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Not to say that his friends aren’t excellent gift-givers, but when Mina hinted they were getting him something big, Eijirou expected a weekend getaway at a fancy resort. VIP tickets to a sold-out concert. Designer crocs.
Not fashion icon, Bakugou Katsuki.
No, seriously, one of Japan’s youngest entrepreneurs—a well-known innovator in the fashion industry—is walking through the door of his newly renovated tattoo parlor. Not looking the least bit happy, but that’s kind of how he looks in all his pictures.
“Happy pre-grand opening!” Mina exclaims with the rest of Eijirou’s squad doing jazz hands behind her. She leans in and whispers behind her hand. “Cute, right?”
“Um, thanks?” Eijirou asks hesitantly. He agrees he’s cute, but… “You got me a…boyfriend?”
Katsuki approaches them, hands jammed in his pockets, and scoffs. “In your dreams, Shitty Hair.”
“No, dude,” Denki says, laughing. “We got you a stylist. Y’know, to help you dress better.”
Eijirou squints at him, but he’s more amused than anything. “I don’t know what’s more offensive, that you think I can’t get my own date or the fact that you think my fashion sense is shit.”
“Both can be true,” Hanta adds, less than helpfully.
“This is just for the ribbon-cutting,” Mina clarifies. “Look, babe, this is a big deal. You’re opening your own parlor in the busiest district in Musutafa and the press will be here. You can’t be photographed dressed like that.”
Eijirou looks down at his current outfit. An oversized Hawaiian shirt. Cargo shorts. Flip-flops. He gives Mina a somewhat confused look. “What’s wrong with the way I dress?”
Mina face palms. “Oh lord.”
“This is comfortable ,” Eijirou argues. “I sit for hours, inking people. I shouldn’t be wearing Louis Vuitton in a session.”
“Listen, man, we love you, we really, really do,” Denki says, coming over to throw an arm around Eijirou’s shoulders, “and I say this with, like, so much affection, but—”
“—you dress like trash, dude,” Hanta interjects with a smirk. “Bakugou had a name for it. What was it?”
Katsuki gives Eijirou a bored look. “Fuckin’ regrettable.”
Eijirou shrinks back, cheeks completely flushed, untangling himself from Denki’s arm while his friends laugh at his expense. As much as he loves being reamed out for his lack of taste, in front of a very good-looking celebrity no less, Eijirou knows his squad has a point. While he adores his closet full of mis-matched clothing that he’s collected from various thrift stores, he realizes it’s not what the public would view as…professional.
And he does want to look his best in front of the cameras. A good impression means more publicity, which in turn, means more customers.
“So,” Eijirou says slowly, turning to Katsuki but avoiding as much eye contact as he can, “all you’re gonna do is just help me look more like a business owner?”
Katsuki studies him carefully. From the corner of his vision, he can see Katsuki’s red eyes raking up and down his body and all of a sudden Eijirou feels very…exposed.
“Is that what you want?” Katsuki asks.
“Uhh…yeah. I guess?”
“Then I got my work cut out for me.”
Eijirou glances at Mina for guidance, but she only shakes her head. “No, nuh-uh. No refunds. Trust me. You’ll have fun! Right, Bakugou?”
Katsuki stares blankly. “Yes. Fun. But, fun costs you double.”
Eijirou chuckles despite the fact that Katsuki probably meant that in all seriousness. The fashion icon may seem like a Debbie Downer, but Eijirou was never one to turn down an adventure. “Alright, Bakugou. I have no idea what to expect, but I look forward to it! Thank you for all your help.”
Bakugou rolls his shoulders and averts his gaze, lip jutting out in a small pout. “Katsuki.”
“W..what?”
“Not Bakugou,” he says more confidently, but there’s a tinge of embarrassment that piques Eijirou’s curiosity. “Call me Katsuki.”
Eijirou smiles. Ah. Well, that’s cute. “Okay, Katsuki. You can call me Eijirou.”
~*`*~*`*~*`*~*`*~
Katsuki is a busy man. Like, real fuckin’ busy. He runs his own fashion empire. Designs clothing for top brand names. He’s never been anyone’s personal stylist and he could care less if Mitsuki’s college roommate’s stepdaughter called in for a favor. This is a waste of time.
