Sweat Equity
Bakugo Katsuki x (gn!)Reader
wc: ~900
cw: mild language, light angst with comfort, mutual pining
The music from Y/n’s lone wireless earbud is enough to cover the incessant buzzing of the fluorescent lights overhead, but not to block out the eerie sense of silent stillness that otherwise settles over the training gym this time of night.
"What're you doing in here?"
The gruff voice startles Y/n out of their reverie; they know exactly who it belongs to without turning it around.
After their first few weeks at UA, they almost never wore both earbuds at once outside their dorm room. People had an odd habit of sneaking up on you here, they were learning.
"Training," they reply simply, without looking up from the weights they've been lifting but racking them anyway. “My quirk’s not a powerhouse like yours… or Todoroki’s, or even Ashido’s. Some of us have to put in a little extra hustle to earn our keep, y’know?”
It felt like a miracle when their acceptance letter had come in the mail. For weeks, they’d watched and rewatched the little hologram version of All Might announcing that they, Y/n, would be accepted as one of UA’s rare mid-course transfer students.
As the first day of classes drew nearer, Y/n found themself losing sleep, pacing their room, waking up early to go for a jog or practice their quirk technique. But no matter what, nothing they did was enough to feel prepared going in.
Sweat trickles down Y/n's back, soaking through their workout tank and reeling them back to the present moment as they turn to face him.
"Yeah, but the gym's closed and it's damn late. It was time to get your ass outta here half an hour ago."
Bakugo's scarlet gaze is locked right on them, Y/n notices, as if carefully tracking every detail while they take a slow drink from their water bottle.
"Well," the hero in training replies slowly, "I just wanted to get some extra sets in. Overachiever like you, I thought you'd get it."
A crease forms between their classmate's brow and the image of what it would be like to smooth it out with their thumb flashes through Y/n's mind before they can shake it away and focus on what he's saying -- something about sleep being essential to success, they think.
“Yeah, but burning yourself out’s not how you achieve,” Bakugo retorts, stubborn as ever.
Before Y/n can stop it, a sigh escapes them.
“Just-- you ever feel like no matter how hard you work, you’re still behind?” they blurt. “Like, you push and push and still feel like you haven’t moved forward?”
His gaze dips, his jaw tensing as something unreadable flickers over his face, but his answer comes quick: “No.”
Bakugo pauses, glances at his hands a moment before looking back up at them.
“But I know when you feel …when your place isn’t secure, it’s just all the more reason to work your ass off *effectively,* you hear me? Prove you deserve to be here, leave no doubts -- ‘s what I would do.”
Except for the fluorescent buzz, a silence stretches between the few feet that separate them that’s heavy but not uncomfortable. Bakugo rolls his shoulders. Y/n wipes their palms on their shorts. Neither of them pushes the point any further.
"I'm going to hit the showers and then straight to bed anyway," Y/n promises, voice a little softer as they edge towards the doors. Awkwardly, they clear their throat.
When Bakugo escorts them down the hallway, it comes as a bit of a surprise but neither of them comments on it. Y/n finds themself too distracted to, instead wondering--
"Wait a second, what are *you* doing here this late?" they demand, hands on hips.
The laugh he barks out is a little rough, but genuine.
"Making sure you get back to the dorms in one piece, idiot," Bakugo replies as easily as if he were reminding them what class the pair were both in. "I'm gonna grab a drink from the vending machines. Don't make me wait too long showering, got it?"
Y/n blinks, then huffs a small laugh, nodding before they duck into the locker room.
On the walk back, Bakugo sips an electrolyte drink and Y/n tries not to fidget with the strap of their gym bag too much.
At first, his free hand stays firmly tucked in his pocket. Y/n isn’t sure why they notice but soon it’s swinging loosely by his side. And they’re not sure why but when his fingers just barely brush against theirs once, then twice, it sends a flutter through their chest.
It isn't long before he reaches out and slowly, subtly hooks a pinky finger around theirs in silent question.
Holding their breath, Y/n answers by sliding their palm into his. Then they feel a little silly, and exhale. Why hold their breath around the one who made them feel safest?
Their fingers intertwine for the first time like it's the most natural thing in the world, and they stay that way until the sight of the dorms coming into view gently unravels them.
an: I hope this was as fun to read as it was to write -- always big love for explosion guy from me, if it isn't obvious by now. if you enjoyed, feel free to drop a like/comment/reblog. no matter what, thank you for reading !
