Chapter Text
Izuku’s alarm went off at three in the morning, the Sun not yet cresting over the city. He shifted and groaned, rolling over and slamming his hand on the off button. He allowed himself a moment of wallowing before tossing off his flannel bedsheets and padding out into the main room of his little apartment, scratching at his stomach, eyes half-lidded. He started up the coffee pot and examined the line of experimental sourdough starters – or, as Ochako called them, “experidough starters” – he kept in glass jars on his countertop. Some looked about ready to finally be baked into experimental loaves – “experiloaves” – and taste tested to see which would be put on the menu.
Izuku scrambled a few eggs, frying them over his gas stove in butter while sipping on his coffee. He ate quickly straight from the pan, brain starting to come online and churning over what he had to do today to be ready for opening. He dressed quickly in his usual T-shirt and jeans, slipping on his nonslip shoes and popping a piece of nicotine gum before heading out of his apartment and downstairs to the bakery.
Was it unhealthy to have his life so intertwined with his business? Probably, but there was no commute easier than taking a narrow flight of stairs and unlocking a door straight into the kitchen. Plus, he had never slept in his kitchen, unlike some people he knew.
The building itself was old, with an Art Deco styling that Izuku strived to preserve during the renovations, but that didn’t extend to the kitchen. That was completely gutted and refitted with top-of-the-line stainless steel appliances, organized to Izuku’s exacting specifications. He put on his apron, started preheating the rack of industrial ovens, and walked into the pantry, flicking on the light. He picked up a fifty-kilo bag of flour, tossing it over his shoulder and walking back into the kitchen, ready to get to work.
When Ochako banged open the door at five in the morning, the countertops were covered in proofing loaves and pastries, ready for the ovens and fryers. Izuku was pouring out sticky brioche dough on to a heavily floured table, punching out the gases and cutting it into equal pieces with a bench scraper.
“Good morning!” Ochako announced, her presence breaking up the silence of Izuku’s morning. Izuku smiled at her.
“Good morning,” Izuku said. He rubbed the dough between his palm and the countertop rapidly, forming jiggling balls that were then moved to a baking sheet. “How was the commute?”
“You’d think the trains would be less crowded this early in the morning,” Ochako grouched as she pulled her hair back and put on her own apron. While Izuku set the menu and was the undisputed king of the yeasted breads, Ochako made the quick breads – the brownies, coffee cakes, muffins, and cookies people gobbled up by the ton. Izuku was incredibly grateful every day she agreed to take a gamble with him.
After six months, their routine was down pat, moving in comfortable silence around each other as they created a bounty of carbohydrates. By the time seven fifteen rolled around, there was enough to fend off the breakfast rush and give them time to prep for lunch, and Izuku’s two baristas were rolling through the door.
Denki and Hitoshi were polar opposites, lived together, and maybe were dating, Izuku was never quite sure. Denki certainly had no problem with completely invading Hitoshi’s space and Hitoshi never called him out on it.
“Rise and grind!” Denki declared, door slamming shut behind him. “Let’s sell this bread!”
“I will pay you any amount of money to never say that again,” Hitoshi sighed, knowing his efforts were futile.
The front of the shop had an eclectic blend of furniture gathered from thrift shops, friends’ cast-offs, and roadside finds, forced to go together by the sheer force of Izuku’s will. He preferred to keep local artists’ work up on the walls, but his mother had bullied him into hanging up three photographs: him and Katsuki posing together after graduating culinary school, him and Katsuki listening to Yagi in the old man’s kitchen, and then Izuku and Yagi in front of his newly opened shop.
The four of them filled up the display counter and the bread racks, Denki and Hitoshi prepping the coffee machines while Ochako went back into the kitchen to prep for the lunch rush. Like he did every morning, Izuku unlocked the front doors and flipped the sign to Open, readying the flood gates for the breakfast crowd.
