Chapter Text
The Major Seventh was a hell of a music store. Every musician and music lover in the city knew the place, and had been there at least once.
They had everything you could possibly imagine: instruments of all kinds from classical to electronic, strings, drumsticks, cymbals, mics... you name it. They even had legendary gear from some of the greatest musicians of all time, showcased in a back room that looked just like a museum.
The store sat right off a main city street and was always packed. Packed with a lot of annoying customers, if you asked Katsuki. But he’d be a total hypocrite to say he didn't love his job.
He was the guy running the drum department. He knew every type of drumstick, the wood they were made of, and the exact tone they produced. He knew the difference between a Yamaha and a DW, and why, in his opinion, even the throne mattered when choosing the perfect kit. So yeah, he was pretty much the fucking best in the business.
And as the cherry on top, his department had rock and punk blasting all day, every day, which never failed to put him in a good mood.
He pulled his headphones down around his neck, entering the shop as the little bell on the door chimed. He was early as always; the shop didn't open until nine in the morning and it was only eight, but he had a routine to follow.
First, he had to clean the drums and the display items..and look, he wasn't some neat-freak, he just wanted the absolute best for his department.
Next, he checked the prices and restocked the items that had sold best the day before, making sure the delicate gear was kept well out of reach of any kids. He loved the little drummers, sure, but they were always so fucking hyper. He couldn't bring himself to hate them, though; he’d been one of them years ago: a kid with spiked blonde hair styled in all directions to look like his idols, wearing black shirts and ripped pants, and carrying some serious anger issues.
It’s a little sappy and cheesy to say, but the drums literally saved his life. When he was younger, he had so many feelings he didn't know how to process or channel. The drums gave him a way to let it all out on his own terms, without hurting anyone or letting it twist into rage.
So yeah, this instrument was his entire life. When he was happy, sad, or angry, he played. When he didn't want to think, he played. And when he was inspired, he played.
"Yo, mornin' bro!" an eccentric redhead popped out from the back room.
"Morning, shitty hair," Katsuki replied, nodding at his best friend.
Kirishima Eijiro was his best friend and the best fucking guitarist he’d ever known. They’d met during their first year of high school (in music class, of course). Kirishima was the first person to actually put up with Katsuki's horrible social skills and temper, and Katsuki had started respecting him and treating him as an equal the moment he saw the redhead rip through the riff of Sweet Child O' Mine like it was nothing.Together, they started chasing their dream of forming a massive, stadium-blasting rock band. And now, seven years later, they were working in the best shop in the city, studying and getting better together.
Of course, they hadn’t given up on their dream.
They had a band with some incredibly talented musicians, people Katsuki actually loved, even if he’d never admit it out loud. They were the freaking best of the best.
Mina was their bassist. She was a pop-punk fanatic, always in a good mood, with a fierce personality matched by her neon-pink hair. She had tattoos all over her body of different song chords in various shades of pink, which was cool as fuck. She worked in the bass department down the hall, just past the pianos.
And for some reason, she’d decided that his loser of a best friend was boyfriend material. Katsuki had been forced to listen to Eijiro whine for months about his massive crush on her, but in the end, they were a perfect match. He was genuinely happy for him.
"Where's your other half?" Katsuki asked, slotting the keys into the door lock while Sultans of Swing played in the background.
Kirishima laughed, adjusting the black headband on his forehead. "She took the day off. Had to go shopping for the 'big night,'" he said, making air quotes with his fingers.
"Our debut is in a week," Katsuki snorted.
"Yeah, but you know her..she wants everything perfect. We've been waiting almost a year for this," Kirishima shrugged, grinning.
They’d never actually played live before, but they’d managed to build a small following online. Small numbers, sure, but for a new band, it was more than they’d ever expected. After a year of busting their absolute asses, writing songs and playing until their fingers bled, they finally had enough material to hit the stage.
Katsuki handled the lyrics. He’d been doing it since he was a kid; the words just spilled onto the page like a river... and yeah, he fucking loved it. He could already hear the rhythm in his head, mapping out exactly how the words would crash against his drums.
Sero, their keyboardist, was in charge of the chords and arrangements. The guy was a straight-up genius. He didn't just play piano; he ripped on the synth and worked as a DJ in his spare time.Even though he was a total metalhead, Sero had actually studied at one of the top conservatories in the country. His parents were loaded and wanted him to be the next Mozart, but his heart beat for metal. So, here he was.
They’d met him about a year and a half ago, back when their boss, Aizawa, first hired him for the piano department.
Katsuki rolled his eyes. "Denki's with her? I saw on the schedule that his shift doesn't start for another three hours."
The redhead nodded. "Yeah, he's with her. Said he wanted to buy new nail polish or something."
Denki Kaminari was their electric guitarist. The guy was absolute lightning on stage. He was so incredibly energetic and passionate, always bursting with this crazy stage presence that was fucking ecstatic to watch. It didn't match his "normal" behavior at all..offstage, he was a total loser. A gullible idiot who, with that bright yellow hair, looked way less like a lightning bolt and way more like a canary.
