Chapter Text
Gentle snoring woke Uraraka, and for a fleeting moment, she didn’t think anything of it. Through her eyelashes, she could make out Kirishima’s head resting in her lap. As her breathing shifted, she felt his arm tighten around her waist. They’d probably stayed up too late watching some shitty chick flick or horror movie. Any minute now, Bakugou would stomp in and chew their ears off for sleeping on the couch again.
Bakugou didn’t mind that Uraraka used his boyfriend as a human body pillow or that Kirishima liked to curl up on her like he was a cat and she was a sun patch. He did, however, find the snuggly roommates’ lack of care for proper sleep schedules personally offensive.
Sighing deeply, Uraraka wiggled her toes and decided that Baku-rage was worth a few more minutes of blissful slumber. She wasn’t afraid of the puffed-up chihuahua turned celebrity. She knew him far too well to be any kind of spooked around him. Besides, Kirishima was here. As long as she had her shark-toothed partner in crime, even the grumpiest Bakugou couldn’t rain on her parade.
In the end, it was discomfort and aching bones that woke Uraraka fully. Yawning widely, she blinked sleep from her eyes. With her senses returning, she realized several things in rapid succession. One, this wasn’t her living room or her apartment, for that matter. Two, it looked like a floral shop had exploded around her.
Through the flowers, Uraraka could make out what appeared to be the poshest hospital room she’d ever set foot in. It was hard to tell exactly how the room looked, though. Nearly every surface was overflowing with a truly impressive array of massive bouquets.
This wouldn’t be the first time Uraraka had woken up in a hospital, but this was unquestionably the first time she’d woken to a scene like this. For starters, she never got more than the most basic room, sometimes even sharing it with a few other patients. Moreover, the only people who brought her flowers were her parents, and they never brought this many. Bouquets this nice were wildly expensive, and the sheer number alone dismissed any thought of hers that her parents were behind the excessive show.
Deeply disoriented by her surroundings, it took a moment for Uraraka’s memory to jog, reminding her why she was here in the first place. It wasn’t until that particular revelation hit that her body decided to remind her that stunt work wasn’t for pansies. Everything ached. How she hadn’t felt it sooner had to be a testament to how thoroughly knocked out she’d been.
Groaning, Uraraka shot a glance over to Kirishima. No longer napping on her, he was sitting in a plush chair, scrolling through his phone. The second he heard her stir, though, he was on his feet, coming to her side.
“Glad you didn’t go all Sleeping Beauty on us,” he chuckled, brushing his bangs out of his eyes. It wasn’t styled up in its usual spikes, giving Uraraka a feeling he hadn’t been home since the shoot. “Kissing sleeping girls isn’t my jam.”
“What’s the damage, doc?” Uraraka sighed, a tired but amused look crossing her face as she considered the goofy grin on Kirishima’s face. Whatever injuries she’d sustained couldn’t be that bad. For all his pep and positivity, Kirishima was shit at hiding his emotions when things got rocky. If something was serious, she’d be able to read it in his brow and shoulders.
Pulling his chair back over to Uraraka, Kirishima sat down, reaching to toy with her calloused fingers. His hands were rough and torn just as bad as hers—maybe more so.
“You’re lucky,” he said after a moment of thoughtful silence. “Don’t go quitting your day job. You’ll be back in action in no time. Mostly, you have a pretty bad concussion. You also, uh, kinda fractured your spine at the base of your neck—but just a little!” He rushed the last part out and forced his grin back onto his face. “You won’t even need a brace or anything. Super weird if you ask me, but if you were gonna break it, you broke it right. You’re gonna be fine.”
Kirishima squeezed her hand, but Uraraka couldn’t find the strength to squeeze it back. In fact, her arm felt numb, which was no doubt thanks to her IV.
“Lucky,” Uraraka echoed as if she didn’t know what the word meant and saying it aloud would clarify the matter for her.
“So, uh,” Kirishima huddled closer to Uraraka. “Are you feelin’ okay?”
“Feel like shit,” Uraraka sighed. “Did you call my parents?”
“Bakugou did,” Kirishima nodded. “They’re already in town. Should be here soon—traffic allowing.”
“Right. Thanks… Kiri?”
“Yeah?”
“Did they get the shot?”
“Hell yeah, they got the shot,” Kirishima beamed, the exhaustion in his face lifting a modicum as his face lit up like the sun.
“Will they use it?”
