Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Bakugo fell into the plush cushions of the couch, sinking into the welcomed comfort as his head rested on the back. He closed his eyes, the heaviness of sleep not having escaped him, even after showering and downing one cup of coffee. He was absolutely going to need to get a second cup on his way to the restaurant. He only managed four hours of sleep, between getting home later then expected the previous night and needing to get up early today. He could easily fall back asleep if he just kept his eyes closed…

“Good morning.” The soft voice came up behind him, two hands resting on the back of the couch on either side of his head. The overhead light of the living room shadowed over his lidded eyes as the smell of sweat and Gatorade wafted into his nose. He felt the soft, plump lips of his boyfriend press into his, causing the automatic smile to form. Bakugo opened his eyes to see Kirishima standing behind him, bent over, letting the loose strands of his hair tickle Bakugo’s forehead.

“You’re sweating on me,” Bakugo grumbled, trying his best to remove the smile plastered on his lips, only managing a half hearted smirk. Kirishima’s eyes popped open wide from apology and as he moved back to stand tall, Bakugo grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him back down for another kiss, this one deeper than the last.

“Sorry, I just got back from a run,” Kirishima explained the moment their kiss broke apart. “I didn’t even hear you come home last night.”

“That’s because you were dead ass asleep,” Bakugo sighed. He needed to leave. But he wanted another kiss.

“Right, yeah. So why are you up so early today?” Kirishima moved to sit beside Bakugo, using the small towel that was around his neck to wipe his face and hair, removing any remaining sweat that hadn’t already evaporated.

“It’s Thursday.” Bakugo gave no other explanation, yet Kirishima nodded in understanding. Thursdays meant delivery day. And Bakugo was always present for deliveries. Even at 8am.

“Right. Need me to do anything for you while you’re at work?” Kirishima offered. Bakugo turned his head to look at the redhead. Those eyes, that stupid hair, that cute little half smile he did when he was waiting for Bakugo to answer him. Fuck, Bakugo loved him so much.

“Nah. Enjoy your morning. When are you going in?” Bakugo leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

“I’ll be there for 2,” Kirishima reached an arm out, snaking it around Bakugo’s waist, and pulling until Bakugo gave in, moving to straddle Kirishima’s lap. His hands moved instinctively to entangle in Kirishima’s hair, leaning further into his body, lowering his lips towards Kirishima’s slightly parted mouth. Bakugo sighed; this was better than coffee.

“Are you telling them today?” Kirishima’s voice was no higher than a whisper, but it stung Bakugo. He pulled away, sitting heavily on Kirishima’s lap, hands still resting behind his head.

“Not today,” Bakugo mumbled. Kirishima visually sighed, his shoulders dropping.

“When? It wasn’t yesterday. Or last week. You didn’t want to say anything last month cause of the inspection. And the month before that you weren’t ready. Come on, Kat-“

“I know,” Bakugo cut him off. He sighed himself.

“You know they’ll support you. They’ll be excited too! Just like I am.” Kirishima beamed up at Bakugo. The smile made his heart ache.

“Today’s not a good day though,” Bakugo shook his head, trying to dismiss Kirishima’s pestering.

Bakugo felt Kirishima’s hands move from his shoulders down his lower back, the firm pressure feeling extremely satisfying running over his sore muscles. The palms pressed into his hips as Kirishima’s hands continued to trail down. Kirishima leaned into Bakugo, his lips brushing the soft skin at the bottom of his neck, just before meeting his shoulder. The pressure of Kirishima’s hands cradled Bakugo’s ass, kneading with his adept fingers. The rhythm of the massage was ineffable, as if Kirishima did this for a living. Bakugo’s head lolled, resting on Kirishima’s shoulders, sadly breaking his lips away from kissing his skin.

“Today could be a good day,” Kirishima offered, his voice whispering deeply into Bakugo’s ear. The heat from his breath stirred a heat in Bakugo’s stomach. It was too early for this and he was going to be late. He mentally slapped himself, pushing away from Kirishima.

“I’m leaving,” Bakugo said, as if convincing himself. He planted his feet on the ground behind him, grabbing his phone off the table, and heading towards the door, nearly tripping on Kirishima’s gym bag.

“I love you,” Kirishima pouted, having turned to rest his chin on the back of the couch, looking as Bakugo shoved his feet into his shoes. He had never looked more like a puppy than in that moment and it swelled Bakugo’s chest.

“I know,” Bakugo smirked.

“Katsuki!” Kirishima’s pout deepened.

“I love you, too. See you later,” Bakugo closed the door quickly behind him, needing the barricade to keep himself from jumping Kirishima and being entirely late to the scheduled delivery.

*********

As Bakugo unlocked the front door of Nitro, stepping into the quiet, dim dining area, he heard Jirou’s voice faintly from the kitchen. She normally came to help with inventory of the new stock, but was never usually there before him. Bakugo shook his head at himself, annoyed that his time spent this morning kissing Kirishima made him late. It was worth it, though.

“You are joking, right?” Jirou’s voice sounded harsh as Bakugo made his way through the swinging door. He stopped short, watching her stand with her hand on her hips, glaring at their delivery guy, who looked bored, even though he was being berated; a stack of cardboard boxes between them.

“It’s what we had-“ the sigh sounded exhausted, but Jirou raised her hand to stop his excuse.

“I put my fucking neck out for you, Hitoshi. And you bring this shit with you?”

“Are you kidding, Kyo? This is still phenomenal product. It’s just-“

“Not what we ordered! Not cod! You gave us fucking mackerel!” Jirou huffed, crossing her arms.

Bakugi stepped up beside Jirou, placing his hand on her shoulder.

“Take a walk, Kyo,” Bakugo instructed. She immediately turned to storm out of the back room, headed through the swinging doors. Bakugo assumed she would start her count at the bar while leaving him to deal with whatever it was he walked into. Bakugo looked at Shinso with a cocked eyebrow. “Explain.”

“It’s still fish, Bakugo. It’s just…”

“Not the cod we ordered? You’re bringing me fucking mackerel when I ordered cod? And this is okay to you because…”

“It’s still quality product.” Shinso narrowed his glare at Bakugo, seemingly staking his claim that nothing was wrong.

“You’re a smart man, Hitoshi. It’s been quite a few months we’ve been working solidly together. And…well, I get that you can maybe be a bit familiar with me, and we can be friendly from time to time. But you’ve never taken me out to dinner.” Bakugo crossed his arms.

“What the fuck do you mean?”

“I’m a gentleman, Hitoshi. I like to at least go out for a nice dinner, maybe a walk in the park, you know, a nice date. Before you fuck me.” Bakugo’s dry delivery made Shinso sigh. His shoulders slumped, knowing he wasn’t going to budge Bakugo.

“Just…Bakugo, we didn’t get the cod in. I wasn’t showing up empty handed. You know that would have been worse. Just make due with the fucking mackerel, man.” Shinso presented the clipboard with the order form, waiting for Bakugo’s signature.

“Fuck that! I’m not taking your fucking-“

“Come on, man! It’s fish!” Shinso pushed the clipboard further towards Bakugo, now waving a pen he’d removed from his jacket pocket.

“It’s an entirely different flavour profile. I can’t do the rest of the dish if it’s mackerel. Everything you’ve brought me is garbage if I do the mackerel. I need the fucking cod, because I made an entire menu around. The fucking. COD!” Bakugo punctuated the last few words, still not budging towards the pen.

“They didn’t have it this morning.” Shinso sighed, defeated.

“When will they get it?” Bakugo prompted.

“I can probably get it for 3. 3:30 at the latest.”

“3:30. At my back door?” Bakugo motioned to reach for the pen, keeping it just shy of his reach. Shinso moved his hand to try pushing the pen into Bakugo’s hand.

“Yeah, man. I figured that’s no good for you. I tried-“

“And I appreciate your effort, I do.” Bakugo grabbed the pen out of Shinso’s hand. “But don’t ever come into my kitchen without the ingredients I specifically ordered. Take back the fucking mackerel. I’m not paying for that shit. And I’ll see you here at 3 with the correct fish. Got it?” Bakugo quickly scrolled his signature before shoving the clipboard and pen into Shinso’s chest.

“3:30,” Shinso replied.

“3. There’s a lot of other vendors I can hire.”

“Seriously, Bakugo? I’m hurt. I thought we were good.” Shinso shoved his pen back into his pocket, a bit too aggressively.

“We are. That’s why I’m giving you until 3. Don’t fuck me, Hitoshi.” Bakugo smirked as Shinso turned, kicking the metal trolly to bring the boxes of fish out with him into the alleyway.

“Not without dinner, right?” Shinso smirked back. Bakugo did like that Shinso was always able to give back what he dished out. He knew he wouldn’t get another vendor; Shinso had been extremely good to him the last few months, but he didn’t want him to know the good footing he was on. Bakugo still needed the upper hand. He shut the door as Shinso left, taking stock of the crates of veggies and meat that were the rest of the order.

He started moving boxes onto the counter space to do a proper inventory off the invoice as Jirou walked back into the kitchen, much calmer than when he first saw her. Without a word, she moved to the fridge, bringing out the current crates of produce to prepare for the restock.

“You good?” Bakugo mumbled, not looking up from the invoice. He ticked off the few lines he’d checked. When she didn’t respond, he risked peeking at her through the corner of his eye.

She looked tired, but not disheveled. Her frown was a bit deeper than normal. Bakugo felt annoyed with himself that he knew what Jirou’s normal frown looked like. She had clearly been taking out her stresses onto Shinso, and although it didn’t affect him directly, Bakugo had an inclination he needed to get her to move on from whatever was eating away at her. Otherwise it would get worse. He knew from experience.

When she just grunted in response, Bakugo sighed. He slid the completed invoice onto a clipboard by his office door to deal with at a later day, and turned to face her head on.

“Stop!” Bakugo’s voice boomed, stalling Jirou mid turn, a crate of peppers resting on her hip.

“Yes, chef,” Jirou grumbled.

“Cut the bullshit, Kyo. What the fuck is wrong with you?” Bakugo knew he was being harsh, but he wanted to be talking about her problems as much as she seemed to want to. Better to just get it over with so they could both move on to more important matters.

“Nothing is wrong with me,” Jirou started, her frown turning into a pout. “Except I’m a terrible person and I deserve nothing and should crawl into a dark hole and be shunned for the rest of existence.”

Well, fuck.

“Well, fuck, Kyo,” Bakugo couldn’t help the breathy laugh of his response. “What the fuck did you do?”

“I kissed someone. I got fucking drunk and I kissed someone. And it was the exact wrong thing to do. I know it, and she knows it.” Jirou finally set down the crate on the counter, leaning to glare into the produce. Bakugo stood frozen.

“Um. Shit.”

“Yeah, shit! It was a huge fucking mistake! And now he won’t talk to me, and won’t return my calls, or texts. And you know Denki! He’s the first one to forgive. Water under the bridge. But he’s not even letting me apologize.” The strain in her voice confused Bakugo.

“Wait, you guys are fighting? Back up. I had no idea there was anything wrong between you two. I thought it was going well. When did this kiss happen?” Bakugo took a step towards Jirou, leaning against the counter.

“It was, like, last weekend. And yeah, we obviously don’t bring our shit into work. We’re very professional.”

“Firstly, I feel like that’s a dig at me, and I don’t appreciate it,” Bakugo smirked. “Secondly, you’re telling me you cheated on Denki, the most eager to please and obsessed with the ground you walk on boy-“

“With Momo.”

“With fucking Momo? Jirou! What the actual fuck are you doing? Can you not make my restaurant the location for the next k-drama please?” Bakugo lightly punched her in the arm.

“I know! I told you, I know it was stupid and Momo knows it was stupid and we agreed to never do it again. Bakugo, you need to help me,” Jirou looked up at Bakugo, pleading eyes on full display.

“With what? An instruction manual on how to keep it in your pants?”

“Obviously not. You got rid of yours a long time ago,” Jirou smirked, sticking her tongue out playfully.

“Fuck you, bitch,” Bakugo laughed.

“Can you just get him to talk to me? Outside of work?” Jirou pouted.

“I don’t see why you’re asking me for help,” Bakugo shrugged.

“Because you asked-“

“Damn my kind and sensitive demeanour.”

“And because he worships you. He’ll do anything you ask.” Jirou punched Bakugo back. Bakugo sighed.

“Yeah. Sure. But you owe me,” Bakugo pushed himself away from the counter, heading around to the sink to wash his hands.

“So what, that would make it three favours to one?” Jirou headed back into the fridge.

“Huh?”

“Three favours you owe me to one I owe you?” Jirou popped her head out to look at Bakugo. He starred at her with a grimace.

“You fucking cheated on my friend. You’re the bad guy here, Kyo. I think this would call us even.” Bakugo raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to agree.

“Yeah. Deal. Thank you, Bakugo.” Her voice was quiet as she turned back into the fridge.

Bakugo ran his hands through his hair. Although he was shocked and annoyed that the relationships in his workplace were becoming muddied and troublesome, he was also impressed with his team that this was the first he’d heard about it. They’d spent nearly a week working well together, even under the strain of turmoil. He needed to hand it to Kaminari; he was handling himself better than Bakugo would have ever assumed he could. And although he cared for Jirou, he wouldn’t push Kaminari to forgive if he didn’t want to. But he knew they at least needed to talk it out.

Yes, today was definitely not the day he would tell his staff they would be trying to get a star. At least he was right about that.

Chapter Text

“Come here!” Bakugo stood in his office doorway, motioning for Kirishima to meet him. He closed his locker, shrugging on his chef’s jacket as he slowly walked towards Bakugo. As Kirishima stepped inside, securing the buttons of his jacket, he smirked as he past Bakugo, already closing the door behind him.

“Oh my gosh. Are we finally going to fuck in your office?”

“What? No!”

“Oh…” Kirishima slumped against the wall. There wasn’t much free space in the tight office. Bakugo was notoriously disorganized with his paperwork, the only space in the restaurant, and now that they lived together, even his home, that was chaotic. Kirishima trusted that he had a system, but there were files stacked on the only free chair, so instead of moving them to sit, possibly disturbing the delicate eco system, Kirishima decided to keep standing. Bakugo perched on the edge of his desk facing him, their feet brushed against each other.

“I want to ask you about Denki. Why would we fuck…we’re starting prep in, like, five minutes!”

“You know I can do a lot of good in five minutes.” Kirishima winked. He reached up to run his hands through his hair, pulling the longer strands back to secure his ponytail.

“Stop. Stop it. No.” Bakugo shook his head before pausing, looking quizzically at Kirishima smiling in front of him. “Is that…something you want?”

“To fuck in your office?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes.” Kirishima nodded his head once, his face serious.

“Really? Why?”

“Cause it’s hot. It would be like… Chef Bakugo Katsuki. You’d be all mean to me and tell me what to do.” The smirk reappeared on his face. Kirishima widened his smile just enough so he felt the tip of his canine appear; he knew how much that affected Bakugo.

“But I am chef Bakugo. And I do tell you what to do.” Bakugo’s confusion grew. He crossed his arms, trying to figure out what Kirishima was explaining.

“Yeah, but like…this would be more dom type shit.”

“So you would be a customer in this scenario?”

“No! I would still be me. Pastry chef.” Kirishima found his hand rubbing the back of his neck. This was not how he expected his work day to start.

“So your fantasy is just reality? You’re just describing me and you.”

“Yeah, but like sexy,” Kirishima tried to deepen his voice, giving an example of what he was looking for. He felt like he was trying the herd cats with how successful this was going.

“Am I not sexy?” Bakugo clutched his chest; his confusion was mixed with fake hurt.

“Katsuki… it’s…” Kirishima sighed. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to figure out how best to explain this particular fantasy. “Okay, in reality, you’re Boyfriend Katsuki. In this fantasy, you are Chef Bakugo. And I’m your pastry chef. Who’s made a mess of himself and needs to be disciplined to cleaning up his station.”

“You do make a mess of yourself. You do need to clean up your station,” Bakugo said flatly.

“Yeah, but say it sexy,” Kirishima felt himself whining. He watched as Bakugo narrowed his eyes, licked his lips, and lowered his voice; but still managing to sound awkward and confused.

“You…do…make a mess…of yourself. You…do…need to clean up-“

“Nope. You’ve ruined it. I don’t want it anymore.” Kirishima waved his hands in front of him in defeat, shaking his head for Bakugo to stop.

“Fine. Whatever. I need to talk to you about Denki.” Bakugo shrugged, quickly moving on.

“Work hat or friend hat?”

“Um…friend hat. Personal shit.”

“Okay, go.”

“Has he mentioned anything to you about his relationship with Jirou?” Kirishima thought about the question for a moment before answering.

“Other than the fact that they’ve been on two official dates and three unofficial dates. And yes, before you ask, he does tell me, in detail, the happenings of each ‘date’,” Kirishima laughed quietly.

“What’s an unofficial date?” Bakugo was still perched on his desk, arms crossed, watching Kirishima.

“A ride home. Grabbing lunch before prep. And last week they met up with mutual friends to go to a bar.” Kirishima slouched further into the wall, unsure of where this conversation was going and why Bakugo, of all people, would be invested in the relationship of Jirou and Kaminari.

“So he hasn’t said anything about…Jirou… fuck.” Bakugo looked uncomfortable trying to get the question out.

“What? Jirou what?”

“I can’t believe this is my issue now. Jirou kissed Momo. And Denki is aware and pissed. Not talking to Jirou. And she asked me to ask him to talk to her. I feel like I’m in fucking middle school and should be passing notes in class!” Bakugo shot his hands up in defeat. When he brought them back down quickly, they slapped against his thighs.

“How did he not tell me?” Kirishima was taken aback by the news. Kaminari hadn’t mentioned anything about this. They hadn’t spent much time alone outside of work lately, but there wasn’t even a phone call or text to fill him in. He felt a bit hurt not being confided in.

“Not the point, Ei! You need to help me with this.” Bakugo’s exasperated voice brought Kirishima back to focus.

“Okay, what would you like me to do?”

“Fix it. Deal with it. He’s your friend and I don’t have the time, nor the patience, to deal with this drama bullshit.”

“So you’re just pushing it on to me?” Kirishima scoffed.

“Yes.”

“How is that fair?” Kirishima had no issues taking over this task. In fact, he figured he was the better choice to talk to Kaminari. However, he was still going to bug Bakugo about it.

“Cause you’re my boyfriend and I can ask favours of you?”

“What do I get in return?” Kirishima teased.

“Office sex?” The awkwardness of Bakugo’s response did not bode confidence in a rowdy performance.

“Nah. You ruined it,” Kirishima sighed.

“Oh really?” Bakugo’s palm pressed against Kirishima’s chest, his fingers curling around the loose collar as the top two buttons of his chef’s jacket were still undone. He pulled Kirishima close, leaning in so his mouth grazed Kirishima’s ear lob. With a deep, husky whisper, Bakugo’s breath burned Kirishima’s skin, sending a shiver down his spine. “Chef, I don’t think you’ll make it another day here if you can’t keep your station tidy. I like my kitchen clean, and you’re fucking filthy.”

Kirishima’s jaw hung open, his mouth watering at the words growling out of Bakugo. His stomach flipped, heart pounding in his chest. He blinked, attempting to refocus his brain. It didn’t help that Bakugo relished the stupor he had created in Kirishima, continuing the sultry voice.

“How am I going to get you in line? Or are you looking to be punished?”

“Yes, chef,” Kirishima licked his lips as a sly smile appeared. Bakugo’s hold released from his jacket, smoothing the fabric. He placed one chaste kiss on Kirishima’s cheek before backing away.

“Great! So you’ll talk with Denki. Thanks, Ei!” Bakugo’s voice had dropped the raspiness, back to his normal cadence. Kirishima stood stunned for a moment, the blood rushing down from his brain. He was in the midst of sexual whiplash, slowly turning to leave the office, not entirely sure what had happened.

*********

About two hours into his prep, Kirishima found himself ahead of schedule. He kept himself a bit too focussed, trying to keep his wandering brain on track and not thinking about clearing Bakugo’s desk of the loose papers, pressing his boyfriend’s body down, and being instructed exactly how to please his chef. Nope, not thinking about that at all. Which meant his work was done with time to spare, so he figured he would use this moment to position himself on two overturned milk crates beside Kaminari’s station.

“Hey, bro. How are things? I feel like I haven’t shot the shit with you in a while.” Kirishima felt good about his opening line. Not digging too much, but open for any personal discussion.

“Yeah. Uh. Okay,” Kaminari responded without looking at Kirishima. He was bent over his station, tweezers in hand, concentrating on a large, clean slab of fish.

“So what’s up? What’s new with Denks?” Kirishima prodded again.

“Nothing. You see me every day.” Kaminari kept his focus, pulling out a thin bone and dropping it in a small dish placed to his right.

“Yeah, I see you. But we don’t talk. Well, we do talk. But about work shit. I want to know what’s new in the life of Denki. What’s happening when the jacket comes off?” Kirishima wasn’t sure how much longer he could stay subtle. He was itching to ask about the drama.

“Dude!” Kaminari finally stopped working, turning to face Kirishima, pointing the tweezers at his face. “I can’t right now! My whole prep time is fucked because our fucking delivery came at 3 and now I have two hours to debone and clean thirty pieces of fish, which is on top of the fucking veg prep I don’t have time to do because Shoto isn’t here. But thank fuck for that because I haven’t even done the kitchen check yet and I can’t stand around talking about this because Bakugo’s been looking at me funny for the last hour and honestly I think he might throw something pretty soon. I can’t even tell what I did to piss him off today!”

“Whoa, bro. It’s cool.” Kirishima held up his hands, standing from the crates. He stepped behind Kaminari, rubbing his shoulders for a moment before slapping the side of his arms. He felt Kaminari taking shallow, quick breaths. “Firstly, Bakugo’s fine. Ignore him. Secondly, I’ll help. I’ll do the kitchen check. And if Shoto’s not here when I’m done, I’ll help veg prep. Cool?”

“Seriously? I mean, thanks man.” Kaminari’s breathing visibly slowed. This was absolutely not the moment for Kirishima to talk about his personal issues. Best not bring that to the forefront.

Kirishima grabbed the clipboard hanging by the back door, making his way through the restaurant, checking fridge temperatures and label placements. The inventory and levels of products were the easiest to complete on a Thursday since they just received a delivery. As long as nothing was shorted upon delivery, there was never an indication for Front needed. As Kirishima made his way to the chef’s line, Kaminari moved out of his way so he could check the under counter fridge. He moved to Shoto’s empty station, then saddled up beside Bakugo, currently spatchcocking Cornish hens.

“Hey, stop fucking starring at him,” Kirishima whispered to Bakugo. He held up the clipboard to shield their conversation from Kaminari.

“I’m not,” Bakugo quickly replied.

“Fucking yes you are. You’re freaking him out. He thinks you’re going to throw something at him.” Kirishima laughed.

“I did that one time,” Bakugo sighed.

“What? You’ve seriously thrown something at him?” Kirishima let the clipboard hang at his side, scoffing at the ridiculous person in front of him.

“It was a fucking spoon. Nothing sharp.”

“That doesn’t make it better!” Kirishima lightly slapped Bakugo’s arm with the clipboard.

“Whatever. Did you talk to him? Is he going to talk to Kyo? Cause I feel like she’s going to ask me about it,” Bakugo snuck a peek over Kirishima’s shoulder to look at Kaminari, once again focussed entirely on the fish in front of him.

“No! I didn’t talk to him. Because he’s stressed out of his mind right now. Which is why I’m doing kitchen check. Now move out of my way, chef. I need into your fridge.” Kirishima bumped Bakugo to move in front of him, squatting to find the thermometer.

“What the fuck do I tell Kyo?” Bakugo whispered at Kirishima.

“Tell her to chill out. Tell her…I don’t know. Tell her to go back in time and not fucking do it.” Kirishima stood, shrugging as he turned to face Bakugo, blocking his station. Bakugo leaned forward, caging Kirishima in as he reached for a cloth.

“Can you guys stop fucking flirting in front of me?” Kaminari’s exasperated sigh carried the few feet across the kitchen.

“We’re not flirting!”
“We’re not fucking flirting!”

They both yelled, but Bakugo did pull away, wiping his hands on the cloth, and Kirishima stepped away from the station to move to place the clipboard on the hook by the swinging door that led to the front of house.

Chapter Text

Bakugo looked at the clock. Twenty minutes until open. Jirou would walk through the swinging doors any moment to get the final notes to educate the front. Kirishima had been julienning carrots and roasting the sweet potatoes, quite successfully to Bakugo’s delighted surprise, as Kaminari finished the fish prep, finally on to portioning the four inch squares. And still no sign of Shoto. Bakugo stepped in to his office, searching for his phone to an anticipated text message of apology, but when he found it in his coat pocket, there were no notifications.

The back door swung open, bringing Bakugo out of his office to see Shoto at his locker, switching out his winter coat for his chef’s jacket.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Bakugo started walking towards Shoto, who bypassed him to head straight to his station.

“Nowhere.” Shoto looked to Kirishima, who nodded once, shyly passing off the knife. Shoto nodded back, giving a minuscule smile of appreciation towards Kirishima.

“What’s going on?” Bakugo wouldn’t let up without a proper answer. They were doing exceptionally well with communication for the past few months; Bakugo wasn’t about to let that crumble. He stood inches away from Shoto, watching him assess his station and what was left to be complete before service started.

“Nothing,” Shoto spoke quietly.

“Shoto-“ Bakugo pushed again.

“Nothing, Bakugo. Nothing is going on. My life is wonderful.” The knife hit the metal countertop, the clang filling the otherwise subdued kitchen. Kirishima was back at his station and Kaminari had taken a step away, seemingly feeling the tension already bubbling. Fuck this, Bakugo was not about to let his sous ruin the good vibe they had mustered that afternoon in his absence.

