Work Text:
"Delivery!" Eijirou hollers before he even opens the white picket fence gate, quickly crossing the garden and hopping the two front steps in one go. Cardboard box safely tucked under his arm, he mimics the doorbell at the same time as he presses the button, but clicks his tongue when the jingle doesn't come. He knocks on the door instead. "Señorita! It's your favorite mailman!"
A grin blooms on his face when he hears quiet giggles from inside, followed by the familiar scuffing of Señora Ceci’s house slippers. "Only you could make this old woman laugh." The door opens very slowly, revealing a shy smile made of uneven red lipstick and too perfect ceramic teeth. "Señorita is for young women, though. We need to brush up on your lessons."
Eijirou swats a hand in the air. "Oh, you can't be a day over forty. Señorita is still good."
"I'm ninety, mijo," she says, something so soft in her tiny eyes as bony hands reach for the package Eijirou brought over, placing it carefully on the entryway table. "You're old enough to be my great-great-grandson."
"I'm twenty-five. Great-grandson is sufficient."
She giggles again, shaking her head. "Fine. Great-grandson."
"Since we're on the topic of family," he asks, "when's your son coming over?"
"Oh, glad you reminded me," she says as if to herself, grabbing the dangle pulls from the table and opening a thin drawer. "He'll come in a month and two days. I’m very excited."
Eijirou hums, crossing his arms. "Nope, that's too long. I'm coming over this Saturday to fix your doorbell, okay?"
"Your kindness is pure sunshine." She jiggles the clunky drawer shut. "But a handsome boy like yourself must have better things to do than tending to a decrepit old bag. On a weekend, no less."
"It's no problem. I'm happy to help."
"I believe you, dear." She holds up her thin arm, two long straps of paper quivering in her hand. "That's why I want you to have this."
With a curious frown, Eijirou holds out his hand but doesn’t take the papers yet. "Are those… tickets?"
She nods. "My son is taking me, but he won two more. Here."
Eijiro retracts his hand and waves both in the air. "Oh. No, please, I can't. You should take your friends from the knitting club or something."
"I hate every one of them." She wags the tickets at him. "I want you to have them. Take your special lady with you. Have fun."
That sends a pang through his chest, a heaviness to his throat. Eijirou just smiles wider, but his teeth don't show. "I don’t have a lady. I don't have anyone."
Her arm falls softly, tickets clenched tight before she sighs tiredly and places them on the tabletop. "That should be a crime, sweetheart."
Eijirou chuckles, a hand behind his skull and stare anchored on his work boots. "Well, it's not for the lack of trying, it's just…"
"No spark?"
He shrugs. "No spark, or I spark too much and they too little. It's always something."
Any softness old age has forced on her disappears at that. A hot-blooded fire stretches those eyes, puffs that chest and lifts that chin, and Eijirou knows instantly that this woman rocked worlds and took names in her younger days. Her arms don’t fail as they lift, her hands don’t shake, covering his cheeks and pulling him down to her eye-level, fast like he never saw her move before.
"Never be ashamed of being the brightest firework in the night's sky." It sounds like a threat, but not at him. "You just need to find someone who explodes as loud as you shine."
Eijirou smiles, because the words make so much sense, but they’re also hanging by a thread in his heart, frayed by every date he promised his bathroom mirror would be the one. "Maybe one day," he says, more quietly than he meant to.
"I'm sure of it." Her stare holds on for a moment longer before she releases his face in order to adjust the collar on his uniform, then pulls his short sleeves straight.
Eijirou clears his throat and runs a hand through his gelled up hair. "I got some more packages to hand out, so I’ll see you soon, okay? Saturday at the latest."
"That’s fine. But I’m paying you in arepas, so you better bring an appetite."
"Sold! You’re the best, señorita."
Ceci puffs her cheeks and swats a hand at him, feigning annoyance at the term he knows is wrong but doesn’t care. It puts a smile on her lips and a delicate blush on her cheeks, so it’s worth it.
As Eijirou is waving goodbye and turning away, she tells him, "Mind the new neighbor, will you? That man’s mouth is dirtier than a whore house on a Sunday morning."
A laugh bursts out of him. "Ceci! Oh my god."
"I’m serious. He’s mean and vulgar, I swear." A deep breath and she’s smiling. "But well, Uraquita seems to like him. And if good people like mean people, they mustn't be completely mean, don't you agree?"
"Yeah, for sure." Eijirou wipes a gleeful tear from the corner of his eye, glancing over his shoulder at the recently remodeled, two-story craftsman-style home–his dream home–three houses down and across the street. He has a package to deliver there today, so now his curiosity has peaked. "Don’t worry, I’ll be careful."
With a final goodbye, he rushes to his van and starts it up, driving just a few seconds down the road. He quickly goes through the boxes he’d set aside to deliver in this neighborhood, and hops off with the mean neighbor’s package in hand, small and light, a beautiful printed address label with a curly font and logo, reading, "Emperor, by Mitsuki."
"Fancy," Eijirou comments, halfway across the quiet suburban road when his phone pings repeatedly with text messages–Tetsu’s tone. He slips it out, silencing it before even checking the messages app.
🔒 T4 belongs to Mina 🔒: DUDE!! this guy!! at the gym!! totally interested in taking u out!!
🔒 T4 belongs to Mina 🔒: next week!! he super into u!!
🔒 T4 belongs to Mina 🔒: did u notice the exclamations!!
🔒 T4 belongs to Mina 🔒: he gorg, son!!
Eijirou huffs, quickly tapping on his phone. "How the hell would you know?"
Me: bro
Me: no offense
Me: ur straighter than a stripper pole
Me: also stop showing my pic to gym randos cmon
He slips it back in his pocket, hopping the curb and entering the beautiful, perfectly landscaped flower garden, straight out of a house and living magazine, and Eijirou pictures himself there, kneeling by the rose bushes, not weeding and watering because he sucks at that, but talking to the flowers, caressing their leaves as if green little hands. At some point in his fantasy, someone kneels beside him, the actual gardener of their plants, lovingly teasing him for the dirt on his nose, just before their lips connect.
And Eijirou presses his eyes shut and takes a slow, deep breath before his chest feels too full and he’s bawling on a stranger’s front porch. At the very least it’s unprofessional.
