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Most of their friends have left by the time Kirishima pulls Bakugou away from the bar. He doesn’t ask if he wants to leave, Bakugou had stalled enough already, ordering drinks while Kirishima had been unwittingly baited into talking about the villain from that afternoon. All he can do is curse while Kirishima thanks the bartender and pays the tab. He’s only grouchy, not actually angry. Mina and Sero hardly acknowledge Kirishima’s goodbyes as he drags him away. They’re too preoccupied with one another to pay them any mind.
Kirishima nudges Bakugou up the stairs and onto the sidewalk. The neon sign outside is bright, casting pink and blue light over them. It hides Bakugou’s flushed complexion, but Kirishima knows he’s had more to drink than usual. Typically it’s him who’s swaying his way out the door. Not that Bakugou’s really swaying. He’s not far gone enough to stumble over the dog walking past. Although, he does lean against the railing while Kirishima stops to pet the stray. It’s friendly, it’s tail wagging appreciatively while Kirishima coos and praises.
“Let’s fuckin’ go already .” Bakugou demands, punctuating his impatience with a heel kick to the railing.
The dog barks before running off, chasing some unknown shadow in the alley. Kirishima watches him disappear with a frown.
“You scared him off.”
“ Good .”
Kirishima’s apartment is only a short walk away. There’s no need to ask if Bakugou will be staying with him now that the last train has gone. Even a taxi is out of the question after the overly chatty driver and exploded car door incident. And besides that, they’re friends.
Bakugou is mostly steady as they walk, but he keeps a hand on his arm, just in case. More than anything they’re both exhausted. There’s no protest, no fight about being able to take care of himself. Despite the frown he’s sporting he’s obviously in a good mood. It makes it hard to stay mad about the dog.
They’re at Kirishima’s apartment building soon enough. Like always, Bakugou complains about its shabby appearance. The paint is cracked and the plants need trimming. Bakugou can’t understand why he likes it here, but Kirishima sees no reason to leave. He likes his neighbors and the building is close to his agency. It’s the same argument every time.
Tonight Bakugou has more to criticize. The lobby is dark due to the still broken overhead lights. It’s an old building and the landlady is slow to send for repairs. The lights are not an urgent fix, so says the landlady. The street lamps give enough light through the windows, and if the neighbors worry about safety, well Red Riot won't let anything happen to them. That second part Kirishima heard from his neighbor, a single mother living in the room adjacent to his. Bakugou had plenty to say about it when he mentioned it at the bar. The conversation had been typical as far as Bakugou’s pushiness goes. He thinks back to it as the elevator is making its way down.
“Fuck her. You’re not some glorified security guard.”
“Yeah, I know, I’ll talk to her later.”
“Why bother? Move out. There’s plenty of better apartments.
“I like it there.”
“You can like somewhere else too.”
Maybe he could just move out. Find a bigger, newer place, but for now Kirishima feels at home. The elevator is still in working order and that’s all they really need.
He lets go of Bakugou while they ride up to his floor. They both lean against the elevator walls, Kirishima sticking close, his hand hovering near the other man’s waist, just in case he starts to slip. When the bell dings he’s forced to usher him forward, his hand hesitates for just a second before pushing him forward with a gentle grip of his shoulder. Bakugou isn’t so compliant anymore. He pulls away, stumbling slightly and knocking over the large vase by the elevator door. It's cheap plastic, but it still makes a loud noise as it smacks and bounces on the floor. He hurriedly picks it up while Bakugou stands against the hallway wall, eyes shut.
“Don’t fall asleep on me now. We’re almost there.” He’s whispering, afraid to wake the neighbors. “Keep it together.”
Bakugou opens his eyes just enough to glare. “I’m not about to fall asleep in your shitty building’s hallway.”
Kirishima lets out a breath, suppressing a laugh. “You look ready to pass out.”
“Shut it and hurry up.”
