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Katsuki was halfway through his lunch of curry and blessed silence when the bell hanging by the clinic’s door chimed, followed by a rising, panicked voice.
“Where’s the vet?”
“He’s on his lunch break. In the meantime, fill this form for me?”
“No, no time for that! I need the vet, now!”
“Sir, please calm down.”
He sighed. He could hear every bit of that from the pantry, and now he stared longingly at the last three bites of his food and the broken promise of peace.
It was amusing that his secretary’s voice remained calm and placating. The guy who had walked in was clearly irrational, practically screaming that his pet needed immediate attention, in the middle of a breakdown. Katsuki’s been in the business long enough to know that more often than not, it wasn’t the case.
He was on his fucking lunch time. It was the one fraction of his day that he looked forward to, so Katsuki wanted to ignore the incoming customer and tell him to wait, but he swore an oath to fulfill his duty or some bullcrap that he needed to remind himself of so he would not get in trouble with the JVMA.
Against his better judgment, he swallowed what would be his last scrap of food for the hour, fixed his glasses that had slid down the bridge of his nose, and took a swig of his water.
Tempering his annoyance, he walked out of the pantry and into the reception hall.
“What’s the matter?”
“Hi! Yes! My cat is dying! I don’t know! Probably! He’s got lesions and-”
“Sir.” Katsuki cleared his throat. “Calm down. What the f—” thankfully, he caught himself and issued a correction, “what’s wrong with your cat?”
He had the equanimity to stop himself from grabbing the idiot’s mouth and slamming a piece of duct tape to it. There was something about this bumbling baboon that Katsuki could not place. Did it help that he looked like someone who did push ups in his sleep? Maybe. His biceps looked like they had biceps. There was an abrasive quality to the way he spoke and his hairstyle was something that came straight out of a low quality 80's rock magazine, all chaos, volume, and loud red. Even so, Katsuki remained composed and did not address those.
Perhaps, the fact that he cradled a small kitten, bundled in a towel like a priceless artifact, in his gigantic arms helped, too. The idiot ran his thumb through the kitten's fur with a delicacy that did not befit a man of his stature.
“Let me see him,” Katsuki said. “Is he bleeding?”
The idiot shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
“I noticed that he's been licking his tummy a lot,” said the idiot, “then I spotted these red dots on his belly. They're weird and lumpy. That's– that's gotta be something, right? They're equally spaced and all.”
“I see,” answered Katsuki. “Place him here.” He cleared the reception counter of the forms and pens that littered the space.
At first, the client hesitated, but eventually did as he was told. With hands that tried hard to be firm, he set his cat on the flat surface.
“They weren’t there yesterday. Or maybe they were? I might’ve missed them? I did get new laundry detergent—do cats get hives? Maybe he's allergic and I set it off.”
Katsuki crouched to inspect the kitten’s belly. It took him five seconds to finish his diagnosis, but the man kept talking.
“I even googled it. All the answers I managed to get was that he had cancer. He’s dying? Oh god. My first pet and he’s dying. I’m a failure.”
Katsuki shot him a look and called, “Sir.” It took him three calls before the idiot stopped rambling.
“Yeah?”
“I know what’s wrong with— what’s his name?”
“Cookie.”
“Right. I know what’s wrong with Cookie.”
“What is it?”
“He’s got nipples.”
The moron gawked at him, mouth hanging open. “But Cookie’s a dude.”
“Yeah, so am I. I’ve got nipples too.”
“Oh.” He was flustered. “Can I see?”
Katsuki’s ears burned. “What?”
“Him. Cookie. Can I check again? Maybe you misdiagnosed him.”
“Sure, knock yourself out.” Katsuki took a deep, exasperated breath. “Won’t change anything. Yes, male cats do have nipples.” He exhaled.
The guy gently flipped his kitten and ran his fingers from its chest to its belly. “Nipples. God, I’m an idiot.” He started laughing.
Katsuki’s secretary laughed, too, while he resisted the urge to slam his head against the counter.
The whole fiasco extended to about three more minutes before Katsuki decided it was time to walk over to his office and do something productive.
By the time he’d left, the guy was yapping about filling the form so that the clinic had Cookie’s information in case of emergencies.
If later that night he told his secretary and his staff to let him close shop by himself, it wasn’t related to anything.
If he later took time to look at the pet information and found out that the guy’s name was Kirishima Eijirou, it was only a happy accident.
