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Bakugou lets the door slam behind him, swinging his bag from his shoulder. Tossing it to the desk, he goes about his evening routine; uniform ditched for more comfortable clothes, a wander down to the kitchen for a hastily made (but delicious) dinner, and a quick shower.
Time for studying, then. He stands near his door, eyeing his desk. His books are in his bag, the bag he both wants and doesn't want to open. With an annoyed 'tch', Bakugou stomps over, plopping into his chair and dumping the bag's contents.
Several little gift-wrapped boxes. A ton of envelopes and cards. The same embarrassment he felt in the classroom heats his cheeks yet again. The day is exactly like any other day; why does everyone have to go and make some 'thing' of it?
But even he is aware of the pleased warmth spreading in his gut. His fingers are careful as he makes his way through his well-wishes and gifts, cracking a smile at Kirishima's terribly wrapped video game and Uraraka's hand-drawn illustration of her sending Bakugou careening into the sky, captioned 'I hope your birthday has you walking on the clouds!!'. Cheesy. He keeps going.
A jar of moisturizer from Aoyama that Bakugou will never be caught dead using, a soft snort puffing from his nose at the glitter swirled in. A cell phone charm in the shape of a hand with its middle finger up, courtesy of Todoroki.
It takes Bakugou several minutes to even open Sero's gift, the damned thing taped to hell and back, and Bakugou eventually gives in and busts out his scissors. A bottle of hot sauce. Bakugou's lips purse in an appreciative pout.
So many cards… Did every single one of his classmates give him something? The thought lights him up from the inside out, and he's suddenly very glad he didn't sift through this shit while others were around to see his reactions.
A small, rectangular envelope catches his eye, and he slides it closer. The paper is heavy, obviously quality cardstock, a precise 'Bakugou Katsuki' printed in perfect penmanship on the outside. Four-eyes, probably, Bakugou surmises, and a flash of… something… shoots up his spine, arms pebbling into goosebumps.
Sliding the stationary from the envelope, Bakugou presses it to his desk, the crisp fold requiring the use of both of Bakugou's hands to keep it open.
Dear Bakugou,
I wanted to wish you a very Happy Birthday, on behalf of myself and the other students of Class 3-A!
L ife is never boring with you around, and you have become an integral part of the 'class team'.
O ccasionally, I find myself just watching you in training; your power and intensity are truly admirable, and your beauty in battle unmatched.
V ast improvements have been achieved in both your skill and your attitude toward others; Congratulations on your success!
E ven after class, when I am studying or going for a run or eating dinner with friends, or as I'm falling asleep at night
Y ou are on my mind, in countless ways.
O rdinarily, I would tell you these things in person, but I didn't want you to feel forced to respond.
U nknowing of your feelings on the matter, I felt this was the 'least explosive' way to make my intentions clear.
Sincerely yours,
Iida Tenya
Brows furrowing, Bakugou re-reads. His intentions? His eyes catch on the word 'beauty'. A careful sigh eases from his throat at 'as I'm falling asleep at night'. And what is with the strange… formatting?
Sincerely yours, eh? Maybe that's just how weirdo rich people sign off on letters. His chair offers a tired squeak as he leans back. Something about it keeps pulling Bakugou's gaze, and he's well into a full minute of staring blankly when his jaw abruptly drops.
Out the door before his mind can catch up with his body, he fires himself down the hallway to the stairwell, his other hand clenched around the note. The entire dorm likely hears his fist squarely connecting with Iida's door, but Bakugou doesn't give one single shit.
When the door swings open, Iida doesn't look surprised. Resigned, if anything. Spine rigid. Shoulders straight. A tired smile curling his lips. "Bakugou-kun."
"The fuck IS THIS?!" Bakugou growls, shaking the card in Iida's face.
"Is that a rhetorical question?"
"Oh my GOD, you pain in the- YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN, FOUR-EYES!" Bakugou hisses, darting glances down either side of the hall.
When his eyes return to Iida, the smile is gone, Iida's chin lifted ever so slightly, a barely noticeable flush to his cheeks. "It is a confession, Bakugou-kun. I thought that was obvious."
It's suddenly entirely too warm. Bakugou is having trouble breathing in the oppressive heat, or maybe it's just his face? Iida doesn't look bothered. I'm probably redder than a tomato, oh SHIT…
He shoves his way into Iida's room, a tolerant sigh easing from Iida's chest, and the door closes. "You can't just-" Bakugou manages to grit out before Iida interrupts.
"I was hoping to skip the dramatics, with this," Iida states, gesturing at the card- now crumpled- in Bakugou's fist. "Clearly, I was… a bit optimistic."
"What am I supposed to do with this?" Bakugou spits, scowling, and an indignant whine creeps from his throat when Iida rolls his eyes.
"Ignore it. Burn it. Tuck it in a scrapbook. Sleep with it under your pillow. Show the entire class and make fun of me. I don't know what you want me to say. Bakugou-kun, it is not generally the duty of the one confessing to tell the other what to do or how to feel."
Words stack up in Bakugou's throat. He can't speak, he can't breathe. He can't… be angry. His fingers twitch around the paper, and he takes a halting step. Closer. Iida's nostrils flare. "You…" Bakugou croaks. "You really feel this way."
"I do."
"Why," Bakugou breathes, and Iida's eyes squint, considering.
"I find you admirable for all of the same reasons anyone in our class admires you," Iida carefully states. "But in addition, I am drawn to you…" Bakugou watches as Iida's hands clench into fists at his sides. "Physically."
When Bakugou doesn't respond, Iida's shoulders slump. "I think that's enough. I'd like you to leave, please. You can rest assured I will never bring any of this up again, and will treat you no differently-"
"What, you wanna like… kiss me, and shit?"
Bakugou's eyes widen when Iida delivers the most dead-eyed, irritated glare Bakugou has ever seen their esteemed class president make. "Yes. I want to kiss you and shit." A humorless snort erupts from Iida's nose. "Holy GOD. Leave. PLEASE."
"You want me to leave," Bakugou repeats, taking another step closer.
"I believe this is quite enough humiliation for one evening. I would appreciate if you'd-"
Bakugou has no idea what he's doing, experience-wise, but his lips, crushed almost painfully against Iida's, succeed in shutting Iida up, at any rate. His hand darts up, yanking downward on Iida's neck, because he has no interest in standing here all night on his tip-toes.
The contact seems to break Iida out of his statue-esque surprise, and Bakugou smiles against Iida's mouth when large, warm arms settle nervously around Bakugou's back. "I want to kiss you too, dumbass," Bakugou snickers into the softness of Iida's lips.
"Oh," Iida sighs, fingers digging forcefully into Bakugou's shoulders. "Well, then."
"Yeah."
"You should… do that."
"I'm… What the hell do you think I'm doing?" Bakugou snarls, sliding a hand to Iida's waist.
"A lot of talking," Iida giggles, and Bakugou jerks back to take in Iida's smile, eyes sparkling behind his glasses. When Bakugou rolls his eyes, Iida laughs again, tugging him close. "I'm nervous," Iida breathes into his ear.
Shivering at the sensation, Bakugou pushes his face into the crook of Iida's neck. "No use being nervous now," he mutters, nervous as hell. "Just kiss me, nerd."
"Okay," Bakugou hears whispered at his cheek just before Iida presses his lips there, his smile so obvious Bakugou doesn't have to see it to know.
A titter pushes its way up from Bakugou's chest, fidgety and elated. "That all you got, Four-eyes?"
"Hardly," Iida responds, and spends the rest of their evening demonstrating, to Bakugou's grudging- but genuine- delight.