En Vogue || K.Bakugo

♦ S A T U R D A Y ♦

First Person P O V

"Ow!" I squealed as I felt the sharp needle poke my waist.

"Sorry about that dear," Mitsuki said, her voice muffled by the fabric she held with her teeth.

I stared straight ahead at the mirror in front of me, my arms spread wide and away from my body as Mitsuki worked on tightening the waist of the silky golden skirt I wore. It was her part of a collaboration featuring her and a few other designers and it was honestly beautiful. I looked down at her as her brows furrowed slightly, bags hanging under her eyes.

"Are you sleeping well?" I asked, concerned.

She sighed and looked up at me, the waist of the skirt folded up between her fingers as she removed the piece of fabric from her lips.

"Honestly, no. But don't worry about that now, worry about yourself. You're losing weight." She stared at me with a right frown.

I turned away from her, biting my lip. I couldn't look at her.

"I need this fat in your thighs and butt. These clothes were made for your figure. I can't have you looking as skinny as Hasawara."

I looked to my left. Hasawara Mirai was being fitted by Masaru, Mitsuki's husband. Her shoulder length black hair was pulled into a ponytail, showing off her scarily sharp cheekbones. She stood tall and confident, her bones practically visible from underneath her ivory skin. Hasawara easily had less than twenty percent of fat in her body and although I acted like I didn't care, I sometimes wished to be as skinny as she was.

"Sorry." I mumbled as I looked down at my feet.

Due to the genes from my African mother, I was considerably darker than most of the people in Japan, and though Mitsuki and the agency claimed it was beautiful, many others teased and bullied me about it. My hair, as well, was kinky and wild, difficult to tame and take care of but I refused to cut it. It was bunched at the top of my head but easily fell to my waist if let down.

"Oi, you old hag! The guys are here!" I heard Bakugo tell from downstairs. I chuckled softly at his loud voice.

He'd come over to the agency often on weekends to help out. Out first conversation was a while ago, when I offered some insight on his hero costume. He'd called me extra so many times I was sure he didn't know my real name.

Hasawara and I had been coming over to the Bakugo residence for fittings every other day for about four weeks and Bakugo never failed to amuse as well as fascinate me. The few things I knew about him were that he was sixteen like Hasawara and I and was part of the hero course at a top notch school.

We talked a couple of times and he really wasn't that bad. He yelled a lot and though he called me extra when we first met, he seemed to have warmed up to me. I smiled a little at the thought.

"Idiot boy," Mitsuki grumbled under her breath before lifting her head to shout back a reply, "Stop yelling you brat! You're distracting me!"

Masaru finished with Hasawara and the said girl walked over to Mitsuki and I. Her eyes ran over my thighs with disgust and I sighed under my breath. She was known for body shaming most people in at the modelling agency we represented and yet we were always hurt by her words, no matter how many insults we threw at her back.

"Done." Mitsuki said as she unhooked the skirt from my waist and leaned back in her chair, exhaustion evident in her face.

Masaru came back from putting his things away and rubbed his wife's shoulders. He looked up at Hasawara and I.

"Hasawara, Kinnoshiro, we'll be going to sleep now. Your car will be here in about an hour so maybe you can hang out with Katsuki and his friends while you wait." He pulled Mitsuki from her chair and led her out to their bedroom.

I tugged my sweatshirt over my tank top as Hasawara out on her see through top, the yellow, translucent material taunting her blue unnerved so it looked green.

"You're not going to hang out with them, are you? You wouldn't stoop that low." She looked at me through narrow eyes.

"How is that stopping low?" I asked, shock evident in my face as I stared at her.

"Hanging out with middle class hero kids?"

I sighed at her. She and I were two of the few kids from the agency that came from well off families. It was why she bothered talking with me in the first place. Hasawara was spoilt and stuck up, refusing to meet the gaze of anyone whose bank account was lower than her preference. That and she didn't deem heroes as cool or interesting as others. Her only hero was money.

"I don't judge people like you do, Mirai. I have no qualms with hanging out with them. Besides, I talk to Bakugo, a lot actually." I said as I hung my bag and walked out the room, Hasawara trailing behind me.

"Eshe!" She yelled my given name, "You talk to that, that walking explosion?" She exclaimed.

I couldn't help but crack a smile at that. He really was a walking explosion. We walked down the stairs together, hearing bits of their conversation as we got to the bad of the stairs.

"Well he's not middle class?" I say.

"Only him."

"Whatever."

"This is gonna be a long wait." Hasawara complained.