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Jirou poked at the egg she was frying with a spatula. It was almost solid—just the right shape and color, but not firm enough that she could chop it up. The top was still watery. Nudging her spatula around the edges, she pushed it loose from the pan, just enough that it could slide around.
"Hey Ears!" Bakugou yelled. She could not see him—she was turned towards the wall, and he was in the other room, but the voice was distinct. And the name.
"I'm talking to you!" he continued, voice growing just a little louder as he rounded the corner and entered the kitchen. "How much longer do you need the stove?"
Jirou picked up the pan, jerked it just enough to make her egg flip over. She got it mostly right—the crumpled edge was small enough for her to smooth it out with the spatula.
"Oi! Ears!" Bakugou said again, "Gone deaf or something?"
"Yeah, I can't hear you," Jirou said, "When I get focused like this, I only notice if people use my real name."
That was a lie. Yaomomo did not respond to anything but her name when she was focused on a task. Jirou had heard him the first time. But she had a point to make.
"Jirou," Bakugou said, "Let me know when you're done in the kitchen."
Jirou blinked. That was—surprisingly simple. Something must be wrong if Bakugou was letting a chance to be petty slide by this easily. She looked over her shoulder, afraid of noticing some disaster, but there was nothing. Bakugou had already left the kitchen.
Shrugging, she turned back to her meal. The egg was mostly done. She picked up the cutting board and slid the chopped up green onions into her bowl of noodles. Quickly, she covered the bowl with a plate again. The water was hot, the noodles still cooking. If she let it cool off too much, she would have to microwave it. And the bowl was plastic, so she would have to find another one, and then she would have to wash two bowls. Not a major issue, but it was an unnecessary hassle.
When her egg finished, she dumped it out onto the cutting board, took the pan to the sink and ran that under cold water. She could come back to wash it later. She wanted to eat her soup while it was warm. Once she had chopped up her egg and added it to the soup, she grabbed a different plate, stuck it under the bowl, and carried her meal out to the common room. The bowl was still too hot to touch, but the plate she had just taken from the cabinet was cool.
Several of her friends were gathered around the couches, pouring over the contents of someone's computer. With the rapt attention they paid, it definitely did not have anything to do with the homework Aizawa Sensei had assigned them that morning. Bakugou sat apart in his own chair, legs sprawled over the handles, scrolling through some feed on his phone. He noticed her enter—immediately got up and hastened to the kitchen. He did not meet her eyes.
Jirou set her ramen down on the coffee table, took the top plate off, and promptly spilled condensation over everything.
The napkins were in the drawer on the end of the counter, closest to the table. She could have come in from the other way, grabbed them and left. Instead, she went back the way she had come, through the gap in the counter nearest to the common room and diagonal across the center of the kitchen. Bakugou had cleared a space off next to the sink and was grabbing jars of seasoning from a cabinet nearby. He turned to see her too late—she was too far into the room to pretend she had not meant to enter.
"Why are you here," he demanded.
"Why do you suddenly have a problem with me?" she spat back. Where had that come from?
Bakugou's face tightened, and Jirou tensed, ready to jump back. Her friend would not actually hurt her, but he was prone to chasing people around the dorm when he got worked up enough. She would not be caught unaware.
It turned out not to matter though. Bakugou only turned back to the sink, grabbed her dirty spatula, and started scrubbing furiously.
"Don't ignore me," Jirou said. Maybe it was not wise to egg him on, but he was starting to seriously unnerve her.
"I won't call you Ears," he said, "If you don't want."
Jirou opened her mouth to say yeah I'd rather you didn't , but the words never came. She had spent so many months fighting him over this, but she had never stopped to consider what winning would look like. It felt wrong to see Bakugou stop fighting.
"I want you to call me Jirou," she said, the right words coming to her just in time, "And I want to push you out of the ring when we spar, and I want to beat you to the cupboard when there's only one pack of spicy ramen left. But if you just let that happen—if you just let me win, then—"
"Then it doesn't mean anything," Bakugou said.
She could hear it in his tone. He understood.
"So are we cool?" Jirou said.
Bakugou spun and flicked the spatula at her. Water splashed over her shirt.
"Hey!" Jirou yelled, but she grinned anyway. Before the attack could continue, she darted the rest of the way to the drawer, grabbed a stack of napkins, and rushed for the common room.
"Get out of my kitchen, Ears!" Bakugou yelled. It was redundant—she was already by the couches. So it was easy to tell that he meant something else.