Bakugou wraps the hem of the tie around his middle finger, chews on a mouthful of stale tuna sandwich.
This party, to exactly no one's surprise, is a fucking drag.
Guess that happens when you leave wusses in charge. True, if Bakugou hadn't automatically rejected Pinky's suggestion that he might like to help with the buffet, now he wouldn't be struggling to keep his food down, and the vases along the perimeter of the lounge room wouldn't be overflowing with half-chewed bits of raw takoyaki his least polite classmates keep spitting out whenever Round Face and the other girls aren't looking.
For the eleventh time in the last hour or so, Bakugou tugs at the collar of his black button-up and lets his eyes roam about the room.
There he is, the reason why he even fucking bothered going to this shitshow in the first place. Dazzling in his white overshirt and loose-fitting cargo pants, Todoroki is standing beside one of the large windows overlooking the front garden, the shadow of a smile stretching his lips as he nods to whatever brand of bullshit his best bud Deku is pouring over the pretty two-tone head. He isn't wearing a tie, Bakugou can't help but notice, a sour look on his face. In fact, the infuriating halfshit hasn't dressed up at all, probably confident in his ability to charm any goddamn soul by mere looks only.
To be fair, it's not exactly like Todoroki ever tries to get people to like him, but the explosive hero is not feeling it in himself to be fair at the moment.
Seething internally, Bakugou brushes off Shitty Hair's attempt at small talk and makes a beeline for the restroom. He's just going to take a leak, have one more round of sickeningly sugary punch and crawl back to his dorm for a dreamless liquor-induced sleep.
It would kind of help if the punch had a single drop of booze in it.
He's making his way to the sinks after finishing his business when the sound of a hitched breath alerts him to the presence of someone else in the doorway. His hero training paying off, Bakugou resists the urge to turn around and looks up to the mirror instead. He almost scoffs when his eyes fall on the reflection of none other than Todoroki Shouto looking like a deer in the headlights, because seriously, this is just his luck.
The awkward standoff comes to an end as pretty boy clearly resolves that the lingering cold war between them is no reason to deny his bladder's needs. Bakugou turns on the faucet and rests his hands under the cool water spray, never losing sight of the other's movements as Todoroki disappears inside one of the stalls.
If he takes just a bit longer than necessary to wash up and dry his hands, well, sue him.
He's ready to give up and leave, the cruel sparkle of hope quashed in his chest, when Todoroki finally comes out. He's fully regained his composure, Bakugou notices not without a tinge of amusement, and purposefully makes eye contact as he approaches the sinks himself.
"Is that the tie I gave you?"
You know damn well it is, asshole. "Why, want it back?" Bakugou smirks hatefully, putting a great deal of effort into sounding as nasty as possible. "Turns out some fucktard stitched my name on it, you might have a hard time regifting it."
He can tell his words produced the desired effect by the way Todoroki flinches, brows knitted together in a less than happy scowl. "You know that's not what – "
A phone rings. It's a catchy indie tune Bakugou hasn't heard before, nor is he particularly excited to hear now.
It's almost endearing to witness Todoroki's hesitation as he racks that pretty head of his trying to picture the possible outcomes of his predicament. Bakugou can practically see the cogs turning as the insistent chirpy tune makes it harder for the icy hero to get his priorities straight.
When he ultimately picks up, Bakugou's heart sinks.
Wrong fucking answer, honey.
He doesn't even consider staying around to wait out the call. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he 'tch'es softly and storms out, the hideously happy ringtone stuck in his brain to taunt him for hours on end.
(Yes, he's going to sleep now, no, that's not up for discussion, no, he doesn't give a crap if there's cake and no, he doesn't need Kirishima or anyone else walking him to his door, because he's not sick and also not a fucking girl.
Thanks a bunch.)
Bakugou is lying awake on his back in the dark, fingers interlocked behind his head, when his text tone pierces the silence.
His shaky hands, blessed with a form of second sight his brain regrettably lacks, somehow know what is coming.