“Nope. I’m not doing this. Come with me.” Bakugo wrapped his fingers around the back of Shoto’s jacket, yanking him towards the swinging doors. Shoto stumbled before turning around, being released from Bakugo’s grasp to follow closely behind.

As soon as they were in the dim ambiance of the restaurant, Bakugo turned to face Shoto.

“What the fuck. You’re never late. What’s going on? Is it Midoriya?”

“No.” Shoto looked more confused than his normal resting clueless face.

“Then what? No secrets, Shoto.” Bakugo raised his eyebrows, deciding he wouldn’t speak again until he received a proper answer. He crossed his arms as Shoto sighed heavily, the aggravation of hiding his excuse melting away.

“Fine. I was dealing with my brother.” Shoto said flatly, as if that was providing Bakugo with a reasonable answer. Bakugo wasn’t satisfied.

“What happened?”

“He’s in jail.”

“What? Natsuo’s in jail?” Bakugo shook his head in confusion. He’d met Shoto’s brother on multiple occasions. He was as straight laced as they come. A genuinely good natured person. Bakugo raked his brain attempting to figure out what illegal shenanigans he could have committed to wind up arrested.

“No. My other brother,” Shoto said matter of factly. Again, to Bakugo’s confusion.

“You have another brother?”

“Yeah. My eldest brother. Toya.”

“Um. What? When the fuck did you have a second brother.” Bakugo lightly slapped Shoto’s shoulder with the back of his hand. Shoto lifted his hand to rub the spot.

“I guess my whole life.”

“But you’ve literally never spoken about him.”

“Geez, I wonder why? I literally just had to bail him out of fucking jail, Katsuki. I’m not super proud of him.” Shoto leaned in, whispering. His eyes darted into the restaurant. Two servers were setting up tables, Momo stood behind the bar, out of their immediate earshot. Bakugo didn’t see Jirou anywhere.

“Fuck. Okay. Got it. Are you good?” Bakugo matched Shoto’s lowered tone.

“No I’m not good. But I’m here. So let me get to work.” Bakugo saw a flash of anger in Shoto’s eyes; not something he was used to. Shoto was always one to keep the level head, especially since partnering with Bakugo. Whatever had happened, it had truly affected him.

“Yeah,” Bakugo nodded, immediately following Shoto back into the kitchen. “What did he do?”

“Who?” Shoto asked over his shoulder.

“Your brother? Why’d he get arrested?” Bakugo kept his voice quiet as they walked.

“Arson,” Shoto scoffed.

“Fuck. Don’t mess with a Todoroki, I guess,” Bakugo mumbled under his breath.

“Yeah…I don’t think that would be a problem.”

“What do you mean?”

“He set fire to my dad’s house.” A small smile appeared on Shoto’s face before it immediately disappeared. Bakugo couldn’t help the short laugh in response.

“Holy shit.”

*********

Bakugo leaned away from his station to look behind Shoto at Denki standing in front of the stove. The blonde’s head was down, focussed intently on whipping the brown butter sauce for Bakugo’s plating of the cod. Bakugo was opening his mouth to get his attention when Denki’s eyes shot up, looking over his shoulder to meet with Bakugo’s gaze.

“What?” Denki asked nervously, seeing his boss starring at him, mouth agape.

“No. Nothing.” Bakugo shook his head, feeling like a deer in headlights. He was going to ask for a time check, but his brain froze.

“Chef?” Denki waited, his weight shifting from foot to foot.

“Umm…time, chef,” Bakugo pushed out.

“One minute, chef. Sorry for the delay.”

“Nope, it’s fine. All good.” Bakugo turned back to his station. He had four cod plates in front of him, the perfectly cut squares of fish placed atop the roasted mini cubes of rustic sweet potatoes, and garnished with a spoonful of gremolata, capers, crushed croutons, and lemon zest. All he needed was the brown butter sauce being completed by Denki.

“What the fuck, chef?” Not the response Bakugo was expecting. Both himself and Denki turned to face each other again, Denki’s whipping ceased as he stood with his hands on his hips. “What the hell did I do-“

“Whoa! Chef, back off. If you need a minute, take a minute, but don’t you fucking come at me with this-“

“Don’t come at you?” Denki scoffed, looking away from Bakugo for a moment. Seeing the two chefs not paying attention to the food, Shoto snuck behind Denki, grabbing the sauce pot from off the burner to assess the stage of the sauce. Deeming it to their standard, he stepped back, moving Bakugo by knocking his hip with his own. Bakugo distractedly sidestepped away from his station, taking a step towards Denki. Shoto quickly spooned the sauce beside the fish, calling for ‘hands’.

“Yeah! Whatever this outburst is-“

“Chef, with all due respect, you’ve literally been starring at me all night. I’m the one under intense scrutiny, and you…you’re being nice to me when I’m making you wait on plating? So yeah, I ask again. What the fuck, chef?” Denki met Bakugo with his own wide step, punctuating his final words with a jab of his finger on Bakugo’s chest.

“I just…I was trying…” Bakugo didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t blurt out the issue Denki was having with Jirou in the middle of service, in the middle of a full kitchen. It wasn’t the time. But since hearing the turmoil Denki was facing, Bakugo felt uneasy laying in to him. He felt shitty for not realizing it sooner. He wanted to make sure his chef was okay, but he had no idea how to ask. He had never cared before. Or maybe he did, but he had never known anything deeper than surface level bullshit.

And he was so terrible at caring for someone else that when he tried, he freaked them out more. Without intending to, he had amplified Denki’s stress level over the course of the night. Bakugo grimaced to himself, shaking his head.

“I was trying a new tactic to see if that would make you work any faster. Apparently, I’m the fucking moron of the kitchen, cause there’s nothing in this world that would make you a decent chef. When I ask for a time, chef, you better have the fucking sauce in my hand. Got it?” Bakugo stepped towards Denki, pressing his chest into Denki’s still pointed finger. Bakugo watched as Denki’s shoulders dropped slightly, easing the built up tension. He lowered his finger as he face turned from infused anger to quiet relief.

“Yes, chef.” Denki looked away from Bakugo, his determination to perform having reappeared. He reached out his hand to Shoto, looking for his pot. Before turning back to his own station, Bakugo watched Denki’s hand grip the handle of the pot, his eyes opening wide before closing tightly shut, turning around to head back to the stove. Bakugo, confused, turned around, seeing Jirou standing with four plates in hand, watching their interaction. There was a look of pain on her face, eyes focussed on Denki so intently she didn’t notice Bakugo now glaring at her.

“I think table four has waited long enough for their food, don’t you chef?” Bakugo barked at her, a little jump resetting her brain and she spun on the spot, leaving through the swinging doors.

*********

“Ei, am I nice?” Bakugo’s voice was quiet, just loud enough for Kirishima to hear over the crunching of snow beneath their feet. As they walked home after the day of bizarre emotional encounters, Bakugo couldn’t help but feel uneasy about the last few hours.

“You’re the nicest person I know.” Kirishima reached his gloved hand out to wrap around Bakugo’s. He tugged Bakugo close to him, letting go of his hand to wrap his arm around Bakugo’s shoulder.

“Cut the bullshit.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Right.” Bakugo laughed, resting his head for a moment against Kirishima’s shoulder, the pompom of his hat hitting against Kirishima’s temple.

“But the nicest asshole.”

“That’s….you’re an idiot.”

“I’m assuming you’re talking about the thing with Denks today?” Kirishima let go of Bakugo’s shoulder, not letting him stray too far as he grabbed for his hand again. There was a short pause, the quiet of the night engulfed them in a cocoon. The snow was freshly fallen, creating a muffled blanket of white over every inch of the city. Their feet the first ones to break the smooth surface.

“Whatever,” Bakugo mumbled.

“When you yell and demean us-“

“I’m not demeaning,” Bakugo cut Kirishima off, only to have a sigh shot back at him.

“Babe, yes, you are. But wait! It’s okay. Let me explain,” Kirishima spoke quickly. “There’s something that comes from you being…you. When you say we’re worthless, or we’ll never amount to anything, or that we’re morons-“

“Fuck, I am an asshole.”

“We crave it. It fuels us. It’s a point of pride. Because we’re able to be yelled at and ridiculed by you.” Bakugo felt Kirishima squeeze his hand.

“Huh?”

“We’re on your team. If you really, truly thought we were worthless, we wouldn’t be there anymore. You see something in all of us. We’re not at your level, but you want us to be and you believe we can be. That’s why we’re in your kitchen. We have a place with you, and that’s because you want us to be better. You’re striving for the best, and you hired us. So when you yell at us, it’s not you being an asshole. It’s you pushing us to be better. To be the best. And we want to be the best. For you.” Kirishima took a moment to look at Bakugo. There was a touch of pink over his cheeks, puffed as he smiled at his boyfriend. Bakugo saw the tip of a canine poking out from his upper lip. It made him want to kiss him. But he was more moved by what Kirishima had said.

“Seriously?”

“Yes. So when you get weird around Denki and you treat him with kid gloves ‘cause of the whole fuck up with Jirou…it freaks him out. He thinks you lost faith in him.”

“Right.” He was shocked how much Kirishima made sense to him.

“And I know it’s ‘cause you don’t know how to handle awkward relationship advice, but he doesn’t know that.” Another squeeze of his hand. Bakugo let a small smile of comfort appear on his lips.

“Yeah. I think that’s what I’m worried about.”

“That you can’t handle awkward relationship-“

“I love you.” Bakugo blurted out. He felt the release of Kirishima’s hand over his mitten. Bakugo took two more steps forward before realizing Kirishima had fully stopped under the warm glow of a street lamp.

“Um. I love you too. But when did this become about us?” Kirishima’s brow was furrowed, looking concerned. Bakugo took a step back towards him, reaching out his hand for Kirishima to take again.

“I’m bad at feelings. I’m bad at explaining feelings.”

“Oh, babe. I knew that from the moment I started talking to you. But I still fell for you,” Kirishima playfully jabbed, reaching out finally to take Bakugo’s hand. They started walking again, nearly at the apartment.

“Shut up for a second, ass,” Bakugo sighed, taking a deep breath. They had said they loved each other about a month ago. It had been a simple, natural event neither one drew much attention to. Quite possibly because Kirishima didn’t want to exacerbate any discussions that conveyed difficult emotions which Bakugo would naturally shy away from. So it was just said, one night as they fell asleep. And the next morning they ate breakfast, had their coffee, showered, and went to work as if nothing had deepened in their relationship a mere eight hours prior.

Bakugo knew he needed to say more. No, he wanted to say more.

“These past few months have been…really nice. You say I push you guys to be better at work. Better chefs. Well, you…you push me to be a better person. And…when I have you beside me…I feel like being better is easy. ‘Cause I want to be better for you. ‘Cause you’re my someone. Someone to love. I…umm. I love…you.”

“You’re my someone, too, Katsuki.” Kirishima said it as if he was saying the most obvious thing. “I’ve loved you for so long-“

“I’m trying to be serious here!”

“Hey, I am serious. I’m so serious that I love you. That you make me a better person, too. That I will do everything in my power to make you happy. I love you. I love-“

“You’re such a fucking sap.”

“And you love me. You love me so much!”

“Yeah. Must be something wrong with me.” Bakugo pushed his weight against Kirishima, who wrapped his arms around Bakugo’s waist, pulling him in even closer. The warmth of Kirishima’s lips pressed against the sliver of skin between Bakugo’s scarf and coat.

“Nope! You’re perfect,” Kirishima whispered into Bakugo’s ear, still sending a shiver down Bakugo’s spine even though his breath was hot.

“Far from it.”

“Perfect to me.”

Chapter Text

“Listen up!”

Kirishima’s attention shifted from the splash of chocolate that somehow reached the far corner of his alcove to the booming voice of Bakugo, undoing his chef’s jacket while standing, facing his kitchen staff. Jirou’s snuck in behind him, stuffing her notebook into her apron. She would normally move into the kitchen, taking a seat on some unused crates she’d pull up to Kaminari’s station, but today she took a spot leaning against the wall just behind Bakugo. He turned his head to see her, nodding once before placing his hands on his hips and bringing his attention back to the line. Kirishima threw his cloth on the counter, stepping out to stand beside Kaminari. He nudged Kaminari’s shoulder, gaining a small smile from his friend before they both turned to Bakugo, full attention.

Bakugo cleared his throat. Then silence. They all waited pensively, but anxiously. They never knew if his announcements would end in cheers or tears.

Bakugo brought a closed fist to his mouth, clearing his throat again before moving his hand to pull his fingers through his hair. He ruffled his hair, letting his hand fall to his side. As Kirishima watched in silence, his own heart started beating quicker. He felt Bakugo’s nerves as if they were his own. Kirishima tried his best to gain Bakugo’s eye contact, but Bakugo focussed on the clock hanging on the far back wall above the lockers.

“We’re listening, boss man,” Kaminari spoke up, breaking the thick silence.

“We’re going to be closing.” Bakugo blurted out. Kirishima hung his head, shaking it slowly. He knew what Bakugo was trying to say - what his plan was - but upon feeling the reaction of the room shifting to panic, he knew Bakugo started off on the wrong foot.

“What? Closing? You’re…shutting down…what?” Kaminari gripped Kirishima’s arm while starring at Bakugo.

“Should we not have talked about this before you…announced?” Shoto had a look of mixed confusion and anger.

Jirou said nothing, just dropped her head in her hands.

“Yeah,” Bakugo seemed uneasy at the response he received. “What the fuck? Do you guys not want to?”

“What?!” Kaminari nearly jumped at Bakugo.

“Not want to? You’re fucking with us, right chef?” Jirou spoke up, pulling Bakugo’s eyesight behind him. Her eyes shot daggers at her boss, a snarl rivalling Bakugo’s signature look. Kirishima thought she may have hissed.

“Why would you think that? What has given you that-“ Shoto took a step towards Bakugo. His voice was aggravated, a deep rumble sounding the most emotional since Kirishima had met him. Bakugo needed help.

“Blasty. Stop.” Kirishima spoke above the confusion. Everyone stopped to stare at him. He sighed heavily, pulling his arm from Kaminari’s vice grip. “A week. He wants to close for a week.”

All eyes shot back to Bakugo.

“I mean, yeah? Obviously,” Bakugo scoffed.

“What the fuck?” Kaminari raised his voice at Bakugo; a true reflection of the end of his rope. Kirishima placed a hand on Kaminari’s shoulder to help reign him back.

“Chef, why the hell would that be obvious? In what delusion are you living in that that would be obvious?” Jirou yelled at Bakugo, glaring at the back of his head. Kirishima took a step forward, extending his arms in an effort to calm the vultures nipping at Bakugo’s pierced remains.

“Bakugo, you need to tell them your plan,” Kirishima finally got Bakugo to look at him.

“What fucking plan?” Shoto starred at Bakugo with wide eyes, shaking his head in disbelief that he wasn’t given any communication from his partner. Kirishima felt a pang in his chest knowing that Shoto was more out of the loop than he was, especially considering the subject being their restaurant.

“No, right. Um…” Bakugo stalled.

Kirishima stepped up, punching him in the arm. It seemed to be the kickstart he needed to focus on what he needed to say.

“I’m closing Nitro for a week. We’ll reopen a week from Tuesday. We are going to throw out the menu. We are going to reassess recipes, new combinations of apps, mains, desserts. New flavour profiles. Be adventurous, creative, do things we’ve never done before. I want signature dishes, signature cocktails. We are going to rev up excelling front of house. Jirou, they’re good, but they’re not the best. Yet. We’re going to bring in another couple hands to help with prep and back end. I’m gonna need three chefs running this line. This is going to be a hard seven days. This is going to be long, endless nights. This is going to take everything you can give me. But you’re my team. You’re my chefs. We may be good now, but we will reopen and become the fucking best.”

After Bakugo stopped talking, the only sound in the kitchen was the ticking of the clock. Everyone looked between each other, a bit unsure what they were just privy to. Kaminari caught Shoto’s eyes, raising his eyebrow quizzically, and mouthing ‘three chefs?’. Shoto just shrugged silently in return.

“Really? None of you have anything to say? For fuck’s sake, I knew this was stupid!” Bakugo crossed his arms, catching Kirishima’s gaze before looking at the floor. Kirishima noticed a small pout forming on his lips. He looked adorable in this moment of misunderstood defeat.

“He wants to get a star,” Kirishima explained bluntly.

“That’s what I said!” Bakugo shot a glare at Kirishima who just laughed in return.

“Holy shit! Dude, yes! Let’s fucking go!” Kaminari jumped up on to Kirishima’s back, pumping his fist in the air.

“Bakugo, of course! We’ll crush this,” Jirou said as she nudged Bakugo’s shoulder with her fist.

“You are a terrible communicator. And understand the person who is criticizing you right now. Also, don’t ever fucking spring shit like this on me again. I’m your partner.” Shoto stepped forward, pulling Bakugo in to a quick hug. Kirishima watched as a smile melted the grimace furrowing his brow. He seemed relieved to hear the encouragement around him. As if he would have any other response.

“Okay, but let’s go back for a sec. My Front is on point,” Jirou scoffed.

“On point. Not the best. You and I are scouting all of Monday. I’ll show you the fucking best. And we’ll kick their asses.” Bakugo pulled Jirou into a side hug, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.

“I’ll come too, then. We can talk menu while we eat,” Shoto hung his arm around Bakugo’s shoulder, who nodded once in agreement.

Kirishima, still with Kaminari on his back, moved in to press his forehead against Bakugo’s, gripping his hand around the back of Bakugo’s head. It felt like a huddle of an offensive team; or better yet, a group hug of a family.

“We’ll make you proud, chef,” Kirishima said, controlling every urge to kiss his boyfriend. There would be time for that outside of the kitchen. For now, he would just bask in the warmth of the team Bakugo created.

*********

The form looked good. Perfectly oval, nearly glazed in the smoothness of the surface. But the moment Kirishima dug the spoon into the gelatin, a liquid interior ran out over the plate. He tossed the spoon on the counter, the clang piercing his ears as he ran his hands through his hair with exasperation.

“Fuck!”

He couldn’t get it. The form held fine, but it wouldn’t firm up properly. There was nothing he tried that solved the problem. He couldn’t figure it out. He was failing at a simple dessert. He should be able to master this after four attempts. But each time it seemed to get worse. He was fucked. He was fucking up. He was not good enough. He was going to hold them back. He was-

“What’s up?” Bakugo’s voice came out of the hallway, approaching their kitchen when he heard the spoon being thrown. “You don’t normally throw shit. That’s my claim to fame.”

“Oh, nah. It just slipped.” Kirishima chuckled, biting his lip, taking everything in him to look away from Bakugo. He could get distracted by the half dressed, slightly damp boyfriend that had just stepped out of the shower, still towel drying his wet hair. He could let himself be mesmerized by Bakugo’s crooked smile, leaning in to kiss the corner of his lips. He could ignore the plate in front of him, taunting him.

Kirishima sighed, taking the edge of the plate in his hand, tilting it to let the slimy dessert flop into the sink. He ran the tap, watching the water easily dissolve the hours of work, disappearing into the drain.

“You good?” Bakugo opened the fridge, pulling out two bottles of water. He offered one to Kirishima, who, instead of politely accepting, starred blankly at the bottle. He felt his heart beating faster, a ringing in his ear made him cringe. A sudden feeling of bile rose in his throat before he swallowed deeply, pushing the burning sensation back down.

“Yeah,” Kirishima croaked out, taking the bottle and setting it down on the counter, unopened.

“So today will be scout day. Jirou, Shoto and I are going to a few places downtown, then heading to this one place about thirty minutes north. I’ll be back in town probably late, but I’ll bring dinner back. Sound good?” Bakugo leaned against the counter, still fluffing his hair with one hand as he sipped from the bottle with his other. Kirishima only partially comprehended what he was talking about.

“Uh huh.” Kirishima heard himself mumble.

“Hey, Red. You sure you’re good?” Bakugo spent a bit too long looking at Kirishima to not notice the tremble in his lip. He bit down, refusing to let Bakugo see the panic that was absolutely written on his face. He forced a smile, letting his canine show.

“Totally fine.” There. His voice sounded normal again. Breath. Just breath.

“Okay…” Bakugo started to look away, keeping one eye trained to Kirishima.

“I need to head out.” Kirishima blurted out.

“Where?” A sip of a water bottle never felt so accusing before.

“Umm. There’s this market I was going to head to. Get some different flavour ideas maybe.” Kirishima was already heading towards the door, kicking his shoes on as he grabbed his coat.

“Yeah?” Bakugo followed him out of the kitchen, down the hall to the front door. He watched Kirishima as he pulled his red scarf off the wall, wrapping it twice over his neck to cover his mouth. Kirishima kept his eyes off of Bakugo, in fear that he would break, blurting out the fear that was gripping his heart.

“Yeah. Text me how it goes.” With that, Kirishima left their apartment, sprinting quickly down the stairs, into the crisp midday air.

He knew he should open up to Bakugo; let him know how much he was struggling with a new dessert. One that would be up to Nitro’s standards. Their new standards. Star quality. But every time he had tried a new process, a new flavour combination, a new technique, it ended in disaster. Inedible mush. And he had been trying for months. Ever since Bakugo had first brought up the idea of going for a star. He knew he needed to bring his A game. He knew he couldn’t offer up a dish not worthy of Bakugo Katsuki’s kitchen. But he just couldn’t. He was going to let Bakugo down.

So he would figure this out. Before worrying Bakugo with his failures, he would find his own solutions. And he knew just where to go.

Chapter Text

“So Toya…” Bakugo filled the silence at the table. They were tucked in a back corner, an amber light over the centre of their circular booth, giving the ambience a warm, quiet vibe. It was the same hue Bakugo chose for Nitro, for this exact feeling.

They had made it through a gruelling seven hours of four different restaurants of their tour for service perfection, landing at their last one Shoto had suggested, a half hour northbound from their neighbourhood. Ingenium was a larger restaurant than Nitro, with a second floor and a long, sleek black bar sprawling the full east wall. For its size, it still felt full, but not crowded. The servers moved easily and quietly.

Bakugo had been watching Jirou jotting notes all afternoon. Now, she sat with her hands in her lap, starring at her drink, notepad left in her bag. Bakugo had no need to take notes. He recalled every impressive piece he had witnessed throughout the day, mentally forming a list to dissect with Jirou later. Shoto seemed to be along for the food. Bakugo only hoped he was gathering ideas for new menu options and not just feeding himself on Bakugo’s credit card.

The server had left them with their drinks only moments before another silently presented them with a wrapped basket of fresh bread. Shoto immediately reached for a steaming roll while sending a glaring look in Bakugo’s direction.

“I’m not talking about him right now.” Shoto ripped into the bun, nodding in approval. “Do you think Kirishima could make bread?”

“Don’t change the subject. How exactly did this fire-“

“Bakugo. I’m not talking about it.” The severity of Shoto’s tone closed Bakugo’s mouth.

To the dismay of Bakugo, a tall, dark haired man approached their table empty handed. He clasped his palms together before extending his hand across the table towards Bakugo, sandwiched between Shoto and Jirou; no way to escape.

“Bakugo Katsuki. Well, it is nice to finally meet you.” His hand remained above the table as Bakugo simply starred at it, making no motion to extend his own.

“What the fuck are you on about?”

“I’ve heard wonderful things about Nitro.” The hand retreated, moving up to adjust his glasses before grabbing his other hand behind his back.

“How do you know who I am?” Bakugo looked at him quizzically.

“It’s our job to know. How are you enjoying the service today?” There was a subtle wink in Jirou’s direction.

“It’s excellent, thank you,” Jirou politely responded, ensuring to speak before Bakugo. She lifted her drink to her lips, sipping slowly on the brown liquid.

“It’s good.” Bakugo tried to be more flippant. Although he agreed with Jirou; the service was outstanding from the moment they walked through the door, he wanted to keep some form of superiority.

“I will take the lady’s opinion. Not to worry, I figure you’re here to learn. So by all means-“

“Listen four eyes,” Bakugo cut him off, annoyed at his insinuation. Regardless that it was spot on. “There’s nothing you can teach me-“

“You’re clearly here for a reason. All three of you. So please, be studious. Make notes. Steal from me as much as you need. I am more than willing to teach. Just don’t poach any of my staff,” he let out a small chuckle, pushing his glasses up the bridge his nose again.

“We don’t need them. Trust me,” Jirou said curtly. Bakugo felt his chest swell with pride.

“I see you got someone who can keep up with you, Bakugo.” The man smiled genuinely.

“Damn straight.” Bakugo shot a quick smile towards Jirou, seeing a small flush of pink on her cheeks. He wondered if that was from embarrassment or pride in herself. He only hoped for the latter.

“I’ll leave you three to enjoy the food. And the service. You won’t be disappointed.” As the man turned to leave, Shoto shot out his hand to gain his attention. For a moment, Bakugo forgot he was even sitting beside him.

“Oh, Iida. Before you go, how’s Mei?” Shoto asked. Bakugo turned his head slowly to stare at Shoto’s profile.

“Radiant. Positively glowing. But she refuses to stop working.” The man, Iida, responded back, his demeanour one of as smitten puppy.

“Isn’t she due in, what? Three weeks?” Shoto chuckled.

“Two.”

“Sounds like Mei.” There was a small, familiar smile on Shoto’s lips. Barely noticeable, but then again, Bakugo was glaring at him.

“And I’m the one feeling exhausted. Just from looking at her.”

“I’m sure she’ll take a break once the baby is born.”

“Do you really believe that?” Iida’s eyebrows raised above the frames of his glasses.

