#vichan ily

[modernart2012]

I Look at You (And See the Rest of My Life In Front of My Eyes)

for @clrac0​ Happy (belated) birthday gift, I hope you like it. Ily <3

Bakugou has feelings. They get completely out of hand. He can't say he really minds.

On AO3

Note: This is in the same Universe as “How Todoroki Enji Died”. It actually starts the three days prior to that fic (aka, the day Izuku and Shouto are caught kissing), and this fic clears up what Shouto was in a hurry to attend to.... [THIS IS THE WEDDING IZUKU MENTIONS AT THE END OF THAT FIC]

Many many thanks to @istehlurvz for letting me borrow her long haired! Post grad! Kirishima for a character design reference. Please go check them out, her art is so beautiful.

Many thanks to @sofour for the beta <3

Title from quote (same title) from unknown.

Those unmitigated fuckers. TOP HEROES DEKU AND SHOUTO CAUGHT KISSING. Bakugou set off a controlled explosion to incinerate the newspaper crumpled in his hand, then grabbed the nearest packet of gum and tossed a handful of pieces into his mouth because if he ground his teeth anymore his dentist would get pissed off and then Ei would be disappointed and fuck that shit it wasn’t to be borne.

“Aww, babe,” Eijirou smoothed a kiss to his furiously working jaw, soft affection that dulled the edge of Bakugou’s irritation. His hair was smoothed into a ponytail, his usual black tank exchanged for a more appropriate button up, and fuck everything ever Eijirou still looked hot. “Think of it this way, they’re going to be hounded by paparazzi nonstop now.” Well. That - that served Deku and Half-n-Half right. Eijirou beamed at him from over the back of the couch, and whatever he saw made him dip back in for a quick kiss, still smiling. The hair framing Eijirou’s face, too short to go back in his ponytail too long to be anything but a stylistic choice, tickled Bakugou’s cheeks like the edge of a soft crimson curtain. He scowled and Eijirou laughed, lighting up like he’d just discovered something new.

 “Shut the fuck up Shitty Hair.” Another kiss, to his nose, and even after so long it was disorienting to be the recipient of such unwavering affection. He chewed the wad of gum in his mouth harder, working off the ansty jangle of his nerves because there was abso-fucking-lutely nothing to be anxious about (yet).

 “I love you too Blasty.” Eijirou checked the clock, before jogging towards the door, “I gotta go, I’m gonna be late! See you after my shift!”

 “You’re always late, Hair-for-Brains.” Bakugou muttered. “Oi, hold up.” He grabbed the bento he had made earlier, then shoved it into Eijirou’s hands. “Come back safe, Ei.”

 There was that damned smile again, so damn warm. Fucking hell. “Will do, Katsuki!” Another kiss, and Bakugou cupped Eijirou’s face between his hands and lingered, knowing the feel of Eijirou in his bones after so long. They parted slowly, and Eijirou rubbed their foreheads together, brushed noses before disengaging. Bakugou clamped down on the need to go chasing after more, trail after and lick into Eijirou’s mouth, keep him here until the snarling, possessive, feral thing in Bakugou’s chest calmed and settled. “I’ll be home for dinner, promise.” Then he was out the door, ponytail waving behind him like a vermillion flag. He chewed his gum harder, discomfited and exposed, and tried not to think of the feel of that hair twined around his fingers like scarlet rope.

 He grabbed his jacket and bag, fired off a text to Round Face. Then he strode out of their house, purposefully, trying to leave his feelings in the dust.

  “You know, Bakugou, of all the people you could have called, I’d never have expected you to contact me.” Uraraka was a fucking menace, why the fuck did he call her again. He glared at the storefront, felt as she squared up beside him like it was another team up and the store was the villain. Oh right, that.

 “Shut the fuck up, Round Face. You’re back up.” Uraraka smiled dagger sharp and knowing, and Bakugou snarled since he knew that face and it meant whatever the fuck next happened it’d end up in the ear of everyone in the hero course before midnight. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and marched into the store, Uraraka right behind.

