Chapter Text
It would’ve been noticeably weird if anyone did it, which is the crazy part. Ochako is close to pretty much everyone in class, in her own way, and depending on how you decide to define close.
But no one is really on a touchy-feely basis with her, at least, not outside some of the girls. That’s just how it is with girls, though, right? Casual hugging and snuggling on the couch and squeezing each other close in excitement. And even then, Ochako’s not sure they’d do what he’d just done.
No, scratch that.
Ochako’s positive they would never do what he’d just done.
It was the type of touching it had been rather than the action itself. Such an intimate interaction, completely out of nowhere, the kind that leaves you breathless. Which she very much is now, still standing in the same spot at the counter, frozen and staring down at the half-sliced apple on the cutting board.
Had Bakugo just—? No. It couldn’t be.
Right?
She flicks her head up to see who else is around. Dammit. There’s Todoroki, Yaomomo, and Iida in the living room sipping tea and studying together, and Kaminari behind her facing the other counter, humming along to the music in his ears and making himself a sandwich.
All four of them very much not looking in her direction.
So, no one who could confirm whether or not she’d imagined it.
It had happened so quickly and yet, in the moment, it seemed to stretch out into the void of eternity, as if they had always existed in that moment and they always would.
Ochako had been at the counter, slicing an apple so she could dip those slices into peanut butter— her favorite post-workout snack— and Kaminari had entered the kitchen. He’d tipped his chin at her with a smile before twisting his face into one of passionate performance and mouthing the words to whatever he was listening to.
She’d smiled to herself and gotten back to the apple, but before too long, she heard more footsteps coming from the hall that led to the elevators. When she looked up, it was Bakugo, yawning and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes from what seemed like a pretty great— and recent— nap.
Since moving into the dorms, Ochako had noticed that about him. It’s hard to believe, and she knew if she told someone who hadn’t witnessed it for themselves, they’d call her crazy, but it didn’t change things. There’s a small window of time, maybe about ten minutes after he wakes up, give or take, where Bakugo is the cutest, sleepy ball of fluff.
Weird, since people like him tend to be monsters post-sleep, but Ochako’s seen it enough times to notice the pattern. Whatever part of his brain that made him as tough as iron ninety-nine percent of the time apparently took a little while to boot up after waking. It makes perfect sense to her. It takes a lot of energy to always have a sharp reply or insult or mean (but strangely endearing) nickname for everyone just sitting on the edge of his tongue at all times. That’s the kind of energy you don’t have thirty seconds after waking up.
So, knowing this, Ochako had relaxed, seeing no need to prep herself for whatever brashness he had in store for her today. Which is why she was completely unprepared for the opposite.
Bakugo had apparently needed to get to one of the two fridges. Only problem was, Ochako and Kaminari were practically back-to-back, leaving very little room for him to squeeze by.
But being Bakugo, he’d decided to try anyway.
He’d placed a foot between the two and started to gently slide past, his chest right behind Ochako’s head. But it felt weird to at least not let her know that he was doing it. It was rude, right? To just squeeze roughly between his classmates without saying anything? He was trying to quit that whole being rude thing.
So without thinking, he’d gently fluttered his hands onto the dips of Ochako’s waist as he scooted behind her. Well, not even his entire hands. The very tips of his fingers were feather-light on her to avoid outright manhandling her.
And then he’d gruffly muttered, “Behind ya, Pink Cheeks.”
Ochako froze in the moment. By the time she’d even reacted, he was already at one of the fridges, cracking it open and mumbling to himself as he bent to look inside. But she could still feel his fingers on her hips, light and soft, and his post-nap warmth behind her.
And she has to admit… she was really into it.
The realization was made about two seconds after the incident itself, and, with her cheeks living up to Bakugo’s nickname for her (and beyond— God, she was so red), Ochako had slowly and discreetly turned her head to the side to watch the cause of her inner crisis lazily fling an arm over the fridge door as he gazed inside.
Bakugo eventually straightened up with a bottle of orange juice in his hand and then, after pausing for a second, opened the freezer up top, reached into the freezer basket, and grabbed a chunk of ice to toss in his mouth.
Ochako had hidden a smile. Typical Bakugo, munching on ice like it was a snack.
And then he was gone, continuing through the kitchen to the front door to put on his shoes and take a walk.
It’s now been roughly a minute and a half since the incident and Ochako finally gets back to slicing her apple. But she can’t stop thinking about it. Does this mean she likes Bakugo? That’s pretty random, though. Just because you like it when a boy touches you doesn’t mean you’re in love with him.
But is it random, though?
I mean, she’s always found him attractive, the same way she can look at Deku or Iida or Todoroki and think, yes, he definitely looks handsome. In an objective way.
And maybe she just likes it because a boy had been affectionate with her, if you could even call it affectionate. Even if it did come from a loud-mouth with fire in his eyes and the cutest of shit-eating grins.
Okay, Ochako, she thinks to herself. Relax. It was nothing.
She’d had a two-minute crush. No use making it more than it was.
So she shoves the feelings down, tucks the memory away, and focuses on making her beautiful little snack.
