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grimmseye · 7 years

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Like a Good Neighbor

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia

Relationships: Bakugou Katsuki / Kirishima Eijirou

Characters: Bakugou Katsuki, Kirishima Eijirou, Midoriya Izuku (brief)

Other tags: Alcohol, Meet-Cute except Bakugou is drunk, (like a good neighbor Kiri is there), Bakugou’s p fucking gay

For @feylampchild whose request followed the lines of: Drunk Bakugou, showing up on Kirishima’s doorstep, “Oh no he’s hot”

Read on Ao3 here

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Dim lights. Shitty, half-assed music and overpriced alcohol. This is the best night of his life.

Bakugou knows it. He says it. Loudly, and with a slur in his voice as he flings an arm around Uraraka’s shoulders. “This,” he cackles, “‘s the best fuckin’ nighta my life!”

He's a little unsteady, though, and nearly falls before an arm wraps around his waist. Uraraka is a true friend. He loves her.

Deku looks a little bit pale as he looks their way and says, “Kacchan, you’re drunk.”

And that is impossible. Because Bakugou hates alcohol. It tastes like shit, and it makes him feel like shit if he drinks more than two glasses. So, no alcohol, meaning he’s definitely, absolutely, indisputably not drunk.

Kaminari is standing off to the side, laughing through tears as he holds up his phone. He’s taking a really long time to take a picture, Bakugou thinks. Probably because he's drunk, and drunk people can't do basic things like take pictures. Idiot.

“Uraraka drank him under the table!” Kaminari wheezes. “He actually took the bait!” Bakugou cranes his head around to try to get a glimpse of whoever he’s talking about. No one looks particularly drunk off their ass, which they would be if baited into a drinking contest against Uraraka.

“Who th’fuck would do that?” He rolls his eyes. It makes him dizzy, and he has to sag against Uraraka. “Whadda… fucking idiot. I should kick that jackass to fucking… out of here. Just cuz they're stupid.”

Kaminari makes a gurgling sound. He's definitely had too much. AUraraka is covering her face, but she’s smiling, so Bakugou grins, too.

The moment is ruined, of course, when fucking Deku decides to be the worst. As always. He doesn't get why cool people hang around Deku, who is absolutely lame. “I-I think,” he stammers, which is lame, “that we should take Kacchan home. He doesn’t look good.”

Bakugou snorts. “Yeerr protecting, Deku. You look like ass .”

“I think you mean ‘projecting’, Bakugou.” Uraraka presses her arm into his back, forcing him upright, and slips out from beneath his weight. He's rather proud of the fact that he stands on his own just fine, but it's dampened because Deku is ruining things and people are agreeing with him. “Who cares,” he drags out, rolling his eyes.

God they’re all just so fucking stupid. Deku is the worst of them all. His dumbass curly hair and stuttering voice. It’s lame. They’re lame, and Bakugou is not.

He’s outta here.

“You’re right, though,” Uraraka is says. “He really does need to go home. Before he starts a fight, or crying.” Because both have happened in the past. Sober Bakugou really, really hates alcohol.

“G-guess we better say goodbye to everyone then,” Midoriya muses. “Kacchan, let’s —”

He stops. Uraraka stops. Even Kaminari, who had still been wheezing with laughter, stops.

“Where’s Kacchan?”

-------/////////////-------

There are certain rules to be followed when living alone. Kirishima wasn’t very good at following them, as was indicated when he answered a knock on his apartment door at ten past midnight.

The guy outside doesn’t say hello. He squints at Kirishima from beneath a mass of explosively fluffy hair, the same kind of expression you get when walking from a dark room out into the sunlight. And, with the eloquence of a person drunk off their ass, he growls, “Why th’fuck ’r ya in my apartment.”

“Uh. Cause this is…” Kirishima glances around, just to double check, “ my apartment. Who are you?”

Definitely drunk. He’s teetering where he stood, even as he tries to square up. “Geddout,” he slurs, probably trying to glare but falling short at the mouth. “I’ll fuckin’ kill ya.”

