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It was late. To Bakugou it seemed so late it was actually early.
He was waiting in his car on an almost empty parking lot, in the middle of the night, in front of a really loud club.
The music coming from his aux was low, a background noise to occupy the otherwise dead silent vehicle.
Some people were coming out of the club from time to time.
The orange digits were turning one after the other on the car clock.
2:08, he turned the engine off.
…
2:13, no familiar face was getting out. His phone had probably died since he didn’t even receive his texts.
…
2:25, a drunk couple passed by his car bonnet.
…
2:37, the club entry wasn’t free and he was absolutely not paying to get that asshole out of here.
…
2:41, why in hell did he even tell him to get him by 2 o’clock if he was still not outside yet?
…
2:47, the stars were still up there. It was cold. He was falling asleep when he finally appeared.
His hair was a mess, it’s probably the first thing he saw of him. He was holding his jacket on one hand, a random girl under the other arm. Both were staggering. Bakugou sighed and turned the engine back on. The guy waved at him, the girl joined other girls smoking, Bakugou rubbed his eyes awake.
-You’re late, he muttered when the passenger door finally opened.
Kirishima sat as the door was falling closed on him, struggling to get his second foot in.
-Am I ? He asked with a smile, way too loud for the silence Bakugou was comfortable in.
He stank of alcohol. That was also a fact. As real as the mess of his hair, the red on his cheeks, the smile on his lips, the lipstick on his neck.
Bakugou shook his head.
-Fasten your seatbelt. We’re going.
-Sorry for keeping you waiting, apologised Kirishima. Thanks for giving me a lift, man.
The car got out of the parking lot.
2:50.
50 minutes late.
If only it was not yet another Saturday night.
The CD played again. The same songs came and went. The same song stayed stuck in Bakugou’s head, he rewound it. Starting it again.
-The sad Italian song once again huh ? Kirishima huffed. Do you stay awake like this, trying to understand the lyrics?
-You’re jealous because you don’t understand them. Be happy I stayed on this fucking parking lot and didn’t just give up on you.
Kirishima didn’t reply. He must have thought it was dangerous ground at almost 3 in the morning. He wasn’t wrong.
Sono stanco di aspettarti. Arrivi sempre in ritardo.
Orange streetlight after orange streetlight, it felt like the landscape was a visual lullaby.
Another Saturday night as a pro hero.
Another night getting his flatmate out of a club.
Another night to bear the signs of other people kissing his neck, messing with his hair, being in his arms.
Another night gritting his teeth to not confess in a moment he knew Kirishima would not remember.
It was not every week, and it for sure was what kept Bakugou sane enough to come each time.
The redhead shifted, trying to fix his hair.
It had grown long over time, getting now beyond his shoulder blades. A firey mess he tried to tame every morning in their shared bathroom.
-Did you drink any drop of water tonight?
Kirishima looked at him with unfocused eyes, Bakugou could feel his sight on his hands, hair, face. He gripped the steering wheel tighter.
-You usually never ask questions. Let alone about my health.
Kirishima looked back up front and sighed. Dotted line after dotted line. Concrete and concrete and concrete. Bakugou put one arm against his window and rested his head against his fist.
-I had melted ice, Kirishima finally said.
-There’s a water bottle in the glove box, he replied. You better drink it entirely before we get home.
Home.
Their place. The apartment they moved in after graduating and had lived in for almost four years now.
The place he got to see Kirishima waking up in, living in, coming back to after work.
The place Kirishima brought his occasional dates. He hated them. They got to see Kirishima in a way Bakugou never had.
Kirishima brought the bottle to his lips. Bit by bit drinking it down in silence until they reached their building’s parking lot.
The engine was turned down. The music stopped. Seatbelts were unbuckled in silence. The Toyota sign on the steering wheel was sideways.
-I’m sorry.
-Stop being fucking sorry and start being on time.
Bakugou sighed again and went to grab the door handle when Kirishima held on his shoulder.
-Bakugou.
-What?
What was wrong with this guy? Why was he still fucking flawless at 3 am, drunk, tired, dishevelled, late and annoying?
-I think I’m about to throw up.
And about to throw up.
-Fucking, not in my car dumbass! Bakugou blurted out. There’s a curb for this shit!
He pulled the door handle of the passenger seat and pushed Kirishima out in a hurry. He then ran out and joined him on the other side.
He held his hair. The lipstick looked horrible on his neck. He had a red stain on the collar of his t-shirt. Bakugou grew used to it.
