Chapter Text
Eijirou would be lying if he said he wasn't nervous. Eijirou would be lying horribly if he said he wasn't nervous, given the fact that he had to be up in about three hours to catch his train and had done nothing but stare at his ceiling. He couldn't help it, really, in a few hours he was going to be meeting Bakugou in person. Bakugou, the guy he had been totally not fanboying over for years and had somehow kind of become friends with over the last month. It didn't feel real. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was going to wake up any minute and it would all be nothing more than a dream.
The three hours passed slowly; Eijirou was pretty sure he had gotten at least a little sleep, sometime between three thirty and five. Very, very restless sleep. He got ready in a daze, silently bemoaning how low the sun was in the sky as he made his way to the train station. It wasn't a particularly far trip, just an hour and a half, but Bakugou had asked, well, demanded that he get there early so the filming ‘didn't fuck with his actual goddamn job.’ Eijirou hadn’t minded at the time and had been thrilled, even. But now, now that he was seated on the train with a handful of early risers and late drinkers—blinking sleep out of his eyes—he was beginning to mind. Who has a meeting at seven in the morning? Who agrees to that meeting when they live an hour and a half away?
The train ride went by in a tired blur of concrete and trees, soon enough Eijirou found himself in a coffee shop a few blocks from ‘Dynamight's’ salon. It was, seemingly, run by people that should never work in customer service. One man had seen him and immediately turned towards the wall, muttering something about wanting to quit and go home. Another, slightly older man who looked like he hadn't shaved or maybe even showered in about a week was fiddling with a complicated-looking machine. The guy at the register looked to be about Eijirou's age with purple hair, the biggest bags under his eyes he had ever seen, and he looked so disinterested in the entire exchange it was almost impressive.
“The espresso machine is broken. We only have drip coffee.” The purple-haired man said in lieu of a greeting.
Eijirou smiled anyway. “Alright! Two please, one with cream and sugar and one with, uh—” It occurred to him he had no idea how Bakugou took his coffee. “The same, I guess.”
The guy, Shinsou according to his nametag, looked unimpressed but put the order in without another word.
Eijirou paid, threw a little money in the tip jar on the counter, and stepped back to wait for his coffee. The shop was nice enough, surprisingly cutesy, with cat pictures plastered on the walls and cheerful coffee-related quotes, which read sarcastic given the staff’s general attitude, scattered seemingly at random. Quiet music he couldn't quite decipher played in the background. He found himself wondering if Bakugou ever visited the shop, if he knew the staff, if he was the kind of guy to try something new every time or stuck to one order, he wondered if he would get to find out.
The timid-looking man called out his order, bringing him back to the reality of the cozy shop and the growing excitement of finally meeting his new bro. He took the coffee with a smile and headed out the door, pushing down the last of his butterflies.
.
The salon was more or less what he was expecting: wide open with sleek dark decor. It was minimalistic and clean, and despite being nothing like Eijirou's usual tastes, he liked it immediately. He didn't have much time to take it in however, as a moment after he walked through the door he heard a loud crash followed by even louder cursing somewhere in the back and just like that he was face-to-face with Bakugou, a very disgruntled-looking Bakugou.
“Holy shit, it's even worse in person.”
Eijirou had pictured this moment a lot in the last few weeks; he hadn't been quite sure how it would go, if it would be friendly and a little awkward like meeting an old friend for the first time in a while, or more professional since they technically were there for work, or if it would feel like a dream and he would spend half the time trying to convince himself it was real; he had pictured it all. What he hadn't expected was that.
“Dude, that’s so rude!”
“Fuck you, it's not rude, it's honest.”
It was seamless, no awkward introduction, just a slip into warm familiarity.
“That doesn't make it not rude.”
“Yes, it does! It's not an insult if it's true.”
“That's really not how that works, man. You can't call someone's hair ugly and then claim it's not a rude thing to say just because you genuinely think it's ugly.”
“Yes, the fuck I can.”
