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“-Not a coffee, nor tea, nor a single round of decent cigar. If I didn’t know any better, Bakugou, I would suspect you’re trying to get the place shut down. Why—hasn’t it been your passion baby for the past four years? I told you it’s only a matter of time until you get bored playing host.” The boyish voice over the counter of Katsuki’s Not-Café prompted him to look up from where he was, head-deep inside the narrow shelves of his cooler. A single eyebrow raised in his direction was all the signal he needed to start scowling, as per usual.
“What are you doing here?”
“Sign says this place is open. What? Should I just ignore it?”
“Considering I dumped an entire jar of milk down your shirt and told you to fuck off an hour ago—yes, dumbass. What the hell are you doing here?”
Before him, the fucker, whose smirk only widened with each insult Katsuki hurled his way, shrugged. “That’s a whole hour ago, Bakugou, dear. The person I was then is not who I am now. I’ve changed. Literally. Fixed myself up and everything. If you had just spared a single glance in my direction, you’d have realized.”
He blew a puff of smoke in Katsuki’s direction, cigarette ash lazily drifting down to the ashtray Katsuki set out specifically so this annoying fuckass would stop vandalizing his coffee shop. It did the trick for his countertable, but the whole storefront still smelled like it had gone through a forest fire. Thankfully, as it was late evening, the usual crowd of patrons whom Katsuki reluctantly tolerated (and who reluctantly tolerated him in turn) had already taken their leave. That left Katsuki dealing with The Nuisance himself, by whatever means necessary.
Four years ago, these “means necessary” would have been a fairly therapeutic beatdown, in which Katsuki jumped over the counter—probably knocking down a few cans of imported tea in the process—and physically removed the other man from the vicinity of his shop with a few well-deserved punches. The Nuisance had some built beneath the multitude of layers he wore, Katsuki knew, but in a battle of pure might, he was certain to be the victor.
The golden eyes that were watching him crinkled in amusement. They both could take a gander as to what he was thinking—the sort of simple signals that ran in the brain of any old fighting bulls. Around the glass he was holding, Katsuki’s fingers tightened.
He turned back toward the coffee machine and began to brew.
“Bo-ring.” A sigh. More smoke. Katsuki didn’t sell cheap cigarettes, but specialty cigars were a little out of his budget plans. He had ideas, though. This was his new “means necessary.” Freshly churned ice cream condensed on a cup of steaming espresso, topped with the crumbs of some stale bread he had lying around. He placed it in front of the other man and crossed his arms, waiting for the usual eagerness that accompanied this unasked order. Affogato—what a childish palate.
Yet, to his surprise, rather than immediately stabbing a spoon into the middle of the softened cream, a hand raised to nudge the plate aside, before returning to affix his molten gaze onto Katsuki.
“Are you ready to listen to me now?”
“That will melt.” Katsuki commented. He wasn’t remaking the whole cup on the whims of one rude motherfucker.
“Eh.” The other man waved him off. “I’m not feeling like sweets today—Don’t glare, darling, it makes you look constipated—Anyways, I’ll have you know that I am a multifaceted soul. Sugar isn’t the only thing that captures my attention. I like beautiful things, too. Good and fit. And now, you may not be aware of this, but you seems to match all the description-”
“God fucking- No.” Again, four years ago, statements like these would have earned its speaker two nice bruises on either side of their head. Now, Katsuki just ducked behind the counter, rolling his eyes. “If you’re not going to order, you’re not a customer. Trespassers can be prosecuted under the eye of the law-”
“Yeah, yeah. You would know all about that, wouldn’t you?” The idiot rotated around on the bar stool.
“Is there an actual point to all this?”
“There is. Sit down and I’ll tell you.”
“You fucker- I have a damn job to do. I can’t just sit down for a nice chat in the middle of my shift!”
A snicker, like this was all a private joke between them. “There’s no customer here, Bakugou.”
“Of-fucking-course there isn’t. Everyone and their mothers knows you camp this seat from six to eight every day, stinking up the place. Nobody wants to get wrapped up in that kind of shit. So get out before I make you.”
“Would you?”
