Archive of Our Own ^beta

Bakugou turns away from Kirishima, holding on to his hand. "Don't miss me when I'm gone." he whispers, his breath hitching in his throat.

Kirishima smiles to the back of Bakugou's head. Of course not, he thinks to himself, how could i forget the one who sewed my heart into his own?

"Of course not," Kirishima hugs Bakugou waist, ignoring the sudden dampness on his hand, "I'll be waiting for you."

  i.  If You Peek Outside the Windows;  

There are days where Kirishima catches the metro to his hero office because:

1. he wants to observe the general crowds;

2. because he couldn't be bothered to drive himself to work.

He loves the crowds though. He interacts with the general public in any given situation, because he loves the way they gasp at his name, giggle and make quick talks and ask him questions that left his stomach infested with roaming butterflies.

Red Riot, the Unbreakable Hero, lips would stutter, uttering the syllables of a hero that saved multiple lives everyday, and Kirishima would roar back with a certainty that leaves the crowd in shambles. Its the frenzy that leaves them speechless, the assurance that a passionate young hero dwells in his job relentlessly, that an attractive young lad that beams like a beacon of hope in amidst the dull crowds of the train.

He always manages to reach his agency on time, which makes him wonder. Why do people hate metros so much? Isn't there this surreal magic to it, standing amidst the swirl of the people he must've saved during his patrols, flicking through his phone with a relaxed posture.

Sometimes, when he holds on to the metal pole on the trains,  pushing against so many ordinary workers, he wonders. He wonders, would I have been the same, if I didn't choose to be a hero? Would I be working for petty job and earning some money?

Would I still remain the unmanly person I had been when I was young?  he  wonders when he finds the sight of small kids running around in circles, pushing and pulling through the wilderness of the trail that seemed to shrink as he looked for an end.

From beneath his tall structure, he watches a couple blush at his presence. They all nudge and wink at each other, pinpointing him as if he doesn't see. As if he doesn't know.

They whisper, "Look, isn't that Red Riot?", warm and comfortable into each other's ears, like Red Riot doesn't hear his name. He knows how they talk behind his back, the positives over arching the underlying negativity that he's been struggling to ignore.

Kirishima knows he would've missed the rising blooming roses around him if he didn't pursue something he loved dearly, but the conversations they have irk his brains a lot of times.

"Doesn't he look too young for this job?"

"Isn't he mean to marry someone at his age?"

"Does he have a girlfriend?"

"Does his parents know how dangerous being a hero is?"

Those conversations looms into his head like little pins, bleeding out of his head like a pincushion filled with too many pins; overflowing. Sometimes, he wishes that he could just pick up his phone and occupy the idle thoughts with a simple call to his friend. Bakugou.

He wants the reassurance that nobody in this damn world could provide him,  but Bakugou's been busy ever since he'd travelled to the U.S, so Kirishima has had to stand ground in Japan, trying not to indulge in nostalgia.

The greys and yellows of the filled seats reflect upon his carmine eyes, a sombre tone that forces him to watch the Sun wink wearily at him, to watch the wind stutter against his lips, a fervour of a Sturdy Hero lost in the flames of busy crowds.

It always watches him from the horizon, watching a thought in his brain lurk in the corner, always there but Kirishima never dares to touch it.

Never.

Kirishima always fights against the singular string that weeps in the corner of his mind. He always feels the train lurch in its stop and push him ever so gently, giving Kirishima the will to fight it like a hero.

A hero.

Would I ever have met Bakugou, if I hadn't become a hero?

One year, and Kirishima misses him so dearly.

Kirishima wondered what Bakugou would've said if he would've confessed to him before they parted ways.

The thought almost always occurs when he lounges in the comfort of his couch, flicking through the channels, the night's glow illuminating his vermillion coloured living room. There are scented candles in the corner that sort of set the mood to his place, the lights are dimmed down to a low halo, the perfect time for Kirishima to relax in his haze.

Kirishima could text or call Bakugou. But he doesn't, due to the possibility of Bakugou being unavailable.

During stressful times, he'd sit back on the  couch with an empty look to the ceiling, blessed lights trudging into his jawbones, outlining the bulk of his muscles under a white tee, soft red hair almost like ribbons of love.

