Chapter Text
INTRO
Yuuei College is the home to many distinguished alumni.
There were the CEOs, Teaching Doctors, notable members of Theatre and other Performing Arts, several high-earning entrepreneurs now charting in acclaimed magazines. But just like any other college in the country, Yuuei is the heart and home of many nicknames and varied reputations that haunt each student even after graduation.
Kirishima Eijirou—A sophomore student in the Business course, 19 years old—was no exception to this.
His years in college had earned him a reputable nickname, a solid impression that stuck to him, a celebrity label he can’t seem to get rid of.
Around Yuuei, they call him Kirishima “Rebound” Eijirou.
It wasn’t well thought of, rather lazy. The nickname screamed “look-at-the-dictionary-and-you’ll-see-his-school-ID-photo-as-an-example” which was slightly incorrect because as much as people would talk.
Kirishima wasn’t just some rebound people go to.
Kirishima Eijirou was Bakugou Katsuki’s rebound.
To be precise, he is Bakugou Katsuki’s only rebound.
The situations varied. From 6-month long relationships that come to an end.
“Bakugou broke up with that Todoroki heir. The one with the weird, parted hair? All rich and quiet, kinda weird? Someone near their apartment heard shouting in the morning about calling it off. Real messy.”
To dates where Bakugou was stood up.
“ I got some gossip. Did you hear, Bakugou was left stranded in this restaurant, half of the batch was tweeting about it. Heard he got stood up by that student-the financial aid kid- what’s her name? Uraraka? And get this—she left him for Midoriya. I know! For the guy’s childhood best friend! What a bitch.”
And even meet-cutes that have gone to shit.
“ Hey! Bakugou officially went split with that jumpy kid from the Electrical Engineering course. That loud kid with the youtube video compilations, I mean, not gonna lie, I really thought they were gonna make it out to be like some- I don’t know- something like Kaminari even announced them together, you know?!”
The more intricate details of the rumors—how the fights start, where it happened, what words were said to whoever—change as the story is passed around campus as gossip does.
In one of the versions, someone had detailed the color and cut of his shirt that exposed the ‘slutty hickeys ’ on Bakugou’s neck during his last argument with Todoroki. Someone twisted his phone calls with Midoriya wherein he says the edited lines of a rejected Theatre student’s script [technology can be fucking scary]. Several students have made ‘expose threads’ on his ‘relationship’ with Kaminari based on vlogs months before they had even met.
All the fine points and still, only two elements of the story remained constant.
One, Bakugou had recently cut ties with someone; and
Two, Kirishima will be found around campus walking with him to class the next day. With a telling hickey on his neck, identifiable even with the band-aid he had put on. The limp in his step had made it more obvious of what had gone down.
“Rebound looked like he had a good time.”
“Bakugou’s bitch.”
“He knows he’s being used, right? Is that what good dick does to someone?”
It isn’t shy of a fact around campus that Kirishima Eijirou has been dubbed as Bakugou Katsuki’s rebound.
Kirishima doesn’t like it.
He hates the nickname, the reputation, and he hated the looks most of all—greasy glances, do-overs, double-takes, the fucking low whistle accompanying it.
He’d take them on if he could.
But he won’t.
He shouldn’t .
Rebound alone was a reputation he’s burdened to lug around, what more if they spin the thread to pose him as a delinquent. He’d correct them when the time comes but first…
He has to ‘eradicate the root of the problem’ which meant that Kirishima has to turn down Katsuki- no, no first names- Bakugou ’s advances.
To master the intricate art of saying no , to gain control and clear up his name.
3
“ You’re going to say no. Say no. Say no!” Kirishima chants in his head, dreading the ticking hands of his clock. He takes deep breaths, slaps himself awake, and paces around his bedroom for several minutes.
And then there’s a knock.
Loud compared to the eerie quiet of his dorm.
“ You’re going to say no.”
Kirishima rubs his hands together, fists forming at his side, marching towards the door with a straight face on.
“Turn him down!”
He peeks into the peephole, the familiar fisheye view of blonde hair in sight, and turns the doorknob slowly.
“You are going to say-”
“Eijirou.”
“Shit.”
Bakugou leans on his doorway, his red eyes bewitching, as usual, the slack in his posture suggests he may have had a few bottles before stopping by. It takes a while for him to reach out and wrap a gentle hand around Kirishima’s wrist, pulling him stumbling into a hug.
“Eijirou.” Bakugou says again, hot breath tickling the curve of his ears. “Eijirou.”
Bakugou peppers the column of his neck down to his prominent collarbone with open-mouthed kisses. “Eijirou.”
