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Bakugou brushed aside the curtain, but his squint alone could have sliced it open regardless. Sunlight caught on the coils of steam rising from his mug. Spiced cocoa was his favourite, but his nose curled as he nursed his drink, peering through his living room window to the shop across the way.
In dull neon tubes curled the letters to Fatgum's Tatt Guns, a tattoo parlour born to the umbilical cord of the winding street a fresh week ago.
Bakugou clicked his tongue. "The fuck would get a tattoo there?"
He drained the rest of his cocoa in a foul mood, the curtain sliding shut once more. Months of noise, bother, and disturbance from the construction site across the way disrupted customer traffic for his business. Whatever monetary compensation he received for the inconvenience, he should have argued for double. All that hassle only for a breeding ground for posers, bikers, or nervous, drunken teens to disappear into some shady den to stumble out looking like a hoodlum for life.
One of his long-time acquaintances had needled him saying he was being too harsh and old-fashioned about tattoos in general, saying Bakugou just didn't understand their appeal. That, he could admit, was right. He didn't understand. Nor did he care to. Bakugou Katsuki grew up with no bullshit and no bad influence. He made sure to brush up on his extracurriculars and his community service in his free time, not wasting his time on rando nobody weaklings who kept hand-wringing around them. Everything he did in his youth, he made sure to keep his record squeaky clean so that nation's top schools would have all eyes on him.
Until he had been sent to juvie.
"...S'too early for this."
Bakugou set down his empty mug and, with it, whatever memories came to nag him that morning. He had a flower shop to open.
Garland Gauntlets was an unorthodox name for a flower shop. Then again, Bakugou Katsuki was an unorthodox flower shop owner.
Most people were mystified by a flower shop sporting a clear theme for grenades, explosions, and other forms of detonation and artillery. It was mixed messaging, one customer said. Get flowers or get out, Bakugou said. He didn't cultivate his visual sense and shop to have an unsolicited suggestion box on it.
What made the shop truly stand out and sell, though, was not the flowers, but Bakugou himself. Where other flower shops would have a selection and ultimately leave it up to customer preference, Garland Gauntlets was famous for being the only flower shop to offer, under the label of the 'Surprise Me Special', a vibes-based flower package. If some poor down and out soul didn't have the brains or means to come up with a selection of flowers on their own, Bakugou would give them a once-over (a look bordering on disparaging, but really just a symptom of his RSJRAF, an initialism coined by his long-term acquaintance standing for 'resting someone-just-ripped-ass face'), have the person give a summary of the occasion the flowers were for (strictly limited to ten words maximum—he was a florist, not a teacher), then put together a bouquet, wrapping, and a suggested message with high-grade, textured card before the minute hand would so much as twitch.
Other than the modest discount he offered when customers asked for his input, Bakugou was initially surprised that it became the main way people would request flowers from him. Then he remembered that most people were idiots, making the fact he had above-average taste and judgement both a hot commodity and a low bar to clear.
By all accounts, the success of Garland Gauntlets was like a cactus flower: a blooming that seemed entirely miraculous for anyone who didn't stop to study it. One day, after he had settled into his florist role some, he spotted a schoolkid was filming him while he was arranging flowers for their friend. Bakugou grabbed said kid by the collar, citing that it was not only invasive but a criminal offence to film someone without permission. After the kid and their friend supplicated in apologies and did properly ask, he let them go, film and all. Then, the psychic grump at Garland Gauntlets went viral on whichever popular video sharing site people sanded their brains with nowadays, and then Bakugou could see himself actually sustaining himself with this hole-in-the-wall, middle-of-nowhere florist gig for a while yet.
This also led to prominent rumours about said surly, dewy-skinned owner of Garland Gauntlets being 'gayer than the rainbows of flowers he sold', but those were neither here nor there.
Now some dumb tattoo parlour across the way was cramping his style.