It was a fun thought to have in his brain, for it had been over two years since Bakugou had left to States. It was a nice game to play, to mix and match the scenarios and imagine, what would've Bakugou done if Kirishima had confessed?

Would it have been a flight or flight response? Would they have gone to dates, would they have kissed near the lakes? Would they have trekked up the mountains to kneel on one foot and spend the rest of their lives together?

Would he have bent to the will of love, would he have cared if Kirishima kissed him awake? Or would he have blushed if Kirishima mapped his body with the bites that mark him his own?

The empty lights of the television flicker on his face lazily, painting magnificent stripes of sandy filters across his tired oblique face. The eyeliner smudges as he wipes his eyes blearily.

"Maybe Kacchan would have loved you to death, Eiji," Midoriya had spoken to him once on phone, when he was in a bad headspace. "Maybe he would've held your hand and never let you go."

It was easy for Midoriya to say something as romantic as that. He had gripped on to Iida like a mad man in their second year time, simply because they had been best friends for so long. It was like a natural form of blending for the two lovers, from best friends to people they cherish most.

Kirishima had to witness the two at the dim spaces at night during school days, where Midoriya corners Iida on to the couch and kissed him senseless. He had to watch the evergreen hair move in unison with the blues, like simple tidal waves that sizzled under moonlit beaches.

"Do you love me?" Iida had asked that night, an arm outreached to hold Midoriya's own, and Kirishima tried not to melt under the soft gaze Midoriya shares with the class president. He accepts the offer simply and cradles it in his arms, close to his heart, and maybe the dim lights bathe them in the halo of love.  A confirmation.

Kirishima had to look away because he was sort of jealous. Really, it shouldn't have tugged the strings of jealousy that hid in his heart, but man, its hard not to fold into yourself.

It had to been him. To cradle the hand of a person who he'd held across the glitter-filled skies,  to own the heart of a person who he knows is his, so dear to him.

Yet, time goes by, and he has to wait for his best friend to return from the lengths of the world so that he could finally confess that he loves Bakugou.

Maybe.

But, as the tides fall, the Moon pulls it up to balance the nature, and suddenly Kirishima rides the uneasy high waves of anxiety. What if.

Would Bakugou have another person with him? Would he have found another woman who's dainty enough to handle his quips, to flourish in his achievements, good god has he found a woman to marry? To hold on to his hand during tough times?

What if he comes into Kirishima's home and decides to invite him to his extravagant wedding in America, where Kirishima clutches on to the draped white curtains with a fear of going Unbreakable as he watches his loved one marry another?

His head droops into the couches a little more as he thinks about Bakugou's return back home.  There was no way that Bakugou loves him, he knows that for a fact.

What was the point of holding on to something, if there was a chance that it could let you go?

Two years, and his heart melts a little like the liquid pools of moonlight surging through the windows and bouncing off the blank T.V screen. He misses Bakugou, more than ever.

iii: Because I Miss You;

3 years.

Kirishima lives through the same old cycle, a machine that switches according to scenarios. In the morning, he's Number 4 Hero: Red Riot , but at night he's just simple old Kirishima.

Eijirou Kirishima, 30, living the life of a single man. Kirishima, a man who grunts as the knives break under his use, the dude who had assumed that plants were easy to maintain.  He's just Kirishima, a man waiting to be loved.

But love is so easy for him. There are people out there who hum the tunes of Valentines Day throughout the year, he's pretty sure that the neighbours love him to death. Every day, there's at least one fan mail that reaches the box outside his office, requesting him for a date night, maybe we could be more than friends once we get to know each other.

But he would never try.

He would never try, because he knows there's no use in the distractions. He doesn't want to break someone's heart by telling them that Hey dude, I'm still in love with my best friend who left me for three years, so a heads up that I might not care about you as much as him!

Yeah, that didn't sound quite right.

So he sits in his little space that night, all alone, holding a glass of  red wine in his hands. He relaxes under the safety of his living room, the reds of his hair spread out like inky drizzles of a painting, and he drinks till he's drunk in the name of lost love.

Here's to the idle belief of the fact that it had to be me, Kirishima toasts to himself, downing the clear liquid in one go, as he lurches on his feet and slips down his precious couch. He's in heaven, a dopey smile strung across his pretty face, as he laments the loss in his heart.

