Bakugou Katsuki has, although with considerable reluctance, many things he likes about his boyfriend.

His hair would be a good place to start. It's silkier more often than not, and when it's sticky with sweat, Bakugou enjoys untangling the red-white locks as he ruffles his hair.

Then there were his eyes. His right side was gray, the other one turquoise – he was quite fond of the diversity of colors.

And then, of course –

Wait; did he actually not like anything about Todoroki Shouto?

… Fuck.

"There has to be something." He angrily utters to himself, as he harassed his ballpoint pen, aggressively hitting it against the wooden desk. Some of his classmates are sending him concerned glances – well, who gives a shit. At least, Bakugou didn't.

"Bakugou, stationery abuse is prohibited during class hours." Aizawa chides, an irritated expression plastered on his face as he paused the lecture he didn't even want to teach.

"That's not a fucking rule."

"It is now, because I said so."

Well, shit. He slumps backward on his chair, avoiding Todoroki's intense stare across the room, three rows in front of him. Somewhere in the background, Jirou and Kaminari are snickering their ass off – it takes Bakugou all the patience he had remaining to not blast away the whole building.

The train of thought continues without any specified destination – other than the answer he had in mind.

His voice?

Well, his voice is actually pretty fucking hot. He notes, and his moans turn me on. A shade of burning red reaches his ears, as he remembers the countless nights they had spent together beforehand.

His hands?

Surprisingly, Todoroki's fingers weren't the smooth, long, perfectly white and flawless kind. Each finger had a small bruise from that evening's sparring, some that were healing, and some that had been replaced with a new wound. But it was still unbelievably soft, in contrast to Bakugou's rough, calloused skin. His heterochromatic boyfriend would often run his petite finger across the blonde's palm, caressing the ancient scars and cuts that each contained a story, ranging from afternoon practices, to countering numerous villains.

"I like your scars," He would say, with his low, cascading voice. Then his fingers would intertwine with Bakugou's, his head bumping into his broader shoulders, as Bakugou wordlessly adjusted his posture so that Todoroki could be more comfortable. "It's a reminder of who you truly are." When the gruffer boy snorts at the corny line, and eventually asks who he truly is, Todoroki would mumble a different reason every time – Bakugou was 100 percent certain that he always made a new one up at the spot. So far, his favorite was, "A hero."

There it was – Todoroki's simplicity. He wasn't like Deku, trying to explore every miniscule detail and explain the theory behind each living atom in existence – he put it as it is, and Bakugou appreciated such qualities. If there's a pancake on the table, Bakugou just needs to know that it's a pancake – not the whole magical recipe behind it.

Not all that to say Todoroki's an airhead. He could be, just not naturally. He's a person of depth – but all at the same time, not overly complex.

Okay, now I'm just fucking complimenting him to no end. Bakugou grumbles aloud a cuss word, earning some cross glares from the sidelines. He once again, pulls down the urge to give them the middle finger, and walks by.

When he gets to the cafeteria, his eyes immediately search for Todoroki – a newly developed habit that Bakugou refused to admit. He would've never realized it in the first place, if Kirishima hadn't mentioned it. He's standing in line at the Japanese cuisine corner – Bakugou can assume they have cold soba on their menu today.

"Bakugou." Todoroki nods – a friendly gesture that he shared with those close to him. "What are you getting?"

The explosive boy scans the assortment of food, and responds, "Something –"

" –Spicy." His boyfriend breaks a smile, finishing his sentence. He knows me too fucking well.

"Just order something, you sick lovebirds." Jirou moans behind them, her stomach growling loudly. Their relationship was far from private, or anything within the secretive boundaries – literally, the whole school knew. This included some troublesome pro-heroes, such as one very buff Endeavor. But that was a story for another day.

So Bakugou carries his mapo tofu, and Todoroki admires his cold soba. They sit alone in the furthest corner of the cafeteria, closest to the large window. Their lunch passes by with silence engulfing them most of the time – both of them preferred to eat quietly, with no disturbances in between.

But occasionally, there were some days where minor conversation travelled back and forth – like today.

"So, what were you so infuriated over in class?" Todoroki looks up, after swallowing his first chopstick full of cold noodles. "Not like that's very new." He adds impassively, with a shrug.

"I have absolutely no fucking idea what you might be talking about."

"When you sexually harassed your pen in calculus."

"I was fucking playing around with it."

"There you go, you remembered." Bakugou rolls his eyes – he hated that he fell for the same trick every single time, knowing that it was a trick anyway. He does it just to see the sparkle in Todoroki's steel eyes, one that lasted shorter than a nanosecond – but Bakugou has good eyesight, and he always catches them anyway.

"I was just thinking about something." He pushes the lumps of tofu to the right side of his plate, then back to the center.

"Yes?"

"Like," He starts crushing the mushy tofu on the platter, flustered. 'Don't play with your food, idiot,' the reprimanding tone of his mother rings like a vague reminder in his head, and he stops. "What I don't fucking like about you."

That makes Todoroki stir a little, as he frowns. "Where did this come from?"

