Archive of Our Own

The smog hangs low in the early mornings, drifting ceaselessly between the cracks of the buildings, pressing against reinforced windows as if asking to get in. It tastes of steam and smoke, inherently dangerous to breathe in for too long. However, Shouto’s shop’s ventilation system was the first thing he fixed when he bought the barely put together building on a whim that managed to give himself breathing space and spite his father at the same time. 

The smog will drift off by the late morning, and that’s when the city will wake up and come to life. It’s also when Shouto wants to wake up. Late afternoons would be preferable, but he has a shop to run, and that requires getting up before the sun is able to shine on the cobbled streets below. 

Even the shuttles don’t start this early, unless they’re the high powered ones that are able to glide above the smog. Luckily, Shouto’s apartment is above his little shop, and all he has to take is a loud, rickety lift down. He watches the golden pipes convulse in tandem above him, desperately trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes. He had left his vest down in his shop last night, and his undershirt is still partially unbuttoned, sleeves hanging limply past his fingertips. 

The pipes above shutter to a halt and Shouto doesn’t even sway when the lift jerks, the doors sliding open to let in a blast of cold air.

He forgot to shut off the aircon again. 

Shouto rubs his head sleepily, wondering how much coffee he has in the break room. He doesn’t want to go back up, but he will for coffee. 

A chirp greets him, and a small, mechanical dragon smacks into his cheek; Shouto can hear the soft whirling and the tick of the gears inside of it shifting as it flutters around him excitedly.

“Good morning, Choco,” Shouto runs his finger down Choco’s spine in greeting, and the tiny dragon arches into it like a cat, red and white metal flashing in the dim lighting. It gives a soft trill before settling on his head. 

His shop isn’t big, but it’s well structured. The flooring is lined with opaque black and red checkered tiles, and the shelves for parts he has reach the ceiling, with a pulley system that allows him to bring what he wants down without having to reach for anything. The ceiling itself is high, lined with small, bright chandeliers. His workbench isn’t the tidiest, but it’s clean and organized well enough, with stacks of blueprints piled beneath it, and some on top of it as well. Laying on top of one of them is another of his little helpers.

Album is bigger than Choco, tinted gold with streaks of dark red. It’s laying on its back, wings spread out. On its chest, there’s a slight bulge where a music box sits inside. Album can start it by a shift of tiny gears, and they roll together to croon a piece his mother used to play him when he was younger. 

He spots his vest, a dark orange with gilded buttons, on his counter next to his order book, an old leather notebook his sister gave him to keep track of his commissions, and his belt is somewhere, probably wherever his last helper is. 

His shop is never quiet, filled with the buzz of his little dragons, a gift from his oldest brother, Touya, when he had first opened the shop a couple of years ago. One for each of the siblings, he had said, then proceeded to ruffle his hair, so you don’t forget about us, okay? 

Like he could ever do that.

If not the dragons, then the hum of the aircon, of the lights, the clinking of his shelves filled the little shop with sound. Sometimes, he feels as if his little shop is alive, and its breathing can be heard with every shift of gears, every puff of smoke. 

Through the window beside the door, Shouto can see the low gray haze of the smog, clouding over the odd buildings smashed together to form the city. 

Choco makes a soft chime on his head, and Shouto reaches up to tap its little forehead without looking.

“I suppose I should get ready, huh,” he murmurs to the dragon, then rubs his eyes again again with the loose sleeve of his shirt. First, he needs coffee; then, he’ll need to hunt Doro down to wherever the other little dragon took his belt. Shouto doesn’t remember when his first appointment is, but it’s before noon and therefore too early. 

Shouto yawns, taking one last look out the window. He heads towards the break room, letting the sounds of his shop drown out the quiet of the early morning.

I

Shouto is sketching for a client, scribbling little measurements and formulas to the side while thinking what kind of parts he has, and what he’ll need. He realizes he’s running low on algin jelly, which he needs to form the base for the prosthetic, when the door gives a deep puffing sound to indicate someone opening it. 

Album is sitting on the edge of the counter, Shouto’s mother’s song playing in its stomach, and the last he heard of Choco and Doro, they were chasing each other through the shelves. He had gotten his belt back from Doro, a silver and blue mischievous dragon. It had been wrapped around it by the water boiler in the break room. 

Shouto looks up lazily, head still planning the finer details of a prosthetic arm, then he straightens, a small smile pulling at his lips.

“Bakugou,” he greets warmly, and Album’s little music halts, only briefly, before it continues, softer than it was before. 

Bakugou scowls, shoving his hands in the pockets of his long coat; and understanding dawns to Shouto when Bakugou’s eyes dart down to his lips. Shouto drops his sketching pencil and lifts his hand.

“Your hearing aids?” He signs, tilting his head slightly. 

He has a couple of long term clients, and Bakugou is one of them. He had come in six months ago with a snarl twisting his features, demanding for Shouto to make a pair of hearing aids that aren’t complete and utter shit before he even saw him. Shouto clearly remembers being crouched beneath the counter, because Doro had stolen his pen and was huddled down there, hissing like a tin rattlesnake. When he had stood up, hair a mess and shirt partially unbuttoned, since the aircon was still broken then, it was just in time to see an angry blonde stumble over his own feet, colliding into the workbench and spilling a box full of parts Shouto had been pushing off organizing. 

Bakugou Katsuki is loud and abrasive, and he scowls at anyone who even considers looking at him. He’s also surprisingly, cutely, clumsy, always somehow breaking his hearing aids, stumbling into the workbench (Shouto had moved the workbench so that it’s closer to the shelves because of it), sometimes dropping his wallet with a loud curse. He always has a pair of piloting goggles on his head, and Shouto worries that someone as clumsy as him is a pilot.

For some reason, when he had pointed this out, a flush had appeared high in his cheeks and travelled down into his shirt, blotchy and red, and Shouto had found it mesmerizing.

“One of the idiots sat on them,” Bakugou says, waving his hand towards the window, where a group of “the idiots” are pressed against the window. Shouto had met them before, though he doesn’t remember their names. He thinks they run a steam-powered coffee shop down the street. 

Shouto waves, and they all brighten simultaneously, pushing against each other as they wave back. The one with the bright pink hair makes a symbol with her hand Shouto doesn’t recognize, with only her pinky and thumb sticking out, and she puts it to her ear, mouthing something he can’t read. 

“DON’T FUCKING ENCOURAGE THEM!” Bakugou snarls, quickly moving so that he replaces the sight of his friends outside, red eyes bright. From where he’s standing now, the sun streams in and highlights his explosive hair in a golden glow. His hair looks soft, like cotton candy. 

From behind the window, Shouto hears loud whines, and he bites back a smile. 

“Can I see the hearing aids?” Shouto asks, and he admits to himself that a part of him likes the way Bakugou’s eyes dart down to his mouth when he speaks; it’s a guilty pleasure. Bakugou makes a face that Shouto can’t quite identify, before it returns back to the familiar scowl. 

“Stupid fucking question,” Bakugou mutters, pulling a small box out of his pocket. He slides it across the counter. 

“It’s polite to ask,” Shouto informs him, unclasping the little box. It opens with a small hiss, revealing two small hearing aid devices, one of them crushed, with wires and small gears sticking out. The other looks alright, if not a little bent. Shouto hums, picking up the crushed one gently.

“This should be an easy fix,” he murmurs, mostly to himself. The essential parts aren’t broken, he just has to replace some of the gears and wires, and he knows he has a stash of them for Bakugou; maybe he can ask Choco to get them for him. 

Shouto clears his counter, putting his sketch underneath to work on later. He rolls up his sleeves, chewing on his lip while trying to remember where he last put his magnifying goggles. 

Bakugou makes a noise that draws his attention back to him, Shouto blinks slightly at the red he sees pressing against his cheeks. He’s pretty sure the air con is still on, unless Choco ran into it again.

“Wha- you’re gonna fix it right now?” Bakugou asks loudly, eyes darting away from his lips to his hearing aids in Shouto’s hands. 

Shouto nods, although he isn’t sure that Bakugou saw it, placing the hearing aids down on his counter. He still doesn’t remember where his magnifying glasses are, he hopes Doro hasn’t run away with them again. 

He moves his hands to sign.

“ It’s an easy fix so yes, I can finish it now if you’re willing to wait for me.” Shouto offers. This is the first time he has ever worked in front of Bakugou. He doesn’t particularly care if anyone watches him work; it’s easy to tune them out and focus on his creations, but something about asking Bakugou makes his chest flutter strangely.

Shouto frowns slightly as Bakugou turns more red. He should check on the air con after this; he can hear it buzzing in with the sounds of his shop, but that doesn’t mean it’s working properly. 

“Sure, fine, I’ll fucking wait,” he growls, waving away his “idiots” who are still peering through the window outside. One of them whistles, and he’s pretty sure he hears a muffled get it Baku!. Shouto awkwardly waves again before they leave and his mouth twitches as they all wave back enthusiastically. 

“FUCKER, I SAID DON’T ENCOURAGE THEM!”

Shouto gives him a warm smile, quickly signing, “ You have really good friends.” 