Eijirou looked down at the nearly forgotten cups in his hand, offering one to Bakugou. “Oh! I got you a coffee. I don't know how you usually take it so I just got milk and sugar.”
Bakugou eyed it curiously, inspecting it like it was some kind of time bomb and not a very normal thing to bring someone when meeting with them first thing in the morning. Apparently deeming it not a threat, he took it with a slight grunt before taking a sip and immediately recoiling, a disgusted look on his face. “How the fuck do you drink shit this sweet?”
Eijirou took a sip of his own; it wasn't anything special, really, but definitely didn't warrant that big of a reaction from the other man. “Dude, it's really not that bad.”
“Maybe if you want fucking diabetes, but I like having feet, thank you very much.”
Eijirou couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Fine, fine, don't drink it then.”
Bakugou drew his hand back as Eijirou reached for the nearly full cup, practically snarling. “Fuck off, I'll fucking drink it. No point in wasting it.”
Eijirou shrugged. “Whatever you want, man.”
The two settled down. Bakugou ran through the process of filming the video and the general outline it would follow. It all seemed pretty straightforward: they would introduce themselves, Bakugou would go into a ‘totally necessary and not mean’ description of Eijirou’s hair and how it could be improved, then they would get into the actual process of ‘fixing’ his hair, and then wrap up the video and call it a day. All in all it seemed pretty easy. No more than two hours, Bakugou had said, get him out the door before he had to actually open for the day.
“Hey motherfuckers. Today I'm going to be fixing—”
“Improving.”
“Fixing this asshole's hair.”
“I take it back; I don't want to be a part of this if you're just going to insult me the whole time,” Eijirou said with a slight grin.
“Too fucking late.”
Eijirou was sitting at one of the salon's stations, Bakugou standing behind him. It wouldn't have felt much different from a normal haircut, really, besides the fact that the man currently pulling apart his carefully crafted spikes was making no attempt to hide the utter bewilderment and mild annoyance on his face. And the camera in his face, that was different too.
“Are you going to introduce yourself, or are the viewers just going to have to fucking guess?”
“Dude, you didn't give me a chance, you went straight to insulting me.”
Bakugou rolled his eyes. “If you would just admit your hair is shitty and needs fixing I wouldn't need to insult you.”
“Bro, my hair is great and you are not going to get me to say otherwise, even for a video.”
Bakugou shook his head with a sigh. “Quit stalling. Introduce yourself, dumbass.”
Eijirou rolled his eyes with a toothy smile. “Dude, again it wouldn't be an issue if you would stop insulting me, but hey I'm Red Riot and today Dynamight is going to be improving my hair.”
Bakugou grunted at the camera in acknowledgement before going back to messing with Eijirou’s hair. “As you can see on top of the obnoxious at home dye job this idiot also styles his hair to look like a deranged porcupine and uses so much gel it's fucking crunchy. And before any of you fuckers go on about ‘liberty spikes’ or some other alternative hairstyle bullshit this idiot showed up wearing a superhero tshirt, a neon yellow zebra print button down, cargo shorts, and fucking crocs, so he just has shitty taste and you can go straight to hell.”
“DUDE!” Eijirou couldn’t keep the indignity from his voice.
Bakugou brushed him off, “Shut up. We need to wash this gel out to do able to do fucking anything with the neon catastrophe on your head.” He took a step back from Eijirou, removing his hands from his hair. “Ok, we don't need to record this part because that's a fucking pain in the ass and not that goddamn interesting. Follow me.”
Eijirou scrambled to his feet, following Bakugou back to the washbasins. Bakugou worked efficiently, scrubbing the gel out of Eijirou’s hair. It felt surprisingly nice; sure, getting your hair washed was always pretty nice, and Bakugou was a professional, but given his whole rough-around-the-edges shtick, Eijirou had half expected him to more or less beat the gel out of his hair. He didn't though, while it was a bit more aggressive than he was used to Eijirou had to admit it felt nice. Several minutes and a good few gallons of hot water later Eijirou’s head had never felt so clean and Bakugou was pushing him back towards the salon station.
