Chapter Text
Oh, Hitoshi had been fully prepared to ignore the call. Considering how often he usually did.
Just the sight of Denki’s contact on his screen was enough to make him sigh.
And after an hour of listening to his persistent and frankly pointless persuasion tactics, Hitoshi wished he’d declined.
He should’ve known, there would never be a good reason for Denki to be calling him this late.
At least nothing that wouldn’t inevitably end in Hitoshi being dragged somewhere he’d never be caught dead inside of.
“Oh, come on! It’s Eijirou’s 18th, you have to come.” Denki’s voice rang around Hitoshi’s previously silent room, whining continuously like a untrained puppy. This was why Hitoshi preferred cats.
Hitoshi leaned back in his bed, letting his head rest against the wall. Maybe the pure insanity of whatever Denki was offering would send Hitoshi into a coma. As fucking if.
He could already imagine the noise of whatever place they’d end up. And guess what? It sounded like Hell.
Why would Hitoshi put himself through that torture? Being surrounded by drunks, vomit and flashing lights.
Hitoshi would probably pass out on the doorstep.
“I’m sure Kirishima will be okay without me.” Hitoshi sighed, for probably the tenth time in that same phone call. Dear God, he was beginning to sound like his dad.
The problem wasn’t that Hitoshi disliked Kirishima, he was actually a pretty nice guy. And that was saying something, as Hitoshi hated almost anyone.
The issue was everything else that followed him. Large groups, with way too much energy and countless social expectations that Hitoshi wouldn’t dream of meeting.
The exhausting and constant performance of being someone who belonged there. Hitoshi wasn’t that.
“I won’t be! You’re eighteen, Hitoshi, and I’ve never once seen you have fun.” Denki cried out in response. Hitoshi huffed softly through his nose.
The poor, deluded extrovert had no idea.
Hitoshi was having one of the best nights of his life before this phone call; his silent room on a Friday night, no UA, no people. Just him, his bed and his laptop with enough illegal movies to last him a lifetime.
“I have plenty of fun, by myself.” Hitoshi said matter-of-factly. He even felt himself smile at the memory of being in complete silence.
And it was true, genuinely. Not having to talk to anyone for hours at a time was Hitoshi’s exact idea of fun. For the most part. But Hitoshi tended to ignore the exceptions, especially loud and obnoxious ones.
“I don’t think you realise how sad that is.” Denki deadpanned.
Hitoshi shrugged, even though Denki couldn’t see it. “I don’t care.” He said, shifting down and lowering himself under the covers.
It was mid-October, right around when the chill in the dorms was enough to convince Hitoshi he needed three sweaters on.
“Hitoshi!” Denki scolded, he was beginning to sound like Yamada. Because realistically, Aizawa would never ask Hitoshi to go ‘be social’.
“Think about how funny it’ll be seeing Eijirou shitfaced for the first time… it will be a shit show! Come on, I’ll even buy you a drink?” He added, weakly.
Hitoshi paused, because although alcohol could persuade Hitoshi to do almost anything, Denki was actually right. For once. Watching Kirishima drunk did sound entertaining, at the very least.
He was probably already the most outgoing guy Hitoshi had ever met, but with liquor in his system? And no prior experience to meaningless things such as ‘limits’ or ‘tolerance’?
That actually sounded priceless.
Hitoshi could just be a spectator; he’d sit in a corner, watch as everything and anything unfolded. Maybe this deal wasn’t so bad after all. Then again, he still wanted to make sure Denki was making it worth his time.
“Make it two bottles, and I’ll consider it.” That way, if nothing of interest happened, Hitoshi would be too far past plastered to notice, or care.
There was a beat of stunned silence on the other end. Then, Denki laughed. “I’ll make it three for a yes.” Hitoshi smirked faintly, already taking his phone away from his ear.
Hitoshi hummed, rolling onto his side and plugging his phone into the charging cable. “Fine. Deal.”
“Yes!” He heard Denki’s triumphant celebration even without his phone pressed to his cheek. “Wait, bottles?” Followed almost instantly after.
Hitoshi snickered and hovered his thumb over the red button. “Bye, Denki.” He hung up before Denki could say anything else.
Hitoshi stared at his phone for a second longer, then sighed.
It was probably a bad idea. And he was absolutely going to regret the decision in the morning. But not enough to cancel, Hitoshi would never emit defeat to Denki Kaminari. Or anyone, for that matter.
At around one in the morning, which Hitoshi was aware of because he’d been watching the clock like a predator outside of a school for the past hour, his phone dinged again.
He was almost entirely expecting Denki to be following up on their deal with more criteria Hitoshi had to meet before his promised three bottles.
Unfortunately, Hitoshi was wrong. Though, not entirely. It was still an annoying and overly persistent blonde, just the wrong one.
dipshit: yo did sparky invite u
Ah, the poetic literature of Katsuki Bakugou. Hitoshi couldn’t miss it. Mostly because he was never given a chance, and for that, Hitoshi liked to be difficult.
?Me: To Kirishima’s party
dipshit: no, to the spa for a make over
dipshit: yes u fucking idiot
Hitoshi physically grinned. Bakugou had always made it too easy to mess with him, Hitoshi thrived off it.
Texts like these weren’t uncommon from Bakugou; showing up out of nowhere, asking something and then acting like Hitoshi was the one pestering him in the middle of the night.
Once an asshole, always an asshole. Right?
?Me: Why do you want to know
The typing bubble hesitated for a couple moments, before returning with an irritatingly loud ping.
dipshit: just tell me
Hitoshi sighed, usually Bakugou played along a lot more. Maybe the old man was cranky, considering his usual bedtime of 8:30pm.
.Me: He did
Hitoshi should’ve expected it when no response came. But still, he couldn’t help but feel like he’d lost.
?Me: Nothing? That’s it
Hitoshi had always been a sore loser.
.Me: Fuck you
dipshit: if u want to
Well, shit. If he hadn’t already, Hitoshi had definitely lost now. To Denki Kaminari and fucking Katsuki Bakugou, in the same night.
The next night, Hitoshi almost turned around twice on the walk down from his dorm.
Denki and his friends were already gathered and waiting outside when he got down to the front.
