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The first snow of the season swirled like ash outside, graying out the windows. Today this town could be anywhere, any eon, like an episode from the Twilight Zone. Even the mild gold fluorescent lights made little influence, leaving the shop and its single present employee wanting for warmth and cheer.
No one in their right mind would come in today.
Kirishima dug out his phone from the front pocket of his jeans, which was quite a struggle considering the flowery yellow apron tied around his waist. Possibly it was so form fitting to help sales.
He had started the previous summer, a keen-spirited, bright-eyed teenager. Although awkward at first, with practice he had memorized the allergens and flavors of all twenty ice creams in their showcased cylinders. He liked the general positivity of the customers, especially the kids.
Of course, he was well-liked--he had worked so hard at it in high school--but this merely added to the approval of his manager and coworkers.
Kirishima was capable and independent enough that his parents encouraged him to move out on his own after graduating. They were proud, but rarely able to tell him so. Reluctant to disagree, he was now full-time at Riot’s Creamery and paying rent for a crummy basement apartment.
Thinking back to how little help he had making the transition, Kirishima barely noticed the bell on the door as it swung open and someone walked inside.
“W-Welcome,” he said quickly. “Some weather we’re having, huh?”
The young man merely shrugged, hands deep in leather pockets so only his wristbands were visible. He strolled up to the counter, evidently unbothered as he took his time peering through dark lashes at every individual flavor. His light, spiky hair and angled brows were fierce.
Why on earth had this guy made the trek into town on a day like this for ice cream? Maybe he didn’t give a shit about freezing from the inside out.
Finally the customer stopped and leaned against the counter, and his fiery eyes met Kirishima’s.
“Give me two scoops of the rocky road,” he ordered, in the same tone mob bosses addressed hitmen.
No ‘please,’ no ‘thanks,’ once Kiri had scooped them into a cup.
“Is there anything else you’d like today, sir?”
“Bakugou.”
“Uh--”
“It’s Bakugou, okay?” The guy rolled his eyes. “Fuck, in a town as shitty small as this, I’d expect people to know each other.”
Kirishima hesitated, wondering if the comment was meant to harm. Instead, he smiled a little, and replied. “I don’t know everyone yet, but you’re pretty memorable. First time in?”
Bakugou drew his lips back in a half-snarl like he hated the thought of being a newbie to anything. He licked his ice cream slowly, then his lips.
“If it’s any good, I’ll be back.” He dunked a wad of cash on the counter and walked away.
This left Kiri very curious.
Bakugou returned the next week, and the next. Surprisingly, he only came when Kirishima was on shift, and took a liking to the corner seat next to one of the store’s cacti. Some days he brought what looked like homework, except that Bakugou never did it. Instead he played on his phone.
From what Kiri could determine, the guy was a new student at the local community college, and already on probation. He had few friends, preferring isolation to the freshmen drama.
There was one time he came accompanied.
“Denki, this is that Shitty Hair guy I told you about.”
“Oh, hey,” a much softer-faced guy said, glancing self-consciously between his friend and new acquaintance.
“Shitty Hair?”
“Oh ha, he gives people nick-names when he likes them,” Denki grinned.
“Shut it, Dunce-face.”
“See?”
Kirishima smiled.
...
“Okay, but you never said he was so cute!”
“He’s--fucking god, he’s just the ice cream guy.”
Denki’s mouth hung open, accusatorial finger prodding Bakugou in the chest.
They were sitting on Denki’s porch steps in the late afternoon. Denki wore blue embroidered gloves, but Bakugou was too stubborn to dress appropriately, and shoved his hands under his arms instead.
“I don’t need this from you, Drooly.”
Denki snorted, stood, and went inside to bundle himself up.
Bakugou stayed as the sun went down.
It was springtime. The cup of rocky road sat untouched on the table as Bakugou looked over at Kirishima, who was busy behind the counter helping a couple and their kid pick from the gluten-free options.
