#eiji nishiki | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cityofnumbersix · 7 years

Photo

READ ON AO3

MOTHER POST

He’s standing at the rear of a stage, Eijirou Kirishima, with his back pressed to the edges of Denki’s drum-set. He knows its Denki’s; he can tell from the way the worn edges feel against his fingers, familiar –though, Denki isn’t here. He recognizes this stage, but only vaguely, maybe it’s one they stood upon a long time ago, or maybe he only knows it from a dream.

Eijirou’s guitar is hanging loosely from his grip, dangling in front of him like bait on a chain, but it’s impossible to move his arms to reach for it, they’re too heavy. The strap his digging into his shoulder and neck, painting deep red marks against his skin. He can feel the way the bass guitar’s frigid surface waves back and forth, grazing the exposed skin that peaks out from beneath his cropped shirt.

There’s music –though there is no one on stage, but himself. The tune is eerily familiar, one he hasn’t heard in what feels like a lifetime. It wasn’t just the tune though, but the sound of the music itself. It’s a guitar mostly, with the ghosted shadows of other instruments flowing along quietly beneath its power. He knows this guitar, knows its owner, and knows the sound that radiates out from it is utterly undeniable.

He’d recognise the way he played from worlds away, Nishiki.

His Nishiki.

He can see him now, further up the stage, striding along its edge in a way that’s almost parodic of the way he once had, long ago, when he was here. Back when Nishiki was still a solid and comforting presence by his side. Before he was gone. Before he left Eijirou here, by himself, without a single word of goodbye.

He’s a mess of bleached out hair dyed a pastel blue. The same colour it had been the last time he saw him. Nishiki had always liked to change up the colour of his hair. For as long as Eijirou knew him, it had never stayed the same for too long. Always a different shade, always bright and enthusiastic, like he wanted people to notice, to capture their eyes, and his Nishiki never failed to captivate every person he came across.

Eijirou could move now, but only his feet. The rest of his body stayed rigid as he gradually made his way across the stage, busted out Converse scrapping and squeaking against the surface of the worn wood beneath them. It was a tedious task, he couldn’t move any faster than that of a baby bird that had only just learn to flutter its wings, and it was exhausting, but he kept Nishiki in his line of sight.

Nishiki was no longer facing the audience, but had turned towards Eijirou. The piercing through his right brow, the matching one through the left of his lip, they shimmered like diamonds under the stage lights. Nishiki was illuminated, white teeth and bright smile. The crinkles around the edges of his eyes, the ones that Eijirou loved so dearly, were out on display as he watched Eijirou move towards him.

Nishiki’s lips were moving, but Eijirou was completely unable to hear the words that fell from them. He tried to read his lips, the way Ume Jirou -Kyoka and Denki’s youngest sister, would, but he couldn’t make out anything but the music. Nishiki had stopped playing, but the music didn’t falter. His hands were outstretched towards Eijirou, beckoning him, like he always use to.

Eijirou could feel the pin-prick beginnings of tears at the back of his eyes. He didn’t want to cry, though his mother’s had always taught him that sometimes crying is the best way to allow your emotions to collect themselves. He didn’t want to cry, because he had already cried so much. He’d cried out everything he had. All his love, all his hurt, and his longing and wanting and questions and oh god Nishiki was smiling at him so genuinely from his place at the stages edge.

Eijirou tried to walk faster, pushed at his feet, the invisible force that was holding him back was gradually fading out. Nishiki’s golden eyes followed his every move. Golden eyes that reminded him of so many things, of comfort, of love, of home. The same golden eyes that to this day, he has to remind himself to never allow them to remind him of Nishiki.

The music was gone now, just as he took the final few steps towards Nishiki. Everything was silent, and the only light source seemed to be coming from Nishiki himself. Eijirou was free to move, his once rigid arms regaining their control, and the first thing he did was reach up and force them around Nishiki’s shoulders, dragging himself into his love’s gravitational pull, becoming one with him, the way they always had, the way they always should have stayed.

Tears were flowing; he could feel the warm liquid running chaotic down his face. He could taste their salty essence as a few detoured along the ridges of his mouth, digging within it as he began to sob. He must have appeared pathetic to Nishiki –a boy who never seemed to cry at all. There was awful, pained sounds coming from his mouth, and even the feeling of Nishiki’s familiar touch through his hair wasn’t enough to stop it.

“W-Where w-were you…” Eijirou sobbed out, pressing his face into the protection of Nishiki’s neck, just as the straps holding his bass to his body snapped, the instrument tumbling to the ground beneath him, but he didn’t care. All Eijirou cared about now, was that Nishiki was here.

“You know me Ei-chan, always moving, never staying in one place.” It was Nishiki’s voice, so rough and unmistakable. The same voice that had entranced him from their first meeting, the one that had captured him and kept him for so long.

“You promised…” Eijirou whined, fingers clawing at Nishiki’s clothing. He was so thin, the way Eijirou still remembered him in the final few months that they had known each other, and he still smelled of musk and bamboo oil and whiskey.

“Promises are for chumps Ei-chan, you know that.”

Eijirou was laughing now, around his tears, around his choked up throat and every word that he wished he could say, but refused to pass the space at the back of his tongue, so instead he chose to push himself forward, attaching his mouth to the one he craved so deeply.

Eijirou felt the way Nishiki’s lips melted into his so easily, a familiar rhythm, and one they knew well. In the beginning Eijirou had thought it was special, that the way Nishiki fit so simply around him was because they had been made for each other, but in the end maybe Nishiki had just been made compatible with anyone he met, anyone he desired. Maybe Eijirou hadn’t been special at all.

Eijirou pushed himself further into Nishiki, relishing the way he tugged roughly at the rear of Eijirou’s head; fingers weaved tightly in the hair there. Their kisses were frantic, desperate. Eijirou allowed Nishiki to push his mouth open, discover each part of him that he already knew, but always seemed so keen to delve into again. Like every time he kissed Eijirou it was different, new, an adventure.

Eijirou was panting his way through their kisses; eyes squeezed shut, fingers roaming along Nishiki’s body, taking it all into memory. Re-discovering the parts of him that he had missed so dearly. His arms, his back, his shoulders, his chest. It was all Nishiki, his Nishiki. His one and only. There was tightness in his chest, a feeling that Eijirou had been trying so hard to ignore, but now it was gradually unwinding itself, overflowing as Eijirou allowed himself to be dragged further and further into his devotion.

He was being pushed back now, his lips falling from Nishiki’s with a quiet pop. Eijirou’s eyes were still closed, his chest rising and falling with every laboured breath. He hadn’t realised until this point, that maybe he had been struggling to breathe this whole time. That maybe, he’d been lacking air just as much as he’d been lacking love.

There were hands on his face, large, calloused, rough, but not thin like Nishiki’s. They glided carefully along the edges of Eijirou’s jaw just as he snapped his eyes open in shock. This wasn’t Nishiki. He knew how Nishiki felt. This was…

Bakugou.

Where Nishiki had been standing just moments before, now Katsuki Bakugou was there, pale skin and sun-washed hair, but he wasn’t translucent like Nishiki, far from it. Where Nishiki’s skin had been paper-thin, his hair lacking colour from years of heavy bleaching and the absence of care, Katsuki Bakugou stood like a roman god, or an angel sent from the heavens. Everything was so natural on him, even the deep lines that sat between the creases of his inverted eyebrows.

Bakugou stared down at him with unreadable amber eyes, fingers still moving along Eijirou’s skin. He was beautiful, in so many ways, and these feelings that were rising up from deep within Eijirou’s body, they were so different to anything that he’d ever experienced before. There was something about Bakugou that seemed so familiar, as if like always Eijirou was chasing himself down the same disastrous trail, but at the same time, he wasn’t, because Bakugou wasn’t the same, not really.

“Figures you’d be thinking of some other fucking dude, hey Shitty-Hair?”

Eijirou couldn’t say a word. He just stood there, completely struck by Bakugou’s presence. He let the other run his hands along his face, down his neck, along his jaw and chin. His eyelashes fluttered, grazing his cheeks. His chest began to fill with something, liquid, or a feeling, but it was rising quickly, far too quickly for Eijirou to manage. Maybe instead of suffocating, he would drown.

“B-Bak-“, Eijirou began to stammer, but Bakugou was moving himself closer, enveloping him, comforting him.

“You’re cute when you’re stupid…” Bakugou whispered, quietly, with no real bite. To Bakugou, everything he said probably sounded far fiercer than it ever came out.

“Eiji…”

Eijirou pulled himself closer, eyes falling closed.

“Eiji…”

He was so close now; he could feel the brush of Bakugou’s lips upon his own.

“Eiji…”

This was all he could have ever asked for. All he has ever needed.

“Eijirou! Wake the fuck up!”

Black.

There was nothing for a while, and then there was everything. Eijirou’s head felt like it was performing a purely percussion segment of a low hit orchestra’s final show. There was a blinding white light pouring in from the window that’s curtains he’d forgotten to draw the night prior, there was the familiar, yet annoying sound of his phone off silent and ringing loudly from somewhere below his place on the top bunk, probably the floor, and then there was the feeling of things being thrown at his face.

First it was what he assumed was a t-shirt, then something heaver like jeans. Then came a pillow, one that smelt of citrus conditioner and Denki. Then finally he was whacked in the face with a solid and blaring object, his phone.

“It’s been fucking ringing for like ten minutes, asshole.” Denki’s drowsy voice snapped from beneath him, and though he was tired, Eijirou pushed himself to peer over the edge of the bed for a moment.

“Sorry, Dee.” He mumbled out, messy head hair sticking in multiple directions.

Eijirou pulled himself back over the edge, slamming his back against the comfort of his mattress and fished his phone out from where it had fallen amongst his covers. Staring down at the screen, he immediately recognised the ID picture on the screen as being that of a profile picture of Bakugou. The name that flashed before it, confirming immediately his suspicions, <3 BakuBae <3.

All at once, the events from the night prior came barrelling back to the front of his mind; the way he had spent the night after their concert drinking in SENSATIONS and watching Bakugou from afar, his altercation with Denki, their kiss. The way he had gone after Bakugou only to discover him in the arms of some overbearing and forceful guy, the way he had punched said guy and they’d had to run for it. The train ride home, his request to have Bakugou wake him up for class in the morning with a call. Everything that had happened on Snapchat after that.

Eijirou’s face heated up as he moved his thumb to pick up the call, trying his best to push everything that he had just remembered back into whatever awful place of drunken regret it had crawled its way back up from.

“Do you sleep like a fucking rock or what, Jesus Christ.”

It wasn’t exactly your typical greeting, but it was one that he had come to expect from Bakugou. It made Eijirou laugh, which was not something that was good for his health, because it made his stomach churn as his belly moved with the power of it. Eijirou turned himself to his side, tangling himself further in his covers.

“Good morning to you too, Bakugou.” Eijirou tried his best to chime, sounding as cheery as his hangover would allow, but it mostly same out as a muffled sequence of words.

The moment the name left his mouth, Eijirou felt the bed shift beneath him, and heard the way Denki growled beneath his breath. Before he had the chance to do anything, Denki was already up, grabbing a shirt from the floor, a pair of jeans from the top of the disorganized dresser, and slamming his way out of the room with the harsh thump of the door behind him. He’d have to do damage control later, once his classes were over and both their hangovers were gone, and he knew Denki wasn’t going to try and strangle him, or kiss him again.

“It’ll be fucking afternoon if you don’t hurry up and get your ass into gear. Go get dressed and shit and meet me Nippori, like, now.” Bakugou continued to speak, pulling Eijirou away from his thoughts of Denki and back to the current phone call at hand.

“Huh?” Eijirou questioned dumbly, sliding himself into a seated position within his bed, blushing and pulling his covers over his body further as he noticed his own nakedness, “Nippori? What time is it?”

“Eight.” Bakugou announced in a stale tone, and Eijirou briefly pulled his phone from his ear to confirm his words with a glance at his phones clock. Holy fuck it was eight, the night after he’d been drinking. Was Bakugou some kind of demon?

“Eight? But it only takes like…twenty minutes to get to class…” Eijirou grumbled quietly, rubbing the heel of his palm against one of his sore and sleep-encrusted eyes.

“Did I not just ask you to meet me outside Nippori?” Bakugou grumbled again, but it didn’t sound as if he was genuinely annoyed, nor did he really sound like a hangover was the reason for it either.