"I lied. Can we talk?"
It takes him several minutes to manage a coherent reply through the deafening beat of his heart.
"Bench by the small fountain."
Big fucking moon lady up there, huh? and Still fucking chilly for a summer party, innit? pretty much sum up Bakugou's inventory of weather pleasantries. God, may Todoroki not be here to talk the weather.
He was too much of a nervous wreck to sit like a proper human being, so he's perched upon the back of the bench, foot tapping incessantly on the seat. He sure hopes it comes off as cool and uncaring, rather than pathetically juvenile.
Bakugou checks his phone for the umpteenth time. This whole cool thing is really coming back to bite him in the ass. He was so busy trying to conjure a flippant and blasé reply to Todoroki's cryptic as fuck text he completely overlooked specifying a time for their meeting. He just sort of assumed that right this fucking instant would go down well with the half-'n-half, since this was his goddamn idea to begin with, but you know what they say about assuming. Bakugou has had enough misunderstanding bullshit to last him a lifetime.
The rhythmic dripping of the water coming down in small rivulets from the center of the fountain both lulls him and gets under his skin. He knows why he picked this spot – outdoor for fresh air, away from prying eyes, star gazing shit, plenty of places to let the eyes drift off to if eye contact becomes too much to bear – but right now he's feeling like the world's biggest douchebag waiting by himself in a dim lit garden. At least in the lounge he'd have telly.
He's staring down at his shoe laces for a change when an all too familiar silhouette creeps up, casting a dark shadow over his feet. The unmistakable squeaking of high tops on the gravel has Bakguou's breath catch in his throat against his better judgement.
"Sorry about the late hour."
Somewhere between phubbing Bakugou and texting him in remorse, Todoroki lost the overshirt. He is wearing a plain white t-shirt which hugs his well-defined pecs and biceps, the faintest outline of nipples visible through the fabric. Suddenly Bakugou feels self-conscious about the rugged red tank top exposing his own scar-riddled arms, and snorts in retaliation. "You're gonna need more than your rich boy upbringing to impress me, icyhot."
There's no trace of bitterness in Todoroki's tone, only some kind of lingering tiredness. "You don't know the first thing about my upbringing."
Now would be the time to say it. Say that Bakugou knows, about the scar, and the nightmares, and growing up in Endeavor's clutches, and the self-loathing on the bad days. Say that, even though his own household was a boringly loving one and no amount of Mitsuki's harassing could ever compare, Bakugou gets it. How it feels like to never be enough, constantly striving for more. Striving to reach out. To reach…
The explosive hero shakes the dark thoughts out of his head and leans back a little, arms open wide in his best impression of the cocky ass people make him to be. "Blow me away then."
He instinctively stiffens as Todoroki takes a casual step forward, a soft sigh slipping past his lips. "If you're trying to piss me off, I'll let you know that ship sailed a long time ago."
Bakugou grunts in derision, stretching to accommodate his arms on the back of the bench. He prays that pretty boy doesn't see it for what it truly is – a desperate attempt to put some distance between them. "Yeah, I noticed the silent treatment. Very mature." A tight, callous smirk rips across his face like a wound. "Let's cut to the chase, huh, Halfie? What did you lie to me about?"
Todoroki takes one more step, stopping when his knees hit the edge of the bench. "I never said that I lied to you."
Bakugou sucks in the air harshly to help swallow the lump in his throat. He tries – and spectacularly fails – to ignore the fact that the man he's wanted with every living cell in his body is practically standing between his thighs.
"You wanted to know why I planned your rescue."
Something about this moment feels ridiculously significant, so much so that Bakugou refrains from running his big damn mouth for once and simply holds Todoroki's stare.
The overwhelming openness he finds there threatens to break him in two.
"I don't know how to do this."
Bakugou wills himself to stop breathing. He's dead sure that even the slightest puff of air could shatter this fragile sense of suspension, so he lets himself grow dizzy as his blurry eyes sink into heterochromatic gems.
