As the following school day wore on, Eijirou quietly observed Bakugou. He didn't eat his lunch, and instead opted to sneak a few minutes of rest in before their break was over. That couldn't be healthy, no matter how you looked at it. He seemed increasingly more worn out and irritable, and even the other students were starting to notice the perpetual gray clouds that hung around him all day. No one bothered him. They left him alone, keeping their distance even between classes. Which was probably for the best, Eijirou mused. The guy seemed to have developed a wacky sleep schedule – who knew what that was doing to his already inept social skills.

In the dorm common space after quirk training, Ashido and Hagakure were getting people on board for a group study session, and it came as no surprise when Bakugou ignored them and continued up to his room. The others' sights trailed after him. There were hushed whispers, even some worried muttering from Midoriya. No one knew what was wrong with him, but they valued their lives enough to not mention it around the blond.

"Hey, Kirishima?" Denki pulled Eijirou aside, his whispering barely in earshot. "Um, what's up with him?" He gestured to the direction that Bakugou had gone.

Oh man.

There was this little pang in his chest every time he thought about Bakugou, and this time was certainly no exception. But no one else knew about the late nights. As far as he knew, no one else heard the explosions. He wasn't just going to expose his bro like that. So Eijirou just shrugged, feigning ignorance. It seemed as though he wasn't the only one who missed the extra excitement that Bakugou added to their days.

For the rest of the evening, Eijirou worked on his homework with his classmates and even accompanied a majority of them to dinner at the campus cafeteria, but it kind of felt like he was just going through the motions. His brain was elsewhere, huddled in on itself with worry. If Bakugou's state had deteriorated so much that other people were starting to worry, then that just justified why his plan was so important. Someone needed to step in, and sooner than later.

As evening became night, he excused himself to his room. After showering up and putting on fresh pajamas, Eijirou stayed up late - when the time came, he needed to be 100% ready. He talked to his family over Skype for about an hour, did some working out, anything he could do to procrastinate on sleep. He had just finished a particularly amusing compilation of cat videos when, like clockwork, a series of short booms erupted from Bakugou's room, followed by a stream of colorful cursing.

Eijirou raised his eyebrows. He knew they 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 jumped out of bed and sauntered to his door. Upon opening it, he heard a faint "shit" through the wall. No doubt about it, Bakugou knew what was coming. Eijirou relaxed against the doorframe, completely ready for whatever would 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—"

He put on the prettiest shit-eating grin he could muster, saying a cheerful "Good morning to you too, Bakugou!" as he gently pushed back the blond, and flipping on the lights. "Thanks for inviting me in!" He closed the door and locked it behind him.

Bakugou gaped at him, shocked disgust filling his eyes, his throat making a strained sound from his codfish-like mouth as Eijirou strolled over to his desk and made a show of sitting in his chair.

At that, Bakugou unfroze from his shock. "Get out."

"Dude. You have 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 am so serious right now."

"So am I." Eijirou grasped the chair's armrest, using his quirk to harden his hand, making him unmovable.

"You motherfucker—"

"You keep going all explode-y. This is an intervention. Because, I'm 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 really look like shit? Eijirou didn't think it looked like shit. He put a lot of effort into his mourning routine to get his hair to look like it did. He reached up and grasped into a strand near his shoulder. Maybe it only looked bad when it was down? That's why he styled it in the first place, dammit! Bakugou just didn't understand!

Hold up…

"Bro. Bro. You're changing the subject. Seriously, my dude, don't think I won't pick up on that."

Bakugou huffed. "Fucking whatever."

"You've just seemed a bit off lately. 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 your sorry ass out of here if I have to, desk-chair and all."

"So something is wrong."

"Excuse me?" His eyes practically bulged from his head, his expression scandalized.

Eijirou simply shrugged. "You didn't deny it."

Bakugou's face pinched into this scowl. "I… I-I, fuck. Fuck. Fuck off already."

"Nahhh."

His response was light-hearted, but Eijirou couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in his stomach. Bakugou stared at him with contempt, but something, an essence that made him the Bakugou everyone knew and cautiously loved, was lost. He wasn't feisty, his threats were empty, like he had just given up being himself. Maybe the answers had to be drawn out of him.