Most of their customers were the workers from the nearby UA University Hospital and Children’s Clinic, exhausted looking doctors, nurses, orderlies, and admins that shuffled in for a cup of coffee and a pastry. Word spread quickly about the bakery among the staff, swelling their business to the point Izuku was seriously considering taking on a third baker to help lighten the load. The breakfast crowd was a steady stream of people until around ten thirty to eleven, at which point there would be a brief lull in business until they were absolutely slammed by the lunch rush.
Izuku joined Ochako in the back, running their soon-to-be-famous-he-hoped sourdough bread through the slicer to start sandwich prep. Up front, Denki and Hitoshi danced around each other, the coffee machines hissing and sputtering as they worked endlessly to get caffeine into the zombie hoard of medical professionals. Izuku fell into a familiar rhythm, brain churning as he thought of dough prep for tomorrow, readying the sourdough starters, new menu items he wanted to test for the upcoming fall and winter seasons…
“Hey, Doctor Momo!” Denki called from the front. “You brought a friend!”
This timed perfectly with an opportunity for a breather, drawing Ochako and Izuku from the kitchen to the front.
Doctor Momo Yaoyorozu was a pharmaceutical researcher at the university, doing things far outside of Izuku’s paygrade. She was one of their first regulars, capable of polishing off an entire brioche loaf by herself and then coming back for a Danish “for the road,” earning her the unending respect and admiration of the whole shop. Her love of chattering with Izuku about his sourdough experiments made her a well-loved friend.
She was already holding a loaf of sourdough and a loaf of rye, examining the pastry selection while she chatted with Denki and Hitoshi. Behind her was a man who looked a little lost, and also happened to be the most attractive human being Izuku had ever seen in his life.
He was a supermodel, tall and lean with silky hair and honest-to-God mismatched eyes, pouty mouth downturned into a pensive frown. He was wearing a black wools sweater and well-fitted dress pants, adding to his overall Hot Doctor look immensely. He glanced up at Izuku then back down at the display counter, and Izuku felt his mouth dry out immediately.
“Hello!” Momo said and pointed at the bear claw. “I’ll take one of those.”
She turned back to her friend and asked him, “Do you know what you want, Shouto?”
Her friend – Shouto – twisted his hands in his sweater. “…No.”
Momo rolled her eyes and turned to Izuku. “Forgive Shouto, he’s not used to baked goods.”
Izuku laughed awkwardly, leaning against the counter and watching Shouto examine it like it was some strange specimen. “Really? You’re not on some sort of keto diet, are you?”
Shouto looked at him strangely. “Why would I be on the ketosis diet? I don’t have epilepsy.”
Izuku couldn’t help but laugh. Shouto straightened up, cheeks tinged a bit pink.
“…What do you recommend?”
“Everything’s great!” Denki exclaimed. “Izuku is, like, a baking god. He studied in France.”
Izuku awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t claim godhood, there’s a reason Ochako is in charge of the quick breads…as for recommendations, you can’t go wrong with a raspberry croissant!”
Shouto pondered this for a moment, and then said, “I’ll have the raspberry croissant and a latte, then.”
Izuku bagged up the croissant while Hitoshi started on Shouto’s latte, Denki humming as he rang up Momo and Shouto.
“Hope you enjoy it!” Izuku said as Momo and Shouto left. “Tomorrow, Doctors?”
“Of course,” Momo laughed. Shouto gave the briefest of smiles, clutching his pastry bag close to him.
The shop was fairly empty, the lunch rush not yet upon them, and so Denki was pretty fearless when he turned to his boss and coworkers to declare, “Shouto’s hot.”
“Thot,” Hitoshi said flatly.
“I’m just being honest,” Denki said, sticking his tongue out before turning to Izuku. “He was totally checking out your arms, dude.”
“Denki don’t say stuff like that,” Izuku sputtered, flushing.
“He has a point,” Ochako said, tapping her chin. “Lifting all that flour made you jacked.”
“Yeah,” Hitoshi agreed. “Chiseled from rye.”
“You all are awful,” Izuku declared, stomping back to aggressively work on the savory twists and will down his flush, or at least make it believable it’s from the ovens. He worked with a bunch of animals.
