Archive of Our Own ^beta

There was a time in Bakugou’s life when all his friends wanted to do was hit on girls inside the courtyard during lunch break or whistle at the girls they found pretty as they walked the streets. Everything revolved around catching the eye of their female classmates, of anyone of the opposite gender. He didn’t understand the obsession. His attention was usually turned to his phone to play some poor mobile game, or to his notebooks where he could sketch his possible hero costumes and hero names.

The idiots would come back with doped up grins, waving a phone number in their hands, and he’d smirk as he began to draw on grenadier bracers.

Girls wouldn’t help him in becoming the best hero. They would only slow him down, and the morons he called friends would never understand because they’d never get into U.A. Not when the school could have him and his perfect quirk.

At least, that’s how he used to feel.

Bakugou wasn’t even sure he liked girls to begin with. Not because he was interested in boys. No, that's not the case. He’s never looked at them in the same way either. A safer accusation would be that he wasn’t fascinated by anyone, boy, girl, neither, both, it didn’t matter. His eyes were never looking at anybody else other than the person inside of his mirror, and it’s not because he’d date himself, but because he needed to stay on track.

But she felt better than just a detour or a distraction from his goal. Time with her felt like hours well spent, even if they sat in a room and did nothing but keep each other’s company.

No, he wasn’t studying the material for tests and quizzes. No, he wasn’t working the muscles in his body to better build himself to be a stronger opponent on the battlefield. And no, he wasn’t strengthening his quirk. He wasn’t doing anything. He was just… existing, but with her.

Her power to make anything relaxed, to make everything feel comfortable, was scary. It’s like the world was hers to manipulate, and if she wanted to have a good day, then dammit, it was going to be a good day. If she wanted to sit and listen to the same album on repeat, it’s what she was going to do no matter who asked her to play something new. She didn’t care what she did. As long as she wasn’t hurting anyone or breaking the law, she did it, and she didn’t brag about it.

He respected that, and respect was something very few people got to see from him. It was something to be earned. Only a couple of his classmates were worthy of it, but that’s not his fault.

Right now, they were both in her room. She was sitting on her desk, her shoulder blades pressed against the wall and her computer screen pushed aside to accommodate her size. Unlike most girls he has seen, her legs aren't crossed or pressed together but spread apart almost lazily, comfortably, as they hung off the edge. There was a red dart tucked inside of her earphone jack, and she looked to be focusing considering her slightly squinted eyes and undivided attention.

He found himself admiring the diamond patterns of her fishnets, and the toned shape of her legs when one foot lifted to rest on her desk. The shorts she wore weren’t the shortest he’s ever seen, but they also aren’t the longest, and he can’t help the way his eyes travel along the inside of her thighs. From there, he sees her usual loose tank top hanging off dainty shoulders. One strap is hanging off her arm, exposing her dark purple bra strap and the deep curve of her collar bone where it meets her shoulder. The choker around her neck is leather, and it reminds him slightly of a dog collar with the metal ring in the middle, but if anyone can pull off a dog collar, it’s definitely her. No one else could make it look as sexy as she does.

The sound of a dart slamming into a board brings him out of his head, and he immediately looked to see where it landed. 

“Yes!”

He can feel the creeping heat fan over his face, and he wanted nothing more than it to go away. So what if he accidentally got lost in her sense of style? It’s just unique. Most people would stare.

But where the fuck did ‘sexy’ come from?

“Bullseye.” Jirou bragged, and he swallowed heavily before looking back at her.

She was smiling arrogantly at him, eyes narrowed to a challenge as she licked her hips. The red underneath her eyes from her hero costume was still there, and for some reason, it only made her look more alluring.

“Yeah yeah…” He muttered as he spun the green dart in his hand around. “You play every day because you have nothing better to do. I fucking get it.”

She scoffed, and through the corner of his eye, her could see her set a hand on her chest like she was offended. “I don’t play every day. I'm just better than you and that’s all there is to it.”

He squinted his eyes as he looked at the board, her earphone jacks extending to pick out her three darts before he could throw his own. His gaze followed as she drew them back in, and her tongue peaked out of her mouth as she snickered.

“I only need ten more points, and you still need fifty. Don’t forget, loser does the winner any favor they want.” She reminded.

“As if I’d let you win, Discount Airpods.” He huffed, then looked over to her as he threw one dart to the board, their eyes meeting.

A shock ran up his spine as he focused on her deep wine violet irises, on the light glimmer where the sun hits them just right and turned them into deep amethysts. He has never noticed before just how deep they are, how… beautiful they look. Or how long her eyelashes were and how they curled so delicately, fluttering like a butterfly’s wings when she blinked. They focused in on him, and he wondered if she was looking at him the same way he was analyzing her—as if it’d be the last time they would see each other and they were memorizing the details on each other’s face.

Their moment ended when a knock sounded on the door, and Bakugou immediately snapped his gaze away to look at the dart board. The breath felt stolen from his lungs, and he found himself breathing far too heavily for just sitting on a desk chair and playing darts. His dart wasn’t even on the board, but stuck inside the wall surrounding it, and he felt his heart skip a beat.

What… What the fuck was that?

“C-Come in.” Jirou’s voice was equally as breathless, as shaky, and Bakugou stared down at his hands as he imagined her feeling the same way he does right now. 

It felt wrong to get so flustered over a girl, so juvenile, but he could feel his heart racing, banging against his ribcage in a way no one has ever made it beat before. There was rush in his veins too, not quite adrenaline but something suspiciously close.

What… What could I have done if no one knocked on the door? What would she have done?

He doesn’t hear the door open. He’s too busy trying to find the strength to stand and take his leave before he does something he regrets.

He’s here at the school to be a hero, so why is he sitting in a girl's room playing darts and feeling like this? This was for middle school. Crushes and these giddy emotions were for little kids to gush and giggle over. He’s grown.

“Jirou!” He heard a loud, excited voice as the door slammed open. “So I got this new eyeshadow pal—Bakugou! Hey!”

Standing in the door was none other than the most gossipy girl in class, and one of his own annoying friends, Mina Ashido. In one hand was a large bag, some beauty brand printed on the front, and in the second was a clothing brand. He knows the name because he shops there as well for t-shirts and jackets.

“What’s going on here?” Mina asked and Bakugou immediately jumped out of his seat, deciding he didn’t care about their game anymore. 

He needed to get out of here before word began to spread that they hung out together away from class. 

“None of your fucking business.” He answered as he stormed to the door. His gaze was pointed down as a heat began to burn along his cheeks and all the way up to his ears.

He didn’t stop running until he was inside of the elevator, his finger jamming into the fourth floor button with the intent of heading straight to his own room. Homework awaited him. Textbooks and chapters to study for Friday’s tests were calling his name, and that's where his priorities should be, not memorizing the color of Jirou’s eyes and following the length of her fishnets up to her slim, toned thighs where—

No.

What the hell am I thinking?

Am I seriously on the same level as the shitty purple pervert?

He ran his hands through his hair and then stepped out when two metal doors opened, mentally scolding himself for letting himself get too comfortable with someone. For letting her occupy his thoughts.

Being with Jirou wasn’t going to help him reach the top of the hero charts. Spending time in her room just to fuck around and play darts wasn’t going to help him stay at the top of his class. Listening to their mutually adored albums wasn’t going to raise his quirk tolerance. 

He had to stay away from her.

Eyes of diamond and a tone as thick and sweet as honey, she was dangerous and she didn’t even know it. She was an opponent that he couldn’t just blast away, a villain that he couldn’t turn into the cops because she wasn’t bad. She just didn’t know. Her entire presence was like poison in his bloodstream, and he could feel his body numbing without her in the same room as him. 

He needs to stay away from her.

——

Two weeks.

It has been a full fourteen days since he was last caught alone with Jirou, and he can’t help but fidget in his seat every time he thinks about her. The longing in his chest feels weird, unnatural, and he hates it. They aren’t apart, just not together. It isn’t the same thing, even if he repeatedly told himself that it is.

The distance is no more than three feet from his desk to hers, so why the fuck does it feel like three miles? He sees her every day in the hallways and in the classroom, so how come he feels like he hasn’t seen her in years? Her laugh rings through the chatter every morning, every afternoon, so why does he miss hearing it?

It doesn’t make any sense.

Why do I miss her if she’s in my life every day?

Granted, in training combats, since their quirks aren’t the most compatible—her partner is usually Kaminari, and his ends up being fucking Todoroki, or Kirishima,—he’s never up against her, but he watches on those big screens and he knows she does too. Or, well, he hopes she does.

His eyes follow her jacks as she tears up the ground with vibrations, and they run along her fists as they pump the soundwaves out. Kaminari is just an accessory, a means to deliver her to him without being suspicious, and even if they’re ‘friends’, he doesn’t so much as blink in his direction. 

Even if she’s not the best at hand to hand combat, it kind of feels like she’s showing off just for him, even if it might seem far fetched. Her smile is cocky, familiar, and she seems so sure of herself. Shoulders pushed back, chin raised, she fucking owns this match, and she wants them all to know. The training session is in her hands, and when Kaminari drops to the floor, there’s a swell of pride in his chest.

He does the same thing.

His quirk is definitely just as powerful as it is flashy, and has more than one use on the battlefield. Powerful explosions rocket him sky high when a bone chilling wave of ice shoot from the floor, and they help him in becoming a human projectile, black smoke covering the training grounds and leaving his opponent unable to see.

A part of him hopes Jirou’s watching him as intently as he watched her, and it’s a part he fights day in and day out. He wants to win, to prove that he’s the best in class. It has always been his ultimate goal, but now he wants her acknowledgment too. To amaze her, to shock her, to get her to look at him and go, ‘wow, you really are cool’.

It’s a pain, but it’s his brain now.

He hopes she’s standing with the class, criticizing moves she finds useless and gassing up ones she found smart. That she’s watching as his arms shot blast after blast like he watched her gear spread wave after wave, or she’s eyeing his body as he bends to block flares of fire or needles of ice.

In his head, she’s standing there, secretly obsessing over how cool he is but keeping up her calm composure. Her arms were probably crossed, and the look on her face disinterested, but maybe he brings those sparkles back to her eyes like he saw when she talked about things she enjoyed or the sun hit them just right. Maybe, just maybe, she could be smiling at him like he found himself grinning at her victory.

Only, he didn’t win like she did.

He was caught in a pin, Todoroki’s body wrapped around him with one hand enclosed around his wrist, frost beginning to cover the skin, and his other red with burns. Both palms were pressed against his own chest, and ice was beginning to run up his calf were their legs touched.

Disbelief began to floor into him as he stared out at the rubble they caused. Heavy pants were telling him he put up a challenging fight, that he got a lot better since the last time they fought. Then a sickening buzzer sounded, signalling the end of their sparring match. He couldn’t break out of his icy prison in time, and he couldn’t set off an explosion without harming himself. He was caught. Pinned. Checkmated. Lost.

He lost.

But how? How could he have lost when he had this match in the palm of his hand? 

He was supposed to prove he’s the best, but he lost.

With one particularly rough shove, Todoroki unlatched his hands from him, having taken the courtesy to at least defrost him. His entire body aches, from the burns on his arm to the dangerously cold parts of his leg and even the bruises from punches that Todoroki managed to land. Shame burned deep inside his stomach, spreading up to his hands and face.

“You almost got me.” Todoroki offered, but it meaningless. He didn’t want his pity.

He glanced at the camera that was recording them, and then turned away a fraction of a second later so no one could see him. They watched him lose, watched as Todoroki managed to somehow, someway capture him and put him in a hold.

