Flea

Chapter Fifty Three

Bakugo checked his phone for the fifth time since making his morning protein shake, more for something to do than with any expectation Maeve had replied. When she suggested the session start as soon as he woke up the previous evening, he'd just laughed at her. The girl couldn't drag herself out of bed for a fucking coffee, let alone fitness drills in the mud.

His phone rang. Probably Satan incarnate ready to yell at him for not washing his underwear yet. Fuck's sake. Bakugo picked it up and answered, too distracted by rinsing out the blender to check caller ID.

"Allo?" He grunted, abandoning the sink to instead inspect his biceps in some reflective kitchen cabinets. A dry voice crackled through the receiver.

"For someone so insistent I be outside bang on 4:50 you're awfully relaxed about timings yourself."

"You're actually up? Is something wrong?"

"Yeah, something is wrong. I'm currently freezing my arse off outside height's alliance in stupid gym wear that makes said arse look like a creased burrito, and you're nowhere to be found."

"I told you to be outside so you could do some warm-up stretches. The session only starts at five, when I'll come out and we'll start," Bakugo explained, finishing off his smoothie. For him, it was a pathetically flimsy excuse, but he just decided to roll with it.  

"Why didn't you tell me that? I've already stretched-"

"How the fuck does a scrawny nerd like you know how to do that?"

"If you didn't think I knew how to warm up properly, why did you expect me to be able to do it myself now?"

Her voice was weird, even on the phone. Maeve usually talked a lot, sure, and he knew better than anyone how irritable she could get. Yet the level she'd already reached that morning was practically incoherent, which suggested lack of control, and if there was one thing Maeve never lost it was that.

"Fucking mouthbreather... I'll come out now," Bakugo sighed, clearing away his dishes and slouching to unlatch the front door. He and Mr Aizawa had unofficially fallen into a routine; the erasure hero checked security when he left and came in for nocturnal work, and Bakugo ensuring nothing had happened the following morning on his run. They generally only missed each other by a couple of hours. 

Maeve stood out on the lane, shaking, even though it was the height of summer. Not a good sign. She was indeed wearing UA sports gear, and he agreed it didn't fit her well. Her hair was arranged in cornrows that in that moment made her head look like an egg. Bakugo wasn't one to sugar coat things. If the nurse wanted that she should've employed the cake idiot.

"How are you only wearing a tank top? Who are you flaunting your guns to?"

"Yeah, fuck you too. You're going to overheat in that, you should just go in the bodysuit," he sighed, bending down to press his palms against the ground. There was definitely something wrong with her, and Bakugo knew if he of all people had noticed, it must be bad. But he wasn't her fucking therapist. He was there to stop what happened to her from ever happening again, nothing more.

"Yeah, these shivers racking my body are just part of the warm-up routine. I sure am toasty," she replied sarcastically, watching him stretch with an arched eyebrow. Bakugo began lowering himself into smooth lunges.

"Those are caffeine tremours and we both know it. What happened at the police station last night?"

"Not much. A quirk specialist came in with me, which Shnitzelface was even less keen on than I expected. He didn't do anything awful, but we pulled the plug anyway."