Chapter Text
Bakugou’s work day ends as it often does: presenting a dead body to a grieving relative.
“Oh,” is all the elderly woman can manage when her gaze settles upon the man in the coffin, a tremulous hand rising to her mouth. “Oh, he – he looks so peaceful. He looks like him. He doesn’t look…”
She trails off, and Bakugou nods along with the words unspoken. That would be the blush on the apples of his cheeks and the natural colourant on his lips, to give the impression blood was still travelling through his body, that his heart was still beating two days after it gave out. He’d done a pretty good job on this one, if he said so himself.
The air is still and cool around them, the faint smell of incense wafting in from the reception. Personally Bakugou hated the stuff, but Toshinori insisted. Something about tradition, and the natural scent, and some other shit he didn’t listen to. “Would you like some time alone with him?” he suggests, but she shakes her head violently.
“No. I just wanted to see him once. If I sit here, then I might convince myself he’s not – he’s not in his current state.” She can’t quite seem to manage the obvious, but he can’t blame her for it. Bakugou nods and escorts her from the room, closing the door on what remained of her husband.
“Is there any more requirements you have?” he asks when they’re back at his desk, sorting through papers while she searches for a tissue for her silent tears. “A particular person you want to open the crematory furnace?”
“I think that’s everything. It was only the two of us.” She bundles the tissue in her hands and Bakugou watches her, mouth set in a firm line. “Is it – is it too late to change what he’s wearing?”
“Not at all.” Dressing a corpse was his least favourite part of the job, even compared to his hatred for the smell of embalming fluid, but he’s not prepared to say no to a grieving widow. “What did you have in mind?”
“I want him in his grey yukata,” she chokes out, dabbing at her eyes once more. “He wore that when we spent our fiftieth wedding anniversary in Yokohama. He looked so handsome in it.”
“Of course,” Bakugou tells her, voice slow and sombre. “I can arrange that for you. Please let me know if there’s anything else you’d like in his coffin.”
She nods, attempting a watery smile. “Thank you so much. This whole process… we’d talked about death before, but we never planned for it. I never thought I’d be…” She trails off, and Bakugou plucks a fresh tissue from his blazer pocket.
“That’s very common. It’s not something we tend to discuss, is it?” The customer shakes her head and he tries his best at a sympathetic smile, even if it’s just a brief twitch of his lips. “I’ll keep you informed and involved throughout. If there’s anything you need then you just let me know. Here at Yagi Funeral Home, we’re here for you in this time of need.”
Bakugou sees her to the door amidst her fervent gratitude and his assurance that yes, he’d ensure that he’d be dressed in the grey yukata as soon as she dropped it off. When she’s gone he locks the door behind her, presses his forehead to the wood and sighs. He had to learn to stop feeling sorry for the lonely ones. He’s been doing this shit for long enough now.
Still, his work was preferable to what was to come: picking his roommate up from his first shift. With a heavy heart and permanent scowl written into his features, Bakugou locks up the funeral parlour and heads to the mall. He definitely preferred the dead bodies compared to what was waiting for him.
What the hell made him go for this type of job, anyway? Was his childhood best friend secretly some sort of pervert? What would make him give up his job as a grocery store clerk for this?
The sign above the shop front reads Facialbook in cursive script, and Bakugou snorts in disgust at the sight of it, shouldering open the door. His roommate looks up from the register as the bell jingles his arrival, face breaking into a smile. “Hey!”
Bakugou grunts his response, crossing to the counter with a contemptuous gaze at his surroundings. “I expected it to be seedier in here.”
“We’re in a mall,” Midoriya tells him, leaning over the counter and resting his chin on his palm. “You can’t see the dirtiest stuff when you’re walking past. We can’t have kids catching sight of anything, you know? I’ve already had to kick out a few teenagers.”
“And yet the fucking shop name has facials in it. I can’t believe that you,” Bakugou tells him, nose in the air, “are working in a sex shop. A sex shop. You’ve been single forever. You don’t even swear. You’d be better suited to a fucking monastery than here.” He casts his gaze around the shop as if confirming the place isn’t merely a front for something more mundane, like a bookshop. His attention is drawn to an actual book perched on the shelf to his left – Better Sex through Mindfulness – and he wrinkles his nose.