"So. What's up with you? Can't sleep? You aren't, like, scared of the dark or something, are you?"

"Shut up."

Eijirou's jaw dropped. "No. Way."

"What? No! Do I look like some weak fuck-munch to you?"

He shrugged again, saying nothing, but looking as though he wanted to say everything.

"Oh my god. Actually fuck yourself." Bakugou flipped the bird, and to be honest, this whole exchange would have been hilarious if neither of them were tired and if the concern wasn't constantly nagging at the back of Eijirou's brain.

"I just want to help you out, bro."

"Well good luck with that," he spat, running his fingers through his hair in exasperation. "If you won't leave that chair, I guess this is going to be one long-ass night for you. I'm going to sleep."

"Alright-y."

"If you snore, I will not hesitate to explode your face off."

"Noted."

It wasn't until the blond teen had crawled into bed and began tugging his duvet over his legs that Eijirou realized he was being 100% serious.

He blinked. "You're… really not going to talk about it? 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 uneasy as red eyes pierced through straight through him. Bakugou then winced, burying his face in his hands. "Fuck. I just really need sleep. Like, 'I-haven't-slept-in-32-hours-and-I've-started-hallucinating' I need sleep. My head echoes when people talk. Words float off of paper. And today in class, I shit you not, my hand phased through my desk. It's really fucking with me." He finally began lying down, vehemently bringing his duvet to cover his face, stifling his voice, "So please, for the love of God..."

"…Alright." Eijirou frowned. Bakugou really did not look good. Maybe this was a bad idea, maybe he was overstepping his boundary too much, ohhh man... He sighed. "Alright. Okay. If you don't want to talk about it, then I won't make you." He unhardened his hand and slowly stood up.

"Fucking finally—"

"—But I am so serious, bro. If you ever need to talk about anything—"

"—Oh my fucking God. Leave." There was a pause. "…And turn off the lights."

Eijirou huffed, partially in amusement. "You're so hard-headed," he mumbled as he made his way to the door. "Just… promise me you will actually sleep, okay?"

"Whatever, Mom," came a muffled reply from the mound of blankets that lay on the bed.

"I can tuck you in if that'd help."

"Okay, I will literally kill you—"

He snorted, flipping off the light and swiftly closing the door behind him so Bakugou wouldn't have a chance to see his threat to fruition. Immediately, his face turned somber.

So… something really was wrong. Something was making Bakugou exhausted, and he wasn't going to talk about it. Maybe the poor guy did just need sleep. Maybe he really should just let it go or something. But as Eijirou lay in bed, his brain on hyper-drive, going through everything that could possibly be wrong, it was becoming clear. He was too invested in this now.

He didn't sleep a wink.

… Which was pretty ridiculous, Eijirou sulked as he sat in his desk the next day. He was tired as fuck. His classmates were already avoiding Bakugou, and when he arrived in class with the same bags under his eyes, they steered clear of him, as well. Eijirou couldn't blame them. He looked like shit and he knew it.

Bakugou was one of his bros, sure, but if he was going to lose sleep every time he was worried about that guy's well-being, he would probably never sleep ever again.

But he couldn't erase the thought – the way Bakugou's eyes practically begged for sleep… Maybe, his plan really hadn't been a good idea. Maybe, if he left Bakugou alone so he could try to sleep, if he never brought up the nightly commotions again… maybe he would be doing his friend a favor.

Which of course made Eijirou feel even more like shit. He had just wanted to help. That's what good friends do, right? And sometimes, he got the feeling that Bakugou wasn't used to having friends. So Eijirou just wanted to be the best friend that he could ever ask for. But he couldn't be a good friend if all Bakugou saw in him was an annoying fuck-munch. Plan Intervention had failed. He didn't help Bakugou, he had only annoyed him.

Oh man, that really sucked. Eijirou crossed his arms on his desk, laying his head down. He earned a sideways glance from Kaminari, one that was full of pity. He was acting pretty pathetic, wasn't he? But be was too tired to really care.

When their hero training came around, he couldn't focus. Neither could Bakugou, apparently, and after only a few minutes of work, Eraser Head had sent him to the nurse based on his ghastly appearance. Which was unheard-of, for Eraser Head, and for that, Eijirou felt a little jealous. He was severely underperforming as well, after all. But at least he no longer had to worry about his explosive pal overworking himself and getting hurt.

