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When Shinsou’s woken up, he finds himself immediately irritated, squinting up at the harsh white of the overhang light in the common room, only to find another body sitting next to him.
“Use your fucking phone light next time,” the person grumbles, and the bright light is quickly turned off.
“Sorry Bakugou!” Another whisper-yells, and soon enough, once the ding of the elevator has been heard, the common room’s silent once more.
Someone with blond hair and piercing red eyes, eyes that look like burning embers of someone long hurt and long-awaiting some kind of forgiveness, compassion, understanding.
The smoke clears, and Bakugou Katsuki appears from the rosy tinted hue his sleep-ridden brain has cast over the blond, though he’s still something incredibly and excruciatingly beautiful.
He blinks, once, twice, thrice — and the haze doesn’t fade away.
“Hey,” Bakugou murmurs in the quiet, and Shinsou absently wonders at the absurdity of a quiet Bakugou Katsuki, even after the countless vulnerable moments they’ve shared in the dark . “ You’re sleeping in the fucking common room again, did you mean to?”
Shinsou blinks again, and he feels something light in his chest, something that feels a lot like affection — of warm sunny days, of laying in the grass with his head in Bakugou’s lap, of daydreaming and hoping for that one singular moment to last forever. He thinks of the numerous days of dozing off while the blond recounts his days as a hero course student, going over his tales of far too young and still far too reckless heroes being thrown to the curb before they need to be, of being exposed to the world long before they were supposed to.
Before they were ready to.
He thinks of warm lips pressing against his own, of smoke going from one boy’s lungs to the other’s, saccharine sweet breaths, pure loving caresses of smoke, teeth, and tongue. He thinks of the after, of murmured words reeking of fond notes from a mouth usually so incredibly vulgar and crass and yet still completely endearing.
Bakugou will spit out curses left and right, all while rubbing his thumb over bruised knuckles, while he cooks your favorite meals, while he makes sure you know his affection for you — Bakugou Katsuki is anything but unloving. He’ll place his heart in your hands, fully trusting, fully believing in your own love for him.
Shinsou’s never been more in love, he’s found.
“So’ry,” Shinshou mutters, groggy and bleary-eyed, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”
“Nah,” Bakugou replies, softly, “you need all the sleep you can get.” His tone shifts to something slighter harsher, and he drops a hand into violet hair, into unruly locks that seem to be unbrushed despite Shinsou brushing it himself not even a few hours before, and ruffles it gently.
Bakugou’s always been gentle, he’s found.
He breathes in, and exhales in one long drawn out puff of air, nothing but love and melted candy floss seeping through the bits and cracks in his expression.
Shinsou sits up, rubbing his eyes with one hand, the other long commandeered by the blond, and laughs lightly. He watches, when his eyes can see with much more clarity, that the rest of the room is empty, there’s only one small lamp on, and that there’s a familiar crochet blanket covering them both.
“How long was I out?” Shinsou asks, curious. He eyes the clock on the wall, but he can’t seem to make out the numbers in the darkness. The lamp near them is only bright enough to see a few feet out, and Bakugou’s all he can see.
He’s definitely not complaining, the blond looks almost too pretty to be real, especially when he’s not twisting his face in anger or disgust, and especially when he’s tired, he’s noticed.
“Past twelve,” Bakugou murmurs, and Shinsou feels a pang of fondness slowly seeping through him. “You haven’t been sleeping well.” The unspoken I didn’t want to wake you up rings loud in the quiet.
Shinsou smiles, the edges of his mouth lilting upwards with newly practiced ease, and says, “thanks, Katsuki.”
He watches, barely visible in the faint light, as Bakugou’s ears turn red. The blond grumbles under his breath, but Shinsou still catches a word or two about stupid hitoshi.
“Wanna go to bed now?” He asks, and Bakugou raises an eyebrow in silent question.
Yours or mine?
He entwines his already captured hand with the blond’s even further, locking their fingers together and pulling both of them from the couch. They lean on each other while they’re waiting for the elevator to drift down, and when it arrives, Shinsou pushes the button that’s clearly labeled for the fourth floor.
He hears a chuckle from beside him, and chooses to ignore it.
Only when they arrive and fall into Bakugou’s caramel-smelling bed, tangled together with the blond’s head shoved in Shinsou’s neck, do they say anything.
“Thank you for letting me sleep,” Shinsou whispers. His breath fans across the blond’s ear, and Shinsou feels him shiver and shove his head further in the lilac-haired boy’s neck, and he laughs quietly. “I know you like to go to bed early.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Bakugou whispers back, “you needed sleep more than I did. I know how you get when you wake up alone.”
He feels the blond kiss his collarbone, a soft press of lips, and melts.
“Go to sleep, baby,” Shinsou murmurs.
“ Fuck you,” Bakugou replies, already falling asleep. Soon enough, he hears the blond’s soft snores.
Because Shinsou’s already slept for a bit, he can’t fall back asleep easily. He shifts Bakugou to help him cuddle closer, and breathes in vanilla shampoo and caramel sweat.
He trails his hand across the top of the covers, not quite expecting his finger to catch on a soft piece of what feels to be yarn . His hand fumbles, grasping it and pulling it up, coming face to face with his blanket.
Bakugou must have dragged it up to their room for him. He smiles, and rubs the blanket between his fingers.
He falls back asleep easily for the first time in what feels like forever, and it’s nice.