“You can take three days out of your life to do one tiny job, can’t you?”
Katsuki leans a shoulder against a lamppost and grits his teeth. “You’re making me use my degree to play dress up.” He regrettably swipes away an incoming call to continue the conversation with his mother. “I’m a fuckin’ professional.”
“Oh, stop it, you love playing dress up,” Mitsuki points out dismissively. “You used to love picking out mine and dad’s outfits before we went out. Made us change out constantly when you didn’t like how we looked.”
“I was eight, you hag!” Katsuki snarls into the receiver.
“I know, you brat, I’m just saying that you used to love it!”
Katsuki groans. “I am busy, mother. Besides…have you seen this client?”
As in, does she realize how tacky his fashion sense is? Before he left the tattoo parlor yesterday, he made Eijirou promise to send him pictures of his closet and, to his horror, was flooded with images of highlighter yellow spandex. Leopard crop tops. Garish lava-printed long-sleeve shirts. Velcro sandals. Tight-fitting tanks. And so. Many. Crocs.
“No, I haven’t seen him. Why? Is he cute?”
Katsuki winces, panicking momentarily because, well, the answer is…yes. Eijirou is cute and it startles him that a goofy-looking redhead could make his stomach twist in knots. But, he isn’t going to let his mother in on it; he’d never hear the end of it.
“What does that have to do with anything?!” Katsuki demands.
“Ashido’s daughter tells her that Kirishima could be a model if he wanted. From what I hear, he works out constantly and has the body to show for it, and he’s a tattoo artist so of course he has ink somewhere on that chiseled b—”
“Mom, for fuck’s sake, please stop talking,” Katsuki begs, a pained noise caught in his throat.
Mitsuki laughs on the other end because apparently she finds her son’s agony amusing. “Anyway, if you really think this is a waste of your precious time, I suppose I can tell the Ashidos that you had an urgent matter come up at work. You can miss your appointment with Kirishima that’s in, what? Two minutes? And you’ll never have to see him again.”
“Goo—” Katsuki freezes.
Wait.
Not see Eijirou again?
A pang hits Katsuki in the gut for seemingly no reason and he doesn’t have the words to take Mitsuki up on her offer, so he grumbles a muffled version of ‘ugh, god, fine, hag, you’re the worst’ and hangs up just as Eijirou appears around the corner.
This is going to be a long day.
“Hey Bakugou—uh, I mean Katsuki!” Eijirou calls out, waving enthusiastically, and Katsuki desperately tries to hide the blush on his face as he waves back. “Sorry I’m late. I tried calling.”
“S’fine,” Katsuku mumbles, unable to stop himself from scanning Eijirou from head to toe. Today he’s wearing a green button-up with zebra stripes, black baggy pants, and velcro shoes, an outfit that Katsuki will never be able to unsee, no matter how hard he tries.
“Are you…checking me out?”
Katsuki’s head snaps up, eyes widening as he realizes that Eijirou is smiling at him. “I’m a professional,” he reminds him curtly.
Eijirou chuckles. “So, you’re checking me out thoroughly ?”
“I—I’m evaluating your outfit,” Katsuki manages to stammer though he’s not very convincing.
“Oh yeah?” Eijirou asks, his tone filled with curious delight. “What’s my score?”
“Negative three thousand.”
“Oh.” Eijirou frowns. “That’s a low score.”
That somehow puts a grin on Katsuki’s face—maybe there’s something about Eijirou’s puppy dog look that he finds irresistible, but he won’t admit to that just yet—and gestures to Eijirou to follow him.
“That’s why I’m here,” he says, opening the door to the boutique, which he reserved for the entire afternoon just so they can shop in peace.
Inside is two floors of clothing and accessories, sectioned off by color palettes, with styles ranging from vintage to modern. A playground of styles and looks and identities. Of course, Katsuki’s already pulled a number of items for Eijirou to try on, but he’s in no business telling Eijirou what to wear. Fashion is about more than just clothes.
“Wow,” Eijirou breathes, looking around. “I’m not gonna lie, this is a lot.”