“I’d really like to see you try,” Kirishima snorts. “Seriously, it’d be hilarious. Take your best shot.” He spreads his arms, the universal come at me posture, and waits. Unsurprisingly, nothing happens, so he asks, What’s your room number, man?”

That doesn’t get a response, either.

“Well ,” he sighs, “ I am D-15. As you can see here on this nifty plaque.” Kirishima taps the metal set next to the doorframe. The man’s eyes roam over it. He can see the exact moment it registers, his expression wiping blank.

“...Mm.” Is the final response. The man glances at him, glances at the plaque he's pointing to, repeats the motion just to confirm. Then he nods firmly. “Mmkay. Thanks. Sorry.” He makes to turn in about three different directions before spinning to the left and walking away.

Kirishima’s eyes follow him as he totters down the hall. “This is some first impression,” he murmurs to himself. He wonders if that guy always has explosive blonde hair or if that’s just a result of his apparently-wild night. And, if it’s common for him to bang on strangers’ doors when he’s drunk.

Not twenty seconds later, there’s another knock. Kirishima raises his eyebrows and cracks it open again.

The man is still there. He’s staring at the ground, hands in his pockets.

“I…” he begins. His voice seems to crack, and Kirishima’s heart leaps. “I don’t have my fuckin’ room card. Stupid, shitty Deku .”

And, well. What kind of guy would Kirishima be if he just left the guy to sleep in the hallway? Or try to drunkenly get down the stairs and end up dead, thus leaving Kirishima with an unwitting hand in the murder of a near-stranger.

He gives himself a moment to deliberate. There were certain factors to take into account: things like how likely it was for this guy to be a murderer and, in that scenario, whether or not Kirishima could fight him off. He came to the conclusion that, yes, if it came down to sheer strength he could, in fact, overpower him. With how inebriated he was, Kirishima can’t bring himself to feel concerned.

Nodding to himself, Kirishima reaches for the man’s arm. He blinks, surprised and somewhat impressed. The man’s clothes do not do his body justice. That’s hard muscle beneath his fingers.

Hot, Kirishima thinks, before hurriedly wiping it out of his brain.

“Come on, you can crash here,” he offers. The man offers no resistance as he’s tugged inside. The pull is a little too hard; he stumbles and crashes against Kirishima’s chest. And then goes very still.

For a moment, Kirishima thinks he’s passed out. Then he hears a quiet, “ Holy shit.” A hand comes up, pressing against his chest. And then he squeezes.

Kirishima yelps . “ Dude!” He drops him because, yeah, fuck that, sexual harassment is not his style. Unfortunately, the man has learned how to stay on his own two feet. “One more move like that and you’re camping in the hallway.

He all but shoves the guy to the couch. Maybe he shouldn’t give the guy a blanket. That’d serve him right.

Only the thermostat tells him it’s below 50 outside. Kirishima sighs, and gets a blanket. When he returns, the stranger is sprawled over the couch. He has his phone in his hands, jabbing the screen aggressively, and looking like he’s about to drop his phone.

That was another thing Kirishima was not about to deal with. He plucks the phone from the guy’s fingers, taking a brief glance at the screen. He’d been messaging someone titled Round Face, which seems like a rude thing to call someone. Maybe it's an inside joke, though. He has to give the benefit of the doubt.

The man is staring at his now-empty hand. There’s a confused look on his face, like he hasn’t quite grasped what happened to his phone.

Kirishima puffs out a breath, throwing the blanket over him. “Goodnight Kacchan,” he mumbles, heading to his bedroom. He switches off the light on the way.

-------/////////////-------

Bakugou wakes up on a comfortable couch. Given that his own couch provides the same amount of comfort as a literal rock, he immediately knows he’s not in his apartment.

The room he’s in is cluttered, cups left on the table, a pile of unfolded laundry on a chair. There are dumbbells on the floor, lying in wait for some unsuspecting victim to stub their toes. He immediately despises whoever lives here.

Alongside the cups on the table is Bakugou’s phone. He reaches for it, grumbling, hoping it would give him some clue as to where the hell he is and why he’s there. And whether or not he needs to find a knife. For murder.

