Don't Be Late

Chapter 2- Dreams

Ochaco, upon examining herself, found herself wearing a large blue gingham skirt with two layers of fluffy material, ruffles along the edges, a tightly drawn patterned corset, a blue bonnet tied to her head with a silk ribbon, and heavy white stockings leading to a pair of blue high-heeled, lace-up boots. She was holding a large white cane which had a small bell affixed to it, and it rang whenever she wasn't idle. 

She was standing in a shockingly green field, and the sun's rays bounced off of her cheeks as she spotted something in the distance. 

It was a herd of sheep, except they all had a pair of familiar slanted red eyes and wore rowdy blonde fur instead of their trademark white coats. The cluster reminded her of something- no, someone, but she just couldn't put her finger on it. They all growled at her when they saw her approaching, but gradually let down their guard, and soon, she was able to mingle about them with ease. Before she knew it, Uraraka was tending to a flock of slowly-growing-content Baku-sheep, and actually enjoying herself in the task. 

Unfortunately, a soft beeping noise began to disrupt the comfortable routine she'd settled into. She looked around the field for the source of the noise ruining her satisfaction, but it only grew louder and louder, before-

Ochaco's eyes burst open. She was no longer in a field, but laying horizontally across her bed. The sight of a still-beeping alarm clock, the source of the annoying noise that haunted her dreams, greeted her dreary eyes. Her right hand, almost as if it was on cue, slammed the button off. Adjusting to the jarring morning daylight that was peeking through the shutters, Ochaco rubbed her eyelids and leaned forward to check the time. 

No way. 

10:30??

Oh, no. Oh no, no, no...

Starting to panic, she slipped off the edge, landing uncomfortably in the small gap between her bed and her drawer. Ochaco violently grabbed the alarm clock to examine its contents, hoping what she read was merely an extension of the absurdity clouding her dreams. She grasped the clock, drawing it closer to her eyes in order to confirm what she really hoped, for her own sake, wasn't true. 

The universe had no such luck for her in store. The clock still read half-past-ten, and Ochaco was now filled with dread. Realizing her brain had tuned out the clock's irritating beeping noises in her jumbled hurry, she pressed one finger to the button and subsequently jumped out of her bed, imagining obscenities she wouldn't be caught dead saying out loud.  

She hurried over to her bathroom and brushed her teeth hurriedly while simultaneously splashing water on her face. Then, Ochaco pulled on an outfit not too dissimilar from the one her new sparring partner had worn yesterday; with cerulean athletic shorts that were slightly too tight and a cropped black tank top made out of a light, breathable fabric, you could almost say they were coordinated. In the rush to conserve time, Ochaco didn't realize this in the moment, but she would regret the choice her subconscious had made on her behalf soon enough.  

Grabbing a small black duffel bag that she thankfully had the foresight to pack the previous night, the frantic girl stuffed her feet into a pair of old, worn-out sneakers and threw on a cozy gray sweatshirt. She rushed out of her room, slamming the door with a loud shut behind her. Running as fast as she could down the halls of the girls' dorm, she glanced at her watch.

It was already 10:42? 

After what seemed like an eternity, she threw herself down the stairs, stopped halfway to catch her breath, and finally entered the common room.

She didn't particularly want to examine her surroundings, but her eyes seemed to make the trip upwards on their own. 

They landed upon a boy with unkempt fluffy blonde hair, about 6'2, leaning with one arm resting on a quartz pillar. He, too, was wearing a tank top, and it was accenting his tantalizing body nicely. Her eyes darted to his abs, which were not concealed at all but instead closely hugging the extremely thin, yet tight, fabric of his top. She could see his rock-hard, roughly carved muscle, the product of lots of intense work. His well-defined arm muscles were plainly visible; his biceps were all but perfectly sculpted, but what really caught her eye were the sharp, angular veins that bulged prominently down his arms. She followed their trail all the way down to his hands, where his veins were most noticeable; they accented his hands nicely, complimenting his long, slender fingers, all of which were about 4.5 inches (she guessed). They were scarred all over, no doubt due to previous fights. His right hand's ring finger and forefinger both sported bare silver bands, while his left's middle finger wore a plain gold one. 

