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By all accounts, it should’ve been a fantastic morning. The forest itself was beautiful, with little bits of dew clinging to leaves and twinkling like crystals. The air was clean and cool and crisp–a welcome relief from the smog that seemed to hang over the city. Best of all, aside from the twittering of birds and rustling of branches–all very natural sounds–it was silent. There were four of you hiking along the trails, but none of you felt obligated to speak. Even Kirishima and Mina, both shameless chatterboxes, led the pack in silence, stopping only occasionally to point at a beetle or a cluster of mushrooms. Yes, it should have been a relief to have this time off. Yet it wasn’t. Last night had made absolutely sure of that.
You take shorter, slower strides, opting to hang at the back end of the group. The distance between you and the trailblazers gradually widens until eventually, you’re where you want to be–strolling beside the very source of your troubles.
“Are we going to talk about what happened?” You don’t skirt around the topic. You shouldn’t need to anyway–you were both adults.
Bakugo grits his teeth, refusing to meet your gaze. “No, so drop it.”
“Don’t be a child.”
“We’re not doing this right now.”
“Then when?” You demand.
He chews on his lip, eyes trained on your friends just a few yards ahead of you. Thankfully, it didn’t seem like they were interested in your conversation–that is, if they could even hear it. Not that that would’ve stopped you.
“Later.”
You scoff, shaking your head. “That’s bullshit and you know it.”
“What do you want me to say?” He hisses, finally twisting his head to the side. There’s a heat to his glare, like those red eyes hold actual fire. “Do you want an apology or something? Will that get you off my ass?”
A good question–what did you want? If you had to choose, you’d have to say you needed clarification; Where did the two of you stand? It’d been clear enough two days ago when you’d agreed to come along on this little trip. Back then, you and Bakugo had been friends, albeit, friends that were liable to wring each other’s necks with little provocation. Then again, that was to be expected when you’d known someone for as long as you’d known him. Even so, the two of you had managed to fuck up. Badly.
It’s not like you were completely at fault. You could blame Mina for getting piss drunk and you could blame Kirishima for leaving to help her get back to her tent. You could blame the campfire for putting you at ease and you could blame the beer for making you reckless. No matter how you looked at it though, the facts remained. Some time past midnight, in the midst of an extraordinarily ordinary conversation, Bakugo had kissed you and you hadn’t shoved him away. You hadn’t struggled when he’d pressed his lips to yours nor when he’d curled his arm around your waist and pulled you closer. Worse even, you’d been into it–the way he made you melt. One kiss had turned into two. Then three. Soon, you’d stopped counting.
You don’t want to think about what might’ve happened if he hadn’t yanked himself back. He’d looked positively disheveled–hair sticking out in every direction, face flushed, panting like he’d run a marathon–and had it been anyone but Katsuki Bakugo, you might’ve felt a little proud of yourself. But it had been Katsuki Bakugo: your quick-tempered friend. Friends don’t make out. He’d seemed to realize the gravity of the situation almost immediately, weaving his fingers through his hair and letting out a frustrated groan. Before you could get a word in, he’d stormed off. If he’d have just let you talk, you might not have needed to have this conversation right now.
“I want to know if this changes anything.”
He doesn’t answer immediately, furrowing his brow and peering up at the treetops. He’s thinking–hard by the looks of it.
“No.” Then there’s silence.
You’re surprised when your stomach twists into knots. You’d be lying if you said you’d never considered the possibility of being involved with Bakugo. Hell, the man was smoking hot. More than that, he was steadfast (stubborn), brave (reckless), quick-witted (a smart-ass), straightforward (an asshole), and just quirky enough to keep things interesting (a pain in the ass).
“What if I want it to?” You trip over your words, too focused on replying quickly to care about how pretty they sound. You didn’t want to give him the opportunity to run away again. He turns to you, eyebrow raised like this is all some sort of elaborate joke. You’re annoyed that he doubts you, but press on all the same.
“I mean it. Could you be happy with me?” You ask, breathing nervously. “Romantically?”
For a moment, you’re afraid he’s going to laugh or tell you to fuck off. He doesn’t though. He doesn’t say anything for the longest time–just walks. Right when you begin to think he’s ignoring you, he responds.
“You can’t stand me.”
You turn your head to shoot him an incredulous look. “I don’t hang out with people I can’t stand. Besides, I can hardly stand myself. That’s not the point. I’m asking if you want this–” You gesture at him, then at yourself, “To be a thing.”
He blinks slowly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “We’d fucking kill each other.”
“You’re avoiding the question, Katsuki.”
“I–” He lets out an abrupt, choked sound. “I don’t know, okay? Fuck.”
“Well, I think I could be happy with you.”
He freezes–not blinking, not walking, not even breathing for a second. It takes every ounce of control for you to keep from doing the easy thing and tacking on a “just kidding” or “sike” to dissipate the tension. Things were usually so easy with Bakugo. You didn’t want that to change, but you couldn’t stand the thought of what if: What if the two of you could be something more?
“I’m just asking if you want to try.” You plead. It dawns on you that you really want this. You want him–you’ve wanted him for a while now. “You may be right–we may drive each other absolutely crazy–but personally, I think that’s better than just sitting and wondering for the rest of our lives.”
You can’t be sure if your words actually make it through that thick skull of his. When he starts walking again, you’re right there beside him, matching his pace. Although you don’t know that he’s entirely on board with your awkward proposition, the way he reaches out his hand and links his fingers with yours gives you just a little bit of hope.