Stupid, stupid feelings. She hates how pesky they are, how they rush up behind you out of nowhere and swallow you whole.
It’s stress, which isn’t the part that pisses Ochako off. It’s the fact that her pre-menstrual cycle emotions have taken the stress and decided she needs to start crying about it in the middle of a pretty nice movie night with some of her classmates.
Normally, any negative emotions she had could be packed into neat little boxes in her head and stored away for another time. She could pull them back out later, in private, and sort through them and analyze the data like a little brain secretary. And she was good at it, too.
Except when her PMS brain decided that no, I think we’re gonna deal with this now, and make it ten times worse than it needs to be.
So here she is, excusing herself from the living room with tears brimming in her eyes. There are enough of her classmates in there that her leaving isn’t a huge deal, and besides, she’s seen the movie before. The doctor did it. Sure, she’ll miss Tenya’s reaction, but Deku can tell her later.
Ochako bites down hard on her lower lip to keep most of it from coming out. She drags the sleeves of her sweater down until her hands are wrapped up in them, and then at the elevators she takes one of the new sweater paws and pokes gently at the up button.
Her leg shakes as she waits and becomes increasingly more and more upset. She’s screaming at herself to hold it together. Just until you get to your door.
Then it’s just until you get into the elevator.
Then her brain says fuck it and the dam breaks, gushing wet, hot tears down her rosy cheeks and clouding her vision so much that it’s like peering out of a window during a storm.
And then the elevator doors slide open, and guess who’s waiting on the other side?
Katsuki Bakugo.
Now Ochako’s almost mad. Here we go. She can’t wait to hear what sort of mean things he has to say at the sight of her crying semi-publicly.
It wasn’t even public until you arrived, asshole, she thinks angrily.
Because of the thoughts swirling in her mind, her face twists up through the tears and she looks equal parts frustrated, sad, and angry. But above all, she just sort of looks scared.
Bakugo’s leaning against the back wall of the elevator with his hands in his pockets and his typical scowl on his face, but he doesn’t make a move to exit. Instead he gives her a once-over and pops an eyebrow.
“What’s up with the waterworks, Angel Face?”
Ochako’s breath hitches in her throat, which almost sounds like a hiccup with all the tears. Angel Face? She hasn’t heard that one before.
“It’s stupid,” she sniffs, crossing her arms as if to hug herself and then stepping into the elevator. When Bakugo doesn’t make a move to push himself off the wall, Ochako flicks her eyes towards him.
“Aren’t you gonna get off?”
“I’m allowed to change my mind,” Bakugo says, so gruffly it’s almost a growl. Then he finally does careen off the wall, only to roughly bang at the close doors button with his fist, like, a hundred times in a row. If any of the elevator buttons ever break, they’ll all know who to blame.
As the elevator closes, Ochako presses the button for the fourth floor with her thumb, which is still covered with the bottom of her sleeve. Bakugo doesn’t make a move to press any other floors, so she figures he’s just going back to his room. They do live on the same floor, anyway.
Once the elevator’s moving, Bakugo whirls on her. “Talk, Cheeks.”
This time, Ochako really does hiccup. “What?”
It comes out as a whimper, and she could kick herself for it.
Now that Bakugo’s facing her, he leans his shoulder against the wall instead of his back and stares down at her, eyebrows furrowed like she’s a math problem he’s trying to solve. Ochako stares right back, eyes beyond watery, craning her neck slightly to meet his gaze. She’s always been short but, God… when did Bakugo get so damn tall?
“Last I checked,” he huffs, “you don’t cry in public. Hell, I don’t even know if you cry at all. You’re tougher than most of these other morons. So what’s got you sniffling in the hallway like a little kid lost in a grocery store?”
“I’m not a— look, Bakugo,” Ochako mumbles, bottom lip wobbling as another wave of tears climbs up her throat, “I’m okay, really. It’s nothing.”
Bakugo’s top lip curls up in that telltale way of his, exposing his upper gums like he’s about to snarl. “You know I hate being lied to.”
Then the elevator doors slide open on the fourth floor. It distracts Bakugo and he looks up to confirm the number, and Ochako takes the opportunity to get out of there. But before she even makes it past the doors, Bakugo’s right back at it, stretching his arm across the entrance and looking down at her again.
“Not so fast,” he says. “If you’re crying, something’s gotta be real fucked up. And I don’t like it when things are fucked up.”
When Ochako doesn’t say anything, Bakugo jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “My room. Follow me.”
Now Ochako’s mind is spinning. Bakugo is engaging her in conversation, one, and inviting her to his damn room, two. Maybe she hit her head. Yes, that has to be the only explanation. Because she’s pretty sure no one else has seen the inside of his room except Kirishima. And maybe Kaminari.
At this point, she nods just out of sheer curiosity. But even with that, she’s still overwhelmingly teary. And that wave from earlier is washing over her now, sending a fresh batch of hot tears trickling down to her chin.
Bakugo spins on his heel and veers off towards the boys’ side of the floor. He’s three doors down, the last one on the hall, and he’s already got his key in his hand by the time they get to it.
