Izuku shuffles along, hoping he's invisible to his peers, but knowing without a doubt that the target on his back is just as blatant as always. It doesn't matter how much he hunches in on himself, how little he looks up, someone always sees him.

"Hi," a familiar, gruff voice says lightly, very close to his ear. Izuku flinches, waiting for the onslaught and speeding up on instinct to do his best to get away from it. He spares a small glance at Bakugo. He hates himself for blushing when their eyes meet, and he quickly averts his gaze. He's surprised when nothing else happens. Bakugo just… keeps walking. Next to him. Going in the same direction. And he hasn't shoved him out of the way yet.

He only knows this because he can see Bakugo's clean, expensive Adidas walking in tandem with Izuku's beat up sneakers. He begrudgingly remembers what Bakugo said to him yesterday.

Your eyes are pretty.

Those four words played on a loop in his head all day yesterday—through classes, at his job at the library, all the way into his job at the corner store, and into Izuku's nightly routine. It was still on his mind when his head hit the pillow, and then it was replaced by the last thing Bakugo said to him all the way back in middle school.

Why don't you just take a swan dive off the roof, Deku?

And suddenly, the spell was broken. He hates how disgusting remembering those words makes him feel. Like Izuku, himself, is at fault for being hated by people who don't actually know him. Like it's all his fault. He hates thinking like this—he hates how often it happens. In an attempt to pull himself out of his thought spiral, he speaks up.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm courting you, dumbass," Bakugo says with an air of disinterest, as if he's reading the ingredients off the back of a shampoo bottle. His eyes are fixed on his phone, as if he hasn't just said something extremely embarrassing. Oh, to be so self-assured.

"What?" Izuku splutters. He can't help it. He can't think of a single time he's ever heard the word courting used outside of books like Pride and Prejudice.

"Give me your books. Where's your next class?"

Izuku feels like he may have fallen into some parallel universe, or a romantic comedy, or maybe he's just dreaming. Either way, Izuku wants this farce to end.

"Why would I tell you that?"

"Because I'm walking you there," he says, still scrolling through whatever app he has pulled up on his phone.

"Why?"

"Cause that's what people do. It's a thing."

"Did you look this up in Nineteenth Century Courtship 101?" Izuku almost slaps a hand over his mouth after he realizes what he just asked. Izuku rarely says what's on his mind. He rarely gets to be snarky and sarcastic, and the action feels dangerous and other.

Bakugo finally deigns to look up from his phone to stare at him with his piercing, pretty eyes, one side of his mouth curled in a smirk. Izuku's stomach lurches. This has to be a joke, or he's about to get the shit beat out of him.

"Fuck off," he says, but it's without any real heat. Bakugo says it like any other person would say sounds good or sure or…

Your eyes are pretty.

Izuku physically shakes himself. He needs to get a grip on reality.

"I will do just that. Bye."

Izuku starts forward, all but going into a sprint, only for Bakugo to delicately pinch the collar of Izuku's shirt between his thumb and forefinger to keep him from escaping.

"What's your deal, nerd? I'm being nice to you."

"I know. It's... extremely off-putting." There he goes again saying things that'll get him killed. What is wrong with him? Izuku closes his eyes, waiting for the inevitable strike, the blooming pain of an oncoming bruise.

"You're really fast. Why aren't you on the track team, or something?"

Izuku stares up at Bakugo, wondering if that was somehow a compliment. He considers ignoring the question completely, and then he looks at him again.

Why does he have to be so attractive?

Like the disaster gay he is, he answers, albeit reluctantly.

"No time."

There are many reasons why Izuku isn't on a sports team. He could've said I don't want to be around you people any more than I have to or I can't afford the uniform, but the fact that he has absolutely no time for anything after school is the most pressing reason, and easiest to explain away. He stares at his shoes in an attempt to make himself smaller. Maybe Bakugo will finally leave him alone and Izuku will be able to breathe properly again.

"Too busy playing video games?"

Izuku is surprised by the flare of annoyance he feels.

Pompous dickhead, he thinks. Izuku wishes he could spend all his time playing video games. He wishes he could afford a gaming console that isn't 20 years out of date. Getting angry won't help him, though. It won't change his circumstances and it won't get Bakugo off his back.

"Some of us have to work," he says, not nearly as bitterly as he could've said it. "Don't you have a soccer field to get to?"

"I'm surprised you even know I play soccer," Bakugo says, smiling down at him. Even his smile looks sharp and dangerous—and handsome. Way, way too handsome. It makes Izuku sweat.

"There's a soccer ball on your jacket," he mutters, looking away.

"Checking me out, huh? Nice."

Izuku's had about all he can take of the teasing. It's not usually so… nice. Well, that's not the right word for it. It's not every day that bullies take the time to pretend Izuku is in any way special or worthy of notice. Usually, they just shove him, or steal his things.

Izuku knows better than to believe this attempt at flirting with him is anything other than bullying, but that doesn't stop the butterflies. Bakugo is playing the long game, and Izuku needs to run before he makes a fool of himself.

"I have to go," Izuku mumbles, feeling especially vulnerable under Bakugo's gaze, and especially aware of the hand still gripping the back of his collar. He shakes it off, shoving Bakugo's hand away because if he was going to physically harm him, he would've done it already.

Izuku hastens away, his backpack bouncing erratically on his back, the slow creep of panic settling in his chest. He breathes through it, reassures himself that no one can hurt him if he sees it coming.

He'll be fine.