Chapter Text
Eijirou leans back in his chair, head tipping back to gaze up at the inky black sky overhead. He’s feeling fuzzy, the amount of beer in his system enough to warm his insides and make him feel as though he’s existing through a layer of blurriness, but only just. Warm light from the pavilion spills across the pavement, and if he tips his head back further, he could see some of the eager moths darting around the glowing light fixtures dotting the exterior wall. He doesn’t, though, instead rolling his head to peer at the chair beside him.
Bakugou’s sitting with legs spread, one hand dangling from an armrest and the other gripping a sweating can of beer. He’s staring out into the park like it’s got answers to some obscure question he’s asked, and Eijirou can’t help but feel a little breathless as he takes in his profile.
He’s still shirtless. Eijirou bites his lip.
God, he’s too pretty. Why is he so pretty?
“If you could have any superpower, what would it be?” he blurts out. And for a moment, the question hangs between them. A shriek of laughter bursts into the night, and Eijirou’s gaze jerks to the right, where he sees Ashido leaning into Kendou, laughing with utter glee. The chair beside him squeaks, and Eijirou’s focus snaps right back in time to watch Bakugou lift his can to his lips and take a swig. He gulps, lowers the drink, and squints.
“I’d make shit explode on command.”
Huh. “That’s manly, dude.”
Bakugou snorts. “What about you, dumbass?”
Eijirou grins. “I’d wanna, like, become invincible. Like. Like, be able to fall out of a tree and it not hurt ‘n stuff.”
Bakugou squints at him, then, lips pulling into a frown. “How often do you fall out of a fucking tree?”
And, well. A sheepish laugh spills from his lips, and Eijirou rubs the back of his neck. “Uh…I mean, it’s happened a couple of times, at least.” Ten. It’s happened ten times. Look, he’s not proud of it, okay? But sometimes, birds make nests who shouldn’t have babies and he has to climb up there to get them. It’s fine. (It’s not fine, he’s definitely once broken a collarbone. He had to be on light duty for like, months after. Aizawa forbade him from climbing trees after that—though, what Aizawa doesn’t know won’t kill him, so.) Bakugou scoffs.
“Idiot.” He says it so…softly? And with affection? It’s got Eijirou dying a little inside in a good way and wow, who knew he’d be cool with being called an idiot like this? Not him. But here he is, grinning like an absolute fool. Wow , something is probably wrong with him.
“Hey! All the more reason to have my dream superpower,” Eijirou says with a laugh. Bakugou rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile playing at the edges of his lips—Eijirou sees it plain as day and he’s giddy over it.
“Whatever. Guess you need it.”
“What, you’ve never fallen out of a tree before?”
Bakugou snorts, sips his beer. “Fuck no.”
And, curiosity brims within his fuzzy, inebriated mind, and Eijirou finds himself leaning over his chair’s armrest with raised brows. “What’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever done?” he asks. “Like, dumbest way you’ve hurt yourself, I guess.”
“I don’t fucking hurt myself—I’m not a klutzy piece of shit.”
Eijioru points at him. “Liar.”
“Fuck off, m’not lying.”
“You so are, dude.”
“Fuck off.”
He raises his hands in surrender, laughing. “Okay, okay, whatever you say, man.” Eijirou leans back in his chair, gaze sweeping across the park. Little specks of light flicker across the expanse of grass and trees—fireflies, flitting around the foliage, doing whatever it is that fireflies do. Eijirou hums, fingers drumming along his armrests. “I’m glad you came,” he says, because Eijirou apparently doesn’t know how to not blurt his thoughts aloud. Heat rises to his cheeks the second he realizes what he’s said, and a glance to the left gifts him the look of surprise flickering across Bakugou’s too-pretty face. ‘Course, it doesn’t last more than a second because he covers it with a scowl, which seems to be his default feature, and dips his head, hiding.
“Yeah, well, this isn’t as dumb as I thought it was gonna be, so.”
Eijirou feels like he’s floating on cloud nine. “Yeah?”
