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“Dude, I swear if you don’t go talk to him I’m going to vom.”
“Huh?” Hitoshi blinks and drags his attention away from the very hot barista he was definitely not just staring at and back to Denki, who’s glaring at him. Because they’re supposed to be studying. Oops. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah, okay.” Denki rolls his eyes and points a pen in the direction of the counter. “You’re definitely not eye fucking Mr. BDSM Wet Dream while he’s making espressos.”
“Don’t point at him!” Hitoshi leans in to hiss at him, smacking the pen out of Denki’s hand. “And it’s just piercings... and tattoos... and ugh.”
Denki just smirks and pulls his lemon drop lip balm out of his pocket. “Look, all I’m saying is, if you don’t make a move, I will.” He pops his lips and gives Hitoshi a newly glittery smirk.
“He’s not even your type.”
“Everyone’s my type,” Denki claps back and swipes glitter across each cheek.
“Are you a Changeling or something? I don’t think an actual human can love glitter as much as you do.”
Hitoshi sinks into his seat, dragging his coffee over and pointedly not watching the muscles of coffee boy’s arms when he grabs something off a shelf. Hitoshi never thought he was an arm guy before, but he’s absolutely an arm guy now.
“It accentuates my cheekbones,” Denki preens before he leans forward and sticks his tongue out, “and we’re talking about you and how you still haven’t talked to him.” He jerks his head in the direction of the counter but to Hitoshi’s relief, he doesn’t point again.
“I’ve talked to him.”
“Uh, no, you haven’t.”
“I ordered a drink from him!”
“Nooooooo. He asked you what you wanted and then you froze. Panicked. Shouted ‘nothing!’ and speed-walked away.” Denki takes a sip of his iced tea and bats his eyelashes at Hitoshi. “And that was four weeks ago. I’m officially done ordering your drinks for you. Get over your gay panic or study caffeine-free.”
“Uuugh, what is wrong with me? I don’t do gay panic,” Hitoshi groans and runs a hand over his face dramatically.
“Everyone has their kryptonite. Congrats on finding yours,” Denki says, then he leans forward and thwacks him in the forehead with his recovered pen. “Talk. To. Him.”
“He might be straight.”
“Dude. He works at a coffee shop called Pride No Prejudice.”
“Maybe he’s an ally.”
“He’s literally wearing a gay pride bracelet.”
“He likes rainbows.”
“You’re in a hell of a lot of denial for a psych major,” Denki says in annoyance, slumping back in his chair.
“I know,” Hitoshi says smugly. “I take my Masters very seriously.”
“Barfing now,” Denki complains. Then he perks up and waves cheerfully, and for one horrifying moment Hitoshi thinks he’s waving at Barista Boy, but it turns out it’s just the rest of their study group, tumbling through the door. Everyone dumps their stuff at the table with cheerful greetings and books it straight back to the counter to load up on caffeine—it is finals season after all.
Denki calls them their ‘friends’ but Hitoshi can barely remember half their names, and he’s pretty sure he hasn’t seen most of them outside of class, studying, and the occasional party.
Lucky for him Denki remembers everyone’s names. Which has saved Hitoshi’s ass more than once at a party because though he can’t remember people to save his life, people remember him. And they come talk to him.
He’s saved from any further commentary on Denki’s part when the rest of the group returns and they all buckle down to study. By the time he resurfaces, the hot barista is nowhere to be seen, replaced by some punk goth chick.
☕☕☕
True to his word, the next time they meet at PNP, Denki does not order his coffee for him. Hitoshi goes sans coffee for their study session and it’s awful.
It’s made worse when Denki orders Hitoshi’s favorite drink and then drinks it in front of him .
“You don’t even like espresso,” Hitoshi complains from where he’s collapsed on his textbooks, slowly dying of caffeine deprivation.
“I know.” Denki crinkles his nose, taking another sip from the cup. “End my suffering. Talk to Hottie McHotHot. Though I’m gonna warn you, he’s kind of a dick.”
“I like dicks,” Hitoshi deadpans, and while Denki is recovering from the pain of shooting espresso out of his nose, Hitoshi liberates him of his coffee.
