Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Listen to me.” 

Kirishima leans over the counter, grabbing the panicked stranger by the shoulders so he can stare directly into his eyes, “Your smile is infectious, you always tip generously, and your freckles are so handsome it makes me want to scream.”

The guy looks up at Kirishima, his rosy blush turning up the contrast to emphasise his swoon worthy freckles. “You really think so?”

“I know so, man! You’re a total catch!”

And yeah, maybe this is only the third time Kirishima’s ever seen this guy, but he’s been lovely every single time he orders his de-caff oat cappuccino with extra chocolate sprinkles, and really, how can he be anything but completely wholesome with an order like that?

He takes a deep breath whilst he focuses on internalising Kirishima’s words, brow all screwed up in concentration as if he’s trying to physically shove the affirmation into his brain with sheer force. It’s seriously adorable.

“The only thing you’ve got to worry about is me coming over there and kicking your lady out of her seat so I can take her place.” He tacks a wink on the end of it, not many nerves strong enough to withstand Kirishima’s cheesy attempts at seduction. 

It works a charm.

“Okay.” He nods his conviction, “I’ve got this!”

“And why’s that?!” Kirishima nudges, grin wide and reassuring.

“Cause I’m a total catch!” The guy sends a punch into the air and Kirishima’s heart swells with pride, already ridiculously invested in this guy’s love life. 

“Damn right you are!” Kirishima finally let's go of his shoulders, content that he won't make a run for it the second he’s not restrained, “Now go back over there, be yourself, and have fun! I’ll bring your coffee over.” 

The customer seems to remember where he is, face lighting up again as the feel-good haze of Kirishima’s speech clears with the reminder that he’s not talking to an old friend, but the guy he’s paying to make his drinks. 

“Thanks, Kirishima.”

“Don’t mention it, Hotshot.” 

That has a charming laugh bursting from his chest as he walks back to his date, and Kirishima feels content with his abilities as an adoptive dad.

Working at a coffee shop means Kirishima’s third wheeled his fair share of dates. He’s had countless worried patrons at the whims of their first date panic come through his door - he can sense their bitten down nails and shaky hands miles away. He tries his best to help them with their nerves, ready and willing to perform a dramatic monologue if someone’s getting a little too well acquainted with staring at the door.

Kirishima just loves love! He’s got a heart three sizes too big for his chest, and seeing people find their spark, his coffee warming their hands whilst they warm each other’s souls, it keeps his pulse in order. 

He knows its sappy, is more than aware that no one expects the guy the size of the door frame and built like a mountain to care about soft things like that. But the ravine between what people expect of him and what he gives them, Kirishima finds, can be easily cemented with the nervous pause before holding hands for the first time, the stutter before sharing cosy compliments, the shining eyes of someone feeling seen for the first time.

So, when Kirishima makes his most recent nervous wreck his de-caff oat cappuccino, he adds the extra chocolate sprinkles into the shape of a love heart, because it would be a criminal offence not to.

“You’re getting real good at that.” Minas got a cocky grin on her face like she’s making a dig, but Kirishima’s too busy riding off the high of his most recent success story to let it get to him. He’s not saying that the way they were holding hands like they’ll never let go is entirely thanks to him, but he does expect to be invited to their wedding. 

“You know, maybe if you started using some of your magical romance powers on yourself, you might get your own love life to invest yourself in.” 

Ouch, okay then. Kirishima really didn’t want to be reminded of his terminally single status eight hours into his shift, but Mina’s always been good at keeping Kirishima completely and utterly grounded. Their best friends, it’s in her job description. 

“Not all of us can be happily married before 25.” Kirishima's voice is bitter, as if her wedding wasn’t the best day of his life. (He cried more than the bride and groom did. Yes, there is photographic evidence, just ask Denki). “You guys are the anomaly here, not me.”

At the mention of her other half, Mina looks over to Tetsu, who’s sitting in his normal corner table. He’s got his laptop open in front of him for work, but Kirishima would bet a year’s supply of hair gel that there’s not a single word on the document he’s got open.

Mina waves at him all cute, and Tetsu quickly pretends he hasn’t been watching her the whole time, smiling bright and airy like he’s just noticed she’s here. 

She smiles back. He blushes. Kirishima feels stuck somewhere between bursting into tears and throwing himself off the nearest roof. 

It’s cute as hell, but the blatant reminder of what he’s lacking goes down a little sour.

“I know, I know.” Mina sighs, dragging her eyes away from her husband like it physically pains her to do so, “But you could put yourself out there more! When was the last time you went on a date?”

Mina knows perfectly well the last time he went on a date because she was the one who organised it. She’d met the guy through her Zumba classes, saying, ‘Kiri, his muscles have muscles. You have to give him a shot’ and Kirishima’s never been one to say no to a description like that.

The guy had been nice, but ultimately their date ended like most of Kirishima’s do – face down in a mattress with a guy who’s name he can’t remember, and then a lonely walk home.

He’d gone through a slightly desperate phase of serial dating a couple years back, suddenly finding himself falling behind all his friends in the relationship department. It’s like, one second, they’re all virgins, stumbling their way through horrific attempts at flirting, and the next, his best friend is getting hitched and Denki – the man who couldn’t look a woman in the eye until he was 19 – has himself a girlfriend. And not just any girlfriend, a cool girlfriend.

Desperate not to fall even further behind, he’d gone on enough dates to last a lifetime. But it hadn’t been the fairy tale trip all those 90’s romcoms had promised him, a little less ‘I want all of you, forever’ and more, ‘How quick can you get my dick in your mouth?’. 

Hook ups had been fun for a while, but getting to know someone’s touch before their name became draining, and Kirishima started to realise that maybe he’d been wearing rose tinted glasses. That maybe things like true love aren’t meant for everyone, and that he should just appreciate it where he can get it, even if that’s just through osmosis. 

That last date, almost a year ago now, had been the final one-night stand Kirishima could stomach before condemning himself to the side lines. It hadn’t been an easy decision to make, but Kirishima much prefers this to how empty he felt after all those times he got intimate with people who never really cared. 

It’s just not for him! And he’s accepted that.

“Hey, don’t go all pouty on me!” That just makes him pout more, “I know you’ve had some shitty guys give you shitty experiences, but you can’t let that put you off forever.”

“I can. Just watch me.”

Kirishima can feel Mina’s glare searing two holes into his shoulder blades, and decides that the counter in front of him, the one he’s already cleaned too many times, could do with another once over.

She sighs. “You've got nothing to be insecure about, babe. I know you don’t think you’re a sexy piece of ass, but trust me, you definitely are.”

“Well maybe that’s the problem!” Kirishima braves her, spinning on his heel and relieving the counter of any further futile cleaning, “Maybe everyone only sees me as a sexy piece of ass! I’m more than my ass, Mina.”

She shoots him a sympathetic look, squeezing his arm apologetically and Kirishima only feels a little stupid having this conversation in public. 

“I know you’re more than your ass, I didn’t mean it like that. I just don’t want you to feel like you can’t put yourself out there.” She stabs a finger into Kirishima’s chest for some very effective emphasis, “The only reason you shouldn’t be out finding the man of your dreams is because you don’t want to, not because you feel like you can’t.”

Mina has some nerve bringing this up mid-shift. It's almost as if she wants Kirishima to start crying too hard to take orders. She’s looking at him with her brow set and eyes stern, and it's clear she’s not letting him leave this conversation without some sort of concession. Kirishima blows out his lips in a sigh and Mina knows she’s got him.

“I’m not going back to dating apps.” Her grin is abrupt and sharp – utterly terrifying, “But, if by some complete and utter fluke, the perfect guy comes waltzing into my life, then I promise to give it a shot.” 

He’s proud of that response, watching as an adequately satiated Mina cheers to herself over a promise Kirishima is 100% sure he’ll never have to act on. Because what are the chances the perfect guy will come storming through the door of his little coffee shop?! They’ve got to be minuscule, infinitesimal, basically impossible. 

Because Kirishima has never been very good at maths, when the little bell at the top of the door rings, alerting him to a new customer, his head snaps up to see who it is. The romantic in him can’t help but guard the little flame of hope in his chest with its life, ignoring all reason in favour of an inane sentimentalism.

The elderly lady standing in his door frame brings Kirishima crashing back down to reality, flame flickering, but not going out. Who knows? She’s not exactly what he had in mind for his ‘perfect guy’, but maybe she’s about to order a coffee so outstanding, that Kirishima’s going to learn something new about himself. 

Kirishima smiles. She orders a tea.

He’s still certain he’s not into women. 

He’s so caught up pretending not to be disappointed about the old lady, that he misses the door opening again, the chime of the bell falling on deaf ears as he turns his attention back to the poor countertop that shoulders the brunt of Kirishima’s emotional turmoil. 

“Kiri, quit ignoring customers.” Mina hip nudges him back into action, not even trying to hide her sniggers when he jumps. 

“Sorry about the wait! Welcome to Riot Roast Coffee! What can I-” Kirishima finally looks up at his customer and oh my god...“-get you?”

Ask anyone who’s known Kirishima for more than five minutes, and they'll tell you about his tendency to exaggerate things. He’s aware of his flaws, he’s working on it (he’s totally not working on it), but right now, he’s certain he’s not exaggerating when he says the man in front of him is the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. 

It’s a shell of blonde hair, exploding from his head like vicious sun beams. He’s got piercing red eyes, sharp and dangerous enough to break through diamond – it's safe to say Kirishima’s never been more jealous of a clump of carbon. The grin on his face screams of a natural confidence, and the way he’s leaning on the counter, aiming that grin right at him, has Kirishima feeling like he’s melting. 

Round rimmed glasses sit on his nose and paired with his plain button down and black khaki combo, his appearance reminds Kirishima of his high school science teacher. However, unlike his high school science teacher, this guy is pulling it off unfairly well. 

He’s a blonde bomb shell in nerd-core, and Kirishima is down horrendously bad for him.

“Don’t worry about it, had a damn good view to keep me entertained.” 

Whilst his looks are clean cut, his voice – holy fuck, his voice – is the antithesis. Its rugged and gravely, like he’s recovering from a sore throat.... but in a really hot way. 

“Right! So, what can I get for you?” At this point, Kirishima is just determined to survive this encounter with his dignity intact. He’s already feeling fragile and making a fool of himself in front of someone who makes forest fires look chilly - he’s not sure he can survive such a critical hit.

The customer lets his eyes linger for longer than he needs to, before turning his attention to the menu behind Kirishima’s head. No longer under his gaze, Kirishima takes some rapid breaths and attempts to straighten out his coffee-stained apron. He's more than halfway through his shift, so he’s accepting all the help he can get to make him look less dead on his feet.

“Caramel latte, I’ll take it away.”

“Awesome! Anything else for you?”

“That’s all thanks, Sunshine.”

And. Oh wow, okay. Well. That’s. Oh god.

