Chapter Text
The last chord rings out, lonely and loud, and Eijirou’s eyes are glued to the screen, because damn can this band draw in a crowd.
The camera pans over the band members, does a close up for each one, all breathing heavily with sweat glistening in the coloured lights, before the camera slowly pans back out. The light goes off, and the sound of instruments being put down and feet walking off the stage is all that's left.
"Damn," Denki says, followed by an impressed whistle. He'd been the one to initially watch the show, all excited about the band's newest song. Eijirou had just passed by the living room and got caught up in the atmosphere. "They've done it again."
Eijirou finally gets up and back to what he'd been doing; cleaning, because God forbid that he expects his roommate to be of any help in that department. He simply hums in response as he picks up bags of crisps and snacks along his way.
"I hear they're going on a hiatus," Denki continues, sounding dejected now. "I wonder how long they'll take… Don't a lot of bands break up that way? After a long hiatus?"
Eijirou shrugs. He doesn't really follow many of the gossip magazines, like Denki. All he knows is that Bombshell makes great rock music that he can't really bring himself to ever turn off.
Denki hums. "I'm sure they'll be fine… right? Hey, for lunch, can we–"
Eijirou startles at the mention of the late hour. "Shoot, is it that late already!? I gotta get to the shop!" He quickly drops the trash he's holding in the bin, then stumbles over his own feet as he puts shoes and jacket on simultaneously. "Try and keep the place a bit clean!" he calls back, but he doesn't believe the lighthearted "sure!" that answers him.
He's late by a half hour, and Kyouka gives him an unimpressed stare from over a customer's shoulder. She quickly refocuses back on what she's doing and turns the needle back on.
"Running a bit late there, boss," Hanta says from behind the counter, giving Eijirou a cocky grin.
"Don't call me that," he pleads with a sigh.
Hanta shrugs. "You own the shop and you're the only one allowed to be late. I think that qualifies you for the title of 'boss'."
Eijirou can see that he's teasing him; he's become very close with his coworkers, to the point that they're some of his best friends, and he hates feeling like he has any kind of rank over them – a fact that Hanta knows very well.
"You have an appointment in five minutes. The dagger and flower tattoo."
Eijirou nods and prepares himself for the appointment, finding the right needles and the stencil they'd prepared upon online. "Any new appointments?"
"I have a small one this afternoon, and Kyouka has two after the one she's doing now. Ever so popular, that one." Hanta finishes with a wink and a gesture towards Kyouka.
She's adding the details to a wing right about now, it seems. That is what she's especially good at; those tiny little details, with so much packed into very little space. Eijirou usually doesn't bother, because he knows it's the smallest details that will fade the fastest, but it’s what a lot of customers want, and in that case, Kyouka is the best for the job.
His client comes in a few minutes later, a middle aged man getting his fifteenth or something tattoo. Eijirou has done a handful of those tattoos himself over the years, so he knows what to expect from this session.
The tattoo itself is just how Eijirou likes them; bright and colourful and just a bit weird, much like the majority of Eijirou’s own. It's of a dagger stabbing into the body of a flower, and several spiders crawling out of the wound.
Doing the linework goes smoothly, and a couple of hours later, the tattoo is covered and they're scheduling an appointment for the colouring.
Eijirou lets himself fall into the red leather couch in the parlour with a sketchpad. He doesn't know how long he's been sitting there, but he's drawn out four new tattoo ideas when Kyouka walks by.
"Why don't you just go home?" she drawls, probably getting ready for her third appointment. "You're just sitting around anyway. We'll call you if you get an appointment." She picks out a needle, then turns back around to Eijirou with a crooked smile. "Besides, don't you gotta feed Denki anyway?"
Eijirou snorts. It's a fair point; he's not entirely sure that his roommate eats if he's not there to remind him, other than the amount of snacks he seems to always devour while Eijirou is away.
"Denki will have to manage on crisps and cold sausage, I'm afraid. I do need to check inventory, I'm just… procrastinating." He sends a sheepish smile her way, then looks back to his sketch board. "Besides, I'm thinking of getting another tattoo."
"Is there even any room for more at this point?"
Eijirou rolls his eyes at the usual jab. Yeah, he's the most covered up of them all, but there's still plenty of untouched skin. His left arm, some of his chest, one thigh and the other calf are brightly coloured, but the rest of him is a blank canvas.
He waves her away, and as her footsteps fade over the dark, wooden floor, he continues his sketches.
He's confident he's got a good one; a siren, deadly and dangerous, yet graceful at the same time. He imagines her skin as a faded, murky green, eyes white like death, and tail pitch black with accents of jade.
Footsteps approach him, and he expects them to pass as Kyouka probably forgot something. But the boots that stop before his own are not Kyouka’s, and the black-lacquered finger that points down to the siren is not Kyouka's either, and the voice that grumbles out "I'll take that one," is definitely not Kyouka's either.
Eijirou looks up with a frown, ready to reject the customer. For one, the siren isn't finished, it's not even coloured yet, and second, he made it for himself.
His words get lost in his throat, however, when he looks up at a familiar face that he's never seen in person before. Still, he doesn't doubt for more than a second that this grumpy-faced, leather-pants wearing guy is the lead singer of Bombshell – Bakugou Katsuki.
It feels like Eijirou’s soul might have left his body, because that can’t be right… right? His heartbeat thunders in his ears, drowning out any and all other sounds, and all he can see is Bakugou Katsuki – and the way he raises a brow impatiently, apparently unaware that he has just caused Eijirou’s brain to malfunction.
He blinks the awe out of his eyes and shakes his head. "It's not finished." He’s pretty impressed with himself when his voice comes out fairly normal.
"So finish it. I'll wait," the singer says, looking unamused as he crosses his arms over his chest.
