Chapter Text
At the sound of your hero name, you look up from the hasty draft of your report. Your manager, Akane, leans in the doorway of your office. There’s a slight crease in her brow, which usually means she has something of semi-importance to discuss.
Sighing, you lean back in your chair and wave her in, your most recent run-in with a villain in mind. “If this is about the spike in my property damage stats yesterday—”
“It’s…not,” Akane frowns, raising her tablet. “Wait, it increased?”
Ah, so she hadn’t read that report yet.
You scramble to find a plausible explanation, desperate to avoid the classic ‘doing more harm than good’ lecture you’d been victim to once or twice. “In my defense, I didn’t ask to be thrown into that new art exhibit downtown. Ask Shouto! He was there!”
Shouto Todoroki, who’d just so happened to be walking by your office door, picks up the pace until he’s out of sight. The hero didn’t ever hesitate in chasing down A and S-rank villains— but plop him down in front of their managers for a lecture on property damage? He suddenly couldn’t get away fast enough.
With a tired, ‘my-pro-is-the-source-of-all-my-headaches’ sigh, Akane uses the fingers of her free hand to massage her temple. “We’ll definitely talk about this later,” she says, to which you cross your arms over your chest and slump like a child in your chair. “This formal request for aid from Dynamight and Red Riot’s agency came across my desk this morning.”
You almost don’t believe what you’re hearing, leaning forward as Akane places her tablet on your desk, the screen showing a digital case file. It’s difficult to prevent the smirk curling your lip. “Bakugou is asking for my help?”
“Actually, while Dynamight is listed as the lead on the case, Red Riot is the one who put in the request,” she explains, gesturing to Ei’s scratchy digital signature at the bottom of the page. “Er— he asked that it be discreet because, well,” she waves a hand vaguely, “you know how he is.”
Number three Pro Hero, Dynamight - or, as he’s listed so lovingly in your contacts, Lord Explosion Murder - didn’t like asking for help. Let alone ask for help from the agency run by two of his rivals and one who was his…
Well, if he could get over it, then you supposed you could too.
You tap through the file, skimming through the latest report to see what villain had been giving ol’ Blasty a hard time. They were chasing a drug trafficker, who’d managed to give them the slip twice already during the raids the duo had organized. The villain had since gone underground, and had been eluding them ever since.
It was common knowledge amongst Heroes that Bakugou and his quirk had always been more suited to the climax of a mission; the flashy raid on a headquarters, the inevitable fight to apprehend villains. Ei was somewhat in the same boat. Though he undoubtedly housed more patience than the blond, a fight was just where he would be more useful. Not one soul could doubt the raw strength housed by partners Dynamight and Red Riot, but the watching and waiting just wasn’t their forte.
But you and Shouto were strong in your own right, and while the two of you had fought your fair share of wild (property damaging) battles, your combined calm and patience would be much better suited to conducting reconnaissance and helping track their villain down.
“I’m calling him,” you decide, lifting your phone from the corner of your desk. “Gonna ask him to meet.”
Akane’s eyes widen as she smooths her skirt. You swear you see her blush. “Red Riot?”
Oh, you’d shoot him a text later, thanking him for another chance to edge your ex out of his cozy, number three spot.
(And honestly, you were a little eager for the chance to talk to him again.)
You shake your head, already dialling. “Dynamight. I’m going to—”
Akane moves faster than you’ve seen her move before, slamming her hand over the receiver as you shoot her a look that screams ‘what the hell?’
“No! The last time you and Dynamight spoke, we had to replace our front door! We just had the newest one installed last week!”
You roll your eyes, hand still clutching your phone. “The sign on the door said ‘pull,’ it was his own fault for being too pissed to read it.”
Shouto, the eavesdropping little shit that he is, pokes his head in your doorway. “You were the one that laughed at him, prompting him to blow it up.”
How could you not have laughed? After storming into your agency’s lobby and berating you and Shouto for ‘stealing his villain,’ you’d had the pleasure of watching the fearsome Great King Lord Explosion Murder God, Dynamight, fail to read a simple sign and stomp face-first into the glass doors.