He doesn’t point out that it was Bakugou who knocked over the vase. Or that it was he that kept them out late. Kirishima just leads him along to the end of the hall. Though he’s quick to open the door Bakugou still complains, grumbling about slow hands. He slips in before Kirishima even has the chance to speak, making a straight line for the bathroom, somehow kicking off his shoes without falling over.
“Make yourself at home,” mutters Kirishima, not that he really minds. Now that his friend is safe and sound in his apartment he can relax. Removing his own shoes he places them and Bakugou’s pair neatly by the door before heading to the bedroom.
Enough light comes through the blinds to keep him from hurting his toes on the weights scattered on the floor. A quick stretch, arms raised high in the air, feels really good for his back. He's more than ready to collapse into bed. His jacket, shirt, and pants are sloppily tossed away, tidying up being future-Kirishima’s problem. For now he crawls into bed, letting out a content sigh as he burrows under the comforter.
The fabric is cool and feels nice against his flushed skin. The familiar scent of his favorite fabric softener washes away everything else.
He’s halfway to sleep when the door opens. Through one bleary eye he can see Bakugou, also stripped down to his t-shirt and boxers. His neatly folded pants and jacket safely in his arms.
Sleepy or not he still watches as his friend places his clothes on the ottoman at the foot of the bed. His arms are crossed and his face obscured by the dark as he stands there, waiting. Kirishima blinks, once, twice, three times before he remembers. The guest futon is still in the storage closet.
“Sorry,” he says, his voice now low and heavy with sleep, “I’ll get the futon out.”
He tries to will himself out of bed now, but it’s harder than expected.
“Gimme a second…gathering power.” He’s not even sure if Bakugou can understand him, he’s pretty much muttering into the pillow.
A minute later, he guesses, Bakugou shoves him.
“Move over.”
“Mmmmmn, gimme another second.”
With zero mercy Bakugou shoves Kirishima practically off the edge. The push finally jostles him out of his near sleep. Somehow he manages to keep off the floor, but in the shuffle Bakugou grabs the comforter for himself.
“Bakugou,” Kirishima whispers loudly, “You have to share.”
“I’m already sharing the bed.”
This argument makes no sense, but Kirishima isn’t in a state to argue how. His body may be awake but his mind is all static. The comforter is more important than thinking anyway. They’re both tugging at the fabric back and forth like it’s a game. It is a game and Kirishima already knows how it’ll end.
“You’re too stubborn,” he whispers.
There’s not enough energy in him to keep playing, so he gives in. He lets the comforter go, sending Bakugou falling back to his side of the bed. A flash of a self-satisfied smirk and Kirishima doesn’t feel too bad about it.
They both settle back into bed, or at least try. Kirishima is wishing he’d opted to wear some sweat pants, Bakugou is cozy in his cocoon. It’s quiet again, though there’s a buzz of energy in the air now. He tries to ignore it as he stares up at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to take over. It’s not coming as easily now. He turns his head to look at Bakugou who’s peering at him from under the cover.
“I might as well grab the extra blanket and futon,” he says, “Since you’re being a baby.”
“Should’ve brought out the futon when we got here.”
“I should’ve made you sleep on the couch.”
Bakugou scoffs, but he doesn’t speak. They’re lying there looking at each other by the stripes of lights coming through the blinds. Kirishima can tell Bakugou is thinking hard about something. He’s about to ask what’s up when, without warning, Bakugou hits him in the face with his pillow.
He can’t even see Bakugou between the blurs of cotton. More blows keep coming and all he can do is curl up, clutching his stomach. It hurts from how hard he’s laughing. Finally he grabs at the pillow, a little surprised at how easy it is to yank it away. It’s even more surprising when he feels the breeze of the comforter thrown over them both.
Bakugou acts so roundabout in moments like these.
“Stop smiling like that.”
“How do you know I’m smiling? You're not even looking at me.”
“Because I know.”
“You can’t stop me, bro. I know you're a big softy.”
“Let me sleep.”
“C’mon, let’s talk.”
“Didn’t you talk enough at the bar?”