Over the next few weeks, Kirishima visited their clinic exactly six times.
“I live nearby so it was convenient,” he had said.
The cat emergencies became more and more absurd.
One time, he took Cookie to the clinic because he swore the cat was possessed.
Katsuki stared at him, both baffled and amused, his glasses once again sliding down his nose.
“Possessed?”
“Yeah. All the signs are there!”
Katsuki sighed. “What signs?”
“Well. Sometimes, out of nowhere, he’d run and run and run and I can’t catch him.”
He and one of the clinic’s pet groomers glanced at each other, snickering.
“Please,” he said, “tell us more.”
“Yeah!” Kirishima stroked Cookie’s back. The cat purred. “And whenever he peed, he always looked straight into my eyes.”
Katsuki snorted. “What else?”
“He yells when he poops!”
“My god.” Katsuki groaned. “So what do you want me to do?”
“Run tests? Check him? Give him an xray?” Kirishima shrugged.
“Sir.” Katsuki’s voice was pointed. “I’m a veterinarian, not a pet exorcist.”
“Right.” Kirishima exhaled. “Maybe you could refer me to one, though?”
“A pet exorcist?” Katsuki bit. “Respectfully, sir, what the fuck?”
Kirishima blinked at him a few times before he smiled, all shy and red in the face. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m a first time pet owner and I don’t wanna fuck this up.” His lips even wobbled.
For a fraction of a second, Katsuki felt bad for him, but he’s got real work to do so he dismissed Kirishima, even walking him through the door while repeatedly trying to assure him that his cat was fine.
But it didn’t end there.
Kirishima kept coming back.
One random Thursday had Kirishima running into the clinic with a large duffle bag full of his pet's belongings because he was convinced that Cookie should be confined for at least three days because his wheezes were concerning. The culprit? A clump of hairballs stuck in his throat.
On their next visit, he insisted that Cookie was suffering from a stroke. His tongue had been out for ten minutes, Kirishima had said. Turned out, the little fucker was high on catnip because the idiot had left the packets on his kitchen floor. Cookie was relaxed and being cute, while Kirishima was having yet another panic attack over an imaginary crisis.
They didn't hear from Kirishima after that, but the silence only lasted for about two weeks. He had rushed Cookie again and claimed that the feline was constipated, not having pooped in two days. When Katsuki asked for a breakdown of what the cat had eaten, Kirishima casually mentioned that he had fed his cat a few pieces of steak because he was “too cute to say no to.”
Katsuki almost smacked him. “You’re not supposed to feed him steak! You’re gonna kill your cat!”
The next time Kirishima dropped by, Katsuki wondered if he should offer him a job at the clinic. He was there all the freaking time, anyway. Maybe he should make himself useful instead of barging into the place frequently and wasting everyone’s time (and his money) on fake feline illnesses.
He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t given it a long, hard thought, but he concluded that it would be a pain in the ass to have Kirishima around all the time.
Not that he was truly, truly irritating. No.
It was just. Well. Katsuki found it harder and harder to breathe every time the idiot was around.
One time, Kirishima was in such a frenzied and panicked state that he had left his house in only a tank top and his boxers.
Katsuki almost died fighting the heat that crawled up his neck.
So yeah. Having the idiot around most times would lead to bigger problems.
In the end, Katsuki handed him his business card and reminded Kirishima to call “only when there’s a real emergency.” Little did he know, that wasn't the smartest move. In came a slew of facetime calls and late night texts over trivial matters, such as Cookie “purring with a Spanish accent” or Cookie “looking like he was planning something evil.”
But eventually, it happened.
At 2:13 AM, his phone rang again. On the screen, it said “KIRISHIMA E. (Only answer if bleeding)”
Naturally, Katsuki pressed the red end call button.
Kirishima was persistent, though. He rang a few more times.
On the sixth ring, Katsuki answered with a grumbled, “What?”
“Hesnotbreathing.”
“What?”
“Cookie. He’s not— he’s not breathing.”
Kirishima himself sounded like all air had been drained from his lungs.
“Are you sure? Did you leave the catnip packet on the floor again? I swear to—”
“Bakugou, please.”
From his tone, Katsuki sensed real panic. He was already standing up and grabbing a shirt as he asked Kirishima to text him his location.
After he received it, he was in his car thirty seconds later, hoodie half-zipped and one shoe untied.