It wasn't the most horrible deal, admittedly. Some schmucks that would stumble out of Fatgum's Tatt Guns with their capillaries bleeding out under the ink of their beloved's name or face—sweetheart, pet, anime character or celebrity of questionable parasocial attachment, what have you—might well feel like dropping on by to buy some flowers for the occasion, person, animal, shrine of merchandise or photographs or official artwork they had constructed in their homes more religiously than an actual Shinto shrine.
Speaking of which, Bakugou remembered to unblock his long-term unacquaintance on his phone before his first customers of the day came in.
“Look. You’re a good kid. You can keep up the silent treatment, but I can tell, alright? Your record’s squeaky clean. Got in touch with your teachers, too. You’re aiming for great heights. Kid with your smarts? Suits you just fine. If you throw it away over something like this… I don’t wanna see that for you. Cross my heart.”
Bakugou stayed silent. The officer sighed.
“Look, you’re too smart to be just the fall guy, okay? I’ve seen plenty of cases like this. More than plenty. Whoever you’re protecting right now, they’re not coming to bat for you. But if you let me know, I can ease up your sentence.”
More silence. The officer, pursing his lips, stood to leave.
“I’ll let you think on it some more. Get you some refreshments.”
Bakugou, keeping his arms crossed, only glanced aside. The security camera, hawk-like, perched at the top of his periphery.
The door closed, leaving him alone in the interrogation room.
The bell above the door tinkled at Garland Gauntlets.
With his back to the door, Bakugou frowned. He glanced up at the clock: only seven minutes till closing. His eyelids fluttered with how his eyes rolled. It was always the stragglers with last-minute orders who owed someone a bouquet the most.
Summoning the last of his willpower to engage in customer service for the day, Bakugou turned around.
"Hey, man! I'm Kirishima—Kirishima Eijirou!"
The customer put his hand up, silver rings flashing at the base of his fingers. Bakugou blinked. Then, taking in the man with a garden of flames tattooed on him up to the neck, hair dyed as red as a brick wall and gelled to be as hard and high up as one too, Bakugou eventually realised that the start of a toothy smile was budding on the customer's face. His extremely pierced-up face. Metallic studs dotted his brow, nose, and lip like ball-bearing stars.
Were his teeth filed as well? Like a shark's?
"...Cool," Bakugou muttered. "You want flowers?"
The customer had mentioned his name, but honestly, Bakugou was stuck on how shitty his hairstyle was. He was never good with names in the first place.
"Oh, no." Shitty Hair blinked. "Wait, yeah!" Blinking faster, he nodded like he wanted his shitty hair to topple over. "I wouldn't not do that here, of all places! I mean, ugh—" He shook his head like a dog shook off water (seriously, how did he not fall over with that Tower of Pisa hair of his?) before taking a breath. "Lemme start over. I actually work across the way, at Fatgum's!" Shitty Hair pointed his thumb to the street with a grin. "I'm new there. I saw your flower shop here and I thought, hey, that makes us basically neighbours!"
Shitty Hair gave a big, slightly sheepish grin as he made eye contact again and, yeah, those were definitely filed teeth. And a lip with piercings. Multiple. Shit, why stop at Shitty Hair? Printing Press, Star Sign, Jaws on Land—so much stood out about this guy that Bakugou almost felt bad, having so much ammo to work with on what to call him.
"So, I wanted to come over, and, uh...say hi," Shitty Hair rubbed at his ink-laden neck, the jungle of tattoos he had stretching with the tree trunk of an arm he was rocking, so he must have gone to the gym at least as often as he went under the needle. "So... Hi!"
He gave another glance at Bakugou, making him wonder if his red eyes were contacts, too. On closer look, though, they seemed like his natural eye colour, funnily enough.
Oh. Right. Conversation.
"Hey," Bakugou said. "That all?"
"Nah, 'course not! Wanna grab some flowers from a flower shop, after all!" Shitty Hair beamed and, Jesus, did he get those shark teeth of his whitened, too? "I wanna give some to Fatgum after everything he's done for me. Maybe for my co-worker, too. He's not new, but I think he might need some."
