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kagehinataboke · 5 years

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roomates tdbk y e s

absolutely!!!! y’all know i live for this shit 👏🏻

tdbk: [30] neighbors/roommates

***

Loving your roommate isn’t a complicated thing. Falling in love with your roommate is, however, a very complicated thing. On his first day of university, Bakugou knows neither of these things. He’s never had a roommate before in his life, and he obviously doesn’t expect to fall in love with a guy—or with anyone, for that matter.

Unfortunately, people are always unexpected. You can prepare for college all you want—picking a place to stay, buying shitty bedding, lugging everything you own (and have shoved into cardboard boxes) up five flights of stairs because the elevator is broken—but you can’t prepare for something like this. For stepping into your new room to find an angel knee-deep in unpacked clothes and class registration papers.

‘Knee-deep’ wouldn’t normally apply in a situation like this, but there’s nothing else to describe the mess. Papers everywhere, pants on the back of the chair, a sweatshirt hanging from the AC box in the window. It’s like a cyclone has torn through, and in the middle of it all is the eye of the storm: a boy—an angel—who turns to look at Bakugou with eerily mismatched irises, an apology already spilling from his lips. “Oh, hello. I’m sorry for the mess. A bird hit the window, and then the AC kicked on, and well…” He gestures lamely at the disaster zone, as if that should be explanation enough.

Bakugou has been standing in the doorway, speechless, but he makes a conscious effort to stop gawking. “What the fuck?” The question applies to everything about this scenario: especially the human renaissance painting in front of him and the torn-up room.

The stormy-eyed, angelic pretty-boy associates it with the state of the room. “I know it looks bad… But it won’t take very long to clean up.” He rushes from spot to spot, efficiently erasing the disaster. “I wasn’t sure which side you wanted, but I suppose since most of the mess ended up on the left, you can take the right.”

Bakugou’s getting tired just watching him, so he puts down his cardboard burden and collects the papers scattered on the carpet. The top of the stack is the boy’s orientation welcome, with his first name in bold letters: TODOROKI SHOUTO. Clumsy. Probably a fucking moron. Angelic. Bakugou’s new roommate.

“Thank you.” Their hands brush when Todoroki takes the papers, his touch a shot of ice up Bakugou’s arm. Their eyes lock, and the air feels supercharged for ten long seconds before Bakugou rips his gaze away.

“No problem,” he says aloud. In his head echoes something very different: I’m so very, very fucked.

***

Three weeks. It’s been three weeks, and Bakugou is sincerely beginning to question his sanity. Todoroki’s hair in the morning. Todoroki’s whispering voice when he calls one of his siblings at any hour past 9. Todoroki tripping over his feet in the middle of the night because he doesn’t want to wake Bakugou up by turning on the light. Todoroki’s desk, which is so messy he can’t possibly know where anything is. Todoroki. Bakugou’s mind is drowning in him.

He isn’t gay. He knows he isn’t. But he also knows that Todoroki might be the heavens incarnate—and that’s pretty darn gay. Fuck, he doesn’t even care if he’s gay. Todoroki makes him forget his own name sometimes, sexuality be damned. If they have to live together for even another second, Bakugou is sure he’ll go crazy.

Well, he already has. He knows he already has when Todoroki bursts into their room and says the words, “I lost my wallet.”

Normally, Bakugou would give a resolute, “That’s your own fucking problem.” He knows he’s gone crazy because he says, “Where’d you have it last?” instead.

“The north side of the quad. I only just noticed it was missing.” He bites his bottom lip in a way that really shouldn’t be so enticing. “Is it possible to borrow your motorcycle?”

Bakugou knows he should say no. Getting any closer to the beautiful disaster that is Todoroki Shouto can not possibly be good. But fuck, he’s already pulling out his keys. “As if I’d let you touch my motorcycle, asshole. Let’s go.”

God, he’s a fucking idiot. What the hell is he doing? He can’t honestly expect Todoroki to ever realize his infatuation. If there’s one thing he is—aside from clumsy—it’s oblivious. He must be oblivious, if he can hold onto Bakugou’s waist so tightly without realizing that his heart is jumping out of his chest. The only thing that would be more obvious is a fucking sign on his forehead.

Bakugou faintly contemplates—while searching for the dipshit’s wallet on his hands and knees—just telling him outright. He’s so dense that he’ll never get it on his own, and living with him for the next year is too tortuous of a thought to bare. Jesus. He keeps bending over, for fuck’s sake. Even if that’s just this once, Bakugou still won’t survive.