It’s just that he wasn’t lying to Ceci. He has been trying. He’s been putting himself out there every week, sometimes more than once, because he knows you can’t grow a flower without planting its seed first. So he’s been forcing himself to be available, to be ready to accept a surface-deep connection that may hopefully bloom into something more with time.
But it’s so hard. All everyone ever wants is sex, and he’s lucky, really, his body made for sex–a thick cock and the stamina to put it to good use, plus strength and flexibility to do some amazing artwork between him and his partner. Except sex isn’t what he wants. Not everything, at least.
He shakes his head and thinks of puppies and tickle fights with his nephews, anything to get his smile back on his face. He’ll cry it out in the shower later.
One foot up the front steps is when he notices the door is wide open, his own reflection on the entryway mirror half hidden by a beautiful flower arrangement with yellow roses and orange spotted orchids and red gladiolus, that he only recognizes because they're his mama's favorites. He hears voices from inside the house, so he's not as loud as usual when he calls, "Delivery."
The voices stop for a second before loud stomps come to meet him, mixed in with faster steps that get to the door first. It’s Ochaco, who lives next door, and it takes a second but it soon clicks in his brain that Ceci mentioned Uraquita earlier, so it makes sense she’s visiting.
"Hi, Eijirou," she says, the pink blush of her cheeks so much more intense than he remembers. Or is it her eyes that are… weird. Flirty? No, she knows he’s gay–they had lenghty discussions about their dream men, in the past.
Oh… She seems to like like the mean neighbor. Got it, got it. Good for her.
"Hey, Ochaco." His smile is just slightly naughty. "What are you doing he–?"
The stomps finally reach them, and the most beautiful man he’s ever seen now fills up the doorway and all of his mind–holy shit are those eyes even real? Red like rubies and shining like the gems they know they are, reflecting a fire that you feel burning but don't actually see. And that hair… Is it silk? Do princesses wear their golden gowns wishing they’d feel as soft, look as breathtaking as those blond spikes, exploding over that undercut?
And that cocky smirk… God, that’d kill him faster than any real weapon.
"Bye, Eijirou," he hears Ochaco say, and he thinks he responds but he’s not sure.
"Bye, loser," the man says, voice so raspy and masculine Eijirou has to forcefully push it out of his head before he thinks too much about it. He’s working, dammit! On his job! He loves his job, so he needs to be professional.
So he grins as wide as he manages, because even if fake it always helps him feel like himself. He’s about to start introductions when the blond says, "Cheeks did tell me to watch out for the mail."
That snaps Eijirou out of his awe and into full work mode. "You don't have to worry about that at all! I never leave the packages on your doorstep. If you're not home, I'll just come back later."
Somehow, that cut-throat smirk only gets wider, canines gleaming like fangs. "Shit, you're just a perfect little thing, aren't ya?"
"I'm… definitely not perfect. Or little." Eijirou chuckles, heat traveling down from his face to his neck, and he can't allow it to go any lower. "So, I have a package for, huh… Brad?"
Any amusement melts from the blond’s face, replaced by a pretty arched eyebrow. "The fuck? Brad?"
"Yeah." Eijirou re-checks the label and hands him the box. "From Mitsuki Bakugou?"
The frown stays there for a little longer, soon replaced by a huff. "It's ‘brat’. Can't you read?"
"Oh! I thought it was a typo. Sorry." Holy shit, what an unfortunate name. Who the hell looks at a baby and says, ‘Yeah, imma go ahead and name him brat’? It’s gonna take Eijirou a while to get used to addressing him properly.
"Nah, just my mom being a hag." The blond smiles at the box, though he’s trying not to.
"It’s from your mom? That’s so cool! I get a lot of mail from my mom too. Usually it’s socks." Eijirou laughs. "But sometimes, it’s regional food from my home district, and I just do a whole day of eating it, you know? I save it until the weekend when I’m not working, and I take a long bath, do my nails, and just sit back with a rom-com and go at it. It doesn’t taste the same as when I’m there, but it’s so nice to have a little bit of your childhood. Makes me feel like a kid again."
The moment the last word leaves his mouth, acid explodes in his chest, stealing a breath from him.
'Do you always talk so much? You’re exhausting.'
'We’re just gonna fuck. I don’t need your life’s story.'
'You finally shut up, huh? Should’ve put my cock down your throat sooner.'
Every voice is so loud it’s like they’re standing right behind him, somewhere he can’t see but can feel, smell, taste, every night, every encounter. How it felt good, sometimes, but mostly just okay or even horrible. Regardless, he’d still go out and try again, and settle for what he could take to fight the loneliness for another few days. Because if he kept trying he’d find it, something with meaning, something that lasted more than a few hours a night. He’s always been sure of that.
He’s not sure anymore. What if his red thread is just an endless loop tied at both ends?
Eijirou clears his throat. "Sorry, I know I talk too much. I’ll see ya–"
"What’s your home district?"
It takes a second, but his grin comes out at full force. "Chiba! You’ve ever been?"
"Just for work."
"Cool. What do you do?"
And it’s like Eijirou turned a key that he shouldn’t have turned, because that smirk stole at least three of his heartbeats. "Lemme show you."
The blond places the box on the entryway table, and opens it with a box cutter from the drawer. Eijirou’s eyes are focused on big, sure hands working the cardboard, curiosity getting the better of him. But when the hands stop moving yet don’t leave the inside of the box, his eyes lift instinctively to the back of the blond’s skull, and then to the wild red eyes on the mirror, staring back at him.
What the man takes out is a beautiful bra, made of see-through, deep red lace, with black straps and band, shiny like satin and imprinted with matte little hearts. And a tiny padlock charm glistening over the sternum. It looks… "Wow."
The blond holds it up in front of his ample chest as he steps closer again. "You like?"
"It’s gorgeous. Oh my god, is this your work? Did you design this?" Immediately, awe is pushed to the back of his mind. Something’s off. "It seems a little big for your girlfriend’s body, though. Did you take her measurements right? If you want I can call her over again and help you measure." His eyes stretch at his own words, and he chuckles, waving a placating hand between them. "Oh! But I’m very gay, you don’t have worry."
The blond is completely solid for a moment, before all the ice that froze him cracks and out comes a lava monster growling and sputtering. "Cheeks is not my fucking girlfriend, you ass!"