The question froze Katsuki, but only for a second. “Yes. Yes, I would. You know I would.”
“Yeah, but would you really?” The fucker tilted his head back, baring his throat, and let out a guffaw at Katsuki’s lack of comeback. “Come on! Do you think I haven’t noticed? Bourbon vanilla? I’m positively flattered. Also horrified. Look how soft you’ve gotten, all gooey-gooey like that ice cream over there. You’ve got to give me something to work with here, Bakugou. Can’t continue on past reputation alone. So you piss people off that one time. Now what? Happy to serve customers in your quaint little shop for another four years?”
“If you’re trying to rile me up,” Katsuki gritted, “It won’t work.”
“Sometimes, it’s better to play along with people to get what you both want. Maybe if you allow yourself to get riled up for once, you’ll actually find out what I’m here for.”
“You mean you’re not just here to shoot the breeze and waste everyone’s time?”
“Only yours.” Katsuki hissed at the oncoming wink.
“You’ve been looking at my finances again. I already told you not to do that. Are you physically incapable of respecting other people’s wishes?”
“Oh, please, if I stop, you’ll wound up scammed out of your retirement funds buying off-brand shit from Cuba. I already told you—a decent round of cigars. None of that tourist-trap stuff.”
Katsuki considered him, then reached the conclusion that this night had been way too fucking long. He should just close the Café down after this. It wasn’t worth it. “I don’t know how you would know, considering I’ve never seen you smoke a fucking cigar in my entire life.”
Finally, The Nuisance sighed. With a put-upon face, he gestured in Katsuki’s general direction and made a “whatever” motion with his hand. “Me and my mysterious ways. Now, are you going to come over and punch me in the face already? I would love to move onto another topic of conversation.”
Now it was Katsuki’s turn to smirk. “Running out of patience?”
“Just a play date I’m required to attend. You know I'll never run dry on you. Unfortunately, we can’t all spend our time beating around backwater bushes, but rest assured that it’s not from a lack of desire.”
“You’re such a dumbass.”
“Yes, yes. I recall you telling me that a number of times in the past.” Long, crooked fingers clinked against the porcelain of Katsuki’s most expensive teacup as their owner released an impatient hum. “Alas, here we are.”
Shaking his head, Katsuki dried his hands on a kitchen towel. He made a show of putting away the dirty cups and equipment, just to show the fucker what it was like. Another impatient hum accompanied this action, this time followed by a rhythmic tap on the countertable. Katsuki’s ashtray earned itself another shrivelled piece of cigarette butt.
“Dickhead.” whined the childish voice against his ear.
“Say you.”
“Yeah, well, why do you think we’re still friends? Not like anybody else is willing to put up with you.”
Katsuki ignored him. “Get up from that chair and stand straight, dumbass. I need to make sure I don’t hit anything important.”
“Pretty please not my prick.” The idiot laughed. “I still need it for work.”
Emerging from the counter, Katsuki untied the apron around his waist and tossed it onto a nearby table. He cracked his knuckle, feeling the softness under his skin.
Then clenched his fingers, and delivered a well-placed punch to the other man’s bicep.
This time, what came out of The Nuisance’s mouth was no smile, but a choked-off huff. Hand clenching around his shoulder, which must already be bruising, those golden eyes raised to meet Katsuki with an air of angry defiance.
“That all you’ve got?”
Katsuki’s brow twitched. “The fuck do you mean?”
“What I mean, Kacchan—” The radio in the background blared something incoherent, soft, voiceless jazz cut off by whatever siren warning they decided to play that particular week. It could be important. Most of it was—new curfew time and the likes. But all of Katsuki’s attention was on the man before him, whose fingers had reached out to claw through his hair. “—is that you used to throw punches ten times worse than that in our daily spars. What the hell happened?”
“You never won those.”
“Well, I assume that’s why they let you graduate, whilst the rest of us languid amongst the masses. I thought you would be keeping up with your training, not letting your muscles atrophy making horrible non-caffeinated drinks everyday in this shitstool.”
“Fuck you, the Café is doing fine.”
“Yeah, unlike your punches.”