He sounded thoughtful about it as he crossed his arms. Bakugou could only stare. Who bought clothes for this guy? He couldn't have bought his own, considering how his chest looked close to tearing apart his tee like some spandex superhero suit was hiding underneath. Also, if he did fall over from the weight of his own hair, one of the sunflowers would poke his stupidly huge puppy-dog eyes out first. Did he also put mascara on? One bat of his eyes would probably dust his shop clean, top to bottom.
"By the way, I really dig the look of the place," Shitty Hair said while looking around, putting his whole body into it as he did, like he had a swivel installed at the hip. "Gives a real manly vibe. Compliments the flowers!"
Manly vibe? Bakugou grimaced. He had a fucking himbo waylaying him in his shop.
"You want flowers for your boss and co-worker," Bakugou summarised flatly, mentally going through his collection. "Preferences or allergies I should know about?"
"Oh! Uh, I guess something bright would be cool! Should be fine on the allergy front, too. Though, I mean, I didn't really ask," Shitty Hair murmured before brightening considerably. "I'll just take 'em home if they do! I'm sure they'd like pictures of it anyhow."
Bakugou hummed as he picked out a few flowers and wrapping paper, unsurprised. If the guy came into his shop so soon before closing, why would he have put thought into how suitable flowers would be in the first place?
Speaking of.
"Next time you want an order, come earlier," Bakugou said after wrapping and tying up the bouquet on his counter. "You can add a card with calligraphy to this for extra."
He held up the bouquet in his hands, ready to pass it over the counter. Looking up, though, only got Bakugou a face full of Shitty Hair's staring. Bright-eyed and open-mouthed and all.
Bakugou, losing his patience, lowered a brow. "Sir?"
"—Hi!" Shitty Hair yelped and, Christ alive, it took all Bakugou had not to clap out his own eardrum. "My bad, uh—I got distracted." Firestarter gulped, making a heart with dragon wings inked over his Adam's apple throb. "Yeah. Lemme get that"—he reached out—"actually, lemme pay first"—then slapped at his trousers for his wallet. "Um, how about—could I get a card? Saying thanks for everything."
With a grunt, Bakugou set down the bouquet and took out his calligraphy pen and a clean, textured card. The paper boasted a tasteful embroidery around the edges, linework of a grenade lightly etched out in the pattern.
Quick and easy, he wrote down the message before sliding the card over for Shitty Hair to check. "Happy with this?"
Prompting, Bakugou looked to Shitty Hair's hands, which looked like they had frozen in the middle of opening his own wallet. He had black and red nail art, too, go figure.
"Yeah! Yeah, one hundred percent." Picking up the card to take a closer look, Shitty Hair was awestruck right to the breath he gave. "Wow. You're incredible."
Bakugou frowned. "'Scuse me?"
"I said you're incredible!" Shitty Hair said again, now aiming his dimpled smile point blank at him. "The way you made the bouquet and wrote this just like that and they both look outta this world. I'd love to give you a tip, if that's all right! I even came in when you were about to close and all that. I just wanna show my appreciation before I get outta your hair!"
Bakugou opened his mouth. A bit too late, he remembered that people should only bother to open their mouth when they had something meaningful to say.
"Generous of you," is all he muttered. The cash register's chunky buttons spat out a total as Bakugou rang him up. "I also decorate for events." He tapped at the little tray of business cards at the front of his counter. "Can arrange flower deliveries, too."
"Right on, yeah," Shitty Hair said, good-natured as he picked up a card. He studied the front of it, looking focused. "Bakugou... Katsuki."
His voice was a downy brush, his smile warm like a tealight. Bakugou had to blink at the contrast before this tatted-to-hell customer beamed at him while cradling his bouquet.
"Really good to meet you, man!" Shitty Hair said, sunset poured over him as he headed for the door. "I dunno if you'd ever consider getting inked, but come and say hi sometime anyway!"
The bell to Garland Gauntlets jingled. Shitty Hair left.
As if out of a daze, Bakugou checked the time again. A good twenty minutes had passed since he was supposed to close. He clicked his tongue, making his way to flip the sign on the door to make sure he didn't have some shitty-haired clone trying to worm their way into his shop.
