It had been a few days since that night. Nothing much had changed for Y/N, but Bakugou did not enjoy being cooped up. Being banned from patrols and missions was making his impatience grow, and he was struggling finding ways to blow off steam. You can only work out for so many hours before you need a break, and he was running out of ways to keep busy.
It was rare that he walked into (or out of) the UA building and Y/N's bike wasn't there. Did that idiot sleep? Bakugou had always prided himself in being first to arrive and last to leave, but Y/N was taking his title. He ignored the worry bouncing around in his head. She can do what she wants.
It was 6:00 AM, and sure enough, her motorcycle was parked outside. It seemed to be newly polished. Where the fuck was she finding time to clean her bike if she was constantly working? Is that was she did instead of sleeping? He snorted and pushed through the doors, making his way to the gym. If that girl killed herself with work, he was going to be pissed.
Down the hall he heard a loud BANG echo in the gym. He scowled in confusion and opened the door just in time to see Y/N flying across the room and landing on a foam pad. "FUCK!" she roared, stumbling to her feet again.
He set down his gym bag and crossed his arms, leaning against the wall, watching the scene unfold. She hadn't spotted him yet, so he was going to enjoy the show.
She had two thick gloves on, fully plated in metal. When she stood up again, she pointed them towards the ground. A powerful gust of wind shot out of the palm, launching her into the air again, and she yelped as she started falling back down. She hit the foam pad with a load groan, getting up and planning to do it again.
"Trying to fly, Tinkerbell?" Bakugou teased.
Y/N whipped her head around to see who had yelled at her, and when she made eye contact with him, she used her giant metal gauntlet to flip him off. "You spying, perv?"
"You fucking wish. I'm always here at this time. You trying to compete for my spot?"
"Funny, I didn't see a reservation sheet," She deadpanned, but her comeback was ruined when another gust of air shot from her glove unexpectedly, throwing her to the ground. Bakugou smirked.
"Why are you throwing yourself around like a damn ragdoll?"
"I'm not trying to! This shit is hard!" She snapped.
Bakugou puffed his chest, crouching down and launching himself up with explosions from his palm, landing in front of her menacingly. "It's not. You're just shit at it," He said, flicking her forehead and crossing his arms again.
"You've had your whole life. I started, like, an hour ago," she argued, pushing him away. "Not all of us are prodigies."
"Hm. Seems that way."
She shot him another glare and he tried to hold back his smile. Y/N was wearing a tank top and workout leggings, sweat dripping down her face. Her hair was matted against her head, cheeks red with exhaustion as she panted. His heart sped up seeing her dedication, and when she turned around, he tried not to think about how she had really nice legs.
"So whose gear is that then? Seems pretty shit," Bakugou joked.
Y/N looked down at the heavy gauntlets she was wearing and grimaced. "I'd normally get pissed at someone dissing my craftsmanship, but... yeah, these are pretty shit, aren't they?" She slipped them off, letting them clatter to the ground. "They aren't for anyone. Well, they were gonna be for me, but now they're going straight to the trash," she grumbled.
"Why are you making gear for yourself?"
"Just cause I don't have a quirk doesn't mean I can't try and protect myself," she snapped. "I don't... I don't wanna be helpless anymore. I thought I was good in combat, but turns out I don't know what the hell I'm doing without my quirk. Those gauntlets were an attempt at a new start... or something like that." She slumped to the ground, an angry look on her face.
"Learn hand to hand then."
"Yeah, I'm only like three years late to those lessons," She said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "No one is going to teach me beginner combat. Kirishima was going to, but he's too busy with studying, and I don't want to ask any teachers--"
"I'll do it," Bakugou grumbled. "Someone's gotta teach your sorry ass to fight. You can barely throw a punch. It's pathetic."
Y/N looked up at him in confusion. "Why?"
"Why what, fuckface?"
"Why are you helping me?"
He paused for a second. Why was he? Bakugou had never volunteered to do something like that before. He just hated the idea of her not being able to defend herself. Or maybe it was more selfish than that-- maybe he wanted to spend more time with her.
"Because you're gonna make me a suit," He said. Yeah, that made sense. She would make him more gear, and he would teach her to fight. Seemed reasonable, right? Upgrades were always nice. "Plus, gives me extra practice. I can always use another punching bag," he smirked.
Y/N thought about it for a moment before standing up and grinning at him. "Seems like a practical arrangement. I'm in dude," she beamed, holding her hand out to shake it. He took it, sparks shooting up his arm and making his heart race.
~~~
"Your right arm is too hesitant. It has been for the past hour. Speed it the fuck up!" He barked, smacking her right bicep.
"I'm trying!" She yelled back. "It feels weird leaving this vulnerable." She lifted up her shirt, jabbing a finger at the healed scar on her side. "I'm still a pussy about it."
"Well, stop," he said, throwing another practice punch. She dodged it, trying to throw a right hook. Bakugou blocked it with ease. "See what I mean? I can see that shit from a mile away. Don't hesitate. Your hip is safe. Focus on offense right now."
Y/N took a deep breath, lowering into a fighting stance again as Bakugou launched at her. She could block them with ease, but still struggled with her own punches. He scoffed. "Nothing is gonna fucking happen to me if you don't throw a damn punch!" He roared at her.
Y/N groaned, putting her face in her hands. Bakugou rolled his eyes. "God, you're dramatic. Put your hands up for a second."
She obeyed, but was apprehensive. He kneeled down and grabbed the bottom of her shirt, lifting gently. She yelped and quickly grabbed his hands to stop him, her cheeks turning red.
"Chill the hell out. Trust me."
She slowly raised her arms as he started lifting her shirt up again. His warm fingers were brushing across her skin, sending shivers up her spine. Once her scar was exposed, he poked it. "Hey!" She cried. "What was that f--"
"Did it hurt?" He snapped.
She sighed. "No."
He brushed his thumb over the scar, pressing into it as his other hand held her waist. Y/N was starting to have a hard time breathing at his touches. "This shit is healed, see? It's not gonna hurt. You've got some strong instincts to protect it, but you're not gonna do shit if you can't lift your arms," he said. His voice was more gentle than normal.
When he looked up at her and met her eyes, he had to stop his hands from continuing. The urge to let his fingers roam further on her body was excruciating to not give in to. He pulled his hands away and stood up, looking away. It was getting more difficult not to touch her.
"We'll pick this up after school. Work on that hesitation in your right arm," he mumbled, grabbing his bag and heading towards the showers.