Bakugou hated himself for being so damn soft about this. Shitty Hair was just, so friendly without it feeling like a put-down. He never said sugary bullshit to fill the silence like some people did. Plus, he sometimes put on My Chemical Romance over the speakers, and that reminded Bakugou of better years.
Distractions are stupid, he fumed inwardly. I need to become the best student in my class--no, in history. I’ll show all those fuckers.
But recently he and Kirishima had spent afternoons chatting--and one pranking Professor Aizawa--and were on good terms these days.
I can show him, too.
As the family moved away with their treats, he took a breath, got up from his seat, and approached the counter.
Kirishima returned from unloading the backroom’s washer, looking fine in a navy hoodie.
“Bro,” he greeted. “What’s up?”
Bakugou did not wait, because waiting is for nerds. He grabbed Kiri’s hand across the counter. “Leave right now with me. Just for a bit.”
Like their first interaction, it wasn’t a question.
Kirishima stared at him for a moment. And then...
“Okay.”
“Okay?!” This was easier than expected.
“Where?” Shitty Hair was asking. He stepped out from behind the counter.
Bakugou led the way down the street, past the post office, and over the hill. He had fire in his eyes and his chest was burning.
Kirishima trailed behind a couple paces, excited for the adventure. Maybe a little nervous, but he would never admit that to anyone.
Beside an oak tree at the edge of a stream, the first man stopped, face flushed.
“Bakugou…”
“I...I bet you can’t climb this tree faster than me.”
Kiri let out a confused laugh, and then they were rushing the oak. Limbs clambering, blood pounding, wild animals. Kiri’s hands scraped the trunk in his hurry, though Bakugou had been on adrenaline longer and was already higher up.
Soon enough, the tree limbs grew too small to risk further progress. They sat, panting slightly.
“What the hell is this about?” Kirishima asked finally.
Bakugou had his breath back. Unfortunately.
“I beat you.” He gestured sharply to his branch, which arched mere centimeters above Kiri’s. “I beat you and it doesn’t even feel that good. Pisses me off, that I...I don’t have to win to be good enough with you.”
There was a long pause, the kind he hated most.
“Dammit...this is fucking stupi--”
And then Kirishima was yanking him by the shirt and kissing him full on the mouth.
Kirishima, he thought. My accidental friend.
Kirishima had never kissed a guy before, but somehow it wasn’t that different. His body knew what to do. He forgot how high up they were, how exposed the tree was, how he was supposed to be on the clock. It all faded under Bakugou’s tongue.
Bakugou’s teeth.
Kirishima gasped involuntarily at the bite, drawing back, and brushing his lip where the damage had occurred.
Bakugou smirked, and kissed him again. Kiri’s hair, although shitty, was so soft. He tasted like the assurance young Bakugou had always yearned for as a kid. Salty warm. He gripped Kiri’s waist. He could barely make out his ribs for all the smooth muscle there. Fuuuuck, Shitty Hair was ripped.
God, it pissed him off.
“I don’t think I can help myself,” he murmured in his friend’s ear.
Kirishima rocked his head back, flashing his throat. “Are you admitting weakness?”
“Don’t tease me like that,” Bakugou growled. He pulled Kirishima onto his lap, wedging himself against branches, brushing leaves. In seconds his hands were slipping inside the waistband, then sinking slowly into the hollow spaces beside Kiri’s hip bones.
“Aahhh…”
Bakugou felt him tense as blood rushed through them.
One hand braced on the trunk behind the spiky head, Kiri slid the other over Bakugou’s chest, still wearing the band-tee.
“Listen...” he breathed, “I can’t be fired today.”
A pause. “You’re joking.”
“Let me...finish my shift…and I’m all yours.”
Bakugou stilled, incredulity in his eyes.
“Shitty Hair, I’m so fucking HORNY for you,” he seethed. “Making me wait like this...I’m gonna take your ass and make you mine.”
That did something to Kirishima. Bakugou could see it in his eyes.
“Fuck...okay.”
“I’ll come by and get you later, then.”