Chapter Text
“It’s a little out of my comfort zone, which is why I’m so nervous,” you admitted to the two other people in the spacious office.
Hawks rolled his eyes before grabbing another stick of yakitori from his plate. Rumi eyed you more carefully, looking for your telltale stress tics.
Their lack of response didn’t surprise you. They usually had to spend at least an hour hyping you up before big projects or important events.
Finally one of them spoke. “Why? It’s not like it’s outside of your job description.”
It’s true. Graduating from UA Polytechnic High School’s School of Communications, as well as a Bachelor’s degree in public relations and business management, made you more than qualified for your new contract.
A few years older than you, you were assigned to work as an intern for Rumi’s previous publicist while in college, meeting the white haired woman at the start of her career as a fitness model. As her career boomed, so did your friendship. You couldn’t count the many sleepovers you two had as you helped her get ready for interviews and photoshoots the next day.
Eventually though, the modeling world became too boring for the woman nicknamed the Buff Bunny. “I wanna show off my strength, ya know?” She confided in you one night, flexing a solid bicep. “Wanna show the world that I’m more than just a pretty face that can kick their ass!”
When asked about where her career change would take the two of you, she procured a picture of some up-and-coming celebrity chef –Hawks, you remembered correctly. You knew the two had worked on a few fashion campaigns together, the chef possessing an eye for fashion as well as a pretty face.
“We’re opening a restaurant and I’m taking you with me.”
There was no time to protest as you frantically looked scrolled through your phone, emails and texts bombarding you as you received a notification that one Buff Bunny announced her retirement from modeling on Twitter. You wondered if she sent the tweet before she showed you the picture of Hawks or after.
The premise for the restaurant seemed interesting enough with a focus on the farm-to-table movement. You had a few contacts that could get you in touch with local distributors and you knew they’d also benefit from the restaurant’s support. It was easy to use Rumi and Hawks’ fame to build up the Hawks Nest brand as well.
The three of you put your blood, sweat and tears into the restaurant over the years. You watched proudly as Rumi charged head on into her role as a restaurateur and manager. So it was with anxiety that you took your temporary job offer, mostly agreeing at the two’s persistence.
“You’re right, but I’m also worried you two won’t be able to make it without me. Lord only knows what kind of trouble you’ll get into without my watchful eye.”
“Hey, don’t look down on us! We won’t be thriving but we’ll be able to survive without you,” the former model said, patting your back a little too roughly.
“We can manage without a few pictures or videos for the week. It’s hard to forget such pretty faces,” Hawks called out, picking at his teeth with his now-empty BBQ stick.
Rolling your eyes, you agreed. You didn’t need to work as hard as you did in the beginning. It was alright to take a step back now that they and the restaurant were well-established.
The titular owner of the restaurant called out to you from his desk, dirty shoes all over the papers you had painstakingly organized for him.
“S’not like we’ll pay you less anyway. Think of it as a paid vacay from your two favorite idiots.”
You looked around the restaurant, assessing everything and everyone. It was important to see what exactly you had to work with.
Ground Zero was anything but the site of an explosion. The building was sleek, smooth and sexy from the outside to its interior. The restaurant was smaller than the Yelp reviews made it seem, about six four-seater tables, but the arrangement made the tables spread out, giving patrons a more private experience. Lights hung from the ceiling at different heights like shrapnel though the rest of the interior was minimalist.
You smiled at the hosts, two men, one with dark hair and the other, a blond. The dark-haired man –Sero, his silver nameplate read– guided you to the back end of the restaurant towards an office tucked at the end of a short hallway.
Two sharp raps and the door swung open, revealing the Mina, the restaurant’s manager. Her personality was as bright in person as it was in email and over the phone, you noted, admiring her courage to wear a pink power suit, two shades lighter than her hair.
Pulling you into the office, she exclaimed, “Bakubabe is gonna be in for a surprise, but I know that he’ll appreciate what you’re gonna do for him. A little pissy at first, but he’s gonna love you in the end!”
You snickered at the nickname, thinking about what kind of contorted face he would pull if he heard it. You knew all about Katsuki Bakugou and his anger and pride. He was someone that you and your PR friends referred to as a fucking nightmare to work with. Despite knowing his reputation, you still took the offer, thinking yourself more stupid than kind-hearted now that you were facing your reality for the next six months.
As you settled in making idle talk with Mina, you found yourself on edge as the door slammed open, a blonde stalking past you to get to the pink-haired woman with a redhead following closely behind.
“Mina, what the fu–”
“Can you not, dude?” The redhead smacked the blond, not allowing him to finish his expletive. “We have a guest and it’s important to make a good impression.”
“I’m Eijiro Kirishima, sous chef of Ground Zero,” he said, turning to you apologetically. You gave him your name in return, grateful that one out of the two had manners.
The other didn’t even offer his name to you, just stood there fuming behind Mina as he glared at you.
And so the nightmare began. You knew his type: cute with a bad attitude. You still remembered how cocky and rude both Rumi and Hawks were when you first met them. Whereas time and proximity helped you win the hearts of Rumi and Hawks, you knew you would have to earn every ounce of emotion other than disdain when it came to Bakugou, his crimson glare piercing into you.
