitch and slowly, he lifted his gaze. Kirishima was staring at him with wide eyes and a twitching mouth. Heat was reddening his entire face all the way down to his neck. "I meant it in the good way," he uttered, and it was barely a sound.

Katsuki fixed him with his stare that made everyone squirm, until Kirishima started to squirm. Then, he pressed his forehead at his wrist as his shoulders started to vibrate. "You goddamned...idiot," he wheezed between each fit.

Kirishima visibly relaxed, yet the red of his cheeks only darkened. "Well I'm glad my clumsiness makes you laugh."

Still snickering, Katsuki cut the last two of the three stitches at last and dabbed an alcohol-soaked gauze against the wound for the last time. "You're ready," he then said, "Put a bandaid on it if it annoys you, but you're good to go."

Kirishima brought it to his face and examined it. "I see. Thanks a lot."

"Off you go now. And be more careful with knives. Stupid."

Kirishima nodded, but made no movement to stand up from the chair. For a second there, Katsuki caught him hesitating. He glanced around, over his shoulder, checking the room out before leaning in over the table, Casual. Stiff. He took a deep breath.

"Say, before I go..." He swallowed. "Uh, can I have your number?"

It sounded like a bomb in a canyon. Caught off guard, Katsuki quirked an eyebrow. Kirishima licked his lips, scratched the back of his neck, fiddled with his fingers. There was a slight tremor at the tips, Katsuki noticed, a shudder of his chest as he took a final deep breath before speaking. "I was just thinking..." He trailed off, voice tight. "I was thinking that, maybe, if you wanted too — we could, dunno, grab coffee or dinner or a drink when you're free? I would...personally, I'd love to. To do. That. Coffee or dinner. With you, I mean."

He kept his smile charming and even, but not without a hint of uncertainty; the kind of uncertainty one who was putting themselves out in the spotlight would hold. Katsuki stared at him, unable to move his tongue in his mouth or stop the heart he thought lethargic in his chest from banging against the frame. It wasn't the first time a patient flirted with him. Katsuki was aware of what he looked like, he was aware of his status and why would the said status be desirable, but he was also aware of the human nature. Patients flirted for two reasons — one, they were trying to break the awkward moments that could arise during physical examination and two, because they had nothing better to do. None of the patients who had flirted with him, men and women, ever tried to pursue him.

Kirishima was a category on his own, and it was disarming.

The silence, however, forced that smile to dwindle and curl at the corners in its sadder version. Kirishima lowered his gaze. "Ah, I get it that you don't want to," he muttered, "At least I tried—"

"Give me your phone," Katsuki blurted in his haste.

"My ph—" Brick red eyes widened comically. "For real?"

Katsuki tapped his index finger on the desk. Tap. Tap. Tap. Thudding — like his heart. "Hurry up before I change my mind."

Kirishima almost dropped his phone yanking it out of his pocket. He fumbled on the screen, fingers shaking, before he turned it for Katsuki to see, and Katsuki typed the right sequence corresponding to his phone number. "Here," he said and leaned back on the chair, "Don't call or text after ten 'cause I'm asleep."

"After ten, got it," Kirishima repeated. He gazed at his phone's screen as if it held the treasures of the universe, while his face gleamed brighter than gold itself. He turned his beamy smiles at Katsuki. "Sweet. Sweet, heck, fantastic! I'll text you soon!" He put his phone in his pocket. "For dinner, alright? I prefer dinner 'cause I love food and I know a bunch of nice places we can go, I —" The high of his cheeks to the tips of his ears tinted bright red again. He chuckled. "I'm blathering like an idiot. In my defense, I did not expect you to say yes so I'm freaking out a bit. You're so way out of my league it's not even funny."

Katsuki exhaled around the nerves in his throat. "Not so out of it since I said yes."

Kirishima beamed at his words, and if he had a tail it would have been wagging left to right. Katsuki rolled his eyes, mostly at himself for finding this cute. "Fuck off now, I have work to do."

"Alright, okay, I will. I will text you later, promise."

"Don't break your neck trying."

Kirishima laughed and it had a merry lilt to it. "Shit, go me, I scored jackpot man — alright okay, this should be my inner monologue, I promise I'll leave now and I'll be more careful." He took a few steps backwards, towards the door, contradicting entirely what he had just said. He waved. "I wish you a good day. And I'll text you!"

He exited through the door, collided with a nurse and apologized three times before disappearing from Katsuki's sight. Yet, he did not take Katsuki's smile with him. If anything, when he left, Katsuki propped both elbows on the desk and blushed to his heart's content. What the hell was he doing, he wondered as he chuckled, giddy, in his palms. He was at work, he was on duty until the next day, he had patients waiting for him to be examined and a boss who was halfway through his seventh sleep. Yet none of this predicament was enough to kill the buzz in his head, let alone temper down the butterflies in his stomach.

When he stepped in the hallway again, the nurses regarded him with greater horror. But Katsuki didn't care.

He went through all of his patients and cornered Aizawa just in time, then headed back in the ward for Inasa and Camie to inform him and Todoroki about their own patients before they left for the day. They were both eyeing in suspicion, questioning the look on his face or the smooth tone of his voice, but Katsuki simply shrugged, leaving them both in the dark. The tick of Inasa's forehead and the rounding of Camie's eyes were way too entertaining to pass up.

After they left, Todoroki brought out his lunch. Fuyumi had made it. Without a question, Katsuki simply swapped their lunches. Luckily, Todoroki did not seem to mind. I always liked your cooking, he claimed as he dug in.

"You are likable today."

Katsuki had just shoved his lunchbox back in his bag. Instantly, he scowled. "You're still not likable in the least," he scoffed.

Todoroki crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Did you sleep well last night?"

"I sure fucking did, but that's not the reason why I'm in a good mood."

"Was the lunch so good?"

"Just shut the fuck up, I won't tell you shit."

Todoroki blew at the hairs falling into his eyes, and it mixed the red strands on the right with the graying ones on the left side of his head. Instinctively, Katsuki reached to separate them, an instinct that wasn't always an instinct but an urge to punch Todoroki's face, back then, when they were still students and spewed vileness at each other. When had that one stopped, Katsuki wondered at times, but through the blood and tears of medical school, lonely souls craving for the same thing either came together or fall apart. Theirs, had come together.

