Thirty Days

A/N: It is absolutely insane how much shorter these chapters seem when I put them into this site. As of right now I have a solid 41 pages in Word. And it feels like so little. (kill me).

Disclaimer: I don't own BNHA or any of its characters.

Chapter Three: Disjointed

[Day Two]

[Uraraka]

The longer she thought about it, the more Uraraka just couldn't wrap her head around their Pro/ Sidekick assignment. She understood the dynamic of it and its practical application out in the real world… but taking two people and calling one a pro and the other a sidekick didn't sit right with her. Those levels seemed to imply inequality. On top of that, situating someone unsuited for the role of a pro hero on that pedestal and forcing someone much more qualified under them felt ineffective. After all, the pros got to where they were through hard work, raw skill, and the effectiveness of their quirk. While any quirk, no matter how random it seemed could have its own usefulness, some things just couldn't land with that title. And from what she'd come to understand, the pros and sidekicks worked independently of each other, even if they were a part of the same agency, just as often as they worked as a team…

"Maybe that's not right…" She mumbled, pushing her bangs from her forehead with a sigh.

Uraraka took a swig from her water bottle, growing more and more frustrated as her Saturday passed her by. She'd nestled herself in her room, telling herself she just wanted a relaxing day alone… but if she was being honest, she was a little embarrassed at how swollen her face had gotten overnight. She'd denied everyone's invitation to walk her to Recovery Girl after her spar with Bakugou initially, but now she wished she'd just swallowed her pride. She couldn't chew food on that side, and the swelling had made its way under her left eye, which meant that every time she looked in the mirror, she couldn't help but laugh a little, thinking she looked like Bakugou every time his eye twitched.

Absentmindedly, she tapped herself on her shoulder and let her body float away from the cocoon of blankets on her bed as her thoughts drifted.

Her face definitely hurt. She wondered if she was supposed to be upset with her project partner like the rest of her class was. She couldn't dredge up any anger though; every time she thought about their match the day before, she found herself smiling.

He probably hadn't meant to, but Bakugou had given her invaluable advice. She'd learned the basics from Gun Head during her internship, but she hadn't really been able to focus and put it into practice until yesterday. There was still a lot she had to learn, but she was certain that had helped her against him.

Uraraka gently drummed her fingers along her ceiling and let the weightlessness of zero-gravity fill her. She felt free and as she ran her tongue along her swollen gums of her left cheek, she felt powerful.

She almost laughed at herself. Powerful. That would sound silly if she said it aloud. She'd lost, by a nearly immeasurable margin, but she'd come out better than she'd been when she started. And she'd landed a punch. She could be satisfied with that for now.

If Bakugou wasn't so angry and hard to work with, she'd consider asking him to spar every day. He wouldn't go easy on her. That's what she needed…

But he'd never agree to something like that.

Three quiet knocks on her door brought Uraraka from her increasingly frequent thoughts of Bakugou Katsuki and she released her quirk before skipping over to answer it.

"Deku!" She gasped. Suddenly remembering the messy state of her room and her unmade bed, she forced herself into the hallway, shutting the door behind her with a nervous laugh. Ouch, she thought, resisting the urge to cup her swollen cheek in her hand. "W-what's up?"

Her heart jumped when he smiled at her, raising his hand in quiet greeting, but worry soaked his eyes when he saw her face, "Hey, Uraraka… I wanted to check up on you. Does… it hurt?"

"Oh," She blinked. This was the first time he'd ventured to her room on his own… her cheeks heated up a little, grateful for his concern, "Oh, no! It's not too bad. It looks worse than it feels, really." She silently cursed herself for not keeping her room clean, she could have invited him in… her face grew warmer at the thought. On second thought, maybe this was better. She didn't want to be a bumbling mess in front of Deku. Who knew how nervous she'd be if they were alone in her room together?

"Kacchan really did go overboard, didn't he?"

Uraraka pursed her lips slightly—hoping he didn't notice her wince—and shook her head, "I don't mind it, really. I was the one that challenged him. Besides, I learned a lot from it." For some reason, she just wanted him to drop it. Everyone was making such a fuss over some bruises… It wasn't like he'd just jumped her and started wailing on her.