Eijirou feels a stare heavy on him as he puts the sketchpad away and stands. "We have a lot of finished, ready-to-go sketches on the wall over here, or you're welcome to bring your own sketch or description of a tattoo you want. We can make an appointment for a consultation and–"
"Fine. Have it done by Friday. I'll be back then," Bakugou Katsuki announces, and then turns and leaves the shop. The door slams on his way out, just as Hanta enters from one of the private rooms.
Hanta is peeling off his gloves and leading his customer to the front desk for payment. Once he's sent her off, he squirts some lotion on his hands and rubs it in as he turns to Eijirou. "Heard the door slam. Trouble with a client?"
Eijirou shakes his head. He considers telling him about just who said client was, but… now that he's gone, Eijirou isn't entirely sure he can believe his own memories.
Why would Bakugou Katsuki, lead singer of Bombshell, be here in little Cottonby? Why would he waltz by Eijirou’s shop and decide to just pick out the first tattoo he sees? It all just seems too absurd to be real.
And even if it's true, Hanta would never believe him.
"Nah," he eventually says, a bit confused and giddy. "Just a new face around here."
Eijirou loves walking down the larger road of Cottonby; a few buildings down is Mina’s hair salon, and a couple of homey restaurants that Eijirou likes to frequent are lined up just beyond that.
It's summer now, so down the same busy street are a bunch of stalls; flowers, shaved ice, hearty street foods and other seasonal pop-ups. People are dog-walking and baby-strolling, and it's always a nice place to be in such sunny weather.
It's from one of these food-stalls that Eijirou buys a loaded everything-taco, topped with extra cheese, the following Thursday. It tastes god-sent, but it must be the work of the devil, because just as he's halfway through it and moaning about how good it is, someone knocks straight into him, causing the taco to explode between them.
Eijirou is already pouting at the loss of his lunch – all that remains of it is shards of the shell in his hands, along with a bit of meat-juices – but a loud yell brings his attention to the other person.
"What the actual fuck !"
A vaguely familiar person, but someone he might just recognise anywhere.
Bakugou Katsuki is standing right in front of him, for the second time now, looking murderous.
It doesn't take long for Eijirou to realise why. Bakugou Katsuki is wearing skinny, black jeans and an orange cap over his blonde hair and a white button-up shirt that is now covered in the content of Eijirou’s taco. Corn and onion and salad mixes with the marinated meat and half melted cheese, slowly dripping down his shirt, although the stain is probably there to stay.
"Oh!" Eijirou voices belatedly, dropping the remains of the taco from his own hands and reaching forward. He begins scooping the content off of Bakugou Katsuki's stomach, but to not much avail. "Yeah, figured. It's there to stay, I'm afraid."
"' Figured' !? What the fuck is that supposed to mean!?" Bakugou Katsuki yells, his arms outstretched from his body as if the food will burn his skin at the touch. "It looks like someone barfed right on my stomach!"
Eijirou looks up and down Bakugou Katsuki's body. Yeah, one could think that was the case. "Well… at least it's well seasoned? You smell like a meat buffet, that's not entirely bad, right?"
"Like a–…" The singer cuts off with a heavily contained growl, bringing one hand to his face to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Listen," he says after a long, strained sigh. "I can't be seen like this. Just… Fuck off, I need to–"
"Come on, then!" Eijirou exclaims, and starts jogging down the road. He turns to see if he's being followed, but Bakugou Katsuki just stares at him from his dirty spot on the pavement. "My house is just down here, I'll give you something to wear, don't worry. Come."
Bakugou Katsuki starts to move. And then he's walking straight towards him, faster than Eijirou himself. "You better have something that's better than that ugly thing you're wearing."
Eijirou looks down at his t-shirt. It's four different bright colours almost dancing along his shirt in broken fractures, and he likes it a lot. He can see how it's not something for one of the Kings of Rock, though. "Worry not, I'm sure I have a black tank you can try on for size."
Bakugou Katsuki doesn't answer with anything else but a quiet growl.
It takes them less than a minute to reach the red door of Eijirou’s house, and Eijirou throws it open immediately and ushers Bakugou Katsuki inside.
He jumps in right after him and closes the door, and when he turns back around, he sees Bakugou Katsuki scrunching his nose at the place.
Eijirou can't blame him; despite having swept through the entire house earlier to clean up the worst of the trash and dirt, Denki lives like a dust devil made from snacks and dirty socks.
He quickly swoops through the living room, picking up the worst of it and throwing it all in the trash (Denki can buy new socks), then, breathing heavily, comes back to Bakugou Katsuki, who appears to be watching the drawings on the wall intently.
They're Eijirou’s own, aside from a few of Kyouka and Hanta's that have been gifted to him. Some of them are tattooed on his body as well, but mostly it's stuff that'd be too big and detailed to be put on his body, so he's hung it on the wall instead.
"K.E." Bakugou Katsuki reads aloud, the signature in the bottom of the majority of the drawings. "You're really into this artist, huh?" He sounds rather disinterested, but his eyes never leave the drawings.
"Uh, well, no, I made them," Eijirou says slowly, if a bit nervous and confused. "Oh, that's me. Kirishima Eijirou."
Bakugou Katsuki hums. "You draw?"
"And… tattoo. You do know you have an appointment with me tomorrow, right?"
Bakugou Katsuki finally turns away from the drawings, and he looks Eijirou up and down slowly, as if with new eyes. "Oh yeah. Didn't recognise you in that hideous outfit."
Eijirou scoffs.
"So, what, did you finish the fish drawing?"
"The f– It's not a fish, it's a–"
"Siren, I know," Bakugou Katsuki cuts him off effortlessly. The hint of a teasing smile in one corner of his mouth has Eijirou’s heart acting out of turn. "So, did you?"