“Mm.” Eijirou confirmed lazily, hanging his body over the edge of his bunk, staring down at the messy floor below him, “But why so early? You gonna take me on a date Bakuboy?”

He was teasing really, though the words did do some odd things to his own body as they left his mouth. It was strange, but he didn’t want whatever had happened the previous night to kill any of the progress that he’d made with Bakugou. He was just starting to get him to open up, and to hell if he was going to let that die with a few…awkward, yet completely amazing, interactions.

“Shut the fuck up dumbass, and go get ready.” Bakugou huffed through the receiver, and then the line went dead. He’d hung up, but was he really annoyed, or was that slight falter in his voice that Eijirou has quite easily picked up, embarrassment?

It took Eijirou another few minutes to convince his body that he had places to be, but by the time he did and he was ready to get up and function, he’d decided upon himself that he would run to Nippori Station instead of catching the train. With all the course work he’s had lately, along with meetings with the tutor his Mum had organized for him, and practice with the band, he hadn’t had much time recently to do much exercise outside his prescheduled gym sessions.

Plus, Eijirou enjoyed running, even if his throat was burning and brain was hurting. It was calming in a way. It gave him the chance to think things over, or not think at all, whichever one he deemed more important on the day, but this morning he had a whole lot to think about.

Making his way out into the living/kitchen space of the apartment, Eijirou noticed almost immediately that Denki was already gone. Part of him knew it was his call his Bakugou that was partially to blame, but the moment he noticed Kyoka on the floor in the living room, hunched over some textbooks and a plate of dry toast and coffee, he knew instantly her presence most probably had also played a part.

“Morning Kyo-yo” Eijirou mumbled, padding his way across the small space barefoot, leaning over his friend and pressing his lips to the edge of her temple in greeting. Kyoka brushed the tips of her fingers along his arm, humming in response.

“Mornin’ Eiji.” She spoke gently, a slight hint of a smile upon her face. Whatever had been bothering her the week or so before their performance, it was gone now, which was a comforting revelation, “Denki seemed keen to leave this morning, does that mean we’re both in the bad books?”

“Yeah.” Eijirou confirmed without any further explanation, pulling himself back into a stance, eyes cast towards where Kyoka was writing notes within a thick and shabby notebook. He continued to read over everything curiously as he began to change, a comfortable calm between the pair that Eijirou knew to be familiar only to his relationship with Kyoka.

“Where are you off to so early? Mina was asking about you last night you know, you should probably call her.” Kyoka spoke as she worked, flicking through pages of text, highlighting sections she deemed relevant.

“I’m…going to meet up with Bakugou before class.” Eijirou admitted hesitantly. Even though he knew Kyoka didn’t share the same negative view of Bakugou that Denki did, if still felt kind of intimidating to admit these facts to her, “I’m going to run to Nippori to meet him, I’ll call Mi once I get there.”

“Mm…wait, did you just say you’re going to meet up wi-” Kyoka began, lifting her chin up from where it had been dug into her work for the whole previous expanse of the conversation. Her thoughts halted the moment she laid her eyes of Eijirou. They grew wide like saucers, and Eijirou didn’t have time to blink before her hand was on his arm and he was tugged to his knees, half way through pulling on his shirt, bottom half still glad in only his underwear, “Holy fuck Eijirou, what happened to your face dude?!”

Eijirou wasn’t sure what to say at first. He merely kneeled there, grinning dumbly at Kyoka as she looked over his face in sheer horror. Rubbing his hand along the back of his neck, Eijirou tried to think of something, anything he could say to her that wouldn’t lead to a lecture. That was, until he realised he wasn’t speaking to Mina. This was Kyoka.

“I…uh…may have punched a dude in the face last night…and he…may have got a hit in back…” Eijirou admitted carefully, watching Kyoka’s face, gauging her reaction.

“Bullshit.” She immediately blurted, shaking her matted bed-hair from side to side as she stared back at him.

“Bullshit? Dude, look at my eye! I look like some kind of deformed panda!”

“Bullshit.” Kyoka cried again, laughing openly as she continued to shake her head towards him, “Eijirou Kirishima doesn’t punch people. Dude, you cried that time you accidentally kicked Hanta in the face!”

Okay, so maybe that was partially true. There had once been a situation, where during a sleepover with their entire group, Eijirou had been laying with his head in Mina’s lap, and his feet in Hanta’s. Maybe Denki had decided this was the best time to start tickling Eijirou, and maybe, completely accidentally, Eijirou had kicked Hanta in the face and broken his friend’s nose, and maybe Eijirou had cried, but for god sake, he broke Hanta’s nose.

“That was a different situation. Hanta is my bro, no one likes hurting their bros!” Eijirou defended briskly, wincing as Kyoka reached forward to gently touch the bruised area just under his eye.

“Baby, this is pretty gnarly, what the fuck even went down that you needed to hit someone in the first place?” Kyoka questioned, softer this time, like a mother, like one of his mothers.

Eijirou leant into the touch instinctively as his mind wandered over the events of the previous night. He’d been dancing, something bad went down with Denki –which he would never admit to Kyoka, that’s the last thing he needed to deal with, then, Hanta had directed him towards where Bakugou was heading towards the bathroom, Eijirou had followed, walked in on some guy man handling Bakugou, something inside him and snapped in that moment. Like a switch to another part of Eijirou’s brain that he’d never known existed, and then, there was blackness, then blood and his hand was throbbing and Bakugou was yelling, then he got himself punched in the face.

He couldn’t say any of this out loud though, not really. What had went down; it wasn’t something he thought Bakugou would want getting out. This wasn’t his story to tell; even if he was the one that had come out with the physical proof that it had even happened.

“I dunno, drank too much, got into a verbal fight, wham.” Eijirou lied carefully, averting his eyes from Kyoka’s, unable to look at her as he spoke.

“Nothing to do with Bakugou then?” Kyoka questioned carefully, touching on the subject just slightly, testing the water with the brush of her toes, not diving in too far.

“Bakugou? No. Nothing to do with him. Why, you thought he did it?” Eijirou questioned, almost defensively. Even when he’d been in peril last night, and after the speech he’d given Eijirou in the café, Bakugou hadn’t even looked like he’d considered hitting the guy who had hold of him last night, which was worrying in a way, but at least now Eijirou knew that most everything that Bakugou said was probably just words, not actions, not physical violence, just heated tar upon his tongue.

“No.” Kyoka responded, pulling her hand back from where it had been lingering upon his face, “I knew he wouldn’t hit you, he doesn’t seem the type. I just thought…I dunno…I don’t want you letting him encourage you to like…change…”

She was worried. Kyoka was worried about him, and Eijirou wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Part of him was pleased, that she cared so strongly for him. That she loved him enough to worry about his morale and whether it was going to be infected by this outside source. Not that Bakugou was really an outside source anymore. He was one of them now. Though, another part of Eijirou wanted to be annoyed with her tone, with her feelings. Eijirou wasn’t a child, and ever since the incident back when they were third years in high school, it seems all his friends had become adamant in treating Eijirou like he was a child. Like he was someone who needed to be protected, who couldn’t make his own decisions.

“Like you said…” Eijirou began, teetering off as he pushed himself back into a stance, bringing his sweatpants with him, slipping them upon his legs as he continued, “Bakugou isn’t like that.”

There was a stagnant silence that fell between the two, like water on a pond full of koi that no one wanted to ripple in fear of chancing the brightly coloured fish away. Eijirou stood, shifting his hips as he adjusted his jogging pants over his navel, watching the way Kyoka’s eyes watched him.

“You’re up early…” he mumbled out after a while, blinking down at the way Kyoka had herself entangled within a series of blankets upon the floor, dark circles under her eyes, empty bottles of water at her side, “Didn’t drink much?”

“Got wasted.” Kyoka corrected, turning her head to the side, avoiding Eijirou’s gaze, “I didn’t actually sleep at all if I’m honest. When I got home…I couldn’t…so I thought I’d work on my thesis…”

Kyoka’s teeth were connected to her bottom lip, digging just gently enough that it didn’t appear forced. Her skin was even paler without her makeup, freckles scattered lightly along her cheeks and nose. Despite what she insisted was a lack of sleep, she was glowing. The smile that edged at the corner of her lips, the way her irises winked happiness wherever they went.

“Something happened.” Eijirou stated. Stated, because it was facts, because he could’ve read the change in Kyoka’s aura through a thick layer of fog if he had to.

“Yeah…” Kyoka breathed out quietly, fingers fiddling with the edge of one of her textbooks, “At least I think so…I dunno…I haven’t quite figured out whether it was real or not yet…”

“Tell me about it? Tonight when I get home?” Eijirou asked softly, leaning forward again now, pressing his lips to the skin above Kyoka’s brow.

“For sure.” Kyoka confirmed, leaning into his touch with a curt tilt of her chin.

Eijirou enjoyed moments like this. When he was with Kyoka, by themselves, and he was able to be reminded how far they had come. In the beginning, Kyoka had mostly stuck to Denki and Mina. It was Mina after all, that had pulled Kyoka and Denki into them in the first place. Even when Hanta joined them, something that was surprisingly, Denki’s doing –it had taken a long time for Kyoka to open up. Kyoka had always been Denki’s more than anyone else’s, and sometimes it was difficult to remember that despite her subdued nature, she belonged to all of them, because they all belonged to each other.

“Put something on over your shirt, Shitty Kiri, you’re gonna get sick if you keep trying to seduce Bakugou with your boss ab muscles in this weather.” Kyoka spoke, laying the flat of her palm against the blank flesh of his lower body, shoving him back, “I remember you wearing more clothing once, or am I just imagining that?”

Eijirou had to pull back a smirk as the skin of his face heated with Kyoka’s words, pushing his body back into a stand with little help from his arms, just his legs. Lifting his eyebrows towards her, he pulled a hooded sweatshirt from its place on the couch behind her, waving it in her direction as he began to pack towards the door.

“Already on it.”

Eventually, once Eijirou made it down the too-narrow, slightly fire-hazardous stairwell and out onto the streets, they were already buzzing with life. On an average day, when his skull didn’t feel as if it had been rattled through a bender and his stomach wasn’t complaining as about his choices like an overbearing parent, he would have set off on his run far before now. That way, he’d have to stress less about steering away from school children and cane-wielding elderly women. But, considering the circumstances, and the fact he hadn’t had the chance to do this for such a long time, he chose to overlook the partial inconvenience.

When he’d finally began moving and the remnants of last night’s whiskey had settled within him, Eijirou was able to pull himself from everything, and simply enjoy the experience of running along the sidewalk of the town he now considered home.

The air against his tongue tasted of exhaust fumes and the onset of spring, the workings of nature amongst the growing life of the awakening metropolis. It was frigid, burning as he took it into his lungs. He kept his breathing steady –in through the nose, out through the mouth. In a way, it made him feel alive.

For a short while, he was even able to force all his recent memories from his mind, but as he crossed from the street and detoured into the park, the scenery becoming more stagnant; trees replacing people, the light rustle of grass interchanging the swinging of doors, all his thoughts came rushing back to the forefront.

He recalled the sound of overplayed dubstep, the brushing of people’s bodies, and the feeling of Denki’s lips. He’d tasted of cheap beer and desperation, the kind of spontaneous emotions that they’d all believed Denki had worked through already. He couldn’t help but remember Denki’s words, how he’d spoken so badly of Bakugou. Eijirou had known that the two boys didn’t get along. Mina had described it as a clashing of strong personalities and promised they’d both get over it with time. Apparently it only took compromise –though Eijirou doubted either of them two even understood the meaning of the word.

This has been different though, the conversation he’d had with Denki last night, the way his friend had resorted to such frenzied means to buy for Eijirou’s attention; they weren’t the actions of someone who was simply annoyed that their friend was interested in someone they disliked. No, these were the actions of a deep-set worry. Thinking about it left Eijirou with an unpleasant tightness in his chest.

Passing a young couple and their two small children, Eijirou tried to skip over the events that had led to his current facial injuries. Partly because he’d already discussed it with Kyoka, and partly because thinking about the way that guy had been gripping Bakugou’s body made rise to an unfamiliar set of emotions within him, ones that had Eijirou clenching both his fists and his jaw simultaneously as he ran.

Instead, he focused on the time he’d spent with Bakugou on the train, which just happened to be a far more positive experience. Whether it was the alcohol, the adrenaline, or an odd sense of protectiveness –Eijirou wasn’t sure, all he knew was that the comfortable air that had covered the two boys on that short train ride was something that he certainly deemed worthy of remembering.

