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Over time, Kirishima slowly realized that living didn’t depend on a reason. But that realization didn’t come simply, quickly, or gently. In reality, dealing with that understanding was one of the hardest things he had done in all his 18 years of life. Convincing himself to live just for the sake of living, to accept that merely the passing of days would have to be enough — it would have been easier to inject those convictions into his own bloodstream than to keep repeating them to himself.
“What are your plans after this?” Kirishima asked Bakugou on the night of their graduation party, when both were already exhausted from performing in front of their friends and had reserved the truth for the moonlight and their own eyes.
“You think I was joking when I said I wanted to be the number one?”
“No, that’s not the kind of plan I mean,” though he knew it wasn’t the end, Kirishima felt his throat tighten, and the mourning of lived youth clouded his mind. “Before I met you, before I decided I wanted to fight for myself, I didn’t think about how I would live, I didn’t think about what I’d eat for breakfast, I didn’t plan the games I’d play during vacation, I didn’t care about the weather the next day because it didn’t matter. I just wanted to...”
The silence of the unspoken words resonated in Bakugou’s heart. Even though he had never heard the full confession, he understood perfectly what Kirishima meant.
“And when I asked about your plans, what I really wanted to know was how many pets you want. What color will your bedroom curtains be? What movies do you want to watch on weekends?” Breathing deeply at that moment — he remembered it well — hurt as if it were the first breath of his life. “Since I started seeing everything around me with eyes unclouded by fear, I’ve been thinking a lot about my plans after this, after yesterday, after tomorrow.”
“I don’t... think about those stupid little details. Whatever comes will just be a consequence of the directions I take toward the bigger goal,” Bakugou frowned, trying to grasp exactly what Kirishima wanted to communicate.
“I don’t think I have a bigger goal, as you call it. At some point in my life, I looked inside and saw how terrible my nightmares were, and I realized that trying to find this grand finale” — Bakugou chuckled softly at the French phrase — “was kind of counterproductive. I think, from that moment on, I promised myself I’d live for the little things.”
That night, the starlight was distorted in Kirishima’s eyes. Tears stopped him from continuing his small ramble. Smiling and shaking his head, he held back the urge to spill years of chained thoughts.
---
“If you’d just open your fucking mouth and tell me why you’ve been so distant, I wouldn’t have to come here in the rain to kick your ass.” Bakugou complained loudly as he entered Kirishima’s new apartment. It was a Friday night, and neither of them had to go to college the next day.
“I’ve just had a lot to do,” Kirishima replied. Studying at different campuses made him miss Bakugou, a feeling compounded by other emotions that brought back a familiar ache.
“No kidding! I thought you were just a lazy fucker.” Bakugou’s wet blond hair stuck to his forehead, making the scene somewhat comical to the target of his criticism. But the abrupt change in his gruff tone to a more cautious one unsettled Kirishima: “Eijirou, this isn’t the first time I’ve seen this shit... You can’t keep retreating whenever you think things are going bad again in that thick skull of yours! Just, please... talk to me.”
“There was a time in my life,” Kirishima began slowly, as if speaking might scare his best friend away, “maybe you already know, when waking up every morning was excruciating. I wished... to disappear. Whenever the days began again in that endless spiral of agony, I just wanted it to end.” The words came out like whimpers, squeezed by insecurity. “And sometimes, when I’m vulnerable like now... missing you, I think about how I used to feel, and I need some time to remind myself what I’m living for.”
“And what exactly do you live for?”
“The little things.” He smiled, for the first time that week.
---
“Eijirou?” Kirishima felt Katsuki’s voice vibrate against his ears more than he actually heard it. He responded with a sleepy murmur, feeling fingers running through his hair. “What’s the purpose of life?”
He chuckled. How funny was it to hear such a question from his husband during a slow morning when neither of them was fully awake? But love, Kirishima thought, made answering sincerely feel simple.
“To watch that meteor shower that happens every year, to laugh at the same inside jokes, to mess up that cursed brownie recipe, to travel to that city and stay in the chalets at the top of the mountain,” he sat up to meet Katsuki’s crimson gaze, “to wake up by your side. You know, just the little things.”
He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, he would never tire of loving.
“Then, if that’s the case, I want to live the little things with you.”