Chapter Text
8-4-8-2-7, no, wait.
8-4-8-7-2. Right.
The light on the keypad flashed green, and Katsuki heard the heavy lock click open.
It’s early, barely five-thirty, he remembers as he opens the door to a dark apartment. Apartment is hardly an appropriate word for the massive home he enters, even without the lights on he can tell how grand the space is. Beyond the genkan was a huge living area, with vaulted ceilings and windows that took up the whole wall. The architecture was modern and industrial, softened by the furniture and art. A few plants dotted the space. The open concept started at the entryway and ended in the kitchen, but Katsuki would be blind to miss the spiral staircase and open loft that expanded behind him. Far too much for the single inhabitant he was hired to cook for.
But he’s used to the grandeur and overconsumption of his clients, a culture he’s done nothing but contribute to for his entire adult life. A culture that pays his bills, at least.
He makes his way across the space to the kitchen, hauling a bag of groceries and food prep on his shoulder. This guy’s assistant provided him a few options and staples to start with, and then he can usually go on from there.
Gently placing his bag on the counter, Katsuki turned to search for a light switch. A light somewhere past the loft flipped on, stopping him in his tracks. Katsuki tensed, waiting for some angry rich guy to bitch him out for waking him up. Not a great way to start a new contract.
He heard the shuffling of feet, and a door opened and closed without urgency. Letting out a breath, Katsuki resumed his hunt for light, presuming that it was just time for his client to begin his day.
Finding the light allowed him to see the kitchen in its full glory. Everything was sleek and black, from the pristine range in the island to the hexagon-patterned backsplash. Gorgeous black granite glimmered in the overhead light. Silver accents and appliances were eye-catching.
Katsuki paced around the kitchen with indulgence, tracing calloused fingers over spotless countertops.
He peeked into several cupboards and drawers, even the fridge, his poor heart breaking with each passing second.
A gorgeous, beautiful kitchen.
A gorgeous, beautiful, unused kitchen.
He sighed, unpacking his bag. This is not his first instance of this kind of disappointment, and certainly not his last. This type of wealth buys absolutely ornate kitchens just to have them, never to use them.
Truly a shame, at the end of the day.
But from five-thirty to seven, it’s Katsuki’s gain.
He, for this exact reason, brings a small kit of his cooking essentials to new client’s homes, preparing for the worst.
Slipping on his apron and donning his headphones, he begins his work.
He could, in theory, prepare all of the food in his own home and simply deliver it to his clients. In some cases, he does. Many people just want something they can take to work or come home to. Others prefer waking up to a hot meal or coming home to food in the oven or slow cooker (dutifully watched by a maid or assistant). And some just want the food as fresh as they can get it without booking a live-in chef.
So, he cooks in barren kitchens.
This client, Todoroki, Katsuki remembers, contracted him for three mornings a week, and meals prepped for the days in between. A good schedule for him, filling a recently vacated slot from an older woman who decided it was time to move in with her daughter in Hong Kong. A nice granny, but constantly trying to set him up with her niece.
This guy thankfully had a rice cooker, which Katsuki fired up first. Then he put away the meals that are ready-to-go, and got to the remaining prep.
He was halfway through frying up some vegetables when the rest of the lights in the apartment came to life. Katsuki’s eyes shot to the loft area, only to find no one there. Rather, his attention was drawn back to the entryway where a young woman in a skirt and blouse approached him. She had her hands full with mail and a tote slung over her shoulder. It looked designer, but functional. He pulled his headphones down, leaving them hanging around his neck.
“Oh, good morning! You must be Bakugou, I’m Asui Tsuyu, but please call me Tsu.” She said, barely looking up from the mail she was sorting.
“Yeah. You were who I spoke to on the phone, right?” Katsuki replied. He knew she was, but also knew he was more pleasant by suggesting he wasn’t an insufferable smartass.
He’s learned, over the years, that playing nice with the PA’s worked in his favor when it was time to reup his contracts. Sure, his clients were usually the high rollers, but the personal assistants were the ones who kept the world turning.
“We did, yes.” She said, dropping the mail on an unused stretch of counter and starting up a coffee machine. “Did you find everything okay?”
“Yes, thank you.” He said, returning his attention to his burner. Not like there was much to find.
Tsu chuckled softly, and as if she read his mind said, “There’s not a lot to work with, as I’m sure you noticed. If there’s anything you’d like purchased for your use, please make a list and send it to me.” She said, pulling out some creamer from the fridge.
“Would you like some coffee?” she offered.
“Ah, no thank you.” Katsuki replied, “already as caffeinated as I should be.”
He recalled his doctor’s reluctance to his one cup a day, but it was a compromise they had to make.
She nodded, encouraging him to help himself if he ever needed an extra boost, as she fixed two mugs and returned to the other side of the island.
“Oh! And before I forget,” she dug around in her purse, producing an envelope. “Your card for grocery expenses. Please send me an invoice for what you’ve purchased for today, and I’ll have it added to your first check, unless you’d prefer it wired to you, then I can do that today.”
Katsuki accepted the envelope with a clean hand, tucking it safely into the pocket of his apron. “On the first check is just fine, thanks.” He confirmed, but appreciates that Tsu is still in touch with normal people and what their finances may look like.
“Of course, will do.” She says, sipping at her coffee. Katsuki notes she leaves the second mug at the first barstool before dropping into the one beside it. Apparently done with the small talk and onboarding, she pulls a tablet from her tote and begins tapping at it.
While Katsuki has no problem with the silence, his work ethic speaks up for him. “Is omurice okay for his breakfast, or is there something else he usually eats?”
