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Working at the donut stand had not been Katsuki’s idea.
Well, that went without saying. Of fucking course it wasn’t Katsuki’s idea. Anyone with half a functioning brain could put that much together, because Bakugou Katsuki was not a customer service person. He was, however, a susceptible-to-the-coercion-of-his-friends person, especially when a) there was money involved, and b) three of them fucking jumped him at once, thus leaving no feasible option other than to give in to the idiocy.
It had been Raccoon Eyes’ idea, of all people. On a study night, she’d offhandedly mentioned to the group that a family friend was trying to get their shop off the ground and had asked her if she could get any of her friends on board to work part-time at a temporary pop-up stand. Sero passed, since he already had a job, but Jirou and Kaminari were down for it until Ashido told the latter he couldn’t eat donuts for free, and then he was half-heartedly down for it, but agreeable nonetheless.
Not that Katsuki would ever admit it to his friends, but working at the shop wasn’t completely terrible. All he had to do was put donuts in paper bags and fix up the occasional dollar coffee by pressing a few buttons on the Nespresso machine. The pay was as good as he’d get anywhere else as a college student, plus he got a donut half-price at the end of every shift. That was valuable to a growing boy like himself. Usually there were two of them manning the store at any given time. Today it was himself and one of Ashido’s friend’s friends, Todoroki.
Todoroki was fucking weird. Katsuki decided this fact very early on (immediately upon their meeting). Despite his loud half-red, half-white hair, the guy himself was remarkably quiet, usually only speaking when there he was dealing with a customer. And he was good-looking. Katsuki had no shame in admitting that much to himself, because he wasn’t fucking blind, but being hot couldn't make up for his wet cardboard-esque personality. He supposed he had the whole brooding and mysterious thing going for him, though. A group of girls stood a fair distance away, giggling and shoving each other, shooting glances at the donut shop. Katsuki figured the likelihood of them blushing over himself was equal to the likelihood that they were blushing over the donuts.
“Oi, Half-n-Half.”
“My name is Todoroki.”
“I think you have some admirers.”
Todoroki frowned. “Admirers?” he repeated.
“Yes, fucking admirers,” said Katsuki, unable to resist rolling his eyes. Todoroki was denser than a bar of osmium. “Those girls over there.”
Todoroki tilted his head. “I don’t like girls though,” he said seriously, his brow furrowed in something Katsuki might have pegged as confused regret. “Also, I have a boyfriend.”
Katsuki stared at him. “Okay.”
“Do you think I should let them know?” Todoroki asked.
This guy couldn’t be for real. “How the fuck is it any of their business?”
The conversation ended there, which was fine by Katsuki. The longer this shift dragged on, the more convinced he became that Half-n-Half only came with one setting, and that was Apathetic Bitch—exactly the type of person Katsuki couldn’t stand, second only to Deku, who was forever in a league of his own. But Katsuki had the self-awareness to know that he wasn’t exactly likeable either. He wondered what kind of picture they painted, if they were scaring off the customers, with Todoroki’s perpetually blank expression and Katsuki probably glaring daggers at anything that moved. Not that he really cared.
It was then that Katsuki noticed someone making their way toward the donut stand in a nondescript black and red hoodie. Deciding to take some of Jirou’s advice on board (“Dude, with the way you’re scowling all the time, I wouldn’t buy water from you if I were dying from thirst in the desert and you were selling it for free.”), Katsuki tried to school his face into something marginally more pleasant. If this job was going to be long-term, his pride demanded that he be good at it. And, well, everyone started from somewhere, even Bakugou piss-off-or-die Katsuki.
Turned out he needn’t have bothered, because the guy flashed him a sharp-toothed grin from underneath his hood, took one of the samples, and left.
Sorry?
Katsuki was too flabbergasted to do anything until after the guy was gone. “The fuck?” he said, accidentally scaring off a mother and her child who had been examining the display case.
He turned to Todoroki. “Did you see that?” he demanded.
“You swore loudly in front of a mother and her toddler, so they left,” Todoroki replied, dry as ever. “I did, in fact, see that.”
“No, not that,” Katsuki said, waving a dismissive hand. “The guy who came up here, took one of the samples and left!”
Todoroki stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “Your point being?”
“He just ate it!”
“That’s what they’re there for, Bakugou.”