Kirishima knows this was cue—to turn him down just like he had practiced in the mirror, and the dim windows of the library, and to the front camera of his phone.
“Ka-“ he sighs deeply. “Bakugou…”
Here it goes.
“I think you should-”
“I miss you, Eijirou.”
And with that, he waves the white flag.
Kirishima sighs helplessly, wrapping his arms around Bakugou to support and carry him inside. The rest of his mumbling tunes out to white noise as he brings him to bed. Kirishima moves to untie his shoes but Bakugou sits up and pulls him against his body instead.
It’s warm. Kirishima is weak to his touch.
“Your shoes, Katsuki.” Kirishima fusses, face flushed as it rests in between Bakugou’s pecs, embarrassed. “Let’s get them off. The floors are getting dirty.”
Instead, Bakugou stays quiet. He trails his fingers up and down his back, wrapping a large hand on his side to lift him, catching Kirishima by surprise as he ends up sitting on top of him, legs locked around his middle.
At this point, Kirishima’s melted; seconds away from molding himself to his shape, the curves of his hold.
It’s getting hard to concentrate with those cherry-glossed eyes of his but Kirishima tries to stay calm; the hum of his air-conditioning unit and the quiet but present steps of his upstairs neighbor keeping him grounded.
“Do you want to tell me what happened, Katsuki?” Kirishima asks, running a hand through his hair. Bakugou thrums in delight, leaning against his touch. Kirishima is reminded of a cat.
“No…” Bakugou says, looking at him with glazed eyes. “It’s messy. I don’t want you to be involved.”
“A bit too late for that, I think.” Kirishima jokes, continuing to caress him; delicately brushing his cheek and tutting at the sporting purple bruise right below his eye. Bakugou winces when he gets too close. “Did you get in a fight?”
“No.”
“Katsuki…”
“I didn’t.” Bakugou says. “I didn’t punch back.”
Kirishima leaves it at that.
Bakugou slumps and whispers lowly.
“Do you want me to leave?”
Kirishima’s hands pause from their ministrations for a moment, lips pressed shut in deep thought. A rigid line forms.
Bakugou has to stop himself from leaning in to kiss him.
Kirishima knows that this was his second chance, gifted to him from up above, and he also knows that Bakugou, even in his drunken stupor, would understand that; resign to spend the night on the sofa instead of being under the covers with him where it’s warm.
He’s [incredibly] stubborn but he listens. Bakugou waits; polite and quiet, for his answer.
Kirishima smiles softly, internally admits that he’s lost this battle. “You can stay, Katsuki.”
“Can I kiss you, Eijirou?” Bakugou suddenly asks, eyes wide and hopeful. “I want to kiss you. let me kiss you.”
Kirishima shivers at the baritone of his voice, hushed and needy yet sincere. Bakugou tangles his fingers through his black hair and nudges his nose against him. “I miss you.”
“You do?”
“Yes.” Bakugou lifts him like he weighs nothing, pushes him down on the mattress to tower over him. “Can I?”
Kirishima meets him with half-lidded eyes as he nods, pulls him down close, sighs as Bakugou’s lips press against his.
6
Bakugou Inc., a family-owned enterprise, was reputable for its history—painstakingly building themselves from the ground up to become one of the tops, high-earning companies in the country.
They had specialized in several areas; ranging from investments, automobiles, food services, and even to sponsoring mom-and-pop bakeries from their old hometown.
And in the years of the family’s continuous climb in the corporate ladder, the Bakugou’s Mitsuki and Masaru have retired to leave it all in the hands of their only son, Bakugou Katsuki. Now while they do come and check-in once in a while, take a break from their Caribbean cruise and otherworldly travels, the man has done above and beyond to steady their impressive reputation.
He physically heads their Main Office in Tokyo where several (if not all) employees have learned not to test their boss’ very short temper.
“What could he be mad about this time!” Sato Rikido, one of the office clerks, huffed. “It’s 8:30AM. I was just enjoying my banana bread.”
“You have banana bread?” Sero Hanta, a higher-ranking clerk, asks. His sneaky hands reaching for a piece from their crowded lunch table.
“He glared at me.” Sato says, pushing the snack to him. “Thought I stepped on something and he,” he tries to imitate the famous look. “glared. You know that face where he looks real constipated but makes it work.”
“You sure? Maybe you got it all wrong.”
“He’s cranky. I’m betting on it.”
“Double whatever it is you’re betting on.” Sero clicks his tongue, puts a faux display of concentration, mimicking telepathy. “My boss senses are telling me that,” he hums a low tune, “it’s a dire case of RBF.”
