Work Text:
Shouto steps into the library, sighing quietly as he’s hit with a blast of cold air. He’s never been more grateful for air conditioning in his life than he is in this very moment. The temperature outside has been nearing ninety degrees all day and he thought he’d die.
The library is mostly empty, which is reasonable considering the time. There are mostly high school students here, studying or reading or using the library computers, and maybe a few college students. At the front desk is a blond male reading a book that Shouto can’t quite see the name of; he looks to be about Shouto’s age, so maybe eighteen or nineteen. Among the shelves, people are huddled in corners with their faces buried in books.
As he makes his way to the mystery section of the library, he takes out his phone and opens its notes app, where the title and author of the novel he wants are typed out. It’s about five hundred pages, if he remembers correctly, and he’s been planning on reading it for a while already. Walking down the bookshelves, he looks for the author’s initials instead of just eyeing the titles because he knows he’ll end up picking out at least five different books in addition to what he wants. It’s thirty minutes until five and the library closes at seven in the evening most days; he doesn’t have time for five extra books.
Still, while he looks for the book he wants, he ends up taking note of three others. He doesn’t know what he expected from himself. He has zero self-control.
When he finds the book, he sits at one of the tables way in the back, far from the librarian’s desk and library entrance, and begins to read.
And for the remainder of the book, Shouto is distracted from the reason why he came here in the first place; after all, this is where he finds peace.
The next day, Shouto is at the library earlier than he was yesterday. It's three in the afternoon when he picks out two books and sits down to read them. He sits in the same seat at the same table he does every time he comes here.
While he tries to let himself become immersed in the novel, he's vaguely aware of someone staring at him. As much as he tries to ignore it, the feeling persists. The moment he lifts his head to look for the origin of the stare, it's gone.
Shouto returns to his book, and the feeling does not come back until he gets up and leaves at 18:55; it follows his every step toward the library exit, right up until the doors open and fall shut behind him, and then falls away just as easily.
The feeling follows Shouto for almost another week. He should be worried, and he would be if he didn’t know self-defense or if the gaze held any malicious intent, or if it followed him to places other than the library.
At this point, he’s pretty sure the person watching him is always in the library, similarly to him, and is probably curious as to why he’s here all the time. Maybe they’re wondering if he’s this much of a bookworm, or if he has this much time on his hands.
Maybe they’re looking deeper into it.
He wonders about this in the back of his mind. It’s a silly thing to think about, if he’s honest with himself, especially when he doesn’t know the person, but if they have ill intentions, he’s confident in his abilities to protect himself. Besides, he doubts they’d attack in the library in front of all these people.
So Shouto wonders about this stranger, sometimes. He wonders if they like reading as much as he does, if they’re a college student like him, if they plan on sitting next to him one day to introduce themself, if they plan on remaining unknown.
He wonders if this is where they find peace, too.
Disappointment fills him when Shouto doesn’t find the book he didn’t finish the day before. He checks the other shelves and bookcases in case someone shelved it incorrectly; he even bothers to look at the various library carts scattered around the place, just in case someone was too lazy to bring it back to its correct placement. It isn’t anywhere he’s checked, and by the time he gives up, he doesn’t really know what to do with himself. Closing time is in about forty minutes, so that isn’t enough time to pick out a different novel and finish reading it unless he has a slip in his sanity and decides to binge a bunch of children’s books.
He might consider it. Maybe. Except the librarian is staring at him with a slight frown, which makes sense since he’s just been standing there contemplating his life for what’s probably been a while.
It occurs to him then that he could just ask the librarian when the book will be returned. He could ask like any other person would. Definitely. Still, he shifts uncertainly between just leaving and coming back another day or walking up to the blond male. He has a very good reason for his uncertainty, really.
Shouto is really gay. Like, really fucking gay.
And the librarian is hot. Like, really hot.
Shouto’s a mess, honestly, and he’s pretty sure he’d make a fool of himself if he tried talking to him, even if it is just to ask a simple question. He’d probably trip over the carpet, fall over, and crack his head open in front of him and, if that does happen, he hopes he dies to save himself the embarrassment. If he survives that somehow, he doesn’t think he would be able to set foot in this library ever again.
