Archive of Our Own

Bakugou sighed as his agency's elevator door opened to the vast underground garage—binder in one hand and his car keys in the other—he walked towards his car, opening it with a beep-beep sound.

He tossed the paperwork to the passengers seat before starting up the engine, the rumbling vibration perfectly matching the coil on its owner's jaw.

He had just finished his last patrol of the day, tomorrow was (fucking finally) his day off. Although he still had some paperwork to submit tomorrow morning, more specifically those of his Team-Up mission with Kirishima; in fact that's where he was headed next.

It's fucking ridiculous really, but somehow, the unstoppable duo came to a one-sided agreement that they'd take turns going over to each other's houses, filling out the paperwork together. (Okay, maybe it wasn't as one-sided as Bakugou often claimed).

Kirishima said it reminded him of their tutoring sessions during their high school years, and... well... He's not wrong. The idiot still doesn't know shit about activity reports and damage liability filings, just like he didn't know shit about basic physics and advanced calculus back then.

Other than that, it wasn't... That bad. They shared laughter and gossip, and Katsuki took the opportunity to show off his masterful cooking skills whenever he had the chance. That idiot is a sucker for his food, and he's not shy of expressing it. (What can he say? It boosts his ego.)

The only thing that really pissed him off though, is when it was Kirishima's turn. Because then it meant he had to drive from Chiyoda all the way to Ichigaya Sadoharachō. Which wasn't that far away, but Katsuki's patience wasn't the most persistent.

Bakugou was already fuming as he waited for the security gate to glide open, Central Tokyo during the evening rush was an exercise in absolute irritation and Katsuki's short temper wasn't one that needed testing. He pulled out onto Sotobori-dōri, the heavily policed avenues of Nagatacho instantly melted into a sea of red taillights and sleek corporate sedans. To his left, the deep water of the outer palace moat reflected the fading twilight, but Bakugou wasn’t looking at the fucking scenery. He was aggressively tapping a rhythm on his wheel, eyes narrowed as he tracked the sluggish crawl of the traffic ahead.

Every red light on Route 405 felt like a slap to the face.

"Fucking hell." he muttered, glaring through the windshield at a Tokyo city bus that was taking an eternity to pull away from a curb. His palms were warm—hot enough that he had to consciously keep his quirk from singeing the leather grip.

The drive was barely three kilometers, but by the time the massive neon-lit hub of Ichigaya Station loomed into view, Bakugou was about to fucking lose it.

He swung the wheel to the left, the nose of his car angled over the Ichigaya Bridge. Below him, the JR Chūō train rattled past along the canal with a deafening metallic screech, he hissed at the noise.

The station plaza was a swirling vortex of commuters, college students, and bright restaurant signs, forcing him to ride the brake as pedestrians swarmed across the zebra stripes. Fucking hell indeed.

The moment he cleared the plaza and angled the car northwest into Ichigaya Sadoharachō, the city underwent a drastic claustrophobic squeeze.

The wide multi-lane avenue vanished. And now, Bakugo was forced to navigate a road barely wide enough for two vehicles to pass, and—to add to the absolute claustrophobia nightmare—the street was flanked by high concrete retaining walls that shot straight up into the hillside. The car’s powerful engine growled as it fought the sudden steep slope of Jōrurizaka, climbing high above the valley of the station.

Now came the real fucking nightmare: parking.

Bakugou slowed to a crawl, his eyes scanned the shadowed alleys for the glowing yellow sign of a public coin-parking lot. He spotted one tucked between two low-rise apartment blocks, his hand stilled as temporary relief washed over him, but as he rolled past the entrance, the glowing red Full—満—glared back at him.

"You better be fucking kidding me." he hissed as he backtracked.

He had to accelerate further up the winding hill, the road tilting at an angle that made scanning the sidewalks just fucking awkward. Another turn, another narrow pass where he had to tuck his mirrors in just to let an oncoming delivery truck squeeze past, before he finally finally caught the blessed glowing green Empty —空 —sign of a tiny three space lot hidden on a sharp bend of the slope.

Bakugo didn't hesitate. He threw the car into reverse—twisting as he threw one arm over the passenger headrest, his mirrors angled down to catch the concrete boundaries as he expertly backed the sportscar up the incline and into the slot. He cut the ignition, the sudden silence of the cabin loud against the ticking of the cooling engine. Cutting through the silence—a heavy metallic clunk echoed from underneath the chassis as the automated locking flap rose up to secure his rear axle.

He sat in the dark for a long and well-needed exhale.

He did it.

He managed to drive through traffic without kicking ass.

He grabbed his binder then got out of the car, the chilly November wind hit him with a soft blow. He adjusted his scarf further up his nose and started up the sidewalk.

Phone already in hand, he started typing as he approached the oak door of Kirishima's apartment building.

I'm downstairs. Open the damn lobby door.

Two seconds later the doors opened. Katsuki headed inside, his foot tapping into an impatient rhythm as he waited for the elevator.

As the elevator doors opened, Katsuki took time to thank god that it was empty. Last thing he needed right now is some damn extra (a fan) cornering him into the tight space.

Arms crossed—he waited for the elevator to reach the top floor, he stepped out, headed straight to the familiar door, then knocked a little harder than necessary.

His complaint about traffic and the annoying uncooperative citizen he had to save today died on his tongue as Kirishima opened the door.

Katsuki studied him up and down: red hair clinging to his sweaty forehead, flushed cheeks, running nose, trembling hands as he hugged himself with a blanket.

"You look like shit." Bakugou remarked with a raised brow.

"Yeah, and I feel like shit" Kirishima tried to jest, though the way his voice slightly croaked made it seem less than a joke and more of a cry for help.

Katsuki's brows furrowed as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Kirishima shrugged "It's nothing, really. I'm fine. It's just a little cold-"

The words died on his mouth as Katsuki stepped further into his apartment, he removed his scarf and jacket to hang it on the coat hanger, the binder in his hand was now put aside on the side table by the entrance. He looked around the apartment, the fleeting sunlight further accentuating the tossed tissue that was piled on the floor; it wasn't the tidiest, but he'll spare him the nagging just this one time.

"Did you eat?"

Katsuki asked as he turned to face him, a hint of concern in his voice, one he tried to hide with a scoff.

Kirishima would never admit it, but he always found the way Katsuki scoffed freaking adorable: his narrowed right eye, the pout on his lips, the mentalis dimples that would form when he slightly frowned.

"N-Not really... There's nothing in the cabinets. I didn't go shopping because I knew you were coming... Didn't wanna... leave you out..." Kirishima answered ashamedly as he rubbed the back of his head, Katsuki's scrutinizing gaze making his words falter.

"Let me guess, you didn't take medicine either? Wait, do you even have some?"

Katsuki snorted, it wasn't even a question at this point. This idiot was the shittiest at keeping track of essentials (like stocking up on medicine and fucking food), so he's not surprised that this happened.

Eijirou stayed silent, unsure on how to justify himself this time.

Bakugou huffed as he grabbed his jacket and Kirishima's keys from the side table.

"I'll be right back."

He announced as he left Kirishima standing there, mouth half opened in retort.

As Bakugou made his way out the apartment building, a northerly wind caught him, its fresh air filling his lungs. The neighborhood was oddly tranquil, the only sound was the distant hum of the Chūō line trains and the crunch of the fiery red Iroha-momiji leaves beneath him. He walked for a peaceful two maybe three minutes before he'd take a turn to the neighbourhood's combination store.

The glass doors opened with a loud and slightly cheery "Iraashaimase!", for some reason the sound reminded him of Kirishima (although his voice is not as robotic). He tch'd at the thought before he made his way straight to the integrated drugstore. He didn't even bother looking around, he already had a set list of the things he needed to get: medicine, Netsusama Sheets, and the ingredients for Miso soup and Shogayu. Stuff that his mother usually forced him to take made whenever he was sick.

He briefly scanned the drugstores area. It was all white, deprived of any sort of colour, depressingly boring compared to the otherwise warm neighbourhood.

Wait. Why the fuck does he care anyway?

He shook his head as he picked up a pack of Netsusama Sheets and Shin Lulu A—that medicine worked wonders for him. When he was a kid, he rarely gets sick now. (And, frankly, he praised himself for it.)

Though, it seems that that fact was about to change as an old man started coughing all up in his face! (They were at least 5 meters apart). Katsuki cringed as he fled the scene, a scowl on his face as he made his way to the conbini side.

Bakugou pointlessly wiped away his jacket as he picked up a shopping basket. He headed to the dry aisle first, he grabbed the Katakuriko, a bottle of honey, and grain coffee while he was at it. Kirishima had an incredible coffee station, he might as well make good use of it; plus he desperately needed the caffeine.

At last, he came eye to eye to the Dashi Packets, now; the Bombshell hero: Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight wasn't one to use foolish, powdery, bland and synthetically produced broth; if it was up to him he would've made the Dashi broth for the Miso soup all by himself from scratch, but...

It took way too long and Kirishima needed to eat like yesterday. So, he made the painfully reasonable and conscious decision of picking up the cheap Dashi packets, his scarred hand almost spasmed at the sad sight. He tossed it aggressively onto the shopping basket before he made a beeline to the refrigerated wall, that yucky cold air mixed with produce hit him as he yanked the glass open. He quickly reached for Miso paste and Silken Tofu then let the glass door slam before heading to the register, last thing he needed right now is the smell of fucking produce clinging to him.

But, just as he headed to pay. His eyes caught sight of those stupid Jelly Pouches Kirishima always gorged before his patrols. The bright neon colours of the packaging were almost mocking him.

He averted his gaze, maybe if he pretended they didn't exist they'll just disappear.

But then he stared again, then averted, then stared, then averted, then-

Fuck.

Katsuki got out of the store with the ingredients he needed and enough Jelly Pouches that could last the shitty hair months (he doubts it, that idiot consumes them religiously).

He made his way back to the apartment complex, Kirishima's keys already in hand as he recalled his childhood days: his mother, usually brash and violent, taking care of a stubborn and sick 5 year old Katsuki. He briefly smiled at the memory. It felt...nice. Being taken care of.

He can't help but wonder... Would it be nice to take care of someone too?

That thought was quickly brushed away as the elevator dinged, he tightened his grip on the shopping bag as he got inside.