"Fuck you Izuku," Kirishima curses, "Why did you have to say that it had to be me?" its silent, strings of tears threatening to escape his eyes, but he stops himself. He's so tired of pretending everything's okay, the loop that continues with his stress, he's ready to quit-

A phone buzzes from the sidelines, and Kirishima thinks he's dreaming.

He scurries to his left, swiping the phone's lock screen as he regards the caller id with his wavering eyes.

Bakugou Katsuki, it reads, clear as the red wine that still remained in the glass he held. Transparent, something that only resurfaced today, after three years, nevertheless.

Kirishima blinks. Twice. His hands itch with the urge to pick up the phone, but there's something surreal about it.

With trembling fingers, Kirishima manages to press the green call button, and suddenly his screen fills with the golden portrait of a man he loves.

Drunk.

"Kirishima," Bakugou growls, clear, and Kirishima gulps at the voice. It had been over three years since he'd heard Bakugou's gruff voice, yet it tingles over his skin like something familiar.

Kirishima learns to breathe again when Bakugou's head lulls on to his side, scratching the wool of his blood-red sweater. Even through the low quality pixels, Kirishima could find Bakugou's piercing eyes enchanting, at the least.

He sucks in a cold patch of air before he replies, eyes heavy with an emotion, "Bakugou, how're you man?"

They breathe simply, but the air surrounding their lungs turn into tresses of red curtains swirling around his heart, trying to cover up so many years worth of longing and frustration. Bakugou knows, Bakugou always knows when something goes wrong, but maybe tonight they're a little loopy. Maybe tonight, for once, Bakugou forgets to decipher the longing displayed through Kirishima's feverish eyes.

"I've been alright," Bakugou huffs, scratching his buzz cut while gritting his teeth, "'S been a rough time, that's all."

Kirishima notices the scar that runs diagonally across his face, throbbing with the hue of rich fuchsia, but he doesn't mention it.

"That's good, i guess,", He replies, in turn, downing the rest of the red wine in his glass. The rim of the glassware glints with skylights, a poignant reminder to the number four hero that yes, yes, Kirishima's still in love with that bastard of a man who glares at him awkwardly. He's still in love with that manly aura that he radiates, even if its faint, still enamored by the nimble hands that trace Kirishima's outline idly, as if a cutout that he could hold in his hands.

If Bakugou noticed that he had noticed the scar, he didn't say anything.

They sit silently for a while, with no other noise to fill their void except the construction noises that faintly erupt from Bakugou's end ("some useless mother fucker wanted to build apartments or some shit," Bakugou snorts when Kirishima asks, but Kirishima doesn't miss the nervous twitch in his jaw. )

Its only when Bakugou asks Kirishima about work life was when they truly started talking to each other like they'd never left. Bakugou sweats and curses like he always does and swipes across the screen.

They drink merrily till the sullen hours of night, where Kirishima learns to regard Bakugou in the softest expression he could muster, carmine red glows that illuminate the two between screens.

I missed him.

Kirishima feels a tear clog up his throat. Clogged up spaces that form warm pools in his eyes, threatening to fall from his orbs.

"What happened?" Bakugou asks, fervently, because he notices the way Kirishima looks away from him. "I asked you about Kaminari and you didn't say shit."

Bakugou had noticed his tears.

"Nothing, really." Kirishima sighs, but this time into his couch. His head droops on to the flat surface, as he properly lies down and brings the phone close to his face. Bakugou looks so damn beautiful, all flushed and warm hearted, caring for him like a good friend.

"Bullshit." this time, Bakugou grunts in a low baritone, waking Kirishima up fully. "Your eyes say otherwise."

Perhaps, Kirishima wants to know how to dig a hole to the ground, because he would love to go Unbreakable and fall down the few stories of the apartment, down and away from Bakugou's scrutiny.

They stare at each other for a minute. Kirishima knows Bakugou's drifting to sleep because they're so drunk, but he wants Bakugou to know how much he'd missed him. As a friend, as a lover, as an acquaintance, as an equal.

Kirishima decides to man up and utter the few words, in hopes of Bakugou ignoring it completely, like he ignored Kirishima for two whole years.

"I miss you," Kirishima stutters, low and dim at midnight. Time zones don't really matter at that moment, Bakugou slowly drifts into sleep, but Kirishima's sentence wakes him up.

Of course Bakugou wouldn't miss this.