-Man I should cut my hair, it’s too long for this.
Bakugou shook his head.
-Your hair is not the problem.
-Right. I should tie it up.
Dumb. Dumb. Dumb.
-Let’s put you to sleep. Wipe your mouth I’m not gonna do it.
-How romantic.
Kirishima did as told and straightened. He wiped his hands on his jeans. Bakugou let go of his hair and locked the car. They got in the building.
The lift ride was silent at first. Kirishima held on to the bar. Bakugou stood, his back against a wall, arms crossed on his chest, waiting for the doors to open. Yet another Saturday night.
-Bakugou.
Bakugou looked at him as a reply.
-I like you.
Drunken confessions aren’t real confessions. Bakugou learned that a while ago. Kirishima looked at him the way we look at a best friend.
He shook his shoulders and adverted his gaze.
The doors opened. The ding resonated quietly. The corridor was dark. Their door opened noiseless, just like it usually did.
-Bakugou.
Bakugou was in front, fidgeting with the keys to get them out of the lock.
-What? He replied under his breath.
-I mean it you know. When I say it.
Bakugou lifted an eyebrow, door open in one hand, keys in the other, turned to face Kirishima.
-You’re drunk. You could marry a fish right now. Get in, wash the mess your face is in and go the fuck to sleep.
-I would marry you if you were the fish.
-I wouldn’t, Bakugou deadpanned.
-Rude.
They got in. A dim light was turned on by Bakugou as Kirishima made his way to the bathroom, using the walls for balance.
He fell. Somewhere between the small corridor and the bathroom door.
-Fuck.
Both of them swore at the same time. Bakugou filled a glass of water and brought him. Kirishima was sat against a wall, head lifted, tilted, eyes lidded.
-M’ tired.
Bakugou kneeled and gave him the glass.
-Can you only imagine how on edge you put me every single time?
Kirishima drank eyes closed. Silence in the entire universe. A strand of red hair defying the laws of gravity, looping on top of his head. Bakugou flattened it.
He brought the glass back to the kitchen. The wooden floor squeaky here and there. He helped Kirishima joining the bathroom, sat him on the rim of the bathtub. Took Kirishima’s face between his hands. He pushed strands of hair aside. Feather light touches. Feather like eyelashes.
-Someday I won’t come for you.
Kirishima’s eyes were impossibly beautiful.
-I know, he simply replied, fidgeting with the hem of Bakugou’s t-shirt.
Bakugou turned around, grabbed a small towel and put it under the tap water. He washed Kirishima’s face and neck. The red marks fading into nothingness. Kirishima’s eyes were not leaving him. Following his every movement and looking for his gaze every single time.
Kirishima broke the everlasting silence. Bakugou was back at the sink.
-Do you know why I do that every time?
The blond stopped mid-air for a second and resumed rinsing the towel.
-The Saturday night nonsense? Bakugou replied.
He had his back turned to him. Kirishima nodded, he saw him in the mirror.
-Nonsense, yeah, the redhead echoed.
He waited a bit before continuing.
-I know that each time, no matter what happens, you’ll come for me. And you’ll take care of me. And you’re amongst the rare ones who care enough to bear with me. And I know that your hands will be in my hair and on my face and you will care about me even though you could swear that you don’t. You do care if you still come so that must be a proof that I am a real human being since another human being cares enough about me to give up on his sleep routine one day a week to take care of me.
He shook his head.
-I’m talking nonsense. What I’m trying to—
-Kirishima, Bakugou stopped him.
-I would never do that every Saturday night I can to someone whose hands I didn’t want in my hair and on my face.
Bakugou dried his hands facing Kirishima. The lipstick stained towel was resting on the heater.
-You don’t know what you’re saying.
-I know what I’m saying, Bakugou. I’m done waiting and craving and making out with strangers in hopes to replace you. I’m drunk, Bakugou, not a liar.
The blond shook his head once again. Shaking away any form of thought. The day Kirishima would confess sober, he would take him seriously. No matter how real his 3am monologues sounded.
-Come back tomorrow if you really mean it, he replied dryly, putting away the towel he had in his hands.
Kirishima’s eyes lost their spark.
-Brush your teeth, Kirishima, he continued tiredly, rubbing his own face.
The redhead got up slowly, paying attention to his balance, and embraced him. Forehead on Bakugou’s shoulder, arms around his torso, eyes shut. Skin on skin.
-My head spins.