Katsuki did not always like Todoroki. But if one asked him who his best friend was, Todoroki would pop in his mind first.

A tear rolled down Todoroki's left eye. Katsuki caught it with his thumb. "Again?" he asked.

With his fingers, Todoroki traced the edges of the burn mark. "Don't ask dumb questions," he muttered, "You know it pulls more at the winter. Makes my eye more watery too."

Katsuki scoffed. "Go fucking drown yourself in ointment then, see if I care."

"I can't drown in ointment." To Katsuki's pointed, indignant stare, he stayed unfazed — like always — and added, "But I think I might put some on, ok?"

"As if I haven't been on duty before without you." When Todoroki did not move an inch and waited, Katsuki rolled his eyes. "Fuck outta here, moron."

"I'll be back soon."

"Couldn't care less."

The door closed softly after Todoroki's frame, but Katsuki glared at it even then. With a guttural huff, he turned to the bookshelf, that specific bookshelf nursing all of their books about surgery and general medicine. He picked out the one he had bought a few weeks ago, but had not had the chance to finish yet, and opened it up at the bookmark. From his breast pocket, he retrieved his pen and slammed it on the desk's surface, readying it. Then, he picked up where he had left off.

It wasn't even five minutes when his phone's screen lit up.

[ Received at 15:43 pm ]

Hey! 😇😋

It's me 

Kirishima! 💪🏻💪🏻

It took me a bit longer to text you than I expected...

but here I am now! 😝

Katsuki watched the influx of messages laced with all the kinds of emojis, and maybe, just maybe, his heart beat a little faster in his chest. He waited for the screen to darken down first, but he could not stop himself from picking up the phone any longer. He booted Kirishima's messages and saved the number in his contact list. Then, his thumbs were hovering above the keyboard while his mind drew a blank. The aversion to texting he could not overcome, even for someone as cute as Kirishima.

[ Sent at 15:47 pm ]

You use too many of those weird faces.

It was lame, it was idiotic and Katsuki loathed it with passion the very same moment he hit sent, but he could not take it back. Not when the bubbles on Kirishima's side had already started to jump.

[ Received at 15:47 pm ]

And you use full stops

And call emojis "weird faces"

What the hell

Are you a grandpa? 

Katsuki scoffed, and it was more like a laugh and less like a scoff, until it was only a laugh.

[ Sent at 15:48 pm ]

I'm blocking your ass.

[ Received at 15:48 pm ]

Nooooooo 😫😫

Pls don't do that 🙏🏻

I was just joking !

[ Sent at 15:49 pm ]

I'm joking too, stupid.

[ Received at 15:49 pm ]

You gave me a scare right there ! 🥺

Didn't wanna start off of the wrong foot

I got plans for us !

[ Sent at 15:50 pm ]

What plans?

[ Received at 15:50 pm ]

That, I'm keeping a secret :3

So tell me

Everything cool ever since I left?

Hope nothing too urgent came

With a last glance at Kirishima's message, a deep breath and a sigh, he tapped on the green phone button under his contact name. It rang, but only a few times until the other end clicked. "Oh," Kirishima hummed, and it vibrated, static, but sweetly deep and smooth, "You're one of those who call."

Katsuki cleared his throat, cleared the nerves that forced the walls to collapse. "I hate texting," he said, gruffly still, "And texting about work takes fucking ages."

"So tell me—" Kirishima chuckled. "—using your words."

"It's slow." His chair creaked as he leaned heavily on its back. "The hospital isn't open for all emergencies today so we are mostly chilling at the ward. Should be able to sleep for a few hours."

"I sure hope so. At least you're going home tomorrow morning?"

"Afternoon. If there's no emergency or some shit."

"Dang, is that even legal?"

Katsuki shrugged. "Legal or not, I'm needed here."

Kirishima made a sound then, between a coo and a growl. "How manly!" he said, "I mean, I work a lot of hours too and my schedule is a bit more fixed, yet, unlike you, I sometimes whine about it." He paused, stuttered, "A-Ah, right, I'm—"

"A firefighter, I remember," Katsuki finished for him.

Kirishima hummed and it was drenched in his smile. He was absurdly pleased Katsuki remembered — it could be heard even through the line. "I have day and night shifts," he said, "but each shift doesn't overcome the eight hour span. The night shifts are the most tiring ones, I must admit, and this week it seems I'm only going to do nightly shifts!" He groaned, "I'll miss my bed…"

"Quit whining."

"I'm not! The beds here aren't as comfortable, while mine is soft and nice..." He trailed off and when he spoke again, his tone hid a smile that was almost sultry. "And double. It has a lot of space, for two people for sure."

Katsuki couldn't stop the barking laugh that was forced past his lips. With his first two fingers, he pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. "You're not being subtle."

"I can't keep up the pretenses anymore — did that for a week," Kirishima explained, "'sides, it's how you like it, isn't that right? Blunt. Straightforward."

Heat flooded his face and neck. Kirishima had met him only a few times, but already read right through him; Katsuki liked it when people did not beat around the bush. He, too, approached his potential lovers with nothing but bluntness and honesty, even if the majority of them who ended up reciprocating had called him "tactless" and "clueless in romancing techniques". Yet, he had never been in the receiving end of his technique until that day, and he honest to God could not comprehend why his previous lovers had not enjoyed it to the same extend he was enjoying it. If possible, he never wanted it to end.

"Shut up," he grumbled instead, but it was through curled lips. Katsuki reached for his book and began to fold the upper right corner idly, waiting, waiting for the sweetness of Kirishima's voice to slip through the speaker.

He didn't have to wait long.

"Since we're putting things out there...say, Bakugou..." Kirishima sighed. "When will your next day off be?"

Katsuki's breath left him in a shaky exhale. "Can't remember," he admitted. He really couldn't remember the last time he took the day off. "I'll text you my schedule later."

"That's neat. Maybe we can arrange something."

"Maybe."

That silence dripped again, thick and pliant enough to be cut with a butter knife, bustling with the static of their breaths on the speaker and Kirishima's hums to his own thoughts. Katsuki dipped in it, skin after inch of skin, testing it, and it did not leave him empty. Like a blanket, it enveloped him even. What a rare occasion — a comfortable silence with a stranger. A silence that needn't be filled, as it was already full.

