The Tinker

Chapter 10 - Measurements

Bakugou struggled to get to sleep that night. That never happened.

He was always in bed by 8:30 (much to the complaints of his classmates) in order to get a healthy amount of sleep. Those idiots were usually running on 5 or 6 hours of rest, but he wasn't ever going to pull shit like that. If he was going to push himself to be the best, 5 hours wasn't going to cut it.

Tonight, though, he couldn't do it. His self control had never been compromised like this. All he could think about was Y/N's shitty experience, and how he had only brought up those shitty memories for her. That gross feeling in his gut had returned, and even his usually nighttime routine wasn't able to snap it out of him.

Y/N was tough. She could handle herself, she had made that clear as day. But that didn't stop him from feeling shitty about the fact that he opened that wound on her stomach. His nausea hit harder remembering how it looked, and seeing her pull those stitches out and fighting back tears--

No. She was fine. That girl had seen more action than him. She could handle anything that was thrown at her, he was sure of it. The horror of losing her quirk... Bakugou didn't want to think about it. Especially considering she had lost her chance at whatever the hell agency she worked at. And she was so young, an aspiring hero, doing what she could to help the–

NO. Enough. Fucking go to bed, Katsuki, he told himself, putting his pillow over his head in an attempt to silence his thoughts.

~~~

The next morning he woke up to a text on his phone from an unknown number.

UNKNOWN: I need to get your measurements today. Come to the workshop later

It had to be Y/N. He made a contact name for her before texting back.

BAKUGOU: How the hell did you get my number?

TINKERBELL: Kiri, duh

TINKERBELL: Don't be a baby just come in later

BAKUGOU: I'll be there in an hour. Stop texting me.

Unlike Kirishima, Y/N actually listened to him and didn't send any more messages; but it was probably more likely that was busy, not that she was listening. He sat up, groggier than he'd ever been. He felt like shit. How many hours had he even gotten? Five, maybe? He rubbed his eyes, not used to the feeling.

Once he arrived at UA, Bakugou made his way to Y/N's workshop. He could hear tools whirring, and not wanting to deal with a flashbang again, banged on the door a few times.

Y/N opened the door with goggles over her eyes. "Sit over there, gotta finish this up real fast." She pointed at the stool next to the worktable. She walked back over to her grinder, turning back on the deafening machine and cutting through something, sending sparks flying.

The volume made Bakugou's hair stand up and only enhanced the headache he had from sleep deprivation. "Can't you do that shit later?" he snapped. 

"Nah. Wanna work while the metal is still hot," she said without turning away. One more bone-chilling sound later, she stepped away and took a deep breath, taking off her goggles. She turned to Bakugou and he had to keep from laughing at the ugly mark they left on her face. She opened a drawer and pulled out a flexible measuring tape. "Alright dude, hands out."

Bakugou didn't like her telling him what to do, but he scoffed and held his hands out anyway.

She measured his wrists, wrapping the thin fabric around him and then writing down the measurement onto her hand.

"Why are you writing on your hand?"

"Don't have paper near me. Stop wiggling." This time, she draped the measuring tape from his wrist to the top of his middle finger. Her fingers were brushing over his skin, and he didn't like the heat. Why was she so warm? "You've got big ass hands," she joked.

"They're fucking fine! You're the one with those ugly callouses," he snapped, jabbing his finger at the hardened skin on her palm.

She chuckled, examining her hands. "You're not wrong. You're the one with the baby soft hands here," she said, spinning his insult around and breaking his ego.

"Fuck off, Tinkerbell."

For the rest of the hand measurements, they remained silent as she worked. Bakugou watched her, in denial about his curiosity. He pretended not to look as she continued, her frustratingly warm hands poking and prodding his own. Nobody touched him for this long, not even Kirishima. That knot in his stomach came back.

"All right, torture is over. You're done," she said, standing up and brushing the metal dust off of her pants. "I'll finish up your gauntlets once I'm done with Kaminari's belt."

"What? Why the hell are you working on his shit first? I came to you before he did," he argued. His hand tingled where she had touched him. He clenched his fist in discomfort.

"He already told me everything about his quirk. You haven't," she argued. "Granted, it was more than I needed, that g loves to talk--"

"What, when you made him pop a boner?" Bakugou teased. "Are you doing his first cause he's got a fucking hard on for you?"

"Why were you looking at Denki's dick, huh? Maybe you're the one who's got a crush," she spat back.

"He practically ran into me with it! Don't change the subject," he snapped. "You're doing his shit first cause he likes you. Admit it."

"He doesn't like me, he likes--someone else. It doesn't fucking matter. Can't you just be patient for once?"

"Sure, nice excuse," Bakugou retorted.

"I'm not a liar! I was teasing him about his crush and he popped one. Stop making it weird." Y/N was getting angry. He hadn't ever seen her like this; it was kind of funny.

"Mhm. So why haven't you started on my gear yet?"

"You still haven't fucking told me how your quirk works, dumbass!" Her fists were clenched now. Bakugou fought back a smile at how funny this was getting.

"Ask me anything, Tinkerbell. What do you have to know to get this shit started?" He asked, crossing his arms.

Y/N sighed, frustrated, and sat down. "Fine. How does your quirk work?"

"I sweat nitroglycerin, then light it with my quirk," he said, holding his hand out and demonstrating. Sparks popped in his palm. "It's not fucking complicated."

"So are your armpits usually combusting?"

"You're fucking disgusting. It's just my palms."

"Noted. Won't make you armpit gear then," she joked, and he glared at her. She liked making him mad just as much as he liked making her mad, he realized. "Do you ever, like, run out?"

"Never," he said proudly.

"So you've constantly got sweaty ass hands then," she teased, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, and my sweaty ass hands can kill you faster than you can blink, smartass," he snapped.

Y/N laughed. She looked a lot better when she laughed.

"Did Recovery Girl fix your stomach?"

"Yup, back to normal," she said, lifting her shirt and showing off the cut. It was almost completely healed now, but the stitches remained intact to finish the process.

"Thank god," he grunted. "That was fucking gnarly."

She pulling her shirt back down. "Better head to class, Kat, you're gonna be late."

He whipped his head to the clock on the wall. Class was starting in two minutes. He'd never lost track of time like that. How did that happen? "Fuck. If I get detention I'm blaming you," he grumbled, storming out of the room.

Y/N snickered as he left, heading back to her drawing board.

Kat, she had called him. His chest felt tight.