“You were distracted.” Todoroki told him and Bakugou clenched his fists. “I only took advantage of your split attention. It’s nothing personal, but I want to be the number one hero for somebody too. I can’t let you win.”

He smacked his hand away when it found a place on his shoulder, and then glared hard into his dual colored eyes. There was a taunting grin behind those irises, a sparkle and gleam that only people who are happy have, and he hated it. It was sickening.

For somebody.

“I’m being the number one hero for me.” He spit in his face. “There is nobody else. Watch your fucking back, half and half. Next time we’re up against each other, there will be no mistake. I’m the best fucking hero in class, you’ll see, and I’ll do it for myself!”

That’s it. 

That’s fucking it.

He was distracted, and he knew it. His anger comes from his own frustration with himself and the new feelings he’s experiencing. Todoroki isn’t the subject of his problems, yet he takes it out on him. And Todoroki holds it, cradles it, and doesn’t say a word.

Bakugou’s grateful, even if he doesn’t say it and storms off like he’s pissed at him instead of himself.

For someone so in control of his life, he feels powerless to this feeling of longing, of needing validation. It was such a sour taste on his tongue, a black spot on a pristine white rug. His thoughts of her were clearly a distraction and he knew that, so why can’t he stop thinking about her? Why does he care so much about what she thinks and how much she’s in his life?

Why does a part of him still want to see her and unwind in her room, bottles of cola in their hands and music thumping through the silence? She’s so laidback, so calm, so… cool, and he likes that. It’s refreshing. But when he passes her in the control room to head to Recovery Girl’s office, he doesn’t meet her glance. 

“Hey there, Bakugou.” She called for him. “You did good out there. You almost got him.”

“Not good enough.” He sneered, and she was taken aback by his tone. “Almost doesn’t fucking count.”

“Hey, won’t you stay and—”

Her eyes bore hard into the back of his head and where his hero costume was torn along his shoulder blades, but he didn’t have the nerve to return it. Not after he lost. Not after it was her fault he failed the match in the first place. 

How dare she act like she doesn’t know?

He was right to cut her out. There was still so much for him to do, so much for him to grow. Getting complacent with someone would only stunt his improvement. He needed to jump, to leap, to fly, and sitting on the ground with her would only hold him back.

She doesn’t care for the hero charts, but he does. To her, rankings are pointless. But not to him. They’re the most important thing. Rankings and statistics strike fear, strike expectations, and he wants to blow everyone away.

These feelings could wait. In fact, he needs to clip them at the root, but he needs to find it first.

Where did they start? How far did they plan to grow? And most importantly, what did he have to do to let go of them?

——

Another week passed, and he still hasn’t had a one on one moment with Jirou. 

In fact, he avoids her like his life depends on it because it does. The poison she injected him with makes him frail. It makes him absent minded. Inhibited. With her around, he can’t think properly, or breathe properly. His hands sweat more than usual, and his heartbeat picks up faster than ever. Above all, it’s a nuisance.

Sometimes he can feel her looking at him, especially during class when it quiets to a hush. In the corner of his eye, when she thinks he doesn’t know, her eyes focus in on him as she rests her head on one hand. The look in her eye is something he looks away from in fear of getting caught up in her diamond gaze again, of feeling that flurry of strange emotions eating at him once again. 

Not that he’s afraid of her, it’s more so... afraid of his own lack of control.

It’s hard to stay away from her, to decline her advances of asking if he could come help her play a song that she wrote in her spare time or if he wanted to come play a few rounds of darts again. Or cards. Or video games. Or board games. His excuses were training and school related, but after awhile she stopped asking for him to hang out, and stopped pushing to see him. She only asked for notes, and the least he did was send her photos of his notebook.

He wants to tell her to stop staring at him and write her own damn notes, that he’s not worth her lowering her grades for, but he doesn’t want to push his luck. Maybe she has other things going on. The holidays are coming up, and maybe her family is doing something and she’s distracted. 

Yeah, that sounds right. It sounds better than her being upset over him now showing up around her room.

He’s in the school gym right now, his wrapped knuckles slamming into the hanging punching bag over and over. It was a convenient way to cool down after lifting and cardio, and he enjoyed the echo of his fists ringing through the air. Usually he would play his own playlist, but each song was tainted with memories, each lyric was filled with her, and the absolute last thing he needed was to get distracted again.

“Focus.” He huffed, bouncing foot from foot as he threw another punch, watching as the bag swayed lightly. “Focus, dammit! What the hell is wrong with you?”

A dull ache ran up his arm, accenting each word with a strong punch, and he grinned. The burn meant he was pushing his limits, and that meant he was getting better, going higher.

His feet brought him back a few steps, and he turned to raise his leg up, striking the bag as it swung towards him. It rocked to the left, and as soon as he set his leg down, he heard a bag drop behind him.

The sound caught his attention almost instantly, and he turned around to see who decided to bother him now. Sometimes Kirishima liked to join him, and they had contests on who could lift more. Or sometimes he and Deku would practice hand to hand combat, though he’d much rather not see him. 

He turned away when he saw a familiar head of purple hair, and then looked down at the floor as he took a deep breath. Exercising took a lot of the air from his lungs, but whatever be did manage to have, well, that was gone now. She always took his breath away. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked and then raise his gaze to see her pull out four bundles of wrap, two orange colored and two green. “You don’t work out.”

She looked up, and his eyes widened when he saw that the hoodie she wore only covered her athletic shorts and a sports bra. It’s the most skin he’s ever seen her show, and now he can kind of understand why kids in his class get so… flustered when seeing girls scantily clad. It does get the blood pumping.

Only, any woman didn’t bother him. 

He’s seen Mina and that one girl, Yaoyorozu, he thinks her name is, in much worse. Mina’s shameless and doesn’t mind changing shirts in front of her friends, and Yaoyorozu’s hero costume itself is rather racy, or so he guesses. It’s what the other students accuse. Even that one teacher, Midnight, didn’t get his heart racing.

It was just this one girl. It was Jirou.

God, she made breathing impossible, standing impossible, everything is impossible.

Her face burned red as she stared at him, and he quirked an eyebrow upwards while waiting for a response. She seemed too flustered to talk, and he lifted the neckline of his tank-top to wipe the sweat from his forehead, hoping to also get some safe purchase in not seeing her for a moment.

Get yourself together, dumbass.

She’s just a girl in class.

Stop acting like a fucking idiot.

“I-I’m not the best at hand to hand combat… but I want to learn.” She stuttered, her eyes focused anywhere but on him. “I want to get better too. Everyone’s trying their best, so I want to do more too.”

He has half the brain to pack his things and let her figure it all out by herself like he had to, but sprained wrists, hurt ankles, and swollen joints were no joke. She had hero work to do, classes to focus on, and hurting herself would only push her back farther. It’s something he doesn’t want to see happen when she’s already asking people for notes. 

“Why now?”

She pushed her bangs back and then rolled the sleeves of her oversized sweater up before taking a deep breath. “Mina suggested that you were here. I figured… maybe you could… teach me? You’re stupidly talented at everything.”

Bakugou clenched his fists and then looked down at them as he debated his two choices—yes or no.

One one hand, how could he deny someone a chance to better themselves when he’s always pushing his class to not become complacent?

But on the other hand, how could he put himself in the risk of getting absorbed in her and falling into her trap once again?

A sigh passed his lips, and he looked up at her before nodding, deciding his want to see her grow overpowered the petty feelings he had. She doesn’t know what she’s doing, so it obviously isn’t her fault. It’s his own fault for being weak, and the only way to get strong was to work on his weaknesses.

“Fine.” He walked towards her and held his hand out. “I’ll help you, I guess. You better keep up, because I’m not slowing down for you. I’m still learning this… quirkless fighting shit myself.”

“I-I will. Ojirou is the best at this actually.” She nodded as he took the green wrap before tightly curling it around the back of her hand. “I just don’t think he and I are close enough to ask…”

Ba-bump.

“So you think we're close?” He asked, his stomach doing that weird flip it does whenever she says something he particularly likes.

Ba-bump.

Was that his heart he was hearing?

“Closer than whatever Ojirou and I have.” She corrected, and he hid behind his bangs before sighing quietly.

He could feel her watching as he finished wrapping her right hand, and she smiled at the handy work. Quickly her second hand was finished, and she looked at the orange ones just as cluelessly. Clearly not having watched how he tightened and tied it around her hands.

“Are they for your feet?” He started off.

She nodded, and he sat her down on a bench before lifting her leg up on to his thigh. His eyes, the damn traitorous things, ran up her bare ankle and calf. His gaze followed up to her thighs, where one sleeve covered hand rested, blocking those God forsaken shorts from his sight. 

He's glad. He’s so fucking glad her hand was there or he had no idea what he would do, how he would react.

His throat cleared, and he held up the orange wrap before showing it to her. “This loop, goes on your big toe. It’s meant to keep your bones and joints in place, like your hands. Unless you wanna fuck up your body, you want to go over and then under. It should be tight, but not too tight. Can you move?”

“Y-Yeah…” She answered and he nodded. 

Bakugou demonstrated his movements, and then looked up just to see her focused on his face instead of his hands. She turned her head when she noticed she was caught, her face blossoming into a deep rose color that made him feel powerful. Her ankle rolled lightly in his hands, and he looked down to see her foot still half wrapped, as if she was reminding him of what they were doing.

After tightening the wrap, he began curling it around her ankle, pulling her closer as he heard the zipper of her hoodie catch on the bench she was sitting on. If he looked closely, he wonders if it was really hers. The burn marks by the cuffs of the sleeves seemed oddly familiar, and she had more of a sweet, floral scent. Being so close to her, she reeked more of caramel, of smoke, but she didn’t enjoy the vapes, cigarettes, and joints their classmates have handed her in the past.

“Bakugou?” Jirou asked, and he looked up as he securely pressed the velcro tightly down. “Can I ask you a quest—”

“No.”

He knocked her foot off his lap, and her eyes widened at his abrupt response. She placed her other foot on his thigh, and he began to finish her wrapping.

“Too cool for friends,” Jirou scoffed as the heel of her foot dug into his leg, “too cool to be seen with anyone, huh?”

His eyes rolled at her accusation, not wanting to get into any conversation where it forced him to be emotionally vulnerable. Heart to hearts were not his strong point, and anything that involves feelings he shoved aside into a bottle. Uncapping it for her would be idiotic, and intimate, in a way he’s not ready for. In a way he doesn’t want to be ready for. Everything was just fine before she came, so why change anything?

“Stand.” He instructed and she stood up. “For future references, earphones, you can wear shoes. I just don’t.”

She looked up at him and then nodded, “Next time, I’ll ignore Kirishima and just buy some shoes meant for this.”

“Shitty hair doesn’t know shit about shit. He’s all brawn and no brains. You should know that.” Bakugou scolded her, and she just flipped him off.

“At least he talks to me.” 

He nodded in amusement and then scoffed, eyes lifting to the ceiling so he didn’t have to look at her. The irritation rolling off of her was amazing, and the air in the room was soured instantly with her attitude. It was amazing.

“I didn’t think someone so small could hold such a big grudge. I didn’t do anything wrong.” He huffed, and then caught the fist she threw in his direction.

Deep eyes glared heavily up at him, and he shoved his free palm against the inside of her elbow. Calloused fingers curled around her thin arm, and he lifted her aim.

“The stomach isn’t the best part to aim, not that you have a choice being three feet tall.” He told her and her knuckles brushed a spot between his chest and his stomach. “This is a sensitive spot. Always aim here, or the throat.”

He looked down at her fist and then glared at the way her thumb was tucked beneath her fingers. With one finger, he yanked her thumb out, smashing it across her curled digits. 

