Chapter Text
“Midori,” a caramel-haired assistant calls as she knocks on the already open door of her boss’s spotless office.
Her dark eyes flicker with nervous energy as she lingers in the doorway, clutching a crimson agency folder.
“Camie,” he greets, setting the papers he was reviewing on the cold white granite-top desk. “Please come in. Sit.”
“Thank you, sir,” Camie bows before straightening and taking a seat.
“Camie, are you okay?” Midori asks, noticing the way her nervous eyes flicker around the folder placed neatly on her lap.
“Oh yes,” Camie chimes looking up at her boss.
“What can I help you with?” Izuku asks, leaning back in his chair, slightly creaking under the weight. Dark circles shadow his eyes, making the emerald green eyes look brighter.
Camie hesitates, it isn’t that her boss is rude or angry. Actually Izuku Midoriya is the exact opposite.
“Camie? You’ve been my assistant since I moved here…what over eight years ago?” Izuku laughs slightly. “You do this every time you have a new business opportunity for me. And looks.” Izuku gestures around the room. “It all turns out great. So what’s in the folder?”
“An upcoming launch for a line of workout clothes,” Camie’s eyes snap to Izuku’s, he’s slightly squinting at her, not sure where she’s going with this. “It’s a Japan based brand too,” she continues softly.
“Camie…I don’t know,” Izuku drags the words out with uncertainty.
“Midori. Hear me out,” Camie begins to pull sketches and watches out of the folder. “The fabric and designs are still marketed toward high profiles and luxury buyers.”
Izuku picks up one of the designer’s sketches. It’s dawn in green ink? Izuku runs a finger along the delicate lines of the work. It’s beautifully done, almost bring tears to his eyes. Yet the use of green ink is very odd for a designer. Most work in black or blue, the occasional red pops up but Izuku has never seen someone work in green.
Izuku looks over the paper at his assistant, “And where in the Japan is this?”
“Musutafu,” Camie winces, knowing that the location might be the hardest part of the whole idea.
Izuku places the paper back on his desk, flatting out one of the corners, that was never bent to begin with, he takes a deep breath. After the slow exhale Izuku answers the anxious waiting assistant.
“Let’s do it.”
He hands the paper back to his assistant whose eyebrows have shot up in shock.
“It honestly could be a good boost to the press but you have to run it by Shouta before reaching out to the company.”
Quickly standing from the chair, Camie say, “Yes sir.” Before spinning on her heels clicking toward the door.
“Camie,” Izuku calls to her, stopping her just before she exits the door.
The assistant stops quickly, panic rushes through her. “Yes?”
Izuku stands up, smiling brightly at his eyes disappearing in it. “You did a really great job presenting this time.”
Camie’s face turns bright red and slightly rises on the tips of her toes, “Thank you sir!” she bows and hurries away the sound of her heels clicking quickly across the tile.
Izuku flops down in his chair, leaning his head back. The smell of leather from the new chair mixes with the smell of caramel from the candle burning on his desk reminded him of home, but not his home. A home that he found in someone’s arms over 20 years ago and he regrets ever leaving.
The last time he was in Musutafu was for his mother’s funeral just shortly after he left for America. What made it worse was the one person in the world that he hoped would be there to support him, couldn’t even be bothered to show his face.
Izuku groans and runs his hand through his green curls before pushing up out of the seat. The office was now too quiet. Izuku could hear the car speeding outside, the buzz from his computer. And most of all he could hear his own thoughts too loudly right now. He needed to get some sleep or maybe a beer. Probably a beer.
On the other side of the world in a back office of his parent’s building, Katsuki Bakugo is working tirelessly on his upcoming launch for a luxury men’s workout line, one he’s calling Dynamight Fashion. It’s a subsidiary company of his parents. He plans to take over the Bakugo Fashion Industry but he wants to prove to himself that he can do something other than build off of what his parents have already established. Katsuki was fine with designing men’s suits but it wasn’t all that he wanted to do.
He hears the door to his office slightly creak open behind him. He knows it’s his new assistant, one that he’s yet to learn the name of. He keeps his attention on his laptop, confirming the measurements he’s making this shirt to.
“Mr. Bakugo,” a sharp featured blonde assistant says, his dress shoes click softly against the dark hickory floor.
“What?” Katsuki asks, as annoyance from his assistant’s lack of knocking seeps in.
“We just got an email from a very well known modeling agency. They have a model that’s interested in the line.”
Katsuki rolls over to his mannequin, still not looking at the assistant.
“I don’t know how many fucking times I have to tell you this,” Katsuki spins to face the assistant. “You have a list of attributes that I want in models?”