"She’s not? Then–"
Words die at the same time as all his brain cells when the man yanks off his t-shirt over his head, with one single hand and in one single flow. Those rabid eyes hold on to Eijirou’s, daring him to look away, and Ejirou holds on for a brave moment, but the pull toward the blond’s bare chest is too enticing and he’s so weak for naked bouncy pecs it’s honestly scary.
Except the pecs aren’t naked for long, as the blond’s washboard abs pull and contract with the motion of slipping toned arms through the straps, tugging them over chiseled shoulders. Everything about this man is so hard and powerful it seems enlightened to cover him with soft fabric and delicate details. Like a robe on a god.
When the bra is properly placed, the blond stops, hands on his tiny waist. There’s something gooey coating his smirk now, something lustful. Lingerie does have that effect on people–a sexy switch, like Mina says.
After a moment and so slowly, the blond turns around, his hips swaying deliciously with the movement, and stares at his image in the mirror, a gentle palm riding up his abs and down again. "Red looks good on me. Don’t you agree?"
"It really does, man! And don’t get me started on red and black together. Perfect combination." Eijirou steps closer, and holy christ and crocs the guy’s back is even more alluring than his damn chest, what the hell? "Here let me just…" He gently hooks a finger under one of the straps, and his hands must be cold because the blond jerks a bit and there’s goosebumps forming on his skin. But Eijirou has become very proficient in strap adjustments, being friends with Mina all his life, so he’s quick about it. "My friend Mina says the fastest way to back issues is loose straps."
When he finishes with the second strap and settles it back over a shoulder blade, he notices the blond’s body is extra solid, almost trembling. Is he cold? No, his skin is a pretty pink all over. Even on the tip of his ears. Wait…
Eijirou’s eyes rush to the mirror and the blond’s expression–looking away, his jaw clenched tight. Uncomfortable, and of course he is, a total stranger just touched him!
"Thanks," the blond mumbles and clears his throat.
"N-No problem!" Eijirou's laugh is so fake it might as well get a nose job. "So, hum…. S-So your mom sends you lingerie, huh? I’d probably die if my mom did the same for me, honestly."
The man huffs, turning to Eijirou again and adjusting his bra where the cups rest under his pecs. There’s still a blush on his cheeks, but also a cute smile and a serenity that puts Eijirou at ease again. "She designs it. I'm just trying shit out before the show."
"The show? Like… a fashion show? Are you…?" Oh shit, oh god, oh shit. For real? "Are you a… a m-model?"
"Anything wrong with that?"
"Of course not! That’s so manly!"
The blond chuckles and it’s so ugly and raw it sends shivers down Eijirou’s spine. "Snap a picture. Gotta send it to her."
The instructions are gibberish for a second, but his horny brain soon translates them and orders his body into action. "Sure thing!" Eijirou fumbles for his phone and quickly unlocks it, ignoring the gazillion notifications from Tetsu and opening his camera app, centering the image and focusing. "Ready?"
And some kind of voodoo magic happens then, where the hot blond in front of his eyes lifts his chin and parts his lips and angles his body, a milimetrical shift Eijirou can’t even begin to explain, but that instantly turns him into a honest-to-god supermodel on the cover of an expensive fashion magazine. "Do it."
Eijirou does his best not to shake and taps the screen, and quickly checks if it’s not blurred. "Wow, bro. You look damn stunning."
The blond sheds his supermodel skin and extends an arm to Eijirou. "Lemme check." Then he adds with a snarl, "And call me ‘bro’ one more time. I fucking dare you, you piece of shit."
The intensity of the statement makes Eijirou think of whore houses on Sunday mornings, so he bellows out a laugh as he hands over his phone. "Noted."
The blond works swiftly, tapping on the screen until a maniacal cackle followed by an explosion rings from the pocket of his sweatpants–which are tight and gray, so Eijirou was soldiering on to keep them in his peripheral vision.
It’s dumb, though. They could’ve just used the blond’s phone if he had it on him. Oh well.
"Sent it to my phone." He hands over Eijirou’s. "Thanks."
"Happy to help!" Eijirou goes back to the photos list and long-presses the picture for the actions menu. "And don’t worry, I’ll delete it from mine."
This time, the blond’s smirk is a smile, or not even that, just a tilt of the lips, just a corner. "Or don’t," he says softly, maybe shyly. "I’ll leave it to you, Red."
Then he winks. And Eijirou feels the fluttering of those lashes like an off-rhythm pound over his heartbeat.
A second later the door is closed between them. He doesn’t press delete.
❤️📦🧡
"You're beautiful," Eijirou repeats for a third time as he twirls the tips of his hair–or manly horns, as Mina calls them. "You're smart." He brings his face so close to the bathroom mirror it fogs. His eyeliner is perfect, though, and the green-tinted eyeshadow is barely visible but making the red pop from his irises.
A deep breath as he washes his hands from gel and makeup. "You're kind, and that's not a weakness. You look strong, but that's not all there is to you." He nods, toweling off and then clamping his hands around the edge of the sink.
He never manages to say this part out loud but he still thinks it, repeats it as many times as he can manage before the swell of tears start blooming in his eyes.
You're good enough. You're good enough. You're–
Nope, can't ruin his make-up.
With a dash of cologne, he leaves the bathroom and finishes getting ready. He's just about done when he receives a text from his date.
T's gym rando: 5min
Eijirou frowns, hoping the guy pulled over to send that text, because you can't toy with stuff like that. Still, he answers with a thumbs up emoji and puts on his leather jacket.
He's ready. He looks good. Dark wash jeans and a button-down, sleeves rolled up below the elbow–you can't go wrong with that. And hey, beautiful love stories have started with blind dates with random strangers from the gym, right? At least it'll give an interesting story if it does work out. And if it doesn't…
He shakes his head and tries to smile, but has to loosen his face muscles before it works.
A message from Mina and another from Tetsu pop soon after, wishing him luck for his date, so he sends each a reply while stepping out of his apartment and down the elevator. When he exits his building, he leans against the wall, checking his social media for a minute, but then he hesitates, for just a second, before eventually pressing the photos icon.
