Katsuki has a tendency to frown when he works. Piercing gaze drilling into the canvas, body relaxed yet rigid, ready to explode much like his personality. Tense. He paints in raw, broad strokes, quick swipes of his forearm followed by flicks of his wrist that create a splatter effect. He does this a few more times with various colors, switching between reds and blues, creating a cross-section of purple, and then, after a bout of rapid, narrow swipes, sighs and crosses his arms. He takes a step back to survey his newest piece.

Eijiro has a difficult time calling Katsuki a "modernist;" the term is just on the side of "too hippy" for his tastes and he knows that the man himself would throw a fit at the very minimum if someone called him that to his face. In his opinion, the other is more of a…Edgar Allen Poe, in artist form. With works that vary from completely abstract to horror, the title seemed most appropriate.

Releasing the needle tip from the pen, Eijiro Kirishima swivels in his chair to face the tray of peroxide and other cleaners separating his work station from Denki's. The other had left an hour or so ago, right after finishing the line art for his last customer of the day. The lady came wanting some tramp stamp of a flower above her hip and Denki, the ever so gentle man that he is, offered to redesign the tattoo into something more delicate (and less trashy) for the same price. He had freaked when he noticed Eijiro standing there rolling his eyes, but after a few requests and promise to not tell their boss Denki walked away with an enthused woman and his secret. Mina left about half an hour before him, which now meant that their little parlor is a hairsbreadth away from being absolutely empty.

Except for him and Katsuki, which appears to be a trend as of late.

Residing in the far background is a soft rumble of drums and a female voice, her voice climbing up and down in pitch with the music, tone pleasant to the ears. He hums along with it once the lyrics become recognizable, thoughts following loosely as he begins to clean all the tools. He focuses on the task for maybe five minutes before a huff from across the room draws his attention back to Katsuki.

"Damn brushes. Fucking cheap as hell and can't even bend a little," the man grumbles. He shifts his weight to one side and crosses his arms, unconsciously toe tapping to the song's beat. In his right hand is a rather battered paint brush, its bristles fanning out like a starfish. Crimson paint drips from its tip down the length of its handle, trailing off just at his wrist. Katsuki shifts again and switches the brush to his other hand, the right one now reaching out for the canvas.

He pokes it briefly before rubbing the paint over his fingers until it is saturated enough to ignore. "God damn Michael's –"

"Ya need any help over there?"

Katsuki shoots him a deadly glare, one eyebrow rising far above the other. He looks utterly repulsed by the offer, as if Eijiro had just asked to take his first born or eat all of the chocolate in the communal fridge (thanks Denki). In response to this, Eijiro grins wide and points at his chest, saying, "I'm somewhat of a painter myself."

"Fuck off, red head," Katsuki fires with barely another moment to spare before going back to glaring at his piece. Eijiro squints, trying to see what exactly about it is making Katsuki so frustrated, but none of the details are very apparent from this distance. So he leans left then right, inching up against Denki's customer pad until he is lifting off of his chair just for a better vantage.

No difference. Well, if one thing doesn't work, another should, so Eijiro takes it as a sign and finishes wiping down his area, dropping a handful of needle tips into the peroxide. With a change in the song revealing an intense combination of guitar riffs and drumming, he tosses his rubber gloves into the trash and passes the threshold into Katsuki's art studio with a whistle.

Sidling next to the painter, Eijiro claps him on the shoulder and leans in, just breaking the personal space barrier. "What am I looking at?"

"Nothing," Katsuki growls with a rather harsh nudge to Eijiro's side which causes him to let go and double over, allowing Katsuki enough space to slink out from under him. When he looks up he is met with fiery eyes and a twisted upper lip, the other clearly not in the mood for his shenanigans. "Go home already," he spits, turning up his chin aggressively.

