Title: Let’s Start a Riot [Kirishima/Bakugou]
Rating/Warnings: G
Summary: Kirishima’s Osaka apartment just sounds different. (unfinished)
AN: Written for Shiritori. Song title from Glitter and Crimson by All Time Low which is my ironclad KRBK song.
Let’s Start a Riot
Kirishima’s apartment sounds different. Bakugou’s only ever lived in a big house in a quiet suburb, and then the dorms with miles of open campus. The apartment in downtown Osaka is never entirely quiet; as Bakugou stares at the ceiling in the gray of pre-dawn, he can hear the neighbor above walking around, water rushing through pipes, and the traffic outside might as well be driving through Kirishima’s living room.
Bakugou never sleeps well in new places, is what he learned on countless school trips and vacations with his parents. Judging by how long it took him to adjust to the dorms, he figures he’s got another week, week and a half, before he can fall asleep at some kind of bedtime and not wake up half an hour later wondering where the hell he is. At least Kirishima’s here, which beats the hell out of any hotel his parents ever dragged him to.
Bakugou turns his head, only a little bit mad that Kirishima can sleep so heavily when he can’t at all. His hair’s hanging in his face, eyebrows scrunched with the dream he’s seeing, and he’s doing that hitched little snore that means he’s really out cold. It should be annoying, but it’s only the fourth morning, so it hasn’t sunk in the whole way yet that Bakugou’s not going back to Tokyo, that Kirishima will be within reach every single morning, barring the staggered night patrol schedule.
“Quit being so cute,” Bakugou accuses uselessly, not like Kirishima can hear him. It’s more like he’s scolding himself anyway for falling so head over heels for this rock-for-brains during second year that he’d have moved to the moon if it had been the Lunar Rabbit Agency that hired him full-time.
It’d probably be quieter on the moon, Bakugou thinks sourly. He reaches over to brush back Kirishima’s hair, thumb pressing lightly against his eyebrow scar. Kirishima huffs a soft, contented breath, dead to the world. Giving Kirishima’s dark roots an affectionate scrunch, Bakugou pulls his arm back under the covers and rolls onto his side so that at least one ear is muffled in his pillow. He closes his eyes, hoping to snatch just a little more sleep despite the idiot neighbor clunking down the stairwell with his recyclables.
The chirp of Kirishima’s alarm drags him back out of a doze, and Bakugou opens his eyes to find Kirishima blinking at him just as the confusion on his face melts into soft delight.
“Hey, you,” Kirishima says, his sleep-rough voice sending a pleasant shiver down Bakugou’s spine. “You’re still here. S’funny, coulda swore it was Monday. Is it Sunday?”
“It’s Tuesday, dumbass,” Bakugou answers, a smirk curling the corner of his own mouth. He watched Kirishima have the same exact slow revelation yesterday, and hopes he gets to see it again tomorrow. “I live here now.”