As he unlocks the door, he says, “Don’t go getting any ideas about touching my stuff, Round Face.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Ochako bites back, even through the tears and her quivering, wet voice.
Bakugo lets out what almost sounds like a low chuckle. “Good.”
Then he swings the door open, and Ochako isn’t surprised at all.
It’s really nothing special, for one. He has some posters of rock bands on his walls, one beat-up old one of All Might, and various certificates and awards and family photos. His bedding and pillows are all dark grey, and his desk, bedside table, dresser, and desk chair are all black. Other than his messy bed, a couple articles of clothing on the floor, and a bit of clutter on the desk, it’s actually pretty organized.
And two, it isn’t surprising because it’s very Bakugo.
He waits for Ochako to enter and then shuts the door behind her. As she stands there sniffling and looking around, he walks over to the desk chair and turns it towards her, then he grabs the box of tissues on his desk and tosses it to her. Once she catches it, he goes over to the bed and starts messing with his pillows.
Ochako recognizes that as his silent offer to sit, so she does, gingerly. The desk chair is actually pretty comfortable, and big, which reminds her again that she’s in a boy’s room. She doesn’t focus on that now, though. She just pats at her face with some tissues and pitifully blows her nose.
Bakugo finally turns back around with a pillow in his hands. “This should do.”
Ochako presses a tissue to her eye and blinks a few more tears out with her lips puckered up. “For what?”
“You’re crying for one of two reasons,” Bakugo says. “One, one of these fuckers pissed you off. But I don’t think that’s it, ‘cause you wouldn’t be crying, you’d be tellin’ ‘em off. So it has to be two, which is life stuff. Stress. Shit you can’t blame on someone else so you keep your mouth shut about it.”
Ochako wants to be surprised, but she’s not. She knows he has a brain under all that brazenness.
“It’s stress,” she confirms. And PMS. But he doesn’t need to know that.
“Just like I thought,” Bakugo says. “So punch this.”
“You want me to...?”
“Come on, Cheeks,” Bakugo says. “I don’t have all day. And you better give it all you got.”
Ochako wipes the last bit of wetness off her face, sets the tissue box back on the desk, and stands up. Bakugo’s holding the pillow right in front of his chest, looking at her with this weird sort of glint in his eyes. Like he’s challenging her to a fight.
“Dammit, don’t tell me you forgot how to— argh!”
She does it mostly to shut him up, but it also feels really nice. It isn’t just the punch; she can do that any time, and does, in combat training. It’s the fact that it’s Bakugo, and let’s face it: who doesn’t wanna punch Bakugo?
There’s that shit-eating grin Ochako loves even though she hates that she does. “Atta girl. That’s the Uraraka I know. Felt that through the damn pillow.”
She punches it again before he even has a chance to prep himself, but he’s still ready, tightening up his abs and just letting out a low urgh through gritted teeth as her punch connects.
Bakugo taunts her. “Heh. That was weak. I know you can do better than that.”
Oh, really? Ochako tightens her fist and twists her face up in determination before sending her knuckles so hard into the pillow that she hears them crack.
“A little better. Still weak.”
Ochako glares at him and practically snarls, her upper lip curling in a way that rivals even him. Then she takes both hands and shoves him with a frustrated, low scream, right in the center of the pillow where his chest is.
“Shut up!”
Not expecting it, Bakugo stumbles a little, but once he steadies himself he’s smirking.
“Well,” he starts. “How do ya feel now, Cheeks?”
She sucks in a breath and huffs it out. “I wanna hit some more stuff.”
Bakugo’s teeth practically flash. “Got an idea.”
He tosses his pillow back on his bed and jerks his chin, motioning for her to follow. When he opens the door, he lets her go out first, and then he marches down to the next room and bangs on the door.
“Hey, hair-for-brains, open up!”
There’s a stumbling sound inside, then footsteps, and then the door swings open and Kirishima is looking at the two of them in surprise.
“Jeez, Bakugo,” he comments, and then his eyes slide over to Ochako and melt in concern. “Uraraka? Whoa, have you been crying?”
Ochako resists the urge to groan. It’s completely unfair. Kirishima is massive, completely ripped, and today he’s only in a tank top to prove it. And now she has to be alone with both of them.
“Don’t ask stupid questions,” Bakugo growls, pushing past Kirishima into his room. “I just need your— there it is.”
Ochako follows him inside and both her and Kirishima track his eyes to see what’s got him so excited. It’s Kirishima’s black punching bag.
Bakugo circles it, gets behind it, and grins maniacally at them as he grabs onto it. “Punch this.”
“Hey, uh, Uraraka,” Kirishima mutters to her with a tight smile. “What’s going on?”
“Therapy,” Ochako says before marching up to the punching bag and hitting it with a frustrated yell.
Kirishima blinks in surprise and hopes his mouth isn’t too far open, but Bakugo’s signature dark smile just grows. Kirishima doesn’t think he’s ever seen him look like this outside of a fight.