But he did leave a decent tip, if nothing else.
"...What'd he say his name was?"
Bakugou's thoughts had no audience. None save the flowers surrounding him, sweet in their smell and silent in their guard.
"Hey, young man... Got a moment to help a fella out?"
"I'm busy."
"I hate to trouble you. I'm just trying to look for my glasses. Tripped down that alley there and they fell clean off my face. Help me take a quick look? It gets so damn dark when it's this late. I'd use my phone for a light if it weren't out of charge."
"...Where'd you drop 'em?"
"Bless you, bless you. You high schoolers are too kind, you know that? Bless you."
The bell above Garland Gauntlets jingled. Again.
"Heya, Bakugou!"
Whispers bubbled from other customers as Walking Mural waved at him before checking out some of the flowers in the shop. Those murmurs only swelled when Bakugou afforded him a nod back.
Maybe Bakugou should have told Shitty Hair to visit near closing after all. The amount of attention he attracted during his lunch time visits was starting to get obscene. He didn't even have the decency to outright waste his time and just chat to him at his counter. He always properly appraised the flowers on display, even stopping to read some of the description cards on them. Sometimes he would buy flowers, other times not. Every time, though, he would make sure to give a sunny hi and bye to Bakugou on his way in and out of the store.
"You sure you're not a deadbeat?" Bakugou asked one time. "Shouldn't a tattoo artist have clients? Or work to do?"
"Hey, I'm no deadbeat! I do honest, good work," Shitty Hair insisted. He also felt the need to flex his bicep and hold it while doing so, for god knows what reason. "All my clients are basically night owls, so my day hours are pretty free up! I do clerical work for the other artists and bookkeep when the sun's up."
Bakugou gave a grunt. "Nowhere to have lunch in that parlour of yours?"
"We do have a backroom," Shitty Hair admitted, scratching his cheek. "But the vibe here is way nicer. Seriously, money couldn't buy what you got here—you keep these flowers so beautifully, man. I just can't stay away!"
He aimed another cornea-burning grin Bakugou's way. Something strange and vulnerable squirmed in his gut in response.
"Money can buy it," Bakugou simply said. "I'm running a business."
"Huh? Oh, o' course! It's a fine business you run and everything..."
Shitty Hair visibly faltered. Bakugou grinned wider.
"You saying I couldn't pay the bills off what I do?"
"C'mon, man, you know I didn't mean that!" Shitty Hair said. He had the gall to laugh while he did, too. "I'm saying what you're doing is amazing. No price is high enough! If you're fishing for compliments, though, I'm happy to give you more."
"Like I need those." Bakugou turned away, checking the clock as he did. "You got a job to do."
"Huh? Oh, shoot—later, Bakugou...!"
One glance at the clock and Shitty Hair was rushing out the door, still making sure Bakugou caught his smile and wave before he hopped past the jingling door and scarpered back to the parlour after checking both sides of the road were clear. Bakugou gave a huff before getting to arranging some new seasonal flowers he had in stock.
Soon, one of his regulars was paying a visit—an older woman with crow's feet as prominent as her smile lines, buying another refreshment for the gravestones of her loved ones. Instead of saying her usual hello, she blinked at him.
"Why, Bakugou," she laughed. "You're grinning."
Startled, Bakugou slapped at his jaw like he could palm his lips away. He handled her order as usual, grumbling and pink in the face.
Turns out Mr. Velma was some guy's gofer.
Bakugou wouldn't be able to tell you where Moleman went. Nor how it all happened. Back pressed against the wall with a switchblade to his throat one moment. A masked man in an All Might hoodie tackled the man to the ground the next.
"Come on...!"
Not man; his childhood thorn-in-his-side and now apparent saviour, Deku. Wouldn't have been able to tell otherwise if he hadn't spoken.
"The fuck are you doing here?" Bakugou spat. His voice, his breath, too, came out shakier than he wanted. He was wanting zero shakiness. Hot and cold flashes assaulted his back and throat.