Cupping his side to keep the ache dull, Eijiro manages to quirk a shit-eating smile and wince. Another moment to fully catch his breath, and then he is straightening and flashing a thumbs up, which eventually turns sideways so he can point at the exit. Voice treading on hoarse from the strain, he starts to back away, grabbing his things as he goes. "I'm just gonna…y'know, leave now," he says.

Katsuki turns his back to him with a grumble that sounds fairly close to, "You do that."

Which, even given acknowledgment at this point, is a win in his book, so Eijiro nods to himself and turns around, somehow spontaneously recovered (or at least faking it). Shucking his bag over his shoulder, he waves at the man he knows is not looking. "Night, Bakugo," he calls as he opens the door to the shop. A cool night breeze whips through his hair refreshingly.

There is no response to his exit, but perhaps the hospitality of the weather and stars is enough to compensate for his disappointment.

Katsuki is working again (or possibly still working) when he comes in to the shop the following day. A glance at his watch tells him that it is past 1 o'clock, which means that if Katsuki had stayed up to work on his project he would have been up for a total of thirty hours by now – and that is just an estimate for how long Eijiro knows about. The total could be larger, or smaller if Katsuki were a normal functioning human being. If, being a very far stretch of the word.

"Kiri! What's up, man?" Denki shouts from across the parlor. The woman from yesterday is laid on her stomach in front of him, head raised in search of who he is talking to.

The buzz of Denki's pen is like a melody to his ears, and from here Eijiro can make out the beginnings of gray shading. "Nothing much. Late night, early morning, same old same old," he says while leaning over the mini fridge, eyeing down a few sodas, beers, and water bottles before settling on a bottle of apple juice and yogurt. He didn't have much time to make breakfast this morning so this should be sufficient for the next couple hours. Kneeing the fridge door closed, Eijiro peels open the yogurt container and dips his finger in. "You?"

"Gonna finish up this baby sometime today," Denki proudly says. He revs the pen's motor for emphasis and a nervous expression passes over his customer's face. "Take a look."

That was the plan, but Eijiro nods anyway and quickens his steps. He drops his bag by his work space first before heading to Denki's, whose wide grin and pointing is enough to tell him that this one should be a treat. Which, to some degree of Eijiro's surprise, is true. The tattoo is of an Alura Une with vines spiraling up her calves and back. Her hair drapes long and flowing down her shoulders and into what can be assumed as wind. The piece is already coming together nicely with just a hint of shading, so that by the time Denki is finished he is sure that it'll be astounding.

"That's pretty good!" he exclaims with a pat to Denki's back, who almost immediately perks up and touches the face of the creature.

"Right, right. I'm going to add a watercolor effect to the grassy parts and possibly just color in her hair," he says, leaning back in his chair to examine the work at a distance. "Ada's skin tone works well as the Une's own skin. I don't think I need to change anything."

Kirishima nods in agreement, imagination piecing together the completed tattoo. If Denki continues as he is now then he has no doubt that the final will be amazing. Giving his friend one last word of encouragement, Eijiro starts to head for his own work area when a sudden movement in his peripheral catches his attention.

Katsuki is dragging something like a barrel over to his easel, sunken eyes heavy from what Eijiro believes to be exhaustion. The man sets it down a few feet away from his painting and sits on it, paint dripping from the brush hanging loosely in his hand. The blonde's shoulders are slumped, back hunched, and if one could see pure aggression then he would surely be covered in it. Eijiro watches for a moment longer, a frown settling over his expression as time passes and realization dawns on him. A quick glance at the shop's schedule reminds him that his first customer shouldn't show up for about another hour, which is more than enough time for him to do something.

So he downs his yogurt quickly, crushing the container in his palm before tossing it into the trash, and drinks about half of his apple juice by the time he makes it the short distance from his desk to the art studio. Fortunately for him, Katsuki is too zoned out to notice him approaching.

Unfortunately, though, he was not prepared for the volume that the man practically screeches in when his presence is perceived.

"What the hell are you doing here, red-haired bastard?" Katsuki growls, tired eyes burning a lazy flame under furrowed brows. He tenses up like a frightened cat and looks between Eijiro and his painting protectively.