Kirishima knows that if you were to look at him, you wouldn’t be able to tell where his red hair line ends, and his face begins. He tries to subtly wipe the sweat off his hands as he busies himself with making the drink, but he still manages to drop the portafilter three times before locking it into place, and it’s all made worse by the fact the guy is definitely watching him.

It’s impossible not to physically feel a gaze like his.

“Are you new around here? I haven’t seen you in before.” Kirishima asks, trying to draw the guy’s stare away from his hands (the ones that are currently making an absolute mess of his order), and towards his distracting smile - and if he gets to know this Greek God of a man a little better in the process, then thats just the burden he'll have to bear. Oh no...

“Sure am, love. Just got transferred to the labs around the corner.”

“Ooh, labs? Are you a scientist?” 

“Sort of, I’m a Chemical engineer.” Kirishima has to admit he’s a little thrilled with how accurate his science teacher guess was. “I’m basically working with materials and testing their capabilities at withstanding extreme chemical reactions.”

Kirishima tries to translate that into terms he can understand, “So like, explosions and stuff?”

That gets a laugh out of the blonde, and Kirishima doesn’t care if it’s exposed his lack of scientific know-how because that laugh is something straight out of the movies. “Yeah, explosions and stuff.”

“Hell yeah man, that sounds so cool!” Then, because Kirishima wouldn't know self-restraint if it came up and stabbed him in the street, “You must be really smart, a job like that must’ve taken ato-m of work to get.”

His face morphs into a gorgeous mix of astonishment and amusement, leaning further over the counter like he needs help steadying himself after the shock of hearing such a horrendous joke. 

“Did you just make a chemistry pun?”

Kirishima’s already in this deep, so...

“That depends. If I did, would it get a good reaction?”

It starts with a shocked chuckle, but it quickly tumbles into a profusion of cackles, loud and unhinged and so outrageously attractive. Kirishima finds himself stuck staring at the rise and fall of well-built shoulders, at eyes squashed by dimpled cheeks, at scarred hands gripped to the countertop.

He’s so pretty.  

The scalding milk that’s overflown onto his hand is the only thing startling enough to burst Kirishima out of his desperate attempt to soak up every inch of this man’s elation, wholly captivated by how exhilarating it feels just being near him. 

Who knew the steam wand would be such a cockblock?

“You must be so sick of hearing jokes like that.” Kirishima tries to diffuse.

“Periodically, they’re not so bad.”

Kirishima’s a simple man; an attractive guy who not only puts up with his puns, but makes them back? He’ll start planning the wedding.

“Nice! Almost slapped my ne-on that one.”

“You think that one was good? I have so-dium more where that came from.”

“I guess jokes like this are pretty in your element.”

“You bet; I could make them for ions.”

It’s not often Kirishima can be out punned, but he’s severely lacking in chemistry knowledge, and he’s pretty sure his brain is working at a quarter of its normal capacity, most of it completely exhausted from trying to keep him upright and breathing whilst being in such proximity to perfection personified.

He’s finally finished the coffee, slipping the lid on, and handing it over, “If you were a proton, I could’ve given you this free of charge.” 

The blonde takes it, grin softening just enough to let Kirishima know his science facts are somehow worse than he thought they were, “You mean a neutron, Sweetheart.”

“Damn! I was proud of that one, too.” Kirishima lifts a hand to the back of his neck as he laughs, hoping he hasn’t made himself look like too much of an idiot. 

His new favourite customer doesn’t seem to mind though, waving him off before saying “Ah, it’s alright. You’re pretty enough to make up for it.” 

Before Kirishima can ransack his brain for a response to that, the blonde continues, “How much do I owe you?”

By pure chance, Kirishima manages to harness enough of his remaining brainpower to remember how to do his job, mumbling out a price and stammering his way through simple maths to give him his change. 

“Keep it.” He says, nodding at Kirishima's outstretched hand and picking up his cup.

“Are you sure?” Because either Kirishima is as bad at maths as he is at chemistry, or this guy is purposefully leaving him a huge tip. 

“Positive.” His wicked grin is enough for Kirishima to know that was intentional, “I’ll see you around, Sunshine.”

Kirishima’s resigned himself to the permanent blush on his cheeks, he’s never gonna live this down. 

“Yeah! See you...” He trails off, and because whichever God is looking out for him today is obviously on a roll with all these miracles their handing out, the blonde fills in the gap. “Bakugo.”

 Bakugo...  

“See you later, Bakugo.” He nods at that, like he’s happy with the way Kirishima says his name, and walks out of the door like he hasn’t just single handily shifted Kirishima’s entire world off its axis in a matter of minutes.  

Staring longingly out the window in the direction Bakugo turns, Kirishima decides, is going to become his new favourite pass time, because someone like that deserves to be pined after relentlessly, and he’s only too happy to offer his services. 

Just when Kirishima’s decided to devote his evening to researching chemistry jokes, the aggravatingly pleased sound of Mina’s voice shatters his daydream.

“Holy. Shit.” She laughs as Kirishima bashfully turns to face her, “Just when I think you can’t get any gayer..."

“It’s not like that.” It’s exactly like that.

“Are you kidding me?! He called you petnames, and said you were pretty! I mean, hell Kiri, he even laughed at your shit jokes!”

And all Kirishima can do is nod at that, because Bakugo had called him pet names, and he did say he was pretty, and he certainly laughed at his shit jokes. 

“He was probably just being nice.” 

Mina looks at him like he’s just killed her mother, and Kirishima can’t find it in him to totally blame her. 

He isn’t blind to Bakugo’s compliments, but guys like him don’t just casually flirt with guys like Kirishima. The smart, put together, atrociously good-looking types, the ones that turn heads as they walk down the street, those types of guys - they don’t give him the time of day. 

“Uh, dudes?” Tetsu jogs over to the counter, eyes wide and awed, “I know I’m not meant to bother you on shift, but bro.” he turns to Kirishima, locking eyes, “That guy was totally hitting on you.” 

Mina high fives her husband in solidarity, and Kirishima’s half convinced she’s telepathically told him to say that.

“I completely agree! And Kirishima literally just promised to start putting himself out there again!” Mina adds, because apparently 15 years of friendship means nothing to her.

“Seriously, dude? That’s awesome!” Tetsu smiles at him with so much enthusiasm that Kirishima’s pretty sure he could swim laps in it. This is anything but awesome.

“I think you guys are overreacting. I’ll probably never see him again.” 

“Nice try, but he said he worked around the corner. He’s definitely coming back.” Mina scoffs, laughing as she gives Tetsu a look that reads, ‘This boy thinks I'm a damn idiot.’ Kirishima knows the look well. 

“You should give him your number the next time he’s in, dude. See if you can get in on some of that action.” Tetsu wiggles his eyebrows, and Kirishima debates the practicality of shaving them off in his sleep. “I bet he’s packing inches, bro.”

He knows they’ve got a spare key under the door mat, but Mina’s a light sleeper. He’ll have to bribe her silence – not impossible. It can be done.

“You’ve lost counter privileges, go back to your table.” Kirishima points at the laptop he’s left unguarded and manages not to assault Tetsu for the smug grin he’s wearing as he backs away, by promising himself he's going to add those silver eyebrows into the next coffee he makes him. He won’t be smiling then. 

“We don’t mean to push you, babe.” Mina placates, “We just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy!”

He is. He’s got great friends, a job he loves, and a mother who bakes – he’s got everything a guy could hope for. It doesn’t matter how much red eyes and blonde hair try and tempt him otherwise. 

“Good! Cause you deserve the best. Nothing less, you hear me?” 

Kirishima grins at her, saying his “Yes, Mina.” like a kid tired of being lectured. Her face brightens with her smile, and everything feels ten times lighter.

“Right! Now, I need an Americano for table four, like ten minutes ago.” 

Kirishima makes it through the rest of his shift without thinking about Bakugo, more busy dealing with the sudden mob of people that come in. The ever-growing pile of orders he’s got to get through, that’s something he does have to deal with, not a guy who didn’t know his barista gets attached too quick. 

So no, he’s not thinking about Bakugo, and his lungs don’t stutter every time a blonde enters the shop, and he definitely hasn’t changed his route home to pass the labs around the corner just in case he happens to run in to him, because that would be ridiculous.

The next time he sees Bakugo, Kirishima’s not even sure its him. He’s so used to assuming every blonde he comes across is Bakugo, that when the guy actually walks in, Kirishima has to do a double take to make sure he isn’t seeing things. But he’s got those same glasses, and those same eyes, and those same shoulders and – has he got more attractive since Kirishima last saw him? That can’t be fair.

He realises he’s been staring and shifts gears into attempting to say something cool and mysterious, something effortless and collected that sure to have Bakugo swooning.

“Bakugo! Hey man! Was starting to think you’d never come back!”

…Kirishima hates himself.

That wasn’t cool or mysterious or effortless or fucking collected. That was desperate and clingy, and now Bakugo’s gonna know he’s been thinking about him nonstop, that his lungs stutter every time a blonde enters his shop, and that he changed his route home to pass the labs around the corner just in case he happens to run into him, because Kirishima is ridiculous.

He’s just happy that this is Mina’s day off. She doesn’t need to see this.

Bakugo leans on the counter in the cool and mysterious way he did last time, smile all effortless and collected like he practices it in the mirror. His eyes glimmer as they scan over Kirishima, taking his time before replying.

“Sorry Sunshine, works been hectic. Didn’t mean to keep you waiting.” 

What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what th-

Kirishima breathes in through his nose, holds it, and breathes out. 

“Ahaha, no worries, man! Another caramel latte?”

Bakugo’s face switches from dangerous to slightly stunned, softening without his permission as a much more boyish smile takes over his features, “You remembered?”

“Course I did!” I’m embarrassingly whipped for you, of course I’d remember your coffee order, “I remember everyone's order.”

Bakugo tuts, teasing smirk back in full swing as he shakes his head, “Aw shit, here’s me thinking I was special.” 

“Oh! You are!” Kirishima really hates himself. “I mean, uh- not, well- everyone's special! You know! And- you’re great! But- and, you-”

“It’s alright Love, I was just messing with you.” Bakugo graciously interrupts, obviously thinking Kirishima’s suffered enough. “Don’t worry your pretty head about it.” 

It's not fair. It’s not at all fair. Bakugo is so freaking smooth with these lines he probably uses on every customer service employee he meets, and Kirishima’s left with a face hot enough to cook steaks and a tongue jumbled up in knots. 

He needs to get his shit together.

He’s gonna make this man the best coffee of his life and he’s going to do it with steady hands and a heartbeat that’s not a concern to medical professionals!

The fact he only fumbles with the portafilter once this time, is a definitive sign of progress.

Kirishima wants to ask Bakugo a million questions; about his job, his relationship status, how the hell he manages to look so hot all the time - but he keeps his mouth shut. He knows he has a tendency to ramble on and the poor guy probably just wants to get his coffee and get away.

Plus, in the parallel universe where Bakugo is serious about coming onto him, Kirishima thinks his chances of getting anywhere increase intrinsically with the amount of time he keeps his mouth shut. 

Bakugo seems to have other ideas.