It's understandable; that the half redhead seemed so bewildered about the sudden question – Bakugou hardly contemplated about feelings, or emotions – it was usually Todoroki that dealt with that part of their relationship. Ever since the advent of their romantic affair 2 years ago, during their freshman year of high school, the roles seemed pretty obvious to both of them. Not like there's much of a fine borderline or category that were absolutely obliged to – sometimes Bakugou could be fairly emotional, and Todoroki just as physically intimate.

But well, maybe it was also kind of scary, because normally couples didn't discuss what they fucking abhor about their partner out of the blue.

"I mean, we're both fucking human. And I'm fucking me, and that being said, I always have something I hate about everyone, even All Might." So you logically shouldn't be an exception. Bakugou thinks to himself, as Todoroki's tense shoulders relax, expressing his relief.

"Well," The paler boy leans in closer, an action taken when he often engaged in a conversation with Bakugou. His face is cute, so no harm- oh, my fucking god. "Ask me if I have anything I hate about you."

The demand causes an oddly prickling sensation within his body – almost as if he was nervous to heed an actual answer. But Bakugou asks anyway. "Do you?"

"Of course not, Katsuki." Todoroki replies rather matter-of-factly, his words slipping off his tongue ever so smoothly, his lips slightly wet with soy sauce pronouncing his name, every syllable perfect because it's from Shouto.

His straightforward answer sparks a somewhat testy challenge within the blonde, as he begins listing off every single 'negative' quality of himself he can come up with at the spot. "I cuss."

"With flair."

"I'm fucking picky."

"Everyone's picky about something."

"I'm loud."

"So am I, when you fuck me."

"That's fucking different- I'm easily angered."

"It's just your personality."

"And you're fucking okay with that?"

"I've been dating you for two years. Should be a decent sign." Todoroki shrugs, "And you never get mad at me."

Fair point. Bakugou slouches in his seat, however, still not quite satisfied. Todoroki realizes this, and leans back into his own seat, putting his hands in his pockets. "Then let's reverse our roles. You can answer how you feel about anything I say right now about myself." He tilts his head to the side, his silky white hair falling down his neck. "I hold grudges."

"Who fucking doesn't?"

"I'm pretty dense."

"Are you trying to indirectly insult me, Todoroki?"

"I can't cook."

"I can." Which means you can just fucking make the drinks, and we'd be ideal.

"I can be pretty emotional."

"Anyone can be fucking emotional at times."

Todoroki pauses, looking quite hesitant to say the next point. He fiddles with a strand of his red hair, then switching over to his white – a habit that sprung when he felt uncomfortable about addressing something.

"My scar."

Oh. Bakugou sucks in a stale breath, subconsciously reaching out to Todoroki, until he's reminded that they were currently sitting in front of the whole student body, spurting their insecurities for the world to hear. He quickly and furiously eyes the cafeteria, ascertaining if anyone had eavesdropped or overheard that last point, and pulls his boyfriend out of the glass building, outside.

Upon the mention of the scar, he was always brought back to the memories of how their relationship even came to be. It all began when he was absolutely sure his dick had become a stick of ice in the middle of the night, during his first year at UA. He came to know about Todoroki's midnight traumas, and why those nightmares came to light in the first place. It also explained why Bakugou's number one thing to accomplish on his to-do list when he became a pro-hero was: "Kick Endeavor's ass."

"Shouto." He thrusts the Half'n Half to the abandoned corner of the school – of course, ignoring the bell that was signaling the start of 5th period. Like he gave a shit about his grade when he had one damn straight Todoroki Shouto to talk to. "Don't you dare fucking say that to me." He's not particularly enraged at Todoroki, to be honest. Just once again, at Endeavor, who seemed to be the root of every single problem in Todoroki's life.

"Sorry." His apology tinted with regret, Todoroki forces a strained smile on his face. "I didn't mean it."

No, you did. "Don't fucking lie to my face, Shouto."

"You always see right through me, Katsuki." Todoroki plants a feathery kiss on his lips – another form of apology they learnt over the years.

"Your scar." Threading his fingers through Todoroki's hair, Bakugou pulls him in, grunting. "You're sometimes too fucking pretty to look at, that if you don't have the fucking scar, I might as well be blind." It was another way of saying, 'You're fucking beautiful, always was and always will be.'

And knowing this, being a fluent speaker of the Bakugou language, Todoroki grins. "Well, I have to thank that water, then. You're so much better when you look into my eyes, Katsuki."

"And you're so much better when you're talking through our fucking kisses." They pull in for another passionate kiss, as they hear whispers in the background – probably some students slacking off, just like they were – but in true Todoroki and Bakugou fashion, they don't give a shit together.

"So, Katsuki, do you have anything you hate about me?" Panting, Todoroki questions, his face flushed with Bakugou's eye color, his gray-turquoise orbs wavering with pleasure.

Bakugou mumbles the answer he now knows all too well through a deepened kiss, the words muffled but still comprehensible for only Todoroki to hear –

"No, absolutely fucking not, Shouto."

God, even his name is nothing but perfection.