Chapter Text
Shouta knows exactly why he's here and suffering.
It all started one morning a few days ago when two very familiar people decide to invade his barren apartment. Shouta tries in vain to stay asleep as two sets of loud footsteps track into his bedroom, burying his face into his pillow to try to drown out their noise and suffocate himself back into unconsciousness.
“Good morning, sunshine!” Nemuri says cheerily, much too bright when the sun has barely risen. Shouta’s pretty sure he only got home three hours ago, judging from the patch of sunlight he can feel warming the foot uncovered by his blanket. He must have not closed his curtain properly before he passed out after patrol.
“We have an answer to your problem.” Hizashi’s smile is beaming a mark on Shouta’s stubbled cheek like a second sun.
Shouta doesn't even bother to raise his head from his pillow, uncaring that it muffles his voice into near incomprehensibility—that’s probably too big a word this fucking early in the morning. He croaks, “Which problem?” He has a list.
“The shitty beginning hero salary thing!” Hizashi says, audibly jumping in place. Shouta can feel him doing jazz hands right now.
All three of them had been struggling with their unsustainable hero salaries since they graduated. Cost of living was fairly high this part of the country, in one of Japan’s largest cities, and they barely made rent every month. They only just started making enough to get their own apartments, renting together would have ended with the building on fire and all three of them at the others’ throats, as evidenced by that one month when they had actually tried. Never again.
Not to mention rookie underground heroes got the shortest end of the hero industry stick by getting pay on a case by case basis without the additional income through hero merch that spotlight heroes have. Especially independent underground heroes like, say, Eraserhead.
As much as he hates being simply handed things, he doesn’t actually want to be homeless. His short stint a few years ago was enough, thank you. It only worsened his performance on the field.
“We found you ,” Nemuri starts dramatically, probably waving her hands, “a modeling gig!”
Nevermind.
Shouta raises his head to squint judgingly at his smiling friends. He has a faint feeling that this was a strangely familiar topic but he's not awake enough to think about it.
“C’mon, Shouta!” Hizashi pleads. “They're offering good money for just a few hours of your time. They might even call you back for other stuff; if they do, you'll be set until you get more established as a hero!”
“You do remember why I’m an underground hero, right,” Shouta says flatly, raising an eyebrow.
Nemuri huffs. “Of course, we do!” Her lips stretch into a smug smile. “We made sure that they won't require you to show your face.”
This should not be making logical sense. Shouta closes his dry eyes and heaves a sigh, smooshing his cheek to his very inviting pillow. He doesn’t mind having his picture taken, only that it might be used to identify him. If the pay lets him get this month’s rent in order…
“We even found a schedule that doesn't clash with your patrols~” Nemuri sing-songs like she already knows the outcome of this situation.
He can feel Hizashi and Nemuri leaning closer in their eagerness. They knew him too well for their own good.
Shouta’s brow twitches. Goddammit . “Fine.”
He opens his eyes to glare at them when he hears them high five loud enough to probably wake his elderly upstairs neighbor. “Now get out.”
He raises a small pillow threateningly when they start to whine at him. “Out. It’s too early for this shit.”
“Okay, okay,” Hizashi placates like he doesn't look like he hasn't slept over 3 hours last night, most likely from his late radio show that’s been steadily growing an audience.
“Text me the details later.” Shouta sighs, settling back into bed. “And get some fucking sleep, Yamada.”
“Will do!” Shouta hears his front door close a few seconds later, his chest feeling a tad less weighed down by constant worry as he slips back into sleep.
Which brings him here to a giant studio, standing on a raised platform, sweating lightly from what must be at least ten light sources directed right at him. Even being mostly naked did not help at all. At least the boxers he is modeling are comfortable.
The interview with the designer went well, in his opinion. If it was even really an interview.
“Call me Mitsuki, kid!” A blonde and fair-skinned spitfire of a woman in fashionable clothes—he assumes anyway, he barely knows anything about fashion—says, a pleased, confident grin on her face.
“...You don’t look that much older than me, …Bakugou-san.”
She hums, eyes shining with a familiar amused glint as if to say I’ll get you to agree one day —god, not another one, he inwardly groans—, then looks him up and down with a discerning professional eye. She asks him to take his clothes off and he inwardly shrugged, he did agree to being an underwear model.
He takes his shirt off, movements fluid, letting his shirt hang on his arm while Mitsuki looks him over.
“So Kayama was right.” There was a pleased grin on her face.
He might regret asking this but, “...Right about what?”
“Got a good body on you!” She solidly pats his shoulder. “You’ll pull off my clothes well, I can tell! Thought you were a rag there for a second, ‘til you took off your shirt anyway.”
Which, fair, he rarely ever dresses up and his clothing choices are often just whatever he could grab first from his drawers. He has to ask though, “Even with the scars?” He was a close-combat specialist, his skin is littered with marks of his past injuries. He looks down, ah , there’s a nearly healed bruise on his stomach from two nights ago.