Katsuki’s knuckles were white around the steering wheel the whole way.
He didn’t even bother knocking when he arrived. The door was already open.
Kirishima was squatting on the living room floor, pale, shirtless, hair a mess, crying openly as he tried to perform the most panicked, janky form of feline CPR Katsuki had ever seen. Cookie lay limp on a small towel. His tongue was blue.
“Move,” Katsuki barked, kneeling down. “Move, move!”
Kirishima scrambled back, still clutching a trembling hand to his mouth.
Katsuki took over.
Two fingers. Compressions. Gentle breaths. One, two, breath. One, two, breathe.
Come on.
Come on.
Kirishima was sobbing behind him, babbling apologies to Cookie.
“I left the screen door open…he must’ve snuck out. I think he ate something—I was only gone a second—fuck, Cookie, I’m sorry—I’m so sorry—”
That was an issue for later. Katsuki was focused on saving the little critter.
One, two, breathe.
Please.
Fuck.
He was sweating. His own heart was threatening to stop beating.
Finally, Cookie twitched. A weak, rasping mewl. Then another breath. Shallow and shaky, but at least it was there.
“Holy shit,” Kirishima whispered.
Katsuki scooped Cookie up with practiced care, checking his vitals. Still weak. Still critical.
“Grab a towel and get in the car. We’re going to the clinic. Now.”
Kirishima didn’t even put on a shirt. Katsuki hadn’t realized it until they got in the car. He took his hoodie off and gave it to Kirishima.
“Cookie might survive, but you’re gonna die from the cold. Idiot.”
They reached the clinic in record time. It was cold and sterile in the dark and only ran on the small pin lights that lit up the signage. Katsuki didn’t bother turning on the lobby lamps. He headed straight to the back and laid Cookie on the exam table while Kirishima hovered beside him, jittering.
“Tell me everything he could’ve eaten.”
“I…don’t know…he was outside. I found him chewing on something in the grass but I didn’t see. He vomited twice so I gave him water with sugar, but he refused it. Then, he collapsed.”
Katsuki moved fast. Fluids. oxygen, activated charcoal.
It was tough trying to calm Kirishima down. It was tougher to ask him to sit down and let Katsuki do his job. Kirishima was shaking in the corner, mumbling something that sounded a lot like a prayer.
The clock was ticking, and the next thing they knew, it was five in the morning.
Katsuki was already nauseated from lack of sleep. Kirishima had grabbed him coffee from a konbini outside, but neither of them drank their cup.
All their focus was on Cookie.
They only sighed in relief at 6am, when Cookie had finally stabilized. He had stirred, weak but alive.
Katsuki looked over his shoulder then, a smile cracking the corner of his mouth, hoping to find Kirishima doing the same.
Instead, he had sunk on the floor, arms around his knees, tears on his cheeks.
Fuck. What to do?
He knew how to save lives and perform risky surgeries. What he didn’t know was how to handle a grown ass man crying on his clinic floor.
This was why he had his staff. Katsuki handled delivering the bad news, they dealt with the aftermath, the part where you comfort the pet owners.
Still. He wasn’t a complete asshole. He crouched down next to Kirishima, slowly and hesitantly reached for him — bringing his hand forward and pulling it back several times before he finally settled on patting Kirishima’s shoulder three times. “Sshhh. There… there… there?”
“Cookie’s fine now.”
Kirishima blinked up. “You sure?”
“Yeah. He’s as hard headed as his owner, though. Gave me a hell of a time. Jesus.”
Kirishima let out a broken laugh and immediately started crying harder.
He slumped forward and cried on Katsuki’s chest.
Taken aback, Katsuki almost stumbled back from Kirishima’s weight. His arms hovered, caught between wanting to wrap it around Kirishima’s back and using them to steady himself.
He chose the first option, but instantly regretted it.
Kirishima was big and he already knew that, but Katsuki might have overestimated his own strength. In his failed attempt to comfort Kirishima by giving him a fucking hug, his back gave out and he came crashing down on the floor with Kirishima lying on top of him.
Kirishima let out a startled “oh shit” when they hit the floor, while Katsuki groaned “get off me” against his collarbone.
“I’m trying,” Kirishima answered. He scrambled, but the weird tangle of limbs they had fallen into was hard to get out of. Somehow, Katsuki ended up with a face full of Kirishima’s hair and one arm pinned between their chests.
