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violetwolfraven · 4 years

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belmerttons?

*panicked singing* it’s after midnight and I can’t fucking sleep so of course I’m writing!!! I have school tomorrow and I’m gonna die!!!

This is gonna be my first time writing this ship as the main focus of a fic, so we’ll see how it goes, I guess. I’m gonna need to figure out how I want to portray their dynamic.

Tw: head injury, referenced child neglect

...

“Ya can’t keep doin’ stuff like this,” Buttons mumbled, “You’re gonna get yourself killed.”

Elmer winced as the other boy tied off the bandage around his head definitely harder than necessary.

His head was already pounding, and seeing Buttons—who barely even pranked back in prank wars even when Race really deserved it—angry wasn’t helping. Especially since he wasn’t quite sure why he was so angry at him.

“We all knew what could happen with the strike.”

“That ain’t what I’m talkin’ ‘bout,” Buttons muttered as he crouched down to start checking out Elmer’s bruised knuckles, “You think I didn’t see ya jump between that thug and Smalls? He had a club, El. He coulda killed you.”

“And if I didn’t jump in, he coulda killed Smalls,” Elmer argued, “What was I supposed to do, huh? She’s a lot smaller than—ow!”

“Sorry.”

Buttons didn’t sound sorry, but he did unwrap the bandage, winding it looser the next time.

“This is what you always do,” he grumbled, “Get hurt defendin’ other people, then I gotta patch you up. What’re ya gonna do when we ain’t Newsies no more and ya can’t come to me anymore, El?”

Elmer shrugged, still annoyed, “I dunno, but what do you want me to do, Buttons? Scab like Sniper, Tommy, and Blink?”

“No.”

“Then what’s the problem? Everyone else is hurt, too! Jack gets soaked fightin’ opponent’s he can’t handle every other month and ya don’t care!”

“I never said I don’t—“

“Oh, so it’s better that the only one ya call on it is me?”

“You have a family, El!” Buttons exclaimed, standing up suddenly, “For Christ’s sake, ya act like you’s the same as everyone else here, but ya ain’t! What would your family do if you didn’t come home, huh? Who’d have to go tell ‘em?”

Elmer was stunned, “Buttons—“

“Me,” Buttons growled, “Jack’s missin’, so it’d be me. I’m the only other one who knows where your family lives.”

Elmer recovered from the shock and promptly got angry again.

“You have a family, too, and I didn’t see you bein’ careful.”

Buttons snorted, “Then you wasn’t payin’ attention.”

Elmer really wished he could say he had been.

In truth, he’d been a bit preoccupied trying to keep that thug distracted long enough for Smalls to escape, then keeping said thug from killing him. After that, everything was kind of hazy until apparently, Davey found him passed out in an alleyway.

He hadn’t been paying attention to where his friend was at all.

“El...” Buttons made a frustrated noise, “You always gotta fight for everyone—and that’s a good thing—it means ya got a big heart, but... I’m serious. Since nothin’ else has made ya listen: what would your family do if you didn’t come home?”

Elmer snorted. He was a little mixed up in the head right now, but he very clearly knew the answer to that one.

“They’s got 8 other children, don’t they?”

“El...”

“Nah,” Elmer chuckled, even though he was pretty sure this wouldn’t be funny under normal circumstances, “I’m just the youngest and smallest. It ain’t like I bring in that much income. And ‘sides, nobody pays attention to me ‘cause I’m the stupid one.”

“Elmer, you ain’t stupid.”

“My big sister spent years tryin’ to teach me to read, but I couldn’t. Polish or English. I just can’t pick it up. It takes me hours to get through a article if I feel like tryin’. Why do ya think Jack reads headlines out loud most mornin’s?”

Dimly, Elmer registered the thought that he’d never told anyone that he couldn’t read, that letters on a page didn’t stay still for him. Jack was the only one who knew, and that was because he’d guessed after Elmer asked the headline several days in a row. Apparently, there’d been boys like him before.

Buttons shrugged, “That don’t make ya stupid. You’s good enough at math to make up for it, anyway, and even if ya can’t read it, you speak two languages. What makes ya stupid is pickin’ fights you can’t handle, constantly.”

Elmer groaned. This again? He thought they’d already covered this.

“My family wouldn’t miss me if I didn’t come home, Buttons, so—“

“And what about everyone else?” Buttons interrupted, “El, maybe your family wouldn’t, but what about Jojo? What about Race, huh? What about me?”

Elmer shrugged, “You wouldn’t have to patch me up anymore.”

He stood up, but it was definitely too fast as purple spots swam before his eyes.

“Oh, shit...”

Buttons tried to catch him as he collapsed, but that just ended in both of them hitting the floor.

“Sorry,” Elmer mumbled against his friend’s chest. He was really tired.

“Nothin’ to be sorry for,” Buttons muttered, and Elmer felt him sigh, “I just... don’t see how ya don’t see it.”

“See what?”

Being curious was helping him want to stay awake.

“Y’know how it is when Crutchie smiles?” Buttons asked quietly, “Really smiles. Not when he’s bein’ sarcastic.”

Elmer nodded, then winced as he regretted it, “It’s like someone lit a candle in the dark.”

“Yeah. That’s how it is.”

Buttons was silent for a second, and Elmer wondered if he was asleep, and they were just going to take a nap on the floor.

“Yours is like that, only... God, Elmer, it’s like someone put the goddamn sun in your smile.”

Elmer was processing things pretty slowly right now, but he was pretty sure he’d be confused even if he wasn’t.

“What?”

“It’s amazing,” Buttons whispered, “It’s like a minute of summer in the middle of winter, but better. It makes everybody else want to smile, too. I wish I could show you, but mine don’t do that.”

“Sure it does,” Elmer mumbled, “I like your smile.”

“Thanks, but it’s not like yours.”

“Your smile is like...” Elmer tried to think through his headache, “Like when the trees start gettin’ green again in spring. I ain’t much good with words, but it’s that.”

Buttons was silent for a second, and when Elmer looked up, he was... he was a little red in the face.

They both sat up, but stayed on the floor.

Elmer was a little surprised when Buttons’s hand found his, but it felt right, so he didn’t pull away.

“How would you feel if ya never saw my smile again, El?”

He frowned, “I don’t wanna imagine it.”

“Okay, well...” Buttons sighed, “I don’t wanna imagine not seein’ your smile, either. So if ya won’t be careful for yourself or your family... do it for me?”

Elmer’s thoughts were still a bit fuzzy, but he was pretty sure he had a grasp of what was going on.

He’d been a newsie since he was 10, and he’d noticed how the older boys usually started getting interested in girls around 13 or 14.

Or, some of them started getting interested in boys. Which, as Manhattan’s old leader had explained it, was dangerous but natural, even if they had to keep it a secret.

Elmer was 15, now, and Buttons was the same age. He was just now realizing that as his friends’ eyes started getting drawn to girls or boys on the street, or each other, in more than a couple cases, he’d never really focused on anyone besides Buttons.

There was a weird feeling in his stomach, but not like he was going to throw up. It was more like... butterflies.

Elmer has done some pretty dumb things—mostly at the encouragement of friends—over the years, but he wasn’t stupid enough not to recognize what he was feeling, and...

Well, he wasn’t sure, but the look in Buttons’s eyes looked almost like how Blink looked at Mush and Jojo looked at Mike.

But he was kind of loopy right now, and not sure enough to act on it.

“I’ll try to be careful. For you.”

Buttons smiled, “Thanks. Next time you’re about to do somethin’ stupid, consider how you’d feel if it was me doin’ it.”

That was actually a good point.

“Uh, Buttons?”

Buttons stopped on the way out the door of the washroom, ��Yeah?”

“Thanks for always patchin’ me up.”

“No problem, El.”

#newsies #belmerttons #buttons x elmer #buttons davenport #elmer kasprzak #angst #during strike #violet’s writing

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invertedeidolon · 4 years

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The Longest Library #4: The Last Unicorn by Peter S. Beagle (Or, Eidolon feels their OTHER age just a little too clearly and needs a nap now)

(This is a series in which I attempt to read and review all (or most of) my library of 297 books.)