“This is different. And it’s your fault. Waking me up with slumber party games. It’s like school again.”
“Party. over. Go to sleep.”
Kirishima cannot go to sleep. He feels too fuzzy and light inside.
“ Please ,” he begs, “You can tell me about Todoroki accidentally freezing his new cape in ice again.” Bakugou had already been tipsy when he told him that story, he looked so good laughing. “C’mon, tell me again.”
“I’m about to kick your ass out from under this blanket, I fucking swear.”
“I’m already half sticking out anyway.”
“You’ve gotten too fucking big, that’s why.”
“So give me more of the blanket.”
Bakugou groans and Kirishima laughs.
He could play this game until sunrise. Could talk with Bakugou alone in his bed for hours if only he'd play along. He keeps trying, leaning over a bit to whisper just a little quieter.
“Let’s talk for a little while.”
“ Why?”
“I want to spend more time with you.”
There’s a long pause. Bakugou stares at him hard enough to make him self conscious again. Hard enough to make him remember why he hesitated at the elevator. Before he can take it back Bakugou sighs.
“Let’s go to sleep.”
“Okay.”
He sounds sad even to himself.
“Kirishima.”
“Hm?”
“Stop sulking.”
He’s ready to argue that he is not sulking but the words fall back when feels the unexpected warm weight against his side. All Kirishima can think is, “Bakugou could not be this drunk.”
He isn’t looking at him, he’s looking away, fussing with the comforter. But he’s pressed against him.
“It’s cold.”
Kirishima can’t quite decipher his tone. If they were still at the bar he might have known what to say. Might have asked if he could keep him warm in that totally not-serious flirty way Bakugou let him get away with sometimes. This is different. He just nods and agrees.
“Yeah.”
“And your shitty apartment has bad heating,”
“Don’t call it shitty, but yeah.”
“It’s like school .”
That is what he said. “I guess so.”
“Then go to sleep.”
“Okay.”
Bakugou adjusts the comforter around them, trying to share it evenly. Kirishima doesn’t mention that his right foot is still out in the open. Or that his left arm is stuck lying parallel to his head to avoid hitting Bakugou’s head. It’s like he’s the most uncomfortable he’s ever been. His arm is going to fall asleep. But Bakugou has settled in, facing away, but comfortably curled beside him.
I can wait this out, he thinks, it’s fine.
But it’s not really. Five minutes pass before he breaks. Against his better instincts he moves and Bakugou stiffens.
“Just give me a second,” he whispers, because it feels like whispering time now and Bakugou is obviously spooked.
Carefully, cautiously, he pulls himself into a more natural and comfortable position, scooping Bakugou closer as well. He holds his breath as he directs Bakugou to lay his head on his arm. To his relief, and immense surprise, Bakugou follows his lead, letting his own arm rest over Kirishima’s middle in a loose embrace.
He’s sure Bakugou can hear his heart beat. It’s so loud.
“Calm down.”
“I’m trying.”
They’ve done this before, technically. Back in school after falling asleep in each other’s rooms. They’ve woken up like this. Never have they fallen asleep with their arms around each other, especially not without a cramped single bed as an excuse. There’s no reason to not bring out the futon now. Bakugou could grab it himself if he wanted.
He sure drank a lot back at the bar.
“Bakugou,” he whispers, unable to stop himself.
“ What? ”
“Did something happen?”
“I’m trying to sleep.”
“But Bakugou…”
He sits up, muttering curses under his breath. Reflexively, Kirishima grabs for his hand, afraid he’s about to leave.
“I’ll be quiet.”
Bakugou stops, shaking off his hand and placing his own on Kirishima’s chest. His heart is still beating fast. He almost apologizes, but Bakugou stops it by shoving him back down to the mattress.
Bakugou now has his arms on either side of him, propping himself up over him. The tips of their noses are practically touching. They’ve been in similar positions before, usually after a spar. Not for the first time Kirishima wonders if they’ll kiss like this.