Bakugou’s mouth parts, the red on his cheeks matching the color in his wide eyes. He looks frozen and Shouto tilts his head, pushing away a stray lock of hair that falls across his face. 

“Bakugou?” Shouto asks out loud, leaning forward. Concern soaks into his voice, maybe it’s not the air con, maybe Bakugou is just sick. He’s sure his friends haven’t gone far, he can catch up to them and finish the hearing aids for tomorrow. 

Bakugou snaps out of it before he can continue trying to remember which way he saw them go, releasing an explosive breath, hand coming up to run down his face. He’s muttering too softly to himself for Shouto to hear, but he still catches something along the lines of son of a bitch and goddamn smile and kill me. 

Shouto makes a small noise of concern.

“JUST FIX MY STUPID EARS, HALFIE!”

Shouto relaxes; he sounds like he’s okay. He reaches for the calling device on his belt, for when he needs his dragons’ assistance but doesn’t know where they are. He presses Choco’s and Doro’s number. Album is still crooning soft music beside him.

“What were you doing without them on?” Shouto asks curiously while his dragons blur around the shelves with streaks of color in the air, bringing him the small parts he needs with just a word from Shouto. Doro sheepishly carries him his magnifying goggles, steam escaping through the gaps between the blue and silver plates while it carries the goggles to him. Shouto gently flicks Doro’s forehead.

“It- it was- the idiots spilled alcohol over me so I took them off to wash them, not that it’s any of your business,” Bakugou’s mouth turns down, it looks more like a pout than a frown. It’s cute.

“Why would they pour alcohol on you?” Shouto frowns, tilting his head quizzically, was that something that people do now? He’ll have to ask Hawks or maybe Miruko, Shouto isn’t sure. He’d ask Touya if Shouto wasn’t completely sure that his brother would lie to him for his own amusement. 

“I already told you,” Bakugou rolls his eyes, “they’re idiots and idiots only become more idiotic when they’re drunk.”

Shouto nods thoughtfully, he’s never been drunk before, excluding the incident with his brothers that Fuyumi is still angry about, but he supposes that it makes sense. He puts on his magnifying goggles. Bakugou warps under the magnifying glass, chest bulging comically. It makes the expression on Bakugou’s face far more amusing when Shouto gets to see his scowl extend abnormally across his face. Shouto readjusts his goggles and ducks his head down so Bakugou doesn’t see his mouth twitch. 

He gently reworks the hearing aids with small tools, eyes narrowed and letting the conversation die as it is, a silence falling over them. It has always been easy for the world to slip away from him while Shouto is working. Shouto loves his job, he loves making prosthetics for people, loves the small, intricate pieces that all come together to create something important for someone. It’s not easy, it has never been easy, but if he wanted easy he would have gone with his father’s plan. 

Now, as he watches Bakugou’s hearing aid come back together under his hands, his mother’s music playing in his ear from Touya’s creation for him, he doesn’t regret a single thing about his life.

He touches up the other hearing aid even though it isn’t broken, chewing on his lip in concentration. 

“There,” Shouto smiles, putting his goggles up on his head, exposing his forehead, and holding out the hearing aids. Bakugou doesn’t reach for it, instead studying Shouto’s face, his face oddly calm, eyes red and intent. Shouto can’t quite recognize the look on his face, but it makes his throat dry up like he’s been sitting under the sun for a while. He pushes back a soft, shy feeling rising in his chest, cheeks warming under Bakugou’s stare. 

His mouth parts, but words fail to come out once Bakugou’s eyes dart down to read his lips, breaking the quiet tension in the air. 

He snatches the hearing aids before Shouto can say anything, putting them in his ears with a scowl. 

“It might take some time for it to adjust,” Shouto explains needlessly, he knows that Bakugou already knows, but the odd urge to fill the space with words has fallen over him, “the frequency is how it usually is at, so it shouldn’t be a problem, but-”

“Shut the fuck up,” Bakugou interrupts, rolling his eyes. His voice is softer than before, but still distinctly Bakugou, rough and not holding anything back, “It works fine, dumbass.”

“Oh. Good.”

Bakugou snorts, shoving his hands in the pockets of his overcoat, bringing out his wallet, “How much do I owe you?”

“Minor fixes like that are for free,” Shouto hands him back the little box he had carried the hearing aids in, fingers brushing against Bakugou’s warm palm when he grabs at it. 

Bakugou jerks, the box slipping out of his grasp and clattering onto the floor. The noise startles Album enough that the music stops

“Fucking-” Shouto bites back a smile while the other scrambles to get the box, he catches his ears turning red like they always do when he drops something. The goggles on Bakugou’s head slide down to his face and he shoves them back up, revealing a slight sheen of sweat on his exposed forehead. 

There’s something about the way hair lightly falls back over messily through the goggles that is strangely enthralling. Shouto’s fingers tingle with an urge to slide his hands through Bakugou’s hair and press his forehead against his, the faint memory of Bakugou’s palm lingering on his fingertips. 

“Fine, fucking thanks for the fix or whatever,” Bakugou’s jaw clenches, the muscles in his neck flexing.

Shouto smiles as the familiar feel of the soft fluttering sensation circling his chest.

“Maybe I should make you an extra pair,” Shouto muses, finger tapping on Album’s head, it gives a small mechanical whirl not much different from a purr, “or maybe an entire box.”

“Fuck you,” Bakugou scowls, shoving the little box in his pocket, “I can take care of my shit.”

“You wouldn’t be here if that was true,” Shouto points out. It was an innocent observation, but Bakugou flushes in what must be anger, eyes darting away. 

“Fuck you.”

“You keep saying that,” Shouto tilts his head, then, in a strange surge of confidence and nerves, “I’m starting to think you might mean it.”

Shouto can feel his own pulse race as Bakugou’s expression goes slack, eyes flashing with an expression he’s not sure he has seen Bakugou give before; it makes his chest constrict weirdly. He’s spluttering before Shouto can analyze it.

“You- fucking- I’m leaving, fuck yo- shut up,” he snaps, turning around sharply and suddenly. The back of his neck is red and splotchy. 

Shouto bites his lip. He’s not sure what Bakugou’s reaction meant, and he’s not sure why he said what he said anyways. He hopes he didn’t push him away. Bakugou is crass and clumsy, borderline hostile about everything, but his company is comfortable for Shouto. He’s easy to talk to in a way no other customer is, except maybe a couple of others. 

The worry vanishes like mist when he watches Bakugou yank open the door, smacking himself in the face with a concerning amount of force. Shouto straightens up, hand reaching as if it can reach over the counter all the way to the door. Album makes a noise, a cross between alarm and what sounds a lot like laughter.

“Bakugou, are you-”

“SON OF A BITCH!” He jerks around, pointing aggressively at Shouto. “If anyone finds out about this, no one will find your body.”

He’s gone before Shouto can respond, the door hissing shut behind him. Shouto blinks, arm slowly going back to his side. As with every time Bakugou leaves, it takes Shouto awhile to reboot, as if his body is returning to itself. When it does, he can’t help but release a breath of laughter, the image of Bakugou getting hit with a door playing on repeat in his head. 

He smiles down at the counter, tracing the lines of Bakugou in his memory. His red face, red eyes, the way his goggles lifted the hair off his forehead. 

There’s nothing wrong with the aircon when he checks it with Choco, but he turns the temperature up just in case. 

II

Shouto doesn’t outright laugh, but he wants to. Unlike last time, Bakugou has his back up hearing aids with him, they’re large and clunky and not of Shouto’s design. It feels strange to see Bakugou wearing hearing aids that weren’t made by him. His mouth is twisted into what Shouto is sure is meant to be a scowl, but it looks more like a disgruntled pout. 

“So you dropped them, out of an airship,” he deadpans, and he knows he’s not doing as good at keeping the amusement out of his tone as he usually is, “that you were piloting.” 

“ Yes.” Bakugou glares, like he’s daring Shouto to challenge him. The lighting caresses his face, highlighting his eyes so that they seem to glow like Shouto’s dragons. Even while looking disgruntled and pissed off, Bakugou looks captivating. 

“What were you doing without them on?” Shouto has the sudden image of his hearing aids falling out of his ears and bouncing around while Bakugou chases after them, yelling obscenities and running into things. The thought makes him actually laugh, covering his mouth as if to capture the small sound and hide it.

Bakugou jerks back, looking as if he’s been slapped and left dazed. Shouto tilts his head as he clears his throat. 

“I- it was fucking loud.” He glares at something in the distance, a soft pink brushing onto his cheeks. Shouto wants to press his palm against it. 

Choco makes a small, whirring noise that sounds similar to a cackle, the small red and white dragon landing on Bakugou’s head and whacking him in the face with its tail. 

“OI, I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU, YOU TIN CAN!”

Choco cackles again, whacking him in the face again and prancing through the air with his goggles, dodging Bakugou’s swipe with ease. Its body is roughly the size of the goggles, but it carries them with pride, dipping up and down with the loud sound of gears shifting quickly inside it. Bakugou chases after it with a loud curse. 

Shouto thinks back to his thought before, the image of Bakugou chasing after his hearing aids. He thinks it would have looked like this. Surprisingly, Bakugou is able to swiftly maneuver himself around the cluttered areas while chasing the dragon, who makes a noise of alarm at the close swipe that nearly caught him. 

