[it doesn't have to be sweet and romantic. sweet and romantic isn't exactly shoto's style, either; he'd never grown up with that image of his parents in love, doting on one another, never found that image in the media to be at all something he understood. what he understood was intensity. the kind of desire that consumed you, that left scars. the kind that meant you never stopped being aware of another person in the same room as you, no matter how far away they were, no matter how much you both pretended the other wasn't there. what he understood was that ever since that first misfired text, that first fight, that first time, there hadn't been a single day he hadn't thought about this.
and then bakugou says his name.
he just looks at him a moment longer. they're the same height, almost; it would make it easy to do almost anything. distract him from this conversation, too. but he's used shoto's name, not any one of a series of progressively more ridiculous nicknames. he can't run from that.]
What if I do?
[defensive, defiant, a challenge as much as it is a plea.]
dying at uraraka's face in the bg of that icon
and then bakugou says his name.
he just looks at him a moment longer. they're the same height, almost; it would make it easy to do almost anything. distract him from this conversation, too. but he's used shoto's name, not any one of a series of progressively more ridiculous nicknames. he can't run from that.]
What if I do?
[defensive, defiant, a challenge as much as it is a plea.]