Mitsuki’s voice is a smidge softer when she answers and he raises his head to look at her. “We can just edit them out in post if you’re uncomfortable or if you think people might recognize you from them.” Her eyes shine with an understanding glint, her sharp grin softening.
Shouta nods. Sounds reasonable.
“All right! Any questions? The studio’s all set up.”
And that was when another loud person was (forcibly) added to the list of people he knew, he would find out later. Years later, Shouta would think that she should have come with a warning label that she was part of a packaged deal.
(He had honestly forgotten that they had talked about him possibly modeling in passing that one time at a night out in a quiet bar but it came back to him when he properly woke up after the two’s visit, reading over the details they emailed him.
He sat across them, each of them with a glass of shochu in hand. They entered a lull in conversation after venting about their patrols the past week.
“Naa, Sho, what if you modeled or something?” Kayama smooshed her cheek to her fist as she gestured with her hand holding her cup.
Shouta cracked an eye open. “Can’t show my face. Underground , remember?”
“...You know, you could underwear model.” Hizashi smirks, spinning his glasses in his hand.
“Right?! You definitely have a body for that kind of thing, Shouta!” They looked like bobble heads nodding their heads in tandem, cheeks red from the alcohol.
Shouta smacks his hand on her face, brows furrowed. “Too loud.” He can feel her giggle at his hand and takes his hand away before she could try to lick it. “And what do you mean I have a body for that type of thing?”
“You’re fit , dude! Abs we wish we could have!!!” Hizashi waved his arms around, drink sloshing in his hand, nearly activating his quirk until he noticed Shouta’s hair start to rise. Lowering his arms, he continued, “All that training and shit. Paying off really well.” He playfully waggles his eyes.
Shouta looked into his half-empty cup, wondering if he drown himself in it because he’s actually fucking considering it . In his defense, rent was rising and he was barely living on his meager paychecks even with how many cases he’s been involved in. Loathe as he was to admit it, it was not sustainable and something would break soon.
Shouta takes a swig and levels his two best friends a look and shrugged, “Maybe one shoot.” Seeing them start to cheer, he adds, “And we never speak of it, ever . If it ever even happens anyway.”
He misses the two sharing a conspiring look too sober than he thought they were because he was resting his eyes.
He is not sure if he regrets it yet.)
—
“So… how did it go?”
This time, they are hanging out at Hizashi’s apartment with delivery from their favorite ramen stall and his friends’ eyes feel like a tangible weight.
Shouta shrugs. “Went all right. Mitsuki-san said she’d send me samples when they were done.”
Nemuri smirks victoriously, catching the name. “She liked you then.”
“Maybe.” He shrugged again, slurping up some noodles. He knows how difficult he could be to get along with—it’s still unclear to him how Nemuri and Hizashi have been friends with him for so long. He’ll just have to take their word for it.
Hizashi chews for a moment and swallows. “No other detail other than that? What’d you wear, man?”
Shouta huffs. Nosy . They’d grill him until he gave up and it would be illogical to spend more time trying to deter them when they really wanted something. “Underwear at first, then Mitsuki-san made me try on some coats and scarves. Said—”
“You can’t just have shoulders like that and not let me see how my latest casual line hangs on you!”
“—so I agreed. They were comfortable.” He wishes he had those scarves but they were definitely too expensive for him with his current salary. “It was a one time thing, so.” He shrugged; he had thought it wouldn’t hurt to try them out, it was his (enforced) day off and he had had nothing else to do but catch up on sleep and maybe go to the gym, if he’d done any work on his cases, Tsukauchi would have chased him out with a mop.
“Sounds like she might get you to model more for her to me.” Nemuri picks out a vegetable to chew on, emanating smugness as some of it sticks out of her mouth.
Despite the heat from the bright lighting making him sweat and his eyes sting, it had been fun to work with Mitsuki, her energy levels similar to his best friends’ because of course she does. Posing had been a bit of a mess the first few minutes until the photographer figured out how to communicate what they wanted him to do, his body control training helping tremendously. Plus, the clothes were comfortable and soft—he’d caught himself nearly asleep in them during a break but managed to keep himself awake before one of the assistants could find him passed out with half his face buried in a giant scarf. The pay that he had originally come to the shoot for was enough to pay his rent and his groceries that month. If he continued, maybe… Maybe.
Shouta stares into the broth in his bowl and hums. “…We’ll see.” Deep in thought, he brings the bowl to his mouth.
Slurping up the broth, he misses seeing Hizashi and Nemuri exchange a discreet low five, bright smiles on their faces.
—
Hizashi and Nemuri were far more excited than he was—that is, not at all—when the samples from Mitsuki arrived. They kept sending the eye emoji every morning when he would usually be sorting through his mail for the day.
Shouta sends a message to their group chat right after he sorts through his mail and sees the address on the package. They would have pouted and whined for a week if he tore it open without notifying them.