Bakugou is oddly graceful, which is in stark contrast to the person who has fumbled over his wallet many times and smacked his face with a door he had opened. He slides away from the shelves in a sharp twist when Choco moves at the last minute, taking a sharp left. 

“GET THE FUCK BACK HERE!”

Shouto sees it coming before Bakugou does, but he doesn’t have the time to react before Choco zooms behind the counter and behind him with Bakugou hot on its trail, coming in from the left where there’s no counter to stop him. He can see Bakugou’s eyes widen before the air is forcibly extracted from Shouto’s lungs as he barrels into him. They tumble to the checkered flooring behind the counter. Shouto makes a small yelp while Bakugou catches himself, palms smacking onto either side of Shouto’s head on the floor so his entire weight doesn’t fall onto him. 

The goggles clatter down beside their heads, Choco’s cackles growing distant while it flies away. 

Shouto sucks in a breath, ignoring the ache in his back and where his belt is digging into his hip, and instead of an exhale of breath, a loud snort forcibly escapes him. Touya had made those dragons; this isn’t the first time they had been mischievous to a customer, but this is the first time that Shouto had become a victim because of it. The image of Choco sending Bakugou on a wild chase, the look on Bakugou’s face, fills his mind again. 

He laughs, louder than the small huff he gave earlier, more free and breathless. Shouto hardly laughs like this, but for an inexplicable reason he’s in a good mood for it, a well of happiness bubbling in his throat. The last time he had laughed this hard was when Touya first met Hawks, an engineer that makes incredible airships and has real life birds in his house, and he spilled chemicals over himself and destroyed his shirt and dignity at the same time. It had left his skin a mysterious blue for two weeks.

It's a wonder how neither of them notice how gone they are for each other, given how obvious they are. 

A strange, choked noise draws him back, and Shouto looks up to see Bakugou, staring down at him, eyes wide and looking oddly vulnerable. Up close, Shouto can see how truly flawless Bakugou’s skin is, with soft, golden eyelashes and flecks of gold in his red eyes. 

At that moment, he realizes that Bakugou is on top of him, a warm heavy weight, arms on either side of his head, close enough that Shouto can see the lean muscles flexing from where his sleeves are rolled up. It’s too hot outside for Bakugou to be wearing his long coat, a fact that Shouto didn’t notice until he could see the individual golden hairs on his skin. 

Shouto swallows, laughter dying in his throat as something else takes its place, softer and making it harder to breathe. There’s a look on Bakugou’s face that Shouto can’t read, he’s seen it before, when he was fixing his hearing aids, but it feels different up close. More intimate.

He can feel a warm flush take over his face, heartbeat surging beneath his skin. Shouto wouldn’t be surprised if Bakugou could hear it. 

With a dry mouth, he parts his lips. Whatever words he was going to say die when Bakugou’s eyes dart down. He has his hearing aids on, he doesn’t need to read lips. Bakugou’s throat bobs as he swallows, and he shifts. Shouto can’t really tell, it might be his own imagination playing tricks on him, but it looks like he’s moving closer. 

Shouto’s breath hitches. 

“Bakugou,” he whispers, his own voice strange to his ears, a tinge of something he can’t really identify. Bakugou jerks at the voice as if startled.

“Shit,” he scrambles up, narrowly missing bashing his head against the counter, grabbing his goggles on his way up. Shouto blinks, feeling the cool air of the aircon against his heated skin, a chill where Bakugou’s weight once was. 

“Fuck, I-” Bakugou hesitates, then clears his throat, “when will you have them finished?”

It takes Shouto’s sluggish brain too long to connect the dots. Pushing back a well of disappointment - at what, he doesn’t know- he slowly gets himself off the floor, adjusting his belt to occupy his hands with something. He has a job to do, first and foremost.

“I’ll contact you when they’re done,” he uses his detached, professional voice, “if I have all the pieces it will take less than three weeks.”

Bakugou glares down at his goggles, then glares up at Shouto. Shouto can’t help but relax as Bakugou goes back to his familiar self, with the familiar flare of challenge in his eyes.

“They better be fucking perfect,” he declares. “I don’t want ones that’ll break just because an idiot sits on them.”

Shouto’s mouth quirks up.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, leaning against the counter, “I can’t promise anything if anyone who’s not an idiot sits on them, though.”

 Bakugou snorts, shoving his hand in his pockets with a scowl, “that won’t be a problem, people are fucking stupid.”

“Words hurt, Bakugou.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes, turning to leave and almost running into the counter he was still behind. He scowls, plants his hand on it, and vaults himself over. He turns, pointing at Shouto while tipping his head up. He’s seen delegates from other countries having dinner with his father with less air of superiority than him. Shouto’s throat dries a little at it.

“Three weeks,” he says it like a threat and a promise, and Shouto can’t do anything but nod, but Bakugou is already out of the door, this time without bruising his nose. 

Shouto takes a short break to get some water and stare at the vaulted ceiling in a mindless stream of panic and rising, confusing emotions. Choco settles on his head.

“This is your fault,” he tells it, but all it does is flick its tail smugly. 

III

Shouto had first met Miruko when he was working with Touya, before setting up his own shop. He was delivering chemicals to their base, a huge infrastructure that bellows huge clouds of steam and smoke. Miruko’s real name isn’t Miruko, just like Hawks’ real name isn’t Hawks. Shouto thinks it must be an airship engineer thing, to not use their real names. Maybe Shouto should use a different name, but he quite likes his own name. His first name at least. 

Shouto distinctly remembers her throwing her leg, an impressive piece with golden accents, at Hawks and sending him careening to the floor with a whine and a gear impression on his forehead. He had thrown the leg back, but Miruko, while cackling wildly, had dodged and her leg sailed over Shouto’s head and crashed into the metal bones of an airship they had been working on. Miruko’s leg was the first prosthetic he ever worked on, even if it was a simple fix of straightening out dented plates and adjusting gears. 

“Stupid thing keeps not working at random times, almost fell off the airship,” Miruko quirks her fingers towards Doro, who is hiding behind a stack of steel plates. Doro has been scared of her since it made the mistake of stealing one of her tough, leather gloves. Shouto doesn’t blame it; the experience had been traumatizing. She’s sitting on the workbench while Shouto is hunched over her prosthetic leg, hand planted next to him while she shuffles through his sketches in a blatant invasion of privacy.

“Aren’t you not supposed to be on top of the airship while in mid production?” Shouto asks absentmindedly. 

With his magnifying goggles on, he can see each individual plate and gear of the prosthetic, he can see the cracked streaks of silver where the white paint is chipped. The gears aren’t rusted; Miruko knows how to take care of her stuff, which is more than what he can say about most of his customers. Bakugou’s hearing aids are always clean, other than the fact that they get destroyed a lot, and fall off airships apparently.

Miruko snorts, gracefully whipping her hair behind her shoulder with a flick of her head before baring her teeth in a grin, “There’s no fun in that.” 

“Of course not,” Shouto says, carefully prying a long metal plate off, exposing more gears underneath, and a small pump to help keep the leg cool and stabilized. Shouto frowns. 

“Did you throw this at Hawks again?” Shouto asks, poking at the loosened gears with his tools. They move far too easily and the pump is dented slightly.

“Nah, but I did throw it at your bitch of a brother.”

“I’m sure he deserved it,” Shouto says dryly, “but some of the gears are loose and I need to fix the artery pump. Next time, throw your tools instead”

Miruko’s laugh is kind of like thunder, loud and somewhat terrifying, but it’s comforting at the same time—for him at least. Doro releases a small whimper from where it’s still hiding on the shelf. She punches Shouto in the shoulder. He’s used to her playful punches by now, grabbing the table to stop himself from flying to the floor from the strength of it. His arm throbs painfully. 

“This is why you’re my favorite,” she declares, “none of the other bitches treat me like you do.”

By bitches, Shouto is pretty sure she meant Hawks and Touya, or Dabi as they call him when he’s working as a chemist. He provides fluid that works well with steam and makes airships travel faster and farther. The dragons he made also have a bit of it inside them; it’s what makes them able to practically act on their own. Shouto wonders if that means that airships can have a somewhat conscious mind like the dragons, or if it’s something else at play. He decides he’ll ask Touya later. 

“I thought Fuyumi was your favorite.” 

Miruko’s grin turns sharp; it’s the same look she gets when she’s leaning close to Fuyumi, eyes on the deep flush his sister always gives at the proximity, or at Miruko herself. 

“Well, you’re my favorite person who I don’t want to fu-”

The door puffs open, Shouto slumps his shoulders in relief. The last thing he wants is for Miruko to start talking about his sister with the raw, unashamed tone she always uses, although he does prefer it over Natsuo’s sugary, lovestruck tone when he talks about his girlfriend.

He looks up, ready to inform them that he’ll be with them in a second, then blinks when he finds that it’s Bakugou, with his usual long coat but no pilot goggles, so his hair falls across his forehead in fluffy spikes. Shouto still has a week to finish his hearing aids, but he can see his disgruntled scowl and lack of back ups and his mouth automatically curls up, dropping his tools without hesitation to lift his hands and sign.