They don’t, but something new happens. Bakugou leans down, letting his lips ghost over Kirishima’s before pressing a light kiss on his jaw. Kirishima wants to know if it’s the alcohol that’s made his skin this warm. Bakugou runs hot anyway. He lets go of his wrist, bringing both hands up to cup his face instead. This is new too. When he tries to bring him close for a kiss Bakugou resists, but doesn’t pull away. Kirishima doesn’t want to let him go. He slides his thumb over the corner of his mouth, pressing gently against his lower lip.
“Can’t I?”
“No,” he whispers.
“Then why…?”
“Something was going to happen. I chose what.”
Sensing his confusion, Bakugou shakes his head.
“Just...not now.”
There’s a flash of excitement and expectation mixed in with his disappointment. Gently he brings Bakugou’s face closer so their foreheads touch. It’s hard to tell, but he thinks he can see a blush.
When Bakugou pulls away he lets him go without a word. They settle in for the night, the tension diffused. Kirishima wraps an arm around him as best he can. He doesn’t understand what this means, but he chooses to trust him. If not tonight then maybe tomorrow.
A month later and Bakugou has yet to explain anything. Kirishima has been trying to be patient, waiting for Bakugou to come around in his own time. Despite the years of practice even Kirishima has his limitations. Maybe if nothing had happened, if he’d just gone to sleep on the futon himself, they could have continued on as before. His feelings would have kept on quietly simmering undisturbed, consumed by the fire until there was nothing left but a little bit of warm memories.
Well, there’s no use in dwelling on that. The present is enough to worry about.
He checks his phone again, both relieved and disappointed to see no new messages. Bakugou must be on his way down from the office by now. Glancing at the agency’s doors, he’s on the lookout for that familiar flash of spiky blond hair. Once Bakugou climbs into the passenger seat he won’t be able to relax. Aside from wanting Kirishima to pick him up, Bakugou hadn't said what they’d be doing. Typically they’d have a late dinner together, but tonight feels different.
Bakugou had finally acknowledged the thing between them. His actions came seemingly out of nowhere. True he’d been obvious on his end, but Bakugou had mostly acted like nothing was there. They’d been suspended in an in between place for years, hardly willing to shift and risk toppling over the edge. More accurately Kirishima has been careful not to pull Bakugou in too deep, afraid to find himself fighting for something Bakugou was unwilling or unable to give. To have the possibility of reciprocated feelings dangled in front of him then taken away broke through his resolve. They hadn’t even kissed.
Well, he conceded that Bakugou had technically kissed him, but it wasn’t a real kiss. Not the sort of kiss that he’d imagined while curled up and dreamy in bed on the extra lonely nights. Still, when he closes his eyes he remembers that not-kiss, soft and weighted with Bakugou’s feelings, he can’t say it was nothing.
As for Bakugou’s request to wait, Kirishima can only guess at the true meaning. For how long he wonders. When will the waiting end and who is allowed to end it? He wouldn’t put it past Bakugou to expect him to just know, to expect Kirishima’s move without a word.
The fact that Bakugou had called him is probably a signal. If he’d wanted to brush that night aside he could’ve messaged him or called. A quick, “This never happened,” and this would have ended in a snap. This is still happening. Whatever this is. A new point of suspension. That will give way soon. Once Bakugou comes out the clock will start ticking. Kirishima is still unsure what exactly it’s counting down to.
The questions run circles in his mind, making him dizzy with anxiety, dread, excitement, and most dangerously, expectation. This finally stops when a loud tapping sound startles him. His phone plops on to his lap and somewhere on the floor. Bakugou is glaring at him from behind fogged glass while jabbing violently at the window. Kirishima panics by looking for his phone. He shouts a couple of embarrassed apologies while feeling under the seat, cursing himself when he accidentally pushes his phone further back. An eternity later his phone sits safely in the cup holder while he unlocks the door. He could’ve opened the door before that. Bakugou points this out with a silent punch to the shoulder. Deserved.
