Chapter Text
“I said to dice it, not julienne the fucking carrots!” Katsuki yelled.
The new sous chef, the brother of one of Himiko's sketchy friends, Shoto Todoroki, glanced down at the carrots he was chopping. “I am going to dice them,” he said neutrally.
“No, you–”
“That's enough,” Jirou cut in calmly.
Katsuki grumbled, but he withdrew. With his heart condition, he couldn't afford to be too agitated. He turned back to the soup he was cooking, throwing in a handful of seasonings. When he turned back, perfectly diced carrots waited on the chopping board.
Katsuki paused, raising an eyebrow. He watched Todoroki slice the onions next. While his techniques were entirely different from Katsuki's, the results were the same. Furthermore, he sliced with precision and speed. Himiko hadn't been lying when she'd said Todoroki was highly trained.
The red and white haired man followed instructions easily and to the point. Although sometimes, it was maybe too exact. Katsuki had off-handedly told him to just dice the garlic for a minute when asked how small he wanted the garlic to be. He hadn't expected Todoroki to count out loud, to sixty seconds as he diced the garlic.
Katsuki tasted the soup, nodding in satisfaction. The rice cooker went off, and Katsuki yelled for Todoroki to check on it. It was kind of nice, he decided, to be able to have somebody else in the kitchen.
Not that he'd ever admit it, obviously. Himiko would never let him hear the end of it.
There was one problem though. “I said to bring a bowl, soy sauce face, not a plate!” Katsuki barked. Sero quickly corrected his mistake, but it was clear that the man was distracted. Probably by the new presence in the restaurant. Katsuki had half a mind to dock some of the pay he insisted on giving.
Just then, Himiko burst into the restaurant, somebody in tow. “Tsuki-nii! Look who’s here!” She said, practically jumping up and down in excitement.
Katsuki raised an eyebrow. “Ponytail?” He let a half-smile pull at his lips. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”
Yaoyorozu Momo smiled. Her family’s high status meant she was often at the fashion shows of their parents. Being the only kids of around the same age there, the three of them had become friends. It made those long, boring events better.
Now, the up-and-coming actress-model took a seat at the bar, posture impeccable as always. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I read the article and couldn’t help but come back for a taste of your katsudon again,” she said. “The article described it perfectly.”
Katsuki nodded, already whipping up a bowl of katsudon for her. Just then, Todoroki stepped out of the back. “Yaomomo?”
“Shoto? I didn’t know you were working here,” Momo clasped her hands together. “How is Fuyumi-san doing? I’ll have to visit her restaurant soon.”
“She’s doing well. It’s good to see you again,” Todoroki nodded at her, busying himself with prep work.
Katsuki half-listened to their mindless chatter. A vein started throbbing in his forehead at the next flash of a camera peeking through the door. They’d been at it ever since Momo stepped into the restaurant. It was starting to get on his nerves.
Finally, he snapped. He grabbed a knife as he stormed to the door, ignoring the confused looks Jirou, Todoroki and Momo were giving him. He slammed open the door so hard it threatened to rattle off its hooks.
The paparazzi froze, caught red-handed, faced down by a seething blond man as a knife glinted in his hand, red eyes piercing through them. It made for a rather terrifying image.
“If you ain't here to wait for food, then get the fuck lost!” He yelled, fighting the urge to brandish the knife. “Stop intruding on her privacy and private property, you fuckers!”
It was enough to scare them away. Katsuki turned to look down the queue of people already waiting. “Opening's delayed for an hour. Deal with it!” With that, he stepped back into the restaurant, slamming the door shut behind him and locking it for good measure.
“You didn't have to do that, Katsuki,” Momo said after a moment.
“Whatever. They were pissing me off,” Katsuki answered, slipping the knife back into the knife block.
“Thank you,” she said anyway, smiling softly. “It's hard to have privacy sometimes.”
Katsuki just nodded. He'd seen her be harassed by men forty years older than her, and had to defend her on many occasions as she was too polite. He was sick and tired of it.
“You can come back anytime you want to,” he added gruffly after a moment.
“Yeah! You'll always be welcome!” Himiko said anxiously.
Something in Momo seemed to loosen up. Slowly, her posture relaxed and she wrung out her hands. She took a deep breath then nodded. “Thank you so much,” she said. Her voice was no longer quiet, but measured and confident, and just as grateful.
“Although, with your presence here, they'll probably still run it to the press,” Jirou said thoughtfully. “But as they say, all publicity is good publicity.”
Himiko brightened up. “Yeah! The restaurant's going to get more attention now! Wait, Momo, let's take a selfie to post!”
