for shinybow/versalusia on tumblr, a dialogue prompt (some liberties taken):
"Is that my shirt?" / "I'm in love... shit."
"Is that my shirt?"
His head is ringing and his vision blurred around the edges, but the first thing that catches his attention is Uraraka Ochako, sitting with her back to him. In his shirt.
"Good evening, Bakugou," she says, glancing over at him once while he sits up slowly. She returns to whatever she's doing with her hands in the next moment. "How's your head?"
Things are coming back to him slowly. The woods are quiet around them, the last light of the day leaving the sky. His head hurts and his back is sore like he was pummeled with a bunch of rocks. He blinks a few times and rolls his neck gingerly.
"…fuckin' hurts." She hums and the ring in his ears dies down enough for him to distinguish the clicking noise coming from her hands. "What the hell are you doing? Why are you wearing my fucking shirt? What-" He's cut off by her clipped and frosty tones.
"Trying to start a fire, you ass. Lay back down before you hurt yourself again."
"Gimme that." He shifts and rips the flat stones out of her hands, back twinging with the sudden movement. He holds his hand above the small pile of kindling Uraraka had put together and ignites his quirk. If the blast is a little too big for starting a camp fire, then he pretends not to notice. The ends of Uraraka's hair catch some embers, but she just glares at him while putting it out between her palms.
Bakugou rolls his eyes, tossing the stones over his shoulder into the underbrush. The sun is wholly down now and the flickering of the fire brings his attention to a tiny pile of light green cloth sitting on the ground.
Or, it would be light green, if it wasn't murky brownish red.
Uraraka had been wearing a light green tank when they'd left that morning for today's lesson: a wilderness survival course. He glances over to where he'd been lying and there's another stretch of fabric, ripped in some places, dark colors laid out in concentrated patches. Uraraka's empty canteen is next to it. Bakugou reaches to touch his back, muscles arguing with the motion. His hand comes back with dried blood.
He works his jaw as he looks over at her, trying to think what he should say. The back of his shirt is baggy on her, but there are more than a few tears in it. She's still glaring at him, eyes glowering in the flames' light. He opens his mouth and is cut off again as he puts all the pieces together.
"Get it now?" –running into Uraraka on his way to the next checkpoint- "You totally screwed up-" –trying to slow her up by using his quirk- "when you caused that rock slide-" –the loose scree rumbling and larger rocks breaking, tumbling- "-and then you dove-" –the panic caused his body to move- "-right on top of me, immobilizing my hands!" –tucking her head under his chin, then pain and blackness- "You absolute idiot!"
Bakugou's eyes are wide, taking the influx of memories and the image of Uraraka towering over him. When did he edge back onto his palms, back away? The fire is behind her now, darkening her face but making her hair burn amber-gold as it puffs out in irritation.
"I had to drag your dead weight around and patch you up without a first aid kit," she growls.
She makes a sudden motion forward and he's on his elbows, back protesting. There's a rock floating in front of his face, but he can't focus with Uraraka's hands pressed into the dirt next to his hips as she looms over him.
"…when all I would have had to do was make us float over the debris."
He gulps, because he's never seen Uraraka this pissed. "So now we have no more clean water-" The sport festival was apparently just the tip of the iceberg when considering how unfragile this girl was. "and my shirt was ruined by your explosion and the rockslide-" He wets his mouth again before trying to talk; the fury on her normally open features and the tension in her shoulders covered by his shirt seem to have made his saliva flee. "-so I used it to pull all the dirt out of your back."
"Shit, Uraraka, I-"
"So yes, I am wearing your damn shirt."
"I-fuck, I didn't think-" the rock falls, bouncing off his sternum.
"No, Bakugou Katsuki, you didn't."
It's suddenly a lot cooler and it's because Uraraka has backed up to her own space. His head is reeling again, warm. He holds a hand to his forehead without thinking, the skin warm to the touch there and on his cheeks. His slow return to vertical has her looking at him again, with a more contemplative look.
Thankfully, she doesn't appear to be contemplating murder.
Her hand is pulling his away by the wrist. The back of her other hand touches his face, cool to his heating cheeks. Her mouth pulls into a cross between a frown and pout, gears churning in her head. "I cleaned out all your cuts best I could, did you catch a fever? Are they infected?" She's turning his torso as much as it would allow, inspecting her own handiwork. Apparently satisfied, she touches her hand to his face again. "You're all flushed and sweaty…"
She rubs her fingers together, testing whether the sweat felt like the nitroglycerin that comes off his palms. She wipes her hand on his shirt and leans up. Pushing their bangs back with each hand, her forehead presses against his and she murmurs, "Don't blow me up now…"
Bakugou combusts internally and stays completely still. Nothing about this situation is computing and his mind stutters to a halt. Brown eyes are closed and he can count her eyelashes if he wanted to. A girly hand is in his hair and as his eyes drift closed and he starts to sway forward, the cool skin against his head leaves and Uraraka's hand is guiding him back towards her into the light of the fire. Her brown eyes are softer than before.
That hand is very soft, and gentle, until it pulls against his eyelids in turn.
"Well, I don't know about infection, but you don't seem to have a concussion."
When her hand leaves his face, he almost wishes he did. …shit.