“Well, I have to put aside money for my college tuition somehow,” Midoriya says diplomatically, using his sleeve to polish the countertop free of fingerprints. “The grocery store wasn’t paying me enough, especially with all the rude customers I would get. The hourly wage is way better here.”
Bakugou arches his eyebrows. “And you think these customers will be any better?”
“They’ve been okay so far. I mean, people came to the grocery store stressed out or hangry – people come here and leave in a good mood because they’re about to get off. Plus, I’m learning a ton.” He reaches under the counter for a cardboard box, pulling out a clear plastic cylinder and waving it like a baton. “Did you know there was such a thing as a penis enhancing sleeve? I didn’t!”
He watches the sleeve move back and forth in front of him like a metronome, his lip curling. “No. I’ve never had the need for one. I’m blessed already.”
“Whatever you say, Kacchan.” Midoriya tosses it back into the box before he can wrench it out of his hand and hit him with it. “I haven’t had to sell any yet. It’s mostly been dildos and lube. There’s, like, hundreds of different flavours. There’s a cotton candy one that’s meant to make deep throating easier.” He pulls a face, as if trying not to imagine it.
“Only you,” Bakugou tells him wearily, “would find all this shit interesting. You’re such a weirdo.”
“I’m the weirdo?” Startled, Midoriya looks him up and down, from the black suit to the lack of his usual earrings and stretchers. “Says the guy who puts makeup on and dresses up stiffs for a living.”
“Death is inevitable,” he says, scowling, “and dildos aren’t. Death isn’t weird, it’s a natural process. Would you rather I threw someone in a coffin while they’re covered in cuts and bruises and blood? Fuck that. You’ve got to show bodies some respect, especially when there’s families coming in to see them. You just don’t have the guts for it.”
“No,” Midoriya says lightly, face creased in thought, “no, I don’t think I do.”
“Yeah,” Bakugou sneers, “you don’t. Yet I’m the weird one, preparing bodies for burial while you sell cock rings.”
All talk of cock rings are abandoned when the door behind Midoriya swings open and another man emerges, a cardboard box in his arms and beaming. “Would you mind putting the delivery away for me before you go, Midoriya? Oh! Is this your friend?”
Bakugou’s insults, and breathing, stutter to a halt at the vision before him. The man is big, broad and beautiful – long nosed, square jawed and his skin a golden brown. His hair is shaved at the nape in an undercut, and yet long enough on top to be pulled into a ponytail, as red as the setting sun and brilliantly bold against the white display cabinet behind him. His gaze moves from the man’s crimson eyes to the searing grin plastered across his face – and then the rings in his ears and the hoop through his right nostril, glinting silver in the light. Bakugou swallows hard.
Of course a guy who looked like him worked in a sex shop. Customers probably bought extra in the hopes that this living, breathing god would show them how to use the sex swing they’d purchased. He’d buy one if it meant he’d get a demonstration.
“Yep!” Midoriya says cheerily, turning his back on Bakugou’s frozen form. “This is my roommate, Kacchan – Bakugou Katsuki!” He throws a grin at Bakugou over his shoulder. “This is Kirishima: he’s my manager. Be nice, now,” he adds, as if expecting his greeting to be an automatic insult.
“Nice to meetcha!” Kirishima reaches his hand out past Midoriya, and Bakugou’s shaking it before he knows what he’s doing. His grip is warm and firm, and Bakugou’s mind instantly goes to a hundred possible scenarios involving those hands. “He looks more professional than us, Midoriya, huh?” Both in a t-shirt and jeans, they laugh like hyenas as Bakugou struggles to produce something coherent.
“He’s a mortician!” Midoriya manages, once their laughter has died down. “He works in the Yagi Funeral Home downtown.”
