Chapter 1: Meddling and Firelight: The Setup Begins
The fire crackled, spitting sparks behind the thick iron grate, filling the lodge bar with the scent of seared pine and dry heat. Polished wood surfaces glowed amber in the flickering light, reflecting the low hum of conversation and the rhythmic clink of glassware. Katsuki Bakugo slumped on a stool, the worn leather creaking beneath him. He glared into the dregs of his whiskey, the ice long melted, the warmth of the room doing nothing to thaw the scowl etched onto his face.
Across the scarred bar top, Eijiro Kirishima beamed, his sharp teeth flashing white against his tanned skin. He raised his own glass, a vibrant, fruity concoction that looked utterly ridiculous in his sturdy hand. "C'mon, Katsuki! Lighten up!" Kirishima's voice boomed, effortlessly cutting through the ambient noise. "Ten days! Fresh powder, crisp air, maybe a hot tub after... it's gonna be epic! Plus," he leaned in conspiratorially, his grin widening impossibly, "you gotta admit, Kaori looked incredible in that snowsuit."
Bakugo didn't look up. His knuckles whitened around the heavy tumbler. "Epic?" His voice was a low, dangerous rumble, like distant thunder trapped under the mountains outside. "You dragged my ass twelve hours into frozen hell on false pretenses, Shitty Hair. This is a goddamn ambush, wrapped in fleece and smelling like goddamn pine cones."
Kirishima just laughed, a full-bodied, unapologetic sound that bounced off the exposed beams overhead. "Ambush? Nah, man! It's an opportunity. A romantic getaway! Pre-arranged, perfectly timed.”
The tumbler slammed down onto the bar with a sharp crack that made the nearby drinkers flinch. Amber liquid sloshed dangerously close to the rim. "Romantic getaway?" Bakugo hissed, finally lifting his head. His crimson eyes blazed, reflecting the firelight like molten metal. "Who the fuck asked you to meddle? Huh? I didn't need your half-baked, matchmaking bullshit!"
"Ooh," Kirishima winced playfully, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Touchy. Look, all I did was mention to Kaori you were looking for a getaway. Mentioned the killer deal I found on this cabin. Next thing I know, she booked it! Call it… facilitating."
"Facilitating my damn headache," Bakugo growled, raking a hand through his spiky blond hair. He stared past Kirishima, towards the large picture windows framing the snowy darkness outside. Flakes swirled in the beams of the exterior lights. "Trapped in a cabin? With her?"
The unspoken tension hung thick in the air, mingling with the woodsmoke. Bakugo's jaw clenched. It wasn't that Kaori was... unpleasant. She was sharp, capable, didn't run from his aggressions. That was the problem. It wasn't easy. It wasn't meaningless. Kirishima, oblivious to the storm brewing beside him, signaled the bartender for two more drinks. "Exactly! Trapped! Perfect! Forces you two to actually talk. Maybe, I dunno, figure out why you two spark off each other like live wires half the time."
"I spark off everyone," Bakugo muttered, his gaze dropping back to his glass. His usual bluster felt hollow. The fire popped loudly. "And I don't need forced cabin confinement to handle my own damn business." He sounded tired, even to himself. The whiskey burned a familiar path down his throat, but it did nothing to quell the restless churn in his gut. Acknowledgement. That’s what he craved, demanded, earned through sheer force. Not… this. This felt like a setup for failure, orchestrated by a well-meaning idiot.
Kirishima slid the fresh whiskey towards him, his expression softening slightly, losing some of its boisterous edge. "Look, man. I see how you look at her when you think no one's watching. Like she’s a problem you can’t quite solve. Or maybe... a challenge you really wanna win?” He nudged Bakugo's arm. "Give it a chance. Worst case, you get ten days of killer skiing. Best case..." He trailed off with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.
Bakugo snatched the glass, the ice cubes rattling. "Best case, I shove you headfirst into a snowdrift." The threat lacked its usual heat. He took a long, slow sip, the smoky bite of the liquor a grounding reality. Kirishima was an idiot. A meddling, intrusive, perpetually optimistic idiot. But he was his idiot. And beneath the fury, a treacherous, unwelcome flicker sparked. A flicker of… something. Not anticipation. Definitely not. More like the tense stillness before detonation. What would it be like? Trapped. No escape. Just Kaori and her infuriatingly calm eyes and the questions he never asked.
The heavy lodge door groaned open, letting in a blast of frigid air and a swirl of snowflakes that danced in the firelight before vanishing.
Bakugo’s head snapped up, drawn by the sudden rush of cold. Kirishima’s grin stretched impossibly wide again. He didn't even need to look.
There, shaking snow from dark, wind-tousled hair, cheeks flushed from the cold, stood Kaori. She unwound a thick scarf, her eyes scanning the warm, crowded room. They landed on the bar. On Kirishima’s enthusiastic wave. And then, inevitably, on Bakugo.
Her gaze met his. Not warm. Not cold. Assessing. Sharp. A silent challenge hanging in the suddenly charged air between them.