“Dumbass, obviously I’m not going to full-send decking you in the face.” Katsuki untangled the fingers from his hair. There was a buzzing in his ears now. His headache was growing worse. The radio continued to drone on meaninglessly about the dreams and aspirations of the nation. “Mopping up vomit isn’t exactly in my schedule tonight.”
He moved to back away, but his reaction time must have gone to complete shit, because soon, he was being wrenched back by the collar of his shirt, until the two of them were directly facing each other. At this distance, their noses were almost touching.
“Fucking unhand me.”
“Getting riled up, Bakugou?” Perfume and ozone wafted into his nose. The contact of their skin sparked with static.
“You fucker- You want to die that badly?”
There was a click of the tongue as the other man shook his head. “You know, Bakugou. I just don’t get it. I don’t get you.” He glanced up at Katsuki again, lashes fluttering, an expression full of pity on his youthful face. “You’re always so angry, and for what? You’ve always gotten everything you ever wanted.”
“Hah? Care to repeat that, shithead?”
“Tell me I’m wrong.” A delicate nail traced over Katsuki’s jaws. “Say it, if you can. You dreamt of becoming a hero, did you not?” Katsuki’s legs wouldn’t move. He was frozen in place, heart beating, eyes blinking, and he couldn’t move. “Did it. Beats all of us to the finish line in the process as well. Then in a year, you threw it all away once you decided you didn’t like how the real world actually works.” His ears roared, vision blurring. There was red at the corners of his eyes. “You opened this shop, serving shitty drinks that no one likes just because you decided everything should be to your taste. It didn’t matter, because you have enough money to live the rest of your life in comfort, right? Nothing ever matters, and yet you’re always so angry. And for what? For what?” They were almost tangled together, clothes brushing against clothes, the tips of their shoes nudging against each other. A smile, glistening lips exhale the rotting scent of vanilla and cream. (He realized belatedly that the cup on the countertop had been knocked over). “Just look at yourself now. Stuck in this hellhole.”
“Stop it,” hissed Katsuki.
“Why?” The other man chuckled. “Explain it to me. You know I don’t get how things work. Guess that’s why things turned out this way, right?”
“You know what happened.”
“But I don’t get it. See the difference?” And finally, his legs moved, but only when the fucker pulled him forward. “And maybe, just maybe, I’ll never get it. You would know, wouldn’t you? Maybe you’re not made to be understood, Kacchan.”
And he was purposefully speaking too loudly. Fuck, Katsuki’s head hurt, and the only thing he could think about was how good it would feel to punch these feelings away. The dumbass was basically asking for it, anyways.
“I talked to some of our old classmates the other day.”
And there it was. Katsuki’s breath stilled.
“We spoke about Tokoyami and Todoroki and all the others that managed to graduate that year.”
And he still couldn’t fucking move, nostril burning with the aroma of faux flowers.
“But no one asked about you, Bakugou.” The fucking Nuisance whose neck Katsuki was about to wringle sighed. “Even though they all know the places I’ve been. Then again, this is just more of what you asked for, is it not?”
Katsuki punched him.
Not directly in the face. He still had a modicum of control, even after what the fucker did to his head. Instead, his hand made contact with the other man’s temple, sending him reeling back and choking on air. Golden eyes blew wide as cold sweat ran down Katsuki’s forehead, making him shiver. He wiped it away on his uniform sleeve.
They stared at each other for a second, neither speaking. Then, quietly, a voice demanded, “Again.”
Katsuki obeyed.
“Again.”
Another one.
“Again.”
“Again.”
“Again.”
His knuckles were starting to sting. Katsuki reeled back, adjusted his grip, then threw himself forward. His head was pleasantly blank, legs moving of their own initiative. The buzzing in his ears grew with each step. He barely registered it when they crashed into one of his tables, sending themselves, and the carefully displayed decor he had put out, to the ground.
On the floor, they continued to tumble. Nails scratched against Katsuki’s back, teeth biting on every inch of his exposed skin. He received and returned them with double the force. The white tablecloth pooled around them, felt flowers decorated their hair. Everything became a faint blur of warm colours on a wet canvas.