“Candy floss taking the day off?”

It takes Kirishima a moment to decipher that one, confused enough to genuinely consider if his blush has given him a temperature and he’s in some sort of a fever dream. Then he remembers his colleague’s unusual hair colour.

“Candy floss? Don’t think we’ve heard that one before.” Kirishima laughs, and he’s aware his resolve to keep quiet had been weak, but it’s still really quite pathetic how easily Bakugo has him abandoning his common sense. “Yeah, Mina’s with her husband today. They take their day’s off at the same time.”

Kirishima hopes the wistful tone in his voice isn’t too obvious because he really can’t control it. Mina and Tetsu’s relationship is the stuff of dreams – love at first sight, never ending honeymoon period, totally enamoured with each other kinda stuff. It’s so sweet, but Kirishima can’t think about it for too long, or getting hit by a car starts looking a little too appealing. 

“So, you two aren’t together?” 

Kirishima howls, a proper ugly laugh that has the breath in his lungs shoot out all at once, the type you keep for the friends you’ve known for years. Embarrassment flares in his stomach on instinct, but Bakugo’s watching him with his most handsome smile yet and Kirishima finds every cruel thought in his body has retreated to the background because of it.

“No way, man. We’re just good friends, she’s like a sister to me. I’m very much single.” And then, just because Kirishima needs more reasons to blush hard enough to pull a muscle, “And gay! I’m gay.” 

Kirishima's not sure what reaction he was hoping for, but Bakugo’s face turning a stunning shade of pink, ears and neck heating up alongside his cheeks - yeah, thats pretty much the best he could've hoped for.

Holy mother of God he’s gorgeous.

“Good! That’s good!” Bakugo can barely meet his eyes as he stammers, “Uh. Same. Gay.” 

If Kirishima didn’t know any better, he’d say that Bakugo's flustered. His eyes are scowling at the countertop like he wants to slam his head into it, and the blush slowly eating him alive seems to only be getting worse with every passing second – Kirishima can sympathise with that.

He’s only seen glimpses of this side of Bakugo, the awkward, softer side, but now it’s on full display, Kirishima can’t stop admiring it. Don’t get him wrong, he likes the confident Bakugo just as much, but this part of him is a lot more human, something genuine and clumsy. Imperfect. Attainable. 

“Impossible. Your coffee order isn’t iced, and it’s made with real milk. You can’t be gay.”

Just like that, the striking grin that Kirishima’s grown used admiring slips back onto Bakugo’s face, and red eyes meet carmine like they never want to leave again.

Bakugo’s mouth opens to respond, razor sharp wit and wicked tongue at the ready to deliver a sermon Kirishima’s desperate to hear - but he’s interrupted.

“Kirishima! Stop everything at once I have incredible news!” 

He loves Denki, he really does, but as he watches Bakugo’s mouth close, taking with it his chances of learning more about this godsend, Kirishima could kill him. 

“Denks, I’m kinda in the midd-“

“Kiri, trust me, this is worth listening to!” 

Denki owns the music shop next door, renting the property the second it went on the market. It had been a genius idea at the time, working so close to each other nothing short of a dream come true. But now, as Denki leans on the counter next to Bakugo, barely even giving him a second glance, Kirishima is full of nothing but regret.

It’s made even worse because he knows whatever the hell Denki’s decided can’t just be sent in a text message is probably so stupid. Kirishima adores the special type of idiocy him and Denki share, but this is just the worst possible time. 

He gives Bakugo an apologetic look, and the exaggerated sigh followed by snarky grin he gets in response does nothing to ease his homicidal rage for the overly excitable, Monster Enegry can made sentient in front of him.  

Kirishima finds it in him to relent, “Go on then.”

Denki cheers, “Okay! So, I was next door, working hard as always-“ 

Kirishima snorts. Denki being here is testament to how dedicated he is to slacking off whenever he can. He’s certain Jirou’s the only reason they make any money.

“-and this guy comes in and dude, he’s the epitome of your type.” Denki counts out the traits on his fingers, “Blonde, built, bit of a chip on his shoulder.”

Bakugo makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a choke, and Kirishima is about three seconds from vaulting over the counter and throttling Denki for breaking pretty much every rule in the bro code book.

“Mina told me that you’ve been thinking about getting back out there, so when I saw this guy, my Kiri-potential-boyfriend alarm was going off, you know?”

Kirishima doesn’t know. He only knows making this coffee as fast as humanly possible so he can get the man currently staring into his soul out of here as soon as possible. Why the fuck does milk only take an age to froth when he needs to make his drinks quickly, does it not understand the utterly horrendous situation Kirishima’s in?! 

“I just kinda said that to get her off my back, dude.”

Denki scoffs, “Yeah, because Mina’s known for her leniency.” Kirishima hates how right he is, “But that isn’t even the best bit! Because he comes up to the till and guess what he buys?”

The milks almost done, he’s almost free. “What?”

“The latest Crimson Riot CD.” 

Now hold on just one second. This might change things.

Kirishima’s head snaps up, eyes wide in shock so he can adequately comprehend the sheer velocity of arrogance on Denki's face. It’s basically screaming ‘I told you so’, and to Kirishima’s complete and utter horror, its deserved. 

Crimson Riot’s an old heavy rock singer from the 90’s that Kirishima’s been obsessed with since he was little. Hell, he even named his shop after him. He’s fallen off in recent years, the fan base shrinking as tastes change to things more commercial, so finding another fan is always super exciting. 

“Seriously?”

“Dude, I swear on my life! But that’s not even the best bit!” Denki’s positively vibrating where he stands, gripping the counter tight like it’s the only thing keeping him anchored to the ground.

From the corner of his eye, Kirishima sees Bakugo get out his phone, brow furrowed in concentration, but Denki’s speaking again, demanding his attention before he can dwell on it.

“Once I saw what he was getting, I immediately deemed him a suitable bachelor. So I told him that I have a best friend who’s a super fan, just happens to be single and is wielding the best ass in the city.”

Kirishima craves death more than he did in middle school, and that’s really saying something. 

“You didn’t.”

“You know I did, baby.” Denki winks, looking close to passing out as his elation reaches critical levels, “And guess who has an extra ticket to their concert next week!?”

Kirishima pales. He knows Crimson Riot’s going on tour nearby, but he hadn’t been able to get his hands on any tickets. They’d been snatched up by bigger brands the second they went on sale, and now are going for double the price. Kirishima loves this guy more than the vast majority of his family, but he’s also trying to survive in today’s socio-economic climate, so he’d grieved his losses and gave up on seeing him live. (That had been a very intense week for his therapist). 

But now, with what Denki’s telling him, it’s getting real hard to keep himself grieving.

“No way.”

“Yes way!!” Denki hollers, “He said that his friend had bailed on him, and he’s been looking for someone to take with him! I got his number for you.” 

He digs about in his pocket before pulling out a receipt, flattening it out carefully like it’s worth millions, before slowly handing it over. Kirishima knows he’s lacking the enthusiasm Denki’s expecting from him, and though he really does appreciate his bro looking out for him like this, he’s finding it hard when the paper in his hand feels like it weighs tons.

“Now now, don’t fall over yourself trying to thank me! I am but a mere mortal.” Denki snorts, rocking on his heels as his gaze flicks between Kirishima’s shaky hands and his conflicted expression.

“I don’t know, man.” He slips the paper in his pocket, finishing up Bakugo’s drink, “Those tickets are crazy expensive. I won’t be able to pay him back. And he doesn’t even know what I’m like.” 

The last thing Kirishima wants is for him to take the ticket from this guy who’s paid a heck of a lot of money to be there, and then ruin the experience for him because he can’t stop talking, or because he’s not his type (or because he’s not willing to put out.)

“Come on, man. You’ve got nothing to worry about! You’re a stud!” Denki must see how that’s not going to be enough to convince him, and that’s why he turns on Bakugo for reinforcements “You agree with me, don’t you? He’s hot as hell, right!?”

It's incredible really, just how good Denki is at exceeding Kirishima’s expectations for doing dumb shit. It’s a talent.

“Uh- y-yeah.” Bakugo’s back to flustered mode, body stiff and unprepared as he shakes himself out of Denki’s grasp, “You should go, he’ll love you. He’d be an idiot not to.” 

Kirishima gingerly passes Bakugo his drink, and he gingerly accepts it, both of them equally as desperate for the ground to swallow them whole. Bakugo hands him the money, and once again tells him to keep the change.

He smiles, but it's not the same, “See you.”

“Later, Bakugo.”

It feels colder with Bakugo gone, like accompanying his presence is a startling brightness, and he’d stayed just long enough for Kirishima’s eyes to adjust, before taking it away again. Now he’s just left with this nagging feeling that everything's a little off centre and blurrier than before.

“Okay.” Denki looks between Kirishima and the door, eyes wide and confused. “You wanna explain to me what the hell that just was?”

“What do you mean?” The words sound a lot less innocent pushed through the pout he’s wearing.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the sexual tension between you and that guy, thick enough to stop bullets!?” Denki quips, lacking any and all tact, like normal. He’s lucky Kirishima’s a sucker for his especially stupid brand of humour. 

“Ah, its nothing.” 

Because it is nothing. Just a stupid crush Kirishima’s fabricated for himself with the first guy to show him positive attention. Anyone could saunter in, call him Sunshine like it fits better than his real name, and Kirishima would be just as obsessed. It's nothing, and that nothing has just told him to go on a date with another guy, so Bakugo obviously thinks it’s nothing too. 

“Okay…” Denki narrows his eyes to make sure Kirishima knows he’s not buying it, but continues regardless, “Anyways, just think about it, yeah? You have his number, not the other way around. You text him, great! You don’t, whatever. You can keep flirting with your own blonde.”

Kirishima should’ve known better to assume Denki would just forget that display of utterly humiliating flustered behaviour. He needs to make sure him and Mina don’t hang out for a while, their tag team would be unbearable.

“Worst comes to, you can lose him in the mosh pit.” 

“Dude, I’m six foot two with bright red hair.”

“Bring a hat! Shave your head! These are minor problems.” Denki giggles at Kirishima’s dead pan stare.

“If you want my opinion, you should hit him up. Who knows, you might even have fun.” He gasps, eyes wide and mocking as he dodges Kirishima’s wet rag projectile, hollering when he manages to catch it before it lands on his face.

“Now, time to pay me back for my services, I only accept the strongest coffee you can make without killing me.”

Kirishima moves through the motions of appeasing Denki’s caffeine addiction, but all the while, the slip of paper burns a hole in his pocket. It feels like a secret, tarnishing his excitement with a nauseating regret. He wants to hold it close to his chest, keep it entirely his, but he can’t help the feeling that he’d be better off if he never knew about it in the first place. 

For the days that follow, Kirishima is a complete mess. The number saved in his phone haunts him like a guilty conscience and he’s not sure his shoulders have left his ears since he got it.

He's not at work today, and Kirishima's resigned himself to spending every second of his free time on his couch, sitting in his own self-pity with nothing but comfort food and rom com’s he's seen so many times, he could probably recite. It’s the perfect day, exactly what he needs after the stressful week he's had. 

