Bakugou only wishes he had more time to decide.
Non-heroes sometimes take a gap year, he knows. Go traveling or work a job for a while to get a taste of how things run in the real world. But heroes don't have that luxury. Every year of his youth is precious; he is in his prime, and to take time off would be to shirk his duties. A hero's gap year is measured in unsaved lives.
The unknown rises, shadowy and threatening. Bakugou chooses the known.
"I cannot believe you would come back to my agency after I made my feelings towards you so obvious."
Best Jeanist is less graceful than Bakugou remembers, moving a little more stiffly than someone his age and level of fitness might be expected to move. Bakugou knows why; he is the reason why.
"You, I can tell, have not changed a bit," the man goes on, standing ramrod-straight. Bakugou has grown taller since they last met, but, even so, he is by far the shorter of the two of them. Somehow Best Jeanist seems much taller than he actually is - lanky and thin, his limbs seem to go on and on.
"Just tell me if you're gonna hire me or not," Bakugou says. "Damn old man."
Best Jeanist is not even forty, but he seems the type of person to care about his age, and Bakugou had chosen the barb to sting. But Jeanist does not even react, just stands peering down at Bakugou with a scientist's calculating gaze.
"It was easy enough to tell why you chose to intern with me years ago," he says finally. "But my ranking is barely in the top twenty now. I'm certain you have received better better offers."
Bakugou waits, meeting that gaze without flinching.
"Is this because you feel a sense of obligation?"
"No," Bakugou says, brow furrowed. "'Course not."
"Hm." Jeanist steps forward, making Bakugou crane his neck further up. "Could it be because of how much you enjoyed our time together during your internship?" But there is a singsong lilt to his voice; he is joking, Bakugou realizes.
"Yeah, definitely."
Jeanist huffs out a laugh. "I suppose you're hired," he says. "I do enjoy unraveling a good mystery."
Best Jeanist becomes Hakamata to Bakugou. He knew how it would be to work under him; indeed, it isn't all that different from his interning days. The man is deeply concerned with appearance, and Bakugou feels that obsession shaping him in turn: his combs his hair more neatly, lashes out less (at least in front of civilians), and even makes an effort to speak more quietly and politely. Hakamata is slow to give praise, but Bakugou doesn't mind. It makes what little praise is given feel more sincere.
Bakugou is vaguely aware that the other employees of the agency don't like him. They're nothing but courteous with him, of course, but he sees the way they treat each other, opening up in a way they never do with him. They are polite and distant to Bakugou and that's all, but he decides that's fine; it's more or less what he's used to. It is a result of their fear. Bakugou cannot completely calm his temper, and he knows more than anyone how powerful his Quirk is. He'd probably be afraid of himself, were he in their shoes.
Hakamata spends less time on the beat now, more time in his office. His Quirk is still powerful, his reflexes razor-sharp, but Bakugou knows there's no way to suffer an injury like the one he took without some consequences. He watches over everyone in his agency and creates the schedules himself, constantly arranging and rearranging partners to find the most compatible combination of Quirks.
It's a little disappointing, the way Bakugou doesn't ever actually get to fight with at his side. He's not sure what he was imagining the job there to be like, exactly; he knew the agency was already well-staffed, that Best Jeanist didn't need any personal sidekicks. That he didn't do much actual hero work, either. But Bakugou was still hoping to go on some patrols with him, or at least to train with him. He knows it was a stupid idea to have, but he cannot hide his disappointment, his bitterness at the arrangement.
So when Hakamata calls him into his office to speak with him privately, Bakugou isn't taken completely by surprise.
"I commend your efforts to change your behavior in order to fit the standards of my agency," he begins, and Bakugou feels himself bristling.
"My efforts ? Shitty old man-"
He stops. Hakamata's eyes are crinkling in what might be a smile.
"As I was saying," he goes on, "you have made significant changes to your style in order to fit in here. Yet the initial mystery still goes unanswered: why did you choose this agency, out of all others?"
"Are you still telling me I'm not good enough?"
The man hesitates a moment before answering. "On the contrary, Bakugou, you far exceed my expectations."
That takes Bakugou by surprise.
"In fact, I find myself fearing this agency will not offer you the challenges you are craving."
"You're saying I'm too good?"
"Every day you work here, I see you go against the grain of your own nature," Hakamata says. "I try to see things from your point of view, and find I cannot. What you have to gain from me is nothing you cannot find at a different agency, one that suits you more. So I ask you again: why did you choose this one?"
Bakugou stares up at him, wishing the man would take off his damn hero costume for once and reveal his face. Not that it would necessarily help; Bakugou has the feeling Hakamata would be as inscrutable without it on as he is with. "If you want me to leave, I'll leave," Bakugou finally says. "If you don't care, I'll stay. That's all there is to it."
"Then let me ask one more question: Would you prefer to work at another hero agency provided you still had contact with me?"
For a long moment, Bakugou can only stare. Then he laughs in utter disbelief. "What the fuck does that mean," he mutters, and stomps out of the room.
It's a weird question any way he spins it, and Bakugou really doesn't know what to think. Does the conceited fucker think Bakugou's working at his agency just to, to… to what? To see him? Because that's about all that happens. Hakamata makes Bakugou's schedules, they occasionally chat, and that's more or less it.
It leads to Bakugou asking himself, why am I here?