As expected, he’s having a difficult time. With great effort he manages to peek from the corner of his eye at Bakugou settling in. He’s in a heavy black and orange coat with a grey knitted cap. Kirishima can’t see it, but there’s probably a scarf too.
Words manage to tumble out. “You look warm.”
“My hands are cold thanks to you,” Bakugou huffs out, “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
Kirishima starts the engine and turns on the heat. Buried under complaints there’s a single barely audible thanks from Bakugou.
They’re on the road with no confirmed destination. This isn’t like a normal night where they’d grab a quick meal at their usual ramen place. Probably anyway.
“Your meeting ran long?,” he asks, trying to sound casual.
“Assholes kept me late with questions.”
“What happened? More excessive property damage?”
“Oh, fuck off. My aim is perfect.”
Bakugou growls as Kirishima laughs a little too sharply from nerves.
“Okay, so what did they actually keep you for?”
Bakugou grunts dismissively. “Just some bullshit,” he says, “They wouldn’t take my resignation letter.”
“Your WHAT?”
If not for his occupational training he might actually have swerved into oncoming traffic. Kirishima’s looking back and forth between the road and Bakugou, trying to read anything in his expression. He’s looking out the window like he’s bored, his reflection distorted by streetlamps, headlights, and illuminated signage.
“You quit? Like actually quit?”
“Yeah that’s what resignation means.”
“What happened to your plan? Working there another year until going solo?”
“Changed my mind.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I changed plans.”
There’s nothing dangerous in the way he says this. Nothing in his demeanor says he’s upset. And yet Kirishima cannot believe it. Not because it sounds totally haphazard and reckless, but because no matter how busy Bakugou was, he would have said something . At least to him.
“Isn’t this kind of sudden?” When was this decided? Why didn’t you tell me?
Bakugou let’s his head rest against the glass, looking almost tired. Subdued. “I thought it through.”
Kirishima nods. “Of course you did.”
“Yeah, I did .”
He knows Bakugou wouldn’t act without foresight and reason. At least when it came to his hero career. He wouldn't do something if he really didn’t want to do it, but the news sits heavy in his stomach. It makes him a little afraid.
Bakugou is looking at him, observing. He swallows those feelings down.
“So I’m assuming you have plans?”
“I have a plan.”
“Which is?”
“You're so annoying. I’ll tell you later.”
“When? Next week?”
He hadn’t meant to say that. It just spilled out. Bakugou snorts but doesn’t reply.
Anything but silence would be less stifling.
“Denki and everyone are going to lose their shit.”
“I’m not telling anyone yet.”
“Saving the surprise?”
Bakugou looks at him like he can’t believe he can pour his own cereal in the morning.
“The agency wants to make a formal statement to the press. Have to cancel plans with other agencies. Can’t risk Kaminari being a dumbass on social media.”
“Yeah, he still gets flack for leaking that promo he did with Jirou. I guess it’s kind of a mess for your agency, your former agency’s PR guys.”
“Whatever. Their problem.”
“I guess so.”
Kirishima needs to get them somewhere private ASAP. There’s no way he’s not pulling every bit of information he can yank out of Bakugou’s mouth tonight.
“So I figured we’d get ramen, but this is kind of...big news? Want to try this new place I found last week? My treat?” An expensive upscale place with private booths would do.
Bakugou replies with a heavy shake of his head, “Just drive home.”
His heart sinks. This is going nowhere much too fast. “You sure, man? Have you eaten anything?”
“I’m not hungry. Just drive home.”
“Okay.” Kirishima nods his head more than necessary, not really thinking about what he’s doing. His brain is pretty confused now. Maybe this was all he wanted to tell him for now. But he can’t accept that. There must be a way of coaxing more information out of him, hopefully before they reach his apartment and say goodnight.
Ten minutes later they’re at a stoplight, halfway to Bakugou’s home, and Kirishima hasn’t thought of shit. He’s considering detouring for coffee when Bakugou sits up in his seat, alert.
“What are you doing?”
