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“Volunteer at the 24-hour Hero telethon,” they said.
“It’ll be fun,” they said.
You stumble through the front door, doing everything in your power to stave off the light, tingly feeling in your skull. As it turns out, sheer willpower isn’t enough to wake you up, to keep you from swaying from side-to-side like an old porch swing. Another yawn rips from your throat as you lean back against the entry console table, steadying yourself, thanking God when you hear the door click shut behind you; You’re not sure you would’ve been coherent enough to even remember how a lock functions, what with the way the world seemed so fuzzy. Still, staggering through the darkness (you could barely walk, let alone find the light switch), you manage to bump into the dining room table. You plop down in one of the chairs lining its edge and smoosh your face into your folded arms. It only takes about five seconds for the drool to pool in your cheek–a tell-tale sign that unconsciousness was not far off.
You’re so exhausted that you almost don’t notice the lights clicking on, a pinkish-glow seeping beneath your heavy eyelids.
“Get up.” A voice, gruff, but much softer than usual, barks out.
When you don’t respond, you hear a harsh grunt, then muffled steps thudding against the hardwood. A hand clamps down on your shoulder and shakes you, but you don’t even twitch. You’re thoroughly content to spend the rest of the night (or technically, the morning) snoozing on the glass table, even though you know you’d probably regret it when your back ached in the morning. Unfortunately, Bakugo doesn’t take the hint.
“Now. Come on, I wanna go to bed already.” He orders, louder this time.
Even in your sleep-deprived state, some sane part of you realizes that your boyfriend’s demand is rational. The majority of you, however, decides that “table” is superior to “bed” in the hierarchy of sleep. At least, that’s the case when the table is the closest thing to you at a moment like this. The spinning room further serves to support your twisted logic.
“Leave me aloooooooone.” You groan, burrowing your face further into your arms. The hand on your shoulder begins moving again, but you swat at it in defiance.
“You can’t sleep out here. Stop being such a damn baby and get your ass to bed. I’m tired too.”
For the first time since settling into your spot, you lift your head–peer up at your aggressor. Through your hazy vision, you see that Bakugo’s eyes are narrowed, the creases at the corners more prominent than usual. The same was true of the dark, puffy, circles beneath them. His hair is unkempt, as always, but when he pulls back his hand and runs his fingers through it, some of it falls flat on his forehead. You suppose that even hair has its limits, that it can only handle so much before it crashes too.
Bed sounded nice. Even if it was a bit further, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t prefer going comatose while you were snuggled between a (very) nice mattress and a weighted blanket.
You blink away some of the sleepiness, rub away some of the drool that seeps out from the edge of your mouth. Then, you prop your head up on one of your arms, fluttering your eyelashes like the charming little vixen you are.
“Carry me?”
Bakugo scoffs. “No way in hell.”
But you know that when it comes to things like this, “no” is almost always negotiable–a suggestion more than an absolute truth. You let out a tiny whine and jut out your bottom lip.
“Please?”
Bakugo hesitates, and you're sure you’ve won. He stands there with folded arms, chewing on his lip between yawns, and you just know he won’t be putting up much more of a fight. Arguing took more energy than just sucking it up and doing what you wanted. And, like it or not, when it came to you, he was a softie–even if he’d never admit it out loud.
You reach out for him expectantly.
And he reaches back.
He hooks his arm beneath your knees and loops the other around your back. Your hands find their place coiled around his neck as you bury your face in his shoulder. You barely even notice when he actually lifts you–he does it so easily.
“Thank you.” You mumble into his shoulder, pressing a kiss into his crinkled shirt before shoving your face into the same spot your lips had been.
You’re half-asleep before he even makes it to the bedroom–lulled into dreamland by his breathing, his arms, his smell. When Bakugo unceremoniously dumps you onto the bed, though, your heart leaps in your chest, shocking you awake.
“That was mean.” You squeak, but don’t hesitate to curl up beneath the covers, settling onto your belly. Getting undressed required energy–energy you just didn’t have right now.
“Be thankful I didn’t drop you sooner.”
You snort into the pillow. “You wouldn’t have.”
The bed dips beside you. Before you can get too comfortable, Bakugo’s warm hand snakes around your side, tugging you roughly along the mattress, despite your groans in protest. He yanks at you until your back is flush against his chest–until you can more clearly hear his steady breathing, feel it whisping over the edge of your ear. You can feel the pulse of his heart, thudding like a metronome against your spine, falling into time with your own.
“Goodnight.” You sigh on the wind of an exhale. “I love you.”
“Love you too.” He echoes his response–the same one you’d heard hundreds of times before. Still, the softness of it makes you smile.