He finally managed to shove Kirishima off just enough to sit up. Kirishima followed, flushed and sweaty.
“You saved Cookie,” Kirishima finally said, killing the uncomfortable silence that followed. “You’re amazing.”
“Yeah, I know,” Katsuki deadpanned. “Please shut up.”
“That was freaking scary.” Kirishima straightened his back and leaned against the wall. Katsuki did the same, sitting next to him with their knees touching. "Crap. I never wanna go through that again."
He slid down and, to Katsuki's surprise, rested his head on Katsuki's shoulder. His trembles had lessened now, but his voice croaked when he spoke. Katsuki held his breath for a moment and closed his eyes before deciding to tilt his head sideways so his head was resting against Kirishima's. "I know, but he's okay now. He's with Japan's finest." He smirked, and he knew Kirishima couldn't see it, but he hoped that it was felt through his voice.
"Yeah." Kirishima's chest heaved. Katsuki's eyes were trained on the hand resting on Kirishima's knee, right next to his hand. It would be easy to reach for it and run calming circles around Kirishima's palm, but he was sure that holding your distressed client's hand was not recommended by the JVMA rules of conduct.
"Bakugou?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm hungry."
"Well do I gotta feed you too, now?" He chuffed. "I've got tuna, salmon, chicken… beef, Hmmm. What else? Pumpkin? What flavor do you want?"
Kirishima glanced at him. "Flavor what?"
"Depends."
"On?"
"If you prefer cat food or dog food. We've also got a couple bird seeds here somewhere."
Furrowing his eyebrows and pouting his lips, Kirishima sat up and shoved Katsuki. "You're such a dick."
Katsuki laughed. "They do say that about me a lot. Besides, I have been up since 2am."
"Thank you," Kirishima said. "I don't know how to thank you, really."
He bit the inside of his cheek, cocking his head to think if he was supposed to say it. On one hand, he felt like it was deserved. On the other, maybe it was too much –too much to ask for, too much expectation. His head said screw it. It wasn't a big deal.
"How `bout starting with breakfast?"
A grin broke out of Kirishima's face. "That'll be awesome!"
Katsuki himself felt like smiling, though two things did stop him from doing so: one, he would look deranged and far too excited, and two, Kirishima's face had immediately turned sour.
"Fine." Katsuki scoffed. "I was just fucking asking."
The wrinkled expression that set Kirishima's eyes to drown in a sea of suffering was gone in an instant. His eyes widened as if Katsuki had shaken him awake. "Ha?"
"I'm not forcing you to have breakfast. You can go home now."
"What are you– no. It's just that-" Kirishima's fingers found the back of his ear and tugged his lobe thereafter. His mouth was twisted. "I'm just– shit. Sorry, I really wanna take you out for breakfast, but-" He looked down on himself before glancing at Katsuki.
The source of Kirishima's hesitation became clear then. He was still in his boxers of pink hearts and yellow stars, mismatched slippers, and Katsuki's jacket half-zipped, with his left nipple making a surprise appearance.
"God." Katsuki clutched his chest. He was going to lose it. "You look fucking homeless." Lose it, he did. His chest ached in the best way when he let out what could only be described as an incongruous and over-the-top laughter.
"It was an emergency!"
Katsuki himself had been scatterbrained and harried that he was not able to take Kirishima's appearance into consideration.
"Like you're any better." Kirishima pouted.
"What's wrong with me?"
Whatever troubled Kirishima before was gone now, replaced by a swellheaded smirk. "You're wearing Jordans."
"So?"
"With a Flareon pattern pajama."
"Well, I'm sorry I didn't take the fucking time to put on a tuxedo. I was too busy trying to save your dying cat!"
"Yeah, I get that." He puffed his chest. "But Flareon? Really?"
Somehow, that was enough to tip Katsuki over the edge. "The hell's wrong with Flareon?"
"It's the least functional fire type! It doesn't even have a good move set!"
"It's made of fire. Fire! That's enough!"
"Yeah. Fire and cuddles." Kirishima chortled.
"Oh yeah?" Katsuki raised an eyebrow. "What's your favorite pokemon, then?"
"Well." The smile on Kirishima's lips was stupid. "Garchomp. Big, strong, badass."
Katsuki rolled his eyes. "Doesn't fly, looks fucking stupid with its ass plane wings. It looks like some kid mixed six different Pokemon parts and thought it was cool."
