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Badd can’t find his favorite coffee mug.
Which wouldn’t be so bad, admittedly, if he could find his second favorite coffee mug, but that, too, has mysteriously vanished. He’s already turned the kitchen upside down twice during his search, and put it back right side up both times. Everywhere from the dishwasher to the junk drawer has been thoroughly checked over – but no dice.
It shouldn’t be a problem.
Having to be up and at it early to get Zenko ready for school after a late night of hero work leaves him on the hunt for caffeine, and he’s fine with drinking coffee regardless of how much he likes the mug, sure.
Thing is, he has a sneaking suspicion as to what’s happened here, and is determined to come out on top of the situation.
Because Garou doesn’t deserve the satisfaction of watching Badd drink from a third-rate mug.
Because of course Garou’s the one who hid Badd’s mugs.
Or maybe he broke them. Badd’s hands tighten on the edge of the kitchen counter at that thought, a vein throbbing in his forehead. If that bastard broke the gift that Zenko bought for Badd with her own saved up allowance, he’ll be sorry….
Using his rage as fuel to heft himself up onto the countertop, Badd’s got one last place to check.
…Well, check again, because he’s opened this cabinet about six goddamn times during his search, but he can’t see the entire top shelf while standing on the ground and so. Onto the counter he goes. Much as he yells at Zenko and Garou and Tama alike for the same shit, Badd is left with no choice.
(Also, on the subject of things that aren’t allowed, he should probably stop grinding his teeth – his dentist has warned him countless times about that.)
Yanking open the cupboard door, Badd is immediately greeted with the glorious sight of his second favorite mug. At long last. The cat-covered thing is sitting pretty on the topmost shelf, of course, pushed way at the back so Badd has to lift up off of the seat he’s taken on his ankles to reach it.
Dammit Garou.
Badd grumbles out a string of curses as he snags the mug. His words only get more violent as he realizes that its new home is also occupied by the sugar, and he snatches that as well, plunking both down with maybe too much force on the countertop.
That shitty houseguest of his is going to pay for this stunt.
“Oh. I thought we weren’t allowed to sit on the counters?”
Knees slipping as he spins on them, Badd almost slides clean off of his perch. He manages to catch himself against the cupboards before he falls, but his wayward leg does knock the cat mug over the edge – and Badd scrambles to catch it before it shatters to the ground – though as he does he almost falls again –
One leg off of the counter, one hand clutching his mug to his chest, and one finger tightening around a creaking cabinet knob, Badd aims the fiercest glower he can muster at Garou.
How dare he –
Wait a fucking second.
Is he sipping coffee out of a mug that says –
“If you needed help reaching,” Garou’s voice is infuriatingly cool as he lounges against the wall, steaming cup of coffee tipping away from his mouth to show off the ‘WORLD’S BEST BRO’ printed on the side, “you could’ve asked me.”
“Like hell,” Badd snarls, releasing his hold and clamoring to the floor. “You’re the asshole who put it there in the first place! And quit drinking outta my mug!”
Marching over to Garou, Badd ignores the gleeful grin on his face, grabbing the coffee mug out of his hand. It sloshes hot liquid over both of their hands, and Garou makes a dramatic show of yelping and shaking out his poor, scorched hand.
“Hey!”
“Shut up,” Badd, with no room in his heart for sympathy, stomps over to the sink and dumps the black coffee right down the drain. Suck on that, Garou. “You fuckin’ –”
“Should you be swearing so loud with Zenko home?” Garou wonders, popping up at Badd’s shoulder, miraculously recovered from his measly burns. He peeks over Badd and into the sink at the lingering puddles of coffee. “I wasn’t finished drinking that.”
“You can drink outta your own damn mug.”
Badd’s teeth are right back to grinding, that vein in his forehead a step away from bursting. He tries to distract himself with pouring out his own cup of coffee, adding cream and sugar appropriately – but Garou sticks to him like glue. (Not the shitty glitter glue that never dries, either, the industrial strength stuff that comes from the hardware store.)
“I don’t have one,” Garou complains, dropping his chin onto Badd’s shoulder.