“Of course,” Kirishima nodded. “Fair is fair. You got hurt doing it. Least they can do is use it. Oh, and, Cheeks—” Uraraka couldn’t help but feel warm as Bakugou’s nickname for her slipped past Kirishima’s lips. “You broke the roll record.”
“How many?” Uraraka’s jaw went slack, her eyes widening. Her brain was too foggy to pull up the record, but she knew it was impressive.
“Eight times. Well, eight and a half, which is why we’re here now.” Kirishima patted Uraraka’s leg gently and laughed.
“Holy shit.” Uraraka let herself relax into the bed, her eyes roving the ceiling as she tried to process everything.
“You can say that again.”
“So, what’s the deal here?” Uraraka attempted to wave her arm around at the flowers, but the action proved too difficult. Fortunately, Kirishima caught her drift.
“Oh, all that?” Chuckling, Kirishima pinched the tips of Uraraka’s fingers one at a time, lost in the comfort of the action as if he didn’t realize he was doing it. “Looks like you’ve got an admirer.”
“They’re not all from one person, are they?” Uraraka’s brow knit together as she racked her brain, trying to think of who would do something so audacious.
“Well, no,” Kirishima shook his head. “I got that.” He pointed to a single sunflower that was being choked out by several large bouquets of roses.
“You’re sweet,” Uraraka hummed.
“Not half as sweet as the press this is gonna get you,” Kirishima countered with a playful waggle of his eyebrows.
“Tch.” Uraraka rolled her eyes. “As if that press will actually do me any favors.”
“Hey, keep it positive!”
“Still complete idiots, I see,” Bakugou snorted from the door. Neither had heard him enter, but then again, her door wasn’t exactly shut.
“Ah!” Kirishima chirped. “The Prince of Positivity is here. Maybe he can give you a pep talk.” Bakugou scowled, sending the pair into a fit giggles so violent that, for a moment, Uraraka had genuine fears of hurting herself further.
“Knock it off, asshat. You want Pink Cheeks over here cracking a rib?” Bakugou’s mothering instincts were kicking in, which only made Kirishima laugh harder, though he did have the decency to shoot Uraraka a look of concern.
“What’s a broken rib matter at this point?” Uraraka wheezed through her pain.
“You really are an airhead, huh?” Bakugou bristled, stomping over to assess Uraraka properly. “I know you hit your head, but you really have lost all sense.” Leave it to Bakugou to keep both of his feet fully planted in Camp Serious.
Releasing Uraraka’s hand, Kirishima rose, gently headbutting Bakugou in the neck and wrapping his arms tightly around the blond’s waist.
“Be nice.”
There wasn’t anything inherently intimate about the words, but the way Kirishima breathed them against Bakugou’s skin made Uraraka look away.
“I’m always nice,” Bakugou muttered. If both Kirishima and Uraraka rolled their eyes, he didn’t catch them.
“I know,” Kirishima hummed, pulling back to make kissy lips at Bakugou. After stacking a puppy-dog-pout on top of the look, Kirishima managed to earn a chaste kiss from Bakugou, who snorted and pushed him away after.
“Get outta here.” Bakugou’s tone had softened considerably, but it was still commanding. Before Kirishima could protest, he added, “You’ve been here all night. Fuck off and go home. I’ll watch her until her parents show up.”
“I can’t leave.” Kirishima’s face dropped, and Uraraka found herself wishing they were still giggling even if it could possibly kill her.
“You can, Kiri,” Uraraka coaxed, putting on what she hoped was her most encouraging and understanding expression. “I’m fine, really.”
Concern pinched Kirishima’s face as his gaze swung between Bakugou and Uraraka. His distress left Uraraka’s chest tight with guilt for worrying her friend so much. She knew how he felt all too well, but now, it was her fault that he felt that way.
“Please. I’ll feel better if you go get something to eat at least,” Uraraka pressed.
“Listen to the lady.” Bakugou grabbed Kirishima by the shoulders, steering him toward the door. “Get your ass outta here.”
“Keep me posted?” Kirishima pouted, leaning into Bakugou’s touch.
“Yeah, yeah,” Bakugou muttered, fisting Kirishima’s hair and dragging his head around for a proper kiss before shoving him fully out the door.
“He’s just worried, you know,” Uraraka sighed.
Piercing crimson eyes whipped around, boring straight through Uraraka like sunlight through a magnifying glass.
