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It was dark—quiet. The only light that filtered through the darkness was from a small candle, placed center in the fluffy icing on a cupcake. Kirishima stayed huddled next to Katsuki, bodies mostly covered by a thin blanket. The balcony door was slightly ajar, letting cool air pour through the room. Kirishima's face stuffed inside of the pale curve of Katsuki’s neck, humming a soft tune whilst busying his hands by flipping his phone between them.
It was nearing midnight, just about three minutes or so until it was his birthday. He bit back a yawn as he stared at the candle. Fire illuminated his cherry-red eyes and they followed the small dance the flame performed before him. Kirishima’s lips started moving against his skin, singing the familiar tune of ‘happy birthday.’ The soft hum of his voice was comforting. Katsuki's head lolled to the side, ear and cheek prickling the boy's hair.
Katsuki hadn’t wanted to celebrate, at least not anything big. Kirishima abided by his wishes, called off the party, Katsuki knew he had been planning, and only stuck to gift giving. He had basically begged Katsuki to be able to come over that night so he could be ‘the first person to see him when he woke up’— or whatever that meant. It didn’t take much convincing, not like it would’ve mattered anyway— Katsuki's prone to not being able to say no to him.
As the clock neared closer to the time, and Kirishima only ever moved closer, Katsuki couldn’t keep himself in check. Every movement, every word, it felt like it was being etched into Katsuki’s skin like a tattoo. Kirishima was everywhere. He's always been everywhere. And it sucked.
It sucked because Katsuki was terrible at feelings. He kept everything bottled up until the last moment where it overflowed and drowned him in his mess. That’s why he got so emotional when he’d 'erupt', as the self proclaimed ‘Bakusquad’ put it. When he got so mad that he couldn’t just scream a little and it’d dissipate, he’d shrink, and he’d cry. He'd struggled with a panic disorder basically all his life, yet he only ever felt more ashamed every time it took him by surprise and threw him over the edge.
He was terrible at managing when he’d break, he was terrible at managing how to handle it. For years he avoided trying to manage anything, he thought could handle it. It was what he told himself. Until he couldn't. Until his life got flipped on it's axis and he couldn't push it all back. So that’s why he needs something—someone to help keep him grounded, far away from feeling like he was going to erupt, to help him. He had accepted it, the fact that without a hand and a voice to call out to him, he wouldn't survive.
Kirishima. His weak heart thumped, and his breath hitched. He was getting emotional, he knew. His stupid, sweaty palms were already heating up as Kirishima spoke,
“Make a wish, Bakugo.”
Kirishima, his best friend, his… It’s only Kirishima who would go out of lengths way to do something so—
A silent sob let out of him. Before he could stop it, tears spilled through his guarded eyes, he tried—really, he did—to blink them back. It was supposed to be easier with Kirishima. So why? Why couldn't he stop himself from wanting to curl himself in Kirishima's chest, and cry because of how it was just so overwhelming. Kirishima was overwhelming and—
—And it wasn't fair…
“Bakugo— dude, are you—”
Katsuki fixed his wobbly lips in a position to blow air over the flame. The room went dark almost instantly but the smell of smoke still stuck close. Make a wish… the only thing that he could think of at that moment was to wish he and Kirishima could always be close, this close and more. Even if it squeezed his heart in ways he was too scared to explore, even if it killed him in the end. Being close to Kirishima was warm and gentle. He didn't deserve it, but he was greedy. And at that moment, he didn't care. He was going to be greedy and do the only thing his body wanted at that moment more than anything. He tapped around, finding Kirishima's wrist, fingers sliding up to feel the fabric of his sleeve, then he yanked the boy forward and connected their lips.
It was short, brief. Something Katsuki could manage without his mind blaring the alarms. He wished he could be normal and treat Kirishima as the partner he wanted— dreamed of. Friend, or more. Yet even as he thinks that Kirishima deserved better, he was always met with a that voice. His voice… breathless, but still full of warmth. Too warm, even for Katsuki's standards,
“Happy Birthday, Kastuki.”