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Katsuki rolled onto his back, scowl rippling deep creases across his features. He glared daggers at his alarm clock from across the room, fluorescent red letters reading 11:45 pm.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me...” He mumbled, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands. Why Kirishima decided to listen to his shitty music this volume at exactly 11:30 pm every night was beyond him - almost as much as the concept of a shared bedroom wall was to Kirishima. At this point, he was tempted to invest in soundproofing.
In all honesty, the songs weren’t half bad. They were a mix of popular western artists - at least he presumed because it wasn’t in Japanese, that’s for fucking sure - and Katsuki had heard his fair share of J-Pop from the girls in 3-A over the years. So, the songs were - yeah. They were good, he’d admit that to at least himself. That wasn’t the problem, though.
The problem was it was the same songs, every single night, without fail. That same uplifting yet melancholic lilt coming through the drywall that drove Katsuki fucking batshit. It had been at least two weeks now, and he didn’t get it. Maybe they were Kirishima’s favourite songs? It would make sense; the dumbass had a playlist for almost every single human emotion one person could experience. He rolled over in his bed and fisted his pillow over his ears. Sleep couldn’t come soon enough.
Sunlight burned a dazzling pattern into Katsuki’s eyelids as he stuttered out a yawn. His head felt foggy from lack of sleep, and no doubt when he looked in the mirror his eyes would be glassy, dark under circles making a guest appearance.
He planned to confront Kirishima about his stupid fucking Broadway stunt. It had been four nights in a row, and he was sick of it. The plan was solid; Just tell the idiot to put some headphones in and shut the fuck up or blast him to hell and break his shitty MacBook as revenge for his sleepless nights. It was a Sunday - usually, a time when sleeping in was luxury for the inhabitants of the Heights Alliance dorms. Not for Kirishima, if Katsuki had a say in it,
“Oi, open your fucking door moron. I have a goddamn bone to pick with you! just who do you think you are keeping me - “ Katsuki was cut off, the door swinging open behind his banging fist as he came face to face with Kirishima in the flesh. He looked… tired. He sported the same eyebags that Katsuki knew mirrored his own. Not just that, but there was a red-rimmed puffiness to those crimson eyes; a distinct lack of mirth or shine behind them. The color was dull, muted. Something was up.
“Sorry for answering the door late dude, I kind of lost all my clean shorts and I really wanted to wear my favourite pair but then like - they just weren’t there, and I panicked y’know cause like? What if someone stole my pants - What if there’s a pants thief among us, bro…. But then I totally realized I forgot to take them down to the laundry, so they were still in my hamper and - “
“Jesus, take a fucking breath, shitty hair.” Katsuki eyed him cautiously. Kirishima’s rants weren’t uncommon, but Katsuki had no idea why he was stalling.
“Anyway, what were you saying dude?” Kirishima rubbed at the side of his neck sheepishly, tan wrist disturbing the loose strand of crimson that sat layered against an equally tanned neck. It complemented the tone of his hair. The word pretty sat heavily on Katsuki’s tongue. He managed to swallow it down with a barely restrained grimace.
“I said,” Katsuki breathed, deciding maybe he would spare Kirishima some of his fury, at least for today, “Just who do you think you are, being late to our study session - do you even care about passing Hero Studies?”
Recognition lit up in Kirishima’s face, almost snapping him out of his guarded trance, “Shit, wait - I forgot dude, crap! Let me get my textbooks and my stationary! Your dorm or mine? Wait, don’t worry, my rooms kind of a mess - see you in 20!” The redhead blurted out, slamming the door in Katsuki’s face.
Something was definitely up, and he was going to get to the bottom of it.
“How do you have so many fucking playlists. Do people even have this many emotions?” Katsuki hissed, leaning over to stare at Kirishima’s phone screen as he showed him all his Spotify playlists with a quick scroll of his thumb. They had taken a break from studying, mostly due to Kirishima’s increasing fidgeting that threatened to cause Katsuki’s blood pressure to rise.
“Firstly, I don’t think ‘Beats 4 Benching’ is an emotion, unless you have some kind of sixth sense for that stuff - or are using, like, the unlocked potential of the human mind to sniff it out. Secondly, it’s concerning that you deem my 6 mood playlists ‘too many emotions’. How many do you have exactly, Bakubro?”