"Cool. I'm gonna ask him for some, mine is totally chipped," the blonde said, looking down at his calloused fingers, a bit beat up from all his years on the drums. "I'm gonna go prep my department. If you see him later, tell him to swing by."
"Sure, bro."
Katsuki managed to put everything exactly where it needed to be, setting up the department perfectly as always while rock music caressed his ears.
The day went by in a blur, hours flying past like minutes. Hyper kids screaming at him, him barking right back and showing them the magic of the drums; seasoned pros looking for new cymbals, and teenagers hunting for gear they'd finally saved up enough to buy.
At lunchtime, with only a few people wandering around the shop, Katsuki sat back, mindlessly twirling his fork like a drumstick and tapping his foot to the beat of Enter Sandman.
He was staring at some dumb videos Kirishima had sent him to kill the dead hours between customers. He was so wrapped up in a clip of an (admittedly adorable) toddler tearing up a toy drum kit that he didn't even notice someone walk in, curiously eyeing the gear displayed on the walls.
"I wouldn't touch those if I were you," Katsuki said, not even looking up.
He knew exactly what drew everyone in. They all stared at the same spot on the wall: John Bonham’s actual drumsticks. Katsuki had practically cried like a baby when that legend walked into his department just to buy sticks from him.
He’d almost fainted, actually. A few times. It was incredibly embarrassing and unprofessional, but fuck it, one of his lifelong idols was standing right in front of him. His friends still roasted him about it once a week, so karma had already caught up to him... but honestly, who could blame him? He was a massive drum nerd at the end.
"Are they real?" the guy asked, curious.
Katsuki smirked proudly. "Of course they are. And they're not for—" He finally looked up at the customer, the words dying in his throat.
Standing there was a guy probably his own age, wearing a smile so warm Katsuki felt his chest physically tighten. He was fit and lean, a few centimeters shorter than him, wearing a baggy button-up over black pants. He had messy green hair, a few silver rings, and a gorgeous dusting of freckles across his cheeks and neck. But fuck, Katsuki's heart stopped the second their eyes met. They were the green of a rushing river, and suddenly Katsuki was painfully aware of the disaster on his own head—because obviously, he'd dressed for work, not a runway, and hadn't bothered to tame his fucking hair—and the smudged eyeliner along his waterline.
This guy looked like a damn angel sent straight to earth.
"...Um. Hello?" The green-eyed boy smiled again, looking a little confused.
"Yeah, uh... sorry. They're real, yeah," Katsuki muttered, trying to find his footing.
What the hell was wrong with him? Fuck. "Do you need help with something? I mean- are you looking for anything in particular?" He was mentally begging Kirishima to walk in and end this shitshow before he completely lost his ability to speak like an adult.
The guy let out a soft, melodic laugh.
"Just looking around, actually. I'm trying to find something for my sister, but..." He glanced back at the sticks on the wall. "I honestly can't believe it. John Bonham was actually in here? He stood right where I'm standing?"
Katsuki felt a spark of his pride, clearing his throat. "You bet. Stood right in front of my fucking eyes. Best day of my life, hands down."
The guy stepped closer, completely fascinated, his eyes lighting up with a raw, genuine excitement. "I'm incredibly jealous, I swear. Ian Paice signed my shirt once, but those sticks are on a whole other level."
Okay, hold on. A guy this gorgeous, and he was a drum nerd? Katsuki felt his chest tighten.
"Ian Paice?" Katsuki’s eyes widened. "Like, the Ian Paice from Deep Purple? How the hell did you manage that?"
"Honestly, I still think I dreamed it. I ran into him at a grocery store, of all places, and I just happened to be wearing this massive, faded t-shirt with his face on it. It was incredibly embarrassing," the green-haired guy admitted, a faint flush creeping up his neck as he played with the silver rings on his fingers.
Shit, he's cute.
Katsuki had to force himself to snap out of it. He was at work, supposed to be a professional, and here he was getting completely derailed, blushing like a fucking teenager.
"Anyway, I'm probably oversharing. It was really great talking to you... Bakugou, right?" The guy read the name tag pinned to his chest.
"Uh, yeah, er- likewise." Katsuki managed a smile, but as he shifted, his foot clipped a stack of cymbals beside him, sending them clattering to the floor in a deafening, incredibly embarrassing racket.
His life was a fucking joke.
Fortunately for him, the gorgeous guy actually found it funny (or at least ridiculous) because he let out a soft laugh and gave a little wave goodbye... so maybe Katsuki was a tiny bit glad he'd managed to bring that beautiful laugh into the world.
Fuck. He was completely losing his mind.
The guy walked out of the department, giving him one last look before disappearing down the hallway.
Left alone, Katsuki felt the rhythm in his head completely fall apart, crashing down all at once.