Chapter Text
Very few people knew how early he woke up. The only people he bumped into during his morning routine were Bakugou and Midoriya, usually because they were going to train—and that was usually an entire hour after he'd woken up.
To be fair, he could usually doze in the tub during his daily soak.
Yeah, he took a bath every day. What about it? Heroism was hard on the skin, and he needed adequate time to repair the damage that being blown up every other day imparted.
He rose from his bed and armed himself with bath salts, a face mask, and a deep conditioner, then slid his feet into slippers and padded toward the bathroom. He was glad to have these early mornings to himself.
The last time Kirishima had seen his skincare routine, he'd been questioned so thoroughly about each component that he felt like a villain being interrogated. That was obviously not the man's intention, but the peace of solitude was a welcome relief. His rituals were meant to be soothing—indulgent self-care that would keep him sparkling.
But this morning, for the first time, he wasn't alone.
He heard their voices before he'd entered the bathroom—Bakugou's voice carrying no matter how quiet he tried to be. "Stay still, Deku, you're just making it harder" he snapped.
"This hurts Kacchan!" he whined.
Aoyama's eyebrows shot up, his face going beet red. That didn't sound like appropriate public bathroom behavior.
"Aaaahahahaaaaa that hurts!"
"Calm down, it's almost done," Bakugou grumbled, sounding very focused. What were they doing? He knew that their relationship had improved a great deal, but had it improved enough that they were banging in the bathroom first thing in the morning?
Curiosity overwhelmed him, and he chanced a glance around the corner.
He would have let out a gusty sigh of relief if he weren't so utterly confused about what he was watching.
"This part hurts and then the rest feels good, be fucking patient you little shit," Bakugou griped. Midoriya was in a chair, leaning back with his head against the counter. There was a face steamer perched near the sink, and Bakugou was bent over his face with an extractor.
Was...Bakugou giving Midoriya a facial?
"You said this would be relaxing!" Midoriya whined, squirming as Bakugou dug the extractor into the side of his nose.
"It will be, calm the fuck down! You've been hit with whole-ass buildings, you can handle extractions you fucking baby!"
Midoriya pouted but settled—still grimacing, but making less of a fuss. Aoyama watched in rapt fascination as Bakugou worked.
Bakugou himself was wearing a headband and had a mask—probably a peel—slathered on his face. He was leaning close to Midoriya, eyes lasered onto the task before him.
Close enough to kiss him.
Aoyama blushed again, unwilling to move lest he disturb the serenity and unexpected intimacy. Bakugou was being so gentle. Aoyama had been through his fair share of extractions, and this was practically a loving caress.
Finally, Bakugou put the extractor down and picked up the steamer. "Keep your eyes closed—hot steam in your eyes fuckin' sucks," he warned. Midoriya let out a small hum of understanding, relaxing now that Katsuki wasn't digging into his skin.
Once Katsuki seemed satisfied that his pores were good and open, he picked up a tube of creme mask—gently spreading it onto Midoriya's face and cracking a small smile when he yelped from the cold. "Could have warned me," he pouted.
"Sorry," he chuckled. Aoyama watched, fascinated, as Bakugou massaged the mask into Izuku's face in sweeping arcs—far more than any normal facial actually required. He huffed in envy when Bakugou pulled a damp towel out of a personal towel steamer. He didn't even have one of those. He gently toweled off the mask, before applying a new one—a soft clay mask. Midoriya must have oily skin.
His eyes widened when, after the mask was applied, Bakugou rearranged them and slowly rubbed Midoriya's shoulders—pushing any remaining tension out of the smaller man's body.
"Feels good," Midoriya murmured, sinking into Bakugou's touch. Aoyama had never seen him look anything less than nervous on the intensity scale. He usually ranged from stressed to excited, with occasional stops at furious and awkward. But right now he looked utterly at peace under explosive hands.
They had to be dating. Right? That was the only way Bakugou would be making that face. Looking so pleased and affectionate—like he was happy to dote on Midoriya like this.
"Told you," Bakugou teased. Teased. "Learn to take care of yourself. Feels fuckin' good, and you don't look like a piece of greasy broccoli."
"Mean, Kacchan," Midoriya murmured, clearly not offended enough to tense up even a little. He was so relaxed that he was practically limp. "Besides, why would I learn to do this when you're so good at it?"
Bakugou barked a laugh. "I'm not gonna give you a facial every fuckin' week, nerd."
"Awww," Midoriya pouted.
Bakugou sighed in defeat, just like Aoyama suspected he would. Who could deny that pout? Well...Bakugou could have a few months ago. Times had changed quickly, it seemed. "Lazy little shit."
"Guilty," he replied.
He whined plaintively when Katsuki withdrew his hands so that he could wash the mask from Izuku's face. Aoyama's breath caught when Bakugou leaned forward—just within kissing distance. Was he going to—
"Finally, your pores aren't caked with dirt," Bakugou whispered, an inch from Midoriya's lips. "Now it's time to wean you off 2-in-1 shampoo you fucking heathen."
It sounded so sultry that Aoyama dropped his shower caddy—jar of bath salts rolling across the floor. Both boys jumped at the crash, turning to look at him. "Oh! Good morning, Aoyama!" Midoriya greeted him brightly.
"Bonjour, mon ami," he squeaked back.
Bakugou picked up his bath salts, handing it back to him like nothing was amiss. "Those are fuckin' expensive. Don't just go dropping them."
"Of course. Merci, Bakugou," Aoyama replied, a little more cognizant of his tone. Why were they acting so normal when they were about to kiss half a second ago? "You two are in here awfully early."
"Teaching this little fuck how to take care of his dumb face."
"Hey!"
As they bickered back and forth—Midoriya's face glowing from Bakugou's tender care, Aoyama wondered if they'd even realized how intimate the moment was.
"I can't wait to blast you into the fucking sun you little shit."
Apparently not.
Two weeks later on an early Saturday morning, he ran into them again.
He'd taken care of his morning ritual and was on his way to the kitchen to make himself an indulgent breakfast and brew the new coffee beans his mother had sent him. He stopped dead at the entrance to the common room.
This felt familiar.
Bakugou and Midoriya were on the couch, leaning against each other. They were watching something—a newer hero biopic, it looked like—and discussing it quietly, face masks on and looking utterly relaxed.
They were touching so much, from light smacks when Bakugou said something out of pocket, to Bakugou lazily slinging an arm over Midoriya's shoulders.
He had been sure they were dating. But he'd asked Uraraka and Kirishima the last time this had happened and they'd both insisted that they weren't together. Now that the matter had been brought to light, everyone had some anecdote about how close those two were.
Still, there had to be something going on right? They couldn't be that oblivious to how they behaved.
"Aoyama!" Midoriya greeted him. He jumped out of his skin, shocked that he'd been caught. "Good morning!"
"Good morning," he replied, a little squeaky.
"Don't just stand there, fucking join us if you're going to be here," Bakugou snapped.
Aoyama shook his head, putting his hands up in protest. "Ah, non. I don't want to interrupt, mes amis." They both frowned at him, and he frowned right back.
"You're not interrupting," Midoriya insisted. "We even have another face mask if you want. We're just hanging out," he said all of this with a confused tinge to his voice.
"But..." he watched in fascination as both boys cocked their heads in confusion. They weren't dating. Wow. "Ah, never mind," he waved it off. "I'll make myself some coffee and then join you," he said smiling brightly. If he joined them now, he'd have more tea to spill at girls' night.
Because they might not be dating now, but he didn't imagine that would last long.