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Ashido liked to refer to Kirishima as a “strong and independent king who don’t need no man”, and he mostly agreed with that sentiment.
But standing in front of his bathroom mirror, he started thinking that he really needed a woman or two. Specifically his moms.
The red of his hair had started to fade to brown, and it drew too much attention to his black roots.
His mothers had always been the ones to bleach and dye his hair ever since he was in middle school. It was a way for them to bond as a family. Sitting still for half an hour while waiting for the color to set did that to you. However, now he had moved out of the house and into another city, and he did not trust himself enough to do his hair on his own.
And as much as Ashido was a fan of fashion and hair and make up and nail art, she was just as messy and ditzy as he was.
So, when his roommate came home with a new pink perm, Kirishima nearly pounced at her, asking questions about the salon.
“It’s surprisingly affordable, given the quality,” Ashido chirped, ruffling her own hair. “My stylist was this funny blond guy. Pretty cute, too. I think you’d like him.”
Ashido wiggled her eyebrows at him suggestively, but Kirishima just rolled his eyes and asked for the name of the salon.
Which was how he ended up in Dyenamite, the chic looking salon about a block away. When he entered, he saw a blond boy around his age. He must have been the guy Ashido was talking about. Although he would have to confront her about her definition of “cute”, because that man was a smoking hot bombshell.
Kirishima just stood there staring at the man behind the counter.
“Do you want something?” The blond glared at him questioningly.
“Sorry!” Kirishima’s face flushed. “My dye job’s starting to fade, and my roots are showing. I could also probably use a trim. Do you accept walk ins? Or do you require scheduled appointments first?”
The other man gave him an appraising once over.
“We aren’t busy right now.” He sighed. “And I can’t have you going out of here looking like that. We have a reputation to uphold. I’m Bakugou, I’ll be your stylist.”
The blond, or Bakugou rather, jerked his thumb to a vacant chair.
“Have a seat.” He made a shooing motion with his hand. “I’ll just get our dye list so you can select what color you want.”
“Thank you!” Kirishima bowed his head respectfully. “My name’s Kirishima, by the way!”
Cutting was a quick but quiet affair. Bakugou was like a machine as he snipped away at his split ends. After Kirishima gave his approval, they moved on to the bleach. Bakugou layered his hair with foil and silently painted the sections.
“It’ll take half an hour for it to set,” Bakugou instructed as he dusted himself off. “Call me if you need anything.”
But before Bakugou could leave, Kirishima panicked and called out, “Wait!”
Bakugou raised an eyebrow at him in confusion.
“Sorry, I just hate waiting by myself,” Kirishima admitted shyly. “And I forgot my phone back in my apartment. Would you please sit with me?”
Both eyebrows were raised now. But still, the blond complied, taking the chair next to his. After a moment of just sitting there awkwardly, Kirishima spoke up first.
“So, how did you end up being a hairstylist?” Kirishima asked curiously.
“It’s the only job that lets me wield sharp objects near people without a decade of medical school.” Bakugou shrugged.
The blond recoiled when Kirishima burst out laughing.
Bakugou paused for a beat, before asking, “How about you? What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a personal trainer at Riot Gym!” Kirishima beamed at him proudly.
“I go there all the time, and I’ve never seen you there before.” Bakugou frowned at him skeptically.
“I technically only start working there next week,” Kirishima confessed. “But I look forward to seeing you there!”
“So I’m guessing you’re new in town?” Bakugou hummed.
“Yup! I moved here last month.” Kirishima nodded. “Which is why I’m so glad I heard about this place. I can’t go to my first day on the job looking like this!”
The blond eyed him carefully.
“I’d say you look pretty good.” Bakugou smirked.
Kirishima did a double take, a blush warming his face.
“Yeah.” Kirishima coughed into a fist. “Thanks.”
A pregnant pause.
“So, who did your hair before you moved here?” Bakugou asked.
“My moms did.” Kirishima grinned easily. “They’re the best. They always stayed with me while the bleach and dye set in. I guess that’s why I forgot to bring my phone, I’m just used to the waiting time flying by while they were there. Sorry, I just miss them a lot.”
The blond fiddled with the pair of scissors in his hands.
“I get that.” Bakugou twirled the scissors with his index finger, flipping it and catching it with his bare hand, not so much as a scratch on his palm. “My parents are in the fashion industry, so I got a backstage pass to all of their shows. I guess I just admired the stylists there, and how they could bring out the best in the models.”
Kirishima opened his mouth, a sappy comment on the tip of his tongue, but Bakugou suddenly rose up from his seat.
“Your 30 minutes are up.” Bakugou started removing the foil. “I’ll start putting in the dye.”
This time, Bakugou didn’t move to leave him alone to wait for the dye to set. Instead, he took Kirishima’s wordless invitation to wait with him again. Kirishima talked about his disastrous first and only experience coloring his hair by himself, while Bakugou shared some beauty school horror stories.
Bakugou was in the middle of complaining about one of his old teachers, Hakamada or something, when the salon door slammed open.
“There you are!” Ashido called as she panted deep and heavy breaths, waving a familiar phone in her hand. “Sorry, you forgot your phone and I didn’t know if you needed it or not!”
“Hey!” Kirishima smiled at her. “Thanks, but I’m good. Oh, and look, I met the cute blond you were talking about! You’re right, he is funny!”
Ashido blinked up at Bakugou, who scowled at her in tandem.
“Kirishima, I have never met that boy in my life.” Ashido furrowed her brows.
“You must be talking about Kaminari,” Bakugou huffed. “He has the day off today. The dumb blond with that stupid black lightning bolt streak in his hair?”
“Yup!” Ashido laughed. “And I thought it looked pretty cool!”
“Well yeah, I did it,” Bakugou scoffed, before getting up from his seat and taking off the plastic cap on Kirishima’s head. “It should be finished setting.”
“Really?” Kirishima’s eyes widened. “I guess time just flew by.”
“I’ll wait for you at the counter.” Bakugou nodded at him.
Kirishima swooned as he walked away.
Ashido gave him a look. “If you’re not going to ask him out, I will.”
After Kirishima paid, he psyched himself up to ask Bakugou on a date. But before he could, Bakugou thrusted a coupon on his face.
“A discount for your next appointment.” Bakugou refused to meet his eyes.
Kirishima was so surprised, he left the salon without another word, Ashido hot in his heels. He pouted, frustrated at his cowardice.
But then he looked at the coupon in his hand, and saw a phone number scrawled on the back of it.