“No.”

“Exactly. Let me know if you need anything, Shoto.” Iida laid a hand on Shoto’s shoulder before finally taking his leave.

“Do you fucking know him?” Bakugo cut in almost immediately as Iida left.

“Yeah. We did our work study together. Well, part of it,” Shoto said.

“Are you fucking kidding? You didn’t feel like sharing?” Bakugo slapped the side of Shoto’s arm with the back of his hand.

“I didn’t believe it was relevant.” Shoto simply shrugged in response.

“Would have been nice to know.” Bakugo slumped back into the booth, crossing his arms. He knew it didn’t matter, but he didn’t like being left in the dark. He felt out of the loop, which made him feel foolish. He didn’t like feeling foolish.

They sat in a sullen silence for a moment. Jirou, during Shoto’s conversation with Iida, had turned to her phone. She was still engaged in typing out a few messages as their food was delivered. Bakugo quickly checked his own phone; a few emails, a text from Shinso, and four from Kaminari. Bakugo’s heart fell when he didn’t see a notification from Kirishima. He tucked his phone back into his pocket.

Three, large, circular white plates were placed delicately in front of each person. Shoto had a pasta dish, Bakugo ordered fish, and Jirou ordered meat. Without requesting, additional forks were placed at the head of the table. Iida must have figured they would sample each dish between the three of them, thus instructing his team to provide the necessary utensils. Nice touch. Before trying his own dish first, Shoto reached over to Bakugo’s fish, removing a chunk and dragging it through the cauliflower mash underneath. As he placed it in his mouth, Bakugo glared at him.

“So…how big was the fire?”

“Bakugo! Drop it. He said he doesn’t want to talk about it.” Jirou lightly pushed Bakugo’s arm.

“His father’s house got burned down. Of course he wants to talk about it.” Bakugo shot back in defence. Shoto had a terrible relationship with his father. Bakugo was actually shocked he wasn’t the one to burn his childhood home down.

“Not burned down. It’s still standing,” Shoto said through a mouthful of his own pasta now. He didn’t elaborate, to Bakugo’s dismay.

*********

“Okay, that. We need to be doing that.” Bakugo pointed towards the bar, seeing an unopened bottle of spirit placed on the bar top between the two guests as the drinks were being made. The bartender was engaging in conversation, motioned with his head to the bottle, encouraging the couple to ask questions about the brand.

“We do that,” Jirou said flatly.

“We do?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Well…but you said that about the last place, when I commented about how the girl presented the apps.” Bakugo thought back to the way the server described the dish, while subtly turning the plate to provide them with a complete view of the plating.

“Because we do that too.” Jirou slowly stirred her drink in her hand, lifting it to rest her elbow on the table. She leaned her forehead against the cool glass, closing her eyes.

“Seriously? So what-“

“Bakugo, we do it. We do all of it.” Jirou placed the glass back on the table, adjusting in her seat slightly to face Bakugo. “Our Front isn’t just ‘on point’. We’re the fucking sword’s edge. We are the best of the best. You know why? Because I’ve done this. I keep doing this. I scout, I steal, I pillage from every high class restaurant in the whole region. I form the best fucking front of house staff worthy of your restaurant. We pull back chairs silently, we edge place settings, we ensure every single dish is paired with not only a drink suitable for the dish, but also specified to the guest’s individual pallet. We banter, we charm. They may come for your food, but they come back because of us.”

“Damn Kyo. Why didn’t you just say something?” Bakugo smirked at her outburst.

Jirou lifted her hands to cover her full face, small squeals muffled into her palms. After a moment, she dropped her hands back to her lap, forcing a smile on her lips.

“I did.”

“I mean, you could have saved me $300 in lunch expenses.”

“You jackass,” Jirou couldn’t help the smile from appearing. As much as she tried to hide it, Bakugo still saw.

“I mean, I had a good time with you guys.” Shoto placed his empty glass on the table. Bakugo sighed, looking between them.

“So what I’m not understanding then…what is it? What’s stopping us from succeeding? If our service is phenomenal, and the food is not even in the realm of problematic, what the fuck-“

“Bakugo,” Jirou cut him off, one eyebrow cocked.

“What?”

“You.”

“Me?” Bakugo shook his head.

“I mean…you’re where we fall flat with service.”

“Are you fucking joking?” Bakugo nearly laughed, stopping himself when he saw the glare on her face.

“You do yell at guests more often than not.”

“Yeah, cause they’re assholes.”

“I think you made an old lady cry one time.” Shoto’s voice came from Bakugo’s other side. Bakugo leaned back, annoyed with having to look between them. He crossed his arms, recalling the incident Shoto was referring.

“Yeah…I think I did. Her dog had just died.”

Jirou and Shoto leaned forward to look at each other before turning to look at Bakugo.

“What? Don’t look at me like that. She wanted no mushrooms in her mushroom risotto. What kind of entitled jackass-“

“Bakugo!” Jirou nearly shouted in the quiet restaurant. Her voice strained from the annoyance as she attempted to keep her volume hushed.

“Okay. I see your point. Maybe I’m the problem,” Bakugo frowned.

“Yes.” Both Shoto and Jirou quickly responded.

“Don’t be so agreeable.” Bakugo felt himself pouting. He bit his lip to hide it.

“So we’ll spend some time on your demeanour. Maybe do some testing ourselves,” Jirou offered.

“It’s a waste of time. I just won’t go out. You’ll deal with complaints,” Bakugo offered.

“You know that’s not the solution,” Jirou sighed. Bakugo knew she was right. It was one thing to complain to the wait staff, another to have the chef themselves come out to provide “expertise”.

“Shoto will go out,” Bakugo shrugged.

“You know that’s an even worse idea.” Shoto said quietly.

“Yeah, it’s always somehow been worse than when you berate people,” Jirou piped up. Bakugo felt attacked. He gave up, throwing his hands in the air.

“Fucking fine! You seriously think that’s why we’ve never got a star before? It’s not like I yell at guests every night.”

“Yeah…but the odds that we’ve been tested on a night that you’ve yelled at someone are astronomically high,” Jirou pointed out.

“It’s irritating that you’re probably right.”

“It’s good to have self awareness.” Shoto chimed in.

“Fuck off, Shoto.”

“So what does this mean? We just need to coach Bakugo on how to be a decent human being and the rest can stay the same?” Jirou partially joked.

“Firstly, you won’t be coaching anyone on being a decent human being. That’s right, bitch, I haven’t forgotten about Denki. And secondly, no. I still want to improve the menu. I feel like I’m getting complacent. I need to amp up what we’ve been doing with new techniques. And with the new help, we’ll be able to add more complex dishes.” Bakugo said, feeling only slightly guilty when he saw Jirou slink back into the booth at his sharp comment.

“I tasked Denki with creating something new for you to try tomorrow.” Shoto distracted Bakugo from looking at Jirou.

“Good.”

“Should I bother asking why Kyo is a bitch?” Shoto asked

“No,” Jirou mumbled.

“What about Kirishima?” Shoto moved on quickly.

“What about him?” Bakugo asked. He hadn’t really spoken to Kirishima about his role since the announcement. He’d been experimenting at their apartment for a month or so, which Bakugo assumed was his testing phase. He was confident Kirishima had a plan.

“New techniques? New dishes? How’s he doing with all of that? Has he come up with anything?” Jirou pulled herself out of her slump to lean forward, Bakugo’s insensitive comment seemingly forgotten.

“Yeah, he’s been sitting on this knowledge much longer than anyone else,” Shoto said. Bakugo sensed an edge of bitterness; possibly a dig at Bakugo’s lack of communication to him about his desires to change the path of their restaurant.

“He’s doing great. He’s testing out new stuff at home every day. I’ll text him, see if he can make something he’s been playing around with for you guys tomorrow.”

*********

Katsuki [21:03]
Heading back soon. I’m picking up a ban mi sandwich from that place you found last month.

Katsuki [21:04]
Shoto and Jirou want to try something you’re working on tomorrow. We’re meeting at N around 9. Sound good?

Katsuki [21:10]
I can’t imagine you fell asleep already.

Katsuki [21:15]
…

1 missed call

Katsuki [21:31]
OI! Dipshit. Answer my texts man.

2 missed calls

Katsuki [21:50]
Can you answer me? You’re not home.

Bakugo tossed his phone down on the table in front of him, clattering loudly beside an unwrapped sandwich; untouched as he’d lost his appetite. His stomach felt heavy after coming home to a pitch black apartment, just as silent as his phone had become since leaving Shoto and Jirou at the train station.

A slew of possibilities ran through Bakugo’s imagination, non of which gave him warm and fuzzies. He was tempted to start calling hospitals. He wish he had Tetsu’s contact. Or Mina’s.

He picked up his phone, calling the only person he could think of.

“Hello?” Camie picked up after the first ring.

“Hey, it’s Bakugo.”

“I know. What’s up?”

“Weird question, but do you still have Tetsu’s phone number?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“I need to see if he’s seen Kirishima today.”

“No he hasn’t.”

“How the fuck would you know?” Bakugo picked at the hem of his t-shirt with his free hand.

“Cause I’ve been with him the whole day.”

Bakugo sighed, closing his eyes in frustration.

“Camie! What…are you with him now?”

“Yes.”

“Please tell me you’re both dressed.”

“Mostly.” She actually giggled at him. Bakugo clutched the phone, tempted to throw it to end this aggravating call.

“Give him the phone,” Bakugo said through gritted teeth.

“Yo. Bakugo. I haven’t seen Kirishima.” Bakugo was thankful Tetsu got straight to the point.

“Has he texted you recently? Last couple hours?” Bakugo tried.

“Nah. Did you guys fight? I know he likes to hit the cardio when he’s upset.”

“We did not fucking fight. Everything is fine.” Was it? He left this morning acting a bit weird.

“Your boyfriend is just missing,” Tetsu teased.

“He’s not fucking missing! He’s just not home.”

“Maybe his phone died.” A sound idea. Maybe this one wasn’t a complete idiot.

“Yeah. Maybe. Can you get me Mina’s number?”

“Yeah, hold on. I’ll text it to you.” There was a sound of fumbling fabric against the phone as Tetsu must have been searching for his own phone.

The sound of the door opening caught Bakugo’s attention. His heart jumped in to his throat as he watched Kirishima turning in the entryway to lock the door behind him, unfurling the scarf from around his neck. His bright smile illuminated his face as he turned to see Bakugo, starring with a look of relief washing over him.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. He’s back,” Bakugo said into the phone.

“Cool man. That’s a relief, huh?”

“Yeah. Bye.” Bakugo hung up, not caring for a response.

“Hey, I guess I was out longer than I thought.” Kirishima stepped in to the bedroom as Bakugo started to walk towards the hallway. He made his way to follow Kirishima, but was met with him blocking the doorway, already heading out towards the living room in a new shirt on.

“Yeah, hey. What’s going on?” Bakugo tried to stop him.

“What do you mean?” Kirishima side stepped Bakugo’s blockade, quickly rubbing his arm a couple times as he passed.

“You ignored my texts and calls all night. What the fuck-“

“Oh, my phone died. Like I said, I was out longer than I thought.” Kirishima sat on the couch, the food drawing his attention. “Oh, yes! Ban mi. Did you get these from that place by that market we went one time? The one that had the really good dragonfruit?”

“Yeah…” Bakugo walked towards the couch hesitantly.

“You’re amazing! This is just what I needed.” Kirishima grabbed the one remaining wrapped sandwich, pulling back the parchment. Bakugo finally sat beside him, still searching for an answer he wasn’t sure there was a question to. He just had a sinking feeling that wasn’t sitting right inside of himself.

Kirishima took a large bite, moaning quietly and he turned to look at Bakugo. Seeing the bizarre focus on Bakugo’s face, Kirishima reached out to put the sandwhich down, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb.

Kirishima turned slightly, his knee hitting Bakugo’s gently. He placed his hand on the back of the couch, leaning over to touch their foreheads together. Bakugo felt the warmth of his skin, releasing a portion of the tension building in his shoulders.

“Blasty, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out. I swear my phone just died, and I didn’t realize the time. I wasn’t ignoring you. And this?” Kirishima pulled back to motion his hands towards the sandwiches, raising his eyebrows. “This makes my shit day simply vanish into thin air. These, and obviously, seeing you again.”

Kirishima leaned back in, but this time lowering his chin so his soft lips brushed against Bakugo’s hardened ones. The trail of Kirishima’s tongue tickling the edge of Bakugo’s mouth was all he needed to fully melt. Bakugo slouched, leaning his own body weight into Kirishima’s touch.

When Kirishima finally pulled away, Bakugo wasn’t ready to loose the feeling of his lips. He pouted as Kirishima turned back to his food, taking another large bite. It was a long day, and tomorrow would be even longer. Bakugo didn’t want to spend the little time they had tonight being in a bad mood. He reached for his own sandwich, taking a bite before realizing just how much food he had eaten throughout the day. He wasn’t necessarily hungry, but the flavours were something he didn’t want to pass up.

He leaned back on the couch, suddenly feeling Kirishima’s hands gripping his calves, pulling his feet up and over Kirishima’s lap. Bakugo leaned back against the arm rest, sinking down into the cushion, letting the comfort overtake him. Kirishima dragged his hands over Bakugo’s legs, easing the little tension Bakugo was holding on to. Kirishima was right, it was a shit day, and this moment was making it a thousand times better. He wouldn’t ruin it.

Chapter Text

Kirishima walked into a small shop, a bell dangling over head to announce his entry. There was a counter spanning the back wall, connecting to tall display cases forming a u-shape. Kirishima looked to one side, seeing the tall case lined with baskets full of bread loaves. The other case to his left was stacked with trays of tarts, pasties, and single serving mini cakes. The colours were natural, but bright; conveying freshness and fruit filled. The small space wafted the scent of newly baked bread, even though it was midday. Kirishima’s mouth watered as he stepped up to the counter, greeted by a smiling, dark haired man.

“Welcome. Welcome. Anything in particular you’re interested in today?” The man, standing a foot taller than Kirishima, had the warmest smile, embracing Kirishima as if he’d entered the home of a long time friend.

“Actually, I came to see the owner. Maybe you can help me.” Kirishima figured he’d get straight to the point. No sense in wasting his time.

“Lucky day for you, I suppose. I am the owner.”

“You’re Sato?” Kirishima didn’t know who he was expecting when he pictured Bakugo’s ex-pastry chef. It most certainly was not this jovial, beast of a man.

“That I am!” He beamed that smile at Kirishima, a soft, low chuckle escaping his lips. He was so much like a friendly giant that Kirishima couldn’t help himself from a small laugh as well. “Who may I ask is looking for me?”

“Oh, my name is Kirishima,” he extended his hand out after nervously wiping it against his stomach. Sato’s hand was warm, giving him a solid grip. “I work at Nitro.”

“Oh ho! Yes! My replacement.” It was meant in jest, Kirishima knew, but it still felt like a stinging comment. As if he was still trying to measure up to this man. Which he was. And that was why he was here.

“Yes. I was hoping…this may seem a bit out of the blue…but I was hoping to bend your ear. I’m having a…problem…with a dessert I’m trying to master. Thought who better to go to than the man who’s one step ahead of me.” Kirishima shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to stave off the trembling fingers.

“I don’t know about one step ahead. Different paths, maybe.” Sato paused, taking in Kirishima, before smiling wide again. “I’ll have a moment this afternoon. Once my partner comes in, which should be in about an hour. Are you okay to wait?”

Sato motioned to one of two small, round tables by the entrance. Kirishima nodded once before heading over to take a seat. He had not realized Sato had moved until he stood in front of Kirishima with a plate holding a custard tart, dusted with matcha.

“Oh, no. Please…” Kirishima politely bowed his head.

“I insist. I’m making you wait. Do you prefer coffee or tea?” Sato began walking behind the counter again.

“Um. Tea. Please. Green if you have it.”

“I’ll make you my specialty. I assume you’re okay with honey,” Sato spoke over his shoulder towards Kirishima as the bell chimed, signifying a new customer.

Kirishima kept his head down, pulling out his phone to preoccupy himself. There was a message from Kaminari and three from Bakugo.

Denki [12:35]
I’ve roasted over 100 tomatoes already. How is it only noon?
I want to kms.
Soup is going to be banger though.

Katsuki [12:45]
Can you get milk on your way home? You left the empty carton in the fridge again.

Katsuki [12:55]
We just got to the first place.
I want to stab Shoto already.

Katsuki [1:20]
I miss your stupid face.

A cup was placed in front of Kirishima, a soft greenish amber liquid steaming before him. He reached out to smell a faint bitterness of the tea leaf mixed with a sweetness of honey, but not overpowering.

“Like I said, give me about an hour? I’d love to help out a friend of a friend,” Sato smiled, already walking behind the counter again. The couple that had entered moments ago already leaving.

Kirishima nodded at him, pulling up the corners of his lips to a smile. He felt the tension ease away slowly the longer he sat in the warm, cozy space. He was putting his plan in motion. This would work. This needed to work.

*********

They both stood in Sato’s back room; filled mostly with a large island with a marble countertop, ovens and baking equipment surrounding them. It was by no means spacious, but the two men were able to move around easily enough. Kirishima caught Sato up on Bakugo’s plan and subsequently his own dilemma.

“So, why exactly are you here?” Sato leaned his arms on the island, starring questionably at Kirishima who stood on the other side.

“I need your help. I’m not… I’m struggling with consistency. I’m missing an ingredient, or my timing is off. I don’t know. Maybe I’m not whipping long enough. Or too long. I’ve just been fucking up-“ Kirishima blurted out, the words tumbling from his mouth uncontrollably until Sato raised his hands, motioning for Kirishima to relax.

“Hey, okay. What is it you’re trying to make?”

“Raspberry confit panna cotta.” Kirishima looked at Sato, trying to gauge his reaction. The man pursed his lips, nodding slowly.

“I like it. A simple dish, but you can make it your own. You’re…struggling with the consistency?” Sato paused, sounding suspicious of Kirishima’s shortcoming. For a dish like this, consistency of custard was absolutely not a problem a seasoned pastry chef would have.

“Yeah. It’s either too stiff, too soft. Squishy. I’ve tried adding more gelatin, using no gelatin, substituting a different brand of cream, using a slightly more refined sugar. Literally you name it, I’ve adjusted it. It always turns out…wrong.” Kirishima felt his hands sweating. Saying all of this out loud, reliving the last month of taste testing, brought the wave of doubt crashing upon him all over again.

“How’s the confit?” Sato raised his eyebrows, seemingly judging just how deep a hole Kirishima had dug himself.

“Confit’s fine. And that’s part of the issue,” Kirishima sighed.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s fine. The best part about my dish, the only saving grace, is fine. Just fine. Not spectacular, or desirable. Just…serviceable. And what the fuck good is it? If it’s not flashy, if it won’t gain the attention of the customer…why bother having a dessert at all?” Kirishima stepped back, his shoulders pressed against the large glass oven door. He crossed his arms, digging his nails into his biceps. Fuck, this was hard to admit. Especially to a stranger.

“What’s wrong with simplicity?” Sato stood tall, watching Kirishima as his form shrunk into itself. Kirishima just shook his head. “Have you talked about this with Bakugo?”

Kirishima shook his head silently, avoiding Sato’s gaze.

“I think that’s step one.”

“No.” Kirishima’s gaze shot up, fixing on the chef across from him. “I can’t. Not right now. He’s…got his hands full with everything. Literally everything else. He needs to divide his time between front service and making a whole new menu. On top of that, he’s hiring two new chefs, and needing to train Denki. And all the basic restaurant necessities haven’t gone away… No. No, I can’t pile my problems on top of all that. That’s why I’m here.”

“Again, what’s your plan-“

“Teach me. You worked with Bakugo for years. You know what he’ll like. You know what is suitable for that world. Teach me a dish, or fix what I’m fucking up with mine. I just need…I need…” Kirishima paused, taking a slow inhale. He was thankful Sato had remained quiet. “I can’t fuck this up for him. I can’t be the reason everyone fails.”

As if the words held jagged daggers, it pained Kirishima to say out loud. But he knew this is what had plagued him, for months. All the way back to when he was hired at Nitro. He had feared Bakugo would see the errors in his ways and fire him. It sat in the back of his mind, poking his brain every so often. And now, with the added pressure of needing to excel in every possible area, Kirishima felt he would be the link that snapped the chain.

“I think you should talk to Baku-“

“Sato.” Kirishima met his eyes with determination. “Please.”

Sato stepped away from the island, heading towards the swinging door to the front of house. He poked his head out, saying a few words, followed by a soft laugh from the shop. As he pulled himself back into the kitchen, he reached for an apron hanging from a hook beside the door.

“Okay. I will help. You shall be my young caterpillar and I will cocoon you until you are a beautiful butterfly,” Sato smiled at Kirishima as he tied a bow behind his back, securing the apron strings.

“You have no idea how much I adore you right now,” Kirishima beamed at who he deemed his newest friend. His saviour. He slapped his hands together, rubbing his palms. He was ready to learn.

*********

“If that’s the form you want it to take, it’s doable-“

“Is it?!” Kirishima dropped the metal spoon he was using to quenelle the stiff custard. “Because it doesn’t look like it’s doable.”

“Kirishima, it’s just…your wrist movement is a bit off. Focussed and fluid-“

“I have been focussed. I am fluid. The problem is it’s not stiff enough. This is what I’m saying. The texture is off. But if I change it, then the flavour is shit. I’m just not winning.” Kirishima pressed his palms in the counter, hanging his head over the ball of custard in front of him.

“I think we’re at our limit.” Sato patted Kirishima’s back once, his heavy hand feeling comforting on Kirishima’s aching muscles.

“Yeah…eight hours of failing at the same fucking thing is definitely my limit.” Kirishima tried to force a laugh from his chest, worried for a moment it sounded like a sob.

“Not failing. Trying. And we’re not done trying.” Sato’s hand remained on Kirishima’s shoulder. He was thankful.

“We’re not?”

“No, man. I told you, I’m turning you into a butterfly. Your wings are not yet out. My time is not done. How about we take a break tonight. Rest up and I go to Nitro tomorrow?” Sato’s words were like air for Kirishima. He suddenly no longer felt as if he were drowning.

“Wait, seriously?” Kirishima looked up at Sato, holding back the tears that coated his eyes.

“Yeah. Of course. I’m always willing to help out Nitro. Bakugo gave me so much when I was first starting out. He moulded me into what I am today. I’ll gladly help out this week.”

Kirishima lept at Sato, wrapping his arms around the bigger man, his hands just touching as he hugged Sato’s chest.

“You have no idea what this means. You’re literally saving the restaurant, man,” Kirishima beamed.

“We got this. We’ll figure it out. But head home for now. It’s late.”

“Yeah. You too. The guys will be thrilled to see you, I’m sure.” Kirishima pulled himself away, finding his coat and scarf as Sato piled the last of their used dishes into the automatic washer.

“Okay. See you there, Kirishima. Don’t fret about it. Tomorrow is a new day.” Sato’s final words landed on deaf ears as Kirishima had already stepped into the dark pastry shop. He pulled out his phone and he walked into the cold night air, immediately seeing a puff of his breath in front of him.

6 messages.
2 missed calls.

All from Bakugo.

Katsuki [21:03]
Heading back soon. I’m picking up a ban mi sandwich from that place you found last month.

Katsuki [21:04]
Shoto and Jirou want to try something you’re working on tomorrow. We’re meeting at N around 9. Sound good?

Katsuki [21:10]
I can’t imagine you fell asleep already.

Katsuki [21:15]
…

Katsuki [21:31]
OI! Dipshit. Answer my texts man.

Katsuki [21:50]
Can you answer me? You’re not home.

Kirishima held his phone up to his ear. The robotic voice told him he had two new messages.

“Hey, I hope you’re not already sleeping. Seriously, I want to talk to you about the ridiculous deduction my work associates have come up with. Apparently I am the problem. Can you believe it? Anyway, I’ll see you soon, Ei. Love you.”

Kirishima saved the message. The next one started playing automatically.

“Where are you? You’re not answering my texts and I’m not fucking amused. And…Kirishima…can you just answer me back? Did I do something? What happened this morning? Did I say something? Whatever I did, I’m sorry. Fuck. Fuck! Please be okay.”

Kirishima felt a pit in his stomach. He didn’t want Bakugo to worry, and he’d be home soon enough. He pocket his phone, shoving his hands in his coat pockets, picking up his speed to get home quicker.

Chapter Text

Bakugo walked up to the restaurant with a coffee in one hand and a homemade scone in the other. He shoved the scone in his mouth to pull his key from his pocket, swinging the door open to a silent restaurant. The lights were dim inside, the bright sunlight shining in through the large glass windows, warming the space. He heard laughter coming from the kitchen, making his way quickly to the back, assuming he would see Kaminari and Kirishima goofing off before he would put them to work.

He had missed Kirishima in the morning; not surprising as he tended to wake up before him anyway. Either to bake something for breakfast, like the white chocolate raspberry scone still gripped between his teeth, or to meet Tetsu at the gym. He was looking forward to pulling him into a hug, not caring about the inevitable grimace they would get from Kaminari.

Bakugo pulled the scone from his mouth, licking the remnants from his lips as he kicked open the swinging door. He paused, shocked and confused about the sight before him. Kaminari and Shoto were to be expected, yet they were huddled around the tall man who had made his home in Bakugo’s kitchen until just over half a year ago. Sato smiled as he caught sight of Bakugo, moving towards the blonde for a warm hug. Although it was welcomed, it was not the hug Bakugo had been hoping for.

“Hey…Sato. What’s up?” Bakugo stepped back, taking another bite to hide his confusion of the new guest.

