kirikami central!

(He recalls the day Denki had successfully played a full song on his new guitar—more specifically, he remembers the slow, giddy smile that had bloomed on his best friend’s face as he strummed the final notes. Eijirou hasn’t told Denki, but he keeps the memory of that smile with him.)

As such, Eijirou is sprawled out on Denki’s floor when Denki gifts him the white, origami crane he had just finished.

“For you,” Denki grins.

Eijirou immediately puts his phone down as he sits up. “Dude, this is so good,” he marvels, running his fingers over the sharp, sure folds and admiring the perfect symmetry. “Have you been hiding some kind of black belt in origami all these years?” he jokes.

“What are you even talking about,” Denki laughs, though he obviously preens at the praise. “This isn’t even that good, man.”

“Sure, Mr. Black Belt,” Eijirou rolls his eyes, earning himself a light slap on the bicep. He just can’t help but tease, reveling in the pink blush on Denki’s face, the small and bashful smile.

(Eijirou keeps this smile with him, too.)

When Eijirou returns to his own room, he rests the crane on his palm, mindful of all manner of speed bumps and his own clumsy, stumpy fingers. (Kouda had given him a curious look as they passed each other in the hallway, likely wondering why Eijirou was moving at a snail’s pace while laser-focused on the tiny paper folding on his hand.)

After arriving at his destination, Eijirou breathes a sigh of relief as he safely sets his present on his nightstand. The crane is a pretty sight against the rugged backdrop of his room, kind of like Denki when he naps on Eijirou’s bed some weekends.

Eijirou adores it (him).

He continues to adore every paper crane after that, one a day for two weeks. Every day, before Mr. Aizawa files in, Denki turns in his seat to deposit one on his desk. Denki is pretty creative with material—notebook paper with Denki’s math notes scrawled, a paper towel from the boys’ bathroom that Jirou had suspiciously glanced at—but his folds are the precise same every time.

Eijirou’s little flock grows on his nightstand. He’s had to move some hand dumbbells to the floor to make room, but he definitely doesn’t mind.

Eijirou doesn’t mind his growing feelings remaining unrequited, either.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever confess them, honestly. It’s just way too much to risk. He and Denki are already so comfortably affectionate—Hagakure even referred to them as “the class married couple” the other day—and Eijirou is afraid of losing that in a snap. If he doesn’t want to destroy their current friendship, then Eijirou has to be content with letting their relationship stay the way it is. If he lets their relationship stay the way it is, he’ll never scare Denki away.

He doesn’t realize how much he’s come to depend on the status quo until one day, Denki doesn’t leave a paper crane on his desk.

“Why are you moping, dude,” Hanta inquires, poking him in the arm. Eijirou sighs. Across the cafeteria, Denki is bothering Todoroki into putting ice cubes in his soda, instead of sitting next to Eijirou like he always does. He hasn’t talked to Eijirou all morning, either, and when the lunch bell rang Denki had buzzed away before Eijirou could call for him. Denki’s perpetually turned back seems so, so cold.

“I think Denki finally got tired of me,” Eijirou sulks, resting his chin on the hard surface of the lunch table. He wonders if it’s because he always takes without giving. Two weeks of carefully crafted paper cranes and what does he return with? A grin and a thank you? No wonder Denki doesn’t want anything to do with him anymore.

“Ei, don’t be dumb,” Mina laughs, bringing Eijirou back to the present.

“Hey,” Eijirou whines.

“As if the walking generator can ever get tired of you,” Bakugou pipes up, barely even looking up from his soup. “You and the electric fucker have been making goo goo eyes at each other for literally months. It’s annoying.”

Eijirou flushes. “We’re just friends!”

“Your ‘just friends’ is annoying,” Bakugou shoots back, and Eijirou wilts further. He sees Mina nudge Bakugou in reprimand, but really, he’s right—despite how harshly it’s phrased, it’s kind of true. Because, if he were being honest with himself, Eijirou does mind being just friends. It’s getting harder and harder to pretend that every smile and touch doesn’t make him want to kiss Denki, and hold him every day, and keep him close forever.

Bakugou begrudgingly claps a hand on his shoulder, as if apologetic. Sero pops into Eijirou’s view, still chewing on his sandwich. “Dude,” he says. “Just take the leap.”

After the final bell, Eijirou catches Denki’s wrist just as the latter rises from his desk. He only vaguely registers Mina’s thumbs-up from the corner of his eye, too busy locking gazes with Denki. Mercifully, the rest of the class leaves them alone, already filing out to head back to the dorms.

“I’m sorry,” Eijirou blurts.

“For what?” Denki asks.

“I—I know I’ve been selfish lately, and that’s why you’re avoiding me, but—please let me say this once!” Eijirou pleads, still holding onto Denki’s warm wrist. He screws his eyes tight and takes a deep breath, preparing to profess—

“Ei,” Denki cuts in with a bemused tilt of the head. He reaches out to lightly touch Eijirou’s elbow in a gesture of comfort. “I’m not avoiding you.”