Kirishima had insisted they put music on to study - claiming it would help him focus, and after showing him a few songs encouraged Katsuki to create a Spotify account of his own. He happily declared after a roulette of songs that Bakugou didn’t care that much about; ‘See, you can add it to your library? So now you don’t have to go all the way to my profile to find the songs I played you!’
“I don’t fucking know - Like, three? Maybe?” Katsuki huffed, eyebrows pinched in frustration. This was a stupid topic. Why did people need to make fucking playlists and categorize this bullshit? It was unnecessary, and even then, this kind of activity was for people who knew enough about themselves to organize it. All Katsuki knew was force your way to the top, whatever the fallout. Three emotions were definitely enough for him to call it a day.
“Three…?” Kirishima questioned, tilting his head to the side like a confused puppy. Maybe to some people, it would be cute, but not Katsuki.
“Three.” He reaffirmed, a contemplative look settling on his features. It was a sufficient answer, considering he’d never thought on it for more than 5 minutes.
Kirishima stared at him for a moment. He refused to meet his eyes, knowing that the look they probably held was something that would make it hard to keep his guard up. The gaze burned into his form regardless. “Okay.” Kirishima finally said, picking up his pen and turning back to his work.
Katsuki made a noise somewhere in his throat, “Whatever.”
Katsuki had listened to the study playlist a few times and was surprised when he realized Kirishima had put some of his favourite artists on there. There was no way he knew, Katsuki would never tell him about something so dumb and trivial as his fucking musical interests.
When the beginning of musical Groundhog Day started up again a week later, continuing for the remaining seven days, Katsuki had gotten the hang of Spotify. All his playlists were secret, the only public ones to be seen were added from Kirishima’s profile. True to his word, Katsuki had figured out the three ‘emotions’ he dwelled on enough to attribute to a playlist. Only three.
‘Fuck off and die’ – For when he was really angry, which was less than it used to be, but still often enough that it had 26 tracks and counting.
‘Emotions or whatever’ - This one had 43 tracks and was always set on auto loop. He figured there was worse way to spend your insomnia than in silence.
‘Shit.’ – This only contained 5 songs, being the most recent in his practically barren account. Its origin began at the start of the week; The week Kirishima started playing those same songs on loop at 11:45 pm.
Katsuki had catalogued snippets of lyrics in his mind, at least what he could piece together through the wall of his dorm - googling them and finding them. He would add them to the playlist, one at a time - listening with headphones (because he had a great deal more forethought than his hair-brained friend).
Katsuki considered adding them all at once but decided against it. These meant something to Kirishima; enough that the redhead hadn’t verbalized it in all the passing moments he spent discussing music to Katsuki. This, in turn, meant that it was all the more sensitive for Kirishima - at least from Katsuki’s experience. It was only fair that he took his sweet time breaching the privacy of Kirishima’s late night thoughts. It sounded so wrong when he lingered on his own selfish motive, but for some reason his mind wouldn’t stop dwelling on it. No one had to know. It wasn’t invasive, not if he played the damn playlist so loud that even Sato could probably hear. It was curiosity, innocent prying.
The first song wasn’t half bad, Katsuki noted. Kirishima always did have taste; though that tended to come second nature for someone who’s preferred genre ranged from boybands to heavy metal. The lyrics hinted at some kind of feeling of longing the artist felt. It was… painful. Katsuki couldn’t put his finger on the feeling - a barely flickering flame of resigned indignation simmered inside his chest. He remembered the red rim to Kirishima’s eyes. Maybe this had something to do with it. Closing the app, Katsuki went to sleep.
The next night, Katsuki felt impatient. He was only going to add one more song, like he planned. Dedicate an hour or so to listening to it, read through the lyrics, back log data. He swore to himself he wouldn’t rush through this - he wanted to savor the stolen moments. But with the second song came an increased urgency to discover, to know what this all meant. Maybe the theme of the songs so far was just a coincidence. This off-kilter brand of lyrical yearning appealed to a lot of people.
And so, Katsuki listened to the third song. Over halfway now, there was no turning back. After everything, this one had become his favourite by far. It was more upbeat than the other two, and catchy as hell.
Katsuki fell asleep, passed out with his earphones in curled protectively around his phone.