“Hey!”
“This is for your own good. You’ll vibrate yourself into a heart attack if you drink this.”
“Why are we friends?” Denki groans as he digs out his wallet.
“I don’t know, you just showed up one day and wouldn’t go away. Following me around like a stray cat. Or a lemming.”
“That just means you jump off the cliff first,” Denki points out with a roll of his eyes and heads back to the counter for a new drink.
He spends a suspicious amount of time at the counter talking to the tatted-up blond, leaning on the counter, chatting away with a bright smile. The barista seems completely immune to Denki’s charm, dumping iced tea in a cup and shoving it in his face with an annoyed scowl.
“His name is Bakugou, in case you were wondering,” Denki says as he slips back into his seat, taking a sip of his drink and sighing happily.
“I wasn’t,” Hitoshi says sulkily because he kind of was. “How do you even know that?”
“Mmm, jealous much?” When Hitoshi glares at him Denki gives him an annoyingly chipper smile. “I can read, idiot. He’s wearing a name tag.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, ‘oh’.”
Hitoshi decides to not talk to Denki for the rest of their study session.
☕☕☕
Generally, he and Denki meet in the afternoons at the coffee shop for study sessions, but with upcoming exams, Denki insists on meeting the moment the cafe opens. ‘It’ll be quieter and easier to concentrate’ he’d reasoned when Hitoshi demands to know why he has to sacrifice his sleep schedule. Unfortunately, Denki has a point. The shop is popular and it gets loud and busy after class, full of regulars and students all looking for their caffeine fix, so Hitoshi agrees. He drags himself out of bed and to the shop as the first blush of sun is coming up over the city skyline, the lingering trails of morning dew still rolling across the empty parks he cuts through.
Since it’s precisely ass o’clock in the morning, the shop is unsurprisingly empty, even behind the counter. All that greets him is the distant chime of a bell in the back, and the amusingly upbeat melody of ‘Fuck You’ playing on the speakers. His phone dings and he clicks it open only to find a message from Denki canceling on him. Sneaky little fucker.
He’s about to walk right back out, and go back to bed when Bakugou appears from the backroom.
“Who the hell is trying to buy coffee at this fucking hour?”
Well, shit.
So, instead of fleeing, he forces himself up to the counter. Confidence. Confidence is key. Don’t let the smoking hot barista you absolutely want to take out on a date intimidate you. You are cool .
“Hey, can I have a—“
“Triple espresso red eye. Yeah, I fucking know.” Bakugou jabs the cafe register screen and doesn’t bother looking at Hitoshi. “Four hundred and fifteen yen.”
“How do you know my order?”
Bakugou knows his order. God, is this love? He’s pretty sure this is love.
“It’s literally my job,” Bakugou deadpans, holding out a hand for money. “Besides, Sparkles orders the same fucking thing every day, and you don’t strike me as a strawberry iced tea kind of guy.”
“What if I don’t want my usual?” Hitoshi asks and Bakugou gives him a pained look.
“ Fine. How do you want your coffee?”
“Same way I want my men,” Hitoshi says, and Bakugou just blinks at him. “Hot and bitter.”
Wow, he’s on a roll. Who knew ‘confidence’ actually means ‘make a complete idiot out of yourself’? He’s been hanging out with Denki too much. The dumb is rubbing off on him.
“That’s a shitty fucking pickup line,” Bakugou comments, arms crossing on his chest, but the corner of his mouth twitches, and Hitoshi realizes he’s amused by the crap attempt. Okay, yeah, he can work with that. Sarcasm is his jam.
“It was worth a shot.”
“Was that another coffee pun?” Bakugou snorts, rolling his eyes. “Are you ordering anything or did you come here specifically to ruin my morning?”
“Important question,” Hitoshi says, raising a finger. The playlist switches, and he’s delighted to hear yet another passive-aggressive song start to play so he amends his statement, raising a second finger.
“Two questions. One: how many espresso shots are you legally allowed to serve me in a single cup?”
Bakugou smirks, eyeing Hitoshi for a moment as he braces his hands on the counter. “How close to a heart attack are you looking to get?”
