all his weight is held up by the press of his palms as he leans back, cross-legged on denki’s floor beside the sliding balcony doors. it’s become a big of a regular spot for him — and it’s no accident that from here he can see both exits as well as where denki is at all times.
the mixtape he promised him in his pocket, chosen from a shelf of pre-made selections that all fell under denki’s only requirement: songs that remind you of me.
something about that particular request had highlighted the file in his head labeled about denki and all the blank spaces in it. that’s not to say he doesn’t know him — because bakugou does. probably better than he should considering the lack of concrete personal information. it makes him feel something akin to discontent and curious when he thinks too much about it though. denki is one of two people, really, who bakugou wouldn’t hesitate to title friend and he knows less about him than he does deku.
he unearths the cassette tape, sparing a glance at it through the clear, protective casing and thinks twice about the fact that there’s a clear number 7 written on it next to the identifying k. denki on the label. nothing he can do about it now. maybe he won’t notice. bakugou gives it a light overhand toss in denki’s direction. “ catch. ” he’s going to leave it at that, he swears he is — except handing over the tape makes him feel vulnerable and that’s never something he swallows easily.
bakugou doesn’t look at him when he says it ; crimson eyes trained instead to the view from the balcony so he doesn’t have to see the way denki will likely tense, “ i was thinking. i don’t know fuck all about you. ” funny, it is, that he can care so much about the small portion of a person he does know. / @eletriq