“Don’t sigh at me,” Bakugou frowned, coming to occupy Kirishima’s abandoned chair. “We’re all fucking worried. I was waiting all damn day for that call, but it was supposed to be ‘She nailed it’ not ‘Uraraka is in stable condition but is being rushed to the hospital. Can you call her parents?’ That’s not a call I want when I’m in the middle of a fucking meeting.”
“Sorry,” Uraraka mumbled through a shame-induced blush. A look of unbridled disgust flashed across Bakugou’s face.
“You got a reason to apologize?” he barked. “You crash on purpose or something?” His eyes narrowed to slits, daring her to protest.
“No.”
“Then don’t fucking apologize.” With a gentleness that only Uraraka and Kirishima knew existed, Bakugou flicked her forehead. Sighing, he scrubbed his face. “I thought you were gonna be careful, Cheeks. I can’t worry about you and Eijirou. You assholes are shoving me into an early grave.”
“It’s been a while since one of us had a bad spill.”
“Doesn’t fucking matter,” Bakugou rolled his eyes, not including the ‘I still worry’ that they both knew was hovering on his tongue.
“How did my parents take it?” Uraraka worried her lip, her promise to her mother echoing in her heart.
“About as well as they usually do.” A wry smirk snuck onto his face. “I’ll spare you the details, but they probably won’t leave you alone any time soon.”
“Right,” Uraraka nodded.
Her parents were always incredibly supportive, and she was beyond grateful for that. Still, their concern for her wellbeing was a touch stifling at times. Accidents happened from time to time, but generally, she didn’t need them to be quite so worried about her. Now that she was actually hurt there was no telling how frenzied they would be, stressing over their baby girl being in such a dangerous profession. It was moments like this that their concern overshadowed their support, and Uraraka could tell they were more worried about her than they typically let on.
“So,” Bakugou started awkwardly. It was rare for him to sound out of tune, but Uraraka could tell he was struggling with something by the way his brow furrowed. The tips of his ears were turning pink, and he pinched the bridge of his nose, scrunching his eyes closed and exhaling deeply.
“You are okay, right?” His voice was soft, a low rasp that was barely more than a whisper.
“Don’t know, but you know me,” Uraraka beamed as much as her aching muscles would permit.
“Yeah, yeah. Stubborn as a fucking ox.” Bakugou grinned back at her. Her persistence and fight were what he respected most about her, even if he was stuck on the receiving end of her drive at times.
“Go beyond.” Uraraka scrunched her nose at Bakugou.
“I’m not saying your shitty phrase, Round Face.”
“Kiri says it with me.”
“He’s an idiot—just like you.”
“An idiot that you love,” Uraraka quipped back.
“Who the hell told you that?” Bakugou challenged, his lips tugging up at the corners as he fought back another smirk.
“Puh-lease, I know all of your secrets.”
“Secrets? Oh! I wanna know!” A girlish squeal speared clean through Bakugou and Uraraka.
Just outside the room, the chaotic bombshell that was Toga Himiko put her hands on her hips, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I’ve always been a big Bakubabe! Tell me, Chako-chan, what’s the inside scoop on Katsuki.”
Toga oozed overfamiliarity, and Uraraka could feel Bakugou beginning to steam beside her. She happened to know that he hated the name his fans had dubbed themselves, and even more so, that he didn’t take kindly to them using his given name—not that they cared any. The Bakubabes seemed to be perfectly happy to get him fired up. Apparently, pushing his buttons had a certain thrill to it.
Of course, he did have some fans with more than a few brain cells rattling around, but too many of the locals were the kind that just wanted to be curb-stomped by their god. In his words, they were nothing but “clout hungry extras” that would stop at nothing to kiss ass if it meant even five seconds in the limelight. Seeing Bakugou being treated like a slab of meat turned Uraraka’s stomach, and it made her grateful that—if she did her job right—no one would ever know her name.
“Uh,” Uraraka gapped. Of all the people to turn up at the foot of her hospital bed, the smoking hot, volatile actress that she had a tragic crush on wouldn’t have made the list, even if she was being generous. “Hi?”
Beside Uraraka, Bakugou was gritting his teeth so hard he was probably doing damage to them. Toga, unphased by their surprise and Bakugou’s radiating irritation, skipped into the room and pulled a chair up on the opposite side of Uraraka’s bed.
“So,” Toga purred, propping herself up on the bed’s side rail. “Tell me something juicy.”