 It was immediately clear that he should never have trusted Yao-bitch on this, because this was an old school joint with it’s bright lights and velvet cases and customers wearing designer clothes that were worth more than his paycheck. He was about to turn on his heel and nope the fuck out of there, but the doorman stopped him, “Mr. McSplode. Welcome. We have your items ready for review. If you and Ms. Uravity would come this way.” The man gestured to a private alcove, and Bakugou had no choice but to follow the directive. He was going to give Yao-bitch a fucking piece of his mind when he was done here, fucking hell. “Haruhi will be right out with your items.” With a bow the doorman was gone and Uraraka was sparkling determinedly.

 Bakugou narrowed his eyes at her. “Don’t.”

 Uraraka simpered at him, “Don’t what, Bakugou? Talk about the fact that you asked Momo for jewelry store recommendations, and have a special order ready?” She tapped her chin thoughtfully, “I wonder whatever you could have gotten?”

 He opened his mouth to fire back, who the hell was Round Face to play coy, but the shopgirl was coming and he didn’t need to make a scene in front a civilian. Uraraka leaned close as the shopgirl set out the display mat and her materials, whispered, “Let me be your Best Woman and we’ll call it even.” He itched to explode her face off, but old school store, civilians, and Ei would be pissed held his flaring temper in check. Also the fact he was sweating like he had just finished training and a miscontrolled explosion would send them all to kingdom come.

 “Here you go. Ms. Yaoyozoru was very firm that we follow the instructions exactly. It was very difficult to work with the meteorite, but the final effect is quite beautiful.” It better be, he wasn’t paying for crushed diamond and opal shards for it to look bad.

  Uraraka gasped as the rings were set down onto the velvet, the dark metal peeking through clusters and clumps of stone pressed into the surface. “Oh, they look like the night sky!”

 “Of course they do, Round Face.” He had designed them to be such, to sparkle like a thousand stars and planets, streaking across the surface like a million points in the galaxy. Bakugou picked up the closest ring, twisting and turning it under the jewelers loupe and watching the edges catch and reflect the light back in a riot of color, shot through with a dark grey betraying the metal beneath. Damn. He swallowed around his heartbeat, thundering in his throat. He was moving to check the engraving when the front doors of the shop blew in with a massive cloud of smoke.

 The screaming started immediately, all the posh civilian ladies screeching. “God dammit,” he growled as he automatically moved towards the entrance. Fucking civilians screaming, he could barely think with such shrill shitbags around. Uraraka was matching him scanning their smoke-filled surroundings, hands up, when twin clicks of guns made them both pause.

 With a dramatic whoosh the heavy smoke cleared unnaturally - shit-fucking Quirk - and a gun muzzle appeared not even 6 inches in front of his face. “Oh ho ho, what do we have here?” The robber smirked savagely, “Blasty McSplode and Uravity. We’re in luck, men. We’ve got bona fide heroes here as hostages.” This was the leader then. Fucking dick on a stick.

 “Fuck off dickheads, before we make you.” Bakugou snarled, mentally noting that even with Uraraka there he’d have trouble taking out 7 robbers, especially given the guns they were sporting. Two were already herding the customers, removing purses and jewelery by force, two smashing cases and dumping contents into bags, the final two blowing the safe doors with practiced ease. Bakugou shifted, only to have the leader firmly press the gun against his head. His other hand kept the other gun trained on Uraraka.

 “I wouldn’t do that, Mr. McSplode. See, we found a stash of those Quirk-erasing bullets from way back when, and I’ve been itching to try one out. Just to see if they work.” His voice dropped low, a sickly sweet coo,“One more wrong move and you’ll get the distinct honor of being my first test subject.”

 A glance at Uraraka showed she had heard too, and they both slowly put their hands up. “Good, good, we wouldn’t want any unfortunate accidents now would we.” The masks made it hard to pinpoint any major distinguishing characteristics, another point that made his fingers itch to grab their faces and detonate. At least the huddled mass of satin and pearls had quieted into subdued whimpers and sobs, but that was small comfort since it was only 10 in the fucking morning and this was already a shitshow. He had other things to get done today, and this was throwing off his whole timetable.

 “Ehhh, Blasty, this was supposed to be a secret right?” Uraraka murmured through the corner of her mouth, eyes locked on the barrel of the gun.

 “What the - ,” Bakugou began, only to be cut off by Uraraka nodding at the plate glass window at the front of the shop.

