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People keep all kinds of things in closets, from embarrassing photographs and sentimental belongings to darker demons. Skeletons rattle their bones in the dead of night, their secrets awakened in the silver moonlight with the purpose and power to torment. Sometimes, even pieces of a person are kept tucked away from view in the shadows, peeking through the wood.
In Bakugou's closet hangs a weapon, perhaps his greatest one.
Holding as much explosive force as the gauntlets on his arms, and packing just as much as a sucker punch, it sits on a hanger out of sight. Behind the casual hoodies and trousers, is the deadliest item of clothing Bakugou owns. After years of dormancy, it’s led a pitiful existence of hiding.
But now finally, on the night of Tokyo’s first ‘Grand Hero Ball’, it’s time to wipe off the dust and fucking slay.
The first of its kind, funded by multiple hero agencies under the guise of networking, it’s an event that is bound to garner all sorts of attention. From rabid reporters huddled outside the doors, tripping over themselves to capture out of context photos, to all different types of heroes shoved together in a room expected to play nice.
Yeah. What a joke.
Despite the publicity being good for a hero’s image, there’s something about the whole thing that everyone pretends to ignore. The concoction of an open bar and a bunch of pretty traumatised assholes veering for the number one spot in their field - it screams disaster.
Idle chit-chat with extras is far down on the list of things Bakugou wants to do with his free time. Least of all on a Friday night, the one and only evening not dedicated to a patrol. But the appeal is parading around in a sleek navy suit that does everything to accentuate his assets.
It’s a pretty fucking good feeling and it’s been a while.
Bakugou is no snack, he’s a wholeass meal and everyone deserves to know it.
“There he is!!”
Damn. One drink in, and they’ve already found him. Blame it on the fancypants, nobody puts fucking Bakugou Katsuki in a corner. Even himself, apparently.
The source of the voice looms closer, a blur of pink darts forwards to tackle one of his arms and clings to it. Bakugou has learnt by now shaking Mina off only makes it worse. Her hair curls around her face in a way Bakugou presumes took more effort than necessary, the black sequin dress sparkles in the light.
She looks good. But tonight the best dressed award that doesn’t exist - yet - ultimately goes to him. Before he can say as much, the dregs of momentary peace are shattered.
It’s foolish to believe that one of these clowns he has resigned to call his friends doesn’t attract the rest of them.
Because it happens every single time.
A tipsy Kaminari has the fucking nerve to lean on his other shoulder. Then saunters over Sero, sporting a grin almost as wide as his face. Bakugou doesn’t know where the fuck Kirishima is right now, but he really shouldn’t be expected to deal with all of this alone.
He shrugs them off with a grunt, which does nothing to curb their enthusiasm. It merely earns him a boisterous cheer, as if he’s done something worth celebrating.
“There he is, our guy.”
“Our angry pompom,” Mina coos, poking his cheek.
“Our special gremlin.”
The years have only made Kaminari both more bold and stupid with his words.
“Shut the fuck up,” Bakugou hides the treacherous twitch of his lips behind his glass. “I’m the King.”
That draws out another cheer from the group. Raising his glass, Kaminari takes a clumsy swig.
“You’re late.” Mina prods his chest, lips pursed together as if accusing him of something.
Slamming his empty glass down, Kaminari wobbles on his feet.
“No Mina - a King arrives whenever he wants. We are mere peasants.”
It’s a shame for him really that the alcohol has lessened the impact of any form of sarcasm. But Bakugou isn’t about to mourn that fact for a fucking second. It’s not even been a few hours since the party started.
If these idiots can’t hold it together for that long without him, then honestly it’s a lost cause.
Seriously, where is Kirishima. These dumbasses need supervision. Bakugou cannot expected to be responsible for them. He’s got a suit to parade and corners to lurk in.
“Hey, Bakugou - guess what!” Mina’s voice leaps up to an inhuman pitch. “You won’t believe what’s been going down!”
That kickstarts an animated frenzy amongst the group. They huddle around Bakugou, voices dropping not nearly half as low as they seem to think.
“Yeah, holy shit!” exclaims Kaminari. “It’s really crazy.”
Bakugou grunts in response, not really listening. Gossip and hearsay is rarely ever as juicy as people make it out to be. This is all extra stuff he doesn’t care about knowing. A waste of time that could be better spent parading that suit and lurking in those lonely corners.
He’s already considering his escape routes. There’s an unusually large gap in Deku’s nerd squad. But like hell would he subject himself to going over, especially as Uraraka isn’t there to have decent banter with.
Iida takes his words too seriously, and Deku doesn’t which turns the whole thing into a farce.