“Come on, Round Face, I know you can do better than that!” he barks in glee.
Ochako huffs again in that way of hers that always makes Bakugo feel oddly warm inside. Then she balls her fist up and tries again. Then again. And again. Kirishima’s sitting on his bed now, chewing on a pen and watching in fascination. He’s not sure what’s going on, but it’s entertaining.
“Hey, Cheeks,” Bakugo finally says through interlocking teeth. He holds the bag tightly and away from her, like she’s suddenly not allowed to touch it.
“Now you’re starting to piss me off,” he continues. “I’m not impressed.”
Something snaps inside Ochako and she emits a low growl, turns, and lands a tough roundhouse kick on the punching bag. It knocks Bakugo a little off-balance, but all he can do is pull his face into a smile so dark she thinks he’s gonna grow fangs.
“Now, keep that up, Pink Ch—“
“Argh! ” Ochako kicks again before he can even finish the nickname. This time the punching bag hits Bakugo’s stomach wrong and knocks the breath right out of him.
As he stands there and chokes for air, Ochako’s little warrior attitude fades momentarily and she looks up at him in concern.
“Bakugo?”
“Bakugo, you okay, dude?” Kirishima says from the bed.
Bakugo suddenly looks so angry that Ochako thinks he’s gonna pop a vein.
“Why wouldn’t I be, idiot?!” he yells, or at least he tries. He chokes the words out and then lightly pounds his chest with his fist like that’s gonna help the airflow.
To distract them from his coughing, he glares at Kirishima and points at him. “You,” he rasps lowly. “Let her hit you.”
Kirishima chuckles and stands up. “How did I know you were gonna say that?”
“Kirishima, no,” Ochako says, shaking her head and biting her lower lip in worry. “That wouldn’t be right.”
“Oh, come on, Uraraka,” Kirishima laughs good-naturedly with his fingers sifting through his loose red locks. “Bakugo does it all the time.”
“You better not pull punches either,” Bakugo says gruffly as he falls down into a sitting position on the edge of Kirishima’s bed. “This moron can handle it.”
Ochako’s eyes linger on Bakugo for maybe a little longer than they should. It’s not her fault that he looks kinda adorable when he’s trying to brush off pain, scowling and punching the inside of his cheek with his tongue. And he looks objectively hot right now in his black tank top and matching sweatpants, legs spread, elbows on his knees and his hands loosely clasped by the fingers.
So yeah, Ochako stares a little. So what?
Bakugo, unfortunately, picks up on it. He glares at her with his eyes cast up through his brow, tilting his head towards the side in a way that makes his jawline pop.
“What are you starin’ at, Cheeks?”
For the first time since she started crying, Ochako cracks a little smile that she knows will piss him off. “Nothing.”
But it doesn’t piss him off. Instead, he turns his face down and looks at his hands, which are now clasped a little more tightly. And, unless she’s really lost it, Ochako spots the tiniest bit of pink on the tops of his cheeks before his face is hidden.
Kirishima is oblivious, as always.
“Come on, Uraraka,” he says, flexing and letting his abdomen harden. “Give it all you got. I bet you’ll do way better than Bakugo.”
“What did you just say?!”
Kirishima just laughs and ignores him. “Let’s see it.”
“Okay,” Ochako says with a little uncertainty rounding out her voice. But the hit she lands on Kirishima is anything but uncertain.
“Nice first punch, dude,” Kirishima says before Bakugo cuts in with a rough, “That was weak.”
Ochako gives Kirishima a brief smile for the compliment, but right now, a little tough love is doing her some good. She decides she’ll listen to Bakugo.
She lands a few more punches with Bakugo throwing in his comments and barking out instructions on how to fix her form. Finally, exasperated, he shoots to his feet.
“Look here, Cheeks,” he growls, stomping up to her and taking her hand. Trying to ignore how strong his fingers feel around her small fist, she focuses on what he’s showing her. But then her eyes just end up zeroing in on his strong chest, which is now perfectly level with her face. Oh, God.
“Your arm feels like a noodle,” Bakugo groans, holding Ochako’s fist in front of his chest so that her elbow is locked. “You’re not punching with enough power.”
“Maybe I just don’t have as much power as you,” she huffs.
Bakugo’s eyes burst into flames and he narrows them as he leans forward slightly. “You put up one helluva fight at the Sports Festival, so don’t insult me like that.”
His voice comes out low and husky and Ochako thanks her goddamn lucky stars that he’s suddenly back to focusing on her arm so that he doesn’t notice her blushing.
“And don’t lock your elbow like that,” Bakugo continues at his normal tone. “Use your upper arm for power, not your lower.”
“Upper, not lower,” Ochako says with a firm nod. “Got it.”
“Now punch my hand,” Bakugo instructs, releasing her fist and keeping his palm open in front of his chest. His other hand is nestled in his pocket and his stance is relaxed, head hanging slightly to the side. Ochako thinks she’s gonna melt at his feet.
She does as he asks, using her upper arm for strength instead of locking her elbow. When her fist connects with his palm, he grabs it again and holds it there. Surprised, she looks up to meet his eyes and sees the corner of his mouth curled just the slightest.