"Now's not the time!" Deku rounded on him. Behind him, the mugger was moving. Bakugou's heart stopped. "We gotta get out of here—"
The mugger jumped Deku from behind. The switchblade glinted silver on the dark asphalt in Bakugou's vision.
"Rare someone gets the jump on me." The mugger, keeping Deku down by the neck, licking his lips, reached for his face mask. "Let's see who's under the mask, now, you wannabe hero fu—"
Bakugou stabbed his shoulder.
With his palm slick on the knife's grainy, plasticky grip, he stabbed the mugger's shoulder. A hard flinch, a howl of pain, the mugger jerked away on his knees. Deku sat up coughing, his hand to his throat in shock, his hoodie threatening to slip off. For good measure, Bakugou drove his foot into the mugger's gut like he would send a football soaring. That was more for himself than anything else, making sure the asshole stayed doubled over.
But there he went, still standing up again.
"You're...gonna regret that, kid."
The man delivered his sentence with hoarse laughter. Numb shivers splashed down Bakugou's spine.
"Get outta here," Bakugou growled back at Deku. Looking back to a face full of Deku's big, green, disbelieving eyes, a fresh wave of irritation welled up in him. "Go!"
He didn't want to be in Deku's debt. He didn't want this mugger up again. He didn't want anyone hurt again. Bakugou didn't know what he wanted.
Then Deku scrambled to his feet and dragged his wrist running. That could have been that.
Too bad he left his fingerprints on the knife. And whoever he mugged was in with the cops. Or one of them.
Bakugou doesn't like remembering the details.
"What was your name again?"
Just as he was about to leave Garland Gauntlets, Shitty Hair blinked at him. Bakugou was still waiting for an answer.
"Seriously? It's Kirishima! Kirishima Eijirou," Shitty Hair—Kirishima doubled back to say. "You didn't know this whole time?"
Bakugou shrugged. "Bad with names."
"I better make sure you remember it, then." Shitty—Kirishima shook his head. The way he said it, the lightest tinge of amusement that coloured his sigh—something about it gave Bakugou gastric responses again. "I can't have been a no-name to you this whole time, right?"
Bakugou pulled a face. By now, he had arguably too many names for Kirishima in his head.
"Won't forget it again," is all he said.
Kirishima blinked at him again. Then glanced aside. His snakes bites caught the light as he pouted, his hand playing with the back of his gelled up, blinding red hair. With him being tattooed up to the neck and his maroon tee struggling to hold in his biceps, he looked like a shy puppy.
"You'd look great with a tattoo, by the way," he eventually said. A blush framed his smile. "If you ever think of getting one, come right to me, yeah? Be heartbroken if you went to anyone else."
Now it was Bakugou's turn to blink. With so many piercings, Kirishima's face was like a sunrise with silver stars. He was needing antacids now; whatever was in his stomach was going on a rollercoaster ride through his thorax.
"You got some real nerve."
Bakugou clicked his tongue. All Kirishima did was chuckle. Bakugou wanted to kick him out his store. Then keep that little chuckle in a music box in his heart, winding it again and again, letting it loop round his soul.
Deku visited him once. They sat in his bedroom, Deku cross-legged, Bakugou half-laying on his bed, like one of the sleepovers they had back in primary school again. He just asked about the article of Bakugou mugging and injuring an undercover officer. Bakugou rattled off the main points the official police report said. The report was less focused on a suspected accomplice than the article was. Bakugou told him this would be the last time in a long while he would let Deku visit him. For a while, Deku only stared at him. With those unnerving, large green eyes of his. It was hard to take him seriously most times with eyes like that.
"...I'm sorry, Kacchan."
Bakugou looked away to stare back up at the ceiling. At some point, he threw a wrist over his eyes, exhausted to the bone.
"Don't mention it."
He meant that with all his heart.
It was a quiet lunch hour. Kirishima was hunching over the front counter, staring intently at his hands. Bakugou was taking the time to show Kirishima how to lace a daisy crown together, of all things.