It isn't his coworkers. It isn't the exclusivity of the place; it's not like the name Best Jeanist inspires the same awe it used to. And it isn't some sense of obligation, as Hakamata suggested that first day. What he sacrificed for Bakugou, Bakugou can never repay - certainly not by working at his agency.
That's when Bakugou decides to give his two weeks' notice.
He writes it in a note and hands it off, watching that half-covered face for some emotion. "I won't say 'I told you so,'" Hakamata says, folding the note up and tucking it in his pocket. "But… I cannot say I didn't see this coming."
Bakugou says nothing. He doesn't know what to expect; around Hakamata, he never does.
"I wish you well," the man says simply, his tone light. "I appreciate you giving notice. Feel free to use me as a reference when finding a new agency."
Bakugou almost thinks that's it, but as he turns to leave he realizes Hakamata is holding something out to him.
"My card," he explains, although that's obvious.
"Why do I need this?"
"Flip it over."
There's something handwritten on the back, Bakugou sees. A phone number. "What's this for?"
"Just in case," Hakamata says, and waves Bakugou away.
He's happy to be gone. He finds a new agency, one where they don't mind his loudness and messy hair - where the image he carves out is his own. He doesn't even need to use Hakamata as a reference: as soon as he makes it known he's back on the market, Bakugou gets plenty of offers.
He keeps the business card without knowing why. He doesn't understand what was being implied - that he had taken the job just to be near the other man? To see him?
But the truth, buried so deeply that it takes Bakugou a long time to realize, is that he does not know why he took the job in the first place.
So maybe Hakamata is right, after all.
He waits a month after leaving the agency to contact him. He didn't intend to do it at all, not really, but the card is sitting on top of his dresser, and he sees it every morning as he dresses. He only needs to see it out of the corner of his eye to be reminded of what it is: normal on one side, then, hidden face-down, the handwritten numbers. Hakamata's personal cell.
In the end Bakugou decides to play it casual and send a text message. He keeps it short and professional, thanking Hakamata for his help ( what help? Bakugou thinks) and telling him the new agency he works at. He sends it at the time the other man would normally be getting off work, but in truth he doesn't expect an answer, not really.
His phone rings a minute or so later. He answers it on the first ring. "Hello?"
"I appreciate the text, Bakugou." That voice, smooth and low, is enough to send shivers down his spine even through the phone line. "I hope you don't mind I prefer to talk on the phone, though. I find it more efficient."
"Well," Bakugou says, a little taken aback, "it's fine. I was just telling you."
There's a chuckle from the other end of the line. Hakamata's voice doesn't sound muffled; Bakugou wonders if he pulls his collar down to speak. He didn't normally do that at the office, not as far as Bakugou had ever seen. "You want to meet up, don't you?" he asks. "Dinner is fine. Not tonight, but any other day this week works for me. What is your schedule like at your new job?"
"What - what are you talking about?" Bakugou sputters. "Meet up? Dinner? Who put these ideas in your head?"
"You reached out to me first, Bakugou. Don't say it was just to tell me about your new job. You know how famous you already are. It's basically common knowledge. You're seeking something else from me, and I just made an educated guess."
Bakugou grits his teeth, but he has no reply. The words have been taken right out of his mouth.
"So, please answer my question. What is your schedule work? Does Friday night work for you?"
"Yes," Bakugou growls, gripping his cell phone so tight it's a wonder the thing hasn't already shattered. "Friday's fine."
"Excellent. There's a new sushi place near me I've been looking to try."
He gives Bakugou the name of the restaurant and a time. After he hangs up, Bakugou can only stare at his phone in confusion. What in the world has he just agreed to? And why?
Bakugou's terribly underdressed, of course. He plans it that way, wearing baggy, unflattering clothing he knows will grate on Hakamata's nerves. He spikes his hair up and gives himself the once-over with a perverse satisfaction; he might be out of high school, but he can still look like a punk.
Hakamata is already there when he arrives, seated at a table tucked in a corner. His back is straight, his eyes downcast, his long-fingered hands paging through the menu. He doesn't even acknowledge Bakugou as he sits down, just turns another page. The silence goes on for so long that Bakugou feels obligated to break it. "Hello," he says, his voice coming out a little louder than he intended.
Hakamata looks up. "Good evening," he says. "Take a look at the menu. I hope you find something to your liking. Having never been here before, I unfortunately cannot recommend anything, but if you have questions I'm sure the waiter will be happy to help you."
"Tch," Bakugou says, "I can pick out my own food without getting help, thanks."
The silence stretches until the waiter comes to take their drink orders. Hakamata orders wine. On a whim, Bakugou decides to get beer. He doesn't drink often, but doesn't want to make himself feel any more like a child by ordering soda or juice.
They order food a few minutes later, and once their menus are taken they have nothing to distract them from each other. Bakugou feels like he's back in school, almost - like this is some kind of final exam he isn't quite prepared for. But he meets Hakamata's eyes defiantly: if this is a test, he isn't about to shy away from it.
"Now, Bakugou," the man says, folding his hands on the table, "what compelled you to contact me?"
"I just wanted to tell you about my new job. That's all." But the words ring hollow as soon as they leave his mouth. Hakamata has already called him out for that lie.
"Yes, that's what you said." Bakugou hears the smile in his voice. "But you and I both know you took that job more than two weeks ago. I wonder, then, why you reached out to me only recently."