“As close as I can get and still make it to class,” Hitoshi says with a wink. Bakugou punches a couple of things into the register and Hitoshi passes him his card before he even hears the total—he doesn’t want to know.
As Bakugou preps the espresso machine Hitoshi drifts over to the other end of the counter, propping his elbows on it as he watches him work. Bakugou makes coffee with ruthless efficiency. No movement is wasted. If he’s at the fridge for milk he’s also getting six other things; setting up other stations in preparation for the morning rush as steam pours out of the spigot.
“You said you had two questions,” Bakugou comments and Hitoshi watches in curiosity as he pulls out a cup meant for iced coffee. What the hell did he order?
“I do, I’m just waiting for the right time to ask it.”
Bakugou pulls the espresso cup out of the machine, slapping a lid on it but doesn’t hand it to Hitoshi. Instead, he sets it over by the register before scooping the plastic cup up again, pausing to squint at Hitoshi.
“If you’re going to ask for my number, I’ll save you the time and give you a hard ‘no’ right now.”
“What makes you think I want your number?” Hitoshi asks innocently and tries not to smirk when Bakugou seems caught off-guard by the fact that it wasn’t what Hitoshi was going to ask him.
“Your absolutely fuck-tackular pickup line for one. Plus, the blatant staring over the last month for another.”
Bakugou gives him a dangerous grin as Hitoshi’s cheeks get hot. “Oh yeah, I fucking noticed, asshole.” He turns towards a row of taps along the back wall. Did Hitoshi just order a beer from a hot man at a coffee shop at five in the morning? Meh, he can get through class drunk, he supposes. “You’re not subtle, and your shiny friend is even worse.”
“Oops.”
The bell on the door rings and Bakugou doesn’t even turn around when a woman with light brown hair piled high on her head and the biggest sunglasses Hitoshi’s ever seen sweeps in, slaps cash on the counter, and grabs the espresso cup waiting there.
“I love you forever, Baku-baby!” she shouts as she heads straight back out the door with a wave of one well-manicured hand.
“Get fucked, Camie!”
“I’m working on it!” she sings and then the door swings closed behind her and it’s just the two of them again.
“You have interesting clientele here,” Hitoshi comments, watching Bakugou fill the cup with some sort of dark brown frothy liquid.
“Says the man who looks like a troll doll in search of death in a cup.” Bakugou snaps a lid on the drink and slides it to Hitoshi who catches it, examining the liquid suspiciously.
“What is it?”
“Death in a cup,” Bakugou says, and props a hip against the counter. “Nitro cold brew made with Death Wish coffee. It’s literally the most caffeine I’m legally allowed to serve you.”
Hitoshi takes a tentative sip and is pleasantly surprised by how smooth it is. The nitro brew makes it almost buttery, and the coffee itself has a hint of chocolate.
“Oh, wow,” Hitoshi breathes and Bakugou looks smug. “Look, do you believe in love at first sip or should I take another?”
Bakugou’s face shifts into a scowl at that and he turns back to the espresso machine to start cleaning it. “Get out of my coffee shop.”
“Oh, come on, that one was pretty good!”
“I’ve heard every fucking coffee-related pickup line, and that was not even close to the best one,” Bakugou says, wiping the machine down.
“What I’m hearing is that there is a coffee-related pickup line that works on you.”
Bakugou freezes at that like he’s just been caught walking into a trap and abruptly changes the subject.
“Didn’t you have a second question?”
“Eh,” Hitoshi shrugs, “I’ll ask next time.”
He gives Bakugou a flirty wave and slips out the door.
“No! No fucking next time!” Bakugou shouts at him as he leaves.
Oh yeah, this is definitely his favorite coffee shop.
☕☕☕
To Hitoshi’s disappointment, it’s a week before he manages to go back to the coffee shop. If it had been up to him, he’d have gone back even if the barista—maybe owner?—wasn’t smoking hot. He’s never felt more awake than he did that day with the nitro coffee. He didn’t even doze off at his desk once, which was both impressive and a little disconcerting.
Unfortunately, he’s prevented from visiting his new favorite caffeine dealer because finals week comes crashing down around him and he spends every moment living on campus either studying, taking exams, or grading papers for the classes he TAs.