 “‘CauseRiotishere.” She let out in a rush, her discomfort slurring her back to her country accent. Bakugou risked a glance out the window. Eijirou was there, and while he looked calm and steady while talking with the police, Bakugou knew that look. Dammit, he didn’t need this too. He frowned significantly, then pointedly moved his eyes to the guns and grimaced.

 “Both of you! Shut up! Now!” The leader, who'd been yelling at the others to hurry up, turned back to knock them both across the face with the butt of the pistol. Bakugou rocked back, more from the force of the blow than actual hurt before whirling and tackling Uraraka to the floor. Just in time, as the plate window shattered inward; Ei had clearly gotten his message and was already at a higher than normal hardness, a midpoint between his regular and ultimate.

 There was a sudden outburst of gunfire, but the bullets bounced off Eijirou’s hardened skin ineffectively into a tinkle of metal against the marble floors in counterpoint to the return of the shrieking ladies. Bakugou knew this even if he didn’t look - there was a reason that Eijirou was called to deal with gun runners and it wasn’t his personality. He rolled to his back and aimed a kick at the knee of whom-the-fuck-ever was standing near - it wasn’t Ei and he gave zero shits after that to figure out who the fuck it was. When that shitwad went down he exploded their face to be extra sure they stayed out.

 Uraraka had done her job and had a few bodies floating on the ceiling, and Ei was dealing with the last three dickrags jsut fine. Bakugou took a moment to admire the sharp points of Ei’s shoulders and elbows , the plates that jutted out and promised pain to whomever was on the wrong side of them. Or right, in the case of the wicked claws on his hands, as they rake through a semi-automatic and shear the thing in two.

 The remaining two-bit thieves give up after that.

 This has pros and cons. Pro: the shitty sheep stop squealing. Con: Ei can now afford to keep sending him Looks. Pro: The shopgirl is now fucking free to take payment. Con: He and Uraraka have to give statements to the police, plus paperwork. Pro: The shop is giving him a generous discount on top of the Yao-bitch discount. Con: They’re being Very Fucking Loud and Ei is Suspicious. Pro: He’s got Ei right there. Con: Ei is right there. ... And he’s gotten a little busted up, superficially. The vaguest tingle of an idea molds, and he’s moving before he can think twice.

 “Oi, Riot.” Bakugou stomps over to where Ei is talking to some shit-for-brains detective. He’s got zero fucks to give that he’s interrupting, and minus infinity fucks that he’s pretty sure he’s about to do something majorly fucking stupid. Or not so stupid since Uraraka’s shot him a double thumbs up and discretely passed him a ring box on his way past. Fucking hell, he is going to have to make her his fucking Best Woman. “They were using fucking anti-Quirk bullets.” He ignores the way the detective swears, and keeps soldiering on cause if he stops then his heart may just give the fuck out. Whomever the fuck said his nitroglycerin sweat would keep him from having a heart attack was a fucking liar. “Even with Quirk, you gotta go see Recovery Girl.”

 Ei eyes him conflicted, that Look where he knows that Bakugou is saying something different under what he’s saying out loud and while Ei’s spent over a decade becoming fluent in Bakugou-ian, it’s failing Ei now and he’d appreciate a helping hand in deciphering things. “She’s at U.A. right now, and since we both need to get checked - “

 The detective waved them away. “Red Riot, Blasty, we’ve got everything under control and know where to find you for follow up and paperwork. We’ll send Uravity once we have all the villains in custody.” Right. The idiots still floating.

 “Ttch. Whatever. Come on Riot.” He stomped off, hoping Uraraka takes the other box, credit card, and his receipt. It's now or never, and if he sweats any fucking harder he's going to spontaneously combust, shit. He can hear Ei call his farewells, his clunky boots thumping against the sidewalk as he caught up to Bakugou, but he’s otherwise silent and it grates.

 The minute they’re completely out of sight and there are no witnesses, Bakugou pushes Eijirou into an alley. “Blasty - .”

 Bakugou throws up his hand, knowing that it won’t do much to pause Ei if he really wanted to know. He is not fucking prepared for this, and if what comes out of his mouth is Japanese it’ll be a goddamned miracle. “Ei. Fuck, I don’t know how to say this - “ his hands fired off a few small pops, and he snarled internally at the unconscious display of nerves. Ei might have had trouble earlier, but that was always a dead giveaway to his feelings. And fucking damn shit, wasn’t he supposed to be on one knee and presenting the ring? Bakugou fumbled out the box from his pants pocket and thrust it at Ei, trusting him to catch the fucking airborne box when it slipped from his sweat-slick hands and tumbled. His heart was thundering in his ears and his mouth was dry and time was going too fast. “Fuck.”