“ What did you do?” 

“Oi, what makes you think I did something?” Bakugou snaps. Shouto looks pointedly at his ears, watching the tint of red deepen under the shop’s lighting. 

“ You’re hearing aids won’t be done until next week,” he signs, adding a cheeky, “ unless you’re here just to see me.”

The reaction he gets is not what he was expecting, although Shouto isn’t sure what to expect. Whatever it is, it’s not Bakugou freezing, looking a lot like Doro when Shouto sees it eyeing something with interest or whenever Shouto catches Hawks staring at Touya’s ass. Shouto tilts his head, wondering what he had said that warranted such a reaction. Did he sign something wrong?

“You- how- that’s not- I just dropped my stupid fucking aids in the- the stupid water heater!” 

He stomps his way to the workbench and shoves a box against Shouto’s chest, quickly letting go before Shouto can grab onto it. He catches it with his hand. It’s the same box as the last time, except the contents aren’t smashed from being sat on, they’re deformed from being under intense heat and Shouto can tell instantly that they can’t be repaired. Water heaters are used to cook most things and can reach extreme temperatures. They should be closed at all times; Shouto can’t imagine how hearing aids manage to fall into one. Then again, he also can’t imagine them accidentally falling out of an airship. Bakugou and his ability to destroy his hearing aids is just a growing mystery to him. 

He briefly wonders if Bakugou might be doing it on purpose, but pushes the thought away. 

That would be ridiculous. 

Still, he has to ask.

“What were you doing with the water heater?” He asks out loud, making sure Bakugou can see his mouth clearly while still looking at the melted hearing aids. 

There’s a pause, Shouto looks up, thinking that maybe Bakugou wasn’t able to read his lips, only to see Bakugou glaring beside Shouto, jaw clenching distractingly.

“There was a problem so I went to the shitty thing and forgot I was holding them, okay? Who the fuck is this?”

Shouto gives a small huff of amusement, setting the aids down. There’s an odd note in Bakugou’s tone that he can’t quite pinpoint; it’s a little more than his usual hostile tone. He’s still staring beside him and oh- Shouto had completely forgotten that Miruko was still sitting on his table. 

Miruko arches a brow, then gives a slow, feral grin that she had given him when she first met him, like a predator sizing up new prey. Bakugou doesn’t flinch. In fact, he looked even more angry than before, glaring at her. It’s impressive and it makes Shouto want to reach for his sketchbook, still in Miruko’s grasp. He could never capture the way the light highlights Bakugou’s eyes anyways.

A heavy, muscled arm is thrown on his shoulder, Shouto nearly crumples while Miruko leans against him. To his surprise, she begins signing with sure, fluid motions. 

“ I’m a loyal, hardworking customer,” she signs, her hair tickling Shouto’s face. 

“Who’s this piece of meat?” she asks out loud, without looking away from Bakugou. 

“WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU CALLING MEAT?”

“You should stop calling people meat ,” Shouto says, at the same time. 

Miruko just grins wider, before lifting herself off of Shouto. Shouto gives a sigh of relief, rubbing his shoulder. Bakugou glares at the motion with a strange intensity. She hops down from the table; there’s not a single waver in her stature even when balancing on one leg. 

“I’ll be chillin’ over here. Have fun with your meat!” 

She winks at Shouto, gracefully hopping towards the staircase that leads up to Shouto’s apartment. He never uses it. Shouto can hear Doro give a sigh of relief from where he’s still hiding in the shelves.  

Shouto blinks, then turns to Bakugou and signs, “ I don’t think you’re meat.”

Bakugou’s glare softens somewhat, then he rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue loudly, “What the fuck ever, what about my shitty aids?”

“ They’re irreparable, I’ll have to make new ones,” he doesn’t add again, but he’s sure Bakugou can read it, given how his scowl deepens. 

“ I can make a simple pair, if you want to come back tomorrow?” Shouto offers. He won’t mind staying up all night, fixing Miruko’s leg and creating a simple, water-proof pair of hearing aids. They won’t be the best, he knows, they’d be blocky and without the frequency tuning that Shouto has for the other hearing aids, but they’d be good in a pinch. 

Plus, Shouto doesn’t mind seeing Bakugou two days in a row. 

Bakugou ducks his head, his ears are still a deep red and Shouto wants to push back his fluffy hair so he can see more of the expression he’s wearing. 

“I have to pilot some shitty rich person to the other city tomorrow morning.” His expression turns cross. 

“ Come in before that,” he offers, willing his fingers not to trip and stutter in the haste, “ I’ll make you coffee.”

The offer of coffee is signed before Shouto can think about it, he stares at his fingers in shock as if they formed the words without his consent. He almost misses Bakugou’s face flush, which would have been a shame. 

“Yes, yeah, fine,” Bakugou clears his throat, then seems to start over, “whatever.”

Shouto’s mouth twitches. 

“ Yes, yeah, fine, whatever, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he signs.

“Fuck you,” Bakugou tells him, “it’s a da- an appointment, fuck, you better have it done or I’ll kill you.” 

Shouto is used to Bakugou leaving in a haste, without letting Shouto say goodbye. He doesn’t feel offended, although he wouldn’t mind if Bakugou stayed a little longer, if he spent time with him without it being for business. The soft pulse of disappointment lingers, but it’s easy to wash it away. 

“Damn, and I thought your bitch brother had it bad.”

Shouto very carefully doesn’t jump or let Miruko know that he had forgotten about her again. He doesn’t know how she managed to hop her way back to the workbench without Shouto noticing it. 

“Had what bad?”

Miruko gives him a long stare. Her eyes aren’t as dark as Bakugou’s, they’re more orange than red, but they give off a similar feel as when Bakugou looks at him sometimes, right before he tells him he’s a dumbass. 

Shouto wonders if Bakugou and Miruko might be related, somehow.

Miruko reaches with her hand and violently ruffles his hair, hard enough that he feels a sting of pain and has to swallow a yelp. 

“You’re a smart boy.” She says it in a way that doesn’t sound like a compliment, “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Before Shouto can ask what exactly he’ll figure out, she hops back up on the workbench and taps her leg, still splayed open in front of him.

“Now, is there any way you can put springs in it? I want to be able to jump high enough that I can knock out Birdbrain from above.”

“... Maybe.”

IV

“A cat ate them?”

“That’s what I said,” Bakugou snaps, glaring like he’s daring Shouto to challenge him.

He’s wearing the back up hearing aids that Shouto had made for him, even though Shouto had finished and given him the official ones weeks ago, only to have Bakugou push his way through the door with a scowl, claiming that a cat ate his hearing aids.

“Are they alright?”

“Of course not, they were fucking eaten.” 

“I meant the cat.” Shouto drops his tools from when he was working on a gift for his mentor  and leans close, concerned, “You took them to a vet, right? I don’t think hearing aids would digest well; they could die if not treated properly.”

For a brief moment, Shouto thinks he might’ve seen a flash of panic cross Bakugou’s features. Did he not think of that? He’s ready to let Album run his shop so he can drag Bakugou to where the cat was last to take them to the hospital immediately. Maybe Natsuo would be closest. 

“They’re- they’re fine,” he combs his hand through his hair, revealing his forehead; Shouto hasn’t seen it since Bakugou stopped coming with his pilot goggles on, before adding, “idiot.”

He must’ve already taken the cat to the vet. Shouto relaxes, leaning back.

“I’m glad,” he closes his eyes and smiles, liquid soft. 

Of course, Bakugou wouldn’t leave a cat to die. Bakugou is many things, but he’s not cruel. He wonders if he likes cats as much as Shouto does. Does his face go soft, red eyes wide and wonderous? He can easily picture it, in a way that makes him wonder if he’s seen it before, that kind of soft look on Bakugou.

When he opens his eyes, he thinks he might’ve seen a glimpse of it.

“I’ll make a new pair.” 

Shouto has his notebook open beside him anyways. He had been checking what he had to do today when he saw Sensei’s birthday circled and remembered the gift he wanted to make for him. He grabs it, trying to focus on what this is, which is business, and not on the look on Bakugou’s face, like he’s seeing something he doesn’t want to look away from. 

“Does the standard three weeks work with you?”

“Yeah,” Shouto looks up at the unusually quiet response, but Bakugou is glaring at something in the distance. He’s long since recognized that kind of glare as the one he gives when he doesn’t want to acknowledge something. He’s missed it.

“I missed you,” Shouto blurts, then freezes as Bakugou snaps his head back, glare instantly vanishing. 

He can hear his own heartbeat, slamming against his ribs and echoing throughout his entire body. He has missed Bakugou, but he shouldn’t. There’s no reason for Bakugou to visit him if there’s nothing wrong with his hearing aids. Regardless, Shouto would like him to, he would very much like him to visit when it’s not necessary. Shouto liked making coffee for him, liked the warmth in his chest when Bakugou’s face gets red, like it is now, or when he stumbles into something. 

“Fuck- who the fuck just says shit like that?” He’s not looking at Shouto while he rants, face flushed. It’s cute. “No fucking filter at all, you just spew bullshit like it’s your job-”

“That sounds like a terrible job.”