Eijirou looks away from Bakugou Katsuki’s mouth and thinks back to the drawing. He finished it two days ago, but technically he never agreed to make it for Bakugou Katsuki. But on the other hand – it's Bakugou Katsuki!
"It's done, yes. But, Bakugou Katsu–"
"Good. Were you gonna give me a shirt to wear or what?" Bakugou Katsuki interrupts impatiently. He takes a step back from the drawings, then turns to enter further into the house.
Eijirou follows behind, momentarily forgetting that he's the one who lives here, and that Bakugou Katsuki has no idea where he's going. This becomes abundantly clear, though, when they end up in the kitchen.
"Oh, it's, uh, this way," Eijirou says, and finally begins to guide Bakugou Katsuki the proper way towards his bedroom.
Once there, he's not surprised to see that a quick cleaning isn't necessary; Denki at least has the decency to stay out of his room.
Eijirou makes a beeline for the wardrobe, quickly fanning through shirts and tanks. He passes the more colourful ones, and lands on a simple black tee, with a small white cross over the left peck.
Turning around, he smiles proudly as he hands the shirt to Bakugou Katsuki. "Here you are. Simple, boring and stylish. Just the way you like it, right?"
Bakugou Katsuki sends him a deadpan look, then reaches out for the shirt. He considers it shortly, then shrugs and pulls his own shirt over his head, throws the disgusting mess straight on Eijirou’s made up bed, and then pulls on the black one before Eijirou has even had time to blink.
"It's big on you," Eijirou blurts, and he finds the slight blush of red on Bakugou Katsuki's cheeks rather amusing. "I mean, I just thought it'd be a better fit, for some reason. When you're on TV, you just look larger than life, you know? Since, you're Bakugou Katsuki and all that, and yet you're too small for my shirt."
Bakugou Katsuki seems to be fuming. "Are you calling me small ?"
Eijirou thinks about the question. "Ah, well, not small, just smaller ," he tries to clarify. It doesn't seem to appease him in the slightest. "Compared to me! Not compared to, like… Napoleon?"
Bakugou Katsuki looks absolutely dumbfounded. " Napoleon ?"
"Yeah, you've heard about him, right? French guy, pretty known for being… small?"
"Known for being–" Bakugou Katsuki cuts himself off with a barking laugh. "Oh my god. You're an actual idiot, aren't you? I'm not sure I can trust you with a needle near my skin."
Eijirou frowns. "Okay, so I don't know much about Napoleon! Except that he's French, small, and there's a cake named after and shaped like his funny hat. But I–" He lets Bakugou Katsuki finish laughing before continuing. "But I do know my way around tattoos. I'm the best around!"
"I'll have to see it before I believe it," Bakugou Katsuki says while sauntering towards the hallway.
"Oh, it's, uh, to the right," Eijirou guides, because Bakugou Katsuki still appears to easily get lost in the house. He follows behind him with quick steps. "But I was thinking, would you like to have a cup of tea?" he asks, because it hits him that Bakugou Katsuki is in his house , and he’s probably supposed to try and be a good host, right?
And also… if he could get him to stay a little longer… well, he really wouldn’t mind that.
Bakugou Katsuki doesn't even look back as he takes a wrong turn in the living room and answers, "No, hate the stuff."
"Left. Well, how about coffee, then?” Eijirou tries again, not to be deterred due to the wrong choice of beverages.
Bakugou Katsuki takes the left, then checks the expensive-looking watch on his wrist. “I’m already late as it is.”
The disappointment in Eijirou’s chest is completely unnecessary, but persistent nonetheless. “Oh. Of course. Well… maybe some other time?”
Bakugou Katsuki stops, having finally reached the front door with one hand already on the knob. He turns around, looking Eijirou up and down as if assessing him. “What’s your obsession with getting hot drinks in me in the middle of Summer?”
Eijirou supposes that does sound a bit odd. “I also know this amazing taco–… stand… Or, you know, ice cream!” he quickly corrects, as Bakugou Katsuki raises an eyebrow at him. “You like ice cream?”
A shake of the head and a short laugh is all the answer that he gets, and Bakugou Katsuki turns towards the door once more.
“See you tomorrow, Bakugou Katsuki,” Eijirou says hurriedly as the knob starts to get turned. “For the tattoo, at least.”
There’s a pause. And then the hand leaves the knob, sliding away from the metal slowly, and Eijirou doesn’t really understand why, because the door is still closed. But then he’s being gently shoved in the chest, his back hitting the wall, and a soft breath fans over his lips.
Eijirou’s brain might be malfunctioning, because it seems a lot like Bakugou Katsuki is considering kissing him. Which would be crazy, right?
But Bakugou Katsuki glances down at Eijirou's lips, his lashes falling over red-hot cheeks, and then slits of beautiful crimson looks back up – a question, maybe a plea to push him away.
Eijirou doesn't. He stares right back, holding his breath.
And then a hand lands flat on Eijirou's chest, a bit of pressure is added, and soft lips press up against his own chapped ones.
He thinks a wire might be loose in his brain, because he feels electricity run from his chest and down into his fingers, his toes.
Bakugou Katsuki has already taken a step back and has his hand back on the doorknob before Eijirou’s mind catches up. “Just Katsuki is fine,” Bakugou Katsuki – or maybe just Katsuki, he supposes – says, looking unaffected as he reaches his free hand up to comb through his bangs.
He twists the knob, pushes the door open, and takes half a step before he turns to glance at Eijirou over his shoulder. “Don’t you dare tell a soul about this, by the way.”
Eijirou blinks, and then Katsuki is gone.
Realistically, he knows that he’s just outside that red door, maybe reaching the pavement right about now, but to Eijirou, it feels like Katsuki just vanished into thin air after tilting his whole world on its axis.
