He wasn't stalking Bakugou. He was just keeping an eye on him, looking out for little oddities, hints of what might be going on behind the scenes. That was all. He tried to be discreet about it, too, a few glances here and there during their morning warm-ups to see if it really was as bad as he feared.
Each glance made his heart sink even more.
The spark in Bakugou's eyes was gone, the bags under them dark and puffy. Had his movements always been that lethargic? Were his shoulders always that tense? Somehow, even their standard-issue gym uniform looked unkempt on him. Not even Kaminari could pull that off, no matter how much he tried. And he did try.
This was all from a distance, though. Half-looks snuck in here and there, and as Eijirou studied Bakugou across the gym all morning, he couldn't help but wonder if maybe it was all in his head. After everything, maybe he was too protective of Bakugou, too sensitive, too vigilant. Always on the lookout for any sign that something was wrong, no matter how slight. Maybe if he got Bakugou one-on-one, his fears could be put to rest.
That lunch, Eijirou searched the cafeteria for a familiar poof of blond hair, with not much luck. The pesky frown his face had been stuck in all morning deepened even more.
At any rate, they had Hero Training that afternoon, with costumes and support gear and everything. When Eijirou finished his eel bowl early, rather than stick around chatting, he headed to Class 1-A to grab his costume case.
As he slid the door open, he froze.
In the dark room, Bakugou sat hunched over his desk, arms caged around his head, dead to the world. No lunch tray, no evidence of a meal. All for a few extra minutes of shut-eye.
Eijirou winced. That couldn't be healthy.
He slid the door shut behind him with a gentle thud. At the noise, Bakugou jerked, eyes open and wide and frantically searching the room. When his gaze settled on Eijirou, he huffed. Looked away.
Just how long had this been building up? And why'd it taken so long for Eijirou to truly notice?
This wasn't the one-on-one he'd meant, but maybe it was the best chance he was gonna get. Eijirou opened his mouth to say something — he didn't know what yet but he'd think of something — but just then, the door slid open and Shoji and Asui filed in, flipping on the light switch as they did. Eijirou promptly shut his mouth, grabbed his costume case from its cubby, and headed to Gym Gamma.
Thankfully, Hero Training went alright. No doubt in part due to their classmates leaving a wide berth around Bakugou at all times. Even Kaminari, and that was saying something, because Kaminari liked pressing all of Bakugou's buttons every chance he got.
So, that was probably for the best.
Eijirou wondered if it was just chance, or if maybe they saw it, too. The exhaustion in Bakugou's posture, his haggard expression, his unfocused, bloodshot eyes. Maybe it made them just as uneasy as it made him.
Confirmation came soon enough. After Hero Training wrapped up that evening, they returned to the dorm in one large mass, crashing in the common room in a pile of sore muscles and grumbled complaints. But when Bakugou stepped out of the genkan, a hush fell over the room. Eijirou startled at the sudden quiet and noticed his classmates exchanging wary glances. He turned back to Bakugou, watched his shoulders draw up toward his ears, ignoring the eyes following him as he walked to the stairwell. As soon as he was out of sight, the room swelled with murmurs.
"Hey, Kirishima?" Kaminari called, plopping down on the couch next to him. He tilted his head, gesturing toward the staircase. "Uh, what's up with him?"
He'd kept his voice low, but some nearby classmates were watching their exchange, nodding along.
In Eijirou's chest, a pang.
So, the others had noticed something was up, too. It should've been a relief — yay, it wasn't just in his head! But it also made his concern that much more real. Oh man, and they didn't even know about the late nights, did they? The explosions? They had no idea about any of that, and they were still worried.
All these eyes on him, all these people counting on him for answers like he was some sort of authority on the matter... He couldn't tell them about all of that. He couldn't expose his bro like that.
So Eijirou simply shrugged.
"Dunno," he said.
Around the coffee table, downcast eyes and lips pursed tight in thought. The subject dropped, and they quickly got to work on some summer assignments. All except Eijirou, who spent most of the study session staring blankly at his English packet, his thoughts on a loop.