"I like this," Kirishima spoke through the silence, breaking the surface like a pebble on a lake.

"What?"

"This silence. It's calming. Surprising, considering we barely know each other. We must be a good match."

He spoke Katsuki's thoughts too.

"Sadly, it's time I get ready for my shift," he added, "As much as it pains me, I have to hang up. But it was nice." A pause. A sigh. A creak; maybe a chair, a bed, or something else. Then, it was just Kirishima's smooth voice, "Talking to you was nice."

Loss for words, Katsuki sought his mind, but found only the rushing beat of his heart. "I did not hate it," he said in the end.

Kirishima chuckled. "That's good to know," he said, "Well, I wish you have a quiet rest of the shift. And I'll talk to you soon, promise."

Katsuki put down his phone and the chair complained under his weight as he spun it around. His mouth stretched and stretched and stretched at the corners until he was sneering, but wasn't a sneer — it was a smile. Tiny flaps of the tiny bugs hibernating in his stomach had him exhale a laugh. How long had it been? He wondered. Had it ever happened before even? So soon too?

He reached for his phone again and loaded his schedule. He was going to ask his boss for a few day offs.

Just then, Todoroki walked back in the office, pausing at the door. Their eyes met and when he took in Katsuki's expression, raised both eyebrows. "Oh," he exclaimed, "you're likable again."

Katsuki threw the book at him.

~ * ~

"There it is."

"He's doing it again!"

Katsuki pressed send and raised his head. The smile playing on his mouth twisted downwards, his eyebrows pulling towards each other — a nasty scowl. "I can fucking hear you, shitfucks."

Camie chuckled behind her fist. Inasa was less subtle with his open-mouthed, rowdy laughter. "Your face!" he gasped, "How fast does it change?!"

Slamming his first on the desk, Katsuki seethed, "Wanna know how fast yours will when I punch you, Baldie?"

"Now, now, let's not end up patients in our own hospital," Camie chimed in, sweet like honey, a blanket to the cracking fire between them like she always was. She wore her hair down and her lipstick glossy that day, and the natural pout of her lips looked deeper. "You can't blame us, can you Bakugou," she said, "It's not common occasion that you smile, and you have been smiling at your phone all week." She rolled towards him with her chair. Propped her elbows on his desk and smiled. "Spill."

Huffing, Katsuki sat back down and scowled. "Mind your own goddamned business."

"Is it a girlfriend?" she pressed, unfazed.

"It's a man," Katsuki corrected. At her widening smile, he hated himself for falling in her trap. "Not yet a boyfriend," he added petulantly, "but we are getting there."

Inasa twirled around on his stool, fingers digging in his nape as he groaned. "It makes me so mad that someone like him gets to have a love life." He, too, rolled to Katsuki's desk. "How did you even scored?" he asked, exasperated, "You always work!"

"I met him at work, dumbfuck."

Camie placed her fingers on Inasa's forearm, keeping his rising temper in place. She blinked owlishly. "Don't tell me..." Her lips parted slightly. "That cute red-haired hunk with the sutures?!"

Katsuki only smirked. It earned him a gasp, two pairs of widening eyes and Inasa's fist on his desk. It was hard enough for the hinges of the office's door to rattle dangerously. "You?!" he bellowed, "Got your mitts on a patient?!"

"If anything," Katsuki shrugged, "He got his mitts on me."

Equally surprised, but in a much more civilized way Camie gushed, "Now you really gotta tell us Bakugou."

"I don't gotta do shit."

"You asked for his number?" She pressed again, still unfazed.

"He asked for mine."

"And?"

"And it's fine." He glanced at his lap, huffed a laugh. "We are doing fine," he said with certainty, "I don't hate him at all."

It was fine and they were fine, it was warm and refreshing, it was an every day thing, a text from Kirishima or a call from Katsuki that lasted a few seconds or a few hours. Back and forth with a random stranger, with a former patient no less, was not initially in Katsuki's list of things to do, but he was ever so glad he did not exclude it from it. They had made plans to meet, once, twice, thrice, but they got canceled so far, because of Katsuki, because of Kirishima, but neither of them was giving up just yet. Katsuki wouldn't anyway; it was so early still, too early to talk about what the future would hold, yet it was a necessary break he was not aware he needed. Work was good, work filled him to the brim, but work did not make his heart flutter the same way text message from Kirishima did.

The phone on the desk buzzed then, one, two, three, four times, and Katsuki basked in the attention. His mouth stretched against his will.

Camie crooned, loud and coy, and Inasa reached over to ruffle Katsuki's hair with the audacity only a senior could have. He was knocked off anyway, with a curse and a scoff, at the same time the door of the office slammed open. Katsuki hadn't seen the familiar mop of half-white, half-red hair barge in the office like that ever since his brother, Natsuo, had been brought in as a car accident patient. There was a folder under his armpit and stress on his features. Instinctively, Katsuki scowled.

Beating him to the cuss already forming on his tongue, Inasa twirled around and beamed, "Todoroki, Bakugou is seeing someone!"

Blinking, Todoroki's face loosened up a hint. "That's nice," he said in the end.

Quirking an eyebrow, Katsuki challenged him like he always did. "Jealous?"

Todoroki shook his head. "I'm only really happy for you," he said softly, wearing a feathery smile too. "You have been smiling."

Camie cooed, chuckling when Katsuki blushed to the tips of his ears. "Shut up!" he yelled at her, and grumbled fucking bullshitter at Todoroki. Then he motioned at the folder under Todoroki's arm with his chin. "What'cha got there?"

As if waking up from a trance, the tension returned to Todoroki's face, engraved in his features as if it never left. "I need your opinion on a case," he said. "Please come have a look with me."

"You have consultants, you realize that?" Katsuki sighed. "Your goddamned father."

"Exactly," Todoroki said, "I don't agree with him. Can you help me out? If it's two of us, he might listen."

There's little I can do about it anyway, Katsuki wanted to say because he never agreed with Todoroki Enji on anything, not how he dealt with the patients, not with how he talked to them, not even with how he treated his own son, yet because of the hierarchy, he had to keep his temper at bay through clenched teeth. Shaking his head, he pushed against his chair and it made a nasty sound as it slid backwards. "You're useless without me, ain't ya?"