“Where the hell was that power earlier?”
“Nice going, Uraraka!” Kirishima says, taking her shoulders and shaking her gently. “You were holding out on us!”
Kirishima and Bakugo egg her on for a little while longer as she lands punch after punch on the redhead’s abdomen. It’s like every time her fist connects, it excites the boys even more. The bloodlust in their eyes is almost endearing, and after each punch they yell and cheer even louder.
And she has to admit that it’s the best stress relief ever.
After hanging out in Kirishima’s room a little longer to watch him show off his dumbbells, Bakugo says he’s going to bed and Ochako decides to leave with him. They’re in the hallway again, lingering awkwardly in front of Kirishima’s door, when Bakugo roughly clears his throat.
“I didn’t waste my time, did I?” he mutters with his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “You feel better, right?”
“I do. Thanks, Bakugo,” Ochako says quietly, wringing her hands together. She feels her cheeks get really hot and starts to feel embarrassed, but when she looks up at Bakugo his face is pulled into a deep scowl and redder than a tomato. He can’t even meet her eyes. Suddenly she doesn’t feel as shy.
“Don’t thank me,” he says after a rough cough. “You’re the one who punched.”
“You’re right,” Ochako says. She smiles really wide because, like it or not, that’s Bakugo. She knows his heart’s in it even if he’s doing everything in his power to pretend it’s not. She knows that was his way of saying you’re welcome.
When Bakugo catches sight of her smiling, his eyebrows draw together. “What are you so happy about? I don’t ever wanna see you crying like that again, Uraraka.”
Ochako’s head buzzes at the comment. It’s the second time he’s called her Uraraka today, and she wonders if he’s starting to go soft. She also wonders how fast he’d kill her if she pointed it out.
“But if I am like that again,” Ochako counters, “I’ll know just what to do.”
Bakugo’s shoulders relax and he smirks. “Yeah. You better, Pink Cheeks.”
It’s an off day, which means Ochako should be going somewhere, doing something, hanging out with her friends. But when she wakes up, her body doesn’t move, and when Deku knocks on her door, Ochako tells him she’s gonna sleep in.
And she does, waking up two hours later to a dead silent dorm building.
Her slippers slide lazily over the carpet as she leaves her room and drags herself to the bathrooms to brush her teeth.With only Mina as the other girl on this floor, she’s used to having the girls’ bathroom to herself pretty often, but it feels especially echo-y and empty today.
Ochako gives herself a tired once-over with dry eyes in the mirror. Her hair is in a messy ponytail with strands and loose locks falling over her forehead and down to her cheeks, her tank top is crumpled and wrinkled from sleep, and her shorts are old and faded from years of being her go-to for lazy days. They also happen to only reach the tops of her thighs, and now, standing in the chilly bathroom, her legs develop goosebumps and she’s suddenly so cold.
She rushes through brushing her teeth and then takes the elevator downstairs. Ochako needs hot tea and she needs it now.
The first floor is completely empty. Ochako realizes that it’s not only rare but that, so far, this is the first time it’s happened. At night, she’s sure it’s silent, but that’s because there’s a curfew. During the day, especially an off day, there should be at least a few people in the kitchen or the living room or at the tables. But today, nothing.
Ochako shuffles over to the kitchen and yawns as she fills the kettle up and sets it on the stove. In ten minutes she has a warm, steaming cup of green tea that she takes with her to the couch. Still cold, she lifts her knees to her chest and hugs them after flipping the television on.
The tea does a good job of warming her up, and eventually she settles down and stretches across the couch. The television gets blurrier and blurrier, and each time she blinks her eyes are closed a little longer. And then, after awhile, she’s asleep.
Ochako startles awake at some point with no idea what time it is. She realizes it can’t be that long, though, because the sunlight outside looks about the same and it’s still deathly quiet. Not much has changed except two things: one, the television has been shut off, and two, a blanket has been draped over Ochako in her sleep.
She already feels her cheeks heat up at the thought of any of her classmates doing something so sweet for her. It’s also surprising to know that someone else is home but hasn’t made themselves known yet. Ochako decides she’ll have to find them and thank them despite their secrecy.
(Also, she just really wants interaction. The dorm building is getting a little too quiet.)
Ochako stands from the couch and stretches, and then, after washing her teacup out, she makes her way over to the elevators. The monitor above each displays the level that the elevator is currently at. The one on the left flashes a bright number one, but the other shows level four.
Her floor.
So she rides the elevator up to the fourth floor, and when she steps off, she carefully shuffles over to the boys’ hallway. Shoji, Kirishima, and Bakugo. On her side, there’s Mina, but she knows that Mina had plans to see a movie with Kirishima today, so she rules both of them out.
It has to be Shoji. He’s quiet and gentle enough, but also, is he even home? Ochako doesn’t necessarily know his schedule, but he seems like the type to be out training on a day like this.
But it couldn’t have been Bakugo, right?
