Chapter Text
“Am I getting fired? ”
Eijirou shakes his head vigorously, and then starts to shake his hands for further emphasis. “Of course not, Katsuki! You’re just getting relocated. Due to your proficient skills.”
Katsuki throws down the dough he was kneading with a resounding slap against the marble countertop. “You can’t fucking relocate me! I have an apartment literally right above this pâtisserie! And I happen to like it here in dirty, messy New York, thank you very much!”
“I knew this would be your reaction,” Eijirou says, sighing, “but the higher-ups want you to help with a shop that isn’t doing too well at the moment. Not every location of Pâtisserie Crème de la Crème will do as well as the New York branch, you know.”
“I am literally the best person on this team right now,” Katsuki says, ignoring the protests from Eijirou who also happens to be a member of that team, “I’m the reason why we sell out all of our desserts in the blink of an eye! There are magazines with my face on it! You can’t just throw me away!”
“And this is precisely the reason why they’re relocating you, Katsuki.” Eijirou pauses for a second, watching Katsuki effortlessly switching from bread-kneading to cupcake icing, his strong hands squeezing out exact amounts of pink icing. “You have the perfect mentality for business, if you didn’t have anger issues.”
“I do NOT have anger issues!” Katsuki explodes, accidentally crushing the innocent pink cupcake in his hands. There is a brief silence between the two before Katsuki coughs a bit, his cheeks the slightest bit of red. “I do not have anger issues.” He repeats, trying to salvage what little left of the cupcake there is.
“You graduated top of your class from Yuuei Culinary Arts, right?” Eijirou continues, dutifully helping Katsuki clean off the mess he created on the counter. “You made an explosive entrance for a newcomer in New York. They just want you to recreate your magic in a place that sorely needs more revenue. Plus, there are ten people working here at Crème de la Crème New York! The one in Shizuoka Prefecture only has, like, one.”
Upon hearing Shizuoka, Katsuki promptly crushes the already broken cupcake in his hands, letting pink icing drip all over his fingers. “Shizuoka? JAPAN? They’re moving me halfway across the globe?”
“Well, I mean, you speak Japanese right? They thought you would be a good fit.” Eijirou reaches over to give him a paper towel, and Katsuki takes it without thanking him. “It’s in some tiny little town, apparently. Very rural. Small store, too. Here, I’ll show you a photo.” Eijirou pulls up his smartphone and displays a few pictures. Katsuki has to admit that the shop looked homey and rustic, but that was all it had going for it.
“You speak Japanese. Momo speaks Japanese. Literally everyone here speaks Japanese. Why the FUCK is it just me?” Katsuki returns to piping out bubble-gum pink icing on the themed cupcakes (this week’s theme was Pastel Perfection, curated by Yuga himself), steadying his hands so that he wouldn’t make so much as a speck of mess.
“Well, it’s also ‘cause…” Eijirou hesitates a bit and carefully takes a few tactical steps back. “It’s also ‘cause the higher-ups have caught wind of your temper tantrums. Your breakdown a few weeks ago made it to their ears, and they think the gentle countryside will tame you a bit, maybe?”
Katsuki uses too much force on the piping bag and causes the pink icing to explode all over his white uniform.
☆
“You’re heading to Japan?” Shouto’s tinny voice sounds incredulous over the phone. “When?”
“I’m actually at the airport right now.” Katsuki says, looking at his passport with hatred. “The joys of having a red-eye flight.”
“You should have told me earlier, I could have at least given you a present.” Shouto was the only person Katsuki (sort of) respected, and in that sense was given the tentative title of ‘friend’. They had met through a hot-blooded competition within Yuuei Culinary Arts in which they ended up in a tie (much to the horror for both of them). Eventually, they cooperated on a few competitions and always wound up first, garnering a nice little bundle of trophies for them to display.
Unfortunately, Shouto was working in Hong Kong, as he was scouted immediately after graduation. Katsuki ended up accepting an offer first in Los Angeles and then New York, so they barely ever spent time together save for a few breaks every now and then.
“Nah, it’s fine. At least you can swing by in Japan. It takes like, what, three hours by flight?” Katsuki sips his chai tea, praying that he’ll fall asleep on the flight so that he wouldn’t be too bored.
“Yeah, of course. I’ll let you know. I should have a break in a few weeks." Shouto says. “By the way, why are they relocating you?”
Katsuki is both mortified and vexed that they moved him due to so-called “anger issues”, so he decides to give Shouto the more business-like answer instead. “Uh, I’m doing way too bomb in New York, so they want me to give the Japan branch a facelift, increase some money, whatever.”
“Makes sense.” Shouto, god bless him, is not the type of person to pry. “And where are you living? You should give me your address so that I’ll know where to go when I come by.”
“Same routine, I live above the pâtisserie. I’ll text you the address.” Katsuki rummages through his pocket for the slip of paper Eijirou handed him a few days before his Japan departure. “I have a roommate apparently, name’s… fuck, is this kanji? I think it says... something- ku… and then Mi-do-ri something . He’s picking me up from the airport ‘cause the bakery is in the middle of fucking nowhere.” Katsuki feels the glare of someone, and when he turns around he sees that it’s a mother shielding her child’s ears from his swearing.