So when Monday rolls around and classes are back to normal, he’s beyond thrilled.
“Oh no,” is all Bakugou says when Hitoshi strides in at three minutes past five that morning.
“Aw, you remembered me,” Hitoshi replies, leaning across the counter to smile up at Bakugou. “I missed you, too.”
“I should have known I couldn’t get rid of you that easy,” Bakugou scowls and he’s reaching for a plastic cup before he pauses, crimson eyes flicking back to Hitoshi. “You looking to die again?”
“Remembered me, missed me, and knows my new drink. You know, if you’re not careful I might think you actually want to give me your number.”
“I’m charging you double,” Bakugou growls, and then he’s stomping off to the taps to pour Hitoshi’s drink.
“Worth it,” Hitoshi says and drops a random amount of cash by the register. He has no idea what Bakugou’s planning on charging him, but that’ll probably cover it. He wanders down to the other end of the counter as Bakugou works, enjoying the view of great back and shoulder muscles.
“So, you work here or own it?”
Bakugou raises an eyebrow at him as he digs a lid out of a box. “What the fuck do you care?”
“Just curious,” Hitoshi shrugs. “Figured I should learn about my regular coffee shop.”
“Please don’t be a regular,” Bakugou complains as he shoves the coffee at Hitoshi. “I think I liked you better when you were too chicken-shit to order your own drinks.”
“Rude,” Hitoshi comments with a pout as he scoops up the cup.
There’s a moment of silence where Bakugou watches him expectantly so he raises the cup to his lips and takes a sip.
“Oh. It’s different!” The nitro still makes the coffee silky smooth but this time the coffee is nuttier, with a hint of caramel. When Bakugou keeps staring, Hitoshi smiles and takes another sip. “It’s good. New bean?”
“Switching it up,” Bakugou comments, turning to the espresso machine to make sunglass-lady’s drink Hitoshi assumes. “I try to support different small beaneries by rotating out my stock. Keeps customers coming back to try the different options.”
“Clever,” Hitoshi says, then, right as Bakugou seems to let his guard down from the compliment, he leans in with a wink, “Hey, can you feel that? There’s definitely something brewing between us.”
“Get out!” Bakugou snaps.
“See you tomorrow!” Hitoshi says, taking another sip of his drink. He hops out of the way as Sunglasses comes barreling through the door and leaves to the sound of the two of them shouting insults at each other.
☕☕☕
Turns out he really needed that coffee. Hitoshi has a full day of classes, and then three minutes before he’s due to slip out the door and head for home, Tamaki, the resident whipped intern, stops by and sheepishly drops a giant stack of essays on his desk.
“Seriously?!” Hitoshi moans, flipping through the stack at random.
“S-sorry,” Tamaki says apologetically as if he’s the one ruining Hitoshi’s evening and not just the messenger. “Aizawa-sensei said these need to be graded immediately and that you could make it happen.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m the lucky paperwork golden boy, I know.” He sighs at Tamaki’s distraught expression and does his best to sum up a smile. “It’s fine. I’ll get it taken care of tonight.”
“T-thank you!” Tamaki chirps, and then he’s gone, off to the next task on what is probably a mile-long list of errands.
Hitoshi finally crawls home at half-past midnight, brain full of bad grammar, overused metaphors, anxiety, and too much caffeine—courtesy of the department break room. He spends most of the night staring at the ceiling. By the time his alarm clock goes off the next morning, he’s half-dead and completely sleep-deprived.
“You look like shit,” Bakugou says when Hitoshi rolls in at five-thirty.
“You say the sweetest things,” Hitoshi replies, shamelessly draping himself across the counter. “Wanna grab a coffee? Because I like you a latte.”
Bakugou gives him a distraught look. “God, they get worse when you’re tired.”
“I didn’t hear a ‘no,’” Hitoshi says, voice muffled from where he’s face planted.
“Get the hell off my counter or I’m serving you decaf,” Bakugou snaps, but he’s already grabbing a cup and wandering away.
“So mean,” Hitoshi sighs as he drags himself over to a table and collapses in the chair. He’s going to be late today and he really doesn’t care. “Do it again.”
