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.

"Okay, okay, fuck." Bakugou pulled away, and Eijirou's chest ached. "Let's just— get you out of the hallway, okay?"

Eijirou nodded, sniveling and wiping at his nose with the back of his hand. He let Bakugou grab his wrist and tug him through the open doorway of his manly room. Neither of them bothered turning on the harsh overhead light — now that Bakugou was there, the blanketing moonlight was peaceful. The shadows were no longer ominous.

Bakugou climbed onto the bed, pulling Eijirou after him. They settled with their backs to the wall opposite of the one that separated their two rooms, thighs pressing against each other. The contact was comforting but also infuriating at the same time because it wasn't enough. Something yanked in Eijirou's chest, moving his body without his permission. He grabbed Bakugou's forearm with a shaking hand, locking it tight in a death grip. Wouldn't this be too much? Eijirou screwed his eyes shut, waiting for Bakugou to tear his arm away.

Bakugou did pull his arm away, but carefully, as if to not startle him. Then without a word, he shifted closer and slipped the arm behind Eijirou's back and around to squeeze Eijirou's shoulder and pull him even closer, letting Eijirou rest his head on him and curl his body up into his side.

There they stayed for a long moment, until slowly, the tightness in Eijirou's chest released, and for the first time in what felt like weeks, he could sigh in relief. Forget his nightmare, forget his uselessness, forget his stupid crush — Eijirou just missed his friend, so much it hurt. And finally, finally, here he was.

Eijirou wiped at his drying tears. "Why did you come over?" he croaked out. "Is something wrong?"

"Stop that," Bakugou snapped. He pulled away, and Eijirou tensed, alarmed. But then, there were two hands on his shoulders, squaring him up. He found Bakugou's eyes, blood red and so very determined. "It doesn't fuckin' matter why I'm here," he said, "not when you're like this."

"I'm sorry, I'm—"

"Don't apologize," Bakugou breathed. "Dammit, don't you dare apologize." He drew Eijirou into his arms again, resting his chin on top of Eijirou's head, swaying them gently. "You've helped me so fucking much, alright? Let me do this for you."

With another breath, Eijirou simply nodded.

"And, listen," Bakugou said. "If you showed me anything, it's that it's okay to talk about things. Even if they make you feel scared or stupid, right? So talk to me." He tightened his hold. "What happened?"

It went against every instinct in Eijirou's body. He was supposed to be there for Bakugou, that didn't change just because he was being a wimp.

But that wasn't fair to himself and Eijirou knew it. This wasn't him being a wimp, this was him coming to terms with... something. Trauma, like Bakugou? Was that what this was? It was an intimidating word, but then Eijirou thought back to his nightmare. No, even further back, to the night in the woods.

It'd been chaos. The police cars, the fire trucks, the ambulances, the search helicopters, all blaring their alarms and lighting up the night sky, for what felt like hours. Then, leaving, one by one. First the ambulances, filled with his classmates and mentors, then the fire trucks as the unnatural forest fire dissipated, then the search helicopters, and even still, Eijirou'd hoped. Maybe they were just looking somewhere else?

But then, the police sergeant's low murmurs to Mr. Vlad, he's gone, he's gone—

Eijirou'd nearly dry-heaved. He'd crouched on a curb, his legs drawn up to his chest, rocking, his eyes wide as his surroundings fading away around him, only a few thoughts breaking through the fog in his brain — 'What if Bakugou dies? What if they're too late and he's already dead?' — eating away at him for the rest of the night, and the next day, and every single second of every single day after that too, until Bakugou's hand was finally in his, safe and sound and alive—

And, well. That sure sounded like trauma, didn't it?

Eijirou closed his eyes. Turned his head to press an ear against Bakugou's chest, allowing himself to be lulled by the heart beating, beating, beating.

Maybe Eijirou needed help, too.

And maybe that was okay.

He let out a shaky breath against Bakugou's torso.

"Bad dream," he finally said.

The words seemed to freeze Bakugou for a moment, but then his embrace tightened even more, so much that it almost hurt. But he didn't speak. He only gave a curt nod Eijirou could feel from the chin resting on his head, encouraging him to go on.

"I-It wasn't really clear," Eijirou stumbled. "Everything was hazy, you know how dreams are, but you were there, and when I saw you, I knew it was Kamino. I was trying to reach out for you, take your hand but... I missed." He sniffed. Panic rose like bile in his throat. "I missed, and you fell, and there was nothing I could do to save you, I was so scared, I couldn't stop—"

"Kirishima." Bakugou's voice sliced through the night air and his hands were rough on Eijirou's shoulders, anchoring him. "You don't have to be alone for something like that. Fuck, why didn't you come get me?"

Eijirou couldn't meet his eyes. He just stared downward.

"I didn't know I could," he whispered.

At that, Bakugou took a deep breath.

"Kirishima," he called. "Look at me."