That idiot better not be doing something stupid right now. He found himself thinking.

The elevator doors opened to the familiar hallway, Katsuki could already hear Kirishima blowing his nose as he unlocked the door.

When he stepped inside, while removing his shoes, he noticed the fast rise and fall of a curled up Kirishima, whole body covered and everything. And, was he... shaking?

Katsuki tossed the keys to the side table before putting away the bag on one of the open kitchen's counters, he slowly approached the couch in which Kirishima was currently taking his last breaths laying on. Normally, the idiot would probably whine "Man this and that hurts..." "Help me..." "Katsukiii.." or something like that.

But he was just... quiet.

Almost... heaving?

He peeked at him, his whole face was red and his eyes were half open as he said hoarsely

"Hey... You're back..."

Katsuki's hand moved before he could think, checking his temperature. His hand lingered there as he tried to process the very high fever his friend had.

But then, he saw it-

No fucking way.

He blinked.

This- fucking himbo was wearing a fucking cotton sweater.

The blonde facepalmed himself on his friend's behalf.

"Eijirou..."

To which the response was a noncommittal hum.

"Explain why you're wearing that!? You're fucking burning!"

Kirishima's lips were quivering when he fully opened his eyes.

"I was cold like a second ago though..."

Katsuki couldn't hold back the huff of disappointment as he removed the blanket the redhead was covered in, already folding it as he commanded.

"Stay here."

He shook his head as he made his way into Kirishima's room, muttering "Dumbass" as he grabbed a breathable t-shirt and a lighter blanket.

When Katsuki headed back to the living room, his eyes caught the sunset that peeked out the horizon and the way it shined on Eijirou's red hair, somehow making it more vibrant and even more obnoxious than before.

He stayed there for a moment, admiring...the view before making his way towards his friend again.

He tossed the t-shirt and blanket to him.

"Here." Katsuki barked

Kirishima slowly rose, his body weakly supported by the sheer power of his forearms and his own self-proclaimed manliness (stubbornness).

It was a pitiful sight, and it turned even more pitiful when he finally sat up and miserably tried to remove his shirt.

The things he does for this man, un-fucking-believable.

"You're fucking helpless..." he sighed.

"Up." Katsuki demanded as his ears turned a slight shade of pink, hands hovering just inches of his best friend's head.

Kirishima just looked at him for a second, dumbfounded more than anything before he'd move his arms up in compliance, his own head tilted down as if to avoid eye contact.

Katsuki moved mechanically, efficiently pulling the 500 pounds sweater off and sliding the black t-shirt on. Finally letting himself peek at his best friend once he's dressed again.

He noticed the way his let down hair was practically glued to his forehead and neck, sweat beads prickling down his flushed skin further making it sticky.

Surely, that can't feel comfortable.

Bakugou slowly reached for red hair, careful not to pull too hard as he clumped up the sweaty hair and hand tied it into a bun.

"You can't do anything, huh!? I have to do everything for you now!?"

He complained, but that didn't stop him from covering him with the blanket as Kirishima curled up again, a shameless smile on his face.

"Don't just- fucking smile!"

Katsuki snorted with clenched teeth, brows furrowed as Kirishima just kept staring at him with that stupid fond face of his. He decided to just head to the kitchen instead. Not even a second later, he was back with a Netsusama sheet on his hand.

He hovered over a sleep dazed Kirishima, red studying red as he slowly lowered the sheet to his forehead.

"It's a bit cold..."

Katsuki whispered in what must be the softest he could manage, fingers lightly flattening the cooling sheet to make it stick.

Kirishima hissed before slowly easing into the cold.

A wobbly smile formed on his face as he looked up at Katsuki with those ridiculous buggy eyes.

"Thanks, man.."

Katsuki scoffed.

"Yeah, whatever."

Katsuki made a beeline to the kitchen, eyes scanning the familiar place, he probably knew the entire structure of this space the same as his parents kitchen, if not even more. He started by unpacking the groceries; when he opened the fridge to put away the Jelly Pouches for later, his eyes caught the fan drawings of the Sturdy Hero, a faint smile crept up his lips as he studied each one of them, if there is anyone who deserved this type of affection it's Eijirou Kirishima. So Katsuki isn't at all surprised just... Happy for his friend.

He dusted off his hands then reached for a pot on one of the cabinets, he almost cringing when he opened the Dashi packet; he pulled it to a gentle simmer whilst occasionally looking over to the now sneezing Kirishima. The sight of him blowing his nose should make him feel disgusted but he just found himself worried instead. A scowl formed on his face as he mentally demanded the broth to heat up faster.

As Katsuki turned around to get a knife to cut the Tofu he caught a glimpse of the Manly Calendar Kirishima, for some reason, had put up below the kitchen's bicep-shaped clock—which was at least 3 inches above his eye level; impractical if you ask Bakugou, though it suited the idiot he supposes.

It's not like he's never seen it before, but he could argue that he first thought that it was just for decor or something, that would definitely justify its ridiculous placement.

But now that he's taking a good look at it, there was something written there.

At first it was unclear, but then Katsuki squeezed his eyes and... There it was.

"Poprocks hangout!!" (Poprocks was their team name: Kirishima's idea).

Exclamation mark and all, as if it was something urgent, important.

Katsuki smirked as he shouted from the Kitchen to a hopefully awake Kirishima.

"Ha! You have me coming over as a top priority? You're that miserable?"

Bakugou meant for his statement to be more self-deprecating than anything, he meant for it to be a 'you actually look forward to hanging out with my sorry ass?' but Kirishima seemed to take it the wrong way.

Katsuki's grin faltered when he saw the sad smile on Eijirou's face, the kind he would put on when something upset him but swallowed it anyway, the kind Katsuki had never been the cause of, not in all their years, the kind Bakugou refused to ever witness again.

Fuck, he shouldn't have worded it like that.

Should he apologize? Should he just keep quiet? Should he brush it off? Should he correct himself? He did none of that.

Instead, he did the only thing he knew.

"Guess we're both miserable then." Bakugou shrugged.

That seemed to lighten the mood as Kirishima was now chuckling, his throat giving way to a cough.

"Good to know!" he beamed.

How lucky was he to have someone understand his language as well as Kirishima did?

Katsuki huffed as he got back to preparing the miso soup, his hands steadily cutting the Tofu into small cubes before he'd dump it into the simmering pot.

"Dude, just the sound of your cutting is making my stomach rumble!" the redhead shouted.

"Tell your stomach to shut it then!" the blonde responded.

Another chuckle.

Yeah. Infinitely lucky.

"Besides, aren't sick people supposed to have a loss of appetite or somethin'?" Bakugou questioned with mock skepticism, ladle in hand as he mixed a spoonful of miso paste with the warm broth.

"What can I say? I'm built different man!" Kirishima responded.

Katsuki looked over to the couch lump to find him already sitting up, impatiently anticipating his food.

The blonde snickered as he carefully mixed the miso into the pot.

"Sure you are, big guy." he mumbled as he plated the soup into two bowls, adding a few drops of fresh ginger juice to Kirishima's bowl before turning towards the living room.

Plate in hand, he carefully set the bowls on the coffee table.

As the blonde rose from his bent down position his eyes caught the pile of tissue that had been bugging him since he stepped foot here.

It was all piled up on the edge of the couch, right beside Kirishima's sweaty pillow. Bakugou moved before his mind could voice another unnecessary complaint, heading to the kitchen to grab a plastic bag.

Kirishima watched him, lips slightly parted in surprise—or maybe just because his nose was clogged—when he saw Bakugou bending down to collect the biohazard.

Bakugou caught him staring.

"What? Need me to feed you too?"

The blonde remarked sarcastically, sealing the bag with a sharp knot.

"Well... If you're offering."

Kirishima responded eagerly, a teasing grin breaking through his exhaustion.

Katsuki rolled his eyes before he'd make his way to the kitchen to wash his hands.

"Tch. I'm sure you can manage."

"Oh, I'm not sure I can." the other sing-songed.

But he was already taking the bowl in his hands, letting the steam coat his sweaty face.

Asshole.

"Smells good." Kirishima mumbled reverently, his eyes closed.

Katsuki hummed as he sat on one of the red zabutons across the couch, taking in the redhead's almost serene expression as he sipped on his soup. His eyes involuntarily followed the tiny gulps of his friend, noting the way he would take small breaks as to not work up his already sore throat.

Hearing his complaint earlier got him thinking the idiot would simply devour the soup in one go, heck, maybe even ask for seconds. But no, he was taking his time with it, pausing and carefully chewing the small tofu cubes. And not by choice it seems, he almost feels bad for him.

Eijirou looked at him, only then did Katsuki start sipping from his own bowl, eyes averted.

They ate in silence, the sun was now long gone, its light now replaced by the soft moonlight that seeped through the curtains and the soft orange bulb lighting over their heads.

Bakugou looked over to the sick lump, the once cheery idiot that said anything that came to mind was now quiet. Awfully quiet.

"I'd rather my bratty Katsuki then this lump of sickness" his mother used to say. He never really understood how his mother, that often complained about his temper, would rather upstand his loudness than deal with a quiet sick kid. That is 'til now.

He suddenly remembered how his mom used to pray for him when he was kid, rubbing his chest with ointment

"Nekki wa soto, genki wa uchi. Katsuki no karada wa tetsu yori tsuyoi. Waga ya ni yamai wa yoritsukanai. Hayaku naore, hayaku naore. Mami no iu koto o kikinasai."

She would repeat in a hushed voice, the choice of words and the sincerity in her usually gruff tone made the words stick.

And now he found himself silently repeating the cadence in his head, hoping that somehow the redhead would read his mind and find comfort in them too.

A sneeze caught him off guard, Eijirou was now halfway through his soup, the sight of him juggling both holding the bowl and blowing his nose with tissue had Katsuki snorting back a chuckle.

Kirishima pouted as he noticed his friend suppressing his laugh.

"Laughing at a poor sick man, not very manly Bakugou!"

Yeah. That was the nail on the head.

Katsuki burst out laughing, his own soup forgotten as he chuckled from the depths of his stomach.

The echoes of his childish laugh almost made Kirishima forget he was the cause of it. Almost.

Bakugou held his stomach as he just kept- laughing.

"It's not even that funny!"

Kirishima protested even though his lips were half upturned.