He'd gotten so used to the peaceful hubbub of the shop, that now things have started to change, he's not at all equipped for it. Is this his life now? Being so drained by some pitiful flirting, and the chance of a date, that he has to eat his body weight in ice cream? Is this being an adult?

Mina and Denki have been texting him constantly, which is really quite impressive considering they should be working…  

He's also got a text from Tetsu

Kirishima drops his phone, running his hands over his face with a sigh. 

He knows his friends are right, that the second he sends this mystery bachelor a text he's going to feel better about it all. But right now, he's simply not brave enough. Every time he looks at that stupid number, his lungs seize and attempt to suffocate him, sending his hands into shakes too strong to keep a hold of the phone, let alone construct a witty yet romantic text message to wow this supposed guy of his dreams. 

It’s way too much pressure, and Kirishima would much rather sit here until he becomes one with his couch... Or until his ice cream runs out.

Oh, for fucks sake. His ice cream has run out. 

Just when Kirishima thinks his life can't get any more stressful, the one thing keeping him from losing his mind has just been eaten. 

He stares at the bottom of his carton of Mint Chocolate Chip, and it stares back with double the malice. Kirishima squints his eyes, scraping his spoon for any bits he's missed that could attempt to fill the dairy shaped hole in his heart, but his spoon returns, and he can see his miserable face staring back at him much too clearly.

Kirishima now has two options; he can end his suffering, run a bath, chuck in the toaster and hope his friends find it in them to forgive him - or, he can walk five minutes to the shops and buy some more.

He goes to find his wallet.

By-passing the shower, Kirishima just pulls on the nearest hoodie he can find, slipping on his crocs (relaxed mode - he's in no rush) and dragging back his tangled hair into a ponytail, trying to keep it contained. He doesn't need to look good, it’s just a quick trip to the shops and back, no big deal.

...Famous last words.

Kirishima's always considered himself lucky for just how short his commute to work is. He managed to bag a flat no more than ten minutes away, meaning he can soak up every last second of sleep before his morning shifts. His nearest store is a couple minutes out from the shop, so Kirishima only finds himself having to travel when he's going to visit his mum in Chiba. 

What this means, is that the store is very close to the coffee shop (which is close to certain blondes’ workplace...), but that's probably an irrelevant detail, so you can just forget about it - Kirishima certainly has!

The air-con that blasts as he enters the store is a small bliss, Kirishima finding himself considerably over dressed for the mid-day sun, even in his ratty basketball shorts. He makes a bee line for where he knows the ice cream is kept, grabbing a tub in each hand and feeling immediately better just by having them on his person. 

His day is saved.

"Bakugo? Why are you hiding in the stone fruits?"

Wait. Hold on.

"Shut the fuck up!"

Kirishima turns in the direction of the profanities blurted in a voice that may or may not live in his dreams, sending a silent prayer to which ever deities listening to smite him immediately. 

He loses all his faith in the omnipotent the second his eyes land on Bakugo doing a very poor job of pretending to inspect some mangoes. It's obvious Bakugo's pretending because his eyes are anything but focused, constantly flicking over to Kirishima to see if he's gotten away with his act.

It’s a little insulting, to be honest, that Bakugo thinks Kirishima could be dumb enough to find this scene realistic. 

Next to him is a green haired man Kirishima's less familiar with, looking at the fruit Bakugo's manhandling like he's considering whether or not he has to step in and save them. Unsurprisingly, he also picks up on Bakugo's endearingly obvious looks in Kirishima's direction, and his face melts into one of understanding.

Bakugo notices the shift in his attitude, throwing those poor mangoes back into their box and reaching out to grapple at his friend's sleeve, "No, Deku! Wai-"

"Hey there!" He steps forward, leaving a beyond horrified Bakugo to bite on his knuckle as he stares up at the ceiling, seemingly having a hard time accepting his fate. 

"I'm Midoriya!" His smile is dazzling, and Kirishima's always a sucker from freckles, but this guy is seriously blowing him away, "Are you a friend of Kacchan's?"

Kirishima quirks a brow, "Kacchan?" 

Something like a sob comes from Bakugo's direction, but Midoriya doesn't seem concerned.

"Oh sorry! That's just my nickname for him. I forget not everyone calls him that." Midoriya grins in a way that suggests he doesn't have any issues with his memory, "Bakugo. Are you a friend of Bakugo's?"

Now, that's an interesting question.

In Kirishima's head, devoid of anything sensical, he's spent so much time with Bakugo on his mind that friendship would be an understatement. But in reality, where Kirishima has to act in a way that doesn’t to come across as creepy and obsessive, him and Bakugo are barely acquaintances. 

But saying that also feels wrong.

"I'm his barista." Kirishima decides, happy with his evasive answer.

Well, he was happy with it, until Midoriya's jaw drops and his eyes glimmer like Kirishima's his long-lost child. 

"You're Kirishima?" Midoriya's incredulous tone shines with excitement, and he's practically trembeling as he turns to look at Bakugo, who's taking his camouflage to the next level by turning as red as the plums he's standing in front of, "This is Kirishima?!"

Watching it all go down, Kirishima's trying his absolute hardest to digest the implications. Midoriya knows him, by name, simply from his occupation. He doesn't want to get ahead of himself, but he's pretty sure that means Bakugo's been talking about him.

And the implications of that are simply too much to deal with when he's still wearing his pyjamas. 

Bakugo slinks out of hiding, coming to stand next to Midoriya and face the consequences of his actions.

"Have you been talking about me behind my back?" Kirishima tries to grin when his heart feels just about ready to slam through his ribcage and burst out his chest. Clean up on aisle four, someone's heart simply couldn't take it anymore. Yeah, right next to the stone fruits.

"Of course, someone who doesn't know their protons from their neutrons deserves to be viciously bitched about." Bakugo retorts, seemingly under the impression if he just doesn't mention it, everyone will ignore the embarrassed blush that's all but burnt the skin under the rim of his glasses.

Midoriya obviously thinks Bakugo's not been humiliated enough.

"I can promise you, it's anything but bitching. The whole team is in awe of Kacchan being so complimentary of someone." Midoriya glowing, the picture of an angel, whilst Bakugo stares at him like he's something born from the flames of hell. 

This is a lot to process.

"Do you guys work together?" Kirishima is focusing entirely on one aspect of that sentence and one aspect only.

"Yeah! We're just here on a lunch run. But me and Kacchan go way back!" Midoriya fears nothing, and it's made apparent by how easily he throws his arm over Bakugo's shoulder, who's now more rabid dog than human, "This guy follows me around everywhere, I can't seem to shake him off."

"Absolutely fuck off with that shit," Bakugo finally snaps. Kirishima does not think it’s hot, "You're the one following me! I have never met a clingier bastard."

“Sorry, but who got the internship first?” 

It’s like Kirishima’s watching a shapeshifter, because until now, he’d been operating under the assumption that anyone with that many freckles doesn’t have the capacity for aggression. But right in front of his very eyes, Midoriya has shed his ‘nice human’ skin suit, for a competitive, fiery replica, and as the prior evaporates from reality, so does Kirishima’s entire preconception of the freckled population. He’s starting to see why these two get along.

“You only got it first cause you sabotaged my application!”

“It is not my fault that you sent it a day late!”

“It is your fault if you told me the wrong fucking due date!”

“…You should’ve double checked. Why was that the time you suddenly decided you were gonna start trusting me?”

Their words ricochet off each other like their flesh is made of rubber, resulting in minimal damage. In fact, the only thing getting hurt here is Kirishima's neck as it desperately tries to keep up with their impossibly fast paced digs.

“So, you spend years, and I mean literal years, whining at me about how I don’t trust you. And the second I give in to your harassment-“

“I would call it harassment...”

“-incessant harassment! You throw it back in my face!”

“Never let your guard down, Kacchan. Most murders are committed by people you know.”

“Oh yeah? You wanna add some more evidence to that statistic?”

Kirishima feels it’d be wrong to let this continue. Whilst he’s a fan of how Bakugo’s voice turns into a fully-fledged growl when he’s mad (number one fan. The t-shirts are being printed as we speak), if he kills someone, Kirishima's going to have wait a hell of a lot longer before he can eat his ice cream.

"You two must be super close! You argue like an old married couple." Kirishima beams, laughing as if him being optimistic enough will rub off on the two in front of him through proximity.

To Kirishima's complete despair, neither of them deny his accusation. Sure, he meant it as a joke, but now that no one’s showing off their empty ring fingers, Kirishima's revaluating the weight of his statement. 

“Certainly fucking feels like it. I deal with enough of your shitty emotions, I deserve some financial benefits to compensate.” 

Well, that's just about the least reassuring thing he could've said.

Midoriya turns to Kirishima, “By ‘shitty emotions’, he means normal human feelings. Kacchan here is what the professionals call ‘emotionally constipated.’”

The slap to the back of the head is pre-empted, Midoriya dodging Bakugo's attack with a practiced ease. 

"Anyways, we shouldn't hold you up any longer. Your ice cream will be liquid by the time you get back."

At that, Bakugo's eyes fully take in Kirishima and his shopping choices. It’s a shame really, because until now, Kirishima was really liking Midoriya. But pointing out his poor dietary decisions whilst simultaneously bringing Bakugo's attention to his even worse outfit decisions - that's a betrayal he can't forgive.

Oh well, he already looks like an idiot. He doubts he can make it that much worse for himself.

"I would love to be able to defend myself, but I really can't. I'm heading back to my flat to eat all this and cry to 'When Harry Met Sally.'"

Looks of disgust, awkward laughs, being pushed to the floor and kicked in the stomach; all things within Kirishima's realm of expectation for the contents of their response. 

Things outlying his expectations; Bakugo smiling up at him, head tilting to the side as he charmingly asks, "Long week?"

It shocks the air from Kirishima's lungs, and he's sure the smile he gives in return is just as enamoured. 

"Dude, the longest."

Except, standing here with Bakugo, Kirishima's shitty week feels so insignificant in comparison. Maybe it’s because Bakugo’s looking at his outfit consisting of old shorts and a hoodie like it’s a fine suit. Looks at the sheen of sweat that covers his skin like it's making him glow. Looks at the ice cream Kirishima's dual wielding like he's jealous of being in his hands. 

The way Bakugo makes Kirishima feel like he's worth something, by simply looking, has Kirishima’s body feeling like it’s been set on fire. It's hot fireworks that start at his chest, before spreading their sparks through his veins, until he’s completely smothered in the feeling of being alight. But it’s impossible to ignore the guilt slowly coating his insides. 

He breaks away from Bakugo's magnetic hold, biting his lip as he looks over at Midoriya to gauge his reaction. But he just smiles, face as effortlessly optimistic as ever. 

Can Midoriya not see how fast Kirishima's falling? The thought strikes as impossible the moment it registers, because there is no way Kirishima can hope to hide feelings that feel this big. Does he just not care? Maybe he isn't dating Bakugo after all...