With a swallow, Eijirou did. His eyes darted, taking him in, seeing the light of the moonlight diffuse through Bakugou's pale hair, watching it flit gently across the soft lines of his face. He met Bakugou's eyes.

"If this ever happens again," Bakugou said, "you come get me, alright? I... thought that's how this works?"

He'd said that last part like a question, an uncertainty that should've been a given. After everything they'd been through? Of course they'd be there for each other! How could Bakugou be unsure about something like that? But, Eijirou knew how. The weight of the damage he'd done sank deep. He felt nauseous all over again.

"That is how this works," he insisted, but even through his reassurance, his voice wobbled. "That's what we do, I just— I'd convinced myself that's not what you wanted."

"But, how?" Bakugou asked. "I never said—"

"—I know, I know, it all happened in my head. I knew you still had nightmares sometimes, I could hear it, and I wanted to help, I wanted to fix it, but— I couldn't. You didn't want me to. Which is fine, this isn't to guilt trip you, it's just..." Eijirou took a deep breath to steady himself. "I felt so useless — worthless — and I guess I just, kinda, figured that all explained why you didn't want me around in the first place."

Bakugou rested his head back against the wall.

"What the fuck?" he finally whispered to himself.

"Yeah."

"No, seriously," his voice rose. "What the fuck."

"I feel very stupid about it."

"It's not that, it's— Fuck. Kirishima. You're more than what you can do for other people. You know that, right?"

It sounded so basic that he readied himself to say yes, of course he knew that. But when those words didn't come easily, Eijirou snapped his mouth shut in surprise.

He knew it, sure, but did he believe it?

Done waiting for a response, Bakugou spoke up again.

"Wanna know why I'm here?" he asked. "I'll tell you. Surprise, surprise, I had another nightmare. Though you probably knew that already. Know what that brings the total to?"

Total?

Eijirou fumbled out a confused, "What?"

"Five," Bakugou replied. "In two weeks. Not thirteen, or fourteen, or however many nights it's been. Five. Easily the best run I've had since Kamino. Know what that means?"

"What?"

"I don't need you, Kirishima."

The words should have felt like a sucker-punch to the gut, a feast for the parasite feeding on Eijirou's worst insecurities. But Bakugou's voice wasn't cruel, just truthful. Honest. His red eyes bore into Eijirou's, and this time Eijirou couldn't look away. He swallowed thickly.

"Hell," Bakugou looked up to the ceiling with a huff, "after weeks of getting the cold shoulder, I probably wouldn't've asked for your help even if I did need it. But I don't, that's not why I'm here. You wanna know why?" He watched Eijirou out of the corner of his eye. "You figured it out yet?"

Eijirou shook his head.

"Because I fucking miss you, dipshit."

And there was the sucker-punch Eijirou had been bracing himself for. His stomach dropped right out of him, drawing in a gasp to take its place.

Eijirou'd been such a shit friend. But despite all Bakugou's anger and resentment, here he was, as if their friendship was something he didn't want to lose. As if Eijirou was worth it.

The stinging in his eyes came back, so he closed them with a sigh. He ducked his head and leaned forward, slowly pressing his forehead into Bakugou's chest.

"I'm sorry," he said. And maybe Bakugou would scold him again, tell him to 'stop apologizing already, dammit', but Eijirou wished he'd just accept it for once. It wasn't out of panic this time, or some thoughtless gut reaction. No excuses, either, just a pure, sincere, "I'm sorry."

A beat. Then, Bakugou's hand rested firmly on his back and he tucked Eijirou under his chin.

"I know," he said.

Eijirou took in a breath, relieved. When he exhaled, it came out as a wet laugh. "And I missed you too, you know that?" he asked, squeezing tight. "This whole time. It was kinda eating me alive."

He could feel Bakugou shake his head in disbelief. "Jesus, you're a dumbass."

"Yup," he snorted. "One thousand percent."

"Just use your words next time, why don't ya?" Bakugou ruffled Eijirou's hair roughly, and with an 'ack!', Eijirou jolted away from him. "Before you project your own shitty self-image onto me."

"Ouch," Eijirou rubbed his head. Then, he clenched at his heart. "And, ouch!"

"Just saying! Woulda saved us a fuckton of trouble."

"Hey! I'm workin' on it!" Eijirou tried to school his grin as he pointed a chastising finger at him. "And you're one to talk about using your words!"

Bakugou gave a flippant wave of his hand. "Yeah, yeah, I'm working on it."

The two sat there, with their backs against the wall, letting their airy laughs calm into a comfortable quiet. For the first time in weeks, things felt good between them. Like they were gonna be alright.

Eijirou yawned. He looked out the window to the dark sky, then to his muscle clock above his veranda. Jeez, it was past two already. It was Saturday, not a school night, but that was still too late. Pointing out the time might ruin this tranquil moment, but his eyelids were drooping and Bakugou had started yawning.

"It's late," Eijirou said.

Bakugou nodded through his yawn. When he was done, he climbed off of the bed. Before Eijirou had time to be alarmed, Bakugou was pulling the blankets back.