It was baltic outside, but not a single coat in sight. Hitoshi wondered what he’d agreed to, he stepped out and walked down to join them anyway.
The bass from the clubs and bars down the street was already faintly audible, UA was on a pretty busy street as it was. On a Saturday night? It was pure chaos.
He was beginning to feel that familiar and looming reluctance settle in his chest. Like he already could sense the incoming input of too many people, too much noise and too much everything.
But still, he’d made a deal. Hitoshi never backed down from what he said. Plus, Denki would never let him hear the end of it if he bailed now.
The group was buzzing with energy that Hitoshi very much did not match. He hung back slightly, hands deep in his coat pockets, taking them in silently.
Denki was practically vibrating, a beaming smile across his face as he slung his arm around Hitoshi. Ashido matched his excitement… and volume, to Hitoshi’s delight.
Sero looked amused by all of it and Jirou just had that half-interested, half-judging expression she always wore.
And Kirishima, well… Kirishima looked like he was trying very hard to be excited.
But from what Hitoshi observed, which was usually quite accurate, he was shitting absolute bricks. His expression was pinched and his hands trembled at his sides, Hitoshi doubted it was just from the temperature.
“This is going to be so fun!” Denki boomed beside Hitoshi’s head, fully-convincing him that he’d gone deaf in his that ear.
Kirishima huffed a very, very fake laugh. “If you say so, Denks. I’m not sure ‘clubs’ are really my thing.” Hitoshi was sure Eijirou’s smile got tighter, if that was even possible.
Hitoshi almost snorted at that. At least someone else had some sense.
“How would you know? You’ve never been.” Jirou chimed in, monotone voice as per usual. Her smile was warm though, she was subtle in her way of trying to encourage Kirishima.
Hitoshi didn’t think he’d ever seen Kirishima need encouragement for anything.
His shoulders loosened a fraction, but the nerves were still there. “I guess.” He sighed, crossing his arms and letting his attention drift towards the busy street.
“Aw, come on, bro! Me and Mina know all the best joints to show you.” Sero piped up while Ashido nodded very enthusiastically beside him.
Kirishima offered a weak smile before Denki began yelling again, Hitoshi knew it’d been too long since he last spoke. “We’re going to have a blast!” He laughed and squeezed Hitoshi’s shoulder. As if that would help this worsening situation.
The worst part was that Hitoshi had nobody to blame but himself.
He shifted his weight, glancing at the street in front of them, already mapping out escape routes in his head.
He could probably leave after an hour. That’d be enough, right? Long enough to say he showed up and long enough to collect his drinks.
“Speaking of, where is Blasty?” Ashido questioned, trying to look through the building’s double doors.
So, he was coming, unexpected. Not that Hitoshi gave a shit whether Bakugou tagged along or not.
Jirou sighed. “Late, obviously.”
Hitoshi’s hands were beginning to turn blue, he couldn’t only imagine the others were one more chilled gust of wind away from freezing all together. At least then Hitoshi could get back into bed.
Then, as if on cue, the doors clicked open and all their heads spun at once. Hitoshi followed their gaze without much interest.
Bakugou stepped out like he’d been summoned by the complaint itself, knowing him, he probably had.
His posture was still sharp, but more relaxed than usual. His hands were buried in his jeans pockets. He’d barely dressed up, unlike the others, but Hitoshi couldn’t imagine Bakugou putting in the effort for something like this.
He supposed they were similar in that respect.
He wore his same permanently unimpressed expression like the entire world and everyone in it was inconveniencing him just by being there.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He scoffed, pushing back a smirk as he stepped towards the group.
Hitoshi stilled. He’d spoken to Bakugou briefly before, obviously; training, hallways, the occasional group hangout when the only reason he was there was because Denki had dragged him along.
And of course, the weird texts.
But there was something different about him tonight. Maybe it was the fact he was out of uniform, face lit up by warm streetlights instead of harsh fluorescent bulbs.
Hitoshi wouldn’t stretch to ‘laidback’, this was Katsuki Bakugou he was talking about after all, maybe just slightly less contained?
“Blasty! I can’t believe you actually came.” Ashido squealed, skipping over and draping an arm around his neck.
The hook of her elbow pulled him down to her level as she smacked a kiss on his cheek. Leaving behind a very red, lip-shaped outline, the group quietly snickered but nobody mentioned it.
Turns out, Hitoshi wasn’t the only one who liked to tease Bakugou. Go figure.
“Well, someone’s gonna have to be able to carry Eijirou home.” Bakugou scoffed, shrugging Ashido’s arm off of him.
Kirishima made a sound somewhere in between a cough and just flat out choking. “Sorry, carry?” Hitoshi was pretty sure he could see Kirishima actually sweating.
Denki cackled, releasing Hitoshi and waltzing over to Kirishima, joining their arms before he could make a runner. “Amazing point, Kacchan! Let’s go!”
The group started moving almost immediately, the energy shifting forward as they headed down the street.
Hitoshi fell into step behind them, keeping his pace just slightly slower than the rest.
He wasn’t really part of it, but not entirely separate either. Contempt to listen. Well, until… “What’s Eyebags doing here?”
There it was. Hitoshi glanced over at him, unimpressed but not surprised. Bakugou pretending he had no idea who Hitoshi was? Shocker.
If anything, it was almost familiar? Comforting, in an extremely strange and probably unhealthy way. But Bakugou was nothing if not predictable.
“Nice to see you too, Bakugou.” Hitoshi hummed, sarcasm as evident in his tone as humanly possible.
Bakugou just huffed, looking him over briefly before facing forward again.
And for some reason, Hitoshi found himself just a little more awake than he’d been five minutes ago. Maybe the whole ordeal wouldn’t be as painful as he thought.
The queue alone should’ve been Hitoshi’s first warning of his increasingly shit idea.
It stretched halfway around the block, an absolute mess of bodies packed far too close together, laughing too loudly and a mix of perfume and cologne clogging the cold air.
The beats from inside the club pulsed through the pavement, low and rhythmic, like a heartbeat Hitoshi didn’t want any part of.
Considering he was pretty sure he’d lose his own any second now.
He shifted on his feet, hands fidgeting uselessly in his coat pockets, already regretting every life decision that had led him here.