"Still," Deku continued, motioning to the bandage she'd pressed over the cut on her cheekbone, "Recovery Girl could have—"

"I'm fine." Her voice was firmer than she'd meant it to be. His heart was in the right place, but Bakugou wasn't out of line, if anything, she appreciated that he'd treated her the same way he would have treated anyone he sparred with. Like she was worthy of the effort. Like she was an equal. "I'm fine, really, everyone can stop worrying!" She added with a smile.

He seemed to understand that she was finished talking about it because he nodded, "I-in that case, Ilda and I were going to get lunch later if you want to come."

Uraraka nodded immediately, although she was still self-conscious about the state of her face and agreed to meet her friends outside the dorms in an hour.

[Bakugou]

The bar was a dump. Creaky, crumbling floorboards stained with what Bakugou could only assume was blood. The lighting was shitty, and it smelled like cheap alcohol, old vomit, and mildew. All he heard was the sound of his heartbeat pounding in his ears as the hours ticked by. There was a shrinking feeling in his gut when the voices asked him to join them. He wondered if this was the path everyone assumed he'd follow. He felt the fervent, wild sting that thought brought to his chest, and the painful desire to defy it all. He hated it. He hated them. His hands twitched, aching to blow up the entire building and everyone inside it. He'd burn his way out through the rubble if he had to. He'd do anything to tear it all down. To shut them up. To make the cold sweat stop running down his back; to swallow the bitter taste of unfamiliar fear.

"Bakugou Katsuki, the wannabe hero… I know this is taking things a little fast, but… What say you become one of us?"

The restraints dug into his shoulders and his abdomen, rubbing the skin raw as he struggled against them. All he could see was their eyes digging into him, peering into his soul. Like they fucking knew him, like they knew everything.

"… Ours is a battle of questions. What is a hero? What is justice? Is this society truly just? We'll make everybody question those things, one by one! And we plan to win."

Bakugou stared at that disgusting fucking hand, gripping that guys face. He'd rip it off. He'd replace it with his own and make him shut up. He'd kill him. He'd blow him into a million little pieces.

"You… like winning too, right?"

He wasn't afraid of dying. He wasn't afraid of them. He was afraid of the implications—what their invitation meant, what they saw when they looked at him. Would the world want a hero if they saw the heart of villain? Would they look up to figure he'd strike when he'd win?

Would they see a hero?

He'd been there countless times before. Every night it was the same. And yet somehow, each time it got worse—

The layout stayed the same, the smells, the voices, the words. All of it was identical to the first time, the reality before the dream, but the fear…

It grew each night.

Slowly at first, then all at once, until he awoke in a fit. Always clawing at his neck, begging for air in his lungs.

And then Bakugou woke up the same way he had every morning since the night All Might had fought All For One. He was soaking wet with sweat, eyes drenched in salty, pathetic tears, the remnants of his dream still echoing through his head.

The wannabe hero…

He pushed himself from his sheets and wiped the shit from his face. His throat was dry. He felt his heartbeat pulsing under his skull with a nauseating intensity.

What say you become one of us?

Bakugou stared blankly down at his palms, wondering briefly how big of an explosion he could make with all the fuel his nightmares had given him.

…We plan to win.

"Shut up," Bakugou grumbled to himself, seething, agonizing embarrassment bubbling in his abdomen. It was pathetic. He was fucking pathetic. Those pricks didn't know him, they didn't know anything. He'd become Number One. He'd stand at the top. He'd prove them all wrong and show everyone he was who he said he was, he'd do what he said he was going to do; he'd fucking win, and these stupid dreams or nightmares—or whatever the fuck they were—would stop and he'd finally get a peaceful sleep.

You… like winning too, right?

He swallowed hard and shook his head. Out of the corner of his eye he caught his reflection in the small mirror hanging beside his bed… He looked like shit. There were bags a million miles long under his eyes, his unruly hair slumped lifelessly, weighed down in sweat. His fat lip had taken form under his skin, giving him a permanent, puffy pout.

Suddenly, a small, unwarranted grin made its way onto his ashen face. As he lifted his hand to his mouth, he wondered why he thought of Uraraka now. He wondered why seeing his misstep and her small triumph dissolved the remnants of his fear. He pressed his finger against the wound, felt the twinge of pain jump through his face, and scoffed at himself as his grin widened slightly. In that moment, he decided it might be okay to think about her. If it meant he wouldn't have to think about that hands-guy and that dingy bar, he welcomed it.

