elevator hours. | todobaku

third hour.

— WHYS —

The beeping sound of Todoroki's watch signals that another hour has perished.

Another sound follows- the sound of Todoroki's loud grunt of irritation. "I'm starting to lose hope." He confesses.

At the uttered comment, Bakugou perks his head up so quickly it could almost snap off. Almost. "Hah?! And why is that? You pessimistic piece of peppermint!" He scolds coldly, however, his piercing stare on Todoroki was even colder.

"Wonderful example of alliteration!" Todoroki remarks.

Bakugou snickers humorlessly, "Just... don't lose hope, you fucking two-tone jerk." He growls out another nickname like it was the most natural thing ever.

Todoroki lets out a snicker of his own, rotating fully to face Bakugou. "Was that your way of motivating me?" He smirks.

Bakugou's cheeks ablaze with a light sprinkle of pink. Why do my cheeks feel like they're burning? He pushes back the question to the furthest part of his brain. gritting his teeth, as he spoke through them brashly, "I-I wasn't trying to motivate you! Damnit," He snarls, eyes traveling to the ground, his shoes- anywhere but that irritating face of that half ass trash. And he just knew that stupid smirk just grew. With the image in his head, Bakugou could hear the accelerating palpitations of his heart. Why is it beating so fast?

Bakugou chortled at his antics. He sprouted up from slouching to yell at him, "Don't fucking laugh at me, you half faced fucknut!" He seethes, pouting, and re-adverting back to his grumpy position; arms crossed, head hanging low, and all.

Cute.

Todoroki cupped a hand to his mouth to muffle another chortle. He knows he should feel threatened, especially with how Bakugou was infuriatingly whispering incoherent threads of profanities and curses underneath his breath. But really? Shouto feels... warm. Yeah— warm. Warm was a good word for it.

Warm was an adequate word enough to define that bubbling, blooming sensation in his chest, pounding within the ensnaring bounds of his heart, threatening to jump out the moment he sees Bakugou. The blood that meandered in rushing streams all the way to the pristine apples of cheeks and pigmented them in crimson.

It. Todoroki eyes Bakugou through the corner of his eye and through the cracks of his pomegranate fringe. He's familiar with it now, the beating of his heart, the burning of his cheeks. It— is what he'll call that for now.