It wasn’t the touching perse. Eijirou has already been honoured the pleasure of touching Bakugou on multiple occasions, all of them noteworthy and magical -at least in Eijirou’s opinion. Instead, what was truly enjoyable was Bakugou’s presence.

After the hype had passed, Bakugou has become abnormally calm. He looked softer like that, with pale skin flushed red from the rush of their escape, his eyelids drowsy with intoxication and exhaustion alike. When Eijirou has leant into him, he couldn’t help but relish in the feeling of Bakugou’s breathing as his tummy shifted with the action.

This hadn’t been the Katsuki Bakugou that he and his friends have met post-show in Roppongi, nor was it the one that showed himself to the world most every day. Instead, maybe this had been Katsuki Bakugou closest to the way Mina described him. A less guarded Katsuki Bakugou that hid behind the protection of his apartment walls with cottony features beneath large eye-glasses, body buried in mountainous piles of textbooks, bitter-coffee and Michi fur.

The Bakugou that Eijirou has met on the train was most probably a hidden one, and the fact that he’d felt comfortable enough as to grace Eijirou with his existence left Eijirou’s heart aflutter.

Soon enough, the unmistakable outline of Nippori Station neared, the very last thing Eijirou would have wanted to recall as he was minutes away from coming face-to-face with Bakugou, happened to decide that it was time to hit front-stage-centre and completely disarm him in his most vulnerable state. The moment he began to remember what had happened between him and Bakugou on Snapchat once he’d returned home –still full of toxins and boundless energy, running was the last thing he was capable of.

Eijirou pulled himself to a stop at the edge of the street just shy of where he had only moments ago existed the park on his way through to his local station, his body became rigid, his face doing his best impression of a stoplight and he couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it. His fingers at his sides, tugging deeply into the fabric of his joggers, as flushes of his own skin and the bright display of his phone overpowered all sense of his surroundings.

Thinking back on it now, Eijirou was utterly shocked by his own behaviour. That…whatever it had been; it wasn’t the sort of thing that Eijirou had ever done on the fly, or ever really at all. He knew this was a new age and all; he was young and fully aware of the sorts of things that went on over the internet, the types of material that was sent in pixilated waves from smart phone to smart phone. The types of relationships that had the news shrieking and crying over declining birth-rates and the modern world’s self-created shut-in society. For Eijirou though, those were the sorts of things you heard people talking about in class, in bars, but never the sort of things he engaged in, and especially not the sort of things he instigated.

But he had, and even recalling it now, in the middle of the street, with his thighs pressed together and heartrate running rampant –Eijirou couldn’t he bring himself to regret what he’d done. Sure, it hadn’t really gone far, but at the same time Bakugou hadn’t really appeared to not enjoy what had happened, if anything, he’d kind of seemed to be on board with it.

It couldn’t have been helped really, not once he’d gotten home and lifted up his shirt, body on full display in front of his full length mirror as he inspected what had become of his face in the short while between the moment he’d been hit, and the moment he’d arrived home to actually assess the damage.

He’d noticed them pretty much instantly, four distinct elongated marks spanning the area just above and just below his navel. He’d still been able to feel it, the press of Bakugou’s hands against the area, the feeling of his breath against his neck, whispering instructions against the shell of Eijirou’s ear. Staring at the marks, their shifting gradient of red, pink, the blossoming purple. His body had reacted, the way any healthy gay boy’s body would when he had the battle wounds of his crushes’ strong fingers marked out upon the skin not further than half a foot from places of extreme sensitivity.

The bruises, they’d been attractive, he’d still been kind of drunk and everything about his life in the past hour or so –shit the past few weeks, had been nothing but Bakugou.

He’d taken a leap, a risky one, especially when it came to someone like Bakugou who’s personality shifted with the easy flip of some metaphorical swift somewhere in his brain that went from ‘slightly irritated’ to ‘Full Berserker Mode’ in half a nano second. Bakugou could have completely rejected him, not only wrecked his self-confidence, but Eijirou’s heart, without even knowing the extent of the damage.

He hadn’t though. He hadn’t denied Eijirou anything, not even his words. Maybe, Denki hadn’t come home. Maybe if things had continued the way they were, he could have even had Bakugou interacting with him back (once he’d left the train of course, or not, Eijirou didn’t mind either way).

Even just thinking about the places things could have gone last night, left Eijirou wishing he could just run across the street now, find Bakugou wherever he was –waiting for Eijirou somewhere outside the station for whatever reason he’d decided to drag him out here so early in the morning on a Sunday, and leap into the boys arms, drag out every last detail about what this meant for them now, where they stood. He wouldn’t though, not now, it wasn’t his place. He’d made his move, and now it was time for Katsuki to make his.

Just as the traffic lights that stood between Eijirou and the station blinked green, he felt a gentle vibration run from the edge of his thigh –one that he immediately recognised as his phone indicating to him the arrival of a new Line message. As Eijirou began to cross, he pulled the device from its place in the low-dip of his baggy joggers and glanced down at the display. It was a message from Bakugou.

<3BakuBae<3: Where the fuck are you Spikes? Did you get lost?

<3 Kirishima<3: Sorry! Im here now! Where are you?

There was a brief pause before Eijirou received a reply.

<3BakuBae<3: shut up I see you

Eijirou let his phone fall, replacing the device back into his pocket as he began to scan the area. It wasn’t difficult to spot Bakugou. He stood propped up against a wall, keeping himself backed away from the sidewalk, arms crossed over his chest and eyes shielded from the sun with a pair of minimalist sunglasses.

As Eijirou approached, he soon realised that even if he hadn’t been completely submerged in a pool of infatuation, it still would have been near impossible not to notice Bakugou. Unlike with the rest of Electric Moment, even off stage, out of character, Bakugou shone like a distant sun. His light hair was forced back from his face, set in place with a series of plain black bobby-pins. He wore a grey-knit sweater atop a neatly creased collared shirt that peaked out beneath and flowed down his jean clad thighs. His jeans themselves were tight, a deep black and for once there were no holes, they ducked beneath a pair of large boots; ones that reached high along his shins, broad and intimidating.

He looked like a celebrity even now; standing in the middle of the street like it was no big deal that his entire body beamed like a beacon. Eijirou wasn’t the only one who noticed him, he could see the way a group of high school girls ogled his bandmate as they passed, the knowing glance of a pair of uniformed women on their way to work as they brushed past Katsuki and hesitated just enough to stare him down as they made their way through the East Entrance door. Even the thought of it had Eijirou moving just a little faster, trying not to stumble over his own feet as he approached.

He didn’t have to say anything for Bakugou to look up at him, the blond boy did it on his own, face rising from where it had been on his phone and all at once Eijirou was struck with a pair of tangerine eyes as Bakugou pulled the frame of his glasses to perch upon his head. He looked like a celebrity, even with the crease between his brows and a scowl upon his lips. Eijirou had to take a moment to self-assess.

Maybe he should have worn something nicer, even if he was only going to class –which generally meant he put little effort into his presentation, especially if he was running. Fuck, he shouldn’t have run. He could feel the beading sweat upon his hairline, even under the cold of the morning air. His shirt was clinging to his body beneath his open hoodie, and although it was long enough to cover the bruises, it wasn’t long enough to hide the blotchy red of his tummy and hips from his exercise. He was a mess, and Bakugou was a god. This couldn’t have been a worse situation.

“Hi-Hi, BakuBro!” Eijirou greeted brightly, hoping his attitude would be a distraction from his current state of appearance.

Bakugou lifted himself from the wall behind him, twisting to face Eijirou as he approached. His arms were still crossed, a plastic shopping bag limply hanging from one of his hands as he appeared to assess Eijirou with wandering eyes. Eijirou felt scrutinized under the gaze; even though nothing about Bakugou’s body language said that he was displeased with what he saw. The moment Bakugou’s eyes met Eijirou’s abdomen however, he quickly diverted his gaze.

“Took long enough.” Bakugou grumbled, taking a few steps forward to meet Eijirou half-way through his approach.

Bakugou reached within the plastic bag he was holding, pulling from it two bottles of water and a tiny bottle of Oronamin C –a product Eijirou easily recognised, as it was a frequent contributor to the long sleepless hours that he, Kyoka and Denki spent in their apartment during exam periods. Bakugou handed it to him, along with one of the bottles of water, shoving it into Eijirou’s grasp forcefully the moment they were in a close enough proximity to each other. Eijirou inspected the bottles carefully, tilting his head to the side as he looked back up at Bakugou.

“What’s this for?”

Bakugou didn’t answer straight away, choosing to open his own bottle of water and take a long sip that Eijirou wasn’t sure whether to interpret as an avoidance of the question, or an indication that he should follow suit. He waited for Bakugou to swallow.

“Just take it.” Bakugou grumbled out, reaching to wipe a stray drop of water from the edge of his mouth, “For last night.”

Eijirou looked down at the objects within his grasp curiously once more.

“Vitamin C, its good for…bruising…” Bakugou explained quietly, catching Eijirou’s eye as he pulled a final object from the bag, once again shoving it roughly into Eijirou’s free hand.

A potato.

“Uh…” Eijirou began, tilting the vegetable in his grasp.

“If you put that on your eye tonight it’ll help.” Bakugou huffed, “Deku’s dumb mum use to do it for us when we were kids.”

Every muscle within Eijirou’s chest squeezed tightly together. He wasn’t really sure how he was supposed to feel in this moment. Part of him wanted to cry, to wrap his arms around Bakugou, because holy hell this was kind of the weirdest, sweetest thing anyone had ever done for him, but at the same time he kind of wanted to laugh, because big, tough Katsuki Bakugou had just called him down to the station at 8 A.M. to hand Eijirou water, energy drink and a single potato. A short snort escaped his nose as he thought it over.

“What the fuck are you laughing at Shitty-Hair?” Bakugou growled defensively, reaching towards the potato as Eijirou held it tightly, “If you think it’s stupid give it back asshole.”

Eijirou shook his head quickly, tilting his chin up to shoot Bakugou the largest grin he could possibly manage, because damn, if he wasn’t carefully, he might actually end up falling in love with this guy, but right now, he couldn’t care less.

“No…no way…this…” he began, squeezing the potato tightly within his hand, “This is one of the coolest, nicest things anyone’s ever done for me…thanks Bakugou.”

There was silence for a while as Bakugou looked back at him, his eyes once again unreadable, but the rising colour of his cheeks saying everything that Eijirou really needed in that moment. He didn’t care how much his face hurt right now, or how embarrassed he’d been about what he’d done with Bakugou last night. Right now none of that really mattered.

“Yeah, well, make sure you fucking use it or you’re gonna be walking around looking like a dumb panda for the next few weeks…” Bakugou chided, turning to start making his way through the station entrance –Eijirou followed instantly, replacing the items into his small backpack, beside a few text books he’d brought along with him for class.

“So this is why you wanted to meet up with me so early. Are you gonna walk me to class now too? I mean I did basically save your life and everything.” Eijirou coaxed, skipping quickly to meet up beside Bakugou, wrapping his hands around the other boy’s arm as they walked.

“Don’t push it.” Bakugou growled, but made no move to push away Eijirou’s touch, so he kept it there was they walked, pulling himself close to Bakugou as to avoid running into other fast-paced civilians, “But you can have one other thing…because you saved my ass and all, and got hit, but nothing fucking crazy, got it?”

Eijirou practically glowed enthusiasm at the concept, his mind running over all the things he wished he could ask for from Bakugou, but part of him also considering telling him that it was completely fine. He hadn’t protected Bakugou to gain anything from it. He’d done it, because he had to, because it was the right thing, and because there was no one on this earth he wanted touching Bakugou in those kinds of ways –except maybe himself of course.

On the other hand though, this was the perfect excuse for him to gain momentum in whatever was growing here between the two. Bakugou, he wasn’t the sort of person to give things out lightly, and a chance like this would be such a stupid one to pass up. There were so many things Eijirou wished he could ask for, but there was one district thing he knew he had to have. Something he’d wanted for years now but believed he’d never obtain.

“I want you to lift the apartment ban.” Eijirou announced, feeling the way Bakugou’s muscles stiffened within his grip –Eijirou squeezed his arm comfortingly.

“No way.”

