Stuck (Kacchako)

Chapter Three

"With peels this thick we won't have any shit left for the actual salad!"

"You have to slice the damn things thinner! THIN-NER! It's called a julienne cut for a reason!"

"Blanched. You're just supposed to blanch it! Fuck now it's gone all mushy!"

"What the– Why are you boiling the meat?! How do you expect any of the damn flavors to seep in if it's turned into a wrinkly ass piece of crap?!"

"For the love of– it's a glaze! You just drip it lightly, not drown the entire shit in it!"

Uraraka took pride over the fact that she was a generally patient person. But one cooking duty with Bakugo has successfully reduced her into a ticking time bomb ready to explode. He wouldn't stop hovering, commenting on every little thing, and was in her space every second. She was so close to stabbing him with a knife so she could use his fingers to demonstrate that snooty ass julienne cut!

"Fine! You do it then!" Uraraka huffed, dropping everything she held back onto the chopping board, letting him do all the work.

"And you're just gonna slack off and do nothing? No way, round face! I thought you said you know how to cook?!"

"I do! It's just that your refined tastes just can't appreciate a simple home cooked meal!" Came her patronizing tone. Why the hell were they even trying to attempt cooking a damn French dish she couldn't even pronounce?

"This shit ain't that hard! You just have zero skills!"

"That's because I've never done this type of fancy cuisine!"

"If you just listen to the damn instructions, you'd understand!"

"And if you just listened to the fact that it would have been better to cook a simple Japanese meal, we wouldn't be having this argument!"

Bakugo was so close to pulling on his hair. "We've been having the same damn half-assed meals forever!" All he's had to eat for the past couple of days were either curry, ramen, or some random stuffed onigiri. So in no way would he cook any of those when it was his turn in the kitchen. "People here can't cook for shit, and neither can you, round face!"

"I have a name!" Uraraka countered back. She couldn't, for the life of her, understand why he kept insisting on calling people weird nicknames when she knew for a fact that he could remember their names just fine.

"No shit, round face." Bakugo rolled his eyes, heading back to the stove to check on his soup.

"Eat shit, dumbass!" Uraraka was done playing nice. It's just been a week since they've been partnered to handle chores together, but it felt like it's been a year. Or longer. If he wasn't going to talk to her like a human being, then she sure as hell wouldn't talk to him like one either.

Bakugo paused on the way to the pot, snapping his head to eye the incensed woman glaring daggers at him. He blinked once. Twice. His brain taking its sweet time trying to decipher what just happened exactly.

"The hell did you say to me?!"

"You heard me, dumbass!" She whirled around to grab the plates of salad, stomping her way out of the kitchen to place them by the dinner table.

"You get your ass back here, round face!" Bakugo yelled after her as he watched her back disappear from the door. He stopped himself from running after her when the faint sounds of boiling soup reached his ears. He clicked his tongue.

Uraraka glanced down at the sophisticatedly plated salad, snorting at how pretentious everything was. Who the hell plans a damn three course meal for a bunch of teenagers in a dormitory? Bakugo seriously needed to chill the fuck down before he dies of a heart attack at thirty years old. The little shit was so high strung she wouldn't be surprised if one day he just doubled over and died from an aneurysm! She was willing to bet he'd probably need high blood pressure medications by the time they graduate UA.