Archive of Our Own

“Hey, Kirishima?”

“What's up?”

Izuku presses a finger to Kirishima’s scalp. “Your roots are showing.”

Silence follows Izuku’s blunt statement as Kirishima stills beneath his finger, body going rigid. After another long second ticks by on the clock on the wall, Kirishima jumps, knocking Izuku’s hand away as he jerks his upper body around from where he’s sitting on the common room’s couch to look up at Izuku standing behind him. “You’re kidding.”

Izuku shakes his head and has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep the chuckles bubbling up in his chest from escaping as he watches Kirishima’s eyes go almost comically wide. “You’re kidding,” he breathes out as he turns back around, grabbing for his phone which was resting on the couch beside his thigh. Kirishima clicks it on, fingers moving so fast that Izuku only caught a glimpse of what is pictured on his lock screen. His heart does a weird thump in his chest because is that—?

“You’re not kidding!” Kirishima practically whines, snapping Izuku’s attention back into focus and away from whatever he may have seen. Kirishima had opened the camera app and is now frantically patting his hair in different directions to get a better look at his roots, which unfortunately for Kirishima, are no longer red. At the sight of at least several centimeters of black in his front camera, Kirishima gives a sound that is close to a whimper and drops his phone onto his lap, apparently unable to look at the state of his hair any longer. His head falls against the back of the couch with a heavy thunmp and he looks up at Izuku in obvious despair. “How did this happen!”

“Hair grows.” Kirishima pouts at that and Izuku can’t stop his chuckle this time. The sound only makes Kirishima’s pout deepen. “I’m more surprised that you didn’t already know.”

“I’ve been busy!” Kirishima sinks deeper into the couch, head no longer tilted back. He’s sulking, Izuku realizes. “There was the test on Thursday, that research paper due Friday we’ve been working on for over a month, and I was out training basically all day yesterday with Bakugou. So, I wasn’t really paying attention.” Kirishima smacks his hands against his face with a groan. “I can’t believe I’ve been walking around like this!”

Izuku reaches out without much thought, hand ready and willing to be placed on top of Kirishima’s head to comfort him, but he stops with the appendage hovering in the air when he realizes what he is about to do. His heart jumps into his throat, suddenly nervous. Izuku tries to swallow it back down because he really shouldn’t be. But he can’t help it. It’s the middle of the day on a Sunday and they’re in the commons room where anyone can come through. People are already around; Sato is in the kitchen and Ojiro and Hagakure are at the tables. They could easily look over at any second. But that shouldn’t matter, Izuku tells himself.

It shouldn’t matter because Kirishima is his boyfriend, and everyone already knows that.

With new conviction, and purposely ignoring how hard his heart is beating, Izuku lets his hand gently, hesitantly, drop on top of Kirishima’s head. He could feel the body under him stiffen but almost immediately relax again. Kirishima leans his head back into Izuku’s touch, the action making it harder for Izuku to continue ignoring his racing heart. Kirishima has his hair down, like he usually does on days he doesn’t plan on going anywhere, which allows Izuku’s fingers to move easily through the loose locks. His hair is always shockingly soft to Izuku, especially since he knows how much product Kirishima uses on a daily basis.

It’s a struggle to remember that he’s supposed to be responding. “It’s not that noticeable.”

“You’re just lying to make me feel better,” Kirishima mumbles from beneath the hands still pressed against his face.

“I’m not lying. I didn’t notice until you let your hair down.” Izuku runs his fingers through Kirishima’s hair in an awkward ruffle, just knowing his cheeks are flushed. He can’t help but glance toward the kitchen, hand twitching to hide behind his back, but no one is even paying attention to them. Izuku releases a small breath and relaxes, leaving his hand where it is, content in feeling Kirishima lean into his ministrations.

Public affection, especially towards a significant other, is completely unknown territory to him. Izuku’s never had many friends, and he’s never been in a relationship before. Wanting to touch, wanting to be near, and having someone want to touch him, be near him, are such new desires and feelings that they render Izuku motionless in how overwhelming it can be.

Izuku can remember vividly the first time Kirishima held his hand. The morning after their first official date as Izuku left the dorms for class, Kirishima surprisingly joined him since he normally always walked with Kacchan to and from school. As they talked, Kirishima’s fingers brushed against Izuku’s own before they gently grabbed on. Izuku stopped dead in his tracks, absolutely flabbergasted as he stared down at their hands because that was the first time since kindergarten that anyone had held his hand, and Kirishima had initiated it which meant he wanted to hold Izuku’s hand. Kirishima took his wide eyes and frozen posture the wrong way, immediately moving to let go with an apology, but Izuku latched back onto Kirishima’s hand maybe a little too hard to keep him from pulling away. Izuku had no idea how to voice what he was feeling at that moment— happiness, anxiety, euphoria— only able to utter the word stay past the lump in his throat. Izuku must have looked so silly, eyes wet and visibly on the verge of crying at holding hands, but Kirishima gave him the brightest smile, his own cheeks dusted a handsome cherry red that made the lump in Izuku’s throat only grow. Kirishima held his hand all the way to the classroom.

Kirishima has been so patient with him, talking about how everything was also new for him and that they could take things as slowly as Izuku wanted. But Izuku doesn’t want to go too slow because underneath his obvious awkwardness is excitement. An excitement for trying and feeling all these new things he’s never had the chance to before. It always was at the back of Izuku’s mind, what it must feel like to be with someone romantically, and now he is beginning to understand why there are so many songs, and books, and movies about it. It’s overwhelming in all the best ways possible.