Where did it all go wrong? He wasn’t sure. But if he had to guess, it’d be a certain electric little shit.
Speaking of, Denki was having the time of his life. Hitoshi was pretty sure he’d already made three new friends just in the fucking line.
By the time they finally got inside, Hitoshi’s senses were hit all at once.
The lights flashing every colour of the rainbow, music blaring and crossing over different beats and lyrics, voices overlapping into one constant and immensely overwhelming noise.
To say it was too much, was a severe fucking understatement.
Hitoshi’s shoulders tensed immediately and he almost spun on his heels right then and there.
Actually, he did try to slow down. Just slightly, enough to consider slipping back out the door and disappearing before anyone could notice or catch up to him.
But Denki just grabbed his wrist and dragged them further in, and that was that.
Hitoshi was sealed into this prison for the night, a true punishment for Hitoshi’s poor choices.
“Guys! Over here!” Hitoshi followed the voice through the shifting crowd, weaving past strangers who bumped into him without a second thought.
He debated between flinching or swinging anytime someone brushed too close to his shoulder.
Denki had somehow secured a booth. How? Hitoshi had no idea, but he wasn’t about to question it.
It wasn’t quiet in the slightest but at least it was slightly more secluded.
Denki claimed the middle and began drumming his fingers along the tabletop, practically bouncing off his seat already.
Hitoshi slid into the seat on the edge, immediately angling himself so he could keep an eye on the exits. Just in case.
“Ok, who’s getting the first round?” Ashido half-yelled, Hitoshi couldn’t even complain, considering he still barely heard her. He didn’t bother looking up though.
“I vote Katsuki!” Sero yelled in a heartbeat, pointing straight for the blonde. Bakugou just crossed his arms and stared back, he made no point of moving.
Jirou raised her hand after that. “I second that!” Bakugou looked at her like the vote was a personal betrayal.
“Of course you do, Ears.” Bakugou didn’t really put the effort into yelling, his natural voice was loud enough. Unfortunately.
Hitoshi glanced up just in time to see Bakugou rolling his eyes as he shoved his way back into the crowd. Typical.
“Eij, you could go with him to carry the drinks back! Have a look at the menu while you’re up there!” Denki screamed.
Hitoshi didn’t even need to look to know Kirishima had gone rigid. “Go with him? To the bar?” Kirishima gulped.
His eyes darting frantically between the bar, which was across the dance floor, and the safety of the booth.
Jirou stepped out of the seat and motioned for Kirishima to slide in, which he accepted almost instantly.
“Shinsou, why don’t you join Katsuki? Eijirou looks about one breath away from a panic attack!” She laughed at her own joke as she took her place next to Kirishima.
Hitoshi let out a long, suffering groan, that he was sure nobody would ever hear, as he dragged his hand down the entire length of his face.
Because of course. Clearly, he was the best candidate for this.
Walking through a packed crowd, or otherwise referred to as ‘death trap’? Again? Fucking fantastic, just his luck.
But then the thought of a drink, multiple drinks even, if Denki was to be believed, was enough to push him to his feet.
“Fine.” He muttered, already bracing himself as he stepped away from the booth.
If he was going to survive this night, he was going to need alcohol. A lot of it.
The bar was marginally better.
Still painfully loud and crowded. But at least there was structure; people standing still, waiting their turn, focused on one thing instead of moving in every direction at once.
It was preferable, at the absolute least.
Hitoshi slipped in beside Bakugou. He turned so that his back rested against the bar, facing the crowd.
He could keep track of the movement around him that way, he knew that people could be pretty unpredictable like this.
Bakugou was leaning forward on his elbows, clearly used to this kind of setting, even if he did claim to hate it.
Hitoshi tilted his head slightly, studying him for a moment before speaking.
His eyes were fixated on the shelves of colourful bottles, Hitoshi wasn’t even sure if Bakugou had noticed his arrival. “You always this enthusiastic when you go out?”
Bakugou snorted, not even looking at him.“I’ve been here before, it’s shit. Full of underage drunks and desperate extras.”
Hitoshi hummed, that tracked.
As Hitoshi’s eyes scanned the crowd, he saw the slow sway of intoxicated men and women alike. He could easily pick out the people who didn’t even look close to being of age.
“I didn’t realise you were such an expert, Bakugou.” Hitoshi turned his attention back on the blonde, who clicked his tongue at Hitoshi’s snide remark.
“Shut the fuck up, Eyebags. My dumbass middle school friends used to force me to come to places like this.” He admitted, nonchalantly.
Hitoshi could almost picture it; Bakugou surrounded by idiots, already well past annoyed, and already thinking he was better than all of them.
“So, you go to sleep before most children but enjoy illegal activities? How contradictory.” Hitoshi scoffed, mostly to cover up the smirk that somehow always appeared when he pestered Bakugou.
When the music turned up a fraction, he dropped his head further so Bakugou could still make out what he was saying.
Bakugou finally glanced at him then, something close to amusement flickering in his eyes. “What can I say? Gotta keep you interested somehow.”
Hitoshi raised a brow, unimpressed, as always. But not entirely unaffected. “Oh, yeah? I’m not sure ‘interested’ is the word I’d use.”
To that, Bakugou’s smile definitely grew. “You’re still here, ain’t ya?” Hitoshi shook his head at the sight, colourful lights flashing across intense eyes and a cocky smile. Stupid.
Hitoshi wasn’t even close to being shocked that the other enjoyed the challenge too.
Katsuki Bakugou may be slightly less of a raging asshole nowadays, but his ego will always be bigger than the size of fucking Japan.
Hitoshi pressed his mouth into a hard line, it was an annoyingly fair point. He couldn’t even deny he enjoyed Bakugou’s company, partially.
The back and forth had always come far too easily. Still, Hitoshi would rather die than admit that. “Under duress. Denki held me at gunpoint.”
Then, Bakugou pushed his elbows slightly off the bar, straight into Hitoshi’s personal space. “I think we both know that isn’t what I meant.”
His voice was much lower now, he could afford to be with the significant decrease in distant between them. The crowd still surrounded them, but for some reason it felt quieter.