The blond's is the last one he took, so it’s right at the top. And it's wrong that he’s looking at it, or that he didn’t delete it in the first place, but he's been told he could keep it, right? Everything about it is just so beautiful–those breathtaking eyes, perfect skin, pretty lips. And Eijirou needs some beauty in his life, okay?
If things go well tonight he’ll definitely delete it.
The car he’s been expecting pulls over, 5 minutes on the dot, blasting EDM so loud Eijirou can hear it from all the way across the street through the rolled-up windows. He jogs to the passenger’s side, cringing at the volume when he opens the door, but quickly gets in and snaps it shut. The car is moving before he even manages to click his seat belt on, and when he does, he finally looks at his date. Cute but definitely not 'gorg'.
"Hi," Eijirou says, but he’s not sure the guy heard him over the music. "Can you turn it down a bit?" The radio is custom and super sleek, so there’s not even a knob so he can do it himself.
Not sure of what to do, he just sits back for the ride. They’ll have a chance to talk when they get to wherever the guy is taking him. Like a restaurant or even a cool food truck, though he’s not too hungry, since he long learned to have a good snack before any date–a good middle ground between eating too much and being told he’ll get fat, or eat basically nothing and starve.
The drive isn’t long. They leave the paved road for a dirt path between pine trees, but it seems well traveled, so it must be a known spot. Soon the path opens up to a wide clearing with an ample view of the city lights, and Eijirou feels butterflies in his stomach. So romantic! Just chatting and getting to know each other while gazing down at something so beautiful? That’s perfect!
When the car stops and the music dies it’s deafening in complete reverse, his ears thrumming as if the vibrations never stopped. But he’s so ready to meet this guy, so he says, "Hey! Nice to finally meet–"
The guy takes off his seatbelt and immediately leans over Eijirou, a palm over his cock that smacks his breath away. "You smell so good, daddy."
Eijirou shoves him off. "What the hell, man?"
Confused dark eyes snap into an angry scowl. "What the fuck is your problem?"
Eijirou huffs. "My problem? I don’t even know your damn name, you’re already feeling me up?"
The asshole stares back at him like he’s the one who’s acting like a psycho. "I asked you out. You agreed."
"I agreed on a date!"
He growls. "This is a date! What, you wanted me to romance you with steak and wine before we fuck? How old are you?"
A sudden wave of shame washes over Eijirou. Yes, that’s exactly what he wants. That’s exactly what he offers his dates when he’s the one to reach out and suggest meeting up. That’s what a date means! He’s not the one who’s in the wrong here. Right?
The guy clicks his tongue and sits back fully into the driver’s seat, redoing his seatbelt and checking his wrist watch. "Fucking pansy. You need to deal with your issues and stop wasting my time."
"Take me home," Eijirou says quietly, shakily.
"I have a plan B on hold." He presses the button for Eijirou’s seat belt. "Call an Uber or something."
"Are you…? For real?"
The engine roars to life and the overbearing music is back, pounding into Eijirou’s chest like it wants to send his heart off its beat. With shocked, drowsy movements, he opens the door and steps out, and the moment it snaps shut again, the car speeds in reverse and swooshes around, back to where they came, a cloud of dirt surrounding him and making him cough.
When the dust settles he’s alone.
His eyes are glued to the empty dirt path, not blinking for a long time and then blinking too much, too fast, his breaths too hot, his heart too battered. He spins around, trying to catch the gorgeous, breathtaking view of the city so his mind doesn’t drown in horrible, ugly people who don't deserve anything that beautiful.
But the tears are too much, so heavy. And he’s not as strong as he looks.
So he sobs, right there in the middle of nowhere, in the dead of night, on his knees, hugging himself and trying to hang on to one single reason to get up, dust off, and just go home, but he can't. Why should he? What for?
"No! Fuck, just…. Stop." Breaths like punches against his ribcage, like he’s running for his life, trying to escape the black that he pretends isn’t always there inside him, receding like a wave to the ocean but always coming back.
But no one knows where he is right now, and he’s so raw and feels so exposed and unsafe that he needs someone, please–Mina, Tetsu, Denki, Hanta, whoever picks up. He yanks his phone from his pocket, fumbles with it, shaking, failing three times before unlocking it, and then…
The picture.
Still there. Right, he was looking at it earlier.
Eijirou wipes the tears from his eyes so he can see it better. So he can for the umpteenth time fantasize about their two-story craftsman-style home, and waking up to loving red eyes, knowing, feeling in his center that they’re only loving for him, because of him, because of who he is, down to his last flaw.
Of course he has no chance with a model–a quiet chuckle escapes him at the mere thought, which helps in a way. How ridiculous is that? Beautiful people can have anyone, and confident people are able to choose a proper partner, not just any overly-loud, bra-adjusting creep. And the blond is both of those things.
He sniffles and smiles, even though his lip wobbles like crazy, and taps his screen again to get into his calls list, clicking the most recent one. His plan is to fake a nonchalant tone and keep it short, but the moment he hears Tetsu's voice, he crumbles again.
"Hey, bro! How's it…?" Tetsu starts but pauses when he catches a sniff Eijirou couldn't hold. Immediately there's shuffling, his friend moving, and Mina's voice, too quiet to make out. "I'm coming. Tell me where you are."
"I'm… not sure," Eijirou whispers.
"Send me a pin."
With a silent nod Tetsu can't see, Eijirou ends the call and sends his location, going back to the blond's photo. He sits on the dirt, eyes locked, zooming into every detail, analyzing, picturing, wondering. What is his favorite movie? Does he like to dance? Which sports does he practice? Because for sure that perfect body doesn’t come from lounging in bed all day.
Unless it’s a lazy day, a time-out after a long week at work. Waking up late and having brunch in some cool coffee shop. Strolling through a park in the afternoon, watching a feel-good movie, then ice-cream for dinner and chocolate pancakes for dessert. And then make love, quietly, tenderly.
Eijirou presses his eyes shut and puts away his phone. He’s stretched too thin for unattainable dreams, right now, so he looks up to the city view again, feeling the breeze, smelling the grass and the dirt, not thinking. He only moves when the first beams of light catch his eye, and by the time Tetsu’s truck comes into view he’s already walking to it, hands in his pockets, gaze on the ground.