Bakugou steps out from behind the counter and sets a glass of water on the table in front of him and Hitoshi frowns at it before he rolls his head back to look at him. “This doesn’t look like coffee. Is this transparent coffee?”
“It’s water, dipshit. Drink it. Then, you can have coffee.”
“What are you, my mom?” Hitoshi complains, grumpy from sleep deprivation and having his coffee withheld by the very person who’s supposed to be his supplier.
“God, you’re a cranky little shit, aren’t you?” Bakugou muses, looking not at all affected by Hitoshi’s attitude. “How about this,” he leans on the table, getting right up in Hitoshi’s face with a smirk. “If you can tell me the last time you drank a glass of water, I’ll get you your precious coffee right now and it’ll be on the house.”
Hitoshi blinks at him, captivated by crimson red eyes inches from his face as his brain flashes a big friendly ‘ERROR 404: Function Not Found’ message. “Uh…”
“That’s what I thought,” Bakugou says smugly, standing back up again to return to the counter. “Drink your water.”
Hitoshi sullenly sips the water while Bakugou fusses with the espresso machine and returns with an actual hot coffee in a porcelain cup.
“You are a god amongst men,” Hitoshi mutters, wrapping hands around the mug as he inhales the beautiful smell.
“Don’t hurt yourself,” Bakugou says, hand propped on a hip. “Your brain isn’t conditioned to say nice, normal things; something could break.”
“Did you know your body is 65 percent water?” Hitoshi comments and Bakugou raises a confused eyebrow. “And I’m thirsty.”
“You disgust me,” Bakugou snaps and then ignores Hitoshi until he finally drags himself out the door and to class.
☕☕☕
“Are you a cat person?” Hitoshi asks a few days later as he watches Bakugou prep a tediously complex order some desperate grad student wandered in and ordered.
“What?” Bakugou frowns at him over the blender, slapping the ‘on’ button right as Hitoshi opens his mouth to repeat himself. Bakugou smirks at him and Hitoshi sticks his tongue out and waits until the blender is off and Bakugou’s pouring the bright blue smoothie into a cup.
“I said, are you a cat person?”
“No?” Bakugou answers as he hands the drink over and the student blunders groggily out of the cafe.
“Oh, good. ‘Cause there’s no pussy here.”
“Stick to the coffee puns,” Bakugou snaps, and then he storms off into the back room and Hitoshi heads for campus, richer by one hyper-caffeinated coffee and the mental image of a blushing barista.
☕☕☕
The first time he ends up spending an entire morning at the cafe is an accident. He’s stopping by one Sunday to harass Bakugou and get his daily dose of energy when he finds out the paper his group has been so laboriously writing is suddenly missing half its images and notations.
Software bug or sleep-deprived screw-up—he isn’t sure which, but he spends the next two hours slumped at the back end of the counter attempting to wade through old emails on his phone and put out fires as quickly as possible as his partner rebuilds the document with him in real-time.
Bakugou doesn’t comment on his continued presence but Hitoshi’s mug stays filled the entire time as the waves of weekend customers ebb and flow around him.
The next time he shows up the same stool is empty despite the fact that the cafe is filled to capacity. When he circles around to it, suspicious of the way Bakugou is watching him out of the corner of his eye, Hitoshi has to roll his eyes in exasperation. Sitting on the counter in front of the stool is a small place card with the words ‘RESERVED: Purple Assholes Only’ scrawled on it.
Hitoshi flicks the sign with a finger, sending it tumbling behind the counter as he drops into the seat, ignoring the grin Bakugou is now sporting. He’s waiting for his laptop to boot up when a cold brew slides into his peripheral view.
“What, you don’t like the sign? I thought you’d feel special,” Bakugou quips, elbows braced on the counter as he smirks at Hitoshi.
“Purple is such an inaccurate descriptor,” Hitoshi points out, taking a grateful sip of the coffee. “It’s really more of a smoky amethyst.”
Bakugou squints at his hair for a moment and shakes his head. “Nope. Purple.”
“We’ll just have to agree to disagree then,” he says primly, unlocking his computer, “at least you got the ‘asshole’ part right.”