The librarian is squinting at him now, and Shouto briefly wonders if he has trouble seeing, but he immediately dismisses the thought. The squint has an irritated slant to it and the frown on the blond’s face is twisted in a small scowl. He probably thinks Shouto’s loitering or, like, planning something illegal.
Shouto sighs. Making the decision, he makes his way over to the librarian’s desk. Miraculously, he doesn't trip and die on the way. The librarian watches him with some confusion as he stops in front of him.
“I, uh…” He clears his throat awkwardly. “I was looking for a book. It isn't there.”
“It was probably borrowed,” he tells him, an eyebrow raised as if to say, Get on with it.
“I know. Can you tell me when it’ll be returned?”
“What’s the book?”
Shouto scrambles to remember it. He recites the title, the author, and the book’s call number, which he’s mostly sure is correct. He hopes it is.
The librarian nods and begins to type.
“Do you need me to spell it?”
He doesn’t even look up from the computer screen. “Do I look like a fucking idiot to you?”
He feels a twinge of annoyance. The blond guy might be hot, but he’s rude.
“I read a lot and I work here, in case you haven't noticed,” the librarian continues. “Of course I know it.”
Shouto takes that back—well, not really. He’s still rude, but he's admittedly right. He does work here, so it'd make sense for him to remember various titles.
“The book is due in three weeks. Do you want me to reserve it?”
“I don’t have a library card.”
That gets the librarian to lift his gaze from the computer screen to shoot Shouto a disbelieving look. “You can’t be fucking serious.”
He shifts his feet awkwardly. “I’ve never gotten one. My...parents never thought it was necessary when I was younger.”
“I didn’t ask for your life story,” he scoffs, but he’s giving him a considering expression now, searching and curious, like he’s figured something out about Shouto and wants to know more. It leaves him feeling oddly exposed.
“Here.” Some papers and a pen are shoved at him from across the desk. “Fill these out. Do you have an ID?”
“Why?”
He grumbles something under his breath that sounds like, God, he really is an idiot, and then says, “Do you want a library card or not?”
“Oh.”
“Well?”
“Sorry. Yes.” Shouto takes the forms and fumbles with the pen. He can feel the librarian watching him as he fills out the forms, and it makes him nervous for some reason. He doesn't think the librarian needs to watch him fill out the forms, especially not with this much intensity; or maybe the feeling is exaggerated because he's attractive and it's making Shouto hyperaware.
Just as he finishes filling out the last line, the blond holds out a hand expectantly, and he gives him the forms.
“ID?”
He takes out his wallet, almost dropping it in the process before managing to get out his student ID and handing it over. There’s an amused tilt to the librarian’s lips, like he’s trying not to laugh at his awkwardness, and he feels heat rise to his cheeks.
How can he be cute and hot at the same time? Shouto thinks despairingly, the librarian oblivious to his inner crisis as he enters his information into the library system and files the forms.
“Here’s your ID,” the blond says, sliding the card to him. “Give me a second to get your other shit.” He’s already rummaging through one of the desk’s drawers before Shouto can even think to reply.
Seconds later, he hands Shouto a leaflet and library card. “No one reads the leaflet, but you might need to,” he tells him. “If you can’t figure out how to use the library card, you’ll have that thing.”
Shouto refrains from rolling his eyes at the teasing. “Thanks…?”
“Bakugou Katsuki,” he introduces himself.
“Thanks, Bakugou Katsuki.” He winces at the use of his full name, but Bakugou just snorts.
“I’ve reserved the book under your name, halfie.”
“Halfie…?”
Bakugou rolls his eyes. “Your hair, dumbass.”
“Oh.”
“The library closes in fifteen minutes. You gonna stand there like an idiot or leave?”
“Leave,” he says, stumbling back awkwardly. “Uh, thanks, again.”
“No problem, Todoroki Shouto.”
“How do you know my name?” Shouto blurts out.
Bakugou gives him a funny look. The corners of his lips twitch and tremble slightly, and it takes Shouto a moment to realize that Bakugou’s laughing at him.
At least he’s holding it back, he thinks drily, embarrassment growing.
“You’re a dumbass,” he tells him. “You just gave me your fucking student ID. Your student ID from high school. Are you always this scatterbrained?”