“Dude, you're like really good at that,” Eijirou said after taking a seat.
“No shit, I'm a fucking professional.”
“Sure, but seriously, man that was the best hair wash ever; my head has never felt so clean, and I honestly could have fallen asleep, it was so relaxing.”
Bakugou huffed slightly, and if Eijirou didn’t know any better, he would say the guy looked embarrassed. “Only bitches take a shortcut on the hairwash.”
Eijirou couldn’t help but chuckle. “You really take pride in what you do, huh?”
Bakugou shrugged. “Fucking obviously, what's the point in half-assing this shit?”
“That's so manly, bro!”
“Shut up, we need to keep filming.”
“Ok, ok.”
“With the gel finally out and those shitty spikes undone, I can actually fix this shit.” Bakugou ran his fingers through Eijirou’s hair once more, showcasing the lack of gel.
“Are you this mean to all of your guests?”
“Yes.”
“Dude, how are you still in business?”
Bakugou reached for the scissors. “I am fucking amazing at my job, dipshit. If little bitches can't handle my attitude, that's their problem.”
Eijirou raised a brow. “Sure, dude, but it wouldn't hurt to be a little bit nicer.”
“Are you here to film a video or bitch about how I do my job?”
“Both!” Eijirou beamed.
Bakugou shook his head in exasperation as he muttered something about ‘stupid collabs with stupid cheery idiots.’
Eijirou tried to suppress his laughs. “Ok, man, what are you doing to my hair?”
“Nothing too fucking drastic yet, keep your pants on. Just getting rid of some split ends, shaping it up a bit.”
“Just checking, I don't want to end up bald or something.”
“Would still be better than the spikes.”
“Dude, our hair really isn't all that different.”
“Bullshit.”
Eijirou tried his best not to laugh and sat as still as possible as Bakugou combed and trimmed his hair with deft hands.
“Would you quit moving?” Bakugou huffed.
Eijirou turned slightly to look Bakugou in the face. “Man, I haven't moved.”
“If you lose an ear, don't blame me.”
“I would definitely blame you, man. You have the scissors in your hands.”
“Yeah, well, if you keep fucking moving, there isn't anything I can do about it.”
Eijirou raised his hands in mock surrender. “Ok, ok, point made. Sitting still.”
Bakugou hummed in approval and got back to work.
With the haircut done, Bakugou got to work on the dye. “As much as I would love to change his hair color completely so he looks less like a boiled lobster, he won't fucking let me, so at the very least I am going to even out the color.”
“Ok dude, enough about how terrible my hair is. Why'd you decide to go into hair?” Eijirou asked.
Bakugou raised an eyebrow. “Why do you care?”
“I don't know, dude. I'm curious, plus we have to talk about something.”
Bakugou didn't say anything for a minute, and Eijirou was beginning to think he wouldn’t answer. And then with a sigh, Bakugou spoke, “My parents were in the fashion industry; I grew up around it. Turns out I'm damn good at it.”
“That's really cool, dude. How did the YouTube stuff start?”
“Fuckin’ Round Face thought it would be a good idea, boost the business or some shit. Turns out I'm good at that too and now I'm just kinda stuck doing it.”
Eijirou frowned slightly. “You don't like it?”
Bakugou shrugged. “Could take it or leave it.”
“That kinda sucks, dude. YouTube is supposed to be fun. It's not my main job either, but I always have a good time.”
“Well, it's not exactly hard and keeps business coming in, so I'm not about to bitch about it. You don't have to like everything you do; you just have to do it.”
Eijirou nodded, causing Bakugou to frown and move his head back to where it was. “That's a pretty manly perspective.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Bakugou paused a moment before speaking again, “What's with that ‘manly’ shit anyway? What is that supposed to mean?”
Eijirou chewed his bottom lip slightly before answering. “Well, it's kinda a reference to Crimson Riot, but it's about living life without regrets, being authentic to yourself, and all that stuff.”