It was a weird dynamic, between him and Bakugou. But neither had managed, or tried, to change it. Hitoshi let a small grin tug at his mouth.
“Oh? So, what did you mean?” Bakugou’s own lips twitched in response, just barely, but Hitoshi saw it.
They kept their eyes locked for a beat longer, neither were willing to be the first to give in. Hitoshi hated how much he didn’t hate it, it wasn’t like he hadn’t tried.
And Hitoshi didn’t see Bakugou changing any time soon. It wasn’t like their strange back and forth game was hurting anyone, it was just a harmless ‘who can last longer’ sort of thing.
At what? Hitoshi wasn’t entirely sure. His guess? At keeping up, and not backing down.
But before he could think too hard about that, someone tapped Bakugou’s shoulder. “Excuse me?”
Hitoshi’s gaze flicked over immediately, causing Bakugou to follow in suit with a laughably bored expression. “What?” As charming as ever.
“Are you Katsuki Bakugou?” The girl was pretty, quite short and wearing something that Hitoshi could barely even consider a dress, due to the severe lack of material.
If she didn’t have hypothermia yet, he decided it was only a matter of time.
Bakugou just sighed as if the question was entirely obtuse. “What’s it look like?” Hitoshi almost rolled his eyes, the guy could at least be less of an ass about it. But then again, Japan-size ego.
“It looks like you need some better company.” The girl’s gaze slid over to Hitoshi, assessing and dismissive.
Oh. Well, actually, fuck this bitch. Hitoshi hadn’t even said anything? Why was he catching strays?
Hitoshi didn’t move or react, just stayed to watch. Then, Bakugou decided to continue this fascinating interaction. “Oh, yeah? Let me guess, that’d be you?”
His smirk slid on as naturally as ever, tilting his head in a way Hitoshi desperately tried to despise. Like a fox, knowingly glaring down at the prey.
“Could be.” Her smile was all pride, shrugging easily. Jesus Christ. Are they having an ego-off? Hitoshi almost debated finding a mirror to place between them.
Maybe they were both the fox, and this is just what happened when two predators squared up? Who knew this would turn into a fucking nature documentary.
“I’d bet it couldn’t.”
Huh? Hitoshi thought Bakugou was flirting. And that he’d eventually have to kill himself, if only to stop them from making out on top of him.
The girl obviously got the same impression as her eyebrows instantly pinched together. “And why’s that?” She crossed her arms and cocked a hip out, thankfully ignoring Hitoshi’s entire existence.
“Not my type.” Bakugou said simply as he pushed himself away from the counter, spinning to face the crowd instead.
Hitoshi’s brow twitched slightly. That was quick, and overly blunt. Unlike before.
Maybe Bakugou’s voice just came across as seduction when it was paired with his stupid face.
“You sure? You don’t even know me.” She continued. Maybe Bakugou has finally met his match, this girl was basically his reflection with tits.
He laughed at the attempt before adding, “And I’d like to keep it that way.” Still brutal, then. Hitoshi almost had to respect it.
“Well, I’d like to know you.” Hitoshi sighed internally. This was going to keep going, wasn’t it? Maybe Hitoshi’s suicide plan was still on the cards?
Or maybe he’d just have to stop it himself, that option was looking more likely due to the lack of ropes or high buildings nearby.
Hitoshi slid his palm smoothly over Bakugou’s chest and poked his head around to meet the girl once more. God only knows what had decided to possess him.
“Guess you’ll have to join the queue then.” He smiled plainly, ignoring Bakugou’s surprised expression.
The words left his mouth before he’d even fully decided to speak. And unfortunately, he hadn’t had the liquor to blame his actions on yet. To his surprise, Bakugou didn’t move, or object.
The girl looked utterly unimpressed, raising an eyebrow. “Behind you?” She scoffed before turning on Bakugou again. “Really?”
Hitoshi began to feel Bakugou’s heartbeat under his skin.
Hitoshi glanced over to the man of the fucking hour, apparently. To his surprise, Bakugou looked ecstatic. His smile was much wider now, and his eyes had a terrifying glint in them.
He dropped his focus on Hitoshi to address the girl, shrugging as he spoke. “Looks like it.” He snickered, actually fucking snickered. And shot Hitoshi a look that was far too entertained for his liking.
“You can’t be serious. He’s your type? Who even are you?” She protested. Hitoshi met her gaze evenly, unbothered.
He didn’t need to answer that, he didn’t want to be known by this girl. Or anyone, for that matter.
Even if he had wanted to respond, Bakugou beat him to it. “Look, unless you’re packing, I’d suggest you fuck off. Find some other extra to do you.”
Well. That ended that, didn’t it?
It wasn’t exactly a secret. Everyone in Class 3A knew that Bakugou was gay, that much was obvious after his ‘self-discovery journey’ in their second year after his newfound popularity.
But still, way to let her down gently.
The girl scoffed, muttered something under her breath, and disappeared back into the crowd.
Hitoshi watched her go for half a second before a quiet and very accidental laugh slipped out of him.
He dropped his hand from Bakugou’s chest and moved to lean over the bar. Hitoshi shook his head slightly before speaking. “You’re such a tease.”
To that, Bakugou scoffed. As if Hitoshi didn’t just endure the shit show of the century, Bakugou stashing away that fact that he’s gay like it’s some fun plot twist.
“Says you.” Hitoshi’s head spun as soon as he’d heard Bakugou’s mere fucking tone.
“Me? What’s that supposed to mean? I did you a favour.” The fact that Hitoshi hadn’t stabbed himself or Bakugou yet is nothing short of a miracle.
Smile still bright as the day, Bakugou tipped his head back to face Hitoshi. “Sure.” He paused. Grin like the fucking cheshire cat, growing more by the second.
“Just couldn’t wait to get your hands on me though, could you?” Then, he fucking winked.
If Hitoshi had rolled his eyes any harder, he’d have knocked himself out. “Jesus Christ. So much for your supposed ‘character development’.”
Bakugou huffed, shoulder checking him as he turned. “I’ve developed plenty, dickhead.” Hitoshi hummed, unconvinced but amused all the same.
Before he could reply, the bartender slid two trays onto the counter.
“Here are your drinks, folks.” Hitoshi’s eyes lit up as he saw the numerous shots and variation of colourful cocktails. Finally.
