a/n: this is actually a fic i had 7 chapters of on ao3, but I've decided to rewrite the whole thing. this is the new chapter 1! I'll be cross-posting the rewrite on here.

"Come on, Eijiro, you can do this…it's just a celebrity chef's restaurant, no big deal!"

The drive to Blue is almost insufferable. Kirishima spent all morning digging out old kitchen pants and shoes, fussing with his hair until the bun was just right, and reciting his introduction to Tsunaga Hakamata, a famous chef, while he practiced his handshake to the air. It's been a long morning and it might be a long day.

Kirishima groans, slumping in his seat at a red light. "Aw, who am I kidding? I'm totally in over my head! I don't have any business being there! Renowned restaurant plus me isn't gonna work out…"

For the past two years Kirishima had taken a break from the culinary industry. He felt back then it wasn't meant to be. He'd also spent those two years watching the food channel on basic cable, listening to culinary podcasts, picking up every issue of his favorite cooking magazines, reading food and industry blogs, following chefs' social medias and he couldn't deny where his heart lied anymore. He wanted to be part of that world again.

So he applied to Blue.

"Hope the hiring guy isn't there...dude sounds like an ass," Kirishima mutters to himself. The response to his reply to the online ad was rude, but "rude" was being nice. He had received an email littered with capslock and f-bombs that could've been summed up to "yes, come in to stage" and that would've been it. It wasn't even signed!

The only other person Kirishima knows should be there is the second executive chef. He had been in his fair share of kitchens and each one had only one executive chef; he didn't know what a small place like Blue would be doing with two.

Katsuki Bakugou wasn't exactly an unfamiliar name-he'd definitely seen it next to Hakamata's a few times in magazines. Sometimes his precisely chaotic plating would be pictured alongside Hakamata's carefully constructed plating and Kirishima had to admit he found himself more interested in Bakugou's lack of subtlety. He was sure Bakugou would be an interesting person, maybe someone super cool and exciting but low-key at the same time.

Unfortunately that he and Bakugou are about the same age and Bakugou has clearly done more with his approximate 30 years of life than Kirishima could dream of gives him a bit of a complex. Working alongside Hakamata, getting his work in a magazine? Incredible. Unlike him-

"Welp, there it is," Kirishima breathes as he pulls into the side road along Blue's perimeter, "good job on picking the least intimidating restaurant, Eijiro."

He parks in the small lot behind Blue he assumes is for employees only; it's where he was told to go so he shouldn't get towed or anything. Hopefully. He can't afford to pay to get his car back if it did.

"It's gonna be fine, the worst that can happen is it doesn't work out and I just have to look again," Kirishima says as he smacks his cheeks, "it's fine, it's fine."

Kirishima psyches himself up enough to get out of his car, not forget his keys, and then...linger. He takes note of the three cars in the lot: one painted purple with the dashboard full of little alien toys and a flying saucer hanging from the rear view mirror, another car that's white with one rear light being held on by large strips of clear tape, and finally...well, it was a piece of work. It evoked "anger" in a way Kirishima didn't think a car could do; it was an old dark green model with the back taken over by stickers-he spots some bands he recognizes, a few die-cut grenades, multiple instances of "fuck" including one that straight up says "FUCK OFF", and some recurring theme of drummer pride. Maybe they're in a band.

"What a...neat person," Kirishima mutters. He bets it's the hiring guy; of course he'd be in on Kirishima's stage day, of course. "Guess Hakamata's not here yet…"

The dock has three steps going up to it and what looks like freezers and extra storage tucked into the corner. Kirishima hasn't seen that before and figures there's not a downstairs floor. But all the theorizing in the world can't put off the inevitable-Kirishima has to go through the door. He takes a deep breath, hopes one last time this goes well, and plunges inside with a burst of forced confidence.

The first thing he sees in the little pocket of space is a wall with a clothing rack with chef coats and cook shirts, some clinging for life on the hangers. To his right is a large laundry bag full of rags and shirts. It's all normal, he doesn't know what he was expecting. He ventures around the corner, and takes in the layout with a brief shock. There are metal tables, a big-ass oven, a dish pit, more tables, a line with grills, stoves, friers, ticket racks and machines, it's a kitchen. Kirishima is an emotional guy and has to suck back tears of joy.