“Never ever put your thumb inside your fist unless you want to fucking break it.” He snapped, and pushed her hand back to her. “Your thumb is always on the outside. Can you not even make a proper fist?”

“I already said that I’m not skilled at fighting. Do I look like someone who goes around throwing punches at people?” She hissed and he rolled his eyes before crossing his arms over his chest. “Why do you think I want to get better? I can’t always rely on my quirk.”

“Yeah. If you were to fight anyone, you’d fucking lose.” He overlooked her lazy posture and poor stance. “Even that sick minded grape extra. The one in a damn diaper.”

She pointed at him, her earphone jacks raising threateningly as a scowl pulled on her lips. “You take that back. I could beat Mineta in a fist fight and you know it.”

The palm of his hand smashed against the top of her head, ruffling her hair since he knew that she hated it. In retaliation, her earphone jack jammed into his ear, and he shoved her away when a loud sound poured into his eardrum.

“You evil bitch!”

“Takes one to know one.” She giggled loudly, and Bakugou watched her break down as he held his ear in his hand.

A small smile pulled on his sneer, and it felt refreshing to hear her laughter echoing through the empty room. Warmth spread through him as he remembered that he caused it, and a sense of accomplishment filled him. He doesn’t like it when she’s upset. It’s just not a good look on her. Not that she’s ever looked bad since the first day he has ever taken notice of her. 

“So,” she sobered up and then raised her fists in front of her face, “Bakugou-sensei—”

He sucked in a deep breath as she smiled, her cheeks a dusty pink if he looked close enough. There’s absolutely no reason for his heart to jump that hard in his chest, no matter how cute she looked or how stupid that nickname was.

“—teach me how to kick someone’s ass.”

——

Most days after school, he found himself inside the gym with Jirou for an hour, or even more if time slipped past them, training her physical combat skills. The hands on the clock always seemed to move faster when he was with her, and for some reason, he was okay with it. He enjoyed showing her proper forms to kicks on the heavy bags or where on the body was the most sensitive. Another positive was getting to see her red face when he positioned her body. She always got so rosy.

He tries not to think about how they ended up alone after he promised himself it wouldn’t happen, or how he can’t help but fall to his knees every time he sees her smiling. It’s significantly easier to just pretend this benefits him as much as it benefits her, even if he’s not doing anything to sharpen his own skills. Standing and giving instructions didn’t build his own skills, but it sure was gratifying in some way to see her grow stronger. To see her win.

At the very least, while he’s not training his body the way he wants to, he’s keeping his memory up. When teaching someone else, it only solidifies the knowledge the one guiding has. Thinking about that helps him feel better about the hours he spends posing like a reference doll.

I’m just mastering what I already know.

“And so, I told Yaoyorozu,” Jirou panted as she raised her arms to punch at the rounded pads strapped to his hands, “there’s no way he’s not into her. Come on, the kid gets hearts in his eyes everytime she walks in the room! Who cares if he’s from class 1-B?”

After readjusting his footing, she turned and then raised her right leg into a high kick. He raised his hands to block it, staring in light surprise that she managed to be so limber when just a few days ago she couldn’t lift her foot higher than her collarbones. The smile on her face proved that she was proud of herself, of catching him off guard, but it didn’t last long.

A padded fist aimed at his chest and he blocked the blow, only for another quick jab closer to his throat. Shot after shot she took, and he grew more and more impressed by her speedy growth by the second.

“You tryna’ fucking kill me?” He barked, allowing them to dance around the empty gym room instead of being confined to one small space. 

Jirou only laughed, and he raised his leg to block her lower kick, their padding colliding and sending her stumbling back. He used the back of his arm to wipe the sweat from his forehead in this short time, and then motioned for her to come back. 

“I’ve been training,” she breathed out and dropped her fists from her face, “outside from you.”

She threw a fist and he moved his head to dodge, lowering his fist to block the glove that was aiming towards his side. With his gaze down, he could see as her foot pivoted inwards, her weight balancing for a kick that he had shown her just yesterday. A simple gesture to knock the opponent off their feet where the user would be given a second to overpower the other.

A thin, yet tight wire wrapped around his wrist, and he widened his eyes when she held him back from blocking. The impact of her foot against his calf didn’t hurt, but the strength behind it caused his footing to slip.

Before he could hit the floor, he yanked his hand back from her earphone jack, causing her to lean forward in pain. The added padding around his leg made for a bigger impact when he swung it beneath her, and she let out the lightest yelp when her own footing failed her.

“You need to be quick thinking.” Bakugou instructed her, wrapping his fist up in her jack before pulling harder. “When you’re down, you need to be up in a flash. Have a back up plan. Have a back up, back up plan.”

Jirou held on to her ear as he took his leg and pressed it into her thigh; one glove held her hands above her head, and the other tangled in the narrow wire of her jack. With him on top, she had no hope of escape. He was too heavy, too strong, and she wasn’t skilled in how to push off opponents.

“If I was a villain,” Bakugou breathed out as he stared down at her, “you would be fucking dead. You need to work harder… unless you enjoy being useless, then keep doing what you’re doing.”

She didn’t seem to mind that he was on top of her. In fact, if he didn’t know any better, he’d say she was enjoying being pinned against the matt. There wasn’t any struggling. She gave no sign of resistance to having been caught immobilized. Which, if this were real, he knew she’d be panicking as her life flashed before her eyes. 

Animated eyes stared up at him, heavy with a look he couldn’t quite describe, and glossy as the bright gym lights shined on to them. The amethyst shade he knew was speckled with a gentle sky blue and rose pink now that he could see them up close, and there wasn’t a thing in the world he’d rather get lost in.

Words like beautiful and gorgeous didn’t taste right in his mouth—he didn’t use them enough to be comfortable with since nothing in the world has ever captured him the way Jirou did, but they’re the only words he could use. They’re the only words that came to his mind when he looked down at her. Of all the words he knew, those were the first to always pop up.

How they always managed to get into these situations was beyond him. No matter how hard he tried to run, to get away from her, she pulled him in like the tide. Everything about her was alluring, from her cavalier attitude to her sense of style, from the way she carries herself with ease and confidence but still confesses to being slightly shy and nervous. Though she was anything but delicate, he’s seen her destroy buildings with just her speakers and quirk, he wanted to protect her, to hurt her so she could be stronger, be better.

“Bakugou…” 

Her voice was a melody, and he missed the way her lips formulated his family name. Would that sweet yet husky voice sound as beautiful with his first name rolling off the tip of her tongue? He doesn’t doubt it. She’d sound so amazing saying his first name.

Fingers curled inside his gloves, and if he grit his teeth any harder than he’d possibly break them. The gaze he held with her dropped, crimson irises staring down at her exposed collarbones and the sweat that made her body shine a gentle sheen. He couldn’t keep drowning in her cool irises, in the lightness that floated around in his chest and stomach.

“Get your ass up. We’re going again.” He demanded.

“Why do you do that?”

She sounded so irritated, so upset, but what did she have to be upset over? She wasn’t the one putting her number one title on the line. She wasn’t the one with all theses conflicted feelings in her chest and broken thoughts in her head. What was she giving up to sound so malicious?

Thin, calloused fingers gripped his jaw, and when he met her eyes again, they were hardened into a glare. Fingertips dug into his cheeks, and he swallowed thickly.

This look was new on her face. A look of hurt, of pure insecurity and uncertainty. It twisted his core and tugged on something in his chest to know he caused it.

Her voice dropped to a gentle whisper, a begging hush, “Are you ashamed of me?”

What?

Ashamed?

Where the fuck did that come from?

As if he’d be ashamed of having a totally punk rock girl standing beside him, of being close with a chick who can and would beat someone’s ass if they so much as looked at her wrong. No one in their right mind would be embarrassed to be seen with someone as independent and caring, as carefree and disciplined as she was. Her talents knew no end—singing, playing instruments, rescue missions, physical combat, art, writing, fashion, and everything else she did was so flawlessly… effortless. The embodiment of natural talent. She was practically perfect.

Perfect for him.

It was terrifying to think about needing someone to complete him, and he was never scared. Not when he was caught up in the sludge villain’s attacks in middle school and not when heavy chains bound him in the middle of a secret villain hideout after being kidnapped from his classmates. He didn’t know fear, but somehow she struck everything he didn’t know.

Why am I so attached to her?

A rough shove shocked him out of his thoughts, and he looked up as Jirou stood up. If he looked carefully, there was something shimmering along the waterline of her eyes. Her bottom lip trembled, and her arms were crossed over her stomach.

“I’ve been… I’ve been training day and night for weeks with you, a-and all you can do is critique me?” Jirou snapped, curling in on herself and away from him. “I’m trying! I’m not the best, but can't you give me some credit for being better? For trying?”

He was silent as she ripped the gloves from her hands and then threw them at his chest. The impact didn’t hurt. She didn’t necessarily throw them hard. But if that was the case, why did his chest hurt?

“That’s why you won’t hang out with me anymore, right? Because I’m not as amazing as you? I’m not on an equal level with you? I’m sorry I can’t be everything you are!”

He watched as she bent over and took the leg guards off, kicking them away like she didn’t care for the pads. Like she was absolutely done using them.

“News flash, Bakugou, you can’t keep doing this to me!” She yelled. “You push me away and make fun of me, but I put up with it because I want to be close to you! We were so cool with one another, but then you ran away! Was it my fault? Did I do something wrong? If you don’t want me around then say it. Say you don’t like me and I’ll go away. Is that what you want from me?”

Only one word could explain how he felt. Stunned.

Never has she raised her voice at him like that, like she reached her limit with the shit he did. Not once has he ever seen her face so red with emotions and soft cheeks shine with tears. The crack in her voice was so new, so foreign, and he hated it more than anything in the world. Sure she’s mentioned his cold attitude before, and sure she never really put up with his teasing, but never has she confronted him like this.

“You look at me like you… like you might… care for me, like we might be friends, or something, and then you turn away. You brush me off. You ignore my eyes. You get cold and distant, and then the fun we were having disappears.” She explained. “Do you hate being close to me? Is it so bad? Am I that bad?”

Bakugou didn't know how to answer. He didn’t know what to say or how to separate his feelings from one another. All the ropes of his emotions were drawn together, colliding and twisting into one thick chain that wrapped tight around his heart, his mind. Slowly she was unlocking link after link, but none of them made sense on their own. None of them were enough to open up, to be vulnerable and naked for her to see.

That’s why he stays away from people. Out of respect for the tolerance he built, for the golden dream he created years ago, for the methods to his own selfish, lonely madness; he didn't hold people close and didn’t need to. He was enough. His mom and dad were enough. No one else was necessary.

But here she fucking is.

Here she is holding his fucking heart in her hands.

“Bakugou!”

He watched as she threaded her fingers through her short, violet locks, and as another few drops of tears slipped down her face. Fingers crushed his heart in his chest, and he had no idea how to stop them.

“Do you want me?”

What the hell does that mean?

As a friend? As a gym partner? 

As… As a girlfriend?

Do I even want a girlfriend? Is that what she wants from me? A relationship?

Am I getting ahead of myself?

He never dated a girl before, but he sees couples everywhere. Disgustingly sweet couples who buy flowers for one another, who go on dates to sushi bars and steak houses, who hold hands and sit beneath the trees in the park with boba in one hand and bento boxes in front of them, and who kiss under streetlights like they’ll never see each other again. It seems like a waste of time, of money, of effort. Chocolates? Gifts? Dates? Is that what makes dating fun? Is that what he wants? A cliche, superficial, teen romance where the present feels like forever and the future seems like a fairytale? A weakness to hold against him? A state of happiness derived from someone who could kill him in ways villains only dreamt they could do? A need for someone else to complete him and prove that he’s not all he needs to succeed?