Bakugou stares at the tablecloth. He's never felt so small. "I just wanted to say… That question you asked me. I still haven't figured out the answer, myself."
"What question?"
"Like, why I wanted to work with you again."
"You you don't know?"
Bakugou seems to have finally taken him by surprise. "No? It's not because of a feeling of obligation, like you seemed to think… it's not 'cause you're the best hero I could get, because like you keep saying, you're not that high ranked anymore." He may have added that part in to rankle, but Hakamata doesn't even flinch. "So I never really figured it out. And that day you called me into your office to talk to me, it got me thinking. I reallyam better off somewhere else."
"You are," Hakamata says. "But I can tell you why you sought me out to work with me, if you do wish to know. It's the same reason you contacted me the other day. The same reason you and I are sitting here right now."
Bakugou looks at him, trying to figure out how serious he's being, but it's impossible to tell. "Okay. If you know me so well, what's the reason?"
"You took a job at my agency because you confused personal interest with professional compatibility," he says. "I am glad you became wise to it. It's a common mistake to make."
"Huh?"
"That's why I gave you my personal number," Hakamata goes on, his affect flat and matter-of-fact. "We can still interact on a non-professional level."
"I still don't get what you're going on about, old man."
Hakamata tilts his head slightly to one side. "I could tell the entire time we worked together that you are intrigued by me. I don't blame you, of course. It's certainly not the first time it's happened. I just thought it imprudent to bring it up until the strings of employment tying you to me had been cut."
It takes Bakugou a minute to parse, with the strange metaphors and the fancy words, but when he does he has to laugh aloud. "Intrigued by you?" he says. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Bakugou, Bakugou." Hakamata takes hold of his wine glass, but does not drink. Bakugou finds himself staring at that hand. "Please do not deceive yourself into thinking you are any good at hiding your thoughts and feelings. You are an open book."
"My thoughts and feelings?"
"Your attraction."
A silence falls over them after the word is spoken. Bakugou had not been expecting it, had not understood until that moment what Hakamata meant. The urge to deny is strong, of course, but he had denied last time, and he still wasn't sure Hakamata had been wrong then. Bakugou takes a sip of his beer and pretends to savor the taste, in an effort to gather his wits.
"I won't pretend it isn't mutual," Hakamata adds.
Bakugou looks up so fast he nearly cracks his neck.
"Don't act so shocked. You know exactly how physically attractive you are. You know the fans you have because of it."
Bakugou feels himself blushing. He wishes he could give their waiter a negative tip, because it seems like the food is taking ages to arrive. But logically he knows it has only been a few minutes since they ordered; his sense of time is warped by that gaze, those piercing eyes.
"It is why I gave you my number," Hakamata goes on, apparently delighting in torturing Bakugou, in flaying him alive. "It is why I answered your message."
"Because you want…" The words are stuck in Bakugou's throat. He takes another sip of beer.
"Because as you are intrigued by me, I too am intrigued by you. And with mutual interest can come, perhaps, something more."
Hakamata lifts the hand not holding the wine glass and one-handedly unbuckles the belt holding his collar in place. Then he pulls it down past his nose and his mouth, and with the other hand he brings the wine to his lips and drinks. It is the first time Bakugou has ever seen his face completely uncovered, and he is hypnotized.
Even after he finishes drinking Hakamata keeps the collar pulled down around his chin. Now when he meets Bakugou's eyes, Bakugou feels the full force of his look - the icy sternness in his face contrasting with the slight flush of his cheeks. His nose is long and thin, his lips fuller than Bakugou expected. There's a small scar near the corner of his mouth, nearly invisible in the moody restaurant lighting. Bakugou knows he is staring, but he cannot help it. He feels caught, entangled. He wants to look and look forever.
"You're such a child," Hakamata says suddenly, taking his hand away and letting the collar cover his face again. "I don't know why I'm bothering. You really had no idea of your own feelings ?"
I'm not a child, Bakugou wants to say, of course I knew, I knew all along, but he swallows the words down; he knows they'll accomplish the opposite of what he wants. The trouble is, of course, he doesn't really even know what he wants.
"I admit I can be dense," he says, trying to adopt the carefully polite tone he mastered during his time working under Hakamata. It still comes off as a growl, but it's a quiet growl. "And I know I'm younger than you. I probably do seem like a little kid to you." Calling him "old man" so much almost certainly had not helped matters. "But it's not like you can expect me to know exactly what I want when… when you've just pointed it out to me."
Hakamata looks at him for a long moment, then nods once. Bakugou is relieved, although he doesn't know what for. "Tell me about your new job," Hakamata says, his tone shifting abruptly to something more casual. "How is it going?"
Finally finding himself back on more familiar ground, Bakugou can speak without choosing his words so carefully. He doesn't love small talk, but he's gotten good at it, as good as he needs to be in order not to alienate people, so he pulls that skill out now. Work's fine, his boss is fine, he likes his coworkers. And so on and so on. Hakamata nods politely, asking questions sometimes, now and then pulling down his collar to take sips of wine. Bakugou tries not to let himself get distracted every time he sees the other man's face, but it's hard, it's so hard.
Finally their food comes, and they can eat in silence. Afterwards, Hakamata insists on covering the bill.