For a second he glances up, just to acknowledge his friend–friends, since Mina came too. Silently, he hops onto the back seat, no energy left to be polite even though they came so fast and are wearing their pajamas. He'll cry about being a nuisance later.
Mina reaches back, a hand on his knee. "Eiji–"
"Just take me home," he croaks. "Please."
"No," she says gently. "You're staying with us tonight."
His nod is miniscule but enough. Just as Tetsu starts driving back onto the pathway toward the road, Mina unbuckles her seat belt and quickly climbs between the front seats to join him in the back.
"Wanna tell me what happened?" Mina whispers, holding his face to her chest.
He shakes his head no. How embarrassing would that be? Grown men don’t cry like babies because some random dude didn’t want to play house.
Another tear trickles down his face. He rubs it away.
"Okay." Mina says, stroking his hair. "You’re gonna be okay."
❤️📦🧡
Exercise has always been a mood booster for Eijirou. It’s why he decided to park his truck at the beginning of the neighborhood and walk to the few houses he needs to visit here today–two packages down, one to go, tucked safely under his arm. And maybe he’ll be able to pretend last night’s disaster didn’t even happen. One could hope.
A tiny smile forms on his lips as he reaches the prettiest garden in the area, packed full with raised wooden beds like a roadside market of colors and shapes. "Hi, Lucy," he says as he spots her kneeling over some of her leafy babies, her crochet cardigan bunched up to the elbows.
Lucy shoots up straight like he shocked her. It makes him stop and lean away awkwardly, watching as she moves around her garden beds towards the one he loves the most, right at the corner, next to the sidewalk: the "Pick a Flower, Spread the Love" one, with a colorful hand-painted sign instructing passersby to do exactly that. Lucy circles her short dark hair around both ears, before grabbing the garden shears tied to a string and cutting off a big orange daisy.
She waves him closer and he obliges, watching in mild awe as she snips the stem shorter and slips the flower over his left ear. "Hope your day gets a little better, hun."
Wow, is he that out of it? She just heard his voice and noticed he was feeling shitty? "I’m okay. Just a little tired," he tells her, carefully teasing the soft petals with his fingertips. His soul is still too sore for kindness, though. "So, hum… Oh, Roger mentioned you, yesterday."
Her gloved hands fly up to her cheeks, covering them in dark potting soil. "Sweet golly. For realsies?"
"For realsies." He gently reaches for her face and brushes the dirt off with the back of his fingers. "Said the flowers know when you come outside, because their colors get brighter."
She squeals, exactly like he did when Roger said it to him. "He said that? Oh my. Oh lordy."
Eijirou grins, a sliver of warmth slipping back into him and settling tentatively around his bones. "Cross my heart. I was like 'oh my god, just go talk to her already'."
"Will he? When will he? Oooooo, my little heart."
"He says he's close. I tried the ones he baked last week, and they were… I can't even describe them. Just divine."
She groans, whining, "I don't want cake-pops, I just want him."
"You'll get him soon." He rubs her arm in comfort. "And then you'll fall madly in love and move in together like you dreamt about, and your house will smell like cakes and flowers all the time, so obviously I'm moving in as well. Just saying."
Her giggles are so stinking cute. "You're the sweetest thing. But you better not move in, ‘cause I'll either be sitting on that man's face or on his dick at all times, and you don't wanna be around for that."
"You're the worst." He chuckles as he waves. "Gotta go. See ya."
A few houses over, he stops at his last house in this neighborhood, taking his last package in both hands and staring blankly at it, at the details in the posh address tag with curly letters. Eijirou wonders if the blond will be receiving packages every week. Then he wonders if that’ll be a good thing for his heart.
Doesn’t matter. This is his job, so he’s gonna give it his best effort!
With a deep breath, Eijirou squares his shoulders and lifts his chin, eyes ahead and not on that stunning garden, not on that cozy home. Without hesitation, he rings the doorbell and shouts "Delivery!" with the same conviction as he always does, even if a thread of excitement jitters down his spine.
It doesn’t take long for the usual stomps before the door swings open, deep red eyes instantly snapping to the flower on his ear and staying there for a stretched moment, before dragging back to Eijirou’s. There’s a slight blush on his cheeks. Hopefully the flower didn’t make him uncomfortable.
"Hey, Brat," Eijirou says, trying not to cringe as he says his real name out loud. "How's it going?"
The blond frowns. "The fuck? Brat?" Then recognition washes over his beautiful face, before that wicked grin returns. "Keep calling me that, and we're gonna have to start discussing safe words, daddy."
"W-what…?"
The guy chuckles. "Don't worry your dumb little head about it." Then he extends a hand for the package. "How about you help me put on what the hag sent over?"
Daddy? Safe words? Is he talking about sex? They met once before! Why the fuck is it always about sex? Eijirou feels the scowl hardening his face as he holds the package protectively against his chest. "I'm not dumb."
"I didn't say–"
"You did. Apologize."
The blond’s eyes stretch, his lips part. "What?"
"You don't know me. You're just being mean for no reason."
There’s silence for a second, before the guy says, calmly, gently, as if to a villain in a hostage situation, "You need to fucking relax, Red."
Eijirou laughs. "Yeah, sure. It's always me. My problem. My issues. I’m the one who’s unreasonable for wanting basic human decency." He’s breathing hard when the words stop spilling. And everything is way too hot, and his throat is closing up. Shit, he needs to get out of here. "Sorry. Just… I had a rough night, and… I'm sorry." He shoves the box against the blond’s chest. "Here. Sorry. See ya."
When the first tear slips out, he’s not even fully down the front steps. God, he feels so hopeless, so weak, handing over all his power to shitty people acting shitty without even attempting to fight for it. How the hell is he deserving of anything his stupid dreams dish out? Of anything lasting? Of anything beautiful?
Without much thought, he reaches for the daisy over his ear and yanks it off, crushes it in his hand, and throws it at the rose bushes, before crossing the gate and running down the street to his truck.
Later that night and like so many nights, cocooned under his comforter and hugging Dr. Sharky to his chest, he doesn't even try to resist checking the blond's photo once more, his phone lighting up the dark bedroom.
Nothing in his brain but static, he just stares, silently wiping away tears as they fall, tapping his screen over and over when it starts to dim. That picture has somehow become the door to his dreams, with no real hope of it ever becoming true, but regardless he can’t seem to close it shut and go on with his life. Like a child not wanting to grow up. Like an old man not wanting to settle down.