Katsuki glared. “They’re supposed to buy something after they eat it, smartass,” he snapped. “Stick around and talk to us about the shop, at least!”
“That doesn’t strike me as something you’d be the least bit interested in,” Todoroki observed.
“Well, fuck you.”
An elderly woman gave him a dirty look and shuffled away pointedly.
“Should we start keeping a tally?”
“I hate you,” Katsuki seethed.
Thankfully—not that anything fazed the Bakugou Katsuki—the rest of their shift passed without incident. Donuts were sold. Samples were eaten. Clocks struck 4 pm. Katsuki grabbed a chocolate donut from the display case, left two dollars on the counter, and booked it. He didn’t wait around to witness the spectacle that was Todoroki’s eye roll.
For all he complained about the donut stand, Katsuki took on a lot of shifts.
What could he say? He needed the money. Yeah, he was on a chemical engineering scholarship at Yuuei (that was his mother’s tried-and-true bragging line of choice) but it only covered the cost of his course, not accommodation or transport. And his refusal to live off of plain pasta and instant noodles (some would call it being a princess, Katsuki called it having standards) was how he wound up working afternoon shifts every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, plus the occasional Wednesday morning. At least this way he was getting fresh groceries in his fridge every week—and not to brag, but his cooking was better than that takeout shit anyway.
It was a Thursday afternoon shift, exactly one week after his shift with Todoroki, but this time he was with Jirou. She was much better at interacting with people, if a little shy. Sometimes it seemed like she didn’t know what to do with her hands if they weren’t twirling those cable headphones she wore 24/7 or tugging on one of her eight million earrings. But she made up for any awkwardness with that sick ass grunge aesthetic of hers.
Jirou really was cool.
At present, she was poking away at the coffee machine. Katsuki 'tch'ed and looked away, instead turning his gaze toward the busy mall. The donut stand's business didn't vary all that much, but he had half a mind to switch shifts anyway, purely because it was so noisy.
But then he spotted a familiar black and red hoodie.
That’s him, Katsuki realised suddenly. The guy. The donut thief!
…The donut thief?
What a stupid fucking name. Katsuki would stick with it.
If he was being honest, he hadn’t spared the guy a single thought in the past week, but once he was faced with the problem again it was hard not to remember. Katsuki shot a look at Jirou for backup, but she was leaning over the counter, grinning as she scrawled a series of numbers on the girl’s paper bag. Fucking flirt. He was on his own.
“Hey,” said Katsuki, choosing to discard his usual ‘oi’ in favour of something more polite. He was determined to not let the guy get away this time. “Welcome to Tanaka Donuts.”
The guy stared at him wordlessly. Katsuki frowned. His sharp smile had faded a bit, but Katsuki could still see his unusually pointed canines. Without the hood this week, Katsuki was free to observe his features all he liked—such as his obnoxiously spiked red hair. And his sharp jaw. And his carmine red irises, with a little scar over his right eye, and—yeah, okay, holy shit that was eyeliner.
I am so gay.
“Ah,” Katsuki said intelligently. “Um.”
Holy shit, who the hell was he, Deku? Bakugou Katsuki didn’t stammer. Bakugou Katsuki didn’t get fucking shy in front of hot guys!
He wet his lips, opening and closing his mouth a few more times. Nothing came out. He was rendered completely immobile. The guy tilted his head slightly.
“Uh…” Lord fucking almighty, Katsuki wanted to die.
Maybe the donut thief could sense his overwhelming embarrassment, because he merely took one of the samples, tipped it towards Katsuki in a ‘cheers’ motion before grinning and leaving.
Again.
He blew out a breath that was equal parts relieved and disappointed.
The guy gotten away from Katsuki again.
But, hang on. That wasn’t important.
No, overwhelmed by his good looks, Katsuki had forgotten all about the real issue—he’d let him take another one of the samples!
“Oh my god,” Katsuki choked out.
“You’re hopeless,” Jirou said from behind him. He turned to glare at her. Of course, it had no effect. Jirou was unshakeable. She stared back at him flatly. Miraculously, he broke eye contact first.
“Just ask him for his number,” she continued, “instead of eye-fucking him over the counter.”
“I was not eye-fucking him!” Katsuki protested heatedly. A scandalised gasp made him turn around just in time to catch two grade school boys sprinting away from the donut stand at full speed.
