( it feels like time nearly stands still there, for a moment, like he's watching bakugou peel out of his clothes in slow motion--maybe that explains the gaping drop of his jaw, the slight part of his lips, and the unbidden, round-eyed stare that focuses on the way that bakugou's stomach and chest shift as his shirt's revealed, the way his muscles form out past the cropped sleeves. honestly, he's not going to sit there and pretend that he isn't staring; it's just that it feels so weirdly impossible to look away that he's having a hard time contending with explaining his own feelings to himself. it's not as though he hasn't looked longingly at others, changing in the locker rooms, but that had mostly been out of weak, self-deprecating comparisons--both mirio and kirishima have the bodies of heroes, strong muscle, solid forms, while he's left in some gangly body that only looks even more inhuman when he transforms.
and sure, bakugou's body is like that, too. he has to have a lot of muscle from the way that he flings himself through the air, tensing, posing, holding himself into position for various explosions; but he's not staring at him because he's jealous, or because he wishes that he could look down on himself and see muscles just the same.
that kind of admission is what he's struggling with. it's not abnormal, in his eyes, to feel feelings for what they are: both nejire and mirio have taught him that, and he's never thought of putting feelings into boxes of 'right' or 'wrong' when it comes to attraction. the difference is that this is his kouhai; the difference is that he should not be thinking these kinds of things when he just came to drop off christmas gifts. )
--Wh-- ( he starts, stops, and realizes that he's just been staring there for a moment too long, now that bakugou's easily pulled the sweater on; he desperately seeks for something else to take his attention, and mindlessly, he tucks his mug in between his thighs, reaching feebly for bakugou's discarded sweatshirt so that he can start to lightly fold it up.
pointedly, he isn't looking up at bakugou, but his ears are pink. )
You look really good. Great. I mean, it looks good on you. It suits you. Um.
( damn it, the sweater is too easily folded, and now he has to retreat back to his hot chocolate: of which he takes a long, hot swallow, like the sooner he drains it, the sooner he can leave with his shame. )
Yes. Great. ( --is the lame finale to his lame compliments, as he licks his lips free of chocolate. )
[has he felt such eyes on him before? cloth drags over his head, tugs past his chin and slides his hair up into a cylindrical bunch for a few seconds before slipping off with a normal "bomph" springing his spikes back into usual place. more than aware amajiki is looking at him while he changes, nothing should be an issue with the actions. pulling his sweatshirt free of his head is no different here than stripping his shirt off in the locker rooms around the other guys in his class. hell, he's stood here in his room and pulled his clothes off to his boxer briefs in front of kirishima while the guy prattled on about whatever macho-brained thing he spilled over his sharp teeth.
yet he's conscious of a black pair of eyes tracing over the contours of his stomach and chest, following the flex of biceps and triceps as he pulls his new sweater over his head, tugging from his uplifted chin to rapidly vanishing hills along his torso as he scrolls material down to his hips like a falling curtain. and shuts it all off once more. no one else would've cared that much, so why the hell does the idea "enjoy the show" pop into his mind the moment he finishes putting the damn thing on?
ugh. amajiki's not the first person to admire his physique. he should, dammit! so much time, effort, pain, work went into sculpting his body to this level of intensity. heroes need to be strong enough to handle so many elements in fights. despite his senpai's lankier build, he's heard a number of times from kirishima about how he can reinforce his body with animal musculature, including a rather brow-arching description of the older student's "really impressive" leg muscles when he caught a pair of robbers in hawkish talons.
amajiki's kind of like midoriya in that sense. looking at his slumped posture and averted head, hairstyle cruising between "cool" and "messy", quiet expression, and trembling attitude, you'd never expect what toned physicality he has beneath his clothes. a nerd with muscles = midoriya. a wallflower with definitions = amajiki. (then again, he felt his solid lanky build between his legs during training, when he was perched over his chest and preparing to blast the ever-living fuck out of his senpai's face.)
turning his attention back to him, he purses his lips in mild annoyance at his distracted response.] You're looking at me, dammit! Pay attention! [staring all this time and suddenly growing flustered and confused the moment he asks for his honest review?! what's he been doing, looking without seeing as he spaces out?! how the hell's he supposed to give an honest review with his head stuck in the damn clouds like that?! AND WHY IS HE FOLDING UP HIS ORIGINAL SWEATER?! STOP GETTING DISTRACTED!! EYES ON HIM!!
... "you look really good" ...]