Bakugo froze. The glass felt slick in his hand. The crackling fire, Kirishima’s muffled chuckle, the clink of glasses – it all faded into a dull roar. His mind went utterly, terrifyingly blank. Every carefully constructed defense, every pre-emptive scowl, evaporated in that instant of eye contact.
All he could manage was a single, silent thought that echoed the dread coiling tight in his chest.
Shit.
Kaori broke the charged silence first. That quick, polite smile flashed – more reflex than warmth – and her hand lifted in a small, efficient wave aimed squarely at Kirishima. "Hey, Eijiro," she called, her voice cutting cleanly through the bar's low thrum. Her gaze skittered over Bakugo like he was part of the furniture, then snapped away. Without waiting for a reply, she turned, the heavy fabric of her parka rustling, and marched towards the check-in desk nestled beside the roaring fireplace. Snow melted from her boots onto the flagstone floor, leaving dark, fleeting stars.
Kirishima nudged Bakugo’s whiskey glass, sloshing the dregs."See? Told you she looked great. Go help with the bags, man!Chivalry!"
Bakugo ignored him, his crimson eyes tracking Kaori’s progress. The young clerk at the desk beamed, fingers flying over his keyboard. Kaori slid her ID and a credit card across the polished wood. The clerk’s smile faltered. He leaned closer to his screen, tapped a few keys again, frowned. He murmured something, gesturing apologetically at the monitor.
Kaori’s posture stiffened. Her voice, suddenly sharp and carrying, sliced through the cozy ambiance."One bed?"
The words hung in the air like shards of ice. Kirishima choked on his fruity drink, coughing violently into his fist. Bakugo didn’t flinch.He simply knew. The forced trip. Kirishima’s shit-eating grin every time he mentioned the "cozy" cabin. The too-good-to-be-true deal. It snapped into place with brutal clarity.Shitty Hair. This had his meddling fingerprints all over it. Bakugo’s jaw clenched, knuckles whitening on the bar’s edge. But he stayed silent, rooted, watching the unfolding disaster.
Kaori leaned forward, her knuckles pressing white against the countertop. "The confirmation email distinctly listed two bedrooms.Two!" Her voice cracked on the last word, high-pitched and strained. The clerk stammered, pointing helplessly at his screen, his own cheeks flushing. "Ma'am, the system shows Cabin Seven, the Aspen Loft... it, uh, it has the loft space, but... just the one king bed downstairs. The online description might have been... ambiguous? We're fully booked tonight, I'm incredibly sorry..."
Flustered heat flooded Kaori's face, clashing violently with the cold still clinging to her skin. She ran a hand through her dark hair, making it stick up slightly. Her eyes darted wildly – to the fire, the exits, anywhere but towards the bar where Bakugo sat radiating silent, simmering comprehension. She looked trapped. Utterly mortified."Ambiguous? It said separate sleeping areas! Loft space could mean anything!A child's bunk!"
"More like... romantic ambiance?" the clerk offered weakly, instantly regretting it.
Kaori’s flush deepened. She snatched the keycards the clerk finally held out, her movements jerky."Fine. Whatever."Her voice was tight, clipped. She grabbed her duffel bag, hoisting it with unnecessary force. She didn't look left or right. Didn't glance at Kirishima, who was now studying the bottom of his glass with intense fascination, or at Bakugo, whose stare felt like a physical weight on her back. Head down, shoulders hunched as if bracing against a storm, she practically fled towards the hallway marked 'Cabins', the keycards clutched like a shield.
The moment the hallway swallowed her, Kirishima cleared his throat."Uh...surprise?" He risked a sideways glance at Bakugo. "In my defense, the pictures online did show two distinct spaces! That loft looked plenty big for a futon or something! Very... efficient use of space?"
Bakugo stood up. The stool legs scraped against the stone floor like nails on a chalkboard. He left both whiskeys untouched. His expression was terrifyingly blank, a calm before a cataclysm. He didn't utter a word to Kirishima.Didn't need to. The promise of slow, painful dismemberment radiated from him in palpable waves. He turned, not towards the cabins, but towards the lodge's heavy wooden front door.
He shoved it open. A brutal gust of wind and snow blasted inward, snuffing candles on nearby tables and making patrons gasp. The door slammed shut behind him with a sound like a gunshot, leaving only the frantic dance of snowflakes in the suddenly frigid draft and Kirishima staring after him, his easy-going smile finally wiped clean.
The door slammed shut behind him with a sound like a gunshot, leaving only the frantic dance of snowflakes in the suddenly frigid draft and Kirishima staring after him, his easy-going smile finally wiped clean.
Silence descended on the bar area like a thick blanket, broken only by the crackling fire and the low murmur of conversation cautiously resuming. Kirishima sighed, a heavy, defeated sound. He knocked back the rest of his bright drink, the ice clinking mournfully. "Welp," he muttered to the empty stool beside him, "that could've gone better." He glanced towards the hallway Kaori had vanished down, then back at the main door still vibrating slightly from Bakugo's exit. With another sigh, he slid off his stool, leaving a crumpled bill under his empty glass. "Time to make myself scarce. Very, very scarce." He vanished towards the guest rooms, shoulders slumped.