"You can have Charizard, Arcanine, Blaziken, and you chose the one that looks like a plush toy from Etsy?"
"Garchomp has a star on its fucking nose!"
Kirishima opened his mouth, probably to say another dumb thing that Katsuki could easily refute, but before he was able to say anything, the monster inside his stomach cried in protest.
"How do we do this?" he asked.
"Do what?"
"Breakfast."
"I don't know about you, but I look fucking awesome. I can eat anywhere."
Kirishima squinted. "Pokemon pjs and a pair of Jordans?"
"I pull it off." He shrugged. "People will turn you away when they see you." Katsuki was lying.
Looking down to study himself again, Kirishima answered with a soft, "yeah." He bit his lower lip. "And I just realized I left my wallet at home." He gave Katsuki an embarrassed smile. "But I've got an idea. Hope you're… uhm… open to it."
For a moment, Katsuki pursed his lips, but answered, "Sure. What the heck."
Kirishima's idea, Katsuki found out, was to take Katsuki back to his place. "I need to grab some cash too, or else I won’t be able to pay you," he said.
They drove back to Kirishima’s house in their heart patterned boxers and Flareon pajamas, mismatched shoes and Jordans, one without a shirt and one wearing a twelve year old top that’s too tattered to be seen in public.
Now without the dreadful air of whether or not Cookie would live, Katsuki was able to properly observe the place. He wandered inside and spotted a photo of Kirishima smiling next to a boy who looked much like him, but younger and with black hair. Kirishima had gone upstairs to grab his wallet, and Katsuki took advantage of his absence by staring at the photo a tad too long.
“Oh, hi. That’s my brother.” Kirishima came back down with a wallet in hand and a change of clothes. His hair was combed back and tied to a half-bun. “I adopted Cookie after he moved out. The house felt too quiet without him here.”
“Mmmhmm.” Katsuki nodded, still looking at the photo. “Figures.”
“What does that mean?”
Katsuki took a sharp turn to look at Kirishima. “You don’t seem like the type of person who thrived in living alone.”
“I don’t know if you’re insulting me or…”
He made a noncommittal gesture. “Up for interpretation.”
“And you?” Kirishima’s face was neutral, but Katsuki sensed mischief behind his eyes. “I take it you’re an only child?”
“Yeah, and so?”
“Nothing. It’s just easy to tell.”
Katsuki narrowed his eyes, Kirishima wore a shit eating grin.
“Just pay up so I can leave,” he said.
“No,” answered Kirishima. “I owe you breakfast.”
Kirishima cooked enough food to feed a family of five. The scent of broth and roasted garlic filled the air, making Katsuki’s stomach gurgle in protest at the delay in feeding it. Kirishima chopped the garlic a little too fine, but Katsuki kept the comment to himself. He was content sitting at the counter and watching Kirishima work like he didn’t need sleep.
He laid a giant bowl of miso ramen on the table, a plate of karaage, a piping serving of fried rice, and a stack of too-runny eggs.
As Katsuki guessed, Kirishima was the type to never shut up, even with mouthfuls of food, though they never strayed away from safe subjects. Nothing too personal, nothing that revealed too much.
Kirishima told him that he was trying to look for the perfect cat tower for Cookie, Katsuki had said that he could place an order for him from a supplier he trusted. They moved on from that and talked about the personnel at Katsuki's clinic – Kirishima revealed that he found one of the groomers funny. Katsuki answered that he was equally befuddling, if not more interesting, and that the clinic had an ongoing bet as to what kind of emergency Kirishima would come up with next.
To that, Kirishima's face shifted again. He was sheepish and embarrassed, but the sullen color his eyes took made Katsuki want to stick a fork down his throat for even saying that. Why did he always have to be so brash?
"But you did the right thing calling me this time."
"Sorry you had to wake up in the middle of the night."
"It was technically morning."
Kirishima slowly smiled, amused. "You never let anyone win, do you?"
"Why should I?"
"Amazing." It didn't sound like praise.
Kirishima paused mid-bite, setting his chopsticks down as he leaned back in his chair. One elbow rested casually on the backrest, and his smile was slow and a little lopsided. It crept in and settled into Katsuki from the tips of his toes to the strands of his hair.
Finally, the idiot had forgotten the night before. His face was calm now and there were no visible signs of tension in his muscles.
Katsuki found himself smiling, too.