YOU'RE NOT EVEN LOOKING AT ME!! [ignoring reality amajiki's been looking at him the entire time he put it on. that doesn't count! you're supposed to look at rate once he has the clothing on and can stand there going "now" at him! WHAT THE HELL?! NOW HE'S GOING FOR HIS FUCKING CHOCOLATE?! what kind of clothes reviewer is he?! ugh, this bastard. lame bastard. footsteps cross the floor until he's standing in front of the other hero, one hand on his hip, the other swiftly snatching amajiki by the chin and yoink! pulls his head, and thus face, towards him so he can get a proper evaluation.]
( maybe another swallow. maybe another two swallows, if he wants to make it less obvious--he's staring down into the dark, chocolatey pit of his mug, like he can size up precisely how much more time he has to spend here, melting into his own embarrassment; the sound of bakugou moving towards him is immediately picked up on by ears and vibrations alone. oh god. he's going to get angry, isn't he? it's not like he hasn't already taken explosions to the face, but this is different, and this is in the dorm, and if someone else comes in, are they going to save him or laugh at him? nevermind that he should be able to free himself: he's a hero. well, a hero in training. soon to be a hero, maybe, if he doesn't mess anything up.
his shoulders jerk up in preparation, but he's not at all expecting that hand: it lances forward, taking him by the chin and lifting his head up; his hands tremble around the mug, but he can't even look down to make sure he isn't spilling anything. instead, he stares at the back of his eyelids, squeezing his eyes shut as though in direct retaliation to bakugou's demand. why does he have to look at him, anyway? he already gave him compliments. too many compliments. telling compliments.
he's going to get into more trouble if he doesn't open his eyes--so he does, slowly, one and then the other, gaze narrowed at first before he bats his lashes and forces them to focus. )
....
( his mouth trembles for a moment, a breath through his nose, and he seems to be studying bakugou's face, again, rather than looking at the sweater. hadn't that been the whole point?
or is there another, different point, now? )
........
( his mouth flattens, and then finally, despite himself, despite everything-- )
You're handsome.
( flushed, he stares with just the tiniest edge of defiance: even though his shoulders are still hunched up, like he's ready to crawl into a literal shell. should have armed himself with some crab meat for the night. )
[he's never seen someone so fucking flighty in his entire life. how the hell did he manage to become a hero?! heroes have to fight strong villains, deal with the annoying public, train to get stronger, interact with people! and amajiki's already in his third year! on the verge of graduating! what's he going to be like when he gets out into the real world, with far more than a school watching him. if it takes a damn life-threatening challenge to get his act together, he's gonna end up with a damn heart attack by the time he's thirty. or some lame ass ending to a promising career. shitty part is, amajiki has plenty of skill and strength; he's seen it in person. damn, this guy's so confusing when he thinks about him. being on the same team as fat gum and red riot is stupidest choice ever! for him. that bloated ball of blubber probably thought he could encourage amajiki out of his shell, like denim head thinking he could "fix" dynamight's attitude problem. both of them failed hard.
all that shit aside, he only wants an honest answer and opinion from the guy on his sweater. the very sweater his senpai bought him in the first place. did he think he could envision it perfectly in his head without bothering to see the real fitting?! fat luck escaping his fate by giving it to the blonde in person. now called out on ducking his duty as a reviewer, he releases amajiki's chin and steps back, jabbing his hands onto his hips. chin lifted, mouth twisted in a half-snarl, he glares down at the seated hero, daring him to try and worm from his predicament. a fate asked for! and stop closing your eyes, dammit! you have to open them to look at him! fuck, did he piss out his brain cells?!
silence... ...silence ... more silence. red eyes burn into indigo, watching their nigh-imperceptible shifts as they go from one part of his sweater to the next. at least he's making actual effort to look? ... AT HIS FACE INSTEAD!! ugh!! he had one fucking job! veins start pulsing on his forehead, eyes widening in frustration as tiny red veins crawl into his sclera. if he doesn't open his damn mouth and spit out something in the next three secon-!!]
HAA?! [his jaw goes slack, arms sloughing boneless by his side, sucker punched for a hot moment. certainly wasn't a comment on the damn sweater! but to him?!] Are you trying to piss me off?! Say that shit from the start if you're gonna try flirting!