Bakugou's state had gotten so bad that other people had noticed too. Someone needed to step in, and fast. Before this got any worse.
As evening turned into night, what started out as productive studying quickly devolved into an impromptu game night. Any other time, Eijirou would've jumped right in, but today, his heart wasn't in it. Not to mention he'd been so focused on Bakugou's exhaustion that he'd forgotten how little sleep he'd been getting lately, too, and it was starting to hit him like a truck. Instead of sticking around, he excused himself with a hefty yawn and got ready for bed.
But this time, instead of trying to sleep, he stayed up. That wouldn't help his own exhaustion, but there was no way in hell he was gonna risk sleeping through a round of explosions. Not tonight. He had a plan, dammit!
He took the opportunity to crack down on some English review, and when the words started jumbling around in his head, he switched to pumping iron for a few reps. A few reps became more than a few reps, and when his arms felt like they might pop off, he pulled up a playlist of pro-hero highlight videos on his phone and peered at them with bleary eyes over his cocoon of blankets.
He'd just finished a particularly amusing meme complication when, like clockwork, a series of short booms erupted from Bakugou's room, followed by a stream of colorful cursing.
Eijirou's eyebrows shot clear up.
He knew the guy had anger problems, and probably some demons of his past haunting him, but dang. It was impressive, really, how imaginative Bakugou's language got sometimes.
But enough with that. It was intervention time.
Eijirou leapt out of bed and darted through his door. Upon closing it, he heard a faint "goddamn it" through the wall. So, Bakugou was expecting him now. That was fine, Eijirou nodded to himself. He didn't need the element of surprise. He relaxed with his shoulder leaned against Bakugou's door frame, arms crossed, ready for whatever may come when the door opened.
And open it did. Quite fiercely. He didn't even have to knock.
"I swear to god, Shitty Hair, if you don't get out of my goddamn business right this second—"
"Good morning to you too, Bakugou!" Eijirou chirped, mouth spread in the prettiest shit-eating grin he could muster. He totally practiced it in the mirror earlier. "Thanks for inviting me in!" In one fluid motion, he pushed passed Bakugou into the room, flipped the lightswitch on, and closed the door behind them.
Bakugou gawked at him, mouth hanging wide open, a strained sort of noise coming from deep in his throat as Eijirou strolled over to the desk and made a show of sitting in his wheely chair.
Bakugou snapped his mouth shut. "Get out," he said.
"Dude. You've woken me up pretty much every night since we've been here, my pal. My buddy. I think I deserve an explanation. I'm not leaving until I get one."
"What the ever-loving fuck. Leave. I'm so serious right now."
"So am I." Eijirou grabbed the chair's armrests and hardened his hands. Try kicking him out now!
Realizing his plan, Bakugou growled.
"You motherfucker—"
"—Whine all you want, but this is an intervention. You keep going all..." Eijirou made some explosion sounds, with hand gestures and all to really drive his point home. Then, he looked at Bakugou, sincere, his voice low. "To be honest, I'm kinda worried about you, man."
Cue obligatory eye-roll. "Fucking don't be, Shitty Hair. Your hair looks like shit, anyone ever told you that?"
Hey. Hey now. Did... did it still look like shit? Even when it was down? Eijirou tugged at a strand near his shoulder into his line of sight. He didn't think it looked like shit, styled up or down. Plus, he put a lot of effort into dying it every few weeks to keep his roots maintained! Bakugou just didn't understand—!
Eijirou squinted at him.
"Bro. Bro. You're changing the subject." He hardened his hand around the armrest again. "Seriously, my dude, don't think I won't pick up on that."
Bakugou groaned. "Fucking whatever."
"You've seemed off all week. I'm not leaving here until I know what's wrong."
"I don't give a flying fuck if you attach yourself to the goddamn furniture. I will roll you out of here if I have to, desk chair and all."
"So, something is wrong."
"Excuse me?" Bakugou's eyes bulged, scandalized.
Eijirou shrugged. "You didn't deny it."