Todoroki heaves and leans forward, something close to sheer terror simmering behind delicate lashes. "So let's try it your way."
Somewhere through his addled brain Bakugou thinks he could really use that air now, but Todoroki is crashing their lips together.
Bakugou's eyes fall shut, a strangled sound trapped in the back of his throat. Todoroki's lips move tentatively against his. The tips of their noses bump in all the wrong ways, and the other's hot breath leaves Bakugou shivering from head to toe, but this, they are like nothing he's ever even got close to imagining. He almost jumps out of his skin at the feel of Todoroki's hands gently covering his own on the back of the bench. One hand feels like a pleasantly warm blanket draped over his fingers, but the other is so cold Bakugou winces and curses himself at the same time.
Way to go, make it look like you don't want him touching you with that gross Quirk of his. Jesus goddamn fuck, you useless piece of –
His inner stream of profanities is cut off abruptly when Todoroki, far from than breaking their contact, squeezes Bakugou's hands with a desperation that makes something snap inside of the blonde.
Then a gentle tongue is darting out to wet his lips, and Bakugou yields, utterly conquered.
He lets the little worked up sound that's been building up in his chest resonate in the space between them, almost moaning in delight when it reverberates through Todoroki's own breast – much like a cat's purring. He is suddenly extremely grateful for the seat supporting his wobbly legs as the taller boy hums back and swipes his tongue more deliberately across Bakugou's lips. Asking for something that's been his all along.
Their tongues finally meet, a raging clash of hot, impossibly hot spit and velvety skin. Bakugou feels his eyes roll back in his orbits as Todoroki runs his thumbs to encircle his wrists, a subtle declaration of possession that, coupled with the soft bite he leaves on the blonde's lower lip, tastes every bit like a promise for more.
Then they're parting, Todoroki pulling back to straighten himself, his hands still grazing over Bakugou's, not quite ready to let go just yet. Bakugou suppresses the mind-numbing urge to lean in and lets out a long, ragged – he mentally flinches – breath. Crimson eyes search hazel and teal ones for any trace of lingering emotion (any sign that Todoroki might be close to a mental breakdown, just in case), but find nothing more than a subtle twinkle bringing them out on the flushed face.
"You wore the tie."
At least his voice is hoarse, Bakugou gloats, ignoring the slight twitch in his pants the sound elicits. "You knew I would."
Maybe it's the raw honesty on his face, or the way his legs close around Todoroki's hips to draw him in, keep him in place. Or maybe it's all the mushy hormonal crap still in circle after their kiss. Either way, Todoroki smiles that little, warm, childlike smile of his, and Bakugou drinks it in like oxygen, vital and intoxicating. If he doesn't smile back (which his social persona is deeply thankful he doesn't), it's mostly because his lips are still paralyzed with tingling bliss.
"My sister is coming to pick me up in the morning."
At first, the words Todoroki has just uttered, in a soft, quiet pillow voice don't fully register. Bakugou hums drunkenly at the back of his throat, struggling to get re-accustomed to speaking with Todoroki's taste still flooding his mouth. "Yeah?"
Only when the half-'n-half turns on his feet, his back suddenly the only part of him Bakugou can make out in the semi-dark garden, does realization hit him like a ton of bricks.
"I'll see you in September, Bakugou. Have a good summer."
"Hang the fuck on, princess!"
He knows he sounds a lot like a drowning man crying for a lifeline at the moment, but he honestly can't find it in himself to give a shit. His arms lay flat at his sides, shoulders hunched under the weight of the implication that just sunk in.
Finally, finally they're getting somewhere, and now he probably won't be seeing Todoroki till next term. This is fucking bullshit, really.
Bakugou grits his teeth, digging holes into icyhot's stupidly broad back. "This all I get?"