Rundown: A unicorn gets lost in that thing that happens where you exist in a weird, neverending pocket of time and when you finally leave your room your family is like 'oh my god we haven't seen you in three months! The dog died while you were gone!' except for her she doesn't look like hell because she's a Fucking Unicorn, but she does figure out that literally every other member of her race has gone missing from the world. She travels with a baby-faced magic man and a bitter but not yet broken older woman to find out where the hell everyone is. 5/5, makes me feel ancient and tired but no longer lonely.

So as a reader, almost all of these reviews (more like reflections) are just that: reflections of myself. So I'll be talking a bunch about the things that spoke to me and my soul. It might not necessarily speak to others in the same ways, with the same words, however, my ratings are based on how enjoyable I think others might find them, and I hope that in seeing that something could speak so richly and deeply to me, that others might give it a chance in the hopes that it might speak to them too.

This is a book that speaks in my language. It's a way of describing things that's a step to the left of your average descriptions, but the images they invoke are visceral and heavily textured.

From the very first page:

"She did not look anything like a horned horse, as unicorns are often pictured, being smaller and cloven-hoofed, and possessing that oldest, wildest grace that horses have never had, that deer have only in a shy, thin imitation and goats in dancing mockery"

God damn. God DAMN. Mmm. Tasty.

"The door did not swing open, and the iron bars did not thaw into starlight. But the harpy lifted her wings, and the four sides of the cage fell slowly away and down, like the petals of some great flower waking at night. And out of the wreckage the harpy bloomed, terrible and free, screaming, her hair swinging like a sword. The moon withered and fled."

AUGH. FUCK. YES. FUCK ME UP, PETER. MMM.

"The magic knows what it wants to do, he thought, bouncing as the horse dashed across a creek. But I never know what it knows. Not at the right time, anyway, I'd write a letter, if I knew where it lived."

So, Schmendrick (the baby faced magic man I mentioned before) has the same feelings about his magical talents as I have about my own, magic or no. My own magic comes and it goes. It's incredibly intuitive in nature and almost refuses to yield to order, logic, or ceremony. Same with my art, my writing, or anything that comes from the spirit. Even things like expressing my emotions feel this way. It's there when it's there, and it's not when it's not, and it's not when it's there. It doesn't feel like a part of me at times, despite being the purest description of my own soul when it decides to take form. Like an absent parent that never once hugged you but knows exactly what kind of candy bar you currently like and that you're nervous about your first boyfriend and the way he talks to you sometimes and how lonely things are getting. I grow resentful for it's absence, and have not grown welcoming to it's presence. It's something that needs to be worked on soon. In fact, Molly's sentiments on first seeing the unicorn kind of describe it pretty well:

"And what good is it to me that you're here now? Where were you twenty years ago? Ten years ago? How dare you, how dare you come to me now, when I am this?" With a flap of her hand she summed herself up; barren face, desert eyes, and yellowing heart. "I wish you had never come, why do you come now?"

That has always been a powerful moment that whenever I see it in the movie (and especially having finally gotten to read it in the book), I've come to understand it deeper, and deeper. Only now realizing that I've lost an entire decade of my life to a violently interrupted life and feeling like if my talents weren't stifled by years spent crying, in pain, and not really wishing to be dead but wishing I Weren't, I could be ten years ahead. And only now does it come to me, in fits and starts, when I've been displaced and scattered and turned to half-a-person, not when I called desperately to it, needing something, anything stronger than me, and being given nothing. Why now? I've gone far enough without you. Molly forgives her. I myself become pale with a feeling of unworthiness.

"The rind of the country cracked, and the flesh of it peeled back into gullies and ravines or shriveled into scabby hills."

There's just so much TEXTURE in a lot of these descriptions. I feel like the background artists in the movie could have done something a bit darker and grimier, although the movie did skip over the fact that the land was in a magically induced famine, to technically it wasn't relevant. Although I feel like the land itself being so scarred makes the king and his whole atmosphere come into sharper focus.

"Drinn opened his eyes and gave her an angry look. 'WE earned nothing," He protested. "It was our parents and grandparents whom the witch asked for help, and I'll grant you that they were as much to blame as Haggard, in their way. We would have handled the matter quite differently." And every middle-aged face scowled at every older face.

Boomers.

"The magician stood erect, menacing the attackers with demons, metamorphoses, paralyzing ailments, and secret judo holds. Molly picked up a rock."

Not going to lie, this part made me laugh.

"No hooves could have made these, Molly thought dazedly; the earth had torn itself shrinking from the burden of the Bull. She thought of the unicorn, and her heart paled."

"The Red Bull did not know her, and yet she could feel that it was herself he sought, and no white mare. Fear blew her dark then, and she ran away, while the Bull's raging ignorance filled the sky and spilled over into the valley."

The descriptions of the Bull especially capture just how heavy and menacing and seemingly mindlessly terrifying it is, not just physically (which is very effectively communicated mind you) but psychologically. The unicorn's terror is my own. There's no fear like the root of you realizing the person in front of you is intent on soul-murder, yet wholly ignorant of their own deeds. Being run down and forced to submit, forced to die, and realizing the blind, animal nature of your attacker. It's how they are. Like blaming a wolf for eating cattle. It can't be reasoned with.

"If she would try one more time to escape- but she was the Bull's and not her own. The magician had one glimpse of her, pale and lost between the pale horns, before the wild red shoulders surged across his sight. Then, swaying and sick and beaten, he closed his eyes and let his hopelessness march through him, until something woke somewhere that had wakened in him once before. He cried aloud, for fear and joy.

What words the magic spoke this second time, he never knew surely. They left him like eagles, and he let them go; and when the last one was away, the emptiness rushed back with a thunderclap that threw him on his face. It happened as quickly as that. This time he knew before he picked himself up that the power had been and gone."

You know, doing anything that has to do with having a soul is exactly this exhausting sometimes. I get excited and talk about my interests more energetically than none? I feel like I just shouted it at the top of my lungs and violently shook the person I was talking to by the shoulders. They say I was even toned, quiet even, but I'm out of breath and my heart is in my throat and I feel a little sick in the arms from it.

"For a moment she turned in a circle, staring at her hands, which she held high and useless, close to her breast. She bobbed and shambled like an ape doing a trick, and her face was the silly, bewildered face of a joker's victim. And yet she could make no move that was not beautiful. Her trapped terror was more lovely than any joy that Molly had ever seen, and that was the most terrible thing about it."

*sips the words like fine wine* *inhales through their teeth* MMMmm fuck yeah~

"I am myself still. This body is dying, I can feel it rotting all around me. How can anything that is going to die be real? How can it be truly beautiful?"

See, I have the opposite problem, where I feel like I've been long dead, and people keep digging up my corpse and forcing me to walk on broken, stringy legs, the moist, forgiving soil not even yet dried. I can feel it living all around me. How can anything that is going to live be unreal? How can it be truly horrific? I'm supposed to be a memory by now.

"Prince Lir's face bent toward her: older by five dragons, but handsome and silly still."

I love impactful but unconventional measurements of time and space like this. More of these please. 'You've been gone since seven arguments ago! And you know how slow the old man is to anger.' 'I've aged by three national crises in the span of two weeks, please help.'

"...holding her voice together like the edges of a wound."

*licks the goddamn wine glass like an animal* MMPH

"There was too much to hold, too much ever to use; and still he found himself weeping with the pain of his impossible greed. He thought, or said, or sang, I did not know that I was so empty, to be so full."

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"I have been mortal, and some part of me is mortal yet. I am full of tears and hunger and the fear of death, though I cannot weep, and I want nothing, and I cannot die. I am not like the others now, for no unicorn was ever born who could regret, but I do. I regret."

I have been small, and some part of me is small yet. I am full of terror, and hunger of death, though I cannot utter a noise, and I cannot die.

Please read this book.

Have a song that I really like and will likely make an old-fashioned AMV out of it at some point.

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4 down 293 to go.

#The last unicorn #peter s beagle #book review #thelongestlibrary #origin1 #wri1

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zephyrbcll · 4 years

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The Love Notes, part 1

February 15th

Good morning, baby.

Except maybe it won’t be morning when you read this, I don’t know, but right now it’s morning and you’re beside me suffering a truly terrible (okay, yes, adorable) case of bedhead. I think you’re also drooling, but it’s okay, you’re still cute.

