Shoot Your Shot - MHA College AU

Scene 7: A Time Out

{ Scene 7: A Time Out }

Sitting in the damp grass under a shelter of woody branches, you noticed a head of blonde poke its way through the leaves. Crouching into your hidden space, Bakugo handed you a cup of water.

"Are you idiots done yet? 'S it all over?" he asked, his words oozing with the same care and delicacy as a brute gorilla.

You weakly nodded your head.

Kirishima groaned, fumbling around for a roll of paper towel. "Thanks for taking care of us man... You know you didn't have to. We sort of did this to ourselves..."

Bakugo huffed. "Yeah, no shit. Grow a fuckin' brain next time."

You sniffed away the last of your tears, the trails left behind on your cheeks glistening in the night air.  Throwing up your guts involved a lot more than just a puke in the bushes.  There were aches and pains, hacking and coughing, and burning up your throat. Crying tears upon tears as your body revived itself back to a regular state.

At the end of it, you were drained.  Left behind as a temporary shell of before, coated in a light blanket of leaves and dirt.

Still attached by the wrist, you couldn't bring yourself to look at the boys.  This was a whole new level of low, maybe the lowest they'd ever witnessed you at. You weren't your normal, presentable self, but a wretched animal, exhausted and sprinkled in filth.

You avoided Bakugo's eyes, Kirishima's hand. Because how could they look at you the same? How could they stay by your side after witnessing something so repulsive?

You'd been through this with Mina. Together, you'd cried and vomited from your mistakes in the past, even laughed about it on the way to the party tonight. But with her, it was... different.  She was a friend, forever and always.  And Kirishima and Bakugo? They were... well... they were friends too. But there was this feeling, in your stomach. It unsettled you, made you nervous.  All those butterflies.

Maybe it was insecurity.  You cared what they thought of you, maybe too much.  You needed to make this party a success, to win the tournament, to be there for your friends no matter the cost. You needed to prove yourself to them, to the dynamic duo.

And right, now, surrounded in the consequences of your decisions, caught up in the thrill of the tournament, suffering the outcome of your sacrifice, under their gaze, all you could feel was shame.

Eyes buried in the ground, you felt a hand reach your jaw, fingers brushing strands behind your ear.

"Get your hair outta your face," Bakugo grunted, shoving a paper towel your way. "And clean yourself up. 'M not gonna sit in the bushes with you all night."

Another twinge of guilt struck you. Bakugo didn't have to come to your aid, didn't have to surround himself with the retching and the tears and the stench.

You took up his offer. It was the least you could do. Taking the paper towel, you discretely began cleaning up your face and hands, washing away the sourness lingering in your throat.

"Hey, careful there," Kirishima said. "You're still stuck to me." He tugged gently at your wrist, a kind reminder.

You apologized quietly, tidying your hair, wiping the tears from your face.

"Wait a sec... Bakugo, where's Kaminari? Did you two lose a game or something?" he asked.

"You really think I'd let that happen? I'm gonna win," he said.  It wasn't a subtle phrase, but it tickled a drifting memory, or maybe a collection of them. Watching the sports festival on TV the year before you enrolled at UA, chuckling at Bakugo's declaration in front of the stadium. In the training room, side by side with the boy, turning to you with that fire in his eyes as you onlooked the obstacles ahead.

Bakugo didn't always win, but he never lost. And he never wasted time, never spent his efforts on something that wasn't worth his time.

So why... why was he here? Was it for you?

You blinked away the thought. It couldn't be. You were friends, but it wasn't like you were special or anything. He was obviously here for Kirishima. No other reason.

Bakugo shuffled in the dirt, picking at the tape on his wrist. "I don't know where that idiot sparkplug went. I left him behind. Burnt through the tape and ditched him somewhere in basement."

Kirishima sighed. "Aw man, poor Kaminari. Maybe it's a good thing, he might've wanted a break from you."

"Shut up!" His outrage sent Kirishima snickering into his hand. "Anyway, he was slowing me down!" he argued back. "And I wasn't gonna leave you two idiots out here on your own. Didn't think it was possible to get any stupider, but the second you start downing drinks you fuckin' prove me wrong all over again."

Even though his rambling and insults should've made any other person sheepish and guilt-ridden, you and Kirishima could see the care behind his words, that same softness he kept hidden from others. The kindness that seeped through the hardened cracks. It was enough to pull your gaze out of the ground.

Kirishima shook his disheveled head of hair, hiding the smile forming under his nose. "You can go ahead and call me stupid. I know I'm not the sharpest in the toolbox," he said. "But, our friend here, she gives you a run for your money, don't kid yourself man. There's a reason she's our party planner."

His words were like birdsong, tugging you into the sunlight. That warm fluttery feeling.

The blonde grunted, unwilling to budge. "You don't get it," he said, turning to you. "She's – you're stupid for another reason, okay?! You damn airhead."

As for that other reason, you didn't have the slightest clue, but it didn't matter. Even though you were surrounded in filth and crawling from the dirt, the boys didn't bat an eye.  They were still here, helpful, and sweet, and chatting with you and each other as if you hadn't just heaved forth your intestines or anything.

The embarrassment eating away at you had seemingly run off at some point, scurrying into a hole in the wall.

Free of that burden, you allowed yourself to have this, to find his crimson eyes, to give Bakugo that playful smile in retaliation.

Maybe you were wrong. You still carried that creeping insecurity, but maybe, Kirishima and Bakugo wouldn't leave. Like Mina, forever friends, you hoped. A bittersweet feeling under the patter of your heart, but a reality you'd accept in open arms, as long as they were happy.

The wafting smell of vomit interrupted any sweetness that was simmering in the night air.

"Let's get outta here, I'm gonna hurl if I stay any longer," Bakugo grumbled, crawling from the bushes.

Shuffling through the leaves and branches, poking at you from weird angles, there was the clinking of glass.  It was faint, under the rustle of the dirt, the crinkle of the bush, but you swore you'd heard something. You lingered behind, searching in the earthy darkness.

"Are you okay?" Kirishima asked softly. "You looking for something?" He must have been confused by the hold up.

You muttered a quick reply, continuing to rifle through the ground. Cool and smooth against your fingertips, your hands found a glass bottle. Followed by another, and another, and – how many bottles were hidden in here?

You pulled one from the ground, dusting off the mulch, and it was full. A brand-new bottle of champagne.

"The hell are you doing? Quit your dilly dallying and get out of the damn bushes already!" Bakugo grunted.

"Champagne," you said. "There's like, a ton of champagne here."

"Huh? Lemme see," Kirishima asked as you handed the bottle to him. "Woah! This looks kinda expensive? Crimson Rhythm, sounds pretty manly to me."

You didn't count, but there must have been at least 6 bottles poking their necks out of the dirt. What could a house of broke university boys be doing with half a dozen bottles of fancy champagne? And what were they doing in the bushes? Bakugo and Kirishima didn't seem to know either.

"Just ignore it, we've got stuff inside." Bakugo peered curiously into the branches, waiting for the two of you.

Finally free from the prison of leaves, you made your way back to the party, leaving behind the remains of your choices and the mysterious, sparkling bottles of Crimson Rhythm.