“You’re totally lying.” Kirishima lowers his hands and peers up at Izuku through his long lashes. Izuku’s ears burn. “You know it’s not manly to lie.”

“I-I’m not lying!” Izuku stutters, flustered. Kirishima’s face scrunches up before he cracks the grin he had been trying to suppress, which finally makes Izuku realize that Kirishima is trying to fluster him. “You’re such a jerk,” Izuku says as he shoves Kirishima’s head down and removes his hand, trying to keep his boyfriend from seeing the smile worming its way onto his face. From the way Kirishima is snickering, Izuku probably didn’t shove him away fast enough.

Yeah, liking someone is definitely overwhelming but in all the right ways.

“But seriously,” Izuku says after listening to Kirishima laugh quietly for a long moment, the sound filling his chest with something pleasant and warm— affection, Izuku can rightly name now. “I really don’t think it’s that bad.”

“You’re the one who pointed it out,” Kirishima reminds him as he sinks back against the couch, grabbing his phone from off his lap to once again open the camera app.

“Yeah,” Izuku says, watching his boyfriend’s face through the phone screen. His tongue pokes out a little from his lips as his eyes intensely focus on his hair. Cute is the first word that pops into Izuku’s mind, and he has to look away, the stubborn blush refusing to leave his cheeks. “Because picture day is tomorrow.”

The silence goes on a little too long and Izuku looks back down, finding Kirishima stiff as a board. Izuku leans over the back of the couch a little, placing a hand on Kirishima’s shoulder. “Kirishima?”

Kirishima lowers his phone slowly. “Picture day?”

“Mm-hm,” Izuku affirms. “For the yearbook.”

“For the yearbook,” Kirishima echoes, staring straight ahead at the TV show he stopped watching when Izuku came over. Right as Izuku is going to ask him if he is okay, Kirishima gasps and jumps up from the couch. “Oh my gosh, I knew I was forgetting something!”

Izuku watches him scramble for the TV remote to turn off his show before tossing it back onto the cushions where it will without a doubt get lost, again. Izuku doesn’t even have time to point out that maybe he should put it on the coffee table instead before Kirishima is rounding the couch and placing a quick kiss on his cheek. Izuku’s mind goes effectively blank like it always does when Kirishima kisses him.

Kirishima, Izuku has found, loves to kiss him. On the cheek, on the forehead, on the back of his hands. And Kirishima seems to have no fear when it comes to showing that kind of affection in public, unlike Izuku. It nearly startled Izuku out of his skin the first time Kirishima causally bent down and pressed a kiss to his temple as he left the table one evening after dinner, saying goodnight with his words and lips. Izuku proceeded to spill the water he had been about to drink down the front of his shirt, face aflame, and Uraraka teased him for days.

It took a lot longer for Izuku to work up the courage to do the same, even as it became a routine of sorts for Izuku to guess when and where each day Kirishima would show his affection next. But he was determined, and it was one day between classes when everyone was grouped up together to talk before the next lesson that Izuku stole the papers from Iida’s hands that he was about to pass out, walked into Kirishima’s group unannounced, slammed a piece of paper onto his desk, and then placed probably the worst kiss to his cheek. Izuku then quickly walked away, cheeks bright red and practically steaming, leaving Kacchan’s dramatic gagging and Kaminari’s whistling behind him. Though, after he gave the papers back to Iida with an apology, he glanced over his shoulder to see Kirishima touching his cheek, a giddy smile on his scarlet face.

After that day, Izuku started to take the initiative more, but he still leaves the majority of the public displays of affection up to Kirishima who seems to have a knack for it. And even though they are small and happen basically every day, every kiss leaves Izuku tingling. The one just now is no exception.

Kirishima’s lips leave his skin, body stepping away, and Izuku stares after him. “I have to go fix this ASAP. Thank you, thank you, for pointing it out. You’re my hero!” And like a summer’s breeze, Kirishima is already rushing away and towards the elevator, leaving Izuku feeling oddly cold.

Izuku’s mouth moves before he can even think. “Kirishima, wait!”

Kirishima pauses mid-step and turns back to Izuku, tilting his head in question. Izuku feels his heartbeat pick up. “Do you…” He starts, feeling a little awkward and nervous for no good reason. He twiddles his fingers. “Do you need any help?”

Kirishima’s eyes go wide in surprise, but soon he’s grinning and offering a hand out to Izuku, who doesn’t hesitate in taking it.

“Have you ever done this before?”

Izuku stares down at the box dye Kirishima handed him, eyes scanning over all the information on the back. These are definitely words Izuku knows, but he has never seen them put together in this formation before. What does multi-tonal even mean? Izuku looks over at Kirishima who paused in his rummaging through the box he pulled out from under his bed. He looks back at Izuku when Izuku took too long to respond, a humorous glint in his eyes. “I’ll take that as a no.”

Izuku grins sheepishly in return and looks back down at the box as if it will give him more clues. “You’d be right.”

“Not even for Halloween?” Kirishima resumes his rummaging.

Izuku shakes his head. “Nope, never. I wore wigs, usually.” He looks back at Kirishima kneeling on the ground pulling items from the box. A plastic bowl, a red-stained towel, one of those brushes with the long, thin handle, and a handful of other containers with labels too small for Izuku to read from where he currently stands. Izuku can only vaguely guess what each item could be used for. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah, ‘course, man!” Kirishima seems to finish grabbing everything they will need, pushing the box back under the bed, and collecting all the items in his arms. He grins at Izuku as he walks past him and into the bathroom, where Izuku can hear all the items clanking against the countertop. “I’m a master at this.”