"It was my idea," he says, "and this place was my choice. You can pick the place next time, if indeed there is a next time."
Bakugou doesn't know if there will be. At that moment, his mind is nearly blank. The entire train ride home he is thinking of that face, trying to recall it perfectly. The picture isn't very clear in his mind - he only had a few seconds to look each time Hakamata took a sip or bite, adding up to maybe a minute total - but Bakugou can recall bits and pieces: the slope of the man's nose, the sharpness of his jaw, and the white line of that scar, just below the corner of his mouth.
Your attraction.
It isn't like Bakugou didn't know he was gay. He's known for years. And it's not like he didn't have at least some inkling that Hakamata wasn't exactly straight; the man, and all of the heroes he employs at his agency, are very nearly walking stereotypes.
But Bakugou's type is - well, he doesn't really know, but it's not this, not usually. Bakugou doesn't know himself as well as he might, but he finds himself looking at other heroes' bodies a lot. Muscles are fascinating, eye-catching; but there is something to be said for slenderness, too, for a body smaller than his own. What is boils down to is that Bakugou isn't picky - yet he's never found himself checking out older men. Why should he, when there are so many closer to his own age who show a lot more skin?
But as soon as the words were spoken - your attraction - Bakugou knew they were true. He is attracted to Hakamata. Everything about Bakugou's own behavior makes more sense when looked at through this lens. He can look back and say, yes, that is why I texted him, that is why I decided to go out with him tonight. It had felt like a test, with the awkwardness and uncertainty, but what Bakugou realizes only now, only afterwards, is that it was a date.
But it was a test, too. And he doesn't know if he passed.
Either way, he has some research to do.
He isn't ashamed to be a virgin at eighteen. He was so focused during his time at U.A. that he scarcely had time to think about things like relationships unless he was forced to, like in some dumb team-building exercise. It wasn't until his time there was nearly over that he talked to others and found out, to his surprise, that his relative solitude, romantically speaking, was not actually the norm amongst his classmates. It was like no one had thought to tell him that he had fallen behind. Had he realized, he might have tried harder, but his friends were good sports about it, only teasing him a little. And it isn't like Bakugou goes around wearing his innocence on his sleeve. Whenever he's asked in interviews about things like relationship status or sexual orientation, he just blows it off. Over time, reporters have mostly just stopped asking him, and that suits him just fine.
Just because he's a virgin doesn't mean he's ignorant about sex, and it certainly doesn't mean he's averse to it. He's curious, but he never made it a high priority. And, he finds that the further he slips into the hero world, the harder it is to start a normal relationship, whatever that might mean. He has less free time, and less anonymity.
The night after his date (?), he runs the conversation with Hakamata through his head over and over and comes to two conclusions.
One: he is intrigued enough by Hakamata's offer to at least consider it.
Two: if he were to take him up on the offer now, Bakugou would make a fool of himself.
He needs to learn. And, if possible, he needs to practice.
Bakugou spends his next day off researching. What he knows about sex he learned from porn, and this, he decides, is not enough. That porn is fake is common knowledge. What Bakugou does is read about what having sex is actually like - everything he can find, from scholarly articles to random people's blog posts. Manual, oral, anal, everything he might someday experience.
Then, on the eve of his next day off, he goes out.
He takes his best stab at anonymity, wearing plain, everyday clothes and even buying wash-out hair dye. It looks a little odd under the severe light of his bathroom, but it should be fine for a dim club. He can't guarantee no one will recognize him, of course, but it seems unlikely - he's pretty sure his hero outfit is what people notice when they see him normally, not his face.
He heads to a club. A gay club, of course. It's no use messing around anywhere else, not when he knows what he's looking for. It's like a whole different world - past the entrance there is only murky, smoky darkness, broken now and then by harsh flashing lights, and everywhere, constantly, the thrum of the bass, so loud he can feel it in his core.
And men. Beautiful men, made more beautiful by the way he cannot quite make out their features in the dimness. Muscular, slender, young, middle-aged, visibly-Quirked and not, with every combination of features he can imagine. It intimidates him, because he doesn't know where to start; they are all so close, no one left out - how can he join that? For a minute he stands at the edge of the crowd, just watching, and then he musters his courage and joins, and suddenly he is dancing, too.
He dances for a long time. If someone were to have asked him before then if he could dance, he probably would have said no, but with everyone around him, with the lights low and the music booming, he finds he can; he's a natural at it, or his defenses are low enough for him to not care about how bad he is. It doesn't matter. He dances, and others dance with him, and he realizes that his walls have fallen; he's having fun.
After some time he becomes aware that someone is dancing with him in particular, trying to pull him away from the rest of the group. It's a young man, probably not much older than Bakugou himself (though it's hard to tell); Bakugou he can make out is that the man's a little shorter than he is, much less muscular, and has some kind of animal's ears on his head. A fox, Bakugou thinks, or maybe a wolf. The man's a great dancer, to the point where it almost makes Bakugou's self-consciousness come back from comparing them, but the man grabs Bakugou and presses their bodies together, grinning, too touchy and excited to let his partner get shy.
After a while of dancing with Bakugou alone, the man puts his mouth near Bakugou's ear and says, "Want to find someplace quieter?" In normal circumstances, it would have been a whisper, but he has to shout to be heard over the music. Bakugou doesn't even bother answering with words, just nods, and the man grabs his hand and leads him away. Bakugou thinks: he has done this before, and the thought fills him with both nervousness and comfort, because at least one of them will know what they're doing.