This was something worth being here for. And he supposed it had been pretty entertaining so far, maybe he’d stick around for a bit.
The return to the booth felt like a victory in and of itself, Hitoshi was entirely convinced he’d gotten lost half way through the swarm of drunkards.
He’d followed close behind Bakugou, careful not to spill the tray of shots as he manoeuvred around bodies.
When they’d finally saw the booth, Hitoshi literally exhaled.
“Here’s your drinks, assholes! Go nuts.” Bakugou dropped the cocktail tray onto the table with a dull thud, as he slid into the end of the booth.
He was already snatching one of the glasses like he’d earned it.
Hitoshi set the shots down more carefully, nudging them toward the middle. Following Bakugou into the seat, sliding across and reaching for a shot.
They were much closer like this, maybe it was the overcrowded booth couch. The shift was only small, barely noticeable.
But Hitoshi had a thing for noticing.
The group immediately lit up at the arrival of drinks. Cheers, laughter, hands grabbing at glasses before anyone could even pretend to be civil about it.
Hitoshi was sure some people hadn’t even grabbed their allocated drink, just whichever was closest.
The atmosphere around them remained the same, but inside? It’d changed slightly. Less suffocating than before.
Maybe the alcohol was already helping. That had to be the answer, there was no way in Hell that Hitoshi was actually enjoying himself.
They all raised their glasses, some half-attempt at a toast for Eijirou’s birthday got completely lost in the overlapping noise, before tipping them back together.
Hitoshi barely had time to register the burn before it was gone as sharp, clean and unpleasant as the last time he’d had a shot.
He exhaled through his nose, setting the glass down with an piercing clink when he caught Bakugou looking at him.
There was it was. That smirk curled around the rim of his own glass, eyes half-lidded, already tipping it back in sync with Hitoshi like it had been planned.
Hitoshi’s mouth twitched as his teeth grit together. Annoying.
This was the weird thing between them. The game was never settled for too long, and both of them were always playing.
“How does it feel to be a man, Eijirou?” Denki yelled, already halfway lifted out of his seat as he grabbed Kirishima by the shoulders and shook him like a human ragdoll.
Kirishima gagged immediately, eyes already watering at the sting in his throat. “That shit tastes like hand sanitiser!”
He stuck his tongue out, face twisted in disgust. Hitoshi was sure that was the first time he’d ever heard Kirishima cuss.
“It tastes better the more you drink, E.” Bakugou laughed, already pushing another shot into his hand like the bad influence Hitoshi hadn’t previously realised he was.
Not exactly a surprising discovery. At least he offered to carry Kirishima home?
Kirishima looked at the glass like it had personally offended him and then at Bakugou.
Pretty soon the pressure of the group was inevitable. Between the groans, laughter, chanting; he caved. Of course he did.
They all grabbed another, the second round going down even faster than the first.
Hitoshi didn’t even wince this time, just felt the warmth settle lower in his chest, spreading outwards, taking the edge off everything slightly too sharp and overwhelming.
Hitoshi toyed with the idea that this wouldn’t be a complete waste of time in the end. He was sure that was low buzz of alcohol running through his blood though.
The sharps spikes of volume, softened. The bright separate spotlights and lasers of neons, had started to merge and blend together with each drink.
Even time began to blur after that.
With more drinks and more noise, conversations were overlapping, breaking apart and reforming somewhere new.
Hitoshi was long past keeping up.
At some point, Denki dragged Mina and Kirishima toward the dance floor, Sero not far behind with another drink in hand.
Jirou got to her feet, but stayed on the edge of the crowd. Her phone recording in one hand and a drink in the other, tipping her head back with poorly suppressed laughter at Denki’s dance moves.
Hitoshi barely registered it all. Because at some point, without really meaning to, the conversation had narrowed. Really narrowed, just him and Bakugou.
Now, they had an entire booth. And yet, their sides stayed pinned.
Their legs stretched out under the table, but limbs close enough that Hitoshi was very aware of where Bakugou’s knee was. Bumping restlessly against his own.
The blonde’s eyes stayed fixed in front of them, watching the group as they danced amongst the swarm of people.
“So, you really waiting in line?” Bakugou asked, that same irritating smile tugging at his mouth.
Hitoshi hadn’t realised how cocky Bakugou had gotten in the past years, but now? He was beginning to miss the ‘I hate everyone and everything’ version of Katsuki Bakugou.
Hitoshi scoffed immediately at the sheer audacity, leaning back against the seat.
“For you? You wish.” Hitoshi faked a smile, but quickly dropped it when he faced the other.
Bakugou didn’t answer straight away. Instead, he just looked at him. Like really looked.
Not a glance, or a quick once-over. It dragged, so much so that Hitoshi thought he’d passed out and time must’ve just stopped all together.
It was slow, deliberate, starting at Hitoshi’s face, and dropping lower like he was actually considering it. Taking his time with it.
Hitoshi held his expression, unimpressed and unfazed. But there was something unfamiliar curling in his gut under the weight of it.
Then Bakugou leaned back again, attention flicking lazily back towards the crowd. “Hm. I suppose it’d be quite a long wait.”
Has Hitoshi ever said how much of a fucking bastard Bakugou is? No? Oh, well, here it is.
Hitoshi huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re a dick. I knew your ‘new year, new me’ act was bullshit.”And annoyingly, he was smiling. The type that he couldn’t shake off.
Bakugou’s eyes darted back to him instantly, catching it. “Like your act at the bar?”
He raised a brow, lowering his voice as he pushed his way into Hitoshi’s space once more, draping an arm over the back of the curved couch to close more distance.
Hitoshi stilled for half a second.
Then rolled his eyes, reaching for his drink just to have something to do with his hands. “I did that so I didn’t have to watch her beg.”
He took a swig before chancing a glance towards the other, bringing his knee to his chest and angling his head to meet Bakugou halfway, never backing down. “Why not just lead with ‘I like guys’?”
Ruby eyes scanned him, still and predatory.
And there was a pause, a very real one. Hitoshi felt it before he saw it. The shift in attention, the way Bakugou was turned fully toward him this time. Not in that ‘casual’ way anymore, no more just ‘playing around’.