“I can’t find it anywhere.” Todoroki straightens and glances at Bakugou sidelong. “Did you?”

He shakes his head with an irate scoff. “How the fuck did you lose your wallet, anyway? Wasn’t it in your bag?”

Todoroki avoids the question, brushing grass off his jeans. “You didn’t have to stay and help. Can I buy you dinner, as a thank you?”

If Bakugou wasn’t pissed, he’d be in the process of realizing that this means a date. But he is pissed, and fucking hungry after digging through the bushes. “Whatever. But I’m picking the restaurant.”

Todoroki looks almost relieved. “That’s fine. You have the transportation, after all.”

“Oh, right. Shit.” Bakugou runs a hand through his hair in an effort to focus on anything other than how close their bodies are about to be. “Fuck. Let’s just go.”

***

Dinner leads to drinking, which inevitably leads to bad decisions. Bakugou knows this, yet he still has a glass of sake anyway. It’s Todoroki’s damn fault, really. He’s sitting here looking so fucking pretty, what else is Bakugou supposed to do to keep his mind occupied? To make matters worse, the bastard keeps talking in that shitty low, raspy voice of his. Fuck. Bakugou cant even focus on what he’s saying, he’s focusing so intently on not getting hard.

“—told me the paper was actually due two days later. Can you believe it?” Todoroki’s lips twitch into a brief half-smile. Fucking gorgeous asshole. “Ah, I suppose I’ve been going on about myself this whole time… What do you want to talk about?”

“Huh?” Bakugou snaps himself to attention, tipping back the glass of liquid courage. “I’m not really great at small-talk.”

“Me neither.” Todoroki sits back in his chair, pausing to think. “I’m realizing now that, despite being roommates, we don’t really know each other. What if we play a game? Twenty questions.”

“Twenty questions?” Bakugou grumbles, flagging down the waiter for a second glass of sake. “Like the kid’s game?”

“Just to get to know each other.”

“Eh, I guess.” Bakugou traces the edge of the fresh sake cup. Anything to distract him seems like a blessing. “Ask away.”

Todoroki has a lot of questions for someone who’s usually quiet. Bakugou gets lost in the action of drinking, answering, and asking his own questions. The more he learns about Todoroki, the further he spirals into helpless infatuation. He knew he was fucked from the start, but now it’s impossible to reverse it. He’s got three siblings. His birthday is January 11h. His favorite food is soba noodles. All of it doesn’t mean much, but it digs the hole in Bakugou’s chest deeper and deeper, filling it up with more and more of Todoroki. He’s drowning in him, and what’s scary is that he doesn’t even care.

By the time they finish their food, Bakugou has had four glasses of alcohol and knows 28 new things about Todoroki Shouto. He’s also very, very drunk. Too drunk to drive, Todoroki tells him while asking for his keys. Bakugou faintly registers mumbling “Fuck off,” but they somehow make it back to the dorm anyway, so the bastard clearly didn’t listen to him.

The feel of a mattress is the next thing that breaks through the drunken fog. Bakugou sees Todoroki leaning over his bed as he helps him onto it. Before he knows it, he’s straddling him. Shit, he must be really fucked up. He can’t even remember moving. Everything is going so fast.

“You’re heavy,” Todoroki complains, turning his head to the side. “You smell like—“ His voice catches and cracks apart when Bakugou’s knee nudges between his legs. “Hey, what… what are you doing—“

“I like you.”

Blaring sirens go off instantly, but Bakugou’s body is on autopilot. He says it again, then a third time, his hands fisting in Todoroki’s shirt. He can’t control his mouth, which keeps spouting off a garbled confession while his brain screams incoherently. He’s fucking it up. Everything. All the feelings he’s been working so hard to conceal are slipping out. Fuck. He’s so fucking stupid.

But Todoroki isn’t disgusted. He isn’t sneering. He isn’t throwing Bakugou off. He’s blushing. He’s shifting his hips and averting his eyes. His breath is catching. He’s whispering something back. “…you, too.” I think I like you, too. The words could be a product of his imagination, but Bakugou can’t stop the heat spreading through every inch of his body. His mouth drops towards Todoroki’s, somehow managing to pause for permission.

Todoroki’s weight shifts. He looks up for the first time. His lips form a single word that unravels everything. Yes.

The world disintegrates, and once again, Bakugou doesn’t care.

#y’all know im a bitch for roommate tdbk #👏🏻#todobaku #bnha #my wrting #answered asks #trope prompts #calla.txt

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