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Bakugou slipped him the note about six hours ago. All it says is come meet me later in my room.
It’s not even signed.
Shouto doesn’t get why Bakugou couldn’t have just texted him this? It would be easier.
Ever since he received it though, he can’t let it go. He should just throw it away, since it’s served its purpose as a message—Shouto now knows where he should be going later. If he decides to go.
It’s just hard not to keep folding and unfolding it, to make sure it really says what Shouto read the first time. To try and see if he can decipher some extra meaning out of Bakugou’s errant scrawl. As if the words could be hiding their secret in plain sight. If the downstroke of one character or the upstroke of another could possibly mean come meet me later so I can kiss you.
Lately Shouto’s been full of all kinds of unfortunate wishful thinking. The hope is free but there’s a nagging thought in his mind that if the invitation was the kissing kind Bakugou would have at least addressed the note to Shouto?
This is not a love note. Well-loved as it is, between Shouto’s hopeful fingers.
The invitation is probably for training of some kind. Bakugou loves to train. He loves to train with Shouto especially. Because Shouto is strong and he poses a challenge and because they’re friends.
Shouto unfurls it one more time. Then he realizes it isn’t even a request. It isn’t will you come meet me later in my room. It isn’t please come meet me later in my room.
It’s a demand.
He smiles to himself. Then he folds the note as delicately as he can, puts it in his pocket.
*
“Hi. I’m answering your summons,” Shouto says.
“Great. Get in here,” Bakugou says, and he yanks him inside.
Shouto’s been in this room before. He’s been here a few times. Just never with an invitation like that. Less often…alone. It’s been happening more and more lately. For studying. Probably because Shouto does better in their classwork than most.
He gave it some more thought before he came in and he realized the invitation could be for a mission. One in which Bakugou doesn’t want to use electronic communication. Because, potentially…he’s under surveillance.
“What’s the mission?” Shouto asks. “I should know what we’re up against.”
“You think I brought you here to fight?”
“Either to fight with you…or something else.”
“It’s not that kinda mission,” Bakugou says. “Don’t just stand there. Sit on my bed.”
Shouto sits down on the bed next to Bakugou. They’re sitting quite close together so the kissing theory maybe seems a little more likely again. Even though, with Bakugou, he sort of imagined he would be jumped the moment he walked in the door.
And he wouldn’t mind.
“I don’t understand.”
Bakugou’s phone beeps and he picks it up and reads something off of it.
Again, Shouto wonders why Bakugou didn’t just text him…since he’s obviously texting other people. There’s a familiar ache at the idea of being excluded from something that might involve his friends, and he wonders what it is.
Has he done something to offend them?
“What kinda drinks do you like?” Bakugou asks.
“Is that relevant?”
“Yeah,” Bakugou says. “Tell me.”
“I like still water,” Shouto says. “Sometimes I put this electrolyte mix in it.”
“No, dumbass. Like a fucking party drink.”
“I don’t like soda,” Shouto says, then adds. “Endeavor never let me have it.”
Bakugou keeps staring at him. His gaze is…warmer than Shouto’s used to, keen and attentive. Shouto feels like he should continue the story. Even if it’s not a really good one.
“So…since he didn’t let me have it, I always wanted to try it. But then I tried it and I didn’t like it anyway. Do you like soda?”
“No,” Bakugou says.
“What do you like?”
“Hah? Why should I tell you?”
“You asked me first,” Shouto points out.
“I like lemonade, just not the overly sweet kind,” Bakugou says.
“What’s wrong with the overly sweet kind?” Shouto wonders. “Did it do something to offend you?”
“Lemonade should be tart. That’s how it is.”
“How do you have such strong opinions on everything? You never seem to be neutral about anything we talk about,” Shouto considers it. “You must be a really passionate person.”
Bakugou’s cheeks turn pink and he looks away. “Fuck off.”
There’s a pause during which Bakugou runs a hand through his hair and it flattens at his touch only to spike back up a moment later.
“What kind of snacks do you like?”
“Strawberry pocky,” Shouto says.
His mom told him a few months ago that he used to like this strawberry drink called Ms. Cow as a kid. He tried some while she was around and it was almost like the way things used to be, even though he could only half-remember why the taste was his favorite. The point was…it made her happy.
