Chapter Text
“How long?”
“Hm?”
Hawks glances up from the sharpie he’s most definitely been paying more attention to than the purple haired, permanently exhausted man joining him behind the counter.
The blonde’s gaze slips across the bodies littering the tables of the cozy cafe they’re packed into, a drowsy warmth rushing over his shoulders and pooling around his ankles as he takes in the soft mulling of mouths and idle hum of heat hitting the windows. Absent-mindedness plays havoc with his head; tangling in his hair and clinging to the fluffy sprouts of honey gold desperate to curl at the nape of his neck.
It takes all he has to gather his wandering thoughts and force them into something that resembles an orderly line - but Hawks does it for the sake of appearing somewhat alive by the time he finishes turning to his boss.
Still, his pleasantly vacant expression doesn’t change when he meets the bloodshot gaze resting on him, completely at ease beneath the facade of scrutiny the tired lavender man puts on. Hawks’ had long since honed the ability to distinguish the many faces of true frustration for exploitative purposes, and continues to find pride in pushing a joke just a little more than he should. Irritability, however, isn’t what he finds in the strong features he greets. Instead all the blonde recognises is the familiar strain of Shinsou’s tired eyes, attention static across his skin.
“How long what?”
Shinsou takes a moment to breathe, trying to convince himself that the remaining few hours of Hawks’ shift won’t be enough to kill him. Though the length of lavender sweeping energetically skyward is mused yet again with another pass of his hand, the motion does little to dislodge the constant state of staleness that rests just beneath his skin. Once he’s certain that he won’t drop dead if Hawks opens his mouth again, Shinsou nods towards the empty store front across from the cafe, the window proudly sporting a very poorly applied ‘sold’ sticker.
“How long do you think this one’ll stick around for?”
Hawks hums, considering the question with a little more attention than it probably deserves. The end of the pen meets his lips, pressing against the frown he wears. He almost drifts again, attention being pulled by the leaves gathered on the sidewalk and collected by the wind. Hawks shakes himself.
“Less than the last.” He forces his palm to remain as far away from his eyes as possible, the urge to rub away the call of sleep far too threatening to the sharp eyeliner he’d poured over that morning. “Hard to be worse than the last guys, though. The track record is a little… fucking terrible.”
Shinsou snorts in amusement, not particularly disagreeing as he pushes a cleaning cloth over the same spot he’s already scrubbed four times in the past twenty minutes. “The last one was six months, right?”
Hawks’ golden eyes dart down to the countertop for a moment, half-expect to see a hole in the surface Shinsou continually works against, before returning back up. “I thought the book nook was there for less time than that?”
“Book nook?” Shinsou shakes his head, fingers rapping against the top of the cakes display as he looks back across the street. He scratches at the purple stubble dusting his jaw, thoughtful. “Nah, it was that arts and crafts store that was there last - what was it called?”
“Stickers ‘n’ Stuff,” calls a voice from the kitchen, words bouncing against pots and pans and skittering between the dishes left in the sink. A young face and triangular smile accompanies the reply, far too tall in Hawks’ opinion when peering at his friends decorating the counter. “It was awful.”
“Oh god, no wonder I blocked out that place,” Hawks remembers, his expression scrunching. “The owners were massive dicks.”
With an apron sporting as many stains as his hands do suds, Sero wipes his palms clean before removing the garment to signal the official close of the kitchen. Freedom grants him access to his rich quiff of dark hair, his fingers tracing along the short sides before coming to fiddle with one of his many ear piercings.
Joining the pair at the register, Sero peaks over Hawks as the blonde slumps further across the counter with a dissatisfied groan. “What, we guessing how long this new place will last again?”
Shinsou grunts, hand running through his wild hair before sweeping around to palm groggily at his eyes.
“What is it this time?” Sero wonders aloud, narrowing his eyes at the shop front as if intimidating the walls and glass panes will somehow result in answers.
“I dunno,” huffs Hawks, utterly done with the conversation as his attention span dwindles to nothing. He can almost feel himself fluffing; his frustrations, like feathers tucked neatly against his back, rising with his heightening agitation towards standing still. “Does it matter? We all know it won’t last the season. But… If we’re lucky it’ll be a bakery or something.”
Sero’s eyes narrow. “Why?”
“Cus I’m hungry, my guy.”
“We have pastries here,” Shinsou sighs, as though he can’t justify the tonal variation required to keep the conversation going. “What’s the point of wishing for competition? It’s only going to lose you a job and leave your scrawny bird ass begging on the street.”
“Excuse you, my ass is a fucking gift to this earth. You should be thanking me.”