Bakugou huffed slightly, “I guess that's not totally stupid.”
Eijirou beamed. “Aww, dude, that's like a great compliment coming from you!”
“Fuck off, no it's not. And sit still, would you? You're getting dye everywhere, and I don't want to look like a lobster too.”
“Sorry, sorry, but I think the red would suit you,” Eijirou said with a laugh.
“Fuck no, I don't want to look like an idiot.”
“Aww man, you don't want to match with me?”
“Fuck no. Wouldn’t do that shit for a hundred thousand yen.”
“You heard it here first, guys, Dynamight will dye his hair red for a hundred million and one yen. Better start donating.”
“Oh god, don't say that; some of those fuckers will actually do it,” Bakugou groaned.
Eijirou hummed in agreement, “Fans can get kinda intense, huh? I never had to deal with it before, but after your video came out I've had to deal with a few, uh, slightly too inspired fans.”
Bakugou grunted in agreement. “You get used to it, don't feel bad about blocking people.”
Eijirou nodded, earning another glare and slightly rougher repositioning of his head. “Yeah, that's fair. I always feel a bit bad, but I guess I should try to stop.”
“Fucking obviously. Content is a privilege, not a right and if those fuckers can't be nice about it they don't fucking deserve it.”
“That's some pretty sage advice, man. I'm kinda surprised.”
Bakugou furrowed his brows. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing really, you just don't really come off as the most rational person.”
“Now who's being rude? What the fuck?”
“Hey, I guess I was wrong, my bad, man.”
“Fucking obviously, I'm always fucking rational.”
Eijirou couldn’t suppress his laughs as Bakugou finished up his hair with an annoyed huff.
“Ok, now we have to wait like a goddamn half hour. No point in filming that,” Bakugou said as he stepped back, removing his dye-stained gloves.
“Sounds good! Can I help with anything while we wait?”
“Nah, just sit still and be quiet.”
Eijirou rolled his eyes. “You really invited me all the way here just to not talk to me between filming? I thought we were becoming bros,” he said with mock hurt in his voice.
Bakugou shrugged. “Would have chosen someone else, but the fans seem to fucking love you.”
Eijirou probably should have been hurt by the claim, but the subtle lightness in Bakugou’s voice caused him to discard the harsh words. He really didn't play a character, huh? That was pretty manly.
“So what’s it like running a salon?” Eijirou asked.
Bakugou looked up from his phone screen he had been scowling at. “It's a lot of goddamn paperwork.”
“Yeah?”
Bakugou grunted, “Yeah, scheduling, ordering product, hunting people down that try to skip out on their bill.”
Eijirou frowned. “People really try to get away with not paying?”
“Not for long.” Bakugou grinned, and Eijirou couldn’t help but smile in return. There was something about him, something that didn't come across in the videos he posted. An intensity of sorts that made it almost impossible to ignore him. Eijirou didn't want to try to. Bakugou was someone deserving of attention, someone that was destined for the limelight. In another life Eijirou could see him modeling, or acting, or doing anything really that would keep him in the public eye. And he didn't seem to care, which might have been the most enticing part, he wasn't oblivious to his mild fame but rather unphased by it, treating his popularity as little more than a way to achieve his dream. It was inspiring in a way.
“You going to keep staring at that bottle of shampoo? Don't think it's going to fucking run away if that’s what you’re worried about,” Bakugou broke off Eijirou’s train of thought.
Eijirou bit back an embarrassed smile. “Sorry, just spacing out I guess. You're like really cool, you know?”
Bakugou paused for a few seconds before regaining his composure and frowning. “You’re not going to start fucking fanboying over me or some shit, right? Because I really don't want to fucking hear it.”
Eijirou laughed slightly, “No, well, a little, but more like I just think it's so cool that you just went for what you wanted, you know? I was never good at that.”
Bakugou raised an eyebrow. “Why the fuck not?”