( the look of abject horror on his face seems to only multiply, and it's not bakugou's general yelling that's gotten him worked up, but rather, the implication. has he ever flirted in his life? maybe a couple times, on accident, before he had wrapped his head around his admiration for some of the other people in his life. romance and that kind of affection have always felt like pretty ideals, things too far away for him to grasp; he'll never be able to be that kind of person, will never have the kind of charisma that people like mirio and even kirishima have in spades. at best, he might be able to stammer out some kind of compliment, but: that's about as far as it goes.
wait, is that why that had come out of his mouth to begin with? maybe it is.
his shoulders immediately lift, like he can coil his head back into his shell if they get up to his ears, but his gaze is going down to his hot chocolate, and without missing a beat, he lifts the mug up to his lips for one long swallow. almost done, and too hot, a little fierce on his tongue, but he's already mortified, so what's wrong with doing even more wrong?
at least then he can get out from under bakugou's scrutiny. not that--well it's sort of nice, in a way, to be near him like this, with no one else around but--wait, that's not the thing he wants to be thinking, either--
his tongue snakes out over his lips, holding the mug tightly between his hands as he tries to work up the nerve to drink the rest down. )
It...I'm... Ugh. ( his head hangs for a moment, as though defeated; he can't even muster up the right defense, with so many thoughts ping-ponging in his head. )
You're handsome. You know that. You know that...t-that anything you wear is g-gonna...look good on you anyway!
( there's that defiance again, just a tiny bit of it, defensive; now he's frowning, as he brings the mug up again, and swallows down the last of the liquid in it. as he holds it against his lap again, tilting it this way and that to confirm it's empty, he continues-- )
So why even ask me...What does it matter what I think, anyway...
[oh great. he broke his shy little brain. he's never been much into flirting. all the girls were scared of him during middle school, valentines was a joke, and the boys around him always fawned over his strength and skill. they didn't care utter words about his appearance in the realm of "sappy mushy crap" as he always called it. flirting was the thing he saw in romantic movies (the one or two his mom managed to drag him into) or occasionally done in action movies when the macho hero was chatting up a girl or guy he liked. pissed him off. why does he wanna see two people dance around the topic when they could've straight up said what they wanted and gotten onto the action! (not the sex action, didn't watch those kinds of things.) a bunch of words tripping from awkwardly embarrassing to annoyingly insincere. he grew up telling himself he'd never bother with something as inane as flirting, or put up with someone doing the same to him! and lucky for him, here he is in high school and has hasn't dealt with flirting once! ... until now.
his first flirt and it's from a guy who doesn't even realize it was a flirt?! of all the fucking luck.
hunched shoulders drop and his head cants to the side in a mixture of scrutiny and wary nonchalance. one word and amajiki's ducking down into his chest like a snail attempting to hide in its shell. as if he can somehow vanish into his cup of chocolate. tch, tough shit there, senpai. he'd fish him right out of his stupid drink and force him to own up to his words! if he isn't scalding his tongue with each swallow. (no way. he'd never give someone a drink too hot for them. what kind of shitty host do you think he is?)
patience and demand begin to wear and grow respectively. he asked a question and wants an answer! stumble, stutter, sputter, stammer, doesn't care how amajiki gets it out. the sweater's knitted material stretches kind of comfortably on his elbows and forearms as he swings them up into a fold over his chest, one hand tucked beneath his triceps, the other drumming expectantly on his bicep.]
I don't give a shit what I know. [he knows he looks good, even if he doesn't really bring attention to it. and most things suit him, clothing wise, even if he avoids stupid crap. if amajiki bought him this, then obviously the guy had him in mind! so now he's got his intention in front of him, wearing he gift, so put those thoughts to tongue and spit it out! tch, there goes his weak-kneed self-deference again. how the hell did this guy get to be a senior with some of the highest hero success rankings under his belt? honestly boggles the mind he makes it work.]
I asked, and it matters, cause I wanna hear what you think, dumbass. You're not shallow enough to buy something without the person you bought it for in mind.
( well, he does have him there. he's definitely not shallow enough to do something like that--and admittedly he had thought a bit hard about what to get him, at least in the realm of what had been allowed, and had been worried enough about the size that he'd gone back and forth between them a few different times. bakugou's not particularly tall, but he's got sizeable muscle, so the material definitely needed to allow for that without being too long or too tight...but does that really mean anything? being thoughtful about someone else isn't flirting.
no, even when he tries to spin it around, he knows that he's wrong. he's flirting. even if he doesn't like it, even if it's embarrassing, even if it's not going to go anywhere and really is just blowing up in his face, at this point, it's not worth it to keep trying to run away from it.
at least his mortifying moment is almost done. there's nothing left in his mug, and even when his eyes squeeze shut, for a moment, he can't seem to vaporize himself from the room, so he has to see the rest of it through. slowly, he lifts his chin, a brief glance at bakugou from under his bangs before he pushes himself up from the bed, almost abruptly, so that he can lean to set his empty mug over on the nearest flat surface.
he would have offered to wash it himself, but--no, better to not give bakugou any more reason to get annoyed with him. )
...I think you're handsome. ( with his back slightly turned, it's easier to say it, somehow: not that he hasn't already admitted it, as his eyes move up to peer at the dark corner of bakugou's ceiling. ) I think it looks good on you. I like it on you. I hope...