As with the first time meeting Katsuki, Eijirou isn’t sure how much of his memories he can trust. But… the lingering hint of a touch on his lips and the dirty shirt thrown in a mess on his bed tells him that he’s not imagining a thing.
He expects Katsuki any time the next day; Eijirou realises belatedly that they never agreed upon a specific time, so he can’t do much more than wait and jump up every time the doorbell chimes with a new customer.
He has made alterations to the siren so that Katsuki can pick whichever he'd like more, he's buzzing around the parlour with nervous energy streaming from his pores, and he's turning down two clients who'd like a walk-in, sending them to Hanta and Kyouka without knowing if they’re even free to take them on.
Eijirou tries to ignore the pang of hurt in his chest when he finally realises that Katsuki isn't going to show up at all.
Eijirou can't really blame him; the guy is a famous star and must be busy. He surely has better things to do with his time than getting a tattoo from some nobody.
"Any messages for me?" he asks Hanta eventually, the last strand of hope being strung out on display.
It's cut short when Hanta simply tilts his head at him curiously and answers, "None, no."
The disappointment is hard to mask throughout the next couple of days; he catches himself sighing out of nowhere, or having been lost in a daydream of what-if's. Kyouka asks him if he's sick, and Denki actually cooks . Eijirou didn't even know he could do that.
Monday is a gloomy day, at least in Eijirou’s head. Like the previous days, he enters the shop and immediately asks Hanta if there are any messages for him. When Hanta shakes his head, Eijirou groans and lets himself fall down into the red leather couch. It groans under his sudden weight.
"What is up with you lately?" Hanta asks, and he sounds like the question has been weighing on him for a while now.
"Nothing, I just… had an appointment on Friday, and they didn't show up." It's partly the truth. It's just far from all there is to it.
Hanta doesn't seem to be buying it. "That's why you turned down all jobs on Friday? That's not like you, Eiji."
Eijirou sighs and hides his face in his hands. "I don't know… he's just… different? At least I thought so, and, well…"
"A client that is… different?" Hanta presses, and Eijirou is sure his eyes are squinting suspiciously, but he doesn't have the courage to face him.
"A… guy that is different," Eijirou slowly admits, blinking behind his palms, waiting for some kind of reaction. But Hanta is silent, and so is the parlour, and Eijirou might just have to slither away and pretend to do inventory or something.
Before he can escape, however, Hanta sighs as if in defeat. "You do have a message."
Eijirou whips up onto his feet in a flash, eyes popping and mouth agape. "Say what?"
Hanta at least has the decency to look guilty. "The guy sounded awful. Do you know how rude he was? He demanded that I tell the 'idiot with the awful fashion choices' to find him at the hotel if you want something, and that he's using the name of his 'alter ego'. The guy sounded like he was asking for a fight, hell if I was going to send you there."
Eijirou isn't sure he's hearing him right, because to him, it sure sounds like Katsuki is asking him to come over. "I'm… oh. When did he call?"
"Friday evening," Hanta says with a shrug, but he looks at least a little ashamed.
"And you didn't tell me ," Eijirou groans, taking a few steps up to bump a fist against Hanta’s shoulder lightly. "I'm taking the day off, I'm not taking clients again until tomorrow."
Hanta blinks down at him. "You're… Wait, you're going there?"
Eijirou nods determinedly. "Of course I am."
There's only one hotel in Cottonby, so it's not hard to find out where Katsuki supposedly should be. The challenge lies in the receptionist denying that a Bakugou is staying at the hotel. Did he check out already? Did Hanta say anything about how long he'd be here?
Replaying the conversation in his head, he remembers the 'alter ego' part. What could that have meant?
He turns back to the receptionist. "How about just Katsuki. Is there a Katsuki checked in here?"
The receptionist shakes his head, but Eijirou thinks he sees a hint of amusement in his eyes.
"How about…" He thinks hard. The message had been for Eijirou, but he'd told him to call him Katsuki. That wouldn't be his alter ego, though. The only other thing Eijirou had said was–
He looks back up at the receptionist, determined and hopeful when he says, "Napoleon."
The facade of the receptionist cracks, just a little, to hint at a smile, and then he's nodding and scrolling through his computer screen. "Room 314, sir."
"Oh, um, thank you!"
He doesn't waste any time; he's sprinting through the lobby, past the elevators and into the stairwell. Three flights of stairs passes quickly, and although he's slightly out of breath, he doesn't let that stop him as he speeds down the corridor until he's standing in front of room 314.
He raises his hand to knock, but pauses, because he’s out of breath, no doubt starting to form a sweat, and overall just a mess, probably. Combing a hand through his hair to make it at least presentable, he fills his lungs and calms his breath. There’s not much he can do about the perspiration, except, in hindsight, taken the elevator.
When he finally feels like he’s ready, Eijirou once more raises his hand to the door and knocks three determined raps against the painted wood.
It takes a minute for the door to open, and when it does, Katsuki’s isn’t the face that greets him. Instead there’s some stout man with a clipboard staring up at him. “Yes?” he asks, turning his eyes towards the clipboard, scanning it intensely. When Eijirou doesn’t answer, the man looks back up at him with an exasperated look. “Your name ?”
Further into the suite, Eijirou can see people milling about, men and women buzzing with unintelligible conversations. “Oh!” Eijirou breathes, biting his lip nervously. “I’m not on any list. Bakugou Katsuki invited me. Sort of.”
The guy, who’s starting to feel more and more like a bouncer, seems to evaluate him as he looks him dead in the eye for at least thirty tense seconds. “Right. Well, you’ll get to meet him, then.” He moves away from the door just slightly, enough for Eijirou to consider if he’s supposed to be squeezing his way through. “And if it turns out he doesn’t know you, I’m having you arrested for stalking.”