“No way.” Sato shoots him a look of disbelief. “He probably noticed a stain on my shirt, that guy's heinous with stains. Do you remember how he fired Mineta for coming in with grape juice on his slacks.”
“Mineta was going to get fired for harassment anyway,” Sero waves a hand and dismisses his concern. “I’m telling you-”
He lights up when Yaoyorozu Momo; the office Secretary, who was also situated with the nearest cubicle to Bakugou, walks in. “Hey, Yaoyorozu! Come over here real quick!” Sero waves her over, she approaches them with an exasperated expression.
“What is it?”
“What’s Big Bad Bakuwolf mad about this time?”
“You know, one day, he’ll find out about that nickname,” Yaoyorozu says, taking a generous slice of the banana bread. “among others…and we have to pretend that we don’t know you and watch on the side as you get fired maybe.”
Sero shrugs his shoulders. “He won’t know if you won’t tell him.”
“I won’t.”
“Then we’re safe!” Sero opens his arms like a baseball referee, folding his arms back just as quick. “So…? Is he mad about something?”
“Not that I know of.” Yaoyorozu answers, looking up the ceiling for a moment. “I think that’s just how he is.”
Sero cheers as he slaps Sato at the back then leaves the lunchroom heading to his cubicle
“You owe me lunch!”
Thanks to Bakugou Katsuki’s short temper, he’s been rumored ‘round the other office branches as the ‘worst guy to work for’.
Hanta has read the tweets from Hagakure of the Miyagi branch, watches as it slowly but surely becomes an expected character of their boss—dubbed with nicknames he’s lost track of.
Sero strongly believes it’s an exaggeration.
“Hey, Tapeface!”
Sometimes.
“Yes, boss man?” Sero answers, waving from the other side of the glass door of Bakugou’s office. “Can I do anything for you?”
“Coffee.” Bakugou snaps. “and make it quick.”
“Roger.” Sero says, trailing off with a charming salute. “Will get you that coffee, no problemo.”
Sero walks a few steps towards the lunchroom before completely steering of the route, hiding behind the row of drab cubicles, away from Bakugou's perception.
He would rather do anything else than get that cup of coffee for Bakugou and it wasn’t even because he didn’t want to do it. Making coffee is intern work—grab a sachet from the lunchroom, place it on a cup, pour hot water, stir, and serve—Sero can do it with his eyes shut.
But Bakugou, to add on to his quirky character, was incredibly picky with how he likes his coffee. It was the cherry to top on to the things that made Bakugou Katsuki Bakugou Katsuki.
The employees have all tried and asked how he liked it.
Does he like it with cream, white, and brown sugar, with a generous amount of vanilla?
Too sweet.
Maybe he likes it plain and black, roasted beans to cup without any other ingredients.
Too bitter.
What if Bakugou Katsuki doesn’t even like coffee! He’s deluded and wants to sound like a tough man!
This is literally warm milk. Do you want me to fire you?
Sero looks around, looks for the unfortunate soul to pass the task to, eyes lighting up at the sight of bright red.
“Hey, you’re the new hire, right!? Bossman’s got a job for you!”
3
In the comforts of strewn blankets, tossed around pillows, and thin but large duvets Bakugou Katsuki lies in the middle of it all, slowly stirring up as light peeked through the parted curtains.
He’d obliterate the sun if he could [or, at least, remember to draw the curtains close next time].
“Goddamnit.”
Bakugou forces his eyes shut and rolls over, he pulls the comforter covering his chest and throws his arm over Kirishima.
Or at least, where Kirishima was supposed to be.
Instead of the warm, lean, and bare body, he’d expected to curl up next to, he wakes up to a vacant space and immediately sits up from bed, panicked and trying to make sense of his memories from last night.
“Eijirou?” Bakugou calls out, wiping his anxious-drenched palms on the covers. “Where’d you go?” He says, the light-hearted tone doing well to mask the feeling of unease.
Bakugou walks to one of the drawers and grabs a shirt—where was his own?—throwing it on while traversing the room for his discarded boxers.
“Eijirou?” He calls out again, exiting the bedroom and walking down the short hallway, the view of the living room presenting no sign of Kirishima. “Ei? You here?”
He walks a few steps further and hears humming coming from the kitchen, and instantly relief floods him, the familiarity of his voice set him at ease. Bakugou hears the whistle of the kettle and the sound of mugs being placed on marble countertops. He grins, giddy and heart swelling as he enters the kitchen.
Kirishima was making coffee.
Bakugou watches him closely as Kirishima moves from counter to counter, opening drawers and cabinets to prepare the coffee Bakugou loved the most. There was simply nothing else like it.