( a long, shaking breath, through his parted lips. ) ...you'll wear it a lot.
( his hands flex at his sides, fingers bending, forcing feeling back into them, and it's only once he's steadied his expression, and steadied his shoulders, that he turns back to face bakugou again, struggling with some kind of watery smile that doesn't seem like it wants to stay on his face. so embarrassing. maybe he can dig a hole beneath their dorm and hide. )
I'm going to take the rest of the gifts downstairs. Happy Christmas, Bakugou-kun.
[gifts should take effort, thought and time put into it. why the hell would he waste resources getting something which means nothing or took nothing? didn't matter if amajiki bought a bunch of them for the other extras in his class; he specifically handed him this one, singled out and wrapped with him in mind. of course he's gonna make him review the results! is his senpai flirting with him? who the hell knows; this guy would flee to the nearest corner at the mere mention of his own damn name. must've been hard for him to wander through the store, online or in person, and wrack his brain with ideas on what to get.
pretty damn sure amajiki didn't come in here with the intention of putting his foot in his mouth. or opening up some of the lamest chat ups. he tried. denied it, but tried. counts for something, even if it annoys him the other hero couldn't man up enough to say so to his face.
then again, if amajiki strode in through his window and announced his feelings with a straight back and clear eyes, he would've slammed an explosion into his face so hard... imposter.
an ashen brow props upward to his bangs, following the older teen's sudden rise. mug to the desk, face averted, voice clenched despite his deeper husk forcing his words out his throat. it's what he wants to hear. he reaches up and fiddles with the sweater's neck, hooks a finger under its hem before sweeping from one side to the other in a quick adjustment. sitting better around his throat. not too tight, roomy enough, warm in cooling air. it's ridiculous, but it's not bad. he'll probably end up wearing it later since everyone else is gonna harp on him like insane birds to see it.]
Hmph. Took you long enough. [sharpness dulled, aggression cooled, his voice calmed. yeah, amajiki said it before, but this time feels different. better. red eyes linger on his upperclassman's back profile, his hair jutting out behind in a semi-wild lift despite his relatively styled front. shoulders hunched, head up, wanting to leave, strong enough to stay.] Those damn extras are gonna give me a lot of reasons to.
[not like he's gonna admit to wearing it himself on a cold night. he glances at the window and snowy world under a brilliant sun. a gift's not only the item; it carries the person who gave it. remembering him within a knitted covering. like amajiki's keeping him warm. tch, sappy shit thoughts. he turns his head to meet his gaze, noting his indigo gaze quivering under his bangs above a tremoring smile. he really is putting so much effort into this.]
Thanks. [a sincere response.] For coming to see me. [might have been the simplest route to get into the dorm without going through the front door, but... he came to see him specifically. he clicks his tongue before rubbing at the side of his neck.]
( it feels like waiting for a pin to drop: like everything else in the room is suddenly so quiet, because bakugou is quiet, too, because he's not yelling at him, or demanding things of him, or speaking in that loud voice. it's softer, now, sincere, and he allows himself one small moment of weakness: his eyes squeeze shut, shoulders lifting, but a gulp of air forces them back down again; he's the older one, here, he should be more composed. it shouldn't be this hard to just admit to himself he's doing something stupid. bakugou is accepting it gracefully.
is that how it's supposed to go? if anyone's ever flirted with him, he's had no idea of it, so he equally has no idea of how he should be proceeding, here. so rather than put any undue burden on bakugou, he gives a quick dip of his head in gratitude, acknowledgement, before turning away again; of course, it's as he's gathering up the other gifts to take them out of the room that he hears the rest.
immediately, the bag slumps onto the floor again, because his hands forget how to close. )
Wh-wha.... ( he starts, stops, tries to force his arms down again and finally succeeds in gathering the bags back up again--but it feels a little like a strong breeze might knock him over.
right. that's normal too though, isn't it? having lunch with one of the other students. bakugou probably wants to ask him about being an upperclassman, or about work studies, or any number of other things. at least, putting it that way in his head makes sense: he glances at him, slightly, before looking to the door. )
I'll c-come by tomorrow, around n-noon. We can go wherever y-you want. I'll see...see you then.