Silence filled the gym room, and Jirou shook her head as she rubbed her eyes with the green wrap around her hands. 

He has yet to know why she chose green and orange when her favorite color was red and blue. 

“Fine.” She spat, taking his silence for answer. The venom swirling in her tone struck him right in his veins. “I’ll go.”

His eyes followed her as she walked away, the quiet room feeling like hands around his throat that prevented him from speaking. Words couldn’t leave his mouth, and even if they could, he doubts they’d make any sense. In his head, everything was jumble, a mess. There was nothing he has been through that could help him in this situation.

She threw her gym bag over her shoulder after slipping on a pair of shoes, and a part of him wanted to run after her while another wanted to let her leave.

Maybe now he could focus on work the way he wanted. There would be no spam texts, no wasted training, no stares in the middle of class. He wouldn’t need to give her photos of his notes, or hear her beg and plead to finally hang out together.

But… what if I miss it?

Jirou’s out the door as soon as the thought hits, and he looked round the gym before falling back on to the matt he set up. 

“What the fuck did you just do?” He whispered to himself, still shocked by the incident that just took place.

——

He can’t stop thinking about her, about how he doesn’t feel her constant stare at the back of his head when he looks out the window or when they’re training during class, and how she doesn’t even talk to her friends about him anymore when he’s passing by. It’s like his friendship, his name, his being, just vanished from her life, and it hurt more than the broken arm he got from unstable footing on a slippery pipeline from one of the training grounds. It was unexplainable

Normally he just pushes distractions away, but watching Jirou perform all the moves he showed her on someone else twice her size was filling him with pride. Watching her flip Ojirou onto his back before sending tsunamis of soundwaves in his direction and ultimately leaving him unconscious was more important than formulating an attack plan on Tsuyu, he thinks her name is. He doesn’t care to remember. She’s not nearly as important as her.

What is important, is what brand of soap is going to wash the feeling of Recovery Girl’s lips from his skin. Her kisses are wet, exaggerated, and fucking gross. He hates them.

“You too?” Midoriya asked as he smiled sheepishly, a cast wrapped around his unscarred arm. “I was thrown pretty hard into a building by Satou. He sure is strong! His brute strength should not be underestimated.”

Bakugou lifted his nose, turning to face away as they began to walk towards the lunchroom. But of course the kid didn’t stop rambling, clearly excited to be alone with him and more than happy to fill the silence between them. All he ever seemed to do was talk. 

“I hope Ochako is okay!” Midoriya worried and Bakugou paused. “She was paired with Kirishima! She’s gotten so good at hand to hand combat, but Kirishima is a powerhouse—”

“What did you call her?” He asked and large green eyes fell on him.

“Ochako?” He repeated, freckled cheeks burning a ruby red. “That’s her given name! She lets me call her by it. Isn’t it so sweet sounding? She won’t call me by mine yet, but that’s okay. Iida tells us it’s disrespectful, but I don’t see how it is if she openly allows and encourages me. Maybe it has to do with our different upbringings and social statuses. Iida is a lot more formal than we are, so he has probably been taught that—”

Bakugou tuned out his incessant muttering, thinking about how the two didn’t have that kind of relationship but still took their companionship in that direction. A big step, some would argue. His father didn’t use his mother’s given name for a long while, years even, while she called him by his only months after dating. He couldn’t remember the last time Midoriya called him by his given name instead of his little, annoying, ‘Kacchan’. None of his ‘friends’ call him by his first name, though they give him, and each other, an array of piss-poor nicknames.

Honestly, what the fuck kind of idiot comes up with ‘Baku-bro’ or ‘McSplosion Boy’? Kaminari and Kirishima, Dunce Face and Shitty Hair, that’s who.

But Jirou… she never called him anything special, anything different. He never called her anything special either, unless ‘Earphones’ and ‘Discount Airpods’ counted. Most likely they didn’t, but what did he know? When it comes to friendships, he’s as clueless as they come. Even if everyone else can make friends in seconds, he still lags behind in that department.

But what were friends for anyways? They didn’t pay his phone bill, help him with his homework, or anything that was even remotely necessary.

So what did they do? Waste his time?

She never wasted my time.

“Kacchan?”

Before he could spiral any deeper inside his own head, Midoriya’s voice pulled him out. As squeaky and annoying as it was, he was glad for it. A second later, he would have gotten into the scary part of his head, the newest section of his brain where she monopolized it. The place that he felt most vulnerable, and most afraid.

“Are you okay?”

Bakugou shrugged off the hand that was set on his shoulder and then took a deep breath. 

There really was no appropriate answer to this. Being open was definitely not his strong point, but neither was lying. As annoying as Midoriya was, and as much as he pissed him off, there was no one who knew him better, who has seen him at high all time highs and lows. No one else has been inside his life as long as him, and even if he didn’t want his company, or his input on the situation, he knew Midoriya wouldn’t tell anyone or lie to him. The nerd admired him too much. But that doesn’t mean he wants to talk about it.

“It’s none of your business.” He brushed him off, and Midoriya rose an eyebrow at him, obviously not believing him.

“Kacchan, it’s really not good to keep things inside.”

Bakugou scoffed, and then froze when he saw a head of rich, violet wine pass by. The haunting scent of vanilla and rose, something deep and powerful but also light and subtle. There was a lingering hint of cinnamon and caramel, something warm that was definitely not her usual perfume, and it made his head spin.

He watched as she laughed with her friends, smiled like everything was perfect, and looked as if she knew what she was doing. She must know how good she looks, how daunting it is to see her be so carefree while he’s riddled with confusing emotions. 

“Is it… Jirou?”

His eyes turned to the boy next to him, and that stupid, all-knowing smile pulled on his lips. It’s like he already analyzed every possible thing that could be ruining his mood, that could be holding him back, and knew just what to say. Somehow he’s always giving advice, and the shocking part is that he hears it almost always works.

“What of it, loser?”

Midoriya doesn’t ridicule him like he half expects, the way he knows Kirishima and Kaminari would do. He doesn’t laugh, or point fingers, or make it obvious that they’re talking about her.

He only sets another hand on his shoulder and then stands in front of him, his wide eyes lightly lidded and lips pulled into a kind smile. It’s the same one he always gives when he tries to help anyone.

“Everyone gets troubled with being interested in getting to know someone.” He told him, his tone equally as understanding and gentle. “Jirou is a cool person, and very level headed. If you want to open up to her, no one would blame you. But… Kacchan, you’re… well, you need to learn how to let people in.”

Letting people in?

Letting people fill his time with things that won’t benefit his end goal of being the number one hero? Allowing people to mess with his head and emotions without his consent?

“You’re so amazing,” Midoriya says to him for the millionth time in their lives, “and I know it’s hard when someone is as focused as you, but when did you ever back down from something you wanted? Even the number one hero needs someone by their side.”

Bakugou looked over his head, back at the girl who looked dazed off despite Tokoyami—the bird kid, right?— speaking about something. Her fingers only picked at the slice of pizza on her lunch tray, and the smile she put up didn’t quite reach her eyes the way they did just moments ago.

“Get your girl, Kacchan.” Midoriya urged. “Or-Or your friend! I don’t know your relationship! Just… talk to her. I know you can do it. You can do anything.”

Fix this. You need to fix what you broke.

He nodded, and then pushed him away, careful not to bump his bandaged arm. No thanks was given, but none needed to be. Midoriya was just as perceptive as he was annoying, and he knew there would be a day where he’d give him his thanks in his own way. 

Before he could reach the table, two people stood in front of him, one with tears in their golden eyes and another with a wide pout on bubblegum pink lips.

“Baku-bro!” Mina cried to him as she waved a paper around. “I need you to help me study for this test tomorrow! I got so many red marks on the mock-quiz!”

Violet eyes looked over at them, and he caught their gaze for a second. Shock was written across her features to see him so close to her usual table, and he mentally pleaded that she could see how he wanted to talk.

“Me too! I can’t get this grade on the actual test or my parents might actually kill me!” Kaminari faux-sobbed, the paper in his hand looking as if someone dumped it in red ink.

He looked back at the two, and narrowed his gaze at them. “What the fuck is wrong with you two? Bother someone else. I need to get somewhere.”

“Please!” They chanted over and over, and he glared at them, thought it did little to nothing to deter their begging and desperation. Still, even with the most evil look he could muster, they were unafraid of him.

The bell rang a second later, and he could see Jirou rushing to get rid of her tray and then head back to class. Her steps were fast, wide, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he hurt her so much that she felt the need to run away from him. Was he so bad that she had to take off so abruptly?

He focused on his two classmates in front of him and then sighed, two fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. Despite the bell, they still clung to his leg, blabbering to him for help on revising. They wouldn’t leave until he gave them the answer they wanted. He knew that.

“Fuck,” he snapped and shook them off, “fine! Just shut the fuck up! I’ll meet you in the library after class. Now leave me alone!”

They cheered, and he rolled his eyes, watching as Jirou’s figure grew smaller and smaller until finally, he couldn’t see her anymore. Until two heads popped in his vision and bounced up and down in excitement.

“We’re gonna pass! We’re gonna pass!” They sang happily, and he looked away before taking his own leave, deciding that he wasn’t going to let them make an ass out of himself.

How was he supposed to talk to her without someone seeing? Every second of every day they were surrounded by people, especially people he doesn’t like. The chances of them being together would spread like wildfire. Eyes were already always on him, watching like he was a ticking time bomb just waiting to explode, and he didn’t want even more on him.

He didn’t want any on her when she hates the limelight and gossip as well. But how?

Think, Katsuki. Think.

——

It’s hard to focus when his head hurts, and even harder to mellow his anger when his idiot classmates are setting his patience and nerves on fire. Only half an hour they've been revising, and their fire to pass the test had burned out, leaving them empty and ready to mess around. Spitballs, doodling, falling asleep, they did anything to get out of writing notes and studying, and he was over their attitudes the second he even walked into the place. He didn’t have to put up with them. He didn’t need to help them.

About an hour in is when he decided to stop trying, to stop giving a damn. They won’t listen, and they won’t do what needs to be done to understand the material. Unlike Kirishima, they don’t have hardening quirks that lets him smack them around with notebooks and magazines. He didn’t want to hurt them, just grab their attention, but it seems they didn’t want to listen. They just wanted to say they tried, but just trying means jack shit.

It’s all about outcomes. They’ll get what they give, and that’s just how it works.

He’s not sure if they noticed him leaving, with their eyes focused on a funny video they found online and what not, but he really doesn’t care. There are better things he has to do. Other people he could waste time with and who would actually want to be with him. More exciting things than repeating the same quadratic equations over and over again.

In the midst of his angry stomping, he bumped into someone. His first reaction was to yell, to tell them to watch where the fuck they were going, until he saw a familiar set of assymetric bangs and thick, dark lashes. 

“Are you following me or something?” She hissed at him, and he held a hand out in hopes that she would take it, that he could feel her soft skin in his again. 

“I-I was getting away from Sparky and Raccoon Eyes.” He defended himself, swallowing back that damned shake in his voice.

How she brought him to his knees was terrifying. She didn’t have to do anything and he was already lost in her.

Jirou pushed his hand away and stood up herself, pulling her sweater around her before spinning her earphone jack around her finger. The hoodie she had wasn’t her own, considering his closet has had one empty hook since the day Mina caught them in her room. His own cologne was vague, wearing off, and he wondered if she wore it because she missed him. That would make sense. She wears it often, every time she’s not in uniform, he has noticed.

