The first part of a Valentine special for my wonderful readers. 

15 

Toru discovered, to her delight, that although Bakugou had denied having any warm feelings towards her whatsoever, he took his role as boyfriend, and the man in the relationship, very seriously. Which meant being on top of organizing dates and keeping up on his word.

"Hey, Titties. You, me, freaking perfect pen, Sunday. Speak now if you can't or forever hold your peace."

She eyed him up and down (because she could), using her built up knowledge of people watching to find the stiffness in the cocky tilt of his head and the fists stuffed in his pockets, bunched up tight. She even caught the way his shoulders rose, despite his relaxed swagger towards her.

She didn't respond until he came to a stop in front of her, where she stood in the dorm kitchen, drinking a glass of milk. She had a particular fondness for milk, as the milkstaches it left her with weren't affected by her quirk.

"You're cute," she said.

His face twitched. "Oy, yes or no?"

"Were you actually afraid I'd say no?" and because she couldn't resist when it came to him anymore, she reached out to his shoulders and pushed them down.

He flinched. "Like hell!"

"Cute."

"You actually find that cute?" said Momo as she dropped onto a stool across the counter.

"This doesn't include you," said Bakugou, rather civilly, actually.

"Then don't have private conversations in public places," said Momo. She leaned on one hand. "Hey, Toru, before you go, mind getting me a glass of water?"

"On the rocks?" said Toru, spinning round to the cupboard like a ballerina. "Shaken, not stirred? Lemon?"

Momo smiled. "Lemon, and a paper umbrella if you find one in there."

"Nah, you know me. I'm more of a little plastic mermaid toothpick type of gal."

"What bar did you go to growing up?"

"Only the best, sugar plum!"

Bakugou shifted in place awkwardly as he watched her, deciding to lean against the fridge and cross his arms to hide his fidgeting hands.

"What time?" he asked.

Toru made sure to wait until Momo had the glass to her lips before saying, "Depends on how dressed you want me."

Momo choked, spraying water down her front.

Bakugou, to his credit, didn't blush. He actually managed to keep a straight face as he glared at her.

Toru giggled. "Oh, excuse me, I forgot a word. Up. How dressed up?"

He sighed, glanced at the still choking Momo, then leveled his gaze on her.

"Ten. I'll pick you up."

"Oo, all the way from my place? An entire floor up? How big of you."

"Stop it. You're going to kill the Ponytail Factory."

"Sorry, this is what I do when I'm nervous. Because you're around. 'Cause you're cute. You know?"

Finally, the right part of his face twitched--the part around his mouth.

"Bye." He pushed off the fridge.

"What, no good-night kiss?"

He didn't answer as he walked off. But she thought she could see his shoulders hunch up a bit, ever so slightly.

When Toru finally looked away, Momo was staring at her. She looked at her ponytail and inwardly chuckled. Ponytail Factory.

"What?"

"You're a wacko." Momo brought her glass up.

"Yeah. Probably a sweaty masochist too."

Water once more sprayed across the counter.

-------------

Katsuki Bakugou pressed down on his hair with soaking hands for the fifth time.

The ash blond spikes sprung up anyways.

The soggy boy--no, man, MAN! The soggy man in the mirror scowled.

Frustrated, he flipped his hands, spraying water droplets over his reflection.

"What the hell am I doing?"

Why was he trying to look good for a girl who liked him before he even tried? Didn't that already mean he looked good? Of course he looked good. So why the hell was he...he...

He looked back at his reflection in the mirror, spike-balled and red-eyed.

That was not the face of a romancer. It was the face who crushed bad-guys, took names, won days, crushed men's skulls between his thighs, all while walking away with explosions going off behind him.

He shook his hands again with a "Tch."

There was only one thing to do then.

He went over to Kirishima's.

Bakugou gave a single hammer fist to the door. "Oy. Shark Face."

A thud came from inside. Followed by a low, long groan. Then the door opened and a bleary-eyed Kirishima appeared, red hair drooping about his jawline in a greasy curtain. He scratched his crotch as he yawned.

"Bakugou? Wha--whazzup?"

"Lend me your hair gel."

The red-head gave him a slow blink. "Huh?"

"Hair. Gel."

"Wha-why?" he said through another yawn. "Dude, what time is it?"