Eijirou isn’t sure why he gulps; maybe Katsuki would say he doesn’t know him for taking this long to come over. Or, worse yet, maybe he hadn’t meant for Eijirou to come looking for him at all, and he’d think he really was a stalker.
Then again, Katsuki was the one who kissed him , so maybe he can push his luck just a little.
He swallows another lump as he follows the guy through the hotel suite. He can’t help but notice how stylish everyone is. Some even seem a little classy in their suits and flowy dresses. Eijirou sticks out like a sore thumb with his bright exposed tattoos and plain khaki shorts, and still it seems like no one is sparing him a glance.
They reach a door, and the guy knocks it twice, before he pushes it open. Eijirou follows behind meekly, not sure how he’s supposed to act.
“This guy says he knows you,” the guy says, and Eijirou’s eyes whip up to scan the room.
Katsuki is sitting on a short couch, head tilted back and looking exhausted. At the announcement, he slowly opens his eyes and tilts his head just a little. If he’s surprised to see Eijirou, he doesn’t show it. He simply sits up straighter and ushers Eijirou over. “I do have something to discuss with him, yes.”
Eijirou listens as the guy begins to leave, but his eyes are fully focused on Katsuki.
Katsuki doesn’t look at either of them as he begins to speak. “I simply needed to remind you of our agreement from our previous meeting, and to be assured that you haven’t shared any of the details. As you can see, I’m busy right now, so you’ll have to–”
As soon as the door shuts behind him, Eijirou strides forward, stopping short in front of the couch and cutting off Katsuki in the middle of his monotonous sentence. “I just got your message,” is the first thing he blurts, because he somehow feels like he has to set that straight right away.
Katsuki raises a brow at him, looking lazy and regal on the white couch. “Didn’t know you had snail mail here.”
“It’s not–” Eijirou sighs and lowers his voice. “Hanta thought you were just another customer, and a very rude one at that, so he didn’t want to pass on the message.”
“Aren’t I?”
Eijirou tilts his head at the vague question, trying to assess Katsuki’s blank expression. “Aren’t you… what?”
“Aren’t I just another customer?”
Somehow, Eijirou thinks he might be challenging him. He can’t get a read on him at all. He doesn’t know how honest he’s supposed to be.
There’s the obvious answer; he’s Bakugou Katsuki, famous rockstar, so of course he isn’t just another customer.
But then there’s also the more truthful one.
“I was looking forward to seeing you. Was hoping you’d reconsider that coffee. Or the ice cream. And besides that, I’ve never given away a piece meant for myself to someone else." He pauses, considers, and then adds, "Well. I still haven’t. Since you never showed up.”
Katsuki gets up from the couch, and they’re face to face, so close he could just take half a step and let him kiss him again.
Before he can even consider acting on that thought, Katsuki is side stepping him and heading for the mini fridge in the corner. “My whole band rolled in earlier than planned. Schedule got all fucked.”
Eijirou turns with him, and when Katsuki holds out a glass of something a clear yellow and a little bubbly, he takes it without a second thought. "I thought you guys were on hiatus? At least, that’s what Denki said."
“We are,” Katsuki confirms, downs his own glass of bubbly liquid fully, and then pours himself another one. “But if you think that means I'm taking a break, you're more stupid than I thought."
Eijirou sips the drink as well. It has a strong alcoholic flavour, and he cringes a bit at the sourness. He usually just goes for beer. “So, what are you working on, then? There are a lot of people here, no?”
Katsuki shrugs and strides back over to the couch, where he lets himself fall down heavily. His drink sloshes in his glass, but never spills. “The next concept. Lyrics. Cover art, you fucking name it. Anything for the next album.”
“Oh.” Eijirou doesn’t mention that it seems like a lot to be working even on your breaks, or that they’ve barely finished touring with their most recent album, and are now thrown straight into the next. “But… do you usually announce a hiatus for that?”
Katsuki looks at him wearily, like he’s treading into uncertain waters. “No,” he finally answers. It doesn’t seem like he’s going to elaborate.
Eijirou opens his mouth to ask another question, despite Katsuki’s clear reluctance, but there’s a double knock on the door before it opens. A woman is standing in the doorway, eyes scanning the room and landing on Eijirou with curiosity. “Who might this be? One of the lyricists?”
“Oh, no, I’m–” Eijirou tries to say, but Katsuki speaks over him with a hint of a grin.
“Yes, actually. Make sure he gets to the others, I’m sure he has some great ideas.”
Eijirou’s mouth is agape in horror as the woman links her arm in his and starts dragging him along, and Katsuki’s mischievous grin turns wider as he’s ushered down the hallway.
He’s nudged into a room with five other people, all spread out by a round table in the corner. They glance up at the commotion, but then go back to their conversation.
“Got another lyricist for ya,” the woman says, and then promptly shuts the door behind her.
This, unfortunately, gains all their attention. They greet him halfheartedly and one of them gestures for him to come sit in an empty chair. He takes it hesitantly and tries for a smile, but it feels wobbly and uncertain at best.
There's a mess of papers spread out across the round table, some crumbled together, some cut up and stuck together with others. Eijirou isn't really sure what to do about any of it.
"Whatcha got, then?" the woman beside him asks. The top of her black hair is gathered in a bun, while the rest is shaven clean off. "We've only made an outline for one song already, so please just throw everything in there."
She shoves a pen and a block of paper towards him, then turns her attention back to her own.
The blank page is mocking him. He's sure the lines are swirling around, becoming mouths that laugh at this whole situation, and he glares at them surly.
"What's wrong?" another person asks, the guy across him with a clean shaven face and hair slicked back handsomely. "Bad time to get writer's block."
Eijirou nods, and returns his eyes to the page.