"Bye Kirishima! It was so great meeting you!" Midoriya waves cheerfully, pointing a finger to the ice cream in Kirishima's hand, "Sink a tub for me."

Kirishima remembers how to move again, "Sure thing! See you guys!"

Bakugo offers him an awkward wave before following after Midoriya, yelling something loud and angry the second he's out of Kirishima's line of vision.

Kirishima takes a second to readjust, shifting the freezing tubs in his hands and making sure he still knows how his fingers work. He bends his knees to kick start them back into action, watching his feet as they take their first steps and trying desperately to convince himself it’s not mortifying to be seen wearing crocs. 

He has nothing to be ashamed of. Crocs are cool, no matter what everyone else on the planet says. Kirishima knows they're cool.

Making it to the till is an achievement managed through muscle memory alone, Kirishima's head buzzing with thoughts as he drops his items.

Midoriya and Bakugo are close, and though they fight like they hate each other, their much too tactile, much too familiar with each other, hold each other in much too high esteem, for their dislike to be anything but for show. 

That doesn't mean they're together, but it also doesn't mean they're not together either. All Kirishima can think about is Midoriya's hand around Bakugo's shoulder, an easy acceptance of the term 'old married couple', old nicknames shared only between them.

As Kirishima's paying, two familiar voices carry over to him. 

“Hey Kacchan, my mum’s asking if you’re coming over this weekend?”  

"Fucking course I am! Is she making her daifuku?” 

“She knows better than to invite you over without making daifuku.” 

"Tell her she’s a literal angel-“ 

Okay, so they have to be dating. 

“-even though she raised such a fucking gross, goblin man of a son.”  

…what the hell?

Kirishima thanks the girl on the till (who can stop judging his purchases thank you very much) and leaves the store feeling infinitely more confused than he was this morning. 

His head is a mess of thoughts, all jumbled together like Christmas lights that were put together in a hurry, except his thoughts are considerably less pleasant to look at.  

To help straighten out his head, Kirishima goes over what he knows for sure.

 
1. There’s a man who’s the epitome of his type, with a music taste to die for, waiting for Kirishima to text him.
 
2. There’s two overly concerned best friends, blowing up his phone like they can force Kirishima into feeling better about himself if they just send the right combination of keyboard smashes.
 
3. There’s a voice in his head that keeps telling Kirishima he’s not worthy of the love he wants, and that’s why he’s hesitating, because he’s terrified of giving it an opportunity to prove itself right.
   

Kirishima balances his bag in one hand as he enters his apartment, heading straight for the spoon he left amongst the decaying corpses of his previous dairy massacre. He slumps into his cushions, brow furrowed as he searches for the answer to his issues in the bottom of a carton. 

His phone buzzes right on cue, demanding his attention and making sure he doesn't get lost in the bliss of his snacking. He can't keep running from this. He's got to make a decision before it eats him alive.

But he's just so nervous. The man waiting on the other side of this number might be the one for him, but he could just as easily be another guy waiting to fuck him over. Kirishima really can't handle being someone’s plaything, he just can't. And the fact that's even a possibility is sending him straight into the hands of his tenacious nerves.  

Bakugo also makes him nervous, but it a different type of nervous. It’s a fun nervous, like the two of them are in some sort of complex dance routine, moving around each other as best they can without stepping on toes. The nerves come from the fear of making a mistake, but their placated by the thrill of movement, of being pressed chest to chest, held by strong arms that would catch them if they fell, because they’re in this together.

He makes an addition to his mental list.

4. Bakugo is the prettiest boy Kirishima’s ever seen.

That feels vulnerable, but not enough for Kirishima to fumble in his steps, in his grip, in this rhythmic footfall that feels as natural as breathing. 

Bakugo, whether he’s in a relationship or not, has reminded Kirishima how to relax enough to dance like he did before his shoulders started to feel too heavy to lift into frame. And now he’s found a rhythm he can keep up with, Kirishima’s starting to think that maybe a couple missteps are worth it, when the reward of turning on beat is so exhilarating. 

He breathes in time with the crescendo, the music tempering on overwhelming as it pulls and tugs at Kirishima’s hands, moving them towards his phone with a brazen confidence Kirishima’s long forgotten himself capable of. 

And it's done.

Number one on his list has now been amended, and Kirishima has a date set for this Friday.

Now he needs to find something unoffensive to fashion that he can wear.

He’s already regretting this.

Decedent lights cast their neon’s around Kirishima, creating little spotlights on the crowded street like the people mulling about before the concert are worth paying attention to. He’s not sure what so special about people wearing enough eyeliner to cause a world-wide shortage, so he’s staying to the side.

He’s leaning against the wall of a Matsuya two buildings down from the venue, where him and Monoma have decided to meet. He’s leaning against the wall because that’s what every single chick-flic has taught him is the epitome of coolness, and he’s trying to scrape out the barrel that is his brain for anything that’s going to help him get through this date.

Kirishima’s more nervous than he was when he told his mother he was gonna drop out of college to start his own business, and that’s saying a lot, because that had been the conversation that triggered a medical intervention for his anxiety.

He’s been completely insufferable these last few days, swinging between unbearably excited and close to suicide like a yoyo in the hands of an unmedicated Denki (adhd’s a bitch). Honestly, Kirishima’s sure his friends are only so supportive of getting the date over and done with so that they can stop dealing with his mess of a mental state.

Today he’d been the most unhinged yet – for obvious reasons – and he’s not sure if he should feel better or worse for the fact Mina came into work prepared with tissues and her ‘Extreme Protection Waterproof Eyeliner’, ready to deal with Kirishima’s inevitable emotional collapse.

It was after Kirishima dropped the third cup in as many hours that he’d reached for his phone to cancel this whole thing. But Mina had prepared for that too, slapping his hands away and confiscating the offending item for the rest of the shift. The next cup he broke landed a little too close to her feet to be an accident.

Kirishima naively forgot Mina’s terrifying aptitude for revenge, because apparently using that much hair gel for so long has killed off some of his brain cells, but thankfully his friend had no problem reminding him. 

The second that Bakugo had stepped foot into the shop, Mina came slivering over, eyes beady and predatory as they laser focused in on Kirishima like he's nothing but a mouse she’d decided she wants for dinner. 

“Hey Sunshin-.” Bakugo’d cut himself off, blush immediate as he looked at Kirishima properly, “Your hair’s down.” 

“Oh, yeah!” He’d lifted a self-conscious hand to the black bandana he’s had since middle school, “I’ve got a gig tonight and I’m enough of a pain to stand behind without the extra foot of spikes.” 

God really cursed Kirishima the day he gave him a music obsession and made him fuck off tall.

That had been the moment Mina has seen her chance to sink her teeth to the bone.

“It’s not just a gig! Kiri here will be getting romanced all night.” Mina winked at Bakugo, “I think he’s blonde too, though, he’s better at going for what he wants.” 

To his credit, Bakugo’s reaction was a lot more controlled than Kirishima’s, he’d only bristled slightly compared to Kirishima’s full body blush. Mina’s a menace and Kirishima swore then and there to hold this grudge for… at least an hour.

“So, you texted that music guy.” Bakugo hadn't been asking, he’d stated it without waver, like he’d been trying to convince himself of this new fact he’s just going to have to learn to accept. The Earth is round, Mina’s terrifying, and Kirishima’s going on a date tonight. Right.

“My friends can be really persuasive.” Kirishima had smiled as he made his escape to the coffee machine, in a not so macho attempt to get away from Mina.

Bakugo paused for a moment like he’d been collecting himself, and when he spoke again, it had still been his usual tone, but it was missing something Kirishima couldn’t quite put his finger on. But not being able to identify it did nothing to stop Kirishima from missing it.

“Well you’re just about the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen- ” 

Kirishima can't be blamed for how he debated the logistics of getting past Mina to find his phone. It wasn’t too late to cancel.

“- so I’m sure you guys will be great together.”

…But Bakugo didn’t want him to cancel. Because he’s got Midoriya, and Kirishima’s got this new, cool guy with a great music taste. Right. 

Kirishima had continued to fumble his way through the rest of his interaction with Bakugo, finishing up his drink and letting himself bathe in the pride of not dropping the portafilter once. He’s really grown.

Bakugo thanked him, paid, and as he left, shouted over his shoulder, “You better have fun!” 

It takes a certain type of person to make something so nice sound like a threat, and Kirishima can’t help but hope that Monoma is that type, too.

The wind nips at Kirishima’s skin through the old band t-shirt he’s wearing, and he runs his hands over his arms to give them something to do.

Denki had graciously informed him that he’d actually shown Monoma a picture of Kirishima when he’d asked him for his number, and having promised to remember what he looks like, Kirishima’s just a sitting duck waiting for this guy to approach him. Their texts had been brief, but the guy had seemed nice, not even upset about how long it had taken for Kirishima to finally reach out.

He checks his phone again, making sure he’s got his information right.

  Monoma
 
  8pm,outside the Matsuya nearby. Yeah?
 
 

He tries not to cringe as his eyes skim over his reply.

  Monoma
 
  8pm,outside the Matsuya nearby. Yeah?
 
  Awesome! Sounds great! Can't wait!!(Smiling Face With Open Mouth And Smiling Eyes )
 
 
  Read 3:32PM 

He’s not thinking about how he hasn’t heard anything from Monoma since, not thinking about all those exclamation marks, not thinking about the fucking smiley face he put on the end, as if he’s some sort of tween with their Minecraft boyfriend.

“Kirishima?”

For a split second, Kirishima’s convinced that as soon he opens his mouth, the bile sitting atop his lungs is going to make an appearance. But as his eyes land on a man who is certainly blonde, undoubtably built, and blessed with a pair of shoulders worthy of withstanding a hefty chip, Kirishima gulps it down and smiles.

“Yeah! You’re Monoma right?”

Monoma quirks an eyebrow and Kirishima suddenly isn’t as confident he dealt with that bile issue as he was before he spoke.

“You expecting someone else?” 

“What? Uh-no. No, I-“ Kirishima is immediately consumed by panic, barely getting the words out as he considers just how socially unacceptable it would be to just make a run for it – he thinks he could shoulder the humiliation.

“Kidding.” Monoma rolls his eyes as he laughs, “Jeez, relax.” 

“Right! Sorry.” Kirishima joins Monoma’s laugh, even though theirs a niggling feeling in the back of his head that’s telling him Monoma’s not trying to laugh with him.

“I guess I’m just a little nervous.”

Monoma grins, and Kirishima tries not to look at the way it stretches over his mouth like something infectious, “Don’t sweat it baby, I’ll keep you safe.”

It takes a moment for Kirishima’s brain to catch up, and when he does, his stomach twists uncomfortably. 

Monoma’s assuming Kirishima’d be nervous because of the crowd, not the fact he’s on a date. He doesn’t even seem to have considered that an option, like being nervous about dating of all things is somehow less likely, than Kirishima, someone who looks like he can bench press his way out of a volcano, being concerned about a mosh pit. 