Eijirou’s eyes fly open. “You—you’re not?”

Denki grins sheepishly. “Did it come off that way? I’m sorry, man,” he apologizes. “I just needed time to prepare something special for you,” he continues, motioning towards his desk. It is only then that Eijirou notices the perfect, pink crane sitting daintily in the corner. He notes the extra delicate appearance; it seems Denki had finally decided to use actual origami paper. “You caught me just as I was about to give it to you,” Denki chuckles.

“Oh, bro,” Eijirou whispers, a tear squeezing out in relief. Somehow he forgets all his apologies, the confession at the tip of his tongue—he can only feel grateful that Denki is smiling at him again. Denki plucks the crane and drops it into Eijirou’s waiting hands. “I love it so much,” Eijirou gushes.

“Open it,” Denki urges.

Eijirou hesitates at that.

“Come on, dude.”

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna ruin it,” Eijirou pinkens, still cradling the crane in his open palm. “You made it, after all.”

Denki’s laughter sounds like chimes. “You’re sweet,” Denki coos. “Yes, I’m sure.”

So Eijirou unfolds it.

I like you, Eijirou! ^_____^ Be my boyfriend?

Eijirou is. A little—a lot—fogged up. He’s about to convince himself that he is dreaming when Denki steps into his space, and suddenly everything gains a startling clarity.

He looks up on instinct.

(And, god—curse their height difference, tiny enough to pass as unnoticeable, but still enough to force Denki to gaze at him through his long, thick eyelashes.)

“Hi,” Denki smiles. He appears so much calmer than Eijirou, but Eijirou is dimly aware of the other’s hands shaking.

“Hi,” Eijirou swallows.

“What do you say?” Denki prompts gently.

Eijirou wants to say, how could you beat me to my confession, man? He wants to say, I’ve liked you for so long, Denki. He wants to say, to hell with the status quo.

In the end, Eijirou doesn’t say a thing as he leans down to close that damn height difference, one hand gripping pink paper and the other caressing Denki’s just-as-pink cheek.

“I can’t believe you kept all these,” Denki says in wonder, “and in such perfect condition, too.”

Eijirou watches Denki lean over the side of Eijirou’s bed, one fingertip pressing lightly on every crane in turn until he reaches the pink one. It has since been refolded (salvaged from Eijirou’s tight clutch by a teasing Denki) and is more haphazard than the rest, but Eijirou thinks it’s the best one.

“Mmm. I love them. And you.” Eijirou mumbles, already being pulled under by the day’s exhaustion. He stretches one arm out to beckon Denki closer. “Come back already.”

“DUDE,” Denki bellows, banging on Hanta’s door. He feels a tiny smidge of guilt for being so loud, but right now his conscience takes a backseat to his full-on freakout.

“WHAT,” Hanta snaps, throwing his door open. It’s midnight and he’s grumpy, but his irritation soon melts into bewilderment upon seeing Denki’s frantic expression.

“Dude, I dunno what kinda magic or voodoo shit you’re doing, but I don’t like it! Get this string off me!” Denki whines, shoving his hand into Hanta’s face. Without missing a beat, Hanta pries his hand off, turning it this way and that to inspect it.

“Denki,” he broaches, very carefully. “What string?”

Denki pales.

The string leads to Eijirou’s room.

It’s almost kind of funny how quickly Denki cycles through emotions—in the span of a minute, Hanta witnesses Denki’s face shift from wide-eyed panic to furrowed-brow confusion to plain red-cheeked shyness.

“You know what, I actually don’t care anymore! Haha, false alarm, let’s not bother Eijirou,” Denki laughs nervously. He tries to shoulder past Hanta and Shouto (who had been roused by Denki’s yelling and was surprisingly curious enough to follow them downstairs, bless his heart), but Shouto’s sturdy chest blocks his escape. Hanta levels Denki with a deadpan gaze before knocking none too gently on the redhead’s door.

Nooo, Denki mentally wails, because Eijirou is now emerging from his room, ungelled hair unkempt. He looks very cute, all mussed and sleepy. The juxtaposition of that cuteness with Eijirou’s muscular arms, helpfully exposed by the loose muscle shirt, is doing things to Denki’s haywire heart.

“Oh,” Denki gulps, “it’s on his pinky, too.”

“What is?” Eijirou yawns.

“I see,” Shouto nods. “Soulmates, huh.”

“Huh?!” Denki screeches.

“Guys?” Eijirou inquires blearily.

“Soulmates,” Todoroki repeats, unpertubed. “It’s Japanese folklore. It is said that a red string connects the pinky fingers of two people who are destined.”

Denki gapes.

“Soulmates, huh,” Hanta pipes up. “Congrats. You two are officially the last to know.” Before Denki can ask what that means, the sly, smug, soy sauce face(!) jabs Denki in the stomach with his elbow, the extra bulk of the tape dispenser there toppling him into Eijirou’s arms.