 He watched in terror as Ei opened the box, the way Ei’s brow furrowed then smoothed into surprised delight as he gazed into the little velvet box, and Bakugou explicitly wanted to flee screaming obscenities into the wilderness and never come back to civilization. He was pretty sure he could cut it as a warrior monk.

 “Katsuki. Katsuki - I- ,” Ei cuts himself off by fisting his hands in Bakugou’s shirt and kissing him wetly. Bakugou wanted to get lost in this, the feel of razor sharp teeth fitting into the scars on the inside of his lower lip and calloused hands fisted in hair, but he was going to fucking do this shit right if it killed him.

 He pulled back, control wavering as he pushed all his conviction into his voice. “Ei, Ei, marry me. Marry me.”

 If Eijirou had looked happy before, he was incandescent with it now. However sharp and animalistic his hero costume - fangs and all - made him, he was always so soft with Bakugou and it ached. If this is what it meant to love and be loved, then he could understand why people searched the world over for it. “Yes. Yes. A thousand times. Yes.” Ei choked out between gulping sobs, cradling Bakugou’s head close to his own, lips brushing.

 The ensuring kiss, chaste and soft and wanting was like landing a textbook perfect punch against a villain, the high of a excellent fight. Bakugou wanted to sink into Ei and hollow out a space there, stay warm and close and let Ei do the same to him, bind them both together until there was no discernable difference in where the edges of their souls met, bleeding and blending into one another in a continuous pool of them. He wanted more than anything to stay caught in this moment, to keep exchanging breath and kisses and this feeling of surety, of a compass pointing North and of home. It was broken by the shutter snap of a camera. Or rather, Bakugou snapped out of it but Ei kept kissing him and he was fucking sidetracked okay. Which is the only fucking reason Uraraka gets to chirp, “Annnnnd sent,” without him blowing her to kingdom come.

 Almost in the same instant both their phones began ringing, and if Bakugou’s phone insurance wasn’t exorbitant, it would have exploded the damn things and gone back to making out with Ei, company be damned. But, he’d exploded one too many phones and replacing them put a sizable dent in his pocket, so he kept mashing the end call button. Fuck Iida and fuck Shitty Nerd and fuck Yao-bitch, Pervert, and the rest of them with flaming pikes. He ground his teeth together and tried to recite that fucking sutra the damned monks had drilled into his head second year. It sorta helped, but fuck if he ever actually told anyone that.

 “Hey, Kastuki.” Ei brushed his nose against Bakugou’s cheek, whisper soft like the way he nuzzled close in his sleep, “Marry me?”

 “I already asked you that Hair-for-Brains, isn’t the answer obvious,” Bakugou sneered, but meant yes. It didn’t matter Ei would know.

 Ei was unfazed and pressed a sharp kiss, more grin than finesse to his mouth before returning to his phone. “Can you really get that done Yaomomo? Then, consider us on board!”

 “What are you getting into, Shitty Hair?”

 Ei smiled at him mischievously, “You’ll see, Blasty. Uraraka, can you get him to follow the directions Yaomomo is sending you? Thanks!” Then he ran off, chattering into his phone, leaving poleaxed Bakugou to a maniacally smiling Uraraka.

  By the time Uraraka had finished dragging him around town, it was past dusk and settling into true night. Bakugou was fuming, because he’d planned on a nice dinner, some of that shitty mood lighting Pinkie was always going on about, and maybe enough slow sex that they’d both be sore in the morning. This was not anything like that fucking plan. Also, who the fuck cares about the difference between eggshell and pure ivory in stationary? No one sane could tell the difference and no one sane would notice. It shouldn’t take that long to pick one and move the fuck on.