Hitoshi swallowed, subtle but necessary, like it was his only lifeline. Like the way his throat suddenly felt too dry might actually kill him.
Bakugou’s gaze moved across his face like he was searching for something. Or maybe he was just taking note. Revising each feature with emphasis.
Whatever it was, he was taking his sorry fucking time. Still, Hitoshi held underneath it, trying very hard not to react.
Bakugou’s smirk returned, slower this time. “I like making people squirm.”
And if that wasn’t the biggest shock of the night. Katsuki Bakugou? Making people uncomfortable? Never.
Hitoshi detested how proud the blonde looked with himself, clearly noticing Hitoshi’s discomfort and deeming it as a win. Asshole.
But when Bakugou’s eyes made their way down to Hitoshi’s mouth, he realised he could imagine way too many other meanings for a statement like that.
Which he’d determinedly decided not to do.
Hitoshi let out the breath he’d been holding since he’d realised he could feel Bakugou’s liquour-ridded breath on his cheek.
“Clearly.” He cleared his throat and shifted his gaze away, back to the crowd. Honestly? Anywhere but that look.
It was stupid. It was just Bakugou being Bakugou. A dickhead, screwing with people with no care or interest for the effect it had.
Hitoshi assumed that must just be a reoccurring issue for all hot people.
“Don’t act like you didn’t have just as much fun as I did.” He added.
Hitoshi’s fingers tightened slightly around his glass. Because, reluctantly, he had to admit, Bakugou was right.
Not just the girl or the situation. But the back and forth. Their back and forth, and the sheer ease of it.
The way Bakugou had just gone with it. As if it were as natural as breathing to him. Except it wasn’t breathing, it was pretending to have interest. In each other.
When Hitoshi glanced back, Bakugou was already watching him again, that same smug, knowing look like he’d already figured it all out.
Like he was just now waiting for Hitoshi to succumb and admit it. Which Hitoshi would only do once he was dead and six feet under the fucking ground.
“Shut the fuck up and drink your drink.” He snapped as he downed the rest of his own glass, this time the burn was practically nonexistent.
Bakugou’s grin widened instantly and Hitoshi didn’t dare look. “Don’t have to tell me twice.” He knocked back the rest of his drink like it was nothing.
At some point, somehow, Hitoshi had ended up outside of the booth; and by Hitoshi’s standards? He was practically on the dance floor.
Albeit, right on the edge, pressed as close as humanly possible to the wall. But still. Outside of the booth!
Hitoshi really did try to suppress his laugh when Denki attempted ‘break dancing’ in the middle of a dance circle. And yes, people still did those, apparently.
Luckily, Jirou recorded every second; Hitoshi was sure he wouldn’t remember if she hadn’t.
Bakugou had to intervene when he noticed Sero spinning Kirishima around by his finger.
Hitoshi wasn’t sure whether Kirishima looked closer to passing out or throwing up, maybe both.
Eventually, Bakugou decided to give up and opt for letting the commotion commence. Looks like both it was.
Hitoshi offered Bakugou some of his drink, condolences for his failed efforts, which the blonde took gladly. “You didn’t spike it, did you?” Bakugou yelled through the noise, glass already half-emptied.
“Guess you’ll have to wait and find out.” Hitoshi snickered as he took the glass back, finishing it in one gulp.
Honestly? Hitoshi had wished he could spike Bakugou before. Unfortunately, this wasn’t that time.
Hitoshi had pointedly ignored the way Bakugou watched him finish the drink, in favour for focusing on the crowd.
As the night went on, the sway of bodies only got harsher. Hitoshi had witnessed at least three bar fights already, and he was beginning to feel the floor getting sticky.
That’s when Hitoshi chuckled to himself. Amongst the crowd, and across the room, was the girl from the bar. Staring at Bakugou like some sort of evil Disney villain.
Hitoshi tapped Bakugou’s arm, considering the blonde hadn’t even noticed the attention, motioning across the crowd. “Hey, check it out.”
Bakugou followed the direction of Hitoshi’s gaze, eventually landing on his new stalker. “Hah! Guess I didn’t make it obvious enough.” He laughed, talking into Hitoshi’s ear.
His voice was usually so insufferable from far away. But against Hitoshi’s skin? It rattled him. Sending an unsolicited shiver down the nape of his neck.
Hitoshi cleared his throat, deciding to focus more and think less. For his own sake.
“How long you think till she makes it to the front of the queue?” He asked, not taking his eyes off the girl, who only continued to stare harder.
Bakugou hummed, cupping his hand around his mouth to isolate the sound of his voice. To be fair, the music wasn’t getting any quieter. “A very long while.”
Hitoshi pushed down his growing-smile. After the last drink had entered his bloodstream, he’d felt the growing static feeling behind his eyes.
Which is what he’d decided to hold directly responsible for all of his next words. “Maybe you should make it clear? You know, to save her the wait.”
And obviously the idea had sounded no better out loud because when Hitoshi risked a glance at Bakugou, he looked nothing less than absolutely thrilled.
“Oh, yeah? How should I do that?” He tilted his head, not even sparing the girl an inch of attention.
The only thing Hitoshi begrudgingly enjoyed more than this game of theirs, was winning.
So, anytime Bakugou looked just a tad too pleased, Hitoshi’s actions could barely even be considered his own.
And in some way or another, Hitoshi’s hand had made its way to Bakugou’s jaw. “Here.” His grip angled the blondes face closer, red lipstick stain still printed on his cheek.
Then, Hitoshi dragged his tongue, far slower than intended, up the side of Bakugou’s face. Smudging red across his skin, and leaving the blonde frozen.
Hitoshi couldn’t help but snicker at the mess of lipstick he’d made as he pulled away, Bakugou’s cheek looked as it’d been mauled by a bear.
Hitoshi glanced back at the girl, just catching the moment she turned and stormed away. “Think she got the message?”
He turned his head back as Hitoshi dropped his grip from Bakugou’s jaw, resting his hand back on hid chest.
Bakugou’s eyes had widened significantly. His turned his gaze on Hitoshi, half-laughing. “I know I did.”
And the way Hitoshi’s lips turned upwards, was entirely against his will. “Yeah?” It was a safe bet that Hitoshi had won their little game for the night.