Maybe the person who did it was on their way out, meaning she’ll never figure out who it was. But when she really thinks about it, she’s sure she came down on the same elevator, which means someone had to use it after her to go back up.
She’s standing in the middle of the boys’ hallway trying to figure this all out when she hears something. It’s coming from all the way down at the end.
Loud cursing.
Bakugo’s room.
Ochako takes even steps down the hall until she approaches his door. Noticing that it’s wide open, she hesitates next to it and then leans around the doorframe to peer inside.
Bakugo’s sitting on the floor against his bed and facing the opposite wall, where his television is mounted. His angry cursing is battling with the sound of loud explosions and gunfire coming from the video game on the screen. He grips his controller with both hands, so tight that his muscles are straining against his black T-shirt.
And then, as she slides further into view, he catches sight of her and they both freeze.
Ochako manages to squeak out a few words first. “I-I’m sorry, I heard cursing and— and the door was open so I just—“
“Can it, Cheeks, and come sit down.”
Bakugo says it in his usual gruff voice, but it’s the same gruffness he spoke with when he was asking her why she was crying. That sort of tough love energy that Ochako can’t help but appreciate.
No, more than appreciate. She really, really likes it.
“That shit the other night? That was nothing,” Bakugo’s already saying with a dark smirk as she sinks next to him on the carpet. “This is real stress relief.”
And then, as if to prove it, he snarls at the television and angrily smashes a few buttons on his controller. “These fucking losers don’t know how to play!”
Ochako widens her eyes in surprise and folds her knees up to her chest in interest. It isn’t that she’s not used to Bakugo’s outbursts, but she’s seeing another side of his anger that intrigues her. It’s more playful, and he screams with the corner of his mouth tilted up.
“Goal is to get your kill count up,” he explains in a grunt without tearing his eyes away from the game.
Then, another smirk. “And I always win.”
Ochako smiles a little and leans back against the bed to watch. She’s not completely sure what’s going on, but it looks like he’s shooting a lot of people, which she figures is a good thing. And she can’t deny that seeing him really giddy is nice since he’s usually just… not.
And then the game ends and before she can think, he’s shoving the controller in her hands and jerking his chin at the screen. “Your turn.”
“Oh, but,” Ochako stammers. “I don’t really know how to—”
“Eh, you’ll be fine,” Bakugo says before reaching over and selecting new game on the controller with the joysticks. “You’ve got a brain.”
Ochako sucks in a breath and stares at the screen. She supposes he’s right, she can figure it out. Plus it is just a game, anyway. And as long as Bakugo’s fine with it…
When the game starts, she starts figuring out how to move. Then her character is immediately killed.
“Hah!” Bakugo laughs out. “Not surprised.”
Ochako huffs out a laugh. “I died so quickly.”
“Hell yeah, you did,” Bakugo wheezes. “Try again.”
The character respawns and this time Ochako manages to figure out how to move around. She still dies pretty fast, but at least now she can run away.
It goes like this for a few more minutes before she finally lasts more than fifteen seconds without being shot down. She manages to move her character to where a shootout between two players is happening and then blindly shoots her weapon. Luckily for Ochako, one of them already has low health and she successfully earns herself a kill.
Of course, the other player immediately takes her out, but she doesn’t notice because she’s too busy squealing and clutching the controller.
“Stole a kill,” Bakugo huffs out with a smirk. “But a kill is a kill. Good work, Cheeks.”
Ochako grins and narrows her eyes at the screen while her character respawns, and Bakugo throws his arms up on the edge of the mattress behind him, one stretching behind Ochako’s head. Then, before she can even register that move, his hand lifts back up to give the top of her hair a soft pat.
A soft pat.
Katsuki Bakugo just gave her head a soft pat.
Ochako presses her lips into a hard line and feels her face heating so intensely that it’s like her head’s in an oven. There’s no way she’s gonna speak, not when that would probably make Bakugo so embarrassed that he would never look at her again.
But she does risk a glance up at the boy just to find him staring straight ahead at the television, eyes blown wide, lips pressed together, face as red as a tomato, looking like he just swallowed a frog that’s fighting its way back out. He’s not even touching Ochako, but she can still feel the tension in the arm still resting on the bed behind her head, in the way his chest is barely moving with breath under his shirt, how his bent legs are tight and how his feet curl on the carpet.
Ochako allows herself a tiny smile and looks back up at the screen. “Let’s get another kill.”
Fuck calculus. Fuck academics. Fuck U.A.
Well, Ochako doesn’t really mean the last two. But here, in this moment, staring cross-eyed at her textbook as the words swim in a blurry mess of frustrated almost-tears, it sure feels like she means them.
She groans and drops her hands from where they had been rubbing slow circles into aching, tight temples. It seems cruel to have to go through all the training, all the fighting, all the physical suffering and torture, just to sit in a classroom and realize that it somehow feels worse than all of that. At least the suffering was rewarding, it meant something. Every minute of it was another step towards becoming a hero, another piece of the puzzle of who they were and who they would be.
But being in the classroom, sitting here in the library agonizing over calculus, taking tests and writing essays and solving problems—
They’re caged animals. All of them.