“I fucking said as much,” Bakugou snaps, and his face is dusted pink and gosh, he’s cute. How is he cute? Eijirou wants to reach out and pinch his cheeks or something, which is a terrible idea, he’s well aware, but gosh does he want to anyway. Fuck. He’s grinning so wide his face hurts, heart most definitely on his sleeve. He doesn’t care, though. It’s kind of hard to, honestly. Eijirou’s always been an open kind of guy as it is—at least, well. Maybe it’s more accurate to say he’s always an emotive kind of guy. Yeah. Probably more right.
Whatever. Anyway.
He’s enjoying himself, is the point. Immensely.
Bakugou’s actually kind of…hung around him for most of the evening, and they’ve been chatting for hours about anything and everything. He’s learned so much—like, that Bakugou’s an only child, that he grew up in the city. He likes his food with spice, he cooks, he’s very opinionated on like, everything. And if he could have a superpower, it’d be explosions.
“Well, I’m glad.”
Bakugou scoffs, rolling his eyes, but his face seems to grow pinker and Eijirou feels positively giddy. And drunk. It’s nice, getting to hang out like this. He leans back in his chair, grinning wildly into the night. There’s not as many people left—a lot of the curators have already gone, aside from the ambassadors curator, who lingers in a lounge chair on the other end of the patio, chatting casually with Shiretoko. Most people are outside now, too, he thinks. (Admittedly, he’s not been paying too much attention. Because. Well. He’s distracted. But, anyway.) The pool closed down like, thirty minutes prior.
“What’s your favorite kind of bird?” Eijirou peeks over beside him. Bakugou’s lips twitch, and he rolls his eyes, sipping his drink.
“The fuck is this, twenty questions?”
“Maybe.”
A beat. Two. Three. Bakugou raps his fingers on the top of his beer can, squinting into the dark. “Dunno, never really thought much about it. Maybe falcons, those fuckers are fast as shit.”
Eijirou can’t help but giggle, because of course he’d pick the explosive little hunters.
“The fuck are you laughing at?” he snaps. Eijirou shakes his head.
“Nothing, just, it suits you.”
He squints, suspicious, and grunts. “Whatever. What’s yours, then, asshole?”
“Golden eagles.” Eijirou’s always loved raptors as a general rule. Growing up, he’d marveled at the Stellar’s Sea Eagles that’d come through during the winter months, massive and graceful. Of course, it was becoming a keeper and meeting Fatgum that sealed his fate—Goldens are his favorite, through and through. Though any large bird of prey is a favorite of his.
“Huh.”
Eijirou doesn’t get a chance to ask Bakugou what that’s supposed to mean, because it’s at this moment that Midoriya and Todoroki tumble into view, Kaminari close on their heels.
“Kacchan! Ka- hic -cchan, hey! There you are!” Midoriya almost trips over his own two feet, stumbling into Bakugou’s chair and only staying upright thanks to Todoroki clutching at his shirt. He’s grinning, face flushed and eyes glassy, curls an absolute wreck. Eijirou snickers as Bakugou jerks, leaning away and swatting at him.
“Yeah, I’ve been here all fucking night, you damn nerd. Jesus, you’re plastered.”
“I’m very sober,” Todoroki says. (He is in fact not sober. Eijirou sees the way he sways in place, holding onto Midoriya’s shirt with both hands and sporting the same, alcohol flushed expression.) Bakugou snorts.
“Yeah. Right.”
“I’m drunk,” Kaminari says, giggling. He stumbles around them and flops down onto Eijirou, making him wheeze. “Hey, buddy, bestie, best friend. Did I say I’m drunk?” He slings an arm around Eijirou’s neck and pokes his cheek. Eijirou bites his lip.
“Yeah, you did.”
An exaggerated sigh echoes between them. “Well, guess I gotta get your stupid ass home so Cheeks doesn’t fucking murder me.” Bakugou slides out of his chair, slamming back the rest of his beer, before crushing the can and chucking it in the direction of the recycling bin. (Somehow, he makes it, and Eijirou’s heart thuds all weird in his chest. God, that’s manly.) “C’mon.” He pries Todoroki off of Midoriya, which is apparently hilarious because Midoriya and Kaminari are both giggling like maniacs.
“Kacchan, I’m fi–ine.” He pats Bakugou’s face, not phased at all when his hands are slapped away.
“Don’t fucking touch me, idiot. You’re drunk as shit.”
Midoriya just giggles again. He reaches over to pat Todoroki, who just blinks. “Seeya Todoroki-kun!”