Todoroki nodded, because he was always honest, even though he was much, much more capable than he thought he was. With a sigh, Katsuki walked up to him and took the folder in his hands.

"Take me there," he said.

The phone in Katsuki's pocket vibrated and he felt it louder against his stamp, but he ignored it. For one, he didn't want to spoil Kirishima with fast replies — on the other hand, he was at work and when he was at work, everything else came in second.

When he scooped his phone out of his pocket, it was four hours later and he was alone in his internal duty. Loading the messenger app, a series of messages brimming with the emojis Kirishima loved to abuse and a single picture with an attached caption waited for him in his inbox. With a brief, searching glance at the empty doctors' room, Katsuki clicked on the only unread messages in his inbox. It only a second to load, a second for his screen to fill up with all hues of red, a white tank top leaving little to the imagination and Kirishima's smirking face as he squished three kittens against his chest, while a fourth, grown cat - probably the mother - was perched over his shoulder.

[ Received at 20:41 ]

Feeling like a hero 💪🏻💪🏻

Katsuki put down his phone and pinched the bridge of his nose. There has to be a limit, he thought. Tugged at his warming collar. There has to be a limit to a person's appeal, but the longer he looked at that photo, the more he realized that Kirishima's seemed unlimited. He picked up his phone again, stared at the picture a few minutes too long. There was dirt on Kirishima's forearms, on his tank top, on the fabric covering his knees, but it did nothing but add to the perfection of that simple image.

Sighing, he booted the camera app. Propped his elbow on the desk and pressed his chin in the palm of his hand as he flipped it around. Then, he snapped a picture and pressed send. He added no caption.

He did not manage to blink twice and the grey dots were already fluttering at the other end.

[ Received at 21:45 pm]

Dude

DUDE

Dude this color looks so good on you! 🙏🏻🙏🏻

holy shit you are gorgeous 😫😩😍

Red suits you really nice doesn't it

Good thing I dye my hair that color

So we can be the perfect match indeed 😉😉

Katsuki glanced down at his scrubs and snorted. It had been a gift from his mother, because she was a prick and knew he hated wearing colors and he only wore them when his black ones were dirty and he had been too busy to wash them.

They might not have been such a terrible of a purchase after all.

[ Sent at 21:47 pm]

Bullshitter.

[ Received at 22:01 pm]

😇

[ Sent at 22:02 pm]

Get the hell back to work.

He said that, but seconds later his phone started to ring. Katsuki didn't have to read the name flashing on his screen to know who it was when he accepted the call.

"I'm the one who calls first this time around."

Katsuki sank back in his chair, casual. Lazy, with a heart pounding on either side of his neck. "Didn't I say to go back to work?"

"It's slow right now," Kirishima drawled. Sucked his teeth, sighed, "And since you answered, it must be slow over there too."

"Shut up."

"I can't shut up," he said, but it was rougher, "You attempted murder."

Katsuki snorted. There was a pile of forgotten blood tests and prescriptions at the corner of the desk, long forgotten and ready to be recycled. He fiddled with them as he spoke. "All that drama because of a picture?"

"I now know why you don't send any — you realize it'd kill me." A gasp echoed, Kirishima's voice reaching a higher pitch. "Oh no, doctor please! Save me, my heart beat is irregular!"

A harsh breath escaped his throat, tilting his lips upwards. "You're so fucking dumb."

"I might be, but I think I heard a laugh and I'd take that over anything."

He sounded like he was smiling. Broad. Smug. Shitty. Katsuki grinned harder and blushed even more. He cupped his eyes with his palm. "Shut the hell up, I'll kill you."

"No, don't do that! I have many more cute kitties to save before I die." He giggled then, like a child, "They were cute, weren't they?"

"They were."

"What about me? I can't compete with the kittens of course, but I think that angle flattered me."

Katsuki thought to the pecs bulging out of the tank top Kirishima wore in that picture, to the biceps that swelled up and held three kittens (and the momcat) like it was nobody's business. He bit his lower lip. "It did," Katsuki agreed. He sighed, and it shook as it rushed past his lips, hot to the chilly air of the surprisingly empty room. "I could list the things it made me wanna do to you, but I'm at work."

There was a pause then. Not a word, not a breath, and Katsuki thought he had overstepped his boundaries. He opened his mouth, but Kirishima's wheezing exhale filled the static of the other end, beating him to it. "Bakugou," he whispered, "That's—holy shit, fuck, uh, my colleagues are staring."

Heart rate picking up in his chest, Katsuki held his own breath too. "Did you blush?"

"I might have, yes," Kirishima whispered, shyly almost.

Katsuki's laugh this time was loud, oozing of his personal victory. "Payback feels really fucking nice."

He was met with another silence, distant chuckles and Kirishima's grumbling shut up at probably the teasing of his colleagues. Katsuki waited patiently, wishing he was there, wishing he could see the expression he had put on Kirishima's face and maybe tease him too or make a mess out of him. It had been so long — so long since he had actually liked another person that much. It had been so long since someone had liked him so openly and genuinely too.

The soft click of a door brought along another round of scratchy static, until it all vanished under the sweet baritone of Kirishima's voice. "I had to get away, they were making fun of me," he explained. Then his voice filled with urgency, "Shit Bakugou, when can I see you? Calls and messages are nice and all, but I'm getting really desperate."

Katsuki drew a quivering breath, in through his nose as his fingers curled around the edge of the desk and clutched tight. Until his knuckles were white. He could feel Kirishima's urgency, far away as they were, but he could feel it on his skin, seeping into his body and setting his blood alight. Funny it was to think about it, considering Kirishima was supposed to put out fires — not start them. He bit his lower lip, "I can't this week. For sure."

"And I can't during the other." A sigh, dejected. "In two weeks?"

"Friday I can finish early."

"Friday?" Kirishima asked. When Katsuki grunted in response, he cheered, "Awesome, I'll take the day off!"

Katsuki paused, pressed his lips together, then blew air through the narrow opening of his lips. The hairs, the ones falling over his forehead, flew back up in the air. "Shit, I forgot," he muttered.

"What?"

"I won't have a car that day. I'll take it for service."

"That's even better," Kirishima said with ease, "I'll pick you up from the hospital!"