He sighed, finally feeling his body relax and turned his head towards his window… the sun was already high in the sky. He must have slept well into the afternoon. Bakugou's stomach growled right on cue, as if confirming his suspicions.

With another sigh, he pulled his damp shirt from his body and threw it to the side. If it was already lunch time, some of his classmates were bound to be in the common area. He couldn't go down there looking like he'd seen a ghost… Especially with the possibility that Kirishima might be down there. That guy always stuck his nose where it didn't belong.

Once he made his way to the first floor, Bakugou found his eyes wandering over the common room, searching for a specific face. When he didn't find it, he decided to ignore the rest of them. Especially half-and-half. Bakugou thought he might hate him almost as much as he hated that green-headed mop, Deku. Todoroki didn't even lift his eyes to glance at him as he began rattling around in the kitchen. Some part of him—the part from before—grumbled about how that guy must have thought he was better than him, that he should scream and challenge him again, make him use fire he didn't shy away from anymore…

But Bakugou kept his eyes down instead as he assembled his lunch, quietly wondering where that floaty-girl was.

She irritated him, especially since she'd been placed "in charge" of him for their next assignment… From first glance, she didn't seem like Pro material. Not with the way she followed Deku around like a fucking lost dog or drooled over him when she spaced out in class. Not with that obnoxious way she glided into class, like the new day was a new opportunity, smiling like an idiot. But Bakugou saw something else underneath her mask of unyielding optimism. He didn't know exactly what it was, and he'd never admit to her or anyone else that he was curious about it… but what he did know was that she was stronger than she thought she was. She was stronger than everyone else thought she was. And for some reason, it pissed him off that they kept treating her like she was made of glass or something.

She'd held her own against him after all. At the sports festival. During practice. She didn't shy away from him. That was new for him. He liked it.

"Six sandwiches…?" A voice inquired from the doorway, practically making Bakugou jump out of his skin, "No wonder we're always running out of bread…"

Uraraka was leaning against the frame, arms crossed, her head cocked to one side as she stared judgingly at his lunch. A tight, black tank-top clung to her upper half; He wasn't sure if he'd never seen her out of uniform, or if he'd never noticed before, but Bakugou immediately turned his head back to his food when his eyes began traveling up her lithe arms to her strong, exposed shoulders. She was more muscular than he'd anticipated, but that explained why she was heavier than he'd expected when he lifted her during their sparring match.

He contemplated ignoring her, "What do you want, Round-face?" He growled, against his better judgement, hoping she didn't see the heat he felt in his ears.

"Do I have to want something?" She challenged. He heard a smile in her voice.

"Then get the hell away from me. We're not friends, you know?"

"Maybe," She mused, "But that doesn't mean I can't try."

He scoffed and piled his mountain of sandwiches onto one plate, finally turning to face her. He had a witty comeback prepared, he was almost excited to see how she'd fire back, but his voice caught in his throat when he spied Deku making his way toward them.

"Uraraka! Are you ready? Ilda's on his way down now."

As soon as his voice hit her ears, it was like a switch flipped in her brain. Her face turned as red as the delicately sliced tomatoes on his sandwiches, and she nodded furiously, like she was afraid he might leave if she didn't appease him quickly enough.

Right. Bakugou reminded himself, pushing past them. He'd almost forgotten that Uraraka was Deku's little fangirl. She might be strong in a fight—strong enough that he thought he might actually enjoy sparring with her—but outside the ring, she was weak. It was Deku, Deku, Deku. Her stupid, pink cheeks always turned a sickeningly bright red when he was around. She looked at the floor, as if that fucker's gaze was so special. It was like she turned into a different person—

He shook his head and rounded the corner to the stairs.

A different person? He didn't know her at all. He had to remind himself that he didn't want to know her.

Still… The determination, and the eagerness, and the passion he saw in her eyes during their matches… that felt genuine. The pathetic, doe-eyed, stuttering girl that appeared every time Deku was around grossed him out. It didn't suit her.

"Bakugou!"