He took a look at Kirishima's face of concentration. At this point, he didn't need to really look to weave a flower crown together.
"That another tattoo?" Bakugou snorted. "Or did you actually get a needle on your eyelid?"
He thumbed at some pinkened tissue over Kirishima's jet black eyelashes—likely a scar from childhood. Startled, Kirishima looked up, pointed teeth showing in how his mouth gently parted. Bakugou only smirked, drawing back his thumb.
"The look on your face." His shoulders shook as he chuckled. He let out a snort, checking where he was with his flower crown with the sunlight that streamed through the shop windows. "Pay attention. Not showing you this twice."
Suddenly, two large, colourfully inked hands gripped his. Bakugou's eyes widened the slightest. He followed the dyed trail up Kirishima's wrists, his broad shoulders, even more ink showing behind his loose tank top, eventually leading to one of the most constipated faces he had ever seen Kirishima make. Pursed lips, strained eyes, dimpled chin and all.
"Bakugou." That dragon-winged heart on his throat pumped again in a swallow. "Will you please go out with me?"
Strangled, Kirishima took in a breath and, conspicuously, held it. It was likely why he was growing redder by the second. Something soft and warm turned over in Bakugou's heart, a pillow being turned over to its cool side, so he could lay his cheek on it and feel some relief in the summer day.
"Only took you three weeks to ask."
Bakugou grinned. Kirishima's breath flushed out of him like he was about to drown. Bakugou full-on cackled.
Their first date would be a walk in the park. Quite literally. Just to talk and get to know one another.
Mr. Aizawa was a good home teacher. He was the only one to bother looking Bakugou in the eye after he got out of juvie. He didn't even add an extra dose of gentle handling to soften the bloodshot eyes he regarded Bakugou with. Then again, his eyes were always bloodshot. Plus, he just might not have really given a shit either way. Bakugou respected that. Better than the fear others watched or avoided him with. Or pity. That was far worse to stomach.
"Take your time giving this back." Aizawa passed him a slip. "I know your plans will have likely changed. Talk to your parents. We'll discuss once you've narrowed down some choices."
Bakugou turned over the sheet. A career choices form looked back at him in three yawning boxes. The light in Bakugou's eyes dimmed.
"If you need another copy for whatever reason, grab one from the teacher's office," Aizawa said. He glanced tellingly at Bakugou's grip on the sheet of paper. "You'll be handing that in one way or another."
"Yes, sir."
"Polite to the last." No particular tone carried with the remark. "I know a lot of doors are closed for you now." He spared Bakugou a look. "But I trust you can open one for yourself. You're too clever for it to be any other way."
Bakugou blinked at him. Suddenly, in his too big school uniform, his school tie finally tied on right for once, his eyes started to sour horribly.
"Thank you, sir."
Aizawa was already waving him off, walking out of the classroom. Bakugou took a moment to himself. Sunset made pink lemonade out of the walls, yellow out of the green chalkboard.
After righting his breathing, he called home.
"Hey, Mom." He took a deep breath, his voice thicker than usual. "What's that shop you said your uncle was looking for workers for again? No, I wasn't crying. I wasn't. Nothing happened." He massaged at his brow bone, his sigh cut short. "I just got my career choices form, okay? Wanna get this over with sooner than later."
Shadows stretched in the room. His platinum hair stained pink, Bakugou's eyes lidded, his phone tucked close to his cheek.
"Quit crying, Mom." He stared down at the form. "It's a flower shop, right?" Turned the paper over in his hands. "I'll be the best flower boy this side of town, then."
In the middle of the park, Kirishima swept him up into a fierce, bone-bending hug.
"Fuck," Bakugou wheezed, a laugh to it. "You're gonna break something."
"Bakugou." Emotion flayed his voice raw. "You're phenomenal. That was so, so unfair for you, and you're absolutely, one-billion-percent phenomenal."
Bakugou rolled his eyes. Smiling, he put an arm around Kirishima's shoulder. "Yeah. I'm hot shit."