“I was asked to come help out. Well, volunteered, I guess. I hope that’s okay.” Sato looked a bit sheepish, looking over his shoulder at Shoto, who just nodded in response.

“Yeah, you know you’re always welcome.” Bakugo knocked Sato’s bicep with his forearm as he walked past, dropping his coffee and half eaten scone on his station. He took a quick glance down the line, seeing trays of butternut squash, pumpkin, apples, onion and garlic, all roughly chopped, coated with olive oil and seasoning. He assumed Kaminari was working on a soup. His mouth watered thinking of the flavours he was mixing together.

He took a look around briefly, not seeing Kirishima in his alcove. He wasn’t in the back by the lockers and he was certain he had not walked past him in the front of house.

“Denks…where’s Kiri?” Bakugo nodded his chin up to get Denki’s attention, trying to withhold the tension of worry forming in his chest.

“Dunno. Haven’t seen him today.”

“He said he was coming in, right?” Bakugo asked, his lips pouting.

“That’s what he said yesterday.” Sato offered. The comment only confused Bakugo further. Since when were they together yesterday?

“Huh?”

“Did he not mention…yeah, I’m giving him a little guidance on the dessert he’s making. We couldn’t nail it yesterday, so I figured we could spend the day together. Mind if I help myself?” Sato pointed to the fridge as he made his way over, opening the wide door to step inside. Bakugo assumed to get the ingredients they would need.

“Right, of course,” Bakugo mumbled only loud enough that he could hear.

The kitchen fell into a rhythm over the next hour that felt natural. Sato’s presence in the alcove felt comforting, but also a little off. The music coming from the speakers had a bit more bass, less energetic pop than what Kirishima would play. The three chefs surrounding Bakugo made jokes; laughing and throwing playful insults at each other. Bakugo, although at ease with the nostalgic atmosphere, found himself starring at the knife in his hand, rather than using it to slice the mushrooms piled on his cutting board.

“You know what I miss? The white peach shortcake. Best thing we’ve ever had on the menu,” Kaminari called out over his shoulder as he pulled out a tray of softened, caramelized gourds from the steaming oven.

Bakugo’s knife clattered on the counter as the handle slipped from his fingers. His lips snarled at the comment. Bakugo knew it was true, but there was a fraction of himself that screamed at Kaminari in his head. Screamed in defence of Kirishima. Kirishima was the best. Not Sato. Where was Kirishima?

“You good, chef?” Sato asked. Bakugo grunted before picking up the knife again.

“Or what about the pear foam? That was impressive,” Shoto offered, much to Bakugo’s dismay.

Shut up. All of you shut up. He’s not even here to defend himself. Where-

“No! What was it that you did with the crème brûlée? It wasn’t chocolate…what was that?” Kaminari prompted. When Sato opened his mouth to answer, he was stunned to silence when Bakugo’s knife stabbed into the wood of his cutting board; the loud bang echoing through the kitchen. Everyone’s eyes starred at the blonde, looking down as his palms spread wide over the metal countertop.

“WHERE THE FUCK IS MY BOYFRIEND?” Bakugo’s voice crashed into the void, spurring on more silence in repsonse. The three other chefs dared not to move, unsure of what set him off to have such an egregious reaction.

Bakugo paused, looking at his hands. His eyes honed in on a scar at the tip of one finger. He pushed himself away from the counter, leaving his knife standing erect in the board. He pulled his coat off the hook inside his office door, leaving the kitchen as it vibrated with fear and confusion.

**********

Bakugo went back to their apartment. He couldn’t figure out where to go otherwise. His brain was back to where it was floundering less than 24 hours ago. He hated this feeling. It drove a piercing jab into his stomach, making him feel confused and nauseous. He would rather be pissed, but found himself more worried than anything.

He opened the door with a loud jangling of keys, calling out before he even stepped over the threshold.

“Eijirou? Are you here?”

“Yeah.” A small voice came from the living room.

“What the fuck, Ei? Where were you? Why aren’t you at work? You’re not answering my texts again.” Bakugo spoke in a flurry as he made his way to kneel in front of Kirishima, who sat on the couch, his hands griping his knees.

“Yeah, right. Sorry.” Kirishima’s eyes roamed the apartment behind Bakugo, looking anywhere else.

“As your boyfriend, are you okay?” Bakugo placed his hands over Kirishima’s. His skin was warm. He was always so warm.

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Are you physically hurt?” Bakugo moved his head to try to gain Kirishima’s eye contact. Finally, their eyes met. Bakugo felt Kirishima relax in front of him.

“No, Katsuki. I’m okay. Really.” It may have been small, but Kirishima smiled.

“Good. That’s good,” Bakugo sighed. The relief washing over him that Kirishima was safe. However….

Bakugo stood. Releasing his hands from Kirishima’s to cross them in front of his chest. He narrowed his eyes, glaring down at Kirishima. “So as your boss…what the fuck is wrong with you? Why the fuck aren’t you at fucking work?”

“I can-“

“Shut up. Get your ass in gear. Let’s fucking go.” Bakugo pointed to the door.

“I’m not going back.” Kirishima sounded so far away. So small.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Bakugo’s voice was still gruff; the anger he had so craved starting to come out.

“I’m not going back to work. I’m…not…”

“Whatever. Explain it on the way back to fucking work.” Bakugo pointed again, motioning for Kirishima to stand up with his other hand.

“No. I’m not…I got you Sato back. He’ll help you. I…I’m not going to help. I made sure you’re good. You guys will be okay now. So I’m not going back.” Kirishima did stand up, but reverted back to avoiding eye contact. Bakugo paused, taking a moment to try comprehending what Kirishima had just said.

“Wait, what?” He didn’t understand.

“And I realize it might be a bit awkward for us. Like us us. So I’m going to stay at Mina’s for a bit. Until you can be okay with this.” Kirishima had started walking towards the door.

“What?” Bakugo didn’t move. Awkward? Mina? Okay with this? Bakugo starred at the ground, seeing Kirishima’s socked feet disappear from view as he walked farther away from him. A bag was picked up. Was that bag there when he came in?

“Katsuki, I need you to know that I love you. And you’ll be good now. And that I’m doing this because I love you.”

“What’s happening?”

“I promise I’ll call you. I love you.”

“Wait. Wait…no. Wait. What?”

The sound of the door closing behind Kirishima was as loud as a gunshot. The silence to follow pressed down on Bakugo; his head throbbed, his shoulders pained, his legs weakened.

“What?” Bakugo softly mumbled into the void, knowing no one was around to aid in his confusion. He left. Kirishima left. Left him. In the centre of their living room, Bakugo stood frozen, his body rejecting his mind’s pleas to move forward and drag Kirishima back; to demand a proper explanation. His words swarmed inside Bakugo’s mind, all jumbled in a mess of tangled yarn.

You’ll be good now.

What the fuck did that mean? How could he be good without Kirishima? How was he supposed to be good? What would be good about this?

Finally, Bakugo’s feet started to shuffle forwards, bringing himself towards the door. He could go after Kirishima; there would still be time to catch up to him. As he walked to the door, Bakugo leaned down to pick up a hoodie that had fallen to the ground, placing it on the row of hooks. As he did that, he kicked over a pair of boots, revealing a small mark of dried mud. He’d clean that quickly before heading out.

Bakugo reached under the sink in the kitchen for a scrub brush and cleanser, but as he was crouched down, saw a splatter of what looked like tomato sauce on the kick plate under the counter. How long that had been there stumped him, so he immediately turned his attention to the new stain.

*********

“Kacchan? The door is unlocked. Shoto sent me. I am here as a concerned citizen, to make sure you are not dead.” Midoriya’s voice travelled into the apartment. He stepped, socked feet, into the hallway, pausing as he turned the corner into the kitchen doorway.

The fridge was pulled out from the wall, still plugged in so that the cord was pulled tight. The door was butt up against the counter across from it, shielding the vision of Bakugo, kneeling on the tiled floor. Midoriya peeked around the large fridge to see the stove was also pulled out from the wall, half of Bakugo disappeared behind it, on hands and knees, scrubbing the baseboard. All of the cupboard doors were open; pots, pans, cooking sheets, baking dishes, bags of rice…everything emptied on top of the counters leaving the cupboards bare. The apartment reeked of bleach.

“Kacchan,” Midoriya sighed his name, trying quietly to get his attention, worried for the wrath that may come. At the sound of Midoriya speaking, Bakugo visibly stiffened, his scrubbing halted. He sat back on his heels, looking up at Midoriya. He looked exhausted and pale, eyes bloodshot to match the crimson irises.

“Oh, hey, Midoriya.” Bakugo’s voice was hoarse, uncertain if it was from the excessive inhalation of cleaning products in a confined space, or from the outburst of angry yelling he had endured not too long ago; after pulling out the fridge, but before emptying all of the cupboards.

“What. The. Fuck. Happened?” Midoriya stepped over the taught electrical cord of the fridge to move into the kitchen, closing a cupboard door so he could sit facing Bakugo.

“There was a splash of sauce on the kick plate,” Bakugo explained, believing that answer would satiate Midoriya’s confusion.

“Okay…” Midoriya contemplated his next question. “Where’s Kirishima?”

Bakugo’s mouth went tight, his lips pressed together as he took a long, slow inhale, counting to four before exhaling to another count. The pressure in his chest lifted slightly; enough that he felt confident in opening his mouth to speak without vomiting.

“He left.” It was a simple answer, but it was all Bakugo knew.

“What?” Midoriya starred at Bakugo with a furrowed brow.

“He left,” Bakugo said more quickly. He tossed the rag up to the sink above his head. It landed with a thump.

“Did you see him? Talk to him? What happened, Kacchan?” Midoriya prodded.

“He left. He just left.” Bakugo shook his head, uncertain himself of the real reason. He couldn’t answer Midoriya’s questions because he didn’t know.

“Did he say anything?” Bakugo closed his eyes, trying to make sense of the words Kirishima said as he walked out of their apartment.

“He got me Sato back. He said we’d be good now. Sato would help. He’s not coming back. Deku, he’s not coming back…” Bakugo heard his voice crack, immediately closing his mouth. He wouldn’t cry. Not in front of Midoriya.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, Kacchan. Or at least, out of the kitchen.” Midoriya stood, reaching out his hand. Bakugo weakly swatted it away. He reached out again, this time gripping his fingers around Bakugo’s fist, pulling him up with a little force. Bakugo let himself be guided to the small bathroom, listening to the water start to run in the bath without fully comprehending what was happening.

In his new location, Bakugo eyes glazed over, starring blankly at the bottom corner of the mirror. There was a small mark; dried toothpaste or face cleanser, maybe. It was minuscule, but his eyes focussed intently. He leaned forward, taking a step to outstretch his hand. The water stopped and Midoriya’s grip was back around his hand, pulling him towards the bath.

“Get in. I’m going to be just outside. So I’ll hear if you don’t.” And with that, he left, slowly closing the door. Bakugo stood, starring at the water. The surface so smooth he felt guilty disturbing it.

“Get in, Kacchan!” Midoriya’s voice carried through the door. It sounded low, as if he were sitting on the ground. What the fuck was he doing there? Why was he forcing him to bathe? What was the point?

“Do you remember in high school when we went on the class trip? In third year? And we were asked by the whole class to cook for them that last night?” Midoriya spoke to no one. Bakugo stayed silent, not acknowledging his reminiscence. Even though he recalled that night vividly. It was terrible.

“We actually worked well together. At first. I mean, I just did everything you told me to. Of course it was going smooth. But then…”

As Midoriya’s voice trailed off, both men recalled in their own memories the events of that night so many years ago. Bakugo sighed, undressing to step into the bath. The warm water felt soothing on his skin. He hadn’t realized he felt sticky until the water caressed over him. He took a quick dip under the surface, rubbing his face and hair as he re-emerged.

“Kacchan, what exactly happened that night that made you…”

It was as if Midoriya couldn’t say the word, otherwise it would admit that Bakugo had a problem. Bakugo scoffed.

“Made me go fucking crazy?” He said the word so Midoriya wouldn’t feel guilty saying it.

“You aren’t crazy, Kacchan.”

“What I did that night…what I was doing today…Izuku, I know it’s not normal,” Bakugo heard his voice echo in the small, tiled room.

“But it doesn’t make you crazy,” Midoriya emphasized. Bakugo sighed, the sound echoing around him. He felt his heart beat quicken, recalling the first night he ever experienced the ache inside of him that nothing he did seemed to quell. He tried to speak slowly; not wanting the memories to drown him.

“Someone thanked you. Some random fucking extra who I can’t even remember what they looked like. They thanked you for everything. They praised your cooking. Your technique. And I couldn’t fucking take it. You were always held up on the fucking pedestal of greatness and I was this asshole hot head. I was never the great cook. I was never going to be the best. Even then. And it ate away at me. Like acid on my skin.”

“Do you think that’s where this compulsion to clean comes from?”

“Yeah. Probably. I don’t know. It crops up when I think about that shit.” Bakugo flicked a finger into the water, splashing his knee poking out from the still surface.

“Is that what happened tonight?”

“Why the fuck do you care, Deku?” Bakugo heard himself snapping the words before he realized how harsh he sounded. He bit his tongue, regretting his reaction.

“Because I do. I care about you, Kacchan. And I want to help you.”

“I think…I think tonight happened because…” Bakugo sighed. He didn’t want to admit what happened to cause him to tear his entire kitchen apart.

“Kirishima left?” Midoriya’s prompted.

“Yeah.” Bakugo’s voice was quiet, nearly inaudible. But he knew Midoriya already knew the answer. He cleared his throat before speaking again. For some reason, even though he knew Midoriya was listening to his every word, being alone in the bathroom felt peaceful. “There was this time a while back, when I first started dating Kirishima. I was…obsessing. I knew I was being irrational, but there was this fucking spot…I was frantically scrubbing the floor of the restaurant and he texted me. He just texted me. And then I completely forgot about the spot. That…I don’t know…compulsion? It just vanished. I suddenly felt okay because he was there. He was thinking about me. He cared. I think I realized I loved him then.”

“When was this?” Midoriya’s voice filtered through the door.

“When you were doing your charity event thing.”

“Wasn’t that, like, two weeks into dating him?” Bakugo could hear a small laugh from the hallway. He couldn’t help but laugh as well.

“Yeah. Fucking weird, right? But…it just felt…I don’t know how to explain it. Like this ball of wire was tightening in my chest, wrapping around my heart, squeezing and suffocating me and nothing I could do would loosen it. And then I saw his name pop up on my phone. And there was this release. Like he turned a valve, releasing pressure. And I could breathe again. He does that for me.” Bakugo had never spoken aloud these thoughts he had about Kirishima. When he heard them himself, he found himself smiling.

“Then it’s not weird at all. That seems wonderful.”

“Right? But then I’m right back here again.” His smile faded.

“I don’t think he left you. He’s giving you space.” Although Bakugo knew Midoriya was being rational, he still felt an annoying fury boiling inside of him.

“I don’t want fucking space,” he growled.

“Maybe he thinks you’ll be mad at him.”

“I knew it was a matter of time before he left me. I’m too fucked up.”

“Kacchan-“

“People like you more than me, Deku, so I need to be better. I need to be perfect. For people to stay, to like me…I need to get rid of my issues. So, yeah, I find these external flaws and get this uncontrollable urge to fix them. Thus needing to clean behind the fridge and inside cupboards, and shit. My brain just…it’s wrong. It’s messy. It’s a fucking flaw. It’s not perfect and I need to be perfect. And if I’m not, he won’t stay. He won’t love me. I’m worthless and don’t deserve his love. I won’t be the best and if I’m not the best, then what good am I?” Bakugo felt the words tumbling out of his mouth quickly as if he didn’t expel them then they would eat away at his insides.

“You think he won’t love you if you’re not the best?” Midoriya’s voice hung in the air between them, floating heavily; weighing down on Bakugo’s shoulders.

“Yeah,” Bakugo said quietly. He felt ashamed for what he thought. But it was true, right?

“Do you know that sounds crazy?”

“I thought you weren’t supposed to use that word.”

“Fuck that. It’s insanity to think that man would ever not love you. You know why he did what he did, right? Bringing Sato in to work for you again?” Another pause hung between them as Bakugo struggled to say it out loud.

“Why he abandoned me?” Bakugo grimaced at how small his voice sounded. It wasn’t just leaving the apartment. Bakugo felt abandoned because Kirishima left being his chef. Kirishima left Nitro. Kirishima promised he would never leave Nitro and he did. That thought alone punctured Bakugo’s heart.

“He honestly thinks he’s doing the right thing. I think he’s trying so hard to make you happy it’s blinding him to how much he’s hurting you.”

Bakugo sat in the warm water, trying his best to hear Midoriya through the endless berating comments his mind kept yelling at him. He needed to listen to Midoriya. He needed to open himself up to the idea that Midoriya wanted to help him. He had been resistant to him for years. Ever since that night in high school when Midoriya tried to help and he lashed out instead of taking the offered hand. He put up a wall, being adamant that they were pitted against each other. He wouldn’t accept help or pity from the enemy. But now…he wanted to believe Midoriya. Maybe because Bakugo wanted what he was saying to be true more than he cared that it was coming from Midoriya.

“How are you so smart about all this?”

“Talk to Sato. Maybe he can shed more light on what happened.”

“Izuku?”

“Yeah, Kacchan?”

“Thanks. For listening. I know I’ve been a terrible person to you, but you’ve been…honestly, you’ve been a decent guy all these years. And you didn’t have to do this today. So…thanks, I guess.”

“You’d do the same for me.”

“No, I don’t think I would.”

“Yeah….I don’t think you would, either.”

Chapter Text

Kirishima pulled the plush, grey blanket over his head, shielding him from the setting sun glaring in through the large window of Mina’s apartment. He curled himself on the couch, just slightly too big to be comfortable, needing one of his feet to dangle onto the floor. Just as he closed his eyes, trying his best to push out the vision of Bakugo’s confused look as he walked out of their apartment, Kirishima felt a body leap onto his, pushing out all the air from his lungs in one quick burst.

“No way are we not talking about this!” Mina’s voice stung his ears. Her hands pressed on his shoulder, bouncing on top of him. Kirishima managed to grip the edge of the blanket, pulling it down from his eyes so he could glare at the girl straddling his side.

“Get the fuck off me and I will.” Kirishma knew there was no point in fighting with her. For his own sanity, he succumbed to her will.

“Nope, you’re cozy.” Mina wiggled her legs down, adjusting her body so she lay flat against Kirishima. Her shorter height put her head resting against his bicep. Kirishima was uncomfortable, wanting to shift so he could lay on his back instead of his side, but gave up quickly feeling her full body weight sink into him.

“Whatever. I’m a failure. Nothing more to talk about,” Kirishima mumbled.

“You’ll have to do better than that. Cause…well, that’s bullshit. So what happened? What did Bakugo say? I’ll fight him.” Kirishima couldn’t only picture the ‘Mean Mina’ face she would dramatically put on when she was trying to act tough. Wrinkled brow, pouty lips. It made him smile thinking of her trying to intimidate Bakugo with that face. It would probably just make Bakugo laugh, pushing her forehead with his palm until she gave up.

“It’s not Bakugo. It’s…I’m not actually good at this.”

“What? Baking? Cause I’ll have you know, I got so fat in high school because of you-“

“Mina! I’m just…I can’t do what he needs me to do,” Kirishima said quietly, his face turned further into the couch cushion.

“What does he need you to do?” Her voice lowered, softening in his ears.

“Make the best dessert. Make a dessert that would complement his menu. Which is top tier. And I have never made a top tier dessert before.”

“Bullshit.”

“Meens-“

“No. Fucking bullshit Kiri.” Mina pushed herself up, punching a fist into Kirishima’s arm where her head was just resting. “Your shit is bomb. Where’s this lack of confidence coming from? I swear to god if your man is saying anything degrading about your work…”

“Mina, stop trying to fight my boyfriend,” Kirishima laughed, sitting up finally as Mina slinked off of him.

“So he’s still your boyfriend?” Mina cocked one eyebrow.

“Yeah. I think. I mean, I didn’t break up with him. I’ll call him tonight, unless that’s weird?” Kirishima pursed his lips, suddenly realizing he may have overreacted when he chose to leave. He just didn’t want to make Bakugo feel awkward if he hung around while Bakugo was pissed at him. Kirishima was fucking up his chance to get a star. He didn’t want to let Bakugo down.

“I mean, yeah, call him. Cause you guys need to talk this shit out. And if he doesn’t give you the time of day cause he’s busy with his restaurant, then fuck him.” Mina crossed her arms, leaning back on the couch.

“Don’t fucking listen to her, Kirishima.” A deep voice came from the hallway. Mina’s boyfriend, Sero, walked into the living room with a paper bag, grease stains on the bottom. Kirishima suddenly felt extremely hungry thinking about the juicy burgers; the smells already wafting throughout the small apartment.

“Babe, I’m always right.” Mina reached out for the bag, opening it on the table in front of them as Sero removed his jacket, tossing it on the back of an armchair before falling in to it. He reached over the table to accept the wrapped burger Mina was handing him. She shoved one on Kirishima’s lap as well before taking her own in a two handed grip.

“Kirishima, coming from the man who lives with this dramatic queen of a lady, do not ‘fuck him’, as she so delicately put it. This is what, your first fight?” Sero waved his burger at Kirishima as he spoke.

“We’re not fighting. I’m giving him space cause he’s under a lot of pressure. And I can’t be a reminder of the extra shit-“

“Did he say that?” Sero cut him off. Kirishima took a large bite of his food. The question stabbed him in the chest as he thought of the last couple days. Even the last few weeks. Kirishima mulled over each time Bakugo mentioned closing the restaurant, figuring out new menu options, hiring new staff. His face had always lit up during these conversations; it always made Kirishima feel so proud of him. Bakugo was excited for the new challenge. And Kirishima was excited too. Until reality had sunk in.

“Yeah, what exactly did he say to you? Did he try what you’re making? Did he say it was bad? I mean, no constructive criticism? Kind of a shit boss…” Mina poked at Kirishima’s thoughts, making him feel a bit shamed by the answers.

“He…umm…never said anything.” Kirishima sat for a moment, looking at his food sheepishly.

“Dude…then why did you leave?” Sero asked quietly, before grabbing a handful of fries.

“I-“ Kirshima didn’t know how to respond. He panicked. He couldn’t tell Bakugo he was a failure. He couldn’t admit he wasn’t good enough and that Bakugo was wrong in hiring him. He couldn’t say all of that out loud. But he didn’t need to. He had already solved it. “I’m not at the level Nitro needed me to be. So I fixed it. I brought back their old pastry chef and he’ll help them out. Maybe he’ll stay and I’ll go back to Toyomitsu’s. That’s the shit I’m good at. I was stupid to think-“

“Eeehhh!” Mina made a loud buzzer sound. “Wrong. Try again.”

“What?” Kirishima starred at her.

“You’re not stupid. You’re not not good enough. And if your man didn’t say it, he doesn’t think it. That’s what you’ve told me about him, at least. He’s blunt. Straightforward. He says what he’s thinking. So…Bakugo doesn’t think you’re not good enough. Otherwise he wouldn’t have hired you, right?” Mina shoved the last bite of food in her mouth, licking her fingers as if punctuating her point.

“I guess.” Kirishima knew she was right. But the pull on his chest wouldn’t let his brain accept the facts. His heart and mind were battling and the self doubt swirling through him was weighing down any logical artillery.

“Make it for us.” Sero pipped up, also finishing off the last of his dinner.

“Make what?” Kirishima looked at him confused.

“Make the dessert. The one you’re struggling with.”

“Oh! Yes! Great idea, baby. I haven’t had a Kirishima dessert in months!” Mina bounced on the cushion beside Kirishima. He couldn’t stop the smile forming on his lips.

“I can’t. I’ve been fucking it up.” Kirishima shook his head.

“Do you really think we care if it’s perfect? Give us a failed experiment.” Sero shrugged. Kirishima eyed him, thinking of any excuse to heel these two from encouraging him.

“You probably don’t have the ingredients-“

“Sero can go by them,” Mina volunteered her boyfriend.

“Yeah, man, what do you need?” Sero seemed more than happy to do as he was told.

“Uh…” Kirishima’s brain stalled. “Cream. Milk. Sugar.”

“Obviously. Got it.” Mina leapt up, heading into the kitchen. “What else?”

“Gelatin. And vanilla beans,” Kirishima added, feeling this would stump them.

“I have Jell-O. That’s gelatin, right?” Mina’s disembodied voice filtered into the living room, where Kirishima rolled his eyes at Sero. Sero just shrugged at Kirishima, not understanding the pain that question caused his pastry loving heart.

“No, Meens. Not…that’s not the same,” Kirishima laughed.

“Okay, add that to the list. What else?” Sero stood, pulling out his phone to make what Kirishima could only assume was a shopping list.

“Well, the raspberry coulis I make as a confit, so it would take a while to cook. And without it-“

“I’ve had your raspberry confit before though, right? You made that with the cake for my birthday last year. Is it the gelatin thing you’re struggling with?” Mina came out of the kitchen, perching herself beside Kirishima on the couch’s armrest.

“Yeah. It’s a pretty standard technique I use. But the panna cotta is supposed to be a standard technique and I keep fucking it-“

“So just make us the panna cotta. If that’s what you need practice on.” Mina cut him off. Her hand rested on his shoulder as he sighed, resigning the rest of his night to doing this for them as he figured they would refuse to surrender.

“Whatever. Fine.” Kirishima gave in, signalling to Sero to head back out.

*********

“Fuck! It’s not working,” Kirishima watched the cream coloured oval begin to take shape before shifting the moment his spoon left the plate.

“What are you trying to accomplish?” Mina peeked over his shoulder.