Kirishima hums a song, tapping the mug with his spoon in a beat Bakugou wasn’t familiar with, and pours the ground coffee in, then turns around to get the right amount of sugar. Bakugou uses this as the perfect opportunity to sneak up on him.
“Good Morning.” Bakugou whispers, arms wrapping around Kirishima’s. “You weren’t there when I woke up.”
“’Morning.” Kirishima whispers back, leaning to the side to kiss his cheek.
Bakugou sighs dreamily and leans to plant open-mouthed kisses down the column of his neck, biting at his collarbone and admiring the other bites that peppered his skin with it.
Kirishima looked beautiful even like this. Bakugou was almost tempted to pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.
“Katsuki, come on, I’m getting dizzy turned ‘round like this.”
“I didn’t hear you complain last night.”
“Hey!” Kirishima pulls himself up, blushing at the implication of his words. “Seriously, it’s 7 in the morning.”
Bakugou laughs and rests his chin on Kirishima’s shoulder, humming some nameless lullaby as Kirishima's arms moved to reach different ingredients—he was never sure what they all were.
“It’s 7?”
“Almost 8.” Kirishima notes, dropping a spoonful of sugar. “Do you have classes today?”
“Not till the afternoon.”
“I wish my classes were in the afternoon.” Kirishima wistfully says. “I have a class with Professor Mic before lunch. Then all the classes just keep going and I finish at 6PM.” He turns the jars of ground cinnamon shut. “They need to work on scheduling the students, it’s unmanly.”
Bakugou chuckles softly at his use of the word, only Kirishima can get away with using that unironically. “Unmanly, huh.”
“Totally unmanly, Katsuki.” Kirishima huffs, pouring hot water from the kettle. “They have to think about the students!”
“I agree.” Bakugou says, thumbs trailing the nape of Kirishima’s neck. “Go tell ‘em, babe.”
Kirishima shimmies around his hold, wiggling to move the shirt—oh that’s his shirt—that gets caught up in bunches till he faces him handing a cup of coffee.
“Here you go.”
Bakugou frees one arm around Kirishima and takes the mug, keeping eye contact with Bakugou as he sips carefully, sighing dreamily at the drink.
His Kirishima always makes the best coffee.
“D’ya like it?” Kirishima perks up, looking at Bakugou with his large kitten-like eyes. “I’m starting to get the hang of making my own coffee. Maybe I’ll even open my own café!”
“I’ll be your first regular customer.” Bakugou kisses his nose, then his upper lip. “I’ll get addicted to caffeine if you open up a shop.”
Kirishima flashes his sharp filed teeth, the rumored full-set-fangs-of-terror now something Bakugou finds endearing to look at.
“Oooh,” He cackles. “I’ll be such a bad influence for you.”
Bakugou rolls his eyes and kisses him fully on the lips. Kirishima keeps a tight grip on his mug, trying not to spill coffee on the floor as his knees wiggle weakly at the touch.
“You really do make the best coffee.” Bakugou parts from him.
He finishes the drink in four hefty gulps.
“I can teach you how I make it.”
Bakugou hums but is quick to turn down the offer.
“Just in case I’m not here?” Kirishima whispers, nervously picking on the skin of his lip. “You know when you- um…” He swallows the lump in his throat. “leave?”
“Leave?”
The air suddenly felt a lot heavier to take in.
“For class! Early! And I’ll- um,” Kirishima sets a forced grin on his face. “I’ll wake up late! Who’s gonna make your coffee now, Katsuki?”
Kirishima prays the shiver and the stutter in his voice weren’t too obvious. Bakugou doesn’t bring it up, juggling his banter with ease.
“If you wake up late then I’ll...” Bakugou roars as he runs his hands down Kirishima’s sides, knowing just how ticklish he is. “...do this!”
Kirishima, caught by surprise, laughs loudly, playfully slapping his traveling hands away. “Katsuki! Seriously!”
Bakugou’s antics came to a stop and Kirishima trails out a last couple of laughs, cheeks flushed from being tickled.
Bakugou sighs, and cups Kirishima’s face, looking deeply into his red eyes. He leans to kiss his nose, the crinkled sides of his eyes, the bubble of his cheek, and finally his lips.
Kirishima feels tears well up in his eyes. The love he’s showered him making his toes curl, shivers run up and down his back, and his heart fills so much that he fears it’ll burst out of his chest.
Bakugou looks at him once more, and Kirishima’s far too stunned—far too in love—to stop himself from saying the words that leave his lips.
“I love you.”
Bakugou's eyes widen. He untangles himself from Kirishima like he’s hot coal, the boy having to hold on to the counter to steady himself.