It was very, very humid all of a sudden. Katsuki took a few sips of water and focused on the last few bites of his food, questioning why in that instance, it was important for him to see that fucking smile.
Kirishima placed the last piece of karaage on Katsuki’s place. “For the only child.”
He shot Kirishima a look, but ate the piece anyway before he grabbed a napkin, wiped his mouth with it, and finished the now only half-full glass of water.
“Hate to dine and dash, but it’s way past eight. We’d be opening soon, and—”
“Got it,” Kirishima said. “You got lives to save.”
“Right.”
“Well…”
“Well?”
Katsuki stood up. Kirishima did, too.
“Well, I’m glad Cookie was one of them.”
“Lil bastard’s got nine lives.” Katsuki smirked.
They walked towards the front door, and Kirishima handed him his shoes, even watched as he put them on.
“So…”
“So…”
“Yeah, I gotta-”
Kirishima’s lips thinned to a line and he smacked them together, the sound of it filling the house and cutting through the thick tightness spreading throughout the space.
He followed Katsuki out to the curb and walked him to his car.
“This is me,” said Katsuki.
“This is you.”
“Uh huh.”
“Thanks for- yeah. Thank you, again.”
Katsuki nodded. “Thanks for breakfast.”
The car’s alarm blared when he tried opening the door, startling Kirishima.
Bakugou Katsuki had an IQ of 141, but somehow he lost the ability to turn the damn thing off.
Wincing as he fumbled, it took him close to a minute before he fished the key out of his pocket —dropping it to the ground once, and slipping off his hand for a second time— to turn off the successive screeching and beeping noises.
He looked back only once as he got in the car, nodding at Kirishima who waved him goodbye from the sidewalk.
As soon as he got out of Kirishima’s street and out of the idiot’s view, he puffed out all the air that had accumulated from his lungs, schooling his heartbeat to steady.
The drive to the clinic was tranquil now that he was alone with his thoughts. Before pulling to the clinic’s driveway, an upsurge of realization hit him, abrupt and painful—
The motherfucker forgot to pay him.
***
Cookie was discharged after forty eight hours. He gave Kirishima a list of post-recovery care instructions and a stern warning.
“Don’t leave him unsupervised.”
He crouched down and patted Cookie’s head. The kitten meowed softly under his touch and Katsuki liked to imagine that the critter was thanking him.
“Don’t worry, I won’t. I already filed my PTO and am gonna be staying by Cookie’s side until he’s fully recovered.”
Katsuki hummed and glanced at Kirishima. “I was actually talking to Cookie.” He turned his eyes back to the cat, cooing. “You’re good, lil fella. Just don’t let your owner wander out the door and he’ll be okay. Don’t let him pee on the bed, okay, Cookie?”
His eyes were trained on the kitten, but Kirishima heaved so hard that his breath was felt all over the clinic. “Ha ha, that’s really funny, Flareon.”
Standing up, Katsuki simpered. “Whatever you say, Heart Boxers.”
Barely concealed giggles and whispers sounded from the back of the reception hall. Kirishima's ears and nose turned red and he began stammering.
Of course, Katsuki was an ass and he knew that Kirishima was aware of it. "Two times," he said.
"Two times what?"
"You've gone to this clinic two times in only your boxers."
He didn't know what to call the kind of sound that came out of Kirishima's mouth after that. He was sputtering and squealing at the same time. Finally, his over-the-top voice managed to break out, "Why are you obsessed with my boxers?"
His staff oooohhed from the back. Heat crawled up Katsuki's neck. "Shut up."
No one talked after. They stood in front of everyone, cheeks burning and lips wobbling. Kirishima adjusted the strap of his bag. Katsuki began looking at the ceiling. One of the clinic staff coughed. The others pretended to do something else.
It stretched for a lifetime and only did they say their goodbyes when another client walked in. He watched the bell above the door jingle as Kirishima shut it behind him.
“That was… interesting,” said his secretary.
“Shut it.”
“Should we get Flareon-printed scrubs for everyone? Or do you prefer hearts now?”
“I will fire all of you.”
She laughed as Katsuki retreated to his office, shaking his head, ears tinged pink.
***
It had been two and a half weeks since Cookie's last emergency. Katsuki's heart thrashed against his chest each time the bell above the door chimed, but it was always a dog suffering from ticks, or a parrot that had gone lethargic.
There were no possessed cats nor frantic owners, just a quiet stream of the usual clientele and a surprising amount of time to drink hot coffee while it was still hot.