The cold draft had dissipated, replaced once more by the heavy warmth of the lodge, thick with woodsmoke, pine cleaner, and the yeasty tang of beer. Minutes crawled by. The fire popped. A log settled. Then, movement from the hallway.
Kaori reappeared. Her dark hair was plastered damply to her temples and neck, as if she’d shoved her head under a tap. High colour burned across her cheekbones, stark against her pale skin, making the smudges under her eyes look darker. The mortification had hardened into something sharper, tighter. She’d ditched the bulky parka, revealing a simple dark sweater that did nothing to soften the rigid line of her shoulders. She walked with deliberate purpose back to the bar, eyes fixed straight ahead, ignoring the curious glances flickering her way. She bypassed the stools Kirishima and Bakugo had occupied, choosing a spot furthest down the polished counter, near the shadowed corner where the firelight barely reached.
The friendly bartender, wiping a glass, approached her cautiously. "Find everything alright with the cabin, miss?"
Kaori didn’t meet his eyes. Her voice, when it came, was flat, devoid of inflection. "Double bourbon. Neat." A beat. "And two shots of your strongest tequila. The stuff that tastes like regret and bad decisions."
The bartender paused, then gave a small, professional nod. "Comin' right up."
Bakugo saw it all. He’d never actually left. The biting cold outside had slapped some sense into his fury, or at least compressed it into a dense, smoldering core. He’d circled around the building, stomping through shin-deep snowdrifts until he found a side entrance near the ski rental, shaking the powder from his spiky hair like an irritated wolf. He’d slipped back in unnoticed, melting into the deep shadows of an alcove near the massive stone fireplace, partially concealed by a towering stack of split logs. From here, he had a diagonal view down the length of the bar. He watched Kirishima slink away. And now he watched her.
He watched the damp strands of hair clinging to her neck. Watched the hectic flush on her cheeks that had nothing to do with the fire’s warmth. Watched the unnatural stillness of her posture as she waited, hands clenched into white-knuckled fists on the bar top. The bartender set down three glasses: a squat tumbler filled with amber liquid and two smaller glasses holding clear spirits.
Kaori didn't hesitate. She picked up the first shot glass. Tipped her head back. The tequila vanished in one smooth, brutal motion. A slight, involuntary shiver ran through her, barely perceptible. She barely paused before grabbing the second shot. Downed it just as fast. This time, a sharp, silent inhale through her nose, her eyes squeezing shut for a fraction of a second, bracing against the fire in her throat. Then she reached for the bourbon. Her hand, he noticed, was perfectly steady. She wrapped both hands around the heavy tumbler, lifted it, and took a long, deliberate swallow. Not a gulp, but a deep, fortifying draw. She held the glass in front of her face for a moment, staring into the depths like it held answers, before setting it down with a soft thunk. Only then did her shoulders relax, incrementally, the rigid line softening just a fraction. A deep breath expanded her chest.
Bakugo remained statue-still in his shadowy niche. The whiskey he’d abandoned earlier sat forgotten. All his usual noise, the bluster, the explosive energy, was banked, replaced by a hyper-focused, unnerving quiet. He tracked the subtle tremble in her fingers as they brushed a damp strand of hair behind her ear. He saw the way she avoided looking anywhere near the end of the bar where he and Kirishima had been. She was trying to disappear into the woodwork, to drown the humiliation in cheap liquor. It should have been satisfying. It wasn't. It felt… wrong. A flaw in the natural order. Kaori wasn't someone who hid. She met things head-on. Usually his head.
She took another sip of bourbon, slower this time, rolling it around her mouth before swallowing. The firelight caught the edge of her profile – the stubborn set of her jaw, the sharp angle of her nose, the vulnerability she was desperately trying to incinerate with alcohol. His own frustration, the trapped feeling Kirishima’s stunt had ignited, churned in his gut, mingling with something else, something sharper and more uncomfortable he refused to name.
As if sensing the weight of his scrutiny, her head turned. Slowly. Not towards the alcove, but scanning the room behind her, a casual sweep. Her gaze passed over the firelit chairs, the groups chatting, the snow still swirling against the big windows… and then stopped. Cold, sharp eyes locked directly onto his, slicing through the shadows that hid him.
No shock. No hesitation. Just pure, icy recognition, cutting through the bourbon haze. Her expression didn’t change, but the intensity of her stare was a physical jolt. She held his gaze, unblinking. The flush on her cheeks seemed to deepen, but whether from anger, the alcohol, or sheer will, he couldn't tell. The air between them crackled, thick with everything unsaid: the ambush, the single bed, his storming out, her desperate shots, the sheer, inescapable proximity of the next ten days.
She didn't look away. Didn't smile. Didn't frown. Just stared him down from across the warm, noisy room, the double bourbon held loosely in her hand like a shield she wasn't sure she wanted to use. In the flickering firelight, her eyes were chips of obsidian.
Shit.