( with a soft swallow: and then, faintly, a pale-looking smile, a little nervous, before he gathers himself up enough so that he can reach for bakugou's door; if he stays any longer, he might just start rambling or worse, fall into despair in the corner, so he's quiet and succinct about seeing himself out. )
[his upperclassman's older than him, more advanced in schooling, closer to graduating and adulthood. yet he's the one who feels like he's dealing with a middle school brat trying to weather a crush. shoulders all bunched up towards his pointed ears as if to shut out noise and stave off the executioner's verdict a few more seconds. throat tightening in a swallow he hears, probably to amajiki's utter mortification. won't even look at him through his eyes slammed tight shut. for someone making a confession, he's sure doing a shit job of it! ... then again, if he wasn't, he'd think the ramrod hero in front of him was a fake.
a year ago, he wouldn't spare the time of day to someone so self eroding. hmph, a year can do a lot. whether this is an actual confession instead of a blurted grab at whatever came to mind, or nothing more than a stumbling attempt at flirting with him, it doesn't really matter now, does it. he made his decision and gave amajiki an answer. doesn't want him exploding in a shower of nerves and fretting grey matter. and maybe he kind of might be interested in more too.
ugh, there goes the fucking bag again.] What'd those sharp ears of your forget how to hear?
[mattaku, this guy... luckily amajiki manages to pick up the bag. he was two seconds away from stomping over there himself and double knotting it around his stupid chicken neck.
one hand drops into his pants pocket, the other tugging at his new sweater's hem to make it sit better around his waist. really is a garish thing he wouldn't be caught dead in. meaning he's probably gonna wear it the next time amajiki comes to his room. good thing he can't read his upperclassman's mind right now. he'd have nuked his flighty head for daring to make assumptions about him!]
Uh-huh. I'll take you someplace you'll like. [where the fuck would such a place be?! blindfolded anonymous lunches for two in separate rooms as you talk through the table-to-table intercom?! shit, he's gonna have to research restaurants and find something amajiki can go to without passing out in an anxiety stupor at the table.
... maybe he should cook in his room instead. no crowds, no menus, nothing demanding. amajiki's already been in his room, thought he'll at least keep his shirt on this time.] Scram.
[no effort made to see him out, approaching right now would only make the guy flustered and think he was coming in for an attack. as the door shuts, he's left with his thoughts, frowning softly at the window. huh... so his upperclassman likes him.
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no subject
Date: 4/20/25 22:43 (UTC)and sure, bakugou's body is like that, too. he has to have a lot of muscle from the way that he flings himself through the air, tensing, posing, holding himself into position for various explosions; but he's not staring at him because he's jealous, or because he wishes that he could look down on himself and see muscles just the same.
that kind of admission is what he's struggling with. it's not abnormal, in his eyes, to feel feelings for what they are: both nejire and mirio have taught him that, and he's never thought of putting feelings into boxes of 'right' or 'wrong' when it comes to attraction. the difference is that this is his kouhai; the difference is that he should not be thinking these kinds of things when he just came to drop off christmas gifts. )
--Wh-- ( he starts, stops, and realizes that he's just been staring there for a moment too long, now that bakugou's easily pulled the sweater on; he desperately seeks for something else to take his attention, and mindlessly, he tucks his mug in between his thighs, reaching feebly for bakugou's discarded sweatshirt so that he can start to lightly fold it up.
pointedly, he isn't looking up at bakugou, but his ears are pink. )
You look really good. Great. I mean, it looks good on you. It suits you. Um.
( damn it, the sweater is too easily folded, and now he has to retreat back to his hot chocolate: of which he takes a long, hot swallow, like the sooner he drains it, the sooner he can leave with his shame. )
Yes. Great. ( --is the lame finale to his lame compliments, as he licks his lips free of chocolate. )
no subject
Date: 5/6/25 19:40 (UTC)yet he's conscious of a black pair of eyes tracing over the contours of his stomach and chest, following the flex of biceps and triceps as he pulls his new sweater over his head, tugging from his uplifted chin to rapidly vanishing hills along his torso as he scrolls material down to his hips like a falling curtain. and shuts it all off once more. no one else would've cared that much, so why the hell does the idea "enjoy the show" pop into his mind the moment he finishes putting the damn thing on?
ugh. amajiki's not the first person to admire his physique. he should, dammit! so much time, effort, pain, work went into sculpting his body to this level of intensity. heroes need to be strong enough to handle so many elements in fights. despite his senpai's lankier build, he's heard a number of times from kirishima about how he can reinforce his body with animal musculature, including a rather brow-arching description of the older student's "really impressive" leg muscles when he caught a pair of robbers in hawkish talons.