Why? Confused, Eijiro tries to look at it but a strong hand yanks his shoulder back and he is being spun around while Katsuki tugs a sheet over the canvas. Eijiro hears the whoosh of fabric before he could actually see it, and for some reason the action infuriates him. He runs a hand through his hair roughly then down his face, asking between his fingers, "Did you even sleep last night?"

"Haah?" comes Katsuki's ever intelligent answer. Eijiro levels him with a deadpan and the man just rolls his eyes. "What's it to ya?" he grumbles, crossing his arms defensively.

"It's been at least a whole day since you've gone to sleep and it's making you all…all," Eijiro waves his arms frantically, sharp teeth biting into his bottom lip by accident. He tongues away a tiny spot of blood, which only serves to increase his annoyance. "You know! All irritable and jumpy, like you're hiding something. What's going on with this painting anyway?"

"None of your business."

"No, yeah no, you can't say that." Eijiro shakes his head and points at the shrouded easel. "Is this some big project you're trying to keep secret? I don't really care what you're painting but it's making you all catty and I don't like it."

Katsuki sucks in air through his teeth then, upper lip curling in the way it does when he is already over a conversation. He taps his foot impatiently, fingers fidgeting, ready to react. "It has nothing to do with you, ass-wipe. Don't you have a customer to fucking tattoo?" Katsuki almost shouts.

"No," Eijiro supplies with just the barest hint of smug. "I don't, and one isn't coming for another hour so I have plenty of time to deal with you," he says, knowing that his phrasing is off but not caring enough to rectify it. "Either you're gonna tell me what's going on with this painting or you're going to sleep."

"Sleep?"

"Yeah. Like I said, you haven't gone to bed in over a day. I know this has something to do with whatever you're working on, but if I can't get you to spill the beans on that then I'm going to get you to sleep," Eijiro shrugs, "either way you are going to take a break from this."

"And if I just say fuck you and kick your ass out of my studio?"

It's a challenge, but Eijiro feels the jab is more for show than anything else. He can tell in the way that Katsuki uncrosses his arms and stares at him, docile, waiting for his response. If Katsuki truly wanted him to leave then he would have shoved past him or actually kicked him out by now; but he hasn't yet, and the absence of action is enough tell for Eijiro that he doesn't have to say a word for Katsuki to eventually drop his posture and shove his hands into his pockets aggressively, the air of tension between them nothing but a smoldering fire now.

Eijiro hadn't realized just how much he was waiting for this response until a deep breath leaves him and his stomach doesn't feel as if it is tied into knots any more. He looks around then, surveying the studio and tattoo parlor. Denki is watching him (for how long Eijiro does not know) along with Ada. His friend tilts his head curiously, asking a silent question to which Eijiro answers with a shrug and thumb point in Katsuki's general direction. They both nod about a half-second later and then Denki is turning on his inking tool, the buzz filling the space where pregnant silence once was.

With a sigh, Eijiro follows suit and shoves hands into his pockets, his own expression beginning to fall flat. Talking to Bakugo is going to be an absolute pain, but he can't just allow the guy to continue on as is. So with another, rather deep, sigh to expel all of his pessimism, Eijiro opens his eyes with a tight smile on his face and determination in his chest, following the path carved into the floorboards to the art studio's prep room.

Forty-five minutes is not a long time to work with when trying to convince a stubborn, ill-tempered co-worker/semi-friend to go to sleep.

Within the first five minutes of them entering the preparation room Katsuki had already begun rummaging through cans of paint and experimenting with colors, a wooden palette resting between his shoulder and arm, free hand mixing different hues of peach and brown. Eijiro is sitting with his arms spread over the couch – which in his defense is extremely comfortable and perfect for taking a quick nap – and smile dialed all the way down into a straight up glare. Only five minutes and he is already exasperated.

