Disclaimer: I do not own My Hero Academia the manga, the anime, or any other projects for the series.
Pairing: Bakugou x Uraraka
Genres: Romance, Friendship
Rating: K+ for some coarse language.
UPDATE 2/3/2018: I added some extra content. Enjoy!
Chapter 3: Surge
Compared to the hectic pace of their weekdays, Sundays went by like a quiet stroll for the students of Yuuei. Most were either racing the clock to complete last-minute homework or enjoying the few hours of free time left before classes kicked back up the next day.
Ochako was a member of the latter group, content to close off an afternoon of studying and weight training with a little time to herself.
Although, it didn't take long for that plan to go up in flames.
"How is it that you always show up whenever I'm not here?"
"How is it that you never remember to lock your damn door?"
"…Touché."
Silence reigned once more in the closed space of her dorm, punctuated by the labored puffs of breath coming from directly below her. Ochako had her gaze trained on her ceiling, lulled into a trance by the way it zoomed in and out of her vision from the rhythmic motion beneath her. Her hands were folded across her stomach, her back relaxed against the broader, stronger one supporting it.
Up.
Down.
"Hey, Bakugou?"
An acknowledging grunt came from underneath her, followed by a gust of air as he pushed upward again. Ochako straightened her legs a bit, distributing her weight more evenly for him.
Down.
"Are we friends?"
Up.
There was an abrupt pause in his movements, and for a split second she felt his spine stiffen beneath hers. He caught himself quickly though, and fell back into his set at slower pace.
"The hell did that come from?" He asked, voice gruff from the exertion.
She shrugged with feigned nonchalance and fidgeted with her fingers. "Just wonderin', y'know?"
"Well, what the fuck for?"
Irritation colored his tone, a signal to proceed with caution, but Ochako only rolled her eyes. He had been employing this tactic a lot these past few days, deflecting her questions with his own. The impressive well of patience she reserved for him was beginning to run dry from it.
But, another part of her felt a twinge of something else. Was it really such a difficult thing to answer? Her lips flattened into a pensive line.
They saw each other every day, in and out of class. They trained together. They ate lunch together whenever she chanced upon whatever new spot he'd weeded out for himself on the school grounds. He spewed expletives and accused her of Deku-esque stalking each time she found him, but never tried to stop her from sitting with him. He didn't rebuff her offers to trade parts of their meals either. Neither had he attempted to bite her hand off that one time she'd teasingly tried to hand-feed him after he'd injured his arm out on the field, settling for snapping at her to piss off.
Her train of thought halted at that, her mind suddenly conjuring impressions of a cool countertop, of air redolent of crackling oil and fried pastries, and a shared breathing space. A familiar thrumming bloomed to life in her chest, pulsing heatedly under her skin until she felt it creeping up her neck and onto her cheeks.
Backtrack, she ordered herself, quietly willing that memory away.
"I just..." She swallowed thickly. "Wanna make sure, is all."
Down.
"...of what?"
Up.
Whether you feel the same way.
The words popped into her head almost too easily, but the array of wrong ways they could be taken jumbled them in her mind until they spiraled out of her reach.
"It's just – I mean –" Ochako faltered, feeling tongue-tied and restless. She cast a glance over her shoulder at the hand pressed flat against her floor, at the triceps stretching and straining with each forward press. "One sec."
With practiced precision, she lifted herself off him with her quirk, hovering in the space above his back, and feeling the ghosts of his continued movements in the inches between them. Then, she deftly turned herself over and looped her arms around his torso.
Bakugou froze, his head angling sharply over his shoulder at her actions, but Ochako was too preoccupied with not toppling them both to notice. She pressed the pads of her fingers together and gently lowered herself back onto him. He went rigid as her smaller frame hugged his from behind, her curves fitting snugly against the contours of his back, one side of her face cradled in the warm space between his shoulder blades.
"You okay?" She asked softly.
At the sound of her voice, he seemed to snap out of a stupor. An unintelligible grumble was her only response before he resumed his set, slower and with shallower breathing than before. On cue, she unfolded her arms and brought her palms to rest on the arches of his shoulders so that she wasn't in his way.
"Okay," she echoed herself, her breath fanning out against his bare skin. "So, anyway..."
But the words never came. Her voice deserted her for the second time that day, stranding her in another cloud of musings about...well, about them.
Up.
Down.
She knew he cooked his own food in the dormitory's kitchenette, instead of ordering from the school cafeteria. She knew of his fondness for spicy dishes, and made a habit of challenging herself by nabbing as many bits of his lunch as she could before her eyes started to water, much to his aggravation. She knew he packed extra of the foods she ended up liking, thinking she didn't notice.
She knew he was as incredible a chef as he was a student and fighter, and that watching him work as either was always a damn sight.
She knew that the tempo of his heart was rapid, but steady beneath her ear – that the lean muscles of his arms and his back contracting with each rise and fall of his body was a feeling more familiar to her than she cared to dwell over.
Unthinkingly, Ochako leaned in further between his shoulder blades. The smooth coldness of a counter and the hiss of oil simmering in the distance flooded her senses again, but this time the sweet aroma was replaced with a heavier musk – a mingling of the scent of smoke, the perspiration dampening the fabric of his tank and the hairs on the back of his neck, and something else. Something strong and unique and distinctively him.
She liked it.
"Well?"
"Hmm?" Ochako lifted her head, blinking out of an unexpected daze. "Sorry, what?"
"What do you mean 'what'? You were the one talking, dipshit."
A perplexed crease took residence on her brow. Had she been? The last thing she remembered was back muscles, and then everything had gone blank.
"Must've spaced out," she deduced sheepishly.
"Yeah, no kidding," Bakugou muttered unkindly, huffing either in annoyance or from the abrupt rise. Then, in a less than steady voice, "...w-weren't you asking something before?"
Ochako blinked again, catching the faint waver in his voice. "Ah, y-yeah, but –"
"Then spit it out already," he interrupted, impatient. "You're pissing me off."
Instead of obliging, Ochako craned her neck a bit. From her angle, his expression was indiscernible. His eyes were curtained by spiky, sweat-soaked bangs, but she could see how his neck and the side of his face were flushed from the exertion. Yeah, the exertion. Probably.
Definitely.
Gingerly, Ochako settled back between his shoulders, ignoring the tell-tale blush blossoming on her own cheeks.
"Never mind," she whispered and closed her eyes. "It was a silly question."
To her immense relief, he made no further comment.
Down.
Up.
"…Fuck, I lost count."
"Eighty-three."
A/N: Looks like those pastries *steals Bakugou's shades* aren't the only things heating up.
*is set on fire*
What could have possibly happened? Only the past will reveal (probably not next chapter though, sorry). Hopefully, this pattern keeps going smoothly. Until next time. Thanks for reading!