"Don't look at the blank page. What sort of inspiration do you expect to find there?" the guy asks with a hint of a smile. Without explaining where Eijirou should be looking, he too goes back to his own pen and paper and starts scribbling messy words.
Eijirou tries to look around the room. There’s a small window with a view into the city down below. He can almost see all the way to his own house from there. The sides of the windows are covered in light, almost see-through curtains, slightly moving from the breeze of the opened window.
He doesn’t know if he’s supposed to be getting inspiration from any of this. He knows this area, nothing he sees is new to him.
In the end, he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and is shocked to see a glint of crimson swirling around black, bright and passionate. The image brings more memories with it, memories of soft lips against his own, a hand against his shoulder, the too-soon withdrawal and longing to lean back in.
Opening his eyes, Eijirou carefully writes out a few lines. It’s… Well, it’s something. At least he doesn’t have a completely blank page mocking him anymore.
A half hour passes slowly, the words coming out even slower, and at some point, as if they’d agreed upon it beforehand, the others around the table put down their pens and look up amongst each other.
“Alright,” the woman beside him says, touching up the loose bun on top of her head. “Newbie starts us off.” There’s a challenge in her eyes, but she doesn’t look unkind. Still, Eijirou breaks out into a sweat and clears his throat.
Looking down at the jumbled notes in front of him, he tries to make sense of it all, to see if any of it isn’t absolute trash. And then he remembers that he has no idea what he’s doing either way, so he might as well just jump straight into it. “Um, I don’t know, how about… I love your eyes, they shine so bright, I think it might be the only light… I need ?"
He chances a glance up; the guy in front of him is frowning, blinking quickly as if unsure how to react. Another straight out shakes his head, while the woman beside Eijirou tilts her head at him.
Okay, so clearly not the best line. "Oh, yeah, that's… I'm not very good with words, sorry."
This only has them all more visibly confused. "You're… a songwriter, no?"
"Oh, yeah, no, yeah,” Eijirou replies dumbly, crossing out the line vigorously. “Okay! How about; The lines on your skin – I'll add to them with my teeth, and promise to be exactly as gentle as I please .”
One person nods slowly. “What comes next?”
Eijirou blinks up at her. “Uh… That’s… all?”
She frowns, turns to open her mouth, but is interrupted when the door is opened with a loud bang. Katsuki stands in the doorway, looking smug as he oversees the room. “Gonna need the redhead for a moment,” he announces, then catches Eijirou’s eyes and jerks his head for him to come with.
Eijirou gladly leaves both pen and paper behind as he stands and walks out with Katsuki.
Katsuki leads them down a hallway, out the entrance of the suite, and then they’re walking down the hall towards the elevators.
“What the hell ?” Eijirou asks as they step into the elevator, and he watches Katsuki push the button for the lobby. “You do know I’m not a songwriter, right? Couldn’t you at least have told them I was an artist, I do actually know how to draw.” He takes a deep breath and leans against the mirror of the elevator. “God, that was horrible.”
He hears a low chuckle rumble its way out of Katsuki’s chest, and he thinks he might just have forgiven him already. “Thought this way would be more fun.”
The door closes, and they start to descent. Katsuki leans back against the mirror as well, beside Eijirou. He sounds a lot less smug when he says, “And I didn’t exactly plan for you to just appear while I was working.”
“To be fair, I didn’t know you would be,” Eijirou mutters, staring straight ahead at the closed elevator doors. “But Hanta finally told me your message, and I just… rushed over here. I can’t believe you used the name Napoleon to check in.” He chuckles, rolls his head against the glass to face Katsuki beside him. His smile freezes, however, when he sees that Katsuki is already looking at him. “...What?”
Katsuki shakes his head, clearing the odd expression he’d been wearing. "So. I keep hearing something about ice cream."
Eijirou isn't a stranger to talking somebody's ears off about anything and everything. Conversation comes naturally to him, and he'd rather fill the silence than let it drown him out.
Still, he can't help but mentally reprimand himself as he just keeps talking.
Katsuki must be nicer than Eijirou has ever heard him get credit for, because he just hums and nods instead of telling him to shut up and eat the ice cream that's starting to run down his fingers.
There's quite a bit of people on the streets today, but Eijirou feels like they're in their own little bubble of hesitant comfort. There's some sort of familiarity over spending time with Katsuki – a person he's seen so many times before actually meeting him. Despite knowing that he shouldn't trust everything the media says, he has still known of Katsuki for years. He just has no idea why Katsuki seems to fall into the same kind of familiarity.
Katsuki rolls his eyes at some of Eijirou’s remarks, but it's usually accompanied by a grin. He nudges at Eijirou when he wants to direct his attention, and he makes little comments now and then that somehow feel like an inside joke.
They pass a stand that sells paintings, and Eijirou stops to assess some of the pieces.
Katsuki pauses right alongside him and skims the canvases. "And we're stopping because?" he asks impatiently, hand balled around the moist napkin he got with his ice cream.
"I like to check out the local artists," Eijirou explains as he shifts around some paintings to see the ones further back.
Katsuki taps his foot behind him. "You ever sell your own paintings?"
Eijirou can't help but laugh and turn back around to face Katsuki. "Well, yeah, technically. They just end up on people's skin."
"What about the ones on your wall?" Katsuki presses, tilting his head as he looks over the paintings behind Eijirou.
"Oh, no." Eijirou doesn't know why, but he feels like he might be blushing a bit. He quickly turns back around until it passes. "So! Do you need to get back at some point, or?"
They continue down the street, walking slower than just a few minutes before, with no destination in mind, at least not in Eijirou’s.
"Fuck if I care," Katsuki grumbles, and Eijirou smiles. "How about that coffee?"
"Alright! There's a really nice place just down–"
"You don't know how to make coffee?" Katsuki cuts him off, rude and brash. A tint of pink colours the tips of his ears.