“Okay.”
Bakugou huffs and begins to herd him away, saying, “C’mon, getcher ass moving. We gotta get our shit and get home. Your stupid girlfriend’s probably worried sick.” And it’s hilarious and oh so painfully endearing, and Eijirou has to resist clutching at his own chest because, what the heck? How is he so goddamn cute?
He goes over the list in his head of everything he’s learned about Bakugou Katsuki so far.
One: He’s the new veterinary associate.
Two: He’s cocky and mean and has an affinity for superheroes.
Three: He sweet talks animals while working on them.
Four: He works out weekly.
Five: He’s opinionated about everything.
Six: He’s an only child, and grew up in the city.
Seven: He likes his food with spice.
Eight: He cooks.
Nine: If he had a superpower, it’d be explosions.
Ten: His favorite bird is a falcon.
And, eleven, the most damning of all: He’s kind of really nice to his friends, in his own, gruff way.
“You’re staring again,” Kaminari stage whispers. “Do I need to get a napkin to wipe off your drool?”
Eijirou shoves him off his lap, ignoring the way he yelps, arms flailing.
It’s fine. He’ll be fine.
Kaminari’s head pops up, and he pouts. “Rude!”
Todoroki squints at the sky, still wavering like he’s seconds away from keeling over. “Do you guys think birds ever try to peck at the stars like they’re fireflies?”
And, yeah, that’s the cue to get the heck out of here and go home, isn’t it? Gods. Eijirou presses his face into his hands, half groaning, half laughing, half wondering if Bakugou’s ever said anything nearly as stupid while drunk. (He knows he has—though, Eijirou usually doesn’t remember what he says so much as have Kaminari tell him between wheezing bouts of laughter. The worst, reportedly, was the time he insisted that Crimson Riot wore neon colored jockstraps because those were the manliest type of underwear a hero could wear.)
He hopes he gets the chance to find out.
~*~
Fatgum Welfare Assessment
To: [email protected] [email protected] [email protected] [email protected] [email protected]
Welfare assessment for Golden Eagle Fatgum.
~*~
Eijirou fiddles with a piece of an abandoned candy wrapper. He peeks at his watch—1:02PM—and bounces his knee while he waits. It’s the day of Fatgum’s Welfare Assessment, which, is both a major relief and insanely nerve wracking. Because, well, what if nothing changes? What if everything changes? His knee bounces harder.
Usually, welfare assessments involve vet staff and curators and keepers. Eijirou has to be here, since he’s the primary, but Kaminari’s also invited and should be here, provided he doesn’t forget between leaving the office to refill his water bottle and now. Heck, even the overall general curator is supposed to come, a man Eijirou usually only sees in passing. He bites the inside of his cheek, gaze sliding to the Smews board.
Morning Smews!
~7/30 - Don’t forget to fill out med sheets!!!!
~7/30 - Safety training due 8/15
~8/1 - Updated diet sheets in kitchen
~8/2 - Aizawa PTO 8/5 & 8/8
At the bottom right corner, the duck’s been replaced by a pair of cartoony penguins with a little rainbow heart and bubbly kanji that reads, gay. His lips twitch into a grin. That’s most definitely Kaminari’s handwriting. The penguins were probably Kendou’s addition, though.
The office door bursts open with a flurry of fluttering memes, revealing Kaminari and his scuffed, yellow water bottle. “You know, I hate that we always have meetings, like, right after lunch. I always feel like I’m gonna fall asleep.” He flops down onto a chair next to Eijirou, water bottle thunking onto the table. Eijirou nudges his chair with his foot.
“Yeah, well, this is kinda important, so you better not fall asleep.”
He waves a hand. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I won’t. Still.”
‘Course, Kaminari’s arrival seems to have unlocked the floodgates, because Aizawa comes in carrying a stack of papers, followed closely by Nedzu.
“Good afternoon, Kirishima, Kaminari!” Nedzu says, cheerfully. He wastes no time pulling out a seat and settling in, pale hands clasped on the table in front of him. “How are you both, today?”
Eijirou smiles. “I’m good, thanks.”
“Yeah, just, uh, chilling.”