“True, actually,” said Jirou, squatting down to retrieve a… napkin? from beneath the counter. “That was far too awkward. I stand corrected: just ask him for his number instead of gazing at him all starry-eyed over the counter like you want to take him on a cute coffee shop date but you’re too emotionally constipated to say a simple hello, how are you."
Katsuki ignored her, instead pointing at the napkin. “What is that.”
“Behold,” Jirou declared, brandishing the napkin with twenty-four tally marks on it. “The Bakugou Katsuki Profanity-While-On-The-Clock Counter 2.0, established, uh… a week ago, by one Todoroki Shouto.”
Katsuki groaned.
“That time was your fault, so you better fuckin’ take it off,” he defended. “And on that topic, I don’t want the guy’s number. I’m annoyed by him, 's all! He’s taking the free samples and leaving!”
Jirou raised an eyebrow. “Okay,” she said, like she was explaining the addition of integers to a very young child, “let’s consider that sentence. He’s taking the free samples.”
“That’s not the point, Jirou,” Katsuki said, crossing his arms. “He’s taking the free samples and leaving. Everything comes at a price. You get to use a social media app for free if you hand over all your data. You get free donut samples if you’re gonna buy some fucking donuts!”
“This might come as a shock to you, but one guy taking a quarter of a donut every week isn’t going to cost us all that much,” Jirou drawled. “You gotta chill out, dude.”
Had it been anyone else telling him to ‘chill out’, Katsuki would have castrated them on the spot. But this was Jirou Kyouka, badass extraordinaire, and for some fucking reason, he felt properly chastised.
“Plus, there might be other causes behind your frustration with this guy,” she continued, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Like… the sexual kind.”
She easily dodged the paper cup that came hurtling towards her head.
Katsuki’s third encounter with the donut thief saw him the next Thursday, taking his usual shift at the donut stand, this time accompanied by Kaminari. As much of an idiot as Pikachu was in other areas, Katsuki couldn’t deny that he was on top of this whole customer service thing. He smiled freely, made idle small talk with customers and struck up conversations with passers-by, easily luring them into making a purchase.
“I’m gonna take a leak,” Katsuki muttered to him, figuring that Kaminari would have everything under control. He received a thumbs-up so he ducked out and tracked down the nearest public toilet. The nearby shopping centre had just been renovated, so the toilets were remarkably clean. Knowing how many people passed through here, Katsuki figured he could expect that to last for another few weeks at best.
Minutes later, he was making his way back to the stand when he stopped in his tracks.
Because there—there was the donut thief, shitty hair (oh, that would make a good nickname) and all, talking to Kaminari over the counter.
Holy shit.
Katsuki approached cautiously. This was uncharted territory. The donut thief—Shitty Hair—had his back facing Katsuki, and he didn’t appear to be buying anything. No, it looked like Kaminari was gesturing toward the samples and explaining something, while Shitty Hair nodded along. The redhead picked up a sample that Katsuki recognised as the taro flavour, which made Kaminari’s face light up in pure excitement. The idiot always did have an inexplicable love for taro flavoured snacks.
Then Kaminari spotted him over Shitty Hair’s shoulder and waved.
Shitty Hair spun around, surprise colouring his face when he saw Katsuki. And before Katsuki could do anything, Shitty Hair turned back to Kaminari, clapped him on the shoulder and dashed away.
A-fucking-gain!
Katsuki jogged to the donut stand. Kaminari was frowning at Shitty Hair’s retreating figure, no doubt mourning the sudden disappearance of his new friend. Unfortunately, Katsuki had more pressing matters to discuss with Pikachu.
“How could you let him escape!” Katsuki hissed, once he was back behind the counter. “We literally had him in our clutches!”
Kaminari rolled his eyes, but decided to humour him anyway. “And why, pray tell, did we need that man in our clutches?”
“Because that right there was the donut thief!”
Kaminari stared at him silently for a few seconds.
“Okay, I’ll bite,” he said. “The fucking donut thief?”
“Yes, the donut thief!” Katsuki snapped. He refused to feel embarrassed about the moniker. “He comes here every week and takes the samples, and then just leaves!”