Bakugou let go and held him.
-You’re tired.
He brushed his teeth by himself. Bakugou locking the door and turning the living room light off in the meantime. The cold bathroom light fell in the corridor. The scenery almost cinematic. A very domestic routine engraved in their shared life.
Tap water noise. Water glass noise. Everything put back in place, ready for the next brushing the day after.
Kirishima emerged from the door frame. Sluggishly walked towards his own room. Turned yet another dim light on. Bakugou shut the bathroom light.
-Goodnight Bakugou, Kirishima said before shutting his door.
Darkness. Silence. Each of Bakugou’s steps to his room so loud it seemed deafening. And he went to sleep again.
For how long had it lasted ? When had it even started? A few months at least, a bit less than a year at most. Restraining to take seriously the poems leaving his flatmate’s mouth every time he went to get him from a club drunk as hell. Driving him and the stains of other people home. Touching his hair, his face, his arms, his neck, but never quite how he would like to.
”Come back tomorrow if you really mean it.”
But he never once came back.
Kirishima drunk was a common occurence. Kirishima the nostalgic, Kirishima the weary, Kirishima the poet, Kirishima the comic, Kirishima the laugher. All of them went through their apartment door at least once, some hour of the early morning, Bakugou knew them all.
He always warned him of the one time he wouldn’t pick him up, but this time never happened. Because Bakugou got to run his hands over tender skin and made an excuse of Kirishima being drunk. Who could judge him ? Kirishima the poet told him times and times again how he craved his touch.
Sunday mornings after the Saturday night nonsense always hit like a brick. Kirishima always in a worse state than Bakugou. An aspirin for the redhead, a strong coffee for the blond.
Bakugou always woke up before him on these days and spent most of the day by himself.
For some reason, sunset always came faster when the day started at 11 rather than at 7 in the morning.
-Want to eat something ?
One of the only complete sentences heard in the apartment this day. The sun hadn’t disappeared quite yet, bathing the whole city in a mix of orange and pink light.
-Do we have leftovers or something ? Kirishima asked.
He was sprawled on the sofa, watching some show on the TV.
Bakugou put two portions of rice to cook and reheated a bunch of vegetables. They ate together on the kitchen table, voices from the TV filling the silence for a while.
-Do you ever remember anything from nights like yesterday? Bakugou finally spoke.
Kirishima lifted his gaze from the rice bowl he was holding.
-Like a dotted line. But it depends on what happens really, he replied.
Bakugou grunted and resumed eating.
-Sorry again about yesterday night.
-Did you even know this girl?
Kirishima huffed a laugh.
-Is it bad if I ask which girl?
-The one you got out of the club with. She went for a smoke when you left her.
The redhead nodded.
-She didn’t tell me her name, I remember that. I was wondering what name would suit her at some point. I was thinking of Rikako.
Bakugou didn’t reply. Chopstick noises against the bowl.
-She didn’t ask for my name either.
-Because she knew who you are asshole, your face is on the fucking news every week, he stated without lifting his gaze.
-That was oddly aggressive for some reason, laughed Kirishima looking at his bowl.
Bakugou grunted. Orangey tint everywhere. Everything grew a bit darker every minute.
-When do your memories stop about yesterday night?
-They don’t really stop at a certain point, it’s like blanks here and th— wait did something happen?
Bakugou huffed a laugh.
-Nothing out of the usual, he replied, finishing his bowl.
He got up and put it in the sink. Kirishima finished as well and brought his own in the sink.
-You wash, I dry ?
Bakugou opened the tap as a reply.
-I remember the Italian song, puking and brushing my teeth, Kirishima continued. I think. Then I woke up. I know you talked to me but the words blend together.
-Hmm.
Bakugou washed the bowls, chopsticks and glasses. Kirishima dried them and put them in place on the various shelves and drawers. He turned a light on.
-What about a movie tonight? Kirishima asked when they were almost done. You’re on evening shift tomorrow right?
-I was more into social media scrolling until I pass out for tonight, Bakugou replied, drying his hands.
Kirishima laughed.
-You could do that in front of the TV.
This man had no business being this pretty on a Sunday night after a hangover.
They watched a movie. Bakugou on his phone the whole time, showing interesting things to Kirishima from time to time. A new song from an artist they both liked, an advertising for some protein bar, a front cover featuring Kirishima on some news website.
Kirishima snuggled a bit closer every time. Bakugou didn’t complain. The redhead had used body wash as shampoo again, his hair didn’t smell like his usual shampoo. He better not complain when the red hair dye would come off due to lack of care.