“Dropping you off?”
“Your home,” Bakugou shouts, exasperated, “ Your place.”
“You didn’t say that!”
Kirishima’s gripping the steering wheel too hard again. It’s crackling and Bakugou rolls his eyes. “ Listen. Take me home with you, Ei.”
The overt irritation does nothing to mask the embarrassment Bakugou must feel. Kirishima can see it clearly as he stares at him. Cars are honking and Bakugou is shouting for him to move. So he drives, his attention fully on the road, forcing his brain to shut up before he can say anything stupid. It’s the quietest ride home he’s ever experienced. Bakugou doesn’t say another word, not even to shit talk the car in front with the Deku decal on its window.
The parking garage is across the street from his building. Their silence follows them out the car while they make their way outside. Kirishima listens to the echo of Bakugou’s shoes hitting the cement floor. For a moment it almost feels like the walk home from a month ago. A moment detached from the usual timeline. A bubble of just the two of them. He wants to grab Bakugou’s arm, maybe his hand, and keep him close while they float through it.
That quickly wears off. Unlike that night, this evening the world is still very much awake. Several people wave to him on the street. A neighbor’s dog runs over for pats. Inside the lobby is brightly lit, the overhead lights functional and harsh. Inside the elevator he trades pleasantries with a delivery man.
The entire time the gears in his head are turning quicker and quicker. There’s still a piece to this puzzle. A large piece.
They’re standing mostly in the dark, at the entrance inside his apartment, shoes off, staring at one another, and Kirishima is one hundred percent certain that he has no idea what the night is supposed to be. But he knows there’s something he needs to ask.
“Bakugou.” He's whispering.
“What?” He’s whispering too, though his whispers are rough and harsh. Impatient.
Part of him thinks it’s plain stupid to ask before letting Bakugou talk. His own words wouldn’t let him choose. They force themselves up to the surface.
“Bakugou, are you leaving?”
It’s the only thing he can think of to explain his secrecy. That or an arranged marriage. Even Mitsuki couldn’t pull that off though.
Bakugou shakes his head. “Not anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
Bakugou’s voice is rougher, frustrated. “I thought I knew exactly what I was doing, but you.”
“Me?”
Bakugou looks away, struggling to come up with the words.
“I didn’t know what to do . I had everything figured out, I thought I had it figured out.”
Kirishima is trying to follow along, trying to fill in the gaps.
“I’m ruining your plans?” He doesn’t mean to sound hurt, but Bakugou catches the strain in his voice.
“NO. You’re not doing anything...I didn’t mean it that way. You’re not a problem.”
“Bakugou, you have to tell me what’s going on.” Kirishima grips Bakugou’s arms, like he’s afraid he’ll disappear this second. “I can’t wait around forever, hoping we fall into place. It’s lonely when you keep me in the dark. I don’t only mean the past few weeks either.” More than the confusion and uncertainty, he hated feeling isolated from him. Abandoned.
Bakugou looks as if he’d been struck in the chest, like Kirishima cut straight through him. “I wasn’t trying to hide anything,” he says, “I told you I wanted my own agency. That’s all I’d been working for the entire time. There wasn’t anything else.”
“And I thought I could be there. Maybe not next to you-“
“I always imagined you there,” Bakugou interrupts.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t know how I fit into that vision of yours. You let me hang there not knowing anything.”
If Bakugou ever looked this remorseful, Kirishima had never seen it. He hated the pained expression even if he meant every word. An apology wouldn’t make sense. He held his tongue.
Bakugou didn’t need an apology, and wouldn't have accepted one anyway. Pushing forward like he always does, he straightens his shoulders and looks at him head on.
“My former agency is opening a branch in Europe. They’re sending people over.”
“And you didn’t want to go.”
“I did want to go. It fit into my plan. They even threw in a cash bonus.”
“Why didn’t you take it?”
“Stupid. How was I supposed to leave you?”
Kirishima doesn’t know what to say to that.