His phone opens to the messenger, his chat with Uraraka. The bottom messages are absolutely not in his writing, because while Bakugou may litter every single text with curses, they’re grammatically correct and properly punctuated curses. Whoever was using his phone doesn’t have a grasp on things like proper capitalization.

He scrolls until he reaches messages he recognizes.

[11:44]

Round Face: Where are you??

Round Face: Bakugou?

Round Face: We’re getting worried

[12:06]

Bakugou: Shut up I’mm tryibng to sleep

Round Face: it’s me, kacchan

Round Face: i’m borrowing uraraka’s phone

Bakugou: DUEKKU

Round Face: um

Round Face: yes

Round Face: are you okay?? You’re pretty drunk right now

Bakugou: I’M FUCKIBG FINE DEKU THIUS IS YOUHJR FAYULT

Bakugou: yo hey sorry i took his phone

Round Face: ??????

Bakugou: sorry he just came to my apartment?

Bakugou: hes okay i just got him on my couch

Round Face: who is this?

Bakugou: oh my names kirishima

Bakugou: nice to meet you!

Bakugou: i guess youre kacchans friend?

Round Face: he wouldn’t agree but yes

Bakugou: okay great!

Bakugou: hes totally fine so dont worry about him

Bakugou: oh here let me show you

[Attached: Image (1)]

There’s a picture of Bakugou: sprawled out, tangled in the blanket, drooling.

Round Face: oh good! i’m glad he’s okay

Round Face: he didn’t harass you did he??

Bakugou: i mean he groped me

Round Face: oh no

Round Face: i’m so sorry

Bakugou: does he normally do that?

Round Face: i don’t think so??

Bakugou: then its fine

Bakugou: ish

Round Face: i’m really sorry

Round Face: he just moved into a new apartment so we were celebrating

Round Face: and then my friend goaded him into a drinking contest and he did it even though he can’t hold his liquor for shit

Round Face: oh my god he’s gonna read this later

Bakugou: holy shit

Round Face: but um we just lost track of him??

Round Face: oh where are you by the way we’ll come get him

Bakugou: its fine! i kind of just wanna get to sleep

Bakugou: im room D-15 in the apartment complex

Bakugou: the one near the big grocery store

Round Face: oh!

Round Face: he’s room D-13

Bakugou: no way

Bakugou: hes the new neighbor??

Bakugou: that would explain why he was trying to kick me out of my place

Round Face: oh no

Bakugou: its fine its fine!

Bakugou: do you have his key card? He said he cant find it

Round Face: check his pocket

Bakugou: ok

Bakugou: its in his pocket

Round Face: classic Kacchan

Round Face: are you sure you’re okay with him staying overnight?

Bakugou: as long as he hasnt murdered anyone in the past its all good

Round Face: i

Round Face: i can’t actually guarantee that

Round Face: but i’m 99% sure he hasn’t

Bakugou: good enough i guess

Bakugou: anyway good night!

Round Face: good night!

Round Face: and thank you again!!

Bakugou puts the phone back down.

He stands up and contemplates if he can get away with two murders. Three tops, since Uraraka also has access to that chat. Subtlety isn’t really his thing so probably not.

And, he realizes, he doesn't have the energy to do anything requiring physical strength — he hasn’t eaten. So triple murder is definitely out of the question. His stomach is empty and twisting in on itself. Bakugou pushes himself off the couch, glancing over to the room’s kitchenette. If this guy is really so damn hospitable, he won’t mind Bakugou making himself at home.

Within minutes, he has a full meal cooking: a pot full of rice, eggs in one pan, vegetables sizzling in another. He’s nosing through the cabinets for anything spicy when he hears another voice chime out.

“I really hope you're making enough for two.”

Bakugou rears back, head swinging. The owner of the apartment, he assumes, is leaning over the opposite end of the counter. Red hair hangs around his face, nearly brushing the cutting board from how low he slouches.

A grimace etches onto Bakugou’s face. “Guess you're out of fucking luck, then.”