Eijirou gapes. "Oh… Oh! Yeah, sure, my place is just– But you know that, of course." He stops himself from rambling and instead sends Katsuki a shy smile. "So, um… Alright. Let's go."
They pick up the pace, from slowly drifting along the street to striding across the asphalt, past stalls and stores, until they end up in front of the red door of Eijirou’s house, where they stop.
Eijirou's heart is pounding as he looks into Katsuki’s eyes, as he looks right back at him. He wants to step closer, but people are walking around everywhere, and Katsuki seems to be impatiently waiting for him to open the door, so Eijirou breaks out of his trance and starts fiddling with the keys.
He gets it in, twists it, and quickly steps inside and away for Katsuki to join him.
Katsuki has barely pushed the door shut before his mouth lands on Eijirou's; he's cold from the ice cream, heavy with chocolate but fresh with mint on his tongue and Eijirou breathes it all in as he wraps his arms around Katsuki's neck to pull him closer yet.
One of Katsuki's hands snakes around his waist, pulling him tight, the other grabs onto a lock of hair at the back of Eijirou’s head.
Eijirou starts pulling them backwards through the entryway on pure instinct alone, further into the house because God , he needs–
They're twisting and biting and groaning as they move through the house, and it's probably the reason that neither of them notice the people in the living room before they're halfway through it.
It's the sound of an abrupt, familiar laugh that has Eijirou's eyes shooting open and his mouth stop moving against the other. Katsuki has gone still as well, and they spend a few long moments just staring into each other's eyes in confused horror.
"I'm sorry, what ," a voice that sounds suspiciously like Mina’s – the same one that'd laughed just seconds before – exclaims in amusement.
Eijirou finally manages to pull his lips off Katsuki's, and he turns his head to the couch beside them.
Sure enough, there's Mina, hair as pink and fluffy as usual, with a shit-eating grin on her face as she stares at them. Beside her is Hanta, who's at least trying to hide his laugh behind the rim of his glass, and Kyouka, who has a brow raised at Eijirou.
Lastly there's Denki, who appears to be having the most fun of all of them. He starts a slow clap and doesn't let up before everyone on the couch has joined him. "Well, well, well," he begins dramatically as he stands, circling Eijirou and Katsuki like prey.
Eijirou is pretty mortified right about now, and he can't choose between hiding his face in Katsuki’s neck and pushing him away from him, so instead he just stays stuck to him like a leech.
"I invite everyone over for game night, and apparently Eijirou thinks that's the perfect time to get it on."
"I– Wait, I didn't even know that you– Get it on , what, no, we were just– Uh…" He looks to Katsuki for some kind of assistance, but for some inexplicable reason, he seems to actually enjoy watching Eijirou flounder, in an absolutely sadistic way. He manages to gather his thoughts enough to untangle his arms from around Katsuki and take a step back.
“Wait,” Kyouka says, standing from the couch in a quick movement and walking over towards Eijirou and Katsuki with a suspicious look. She stops right in front of them, tilts her head at Katsuki from one side to the other, and then she takes a small step back as her eyes widen. “I’m sorry, this is completely ridiculous, but are you the lead singer of Bombshell?”
Denki snorts, but Eijirou sees the way he too steps closer to try and assess him. He also sees the moment he definitely recognises him. “Holy shit, you are !” He takes several steps back, as if Katsuki’s aura is just that intimidating, and his mouth is moving with empty words. “How did– What are– Why –” And then he turns to Eijirou. “And you were kissing him! What the hell! Are you living some kind of secret life that I don’t know about!? Are you actually famous? Am I being pranked? Hold on, I need to sit down.”
Denki sits, but he doesn’t tear his eyes away from Katsuki, who’s simply raised a brow at his behaviour.
Mina, on the other hand, gets up and stomps up to Katsuki confidently. “Name’s Ashido Mina,” she says, reaching out a flat hand. When Katsuki doesn’t immediately take it, she reaches down and grabs his hand, shakes it a few times, and then lets it go. “If you ever need a hair stylist, I’m the best around, you can ask anyone.”
“Whatever you do, don’t let her do your hair,” Eijirou interjects quietly. “You’ll end up with blue hair before you know it, and some weird hairstyle you can only style one specific way, and just, don’t.”
“Hey!” Mina yells, offended. “I give people what they don’t know they want! Everyone’s special, and they need to show it!”
Katsuki leans into Eijirou. “She got you as well?”
Eijirou gasps and raises a hand to his hair, bright red strands falling softly between his fingers. “No! I’d never let her touch my hair! What’s wrong with my hair? Knowing her, she’ll probably make it, I don’t know, blonde. Let me tell you, I could not pull off blonde.”
Katsuki looks him up and down slowly, tilts his head to one side, and says, “You’re right. You really couldn’t.”
Just for the hair comment, Eijirou allows himself to find it a little funny as his friends start fawning over Katsuki.
Denki has always been a big fan, and Kyouka generally enjoys many genres of music, so they both ask an abundance of questions. Mina still tries to sneak her business card onto Katsuki whenever he's distracted.
Hanta slides onto the couch, where Eijirou has settled to distance himself from the commotion. "So, Bakugou Katsuki's here, huh?"
Eijirou can hear the obvious question in his tone, but decides to play dumb. He nods slowly and bites his lower lip. "That's him, yep."
Hanta clicks his tongue thoughtfully. "See, the thing I can't wrap my head around is him being here ."
"What, because he doesn't live here?" Eijirou asks, continuing the charade. "You don't live here, and yet here you are."
"And how did you meet him?" Hanta asks, clearly done beating around the bush.
Eijirou considers just keeping it a secret; he'd found it very funny that Denki thought he had a secret life. But it's Hanta, and he can smell bullshit from miles away. "He's the rude customer."
