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Not A Fan

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It is safe to say that Shouto utterly loathes fan signing events. Of course, he greatly appreciates all of his fans for supporting him, listening to his music, and cheering him up with their upbeat social media personalities. But meeting them face to face in such a personalised way is much too mentally draining for him, with socialising, as well as pleasing them being an absolute must. And there's also the air conditioner that doesn't seem to be working while they're in a hall full of people lining up in the middle of summer.

Pure torture.

But Shouto does his duty -- very well, too -- as he plasters his trademark smile, not too small and not too wide, towards every single fan he faces. It's been one hour and his cheeks are beginning to hurt despite having two years of experience. He really shouldn't have spent his childhood with a poker face, but he only has his father to blame.

His fans, however, either doesn't realise that his smile is plastic or they don't mind since each of them are bouncing on the balls of their feet in excitement as soon as it is their turn to meet him. They also don't seem to mind his monotone speaking voice, sounding -- even to himself -- like he'd rather be anywhere but here, but maybe that's because it's included as part of his trademark by now. He feels guilty, really -- his fans paid no small amount of money in order to see him -- but his suffering is far too great for him to have the willpower to change his doings.

His smile, however, turns into a genuine one when he sees a man stepping forward before him without any hint of excitement, his arms crossed and his brows drawn together. He's about Shouto's age. His hair is a shock of blond sticking up everywhere, his eyes an intense blood red, his pink lips are pulled into a pout, his face somewhat round but ironically framed by a sharp jawline, and the tight fitting black shirt he's wearing only emphasises how fit this man truly is (extremely). His scowl does not make his face any less than handsome and there's no doubt that the unfairly attractive man in front of him has everything that Shouto dreams to see in a man. Physically at least, but that's enough to make his day a hundred times better than it was before.

"Hello," Shouto greets the man of his dreams reflexively. "Thank you for supporting me." This, too, is a phrase he's repeated thousands of times before, accompanied by his winning smile, but this time intensified.

"I'm not a fan of yours," the blond says quickly, turning his head to the side so vigorously that it must've hurt. To say Shouto isn't disappointed or even slightly hurt would be a complete lie. Out of the many, many people inside the room, the one Shouto happens to be attracted to also happens dislike him, or at least his music. He can almost feel his heart physically crumbling. "I'm doing this for my nerd roommate who would literally die for you."

He then pulls out an album from his backpack and slides it on the table separating them for Shouto to sign the cover. The blond sighs and mutters something that sounds like, "Shitty Deku."

Shouto hums as he uncaps his marker, the familiar smell of ink flooding his nose. "Why don't you like my music?"

"I'm more of a metalhead," the other explains. "I'm not into weak shit."

"That's a bit harsh, don't you think?" Shouto is only teasing. He has no problem with people not liking his music -- everyone has different tastes after all. He, himself, would never be caught alive listening to heavy metal. It's all a matter of preference. But it's still a tad disappointing to know that the man who could be the love of his life dislikes the results of his true passion and hard work.

The blond only shrugs. "The truth hurts, Half 'n Half," he mutters.

"Half 'n Half?" He keeps the stroke of his marker slower than usual as he signs the album cover, buying as much time as he can.

"Your hair, idiot."

"That's a surprisingly cute nickname coming from you," Shouto says before he chuckles. He knows he's completely doomed when he feels a slight flutter of his heart and a hint of warmth on his cheeks. "What should I call you -- Dandelion?"

Dandelion splutters as his eyes widens in horror, as if the innocent nickname would haunt him like a sleep paralysis demon.

"Fuck you!"

"This is the first time a fan has ever said that to me," Shouto observes while finding that he, in fact, does not mind the insult at all. He's now finished with his signature but his job with the blond is far from over.

"I'm not a fan, dammit!" Dandelion exclaims as he shoves his hands inside the pockets of his awfully baggy pants (which suits him somehow despite hanging dangerously low) and glares at the ground.

Meanwhile, Shouto reaches for a red and white post-it note at the corner of his desk to stick on the album and leave a message, a ritual he's been doing for the two whole years of his career. He asks, "What's your friend's name?"

Dandelion doesn't look up from the ground. "Katsuki," he mumbles as his frown deepens even further.

Shouto raises one eyebrow. "That's a pretty name." His not-fan doesn't say anything to that.

He turns the post-it over to write on the sticky side and makes sure the man isn't looking as he writes down digit after digit on the smooth surface. He leaves a little message addressed to 'Katsuki' decorated with a winking emoticon. Then, he sticks the post-it at the bottom right corner of the album with the writing on the back and writes "Turn over :)" on the blank front side.

"Dandelion, it's ready." He offers the signed album with the post-it note to the blond who gruffly looks up and raises his hands. Their hands brush as he hands the album to the man who seems to be unaffected but it makes Shouto's nerves sing. "Don't turn it over yet."

But being a complete rebel as suggested by his appearance, the blond flips the post-it over as soon as he first sees it. His ears turn red while his cheeks are dusted with pink. Satisfaction wells in Shouto's chest for having an effect on the blond.

At the corner of his eyes, Shouto can see an event staff signalling him that he's spent too much time on one fan (or not-fan, whatever Dandelion is). So to his dismay, Shouto has to end all this.

But his work is already done when Dandelion briefly glances to the line behind him and begins to walk away.

"See you next time, Katsuki. Thank you for listening to my weak shit," Shouto calls when Dandelion has his back turned to him. He earns a surprised look as the man turns back and moments later, a middle finger.

The blond probably doesn't realise that he has his student card slung on his neck with a conspicuously bolded Bakugou Katsuki printed on it, along with a cute picture of himself looking all proper.

He also probably thinks Shouto wouldn't notice the low-key merch he has hanging on one of his backpack zippers. It's a small keychain of a cat with its fur split into two different colours, red on its left and white on its right. Though it's fairly subtle as it doesn't have his name or his face on it, it's still an official merch, which is something perfect to have as a closet fan. Katsuki is too adorable.

His happiness still lingers, marked by the wider than usual smile he flashes to the man next in line, dark curly haired with large eyes and freckles on his cheeks.

Shouto hopes Katsuki calls the phone number on the post-it.