Ch. 39 The Life of a Bartender

"You know I can walk into the kitchen myself."

"But you don't have to. Please. Let me."

Getting up from the couch, Shoto kissed the top of your head and went to refill your water.

"I'll have the chef make you some lunch, too," he said as he headed into the kitchen. "You need to eat before the interior designer gets here with the samples to show you."

True to his word, Shoto really had taken care of everything, and then some. You hardly had to get off the couch except when his personal trainer came by to make you do your physical therapy.

Whatever you wanted to eat, his chef made it. Whatever thing you were missing from your apartment, Shoto bought, but he bought much better versions of them than what you'd had, like the softest pajamas you'd ever worn that you had on now.

And the interior designer that was coming? Shoto claimed he wanted your feedback on new paint and furniture, wanted to know what kinds of things you liked, but you knew there was more to it than that.

It made you feel like an ungrateful brat to not want him to do all of this. Shoto made sure every need was taken care of by him. If you hadn't had him, you didn't know what you would have done since your apartment building burned down. A homeless shelter wouldn't exactly be the best place to recover.

Honestly, when you thought about it, was this really so bad?

You stubbornly wanted to do things on your own, to not have to rely on someone else, but the truth was that you needed someone to rely on, now more than ever. And if that someone happened to be a handsome, wealthy hero who seemed almost desperate to please you?

There were worse things in life.

Your nurse at the hospital hadn't been kidding about the paparazzi. When the news put two-and-two together, realizing that the dashing, young pro hero Shoto was at the hospital visiting the same girl from the viral photos that were now everywhere on the internet, it seemed like more and more reporters were gathered outside Shoto's building each day.

Not that you could see the reporters from your spot on the couch. Shoto made sure to keep you far away from the windows and kept the curtains closed from prying eyes.

You were walking just fine now, even though you got tired quickly, and you were starting to feel more like yourself every day.

Except this version of yourself wore expensive pajamas and slept under expensive sheets in a rich man's penthouse apartment.

While Shoto was in the kitchen, you took out your phone, and for maybe the tenth time today, you tried to figure out how to respond to the text.

Dabi.

Dabi wanted you to know that he was done being patient. They wanted you at the hideout. It was time to go back to work. Did he need to come to your fancy new place and bring you to the hideout himself? He hoped you remembered what happened to the last building you lived in.

As if you could forget.

Give me a few more days, you responded. By next week I'll be able to get back to work.

I'm counting down the days, Dabi replied. Don't keep me waiting.

"Who are you texting?" Shoto asked, suddenly standing behind where you sat on the couch.

"Oh," you turned off your phone quickly, "my former boss."

Shoto came around the couch to bring you your water and raised an eyebrow.

"From before the accident, I mean. He just wants to know when I can get back to work. I told him probably next –"

"Never," Shoto interrupted. "You're hardly able to do much of anything right now."

"Mostly because you won't let me lift a finger around here, Shoto."

"Because you don't need to. There's no reason to push yourself."

"Getting a glass of water is not pushing myself. I think by next week I'll be ready to get back to work. Then I can start saving up to get out of your hair and find my own place."

You could tell that Shoto was about to say something, but the doorbell rang.

"I thought the designer wasn't coming until later?" you asked.

"I did, too. But the doorman must have let whoever it is up."

As he passed behind you on the couch, his hand grazed your shoulder where Dabi's brand was. The spot wasn't tender anymore, but still you flinched, and he noticed.

"That mark," Shoto asked, walking to the door. "On your shoulder... I saw it at the hospital. Is it a flame?"

"Oh, that?" You tried to sound casual. "It's a dumb mistake from when I was younger. One day I'll try to get it removed or something."

"I can get some physician recommendations –"

The doorbell rang again.

But when he opened the door, no one was there. Instead, a large bouquet of roses in a glass vase was sitting on the floor. Picking them up, Shoto looked confused as he searched for the card that didn't exist.  

You weren't confused. The message in those beautiful petals, cold and blue, was loud and clear.

-----

Shigaraki dug his hands deep into his pockets and kept his head down, while Dabi seemed to almost strut, taking long, languid steps with his arm around your shoulder, keeping you in between the two of them as you walked down the street. 

To most, it would have looked like three twenty-somethings out for a night of fun; not two villains - or was it three - on their way to their new headquarters. 