“Don’t be intimidated,” Katsuki says, placing a hand on Eijirou’s shoulder to encourage him before he realizes touching him sends a bolt of electricity through him. He quickly readjusts by smacking off the lint off his shoulder. “Just play.”
Eijirou tilts his head. “Play?”
“Throw on whatever you want,” Katsuki instructs. “I wanna see whatever you naturally gravitate to. I wanna see what makes you happy; what makes you feel confident.”
“And then you’ll tell me how terribly ugly I look?” Eijirou says, grinning.
“And then I’ll tell you how to do it right,” Katsuki corrects. “You couldn’t look ugly if you tried.”
Katsuki notices a glint in Eijirou’s eyes and he scolds himself for letting his mouth run like that; he didn’t even notice himself saying those words, but there’s something about Eijirou that makes it easy to say these things and he isn’t quite sure why.
“Okay, so I just…pick out anything I want?” Eijirou asks, walking deeper into the boutique.
Katsuki nods. “I want three outfits that best represent who you are. Take your time, but don’t fuckin’ take forever.”
Eijirou gives him a thumbs up before disappearing behind a rack of clothing. Instead of watching Eijirou like a hawk, Katsuki heads to the second floor where the dressing rooms are and waits there. He makes some small talk with the owner, who he likes because she’s intelligent and reserved and considerate. She makes him a pot of tea every time he visits and he brings her exclusive pieces because he knows she’ll sell them to the right people.
Occasionally, he’ll hear Eijirou full on giggle with glee and, while that can only mean he’s picked out something god awful, Katsuki smiles. There aren’t a lot of opportunities where he gets to laugh and let loose, not with his schedule, or his company’s impossibly high expectations. The fashion industry is so cutthroat. Eijirou kind of reminds him that fashion can be… fun.
“Okay, I think I’m ready to blow your mind,” Eijirou says, trekking up the stairs with an armful of clothes.
Katsuki sets his cup of tea on the table. He points to one of the dressing rooms with a long, purple curtain and Eijirou’s name on a small chalkboard on the wall. “About time. I’m ready for a fashion show.”
“I think I did a good job,” Eijirou claims excitedly. He skips to the dressing room and disappears behind the curtain. “Prepare to be wowed!”
Katsuki tries, but nothing can ever prepare you for something like this. Even when he thinks he’s seen every fashion faux pas there is, then Kirishima Eijirou walks out. Grooving to September by Earth, Wind, and Fire that’s blasting from his phone, Eijirou steps onto the platform in front of three full length mirrors and Katsuki is forced to avert his eyes.
“Ba dee ya! Say do you remember? Ba dee ya! Dancing in September.” Eijirou sings in a white disco suit, posing like he’s in Saturday Night Fever and Katsuki decides that Eijirou really is as crazy as he seems. “That’s a classi—”
“What the fuck?” Katsuki interjects, flinching and turning a beet red.
Ugh, he is so mortified.
“C’mon! You jivin’ yet?” Eijirou laughs, doing a cringeworthy rendition of the Hustle, followed by an even more terrible rendition of the YMCA. “Don’t these threads look bad? Don’t I look funky?”
Katsuki blinks, nodding mindlessly, still kind of dazed by overwhelming embarrassment. “Yep. That’s one way to describe it.”
“I look like John Travolta, right?” Eijirou says, continuing to dance.
“Don’t insult him like that,” Katsuki mutters, covering his face. “And for the love of—stop doing the Robot.”
“Dance with me!” Eijirou starts to shuffle over to him with a menacing grin and Katsuki shoots him a death glare.
“Go change into something less ridiculous,” he orders.
“Only after you admit how cute I look.”
No. Katsuki refuses to admit that…out loud. He’ll confess it silently to himself, but he will not give Eijirou the satisfaction of hearing those words.
“Alright, alright,” Eijirou says, bopping back into the dressing room. “Next one’s a winner for sure.”
“Mmhmm.” Katsuki highly doubts that.
~*`*~*`*~*`*~*`*~
Okay, so Eijirou’s off to a bad start. He totally struck out on the disco suit, but really, that was meant to be more of a joke. Honestly, he just wanted to see Katsuki smile. But, this next outfit—this one he totally nailed. Katsuki is going to love it.