“Then we’ll get ya one!” Badd tries, unsuccessfully, to shrug him off. Winds up making it worse, actually, as Garou’s chin slips inward, closer to the ticklish junction of Badd’s shoulder and neck.
Thanks to this proximity, he can feel the way a grin stretches over Garou’s face. Dammit. He rounds on Garou, forcing his big stupid head to slide off of Badd’s shoulder as he faces him. That grin is actually way more irritating now that Badd can see it, and Garou remains too-close.
“So we’re going shopping?”
“Only if you stop taking my shit,” Badd reprimands. That grin is way too fucking bright, looks too good on Garou’s face; it’s not fair. Badd takes a too-big swig of coffee and burns his tongue. “And stop hiding my shit.”
-
Today – this delightful, relaxing Wednesday – just so happens to be Amai Mask’s birthday. Which is a fact that Badd would, very obviously, not be aware of at all if it weren’t for Zenko.
As it is, ever since she came home from school, Badd has had to put up with seeing documentary after special after concert after biopic playing on a loop on his TV. Amai Mask is beyond grating on a good day, so at this point Badd is overexposed enough that he’s considering chucking the entire entertainment stand out the goddamn window, technology and all.
He refrains, though, because now that Zenko has been reluctantly coaxed to bed, all that’s left to do is to turn the TV off. That’s all that’s standing between Badd and being free of this pretty boy nuisance. Easy enough, right? He’ll be home free in no time.
Haha.
Fucking wrong.
Because Badd can’t find the remote. He can’t find the remote, and ever since he jabbed the TV’s power button with a liiittle too much force the last time Amai Mask was on air, its functionality has been spotty at best. Today, it’s not working at all, of course.
So Badd’s gotta find that remote. It was literally just here, he swears.
Looks like the living room is in need of the same treatment Badd gave the kitchen earlier. Time to turn the place upside down in the hopes of finding that damn remote….
Half an hour and an infinite amount of upended couch cushions later, and Badd is left scowling up at the ceiling fan.
Of course.
Of fucking course.
Beating a clamoring path over to the light switches, Badd flicks on the one that controls the overhead light. He then stomps back over to the center of the room, standing on tiptoe to reach the dangling chain that is the fan controls, yanking it once, good and hard.
The fan picks up speed, yeah –
But the remote stays stuck fast to it.
Growling, Badd is one step away from breaking the fan blade with his bat and dealing with the mess later. After he gets Amai Mask’s face out of his living room.
In the end, though, he knows that’s a shitty copout of an idea. So he grouches the whole way to the dining room, yanks a chair away from the table, and hauls it back to under the fan, flipping the light switch back off as he goes.
This is just great. This time, Badd really is going to kill Garou – because who else could have – would have – done this.
Standing on the chair, he grabs hold of the remote and peels it off of the double stick tape that’s holding it down.
…It’s the remote to the motherfucking Blu-ray player. Because of! course! it is.
Badd’s fist tightens around it, and he raises it in preparation to smash it off of the ground – but then he remembers that he’s the adult around here, stuck with the budgeting and the purchasing and the responsibility.
So he clambers off of the chair, placing the remote back where it belongs. Gently. Very…gently.
With tightly controlled steps, he also returns the dining room chair to its rightful home. Maybe he oughta just cut his losses and unplug the damn television…why didn’t he think of that before…. (Must’ve been the rage.)
He gets back to the living room, hell-bent on finally getting the TV to shut off – thank fuck he’d had the presence of mind to mute it at least – and just when he’s two steps away from diving into the mess of cords behind the entertainment center –
–The TV screen goes black.
Turning on his heel, he spots Garou, standing in the doorway, remote in hand.
Badd lunges for him, and he takes off with a cackle.
-
Fresh out of the shower, waist wrapped in a towel, hair prepped, dried, and ready for styling…Badd decides he’s going to kill Garou slowly, with his own two hands.
“Garou!” he shouts, because Zenko is already on her way to school and therefore well out of earshot. “Get your ass in here!”
Sufficiently summoned, Garou materializes in the bathroom, flashing his signature shit-eating grin at the way Badd’s fingertips barely brush the highest shelf of the medicine cabinet.
“You rang?”