"What're you over there looking so annoyed for?" Katsuki starts, tone smug enough to show the blind his shit-eating grin. "You wanted me to take a break."

"This," Eijiro says, gesturing to whatever colors he are mixing, "is not taking a break. You're making paint for your project!"

"This is a prep room," Katsuki leans against the supply cabinet, "it's your fault for bringing me here."

"Oh really now?"

"Mhmm," the blonde agrees before turning his back to Eijiro, whom, despite himself, can't help but audibly groan and burrow his face into his arms.

Maybe he should just leave Katsuki be? The man obviously did not want to be looked after; the notion is nothing new. For all the years they have known each other it was only ever in desperate situations that Katsuki would even look his way for help, and that was a singularity distinctly for him. If anyone else tried to lift their finger in his direction he would first bite it than accept. He seemed feral to most, and it would be a lie to say that Eijiro hadn't experienced his fair share of "what the fucks" when it came to the guy, but when all is said and done he had somehow wiggled his way into the other's life. Katsuki had chosen him to listen to, even if most of what he said was tossed out of the window the moment he suggested it. And when he sees a friend doing something reckless he can't just stand by.

Even if that friend is just painting his consciousness away on some secret canvas.

Again, Bakugo, what the fuck?

The scratch of metal over wood is soothing, like an ASMR, reminding Eijiro that Katsuki is there while his eyes are closed, own body prepared to drift to sleep despite being off objective. Dropping his arms to his side, Eijiro relaxes into the cushion, feeling as if he is sinking into it. The scratching slows into a rhythm; one quick stroke here and then another two seconds later. Progressively creating a desired hue that seems…cautious. Speculative. Figuring out how much white and brown and yellow to mix until it is perfect. The mixing stops for a short while before a sort of squishing noise takes its place. Katsuki curses under his breath at a particularly loud one, and then the mixing begins again.

A couple minutes pass of this cycle of mixing before Eijiro feels calm enough to try talking again. Light stings his eyes when he first opens them, images coming in blurry and out of focus so that it takes him a moment to realize what exactly he is seeing when he finds Katsuki sitting on top of the supply cabinet. Palette in hand, furiously mixing an array of reds, black, and white, and his eyes staunchly focused on Kirishima.

Heat rises up his cheeks in an instant.

"Katsuki-?"

"You were asleep," Katsuki says, and Eijiro is not sure whether he is answering his proposed question or stating a fact. So he prods a little more.

"Why were you…Uh, you know?"

"What?"

"Erm, looking at me?"

"Did you just come in here to take a nap yourself?"

"No!" Eijiro exclaims. "I came in here trying to get you to take one!"

The way Katsuki leans forward with his palette, elbows on his knees and a smudge of paint on his chin says it all. "Well, it looks like you failed."

Checkmate.

"What the hell man!" Eijiro shouts, throwing his hands in the air and standing up, the warmth in his cheeks immediately shifting to embarrassment. "I was just concerned because you weren't getting any sleep and you seemed fucking pissed and all I wanted to do was find a way for you to just, I don't know, get some rest? But whatever," he says, not knowing what to do with his hands so he just balls them into fists. But the action felt too hostile, so he instead curls his fingers and then shove them into his pockets.

Katsuki is staring at him from the top of the cabinet, eyes blown wide from the shock of his outburst but Eijiro could care less. Huffing, he paces the center of the room, kicking away stray, empty bottles of watercolor and paper towels, the sight of canvases and mediums angering him further. The smell of pastels, pencil shavings, and paint is suffocating, so much so that he is starting to feel claustrophobic just being in there – especially with Katsuki.

Making a point to hit the other's shoulder with his own when he passes, Eijiro yanks open the door and stops in the doorway, sparing a glance over his shoulder at Katsuki. The man's expression is perplexed, which is a strange sight in itself. Is he mad? Entertained? A part of him wants to know, but the other is too frustrated to even speak. Biting his tongue to keep from doing or saying anything stupid, Eijiro just shakes his head and leaves, slamming the door shut behind him.