 Then he came home and Ei was missing, just a note and a cold plate of curry and rice on the counter. He gave a cursory glance over the note - to the point, that Ei would be dealing with some things until the day after tomorrow evening, but warm, using his given name like this was them paired like parenthesis under the kotatsu in the winter and Ei was fuzzy warm and solid beside him. Bakugou sent him a return mail while he warmed up the curry, a thin and sore ‘I’m home’ that didn’t encompass the way that he wanted Ei here to light up the kitchen, to kiss his cheek in welcome and to chide him about his teeth grinding habit. There’s also message on the answering machine where a harried Ei tells him - between bouts of yelling about cake - that due to circumstances he’ll be at Yao-bitch’s and to call her or Uraraka for anything that comes up.

 It doesn’t hit until the next afternoon when he’s juggling filling out paperwork at his agency and talking to his mother on the phone - who wants to know if she ought to wear a kimono or a western dress to the wedding, the invitations were gorgeous and so fancy but the date is so soon, everything must be so stressful, do they need any help with planning? - when it finally clicks that everything adds up to a single answer. He tells his old hag to wear something nice and look proud or whatever, and hangs up to call Yao-bitch for confirmation.

 They must be venue-hunting (and it sounds like everyone is fucking tripping over themselves for the Yao-bitch name) from the way a man in the background keeps pointing out perfectly normal features like ‘the finest floors’ and ‘windows! We have windows!’ like they’re going to make or break the choice. “Yao-bitch,” he snarled into the reciever when she picked up, “Is this wedding western dress only or should the old hag wear a kimono?”

 The lack of negation to the idea that there’s a wedding in the works tells Bakugou everything he needs to know, plus some. He lets Yao-bitch babble about clothes - he’s pretty sure she and Uraraka have conspired to get him into a tux fitting in an hour, given the timing - and then cuts her off, “What the fuck ever. Just, coordinate that shit or something.” He slammed the end call button, then stalked his way to the gym to go hand-to-hand against Uraraka. If he was gonna have to mannequin in some god-forsaken tailor shop for fancy clothes he’s only ever going to need once in his fucking life, he was gonna do so rank. Fuck if he’s gonna let people think he’s someone they can boss around like a shitty Deku.

  He woke up the morning of the wedding - it didn’t feel quite real, that it was his wedding, he was marrying Ei today and that the old hag and Uraraka had the audacity to wake him up at god-awful o’clock in the morning to answer the phone to talk to well meaning relatives offering blessings and good wishes. And he had to be fucking polite, all while Yao-bitch and Pinkie and Lightning Idiot and that other one in their class. What the fuck ever was his name?

 Uraraka thrust a mug of near-boiling coffee into his grip. “Have your coffee Bakugou, you’re grouchy without it.” Her smile made it clear that was an order not a suggestion, and Bakugou flipped her the bird before taking a long draught of the near tar-consistency substance. Whomsoever had tried to mess with his gourmet coffee maker and broken her bad enough she was spitting sludge had better be getting him a new one, fucks sake. He could stick one in the gift registry - did they even have a gift registry? Fucking shit on a duck, where was Yao-bitch or Glasses when you needed them? Who was even in charge of this shitshow anyways?

 “ONE HOUR UNTIL SHOWTIME PEOPLE.” Oh fucking hell, that one[1] . “Mon Dieu, Bakugou! This will not do! Come with me.” Bakugou was very much not going to go with Frenchy- that was hella suspect, alright. He had learned the whole “strangers-candy” thing early in his life and it had never failed him.

 Yao-bitch stuck her head in. “Bakugou, Aoyama is the one who’s going to help you get ready. The tailor had very specific instructions, and Uraraka has to get ready too as your Best Woman.” His Old Hag leveled a competitive smug glare from her perch, her black kimono pressed perfect and laying neatly and hair neatly styled, and Bakugou complied. The unspoken, I cleaned up nicely, but you can’t? was clear. It’d waste too much energy to fight with her now, plus, they only had one hour. His stomach was a ball of nerves, though he’d fight anyone who called him on it. He chugs back the partially-congealed contents on his mug, then slams down the cup and follows after that blonde one.

 “Let’s do this.”

  Miracle of miracles, Sparkly Frenchie got his hair to not look so unruly. There hadn’t been much to work with, undercut and all, but Bakugou had to admit he looked good. His hair was slicked back like the magazine campaign he’d done for a charity, the one where he was wearing a thin-enough-to-be-see-through white tank top and jeans and snarling into the camera, hands raised in explosive threat. The day that magazine had dropped he’d come home to a very enthusiastic Ei. Perhaps not the best memory for the occasion at hand, but still pleasing to recall.