“I won’t be getting in the way, will I?” Izuku fiddles with the box in his hands. He wasn’t really thinking when he asked to help Kirishima with his hair; this isn’t something he would normally do. But helping would mean spending more time with Kirishima and spending more time with Kirishima makes Izuku’s stomach flutter in excitement. But the excitement fizzles and dies a little at the thought that maybe he will only be a hindrance. Maybe Kirishima didn’t even want him to help in the first place. Mina probably would’ve been better—

Izuku blinks out of his thoughts as a hand cards through his hair, callouses getting caught briefly on his curls. Kirishima ruffles his hair, smile nothing but radiant. “As if that could ever happen.” His touch lingers before it disappears altogether, leaving Izuku with red cheeks and a jittery heart as he watches Kirishima walk past him and to his closet. “I’m super excited that you’re helping me out. I’ll guide you through everything, so no need to worry, okay?”

Right, there’s no need to worry. Izuku relaxes and goes to reply with something along the lines of I’m trusting you or maybe more boldly I’ll blame you for any mistakes then, but the words stop dead in his throat because Kirishima’s hands are grabbing the hem of his shirt and lifting it up and oh my god he’s taking it off—

The cardboard box crumples like a wet noddle in Izuku’s hands. The sound of the items inside crunching together takes Izuku’s attention away from the expansion of exposed skin growing before his eyes and to what he’s about to break. With a yelp, he drops the box of red dye before he can completely destroy it, eyes locking on the now misshapen box as it hits the floor.

He can’t look back up, which is crazy because he’s seen Kirishima shirtless before, many, many times. Swimming, changing in the locker room, and Kirishima’s Hero outfit leaves the entirety of his chest exposed. But they’re dating now, and they’re alone in Kirishima’s room on a day when the dorms are mostly empty, and this feels completely different from all those other times, and Izuku thinks the room has just become twenty degrees hotter.

“Shit, man.” Izuku almost screams when Kirishima appears before him. He flicks his eyes between the wall and Kirishima, unable to watch him as he bends down to pick up the damaged box from the floor. His shirt is completely gone, and Izuku can see the muscles in his shoulders working. Izuku frantically looks away when Kirishima straightens up and peers into the box to inspect the contents. “You nearly busted the plastic.”

Izuku’s whole body feels like it’s on fire. “I-I’m so sorry! I don’t what happened, I wasn’t paying attention. I’ll pay you back if anything is—”

“That was kinda hot.”

Izuku loses all his words as his mouth goes as dry as a desert. His eyes finally snap up to meet Kirishima’s in his utter shock because did Kirishima really just say that? The first thing he notices is that Kirishima’s cheeks are tinged a pretty pink. The second thing he notices is that Kirishima is smirking at him, a hint of sharp teeth peaking between his lips. Izuku has no idea if it’s a teasing smirk or something else because his system is stuttering to a stop, brain no longer in commission, because all he can think is Kirishima is shirtless and thinks I’m hot.

After floundering for a good five seconds, Izuku finally manages to respond with an intelligent, “Huh?”

Kirishima takes a step closer, and Izuku takes a step back. He only manages half a step, though, because his legs are soon knocking back against Kirishima’s half shelf, halting him and allowing Kirishima to successfully enter his space. Even though Kirishima isn’t that much taller than Izuku, in this situation, where their chests are nearly touching and with Izuku precariously leaning back against the waist-high shelf, it almost feels like Kirishima is looming over him. Izuku’s heart tries to break free of his ribs.

Kirishima’s eyes drop to his shoulders then his arms. Can he hear Izuku’s pounding heart because it’s the loudest thing in his own ears, because holy shit, Kirishima is really close. “How much can you bench press again?”

Izuku swallows thickly. “H-how much?”

“Mm-hm,” Kirishima hums, voice low. It sends a shiver straight down his spine. Kirishima’s eyes come back up to meet Izuku’s, and Izuku can’t help but look away. It feels a little hard to breathe.

“Around 150 kilos.” Izuku’s voice sounds oddly tight to his own ears. He clears his throat and shifts, hearing something behind him fall over. He tries to peer over his shoulder, but the angle is bad. When his eyes move back to Kirishima, the boy doesn’t even seem worried about the state of his shelf. “M-maybe 200.”

Kirishima’s eyes widen a fraction. “Without your quirk?” Izuku nods, not having much faith in his voice at the present moment. “Wow,” Kirishima breathes, the airy word bouncing off of Izuku’s cheek and making him shiver. Izuku swallows again, and the red eyes practically sparkling in a wonderment Izuku normally would find cute flickers down to his throat before coming back up with a whole different gleam to them. Lidded, hazy, and intense in a way that leaves Izuku dizzy.

“That’s really hot,” Kirishima whispers.

Izuku’s knees feel a little weak.

And then Kirishima is leaning in, closer and closer, and right as Izuku’s breath catches their lips meet. Just like with the small kisses Kirishima presses to his cheeks and hands, Izuku’s body is filled with a tingling sensation but only fifty times stronger. Izuku lets his eyes slip close as his core fills with electricity. Overwhelming, but in all the right ways.

The kiss starts hesitant and sweet but grows into something more as Kirishima’s free hand moves to grasp at Izuku’s bicep and Izuku’s palms come up to rest against Kirishima’s chest, feeling a pounding heart and hot skin beneath his fingertips. This has been happening recently when they’re both alone and find their lips connecting. The kisses begin to last longer and longer, the both of them becoming breathless more often than not, and their hands start to explore places they’ve never been before.