There’s an amused smirk on Bakugou’s face, and even as Shouto’s face flares red—how did he not notice he gave him his high school student ID? —he can’t help but notice how much more good-looking Bakugou is up close.
“Bye,” Shouto barely gets out before he turns on his heel and flees for the library exit.
The back of his neck prickles, the familiar sensation of being watched, and without looking, Shouto knows it’s Bakugou’s gaze on him.
It leaves him feeling oddly flustered.
Despite embarrassing himself completely in front of the hot librarian—his name is Bakugou, Shouto reminds himself—Shouto still visits the library the next day.
“Welcome back, Todoroki Shouto,” Bakugou greets him when he passes by the desk.
His cheeks heat up as he’s reminded of yesterday’s mistakes. “Good afternoon,” he mumbles, rushing away to the shelves to find the books on his list.
His routine is the same: he takes his usual seat at the same table, picks a book from his stack of five, and begins to read. Like clockwork, the stare he’s felt everyday for the past two weeks lands on him. For a moment, he wonders if Bakugou has seen the stranger constantly staring at him in the library, if he’s noticed someone has been watching him. The thoughts are gone as fast they came as he turns a page, and everything melts away.
“Oi, halfie, it’s closing time.”
“No, it’s not. Closing time is in five minutes,” Shouto mumbles without looking up. “I’m almost done.”
Bakugou sighs loudly. “You’re the only one in here.” He pulls out a chair and sits down, crossing his arms on the table.
“There are seven pages left,” he informs him. “Stop talking.”
“Peppermint shithead,” he grumbles under his breath and leans back in his seat. “Are you gonna borrow the books you didn’t finish?”
Shouto stops reading to blink up at him. He’d forgotten he could borrow books now.
“Um, yeah.”
“Which ones?”
He points at the pile to his left, and Bakugou reaches over to take them.
“What are you doing?”
Bakugou raises an eyebrow at him. “Checking out your books. Obviously.” He grabs the two books and moves to stand.
“Wait, I didn’t give you my library card.” He scrambles to take out his wallet.
Bakugou waves something in front of his face, and he goes cross-eyed trying to look at it. He can just make out his name on the card.
“You really are scatterbrained,” he comments, amusement lacing his voice. “What kind of idiot leaves their shit out in the open?”
He rolls his eyes at the teasing and goes back to his book. Bakugou taps Shouto’s nose with the library card—Shouto goes cross-eyed looking at it, again—before heading back to the front desk to check out the books.
There are two minutes left when he finishes the final page of the book, and he stands up and goes to put them back on their correct shelves. After he’s shelved them, he walks back to the front desk where Bakugou is sitting, fingers tapping idly on the cover of one of the novels Shouto wanted to borrow.
“You better have shelved those books correctly,” Bakugou tells him.
Shouto shrugs, completely straight-faced as he says, “Maybe I shelved them incorrectly on purpose. Just to annoy you.”
“I’ll kill you if you did,” he responds without missing a beat. “I would’ve thought a damn bookworm like you could respect the library enough to shelve fucking books correctly, but I guess not.”
He twitches at that, and a smirk appears on Bakugou’s face like he knows he wouldn’t do that.
“So you aren’t a prick. Good to know.” He stops tapping his fingers and angles his head to look up at him. “I guess you’re just a really awkward moron.”
“Can I just have my books?”
Bakugou hands him the two books and his library card, and he takes them, stuffing the library card into his wallet.
“See you later, Todoroki Shouto.”
For the first time in a long time, Shouto’s routine is broken.
He finishes the two books he brought home that night, but he doesn’t return to the library the next day.
He has a library card and he’s able to borrow books, now, thanks to Bakugou registering him into the system. He can bring books home when he doesn’t finish them at the library. In fact, he technically doesn’t even need to stay at the library to read books; he can just borrow them, bring them home, and come back once he’s finished.
Still, it feels strange to stay home and read. His room is quiet, save for his siblings’ and father’s movements throughout the house, conversations in low voices struggling not to rise when they think he cannot hear. Footsteps pause outside his door for minutes at a time before moving on, as if whoever’s outside it wants to talk to him but isn’t sure how.