“-and your stupid, oblivious face, can’t even catch a single fucking hint and have the nerve to say that you-” he catches himself and releases a loud, careful breath. 

Shouto isn’t sure if he wants to smile or ask if he’s okay, so he settles into confusion. “What hint?”

Bakugou stares at him blankly.

“You said I can’t catch any hints,” he points out, frowning slightly, “hints of what?”

There’s a beat of silence. Shouto tilts his head. Maybe he really was trying to tell him he liked cats. Cats do push things off of elevated places, like airships. 

“I'm leaving,” Bakugou announces, so suddenly that it takes until he’s walking away for Shouto to realize what he just said. Shouto jerks, fingers twitching to reach across the counter and stop him somehow.

“What, why?”

Bakugou stops, shoulders relaxing almost forcibly. He has nice shoulders, broad and most likely easy to hold onto. He turns towards him, pointing with such aggressiveness that Shouto is positive he felt the wind from the force of it hit his face.

“You,” he says, “are an idiot.”

Shouto makes a noise of confusion, but Bakugou is already gone. 

V

Shouto hates inventory more than anything. Doro and Choco are useful, but they’re not the best counters, and Shouto no longer trusts Doro with helping him with inventory ever since he found a huge pile of various valves, gears, and shiny plates piled in a nest in the vents. Album can’t fly for very long; its body is too heavy and it’ll overwork itself and malfunction. Once every six months, he has to stand by his shelves and count until his eyes feel like they’re bleeding, but it’s the price Shouto is willing to pay to keep his shop in order. 

He much prefers it over the health inspector check up. Shouto prides himself in his clean shop and slightly disorganized shelves, yet there’s something about watching a stranger peer down at his shop with judgement that makes his skin crawl. 

His shelves are lined with gears at the moment, some small enough that Shouto can fit five on his fingernail, then some the size of his hand. He has a lever to the right of him that rotates the shelves through a pulley system. He spends his entire morning and afternoon carefully counting what he has, sticking a note on each shelf when he’s finished, pulling the lever, and moving to the next shelf. 

His mother’s music plays from where Album is settled on the workbench, and Shouto hums along to it absentmindedly. He always feels that he doesn’t have enough algin jelly; maybe Touya can make him some. Officially, he’s not allowed to use homemade algin on prosthetics, but, if Touya makes him some for him to use on prototypes, it’ll save him algin jelly and money for the final products. 

Knowing Touya, he’d put something in the jelly to do some experiments of his own. Shouto doesn’t entirely trust that. The last time he took an experiment Touya had been working on on the side, the pupils of his eyes expanded like a cat’s and he could see in the dark for three days straight. Shouto had been paranoid (and sort of hoped) that he’d be turned into a cat for a long time afterwards. Despite his curiosity, he has never accepted a cookie from Touya again.

He never apologized for it, and Shouto supposes that Touya isn’t sorry about it. 

Shouto isn’t wearing his vest; he had tossed it beside Album along with his belt an hour after inventory began. He’s not expecting any customers today, but he’s open just in case of emergencies. His shirt is untucked, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. There’s the dark stain of grease on his arm from when he had to reach to the far back of the shelves in case he missed any loose pieces, a friendly reminder to clean his shelves before the health inspector comes. Shouto digs his teeth into his lip, idly scratching the last of the gear section in his notebook with his pen. He needs to order more parts for hearing aids. There’s a reasonable amount as of now, but who knows?

As if summoned from his thoughts, the door puffs open and Shouto detects Album’s music going low and soft, an action he realized it only does when Bakugou shows up. Shouto doesn’t question why, even though he’s beginning to suspect he knows the answer. 

Despite the powerful instinct to turn around, Shouto finishes counting the last of the ankle valves first. He debates whether or not to just pretend to count to test how long it’ll take for Bakugou’s patience to snap. 

“Are you gonna stand there all fucking day or greet your customers like you’re fucking supposed to?”

Well, he wonders if five seconds is a record of some sort. 

Shouto doesn’t bother biting back his smile. He lets it settle on his face like a warm blanket and tears the piece of paper with the count of valves off to set on top of them. 

“Perhaps I would if the customer was nicer to me.” 

He turns around, setting his notebook on the workbench before glancing up, the taste of another teasing retort dying in his throat. Bakugou isn’t wearing his usual clothes, no long coat or dirty black pants. He looks good, really good. Bakugou always looks good, but his clothes are now clean and form fitting, with a light orange vest and black pants that make his legs appear longer than Shouto knows they are. Instead of his usual orange boots, he’s wearing shiny black boots with buckles. Shouto is pretty sure his under shirt is tucked in, with his sleeves rolled up in an unfairly distracting manner.

Shouto feels like a mess in comparison, shirt partially untucked and collar askew, stained with grease. He resists the urge to pat down his hair, feeling strangely vulnerable and open. 

Bakugou is wearing his hearing aids. They’re not the backup ones; they’re the ones Shouto had made for him after the cat incident. Shouto is glad that he added a red tint to them. It looks good against his skin. 

“Did your back ups break?” Shouto asks. There’s a surge of anticipation singing to his fingertip. He doesn’t exactly know why, but his heartbeat is picking up quickly.

Bakugou shifts, fingers reaching to touch his hearing aids. There’s an unusual flash of hesitance in his features; it makes Shouto want to hold his breath.

“Actually, I-” Bakugou swallows, meeting Shouto’s widening eyes, “fuck, I mean-” 

There’s a pause where Bakugou looks almost resigned. Shouto wants to reach out and wipe the look off his face with his thumb.

“Baku-”

“THEY EXPLODED!” Bakugou blurts, then facepalms so hard that Shouto hears the slap echo in his shop. 

Shouto jerks, eyes widening.

“Fuck-”

“Are you okay?”  

Shouto moves without really thinking about it. He tucks away Bakugou’s strange behavior to inspect later, when concern and guilt isn’t curling up in his throat. He grabs Bakugou’s hand, gently pulling it off his face, using his other hand to cup his cheek and tilts his head. He doesn’t see any scarring around the ears. Bakugou turns still before him.

“You weren’t wearing them, were you?” Shouto asks urgently, letting the concern leak through. He gently brushes Bakugou’s ear with his thumb. “Did they malfunction? Shit, Bakugou, I’m sorry.”

Bakugou’s eyes are wide when he looks at him, Shouto is close enough to see the way his eyelashes frame his eyes pleasantly. He has a brief flashback to another time, with Bakugou’s weight solid and warm on top of him, the intent look in his red eyes. Like then, Shouto doesn’t understand the expression on Bakugou’s face; it reminds him a lot of Touya whenever Hawks comes into his lab and ceaselessly touches everything. 

His skin, Shouto notes idly, is soft beneath his hands. It’s at that moment that Shouto realizes he’s still idly stroking his ear. He stops, but doesn’t take his hand away. 

“Are you okay?” Shouto repeats, voice quiet. It’s not as urgent, his tone softened while trying to figure out the look of wonder on Bakugou’s features. The look is replaced with something quieter as Bakugou reaches up, enclosing his hand over Shouto’s wrist. His fingers are rough, but his touch is gentle. Shouto’s pulse skyrockets.

“I am, idiot,” Bakugou mutters, “it’s nothing you did, one of my idiots did it.”

Shouto frowns, stepping away. Bakugou’s hand slides off his wrist but he can still feel it lingering there, “Still, it shouldn’t be destroyed that easily-”

“Fucking-” Bakugou groans, whiping his face with his hand, “that’s not what I-” he cuts himself off.

“Bakugou?”

Bakugou looks at him and oh, he knows that look at least, though he’s not used to having it directed entirely on him. Shouto swallows roughly at the raw challenge in Bakugou’s eyes, like he’s hungry for something and will do whatever it takes to get it.

“Shouto,” a ripple of heat simmers beneath Shouto’s skin at the sound of Bakugou saying his name, breath catching in his chest, “I-”

The hissing sound of the door puffing open interrupts him. Behind him, Album’s soft music stutters to a halt as it gives a small greeting chirp.

“Bitch,” Touya calls out as he waltzes in with his long coat flaring around him dramatically, “cancel everything, we’re going on an adventure.”

“No,” Shouto loves his brother, would do anything for him, but that doesn’t mean he has to trust him and his adventures. Sometimes, it means holding a box of strange fluids for two hours while his brother feverishly rushes around his makeshift lab in the basement of their family home that father doesn’t know about with his wide grin that occasionally tears the stitches on his face. Other times, it means getting stuck in a submarine for a week as impromptu stowaways. 

“I’m busy,” he adds, darting his eyes back towards Bakugou. 

His shoulders, nice and broad and outlined very nicely by his shirt and vest, are hunched. Shouto feels an unusual surge of annoyance towards his brother. He carefully keeps it off his face. It does nothing to stop his brother from immediately catching on. Touya has always been perceptive, especially when it’s about his siblings. At times, it’s a blessing. Shouto can recall the warm touch and tired but cheerful grin when Shouto was younger, his big brother coming to cheer him up before Shouto himself can understand what he’s feeling. He’d guide him with bruised knuckles on how to build and take apart pieces with wide awed eyes. He taught him that he can build amazing things with just spare parts.