Last night you said love notes would make you swoon and I’m going to be honest, I don’t know how to write a swoon worthy love note. For all I know, I could hand this to you and you could give it back with my spelling mistakes corrected (In my defense, American doesn’t love the letter ‘u’ as much as the UK). I haven’t looked up collections of love notes for tips, but I figure the general point is to write about your affection, right? So I should be able to manage that.

You’re a revelation, you know that?

No of course you don’t. And you wouldn’t believe me if I told you that. Or maybe you would after last night, I don’t know, but I know that I didn’t expect you. I know I wouldn’t be nearly as happy without you. Hell, maybe I wouldn’t be feeling anything at all, I had my head shoved pretty far up my own ass until you walked by.

And you know, I don’t really remember what first caught my attention about you? I think I heard more about you than anything else in the beginning and I just started noticing you and then it was like I couldn’t look away.

I didn’t expect to like you. I didn’t expect to fall in love with you, but I did, and now I’m going to write it down in note after note for you and I’m going to give them all to you on your birthday so you’ll have a reminder for exactly how I feel about you even when I’m not there.

Good morning, baby. I love you.

February 19

It’s really cute sometimes how you wonder what I’m telling my family about you. At least, I’m pretty sure that’s why you asked about what I’m writing, it’s not my fault if you assume I’m writing to my family and not to you.

They adore you, by the way. Or at least my dad does, he thinks you sound charming and like a ‘calming influence’, which is both annoying and accurate. Yes, you keep me calm, we all know that, but does he have to call me out on it?

My grandma apparently sniffed and said that at least you’re not a gypsy, but she’s withholding judgement for now. Considering that he didn’t approve of my dad until I was a toddler, I think this means that she likes you, but doesn’t want to admit it. Besides, her family recipes are staying alive thanks to you, so I’m sure she’s a little grateful.

My point is, you’ve won my entire family over and they’ve never even met you. Maybe they just see how fondly I write about you and they adore you for that, they love you because I love you, or maybe you’re so damn charming that your appeal crosses oceans.

I think they’re glad I found you, and I am, too. You don’t need to ever worry about what I’m writing about you because everything I’ve ever said about you has only made them know how completely and utterly gone I am for you.

Every time I hear from them now, they want me to tell you hello. Maybe one day they can say it themselves.

February 23

I’m pretty sure that your coworkers think that any time I show up, I’m going to drag you off somewhere to have my wicked way with you. I’m not entirely sure if they like me or not.

But I like you, so there we go. I like seeing if I can spot you through the windows first, I like seeing the way you change when you see me come in. Not trying to sound too egotistical here, but it’s like you light up and it’s a good feeling to know that I can do that to you.

Do that for you.

I don’t come in just to feel you up, by the way. The truth is that seeing you lights up my day, too. I can’t think of why it should matter so much, but I like hearing about whatever book you may have picked up on a whim, I like seeing how animated you get if there’s a customer you want to complain about. I like seeing you opinionated and alive with how much you feel. Maybe that’s why you made me more appreciate of what’s around me, it’s because you care so much about everything that it just bleeds out.

You don’t always have to be like that. I know you have bad days and sometimes you’re going to be tired, you’re not going to have something to talk about and that’s okay.

I’m not going to get bored. I’m not going to get offended on the days you don’t light up. Days like that are for pulling you aside and wrapping you up in my arms. They’re for naps and staying in if we can.

They’re for chocolate, too.

Have you gotten tired of getting chocolate every day yet? I doubt it, not with the way you love it. I actually didn’t buy as much as I expected and it was on sale, I want to remind you, so no fussing. Besides, I like being able to surprise you with gifts, even if it’s just small things.

Actually, I like surprising you with small things more, I think.

I hope you like this surprise when you get it. You deserve a novel and god knows I could fill a book with everything I want to say about you, so don’t think these letters are going to stop, not as long as my heart still beats.

February 25

This letter is a cheat.

I haven’t see you today and I don’t see you right now, but dear fucking god, I do when I close my eyes.

I’ve been writing about you when I’m with you or after I see you, I want to explain to you what I like about you around the time it happens so that you know it’s real and you know what I think about you. The reason I’m writing to you now isn’t real, not unless I’ve suddenly become skilled in divination and had a prophecy. In which case, dear god, are you going to make my dick happy.

Cancel that, you already make my dick happy.

If you haven’t guessed you, I dreamed about you tonight. Congratulation. You, Remus John Lupin, are literally the man of my dreams.

You don’t even need to be here in order to get me off, because I woke up hard and aching and so goddamn certain you were real that I was confused when I felt only bed sheets, but I didn’t hesitate to jerk myself off when I realized you weren’t here to touch.

You were gorgeous, you know. And maybe you think it was just a dream, of course I’d enjoy a dream, but I think you’re gorgeous all the time. I know how pink your mouth turns after I kiss you again and again, I know the way you moan when I slide my fingers inside you. I know the way you shudder when I pin you down and how your back arches when you can’t hold on anymore.

There are still some things I don’t know, but I’ll find out one day. We’ll see if you like sex face to face, your legs wrapped around my waist while I keep your arms pinned over your head or if you’d rather have your face pressed into the sheets, muffling your moans while I ram into you from behind. It would be so easy to spank you like that, watch your ass turn red and see it swallow up my cock.

That’s not what I dreamed about, if you were wondering. I still need to find the right chair for your reading room, but that’s where we were and you were beginning, you were being so sweet and saying please while I pulled your hair, your body clamping down around me while I marked up your neck and you were so pretty, baby, you were so good for me.

But you always are, aren’t you? My good boy.

Mine.

February 28

I can’t believe I’ve never noticed you chewing on a pen before, but goddamn. Ever since that dream, it’s like every fucking thing you do turns into a porn situation inside my mind. You bend over and those tight pants pull across your ass and I think about how loud you’d get if I yanked your jeans down your legs and licked you open. You rub at your neck and I think about how I need to put more hickeys on you, how you should be wearing bitemarks and bruises everywhere.

The jut of your hips, the curve of your jaw, across your rib cage and on your thighs. And your neck, of course. I like the idea of them hiding under your clothes, knowing it would be so simple for someone to see one, that all that needs to happen is for your warm, soft sweater to slip to one side and show off the slope where your neck becomes your shoulder to put my teeth marks on display. It would be a blatant sign that you belong to someone and I love it.

Yes, I belong to you, too.

That’s why you’re going home with me tonight. Or I’m going with you, I don’t care, I just want to be around you.

And not for orgasms, I want to wrap around you in bed and listen to the little noises you make when I rub your back while you fall asleep. I want to wake up wrapped around you and make you tea after you finally wake up and frown because it’s morning.

It’s sappy, I know, but I’ve told you since the beginning that I don’t want just sex. I want you. I want special days like holidays and normal days like lazy weekends, I want big moments and small moments and I didn’t expect it, but what I’m saying is I want everything with you.

Maybe that wedding made me sentimental, I don’t think I’d even blame you for calling me a romantic right now. You know something funny? Everyone always talks about how pretty the bride looks, but I don’t really remember her dress, I guess I wasn’t paying attention.

I can close my eyes and picture you perfectly.

March 1

Are you still worried about your nightmares scaring me off, Remus?

Nothing about you scares me, not your dreams and not your monthly mood swings, but sometimes I get scared for you. I get worried when you go on missions sometimes and come back bruised, I don’t like it, but that’s normal, I think.

Worrying about you, but the bruising, too, likely.

And this isn’t some big thing where I think you can’t take care of yourself or I think you’re fragile or incapable or some shit like that. I know you’re strong, I know you’re a survivor, so it has nothing to do with doubting you and everything with just wanting you to be okay.

Admit it, you wouldn’t be happy if I showed up bloody and bruised. You don’t even like when I get Howlers and those don’t hurt.

You seem like you’re sleeping peacefully, but I can’t right now. I don’t know why, but I can’t sleep. It’s okay, it just means I can watch over you for when your dreams turn troubled. I’ll be right here, baby, I’ll fight off anything that comes for you. I’ll keep the demons at bay.

I promise.

March 2

Bore da.

