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Kirishima Eijirou has been told that he isn't the most observant person on earth more than the amount of fingers on his left hand.
It actually doesn't bother him all that much, and he’s never really taken time out of the day before to analyse if that should be taken as a major insult rather than a fact about him as a person.
Which is why he is particularly proud of himself at the moment.
He’s sitting on the common room sofa, seated next to Ashido, Jirou, and Izuku, he himself is nuzzled up all cosy in the worn down, nest like chape he’s carved out for himself over the time he’s been at UA.
Across from him sits Iida, Ochaco, Sero and denki cuddled up on the floor between Koda’s legs, and Katsuki, smack dab in the middle, nodding along to whatever Kaminari is talking about, with a small frown on his mouth, which is quite typical.
Except,,
Something is wrong.
To everybody else in the common room, much too preoccupied with their own conversations, Katsuki looks relaxed, present and engaged in the conversation-turned-argument that’s playing out just next to him.
But to staring creeps that are in love with him, creeps like himself, Katsuki looks quite distant, far away, somewhere else. Every once and a while, though, he’ll return when he’s tapped on the shoulder, or elbowed by one of the screaming doofuses on the ground, and he’ll kinds,, wince.
Which kinda rubs Eijirou all the wrong way. Just a little bit.
Koda is talking to Katsuki right now, in his ever so hushed voice, and Katsuki is reciprocating, much louder, and watching the curl and stretch of Koda’s lips as he speaks.
Eijirou nearly smacks himself with a hardened fist to will the sudden pang of jealousy that surges through him to go the fuck away.
They finish up their little back and forth with a mutual smile and a shoulder punch on Katsuki’s ever so caring behalf.
Then Kaminari calls his name, practiaclly screams it, begging Katsuki to side with him on whatever bullshit argument he’s still somehow entertaining with Hanta, and Katsuki doesnt move a fucking muscle.
The situation progresses accordingly.
Kaminari grasps Katsuki’s calf and jerks it, and Katsuki nearly blows the dumbasse’s scalp off his head.
To which Kaminari reacts with a screech, then a bite, and immediately follows his bite up with a 20 volt shock to Katsuki’s ankle.
Then, as per usual, the entire common room explodes.
Through all the yelling, Katsuki barely even moves, besides his sudden screaming fits every time Kaminari starts up with more stupid, screaming nonsense.
Eijirou gnaws on his lip, eyes narrowing.
Bakugou Katsuki is deaf as a goddamned bat.
Eijirou has to stop himself from howling out “I figured it out! I’m not a moron like you all think I am!” but he somehow manages.
He’s so very proud, for all of three seconds before the reality hits him like a ten tonne fucking truck.
Bakugou Katsuki is deaf. How long has he been deaf? Has he ever even heard Eijirou’s voice? Has he heard anybody's voice!? What the shit?!
Along with the dread comes an inkling of relief.
He’s assumed that Bakugou relies on lip reading when he’s communicating with people, as he’s never seen any sort of sign-language conversations between him and any of the other classmates, which means 99% of the horribly embarrassing things he’s told to Bakugou, weather it be the middle of the night, or he has just turned his back to Katsuki, had gone completely unheard.
It also means any time Katsuki had outright ignored something he had said, was most likely because he hadn’t fucking heard it.
Eijirou is broken from his inner monologue by another screech, this time Izuku’s, directly in his ear.
Katsuki is hovering over Izuku, glaring daggers at him and screaming nonsense.
Most everybody has cleared from the common room, Hanta and Kaminari had dragged their argument to the kitchen, as they help Ashido and Jirou pre-prepare tomorrow's breakfast, the girls chattering to themselves.
Izuku had managed to flee from where he was trapped between Katsuki and the sofa by lunging over the top of Kirishima, profusely apologising the entire time.
All the others were scattered about, the dining room studying, some students even heading up to the roof along with Iida, with Aizawa sensei’s permission of course, to go stargazing with the man’s new telescope.
