The ministrations of mid-winter brought chilling winds and shortened days. The trees, stripped of the orange and yellow of their autumnal plumage stood bare, their dark branches chattering in the breeze. Though it wasn't properly evening yet, already the shadows stretched long across the pavement, spindly limbs grasping for the fleeting light.

At the very least, the snow had yet to fall in full force, and, for that, Bakugou was thankful. Snow sucked. It was cold and wet and, when it piled up too high, made moving around a pain in the ass. Still, enough had covered the ground to the point where each step left clear, defined prints. Hundreds of tracks, layered upon each other by hundreds of feet, all leading along the same path—like a preset route he was forced to follow.

Not that he needed it. He knew this road with a painful intimacy. He trudged down the usual way, saw the usual sights and ignored the usual sheep hawking their wares and bleating for his attention. It was the same, mundane urbanity, day in, day out.

Amidst the familiar, however, something starkly out of place winked blithely at him.

As they had been every day for the last week, his eyes were drawn to the gaudy, neon signage of a small establishment. Drinks, was all it read, oscillating its pink and green enticements, its stylized rendition of a martini glass tipping to and fro.

It was a new addition. He had passed the shop every day for as long as he could remember, and only recently had it adopted the garish, loud lights that were more at home in the inner-city. The place seemed to have come under new management, though the owner was clearly an idiot.

He snorted, then turned to continue on his way, but an itch had developed beneath his skin. Some sort of manic, frenetic energy tugged at him, insisting he do something, anything, to break the monotony. He thought about what awaited him at home. The usual house, the usual family and the usual fights. Just the usual.

Fuck it.

The door jingled as it swung open, though the sound was easily drowned out by the low drone of conversation and the subdued melodies sifting throughout the shop. The sun had only just begun to dip below the horizon, yet there was already enough of a crowd that Bakugou had to weave through the growing throng to reach the bar. Thankfully, the lighting had been dimmed enough that no one questioned his age.

Picking a stool at random, he took his seat. A woman was working behind the counter, her back turned to him while she gave the glassware a perfunctory scrub in the small kitchenette.

"Hey," he grunted. No response. She continued to work as if she hadn't heard him. "Hey," he said again, louder, the telltale traces of a familiar growl straining his tone. She turned.

"Gimme something to drink."

Drying her hands off on a rag, she turned fully to face him, her eyes giving him a quick once-over. She brushed a stray, raven lock behind her ear, lips tightening.

"Dear customer, I'm afraid we don't serve minors after—"

"Huh?" he interrupted, his tone rising. "Just shut up and get me a drink."

She stared blankly for a moment, before inclining her head slightly. A ghost of a smile danced across her face and she flitted away, a jaunty, "right away, sir," on her lips.

Within moments she deposited a bright red, bubbling concoction in front of him, then backed away, a mischievous glint flashing in emerald eyes. Bakugou grabbed the glass and took a large gulp.

Immediately, he choked, coughing violently as a cloying, bitter spiciness stung at his throat. Pinpricks of tears welled up in the corners of his eyes and he slammed the glass onto the counter, splashing some of its contents onto the weathered wood. Some of the potent mixture had spilled down the wrong tube, and he hacked sharply, trying to expel the burn from his windpipe.

"The fuck is that?" he croaked between coughs, struggling to catch his breath.

The waitress giggled, her professional facade abandoned for the moment. "Musutafun Pepper Bomb," she said. "Minus the alcohol."

"Fuck you, that's just pepper water."

"I put in some sweetener, too. Call it my own recipe." She reached for the glass, a mocking smirk on her face. "Too strong for you?"

His temper flared, and he knocked her hand away. "Piss off."

Tipping his head back, he poured the rest of the drink down his gullet. It wasn't as bad the second time around, now that he knew what to expect. Spicy, but with a hint of citrus, and an odd, sweet aftertaste that lingered on the back of his tongue. He downed the contents and, within moments, an empty glass was slammed back onto the counter. He returned her look with a challenging glare of his own.

"Ooh." She clapped her hands, a teasing twinkle in her eye.

"Another," he rasped, shoving the glass back. Some stupid drink wasn't about to beat him.

She caught it deftly, depositing it into the sink, then placed another in front of him.

He blinked. "The hell is this?"

"Water, but if you'd prefer a soda or juice, I can get you that too."

"You fucking with me?"

For the first time, her smile drooped, and she adopted a puzzled expression. "You actually want another one?'

"Quit asking stupid questions and just get me my damn drink."

She stared at him for a moment, then burst into a fit of laughter.

Bakugou stared—it wasn't often people laughed at him, especially not to his face. The confusion swiftly shifted to irritation when it became clear that she wasn't about to calm down any time soon.

"Stop laughing, dammit!"

"Sorry, sorry," she said, wiping a tear from her eye, a stray chuckle occasionally escaping her throat. "Look, there's not really much we can serve a minor here, and the evening crowd is starting to pick up."

She gestured to the door, where a group of young men, clearly already several drinks into the night, had just entered, chattering loudly.

"We're a cafe during the day. Come by then and I'll fix you something better. My treat."

He glared at her, then grunted dismissively. Gathering his belongings, he stalked over to the wood-paned door, and shoved it open with a jingle.

The waitress watched him go, an amused smile still tugging at her lips.

"A friend of yours, ma'am?" one of her employees asked.

She hummed in contemplation. "Nope, sure doesn't seem like it!" she answered cheerily.

"Then why…?"

"Who knows, maybe I just like messing with scruffy blondes."


Just something my dumb brain drummed up while it was failing to come up with something for my longfic. It's on the shorter end, planning for it to be around three or four chapters.