“What in the hell is a self-cleaning tampon?” Katsuki burst open the door, stomping heavily over to the couch you were sat. His expression was unreadable, face souring as he plopped the bag of essentials you asked for him to pick up on his way to your dorm. For once, he decided to do you a favor and help you stock some supplies for the week. The human kettle had seemed to have grown some kind of leniency for you along the way, a nuance you were pleasantly bemused about.

Unbeknownst to him, your hormones were feeling quite espiègle today—though partially the blame should be shifted on him for being totally naïve. Embarrassingly, he spent a good 20 minutes scouring the feminine care aisle to find one specific item you listed; a self-cleaning tampon. You knew damn well it was blatantly obvious a thing like that doesn't exist, so it came as a surprise when he arrived, inquiring about it. Was he always this gullible?

“You've got to be bullshitting me,” He narrowed his eyes, ready to throw a punch though held himself back. The last thing he wanted to do was hit a woman. Katsuki Bakugo might've been hot-headed and querulous, sure. But he wasn't that dumb to not know where to place his pugnaciousness knowing you were suffering from cramps. He's bad at sympathizing, but he will try his best to alleviate a predicament—not that he'd say it out loud of course. A prideful man like him couldn't bear the thought.

“One of these days you're going to be asking me to buy you some shit like flavored fucking pads.” He ran a hand through his spiky hair dramatically, shoulders slacking a little bit as the tension, and annoyance he felt dissipated. His expression stilled when he noticed your silence, scanning your face while he was dumbfounded himself. It was almost comical, in a sense. Him, who kept up a rough, dominating façade. You, who purposely set yourself up for a beating feeding him information about this non-existing piece of hygiene. Which was more embarrassing?

“..But those don't exist—right?”