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Bakugou hates his job. He really does. Fucking despises it. Anyone who claims to hate their job can’t possibly hate theirs more than Bakugou Katsuki.
It’s like some kind of prison that shackles up poor fucks like him who are desperate enough to put up with the low pay, shitty customers, and constant rushes just for the option to put food on the table.
It’s this shitty little coffee shop called Plus Ultra Coffee. Located on the busiest fucking street in Musutafu, it features some of the most moronic and insufferable customers the blond has ever had the displeasure of meeting!
He hasn’t even been working there for that long. A month. He’s been there for a month, and he already fucking hates it.
He hates customer service. He hates pretending to give a fuck about what people want. He hates pretending to care about how someone's day went. He hates all this fake bullshit.
Honestly, he’s not sure how he even landed this job, but he’s a poor and a desperate fuck who’ll take anything he can get. So he shuts up and does as he’s instructed.
What makes it worse is when he mentions the shitty place to others.
“Oh my god, I love Plus Ultra Coffee!”
“Think you could get me a free drink?”
“Any cute baristas you could set me up with?”
Now granted, most (if not all) of these comments were from Camie, but still, it doesn’t make the job any less insufferable with her breathing down his neck for his shitty benefits.
And as much as he hates to admit it…there is one singular benefit to working at the shop.
One thing that might redeem this job from shitty shack in hell to alright shack in hell. One thing that allows Bakugou to leave his shifts in…maybe not a good mood, but a better mood than when he starts.
Because at the end of almost every shift, he’s able to catch a glimpse of the cute, tall, and extremely well-built redhead who comes in every day with a smile that could rival the sun and a laugh that would make angels jealous.
And, without fail, Bakugou can’t help but stare. Not because he wants to. It’s just that…well the guy just seems to glow. His presence is almost unearthly and it’s very…distracting.
So much so that Bakugou’s almost grateful they don’t work the same shifts because he wouldn’t get a lick of work done correctly. He’d be too distracted to make even a proper black coffee, and that’d be terrible for literally everyone involved.
Thankfully, Red almost always works the later shifts while Bakugou works the morning shifts, so their paths only really cross when the blond is on his way out and Red is on his way in.
Bakugou doesn’t mind this routine all that much.
So what if he enjoys some eye candy at the end of his shifts? Sue him.
And yes, he pretty much knows nothing about the man, but he’s not sure if he wants to. Maybe he’s just trying to keep the fantasy of the redhead in his brain, and leave no room for reality to come in and crush it. Keep the shining choir and parting clouds to himself for as long as he can before Red proves him wrong and reveals how much of a scumbag he probably is.
Because that’s how it always goes when Bakugou is interested in someone. A few days of bliss. Of perfection before the mask slips off, and he’s greeted with the asshole who’s been hiding underneath.
And although Red doesn’t seem like that kind of guy, Bakugou no longer trusts that intuition. So for now, he’s happy not doing a damn thing about his little café crush, hoping it passes with time.
“Hey Bakugou, are you coming to the sleepover tonight?”
Bakugou stops gathering his few belongings and looks at the girl talking to him. She’s got short, bright, lollipop pink hair that curls like crazy around her head, only being mildly tamed by the white headband in her hair that pokes out like horns. She’s smiling at him, her dark complexion highlighted by a bit of blush and sparkling eye makeup.
Bakugou’s worked with her before, but hasn’t cared to catch her name, so he just calls her pinky, and she doesn’t seem to mind all that much.
Or maybe she just hasn’t noticed. Bakugou’s not sure.
Her words finally register in his head, and he scoffs, “The hell you talking about?”
“OMG!” She gapes at him, appalled by his response, “Can you at least pretend that you look at the staff board?” She runs to another part of the backroom, somewhere out of Bakugou’s sight, and returns with a piece of paper. “We’re doing this staff sleepover thing tonight. It’s this cute yearly party where we order fried chicken and play games and just hang out, you know?” She says, handing him a sheet of paper.