 His charcoal suit fitted perfectly, as did the crimson red tie. He remembered how much his UA tie had felt like a collar, chafing and fucking choking him and this one sort of did too but he’d wear it just this once. For Ei.

 Uraraka poked her face in, hair done up in a fancy crown of braids and face smiling diabolically, “15 minutes, Bakugou. Time to go.” Fucking Sparkles swooned and sang out something in French. Why the fucker didn’t ever just use regular Japanese like the rest of the population was beyond Bakugou, but he breathed in deep instead. He wasn’t going to explode anyone before the ceremony was over.

 Yao-bitch and Iida were both there, prepared with headsets and clipboards and directing people like this was their day job, not heroics. Bakugou ignored the way his hands were sweating profusely, like he was about to storm a villain hideout not - not. Fucking shit, he was a grown ass man, he could say it -

 “Bakugou, you and Kirishima will enter from opposite sides after your respective parents and your Best Men - And Best Woman, I hope you’ve prepared vows, because Mic-sensei has informed me he’s ready to ad lib. All Might is here, but due to his current condition, we’ve placed the handicap access spot near the exit so he can leave if he starts feeling worse.” Yao-bitch checked her clipboard, then nodded firmly, “Of the invited, only Endeavor failed to respond and hasn’t come, Todoroki has no clue why, but he just got a phone call from his father’s agency and should know more shortly. But otherwise, everyone is seated and waiting, let’s get started.” Which. Fuck Endeavor, the self-important prick. This was the wedding of the century and he wasn’t going to come, even as courtesy. The unmitigated ass[2] . Whatever, Bakugou would just make sure to fuck up Endeavor’s shit accidentally-on-purpose whenever he got the chance.

 “Okay, Uraraka and Kaminari, go.” Oh, fuck. Nearly time. Yao-bitch’s voice swam in his ears. “Remember, slow steps. This isn’t a race.” Then a firm hand between his shoulders and he was being propelled down the red and gold candlelit path.

 If you asked him later how he ended up at the altar in front of Mic-sensei, hand-in-hand with Ei, and his parents and Ei’s parents and easily the top 100 of the heroes in Japan (give or take a retired 20 or so) in attendance, he’d have no clue. Nor would he have any clue what Mic-sensei is saying. Mostly he’s trying to pull his attention away from Ei, from that deep buttery grey and sharp red, from the low tie of his ponytail, the brilliant shine of his eyes, and the way Ei looked radiant. Why couldn’t this have been a traditional Japanese wedding, with the sake and the cups? Bakugou would put up with hakama for knowing he didn’t have words to say. But also, Ei was smiling at him like that, beaming like he would never be happier, and Bakugou knows from the bottom of his soul that’s what he wants to see everyday for the rest of his life. No matter that he was probably going to break his heart with the amount of wild nerves going on in his body. Bakugou was sure he was probably flushed red, but he didn’t care.

 Ei leaned close when it became abundantly clear that Mic-sensei was done - apparently Mic-sensei was on the “short and sweet” end of wedding officiants instead of the expected long-winded end, which was a surprise, but given the way he had been attempting to hide his tears this whole time, it might have been expected.

 Oh, shit shit. Vows time, fuck. At least they didn’t have to talk loud enough for everyone to hear, given the way Ei is whispering. “Katsuki, I had a whole speech prepared, but I woke up this morning and even though it’s been a rush to get everything together in time and it seemed like everything was about to fall apart, the only thing I could think of was you, and me, and that we’re going to spend the rest of our lives together. So, I promise, I’ll reach for you when you’re in need and stay by your side as your ultimate support, to journey with you in all the adventures that are to be had. I can’t wait to start this adventure with you.” And fucking Lightning Idiot and Uraraka have heard, going by the way they’re both fighting back tears. Mic-sensei is outright crying, fucks sake.