That only caused the blonde to laugh even harder.

"Man, this is sad even for you!"

Katsuki managed to say between wheezes.

Kirishima's smile only got bigger, as ridiculous as it may sound he'd never get tired of hearing that laugh.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up."

Kirishima mumbled as he sipped on his soup once more, hoping it would hide the grin on his own face.

Katsuki wiped away his eyes, slowly coming down from the high.

"Wow, haven't laughed like that in ages."

Fuck, that slipped through.

He didn't even need to look at Eijirou to know that he was full on grinning right now.

He rolled his eyes.

"Eat your damn soup."

"Mhm" the redhead teased.

Katsuki slowly sipped his own soup as to hide the soft smile that threatened to form on his face.

The room fell silent, the only sound was the soft wind hitting the red curtains. Seriously, does he need to get everything in red?

"So, tomorrow's your day off?"

Kirishima initiating stupid small talk? That's new.

"Was." the blonde corrected with a hint of bitterness.

Kirishima looked at him like he's stupid—his brow raised, almost reaching his hairline.

"I've gotta take care of your sorry ass, remember?" Bakugou added casually. As if that wasn't the sweetest thing Kirishima had ever witnessed him say, as if the word 'take care of' didn't send a wave of awe through the redhead.

It was apparent on his face, that fondness. Bakugou didn't know what to do with it.

"Tch. Finish your damn food already!"

He ordered as he aggressively chugged on the rest of his soup.

"You really are amazing Bakugou..." The redhead murmured.

Katsuki simply huffed, averting his gaze as he picked up his bowl once again.

If there is one thing about Bakugou it's that he never punishes sincerity. And that right there, was the most sincere the flushed idiot had managed today.

Kirishima smiled before drinking the rest of his soup, letting himself get a puff of air out when he noticed the ridiculously coiled grip Katsuki had on his bowl. And then...there it was. The pout, the one that exposed more than Katsuki would ever let on.

Katsuki was already up to collect the dishes before Kirishima even had the chance to place his empty bowl on the table.

Bakugou stood there for a moment, bowls still in hand. Originally, he planned to make the sick sagball some Shogayu after their meal. But seeing how he struggled with just that, he assumes it's better if he just lets it for tomorrow. Maybe he'll force him to take it for breakfast. Yeah, that could work.

"Everything okay, dude?"

Kirishima's voice startled him out of his head. He just now realised he probably looked like a fucking idiot, just standing there completely zoned out.

"Yeah." He responded hoarsely before making his way to the kitchen.

On his way there, his eyes caught the binder by the front door. The vibrant yellow, the 'Hero Recordings' written on the side—big and bulky kanjis.

Shit. He totally forgot about that.

He said that he would bring the paperwork tomorrow, first thing in the morning.

He had to call his assistant about that.

Katsuki grunted as he made his way to the sink, the cold water easing the sudden rise of anger.

Normally the accumulating dishes Kirishima left overnight would downright just piss him off even more, but he found himself grateful instead. Now his hands— that were on the verge of letting off explosions—had an excuse to be under the water for a little longer.

The water cascaded over his hands, washing away his nitroglycerin sweat and the stress that caused it with it.

He finally allowed himself a sigh as he finished up the last plate.

He then put away the dishes after drying them off, picking a glass and filling it with water.

As he headed to the couch, he saw that Kirishima was still sitting, and, was he...speaking?

He mumbled something.

"What?" Katsuki asked, confused.

More mumbling, this one even hoarser.

"Clear your fucking throat."

He did just that.

"I SAID, CAN I GET ICE CUBES IN THE WATER PLEASE?" Kirishima shouted.

Katsuki cursed under his breath as he scrunched his nose in disdain.

"Such a fucking baby..." he muttered under his breath before he opened the fridge for his ice cubes anyway.

He grabbed the Shin Lulu A then walked towards him with the cold fresh water.

Just as Kirishima unsteadily reached for the glass, Katsuki snatched it from his hand; the water almost spilling.

"Hold it, correctly." Katsuki lectured with narrowed eyes.

Kirishima rolled his eyes.

"Dude. I was." he rebuked.

Katsuki glared at him.

"Okay, okay! Alright..."

He reached slowly for it this time—both hands. One holding the glass and the other supporting it.

Katsuki then popped 3 tablets before handing it to Kirishima, who was apparently too busy holding the cup of water to pay him mind.

"Gimme that!"

Katsuki snatched the cup once again, putting the medicine onto Kirishima's palm.

Eijirou—too tired to argue, just took the medicine, his hand already reaching for the glass once again.

But Katsuki had other plans. Ones that involved not getting water spilt on the fucking floor.

He slowly held the cup to Kirishima's lips, his eyes following the encirclement of his mouth around the brim, the slow up and down movement of his throat, the way his hands would slowly reach for the cup as if to stabilise it before falling back down again once his body recognises: this isn't someone random. It's Katsuki, and we trust him.

Anywhere but his eyes.

Because if he looked at his eyes, he would see it—The dazed look they held.

Bakugou carefully tilted the cup off his lips when he noticed the other's tongue flick up, assuming he was done.

"More." Kirishima demanded suddenly.

Katsuki's breath hitched.

It was so clear.

So quiet, yet so loud.

Spoken so freely, with command, like he had the right to demand such things.

Wasn't his throat hoarse just a second ago? This fucking asshole.

Katsuki scoffed, handing the redhead his cup.

"Do it yourself!"

He said roughly—jaw tightened.

Eijirou slowly took the cup in his hand, looking down, a slight pout on his lips. He looked like a fucking kicked puppy.

Katsuki narrowed his eyes at him before he turned, hands in his pockets as he headed to the balcony.

"Hmph. Gotta make a phone call anyway."

He justified.

As if he wronged him.

Fuck.

Katsuki tried to keep normal pace as he reached the balcony's door, but it was obvious that he was practically running to the escape.

He closed the balcony door, exhaling a breath he didn't even realise he was holding as his mind kept replaying 'more' over and over and over again. Like a broken record.

This is fucking stupid.

He looked back to see Eijirou throwing his head back against the couch, his eyes on the ceiling as he gargled his water. Like he didn't give a single care about the world.

Really fucking stupid.

He took his phone out of his pocket then quickly dialed the familiar number.

"Mr. Dynamight?" A familiar monotone voice answered from the other line, his assistant Kōji.

"Yeah, hey, listen. I won't be able to submit the Poprocks paperwork tomorrow. Gotta uh..."

He looked back at Eijirou again, still resting his head on the couch's headrest. Somehow looking even more blissfully ignorant.

"Emergency." He continued.

"Yeah, of course. I mean, technically you have a limit of one week to submit the papers, just be sure it's within that timeline." the assistant explained.

"Mhm, yeah, I know."

The assistant didn't even bother adding a formal 'Okay, have a goodnight sir.' because they already knew their boss would just hang up anyway. Which... was the case.

Katsuki ruffled his hair, took one last deep breath then got back inside.

Once inside, he glanced at Kirishima who was already looking up at him. With crossed arms, Katsuki studied the redhead.

A sweat bead fell down from his forehead all the way to his flushy cheek, luckily it wasn't as red as it was when he first got here. That's good.

"Where are your hero recordings?" The blonde asked.

Kirishima slowly raised his head from the couch's headrest.

"I—on my desk in the bedroom." he answered, blinking "Why?"

It took a second for the realization to click, but when Katsuki just nodded, Kirishima's eyes widened.

"Wait! Are you gonna fill it out for me?"

Katsuki scoffed, turning toward the hallway.

"What ya think, you idiot?"

"But-!" The redhead protested.

Katsuki didn't listen, when he set his mind to something then there is nothing that could stop him.

As the blonde entered the bedroom, he paused to study the strangely tidy space. His bed was made, his clothes were nowhere to be found on the floor, heck, even his dumbbells were put away in their place! Which was a miracle, honestly.

A slight smirk formed on his face before he'd make his way to Eijirou's desk.

There he found a couple of scattered shit: papers, some pens—he took one—and... there it was! The Hero Recordings binder.

Of-fucking-course it's red.

He shook his head in disbelief before he headed to the closet, he needed a change of clothes.

He picked up some grey sweatpants and a black t-shirt that had The Great Wave of Kanagawa imprinted on its front. At least it wasn't red. He quickly changed then went to pick up his own binder from the side table and his reading glasses from his jacket by the front door.

The moment he dropped on the zabuton, Kirishima was already restarting his rebukes.

"Bakugou, seriously, you don't have to. Come on, man, that's too much work for you on your own!"

Bakugou just ignored him as he slid on his reading glasses.

He glared up at him.

Eijirou's protests faltered under Katsuki's unyielding stare. His breath stilled. He might have a thing or two for hot guys with glasses. (And Bakugou Katsuki might or might not be the first awakening of that discovery).

He swallowed, hard.

He looked away, but that didn't stop his stubborn nature from kicking in.

"Seriously, man... It's fine, I'll fill it tomorrow. Please, I don't wanna-"

"It's fine!" the blonde snapped, cutting him off.

"I've filled these motherfuckers more times than I can count..." he continued as he dropped his eyes to the page.

"You can be so hardheaded sometimes.." He added under his breath, a slight grin on his face. One that someone else would've missed, but not Kirishima. Never Kirishima.

Kirishima grinned from ear to ear, his sharp teeth reflecting radiance as he caught his friend's last phrase.

"Was that..." a huff of a chuckle.

"Was that you trying to make a joke?"

He continued, barely holding back his laugh.

Katsuki fixed his glasses, looking directly into Eijirou's eyes he asked nonchalantly 

"So what if it was?"

Eijirou couldn't hold it back anymore, he was full on chuckling now. A big full-bellied laugh filled the room before it turned to a pathetic hoarse cough instead then another loud chuckle. As if his throat hadn't yet decided if it would permit him this one thing.

Bakugou only rolled his eyes as he smiled at the laughing idiot.

"That's so lame!" The redhead managed to wheeze out.

Katsuki let out an amused scoff as he sat back on his hands.

"You're one to talk. You're laughing your ass off!"

The redhead just kept laughing, throwing his head back again.

Katsuki's smirk only grew sharper, his eyes studying the fall and rise of the laughing mess in front of him.

"Laughing at someone who's about to do your work for you... Not very smart, are we, shitty hair?"

Bakugou teased.

