I'm better.

Shut up.

Bakugo stared at her, interested. "How did you do that?"

She laughed, but sorrow lined her eyes as she looked at him. "I'm cursed."

Bakugo made a confused face. "What do you mean?"

At that moment, Recovery Girl entered with Mr. Aizawa, drawing both of their attention.

"You both aren't getting suspended, of course, because you got permission to deal with 'important matters'," Mr. Aizawa stated, using air quotes.

The crease between Bakugo's eyebrows deepened. "I didn't get permission..."

"But because the two of you decided to act like your lives didn't matter, you're both on house arrest for two after-school days."

Bakugo sighed, annoyed.

"Yes, sir," Tsuki said, her voice shifting completely from how she had just spoken to Bakugo.

They talked a bit more about the issues of mass quirk use—which had caused a small panic throughout the school—while the teachers held another brief discussion outside the room. Bakugo waited a beat before speaking again.

"Did you ask permission?" he asked, but Tsuki ignored him. He clenched his teeth. "Don't ignore me, you suicidal maniac."

She laughed. "I did."

"Why?"

"So we wouldn't get in trouble."

"Then why was Aizawa there?"

"Hm?"

"Mr. Aizawa was there," Bakugo said. "And after he showed up, your blood lust stopped spilling."

She sighed. "You're very perceptive for someone who's an idiot."

Bakugo growled, "WHAT... did you call me?"

"I do what I want," she shrugged. "Why are you even asking? You don't seem like the type to care."

He huffed. "I don't."

"Then shut up."

He snarled, "You act a lot different in front of teachers."

She scoffed. "No, you just happen to bring out my genuine nature."

He stared at her. "What the hell does that mean?  " he wondered. "Can we, uh... spar again sometime?"

Tsuki made a noise, and Bakugo looked at her. His eyebrows rose and his lips parted slightly; he turned his head away, avoiding her gaze. She stared at his neck and closed her eyes, sensing a rise in his heart rate.

"He's actually really cute," she thought, smiling genuinely at him. "Of course."

A click sounded from Bakugo's mouth. "Don't take that the wrong way. I'm going to get you to use your quirk," he declared.

He turned back to meet her gaze. "We'll see."

With a grunt, he crossed his arms over his chest. "What did you think..."

"About how you did?" she prompted.

His face flushed a light shade of red. "I'M NOT ASKING FOR YOUR HELP OR ANYTHING—I JUST WANNA KNOW WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE FROM AN UNBIASED PERSPECTIVE!"

Tsuki blinked and jerked her head back at his sudden volume. "God—I was just asking a question."

"JUST ANSWER THE QUESTION!"

"Stop yelling," she said again. "You did fine."

He eyed her. "So thorough."

"If you're asking for feedback," she began, "your brain is interesting. You attack mainly based on your heightened emotion. The better your opponent does, the better you do—it's like you live for learning and self-improvement. It's a great characteristic, but... it's also your greatest weakness."

"Tch."

Tsuki ignored him. "You want to be the best so badly that it's holding you back. Your desire for strength has blinded you to all the other important assets needed to become a great hero. Being the strongest hero doesn't mean you're the best—you also have to be a decent person. Your personality will be your greatest enemy."

"The hell did you say—" he started.

"Screaming, insulting people, being crude," she listed. "These aren't the traits of heroes. Why do you think Shigaraki kidnapped you? Because of how you act. You act like a villain—"

"OH SHUUUUUT UP," he groaned. "I didn't ask to get lectured."

"I'm not lecturing you," she snapped, her brows furrowing with anger. "You want to be number one, don't you?"

He smiled, angrily. "Duh."

"Then take advice from the number one hero in America," she said, pointing to herself with her thumb. "You'll never make it the way you are."

"Don't underestimate me, you—"

"I'm not," she retorted. "Could you just shut up for five minutes and listen? God!" He rolled his eyes and gestured for her to continue.

...

Authors note: How obvious is it that I'm an improv writer?