“Son of a bitch,” Badd growls, standing on tiptoe and everything, he’s fighting the urge to take advantage of the precious little climbing space that the counter offers. He’s already had to get this sink replaced once, though, he can’t crack it again. “I can’t believe you, and yer fuckin’ shitty –”
Something lanky, lean-muscled, and familiar presses in along Badd’s back, and he finds himself pinned to the sink.
“Ugh – Garou –!”
“Need a hand?” That mouth is right by Badd’s ear, and busies itself nibbling on the lobe.
Cute. Super charming Garou. Awesome as it feels, that actually does absolutely nothing to improve Badd’s mood, and he rams his elbow into Garou’s ribs until he grunts and those overactive teeth leave Badd’s ear alone.
“You’re the worst roommate I’ve ever had,” Badd snaps, shoving backwards with his shoulders.
In retaliation, Garou crowds in closer, flush against Badd’s back, forcing his hips to dig into the edge of the sink.
“But I’m helping,” Garou insists. Which, alright, sure, keep telling yourself that, Garou. His ulterior motive is made obvious by the way one of his hands traces a teasing trail from Badd’s hip and up his side. Said hand takes a thorough detour across Badd’s chest before backtracking to travel up his still-reaching arm, feeling that up, too.
Through it all (okay, not all of it – he might have gone lax when Garou squeezed at his pecs, just a little, because fuck), Badd swaps to trying to stomp on Garou’s feet, with a surprising amount of success given his limited leg room. Because the handling is nice but fixing his hair is nicer – he has shit to do today!
He can’t afford to get distracted!
Garou steps back to avoid the stomping, yeah, but his stupid noodle arms are still infuriatingly long, and he’s able to pluck the product from the top shelf with ease, plopping it into Badd’s devastatingly empty hand.
“You’re welcome,” he says to Badd’s sputtering outrage.
“You’re a piece of shit!”
-
All Badd wants to do is sleep.
Ordinarily, that would be perfectly doable! There’s nothing standing in his way, tonight: no Garou taking up his whole bed, no Zenko whining that she’s old enough to stay up past nine, no hero summons, no lingering chores…there’s not even any Tama fallen asleep on his best pillow.
In fact! There’s so little standing in his way of bedtime, that this alone is part of the problem.
There isn’t even any best pillow tonight. Isn’t that funny?! It’s just up and vanished – haha – leaving Badd with its disappointing flat partner as his only hope of a good night’s sleep.
And of course, Garou, that fucker, has chosen tonight to stay out late. Probably because he knows he’d be in a world of trouble if he were home when found guilty of keeping Badd from his much-needed, long sought-after sleep.
The good news, at least, is that Badd’s caught on to Garou’s fun little scheme of stashing all of his possessions up high. By now he knows to check all the highest places when something’s missing, so it takes him a record-breaking thirteen seconds to locate his pillow.
It’s fluffy, plump glory is stuffed into the top of his closet, and he’s scowling up at it, arms crossed over his chest as he kicks restlessly at the doorjamb.
Fuck Garou. (Not in the fun way.)
Getting a chair all the way from the dining room is too much of a hassle this late at night, and the one at Badd’s desk is an unsteady swivel monstrosity that’s been taken joyriding down the hall one too many times for it to be trusted.
Therefore, Badd is left with his trusty bat as his only ally.
He pulls it free of its nighttime hiding place behind his bed, marching it over to the closet to take care of business.
That’s the plan, at least. His metal bat should be long enough to extend his reach no problem – except that Garou just had to go and wedge that pillow into the farthest corner of this storage space. Turns out it’s nigh unreachable by inflexible metal, no matter how Badd strains on tiptoe.
…God he’s getting so sick of standing on tiptoe.
Chucking his bat aside helps ease his irritation some. Even if it bounces off of his bed with enough force that it bangs a dent into the ceiling. Whoops.
Teeth grinding on their merry way, and thoroughly fed up, Badd throws in the towel on gentle finagling. Instead he hurls himself at that cursed closet shelf with a snarl, clawing at it to haul himself high enough to reach for the pillow –
Something grabs him at the waist and he yelps at the feeling of thin fingers digging into his soft sides. Those damn hands hoist him up until he’s eye level with that damn pillow on that damn shelf.