It’s new, a little scary, but absolutely exhilarating.

But right now, the slight pain of having Izuku’s lower back pinched against a metal shelf keeps the fog from completely taking over his being. They’re supposed to be doing something. Something that isn’t kissing. With some reluctance, he breaks away, panting a little as he pushes back a little against Kirishima’s chest to keep him from trying to chase his lips. “A-aren’t we supposed to be dyeing your hair?”

“Are we?” Kirishima still tries to lean back in, forcing Izuku to lift a hand up as a barricade. He can both see and feel the pout Kirishima gives when his lips meet nothing but palm. Izuku finds it kind of adorable, which helps lessen some of that building tension between them.

“Yes.” Izuku rolls his eyes but smiles; he can’t help but smile. “We only have today to do this. Picture day is tomorrow, remember?”

Kirishima gives what sounds like a very thoughtful hum before removing Izuku’s hand. “I think I like the idea of kissing you more.” He dives back in, but Izuku turns his head, causing Kirishima’s lips to land on the corner of his mouth instead of their intended destination. If Kirishima kisses him again, Izuku probably won’t be able to stop.

“You say that now, but I think you’ll change your mind in the morning.”

“I won’t!” Kirishima whines, nose nuzzling into his cheek. “One more. Please?”

Izuku squirms and laughs. “Okay, one more.” Kirishima perks up instantly at that, already moving in, but Izuku’s hand is once again there to stop him. “After we do your hair.”

Izuku can feel Kirishima purse his lips at him. “You’re cruel.”

“I’m not that cruel.” Izuku glances down, suddenly once again very aware of how one of his hands is still pressed against Kirishima’s toned chest. His still very naked toned chest. Izuku’s fingers twitch reflectively, the muscles soft and pliant under them. Sweat drips down the back of his neck. Izuku forces his eyes back up before he truly starts staring, but lifting his eyes just means seeing Kirishima grinning smugly back at him.

“Like what you see?” Kirishima teases, and Izuku feels heat flash through his body, and he just knows his face is burning a hundred times brighter than Kirishima’s hair. He pushes Kirishima away from him, removing any and all contact between the two of them, and abruptly turns around to face the shelf. Kirishima only laughs a beautiful, bright sound that does nothing to help Izuku’s unsteady heart.

“W-why are you shirtless anyways?” With shaky fingers, Izuku starts to straighten up the books and knickknacks they knocked over earlier. Anything to get him to stop thinking about Kirishima’s lips and honest-to-god gorgeous chest.

“Are you complaining?” Izuku isn’t complaining, but it is a distraction. His lack of response makes Kirishima snicker behind him. “I was just gonna change into an old shirt to be safe.” Something is then thrown on top of Izuku’s head, something soft. “Here, you should probably change too.”

“Oh, thanks,” Izuku says as he grabs the shirt. It’s grey with a random gym logo on the front, the design faded and chipping in places which shows the shirt’s obvious age. He watches as Kirishima, who thankfully has a shirt on now, a red one that looks like old Crimson Riot merch, passes him and heads into the bathroom.

“I’ll get everything set up! Do you mind if I play some music?”

“Not at all.” Izuku begins to change as he hears the sounds of items being moved around and then faint music which is probably coming from Kirishima’s phone. Izuku throws his own shirt onto Kirishima’s bed and slips the new one on. It’s a little long, and it hugs his upper arms and chest a bit snugly, but it fits well enough and is comfortable, perfect in case of any mess. It also smells like Kirishima’s cologne. Doing his best to shove down his blush at that thought, Izuku goes to join Kirishima in the bathroom.

Kirishima is standing at the sink, a spray bottle in one hand and a brush in the other, seeming to be wetting his hair. “What can I do?” Izuku asks as he stands in the doorway.

“You can start mixing together the stuff in that bowl.” Kirishima glances over at him, and Izuku watches as he looks back at the mirror before almost immediately snapping his eyes back to Izuku. Kirishima’s eyes bounce around his figure, focusing on everything and nothing. Kirishima then clears his throat and turns his attention back to his hair. “There sound be no streaks when you’re done.”

The blush returns to Izuku’s face, but it’s okay because Kirishima’s blushing too. “Got it.” Smiling a little to himself, Izuku walks deeper into the bathroom and grabs the bowl and the plastic spoon beside it. He begins mixing, and it’s comfortable, the air between them. Izuku asks questions, and Kirishima happily answers as he works at dampening his hair.

At some point, Kirishima’s hairbrush becomes a faux microphone as he sings along in broken English to the rock song, banging his head to the rhythm which only causes droplets of water to be flung onto the mirror and Izuku himself. Izuku hip-bumps Kirishima in retaliation and Kirishima bumps him back harder, nearly causing Izuku to drop the red dye mixture all over the floor. But after the almost heart attack, Izuku begins to laugh and presses back against Kirishima as Kirishima passes over their pretend microphone, the both of them now singing along to the music. They stop abruptly when there is a harsh pounding on the wall, Kacchan’s muffled but still very loud voice yelling at them to shut the hell up! Kirishima shouts back an apology before sharing a look with Izuku, and they giggle and laugh as quietly as they can with sheepish grins.

Soon, though, Kirishima is sitting down on the toilet seat in front of Izuku who stares down at his gloved hands uncertainly as he listens to Kirishima explain the process. “…once it’s all on, we wait for about thirty minutes before rinsing it out. And then boom! Red Riot is back baby!”

Izuku slowly nods, processing. “I guess it doesn’t sound all that hard.”