“Aw, c’mon dude! Mina is my best friend! We’ve always been together, and so far the only place we can never see each other is when she’s at home!” Eijirou whined, stepping closer to Bakugou, catching his eyes with his own pleading ones, “I need this.”

Bakugou appeared to analyse Eijirou for a while, finally pulling back from his touch as he slipped his IC card from somewhere within the pocket of his jeans, tapping it down as he made his way through the electronic gate –Eijirou followed quickly.

“If I let you start coming over, all those other losers are going to want to as well. I like my house clean, and quiet. Not a single one of you knows how to be either of those things. It’s hard enough dealing with Battle Star Galactica, I’m not dealing with you motherfuckers as well.”

Eijirou felt his excitement deflate, his body doing the same as they continued to walk. His shoulders slumped, and maybe this was a dick move, but he couldn’t help but pout. What he’d said was the truth. It sucked never being able to visit Mina at her house. When they were young, they’d spent so much time together in each other’s rooms, playing games and telling secrets, and where his room was always neat and organized –something his Mama had always insisted on, Mina’s was different. Her room back home with her Aunt and Uncle was brightly painted in shades of purple, blue, pink; it was a galaxy of paint splattered stars and far too much glitter. Everything smelt of playful perfumes and candy, and her walls and room were covered in posters dragged from magazines and photos taken of almost everyone Mina had ever met and chosen to love.

Now that they were older, Eijirou knew Mina’s room here would be no different, and craved the familiarity of it. He wanted to be back in Mina’s room, wrapped up in her blankets, talking to her in hushed tones through the night as to not wake a sleeping Bakugou –who would conveniently be just next door in the very same apartment. Eijirou wanted to wake up by Mina’s side, eat the terribly prepared breakfast she would make for him, maybe see Bakugou in his most vulnerable states, sleepy, waking, and comfortable.

“I swear on my Mama’s life it’ll just be me! I don’t even have to tell the others about it if you don’t want me to! I’ll tell ‘em that only I’m allowed to come over and no one else!”

Bakugou was quiet after that, standing at the edge of the train platform behind the fading yellow line, but he seemed as if he was thinking, maybe considering Eijirou’s words, maybe thinking about changing his mind and accommodating the request, even if it was only because he felt guilty over Eijirou’s eye.

Eijirou reached forward, taking hold of Bakugou’s sweater and pulling himself up behind Bakugou. He pressed himself flush against Bakugou’s back, which went stiff-as-a-board when he did, his chin rested carefully upon Bakugou’s shoulder. Just as he began to speak, their train came zooming up the track, rolling past them loudly and quickly as it went.

“Please?” Eijirou pleaded beneath its noise, but he knew he was close enough to Bakugou’s ear that he would hear it regardless. It was a dirty ply. Mina had always told him that Eijirou’s ‘pleading’ voice could end wars, but maybe that’s what talking to Bakugou was –its own thrilling kind of battle.

The train came to a standstill before them, and for a moment Eijirou thought maybe he’d gone too far, but once they’d finished allowing a short line of passengers to make their way off the train, Eijirou found himself being tugged upon it with a gentle tug of his wrist within Bakugou’s hand.

“Not a single other soul is to be in my house.” Bakugou growled quietly, bringing himself close to Eijirou in order to avoid disturbing the other people in the car. His eyes wandered to the dark bruising that haloed Eijirou’s eye, making him feel self-conscious, but also kind of guilty.

“Only me and my Mina.” Eijirou agreed softly, reaching above his head to take hold of one of the handgrips, “Also…I know I’ve asked for a lot already…but…if you could be a little nicer to Denki that would be great. That’s more of a band thing than anything else though…I know he’s kinda…wary of you…but he’s actually really great once you get to know him.”

He knew he was probably asking a lot of Bakugou. He’d already requested to enter his space, something that was obviously really important him. However, Eijirou knew for a fact that if he was ever going to be able to keep both his friend, and the guy in front of him, then going after Bakugou was probably the best plan of attack. Denki was too emotional, he let things get to him far more easily than Bakugou did. If he could get through to Bakugou first, then Denki would have no choice but to follow in his path, to be the better man.

“Yeah, okay.” Bakugou agreed quickly as the train doors began to come to a close.

And Eijirou wondered if maybe this could be enough, if only for now.

When Denki Kaminari was sixteen years old, he learnt almost instantly that one of the only therapeutic techniques his doctor had suggested to him over the years that actually worked, was the concept of Safe Haven. Really, he’d probably known the benefits of this far before a medical professional told him so, and really, he’d been using it in practice without knowing it from a very early age.

When he was young and his brothers became too overwhelming, his instant reaction was to go running to Kyoka, wrap himself up in her covers and hide away from the world for as long as he could. When was Kyoka that was the problem, he went running to his mother, or to Kyoka’s mother, and waited to be pulled into their arms, letting himself melt into their motherly love until he was no one, nothing, until everything was gone and he was gone and the world itself couldn’t hurt him anymore.

Once he hit high school, all his usual safe places stayed the way they were, but included into that list came Kyoka’s youngest sister Ume –whose young age and bubbly attitude never failed to cheer him up, but also Mina, Eijirou and Hanta. If he couldn’t go to one, or two, or three, he’d at least have someone, all of them pertaining to a different level of grievance, each of them with their own individual ways of bringing Denki up.

Today his save haven was Hanta.

Denki had met Hanta Sero in their first week of high school. Having lived in the same town for the entirety of their lives, once the pair had become friends it was hard to believe they’d ever not been together. Being with Hanta was like having every negative comment ever said to him over the years, proven wrong simply from his presence. Where Kyoka’s acceptance came from a rooted love, Hanta’s came from effortless understanding.

When Denki got overly excited and people began to whisper, Hanta was right there being just as excited by his side. When Denki was being too loud without thinking, Hanta was there, just as noisy, drowning out everyone else and protecting Denki from the criticism. When Eijirou and Denki were telling stupid jokes, Hanta was right there laughing along, adding even better ones to their catalogue.

And when Denki was upset, where his friends like Kyoka and Mina would force him to speak up, explain himself and talk about his problems, Hanta and Eijirou were there to let him ignore his issues for as long as he felt the need, distracting him with video games and idle chatter until Denki was prepared to actually have them listen.

He couldn’t speak to Kyoka though, nor Mina, nor Eijirou, because they were the problem, and Denki never really gotten over his habit of avoiding his problems.

Visiting Hanta since moving to Tokyo however, had its own issues.

When they’d first began talking about moving to Tokyo when they were third years, the plan had always been that Denki would share an apartment with Kyoka, there wasn’t really any questions about it, that’s just how they were. Mina, would move in with some complete stranger like some sort of fucked up idea for a Shojo manga, in order to live out her lifelong fantasy of doing so –something that resulted in two months of Eijirou crying and pleading with her to just live with him and Hanta, because he didn’t want to end up on the other side of a big city without her. She never agreed though, which left Eijirou and Hanta to move in together –which would have been great, if Hanta hadn’t dropped the bomb that he’d already planned to live with his older sister once they got there. This, ultimately resulted in their current living arrangements, because there was no way any of them were going to let Eijirou Kirishima go out on his own.

This did make for an odd revelation though, as none of them had ever really met Hanta’s sister, and when they did, so many things suddenly made so much sense.

Who would have known that Hanta Sero was a rich kid? Not his friends that for sure, not until they were invited over to a welcoming party planned by his sister in their now shared apartment that was bigger than his friend’s apartments combined and doubled for good measure. It was then, with a plethora of shell-shocked faces and Mina screaming out intelligible words, that Hanta had pulled them to the side and explained the situation.

He told them that his family had chosen to settle in Kiryu as a way of raising their kids to be humble, something that hadn’t mattered much anyway because Denki couldn’t even imagine Hanta being anything but such, and his sister obviously hadn’t taken his parent’s lesson on board in the slightest given the state of their home and her elaborate outfit choices.

After the initial shocked wore off though, everything was good and well, because Hanta was still Hanta and how much money his parents had, or how many business his extremely attractive sister was running , didn’t change who he was or how they felt about him. What it did change, was the way the group felt whenever they were invited to visit –especially when it came to Denki.

Don’t get him wrong, Denki loves Hanta, and he knows he doesn’t judge him on how much money he has, or how he looks, or what he wears, damn, Hanta isn’t really all that different for someone with money coming out of their ass. This, didn’t stop other people though, and wandering into a luxury apartment complex that homed the children of apex families, all while wearing a pair of beaten up Van’s and the first shirt he could get a hold of on his bedroom floor –which just happened to be Eijirou’s, and was far too fucking big on him, really didn’t help his self-confidence.

Pushing this to the side however, it still amazed Denki to no avail how fancy this place truly was. The tiles were stark white and clean, the walls pretty much the same –but embellished by strips of gold and chrome. There was security in pretty much every corner of the lobby, one even stood behind the service counter to his right, hovering over the two workers that sat there. Denki knew both of them, the first was Kaneko-san, a lovely middle aged women with a nine-year-old son and a husband in computing, the second was Morita-san a fifty seven year old man who works this job here as a distraction from the passing of his wife over ten years prior to now. Denki knew them both well, and by now they knew him too, so all he really had to do on his way up to the Sero apartment was wave at them as happily as he could under his current mood, and he was immediately buzzed through the security and allowed into the elevator.

Denki didn’t bother to knock as he pushed open the door to Hanta’s apartment. Normally at this time of the day, Hanta’s older sister Masumi wasn’t generally around, and if she was, she was sleeping, but today that didn’t seem to be the case. When Denki swung the door open, letting it hang as he pushed his shoes off in the doorway, he could already hear the sound of Masumi and Hanta laughing from the direction of the kitchen. He mustn’t have been too silent himself, because before he was even half way down the hallway, he was already greeted with Hanta’s blinding smile and a half naked Masumi hovering behind him, arms crossed over her chest.

Denki found himself flushing bright red as he eyed down the much taller Masumi, her body barely covered in a golden hued silk robe and her black laced underwear. She looked a lot like her brother, thin and towering, dark hair flowing thick and straight as it reached down to her hips. The first time Denki had met her, he couldn’t help but form an infatuation –one that Masumi still wilfully tor down whenever Denki even attempted to make a move on her.

“Denks!” Hanta beamed, also dressed in no more than a pair of boxers and an old t-shirt. He was slightly shorter than his sister, which really did say something, because Hanta was the tallest of all their friends, “You’re up early buddy! Want some breakfast? Masumi tried making eggs, but…”

Before Hanta could continue on his path of degrading his elder sisters poor cooking abilities, she was whacking him across the head with the back of her hand, face rolled into an angry expression. Denki really could see why people listened to her. She basically radiated authority –plus, she was hella scary when she wanted to be.

“Oh shut up Hanta, like your food is any better…”she grumbled, taking one last icy look towards Denki, before storming her way back into the kitchen.

“I think your food’s the best bro.” Denki commented once he knew Masumi was out of earshot, smiling sheepishly over at Hanta as his friend cradled his slap-pinked cheek, wooden spoon hanging loosely from the grip of his free hand.

“Aw, broooooo!” Hanta cried out, waltzing his way over to Denki, enveloping his friend up in a crushing hug, “You’re the best!”

He really wasn’t, at least not at the moment. Denki may have been angry, but he also knew that he’d fucked up last nice –both with Kyoka and Eijirou. His worry had blinded him from the way his friends would feel, and he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to redeem himself from such betrayal, especially when it came to Eijirou; whose greatest crime in all this was thinking he could trust the secrets of his inner feelings to Denki, whom was meant to be his best friend, but was turning out to be his greatest enemy.

“Breakfast? It’s real fuckin’ early, and I’m starving.” Denki diverted, catching Hanta’s eye. His friend watched him for what felt like too long, making Denki believe he might have caught onto the fact that there was something wrong, but if he did, he said nothing, simply dragging Denki along to the kitchen.

The kitchen in the Sero sibling’s apartment was connected to their equally spacious lounge area in an open living fashion, making both spaces feel even larger than they already were. The countertops were marble, expensive even to the touch, and Denki was sure you could feed a small army with the size of their stove.

There, Masumi was standing over a pan of what he assumed was the eggs Hanta had spoken about previously. His suspicions were confirmed as his friend released the grip he had upon Denki’s arm, shifting his sister out of his way with a bump of his hip, wooden spoon dipping into the pan immediately. No one would have guessed that Hanta was a decent cook, but really, one of the Sero children had to be, and Masumi had never really been the homely type.

