A McFlurry is slammed onto the table in front of Izuku, rattling all the wadded up napkins he’d used and discarded.
When he peers up tearfully, he’s met with narrowed red eyes, wild blond hair, and a deep scowl. Izuku swallows hard. It’s almost uncanny how much this guy resembles his ex, except blonder and grumpier.
“Shut the fuck up already,” he says, and Izuku gapes, “I can’t mop in peace with you crying nonstop.”
Izuku has to admit it‘s at least been an hour since he got here, and his McNuggets are more soggy than not. He swallows past the lump in his throat, averting his eyes as he starts gathering up his tear soaked napkins and arranging them in a pile.
“S-sorry,” he mumbles.
“Eat your McFlurry,” the guy says after glaring at him some more, “It’s on the house.”
Izuku feels like he should mention that he’s lactose intolerant, but he’s honestly kind of touched by the gesture so he dips his spoon in and takes a bite. The blond’s glare seems to soften, just a little bit, and Izuku catches the name on the tag pinned to the right side of his chest just before he turns away.
Bakugou walks back to the yellow CAUTION WET FLOOR sign and grabs his mop. His biceps strain against the sleeves of his black polo shirt as he angrily shoves it back and forth over the floor, sloshing liquid everywhere.
Izuku mechanically shovels McFlurry into his mouth as he watches. He thinks he might be falling in love.
And the stomach ache he gets later on that night is totally worth it.
“Is that him?” Ochaco whispers excitedly as they walk into McDonald’s Friday night. “Wow, he’s super hot…”
Izuku follows her gaze to the register where a guy with hair dyed two different colors—red and white—is staring into the middle distance like he longs for death. Minimum wage will do that to you.
“O-oh, um, actually…” Izuku fidgets, knowing judgement is coming as he gestures a little past the register to where Bakugou is working a frier, cussing out his manager who hovers behind him with a shit eating grin, “that’s him.”
Ochaco bites her lower lip. “The manager?”
Okay, he knows this looks bad, but that’s exactly why he didn’t want any of his friends finding out; they just don’t understand. Bakugou is a little rough around the edges, sure, but he’s got a soft touch! He’s nothing like Izuku's ex!
“Izuku,” she says, exasperated, gesturing at Bakugou’s, well, everything, “he’s literally blond Shindo!”
“He is not!”
“You’re right. This one doesn’t even smile.”
“Welcome to McDonalds,” a monotone voice interrupts them. It takes a minute for Izuku to realize that, at some point during their argument, he and Ochaco had migrated toward the register. Red and white hair guy stares at them with no expression on his face, and Izuku can't gauge how much of their conversation he overheard. It’s unnerving, “May I take your order?”
“I’ll have a small McNuggets,” Ochaco says without missing a beat. She slides some yen across the counter top. Izuku hastily fishes around in his pocket for some change.
“Um, just a small drink, please,” he says, handing his money over as well. There’s an awkward silence as Todoroki Shouto, according to his name tag, punches in their orders on the touch screen register. Izuku offers a shy smile. “Did you dye your hair to match McDonald’s theme?” he asks, trying to make conversation.
Todoroki doesn’t even look up at him. “No.”
Izuku fidgets with his sleeve. “O-oh…”
“Here’s your change,” Todoroki says, handing a couple coins back to him.
“Thanks…” he mutters, dejected as he and Ochaco go find a booth to sit in. He'd wanted to talk to Bakugou again...
It takes a while for their order to be called but, when Izuku spots Bakugou grumpily setting their tray down on the counter under a sign that says “Pick Up”, he immediately leaps to his feet. He scrambles over to the counter, licking his lips nervously and hoping his cheeks aren’t bright red as he hands over the receipt with his order number.
“Hi,” he says, a little breathless, eyes all but glittering up at Bakugou.
“Hi,” Bakugou replies, voice flat, maybe a little wary.
Izuku bites his lower lip, glancing back at Ochaco who seems to have rallied herself for the sake of their friendship despite telling Izuku five times during the fifteen minutes they spent waiting for their food that this is going to end in disaster. She shoots him a thumbs up, and Izuku turns back to Bakugou.
“S-so… do you come here often?”
Bakugou’s eyes narrow slightly, and their intensity makes Izuku’s stomach do somersaults.
“I work here.”
Izuku racks his mind for something else to say, and ends up blurting, “But how often?”
There’s a beat of silence, and then, “Sir,” Bakugou says, “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
Izuku deflates like a popped balloon. His lower lip wobbles, and he knows the tears are imminent despite how hard he’s trying to hold them back. He blew it. His one chance to leave a good impression on Bakugou, over, gone. It went just like Ochaco said. Why doesn’t he ever listen to her? He grabs the tray, not meeting Bakugou’s eyes.
“… I’ll just t-take this to go then…”
He’s about to walk away when a hand grabs the other side of the tray, keeping him in place, and Izuku glances up only to find the manager staring down at him with a wide, smarmy grin. His hair is so black it can only be dyed, eyes an unreal shade of electric blue, and he’s got piercings all over his face—his eyebrows, his lips, his nose, and even one stud stuck in his cheek like a metal dimple.
“Sir,” he says, as if he relishes the word, “I’m going to have to ask you to stay. How would you like a job?”
Bakugou slams his fist down on the counter, hard enough to make Ochaco's McNuggets rattle in their container. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he growls.
Izuku doesn’t pause to think about it. “I-I’ll do it!”