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bap (butter) me up like a dinner roll

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Baptiste had never given much thought to when he’d fall in love, but if you had told him he’d end up with Hanzo Shimada - happily, at that - he’d probably have punched you. And that was against his nature, as he was really only out to ‘do no harm’ at this point: an oath of sorts he’d taken upon himself post-Talon.

He’d heard about Hanzo from Genji, about how he’d committed fratricide under pressure from his family. He understood the immense guilt that came from taking an incorrect action, intentional or not. He could relate. But each time he looked at Genji a little too close and saw the scar striking through his eyebrow, thought of how some organs beneath the carbon fiber were as synthetic as the emotional mask Genji wore some days - he’d become a little upset with a man who had been forgiven by his victim long ago.

Hanzo had joined Overwatch after him. Baptiste had answered a call he wasn’t sure sought people like him - ex-Talon combat medics - but had decided to follow anyway.

Genji introduced them shortly after Hanzo’s arrival, telling his brother that Baptiste was one of his best friends despite only having known each other for mere months. And it was true, Baptiste would have gone to war again to help keep Genji happy, to see him wear the expression he had when McCree kissed his cheek as they spent time together in the rec room - movie night forgotten and Ana laughing at their slight PDA, to see him try a spicy dish Bap had spent hours preparing in the Watchpoint’s kitchen. They were nearing middle age, but he had found the little brother he had always wanted; now he just needed to share that title, he supposed.

“Hello,” he had said.


That was the end of their first conversation. The next had been slightly longer - Hanzo greeting him, asking where he thought Genji might be. It was 7 AM, so Genji was definitely asleep. As much meditating as the youngest Shimada did, Baptiste had always assumed he would be a morning person. He had assumed wrong.

He didn’t tell Hanzo this, though. Which in the long run was a good thing, but in the short of it: it was definitely a mistake. Baptiste ended up across from Hanzo at the kitchen island, feeding Hanzo Shimada from his breakfast skillet. Ana had told Baptiste he should just become a cook permanently.

This is delicious, Bap. Thank you for feeding this old woman.

Hush, in return for the teas and for you Miss Ana? Anything.

“Is it good?”

“Very. Thank you for feeding me. I am still learning my way around.”

Baptiste left it at that, smiling slightly behind the glass of water he brought to his lips. He was a damn good cook, huh?

A week later he fed Hanzo again - lunch this time. It wasn’t any special dish, nothing learned from his time orphaned and alone - pangs of memory attached to it. He seared a bagel in a skillet with butter, putting leftover grilled ham and cheese across it. He added an egg to Hanzo’s; Shimada had mentioned he was hungry after training with Genji. It was about as unhealthy as he could make it. Maybe Hanzo would perish from the delicious, or from the calories, or from Baptiste’s beautiful smile. Bap could hope for any or all.

“Genji is quite the fighter, now.” Baptiste resisted the urge to comment on that, as it would lead nowhere good. He had agreed to get along with Hanzo, and he would keep that promise.

“How is it? Are you sure there’s no one else to feed you?”

Baptiste was surprised to hear him laugh. “No one quite as well as you.”

Baptiste was surprised again. He supposed he wasn’t surprised it became a routine of sorts - Hanzo seeking him out. One night he sat with Hanzo, McCree, Genji, Angela, Pharah, and Ana Amari. He was unsure how they had all heard he was making one of his favorite comfort foods, but he ended up catering to them all. Ana placed a kiss to his cheek as she left, Angela offering him a quick hug. Pharah, of course, gave him a fistbump. Genji said goodbye to Baptiste and his brother, and left with McCree following. Hanzo told everyone he would help Baptiste clean up.

“Thank you for dinner, Baptiste. It was quite good.”

“You can call me Bap. It’s shorter and a lot of friends do. And I guess if I’m feeding you several times a week, that’s what we are.”

Hanzo looked at him for a moment, nodding his head. “Okay, Bap.”

It felt weird falling from his lips, and Baptiste could see the hesitant way he spoke.

“Baptiste works too.”

Hanzo shot him a smile brighter than the sun.

A few months after Hanzo had joined Overwatch - after Baptiste had begun to cook meal after meal for him, Hanzo knocked on the door to Baptiste’s quarters.

Baptiste opened the door, confused, but smiling all the same. “Lunch isn’t for another hour, but I suppose if you’re hungry now I can -“

Hanzo cut him off. “That is not why I am here. I am being sent on my first official mission as a member of Overwatch, and I fear I would be remiss to myself if I did not tell you something.”

“What is it?” Baptiste was worried - if only slightly. Though he had issues with some of Hanzo’s past actions, he did consider them friends.

“You said we are friends, months ago. I want us to be more than that, and I want to cook for you today.”

“Hanzo, what?”

“Can I kiss you, Baptiste?”

Bap had never thought about it - never considered why Hanzo stuck around for so many meals, hung around him despite the initial if well-hidden animosity. It made sense, suddenly, and Baptiste wanted to see if he could taste anything on his lips.

He nodded his head, and Hanzo’s lips met his. It was gentle, and Baptiste was breaking as Hanzo’s hand came to rest on his jaw, the other holding the doorway.

Their foreheads pressed together, Bap’s eyes barely open, he whispered: “What are you making for lunch?”