He punched until his heart grew frantic, until tears dripped from his eyes for no apparent reason. And yet, still, he kept punching, unable to stop. At some point, his blow grew feeble, strength draining from his arms. It was then that those accursed fingers brushed against his hair, massaging over the sweat and hurt.
“Hush.” He trembled, body slacking against the touch. “That’s…quite enough.”
A hand thumbed the middle of his forehead, and with a push, Katsuki could breathe again.
.
Pokémon lied. Pikachu was a fucking bitch.
Once his vision cleared, Katsuki returned behind the counter without a word, leaving the fucker to stumble after him. The other man was holding onto his side, obviously injured. Fucking deserved—Katsuki didn’t event try to offer him any medical assistance. The arsehole could bleed out for all he cared.
Only when he was able to clean up the mess on the floor did he turn back to his former classmate. Kaminari was still watching him, waiting. A spark of amusement lit up behind his eyes when he noticed Katsuki’s attention.
“Finished?”
Katsuki regarded him. “I fucking hate you.”
His comment landed, bounced, and floundered uselessly onto the floor, as typical of most insults he threw toward Kaminari these days. Perhaps his reputation had taken a hit alongside the news of his retirement. Or perhaps Kaminari had just fried off the last of those shitty brain signals he used to relay actual human emotions. Who could really guess?
Katsuki was smart, but he was also tired. Trying to untangle their history was like volunteering to jump into a snake den. He would rather call it quits and go home, even if it left him wondering what might have occurred if he actually dared to do it. Kaminari would indulge him, he knew.
Or enabled. That sounded about right.
“Lucky for you, I’m the type to kiss and tell.” Katsuki pretended to ignore him, but his attention was on the conversation. Kaminari must know this too, because he bulldozed on. “You know that I met with some of the guys a while ago. We talked, we smoked, we got roaringly drunk, the usual stuff. Join us sometimes?”
“No, and I don’t even want to know how high your blood pressure must be.”
“Lower than you might think. I’ll even be nice and say it’s due to all the caffeine-free drinks you’ve been serving me.”
“Right before fifteen shots of straight whiskey come down your arse? Yeah.”
“To each their own.” Kaminari wiggled in his seat. His breath was coming out short. Something must be bruised. Maybe even multiple things.
Good, Katsuki couldn’t help but think.
“Back to the party. We invited the girls, but Tsuyu is at work, Mina is babysitting her niece—which is to say I’m definitely getting some juicy gossip soon—and Jirou is attending a concert she’s been saving up for. You’d never guess who arrives though.”
“Your mom?”
“No, and Papa would bankrupt this shithole if he hears you say that, so be careful. He’s been in a bit of a mood lately. It’s Momo—” Kaminari raised his hands above his head in surrender before Katsuki could say anything else. “Yeah, yeah, she hasn’t talked to us since her expulsion in second year. It’s honestly so insulting. Does she think she’s the only person who got expelled from our class? Anyways, it’s not actually her. It’s her brother. She’s there in spirit.”
“I didn't even know Yaoyorozu had a brother.”
“I’m guessing he’s supposed to be their first choice for an heir, but one look at him and I knew it wasn’t going to work out. That one’s a sleaze through and through, not like our prim and proper Momo. Well, when she used to be prim and proper. Doesn't really apply now that she has an expulsion record on her paper now, does it?”
“Talk faster, Dunce Face.”
“You’re so cruel to me,” Kaminari sniffled, “Mineta—oh, they’re friends, I guess—introduce us at some point. I can’t remember anymore. We dance together. Then, as I said, we both got roaring drunk and…”
He grinned at the scowl on Katsuki’s face.
“Fuck you.”
“For the record, we rutted in the toilets at best. He spilled—sage advice, trauma dumping is not how you pull boys as pretty as me. We need attention, not fifteen reasons why women can’t be leaders. It’s a huge turn-off.”
Katsuki regretted ever letting Kaminari speak.
“Shocking.”
“Right? And he has the audacity to think he’s my type. As if. I know I look like arm candy, but if I must, I’d like to be a rich one at least.” With a glance at the analog clock behind Katsuki’s back, Kaminari blinked. “Speaking of, looks like I’ll be late to the play date after all. Oh, I’m sure they’ll love the bruises you left on my waist later.”