Her cheeks were streaked in glitter and blush, and her eyeliner was melting. She smelled overwhelmingly sweet, but when she pressed closer to Uraraka, the scent of booze floated off of her. Around her neck, a gold choker spelled out ‘Toga,’ and she wore a cropped, black halter top with a matching black leather skirt. Belatedly, Uraraka realized that sometime in the last fifteen hours, Toga had acquired a set of deadly stiletto nails, which she was now using to scuff the skin on her wrist.
“Shouldn’t you be blacked out napping in someone’s yard right now?” Bakugou folded his arms over his chest. His tone was flat and void of amusement.
“Who said I wasn’t blackout-drumk?” Toga grinned. It was impossible to tell if she was flushed from her liberally-applied blush, inebriation, or some emotion that was probably inappropriate given the hospital setting. Steam was practically coming out of Bakugou’s ears, and Uraraka could feel his trademark Baku-rage coming on fast.
“Bakugou, can you give us a minute?” Uraraka would much rather deal with Toga alone than be the sole witness to the A-List blowout that was seconds from landing in her lap.
“Whatever,” Bakugou growled, standing from his chair so fast it skid back. “I’ve got calls to make.” He stomped out, acting as if it was his idea to leave rather than Uraraka’s prompting.
“He’s so passionate,” Toga sighed dreamily. “I’d kill to act opposite him.” She purred the desire out through her teeth with such intensity that Uraraka wasn’t sure she was being figurative about the killing part. It sent a slight shiver up her spine and did nothing to help her now racing heart.
“Why are you here?” The words slipped out of Uraraka before she could think to word them better. She hoped she wasn’t coming across as rude, but she was dying to know why, of all people, it was Toga that was paying her a visit.
“Aww,” Toga pouted. “Can’t a girl visit cuties in the hospital? Am I supposed to have a reason?”
Uraraka flushed. Surely, Toga didn’t realize how that sounded—that she’d come just to see Uraraka because she wanted to.
“Um,” Uraraka mumbled. She was out of sorts enough without Toga crowding her, looking far too good and far too kissable. This close, Uraraka could see Toga’s fangs easily, and there was something utterly fascinating about them that held her gaze captive. If she didn’t know better, she’d have thought Toga had been born with canines that were just a little too long to be dismissably human.
“They’re as sharp as they look. Wanna feel? A bite is worth a thousand pictures,” Toga hummed, licking a fang and then her wet cherry gloss lips. All the while, her catlike eyes never left Uraraka’s face.
“I’m good t-thanks.” Heat flared in Uraraka’s face. If Bakugou could see her now, he’d probably drop ‘Pink Cheeks’ from his nickname rotation in favor of ‘Cherry Cheeks.’ She doubted it was a cute look, but Toga wasn’t deterred. In fact, her eyes lit up like paper lanterns.
“Say, Stunt Girl,” Toga enthused, rattling the bed’s side rail until she found a way to fold it down, allowing her to scoot even closer than she already was. “You looked pretty hot, all covered in blood back then. Wanna get bloodied up again?”
Uraraka must have misheard Toga; there was no way she was being threatened while she was still in her hospital bed.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” Uraraka said carefully. “Do you mean more stunts?”
“No, silly!” Toga chirped, leaning forward and propping her front half in Uraraka’s lap. “I’m doing a little project, and I need hot girls. You’re perfect for it!”
Hot girls, Uraraka swallowed hard. No one had ever referred to her like that, especially no one in this industry. She was aware that she had somewhat of a figure, but she’d never seen herself as anything more than average. She wasn’t unattractive. Still, she didn’t think that any of her features were particularly brag-worthy, except maybe the muscles she’d fought long and hard for.
“Well, whaddya say?” Toga’s grin couldn’t have been wider without it wrapping clean around her skull.
“What kind of project?”
“Arthouse horror, baby!” Pulling back, Toga threw her arms in the air, her eyelids hooded to slits. She brought her hands down with a happy sigh, clasping them together and shimmying her shoulders in excitement. “I’m totally over being told what jobs to take and which studios to work with. It’s so boooring. I just wanna have fun—my way.”
Toga becoming a director could only spell chaos of the highest order. There was no way that her endeavor wouldn’t become a three-ring circus—best-case scenario.
“What are the, uh, hot girls for?” Uraraka’s face was still strawberry red and, at this rate, was bound to stay that way.