I’ve been practicing, do you like it?

Not that I’ve actually said it out loud to you yet. I don’t know if I’d actually say it right, but I’m trying to learn at least a few Welsh phrases. You’d probably appreciate if I learned something other than good morning, right? Diolch is thanks, I think. Croeso is welcome.

It’s not much, but it’s something. You’re asleep again right now and honestly, you look terrible, but that’s what happens after the moon, so it’s not unexpected, but the point is that you’re asleep and we’re in your flat and I guess technically I am home with you, but one day you’re going to take me home to Wales and I’m going to play tourist and send pictures back home to America.

Home. Funny word, isn’t it? Is Wales home or is your flat home? Can you have more than one home?

America is my childhood home now, I guess. It’s home, but a home I’ve grown out of and left. I don’t know if my flat is home yet, but I think it’s getting there and I think that’s happening because of you.

Or who knows, maybe you’re my home.

March 6

I’m going to take up knitting. I’ve thought about it and I’ve decided it would be a good activity for me. I can knit you new sweaters and fill your bedroom up with them and you’ll always have something new to wear that I made you and I, in return, wouldn’t feel the need to set all your roommate’s shirts on fire to keep you from grabbing one of them by accident.

I can picturing you frowning right now, but stop it. I know you didn’t put it on. You stopped the moment I noticed, and you put on exactly what I wanted you to. You were so goddamn good for me. I’m not really sure if you understand why this matters to me, but it does and having you listen has never stopped being a rush.

Plus, you look fucking good in my Ilvermorny shirt.

Not that you didn’t look good at the dinner party tonight. You looked far more edible than any of the food and it would have been a shame to have you change into something more comfortable if it didn’t mean seeing you naked.

Plus, as already mentioned, I like you in my clothes. And getting into something comfortable means cuddle time. I’m tempted to say that you might be right that I’m the teddy bear between us.

If any of those words up there are hard to read and look like I temporarily forgot how to write, it’s your fault. You keep squirming and you make a terrible writing desk even if it is nice to be able to reach down and pet you while I think or try to tickle you with the end of the quill.

Pens are better, by the way.

And I just got distracted playing with your hair, so now I’ve lost my train of thought. I can’t help it, I like having you sprawled across my lap, but I need to finish this before you get bored.

Thank you for inviting me. Yes, I know, I’m the suitable person to invite and all that, you told me already, but you didn’t have to. Tonight felt like being invited into part of your life I haven’t been in yet and it mattered.

It was nice, your friends are nice, and I’ll go out to a dinner party with you any time.

Quickies in the bathroom are even optional.

March 10

You said not to make a fuss on your birthday and I haven’t. A few bookshelves, nothing fancy. A cupcake instead of a cake, one candle instead of many. The only other thing I have for you is the book I’m giving you with the letters I’ve written over the past few weeks. They’re supposed to be love letters, but they all feel like they fall short of that title.

It’s early and I know you won’t wake up yet, so I have one more chance to write you a love note worth swooning over, so here it goes. Please try not to laugh.

I wasn’t planning on liking you. I didn’t even care too much if I made you feel better than first time we spoke, but the more I talked to you… I don’t know what happened. I don’t know how you did it, but I started caring about something besides my own anger and pain for the first time since I showed up in this country. You got past all my defenses and I never even noticed because I was too busy wanting more of you.

More of your story, more of your anger, more of your quick fucking wit that could cut anyone if you let it. I wanted any and all of it, just as long as it meant I got more of your time, too.

I didn’t really think about what that meant. I didn’t care about why because it was just good to find someone interesting, someone that made all of the buzzing stop until I was calm for the first time in what felt like forever. You shouldn’t have been able to do that, not when you were as upset as you were, but you still did.

Even on your bad days, you’re good for me, Remus, you don’t even need to try.

I was self-destructing and you were the only thing that made me stop. You worried even if you didn’t care and I couldn’t have that, I cleaned up my act and you became my top concern. I wanted to see you happy, I wanted to see you smile. I wanted you to be okay. I still want that, I just want it more now, and maybe a little differently.

I guess what I mean is it’s personal now. I want to be the one that gets to take care of you, not someone else.

When I think about my future, you’re in every day I can imagine.

I don’t believe in perfect people, you have flaws and so do I, but somehow they’ve left us with jagged edges that fit together like pieces of a puzzle and if such a thing is possible, then just maybe you’re perfect for me.

I want so many things with you. I want to finish your reading room and I want to take you on spontaneous adventures that would have thrilled the kid you used to be. I want to buy you books and close them when you fall asleep reading and I want to kiss you good morning even when you fuss about tea.

The fact I even like you when you kick me out of bed shows how whipped I am, doesn’t it?

But I think we both know by now that I more than like you. I think it was true before I ever realized it and I never noticed how I felt because I never thought about it. It was the most natural thing in the world for me to want to give you everything. I won’t try to call it a gift, but I hope you know that you have all of me.

Happy birthday, baby. I love you.

April 18, 1980

I think I may surprise you with lunch today.

Well, I say surprise, but it’s not much of a surprise since I told you, is it? But this day seems to keep dragging on and I want to see you and I don’t see any reason why I shouldn’t see you if I want to.

Have you even had breakfast yet? Have you crawled out of bed? Maybe I should just bring lunch to you and curl up behind you for a nap afterwards, it doesn’t really matter to me.

I know this month has been rough on you. You’ve lost more than anyone would want to imagine and no amount of looking on the bright side is going to get rid of that pain yet, but I love you. I’m here even when it hurts and I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going away, I’m just going to come closer to you.

My baby, my good boy, my love, you’re all those and more and there’s no way I could give you up without a fight now. The days are difficult, but what we have is stronger than diamonds.

That was supposed to sound kinda poetic, but that’s probably not my best skill. The point is this. Sometimes life sucks. Sometimes we’re going to be mad at the world and sometimes we’ll be mad at each other, but it doesn’t mean I’m not still yours at the end of the day and you’re not still mine. Life sucks, but we’re going to make it through it together.

And we’re going to start. I’ll even bring you fish and chips with goddamned vinegar if that’s what gets you to smile.

God, your smile kills me. I don’t think I can see you smile without smiling back. I just can’t do it.

Only a few more hours, baby. I’ll see you soon.

April 19, 1980

The last time I wrote you one of these love notes was yesterday, but it feels like the entire world has changed since then.

Not the way I feel about you, of course, but dear god, I think I've found something new to love you for and at this point, I think it's best I just give up and accept the fact that I'm never going to have any clue how fucking deep I really am for you because I never could have pictured this moment. Then again, I never pictured having kids at all, you know?

I swear to you, Remus, I never knew about Katie. I never even suspected. She is one of a kind and I wouldn't have blamed you at all for wanting to walk. It would have broken my heart, but come on, you didn't see this coming, either, did you?

Have you ever pictured it? Waking up one day and hearing the sound of feet running around a house, kids giggling and calling you dad? i don't know if you've ever secretly imagined being a parent, but it's something I always figured I wasn't cut out for. I still might not be, but right now I know that I want to be. Right now, you're asleep next to me and Katie is curled up next to you, she's holding onto your finger and drooling and I'm so in love with this image that my heart fucking hearts.

I know neither of us give a fuck about our ages, no matter what I say about me being an old man. I know you're not a kid, I know you're smarter and more mature than I am, but christ, I have to admit, when I was holding Katie alone, I remember thinking that fuck, you're so young. You just turned twenty (your birthday may or may not have been one of the best days of my life) and and part of my brain thinks that's too young to have a kid, but then again, my parents were old when they had me.

But then I thought about it. Twenty is young to be in a war, isn't it? Twenty is young to lose a parent, but if you compare it to Katie, it's old. So fuck that. It's your choice, it's your life, you're an adult and you decide what you're ready for and what you want.

And right now, looking at the two of you? That's what I want. I want you and her, I want to be able to call you both mine, you're my family. And I love you. I loved you yesterday and I love you now, just like I'm going to love you tomorrow.

I hope you and Katie enjoy your nap, baby. Sleep well and sweet dreams, we're in for a hell of a ride.

May 16, 1980

I've decided you and I need a date night.