He swallowed hard and spun himself around to meet her chestnut eyes once more, "Fuck off, already," He growled, irritated that he couldn't seem to get away from her. Inside his head, or out of it.

Underneath Uraraka's swollen mask, she frowned, "I wanted to ask you…" Her voice trailed off as she hesitated.

"No." Bakugou answered, quickly turning to begin his ascension up the stairs as the class-rep and Deku came into view.

"H-hey! I haven't even asked yet!" She shouted up the stairwell.

"No!" He yelled again, not bothering to look back at her.

She made some noise akin to a groan and started after him, "Just come to lunch with us, will you? H-hey! Are you running?!"

He was. Last time she'd chased after him, she'd sent him floating. And Bakugou wanted to go the rest of his life without feeling that nausea again. The thought of it sent shivers up his spine. He didn't like feeling like he wasn't in control. He could do a lot of things, and the things he couldn't, he vowed to learn. But manipulating gravity was not one of them.

But Uraraka was chasing him anyway, up to the fourth floor, down the hallway, and all the way to his door.

Finally, Bakugou turned on his heels to face her and she stopped dead in her tracks when she met his eyes.

"Are you fucking blind?" He roared, motioning to his leaning tower of sandwiches. "Even if hadn't just spent 20 god damn minutes making this shit, I wouldn't go to lunch you and those scum. You hear me?! Now, go running back to that damn nerd that you love so much, and get away from me."

Her face twisted from one emotion to another in a matter of seconds. Surprise, anger, embarrassment. Uraraka blinked a couple times and opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. And Bakugou didn't wait around to see if anything would.

"I'm not your friend, round-face." And with that, he kicked his door open and slammed it behind him, thinking only that he must have finally won. Maybe now she'd finally leave him alone.

Only after he heard her dejected footsteps disappear down the hallway did he feel the slightest bit of guilt well up in his chest. And with it, it felt like the demons of his dreams returned with renewed vigor. The voices echoed in his mind, louder with each passing second.

Wannabe hero.

Bakugou slumped down in his chair and shoved half of his first sandwich into his mouth, trying to get the image of her watery, wavering eyes out of his head.

You… like winning too, right?

[Uraraka]

Over the brief time she'd been at UA, she'd seen quite a few different sides to Bakugou. Whether he was kicking his feet up on the desk in their classroom, blatantly ignoring the rules, or writhing on the winner's podium after the sports festival. She'd seen him mindlessly attack Deku during training, and she'd seen his demeanor change, ever so slightly, after his capture… that look of guilt after All Might's end. She'd seen a bit of a spark return after their sparring match yesterday. Or at least, she thought she had.

But even with everything she'd witnessed, she'd never seen Bakugou react so… childishly? Uraraka wasn't even sure if that was the right word. It was completely different from his usual outbursts. Just as loud, though…

He'd literally ran from her, and then exploded. All because Deku had shown up. She hadn't expected him to accept her invite, but she'd really wanted to take the time to talk to him. To thank him again for the advice he'd given her. And of course, to talk about their assignment.

"Now, go running back to that damn nerd that you love so much, and get away from me."

Uraraka started down the stairs, embarrassment seeping onto her cheeks. Love. He'd said love. Just like Aoyama had. That was… ridiculous. It wasn't like she had time for something like that anyway. Definitely not. She didn't love him, she… admired him. He was already a hero in his own way, she aspired to be like him one day. Deku was warm and caring, strong and unyielding, he looked out for her wellbeing, he had even checked on her to make sure she was okay after her spar with Mr. Crazy Lord Explosion Murder or whatever it was he had decided to call himself. Deku was her friend. She wasn't…

At the bottom of the stairs, standing awkwardly next to the entrance, was Ilda and Deku. He had those worried eyes again. He'd heard the whole thing—obviously. Bakugou was as loud as he was short-tempered—and she could already see the question on his freckled face before he even opened his mouth.

"Are you okay?"

A smile lifted her lips, her heart swelled, her cheeks grew warmer… and then Uraraka froze on the last step.

With a gulp she nodded, "I'll be fine. I think I'm getting used to it…"

Deku replied with an exasperated grin, scratching at the back of his neck, and Uraraka swore she felt her stomach flip.

She wasn't in love with him. No way.