“A mortician?” Kirishima’s mouth is a round ‘o’ of surprise as he looks Bakugou up and down, and he stiffens under the redhead’s gaze. “Like, someone who works with dead bodies? I would have never guessed! I thought morticians were all boring fifty-year-olds with grey hair and sad eyes, not young and super handsome!”
“He normally has stretchers in,” Midoriya tells him, smirking at Bakugou’s pale face, “but his boss won’t let him wear them. Something about professionalism, ‘cause he plays with them when he’s thinking.”
“That’s really brave of you, man,” Kirishima says, awed, his eyes on Bakugou once more. “Dead bodies freak me out. I’d be scared of them not actually being dead, and waking up on the table in front of me. Or accidentally burying someone who’s still alive.” He gives a theatrical shudder, Midoriya nodding along at his side. “Imagine them clawing at the coffin like help, help, you’ve made a huge mistake! Nasty.”
“They’re just dead bodies,” Bakugou grunts, age-old defensiveness of his job returning to him. “We’ll all be there one day. And that wouldn’t happen: they’re declared dead by a coroner first, and there’s medical tests run on them before they get transported to us. We don’t just get people the second they die.”
“Well, that’s reassuring. I saw a movie where it happened and it scared me ever since.” Contrary to his words, Kirishima is beaming at him. “Enough about corpses – we’re into living, breathing bodies here, and I haven’t had my dinner yet! Are you here to pick Midoriya up, or are you looking to do a bit of shopping? You can use his discount!”
“No,” Bakugou forces out, who can think of nothing worse than buying something under Kirishima’s bright-eyed gaze, now the man has called him handsome. “Thank you,” he adds after a pause, just in case Kirishima thinks he’s a prude. “I don’t need anything.”
“Aww,” Kirishima says, a new grin already forming, “I see, I see. Already have a drawer full of sex toys?” Midoriya almost laughs himself sick as Bakugou stews, sure steam is coming from his ears as they revel in Kirishima’s words.
“No,” he snaps, incensed at the fact Midoriya is taking such obvious delight in his embarrassment and resolving to headbutt him the minute they’re out of the store. “I don’t have a drawer full of that shit. I’m not a pervert.”
“A drawer doesn’t make you a pervert. Not having one is definitely a reason to take advantage of his discount,” Kirishima tells him, grin shark-like with Midoriya giggling by his side. “I can get you set up with a nice little beginner’s set? An introduction to BDSM? Even just a pair of furry handcuffs?”
“I’m not a beginner,” Bakugou grinds out, ready to grab Midoriya by the arm and physically drag him from the store. “I’m just not interested.”
“Married to the job,” Midoriya tells Kirishima pityingly, and Kirishima tilts his head to one side with a pout.
“That’s a pity. You’re so cute, too. This guy - ” Kirishima slaps his hand down on a beaming Midoriya’s shoulder, while Bakugou’s heart almost explodes in his chest, “ - is a natural at selling. Someone came in for a dildo, then left with a whole bondage kit after ten minutes of talking to him.”
“It’s true,” Midoriya says, a note of pride in his voice. “It’s the art of the upsell.”
“And your sweet little face,” Kirishima tells him, voice fond. “You’re so innocent looking. People can’t help but want to buy something from you, if it makes you smile. I knew it was a good idea hiring you.”
Midoriya glows with delight, and Bakugou shakes his head in despair. Clearly this Kirishima is just as weird as his roommate. As if on cue, Kirishima turns back to him with a glint in his eyes.
“You said you weren’t a beginner, though. Care to elaborate?” Kirishima’s grin is nothing if not wicked and Bakugou stares at him, thunderstruck. He wants nothing more than to reach out and slam Midoriya’s head against the counter, if only to stop the obvious glee written across his face – then do the same to Kirishima, for good measure.
“No,” Bakugou says waspishly, not caring about Kirishima’s disappointed sigh and Midoriya’s smirk. “I don’t think it’s any of your business.”
“Is it because Midoriya’s here?” Kirishima makes a shooing motion at his employee. “Why don’t you go grab your bag and give me and Kacchan a chance to talk alone? Don’t worry about the delivery, I’ll get it sorted.” Midoriya disappears before Bakugou can protest either the nickname or the command and in the next second Kirishima’s leant over the counter, beaming up at him. “So. You gonna tell me about not being a beginner?”