Bakugou's face pinched into a scowl. "I-I... Fuck. Fuck. Fuck off already."
"Nahhh."
Even through his smile, Eijirou couldn't shake the feeling of unease settling in his stomach. The way that Bakugou glared at him was all wrong. He wasn't as feisty, his threats were empty, like he was too exhausted to be himself. Eijirou's stomach twisted at the thought.
"So, what's up with you?" he asked, like they were two long-lost friends catching up at a café or something. "Can't sleep? You aren't, like, afraid of the dark, are you?"
"Shut up."
Eijirou's jaw dropped. "No. Way."
"What? No!" Bakugou said. "Do I look like some weak fuck-munch to you?"
Eijirou shrugged again. "I wouldn't judge."
"Actually go fuck yourself."
Bakugou flipped him off as he sulked toward his bed, and this whole exchange would have been hysterical if it weren't for the concern constantly nagging at the back of Eijirou's brain.
His shoulders sank. "I just wanna help out, bro."
"Well, good luck with that," Bakugou spat. He ran his fingers harshly through his hair a few times with a grumble. "If you're not gonna leave the chair, then you're in for one long, shitty night. Which, not my fucking problem. I'm going to bed."
"Alright-y."
"If you snore, I will not hesitate to explode your face off."
"Duly noted."
As he watched Bakugou crawl into bed and tug his duvet over himself, Eijirou blinked.
"You're... really not going to talk about it?" he asked. "Like. You're actually, currently going to bed, as we speak, and you're not going to talk about it."
"You're one intelligent fuck, aren't you?"
It was dry. Indignant, and Eijirou couldn't help but feel uncomfortable as red eyes peered out from under the mound of covers and pierced through his own. Bakugou then winced and buried his face in his hands.
"Fuck. I just need one night's sleep. One night. My head echoes when people talk. Words float off of paper. And today in training, I shit you not, the ceiling and the walls switched places. It's really fucking with me." He heaved the duvet up to cover his head, stifling his voice. "So please, for the love of god..."
"...Alright." Eijirou frowned. Something like guilt clenched in his chest. Maybe this had been a bad idea, maybe he was overstepping, ohhh man... He sighed. "Alright, okay. If you don't want to talk about it, then we won't talk about it." He unhardened his hands and slowly stood to his feet.
"Fucking finally—"
"—But I am so serious, bro. If you ever do need to talk, about anything, at all—"
"—Oh my fucking god. Leave." A pause. "...And turn off the lights."
Eijirou huffed. "You're so stubborn," he mumbled, shaking his head and smiling in spite of himself as he made his way to the door. He rested his hand on the doorknob. Peered back over his shoulder to the mound of blankets on the bed. "Just... promise me you'll at least try to sleep, okay?"
"Whatever, Mom," came a muffled reply.
"I can tuck you in if that'd help."
"You wanna die—?"
With a soft "hah", Eijirou flipped off the light and closed the door behind him before Bakugou could see his threat to fruition.
In the solitude of the hallway, his smile fell.
So... something was wrong, and Bakugou wasn't going to talk about it.
Eijirou hung his head with a sigh.
Maybe the poor guy really did just need sleep. Maybe he should just let it go.
But as he lay in bed, brain on hyper-drive, raking through every single possible explanation or problem, only one thing was clear: he was way too invested in this now.
He didn't sleep a wink.
☆
...Which was pretty stupid, Eijirou thought with a pout as he sat on the warm-up mat before their training the next day. He'd never been more exhausted in his entire life. His classmates had already been avoiding Bakugou, and since he'd arrived that morning with the same dead eyes and furrowed brow, they steered clear of him, too. Eijirou couldn't blame them. He looked like shit and he knew it.
Even then, he had nothing on Bakugou.
Maybe Eijirou's plan really hadn't been a good idea. Maybe, if he just left Bakugou alone so he could try to sleep, maybe if he never brought up the nightly commotions again... maybe he'd be doing his friend a favor.