It’s not the cozy house behind the blond that draws him in, not the gorgeous lingerie bringing life to a perfect pecs, perfect skin, perfect everything. It’s not his insecurities, rolling on the floor laughing when he wonders how lingerie would look on his body, in a practiced model pose that accentuated his sex-appeal–what sex-appeal…?
It’s none of that. It’s the eyes, the look. Because everytime he stares at the picture he remembers he was the one to take it, and that the blond was looking at him like that. Kind of.
And that’s what he wants. A look that’s just for him. And now… he wants it coming from those eyes. Like the blond is precious, somehow. But he barely even knows him.
It's just that… if Eijirou keeps him in his fantasies, they could become anything together. In his dreams the blond isn't a sophisticated god that's way out of his league, but a partner, a lover, the one who he shares his life with, who thinks Eijirou is enough. And of course he'd never be enough for a runway model, used to a lifestyle Eijirou can't even begin to comprehend.
He just wants unattainable things. And then whines like a baby when they don’t happen.
Actual romantic love is outdated and he’s just stuck back in time. Sex is what matters, and Eijirou isn’t the worst option out there, he guesses. If he keeps his mouth shut at least, to hide his pointy teeth and contain his ramblings. And if he tops from behind so his bottoms can't see his belly bulge and love handles.
But… he doesn't want to be a body. He wants to be a boyfriend. A husband, someday.
He wants to be a "treasure" and a "baby" and a "love of my life."
His lip wobbles. He bites it down.
"Just go to sleep," he whispers, hoping he’d listen.
This time, when the screen dims, he doesn’t tap it, and eventually the room goes black. Still, Eijirou doesn’t move, not for a long while, and just as he was about to connect the device to its charger, a text message pings on his phone. Not a custom tone from one of his friends, though, just the bland, generic one.
He checks it. And his heart jumps up to his throat.
an actual model, omg…: Katsuki.
Me: ???
an actual model, omg…: My name. My mother just calls me brat, sometimes.
Eijirou turns to solid stone at that. Heat blooms on his whole body and he groans loudly into Dr. Sharky. He called him brat today. To his face! And yet… yet he texted Eijirou. Without a prompt. And now the blond lingerie model of his dreams finally has a non-mortifying name.
It pulls a shy smile out of him.
Me : shit… ur right, I am dumb 😅😩
an actual model, omg…: You're really not.
an actual model, omg…: Good night.
Me: good night! 👋
That week, Eijirou delivered another package for the blond, and two more the week after, every box bringing a different set of gorgeous lingerie that Katsuki would try out right there in front of him. Well, the tops, obviously.
One of the packages was the most surprising, without the pretty address label. Katsuki still opened it in his entryway like always, but this time there was a gorgeous blush on his cheeks, and when he handed Eijirou the contents, saying it was actually ordered for him, Eijirou instantly turned the same color. It was a wooden box, marked with a logo he recognized instantly as the sweets shop just a few minutes away from his childhood home in Chiba. They ate it together, right there by the door.
Another week passes and Eijirou is at Katsuki’s doorstep again, pressing the doorbell and shouting, "Delivery!"
Fast stomps come rushing to the door, and then silence for a long moment before it finally opens. "Hey," Katsuki says casually.
"Hey, man!" Eijirou waves at him, then gently shakes the box he brought today. "This one feels so light it's either empty or some kind of super sleek, futuristic fabric that’s made out of clouds." He chuckles as he hands it over.
Katsuki smiles but frowns at the same time, and says quietly, "You're right," before opening the box. There’s surprise tilting his brows before he takes out a small white card, too little for a box that big. Is that all? It could've come in an envelope, through the normal mail. No need for a delivery service.
Katsuki huffs, a grin so wide and gentle it turns Eijirou's heart to jelly. "Fucking hag."
"Is everything okay?"
"Yeah." He shakes his head. "Just made the terrible mistake of telling my mom about my hot as fuck delivery guy."
That peaks his interest immediately. "Oh, yeah, Tetsu's body’s the bomb!" Four percent body fat, lats to die for. The dream! "He only does this route when I'm on vacation, though."
For a moment, Katsuki seems to experience some sort of brain reboot, his stare blank and his jaw loose before it snaps shut like one of those turtles that chomp whole fingers off. "It's you, dumbass! Why the fuck would I be talking about fucking what's-his-name? I don't even know him!"
What? No, that can’t be right. "Why did you tell her I was hot, then?"
Katsuki still stares, his jaw hanging even lower and his head shaking slightly, just before something sets fire to his eyes. He stands taller, then nods once, determined. "Wait here."
The door stays open as Katsuki bolts inside and up the stairs, it sounds like, but soon heavy footfalls become louder and louder, rushing back. A second later, Katsuki emerges with a box exactly like the ones Eijirou usually delivers to his house. He takes a black marker from the entryway table and the white card he received earlier, quickly scratching over the message there before switching to the other side and writing something else. Eijirou can't read it from this far.
Katsuki shoves the card into the box and seals it shut with packing tape from the same drawer. When it's done, he throws it at Eijirou's chest, his cheeks ruddy, his eyes stretched too wide, aimed at everything but at Eijirou himself. "Open it at home." Then the door is thrown shut so hard, Eijirou jumps at the slam.
With the hum-hum of work, which included an impromptu tire blowout, he forgets about the box for the rest of the day, only coming back to memory when all his packages were delivered and one still remained in his truck. He takes it home, itching to open it, so the moment he closes his apartment door, he’s reaching for a kitchen knife and slicing through the packing tape. But he stalls.
Katsuki gave him that box, prepared it himself–he can't open it next to his dirty dishes! Taking it toward his bedroom, he sits on the bed, ready. Slowly, gently, he spreads open the cardboard, and his lip hangs open.
His hand reaches for it, but he jerks away, abandoning the box for a quick dash to his bathroom to wash his hands before he soils something so precious. Then he’s back and kneeling beside the bed, taking out the beautiful garment, in a deep navy blue, with glittery accents as if stars in the faraway sky. He places it carefully over his comforter, the bra and the thong, feeling the soft silky fabric under his fingertips. Why did Katsuki…?