Kirishima coughed as his laugh slowly tuned into a light chuckle.

"Hey! I don't even have my hair gelled up right now!" He said between snickers, sitting right up again.

"In fact, it was you who did this hairstyle on me! Is the great Dynamight finally admitting he's bad at something?" He taunted with a raised brow.

Katsuki only grinned.

"So, you're just ignore what I said before that and stick to that one word?!"

"One word?! You mean the first time the Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight admits defeat?!"

"It's a nickname! N.I.C.K.N.A.M.E!" he spelled out.

Just as Kirishima was about to come up with another cheeky remark, he paused to consider the blonde's words.

"Wait, that's actually kinda sweet."

Katsuki pinched his nose, his ears turning red.

"Moron." Katsuki mumbled under his breath.

He took the pen in his left hand and started working through the papers instead.

Kirishima huffed out a sigh of relief, letting the quiet moment linger in the air for a moment before he'd slowly lay his head on the pillow again. Body turned to face Bakugou as he worked.

The blonde swallowed as he felt his eyes on him, his handwriting worsening as he started breathing on command. What the fuck is he staring at him for?

"You're writing with your left hand." the redhead suddenly remarked.

Bakugou's hand stilled. He wasn't sure what to make of Eijirou's words, it sounded more of a question than a statement.

He didn't look at him when he responded.

"Yeah."

"I remember you had really beautiful handwriting" beautiful "Well, you know, back before... you know." He cleared his throat "Now your handwriting looks like shit from what I can tell from here."

Beautiful.

He thinks his handwriting is beautiful. 

That's such a fucking stupid compliment.

"Bakugou..."

No response.

"Bakugou!"

Katsuki snapped his head at Kirishima, who was now slightly raised in an attempt to sit up.

"You good, man?"

"Yeah... Just zoned out for a bit."

Kirishima cursed himself.

"Shit. I'm sorry, I should have never brought that up. I don't even know why-"

Bakugou interrupted him with a scoff.

"No. It's not even about that. Don't worry about it." And just to further prove his point he added "Shitty hair..."

Kirishima slowly relaxed into the couch again, this time turning on his back. He let out a sigh of relief.

Katsuki couldn't explain it, but somehow, he missed having those anxiety inducing eyes on him.

Made him work faster.

"I can still write with my right hand." Bakugou said quietly.

Kirishima peeked at him from the corner of his eye.

"It's just-"

Eijirou fully turned to his side now, waiting expectantly for his next words.

"You know, after the war..." the word tasted bitter on his mouth, still does.

"Well, I've just- gotten used to it."

Kirishima simply nodded, it's not that he had nothing to say, although that was part of the reason, but he could also tell that, in that moment, Bakugou still wanted to add something. His mouth closed then opened—a tell sign that Eijirou learned to catch by now.

Bakugou looked at the paperwork in front of him, hand scrubbing at the back of his neck while the other slightly fidgeted with the pen.

"I can fill out your paperwork with my 'prettyhandwriting' or whatever." He muttered, so quietly, so silently Kirishima would've missed it if his brain hadn't cut off any sound other than Katsuki's voice.

One move.

One word.

One wrong move or word and he could break this moment.

He didn't know what to do with it.

He'll treasure it, that's for sure.

But...

He's willing to dig out for more.

"You'd... Do that for me?"

It was a stupid move. He knows that. He can already predict the outcome. Could already hear Katsuki's scoff, could already feel the dismissal, could already foresee the 'drop it all together' act.

Katsuki looked at Kirishima with wide eyes, as if he heard something- something shitty, something fucked, something unexpected. Unexpectedly tender.

Tender and he was letting himself perceive it as tender.

He nodded. Stiffly.

"Yeah, whatever." He grunted as he looked down again—at the workload that he still had to get through. The one thing that could distract his currently racing heart.

They stayed like that for a while. Kirishima lying on his side watching over a steady Bakugou. The relaxed expression that he only ever had when he was concentrated. The sound of ink on paper as he drew jagged lines. The careful flipping. The occasional look over at him. It was like those soothing Lofi Girl beats Kaminari swore helped him sleep.

He never really got how some random animated girl in a sweater who was studying could ever be... lulling. That is until working Katsuki with glasses. (Don't quote him on that).

He could feel his eyes getting heavier, but he was determined to keep watching over his friend—The efforts he put into finishing both their paperworks before sleep. He couldn't just leave him alone like that, that wouldn't be very manly of him.

Katsuki yawned; stretching as he finally finished his own filing. He glanced at Kirishima—he was looking at him, but he wasn't smiling. He wants to say something.

"You know, I already feel much better." the redhead muttered.

Okay... Where is that coming from?

"Yeah?" the blonde responded.

"Yeah. I can feel the medicine coursing through me. I'm healing."

"Wow. Big words. Impressive." Katsuki couldn't help but mock.

"Don't be an asshole... I'm trying to build up to something!"

"Yeah. I can tell."

"Thank you."

"You're failing miserably at it."

"Wow. Okay."

"Just say what you wanna say. You know I hate the waiting game."

Kirishima raised a brow in confusion.

"The waiting game?"

"Yeah, you know. When the other person delays what they actually wanna say."

he boasted as he looked him up and down.

Kirishima nodded as he turned on his back again, his hand poking the Netsusama sheet on his forehead.

Katsuki carefully put down his pen as he crossed his arms across the table. Mouth shut as he watched every breath his friend took.

"You don't have to stay for the night." Eijirou finally said as he looked at the ceiling.

"Like I said. I already feel much better, I don't-" he continued cynically, as if he was reading off a script on the ceiling.

The redhead turned his head slightly to the side, catching crimson eyes.

"It's your day off. You shouldn't have to worry about me." he mumbled.

Katsuki's whole body stilled for a moment, his eyes narrowed without his permission.

Is that what he's worried about?

"You don't get to dictate what I do with my free time." Katsuki responded roughly.

"No, I know. I know that, I just-"

"You just what?"

"I don't think it's fair for you to work on your day off!" he blurted out.

"You're not work, Kirishima. You're sick." Katsuki objected instantly, indefinitely.

Kirishima's mouth hung loose as all thoughts dissipated.

Katsuki swallowed before picking up the pen again—right hand.

"Stop saying stupid shit like that."

He asserted before he'd start on the other's filings.

Kirishima's eyes fluttered as he slowly melted onto the couch, his mouth curling into a small smile as he was rendered speechless.

Time passed. Silence stretched. Papers were filled. And somehow along the way, Kirishima fell asleep.

Katsuki rubbed at the bridge of his nose as he removed his glasses. His vision went a bit blurry before focusing on the sleepyhead.

Bakugou rested his chin on his hand, his eyes on his friend. He was lying on his side, all curled up on himself; which was odd because the idiot usually sleeps in the most uncompromising positions known to mankind.

He looked so calm like this. With his big eyes closed and his hands limp, he almost didn't recognise the boisterous man he had grown to... tolerate.

That is if it weren't for the drool pooling at the corner of his mouth, the idiot never closed his mouth even in his sleep.

Not that he was complaining, Katsuki desperately needed someone to drown out the constant noise in his head.

And now, his—its savior was currently sleeping. With his mouth open.

How does that even happen?

Is he so relaxed that his whole face goes limp? Or is it that his sharp teeth bother him so that's why he has to keep his mouth open all the time?

If that were the case, then how come he has the softest lips Katsuki has ever seen?

Wait.

A spark went off.

What the fuck?

Katsuki almost fell when he turned away, his hands came up holding his mouth in shock.

Why the fuck is he thinking about Kirishima's lips right now?

He stood up way too fast and raced to the kitchen. His heart was pounding, random small sparks wrapped his whole body as well as sweat. He reached the sink, abruptly picked a glass then downed not one, not two, but three full glasses of water.

Calm down. Calm down. Calm down.

He repeated in his head.

He then washed his red face with cold water.

Slowly, his breathing stilled.

He glanced at the clock above him.

00:42

It was late. Way past his usual bedtime. He should probably head to sleep.

Katsuki slowly turned to take a peek at his friend.

Still asleep. Though the Netsusama sheet he had was slowly falling off his forehead, he should probably change it anyway.

Katsuki took a well needed breath before he'd get back to the couch, a new Netsusama sheet in his hand.

Once he stood over the sleeping sagball, he slowly lowered himself, kneeling at his friend's eye level.

Breath slightly stuttering as he looked at his lips. Again.

He turned away.

Just what the hell is wrong with him?

Katsuki peeked again. He couldn't help himself.

He just looks so...

So...

Katsuki swallowed as he slowly reached for the used Netsusama sheet.

He needs to get a fucking grip, is what this is.

The old Netsusama sheet was still a bit cold. When he removed it, his eyes caught a cold droplet mixing with sweat; a straying strand of hair stuck into the salty wet skin.

His slightly shivering finger came up to brush it out of the way. Eijirou's whole face was exposed now.

Katsuki would never admit it, but he found himself missing his best friend's usual cheery face.

Does he really need to be so carefree all the time?

Katsuki couldn't make out why the answer would be anything other than: Yes, and unapologetically so.

His beating heart slowly came to a pleasant rhythm as he laid the new Netsusama sheet on Kirishima's forehead. Entirely oblivious to the fact that the man before him wasn't asleep at all.

Eijirou stayed as still as ever, his heart unknowingly beating to the same rhythm as the one above him.

He didn't move. He didn't blink.

For now, he'll be the blind witness to this bliss.

Katsuki woke up to the sound of chirping birds and a soft yellow light blinding his vision, he slowly opened his eyes, looking up to an unaccustomed yet familiar view—Kirishima's apartment roof.

Right. Kirishima.

Bakugou jerked up, the sudden movement caused a sudden ache at the base of his neck, his hands slowly sank into the thin tatami.

It's been so long since he slept on a Shikibuton; last time he did was when he was still a poor sidekick at Best Jeanist's agency, back when he refused to stay at his parent's house, some independent shit he was on.

He cursed under his breath as he massaged at the sharp knot, hissing as he hit a particularly sore spot. His eyes slowly adjusted to his surroundings—the couch Kirishima was lying on by his feet.

A small smile formed on his face as he studied the sleeping bundle of sweat. His whole face tinted in a honey dew lens.