Hours later, Ada's tattoo is complete and Eijiro's handful of appointments went well.

Denki is packing up his station as he sketches lightly on a worn sketchbook, the 2B pencil smooth in his hand. Each line is idly created, absent gestures circling over each other, twisting and turning until an image is created. An eye shrouded in ferocity, from its heavily arched eyebrows to the piercing quality of its pupil. While thoughtlessly created, one could find purpose in it if looking close enough: there is unwanted familiarity in that bestial gaze, however, Eijiro tries to ignore it as best as he can.

He tries to occupy his mind with planning out the rest of the week. One of the appointments from today is coming back tomorrow to get his line work done. Eijiro started the sketch the day he received the request, but there could always be some tweaking before it was permanently carved onto someone's body. He didn't have anything pressing going on after that, though, so he supposes that tomorrow could be a work day and end early. Maybe he could grab dinner with Mina, too, if it was early enough?

Hand pausing over an eyelash, Eijiro drops the pencil briefly to shoot his friend a text. Placing his phone down, Eijiro taps the corner of the page and decides that he doesn't want to work on the drawing anymore. It was just a doodle, anyway. He closes the sketchbook then taps his phone again to check the time. Ten o'clock.

Denki kicks in his chair with a thud then slugs his bag over his shoulder. "You heading out?" he asks, coming to stand at the side of Eijiro's station. The red head regards him for a while, but the stack of paperwork on his desk is a little overbearing for his taste, and if he wants to have dinner tomorrow then he probably should just get it done tonight. Plus, he isn't sure if he wants company right now or not, so he slowly shakes his head and tries to force a polite smile.

"Sorry man," he says, "I'm just gonna stay a bit longer and get this done before I leave."

Denki makes a sort of throaty noise when he sees the small stack and then shrugs, one hand coming to clap him on the back in similar fashion. "Alright then. I wouldn't stay too long though." He points to the art studio mischievously. "Mr. Boss over there hasn't been pleased all day. Might come attack you if the full moon comes out."

That brings a solemn, yet genuine, chuckle from him. "Trust me, I know," he says. Yeah, he really does not want to deal with company right now. "I'll see you tomorrow," he segues, holding out a fist.

Denki bumps it enthusiastically and returns with a "Good night!" Cool air filters into the parlor when the door opens and then closes, leaving Eijiro alone again.

Well, not completely; although, he tries not to think about it. And it works for the next twenty minutes. Silence carries him into an almost robotic setting where productivity skyrockets and he doesn't even have to think about it. Soon the stack of paper is dwindling down to ten, nine, six pages, and a soft vibration from his phone alerts him that Mina is totally free tomorrow ;D. Seeing her message brings a smile to his face and calms some of the storm brewing in the distant parts of his mind, and he is starting to feel content again when a tell-tale door opens and groan fills the air.

Eijiro knows that he has been spotted when the heavy footsteps stop; Katsuki puts no effort into trying to hide his irritation. "Why are you still here?"

Something in Eijiro drops. "I had some paperwork to finish."

"Hurry up then, I want to lock up."

"Yes sir," is Eijiro's stunted reply, and fuck does he not even want to read anymore. Suppressing the urge to flip his entire station and storm out of the parlor, he calmly collects the papers and uses a paperclip to separate those finished and the ones that still needed signing. Once done he slides them into a folder and shoves them into a drawer, now moving on to doing a second cleanup of his supplies. He moves quickly with this, feeling a set of eyes burning holes into his back, watching his every movement. Rushing him. Judging. Laughing at his concern and care and patience and everything that he puts into just being a good friend.

Because fuck kindness.

Incidentally slamming his tool tray back (that time was actually an accident), Eijiro snatches his briefcase from underneath the table and rushes to the door, keeping his head down so as not to see even a glimpse of Katsuki. Heat clenches in his chest like a boa constrictor, wrapping around him until all he wants is the cool air of outside. Because this…this was beyond frustrating and –

"Hey Kirishima! Wait up some, will ya?"