"Nine, you lazy ass, just hand over the hair gel."

"You could say please," but at least Kirishima turned about to waddle back into the darkness of his room.

A minute later he returned with a bulk size squeeze bottle of hair gel.

Bakugou reached out to take it. Kirishima hesitated with it in the air, squinting at him as though the sun shone behind him, nevermind the fact that it was only more apartments behind him.

"Are you going on a date?"

Bakugou stepped forward and swiped the gel.

"None of your damn business."

"Eh? Hey, no, wait! I can help you!"

Bakugou was already halfway to his room. He had learned early on that it was better to not respond to Kirishima, as given even a toe in the door and he'd bowl you right over with whatever over-friendly idea.

He closed the door to the red-heads 'hey, man! Hold on!' and strode back to his bathroom.

The first squirt of hair gel sat in his hand like an alien life form.

"What the hell am I doing?" he asked for the uptenth time before grimacing, bracing himself, and smashing the gel onto his scalp.

It felt like Kindergarten and fingerpaints all over again. He hadn't gotten the point to art then either.

At some point he gave up and pulled up a google search of hair styles. Once he found a good picture, he set it up against the back of the sink and let his natural genius go to work.

Half an hour later, sticky and tacky, he could finally attempt a debonair smirk into the mirror.

"Ha, there's that face."

He did a few more smirks, even trying out some poses that could pass as natural or devil may care.

His stomach, which had been tight since he woke up this morning, squirmed.

His smirk turned to a frown. His pride returned to him and he washed his hands in shame.

"What the hell am I doing?" he muttered once more.

Just how much time had he wasted on his effing hair? How much practice or study could he have gotten done in that time? And what was even the point?

A sudden urge to ransack the perfectly controlled, swept-back hair rushed over him, and it was only all the time and hard work it represented that stopped him.

"You better not waste this much time over clothes," he growled at himself.

And he didn't. It didn't matter that his stomach twisted back towards his dresser and he kept having to smother budding questions of whether he should go with a lighter color rather than his usual black to help lighten his already formidable figure or if he should go for more formal to match his hair---of course he had to go casual, he couldn't let her know how much effort he was putting into her! But why? Because she would make fun of him! Would she, though? Wouldn't she be touched? Wouldn't that make her happy? How the hell should he know! He wasn't someone who was going to be ruffled by some...some...

Unbidden, an image that had haunted him every spare moment since Valentines Day rose into his mind: a young woman, bare as a babe, crouched in his bedroom window with her arms draped loosely about her knees. Scarlet-gold curls cloaked her like an aura, backlit by a white streetlamp, and contrasted by the light of his TV. Big eyes framed with thick red lashes, looking at him with a tenderness that had made his insides melt. Just remembering made his knees go weak.

He dropped onto his bed and shoved his face into his hands. His heart had sped up just remembering, or perhaps because of the chain of memories that followed.

Girls like that weren't supposed to like rough guys like him.

Even as he thought that, he saw her again in his mind's eye, hiding in her hair like a child in a blanket, trembling, weeping, even as her voice told him she was fine. That she didn't need him to like her. That she didn't expect it. That she didn't expect anyone to like a girl they couldn't see.

Perhaps that was his problem. He had seen. And now he couldn't unsee it.

He pulled back his hands and clenched them, urging the nervous sweat to go back down. Nerves were something he had to be especially cautious of with his quirk. Anything that could make him sweat could be an unintended explosion.

If it had just been her beauty, he could have eventually shrugged it off. He wasn't here for a girlfriend. He came here to be a hero. He hadn't expected...

Despite himself, he chuckled.

"Funny," he mumbled, remembering her book.

His mother's voice rang through his head.

"Keep up that hardass, bitchy attitude and no girl ain't ever looking your way. And if she does, she sure ain't gonna stick around."

It was a common threat his mother made in regards to his behavior. He had heard it so many times he wondered why she even used it still. It wasn't like he cared. He'd always respond that he didn't need a girl to become a hero, and that not having one would be even better. They only get kidnapped or whine anyways.

"Like hell I'm letting you put all my hard work and sacrifice to shame! You're going to make me grandbabies, boy!"

Bakugou rubbed his face hard and hit his gut. Stupid stomach wouldn't loosen up enough for him to even think of eating.

