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It doesn’t really come as a surprise but there are many, many, things that are able to make Kirishima Eijirou lose focus but he’s slowly learning to accept that. It‘s just how he is— a passionate person who’s in love with everything planet earth has to offer and sometimes he likes to rant about how people should remember to appreciate the little things. He likes to remind everyone, and himself on occasion, that he can’t be held responsible for his daydreaming, for his inability to concentrate, when the world is so fucking beautiful, and how in heaven‘s name should he focus on maths of all things when just outside the classroom window a colorful pretty bird is on its merry mission to woo another?
For him it’s absolutely thrilling to watch, a nature documentary right in front of his own eyes. He wants to squeal, loses his breath for a few seconds, when suddenly both birds sit on the branch next to each other, their own love song rising in volume and their beaks picking at each other every so often. It’s beautiful and all Eijirou can think at that moment is ‚so manly‘, all with imagining him flexing his bicep and shedding a few manly tears.
So yeah, some people (half of his class and definitely his teachers) think he’s a bit of a himbo (Aizawa‘s opinion leans more to excited puppy) with his inability to focus and concentrate on things that they deem important, but Eijirou finally reached a point in his life where he doesn’t really care about their opinions in the long run.
How could he when he learns about the beauty of the world everyday? In his books that’s way more important than calculus.
Sadly, he apparently needs calculus to graduate and to finally complete his dream of becoming a pro hero. He counts himself immensely lucky that his best friend isn’t as easily distracted in class as him and made it his first hero-mission to ensure that Eijirou isn’t failing all of his exams.
And he’s doing a damn good job. That is until the day Eijirou completely loses his marbles during one of their tutoring sessions.
*
It’s a good day, a Friday, which means there’s two days of no classes ahead of Eijirou, and even the prospect of spending his afternoon rehearsing calculus while the sun‘s shining brightly outside can’t dampen his mood. Eijirou‘s on his way to the kitchen, after trading his school uniform for more comfortable clothes and grabbing his books.
He knows Bakugou will already be waiting for him, ready as always to explain all the things to Eijirou he didn’t quite get in class. And all of that he’ll do while he’s busy cutting vegetables, frying meat and making a delicious meal. Bakugou‘s so manly.
With a slight skip in his every step Eijirou enters the kitchen and then—
Well, then he stops dead in his tracks, breath catching somewhere halfway up his lungs. He can do nothing but stare, mouth wide open like the idiot he his, but there’s Bakugou as expected but— but he’s wearing one of Eijirou‘s shirts, one of his favorites, and fuck, he’s so so pretty, absolutely stunning and more importantly breathtaking.
His shirt touches Bakugou‘s skin and it’s that thought that makes Eijirou‘s brain stop working, and it reboots, gears working slowly, and he’s sure he made some kind of noise in the last few seconds, maybe a squeal of delight or a whimper filled with all of his longing, because Bakugou looks at him, not even stopping cutting the onion in front of him, and Eijirou realises then that 1. his Crimson Riot Shirt that Bakugou‘s wearing right now has the same shade of red as Bakugou‘s eyes and 2. he‘s getting a little lightheaded.
But Eijirou can’t look away, and there’s the hint of a rosy-red blush on Bakugou‘s cheekbones. He sways on his feet, still not breathing, but dear god, if he dies now he’ll do so happily, with a tummy filled with butterflies.
„Fucking— breathe, Shitty Hair,“ Bakugou shouts at him, breaking Eijirou out of his thoughts, and oh yeah, it’s breathing that he has to do to continue living, and he forces himself to take in some air, the first few intakes sounding a little unsteady but he makes due. He’s getting steadier on his feet with every breath he takes, and with his gaze still locked on the beautiful sight in front of him he gets closer to his best friend.
Said best friend still eyes him with worry swimming in red red red, but when Eijirou sits down, when he grins that toothy smile at him, he’s instantly going back to focusing on the onion in front of him. Eijirou himself can’t focus for the life of him. He’s still distracted by the mesmerizing sight that is Bakugou wearing his shirt, decides that it’s even more beautiful than watching a sunrise while standing on the peak of a mountain, and that feels like a revelation, right here in the dorms kitchen, with his lungs still half-heartedly rattling in his chest.
Eijirou only comes back to himself when Bakugou starts shouting at him to finally get his books out.
*
Eijirou doesn’t know what crimes he committed in a former life to deserve this special kind of torture, but here he is, suffering through one long week of Bakugou wearing his shirts in the evenings. He doesn’t even know how the guy‘s accomplishing this, when the hell Bakugou‘s got the time to steal Eijirou‘s things.
