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Everybody else is doing a pose in their Mirko cosplay. It’s just—no one asked Shouto to do a pose, they just asked him to put the suit on, and he did. So he stands there with his hands to his sides, waiting for additional direction.
He can feel a cool breeze on his thighs, and honestly, being this exposed isn’t the most comfortable. Shouto did it, because he was asked to, but he doesn’t feel as natural as Midoriya and Kirishima do. It bothers him that something might slip out at any moment, and though he respects and admires Mirko—the suit is tight in places he isn’t used to having out front and center, with everybody watching.
He feels awkward, not enough to be embarrassed, but enough to be instinctively stiff.
He’s also somewhat sleepy. He hopes they can wrap this up soon so he can go to bed. He also notes that he didn’t see Bakugou when he, Kirishima, and Midoriya were getting dressed up for the photoshoot, and still doesn’t see him anywhere. Is Bakugou not joining them?
Oh—there Bakugou is now. He’s wearing, well, if Shouto knew that was an option, he would have preferred it. He likes wearing traditional clothes. Bakugou’s hakama and haori look comfortable, and he likes the dark color. Bakugou looks good like this.
Then again, Bakugou always looks good, so it’s not like that’s a development on any front. Bakugou looks good, Shouto is awkward, and the world keeps turning.
For some reason though, Bakugou seems mad. He seems mad right up until the second he comes in front of Shouto, and that’s when his face gets all red, and he turns from mad to furious.
“No, no fucking way,” Bakugou says, and he hurriedly takes off his haori, and puts it around Shouto instead.
The soft fabric shrugs off of Shouto’s bare shoulders, and Bakugou curses in frustration, and yanks Shouto’s arms through it the proper way before securing it in front. It’s long enough to cover his thighs, and Shouto is grateful for that, but maybe he should point out to Bakugou that this extra layer defeats the purpose of the cosplay. Unless he already knows.
“What are you doing?” Shouto asks him, noting with slight disappointment that the haori doesn’t smell like Bakugou, nor is it warm with his body heat, so he can’t have worn it long before handing it off to Shouto.
“Are you insane? No one should be seeing this. No one!” Bakugou insists.
Shouto frowns. “Did it look that bad?”
Bakugou’s face is really red. “No you absolute walnut, it didn’t look bad.”
“Then why–”
“You, I–how the fuck did you even agree to this?” Bakugou demands.
“I like to do what people tell me,” Shouto says meekly. “I want to help.”
“You don’t have to dress up in a bunny suit to help,” Bakugou says.
He still sounds so harsh. No, not harsh. Protective.
“You’re offended,” Shouto says, more confused by the second. “It didn’t affect you like this when I burnt half my clothes off at the sports festival.”
“That was different,” Bakugou says. “And I’m not offended. I’m—you seriously need everything spelled out?”
Shouto nods.
Bakugou sighs, then takes a step closer. “I don’t want all these other fucking extras seeing you like this!”
“I don’t want that either,” Shouto says, after a moment of delayed realization. “But…you knew that.”
Bakugou’s haori is nice and silky soft. Shouto’s much more comfortable now that he’s in it. Warm.
“I know you,” Bakugou says. “Big deal.”
It is a big deal though. Someone knows him. Bakugou knows him. They know each other. They–
“So it looked good?”
“Your–your fucking thighs were out!” Bakugou counters.
That isnʼt an answer. Someone else, the photographer (?), the photoshoot director (maybe), tells Shouto to come front and center for another group picture, but Bakugou silences them with a withering look.
“Sorry,” Shouto says, then attempts a guess. “Do you not want anyone to look at me except you?”
Bakugou looks away and bites at his own lower lip. Something tells Shouto that the guess was right. It just isnʼt something Bakugouʼs ready to own up to.
“Letʼs just go,” Bakugou says, reaching out his hand for Shouto to take. “Weʼll meet up with these clowns later. Go watch the fireworks or something.”
Fireworks would be nice. Shouto takes Bakugouʼs outstretched hand. “I might fall asleep.”
“Like I fucking care,” Bakugou gives his hand a single squeeze, before tugging him along away from the photoshoot. “Do whatever you wanna do.”
Permission given, Shouto gives Bakugou a kiss on the cheek that makes him turn, if possible, even redder. “Okay. I will.”