Bakugou inspects it, taking in the bright colors and bold lettering scribbled all over it—like whoever made it was trying to utilize every possible facet of Photoshop they could get their hands on, without much mind for how utterly chaotic it’d make the overall product.
“But I need a headcount for it so I know how much fried chicken I should order,” Pinky says, continuing on with her sales pitch. “So do you wanna come? It’ll be a lot of fun!” She says that last part with a light tone in her voice, as if egging him on just a bit.
Bakugou gives the paper one more glance before stuffing it in his pocket, grumbling as he does so. Because he doesn’t know anybody here. He doesn’t care about these people, and frankly he doesn’t want to care.
He’s just here to get paid and hopefully find a better job while he’s at it. Something far far far away from Plus Ultra Coffee.
And he’s just about to tell Pinky that when he’s suddenly interrupted by a very familiar, angelic voice.
“Oh my gosh! Are you guys talking about the sleepover tonight?” The voice behind him asks. The same one that makes Bakugou’s heart flutter and his stomach do flips while, at the same time, making him want to vomit with how sappy his thoughts become around the guy.
That same voice starts to hum right behind him, and all Bakugou can do is turn and stare.
Because there he is. The muscled redhead with hair that stands tall, adding a few extra inches to his height, while still being at eye level with the blond. He stands there with a hand on his hip, smiling at Bakugou like he was an old friend when in reality they had barely said three words to each other. But that doesn’t seem to deter Red’s glowing smile, or his bright aura, or the way his head is tilted just a bit in a way that’s far too cute for Bakugou’s liking.
And although Bakugou knows his glare is still sharp, he can’t help but feel the way waiver flickers in his eyes just staring at this man. This man who could parade around with gods, but instead chooses to bestow his presence among caffeine addicts and stressed college students.
Fuck. Bakugou’s way sappier about this guy than he thought.
“Yeah!” Pinky yells, bringing Bakugou out of his hopeless trance, “I was just asking Bakugou if he was planning on coming.”
She has a lilt in her voice, something knowing—almost taunting—in it, like she’s in on a joke that Bakugou isn’t privy too. And with the way she quirks her brow up, he’s pretty certain he doesn’t want to know.
“Dude! You should totally come! It would be like a million times more fun if you’re there!” Suddenly Bakugou is faced with, somehow, an even brighter smile with eyes that are practically bursting with stars. And fuck, does it make him weak in the knees. “Please, Bakugou! I promise you’ll have a blast!”
Just the way this pretty guy is staring at him, looking up at him like Bakugou’s someone to be adored and praised and treasured. Like he’s the key to some unsolved puzzle or locked box.
How could he not say yes?
“F-fine,” Bakugou grumbles, face turned down towards his chest, crossing his arms to hide his quickened breaths. “I better not regret it though, Shitty Hair.”
“Oh, you won’t! I’ll make sure you have a blast, Blasty,” Red says with a wink that makes Bakugou almost choke on air. Red raises his fist to be level with Bakugou’s chest. And with a smirk plastered on his pretty face, he juts his pinky finger out and says, “Pinky swear!”
Bakugou stammers and slaps his hand away as the redhead laughs at full volume, all too amused with his teasing for Bakugou’s liking. The blond grabs the last of his things from the back room as he says in a voice much louder than intended, “I don’t need to fucking pinky swear, dumbass! I’m a grown ass adult!”
Dramatically making his exit, he stomps to the door—not paying mind to the way the man’s laughter buzzes his brain in a way alcohol never could replicate. The image of that wink plays in his head, and Bakugou can’t help but linger on the thought that maybe it means something more.
“Hey Bakugou!” The man’s voice booms behind him right as he opens the door, letting the afternoon sun warm his hand. Bakugou turns slowly, hoping the air catching his neck will cool his blush. “It’s Kirishima by the way. Just thought you’d like to know.”