The lunch hoard halted further teasing, everyone too busy getting out the sandwiches and savory pastries to hold back the hungry mob. It cleared Izuku’s head of any romantic notions, knee-deep in the kitchen. The slam didn’t let up until around two in the afternoon, at which point it became a trickle, and Izuku started on the dough that needed overnight fermentation. He was absorbed in the work, watching the dough coming together intently, mumbling about hydration under his breath.
“Psst, boss man,” Denki said not-at-all subtly, snapping Izuku out of his sourdough haze. “The hot doctor is back and looking confused by the bread rack.”
“Denki, I’m in the middle of something,” Izuku said. “I’ve got to move this dough to ferment—”
“I’ll do it!” Ochako declared, practically pushing Izuku out of the kitchen.
Hitoshi just smirked as Izuku was shoved past the counter, like a baby bird learning to fly.
True to Denki’s word – and Denki never lied about potential gossip – Shouto was staring at the bread rack with wide eyes. Even after being picked over all day, there was a wide verity to choose from.
“Hey, Shouto,” Izuku said with a friendly smile. Shouto startled a bit and looked over at Izuku, but then smiled softly.
“Hello,” Shouto said. “I wanted to pick up a loaf of bread after Momo talked about it, but I’m a little…overwhelmed. I don’t know where to start.”
Where did this guy come from? Izuku crossed his arms, considering. “Well, everyone really loves our sourdough, so that’s a good place to start.”
“Okay,” Shouto said, picking up a loaf of sourdough. He was reserved, but his eye was sharp as he examined the loaf. “The croissant this morning was good.”
“I’m glad you liked it,” Izuku said earnestly. “I’m always experimenting improving my food, and sometimes my perspective on if it’s good or not gets distorted.”
Shouto blinked, tilting his head. “But you’re always busy, so doesn’t that tell you everyone likes your food?”
Izuku shook his head. “I’ve been baking since I was six, and I’m pretty resigned to thinking everything I make will turn out a disaster.”
“I understand that feeling,” Shouto said. He looked up at Izuku through his eyelashes, simultaneously supermodel hot and button cute, and how unfair was that? “I think I’ll just take this for now.”
“Okay,” Izuku said, a bit breathlessly. “I’ll ring you up.”
They walked back to the counter, Denki and Hitoshi mysteriously nowhere to be seen, and Izuku asked, “So what exactly is your specialty?”
“Pediatrics,” Shouto said. “I work at the Children’s Clinic.”
“Wow,” Izuku exclaimed. Cute, smart, and good with kids, the triple threat. “Sounds like a busy job!”
“Yes,” Shouto agreed. He paid for his bread, cradling it close to his body. “Thank you. I’ll try to come in more.”
“Don’t be a stranger,” Izuku said with a beaming smile. Shouto hesitantly returned it before leaving, the bell twinkling behind him. Izuku took a deep breath before whipping around, startling his eavesdropping employees. “Guess who just signed up for disinfecting duty?”
“No!” Denki cried in horror.
The bakery closed up at four, with prepping for tomorrow and cleanup done by five thirty. The chairs all up, front doors locked up, and tomorrow’s dough fermenting, Izuku waved goodbye to his employees.
The shop was very quiet without them.
Izuku padded upstairs to his apartment, slipping his shoes off at the door. It smelt like fresh baked bread and pastry batter, the scents of the oven rising up into it. He crossed the living room, throwing open his curtains and letting in the golden light, spilling through his apartment and illuminating his kitchen. He turned, examining his lineup of starters with a critical eye.
From a drawer he pulled out a composition notebook entitled BAKING NOTES NO 400, flipping it to a page labeled PUMPERKNICKLE VS RYE FLOUR FOR FEEDING APPLE SKIN WILD YEAST. He pulled out his scale, measuring cups, and dry ingredients, organizing them on his island.
Izuku cracked his knuckles, popped a piece of nicotine gum, and set to work.