“That’s it!” Eijirou announces, drawing the curtains open and running his fingers through his hair because he looks hot. “I found it. It’s comfy and ma—”
“No,” Katsuki drawls.
Eijirou freezes. “....no?”
“Did you even look in the mirror?” Katsuki demands.
Uhh…kinda? Eijirou hops onto the platform and turns around to gaze at his amazing reflection.
Totally killed it. One hundred percent. Black joggers with an orange waistband and an orange stripe down the left pant leg. A matching crop top showing off his midriff that—get this—says “Manly Man” in big, bold letters across his chest. He looks like he came straight out of a fitness magazine.
This, friends, is fashion.
“What are you talking about?” Eijirou says, flexing and grinning stupidly. “I look great! I’d totally wear this to the parlor.”
“You look like a dork.”
Eijirou frowns. Ouch. That kind of stings. Okay, yes, he realizes that Katsuki is a professional and he’s being paid to share his opinion to some extent, but does he have to be extra rude about it?
For his entire life, Eijirou never really cared about being in style—only cared about comfort and functionality. He expresses himself through his illustrations, his body art. His tattoos. The clothes he wears doesn’t really matter to him. If he could walk around town completely shirtless without getting the side-eye from strangers, he would.
And he gets it. Katsuki’s only trying to help him look his best for the grand opening, but he doesn’t understand why Katsuki’s so hellbent at tearing down his self-esteem.
“I happen to like this outfit,” Eijirou defends, crossing his arms across his chest because he isn’t going to take shit from anyone. “A lot.”
“No one in their right mind would wear that,” Katsuki scowls. “You’d be the laughing stock of the entire city.”
“Y’know,” Eijirou sighs, “despite being against this whole thing at the beginning, I was actually having fun shopping around and finding things I like. Feeling good about the things I was putting on. But,”—he narrows his eyes at Katsuki—“every time you open your mouth, you kind of make me feel like crap. And if this is what fashion is about, then forget it. I’d rather be a laughing stock.”
It’s silent and Eijirou has half a mind to walk off because it’s awkward and weird and he feels kind of guilty because Katsuki’s service is technically a gift and he wouldn’t know how to explain any of this to his friends. But, he sees Katsuki staring at him, wide-eyed and the color on his face completely drained. After a minute, he stands abruptly and, much to Eijirou’s surprise, bows, an apology spilling from his lips.
“I’m sorry,” Katsuki mutters, eyes glued to the floor. “You’re—I was wrong and outta line. I’m not used to…I’m usually surrounded by spineless extras who need to be told what to do.”
“I’m not spineless,” Eijirou presses.
Katsuki flinches. “I know. I know. I’m sorry. Like I said, I’m not usually around people who dare have a mind of their own.”
Eijirou huffs. “What about your friends?”
Katsuki looks up at him curiously. “What friends?”
Oh. Eijirou’s stomach drops. No wonder this guy has absolutely no tact or social skills. “Hey, I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t, Eijirou,” Katsuki says, putting a hand up and Eijirou’s heart does a little skip hearing his own name, “You didn’t do anything wrong. Listen. Fashion—at least to me—is about bringing out the best version of yourself. I don’t want you to feel like crap. I want you to fucking own it.”
Eijirou hunches his shoulders up, extremely grateful that Katsuki is being so understanding and humble. Admittedly, he didn’t expect that from the blond, but he’s pleasantly surprised.
“Thanks and look,” Eijirou says sheepishly, “it’s not that I don’t trust your taste. I know this is your job. I just don’t want to look at myself in the mirror and not see me.”
Katsuki nods, jamming his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, no. I got it. When I first got into this industry, people kept pressuring me to conform to the mainstream, but all I wanted was to find my own voice. I can’t believe I turned into them.” He shakes his head disappointedly. “Seriously. I’m sorry.”
The more Katsuki apologizes, the more Eijirou can see there’s someone good-hearted behind that tough exterior. Someone who maybe has had it tough and who needs more people in his circle to affirm how great he is.
Someone who Eijirou is dying to get to know more.
“I just want clothing to be an expression of who you are,” Katsuki continues. “That’s all. When you walk into the room, I want you feeling like the absolute shit. Because you are.”