Which made Eijirou feel even more like shit. He'd just wanted to help. That was what good friends did, right? And sometimes, Eijirou got the feeling that Bakugou wasn't used to having friends.
Well, that just meant Eijirou had to be the best friend that Bakugou could ask for! Maybe then, when Bakugou finally learned how to be comfortable around him, he'd allow himself to be helped.
But Eijirou couldn't be a good friend if Bakugou only ever saw him as an annoying fuck munch who didn't mind his own damn business. Plan Intervention had failed. He hadn't helped Bakugou, he'd only aggravated him.
Oh man, that really sucked. With a sigh, Eijirou hugged his knees tighter to his chest and rested his chin on them. He turned his head to the side, catching a pitying glance from Kaminari. Eijirou wrinkled his nose at himself. He was acting pretty pitiful, wasn't he?
After only a half-hour or so of working on their super moves, Mr. Aizawa called Bakugou to the front of the gym.
Eijirou hadn't seen what Bakugou had done to make Mr. Aizawa single him out. From his concrete pillar across the room, he watched, curious, as Bakugou approached their homeroom teacher with shoulders drawn in tight.
Mr. Aizawa said something. Bakugou's shoulders drew up even tighter and he said something back. Mr. Aizawa responded firmly, no-nonsense. And then, Bakugou was shouting.
Heads turned, faces gawked. Not just Eijirou's, everyone's, the whole class stunned into silence as the explosive argument unfolded.
Mr. Aizawa demanded that Bakugou go to Recovery Girl. Bakugou didn't want to go to Recovery Girl, insisted he didn't need to, but Mr. Aizawa wouldn't budge. They went back and forth for a bit before Bakugou threw his hands in the air and stormed off with a curse. When the gym door slammed shut behind him, Eijirou flinched.
The room erupted with the sounds of confusion. Dismissed from training? Just like that? No broken bones or head trauma or nothing? Unheard of! Unprecedented! What was going on?
"Get back to work," Mr. Aizawa barked, so in a flurry, they did.
Or, they tried to. Eijirou tried to, but he was too busy drowning in his own head. When a stray punch from Sato knocked him to the ground, and as he lay there, cheek throbbing and wind knocked out of him, listening to a chorus of concern from his classmates overhead, he couldn't help but feel a little bit... slighted. It wasn't like he was doing much better than Bakugou! He'd give anything to lay down on one of those plastic infirmary cots for a few hours.
Then again, he hadn't been the one in the middle of being kidnapped only days before. At least with Bakugou out of training, Eijirou didn't have to worry about the guy overworking himself and getting hurt. Now, he just needed to focus on himself not getting hurt.
☆
Bakugou didn't show his face the rest of the day. Not at lunch, not during the rest of training, or dinner, or later on in the dorms. No one talked about it. Instead, they crowded around some TV drama, Mina and Hagakure throwing popcorn at the screen when the guy kissed the wrong girl or something. It was a nice distraction at first, but Eijirou's exhaustion started working itself into a pounding headache and eventually, he snuck off to wash up and tuck in early, for real this time.
But it was useless. Useless, useless, useless, there was no way he was gonna fall asleep when there was a whole day's worth of worrying to process. So there he lay, for hours and hours and hours, and not a single wink to show for it.
He sighed.
All this worrying was stupid. Bakugou was his bro, sure, but if he was gonna lose sleep every time he was worried about the guy's wellbeing, he might never sleep ever again! He oughta just wash his hands of this whole ordeal once and for all, for his own sanity's sake if nothing else!
But then again, if Bakugou had another conniption, and if Eijirou just let him be, that still wouldn't fix anything. Bakugou's lack of sleep was just a symptom, the real problem was whatever was keeping Bakugou up in the first place. No amount of Eijirou minding his own business would fix the root of the problem.
A tiny voice in Eijirou's brain reminded him that it wasn't his responsibility to fix the root of the problem. But that wasn't any good, either, because then he'd never know! He was a curious guy, okay? Why was Bakugou so tight-lipped about all of this, anyway? Bakugou could trust him! Bakugou did trust him, right? Surely he did, after everything they'd been through!