This time, it’s undoubtedly a curse. 

“ Busy , huh?” Touya runs his eyes down Bakugou in a way that screams he’s being purely obnoxious and is not actually checking him out, yet Shouto still finds himself frowning at him anyways. Touya flashes him a smirk. “You could do worse, I guess.”

Bakugou bristles, squaring his shoulders in a way that pulls his vest tight around it. Shouto blinks, willing his eyes to move back to where his brother is standing.

“Oi, what the fu-“

“Like you?” Shouto arches a brow, unimpressed while his brother gives him a fake wounded look, putting his hand on his chest with the same exaggeration he used when they were younger that never failed to make little Shouto giggle. 

“Words hurt, Sho.”

“Good.”

Touya snorts, mouthing curling up into a real grin. Touya has many different smiles, but it’s only the genuine ones that makes Shouto involuntarily smile back. 

“Who the fuck are you?” Bakugou isn’t facing Shouto, but he can hear his scowl and glare, can imagine his nose scrunching up in distaste. 

His shoulders do look really nice.

Touya’s grin widens even as he casts Bakugou a dismissive glance before returning his gaze to Shouto.

“Is this the piece of meat Usagi-bitch was talking about?”

“I’M NOT A PIECE A MEAT YOU RUSTED CORKSCREW!”

“Yes,” Shouto says at the same time, then blinks when Bakugou whips his head around to glare at him, “ah, I mean no.”

“Bakugou, this is my brother, Touya. Touya this is my-“ Shouto hesitates. He wants to say friend, but he’s not sure if Bakugou thinks the same way. However, it feels odd just saying he’s his customer, so he ends with a stilted, “Bakugou.”

He doesn’t look in Bakugou’s direction, hoping his brother wouldn’t-

“ Your Bakugou?” Touya walks over to Shouto, mouth curving into a teasing tilt as he nudges his shoulder, “Damn Sho, I didn’t know you were into those kind of thi- urghk.”

“Ignore him,” Shouto tells Bakugou, putting his arm down from when he had elbowed Touya’s side with extreme prejudice. Touya wheezes. Bakugou is flushed angrily. Shouto doesn’t blame him; Bakugou doesn’t seem to be the type who enjoys belonging to someone, like they’re- ah- a piece of meat. “He’s an asshole and doesn’t mean well most of the time.”

“Hey!”

Bakugou snorts, eyeing Touya with disdain. “Yeah, I gathered that much.”

“ Hey!”

“You don’t belong to anyone,” Shouto adds, resisting the urge to fidget with his hands, then frowns, “especially not to me.”

Something flashes in Bakugou’s eyes, too quick to catch. It didn’t look like anything good.

“Yeah,” Bakugou mutters, “I know.”

Shouto tilts his head, fingers clenching against the air at the sudden chill in the room. It leaves a nasty taste in his mouth, and he desperately wants to go back to touching Bakugou’s cheek and have him look at him the way he did, all raw determination and challenge and vibrant. Bakugou doesn’t meet his gaze this time and it hurts a bit, though Shouto can’t exactly explain why. 

For the first time around Bakugou, Shouto isn’t sure of what words he should say. 

Bakugou clicks his tongue loudly, recapturing Shouto’s attention before he can spiral into his own confused thoughts. 

“Whatever,” Bakugou sighs, running his hand through his hair. The look of defeat doesn’t fit right on his face and Shouto wishes he can understand what is happening, wishes he has something among all the spare parts to give and help. People aren’t machines, they’re not gears and steel plates, and they can’t be fixed like one. 

“I can make you another spare by tomorrow?” Shouto offers, hope leaking into his tone, “I’ll make you coffee again.”

Bakugou stares at him. It’s been a few weeks since he last saw that intense, studying look, and Shouto can feel it drag like soft, phantom fingers on his skin. He holds his breath without thought, feeling an unusual sense of nervousness spread throughout his body. It’s surprising how much he doesn't want Bakugou to refuse. He liked it when Bakugou came in the morning last time, dressed in his uniform and his long coat, eyes all sleepy and soft, and he liked drinking coffee with him. Bakugou had scoffed and made fun of his terrible eating habits. 

He clicks his tongue again, looking away, “What’s with that shitty face of yours?”

Shouto startles, reaching up to touch his face. He doubts Bakugou is talking about his scar.

“It’s just my face?”

“You look like a kicked kitten,” Bakugou scoffs. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his pants. His ears are tinged red and Shouto watches the red climb down his neck. “How the fuck am I supposed to say no at that?”

He says it so quietly that Shouto almost doesn’t catch it.

“What do you-”

“I’ll be there,” Bakugou interrupts, turning his head back to glare at him. Shouto is startled at the vehemence in Bakugou’s voice, as if he’s agreeing to kill a man instead. “You better be fucking awake.”

Shouto brightens, a small satisfied smile forming on his face. 

“Good,” he says happily, “I can’t wait.”

“You-” Bakugou splutters, “you’re so fucking weird, I can’t believe I-” He chokes over his own words, eyes widening, a deep flush appearing from his cheeks. The sight makes Shouto's chest warm.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Bakugou,” Shouto provides, biting his lip to press down a smile when Bakugou glares at him. 

“You’re a piece of shit and I hate you,” Bakugou announces and leaves. Shouto isn’t even surprised anymore. He presses his hand to his cheek, they’re awfully warm.

A snort drags his attention back.

“Wow,” Touya’s drawl startles him more than it should. Shouto can feel his cheeks heat up even more under his palm, “that was incredibly painful to watch.”

“Shut up.”

+

Shouto is fully convinced that it’s Touya’s fault. His brother has methods and connections that Shouto will never fully comprehend. Touya probably doesn’t have any intention other than to cause chaos and laugh at Shouto’s pain. 

What else would explain how he ended up standing here at six in the morning, staring at his broken coffee machine? His coffee machine, which he had had since before his shop was finished, is spitting more sparks than steam, and it’s too hot to touch. Shouto is glad he managed to get up early, with two pairs of back up hearing aids enclosed carefully in a box. The thought of the coffee machine breaking down in front of Bakugou makes him pout. 

Shouto glances out of the window in the breakroom. The smog is too low to see much of anything, the streets empty and desolate in the morning. Shouto hates going out in the mornings; the air tastes like steam and smoke, and it’s hot against his skin. 

However, he promised Bakugou coffee. Shouto doesn’t want to disappoint him.

He rubs his eyes sleepily and grabs his mask. He knows the coffee shop down the street opens before the smog clears up, one of the only shops to do so.  Shouto has never been there before; his beloved coffee machine has always provided him all the caffeine he needed. 

“Look after the shop,” he tells Album. 

The gold and red dragon gives a hum, small sparks spitting out of its mouth from the grind of the gears. There was a time when Shouto had been concerned about the sparks, but now he just taps Album’s head fondly. One day, he’ll make it as the manager of the shop. 

He doesn’t lock the door when he leaves. 

Walking down the street in the early morning is a different world. It’s quiet and desolate, with only the distant whirl of the airships above to accompany him. Shouto’s mask allows him to breathe in the air safely, with goggles that help him see. Shouto grew up in a sky city, where the smog doesn’t touch and the air is always clean. He much prefers life down here, with the cluttered, mix match buildings and the heat and the people who don’t stand straight, who don’t look down at Shouto’s grease covered hands with disdain, who don’t politely ask Touya to leave because he was laughing too loud, too freely. 

The air isn’t nearly as clean here, but Shouto finds himself able to breathe far more easily. 

The coffee shop is smashed between a large apartment building and an old bookstore, the door is painted a bright red and surrounded by two large windows. One of the windows has writing on it in big, scrawling handwriting telling the day’s specials. Well, he thinks it might be that, but he can’t really read it. The door gives a musical note when he opens it and it’s immediately followed by a crashing sound.

“Holy shit dude there’s someone here!” A familiar redhead pops out from behind the counter and it’s only then does Shouto remember who the people are that run this coffee shop. Bakugou’s friend gives a bright smile. The coffee shop is made up of dark wood and slate gray, but it brightens considerably under his smile.

“Hey man, welcome to- HOLY SHIT!” Suddenly Bakugou’s friend jerks up, pointing with abundant enthusiasm at him. “IT’S YOU!”

“Me?” Shouto takes off his mask and points at himself, but the redhead is already turning away and running through the door behind the counter. 

“Yo, he’s here!”

“Uh who?”

“You know.. Him!”

Shouto blinks, clutching his mask tightly in confusion. Did he know them? He remembers seeing them through the window one time and they had waved back at him, and he had caught glimpses of them when walking past the coffee shop, but he’s not sure why that would warrant such a reaction. 

Has Bakugou-?

The door bursts open before Shouto can finish his thought of something, he’s not quite sure what, and the pink haired girl who made the strange motion at the window appears with the same bright smile as back then. There’s what Shouto thinks might be chocolate smeared on her face and her apron is covered in flour. Behind her, two more people pop up over her shoulder. Shouto’s skin squirms under the force of all the attention. 