Nedzu nods, small, dark eyes gleaming with mischief. He’s a mousy looking man, small in stature and small lipped, with a little nose. Eijirou’s half convinced he was actually a mouse in another lifetime. He’s always busy trotting around the zoo, meeting with the section curators, and being the overall animal spokesperson. He’s nice enough, Eijirou guesses, but he hardly ever has a full conversation with the guy. Aside from situations like now, anyway.
“Here.” Aizawa passes around paper packets, sidestepping to Midoriya and Todoroki’s desk and swiping one of their pen cups, placing it onto the table. Eijirou takes one, biting his lip, and glances down at the papers in his hands.
U.A. ZOO
FORMAL ANIMAL WELFARE ASSESSMENT FORM 2023
Updated 02/05/2023
_______________________
Exhibit(s)/Animals:
Date:
__________________________________________________________________
Reason for Assessment:
__________________________________________________________________
Assessment Team
Name: Title:
___________________________________________________________________
___________________________________________________________________
___________________________________________________________________
___________________________________________________________________
Welfare Continuum Rating Scale:
Poor Fair Good
1 2 3 4 5
The papers continue with prompts under varying categories, like nutrition, habitat, environmental conditions, and so on, covering literally every aspect of an animal’s life in professional care. It’s kind of insanely thorough, which, is the whole point. It also details a summary and a space for the formal calculations, as well as an action plan for moving forward with any necessary changes.
Eijirou starts carefully filling out his own page, meticulously writing out Fatgum’s information as clearly as he can. It’s here, when he’s got his head bent over his packet, that the vet team arrives into their tiny little office.
“—think it’s worth it. Our results’ve been fucking inconclusive every damn time, what’s gonna be different if we poke ‘im a fifth time?”
Eijirou’s head jerks up. Hakamada and Bakugou stride, memes fluttering behind them as the door clicks shut. His heart rate ticks up several notches when Bakugou grabs the back of the chair next to him on his right, pulling it out and sliding into it with all the ease in the world and Eijirou’s left to wonder faintly if something’s wrong with him, because surely, someone performing the mind-numbingly basic task of sitting down shouldn’t be that attractive.
Right?
Hakamada sighs, his own chair squeaking as he settles into it. “We’ll discuss that later, but you may be right.” He folds his slender hands together, gaze shifting expectantly to Aizawa. “Shall we get started with the task at hand?”
“Yes. Let’s.” Aizawa clears his throat. “So, this is a welfare assessment for our Golden Eagle, Fatgum. I’ve passed out assessment packets for everyone to follow along and fill out. The reason for this assessment, of course, is concerns about his age and his recent trend in regards to his eating habits. Please note that we do not all have to agree on each rating, but we will discuss each category and why we rated each thing the way we did. Make sure you write down who all is present. Any questions before we get started?”
No one speaks. The assessment begins in earnest.
“Nutrition, input one—appropriate diet is offered for animals in size, quantity, frequency, and feeding methods.”
Eijirou raps his fingers against the table. “I think…a five, probably. He gets a varied diet that’s calculated per kay-cals based on his weight, which raises and lowers as needed based on the season. And Kaminari and I make sure we’re giving it to him in different and enriching ways. Though, the trouble lately is that he’s refusing to eat it, so we’ve probably gotten even more creative in how we’re offering things to try and entice him.”
“Yeah,” Kaminari says, “I know I’ve tid-bit his food, I’ve gutted it, I’ve even tried handing it to him. There’s no shortage of enriching ways we’re feeding him, that’s for sure.”
Bakugou’s scorching stare slices into Eijirou, scrutinizing. It’s got goosebumps trailing up and down his arms.
“What all does he get in a week?”
“Um.” Eijirou blinks. His mind stalls, stutters. A small, sharp kick to his chair reboots it. “Rats, mice, guinea pigs, chicks, and sometimes bird of prey meat or rabbit.” There. Bakugou nods, slowly, considering.
“Yeah, I’d agree with that. Sounds like an appropriate diet to me.”
They move to the next one.
“Able to get intended diet with little competition. Responds successfully to feeding methods as intended.”
And, here it is. Eijirou sighs. “A couple of months ago, this would be a five. But now…he isn’t eating. And, we’ve tried literally everything short of force feeding.”