"Heya! Here to see someone?"

Kirishima jumps. He looks at the woman talking to him and upon seeing her fluffy pink hair held back by an alien print bandana he instantly knows the owner of one of the cars. He also notices how cute she is, even with her gloved hands knuckles-deep in ground meat.

"H-hi! I'm here to see, uh...Hakamata? About a job?" Good one, very certain.

She looks at him and squints, clearly questioning him. "Hakamata...?"

Kirishima starts to panic. What if he messed something up? What if he's been so focused on this being Hakamata's restaurant when it had nothing to do with him? How much of a fool has he made of himself?

"Yeah! I mean, I assume he was the one who wanted me to come in," he says, getting out his phone and ready to show her the email if she asked for it. He realizes he implied that the rude manager-or-whatever was Hakamata, but in his mild frenzy he doesn't care about that technicality.

The woman laughs, shakes her head and snaps off her gloves. "Oh, oh no. You're looking for Bakugou," she says, "Hakamata's out of commission, I'm surprised you didn't know."

A lot happens at once in Kirishima's brain: he connects the rude reply to his employment inquiry, the additional executive chef profile Blue's website, perhaps the lack of explicitly new content from Hakamata, the car...it's all this one guy.

"I'll go get him for you, hold on," the woman says with an uncertain tone in her voice that concerns Kirishima, "what's your name?"

Kirishima swallows. He's not going to get anywhere by being in his head about this! He snaps up straight and holds out his chest. "Eijiro Kirishima!"

The woman laughs. "Mina Ashido! Maybe we'll work together!"

Kirishima watches Mina go downstairs across the kitchen that he didn't even notice. He looks toward approximately where the freezer is behind the wall. "So they...do have a second floor."

He's a little in shock since he expected the office to be on the same floor. It's not bad, he guesses, just not what he was used to. He wanted to take the wait time to look around more, admire how it's set up and all the different kinds of supplies they have, ignore the lingering worry that he's not the first to try out for the position, but Mina rushes up the stairs not too long after she went down. His worries aren't soothed at all by Mina mouthing "good luck" to him.

Kirishima starts to say something to her, something along the lines of "what the fuck", but the sounds of stomping coming up the stairs breaks his attempt. They're fast, like an angry dinosaur running up, and a rush of human force emerges from the top. The man has an undercut, what's there of his light blond hair spiking upwards. He doesn't have a chef coat on-why would he before service-and between his tight black shirt, the tattoos covering his arms or the intense red eyes that stare holes into Kirishima as he crosses the kitchen, Kirishima isn't sure what to be most entranced by.

Katsuki Bakugou brings an explosion of energy with him, as oppressive as it is awe inspiring, and he crosses his muscular arms over his muscular chest, tilts his head up and sneers down at Kirishima; they're about the same height.

"You're not as much of a fucking loser as I expected," Bakugou growls, but Kirishima is watching his jaw, dusted with blond scruffy hairs, move and clench.

"Uh. Thanks?" Kirishima says, unable to tamp down the incredulous way he does. "You're not really what I expected, either." He was expecting an entirely different person, and if not him then at least someone less like...this.

Bakugou snorts and sneers. Kirishima catches a glimpse of Mina watching him wide-eyed behind Bakugou and her lips pulled in between her teeth; how common is this? Is Bakugou always this confrontational for no reason? He stares into Bakugou's eyes, hoping to understand something in the crimson depths, and the longer they hold gazes the more difficult it is for Kirishima to not start grinning.

It's wild. The stare down is giving him such a rush. Bakugou exudes something powerful that Kirishima thinks it's the coolest fucking thing ever. He loves this energy, even if Bakugou is kind of the worst first impression-maybe person-he's ever met. He doesn't want to back down, both to stand up to Bakugou and because something about Bakugou pulls him in.