“Dammit Garou!” he growls. Squirming, he yanks his pillow free and smacks at that cackling mouth behind him with it.
Garou’s laughter dies out, replaced by a coughing fit thanks to all the dust swirling around them. His hands tremble and release Badd, who lands heavy on both feet, whirling around to whale more blows on Garou, that bastard.
“What,” thwack, “the hell,” thwack, “is your problem,” thwack, “you goddamn,” thwack, “nuisance!”
The blows are mostly deflected, of course, thanks to Garou’s flowing-rock-whatever, but they land heavy enough for Badd to vent his frustrations at least.
“What’s with all the dust?” Garou asks, amidst his dodging and parrying. “Don’t you obsessively clean this place?”
“Why the fuck would I dust where I can’t see, dipshit?!” He aims another strike with the pillow, and this one Garou blocks with his arm. “Thanks to you, my best pillow is a fuckin’ mess! The hell am I supposed to sleep on now?”
Garou opens his mouth, probably ready to deliver an annoying retort or some suggestive comment, but Badd doesn’t have the patience to let him. Another solid smack with a pillow shuts him up – even though he still looks infuriatingly amused.
“I just changed this pillowcase,” Badd gripes, giving chase around the room when Garou sprints away from the closet, pillow poised for attack. “Take some responsibility you – oof!”
That shitty, flat pillow makes direct contact with Badd’s face. Armed with said lesser pillow, Garou starts mounting one hell of a counterattack.
Oh, it’s on.
-
Halfway down the front path, a familiar meow stops Badd in his tracks. He turns back, brow furrowed as he hunts for the source. Tama is an indoor cat, and they don’t have any windows open, but he could’ve sworn he heard –
“Holy fuck!” Badd nearly trips over his own feet, head craned back as he rushes back up the front path. “Tama, what’re you doin’ on the roof?!”
He pulls to a stop just a little ways from the porch, still tipped back and staring, his bat slipping from between his fingers to clang dully into the grass.
“Tama!”
She mews in response, sitting pretty on the shingles, her tail idly flicking back and forth as she regards Badd with what he assumes is distress.
“How’d you –” he starts to ask, but then remembers himself, lowers his voice, and hisses, “Garou.”
As if he’s been waiting for his cue, Garou appears. Dangling headfirst from a tree in the yard, knees hooked over a low-hanging branch, and arms folded leisurely behind his head, he asks with a casual tone, “What’s up, Badd?”
“Tama.” Badd points, up to where Tama is frozen still with fear – except for how she’s started cleaning her paw.
“Oh,” Garou says, eyebrows shooting toward his hairline. “She likes it up there.”
“How’d she get up there,” Badd demands more than asks, because he knows damn well how she got up there. He can feel his blood pressure rising. There aren’t even any windows near that section of the roof, what the hell does Garou take him for?
A tiny, altogether too mischievous grin appears on Garou’s face. (Come to think of it, Badd’s seen a similar one on Zenko recently. He might have to have a talk with both of them later.) “Need help getting her down?”
“Please,” Badd grounds out. He’s not even going to try this time. Let Garou clean up his own stupid prank for once.
Garou swings back up into the tree, nary a rustling leaf following in his wake as he scales it, and then hops from its branches to the roof, crouching and reaching a hand out for Tama when he gets close.
Turns out, Badd’s cat is an absolute traitor who loves Garou, and climbs her way onto his shoulder. Rubbing her face against his. Content purring and all.
“See?” Garou’s grin is so packed with cheek that Badd wants to whack it right off of his face. “No problem.”
Grumbling to himself, Badd snatches up his bat, and continues on his way to work. People are dying by monster attack somewhere and this is what he has to deal with before he can go kick ass….
“The both of you better get the fuck down from there by the time I come home!”
-
Garou has an annoying habit that makes him impossible to live with.
Well, okay, Garou has several annoying habits that make him impossible to live with. But this one takes the cake as one of the most frustrating, because the thing is that Badd doesn’t exactly mind it – it just…has a tendency to make him late for things that he really should not be late for. Almost on the daily.