The man leads him to an even dimmer hallway that contains the bathrooms. People pass them by now and then, paying them no mind. "Hey, cutie," the man says to Bakugou, pinning him against the wall. The man's slight, and his touch is gentle; Bakugou could easily get away if he wanted to. But he doesn't want to.
"Hey," Bakugou echoes, gruff, realizing he's horribly out of his depth.
"I haven't seen you around here before."
Cliche, this is cliche, Bakugou's mind screams, but it's not like he's doing any better, himself; he's staring at the man blankly, his mind scrabbling for something to say in response. The stranger laughs a little. "Strong, silent type, huh?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"You're my type," the man says. "Am I yours?"
Bakugou nods. The man leans forward slowly and kisses him. Bakugou can taste beer, but somehow it's not as nauseating as he might have expected it to be, to sample this guy's drink secondhand. It's mixed with the heady, musky taste of the man's own scent. Bakugou knows he's clumsy, but he follows along, letting the stranger lead the way. The man's hands are on his body, and Bakugou's moaning; it all feels very distant and dreamlike, especially since he hasn't gotten a good look at the other man's face yet.
"I wanna treat you right," the man says. It's quieter there in the hallway, and they can actually whisper; the man's breath tickles Bakugou's ear, making him shiver. "Come back to my place?"
"Sure."
He lets the man lead him out of the club. Once they get out onto the street, the man begins to talk, his voice lilting and musical. Bakugou can't tell if it's an act or if that's how he actually talks, and he doesn't care - he can hardly do more than listen. "I'd normally ask, 'Your place or mine?' except for how close I live," the guy's saying, speaking over his shoulder as he leads Bakugou down the street. "It's literally impossible for you to live any closer than me. Hope you don't mind cats."
"No, they're fine."
The cat's asleep on the couch, and barely opens its eyes when they walk in. Bakugou wonders how many times the guy's done this before, how many strangers this cat's seen. "Sorry if it's a little messy," the man says, but it's not, not really; there are a handful of unwashed dishes in the sink, a few books lying around, but certainly not anything Bakugou would apologize for.
In the light now Bakugou can see the man's ears are almost certainly that of a fox. They stick up above his head, red-gold and black-tipped, with very fluffy, fine hairs on the inside. The man's hair is the same orangey color as a fox's fur, too. He sees Bakugou eyeing his ears - Bakugou wonders if it's strange to be sizing this man up so blatantly, but the stranger doesn't seem bothered by it. "I have human ones too," he says, pulling his hair back to reveal that yes, he actually has two sets of ears. He laughs, and Bakugou laughs too, and a second later they're kissing again, the man's arms around Bakugou's neck, their chests pressed together.
Somehow they end up in the bedroom. Bakugou has only a second to think of how surreal it is to be in a stranger's bed before he's pushed towards it. The man's touch isn't rough, but Bakugou is surprised and thrown off balance enough that he falls. The man straddles him, still fully clothed, and they keep kissing, Bakugou running his hands up and down his body, daring to slip them beneath the man's shirt and feel the smoothness of bare skin beneath.
They break apart with a wet noise. Bakugou's turned on, and he can tell that the other man is, too. But mingled with his arousal is something else, something he can't name as easily. It's nervousness, but also the sense something is wrong - unease, even distaste.
The other man seems to sense it. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" he asks, putting his hand gently on the side of Bakugou's face. Bakugou doesn't even know this guy's name. He's attractive, he's a great kisser, he's got a good body, but Bakugou still cannot get over the strangeness of the situation. He's in someone else's bed. He's just had his first kiss with a complete stranger, and that stranger probably expects to have sex with him. How can he trust me so easily? Bakugou wonders. He could be anyone - he could be a villain, or just a regular jackass with bad intentions… How can this man just let him in without a care?
"I'll be right back," the man says, stepping off the bed and leaving the room. Bakugou knows he's very, very close to ruining the mood - but then again, so what if he does? He's never seen this man before, he'll never see him again. Who gives a shit if he's not a good lay, or if they don't have sex at all? He certainly isn't going to be kept up at night about it.
The man comes back a minute later, and this time he flicks the overhead light on. Before, the only light in the room came from a small lamp, but now, for the first time, they get a good look at each other. "That's what I thought," the man says, walking closer. "You're really young, aren't you? I didn't notice it before, with those muscles. Were you even allowed to be at that club, or did you sneak in?"
"I'm not a child," Bakugou says, instantly on guard. "I did not sneak in." He hesitates, decides to come clean. "But this is my first time doing something like this."
The man nods. He isn't old, himself - almost certainly under thirty - but that eight or ten years between them might as well be an uncrossable ocean. "Look, I don't really want to do this if you're going to make me feel bad about it," the man says. He rubs behind one of his fox ears. "You're, like, practically wincing away from me. It's not really a good look."
"I'm sorry."
"Just maybe don't go in there grinding on people if you don't want to actually take it further, you know?"
"I said I'm sorry," Bakugou growls, leaping to his feet.
The man laughs with surprise and holds up his hands, palms out. "Calm down," he says. "I'm going back out. You should go home. Your parents are probably worried about you. Go do your homework. Find a nice boy your own age."