He couldn’t get the fucking song out of his head, no matter how hard he tried - ironic enough, given the entire purpose to the lyrics was about being stuck on someone. All day the same section of the chorus had played on an infinite loop in his mind, plaguing his thoughts whenever he was idle. It had gotten to the point of no return - and Katsuki of all people became what he despised most of all.
A hummer.
He couldn’t help it; it was just so irritatingly fucking catchy. It popped into his head whenever he paused to think between taking notes, between eating - Jesus, even between washing his hands after going to the bathroom. Even as the day came to an end and it was time for his and Kirishima’s study session, he couldn’t get the annoying tune out.
“Dude, I just don’t get it. Like - what’s the point of nominalization in a sentence if it makes perfect sense the way it is? It’s mental torture, I’m telling you. Mic has it out for us,” Kirishima groaned, hands scrubbing down his face in irritation. He pouted at the offensive article of homework in front of him, chewing the end of his pen as if it would magically give him the answers he so desperately needed if he subjected it to the dagger-like rows of teeth.
“The point is, dummy, that you’re converting your verbs, adjectives and adverbs into nouns so those fuckers can actually read your chicken scratch excuse for kanji cohesively. See, like this.” Katsuki leaned over Kirishima, reaching for a red pen and circling the nouns in the sample sentence, rearranging them into a phrase that looked closer to the actual answer.
Katsuki pointedly ignored the way their arms brushed together; pale, scarred forearms sliding painstakingly gentle against equally as scarred and doubly tanned ones. There was a puff of breath in his ear, and Katsuki realized a fraction of a second too late just how close in proximity he was to Kirishima.
“Ohhh… I get it now! Thank you so much ‘Tsuki. You’re like, way more helpful than the teachers at this junk!” Kirishima spoke directly into his ear, tensing slightly as he realized he let the nickname slip. Kirishima never called him by his given name, only dumb variations of Bakugou that he pretended to hate, but secretly didn’t mind. Something in the air changed between them in an instant, and he felt the rising bubble of panic underneath the redhead’s skin, despite him not showing it on his face. Katsuki didn’t know why, but he felt the urge to protect Kirishima from himself; from whatever thoughts of inadequacy were spiralling out of control.
“Of course, I’m more helpful, I’m practically running this shit. Now do question 6, Ei.” He spoke with confidence, despite the slight heat he felt making its way to his cheeks. Kirishima looked at him stunned for a second; his own face flushing slightly before a sharp grin split across his features,
“Yeah... Yeah ok! I got this!” He picked up his pen, tongue poking out as he went back to work.
Kirishima was on a roll now with the questions, and he barely needed Katsuki’s help at all. He decided to keep him company, if only because when he tried to leave the boy in question grabbed his wrist, saying ‘But what if I mess up something small along the way and I don’t correct it - I don’t want to have to relearn boring stuff, you’re my tutor bro! please?’ Katsuki agreed to stay, but only because he wanted to, not because Kirishima had swayed him in any way. Not at all.
Now that his mind was idle, the only thing that filled his head while he mindlessly scrolled through Twitter was that stupid song. He figured at the least, Kirishima of all people wouldn’t care if he started to hum it. It wouldn’t matter because he didn’t know Katsuki had heard.
As he started to hum the lyrics under his breath, Katsuki gradually picked up volume - nothing above a quiet murmur. Maybe Kirishima could be privy to his three emotions, he decided. Maybe this was okay, so long as they didn’t burst the comfortable bubble of unspoken complexities that resided in the static energy between them.
There was a loud crash of pencils and pens being knocked to the floor from across the room. Katsuki’s head whipped up in an instant to where Kirishima was seated, and realized he was staring right back at him with a look he’d never seen cross his face. It laid somewhere between agonizingly raw and utterly confused, and for once, a pang of fear flashed through his body.
“Ei?” The nickname still felt strange on his tongue, but maybe it would help Kirishima in some sort of way. Ground him.
The look intensified, and suddenly Katsuki noticed the balled fists sitting in Kirishima’s lap, his quirk rippling all the way to the forearms he had brushed gently against his own mere hours ago,
“Eijirou…?” He made to move, to comfort him, to do anything.
Kirishima stood up suddenly, the force of it making the table legs groan against the hardwood floor where the tatami mat had been pushed to the side slightly,
“I have to go. Sorry.” Kirishima said shakily, picking up the few pens that were on the table and his homework. Not even bothering to collect those that had fallen to the floor from his pencil case, he quickly made his way to the door, shutting it behind him louder than he usually would. Katsuki was left in stunned silence.