Katsuki shook his head. "No way. I won't have showered in more than twenty four hours."

"I really, whole-heartedly, couldn't care less about that." He sounded urgent again, needy. A shaky exhale made its way in Katsuki's ear, and Kirishima added, "I just wanna hang out with you at last."

The temperature rose right then, and the door to the doctors' office snapped open too, and it only rose higher as three distinct voices ceased to speak and three pairs of eyes locked on him. Camie was sucking obnoxiously at a smoothie while her arm was looped around Todoroki's, and Inasa and Todoroki had both eyebrows raised in an expression that shouldn't have looked so alike but did either way. Gritting his teeth, Katsuki whirled around on the chair and hid his face in his shoulder. "Shit, fuck," he whispered, "Don't just say things like that."

Having heard his distress, Kirishima's smile could be heard from miles away. "Should I sign them instead? Text? Draw? Morse code?"

"You're a fucking idiot."

"Yeah, but is it a date in two Fridays?"

Pressing his fingers over his closed eyelids, Katsuki huffed. "Stop asking about the obvious."

"Do I pick you up from the hospital?"

"You do."

He could picture him — a clenching fist, a smile through a tightly set jaw, eyes closed or not, as the heck fucking yeah Katsuki heard from the other end rushed past his lips. "I can't wait," Kirishima said with glee.

Katsuki kept on pressing his fingers in his eyes. He had one heart and it was thrashing and thrashing and thrashing in his chest, in ways unfamiliar but delightful. "Same."

"I should go back to work now though."

"Same."

Then, small, he added, "I don't want to hang up though."

Fingers tightened around the phone against his ear, as if holding onto to it harder would prolong the call in any possible way. "Same," Katsuki repeated.

Kirishima giggled. "You sound like a broken record."

"I'm hanging up."

It earned him one more laugh and Katsuki decided then and there that it was his new favorite sound. "Talk to you later then, Bakugou," Kirishima said and the line went dead.

Sliding the phone away from his ear, Katsuki slipped his other, free hand in his hair once, twice, thrice before he decided to ruffle it all up and make a mess of it with a frustrated groan. He was acting like a teenager, he thought. With stuttering heartbeats and butterflies, all of the symptoms be thought himself unable to get, he got. He was sick and he did not hate it.

He turned around and there were three faces waiting for him. Camie half sat on his desk, still sipping from her smoothie, still holding onto to Todoroki. Inasa leaned on the desk right next to his, his smile shitty, his arms crossed over his chest. They all waited for him, in a silence that did not normally characterize them.

Katsuki sighed, "Don't you fuckers have anything better to do?"

All three in unison shook their heads. Katsuki's eyes rolled instinctively. He got up. "I do," he said as he walked past them, trying not to show how much his knees trembled.

Outside, he leaned on the wall opposite from the doctors' office and held onto the phone in his hand. It was still warm, like his chest, like his face, like his heart, and he tapped in his passcode to unlock it. In his calendar, he marked Friday two weeks in the future. He was letting nothing ruin that day — it was a promise.

~ * ~

The alarm clock went off, but the last fluff of shaving foam was already getting sucked by the drain. Ignoring the obnoxious sound, Katsuki inspected his face for missed spots, for accidental cuts, before lathering the skin with aftershave cream. He couldn't shower, so the least he could do was shave.

7:30am.

On his hospital bed, his phone kept shrieking at him to wake up and with a louder cuss, he switched it off. He packed his things in a haste even though he was nowhere near finished, and as he draped his stethoscope around his shoulders, he headed for the ward. There was a skip in his step. He hadn't slept enough, but energy was bustling through him anyway, like electricity. Camie pointed it out to him as she handed him his morning tea with a knowing smile, but Katsuki held onto his silence with his own, cryptic smile behind the rim of the carton cup.

Only a few hours left. Katsuki always felt time slipped through his fingers like watery jello. Now if he could, he would shove the hours to run faster.

Tendrils of red and blinding smiles filled his brain, and Katsuki cursed Kirishima for the spell he had used on him, but it held no real heat.

"Earth to Doctor Bakugou!" Jumping at the volume of the voice, Katsuki blinked up at Inasa's smirking face. "Where is your mind traveling to?"

Scoffing, "Mind your own business."

Inasa chuckled and grabbed one of the rolling chairs, sliding it to the desk Katsuki sat. "Today is the date, right?" he asked, "I overheard Camie coaxing it out of you."

Katsuki rolled his eyes. "Fuck off. Do something else."

"We can't do that, your love life is something else," Inasa explained, "Speaking of having other things to do—" Before Katsuki had the chance to retort something back, he pulled out a loaded folder and tossed it in front of him. With a gleam in his eyes, he added, "I need your help with something."

Without breaking eye contact, Katsuki opened the folder. Then, he glanced down at the paper he took out of it. Huffing, he pushed it away. "Ask a goddamned cardiologist, for fuck's sake."

"The drunk one is on duty today and he gets touchy with me," Inasa said, "Unless I really have to, I won't ask for his help. So, please."

Flashbacks of fingers sliding on the top of his hand, pushing the veins in and giggling with joy, persistent elbows nudging his ribs and a breath reeking of alcohol— it all flashed before Katsuki's eyes. Unwinding his face, he clasped the papers and brought them to his face. He gazed at the contents, at the strange looking patterns that made no sense to anyone that was not a doctor, counted and counted some more, read the tests and compared the values to older ones. Then, he sighed. "Call the goddamned cardiologist. You gotta."

Inasa slammed his forehead on the desk and wailed. Katsuki slid the papers back in the folder. "My condolences," he muttered.

"I want to die."

"Fuck no. I'll have to take your place and I won't have that today."

With the corner of his eye, Inasa stabbed him with his glare. "How can you be so cruel?"

Pushing against his chair, Katsuki stood up. "Easy," he said and shoved his hands in his pockets, "I'll check on my patients and get the hell out of here."

"Coddle them." The phone shrilled with an incoming call and he reached for it. "Coddle them and give them candy," Inasa added with a grin as he adjusted the device on his ear, "Surgery ward."