“Go to hell and die.”
“But then you’ll be lonely and miserable forever! Which, coincidentally, takes me to the point.” Kaminari spread his arms wide like he was expecting cheer and applause for wasting an hour of Katsuki’s precious life. “I didn’t go into that bathroom merely seeking pleasure for pleasure’s sake, dear Bakugou.”
Placing the cup that once housed the affogato on the dryer rack, Katsuki resisted the urge to tell Kaminari he wasn’t certain pleasure was a feeling he could feel anymore, what was with his tendency to fry his own brain off whenever things got a little overwhelming. He didn’t know if Kaminari’s parents encouraged it or not, but it certainly wasn’t like they discourage it, which was how this mess began in the first place. Or maybe it began when All for One defeated them all in their first year of high school and the country went to shit. What would Katsuki know? He wasn’t an One for All user or a Pro-Hero or a government official. He was just a Not-Café owner, serving non-caffeinated drinks to people who definitely needed the kick of a stronger substance.
And before that, he was a useless piece of shit.
The radio returned to its regularly scheduled programming—a backtrack of soft piano jazz. Katsuki spied Kaminari shuffling uncomfortably from the corner of his eye, and, with a sigh, crouched to retrieve the hidden medical kit below his sink.
“Stay there.” He told the other man, who jumped, then smiled sheepishly at him.
“So you do love me.”
As they sat upon their respective seats, Katsuki pulled Kaminari’s shirt out of his belt, earning himself a whistle (which he ignored). He examined the area of impact, noting the scrapes where skin might have broken.
Kaminari hissed at the disinfectant when they were applied, but continued when prompted by Katsuki, “You said I know you before, but I’m quite certain you know me as well, right? I think it’d be pretty lonesome to be the only person capable of understanding yourself—everyone yearns to be perceived and all that. Anyways, I didn’t just go into that bathroom for a quick fuck. We didn’t even get to the fucking part, that’s how bad it was. You don’t have to be jealous.”
“You’re rambling.” Katsuki told him. “And I’m not jealous.”
“Well, you should be. I’m a great catch. Mama says I can choose whoever I want from the pre-ordained list of potential suitors she’d set out for me.”
“For fuck’s sake- You rich arseholes are actually demented.”
“You’re part of this too, darling. And not as much as the Yaoyorozu, we’re not. Momo’s brother let himself go by the third drink. Trouble in paradise. Who can imagine, right?” Here, Kaminari lowered his voice. “Momo got caught by her parents.”
Katsuki winced. “With Ears?”
“No, she and Momo hadn’t talked since high school. With her bodyguard.”
“Seriously?” Katsuki applied the last layer of disinfectant. Pulling Kaminari’s shirt down, he packed away the medical kit, then headed back toward the cooler to retrieve an ice pack.
“Trust me, I couldn’t believe my ears either. But people don’t tend to lie when they’re coming down from the afterglow, and it does sound plausible. Now the bodyguard is fired, and Momo is apparently in the position to lose her parent’s favour. The brother was really ecstatic about that one.” Kaminari accepted the ice pack with a pleased smile. “Unfortunate, right? But, well, it doesn’t really concern me. Momo isn’t my friend, and her misfortune doesn’t really affect my life in a significant way, so I just thought I’d told you-”
“Bullshit,” Katsuki said.
“So very rude. I don’t know why we’re even friends. Papa would be appalled by your abhorrent manners.”
“I don’t give a fuck about your dad, but you wouldn’t have gone through all this trouble for a some common gossip. Tell me what that was all about. Now.”
Kaminari batted his lashes in Katsuki’s direction. “Ask nicely.”
“Fuck you.”
“Nicer than that, dear.” Kaminari smiled, but there was no humour in it this time. He was actually being serious—about saying pretty fucking please.
Nevertheless, Katsuki gritted out. It was already getting late. Soon, he would have to prepare to close for the night. “Please, just tell me what you fucking want, for once in your goddamn life-”
Kaminari heaved a fond sigh. “You really can’t teach old dogs new tricks. I suppose you’ll just have to compensate with your other assets. You see, after that night, I did a little digging, and wouldn’t you know it, but the Yaoyorozu,” He paused for dramatic effect. “are looking for a new bodyguard.”