“It’s called quenelle. It’s a technique I was getting Sato to show me and it makes an oval shape. But it’s supposed to be smooth. Solid. Round. Clean. And this fucking mess-“ Kirishima pushed the plate away from him, dropping the spoon; the clattering filling the kitchen.

“Okay. So it’s not working. Here…” Mina picked up the spoon, scooping half of the cream custard oval and shoving it gracefully past her lips. Her eyes widened, starring at Kirishima with the spoon still dangling from her closed mouth.

“Mmm!” She nodded, ripping the spoon out. “Holy shit! That’s fucking delicious! I don’t care if it’s a quenelle. I don’t care if you slopped that shit into my lap. Give me more!”

Sero stepped into the kitchen, hearing Mina raving about the nearly finished dessert. He reached over her shoulder, took the spoon out of her hand, and lifted the remaining morsel of panna cotta to his mouth. He pointed at Kirishima, using the now cleaned spoon.

“Yep. That’s banger. That’s a fine ass dessert, my friend. Fucking crushed it.” He placed the spoon back on the plate. Both stood, pointedly starring at Kirishima expecting him to be overjoyed with their praise. He only glared back with frustration.

“I know it fucking tastes good. It looks like shit. It’s not star quality presentation. And if I can’t get the texture to work with the technique, then there is no presentation worth shit. Which means no dessert.” Kirishima felt like a broken record trying to have these two understand the importance of what he was trying to accomplish for the past month.

“Does it have to be an oval? Can it be another shape?” Mina offered, her eyes darting around for the bowl of additional panna cotta, her tastebuds craving another hit.

“What? You think if I made it into a triangle that would be easier?” Kirishima scoffed, shaking his head as he held back incredulous laughter.

“What’s so special about…umm…sorry…quenelle?” Sero prompted.

“It’s just…it’s simple, but elegant. It showcases skill. It’s presentation.” Kirishima sighed, shoving the bowl towards Mina, who was waiting with a spoon in hand.

“Okay, so your issue is presentation. Babes, I got presentation oozing from my pores.” Mina shoved the spoon in her mouth. “Mat’s sumin fwassy?”

Sero ripped the spoon out of Mina’s mouth. “Repeat.”

“What’s something flashy?” Mina tried again.

“Fire.”

“Sero, not helpful-”

“Oh! But yeah! Fire!” Mina snapped her fingers. Both Sero and Kirishima looked down at her with concerned expressions.

“Meens, I was joking-“

“No! Not fire. But like fire. You know how some places bring out the food and then set it on fire?” Mina shifted her gaze to focus on Kirishima.

“Table side flambé?” He guessed at her thought process.

“Yes! That. So do something like that. Can something be done at the table to take it from simple plating to expressive presentation?” Mina leaned in, watching Kirishima as his eyes darted quickly, trying his best to imagine a solution. She saw the corners of his lips start to curl, stepping back knowing that her work was done.

“Mina…” Kirishima started, his voice distant as his thoughts ran a mile a minute.

“I know, I’m a genius.” Mina scooped another spoonful of dessert.

“I do not understand what happened,” Sero nudged her shoulder.

“The gears are turning. He’s got an idea. I fixed it,” Mina smirked.

“Awesome. Great. Is he going to leave now?” Sero loudly whispered to Mina, leaning into her ear while keeping his eyes trained on a very pensive Kirishima.

“Babes? You good?” Mina snapped her fingers in front of Kirishima’s face. He blinked a few times, seemingly resetting his brain. Kirishima took a step around the couple, reaching out to pat Mina’s hair. The couple remained in their messy kitchen, listening to the sound of Kirishima collect his bag, put on his coat, and slide into his shoes, before the door closed behind him.

Chapter Text

Bakugo’s foot slipped on a small patch of ice underneath the fresh coating of snow. He steadied himself easily enough, but decided to slow his pace. He wasn’t actually walking anywhere specific, just wandering the nearly empty streets, yet had naturally fallen into his quick pace. As he began dragging his feet more, now feeling more lackadaisical, he reached into his pocket for his phone. Using his teeth to pull off his glove, he unlocked the screen, maneuvering to his contacts. His thumb hovered over the call button, a palpitation in his chest at the thought of Kirishima not answering his call for the fourth time in two days. He took a breath, shaking his head at his own cowardice, as he hit the button. The call answered on the second ring.

“Hey.” Kirishima’s soft voice immediately pulled a smile on Bakugo’s lips.

“Finally picked up, eh?” Bakugo blinked tightly, annoyed at himself that his opening comment was already hostile.

“Fair enough.” Of course he understood.

“I…umm…” Bakugo wasn’t sure what to say. He figured at the late hour, Kirishima was probably on Mina’s couch, wrapped in some pink frilly blanket, nearly asleep. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Me neither.”

“Oh yeah? Is Pinky talking your ear off?”

“Nah. Not anymore at least.”

“Right.”

“What are you doing if you can’t sleep?”

“Just walking.” Bakugo turned to cross the street, the lamp overhead casting a warm, yellow hue over the path heading into the park. He started to cut through, his feet automatically leading him towards Nitro.

“How was work today? Everything go okay with Sato?”

“No, it was bullshit. I…I didn’t go back. After I…saw you.” Bakugo swallowed. He didn’t want to be reminded that if he turned around and went home, it would be to an empty apartment.

“Oh.”

“It was nice seeing Sato, but…it was wrong. Having him back in your space. It just felt wrong.”

“Katsuki-“

“Ei, talk to me. Why did you do that? Why bring Sato in? Why…ugh! Why did you fucking vanish?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I mean…why didn’t you tell me what’s happening? Are you worried that I would get mad?”

“No. I didn’t want to stress you out. There’s so much on your plate. I panicked. And I wasn’t fair to you. Katsuki, trust me when I say I thought I was solving a problem, not causing one.”

“I know. I trust you. But be straight up with me-“

“I couldn’t figure out a dessert,” Kirishima’s voice blurted out, cutting off Bakugo. He raised his eyebrows at the sudden admittance.

“Okay. That’s okay.” Bakugo still couldn’t understand why Kirishima had reacted this extreme to a little creative block.

“I had been working on one for nearly two months. And I kept failing.”

Oh, shit. Yeah. Bakugo was piecing things together now.

“I didn’t know.”

“Yeah. I didn’t tell you. But I realize now, after talking with Mina, that keeping shit from you wasn’t fair. And assuming you’d be disappointed with me was also not fair.”

“Smart girl.”

“She is.”

“Do you need help?”

“Right now?”

“No, dumbass. With your dessert. Maybe I can work with you.” Bakugo paused, kicking himself. “Although, you probably got advice from Sato, who would kick my ass in pastry knowledge.”

“Did my boyfriend just admit to not being the best at something?”

“Yes, and it pained me to my core.” Bakugo could hear the faint laughter in his ear.

“Actually,” Kirishima finally spoke. “Mina helped me.”

“Pinky’s a chef?” Bakugo scoffed.

“No. She just talked me through some shit. Made me realize some things. Opened my eyes.”

“Hey, Ei?”

“Yeah?”

“I want to be the one you go to. Even if you think I can’t handle it.” Bakugo stopped walking. He held his breath, waiting quietly for Kirishima’s reaction. More than anything he had said to Kirishima before, this felt heavier. More nerve wracking than saying I love you, which had felt as natural as breathing. Admitting he felt inadequate made his heart race.

“Deal.” With that one word, Bakugo’s shoulders dropped, his lungs emptied, and his heart eased. Kirishima didn’t think any less of him. Even if he wasn’t perfect.

“Can you come back tomorrow? At least to Nitro?”

“Yeah, of course I will.”

“Good. I’ll let you get to sleep.”

“Okay. Don’t walk around for too long. It’s cold out.”

“I’m actually heading inside now.” Bakugo exited the park, taking a turn to the right to walk towards Nitro. The faint glow of the pendants lights looking like a haven in that moment.

“Good. I love you.”

“Love you too. See you tomorrow.” As Bakugo hung up, shoving his phone back in his jacket, he pulled his keys from his pants pocket. Unlocking the front door wafted the warm air over his face, feeling the burn of his frozen skin as it thawed.

He wasn’t sure why he came here. He should be home. He should be going to sleep. But he let his feet lead him here, so he stayed. He was tempted to ball his jacket into a pillow and sleep on the bench in the corner. It wouldn’t be the first time he crashed at the restaurant. Waking up to a disappointed Shoto was never pleasant, but in his overworked stupor he always thought it was a good idea.

But now that he was here, and realizing quickly he had lost a full day of menu experimenting, he figured he would finish the dish he was working on that morning. As he walked towards the back, the kitchen lights were all on. Pushing through the swinging door, he stopped, leaning against the doorframe, crossing his arms in amusement.

In the alcove, his back facing Bakugo, stood Kirishima. His hair pulled into a loose, high ponytail, the small tufts of hair sticking out haphazardly. His white bandana affixed around his hairline, keeping the unruly strands from falling into his eyes. He wasn’t wearing his chef’s jacket, but instead had a brown apron over a grey t-shirt and black sweatpants. Bakugo noticed the white earbuds, smiling as he realized Kirishima was talking to him while he was here; while he worked.

And he was working intensely. His apron had a streak of white cream, dried into a flaking crust. There were a few small, round plates lined up to his right, upturned moulds on each one. On the stove behind him sat a low simmering pot with a large thermometer sticking to the side. There was a pile of dark wood chips in front of him, and a small, glass dome.

His tuft of a ponytail bobbed as his head nodded along to the sound of music that must had been coming from his earbuds as he still had not acknowledged Bakugo’s presence. Bakugo was tempted to continue to stare, content with the view of his boyfriend back to where it felt natural. Although he had missed Sato as his pastry chef, the last few months had proven Kirishima the rightful owner of that particular section of his restaurant. He fit with the family of Bakugo’s second home, being a staple in their tight knit. As once he felt he would not survive without Sato, he now knew he would not survive without Kirishima by his side.

He must have been lost in his thoughts; when he focussed again, Kirishima held one earbud between his thumb and index finger, an inch away from his ear, a sly smirk on his lips as he looked back at Bakugo.

“Hey. I thought you said you were back home,” Kirishima smiled wide, watching Bakugo push himself off the door frame. He walked towards Kirishima.

“I never said that. And besides, this is my home.” Bakugo closed the space between them, stopping just a few inches away from Kirishima. The earbud found its way to the counter as Kirishima’s hand now reached for Bakugo’s waist.

“The restaurant is not your home, babe.” Kirishima let out a small, soft chuckle. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, capturing any stray sugar that may have landed there from his earlier testing. The motion sent a shiver of anticipation through Bakugo, thinking of that same tongue licking him.

“You’re right. It’s wherever you are.” Bakugo stepped closer, closing the gap. His lips pressed against Kirishima’s; satisfied in the sweetness of his skin. He tasted vanilla and caramel, suddenly more curious with what Kirishima has been experimenting with, but not daring to release his grasp.

*********

“So explain to me this science experiment you’ve overtaken my kitchen with?” Bakugo had finally pulled his lips away from Kirishima. He had been lifted onto the counter, sitting beside a dome of glass, a small cylinder tank, and a pile of wood chips. Kirishima, rather than answering, nuzzled his nose into Bakugo’s neck, his skin and breath warm against him. Kirishima’s hands pressed into Bakugo’s knees, slowly moving up and down, massaging his thighs. His wide palms pushed further up, wrapping around Bakugo’s hips, then his lower back, then his shoulders. Bakugo closed his eyes, relishing the pressure of Kirishima’s hands against him. He took a deep inhale, his involuntary smile turning in to a frown when he smelled the hint of char.

“Is something burning?” Bakugo questioned. Kirishima’s body stiffened, quickly pulling away.

“My raspberries!” He pivoted, reaching for the dial on the stove to shut off the burner. He dragged the pot of boiling fruit off the flame, watching the heaving, viscous liquid deflate into the bottom of the pot.

“Don’t burn down my fucking kitchen, Ei!” Bakugo yelled, the bite diluted by the sound of his laughter. Kirishima turned around to glare at him.

“It would not be my fault if I did,” Kirishima said.

“Are you insinuating it would be because of me?”

“You. Your lips. Your thighs…”

“I doubt that would hold up with my insurance. Sorry, Mr Judge Person. I didn’t mean to burn my livelihood to the ground. You see, my dumbass boyfriend just got too fucking horny for his own good-“ Kirishima lept back the small distance to shut Bakugo up by pressing their lips together. It annoyingly worked at refocusing Bakugo’s brain back to his original question.

“Okay, seriously. What are you doing?” Bakugo reluctantly pulled away, motioning to the contraptions littering the counter space.

“Smoking.” At the silence pause, Kirishima realized he needed to expand as Bakugo glared at him. “Like, infusing a smoky flavour into the food. And…I’m trying to create…presentation.”

Bakugo took a moment to look at the rest of the items. The three, small round plates lined up on the far end of the counter. Each plate had a small lip, creating a shallow, sunken centre where a mould sat upturned. He wasn’t sure what was underneath, but figured some sort of gelatine concoction. Obviously accompanied by what would be a raspberry sauce. If it weren’t burned. And then…smoked?

“Explain.” Bakugo encouraged. He was curious what Kirishima was planning.

“Panna cotta. Vanilla, but I’ve added a thin layer of candied caramel to the bottom of the mould.” Kirishima reached to drag over a plate to Bakugo’s side. He gently squeezed the sides of the mould, lifting it up slowly to release a smooth, cream custard mound, about three inches wide and two inches tall. It looked like a small, stout tower with a round disc of amber delicately resting. “It’s a bit of a crème brûlée feel as you can crack the disc, or eat it fully. But then in the dish, I was planning on drizzling a raspberry confit. The now destroyed raspberry confit, so that’s a bust.”

Kirishima sighed, motioning to move the dish away. Bakugo pinched his fingers on the edge of the plate, keeping it in place. He motioned with his other hand for Kirishima to pass him a stray spoon resting on the counter.

“Sounds good so far. Explain the weird shit now,” Bakugo pointed to the glass dome and tank with the end of the spoon before cracking the disc of caramel and scooping a chunk out of the panna cotta. As he slid the confection into his mouth, the textures mixing and the subtle sweetness playing on his tastebuds, he closed his eyes; his whole body resisting the moan from breaking in his chest. Fuck, it was good. And it wasn’t even finished yet.

“So when I was doing a few on site lessons during school, I worked with a guy who smoked fruit. And I thought it was the weirdest thing until I tried a smoked peach. It had a whole new flavour profile. It was something I had literally never tasted in my life. Sweet, but earthy. Juicy, quenching, but also heavy on the tongue. It was a feeling I’d never experienced before and I honestly haven’t had since. But…it was a useless technique that took a lot of effort. I was going to go make cakes and pastries. Not…that. I pushed it aside, just chalking it up to something cool I tried that one time. So, when I was trying to make my flavour idea fit a cool presentation idea, it was not working. I went to Sato cause I thought he would be able to guide me to fixing the technique. Well, it wasn’t the technique. And then…this idea just clicked when I was at Mina’s.”

“Smoking it?” Bakugo took another bite of the dessert sitting unfinished beside him. Fuck, it was smooth. He could probably eat ten of these if no one stopped him.

“Yeah. She was all, ‘something flashy, like fire.’ Fire. Smoke. And then I got this thought that gnawed at my brain. So I’m making a burnt caramel crusted panna cotta with raspberry confit. We’ll be able to present the dish with the dome over the dessert, smoked with cherry wood chips for five minutes, to be unveiled at the table. The smoke will add the earthiness to the simple, sweeter flavours, and will compliment the caramel. And unveiling it will be the flashy presentation I was missing. And it’s a little show at the same time. And I don’t know if all of this is stupid, or over the top-“

“Ei. Did you just…make a dessert…”

“Burnt caramel.”

“My fuck up.”

“Yeah. Is that stupid-“

Bakugo crashed his lips against Kirishima’s. He didn’t know how to express the overwhelming emotion he felt from what Kirishima had done. A silly story from his school days explained one late night in a hospital waiting room. Before they were anything important to each other. A stupid anecdote that, to Bakugo, explained his entire existence, but figured it would mean nothing to anyone else. Yet here was Kirishima, over half a year later, creating a specialty dessert, for his restaurant, based on the accident to which his restaurant was named. If anyone would circumvent that Kirishima was not the most important thing to Bakugo, they would be certifiably insane.

“It’s so stupid. It’s the most stupidest thing you’ve ever done. I can’t believe how stupid it is.” Bakugo pressed his forehead against Kirishima’s, holding his cheeks in both his palms. He felt Kirishima smiled widely in his hands.

“I don’t know what to call it.”

“We call it ‘The Nitro’.”

Chapter Text

Bakugo had slept for less than two hours. By the time he fell asleep beside Kirishima before his alarm screeched in his ear, jolting him awake, it felt like the blink of an eye. He slapped his phone away, hearing it thump on the rug beside the bed, still going off. Bakugo felt a grumble against his arm as Kirishima moaned. In his still sleeping state, Kirishima shoved Bakugo towards the edge of the bed, pushing him off. Well, he was awake now.

He needed to be at the restaurant in thirty minutes for his “lessons”. He groaned at the thought of what these idiots would do to him. He was much more interested in working with new flavours, maybe braising meats, or making pasta. Anything that didn’t include being tested by the morons. Especially since Kirishima wouldn’t be there until probably the afternoon, given how completely unconscious he was at that moment.

Kirishima was too distracted last night to continue working. He ended up storing what he made before Bakugo arrived, setting aside the tools he’d need to continue his experiments, and left the burnt pot to soak overnight; all the while Bakugo would be kissing his neck, running his hands over his arms and hips, pulling him in for small kisses whenever Kirishima paused his movements. Kirishima had seemed mildly frustrated at him, but never pushed him away. The walk back to their apartment was cold, but Bakugo felt nothing but warmth as Kirishima’s arm curled around his shoulders.

“Hey,” Bakugo had walked over to Kirishima’s side of the bed after he dressed in a simple black t-shirt and loose joggers. He ran his hand through Kirishima’s hair, eliciting a low moan. “Wake up soon. Come rescue me from the torture I’ll be submitted to.”

At the second moaned response, Bakugo figured that would be all he would get from Kirishima, so he gave up, leaving the warmth of his apartment, of his bed, of his boyfriend’s arms.

*********

“I really didn’t like the flavour of the braised beef. I’d like you to make it again for me.”

Jirou sat at a table in the middle of the restaurant. She had an empty, white plate in front of her that she mimed her “terrible meal” for Bakugo to deal with. He stood beside her table, his arms crossed behind his back, starring blankly at her. He blinked slowly, contemplating his words before he spoke.

“May I ask what about the flavour specifically you did not enjoy?” His mouth felt dry. He was already annoyed with this and his head was starting to throb. He assumed from listening to her drabble on, but it was more likely due to his lack of sleep.

“I don’t like beef.” Jirou held the plate up for Bakugo to take.

“You don’t like beef? And you ordered…the braised…beef.” Bakugo bit the inside of his cheek. The pinching sensation calmed him down.

“Well, it came highly recommended by your waitress. So-“

“Server.” Bakugo cut her off.

“I’m sorry?” Jirou played incredulous very well.

“She’s a server. Not a waitress.” Bakugo mumbled. He knew he should have let it slide, but the term waitress irked him. And Jirou knew this. Jirou was trying to push his buttons. She was being strategic. She was trying to make him snap.

“Whatever she is, she did a terrible fucking job. I don’t care if it’s the best thing on your menu, I hate it. So I think you need to take it back and make me something I will like, or I’m leaving and writing a scathing review about how rude and idiotic your staff is. And how terrible your food is. And-“

“Fine!” Bakugo spat out. He took a long inhale, trying to calm himself down. He knew none of this was real, but Jirou’s tone and mannerisms were getting to him. He had been in the presence of too many people acting just like this, saying these exact words, being overly pompous and self important. He kept his voice calm and level as he replied: “By all means, let me make you the other dish we have on the menu tonight. It’s a citrus infused charred cod, with fennel-“

“Citrus?” Jirou loudly interrupted. “As in orange?”

“Yes…” Bakugo forced out through gritted teeth.

“I don’t like orange.” Jirou smirked, lifting her chin to somehow look down on Bakugo, even though he was standing over her. Bakugo took another inhale, exhaling through his nose. His mouth was clamped shut in a tight line. His tongue pushed against his teeth as his lips pursed.

“What do you want me to make?” The words were low, full of distain.

“I went to this one restaurant that was much nicer than this one, like two years ago. They had this chicken that was exceptional. You should really put that on your menu. More people would probably come here if you did. I don’t know how they made it, but it was the juiciest chicken I have ever had. And it had like rosemary, or thyme…some herbs. I don’t know. I’m sure you can figure it out. You’re the chef after all. Anyway, it came with roasted potatoes and those were also delicious. It’s too bad your food is so fancy. Most people don’t like that. They just want simple food that tastes good. So I want you to make me that chicken with roasted potatoes and you can take back this…ugh, beef…you gave me-“

“No.” Bakugo stopped Jirou’s rambling. She had been waving her hand dismissively at him. It took every ounce of muscle control not to snatch her wrist mid air to halt her movements.

“You can’t say no. I’m a paying-“

“I DON’T FUCKING MAKE THAT! You’re in my fucking restaurant, I prepare the food my fucking way! You don’t want it? You don’t like it? Then go THE FUCK somewhere else, you absolute moron!” She had done it. She made him snap.

“You need to apologize to me, immediately! You cannot talk to someone like this.” Jirou kept up her snooty persona, even in the midst of Bakugo’s rage.

“I’m not fucking apologizing for-“

“Apologize to me, NOW!” Jirou raised her own voice, pushing the chair back as she stood to meet Bakugo’s eye-line. He took a small step back, cocking his eyebrow as he looked at her. He had a mix of confusion and fury, but the instinct to rage pressed forward.

“You fucking apologize!”

“I have nothing to apologize for. I’m simply asking for my food-“

“APOLOGIZE TO DENKI!” Bakugo shoved his pointed finger into Jirou’s shoulder, causing her to fall back into her seat. He leaned over, pressing his palms into the table as his fingers gripped the edge. “You think I need to apologize to these fucking asshole customers who have done nothing to deserve it? Merely walked into MY home and demanded shit from me that is unfathomable! You think I should grovel to them and appease them and placate to them? You think they deserve my apology? Fuck that, Jirou! You know who does deserve it? Who does deserve an apology? Someone who had his heart ripped from his chest because you’re such a fucking coward! Someone who genuinely cares about you, and will throw himself in the line of fire, just to make sure you are safe. Someone who did nothing to deserve what you did to him. Denki deserves a fucking apology, and yet you ignore it, and him, and run around moping because he won’t forgive you, when you won’t do anything to give him a reason to! You’re-“

“BAKUGO!” Kaminari’s voice from behind Bakugo stopped his rant. He turned around to see Kaminari standing in the swinging door, holding it open with a raised hand. His eyes were dark as he stared across the room at him, hovering over a meek looking Jirou, her head tilted to stare into her lap. “Stop.”

“And you…” Bakugo turned to Kaminari, his voice more controlled now. He pushed himself off the table, the cutlery clattering against the plate. As he walked over to Kaminari, he assumed he would begin to wilt, even just slightly. Yet Kaminari’s eyes never left their trained sights, his shoulders never curled, his head never lowered, remaining stoic as he glared at the incoming Bakugo.

“Don’t you ever…ever….speak to her like that again.” Kaminari’s voice was low; not quiet, but deep. Bakugo continued to walk past Kaminari, pushing between him and the door jam. As he nudged his shoulder, a bit less severe than he could have, he grumbled under his breath.

“Both of you get the fuck out of my restaurant. Do not come back until you’ve talked.” With that, Bakugo turned to head towards his office, done with his customer training, done with his staff’s drama, and so ready for a nap.

*********

Kaminari grabbed his and Jirou’s coats from the lockers, walking briskly out to the restaurant towards the table where Jirou still sat quietly. He handed her jacket while looking out the window, awkwardly avoiding eye contact with her. She hesitantly reached for it as she stood, slowly and meekly following Kaminari outside.

He zipped his jacket up to his chin, rubbing his hands together as the cold nipped at his exposed skin the moment he stepped outside. Jirou pulled a wool cap from her coat pocket, pulling it down over her ears. They both huddled around the door, unsure where to go, but knowing if they did not do as their boss told them, there would be an explosive aftermath. In the end, Kaminari moved to lean against the large window of the restaurant, watching Jirou follow suit.

He wasn’t sure if he should start talking, or wait for her to guide the conversation. He knew she had wanted to talk, but he wasn’t ready to hear what she had to say. He figured they would just slowly drift apart and eventually become work colleagues; only speaking when needing to give directions about certain dishes or inventory needs. It pained him to think about the two of them in that state, but figured that would be what she wanted. He took a deep breath, finally feeling like he knew how to start.

“Listen, I didn’t mean to butt in. I know you can handle Bakugo, but I just don’t like him speaking that way to you…to anyone. I would have done the same thing if he-“

“He was right.” Jirou’s soft voice permeated Kaminari’s ears. He looked at her quizzically, waiting for her to continue. “I need to apologize to you.”

“No, Jirou. You don’t need to do anything. You don’t need to explain. We’re on different pages. Well…we were.” Kaminari pushed his hands into his pockets. He stole a quick glance at Jirou, her cheeks tinted peach from the cold. She looked so cute.

“What does that mean?” Her lips pouted just slightly.

“What?”

“‘We’re on different pages?’ What does that mean?” Jirou kept her eyes focused ahead, not meeting Kaminari’s gaze.

“You don’t like me the same as I like you.” It was a fact he figured she knew. Everyone seemed to know how infatuated he was with her. Even Momo, who had kissed her. Maybe it was the who, not the what, that betrayed him the most.