Shinsou leans around, glancing at Hawks’ rear. “You owe the world an apology with a butt like that - and don’t change the topic,” the lavender man cuts Hawks’ off before he can squawk his offended interjections, the blonde’s hands clinging to his small, rounded rump as if trying desperately to confirm that it exists. Shinsou claws at the reins of the conversation, determined to keep his employees on track. “Why the hell would you want a bakery when we make stuff here?”
“Have you ever eaten our stuff?” Hawks scrunches his nose up, spinning the pen in his grasp and hauling himself back into standing with a ruffle of exaggerated complaints. “I want some real food.”
Sero glares at him, plucking a rogue, obnoxiously red feather from the nest of Hawks’ hair and frowning down at it before returning it to the blonde’s grabby hands. “Hey, don’t be rude. Everything here is made with love.”
“Yeah? Well your love tastes like cardboard.”
Shinsou lashes out, snatching the sharpie away from the blonde - who squawks indignantly - before hurling it into the kitchen in a swift motion. His deadpan expression doesn’t falter despite the betrayal written across Hawks’ features. “Don’t insult my boyfriend’s baking.”
Hawks looks around quickly, as though he’s missing something, before holding a hand to his chest. “I didn’t know Kaminari was back from his break. Since when did you let him back in the kitchen? He’s a fire risk.”
“He means me,” Sero bites back, his grin barely subdued as he muses Hawks’ hair a little harder than he needs too, “and you fucking know it.”
“Fine fine,” Hawks concedes, waving away the hand forcing his knees to buckle. He faces Sero, craning his head to meet mischievous eyes. “Alright, your cooking is as wholesome as Shinsou’s sleep schedule.” He looks to the latterly mentioned man, an innocent smile pressed against his lips. “Happy?”
The purple haired man sighs from the sidelines. “Not particularly.”
“Good,” claps Hawks, grinning while Sero joins in with a chuckle, “now that that’s sorted, what the hell is that store gonna be? I think we should take bets. I’ll go first - I hope it’s a cat cafe so that Aizawa will finally realise the joys of smiling.”
Shinsou quirks an eyebrow. “I’ll make sure to tell my dad you said that.”
“Oh god,” Hawks flounders, arms flailing and jovial expression cracking into genuine panic. “No, please don’t. Oh god, I want to live, Shinsou. Please-”
“Too late, it was nice knowing you.”
“Fuck!”
Thoroughly amused, Shinsou’s head cocks to the side as he steps up to serve a customer over the sound of Hawks’ anguished squawking, the remaining dregs of amusement clinging to the curl of his lips. Ringing up an order with a smile that doesn’t seem to appropriately fit the situation, and eyes that scream for the sweet embrace of sleep, he hands the customer a number and sends them deeper into the thriving cafe.
Watching the commotion around a wide smile, Sero keeps a firm hand on Hawks’ elbow to stop the blonde from sinking to the floor under the weight of his own dramatics. After a long, ‘please god, shut the damn bird up before I do,’ look from Shinsou, Sero spins Hawks around abruptly.
Startled, a smaller, more embarrassing squeak escapes his lips as the blonde instinctually flinches. Curling in on himself, Hawks’ head dips and for a moment he find himself willing his existence to disappear completely into the floor. It takes him a bout of nervous blinking and anxious laughter to realise that Sero is waiting for quiet to fall so that he can speak.
Rather than spitting out another ill-timed joke, Hawks clamps down on his lower lip.
“You know that thing we talked about?” Sero starts, looking down at the shorter man while Shinsou convinces himself that putting his forehead through the counter is just as counterproductive as participating in the conversation. “The whole ‘don’t make Shinsou regret existing’ thing?”
Keeping any and all unappreciated comments locked between his teeth, bitterness comes to rest on the back of Hawks’ tongue. Uncomfortable and awkward. Burning in it’s desperation to escape the lock of his jaw. The blonde nods, doing his best to keep his head from dipping any further towards his torso.
“Yessir,” he admits, a glance flitting to the shock of lavender beside him.
“And what are you doing right now?” Sero prompts, struggling to contain the entertained smile tugging the corners of his mouth into joyful triangles.
“A good job?” Hawks doesn’t have to think before he responds, but he quickly wishes he had.
The groan accompanies Hawks’ comment from behind him, crawling over Sero’s sniggers and sitting between the pair. Following is the sound of the cake display doors sliding closed as Shinsou glances dramatically at a watch he clearly doesn’t own, throwing his cleaning cloth at Sero a moment later.
“I’m done,” he determines with yet another pass of caffeine laced fingers through lavender, “I need a break from this.”
“Hey,” Sero calls through the smile he hasn’t bothered to wipe away, “you can’t run off now. Denki isn’t back from his break yet.”