Eijiro stops dead in his tracks. He looks back to find Katsuki walking towards him, scowling at the dried paint that appears to not be coming off of his arm. Rolling his eyes, he shucks the damp paper towel into the trash can by the door then digs around in his pocket. There is clinking before he retrieves the keys, and then he is leveling his gaze on Eijiro.

He knows that he must look like a deer caught in headlights right now, but who cares? Katsuki seems to actually be entertained by it. "You good?" he asks, smirking, and Eijiro just nods to keep from sounding stupid.

Fortunately the other does not question it, moving his attention to closing down the shop. He turns off all of the lights except for the dim one in the foyer then ushers them both outside. The once cool air is now a biting chill, just cold enough to make Eijiro wish that he had brought a jacket. He follows Katsuki's movements loosely as the man locks the door, then trails his gaze away to the streetlamps before the other could notice how much he was being watched. Once done, Eijiro had expected Katsuki to wave him off and start toward his house, but to his surprise the blonde actually turns to him expectantly.

Eijiro is at a complete loss on what to do here, so he scratches the back of his head and awkwardly smiles in a poor attempt to look composed. "So you're headed home now?" he asks pathetically.

Katsuki blinks at him blankly. "You live, what, ten minutes away from here?"

"Yeah," Eijiro answers, dropping his hand.

"Alight then," Katsuki says as he stretches to the side and coughs, sending ghostly white wisps his way, "lead the way."

Eijiro's eyebrows twitch, thoughts going blank but also is Katsuki's expression, like a stone wall refusing to budge. And he wants to question him about the abruptness of all this – because when did Bakugo ever ask to go home with him? – but maybe it is the cold, or his exhaustion, or more probably a combination of both that has Eijiro simply accepting whatever this is and shrugging, foot already turning to lead them to his home.

They do not speak on the way except for maybe a passing comment here or there about where they are going, yet by the time Eijiro reaches his house a variation of comfort has settled over him. He checks over his shoulder to make sure that Katsuki is still with him when he goes to unlock his door, and then he holds it out for the other.

Katsuki enters his home like his own, slipping out of his shoes effortlessly while tossing his keys on the kitchen table, all the while inspecting every which way as he walks. Eijiro feels slightly strange having his co-worker in such a personal space, but he can't say that he is displeased. He drops his own case by the table and kicks off his shoes, sending them somewhere deeper into the kitchen, before following Katsuki into his living room.

"Do you need anything?" he thinks to ask before fully exiting the kitchen. Katsuki rolls over his answer for a second before lackadaisically requesting a water, which Eijiro grabs quickly, one for himself and the other for his company. Company. The word sounds weird.

He tosses the bottle at Katsuki, who has taken up space on his couch. "Mind bottled?" he says while crossing over to the other side of the couch. He flips the remote over with his foot and turns it on with his toe.

"S'fine," Katsuki mumbles into his forearm. Eijiro tilts his head curiously, going between looking at the tv to contemplating Katsuki. His boss, who is making himself comfortable in his home, leaning over the arm rest to lay his head on his forearms and stretch his legs far enough to not evoke contact. It is hard to see in this lighting, but Eijiro swears that he can point out a few specs of paint stuck on the ends of Katsuki's hair and staining his face and fingers, the splotch from earlier now just a faded memory.

Feeling just a twinge of ache in his spine, Eijiro shifts so that he is slouched over his own arm rest. The tv plays some game show from 2014, the boisterous audience laughing every time the participants make a mistake or the host looks into the camera. Grabbing the remote from near his feet (he is careful not to brush Katsuki's), Eijiro turns the volume down until the game show is just above background noise.

He chances a glance at Katsuki, wanting to ask if he needs anything, or if he was bored, or why he was there in the first place, but all words fail once he makes out the light rise and fall of his chest and how his eyes are fluttering closed, sleep overtaking him. It causes something in Eijiro's heart to squeeze, and then he is quietly standing up, movements extremely slow and careful as to not wake up his friend.