Denki made himself comfortable in a stool connected to the kitchens island, his eyes running along the length of Masumi’s legs as she argued with her brother over her omelette-making capabilities. Denki knew from the beginning he’d never have a chance with Masumi, not only because she was way out of his league, but because she was already engaged. Apparently to some guy she’d met through work –they went to the gym together, he liked running or something like that. If Denki recalled properly he was the elder son of some family named Iida –figures they’d be rich too.

It didn’t stop him from imagining things though. Masumi was pretty; even if the angry look she held almost 24/7 kind of killed it a little. In was charming in a strange kind of way. Maybe the way Denki felt about Masumi was similar to the way Eijirou felt about Bakugou. Maybe Eijirou, even Kyoka and Mina, could see hidden aspects about Bakugou the way Denki could see the subtle charm of Masumi through her brusque outer shell.

Denki shook the thoughts off. That was the very last thing he wanted to think about –that was the reason he was here after all, for a distraction.

“Masumi-san, when are you going to marry me?” Denki charmed, leaning forward against the countertop, chin resting in his outstretched hands, leaning all his weight upon his elbows as he blinked towards Masumi flirtatiously.

“I didn’t realise children could even get married Kaminari-kun, come back in five or six years.” Masumi bit back, knowing fully well that Denki was only around three years younger than her. She did always have a habit of treating Hanta and his friends as if they were kids. Maybe it was just another thing that made her feel powerful.

“I’m already fully grown where it counts, trust me.” Denki retorted, causing Hanta to burst out in a fit of giggles from where he stood standing over a pot that smelled of Miso and dashi.

Masumi gasped outwardly in response to the comment, swinging herself around, robe pulled around her waist. Denki could still see a lot though, eyes gliding along the long stretch of her legs to where they ducked beneath the golden fabric.

“He’s not, trust me.” Hanta added through his breathless laughing, causing Masumi to crack a small smile.

“You would know, would you Hanta-chan?” she questioned quickly, and Hanta merely laughed back at her in response –though it wasn’t hard to miss the way his cheeks went a little rosy at the suggestion.

Hanta was probably the only straight one out of all their friends. Only probably –because no one really knew what was going on with Mina at all. Both of them were also the only ones out of most every friend Denki has had through his life, that he hasn’t fooled around with. Not for lack of trying he’s sure. Hanta has recited many tales of Denki’s drunken attempts at getting into Hanta’s pants for the hell of it, and Hanta’s immediate and unwavering denials. It had never seemed to bother him though, which Denki gathered as one of the perks of being so close with your friends, intimate contact wasn’t really an issue.

“He’s not shy.” Hanta explained, moving back to his pot without a second thought.

“Don’t I know it.” Masumi grumbled, loose hair swishing as she darted her gaze back towards Denki.

“I’ll change your mind one day babe, don’t worry.” Denki teased, resulting in an eye roll from Masumi and another chuckle from Hanta.

“I’m going to bed.” Masumi explained, more to Hanta than to both the boys –and made her way towards the hallway that Denki knew branched off into Masumi’s bedroom and a room that she had long ago shaped into an office. When she was rarely home, Masumi spent more time up that end of the apartment than anywhere else, leaving Hanta mostly to his own devices, “Wake me at two, Hanta?”

Hanta nodded, shooting his sister a very animated, double thumbs up, waiting for his sister to disappear down the hall before he turned back to preparing the food.

“She’s totally into me.” Denki announced, perking himself up more upon his stool, pushing himself as far over the counter as he could manage, keeping a close eye on his friend’s hands as he worked.

“Oh for sure.” Hanta confirmed, a sly smirk pulling at the edge of his lips, only looking back over his shoulder for a moment to observe Denki’s actions.

It was around another twenty minutes or so that Hanta completed cooking the pair of them breakfast, sitting a few dishes upon the table, and taking his place next to Denki at the counter, allowing his blond friend to consume as much as half of everything he prepared, before daring to bring up the question that Denki had felt floating around in the air between them since the moment he’d arrived.

“So, whats up?” he questioned as casually as he could, making the inside of Denki’s body do some sort of odd impersonation of a contortionists limbs.

Denki only shrugged, shoving another heaping of rice into his mouth in order to avoid having to answer. It wasn’t what Hanta wanted to hear, and with the way his friend pulled away the bowl of rice from before him, Denki knew he had about 3.4 seconds left of chewing before he had to answer. Swallowing down his rice carefully, Denki mumbled;

“It’s…nothing really…and a lot of things…”

It wasn’t a clear cut answer, and if this had been any of this other friends, Denki knew it would have resulted in a lot of frustration. Hanta was different though, cautious. He’d seen parts of Denki that Denki had been far too afraid to show anyone else, because at the time Hanta had been the person had befriended last and maybe somewhere within his adolescent brain, maybe Denki had thought Hanta wouldn’t have even cared. But Hanta did care. He cared equally as much as the rest of them, but he was also still very unaware of how far he could push Denki –which to Denki, was a benefit.

“You didn’t speak to Kyo at all after the concert, and you were super weird with Ei at the club too. That’s not nothing, dude…”

Hanta was wrong. Denki had spoken to Kyoka after their concert, but now, thinking back at it. He really wished he hadn’t. Not having a conversation at all, that would have been way better than what had actually occurred. Even now, he could still feel the beating of his heart, the pressure of the wall against his back as Kyoka shoved him, yelled at him. Maybe it even stung more now than it ever had at the time, because now he knew Kyoka had probably been right. It wasn’t their business to treat Eijirou like he had no idea what he was doing –even if maybe he didn’t. Eijirou was his friend, but he wasn’t their child, and maybe Denki had pushed a little too far with the subject on both ends, because no only had he fucked up with Kyo, but he’d gone on later to seriously screw things over with Eijirou as well.

“It’s about Bakugou.” Denki blurted out after a while, reaching up to his own cheek to swipe away the feeling of Miso soup that had been bothering him against his cheek, “And Eijirou, and Kyoka…and maybe even you…but I fucked up Hani, like seriously messed everything…”

Hanta tilted his head to the side, allowing it to fall into the palm of his hand, the other moving forward to take hold of Denki’s shoulder in a comforting embrace. Denki knew Hanta had never been that great with words. He was smart enough, and had a lot to say, but never really the means to put everything together. That’s what made talking to him so easy though –not having to fear the response.

“It’s just. For so long it was just us, y’know? Me, you, Kyo, Eiji, and Mina. The five of us together, and this move was meant to be our thing, yeah? It was us, together, taking on the world and fucking shit up with our sweet music and Kyo’s fucking voice. Then, N came into things, and that was okay I guess, because Mina’s never usually wrong about people, and having him allowed you to play the way you wanted and it was cool, he was cool, at first. Even when he and Eiji started that thing they had going on, I didn’t care, because it was nice seeing Eijirou happy and it kinda worked because N was part of the band, and it meant we could all stay together.”

“But then…when N started going all fucking crazy, and the band started kinda falling to pieces and Eiji shut off and fuck…I thought we were gonna lose everything there…I thought ‘This is it. Can’t come back from the gutters like this. Midnight is gonna throw us to the side and move on to the next best thing, the dreams over.’, but then Kyo fucking knocked him out and N left, and even though it was hard because Eiji…Eiji…”

Denki shook his head, attempting to clear all the thoughts that were running wild through his mind. He wasn’t sure if he was making sense, if Hanta even really cared about his problems, or his insecurities.

“Then…then Mina suggested we take on Bakugou, and to be honest I kinda thought we’d roll up there and Kyoka would immediately turn him down, like she was only really doing it so that Mina didn’t feel bad. And…and I know the N thing wasn’t Mina’s fault…”

Denki peered up from where he had been watching the fidgeting movements of his own hands throughout most of their conversation so far. He observed Hanta’s reaction to his mentioning of Mina as closely as he could –he didn’t want to push yet another friend any further than they could handle.

“I know it’s not. I love Mina, and she’s never once done anything to purposely hurt us…but…but how am I supposed to trust her judgement now y’know? She says Bakugou is great, and she’s got Kyoka saying it too…and Eiji…after everything that happened…she hasn’t stood up once to even think about stopping Eijirou from pursuing him…”

Denki swallowed down his words. They were choking him, pouring from him too quickly that he was unable to fully control what he’s actually saying. He tried to pull them back, allow himself the time to process everything properly. Hanta’s hand hadn’t moved from his shoulder, but he could already tell that the hold was far looser than it had been before he’d started talking. He was fucking this up. He was going to fuck this up just like he had with Kyoka and Eijirou the night before. This was it.

“Mina…I think it took more out of Mina than any of us when N left…when she had to see the way Eijirou was breaking, the way we all were, and she couldn’t do anything about it. You need to remember that N was her-” Hanta began, but before Denki could allow him to finish, the words were already pouring single file out from his mouth, and this time he couldn’t force them back.

“Dude, I know how you feel about Mina, but that doesn’t change the fact that Bakugou is a huge fucking prick.” Denki spat, and the moment he did, he could already feel the guilt building up from within.

Hanta, though, being the magical and wonderful human he is, simply pulled his hand back, resting the both of them in his lap as he swung himself on his stool, eyes diverted to the side.

“Yeah…but I’m not really just saying this because I like Mina…I’m saying this…because…I dunno…I think I know where they’re all coming from.” he spoke softly, noticeably tugging on his bottom lip as the subject of his feelings for Mina flowed from his mouth, “Bakugou isn’t N…and it’s kinda fucked up that we place him in that category just because he plays guitar and Ei has the hots for him…”

“So you deny that he’s a prick then?” Denki snapped, and he realised almost all too late that right now, he was probably the one coming off as more of a prick than Bakugou.

Hanta didn’t really seem all that bothered –the diversion away from Mina probably lifting a weight off his back. The dark haired boy leant himself forward, taking Denki’s hands within his own in a loose grip, swinging them between their bodies.

“I mean, he is, but to be honest I think it’s more for show than anything. When I was practicing with him, he was a lot less dickish when it was just the two of us…N…N was always a dick, it didn’t matter who was around…that’s the difference I feel…between true dick, and a defence mechanism.”

Hanta was probably right. Where N had been quite deceiving, making them all believe he was stand-up guy, while in the shadows he was doing things that none of them ever wished to speak of, that was the true definition of an asshole, especially when the mask began to fade and he showed more and more of his true self to them. Bakugou however, had been an angry little ass from the beginning, snapping at them all openly, but showing a strange fondness for each of the others when he felt people weren’t looking. The way he could hug Kyoka back when she took hold of him, only ever violent with his words but not his actions. He even let Eijirou cling to him whenever he pleased, but made no move to actually do anything about it besides hitting the boy with the heat of what Denki could now see were near-empty words.

Oh god had he been an idiot.

“Yeah…yeah I guess I can see that…it’s just I was…so…”

“Worried?” Hanta finished for him, the edges of his lips pulling into a wide grin as he finished, causing Denki to smile as well.

“I just don’t want…to lose anyone…it just feels like everyone is so damn obsessed with Bakugou at the moment, and I’m…” Denki mumbled, flicking his feet around in the air beneath him, shifting in his seat nervously.

“No one’s gonna lose anyone Denks. Bakugou is kinda just…like a new and shiny toy, yeah? But once he’s a little worn in, he’ll be just like the rest of us.” Hanta explained, it was a weird analogy, and Denki wasn’t exactly sure where the hell Hanta had pulled it from, but it made enough sense that it was comforting to Denki.

“Yeah…”

“Y’know, when we all first became friends in school, I kinda felt that way too. Like, you had Kyoka, she’s been you best bud since you guys were basically born. Then there were Mina and Eiji, who were connected at the hip and had been since middle…then there was me…the fifth wheel…” Hanta spoke, eyes darting away as he let his thumbs glide along the back of Denki’s hands.

“Dude, but you’re like, my best bro, you’re all as important to me as each other. You know that.” Denki attempted to explain as a way of consoling his friend, pushing himself to the edge of his stool to be able to catch Hanta’s eyes.

“Yeah I know that now, even back then it only took me a while to realise that I wasn’t an outsider at all…what I’m saying is…that just because we have Bakugou now, and even if Eiji and him start and thing, and even if Kyo and Mina and me get along with him, doesn’t make you any less our friend…”

For some reason, even though Denki had originally come to Hanta so that he didn’t have to talk about his problems at all, he couldn’t help but feel the warmth and sincerity of his friend’s words and wonder if that’s what he’d really wanted to hear all along. He wanted someone to confirm that no matter how far Bakugou fell into them, it wouldn’t break them apart, that Denki wouldn’t lose anyone as a result. It made him love Hanta all the more than he already did.