The other option is the buffet table, where a few of the more experienced pro-heroes are hovering. Too bad Bakugou doesn’t give a shit about networking right now either. He’s where he needs to be, and he’ll climb to the top through his own achievements.
“He’s going to really be feeling it tomorrow… poor Todoroki,” Sero laments.
There’s no sorrow to his voice to match his words, only amusement. Bakugou snaps his focus back to the group.
What the fuck does Todoroki have to do with anything?
Before he can ask, commotion erupts at the buffet table. Or, to be more specific, the whole damn thing collapses. It goes down without grace, and nobody really tries that hard to catch it. A buffet table isn’t really the kind of thing you catch, to be fair.
Bakugou watches with everyone else in the room as the perpetrator fumbles over a low apology that doesn’t sound sincere and wait a fucking second-
No way.
Brushing down his suit, Todoroki Shouto leans down to pluck one of the watermelon slices off the floor. The rest of the buffet table is ignored. Then, as if nothing out of the ordinary just happened, he walks back to his spot in Deku’s nerd group. Oh. So that’s why there was a gap in their stupidly cute friendship circle.
“What the hell?” Bakugou whispers.
He looks down at his drink with suspicion, even though he’s barely just scratched the surface of it.
A laugh bursts close to him, pink hands moving in his peripheral.
“Yeah, I thought the same thing,” Mina admits. “But what you just saw is one-hundred percent real.”
“Earlier, I heard him tell Tokoyami he sometimes wants to dye his hair as black as the shadows of the night that often dwell in my soul ,” Sero adds conversationally, as if that’s a completely normal Todoroki thing say.
It’s not, by the way.
Bakugou doesn’t think he’s heard Todoroki be poetic or metaphorical in his life.
“He got into a heated dispute with the kitchen about the soba. It wasn’t cold enough and he was tired of using his quirk to make it colder.”
What a brat.
“When Endeavour walked over, he threw water in his face and told him to ‘cool off’.”
The fuck. Bakugou stifles his surprised snort of laughter. He sure would’ve liked to see that.
The more his friends talk, the more absurd the things he hears become.
“He keeps asking strangers what their opinion on soba is.”
“He’s been showing everyone photos of his cat like a proud Dad.”
“He called security on Inasa for talking too loud.”
Holy shit.
“One time he punched me in the face,” Kaminari starts with a smirk. “It was aweso-”
“-Keep talking and you’ll get another one,” Bakugou spits without venom or heat, not in the mood for elaborate movie references that have no place here.
This is not mean girls. This also ain’t an arms race but it’s a goddamn fucking scene.
“So that idiot can’t handle his alcohol? Who cares.”
“Bakugou!” Mina sounds scandalised at Bakugou’s careful meticulously crafted indifference. “This is Todoroki Shouto we’re talking about. He’s never anything but polite and proper in times like this.”
It’s so far from the truth that Bakugou wants to laugh. Just because Todoroki keeps quiet and private most of the time in public doesn’t mean he’s polite. That’s a false impression. Fucker is blunt as hell and Bakugou would be lying if he said that wasn’t a little bit attractive to him.
Okay, more than a little bit.
Bakugou looks down at his drink, suspicions returning. That doesn’t stop him taking a swig of the bitter liquid. It burns the whole way down, a different kind of fire to the one coursing through his veins.
He wonders, for a moment, if the fire in Todoroki tastes the same.
It’s just the alcohol talking.
Obviously.
“So yeah, that’s why I’m never eating hotdogs again.”
Around Bakugou, for the umpteenth time that night, the group erupts into raucous laughter. And despite being the victim of the embarrassing story, Kirishima wipes at his eyes and joins them.
Thankfully, he had joined them shortly after the Buffet Fiasco. With his presence, the final shreds of tension in Bakugou’s shoulders dissipated. As always, Kirishima is willing to play the fool, the supportive friend, whatever is required of him to keep the group comfortable and smiling.
His quirk may be hardening, but there’s an open kindness to his demeanour. A literal spell of sun to shine through a storm. With time he’s only become more approachable and engaging, not even Bakugou is immune to the atmosphere Kirishima brings with him. All too easily, he slips into it and often welcomes it.
That’s what having a best friend means though - probably.
Bakugou has never said it out loud, but Kirishima must know that. Kirishima is more of a hero than he believes, in ways that extend far beyond the work they do each day to keep the city safe. Bakugou hasn’t told him that either.
Maybe he should take his therapist's advice and start verbalising some of this shit.
