“Hey Pretty Boy,” he walks up to Todoroki on his left and with a face flush red Bakugou peaks his cheek quite tenderly. “Happy Birthday.” He has something as well; a box with slices of cake of different flavors. “I didn’t know...what you like so—just have it, alright?!”
This time, Shouto acknowledges the nickname, much to his own alarm. Bakugou seems deadset on making Shouto believe all the compliments given. He doesn’t still, but he’s grown to accept that the blonde will call him Pretty Boy come hell, highwater, or the confused murmurs of their class. He wishes he could understand why - to know what cogs turned and inspired the other boy to try and do the impossible by pressing an inconceivable truth into Shouto’s mind. Bakugou is determined but Shouto isn’t ready to take it lying down.
He turns his head to look at him properly, taking in those glowing cheeks and sudden closeness with suspicion. Only after lips brush against his cheek does he realize he’s turned directly into the kiss. He can barely feel the where Bakugou’s lips meet his skin. The nerves there are too damaged, scourned by the boiling water. It’s only a second long, like a butterfly dusting across Shouto’s face before it’s gone again.
Somewhere in his chest there’s a squeeze as if the interaction was akin to touching his heart directly. The beat slams in his ears, irratic and confusing. He can barely wrap his head around the fluttering feeling in his chest nor his suddenly scarlet cheeks. Like this he’s the picture perfect definition of shock, eyes wide and slack-jawed. Faintly, he thinks of the note given to him but this is different. The rush is real and raw in his veins, equal parts exhilaration and chaos.
He’s never felt so emotionally exposed yet unharmed. Gentle touches with a devoted kindness following after leave him flustered but vying for more.
“Thank you.” His dazed voice replies and he takes the box as if it were fragile enough to break at a single touch. His eyes linger on it’s lid before they find Bakugou again and appreciate that color. “We can eat it together. That is, if you like cake.”