And Red—er, Kirishima…well, he smiles. And it isn’t big and bold this time. It’s not like the blinding way the sun burns, but instead more akin to the subtle ways it warms. It’s soft and gentle, like a lullaby. A smile that could make even the most staunch person believe in unconditional love…
And suddenly Bakugou is all too aware of how much he needs to get out of there before his brain blows a fuse. He tries his best to return the smile with a sharp grin of his own, but knows it can’t compare. Nothing can compare.
So he finally crosses the barrier and leaves the building with a pulse too high to possibly be considered healthy.
Kirishima, he thinks—his brain supplying the image of his last smile that felt like a hug around his heart, and only one thought crosses Bakugou’s mind.
He’s so fucked. So completely, utterly fucked.
The night of the slumber party approaches, and honestly, Bakugou is absolutely dreading it.
He hates how he was so easily won over by a pair of soft eyes and a bright smile. But here he is, driving to the address from the fucking flyer Pinky handed him, and cursing himself for saying yes.
Because now he has to go! Because Bakugou is a fucking winner. And unfortunately, that includes keeping his word.
Once parked, he makes his way inside, following the signage around the house.
The place is big. Bigger than he had expected for someone with the same shitty hourly wage he had.
He walks into a single level house with three bedrooms and a big ass living room. People are mingling around, some coming in and out of rooms while others stand and talk. The TV is on, but few seem to be paying attention to it. The smell of chicken fills Bakugou’s nose, and he feels a pang in his stomach that reminds him he hadn’t eaten yet.
Pinky strolls up to him, waving and smiling like she’s…happy(?) that Bakugou is here.
“Hi Bakubabe!” Bakugou stares, taken aback by the nickname. Is this how everyone feels when he does it? “You can set your stuff anywhere. We’ve got food in the kitchen, video games in the farthest room to the left and people are just chatting in here.” She says, gesturing to each room as she talks. “Anyway, set your stuff wherever! We’ll be sleeping in the living room, but you don’t have to keep your things in here if you don’t want to. That room” —she points to the right— “is mine. And that one” —she points to the closer one on the left— “is Kirishima’s. If you’d rather keep your things in there, that’s totally cool.” She gives Bakugou a sheepish smile. “Just don’t judge me too much for the mess!”
She laughs before skipping off to a corner to one of her friends, and Bakugou wonders if she’s always been this energetic. He must’ve been pretty oblivious to never notice.
He sets his stuff down in the quiet of Kirishima’s room, noticing the few bags scattered on the bed. Bakugou takes the moment to breathe. To make sure he’s still in his own body.
He doesn’t get nervous often, but damn, do people make him nervous. The balance of trying to be pleasant to be around while still feeling comfortable in his skin? It’s like some twisted mind game that Bakugou can’t stand.
Competition is easy. It’s straight forward, and simple. There are clear winners and losers. But friendship? Or…whatever this ache in his chest is whenever he thinks about Kirishima? It’s messy and stupid and complicated and full of nuances that Bakugou doesn’t quite understand.
He hates it. And for a moment, he wishes he hadn’t come.
“Hey, man.”
Bakugou hears a low voice behind him, and as he looks, his heart stutters. His eyes widen, seeing Kirishima standing before him, leaning on the door frame, arms crossed like he doesn’t know how gorgeous he truly looks right now. “Heard you were here and had to find you! I’m so glad you came, dude!”
Bakugou hums a response, but averts his eyes to the rest of the room, a poor attempt to hide the blush in his cheeks. He notices posters lining Kirishima’s walls with cheesy inspirational quotes like, ‘There’s always a manly rainbow after rain’ or, ‘Be the manliness you wish to see in the world.’
There are a few pictures of comic book characters like Crimson Riot or Edgeshot, but most of Kirishima’s room is decorated in walls of printed out pictures of him and his friends.