“Ohh, gotcha,” said Kaminari, snapping his fingers. “Jirou told me about this. ‘Hey, Denki, there’s this guy that Bakugou’s totally into—’”
“WHAT?” Katsuki yelled, loud enough that people all around the food court glared at Katsuki. This was a new record. Kaminari raised an eyebrow at him.
“Well, we can get back to that later, but the moral of the story is I gotta agree with Jirou here. They’re free samples, bro! The entire purpose they serve is to be eaten!”
“Actually, their purpose is to convince people to spend some fucking money,” Katsuki retorted.
“No, they’re there so people can taste our donuts,” Kaminari urged, spreading his arms wide like he was preaching. “Man, he was just gonna tell me what he thought of the taro filling when you had to come back and scare him off.”
“You waved at me!”
Kaminari waggled a finger at him. “Nuh-uh, don’t blame me! You know, Bakubro, you’re awfully hot-tempered.”
“What the fuck are you even yapping about?”
“Rude, Kacchan!” Kaminari pouted. Katsuki gritted his teeth. “How your callousness makes my heart bleed… I guess this means… you don’t deserve to know your precious donut thief’s name.”
Katsuki blinked.
“You know his NAME?!”
“Sure do,” Kaminari said smugly.
Katsuki grabbed Kaminari by the collar. “Okay, Pikachu. We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”
“Secret third option,” Kaminari wheezed, grabbing his phone from the pocket of his jeans and holding it up to Katsuki’s face. The time read 15:00. “The my-shift-is-over way!”
And just like that, Kaminari hightailed it out of the shop, leaving one fuming, confused, and not-at-all desperate Bakugou Katsuki in his wake.
So far, there was a clear pattern as to when and how the donut thief chose to show his face. To Katsuki’s knowledge, Shitty Hair only rolled around on Thursday afternoons, usually in the same nondescript hoodie, plus shorts and sneakers—and only stuck around long enough to take a sample and run.
Katsuki was becoming increasingly frustrated. He hadn’t managed to track Kaminari down since he’d revealed he knew Shitty Hair’s name, since Pikachu was locked up in his dorm with a nasty virus and Katsuki wasn’t about to take himself out, no matter how badly he wanted to know more about the elusive donut thief.
He wouldn’t be so fucking elusive if you could get a single word out of your mouth!
The following Thursday, Katsuki was working a shift all on his own. He’d never done it before, but he was loath to admit that this was probably for the best in case he made a massive fucking twerp out of himself. Because no matter what happened, Katsuki was determined to actually speak Shitty Hair today—only to insist that he start making some actual purchases, and not at all because Katsuki found himself more often than not daydreaming about a grin comprised of endearingly sharp teeth and that silvery little scar he absolutely did not want to brush his fingers over.
No, that was not it at all.
Pull yourself together, he berated himself. Forget a single word—Katsuki wouldn’t even manage a syllable at this rate.
But fate had other plans for Katsuki, because it quickly became apparent that the regular order of events was being deviated from.
Katsuki spotted Shitty Hair from a distance, arriving at around 3:40 pm, a trend he had picked up on over the course of a few weeks because it was hard to ignore and not because he was a fucking creep. Hi, Katsuki mentally practiced. You’re hot. He shook his head. No, that wouldn’t do. Hi, wanna actually give us some fucking profit? Hi, can you please buy a fucking donut? Hi, please go out with me. Too forceful? Hi, do you want to go on a date with me? Too… fucking hell, Katsuki was going to look like a complete idiot!
He didn’t have time for this. Shitty Hair was rapidly approaching and Katsuki was still bumbling over words in his head. He’d have to improvise. But any and all chance of verbal coherence flew out the window once Katsuki took a closer look at Shitty Hair’s appearance.
The hoodie he had on was not the usual black and red hoodie. Today’s hoodie was navy blue and clearly sported an emblem on the front, a painfully familiar interlocking U and A.
Okay, new fucking development: Shitty Hair went to Katsuki’s college.
But it got worse, because of course it did. This hoodie wasn’t any of the designs Yuuei sold. (He should know, considering the alarming number of freebies Sero liked to sneak the group, courtesy of his job at the campus gift shop.) No, Katsuki had seen Deku and co. wearing this exact shit more times than he could count, after their dumbass practice.
Which could only mean one thing.