He wondered how is it that he wasn't bothered by the sunlight, creeping from beneath the curtain, or maybe by the morning birds that were still chirping outside the small window above him.

And just how is it that Bakugou is growing a little envious that Kirishima gets to wake up to such a fuzzy bundle of sunshine and everything nice?

Katsuki yawned, brushing the thought aside as he reached for his phone by the coffee table.

9:12.

Last time he had slept like that was... He couldn't even tell. 

He stretched as he rose, minding the knot in his neck.

The air suddenly turned cold as he flipped the bathroom's switch. It didn't turn on.

Seriously? He hasn't changed it from last time?

Bakugou scoffed as he turned on the small bulb above the sink instead, hissing as the brash white light blinded his vision.

Yeah, that light bulb has gotta be fixed.

He washed his face roughly. Always did. Because that's what a life of a busy pro hero is—is supposed to be. A constant cycle of detect then demolish; tasks and villains alike.

The broken light flickered ever so slightly, but then died once more. His eyes came down to his reflection again, and Bakugou saw it. The tired look on his own face, the eyebags that seemed to pull on more than just skin. Yet, there was also a hint of... peace. Peace in the way his chest was open and his jaw was limp.

Katsuki wasn't a morning person, but today he found himself anticipating what the day's holding for him. And with that conclusion, Bakugou went straight to the kitchen. A goal in mind: find the lightbulb Kirishima swore he'd change God knows how many times.

Knowing Kirishima, he probably put it somewhere hidden, leaving it to catch dust and spiderwebs. He looked inside the cabinets first.

Nothing.

Okay...

He looked around himself.

Where would Kirishima possibly put it?

He eyed the small laundry closet, Kirishima is well known for putting stuff where they're not supposed to be.

So...

He opened the door.

And...just as expected.

Katsuki grinned triumphantly as he picked the square box with the new lightbulb inside.

So fucking predictable. He thought to himself before making his way to the bathroom again.

Now, Katsuki was probably not the best one for the job, considering how a single spark from him could cause a blackout, or worse, get him electrocuted. But, you know what? He actually feels somewhat good this morning, changing a lightbulb sounds like a walk in the park.

He dragged the small ladder that was in the corner of the closet and set it up under the broken light. Steadily climbing, he carefully twisted the old lightbulb and replaced it with the new one instead.

"It took less than one minute you lazy fuck..." he muttered to no one in particular as he made his way down the ladder.

He closed the door of the laundry closet, dusting off his hands before his eyes caught the slight glistening of the coffee station.

Ground coffee.

He didn't get to use the ground coffee he got yesterday, too busy worrying about that-

He glared over at the redhead. Still asleep.

Idiot.

Bakugou checked his phone once again.

9:29.

He'll wake up any moment now.

Bakugou sighed before he filled the kettle and turned it on.

While the water boiled, Katsuki unpacked the ground coffee from the grocery bag, the strong smell of the brown sand hit his nostrils with a pleasant whiff.

Bakugou liked his coffee black, no sugar, no cream, and especially no matcha. He tried not to judge as those very ingredients were displayed in front of him and looked to be almost out of stock.

Kirishima was asleep when a sudden smoky smell filled his nostrils, dazing him off his fever dreams to a hunched over Bakugou. Hunched over his coffee station. His—but it's weird because it didn't look like Kirishima's at all. It looked like his.

For a moment, Kirishima felt like a ghost, a spectator, an audience to Katsuki's coffee brewing. He was good at it too, but then again Bakugou Katsuki was good at everything.

Including catching him staring.

"You're awake." the blonde asserted.

"Good morning." Kirishima responded in a still sleepy haze.

"Morning." Katsuki croaked as he turned on another kettle.

Kirishima suddenly felt cold, bringing the blanket that was bunched by his feet up.

"Slept well?" Bakugou started.

"Should be asking you, I'm not the one who slept on a tatami."

Katsuki let out a huff at that.

"Yeah, no. Slept like a baby." he tried not to grin.

"Yeah, I bet."

Kirishima then turned quiet as he occupied himself to figure out what his friend is trying to do instead.

First, he grated some ginger (Ugh, seriously? Ginger again?) then, he mixed some white powdery stuff with... Cold water..? Okay...

He's... looking for something...in the cabinets...

Oh.

Katsuki slid the Red Riot mug on the counter as he picked up the kettle, mixing the hot water with the thickener before pouring it into the mug, adding in the grated ginger then finally drizzling some honey.

"You not planning to wash your face or somethin'?" he barked suddenly.

Kirishima lurched up.

"Right!"

He stood up way too fast, causing him to slightly waver before catching his balance with the couch's armrest.

Katsuki jolted at the sight, then rubbed at his head when Kirishima caught his stability again.

"Careful, you idiot. You're still sick, remember?"

Eijirou swallowed as he slowly made his way to the edge of his carpet to slid on his Shark shaped house shoes.

Katsuki just stared with skepticism, like he was waiting for him to fall so he can scold him properly.

"Man... I feel so sweaty..." the redhead muttered as he tried to stand on his own.

"Think I'll head for a shower or somethin'..."

Katsuki's eyes widened with a raised brow

"In that state? I don't think so."

Kirishima rolled his eyes as he shakily crossed his arms.

"Yeah? And what are you gonna do about it?"

Katsuki narrowed his eyes as he copied the other's posture.

"Kirishima..."

"Bakugou."

"The tea will get cold."

"I can't drink tea when I feel this sweaty."

Bakugou sighed in exasperation before he picked up the mug and stepped right into the living room.

"Tell you what..." he muttered as he caged Kirishima in.

"If you drink this whole cup." he prolonged the word for emphasis "then I'll help you bathe. Deal?" he finished quickly.

Kirishima was pulled down to the couch before he could even voice a retort.

"Good. Now be grateful and drink this damn tea."

Eijirou complied, he had no other choice really. Not when those staggering red eyes pierced him with such command.

Katsuki only stepped back when he was sure Kirishima's drinking pace wasn't just one of a 'swallow a bit then cheat the rest'.

He picked up his own cup of coffee, a content expression painted his face as he slowly sipped the hot liquid.

It was only when Bakugou was half way through his cup did he realise the weight of what he just suggested to Kirishima.

He was going to bathe Eijirou Kirishima. The Sturdy hero: Red Riot being bathed by The Bombshell hero: Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight.

It's not like they haven't seen each other naked during the joint baths they had back at U.A

But-

But...

That was a decade ago.

They were men now. Grown men. With grown men bodies and grown men-

Katsuki choked on his coffee.

Kirishima jumped out of his seat, the dizziness he felt earlier suddenly gone.

"Hey, hey, you okay?"

Katsuki nodded sharply as he swallowed down.

Whatever. He'll just do a quick wipe down shower.

He'll be done in no time.

Yeah.

Unfortunately for him, Kirishima had other plans.

"This is my reward, right? That means that I get to choose how to have it."

Reward? Bakugou would hardly refer to this as a 'reward'.

For some reason, that didn't stop him from entertaining the idea.

"Baths are very anti-economical and so not manly." Katsuki tried to argue.

The currently naked redhead just scoffed.

"If you're not gonna help me then just say so!" Kirishima said bitterly as he turned on the faucet anyway.

Bakugou could only sigh, the whole thing was ridiculous. His offer was ridiculous. The way the idiot suddenly gained momentum and literally raced him to the bathroom was ridiculous. The eager and rapid way in which the shitty haired moron stripped naked was ridiculous. The fact that Bakugou wasn't going to back down from this was ridiculous.

Katsuki cursed under his breath as he slowly stepped inside the washing area, Kirishima was sat with his back to the bamboo stool he had put there, waiting.

Bakugou took a deep breath before he'd lower himself to the stool.

"Scoot closer." he whispered roughly.

Kirishima did just so, his own stool screeching against the tiled floor.

His knees were now touching his thighs, which was fine—would've been fine if the compressed room wasn't so hot.

He reached for the tangled lump on his head, slowly untying it of its mess. The sweaty hairs fell down in a slow unravelling of red.

His hair grew.

Katsuki took the crimson bath dipper from his side, his hand came up to the other's jaw, slightly positioning his head back.

He dipped the bowl in, then carefully poured it over his head, his other hand held his forehead still ever so slightly.

Bakugou had not yet decided if he liked this sudden silence.

He picked up the shampoo bottle, hoping for some kind of comment from the redhead. Nothing.

He squeezed the bottle, a strong citrus aroma hit his nose. He carefully lathered it on his head, his fingers massaging and scratching at Kirishima's head.

He could've sworn he heard him hum.

He rinsed off the shampoo.

Then, another lather of shampoo, another head massage, another rinse.

By the second rinse, Bakugou's previously raised shoulders dropped, just as his guard did.

This wasn't so bad. He tried to reason. As long as Kirishima kept quiet and still, he'd get through it for sure.

He then took conditioner and applied it to his ends, brushing through his locks before-

"You didn't bring a tie with you?" Katsuki's voice had suddenly gone rasp.

Kirishima only shook his head.

Bakugou carefully pulled red hair to a low bun. No retort, no 'how could you forget'. Just quiet care with no bounds.

He took the bath ladle again, filling it with water before carefully pouring it over his shoulders.

The water splattered on the ground—the sound, one of a rainy day in the middle of November.

His eyes followed the little droplets that took longer to fall into the puddle of soapy water.

Scars.

Katsuki had a certain history with scars, his whole body was filled with them. Sure, he wasn't the type to pay much mind to superficial things like looks and all that, but he'd be lying if he said his naked scarred body was pleasant to look at. Made his skin look rougher than it really was. He never really got the appeal for them, but...

Kirishima's back was full of them, not in the harrowing way Bakugou's body was covered with them. Rather, in an almost... thoughtful way. Each and every one of them was understood to be part of the whole Red Riot persona.

Especially the one on his left shoulder: ragged escalating lines meeting at a sharp peak.

It struck him as an- image. A scene.

Golden skin adorned with a mountain-shaped scar.

It suited him.

Unbreakable hero flaunting scratches.

Made him look badass.

Made him look undefeated.

Fuck. It was fucking beautiful.

Bakugou never liked literature, sure he aced his exams but he wasn't a poet.

It's just- that particular placement of that particular shape on this particular person made him doubt that he had ever looked at skin properly—or whatever else Matsuo Bashō said.

