bnha oneshots (vol 1)

018 ⋆ eggs at seven 🌸

ship: kiribaku

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Every day, Kirishima makes scrambled eggs at the same time, and every day, Bakugou finds something to do in the kitchen around the same time.

Whether he "needs" a spoon or suddenly decides to boil water in their electric kettle, Bakugou finds some excuse to have himself in the kitchen when Kirishima makes his eggs at seven. It's quite odd having two grown men squeezed into a tiny 3x7 kitchen, but that's exactly why Bakugou likes it; it gives him a reason to be close—a reason to unapologetically brush shoulders with Kirishima on his way to the sink at the window, or for him to take in his heady, earthy scent when he reaches over him to get a bowl.

Kirishima never seems to mind; he's always been an open person when it came to physical contact. He'd never turn down a hug or reject holding hands, which is why he'd been deemed the class 'teddy bear' by their peers in school despite his massive size.

Bakugou wasn't as sociable, albeit admittedly touch-starved.

No matter how miniscule, he yearns for that sweet physical contact. He craves the warmth of a touch that lingers longer than necessary and seeks out such. He'd let their knees touch when they watched movies together or pass things in awkward ways so their fingers would brush across each other, but he'd never outright ask to be cuddled—to be held flush against a sturdy chest with a gentle thrum of a heartbeat in his ear even if that's exactly what he wants.

So, every day, Bakugou finds himself in the kitchen washing dishes or griping over Kirishima's shoulder about his lack of cooking skills just so he could be close enough to feel the heat exchange between their bodies.

Until one day, Kirishima stops making eggs at seven.

"It's part of my winter training regime," he says when Bakugou asks why he's leaving the kitchen with just a cup of hot water. "I'm not allowed to eat eggs and stuff right now."

And like an Earth with no moon, Bakugou finds himself spiraling. Nights felt darker and colder than before and fleeting touches were harder to come by. Bakugou stays within Kirishima's presence for as long as he can before they separate for the night and he retreats to his room while Kirishima pulls out the futon. He sleeps with his bedroom door cracked open, his view aligned to where Kirishima sleeps beneath a heap of covers, limbs splayed starfish-like. His snores are harmonious with the hum of the fridge, a grounding white noise that eventually lulls Bakugou himself to sleep.

••••

Bakugou awakens some mornings later to a disturbance coming from the kitchen.

It's a noisy standoff between a sizzling pan and funky disco music. Bakugou grumbles to himself while rubbing the gound from his eyes, then checks the time on his phone to see it's seven on a goddamn Saturday morning. Bakugou curses at his lack of socks when his bare feet meet the cold hardwood floor, but his icy toes became an afterthought once he reaches the kitchen and witnesses Kirishima slaving over a hot pan. He doesn't seem to notice him standing in the door frame, though that could be because he's too busy humming along to Young Turks. He suddenly curses under his breath, muttering, "Dammit, it's brown," before roughly scraping up the contents of the pan.

"What are you doing?" Bakugou questions, scaring the pants off of Kirishima, or lack thereof. He comes close when Kiri doesn't answer, peering into the pan.

It's eggs.

"I figured just because I couldn't eat eggs doesn't mean I can't make them anymore," Kirishima answers as he scratches his jaw. "What I mean is, I made it for you."

"For me?"

"Yeah!"

Bakugou glances at the eggs still somewhat sizzling in the pan. Out of all the times he's made scrambled eggs, this is probably the worst they've ever looked. There's fried egg stuck to one side of the pan whilst its edible remnants are browned and dry. "It's burnt," he comments, licking his lips as if it would bring moisture to the eggs themselves. Kirishima seems bashful over his mistake.

"Yeah... sorry."

"No, it's..." It's stupidly endearing is what it is, but Bakugou chokes on the thought before he has a chance to voice it. His lips manage to push out a quiet "Thank you," just before something hot and wet trickles down his face.

Kirishima's expression switches to that of concern, and his suspicions are confirmed after he asks, "Are you crying?" and Bakugou's only able to sniffle and harshly wipe away his tears. He doesn't meet his gaze when Kirishima grabs his shoulders. "Whoa, I'm sorry, dude! You don't have to eat it if you don't want to!"

"It's not that," he mumbles, because what else is he supposed to say? Even if he could formulate some reason as to why he's crying, it would be a pathetic one at best. Kirishima doesn't bother to press him further, instead pulling him into a tight hug, and not a lame half-hug with one arm slung over his shoulder, but a full chest-to-chest hug. Bakugou buries his head into his shoulder, breath staggering.

"Don't worry about it, okay?" Kiri says, puffs of warm air fanning over his neck as he does so, "Let's just... relax. Lay down, okay?"

Bakugou nods, and after Kirishima ensures that he won't set their apartment on fire with horribly made eggs, he walks with him hand in hand to his unmade futon. It creaks under their weight and isn't as comfortable as his own bed, but it's warm and smells of every bit of Kirishima he loves most. It's comfortable being like this, with legs tangled together and a steady thrum of a heartbeat just beneath his ear. He grips Kirishima's shirt and takes a deep breath, reveling in this intimacy he's lacked much of in his life.

It's something he liked, something he could get used to if he tried.

It starts with a kiss to the top of his chest, then his jaw and cheek. He figures he's made his intentions known when he finally dares to gaze directly into Kirishima's eyes and everything begins with a ginger brush of their lips.