The man — Kirishima, he remembers from the text log — raises his brows. “So do you always get drunk, crash in a stranger’s apartment, and steal their food?”

Scowling, Bakugou cracks another egg into the pan. Kirishima smiles like the smug bastard he is. He pushes away from the counter and saunters over to Bakugou, whistling low at the sight of his stove. “You a chef or something?”

“This is basic shit.” Bakugou gives him a disdainful look. It fails to make Kirishima’s awful, friendly face fall into shame. “You must be fucking incompetent if this is impressive.”

“Well I’m definitely not good at cooking.” Kirishima breezes on, utterly unperturbed by Bakugou’s commentary. That, or incredibly dense, which wouldn’t be surprising given the color of his shitty fucking hair. It’s obviously dyed, an obnoxious fire-engine red that’s impossible not to look at.

Similarly impossible to ignore is the definition of his body. Wearing nothing but red boxers, Bakugou gets an eyeful of toned muscle, not exaggerated in the least but blatantly visible. They flex when he moves.

Bakugou would call him out for being an exhibitionist freak, only he is in Kirishima’s apartment and is also guilty of walking around in boxers each morning, regardless of company. He’s a lot of things, but a hypocrite is not one of them.

“Tell me you have something with spice in here,” Bakugou grumbles instead, “otherwise this shit is gonna be as tasteless as your apartment.”

It’s the first proper reaction he gets out of Kirishima: a slight frown and a defensive expression. He’s pouting. “My apartment is manly as hell,” he insists.

“Your clock has biceps.” Bakugou’s eyes flicked to the item in question.

“Yeah? That’s way manly. It flexes on the hour.” Kirishima looks proud of this particular detail. He’s completely ridiculous. “If you’re looking for spice, there’s sriracha in the fridge. Get sausages out, too, would you? I need to have some meat with my food. Uh, middle drawer.”

“Make it yourself, then,” Bakugou says, even as he finds them. He sets the package of sausage links and a red bottle out on the counter. “Turn the heat on the rice down,” he commands.

When he puts the plates out, it’s one of the most unconventional meals he’s ever made. Kirishima devours it like an animal, zero table manners except for the gracious way in which he thanks Bakugou. He at least has the decency to cover his mouth as he exclaims, “This is really good!” around a mouthful of rice.

Kirishima sets down his fork with a noisy clink when he’s finished. He’s grinning, plate empty, chin propped up on his knuckles. “Dude,” he starts, “my man. Cook for me.”

Bakugou gives him a flat look. “What.”

“This is good. And like, way healthier than eating out. I need to keep a decent diet, you know. So. Cook for me. We’re next door neighbors, after all.” Kirishima tapped the table, contemplating. “I don’t really have the money to pay you each day, but I could like, do chores for you? Or I buy the groceries and you cook, so you’re pretty much getting a free meal?"

His impulse is to reject it. But, then, it’s actually a pretty good deal.

The thing is, cooking is one of the few things Bakugou doesn’t actually mind doing. He’s good with knives and has a decent sense for flavor. Kirishima isn’t a picky eater. He gets a maid out of the deal.There’s no reason to reject it, except for the fact that he’s sentencing himself to regular interaction with his neighbor.

His admittedly-tolerable, well-muscled, smiley neighbor.

So what he says is, “Full cleanup in my apartment once a week, and you do the dishes that I use when I cook.”

Kirishima flashes him a thumbs up and a toothy grin. His teeth are unusually sharp. Not just the canines, but the molars and incisors, all of them with a point that is as unnerving as it is attractive. “You’ve got a deal, Bakubro.”

“Don’t call me that, shitty hair.

“Pffff. My hair is fantastic, especially once I’ve styled it.”

“Your hair is a fucking eyesore.”

“You’ll learn to love me.”

He would, in fact. Learn to love Kirishima. But for know, he’s stuck with headache-inducing red hair and a laugh that’s too damn loud, but at least he gets a maid out of the deal.

#bakushima #kiribaku #kirishima eijirou #bakugou katsuki #bnha #my writing

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