“Hi!” She bounds up and grabs his hand with her own, squeezing it to the point that Shouto has to withhold a wince. “You’re Shouto right? I’m Ashido Mina! Please, call me Mina,” she winks, “or Mine for short.”

“Ah-”

Loud laughter interrupts him as the blonde one throws his arm over Mina’s shoulders and Shouto jerks with the motion. 

“Careful Mins, Bakuman might get jealous.” Shouto furrows his brow at that, but the other is turning to him before he can ask, eyes roaming over him with the same mischievous look he often sees on Hawks. “But holy cream cakes I don’t blame you.”

Shouto isn’t quite sure what is happening, but the black-haired man from before is grabbing them both by the ears and casually twisting them until they yelp. 

“Let’s go finish prepping before Bakugou’s sixth sense awakens and he comes and kills you,” he chides as he cheerfully pulls them away. Shouto exhales a silent sigh of relief as Mina lets go of her grip on him as they are dragged back into the back room.

“Hey!”

“This is harassment! I’m calling the cops!”

“Then I’ll call Jirou.”

“Gasp. You wouldn’t.”

The door slams shut behind them, leaving Shouto wondering if he had hit his head on the way here somehow. He can’t really explain the whirlwind of events that just transpired otherwise. 

Perhaps he should just make tea instead. 

“Sorry about that,” the redhead grins sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head, “guess I shouldn’t have drawn all that attention to you, not very manly at all.” 

“Oh,” Shouto blinks, shifting awkwardly, “that’s okay.”

The other beams, quickly straightening up, “Sweet! I’m Eijirou, the blonde from before is Denki, and Hanta is the responsible one for today. We’re all excited to meet you, Katsu is always- uh.” He clears his throat then laughs nervously. “Anyways, what can I get you?”

“Oh,” Shouto says, again, and he silences the Fuyumi that is chiding him in his head. He glances over at the counter. There are rows of shelves behind it that surround six large tubes that are connected by pipes. They’re nothing like his small coffee machine at the shop. “Um, coffee?”

Eijirou hums to himself as he walks over to the counter, and Shouto awkwardly follows  to sit in front of him. “Coffee is great, man, good choice. What flavor?”

“Flavor?”

“Yeah, you want it strong and bitter or sweet?” He gestures towards the counter. “We got a bit of everything,” he claims proudly, puffing his chest out.

“Sweet?” He wasn’t aware coffee could be sweet; Touya has always taught him how to make it so strong that it makes his veins vibrate, and Fuyumi drinks tea. Thankfully, Eijirou takes it as a confirmation, reaching for a cup. 

“By the way, what brings you here? We’ve been begging Katsu to bring you here for ages.” 

Shouto is surprised by this. It’s a pleasant kind of surprise, a surprise that warms him thoroughly. He can’t tell if it’s because Bakugou talks about him so much that it makes his friends want to meet him or simply because his friends want to meet him. Most likely it’s both. Shouto gives Eijirou a small smile, not noticing how he fumbles with the cup.

“I’m supposed to meet Bakugou today, but my coffee machine broke.” Shouto slumps his shoulders. “I promised him coffee.”

Eijirou stumbles, the thankfully still empty coffee cup slipping out of his hand and tumbling to the ground as he whips his head towards him with wide eyes. 

“Oh. My. God,” a delighted voice pitches in, and Mina appears with a wild look in her eyes. Shouto is pretty sure she managed to get more chocolate on her than before, and he can smell it when she leans in, planting her hands on the counter. “Are you telling me that Bakugou drank coffee with you?”

If Shouto looks closely enough, he can see that she’s vibrating intensely. Behind her, Denki looks seconds before bursting while Hanta has a sly grin on his face, one that makes him feel weary by association. They huddle around her.

“Is that… bad?”

“Are you kidding?” Denki crows, shoving Mina aside. Mina shoves back and the blonde nearly tumbles to the floor, quickly catching himself on the counter, his expression unbreaking. “This is the best thing I ever heard! Baku ha-” Denki yelps, his hand slipping off the counter, and he disappears behind it with nothing but a resounding thud and a pained groan to follow. Shouto blinks in alarm, moving forward slightly as if to catch him. 

“What he means is,” Eijirou proceeds without even looking at where his friend has fallen, “is that, well, Katsu doesn’t normally drink coffee; we were just surprised is all.”

A loud snort can be heard from the floor, followed by another pain groaned at the same time Mina jerks to the side slightly. 

“That doesn’t matter,” Mina seems to decide, leaning forward again with a slow smile. It makes Shouto’s skin itch, not uncomfortably but in a way that makes him extremely aware of himself. “Well, it does and we’ll torment Kat about it for the rest of his days-” Shouto feels somewhat alarmed- “but what really matters is how you two met.”

Shouto has a feeling he won’t be able to get his coffee in time. 

“Bakugou never tells us,” Hanta pipes up, leaning against the counter casually. Unlike the rest, he’s not wearing a smock, and he has suspenders but they’re dangling by his waist instead of over his shoulders. “All we know is that, one day, he came back home and tripped over the steps and busted his nose.”

The image of Bakugou opening the door onto his nose flashes before his eyes and a huff of amusement escapes him. He ducks his head and lets a small smile curl on his face. A familiar and welcoming warmth makes its home in his chest.

“Yes, he tends to do that quite often, doesn’t he?” It’s cute, especially the way his ears turn red afterwards. 

There’s a beat of silence after that, long enough that it makes Shouto look up curiously only to see them all stare at him with stunned looks. Even Denki slowly rises from behind the counter with wide eyes. Shouto shifts in his seat, clutching at his mask tightly. Then it’s Hanta who leans forward, his shocked look shifting into a wide grin and a deeply interested, “ Oh?”

“Forget about the coffee thing being the best thing I ever heard,” Denki whispers, “ this takes the cake.”

“What?” Is Shouto not supposed to know about Bakugou’s clumsiness? It’s fairly obvious, though; he’s not sure what else he’s supposed to see it as. “He ran into my workbench when we first met.”

He can’t help with the fondness in his voice, a soft smile carving its place onto his face. Shouto himself had been fairly dishevelled that day, the aircon had been broken and Doro was being mischievous. He must’ve looked like a mess to Bakugou.

“ He ran into-” Mina chokes back a cackle, slamming her hand against the counter with a scary feverish look. “Please, tell us more.”

Shouto furrows his brow, before tilting his head, “why?”

“Dude,” Eijirou leans forward, eyes bright and similar to that of a puppy, “Katsu rarely ever falls, he’s like, super agile.” He clenches his fist. “It’s manly as hell.”

Shouto hums thoughtfully. While he has seen Bakugou be light on his feet, he’s seen him fumble even more, constantly dropping his wallet with a muttered curse. 

“Then, I wonder how he’s always breaking his hearing aids,” Shouto says; it’s more to himself than to the others, but they hear him. Shouto watches them exchange looks ranging from knowing to something similar to victorious.

“This just keeps getting better and better.” Mina jumps up and down excitedly. “Is someone writing this down? Someone better be writing this down.”

Shouto sends Eijirou a confused look, somehow detecting that he won’t get any answers from the other three.

“Bakugou is always careful about his things, especially his hearing aids,” Eijirou explains, then he wiggles his brow as if trying to convey a secret message. “I accidentally sat on them that one time, but I’m pretty sure he hasn’t broken any since .”

He puts heavy emphasis on the last word, wiggling his brow again. Shouto doesn’t understand; Bakugou has come in multiple times with broken hearing aids. However, he can’t look at the other’s guileless puppy face and think that he’s a liar, so maybe-

Oh.

He understands now. 

Eijirou must’ve seen the understanding dawn on his face because his shoulders slump in relief, his bright smile returning in full force.

“You get it now, huh?”

Shouto nods seriously, and the others exchange glances again. He understands fully now; in retrospect, he thinks he always knew. Shouto hasn’t taken any thought of it before, but it makes sense. 

“Great! Oh wait, coffee! Sorry bro, I’ll get right on that!” He flashes Shouto a thumbs up. Which reminds him.

“Can you make something for Bakugou, too?”

Bakugou is waiting inside for him when he gets back. 

“Oh.”

“What the fuck do you mean oh, who the fuck just leaves their shop unattended and unlocked?” 

Shouto walks over to the front counter while Bakugou rants, placing the coffee on the counter before taking off his mask. He sighs in relief at the cool, filtered air of his shop, running his hand through his hair lazily.

“It wasn’t unattended, I asked Album to look after it,” Shouto points out. 

Bakugou stares at him blankly before he scowls, shooting the said dragon a glare. Album doesn’t move from where it is curled up like a cat on some of Shouto’s paperwork, golden plates shimmering slightly.

“You fucking entrusted your shop to a tin can?” 

Album lifts its head, a low hiss and slight sparks coming out of its mouth before it shifts so that it’s facing the wall. Shouto frowns. 

“You offended it.”

“I fucking-” Bakugou splutters, marching up to him to jab at his chest. It stings a little but Shouto doesn’t move, taking in the sight of Bakugou’s angry face, vivid red eyes narrowed and a light flush on his cheeks. “Do you have any fucking- not even a single ingot of self preservation in-”

He cuts himself off suddenly, eyes straying to the counter. His finger remains pressed against Shouto’s chest, though it goes slack. Shouto follows his gaze, but all he sees is the coffee he got from Bakugou’s friends. He didn’t notice the small drawing of two hearts on the side of his cup until now, one of them blue while the other is orange. The sight of it makes him smile. 