“Have fun, kiddos!” Hanta smirks, waving at them as he and Shouto disappear into the elevators.

“Hanta, you dick,” Denki sobs.

Denki is partly grateful that Eijirou’s strong, warm arms are keeping him upright, because his jelly legs sure cannot.

Denki is also about to spontaneously combust because of said strong, warm arms, and the slight scent of Eijirou’s lemon body wash.

Eijirou gently turns Denki to face him, resting both hands lightly on his hips. By the contemplative look on his face, Denki is certain he at least caught the main takeaway of the earlier conversation. Denki’s knees buckle.

“Are we soulmates, Denki?” Eijirou asks slowly.

“I,” Denki flails. His hands automatically come up to Eijirou’s forearms to ground himself. “Uh—“

“Because I wanna be,” Eijirou smiles, tender, gazing at Denki so openly now. Like he’s been in love with him since the beginning. Has he been? Denki wonders. Because I have.

“Okay,” Denki says. He swallows, squeezing Eijirou’s arms and tentatively meeting that earnest gaze.

“Good,” Eijirou beams, as if Denki’s confession had been an elegant soliloquy, or even just more than a one-word affirmative. “Come to bed, Denki,” he coaxes, linking their hands together to lead Denki to his sheets.

Denki musters the courage to lean up and press a kiss to Eijirou’s cheek. Eijirou interlaces their fingers in response, and Denki thanks the universe for giving him one Kirishima Eijirou.

Denki doesn’t fall asleep right away, even after Eijirou’s breath evens out. Instead he props himself up to stroke Eijirou’s hair. Even against Eijirou’s outrageous dye job, the string on his pinky blinks brightly up at him. He can’t help but marvel.

Denki prods the arm closest to him. It’s code for I want to lie down; move, you oaf, which Eijirou is all too happy to oblige. He turns on his side to prop himself on the offending arm, smiling at the pleased sound Denki makes when he flops onto his stomach.

A thick lock of his pretty, soft hair falls in his eyes as he does so, so Eijirou unthinkingly reaches over and sweeps it behind his ear. Denki closes his eyes obediently. He reminds Eijirou of a puppy getting a haircut.

“Give me a few hints, Kami,” he grins. He pats Denki’s bangs in place for good measure.

“You really wanna do this, man?” Denki laughs.

“Come on,” Eijirou coaxes, lightly kicking Denki’s leg. Denki has started to blush pink, and Eijirou can’t help but stare. “I’m curious.”

Denki rolls his eyes, but the fond grin on his face tells Eijirou he’s won. “Fine,” Denki concedes, shoving his phone under the pillow.

“He’s in our class,” he begins. “Super kind-hearted. Brave.”

“That’s every guy in the class,” Eijirou whines, before quickly revising the thought. “Wait. Almost every guy. I can at least exclude Mineta.”

Denki snorts in surprise. “Wow, you’re actually such a dick,” Denki chortles, but to Eijirou’s amusement, he doesn’t disagree. Feeling emboldened by Denki’s laughter, Eijirou kicks his leg again, prompting him to continue.

“Okay, okay! I’m getting to it. He’s, uh, really hot,” Denki chuckles, bashful. He plays with the ends of Eijirou’s pillowcase, avoiding Eijirou’s gaze. “He works out a lot. Like, always at the gym, has weights in his room. The whole shebang.”

Eijirou raises an eyebrow, watching the way Denki’s fingers twist in the cloth. “Okay. That’s half the boys eliminated. And?”

“And,” Denki repeats softly, pausing to peek at Eijirou from the corner of his eye. He falls quiet, suddenly. Calculating.

Eijirou’s gut lurches with butterflies. His instincts tell him he will either love or hate whatever comes out of Denki’s mouth next.

“He adores all things manly,” Denki murmurs. Eijirou’s heart skips. “He has the coolest red hair. He always, always wears a smile.

“He’s my best friend.”

(The look on Denki’s face is impossibly tender. As it turns out, Eijirou’s instincts are right.)

He wiggles onto his stomach to press his side against Denki’s. Before Denki can react, he throws an arm around Denki’s waist, nuzzling closer.

“Kiri!” Denki yelps.

“Kami, you’re wrong,” Eijirou says bluntly. “How could anyone be out of your league?

“You’re the most gorgeous,” Eijirou asserts, punctuating the confession with another nuzzle. “The funniest!” he exclaims, tightening the arm slung around Denki’s waist. “The manliest!”

Eijirou can’t help but giggle, so giddy as he pulls back to look at Denki’s face, which has gone slack with wonder. “I like you, too, Kami. I like you a lot.”

Denki gapes for another two seconds before huffing and burying his face in the pillow. “You’re so much,” he mumbles. Eijirou pouts, and has half a mind to shake him when Denki very carefully flips onto his back.

“Come here,” Denki murmurs, face completely red now. His smile is small and shy. “Kiss me.”

Eijirou’s cheeks hurt with the force of his happiness. “Yes, sir,” he chirps.