Before you start trying to figure things out and schedule, don't. We're going out tomorrow night and I already arranged for someone to keep Katie all night. We don't have to worry about if we get drunk, we don't need to worry about getting home at a certain time or if she gets upset, it's just going to be you and be and we can sleep in the morning after, too. It will be good, I promise.

And if you're wondering what's brought this on, I'll tell you. I don't want you to forget that you're special or loved. We may have a kid, but that doesn't mean letting the spark die.

I don't know when it will happen, but tomorrow night, at some point, I'm going to press against you from behind and make it a point to murmur against your ear that you're my favorite guy in the world, that you're my important person and the goddamn love of my life. You deserve to be made to feel like it night after night, but I'm going to make a special amount of effort tomorrow.

I'm going to make you feel so good. I'm going to make sure you know how much I appreciate you and make sure you know you're still going to have nights all to yourself as well as little moments stolen during Katie's nap time.

Well, if you're not napping, too. It's fucking adorable when you nap together, you know. Might want to think about a nap, actually, because I don't know how much sleep you'll be getting tomorrow.

May 22, 1980

I'm sorry I'm such an asshole.

I love you, I need you to remember that.

I fucked up.

I've tried three times to start this letter and I don't know which part I'm supposed to say first. I know we've already talked about our fight, but I want you to have a written record of things, too. Next time we have a fight, I want you to be able to come back and read this because yes, we're probably going to fight again. Hopefully not about the same subject and hopefully for a long time, but I think it will happen.

We're not perfect, Remus, I know this. I've always known we'd fight, but i didn't think it would be like that. I shouldn't have yelled. I know that, I shouldn't have yelled and I'm sorry. I never want to scare you and I never want to wonder if something is going to happen that will result in you getting hurt. I'm going to work on that, baby, I promise you.

We're not always going to agree and that's okay, we'll figure it out. We'll talk it out and we'll try to figure out the problem and look, I'm not going to lie, our fight hurt. We wouldn't have been fighting so much if it didn't hurt. But that doesn't stop me from loving you. I love you more than our fights and our arguments. We'll work on our problems and we'll get through it, we'll learn how to deal with it together.

I'm an asshole and you're a sarcastic little shit. Maybe it should be a surprise that it took so long for us to fight, but it happened and I'm sorry for upsetting you. I love you and I'll give you a list of reasons why if I need to.

Maybe you should do that. Ask me, Remus. Ask me all the ways you make me fall in love with you.

May 28, 1980

It's weird coming home to an empty house.

It's not really empty. Katie's here and so is Firebolt, but she's asleep and the cat probably is, too. You're not here, and maybe it means I'm spoiled, but you're nice to come home to.

I thought of asking you about moving to Bulgaria once, I don't think I ever told you that. After they invited creatures to immigrate there because of that idiot political candidate, I thought maybe life would easier for you there, but it's not about easy. I know you and I know me, neither of us are really going to leave here with everything going on right now, not forever. Maybe one day we'll live in Wales or France or Spain, but we're needed here right now.

I"m not going to run away from that. Not from the war and not from you. When you come back, I want you to remember that you're stuck with me. No receipts, no returns.

I think Katie misses you, I know I do. I miss your smart mouth, sassing off at me when you're feeling like a brat or spouting off some fact that no one else knows because you're the smartest guy in the room. It's your mouth I noticed first, and for completely innocent reasons, so don't even think I don't like your attitude. And yeah, sometimes I enjoy getting onto you for your attitude, too, but I like to think you enjoy it.

You know what, I'm going to keep going.

I enjoy the way you get under my skin, the way that you make me reaction ways that no one else does and how you get me to come alive. I feel like you make me learn and grown as a person and let me tell you, there's a school full of teachers that tried that for years and you've got them all beat. Yes, including my History teacher. Feel smug.

I love the way your face lights up when you laugh. But a specific laugh. I can picture it in my head, it's carefree and makes you look like you stopped worrying for a minutes and it gives you these little wrinkles while your eyes shine. I can't believe you have me so wrapped around your finger that I"m weak for a laugh, but I knew I was doomed to that months ago. You should come with a warning sigh, Remus Lupin, making stomachs flip with just a sound.

And I love you for opening up to me. I love you for trusting me even when I screw up. I love you for messing up with me and that fact that you and I are learning and improving together because I don't know if I've ever had that with someone else. Even if I have, I know it wouldn't be the same because no one else is you.

Come home safely.

June 19, 1980

I know you and Katie are out doing bonding errands or something like that right now, but you missed the post and we just got a letter about Katie's one year check up. You probably have no idea why I'm writing you a letter about a check up reminder (yes, I wrote it in the calendar on the fridge, it's fine), but it made me think of something. It seems weird that she's already going to be a year old, she wasn't that grown up when she came here, right?

So, I consulted the calendar and you know what I realized? You and I have been parents for two months as of today. Two months doesn't seem like a long time, but that's longer than it feels. Didn't we just have that party to con diapers and baby wipes out of everyone? Aren't we still consulting baby books whenever anything seems odd with her? Okay, maybe you're not, maybe you have the milestones and worries for the next three months memorized, but I like to double check. My point is, when did it get to be two months?

I still end up with this weird feeling sometimes in my chest when I see the two of you curled up asleep. It's not exactly butterflies, more like bone deep contentment. A slow, calming reminder that yes, you are mine. You're my family and I"m going to take care of you. And I’m lucky to have you, you know?

But it seems like I shouldn't be having moments like that still after two months, that I would have adjusted to it. But I hope that I always have them. Not every time, but every so often, after it's been weeks of temper tantrums and job schedules, when life has been busy or hectic or stressful or whatever negative term you want to attach to it. I hope I don't ever have a last time where I look at the pair of you and have everything go quiet because for one single, peaceful moment, I get to appreciate what I want. Because both of you deserve better than to be taken for granted.

I'll try not to be too mushy and sentimental when you get back, but if I kiss you hard as soon as you walk through the door, this letter will let you know where. Here's to two months as parents, baby, and a hell of a lot longer.

#Remus (I'll be the guard dog of all your fever dreams)#remuslxpns

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hightress · 6 years

Text

The Grumpy Cat And The Barista

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia

AO3 Link

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Pairing: Kiribaku, Bakushima

Characters: Kirishima, Bakugou, Todoroki, Jirou

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, writer Bakugou, Barista Kirishima Eijirou, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Crack, Bakugou Katsuki Swears A Lot, Cat Cafés, Alternate Universe - No Quirks (My Hero Academia)

Chapters: 1/1

Word count: 5,796

Summary: In which Bakugou needs a place to write and learns that a Kitty Café is definitely not the best place to do it.

OK, so here's the deal. Bakugou didn't enjoy writing - not the act of it anyway. It took too much time and the rewards were too little to satisfy him. His back ached after a day in front of his computer and his eyes stung because of the screen. He hated it. If he could, he would've thrown the laptop out the window without any regrets. The only reason why he didn't was that, despite all pain and wasted time, it helped him.

He's never been a patient person and he just couldn't suffer to see or hear certain things sometimes and do nothing. It was so easy to get angry just by walking down the street. Just having someone bump into him and say nothing or hearing the screams of the still hangover students that lived close to him was more than enough to make him want to act, either by shouting back at them or punching something, even someone's face. And, apparently, that wasn't a normal reaction to have.

It wasn't Bakugou's problem that most people were too terrified to have an opinion.

So, if he couldn't react in real life as he wanted because, c'mon, being arrested for something as petty as a shouting contest or light punch was the furthest thing he needed in his life, he was going to do it somewhere else. In a place that he could control and punish people that annoyed him as he liked.

Of course, writing hadn't been his first choice. Or his tenth one. But it worked better than any sport ever could.

The paper listened and never judged. Never tried to fix him or nagged him to be a better person. Just took his anger, his harsh words and turned them into something.

"Die!" shouted Bakugou, using the pen in his hand like some sort of knife, leaving messy marks all over paper as he finished another paragraph. Alternating the computer with the old-school approach was a new thing, but it worked nevertheless.

A sigh could be heard from the other side of the room.