“So you admit you’re a dick,” Bakugou says, and Hitoshi feigns surprise, one hand pressed to his chest.
“Oh, sorry, I thought you were guessing if I prefer to top or bottom.”
“Oh my god,” Bakugou groans.
“Yeah, that’s what he said, too,” Hitoshi comments and Bakugou throws a towel at his face and stomps off to attend to the line of customers that formed while they talked.
After that, Hitoshi shows up every Sunday, happily camped out in the end spot that stays vacant no matter how busy the cafe is.
“You still haven’t asked your second question,” Bakugou comments one Sunday, sliding an espresso across the counter to Hitoshi where he’s perched on a stool, a stack of papers in front of him.
“Hmmm? Well, if I ask, then you won’t have a reason to keep being so nice to me.” He sighs and drops his pen on the latest test he’s been working through, dedicating his full attention and appreciation to the cup in front of him. Grading on the weekends is a hundred times more enjoyable since he claimed a corner of Bakugou’s bustling cafe.
“I’m not nice to you and in fact, I deeply despise you,” Bakugou comments, propping a hip against the counter and looking not at all like he despises him.
“I know,” Hitoshi sighs happily into his mug. “It’s so sexy.”
Bakugou’s face turns red as Hitoshi takes a contemplative sip of his drink and adds, “You know, if you were coffee grounds, you’d be espresso, cause you’re so fine.”
“If you’re aiming for better pickup lines, you’re heading in the wrong direction,” Bakugou groans and abandons Hitoshi to his work.
☕☕☕
“So,” Hitoshi says on Wednesday, hands braced on the counter.
“Oh, boy, here we go.” Bakugou rolls his eyes but he makes a ‘spit-it-out’ gesture.
“So,” Hitoshi repeats, wiggling his eyebrows at Bakugou, “do you have a name or can I just call you ‘mine’?”
“There are so many things wrong with that one,” Bakugou complains, giving him a thumbs down before turning to make Hitoshi’s coffee.
“Oh, please enlighten me!” Hitoshi says, following Bakugou to the other end where he’s prepping the machine.
“One,” Bakugou knocks the espresso out of the portafilter and refills it, “it’s not coffee related. Two, it’s creepy as shit, and three,” he points at the name tag pinned to his bright orange apron, “you’ve known my name since the first day you walked in here. If anything, that’s a line I’d use on you. Since I still don’t know your name.”
“A fair argument, please feel free to use it on me. I gift it to you, free of charge.”
“No, thank you,” Bakugou says as he starts steaming milk.
“What, you don’t want to know my name?” Hitoshi asks, dropping onto a stool and propping his head on a fist.
“I’m pretty sure I would not end up with your name if I said that to you.”
“Only one way to find out.” When Bakugou snorts in amusement, Hitoshi nudges his phone around on the counter with one finger, attempting nonchalance. “You’re right, don’t bother. Probably couldn’t deliver it as well as I did.”
“Don’t try and bait me,” Bakugou snaps, and Hitoshi has to suppress a grin because Bakugou looks more offended at the implication that he couldn’t pull it off better than actually having the line used on him.
“Stating a fact isn’t baiting.” He stands up, shoving his phone in his pocket as he holds out a hand for his coffee. “Forget it. Everyone has something they can’t do, I won’t hold it against you.”
Bakugou scowls at him and then gives an annoyed huff. “You’re a real dick.”
“Now that is something I would happily hold against you.” Hitoshi braces himself on the counter, grin widening. “Come on gorgeous, hit me with your best shot.”
“Fine.” He sets to cup down in front of Hitoshi and then leans across the counter, getting right up in his face.
“So,” he says, voice dropping to a low rumble that has Hitoshi immediately short of breath, “do you have a name or—” red eyes slip down, scanning Hitoshi from head to toe before Bakugou meets his gaze again, head cocking slightly as he bites his lip, “—should I just call you ‘ mine’ ?”
Hitoshi just blinks at him because his brain is currently void of blood before he says in a startled voice, “Shinsou.”
“What?” Bakugou’s eyebrows crease in confusion, pulling back, and Hitoshi is finally able to breathe again.
