Chapter Text
spicy
They all noticed the strange new trend, but no one had the gall to ask about it. Well, everyone except Tenya, it would seem.
“I didn't know that you liked tomato juice, Bakugou,” Tenya comments, delicately, and without any sort of accusation as he is want to. Ochako isn't sure that they'll ever really get along, but. Well. Things are different now, whether they like it or not. “Next outing, would you like us to bring more back?”
Bakugou scowls around the pouch’s tube, clearly irritated, and she squints. The label looks slapdash, but cheap brands will do that. Or the really fancy ones trying to be cool.
He drains the pouch before saying anything, sullen. “Nitroglycerin replacement,” he growls, looking away, and the table takes a collective breath. Oh. Oh. “Specially made, so any idiot willing to try some, get ready for a fucking world of pain.”
Izuku’s frowning next to her though, stricken as they are, but troubled gaze fixated on the pouch now lying on the table. Toma-Buddy, it reads when Ochako tilts her head, a cartoon tomato stenciled over it, Your first stop for a custom supplement! Flavor: Sun Dried & Mild. A tiny sticker labels it Caution: Nitroglycerin.
“Does it taste good?” Mina asks, curious, and trying to lift the mood.
Their answer is a grin, and a short, “Fuck no.”
Next to her, Izuku eases.
watashi wa
“Whoa, Baku-bro, you don't have to be so formal with us, y’know?” Denki says, startled, and Katsuki gives him an unamused but faintly confused look. “You're still our best bro.”
Eijirou nods along, hair flopping with the intensity. “Yeah man, like you said, nothing’s gonna change, we'll still be right there with you.”
For a moment longer, Katsuki still seems confused, and the faintest stirrings of offense begin to color his face before it seems to dawn on him. Annoyance sets in, but Denki swears for just, just one second, he thought Katsuki’s might have been about to laugh.
“I slipped, is all,” he snarls, emphasis on the more casual subject noun, and they let it go.
hygiene
Bakugou brushes the hair out of his eyes for the twentieth time, irritation plain in the grit of his teeth, and Sero just can't take it anymore. It's been steadily growing longer for months now, and he still hasn't gotten it cut.
Not that Sero's sure he ever has. No one ever saw him, but everyone assumes he just. Blasted it off, when it got too long. No one's sure if they'll ever know, now.
“I can cut your hair, if you'd like,” he offers, grinning to cover up his uncertainty. It's hard to gauge Bakugou, after. Explosions were the norm, but now it's the rare beratement, stewed silence, or snap and growl before stalking off. “Unless you're growing it out…?”
“Fuck you,” Bakugou says bitingly, not really a solid yes or no answer these days, but.
Hound Dog takes that moment to lope through the doorway, spinning around with a triumphant cackle as Tooru puffs into the classroom behind him. She proceeds to accept her punishment for being late, which is only if they're later than Inui—who has to dash from the support department—and Sero forgets to press the issue when the Pro demands they all pass their family health history essays up to the front.
Three days later, it's back to its spiky short mess, but Sero’s only able to really acknowledge it briefly during the match, it's been cut, before being pinned to the mat. He yields.
“Bakugou wins,” Aizawa drones, sounding bored near to tears, and Sero sighs.
Of course.
you have 30 new messages
Shouta lets them all stand, chatting away and picking up their bags and books, before saying, “Bakugou, a moment.”
They all stutter in movement, so sure it's something bad or at least not nice. Bakugou scoffs, however, and at his uncaring attitude, motion begins again, more forced than natural, their assurances to their classmate louder than needed. One by one they troop out, not without backward glances, and then it's just Shouta and one of Yuuei’s brightest.
“What is it?” Bakugou demands, slouched with one strap over a shoulder. Still and always will be their resident delinquent, won't he. Though, Shouta knows that he knows what this is be about, and lets the silence wear down the boy’s barbed and feigned ignorance. “Fuck, she calling you now? I told her I'm fucking peachy, the hag.”
“Talk to your Mother more often or I will see to it that you have clean up duty with Minoru more often than not,” Shouta says, and snaps his attendance book shut. “If my voicemail gets full again…”
He lets the threat hang, and Bakugou growls out a sharp, “Fine!” before stomping away.
Shouta nods briefly to himself. Mission accomplished.
aesthetics
Kouda doesn't tell anyone what he sees, not even Sato, because it was an accident and it's none of his business anyway, and it's not like it's some puzzle piece to some unexplained mystery. Bakugou is Bakugou, and while they're not really more than classmates, their interactions have always been decent, at least. He's never made fun of Kouda for not talking, and the bar is set pretty low due to habit, so.
So. He keeps it to himself because Bakugou’s been doing well enough before now, and it's not like Kouda needs to step in or anything. Bakugou doesn't need any help.
Until he does, and.
Maybe it was a long time coming anyway, or it just slipped his mind, but all that matters is that Bakugou drops used paper towels into the trashcan just as Kouda enters the bathroom and strolls out without so much as a by your leave. Which is the usual, they're not more than classmates, really. Only. Only it's just that after Kouda’s done and washed his hands, goes to throw his own paper towels away, Minoru leves the urinal to wash his hands, and when Kouda looks down to toss the paper towels, he freezes.
Mostly covered by the soggy brown paper is a much too bright and plastic sanitary wrapper, so easily recognizable to anyone really, given a good enough look, and Kouda panics spectacularly because Minoru is the absolute worst.
“—the hell! Where’re you going with the trash can?"