( as petty as his actions are, bakugou's reactions are even more petty: and he loves it, grinning to himself in the sort of self-satisfied, smug little thing that fits on his lips best. could he have done with some first aid? yeah, probably. it hasn't been an easy couple of days, and he hasn't had a chance to get in front of a mirror and check himself over--there's probably a few staples missing, some skin sagging where it shouldn't, but those are minor discomforts in a body that can't even feel them to begin with. the closer that he gets to what he wants to do, the more that he feels his grip on his self control dwindling: it doesn't matter how long he lasts, just as long as he lasts long enough to do what he needs to do.
but now, as bakugou says, he's blown his fucking options out of the air--and that's fine. the idea of having to sit still and be sewn up by the brat that gave them all a fucking headache back then isn't exactly high on his list of things he wants to experience. besides, why would bakugou even care enough to try to look after him? it just doesn't make sense, and he doesn't like that it doesn't make sense.
both of his hands jerk up, palms held out as though in mock apology as the swathe of denim gets chucked at him; the bundle of it hits his stomach and then drops at his feet, not quite making it to his face, but still close enough that now he has to step over it all. with a grating sigh, like it's the most annoying thing in his life, he takes an overly large step past bakugou's pants and leans a hip towards the bathroom counter. )
Touchy, touchy. ( a leg lefts, both hands shucking off one boot--and then his weight shifts, using the counter as a balance, to shuck off the other one. they're tossed somewhere onto the floor. ) If you don't help me, I'll just have to go in like this, and stay here 'til my clothes dry. Wouldn't that be a shame?
( just annoying for the sake of being annoying--and hey, now that there's room on the counter, he hops up onto it, a few bottles scattered with the shift of his weight there. naked arms stretch back behind him, palms planted to tilt his weight: and he watches bakugou's back keenly, lips pressed together, waiting. )
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Date: 8/18/23 02:34 (UTC)but now, as bakugou says, he's blown his fucking options out of the air--and that's fine. the idea of having to sit still and be sewn up by the brat that gave them all a fucking headache back then isn't exactly high on his list of things he wants to experience. besides, why would bakugou even care enough to try to look after him? it just doesn't make sense, and he doesn't like that it doesn't make sense.
both of his hands jerk up, palms held out as though in mock apology as the swathe of denim gets chucked at him; the bundle of it hits his stomach and then drops at his feet, not quite making it to his face, but still close enough that now he has to step over it all. with a grating sigh, like it's the most annoying thing in his life, he takes an overly large step past bakugou's pants and leans a hip towards the bathroom counter. )
Touchy, touchy. ( a leg lefts, both hands shucking off one boot--and then his weight shifts, using the counter as a balance, to shuck off the other one. they're tossed somewhere onto the floor. ) If you don't help me, I'll just have to go in like this, and stay here 'til my clothes dry. Wouldn't that be a shame?
( just annoying for the sake of being annoying--and hey, now that there's room on the counter, he hops up onto it, a few bottles scattered with the shift of his weight there. naked arms stretch back behind him, palms planted to tilt his weight: and he watches bakugou's back keenly, lips pressed together, waiting. )
Cmere.