His house is quiet, the kind of quiet that is unstable, unreliable when he needs calm. The kind of quiet that feels like a powder keg ready to explode.
Shouto thinks about this for three days, unsure of what to make of it. He compares and contrasts the differences between the house and the library, and tries to make sense of tangled emotions and thoughts until everything settles in his chest.
The house is a vulnerable, stilted quiet; quiet in the way that he constantly has to hold his breath as it weighs uncomfortably heavy on his lungs, suffocating him as he waits for something to inevitably go wrong.
The library is a place for reading, a place that allows Shouto to just be without having to constantly keep guard. It's a quiet filled with the steady hum of whispers and the flip of pages, comfortable background noise that fills the silence, people sharing one place because they enjoy it.
The library is different in that the silence is not hollow and painfully empty like it is in the house of a family who rarely interacts.
Shouto thinks about this for three days, and when he returns to the library, Bakugou looks up at him with red eyes and says, “Welcome back, Todoroki Shouto.”
The greeting falls over him like a blanket, settles comfortingly, and Shouto smiles.
“Nice to see you again.”
One day, Shouto sits at a different table. It's closer to the front desk and the seat directly faces Bakugou, who gives him a weird look when he takes a seat. He hides his face behind a book, embarrassment creeping up his neck. He doesn't really know why he changes his routine. It'd been a small urge, and he gave in to it because why not?
Besides, he thinks, peeking at Bakugou over the top of the book, Bakugou’s nice to look at.
And then hides behind it when Bakugou meets his gaze with a quirked brow and amusement in his eyes.
(Shouto only hopes Bakugou didn't see his blush.)
Shouto had only changed his seat on a whim. He hadn’t planned or expected Bakugou to care enough to notice, but here he is, gaping at the librarian who’s holding out a can of iced tea to him.
“Do you want it or not?”
He takes it with a quiet thanks and Bakugou just hums in response. Instead of leaving, Bakugou takes a seat across from him, and Shouto looks up in surprise. Bakugou pulls out a bento box from his bag and sets it on the table.
“What are you doing?” he asks dumbly.
“I’m on lunch break.”
It makes sense. Shouto’s here earlier than usual today, and he’s never actually seen Bakugou eat lunch until now. He still wonders why Bakugou is sitting with him, and he opens his mouth to ask, but what comes out is, “Isn’t there a rule against eating in the library?”
Bakugou just snorts. “The only one here other than me is Kirishima,” he says, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder.
Shouto leans to the side and, sure enough, there’s a red-haired male—Kirishima, he repeats to himself—with a smile on his face sitting at the desk he usually sees Bakugou at. Kirishima chooses that moment to make eye contact with him and his grin grows impossibly wider, beaming as he waves at Shouto, who nods awkwardly in greeting.
“I’ve never seen him before.”
Bakugou shrugs, not bothering to reply as he takes the first bite of his meal. When it becomes apparent that Bakugou won’t say anything more on the subject, Shouto eyes the can of iced tea in his hand. He snaps it open with a quiet hiss and takes a large gulp from it, sighing as the cool liquid slides down his throat before he sets it down.
“Thanks, again.”
The blond just squints at him and scrunches up his nose. “Don’t expect one everyday, halfie.”
“I retract my thanks.”
“Asshole.”
Shouto pushes down the urge to laugh and keeps his face as impassive as possible as he picks up his novel again. “Whatever you say.”
Bakugou rolls his eyes at him before going back to his food, and Shouto peeks at him from over the book, hiding his smile behind the pages.
He hopes Bakugou will continue sitting with him.
(It isn’t the last time.)
Shouto peers into the library through the glass of the door. It’s dark inside, much to his disappointment. He really should have known the library would be closed. He’d forgotten, to be honest, and had come here out of habit.
Maybe Bakugou was right. He is scatterbrained.
With the library closed and nothing else to do, Shouto decides to find a place to eat. He doesn’t want to go home and he hasn’t eaten breakfast, so he might as well get something. He wanders around for a bit, passing by bakeries, delis, and restaurants, but nothing really catches his attention.
And then he sees Bakugou in the window of a café.