“Not at all!” Kirishima grabs the long-handled brush— a tinting brush, Izuku recalls Kirishima calling it. He hands it to Izuku with a wink. “The fate of my image is now in your hands.”

“No pressure, right?” Izuku takes the brush, looking between it and Kirishima’s hair.

Kirishima grins up at him and drapes a towel around his shoulders. “None whatsoever.”

With one last long look at the brush in his hands, Izuku squares his shoulders, breathes out, “Well, no time like the present,” and moves in.

“That’s the spirit!” Kirishima tilts his head a little as Izuku uses the handle of the brush to part the damp hair, trying his best to create a section like Kirishima briefly described. Kirishima then hands him a hair tie, and Izuku awkwardly handles the hair while Kirishima snickers at him. After applying some Vaseline to his scalp, Izuku grabs the bowl filled with dye and coats the brush bristles.

Izuku hesitates one more time, but Kirishima is smiling up at him, and Izuku realizes that Kirishima really is trusting him. That he really is enjoying having Izuku around. And, maybe, if Izuku does a good job, he can help Kirishima with his hair again. Now a little more determined, Izuku begins to carefully coat the black strands with red.

His movements start out unsure and stiff, apologizing every time a single drop of red gets somewhere it shouldn’t, but Kirishima simply smiles, saying that’s what the towel is for and that there is no way something doesn’t get stained. Izuku relaxes under his reassurances. He moves with more confidence, but still slowly, taking his time as he brushes on the dye before using his fingers to gently massage it in.

After a few minutes of silence with nothing but soft music and the almost rhythmic sounds coming from Izuku’s hands filling the air, Izuku speaks. “Hey, Kirishima?”

Kirishima hums in acknowledgment, head bowed down some as Izuku begins to make sections further back.

“Why did you start dyeing your hair?”

A beat of silence passes and Izuku wonders momentarily if he even asked his question out loud. Then Kirishima shifts a little and lets out a heavy breath. “I dunno. Wanted to change things up, I guess.”

Izuku can’t help the skeptical tilt of his head. “That’s it?”

Kirishima laughs, but not in his usual bright, boisterous way. Izuku could potentially classify it as a melancholic sound. “What? Don’t believe me?”

“No, it’s not that I don’t believe you.” Izuku gently guides Kirishima to bow his head a little lower, and Kirishima goes willingly. Once a new section is made, Izuku continues his work at making the almost inky black disappear under what will become luminous red. “But the majority of our class doesn’t know you do this, right? I only found out because you left your shopping bag on the bed that one time, remember?”

Izuku still remembers the way Kirishima freaked out when Izuku glanced inside, finding the boxed dye and special color-holding shampoo. To this day, Izuku never really understood why Kirishima seemed so worried. It isn’t as if it bothered Izuku at all. Maybe he’s running his mouth right now because he simply wants to understand. “I know this is important to you, and I guess I figured there would be another reason besides you simply desiring an appearance change.”

Kirishima chuckles a little under his breath. “You’re pretty perceptive, you know that?”

Izuku cringes. “Sorry, am I prying?”

“No, it’s okay!” Kirishima goes to shake his head, but Izuku holds it down with one hand, trying to keep the red dye from going everywhere. Kirishima gives him a quick apologetic smile before tilting his head back down. “It’s a reasonable question.”

Izuku watches him twiddle his fingers together for a moment before focusing his attention back on the hair under his hands. He didn’t have much left to do. “You don’t have to tell me.” Izuku smiles to himself a little as he gently rubs color into the strands held between his fingers, making sure everything is evenly coated. “I love the red. It reminds me of autumn, with all the leaves changing colors and the holidays around the corner. Warm and exciting.” As Izuku moves onto a new section, he doesn’t hesitate on making the black strands disappear under the brush bristles. “When I think of red, I think of you. It really suits you.”

Kirishima stays quiet, and Izuku doesn’t push. He always meddles in places he isn’t wanted. Though he likes to think it’s because he’s a compassionate and caring individual, Izuku knows that sometimes he edges too close to the line. What Izuku has with Kirishima is good. It’s amazing. And Kirishima will tell him when he’s ready; Izuku has to trust in that.

Then there’s a sniffle and Izuku freezes with the brush hovering over the hair. “Kiri?”

There’s another sniffle and Izuku doesn’t waste time putting the brush down on the counter. “Are you crying?” Izuku gently grabs the sides of Kirishima’s head, accidentally getting the tips of his ears with his messy gloves, and tilts his head back, making the boy look up at him. And what he’s met with are pools along Kirishima’s waterline and wobbly bottom lip. Izuku’s chest constricts painfully, a small panic setting in. “What’s wrong? Did I say something?”

Kirishima shakes his head as much as he can in Izuku’s hold, but as he does so, large teardrops fall onto his cheeks. “N-no. Well, I mean, yes,” he sniffles again, “but no.”

“What do you mean?” Izuku’s eyes flash between the tears slipping down his boyfriend’s cheeks and back up to his watery eyes. A very real panic is starting to set in now. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s just… It’s just…” Kirishima looks up at Izuku and lets out a soft whine. “You’re so nice.”

A silent moment passes as Izuku stares down at Kirishima, caught off-guard by that response. “What?”

“You’re so nice to me,” Kirishima cries. “How are you my boyfriend? How did I get you to say yes to that date?” Kirishima reaches out with grabby hands and latches on to the hem of Izuku’s borrowed shirt. “I don’t deserve you!”