He didn't even realise he was tracing it with his index 'til Kirishima looked back at him.

The witness turned mute and the doer fell silent.

Still and quiet.

Eyes on eyes.

Breaths—one held back and the other uneven.

Katsuki was the first to break contact. Because of course he is. Because if he doesn't, then this escalates into something it's not, and Bakugou wasn't sure he wanted in.

He should probably leave but he doesn't. Kirishima deserves better, he knows this much.

So, he picked up the washcloth even when the room suddenly felt too hot; lathered it with soap even when his heart suddenly began racing; washed his back, his shoulders, his chest, his thighs even when he'd go breathless at every accidental touch.

Even so, he stayed seated and fulfilled his promise.

Katsuki couldn't even tell when he had washed him off or when he had helped him get into the bath, all he could feel in that moment is the sudden flush on the small of his back and the weight of wet clothes sticking to skin.

"Hey." Kirishima called.

Katsuki turned around, his clothes drenched in water.

They locked eyes.

"T-thanks for um.." Kirishima looked up—the ceiling, then back at him again.

"You fixed it. Uh, thanks for that."

Katsuki slowly followed his gaze, his mind drifting through the lingering steam.

"Oh. That. Yeah, it's fine."

Your line was "Lazy ass" Bakugou.

He stood there, not necessarily watching just- waiting.

Kirishima suddenly felt nervous and... dizzy—he could've sworn the waves on Katsuki's shirt were moving in tides.

He played with the water, his hands coming up in a relentless up and down motion.

He wasn't sure he wanted this godforsaken bath anymore.

"You don't have to stay" he had the sudden courage to say.

Katsuki scoffed, still standing, still waiting.

"And leave you to faint? Think again, dumbass." his voice was not as rough as before.

Kirishima stood.

"Actually, I think that's enough. Towel, please."

It hasn't even been 5 minutes.

Despite the absurdity of it all, Katsuki complied. Truth is, he wanted out even more than Kirishima did.

Time seemed to slow as they made their way out of the bathroom, the haze of the shower steam seemed to stick even as they entered Kirishima's bedroom.

Like broken clock hands—their backs turned—one took his time drying off while the other changed before bolting out of the room.

And now, Katsuki was alone in the middle of Kirishima's living room. His heart was racing and he could feel small sparks forming underneath his clothes—Kirishima's clothes. Fuck. Everywhere he looks, he sees Kirishima. Of course he'll see Kirishima, he's in his fucking house.

Still...

What's he supposed to make of that?

The possibility of an answer scared him, so, he occupied himself with rolling up the tatami on the ground and smoothing out the sick couch. Kirishima's pillow was absurdly wet, yellow sweat stains painted the white fabric. He removed the pillowcase before throwing it in the laundry machine with his earlier soaked clothes.

Kirishima came into view, he wore a pajama set—Red Riot edition, similar to the one he changed to; a towel hung from his shoulders, catching the red droplets that clung to his still damp hair.

"Not planning on drying your hair?" Katsuki spat with a hint of concern.

Kirishima grabbed the towel and scrubbed his head with it. As if that was answer enough.

"I'm hungry." he said instead.

Bakugou raised a brow, refusing to succumb to Kirishima's 'dodge and attack' tactic.

"Not gonna answer my question?"

Kirishima pouted.

"I'm hungry."

Bakugou pinched his nose.

When did he become such a sulking loser? This is why he never gets sick.

"There is still some leftover miso soup from yesterday, I can reheat it."

"No." Kirishima suddenly rebuked.

Katsuki raised a brow.

"No?"

"I need meat in my system, man!"

"Of course you do..." he sighed in exasperation.

Kirishima headed to the small dining table in the corner of the kitchen, the wooden chair screeched as he pulled it to sit. He stared up at Bakugou with wide eyes, like he's challenging him to find a solution to this sudden demand.

Katsuki's eyes narrowed as he crossed his arms. He looked pissed, but really, he was trying to figure out just what kind of dish would satisfy this sick idiotic meatlover without destroying his recovering stomach.

Suddenly, an idea struck.

"How does... Ginger Tori Paitan with... Kuzu Ankake sound like?" he suggested, his voice took on an uncharacteristically steady tone, like he was composing the dish in his head as he spoke.

Kirishima blinked at him.

"You mean like... Chicken noodle soup?"

Katsuki's averted gaze caught red, his head nodding before he could stop it.

"A masterful chicken noodle soup." he corrected, chin tilted up cockily.

Kirishima stared ahead, like he was considering it, then

"There is nothing in the fridge though..." he suddenly remembered.

Bakugou huffed.

"Ever heard of a corner store?"

Kirishima eyes lit up as a better idea hit him.

"There is a farmer's market not too far from here." he said, looking up at Katsuki.

Just as Bakugou was about to complain that he doesn't know where the hell it's located, the redhead seemed to read his mind.

"I'll go with you!"

Katsuki stayed silent for a moment, his retort dying on his mouth as he considered the offer for a moment. He supposes some walking could do him good, especially in this sluggish pale state the redhead had took on.

Bakugou scoffed before he'd fill a cup with water then shoved it into Kirishima's hand.

"Drink your damn water first."

"Thanks.." Kirishima answered as he smiled sheepishly.

"You'll need to wear a proper jacket and a proper scarf. Also, I'm not carrying your sorry ass if you decide to pass out in the streets."

Eijirou's smile only grew wider, as if he knew his friend was just all talk and no bite.

"I'm serious! Consider your other options." he barked with a pointing finger directed at the grinning idiot.

"I didn't even say anything!" the redhead defended.

"You didn't have to, your stupid grin said enough." he rolled his eyes.

Katsuki was now standing by the genkan, arms crossed as he watched in speculation a struggling Kirishima trying to wrap his scarf.

He twisted in inside out, undid it, twisted it out then inside, undid it.

Bakugou's patience was wearing thin, his eye twitched as the moron redid the same knot for the twelfth time now.

He stomped to where Kirishima was standing, his hands snatching the fabric from the other's fingers.

"Fucking helpless." he cursed as he wrapped the scarf, properly.

Kirishima's hands were still half up, lingering near his own hands.

He looked up at his eyes.

His cheeks were flushed, and his mouth was slightly open. He had that look. The same one from the bath. The same one from—

Katsuki pulled away.

He's sick. Kirishima is sick.

He reminded himself, for no apparent reason.

He didn't even do anything... but why does it feel so wrong?

"Come on." Katsuki grunted as they headed out of the door, locking it once, and checking the lock twice before aggressively pressing for the elevator.

Kirishima stayed quiet the whole elevator ride. Katsuki hated this, hated this silence, this sudden awkwardness, hated how it seemed like he had to tiptoe around Kirishima's space now, someone Katsuki thought to be a constant was slowly drifting between what's familiar and what's new. And he hated it.

As they made their way out of the apartment complex, Kirishima took a moment to breathe in the air as a pleasant breeze passed by his face and drifted under his hair. His eyes caught Bakugou's back—shoulders raised and hands fist deep in his pockets. His jacket was zipped all the way through, to hide the oversized Red Riot shirt that lay underneath he assumes. His brows were slightly furrowed and he probably wore a scowl underneath the scarf he was nuzzled into.

Kirishima stood there, watching as his friend accelerated down the stairs then into the sidewalk.

Why the sudden cold shoulder?

Sure, Bakugou could sometimes be... annoyed for no apparent reason. But, he wasn't just annoyed. He was running away from something.

Did he do something wrong?

Kirishima couldn't recall the last time he was the cause of Katsuki's discomfort—the last time he'd got like this.

Or, is it that he... was affected back then?

Kirishima swallowed.

No.

He pushed down the thought, burying it into the depths of what remained of his insecurities. Last thing he needed right now is projecting his own sorry feelings to his best friend of ten years.

Despite the sudden ache in his chest, Kirishima dragged his feet to the pavement, his still wobbly legs allowing him to travel at just a certain speed. His body way behind Bakugou's.

Katsuki was speeding up the raised sidewalk, brows furrowed and hands fist deep in his pockets, when he felt an emptiness. So sudden that when a breeze swept by, he shivered, as if the weather itself was mocking him.

He turned.

Kirishima was snailing behind him, head slightly bowed and his eyes following the cracks between each slab.

He's sick. He reminded himself again.

Bakugou stopped in his tracks, waiting for the sickly bastard to catch up to him.

Just 'cause his head was messing with him doesn't mean he gets to be an asshole.

As Kirishima finally came to a stop beside him, Katsuki looked at him with studying eyes.

"Keep up, Red." he announced before he started walking again, this time just the tiniest bit slower.

Kirishima stared in shock, then in awe, before falling into step.

Side by side, they found a pace they could both keep.

They kept walking, turning corners here, crossing streets there, passing by neighbours who knew Kirishima all too well and greeted him like they expected him to greet them back.

Katsuki just stayed quiet by his side, taking in the warm atmosphere of the neighborhood, the swirl of orange and brown and red Iroha-momiji leaves that gracefully encircled them, the way Kirishima's shimmering eyes would widen when he'd recognise someone, the way he'd lazily smile as they wish for his quick recovery, the way no one seemed to question the mysterious man that accompanied him, the way Kirishima's hair would gently sway he could've mistaken it for one of the leaves.

It was quiet; not because of the awkwardness back then, but because they didn't need conversation to light up the walk. And they were fine again.

They made another turn, the farmer market slowly coming into view.

A pair of mockingbirds swooped between them. Bakugou flinched, only now realising how much time he'd just been... staring.

Kirishima pointed at the two birds.

"Look! It's us in another universe." he said with a wobbly smile.

Katsuki squinted to study the birds that were now perched on the power line. One of them was scooting closer, while the other kept shuffling away. Bakugou let out a huff of a laugh.

"Who's the annoying one?" he teased.

Kirishima rolled his eyes.

"I think we both know the answer to that."

He suddenly pulled at his sleeve.

His fingers were warm.

"Come on!"

The Asaichi was a bustling lane framed by small shops and fabric-covered booths alike. The shopkeepers' street cries—an "Irai, Irai!" here, a "Shin-maki kombu, dashi ga ii yo!" there—cut through the heavy chopping of a nearby butcher. Out front, bamboo baskets brimmed with all kinds of spices and dried goods, while shoppers—mostly seniors—bargained with the vendors, using that wise voice of theirs to haggle the prices down.

