Long Time Coming

Holiday Hootenannies

Kirishima couldn't understand why watching Bakugou slam away on the drums was so impressive to him, but it was. He had a hard time not watching the blond rip into the drums, slamming aggressively, making the whole floor vibrate. Jirou spent most of her time working on the band; Kirishima stayed with Mina and the group. Usually the two interacted very little but sometimes Kirishima would feel Bakugou watching him. Sometimes Kirishima couldn't help but watch Bakugou. Occasionally they would sense the other's gaze and their eyes would meet. That odd sort-of-not-really-pull between the two of them would lunge for a minute. One would smile, the other glower, and they'd go right back to what they were supposed to do. But tonight Bakugou was alone. And tonight Kirishima couldn't sleep. And so Eijirou sat on the floor, a little ways off so as not to disturb the engrossed Bakugou.

It was an entrancing sight, watching the sweat build and drip, the muscles dance and play, the rhythm swell and ease; vibrate and echo. It was almost as though Bakugou was creating a living thing that wrapped around Kirishima, pulling him in. The blond paused as the song within him died down. His hands hovered as his head snapped up, eyes widened and mouth twisted in a tight smirk as he realized he was being watched. As though he were embarrassed to be caught off guard, as though he were vulnerable in the moment. The intimacy of the realization brought up feelings that Kirishima fought to ignore. He knew what they meant and they had no place here. It made Kirishima feel out of place; as though a million people were watching him when those red eyes locked in on him and that smirk relaxed.

"Hey." Kirishima didn't bother smiling.

He didn't need to with Bakugou. He didn't have to pretend to be happy and joyful when his friend was around. Despite their fight, their continuing fights, and their lack of communication about everything that had happened Kirishima could almost see the threads that bonded them together. Dark, thick, and entwining. He could be a little selfish when Bakugou was around. He could be more human. They were close enough for that now, and it was a relief to be able to let himself be rescued from the little tragedies sometimes.

Even if the one rescuing him was the biggest walking tragedy he had ever met.

"Watch this." Bakugou nodded.

Kirishima obliged, standing and moving in closer, crowding in behind the drummer. It was an odd experience to be this close to Lord Explosion Murder and not be training or sparring or studying. It was oddly calm and tranquil despite the brutality with which he played out his rhythm. The beat was low; Kirishima could feel it vibrating up his legs, through his bones, reverberating in his chest. He was so busy feeling he didn't notice the pattern Bakugou was playing for a long while. Not until Bakugou eased up on his heavy thrashing; his drum sticks twirling and flipping in the air. His whole body was moving with the beat, each strike demanded all of his attention, all of his effort. It was...

Art. The realization smacked Kirishima hard. He looks beautiful.

And that was a weird thought he wanted to put right back where it came from. But it was true and there was a manliness in being able to be this passionately involved in every aspect of everything that was done. And Kirishima couldn't help but admire Bakugou even more for it.

Sweating the blond leaned back and tilted his head to look up to Kirishima. The image made Eijirou's heart flutter; the cocky grin, the sweaty sheen, the special something that only Kirishima got to see.

Stupid. He fought his grin, tried not to think about how oddly tender the moment was.

"Happy birthday, Shitty Hair." Bakugou's eyes dipped, snapped back up as he righted and beat lightly on the drum set again, softly playing this time. Occupying his hands. Giving him something to do. "There's a cake in the fridge for you too." He shrugged. "Just a little one. Nothing - y'know."