Bakugou had sat himself next to Kirishima, thigh to thigh, pressing against his side and burying him further into his little couch nest.
“Wanna head upstairs now?” Eijirou asks, being sure to fully face Katsuki with a smile.
Katsuki simply nods and removes himself from the small Bakugou-shaped dent he’s managed to mould into Kirishima’s existing Me-shaped nest.
He thinks that the two shapes fit together sickeningly well. He almost has to excuse himself to scream with joy slash throw up in the bathroom, but he keeps it under control, nevermind his red hot face.
They make their way upstairs, side by side, nearly hand in hand, which does nothing good to help Eijirou’s twisting gut, and beeline to Bakugou’s dorm room.
His own is far too messy to have anybody over at the moment, and he much prefers the smell of bakugou’s dorm to his own.
His cologne always smells so much more prevalent and heavy in there.
Ew, Eijirou. Creepy. Keep it in your slacks you stalker perv.
Katsuki’s door almost hits him in the ass with how quickly it shuts. He had gotten Aizawa to sign a consent form that allowed him to put these weird weight things on the hinges or something that made the door close almost directly after you opened it, and made it at least ten times heavier.
Katsuki sits himself on his bed, wrinkling the pristine, ironed sheets without a care in the world like he hadn’t spent an entire half-our ironing them this morning.
Eijirou follows, and slowly, gently places himself right up next to Katsuki, careful to leave the sheets straight and crisp as they were when he had arrived.
He almost cries when he looks over to see the way Katsuki kicks his feet up onto the bed and smooshes the wrinkles right into the cover over the sheets.
“You're deaf.” Eijirou states.
It comes off a lot more blunt than intended, but he’s still trying not to barf all over the place as his eyes burn holes into where Bakugou’s feet crease the expensive, silk sheets.
Katsuki scoffs.
“Barely. I can get by without having to learn sign language like some kind of pussy.”
Kirishima rolls his eyes and smiles down at him.
“What-fucking-ever, man, you’re deaf as a goddamned bat.”
Bakugou cackles and plops his head into Kirishima’s lap. Kirishima thoroughly enjoys their tender moments like this. A head of spikey, ash blonde hair in his lap and a hand playing with both of the pockets on the sides of his cargo pants, because BAkugou knows if he only tugs at one, it unbalances, makes everything uneven, and then Kirishima has to spend ten to fifteen minutes evening the sides out or else he’ll rip off his skin and tear his hair out in chunks.
He knows this because Kirishima had told him, just like he wishes Bakugou had told him he was deaf. But whatever, Kirishima got to figure it out, all on his own, like a big smart school boy, and he’s awfully fucking proud of himself.
They sit, content in each other's presence for some time, before Bakugou speaks.
“It’s hard to control my volume, considering I can only really hear myself when I’m screaming. Or when somebody tells me I’m screaming.”
Eijirou buries his hands in Katsuki’s scalp and rolls the individual tufts of hair between his index fingers and thumbs. He hums, before he remembers that Bakugou can’t hear that which almost makes him cry.
Katsuki is looking up at him, at his lips, then his eyes, awaiting an answer.
“Were you deaf when we met?” Eijirou asks, instead of saying something else pathetic and pervasive, like “”oh well golly gee, I'm real glad you've never heard me confess my undying love to pillow-gou in the middle of the night, that would be mortifying.”
Katsuki frowns, then nods, then tells him that, no, technically he wasn’t fully deaf, and still isn’t 100% unable to hear, but he had never really heard Eijirou’s voice to the extent that he had wished he could.
“I hear them, all the time, The girls in 1-B gushing about what a nice voice you have.” Kirishima should put his glasses on, because his brain is starting to conjure up what must be fake tears in Katsuki’s waterline, clinging to his lashes.
“I really wish I could hear you. Sometimes.”