Kirishima was already pulling him towards one of the butchers' stall.

"Good morning!" the redhead cheered.

The butcher, a round middle aged man with a thick beard, stopped mid swing to look over at the cheery man.

"Ah, good morning, sir Red Riot!" the man boasted "'s been so long since I've last seen ya. What've ya been up to?"

Kirishima chuckled nervously.

"Nothing, really. You know how busy life can get." he responded nasally.

The middle-aged man hummed.

"I see, what can I get ya today?"

Despite being—whether intentionally or not— unacknowledged by the bloodied man, Katsuki spoke in lieu of his friend.

"Fresh gara and chicken feet. Make sure the bird's mature."

The butcher looked over at the pro hero with a puzzled expression.

"Wait. I recognise you!" he pointed with his cleaver.

Despite having a whole refrigerator glass as a barrier, Bakugou backed away, completely taken aback by this sudden display of casualness.

Kirishima's hand let go of his sleeve to grab for his shoulder instead.

"Yup. It's Great Explosion Murderer God Dynamight, right in the flesh!"

The man behind the glass laughed—an obnoxiously loud laugh.

"In the flesh indeed! What ya say you need? Chicken carcass and feet?"

Katsuki only nodded, feeling way out of place to voice another word.

"Say... You come visit your friend often?" the man continued as he reached for one of the displayed chicken pieces—yellow stained skin tone, perfect.

Bakugou didn't realise that the question was directed at him til Kirishima lightly nudged him.

"Uh... Yeah, sure."

"Good, good. You know, we humans must stick together. It's what makes life worth living."

Before Katsuki's lips could even curve at the sentiment the butcher was already handing him a plastic bag.

"That'll be 620 yen!"

"I'll pay." Eijirou whispered.

Katsuki only scoffed as he was already handing him the money.

Kirishima stared at him with a slightly irritated face. Now it was Katsuki's turn to drag his friend by the sleeve.

"Come on."

"Have a nice day!" the middle-aged man boasted before getting back to his chopping.

Katsuki managed a wave from behind before he'd glance over at Eijirou—his tiny brows were furrowed and he wore a silly pout.

Bakugou smirked, his dimples forming.

"What?"

"I can pay for my own groceries." the other asserted.

His earlier shut down smile blossomed.

"I know you can." was his response before he'd drag them to the dry goods booth he'd been eyeing since they stepped foot here.

The shopkeeper, a skinny bald senior, was sat on a stool shooing flies off. In front of him were wooden bins filled with dried seaweeds, mushrooms and glass jars of all kinds of powders. The air held an earthy smoke as the old man sat in silence.

Bakugou was the first to speak this time.

"Morning"

The merchant stared at him for a moment, as if he was appraising him, before deciding to respond gruffly.

"Mornin'."

Katsuki could care less about pleasantries, he came here for the Hon-Kuzu that none of the other dried good stalls seemed to have, and that's it.

"How much is the Hon-Kuzu?" he asked.

The old man squinted at the two of them as he took his glasses off, wiping them with the hem of his tailored sweater.

"1200 yen." he asserted.

Katsuki raised a brow, immediately turning into the defensive.

"Huh?! For some Hon-Kuzu?! That's too much!"

The merchant shrugged as he pushed up his glasses.

"Life's expensive, son."

Katsuki's eye twitched.

Luckily, before Bakugou even had the opportunity to lash out, Kirishima intervened.

"O-ji-san, I just heard you haggle the price down to 850 for auntie right there." he pointed at the woman.

The old man only sniffed.

"She's a regular."

Now Kirishima was getting irritated.

That's it.

Katsuki reached for his wallet.

"1650 if you throw in some Kombu and Usukuchi Shoyu." he proposed as he aggressively fumbled for the money.

"2100." the old man insisted hard-headedly.

"1750. Give or take." Katsuki maintained as he handed him the money.

The senior mumbled something under his breath, probably an insult of some sort, before he'd take the money and pack him the stuff.

Kirishima snatched the plastic bag from him, making sure to give him a well deserved glare before he'd guide them both away from the merchant.

"I know a much nicer merchant, with prices way cheaper too."

"Tch. I needed pure Kuzu. None of the other stalls had that."

They both took a deep breath, Katsuki's neck cramp sparked to life again, the pain was instantly forgotten when he realised that he'd let Kirishima to carry the bag alone. Without much warning, Bakugou snatched the bag from his hand.

Before Kirishima could voice another retort the blonde asked

"You know any good greengrocer 'round here..?"

Kirishima's eyes slightly widened, surprised by the fact he was, not only letting him, but asking him to take over the reins.

"Uh, yeah... Mr.Ren over there always brings 'em fresh."

Katsuki nodded as he followed the other's lead.

"Fresh Mitsuba! Fresh Mitsuba!" the scruffy looking man was already screaming.

"Mr. Ren! How are you doing?" Kirishima approached, always so cheerful. Katsuki stood with the bags by his side studying the vegetable filled stall. He eyed one particularly heavy daikon, thumping it lightly with his knuckles—a solid thud echoed back. Perfect, that means it's juicy.

He looked over at the vendor—who was already chattering with Eijirou—his voice was strangely soothing.

"How much for this daikon?" he interrupted anyway.

"200 yen, sir! You picked a good one." he provided before resuming his conversation with Kirishima; asking him about his family or somethin'.

"Ah, this here is my buddy, Katsuki Bakugou!" Kirishima beamed, his arm casually wrapping around his shoulder.

The greengrocer stared at him for a moment before smiling lazily.

"Ah! I recognise you... Dynamight, isn't it? Well, what can I get y'all today?" he drawled.

Kirishima looked over at Bakugou, who was already assessing the quality with his eyes—good enough, he concluded.

"I need... 2 stalks of Tokyo Negi, that Daikon, a bundle of Mitsuba, one Yuzu fruit and... A thick root of aged ginger."

He looked up at Kirishima, who was already staring fondly at him, smiling; for whatever reason, Katsuki held back the urge to smile back, opting for watching the greengrocer that was gathering his stuff instead.

This time, instead of involuntarily relying on Bakugou for the 3rd time, Kirishima was quick with handing his own money to the merchant.

Katsuki could only glare at him as he reached for the offered plastic bag.

"Bye, Mr.Ren!" Kirishima waved as he already headed towards their exit.

"Goodbye, have a nice day Kirishima-kun!" the greengrocer responded before renewing his street cries.

Katsuki rolled his eyes before he'd fall into step beside the redhead.

"Asshole."

"Mhm."

The two of them walked out the Asaichi, the loud noise of the morning market slowly faded as they made a turn to Kirishima's neighbourhood. The only sound here was the drifting wind, their own crunching footsteps, and Kirishima's occasional sniffs. Electric wires and clouds alike shadowed them from the burning sun above, its dappled yellow embers embedding their path... And his back.

As they came view with the apartment's front doors, Kirishima spotted another pair of mockingbirds; he insisted that they were the same pair from before, when asked why he answered

"Both of them have a matching big white spot on their beaks, none of the other mockingbirds have that!"

How can someone who's so oblivious be so damn observant at the same time? That, Bakugou didn't have the answer to.

"They really are us in another universe." He added.

Katsuki glanced at him as he fumbled for the keys, confused.

"It's kind of like our matching scars!"

Eijirou explained as he pointed at his own eye scar then Katsuki's cheek one.

"See?"

Katsuki's eyes widened.

Matching scars.

"Shit. Sorry, is that too—" the redhead backtracked.

"It's fine, you idiot." Bakugou snapped immediately.

"Just caught me off guard, is all." he shrugged.

How can someone take a bitter memory and turn it sweet? Bakugou didn't have the answer to that either.

Bakugou hadn't yet finished taking his shoes off when Kirishima flopped on the living room's couch.

He shook his head as he hung his jacket and scarf, then headed to the kitchen to unpack the groceries.

"I'm exhausted..." his friend whined.

Bakugou was already starting on the broth; blanching and washing the chicken bones.

"Go to sleep then," he responded absentmindedly.

"How long is the food gonna take?"

Katsuki hummed.

"About... 3 or 4 hours."

Kirishima's eyes widened.

"Yeah, I'm going to sleep."

"Mhm."

Before he knew it, Kirishima was pulled into a tide between consciousness and deep sleep; one moment he's dreaming of dancing chickens and friendly lions, the next he's watching Bakugou simmer daikon discs.

He was dragged up by a steady hand on his back.

"Kirishima." Bakugou whispered.

Eijirou slowly opened his eyes to find his best friend's face inches away from his.

Katsuki swallowed.

4 hours.

4 hours of trying to bury the ridiculously vivid moments.

And still they...

They...

"The food's ready." he croaked as he pulled away to sit on the zabuton.

Kirishima sat back on the couch, his head still felt dizzy as he readjusted his seating position—crossed legs just like the man infront of him.

He picked up his bowl. The sheer warmth of it seeped through his cold fingers and travelled all the way to his forearm. As he dived his spoon in, the silky golden layer ruptured to let out a gush of ginger-smelling healing liquid. The citrus hit him second, clearing his sinuses for another rush of balmy air. It smelled better than it looked and it looked better than it smelled. As for the taste, he took his time with it. Eyeing the very ingredients Katsuki spent his time perfecting to the very last bit. He bit into it.

And it tasted...

He chewed.

It tasted...

If Kirishima were to describe the meal in one word it would be sunshine.

Totally unrelated to that fact, one of Kirishima's favourite Bakugou-designated "mocking" nicknames was sunshine.

He looked over at a frozen Katsuki, his mouth full of soup, as he slurred

"This is so good, Bakugou!"

Katsuki huffed before he'd take his own bowl in hand.

"It better be. I've spent 4 hours on that shit!"

Despite his brash words, a small smile threatened to tug on his lips—a supplant for the sudden rush of tingles that was threatening to burst his lungs, or at least that's what he told himself.

Katsuki started eating and Kirishima just kept on chugging, humming and praising him. He almost made the soup sound better than it really was.

"You're unbelievable..." the redhead whined once more as he drank the last bit of his soup.

Katsuki smirked as he eyed the blissed expression on his friend's face—if it weren't for it, then he would've definitely thought that Kirishima made it sound better than it was.

"Feel better?" he asked without much thought.

Eijirou nodded.