Bakugou juts his chin out, looking down contemptuously at him. “Why do you care? That desperate for sales?”
“Nah. We do pretty well in here.” Kirishima cups his face in his hand, smile so sweet that it hurts. “I’m just interested because I think you’re super cute. What are you into?”
He refuses to let himself be won over by Kirishima’s wide, candy apple eyes. “Not being interrogated, that’s for damn sure.”
“Come on,” Kirishima whines, now laying on the counter and gazing up at him. Strands of hair are slipping loose from his ponytail and curling around his face. “Give me something! Anything! If I guess one of your kinks, will you tell me? Please? Pretty please?”
“Nope,” Bakugou says, but his face is burning and heart pounding at the idea. Kirishima’s brow is furrowed in thought, looking him up and down as if evaluating what his suit could tell him about his fetishes, and evidently ignoring Bakugou’s unwillingness to cooperate.
“You’re a power bottom,” he says at last, and now Kirishima’s elbows are on the counter with his face cupped in both hands. “You love to take charge and command the situation, even if you’re not topping. I don’t think you bottom all the time – you’re probably a switch, right? But I do think you like to get dominated. It’s a nice change when someone puts you in your place for once.”
“Shut up,” Bakugou grinds out, hands fisted in his jacket pockets, and Kirishima’s laughter echoes through the shop.
“You are!” he says, the skin around his eyes crinkled with delight. “You so totally are!” Bakugou flinches when Kirishima reaches out and lightly punches his arm, clearly proud of himself. “You’re so easy to read. It’s adorable. Do you know just how cute you are?”
“So you keep saying,” Bakugou sneers, furious with himself for whatever nuance in his expression betrayed him. “Cute isn’t exactly flattering. I’m not a teenage girl.”
“Well, you are cute,” Kirishima says innocently. “Very cute, but yes, also very handsome. You can tell you hit the gym, even under that suit. We should work out sometime, get physical together. What do you think?” His raised eyebrows leave Bakugou in no doubt about his intentions, and he scowls at Kirishima, tossing his head.
“You couldn’t hope to have me. In your dreams, maybe.”
Kirishima’s grin is so wide it’s in danger of splitting his face in two. “You will be in my dreams tonight,” he tells him, and turns away as Bakugou scoffs and Midoriya reappears, shrugging his backpack over his shoulder. “Nice work today, man. You did great! See you tomorrow?”
“Yes! See you at twelve!” Midoriya says, face flushed with delight, and Bakugou resists the urge to trip him as he passes. He affords Kirishima the curtest of nods instead of an actual goodbye, and tries to feel outraged when Kirishima blows him a kiss.
“Come by and see me again soon, Kacchan, yeah? I want to see the stretchers!” Kirishima waves them away and Bakugou, sure his face is scarlet, physically drags Midoriya from the store as he waves frantically to Kirishima.
“Since when were you so cocky?” he fumes as Midoriya bounces by his side, a smile plastered across his face. “I should make you walk home. One shift in a sex shop and you’re walking around like Mr Big Balls.”
He’s further infuriated by the beam Midoriya throws his way. “I’m not cocky. I just like my new job. Kirishima is really nice, isn’t he?”
“He’s fine,” Bakugou grunts, which is the most he can manage with the thought of Kirishima’s hands still playing on his mind. God, he was huge. He’d always had a thing for himbos.
“He’s also single,” Midoriya tells him, eyebrows raised and that horribly smug smirk back on his face. “He told me earlier - we were scrolling through Tinder on his phone when it was quiet. You should download it again and try and match with him! I think he likes you!”
“If I want to fuck him,” Bakugou snaps, increasing his pace so Midoriya is forced to jog after him, “then I’ll say it to his face, not through some stupid fucking app.” But, if he thought about it, if he was to ask Kirishima to fuck him…
Bakugou pushes the thought of his mind and forces Midoriya to sit in the back seat so he doesn’t have to look at his stupid face.