"What." Bakugou questions, unintentionally rude, but at midnight Kirishima's never learnt how to distinguish between sarcasm and mean tones.

Especially when he was drunk.

So Kirishima quips up again, but this time the tears get caught on his lashes, falling in front of him like summer rain dancing atop cemented streets.

"I miss you," he sobs, "I've been pulling and pushing all of these thoughts, I just want to see your face and kiss it till I'm dead."

A moment of silence. The glass of red wine from Bakugou's hands slips, crashing on to the floor with a quick 'shink'. Bakugou's face remains flushed under the soft yellow light, but Kirishima thought that his eyes were wavering a little.

"What," Bakugou's voice hitches on to his throat, cracking a little. "After all this time?" You dare love me?

Kirishima sluggishly blinks at the question, too drunk to comprehend the seriousness in his tone. "What do you mean, 'after all this timeee'?" he slurs, tapping the screen as if to flick Bakugou on the forehead, "I've loveddd you since the day we met, Kit-Kat."

Someone starts to cry.

"I mean its crazy, right?" Kirishima continues, ignoring the wetness in his eyes, legs bouncing with anticipation, "Me and You. Us working together, it was all a dream in my head! The number of times i thought that we could have had sumnik," he sniffs, and all his Red hair comes loose down his face. Kirishima raises his head to watch something melt in Bakugou's eyes, the fire had calmed under the influence of alcohol.

For a moment, Kirishima could see a flicker of doubt in Bakugou's eyes. "Fucking idiot," Bakugou grunts, shifting in his chair, "We could have had something."

Kirishima blinks.

"Then why did you leave?"

The two of them are up from their seats.

"You know why I left," Bakugou gritted his teeth, their lips strewn apart, "I had to train to be a-"

"Train to be the best hero." Kirishima's sober now, up and about his feet, walking in little circles. "I know you wanted to be the best," he gestures to the ceiling with his hands, "You needed that title. The number one. Only you deserve it." he points at Bakugou's bare chest.

Bakugou shivers at the sudden gesture, as if Kirishima's fingers grew something in his heart. "Then why do you ask, if you fucking know it?"

"Because Katsuki," Kirishima surges forward, eyes closed, "I wanted to know if you'd stay with me."

For the first time in fifteen years, Kirishima watches Katsuki Bakugou break down in front of him. Tears were previously pushed back started leaking in the form of glittered gold, stumbling down his cheeks like waterfalls, and it runs atop Bakugou's lips, those rosy lips that Kirishima dearly wants to kiss.

The tears flow freely, like rivers of molten gold, flowing to the camera, as if it wants to escape the world Bakugou lives in and enter Kirishima's own world, a River that flows into the Sea.

Kirishima doesn't know how to infer Bakugou's dilemma because he isn't anywhere near his best friend. He can't identify the exact creases and frown lines through the small pixels of his screen, he feels horribly useless because Bakugou shouldn't be crying, he wants to engulf Bakugou in his arms and kiss him to make him forget about endless waterfalls, heart breaks, he wants them both to forget it all.

Just for a moment, Kirishima wishes that the two of them were still out there, in Kamino, holding each other's hands like there was no tomorrow.

It takes quite a while for Bakugou to calm down from his ugly crying. His eyeliner runs below his cheeks like dripping chocolate from cake, but he doesn't care. Maybe. Or maybe they're just too drunk and are emotionally numb.

"I miss you too," Bakugou sniffs, rubbing his face on his sweater, fixating Kirishima with the softest glance he'd mustered in that whole night.

It isn't a love confession. But it sounded like one to Kirishima, and that was enough to keep them warm for the rest of the night as they conversed to the ends of the world.

Three years, and Kirishima realizes that Bakugou misses him just as much as he misses them.

Epilogue: The Streetlights Blink; 

As Kirishima stands near the bleak arrival gates, he knows that he's waiting for a man who shares his feelings. He's not conflicted, the stories that revolved around his mind comes to a rest.

For when he stands near the entrance, eyes spotting the tuft of blond hair, he'll open his arms wide enough to engulf the fiery of the Sun, to embrace his beloved and welcome him Home.

When Bakugou presses into his arms and looks back up to his face,  Kirishima would be able to utter the words that he's wanted to utter for three whole years, he'll cup Bakugou's face and kiss him senseless, muttering the same three words again and again for the rest of his life.

I missed you.