What had just happened?
Hours later, alone in his dorm and utterly confused, it clicked.
He had been humming the song from Kirishima’s playlist.
Something was very wrong, and the only way Katsuki was going to find out was to listen to the other two damn songs off that godforsaken playlist Kirishima wouldn’t stop playing.
Katsuki plugged his headphones in and clicked play.
The lyrics were all too similar, despite synonyms and phrasing. Despite chords. Despite whoever sang it. Despite which side of their shared wall he heard it through. All at once, it became abundantly clear to Katsuki.
Kirishima was in love.
Kirishima loved someone.
Kirishima loved someone enough to make a playlist about them, and it burned like pure isopropyl alcohol in an open wound. The pain ebbing through his body felt white-hot. It started in his chest, a throbbing ache deep between his ribs; partly in his lungs from all the ragged breaths he had taken. Mostly, it burned in his eyes, obscuring his vision as he rubbed furiously to try and stop the constant flow pouring in fat rivulets down his cheeks. Kirishima loved someone, and he almost had a panic attack because he couldn’t break the news to Katsuki himself. Kirishima loved someone, and it wasn’t him, and it fucking sucked.
Kirishima had been acting strange all day. Usually, they’d walk to class together, with Kirishima talking loudly and acting overly chipper for someone who was about to be attending first period English at 8 am on a Monday. Katsuki would tell him to shut the fuck up, and he would bite back a witty “Lucky we’re not heading to Hero Studies, Bakubro - you would have already failed code of conduct for colorful language in front of civilians.”
Today was different though. Katsuki had waited outside Kirishima’s door, even knocked on it incessantly with violent expletives murmured through the hardwood- all to no avail. Whatever, his loss. Good luck facing Present Mic’s 100-hertz walk of shame when you’re fucking late. Kirishima couldn’t still be hung up about Katsuki finding out about his crush. It was fucking stupid.
Entering the classroom, it took only a matter of 10 seconds for Katsuki’s eyes to fall on a mop of red hair- notably un-styled. What the fuck?
“What the fuck?” A vein pulsed in Katsuki’s forehead. All eyes turned to the doorway, luckily all of which belonged to his 3-A classmates. The only paired he cared about were Kirishima’s, though, who was pointedly looking anywhere but at Katsuki. Not only that, but he was talking to Deku, of all people; sitting way closer than necessary and leaning in and pointing at something and -
Oh.
It was Deku, wasn’t it? That’s the only logical reason that Kirishima would react so harshly to the thought of Katsuki finding out about his crush. His best friend - the only person he cared about enough to listen to his shitty music, or indulge in his shitty interests, or spend even a fraction of his time softening to the way his name felt on Katsuki’s tongue; the way the syllables felt so right despite their foreign nature. Kirishima, no - Eijirou, had fallen in love with the one person he just couldn’t accept. He felt angry, and jealous, and sick to his stomach.
Of course, the only logical action was to detonate. That’s what he did best, right?
Storming up to Kirishima, he put on his best snarl. It wasn’t hard but seeing through tears made looking him dead in the eyes a bit difficult. It didn’t matter though, not when he had already fisted Kirishima’s uniform into his hands and brought them nose to nose. Maybe, in another circumstance, it would bring a pleasant flush to Kirishima’s tanned cheeks. Not this time, though. No, the only look present was confusion and frustration, the physical action itself severing any ties to their status as equals. Suddenly, they were scared and angry middle schoolers again; reduced to the worst versions of themselves. Katsuki spat out what he considered to be his last ever words to Kirishima.
“Next time you decide you’re gonna play fuckin’ wedding hits top 100 about your ‘crush’, make sure his goddamn rival doesn’t share a wall with your sorry ass, coward,” Katsuki threw Kirishima back by his shirt, watching as he stumbled backwards and steadied himself on a desk, before storming out. He didn’t care about whatever class they were supposed to have. He was at the top of them all, anyway. Nothing fucking mattered.