A laugh choked out of Kirishima. Then a sniffle. He pulled back, palms square on Bakugou's shoulders, eyes bright with unspilled tears. The sheer emotion on his face had Bakugou's insides acting up again.
"C'mon." Bakugou thumbed at his cheek. "You'll get your piercings rusty or some shit."
"They don't work like that," Kirishima sniffed, the sound getting wetter with every next sniff. "You're the manliest there ever was, Bakugou. You and Midoriya. I'm so glad you made something so amazing. I'm so glad I got to meet you."
Bakugou's smirk melted into something warmer. He put a hand on top of one of Kirishima's on his shoulder, rubbing his thumb over a knuckle, a motion just as soothing for himself as he meant it for Kirishima.
"I'm happy I met you, too." He took Kirishima's hands more properly. Dangled their joined hands between them, smiling as Kirishima took his time palming away his tears. "So why tattooing? You look like a stoplight raided by graffiti."
"Mean," Kirishima huffed. "I know you wanna lick my art, man. Kaminari said."
"That fuckhead," Bakugou seethed, instantly yanking out his phone, his cheeks flaming. "I'm gonna delete his fucking ass off my phone...!"
"Good luck trying," Kirishima chuckled. "He put, like, fifty different versions of his contact info when you let him add himself back in."
Bakugou hit 'Select All' on his contacts page, his nostrils flaring. "Watch me."
After exterminating all traces of his long-term acquaintance, and apparently one of Kirishima's best friends, off his phone, he got another notification from his messaging app. A profile picture of a green rabbit in a group chat called 'PLUS ULTRA' asked him if he would be free the coming weekend. With a huff, Bakugou stuffed his phone away in a pout.
"You're in a good mood," Kirishima noticed. "Got good news just now or something?"
A grin started taking over his pierced face. Bakugou's own lips stretched, starting to match it. That was a look that better suited Kirishima. And maybe himself, too.
"Just some texts asking for plans this weekend." He nuzzled Kirishima's jaw, the jagged ink of skulls and treasure there. "Gonna tell them no. 'Cause I'm gonna hoard you for myself then."
"Oh," Kirishima mumbled. "Uh." A dopier smile crossed his face. "Hey, not that I wouldn't love that—because, wow, I'd," looking into Bakugou's eyes up close, he gulped, "love that. But it'd be super cool to see the others! Maybe we could meet up with them for lunch? I just—I'd love to meet your friends, if you'd be up for that."
Bakugou huffed a sigh.
"Figures you'd be a social butterfly." He poked at Kirishima's forehead, lightly digging his fingertip at the heart of it. Just because. "We're eating dinner at my place in exchange."
"I'm happy with that!" Kirishima beamed. "What sorta food are you thinking? Should we do takeout, or—"
"I'm cooking. And as long as I'm with you," he jabbed his finger into Kirishima's sturdy, stupid-solid chest, now, "you're not gonna suggest any dumb shit like takeout again. You're gonna eat my food. And you're gonna fuckin' love it."
Kirishima stared at him in wonder.
"I, uh," he grinned like it would stretch his piercings, "really love steak, actually."
Bakugou nodded sharply. "Anything else?"
"...Kisses?"
Kirishima bit his lip lightly, cheeks pink and his smile bright. Bakugou's insides lit fireworks in his heart and head.
He grabbed Kirishima's collar. "C'mere, Shitty Hair."
"It's Kirishima." He stopped Bakugou with his palms at his wrists. Easily, too. "Say it properly."
"Kirishima," Bakugou said fast and, man, now he was coming down with a fever.
A palm cradled his cheek. He was pretty sure his found the back of Kirishima's neck. His phone buzzed in his pocket, but Bakugou couldn't care. Losing himself in kissing Kirishima, that stubborn, puppy-dog tattoo artist that could never leave well alone, he was already thinking of what to get Kirishima for their next date. A bouquet of lavender roses on the house—wrapped fresh from Garland Gauntlets—as the summer sun would go on scorching again.