Tsu looks up from her tablet with a slight grin. “He doesn’t usually eat, and if he does its takeout. That’s why you’re here. Omurice is perfect.”
Katsuki huffs a small laugh, very familiar with this type. “Well alright then. Can I make you some as well?”
Tsu declines politely, citing her own schedule but promising to cash in on the offer the next time she oversleeps.
Her information allows him to manage his expectations, which is helpful. Convenient, filling meals with be more this guy’s style than some of the more gourmet, aesthetic plates he keeps in his rolodex. While Katsuki still loves creating the perfect plate, he can’t hate a guy for wanting something more realistic. That’s partly why Katsuki took a sharp one-eighty into the personal chef gig. Among other reasons.
As if summoned by Katsuki’s thoughts, a man who could only be Todoroki appears at the top of the stairs. He’s half dressed, a suit jacket folded over his arm and a tie draped around his neck, undone. He’s speaking lowly into the phone, but his tone is clipped and professional. Katsuki can hear the words he's saying, but honestly they don't mean much to him. Just a bunch of legal jargon, it seems.
Instead, Katsuki takes in his appearance. His hair is… odd. Well maintained, styled for a professional environment, but looks split dyed. Or maybe he has vitiligo? Katsuki looks away as he reached the bottom of the stairs, approaching the kitchen island.
He nods at Tsu in greeting, who takes his jacket and drapes it over the back of a sleek dining chair. She catches up with him in time to block his hand reaching for the coffee.
Katsuki continues to sauté the vegetables, watching in confusion, but says nothing as she nudges his hand away from the mug to direct his attention to her tablet. His eyes skim the screen before he nods gesturing at Tsu to continue. She flips through a few more screens for him to see before putting it away and allowing him to finish his phone call without other distractions.
He can’t be that much older than Katsuki, but prominent dark circles age him significantly. Katsuki also can’t help but notice how half of his skin looks rougher, almost grafted. He seemed naturally handsome, save for whatever that was. Like he could have been modeling otherwise. Maybe he wouldn’t have such horrendous bags in that career.
He looks down to his pan again as Tsu rounds the counter, addressing Katsuki. “Is one of these ready for him to take as a lunch?” she asked.
Katsuki takes a mental stock of what he brought today before nodding, killing the heat on his sauté pan.
“Yeah there’s a few ready-to-eat bentos in the fridge, a couple salads, some cold soba, some chicken that can be heated up and,” he began, pointing out a few to Tsu, who dutifully followed him to the fridge.
“The soba is perfect, I’ll pack that up, thank you.” She cut in, though not rudely.
She checked her watch as she pulled together the lunch, then signaled at Todoroki silently and pointed at the coffee, which had to be lukewarm at this point.
His shoulders sagged in what looked like relief as he finished his sentence into the phone, then brought the mug to his lips for a long pull.
His confusion must have been visible as Tsu angled toward him to say quietly, “He doesn’t like his coffee too hot; it needs to cool for a bit before he drinks it.”
Katsuki can’t help but scoff, muttering, “Are you his mom or something?”
Tsu purses her lips at the quip, and Katsuki is about to apologize (remember, first day) but blessedly she disguises her choked laugh as a cough before admitting quietly, that yes, sometimes it feels like she is.
The rice cooker beeps behind him, pulling him away from their comradery. Katsuki pulls together some omurice and hands it over to Tsu before she rounds back to the other side of the island.
She sets it in front of Todoroki just as he hangs up the phone.
The man sighs again, rubbing a hand over his face.
“Do you have any idea how Nezu acquired my cell number? Or why he found it appropriate to use it before six in the morning?” He said from behind his fingers.
His tone is more relaxed, but still overly proper, in Katsuki’s humble opinion.
“If I had to guess, I’d say it was your father. But you know I’m not a betting woman.” Tsu replied with humor, but no bite.
Todoroki mumbled in agreeance before taking another sip of his coffee, eyeing Katsuki from behind the rim of the mug.
“You’re the chef my sister recommended? Bakugou Katsuki? He asked, eyes roaming over the countertops before flicking back up to Katsuki’s.
“Yes, sir. I believe she teaches one of my client’s children?” A nice family, but a challenge. Katsuki rarely cooks for actual children. But, hey. He must be doing something right to get a referral.
Todoroki only nodded before turning his attention to the food in front of him.
Katsuki tried not to make it obvious as he watched Todoroki try his cooking. Simple food is hard to prepare sometimes, for this tax bracket. Maybe he should have shredded truffle or gold leaf on it––
“Mm. Yeah.” Todoroki said, already taking a second bite. “Very good. Tsu, he’s all set with the paperwork and card and all that?” he asked distractedly.
Tsu recounted what she and Katsuki had already talked about, then got into what his schedule looks like today.
Katsuki, now with his ego adequately fed, listened absentmindedly has he packed up the remaining meals, labeling them with simple heating instructions and today’s date. He packed them away in the refrigerator and cleaned up his workspace.
Tsu was still chattering by the time he finished his cleaning, the kitchen looking as unused as how he found it, save for the dishes currently in use.
“That’s on Thursday, but, oh! Bakugou you’re back on Wednesday?” She asked.
“Yes, Wednesday five-thirty. Please let me know how these first few meals go. Things you like or don’t like about them, any other requests, things like that.”
“Of course.” Todoroki said. “And do send Tsu anything you need for the kitchen, or put it on the card. Whatever works for you.”
Katsuki bows slightly, bidding them both a good day before making his way out.
Weird guy. But at least he likes the food.