You peek over the sketchbook, making a small signal with your hand towards Bakugo.

How did he end up like this? Being a stupid hand model for your stupid drawings. He almost declined, called you a stupid moron right then and there—but when you flashed him your dumb smile. Your dumb crooked smile, the way your eyes scrunched in the corners. He relented. Now hes sat on your bed, posing his hands for you to practice.

He scoffed, moving his finger over the soda can you had him pose with. His knuckles defined, the veins in his hand being the most prominent. What you found most fascinating and rather beautiful about his hands where his scars. He trained a lot, like a lot, so it was no surprise he had scars and scratches from pushing him self past his limits.

"This is so stupid, I shouldnt be wasting my time on things like this." He muttered, a sour expression splayed across his face

He didnt know why you could always convince him to do things, but you did. You had that effect on him. Ever since you strived to be his friend. Frankly, he was angry. Angry at you and the way you looked at him, angry and your idiotic laugh, and angry at himself for feeling this way about you.