The kinds of girls who liked rough guys were rough themselves. He'd found that out early. Rough, stupid, and cocky. Or slinky little bitches that mocked the idea of becoming a mother because it would ruin their perfect bodies.

Maybe that's why he kept wiping sweat off his hands. Maybe that's why he spent nearly an hour on his hair.

Witty. Honest. Funny. Fragile and insecure. And with a beauty that blazed across nighttime and snowscapes like fire.

Five minutes to ten, he wiped his hands for the millionth time and went to his door.

Just to open it as Kirishima raised his knuckles to knock, the freak pink alien chick at his side.

The Shark Face had the gall to flash a sharp-toothed smile at him.

"Whoa ho ho! Dude! That hair, wow, I barely recognize you!"

Bakugou grit his teeth and pushed him aside.

"You heading out now? Perfect! We can come with you! This is your first time going out with her, isn't it?"

Bakugou froze, one foot in the air. With all the withheld force of a tsunami he turned and laid his flat stare on his so called friend.

"What?" he said.

Pinky stepped back, despite being one of those most immune to Bakugou's violent personality.

She took hold of Kirishima's jacket sleeve. "Eiji, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying we could do a group date." He just kept on with that too-bright, all tooth grin. "Knowing Bakugou, he's probably fighting not to explode out of nerves. Dude, let me help you out. It'll be--"

"Are you crazy?" Bakugou asked.

Kirishima dropped all false cheer. "I'm just trying to help. You can just say no. Even if this is the millionth time you've gone on a date, it's perfectly normal to be nervous." He hesitated. "Do you even know how to treat a girl?"

Stupid Pinky ooed like kids in the peanut gallery to a school fight.

Every muscle on Bakugou's body tensed.

"Who do you think I am?" he barked.

"A violent tsundere whose never had a girlfriend," said Kirishima flatly.

"Ooooo--"

"Shut up, Pinky!"

"Then prove me wrong. Let us come."

"So you can judge every move I make? Like hell that's gonna help."

Kirishima put a hand to his chest while looking offended. "I intend to help like a proper wingman. I even got Mina to back me up so I don't make a stupid dude dud."

"You mean like this one?" she said. "You said you just wanted to get your hair gel back, not that you wanted to play love guru."

Bakugou almost started to like the alien.

But then she kept talking.

"So I got to come along to watch," she gave Bakugou a wide grin. "Got to make it up to Toru somehow. Babysitting Lord Explosion Murder and Kiji should do the trick."

Blow them up. Blow them both up. Gore everywhere, the more the better.

And then the little fuckers had to follow him. Tsundere his ass, he was perfectly honest about his so called feelings, especially when he told them to scram or die.

Which was why when Toru opened the door, all his practice to giving a natural, debonair smile was ruined. He couldn't have smiled even if he wanted to. And she just had to be wearing something damn adorable and baby blue that he'd never get to see with her red hair now that the peanut gang was along.

"Mina? Kirishima? Hi?"

"Hey girl!" squawked the Pink Demon Woman. "We're just escorting our baby boy to his first date!"

"Look at his hair!" crowed Kirishimia, even doing showy jazz hands next to Bakugou's head--obviously not fearing for the safety of his fingers.

For not the first time, Bakugou found himself wishing he could see her expression. But realized it was probably good that he couldn't. It might make him lose what strand of sanity he was holding on to and commit murder.

Her short sleeve, rimmed with lace, shifted, and he imagined she had lifted a hand to her face to cover a laugh.

"Oh dear," she said. "Looks like you got an entourage."

"Can we come with you?" asked Kirishima.

"Double date," said Pinky with a wink.

"...Somehow I think Bakugou didn't agree to that."

"Like hell I did," he growled.

"It must be hard having people who like you so much, huh? Tell you what, you promise to be extra sweet on me and I'll scare them off for you."

Yes, yes that would be very nice--shit, no. It was these fucktard's fault for not respecting his boundaries! No, it was his fault for not teaching them their place! Getting soft and--and--

With a growl he turned on them, letting the nervous sweat he'd been holding back all morning bubble up into snap-popping sparks in his palms.

"Fuck off!"