"Thanks, man."

Katsuki looked away and hummed.

"Want seconds?" he asked under his nose.

Eijirou smiled—a toothy grin that was quickly hidden with a piece of paper as snot started running down his nose.

"Sorry,"

Katsuki shrugged.

He waited for him to blow his nose then

"You still didn't answer. You want seconds?" he asked nonchalantly, even if, in the depths of his mind, he was fucking anticipating that 'yes, please'.

Kirishima nodded.

"It's in the kitchen, right? I'll get it, finish your food." the redhead answered.

His fucking manners always did exceed what Katsuki thought to be reasonable... and with a best friend at that.

"Sit down." the blonde ordered.

He set his half finished bowl aside and grabbed the other's empty one.

He headed to the kitchen and started pouring the soup.

The once licked ceramic bowl was now filled to the brim as Katsuki added his earnest touches.

Eijirou studied him as he prepared his bowl with such meticulousness that it bordered on hesitance. With a proud nod to the approaching bowl, he crowed

"You're holding that up like a prize."

Katsuki rolled his eyes.

"I don't need a fucking prize. I need you to eat so you can take your damn medicine." he bit back.

Kirishima finished his soup shortly after Bakugou. The second bowl not any less better than the first.

Katsuki stood up and cleared the table, two sets of creaky footsteps echoed behind him as he made his way to the kitchen.

Bakugou did the dishes whilst Kirishima tried to convince him to let him take care of it.

"You already did so much for me, man! Let me do just this one thing!" he pleaded.

I wish I hadn't.

To which Katsuki's answer was

"I already told you, It's just two bowls! You wanna help me? Why don't you go and take your medicine like a normal fucking sick person should."

Kirishima grumbled under his breath, something about how controlling he'd been these two days.

He complied nonetheless.

Asshole.

The fridge was swung open, and the sudden gasp his friend had let out had Katsuki already predicting what the other had found.

Jelly pouches.

Kirishima's eyes widened as he nearly jumped out of excitement.

"You got me jelly pouches?!" he gushed as he grabbed one. The coldness of it hit him like a blissful summer rain.

"And, it's the blueberry ones! How'd you know they were my fave, man?"

he chirped as he was already opening one.

Katsuki shrugged as he put away the dishes, his back still turned to him.

"You eat that shit like, all the time."

Then, slightly peeking at the bashfully gleeful idiot, he added under his breath

"Pretty hard to miss."

The sight of a flushed Kirishima holding a Jelly Pouch to his mouth had Katsuki holding back his breath.

He looked like a fucking puppy, all happy and big-eyed.

"Thanks, Bakugou!" the other gleamed.

All that's missing is a wagging tail and flappy ears.

"Yeah, yeah. Don't get used to it."

Katsuki finally turned to find Kirishima holding out a jelly pouch.

"Take one!"

It's not like this was the first time this moron would offer him that useless freshener.

Of course Katsuki, being the dietary purist he is, refused every time.

Perhaps, given the circumstances, he'll take one.

Just this one time.

He took the jelly pouch from him—his hands were still slightly warm.

Right. Fever.

"Take your medicine first, asshole." he said half heartedly as he picked up the medicine and tossed it to him.

Eijirou rolled his eyes.

"Yes, mom!"

That earned him a glare.

Katsuki couldn't remember the last time he had played video games with his best friend; probably back in high school when he had two working arms at the time, before the war that is, when their only concern was passing exams and securing interships. Kirishima would sneak into his room with games and snacks, insist that he was there just to study, then convince him to play by challenging him.

But those days were gone, well, not the Kirishima part.

Their early career years fueled with work and endless stress pushed them to actively seek each other out for company. The kind of company you seek because when you complain, you're not met with pity or surprise or dismissal, instead you're met with understanding. And, if you're lucky, a complaint.

That kind of company, whether Katsuki asked for it or not, lasts. Not because it's a twisted conjure of codependency but because living without it meant spending off days alone, cooking a warm meal that's meant for two and turning into emergency leftovers instead, laughing with yourself at night as you remember something funny that happened the other day, having your doubts consume you when you're supposed to be asleep. Loneliness.

Katsuki was never alone.

His mind a locked diary of Kirishima-filled days, one whose key he didn't even possess.

Yet, here he was, twenty five years of age, playing some kind of Street Fighters game he didn't even know existed, simply because his best friend had asked.

"The fuckity fuck?" Eijirou blurted as one of the combo hits who, according to him, was supposed to land, didn't.

"You've really gotta stop saying that." Katsuki scolded as his eyes kept complete focus on the tv screen.

Eijirou snorted.

"Why? It's funny enough to not offend, but it also gives you that internal relief of swearing at something that upset you."

"I'm letting you know that I'm very much offended right now."

Kirishima smirked as he turned to the blonde, console foolishly abandoned.

"Oh yeah? Which part offended you the most, 'fuckity' or 'fuck'?"

A sudden button mashing startled Kirishima out of his teasing.

"Fuck, yeah! I WON!"

"Oh, come on!"

Katsuki grinned that stupid triumph grin of his, the one he'd always wear whenever he had proven that 'Yes he's cocky, yes he has what it takes to back it up.'

Kirishima frowned, or at least pretended to frown.

"I demand a rematch."

Katsuki scoffed.

"Don't be a sore loser."

"Am I a sore loser, or are you just scared that I might beat you?"

"Ohoho, you're on!"

And just like that, rematch after rematch, jelly pouch after jelly pouch, the sky slowly turned midnight blue.

"Damn, what time is it?" Kirishima asked as he rubbed his eyes.

Katsuki hummed as he stretched.

He checked his phone.

"Wow, it's 9 pm already."

"9?!" Kirishima suddenly exclaimed.

Katsuki made a face, what's so alarming about that?

Eijirou stood abruptly, then proceeded to run towards—something.

"Oi! Where are ya going?" Katsuki shouted as he stood up too. He nearly fell from the sudden display of hurry.

"Shit- Kirishima, wait!"

But Kirishima was already by the balcony, he opened the doors and the draft that flowed in made the both of them shiver. Perhaps it wasn't just the strong stream of wind that made Katsuki shiver. The sight of translucent red curtains being pulled in then out, in waves, revealing then hiding—Kirishima with his red flowy hair and his open face, walking towards the moonlight, would make anyone shiver.

Katsuki followed.

He stepped foot outside, safe to say that the harsh draft was now replaced by a peaceful wind instead; his blonde spikes were blowed back.

The first thing he noticed was not Kirishima leaning against the railing, instead it was the shining light that dawned upon the Sotobori Moat, its sparkling water reflected the starry night behind the Ichigaya Bridge. A momentary distraction from the actual reason he came here.

"Kirishima, get back inside. It's too cold for you, you sick idiot." he scolded with crossed arms.

"Look at the sky." Kirishima murmured, he couldn't tell wether he was talking to him or to himself.

Bakugou looked regardless.

The sky was... Well, black. Like always. The moon was shining and so were the stars. Simple as that.

Bakugou huffed from frustration.

"Kirishima..."

"Look, Bakugou."

He looked again. It doesn't matter, it won't change a thing. He knows that it won't change a thing.

"Look at the sky."

Still, he looked again.

And... Holy shit.

The moon. It was huge and so so bright. It was a full moon. It's comical just how huge that thing is, had he been blind?

He shifted his eyes.

The stars. They were so colorful, so close and almost unreal, were they always this visibly colorful?

Why was he looking at the black?

They stood in silence for a couple of minutes, the whistling of wind chimes nearby being the only noise, then Kirishima spoke

"You ever think about..." he spoke unhurriedly, like they had all the time in the world to just gaze at stars and talk "How even the stars that seem the closest... are actually light years away from eachother...?"

Katsuki kept his gaze on the stars, he considered it for a moment before he'd respond just as wistfully.

"Well, that's if you take binary stars out of the equation."

Kirishima glanced at him, then at the stars again.

"It's when two stars are so close, their outer layers touch." Katsuki explained so softly, he didn't know that his voice could turn soft like that.

"Some even merge to become one." he added.

Kirishima just kept quiet, Katsuki suddenly felt shy.

"Never... thought of it like that." the redhead shrugged as he stole a quick glance at the blonde.

Katsuki saw it from the corner of his eyes. He said nothing.

But then, Eijirou's eyes widdened.

"Look!"

He was following a line, tracing a ragged triangle on stars.

His own eyes widdened.

"It looks like—" His scar "a mountain!"

Katsuki snapped his head towards him, his face was suddenly warm and he could feel the croak in his voice.

"Yeah... A mountain..."

Kirishima kept gazing up, and Katsuki, shamelessly, secretly, stared fondly.

Eventually, Kirishima decided that it was getting a little too cold so the two headed inside. Well, not for long since Katsuki had to leave now.

"Take your medicine after every meal." Katsuki instructed, for the tenth time now, as he started putting on his shoes by the genkan.

"Yeah, yeah, and don't forget to reheat the miso soup or the chicken noodle soup if you get hungry." Eijirou mocked.

Bakugou just rolled his eyes as he finally managed to slip on his left shoe.

"'s for your own good, asshole."

"I know."

Eijirou yawned.

He should probably not overstay his welcome, let the idiot get some sleep.

He checked for his keys and binder twice, managed to give a few more specific instructions regarding the food then finally opened the front door.

He took a deep breath then turned to Kirishima, he couldn't just leave without a proper goodbye. Not after all that happened.

Kirishima stood with loose arms, for a moment Katsuki thought he was actually just sleep walking the whole time.

He was proven wrong when Kirishima leaned in for a hug, but then pulled away last second.

He was still contagious.

Katsuki forgot about that part.

For the first time, Kirishima had chosen practicality—a handshake. It was unnecessarly stiff, a let down from what could've been.

Katsuki turned, his footsteps heavy as he walked out the sudden long doorstep.

He paused.

Shit.

Goodbyes. Right.

He slowly turned to find Kirishima still watching him, still clinging by the door, still sick.

"Eijirou..."

His red eyes widened.

"Yeah... Katsuki...?"

First names.

Katsuki couldn't recognise his own voice as he muttered the words.

"Call me if you need anything."

Kirishima nodded with a sharp-toothed smile.

"Goodbye, Katsuki."

"Bye."

Bakugou added curtly before he made his way to the elevator, to his car, to his house, away.