Work Text:
Bakugou stopped short when he saw the logo on the box.
He shouldn’t have. It was innocuous enough. A small owner-operated bakery.
Only it was familiar. The treats inside were, too. Not that he’d had one in a while.
Not since the last morning he’d spent with Kirishima.
The box was half gone by the time he stepped into the conference room, staring at the things, but they looked just as he remembered, triangular and flaky with a powdered-sugar glaze drizzled across the top.
He wondered if they’d look the same dashed across the floor, too—delicate almond filling splattered against against worn wood planks, surrounded by shards of yellow—
The room had gone silent before he realized he’d been staring. Then again, it was possible everyone was just surprised to see him. It was the first time he’d been back at the agency since the incident.
Retreat, his mind was screaming and he found he couldn’t disagree. He swallowed and leaned into the doorframe, crossing his arms and putting on a petulant frown.
“Listen up. Play-time’s over. I don’t know what you fuckers got up to while I wasn’t here to babysit and I don’t want to. Just get back to work.”
And with that, he turned on his heel and stalked over to his own office. His agency manager wouldn’t be pleased—when was he ever?—but he’d deal with that later. For now, the crisis had been averted.
As if.
As if barely managing to not break down in front of his staff made up for—
He shut that shit down.
Nope. He wasn’t thinking about it anymore.
Still. Damn. It wasn’t the worst start he’d imagined after taking some time off, but it wasn’t the best, either. Of all the things to be undone by. Fucking pastries.
Had he come back too early? God, he hoped not. He knew the extra time at home had been needed. He’d been a little too broken. A little too raw.
(Seeing your ex for the first time in five years will do that.)
And he’d finally been able to accept some things. Start to process them instead of just avoiding them.
(Babysitting said ex’s daughter while he was comatose will do that.)
But he was tired of it now. Of the realizations and introspection. He needed to do something, dammit. So he came back.
Only to be met by another reminder of him the minute he walked in the door.
He frowned.
Because… why?
The bakery was a little hole-in-the-wall place. Thirty minutes away. There were plenty of others closer. Hell, there were two places—bigger and more well-known—just in this part of town.
And why the almond-filled ones? Those weren’t the most popular offerings. They usually weren’t even in the display window. At least, that’d been the case five years ago.
But here they were. In his agency’s conference room. On his first day back after a very public breakdown over seeing his ex in a hospital bed.
His favorites.
He could still remember the little bell dinging the first time Kiri had dragged him into the shop. The idiot had ordered a dozen different things, determined to succeed in finding something Bakugou would like.
And it’d all been good, really. Couldn’t not be, not with those eyes looking at him like that. Not with the way their feet found each other beneath the table. The way their hands teased, just the barest skim of fingers as they reached for items on the tray between them.
But the almond?
Yeah. That was it. Part dutch letter, part turnover, all fucking amazing.
He’d accidentally moaned when he took a bite. God, he’d been embarrassed… until he’d seen Kiri’s face—eyes widened, neck flushed. The way he bit his lip. And suddenly the embarrassment gave way to another emotion entirely.
So yeah. They were his favorite.
...or they had been.
Because he remembered even better the look in Kiri’s eyes that morning.
They’d argued about something the night before, because of course they had. And Kiri’d gotten up early. Driven an hour just to get the damn things for Bakugou. A peace offering.
He could still see it, placed on one of the little sunflower-yellow plates they’d picked out shortly after moving in together. Kiri blushed and slid it toward him, the plate just bumping against his coffee mug.
It was the clinking sound that did him in. Just that. The scrape of glass on glass and suddenly he wasn’t in his chair anymore. Wasn’t at home at all, but surrounded by enemies—cool straps against his skin and the soft plink of bottles as Toga leaned eagerly over the bar.
Bakugou couldn’t be sure what it was that brought him back. Whether it was Kiri’s voice or his hands grasping his, holding them against his chest and taking the explosions.
Taking on his pain. Again.
For the last time, it turned out.
He shouldn’t be thinking about this. Why was he thinking about this? He’d come back to work to stop thinking about this—about Kirishima and the mistakes they both had made. The future they’d dreamed and planned and lost and the ones they’d built instead.
He’d come back to stop mourning. And came back to fucking pastries.
But it wasn’t by accident. Bakugou didn’t much believe in coincidences. So he had no doubt they’d been meant for him.
A message. An ‘it’s alright.’ An ‘it’ll all be okay.’ It’d probably been meant well. Still, all he saw was pity.
He’d just have to get over this. He’d just have to work harder.
But first he’d have to find out who’d bought the damn things. And how they’d known to get the almond ones. Because the only person who had—
Oh.
Something like hope welled up traitorously in Bakugou's chest.
Stop, he told himself. Don't.
Because hope was a dangerous thing. It piled hurt upon hurt without compassion or regard.
Unless...
Don't.
But it was useless. He knew it was. Because hope was something else as well.
Stubborn. Enduring. It looked on oceans and found a boat. It looked on mountains and found a path.
It looked at a box and saw a—
Don’t.
Still....
Still.