"If you snore, I'm kicking you out."

"But—"

Eijirou cut himself off with a blink. A faraway sort of smile spread on his lips. Bakugou was staying over.

Then, he sputtered.

"But this is my room!"

Bakugou raised a brow. "You think that'll stop me?"

... No. No, Eijirou really didn't.

Bakugou tugged at the covers trapped under Eijirou's rear. "Come on. Get up," he said and, with rolling eyes and a poorly concealed grin, Eijirou did.

With the extra pillow from the futon, the two settled into their usual spots. Eijirou'd never realized it before, but they had spots — him on the outside, Bakugou closest to the wall. Even in a different room, it felt natural.

Under the blankets, their legs intertwined just like they had before this mess, their arms draped over each other in a way that was all too natural, but still, some things were different. The comforter was lumpier, the air had a different scent, less lived-in. Under the flooding moonlight, All Might's grin was replaced by Crimson Riot's confident smolder. Relics of Eijirou's childhood surrounded them, and that made it feel more... intimate, in a way that Bakugou's room hadn't felt to him before. Because now, Bakugou was in his room, in his bed, unapologetically carving out a spot of his own in Eijirou's arms as if that's where he wanted to be. And Eijirou wanted to keep him there, too.

Did Bakugou get that? Did he understand just how much he meant to Eijirou? At the thought, Eijirou couldn't help but feel restless. Bakugou needed to know. He deserved to know.

"Hey, Bakugou?" he asked into the night.

"Hm?"

"You're my best friend, you know that?"

Eijirou's eyes had long adjusted to the faint moonlight, so he watched as Bakugou's eyes blink open from across the way, heavy-lidded and bleary and suddenly, that short distance between them seemed much too far.

"You're my best friend, you really are," Eijirou continued, tugging him closer. "You're my best friend in the whole wide world and I care about you so much. Thank you." He closed his eyes. Pressed their foreheads together. "Thank you."

Bakugou tightened his embrace and squished his face in the space where Eijirou's shoulder met his pillow. He let out another short hum. Was he embarrassed? Flustered? Ohhh man, Bakugou would kill him if he knew just how cute Eijirou found all of this. He laughed quietly to himself, cheeks starting to burn from his constant smile. If only Bakugou knew how he really made Eijirou feel.

The smile on Eijirou's face gently eased away.

Tonight had been about righting his wrongs. He'd tried so hard to stamp everything else down so it couldn't distract him, but with Bakugou in his arms again, he could feel all of those buried emotions wanting to surge inside of him, bubbling under the surface. A part of him yearned to feel them. Properly. To embrace them with no shame. In the privacy of his own head, did he really have to keep it all locked up?

He closed his eyes and breathed in and, for the first time that night, he allowed himself to just feel.

It was tentative at first, a toe-dip in a wide expanse of ocean — but a moment later, he was drowning in them. They flooded his chest, crowding out his heart and lungs and everything else as if they alone could sustain him. And, perhaps they could, what with how alive they made him feel. Like a spark roaring into fire.

If he'd just understood his feelings all those weeks ago! Then he would've truly cherished their times together, held Bakugou closer to his heart where he belonged. Now that he knew, he sure as hell wasn't gonna take this for granted ever again. This go-around, he'd be sure to show Bakugou just how important he was, just how much he was adored and treasured and loved and—

Eijirou's breath caught in his throat.

Wait. Loved?

The word had come so naturally, and when he thought about it, he gasped in a breath and his entire chest constricted and, yeah. He loved Bakugou. So much that it hurt. And if they were gonna do this again, finding a home in each other's arms, then Bakugou deserved to know about this, too. He couldn't be left in the dark.

"H-hey, Bakugou?" Eijirou choked out. "I... need to tell you something."

The body in his arms didn't stir. Not even an annoyed hum.

"Bakugou?"

Eijirou pulled back, just enough to see his face. At the movement, Bakugou's closed eyelids fluttered, then stilled again. His chest rose and fell against Eijirou's, slowly and evenly, his arm limp across Eijirou's waist. He was dead asleep.

Eijirou sighed.

Of course, he was.

It really was late, and his eyelids were struggling to stay open, too. Oh well. He'd just have to tell Bakugou in the morning. For now, though, he'd let himself have this.

He brought his hand up, gently, gently, as if to comb through the hair laying across Bakugou's forehead, or perhaps as if to trail them across Bakugou's moon-kissed cheekbone. That would be too much, wouldn't it? His fingers froze inches away from contact, unsure, before pulling back completely.

Instead, he settled more comfortably into his spot, letting Bakugou's sleeping face fall into the dip of his collar. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips against Bakugou's temple.

"Goodnight, Katsuki."

☆

And if Eijirou had stayed awake just a little longer, maybe he would've heard a small gasp. Maybe he would've noticed two deep, red eyes flutter awake. Maybe he would've seen how those eyes watched him, for just a moment, uncertain and entranced and maybe just a little bit hopeful.