Work Text:
Kirishima is a lot of things, and unexpected is one of them. In fact, most of what Kirishima does throws Bakugou completely off-guard. But the one thing that Bakugou could never have seen coming from the loud, energetic redhead, is that Kirishima Eijirou can paint.
Bakugou doesn’t know much about paintings, but Kirishima is curious and dabbles in a lot of different styles, some famous enough that Bakugou can recognise them. Still, what Kirishima produces is undeniably him. Not because of the abundance of red - which isn’t a thing, surprisingly -, not because of the brightness, the joy, or the boldness of his works, but there’s definitely something that either screams or whispers Kirishima Eijirou. Bakugou loves watching him paint. Kirishima often switches between swift strokes of a large paintbrush and small pecks of a stylised chopstick, between swirling curves and sharp angles, between bright colours and muted shades, between distinct figures and abstract shapes. Bakugou isn’t sure what he admires more, the process, the paintings, or the painter. When Kirishima sits in front of a canvas, his entire demeanour settles down to something much more calm, but no less strong than the rock he can become. He vibrates with a different energy, in tune with something that Bakugou can’t see, can’t feel, can’t exactly understand. His eyes shine with something Bakugou would call creativity, but he knows there’s more to it, and then brushes, sponges, fingers sometimes, coated with paint, fly over the blank sheet to fill it with a little bit of Kirishima Eijirou. It’s not hard to tell that Kirishima pours himself into his artworks. Something in him opens when he paints. His face, although focused on his work, is relaxed, lit up by some internal light, and bare of any mask Kirishima, sincere, genuine Kirishima unconsciously puts over himself. Bakugou feels like he can gaze into Kirishima’s soul like this, and what he sees there snatches his heart away and places it into Kirishima’s paint-stained hands.
He doesn’t want it back, Bakugou realises under the blinding light that is Kirishima painting. It’s happy where it is, safely nestled between the gentle but strong fingers of an unknowing Kirishima. It’s surprisingly easy, and unexpectedly satisfying, to let his heart be taken away by someone who bares his own so freely, colour upon colour. It became easy to trust Kirishima, to let him do what he wanted with Bakugou, and perhaps it’s because it shows in his work that he knows what he’s doing, because he puts thought and dedication, and because even if sometimes he doesn’t think things though, he ends up doing something good, fitting, and beautiful. He wonders sometimes what Kirishima could paint with Bakugou’s feelings for him, if he ever learnt about them. Kirishima has the talent of someone who worked hard to get where he is, he knows balance, measure, and accuracy. He knows patience, frustration, and resilience.
It's not really a surprise, then, Bakugou thinks, that his heart chose Kirishima. Someone whose strength comes from within and shines outwards, and can be admired on so many levels. Someone who is genuine in everything he says. Someone who can protect and expose at the same time, someone who stands tall, proud, strong in front of everyone he deems deserving, and who sits behind his open heart as if he has nothing to hide, nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to protect from the looks of others. Someone who gives and accepts unconditionally.