“Watch your language.” She admonishes, covering her child protectively.
“He’s going to learn how to say these words someday!” Katsuki yells. “Ugh, adults.” Katsuki says into the phone, rolling his eyes.
“Technically you’re one too.” Shouto says, his voice tinged with amusement.
“Oh, shut the fuck up.”
☆
When Katsuki arrives at the airport, he immediately drowns under the sudden immersion of Japanese words.
“I cannot read kanji.” He says to himself in English, drawing a few curious glances at his direction. “I cannot read kanji.” He repeats in Japanese. Although he had spent quite a number of years in Japan when he was younger, Yuuei Culinary Arts was a program that heavily relied upon English and French, and he spent the majority of his working days in America.
After he grabs his luggage, he looks at the name on the sheet again, trying to decipher what the strokes and dots meant. He briefly considers asking the information kiosk in the side, but then he catches sight of a huge whiteboard with the words KATSUKI BAKUGOU written in bold, black marker.
There also happens to be balloons attached to the whiteboard. And flowers. Flowers.
What the fuck is “something-ku Midori-something” thinking, Katsuki thinks to himself, wheeling his suitcase over to the whiteboard. The person behind it seems a little shorter than Katsuki, and all he can see is a tuft of fluffy green hair. He knocks three times on the whiteboard, and the green haired boy lowers the sign.
“Are you Bakugou-san?” The boy asks in Japanese, leaning in to inspect Katsuki’s face. He blinks and stares at the boy, his round features and green eyes freezing him in his tracks. His eyes look like they are twinkling. Little stars are trapped inside of them.
Katsuki frowns. Stars?
“Are you Bakugou-san?” The boy implores, this time in English. There isn’t a drop of an accent in there. “Hi, I’m-”
“You’re a fucking little bitch, that’s what you are.” Katsuki says in perfect Japanese. "You don't have to speak to me with your terrible English, I'm fluent in Japanese, you ass." The boy’s face has a few expression changes- surprise, anger, serenity- and then ends up smiling cheekily, his cherubic face looking particularly angelic under the morning light.
“They did warn me that you have a temper.” He says cheerfully.
Katsuki wants to murder the higher-ups.
☆
“So, you probably already know this, Bakugou-san, but CLC isn’t doing too well here.” Izuku says, adopting the nickname for Pâtisserie Crème de la Crème. “I mean, it makes sense because this isn’t even in Tokyo, it’s really far away. I do have returning customers, but this location hasn’t really been featured anywhere- not online, or in magazines, or even in some random blog posts. I mean, I’m a one-man team so business is slow to begin with, but it’s nice that Bakugou-san is here so that we can work together-”
“Stop calling me that.” Katsuki says uncomfortably, looking out the window. “Bakugou. That’s just weird.”
Izuku looks over at him and smiles a bit. “Yeah, it’s your last name isn’t it?” He replies, his hands steering the wheel of his car. “But in Japan, it’s usually close friends that say the first name, you know?”
Friends. Katsuki briefly thinks about Shouto, creating marzipan figures and sugar sculptures in Hong Kong, while Katsuki was stuck in the rural countryside. Needless to say, he was envious. “Just call me Katsuki, it’s better for me.” Katsuki says.
“Then if we’re friends, do you mind if I take it a step further?” The boy says nervously. “Kacchan sounds cute, doesn’t it?”
Katsuki turns around to yell no, don’t give me such an adorable fucking nickname like I’m a stuffed animal, but he sees the other’s sparkling eyes and small freckles and fluffy hair, culminating in an irresistible trifecta of… cute .
Ugh. Stardust. Katsuki thinks, slumping into his seat.
“Do what you want.” Katsuki says, grumbling to himself. He doesn’t see it, but Izuku smiles peacefully at him. “Oh, I probably need to know your name, you green blob.”
“Blob.” He repeats indignantly, his fingers gripping tighter on the steering wheel. “I’m… I guess you’ll call me-” they hit a bump in the road, causing him to yelp in surprise, “De!”
“Your name is De?” Katsuki repeats, snickering at the scrunched up expression Izuku shoots in his direction.
“It’s Izuku.” Izuku says, turning right at the intersection. “My name is Izuku, not De.”
“I think I’ll call you Deku.” Katsuki replies nonchalantly. “Cause you’re useless at driving. And your sound effect was stupid. We have to commemorate this moment somehow.”
“Aren't you just quite the charmer.” Izuku says, rolling his eyes. The morning light filters through the car window and bathes his green hair in a yellow tint, making him glow brightly within the small car. His disgruntled expression was about as threatening as a chihuahua, and his eyelashes cast small shadows across his cheekbones. Izuku tucks a bit of fluffy green hair behind his ear, revealing a small piercing on his ear, an earring with the number 6 on it. He has a very enrapturing profile.
Katsuki unabashedly stares at him for the rest of the ride.