...Right?
Eijirou groaned, ran his fingers down his face, then—
Boom. Boom boom boom.
Eijirou bolted upright.
Okay. That was the last straw.
With lightning speed, he shucked his covers aside, slung his legs over the side of the bed, and dashed to the door. Maybe Mr. Grouchypants was rubbing off on him too much, but kindheartedness be damned! He was gonna get to the bottom of this, even if Bakugou's angry explosions killed him!
He banged on his neighbor's door a few times.
"Yoohoo~! Is this our bedtime routine now?" he stage-whispered through the door. "You blow shit up, I check in to make sure the shit you blew up wasn't your face? Rinse and repeat, the circle of life..." He knocked a few shave-and-a-haircut beats for emphasis. "Hello-o-o?"
"Jesus fuckin'— Go away!"
"I need answers, bro! I was just gonna ignore you and pretend like everything was fine, but in all seriousness, this is keeping me up now. I'm invested. I suppose you could keep shutting me out? But I'm not gonna stop, so..." He trailed off with some especially frantic knocks.
From the other side of the door, footsteps.
"Look on the bright side," Eijirou continued, already applying his quirk to his entire body to prepare for an explosive backlash, "at least I'm the only one who ever hears—"
The door swung open. Eijirou froze mid-sentence and mid-knock, because, dear god.
Even from across the threshold, Eijirou could see how ill Bakugou looked. His face, pale and sickly, his eyes red-rimmed and void of all life. He looked like the undead, or a corporeal ghost or something, and before Eijirou could stop himself—
"Dude," he said. "You look like shit."
"Well, fuck you too."
"Sorry, sorry, it's just..." He didn't mean to stare. He really didn't, but he couldn't stop himself from picking out Bakugou's eyes, red all over from irritation, the dampness on his lids and cheeks, the way his whole body trembled. "Woah, man. You're not okay."
"Fuck off. I told you, I'm fine."
"Dude, you are literally shaking."
"I said, leave me alone—"
Oh dang, at this rate, he was gonna get a door to the face. Eijirou stepped into the room, gently closing the door behind him, only for Bakugou and his killer scowl to stop him dead in his tracks. Oh god, what was he doing? Here he was in Bakugou's room again, uninvited, again, just making him pissed off, again, ohh man, this was where things had gone wrong last time! And there was no way Bakugou would fall for this again, which meant this was Eijirou's one chance. He couldn't afford to mess it up like last time. What to do, what to do...?
Eijirou took a stride closer to Bakugou and wrapped his arms around him.
Immediately, Bakugou tensed. His "what the hell, get off me you bastard" was muffled in Eijirou's shoulder, lacking its usual bite.
"Shh," Eijirou muttered into Bakugou's hair. "If you really want me to let go, I will. But I know something's wrong, and I think this could do you some good. Just, twenty seconds." He tightened his hold.
Bakugou pushed against his chest. "I will blow you up, I swear to god—"
"—Twenty seconds, that's all, please. Then I'll let go, and this never happened, and you'll feel better, I promise."
"I already told you, I'm fucking fine—"
Bakugou choked on his words, cut them off with a sharp intake of breath. A beat, then his head dropped into the crook of Eijirou's shoulder. Eijirou counted twenty heartbeats, then ten more for good measure. But as he started pulling away, Bakugou grasped onto him fully, desperately, his shaking arms coming up around Eijirou's torso as if he'd only just mustered the courage. He let out another shuddering breath, and Eijirou couldn't help but think that it was in relief.
A voice in the still air, throaty and rough.
"If you tell a single soul about this—"
"—I won't."
Eijirou said it like he meant it. And he did. He trusted himself to keep this moment between them and them alone. And maybe Bakugou really did trust him, too, just a bit. was like Midoriya had said. Maybe he was the only one Bakugou saw as his equal. Maybe he was the only one Bakugou would've taken a hand from. This was kinda the same thing, wasn't it? Bakugou, taking help from him, being vulnerable with him and no one else. With that privilege came a sense of responsibility, and for a moment, Eijirou was overwhelmed by it. He hugged tighter, hoping to ease the ache in his chest that felt like his heart collapsing in on itself. Maybe Bakugou felt something similar. Maybe that's why he hadn't let go yet.
