Wasted Time [KiriBaku Oneshot]

Wasted Time

Kirishima isn't expecting anyone, so the knock on the door takes him by surprise. It's 9 at night on a Friday, but he hasn't made any plans, and he's pretty sure that his parents would at least shoot him a message before heading over. He throws on a shirt so he doesn't scandalize whatever poor person might have come to the wrong address, and pads over, sock-footed and clad in sweats.

He opens the door, stops, stares. It's Bakugou. Behind him, the night is wet; it's more of a mist than a rain, but his white-blonde hair is damp all the same. Kirishima can think of nothing to say, cannot even muster up the energy to fake a smile. It has been a hard week. He waits for Bakugou to explain himself.

"Can I come in?" he says at last. "It's fucking cold out here."

"Sure." Kirishima shuffles to the side and watches as the other man kicks off his shoes, still waiting for some kind of explanation.

"You're looking at me like I'm some kind of a ghost," Bakugou says at last, arching one eyebrow. "What's your problem?"

"Dude," Kirishima says. "I haven't seen you in three years."

"Look," Bakugou says. "I've been drinking, I didn't wanna drive home like this. Can I crash on your couch for the night? I won't eat your food or anything." He looked around the empty, silent apartment, his lip curling into a sneer. "Or do you have other plans?"

"Sure, dude," Kirishima says. "You want a towel or something?"

"Yeah, sure."

Kirishima pads off. Behind him, he hears Bakugou collapse onto his couch. When he gets to the bathroom, he flips on the light and looks at himself in the mirror.

"What the fuck?" he asks his reflection, which looks just as confused as Kirishima feels.

Three years, maybe more like three and a half, and not a single message from Bakugou during that entire time. To be fair, he himself hadn't reached out that often, but after the first few rejections, it was hard to keep including Bakugou in his plans.

That means it's been more than four years since they'd broken up.

He grabs the towel and walks back to the living room. Bakugou's leaning back on the couch like he owns the place, looking around with visible curiosity. As he hands Bakugou the towel, Kirishima smells alcohol on his breath, but it's not overwhelming. If he hadn't mentioned it explicitly, Kirishima wouldn't have guessed he'd even been drinking. He'd seen Bakugou drunk before, and he certainly isn't drunk now.

"You saved my ass," Bakugou says gruffly, staring at the towel for a moment as if he isn't sure what to do with it, before beginning to dry off his face and hair. "Some of my coworkers asked me if I wanted to go out and get drinks with them after work. I didn't even think about how I was gonna get home."

Kirishima stares at Bakugou as he finishes toweling off. He knows, if only from social media, exactly where Bakugou works. The agency is halfway across the city from Kirishima's own apartment. There are probably two dozen closer bars. This isn't even a particularly nice part of town.

But here he is.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" Bakugou says, looking Kirishima up and down.

It's been a long week, Kirishima thinks. It's been a long, long week and I was about to get myself some ice cream and sit down and watch shitty movies for the rest of the night, and here you are, out of the blue.

"It has," he says. "Quite a while."

Bakugou looks surprised when Kirishima says nothing more. Kirishima can't even find it in himself to play the good host and offer water or coffee or anything. He wants to sit down, but the only seating in his living room is the couch and the floor, so he stands, leaning against the wall, trying not to think of his ice cream, sitting peacefully in the freezer, waiting for him.