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People don’t change because they fall in love– that’s a fact that all of the movies and novels seem to gloss over. Assholes don’t stop being assholes just because they find a person that’s willing to tolerate their shit, and Katsuki Bakugo was no exception to this rule.
“Why the fuck are you staring at me like that?” Katsuki growls through gritted teeth, throwing his feet up onto the arm of the sofa. You feel your eye twitch as the rage courses through your system and makes your vision go red.
“I know you didn’t just do what I think you did.”
“Tell me, what did I do?” The words aren’t confused or apologetic or pleading– they’re combative. As he peers over the back of the couch, glaring at you cutting vegetables in the kitchen, he’s daring you to try and tell him something. Too bad you’re not scared of him.
“You smell like ass,” You let the words out slowly, dripping with venom, “And you just threw yourself down on my sofa and got sweat all over the cushions.” You didn’t even need to look to know that it was true– he did the same thing every time he came over after work, and you’d had enough.
“I’m fucking exhausted. What am I supposed to do, just stand around and not touch anything?” He was pissed now. You could tell by the way his fingers clenched into a fist, nails digging into his palm. Still, you pushed.
“Yeah, if you don’t have the decency to shower first.” You use your knife to point towards the very unoccupied bathroom less than ten feet to your left. “I’m also pretty sure the agency has a locker room meant for, you know, that very purpose.”
“Well shit, babe. I had no idea.” Bakugo smiles, but the gesture is just about as sincere as his words are. “And here I thought I was rushing over here to be with you. I must be some kind of fucking idiot.”
You’d been through this same argument hundreds of times before. Not always about the couch, but always something trivial. One time you forgot to take off your shoes as you walked into his apartment and he exploded (figuratively) on the spot. Another time you had to stop yourself from punching him in the gut after he called you “mom” for nagging him about his attitude. You weren’t patient people. Both you and Bakugo had matchstick tempers, where even the tiniest spark could evolve into a full-scale blaze.
“Yeah, I guess you must be.” You slam the knife into the wooden cutting board, sharp side down. It sticks in place, and you know that you probably shouldn’t abuse your tools like this. Still, you can’t really bring yourself to care right now. You’re positively livid.
You don’t even look at Katsuki as you storm off into the hallway. When you finally reach your bedroom, you don’t immediately shut the door behind you. Instead, you yank open your dresser, digging through the drawers until you pull out a random sock. You’re not even sure it’s yours, but it’ll do for now. You hook it on the outer doorknob, then you slam the door with enough force to make the walls shake.
Outside there’s a thud, then the muffled clunk of heavy feet against the hardwood. The sound gets louder, reaching a crescendo just outside the bedroom. Still, the door doesn’t swing open. Your boyfriend knows better. The sock on the door is a warning– a bright red sign that says I’m fucking pissed at you, do not enter without consent. You created the system early on in the relationship, fed up with the screaming matches and arguments that led nowhere. This way, you could stop and separate yourself from the situation before things got really bad. Before you both went too far over the edge. At first, Katsuki claimed that it was one of the dumbest ideas he’d ever heard, but he obeyed the system regardless. The complaints stopped after an argument a couple months back– you can’t even remember what it was about, but you’re positive it was stupid.
In the middle of shouting, he just stops, biting his bottom lip so hard you’re sure it’s about to bleed. Then he turns on his heel and stomps over to the bathroom. Balancing on one leg, he fumbles to yank off a sock. Pretty much hurling the thing, he shoves his way through the door and swings it shut behind him. The article of clothing had missed the doorknob by a long shot, but you got the point. You gave him an hour of cool-down time– you would have let him stay longer, but you only had one toilet in the entire house. When you knock, he opens the door so slowly that it creaks. He still looked annoyed, eyes scrunched up and fists clenched, but he doesn’t yell at you or tell you to leave. Wrapping your arms around his waist, you mutter a soft “sorry” under your breath. He doesn’t say anything, but he melts into your embrace. His arms curl around you, reaching around your back and trapping you against him. It’s a sickly sweet moment– rare and uncharacteristically gentle.
“Katsuki?” You say his name like a question, pressing a kiss into his shoulder.
“Yeah?”
“I have to pee now.”
The rhythmic patter of water echoes into the bedroom from across the hall. Groaning, you throw yourself face-down onto the bed, willing the sheets to muffle your sounds of exasperation. You’re not sure how long you stay like that– even turning your head a fraction of a degree to look at the clock seems like too much effort at this point. The shower stops and you’re ready to calmly confront Katsuki about his asshole-ery, but even after what feels like hours, there’s nothing. You twist yourself onto your back, staring at the ceiling and counting the dots in the concrete. Maybe he was still mad– sure, you were the one that had stormed off, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t pissed off too. You debate peeking out into the hallway, but then there are two knocks.
“Come in.” You call out, a little too eagerly. The door drifts open and Bakugo’s standing there, hands shoved deep into his pockets. You sit up and just stare at him– you want this fight to be over, but hell if you’re going make the first move.
He doesn’t say anything, just kind of stands there chewing on the inside of his cheek. Very slowly, he takes one step forward into the bedroom, gauging your reaction. When you make no move to chew him out, he takes another step. Then another. He hesitates once he’s right in front of you, then he plops down beside you on the bed. He smells clean, like cinnamon and peppermint. You can see that his hair is still damp.
“You showered?”
“Yeah. Now I don’t smell like ass.” An attempt at humor. It works and you let out a little laugh. Katsuki notices and takes the opportunity to shift a little closer to you.
You don’t protest when he takes your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours. For a minute, you just stay like that– hand in hand, neither one of you speaking. Then he pulls your hand up to his face, peppering kisses over each finger. When he reaches your thumb, he lingers a bit longer, whispering something against your skin.
“What was that?” You tease, smiling as the tips of his ears flush a cute shade of pink. He lets out a half-sigh, half-groan. It’s a tired sound. He rubs at the back of his neck, looking away from you.
“I said I’m sorry.”
You’re in shock. Bakugo never apologizes– his pride won’t let him. Before you can even think, you use your free hand to turn him back towards you, planting a hard kiss to his lips. It’s clumsy– your teeth clack and you have to work extra hard to suppress the giggle bubbling in your chest, but you couldn’t give a shit. This is progress. You pull back, absolutely beaming.
“You’re forgiven.” You give him a final peck on the cheek. “But sweat on my furniture again, and I’ll make you wish you were never born.” He scoffs.
“Fuck off.”
“I love you too.”
Katsuki Bakugo is a complete asshole, but you knew that going into this. You didn’t fall in love with his “good” parts– you didn’t see him and think about the potential beneath his gruff demeanor. You wanted everything that he was: the anger and the bravery, the cursing and the kindness. For that reason, you were willing to tolerate extraordinary levels of his bullshit, even if it caused you a couple of headaches.