“What makes you think that?” Her voice was so soft the wind nearly carried it away. He watched her face soften; her eyes dropped and her mouth turned into the smallest frown. Had he not been starring, he wouldn’t have noticed the minute change.

“From the first day I started, when you walked into the kitchen and introduced yourself, I was in love. The way you spoke, the firm grip of your handshake, your hair, your smile, your…everything. And every day I spoke to you, got to know even just a fraction more about you, the further I fell. And I knew from day one it was one sided. But…I was okay with it. Because for so long I was fine with just being able to know you.”

“Denki…”

“I tried dating other people. And it was fine. But it was never fair. I’d compare them to you. Or I’d spend a whole date telling stories about people from work only to find myself talking about you. So I stopped dating.” Kaminari needed to look away. He pulled his hands out of his pockets, bracing the cold, so that he could stare at something that wasn’t Jirou. He picked the dry skin at the corner of his thumbnail, not paying attention to what he was saying.

“Denki…”

Kaminari heard her voice, but couldn’t bring himself to look up. He didn’t want to see the pity in her eyes. Not after he just admitted…oh fuck. He admitted that he loved her. He said those words. ‘I was in love’. Fuck. No. Fuck. Fuck!

She must have moved to stand in front of him as he saw her hands rest of top of his. Those thin, delicate fingers of pale skin and deep purple nail polish. A black gem on her ring finger nail glistened in the sunlight. Her hands were so beautiful.

“Denki, shut up. Let me say something.” Her voice had an air of amusement. He was comforted by the tone; she always spoke to him with a conveyance of amused sincerity. At least it didn’t sound like she was disgusted at hearing how he loved her. She gave a deep sigh.

“I’m bad at relationships. I always have been. Ever since I started dating, I never really understood staying with someone for a long time. I saw my friends doing it and couldn’t comprehend how they didn’t get bored. So…having feelings for someone…this is new shit for me.” Jirou’s hands pulled Kaminari‘s apart to stop him from fidgeting. She wanted him to be concentrating on her. She moved her fingers to entwine themselves around his.

“Feelings?” Kaminari let his fingers be plied, hooking around hers.

“Yes, dumbass. I have feelings for you. And it scared the shit out of me. And I didn’t know how to deal with it. So instead of being an actual adult about it, I freaked out and kissed the first hot person near me. And…when it didn’t stop the feelings, I figured those…feelings…were real.” Kaminari could feel her hands shaking a bit within his grasp. He couldn’t tell if it was from nerves, or the cold. He tightened his hold on her, pulling her hands closer to his body. She let herself be led into his body heat.

“What feelings, Kyo?”

“Deep feelings.”

“Kyo…”

“How do you feel about me?” Jirou blurted out, finally looking up at him, her eyes glistening. She looked worried, as if his answer would spurn a spiral of doubt. He shrugged, realizing he already admitted it mere moments ago. He may as well be honest.

“I love you.” He felt her take a step towards him, lifting his hands in hers to rest against her shoulders. Her chin lifted, her eyes meeting his when he lowered his gaze.

“Yeah. I…love you too. I think.”

Kaminari was about to close the small gap between their lips when he paused. He cocked an eyebrow.

“You think?”

“I’ve never actually felt this way towards anyone before. And…maybe I’m not certain it’s love, because I don’t know what love feels like. But…I hope that’s what this is. Because if love is worse than this, I don’t know if I’ll be able to survive.” Jirou looked away, turning her gaze towards their linked hands. Kaminari unfurled one of his hands to reach his finger under her chin, pulling it to tilt upwards again. He leaned his own head down, just an inch, before his lips brushed against hers. He felt comforted knowing she wanted him, even if she wasn’t sure exactly how she felt. He would be patient. He would let her learn.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered as he pulled away.

“Talk to me the next time you get scared?” He whispered back. He watched her smile. “Don’t go kissing other women again. At least…not unless we’ve agreed to that beforehand-“

Jirou slapped Kaminari’s shoulder playfully.

“Deal.”

“Should we go check in on the boss man?” Kaminari gestured towards the window. Jirou leaned to her right, looking past his shoulder through the window. She shook her head with a smile.

“Nope! I think I owe you a coffee. And you need to buy me lunch. We’re heading to Charlie’s.” Her hand squeezed against his as she started walking towards the bistro a few blocks away. Kaminari followed with a smile on his face and a lightness to his step.

Chapter Text

Kirishima shrugged off his jacket as he made his way over the threshold of the restaurant before being accosted by Jirou. She gripped his forearm, dragging him towards a table in the middle of the empty floor.

“Kyo, what’s happening?” Kirishima frantically looked around, searching for anyone else in the vicinity. He could hear a faint sound of Bakugo and Shoto bickering in the kitchen. He was a bit annoyed that he wasn’t able to get back there; he hadn’t seen Bakugo all morning as he left early to meet Shoto at the market, claiming they would be testing out a new dish today.

“You’re the test subject today,” was Jirou’s only response before the walked away, distracted from fully engaging with him. She started to head back through the swinging door with his jacket in hand. Alone in the warmth of the restaurant, and unsure what he should be doing, Kirishima silently waited. His hands folded in his lap, he started picking at his nails just for something to do.

He thought about the dessert sitting in the fridge. His confit would be ready, having prepped it last night. He wanted to spend the day figuring out how much prep time he would need for the caramel component, and the longer he waited alone, the more worried he became. Did Jirou forget about him? Should he just go back to the kitchen? As if his antsy thoughts summoned her, Jirou finally appeared through the door, stepping quickly in his direction.

“Good afternoon, sir.”

“Sir?” Kirishima laughed, taken aback by the formality of her second greeting.

“What may I get for you today?” She stood beside his table, her hands folded delicately in front of her. She wore her long, black apron, her notepad sticking up from the pocket. Her voice sounded calm; her customer voice.

“Jirou? What-“

“Kirishima,” the bravado of her voice dropped, speaking to him in her usual cadence. “You’re the next test subject. Didn’t Bakugo tell you?”

“He told me you were torturing him,” Kirishima smirked, much to Jirou’s dismay. She sighed, resting her hands on a cocked hip with a dramatic flair.

“I’m not torturing him! That little shit-“

“Kyo! I’m kidding. I think what you’re doing is a good idea. So what do I need to do?” Kirishima placed his palms flat on the table, ready for instructions.

“Just make a complaint or request or something,” Jirou waved her hand casually.

“Cool.”

“So, what would you like this afternoon, sir?” Jirou’s voice shifted to a softer, smooth tone.

“Um…I don’t know. I don’t have a menu.”

“Oh, shit.” Normal Jirou again. Kirishima couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, I’m pretty sure he’s making you something special anyway.”

“Do you know what it is? He was talking last night about a pecan something pasta idea. With, like, goat cheese, I think? And prosciutto?” The night before Bakugo was drifting off to sleep on top of Kirishima’s arm when he had suddenly shot up, reaching for a small notebook he kept beside his bed. He started mumbling a few ingredients before Kirishima, in a near sleep daze, prodded him to explain. Bakugo, suddenly very awake, tried conveying to Kirishima his idea for a ravioli. Listing off filling and plating ideas, Kirishima could only half listen. At one point he got a flick on his nose, told if he wasn’t going to pay attention to not ask questions in the first place. Kirishima had won him back over by pulling him in for a kiss before completely falling asleep.

“I’m not entirely sure, but I’m going to come up with a dietary restriction, or like, a substitution or something, so he’ll come out with it and ‘deal’ with you.” Jirou winked.

“Oh, yeah. Substitution. Do that. He hates those,” Kirishima couldn’t help the smile at the thought of teasing Bakugo. It was all for the greater good.

Jirou disappeared into the kitchen, coming out moments later holding a circular, white plate. She placed it in front of him, turning the dish slightly to present from an angle of Bakugo’s desire. There were three large square pillows of pasta, sitting on top of a swirl of deep caramel coloured sauce, almost resembling brown sugar. A light dusting of thyme garnished the ravioli. He pressed his fork into one square, hearing Jirou walk away for a moment, but heading to the bar rather than the kitchen.

The inside of the pasta immediately smelled of salty, warm prosciutto. The creamy interior nearly melted over his fork, but having just enough consistency to not fall apart as he pushed the piece on his fork around the sauce, and lifting to his lips. His first bite was the perfect temperature; the tastes hit every inch of his tongue. It was creamy as the goat cheese melted in his mouth. The saltiness of the prosciutto hit the tip of his tongue, balanced out by the sweetness of the pecan sauce. It was possibly the most delicious pasta he had ever eaten. And he was supposed to find fault, somehow. The thought was laughable.

As the door to the kitchen swung open, Bakugo walking out from behind, Jirou made her way back to the table with a short glass in her hand. She laid it on the table in front of Kirishima’s plate.

“Momo and I are trying out new drinks for any of the dishes the boys come up with. I was thinking about this one when boss man told me about this dish this morning. You’re the first to try it, so tell me if it sucks. It’s gin based.” With that Jirou left, nodding once at Bakugo, who frowned at her, rolling his eyes as she walked away.

“So,” Bakugo started as Kirishima took a sip of the drink. Fuck, it was good. The juniper of the gin matched the sweet and saltiness of the pasta exceptionally well. He felt more of the creaminess on his tongue after taking a sip. And he thought there was a hint of basil in the drink. Again, a wonderful combination. This was a pretty easy way to spend a work day.

Kirishima went to take another bite of the ravioli when Bakugo cleared his throat. Kirishima looked up, fork still poised near his mouth.

“What?”

“Aren’t you going to ‘complain’?” Bakugo lifted his fingers in an air quote, huffing a sigh as he waited for the annoying part of his day to start. Kirishima placed the fork down, a bit saddened he wasn’t eating at this moment.

“Right…” Kirishima didn’t know what to say. Could you complain something was too perfect? He sat for a minute starring up at Bakugo. His chef jacket was unbuttoned, showcasing a white shirt underneath. There was a small dusting of flour on the bottom of his chin; most likely from making the pasta. The longer Kirishima starred, the wider Bakugo’s smile became.

“Dumbass, say something. I need to practice.” The playful tone from Bakugo nearly forced Kirishima to stand up and kiss him. He kept himself planted in his chair, slowly putting down his fork.

“I…don’t like…I think you should…I, umm…” Kirishima stumbled on an idea. He wished he was able to prepare for this. “I have a nut allergy!”

Bakugo closed his eyes, tightening his lips together in a clear fight to not laugh. He took a small exhale before opening his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest before turning on his professional chef persona.

“I see. And you’re informing me of this after you’ve eaten a substantial amount of the pecan sauce, is that correct?” Bakugo kept a calm, level tone.

“Yeah.”

“Was the server informed of this allergy upon ordering? We were not communicated this in the kitchen.”

“Oh, no. I didn’t tell her anything. Is there nuts in this? My throat feels scratchy.” Kirishima rubbed the outside of his throat, miming a cough.

“Is there…? Nuts? In a pecan sauce?” Bakugo scoffed.

“Oh, duh. Right. Pecans. Well, it tastes so amazing I think I’ll just suffer the pain.” Kirishima shoved the other half of the ravioli in his mouth.

“That’s not…Kirishima, that’s not helping.” Bakugo moved his arms from crossing his chest to place his hands on his hips.

“But, babe. It’s so fucking good. I’m so impressed. This needs to go on the menu. No question.” Kirishima started in on the next piece.

“As much as I appreciate the feedback on the food - and no fucking shit it’s going on the menu; it’s fucking killer - you’re supposed to be helping me with service.” Bakugo rubbed the bridge of his nose, his patience waning.

He clearly wanted to go back to the kitchen, but both Bakugo and Kirishima could feel Jirou starring at them from her place behind the bar. Kirishima quickly glanced over to see Kaminari had also joined her, but was engaged in quietly telling her a story. Huh, they must have made up. Good. Kirishima would ask for the details as soon as he was done helping Bakugo. He brought his attention back to the suffering blonde in front of him.

“Okay. Okay. Let me think,” Kirishima placed his fork down again, saddened he wasn’t eating. He leaned back in his chair, putting on a fake angry face; narrowing his eyes and grimacing. Yet the moment he looked at Bakugo to say something mean, he couldn’t help drop the illusion. “You’re so freaking cute, babe. You’ve got a little flour-“

Kirishima reached out to rub the scuff of flour from Bakugo’s chin, only to have his hand slapped away.

“Ei, what the fuck man? Come on! Take this fucking seriously!” Bakugo’s yelling had little bite behind it, but was still loud enough to draw the attention of Kaminari and Jirou; both stayed put behind the bar, but attentive nonetheless.

“I’m sorry,” Kirishima let out a chuckle, unaffected by the outburst. “I am taking this seriously. But I honestly don’t have anything mean to say. The food is perfect. You’re perfect-“

“Kirishima! Fucking lie, idiot! Obviously you’re not going to find fault. I made you the best fucking meal. Make some fucking shit up and stop wasting my time!”

“You’re so goddamn sexy when you yell at me,” Kirishima lowered his voice, poking fun at Bakugo.

“Kirishima!” Bakugo threw his hands in the air, turning to stomp back into the kitchen. Kirishima immediately followed, a momentary thought of taking another bite of food needing to be pushed aside. Coming from the other direction, Kaminari stepped out from behind the bar, holding his hand up to slow Bakugo from quickly disappearing to his sanctum.

“Whoa there, Baku-boss.” Kaminari cooed, much to the disgruntled look shot back from Bakugo. “You gotta keep trying, man.”

“That fucker-“ Bakugo pointed back at an approaching Kirishima. “Is not taking this fucking seriously and I can’t waste any more of my fucking time.”

“Did you just call your boyfriend a ‘fucker’?” Kaminari laughed, cocking an eyebrow at Kirishima as he took his place beside the sous chef.

“Fucking right I did. I’m so over this. I have an entirely new menu to create from fucking nothing-“

“And you’re doing a great job, babe,” Kirishima encouraged, although fuelling the rage within Bakugo.

“I know I am! I just don’t have time for this.” Bakugo’s outburst only brought out reserved giggles from Kirishima and Kaminari.

“You seriously have to get better at this,” Kirishima reached out to squeeze Bakugo’s shoulder. “You’re yelling at me for not being an asshole customer. It’s like…a compulsion.”

“I can not yell at people.”

“Mmm…” Kaminari’s scrunched face disagreed with Bakugo’s claim.

“There is no doubt in my mind you could hold back if you genuinely tried. But…let’s face it, you couldn’t go a month without yelling at someone.” Kirishima wanted to be supportive, but he just didn’t see a world where Bakugo wasn’t raising his voice at some point throughout the day.

“A month? Kiri, more like a week,” Kaminari added.

“Ha! Yeah. Like…a day. One solid day,” Kirishima hung his arm over Kaminari’s shoulder as they both succumb to laughter, teasing Bakugo, who stood before them with a furrowed brow.

“Yeah, yeah. I bet there is no way Bakugo could go a single day without yelling at someone.” Kaminari said to Kirishima.

“Bet?” Bakugo prompted.

“Yeah!” Kirishima took the morsel of intrigue from Bakugo and ran with it. “We bet you couldn’t go 24 hours without yelling at someone. Anyone!”

“Fuck that! I’m not a fucking child. I have self restraint. I could go 48 hours without yelling at someone,” Bakugo shot back.

“Okay, yeah. Bet! 48 hours. No yelling.” Kirishima held out his hand. Bakugo immediately took it, shaking aggressively. He turned on his heels, pushing through the swinging door. Kirishima leaned in to Kaminari.

“It’s just so easy to rile him up.” Kaminari couldn’t help the burst of laughter escaping him. From deep in the kitchen they both heard a distant voice yell.

“Motherfuckers!”

“That sounds like yelling!” Kaminari raised his voice to be heard in the back.

“It fucking starts NOW!” With a slam of his office door, Shoto finally appeared from the kitchen with a spoon in hand, pointing back from where he came.

“What’s going on. What did you two do to him?”

“We bet him he couldn’t go 48 hours without yelling at someone,” Kirishima explained, still holding back laughter.

“Oh no.” Shoto’s sly smile appeared on his lips.

“What?” Kaminari looked between Kirishima and Shoto, momentarily worried.

“Nothing,” Shoto said coyly. “He’s just not going to like who’s coming to help us with service testing tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

The smell of maple woke Bakugo up. He had absolutely knocked out the moment his head hit the pillow the night before. A planned ten hour day turned in to eighteen hours of Shoto and himself testing two dishes; one a success and one a complete bomb. He felt exhausted and frustrated.

All annoyances had melted away when he fell into bed, an already sleeping Kirishima under the covers. When he pulled the blanket over himself, he felt the warm, strong arm of Kirishima wrapping around his waist, pulling him in. Bakugo felt his back pressed against the slow rise and fall of Kirishima’s chest, immediately relaxing. As his eyes closed, he fell asleep to the feel of Kirishima’s breath against the back of his neck.

Although he loved waking up to a plethora of sweet smells, he was also disappointed to be waking up alone in bed. If Kirishima wasn’t there, heavy limbs flailed all over him, then he was either making some type of food for breakfast, or out for a run. The clanging of the dishes in their kitchen tipped him off to the former.

As he pushed himself out of bed, sliding his feet into the soft, plush slippers, he pulled over a faded orange hoodie. He slowly maneuvered his way to the kitchen, rubbing his eyes to try to focus on his surroundings. It was too early, and far too bright. Winter was supposed to be dull and grey; why was there so much sunshine pouring through the windows?

“Hey,” Bakugo’s raspy morning voice halted the clanging. Immediately, Bakugo felt Kirishima’s wide hands grip around his hips, pulling him in for a forceful hug; Bakugo’s body limp against resistance, letting himself be manhandled. The firm grip moved up against his back, feeling the pressure relieve some tight muscles near his shoulders. He melted into the hug, rejoicing in this moment he missed when waking up in bed.

“Hey, babe,” Kirishima nuzzled his nose into Bakugo’s neck. "I’m about to head out for a run. But I made food, and I won’t be long.”

Kirishima stepped away and Bakugo could finally take in his outfit; baggy, red nylon shorts over black compression leggings, a tight, white tank top under black zip up hoodie, and his usual white headband holding his hair off his face. Kirishima reached to the counter to grab his earbuds, being stopped by Bakugo’s grip on the sleeve of his hoodie. As Kirishima looked back, he saw Bakugo staring at the plate of freshly made scones.

“What are those?” Bakugo took an inhale, deep and slow, trying to keep his escalating heart rate from beating out of his chest.

“Scones. Maple pecan. They are amazing, if I do say so myself. I’ve already had two. Which is why I need to go run off the extra-“

“Don’t leave,” Bakugo nearly whispered, clutching the sleeve between his thumb and forefinger tighter.

“Huh?” Kirishima moved his hands to grip Bakugo’s shoulders. Bakugo arm moved with him, still tethered to his sleeve. Kirishima tried to meet Bakugo’s eyesight as the crimson eyes stared at the tile floor.

“Don’t. The last time you made scones for me…” Bakugo couldn’t finish his thought. He knew he was being irrational, but he had come to terms not long ago that his brain was no where near rational behaviour.

“I’m just going for a run. You could come with me, if you want?” Kirishima leaned in to kiss Bakugo’s jaw; just under his ear so that his nose tickled his earlobe.

“No. No, it’s fine.” Bakugo could at least pretend to be rational, even though his mind was running through a million scenarios of what the scones actually meant.

Kirishima stepped away, breaking the hold Bakugo had on his sleeve, and shoved his feet into his already tied running shoes. He paused, looking back at Bakugo with a quizzical look on his face. Pivoting back, he walked the few feet to the kitchen, back to hug Bakugo.

“Don’t walk on the floor with your shoes-“

“I’m sorry. They’re just scones. I’m not trying to lessen a blow, or trick you. I’m not going anywhere. Ever again. I was stupid. And I know I need to gain back the trust I broke when I left. I promise I will. But these are just scones.” Kirishima voice was a whisper in Bakugo’s ear. With each word, Bakugo’s heart quieted, listening intently. His lungs felt fuller when Kirishima released his hug; finally able to take a full breath.

“Thanks.” Bakugo didn’t know what else to say, but he wanted to say something. It seemed to have been enough as Kirishima’s bright smile filled Bakugo’s view before he officially turned around to leave, the door clicking closed quietly behind him.

Bakugo reached over to the pile of scones, picking the top one up before shoving the still warm pastry in his mouth. Fuck, it was good. Bakugo moaned to himself before taking another bite; slowly shuffling himself back to the bedroom to start getting ready for work.

************

Jirou came into the kitchen, saddling up beside Bakugo’s station, to watch him shove a sliver of steak into his mouth. He pierced another slice, lifting the fork up to Jirou’s mouth; her eyes widened in delight as the same juiciness touched her lips. Shoto had created a crusted peppercorn, rosemary, and thyme sear, basted with a shallot and garlic butter. He had been slow roasting the meat for over four hours, letting the flavours mix and melting together, leaving the tender meat still a perfect medium rare. Bakugo was impressed, hoping Shoto could replicate this on a daily basis. And with Jirou’s reaction, he was pretty much banking on him demanding it be done, whether it was possible or not.

“Are you going to give them some of this? I mean, they didn’t necessarily come for a meal, but I think they need to try this.” Jirou looked at Bakugo with a small smirk. Bakugo stared back, confused.

“Huh? Who?” He took another slice in his mouth, having realized once he started eating that the only thing he’d actually consumed in full that day was a scone.

“Your ‘customers’.” Jirou lifted her fingers to make air quotes. Bakugo eyes narrowed in response. He sighed. Another one of the fucking role playing that was supposed to help him, but ended up just pissing him off more than if he were actually dealing with a real customer.

He understood Jirou’s intentions behind this idea, and at the beginning, he just didn’t see a point. He was brash, he was angry, and if his customers didn’t like it they could leave. Although, Michelin Star restaurants were rewarded for every possible detail of perfection. And it was his attitude with customers that was the dark spot on their record. He was causing his restaurant to lessen its perfection. He was the weak spot. He was too rigid, too impatient. He needed to try, and even though he rolled his eyes at Jirou as she led him out to the dining room, he became adamant that he would succeed.

And also win the bet. But that was icing on the cake being able to prove the two idiots wrong.

As Bakugo walked through the swinging door, he caught sight of the back of dark green, messy hair; pulling of the chair for a petite brunette who took a seat at a table in the middle of their empty dinning area. Neither one of them had seen Bakugo. He immediately pivoted on the spot, turning to head back into the kitchen, only to have his collar gripped by Jirou’s long fingers.

“Come on, Blasty,” Jirou sighed.

“Fuck no. Not happening.” Bakugo leaned into Jirou, whispering in her ear.

“What? Afraid you’ll loose a bet?” Her eyes looked up at him as she cocked her head to the side. He sneered back at her, the moan he had intended coming out more like a growl. Shit, this would be hard. But in no way was he going to let Deku make him loose the bet.

Bakugo pushed past Jirou, making his way to the table with a frown on his face, just as Midoriya sat down across from Uraraka.

“Welcome to Nitro. How are you both this afternoon?” Bakugo pushed out a smile, cognizant of his tone. He kept his breathing even, taking a slow inhale in, then out. He would get through this if it killed him.

“I’ve never actually been in here before! This place is gorgeous!” Uraraka leaned around her chair to look behind her at the bar, then past Bakugo, then around to see the other tables and decor.

“Thank you.” Bakugo accepted the compliment. He and Shoto had spent months debating the right lighting, the benefits of leather seating versus just wood, the stain of the wood, whether to keep the ducts exposed. The fateful day when Bakugo had accidentally punctured the north wall with a hammer, exposing the brick underneath, was the day all of the design plans fell into place. Bakugo was quite proud of what they accomplished together.

“Yeah, Kacchan. It’s nice.” Midoriya didn’t mimic the same enthusiasm as his fiancé, seeming more subdued in his compliment. Bakugo shrugged it off, focussing on Uraraka.

He had a decent relationship with her. They didn’t spend too much time together, but with what little time they did, he appreciated the fact that she could keep up with his jabs. She gave back as much as she took and never took offence to his insults. Bakugo had no siblings, but Uraraka felt like how an older sister might act. And Bakugo took comfort in that.

“We don’t have anything prepared today. We’ve just been playing around in the kitchen,” Bakugo explained, placing his hand on the back of Uraraka’s chair, looking down at her. She nodded in understanding.

“Oh, we don’t need to eat. Just here to help! But if you had an experiment stewing back there…I’ll certainly take it off your hands.” Uraraka playfully stuck her tongue out. Bakugo’s smile was small, but warm. He took a quick glance at Midoriya, who kept his sights anywhere but on the two of them, before nodding briefly and heading back to the kitchen.

*********

“There’s something missing, Baku-boss,” Kaminari held up a sipping dish to Bakugo. The scents of autumnal warmth filled his nose before downing the small amount of soup. It was a thick, creamy texture, the heavy liquid sitting on his tongue as the pumpkin and squash flavours mixed well on his palette. But Kaminari was right, there was something incomplete about the dish.

“I promise you that nickname is not sticking,” Bakugo grumbled as he passed the sipping dish back. “And you’re right, it needs something. Like…”

“Try salt.” Shoto stood at his station, his back faced the two chefs as he worked at chopping carrots.

“You didn’t even try it. How the fuck-“

“It’s better.” Kaminari nodded to himself, holding the small dish in one hand and the salt shaker in another.

“Told you,” Shoto gloated, the smirk showing on his face as he turned to look back. Bakugo silently held his middle finger up, cautious about opening his mouth when he was slightly annoyed. Especially in front of Kaminari, who Bakugo was certain would take any increase in volume as “yelling” and he would loose the bet.