It almost grates him as much as ‘baby’ does. 

He changes the subject.

“Thanks again for the ticket!”

“Sure.”

“They must’ve cost you loads.”

“Yeah.”

…Well, okay then. 

Kirishima breathes out through his teeth, wringing his hands together as subtly as he can whilst he tries to convince himself to calm down. Maybe Monoma’s more nervous than he’s letting on, and that’s why he’s offering up responses dryer than his scalp after over a decade of box-dye treatment. 

They move into the queue of people outside the venue, and silence falls over them - it's immediately suffocating. 

He could grit his teeth and bear it, but Kirishima’s never been good at the whole ‘talk is cheap, silence is expensive’ thing, preferring to fill the gaps in conversation with just about anything his mind can conjure up. 

Silence is for people who like silly things like introspection and being alone with your thoughts. Lame.

“I tried getting one myself, but they sold out so fast, and all the re-sales were like triple the cost! And I’m not trying to imply I’m anything close to good with handling my money, but even I wasn’t prepa-“

“You sure do like the sound of your own voice, dontcha?” Monoma sighs, and he’s laughing again but it’s just like before, each roll of air he exudes smothered in something that chips away at Kirishima’s confidence, something undoubtably cruel. 

Kirishima doesn’t have it in him to answer, just dropping flaming cheeks so he’s staring at the pavement. He could give him some clever retort that highlights that he wouldn’t need to ramble on if Monoma displayed a single sign that he had any interest in getting to know Kirishima. In him being here at all.

But he doesn’t say a thing, because Kirishima knows he talks too much, knows that he rambles, knows that its annoying. He also knows the re-sale prices of these tickets, knows he’s out of practice with how this whole dating thing works, knows this guy is more than attractive enough to have anyone he wants here with him, but has been lumped with him. 

Kirishima sometimes runs into issues navigating social situtaions, too stuck in his own head, but he’s pretty sure he can recognise a sign that obvious – he needs to shut up.

It takes no more than a minute for Monoma to tell Kirishima that not only is he incredibly annoying, but also illiterate.

“God, I didn’t mean for you to start pouting about it. Quit over reacting. It’s such a turn off.” He doesn’t even attempt to soften that with his back-handed laugh, just adding a hardened glare to his tone already laced with enough malice to have Kirishima cowering in on himself.

“Dude, I-.” Kirishima tries to smile, but he’s sure it’s coming across as more of a grimace, “I don’t know what you want from me.”

It happens so fast, the distance between them shrinking as Monoma slips his hands around Kirishima’s waist and pulls him flush against him. He can feel Monoma’s hot breath on his neck, and it makes his stomach churn.

“What I want is for you to focus on looking hot, kay?” He hooks his thumbs into the belt loops of Kirishima’s jeans, tugging him forward, “You’re doing such a good job, you just keep ruining it by spouting all this shit.”

“But I-“

“For fucks sake. What did I just say?!” Monoma snaps, and Kirishima hates how he winces at the volume of it. “You better be one hell of a lay to make this worth it.”

Kirishima recoils like he’s been slapped in the face, tugging himself free of Monoma’s grip and walking away. He knows his limits, and that surpasses just about every single one of them. 

“Hey! Where the hell are you going?!”

He doesn’t even make it past the Matsuya where they met, before Monoma’s on him again, shoving him up againts the wall and boxing him in with arms like steel bars. Kirishima pushes against them, but they don’t move, don’t even bend. His heart slams against his ribs in imitation.

“Dude, get the fuck off!” 

“You making me work for ya, huh?” Monoma pushes forward, hips digging into Kirishima’s as he runs the hand not trapping his shoulder, up and under Kirishima’s shirt to paw at his torso. 

“You know, I don’t come running after just anyone, but I’ll do it for you, baby. Do it for this fucking body, holy-“

Kirishima swings before he has to hear the end of that sentence, the crunch as his fist hits Monoma’s nose is the sexiest thing he’s heard all night, the sting on his knuckles the most exhilarating touch he’s felt in years. 

Monoma stumbles to the side, and Kirishima wastes no time in getting away from him.

“You crazy fucking bitch! Fuck- a worthless tease like you is never worth the effort anyways! Fucking, you fucking- bitch!”

Monoma’s voice rings through the street, hounding after Kirishima as he walks away like it’s trying to chase him down. He moves faster, breathing loud and exaggerated as he tries to keep himself calm. 

He needs to stay calm. It's fine. This is fine. Monoma’s gone. Kirishima’s fine.

So then why the hell is he crying?

Kirishima wipes desperately at his eyes, because crying over a guy is something he’s long since decided he wasn’t going to do anymore. But Kirishima’s nothing if not completely at the whims of his emotions – his stupid, overly attentive emotions that won’t take a day off. 

He gives up on trying to stop the inevitable, and lets himself cry, big heavy sobs that are ten times louder than any string of curses Monoma could shout at him.

But he’s not crying over Monoma. He’s crying because, against his better judgement, he let himself be excited about this. And now the very thing he was scared of has come into fruition. He’s walking home alone, again. Letting someone down, again. Feeling embarrassed and strange and so fucking shit, all over again. 

It’s as if there’s a big sign above his head that reads ‘I’m an easy target! Treat me like shit!’ and everyone who wants to waste some time just comes flocking. He doesn’t understand what's wrong with him. What he’s lacking that makes him so difficult to love. 

He wishes he didn’t want the things he does, wishes his brain worked like everyone else’s, wishes he could differentiate between someone wanting him and wanting his body. 

You sure do like the sound of your own voice, dontcha?  

Quit over reacting. It's such a turn off.  

You better be one hell of a lay to make this worth it.  

And that’s probably why this hurts so badly – he’s not even surprised. This is the exact thing he kept telling his friends would happen, it’s the exact thing thats happened every other time he’s tried to be vulnerable, it’s the exact thing that’s kept Kirishima up for nights on end, trying to figure out what happened to make him so out of sync with everyone else. 

He’s just so tired of constantly being the exception to rules everyone seems to know without even trying.

He likes being himself, but its so difficult when every move he makes that feels natural, feels normal, feels like he’s finally getting it, grates him against the norm, ripping up his skin and leaving him with these horrible gashes that let everyone know he’s a freak who can’t get his shit together.

So no, he’s not surprised. He’s just tired.

Kirishima pushes his key into the door of his flat, slipping inside and heading straight for his bed. He collapses onto the sheets and cries into soft pillows instead of harsh streetlights and pretends that that makes it better somehow.

He knew he wasn’t cut out for this. He doesn’t know why he left himself think otherwise. 

Sleep shrouds him in darkness and it feels like a hug, a tender hand rubbing circles along his spine, an abundance of love made clear in ever gentle touches of skin to skin. Its slow and careful – hesitant - as though even when giving nothing but love, it can never be too careful when dealing with something so precious. 

It whispers its confessions straight into the tender skin below his ear, reassuring him that when it comes to things as fragile as a vulnerable heart laid bare, it is important - no, essential to care about the small things.

It’s Mina’s day off today, and Kirishima’s taking it as a small miracle, because whilst he loves Mina to the moon and back, he doesn’t think he could handle her interrogation about last night with his wounds so fresh. Her texts are hard enough to ignore, let alone her actual presence.

That had made him feel guilty enough to send a response, a quick -

-which he also sends to Denki, who had sent some similar messages, just a little less PG 13.

Once his friends have been satiated, he leaves his phone around the back of the shop and takes his place on the counter. Out of sight, out of mind. He’ll update them later.

Even if he wanted to reply to them, he wouldn’t have the time, because for some reason the shop is unreasonably busy today. He’s not sure why, maybe they all heard he’s having a bad day and decided they’d help make it worse, but he isn’t going to question it because surprisingly, the mindless routine is exactly what he needs right now.

He knows this job better then Crimson Riot lyrics (he never actually made it into the gig, but you can take my word for it – he really knows those lyrics), so he can let his body take control as his mind recedes into hiding. Muscle memory hurtles him through the motions of appeasing his customers, and its satisfying to do something well, something that he knows.

It’s not a fix-all though, because whilst moving too fast for his brain to catch up is good for his head, his body is so mad at him. 

He won’t slow down though, barrelling on through old ladies who look surprised when they don’t get milk with their Black Coffee order, or trying to figure out how the hell he’s meant to make a ‘Cappuccino with no foam’, or the group of guys who are obviously used to their barista having mind-reading powers, asking for, ‘Coffee, what do you mean, what type? Just a coffee! God, this generation!'

By the time four o’clock rolls around, the rush finally starts to die down, and Kirishima comforts himself with the knowledge that he’s almost done. Just a couple hours left, and he can go home and cry in peace. 

It's here, when he thinks he’s in the home stretch, that Kirishima finally snaps.

The perpetrator: A middle aged businesswomen with lipstick the same shade as the devil. The location: Table seven (the one Tetsu is normally banished to, right in the corner.) Weapon: pointy elbow to the torso. Motive: She’s obviously a homophobe, why else would she order the most complicated item on the menu when Kirishima’s already having a bad day? 

And yes, he realises that technically he’s the one that put that drink on the menu, and he is the one that accepted her order, and he’s the one that decided he should run a coffee shop in the first place… but it's still her fault! 

She knows that drink is the bane of his existence, and that by order it, she is too by extension. She’s done this on purpose, he can tell by the way she’s facing the wall, trying to avoid eye contact and soothe her guilt. 

Even though this woman clearly has it out for him, Kirishima puts on his brightest smile to carry over the drink, being the bigger person and putting their mutual resentment on hold, because he’s just that good of a guy. 

He opens his smiling mouth, ready to announce his appearance with a tone cheery enough to rinse this lady of every penny she’s got in her pocket for tips. He’s just behind her, perfectly position to catch the sun in just the right way as he delivers her order and dazzles her with his customer service.

Or, perfectly positioned for her elbow to slam into his torso as she takes off her jacket.

Kirishima has just enough time to see what's about to happen, to think ‘Oh fuck’, and settle helplessly into his front row seat to watch the drink he just used the last of his energy to make, fall to the floor.

The lady yelps in surprise, spinning around to see what stupid lump of human has gotten in the way of her movements, and to say she looks unimpressed when she’s met with Kirishima’s shimmering smile is an understatement.

There goes his tip.

The floor is a mess, his shoes are all gross, and his hands are burning thanks to the boiling liquid in that (evil, horrendous, loathsome) coffee. But none of these things push him over the edge - accidents happen, he knows that - it’s what she says next.

“Gosh! You really should be more careful! That could’ve gotten on my coat.” She tuts, fixing Kirishima the most patronising expression he's ever been subject to, “Make me a new one.”

Kirishima’s not an angry guy. He can count on one hand the number of times he’s genuinely lost it. He’s got more patience than Denki’s had rejections and wears his emotions so close to the surface that they’re basically a second skin – a second, sappy, easily hurt, skin.