Shouto thinks he’s imagining him for a moment. He blinks hard once and squints. There’s no mistaking it. Bakugou’s sitting inside, a book in front of him and glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose.
Without thinking, Shouto steps into the café.
It’s quiet inside except for the occasional clink of glasses and plates. Soft music plays over the speakers; he’s pretty sure it’s jazz. It isn’t crowded. There are a few people sitting at the tables, reading, on their laptops, or just eating. It’s relaxing and…
It kind of reminds him of the library. It’s peaceful.
Shouto approaches Bakugou, who hasn’t looked up or seemed to notice him yet, too focused on the book he’s reading.
“What are you reading?” he asks.
Bakugou looks up, slightly startled. “It’s you.”
“Can I sit?”
Bakugou gestures to the seat across from him as if to say, Go ahead. Shouto pulls out the chair, careful not to scrape it on the floor, and takes a seat.
“So, what are you reading?” Shouto repeats, peering at the book. To his surprise, the letters are in English. “You know English?”
“Didn’t you study English in high school?” Bakugou shoots back, eyes narrowing defensively.
“Yeah, but I don’t really remember much of it,” he admits. “Reading a whole book in English is impressive.”
At that, Bakugou seems to relax. “... It's to practice. It'll be useful to know English in the future, especially if I can understand and speak it fluently.”
“Smart.”
“So, why are you here?”
“I was looking for a place to eat,” he replies. “I happened to see you inside the café, so…”
Bakugou raises an eyebrow at him. “So you decided to eat with the random librarian you see everyday?”
Shouto just shrugs, trying to ignore the embarrassment creeping up his neck. “... Yes? Is that weird?”
He frowns slightly at him. “We barely know each other, so, yeah.”
“We talk at the library, though, and you’ve eaten lunch with me there?” Shouto says. “I thought we were friends? Or acquaintances, at the very least.”
Bakugou stares at him intently, like he’s trying to figure out Shouto’s intentions, and he kind of looks confused, too. Is it really that strange for Shouto to think of them as friends? Does he think Shouto’s trying to mess with him? Maybe Shouto is being too obvious about this. Whatever this is—the fact that he thinks Bakugou is kind-of-sort-of-really hot? That he’s really, really gay?
“I only know your name,” Bakugou tells him, but he puts down his book and gives Shouto his full attention.
“You have my address, too,” Shouto says jokingly. “And my high school.”
Bakugou averts his gaze for this first time during this conversation. “... I memorized it when you filled out the forms,” he admits, mouth twitching into a scowl.
"Uh." That was supposed to be a joke. “... Why?” He isn’t sure if he wants to know.
“It wasn’t on purpose!” Bakugou snaps. “Your damn address is just a bunch of ones and shit! It’s easy to remember, okay?!”
“Oh.”
He shoots him the stink-eye. “Did you think I was stalking you or something?”
“... No.”
Bakugou snorts. “My point still stands. I barely know a damn thing about you, and you don’t know anything about me.”
“I want to, though,” Shouto blurts out, and then quickly backpedals before Bakugou can say something about it and further his embarrassment. “I mean, I like talking to you? So far, at least. I’d like to be friends.”
Bakugou has that look on his face, again. Bemusement is written across his features, like he can’t believe what Shouto is saying—like it’s strange for someone to want to be his friend. He doesn’t really understand it. Bakugou seems decent enough, despite his crass way with words, and it’s not like he’s a complete asshole or jerk. He’s straightforward in an almost too-blunt way, and kind of funny when Shouto isn’t too concentrated on the jabs at his hair and awkwardness. Kirishima seems to like him well enough, and Kirishima’s a good judge of character from what he can see; Shouto doesn’t think he’d associate himself with horrible people, no matter how nice he is.
“Fine.”
Shouto blinks. “Huh?”
“I don’t hate you,” Bakugou says, “and we can be friends if we don’t hate each other by the end of this.”
“Oh.”
“So, how’re we gonna do this?”
Excitement jumps in his chest, and Shouto smiles—beams—at Bakugou. Somehow, he has a good feeling about this.
“Let me order something first, and then we can start.”
Shouto learns a lot about Bakugou, and it’s kind of exhilarating.
