Runnin' with the devil

Part 2

The rest of the band is convinced to come along with ease. It turns out one of the guitarists, Kaminari, is a friend of Sero's, and Shouto belatedly realizes he recognizes the keyboardist Yaoyorozu from university. She's double majoring in Composition and Keyboard Studies, and while they don't overlap any classes, they've passed in the halls a couple of times.

They load up the instruments and equipment in Kaminari's van (half Jirou's van, she reminds him, until he finishes paying her back for loaning him the money). Rather than take the train, Shouto's friends opt for hopping in the van, too, even though it's a cramped fit. Shouto is trying to figure out where exactly he's going to squeeze in—there seems to be a spot in the back row in the corner by the window, which would involve basically sitting in Midoriya's lap. He's trying to figure out if the risks (hard-on) outweigh the benefits (Midoriya's thighs), when Bakugou says,

"Like hell I'm getting in that death trap with the rest of you." He stands staring at the van from a distance, looking disdainful.

"Hey!" Kaminari protests, patting the wheel of said death trap. "She'll hear you."

"You're not bailing, right?" Kirishima asks, disappointedly.

Bakugou snorts. "Like hell I am, you owe me a drink from last time. I brought the bike, I'll meet you there."

Bike? Shouto stares at him, trying to imagine this—Bakugou wheeling around town, probably recklessly cutting off pedestrians and vehicles alike. Would he wear a helmet? Would it even fit over his hair?

"Ohhh, okay!" Kirishima says. "See you at Kiyashi!"

"Yeah, yeah," Bakugou says, "that fuckin' dump on the corner near your school, right?"

"That's the one!" Kirishima confirms, sounding far too happy about this apparent dump.

"Great," Bakugou says. "Todoroki, you coming or not?"

"Yeah, I already said I was," Shouto says, still awkwardly scoping out the situation (fuck, he keeps meaning to stop calling Midoriya's crotch area that), one foot in the van and the other on the pavement.

Uraraka smiles too wide, reaches out, puts her hands on Shouto's shoulders, and pushes him. He stumbles backwards out of the van, stunned.

Bakugou sighs loudly behind him. "Unbelievable."

Oh. Oh, wait.

Shouto spins around to see Bakugou is walking away, his back to Shouto again—shit, fuck. "With you?"

"No, you just keep divining how to sardine in there with the rest of them," Bakugou calls over his shoulder.

"We'll see you there," Uraraka says cheerfully. The decisive slam of the van door shutting jolts Shouto out of his indecision.

"There's no room," he says, jogging after Bakugou to catch up to him. His instinct is to fall into step beside the drummer, but he has no idea where Bakugou is walking, so when Bakugou hangs a sudden right down an alleyway, Shouto nearly misses it.

"Alright, then," Bakugou says, sounding like he has definitely noticed how awkward Shouto is being. As if there was a way to miss it. "This is me."

Shouto does a double take. Bakugou has stopped in front of a bike, yes; but it's not a bicycle, it's a...

"Motorcycle," Shouto says. He takes a deep breath and then closes his mouth again. Oh, fuck him entirely.

It's not some sleek, edgy sports bike, nor is it a bulky monster. This bike, Bakugou's bike, is somewhere in between—a classic, black and chrome beast, part muscle, part style, pure sex.