Denki forced himself forward, falling out of his stool and stumbling into Hanta’s arms. He wrapped his own arms around Hanta’s shoulders, burying his face into the boy’s neck as he squeezed him as tightly as he could manage. He wouldn’t admit looking back at it that he cried, but maybe as he stood there, Hanta’s lanky arms tied around his body, he might have shed one or two pleased tears.

“I’m…sorry I said that thing about Mina…it wasn’t great…a lot of the things I’ve been saying lately haven’t been great…” Denki apologized carefully, lips blowing warm air against the skin of Hanta’s neck, wetness from his eyes having pooled against his shoulder.

“It’s all good dude, I came to terms with the fact she’d never like me like that ages ago.” Hanta replied, fingers drawing careful patterns upon the slope of Denki’s back, “I talked to Kyo about it one time…she said on these forums she visits online…for people in that, y’know the community for gay people and people who are confused about the gender and stuff? She said there’s tonnes of people like Mina…there was a word for it…for people who don’t like people in a romantic way…she said it’s likely there are people in Japan like it too, cause we’re all people y’know? And just because we aren’t as open here as they are in other countries doesn’t mean we aren’t the same. Anyways…she thinks Mina’s like that…says that some people just work different…and thinks Mina just has so much love, that her brain could never possibly think about giving more to only one person…I don’t know…”

Denki squeezed Hanta a little tighter, nose resting at the crown on his friends head, pressing himself into the mess of his bed hair. It wasn’t really a secret that Hanta had feelings for Mina. They’d all pretty much figured it out by their second year, understanding after a while that the way he shied away from being alone with her, and spent far too much time staring, were all pretty clear indications of his intense desire. Mina might have figured it out too, though none of them had ever grown the balls to actually ask her. It was one of those unspoken rules in the group; Never Bring Up Hanta and Mina.

“Still sucks.” Denki whispered, before pulling himself back, pressing his knuckles against Hanta’s forehead in a good-natured display of understanding.

“You know I’d never leave you, right dude?” Hanta asked suddenly, grinning at Denki in a way that pulled all his earlier worries from his body like useless toxins, disposing of them quickly.

“Yeah I know.”

Denki didn’t have class for the rest of the day, and Hanta agreed with him that if it was just this once –he’d skip whatever practical study he was meant to be attending today, in order to spend time with his still rather fragile friend.

They chose to make camp in the living room, wrapped around each other under mountainous piles of expensive linins, watching different strange T.V. shows and playing video games that had them both in fits of hysterical laughter –resulting in them waking Masumi from her slumber, and caused a physical brawl between the Sero siblings that Masumi, obviously, won.

There was one point where Denki swore he could actually feel the happiness blooming inside of him. His laughs, they felt genuine and raw –it was almost terrifying. When Hanta reached over, shoving a large amount of popcorn towards Denki’s mouth, pushing it within the gaps of his teeth, he swore the power of his own giggles and the white, puffy pieces of butter-flavoured, heat-expanded Zea Mays’ might actually cause his death –but he didn’t care, because Hanta was smiling, and he was smiling, and everything felt safe and warm and wonderful.

This was his Safe Haven, and much like all of them, it wasn’t really a place, but a person.

Their antics stretched way into the night, and through everything there was no mention of the band, or Bakugou, or Denki’s individual fights with both Kyoka and Eijirou that Denki would eventually have to get around to resolving. For just a while, Denki was able to forget everything, and he wondered that if maybe he could get along with Bakugou like Hanta had said, that maybe things really would fall back into the comfortable normal they’d been at before the uncontrollable crumbling of their world only a few months prior.

Maybe one day, soon, everything would be good again.

“Morning without you is a dwindled dawn.”

-Emily Dickinson, April 1885

Momo wouldn’t begin to say that the morning after she had attended the Electric Moment concert with her friends, was anything but agonizing. When she had awoken, it was to the feeling of Itsuka Kendo wailing down on her with all her might, mess of vicious orange locks waving around in the air above her, the room filled to the brim with morning light and the sound of her friend laughing merrily as she went.

The first thing she was able to register after the initial feeling of Itsuka’s hands tickling after her sides –was that she felt unbearably sick. Her stomach churned uncomfortably with every movement, and if she hadn’t learnt better from school, she could have sworn her brain had become sentient and was attempting a great escape by bashing itself against the inner sanctum of her forehead.

Momo groaned, pushing half-heartedly at Itsuka’s arms, a soft whimper escaping her lips as her friend’s thighs –which had previously been wrapped tightly around her midsection, came fumbling sideways as Itsuka made herself comfortable at Momo’s side.

“Oh, shit Mo, I’m sorry, I forgot you don’t normally drink…” Itsuka whispered, keeping her voice hushed as not to further disturb Momo’s headache –a fact that Momo was entirely grateful for.

Momo let another soft whimper fall from her lips as she pushed her body upright, the elevation of her head causing her vision to blur as she became dizzy from the momentum. She reached up to cradle her skull in her hands, blinking rapidly as her eyes tried to adjust to the light pouring in from the open window; someone had probably opened it while the girls were sleeping, as they did most mornings, though by now Momo was usually already awake and presumably somewhere within the home, or out in the gardens for a morning walk.

“My head…” Momo spoke carefully, the movements of her jaw feeling still as she spoke, “Does it always feel like this?”

Itsuka made a soft sound of laughter from beside her, before shifting off the bed carefully. It was moments later before Momo received her reply, along with the cool feeling of a washcloth upon her forehead, a bottle of water falling into her lap –which was now exposed from the too-warm covers, Momo’s pyjama clad thighs being all that protected her skin from the cool outer edges of the condensation consumed plastic.

“It gets easier, though…you did drink a lot for a first timer.” Itsuka explained, the slight hint of a laugh teetering on the tail end of her words.

First Timer. Itsuka’s words were playful, but Momo also knew in at least some way she was being serious. She was right though, even if Momo really didn’t want to admit it to herself –the miniscule amount of wine and champagne she had consumed at family dinners or business events really didn’t amount of much drinking experience, at least not in the same sense that last night had.

“I…didn’t want to look silly in front of Midoriya-kun’s friends…” Momo admitted through the midst of a whine, pressing the heel of her palm against her eye, “And…and…”

“And you wanted to impress that pretty girl, Jirou-san, right?” Itsuka added, her tone mildly teasing, but it did happen to awake an onslaught of surprising pleasant, yet utterly terrifying memories of Momo’s preceding actions throughout the night.

She recalled drinking with her friends, and Midoriya-kun’s friends. She found out all about how Bakugou-kun had come to be a member of Electric Moment, how Midoriya-kun, Uraraka-san and Bakugou-kun had grown close through living in the same neighbourhood. Midoriya-kun had blushed through a story of his admiration of Bakugou-kun –something that had caused Shouto’s eyes to twitch with jealousy, and how it had resulted in a one-sided friendship, that had gradually grown more genuine. They spoke of how Uraraka-san had joined them one day during a game of super heroes, and had ended up becoming the glue that tied everything together –Uraraka-san being the negotiator of the three, that helped to mend the bonds of Bakugou-kun and Midoriya-kun’s odd rivalry/friendship dynamic.

Everything was wonderful, and fun, and the club itself was bright and enticing. The drinks Itsuka brought her were sweet and colourful and Momo had no idea that alcohol could be that way. Shout was drinking too –a think he rarely did, and watching the way he began to gradually come out of his shell, laughing and playing around with the others, it was almost enough to be the reason Momo was glad she had come.

That was until she was approached by Jirou-san, no, Kyoka-san –the memory of first name usage causing a surge of serotonin to wind its way through her nerves, feeling like butterflies in her belly and ants walking trails along her spine.

Kyoka-san, she’d approached Momo so easily, and when she had, she’d even believed that Momo wouldn’t have been able to recognise her –which was a completely insane thought. The idea that someone so beautiful as the woman Momo had seen performing on stage was one thing, but to think someone who saw her later on, without what had obviously been a wig and some clothing, was completely unbelievable.

Kyoka-san had been stunning, and Momo knew deep down that this had nothing to do with the alcohol, but completely to do with Kyoka-san herself. She was small –probably one of the smallest people her own age that Momo had come to meet, but it didn’t bother her, just like Momo prayed that her unusually tall stature didn’t bother Kyoka-san. Her hair was short, choppy and fell around her face in awkward angles and asymmetrical slopes that made her appear captivatingly quirky –and was a deep dyed-plum colour that reminded Momo of the Dwarf Iris’ that had not long ago bloomed back to life in her garden.

Momo wasn’t too familiar with the dress sense of people in the Punk scene, at least not anymore than things she’s seen in pictures, or videos, but she did know that she enjoyed the way Kyoka-san dressed. It was dark, but fun in the ways that it was completely outlandish. There were so many different fabrics, layered in fantastic ways, and before last night Momo had never known truly how many different shades of black there were in existence. What had looked so plain on others, made Kyoka-san appear like the deepest depths of the ocean, or the furthest reaches of the night sky.

What had truly been the most amazing thing however, was that Kyoka-san had wanted nothing more than to be with Momo. She’d not only approached her, but ignored all else to spend time by Momo’s side, even if Momo had been completely ridiculous and not at all attractive under the influence of her intoxication. They’d spent so long talking about the concert, about the club, their friends. They’d danced and been silly, and even when the concept of being so close to Kyoka-san had almost pushed Momo over the edge of what she could take, Kyoka-san still barrelled forward, making sure to be careful of how far into Momo she stepped.

Then, she recalled the kiss. Her first one, and the sweetest thing that had ever happened to Momo in her short twenty years of life. Sure, it had been with someone who was almost a stranger, but when it was Kyoka-san Momo felt like it was nothing more than perfect. Kyoka-san had sent her away with that, alongside comforting words and the promise of opening Momo’s closed-off world wide open. The concept was terrifying, but Momo knew her words had been true.

Momo felt her cheeks warm simply thinking about it.

“I…oh my gosh…Kyoka-san…” Momo gasped, bringing her hands up to hide the warm rose of her cheeks from Itsuka, shaking her throbbing head as she recalled the events that had led to now, “I kissed…I kissed Kyoka-san…last night…”

“Mm.” Itsuka agreed, her voice bleached knowing, the tone of it mirth and acceptance, “You did. Everyone saw. At first we were kind of shocked, like maybe you’d just been molested of something, but then you were all like doe eyed and happy and you were giggling as we lead you to the car…but…that also could have just bee-“

“No.” Momo corrected defensively. The last thing she ever wanted was for Itsuka, and even Shouto, to believe that Kyoka-san had taken advantage of Momo, because she was drunk. There was absolutely no way, Kyoka-san wasn’t that kind of person, Momo just knew it in her heart, ”No, I…remember it, and I don’t regret it…I…it was…actually kind of wonderful…”

Momo tilted her head up, watching her friend carefully. She knew her hair was probably a mess, her face flushed from the hangover and the force of her memories, but she didn’t care, all she hoped was that Itsuka believed her…and that Itsuka would accept it.

That’s when the force of her actions truly hit her, the gravity of this entire situation. Not only had Momo Yaoyorozu, prized only child of the Yaoyorozu family gone out to a concert, then to a club and drunkenly kissed another person like the average twenty year old she wasn’t; Momo Yaoyorozu, prized only child of the Yaoyorozu family had kissed a girl, in public, for all to see.

Where last night, directly after Kyoka-san had kissed her –Momo had felt herself to be floating on Cloud Nine, now, she was plummeting back to Earth, the gravity of her actions pulling her swiftly back towards the suffocating core of her family name. What if someone other than her friends and a bunch of stranger who thought none-the-wiser had seen? Shouto’s family, the Todoroki’s, they had people everywhere, constantly watching, especially when it came to Todoroki-sama’s children, even if Shouto’s leash had been permanently cut.

Momo wasn’t sure how she’d explain herself to her father if he were to approach the subject. She wouldn’t want to lie; Momo barely understood the concept of deception outside the theory of it. She hadn’t even been able to lie to her mother when she was young and did something as mundane as take an extra cookie from the kitchen without asking her nanny, or the kitchen staff. How would she ever explain to her father the complexity of her feelings for Kyoka Jirou –especially when Momo had little idea of how to process them herself?