Bakugou’s an only child, born on April twentieth, and his parents are both in the fashion industry. He likes reading and mountain climbing, though he hasn’t been able to go in a while. He learned how to cook in middle school—because my mom sucks at it, he’d scoffed, fondly exasperated—and learned how to bake for a bet.
“My classmates said I’d suck at baking,” Bakugou had told him, “so I proved them wrong. I still like to do it, sometimes.”
His favorite foods are spicy, one of which is mokomichi curry topped with crunchy chicken, but he’ll basically eat anything as long as it’s good (and not too unhealthy).
He learns so much more, like the way Bakugou’s lips curve into almost-smiles before forcing themselves into scowls or smirks, or how the red of his eyes seems brighter when the light hits him just right; and, wow, Bakugou is really well built.
(How had Shouto missed this before? Actually hanging out with him obviously makes it easier to stare at him instead of glancing at him periodically at the library. Who would’ve thought?)
In turn, Shouto tells Bakugou about himself, too. His birthday, his favorite food, the basics; he likes to read (“Obviously,” Bakugou snorts), his favorite animal is cats, he can’t cook to save his life—
“You can’t be that fucking bad,” Bakugou says incredulously.
Shouto grimaces. “I really am.”
“Not even instant ramen?”
He looks him dead in the eyes. “I always end up burning it.”
Bakugou leans back in his seat. “Holy shit. Seriously?”
“I’ve been banned from the kitchen ever since I melted the stove,” he mentions absentmindedly.
“What the fuck,” Bakugou says and then bursts into laughter.
—and… Shouto thinks this is the most fun he’s had talking to someone. He’s never been one for social interaction, and he always misses social cues, but he thinks he wouldn’t mind hanging out with Bakugou again.
When they finish their meals and call for the check, Shouto is a little disappointed. Logically, he knows it isn’t like this is the last time he’ll ever talk to Bakugou. They’ll see each other at the library, and if Bakugou doesn’t think he’s too weird, he’ll still sit with him during his breaks. But what if—
“You know,” Bakugou interrupts his thoughts, “you’re not bad, Halfie.”
It’s relieving to hear. Shouto tries not to smile at the words. “You aren’t as much of an asshole as you act.”
A snort escapes Bakugou as a waitress drops off the check.
“Your approval means nothing to me.” He squints at the check. “Split the cost?”
“Sure.”
After a quick calculation, they both put down the money owed.
Bakugou gets up and takes the bill. “I’ll bring it up. You can wait outside.”
Shouto gives him a nod and pushes out of his seat. He grabs the book Bakugou left on the table and makes his way out of the café. He’s immediately met with sunlight and cool breeze. Thankfully, Bakugou meets him outside quickly, so the awkwardness of standing alone doesn’t consume him.
Shouto holds out Bakugou’s book to him. “Here.”
“Thanks.” He tucks it under his arm. “Give me your phone.”
“Uh… Why?”
Bakugou rolls his eyes. “I’m not fucking robbing you, don’t sound so suspicious.”
Shouto unlocks his phone and hands him it hesitantly. Bakugou taps at the screen aggressively, and Shouto wonders if it’s possible to break a phone screen by typing. When Bakugou hands it back, the screen is, thankfully, intact and open to a contact. His eyes widen a little at the name: Bakugou Katsuki.
“You’re giving me your phone number?” he asks dumbly.
“No, I'm giving you some other Bakugou Katsuki’s fucking phone number.” He rolls his eyes, hard enough for Shouto to wonder if it's possible for them to fall out of his head. “Yes, I'm giving you my goddamn number.”
“So, you—?”
“Friends have each other’s numbers, yeah?” Bakugou shrugs. “I don’t hate you, I guess.”
“Lucky me.”
“Lucky you,” Bakugou snorts. “I gotta go. Text me so I have your number.”
“I will.”
He’s already started walking away when Shouto blurts out, “See you tomorrow?”
Bakugou shoots him a smirk over his shoulder, as if to say, Duh.
Shouto stands and stares at his retreating back, and the thought of kissing him pounds along with the beat of his heart.
hi, this is todoroki shouto
from the library
hi, todoroki shouto
from the library
shut up
fuck u
ur not my boss
“Your hair is...just like that?”