Katsuki ignored them. He glanced out of the window, watching the leaves on the trees sway in the wind. The week was almost up. He'd have to calculate his profits and finances soon. He wondered if the nerd would show up then.
-
Dear Midoriya-san,
Soul Food humbly invites you as the Guest of Honour to our celebratory dinner on Sunday, 8.30 p.m.! Wear anything you want, and just bring yourself as your presence is a present in itself. See you there!!!
p.s. your editor is invited too!
weeeee,
Social media manager of Soul Food, Bakugo Himiko
-
Izuku glanced at the Closed sign on the door, but pushed it open anyway. Inside the restaurant, there were quite a few people. He recognised Himiko, Kirishima, Sero and Jirou. The rest were a mystery to him.
Himiko intercepted Ochaco almost immediately, leaving Izuku alone despite the pleading looks he shot her. Such was the life of an introvert. He made a note to swap out her coffee for decaf in the office.
Izuku wandered up to the bar table. Their makeshift bartender was a blond haired man, leaning more on the yellow side, with a black lightning bolt running through his bangs. He looked up as Izuku approached. “Hey, Midoriya right?” He greeted. “I'm Kaminari Denki. I've heard a lot about you. You're amazing, man!”
“Ah, thank you, I didn't do much, really,” Izuku said awkwardly. All he'd done was write an article; it's not like he saved lives or something. “Are you a friend of Kacchan's?”
“Ka- What? Kacchan?” Kaminari fumbled with the glass he'd been holding. “The fuck? He lets you call him that?”
“Uh, yes…?” Izuku said slowly, not quite understanding. “He calls me Deku and nerd in return.”
“Oh,” Kaminari blinked then turned to stare off into space. “Huh. And he doesn't like, threaten to skin you alive or anything?”
Now it was Izuku's turn to be confused. “No?”
Kaminari nodded. “Okay. Cool. Want anything to drink?”
Izuku left that interaction with more questions than answers, but he had a beer in hand, so maybe it wasn't all bad. Was it so weird that he called Katsuki Kacchan? Maybe it was. It was a childish nickname, and the man didn't seem like he appreciated that sort of thing.
But apart from initial comments, he hadn’t said anything about it.
The moment the thought occured him, Izuku flushed. He liked this, he realised. This knowledge that he was special. It made him feel giddy.
Izuku sipped on the beer as he leaned against the end of the bar, watching the people around him interact, content to just be on the sidelines. He wondered where Katsuki was. In the back, maybe?
The door to said back slid open then. Izuku’s head snapped up– and was met with a pleasant surprise. “Shoto?”
“Midoriya,” Shoto said in surprise, putting the tray of food in his hands on the table. “What are you doing here?”
“I was, ah, invited,” Izuku answered. “I didn't know you were working here now. How's Fuyumi-san doing?”
“My sister is doing well. I took on the job as a sous chef recently. Touya's a friend of Himiko-san, so she recommended me.”
“I see,” inwardly, Izuku was dancing with glee that Katsuki had taken his suggestion. “How is it working here?”
“It's good. Bakugo has taught me a lot,” Shoto said. “He said that I'm decent.”
Izuku was pretty sure that could be considered high praise from the man. He beamed at Shoto. “That's good! Oh by the way, Ochaco's here too! Himiko-san has her though.”
“Ah, Himiko-san has been going on about somebody since a few days ago. I had no idea it was Ochaco.”
“Really? So their attraction is mutual then!”
Shoto paused, considering. “It would seem so.”
They continued talking until Shoto had to return to the back. Izuku waited restlessly for Katsuki. Eventually, he decided to slip out of the back door to get some air.
The back of the restaurant was a forested area. Izuku stared up at the night sky. In the countryside, the stars were more visible, painting a picturesque view. Izuku quietly began to count how many stars he could spot.
“Aren't you supposed to be inside, guest of honour-san?”
A smile lifted Izuku's lips instantly at the familiar voice. He turned to Katsuki, placing a finger over his lips. “Shh, Kacchan, I'm counting stars.”
“Stars?” Katsuki tilted his head back to look up at the sky. Izuku stared at the pale, long column that revealed itself with that. “How many did you count, nerd?”
“Twenty-three, so far.”
“Huh. That's the number of freckles on your right cheek.”
Silence fell. Katsuki seemed to realise what he'd said, and his eyes widened. “You counted?” Izuku asked quietly, voice tinged with awe.
“I– It was– I just noticed, okay?” Izuku could tell Katsuki was growing defensive after being found out, embarrassed. He probably shouldn't find it as adorable as he did, but here he was.
