bad habits

Bakugou steps out into the back alley behind the bar, metal door screeching to a shut behind him and dampening the live music inside. The sound is replaced by the drunk conversations of other patrons spread about in the small space, gathered around beat up tables and aging patio furniture. Cheap fairy lights are strung between light posts long since burnt out.

The rest of the available seating consists of grungy wood pallets stained with beer. He finds an isolated spot, tucked into a corner. He scrunches his nose. Beyond the smell of sour beer is the part he hates the most: cigarettes. It smells like death to him, musky and stale as it clings to the back of his throat. It’s everywhere in this scene, dominating the synthetic sweet scent of citrus and cotton candy vapes. So he shouldn’t really complain. But if you wanted some air, you had to share it with them.

What a waste.

He sets his drink down next to him and goes to pull his phone from the pocket of his jeans. But something catches his eye.

A stranger sits across from him in the other corner, his vibrant red hair spiked up, black roots peaking through. His cut off denim jacket is fraying along the edges, the sleeves replaced by intricate designs in black ink along his arms. The faded red tank underneath drapes loose enough to expose his chest.

Suddenly, his mouth is dry. He itches for his drink but he knows it won’t sate him. He swallows.

The redhead reaches into his front chest pocket. And takes a pale cylinder from a white box.

God damnit. Fucking– never mind.

Bakugou leans back against the brick, crossing his arms with an audible Tch.

That gets his attention. Red eyes land on him, raised eyebrow, piercing glinting.

He looks back at him blankly, waiting for him to say something. He doesn’t. It’s awkward. The redhead keeps staring back, tilts his head in silent insistence.

Bakugou cracks.

“Didn’t think you were the smoking type,” he bites out. He was hoping he wasn’t, at least.

The other man barks a laugh, bringing the stick to his lips. He makes a show of biting it in half.

Before Bakugou can process and gag at the thought–

“It’s candy, man.” He smirks brightly, sharp teeth on display.

Bakugou blinks a few times, hard and slow.

“Want one?”

“Yeah,” he replies instantly.

Practiced hands take another stick of candy from the box in one smooth motion. He stands, crossing the narrow distance between them in two steps. He extends his hand, offering him the stick of candy between two fingers.

“Ya know, you probably shouldn't accept stuff from strangers,” he says as Bakugou takes it.

“Yeah,” he lifts the candy, “but you're a hot stranger,” presses it between his lips.

The redhead pauses in his retreat back to his own seat. “Oh.” He looks Bakugou up and down, from his bleach stained shirt, down the legs of his torn jeans, to his black platform boots.

His demeanor changes.

“In that case, need a light?”

He steps into his space, locks eyes with him. He uses an arm to kindly block out the wind that isn't there, boxing him in. A warm hand supports the back of his neck, stabilizing his skull while the other tilts his jaw up with a middle finger. With thumb and forefinger, he pretends to flick a lighter at the exposed end of the stick. The fire in his eye is convincing enough. Bakugou swears he can hear the igniter click, can feel the heat of the flame against his lip. Or is that the other man's breath?

He inhales. Presses his tongue to the would-be butt of the fake cigarette. It’s strawberry.

The man steps back, finally breaks eye contact to give him another assessing look. The hint of a sharp-toothed smile tells him he must like what he finds there.

He sits back down. “Can I have your name, in exchange?”

“Katsuki.” He chews his candy.

The redhead seems satisfied with that and settles, one knee bent to put his foot next to him on the palette. Reaches for his pocket again. Says nothing.

Bakugou hates this game. The man’s words push, his silence pulls. He hates that it works.

He falls easily.

“And what fae did I just hand myself over to?”

He laughs under his breath, “Now–” pulls out a new piece of candy and lazily gestures with it, “–that wasn’t part of the deal.”

He brings the candy to his lips.

Yeah, fuck this game.

Bakugou stands abruptly, slams his boot down on the palette between the man’s legs. He looms over him, braced against the brick. He plucks the candy from his lips and brings it to his own, feels the dampness of the other man’s spit.

Bakugou cocks his brow, making eye contact.

Not so easily won, the redhead breaks it. Looks down, level with the hips in front of him. He hooks a finger into the belt loop on Bakugou’s jeans. Returns his gaze and tugs.

His breath hitches.

“Eijirou.”

Thanks for reading! Quotes and comments keep me going! <3 You can also find this fic on Bluesky and on AO3. Both are here: