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“You didn’t have to do this,” Kirishima said, which was more than true, but Katsuki shrugged it off.
He didn’t have to help Kirishima clean his place after the birthday party the man had thrown the night before. Katsuki hadn’t drunk from any of the empty cans that stood scattered across every possible surface, and he’d brought more snacks than he’d eaten from the plastic bowls in the sink and the crinkling bags he was stuffing in the trash.
After sending Kirishima to bed because he’d been nodding off on the couch with his head on Katsuki’s shoulder, Katsuki had gotten everyone else situated in the living room because he didn’t trust them to make it home in one piece that late—and that drunk—at night.
So the last thing that should be expected of him was to help Kirishima clean up the aftermath. But he did it anyway.
“It’d take you hours to do it by yourself,” he said. “And everyone else went home already.”
“Thanks, Bakugou.”
He grunted, keeping his head down and his back to Kirishima.
What the birthday boy didn’t know was that Katsuki had been the one to tell the others to go when they woke up in varying degrees of hungover. It was fine, he’d got it, he didn’t need them getting in the way by trying to help.
He didn’t need them getting in the way when he needed to talk to Kirishima.
They’d only get on his already-frayed nerves.
“You okay over there?”
Katsuki moved to the sink, turning on the tap to drown out the sound of his own hammering heart, and began scrubbing at plates tacky with birthday cake frosting. “I’m great.”
Kirishima crushed the beer cans and took out the trash. He picked up the pillows the rest of the idiots had used to sleep on and pushed the couch back in place. The thoughtful, sweet, more-perceptive-than-people-gave-him-credit-for bastard saw Katsuki needing some space and gave him as much as he could.
Katsuki’s hand clenched against the tap before turning it off.
“Kirishima.”
“Yeah?” The kitchen felt cramped again when he walked in.
Katsuki crossed his arms over his chest, his hip pressed into the edge of the kitchen counter. Step one, get his attention. Step two… talk. They needed to talk.
“How much do you remember?” he asked, eyes tracing the lines between the floor tiles. “Of last night?”
The humor in Kirishima’s voice made warmth crawl up the back of his neck. “I wasn’t drunk, Bakugou. Just tired.”
“So you really think…”
Kirishima stepped closer, forcing Katsuki’s eyes up, up, toward him. “I don’t think. I know I like you, Bakugou.”
(“I like you,” he whispered, his forehead pressed to the side of Katsuki’s head. Katsuki wouldn’t have heard him over the booming voices of their partying friends if Kirishima hadn’t said the words straight into his ear.
He was hyper aware of Kirishima’s arm draped across the back of the couch and his thumb tapping against Katsuki’s opposite shoulder, finding his heating skin above the neckline of his shirt.
He made the mistake of turning his head when Kirishima laughed, because now his face was right there and Katsuki forced himself to look away from that smile mere centimeters away only to lock onto the crinkle at the corners of Kirishima’s eyes.
Either had him swallowing, mouth suddenly dry.
“You haven’t blown me up yet,” Kirishima mused. “That’s nice.”
“I wouldn’t—” Katsuki set his teeth, fighting against the tremor in his voice. “You’re drunk.”
“I’m really not.”
“I saw you drinking.”
Kirishima pulled his arm from around Katsuki’s shoulders. “It wasn’t that much, Bakugou.” Without warning, he dropped his forehead against Katsuki’s shoulder, pinning him in place. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything.”)
And he didn’t. He just let Kirishima lean on him, until he began to doze off, and then Katsuki sent him to bed.
He himself hardly slept, playing Kirishima’s words in his head over and over again. It would have been easier if Kirishima had been drunk. Then Katsuki could have pretended it didn’t mean anything, and kept pining as he had been since high school.
“I know I said you didn’t have to answer, but…” Kirishima rubbed the back of his neck. “Could you give me something? Anything? I’m not expecting anything from you, but can you just tell me how you’re feeling?”
Embarrassment made Katsuki bluster. “You can’t just—! What could have possibly been going through your head last night to make you say…” He couldn’t repeat the words.
Several expressions flashed across Kirishima’s face. Katsuki saw them flip from renounced to confused and right back round to amusement because for all his shouting, Katsuki couldn’t stop himself from leaning into Kirishima’s space. His elbow bumped Kirishima’s arm, propped up on the kitchen counter.