Everyone is smiling, laughing at the camera, seeming to be having the time of their lives. And Bakugou can’t help but think that he wants to be part of it.
“Cool, right?” Suddenly, Bakugou feels a warmth envelope his back and shoulder, and he looks to see Kirishima draped over him, looking up at the wall of photos. “Mina got me this Polaroid a few years ago and it’s like an addiction! I love taking pictures with it!”
Bakugou stares back at the wall, eyes passing over each happy face, some making more appearances than others, but still…so many faces. So many people who are, or were, a part of Kirishima’s life.
Why would Bakugou think he could just slot in so easily? What made him so special? Kirishima had a group, he had his people, and Bakugou was probably in over his head for wanting a piece of that.
And not just any piece. Not a sliver that is parsed out when too many people are trying to share a cake. Bakugou wants a whole ass slice. He wants the motherfucking corner piece of Kirishima’s life
But he’s honestly delusional if he thinks he’ll be any more than a crumb to the redhead. Any more than an acquaintance at work that he’ll occasionally catch a glance at as they swap shifts for the day.
In his dazed state, Bakugou barely registers the familiar chill that tickles his spine. He turns to find the redhead fiddling in a drawer, muttering words to himself that were too quiet for Bakugou’s ears.
And then he pulls out a Polaroid camera. It would be comical how much the red of the camera matches Kirishima’s hair if it wasn’t so endearing.
“I think you need a spot on the wall,” Kirishima says, smiling so brightly that Bakugou thinks he might’ve misheard.
“W-what?”
“Yeah! Why not?”
“I’m not…I didn’t think we…” Bakugou tries, but he can’t bring himself to say what’s actually rattling around in his head. He can’t bring himself to tell the redhead he’s not someone who should be of any importance in Kirishima’s life. He just can’t do it.
Because now he wants it. So fucking badly.
“We’re friends now, dude!” Kirishima says, like it’s the easiest thing. Like Bakugou can simply slot into his life. Like he can be a slice in Kirishima’s story and Kirishima would welcome it with open arms.
“We…are?”
Kirishima just laughs, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I mean, I want to be. Do you?”
Bakugou’s mouth moves before his brain, and he quickly responds with, “Sure.”
And Kirishima smiles at him again.
And Bakugou’s heart speeds up, tapping, knocking, trying to be free from the cage it’s entrapped in.
Kirishima rests an arm over Bakugou’s shoulder once again as he tilts the camera at them, going on about how he’s done this a million times and has finally figured out the angle—but all Bakugou can hear is the thumping of his heart and the way Kirishima’s voice sounds like a gospel choir in his ears.
Part of him cringes at the image, condemning himself for being too sappy. Too gross. Too romantic. While another part just wants to fall deeper into warm hands and strong muscles.
And oh boy, does he fall.
After Kirishima pins the picture to the wall, the redhead spends the rest of the night practically glued to Bakugou’s side—introducing him to his friends, getting him food and drink, and just talking to the blond.
Bakugou’s never been much of a talker. He spent most of his life either listening or avoiding people all together. But with Kirishima? It felt easy. Like they had known each other their whole lives. And somehow, in the span of an hour, maybe less, Bakugou finds his walls crumbled for this wide-eyed man. Any cage left on his heart has been ripped apart and replaced with a box that, for Kirishima, will forever stay open.
He’s not quite sure how it all happened so fast. How he fell so hard.
There’s something about Kirishima that seems to lure the blond in, like a siren. But the melody he sings isn’t tainted with false promises or manipulation. Kirishima is honest, at his core. And that just makes Bakugou yearn for his touch more and more.
The night goes on, and Bakugou slowly feels himself relax. The tension in his lungs dissipates as the group dips into board games and video games and movies. And he feels almost like he’s having fun. Not just with Kirishima, but with everyone.