Eijirou blushes. “I am?”
“Yeah,” Katsuki breathes and Eijirou can see he’s turning just as red, and they both avert their eyes before Katsuki clears his throat. “You, um, got another outfit in there you wanna try on?”
“Uhh, yeah,” Eijirou says, glancing back at the dressing room, “but now I’m like…super nervous.”
“I want to see it,” Katsuki encourages with a smile that looks a bit forced, but Eijirou appreciates the effort. “Please?”
Eijirou raises his eyebrows. “Did you just say please?”
“I can threaten you instead.”
“No, no! Please is good.” Eijirou laughs and, as he makes his way back to his dressing room, he can see from one of the mirrors, Katsuki turning around and hiding his own laughter.
He takes longer than expected changing into his last outfit, only because he’s doubting himself and he also doesn’t want to force Katsuki in a corner, telling him his outfit choices are great when they’re not. But, as he looks down at the pink, short-sleeved blouse and tan knee-length shorts, he doesn’t think he looks half bad. He even found a fancy red sweater, which he’s thrown over his shoulders like a cape, and a gold wristwatch to match.
“Third time’s a charm,” Eijirou mumbles himself, taking a long, deep breath before stepping out and onto the platform. He shifts his weight, looking at Katsuki anxiously. “Well? Thoughts?”
Katsuki doesn’t share them, but his face says it all, scrunched up and trying very hard not to laugh from where he’s frozen to his seat.
Eijirou takes that as a good sign. He slowly flexes in the mirror because he’s finally feeling himself again. “I’m going to interpret your silence as you’re completely speechless by how stunning I look.”
Katsuki snorts, but still doesn’t say anything.
Eijirou grins, amused that the pompous stylist is trying so hard. “Look, I even have a cape,” he says, sticking his tongue out and placing his hands on his hips like he’s Superman.
“Oh god,” Katsuki replies, face-palming.
“Whaddya say?” Eijirou says innocently.
“I mean—um, that’s…yeah. One way to look.” Katsuki gets up and joins him on the platform. Up close, Eijirou is reminded why Bakugou Katsuki is currently Japan’s biggest fashion icon—the man’s beauty is without flaw. It’s almost as if he’s popped up straight from the covers of a magazine.
“Unreal,” Eijirou whispers as Katsuki adjusts Eijirou’s collar.
“Hmm?”
“I just…you just can’t be real,” Eijirou can’t help but confess. “You’re way too handsome.”
Katsuki’s cheeks turn pink and Eijirou tenses, feeling Katsuki’s fingers brush against his shoulders. “You can lose the sweater,” he mutters, taking the sweater in one swift motion and tossing it to the ground. “You’re not Mister Rogers.”
“It wasn’t a sweater, it was a cape,” Eijirou manages to joke despite the fact he’s suddenly feeling very shy, which is absurd because he was totally cool thirty seconds ago.
Kind of.
Katsuki rolls his eyes. “Whatever. You did choose a nice shirt, but let’s try unbuttoning it a bit more…” And then his fingers are crawling down Eijirou’s chest, unfastening buttons until there’s almost more exposed skin than there is fabric, and Katsuki pulls his hand away in a panic. “Uhh, yeah. That’s good. Um, the cargo shorts have to go though, but there’s a pair of washed jeans I left in the dressing room that I think this will pair nicely with.”
Eijirou watches Katsuki turn around, hurrying him off with a wave. He decides not to say anything and instead follows orders, too busy wondering why his skin is all tingly and how much he wants Katsuki to touch him again.
When the cargo shorts are gone and the washed jeans are on, Eijirou steps back onto the platform, still a little lost for words at the sudden rush of emotions that’s flooding him when Katsuki studies him through the mirrors. Which is fine because then he can focus on studying his reflection and not at the way Katsuki is smiling at him.
“Like this?” Eijirou says, turning to look at himself at every angle. “How do I look?”
Katsuki nods. “How do you feel?”
“I feel…confident,” Eijirou says, impressed with how comfortable the fitted jeans are (and how good his ass looks in them). “Yeah. I feel incredible.”
Softly Katsuki replies, “That’s because you are.”