But the arrogant tone, the unfair accusation, the fact she cares more about her coat then his blistering hands. Not to mention the assumption that Kirishima is so horrendous at his job that he wasn’t going to make her a new drink after dropping her old one. Does she think he was going to come back with a straw and just tell her to go at it?! 

He tries to ration with himself, to smile and walk away because he knows he’s more temperamental than usual today, and he really shouldn’t take it out on this lady, even though she probably deserves it. But that just makes him angrier, the fact he’s here trying to think of the best way to fix a problem that isn’t even his fault, and this lady is just staring at him like she’s unsure what's taking him so long.

Kirishima’s not an angry guy, but suddenly his body is alight with this rage he’s not familiar enough with to know how to digest without causing casualties. 

“Get out.”

She looks as shocked as Kirishima feels at his words, eyebrows raising until they blend in with her hair line, and her mouth stammers in the thin line she has it pressed into.

“What did you just say to me?”

“I said get out.” Her mouth drops open as he repeats himself, “So get the fuck out.”

A shocked laugh burst through her lips as she shakes her head in disbelief, and it has Kirishima’s jaw clenching hard enough for his teeth to grind together.

“You’re seriously kicking me out because you dropped a cup?”

He’s so tired of people expecting him to bend to their expectations. His body aches from trying to fit, but he just doesn’t, and he’s ran out of the strength required to keep pretending that he does. 

His lip curls, “I’m kicking you out because I don’t want people who seem to lack basic respect in my shop.” 

Astonished eyes rake over Kirishima’s face, but she obviously decides that this is a battle she isn’t equipped to deal with, and she reluctantly snatches up her things. Her lip quivers as she tries to find something to say to defend herself, but she obviously pulls up short.

“Fine! Whatever.” 

She still manages to spit it like she’s won, chin raised as she storms out the door, and Kirishima almost feels like laughing because standing up for himself had actually been quite easy. 

He didn’t pretend to be fine with her attitude, and now he’s not dealing with it anymore. He enforced his boundaries, and the world has kept spinning. The feeling of accomplishment resonates deep in his lungs like it’s trying to memorise it, worried it won’t get another chance to feel this again.

It feels good. But for some reason, he’s crying.

Hot tears roll down Kirishima’s cheek as he turns to face the mess on the floor, and he takes a minute to just breathe. Each rise and fall of his chest another attempt to ground himself, and he wants to feel grounded, so he keeps breathing. 

Except he’s got greedy and now he’s breathing too fast, his lungs are as overwhelmed as his body feels, and his brains flings itself into overdrive as it tries to understand why everything's going wrong.

Kirishima sinks to his knees, choking back sobs as he tries to keep his eyes clear enough to see what he’s doing. His hands shake and they hurt and Kirishima had thought he'd cried enough, but there is broken crockery on the floor and he’s still got a job to do.

The bell on the door rings and Kirishima has to clap a hand over his mouth to stop himself from screaming. He can’t do it, he just can’t.

It’s so much. 

“Sunshine?”

When you punch someone, in Kirishima’s (limited) experience, there is this beautiful moment before the impact of the collision registers. Adrenaline is spiking, and its more than enough to numb the shock of your bones slamming into someone else’s. You see the pain register on their face, and suspended in time, there’s a moment where you feel unstoppable.

Then, in the moment that follows, your knuckles hurt like hell, and you have a very angry guy wanting to get revenge for their broken nose. 

Similarly, as Bakugo makes his appearance at potentially the worst time possible, theres a moment where everything stops. His dopamine spikes, and it’s more than enough to numb the pain in his hands, his lungs, his heart. He see’s red eyes and blonde hair and he’s still the prettiest thing he's ever seen, and Kirishima feels unstoppable.

Then, in the moment that follows, Kirishima shatters.

Of course, he’d be here to see this. It’s just so fucking typical that he’d come along just in time to see just how many fractured pieces Kirishima’s been desperately trying to hold together, and Bakugo can thank God he never got himself involved with someone so fragmented. 

Kirishima’s weak, so at the first sign of a genuine challenge, he falls back into the worn arms of what he knows.

“B-bakugo. Hey man!” He thinks he’s smiling, but his eyes haven’t caught up to the new plan of pretending everythings fine and are supplying so many tears, he can’t see Bakugo’s face properly to check if he’s being convincing.

“You don’t normally- you- it’s the weekend!”

He means to say something along the lines of 'Bakugo! You don't normally come in at the weekends, what a nice surprise!', and through some miracle, Bakugo seems to understand that from Kirishima's gasped words.

“I know, but I live nearby, and I just wanted to come in to see how your date went.” Bakugo rushes out his explanation before falling to his knees beside Kirishima, “Sweetheart, what the hell happened?”

Bakugo places a hand on his back, and he rubs circles along his spine with a tender hand, concern, and care abundant in every touch of skin to skin. He’s hesitant though, like even though he’s being careful, he doesn’t think he can be too careful when dealing with someone so fragile. It convinces Kirishima that Bakugo feels the way he does about vulnerable hearts laid bare, how important – no, essential it is to care about the small things.

“I-I broke a cup.” 

Bakugo eyes flicker between the crockery corpse and Kirishima’s face, and instead of the curses for being so overly emotional that he’s expecting, Bakugo nods like he gets it. Kirishima believes him.

“Okay. That’s okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course.” Bakugo reaches for Kirishima’s hands, “But these aren’t. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He waits until Kirishima nods before slowly helping him to his feet, holding him close to his chest so he doesn’t see the worried looks from the customers who’d been privy to the show. 

Bakugo becomes his shield as he leads them to the sink through the back of the shop, and he’s excessively gentle with Kirishima as he brings his hands under the cold tap. If he notices the bruises on his knuckles, he doesn’t mention them.

Kirishima leans against the cool metal counter, and lets the chill seep through his smouldering skin, the suffocating heat from before slowly evaporating, leaving him numbed and frigid – but at least he’s calm.

“Take a break, okay Love?” Bakugo squeezes Kirishima’s arm, and the feeling of his hands has his skin quivering. It’s not overwhelming like before, but new, comforting.

“I can’t, I’m the only one on.” Maybe Mina being off today wasn’t as good an idea as Kirishima thought.

Bakugo grumbles, but before Kirishima can beg for his smile back, Bakugo offers it free of charge.

“You got any spare aprons?”

Kirishima balks, “Dude, I- I can’t ask you to do that. It's your day off and-“

“Are you trying to say you don’t think I’d look good in an apron? Because I will have you know I look damn right irresistible in anything!” 

He crosses his arms over his chest and it’s the way that Bakugo’s lip curls up at the edges despite himself, has a weight dislodging in Kirishima’s chest. It’s the first time he’s laughed without tension in days, and it feels incredible, especially when Bakugo’s watching him like he can’t believe he’s lucky enough to be witnessing it.

“Under the counter.” Kirishima nods to where they came from and can’t help but return the winning smile Bakugo wears as he realises Kirishima’s letting him help.

“Thanks, boss.” 

“Hey, I didn’t say anything about hiring you. Think of this as your trial shift.”

The joke is half assed and raspy as it leaves his throat, but it still has Bakugo snorting a laugh like he isn’t grossly overqualified and doing Kirishima a massive favour. He leaves to find an apron and fix the mess Kirishima’s left, and he tries not to feel too lonely now Bakugo’s gone.

It's difficult though, because Bakugo’s larger than life, and being around him makes you feel that way too. The come down is brutal.

That’s why the second the throbbing pain eases in Kirishima’s hands; he’s turning off the tap and walking out front to get his next hit. Plus, Bakugo doesn’t know the first thing about how they run the shop, so he should probably give him some pointers.

What he sees has time slowing down.

Bakugo’s face, scrunched up in concentration as he tries to balance an ungodly number of dishes, nodding along to some of Kirishima’s regulars as they natter away at the new face. There is something hypnotic about seeing Bakugo as part of his world, even if he knows it’s only temporary, Kirishima’s heart simmers at the idea of Bakugo being a more permanent fixture in his life.

It helps that Bakugo was right about the apron; he does look irresistable.

“Here, let me help. We’ve had enough breakages today.” Kirishima takes the most precariously balanced crockery from Bakugo, ignoring his grumbled, ‘I totally had it’ as he sees him physically relax in relief.

They work together, and even though Bakugo’s ruined almost two pints of milk trying to figure out the coffee machine, it falls into the ever-growing pile of things Kirishima is deeming unnecessary to worry about when compared to this boy and his willingness to try.

As long as Bakugo keeps looking at him like he deserves it, Kirishima’s going to let himself sink into this feeling of serenity that he gets just being around him.

“Your shitty machine is obviously broken.”

“Maybe you should just stick to clearing tables.”

“…Yeah okay.”

The last couple hours pass by considerably easier than before, and Kirishima’s pretty sure he can hold the way Bakugo hands graze his hips every time he needs to walk past him 90% accountable.

It could also be the fact that he shoots Kirishima a reassuring grin every time he hears the bell on the door ring, like he’s just checking in to make sure it's not becoming too much again. 

Or maybe it’s how every time there’s a lull, he’ll force Kirishima back to the cold tap, or how he wolf whistles whenever Kirishima’s latte art comes out especially good, or the way Kirishima heart stammers whenever Bakugo passes table four, because that’s where the light of the sun hits him perfectly. 

But the gasoline that turns all these little flames into a roaring bonfire, is how Bakugo is doing all of this without expecting a thing in return. He’s looking after him, caring for him, worrying about him, just because he wants to, and the way that thought glows and throbs in Kirishima’s head has the pain from before incapacitated.

“Fucking hell, I can’t remember the last time I was this tired.” Bakugo collapses into one of the seats, ‘open’ sign flipped and shop empty, “How the hell do you do it?”

Kirishima moves to join him, equipped with caramel latte in hand, “An obscene amount of caffeine.”

Bakugo groans at the sight of it, clasping both hands around the cup and letting the heat seep through his palms. He gives Kirishima a look so utterly thankful, he has to stop himself blushing under the heat of it.

“Holy shit, you’re an angel.”

Kirishima can’t help but think the title fits this boy in front of him more, a halo of blonde hair framing glowing features and a presence nothing short of a miracle. Every time he sees Bakugo, Kirishima finds himself drowning in new reasons to fall further for him, and today has been the heaviest rain fall yet.

“I really can’t thank you enough for your help today. I’m sorry you got caught up in it all.”

Bakugo waves him off with a scowl. “Stop that shit. I had fun. And like fuck I was gonna leave you alone.” 

“I would’ve been okay, I’m just a bit out of it today.” He skims over that before Bakugo can pull him up on it, “But I really appreciate it, you did better than I thought you would.”

Predictably, Bakugo’s face immediately melds into its natural competitive state. Kirishima’s convinced he came out the womb demanding a medal. 

“Were you doubting me, Sweetheart?”

“Do I have to remind you about all the milk you murdered today?”

“We’ve been over this! It wasn’t my fault; your machine is clearly faulty.”

“Right…”

“Bastard.”

Bakugo makes it so easy for Kirishima to let go. He asks for his hand like he’s never wanted something so badly, and Kirishima gives it without a second thought because he knows it’ll be kept safe.