Izuku lets Kirishima cling to him, mostly because he’s too bewildered to do anything else. Of course, Izuku knows that Kirishima struggles with self-confidence. It’s a lot better than what it was back at the very beginning of the school year, but it’s still there, subtle and hidden beneath thick, carefully constructed layers. Sometimes, when it’s dark outside and quiet, Kirishima having snuck into his room without Iida seeing, they talk about it, the both of them. Their fears, their stresses, their insecurities. With Kirishima’s head pillowed on his chest, Izuku will swallow back his words and pull Kirishima closer as the boy confesses his inner thoughts and beliefs, Izuku never mentioning how his shirt begins to grow cold under the place Kirishima chose to rest his eyes.

Izuku must have accidentally touched upon a layer Kirishima hasn’t told him about yet.

“Is this because I said red suits you?”

“No.” Kirishima looks up at him, cheek shining and drops of red dye on his forehead near his hairline. Izuku almost reaches out to brush the wetness away but remembers that he’s wearing gloves. He instead watches Kirishima sniffle, the tears leading Izuku to believe sadness, but Kirishima’s eyes speak only of disbelieving awe. “I just… You really care about me.”

Izuku feels the blush coming to his cheeks, the skin prickling with heat, but at the same time, something reaches out and squeezes his heart a little painfully. “O-of course, I do. Was that not obvious?” They’ve been dating for almost three months, and if now is the first time Kirishima realizes how much Izuku cares about him, Izuku must be a really shitty boyfriend.

Kirishima seems to read Izuku’s mind, or maybe Izuku made a scared face. “No, no, that’s not—” Kirishima breaks off and yanks Izuku closer by the shirt, pulling him between his spread knees. Izuku’s shins knock against the ceramic toilet, but he lets himself get pulled more into Kirishima’s space. “I’m just stupid and forget sometimes.”

“You’re not stupid.”

“My test grades really say otherwise.”

“There are peer-reviewed studies out there that show that numbered grades are not always the best measurements of intelligence—”

Kirishima laughs and leans forward, pressing his face into Izuku’s stomach. “See? You’re too good to me.”

Izuku looks down at Kirishima, hesitates for a moment because of the dye covering ninety percent of Kirishima’s head, but soon sighs and holds the boy closer to him with the hands still resting on the sides of his head. Kirishima buries his face into him. This shirt is definitely going to be ruined after this. “There’s no such thing as being ‘too good’ to you.”

Kirishima doesn’t respond, but his grip does tighten a little where his fingers are twisted in the hem of the shirt. Izuku lets Kirishima hold onto him and keep his face hidden in his stomach without saying anything more. After noticing that his boyfriend really isn’t going to be pulling away any time soon, Izuku reaches for the tinting brush to continue dyeing the remaining hair on the back of Kirishima’s head. It is a bit of an awkward angle, but Izuku doesn’t voice any complaints. They can always touch up the spots Izuku misses later.

A handful of minutes pass by as Izuku works towards finishing the dye job. His fingers were now massaging blindly at the hair close to the nape of Kirishima’s neck, forearms covered in small splotches of red from where his skin had bumped and rubbed against the wet hair because of the angle. As thoughts about how long his skin will be stained by the dye dance in Izuku’s mind, Kirishima speaks, causing Izuku to halt both his thoughts and actions.

“In middle school, I wasn’t anything special,” Kirishima begins, voice muffled slightly because he didn’t lift his head from where it remains pressed into Izuku’s stomach. “I had some friends, but I wasn’t popular, and I was picked on sometimes but never enough to make me an outcast. I was pretty mediocre in everything.”

Izuku stays still for a moment longer before he slowly begins his ministrations again, simply listening to what Kirishima wants to tell him. They both don’t talk about their middle school days all that much, but Kirishima has always been a little more open about sharing his past. He can still close up just as easily as Izuku when a layer being pulled back leaves the skin feeling too raw, too exposed.

Kirishima continues, “I honestly didn’t think I would get noticed by a top school like UA. I don’t stand out, and my quirk isn’t flashy or really all that heroic. I was nothing more than a background character.” Izuku has to bite his cheek to keep himself quiet and instead presses his fingers gently into Kirishima’s scalp in what he hopes comes off as comforting and encouraging. It must have gotten across because Kirishima breathes out, shoulders relaxing a little from where they had started to become tense. “So, when I got accepted, I knew something had to change. No one was going to notice the kid with black hair and a defense quirk.”

Izuku hums a little as he pulls his hands from Kirishima’s now-finished hair. He takes off the gloves and tosses them into the sink. With his clean hands, Izuku places them gently on Kirishima’s shoulders. “That’s when you started dyeing your hair?”

Kirishima gives a small nod. Izuku lets him hide for a moment longer before he carefully pushes at his shoulders. Kirishima refuses to move at first, but he relents after a little more forceful push from Izuku. He looks up, eyes a little wet and cheeks faintly blotchy. Izuku moves his hands to his face, rubs his thumbs across warm, pink skin, and gives Kirishima a fond smile. “You caught my attention.”

Kirishima’s eyes glitter and he proceeds to scrunch up his face in an attempt to keep the fresh tears from falling. He tugs a couple of times on Izuku’s shirt, and the image of a persistent toddler begging for sweets comes to mind, making Izuku have to swallow back a small chuckle. “Can you give me that kiss now?”

Izuku responds by bending down and pressing said promised kiss to Kirishima’s lips. It’s different from the kiss they shared in the other room, slower, and tinged with the taste of salt and sharp with the smell of chemicals. Kirishima sighs into it as his hands let go of Izuku’s shirt and instead reach up to loosely hold onto Izuku’s wrists. It’s probably as grounding to Izuku as it is to Kirishima.