The three of you had been walking for awhile in the dark, the streetlamps lighting your way, when finally you came to a building where a line of people stood outside, waiting for the bouncer to let them in.  

Once glance from Shigaraki and the three of you skipped the line, heading down the stairs to a basement where music thumped over a crowd of people. 

"Welcome to the new meeting place," Dabi almost had to shout, opening the door for you. 

"It's a bar."

Dabi gestured around the room. "And you're its newest bartender. People always spill their guts to the bartender. Now they won't have to. Right, mind-reader?"

The bar was busy, with almost every bar stool filled, patrons watching the big tvs behind the bar while others danced on the dance floor.

You frowned. "I'm so glad you have it all thought out. Are all these people villains?"

"Of course not. That would be too obvious. We have back rooms for any business we need to take care of," Dabi grinned, "but out here we are an upstanding establishment."

"I would have thought you'd choose more of a hole in the wall type bar. This bar is pretty big." And judging by the amount of people inside, pretty popular. "Why this place?"

"It sort of fell into our laps. Let's just say that we made the previous owner an offer he couldn't refuse."

You knew all about those types of offers.

Shigaraki was suddenly pushing past you, heading for the bar. "Make us some drinks," Shigaraki muttered. "Unless you don't know how."

Actually, you did know how. You'd had some practice when you briefly worked as an assistant at a law firm before moving here. They'd celebrate winning a case with booze, and you would frequently act as bartender. When one of the attorneys tried to corner you in the supply closet after one of these 'celebrations,' you'd known it was time to find a new job.

And so you'd moved to the big city, a place of opportunity.

Yeah, right.

Moving behind the bar, you started taking stock of what was available. A blender that didn't work, a couple beers on tap, a gross floor mat that desperately needed cleaned; you made a mental note as you made their drinks that some major work was needed here. 

"Turn that shit off," you heard Shigaraki bark at one of the other bartenders, and when you looked up, you saw him motioning angrily to the televisions behind the bar while Dabi laughed. One had been turned to the news, and images of heroes flashed on the screen. 

Before he had a chance to say anything else, you put their drinks in front of them. 

"So if I'm an official bar employee now, do I get benefits... you know, health insurance, 401k...?"

The stare you got from Shigaraki told you the answer to that. 

"I figured as much. Okay, what about tips?"

"I got your tip right here," Dabi started to say but Shigaraki's glare stopped him. 

"Here's a tip, y/n," his red eyes meeting yours. "Keep your mouth shut. Be here every night. Don't piss me off, and we won't use the backroom as a place to whore you out. Understand?"

 You took a deep breath to try to stop your hand from shaking, hoping they didn't notice.

"I can work with that." 

"You still owe us tips, by the way," Shigaraki said, taking a long sip of the scotch you'd poured for him. "Tips about a certain hero." 

"I've kinda been out of commission, by the way. Someone burned down my building, and I almost died, but I'm okay now, thanks for asking. See, this is why I need health insurance - " 

"Wouldn't have happened if you'd stayed out of the way like I told you, baby," Dabi interrupted. 

You were about to correct him when a girl hopped up on one of the barstools next to them and started spinning herself around. You recognized her from the night your apartment burned down.

"I want something fruity," she said, a knife suddenly in her hand. "And blood red."

A few people sitting nearby took one look at her knife and got up and walked away. Probably a smart move.

"Um, okay. I'll see if there's some grenadine.... " you said, scanning the shelves to see what you could find. Mostly you just found cheap liquor.

"I'm Toga," she said happily, a big smile on her face as she played with her knife. "I'm the fun one around here!"

You wondered if your definitions of fun were the same.

And so began your nights of bartending. Having an actual purpose was sort of nice, in a way, and your quirk really did come in handy for this job. You knew when a group wanted another round before they did, and you knew exactly when to cut someone off who had drank too much.

Okay, yeah, you occasionally were asked to step into the back room and help with something Shigaraki or Dabi were doing to some unfortunate person, but the rest of the time they mostly left you alone because you were busy making them money behind the bar. 

Shoto wasn't happy about you getting home so late every night, but he showed you the back entrance to the building so that reporters wouldn't follow you in and out. 

The weeks passed much like this, your domestic life with Shoto during the day, your life as a villain bartender at night. 

It almost felt routine, as fucked up as that was, until Bakugo showed up at your bar.