“Itsu…Itsu, Kyoka-san…she’s…she’s a girl…” Momo stuttered out, staring down at the unopened bottle of water that was perched upon her thick thigh, “I kissed a girl.”

Momo’s fingers were shaking, her lips following his suit as she began to blink rapidly, trying to piece together everything that had seemed so clear moments ago, but was now spinning out of control within her Hippocampus and setting her Amygdala perceptions into overdrive –basically, Momo was fucking losing her shit.

How was she supposed to deal with this situation? Was what she’d done with Kyoka-san wrong? No, no she knew that it wasn’t, well at least in principle. She was a child of a new age of course. She knew the way things were changing, the way people were so much more open about whom and how they loved, but those people weren’t Japanese children from prestigious and inordinately strict families that considered even the smallest misstep worthy of committing Seppuku.

“Yeah.” Itsuka stated casually, reaching to place her own hands above Momo’s quivering ones, “Yeah you did.”

Momo’s eyes drifted upwards, catching Itsuka’s own. They were beautiful eyes, swimming with greens and blue beneath the overbearing influence of her father’s dark-eyed Japanese genes. They were the same eyes of a girl who spent so much time with Momo in the bathroom of their school, consoling her over grades and her father, and any other dilemma that ailed Momo at the time. These were the eyes of sincere admission, and even now, knowing what Momo had done, not a single piece of it swayed.

“And there’s not a damn thing wrong with it.” Itsuka continued, blinking her way through the beginnings of a laugh that she refused to let escape, “Mo-chan, you kissed a girl last night, one you really seemed to connect with. I watched you for ages before she took you away to dance. Mo, I’ve never seen you look so happy, and if you don’t regret what you did because of who she is, then don’t for a second think you have to just because of what’s between her legs, or how she identifies herself.”

It was all the same fundamental truth. Everything Itsuka had just said, though personalized, was the very same thing Momo had tried to just convince herself to be true. In theory, in word, in writing, in the actions of others, everything Itsuka had just said was bona fide. Who was to say that love was to fall between such rigid boundaries? Who was anyone to comment on the feelings of another person, and whether what they felt was okay? No one, that was the answer, because no one can every really understand the depths of another human beings soul; their love, their pain, their folly. No one can tell Momo what she had felt when Kyoka-san had kissed her wasn’t okay, because they weren’t Momo, and they weren’t Kyoka-san. This was all premise though, code, and it all meant nothing in the face of Momo’s greatest setback –her parents.

“They’ll kill me…” Momo respired, her body falling sideways to land against Itsuka’s own. She wanted to say so much more, wanted to explain to Itsuka exactly how she felt, about Kyoka-san, about Kyoka-san’s promise of opening Momo’s world up to everything she’d always dreamed, about her fears of her parents reactions, but she said nothing, simply pressed herself into her friend’s warm embrace, allowing herself to bask in the comforting silence and the sensation of Itsuka’s fingers running through her matted hair.

“You know Mo…” Itsuka spoke up after a long while of the girls resting in the quiet of the room the only sound coming from the open window on the other side of the large space, drawing in a melody of birds and an obnoxious ride-on lawn mower that appeared so distant it was more likely to be working somewhere on her father’s personal golf course than the garden bellow, “You could be really careful about it…we all could…this thing with this Jirou girl, it doesn’t have to end here…if you don’t want it to…”

Momo gradually ran her fingers along the chilled residue that had collected around the outer of her bottle of water, considering Itsuka’s words with a certain level of scepticism. What her friend was suggesting, was that Momo willingly hide her feelings from her parents, hide Kyoka-san like she was something to be ashamed of or worried over. She wasn’t sure how the other girl would feel about that –nor did she even really know whether Kyoka-san desired the same type of relationship that Momo did in the first place. It was imply one kiss, maybe it didn’t mean as much to Kyoka-san as it did to Momo –no, Momo had certainly felt it, the weight of Kyoka-san’s words, the willingness and desperation of her actions.

Momo felt like the main protagonist of a Margaret Mitchell or D.H. Lawrence novel. How was she to hide her feelings, her actions from her family? Part of her really didn’t want to. Part of her wished that she could flaunt the beauty that was Kyoka-san for all to see. Momo wasn’t worthy of someone so wonderful, so unapologetically herself, not when Momo was sitting here considering her options as if shielding the world from her true intentions was her only escape, though maybe for now it was.

“What if she doesn’t even…what if what I’m feeling, and what Kyoka-san is feeling…are different?” she voiced her concerns, tilting her head up to peek at Itsuka from beneath dark lashes and self-doubt.

“That’s just how relationships work Mo. You never know anything until you try. How did you know I would want to be your friend until we actually became friends? It’s the same for love.” Itsuka explained, pulling herself into a seated position beside Momo, looping her arms around her friends shoulder, “I was so sure when I met Tetsu, that someone so wonderful could never fall for someone like me…but…I had to know, y’know? I had to try, or else how would I ever be sure?”

“No everyone is as lucky as you Itsu, you’re so brave and wonderful, and how couldn’t he fall for you?” Momo reassured, looping the length of her fingers through Itsuka’s squeezing them softly.

“Momo, have you even met yourself? You’re outlandishly smart, really creative. You’re got beauty dripping from all of your pores like your mother, but you’re not your mother, it’s your own kind of beauty. Hell, if this chick doesn’t want you for the long run, she must be insane.”

Momo couldn’t help but laugh, because as outrageous as this all sounded, Itsuka spoke it all so genuinely, like there was no room to question anything she said. She was her father’s daughter after all, and her mothers. They were both such strong people, and Momo didn’t doubt for a second that if their roles were reversed, they would accept Itsuka in a heartbeat.

Things were different for Momo. Her mother had been so young when she’d fallen pregnant, and sometimes he seemed as if her maturity had frozen at that moment. Her mother was a jaded, and innocent person –ignorant to the world that Momo’s father protected her from. Her father was bolder, but ever the protector. He loved his family, he loved Momo –but he loved his work more. If Momo were to tell him about her feelings, she’d be shut down immediately. A gay child was one thing; a gay child of an important family that already had its fair share of controversy was another. Plus, she was an engaged woman.

Momo thought of Shouto, how he so easily honours his own feelings. How over the years he did everything he could to pull himself from his family so that he didn’t have to fear his own existence. Shouto probably didn’t care about the eyes watching him. He had been so very accepting of everything that would come from his love for men, for Midoriya-kun. Momo only wished she could be as strong as both of her closest friends. Maybe then things wouldn’t be this difficult.

Momo had been so distracted by these thoughts, that she hadn’t even noticed Itsuka’s weight lifting up from her side, she’d been oblivious to her friend taking hold of Momo’s phone without question, playing around on the screen as if Momo wasn’t currently having a complete change of lifestyle before her. When she did turn her head, she cocked it to the side in question, pushing herself up just enough that she could crawl her way over the large expanse of the bed.

“Itsuka…what are you doing?” she asked carefully, not liking one bit the way Itsuka’s mouth shifted with the question.

“Talking to your girlfriend.” Itsuka explained breezily. Why did everything that left Itsuka’s mouth constantly sound like she was reading it from a textbook? Like it was unquestioning, always a fact?

“Wait…wait what?!” Momo squealed, trying to best to grab at the device within Itsuka’s grip, her heart rate kicking it up a few notches to the point Momo feared it would jump up her throat.

“I said,” Itsuka spoke, pushing herself to her feet, holding the phone out of Momo’s reach as she continued to type away at the screen. How does she work so quickly? “I’m talking to your girlfriend. She thinks it’s you, obviously, but we are planning a date. I wonder what sort of dates edgy girls like this go on? She’s saying coffee, but like, what sort of coffee? Coffee mixed with the blood of her enemies?”

Momo despised that sound that involuntarily escaped her throat as she tried to push at Itsuka’s hands, grabbing desperately for her clothes and doing all she could to retrieve her phone from Itsuka’s grasp. A date? What the heck was she talking about? Momo had never been on a date in her entire life.

“Itsu-chan” Momo whined once she’d finally balanced herself on the mattress, blinking down at the phone screen over Itsuka’s shoulder once she had, “Oh gosh Itsuka, what are you doing?”

Momo Yaoyorozu: Good morning Jirou-san. It’s Momo Yaoyorozu. I hope you slept well! (*/ω＼)

Momo stared wide-eyed down at the screen, Itsuka appearing very willing to allow Momo to read it –most probably as long as she didn’t try to touch. Momo felt the warmth rise to her face as she peered at the message. Without the addition of the emoticon, it appeared somewhat stiff. Momo didn’t know much about relationships, but she knew that probably wasn’t the best way to go about it.

“It’s very…formal…” Momo muttered, scrunching her nose up at Itsuka over her friends shoulder.

“I didn’t want her to question if it was you or not. Gotta keep it sounding as Momo as I can.” Itsuka explained, grinning cheekily.

“I do not sound like that! I am not…stiff…” Momo defended, half-heartedly, a quiet huffing nose following her words.

“Trust me, you do.”

Kyoka Jirou♡ (⇀ 3 ↼): Hi Yaomomo! You’re up super early! Though I’m not surprised, pretty girls like you probably have a lot to do today, huh? (⌒_⌒;) I slept good, I’m actually working on some school work at the moment. I’m so glad you actually messaged me, I kinda thought you woudn’t. Its super awesome to talk to you tho! ∑(O_O;)

Momo Yaoyorozu: Messaging you was the first thing I thought about when I woke up this morning Kyoka-san! Thank you for calling me pretty, you really know how to make a girl feel special! What sort of school work is it? A course? You go to university?

Kyoka Jirou♡ (⇀ 3 ↼): Oh wow, I don’t even know how to like, explain the feeling that just gave me, jeez, ur way better with words than I am.

Kyoka Jirou♡ (⇀ 3 ↼): Im studying music at Todai. Pretty generic huh? Singer in a band studying music. Bet you do something way smarter. Where do you study Yaomomo?

Momo dragged her bottom lip between her teeth as she stared down at the screen. The idea that Kyoka-san thought studying music was generic was ridiculous. Momo wouldn’t think anything suited her better. It was also chocking how easily the conversation seemed to flow, even if it was really Itsuka –someone who clearly lacked the feelings of awkwardness that came with speaking to someone you had feelings for, but Momo was impressed. Maybe this wouldn’t be at hard as she initially believed it would.

Going back to the question of Momo’s study, she wasn’t at all offended that Kyoka-san assumed she went to university. It was really uncommon for children of business families to not to continue their education after graduating from the prestigious private high schools. That wasn’t the case for Momo however, because her father believed that taking her time to focus on the family, her marriage to Shouto, and learning skills directly from her father rather than a professor, was the better way to go.

She couldn’t help but imagine though, what it would be like to go to school with someone like Kyoka-san. Maybe Momo would study something she enjoyed, like literature, or architecture. Considering the possibilities brought her mind back to a time when she was much younger, when she had a dream to design functional buildings that would make life easier for people from all walks of life. Shouto would contribute, adding the more artistic design elements that would capture people’s eyes and draw them to her work. Maybe she could have studied to become an engineer or a lawyer, or a professor herself. She could meet with Kyoka to study, or have lunch on campus when their classes overlapped.

The thought couldn’t help but make Momo feel as if she was missing out on something -something wonderful.

Momo Yaoyorozu: I’m glad I was able to make you feel happy! Sadly, I don’t study actually. My father thinks its best I work directly with him. Our family work with directing and managing hospitals! He wants me to take over one day, so he thought it was best I focus on firsthand experience!

Kyoka Jirou♡ (⇀ 3 ↼): wow. Hospitals huh? Thats pretty intense! Ur dad must be really important.

Momo Yaoyorozu: I guess so, but it’s also a lot of pressure.

Momo Yaoyorozu: But hey, Kyoka-san, I was thinking, do you have any classes Wednesday?

Kyoka Jirou♡ (⇀ 3 ↼): Yeah, I have one at eight, but it’s only an hour. Then I don’t have any more classes until four. No band practice either, bc both our guitarists have a bunch of classes that day.