He tried to feel bad for the girl, but failed.
“Yeah.” Bakugou choked out, obviously still stunned at Hitoshi’s, admittedly overconfident, act. “You’re a freak.” But his words didn’t match the elated grin on his face.
To that, Hitoshi just scoffed. Lightly pushing Bakugou’s chest away as he rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. I was just getting the lipstick off.”
“Lipstick?” Bakugou echoed, instantly dropping his smile. Looking like a confused puppy, fucking idiot.
Hitoshi helped him out a bit with a flick on his cheek, before the realisation finally hit the other.
“Oh, fucking Raccoon Eyes!” Bakugou immediately stormed towards Ashido, who only giggled at the eyesore of a smudge on his cheek. “I’m gonna kill you!”
At some point, as Hitoshi was accompanying Denki and Jirou for their round of drinks, a guy had drunkenly attempted to hit on Hitoshi.
Hitoshi was a fraction of a second away from sending his fist through the man’s nose, before Jirou spun rather quickly on her heel.
Tipping an entire tray of drinks down the guy’s chest, soaking his very expensive looking shirt.
While the guy had been outraged, Hitoshi didn’t think he’d ever laughed so hard. Watching Denki clutch his stomach as Hitoshi wiped the tears from his own eyes, his smile was actually genuine.
The music had shifted. Hitoshi hadn’t kept note of when, exactly.
Only that the bass was heavier and slower now. Less chaotic, which Hitoshi was honestly grateful for. He could almost hear himself think. Almost.
It thudded through the floor and up the wooden frame of the booth, settling somewhere low in his chest.
Or maybe that was just the alcohol. A faint thrum in his veins, he could feel the warmth radiating from his cheeks and the slight sting left on his lips.
Though, his train of thought cut off when something knocked against his knee again.
Not accidental, because he never was, Bakugou had returned from the bar.
Sliding next to Hitoshi, a full tray of drinks in his hand to replace the last ones the group had scavenged before they’d even hit the table.
Hitoshi stilled. Bakugou’s leg was still there, pressed against his own under the table. From thigh to knee. Not shifting away, neither of them making an attempt at distance.
It would’ve been so easy to move. There was plenty of space with everyone else on the dance floor.
Hitoshi let out a slow breath through his nose, eyes fixated somewhere over the top of the crowd, pretending that he wasn’t noticing.
Another beat passed. The slowness of movement, friction, the rise and falls of agonisingly warm breaths; Hitoshi could feel it all.
When had he gotten this drunk?
Then Bakugou shifted, curling his grip around a shot and tossing it back like water. Slamming it down with more force than strictly necessary, before dropping his head down against the back of the booth.
His frame leaned, ever so slightly closer. It was barely anything, but to Hitoshi’s highly intoxicated brain, it was everything.
It dragged their knees properly together this time, pressed intentionally. Even their shoulders knocked against one another.
Hitoshi’s grip tightened slightly around his glass. This was new, when had Bakugou decided he liked to invade peoples space?
Perhaps it was after the last tray of shots. He turned his head a fraction, just enough to look at him without fully committing to it.
Bakugou was already looking, head lolled to the side from where it was resting. He wasn’t smirking or teasing, though. Just staring like it said something, way too closely.
And suddenly, Hitoshi became very aware.
The heat of the other’s leg against his, the feeling of bare skin brushing from wrist to elbow. The smell of alcohol was pungent but something cleaner beneath it jutted out.
The noise of the club seemed to dull at the edges, rounding instead of spiking, like it had dropped to a new level just for this.
It was ridiculous. They weren’t even doing anything.
Hitoshi’s shoulders started to feel too tight and his throat a little too dry again. He could blame it on the alcohol, move away from the source of his issue, leave and go home. That’s what he should do. Why hadn’t he?
Maybe it was paralysis from too much booze. Maybe Hitoshi had actually already died from alcohol poisoning.
Or maybe, it was the stupid fucking way Bakugou looked when he was wasted.
Dusted pink cheeks, slim and heavy eyes. His eyes slowing swaying over Hitoshi’s face. He’d rolled the sleeves of his henley up, now Hitoshi could practically see the heat coming off of him.
At some point, Hitoshi had decided to just stay exactly where he was, caught somewhere in the middle of Katsuki Bakugou.
Miserably failing to ignore to the ongoing silent beats that suffocated him.
And for once, Bakugou didn’t fill the silence. Hitoshi never thought he’d wish that the other actually just fucking say something.
Instead, he just stayed, like he was the one waiting for something. Hitoshi swallowed, slow but controlled; decidedly realising he could not handle any more of it.
“You’re staring.” It came out quieter than he’d meant it to. Not that it mattered, Bakugou was close enough to hear Hitoshi fucking inhale.
Bakugou didn’t even blink, just huffed. “You’re staring.” And with Hitoshi’s words used against him, and a wicked grin creeping back on, he was back. Just like that.
Hitoshi scoffed softly, because there was no real bite to it this time. “So you are drunk.”
And yes, he knew that was hypocritical. It didn’t matter, he wasn’t the one weirdly staring at people.
But when the pause returned, Hitoshi had no choice but to embrace it.
Bakugou’s gaze. The way it flicked, quick but not nearly quick enough, directly down to Hitoshi’s mouth, then back up again.
Hitoshi felt it. That tiny shift that’d landed harder than anything else had all night. Something in his muscles tightened, it was all too unfamiliar. Hitoshi had no bearings to grab this time.
Then, the moment snagged clean in half.
“Oi!” Denki’s voice crashed back in like one of Bakugou’s fucking explosions; loud, bright and entirely unwelcome.
Hitoshi blinked, the noise of the club slamming like a fucking semi-truck, full volume around him.
Bakugou leaned back first, enough to not he obvious. The space between them returned all at once, like it had never been cut off.
“Why are you two just sitting there? Get on the dance floor!” Denki demanded, fully-shouting as he jumped on the spot from across the crowd, looking extremely flushed and breathless.
Hitoshi looked away first, reaching for his drink like that had been his intention the whole time.
Across from him, Bakugou just scoffed and held up his middle finger. Because that answered everything, according to Bakugou.
