Work Text:
Bakugo wakes up to the searing heat flaring within his room of this scruffy apartment.
He groans as he sat slowly, its fucking 4 in the afternoon though he doesn't have any classes for today, it should be fine. You're probably hogging over the couch today trying to find a good (at least a simple, feel-good one) film to eat time as per usual.
Wait, why was he sleeping in the first place? He's supposed to buy groceries due to the inevitable fact that the fridge is depressingly empty. His brows crinkling in contemplation, racking his brain and jogging back towards prior events. So firstly, he cleaned up the vicinity, collected some dust, found his other pair of sock (clothed in hair and gray dusts) that was missing for 2 weeks, nonetheless he was half relieved (and half disappointed), he also found your small notebook that you never touched in truth (he wonders why you had it) and some other things stuffed in the edges as well as in the places where lights never reached (under the couches, all that shit).
Due to the sultry weather, he ended up spending much energy than he thought, and fell right into the safety sea of his bed, yelling through the open door that you'll have to wake him up at 2 or something. He didn't expect an answer, it wasn't really needed, though, he ponders at this moment if you had heard him or not.
He sighed as he ran his hand through his golden wheat locks, fanning himself with the collar of his tank top. Ignoring that he's slightly drenched in his trickling sweat.
He stood up and head to the living room, only to find none of your presence and the place whispers loneliness. Were you with your friends? He soon finds himself looking for clues, TV's cold as he placed his palm against it, the couch as tidy as a newborn, he saw a glimpse of yellow in the fridge and found out that you were doing the groceries, the note adorned by a smiley face on the corner.
Quite amusing that the corner of his lips faintly lifted.
This reminds him of the early days moving into this place. Both schedules gone chaos and communication was bleak, lives trying to meld with each other, and going a bit nuts over the case of the missing pair of socks.
Bakugo actually thought living with you was totally not it, but to his surprise, he finds himself lucky to be here.
Back to the topic. He knew chaos would ensue, because he's not surprised to realize that you dislike being under the pressure of the kitchen, too much things to choose, too hard to take one as you quote it, he's not surprised to see you raging with your laptop at 5 AM with a coffee beside that was too cold due to leaving it unattended. He's not surprised to you admitting that you're a living mess because I've seen it first hand already as he muttered with his not so convincing of a sharp tone. Those days weren't the best, but it was memorable, to him at least.
A few minutes after, he sat on the couch, stole one of the pillows, and forced himself to search for a film decent enough as he waits for your arrival.
Oh, Masterchef just showed up to his screen. It made him chuckle softly, how you declared that with his otherworldly tutoring, to reveal the secrets in to the field of cookery, you might just be in on one of those.
But also, it was followed by the days where you pester him to teach you the basics, despite having to almost burn the whole residence, receiving a sheepish smile that he grew accustomed over the years (sure, the desire to rip it out is still there, but he dismisses it anyway). There's also been a time when you take the wheel instead and offer some relief, initiating to clean, to cook, to take care of the other half, to take care of him.
To postpone that tick mark showing that he's about to detonate, bakugo feels...not in ease. He thinks if you take the initiative, what purpose will he be to you from there?
Its not...right.
But somehow he does not stop you. You blabber a lot of how it's difficult—infuriatingly difficult to do the job, having to touch that dusts and slimy shit to take out the trash, how you can't reach certain parts of the area whining as he states that you could in actuality, how time runs so damn slow while cooking, just having to toss aside that groaning of your stomach that now has a gaping void (in dire of need to be filled with that scrumptious meal). Somehow all of your antics, in all forms big or small, he does not stop you.
He wonders why.
Perhaps because amidst all the requirements and duties and scoldings, you take in his words and advices in your pocket and fish it in your palms with care, everytime.
On some occasions, he sees you with your phone scrolling through some recipes, maybe even video tutorials that he had to pull off your earphones and take a peek at it. Ignoring the scowl etched in you as you attempt to shove his face out of the way, tend to your own business asshat, and that was the magic quote for him to snatch your phone and play like Tom and Jerry.
There's a time too where you find enjoyment at chores-duty hours, you would place up a speaker to let those sweat and gasps of exhaustion be a little tolerable, the loud music thrumming in the air blows time away from your thoughts, he would stare at your figure (with your 'tiny' dances as if the place was your mini disco) for a few good minutes, and he'd bust out cackling as you yelp to see him standing there (for god knows how long) till he lends a hand as the both of you shelters in these bubbling glee paired in dumb grins & idle hums to the tune.
He wonders why.
How you would also come to drape him with a blanket on the couch when he promised to read the book he borrowed from you, he promised to read it in one sitting but perhaps he picked the wrong night to do so, because that night not even a page flipped and he's out shut. He's exhausted to the point his body wouldn't dare to comically slap you because you have that usual smile—although warmer than he'd ever seen—as you gently cooed him to sleep. He's exhausted to the point that he cannot restrain himself from the warmth you've given and it was evident, the planes of his cheeks had peppered in soft pink, his ferocious red eyes closing in, the chaste touch of your hand combing his ash blonde tufts.
Bakugo wonders, Bakugo ponders, so much as the TV served no more than white noises (he slowly lifted the remote and closed it eventually), so much as he stares into the tip of these thoughts, these cherished moments encased in his palm, just as you encase his words. He stares and wonders but he knows, all these pieces does not give him a conclusion.
Does he want you to stop?
What does it even mean to want those things?
The sultry afternoon provides no answer.
Because he already knows it.
He knows, well, nothing actually. All he knows is that he finds himself leaning towards the nature of you and your thing that makes me him soft and exhale and bask in the home that you have provided and maybe, that's enough for an answer.
Bakugo snaps back to the sound of the doorknob turning as your figure make way, grunts of struggle being heard as you carry bags of what he assumes the grocery. He blinks in amusement when you blew a string hair from your vision and greet a "hey" albeit out of breathe, you continued.
"You're awake, er, I bought groceries." a large intake of air, and you plopped the bags on the ground, inspecting the insides. "God its so hot, ah, was thinking we could have some dessert after dinner, what'd you think? Oh and I volunteer cooking" You let out a short gasp "Shit did I forgot the cheese--"
You stopped from your blabbers as you felt a large palm locked into your messy hair, Bakugo patted you twice as he muttered, his throat a little dry than he expected "It's fine, thanks" He proceeded to carry the bag and headed towards the kitchen.
"Make sure to shower first! you smell like stench and burnt sun." he hollered.
You hollered back with a chuckle "Give me a minute!"
Forget about stopping you, even if he tried, you'll absolutely bring your spears and fight back till your last breath.
Forget stopping, as much as he likes to admit, he loves being with you, he loves this home, the home he feels with you.