Not only did Shitty Hair go to Katsuki’s college, but he was a college athlete (smash). And he didn’t play just any sport; Shitty Hair played football. This was the football team hoodie. And who else played football that Katsuki knew? Deku and his merry band of idiots.
Katsuki’s brain was going at a hundred miles an hour, but he got there: whoever the fuck this guy was, he knew Deku. Maybe they were friends. Katsuki had a fucking connection to Shitty Hair!
But his excitement was fleeting; therein lay the problem. Hell would experience fifty separate ice ages before Katsuki so much as considered asking shitty Deku for a favour, especially for something as humiliating as this stupid— crush, fucking—whatever the fuck this was! It was all so laughably juvenile that Katsuki could hardly believe himself. But he had no choice other than to believe his accelerated heartbeat whenever Shitty Hair grinned at him, and the way his heartbeat was definitely accelerating right now as he stood in front of him.
Maybe it’s his friend’s hoodie, Katsuki reasoned to himself weakly. But he couldn’t deny that Shitty Hair had a sports kind of aura about him. And what else other than his soccer uniform would he be lugging around in that duffel bag of his?
Honestly, the real issue wasn’t even Deku. That shitty extra would probably beam at Katsuki and hand over Shitty Hair’s full name, address, college timetable and social security number if he justified needing it well enough. Katsuki was just a coward. A proud coward.
Bakugou fucking Katsuki, he screamed at himself. Do you want to date that or not?
“Hey,” said Shitty Hair with his signature smile.
Katsuki stared at him wordlessly.
“You go to my college,” he finally blurted.
Shitty Hair stared back, the smile on his face looking frozen and forced.
Then he did the incomprehensible.
He turned around and left.
Without even taking a sample! He just fucking turned around and left! How rude was that?
“Hey!” Katsuki yelled, but Shitty Hair was already too far away. Clearly, he couldn’t stand to be around him any longer once he knew there was a risk of them actually meeting outside of this stupid shop every stupid Thursday.
Katsuki carried out the remainder of his shift, even more sullenly than before, and pretended his heart wasn’t sinking.
"Kacchan? What’s up?”
“Deku,” Katsuki ground out. “I need a favour.”
“Okay!”
Katsuki was overcome by a sudden urge to blow something up. Of course Deku would be as forthcoming and open as he always was.
“Do you know a guy on your football team with… uh…”
Deku waited patiently on the other end of the line.
“Never mind,” Katsuki muttered. He decided that he didn’t want to find out like this. If he ever got Shitty Hair’s name, it would be through his own merit! He could man up and ask a guy for his fucking name. Right?
RIGHT?
“Oh… okay, no problem!” Deku said cheerfully. “Bye, Kacchan!”
“Later, nerd,” said Katsuki, an improvement from his usual wordless hang-up. He figured he should be vaguely polite considering Deku’s willingness to help him out.
Once the call ended, he blew out a breath and let his head fall to the desk with a soft thump. It would be so easy to get Shitty Hair’s name. But then what? He’d still have to ask him out, and it didn’t feel right knowing that about him while Shitty Hair didn’t have the faintest who Katsuki was.
This was all so fucking complicated. He knew one person who could help him with complicated.
You: Hey
You: I need help with something
Round Face: bakugou!!! what is it? ?
You: Breathe a word of this to deku and you’re dead
Round Face: uh huh
You: So basically
You: What the fuck is the answer to question 9 from the biology chapter
Katsuki threw his phone across the room. It hit the floor with a pitiful whack. This was way too complicated. He hated this shit! He wish he’d never taken up Thursday shifts so he’d never had to lay eyes on Shitty Hair's shitty fucking hair. Why was he so obsessed with him anyway? For all Katsuki knew, he could be just as shitty as his hair was. What kind of decent person would keep taking samples without buying actual stuff from the shop? Wouldn’t a person’s morals compel them to support a small business?
Or maybe it wasn’t even complicated at all and Katsuki was just an idiot.
Nope, he was done. He couldn’t afford to be wasting any more time thinking about this guy than he already was! If he wanted to graduate at the top of his class, because Katsuki would settle for nothing less, then suppose he even managed to date he had no time for this dumb fucking romance shit or whatever.
Yeah. Katsuki was done with Shitty Hair.
(It was a little pathetic how he made it sound like a break-up in his head, when in reality they'd never even had a conversation.)