“Oh! Also, Eijirou’s puking outside!” Denki added, like it was nothing.
Unfortunately, it was not nothing to Bakugou; who was up and moving before Hitoshi had even registered the words.
He stormed over like a tornado before taking ahold of the front of Denki’s shirt and dragging him towards the entrance.
Hitoshi got to his feet next, taking one last shot before grabbing his jacket and following the rest of them out of the doors.
Kirishima was, unfortunately, exactly where Denki said he’d be.
Doubled over the pavement just outside the club, hands braced on his knees like he was fighting everything just to keep something down.
It was a safe bet that he was losing.
Bakugou already had a firm grip on the back of his shirt. “You know… I didn’t actually mean it when I said I’d carry you, dumbass.” He muttered, only partially irritated.
When Kirishima could only manage a groan in response, he wheezed a particularly unsympathetic laugh.
“‘M fine…” Kirishima slurred, which immediately proved that he was, in fact, not fine.
“Yeah, you look great.” Bakugou deadpanned.
Hitoshi huffed out a laugh from a few steps away, shoving his hands into his coat pockets as the cold air hit his face.
It helped, slightly. Cleared his head just enough to make everything feel sharp again.
Behind him, Denki was already on the floor laughing, phone out and recording like this was the greatest moment of his night.
“Mina, get a picture!” He wheezed. “We need to remember this moment!”
And Ashido didn’t hesitate, already snapping photos while Sero leaned over her shoulder, offering absolutely useless commentary.
Then, with a sharp exhale, Bakugou crouched slightly and hooked Kirishima’s arms over his shoulders, hauling him up in one smooth motion.
Kirishima made a strangled noise as he was lifted, arms instinctively tightening around Bakugou’s shoulders.
“Oh my god, he’s actually doing it!” Denki howled, pointing and cackling from his spot on the pavement.
Hitoshi laughed properly this time, the sound slipping out easier than he expected.
He watched as Bakugou adjusted Kirishima’s weight like this was the most inconvenient outcome of the night.
“Don’t get used to it.” Bakugou snapped, though there was no real anger behind it.
Kirishima just mumbled something unintelligible into his shoulder, face buried into Bakugou’s shirt.
The walk back was definitely something to remember.
Denki and Mina were still laughing, passing the phone between them. Swiping between videos and photos of Kirishima throwing up.
They’d occasionally break into bursts of whatever song had been playing in the club.
Sero joined in, loudly and incorrectly, while Jirou trailed behind them, shaking her head but smiling anyway.
Bakugou walked a few steps ahead, Kirishima still slung over his back, muttering complaints under his breath every time Kirishima shifted too much.
Hitoshi instinctively fell into step beside him.
“You gonna make it to the elevator?” Hitoshi asked, laughter still evident in his voice.
Bakugou snorted. “I’m just hoping he doesn’t throw up on the way there.” He adjusted his grip on Kirishima’s legs, as he hoisted him up higher.
Hitoshi glanced over at Kirishima, who looked one step away from seeing the light. “I don’t think he’s got anything left inside him.”
Eyes half-closed, and drooling all over Bakugou’s shoulder; Hitoshi would be surprised if he was still conscious when they got there.
“Don’t jinx it.” Bakugou shot him a stern look, which didn’t pair well with the unconscious smirk.
Their steps were anything but straight, but they were steadier than early. Their shoulders knocked together, occasionally. A couple times.
But neither of them made an attempt for space.
Hitoshi let out a quiet huff of amusement, adjusting his pace without really thinking about it.
By the time they made it back to the dorms, the energy had barely dipped from when they were in the club.
The group chatted and skipped around as Bakugou dumped Kirishima onto the couch in the common room with a soft thud, followed by a pained groan.
“Someone get him some water.” He said tiredly, running a hand through his hair.
Kirishima whined in agreement, curling into himself slightly. Hitoshi didn’t say anything, just turned and headed for the kitchen.
The tap ran cold over his fingers as the glass filled, Hitoshi helped himself to a gulp before turning towards the common room.
The quiet hum of the dorms had settled around him, in contrast to the volume from earlier.
When he reached Kirishima, Bakugou was already waiting with his hand out. He took it without a word, crouching as he pressed the glass into Kirishima’s hands.
“Drink.” Bakugou said. Kirishima obeyed silently, while Bakugou huffed out a quiet laugh under his breath.
Across the room, Denki sighed dramatically. “Is it bedtime yet?” He moaned, hunching over.
“For you? Definitely.” Jirou snickered, pulling Denki’s arm over her shoulders.
He giggled and planted a kiss on her cheek. And Jirou suppressed her smile impressively quick, already heading for the elevator.
Ashido had leaped onto Sero’s back for a piggyback, and was triumphantly pointing in the direction of the elevator. They piled in, still laughing quietly and talking over each other.
By the time the doors began to slide closed, Denki had already started singing again, eventually starting up the whole choir.
Luckily for Hitoshi, the doors closed sealed their noise. And just like that, he was finally gifted silence.
“Well,” He said, after a beat of basking in the quiet. “I’ll leave him to you then.” Bakugou turned him a look, smirk already tugging at his mouth.
But Hitoshi didn’t move, yet. He just waited, only for a beat, but he wasn’t sure what for. Bakugou cocked a brow, standing to meet his level.
“Something keeping you?” He asked, tilting his head an inch.
Hitoshi hummed, stepping just a fraction closer, hands clasped behind his back. “Maybe I’m just waiting to get to the front of the queue.”
Hitoshi shrugged, unbothered. But Bakugou’s mouth twitched, he leaned in just enough to match the distance. “I’ll let you know when some space opens up.”
Hitoshi breathed a quiet laugh. “Oh, yeah?”
Bakugou had leaned enough so that Hitoshi could feel the huff of a laugh he let out. “Yeah.” He said, matching Hitoshi’s shrug.
“Guys,” Kirishima groaned from somewhere behind Bakugou, voice whiny and miserable. “I really don’t want to third wheel on my own birthday…”
There was a pause before Hitoshi snorted, dropping his head slightly. Bakugou spun to meet Kirishima, giving him a light smack on the back of the head.
“Shut up and focus on not dying.” Bakugou muttered.