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There is a knock on Eijirou’s door late at night. He’s been lying in the bed in his apartment for a while, not sleeping but not quite awake, listening to the thunderstorm rumbling outside, occasionally watching lightning flash as it enters his room through the edges of his window where his curtains don’t sit flush to the wall.
Still, he’s startled from his daze by the knocking and is surprised to see that the time on his clock shows that it’s 1:47 in the morning. He didn’t think he was lying wake for that long, and stranger than that is the fact that anyone would be at his door at this time.
He must take a bit too long to react to the sound, because a second knock pulls him unwillingly from his cocoon of warm blankets. “Coming!” he calls as he picks up a hoodie from the floor to zip up onto himself. His bare legs don’t appreciate the cold air, but he doesn’t see a pair of sweats nearby and chances that this’ll be a brief visit with whoever is standing on the other side of his front door. And if they’re offended at the sight of him in his boxers, well, they’re the ones who showed up here unannounced in the middle of the night.
Maybe it’s Kaminari or Ashido. Their usual haunt is close to Eijriou’s apartment, so it wouldn’t be the first time one of them has shown up here after a bit too much to drink and looking for a place to crash. Although, in this weather, that’s pretty unlikely. Storms like this make Kaminari too hyper and anxious, and Ashido wouldn’t want to waste a night of getting ready to go out on rain like this.
Yawning, Eijirou navigates his way around a few tripping hazards in the dark to go greet his unexpected guest and is mildly surprised when he opens the door.
Bakugou, in most of his hero uniform, leans heavily against the door frame and sopping wet from the rain. He must have just come off the late night shifts he’s been taking a lot of lately. His mask hangs loosely around his neck, but the collar and cumbersome gauntlets are nowhere to found, probably left behind at work headquarters.
He looks more exhausted than Eijirou feels. These late shifts can’t be treating him too well if the dark circles around his eyes and his slouch are any indication. His eyes are locked on some empty space between himself and Eijirou’s shoulder, and he doesn’t bother to look up even with Eijirou standing there in front of him.
“Bakugou, what are you doing here? Is everything alright?”
Blinking slowly, Bakugou sighs and lifts his head. Water drips from the bangs that are nearly plastered to his forehead, and he wipes some away before it can drip into his eyes. With the better view, Eijirou realizes how flushed his face looks, how glassy his eyes are.
“Your place was closer than mine,” Bakugou says slowly, his voice soft and scratchy. “Can I come in?”
“As if I’m letting you back out in this storm, dude.” Eijirou pulls him in by the forearm and shuts the door behind him. “Don’t you have an umbrella or a jacket or something? You’re going to catch a cold out there like this.”
Bakugou shrugs and proceeds to stand aimlessly in the entrance. He doesn’t even make a move to remove his boots, and seeing how tired he looks, Eijirou doesn’t have the heart to make him do it here. He drags him along by the forearm that he never relinquished his hold of and leads him to the couch.
“You look beat,” he says pushing him down onto it. He can worry about the wet couch in the morning. Right now, the more concerning matter is how quiet and compliant Bakugou is to being led around.
“Long shift,” Bakugou says and falls into the cushions behind him, looking so limp that he may as well not even have bones.
Eijirou bites his lip and leans over him. He pushes his hand up through Bakugou’s wet bangs, combing them away from his face as he slides his palm up to press against his forehead. Suspicions confirmed, he sighs and finishes combing his fingers through the hair on top of Bakugou’s head.
Bakugou knits his brow and opens his eyes slowly as Eijirou takes his hand away.
“You have a fever,” Eijirou says. “Did you just work an entire shift sick like this? In this storm?”
Bakugou watches with a blank expression when Eijirou kneels on the floor and begins unlacing his boots for him. “I can patrol fine with a headache,” he grumbles.
Eijirou shakes his head. He doubts it’s just a headache, but he decides now is not the time to press. “Dude, you are such a stubborn ass.” He removes the first boot and sets it aside. “I’m glad you at least came here instead of going home like this. We need to get you out of these wet clothes.”
Bakugou doesn’t help with the task, but he doesn’t struggle either. Eijirou gets his second boot off and takes both to the mat by the front door.