amajiki's kind of like midoriya in that sense. looking at his slumped posture and averted head, hairstyle cruising between "cool" and "messy", quiet expression, and trembling attitude, you'd never expect what toned physicality he has beneath his clothes. a nerd with muscles = midoriya. a wallflower with definitions = amajiki. (then again, he felt his solid lanky build between his legs during training, when he was perched over his chest and preparing to blast the ever-living fuck out of his senpai's face.)
turning his attention back to him, he purses his lips in mild annoyance at his distracted response.] You're looking at me, dammit! Pay attention! [staring all this time and suddenly growing flustered and confused the moment he asks for his honest review?! what's he been doing, looking without seeing as he spaces out?! how the hell's he supposed to give an honest review with his head stuck in the damn clouds like that?! AND WHY IS HE FOLDING UP HIS ORIGINAL SWEATER?! STOP GETTING DISTRACTED!! EYES ON HIM!!
... "you look really good" ...]
YOU'RE NOT EVEN LOOKING AT ME!! [ignoring reality amajiki's been looking at him the entire time he put it on. that doesn't count! you're supposed to look at rate once he has the clothing on and can stand there going "now" at him! WHAT THE HELL?! NOW HE'S GOING FOR HIS FUCKING CHOCOLATE?! what kind of clothes reviewer is he?! ugh, this bastard. lame bastard. footsteps cross the floor until he's standing in front of the other hero, one hand on his hip, the other swiftly snatching amajiki by the chin and yoink! pulls his head, and thus face, towards him so he can get a proper evaluation.]
Try again, Elf Ears.
no subject
Date: 5/12/25 20:15 (UTC)his shoulders jerk up in preparation, but he's not at all expecting that hand: it lances forward, taking him by the chin and lifting his head up; his hands tremble around the mug, but he can't even look down to make sure he isn't spilling anything. instead, he stares at the back of his eyelids, squeezing his eyes shut as though in direct retaliation to bakugou's demand. why does he have to look at him, anyway? he already gave him compliments. too many compliments. telling compliments.
he's going to get into more trouble if he doesn't open his eyes--so he does, slowly, one and then the other, gaze narrowed at first before he bats his lashes and forces them to focus. )
....
( his mouth trembles for a moment, a breath through his nose, and he seems to be studying bakugou's face, again, rather than looking at the sweater. hadn't that been the whole point?
or is there another, different point, now? )
........
( his mouth flattens, and then finally, despite himself, despite everything-- )
You're handsome.
( flushed, he stares with just the tiniest edge of defiance: even though his shoulders are still hunched up, like he's ready to crawl into a literal shell. should have armed himself with some crab meat for the night. )
no subject
Date: 5/25/25 20:36 (UTC)all that shit aside, he only wants an honest answer and opinion from the guy on his sweater. the very sweater his senpai bought him in the first place. did he think he could envision it perfectly in his head without bothering to see the real fitting?! fat luck escaping his fate by giving it to the blonde in person. now called out on ducking his duty as a reviewer, he releases amajiki's chin and steps back, jabbing his hands onto his hips. chin lifted, mouth twisted in a half-snarl, he glares down at the seated hero, daring him to try and worm from his predicament. a fate asked for! and stop closing your eyes, dammit! you have to open them to look at him! fuck, did he piss out his brain cells?!
silence... ...silence ... more silence. red eyes burn into indigo, watching their nigh-imperceptible shifts as they go from one part of his sweater to the next. at least he's making actual effort to look? ... AT HIS FACE INSTEAD!! ugh!! he had one fucking job! veins start pulsing on his forehead, eyes widening in frustration as tiny red veins crawl into his sclera. if he doesn't open his damn mouth and spit out something in the next three secon-!!]
HAA?! [his jaw goes slack, arms sloughing boneless by his side, sucker punched for a hot moment. certainly wasn't a comment on the damn sweater! but to him?!] Are you trying to piss me off?! Say that shit from the start if you're gonna try flirting!
no subject
Date: 6/8/25 20:11 (UTC)( the look of abject horror on his face seems to only multiply, and it's not bakugou's general yelling that's gotten him worked up, but rather, the implication. has he ever flirted in his life? maybe a couple times, on accident, before he had wrapped his head around his admiration for some of the other people in his life. romance and that kind of affection have always felt like pretty ideals, things too far away for him to grasp; he'll never be able to be that kind of person, will never have the kind of charisma that people like mirio and even kirishima have in spades. at best, he might be able to stammer out some kind of compliment, but: that's about as far as it goes.
