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It starts with this: green eyes.
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Kirishima notices him idly—he’s setting up the worn out buckets on his familiar street corner, drumsticks perched precariously in the pockets of worn out jeans—a small figure that approaches him when he makes himself comfortable on the extra bucket he brings along as a stool. Kirishima always greets him, a grin on his face as he pulls his drumsticks from his pockets.
Then he really gets to impress the green eyed male, drumsticks in hand and his usual toothy grin on his face when he starts playing. The wide eyed look that crosses the boy’s face was absolutely something Kirishima got a lot, sometimes adults stopping by to drop whatever change they had on hand into the bright yellow snapback hat he brought along for donations.
The boy almost always lingers the longest. He also drops in more change than most really would think to.
It’s a comfort, especially after the days he’s spent cooped up in the building he works at. It becomes enough of a constant that Kirishima worries when he doesn’t see familiar green eyes. He sometimes stay long enough that Kirishima has to start packing his buckets up, and when the redhead tries to talk to the boy, well, he’s conveniently gone.
It sucks, admiring the boy’s dedication from afar; the need to make friends, to talk to someone that was around his age was something Kirishima definitely wanted. Or at least ask the male why he stuck around so long, ask why he made such a surprised-nervous face when Kirishima so much as tried to approach him, ask what his name was to know him better.
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It starts with green eyes and leads to a stutter.
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“Y-Your playing is really good!”
The comment throws Kirishima off, on a Friday afternoon. He doesn’t expect the green eyed boy to stay as long as he did, but here the male was. Straightening up from packing away the buckets he used as drums, Kirishima turns around to see the familiar green eyes of the male that watched him almost every day.
“Dude, thanks!” Reaching a hand up to rub the back of his head, Kirishima feels his face warm at the praise, “I’m not the greatest, not really with these buckets, but I guess it catches people’s attention…”
He knows he’s limited in resources, half the time the money he makes goes to his family; this was enough for him, seeing the pleased faces of people enjoying the music he makes. Hearing the praise, however, is different coming from this guy. It’s genuine, right down to the almost starstruck look in the eyes staring at him.
“What? Your playing i-is super good though! N-No need to worry…” the male says, and Kirishima feels his heart do yet another funky flip in his chest. Dropping his hand from the back of his head, Kirishima goes quiet as he gives the male a smile; “I guess… I never really thought much of it, then.”
Kirishima takes the time to immediately switch gears, red eyes focused wholly on the male in front of him. Smile bright on his face, he holds his hand out to his long time audience member. The other looks surprised at the action, and he takes Kirishima’s hand hesitantly.
“Kirishima Eijirou!” he chirps happily, watching as the other male continues to look surprised before stuttering out, “A-Ah, Midoriya Izuku…”
He shakes the hand in his, and Kirishima beams. Until his phone goes off in his pocket; it’s his mother, something akin to a minor family problem--which wasn’t that large, probably the dogs again--and Kirishima reassures her while also smiling apologetically at Midoriya.
“‘m so sorry but I gotta go,” Kirishima rushes out, voice pitched high and sorry when he continues on, “but if ya’ wanna talk s’more I’ll seeya Monday?”
Midoriya looks surprised at the question, which makes Kirishima look confused--did he not want to stay and chat further? He would have if his mother didn’t need him--before the insistent vibrating of his phone makes him pause and start to father his buckets.
“I’ll seeya Midoriya..?”
“A-Ah yeah… I’ll see you later…”
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It goes like this: green eyes, a stutter, and the name Midoriya.
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Kirishima looks forward to Midoriya coming back, honestly and now that he knows who to look for, well. There was no way he’d ever miss the green eyed boy again. The weekend was perhaps the longest stretch of time he’s ever experienced, and Kirishima wonders if this is like the romance movies he watches sometimes with his sisters--the boy who falls in love with a girl who stops by the same place every day, a cliche, the wrong genders, but--except it’s not quite as thought out.
Midoriya doesn’t show up. It’s just Kirishima and his buckets for hours on end, and the usually slow trickle of audience members, and dropped dollars into his outrageously colored snapback of the day; drumsticks worn out between his fingers and the buckets near broken through with how often he hits them.
He knows he’s fixated on the green haired male, despite only having met him two days prior, and Kirishima thinks his mother was right. He really did fall in love easily, really did see everyone as a possible friendship that he can’t help but invest as much time and effort as he can into. Even if they didn’t seem to look all that interested.
(that wasn’t the case here, right? that can’t be it!)
Regardless, Kirishima sits on his spare bucket designated as his stool as he taps out a new song he was working on. He doesn’t see Midoriya yet, but it’s early; Kirishima’s thinking in circles again, worried that it makes him wonder if he simply just startled the other to the point that he didn’t want to come by any more. He could be a handful, even his mother says so, ‘an excitable child so loud and so bright people can’t help but need sunglasses’ she’d say.
The thought makes the pit of his stomach twist uncomfortably as he continues to tap at his buckets. Instead of dwelling on it further, Kirishima throws himself into playing--music thrums and vibrates in his bones when he bangs on the upturned buckets, volume increasing and people pausing briefly to stare at the sudden change in his demeanor.
He grins, his drumming all he focuses on as he lets his eyes close. It’s easier this way, getting sucked up in his playing until nothing else mattered, and Kirishima wouldn’t think about anything until he was long done with playing and halfway home, probably.
“Is that a n-new song…?”
Kirishima’s eyes open suddenly at the quiet voice, familiar stutter louder than the applause that greets him once he actually stops playing. The other audience members don’t pay any mind to how spaced out Kirishima looks, only dropping whatever change it was they had on hand into the neon green snapback.
He stands up, drumsticks ignored and dropped to the ground with a clatter as he grins at Midoriya. The other looks startled for half a moment at the enthusiasm with which Kirishima stands and heads towards him, but his face softens into a smile once he adjusts to Kirishima’s enthusiasm.
“S-Sorry I haven’t been around,” Midoriya starts, quiet and in that familiar stutter Kirishima didn’t quite realize he even missed until hearing again. “Stuff got kinda… h-hectic.”
Kirishima snorts, waving a hand as he motions toward the upturned buckets. Midoriya moves to sit down on one, Kirishima right behind him as he tries not to bombard the other with questions.
“Ya’ don’t hafta worry Midoriya!” Kirishima assumes the other had his own life, it’d be natural he wouldn’t see the male for periods of time; getting attached like he did was probably the worst he could do, but. It wouldn’t be Kirishima without how easily he fell in love, even if it was with a complete stranger.
“Sometimes things happen! No worries, my dude,” Kirishima reassures, again, shaking his head as he gestures vaguely with his hands. “If you’re really worried, I can give you my number so you can tell me if you’re gonna be gone like this again?”
Head tilting to the side, Kirishima gives Midoriya a small smile. The other looks startled for a moment, something Kirishima wonders if he’ll get around to stopping whenever he hangs around Kirishima more often before:
“O-Okay, that sounds like a plan.”
“Cool!”
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It ends like this: green eyes, a stutter, the name Midoriya, and a friendship.