His hesitance, the nervous dart of his eyes, the abrupt silence spoke a lot more than a thousand words.
Bakugou looks at him nervously and Kirishima sadly smiles in response.
“Eijirou. I-”
“Too soon, huh?”
“It’s not…”
“I know.” Kirishima runs a hand through his black hair, nervously twiddling with the ends. “Don’t worry about it.”
Bakugou swallows the lump in his throat, wants to reach in and hold him close again, but the unfortunately familiar feeling of fear held him back, rendering him useless to huddle for warmth the morning breeze was torturing his sensitive skin with.
“You should cook breakfast today, Katsuki.” Kirishima suggests, his back still turned. “I like it when you put cherry tomatoes in omelets.”
Bakugou blinks rapidly, rubs at his wet eyes, and clears his throat. “Yeah, sure.” He moves to his side yet unable to look at him even as he hears the unmistakable sniff.
Kirishima was crying.
“No pepper?”
“Yeah.”
Bakugou reaches for his mug from the island behind him, sliding it towards Kirishima. “Can I have more of that coffee?”
Kirishima laughs softly. “Sorry, we’re all out.”
6
“You never fail to amaze me, Sero.”
“I know, right!”
“That wasn’t a compliment. You’re really something to be bringing Bakugou this…” She gestures to the cup in front of her”…drink.”
Yaoyorozu nervously glances at the drink in front of her; the brown just a bit too light for what she believes their boss prefers it to be.
There’s too much cream and there’s maybe too much sugar. Did they pour in milk? Milk is never a good sign.
“He almost fired you last time.” Yaoyorozu harshly whispers, scandalously looking at the porcelain again. “This is asking for it.”
“That’s ‘cause I actually gave him warm milk.” Sero grins coyly but Momo fails to find it amusing to which Hanta rolls his eyes at. “Calm down, Yaomomo.” He squats to her level. “Besides, it’s not like I made it.”
Sero juts his thumb, pointing at the tall redhead in the corner of their office floor, the eyesore stranger looking around nervously. “The new hire did.”
“You’re sadistic. You have to be.”
“Just think of it as some initiation ritual. If he wants to work here, he’s gotta face the wrath of Bakugou Katsuki.”
“Stop making the office sound like a college frat house!”
Sero wiggles his eyebrows and pushes the cup towards her with stubborn intent. “Come on, what’s the worst coffee could do?”
“There is actual research on caffeine addiction, you know?”
“I know, you cc’d the article to me before sending it to everyone in the office.”
“It’s vital information.”
“Yes, and I still stopped by two Starbucks on my way to work.”
“Sero…”
“Yaoyorozu.”
“Ugh...Fine.” Yaoyorozu surrenders, taking the plate it rests on, and walks around her table. “I had something to give him anyway.” She fetches a stack of papers in the desk tray.
Sero comically gestures to the entrance of Bakugou’s office, a silly skip in his step that Yaoyorozu glares at.
She takes a few deep breaths before entering, pushing through the heavy doors with her body. Flinching at the intense glare she is met with. Yaoyorozu walks to his desk, the click of her heels trailing behind her. Bakugou’s glare doesn’t let up even as she sets the coffee down on his desk.
“Your coffee, sir.” Yaoyorozu gingerly places the stack of papers inches away from the ceramic. “And papers from the Osaka branch that’ll need your signature regarding the employee transfer?”
“Employee transfer...” Bakugou mutters, reading the first few lines of the document from where he sat.
“As discussed in our previous meeting, the Osaka branch had to make cuts in manpower and HR of their branch proposed that some employees be transferred to other branches to soften the blow.”
Bakugou glares at her.
"Their words, not mine."
“And we have how many of their employees transferring to our office?”
“With Miss Shuzenji's retirement this year and our current employee number, we couldn’t accommodate more than one.” Yaoyorozu leans to flip to the second page. “Osaka branch says their sending one of their bests here.”
“Not their best if they’re sending him over.” Bakugou rolls his eyes, but signs the paper without a second glance, and leans forward to bring the drink towards him, quietly sipping his coffee.
Yaoyorozu watches his reaction—the struck expressive look in his eyes, the wide-open nostrils, the frown in his face. She fears the new hire may have offended their boss unintentionally and all she could do is wish him well in advance, she prepares for the colorful curses to chase her away.
Instead, Bakugou takes another sip.
And another. And another.
And another.
Finishing the drink with one final swig.
Yaoyorozu fails to mask the surprise in her face, simmering in this odd feeling of excitement quite similar to the feeling of her first proposal being approved.
“Who made the coffee?” Bakugou asks.