"Did you just kill me? Again?" asked Todoroki, voice full of exasperation. He was lying in his bed, messy hair coloring his light blue sheets and eyes closed. Exhausted was the best way to describe him at that moment, clearly stated by the dark circles under his eyes. Having an exam at 7 in the morning was tough and a small break after was understandable, but to someone like Bakugou, it felt like a complete waste of time.

Bakugou's only answer had been a snort. He's spent enough months with Todoroki since they've both moved in the flat at the beginning of the year to understand him properly and hate his guts.

(Not that it would've been difficult to get Bakugou to hate something.)

Whenever he looked at Todoroki, all he could think about was 'wasted potential'. Extremely smart, with enough family connections to make the university's attempts of getting the students decent placements seem like a joke, he had everything he needed to be the best in their year. He was close to the top, but for Bakugou the word 'close' ruined everything. Why be 'good' or 'decent' when you can be the best? The second place wasn't good enough. And would never be for Bakugou.

Bakugou could only dream about such connections and, for an aspiring lawyer, they were everything.

The saddest part was that Todoroki had so much more than that. Bakugou had seen him in action - defending a case, building it up. He was good. More than that, he was impressive, but only when he was serious about it.

So, yeah, Bakugou hated him and, since he couldn't punch Todoroki, killing him was a great alternative. After all, even his breathing pattern annoyed Bakugou sometimes - he wrote about it. And took it to the extreme.

"It's the third time in four chapters, isn't it? If you ever hope to publish that, don't you think your readers will complain?" asked Todoroki, not impressed by the act itself. He got used to Bakugou's antics after the first two months. Getting murdered in a fictional story wasn't that fascinating.

Bakugou answered immediately in the only way he knew how to communicate - loudly.

"They'd rather thank me for getting rid of your stupid ass," he shouted. "Now shut up, you piece of shit. I need to focus on this."

Todoroki opened one eye to look at him.

"Do you even want it to be published? Is there some action besides the random killing?" Both were legit questions. And Bakugou had no idea how to answer either of them.

He narrowed his eyes.

"Say one more word and I'll make it four times. Don't test me," he threatened, fingers tightly clenched around the pen, ready to keep his word.

Todoroki didn't say anything after that, just closed his eyes and rolled over, his back facing Bakugou.

For a good full minute, Bakugou really believed he fell asleep.

"You know," he suddenly spoke again, startling Bakugou and breaking the illusion, not moving an inch. "If you really want to write, maybe you can do it in a place where it'll be easier for you to concentrate."

Which could've translated as 'I want to sleep and you're screaming too much'. Or not. It didn't matter.

Despite what a huge part of him wanted - which was to shout some more at Todoroki or even throw some ink in his face - Bakugou considered his proposal. It didn't sound that bad.

"Like where?"

He didn't know what he expected, but having Todoroki deep in thought for a period of time too long to be socially acceptable only to blurt out a weak "A park...?" definitely wasn't it.

"A park?" repeated Bakugou. "Are you dumb, assface?" When Todoroki said nothing in his defence, Bakugou explained "There are hundreds of kids in there. Hundreds of loud, bitchy little shits. Fuck no, I'm not going there."

Why did he even try to ask someone like Todoroki in the first place? His social skills were disastrous and that, coming from Bakugou, meant something. He still found himself asking further.

"Any other ideas, genius?"

After another short pause, Todoroki answered, even though his confidence in his own words was just as absent as the previous time.

"Maybe... Maybe a coffee shop?" he said, clearly aware of how unhelpful the suggestion was for someone like Bakugou. For any other person, a place like that might've worked, but surrounding Bakugou with gossiping teenagers and filling him with caffeine? Bad combination.

"Like every single loser? Classic. You're so fucking useless," said Bakugou as he sat up. He grabbed all his papers and his laptop, shoving them all a bit too aggressively in a backpack.

None of them doubted the state of the papers inside - horribly folded and almost ripped in two or three places. Another thing that made the bag heavier than necessary was a law textbook that Bakugou intended to finish by the end of the week. End of exams be damned, he refused to fall behind. That way, if he didn't feel like writing, he was sure as hell not going to waste time like a fucking wimp.

Throwing his backpack over his shoulder, he looked one last time at Todoroki's back and shouted for good measure, just to be an asshole.

"Enjoy your damn nap!"

He closed the door with a loud 'bang' and left the building one minute after that, still undecided about where he was headed. He contemplated going to the library - it would've been quieter at least - but, at the same time, since it was part of the university, he knew the chances of meeting someone that knew him were pretty high. And he definitely didn't feel like dealing with any of them, especially when he was working on something so personal.

Todoroki finding out had been an accident, to begin with. He didn't want to share his written work with anyone. It was his business, ok? If he felt like murdering people, it was his fucking decision. The last thing he wanted was some moron's opinion about how he should be doing things.

So, yeah, he had no idea where to go, but that's what Google Maps was for, right? He'd only need to type 'café' once and decide on one close enough.

(Todoroki's idea still sucked. But Bakugou couldn't think of anything more decent and he didn't have time to waste on something so stupid.)

The maps would've been a wonderful option. Incredible even. Sadly, because Bakugou had to be Bakugou, he forgot to charge his phone the day before.

"Of-fucking-course," he muttered under his breath shoving the phone in one of his pockets. He had no other choice but to walk around like a freaking tourist hoping to find something where he could work in peace.

Surprisingly enough, after fifteen minutes of searching like a retard, all he managed to find was a bakery (which was a huge no) and a place that only sold bagels. Again, a huge no.

It took him ten more minutes to reach a building that had 'Café' written in huge, bold letters above the door and when he saw it, he didn't bother to read what was placed before or after any other shit. He was thirsty and annoyed and tired and even if he hadn't actually wanted a drink before, he sure as hell wanted one then.

The second he stepped inside, he realized he made a mistake.

There was purple - everywhere. Purple cushions, purple pillows, purple uniforms, purple toys. Yes, fucking toys, for cats because - guess what - there were cats all over the damn place.

Did Bakugou mention that he couldn't stand cats? They were whiny and needy and lame and he couldn't care less. How people managed to live with them and not murder them in the middle of the goddamn night was a fucking miracle.

He was already turning around, ready to leave the place and go write on the bus or some other shit like that, when one of the people working there had the audacity to talk to him. And Bukugou, being his usual self, didn't listen to any word the person said. However, as soon as the other finished the sentence or question or whatever, because Bakugou had been raised to be polite enough, he moved his head to the side to shout his usual 'Fuck off' before exiting the building, only to swallow his words when his eyes met the person that addressed him.

And what left his mouth had been a non-contained shout of "What the hell is that?", followed by an awkward silence.

Everyone stared at him, unmoving. Funny how the entire atmosphere of the shop changed in a millisecond because of something he did. He didn't give a fuck.

The person that got that reaction out of him didn't frown, didn't complain about the volume or anything like that. He just sat next to the desk at the entrance, looking at Bakugou with confusion.

"That wasn't very specific, man." said the guy, tilting his head to the side. Not that Bakugou followed the movement, still too intrigued (and disgusted) by the top of the other's head, unable to tear his eyes away from the weird shape found there.

"Do you call that hair?" asked Bakugou, his volume high and words unfiltered. But how could he do anything but that when that haircut (did he really pay for that shit?) was such a disgrace to human nature?

It was red, but not any kind of red, that type that literally jumped in your face and attacked you with the intensity of the colour. The worst part, however, was its entire form. Hair wasn't supposed to work like that - spikes of different sizes defying gravity and looking like an absolute mistake.

Why were they all staring at him like he just killed Jesus when his question was so fucking valid? They couldn't have not thought about it at least once in their sorry lives. If they thought he was rude, they were either used to lying to themselves or plain stupid.

Judging from the place they were at, either working or fucking around, it could've been both.

Only one person in the entire damn shop didn't seem to take it to heart. The single damn guy that had the right to actually feel attacked.

"Yeah. Isn't it cool?" he asked, smiling brightly and genuinely, as of Bakugou had just complimented, not only his hair, but every single thing about him. His eyes (also red because of course they had to be) were sparkling, for fuck's sake.

How the hell was Bakugou supposed to react to this? He couldn't scream 'I just insulted you, moron. Why the fuck are you so happy about it?'. Actually, he could, but he didn't want or need to make conversation or some shit like that.

