2am Knows All Secrets [Kiribaku]

deepest nights, brightest stars

At the knock, the air stilled.

In a way, the noise was a relief. It snapped Eijirou out of the terror in his head and back into the familiar safety of his room. His heart still drummed so fast he could barely get a breath in edgewise, but he was anchored now. His erratic gasps calmed. Slowly, slowly, he lowered his shaking hands from his ears and blinked his eyes open.

It was just a dream. No need to panic. He was okay.

There was another knock, softer than the one before it. Eijirou didn't waste time wondering who it was because, honestly, it was two in the morning. Who else could it be?

The thought of Bakugou seeing him like this made him shudder, though. But also, he'd seen Bakugou at his worst, hadn't he? He knew it wasn't anything to be embarrassed by. Even so, shame settled deep in Eijirou's chest. It had only been one dumb dream, yet here he was, a sheen of sweat on his forehead and tears spilling down his cheeks, his veins still rushing with residual adrenaline. Every shadow of disrupted moonlight set him on edge.

But if it really was Bakugou out there, what if he needed help? Maybe Eijirou still had a chance to make things right between them.

He wiped the dripping snot from his nose with some tissues from his nightstand, then he pulled himself out from under the covers, slung his legs over the side of the bed, and rose shakily to his feet. Lightheadedness, and he had to take a few deep breaths to stop his head from swimming. Then, jaw set in determination, he shuffled to the door, one foot in front of the other, leaving his shame behind him. It didn't matter how he looked, it didn't matter that his face was puffy and blotchy and damp. His friend needed help.

He swung the door open.

Red eyes bore into his before flickering away.

"Hey," Bakugou grunted.

All at once, everything inside of Eijirou burst toward the surface. His next breath caught in his throat and his eyes brimmed again.

Bakugou kept his face neutral, staring at the baseboards as he kicked his foot against the floor.

"Listen," he said, glancing at Eijirou, "you've made your point—"

When their eyes met again, Bakugou cut his own words off, his expression turning grave.

In a haze, Eijirou stumbled forward until they were face to face, eye to eye. He couldn't stop his arms from circling around Bakugou's torso, carefully, delicately, as if any sudden movements would jostle him and scare him away. He couldn't help the way his arms trembled, couldn't hide his desperation as he hid his face in Bakugou's shoulder.

Bakugou froze for a second, stunned, and Eijirou held his breath. He waited for the 'fuck is wrong with you?', the 'get over yourself already', but it never came. Instead, Bakugou gave into the embrace. He wrapped his arms sturdily around Eijirou, comfortingly, just like Eijirou had done for him all those weeks ago.

"I'm sorry," Eijirou gasped into Bakugou's shoulder. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry for cutting you off, I wasn't trying to make a point, I don't— That's not me, it's not—"

"—Hey." Bakugou rubbed circles into Eijirou's back. "Deep breaths."

There was more he wanted to say, more he needed to apologize for, but as soon as he took that first deep lungful of air, his words evaporated. So there Eijirou inhaled, and exhaled, inhaled, exhaled, just like Bakugou had told him to, letting the familiar aroma of firewood and minty shampoo wash over him.

Bakugou rested his chin on Eijirou's shoulder. "What the fuck happened?" he muttered.

Eijirou still couldn't get the words out, so he just shook his head.