 He has to take a deep breath before he begins, because fuuuuck. He knows there’s tears pricking his eyes, and Ei has turned into a slightly blurry red and grey blur and fuuuuck. “Eijirou. Ei. When I think about the person I want to spend eternity with, it’s you that comes to mind. The person I would reach for first, lift up and carry, take on the world with. It’s you. It’s always been you.” It had to be you. He knows it’s short, too short, but what words are there to encompass the fact that there’s no other hand he’d ever reach back for beside Ei’s? No one else he’ll always run to first, no one else he wants to wake him from a nightmare and no one else he’d hold after one of their own. No one else he’d want to cuddle late into mornings when neither of them are on call, no one else he’d wake up early to prepare homemade lunches for. Ei’s his best friend bar none, but there aren’t words - or at least words he needs, because Ei, Ei knows. From the way Ei’s bottom lip is twitching, his eyes are sparkling and the softening corners of his eyes, Ei knows and it doesn’t matter he doesn’t have words to speak in front of people, Ei knows.

 Mic-sensei sobs something, and Uraraka is stabbing him in the kidney with her fucking hand, and oh right. Rings. Bakugou smooths a finger inside it just to be sure, and yeah, there’s the engraving. It’s easy enough to let Ei slip on it’s mate, return the favor and wait for Mic-sensei to collect himself. Attempt to collect himself. Blubber something. Fuck that noise, it’s close enough and will have to do.

 Kissing Ei has always felt like coming home, but this one feels new but also like forever. It’s not fair, to have crowds of people watching and cheering when Bakugou could conceivably stay here forever in this moment and go deeper, longer, if not for said company. The not so subtle kick from Uraraka tells him that’s it’s been too long for polite society anyways, and reluctantly Bakugou surfaces enough to flip her the bird over his shoulder. It mean taking his hands off Ei, but that’s easily rectified.

  The reception drags on and on and on. First the photos in this and that pose, with these people and not those people and just why. Then, the fucking reception line. Whomever invented reception lines ought to have been shot before the idea took off - who needs to thank everyone who came for coming? That’s what the hundreds of thank you notes he’d ordered were for. It’s all worth it when - due to Kaminari having butchered the electrical systems for the sound - Headphones, who volunteered, ends up skipping any performative dances. Ei only knows street dancing styles and Bakugou will never let anyone else live with the damned knowledge he knows how to properly ballroom dance. There’s no way they would have managed anything close to a “first dance” worthy of watching without practice. The only thing still moderately “traditional” is the fact there’s an open bar and an open dance floor. The rest of it - well, there’s a station near the buffet where you can record a speech, but Bakugou can’t care about that, not when Ei’s sparkling like a million fireworks have gone off inside him and set him alight permanently from the inside out. Still, all the conversations drag on and fucking on for a small eternity, all PR smiles and pleasantries, until suddenly Bakugou realizes there’s no one left he absolutely had to speak to for whatever reason.

 This means all the fucking shitty old fogeys have retired, and the only people remaining are around their age and completely fucking blitzed. It sounds like there’s a fucking fight starting, Uraraka shouting and Mineta shrieking and Shitty Deku trying and failing at stopping things from going to blows. Bakugou couldn’t care less. Headphones has taken back control of the tables from the pre-selected playlist, and is playing sappy sappy shit. “Hey, Katsuki, dance with me?” As if he’d ever refuse Ei anything.

 They’re swaying in place, the room a wreck and getting even more wrecked, and he can’t put any other word to his feelings but happy. It’s almost foreign, but this is also good, a new sort of steady Bakugou can find his footing on, bask in and grow in. Ei is singing along with the song, off key and smiling, and their bodies are entwined like two parenthesis smushed together, “I somehow find, You and I collide.”

 “Ei, are you happy?” He speaks without thinking, interspersed by explosions and crashing and he sees the way Ei’s brow furrows then smooths as he understands the question.

 “I’m incandescent.” Ei punctates his comment with a quick peck, smile smug and satisfied with mischief. “I get forever with you after all.”

 It hadn’t struck Bakugou quite until then, that weddings and vows and shit all boiled down to forever, but it feels right, to have a forever with Ei. A fucking lifetime of waking up next to one another, eating together, growing together, stumbling together. It sounds like something he’s only just now realized, but always known, or some other paradox. He doesn’t know where it comes from but he murmurs over the chorus softly, “It had to be you.”

 Ei softens, then tugs him off the dancefloor, carnage still being wreaked, “Come on Katsuki, let’s go home.” Bakugou lets him, willingly follows him out the doors and into the early morning stars and pale hint of dawn, and thinks that yes, this is a forever he could get used to.