“Katsuki Bakugou, chef patron of Ground Zero. I’ve read so much about you and heard even more.” You offered him a smile and your hand to shake.
“Tch.” Some sort of response was better than nothing, you guessed, withdrawing your hand.
“Bakubrat!” Mina exclaimed, swatting him on the shoulder. “She’s here to help you! Stop being such an ass!”
“Don’t remember putting up a ‘HELP WANTED’ sign out front. Should have known you’d try to pull some shit like this. Were you in on it too?” He asked, turning towards Kirishima. He held his hands up in defense, trying to calm his angry chef.
His words didn’t seem to bother her as she scoffed. “Sorry for trying to be a good friend. We’re all tired of hearing you cry about the competition.”
Bakugou balked at the retort, settling with a more controlled response, tone accusatory. “You guys don’t think I can do this on my own.
She scoffed. “No, and you can’t do Ground Zero on your own either.”
Bakugou looked ready to turn heel and leave. If you had known that your client was so resistant to your help, you wouldn’t have taken up the job. You were under the impression that he was agreeable to your consultation, but you’d discuss the importance of being forthcoming with Mina if you lasted through the day.
Kirishima stopped him, a firm hand on his other shoulder to get him to stay.
“Dude, Mina’s right. We love you and Ground Zero. I really think she could really help. You trusted us to help build your dream and it’s time to trust us again to help you expand on it.”
At the words of his sous chef, the ash blond stayed in place, this time looking at you wordlessly.
“I don’t need your help to boost my popularity rankings. I’m just playing along so that Mina’s hard work doesn’t go to waste.”
“Oh, I know,” you laughed, amused by his lack of honesty. “You’re trying for that bad boy image, huh. Too cool and too tough to admit that he needs help. It’ll be a smooth transition from your modeling career, right?”
The head chef seethed at the mention of his first career and you watched as his fingers twitched in anger. His reaction only proved your point.
“You think I give a shit about what people think about me?” You knew he didn’t. You did your research. You’ve seen all the interviews he walked out on as a model. You watched his infamous explosion during that charity contest with Midoriya and Shouto three years ago.
“Clearly not. You look like the waiter who would spit in my food if I asked for an extra napkin.”
“No one asked you!”
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m only trying to impress one person anyway. Not my fault that public popularity is a huge part of it.”
One person, huh? You wondered if it was a family member or a friend. No, he seemed like the type to have a close circle where they wouldn’t care about his status. Plus, he wouldn’t shell out this much money –and you did verify with Mina that that truly was the correct amount for such a short contract –to impress people who presumably cared for and admired him already.
It had to be for a girl. That was the only logical conclusion you could come up with. Doing it for himself was also a likely candidate but the man had more prestigious award and a Michelin star, so it wouldn’t make sense for him to be so obsessed with getting a trophy from his alma mater.
His red-haired sous chef tried to placate the head of the kitchen. “Everybody has a gimmick nowadays, dude. It’s just what you gotta do to be popular.”
You cringed at the word gimmick. Words had meanings and connotations. And gimmick? You preferred the term “showing off your authentic self” instead. That’s what consumers of social media and the public wanted anyway. Their curious little eyes wanted to see their celebrity gods knocked down a few pegs and turned back into their human selves. They wanted someone related. They wanted someone human.
Mina hopped on the sous chef’s words. “Don’t think of it as a gimmick! Think of it as showing off who you really are –how great you are –to the world!” Thank God she had a background in public relations.
Her rephrasing made the gears in his head spin, apparently satisfied with the thought of others praising him and thinking highly of him.
“And you know how top-notch chefs like you get to show off your authentic self?” She grabbed you into a side-hug and pointed one perfectly manicured and pink nail at you, “By working with people like her! She’s the key to improving your popularity.”
He scoffed at the word, but you ignored him, listing off your accomplishments in hopes that it would impress him. It didn’t.
You started naming more celebrities in the culinary world who were known for certain things as Bakugou listened with mild interest. At least he wasn’t snarling at you anymore.
“Everyone loves watching Fat Gum’s body transformations as he goes through phases for bulking and cutting.”
“He’s so cute in either form!”
“Ugh, I know. That’s part of his appeal.”
“Hizashi Yamada –better known by his online handle, Present Mic –is loved worldwide for his friendly commentary on various restaurants in Japan. He’s even being considered for an international series where he gets to drive his convertible across the country.”
Bakugou huffed. “He’s only known for that ridiculous hair and stupid catchphrase. Why would he call that shitty ‘stache of his his ‘flavor savors’? That’s disgusting.”
Ignoring his comment, you went on, “In contrast, people equally love Shouta Aizawa’s minimal commentary and how he just goes into a food coma near the end of every video.”
“Do I even need to mention everything that All Might has done?”
At the mention of the world-famous chef, Bakugou perked up though you could only tell by his posture instead of his tone. “The world already knows.”
“More locally, Izuku Midoriya, his protégé, has recently gained a lot of traction with his food science videos. People seem to really love them and him. They say he’s favored for winning that award you want so badly.”
The last name you mentioned seemed to trigger him, his hands shaking again as his lips formed a tight line. You wondered if he was still mad about that competition from the past.
“So tell me, Bakugou, how much of yourself are you willing to show the world?”