Since then he’s tried a number of other strawberry snacks to see if there’s anything there. The milkshakes are okay. But he likes strawberry pocky enough to say yes if someone offers him one. Uraraka usually shares. She’s been trying to split a pack with Midoriya for a while now, but he always gets very anxious and stammers a lot when she offers.
Shouto really doesn’t get what that’s about. When she offers some to him he always just says yes.
“Strawberry fucking pocky,” Bakugou mutters to himself, and he’s typing something on his phone.
Oh. “Are you noting down my preferences so you can get to know me better?”
That sounds like something a friend might do. Shouto always knew that he and Bakugou were good friends. This is something Midoriya does a lot, but since they’re childhood friends maybe they have more in common than Shouto knew.
“Nah, I’m planning your funeral,” Bakugou says. “For when I finally beat the shit out of you.”
“That’s thoughtful.”
“Anyway. I know you way better than any of these extras already.”
“So you want to be close to me?”
“Shut up,” Bakugou says. “You like cake or what?”
Shouto remembers craving birthday cake, just based on the look of it. When he noticed it sitting on their kitchen table, ready for one of his sibling’s birthdays. He wasn’t allowed to stay for very long to have it or to play games or eat ice cream, but he remembers looking at it.
That stuff isn’t for you, Shouto. His father would say. You need to condition your body well if you’re going to hone your quirk.
“Sure. I like cake,” Shouto says, and he anticipates the next question. “I don’t really know what kind I like best.”
“That’s easy,” Bakugou says. “We’ll get every kind.”
“Isn’t that excessive?”
“Sato’s baking,” Bakugou shrugs. “It was gonna be excessive anyway. You see the size of the cakes he bakes?”
“It seemed to intimidate you last time, but I still remember you eating it.”
“Hah? I wasn’t intimidated. Nothing intimidates me. Sure as fuck not a fucking goddamn cake. Get that straight in your head.”
Shouto doesn’t respond. He’s still thinking about cake. That gives him an idea.
“Are we planning a party for someone?” he asks.
He leans over and tries to read what’s on Bakugou’s phone. He reads the words don’t tell me what to do. But he doesn’t get to see the response.
Bakugou shifts the phone away, tosses it to the other side of the bed. “You think I plan parties?”
“No. But I think you would perform your role if you had the right motivation. Especially if you thought it could help you get…what you want.”
Bakugou shifts closer, even though he was already really close. Way past the point Shouto normally reminds people that this is his personal space.
He stares and Shouto’s reminded of that fact he read about cats, about how when someone stares at them head-on like this they feel like they’re being…hunted—he didn’t get it at the time.
“And what do you want?” Bakugou asks, curiously gentle.
If the analogy holds, maybe Bakugou is the kind of hunter who likes to toy with his kills, like cats do. But Bakugou wouldn’t do that to him. They’re friends.
“I want…”
There’s a newer, bolder fantasy about asking Bakugou to kiss him and them…doing things on this bed. It’s risky though. If he’s read things wrong.
There’s an older…sort of childish fantasy that might save him, even if he wants the kiss a lot…a lot more.
“Cake,” Shouto says.
“That’s too fucking bad,” Bakugou shrugs, and there’s a sparkle in his eye, a bit of a smirk—as if he knows. “I was gonna kiss you if you wanted that.”
Oh.
“Um,” Shouto’s face burns.
He feels the abrupt sting of having missed his chance. But then he realizes Bakugou is cupping his face anyway, and this doesn’t quite feel like being laughed at.
“You should see your stupid face,” Bakugou says, before kissing him, slow and sure, guiding him along as Shouto clumsily kisses him back.
All those other things he asked. The drinks and the snacks. They must be planning him a party. Since tomorrow is his birthday. But it might as well be today.
And what a birthday. He likes the feeling of Bakugou’s warm lips, and he likes wrapping his hand around Bakugou’s neck to tell him he wants it just like that…again.
“Thought you wanted cake,” Bakugou whispers.
“This is better,” Shouto admits. “You’re really…”
“Yeah,” Bakugou scrunches his nose, and Shouto wonders if this is him being shy. “Don’t tell anybody though.”