wait, is that why that had come out of his mouth to begin with? maybe it is.
his shoulders immediately lift, like he can coil his head back into his shell if they get up to his ears, but his gaze is going down to his hot chocolate, and without missing a beat, he lifts the mug up to his lips for one long swallow. almost done, and too hot, a little fierce on his tongue, but he's already mortified, so what's wrong with doing even more wrong?
at least then he can get out from under bakugou's scrutiny. not that--well it's sort of nice, in a way, to be near him like this, with no one else around but--wait, that's not the thing he wants to be thinking, either--
his tongue snakes out over his lips, holding the mug tightly between his hands as he tries to work up the nerve to drink the rest down. )
It...I'm... Ugh. ( his head hangs for a moment, as though defeated; he can't even muster up the right defense, with so many thoughts ping-ponging in his head. )
You're handsome. You know that. You know that...t-that anything you wear is g-gonna...look good on you anyway!
( there's that defiance again, just a tiny bit of it, defensive; now he's frowning, as he brings the mug up again, and swallows down the last of the liquid in it. as he holds it against his lap again, tilting it this way and that to confirm it's empty, he continues-- )
So why even ask me...What does it matter what I think, anyway...
no subject
Date: 6/24/25 16:45 (UTC)his first flirt and it's from a guy who doesn't even realize it was a flirt?! of all the fucking luck.
hunched shoulders drop and his head cants to the side in a mixture of scrutiny and wary nonchalance. one word and amajiki's ducking down into his chest like a snail attempting to hide in its shell. as if he can somehow vanish into his cup of chocolate. tch, tough shit there, senpai. he'd fish him right out of his stupid drink and force him to own up to his words! if he isn't scalding his tongue with each swallow. (no way. he'd never give someone a drink too hot for them. what kind of shitty host do you think he is?)
patience and demand begin to wear and grow respectively. he asked a question and wants an answer! stumble, stutter, sputter, stammer, doesn't care how amajiki gets it out. the sweater's knitted material stretches kind of comfortably on his elbows and forearms as he swings them up into a fold over his chest, one hand tucked beneath his triceps, the other drumming expectantly on his bicep.]
I don't give a shit what I know. [he knows he looks good, even if he doesn't really bring attention to it. and most things suit him, clothing wise, even if he avoids stupid crap. if amajiki bought him this, then obviously the guy had him in mind! so now he's got his intention in front of him, wearing he gift, so put those thoughts to tongue and spit it out! tch, there goes his weak-kneed self-deference again. how the hell did this guy get to be a senior with some of the highest hero success rankings under his belt? honestly boggles the mind he makes it work.]
I asked, and it matters, cause I wanna hear what you think, dumbass. You're not shallow enough to buy something without the person you bought it for in mind.
no subject
Date: 7/3/25 19:48 (UTC)no, even when he tries to spin it around, he knows that he's wrong. he's flirting. even if he doesn't like it, even if it's embarrassing, even if it's not going to go anywhere and really is just blowing up in his face, at this point, it's not worth it to keep trying to run away from it.
at least his mortifying moment is almost done. there's nothing left in his mug, and even when his eyes squeeze shut, for a moment, he can't seem to vaporize himself from the room, so he has to see the rest of it through. slowly, he lifts his chin, a brief glance at bakugou from under his bangs before he pushes himself up from the bed, almost abruptly, so that he can lean to set his empty mug over on the nearest flat surface.
he would have offered to wash it himself, but--no, better to not give bakugou any more reason to get annoyed with him. )
...I think you're handsome. ( with his back slightly turned, it's easier to say it, somehow: not that he hasn't already admitted it, as his eyes move up to peer at the dark corner of bakugou's ceiling. ) I think it looks good on you. I like it on you. I hope...
( a long, shaking breath, through his parted lips. ) ...you'll wear it a lot.
( his hands flex at his sides, fingers bending, forcing feeling back into them, and it's only once he's steadied his expression, and steadied his shoulders, that he turns back to face bakugou again, struggling with some kind of watery smile that doesn't seem like it wants to stay on his face. so embarrassing. maybe he can dig a hole beneath their dorm and hide. )
I'm going to take the rest of the gifts downstairs. Happy Christmas, Bakugou-kun.
no subject
Date: 7/13/25 02:33 (UTC)pretty damn sure amajiki didn't come in here with the intention of putting his foot in his mouth. or opening up some of the lamest chat ups. he tried. denied it, but tried. counts for something, even if it annoys him the other hero couldn't man up enough to say so to his face.
then again, if amajiki strode in through his window and announced his feelings with a straight back and clear eyes, he would've slammed an explosion into his face so hard... imposter.
an ashen brow props upward to his bangs, following the older teen's sudden rise. mug to the desk, face averted, voice clenched despite his deeper husk forcing his words out his throat. it's what he wants to hear. he reaches up and fiddles with the sweater's neck, hooks a finger under its hem before sweeping from one side to the other in a quick adjustment. sitting better around his throat. not too tight, roomy enough, warm in cooling air. it's ridiculous, but it's not bad. he'll probably end up wearing it later since everyone else is gonna harp on him like insane birds to see it.]