“Sero, sir!” Yaoyorozu exclaims, hands in closed fists, bouncing thrillingly.
“Sero?...Wait, Tapeface?”
“Yes, and uh- sorry- no! Sero asked someone.” Yaoyorozu continues, that giddy bubble in her stomach making her tongue feel like cotton. “The transfer hire- Osaka transfer- to make it. I haven’t actually met him, but I saw him in the office earlier and-”
“Does he have black hair? Falls to his shoulders?” Bakugou interrupts, rising from his chair as he quizzes her. Yaoyorozu takes a step back, squinting her eyes in thought.
“No. It’s red actually! Really bright red hair.”
The shine in Bakugou’s face goes away in a blink. Yaoyorozu finds herself regretting not taking a picture of the rare sight.
“I see.”
Bakugou was quiet. Yaoyorozu would say disappointed but it was a bit different from that.
“Bring him to my office, then.”
“He must have done some great work with that coffee!”
Bakugou opens his mouth to agree but closes and dismisses Yaoyorozu with a wave.
“It’s just coffee.” He spins his chair around. “And he’s the new employee, isn’t he?”
Bakugou glances at the calendar hung on his wall.
“He even gets here a whole week early, great impression .”
“Osaka was really trying to make the process quick, sir. I’d say he looks really nervous about it.”
“Just bring him in. Don’t I need to know who he is, anyway?”
“Yes, of course!”
“Then get to it.”
Yaoyorozu leaves the office in a flurry, nearly forgetting to bow on her way out, a quicker clicking of heels trail her as she runs.
Sero shoots her a strange look as she gets back to her desk. He expected more frowning and exhaustive expression, not the look she had on as if she had discovered the cure for cancer.
“Yaoyorozu?” Sero carefully taps her shoulders, falling off of her desk as she whips around excitedly. “What…”
“Get the transfer hire!” Yaoyorozu says, eyes bigger than they already were. “Quick!”
“He has a name.” Sero taps his chin in thought. “It’s Kiri-something.”
“The coffee! Bakugou likes the coffee!” Momo shakes her closed fists again. “Oh, Sero. If you only saw his face! It was amazing!”
“I'm appointing the nickname, Miracle Boy…or maybe, Magic Man!”
“Please get better with your nickname-making skills.”
“You can’t say I’m not trying.”
“Sero, just go and get him please!”
“One transfer hire,” Sero salutes cheekily. “coming right up!” and runs towards the copier room where he last saw him.
5
“Kirishima!” A voice booms through the coffee shop. “Drink for Kirishima!”
Kirishima bites his lip nervously.
Why did the barista have to call his name out loud?
Kirishima looks up from his table cautiously, noticing how everyone's eyes have moved to anticipate who’d approach the receiving counter. The tip-tapping of their fingers quickened in pace, unabashedly live-tweeting the event. He could see the tweets now, all the unsolicited Direct Messages masking themselves as concerned strangers.
Please look away. Kirishima sinks in his seat, begging to whichever God was watching this happen. Please please please.
The barista, a Black woman with permed pink hair, turns towards the direction of his table and looks at him knowingly, equally dyed pink brows raising in expectation. She raises the coffee cup and tilts her head.
Kirishima sinks even deeper.
“Rebound is here?” A whisper next to him says, the collective murmuring picking up to say one thing.
“I heard he and Bakugou are through again.” One snicker amongst his friends. “Wait, were they even a thing. I’m sure Bakugou was just getting his dick wet.”
“That’s a new record.” Another group starts to talk, crudely laughing. “Two weeks? Rebound’s losing his touch.”
Kirishima grinds his teeth, thinks of a way to sneak out of the coffee shop before anyone connects the two dots. One dot being his sinking hooded figure and the other dot being the hawk-like glare the Barista has been giving him the last few minutes.
She blinks at him slowly. Kirishima looks away. She makes a show of raising the drink in the air and apologizes.
“Sorry! Wrong name!” The barista cries out, flashing a charming grin.
Instantaneously, the whispers died down, the patrons returning to focus on their laptops and earlier conversations, having lost interest in the potential gossip feed.
Kirishima feels like he could breathe again. Momentarily light-headed and cross-eyed as he collects himself.
“Hey, you good?”
He looks up, heart ramming his chest in surprise, and meets the worried expression of the same barista calling for him earlier on. Her glossy lips were pursed, pink eyebrows curved worryingly, his drink in her hand.
“Sorry, you looked really uncomfortable to get your drink from the counter, and a lot of people were whispering, and- Kirishima, right?” She whispers his name. “Are you okay?”