~*`*~*`*~*`*~*`*~
Katsuki hates parties, especially one where the press is invited. And at Eijirou’s grand opening of his tattoo parlor, there are dozens of reporters and photographers, all of whom Katsuki tries to dodge by hiding behind Eijirou’s friends.
“When is the man of the hour coming?” Hanta asks, handing Katsuki a glass of champagne.
“Any minute,” Katsuki says, taking a sip. “I sent him to the back room with his suit.”
“Shouldn’t you be in there dressing him?” Denki asks, smirking. “Our boy usually dresses in the dark; you’re supposed to be there with him, making sure he doesn’t put his pants on backwards! Honestly, what’re we paying you for?”
“Cool it, he didn’t want me there,” Katsuki says.
“Oooh, I wonder why,” Mina teases, poking him in the cheek and Katsuki almost bites her finger off.
“How was it, spending three whole days with him?” Hanta asks.
Exhausting. Eijirou knows how to talk his ear off when he gets comfortable, never short of mindless trivia about sharks or workout routines or meats. But, it’s also been so…refreshing. Eijirou has a sunny disposition that he isn’t used to, but has quickly grown accustomed to, and the thought of losing that after today bothers him more than it should. He can only hope that their paths will cross again someday.
“I can see why y’all are friends with an idiot like him,” Katsuki says, looking into his glass thoughtfully. “He’s…great.”
“Oh my gosh, there he is!!!!!” someone from the crown screams and the entire parlor erupts in excitement. “Here he comes!! Kirishima!!”
There’s so much distraction, it’s just a cacophony of giggles and cameras shuttering and people trying to get Eijirou’s attention as he enters the room. Katsuki tries not to search for him because this is Eijirou’s party and he’ll likely want to tend to all his guests before saying hi to his stylist. Katsuki is about to retreat into a corner when he hears Eijirou call to him.
“Hey, Kats!”
And just like that, Katsuki is instantly drawn to his voice and his heart nearly stops at the sight of Eijirou heading toward him.
He is gorgeous. From head to toe, and inside and out. Katsuki knew the all-black suit would fit him like a glove, but he’s happy to see that Eijirou has also made it his own. The sleeves are rolled to his elbows, showing off his tattoos, and he decided to lose the tie so he can expose a little bit of skin. Eijiroru’s hair is tied messily in a low ponytail, showing off a few ear piercings that weren’t there before.
Katsuki loses his breath. Eijiouro looks stunning. Amazing. And, yes, it’s partly the suit (and therefore, Katsuki is taking part credit), but it’s the genuine smile that he’s wearing that makes him truly beautiful.
“Eijirou,” Katsuki greets as Eijirou approaches him.
“Well, what do you think?” Eijirou says, doing a somewhat graceful spin. “Do you like?”
Like? Does Katsuki like what? The suit? Sure, but that’s not the only thing he likes.
“I…approve,” he says, reddening. “Yes. It’s acceptable.”
“Dude, you look hot A.F.!!!!!” Denki exclaims, throwing his arms around Eijirou while Mina hands him a drink. “You look SO GOOD!”
“Thanks,” Eijirou says, grinning and bumping shoulders with Katsuki. “Only thanks to the awesome gift you guys gave me.”
“I didn’t do much,” Katsuki says, gulping. “You’ve always looked this good.”
“KIRISHIMA!” a photographer with a giant camera yells nearby. “YOU LOOK FANTASTIC! Will you turn here and smile for the cameras?”
“Sure, but I wouldn’t have been able to pull this look off without my stylist,” Eijirou says, gesturing Katsuki to him and even though Katsuki hates pictures, he gravitates to Eijirou anyway because he can’t defy a magnetic force like him. “You’re stuck taking photos with me all night.”
“That’ll cost you extra,” Katsuku mutters into his ear and Eijirou grins at that.
“Bakugou, you look amazing, too,” the photographer swoons. “Will you two continue working together?”
Eijirou shrugs, putting an arm around Katsuki’s shoulders for the picture. “I dunno, but I hope it’s not the last time we get to see each other.”
Katsuki slips his arm around Eijirou’s waist and gives his hip a quick squeeze, drawing a blush from the redhead that he hopes the cameras won’t catch.
“It won’t be.”