Without really paying attention to it, Bakugou grew tired. His eyes getting heavier and heavier as the movie went.
-You said you liked me, he blurted out under his breath at some point.
He was probably as surprised as Kirishima when he heard himself. Praying to whoever made things the way they were that the redhead didn’t hear anything. An impossible wish since they sat against each other.
-Fuck, replied Kirishima after a while. Sorry about that.
Empty words. Empty confessions. Meaningless drunken poems. Shells of feelings he thought could be reciprocated. He had thought wrong entirely. Who was the fucking dumbass now?
Bakugou grunted and nodded.
-Hope I was not too exhausting, continued the redhead laughing.
-You only say that maybe one night out of three, huffed the blond.
Kirishima moved against Bakugou to change position. Probably out of embarrassment. To fill a blank with a visual change. He laughed slightly.
-You really don’t remember any of it?
Kirishima shook his head from left to right. The TV blew some random advertisement. The movie had just ended.
-Nothing, he replied. When did I say that ?
-In the lift and in the bathroom.
The shock on Kirishima’s face had Bakugou wanting to grab his fucking face to burry his own lips on him.
-Twice?!
-You were pretty insistant.
-Damn kill me now, that must’ve been so embarrassing, Kirishima laughed.
His cheeks were tinted. Bakugou could see it even though the now sole light came from the TV. Two advertisements rolled.
-I told you ‘come back tomorrow if you really mean it’.
Why in hell had he said that? Why. In hell. Had he said that? FucK.
-What do you mean? Kirishima asked, the borders of his mouth going up and up.
-What the fuck do you think I mean? You were drunk as hell, you say whatever the fuck when you’re drunk.
-What else did I say?
The redhead repositioned himself yet again. Probably out of worry this time. Brows furrowed. Arms crossed high and tightly on his chest.
If he followed his body language, there might be a lot more of truth in his drunken words than Bakugou thought there was. A ping of what could be hope. Hands tingling to touch.
-A lot of things, he replied with the hint of a smile. A small hint. Unnoticeable he hoped.
Fuck you Bakugou Katsuki, avoiding the topic is not the way to know how he feels. Man up.
-Was I embarrassing? Kirishima wondered with a quiet voice.
Colors from the screen shifting on his face. A green toned advertisement. Kirishima’s hair looked black at this instant. Bakugou would only have to crawl slightly and they would be touching again.
-Depends if you meant it or not.
There. He said it. Blurted it out so it would stop rattling his thoughts. He feigned interest in that green advertisement.
-It’s not midnight yet, the redhead stated.
The ad turned red as he turned his gaze.
It was still tomorrow.
Lights in Kirishima’s eyes. Was the moment right to grab an arm? A hand? An ankle? Something that meant skin on skin and soul to soul? Bakugou gripped his phone tighter.
-It’s not midnight yet, he echoed.
Come back tomorrow if you really mean it. Sweatpants, old t-shirts, overworn socks, imperfections everywhere in the way things were. And still.
No one moved. The ad changed, the colors changed and it seemed that everything was gone. The blond gazed at the TV again.
How long would they have to beat around the bush? Man up, Bakugou, man up. He only needed to be bold, just a little, just enough to unlock everything he ever wished.
They watched the TV but who really cared about what was airing?
Bakugou looked at Kirishima again. The redhead’s gaze hadn’t left him.
-Do you—
-Stop it, Bakugou interrupted him.
He crawled. Skin on skin. Soul to soul. Lips on lips and hands holding jawlines. Brutal. Eager. Hurried. Rushed. Lips, tongues, a hand grasping an arm, a leg replaced for comfort. An explosion on an old sofa. Eyes closed, no color to matter. Nothing else to exist.
Kirishima’s jawline to explore. The neck he finally got to taste. And lips eating lips and lips and lips. No random girl. No lipstick. He messed with his hair. He held him. He kissed him.
How they were, they didn’t really know. Two bodies tangled. It had no importance. Skin on skin. Heart to heart. Sweatpants, old t-shirts, overworn socks. And lips eating lips and lips and lips.
Kirishima held back for a second. He breathed. He was alive. They breathed. They were alive.
-I’m not drunk, he stated.
-You better not fucking be cause else I’ll—
-I like you Bakugou.
-Thank you fucking God.
And Bakugou crawled again. And he swore he never wanted the feeling to end.