Rapt quiet tears Bakugou from his thoughts. Since fucking never have any of them fallen into silence this evening. A familiar voice cuts through, and Bakugou immediately understands why.
“That can’t have been an easy choice for you, Kirishima, but I commend your resilience.”
It’s Todoroki. Fuck.
Up close, the silver suit is an eyesore and not in a bad way. To be more honest than he wants to be, it leaves Bakugou veering towards the existential realm. Todoroki looks good, criminally so.
Hands in pockets, the source of all Bakugou’s problems takes a step closer. To him specifically, as if magnetised. Fortunately, nobody else in the group seems to think much of that. Their eyes meet, and Bakugou isn’t at all able to read expression on his face.
Those mismatched eyes glisten with something too close to amusement. If he looks closer, there’s open awe there as well.
It makes no sense.
“Bakugou...”
Fuck. The alcohol has Done Things to that voice. Bakugou trembles of all things, hopes the wall he’s now slouched against does everything to conceal how affected he is. So what if he’s leaning against it more than necessary, sweaty palms dragging down the wall, he can shake this shit off better this way.
“Icyhot,” Bakugou counters in an attempt to level. It doesn’t work. His voice sounds off, strangled.
Todoroki crowds further into his space, without warning or preamble. And now it's clear. Bakugou is an immovable object, and Todoroki is the unstoppable - albeit it catastrophically drunk - force.
They loiter on the edge of each other's orbit, but that's not new. They always have.
Magnetised it is, then.
Their faces are very close. Close enough for Todoroki’s icy exhale to fan across Bakugou’s skin. Chills ripple up Bakugou’s spine. Oh. Shit.
“I understand those pants aren’t practical for hero work, but you should wear them anyway.”
The space between them widens as Todoroki steps back. Bakugou hates the ridiculous urge to chase him through the distance. Shameless and slow, Todoroki’s eyes drag down Bakugou’s form. It’s the kind of look Bakugou could imagine Todoroki wearing to marvel a piece of art at a museum, not a person.
That information leads Bakugou further down the existential route.
With a pleased hum, Todoroki seems to come to a conclusion.
“Maybe villains will be distracted enough by your ass to get themselves captured.”
Bakugou blinks, because there’s no fucking way Todoroki just said what he thought he did. Sero chokes on his drink. Bakugou’s eyes dart over to his friends, glares daggers at Kaminari who has his phone whipped out and camera trained on them.
Okay. So maybe Todoroki did say that. Maybe this is an actual thing that is happening.
By the thin maroon tie, Bakugou yanks Todoroki forwards. The drunk fool doesn’t seem remotely opposed to the action. If anything, he uses it as leverage to linger close. And that is what draws a low growl from Bakugou’s lips. How dare this idiot pull this shit out of nowhere like this in front of everyone.
“Oi. Are you making fun of me, asshole?”
“No,” Todoroki breathes, voice grave and sombre. “I would never make fun of your butt. It’s a good butt.”
“A good butt, ” Mina stage whispers between gasps.
“A good butt,” Sero repeats.
“Oh my god…” Kaminari.
Bakugou is rendered speechless, pinned by an intense stare that absolutely should not be directed his way from Todoroki of all people. He seems expectant, in a way that catches Bakugou even more off guard. Up until this point, the unacknowledged Thing caged tight in his chest for Todoroki has sat untouched. He never dared speak it into existence, or coax it into making a home there.
It simply happened.
And now, there’s a stupid Something flickering there without permission. Because maybe Todoroki harbours the same-
-Nope fucking nope. He is not unpacking that tonight.
The tie slips from his fingers, but Todoroki remains pressed to his side. Shoulder to shoulder. It’s nicer than it should be and Bakugou can’t bring himself to step away like a sensible rational person.
“Todoroki-kun - ah, there you are!”
In swoops the hero of the hour, the chosen one. Bakugou takes satisfaction in the fact the emerald suit isn’t tailored nearly as well as his own. It’s a small victory after being saved by Deku.
“I’m so sorry everyone, I lost sight of him and then he just disappeared I hope everything is okay!”
Both relieved and embarrassed, the damn nerd flounders around the group who are delighted to see him. On this rare occasion, Bakugou rolls with it. So long as they never speak of this again - any of this.
If there’s one person who can sort this colossal Todoroki problem, it’s Deku.
“It’s okay Midoriya,” Sero says with far too much joy. “Things haven’t quite hit rock bottom yet.”
“Yeah, it’s nothing we can’t get behind .”
“He hasn’t made an ass of himself.”
Kaminari sputters into his drink, which sets off Kirishima into hysterics.
