Chapter Text
⁂
Moving in with Bakugou Katsuki was not Shinsou’s idea. It was Midoriya’s.
Of course. He treated meddling like it was an Olympic sport.
Midoriya and Kirishima had decided that it was time to take their relationship to the next level by moving in together, leaving a vacancy in the apartment that Midoriya and Bakugou had shared for four years (a feat which, frankly, baffled Shinsou). And so Midoriya– considerate roommate ‘til the very end– set about finding someone to sublet his room from him.
And that someone ended up being Shinsou Hitoshi.
After listening to Midoriya’s well-thought out, persuasive pitch over the phone– which had a concise thesis (Shinsou should move in with Bakugou) supported by three pillars of sound arguments (the apartment was rent-controlled and clean, it was closer to Shinsou’s agency, and it’s within walking distance of three very good coffee shops) – Shinsou responded in kind with a well-formulated counter-argument: “No.”
“Oh come on!”
Just by Midoriya’s tone, Shinsou knew he was at maximum frowning; corners of his mouth pulled down and into his cheeks, eyes squinted ever so slightly, and eyebrows furrowed. His irritation could be measured by how deep the line between his eyebrows was– Shinsou and Monoma called this the Crease of Displeasure. Although Shinsou couldn’t see it, by the way Midoriya demanded, “Why not?” he would guess the Crease was at about a seven out of ten.
He could live with that.
So he switched his phone from one ear to the other and said, “Well, for one, I already have an apartment. And for two, I only pay fifteen-thousand yen a month.”
“I am so sorry to be the one to tell you this, Hitoshi, but I’ve been to your place and it is not an apartment,” Midoriya replied. “You live in an elderly couple’s basement. There’s no stove. All you have is a mini fridge, a standing shower, and a toilet. And your bed is an old futon that was already there when you moved in.”
Shinsou, who was currently lying on said futon, felt obligated to protest, “It’s not nearly as bad as you’re making it sound.”
“No, it’s worse. That futon is the reason I’m only eighty-five percent convinced you’ve managed to lose your virginity.”
Shinsou sat up, annoyed. “You know I’ve had sex, Izuku.”
“Do I? Because that futon doesn’t have the structural integrity to withstand any sort of passionate lovemaking. I’ve inspected the frame and footings.”
“You’ve what?”
Midoriya ignored him and continued, “Plus, you’re incredibly cagey and avoidant whenever I ask you questions about your hook-ups. Remember that time at Majestic Lounge when you literally jumped out of the window?”
“I didn’t jump,” Shinsou replied. “I shimmied down a drainpipe.”
“Hitoshi.”
“Izuku. You’re my best friend, but your questions are invasive and unhinged. You left me no choice.”
Midoriya managed an indignant squawk of disagreement, but Shinsou remained firm in his opinion that escaping out the window was the only correct course of action. What was he supposed to do when Midoriya asked, “For how long did you two gaze into each other’s eyes during intercourse?” Answer him? Look into those big green eyes and say, “As a matter of fact, we did not make eye contact once during sex, I was too busy holding him down by the back of his neck and railing him from behind, but thank you for inquiring”?
Absolutely not. And Shinsou did try to dodge by saying, “Pass,” but then Midoriya followed up with: “Okay fine. If he were a gemstone, which gemstone would he be and why?” which was somehow worse, and so Shinsou tapped out and chose the Drainpipe Solution. (Besides, he didn’t know enough about gemstones to pick the one that was very pretty but ended up being one of the most lackluster lays of his life.)
“We’ve gotten way off-track,” Midoriya said suddenly. “I’ve fallen for another one of your deflection traps again.” Shinsou wanted to argue that Midoriya had in fact pushed himself off-course, but he kept talking. “Is there any other reason, besides your stubbornness, that you refuse to sublet from me?”
Shinsou rolled his eyes, even though Midoriya couldn’t see him. “Well there’s Bakugou, obviously. He’s reason number one.”
“And?”
“What d’you mean ‘and’? Deku, we hate each other.”
“Since when?” Midoriya was legitimately surprised, which in turn surprised Shinsou.
“Since always– were you asleep all through UA?”
“No, I was wide awake and just assumed that you and Kacchan were rivals.”
“How is that any different than what I said.”
“Well, I thought it was in the way that me and Kacchan were rivals, or Shouto and Kacchan were rivals. Like, that’s how Kacchan makes best friends.”
“That’s… really weird.”
“Well, regardless, I know for a fact that Kacchan doesn’t hate you because I had a whole list of possible new roommates and he chose you. He said, and I quote : ‘Eyebags is fine.’”
“My, such high praise,” he drawled.
“That is high praise coming from him. That’s why I called you up in the first place. D’you think I’d be asking you otherwise?” Midoriya paused, and then said in a small, worried voice, “I didn’t realize you hated Kacchan all this time. I wouldn’t’ve called and bothered you with this if I’d known.”