“Is it possible his beak needs to be attended to?” Nedzu asks. “I know in some instances, raptors in professional care get beak overgrowth, and it can hinder their eating. I understand he is free-lofted, yes? Perhaps it’s possible in his older age, he’s not wearing his beak down like he used to?”
It’s…it’s not the most unreasonable solution, but it’s not accurate. “No, his beak is fine,” Eijirou says. “He has no issues opening or closing it, and I always make sure to get a look at how his tongue’s sitting everyday.” He rubs at the back of his neck, gaze sticking to the shine of the table. “I’ve tried putting food right next to him, tried handing it to him—there’s no real consistency for him not eating. He’ll go a couple days to a week finishing his plate like normal, and then suddenly there’ll be three days where he doesn’t touch anything.”
“I think I’d rate this a three, personally,” Aizawa says. “He’s eating enough of the time to maintain weight, but it is unusual behavior for this animal. Looking at our records going back several years, he’s never been as inconsistent finishing his diet as he is now.”
Nedzu hums, tapping his pen on his pursed lips. “I’d venture to rate this a four, myself, if the animal is maintaining a healthy weight. He is able to access his food and is accommodated by staff, so while it is unusual and I agree that warrants a slightly lower rating, I don’t know it should be that low.”
“Agreed,” Hakamada says. “If he is able to eat it and does enough to keep a stable weight, I think a four is a better suited rating.”
Eijirou frowns at his paper. He…isn’t sure he agrees. Sure, he’s able to get his food without competition, but he’s unsuccessful at eating it, now. He bites his lip, squints, considers. He marks a three.
“Food is of nutritional quality and variety. Vitamins and supplements are offered where needed.”
This one gets a five, all around. They source their rodents from a reputable place, they calculate the kCal amounts, and based off his last physical, there’s no reason for offering vitamins.
“Outputs, no signs of nutrition related diseases, health concerns.”
“I definitely have some health concerns,” Eijirou says. “I know his lack of appetite probably isn’t food related, but if it is…I mean, I’d like to get him in hand and check.”
“Yeah, I’d agree with that,” Bakugou says, voice gruff and beautiful and gods, Eijirou could kiss him, right now. He won’t, because they’re at work, obviously, and that’d be like, super weird and creepy and inappropriate, but holy shit , finally! Someone agrees! Someone that can do something about it! This, this is what he wanted. That little push to get Fatgum in hand sooner, to be proactive. And Bakugou’s helping him get there, with his fierce expression, pen tapping against the table with an air of minor impatience. As if this entire meeting is an annoyance that’d be resolved if they just shut up and did an exam, already—a sentiment Eijirou wholeheartedly gets. Bakugou sighs, pen tapping harder. “We know he’s not eating like he should be, and we can’t rule shit out unless we do a diagnostic. So I’d rate this, what. A two? A three if we agree to get him in the books.”
“I’ll second Bakugou,” Hakamda says. “I can have Shiretoko submit an appointment request so we can get ahead of this, if that’s alright.”
Aizawa shrugs. “If both of you think it’s warranted, I don’t see an issue with that. I don’t want to have an old bird in hand for no reason, but I can concede that there’s reason for concern.”
Eijirou thinks he may cry from relief. He bites his lip hard enough he tastes iron, and focuses on maintaining his composure. (It’s hard. It’s so hard because all he wants to do is leap up on the table and throw his hands in the air and scream. He doesn’t. He keeps it cool. But gods, does he want to.) Eijirou scribbles down his rating and sneaks a peak at Bakugou, which, is a mistake because he’s caught immediately. He goes rigid, face blistering with heat, but he doesn’t look away. He can’t. Bakugou’s stare pins him in place, ricocheting through him like a wildfire. He arches a perfect brow and it leaves EIjirou dizzy. Somehow, he manages a grin.
Bakugou offers one of his own, small and oh so fleeting.
It’s a miracle Eijirou can focus after that.
They breeze through the rest of the assessment. There’s some sections that get some attention—like habitat, since Fatgum’s an old man, re-perching to better accommodate him seems to be in the cards—but, overall, everything else gets a consensus of high ratings. Fatgum, for all intents and purposes, has excellent welfare here at the zoo. It’s. A relief, honestly. Like. Eijirou knows he does his damndest for the animals in his care, but it’s moments like now, sitting with a completed assessment and seeing all the high numbers that all his hard work really feels like it shines.
Aizawa stands, collecting the assessments and shuffling them into a neat stack. “Thank you all for taking the time to do this today,” he says, voice dull and tired. “We appreciate it. I’ll be sure to drop these off with Shuzenji.”
“Of course.” Nedzu beams, hands still clasped in front of him. “It’s but our humble duty to ensure the overall welfare of all our animals. Especially those as advanced in age as Fatgum. I’m glad we were able to provide some outward perspectives for you and your team.”
Eijirou stands too, dipping into a shallow bow. “Yeah, seriously, thank you guys. It means a lot.”
“I’ll be sure to make sure that the appointment request gets sent across.” Hakamada looks at Aizawa and purses his lips. “Did you want to discuss the bumble treatment for the flamingo? Or is there a better time for that?”
“Now’s fine.”
“Yeah, well—” Kaminari slaps his hands onto the table and pushes back his chair. “—this has been fun, but I am so behind.”
And, oh, shit on a fiddlestick. Eijirou looks at his watch, eyes going wide. Oh, dear god, he’s also so very much behind. “Oh, yeah, uh. Thanks again!” He bows again and makes for the door, mind running about a hundred miles a minute to figure out how he can feed the entire South American Aviary and the raptor run and do his PM rounds and still make it out on time. And, sure, it might not sound like a lot, but he has to spend the time to throw food and look at birds and replace bowls and wash the old ones and bike all the way out to the raptor run and give each one of them their food and, like, train them all, and make sure their yards are clean and their water bowls are fresh and then he has to go all around and make sure everything is all good and locked up and, god, he’s behind by nearly a whole hour —
‘Course, he nearly trips over his own two feet when a gruff voice calls into the hallway after him.
“Oi, Kirishima!”
He stumbles, nearly slamming into the wall, and whirls around, eyes wide. “Yeah?”
Bakugou leans in the doorway, one hand in his pants pocket and the other holding up a very familiar looking radio—one with a distinct band of red tape around the antenna. “Forget something, dumbass?”
His hand flies to his side, and yep, sure enough, his radio is very much not clipped there. Eijirou groans, running a hand through his messy hair (his ponytail’s just about fallen out—he should fix it but that’s a later problem) and strides back down the hall. “Gosh, I’m a mess, dude,” he says. “Thanks.” He reaches out, fingers lightly grazing Bakugou’s as they curl around the hunk of plastic, and, oh. Sparks dance beneath his skin, warmth unfurls deep in his chest like a springtime flower, and Eijirou knows his face is as red as his hair. He fumbles, nearly dropping the radio, and dies a little inside at the husky little chuckle Bakugou lets out. A warbly laugh wrings from his own throat.
“Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m a clutz, today.”
Bakugou eyes him. “Can’t say I’m surprised, with how often you fall out of trees ‘n shit.” It almost sounds like a taunt, but Eijirou can see the way his eyes glitter with bemusement, and he can’t help but grin.
“Hey! It was only a couple of times!”
“Uh-huh.”
Kaminari pokes his head over Bakugou’s shoulder, scowling. “Okay, as adorable as this is, I need to go. Scooch it, doc.”
Bakugou rolls his eyes, a scowl stitching itself back onto his features. He pushes away from the frame and then—and then suddenly he’s in Eijirou’s space and all Eijirou can smell is the sharp, almost spicy smell of his cologne. He clutches his radio with both hands, dizzy. Bakugou leans close, sharp gaze nearly eviscerating him. “Don’t forget to show up Sunday,” he says, and it does things to Eijirou. He manages a grin.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, bro!”
A smirk. Is this a dream? Eijirou resists the urge to pinch himself. Bakugou grunts, seemingly pleased, and then he’s gone, turning back to stalk into the office and leaving Eijirou staring after him like a fool. He blinks. Once, twice. Lets his head thunk back against the wall and tries to breathe, a little.
Faintly, Eijirou’s aware that he is well and truly fucked. He’s electing to ignore that fact for now.
A curse falls from his lips, and he pushes away from the wall, jamming his radio onto his belt and marching to the kitchen to try and cobble his life together a little bit.
And still, Bakugou’s little smirk plays on repeat in his head like a broken record that just won’t stop.