(Your hysterical laughter had only made his scowl deepen, tearing the offending door off its hinges and blowing it to dust.)
“I did us a favour,” you argue. “The automatic sliding doors are much nicer.”
You had done everyone a favour, really, by sending the security video to the group chat. Denki had called it ‘the icing on the cake’ and two hours later, a ten minute video montage titled “pro hero dynamight’s biggest L’s” was posted on Youtube by an electric_lovin, and had almost a million views.
Akane curses when you use your quirk to lift her hand from the receiver, shooting you a dirty look as you wink and cradling the phone between your ear and shoulder, as you dial. “Don’t worry,” you wink as the line begins to ring. “I’ll pay for the new door.”
You hadn’t really expected him to pick up, but you’d be lying if you’d said the sound of his voice on the answering machine didn’t make your heart leap into your throat.
It’s Bakugou, the hero’s gruff, recorded voice answers. ‘M probably workin’. If it’s important, leave a message. If it’s not, fuck off.
You roll your eyes. Unprofessional, as always.
“Hey, Lord Explosion Murder,” you tease, twirling the cord around your finger. “It’s me, and I’m calling about your recent case…”
__________
“…see the new Sports Illustrated cover…They’re so cool.”
“Yeah…looked awesome. Maybe next time our boss…an interview at our agency.”
From the doorway, Katsuki glares holes into the backs of his interns’ heads, both of whom are hunched over the break room table, giggling instead of doing...whatever their jobs were.
Impatient, he slaps the doorframe before stomping further into the room, holding back a grin when the nameless interns jump in their seats, trembling as they turn to face their dirt-smeared boss.
“Why the hell aren’t you extras doin’ your damn jobs? Do ya get paid to sit around ‘n read this crap all day?” He snatches the magazine from the table, waving it in their faces.
“You— you don’t pay us, sir,” a brave but trembling soul corrects, reminding him vaguely of Deku. It’s annoying. “We’re interns…”
“Tch. Good news I guess,” he huffs, slamming a memory card on the table in front of them. “Now go make yourselves useful and upload these pictures. Lemme know when you’re done.”
He hears their relieved sighs as he turns on his heel, stomping away to a chorus of timid, “yes sir.”
It’s just his luck that Kirishima is waiting for him in his office, already dressed down in civilian clothes and rubbing at his wet hair with a towel. A brief glance in his partner’s direction draws his attention to the stupid, toothy smile that’s often the harbinger of unsavoury news— well, what was usually unsavoury for Katsuki tended to be exciting for Kirishima.
“Hey, man! Got something here for ya!”
What was it now? A shitty brand deal? Some sort of hero magazine interview? Katsuki inwardly groans (or so he thinks). Could a man not get one second of peace in his own godforsaken agency? Hero work was about saving people, not collabing with athletic brands or posing for magazine spreads.
“The fuck are you still here for? Patrol’s done, shitty hair, go home.” He grumbles, throwing the magazine down on his desk as he drops into his plush leather chair, turning his monitor on to begin typing up his report.
His eyes do a cursory sweep of his desk as his monitor boots up, looking for memos their assistant had left him throughout patrol. There’s a sticky note telling him to call Best Jeanist back. Another is stuck to a file folder, labelled, ‘police report, re-check timestamps,’ and underlined twice.
The red light on his office phone is blinking, meaning he has a message. Katsuki wonders what idiot had the balls to call him directly rather than his assistant.
Kirishima heaves a big sigh, but doesn’t leave, holding up his tablet instead. “Just had something I wanted to run by you before the end of the day.”
Katsuki reaches into his desk drawer, pulling an energy bar from the bottom. It’d have to do until he could get home and throw together a real dinner.
“Isn’t that the assistant’s job? Why’re you doing it?” He questions, tearing the packaging open with his teeth. He scowls as it crumbles over his keyboard, but quickly types in his password, opening up a fresh doc.