It gets possibly worse when Todoroki turns around. His lips look delectably pink from all the eating each other's faces off they engaged in, and his eyes are still a tad brighter than their usually dull shade. It's just a little bit breathtaking, and Bakugou flares up like a firecracker – hell, he could probably conjure one himself with how much his palms are sweating.
"I'll tell you what." Todoroki cocks his head to the side, and Bakugou really wants to chew it right off his neck for daring patronize him now of all moments, but, oh, hell, whatever. "When we get back to school next term, I'll fight you. For real, no holding back this time. Settle the score. How does that sound?"
Now Bakugou Katsuki, as has been established multiple times before, is not stupid. He can tell when he's been thrown a bone, and doesn't normally take well to being played with. It's just that Todoroki's is one hell of a pretty bone.
Damn him.
He 'tch'es around a smirk, gnawing the inside of his cheek. He supposes a nice rough tumble on the tatami is what they both will need after six weeks apart, even though that which Todoroki's suggesting is not exactly the kind of tumble Bakugou would care to prioritize at the moment. "Sounds like you've got yourself a deal, Halfie."
Todoroki gives a small nod, his eyes lingering on Bakugou's face mere seconds longer than necessary before he turns and walks away for real this time.
The Heights Alliance garden is silent again, save for the nearly inaudible murmur that leaves Bakugou's lips only to dissipate into the still night air.
"Have a good summer, dumbass."
They're waiting for their respective rides down in the hall, luggage ready at their feet. Bakugou is feeling particularly well-rested, despite the amount of thrashing about he had to endure before sleep finally claimed him. It's nice outside, not too hot nor blustery like last week, and the shitty nerd left earlier this morning with his overprotective ma (who insisted on hugging him in front of the school gates, which was frankly quite pathetic and furtherly lifted Bakugou's spirits), so the level of general annoyance around him is all in all tolerable.
"Well, someone's in a good mood!"
Famous last words.
Bakugou turns to glare at the godforsaken dynamic duo popped out of nowhere right beside him, all flashy smiles and offending hair colors.
Kaminari whistles, one arm casually flung over Kirishima's shoulders. "Not just any someone – you sure you're alright, Blasty? Never heard you sing before. Pretty much thought your vocal chords would be good for nothing other than yelling and growling or – "
"What in the name of fuck are you on about, shithead?"
"You've been humming to yourself, bro." Kirishima helpfully supplies, his elbow digging into Kaminari's side for good measure. Babysitting the loud-mouthed asshole must be a full-time job, Bakugou reckons. "Which is totally fine and manly, you know!" The redhead adds hastily, toothy grin morphing into a scarily thoughtful expression. "That's a nice tune, too. Wait, have I heard it before?"
All feelings of calm contentment deserting him just like that, Bakugou stiffens, every muscle in his upper body tensing visibly.
"Yeah, sounds familiar. Think it was someone's ringtone." Pikachu chirps up, brows pushed together in the mind-boggling effort to remember a crucial piece of information. "Whose though?"
Bakugou opens his mouth to rip the pair of fuckers a new one, because, seriously, there's no way he was humming or anything equally disgraceful, and even if that was the case (which it wasn't) how is it manly to listen in on other people's private moments – but he never gets any of that out, because of one single syllable Shitty Hair utters, understanding suddenly dawning on him.
"Oh."
Crap.
They exchange glances, Bakugou wordlessly promising a world of pain should the redhead disclose his newly acquired personal insight, and Kirishima instantly catches on, babbling something about forgetting his gel upstairs and could Kaminari please come along?, 'cause he really, really can't do without for the whole summer.
Red Riot – Bakugou snorts to himself as the two pests disappear upstairs, a puzzled Drooly moaning out loud and sending him questioning looks from afar – was always on the sharp side for a clueless tool.
A/N: ** Sorry if this chapter feels a bit shorter than the rest, I couldn't really decide where to cut this time. As usual, big shut-out to everyone reading and reviewing this!
Next: an eventful summer and back to school. Cultural festival arc inc! **