“I haven’t gotten to see you around much, lately,” he says lightly, as if it hasn’t been the constant thought running through his mind when he struggles to fall asleep each night lately.
For the past few weeks, their work schedules have conflicted with the sharing any free time together, and Eijirou can’t shake the feeling that Bakugou is intentionally choosing his string of nighttime shifts for a reason.
“Work’s a bitch,” Bakugou says softly once he reaches the couch again.
Eijirou offers a small smile and slips his hands up through the mask hanging around Bakugou’s neck, spreading his fingers to stretch the material and lift it over his head. The entire time, Bakugou’s drowsy-looking eyes don’t leave his face.
“You must be exhausted,” Eijirou says and moves on to the gloves. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you this lazy before.”
That’s a lie. Just a few weeks ago, Katsuki sat right here on Eijirou’s couch, bone-tired after a rough day shift and a long night of hanging out with their friends, but he stayed awake listening to Eijirou talking long after they left, responding in a quiet voice, looking very much like he just wanted to sleep but was waiting for something. As if he knew Eijirou’s late-night rambling was a facade for him working up the the courage to do something. To say something that he actually wanted to say but never actually did. And they haven’t hung out since then.
He pulls off the gloves and then the compression sleeves. He lingers on Bakugou’s hand, which he turns over to so that he can run his fingers over palms that are hot and slick with sweat. More sweat than usual.
“Dude, have you seen Kaminari this week?” he asks, consciously smothering down the pang of jealousy at the thought that Bakugou would have been hanging out with their friend instead of him.
“Mm,” Bakugou confirms. “Teamed up on a bank robbery bust a few nights ago and grabbed a drink after.”
“So I guess you haven’t heard yet that he’s down with the quirk flu, have you?”
Bakugou stares dumbly for a moment and sniffles. Then recognition seems to dawn in his eyes as he narrows them. “Son of bitch.” He drags his free hand down his face and groans.
Eijirou pouts sympathetically and kneads his thumbs into the palm of Bakugou’s hand in gentle circles. “Yeah, I think you’re in for a rough couple of days, buddy. Kami’s been sneezing static all over the place. I bet your head’s feeling pretty foggy, huh?”
“Cut that out,” Bakugou says weakly, but he doesn’t stop him. “This shit’s really contagious.”
Eijrou shrugs. “I caught it from my older sister when I was seven, so I’m good and immune now.” He releases Bakugou’s hand and grabs the wet fabric of his shirt, peeling it away from where it’s plastered to his hard abs by water and tugging it up out of the waist of his pants. “C’mon, you’re going to freeze if you don’t get dried off.”
Bakugou lifts his arms to make it easier as Eijirou pulls the shirt up over his head (and intentionally averts his eyes from those chiseled muscles he’s seen a thousand times before but never while removing his clothes for him). Bakugou’s flushed face is a darker shade of red as he sits there shirtless, and he settles his hand on top of his belt buckle. “I can handle the rest.”
“I’ll go get you a towel and some dry clothes,” Eijirou agrees, grateful because he isn’t sure he could handle undressing Bakugou any more than he already has. He retrieves towels and a fleece blanket from the linen closet and digs through his dresser drawers for some sweatpants and the All Might tee that’s around there somewhere.
He catches sight of himself in the mirror and sighs. Great. His hair is a complete mess, but it’s not like Bakugou is up for giving a shit about that tonight anyway.
Clothes in hand, Eijirou makes his way back to the living room. Bakugou is standing there in nothing but his boxers, arms folded over his chest and eyes staring down at his upturned right palm with mild annoyance, but mostly that’s his usual expression anyway. He’s shivering, so Eijirou hastens to hand him one of the towels. Bakugou mumbles a small ‘thanks’ and works on drying himself, and Eijirou drops the other towel on top of his head. He laughs at the annoyed grunt and starts to rub the blond hair dry.
“You can crash in my bed once we’ve got you all dry. The couch is soaked.”
Bakugou frowns at him but doesn’t argue. His hair is a fuzzy, wet mess, and he looks adorably childish like this. He’s dried off now, but they stand there for a moment just looking at each other.
