Good. Bad. I'm the guy with the gun.

“Are those heels?”

The question is innocent, yet it raises such storm that no one will ever forget it. Bakugou’s screams can be heard throughout the building, bouncing off the concrete walls and polished floors of Endeavor’s agency.

“These are my fucking combat boots half and half! What the heck are you saying?!”

Shouto tilts his head and observes with rapt attention Bakugou’s shoes. No, he’s pretty sure last time he saw them the sole was flat, and Bakugou didn’t reach to meet his eyes. He points that out and the storm intensifies to the point that a couple of sidekicks come around to check them. Today, Midoriya has to leave early, leaving the two of them all alone in the last two hours of their internship. It has gone fine if you ask Shouto, Bakugou is a nice partner to have and their quirks match up pretty well.

Bakugou is still yelling, face scrunched in one of his grimaces, mouth all twisted and eyes filled with fire.

Shouto observes him and a tiny smile appears on his face, he can’t help it, he really likes Bakugou, he’s a good friend and he’s really happy of having him.

“I’m hungry. Want to check that place we saw?” He cuts Bakugou mid-rant and the man clicks his tongue and takes a deep breath.

“Fucking whatever,” he says at last.

Shouto nods and starts to leave while Bakugou keeps huffing as he finishes changing from his hero outfit to his civilian clothes. As he waits for him, his eyes fall on Bakugou’s combat boots.

He’s pretty sure now they have heels.

He wonders why, but he decides not to ask.

He’s too hungry.

+++

Shouto recalls that incident one day as he’s carrying an injured civilian. Katsuki is around, rescuing people too, after the building collapsed. The girl he’s carrying is wearing boots, and the tiny heels they have, more decorative than anything, make him remember Katsuki’s combat boots from back in their first year in U.A., how they mysteriously got heels and then stopped.

As their shift ends, he asks him about it in their car, on their way back home.

“What the—?! I told you those weren’t heels!”

Shouto sees how his ears have a hint of red and how he’s avoiding his eyes.

“Why are you so set on calling them otherwise? I don’t see why heels are so bad.”

“Tsk, you gonna wear some for me, princess?” He swallows loudly and then mumbles, “damn, that’d be quite a sight,” before he shakes his head and tries to steer the conversation away, but Shouto is stubborn too, and he won’t admit defeat.

In the end, between a lot of screams and denial, he gets a little hint of how their tiny difference in height seemed to bother Katsuki so much until he reached and surpassed Shouto.

Of course, Shouto always has to have the last word or at least a comment that leaves Katsuki thrown off in a direct knockout.

“But I don’t understand it… If you hated it so much when I was taller than you, me wearing heels now would be bad, right? Then why did you said-?”

“It’s not the same, dumbass!”

The conversation ends there, but the idea never leaves Shouto’s mind. A couple of weeks later, he walks slowly all the way from their bedroom to the living room, where Katsuki is resting, reading a book.

The tiny click-clack makes him raise his eyes and as he takes in Shouto, his jaw falls along with the book.

Oh yeah, the look in his eyes tells Shouto straight away that Katsuki doesn’t hate it, he doesn’t hate it one bit.

Katsuki approaches him, and in one heartbeat, his arm is firmly set around Shouto’s waist. Their eyes meet as the heels he has got aren’t that high, so basically Shouto is now the same height as Katsuki.

Katsuki licks his lips and whispers against his, “Are those heels for me, princess?”

Russian Red. Marrakesh. Lady Danger. Ruby Woo. Pink Nouveau. Cosmo. Please Me. Speed Dial. Candy Yum-Yum. Cyber Shine.

Gloss. Matte.

He has them all.

They are all perfectly placed in a single row behind his sink, in the pearl white counter of the bathroom. He likes the contrast they make against it: all black and shiny, perfect cylinders with a flat base to stand up proud, a metallic silver ring around their waist, making them look like models wearing sleek black dresses with a minimalist belt, all walking down his particular fashion show.

His finger hovers over them, teeth softly grazing his bottom lip as he considers which one is the one for tonight. He glances up at the foggy mirror and smiles as he can already hear someone with a hoarse grunt scolding him, ‘You shouldn’t use such scorching water, princess. It ain’t good for the skin’.

Shaking his head, he glances at what truly matters: his outfit. He’s wearing a black turtle neck crop top, made of the softest cashmere, and baby blue low-waist jeans.

He’s still unsure, if it was all dark, he’d go for the pink hues and if it was all light, the red ones, but like this…

The tick-tock from the clock doesn’t stop, and he knows neither is the impatient tapping from the man who is waiting outside. Shouto knows he has taken too long scrubbing and exfoliating his skin and then drying his hair, styling it perfectly with some waves on his sides to make it look fluffy, the kind of fluffy that drives Katsuki wild.

Just like the lipstick.

Shouto likes them, he has always enjoyed them. Growing up, his eyes always moved towards the beauty stands, and whenever he had a chance, he sneaked into his sister’s or mother’s bathrooms and awed quietly at them. He remembers opening their drawers and uncovering them, marvelling at how beautiful and shiny the little bars were. He could spend a whole afternoon, twisting the base of the lipsticks, sliding up and down their secret contents that he wanted, oh so badly, to wear.

But he couldn’t. Because proper boys don’t wear make-up, Shouto.

So he didn’t.

Until he met him.

Bakugou Katsuki, a tough man that cursed more than he breathed, wore leather jackets, ripped jeans, rock and punk tees or skull-pattered ones, branded bruises and scars along with tattoos and piercings with utter pride… and used eyeliner without caring about how unmanly it might be.

It was he who caught Shouto staring at the lipsticks with desire and who simply bought one, and right after the store clerk said, "Thanks for your purchase," started to apply it to Shouto’s eager lips.

“There. You look gorgeous. I’m hungry as fuck, can we go already?”

Just like that. All Shouto’s fears started to crumble and now there he is, the proud owner of over forty lipsticks. If only he could exhibit them all... Alas, Katsuki always tidies them up, placing them back in the drawers after he scolds him to only keep ten, his favourites, out.

“But I like them all!”

“No. Choose.”

He finally goes for a pink hue, and as he opens the bathroom door, he smiles as he sees him.

“Fucking finally!”

Katsuki rushes to his side and Shouto bites his cheek as both know this isn’t it.

He’s still going back to the bathroom after this.

Shouto might love his lipsticks, and he can easily spend hours trying them on and off, daydreaming about what shade perfectly goes with what outfit and whatnot, but his favorite part about them is how they look when they smear all over his mouth and chin when Katsuki kisses him.

He might enjoy wearing them, but it’s nothing compared to when they pull apart, panting, and he sees his favourite shade of the day, all over Katsuki’s face, matching his.

Ten minutes later, he goes back to the bathroom. Katsuki doesn’t complain. He needs to retouch his lips and hair.