Shouto sighs. “For the third time, yes.”
“What the fuck,” Bakugou mutters to himself. “What the actual fuck.”
“Is it really that surprising?” he asks, kind of amused.
“This whole time I thought your hair was fucking dyed,” he says in disbelief. “I kept thinking, what kind of moron dyes his hair like this? Then it turns out it’s just this moron’s natural hair color.”
“You’re so rude to me.”
“And you’re friends with me. What does that say about you?”
“You’re the one who befriended the weirdo at the library.”
“Touché.”
idk why i expected u to be able to hold a conversation
all u send is cat pics
you suck too shut up
i rlly dont
ur the one who dyed his hair red and white
i already told you it isn’t dyed
are you forgetting japanese in your old age?
you should probably do something about that
lmao fuck u ronald mcdonald
who
omfg u dont know??
holy shit
i can feel you judging me
just tell me
bakugou???
asshole i look nothing like that
sure, jan
“School’s gonna start again soon.”
Shouto blinks at Bakugou and sets down his book. “Yeah.”
“You’re in college, right?” Bakugou asks, even though Shouto is pretty sure he already knows. They’ve talked about their schools briefly, after all.
“I go to UA. What about you?”
Bakugou stares at him for a second, and Shouto wonders if he’s said something weird. He’s about to ask, but stops himself when he sees Bakugou’s mouth curl into a smile. It’s faint, but there.
Bakugou should smile more.
“Funny,” he says, “so do I.”
Shouto traces the curve of Bakugou’s mouth with his eyes, dragging his eyes away when he realizes what he’s doing. Hopefully, Bakugou doesn’t notice. God, he really needs to get a grip.
Stop ogling the hot librarian.
“Oh,” Shouto says eventually. He cringes to himself.
Get a grip.
“Bakugou, your break is over,” Kirishima calls quietly from the desk.
“Got it.” Bakugou stands up, gathers his things, and nods at Shouto before heading back to the front desk to swap places with Kirishima.
Shouto’s head hits the table with a thud, and he ignores the startled looks he gets at the noise. When he lifts his head again, he makes eye contact with Bakugou, whose mouth is quirked in an amused smirk.
I should kiss you.
It takes all of his self-control not to slam his head against the table again. Instead, he picks up the book in front of him and tells himself, Don’t even look at him.
It’s easier said than done, and Shouto struggles all the way to closing time.
It turns out, Bakugou is majoring in chemistry.
“I get to blow shit up,” Bakugou tells him casually.
When Shouto tells him he’s majoring in forensics, Bakugou hums thoughtfully.
“Kinda weird how we’ve never run into each other,” he says. “Even if we didn’t share any classes, you would think we’d see each other in the same damn building.”
“Maybe we’ve seen each other before and forgot.”
Bakugou stares at him in disbelief. “There’s literally no fucking way I’d forget seeing you.”
Shouto doesn’t know whether or not that’s supposed to be a good thing. “What do you mean?”
“Your hair is red and white, halfie,” Bakugou tells him.
“It’s just like this.”
“Really.”
“Bakugou, why would I dye my hair like this?”
“I don’t fucking know, but I wouldn’t put it past you,” he says. “You didn’t know how to register for a library card when we first talked.”
Shouto scrunches up his nose at him. “What does that have to do with my hair?”
Bakugou just frowns at him. “You’re you.”
“... Okay?”
“Your hair is red and white, you have heterochromia,” Bakugou lists, “you’re awkward as hell, you don’t know how to register for a library card.” The last part is said much more incredulously than the others, like it’s the strangest thing out of those he’s said. It’s kind of ridiculous. He definitely feels ridiculous as Bakugou continues to list things about him.
“There’s no way I’d forget someone like you,” Bakugou finishes, certainty clear in his voice.
Shouto can’t help the blood he feels rushing to his face. He’s pretty sure his heart stutters when Bakugou says that. He sounds so certain with himself, like it’s fact; like Shouto is somehow important enough to remember, like he thinks Shouto is unforgettable and don’t you think so, too?
There’s no way I’d forget someone like you, Bakugou had said, sounding like, I wouldn't forget you, I couldn’t.
“Oh,” Shouto murmurs.