After a tilt of their heads and the bumping of their noses, Izuku slowly breaks away. He presses a quick kiss to Kirishima’s nose, then forehead, before he completely straightens. Izuku doesn’t even try to suppress his smile as he looks down at Kirishima who still has his eyes closed, head tilted back, and skin hot under Izuku’s palms. So handsome.

As Izuku caresses those red cheeks, his smile dampens some with sadness from Kirishima’s earlier words. He quickly scolds his expression because though it is depressing to know Kirishima at one point thought like that, or perhaps still does, Izuku shouldn’t say anything more right now. He can tell that the newly exposed layer is too fresh. They will talk more about it later.

For now, Izuku presses another quick kiss to Kirishima’s nose, making his boyfriend smile. “How long do we have to wait for your hair again?”

“Hmm?” Kirishima blinks open his eyes, looking confused for a second before realizing what Izuku is asking. “Oh, like, thirty minutes. We can set a timer on my phone.”

Kirishima releases his hold on Izuku’s wrists and Izuku moves to grab his phone which is still playing music. The screen lights up as Izuku lifts it and he almost loses his footing, gazing down at the image on Kirishima’s lock screen because that’s… that’s him!

He’s in his school uniform, kneeling in a patch of grass with his body facing slightly away from the camera. His smile is still captured in full force though, even if it is obscured a little by the creature Izuku is pressing against his cheek. A pure white bunny. But there’s not just one bunny. A whole cluster of them are crowded around his legs, one even captured trying to scramble up his thigh.

Izuku remembers that day. The school decided one Friday a few months ago to do a “de-stress day.” They brought several animals on campus, including dogs, cats, and even goats— all trained and waiting to be petted. The event turned out to be a huge hit among the students, and Izuku thoroughly enjoyed himself. What had captivated the majority of his attention were the bunnies, a whole pen full of them. They were so friendly and so soft; they even ate bits of lettuce from his hands. Uraraka made a comment about how Izuku’s Hero costume looked like bunny ears, so he picked up one of the bunnies and posed for a photo, laughing because the likeness was completely unintentional but undeniably there once Uraraka pointed it out.

Izuku totally forgot about this photo. He remembers sending it to his mom, and Uraraka of course has a copy, and maybe it’s floating around in the group chat he has with his friends, but he definitely didn’t expect to see it on Kirishima’s lock screen because the picture was taken before they started dating. Izuku thought he saw something earlier when they were in the commons, but he assumed he saw wrong because there was no way Kirishima put him as his lock screen.

But Kirishima did put a picture of him on his lock screen, so now every time Kirishima checks his phone the first thing he sees is Izuku.

The room became very hot all of sudden.

“What’s wrong? The dye didn’t get on my phone, did it?”

Kirishima’s voice startles Izuku out of his head, causing him to fumble with the phone and nearly drop it into the sink where the gloves covered in red dye still sit. He luckily saves it, not creating an embarrassing disaster, but Izuku can’t seem to get his heartbeat under control. There’s a fluttering in his stomach and his skin feels all prickly.

“N-no, nothing’s wrong with your phone!” Izuku successfully gets out without stuttering too much. He turns and hands the phone to Kirishima, but he can’t raise his eyes from the floor. He put a picture of me as his lock screen.

Kirishima takes the device with an airy laugh. “What? Did Kaminari text something weird again?”

“No, he didn’t.” Izuku swallows and drums his fingers against the countertop, fidgeting. “I just— I mean, I couldn’t help but notice…” He finally manages to flick his eyes over to Kirishima, catching how the other boy’s head is tilted in confusion. He loses his nerve and looks away. Izuku knows his cheeks are burning red. “Your lock screen is me.”

“Of course,” Kirishima says easily, naturally, like there is no reason why Izuku’s face shouldn’t be there. It is so very easy for someone to take notice of who is taking up the screen (Izuku may not think he’s very eye-catching, but he can’t deny he’s made a name for himself at UA and is pretty recognizable), and Izuku doesn’t have to think very hard to imagine someone asking Kirishima about it and the boy responding with a simple he’s my boyfriend! and a blinding smile. Kirishima probably wouldn’t hesitate even a millisecond. Izuku wonders, briefly, if Kirishima would perhaps even sound proud.

The flutters in Izuku’s stomach tenfold and giddy warmth swirls underneath the hot flush of his blush.

“Is that okay?” Kirishima asks, and this time there is some hesitance in his voice. He probably misread Izuku’s embarrassment.

“Yes!” Izuku says maybe too quickly, looking at Kirishima again because he really doesn’t want to give off the wrong impression. Kirishima’s eyes had been wide, but as he takes in Izuku’s no longer hidden expression, his own expression softens as a grin begins to pull at his lips. “Yes,” Izuku says again, voice a little more in control now, “it’s, ah, it’s very okay. It’s only…” Izuku has to look away again as Kirishima leans toward him a little, teeth showing from how wide his smile has become.

“It’s only…?”

Izuku shuffles on his feet and taps his fingers against the countertop a couple of times. He takes in a breath, releases it, and says in a rush, “I haven’t changed mine yet so could you send me a picture of you so I can?”

There’s a brief silence where Izuku can practically feel the steam coming out of his ears, thinking that maybe he talked too fast and Kirishima didn’t understand him. But hardly a moment later, Izuku sees Kirishima stand from his peripheral. “I can do you one better.”