“I'm fine!” Kirishima bites his bottom lip, eyes darting to the side rapidly. “I’m fine, really.”
She doesn’t look convinced and Kirishima begins to sweat under his hoodie, blood pressure rising as her eye-catching presence starts to attract attention from the other patrons. Until one of them begins to recognize him even through the curtain of black hair covering his face.
“Hey! It’s him!” They bellow, grabbing everyone’s attention, effectively starting a loud chorus of gasps and the unmistakable snaps of a camera.
“Really? It's Rebound?” One asks, pushing aside their date to glimpse at him.
“He's all alone, so the rumors are true.” Another stirs the pot. “Maybe that's why that Camie chick was all over Bakugou this morning.”
Kirishima sighs, resigning to pulling his hood down, stretching the fabric. Opting to run from the scene, even when he knows his retreat would only make the rumors worse. What thread of lies will they spin this time?
He shuts his eyes, tries to shut out the increased murmuring until the barista in front of him yells at the crowd who instigated the uproar. He opens them to the sight of her pink polished nail—sharp like knives—towards the group.
“Hey, meathead!” She starts, the beefiest guy in their circle staring at her offensively. “Yeah, you. Get out.”
The phones turn towards her, Kirishima looks in awe at how she didn’t flinch bathing in the camera flash that would have had him cowering.
“What the hell?!” One of the girls he’s got his beefy hand on screeches. Kirishima winces at the pitch. “He’s a paying customer, bitch!”
She scoffs and flicks her nose with her thumb. Kirishima continues to stare, amazed with how those long nails of hers left no scratch.
“I’m not going to ask again. You’re loud and really rude, buddy.”
“Shut up, whore. Get your manager. I’ll have your ass fired in front of everybody!”
The pink-haired lady grins so wide that it sends chills down his back.
“Baby, I am the manager. And I think that’s your final warning.” She stomps towards them and pulls the chair back from one of them. “Get out, or I’m calling campus security.”
The group continues to yell, hiding their face as the raised phones swerve towards them. One, who Kirishima has recognized as part of the campus gossip blog, religiously following them out the shop.
“Anyone else wanna get a lifetime ban from this shop?”
Several heads had turned away.
The attention that was once pinned on him dies down. It didn't take long before everyone else returned to what they were doing, smart enough not to cause another commotion unless they’d want to be scolded by the manager still standing close with her arms crossed.
Kirishima settles down, finding peace with the silence he’s sought in the coffee shop in the first place. He peels the hood of his jacket off and tends to the drink the barista-slash-manager had placed on the table.
“Thank you.” He whispers, immense gratitude on his tone and face. “That was…so manly.”
She laughs, scratching the back of her head. “No problem, love. It wasn’t much, and they aren’t the worst bunch of customers I had to deal with before. You should see how some entitled professors get ‘round here.”
Kirishima plays with the carton coffee holder, shyly meeting her eyes; yellow contacts striking through him. “You're the manager?”
“Nah.” She rolls her eyes, laughing mischievously. “My manager is sleeping at the back, but I know when to get involved.”
“I don't know the whole story with that nickname,” She says, plopping to the vacant seat next to him, her presence comfortably warm. “but I wouldn’t want to be called Rebound, for sure.”
She offers her hand to shake. “The names Ashido. Ashido Mina. You?”
“I'm Kirishima.” Kirishima grips it warmly, gleaming at the sight of a newly made friend. “Kirishima Eijirou.”
6
“Kirishima Eijirou.”
“That’s your name?”
Sero caresses his chin, tilting his head then humming in approval as he observes him from every angle like a scientist would to a specimen. He flashes his a flat-toothed grin.
“You look too good to be working for corporate and you got a good name too. You sure you want to spend the rest of your days rotting in a cubicle?” Sero squints, quizzing him in a lighthearted tone.
“Uh…?” Kirishima shifts his balance, unsure of what to answer but Sero slaps his back.
“I was just kidding, Red.” He brings his hand out which Kirishima shakes firmly. “I'm Sero Hanta. But we'll get into that later. The boss is looking for you.”
“Am I in trouble?”
“Did you do anything that could cause you trouble, Mr. Kirishima?”
“No…?” Kirishima narrows his eyes. “I think.”
“Then you're fine.” Sero waves his hand dismissing his worries. “He just wants to get to know you, like your name, your skillset, decide what nickname he'd call you for the rest of your life because he never really memorizes your actual name and he's too much of a stubborn prick to actually do that, your work history, yanno stuff.”
Kirishima blinks rapidly, opens his mouth with a confused look. “What was that last one?”
“Your work history?”
“No, the other one.”
“Your skillset?”