Ochako sighs and shuts her textbook, giving up on absorbing anymore information. The library is closing soon anyway, and the winter sun has long since dipped below the horizon, leaving the windows of U.A. as dark as scrying mirrors.
Once she’s outside and headed for the dorms, she realizes just how downright freezing cold it is. Her coat is old and worn and just a size too small, making it hard to button up. Which is how she ends up fumbling with one hand trying to hold the two spiral notebooks that wouldn’t fit in her bag, and the other hand desperately trying to keep her coat closed against the unforgiving whip of the winter wind.
She fails, and in the process of failing, doesn’t even think to use her quirk on her notebooks so that they don’t become a heap of bent spines and fluttering pages on the ground.
Ochako just stalls, coat forgotten and flapping in the wind, legs and torso getting colder by the second, mouth hanging half-open as she teeters on the edge of frustration and peers over into the void of anger.
And then, a familiar, gruff voice: “Well, don’t just stand there. Jeez, Cheeks.”
Was Bakugo walking behind her this whole time? She doesn’t even have time to figure out how she hadn’t noticed him because he’s suddenly emerging from the darkness into the pool of light cast down from one of the streetlights above. He’s got on a black parka over his school uniform and a gray scarf encircling his neck and he’s bending his knees and his rough hands are gathering her books up—
“Bakugo,” Ochako finally puffs out, delayed and surprised.
Bakugo rises and stuffs her books under one arm effortlessly, like she hadn’t just been struggling to carry them the whole walk from the school. He gives her a once-over, taking in her quaking hands and quivering lip and the way her knees knock together.
“You looking to get hypothermia?” he scoffs.
Before she can even reply, he’s depositing her books back into her freezing hands and then shucking his parka to throw over her shoulders. Ochako is truly frozen now, stunned and in shock at the realization that Katsuki freaking Bakugo just threw his jacket over her. One of the most intimate things someone could do for someone else.
Once again, Bakugo is full of surprises, but now the dots are connecting a little too easily and, if her calculations are correct, Ochako wonders why he, of all people, is showing his hand so unashamedly.
They’re standing far into each other’s spaces now, although, if Ochako is being honest with herself, he’s really the one in her space. Bakugo wields all the power as he helps her get her arms into the puffy sleeves, momentarily holding the stack of books when she needs it, zipping the parka all the way up to her chin with his blonde eyebrows furrowed in a way Ochako hasn’t seen before.
He looks worried.
Ochako’s cheeks burn from the sting of the cold and her intense flushing, but Bakugo’s too focused on pulling the furry hood over her head to notice. She’s drowning in the giant parka made for someone almost a foot taller than her and broader than she could ever dream of being, and it’s warm, so warm, from being worn by someone who generates enough of his own heat to warm a small house.
That very same heat is still standing awfully close to her as he takes her books into his arms for the last time and lets his eyes fall to hers. Bakugo’s expression is one of pity, fondness, and a little of that what on earth am I supposed to do with you? Ochako swallows roughly. She doesn’t know how to feel about anyone looking at her like that, let alone him.
“Now that you’re not gonna turn into a block of ice,” Bakugo says from somewhere so low in his throat that his voice is like the rumble of thunder, “we should probably get back to the dorms.”
Ochako nods her head from inside the hood of the parka and thinks briefly about how she looks, peeking out from the crown of fur with the sleeves stretching way past her fingers. She wonders how she looks to Bakugo, who’s mouth softens as he turns so that they’re brushing shoulders as they begin walking.
They’re silent as they go, letting the sound of their footsteps and the wind settle over them like a blanket. It isn’t awkward at all, which surprises Ochako. There’s something that feels right about the moment, an ease to it, and she wonders if Bakugo feels it, too. When she glances up at his sharp, angular side profile to see the corner of his mouth still soft, she thinks he might.
Bakugo speaks first. “You have a taste for freezing half to death, don’t you?”
Ochako whips her face back up towards him, notices his lips are spread into a full, teasing grin now. “What are you—?”
And then, the strike of realization. The blanket draped over her in her sleep.
“Oh,” she breathes. “That day I fell asleep downstairs. That really was you.”
“Why do you think I left my door open for you, Cheeks?” is Bakugo’s answer.
He’s really showing his hand now. She wonders if he’s expecting her to ask him first, to confirm it like it’s one big test. Have you finished the puzzle yet, Pink Cheeks? Got the big picture? I wanna hear you say it.
It definitely seems like something he would do.
Except, he doesn’t. He surprises her.
“I’m into you, Uraraka,” Bakugo breathes out, still staring straight ahead. Their dorm building is in sight now, bright windows shining through the dark as warm beacons.
“You probably figured that out already, though,” he chuckles. “You’re pretty smart.”
Ochako doesn’t know what to say. She thought that confessions were supposed to be more dramatic, more energetic. Running after someone in the hall, heavy breathing, flushed cheeks, giggling into messy kisses.