They’re spending all of their free time together after all and Eijirou never saw Bakugou snatching a single thing from his closet. It’s maddening, but alas, Eijirou‘s not in his right mind this week.
How could he, when Bakugou looks breathtaking during their daily tutoring sessions, when he looks like a sweet delicious snack tailored for Eijirou‘s liking during game nights. Eijirou has to make sure he’s still breathing every time he looks at his friend, and he’s sure that all of the cut-off oxygen isn’t exactly healthy for his brain power.
One night he thinks about going to Recovery Girl to ask her about it, but he throws the idea out of the window after realizing that he’d have to explain to her why he has trouble breathing and he can’t do that. Absolutely not.
So praying for his brain it is then. Bakugou makes that hard though.
They’re sitting in the common room, all of class 3-A spread out over couches and the floor, binge watching the latest Bachelor episodes. There’s laughter all around, screams and squeals, but for once Eijirou doesn’t feel like joining in. He’s silent, not hearing a single thing his friends are saying because there are other matters at hand that demand his full attention.
Bakugou sits next to him, much more close than he ever did before. And he’s wearing one of Eijirou‘s shirts again, a new one, one that fits so loosely on Bakugou, even with his broad shoulders, that Eijirou‘s got the nicest view of one his collarbones every time he moves.
It’s the sweetest kind of torture, and Eijirou goes from thinking that the world has it out for him to forgetting to breath in rapid succession. He’s sure he will pass out any minute now. Bakugou, completely oblivious to Eijirou‘s upcoming death, slides even closer to him, their thighs touching now and sending sparks all over Eijirou‘s skin.
Fuck, but he’s just a boy with feelings. And—
What the fuck. Bakugou, menace to society that he is, slips up on Eijirou‘s lap, wraps a blanket around them and makes himself at home, and Eijirou‘s sure he finally found his demise, went to heaven and now lives through his wildest unattainable dreams. But a pinch to his own thigh does nothing to evaporate whatever’s happening here and he‘s once again getting more and more light headed.
„I know you’re kind of an idiot, Shitty Hair, but ya kinda have to breathe to live, ya know?“
Bakugou‘s voice is low, a murmur only meant for Eijirou to hear, but his harsh words are accompanied by a smile, a real — oh my god what am I seeing — smile, and he’s looking straight at Eijirou, fondness sparkling in his Crimson Riot Shirt - red eyes, and Eijirou—
Well, Eijirou snaps.
Before he himself even knows what he’s doing he’s already standing up, Bakugou secured in a death grip against his chest, still bundled up in a blanket, and oh, Bakugou‘s cursing at him, yelling to be let down, but Eijirou, for once in his life, really doesn’t care.
They’re making quite the ruckus on their way to the elevator but as soon as they’re out of sight of their classmates, Bakugou slumps against him, stops hitting him and goes suspiciously silent.
Neither of them speaks on their ride up to their floor, the silence not once broken on their way to Eijirou‘s room, while he situates them on his bed, Bakugou still wrapped up on his lap.
But they’re looking at each other now, both breathing heavily with no reason whatsoever. Eijirou‘s eyes slip down after a while, gaze roaming over a cutting jawline, down to his shirt on Bakugou‘s body and the laid bare collarbone.
Eijirou‘s breath catches in his lungs.
„You’ll be the death of me,“ he whispers, one finger slowly brushing over the skin of Bakugou‘s throat.
„Didn’t want ya dead, just wanted you to finally get the hint,“ Bakugou answers, and oh.
Eijirou bridges the last few centimetres between them, presses his lips against Bakugou‘s and for once it’s Bakugou’s breath that hitches. Eijirou’s own breathing is back to normal, as steady as it’s only when sleeping, and maybe he’s finally ascended or maybe it's all the practice of the last week.
Eijirou really doesn’t know, but right now he’s too busy to really think about it, too distracted by a fast beating heart and butterflies eating up his insides.
Bakugou‘s fingers go up to play with the short strands of hair in Eijirou‘s neck, and he presses even closer, tries to make them touch everywhere and all Eijirou can do is to let it happen. As if it’s hard. Their kiss grows more intense, teeth digging into Eijirou‘s bottom lip, and his own fingers dig into the soft flesh of Bakugou‘s waist, right there under his shirt. One of them moans and then it’s only open mouths, skin on skin, and losing their breath.