Somehow, they all don’t mind Bakugou that much, and he doesn’t hate all of them either. Pinky and Soy Sauce can quip back at him like no one else; Dunce Face says the stupidest shit imaginable that Bakugou can’t help but laugh; Earphones and Eye Bags are pretty quiet compared to the rest of the idiot brigade, but when they do speak, they even get Bakugou rolling.
And Kirishima? Kirishima is kind. Kind enough to include his grumpy ass in his world. To bring him into this little group of friends and let him carve out a space for himself.
Or maybe Kirishima prepared the space, all pretty and fluffed to the blond’s liking. And all Bakugou had to do was fit into a mold that was already perfect for him.
A task that he’d usually kick and scream at. Resist the idea of being coddled or taken care of. But for Kirishima, he doesn’t mind. Because Bakugou can’t help but want to make this man happy.
...
Eventually, the sun dips too low and the bouts of yawns are too loud to ignore anymore.
Sleep is inevitable. Bakugou knows that. But he can’t help but wish for it to last. For his time with Kirishima to last. Because he’s scared if it ends, he’ll never be able to get it back.
A yawn draws his attention to the redhead. “Okay, man. I think it’s time to hit the hay.”
“Tch,” Bakugou responds. “Whatever.”
He hopes he hides the disappointment well, but at the same time, he doubts he can.
He trudges over to a small corner that he plans to hide away in, but Kirishima follows, nesting himself right next to the blond. And all too suddenly, they’re laying there, staring at each other with only the moon to light their faces.
Red meets red, and Bakugou has the fleeting thought that he wouldn’t mind waking up to those eyes every morning.
“Tell me something you’ve never told anyone before,” Kirishima whispers, an air of mischief in his voice, like they were doing something they shouldn’t be.
Bakugou thinks for a minute before smiling at the first memory that pops into his head, “When I was little, I had this friend who was a saint to my parents. Could do no wrong kind of thing.”
Bakugou shifts his gaze up, finding himself unable to focus with big, pretty red eyes gazing at him like Kirishima’s were.
“And one day, I was messing around in the house, probably trying to learn how to fight or some stupid shit like that, and I knocked over my moms favorite flower vase. It was like a fuckin’ antique or something too. So I just blamed the fuckin’ nerd, ‘cause he wasn’t gonna get in trouble for that shit.” Bakugou laughs, it’s quiet but still vibrates his chest. “Hag probably figured it out though, ‘cause I still got grounded for something else I did. But whatever. I was a dumb kid, ya know?”
“You’ve got a really pretty voice. You know that?”
Bakugou’s head jolts, finally looking back at Kirishima, and…wow. He just seems enraptured. His eyes twinkle and his jaw line is further highlighted by the shine of stars and moon that flicker into through the window. Bakugou just wants to lean further in and close the small gap still separating them.
And for a flicker of a moment, he swears Kirishima does. He leans in just a hair before he speaks again. “Do you…do you want to go out sometime? Just the two of us?”
Bakugou’s heart does a million flips in place, and maybe his confidence sweeps him up a bit ‘cause he smirks and responds with, “You askin’ me on a date, Red?”
“I-I mean…that’s what I want, but do you want that?” There’s a quiet hesitance in Kirishima’s voice that feels foreign. Like it shouldn’t be there. And Bakugou wants to get rid of it. Wants Kirishima to know that’s exactly what he wants. That Kirishima is exactly who he wants.
So in a single breath, he leans in, and gifts a soft kiss on the Redhead’s lips, hoping that might subside his nerves, before he says, “Yeah. That’s exactly what I want.”
Kirishima smiles. It’s one far too soft to be directed at Bakugou. But somehow, it is. And somehow, this man likes him back. Even just a little.
They exchange quiet ‘goodnights,’ and as Bakugou drifts, he feels a hand wrap into his own. And he holds it tight, like a lifeline to his heart. And wonders how he got so lucky to have made a silly little pinky swear with a goofball like Kirishima.