Izuku stepped closer to Katsuki. “People usually hate my freckles,” Izuku admitted.
“Hah? They're fucking idiots, don't listen to them.”
“So you like my freckles, Kacchan?”
“I never said that, nerd.”
“So you don't like them?”
Katsuki sputtered for a moment, at a loss for what to say. Izuku blinked innocent, wide green eyes at him. Suddenly, Katsuki reached up to his ears and pulled something out of them, too dark for Izuku to see. “Can't hear you, nerd,” Katsuki held up the small objects.
Izuku squinted down at his hand, taking Katsuki's wrist to take a closer look. Hearing aids, he realised after a moment. “Ahh, Kacchan, that's not fair!” He complained instantly.
“Lalalalala, I can't hear you!”
“Kacchan!”
Izuku groaned. Katsuki laughed at his plight, but inserted his hearing aids back in anyway. “You're so mean, Kacchan,” Izuku muttered. “Just say you don't like my freckles.”
Katsuki faltered at the unexpected reaction. “I– fuck, Deku, I like them, okay?” Katsuki said, caving in to Izuku's puppy eyes.
At once, Izuku brightened. “You mean it, Kacchan? You really do?”
Realising he'd fallen for the crocodile tears, Katsuki shoved Izuku's face away, but Izuku kept a tight hold on the other's wrist. “Fucking nerd,” he scoffed. Then quieter, he added, “yeah I do.”
Izuku stared at Katsuki for a long moment, the vulnerability in those sharp red eyes. “Can I kiss you, Kacchan?” He blurted out.
The air between them stilled. Izuku couldn't take his eyes off Katsuki even if he wanted to, lost in the other's beauty. He brought Katsuki's wrist up, pressing a kiss to his wrist, eyes focused on Katsuki's reaction.
It was dark, but Izuku was close enough to make out how his ears burned, and the colour spreading to his cheeks. “Fuck it,” Katsuki said suddenly, taking Izuku's face in his hands and kissing him.
Izuku immediately slipped his hands onto Katsuki's waist. It was so small, he could almost touch his fingertips together. He let one hand dance up Katsuki's back, swallowing the gasp the other let out, supporting the back of his neck instead. Fingers played with short strands as Izuku's tongue prodded at closed lips.
Katsuki relented, opening his mouth to let Izuku slip inside. Izuku licked eagerly into his mouth and got a nip in return for it.
Izuku felt like he could go on forever, but unfortunately they had the annoyance of having to breathe. Katsuki broke away first, leaning back to catch his breath.
“Did you like it?” Izuku asked, gaze fixed intensely on the blond.
“I– yeah, sure.”
“Oh. Good. Then–” Izuku leaned forward again, only for Katsuki to slap a hand over his mouth. Izuku made a noise of complaint, to which Katsuki laughed breathlessly. (Gorgeous.)
“Fucking psycho,” Katsuki muttered. “Let a man breathe.”
Izuku pouted behind Katsuki's hand. He pulled it off to kiss each of his skilled, deft fingertips instead.
“Hey, Zuku,” Katsuki broke the silence after a moment. Izuku hummed in response, noting the new nickname. He decided he liked it. “I calculated the profits.”
That caught Izuku's attention. “And?” He asked eagerly.
“...There was a three hundred and eighty percent increase.”
Izuku cheered the moment he heard that, eyes rounding. “So you're keeping the restaurant? You have to, Kacchan!”
Katsuki rolled his eyes. “Yes, I'm keeping the damn restaurant, Zuku.”
Cheers and laughter filled the air. Izuku bounced on his feet, looking a hair away from jumping up and down. “Calm down nerd,” Katsuki scoffed, pulling Izuku back in for a kiss.
Izuku went readily, all too happy for his new boyfriend.
-
A restaurant stood sandwiched between two buildings. It had a few stools outside, a red lantern hanging from one end and a wooden shoji sliding door. Above the restaurant, a sign read, ‘Soul Food’.
Inside the restaurant, a blond man could be found in the front kitchen, expertly moving between different pots and pans. Next to him, the prepared dishes were garnished with precision.
A black haired man grabbed the finished food from the bar table, sending a wink to the sous chef. A purple haired woman slipped easily from table to table, a smile always ready.
In the back kitchen, humming could be heard as a phone was scrolled on, checking for messages and updates on the social media account.
At the bar table, a green haired man sat, typing away on his laptop. Occasionally, the blond man would leave a plate of gyoza or a cup of water in front of him, to which, without fail, he'd get a blinding smile and thanks in return.
On their hands, matching rings glimmered in the light.