They stayed like that for a while longer, neither of them pulling away or protesting when another twenty seconds passed. Neither of them released their hold, either, as Eijirou maneuvered them further into the room. Bakugou let himself be waddled along in an awkward shuffle toward the bed.
When Eijirou's knees hit the edge of the mattress, he unfurled his arms carefully, reluctantly, then sat them down side-by-side and placed his hands firm on Bakugou's shoulders, squaring him up.
"See?" Eijirou smiled. "That wasn't so bad."
Bakugou's eyes were distant, refusing to focus on Eijirou, his face closed off and blotched red. Eijirou ignored the wet spots on his nightshirt, ignored the pang in his chest upon realizing that Bakugou had been crying into his shoulder. He wouldn't bring it up. Bakugou needed to know that his dignity was preserved.
Eijirou took a deep breath. "There's something I wanna say, and I just want to ask that you don't immediately write it off, okay?"
Bakugou kept his eyes stubbornly fixed on nothing off to the side, his brows and lips falling into a mopey pout. But he nodded.
Eijirou squeezed his shoulders. "If you need to talk to me about anything, anything at all, I'm here for you, bro. Honest-to-god, what's said in this room stays in this room, just between us. Okay?"
Bakugou scrunched his eyes shut. He sat there for a few moments, just breathing.
"...Why?" he finally asked. His voice was quiet.
Eijirou grinned. "Bro code!" He bumped his fist against Bakugou's shoulder. "Gotta be there for my bro."
"You are fucking insufferable."
Eijirou snorted. "That makes two of us, buddy. But... do you get what I'm saying?"
Slowly, so slowly, Bakugou's eyes met his. Underneath it all, he looked... terrified. Then his eyes flickered away. He nodded.
Eijirou let out a trapped breath. "Okay. Good. That's... good. Um, I can stay if you wanna talk about it? We could have a sleepover or something."
Bakugou gave him a look, and jeez, it felt like his eyes were drilling into Eijirou's very soul.
"Um..." He rubbed the back of his neck. Let out a tense chuckle. "What? What's wrong with that?"
"Hate that you made me hear those god-awful words with my own two ears."
Eijirou couldn't help his laugh. It burst out of him, clear and rich, and maybe it was just in his head, but the heavy fog that had settled over them seemed to dissolve.
"No, no, no, hear me out! Now that I think about it, it's actually not a bad idea. I have loads of snacks, and Momma made me pack a futon and everything. We can hunker down, talk about whatever you need to talk about."
"No way in hell."
"Aww, come on, man!" Eijirou nudged Bakugou's arm. "Ain't nothing wrong with a sleepover between some pals, ya know?"
Bakugou's dead stare deepened.
"Ahh, don't be like that," Eijirou chastised. "It'll be fun, and you'll feel better. Promise."
Bakugou broke his glare with a roll of his eyes. "I've had enough of this crap," he said. "I'm going to sleep." With that, he crawled the rest of the way into bed and rolled himself in his duvet like a burrito.
"Oh. Um... Okay." Eijirou looked away, his smile dropping. With a swallow, he stood to his feet. "If me being gone is what you need right now, that's okay, just... Um. If you ever need me, you know where to—"
"—Tomorrow."
Eijirou froze. He glanced down at the pile of blankets behind him. "...What?"
Bakugou's blond hair poked out from the covers, but his back was turned to Eijirou, curled in on himself, and for a moment, Eijirou was worried he wouldn't respond. But after another beat, he did.
"We have training in the morning," he said. "I need to at least try to get some sleep. But... tomorrow night. Bring your futon. I'll talk then."
"Right." With a careful breath, Eijirou nodded to himself. "Right. Sweet. I'll be here."