“Oi, where the fuck did you get those?” Bakugou demands, using his other hand to point aggressively at the coffee cups. There’s a slight wavering in his tone, small enough that Shouto can be convinced it was never there in the first place. Shouto tilts his head and Bakugou’s finger pressed against his chest jerks a bit.

“My coffee machine broke,” Shouto explains, “so I went to get coffee at your friends’ shop. They’re nice,” he pauses, before adding, “strange, but nice. I like them.”

“You- I’ll kill them.” He glares at the coffee vehemently and Shouto is surprised the coffee doesn’t melt under it. “They better fucking not have-”

He stills, then whips his head back towards Shouto. The finger on his chest turns into a fist as he presses down it. “ What did you tell them?”

Shouto doesn’t understand at first, but then his conversation with Eijirou rises in his mind. Shouto gently curls his hand over Bakugou’s fist, taking a moment to himself to marvel how smooth Bakugou’s hands are. Despite the evident callouses on the palm side and the few bumps of scars on his knuckles, his hand is incredibly soft. 

“It’s okay,” he says earnestly, “I didn’t tell them.”

Bakugou stiffens, eyes going wide. Shouto expected relief, not gratefulness but perhaps the sight of Bakugou’s shoulders relaxing. He did not expect the panic to flash across his face, before it formed into a much more familiar expression.

“You didn’t tell them what?” Bakugou demands, eyes flashing. “Did you fucking know?” 

“Was I not supposed to?” Shouto asks curiously and Bakugou blanches, whipping his hand away and shoving both in his pockets. Shouto can’t quite identify what his expression reads, but something about it makes uneasiness stir in his stomach.

“Then why the fuck did you keep doing it?”

Shouto frowns, suddenly confused. “Keep doing what?”

Bakugou pauses, the expression quickly being replaced by a puzzled frown. “Why did you- wait, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“What are you talking about?”

Bakugou makes a noise that’s part frustration and part groan, sliding his hand down his face so aggressively that it makes a slapping sound. He clenches his jaw before giving Shouto a level headed glare. 

“Shouto-” He stands up straight at the sound of Bakugou saying his name, ignoring the warm tingle down his spine for the moment. “What exactly did you not tell them?”

“Don’t worry,” Shouto smiles as Bakugou’s eyes narrow, “they still don’t know how secretly clumsy you are.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!?”

Shouto is pretty sure Eijirou knows as well and he had been trying to convey to Shouto back at the coffee shop that the others don’t know. He’s not sure why Bakugou would want to hide that part of him from his friends; it’s really endearing. Technically speaking, Shouto did tell them, but he doesn’t think they believe him. Still, it all makes sense now, how flustered Bakugou looks while fumbling, the way he threatened Shouto not to tell anyone when he ran into the door (or, he supposes, when the door ran into him). 

“You should tell them, though,” Shouto adds, “it’s cute.”

“You- cu- I-” Bakugou trips over his own words frequently, but this is the first time Shouto has seen him speechless, mouth opening and closing. Then, almost mechanically, Shouto watches as Bakugou turns and walks into Shouto’s breakroom.

“Ba-”

The door click shuts behind him. Shouto looks at Album for guidance, but it is still facing the wall. It’s not long after that when Shouto hears a long, drawn out scream that startles not only him, but also Album, who jerks up, tiny wings unfolding as if to ward off an attack. Shouto feels concern pulse down to his fingertips, but the door opens again before he can react.

Bakugou walks out silently and even though he looks angry and even agitated, there’s a strange component of calmness around him. Shouto finds himself frozen to the ground when Bakugou turns to glare at him, eyes lit with the same raw determination he saw last night, right before Touya had walked in. 

“You...” Bakugou walks up to him intently, voice a low growl that causes a sudden bloom of warmth burst from Shouto’s chest, emanating from his cheeks. Shouto’s eyes widen. “...are so fucking stupid. How the fuck are you so smart and be this clueless?”

Well he’s not sure what he expected, but it wasn’t this.

“I-”

“Don’t answer the question,” Bakugou snaps and Shouto’s mouth clicks shut audibly, “Listen to me closely, and make sure that braincell of yours is on. I fucking lied, okay?”

Shouto leans back, startled. “What?”

“I-” Bakugou groans, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I broke my hearing aids on purpose. It was a fucking stupid thing to do, and I’m not fucking proud of it, but there.”

He sticks his chin up and glares. Shouto doesn’t know what is happening.

“What do you mean?”

“What the fuck do you think I mean?” Bakugou shifts on his feet. “I faked it, there’s nothing else to take it as.” He takes a deep breath. Shouto doesn’t like how uneasy he looks, despite the confusion and a trace of hurt he wants to brush away that uneasiness, to take his hand again and rub his thumb across his knuckles. 

“But,” Shouto tugs at his sleeves, “why?”

Bakugou rolls his eyes.

“Because I like you, you idiot.”

The silence that follows is quiet, all other noise shutting down in Shouto’s head so that all he hears is I like you echo over and over. He memorizes the tone, the flow of the words, the sound of Bakugou’s voice- pissed and exasperated. Then, heat floods his face, heart pumping so fast and so suddenly it almost hurts. 

“I- what?”

“I’ve been breaking them so I can see you, you piece of shit, not because im incompetant. I’m perfectly fucking capable of taking care of myself. Unlike you, Mr. Eat Soba Five Times a Day Then Pass Out.”

“That only happened once.”

“What the fu- THAT’S NOT THE POINT!”

“Wait,” Shouto hesitates, “you like me?”

Bakugou swallows, before meeting his gaze evenly.

“Yeah,” he says, quietly, “I like you, a fucking lot actually.”

Oh.

Shouto knows he tends to miss obvious things, but he’s beginning to think that Eijirou was trying to convey an entirely different message to him.

“Bakugou,” Shouto starts; Bakugou stiffens and looks away, but he doesn’t say anything, “the only thing I wished for whenever I saw you is that you come to see me without a reason for it.”

He snaps his head back at Shouto, and Shouto smiles softly at the dumbfounded look on his face. Gently, he reaches up and curls his fingers around Bakugou’s wrist, feeling the race of his pulse beneath his fingertips. 

“I wanted you to be here,” Shouto admits, “with me. I like having you around, Bakugou.” He squeezes Bakugou’s wrist, smiling widely. 

There’s a soft and giddy feeling in his chest and Shouto doesn’t dislike it. In fact, he likes it a lot, just as much as he likes Bakugou. And he really, really likes Bakugou. He likes talking to him, likes watching his expression shift, likes watching the red blush on cheeks and ears. He likes the warmth in his chest when he sees him, thinks about him, makes hearing aids for him. Shouto knows that feelings are a subject that he’s not well versed in, but he can take the spare pieces of what he’s learned and what he feels and build a new creation, just for him and Bakugou. 

“I like you, too.” 

Shouto rubs his thumb over Bakugou’s wrist. Bakugou’s shoulders slump like strings had been cut, and he stares at Shouto with such open awe that Shouto can feel it cut into his lungs, breath stuttering in his chest. 

“Ba-”

“Katsuki.” He turns his palm so that his fingers tangle with Shouto’s. His hands are broader than Shouto’s, and tanner. The sight of Bakugou’s hand pressed against his own awakens something deep and craving inside. “Call me Katsuki.”

“Katsuki.” It tastes sweeter on his tongue than he expected, and Shouto likes sweet things. “Katsuki, Katsuki, Katsuki.”

“Dumbass, dont fucking repeat it.” B- Katsuki flushes, and it might not be in anger or embarrassment, it might never have been in either of those.

“But I like how it sounds.”

“Do you even think before you speak, or does all this bullshit spew out of you naturally?”

“But it’s true.” 

Shouto squeezes his hand. He’s unable to hide the leap of joy in his chest when Katsuki squeezes back. Perhaps Katsuki’s friends were right that he isn’t clumsy, that he’s extremely careful with his hearing aids. It’s befitting for Katsuki if that is true. Maybe Katsuki running into things, dropping things, tripping over his own words is something special, just for Shouto. The thought pleases him greatly. 

“Whatever.” Katsuki clicks his tongue. 

Shouto lets out a small huff of amusement, no longer resisting the urge as he reaches up and pokes at Katsuki’s cheek. It’s soft and squishy, just as he imagined. Katsuki twitches but doesn’t jerk away, narrowing his eyes instead.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Whatever I want,” Shouto replies cheekily, moving his finger until his entire palm is cupping Katsuki’s cheek, fingers curling around the small hairs behind his ear, “as long as you’ll let me.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes as if Shouto couldn’t feel how flushed he is, before reaching up with his free hand to grab at Shouto’s shirt, tugging him down harshly.

“Don’t think you’re the only one who can do what they want, fuckface.” 

Shouto’s nose brushes against his, their breath mingling in the warm air between them. Shouto hums, playfulling nudging Katsuki’s nose with his.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”