When he returns to the living room he has a bundle of blankets in his arms, the game show still playing in the background. Warily, he places one of the blankets on his side of the couch and then drapes the other over Katsuki as lightly as he can, watching him for any signs of consciousness. But the other was out cold, snoring softly into an elbow.

Staying quiet, Eijiro finds himself having to cup his mouth to hide his laughter as he crawls back into his space on the couch, wrapping himself in a crimson blanket. He creates a barrier between them with his feet where they may touch, and then he is being drifted away, a familiar, yet vicious, drawing of an eye at the forefront of his thoughts.

When he wakes Katsuki is not there, but that's okay. Eijiro goes about his morning as per usual, this time not neglecting to scavenge some breakfast before heading to work. His briefcase weighs light in his grip, swinging steadily with his steps. A little girl rides her bike down a hill while a boy pesters his mother for some candy. Above him, birds chirp and fly over and between buildings, grazing the sky with their wingtips. He checks his phone to see that he has a new text from Mina, and the morning couldn't have felt any better.

He opens the door to the shop to an immediate outburst from Denki. "Dude! You gotta see this," his friend exclaims, the look on his face an unreadable cross of excitement and bewilderment.

Denki tries to drag him right then and there, but Eijiro pries his arm off and holds up a hand for distance. "Woah there. Let me put my stuff down first," he says, quirking an eyebrow because what in the world could Denki be talking about? A bit of nervousness begins to surface in his stomach and Eijiro tries to shrug it off, laying his case down on his table. He hardly has enough time to breathe again before Denki is grabbing his elbow and ushering him forward, practically bouncing up the stairs to the art studio.

Why here?

"You are most definitely going to flip your shit, my friend," Denki says.

Eijiro isn't sure how exactly to respond to that, so he doesn't. Instead he tries to search for any sign of Katsuki, not particularly fond of going into the man's studio without him being there. Especially not after last night, whatever that was. Denki leads him to the easel that Katsuki was working on all of yesterday and immediately Eijiro feels his heart sink.

"You didn't look at this, did you?" he says, anxiety spiking and no, this feels like an invasion of privacy. "He was working on it for hours."

Denki just laughs. "Oh yeah man, I bet," he says and then reaches for the corner of the sheet covering the canvas. "You have to see this-"

"No!" Eijiro hadn't meant to raise his voice, but he couldn't help the ounce of panic crawling its way up his throat, speeding up his heart beat. He grabs Denki's wrist before it could fully grasp the sheet, holding it strictly away from it. His friend's eyes widen in shock but Eijiro is on edge, not wanting to risk looking around just in case he saw Katsuki's face before his reaction. Because that would be bad. Real bad.

"What are you doing?"

"I should be asking you that, Denki!" Eijiro says, voice dropping into a whisper. "I'm sorry man but I can't just… invade Bakugo's privacy like that. He got seriously pissed at me when I tried looking at it yesterday."

"Really?" Denki sounds more shocked about that than anything else, curiously enough, and then he is grinning from ear to ear, grip on the sheet visibly tightening.

Eijiro narrows his eyes, knowing exactly what Denki is about to do but his reaction time is too slow. Within seconds the sheet is being yanked off and the canvas revealed, his friend's voice loud in his ear as his cheek is shoved for him to actually look at the painting.

The impact hurts, but the sting in Eijiro's face is nothing in comparison to the way his heart skips and almost all of the air in him is knocked out upon sight of what Katsuki had been working on for hours, or even days; nothing could have prepared him for this.

The painting has an impressionistic feel to it, like staring at hundreds of sporadically placed dots and blocks of paint, but when one takes a step back and views the piece from a broadened perspective the image is unmistakable: the painting is a portrait of Eijiro, his spikey hair and velvet eyes standing out among the wide light brown and peach strokes. The portrait shows him mid-yell, sharp teeth glowing white and standoffish. In the corner of the painting is a scribble of black that reads the painter's name: Katsuki Bakugo.