Instantly, Eijirou remembers the white card and reaches for it. The scratches are there but the text beneath is still readable, saying 'I expect grandkids in two years', which is… odd? But that’s Katsuki’s relationship with his mother, he guesses. Eijirou flips the card, and when he does, his heart drums louder in his ears.
'Send me a photo so I can tell you how beautiful you look.'
He reads it at least a dozen times before gazing back at the lingerie again. Katsuki’s not really expecting him to put it on, right? Does it even fit? It seems a more relaxed cut than most of what the blond usually puts on, but…
Silently caressing the soft fabric, he stares at it for so long his knees start to hurt, so he stands up, intending only to change his position, but somehow he brings along the bra. Slowly, unsure but also unyielding, he removes his shirt to put it on, slowly, like he’s seen Katsuki do so many times–first the arms, then the clip on the back.
When he’s done, he swears a summer breeze envelops his body even though all the windows are closed. There's a tingle coating his skin, that sensation of muscles that never experienced what’s happening. A palm traces his pecs, squeezes them through the fabric, and it feels so special, so intimate and intense that without thinking he’s reaching for the thong too, stepping out of his pants and boxers–and socks because you can’t wear pretty panties with taco socks. He slips it on, knowing for sure he’s gonna rip the flimsy thing in two, but it keeps strong as he pulls it over his cock, cozying it in its pouch, and yeah, this is obviously made specifically for men.
It’s so soft. He feels so delicate, but at the same time so hardcore and manly. He too could strut down a runway in front of a crowd, he too could pose for the front cover of a magazine for millions to see. He could do anything.
His eyes drag back to his bed, to the white rectangle with black marker chicken-scratches sitting on his comforter.
"Send a photo," he whispers. Should he?
Quickly, he slips his phone from his discarded pants and opens the camera app, then closes his bedroom door and stands in front of the mirror there, phone already up and pointing at his image. He’s smiling. With his lips and his eyes. Damn, he looks good, doesn't he?
Snapping the picture, he flops back to his bed and splays himself, quickly changing to his messages and adding the picture. No text because there’s nothing to say, but as his thumb hovers the send button, he stalls.
Is he really about to send basically a nude to Katsuki? Showing off those fat hips, those flabby biceps. He zooms in on his belly, and even though his pouch isn’t too visible in that perspective, his love handles sure are.
With a groan, he discards the draft message and tosses his phone, closing his eyes and just absorbing the way the garment makes him feel. It’s okay to keep it on. He’s alone, no one will see his imperfections.
He falls asleep wearing the pieces, straight to his morning alarm without even having dinner or washing his teeth. For a single second, he contemplates leaving the underwear on, wearing it out under his uniform. He’s too chicken in the end.
Every morning for a whole week, he opens his dresser and stares at the deep blue pieces, but he always takes a pair of fresh boxer shorts instead. The color stays in his mind throughout his days, though, the comforting pressure around his ribs too, until he starts to wonder why two pieces of fabric, albeit gorgeous and well made, have such a deep impact on him.
Was it… because for a moment he felt truly beautiful?
The pieces are so small they barely cover anything. Can he really say that, in the whole of his hulking body, a tiny scrap of fabric was responsible for making him see what he never truly made an effort to see?
Maybe… his pecs are full and round. Maybe his jawline is strong, his cheekbones are high and manly. His eyes are big and expressive, his smile is bright, and his muscles are hard-earned and well-loved. And he’s not 'oh, very sorry for being so wide', he’s 'fucking wide, baby! Holy shit!'
It’s something he’d never thought he’d be able to believe about himself. Wow, it’s… Wow.
The feeling stays with him, making him float from house to house like a butterfly in his favorite neighborhood. Makes him laugh with Lucy and Roger as they share one of the chocolate fudge cake-pops he perfected and named after her. Makes him turn up Ceci’s radio and salsa dance up and down her front porch.
Makes him grin as he looks up at the two-story craftsman-style home of his dreams, sighing happily as he strolls through the gorgeous flower garden.
"Delivery!"
This time Eijirou is surprised when the door opens, because there was no stomping to alert him. Slowly, Katsuki appears behind it, a cute little smile on his face that makes Eijirou’s heart twirl in his chest.
"Here you go, citizen!" Eijirou says dramatically, chest puffed out and hand fisted against his hip while the other hands over the usual box. "Your package is safe!"
"Tsk, dork," Katsuki says quietly, head down, eyes on the cardboard, thumb tracing the pretty label. He glances up at Eijirou but just for a second, before turning back inside and nudging the door closed. "Thanks. See you later."
Eijirou jolts and steps closer. "W-Wait. Aren’t you… gonna open it?"
Katsuki pauses, some kind of ungentle peacefulness, a resignation coating those shiny red eyes. It takes him a moment, before he looks away and says, "You didn’t send it. The photo."
"The…" It quickly clicks in Eijirou’s mind. "Oh. Yeah, sorry, I–"
"Don't apologize." Katsuki lifts a hand between them, then rakes it though his hair and lets it fall. He sighs and he's smiling, but it's so strained, so… sad. "I'm just too close to falling too deep, and I can't have you breaking my heart, Red."
"Breaking your…" Eijirou’s breaths get heavier, harder to pull. "What do you mean?"
"I dunno. Just… assumed you were interested or whatever. My bad, so… I gotta go, okay?" The door closes softly, and when the latch clicks it’s a switch in Eijirou’s brain.
Without second-guessing or wondering why, he slips his phone from his pocket, photos folder, share, send. And in a moment, from right behind the door, a maniacal cackle followed by an explosion rings through.
He thinks he can hear a gasp. He’s not sure, but it doesn’t matter because the door opens again. Katsuki is holding his phone, parted lips, stretched eyes.
"It felt so delicate and I felt so pretty," Eijirou tells him. "And I was definitely gonna send it to you but…" His eyes fall to his boots. "I looked at it, and all I saw was a million flaws and I didn't have the guts."
"Eijirou, you're–"
"Please tell me what you mean. Interested?"
Katsuki frowns, plunges his hands into his pockets. "Fuck. Yeah, interested. Dating and shit."
"Dating."
"Yes, dating."
Eijirou feels the word like a punch to his stomach. "What's…?" He clears his throat. "What’s… dating?"