…That said.
When Garou isn’t here to jump him on his way out the door – when he’s not here to wind himself around Badd while demanding a plethora of goodbye kisses – Badd notices.
This turn of events should make him happy, right? No Garou means no delay in leaving, which means Badd will be on time for this particular stuffy HA meeting.
Yay.
…He’d love an excuse to be late, actually. Anything to keep him away just a little longer.
Of course the one time that Badd is fully ready and willing to be distracted on his way to ‘important’ hero shit is the one time Garou hangs back and stays out of his way.
Oh well. No big deal.
Here Badd goes. Off to work.
He’s got the door open and everything, one foot squarely outside.
Time to be responsible, and to show those boring execs he can stay awake for business discussions, etc etc.
….
Slamming the door shut, Badd stomps back into the house, dropping his bat in the umbrella stand on the way.
Damn it all.
Garou is in the kitchen, coffee mug to his lips. The one with ‘WORLD’S BEST BRO’ plastered on the side, the absolute nerve of him.
As Badd marches his indignant way across the room, Garou wisely sets the mug down, drawing himself to his full height. Puffing his chest, Badd pens Garou in against the counter, aligning their fronts and leaning up – his target is that mouth, of course, but it lifts and tilts out of his reach.
With a growl, Badd gets up on his tiptoes, but Garou evades this attempt, too.
“Gimme a goodbye kiss, dickhead.”
“Sure.” Garou tips back, pushing himself up into a seat on the counter with his hands. Infuriatingly graceful. “If you can reach me.”
“Bastard,” Badd spits. His grab for those lithe hips is thwarted when Garou lifts a leg over his head and slips away, spinning around and somehow coming to stand on the ledge of the kitchen sink in one smooth move.
Garou darts along the counter, tossing taunts and playful glances over his shoulder as he traipses around, staying just out of reach with Badd hot on his heels.
Badd, though, doesn’t have the required finesse to run along polished countertops (nor does he have any desire to; those are meant to be kept clean and footprint free, thank you very much), so he sticks to a strategy of grabbing at those scrawny ankles, looking to trip Garou up – openings are surprisingly hard to come by, and he feels like an idiot scrambling back and forth –
Until Garou trips over his stolen mug. Serves him right.
The split-second stumble is more than enough for Badd to get an agitated hand around Garou’s calf, and he yanks with all his might. Garou falls, slipping most-of-the-way off of the counter, hanging on with just one arm, and finally, Badd can be the one to smirk at him.
In the face of Badd’s triumph, Garou gives a small frown. “Don’t think you’ve wo –”
Badd gets a shoulder under Garou’s waist, grabbing him by the hips and hauling him free of the counter with an upward heave. This position leaves Garou’s arms to dangle behind Badd while long legs swing in front, and Badd braces a hand on Garou’s lower back to keep him in place as he spins on a heel, carrying his captive into the dining room.
Wandering hands are getting plenty friendly with Badd’s ass by now, so he unceremoniously dumps Garou onto the table. The sturdy old wood rattles a bit, but holds fast, already reinforced from a previous incident.
Using a chair as a stepstool, Badd climbs onto the tabletop, throwing a thigh over Garou and straddling him. There’s a wolfish grin on Garou’s face by now, so Badd meets it with an answering scowl.
…One that twitches and threatens to melt into something gentler, but a scowl nonetheless.
“Have I ever told you that I like it when you manhandle me?”
“Shut up.” Badd leans down over Garou, so close that the tips of their noses touch. “Quit puttin’ things outta my reach already.”
“But Badd,” Garou’s lashes flutter, the picture of innocence, “it’s not my fault you’re short.”
Ignoring the fact that Garou’s face is unnecessarily victorious for a guy pinned to a dining room table after losing a countertop chase, Badd grabs fistfuls of white hair and shoves his mouth against that obnoxious – gorgeous – fucking grin.
“And it ain’t my fault you’re an asshole,” he growls into Garou’s mouth.
It earns him a shudder, and he’s not sure he gets his entire point across, but hey. This counts as discipline, right?
(…Alright. He’s willing to admit that’s a reach.)