His phone vibrates beside his plate and the screen lights up to show his notifications.
good night gas: OMG OMW DO NOT OPEN THAT UNTIL I GET THERE
GOOD MORNING GAYS: RUNNNIMG
He forgot that it was the two’s day off. Of course.
Shouta is just finishing his second cup of coffee when his door bangs open—he should really stick some foam on the wall before these two end up embedding his door handle into it.
“YOU…” Nemuri pants heavily, leaning on the door, trying to catch her breath. “You better have not opened that, Shouta.” A quick glance at her feet shows she is wearing her heels. Her sense of balance on heels amazes him to this day.
“That was quick, why were you so close to my house?” He raised his brow.
“Sensed something.”
“What, you get another quirk or something? Clairvoyance?” Shouta hides his smile behind his mug.
Nemuri’s reply is cut short when they hear familiar heavy footsteps running towards them.
“SHOUTA!!” Hizashi nearly skids past his door.
“D’you get a foresight quirk too?” Shouta raises his brow again, mouth still hidden by his empty mug.
“...I was going to get my groceries.” Nemuri pouts, finally caving then perks right back up again as if she had not been heaving on his door. “Anyway!! Show us the goods!”
Shouta sets his mug down and lays a hand on the package. “Close that door first or I just might not.”
It takes no longer than a blink for Hizashi and Nemuri to close the door and sit beside him on his couch, hair and clothes suddenly neat and orderly as if they had not been askew and windblown a few seconds ago, shoes neatly placed on the rack by the door. Their eyes are intent and focused on the package in Shouta’s hands, unblinking. He huffs, so overdramatic .
Shouta takes his time with an inward smirk, ignoring the two sets of eyes searing into him as he slowly and painstakingly opens the package.
Finally, he slides out the sample pictures, flipping through them quickly. His eyes had been edited to look like normal hydrated eyeballs in the pictures when he’d worn the casualwear. In the underwear shots, his scars had been expertly edited out, leaving only his hair on his torso. He hums, they look fine.
Satisfied, Shouta finally hands them over to the two sat beside him and Nemuri nearly rips them out of his hands in her haste. He huffs, grabbing his phone and sending a quick ‘They look good, thanks,’ to Mitsuki and then standing up to wash his mug while Hizashi and Nemuri look the pictures over.
…Speaking of, they were unusually quiet. Setting his washed mug on a rack to dry, he looked back at the two on his couch and found their heads swinging from the pictures in their hands and his face, eyes steadily widening.
“...What?”
Their eyes were nearly popping out as they blurted, “THIS IS YOU??!?”
“...Yes? Something wrong?” Shouta’s brows furrow.
“No, no! Nothing’s wrong, these look great! You look great!” Hizashi waves his hands, a picture in his hold. “Just! You let someone brush your hair???”
Of course they would not have commented on the edits on his eyes and his scars, they know how it could have helped identify him but, “My hair?”
“We could barely recognize you! Your hair in different styles could count as a disguise, like me!” Hizashi grins, running his hand through his hair.
“Huh.” He had forgotten about Hizashi’s giant banana hair in his hero costume being a good deterrent for people to not recognize him in his civvies. Something to keep in mind. Shouta nods, scratching at his stubble in thought.
“Damn, Shouta, have you been training more?” Nemuri spreads the pictures on the coffee table, an impressed expression on her face as she looks them over again.
“No, just the usual.” Shouta looks at his beloved coffee machine to see if he had any coffee left over. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please.” Hizashi sprawls on the couch, his head lolling to look at Shouta.
“I just finished mine before you sent the text.”
“...Your usual?” The giant cup she ordered from her usual cafe could power his four-story apartment building. She usually bought one—Shouta glances at the clock—30 minutes from the current time and iIt usually took her a few minutes to finish it. Did she chug it?
“Of course.”
No wonder she was able to run so fast to get here.
She smiles at him. “These are really good, Shouta, great job.”
“I just stood there but thanks.”
Nemuri pouts. “Lies! These are some solid poses and expressions—even if half your face is covered. I knew your eyes could smoulder! You’re a natural.” Shouta highly doubts that but he did hear some of the assistants whispering that when he had been there. Or they could have been talking about another model, he isn’t sure, he was halfway into a nap on a sofa during break. “Bet you Mitsuki-san would offer you a gig again.”
Hizashi nods vigorously beside her. “Yeah! I worked with her before and she’s sharp. She’ll definitely hire you again. A secure fallback if your hero salary doesn’t cut it, y’know?”
Shouta shrugs. He expects nothing but he’ll humor them.
Nemuri and Hizashi share a conspiratorial look. “If we’re right, you better treat us to some udon.”
“Fine.”
—
Shouta sighs as he forks over cash—from his second modeling gig—for Nemuri and Hizashi’s second bowls while they cheer.
Was this really worth it? His mouth twitches up as his friends slurp up their new bowls, thoughts drifting to the cat shelter he frequented.
Maybe.