He couldn’t come out and say it, but he owed Kirishima an answer nonetheless.
“What was going through my head,” Kirishima started, and Katsuki felt his ears burn, “was how happy I was that I got to celebrate my birthday with you.”
“That’s a stupid reason to confess.”
“It’s all the reason I needed. And… I don’t think you’re rejecting me,” Kirishima said, testing the words. “Are you?”
Katsuki’s head snapped up. “Of course I’m not—” He bit his teeth down hard. Because Kirishima was closer than he’d expected him to be. His hand was on Katsuki’s arm, the calming press of it something no one else could offer him.
“I’m not,” he repeated, because that was the most he could say.
“Is it too much too soon to ask if I can kiss you?”
“It’s not.”
Because he liked Kirishima’s laugh, and he liked his voice and all the support it spoke—cheesy as his words often were. Because he liked the way Kirishima tucked his chin against his chest, abashed, as he stepped in front of him. Because he liked Kirishima.
So much.
So he closed his eyes.
A spark like he usually only felt in the palms of his own hands traveled from the brush of Kirishima’s lips to the tips of his toes. It set a warmth like an explosion in his chest, one that lingered after Kirishima pulled back.
He only met Kirishima’s eyes for a second, thankful to see wonder there instead of regret, and didn’t waste another moment before grabbing him by the back of the neck and pressing their mouths back together.
Kirishima inhaled sharply through his nose but then his hands were on Katsuki’s shoulders, sliding up to hold the side of his head, holding him close as harried breaths heated the space between their lips.
“This is okay,” Katsuki muttered, “right?”
Kirishima kissed him again, stealing the air from Katsuki’s lungs before his teeth grazed Katsuki’s bottom lip. “I’m more than okay with this if you are.” Katsuki tasted that trepidation on the tip of his tongue, caught it in the pitch of his voice.
“Yeah, I’m okay with it,” he said to try and wash away the last remaining bit of tension from between Kirishima’s teeth.
He must have succeeded, because the way Kirishima hummed against his lips made him gasp, and Kirishima leaned over him to deepen their kiss, crowding Katsuki against the countertop. Toe to toe, chest to chest, and everything in between. Katsuki’s arms wrapped around Kirishima’s torso, wanting to hold as much of him as he could. He should have been embarrassed of the groan rumbling deep in his throat, but it didn’t bother him when Kirishima’s fingers scratched against his scalp, or when he pulled his mouth from Katsuki’s to press against his neck instead.
Something hit Katsuki like a ton of bricks. A late-night memory. He grabbed Kirishima’s shoulders. “Wait.”
Kirishima looked up at him wide-eyed. “What is it? Do you not–”
“Shut up.” Katsuki grit his teeth, failing to fight down the warmth in his cheeks. “This,” he said, gesturing between them, “is happening. This is good.”
Kirishima nodded like he was letting the words sink in.
Katsuki pushed a hand through his hair, then pointed over Kirishima’s shoulder. “Last night I put Kaminari in the other room because he got too drunk.”
“Oh.” Kirishima turned to look over his shoulder—as far as he could with his hands still holding Katsuki. “So he’s still…”
“He’s still in there.” Katsuki had been so stuck inside his own head that he’d forgotten.
Kirishima lifted an eyebrow. “But if he weren’t…”
“Shut up!” If he weren’t, Katsuki would still be telling Kirishima to wait. Probably. Maybe. He shrugged out of Kirishima’s grip. “I’m gonna go check on him. Make sure he didn’t roll over and die in his sleep.” Thankfully the idiot had been soundly asleep the last time Katsuki went in there to check that he hadn’t choked on his own sick.
“And then?”
He liked Kirishima’s smile and he liked the press of his fingers against Katsuki’s waist. “And then,” he said, goosebumps rising on his arms when Kirishima’s fingers curled beneath the hem of his shirt, “I’m gonna kick him out and we can, I don’t know, hang out or something. Sound good?”
He liked the way Kirishima’s grin lit up the room. “Sounds perfect.”
He liked Kirishima, and one day he’d be able to tell him as much.