With a sound more of an animal's than a human's, Katsuki turned to leave, but a wave from Inasa stopped him on his tracks. "Yes, sir, one moment —" he lowered the phone from his ear, shoving it at Katsuki's direction. "It's Aizawa," he said, "It doesn't sound good."

Nerves crippled around the edges of Katsuki's stomach, like poison ivy, like vines ready to twist and hurt him. There was one thing he didn't want to happen right then; to postpone his and Kirishima's date.

"Yes."

"Bakugou." Aizawa was solemn, in a hurry. Aizawa was never in a hurry. "I need you in the operation theater. Now."

Katsuki's stomach twisted vehemently.

After Aizawa finished debriefing him about the situation, after he assured him there was no way out of it inspite of any possible complaints he would pose, Katsuki put down the device. He was numb, he felt everything and nothing. A hand ran through his hair, a sigh past his lips. "Fuck," he whispered.

"Bad news?" Inasa asked, apologetic.

Katsuki didn't even look at him as he gathered his things. "Emergency surgery. It's my patient."

"My condolences?"

He kicked the door open. He didn't reply. No one dared to come in his way as he walked to the operating theaters' changing rooms. He was wearing the scary expression again, probably, the same expression Kirishima had teased him about.

Kirishima.

Yanking his locker open, he hastily took his mobile out of his pocket and loaded his recent calls. Kirishima's number was on top of the list, since they had been talking the night before, and Katsuki tapped on it and moved the device closer to his ear. He pulled his pants down, kicked them, stepped in the special clothes he reserved for the surgery room only.

"Hey," Kirishima answered, sultry and playful, "I was just thinking of you."

"I'll be late," Katsuki said curtly. He was gasping, as he noticed for the first time. He swallowed. "Work...work just got fucked up."

The voice that replied to him was a lot more solemn, "It's alright, I get it. It happens sometimes."

"I don't fucking know how long it'll last."

There was silence for a moment, a pregnant pause. Kirishima sucked his teeth and broke it. "I'm already here, so... I'll wait."

At that, Katsuki slowed down, blinked. "Wait?"

"Wait, yeah."

In the midst of the millions of scenarios that coursed through his brain, that certainly hadn't been one of them. "It might take ages," he repeated, thinking Kirishima hadn't heard him right.

"You already said that," he replied instead, "But I'm gonna wait. We can get dinner after. Or I can just drive you home if you're too tired to do anything." The line filled with the static from Kirishima's sigh, and his voice was breathier when he added, "Anything is fine."

Katsuki pressed his forehead against the cool metal of his locker, but it was not enough to cool the sudden rise of all kinds of emotions within him. He wanted to punch Kirishima, straight in the mouth, to knock a tooth or two out, he wanted to yank him down by the hair and kiss him on the mouth, he wanted to bend himself over the hood of Kirishima's car and be filled by him until he burst at the seams. With a deep, shaky breath, he pushed it all in again. "I warned you," he exhaled.

"You did."

"Gotta go."

"I'll see you soon."

~ * ~

He threw his body at the door on his way out of the operating theater and the sound it made slamming against the wall clattered the silence of the hospital. Closed to the emergencies, the corridors were void of the usual rushing doctors and frazzled nurses, and instead, his footsteps thudding on the hard, plastic floor echoed louder. He was greeted by a colleague or two on his way, but Katsuki did not stop to entertain them with socialization — he made a bee line to his room. In less than a few seconds, all of his stuff were tossed in his duffel bag, his chargers yanked out of the sockets and zipped up in his bag and his phone in hand as he stormed to the main exit of the hospital.

He dialed Kirishima's number. The line clicked on the first beep. "Hey."

Katsuki picked up his pace, heart on his throat. "Are you still here?"

"Yeah," Kirishima said and Katsuki could breathe again, "Parked at the third lot. I'm standing next to the car, so you'll see me."

Katsuki huffed, "I'll be right there," and hung up.

The chill of the late evening brought a shiver and goosebumps on his forearms, reminding him of his lack of a jacket and the first buttons of his dress shirt he purposely did not button. Yet, Katsuki was a man in mission — his head turned in various directions, eyes scanning even in the absence of light and looking for the familiar mop of red hair that stood out even in the darkness. He spotted him leaning on a pearly white Toyota, wearing a plain white and long-sleeved shirt under a black jacket, and black trousers. When their gazes met, that smile that never failed to disarm Katsuki in every possible way, resurfaced. He pushed against the trunk of the car, shoving his hands deep in the pockets of his trousers. His hair was as red as Katsuki remembered, but he had it in a ponytail.

"Is it unlocked?" was the first thing Katsuki asked him.

Kirishima blinked at him before his lips parted in realization. "Oh, the car? Yeah, why?"

Katsuki yanked at the handle until the trunk was open. "To put my shit inside, why else," he muttered. Closed it shut.

His fingers lingered on the cold, smooth surface, clenched his knuckles white and unclenched them. With a glance at Kirishima, he caught him staring, then darting his gaze away, then staring again, biting his lower lip and hesitating with words on his tongue he did not yet know how to express, and Katsuki could not bear it any longer. His fingers let go the cold, smooth surface and slipped in Kirishima's hair, tugging him down those few inches separating them. Kirishima staggered.

"Get down here you fucking tree."

Then he connected their lips. Fair. Square. Without a hint of hesitation but with a tremble at the knees. It earned him a sound, a gasp, two hands clasping at his waist and a pair of paralyzed lips that took their sweet time opening up to him. But when they did, Katsuki pulled away. He was flushed and he felt like panting, and Kirishima was too, gazing at him with a cloud of daze behind his eyes. His mouth opened to speak, but Katsuki walked past him to the passenger seat.

"Let's fucking go," he hurried to speak as he hurried to open the door, "We don't have much time left."

He pulled the door after him and wrestled with his seatbelt, noticing that it was much harder to work with shaking hands. He cursed under his breath, but it was with a smile and a dreamy sigh, and he tried to calm his raging heart as he waited for Kirishima to follow him. He didn't have to wait long; Kirishima's large frame filled the empty space of the driver's seat, his seatbelt clicked and his breath came out in a shaky sigh too.

Then, there was a pause. He touched the steering wheel, once, twice, thrice.

"What...what was that for?" he asked finally.