He wiggled his brows at Katsuki, who immediately shook his head. “Not a fucking chance.”
“Why not? You have the strength for it. The skill. The pedigree, if somewhat questionable due to your history. But hey, you’re a guy, so they won’t have to be afraid of you and Momo fooling in the closet behind everyone’s back. And wouldn’t it be nice for Momo to have someone she already knows as a bodyguard?”
“We weren’t even that close!”
“Perfect, then it wouldn’t be awkward for you two to meet again after she basically ghosted us in second-year.” The more Kaminari spoke, the more Katsuki was convinced that he had gone certifiably insane. Him, as a bodyguard? What a laughable joke. “I know you’re skeptical but look at it this way. You can both be nerds with pent-up anger issues. If you can talk to Momo again, we can re-introduce her to Jirou. That’s right, I know those two are still pining for each other-”
“And what, exactly, do I get out of this?” Katsuki couldn’t help but ask.
Kaminari looked at him strangely. “Money.”
“Try again, arsehole. I already have money. You said so yourself.”
“Yeah, but do you have enough money?” Slowly, Kaminari’s lips spread into a smirk. He clicked his tongue, and reached out with a finger to booped Katsuki on the nose. “You really weren’t paying attention to that radio, were you? They’re increasing the frequency of inspections from once to thrice a month. Evidence of conspiracy plots or something. Don’t really buy it myself, but, well, what do I know? Three times the inspection means three times the bribe money you’ll need to stop them from planting drugs inside your walls. I heard they’ve been cracking down on Quirk suppressants as of late.” He eyed Katsuki.
They both know that while the inheritance Katsuki’s parents left behind for him was large, it wouldn’t be enough to last him the next few years if this was the rate at which things were picking up. The Café wasn’t a profitable business—the opposite, in fact, Katsuki was operating at a loss merely because he knew he could. Or so he thought.
“The Yaoyorozu probably pay their bodyguards six-digits figures,” Kaminari sing-songed, “You can probably work once or twice a week and have the rest of that time off to manage the Café.”
He pulled up his phone to show Katsuki the correspondence mails from Yaoyorozu Entertainment’s hiring office. The fucker sent it under a trash email and his fucking name.
“That’s why I needed to know if you’re still capable of throwing a punch. It would be pretty embarrassing if you show up only to be beaten into the dirt by the competition, wouldn’t it?”
“How did you even get my C.V?”
“Oh, that? I just made it up. You play drums in your free time now. Congrats. Better brush up on those skills you got from the first-year festival, if you still remember them.”
“Do they know about…” Katsuki trailed off. Much like how they didn’t discuss Kaminari’s voluntary self-lobotimization, they tended to avoid the topics of Katsuki’s disgraceful retreat from the hero world. It wasn’t something he regretted, but still, it stung. Everyone knew about it for a while, then things petered out, and he was all but forgotten. No middle ground for the Explosive Hero, Dynamight.
Kaminari shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe they wouldn’t care. They might think they’re ‘helping’ you by providing stable employment and assume that means you owe them eternal loyalty now. Your reputation can be an asset as well as a liability, depending on how you play it.”
That sounded believable enough, but Katsuki had more important things to consider now. “And what about you? What do you get out of this?”
“You,” Kaminari drawled, “think so little of me, but fine. I’ll play along. The Yaoyorozu believe you’ll be loyal to them, but you aren’t. You'll be loyal to me.”
Katsuki tilted his head. He didn’t…disagree, but Kaminari had an irritating way of saying things that made him want to argue against it anyways.
“That’s your cue to ask me why.”
“I won’t ask why,” Katsuki corrected, “I’ll ask, ‘How do you know?’”
“How do I know?” Kaminari’s laughter echoed in the empty coffee shop. Outside, there came the soft pitter of the rain, the sign of an oncoming thunderstorm. Katsuki should really close up the shop already, but he needed to hear this from the mouth of the beast himself. “You're a smart one, Bakugou. Smarter than me. I’m sure you can answer that question by yourself.”