“Chef,” Jirou’s voice popped into the kitchen. Bakugo immediately sighed, knowing this was his cue to face his ‘customers’. Jirou had brought them out a sample of the pasta he’d made, this time accompanied by a tomato and basil crostini drizzled with a balsamic glaze. If that twerp found one issue with his cooking…Bakugo growled to himself, pushing the swinging door open and taking the shortest path to the table. He stood behind Uraraka again, getting a clear view of Midoriya, whose eyes still averted from looking directly at Bakugo.

“What seems to be the issue?” Bakugo started, keeping his tone even.

“Oh! Right. Honestly, the food is amazing, Bakugo. But, I guess we need to complain. Um…” Uraraka looked towards Midoriya for assistance with an idea. He only leaned forward to take another portion of ravioli, looking pensive.

“I mean, if you just wanted to call me out to pay compliments to the chef, I’ll accept,” Bakugo chuckled.

“Umm…let’s see.” Uraraka lifted her fingertips to rub her chin. She titled her head in thought, furrowing her brow. Bakugo was worried she might injure herself trying to think too hard.

“Why is this the first time I’ve been here?” Midoriya‘a voice was so quiet, but in the silence of the surrounding restaurant, Bakugo heard him clearly. Both Bakugo and Uraraka paused, looking towards Midoriya, waiting for him to continue. When he didn’t, Bakugo slowly shook his head.

“I don’t know, Deku. Is it that big of a deal?”

“I’ve never been invited,” Midoriya continued. His voice became louder, a bite to his words caused Bakugo to stand a bit taller.

“Yeah. I guess-“

“I’ve never even been invited to see your restaurant!” Midoriya pushed his plate away, the clattering of the cutlery startled Bakugo. “Shoto never brings it up, because he’s fucking Shoto. He’s not one to showcase his successes. And besides, I’ve known you longer. I’ve been your friend longer. And yet you don’t even want me to visit! To see what you’ve accomplished.”

Midoriya crossed his arms over his chest. His face looked angry. Actually angry. Bakugo wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen Midoriya actually angry. It freaked him out.

“You’re an asshole.” He wasn’t done apparently. Bakugo stood, watching Midoriya unravel in front of him. “You always have been an asshole. You’re selfish and conceited. You can’t let anyone help you. I tried so hard to be part of your life! I really did. Back then, in high school. Even now! Even this week. I’m trying to be your friend and you just, fucking ignore me. I’m not lesser than you! We’re equal. Why can’t you see that?” Midoriya stood up, leaning over the table, his hands pressed flat on either side of his nearly empty plate. Bakugo didn’t move.

“It feels like shit being pushed away for something I have no control over. I never put myself on a pedestal. You did! When you started comparing us. No one gave a shit about me, except for you. Because you made it a competition, rather than us working together. You made me feel like shit. You made yourself feel like shit because I was ‘better than you.’ I’m not fucking better than you! I work hard, just like you. I fail, just like you. We could have done this together.” He took a shaky breath. Bakugo watched Midoriya’s eyes glisten over, but he didn’t cry.

“You’re right. Izuku.” Bakugo slowly nodded his head. Of course he was right. Of course Bakugo was an ass most of his life. Hell, all of his life. He knew he pushed people away and created competitions in his mind that no one else took part in. But he was starting to see how that may not be the most effective way to live his life.

“And, by the way, I’m inviting you to the fucking wedding! And you better fucking come. Because you’re my oldest friend and you’re important to me!” Midoriya pointed a finger towards Bakugo.

“Are you yelling an invitation at me?” Bakugo couldn’t help the short laugh that escaped his chest.

“Yes! Cause I just thought about it, but I’m still mad!”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Can I bring someone?”

“Yes, Kirishima can come.” Uraraka spoke up from her seat. The two men stood, in a silent standoff. The air had shifted from tense to calm in an instant, but Midoriya‘a words still sat heavy between them. Bakugo felt like he needed to address it, but decided against it. Most of their lives their feelings went unspoken. But they always found themselves on the same page. Normally. Now that Midoriya had verbalized his resentment, Bakugo had more of an understanding of where they both stood in their relationship.

Midoriya sat back down, pulling his plate towards him again. He looked up at Bakugo, finally meeting his eyes for the first time since entering the restaurant.

“It is a really amazing place, Kacchan.”

“Thanks Izuku.” Bakugo started walking back towards the kitchen, passing beside Midoriya so that he could rub his palm over the top of the already messy hair. Midoriya swatted him away.

Bakugo saw Kaminari and Kirishima poking their heads through the swinging door, waiting for him to return. He smirked as he pushed past them both.

“So, what the fuck are you guys going to do for me now that I won the bet?”

Chapter Text

The windows were covered in brown wax paper, shielding the daylight from coming in, save for one strip of light peering in through a gap at the top. Black paint dried on the trim and door frames, and the light and outlet covers had yet to be installed. It really was just some finishing touches remaining over the next 48 hours until they officially opened the doors to the public. Bakugo was waiting to receive a few visitors throughout the day, most importantly the guy to place the decal of Nitro’s logo on the front window, and for the shipment of wineglasses to come in. He was promised by Jirou they would come in time. Apparently she knew someone who gave them a deal. Bakugo couldn’t comprehend why he would trust this girl. Shoto agreed to hire her without fully consulting Bakugo, but he didn’t care. Let Shoto hire whomever he likes for the front as long as Bakugo’s kitchen only staffed the best. And with Bakugo, Shoto, as his sous, and Sato, as their pastry chef, he had a fucking phenomenal team if he did say so himself.

He heard the knocking on the front door, banging against the glass. Bakugo brushed his hands against his jeans, taking a deep breath as he opened the door, knowing exactly who his first visitors would be. His mother stepped through first, moving swiftly past Bakugo without a word. Bakugo sucked in a breath of air, out of habit more than necessity. He let out a slow exhale as his dad’s hand clasped his shoulder.

“Hello, Katsuki,” his dad smiled at him, pushing his glasses further up his nose as he walked slowly into the restaurant, his gaze looking everywhere he could as quickly as possible. He was taking in every minute detail of the space with a wide smile on his face.

“Hey dad. Mom.” Bakugo clipped his greeting to his mother, who had made her way over to the corner booth. She took a seat, throwing a quick glance towards her son. It was as much of a greeting he would get, apparently.

Bakugo took a step towards the table he had set up in the middle of the restaurant. It was, in all aspects, the perfect table. Shoto and himself had tested each one themselves, throughout all times of day. It was never hit with direct sunlight, so was never too hot at any time of the day. It was centred just right between air ducts that it was never too cold. One side would look towards the exposed brick wall, where three large art prints were perfectly displayed. And the other side overlooked the impressive bar; artisan crafted glass tumblers on display, surrounded by matching decanters holding their chosen bar rail spirits. When they would have VIPs, they would insist this be the table used over any other.

But instead of arguing with his mother’s choice of table, Bakugo simply gathered the glasses and cutlery placed perfectly on the table and brought them over to the corner booth. He softly placed the napkins down in front of each of his parents, silently placing the cutlery on top.

“It’s a really beautiful building. Great location. Easy to find,” Masaru spoke to fill the silence.

“Thanks, dad. That’s a real plus.” Bakugo softly laughed to himself.

“He was just trying to find something complimentary.” Bakugo paused placing down the last fork. His hand hung in the air an inch over the table, the weight of the metal fork heavy between his fingers.

“Right.” Slow inhale.

“We don’t have too long to stay. You said we needed to see the place. Well, we’ve seen it.” Mitsuki exhaled loudly. She sat closest to Bakugo. He could feel the cold breath escaping her body.

“Luckily we knew when you’d be arriving thanks to dad. So Shoto is just finishing up the final touches of your meal. It shouldn’t be too long.” Bakugo took his leave then, not waiting for acknowledgement from his parents. He bit the inside of his cheek as his hands met the swinging door into the kitchen in order to refrain from banging his hands loudly into the wood.

As soon as he entered, Shoto and Sato stood over two dishes, the edges being wiped clean. Bakugo took a step closer, moving them to see the steak from every angle. The perfectly pink sliced meat spread evenly atop a creamy, yet firm risotto, two spears of asparagus overlapped. A delicate swoop of mushroom purée tied the dish together.

“I’m going to fucking kill her if she doesn’t say at least one nice thing before she leaves. I think that’s fair. Don’t you?” Bakugo finally took his eyes off investigating the dishes to glance up at his two chefs. Both stood wide eyed, staring back silently. When they both glanced at each other, unsure what to say, Bakugo puffed out a quick breath of air.

“Don’t you, chefs?” Bakugo repeated, more annoyed.

“Yes chef,” both men repeated automatically. Bakugo just sighed, taking the plates and turning on his heels towards the door.

He hated this feeling. He was being judged. And he knew there would be a flaw. No matter how perfect he created a dish to be, there would be something to complain about. Some thing that didn’t sit right, or wasn’t to her liking. Some ingredient she didn’t care for, or flavour that was too spicy, too sweet, too sour. Something would be wrong with him even if he did everything humanly possible to appease her.

As he placed the dishes down on the table, he searched their faces for any recognition. They had mushroom risotto at their wedding. The first dish his dad taught him how to make was steak, grilled to medium rare. His mother tried every single spring to grow a vegetable garden when he was in grade school. The only thing she ever brought into the house were seven spears of asparagus before she officially declared she did not have a green thumb and gave up gardening forever.

“Smells delicious, Katsuki,” Masaru smiled up at Bakugo before reaching for his fork. His mother had already taken a bite of steak.

Bakugo took a step away, walking behind the bar. As he reached for the glasses chilling in the fridge underneath the counter, he kept his gaze towards his parents. Mitsuki leaned into Masaru, a small smile spread on her lips as she whispered into his ear. Could she be enjoying the dish? Complimenting the flavours, or the thought put behind each item? When Masaru’s lips curved into a frown and his head slightly shook, Bakugo knew she had said something condescending. Some poke at Bakugo’s expense.

He finished pouring the drinks, gripping the glasses hard enough he worried for a moment they would shatter in his grasp. Whatever; if they did, apparently his front of house girl ‘knows a guy’.

Bakugo placed the two glasses of sparkling wine in front of each dish, holding for a moment to gain their attention.

“How are you liking it so far?” Bakugo prompted. His dad reached for his napkin to dab his mouth mid chew. Not quickly enough as his mother turned in her seat slightly to start looking around her, the food forgotten.

“It’s ridiculous it took you this long to show us around. The place is nearly finished, it seems. Lots of work to go, but it seems you’ve settled on this…decor. It’s a shame you never asked our opinion before committing.” Mitsuki paused, turning her attention back to her food. Her fork pierced a piece of steak. The only other piece missing was the one from her first bite.

“Shoto and I are very pleased with the decor. Funny story, actually-“

“Have you been to Izuku’s place?” Mitsuki interrupted Bakugo. The smile that had been growing on his face at the thought of retelling the hammer incident story immediately vanished. Before he had a chance to retort, she continued. “It’s a truly lovely place. Simple, modern, clean. It’s so much brighter than this place. And the food there is phenomenal. Truly exceptional. He’s quite the young prodigy, wouldn’t you say sweetheart?”

Mitsuki looked towards Masaru, who somehow was still chewing his last bite.

“Well, he had more support-“ Bakugo clenched his jaw closed as the clattering of a fork echoed throughout the empty restaurant.

“I cannot believe you are saying your failures are our fault,” Mitsuki sighed. She looked up, for the first time making eye contact with Bakugo. He kept his mouth tightly closed as he stared into her eyes; mirrors of his own. Both sparking with a challenge.

“Mitsuki, he didn’t mean anything-“

“No. Clearly, he doesn’t understand what he says. It’s always been a problem with him.” She ripped her eyes away from Bakugo, picking up her fork again to take another bite.

“I’ll leave you to enjoy your meal.” Bakugo’s voice miraculously remained stable, even though his heart was pumping blood through his body too quickly. He felt his skin burning, his lung filling too quickly. He urged his feet to move; leave the table and go back to his office. Let Shoto finish serving them.

“No need,” Mitsuki interrupted Bakugo’s internal panic. “We should be leaving anyway.”

Bakugo looked down at the plates. His father’s had a decent portion gone, but his mother’s only had a few bites of steak missing. The risotto and asparagus were untouched. He cleared is throat, worried to speak, but the impulse to ask got the better of him.

“How did you like the food, mom?”

Mitsuki stood, throwing her purse over her shoulder. She looked over her shoulder back at the nearly untouched meal as if to remind herself of the food he was asking about. When she looked back at Bakugo, he thought for a moment he saw pity in her eyes.

“I have no doubt in my mind that this is the best you can do.” She didn’t hug him. She didn’t touch him. She didn’t smile, or soften her gaze. She turned, walking towards the front door as quickly as she entered.

Bakugo didn’t pay attention to his father. He didn’t know if Masaru tried to defend her words, or compliment the food. He didn’t hear any of it through the ringing in his ears. Bakugo walked quickly to the kitchen door, not caring about saying goodbye. His fist slammed hard into the wooden swinging door, pushing it open so quickly it slammed hard into the wall. He ignored Shoto’s stares, Sato questions, and anything in his peripheral. He needed to get to his office.

The door slammed behind him loudly. The small room just consisted of a desk, quickly filling up with strewn invoices and notebooks of recipe ideas, a chair, and a filing cabinet in one back corner. Bakugo threw himself against a bare wall, sliding down with his head clutched in his hands; fingers gripping his already messy hair. As he hit the ground, curling in on himself, he felt the tears hitting his palms.

*********

Bakugo stood at his station, hands gripping the sides until his knuckles turned white. He watched his new chef, Ojirou, checking the kitchen with their daily clipboard. He watched as each fridge was inspected, a checkmark dashed through a box. He watched temperatures being recorded, inventory being confirmed, containers being adjusted. He watched his kitchen falling in to order; just as he intended when he made the list. When he made the system. His system. For his kitchen. In his restaurant.

The clipboard was placed where it always was placed before rundown: on a hook by the swinging door. As if on cue, Denki popped into the kitchen from the front, Jirou following closely behind. They were chatting about something, just loud enough Bakugo could hear Denki’s voice say “8 ounce glass instead of 12. You know, like an illusion.” Bakugo heard Jirou’s laugh in return. It made him smile. Denki grabbed the clipboard, double checking the list, completing the system.

Jirou stepped up, clapping her hands together to gain the attention of the kitchen. Bakugo’s hands gripped tighter.

“Alright! This is the night chefs. This is what we’ve practiced, this is what we know. Some of you who have not been through my rundowns will get used to me giving you the information you need to know, but that’s a two way street. I cannot help you if you don’t communicate.”

Jirou kept talking, but her voice got quieter in Bakugo’s ears. It was slowly replaced by a buzzing, or a low ringing. He lowered his head, looking at the cutting board in front of him. It was not new; in fact this board had been with him since he graduated. Each mark, line, slice, told a story of a meal prepped with care and thought. But now, as he stared at the shallow grooves, he couldn’t help but run through every failed dish. Every night that ended in disaster. Every fire, every cut, every complaint. Everything that could go wrong can go wrong. Why did he think he could do this? How could he be so stupid to involve this huge team of people in his pathetic dream? When he failed, he wouldn’t make them fail alongside him. When he wasn’t good enough, he wouldn’t make them see that. He would-

A hand clutched his bicep, squeezing just hard enough to snap Bakugo from staring into the board. He looked up, glancing over his shoulder to see Kirishima behind him. His fingers gave another quick squeeze as Jirou’s voice came back to him. The red head leaned in, his lips pressing against the tip of his ear.

“Can I steal you for a sec?” Without waiting, Kirishima pulled Bakugo back, his hands releasing the counter. His fingers felt sore as he flexed his hands, following Kirishima into his office. The door closed quietly as soon as Bakugo passed the threshold. Jirou still chatted on, Denki joining in every so often for support, or to give instruction about how a dish would be plated. Their voices quieted when the door clicked shut.

The moment they were alone, Bakugo felt Kirishima’s hands under his arms, lifting him just slightly to move him against a bare wall. There was only a small sliver of free wall space; Bakugo’s shoulder pressed into a cork board filled with notices and articles on the restaurant. As his back hit the wall, Kirishima’s lips pressed into his. There was a hunger to his movements and Bakugo let him eat. He pushed back against Kirishima’s strength, lifting his head enough from the wall that one of Kirishima’s hands cupped the back of his neck, pulling him even closer. When they finally broke apart, it was with a small moan from both of them.

“Hey,” Kirishima smirked through lidded eyes.

“What the fuck, Red. ‘Hey’?” Bakugo couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped from his chest. Kirishima’s hand moved from the back of Bakugo’s neck to stroke the side of his face, brushing gently through the short hairs of his undercut.

“I love you.”

It was simple, and quiet, but it punctured through Bakugo’s anxiety. It stabilized the negativity from encompassing his entire being. It brought daylight back into his darkened view. It was simple, and quiet, but it was everything he needed.

“I love you too, Red.”

“And no matter what happens tonight, or tomorrow, or a month, or year from now, we’re with you.”

“Are you giving me a pep talk right now?” Bakugo glanced at the closed door, knowing his team was preparing to reopen. He should be out there giving the pep talk, not in here needing to hear his own.

“No. Not a pep talk. An encouraging inspirational chat. With kissing.” Kirishima’s lips found the crook of Bakugo’s neck that sent a shiver down his spine.

“I’m fine, idiot,” Bakugo said with little malice.

“I know. But I just want you to know…” Kirishima paused, placing his forehead against Bakugo’s and looking into his eyes. They stood for a moment in silence, listening to the sound of their breathing. “I’m proud of you for doing this. For trying something new, and hard, and unexpected. I think it’s so fucking inspirational that you’ll push yourself to the limit to be the best. But I want you to know that you’re not alone. We’re behind you. Supporting you. And if you fall-“

Bakugo sucked in a breath quickly, holding it. He didn’t know how Kirishima knew what he was feeling, but to hear him speak out loud about his fears made him feel even more frightened. It wasn’t just in his head. Everyone out there thought about his failure too. How he would fuck it all up. How he would-

“You’re not going to drag us down with you. We’re going to lift you back up. Because we’re your team, Chef. We do this together.”

Kirishima placed a soft kiss on the corner of Bakugo’s lips. He let out the breath he was holding slowly, exhaling any tension in his body.

“Let’s get to fucking work then.”

*********

“I need garnish for table four. Two steak for table three. Two squash for table seven.”

“Heard, chef. Firing two steak and two squash.”

“Kirishima, time on hands please.”

“Ready, chef.”

“Impressive chef. Thank you! Everybody learn from Kirishima! Stop fucking around!”

“Hands!”

Jirou’s fingers gripped the edges of the two desserts before passing them to one of her servers. The domes were stable in her hands; after much practice with presentation, Kirishima felt confident in her delivery. For just a moment Kirishima was caught up. He had no immediate orders to be filled and had enough prepped to last the night. He watched the rest of the team move in a calm, but urgent dance. Shoto moved behind Denki to reach for a plate above his head, Denki ducked out of the way while pulling out another container of onions. On the other side of the counter, Ojirou and Shindou continued prepping bases and garnishes as needed.

Bakugo never moved. Things came to him. He tasted, quietly giving orders of what to add. He sliced. He plated. He delicately wiped edges of dishes, inspecting each angle until he shouted out for Jirou.

“Hands.”

And there she appeared again. Knowing each dish and who ordered, where to direct her team, whispering small touches in their ear as her hand laid in their shoulders, directing them through her vision. Remind the guest of the wine’s tasting notes; get them to drink after their first bite. Congratulate their daughter on graduating with honours. Don’t stand to their right when the dessert is being presented. We want them to see it.

A well oiled machine.

“Chef.” Jirou stepped up to Bakugo’s side. He was leaning over a dish, his eyes did not break from his concentration. “There’s a guest here asking for you.”

Kirishima expected Bakugo to recoil, or tense up at the mention of needing his attention outside of the kitchen.

“What’s the issue?” Bakugo asked, moving on to the next plate.

“No issue. Says…umm…”

“Spit it out chef,” Bakugo snapped.

“Your mom is here.”

Bakugo stood up straight, all action halted as he faced Jirou. His eyes closed slowly, head cocking to the side.

“What?”

“Your mom-“

“I heard you. I just…” He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, sliding up to rub his eyes. His shoulders tensed and he sucked in a breath. He pushed past Jirou towards the swinging door, quickly disappearing into the front.

**********

His dad was pulling out a chair for her at the table next to the window. Their host presented them each with the menu card, placing a small book of their drink menu between them. As she left their table, Kendo came to introduce herself as their server, placing two flutes of water in front of them. Bakugo watched from beside the swinging door, his eyes focused on the blonde woman. He watched her eyes narrow as she read the selection of meals. He watched her mouth move ever so slightly as she asked a question, or gave an order. He watched her hand raise to stop Kendo as she stepped away, her fingers just gently reaching out to keep her server’s attention. He saw Kendo and Masaru laugh at whatever comment she made; Kendo’s hand brushing her shoulder as she walked away, still smiling. Mitsuki’s own smile grew as she leaned in, speaking intimately to his dad.

Bakugo felt his skin heating up. It could be from the drastic change in temperature moving from the kitchen to the perfectly controlled front section. It could also be, and more likely certainly was due to, seeing his mother sitting in his restaurant, expecting to enjoy a meal. He felt sweat dripping down the back of his neck. His mouth felt full of cotton and he couldn’t swallow enough to quench the feeling of choking on air. He pulled at his chef’s jacket, the top button falling out of its hole as he yanked the fabric, trying to gain any semblance of air. He needed air. There wasn’t enough air.

He let his feet pull him back to the kitchen. Through the swinging door, past his station. He removed another button from his jacket as he walked past a confused Shoto and Denki. A flash of red past his vision as he started running for the back door, slamming his palm heavily into the metal handle. The loud clang of the metal door hitting the outside brick wall rung in his ears, echoing again and again. He pulled at his collar again, trying to move the fabric from choking him. He gasped the cold, winter air, burning his lungs. It still wasn’t enough. He was suffocating. He was drowning. He needed to surface or he was going to die.

“FUCK!” He yelled, gripping the collar of his t-shirt, pulling his hair into a tight fist. He felt the tears on his cheeks as they froze his skin.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” He yelled again and again. He couldn’t hear his own voice. He yelled louder to hear himself, but instead heard a soft hum. The soft, quiet, disappointing hum of his mother’s voice.

Chapter Text

The air was crisp. Winter frost punctured Kirishima’s lungs with a sharp stab, and his skin recoiled in the sudden fluctuation of the kitchen’s heat to the frozen tundra of the back alley. His forearms were bare; his sleeves rolled up after a couple hours of intense service rush. His hair was tied back, letting the cold breeze mingle with the beads of sweat on the back of his neck. A shiver shook through his body when a patch of snow brushed against his ankle as he stepped to the right of the metal door, softly closing behind him, shutting out the chaos of the kitchen, now short two chefs.

He didn’t give a fuck. Not when he opened the back door to see Bakugo hunched over himself. His lower back touched the brick wall as his feet were planted, far enough apart that his head fit between his knees. His arms caged him in, hands pushing against his ears as his fingers gripped the roots of his blonde tufts. Kirishima watched him for half a second; he looked so small.

He didn’t know if he should touch him. Before, when Kirishima watched Bakugo from afar, he could sense when Bakugo’s shoulders would tighten, or when his jaw would clench. In those moments Kirishima felt confident to reach out. A brush of his knuckles against Bakugo’s wrist, a stroke on his arm, a kiss in his hair. Any little push to show Bakugo that he was there. And when he did, he could visibly see Bakugo’s tension melting away, pushing back into Kirishima’s touch.

But Kirishima had never seen Bakugo this bad, this quickly. He wanted to touch him, to wrap his arms around his encumbered figure; to soothe the knot he had become. He just wasn’t sure if Bakugo would let him. And he couldn’t risk making him worse. So Kirishima knelt in front of him, placing his hands on his knees so if Bakugo’s eyes were open, he would see them.

“Katsuki,” Kirishima kept his voice quiet, yet stern.

“Fuck. No. Fuck.” Bakugo spewed a mantra so quiet Kirishima strained to hear him over the traffic at the end of the alley. He repeated it again and again.

“Katsuki,” Kirishima tried again to no avail. He took a shallow inhale, holding his breath as he lifted his hand, placing it slowly on Bakugo’s shoulder. His head shot up, red eyes bloodshot and glassy. Kirishima’s heart ached; Bakugo look scared.

“Kats…what is it? Talk to me.” Kirishima kept his voice quiet and soft. Coaxing a response out of Bakugo slowly, the accelerated pace of their endless night long forgotten.

“I can’t. Ei, I can’t. Fuck I can’t do it. Not tonight. I can’t. Fuck, what do I do?”

Seeing the words tumble out of his mouth, Kirishima couldn’t help but wrap his arms around Bakugo, engulfing his form in a tight hug. His hands pressed against the curve of Bakugo’s back, his arms squeezing Bakugo’s shoulder, his neck cradling Bakugo’s head. And Bakugo sank into him, releasing Kirishima’s worry that his touch wouldn’t be welcomed. Although the tension didn’t release from Bakugo, he pushed his body further into Kirishima’s chest, craving his warmth.

“You don’t have to do anything,” Kirishima spoke quietly into Bakugo’s ear. He couldn’t comprehend what Bakugo was mumbling about, but if it worried him this much, Kirishima wanted him to forget it.

“She’s here. I can’t- fuck, what do I do? How do I- she’ll say…fuck, I don’t know…”

“Katsuki,” Kirishima tried a little louder. “Hey, babe, I’m here. Talk to me. It’s okay. I’m here.”