So he settled for the better alternative. A growled, "It looks like something died in there."

Not even that kind of comment wiped the smile from the bastard's face. "Never thought of it that way. But it's a good thing, right?" It was unnerving.

Definitely not, thought Bakugou, gritting his teeth.

Was the guy on drugs? Before Bakugou could think this through, the other's grin only widened, if that was even possible. He scanned Bakugou from head to toe and exclaimed "Love your shirt, man. Is it from Forbidden Planet?"

Bakugou instinctively looked down at himself. To be honest, he had forgotten what he had thrown on himself in the morning. It was a normal occurrence - it was black and loose, that's all he needed to know. There was a skull on the front, contrasting heavily with the dark background. It was sick. Bakugou loved it, but that didn't explain this stranger's enthusiasm regarding it. Or what that Forbidden Planet place was.

He hated not understanding things.

"Huh?" he asked, or, more exactly, emitted with confusion. The sound was loud enough to make the person next to him cringe at the volume, but, somehow, it got covered completely by another voice, this time from one of the losers working there.

"Kirishima!" shouted a girl, her headphones hanging around her neck. The guy turned towards her instantly. "Are you going to do your job or not?"

He didn't grimace, didn't show any specific remorse. Just stayed as a sunny beam of bullshit.

"Yeah, sorry. In a second," the guy promised and looked at Bakugou once again. "It's an awesome shop two streets away from here. Definitely worth checking out," he explained before quickly adding: "By the way, I'm supposed to ask - do you have a reservation?"

"Was I supposed to?" Reservations were stupid and why the hell would he even make one? He didn't intend to stay anyway, not with all that purple and the constant meowing of hundreds (more like fifteen, but who was he to count) of cats.

Kirishima - the red tornado guy of sunshine - didn't seem to get the memo. "It's kind of a rule. Don't worry though, we have enough space at the moment. Just wait for a second and I'll fetch you a table."

"I don't need a damn table," mumbled Bakugou, his words muffled by the cries of three or four cats that decided to open their goddamn mouths in that exact same moment. It wasn't surprising at all that Kirishima didn't hear anything from him with all that noise.

He simply grabbed Bakugou's elbow (who the hell did that to a stranger, what the fuck?) as gently as possible, while still having a pretty strong hold on him and manoeuvring him around the café as if he was a bag of chips. Which, he, obviously, wasn't. It wasn't that big of a shop anyway and, in the 20-30 seconds it took them to move around it, Bakugou realized a couple things.

First of all, the guy needed to fucking let go of him or he was going to end up dead for real, not just on paper. Or cremated or some other shit. Second of all, having 'enough space' was a freaking lie. They barely had a chair to spare and the ones that were available had at least one cat acting like a complete brat on top of them. There was even a table where a guy had been forced to sit on the stairs next to his friends in order to let one of those furred fuckers to keep his seat. Such a wimp. If he allowed an animal to order him around and control his life, he definitely deserved to be called a loser.

And, lastly, why did these people have a perfectly fine table for two in the far corner of the shop unoccupied when it was so clear that they were overcrowded? Because that's exactly where Kirishima took him.

"Is this ok with you, man?" he had asked as he positioned Bakugou right in front of the table, his hands tapping twice his shoulders before letting him go.

Bakugou, uncharacteristically, didn't comment on the gesture, too confused about being moved around and touched so familiarly to function as he normally would - with a lot of trashing around and screams and murder promises. Not that he couldn't get to that later, as soon as he snapped out of it.

"Whatever," he said instead, moving his head to the side, not wanting to stare at Kirishima more than necessary. He wanted him gone already. Having him this close made Bakugou feel like he was slightly suffocating.

And some God above must've pitied him enough to answer his wish.

"I'll take that as a yes then," said Kirishima and smiled. "Sadly, I have to go and help some other customers, but I'll be back to you shortly. Order anything you want, I promise they are all good."

After that, he left, and Bakugou found himself standing next to the table he's been led to, no knowing how to react. But it would've been weird to chose that moment to get out of that place, especially after his interaction with Kirishima. He knew that. That's why he decided to stay, nothing more, nothing less. As he lowered himself to his seat, he noted the softness of the pillow stuck to the chair. It might've been coloured like a glowing unicorn skin, but he couldn't really deny its comfiness.

The menu was placed neatly in the centre of the table and, from the looks of it, was going to stay there for the rest of the day. Call him picky or whatever, but he wasn't going to touch something that had pink lettering, badly pixelated as well, on top of a violet pattern of a cat in heat. (It had hearts instead of eyes, sue him for having an opinion. It was a horrifying image anyway.)

He took his time to lay down his things, taking in the whole atmosphere of the shop. After all, if he wanted to work there, he needed to decide if it was possible to focus with all of the continuous noise and movement involved. It wasn't as bad as he initially thought, the loudest thing to be heard were the voices of the employers and even they didn't give Bakugou an excuse to get lost. The only apparent problem remained the cats - the most volatile subject included in the equation. He didn't know what to expect, if any of them scratched or if they were going to leave hair all over his things if he turned around for merely a second. At that hour, most of them seemed to be asleep, only two or three walking around the shop with their tails high in the air like some self-declared divas. Only one cared for human touch, the others running away before they were even approached.

Bakugou didn't blame them. He would've done the same after he made them bleed if he had sharp pointy things at the end of his fingers and someone had nothing better to do than to annoy him.

Even after he had the whole table turned into his own personal desk, he didn't start, just kept looking around, not sure himself what for. All he knew was that his eyes kept looking back at the strange guy from before, either by accident or attracted by the energy in his voice.

He was entertaining to watch, to say at least. And his hair was starting to feel less and less like the worst part. As soon as he noticed the uniform, he flinched, unsure how he had missed it before. One would think that by that point Bakugou might've gotten used to the colours, but that definitely wasn't the case when he felt like tearing his own eyes out just by glancing twice at the pink and violet paw patterns placed all over their aprons. The silver glitter didn't make it any better. All of that - including the mandatory fake cat ears that everyone working there seemed to wear - had the potential to work on a girl. It was girly, it made sense, and it could be seen clearly in the shop since most of the employers were of the opposite sex, but on a male like that Kirishima? He didn't get it.

It seemed like a bad marketing strategy.

Bakugou could see muscles under that shirt, decent ones nevertheless. Why have something like that hidden just because their stupid uniform demanded it?

As soon as he remarked this, looking away became even more difficult. He had to force himself to move his attention back to his work and, even when he did, it took him a few minutes to focus properly. After that, it was easy to lose himself in his words, paragraph after paragraph lying there one after the other, bloody and way too descriptive for a simple therapeutic piece of writing.

He had little over a page finished by the time he got interrupted and a much calmer mind to deal with the rest of the world.

"Hey," said Kirishima, appearing from his left, a small notebook in his hands. Once again, too casual, too close, too soon. "Sorry, that took a while. What would you like me to bring you?"

Bakugou stared at his face, silent for a few moments, still trapped somewhere between his the place built by his words and where his body was actually placed. It was a weird feeling, not bad exactly, just difficult to describe. When he managed to answer, Kirishima was already looking at him with something close to concern in those red eyes of his.

"I don't care," he said and, despite the harsh wording, his tone was soft, as if he breathed the words out, not said them.

It was unusual, wasn't it? To answer something like that. Kirishima didn't seem to mind this either.

"Oh. Do you need more time or do you want me to recommend something?"

How could he be so patient?

"I'm not sure I trust your taste," replied Bakugou, not intending to be rude, but stating something he felt the need to let out.

"Don't worry, dude. I've got you," said Kirishima cheerily, closing the notebook and throwing it in one of his back pockets. "I'm assuming you're not into the whole extra-cream-extra-sweet thing, so maybe you'd like Jirou's orange espresso. Or her chocolate ones. Or the ones with a bit of caramel in the mix. Your call."

Who the fuck is Jirou?

"They all sound terrible. What do you make? Or are you here just as some sort of mascot?"

"I make the tea. The manager doesn't really let me try more than that after last week's accident."

Did he even want to know about the incident? Probably not. Tea definitely didn't sound too bad compared to the other drinks.

"If I order one would you let me be?" he asked, wanting to be left alone. He had things to do and didn't have the time to chat with strangers.

