Bakugou get to the gym only to realize that he forgot to pack his goddamn jock. He bangs his head against the locker, and a mountain of a stranger nearby asks, "You okay, bro?"

"Fuckin' peachy. Forgot my goddamn jock."

"Oh. Well, if it's not weird, you can borrow mine."

Bakugou doesn't remove his head from the dented locker, instead rolling it to the side to give the guy his best /What the actual fuck?/ glare.

He almost swallows his tongue.

The guy isn't just a mountain. He's goddamn Everest. He has to be, what, at least six-foot-four? Five?

His shoulders and chest are absolutely mammoth, the muscle covered in a comfortable layer of fat. Half his nipples peek out of the sides of his red stringer. His pecs look like they have their own /gravity/--while defying Earth's!

His broad chest and shoulders narrow down to a pair of hips that Bakugou wants to /grab/. And then his thighs. Thick-ass-mother-fuckers--

"I guess it's weird. I mean, it's clean. It's a spare I keep on-hand in case I forget mine?"

Bakugou's gaze shoots up to the idiot's face.

His hair is bright, firetruck red, and his tan skin is lightly kissed with freckles. Wideset eyes and a big forehead give him an almost innocent, sweet look.

And this hottie just offered Bakugou his spare jock?

Fuck yes, he was taking that and leaving the gym with it.

"Fuckin' fine, you weird-ass perv. Give it." He holds a hand out, and the redhead laughs nervously before digging out the spare jock and handing it over.

"My, uh... number's on the band."

"What the fuck."

"In--in case you wanted to wash them and give them back?"

Bakugou's not sure if this guy's the smoothest flirter he's ever met or the dumbest idiot to walk the planet.

And if he texts that number a week later, well, it's no one's business but his own.

END