Bakugou Katsuki

Bright neon lights cut through the club, seeping into the private room and dancing across any surface they could reach. The room was bathed in deep purples, bright pinks, and shimmers of blue, creating something most would find beautiful. To Bakugou, it was a reminder of the overdeveloped, corporate hell he was forced to reside in.

The music wasn’t as frustrating, at least: a deep bass that pumped through his body, loud enough to drown out the reason he was selling here again. It rattled through him in a way that made his brain feel numb. Numb was better than a pounding headache or the guilt Deku shoved onto him for setting foot near this shitty credit-making opportunity. He would get scolded for thinking of it as a quick and easy way to make credits, but right now he couldn’t care less.

Another unsuspecting victim, seeking some sort of comfort or maybe a distraction. Either way, it was business that he wouldn’t turn down. He knew virtually nothing about them, only spoke to them long enough to arrange the details, and couldn’t bring himself to feel any sort of curiosity toward them as a person.

That was until they were late. The people who frequented this type of business weren’t late. Time was credits, and credits were being burned with every wasted second. That also ignored the huge risk factor of staying in one place with something less than legal for too long.

His wrist flicked sideways, a shiny holographic screen popping up to display both the information he had on the buyer and the setup they had prepared beforehand.

No image, that was smart, he could admit that. The name he was given was very clearly a handle, though he supposed “Dynamight” didn’t sound any more subtle. It wasn’t a handle he recognized, adding to his suspicion. He figured he had met just about every drug-addicted bottom-feeder here, the sudden appearance of someone new triggered his paranoia.

The translucent screen disappeared, heavy boots shifting on the ground to support his weight as he stood from the couch. He wanted to warn Chargebolt that there might have been a security breach, maybe even an undercover pig, but the soft sound of the private room's door sliding open caught him in his tracks.

“ ‘bout damn time,” he grunted, dropping back down onto the couch. Keeping his demeanor lazy and uninterested to hide the fact that he was prepared to snitch on them the moment they furthered his suspicion.

But when his eyes caught theirs, the tardiness was the last thing on his mind.

Immediately, he could tell they were flesh. Why the absolute hell was flesh in the underground? More so, why were they buying from him? What asshole pointed them his way?

He was asking too many questions. They were an adult, they had set up this deal of their own free will. It was well within his rights to make money off of them.

Forcing his deep red glare away from them, he tugged the small container out of his pocket. He knew it was his conscience playing tricks on him, but it felt heavier now that he knew just who he was selling to.

“Take some right now,” he demanded, tossing the bag toward them to watch it wilt on the glass table. “Free of charge.”

Without waiting for movement, he felt the need to add a lie on top of it: “Just to make sure you don’t go selling it somewhere else.”

Truly, he couldn’t shake the anxiety of selling to a first-time buyer, obviously a first-time everything. There wasn’t a chance in the world that they had any experience in this field, and Pulse wasn’t exactly beginner-friendly. He didn’t plan to leave them with the effects in a city they were unfamiliar with. It was bad enough that he was considering selling to someone like them at all.

All he needed was confirmation that he wouldn’t be hearing about them in the news: an upper city flesh found dead in a ditch because of his business. He told himself it was to cover his own ass, however, a small part of him knew he didn’t want to be the reason this stranger got hurt.

What an idiot. Bakugou wasn’t sure if he was referring to himself or the stumbling flesh behind him. He should have turned them away the moment they stepped into that room, completely unmodified and seeking a high they were overwhelmingly unprepared for.

No, not only had he accepted the oddity; he made it his own problem by insisting they take the first dose in his presence. Obviously, they couldn’t handle it. Pulse was a heavy drug meant for overly modified individuals to help them forget the horrors of surviving in the underground. Not flesh who lived a cushy life in the upper city without a goddamn thing to worry about.

They had to have been in the underground for a collective hour now, hour and a half if they took shitty public transport. Honestly, he was impressed they made it to him at all, considering their appearance screamed upper city. Even if he hadn’t given them anything, he was positive they wouldn’t have made it back to the shiny city.

Now he was stuck babysitting.

He had already treated the most obvious symptoms, but sending them onto the streets when they could barely walk would be dangerous for them and himself. There was always a chance they found their voice and went to snitch on him.

Should have given them less. This time his thoughts were directed at himself, watching them drag along behind him.

For how bright the advertisements glow, the backstreets themselves were dim enough to keep them safe. Though Bakugou had a couple of brighter modifications, features he regretted once they started interfering with his work. His red irises had a dim glow, something you could catch in the dark, and his gear had brighter orange lines crossing into Xs. It gave him a signature look, which would be pretty sweet if he weren't constantly doing something sketchy.

Losing patience, his hand wrapped around their wrist, forcing them to keep up with his angry steps. He had to get them back to his place before anyone noticed. Dynamight walking around with a drugged-out upper city… wasn’t exactly good rep for him. At worst, he would be reported for kidnapping when all he wanted to do was make sure they were safe in a vulnerable state.

Fortunately, his bike came into view quickly, parked exactly where he left it. He pulled the stranger closer, shoving a spare helmet into their arms as he tugged his own onto his head. They would need to keep up, he was far too antsy to wait for them to find their bearings. He could feel it in the way his gaze tracked every darker corner, or the way he rushed to mount his bike.

It only felt rushed. On the outside, he was still the same easily irritated blonde desperate to snap at every little thing they did. If they had the brain power to process anything he was doing outside of their doped-up state, he would have been more frustrated. Right now he couldn’t blame them for how they were acting. Technically… it was his fault.

“Get on and hold on. If I feel you letting go, I'm gonna pull over.” His voice was muffled by the bike helmet, thankfully undercutting the harshness in his tone. He just needed them to hurry the fuck up before they got caught.