Eijiro is speechless, mouth gaping and knees feeling weak. He takes a step back and covers his mouth with his hand, trying to process it all but the farther away he gets the clearer the image becomes. Beside him Denki is saying something but his voice sounds muffled, unimportant in comparison to the realizations racing through him.

Katsuki was keeping his painting secret because it was a portrait of him.

Katsuki had stayed up for almost two days working nonstop on it.

Katsuki was staring at him in the prep room because he wanted to perfect his skin tone and hair color.

Katsuki had stayed over at his place last night because he wanted sleep.

Katsuki had painted him.

Suddenly, a door creaks open and both Eijiro and Denki turn around to find Katsuki standing there, palette in hand and a fresh, well rested look in his eyes that was not there before. The man starts to glare at them, but then his expression flattens when he looks past them, to the painting. For what feels like purgatory for Eijiro, the three of them hold their stances just like this. Heart pounding, jigsaw pieces connecting, and Eijiro is not sure if the sun shining and birds chirping from earlier was all a lie in preparation for a horrible argument.

A betrayal of trust. An angered boss. A hurt friend.

Yet the world unfreezes, and Denki is slapping him on the back as he makes his way down to his station, whistling. Eijiro takes the distraction for himself, using the time to calm his nerves before the conversation comes. He takes another minute for a breather, and then he is cupping his hands apologetically in front of his lap, head dropping into a bow.

He voice comes unsteadily when he speaks, barely able to get out an "I'm so sorry" before Katsuki tsks.

"You gonna just stand there or what?"

There is no harshness in his tone, but Eijiro is still taken aback. "What?"

"I still have work to do, so either move out of my way or sit over there," Katsuki says and points his brush flippantly at a stool now seated across from the easel. "I don't like my time being wasted."

He watches Eijiro with piqued interest as the man tries to compose himself, cheeks flaring a rosy red and teeth grinding, not sure if what he is hearing is right or if he had just gone crazy at some point during the night. Eventually, after some hefty impatient groaning from Katsuki, Eijiro finds it best to just comply and walks over to the stool. He takes a seat cautiously, wiggling around to find a comfortable position.

"Stop fucking moving," Katsuki growls from behind the easel and Eijiro straightens right up, awkwardness causing him to lightly bite the inside of his cheeks.

"Um, Katsuki? What do you want me to do?" he asks hesitantly.

A squish lets him know that Katsuki is preparing his paints. "Just sit there and be quiet, I guess. I just need to make a few corrections."

"Okay," Eijiro nods, allowing himself just the tiniest relief of curling his spine to keep from stiffening.

A few minutes of silence pass where Katsuki paints and Eijiro thinks, giving him enough time to let these new discoveries settle, and when Katsuki finally finishes and tells him to take a look Eijiro feels normal again. Elated, even. They are standing side by side now, the frown on Katsuki's face not directly pointed at anyone in particular outside from the painting itself. He must be scrutinizing it, analyzing for details, but to Eijiro the artwork is wonderful. Special.

He nudges Katsuki's side to catch his attention, a bright smile taking over his features. "You could have just told me that you were painting me," he says, knowing that the statement was just begging for an argument – one that surprisingly never came.

Shifting his weight to one side, Katsuki crosses his arms and shrugs. He looks about ready to say something, so Eijiro waits for it. Eventually, Katsuki clicks his tongue and asks, "Do you like it?"

The answer feels so obvious, is beyond obvious, but just the fact that confirmation is needed speaks more than either one ever could. So Eijiro mulls over his answer thoughtfully, knowing that Katsuki is waiting for him to respond, and when he does he is trying to convey the sun and its life; the birds in the trees and the girl on her bike; the game show playing in the background. Because truly, how much more sincere could he be?

"Katsuki, I love it."