And Kirishima... He... He had the fucking audacity to wink at him.

"We'll see."

Why wasn't Kirishima acting like a stranger towards him? It was weird for so many reasons. All those jokes and interest were happening too suddenly and Bakugou wasn't able to catch up with all of it. Was he acting like this with all customers or did it happen to be Bakugou's (un)lucky day?

Bakugou followed him with his eyes for a while, craving the answer to this question. Kirishima did talk a lot and whenever he approached a table, his smile grew wider and, in the back of his mind, Bakugou kind of wanted to touch his face and see if it was real or not. It looked real and, when Kirishima did it in front of him, it kind of felt real as well.

In all honesty, if Bakugou could admit something out loud, it was that he was selfish enough to want the smiles Kirishima gave him to be different than the rest. All those people, they had friends and family smiling at them like that every day. Bakugou didn't. He never thought he would want it, but he did. He really did.

People were scared of him or, at best, their smiles were mostly teasing, born out of boredom. He didn't fucking need teasing or anything as shallow as that. He wanted something truthful. Something real.

Bakugou didn't touch the paper. Didn't write a damn word. Just kept looking from the corner he was seated in, eyes widening whenever he saw Kirishima glance his way. It wasn't as rare as he would've expected but definitely not as much as his ego needed.

Sadly, it wasn't just Bakugou who craved his attention. Two cats were playing between his legs, purring and placing their tiny paws on his dark jeans, doing everything in their power to make Kirishima give them a few seconds of his time. He did it with the widest grin on his face, stopping mid-sentence during his conversation with a customer, and picked them up both, placing their cute fluffy heads on his chest as his arms carried them without a problem.

The contrast between the solid muscle and the gentleness of the gesture made Bakugou want to bark at the scene.

He wasn't jealous of a cat. He wasn't. That would've been idiotic.

"So..." started a feminine voice, interrupting his line of thought. "Do you want the tea now or should I come back later, once you're done trying to skin Kirishima alive with your eyes?"

It was the girl from before, the one with the short pixie-cut and headphones. Her tone had been a mix between monotonous and amused, her mouth forced into a straight line and her eyes full of mischief. Bakugou didn't know her and definitely didn't want to, but he sure as hell wasn't going to stay silent at her accusation.

"What's your problem?"

"I've been standing here for a full minute trying to figure out how to serve the tea Kirishima made for you, but you were too busy making lovey-dovey eyes at him to notice." Before he could explode, she kept talking. "Do you want it or not."

"Of course I do." he raged, taking the cup out of her hands. Which might've not been the most polite or normal move, he could give her that, but it was too late to excuse his sudden action. "And I never make that lovey-dovey shit. What the hell?"

Her nose made one of those movements - getting all wrinkly on one side in a judgemental way - and she stared at him flatly as she spoke again.

"You're quite the poet, aren't you?"

"And you're quite a bitch."

(The comeback of the century, wasn't it?)

She rolled her eyes so hard it must've hurt. "I have no idea why I expected Kirishima to be attracted to someone normal this time," she said to no-one. She threw him another short glance. "Definitely not the case."

That was the moment in which Bakugou would've probably cracked her skull open. Fictionally, obviously, he wasn't a barbarian. He didn't, however, because he kept replaying the first half of her words.

It must've shown on his face because she snorted and said: "You can't possibly be that blind."

Despite the insult, he couldn't really comment on it. Not when his brain was suddenly working like a maniac, trying to see what kind of gestures could've given the girl that impression.

Had it been the touching or the familiarity in his way of talking? Or maybe the wink, that one definitely seemed out of place, considering the fact that they've just met. It was difficult to tell.

"So, jerkface," the girl addressed him again. "Do you want his number or not?"

He could've said no without missing a single beat. His hesitation to do so was speaking volumes. He wasn't thinking about any storyline or character or action-packed scene full of blood and gore, no. Instead, he kept looking less and less discretely at Kirishima, his eyes tracing those impressive arms and back that simply seemed to jump out of that stupid shirt, only to go back to his contagious smile. If it hadn't been to that smile, Bakugou was sure he would've been outside long before the girl opened her mouth. Or he would've scoffed and mumbled a short 'fuck no', before ignoring her. But, as the situation stood, he couldn't say that he was against the idea.

Bakugou hadn't been honest with himself earlier when he insisted on being left alone. The guy intrigued him. His brightness - God, it sounded so idiotic to call it that - was something he couldn't comprehend. He wanted to know more. Wanted to understand how it worked and how he could smile so much and be so open, even to people he did not know.

The girl gave him all the time in the world to make up his mind, not rushing him in the slightest. Secretly, he was thankful for that.

He moved his head to the side, seeing another one of those furry creatures blinking repeatedly as if trying hard not accommodate their eyes to the light. Served them right for sleeping so much. Brats.

As if possessed by something, Bakugou found himself almost smiling at the image. Somehow, the stillness of the cat calmed him. It was weird, he knew.

It's just a number, anyway. It's not like I have to call the guy.

(Yeah, he probably wouldn't call. But messaging was another thing entirely.)

He raised his chin towards the girl and, with a new and probably strangely placed determination, he said: "Give it to me."

She did. After a few threats, of course, but who was Bakugou to listen when he had so many other things to focus on? (Apparently, she also mentioned some sort of entrance fee that Kirishima forgot to tell him about or ask for, which was outrageous. Bakugou thought he heard the price and he really wished he hadn't. Thank fuck he had only ordered some pitiful tea. His wallet wouldn't have been able to cover anything else.)

The girl left his table soon after that. Bakugou didn't hesitate. He drank the tea as if it was a shot of tequila, not a mix of hot water and leaves, and threw the amount of money he owed Kirishima on the table, as he sat up. Didn't wait for Kirishima to approach him again and collected his things in silence.

He noticed those red eyes follow his movements and he stared right back at him, this time without any hesitation. His steps were loud and firmly placed on the ground as he moved towards Kirishima. When he got close enough, he stopped for a second, barely enough to say a sentence.

"You'd better check your phone, asshole." No smirk was added at the end of it. No smile or anything else. He said it bluntly, in the most serious way he could muster.

Because if he was going to do this, it had to be a serious matter. He didn't do flings. He didn't do relationships either and, if it, by any chance, was going to end up in that direction, it had to start the right way.

Kirishima's face stayed blank for a few moments, probably taken aback by Bakugou's sudden change of attitude. Or by how cryptic his words were when thrown in his face like that. It didn't take long, though, and his face erupted in one of the most blinding smiles Bakugou had ever seen. So fucking bright it could've probably made any lamp feel incredibly useless.

"Sure thing, man," he said, his voice rich and full of life. He patted Bakugou on the shoulder twice, the strength of his arm easy to remark without it being too much for Bakugou to handle. He quite liked having that kind of weight on his, pressed on his skin.

Their eyes stayed connected for a bit longer, a few seconds at most, before both of them moved away, Kirishima turning his body halfway towards the customers he's been talking to before Bakugou interrupted him, and Bakugou continuing his walk out the door.

Nothing stopped him this time.

He glanced at the door before he let go of it, seeing Kirishima's vibrant hair colour even though the dirty mirror, the sound of it closing being louder than he anticipated.

He stayed there for a bit, right in front of the coffee shop, blocking the entrance, his phone still in his hand, the contact list visible to anyone who passed by him. And there, right in the middle of the pace, two centimeters away from his thumb, stood Kirishima's name.

Well, not actually his name, but a nickname Bakugou saw fit. 'Shitty hair' - what a horrible nickname. But Bakugou liked it.

Despite everything that happened that day, the stupid nickname did it. It made him smile. Properly. So brutally genuine it should've made him sick.

As he moved his thumb across the screen, he realized something. He didn't regret going inside that coffee shop. At all. Not even 0.001% of him.

He tossed the phone back in his pocket and started to use his feet. The laptop on his back was heavy enough to be a constant reminder of the reason why he left the house, but Bakugou didn't feel like writing anymore.

He wasn't in the mood to murder anyone at that moment. Just wanted to go home, throw himself on the bed and shout at Todoroki to get the fuck out of his room so he could text Kirishima without any distractions.

He liked this plan. He really, really liked this plan

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