Katsuki pushed a hand through his hair and sighed. "You waited three fucking hours for me on your goddamned day off. Kissing your face is the least I can fucking do." When Kirishima didn't react, Katsuki turned at him. "What? Too soon?"

"N-No!" Kirishima exclaimed in a stutter, "Hell no, if anything I—" he trailed off, licking his lips, and the eyes that looked at Katsuki then were those of a puppy's. "How about you give me a few more, so I can, like, not be busy being startled?"

There was urgency on his face, on the way he chewed the inside of his lip, and Katsuki felt his mouth twitch and tingle. The faint memory of Kirishima's cologne lingered in his nostrils, and he almost caved in. Almost. "I'm not that easy," he said with a smirk.

With a sigh, Kirishima deflated on the seat. He ran both hands over the leather of the wheel, exhaled again. Then, he reached to turn the key in the ignition. "Well, I tried," he said, "Where are we going?"

Katsuki shrugged. "I don't care. Anywhere I can eat and have a drink."

The engine purred to life. Kirishima paused with his hand on the gear stick. "How hungry are you?" He turned, a sheepish smile. "'Cause I know a really neat place with all that you want, but it's a bit far."

"I can wait."

Kirishima revved up from his parking spit and out of the hospital's main entrance. It was dark, Katsuki noticed for the first time, and the street lights alight above their heads. He stared at them. His eyes started to droop. He looked away. Kirishima was smiling at the road when his eyes drifted over to his figure. "I'm not gonna ask about work," he said, chuckling, "It's written on your face."

Katsuki pushed both hands in his hair. If it was unruly before, now it was the unruliest it could be. "Some shit just fucks up like that."

"Oh, don't I know that."

"I thought you'd leave," Katsuki admitted, soft. "Cancel. Postpone." Until you never texted again, Katsuki added in his head. "Not wait."

The car rolled to a stop at a red light. Kirishima's face was shaded by the frames of the car and lit up by the street lights, hair red like fire and brick, then brown or black, a harmonious disharmony, with his twinkling eyes unwavering from the car in front of them.

"Well," he spoke then and the silence clattered, "You underestimated how much I wanted to see you."

Katsuki's heart stuttered. Unfair. "Shut your mouth, you barely even know me."

"That's why we are here; to get to know you and see if this gut feeling of mine is right."

"Of course it's fucking right, I'm fucking amazing." When Kirishima laughed, deep and throaty, Katsuki scowled. "Fuck you laughing at?"

"You can boast, but not be complimented." Kirishima nodded. Winked. "Noted."

"Quit psychologically profiling me."

"Then what is this date for?"

Katsuki leaned back on the seat and huffed, shaking his head. Kirishima only laughed some more.

The rest of the drive was silent, full of the car's hums and the city's candlelights. The traffic was slight at that hour, surprising and unsurprising, and Katsuki closed his eyes to it against his will. The gentle jazz music that spilled from the speakers once Kirishima tapped on buttons was not doing him a favor either, as the three hours of sleep and thirty seven hours of work and three hours of sleep caught up with him. His eyes opened only when the handbrake creaked as it was pulled and the music stopped.

Heart in his throat, Katsuki hastily rubbed the sleep away from his eyes. But Kirishima was only smiling at him. No would you rather go home or shouldn't we do this another day — only a simple, knowing, but understanding smile. In awe, Katsuki followed him inside. It was a small restaurant, dimly lit but cozy in its own way. Everyone around them looked relaxed in their comfortable clothes. "Thank fuck you didn't take me to a fancy place," Katsuki muttered. He pulled at the chair of the table Kirishima chose to sit at. "I look homeless."

"You look like a hard-working man, which you are," Kirishima corrected. He picked up the menu and smiled, and it was hidden by the said menu, but blatantly clear in his eyes. "And I would show that off in every place I took you to."

Katsuki turned his gaze on his own menu and chuckled. There were letters on the page, but his eyes were blind to them. "Is bullshit always coming out of your mouth or is it by the hour?"

Kirishima offered a playful shrug. "You kissed that mouth earlier. I don't know what that says about you."

"You have an answer to everything, don'cha?"

"It comes with the package, yeah. So you don't have to look for the written instructions."

"Well, fuck."

The cuss earned him a dubious look from the approaching waiter and a chuckle stifled-behind-the-menu. Kirishima asked about the specials, about the recommendations and ended up ordering a steak and beer. Katsuki got the same, but a glass of whiskey. Kirishima told him he looked like the whiskey kinda guy. Katsuki told him he did not know what whiskey kinda guys looked like.

It did not phase him, as he had an answer to that too, because Kirishima Eijirou seemed to have an answer to everything, but not in the irritating way — in a way that was charming, in a way that showed he had lived his life and seen a fair share of things, in spite of his young age. He talked and talked and Katsuki hanged from his lips, he didn't ask questions, but he coaxed out answers with jumbles of words and the gestures of his hands, and Katsuki found himself engaging in the conversation in ways his past lovers would have raised their eyebrows at. Kirishima had stories to tell. Katsuki liked listening to stories.

Some had him doubling over his empty dinner plate, one hand clutching his side, the other a barrier in front of his mouth.

"All I'm saying is," Kirishima concluded, but its seriousness strained behind a smile, "young people have sex in the weirdest places."

Katsuki pushed the utensils in the middle of his empty plate. With his index, he touched the rim of his glass, once, twice, before bringing it to his mouth. "I've operated on people with weird shit in weird places," he said as he took the last sip, "Most were young."

"Somehow I don't wanna know."

"You don't."

The ice in the glass made his whiskey cold, but it treckled hotly down his throat, its warmth spreading across his chest and neck at once, loosening up every knot on his body. He could feel it — the fatigue he so desperately tried to push away, crawling on top of him in the form of a yawn. Tears gathered at the corners of his shut eyes at the exhale.

Kirishima was smiling when he opened them again. "At your wits' end?"

"'bout to pass out," Katsuki admitted.

"We should get going then. I think I've been selfish enough to keep you for so long."

He motioned at the waiter from before and Katsuki watched him take out his wallet and open it as he approached, and he quickly reached for a strong wrist. "Put your goddamned wallet away," he gritted, "You're making me look bad."

Emotions slipped between the cracks of Kirishima's expression lines — a frown, a pout. "But I invited you out!"

"And I made you wait three fucking hours. Put it back, or I'll rip your arms out."