(Not that he cared, of course, because he was done with Shitty Hair. He didn't care that he might never get to go on a stupid date with him, or see his stupid eyeliner up close, or touch his stupid, cute scar.)
(Yep, he was 100% done.)
"Oh my fucking god, shit, I'm sorry, fuck—"
Distantly, Katsuki was aware of Todoroki laughing for the very first time since he'd met him, but that was in a very small compartment of his brain. No, the larger part of Katsuki's consciousness was very much preoccupied with the disaster before him.
In short, Katsuki's Thursday was shaping up to be nothing short of a tragedy.
He hoped desperately that he was dreaming. He was either dreaming or in the Matrix because there was absolutely no way the universe hated him this much. This had to have been one of the most embarrassing moments of his life, outcompeted maybe by that one time his mom forced him to wear matching All Might costumes with Deku when they were 10 and posted it on every social media platform known to man. Unfortunately, the coffee seeping into his shirt assured him that he was very much awake. He fumbled with the paper towel, trying to simultaneously mop up the counter and hand off the entire roll to the guy.
Yeah.
The fucking guy.
Shitty Hair stared at him in bemusement as he pressed a wad of paper towel against his soaked football team hoodie. He was probably better off wringing out the damn thing. Not that Katsuki would say that, because it would be tantamount to admitting his screw-up of epic proportions, so he clamped his mouth shut and resolutely avoided eye contact—but it was hard to ignore when Shitty Hair suddenly shrugged off his hoodie, tore a few sheets of paper towel and started helping Katsuki wipe down the counter.
How did I get here, Katsuki thought helplessly as Shitty Hair flashed him a shy smile and his heart disintegrated into subatomic particles. How did I get here.
Well, Katsuki knew exactly how he got here. It turned out that the redhead had a bigger pair of balls than Katsuki, because he'd been the one to start their very first conversation just five minutes ago. It had gone something like this:
"Hey, could I get a coffee please?"
"Um."
...Okay, so it hadn't exactly been a conversation.
But the two of them exchanged words, and that was pretty much a conversation, so Katsuki had been pleased with the way things were going. He could confront Shitty Hair about the donut samples later, because there was kind of a line.
The coffee machine chugged away and Katsuki mulled over what he should say to the guy. Maybe he wouldn't even have to say anything, and Shitty Hair would speak up first. Or maybe he'd run away like that one time with Kaminari. The thought made him frown, because come to think of it, Katsuki didn't know how Shitty Hair felt about him. But the coffee finished up at that moment, so Katsuki was fresh out of time.
He put a lid on the cup and carried it back over to the counter. Taking a deep breath in, he extended the cup and met Shitty Hair's red eyes. And then—
And then, and fucking then. Exhibiting a lack of coordination that would make even Deku cringe, Katsuki's hand brushed against Shitty Hair's, and he felt a small burst of static electricity. An honest-to-god tiny zap, like the kind from balloons, that for some reason—because it made perfect, logical sense while holding a hot cup of coffee—made Katsuki gasp and completely release his hold, dropping the cup in a way that created the maximum amount of mess for the minimum amount of effort.
In Katsuki's defense, being an overachiever was in his blood.
He'd never been uncomfortable with attention (he just ignored all the shitty extras and moved on with his day) but it was getting hard to ignore the massive number of eyes boring holes into his head. Todoroki smoothly stepped up beside Katsuki and asked the next person in line to place their order. Nobody moved.
"What the hell are you looking at," Katsuki finally snapped at the line, delivering his premium glare.
"Woah, no need for that," Shitty Hair reprimanded him gently. Katsuki wanted to scream. "It's okay, we'll just get this cleaned up and it'll all be A-OK."
A customer shuffled over to Todoroki and asked for a donut.
The rest of the line followed suit. Soon the mess was completely gone—except, of course, for their clothes. Katsuki was loath to part with his superhero t-shirt, but he'd never been the biggest fan of Gang Orca anyway. At least his Mirko and All Might merchandise was tucked away safely at home.
"Uh..." Shitty Hair cleared his throat and gestured at Katsuki. "I was always a fan of Crimson Riot myself, but I can't fault your taste."
Katsuki stared at him uncomprehendingly.
"Are you seriously talking to me about superheroes?"
"Yeah!" Shitty Hair's grin didn't falter. "I mean... yeah?"