“My name,” Hitoshi says, clearing his throat, cheeks burning. “Shinsou Hitoshi.”
“Your face is doing weird things,” Bakugou points out, hands propped on his hips as he gives him a smug look. “Did I break you?”
“No,” Hitoshi says, scowling at Bakugou who’s still looking a little too proud of himself. “I will concede though, that you did a decent job of delivering the line.”
“Uh huh. Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better,” Bakugou says, turning back to the register to help a customer. “Just do that somewhere that isn’t here.”
“You’re saying ‘go away’ but all I’m hearing is ‘come back soon,’” Hitoshi says as he grabs his coffee and walks out.
☕☕☕
Hitoshi doesn’t make it back to the shop for a few days and when he does, he’s startled to find the entire front of it covered in police tape. The front window is shattered, shards of glass scattered across the sidewalk outside and littering the floor inside when he peers in.
Further back in the room he spots Bakugou, his back to him with a broom, sweeping up bits of debris.
“Holy shit,” Hitoshi mutters, ducking under the ‘do not enter’ tape, shoes crunching on broken glass.
“Oi! We’re fucking clos—oh. Shinsou,” Bakugou pauses mid-rant, lowering the broom he’d just been shaking threateningly.
“Yep, your favorite customer,” Hitoshi confirms, frowning at the spray paint dripping down one wall. “What the hell happened here?”
“Assholes happened,” Bakugou snaps, turning back to his task. “Get lost. You’re going to have to get your fix somewhere else.”
“Tsk, you should be nicer to your customers,” Hitoshi remarks, stepping carefully over a shattered chair as he makes his way towards the counter. “Besides, your espresso machine looks fine.”
Bakugou stops sweeping to give Hitoshi an incredulous look. “Are you about to fucking ask me to make you a goddamn espresso in the middle of this?!”
He sweeps a hand out to encompass the shattered shop and Hitoshi rolls his eyes.
“Wow, it’s nice to know you think I’m that much of a jerk.” He slips behind the counter, poking through cabinets ‘til he finds some still intact mugs, shoved way in the back and clearly not intended for customers. At least, not ones Bakugou likes, since both mugs have “FUCK OFF” printed in big black letters on them.
“Then what the fuck do you want?” Bakugou sighs, tone exhausted and with none of its usual bite. Hitoshi sets the mugs on the counter and starts sweeping off the bits of dust and shattered wood.
“Well, you might not know this about me, but I’m a bit of an expert in sleep deprivation.” Bakugou snorts and Hitoshi pointedly ignores the sound, “and you look like someone who’s slept… hmmm…”
He pauses, propping an elbow on the machine as he eyes Bakugou, taking in the deep shadows under his eyes, rumpled clothes, and general ‘I’ve had a fucking hell of a night and I’m very over it’ appearance.
“Two hours of sleep?” he guesses.
“Three, actually,” Bakugou says, lip curling like he’s trying to be angry and missing by a mile and a half, ending up in just-tired-and-put-out instead.
“Rounding error,” Hitoshi shrugs. He flips a surprisingly still intact chair over and points at it. “Sit down.”
“Why?” Bakugou asks, but he sits anyway, slumping into the seat, head dropping back ‘til he’s staring at the ceiling and sighs. Hitoshi follows his gaze and realizes someone’s sprayed whip cream all over it. Dicks.
“I’m making you a coffee. Have you eaten?”
“Uh,” Bakugou scrubs his face, looking thoughtful for a minute. “Dinner last night. Cops called me at two so I’ve been here ever since.”
“Okay, caffeine then food.”
“Do you even know how to make an espresso?” Bakugou asks, shifting in his chair ‘til he can watch Hitoshi fuss over the machine, prepping the grounds and digging milk out of one of the still intact fridges.
“Of course I do, I have an espresso machine at home.”
“Wha—why the fuck do you come here then?” Bakugou asks, a look of genuine surprise on his face. Hitoshi hides his smirk by turning back to the machine, setting a mug under the spigot.
“I like it here, the barista’s cute and there’s good music.”
