Familiarity

Chapter Nine

Sitting at the kitchen table, your eyes unfocused and your hands cupping a warm mug that was filled with black coffee. You had yet to sip it. It was steaming so much you were afraid that even moving it would burn your palms.

After you took a sip, your mind only partially awake, you sniffled. The drink was bitter, lacking the sweetness you hoped it would hold, though you didn't mind. You wouldn't bother with asking for anything besides what you held. It felt greedy.

After all, you were allowed to stay in this family's home a few days after Bakugou woke up, and unless he didn't like the old woman, Graclyn, had stated, then you would leave as soon as you could. That was the agreement you had made between the family. You shouldn't have been allowed to even sit in that kitchen with that mug in your hand. You weren't sure you deserved that kind of treatment.

The young woman with the curls, Ximena, circled around the counters and sat at the table across from you.

"How do your bandages feel?" she asked, leaning into the conversation. She looked tired, but her taupe eyes were bright. "Any problems with them?"

You still weren't used to listening so intently on what people were saying, nor did you enjoy paying attention to every word you spoke. It felt weird speaking English all the time. And it was selfish, but a part of you began to wish Bakugou would wake up so you could speak to him the way you were used to. So you could have a conversation with him. Though you also wished he would because you didn't want him to be lost in whatever coma-like state the villains put him in.

"They're fine. I'm fine. Thank you for worrying," you said, trying to dismiss the conversation altogether. It's not that you were trying to avoid talking to her all together. You simply didn't want to talk about yourself. You didn't deserve any of what they gave you.

"It's nothing," Ximena smiled, dimples pressing into her cheeks.

"It means a lot to me," you said truthfully, taking another sip of the bitter liquid. You didn't make a face this time. You only enjoyed the temporary warmth that melted within you.

Ximena watched you for a long moment, her eyes full of palpable exhaustion. Although, they felt so sharp on you. She rested her head on the heel of her hand, "You're worried about that boy."

"Would you not be in my situation?" you asked, watching her from the rim of the mug. You drank more when she didn't answer. "If you were alone in a place you didn't know, weren't sure when you'd be helped or saved, and only had one person you knew, wouldn't you want to latch onto them?"

"But it's more than that, isn't it?"

The question threw you off guard. If she was suggesting what you could've guessed she was hinting at, you could easily deny the allegations without lying in any manner. You didn't like Bakugou romantically. He wasn't even your friend. Or perhaps he was?

And though you did begin to yearn for him, it was in a way that excluded romantic feelings. You longed for the way he was blunt and didn't sugar coat his words as if everyone around him—you, especially—was fragile. You longed for his obnoxious volume; you felt that you would've done anything to hear him yell at you if not for one more time.

You longed for his familiarity.

You wanted it desperately. And even then, it wasn't because it was his. You wanted it because you knew it. Because it was safe. You've always been that way. Afraid to do things that were foreign and terrified of the things that were unknown. You hated the unpredictable.

You had always been drawn to the gentle touch of safety, of familiarity. And in that way, you had been, and would forever be drawn to Bakugou.

Ximena listened to your silence. She looked to silently believe that was her own confirmation, but you took another sip of the coffee and shook your head, "What do you mean? More to it?"