Hmph. Took you long enough. [sharpness dulled, aggression cooled, his voice calmed. yeah, amajiki said it before, but this time feels different. better. red eyes linger on his upperclassman's back profile, his hair jutting out behind in a semi-wild lift despite his relatively styled front. shoulders hunched, head up, wanting to leave, strong enough to stay.] Those damn extras are gonna give me a lot of reasons to.
[not like he's gonna admit to wearing it himself on a cold night. he glances at the window and snowy world under a brilliant sun. a gift's not only the item; it carries the person who gave it. remembering him within a knitted covering. like amajiki's keeping him warm. tch, sappy shit thoughts. he turns his head to meet his gaze, noting his indigo gaze quivering under his bangs above a tremoring smile. he really is putting so much effort into this.]
Thanks. [a sincere response.] For coming to see me. [might have been the simplest route to get into the dorm without going through the front door, but... he came to see him specifically. he clicks his tongue before rubbing at the side of his neck.]
Tomorrow. If you've not busy, meet me for lunch.
no subject
Date: 7/29/25 19:48 (UTC)is that how it's supposed to go? if anyone's ever flirted with him, he's had no idea of it, so he equally has no idea of how he should be proceeding, here. so rather than put any undue burden on bakugou, he gives a quick dip of his head in gratitude, acknowledgement, before turning away again; of course, it's as he's gathering up the other gifts to take them out of the room that he hears the rest.
immediately, the bag slumps onto the floor again, because his hands forget how to close. )
Wh-wha.... ( he starts, stops, tries to force his arms down again and finally succeeds in gathering the bags back up again--but it feels a little like a strong breeze might knock him over.
right. that's normal too though, isn't it? having lunch with one of the other students. bakugou probably wants to ask him about being an upperclassman, or about work studies, or any number of other things. at least, putting it that way in his head makes sense: he glances at him, slightly, before looking to the door. )
I'll c-come by tomorrow, around n-noon. We can go wherever y-you want. I'll see...see you then.
( with a soft swallow: and then, faintly, a pale-looking smile, a little nervous, before he gathers himself up enough so that he can reach for bakugou's door; if he stays any longer, he might just start rambling or worse, fall into despair in the corner, so he's quiet and succinct about seeing himself out. )
no subject
Date: 8/14/25 15:20 (UTC)a year ago, he wouldn't spare the time of day to someone so self eroding. hmph, a year can do a lot. whether this is an actual confession instead of a blurted grab at whatever came to mind, or nothing more than a stumbling attempt at flirting with him, it doesn't really matter now, does it. he made his decision and gave amajiki an answer. doesn't want him exploding in a shower of nerves and fretting grey matter. and maybe he kind of might be interested in more too.
ugh, there goes the fucking bag again.] What'd those sharp ears of your forget how to hear?
[mattaku, this guy... luckily amajiki manages to pick up the bag. he was two seconds away from stomping over there himself and double knotting it around his stupid chicken neck.
one hand drops into his pants pocket, the other tugging at his new sweater's hem to make it sit better around his waist. really is a garish thing he wouldn't be caught dead in. meaning he's probably gonna wear it the next time amajiki comes to his room. good thing he can't read his upperclassman's mind right now. he'd have nuked his flighty head for daring to make assumptions about him!]
Uh-huh. I'll take you someplace you'll like. [where the fuck would such a place be?! blindfolded anonymous lunches for two in separate rooms as you talk through the table-to-table intercom?! shit, he's gonna have to research restaurants and find something amajiki can go to without passing out in an anxiety stupor at the table.
... maybe he should cook in his room instead. no crowds, no menus, nothing demanding. amajiki's already been in his room, thought he'll at least keep his shirt on this time.] Scram.
[no effort made to see him out, approaching right now would only make the guy flustered and think he was coming in for an attack. as the door shuts, he's left with his thoughts, frowning softly at the window. huh... so his upperclassman likes him.
well damn.]