“Yeah.” Bakugou leans back in his seat. “I would definitely remember you.”
“Me too,” Shouto says before he can think.
“What?”
“I don’t think I would forget you, either,” he repeats quietly. His fingers tighten around the pages of the book in his hands as he meets Bakugou’s gaze. “I don’t think I could.”
Bakugou doesn’t say anything to that. He just stares at Shouto with bright red eyes and a small smile. For the umpteenth time, Shouto thinks, I want to kiss you.
“Hey,” Bakugou says suddenly, uncharacteristically soft, “stay ‘til closing time?”
Shouto blinks at him. “Sure.”
With a quiet, see you later, my break’s over, Bakugou stands and leaves for the front desk.
Shouto waves goodbye and watches him go.
I want to kiss you.
ur book’s been returned
come to the counter i’ll give it to u
???
what book
the one u wanted in the 1st place??
u reserved it, dumbass
did u srsly forget?
shit no i remember now
r u forgetting things in ur old age?
shut up
don’t quote my words back at me
¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Shouto gathers his things together, double-checking for his library card as he stands. The library is near closing when he checks the time. Bakugou watches him approach the front desk with his palm against his cheek, bored.
“Give me your library card so I can scan it.”
“Exactly three weeks,” Shouto observes as he gives it to him.
“Yep. Happy?”
He shrugs. “I guess? I mean, I can finally finish it from where I left off.”
Bakugou snorts. “I can’t believe you fucking forgot about the book. You’re so scatterbrained.”
“I had other things on my mind,” Shouto replies, Like you.
“At this point, I’m surprised you even remember to breathe,” Bakugou says, smirking as he hands him his library card and the book.
“I’m glad you think so highly of me,” he deadpans.
“You’re welcome. Give me a minute and then we can leave.”
“Alright.”
While Bakugou puts away his things, Shouto opens the book to the chapter he left off on. As hard as he tries, he still ends up spacing out. He can’t believe he actually forgot about the book he reserved. I mean, it’d been the first time he and Bakugou interacted and it was kind of a mess. He remembers how awkward he was, and how Bakugou seemed so amused by him. Seriously, he forgot about the book that started this whole thing: their meeting, their current friendship, the easy-going banter—
—the constant thrum of I think I like you, I want to kiss you, can I kiss you?
God, it’s the book’s fault that Shouto’s head is a mess of BakugouBakugouBakugou.
A snap of fingers in front of his face bring him back to reality.
“Oi, halfie, let’s go,” Bakugou tells him. “Kirishima’s closing this time.”
“Ah, okay.”
“You got an umbrella?”
“It’s raining?”
Bakugou scoffs. “You didn’t hear the rain?”
No, I was too busy thinking about you. “No?”
“We can share mine. We go the same way, anyway.”
“Thanks,” he says, and Bakugou just grunts in response.
The door swings shut behind them as they step outside. It’s drizzling, thankfully, instead of storming. Under the canopy, they’re shielded from the rain. Shouto waits patiently for Bakugou to open his umbrella.
Once it’s open, Shouto starts to walk. He stops and turns around when he realizes Bakugou isn’t following.
“Hey, Todoroki?”
Shouto barely manages to hide his surprise at the address. “Yeah?”
Bakugou shifts his whole body so he’s facing him completely and steps forward until the umbrella hovers above the both of them. There’s a wrinkle in his forehead, his eyes narrowed and mouth slanted. Determination.
Shouto stares.
The pitter-patter of rain dulls to nothing, the cars and people talking becoming background noise. It’s just spiky blond hair and shining red eyes and—
It’s all Bakugou.
“Go out with me?”
I want to kiss you, Shouto thinks.
So he does.
He cups Bakugou’s face in his hands and leans down the few centimeters it takes to reach his lips. Their mouths slot together easily. He feels warmer than the humid air around them, happier than he’s been in a while, and he thinks, Finally.
When they pull away, Bakugou gives him a crooked smile.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” Shouto admits.
“So, that’s a yes?” he asks hoarsely.
“Unless you think I kissed you for no reason.”
Bakugou grins and kisses him again. “C’mon, let’s go,” he says, offering him his hand.
Shouto takes it.