Shinsou paused and considered. “Okay, ‘hate’ is a strong word. But we don’t get along.”
Midoriya was quiet for a bit, then asked, “... Then why is it that like, whenever we go out to a bar I always see you talking to him?”
Shinsou felt a flare of embarrassment, like he had been caught doing something he shouldn't have been. Which was ridiculous. He stuffed the silly feeling down and told Midoriya the truth, which was: “I like annoying him.”
He had no idea why he felt a compulsion to prod at a man who could literally blow him up at the drop of a hat, but by now he was well-versed in every lip-curl, scowl, chin-tilt and nose-wrinkle that Bakugou could make. It never got old. He couldn’t explain it. He didn’t like taking time off of work, but sauntering up to Bakugou at the back of a dingy bar at nine pm and saying, “Hey Grandfather Clock, didn’t expect to see you out this late,” and then watching the corner Bakugou’s mouth twitch with irritation always made the outing worth it.
Especially if he could bait Bakugou into an exchange, like at Kirishima’s birthday last year. He had even gotten Bakugou to click his tongue with annoyance at him and say, “Oh good, the giant fucking whooping crane is here.”
Shinsou leaned against the bar and grinned down at Bakugou, who was waiting on a drink. “Now now, don’t get all huffy with me. That’s not the attitude of a short king.”
Immediately, Bakugou’s shoulders squared up as he glared at Shinsou. “I’m five-eleven, fuck off with that.”
But unfortunately, since Shinsou stood at six foot four, Bakugou had to glare up at him– a motion that infuriated Bakugou even further as soon as he realized it. Shinsou watched with keen fascination as Bakugou’s expression shifted from indignant to agitated to incensed to… something inscrutable. Something new. Shinsou wasn’t sure what it was.
“Why’re you looking at me like that,” Bakugou demanded.
“You’re interesting,” he answered before he could stop himself.
Another new reaction– Bakugou drew back, lips quirked and eyebrows furrowed, before a grimace descended again. “Quit saying weird shit,” he instructed Shinsou before grabbing his whiskey from the bar and walking away.
Yeah. Shinsou had to admit it; something about the perpetually ornery man intrigued him.
But not enough to agree to sublet Midoriya’s room.
And also, he did not like the way Midoriya responded to his admission that he liked annoying Bakugou by saying, “Oh. Oh I see.”
“See what,” Shinsou asked suspiciously. Midoriya’s tone sounded a little bit smug and it didn’t sit right with him at all.
“Nothing. I just get it now,” he replied breezily. “Look, you work all the time and so does Bakugou, I don’t even know how much you’ll cross paths. And just think about how nice it’d be to come back after a thirteen hour shift to an apartment that’s well-furnished and always clean. And then sleep on a real mattress that doesn’t have a sag right in the middle– I was planning on leaving my mattress and frame for you.”
Shinsou looked down at where he was currently sitting, squarely in his futon’s sag. It was actually impossible to sit anywhere else. No matter where he sat, his butt eventually and inevitably drifted, slowly, by the forces of weight and gravity, into the sag. And he was starting to suspect he was slowly ruining his skeleton by sleeping on such an atrocity.
“... That does sound pretty nice,” he admitted with great reluctance.
“It’s a queen-sized bed, you know. Have you ever slept on one?”
“Once. At a fancy hotel.”
“And how was it?”
He sighed. “It was so nice, I was angry when I had to stand up.”
“Now imagine if that was your life all the time.”
Shinsou clicked his tongue. “I know what you’re doing, and it’s not gonna work.”
“What am I doing?” Midoriya asked innocently.
“A nice bed isn’t gonna magically make me forget about Bakugou.”
“I wasn’t– wait, hold on a second, Eijirou’s at the door, hold on—”
Shinsou heard shuffling, scuffling, and a door open somewhere far off. He heard Kirishima in the distance– muffled only a little, probably because Midoriya wasn’t covering the phone receiver properly– say, “I’ve got our takeout! Hey, who ya talkin’ to?”
Midoriya said, “I’m talking to Shinsou. I want him to move into my old place.”
“That’d be a great idea.”
“I know right? But I’ve gotta convince him to move out of his apartment first.”
“Oh, the Pit of Despair?”
A horrible pain radiated from Shinsou’s left temple down to his right ankle as he realized that soft, kind-hearted Kirishima casually knew Shinsou’s apartment as ‘the Pit of Despair’. It had clearly been discussed many times previously. It had a level of notoriety.
Good god.
When Midoriya came back on the line, Shinsou informed him, “I am absolutely not moving into your old room,” and then hung up on him.
There. That oughta show ‘em. His apartment might be regarded as pitiable behind his back, but he still had his pride. And his free futon.