And before Izuku can wrap his head around what Kirishima could mean, Kirishima is next time him and slipping an arm around his waist, phone raised in his free hand. Izuku sputters a little in surprise as they move back a couple of steps, realizing belatedly that now they are more in frame with the mirror over the sink. He’s still trying to figure out what to do with his hands as Kirishima pulls him closer with a smile! Lips are pressed to his cheek, messily and obviously overexaggerated, and Izuku can’t help but laugh as Kirishima takes a mirror selfie with him.

With his arm still around Izuku’s waist, Kirishima shows the picture to Izuku. The phone had been positioned to not obscure either of their faces so Izuku’s laughter is captured by his wide smile, but his hand frozen halfway up to cover it in an unconscious gesture Kirishima constantly tries to stop Izuku from doing. Kirishima’s grin is also noticeable despite his lips being pressed against Izuku’s cheek, a high blush on his cheeks though the red on his ears is definitely dye. His hair is an absolute mess, adorably so.

“Use this one,” Kirishima says. “I’ll send it to you right now.”

Izuku tears his eyes away from the very nice photo of them that he knows he’ll treasure obsessively, but they can’t use this one! “Wait, Kirishima, I can’t use this one.”

Kirishima pouts down at the photo. “Why not? Do you not like it?”

“No, I love it, and please do send it to me,” Izuku quickly reassures, “but your hair.”

“My hair?” Kirishima loosens his hold around Izuku so that they look at each other a little better. “It’s a mess, yeah, but I still think—”

“No, Kiri,” Izuku gestures around them at the mixing bowl still filled with dye, the normally white sink now painted red, and the mess of towels and hair ties which are all captured in the picture. “If I use that photo and someone sees it, then people will know that you dye your hair.”

Izuku watches the realization dawn on Kirishima. “Oh, right.” He looks back down at the photo, brows pinched together.

Izuku finds his free hand and gives it a squeeze. “Let’s take another picture after we finish! Or you can send me one, or we can just go through my gallery. I have plenty of pictures to choose from.”

“No,” Kirishima says after a small moment of silence. “You can use this one.”

Surprised, Izuku stares at Kirishima, at the boy who just opened up to him a few minutes ago about his decision to dye his hair, baring a wound only probably recently scabbed over. A wound that is a long way from becoming a scar. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” Kirishima nods to himself as his features relax, a smile returning to his face. “Yeah, I’m sure. What can people say, anyways? I mean,” the smile is turned to Izuku, “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Izuku looks at Kirishima, searches his face, and finds nothing but that smile that melts Izuku. He smiles back and gives Kirishima’s hand another squeeze. “Until graduation, at the least.” That gets Kirishima to laugh. He lets go of Izuku’s hand and wraps it back around his waist, pulling him close to press a less theatrical kiss to his cheek this time followed by the nuzzle of his nose.

The chilling touch of something wet against the side of Izuku’s face has him jumping and squirming away, “Wait, Kiri, your hair!” Successfully pulling himself from Kirishima’s hold, Izuku looks back at the mirror and gasps. From the crest of his left cheek and dragging up to the tip of his ear is a line of red. “This doesn’t stain the skin too bad, right?”

When silence only meets him, Izuku locks eyes with Kirishima through the mirror. “Right?”

Kirishima holds a very serious face for whole three seconds before it fractures and he snorts. Izuku gapes at his boyfriend. “Kirishima!”

“It won’t!” A small pause. “Well, not badly! It will be a pink line, at most.”

Izuku makes a noise of small dismay as he looks down at his arms, forearms covered in small lines and dots of red. “Pink.”

Kirishima is barely holding back his laughter at him, and he’s doing a horrible job of hiding his grin. “Pink suits you! It’s a very manly color, you know.”

“That isn’t the problem, and you know it!” Izuku looks back into the mirror, pouting. “It’s my picture day tomorrow too. My mom always buys those pictures.”

Kirishima stops trying to not laugh at Izuku, openly giggling beside him. “Okay, okay, here. Let me get it.” Kirishima grabs one of the discarded towels laying around, wets it a little with water, and then rubs it against Izuku’s cheek.

It effectively takes the relatively thin line and smudges across Izuku’s skin in a larger blob.

“You’re making it worse!”

“You have to trust the process!”

“My whole face will be red if you keep wiping it like that!”

Kirishima is practically choking on his laughter at this point as he tries to keep Izuku from pushing his hand away from his cheek. “Don’t be such a baby.”

Izuku eyes land on the bowl of dye still sitting on the counter, and as petty a thought pops into his head, he acts on impulse. Reaching past Kirishima, he dips a couple of fingers into the red dye and then proceeds to spread an equally obnoxious blob across his boyfriend’s cheek. Kirishima’s laughter ceases and he gapes, startled, at the now smiling Izuku, a smile which totally isn’t a smirk in triumph. “It suits you, Kiri. Pink is a very manly color, you know.”

The betrayed look on Kirishima’s face slowly morphs, his red eyes beginning to gleam with challenge. “Oh, is that how it is?”

Izuku does a quick turn as Kirishima scoops up some dye of his own, realizing his mistake quickly, but Kirishima pulls him back by the shirt before he even gets a foot outside the bathroom door. Izuku squeals as he tries his best to avoid the dripping hand as cold, wet fingers drag across his once spotless cheek. With his own fingers still covered in red, Izuku reaches behind himself to fight back, which only ends up starting a war to see who could get the most red dye on the other, their shouts and laughter drowning out Kacchan’s annoyed yells from beyond the wall.

Needless to say, neither Izuku’s mother or Kirishima’s parents could pass up the opportunity to purchase some very unique yearbook photos of their children that year.