“Never mind.”
Sero chuckles, knowing he'll get along with Kirishima easier than he thought.
“He would definitely ask about the hair. Red isn't a big thing 'round here.”
“The office back at Osaka wasn't particular with it.”
“That’s cool and all,” Sero raises his hands, shrugging his shoulders in nonchalance. “just don't be surprised if he rams a hidden razor down your scalp.”
Sero laughs at the increasing worry showing on Kirishima's face, brows furrowed in concern
“I'm only half joking, get in there, he won't bite.” Sero reaches to reassuringly pat him on the back, leaning close to whisper. “His leash doesn't allow him to reach that far anyway.”
This time Kirishima laughs as Sero ushers him towards the office where his boss awaits.
“Oh!” A woman with long black hair stands from her chair, moving around her table to greet him enthusiastically. “Your hair is much brighter up close. I mean, I saw it from there at the back but,” she takes a step back. “It’s really red.”
He takes a quick glance at the nameplate on her table—Secretary Yaoyorozu Momo it says.
“I'm sorry, Miss Yaoyorozu.”
“Miss? Oh!” She flips her nameplate down. “You don’t have to call me that, I’m not that old or something.”
Yaoyorozu combs her hand through her hair. “And the red looks good! We don't get much color around here if you haven’t noticed.”
She dusts off her skirt and offers her hand for a shake. “I'm Yaoyorozu Momo. Secretary. As you probably saw from the name plate.” Kirishima shakes it carefully. “I'll let the boss know you're here.” Yaoyorozu walks past him, knocking at the large wooden doors. She gingerly opens and peeks in.
“Sir? The transfer from Osaka is here.” Yaoyorozu says.
“Let him in.”
Kirishima makes sure his tie is in place and that the blazer he had on didn't have a speck of dirt, dusting himself off before pushing through the heavy doors and entering the office.
Yaoyorozu follows suit but stops midway, snapping her fingers.
“Oh shoot! I left your papers on my desk.” She steps back, ushering Kirishima to continue walking. “You can go on ahead and introduce yourself to him. I’ll be back!”
Kirishima feels his throat go dry. Feeling small as he makes his way towards the center of the office, just a few feet away from the desk where his new boss sits with his leather chair turned away from him. With a deep breath, he introduced himself loudly.
“Hello, sir! I’m Kirishima Eijirou. The transfer from Osaka branch.” Kirishima bows, wiping sweaty palms against the smooth material of his slacks. He keeps his head down as the chair turns in his mid-peripheral view.
It was of the utmost importance that he gives his new employer a good impression and so he keeps his head down.
“Eijirou?”
Eijirou Kirishima believes he’s been gifted with a good memory.
His previous office was reliant on him remembering important details during meetings, he was always the one to remind his colleagues of deadlines, even his Boss had asked him for assistance in remembering technical procedures and step-by-step aids with his computer.
And he could say with confidence, from the baritone voice alone, that this was Bakugou Katsuki.
“Sorry!” Yaoyorozu interrupts, catching her breath. “Kirishima, lift your head up.”
Hesitantly, Kirishima does. Instantly, he meets the all-too-familiar crimson of Bakugou's eyes. With pupils striking through him, just as they always have. He swallows the lump in his throat, taking paced breaths as he processes the presence of the man in front of him.
“This is our boss, Bakugou Katsuki.” Yaoyorozu chirps then gestures to Kirishima. “And this is-”
“Kirishima Eijirou.” Bakugou interrupts; finishing her sentence.
It was completely unprofessional for him to sound the way he did—jittery, weak, and small. His mother would get on his case for awkwardly waving at his new employee instead of displaying power and strength as he’s been taught to but Bakugou’s bottom lip wobbles.
“Hey…” He greets breathlessly, feeling spikes run across his arm, settling at the bottom of his palm. “Ei…”
“Do you know him from somewhere, Sir?” Yaoyorozu asks, unable to read the tension of the room.
Bakugou opens his mouth to answer, feels the words ready to burst from his chest. Seconds away from jumping over his desk to overwhelm Momo (and the office, and the world) with the word yes.
To tell her of the greatest years in his college. Tell her about Eijirou and, lest he’s stopped, talk about how great he is, how he misses him extensively. His nostrils flare thinking about how he’s set in giving Eijirou the tightest hug, to kiss him stupid and cup his soft face in his hands. He wipes his palms on his slack, excited to run his hands across his (now) red hair.
But Kirishima interrupts him. Speaks quicker than he could, with the familiar look of panic in his eyes.
“No!” Kirishima exclaims, voice louder than appropriate. “I’m sorry… I don’t know him.”