É segredo!

you weren’t friends, but bakugou always picked you to be on his team during PE. he’d look back at you often when he was running for the pacer test, despite you already being out, like he had something to prove. he’d look away quickly after, but afterwards he’d sit against the wall suspiciously close to you. he’d try to wave off your compliments quicker than he could catch his already uneven breath. he’d cough and sputter on his water bottle when you complimented him for holding out so long like you’d insulted him.

“w-worry about yourself ! crap—!“ he’d say in between wheezes, stomping off to his other friends.

you weren’t friends with bakugou. you didn’t really have friends. that’s why during class outings, you always sat alone in the bus. it hurt a bit (a lot) but you at least didn’t need to fight for the window seat, and you had space to place your backpack.

until of course, a thud on your lap makes your eyes snap open, snapping you out of your reverie. bakugou shoved it out of the now empty seat, unceremoniously plopping it onto your lap and crashing backwards into the seat next to you. arms crossed and looking as displeased as he usually did when he was anywhere near you. (but you suspected that was perhaps just what his face looked like.) 

“…did the teacher make you sit with me ?” you ask quietly. 

bakugou clicked his tongue, he does that quite often. 

“No.” he leans further back into his fuzzy seat, his feet dangle lazily and one of them knocks against yours. his eyes stay fixed on his feet as he nudges your foot once more before pulling it back.

“s’just too loud in the front. you at least know when to shut up. so…” he trails off.

bakugou isn’t your friend and doesn’t talk to you the whole bus ride. but he lets you have the window seat. and he sits next to you on the way back as well.

and you really like that. 

you aren’t unfamiliar with bakugou, you aren’t friends and you didn’t talk at all. but you wondered often why he’d do these things for you. why he’d stick around you, why he’d help you despite acting like it was tiring. why he’d call you names but yell at anybody else who did.

“..are we friends ?” 

it’s early morning and everyone is getting ready to start the day, so it was still quiet enough for him to hear you. 

you’re proven correct when bakugou’s spins so quickly you think you hear his back crack. 

due to this month’s seating order change, he’s sitting in the row in front of you now. and despite you both not being neighbours anymore bakugou  turns around every 5 minute break to check your notebook for you.

“makin’ sure your dumbass remembers what i’m spendin’ my precious time teachin’ you.” he’d say, already snatching it from you.

he’d just put his bag down when you asked him what was, to you, a rather innocent question. but based on the look on his face it wasn’t. at all. 

you start getting nervous, subtly, desperately trying to hide it. should you not have asked ? would he find you weird for asking ? maybe this kind of thing was supposed to be unspoken, even with someone like bakugou who always seemed to speak his mind wether you asked or not. (which you didn’t most of the time.)

“why’re you askin’ me that ?” he asks, rather quietly. he doesn’t look angry like usual as he inspects you, waiting for a response.

you swallow, poking and prodding at your fingers. “because..well..” 

you draw a blank.

technically speaking, you don’t have the qualities to be a friend of his. most of bakugou’s friends are louder than you. and funnier (debatable. you sure didn’t think so. he seemed to find them funny— to make fun of, perhaps, but still.) 

and despite all he did for you, you didn’t hang out often outside of class. you didn’t do like in the tv shows; hanging out after class, eat lunch together, you don’t know any of his hobby’s or favourite food or favourite colour, either. you didn’t leave the classroom often during recess and if you did you’d usually find some place to be alone.

so no, bakugou shouldn’t be your friend. but— 

“i’d…i’d like us to be…” you whisper meekly. 

you hope your feeble mumble got drowned out by the sounds of your classmates. and you start to think so when he doesn’t respond.

the teacher signals everyone in class to quiet down and you take the opportunity to get away from his gaze, reaching down to grab your notebook from your bag, mortified at his uncharacteristic silence. 

your eyes tried to steady themselves with today’s exercises. but you’re surprised to see a hand—his hand—reach in and shuffle around in your pencil case. his chair uses your desk as support while he leans as close as possible. so close you could probably count his lashes.

“gimme one. forgot mine,” he says casually. snatching a purple pen he deemed good enough with a non committal grunt. when he looks back up at you—he’s still scowling and you worry hemight flat out tell you what you feared; that no, you can’t be friends. 

instead, he huffs and uses your pen to smack your forehead. and for the first time since he’d ripped your notebook out of your hands and showed you how it’s done you see him laugh. it’s small and it’s mean and it’s at your expense.

“sure, whatever.” 

and then he turns around.

the teacher drones on but you’re frozen in autopilot, writing down words you don’t remember. your eyes keep darting upwards, to the slight glimpse you have of bakugou’s hand. him, using your pen.

when you look down at his feet completely by coincidence, you can see his pencil case sticking out, untouched.

based on this beautiful art by shirahama kamome!!!!