"Shut the fuck up," Bakugou says. He passes roughly by the man and goes to the front door, jamming his feet into his shoes without even bothering to tie them. He slams the door on the way out, knowing he's not exactly making himself look any better, and not caring in the slightest.
He goes straight home, feeling like the gum stuck to the bottom of someone's shoe.
Bakugou spends a few days thinking about it, running the night through his head. What had made it go wrong? Because it wasn't like the other man had imagined something that wasn't there; Bakugou very clearly had not been into it. If the stranger had ignored that and kept going, they probably would have had sex anyways, because to bring that up would have made Bakugou feel even more childish - yet he was glad they hadn't.
Maybe sex with strangers just isn't for him. That's not so weird, he thinks. In fact, isn't sleeping with people whose names you don't know weirder? Anyways, clearly going back to a club and picking up a different stranger is not the way to go. It wasn't this particular stranger that was wrong, it was the whole act of it. So Bakugou nixes that idea.
The next thing to try, then, is sex with someone he knows. He decides to call up the one definitely gay person he wholeheartedly trusts: Kirishima.
Bakugou probably could have dated Kirishima back at U.A., if he had wanted it. In truth, he knew himself just well enough to understand that dating and school simultaneously would be overwhelming, and he stayed away from the idea. But there was always something between them - a mutual physical attraction, looks shared, little innuendoes, a lighthearted back-and-forth.
Bakugou plans out what he's going to say beforehand. When Kirishima arrives, they sit down on Bakugou's couch, and Bakugou pulls that speech up in his mind, staring at the wall because he knows if they make eye contact he'll choke and that'll be the end of it. "Kirishima, I want you to take my virginity," he says.
Kirishima coughs. "I thought you had called me over to catch up or something," he says, running a hand through his still stupidly spiky hair. "I wasn't expecting that! Hahaha!"
"I'm serious, damn it," Bakugou says, feeling himself blushing. "Will you do that or not!"
He glances over. Kirishima's mouth is open, his eyes wide. "Dude. What?"
"You knew I was gay," Bakugou says, "so this shouldn't come as a surprise to you."
"Uh, well, it does anyways. Where did this come from? What brought this on? We haven't even talked in like two months and then out of the blue you call me up to ask me to do this like it's no big deal?"
"Yeah," Bakugou says, although he's quickly losing steam. When you phrase it like that, it does sound a little weird, doesn't it? "Yeah, that's right."
"Dude. You gotta tell me what brought this on."
"I don't have to tell you anything!"
"You called me out here to do a favor, and now you're getting all snippy with me," Kirishima says, crossing his arms. "If you expect anything from me, you owe me an explanation."
For the first time, Bakugou looks at Kirishima, really looks at him. It has been a while. For all he knows, Kirishima could be dating someone else - Bakugou hadn't even thought to ask before getting down to business. "I'm sorry," he says. "I - I just…" He sighs.
"It's okay." Kirishima's harsh tone is gone. He could never hold onto bad feelings for long, Bakugou knows. "But what brought this on?"
"I'm realizing how much of a fucking virgin I am," Bakugou says. "It's embarrassing."
"So it's not about sex, per se, it's about, like… getting the life experience?"
"Yeah, I guess so."
"What made you suddenly decide you need it?"
Bakugou sighs and covers his face with his hands. It's easier to talk if he's pretending he's talking to himself. "There's someone I want," he says, pausing between each word because it's damn hard to say. "And I think he's into me too. But I don't want him to know I've never actually done anything with anyone before."
"Ohhh," Kirishima says, and Bakugou cringes, because he can hear the smile, the pity in Kirishima's voice. "I see. That makes sense. Bakugou, you should be honest with him. If he really is into you, he shouldn't mind! We all start somewhere. And I'm sure he would like to be your first!"
"You don't get it," Bakugou says flatly. He tries to imagine Hakamata's reaction to finding out he's a virgin: rolled eyes, maybe; a huff of laughter; a smirk he can only make out from the narrowing of his eyes. I knew it. You're so young. "I don't think that would be his reaction at all."
Kirishima looks puzzled. "Why not?"
"Because not everyone reacts like you," Bakugou says, trying to hold back the bite in his voice. But now that he knows the situation, Kirishima knows he's got the upper hand. When Bakugou sneaks a glimpse of him through his fingers, he's still smiling.
"If he mocks you, maybe he's not someone you want to be with anyways," Kirishima says. He puts a hand gently on Bakugou's forearm. "Bakugou, I don't think I can sleep with you."
"Okay."
"You see, I'm dating Ashido."
"What?!"
"Just kidding!" Kirishima play-punches him. "Fooled you, didn't I?"
"What the fuck? Of course you didn't," Bakugou says, although maybe he had, for half a second.
"But I seriously don't think I should sleep with you," Kirishima says. "It would be a huge turnoff to be with someone and know they're thinking about someone else the whole time."
Bakugou considers that, then nods. It does seem to make sense. Maybe that was what had spoiled his first attempt. "Alright. But - don't tell anyone, okay?"
"Of course not!" He leans in closer, his smile toothy and bright. "But will you tell me who it is?"
"No!"
"Is it someone I know?"
"Not saying."
"Is it...a coworker?"
"Stop fucking guessing, asshole," Bakugou says. "I was going to make dinner, but if you don't shut up about this I'm going to kick you out."