Overall, the day passed much too slowly, and when it was finally night, Eijirou couldn't sleep again. So he lay awake in bed, just thinking.

He was mostly thinking of Bakugou, to be honest, and how he could best deal with this situation. He still felt guilty, but as he lay there, grumpy and futilely attempting sleep, his exasperation was getting the better of him. He needed sleep, Bakugou needed sleep. Maybe what the poor guy really needed was just an outlet to vent, or confide in, or something. Anything. Maybe if that happened, he would find comfort or whatever, and he wouldn't stay up anymore.

So maybe… he should just keep trying until Bakugou opened up? Maybe, he could be annoying, if the end justifies the means? But he didn't even know if Bakugou trusted him enough! Should he leave him alone? Should he try one more time? The dilemma he faced should be really simple, but he was beginning to sound like Midoriya with all of his over-thinking. Oh god, why must his brain torture him awake like this? Maybe it was his complete and utter exhaustion talking, but the whole situation was starting to become so damn frustrating. He groaned, bringing up his hands to grab fistfuls of hair as he let out a huff. And then…

Boom. Boom boom boom.

Okay. That was the last straw.

Eijirou bolted up and slung his legs over the side of the bed, dashing to the hallway. Maybe Bakugou was rubbing off on him too much. But kindness be damned! He was going to get to the bottom of this, even if Bakugou's angry explosions killed him!

He banged on the door a few times. "Yoo-hoo! Is this going to become like a nightly ritual or something?" he half-shouted through the door as he knocked. "You blow shit up, I check in to make sure the shit you blew up wasn't your face or something, rinse and repeat, the circle of life…" He did a few shave-and-a-haircuts for emphasis. "Hello-o?"

"Jesus fucking— Go away."

"I need answers, bro. I was gonna be nice to you, but this is keeping me up now. I'm invested. I suppose you could keep ignoring me? But I'm not gonna stop, so..." He knocked especially frantically, as if to emphasize his point.

His voice was met with footsteps. As his palm still pounded on the door, he prepared himself for the inevitably serious backlash, already applying his quirk to his entire body to avoid being scorched. "It's honestly a wonder that I'm the only one who ever hears you, dude, so you should be pretty grateful that it's just me who…" The door swung open. He trailed off, mid-sentence and mid-knock.

… Oh my god.

That was… a rather shocking sight. Even as he stood in the hallway and Bakugou stood in his room, he could see it. The bags under his eyes were gray and moist, his eyes red, his face pale with blotches of color, he looked like a zombie who had just risen from the grave, and before Eijirou could stop himself—

"… Dude. You look like shit."

"Well fuck you too."

"Sorry, sorry, just…" He didn't mean to stare. He really didn't. But at this point, Bakugou looked sickly. His face was so very pale, and… oh god, his whole body was trembling. "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 man, at this rate, he was going to get a door to the face. Eijirou stepped into his room, quickly, gently closing the door behind him. Oh god, what was he doing? He faced the blond, who was scowling at him, and he stopped dead in his tracks. Now what? He was in Bakugou's room, uninvited, just making him pissed off all over again, ohh man, he couldn't afford to mess this up like he did last night. But when he looked at Bakugou and saw how unwell he appeared, he knew he had to try something.

Before the blond could protest, Eijirou took a stride closer to him, wrapping his arms around him, tightly.

Bakugou immediately tensed. His "what the hell, get off me you bastard" was muffled by Eijirou's shoulder, and it lacked its usual bite.

"Shh. If you really want me to let go, I will. But something is wrong, and I think this could do you some good. Just, 20 seconds." He tightened his hold.

Bakugou began pushing him away. "I will blow you up, I swear to God—"

"—20 seconds. That's all, please. Then I will let go, and this will have never happened, and you will feel better, I promise."

"... I told you, shitty hair, I'm fine…"

But slowly, Bakugou relaxed, his fingers shakily reaching up to grip onto the hem of Eijirou's night shirt. They stayed like that for a long while, neither of them bothering to pull away or protest when 20 seconds had clearly passed. And then, with an air of desperation, Bakugou grasped onto Eijirou, squeezing his torso with shaking arms as if he had only just mustered the courage. He let out a shuddering breath, and Eijirou couldn't help but think that it was in relief.