Hanta widens his eyes, understanding setting in. "He's the one you rushed out to see today."
Eijirou shrugs, as if it's not a big deal.
Hanta lets out a low whistle and looks over to Katsuki, just as Mina hauls Denki’s old guitar over and thrusts it into the singer’s hands.
Katsuki seems stunned at the sudden request to “Play a song, come on!” and absently strums the strings, as if the motion just comes to him naturally. The sound it lets out is off-tune and awful, though, and Katsuki winches. “How long since you tuned this piece of shit instrument!?” he yells, even while he’s beginning to turn the first knob and plucking it until it sounds smooth, before moving on to the next string.
“He doesn’t act as rude as he sounds,” Hanta notes, watching the other group.
Eijirou can’t help but smile. He’s pretty sure that if someone were to put Katsuki on mute, they wouldn’t even realise why some people would call him an asshole. But just a moment later, Eijirou regrets even thinking of a muted Katsuki, because the guitar is tuned, and Katsuki starts humming a few notes as he experiments with the strings, and then he starts singing.
Eijirou has always known that Katsuki is a great singer. An amazing one. He’s got great range, lots of emotion, and a deep rumble of a baritone. Hearing him live , accompanied with just a guitar, Eijirou thinks he might melt completely.
Katsuki’s eyes are lidded and completely focused on the movement of his left hand as he expertly jumps from one note to the other. He’s bobbing along to the melody, singing quietly and so, so softly that Eijirou feels he should wrap him up and tuck him away, keep him safe from anything that could even think of hurting him. And then he remembers that Katsuki would probably be the kind of person who would rip his way out of any confines, no matter the thoughts behind the gesture.
Eijirou smiles, he can’t help it. Katsuki looks… beautiful. In his element. He looks like he’s forgotten that anyone is even there, listening, but of course he hasn’t, he’s just used to having an audience.
The last note is strung before Eijirou even feels like the song has begun, over too quickly for his mind to keep up with. Katsuki lets the sound reverberate and fade into silence before he sniffs once and looks up, already handing the guitar back to Mina, who takes it with wide, awed eyes.
Denki, expectantly, breaks the silence with loud, energetic claps, rising to give a standing applause. “I can’t believe my best friend was kissed by a mouth that can do that !”
Eijirou sinks into the couch in embarrassment, even as Katsuki’s ears turn pink.
Katsuki stands and combs a hand through his hair, then drags his bangs down to cover his eyes the best it can. “Hope that satisfied your needs or some shit, I need to get going, got shit to do.”
Eijirou wriggles up from his sunken position and as good as skips through the room towards the entrance hallway. “I’ll walk you out!”
His friends are hooting and jeering as they quickly walk out into the hallway, rounding the corner. Eijirou breathes a sigh of relief and slumps against the wall. Katsuki has his hands deep in his pockets as he faces him, hair still hiding his eyebrows and the half of his eyes.
Eijirou is just about to open his mouth, when voices ring out, clear as day, from the living room.
“Holy hell, did that just happen?”
“Man, you’re such a cockblock, I told you we should’ve gone to my place and played Smash Bros.”
“Yeah, but then we wouldn’t have even met him! Him ! Lead singer of Bombshell, what the hell!”
“I didn’t even know Eiji was into someone. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I don’t remember him mentioning anything since–”
Eijirou clears his throat loudly, and thankfully shuts them up. He looks at Katsuki, feeling absolutely mortified, and says,” So… outside, maybe?”
Katsuki nods and pushes the door open for them both. And then they just stand there in silence.
Eijirou wants to kiss him again, but the mood has been thoroughly obliterated by his dumbass friends, and also, if anyone were to see, it would have a high chance of being front cover news.
Instead, he tilts his head at Katsuki, deciding to be patient and just enjoy the rest of the time he has with him for tonight. “Thanks for… humouring them. And also, sorry for them in general.”
Katsuki scoffs and shakes his head. “You owe me one,” he says, and then looks thoughtful. His ears turn slightly pink again, and Eijirou bites his lip, because why on earth would Katsuki be embarrassed now , away from his prodding friends? But then he apparently makes a decision, because he asks, “So, what idiotic thing are you going to try and feed me tomorrow?”
Eijirou blinks. And then he blinks again for good measure, just to make sure Katsuki doesn’t disappear in between. Did Katsuki just… ask him out? In his own ridiculous way?
Eijirou can’t help the smile that splits his face. “I know a great restaurant where we could get lunch? And there are some good movies showing right now at the theatre, if you’d like. Or maybe a walk in the park? Or maybe–”
Katsuki huffs, clearly amused, and effectively cutting Eijirou off. “Just have it figured out by tomorrow, idiot.”
“It’s a date!” Eijirou blurts, but he doesn’t regret it in the slightest when the pink spreads from Katsuki’s ears and to his cheeks.
Katsuki grumbles something unintelligible and stomps out to the road, hailing a cab. He tears the door open, then pauses as he looks over his shoulder at Eijirou. Eijirou waves with a big smile plastered on his face, and Katsuki huffs out another silent laugh before he lets himself dip into the car and shuts the door.
Eijirou watches him drive away before he lets out a long sigh and turns to go back inside. Not unexpectedly, all his friends are gathered in the hallway, watching him with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. They don’t say anything, but Denki is wiggling his brows, and Kyouka is giving him this knowing look. Mina is almost trembling with excitement, and Hanta gives him a cocky, crooked smile.
“You guys are the worst, you know that?” Eijirou says halfheartedly, and pushes between them to head for his room.
“Don’t enjoy yourself too much, you have company!” Mina yells teasingly, which has the rest of the group snickering.
“Fuck off!” Eijirou yells right back, contemplating his choice of friends if they’re going to keep being like this. He shuts the door behind him, flops down on his bed, and groans.