"Alright, alright, I'll be quiet!" Kirishima says, laughing and throwing his hands up as if in defeat.
So that's another plan ruined. Bakugou lays awake that night, thinking the advice he'd received that day. Of course, Kirishima hadn't known the entire situation when he'd given it, but maybe Bakugou can find a way to apply it anyways.
He realizes that he's learned a few things from all this fumbling around: he cannot lie, he cannot hide his own inexperience, and he certainly cannot hide his motives - not from a stranger, not from his best friend, certainly not from Hakamata. So maybe the best thing to do - the honorable thing to do, the thing that would allow him to proceed with as much dignity as possible - is to be upfront about it. To get it all out there, even if it's hard to say.
He calls Hakamata up. "Bakugou?" The man sounds faintly surprised.
"Will you go out to dinner with me?" Bakugou asks. "There's a restaurant near my apartment I'd like to try."
A pause. "When?"
"I'm free this entire weekend."
"How does Friday sound?"
"Friday works fine for me." Bakugou pretends he's working at the agency, talking to his supervisor. It helps him keep his voice steady. "Six o'clock okay?"
They agree to meet at the subway station. Bakugou dresses in more or less his normal style, just a little nicer. He leaves his hair messy, but wears pants that fit a little better than his usual.
Hakamata stands out as he steps off the train. He would stand out even if he wasn't wearing his strange outfit, Bakugou knows: he's about a million feet tall, and looks even taller because of his excellent posture and his thinness. But with the outfit, he doesn't just stand out - he's recognizable. Bakugou wonders if it's hard, going out in public and having absolute strangers know everything about you. He wonders if he will know what it's like in time, too.
Hakamata standsd beside him. "Good evening," he says, ignoring a group of people trying to surreptitiously take pictures of him. "I'm excited to see what restaurant you have in mind."
Bakugou realizes a little belatedly that of course meeting in public like this will attract attention, maybe even fuel rumors. He could kick himself - there's always something he forgets to think about. Hell, he doesn't even know if Hakamata normally takes the train, or if he has a private chauffeur or something, and Bakugou forced him out of his comfort zone just for this.
He takes a deep breath. "Follow me," he says.
Luckily none of the fans at the train station follow them. When they get to the restaurant, they stop, and Hakamata looks up at the sign.
"Burgers?"
"Hope you like them," Bakugou says.
"I do, actually."
If the date at the sushi restaurant was surreal, this is even more so. Hakamata seems otherworldly in the kitsch of the restaurant. They get a booth and sit in the back, the silence broken by the loud conversations of the other patrons and the American pop music playing over the speakers. They don't serve wine here, so Hakamata orders a beer. Bakugou gets soda.
"I wanna be upfront with you," Bakugou says, as soon as they've ordered their drinks and food.
"About what?"
"I think you're a really interesting person," Bakugou says. He wishes he had something to distract him, something he could tear up or hold in his hands, but there's nothing to take his attention away from the other man; he feels very exposed. "I think you're a - a wonderful hero, and you were a great boss. And you're right. I am attracted to you."
On the last sentence his voice drops very low. Hakamata is watching him intently.
"But I keep trying to think of why you would want anything to do with me outside of work, and I just can't understand," he goes on. "Like how you kept trying to figure out why I took the job at your agency. It's the same thing with me. I don't see what it's in it for you."
"So you are rejecting me because of-"
"No, listen," Bakugou says. He clears his throat. "I'm not rejecting you. I want to tell you everything."
Hakamata is still.
"I'm a virgin," Bakugou says. "I've never dated anyone. I've only ever kissed one person in my life." He does not mention how recently it was, or the circumstances it was under. Another time, maybe. "You have so much up on me, as a hero and as a person. It's a little daunting. But if you do actually want me, after all that… I - I'd be willing to give it a shot."
Hakamata blinks. Then, slowly, he undoes his face-belt and pulls down his collar. "I appreciate your honesty," he says. His voice is quiet, his expression very serious. "I will reward it with honesty in turn. Bakugou, I am fully aware that we may be incompatible because of all the things you just listed. We are in very different places in our lives. But if there is a sense of mutual attraction and, more importantly, mutual respect, I see no harm in, as you put it, giving it a shot, and seeing what happens."
Bakugou thinks he's done and opens his mouth to say something, but Hakamata holds up the hand not on his collar, halting him. "Let me say one more thing."
Bakugou shuts his mouth, nods.
"I understand your insecurity very well, because it is mutual." Hakamata pauses, looking down at the tacky pattern on the plastic tabletop. "I am not the hero I was even just three years ago. You are in your prime - a rising star. Do you think, when people look at us, I won't seem…"
Bakugou is flabbergasted. Of all the responses he could have received, he did not expect this. "I'm not gonna lie and say people won't say weird things," he says, speaking slowly, gathering his thoughts. "But they're going to, no matter what. We're heroes. They're going to gossip."
"No need to tell that to me," Hakamata says, but he smiles. It's the first time Bakugou has actually seen it. He has deep lines on either side of his mouth, like parentheses, and Bakugou notices that little white scar again. "Bakugou, can you tell me what you want? From me, from us?"
"Anything," Bakugou says, then stops. He shakes his head. "No. I shouldn't say that. I want to take it slow."