Kyoka Jirou♡ (⇀ 3 ↼): Whys that? (´• ω •`)ﾉ

Momo Yaoyorozu: I was wondering if you might like to catch up? I would be really happy to be able to see you again, if that isn’t too much of a hassle. If it is, you can just say so (=^ ◡ ^=)

Kyoka Jirou♡ (⇀ 3 ↼): woah! For real? You want to meet up on Wednesday! That would be awesome! I kinda really want to see you again as well Yaomomo, like, ur super cool! What about 10am at Yoyogi Station? I know this suuuuppperrr rad coffee shop in Harajuku that sells the best cakes.

Momo Yaoyorozu: A coffee shop sounds fun! And that’s a perfect time for me, as long as I’m not distracting you from any course work or band things!

Kyoka Jirou♡ (⇀ 3 ↼): holy crap I cant wait

Kyoka Jirou♡ (⇀ 3 ↼): im going on a date w/ a pretty girl

Kyoka Jirou♡ (⇀ 3 ↼): this is like

Kyoka Jirou♡ (⇀ 3 ↼): the best day of my life

Kyoka Jirou♡ (⇀ 3 ↼): sorry if thats weird

Kyoka Jirou♡ (⇀ 3 ↼): thats probably weird

Momo felt something dip down inside of her. If her face was warm before, then surely it was on fire now. Itsuka could probably feel her pride and excitement radiate from her body. She probably had the dorkiest smile upon her face in existence –Momo could feel how dorky it was, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop. Itsuka was grinning at her like she was as well, which only made her smile weirder.

In that moment all her worried from before began to fizzle into nothingness. She didn’t want to think about her parents, or all the things that could go wrong, because Kyoka-san really did seem to like Momo back just as much as Momo liked her, and it was amazing. Kyoka-san was amazing, and there was nothing that was going to be able to extinguish the feelings Momo had in this moment.

She was going on a date, with Kyoka Jirou, the prettiest girl she’s ever met, and Kyoka-san is excited about it and that’s all that really mattered.

Momo Yaoyorozu: Sounds perfect. I’m so excited myself. I think I might explode. I can’t wait to see you Kyoka-san.

Momo Yaoyorozu: Thank you

Eijirou Kirishima was a huge fucking idiot. A huge fucking idiot that had himself squished against Katsuki in a packed train car full of school children and university students on their way to their respective places of study. He was an idiot, because his eye looked like it was cut straight from the flesh of an aubergine, and his was wearing a workout outfit that that covered pretty much every inch of his skin –bar the place that actually mattered, that being sections of his abdomen that just so happened to sport the quite obvious finger-shaped bruises that Katsuki had just so happened to leave there. He was an idiot because he’d taken Katsuki’s peace offering with not only zero complaint, but he’d even admitted to how happy the gifts had made him, which was really stupid.

Kirishima was stupid, or maybe Katsuki was, either way, it was driving him up the wall.

Kirishima’s body was pressed closely to his front, the tight nature of the car making it difficult for them to shift around in any respective direction, and it was fucking painful. Painful because there were elbows jabbing Katsuki in places that hurt like a bitch, and painful because Kirishima was grinning brightly right up in his face with his hands positioned on either side of Katsuki’s hips, holding him in position to prevent either of them toppling over amongst the mess of people.

Kirishima’s hands were large, not surprising due to the boys side, but it was still kind of intimidating, especially because Katsuki and Kirishima weren’t that much different in height, but compared to Kirishima, Katsuki’s own hands were long, but far thinner than the other boy’s. Having those hands upon his body, and thinking about the events of last night’s Snapchat debacle, wasn’t exactly the best combination when the pair of them were pressed so closely together.

“Did you see the videos from last night’s Electric Moment concert online?” A voice, a young and feminine one, butted into his thoughts. Kirishima must have heard the comment too, because when Katsuki peaked up to make brief eye contact, the red head was raising his brows, before both their eyes followed the sound of the voices.

There were two girls, young looking and wearing what appeared to be the uniform of one of the local schools. They were hunched together, sharing headphones at were connected to one of the girls’ phones and staring down at the screen as they spoke to each other at a volume that wasn’t really appropriate for public transportation. Katsuki tried not to let it bother him –if only because their topic of conversation was somewhat interesting.

“They were gone for so long, you think it was because N left?”

“Definitely, but he didn’t say he was leaving! I really wished I had known! I could have tried so much harder to get a picture with him!” the other girls voice came out as a whine and Katsuki could physically feel the way Kirishima stiffened at his side. The subject of their old bandmate was still a sore spot for a lot of them he’d noticed, but Kirishima had never really brought it up. He’d always assumed it didn’t matter to him –maybe he’d been wrong in thinking that.

“But you saw the new guy right? He was super cute!”

Katsuki snorted, slapping at Kirishima’s elbow as it came up to make contact with Katsuki’s ribs.

“Super cute~” Kirishima repeated in a whisper, his lips unbearably close to Katsuki’s as he spoke.

“Uh, huh! And did you see K-san, she was so gorgeous, and her voice was amazing. I wish I could be as pretty as her.”

“I think B might be my new favourite member.”

“D’s drum skills have really improved since their first EP don’t you think?”

“I found this really cute picture of H, we should send it to Harumi!”

“I wonder how old E-kun is? Did you see those arms! I wonder if he would marry me when I’m older~”

The girl’s conversation continued like this for a while and both Katsuki and Kirishima continued to listen with attentive ears. Every so often Kirishima would have to hold back a laugh with his hand, and maybe, just maybe, Katsuki might have cracked a smile once or twice when the subject of ‘B’s’ attractive features came up once or twice. The subject of N didn’t come back up again –teenage girls really did move on fast. It was probably a good thing though. From the way Jirou had put things, maybe it was best for the entire group that N just become a thing of the past, a conversation never to be had. Katsuki was okay with that. It wasn’t like he really gave a fuck anyway.

Once they reached their stop, Kirishima’s grip on Katsuki’s body remained almost all the way from their place in the car, until they were out into the bustle of the platform. It only ceased when Katsuki forced it to, reaching for Kirishima’s hand instinctively, the same way he always would with his sister when he came to visit and the pair of them were swept up into the heat of the brush. Making their way up and down staircases, Katsuki refused to let go until they were finally back out onto the street, and the sight of what he assumed to be Kirishima’s section of the university campus came into view.

Kirishima didn’t comment on the hold, though when Katsuki finally let go, he couldn’t help but notice the fall of Kirishima’s face, the way the other boy eyed their now limp-hanging hands between their bodies as if he was somewhat melancholic of the loss. If Katsuki was a different person, maybe he would have reached for Kirishima’s hand again.

“So you really are walking me to class, huh?” Kirishima pipped up after a while, shooting Katsuki a playful smirk as they wandered along the expanse of the campus in whatever direction Kirishima seemed to be leading them.

“Wanted to make sure your dumb head didn’t get itself beaten again.” Katsuki bit back, shoving both of his hands within the deep delves of his pockets, giving them something to do other than wishing they could once again be on Kirishima.

“Always the gentleman.” Kirishima spoke, beaming over at Katsuki like the moron wasn’t even messing with him –like he actually thought Katsuki was some kind of white knight, when Kirishima had been the one to come barrelling in last night and left a guard bleeding on the floor in Katsuki’s honour.

“EIJIROU HIROSE KIRISHIMA!” a shrill voice cried, catching both boys off guard as they spun their heads in the direction they’d both been heading.

There, dressed in a teal pair of tight-fitting leggings and an obnoxious pastel purple sweater adorned with a bunny motif and excess white ribbons, was Mina Ashido. She’d been asleep when Katsuki had left for the convenience store this morning, but it mustn’t have been before long, because with the sheer amount of yellow ribbons that were wound through her hair, and the glitter that marked her face, would have taken a great amount of time to accomplish –even for Area 51’s Greatest Kept Secret.

“Hirose?” Bakugou mumbled quietly, turning his head towards Kirishima –who himself appeared near ready to bolt for it, and soon, Katsuki knew why, because Mina was heading straight for them, and regardless of her fluffy outer appearance, she looked pissed.

“Hey MiMi! Top of the morning to you! Don’t you just looking fucking radiance this morning, is that a new sweater?” Kirishima began to babble, backing himself away from the oncoming girl slowly, and his arms up before him in a defensive position. Katsuki could do nothing but watch.

It wasn’t long before Mina was on Kirishima, her sweater sleeves pushed up over her elbows, wrists making harsh noses as a multitude of bracelets whacked themselves against each other with the abruptness of her movements. One hand reached to grab at the collar of Kirishima’s hooded sweatshirt, the other reaching up towards –uh, Kirishima’s eye.

“Don’t change the subject! What the heck happened to you face?!” she squealed angrily, fingers brushing the sensitive skin, causing Kirishima to flinch.

“Well…it’s…” Kirishima began, his eyes darting off towards Katsuki, who simply stared back at him –too aghast to do much else. Katsuki had only seen Mina angry a handful of times, but this was the very first instance in which he’d seen her so livid. If Katsuki wasn’t the indifferent hard-ass he knew himself to be, it might actually be scary.

Mina must have a keen eye for anything that happened to be Kirishima’s body language, because not long after the brief flicker of his eyes towards Katsuki, Mina was dropping him from her grip, spinning herself around of the toes of her platform, pom-pom enhanced shoes and glaring towards Katsuki with a death-stare worthy of Katsuki’s own mother.

“What did you do? Did you get him involved in something weird Katichi?!” she hissed, moving to take a step towards Katsuki, but pausing her movements the moment Kirishima’s hand came up to her arm, holding her back.

“It wasn’t his fault me, I swear. Something…just happened…and I like, needed to defend myself, y’know?” Kirishima began to explain, pulling Mina’s attention briefly away from Katsuki so that she could stare back at her childhood friend.

“Defend yourself? You mean…you actually fought back again someone…” she muttered, lips jutted out in an unreadable pout, “My Eiji?”

Kirishima nodded slowly, not breaking eye contact with the shorter girl as she did. Katsuki watched on, as the expression that had been previously painted across Mina’s face began to disappear, replaced by a brought grin. She began to bounce of the balls of her feet, looking like some annoying kind of furry animal that Katsuki just knew he would hate if he saw it in person.

“Oh Eijirou! This is amazing! You finally stood up for yourself!” she squeezed, pushing herself up off the ground and leaping into Kirishima’s arms, holding him tightly as Kirishima began to laugh, rubbing his hand up and down the back of her sweater.

“Hell yeah, and it’s all thanks to Bakugou, y’know? It was something he told me, that gave me the courage to do what needed to be done.” Kirishima explained to her, but the entire time he was speaking, he was making direct eye contact with Katsuki. Something inside the blond boy stirred, something unfamiliar, yet pleasant.

“For real?” Mina gasped, pulling herself from Kirishima’s arms, turning back towards Katsuki as she grinned, “Thank you Katsichi! I’ve been trying to get Eijirou to stick up for himself for years! You’re really kind of amazing, you know that?”

Katsuki swallowed down whatever it was in his body that wished to rise from its depths. Everything around him burned, like the moments before a volcanic explosion, but he did nothing. He just stood there, nodding at the pair of friends in front of him, eyes cast to the side.

“He really is.” Kirishima muttered, causing Katsuki to snap his head back up, once again meeting Kirishima’s gaze, where the red head was smiling over at Katsuki in a way he’d never seen him smile before. This one wasn’t devastatingly bright, nor was it considerably joyfully, but there was something oddly comforting about it –fond, like the feelings Katsuki got whenever Kirishima was near, but Katsuki couldn’t be sure.

After all, Kirishima was an idiot.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

Notes:

Andddddd, there we go again! Things are finally moving forward for our two main couples, as well as few a few of the other characters. Let me know what you think, and I cant wait for you guess so see whats coming next (lemme give you a hint -Midnight is back at it again with them surprises, Katsuki might get to show off his above average intelligence, and Momo learns that maybe Tokyo is a lot more complicated in reality than it is in concept.) See you guys next time!

Notes:

Nippori Station is the closest station to where I have Denki, Kyo and Kiri living -its also a convenient and very short way for them to get to school. It's not too far from the cafe as well.

Potatoes and Vitamin C really do help with bruising okay? I'm a doctor, trust me. Don't even have to thank me now that I've given you this life saving info. I'm here for you guys.

Oronamin C is a Japanese vitamin drink. Vitamin drinks are pretty popular, especially because life in Tokyo and such can be pretty fast paced, and work hours can be long. Just like face masks, its a good way to prevent yourself from getting sick, or helping when you are. Oronamin C comes in a little bottle that you can buy an convenience stores on in vending machines. Next to CC Lemon is one of my favorites.

0 notes