The two actually squeaked, Kirishima included, and turned away, pouting at him like kids who'd been denied candy as they scuttled away.

He scoffed. "Dipshits."

"Aw, was being extra sweet to me that repulsive?"

He whipped around, twisted insides giving a jerk of alarm. "I didn't say that--"

Her laughter cut him off, tinkling and everything a girl's laugh should be. He'd be properly offended if he wasn't so relieved he hadn't screwed up already.

"I'm just playing," she reached out to give the hem of his untucked, button-up shirt a teasing tug. "Come on, my dear hedgehog, let's go have some fun."

She led him out by that hem, with hardly any force at all. It could have been the lightest of breezes on his navel, yet he followed after as though a leash were around his neck. How easily she reached out to touch him, even something like this that wasn't even a touch at all. It always threw him off. It's like he couldn't blow her up at a moment's notice or tear her apart with his bare hands, physically, emotionally, or otherwise.

He still remembered the feel of her playfully ruffling his hair.

How the hell was she so smooth?

"You...you haven't done this before, have you?" he asked.

"Nope."

"Guys never asked?"

She snorted. "Who would ask?"

Something within him darkened at that. The urge to blow someone up returned.

But then it lightened. Because it was their loss. And the possessive monster within him purred as it wrapped tightly around the image of visible Toru. All the better.

But he didn't need his pleasure to be a cause of her unhappiness.

"They're morons."

"Not really fair, seeing as you're, how did you say it, 'could be a genius physicist if you felt like it?'"

He smirked, speeding up enough to be at her side by the time they reached the elevator. The twisting in his stomach had relaxed in the face of a burning, but pleasant, warmth that grew the longer he was with her.

"Damn right. Aren't you lucky?"

"Yes," she said, once more reaching out to him as though it were the most natural thing in the world to touch his cheek--though he only saw her sleeve move up and felt her fingers, soft and smooth. "Lucky me."

He could have purred, despite the touch of her fingertips being hardly there at all. With a ding the elevator doors closed, and he leaned forward to seek out her invisible curls the moment they were hidden, nuzzling into them like a dog.

"Stop! You're displacing all my pins again."

"So?" Gawd, and her smell. It was the epitome of girl, so effing sweet and soft.

"Do you have any idea how long it takes me to keep all those curls under control?"

"Then don't." He'd rather it all loose anyways so he could bury himself in it all.

A hand at his chest pushed him off. He did not whine as he backed off, and anyone who told you otherwise would get a facefull of knuckle sandwich.

"I know you don't get it, having straight as wire hair," the elevator dinged again and the doors open to the communal room on the first floor. "But if my curls get too tangled, that's it. I have to cut them or grease them with motor oil."

"Why not cut your hair short?" He was honestly curious.

"Because they're the only 'clothes' I have that go invisible with me, dumb dumb. I can use it to hide stuff or keep myself warm or whatnot." Her sleeves moved up, invisible hands fixing what he had undone as they walked out. "And I want to feel like a mermaid princess."

He smirked. "I can make you a mermaid princess, if that's what you want." He instantly felt like an idiot for saying that. Oh why didn't he think before he opened his mouth? What the stupidest, most moronic--

She giggled, and his face flushed more.

Villain, thy name be cute girlfriend.

"What are you going to do? Buy me a monofin and tail?"

"If that's what you want." Gotta save himself, gotta save himself.

"Just how rich are you?"

"As rich as you want me to be."

She laughed harder and it took all his sizeable pride to not turn around and blow up his own face. What the hell kind of lines were those?

Sad thing was, he knew exactly what kind of lines they were.

Stupid old hag and all her stupder chick flicks!!

Then why did you watch all of them with her? Asked a voice that sounded suspiciously like the girl next to him.

SHUT UP!

And, somehow, with uncanny intuition that he swore was her real quirk, Toru saw right through him.

"You just keep digging your hole deeper, don't you?"

He glued his mouth shut and did not hang his head. He did not sulk. He did not pout.

Thankfully, he had gotten everything else right, such as the permission slip needed to leave campus. The guarding pro hero at the gate gave them a cutesy smile, but wisely said nothing as he reminded them to come in by curfew or should there be even so much as a hint of danger. And despite his mother's irritation to his soul at the moment, she was all too willing to dish out the dough the moment she