Eijirou’s face is scorching, he must be the ugliest and patchiest shade of red at the moment, all the way down to his toes.
Kirishima must pull a hair or something out of Bskugou’s scalp, because he shoots up and glares at him.
“S-sorry, uhm, shit, sorry.”
They’re face to face now.
Kirishima may not be observative, or very smart, or very anything good really, but he is impulsive as all things holy, terrible at reading social cues, and madly in love with Bakuoug Katsuki, so it isn’t even a question in his mind as to whether or not what he's about to do is appropriate.
Kirishima grasps Bakugou’s wrists, prys his fists apart and wraps shaking, sweating hands around his own throat, two thumbs pressed to the base of his throat where his vocal cords vibrate as he speaks.
Katsuki flushes a terribly gorgeous magenta and his grip tightens, his hands are shaking double the speed and intensity now.
They both know how dangerous this is. The amount of sweat pouring from Katsuki’s palms, the miniscule popping against Eijirou’s neck, the back of it, where black stubble burns beneath Katsuki’s palms fills the room.
It’s an unpleasant and upsettingly romantic smell, and they both look as if they’re on the verge of tears.
“Speak,” Bakugou says, demanding, all but forcing the lump out of his throat with his calloused thumbs.
“I love you.”
It’s all Eijirou is thinking. He has to say it. If he doesn’t he thinks he might explode. Ironic, considering Katsuki is the one with the nitro-sweat.
“I love you, and you’re so beautiful. I’ve always thought you were just so breathtakingly gorgeous.”
Bakugou’s hands tighten around his neck, nervously and fully charged with a deep seeded something.
“You’re voice,, it,” Bakugou exhales and looks just about ready to shake directly out of his skin. He looks exactly how Kirishima feels. “It feels so beautiful.”
It makes no sense, none at all, but it rips a whimper out of Eijirou’s throat. Nobody has said something so obscure yet so fucking raw and honest about him before that was anything good.
Eijirou distantly thinks about how ridiculous they must look right now, or maybe terrifying. Both of them, nearly on the verge of tears, faces so close, god, Eijirou can feral Katsuki’s erratic breaths against his own lips.
He swallows, nervous, and feels his Adam's apple force past Katsuki’s clenched thumbs.
He feels as though he should say something.
“You have gorgeous lips.”
Kirishima doesn’t think he’s ever going to figure out who said it, and he’s got a feeling neither will Bakugou.
“Say something.” Katsuki scoots closer to him and presses his ear up to the very, very small space where his hands aren’t completely wrapped around Eijirou’s throat.
Kirishima doesn’t think Bakugou is going to be able to hear him, he speaks anyways.
“I-I love you. I love you, Bakugou- Katsuki, I love you.”
Katsuki inhales and his hands fall limp against Eijirou’s shoulder.
“I love you too.” and then they’re kissing.
It’s so chaste, their lips barely even touch, and he’s very self conscious all of a sudden about whether or not his breath smells, and if his lips feel as soft as Katsuki's does.
When they pull apart, after awkwardly kind of just,,, touching lips for a while, Bakugou looks so horrifically beautiful.
It’s late, now, nearly dark out, the sun sets on the building in a way that frames Katsuki’s face just perfectly and it makes Kirishima feel so sick to his stomach with an overwhelming love for him.
His jaw is carved out by the golden hour sun, and his facial features are so much more pronounced. His lashes clean, and his eyes shine, red, staring in awe back at Kirishima’s own red eyes, the same feeling smeared across his handsome features as the ones that must be just dripping from Eijirou’s every pore.
Katsuki wraps his hands around Kirishima’s own, laces their fingers together and kisses him on the cheek, to which Eijirou lifts up the both of Katsukis hands and rests his lips there in return.
There's something there, between them, nearly visible, and it mixes with the scent of singed hair and Katsuki’s cologne just right.
Eijirou thinks he can probably forgive Katsuki for the wrinkled sheets as long as he's allowed to stay here forever.