It was just a few seconds, but she realized her eyes were greedily drinking in his appearance only when a rough, loud voice snapped her out of her hypnotic trance. 

"Oi, what the fuck are you just standing there for?" 

Bakugo was staring back at her with a look of disgust, which she assumed was in response to the fact that she had stood at the bottom of the stairs, just looking at him, for a good number of seconds. Heat rushed to her face, and her body turned slightly inwards as she stared at her shoes, too embarrassed to make eye contact with him. 

"Anyways," he continued angrily, not appearing to grasp the implications of what had just happened. "You're late. What the fuck did I tell you yesterday? And don't think you can get away with this easily, Angel Face. I woke up on time just to meet you here, and you pull this shit?" 

Ochaco's face remained heavily flushed. She still couldn't bring herself to speak to him, mainly because her brain was in overload trying to decipher the events of thirty seconds ago. 

"Yes," she wanted to yell back at him, "why was I just standing there? I'm not that kind of person! I'm not like... like Mineta or anything!" she thought, going from bashful to downright indignant. "

Wait, he didn't notice that, so who am I arguing with? I know that I'm not! And it's not like there's anything really special about you, Bakugo, anyway," she thought resentfully. 

"I only asked you because you were the one who suggested it in the first place! Bakugo's rude, cocky, disrespectful, inconsiderate, not to mention always angry for no good reason, always! He was kind of like...an angry little Pomeranian."

The tiniest of smiles harbored Ochaco's lips as she raised her face to meet Bakugo's irritated gaze. The thought of him as a tiny puppy who was rapidly barking at everyone had momentarily distracted her from her sentiments. This wasn't lost on him, however.

"Fuck are you smiling at, cheeks?"

"Oh, nothing." She realized that Bakugo wasn't actually angry with her; he was just mildly annoyed. He was just expressing any emotion that verged on the edge of anger with a lot of yelling. Their height difference was even more apparent as Bakugo happened to lay eyes upon a pair of large, doe-like eyes that were now looking up at him. His expression softened momentarily, his eyebrows raising upwards and his mouth dropping slightly open. He drew his face back into its usual trappings of anger, but for some strange reason, he seemed like his temper was evening out. 

When he spoke to her, his voice was softer than it was only a few minutes previously. It had taken on an oddly calmer quality, which it suited the brash tones of his voice nicely; he still sounded angry, but just in a different font.

"It doesn't matter anyways," he said in a mollified kind of way, avoiding looking at her as he turned his head to glance in the opposite direction. He looked down at his steel-colored watch. "Damn it, 10:50 already? Let's go, Uraraka."

She nodded silently, not knowing why she didn't feel nearly as angry anymore. 

They walked alongside each other on the stone path to the training rooms. For the first few minutes, they were silent. Bakugo firmly kept his hands in his pockets, his fingers jutting out at the sides from the awkward angle he'd inserted them in. He stared straight ahead, a weird mixture of concentration and grit on his face. Ochaco, on the other hand, had noticed his habit of sticking his fingers in his pockets. Then, she blushed, remembering how shamelessly she had admired the very same fingers earlier, and gotten both angry with and ashamed of her own mind. Soon, she was too subdued by her own confused head to even bother with initiating a conversation. 

Bakugo, without taking his eyes off of the ground, asked Ochaco: "You figured out I wrote to you, didn't you?"

Ochaco, for the second time that day, snapped out of her self-imposed crisis. "W-what?"she replied, bemused. 

"Don't fuck around, cheeks," he said, irritation creeping into his tone. "You figured out that I was the one who assigned to write to you in class?"

"Well," she responded, a smile beginning to appear on her face, her eyes crinkled and one hand touching her neck. "You're the only person I know who calls me Angel Face..."