"The fuck do you mean, what's–?"
"To you," Eijirou whispers. "Please, I need– You have to tell me. Because I can't–" His voice falters. The air is burning, hot as steam, rushing in, quivering out. "I can't take it. Not from you."
There’s shock but also understanding in Katsuki’s expression. He shrugs. "Dinner? Drinks? Fucking rock climbing, I don't know."
A wet chuckle rushes out of Eijirou's lungs. Is this really…? Does he really have a shot? "Not sex?"
Katsuki looks away, cheeks ablaze like he's been long in the sun. "Fuck, I mean… Is it… bad? We're fucking adults and shit."
Eijirou cackles. "We are!"
"If I want to sit on your cock on our first date, I'm gonna sit on your stupid cock."
That whole sentence would make him whine and promptly self-combust, if not for that one little word. "First? First date?"
Katsuki looks down at their feet, shoulders hiked up. "Well… yeah. You want just the one?"
"No." Eijirou steps closer. Too close. "No, I want them all."
Katsuki slides forward, leans against the door jamb. "Yeah?"
Eijirou nods, enthralled by blond eyelashes, the way they shine when gazing at his boring uniform shirt, the way they flutter when chancing a glance up, nervous, shy, before shooting back down.
"What if I want many?" Katsuki asks, so quietly.
Eijirou curls into him, golden strands tickling the tip of his nose. Green apples and lemon. "All of them."
"What if…?" Fingertips rise to Eijirou's chest but don't connect, just hover over his heart. "What if I want lame brunch dates, and… and boring antiquing dates?"
"All of them, Katsuki."
"And chocolates and… f-flowers?"
"All of th– Wait, what did you say?"
"They're not just for chicks! Guys can have flowers too."
Quicker and more brilliant than any thought Eijirou has ever had, a plan and a route forms in his mind and he's spinning around, away, down the steps in a jump, screaming, "Wait here!"
"Hey!" Katsuki shouts. "What–?"
"Two minutes!"
Eijirou's legs pump in overdrive, down the street where he begs Roger for a cake-pop and Lucy for the most beautiful specimen of her "Pick a Flower, Spread the Love" corner, promising he's gonna indeed do the latter, rain check on the juicy details. They laugh at his excitement as he powers up the street and skids to a stop on the sidewalk, next to Ceci who is still in her garden. "Ceci! The extra tickets. Do you still have them?"
"Ay Dios mío," she says, a hand to her chest. "¿Quieres matarme del corazón?"
"Sorry! I'm sorry. I…" He breathes, in and out, and he doesn't know what he's saying, but the words are still leaving his mouth. "I found him. My special lady. Guy! It's a guy. I'm so fucking in love and I barely know him, but I do because he's me, he's mine. I want him. And I'm so excited and scared and happy. I'm so happy, Ceci." He laughs and it's wet and his cheeks are wet as he rubs them, but that's okay because a dam breaking is bound to soak things. "So if you still have the tickets, could I please have them?"
Ceci just smiles at him. "Is it the mean whore man?"
A loud cackle. "Yes!"
"He better keep you happy." She nods. "In the drawer. Run."
Eijirou nods too, dashes to her house and out in three seconds, down the street again to the home that's only of his dreams because of the man living inside it. The door is closed again. He knocks loudly.
Katsuki yanks it open with a snarl and glassy red eyes. "Fuck you! There's nothing wrong with guys liking… "–His gaze drops to Eijirou's hands.–"flowers?"
"What? Of course there's not!" Eijirou says then frowns, something ugly and hot bubbling in the pit of his stomach. "Wait, did someone tell you–?"
"Forget it," Katsuki interrupts, gently taking the flower and tracing its petals. "Thanks."
"I'll give you flowers every day."
A smile forms on Katsuki's face. "Stop that. I have a whole garden of them for a reason."
"Then I'll help you tend to it! Full disclosure, I killed my friend's cactus before, but I'm eager to improve!"
Katsuki chuckles "How the fuck do you kill–? Is that a fucking cake-pop?"
"Yeah!" Eijirou hands it over. "And there's the cutest story behind it that I'll be sure to tell you on our first date to…" He whips the tickets between them and checks the information. "The Laundromat?"
Oh my god. Is he taking the possible love of his life to a laundromat? Who the hell needs tickets to a laundromat?
Katsuki takes and inspects the slips. "The comedy club downtown?"
"Oh! Yeah, that makes more sense." Crap… Maybe being around the blond makes him dumb somehow. Or… is he really like this all the time? Black tar fills his chest and makes it heavy, because no way does he deserve a minute with someone so smart and put together. "Are you sure about this? I mean… You can go out with anyone. And you want that to be me?"
Between the ecstasy of having and the panic of losing what he still hasn't truly won yet, Eijirou wasn't exactly sure what to expect by those words. What he got from Katsuki, though, is a stare so serious it sobers him up completely. "You know what that means? Anyone?"
Eijirou shakes his head softly.
"That for each hundred creeps, I meet one nice guy that's too shy to even talk to me." Those eyes fill up so fast, Eijirou is sure that wound is deep and old, and God, does he get that. "It’s fucking lonely."
In an instant, Eijirou takes both his hands, crinkling the tickets, squishing the flower, because he feels those words so deep in his chest that it rattles his heart and breaks his breaths into little pieces. But still he smiles, since it's them now, sharing that same fear of finding no one real and knocking it out with one single punch of their entwined fists.
"I'm not too shy to talk to mostly anyone," Eijirou says, a teasing smile on his lips. "In case you haven't noticed."
Katsuki huffs. "I noticed."
"I'm the opposite of that, actually."
"You are."
Their foreheads connect. Katsuki sighs. Eijirou whispers, "I like talking to you."
"I like talking to you too." A firm hand flattens against Eijirou's chest, sending jitters down his sternum. Until it shoves him away into a stumble. "But now you gotta leave."
Eijirou pouts. "I do?"
"Yeah, 'cause these tickets are for today, and if you come pick me up in a sweaty delivery guy uniform because you didn't have time to change, we may not be able to leave."
"Yeah? Anything fun in mind?"
Katsuki nods. "I'm gonna make you feel as beautiful as you truly are." He takes Eijirou's hand, kisses every one of his knuckles. "And you better get used to that, Red."