⁂
Six days later, Shinsou had neither his pride, nor his free futon. Midoriya’s skepticism over his futon’s overall structural integrity turned out to be warranted, because when Shinsou face-planted on it after a twelve-hour shift like he usually did, the entire bottom of it collapsed with a sickening crack.
Shinsou would never admit to anyone that he was so tired that he did lay there, on his shattered futon, for another forty-five minutes before managing to get up and assess the damage.
He wasn’t sure if it was all the ruptured scraps of particle board, or how bleak the mattress looked now sitting directly on top of the concrete floor, but he finally admitted to himself that Kirishima’s nickname for his apartment was actually maybe not severe enough to describe how tragic it all was.
Shinsou sighed aloud, and dug his phone out of his pocket. Bakugou be damned. He could deal with getting yelled at for putting his feet up on the coffee table if it meant he had a place to lay his head down. The lease would be up in six months anyway, if things were really so awful he could bounce.
“I’ll take your old room after all,” he said, once Midoriya answered. “If it’s still available, that is.”
“It totally is, this is amazing news!” he chirped. “But what’s with the change of heart? Did something happen?”
Shinsou stared at the corpse of his deceased futon. “Nope,” he lied.
Well. So he did still have some of his pride.
⁂
The entirety of Shinsou’s worldly possessions fit in exactly four large cardboard boxes and a backpack. Midoriya did not comment on it, which Shinsou was grateful for; he simply helped load them into the back of an agency van that he borrowed and they set off, as he merrily whistled “Jingle Bells”.
Shinsou wasn’t surprised by the apartment when they got there– he had visited Midoriya several times, of course. But it did feel different standing in the elevator with Midoriya and his boxes, backpack slung over one shoulder, knowing that this was the first of many elevator rides. Punching the button for the fifth floor and leaning against the faux wood paneling would soon become part of his daily routine.
Shinsou wanted to dislike the apartment. He really did. But it was clean and well-furnished. There was an oven. The fridge didn’t make a low buzzing sound like it was ill. And there were twice as many windows as his last place, and they were twice as big. It was so bright .
But most importantly, it was the middle of February. And unlike Shinsou’s last apartment, this one was warm . No more sleeping under four blankets next to a space heater. As Shinsou padded over to deliver his boxes to his room, he grimly admitted to himself that he loved this place.
Even Midoriya’s awful introduction to the queen-sized bed he was handing over to Shinsou couldn’t spoil it.
“She’s had a lot of miles,” Midoriya announced, slapping his palm on the bed as if it were the hood of a car. “But she’s held up well. So has the frame– if she could survive me and Ei getting together, then she can survive anything. She was practically a piece of gym equipment for the first month.”
Shinsou ran a hand over his face. “Please stop, if you tell me any more information I’ll be forced to throw all of it in the dumpster.”
It was at this point that Bakugou materialized at the door and rolled in an expensive-looking vacuum as he said, “What are you yammering on about.”
Shinsou turned his head to acknowledge him. “And a warm hello to you too, roomie,” he said, grinning widely. Bakugou’s cheek twitched with annoyance. “Deku’s telling me all about his athletic lovemaking with Kirishima.”
Bakugou immediately wrinkled his nose, as Shinsou knew he would. “Ugh, say less.” He jerked his chin at Midoriya. “Okay nerd, don’t just stand there– help me pull your sexually haunted bed away from the wall so I can vacuum behind it.”
“You really don’t need to do that,” Shinsou said.
“Of course I do,” Bakugou said, marching forward to crouch down and grip underneath the bed frame. Midoriya was already following suit without argument. They made it look effortless, like lifting a box of kittens. Shinsou was built, but not that built. “This’ll be the one and only time your room will be neat enough to make it easy, and if I don’t clean back there now it’ll never happen.”
Shinsou rolled his eyes. Typical. He unwound the vacuum cord and shoved it into the socket. “You don’t know anything about how I live. For all you know I live in an environment so sterile it’d put museums to shame.”
“Please,” Bakugou scoffed as he and Midoriya set the bed down again. He straightened up and gave Shinsou a once-over. “I know you well enough to know that you’re actually just three raccoons in a trenchcoat.”
“Three raccoons in a parka , thank you. We always dress weather appropriate.”
Bakugou sighed loudly at him and grabbed the vacuum.
Midoriya clapped his hands together. “This is going so great!”
⁂
For the first month, Shinsou barely saw Bakugou. As an underground hero at an underground agency, Shinsou typically worked long night shifts, and he didn’t always manage to make it back to his apartment at the end of it. Sometimes he crashed on an agency cot.
Although sometimes when he did come home, stumbling into the entryway, exhausted, he’d cross paths with Bakugou, sipping a cup of coffee at the kitchen table.
“Hey roomie, what’s good,” Shinsou would grunt, flinging off his boots.