But she’s also secretly petty, and he hurt her. She could be wearing it just to taunt him, to mock him. It could be a power play to make him want her just to tell him he could never have her. Or her plans later could involve burning it, shredding it to ribbons and completely dropping him for being an emotionless jackass.

He can’t blame her.

His eyes scanned the empty hallway, and he quickly reached for her arm before she could slip away. Triangular eyes widened even further, and she seemed almost offended that he put his hands on her. Even if the grip was lax, the face she made could have fooled anyone.

“What do you want, Bakugou?” Jirou huffed in irritation, her eyes half lidded in pure boredom, and he cleared his throat.

Why was talking so hard? Why did it suddenly feel like he had cotton stuffed in his mouth and his vocal cords were tangled up in one another? Why did she do this to him?

“My Chemical Romance is having a reunion.” 

He panicked. He hoped she couldn’t tell.

Vaguely he remembers Tokoyami mentioning it, and Kirishima joking about slipping back into his ‘emo phase’. Personally, he wasn’t the biggest fan of the group, instead preferring artists more along the lines of Good Charlotte or Green Day. Some songs were nice to listen to every now and then, and some he had on his workout playlists since they were so energetic and catchy. However, he knew she loved them. Every album she had on vinyl, and she has the entire suit to cosplay as a member of the Black Parade.

The comment definitely piqued her interest.

Mission accomplished.

Her eyes sparkled, and her jaw dropped slightly as a look of surprise crossed her face. “You’re serious?”

He nodded, and she turned to fully face him. “They announced it a few days ago. They had a flash sale of shitty new merchandise. Most are sold out now—”

Jirou balled her fist and then punched his shoulder with the intent to hurt. There was a gentle ache where she hit, and he knew a bruise would form later on, but he didn’t mind. Not when she looked this excited and this happy. 

“You didn’t tell me? You know how much I love them!” She gasped in offense and he watched as she began to count on her fingers. “I have a hundred in my bank account now, a little more for weekly allowance… after my phone bill…”

He watched as she counted her funds, and then slipped one hand into his pocket before taking a deep breath to steady his nerves. “Hey… Earlobes…”

She looked up at him, and his fingers played with the fabric of her hoodie. “Can we… go to your room?” He asked quietly, glad no one else was around to hear him or see them stand so close, so intimate.

“E-Excuse me?” She stepped back and he widened his eyes at the anger flaring in her eyes. “We haven’t talked in weeks and the first thing you ask is—”

“Not like that.” He cut her off, and she raised an eyebrow at him in disbelief. “I-I wouldn’t do that shit. Who do you fucking think I am?”

She crossed her arms under her chest, and he met her eyes. She still had a bright flame of resilience in them, of fight to not give into him, but he wanted to put it out. There was no reason for her to fight him, to want to stay away. Everything was better when it was the both of them against the world, and he wanted to admit it. 

Listening to music was more fun when she was mocking them with an air guitar and explaining why she loved a particular song. Playing games is more enjoyable when she’s promising to beat him and tries to sabotage him during his turn. Sitting around and doing nothing felt like a better use of time than working out or just reading hero article after article in his room. Training is more exciting when she stumbles, falls, knocks him to the ground, and grows with him.

It’s better when they both have each other, and she had to have thought that once before. Why else would she try so hard to spend time with him? The signs were all there, but he was too naive to understand what they meant, to know what he wanted. 

I’m so fucking stupid.

The words were right there on his tongue just begging to be let out, to see life. But something was holding him back. Pride. Anxiety. Just being plain stubborn. There’s so many reasons why he couldn’t just confess, but which one was it? Was it all of them? Was it none of them? 

He has never been more confused than when he’s thinking about her.

“We need…” He cut himself off as he saw a few kids approaching. Though their eyes were on each other, he knew they’d see them eventually. “Private. Let’s go somewhere private. I'm not saying this shit here.”

“Why?” She asked, her nose lifting into the air. “Whatever you want to say, you can say it right here. No one’s here.”

A sharp glare only added fuel to the fire, and her earphone jacks raised threateningly. There was a certain aura around her, one that told him she was not backing down anytime soon. Knowing her, they would only go back and forth if this sparked any further. Neither of them would cave, and arguing wouldn’t help his case in getting her alone, in giving himself the balls to confess all of his fucked up feelings.

“I’m mad at you.” She reminded and he was offended despite understanding her reasoning. “You’re an asshole.”

I know.

“You just have high expectations of me.” He defended himself. “I’m not the perfect fucking guy you see and want me to be. I don’t do shit like this. I’m new to this.”

She rolled her eyes. “What? You can’t make friends or something?”

He pulled her closer by the hoodie on her shoulders and her cheeks burned a bright red as they were pressed chest to chest. Standing so close made his nerves flare, and he could hear the chatter of the extras down the hall die down as their footsteps came closer. His own heartbeat was ringing in his ears.

“Not so tough now, are you?” He asked quietly and she set her hands against his chest before pushing half heartedly. Something told him she didn’t entirely hate this particular situation. “Cat got your tongue?”

“What do you want from me?” She whispered, her voice weak as she looked around them as well. “This isn’t funny, Bakugou. Stop being such a d—”

“We need to talk in private.” He repeated, his tone firm and unwavering despite the fluttering feeling in his stomach. “Your room. I’ll meet you there.”

Jirou looked away and then nodded. “Fine. Ten minutes. If you make me wait, you’re getting locked out.”

He watched as she yanked herself out of his grip. She sounded almost defeated after she agreed, which led him to wonder if she even wanted to hear what he had to say. Maybe she made the same decision he decision he had, choosing to focus on hero work and school instead of personal relationships and affairs. If she had already turned her back to him, should he not tell her? Would it be a hindrance to them both to know how the other felt? 

Not that he doesn’t have an idea on what to expect. She has to have some kind of feelings for him to still be wearing his clothes and agreeing to hear him out. His own feelings didn’t fade that fast, so does that mean hers didn’t either? Right? Is this how it works?

I don’t fucking know. 

Why am I doing this again? What do I gain from telling her that she fucked up my life?

It’s like he’s at war with himself. One side is begging for her, and the other is telling him that it’s not worth it. What he knows now has gotten him so far. There’s no need fixing what isn’t broken.

But maybe… maybe it is broken. Maybe that’s why he’s caught himself in a catch twenty-two. He just hasn’t realized it yet.

“Bakugou, is that you? What are you doing at school so late?” A voice cut him out of his thoughts. “Normally you’d be at the gym at this hour, right?”

Once glance over his shoulder was all it took to see that one girl from class, the one with the exaggerated ponytail, Yaoyorozu, he thinks. The other girl beside her, he thinks her name is Tsuyu, but he can’t be sure. The frog girl, right? Well, it doesn’t matter. Or maybe it does.

Why the fuck is she looking at me like that? She got a problem with me?

“None of your fucking business.” He answered, stuffing his hands into his pockets before letting his eyes eyelids drop lightly. “Need something or what?”

Yaoyorozu tilted her head and smiled kindly despite his colorful language and attitude. “Have you seen Jirou? We were supposed to hang out. Mina suggested a sleepover with all the girls this weekend.”

He looked over to where he watched the girl walk away, and then looking back at them before shrugging. “Dunno. Don’t care.”

Tsuyu nodded. “Of course you don’t. Yaoyorozu, I told you it was a waste of time asking him. He doesn’t care about anyone but himself.”

If looks could kill, he can assure the world that this girl would be six feet under by now. Who the hell did she think she was talking about him like she knew him? They’ve hardly ever spoke unless absolutely necessary. As if she could understand how he feels or what kind of person he was. Very few people had the right to talk about him, and she was not one.

“Shut your trap.” He hissed before turning his back on them. “You don’t fucking know me, Kermit. Fuck right off. I have shit to do.”

“Yeah yeah. Classic Bakugou.” She sighed, and he froze midstep. ”Too tough for friends, too cool to care.”

Didn’t Jirou say that exact same thing  to me before?

Despite Yaoyorozu’s attempts to quietly scold her friend, he could hear her remind her friend of a secret, of the girl-code. To which Tsuyu stated that she didn’t care.

There was nothing for him to say, so he continued walking. Step after step, he could hear their voices as they hushed into pure silence, just him and the echoes of his own footsteps in the corridor. Him and the thoughts that never seem to go away.

Is there a way to turn the brain off? A switch or something that could keep him out of his own head?

No, there’s no button, but there was a fresh breeze of afternoon air and the gentle chill of autumn that made his nose slightly burn. A wake up call to get out and confront his issues like the leaves off trees have confronted their deadlines and now fall one by one to the floor. There’s a similarity between the two of them—the falling, the helplessness to reality, the wilting of what they knew to make way for things they can become, he knows it all.

No more running away, or wanting to run away. 

I’m Bakugou fucking Katsuki, and I’m not scared of anything, not even girls. Especially not girls half my size who make my stomach do stupid fucking jumps and threaten to put me through cardiac arrest. 

“Yeah,” he scoffed to himself, “keep fucking telling yourself that.”

It’s not a long travel from the school to the dormitory. He can count the minutes it takes on a single hand, but somehow it felt like he had been walking for hours. The distance seemed to stretch and stretch and stretch, until suddenly it sprung back at him like a rubber band, violently and all at once. 

If he looked closely, he could see the window to her room open. With the outside silence surrounding him, faint music can be heard coming from there too.

And yeah, of course it’s My Chemical Romance. Why wouldn’t it be?

Though the path to her room was embedded in his head, the trail is dusty. The last time he was here had been weeks, maybe even more than a month ago. His old footprints have been blown away, but he hoped no one else had taken his spot even if he didn’t deserve it.

The more the distance between them closed, the more his inexperience began to weigh down on him. That confidence he built up just moments ago was crumbling with every step. What was he supposed to say?

I was a neglectful dickhead because you make me feel things I’ve never felt before?

That’s supid. He sounds like a slave to his emotions.

You’re the one who got her feelings hurt thinking we had something when we didn’t?

How was that supposed to help him win her over?

I’m not ashamed of you because you’re not as good as I am. I’m envious of you because you’re better than me?

She can’t even throw a punch, and there’s no way in hell he’s going to admit to being jealous of how easy feelings seem to come to her when they hit him like a freight train. 

Before he knew it, he was standing in front of her door. Her name plate made his heart heavy, and the pounding of a bass made his palms sweat.

I could fucking just blow myself up. I don’t have to talk when I’m in a full body cast.

He raised his fist to knock, deciding the last thing he needed was another trip to that old Recovery Hag’s office. The ghost of her wet, sloppy kiss haunts him and sends shivers down his spine. If he had to go the rest of his life without her, it would definitely be a positive in his book.

It took three loud knocks before he saw the doorknob jiggle, and with one more floor shaking thrum of bass, the door swung open. Behind it revealed that Jirou had changed her clothes, and the old hoodie she was wearing earlier had been swapped out for a jacket more her size. Why she felt the need to change beat him, but he wasn’t complaining.

She nodded her head, and he stepped inside, feeling out of place in a room he used to walk into like it was nothing. There were still holes in the wall from where his darts missed the board and burned drumsticks hanging in a bag by her desk from when his quirk gets just a little out of control. And if he wasn’t mistaken, that was his black hoodie thrown on top of her crash cymbal.

The music she was listening to faded into a lower hum, and when he turned to face her, she was leaning against her computer desk. One foot in front of the other, and her hands were sprawled against the wood behind her. Impatient eyes warned him to hurry. A demand he had no idea how to fulfill.