He held Katsuki's gaze for a second or two, but in the end he did not object and closed his wallet shut as Katsuki let go of his wrist and shoved his debit card at the waiter's chest. It earned him another annoyed look, but Katsuki was busy with the downwards, childishly petulant curve of Kirishima's lips. Even that was charming.

"Ready to go?"

"Hn."

He held the door open for Katsuki to exit the restaurant first, a smile on his lips when Katsuki raised an eyebrow at him. It didn't seem to phase him either as he dashed to his car first, opening the passenger door this time. The same expression played on his face — joyful, youthful, but also cheeky. It was refreshing.

"I'm not incapable," Katsuki grunted.

"Never said you were," Kirishima replied with a wink. Obnoxious. Smug.

Cute.

The car purred alive and in under the blanket of the beady city lights, Kirishima sped down the lanes. They were void of all the traffic usually characterizing the earlier hours, and Katsuki let his mind wander in its stillness. He had fun, he realized. Their date was short, but it was enough — it felt enough. He hadn't had this much fun in a really, really long time and though utterly exhausted he was rejuvenated.

Fingers slipped on top of his hand, careful, testing. Tender. They were asking in their way, in the way Kirishima seemed to ask him for things without actually uttering the words. Katsuki smiled at the faint reflection of his face against the window, but didn't turn his head. He only turned his palm up and let the fingers settle between his.

Neither of them said another word. They didn't have to.

Moments later, moments that felt entirely too short, the car pulled up in front of his apartment building. "We're here," Kirishima stated.

Katsuki sighed. He did not reach for the door handle.

Without letting go, Kirishima twisted the key in the ignition and the engine ceased to run. Katsuki, still, did not reach for the door handle. There was a force holding him back, Kirishima's warm, rough fingers — how they fitted between his, like a chain or a vice, but they did not hold him against his will. If anything, opening the door seemed like the worst possible idea he had ever had.

"I wasn't going to say this," Kirishima added with a sigh, "But I wish we had more time." He chuckled. "Time flies when you have so much fun, I guess."

The fingers between his squeezed, for only a millisecond, but it was enough to set Katsuki's jaw in a tight clench. "It's going to be like that," he muttered, "I'm going to cancel and postpone dates, I'm going to be late to dates or fall asleep on you, because work takes up most of my energy." He turned to look at Kirishima's gleaming eyes, and the bitter aftertaste of his whiskey suddenly soaked his mouth. "Think about what it is you want out of this."

Kirishima's face creased with worry. "I didn't — I didn't say this to make you feel bad—"

"I'm not feeling bad," Katsuki corrected, even, but still bitter, "Just letting you know what it's going to be like, so we don't waste each other's time. I like you enough to put effort in meeting with you in person, but things won't change much."

He fell in a silence then, and when Katsuki turned at him, his lips were pressed to a thin line. Kirishima was still holding Katsuki's hand, but he was tugging it close, bringing it to his face and cupping it with the other. He examined the fingers, the tips, and Katsuki wondered then for the first time if the skin was too rough or if there were scabs from the alcohol he always washed them with. But then Kirishima planted a soft kiss on the knuckles, and every thought in his brain died a fantastic death.

"Then..." Kirishima said. He pressed Katsuki's hand against his cheek. "I guess I gotta make sure I recharge enough until the next time."

Katsuki swallowed the heart in his throat. "You sure?" he asked weakly, "You can't back out later 'cause I'll kick your ass to the moon and back."

Kirishima giggled. "I, too, like you enough." He flushed red, suddenly serious. "I like you too much actually."

Sparks exploded then, on his skin, across his arm, in the air between them. Katsuki took a shivering breath through the nose and Kirishima's eyes darted into his. "Are you gonna kiss me?" he asked, as if he knew the answer.

"I'm fucking gonna," Katsuki replied.

He tugged Kirishima by the hair again, but this time they met each other half way. Kirishima held his wrists, locking them in place so that they never left, as if Katsuki had any intentions on pulling away. In spite of the tension, their lips mingled in a caress instead of a battle, teeth running over swollen lips, a shy tongue to the search. Katsuki realized he missed out when Kirishima was caught off guard, but he was being kissed hard enough now to forget all about it. He was close enough to forget about his own name too.

Kirishima pulled away first with a hiss, a heavy, unstable breath. He brought their foreheads together, swallowed. "You should go—" he panted. "upstairs. Maybe."

"Maybe," Katsuki grunted. He kissed him again.

"It's getting late," Kirishima broke away again.

Katsuki touched a thick neck, two bulging pecs. The hand teasing the inside of his thigh, however, cut every loose string linking his brain to sanity. "Just shut the fuck up."

"Okay."

It wasn't until a car blaring pop music sped past the spot they were parked, that they stopped. Katsuki kept his eyes closed, ran after his breath as his head kept spinning and spinning and spinning. He had a hand under Kirishima's bunched up shirt, a thumb tracing a bony hip or an Adonis line, the other dipping in the valley of Kirishima's clavicle. A sigh fanned on his lips, and he licked them then for the first time. Kirishima gazed at him through half-mast eyelids, dark eyes and sharp teeth clamping down on his lower lip. He had an inviting embrace, a warm earthy scent, his fingers were deft and seemed to be drawn to the places Katsuki liked to be touched — his nape, his back, a squeeze on his buttocks on the way down to the thigh, then back up to do it all over again.

"Well, shit," Katsuki gasped.

Kirishima laughed, but it was just as breathless. "I could get used to this. Maybe. One day." He clutched Katsuki by the waist, tugging him as close as he possibly could. "I'll walk you to the door."

Letting him go was one of the hardest things Katsuki had to do.

He fought Kirishima off when he tried to carry his stuff for him, elbowing him about the speech on chivalry he received in return. They walked in the building together, side by side and giggling in the elevator. At the door of his apartment, Katsuki turned to face him. Kirishima pressed him against the door and kissed him. Slipped both hands under Katsuki's shirt.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Katsuki gasped, scandalized — needy. Too needy.

Kirishima smirked down at him. "I'm recharging," he said. Sucked his lower lip in his mouth. "Until the next time."

Ah. Right.

When Kirishima kissed him again, Katsuki was smiling in it because things would be alright.