“Speaking of bastards.” Uh oh, “Am I right in assuming last night was starring one?”

Kirishima blows out his lips in a sigh, running a hand over his face, wiping it blank before settling on a tired smile. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

“What happened?” 

It’s obvious that Bakugo’s spoken before his heads caught up, because the panic that descends on him when he realises what he’s said is so dramatic it’s almost comical.

“I mean, only if you want to talk about it!” He suddenly moves to stand, lurching after his chair as he knocks it over. “Shit! I- Fuck, I’ve already way over stayed my welcome, so I can just-“

Kirishima reaches for his wrist, pulling back this flustered, considerate, mess of a man and reassuring him. He gets the absolute pleasure of watching how Bakugo’s wide eyes melt into ones considerably softer as he realises Kirishima wants him to stay and settles back to his seat.

Now he knows Bakugo’s not going to run, he brings his hands into his lap and plays with his fingers as he tries to think of how to word this. 

“He didn’t like me from the beginning.” Kirishima laughs to himself, but its bitter, like Monoma‘s was, “I have a tendency to go on and on if no one stops me, and it’s a million times worse when I’m nervous.” 

Pushing the unhelpful ‘Like you’re doing right now’ his brain supplies to the back of his mind, he keeps going. 

“He made it pretty clear he was only there to get laid, so didn’t think it was necessary to deal with me panic rambling. And that’s fine! It’s kinda what I expected to happen. But he got pissed when I tried to leave. So…” Kirishima waves his right hand above the table, showing off his knuckles and finally finding the bravery to look up at Bakugo.

He looks livid.

“He tried shit with you?”

He sounds livid too.

“I shouldn’t have led him on. These things are normally just hook ups anyways, I wasted his time thinking otherwise.” 

Kirishima never should’ve gone on that date with him, never should’ve sent that stupid text, never should’ve got his hopes up.

Bakugo’s the most serious Kirishima’s ever seen him, jaw set, and features forced to stay calm. “It doesn’t matter what you did before hand, or what he expected to happen. The second you want to leave he should’ve backed the fuck off. I can’t believe that asshole.” 

The anger that’s radiating from Bakugo isn’t aimed at Kirishima, he knows that, but it still has him wrecked with guilt. None of this would have happened if he had just been good enough for Monoma – Bakugo wouldn’t have had to waste his day off, he wouldn’t be getting angry, he wouldn’t be stuck having to listen to Kirishima whine.

“I appreciate that, Bakugo. But this is what always happens, you know? I think someone’s gonna care about more than the physical stuff, and then am somehow still surprised when they don’t.” He laughs like it’s a joke, “I’m just being stupid.”

“You’re not stupid.”

He laughs properly this time because that’s got to be a joke.

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew how many times I’ve done this exact thing before.”

Only an idiot would be able to convince himself ‘This time it’ll be different’, as many times as Kirishima has, and still get upset when it's all just a lie to get him into bed.

“There is nothing stupid about having faith in people. You making yourself vulnerable time and time again only shows how good you are, and I’m so sorry people have made you feel like your kindness is something you should be ashamed of.” 

The words press themselves into Kirishima’s skin, chased down by the heat in Bakugo’s eyes that help brand them to him, making sure he doesn’t forget them. He can’t remember the last time someone called him good.

“Bak-“

“Those guys are the stupid ones for not realising what they had in front of them. Not you.”

Bakugo takes Kirishima’s stunned silence for upset instead of the awe that it is and drops his anger immediately. 

“Sorry. I just-“ He runs a hand through his hair, head shaking slightly like it can re-align his brain into something that will help him believe this, “I don’t understand how someone could have a shot with you and not see how stupid lucky they are.” 

Kirishima’s heartbeat hammers brutally in his chest, filling his head and leaving his ears ringing. His face burns and he finds himself up-close and personal with his first instinct to run from things that make him feel special, leave it before it can leave him.

“I guess I’m just a bit old-fashioned!” Another laugh. Another joke that isn’t funny. “No one wants to date anymore.”

“I do.”

Huh? 

“Huh?”

Bakugo stares at him like he’s grown a second head, eyes wide and jittery as his realises what he's said. Kirishima swallows his nerves and sees Bakugo doing the same.

“Uh. Shit. This is- this is not how I wanted to do this. But.” He clears his throat, shuffling in his seat before locking eyes with Kirishima, this time making sure that he doesn’t run. “I do. I want to date. You. Specifically.”

Oh, holy fuck.  

“I’m not normally good at all this, feelings stuff. But ever since I met you, it’s all I can think about. And I’m not sure how you’ve done it, if you laced my drink with some romance shit, or maybe you just smiled at me and that was enough. But you make me want to do shit I used to laugh at.”

Bakugo smiles down at his hands, rosy cheeks and plush lips so human, nervous, considerate, and he’s allowing Kirishima to see it all, laying himself out for him to stare at until it's what he sees every time he closes his eyes.

“I pass flower shops and I think about how nice they’d look in your hair, I do my shopping and I start planning what I’d cook you for our first date. Hell, ever since your friend brought up Crimson Riot, I’ve been listening to him non-stop to try and impress you.”

“Are you serious?”

“I’m so serious its embarrassing. And I hate dad rock.”

“It’s not dad rock! It’s-

“-Classic Rock N’ Roll with Hard Rock influences, I know.” And there’s that competitive smile again, the one that makes Kirishima's brain reboot.

“Holy shit, you’ve really done your research.” 

“You see what you’re doing to me, Sunshine?” He winks, and Kirishima thinks that maybe this would be the best way to die, heart attack at the hands of this gorgeous man.

“I only came today because I wanted to see if I still stood a chance. I was going to wait until Monday, but I just couldn’t stop thinking about you and I just needed to know.”

This can’t be happening. This just can’t be happening.

“I’m not sure how you’ve done it, but you’ve shifted my world to rotate around you.” Bakugo glows brighter than all the stars as he says it, and Kirishima ascends into orbit.

“Uh, or something less fucking creepy. I don’t think about you all the time, don’t worry about it.”

Kirishima remembers something important.

“Wait, so you’re not with Midoriya?”

If Kirishima was more emotionally stable, he’d laugh at how quickly Bakugo’s face drops, devastation left in the wake of Kirishima’s question. 

“Please don’t tell me you thought I was dating that fucking cretin. There’s no way.”

“Dude!” He points a finger at Bakugo, but the laugh in his voice softens the jab, “You guys agreed when I called you a married couple! He had his arm around you basically the whole time I saw you, and you have a good relationship with his mom?! What else am I meant to think?!”

“Did you happen to miss the part where I threatened to kill him multiple times!?”

“Listen, I don’t know what you’re into.”

Exasperation melts, and Kirishima gets to watch as Bakugo relaxes with it. His laughs echo through this pocket of space they’ve carved out for themselves, and it’s the only sound Kirishima ever wants to hear again.

“No. No I’m not with Midoriya.” Collected again, Bakugo’s as determined as ever, “There’s this really pretty barista I’m trying to shoot my shot with instead.”

“Oh really? Even if he likes Dad Rock?”

“I have a thing for shitty music tastes. You think I stand a chance?”

“You did before you said that.”

Bakugo pouts, genuinely pouts, and it has Kirishima cackeling before he can stop himself. But the look he gets in return is all too affectionate, a little too endearing for a laugh that easy. It’s sobering.

“Are you sure?”

He frowns, “What’d you mean?”

“I’m just. I really like you. Bakugo, you’ve got to understand I’m down so bad for you it shouldn’t be legal. I spend all day just hoping you’ll come in so I can be too flustered to flirt and fuck up your drink. And don’t get me started on the pet names, my fucking god-“

Bakugo’s grin is wicked – he knows exactly what he’s doing, he has the second he walked into Kirishima’s little world and made himself an essential feature.

“-But I’ve had so many people promise me they’re gonna try, and I wish I had it in me to trust you regardless, but I just can’t. So, if you’re just looking for something to pass the time, I’m sorry but I can’t do it, I like you way too much for that.”

This is it, Kirishima tells himself, this is the moment reality is going to make its appearance and evict him from this place where everything’s going a little too perfect. Bakugo’s going to realise he’s too high maintenance, and Kirishima’s going to find himself alone again. 

It’s probably better that way, anyways.

“I know my timing is shit, and I’m not asking you to just brush off everything other people have made you feel to give me a chance. But I’ll wait, Sunshine, I’ll wait as long as you need me to.”

Bakugo reaches for his hands, and Kirishima gives them to him mindlessly.

“When you’re ready, I’m gonna take you on a date. A proper one where I pick you up with flowers that match your eyes and take you to a dinner where I have to keep stealing glances at you because I’m too nervous to look you in the eye. I’ll take your hand as I walk you home and I’ll spend the whole time praying you don’t notice how sweaty they are.”

That drives a laugh through the tears Kirishima didn’t realise he’s been crying, Bakugo’s thumb moving in circles over the bruises and burns – always so careful.

“When we get to your place, I’ll find a way to work up enough courage to kiss you. Then, the second you close the door, I’ll scream into my hands and spend the rest of the night not being able to sleep because I’m too busy smiling at my ceiling, thinking about how lucky I am.”

Kirishima’s not sure when Bakugo entered his head and pulled out the perfect things to say, but he obviously has, and he’s clearly spent a hell of a lot of time learning his lines and making them flawless.

“If you’ll let me, Sunshine, I want to spoil you completely.” 

And though these words are what precede the fireworks, the fuse has been lit for quite some time, flourishing with every instance that Bakugo has proven himself to be true to his word.

“Fuck. How are you so perfect, what the hell?”

It’s more a breath then anything, awe ripping the power from his voice and making it delicate. Bakugo picks it up with a touch softer than wind and cradles it in his hands, trusting Kirishima not to hurt the tender flesh of his palms.

“Ah, I’m not sure about perfect. Just wait till you see my apartment, I promise that will ruin every good thing you’ve thought about me.”

“Why, are you a secret hoarder?”

“Worse," Bakugo grins with eyes shining like ruby's, "I read shoujo manga.”

He’s gonna have to marry this man, there’s no other option.

“God, you’re such a dork.” 

“What about it!?”

Kirishima leaves the shop that night with Katsuki’s number in his phone, a date set for a week’s time and limbs lighter than air. The nerves in his chest spark and shine, and they’re dangerous, but Kirishima’s too lost in the way Bakugo looks in the glow to care.

This flame feels different than every one that came before it, because this time, he’s not tending to it alone. It doesn’t matter if things feel seconds from going up in smoke, because Bakugo’s will be there with him, understanding that the explosion they’re working together to make is going to be beautiful enough to make every burn worth it. 

Kirishima still scared, of course he is, but it’s nowhere near as scary when he knows this boy is going to be right there with him, telling him how much he suits these hues of orange on his skin. 

Being understood like that, well, that’s all Kirishima’s ever wanted.

And if it’s by a blonde bombshell in nerd core, then that’s just an added bonus.

Meanwhile...