Then Kirishima is sliding the tablet across his desk, and Katsuki is instantly wary of the apprehensive look on his face. He knows that look of quiet concern, and has seen it on his shitty PR teams’ faces when they tell him they’ve already RSVP’d to some charity event that he has to go to.
(The look that says, “I’m actually allowed to boss Dynamight around, but I don’t want him to rip my head off when I try.”)
“I just wanted to be the one to tell ya this, that’s all.”
He snatches the tablet off the desk, peering down at the digital screen. It’s the report of their still active case— the one he’d just gone out and done recon for.
Your signature, and fucking IcyHot’s are at the bottom. You’d both signed onto his case.
“What the hell is this? You— you asked them for help? Why?” He demands, because when Ei had asked about possibly bringing in a few fresh sets of eyes, he’d agreed. He’d expected Mindfuck, or maybe Ears, someone underground and subtle—
But no, he’d gone with you two.
Alright, if he were being honest, working alongside Todoroki was…manageable. He was quick, efficient. He didn’t make small talk during stakeouts or try to steal his food.
You, though… You were smug, proud, all-around good at the Hero Thing, and he knows you wouldn’t hesitate to rub this in his face or steal his food. It’s been that way since UA, since you’d both interned and even worked as sidekicks under Jeanist, and continued when you’d both gone pro.
It’d been that way in the five years that you’d dated.
If Katsuki’s life were a book, you’d probably be a part of his villain origin story.
(You were him, much as he didn’t like to admit it. The universe always finds ways to keep a guy humble.)
“They’re better at this recon stuff than we are!”
“No.”
“—And as far as we know, it’s closer to their district, so they can keep a closer eye on it for us.”
“No.”
“C’mon man! They’re the perfect people for this case and you know it.”
Katsuki shoots his partner a deadpan look. “I said no, Ei . Tell them we don’t need their help when you’re on your way home.”
Because he doesn’t need Todoroki’s ice or fire and he definitely doesn’t need your stupid psionic energy or your dumb telekinesis.
He doesn’t need you, his ex of a year and a half.
Kirishima finally, finally shuts up, but not for long enough. “Yeah, about that…we kinda have a meeting we gotta get to.”
He points at the blinking answering machine, and— oh, what the fuck—
Growling, he all but smashes the buttons, putting the machine on speaker.
“Hey, Lord Explosion Murder. It’s me, and I’m calling about your recent case.”
“So annoying,” he bites, his face suddenly hot with what has to be anger when he hears your voice.
“Shouto and I are both free tonight around 7 if you want to meet and talk about how to move forward as a team. Remember, when you get to my office, it’s a push, not a pull, okay? See you tonight!”
“I’m not fuckin’ goin’ there again,” he snaps when the message ends. Not six hours after his last visit to you and IcyHot’s agency, a video of him running into a door had gone viral on the internet.
“Think we can get this signed? We can sell it and use it to get dinner after.” Kirishima sighs, tapping a finger on the magazine Katsuki had tossed onto his desk. He hadn’t looked at it until now, but of course it’s the cover of Sports Illustrated featuring you and Todoroki. Something bitter forms in the pit of his stomach, and he resists the urge to rip the thing in half and stick it in the paper shredder.
“You know why I don’t wanna do this,” he mutters quietly, running a hand through his hair, lightly gripping at the strands.
“Yeah, I know,” his friend suddenly looks mildly concerned, walking around the desk and propping his hip against the oak. “But we’ve got no other leads, man. I tried Shinsou, but he’s currently on assignment. He said he’d reach out when he has time to look into it, but it might not be for a while. This is strictly for the case. Strictly professional.”
“Fine,” he grumbles. “But don’t you dare leave me alone with her.”
____________
“Where the fuck are you, Ei?” Katsuki growls into his phone. “You said you were going to the bathroom.”
“Sorry, I got kinda lost, but I ran into Todoroki and we’re walking up now. This place is way too confusing!”