But this is so easy. So calm. So unlike Bakugo, but in a way, one of the most Bakugo things she’s ever witnessed. It’s straight-to-the-point and honest, and he doesn’t need to explain it. He doesn’t need to tell her that’s why he’s been acting the way he has, because she knows, and he knows she knows. And he would never insult her intelligence by suggesting otherwise.
And that’s when Ochako realizes it. He has so much respect for her that it’s blossomed into feelings that mean he wants to treat her and hold her in a way that shows that respect. He wants her to feel respected.
He respects her enough to not just shove her out of the way in the kitchen.
He respects her enough that he knows she’s not a public crier.
He respects her enough to put a blanket over her and not make a thing of it, to not bring it up and act like he’s her knight in shining armor.
He’s given her the softness he wouldn’t show anyone else, because he likes her, but not overstated, because he respects her.
Ochako hums and smiles. She thought confessions were supposed to be nerve wracking; her heart beats steadily, confidently.
“You’re not an idiot, either,” she replies playfully. “You know I like you, too.”
“Yeah, of course I know, Cheeks,” Bakugo huffs out with a smirk. “You were fucking eating me with your eyes that day in Kirishima’s room.”
Ochako giggles. “You looked good, Bakugo.”
“I know that,” he says. “But you couldn’t have been more obvious.”
“Yeah, like Kirishima would even notice,” Ochako says as they approach the steps to the dorm’s front doors. “He’s so oblivious he doesn’t even see Ashido constantly looking like she’s trying to figure out the easiest way to climb him like a tree.”
Bakugo makes a noise that Ochako realizes is a wheezing laugh once she looks over and sees his eyes squeezed shut, teeth flashing, one hand on his lower abdomen. Her heart jumps at the sight, and a sort of whoosh feeling washes over her whole body.
Yeah. She’s definitely into him.
He doesn’t move to open the doors, and she doesn’t either. Bakugo’s hands are shoved into his pockets like always, but he removes them momentarily and slowly places them onto Ochako’s upper arms, just below her shoulders. Then he slides forward, back into her space, looking down at her with the softest, most vulnerable expression she’s ever seen on him.
She wills herself to keep his gaze and not look away out of embarrassment despite how intense the longing in his eyes is. He looks so beautiful like this, and she feels privileged being able to see this side of him. Bakugo’s face is all angles, with his sharp nose and honed cheekbones and stabbing eyebrows and chiseled jawline. Even his lips have a geometric way of rising and sloping at his cupid’s bow, but right now they’re parted slightly, and his eyebrows lift a little, taking the edge off of his intense stare, and however sharp his cheekbones look, they seem every bit as soft up close where Ochako can see just the hint of pink beginning to mix with his honeyed skin.
Then Bakugo’s eyes close and he closes the tiny space between them to press the softest little kiss to Ochako’s forehead. He lets his lips linger there for a moment, and she realizes how soft they are after she gets over how cold they feel.
They begin to move, and she realizes Bakugo is whispering something against her skin when she feels his warm breath fluttering up towards her hairline.
“I could stand here all night.”
“You’d freeze,” Ochako says quietly, but it isn’t very convincing. She could stand here all night, too.
“Freeze while kissing you?” Bakugo says, pulling back slightly just to press another definitive kiss against her forehead. “Sounds pretty nice to me.”
Ochako scoffs and rolls her eyes at his chest as if he can see her. “You haven’t even properly kissed me yet—”
Bakugo’s reaction time has always been inhuman, and this time is no different. Before she’s even finished speaking, he cuts her off with his lips on hers, squeezing the hands he has on her upper arms into the fabric of the parka and pulling her into the kiss. She breathes in sharply through her nose and then sighs against him, letting her eyes fall closed.
He smells like lingering cologne, and aftershave, and cold wind, and a hint of mint, and they’re pressed chest-to-chest, and he’s so warm, practically a wall of raw heat with how muscular he is and how tall he is, so, so tall that Ochako finds herself straining upwards to deepen the kiss. And Bakugo helps, moving his hands under her arms to her upper back and almost lifting her up into him.
He kisses her breathless, kisses her like she's the only thing that's ever existed, like if he pulls away, he'll die. The way he kisses is the same way he does everything in his life: passionately and full of purpose. It's not in Bakugo's nature to waste time, to do something and not give it everything he has. Ochako's lips burn pleasantly against his as he pulls and sucks gently and even nips at her lower lip a time or two. It's like he has something to prove, but not in his typical way. It's almost like he's saying, this is what you've been missing out on.
Ochako doesn’t even realize she’s grabbed onto the lapels of his school jacket until their lips part for a moment, and then she lets out a breathless laugh and bites down softly on her lower lip. Bakugo’s eyes latch onto the movement and they don’t pull away as he speaks.
“What was that about not kissing you properly, Angel Face?”
God, Ochako could melt right there at his feet. Even in a warm, intimate moment like this, he still has his pride, his competitiveness, his drive to be the very best in every single thing he ever does. It’s the same quality that has her falling head over heels for him in the first place.
So she replies with some pride of her own. She drags him down by his lapels and fits her lips into his. She’ll show him a proper kiss, alright.