A gruff voice permeated the stillness. "If you tell a single soul about this..."

"I won't."

The redhead hugged tighter, hoping the embrace would ease the ache in his chest, the one that made it feel as though thousands of tiny strings were pulling his heart inward, making it collapse in on itself. Maybe Bakugou felt something similar. Maybe that's why he was clinging onto him so urgently. Maybe Bakugou did trust him, just a bit.

As the two stood there, clinging onto each other, Eijirou's thoughts suddenly flashed to the night of Bakugou's rescue. Through the memories of fear and nauseating anxiety, he remembered what Midoriya had told him, that he was the only one in the class who Bakugou saw as his equal. That he was the only one Bakugou would take a hand from. This was kind-of the same thing, wasn't it? Maybe he was the only one in their class who Bakugou would willingly take help from, the only one he was willing to show any weakness or vulnerability to. The privilege and responsibility that came with that was nearly overwhelming, but he had to do whatever he could do to help Bakugou through his distress.

Neither of them released their hold as Eijirou began maneuvering them further into the room. It was a fairly difficult task, but what was honestly the most surprising was that Bakugou complied. He sat them down on the edge bed, slowly unwinding his arms and placing firm hands on Bakugou's shoulders, holding him out at a relaxed arm's length.

"You alright? That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Bakugou looked at anything but him, his face grumpy and red from humiliation. Eijirou ignored the wet spots on his nightshirt, ignored how Bakugou must have been crying into his shoulder. He needed to know that his dignity was preserved.

Eijirou took a deep breath. "I want to say something, and I just wanna ask that you don't just immediately write off what I have to say, okay?"

Bakugou's eyes were still stubbornly fixed on something to his bottom right, his lowered eyebrows and pursed lips giving him a mopey expression, but he nodded.

"If you need to talk to me about anything, anything at all, I am here for you, bro. Like, honest to God. What is said in this room stays in this room, just between us. Okay?"

Bakugou scrunched his eyes shut. He breathed several times, slowly, perhaps calming his own nerves. "... Why?" His voice was quiet.

"Bro code!" Eijirou grinned, if a little sheepishly, nudging Bakugou lightly on the 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 trying to say?"

Slowly, so slowly, Bakugou's eyes met his. He looked… terrified. He nodded.

"Okay. Good. That's... good. Um, I can stay if you want to talk about it? We could have a sleepover or something."

Bakugou stared at him blankly, and Jesus, it felt like he was peering into his very soul.

"Um…" He let out a nervous chuckle. "Did you… not hear me?"

"No, I heard you. I just can't believe you made me hear those fucking god-awful words with my own two ears."

Eijirou couldn't help the laugh that burst from his lips. It rang out, clear and refreshing, and maybe it was just him, but it felt like a fog that had settled over them had suddenly dispursed. "No, no, hear me out! Now that I think about it, it's actually not a bad idea. My mom made me pack a futon, so it doesn't have to be weird. We can stay up talking about whatever you need to talk about."

"No way in hell."

Eijirou clung onto Bakugou's arm, shaking it back and forth. "Aww, come on man! It'll be a normal sleepover, just between two pals, ya know?" Bakugou glared at him absolutely murderously. "Ahh, don't be like that, it'll be fun," Eijirou shrugged. "I just want to help. You tell me what you need me to do."

Bakugou rolled his eyes and reclined onto his bed, his legs still dangling off. "Fucking whatever, I've had enough of this. I'm going to sleep." He climbed the rest of the way into bed, covering himself with the duvet.

"Oh. Um… Okay." Eijirou looked away, the smile disappearing from his face. He began standing up. "If that's what you need right now, that's okay. Just… If you ever need me, you know where to—"

"Tomorrow."

He froze, looking down at Bakugou slowly. "… What?"

Bakugou turned his back to Eijirou, curling in on himself, and for a moment, Eijirou was worried that he wouldn't respond. But he did. "I really need to try to sleep tonight. But… tomorrow night. Bring your futon. I'll talk then."

"Right. Right. Sweet. I'll be here."