Sometimes Bakugou would respond with a noncommittal sound like, “Hmm.” Sometimes he wouldn’t say anything at all, but it didn’t matter because Shinsou was either ripping open the fridge to wolf down his leftover takeout or staggering to his room to collapse on his bed (which had spent three weeks without sheets on it until Shinsou finally remembered to order some online).
Sometimes Bakugou would come home before Shinsou left for a particularly late shift, always in his gym gear clearly post-workout, always looking well-hydrated, and never looking tired. Then he would shower, before cooking himself dinner and sitting at the table to eat it. Shinsou couldn’t say he was surprised– Bakugou was a pretty strict and regimented person. He was surprised, however, that Bakugou was content to scroll on his phone while he ate, never commenting on Shinsou slovenly eating instant ramen on the couch five feet away while watching Real Housewives of Tokyo. The most Bakugou said to him during that first month was: “Jesus Christ, what the hell is that,” in regards to Shinsou’s coffee cup.
“This,” Shinsou replied, gesturing to the image of Santa Claus standing on top of a chimney and pulling down his merry pants to reveal his whole entire butt, “is art.”
“I’m not washing that godforsaken cup,” Bakugou grunted.
“Good,” Shinsou replied, sipping obnoxiously from it. “Your pedestrian hands aren’t worthy of handling such a masterpiece.”
But Bakugou did wash his coffee cup. He washed everything. Shinsou contemplated this as he brewed his coffee one afternoon, examining the dishcloths draped over the handle of the oven door. They had been changed out since yesterday. No, Shinsou corrected himself, that made it sound like they magically appeared. There wasn’t a tiny fairy going around doing all the upkeep. Bakugou had changed out the dishcloths and laundered the dirty ones. Bakugou was restocking the toilet paper and paper towels. He had put a new bar of soap in the bathroom, and always made sure there was milk, eggs, and butter in the fridge and filters above the coffee maker.
Shinsou realized then that living with Bakugou was… actually pretty nice. This revelation was shocking.
He grabbed his phone and texted Bakugou for the first time ever. They had exchanged numbers when he first moved in but hadn’t bothered to use them yet.
How much do I owe for shared apartment supplies?
The reply was almost immediate:
What are you talking about
I know you’ve bought more toilet paper and paper towels and various cleaning agents since I’ve moved in. I’ve used my fair share of milk and eggs without paying a dime. So, how much do I owe you?
Don’t worry about it, Eyebags
Just tell me. We’re roommates, these are shared expenses
You’re closer to a stray cat than a roommate
Shinsou sighed in frustration and squinted at his phone. Now that he saw how much Bakugou did around the apartment he couldn’t unsee it, and Shinsou was not some slovenly freeloader. He could send Bakugou a random amount of money to cover what he had used and then some, but the odds of Bakugou sending it right back were high.
Just as Shinsou was considering hiding folded up ¥1,000 bills in Bakugou’s shoes and pockets, his eyes alighted on something intriguing.
Is this your grocery list on the fridge?
Yeah, why
Wow, it sure would be terrible if someone came along and bought everything on it and gave it to their stubborn roommate
Don’t you dare
Sorryyyy, can’t text, this list magically flew off the fridge and into my pocket
See you when I get out of work xoxoxo
Why are you like this
Eyebags
Eyebags I know you’re reading these
Probably with that dumb fucking smirk on your dumb fucking face
I’m changing the locks
When Shinsou returned from work at eight in the morning with two armfuls of groceries, he discovered that 1. Bakugou did not change the locks after all, and 2. the glower on Bakugou’s face was truly extraordinary. He snickered as Bakugou stalked over and wrenched the bags out of Shinsou’s possession, then started violently unpacking them in the kitchen.
Still chuckling, Shinsou slid off his shoes before peeking in, where all the rustling and muttering had suddenly ceased. Bakugou was staring down at the groceries on the counter, free of their bag; his eyebrows were slightly furrowed, and his mouth didn’t quite manage a frown. It was like he was pulling his lips in towards his teeth. Shinsou wasn’t sure what to make of it.
Bakugou’s eyes snapped up to meet his. “You got all the right brands,” he stated. His tone was… almost pleased. Oh, so he wanted to be irritated so badly but couldn’t be. Shinsou grinned openly at Bakugou. This was even better than pissing him off.
“Of course I did,” Shinsou said, then put one hand on the kitchen countertop and leaned as close to Bakugou as he dared. “Now aren’t you glad you let me be good to you?”
Shinsou had expected yelling and maybe even a shove, but instead he endured a long, silent frown from Bakugou before he snapped, “Go to sleep and stop acting weird.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he replied, leaning away and tucking his hands into his pockets as he exited the kitchen. He didn’t comment on the light blush that had bloomed on Bakugou’s face– he wanted to keep all his limbs firmly attached to his body, after all.
⁂