“They tried to intimidate me by giving me an ultimatum when I refused. I called their bluff.”
So that’s what happened. He cut them loose for Kirishima.
“I thought about asking you to go with me. It was a stupid idea. You’re so fucking happy here with your friends, your parents. I couldn’t expect you to abandon them to do what I want. You won’t even drop this shitty apartment.”
“You could’ve asked me. You didn’t have to quit.”
“You would have sent me away.”
It was true. He would have sent him away with his blessing. Too afraid to hold him back and be anything but supportive. That’s what he’d been doing this whole time, mistaking cowardly pasificity for what he thought a loyal friend would do.
“Kirishima,” Bakugou is so determined to have him understand, his voice is strong and clear, “I don’t need that agency backing me up. I can figure this out somehow. But I want to build something with you.”
Kirishima needs a second to process this.
“What exactly are you asking for?”
“Fuck, I don’t know. Anything. Everything. Marry me. Be my partner on the field.”
“You said you had a plan.”
“YEAH, okay. This is the plan, Eijirou. I’m asking you to marry me, for fuck’s sake.”
He’s laid all his chips on the table. It’s reckless. Stupid. Amazing. Terrifying.
“You didn’t have to quit.”
Bakugou seems frozen, stunned. Maybe hurt.
“You don’t want to.”
His arms are around Bakugou in an instant.
“No! I want to,” he practically shouts, “But you didn’t have to derail your life for me either.”
“It took me too long to figure this out so listen. I couldn’t see myself apart from you, because I want to spend my life with you. Let me stand next to you.”
There’s so much to consider. He needs to tell his friends, parents, and his agency. Is he leaving his agency too? It doesn’t matter. He’s already made up his mind. How could he ever consider otherwise when Bakugou reaches out to hold his face, just like Kirishima had held his face forever ago. He’s sure he’ll pass out until he sees Bakugou’s expression up close. The usual gruff and irritated face is gone, it’s just him staring head-on, unguarded and full of expectation.
He could kiss him right now, they’re close, Bakugou’s holding his breath... but he doesn’t. Instead he takes Bakugou by the hand, pulling him along to his bedroom.
The bedroom lights are off, but the lights across the streets are coming through the blinds like always. He’s got Bakugou on the bed, still wearing his coat. He doesn’t care, he’s pulling Kirishima down with him by the collar of his jacket.
They’re kissing. He thought their first real kiss would be like a photo, a perfect captured moment he’d carry forever. It’s nothing like that . They’ve kissed so many times already, each kiss has blurred into a mess in which Kirishima has gladly lost himself. He can hear his heart pounding a roaring beat inside his chest. It’s interrupted only by the feeling of Bakugou’s hand under his shirt. He tries to do the same, tugging at the button-up shirt tucked into Katsuki’s pants. It’s not working, so he’s forced to pull away.
“Take off your coat. Your shirt.”
Bakugou literally growls at the command despite following Kirishima’s words. He pulls off the coat along with the scarf and cap. Too impatient for buttons, Kirishima’s pulling the shirt over his head. Hands are on him too, fighting to remove his jacket and shirt. He stops Bakugou's angry cursing by pressing him back into the pillows with another kiss. The jacket finally comes off, thrown into a corner. His own shirt is still on, Bakugou has his hands roaming underneath. He thinks about taking it off, but there are no more coherent thoughts left. Bakugou’s tongue is on his neck.
Their actions are shaky and clumsy, but the feeling is too big and desperate for them to care. How many times had Kirishima thought about kissing Bakugou in his bed just in the last month alone? Now he was here, clinging to him and calling his name in hot whispers against his ear. There’s no more uncertainty in between them. Life is uncertain but this isn’t anymore. This is love, Kirishima is sure of it.
The late morning sun wakes Kirishima first. Bakugou is snuggly tucked against him, shielded from light. He’s clutching most of the comforter, a corner barely maintains Kirishima’s modesty. They’ll have to buy a bigger one later. Right now he just hugs Katsuki closer.