Stay With Me || Kacchako

1: Mistakes

Bakugou's eyebrows shot up when he saw her walking out of the dorms.

To say he was a bit taken aback was an understatement. Why? Well, for starters, the girl marching towards him wasn't Uraraka. Instead, someone had taken the bubbly girl who'd consistently pissed him off for the last two years and had cut off a decent amount of her hair. They'd then proceeded to dye it a much darker brown than what suited her pale skin, and put her in some uncharacteristically dark clothing - much more punk rock than her usual pink jerseys and baggy jeans. She had a thick layer of eyeliner smudged over her eyelids to add to the weird grunge look, and, of course, the finishing touch of an ugly scowl. What would emos do without the scowl?

"Mr Manson, I didn't think I'd have the honour of seeing you today," He remarked as she approached, but the smirk quickly died on his lips when she gave him a toxic look. It looked wrong on her usually bright features, enough to subdue him into silence.
"Don't test me today, Bakugou," she muttered, upping her speed so that she almost jogged past him. "I'm not in the mood."

She set off down the sidewalk next to the UA building, clearly hoping that Bakugou would take the hint via her stiff, hurried movements. As it was, his long legs easily carried him the distance she'd built up, and he matched her pace with minimal effort. For a while they walked in silence - he got the impression she was waiting for an apology, but she sure as hell wasn't gonna get one. Not with that fucking attitude.

"So who shat on your porridge this morning, Round Face?" He asked, allowing himself to pull a little enjoyment out of the way he so easily managed to rile her up. They stopped at a traffic light to let the cars pass. The sun was already disappearing below the horizon, nothing more than an afterthought in the pale purple sky. He glanced at his watch.
Hmmm. Uraraka had been unusually late.

Next to him, she clenched and unclenched her fists, trying to calm herself down before she did something she regretted. But she wasn't calming down - he could tell by the barely concealed rage burning in her eyes. Finally, after a moment, she rushed in her pocket and threw something at him - not hard enough to hurt, but enough that he took a step back to absorb the force behind it. That was enough of an opportunity for her - the light had just gone green, and she hurried across the street. Bakugou glanced at the thing in his hands - her shitty, old-as-fuck pink flip phone - and upped his speed to keep up with her.

"Why this?" He asked, wagging the phone in front of her face. "You want me to answer your messages or something?"
"No," she said through clenched teeth. "I want you to keep that thing as far away from me as humanely possible - especially if I get any messages. Understood?"
"I don't take orders from you, Round Face," he snapped, but put the phone in his pocket anyway.

Did this have something to do with the weird looks everyone was throwing Uraraka in class today? Whenever Bakugou glanced away from the board his eyes were immediately directed to the back of the classroom by the sheer force of everyone's stare. Some were worried, others frustrated...but not at Uraraka, it seemed, who'd kept her head down the whole day and refused to meet anyone's eyes. Bakugou hadn't been too worried - she normally fell asleep during Mic's lessons anyway, her head lolling gently on her arm with the book open beneath her. She'd still had light brown hair then, so clearly this was a new development that Bakugou was the first to bear witness to.

Bakugou could see the turnoff for the beach ahead, and strained his neck in an attempt to make out the dunes of sand just peaking over a nearby building. Fridays were always his favourite shifts - the buses that usually ran to the stop nearest to the club changed routes at 5, meaning that the easiest way to reach it was directly across the beach. Bakugou knew that it would probably be quicker to take his bike - more efficient too - but he couldn't help himself. He enjoyed the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks, and the sting of salt against his calves.