“Well get your ass back here before she gets here,” he snaps, ending the call and stuffing his phone into his pocket.
Katsuki shifts in his seat, restless as his eyes dart around your empty office. It’s still strange for him to be in your space, in your corner office with its large, floor to ceiling windows overlooking Musutafu, and with Todoroki’s office right across the hall.
(It’s strange because, back when things were simpler, Katsuki used to be your cubicle neighbour. Back then, he was the one you shared a building with, one that your hero name wasn’t on the side of.)
There are still traces of that time on your new desk, and he recognizes them instantly. The limited edition headphones from Jirou and Kaminari’s first big brand collab hang on your monitor. The framed picture of you, Yaoyorozu, Uraraka, and Ashido on graduation is angled on the right corner of your desk, beside the set of coasters you bought when you were first assigned a cubicle at Jeanist’s agency (you always shoved one under his mugs of coffee). A little decorative jar holding candies sits near the edge, and he recognizes the individually wrapped bonbons from your favourite shop in Sendai (you used to throw the wrappers at him when you were bored).
The only thing missing from your old setup is the frame of him and you, a candid shot that Kirishima had taken when he’d accidentally crashed your third date.
His chest suddenly feels heavy, the previously bitter feelings dissolving into something dangerously close to missing you .
(He doesn’t want to miss you, though, so why the fuck does he?)
“Bakugou?”
Shit. “Uh, hey.”
He catches a whiff of your shampoo (you’re still using that orange vanilla one) when you walk around him and to your desk, and set a pile of file folders down. “Sorry for the wait, but you weren’t supposed to get here until seven, so I’m not quite ready--”
“I’ve heard that one before,” he finds himself muttering bitterly, balling his fist up tight when that annoying phantom weight in his hand returns.
A petty jab, he knows, but he doesn’t care.
You press your lips into a tight line, shaking your head slightly as you lower yourself into your seat. You’re hurt, and it shows in your expression.
“Wow. I thought we were over this passive-aggressive thing. I believe your exact words were that we should, ‘forget the last five goddamn years ever happened and move the fuck on.’”
He was over it - over you - dammit, but when he’s alone with you, all of a sudden he’s in that restaurant all over again, and it makes him feel a lot of things that he almost doesn’t want to try and unpack without the help of a trained mental health professional.
“Whatever,” he scoffs, leaning back in his chair and averting his gaze to the window behind you. “Where are Todoroki and Kiri?”
Strictly professional, he reminds himself when you pull out your phone, probably texting IcyHot. I can fucking do this.
“So,” you start, setting your phone on the desk and leaning back in your chair, eyeing him. Katsuki knows you’re about to hit him with some sort of snide remark to get back at him for earlier.
“How’s Taro?”
Katsuki blinks a couple of times.
Of course you’re asking about the fucking dog before asking about him (don’t get it twisted, it’s not like he wanted you to).
“Still likes to wake me up in the morning for runs,” he shrugs, which was a habit ingrained into that Labrador’s brain because of you, by the way. You used to drag him out of bed at the ass-crack of dawn so you could take the dog out together.
Then, after a beat of silence he asks, stiffly, “How’s Yuki?”
( Sometimes he misses that damn cat.)
“She’s okay,” you hum. “Still likes to curl up and nap in that quilt we had draped over the couch.”
He knows the one. The dark green quilt that you used to drape over him when he’d come home from a late patrol, bone tired and too lazy to shower before falling asleep on the couch with the cat curled up on his chest.
Oh, and there’s that feeling again, he thinks with a slight wince. That deep ache that’s been settled between his ribs for the past year and half, and only hurts more when you’re nearby.
You open your mouth to say something, but quickly close it, frowning when someone knocks on the door.
The door is thrown open as soon as you call for them to come in, and Kirishima enters, followed closely by Todoroki like a teacher guiding a child. “Hey guys!” The redhead looks between the two of you, grin faltering momentarily. “Whoa, is it just me, or is it a little chilly in here?”
Katsuki wonders what you’d said, had you not been interrupted.