“My little victims!” Toga squealed. “I’m gonna cut ya up real nice!”
“So, you want me to act?” Uraraka prompted, hoping that whatever slicing and dicing Toga had in mind was purely of the special effects variety.
“Is it acting if you really feel it?”
Fighting off what was turning into a cold sweat, Uraraka nodded her head in feigned understanding. She had to assume that Toga was referring to feeling the performance deeply. Though, there was entirely too much ambiguity given Toga’s reputation and supposed priors.
“Can I take some time to think about it?”
Toga frowned, chewing on an acrylic.
“I guess, but don’t leave me hanging. You are my new muse, after all.”
Uraraka opened her mouth to reply, but nothing came out. Her bones felt like they were going to vibrate out of her body, and her blood sang through her veins. Toga’s muse! That was… a tall order for a short girl.
No, Uraraka shook the thought off. Toga was merely being hyperbolic; her personality was built on exuberance and over exaggerations. She couldn’t have meant that how it sounded.
“I don’t know where my phone is, but I can give you my number for your manager or assistant or whoever.”
“What?” Toga laughed, staring at Uraraka as if she’d just proposed that the sky was any color other than blue. “As if. I’m keeping it! Cuties go straight into my contacts.”
With much blushing and some stammering, Uraraka managed to recite her phone number for Toga, who happily clacked the digits into her battered phone using a dagger-tipped index finger. She looked as though Uraraka had just given her the moon or told her that Christmas was coming early: childlike delight saturated her features, and her blissed-out eyes held a cloud nine sheen. True to form, Toga was as dramatic as the press made her out to be, wearing her heart on her sleeves as if it was couture gifted by the gods.
The sound of Uraraka’s parents conversing in worried tones floated through the door. Swinging around, Toga glanced in their direction and then back at Uraraka. Her motions were loose, painfully highlighting her not-so-sober state.
Nerves crept through Uraraka. Her parents were already going to want to play twenty questions about Toga if they found her hovering over their injured daughter like a moth to a flame, and it would be infinitely more embarrassing if she had to explain away why Toga was hammered at the hospital.
While Uraraka didn’t owe her anything, it would feel like she was throwing Toga under the bus if she did. What the wild-child celebrity got up to in her free time was really of no concern or consequence to Uraraka. So, why did she feel like she needed to shield Toga from the potential judgment?
Maybe it wasn’t about protecting Toga. Perhaps, Uraraka just didn’t want her parents assuming that she was getting into that industry crowd—the circle that lived fast and rode the hard line between trouble and fun like they were training for the Olympics.
“It was nice chatting,” Uraraka blurted. “I’ll be in touch.”
“I sure hope so,” Toga slurred, winking an amber eye far too suggestively given their barely-there relationship. After a beat, she seemed to understand what Uraraka hadn’t said, and her eyes narrowed. “Oh. You’re trying to get rid of me.”
“Please don’t take it personally. I’m just tired, and my parents are gonna wanna ask me a bunch of questions, especially if you’re, uh, here.” Uraraka cringed. To her relief, understanding clicked in Toga’s expression.
“Parents are totally the worst. I get that—believe me,” she snorted, flicking a loose strand of hair out of her eyes. Her tone was cool and even, subdued in a way that felt borderline unnatural, at least for her. “I’ll leave ya to it, then. See ya around, Chako-chan.”
Bouncing out of her seat, Toga did a quick twirl, swayed as if she might tumble, caught herself, giggled, and then skipped out barefoot, swinging a pair of complicated-looking heels by the laces. Uraraka didn’t know when they had come off, but she was certain Toga wouldn’t make it far in the hospital without being told to put them back on.
“Oh, honey,” Uraraka’s mother cooed, rushing to her side. “How are you? Are you okay? Has anyone been in to check on you recently?”
The rest of Uraraka’s day passed without further surprises. Or, at least, it seemed like it was going to until she was informed by a nurse that it was very sweet of her girlfriend to have gotten her so many flowers. Supposedly, Uraraka’s girlfriend had also been the one to insist—on the threat of pain, scandal, or both—that she be put the nicest room in the hospital.
“It must be nice to be dating a celebrity,” the nurse had sighed, smiling warmly at Uraraka after checking up on her.
A bashful smile was all Uraraka could offer. It would have been too embarrassing to admit that they weren’t dating. She had no clue why Toga seemed so fond of her, but it wasn’t doing her crush any favors.