Bakugou huffs. "Whatever, get ready to get your ass kicked tonight," he says and Kirishima snaps out of his thoughts, "I'm putting you on the line, don't fuck up. If you do I'll drag your ass out myself."

Kirishima's heart sinks. "Hey, I haven't even-"

"Refusing counts as 'fucking up,' Red," Bakugou barks and unfolds his arms to his sides. He looks bigger than before, like a wall of "could fuck you up". Kirishima is very convinced Bakugou could tear him a new one if he really wanted to. "Pinkie over there can catch you up. You have one hour until service."

It's about the most "sink or swim" situation Kirishima's ever experienced. "Yeah, sure, okay," he says, his mouth dry.

Bakugou glares at him. "That's 'yes, Chef'," he growls. Kirishima groans; he knows better, that's Line Cook 101!

"Yes, Chef!" he says with enthusiasm to make up for the disrespect, but Bakugou just rolls his eyes and leaves without another word, stomping back down the stairs to do...office things, if Kirishima had to guess.

Suddenly the oppressive air is gone and Kirishima is left with the lingering feeling of being blasted in the face.

Mina scoots up to him. "Aaand that's Bakugou!" she chirps. "He won't ever learn your name, his head's too full of cooking and being an ass." She's cheerful, somehow.

Kirishima shakes his head. He has to get over this, it should be exciting instead of overbearing. He takes a deep breath and gives himself one hard smack on his cheeks.

"Sounds like fun!" he exclaims, grinning. "Let's kill it tonight!"

Mina yells, "YEAH!" from excitement, and punches Kirishima on the arm; Kirishima knows they're going to get along. "I'll show you the line and how to do stuff! Bakugou will teach you a lot as you go, just hang in there. He knows what he's talking about."

Kirishima nods and lets Mina train him as quickly as possible, which turns out to be a tour of where things are-it's a small kitchen so they've had to get creative about where pans and tools go-and handing him a menu she had to ask someone called "Momo" for while he took a peek at what was on the rolling racks.

"Okay! Just take a look at this for a bit and-oh man, I haven't finished my prep work! Sorry, Eijiro, just-just do your best with that! Ask me anything!" Mina panics, rushing to get gloves on and continue with her meat prep.

"Uh-yeah sure, do you need any help though?"

Mina's eyes light up at his offer. "Yes! I need so much help! The other two are late, and I like...need stuff chopped. You can do that and we'll talk out the menu!"

Kirishima doesn't think much about Bakugou for that hour, and definitely not about his arms and chest and face and muscles-it'll be fine, he can handle yelling, he can handle being thrown into this situation in a field he hasn't been involved with in two years, he's got this. He has to.

At least his knife skills seem to be the same as always. He expected to be put back to square one even though he cooks for himself almost exclusively. Mina was a little impressed, at least.

"You've saved my bacon tonight!" she says as she's wrapping up what she's not using immediately. "Thank you!"

Kirishima chuckles. He's been assigned unwrapping the stations for the other two cooks. "No problem! I feel like I know the menu through and through thanks to you!"

Their chatting and laughter gets interrupted by Bakugou's characteristic stomps up the creaky wooden stairs. He whips around the corner, rolling up the sleeves of his fitted chef's coat. Kirishima can't keep his eyes off him; Bakugou's revealing his epic tattoos up his arms and the art isn't the only thing Kirishima is paying special attention to. Bakugou takes the folded red bandana from between his teeth and ties it around his head, pushing his bangs back into the rest of his sparks of hair. The red of the cloth contrasts amazingly with his pale hair and undercut and matches his captivating eyes.

Bakugou cracks his knuckles and grins, but not necessarily at Kirishima and Mina.

"Pinkie! Tell 'em we're ready when they are," he says, the natural growl of his voice echoing in Kirishima's melting brain. He sounds like he's going to war, not cooking on a Wednesday night. What kind of guy is he?

Mina's "yes chef!" is drowned out. Kirishima can't stop looking at Bakugou. He's going to be thinking about him all night and all day. He's going to be thinking about him all of service and then when he gets home. He was already into his food in a magazine, how was he supposed to know it'd turn out like this?

This is going to be a problem.