“You’re wearing your dog collar again.” He pointed out dumbly, and when she turned her head, he could hear the jingle of the ring hitting the metal latch.

Fucking. Smooth. Asshole.

“What do you want from me, Bakugou?” She asked, cutting straight to the point. “Why are you here?”

I don’t know.

Eyes darting anywhere but her, he knew she could tell that he didn’t have an answer to give. Pride was a dangerous thing, and he had a lot of it.

“I don’t know.” He confessed, and he could feel her pointed gaze on the side of his face. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing anymore, Earphones.”

“Hmph.”

She didn’t reply. 

Through the corner of his eye, he watched as she crossed her arms and then tapped at the floor with the tips of her toes. Unable to keep his own gaze to himself, he couldn’t help but admire her in the midst of their awkward silence.

The socks she wore went past her knees, held up by a thin black belt that almost resembled her choker, only instead of a ring, it had a heart in the middle. He’s never seen her wear that before, and it makes him feel things that he definitely wouldn’t feel if it was anyone else. Black shorts were frayed at the hem and torn on the sides, but he could barely see the denim under the hem of her oversized tank top and jacket. Despite fitting better than his own, it still looked as if she was borrowing someone’s clothes.

If he ever caught her wearing his denim jackets, he wouldn’t complain.

“Are you going to stare, or are you going to speak?” Jirou asked him, and when he looked up at her face, there was red painting her cheeks. “You're such a boy.”

“You’re the one with such a weird fucking fashion style.” He hissed, his own face burning as something stirred inside of his stomach. “Do you own clothes that aren’t ripped to shreds?”

“Do you have an attitude that’s not acting like a bitch?” She sneered, her earphone jacks lifting to point at him. “If all you’re going to do is insult my clothes, you can leave. I was just getting dressed up because the girls and I are having a sleepover in Mina’s room. You’re keeping me from them.”

He raised an eyebrow and then scoffed.

“Oh? So you’d rather sit in a room full of gossip girls and talk about boy problems and crushes instead of talk to me?”

“You’re not my entire life, Bakugou. I have friends, unlike some people. You made it clear you didn’t want me around, so why do you keep watching me and coming back?” She demanded.

“You told Ponytail and shitty Kermit about me.” He accused her as he slammed his fist down on the table. “You’re supposed to be this cool chick who doesn’t give a shit. What the hell are you doing spreading shit about people?”

Jirou set her hands on her hips, and he returned her venomous glare.

“And you’re some heartless asshole who only cares about himself.” She retaliated. “So why are you here bringing up what I do as if you give a damn? Huh? You’re Mr. Lonewolf. Mr. Too Cool.”

His fist balled as she stood there and repeatedly insulted him. However, he wasn’t angry at her. Maybe before he was. It’s just so much easier to blame someone else instead of taking responsibility for his own downfall, but he knows now that his irritation only comes from the fact that what she’s saying is true. He built his reputation with his own two hands, and that’s not her fault. Her believing the image he painted himself as was no one’s fault but his.

But he doesn’t want the same things he started U.A with. Yes, being number one was still in his sights, being the best will never stray because that’s his ultimate goal. That top hero spot will be his. However, just because he wants to be the best damn hero the world has ever seen, that doesn’t mean he wants to do it alone anymore. Does anyone do things alone anymore? It took him weeks to realize the answer, but he hopes it’s not too late. 

“I do give a damn!”

Her eyes widened at his outburst, and it felt like a weight was stripped from his chest as he finally began coming clean of the emotions he has been repressing. 

“I give a damn because I don’t want to be that asshole you sit in a fucking circle with your girls talking shit about! I want to be the asshole you sit in a circle and brag about! God dammit, Jirou.” He breathed out as he grabbed his own shirt. “What the fuck did you do to me?”

”W-What?” She murmured to herself. “What are you saying?”

She’s so fucking thick.

“I can’t… I can’t keep fucking pretending.” He looked her in her eyes. “I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me, or why I can’t keep my eyes off you. I keep coming back no matter how many times I tell myself to focus on being number one, and I don’t get it. I don’t fucking get why you’re all that I think about!”

She stepped away from him, and it felt like he was a second away from a possible heart attack. Not only was there adrenaline pumping through his veins for finally confronting this, but she was walking away.

Why the hell is she walking away?

“I-It’s so confusing.” He choked on his own anxiety of spilling his guts to someone who wouldn’t acknowledge them. “I don’t feel like myself. You turned my world upside down in the best, most fucked up way. I never wanted anyone, but here you are. I… I want you by my side.”

He motioned to her, in all her… fucked up fashion, uneven haircut, and three foot tall glory. To her stupid eyes that shined like diamonds and those disgustingly soft looking lips that plagued his dreams. Awkward, oblivious, cavalier, she was a fucking mess and he wanted nothing more than to just be a mess with her.

Jirou only stared at him, shock etched into her facial features. Her body language proved that she wasn’t as tense as before, but why was she still stepping away from him? 

Fucking say something. Anything. God dammit.

Why won’t you fucking say something?

He fucked up. That’s all there is to it.

He knew he should have kept his big mouth fucking shut, but there went everyone telling him to talk, to open up, to let people in. Well fuck. If this is where it gets him then there’s no point in uncapping his feelings for someone ever again. The emotional vulnerability, the intimacy of honesty, the hope of placing trust in someone else's hands was too much to give for the other to just back away.

Of course she wouldn’t feel the same way. Why would she? All he did was avoid her, mock her, lie to her. There’s probably someone else, or worse, there’s nobody else, but she just doesn’t want him because he’s not good enough. He doesn’t have the same kind of relationship and people skills as literally anyone else on the fucking planet. Of course he would be the last person she ever wanted.

“Fucking say something!”

Many would argue that he sounded desperate. Hell, maybe it even sounded like he was begging her to speak, but he would never admit to it. In his head, he was just… anxiously awaiting a response. 

It felt like the tables had turned. Before, it was her standing in this very spot, feelings laid out on the table and heart in her hands. Anxiety must have eaten at her when she waited for his response too. He was the one standing in shock, quiet as his brain over thought his own emotions and the situation at hand. 

But now here he is, heart in his hands and guts spilled, unable to put them back in. And there she is, quiet.

“If you don’t feel the same then just tell me! Fucking get it over with!” He yelled in frustration.

“Bakugou…” Jirou trailed off, and he found himself mentally begging her to just rip his heart out. 

It’d be so much easier not to have these feelings anymore. To not have the constant lingering worry of being in her sights, of having to consider her feelings, of being drawn in like an addict to their addiction, would take weights off him. If she didn’t want him, he wanted her to shred his heart to ribbons, to the point where he never wants to stand here and confess to anyone else ever again. This was true vulnerability and powerlessness. He’s never felt so exposed before.

“You… feel that way?” Was all she asked, and he looked down.

“Didn’t I just fucking say that?” The venom in his voice disappeared, but he hoped it still held some strength. How embarrassing would it be if his voice felt as weak as he did?

“I…” 

He turned away from her, deciding he didn’t want her to see his face when she turns him down. Since he was little, his face has always been expressive. If he could take some of the power off her shoulders by not giving her the satisfaction of seeing him heartbroken, he’ll

take it.

Here it comes.

“It took you long enough.” 

What?

No matter how hard he tried, his brain couldn’t comprehend what she had told him. Even after running it over and over inside of his head, it made no sense.

What the hell was that supposed to mean? Was she not going to kick his ass out of her room so she could hang out with the other girls?

Why is she laughing?

“I… don’t want to sound conceited.” Jirou’s voice had a lightness to it that he’s only heard when she’s excited. “But… I always thought you had kind of a soft spot for me? I mean, you always treated me differently. I just… wanted you to say it.”

His neck could have broken from how fast her looked over to her, to the soft smile pulling on her lips and her eyebrows raised slightly. She was twirling her earphone jacks around on her fingers, something she did when she was nervous, and her eyes were settled on him.

How could she have known before he did? That doesn’t make any sense. Did everybody know? Was it obvious? Is this why Midoriya noticed so quickly that it was girl problems that were holding him back?

“It’s so frustrating with you, Bakugou.” Jirou continued to speak. “You have so much pride, and you… push people away. I want to be there with you but you just… you didn’t want me. I have too much self respect to chase after someone who refused to give what I gave. I just wanted to hear you give me some kind of indicator that you enjoyed my company.”

His feet moved before he could will them to. Step by step he filled the gap between them, the one that had him pissed him off and confused, until she was right in front of him. No more than a foot of space between them, and she was trapped between his body and the computer desk. Not that he was sure she’d run.

In fact, he’s positive this was exactly where she wanted to be or he’d be in a curled up heap on the floor with bleeding eardrums. It happens to everyone who over steps their boundaries. 

Jirou stopped playing with her earphone jacks and then rested her hands behind her, palms flat on the wood of her desk and body leaned back. Her amethyst gaze flicked up to his eyes, and he liked that he could make them sparkle the way they were. The last time they were alone he made her cry, and it haunted his dreams at night and conscience in the morning. But now she was smiling, a wobbly, nervous grin, but a smile nonetheless, and her eyes have never been so lit up in glee before.

“Can I ask you a question?” She whispered, and he looked down at his hands, rough with callous and sweaty from nerves. 

No, he had answered last time. 

“Yeah,” he nodded before bringing his hand up to move the violet bangs from her eyes, “shoot.”

“Do you want me, Bakugou?” She repeated an old question with rose dusting her cheeks and ears. Did her earphone jacks blush close to the base of her ears as well? How has he never noticed?

He remembers his answer to this as well. The mind numbing silence that he gave her, and the pure confusion he felt wondering what she meant by that. But now the answer is as clear as the pounding in his own chest and the flurry of emotions spinning in his stomach. He feels kind of stupid for taking so long to realize just what it was when this was talked about at every corner.

In books, in movies, in cafeteria table discussions, in hushed library confessions, in imaginative daydreams, in everything. The rapid melody of his heartbeat, that rush in his veins when her skin brushes his, and the ache when she was gone. It was so fucking obvious.

However, the question isn’t the same anymore. He already answered her question before she even asked it.

“I actually have a question of my own, Earphones.” He ran his index finger along the length of hear jack before curling it gently around the digit.

The surprise on her face said she didn’t expect him to turn the table back on her.

“Oh?” She teased, though her breathless tone gave her away. There was no way she’d be up for some banter, and his own patience was running thin. “Ask away, explody.”

He hates the nickname for than anything, but the way it rolls off her tongue and the smug look on her face aided him in keeping his tongue to himself.

“Do you still want me?” He asked her, already weighing the options and the possibilities of what she could say. The good, the bad, and the in between.

I fucked up. I made you cry, and I hurt you. 

My ego, my pride, and my selfish ways won’t go away in a night, or two, or even thirty. You understand that. You know what you’ll be getting into if you say yes.

But please... please say yes. 

Her soft hand raised to his face, and he let himself lean into her touch the slightest bit. Not enough to look desperate, but not enough to make him seem like he didn’t want it. He did. 

The silence was killing him, and his finger slid down the length of her earphone jack before curling into the ring of her choker. It’s so ugly, and looks like a dog collar regardless if it’s black, purple, red, or white, and then pulled her closer. She craned her neck to accustom the gentle tug, and he could feel her breath tickle his lips and chin from their closer proximity.

He gained a new respect for her dog collar in that moment. It’s never been easier to get so close to her.

She nodded, and then chewed on her bottom lip as her eyes darted down to his own for less than a second. A giddy erupted inside of him, and he felt a smile tug on his lips. The feeling was foreign, especially without his malicious intent backing it up, but he didn’t hate it. 