Eijirou wasn't expecting the question and paused in thought before answering. “Well, I don't really know. I was nervous, I guess. I always used to freeze up when I was nervous and I guess I still do a bit when it comes to important stuff.”
“That's fucking stupid. If it's important, that's when acting matters the most. Don't let your fucking nerves boss you around, man the fuck up and do what you want.”
Eijirou nodded, half to himself half in acknowledgement of the blond’s statement. “Thanks, dude. I appreciate it.”
Bakugou rolled his eyes. “Don't get all fucking sappy just stop bitching out and fucking live your goddamn life. What happened to all that ‘manly living without regrets’ bullshit?”
“I'm not, I'm not, just saying man, it was a nice thing to say.”
“Fuck off.”
A few minutes later Bakugou declared the dye had been sitting long enough and dragged Eijirou back to the wash station once again. Eijirou sat back as the warm water flowed over his head, sighing slightly as Bakugou worked the shampoo into his scalp. The early morning wake up and transit was catching up to him and Eijirou found himself struggling to keep his eyes open.
Bakugou pulled his hair slightly, causing Eijirou to startle slightly. “Hey dumbass, don't fall asleep on me; I won't hesitate to waterboard your ass.”
“‘’m sorry, man, it was just a long trip and you had me meet you so early. I had to wake up at five, dude, five,” Eijirou complained.
“I wake up at five every day, what's the problem?”
“Dude, why? Why would you ever do that to yourself?"
Bakugou scoffed, “Some of us have shit to do.”
“Rude.” Eijirou frowned.
“Quit complaining and wake the fuck up, we have to finish this shitty video.”
“I'm awake, I’m awake.”
The two walked back to the salon station, regaining their respective positions. “Ok, if it isn't obvious, I updated this idiot's hair color, so all that's left is to style it into something other than those god awful spikes.”
Eijirou sighed but refrained from complaining about the insult. He watched as Bakugou got to work, drying and combing his hair until it was smooth. The color was nice, admittedly. A bit warmer of a red than he had previously, but he honestly had to admit he liked it.
Bakugou moved on to styling his hair, leaving it down much to Eijirou’s complaint. When he was finally done, Bakugou took a moment to inspect his work, eyes darting across Eijirou’s hair and momentarily his face before looking away with a sharp nod and turning back to the camera to wrap up the video.
“As you can tell we're finally fucking done and I can stop looking at this idiot’s face. Goodbye.”
“Dude, I don't get to say anything?”
“No.”
“Well, too bad. Thanks for watching guys, hope you enjoyed. And if you want you should totally check out my channel where you can see me with my totally cool hairstyle.”
Bakugou rolled his eyes. “I am cutting that out.”
“Dude, why?”
“Fuck you, that's why.”
Bakugou turned to fiddle with something on the camera, giving Eijirou the opportunity to properly inspect his hair. He really did miss his spikes and would definitely be styling his hair properly the next day, but he had to admit it didn't look bad. It framed his face, and the warm tone matched his skin a bit better, plus whatever Bakugou had added to it had left it feeling soft and smooth.
“Not too goddamn bad, huh?” Bakugou said, causing Eijirou to startle slightly and turn towards him.
“Still miss the spikes, but it really does look good, man. Thanks.”
Bakugou shook his head. “Can’t believe you have hair like that and go around fucking it up with two tons of gel every day. What a fucking waste.”
Eijirou couldn’t help his smile. “You like my hair?”
“It's not totally shitty without the gel, I guess.” Bakugou shrugged.
“Aww, thanks, man.”
“Fuck off. Now hurry up and help me clean this shit up. I have to open soon.”
Eijirou smiled and stood to help clear away the few things out of place across the salon. He was half expecting Bakugou to push him out immediately after the filming was done, but he hadn’t. The offer, presented as a demand, was an invitation, an invitation to stay, to talk, to properly get to know each other just a little.
Eijirou took the empty dye bowl to the sink while Bakugou swept, idle conversation shared between the two as they completed their tasks.