“Don’t care,” Shinsou retorts, removing the apron tied around his waist and pushing it into his sniggering boyfriend’s hands. “Tell him that I live in the store room now - oh.” Shinsou stops, eyes widening a fraction before settling back into contempt.
“What?” Hawks prods, nervous laughter seeing the back of his neck itch. “Why’re you looking at me like that? I didn’t do anything this time...”
“No, but you’re going to.” Shinsou waves a hand in the direction of the coffee machine, the order he’d just taken waiting on the small screen hanging above the gleaming metal contraption. “Finish that for me, would you? It’s one of those stupidly sweet abominations, and I refuse to ruin coffee like that.”
“Alright, alright, go be antisocial someplace else so I can do my job, would ya?” This time Hawks lets out a genuine laugh. Bouncing to the machine, he takes no issue in getting to work. He’s humming happily to himself as he concentrates, Shinsou taking the opportunity to duck away with a dry chuckle.
Sero watches his boyfriend disappear with an affectionate sigh. “There he goes, the love of my life.”
Hawks pulls a face. “On the bright side, with the boss gone we can keep building on our conspiracies without burning under his fiery judgement.”
“He’s not that bad… he just, I don’t know man - I guess he just can’t justify the energy for it, you know?” A quirked eyebrow greets Hawks’ enthusiasm and few too many pumps of caramel, Sero watching as the blonde works wonders with brightly coloured syrup. “It’s kinda like all of us putting up with you.”
“Well, fuck you too!” Hawks beams, taking a moment to still his excitement so that he can pour the glaringly pink liquid he’s concocted into the glass. Satisfied with the lack of splash damage, his eagerness ramps back up to its previously high levels. “We just need Kaminari and we can get started-”
“Then wait no longer!” comes a shattering response, the electric blonde appearing so suddenly that Hawks comes close to dropping the masterpiece he’s creating. Bright yellow eyes watch the pair behind the counter with a mischievous glint, an elegant hand pushing bright, almost highlighter blonde hair back into place with the help of a black zigzag headband.
Sero groans, slumping beneath the sheer size of his exaggerations. “Speak of the devil…”
Kaminari throws him a smile, unperturbed and as shining as ever. “Excuse me, fine sir, but I think you mean that it’s your Devilishly Gorgeous Boyfriend-”
“It’s my moron of a boyfriend,” Sero corrects with a flourish of his hand, “but continue.”
Kaminari’s voice rises slightly, his eyebrows furrowing. “The love of your life-”
“Don’t tell Shinsou.”
A squeak of indignation emanates from the electric blonde, his grip on the conversation's direction slipping. “Here to brighten up your day-”
Sero shakes his head before Kaminari is able to finish, an expression of pity painting his features as he yet again shoots the man down, “here to make a dumbass of himself.”
Kaminari gives up with a disheartened whine, crumpling across the counter and burying his pout in the crook of his elbow. The words ‘you’re supposed to love me,’ press against the surface, hot as they bounce back and burrow into the electric blonde’s sour expression.
Sero concedes. Rolling his head back and shrugging the sense of pride from his shoulders, he places a reassuring hand on the hunched figure.
“It’s an endearing trait, babe,” he insists gently, fingers worming into the cage of his arms and finding Kaminari’s chin, lifting his boyfriend’s face from the confines of frustration. “It’s cute, you know?”
Kaminari sniffles, eyes wide and hopeful. “Really?”
“No.”
Kaminari immediately reels, delicate features carved harsh with the the angles of his scowl. He points an accusatory finger at Sero, the man a head taller than the anger fuming at his shins, and Hawks quickly ducks beneath Kaminari’s arm before he can bear witness to the shriek of “hey, I am offended!”
Scampering away as Sero raises to his full height, Hawks makes sure that he’s safely dipped past the bickering pair before plastering on his best customer service smile. Chipper attitude in check, he hopes desperately that his positivity is loud enough to drown out his two friends battling viciously at the register. It’s obvious that it doesn’t work, but the customer is far too enraptured by the shimmering sight of their drink to care.
Returning to the war zone sees his fake smile drop into something more comfortable and far less plastic, and Hawks holds up his hands in the hopes for a cease fire. “Guys, guys, please,” he practically sings, batting his eyes and ducking away from the redirected, although mostly feigned, hostility turning on him. “Stop bickering, would you? We’ve got more important things to do.”
Both men eye him suspiciously, Kaminari taking the bait with a less than eager, “what?”
Hawks simply beams as the tension dissipates, flinging his arms open in gradious. “It’s that time again, ladies and gentlemen and all our non binary friends, for the coffee crew conspiracy hour!”