"Very well."
"I don't want - meaningless sex. I don't think I would enjoy that."
Hakamata smiles. "Nor I."
"I want to keep it secret for a bit, if possible," he goes on, "although I know that might not be possible, with the press and shit. I've never. You know." He makes a vague waving motion with one hand. "This is all new to me. I want to take it slow."
You already said that! his mind says, but Hakamata doesn't call him out on it. He nods.
Their food arrives. But Bakugou sets his aside, even though the smell tempts him. "Is that - is that okay?" he says, wanting to finish this conversation even more than he wants the burger in front of him. "Like, do you actually want this?" Do you want me, he truly means, but that kind of question could cut him right open; what if the answer's no?
"I think we could try."
"Yeah," Bakugou says. "Yeah." He isn't quite sure why he says it twice like that. He pops a fry into his mouth. It's fucking weird, that's what this is, his brain says. They will look ridiculous. People will look at Hakamata and say: what is he thinking, dating a kid like that? He's - he's -
But these kinds of thoughts are mutual, Bakugou reminds himself. Hakamata is feeling the same way. He even said so. As hard as it is to believe, Bakugou does believe him. He cannot see himself as anything but the lesser of the two of them, cannot imagine a world where Hakamata might count himself lucky to date Bakugou, but nor would Hakamata lie, so this must just be something Bakugou does not understand. That makes him irritable - another reminder of the smallness of his experiences.
He shakes his head as if to knock the negative thoughts loose and digs into his burger. After they eat, they make small talk; little by little, being with Hakamata begins to feel less strange. He shares stories of his agency's newest hire, and Bakugou talks about his own job, about his schedule and his coworkers. All they talk about is work, but that's fine - that's what brought them together in the first place, after all. It's common ground - the only common ground they have, so far.
Bakugou decides to take them back to his apartment. The thought is a little terrifying; he can imagine Hakamata standing in his living room, clicking his tongue disapprovingly at the decorations. But Bakugou tries to keep Kirishima's words in mind: If he mocks you, maybe he's not someone you want to be with anyways. It isn't always as easy as Kirishima likes to pretend, but it isn't always as complicated as Bakugou's mind tells him it is, either.
Bakugou know he lives like a bachelor. His apartment is sparse, his decorations minimal. He's done away with the posters of other heroes on his walls that he had when he was younger; it's fine when they're your idols, but weird when they're your colleagues. But his place is neat, at least - he made sure of that beforehand. He knew there was at least a chance of him taking Hakamata back here, so he spent time making sure all of the dishes were washed, the laundry put away, every book slipped neatly back into place on the shelves. It may be spartan, but it isn't embarrassing. He doesn't apologize.
Hakamata takes a quick look around - Bakugou gets a sense that he's getting the layout of it more than judging. Then he reaches his hands up to unbuckle and unbutton his jacket, slipping it down off his shoulders and standing before Bakugou without it for the first time.
His neck is long, his shoulders broad, his face handsome and lightly lined; overall the impression is one of almost inhuman elegance and poise. Bakugou finds himself looking at Hakamata in awe - the man is beautiful, utterly beautiful, in a way unlike anyone else he's ever met.
After a moment Bakugou remembers himself. "Let me take your jacket," he says, and hangs it up. Then they are staring at each other, and Bakugou feels the same thrill he did during their first date - uncertainty, curiosity, nerves.
"You said you wish this to move slowly," Hakamata says. "I'm not sure what that entails." He pauses. "Is physical contact fine?"
"Yes," Bakugou says, hearing his wanting in his voice. He steps forward and leans up, Hakamata leans down, and they are kissing. It is different, kissing someone so much taller than himself; he feels surrounded, enfolded. Hakamata's long arms come down to rest on each of his shoulders, the touch light. Hakamata isn't as confident a kisser as the stranger from the club, Bakugou thinks. It's strange to see him do something without his customary sureness.
They pull apart. "Look," Bakugou says, forcing himself to meet Hakamata's eyes without flinching away. "Tell me you actually want this. Me. Tell me you like me." The word "like" seems so childish, but Bakugou feels like he needs to get this out into the open, so he doesn't let himself pause and reword it. "Not because I'm young, or a rising star or anything like that, but because of who I am."
Hakamata peers down at him, and Bakugou nearly says No, never mind, but he meets the gaze and waits for his answer.
"I do want you, Bakugou," Hakamata says at last. "I admire your stubbornness. I find you interesting. I wish to know you better."
Bakugou nods. It's no love confession, but he wasn't expecting one. And it's refreshing, knowing however tangled their beginnings were, at least now they are on equal ground. Mutual attraction and respect, as Hakamata had said earlier that evening, is a good place to start.
"Same for me. Let's give this a shot," Bakugou says, and leans up to kiss him again.
Author's Note: I'm not 100% happy with this, but mostly I just wanted to finish it. I keep starting things and having them take on a life of their own...
It's possible I may write more with these two, I guess? I honestly don't know. I don't remember how the idea for this occurred to me, but I discovered it's an extremely rare rarepair, considering they have a few funny scenes together in canon. Then after writing it I realized why no one really writes this pairing... there's such a strange dynamic, they're such opposites and at such different stages of life, it's HARD to make it seem like it would work. So hopefully I did it justice, in the end.
(Title taken from "Scar" by Missy Higgins.)