“Is that a yes?” He hoped, and she nodded again before wrapping her arms around his neck, fingers threading into his hair. 

“Yeah, why not? You’re pretty cool, Bakugou.” She answered nonchalantly, and he was so happy that he could kiss her. 

But…

I never fucking kissed anyone before.

How the fuck do you…

Jirou leaned forward, and with his free free hand, he pressed his palm against her cheek. The soft strands of her hair tickled his finger tips, and the closer she got, the more nervous he felt because of course she has done this before. Why wouldn’t she have? Someone as cool as her, as attractive as she is, there’s no way he could imagine that she never dated someone in the past. 

Their foreheads pressed together and noses bumped, and he assumed she was waiting for him to fill the gap, to show his own initiative. He wanted to. Just an inch or two separated their lips from one another for the first time in weeks, and he couldn’t let this go.

Mustering up every inch of sincerity that he had, and pushing back any second guessing in their actions, he pulled her closer with the finger still curled into her choker and the hand curled around her face. His eyes were open in surprise that he, Bakugou Katsuki, was actually kissing a girl, and he could see her face burn more red than ever. But her eyes were closed, so he closed his as well and did what he felt would be right.

With eyes wide open, it just felt like another pair of lips pressed against his. His mom used to give him quick pecks on the lips before in his very first years of school. Not that kissing Jirou was like kissing his mom. He hated when she’d grab his face and plant her disgusting lips on his, and he actually wants Jirou’s lips on his. But the concept is that it didn’t mean anything if he was staring at her. It just felt awkward. 

The second he closed his eyes, felt her hands on his skin and took a second to smell the sweet husky scent of her perfume, it felt like something entirely different. It wasn’t anybody; it was her. In the soft fingers on his cheek and in his hair, in the vanilla and cinnamon reeking off her skin, in the gentle breaths he can hear when he tries pulling her closer, in the taste of cherries on her lips. Without being able to see her, it only made every other sense of his enhanced with the ability to decide that this was Jirou. The girl he spent so long foolishly pining after without even realizing it.

They physically could not be any closer—chests pressed against one another, hips meeting with one of his legs between hers and her skin against his jeans, their hands on one another, the only way to make then closer would be to remove their clothes. But he didn’t want that. That wasn’t him. Even if she was as beautiful as they come, the last thing on his mind was stepping any further than this. They had so much time for things like that in the future. Right now, in this moment, all he wanted was to confirm their feelings.

Yes, I want to be with you, even if you’re not perfect—it’s fine. We can get better together.

The hand that was curled into his choker, he released, allowing it to gently run along her side and down to her thighs. He gripped tightly, hoping she could understand what he was hinting at, and bent over to lift her on top of the desk, accidentally setting her on top of her keyboard. Jirou’s legs dangled off the edge, and he slotted himself between them before pulling away for a breath.

“I-I get it,” she chuckled breathlessly, “you’re strong. No need to show off.”

It wasn’t about strength, but about him not having to bend down so far. However, he let her boast about his strength for a little while longer, and if her hands held onto his biceps, he wouldn’t tell anyone. After all, he did work hard for this damn body. The praise felt nice.

“This Saturday…” He breathed out as she pulled away to lean against the wall behind her. As a result, he only leaned forward. “- I want to take you out. Don’t you like… what was it, pizza?”

“You noticed?” She teased, running her earphone jack against his cheek to caress the skin. “You stalker.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes, and then pulled away. “You also like music. Well, there’s a band playing, how fucking conveniently, that night. I don’t know if you know them, I don’t, but I know you don’t pass up any opportunity to find new good rock music.”

She nodded, and then kicked her legs around him. “So dinner and a show? Bakugou, you’re too much.”

Jirou lifted her foot onto the desk, and he set one hand onto her knee as her toes pressed into his hip. He only shrugged, and leaned away from her.

“Is that a ye-”

Several bangs sounded on the door, and they both looked over to it. The wood was rattling off its hinges with how strong the pounds were and how consistent theg hit. It was as if multiple people were knocking all at once with no regard.

“Jirou!” Someone yelled and he froze when he remembered that the girls were all supposed to be hanging out tonight. “Are you there? We checked everywhere!”

“Yeah! Come on! Open up already!”

He looked over to her, and she blushed heavily as she turned away from his eyes. Her earphone jacks were in both hands, and she was touching the tips and fiddling with them as the incessant knocking rang throughout her room.

“Awh,” he teased her as his hands gripped her thighs, “you’re supposed to be having a girl’s night but you let a boy crash it.”

“Go away, Bakugou.” She kicked him and he snickered. “Go hide somewhere! They can’t see you or I’ll never hear the end of it, especially from Uraraka, Mina, and Hagakure! You know they have big mouths!”

He looked around. “Where the fuck am I gonna hide? Behind your fucking drumkit? Your room is full of shit.”

“Fuck you. You play half the shit in here.” She continued to kick him, and he let go of her. It’s not that it hurt but because he did need to leave.

“Where the hell am I gonna go when the door is guarded by your hellhounds?” He hissed and she began to look around as the knocking grew more and more annoying.

Her eyes settled behind him, and he stiffened as a sly smirk tugged on her lips. Without even looking, he knew exactly where she was staring and what she was thinking. The look in her eye and the only other possible exit gave it away.

“I’m not jumping out your fucking window.” He hissed and she hopped off of her desk to push him. “Get your hands off me! You’re on the fucking third floor! Stop! Are you trying to fucking kill me? Do you want that date or not?”

She just laughed, and then swung the sliding door open to push him onto the balcony. Her arms were a long stronger than he remembers, but he wasn’t even trying to stop her. If he truly didn’t want to, there would be no way in hell she could push him. So, he let her have her fun and power rush.

The jump won’t hurt if he softens the landing with a few miniature explosions, so he’s not bothered.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Stay safe.” She kissed his cheek and he felt his face heat as well as his palms. “Have a safe trip.” 

“I’ll kill you one day.” He promised, resting against the edge as she set her hands in his chest. “Try to boast about me to the girls. We both know I’m so amazing.”

She rolled her eyes, and he laughed when she pushed him over the edge. His palms immediately sparked beneath him, protecting him from actually hurting himself.

When his feet hit the floor, he came face to face to Midoriya and Kirishima, who were sitting at the table and staring at him through the window. His heart fell at the thought of having to explain why he was falling from the sky, but when Midoriya nudged the red head and began talking, he felt a light breath of relief hit.

The glances Midoriya gave him made him realize that he wasn’t in the clear, but at least he could keep a secret… for the most part. Kirishima’s mouth was big, and everyone would know if he found out that he just jumped from Jirou’s balcony.

As much as he liked her, something twisted in his stomach at the thought of people seeing the side of him he showed Jirou. It wasn’t a secret, but it wasn’t something he wasn’t something he wanted to show the entire world. That intimate side of him was for him and only one other person to share, not for his classmates to join in on.

He made his way back inside the building, dodging Kaminari when he asked where he disappeared off to and why he left them all alone in the library. Not only did he not care, but he was on something that he thinks people called cloud nine, and no one was going to ruin that for him. Not Midoriya who was watching him with that gross, knowing smirk on his lips, and not Todoroki who was telling him to watch where he was going when they accidentally bumped shoulders in the hallway. All he was focused on was that he finally got the girl that was fucking him up, and they were going out tomorrow.

There’s no way that he would admit he was ecstatic, just buzzing, for tomorrow to come, or that there was the light uneasiness over never having done any of this before. Naturally, he tries to perfect everything he does. Being born with power and planting seeds of envy in others for how seemingly effortlessly he excels raises many bars and expectations. But he wasn’t born the best. He slaved away to get to where he is now.

Tomorrow has to be the best damn date Jirou has ever been on, or he failed. Whoever was before him, if anyone was there at all, needed to be outshone, one up’ed, outdid, forgotten. It was about him.

Call him selfish, but he was going to be the best in every sense of the word.

——

He underestimated just how nervous he was, or how much planning had to go into setting them up. The tickets were printed, the train schedules memorized, and if his memory is right, there’s a florist just a street away from the school that sells Jirou’s favorite flowers. Would it be overkill to buy her a bouquet? Girls liked that sort of thing, didn’t they? He saw it in movies, in books, in mangas, and he heard about it in songs all the time. His own father surprises his mom with bouquets of roses all the time.

But where would it go if they're getting dinner and going to a concert? They’ll be dancing, eating, jumping, and there would be no place to put them. Maybe just one? He can tuck it behind her ear like the teenagers in those God awful, cheesy, overrated, teenage television shows.

Time is ticking down. Down down down. The long hand in the clock hanging on his wall is moving tick by tick as he digs a divot in his floor. Back and forth he’s pacing, wondering where the line between being himself and being what will make him the best seemed to blur to the point of unrecognizable. Anything he would have done before is gone, now replaced with what he should do.

He knows what his friends would say if he asked for their opinion, so he doesn’t. Kirishima would tell him to man up, that worrying is stupid and it’s going to go perfect because nothing ever goes wrong with Bakugou Katsuki in charge. He’d flash his stupid, excited, and briggt shark-toothed grin and then pat him on the back. Midoriya would ramble on and on about how honesty is the best policy, about how Jirou likes him for who he is and not some fabrication of every romantic gesture he’s ever seen. He knows. Everyone else would make fun of him, and the last thing he wants is people laughing at him for liking someone.

He heard a knock on his door, and immediately his eyes snapped to the clock. The time proved he wasn’t late, so it wasn’t Jirou who was here to smack him on the head. But who else would have the balls to be banging on his door like that?

When he swung his door open, he stood pleasantly surprised and a little irritated to see Uraraka (the girl with round cheeks, right?) standing there. She looked upset, but he could have half the class vouch for him when he says, “It’s not my fucking fault.”

His nose is clean. After all, he’s too busy obsessing over his date to start making fun of anyone or set things on fire. Even Iida, who he thinks is four eye’s name, seemed surprised by his docility and lack of temper.

“It’s not?” She asked as she crossed her arms over her chest, round eyes narrowed into a knowing glare. It’s like she was trying to see through him.

“So you’re not the one taking Jirou on a date tonight? Someone else is?” She taunted, and he gripped the doorknob tighter at the thought of someone knowing about them.

His silence was answer enough for her.

Uraraka’s smile was off putting. The expression she wore screamed sugar sweet, but her eyes and tone proved she was about to sour. Those flames and that low rumble was almost enough to shake his bones.

She was a force to be reckoned with. He’ll admit that with a full chest because only a fool would look down on her.

“Here’s the deal, Bakugou.” She slammed her hand against the door and tilted her head in an attempt to look more intimidating. “Jirou’s smile has never reached her eyes like this. You hurt her before, and if I ever see her so torn up because of you… then I’ll cut your hands off.”

He shouldn’t feel so threatened by her round, pink cheeks and innocent grin, but there was a heat to her words that proved she would. He’s not stupid. His physical strength was levels above hers, but she wouldn’t go down without a fight.

“Tch,’ he rolled his eyes, “as if. I’m going to be the best fucking boyfriend she’ll ever have, but don’t go blabbing about it everyone, ya’ hear? It’s not those extras’ business. I didn’t even think she’d tell you.”

“Jirou didn’t say anything. I figured it out.” She hummed before stepping back. “I’m watching you, Bakugou.” 

“Yeah, have fun with that, fucking stalker.” He muttered and then checked his watch. “Now get the hell out of my way. I need to meet her outside.”

Uraraka stepped aside for him, and he shut his door behind him, eyeing the girl as she followed him to the elevator. She simply shrugged, and then pulled her phone out. Unlike before, it wasn’t her pink flip-phone, but something a lot more expensive and modern looking.