Katsuki could hear Kirishima running out of the classroom doors after him, screaming his name,
“Katsuki! Wait - Please! It’s not what you think!” He yelled, his shoes slapping the concrete. Katsuki kept walking, picking up the pace without a word. The shouting was getting closer, but he didn’t have the energy to run. He couldn’t escape this. Eijirou – no, Kirishima, and his stupid fucking playlists. He couldn’t escape his three emotions, because as much as those songs to him were whisperings of the heart for Deku’s ears only, to Katsuki- they were only for Kirishima. They had only ever been for him, and he realized now walking away from it all that perhaps one of those three emotions was bigger than just fear. It was rejection; being told that no matter how hard you try, no matter what you have to give; no matter your quirk, your effort, or the love you pour out that bleeds you dry; you will never be as good as someone who can give you all those things with a smile.
Too abrasive. Too harsh. Too loud. Too unheroic.
It hurt so fucking much because he couldn’t take it back; no matter how hard he tried. His heart was entirely in the palm of familiarly tanned hands, calloused and worn from quirk over usage - with absolutely nowhere to hide,
“Katsuki!” Kirishima screamed, his voice aborting halfway through the syllables. Katsuki could hear him crying now, openly. He whipped around, and felt his heart shatter all over again,
“What the fuck do you want, Kirishima? Go back to your fucking boyfriend.” Kirishima’s face was the epitome of heartbreak; messy tear tracks trailing down his chin, cheeks ruddy and eyes glassed over. He tried to not care, but he couldn’t- not when he had spent countless nights trying to soothe that expression off the redhead’s features.
“He’s not my boyfriend, you fucking idiot!” Sobs wracked through Kirishima’s body, but he stood his ground. Katsuki was proud of the man Kirishima had become over the three years they had spent at UA. That part wasn’t hard to admit, not even a little.
“Of course he’s not, you were saving your goddamn sappy bullshit confession playlist for the right moment huh. Don’t try and bullshit me, Eijirou. I heard that shit through the walls for weeks, excuse me for having a pair of fucking ears! While you’re at it, why don’t you clue the whole class in on how manly your little Izuku is,” Katsuki’s voice rose with every word until he was screaming back at Kirishima. His heart jackrabbited against his chest as he clutched the front of his shirt, tears messily falling. He didn’t care. It hurt, and nothing mattered but the slow dull pain of rejection from the only person Katsuki had ever given enough of himself away to shatter.
“It wasn’t about him-” Kirishima pleads back, and it’s ridiculous the way it pulls on his heartstrings. He should be stronger than this, better than this.
“It was about you!”
Katsuki stops breathing.
“It was about you - I’ll say it a million times if only you’ll fucking believe me, Katsuki. It’s always been about you!”
A flicker of hope makes itself known, and who is he to snuff it. All Katsuki can do is stand there slack-jawed and take it in.
“I promised myself I’d changed, that I’d become the man I thought was worthy of the title ‘Hero’. I thought that all that took was the courage to save others in need- to never hesitate. I realized that maybe, being a hero isn’t so superficial, and- and maybe the most important thing is being brave enough to stand up for what you believe in, even if no one else does.”
Katsuki hears the audible shake in Kirishima’s voice and watches him swallow it down through clenched fists.
“I love you. And… And if you don’t feel the same, that’s okay. But - But I just can’t accept that! I won’t accept it - not when every moment up till now tells me that you love me too. I’ve been so cowardly, Katsuki. I thought maybe if I just tuned out everything real with music that explained how I felt, I’d never have to face the truth. But I’m facing it now, because losing my pride means more to me than losing my friend.”
Kirishima stood there, his eyes scrunched tightly closed. Katsuki wasted no time running back in the direction he came, towards the boy who had just poured his heart out for him.
Closing the distance, Katsuki tackled him to the ground with a thud. Kirishima made a winded oof noise as he hit the floor, trapped under Katsuki’s body weight. Their chests were pressed together, and despite all the layers of their uniform, the blonde could still feel Kirishima’s warmth radiating off him. The boy in question finally peaked his eyes open from where they shielded his face, the color rivalling his hair in its vibrance. He stared at Kirishima; the scar above his left eye, the light smatter of freckles that could only be seen nose to nose, eye to eye; the burgundy color of his irises that spread to crimson on the outer edges. Kirishima was pretty, agonizingly so. He’d never felt so much for one thing in his entire life, Katsuki decided. Nothing mattered more than this.
“I love you too, Eijirou.”