“Butt! Butt-”
Yes Bakugou has no doubt that’s a tasteless pun because subtlety is entirely lost amongst them all and it’s fucking tragic. Why won't they just let him live.
Deku glances between Todoroki and Bakugou, mulling over the interjections he’s bound to find curious. Damn nerd is too perceptive, most of all in the worst of times. It shouldn’t be legal to be that smart and this knowing. No words are exchanged, but Bakugou already knows that Deku knows.
They both know.
They just know everything that needs to never be known.
It’s awful.
Bakugou averts his eyes, kicking at the floor. This stupid party needs to end already. Hot prickly heat rises up to his face, he absolutely cannot allow anyone to see it.
“Get him out of here, it’s a goddamn embarrassment,” Bakugou grumbles.
Once again, Deku knows. The freckled nerd sighs, and it sounds far too sympathetic for Bakugou’s liking. But he’ll address it later, when his face isn’t turning thirty different shades of red and he doesn’t trust what will happen if he clenches a fist.
Outdoing the drunk - stupidly handsome, whatever - moron by exploding a hole in the ballroom roof would suck.
He would prefer Not To Do That.
So his palms remain pressed against his pants, the fancypants that have turned against him and Todoroki continues to take too much interest in.
“Come on,” Deku murmurs to the Icyhot bastard still clinging to his side like a leech. It’s… not unpleasant. “Let’s get you some water.”
“But I’m not thirsty,” protests Todoroki, far more petulant than it needs to be. It takes a lot of effort on Deku’s part to pry Todoroki away.
“Are you sure?”
Christ. Amidst the obnoxious laughter, Bakugou doesn’t know which one of his idiots said that but they’re all fucking dead to him. Even Deku has the audacity to grin at the words.
Then with hastily murmured apologies, he ushers a confused Todoroki away.
Sero whistles, filling the stifled silence.
“I can’t believe he just hit on Bakugou!” gushes Mina.
“Wow.” Sero whistles again, just because. “That just actually happened. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Todoroki express interest in anyone before.”
“Yeah, poor dude must really be plastered to even consider Kaccha-"
Kaminari comes to a pitiful halt with his sentence the moment Bakugou’s seething glare pierces through him. Fucking lucky for him that they’re in the presence of esteemed heroes, or else something else might just be piercing through that thick skull of his.
A hand presses into Bakugou’s shoulder, the skin hardening a little. Kirishima sometimes does that to alert Bakugou to his touch, but only when he thinks Bakugou is about to erupt or is distracted by his thoughts. Palms wiped down, he takes a breath.
Eyes snap over to Kirishima, and fuck! Bakugou must have some kind of stupid expression holding his trademark scowl hostage because of all things Kirishima looks concerned.
In his defence, even a King is only human. Todoroki Shouto is an ethereal being, and he just transcended well past that.
“Hey dude, want me to get you a drink?”
Clicking his tongue, Bakugou rolls his eyes. He’s fine. It’s all fine. Just fucking peachy. Still, Bakugou could do with something to take the edge off. Else Todoroki is going to plague his mind the entire evening.
A grunt escapes his lips, enough confirmation for Kirishima to bound off to the bar. His eyes trail past his friend, towards the exit where Deku is practically carrying Todoroki out the door.
Good fucking lord, what a mess.
A hot mess Bakugou would very much like to-
Sero whistles once more. Bakugou considers telling him to tape his fucking mouth shut. There’s a thing called overkill that exists.
“Casanova is officially leaving the building.”
“Damn. I was hoping for some tips, his game was kind of strong,” Kaminari admits.
Mina visibly deflates at the news, slumping down into a seat. It’s dramatic but that seems to be a defining trait of Bakugou’s ridiculous friends this evening and most evenings they come together.
“There goes all of tonight’s entertainment...”
Well, she’s not wrong about that.
Following Todoroki’s exit, the buffet table is safe and stays in tact. Nobody makes outrageous remarks, and nobody comments on Bakugou’s fancy pants which is a crying shame because admittedly Todoroki was right about one thing: they do make his ass look fucking fantastic.
Nursing his third drink, against the wall in a secluded corner, Bakugou watches the event run past him smoothly.
People talk shit and sometimes try to talk shit with him too. Wading through those conversations is painful, almost as painful as talking to the press after a big fight.
On the fourth drink, Bakugou parts with a frustrated sigh. A bitter truth crawls up his throat, almost slips out when Kirishima discovers his hiding spot. Without the walking disaster that is Drunkoroki, this whole thing is fucking boring.
Of all things, Bakugou finds himself disappointed about that.
But that’s just the alcohol talking.
Obviously.