Hitoshi starts the machine and grins at Bakugou who’s bright red at this point. When their eyes meet his expression snaps to a scowl, arms crossing defensively on his chest. Ah, there’s the attitude Hitoshi’s been looking for.
“Fuck off,” Bakugou mumbles, but his gaze lands everywhere but on Hitoshi.
“No, thanks,” Hitoshi replies cheerily, holding out a mug to Bakugou. “Like I said, I like it here.”
“You’re a real pain in my ass,” Bakugou complains, but he accepts the mug, taking a tentative sip under Hitoshi’s watchful gaze. “It’s fine,” he concedes after a minute.
“High praise from you,” Hitoshi chuckles and Bakugou hums noncommittally into his drink. Hitoshi takes a sip of his own coffee then snags the broom out of Bakugou’s hand, ignoring his protests. He jabs a finger at Bakugou’s nose when he tries to stand and Bakugou blinks in surprise. “Sit. Stay.”
“I’m not a fucking dog,” Bakugou growls, dropping back in the chair as Hitoshi gets to work on the wave of glass that’s spilled across the floor. “Don’t order me around.”
“Has it crossed your mind at all that I might be trying to do something nice for you?” Hitoshi says in amusement, shifting some shattered furniture out of the way.
“People don’t do nice things unless they want something out of it,” Bakugou grumbles, taking another sip of his drink and Hitoshi just gives him a flat look.
“Well, obviously. But I think I’ve made it pretty clear what I want from you.” He pauses, looking around for a dustpan and Bakugou points him towards it. “Thank you. But the fact that I want something doesn’t make what I’m doing for you any less nice. We’re just both winning. Or at least, I hope I win too.”
Hitoshi wiggles his eyebrows at Bakugou and he groans.
“I can’t decide which side of you is worse, the sarcastic asshole with terrible puns or the weirdly nice guy who makes decent coffee.”
“Why not both?” Hitoshi muses and Bakugou snorts in amusement. The cafe descends into silence for a time as Hitoshi works his way across the room. When Bakugou finishes his coffee he gets up, dropping Hitoshi’s mug on a table nearby, and starts clearing the counter, which is covered in spilled coffee beans and shattered cups.
From time to time, a regular stops by, greeting Bakugou with words of dismay and support; Hitoshi’s impressed by how polite Bakugou is to every single one of them, even knows most of their names. Who knew the cranky Pomeranian would turn into a decent human being with enough sleep deprivation?
“What was your second question?” Bakugou asks out of the blue, startling Hitoshi out of the meditative silence he’s drifting in as he tries to decide if one of the tables is salvageable.
“Huh?”
“Your second question. The first time you managed to order something, you said you had two questions, you never asked the second one,” Bakugou says, dumping a pile of ruined beans into a trash bag.
“I’ve asked a ton of questions since then,” Hitoshi remarks in amusement, and Bakugou just rolls his eyes.
“Yeah, but I’d bet good money none of them were that second question.”
“Ha, okay, you got me.”
“So?!” Bakugou makes a come-on gesture with his hand, leaning against the counter. “Out with it.”
Hitoshi abandons the unsavable table to join Bakugou at the counter, hands braced on the now cleared surface as he leans across the gap between them. “Have lunch with me.”
“That’s not even a question,” Bakugou retorts, eyebrow raised.
“Have lunch with me and I’ll tell you what my second question is,” Hitoshi says, leaning further into Bakugou’s space. Bakugou’s eyes widen but he doesn’t pull away, cheeks turning pink. “Please?”
“Now that was a question,” Bakugou says with a grin.
“Hmm, can you feel that? There’s definitely something brewing between us,” Hitoshi drawls, licking his lips, still leaning over the counter toward Bakugou.
“You’ve already tried that one,” Bakugou mutters but his eyes track the movement as he closes the gap, swaying like he’s being pulled in by gravity.
“I figured it was worth another sho—mmph!” Hitoshi’s response is cut off when Bakugou fists a hand in his hair, jerking him forward and kisses him.
“Enough with the stupid fucking puns,” Bakugou complains against Hitoshi’s mouth and Hitoshi hums agreeably, pulling Bakugou further forward on the counter by his shirt.
“Only if you have lunch with me.”
“Fine.”