As if he finally heard Kirishima, Bakugo pushed away from the hug to look at him. His face softened from pinched brows to a thankful sigh, no longer looking frightened, but relieved.

“Ei…I’m…I’m sorry.”

“Hey, don’t apologize,” Kirishima smiled, relieved to see a bit of the usual gaze Bakugo gave him. He ran his fingertips through Bakugo’s hair, pushing a few unruly strands back from his face. He rubbed his thumb over Bakugo’s jaw, trying to keep his focus. “Don’t ever apologize. Can you tell me what happened?”

“She’s here. She fucking came. My…my fucking mother.” As Bakugo spoke, his eyes flicked towards the restaurant, as if speaking of her would bring her walking out from the back door.

“Okay. And…not a good relationship with the parents I’m surmising,” Kirishima pulled with his thumb against Bakugo’s jaw again. As intended, Bakugo’s eyes fell back on Kirishima’s face. He kept a soft smile on his lips.

“Just her. The fucking bitch. She…she kept getting worse. So much worse. I stopped talking to her a few years ago. I couldn’t take it anymore. And she has the fucking balls to come here. Tonight? Fucking seriously? Tonight?” Bakugo relaxed against the brick wall behind him, letting himself slink down so he sat directly in a dirty patch of snow. Kirishima needed to keep him talking. Ask the right questions.

“What do you mean by worse?” Kirishima knew nothing about Bakugo’s parents. He just assumed they weren’t close, not that anything traumatic had happened in his past, so he never prodded into Bakugo’s relationship with them. Apparently he should have.

“She was fine when I was a kid. I don’t know what fucking changed. Got to high school, culinary school, graduated. Every time I did anything, achieved anything, it was never good enough. Someone did it better…Izuku did it better. I would hear his name out of her mouth and I wanted to vomit. And every time I spoke to her…fuck, I hate her. She makes me feel like…” Bakugo just shook his head, his lips pursed as if the words tasted sour.

“Feel like what, Kats?”

“Like I’m worthless.”

The word hung between them. Kirishima knew it wasn’t true. Not that his mother didn’t make him feel that way, but that Bakugo was in fact, in no way, worthless. But he knew brushing off the comment, saying it wasn’t true, would fall on deaf ears. After years of hearing that, feeling that, there was nothing Kirishima could say that would wash it away while sitting in a back alley.

But he wanted to try.

He moved to sit beside Bakugo, close enough so their thighs touched and his arm easily hung over Bakugo’s shoulders. As he made space for himself, he felt Bakugo stiff beside him; his arms crossed over his chest.

“You know, I worked for Toyo for, like, five years or so. He was like a dad to me. Kind, big hearted, full of awful puns. And Testu and Amajiki are like brothers to me. I never had that growing up. The years I spent at the bakery were literally the best years of my life. I made a family there.” Kirishima paused, running his free hand through Bakugo’s hair. He took a deep breath before continuing.

“So this one day, Camie’s name pops up on my phone. I was headed in to work and she tells me there’s this 9-1-1 emergency delivery that needed to happen. And I’m like, ‘a pastry emergency’? And she like, ‘just bring your best pastry,’ and she gave me the address. So I go. And I meet you. I deliver your emergency pastry. And I leave. Like I’m supposed to.”

“I know all this, dumbass. I was there. Why the fuck are you-“

“I’m getting there. Hold on.” Kirishima chuckled softly. “So I leave. And this angry, blonde haired, tired looking chef runs out after me, pissed because I just left. This guy, who I don’t know from a hole in the wall, is so certain that I wanted to work for him. So certain that I would drop everything to work for him. I would give up my home, my life, my family, to work for him. This guy, that I spoke less than thirty words to, wanted me. Saw in me something I didn’t even see in myself. Saw in me something no one had seen. No one had even asked if I wanted more. If I could do more. And every day since I met you, you’ve pushed me to do better. To be better. To stand up for myself, to believe in myself.”

Kirishima felt Bakugo’s shoulder press into his side as he leaned into his touch. His head dropped onto Kirishima’s shoulder.

“I’m honestly terrified of you on some level. In awe of you. You’re someone who expects the best in others, but you also don’t look down on us if we fail. You expect the best because you pull it out of us. You took Denki from a no experience line cook to a sous chef in a few years. A sous chef in your kitchen. You trust us, you guide us, you throw us into the fire…but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Kirishima turned his head to kiss the top of Bakugo’s head. He felt the rhythm of his breathing normalizing.

“When you came running after me, and asked me to work for you, at the time I couldn’t tell you why I said yes. I just did. I made an impulsive and reckless decision that changed my whole life. But thinking back on it, I know exactly why I said yes. Because I saw in you the strength and determination of someone who went after what they wanted. Someone who wasn’t afraid to build something of their own. Who would try time and time again to reach your goals, no matter how many times you had to try. That doesn’t sound like someone who is worthless.”

*********

“You realize our pastry chef is also gone, right?” Denki’s heartrace was increasing by the second. With each chit Shoto called out, with each plate piling up to be finished, with the chaos swirling around them and the time counting down. He felt his pulse pounding in his throat and looked behind him to see an empty alcove where Kirishima should be. His plan was to call on him for back up; switch spots so Shoto could take over and he could support. But with no help in sight, and no idea when the two chefs would return, if they would return, he wanted to curl up on the floor and let the night end in a fiery blaze.

“I realize, Kaminari.” Shoto was far too calm for the swirling bombardment of responsibilities Denki felt himself drowning in. He wanted Shoto to be feeling the same panic as him so that he didn’t feel alone. Or that he was overreacting. On a good day, the kitchen barely survived if there was just two of them. This was not a good day. This was an excellent day. They were putting up more orders then ever before and the dishes were exponentially more intricate now that their menu was elevated. And without orders being barked at them, their two station chefs were not being utilized well under Shoto.

“Guys, I’m still waiting on a steak and two squash. It’s been over five. And I can only postpone another four before we need to expedite tables eleven and six.” Jirou was standing at the end of their line, black notebook open with an aggressive amount of colourful tabs popping out the sides. They were backing up the Front. They were not being efficient. They were fucking up Bakugo’s kitchen. Their kitchen. His kitchen.

“Behind.” Denki shuffled behind Shoto to step in front of Bakugo’s station. It was a duplicate of his own, but standing there gave Denki a sense of uncertainty; as if he was a child sitting behind the teacher’s desk. He was an imposter. He shook his head, reaching for the chit farthest to the left.

“Shindou, time on squash.”

“1 minute, chef.”

“I need it in 30. Ojirou, at my station.
You’re going to fire four ravs asap. Shoto, do you have those-“

“Here, chef.” Shoto placed two plates of steak in front of him with a nod. He immediately turned behind to assess the timing of the muscles sautéing on the stove.

“Fire two scallops, chef, while you’re back there,” Denki counted down the line of chits, calling out the groups of orders. They would need all hands on deck to walk, but his goal was to at least remove their bottleneck. “Shindou, fire five bacon. Ojirou, you’re garnishing three steak while you’re on those pastas, man. I believe in your skill to multitask. Shoto fire three steak after that muscle, and we’ll need purée from…me. I’ll do the purée.”

“You’ll plate, chef. I’ll get the purée, too.” Shoto called back.

Denki looked at the line of dishes beginning to form to his right. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he combined each aspect of the dishes in front of him.

“Jirou!” Denki shouted, forgetting she was now directly beside him. He smiled sheepishly at her before seeing how attentive she was. She would follow his lead. She was poised, ready for action after waiting for her chefs to catch up to her. She nodded curtly at him.

“Hands on five,” he called out, ripping the furthest chit and piercing it on the stake at the top of Bakugo’s station.

“Hands on four. Hands on ten.” Two more chits pierced.

“Hands on eleven.” Another chit pierced. With each call out, Jirou waved a server to her side. They quickly disappeared, only to be replaced by another one.

“Hands on six.” Jirou picked up the three plates herself after tucking her notebook into the front pocket of her apron. She leaned in closely to Denki’s side, his eyes still focussed on the plate in front of him.

“You can call for my hands later tonight,” she whispered into his ear before stepping out through the swinging door.

Denki stood frozen staring at three perfectly balanced pillows of ravioli. Only when Shoto’s hand slapped his shoulder did he realize he had stopped breathing.

“What’s next, chef?”

“Get our fucking boss back, chef.” Denki mumbled, trying to hide the blush creeping onto his cheeks.

*********

“What did I do to deserve you?” Bakugo’s head still rested on Kirishima’s shoulder. It was comfortable. Just the right height that Bakugo felt like a puzzle piece nestled into the right place. Even though the air around them was bitterly cold, Bakugo was glad he was finally able to feel it. His heart stopped racing, his breath was level again.

“Absolutely nothing.” Kirishima’s fingers combed through his hair, pushing it back off his forehead so he could lean down and gently place his lips on Bakugo skin. It made Bakugo smile before his lips fell to a frown at the thought popping into his head.

“I still need to go see her,” Bakugo said. He knew he couldn’t get out of going to their table. He needed to figure out how to just push through a short conversation with his mom without exploding in front of every guest in his restaurant.

“Go if you want. You don’t owe her anything.” Bakugo mind stopped racing at Kirishima’s words. He was right. He didn’t owe her. He didn’t need to give in to her whims and politely sit back, accepting judgement and snide remarks. He didn’t have to pay attention to her.

“Ei, what if-“ Bakugo’s words were cut short when a sharp whistle broke the shell of their intimacy.

Shoto had leaned out from the back door, glaring at them both.

“I get it. Trust me, I get it, Katsuki. But if you don’t want the kitchen to literally combust into a raging ball of flames, you both need to get your asses back here. Now!” He took a step into the alleyway, holding the door as he gestured them to head inside. Kirishima stood, offering his hand down to Bakugo who gladly accepted.

As Kirishima passed Shoto, he pressed his hand firmly on his shoulder.

“You have six orders. Jirou’s stalling, and we need to stagger.” Kirishima nodded, heading quickly to the sink before beelining back to his alcove. Shoto turned his attention to Bakugo, stopping him just before he passed the threshold. “Are you okay?”

“No. But when have I ever been okay?” Bakugo tried to brush off his earlier panic. Shoto knew more than most about Bakugo’s relationship with his parents, but he didn’t want his partner thinking he would let him down. Not tonight. Not ever.

“You need to plan ahead, Bakugo. I explicitly told Jirou not to let my father in. And not just tonight. He’s never allowed here. Plan ahead and surprises like shit parents won’t ruin your night.” Shoto smiled warmly at Bakugo, bringing out a small laugh from both of them. “Now go rescue your sous, chef. He is kicking ass, but I think he may pass out.”

Bakugo walked behind the line towards the sink to wash his hands, listening to Denki shout orders to his team. When Shoto stepped up beside him, he gave a quick glance before noticing Bakugo back in the kitchen. His shoulders immediately dropped their tension, a relieved smile spreading over his face.

“Thank fuck! You’re back. Can I go out to the alleyway and have a panic attack of my own?” Denki laughed as he stepped away from Bakugo’s station. The movement of bodies shifting back to their normal routine as Bakugo took back his rightful position.

“Behind,” Kirishima placed to dishes to Bakugo’s left.

“Jirou, hands!” Bakugo yelled, only to see her already beside him to lift the two desserts. He gave her a brief smile before clapping his hands together loudly. “Okay, fuckers! Back on track.”

*********

“Jirou!” Kirishima called for her and she appeared. He still got chills every time she did that.

“Yes chef?”

“Is this Kendo’s VIP?” Kirishima motioned to a chit lining his board.

“Yes, chef. The Bakugos.” Jirou nodded.

“Got it.”

“Would you like hands, chef?” Jirou tucked her notebook back into her apron, hold her palms up in between them.

“Nope. I got it,” Kirishima smiled at her. He fastened the top button of his chef’s jacket, leaving his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He bent his knees just slightly to pick up the two desserts, swiftly walking behind Jirou to the swinging door.

Walking the floor was not something Kirishima had ever done before. Nitro was not a huge restaurant by far, and the tables were not overly crowded, so he had plenty of space to move freely without worrying about bumping into a guest. But he still moved cautiously while holding the delicately plated desserts.

As he made his way to the front window, he saw Bakugo’s parents. His father faced away from him, shaggy brown hair and green cardigan making him feel approachable. His mother looked the spitting image of Bakugo. The shock of short blonde hair, perfectly styled, looked gorgeous and soft. Her red eyes stunning against pale skin. She was thin, but not too skinny. Her delicate fingers held up a wine glass, red nails matching her lipstick. She wore a smile as she spoke to her husband; seemingly affectionate.

“Mr and Mrs Bakugo,” Kirishima spoke softly as he approached their table. Both gave their full attention to the man approaching. He placed their dishes in front of each, pausing to smile. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you both. I thought it only suitable to bring your desserts myself.”

“Oh,” Masaru sat up straighter in his chair. “You must be Sato. Lovely to-“

“Kirishima. Actually,” Kirishima corrected. He held out his hand to shake Masaru’s. A firm, but quick handshake.

“Oh goodness. I’m sorry. We didn’t know he got a new pastry chef.”

“No need to apologize, sir. What can I say, when your son sees greatness, he just can’t let that slip him by.” Kirishima chuckled, keeping the mood light. Masaru laughed in return, adjusting his glasses higher on his nose.

“If you insist.” Her voice hit Kirishima’s ears, seemingly bored with the interaction.

“I certainly do,” Kirishima shot back, not wanting her to steamroll the conversation. He wanted to impress her, to gain her favour, but he wasn’t about to let her break him. “I may be speaking out of turn, and I apologize ahead of time if you find me too forward, but I must let you both know what an accomplishment Bakugo is. I’ve only been working here a short time, but this experience has been life altering to say the least. Your son is an inspiration and leader. You should be most proud.”

“We are.” Mitsuki spoke first. Kirishima didn’t know what reaction he expected, but the matter of fact admission from Bakugo’s mother was not it.

“Excellent,” Kirishima smiled again.

“He’s done wonderful work. He’s always done wonderful work. He’s pushed himself to be the best his whole life. If it weren’t for us encouraging him…” she paused to take a sip of wine. Kirishima waited silently for her to continue. He bit his tongue to hold back any retort he felt bubbling up. “Well, who knows where he would be now.”

“Probably here. Doing exactly this.” Kirishima clipped his response by reaching forward for the knob at the peak of the domes, covering their desserts. He refused eye contact with Mitsuki as he began to explain his dish. “If you will allow me. Your dessert this evening is the namesake of the restaurant; Nitro. A burnt caramel crusted panna cotta, smoked in cherry wood, with a winter raspberry confit. Please enjoy your meal.”

Kirishima lifted the two domes simultaneously, a light grey wafting on smoke fell over the table, dissipating as it evaporated quickly. As he turned to walk away, he noticed Masaru attentive to the dish in front of him, but Mitsuki kept her pensive gaze on Kirishima.

Chapter Text

The cycle of prep, service, cleaning, and passing out from exhaustion only to wake up 5 hours later to do it all again, made it very difficult for Bakugo to dissect his panic attack from opening night. He had lasted six days until he finally had a day off. And he spent all of that day in bed, listening to Kirishima putter around the apartment. He was gifted a coffee in the morning, a freshly baked muffin for breakfast, a smoothie and sandwich made on fresh sourdough bread for lunch, all from the comfort of his bed. He read, he napped, he lost himself in the endless scroll of social media. He relaxed.

He had done it. He had spent a full week reopened with a new menu, a new staff, and a new fire under him. Each day running more smooth than the last. Each day the tension in his shoulders lessened just a little bit. He actually saw himself moving in an upward direction, not just feeling stagnant.

Kirishima collapsed onto the bed beside him, flopping an arm over his stomach as he face planted into the pillow beside Bakugo.

“How’s your day going? Do you want me to make dinner?” Bakugo felt Kirishima shake his head, mumbling into the pillow.

“Huh?” Bakugo nudged his side with his elbow.

“I ordered burgers for delivery,” Kirishima turned to face Bakugo. “But there’s a tiramisu setting in the fridge for dessert.”

“You’re going to make me fat,” Bakugo leaned down, pressing his lips into the top of Kirishima’s hair. His shampoo smelled of strawberries.

“I told you to come on the run with me this morning.” Kirishima turned over to prop himself up on the headboard. He leaned over, pressing his shoulder into Bakugo’s.

“Not on my day off. I’ll go with you tomorrow, but you need to get up early.”

“Can I ask you a question without you getting all…grrr?” Kirishima paused, waiting for an approving nod before continuing. When he heard a small grunt, he pushed on. “About opening night. I don’t want to push, but…are you okay?”

“Jirou told me that you went out to their table. She told me what you said to them.” Bakugo skirted around the answer. “I’ve got you supporting me. I don’t need anything else.”

When Kirishima didn’t speak, Bakugo knew he was waiting for more. And what else was he supposed to say? He was scared to talk to his mother? Angry? Annoyed? Anxious? What emotion would succinctly encapsulate his headspace when it came to his mother? Just thinking about her descent into condescension as he grew up made his blood boil. He was gifted as a child, and as he grew up he realized he wasn’t as gifted as he thought. He pushed himself of his own accord to become greater; to be the best because he believed he could get there. She, however, made him feel little. As if, when she saw the bigger playing field he was competing on, she gave up. Threw in the towel before he entered the ring.

Bakugo looked down at the top of Kirishima’s head, resting on his shoulder. He brushed his fingers through the thick, red hair, and sighed.

“I don’t think I’m ever going to have a good relationship with my mother. And I’m fine with that. I mean, look at Shoto. He fucking hates his dad. I honestly think if he heard of his passing today he would crack open a bottle of champagne.” Bakugo chuckled to himself. He didn’t know if he was on that same level as Shoto, but he needed to try to move past the anxiety he felt when it came to his mother.

“Yeah…I don’t think you want to emulate that level of parental relationship. It doesn’t seem entirely healthy.” Kirishima sat up straight, leaning back to look at Bakugo. His eyes were so warm, a small smile on his lips.

“You’re probably right. But what I don’t have to do is listen to her when she spews her passive aggressive comments. I don’t need to engage with her. I don’t need her in my life.”

“Exactly. You’ve got me. I’ll love you enough to make up for it.” Kirishima wrapped his fingers through Bakugo’s, squeezing just slightly.

“It’s not exactly the same…”

“Now, now, Katsuki. That’s enough back talk. You’ll do your chores or there’ll be no dessert for you,” Kirishima taunted through a smirk.

“Fuck that. You made tiramisu. You’re not keeping that from me.” Bakugo pulled his hand out from Kirishima’s.

“What language! I’m utterly appalled!” Kirishima clutched the collar of his shirt, fanning his face with his other hand.

“This isn’t funny, Kirishima. It’s borderline creepy. Quit acting motherly.” Bakugo reached for Kirishima’s hands, moving to sit on top of him, caging his wrists across his chest.

“Fine. What should I act like?”

“My idiotic, sexy, supportive boyfriend. It’s all I need,” Bakugo whispered as he leaned in, keeping Kirishima’s hands bound.

“I can do that.” Kirishima closed the gap between them.

*********

Six months later::

Bakugo didn’t mind wearing a suit. It was the tie that pissed him off. As soon as they walked into the large reception room, after spending far too long listening to sappy vows of lifelong dedication, Bakugo immediately took off his tie. Much to Kirishima’s dismay. But sure enough, Kirishima held out his hand silently, waiting for the fabric to land in his hand before carefully folding it and tucking it away in his suit jacket. A jacket Bakugo knew very well would be removed within five minutes of dinner, so he didn’t understand why he was being judged.

And the dinner was fine. Bordering on great. It was the dessert that lost Bakugo at the end. He poked his fork into the dense cake, pushing the icing off with a look of annoyance.

“What could you possibly be upset over?” Kirishima nudged Bakugo. When Bakugo just grunted, Kirishima sighed. “This has been a wonderful day. So can you please at least smile? You’re starting to look like you’re jealous of Ochako.”

At that comment, Bakugo’s face shot up, glaring at Kirishima for the implication, no matter how vague. Kirishima looked back at him with a concerned lift of his eyebrows.

“Wait, are you jealous?” When Bakugo snarled, Kirishima raised his hand in defence. “Not about Midoriya, but like, the wedding? Are you mad he got married first? Do you want to-“

“Dumbass, I don’t care. I don’t give a shit about…I - Kirishima, I just don’t like the fucking dessert. That’s it!” Bakugo turned away from Kirishima, staring intently at the now mushy pile of chocolate smashed down on his plate. He felt his cheeks warming.

“But you love my chocolate cake,” Kirishima pouted.

“Yeah. And yours is the only one I will ever like. Because it’s the best fucking chocolate cake in the whole goddamn world. And why they decided to serve this second rate cake is beyond me.” Bakugo was thankful Kirishima didn’t notice the blush he was certain had stretched down to his neck at this point. He risked looking at Kirishima quickly, only to see the red head leaning his cheek in his palm, propped up on the table by his elbow, as he stared at Bakugo, a wide smile parting his lips.

“Dance with me.” It wasn’t a question. Bakugo sighed, placing his fork down and reaching for Kirishima’s hand.

As they made their way to the dance floor, centred in the room with the round tables circled around the open space, they passed by Shoto, dancing with Uraraka’s maid of honour, Tsu. She was quickly talking as Shoto silently nodded along.

Bakugo felt Kirishima’s hand press into his lower back and his fingers intertwine into his own. He knew soon enough Kirishima would just step closer and wrap both his arms around Bakugo’s waist, but he liked for a moment that Kirishima was actually trying to dance properly. After they spent half a song moving in silence, Kirishima moved closer to Bakugo, keeping his hands where they were, but close enough to lean in the whisper over the noise.

“Not that I’m asking for any particular reason, or that I have any immediate need for the answer, but what is your ring size?”

With how close Kirishima was, Bakugo could smell strawberries and bread. He angled his head to place a gentle kiss on Kirishima’s neck before pulling away, whispering his own answer.

“I don’t wear rings. So I wouldn’t know.” Bakugo shrugged. Kirishima took another step closer, moving his other hand to meet the one on Bakugo’s lower back. Bakugo wrapped his arms over Kirishma’s shoulders, lightly holding his own hands behind his head. Kirishima’s chin rested on Bakugo’s shoulders.

“Oh. Right. Workplace hazard.” Bakugo could feel the pout forming on Kirishima’s lips.

“Why?”

Kirishima immediately stepped back, releasing Bakugo from his hold. He waved his hands in front of him, a small, nervous laugh escaping his crooked smile.

“Like I said, no reason!” But when he reached for Bakugo’s hands again to continue their dance, Kirishima’s fingers twirled around each thin, long finger of Bakugo’s left hand.

“Hmm,” Kirishima smiled to himself. “Probably an eight.” He lifted Bakugo’s hand to place his lips against his palm, pressing a kiss into his smooth skin.

“What does it matter anyway? I can’t wear rings at work. So what would be the point?” Bakugo shook his head. After a moment of silence the song ended, but neither one made a move to leave the dance floor. Instead, they kept their arms wrapped around one another until the next song started.

Bakugo watched Kirishima’s face from the corner of his eye. For being someone so strong, both physically and emotionally, his face always looked so soft. It was because of his eyes. They warmed any glance he gave Bakugo, making him feel like he was falling in love with him in a new way every day. And that’s exactly how it felt being with Kirishima. Like everyday he was falling farther and deeper in love with this man. And although he was certain about his love, it took him far too long to be certain of what Kirishima was hinting at with their conversation. The conversation that Bakugo all but dismissed. The conversation that left Kirishima, a bubble of sunshine, dancing with him in complete silence. He wanted to kick himself.

“I would get a box,” Bakugo blurted out.

“Huh?” Kirishima pulled back far enough to look at Bakugo, his head cocked to one side. Bakugo laughed internally at the resemblance to a small puppy.

“If I had a ring. I would get a box. To keep it in. At my station.” Bakugo felt himself rambling. “Everyone has something at their station. I would have a box.”

“Oh. Okay.” With his response, a small smile formed over Kirishima’s lips, overtaking the pout. Bakugo would ensure he would do everything in his power, every day, for the rest of his life, to make sure that smile never faltered.

**********

On the wall next to Bakugo’s office was a cork board. It was filled with licenses, health and safety notices, a couple photos. One photo from their opening night with Bakugo, Shoto, and Sato taking a selfie in the kitchen after service rush. Bakugo was frowning, Shoto had a vacant look on his face, but was holding up his first two fingers at the camera, and Sato had a gigantic grin on his face. One photo of Denki with Jirou piggybacking him, in front of the restaurant. And one photo of Bakugo, Kirishima, Shoto, and Midoriya all wearing colourful baseball hats, leaning out the window of a food truck.

Everyday, Bakugo would walk by this cork board. It was something he never paid much attention to. And on an unassuming day, he opened an unassuming letter on his desk.

It wasn’t as if he expected fireworks to go off. Or that he would finally feel a sense of completion with his life. As he read the words before him, he didn’t feel any different. He knew he needed to prep for service, and that they didn’t have enough mushroom in stock, so he needed to talk to Shoto about selling out the whole dish, or getting Ojirou to buy more before open. He knew that Kirishima’s music would blare through the kitchen from his alcove, but only during prep. He turned it off during service. He knew that Denki would be flirting with Jirou, which would probably make Bakugo hit him at some point during the night. He knew that his kitchen would run as it always did and that this letter wasn’t changing that fact.

But even so, as Bakugo looked down at the confirmation that Nitro had its first star, he couldn’t help but relish in the smile he let himself wear. He reached for a pushpin from the chaos of his desk, walked out to the board beside his office, and tacked the letter to the centre; covering most of the paperwork, but leaving the photos peaking out the side. Without saying a word, he headed to his station to set up for the day.