He heard that she didn’t have money, so he looked away, deciding he didn’t care where it came from. Maybe someone from that nerd squad of hers got it for her. Half of them are swimming in cash, number reaching high enough to the point he wasn’t sure if they could even count to.

When the elevator dinged and the doors open, he carefully stepped out. Thanks to Uraraka, he was distracted, too busy thinking about her to remember the bubbling of nerves inside of him. It wasn’t like he couldn’t feel his palms sweat or his stomach twist, but he wasn’t focusing on it. Until she split to head over in the direction of the kitchen, where he could hear Iida’s, that engine guy, the square, he thinks, waving hands and stern voice.

God, that kid still has a stick up his ass.

“Baku-bro!” 

He turned, seeing Kaminari and Kirishima sitting on the couch, their legs thrown on top of one another’s and a blanket over their laps. Why they were sitting like that, he couldn’t answer. They were fucking weird, in his opinion, and he preferred not to know why they did what they did.

Hopefully his glare would turn them away, but unfortunately, it didn’t. Just his luck, really.

“You look snazzy.”

Honestly, who the fuck is Kaminari? His grandmother? No one says that anymore.

Kirishima smiled, and set his gaming device down. “Where you headed off to? You’re dressed up. Do you got a date with someone?” He teased him.

Fuck.

“It’s none of your business.” Bakugou snapped, trying his best to keep his poker face up. “Leave me alone. I hate you.”

He smiled brightly, and nodded. “Sure, you do. Anyways, have fun, bro. Don’t be out too late, okay? You know Iida will give you hell at you if you come back too close to curfew.”

“Fuck four eyes.” 

“Be safe!” Kaminari shouted despite the two being less than a meter apart. “Use protection!”

His eye twitched, and the other smiled widely at him before turning back to his game. 

Good. 

If he had said anything else, there’s no way he could have held his own tongue back. Or his hands. And it wouldn’t be his fault, not when Kaminari was practically begging to get blown across the room.

Bakugou walked away from the duo quickly, avoiding other groups of his classmates in an attempt to limit interactions. Nothing mattered more than the fact he had a date to go on and a train to catch soon. There was no time to waste on people he didn’t even like, or care about. Especially not when he could see Jirou standing in the pathway into the kitchen, seemingly caught up in an unwanted conversation like he had just been.

At least I’m not the late one.

He slipped out of the building quietly, quickly, letting out a heavy breath of relief as his back hit the wall. Standing there alone hit him with a sense of vulnerability. There’s no good excuse as to why he’s dressed up further than a tank top and some sweats, and no believable lie he could make to explain why he’s waiting outside. All he could hope was for Jirou to hurry up and it make it out of their maze of talkative, nosy classmates.

No more than two minutes later, the door opened again and he tried not to stare, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted to leave, to hurry up. For years he never understood why dates were such a big deal, and now that he’s about to go on one, he wants to know.

Why does everyone want to go on one? What was the point of them? Is this actually what he wanted? 

“Hey, sorry.” He heard a familiar voice, “Mina wouldn’t shut up.”

“Yeah…”

He doesn’t know what he expected her to dress like—if he expected anything at all—today, but somehow she manages to make everything look good. Her fashion sense, as crazy and weird as it is with the fishnets, the chains, the tears, the plaid, and the black: it worked on her. No matter what she wore, no matter how distasteful it looks on someone else, she made it look amazing. Who else could pull off plaid skinny jeans and a torn up tank top besides her? Or those ridiculous chained belts and chunky boots?

No one. That’s who. 

“You clean up nice.” Jirou scratched the back of her head as she played with the straps of her top. “I… I feel a little underdressed.”

All he did was tuck in a black shirt, throw some dark jeans on, and grab a jacket from his closet. If this is cleaning up, he doesn’t want to know what formal clothing would look like in her eyes. 

“No, you look uh… great, I guess?”

Compliments were not his strong point, and he's mentally throwing himself down a flight of stairs for saying that. Could he be anymore fucking awkward and weird? 

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. 

“You guess?” She crossed her arms and he rolled his eyes as heat began to lick at his face. “Thanks. You’re so nice.”

“You know what I mean.” He retorted as he pushed away her teasing hands. “Get the fuck away from me! You know you look good!”

She smiled, catching his fist in her palm before flattening it out against hers, feeling his calloused skin against her soft fingertips. His heart skipped a beat when her fingers slipped between his, interlocking for the first time that wasn’t his fantasy or imagination. Her rings were cold, but he didn’t mind.

If he knew holding hands felt this nice, maybe he would have made an effort earlier to try and get someone to take his. 

“So… are we… you know…” She trailed off and he swallowed thickly. 

Dating? We’re dating, right? This is a date, so we have to be dating. But does dating mean she’s my girlfriend? Is that how it works, nor was I misunderstanding how it works this entire time?

“Going to head out?” She finished and he sighed in relief. He was getting ahead of himself. Of course she wouldn’t ask that yet.

“Yeah, whatever. Let’s go.” He tried to stay cool, but he knew she could see right through him. There was always this sixth sense she had for him, and it was frustrating, but what could he do?

——

In retrospect, a concert date sounded like a good idea when he had proposed it. Discovering new music, being close to Jirou, buying matching t-shirts, and all of that other cliche crap he assumed she would like seemed more enjoyable back then. Even if he didn’t like the idea, how bad could it have been?

Personal space is something he likes, and doing his own thing was another. Concerts were places where both of those were scarce. Though they never heard of the group who was playing, it didn’t mean the rest of their city and everyone nearby didn't. He could count on one hand how many times he had elbow room to move or didn’t have to be pushed in a direction by someone he didn’t know.

It was hell.

But then they got to the audience, to the open space where he could finally see the stage behind a sea of probably hundreds of heads, and it cooled down. In the back, people were courteous of space, and he could turn around without headbutting someone. The commotion was gone, and the previous excitement for being on a date began to settle in.

“I can’t see.” Jirou huffed loudly, trying to jump in an attempt to look over the people in front of her. “It’s gonna start any second! The lights are even dimming.”

“Shrimp.” He teased and then coughed when an elbow dug into his ribs. “What the fuck was that for?”

In the flashing lights, he could see her stick her tongue out, and he rolled his eyes before pulling her directly in front of him. Her eyes widened, and the glow sticks they bought cracked to life in her hands as other people began to fill around them.  

“Nervous?” He whispered in her ear as he bent down. “Hurry up, airpods. We don’t have all day.”

He helped her onto his shoulders the way other people had done with their friends and partners, and she tangled a hand into his hair as the band came onstage in a sea of smoke. She called and screamed with everyone else in the theater, and it hurt his ears worse than his own explosions, but he didn’t mind too much.

Looking up, she seemed excited, and that was all that mattered. The music was actually half decent when the guitars and drums awoken, and he found himself bobbing his head to the beat when the bass rolled in. The singer was talented, and maybe he might end up searching them later to listen without the screams of everyone in the room.

Jirou wasn’t heavy, but it was hard to balance with people pushing against him in an attempt to open up a pit. Though, she didn’t seem bothered. In fact, she began hitting his head and trying to climb down despite his attempts to keep them both her upright.

“I want to mosh!” She yelled and he widened his eyes as he turned to the pit. The people there were easily twice her size, some even three.

“You’re gonna die.” He assured.

“Come with me.”

Well, shit. He didn’t plan on beating up on people, but that’s what’s going to happen if one more person tries to shove him. Never has he been to a concert, let alone inside a mosh pit, but he has seen videos. No one comes out unscathed.

But… 

Fuck it. He was on a date with a girl for the first time and at a rock concert for the first time, so what’s to lose trying to mosh?

“Unless you’re chicken.” Jirou yelled, waving her glow sticks around. “Are you chicken, Bakugou?”

Hell no.

He pushed her in the direction of the pit and she cheered as people broke apart and paved a way from them. She began jumping around, and he laughed as he joined, bumping shoulders with people and stepping on too many toes to count. 

With her hands in the air, he could see the twin purple and orange glow sticks even after they were separated, and it felt nice. Usually he didn’t get to care for people, to want people, so this was new. Following the glowsticks was nice, even if it was only the second on his list of priorities.

After all, she couldn’t be the only one having a good time. He kind of likes the music, and pushing people without having to worry about holding back. No one else was doing it. So what if there was a bruise here or there? He felt alive.

It was reckless. It was wild.

A thin wire curled around his arm, and when he turned, those twin glow sticks were back and a wide smile. He held her hand and then threw their fists into the sky.

It was free.

Even if their moshing didn’t last long, and even if he was out of breath and bruised by the time the pit died out at the request of the lead guitarist, he felt free. With Jirou by his side, smiling, laughing, and singing during the second chorus after only learning them from the first, it felt like he was in a box all his life and he finally let himself out. 

He didn’t have to be the next number one hero, a pillar of strength for their classmates to turn towards, or even a tutor for his friends. He could let down his walls and just be without the unnecessary praise and insults.

When a more acoustic melody rang throughout the building, he was out of breath and tired, not that he’d admit it. Bruises littered his legs and arms, and maybe someone whacked him with a tail or two, but it didn’t matter. Not when he was having the time of his life and Jirou looked like she was discovering some kind of love for the first time. Not when they were only twenty people from barricade, and Jirou could see over all the heads in front of her with ease. 

It was perfect.

Her eyes glowed almost as much as the second sticks she cracked, and their intertwined hands waves the light back and forth with the surrounding crowd. Though the adrenaline has died down, and the energy of a typical rock concert settled, his heart was racing faster than ever in his chest. 

The day was ending, and it made him kind of… sad to think that they’d have to get back to their dorms and pretend this never happened. When their friends ask, they’d have to lie or push them away to protect whatever spark it was that they were trying to kindle just for some privacy. Was it honestly so hard not to dig noses into other people’s affairs? It’s none of their business.

“This is so amazing.” Jirou grinned as she stood in front of him, the lights coming on as the band began to fill with an interlude. “Bakugou, this is like the second best day of my life.”

He quirked an eyebrow up to the ceiling, “Second?”

“The first was getting my provisional license.” She shrugged. Understandable. When he got his, he was ecstatic even if it wasn’t as fast as everyone else. “Thank you so much.”

His shoulders shrugged, and her earphone jack gently caressed his cheek as the other guided him to lean down. 

“The day’s not over.” He reminded and she nodded.

Some sort of spotlight landed on them, and he awkwardly looked around as the band whistled and called out the two ‘lovebirds’ in the front few rows. Jirou’s eyes rolled as her face burned red, and if it wouldn’t get them kicked out, he would have blown them up for putting them on the spot.

They raised their conjoined hands up to shield their eyes from the blinding lights, and she filled the empty space between them to steal a kiss. His arm pulled her closer, and maybe they prompted the band to play some love song next, but he didn’t care. They could play whatever the hell they wanted. All he cared about was her lips on his and this moment.

Yeah, now he understands why people spend so long wishing for dates and people to reciprocate feelings. The butterflies flying around inside of his stomach are addicting, and the rush is sweet like sugar coated doughnuts. This sense of vulnerability yet pure freedom to let loose was something that was so painfully frightening yet so… powerful. His trust was in her hands, but he wasn’t scared anymore. Confusion, fear, silence, the things that held him back wouldn’t be an issue anymore. 

This is what he wanted, and judging by the time and the kiss they shared in the past, it’s what she wanted as well.

Being alone wasn’t an option anymore, and it didn’t have to be, not with her around. These feelings weren’t a hinderance, but a strength.

It took a lot of power to trust someone with his everything, and for that, he has never felt stronger.