Hidden in the Sand | T | BNHA | TDBK | fake dating, angst, slow burn, idiots to lovers | Ch. 3/? | 8,6k/21k | ao3
Summary:
Shouto is staring down the barrel of an unwanted quirk marriage that he can't get out of on his own. Bakugou (reluctantly) helps.
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Excerpt:
“Why did you come here?” Shouto finds himself asking, still reading. He taps his finger to Bakugou’s paper beside his own. “Not that I don’t appreciate it, but you clearly don’t need any help.”
Bakugou pinches the bridge of his nose — now whole and intact with only the slightest shadow of a bump to hint at the break. It makes him look older, in a strange sort of way. Shouto wonders idly if Recovery Girl could have fixed that as well as the break, or if she chose not to.
“Of course I don’t,” Bakugou bites back, as though he has made some sort of point. His hand drops down to his lap, palm dragging down his thigh like he’s wiping it clean.
He glares at Shouto from the corner of his eye, and Shouto stares right back. The quiet of the library settles like a blanket around them. A tension grows along the line of Bakugou’s shoulders as Shouto waits for him to continue. It winds tighter and tighter, like a rubber band about to snap.
Then all at once, a groan, thick with frustration, bursts out from Bakugou’s chest. It’s gunshot-loud and echoes through the stacks. Shouto hears someone else huff in response, and a textbook snap shut, but he’s too busy studying the way Bakugou’s face screws up before disappearing behind his palm to find the source and apologize.
Bakugou’s chin tips back, blond hair brushing the back of the chair when he slumps, and he glares up at the vaulted ceiling, thinking hard. Privately, Shouto just thinks he looks constipated.
“If I help you—” Bakugou says like a threat, jabbing the point of his finger in Shouto’s direction.
“You’ve already helped me,” Shouto tells him slowly, not quite comprehending what it is that Bakugou wants. He gestures at the report he will be spending the rest of the night rewriting to accommodate Bakugou’s suggestions. “Thank you.”
Bakugou continues over him, louder, as if Shouto had never spoken. “ If I do this, this playing house with you bullshit, what the fuck do I even get out of it?”
His words are a cold stone dropped directly down Shouto’s esophagus. As much as he hates to admit it, Shouto hadn’t actually thought that far ahead.
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