Why do I like this idiot.
Wait... but I like this idiot.
"Crimson Riot was pretty cool," Katsuki conceded, a small smile playing at his lips. "I always thought his whole chivalry schtick was a bit fuckin' excessive though. All Might's way better."
"Come on, that's basic," Shitty Hair argued. "You can't say All Might's your favourite. All Might was everybody's favourite."
Katsuki rolled his eyes. "Mirko, then."
"Now we're talking!" Shitty Hair was positively beaming at him and Katsuki was sure he died right then and there.
But he couldn't be dead. It wasn't his time yet. Because he still had to—
"I like you," he blurted.
In that moment, it was like the entire mall went silent.
"You—" Shitty Hair opened and closed his mouth.
"I like you," Katsuki repeated, colour rising in his face.
Shitty Hair's expression phased through shock and surprise and confusion, eventually settling into something unbearably fond. "You don't even know my name."
"Then tell me."
"Kirishima," he said. "Kirishima Eijirou."
"Kirishima," Katsuki breathed, letting the name roll off his tongue. "Well, how do you feel about me, Kirishima?"
"I'll get back to you on that," Kirishima said with a teasing smile. "Bakugou."
Katsuki reeled back. "You—what—"
"Sorry." Kirishima grinned apologetically. "I liked you since I came here the first time and I was too scared to talk to you—so I had to take a sample or I'd look like an idiot! But then I talked to Midoriya about you and he said he knew you, all 'Kacchan!' this and 'Kacchan!' that, honestly if I didn't know he was dating Todoroki I would've thought—"
"He's dating who?!" Katsuki exclaimed, rounding on a defeated-looking Todoroki.
"Uh, Midoriya and Todoroki, they..." Kirishima trailed off.
"You know him?" Katsuki's mouth fell open. "You knew this whole time, Half-n-Half, you fucking traitor!"
"Well, I didn't think it was important—hello, welcome to Tanaka Donuts, what can I get for you today?"
"You know what, I don't care." Katsuki shook his head and turned back to Kirishima. "You gonna take more of the samples today? The plate's looking a little full."
Kirishima flushed. "I told you, I was just too scared to talk to you," he mumbled.
"Why the hell would you be scared to talk to me?" Katsuki glared at the floor.
"Well, I don't know!" Kirishima huffed out a laugh. "I was gonna talk to you the very first day, but then I came face-to-face with you and I backed out. And I kept running away after that too! Not really manly of me, I know."
"I don't give a crap about that shit," Katsuki returned, picking out a paper cup and uncapping a black marker.
"What are you..."
Finished with the cup, he made the coffee and handed it to Kirishima before picking out a strawberry donut from the cabinet. "Here ya go," he said.
"How'd you know I like this?" Kirishima asked, surprised.
Katsuki rolled his eyes. "You think I didn't notice that you took the same sample every week?"
Kirishima grinned and peered at the bottom of the cup.
Shitty Hair (please go out with me x)
"Damn, I'd totally say yes, if I were Shitty Hair," he sighed. "It's a shame my hair is anything but shitty, so it couldn't possibly be addressed to me."
Katsuki laughed. "You're a fucking dork."
"Both of you are fucking dorks," Todoroki deadpanned. Both of them jolted at the reminder that they weren't alone. "Take it elsewhere. There are perfectly respectable members of society in your vicinity."
"Such as yourself?" Katsuki snarked. He glanced at Kirishima, jamming his hands in his pockets. "Uh... I get off my shift in ten minutes..."
"Just go," Todoroki said. "I've got it covered."
"I'm free for the rest of the afternoon," Kirishima said, a hopeful smile on his face.
"Alright, then let's go," said Katsuki, getting a plastic bag and jamming Kirishima's sopping hoodie inside.
"Aww, thank you," said Kirishima. Katsuki shot him a withering glare. "You're cute," he continued, slinging an arm around Katsuki's shoulders. "A-dough-rable, even."
Katsuki stopped walking. "Are you making donut puns now?"
Kirishima grinned and lifted his strawberry donut. "Don't worry, Bakugou! You and I are gonna have a hole lot of fun!"
"No," said Katsuki, his voice sounding strangled. "No. This can't be happening."
"Donut puns are my jam, dude!"
"Oh my god."