|| Sunlight || k. bakugou x oc || mha x oc ||

. Chapter Eight .

Kai POV

The Bakugou home smells...wonderful. The atmosphere is warm. Completely different from my empty apartment. I cautiously set my bag by the door and carefully walk into the home. The layout is unfamiliar, so I walk hesitantly, not wanting to accidentally break something. 

When Bakugou comes back downstairs after putting Kasumi to bed, he walks over to me and grabs me by the arm, "The dining room is this way." I purse my lips and murmur a quiet thank you. The boy growls as we walk, "You're gonna regret staying for dinner. The old hag is gonna be pretty obnoxious."

I bow my head in embarrassment, "Well, I was going to skip dinner, so this is better than nothing."

"What the hell?" I feel the boy turn towards me in shock, "Why?"

"My groceries for the week are already gone." I chew on my lip, "My neighbor just lost her job and I gave most of my food to her." A half-hearted laugh bubbles from my lips, "It's kind of funny since I have almost exclusively shitty instant-meals anyways. It's better than nothing, right?"

"Why instant-meals idiot? Do you realize how unhealthy those are?"

"They're cheap. And easy to make." I shrug, "Blind and cooking don't mix too well."

"Shit." The boy mutters something under his breath. We stop and he carefully places my arm against the back of a chair, "Do you want to change before eating? The bathroom's just down the hall." I touch my clothes and realize I'm still in my dance clothes.

I shake my head, "It's fine. I uh—I don't have a change of clothes, I'll just be careful."

Behind us in what I assume is the kitchen, his mother speaks up, "Katsuki can probably lend you something. He has some old clothes that don't fit anymore." Before I can have a chance to respond, the loud-spoken woman orders her son to grab me a change of clothes. I'm left standing awkwardly in the dining room, my hand still resting on the chair.

Is this a normal family dynamic? I mean, my family was on a level of fucked-up that probably makes it impossible for me to judge other families, but I was under the impression that normal families are generally a lot...quieter. Still, when Mrs. Bakugou starts talking to me, there's a motherly warmth to her voice that eases my nerves.

She asks, "So, are you and Katsuki friends?" I pause and think about it. Are we friends? We mostly make digs at each other in class. In fact, the first time we interacted in a way that wasn't straight-up a fight or insult war was today with the reporters and the alarm.

"Kind of." I shrug, "I started going to classes a couple days later than everyone else, so I'm still getting to know everyone."

"I see." His mother sighs, "Only god knows if that boy will ever actually manage to make any friends." Her comment makes me chuckle. The woman walks over, a stack of dishes clattering in her arms.

I jump at the opportunity to be useful instead of just standing awkwardly, "Here, let me." I carefully take the dishes and begin feeling the place settings to set them gently in the center of each one.

"Oh! Thank you, dear." The woman goes back to the kitchen and chuckles, "You're such a sweet girl. Don't feel like you have to be friends with my delinquent son. It's still early enough in the school year that you can find a good group of friends. But I do think that that boy could use a friend like you."

"Thank you, ma'am." I mumble quietly.

"Are you sure your parents are alright with you being here? I should've asked you that earlier."

"I live alone. So it's really no problem." I smile awkwardly, "I couldn't resist your offer, whatever you're cooking smells delicious."

"Well, you're welcome here any time, dear." The woman speaks with such warmth. Our conversation is interrupted when I hear the unmistakable sound of Katsuki Bakugou stomping down the stairs, followed by him chucking a wad of clothing in my face.

"There's a change of clothes, bathroom's down the hall."

"Gee, thanks." I roll my eyes playfully while the boy receives a scolding from his mother.

I step into the bathroom and quietly wonder what the Bakugou home looks like if I could see. I imagine the wall covered with pictures of a little Katsuki Bakugou, maybe a picture drawn by him when he was a toddler stuck on the fridge. Even the thought makes me chuckle, followed by a solemn thought. I don't know what anyone looks like. Not Bakugou, not Jiro, not Aizawa, not even myself.

"Geez, kind of depressing, Kai." I mutter to myself. I pull off my leotard and skirt and toss on the clothes Bakugou gave me. They have a slightly sweet scent accompanied by a smokier aroma. I guess that's pretty on brand for him. They're comfy. My favorite type of clothing. Baggy sweats and a hoodie.

With my dance clothes in my hand, I wander to my bag by the front door and stuff my old clothes inside. When I come back to the dining room, Bakugou loudly and angrily minces something on a cutting board while his mother screams for someone named Masaru. I can only assume that it's Bakugou's father.

"Dinner's almost ready, sweetheart." Mrs. Bakugou says kindly, brushing past me to set something on the table. I nod and wander over to stand opposite of her son, tapping my fingers on the counter.

"What is for dinner?" I ask quietly.

"Curry rice." The boy's voice takes on a mischievous tone, "How's your spice tolerance?"

"It's pretty good." I chuckle, "I had a week where I almost exclusively lived off spicy Korean ramyun."

"The fact that your dumb ass is still alive is a goddamn miracle."

"Thank you." I chuckle. I'm almost always left to fend for myself, so it really is a miracle I've lasted this long. With all the flamboyance of a Hollywood actress, I smile teasingly, "Bow down, you're in the presence of a miracle."

"Tch. Idiot." The boy walks away with whatever vegetable he was mincing, so I wander back to the dining room. There, a quiet-natured man also enters. We stand there in silence for a moment before he clears his throat.

"I'm Masaru Bakugou, and who might you be?"

"She's Katsuki's classmate! I invited her to stay for dinner!" Mrs. Bakugou yells from the kitchen. For some reason, I'm not bothered by her loud volume. I don't generally like loud things, but Mrs. Bakugou is so— warm, in a tough love kind of way. I see a lot of her personality in her son.

We sit down and I eagerly take a bite of curry. It's delicious. Just the right balance of spice, with a sweetness to add depth. The texture is rich and the food is nice and hot. It's such a welcome change from my instant meals. I also realize that this is my first ever home-cooked meal. While I mumble another thanks for the food, Mrs. Bakugou yells at her son for adding Sriracha. The boy responds at a louder volume while his father casually flips through his newspaper.

What an interesting family. But it's kinda nice.