"Love was so fucking cringey until I met you."
You and your delinquent brother had been "troubled" kids, since the very beginning of it all.
Before things got bad; and, before things got good.
Constantly wreaking havoc just for the fun of it, lea...
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You woke up in Bakugou's bed.
FLASHBACK | 2:12am |
You never understood why your brain always woke you up in the middle of the night for virtually no reason at all.
You tossed and turned for hours, but you knew that you wouldn't be able to get to sleep without one of two things.
A back scratch, something that's always guaranteed to send you into slumber in no time.
Or a glass of water, and a mandarin.
Your body had weird requirements, it always baffled you.
Sighing and sitting up, you came to the conclusion that getting Bakugou to scratch your back to help you sleep was probably only going to get you slaughtered.
So you stand up, stretching your back in satisfaction and popping your knees with your ankles, you walk out of his room.
You peek back quickly, and see him sound asleep in his bed.
Smiling contently, you silently pad down the hallway, remaining deathly diligent. You follow your senses, until you find the staircase, and glide in the direction of the kitchen.
Firstly, you find the cup drawer which was appallingly facile.
Finding the fruit bowl was also a manageable task.
You peel a small mandarin, and chug your glass of water quickly. It doesn't take long for you to finish the small piece of fruit, and you put the scraps in the compost bin, and wash your hands, ridding of the sticky bullshit that's always left behind after you eat citrus fruit.
You briskly go on your way back to Bakugou's bedroom, still, ignoring the Pomeranian puppy that slept peacefully on the couch. Maybe you didn't notice it because you had been struck with a wave of exhaustion, and needed rest.
Yawning, you close Bakugou's door, and creep back over to your flat bed on the floor.
You trip over something steady, and go tumbling into a hard thud on the floor, face down.
When you turn around, momentarily disorientated, you notice that Bakugou was in your bed, sleeping.
Why is that fucker suddenly on the floor?
You stand up, slightly kicking him in the ribs, and scrunch up your face in concern.
And how the fuck did he not wake up!?
You shrug, "Works for me," then you skip into Bakugou's preheated bed, consumed by the warmth, comfort and revivifying aromas that had come naturally, after him sleeping in there so many times.
