What time is it?

“Yo Bakugou, what time is it?”

“Time to get your own damn watch.”

“Come on man, it's a simple question.”

With a sigh, Bakugou glanced at his watch, immediately turning back to his book.

“Half past die.”

“Real funny, dude,” Kaminari sighed, leaning over the back of his chair. “Let me see.”

He held up his arm, and Kaminari frowned, staring at it with a strange silence.

“What's wrong, dumbass?” Bakugou asked, completely straight-faced. “Never learned to read a clock that wasn't digital?”

“It just says die.”

“Yeah, duh. I told you, half past die.”

“What?!”

“It's always time to die.”

Behind them, Kaminari could hear stifled little giggles, and he glanced back to see Midoriya with a hand covering his mouth.

“Do you know about this?”

“Sorry!” he giggled. “It's eleven thirty-two!”

“Who on earth makes a watch that just says 'die' instead of numbers?!”

Bakugou smirked back at him, glancing at it himself briefly and running his thumb along the orange band.

“It's one of a kind,” he explained, his voice strangely soft. “Custom made.”

“You got a custom watch made just so you could make “die o'clock” jokes?”

“No, it was a gift.”

Kaminari finally caught on, glancing back at Midoriya and the soft little smile on his face.

“I got it for his birthday,” he explained. “His old watch broke and I thought the custom one was funny.”

“Aww, that's so sweet!” Kaminari cooed, throwing an arm around Bakugou's shoulders and squeezing him despite his glare. “What did you get him for his, huh? Bet it wasn't half as thoughtful.”

“Shut up.”

“Oh no! You forgot, didn't you?! Bakubro, how could you?!”

“I didn't forget! Shut the hell up!”

The bell rang, and Bakugou breathed a sigh of relief when Kaminari returned to his desk. He spared a glance back at Midoriya as Aizawa arrived, rolling his eyes at the dopey look on his face, the little sparkle in his eyes when they met gazes.

Midoriya raised a hand out of his lap, setting it on the top of his desk, and when Bakugou turned away he smiled to himself again. He ran his thumb over the little silver band, spinning it around his finger, remembering the little black box and the flushed cheeks.

“I promise I'll take care of you, from now on,” Bakugou mumbled, as he shoved it into shaking hands. “Happy birthday, De- Um, Izuku.”

Half as thoughtful? No, his Kacchan outdid him every time.