And Eijirou keeps thinking about that thing he wanted to say weeks ago.
He leaves the towel hanging over Bakugou’s shoulders and reaches for the clothes he dropped on the coffee table. “Here you go.”
Bakugou dresses slowly and looks like he might fall over from fatigue if Eijirou doesn’t get him to the bed soon. Eijirou wraps the fleece blanket around him and guides him toward the bedroom where he immediately just collapses face-first onto one side of the bed.
Eijirou smiles and walks around to the opposite side. The blankets are a mess, pooled down at the foot of the bed from when he hastily left his room, so he straightens them out and pulls them up over Bakugou. “Are you comfortable? You’re cool with sharing the bed, right? Can I get you anything.”
Bakugou turns his head toward him and wiggles around deeper into the nest of blankets. He opens his eyes, one of them forced half-shut by his cheek being squished into the pillow. “Lay down, idiot.”
Eijirou chuckles and climbs into the empty spot there to lie on his side facing his friend. Bakugou doesn’t shut his eyes, and after a minute, Eijirou wonders if the heat in his own face is turning him as red as Bakugou’s. “You okay?” he asks.
“Why’d you run out of the room in such a rush last time I was here?”
Eijirou has to swallow down the lump that forms in his throat as he thinks back to that night. Staying up together into the early hours of the morning. Talking about nonsense. Sitting shoulder to shoulder on the couch. Thighs touching each other. Noses inches apart when Eijirou turned his head to say something.
He nearly kissed Bakugou. He hadn’t had the guts to even tell him how he feels when he’d been working himself up to say something that entire night, but he nearly kissed Bakugou on impulse. And what if Bakugou didn’t want that? How unmanly would it have been to force a kiss on your best friend when you didn’t know it was what he wanted? And when he was tired and practically delirious from exhaustion, too.
So without preamble, Eijirou excused himself to go to bed and left Bakugou there with the couch.
“Bakugou–”
“Was it because I almost kissed you?”
Eijirou gapes. “…You?”
Bakugou glowers. “It’s fucking fine if you don’t… you know or whatever.”
“’Whatever’?” Eijirou repeats stupidly. It’s fine if you don’t feel the same way. That’s what Bakugou is saying. He likes Eijirou. He’s trying to apologize for making a move on Eijirou, and this is honestly the stupidest thing he’s ever heard. He laughs in disbelief and props himself up on his elbow. “Dude, no, I totally ‘whatever’ you, too.”
Bakugou’s scowl turns from one of embarrassment to confusion and he curls his upper lip.
“I like you,” Eijirou clarifies quickly. “A lot. Dude, I thought I was the one who almost kissed you.”
Bakugou shuts his eyes and groans. “For fuck’s sake,” he whispers, but the complaint is tinged with humor that makes Eijirou laugh.
Eijirou pokes him to get him to look at him again. He slides closer and lies back down, reaching forward to rest his hand against Bakugou’s neck and bury his fingers in damp blond hair. “Are you okay?”
Bakugou’s eyes look heavy. “Yeah, just…” His eyelids fall shut, and he sighs. “Just keep doing that.”
Eijirou slowly combs his fingers through his hair and studies Bakugou’s face as all the muscles relax and he seems to drift off to sleep.
It feels a little anti-climactic revealing their feelings like this with Bakugou too tired to even stay awake to do or say anything more about it, but he supposes he can’t complain. What was he expecting, anyway? Some big fanfare? A cinematic first kiss that made him see fireworks? Bakugou is obviously feeling like crap, and he’s happy to be here to help him feel better. They can talk more in the morning when he’s rested up.
“I’m still waiting for that kiss,” Bakugou growls suddenly as his eyes snap open, and a grin stretches across Eijirou’s face.
No more wasting time. No regrets. He slides closer and presses his lips to Bakugou’s. It’s a softer, lazier kiss than he imagined his first kiss with Bakugou being, but it warms him all the way down to the tips of his toes like no blankets ever could on cold night like this. And when they fall asleep tangled up together with Eijirou rubbing slow circles against Bakugou's back, he's really glad he opened the door at two in the morning.