The assistant swallows hard and nods aggressively. Katsuki Bakugo has gone through four assistants in the last six months. He’s demanding and straight forward, not many of them can handle it but Katsuki needs someone who can.
“So, does this model fit what I am looking for?”
“Yes sir,” the now terrified assistant says, clutching the clip board to their chest so tightly knuckles begin to blanch.
“Then book them,” Katsuki says leaning forward with a face of annoyance.
“Yes sir,” they say before spinning on their heels running toward the door of the office.
“AND NEXT TIME,” Katsuki begins to yell but then he see the tears starting to run down his assistant’s freckled cheek and the sight breaks something in him. “Next time just fucking knock,” he corrects in a softer tone as he turn back to his work. Katsuki pulls the pins he was holding in his mouth out, sitting them on the table next to him. His gaze snags at the clutter, sending a wave of anxiety through his system. Fabric swatches, sketches, crumbled paper, pencils and pens litter the black table top.
“God what’s the point of hiring assistance if they can’t fucking do anything,” Katsuki mutters to himself running his fingers through his greasy ash-blonde hair. It’s 7 a.m and Katsuki hasn’t gone home yet. He slept on one of the leather sofas in the ‘sitting area’ of his office. It was originally created for a space for Katsuki to meet with clients but recently it has been his bedroom.
The launch was still 4 months out but it was definitely coming up faster than Katsuki had expected. Hell, he was just now booking his final model for this line. With a huff of frustration he turns back to the piece he was working on before, gently folding the hem of the shirt up so that it would sit just at the model’s hip bone.
An hour later, there is a soft knock at the door.
“Come in,” Katsuki mummers through the pins that had found their way back to his mouth.
In walks his assistant with a hot cup of black coffee and the measurements of the new model. Without saying a word the assistant sits the cup on a coaster and he carefully organizes Katsuki’s work bench making sure all of the models’ information is organized and put together.
“Is there anything else I can help you with Mr. Bakugo?”
Katsuki looks over his shoulder, “No, thank you.”
As the assistant exits the office, he stands and looks at how the table was organized — models’ measurement paper are at the top of the table, all lined up against each other. Below that he placed the sketches and final silhouette plans, finally he laid out each fabric swatches of the material he plans to use for each piece of clothing. The assistant even labeled the fabric with the color and lot number so Katsuki could quickly ask for the bundle when he needed it.
Katsuki picks up the measurement paper for the most recently signed model. Holy shit. This guy is built. The model is 6’2”, with long legs and thick thighs. His shoulders are also broad. He hopes that it’s all muscle. This is exactly the type of body he wanted to show off an athletic wear line.
At the same time, Katsuki was reviewing the new model. Izuku was getting an email notifying him of the dates that he would be needed in Musutafu. Not only for the photo shoot but for a launch party. They were 3 months apart. Izuku could either fly there for the photo shoot, leave, and then come back. Or he could get a short term lease and work for a few other Japanese brands that have been after him.
Izuku pinches the bridge of his nose trying to think through this logically rather than letting his emotions deal lead this derision. He had left the Musutafu part of him behind years ago but he still had friends there. At least they were eight years ago, he isn’t really sure if any of them are still in the area.
Izuku pulls out his phone and opens an old group chat from high school. Last message sent 7 years ago. Yeah…that feels about right. Izuku types out the message and just stares at it on the screen. Is it okay to reach out to them? He lets out the breath that he doesn’t realize he’s been holding and presses send.
Izuku: Hey guys! Long time no talk.
He sees the read responses begin to pop-up, but no one is typing. Izuku’s heart drops, sending anxiety down his spine. He should have never text. He should have never told Camie yes. He’s about to spiral into a full on panic attack until he hears his phone chime.
Denki: Holy shit.
Kiri: Dude.
Ochaco: Oh my God.
Mina: GIRL!!!
Shoto: Who is this?
Denki: LMAO!!!
Izuku laughs to himself as the messages fly in one after another barley giving Izuku time to read them.
Izuku: I’m gonna be in the city in a few weeks for a shoot. Wanted to see if any of you were still there and want to meet up.
Kiri: Hell yeah! Mina and I live a few blocks over from your old place.
Ochaco: Yes!! I live just outside the city now but I will make it work.
Denki: I’m there homie.
Shoto: No seriously guys. Who is this? I got a new phone and lost all of my contacts.
Izuku: Izuku Midoriya.
Shoto: You’re alive. Yeah, I still live in the city. Do you need a place to stay?
Izuku can’t help but laugh again, even though only a few messages have been shared he can tell that none of them have really changed. How will that feel about him though? He’s changed so much.