Too much time, in fact.
Katsuki would never admit to checking the clinic’s front desk logs at the end of each day—twice. Once for record-keeping. Once to confirm that no red-haired dumbass had slipped by unnoticed.
He told himself he didn’t care. Really. He didn’t.
Except when he did.
Katsuki had just finished suturing a minor paw laceration on a golden retriever when the familiar panicked voice came rushing. He may be spending too much time with animals, because at the sound of that voice, he imagined his tail wagging.
In a futile attempt to not seem too excited, he frowned before walking out to the front.
"What is it this time?"
"Hello, Mr. Kirishima. You have been–" his receptionist sneaked him a look, then looked back at Kirishima, "sorely missed. Is Cookie okay?"
Kirishima shook his head and clutched his chest. "Heavy breathing. Heart rate going insane. Can't eat, can't do anything else. Can't sleep at night."
A surge of hysteria ran down from Katsuki's head down to his spine. "Where is he?"
"Home," Kirishima answered. His fingers tightened around his chest.
"Then why the fuck did you not bring him here, idiot?" The fuck was going on with this shit?
An exaggerated breath left Kirishima's lips. "Not gonna make it." He stuttered.
"What the hell is going on, Shitty Hair?"
"Fainting." He inhaled sharply, one hand clinging to the reception counter. "Bakugou…"
"What?
"I can't take it anymore."
"Huh?"
"I can't stop thinking about you. My brain and my heart stopped working and I can't do anything else."
"Oh my god," the receptionist groaned. "Oh my god!" she repeated.
"What?" Katsuki gritted his teeth.
"I need you to check my vitals," said Kirishima. "I am so not fine."
Katsuki blinked.
Then blinked again.
Muffled gasps, very unprofessional snickering, and smiling clients were all Katsuki noticed. This felt like a fever dream–an anxiety fueled hallucination where one of your clients suddenly confessed their undying affection in front of the entire goddamn clinic.
He looked down at his hands and clenched it.
Nah. This was real life.
He groaned and scrubbed a hand down his face. "What the fuck, Kirishima?"
Kirishima beamed at him. "I'm serious, doc."
He whisper-yelled, as if that would help lessen the embarrassing moment he found himself in. "Do you always have to be this dramatic?"
Kirishima's smile did not falter. "I wanted to grab your attention."
"Then fucking text or call me. Don't fucking barge in here in front of everyone!"
Raising a finger, Kirishima appeared to want to say something, but he lowered it again and closed his mouth. He looked around, then back to Katsuki. "Yeah, sorry." He scratched the back of his neck.
"I've got work to do!"
"Good for you," Kirishima said. "I haven't been able to get any work done. Because you're so…"
"How is it my fucking fault?"
"I can't stop thinking about you! It's been torture, man! So I had to do something!"
Katsuki opened his mouth. Closed it again. Opened it once more, not entirely sure what the fuck was about to come out.
“I thought you were having a fucking heart attack.”
“I was. Metaphorically.”
Katsuki glared.
Kirishima took a step closer. “Look, I’m not asking for anything crazy. Just maybe… breakfast again? Something without pet CPR this time. Or catnip overdoses. Or– I don’t know– exorcisms.” He tried to smile. It was nervous and hopeful and a little crooked.
Katsuki stared at him for a long, heavy beat. "Fucking fine."
Like a goddamn puppy, Kirishima's eyes lit up. "That's a yes?"
He scrubbed his face again and mouthed sorry to a middle aged woman in a pink track suit, holding her pomeranian and waiting for their turn to be checked. "Yes, it's a fucking yes."
"Yes!" Kirishima pumped his fist in the air. "Thank you! And sorry for barging in on your work day like this! Yes!" He skipped forward and grabbed the receptionist's face. "He said yes!"
"He did," she said.
"Thank you!" he kissed the top of her head before letting go, leaving her looking around all confused.
"I'll text you!" he said, bouncing and skipping on his way to the door. He patted the pomeranian's head and beamed at the woman holding it.
"Quit disrupting my work, idiot, or I will neuter you!"
"Yeah, sorry!" Kirishima hovered by the door, looking over his back and waving at everyone.
"Tomorrow, seven am. Wear proper clothes!"
"No promises," Kirishima said. "I'll call you later!"
Katsuki threw a cat treat at him. Hard.
Kirishima ducked, laughing as he walked out the door.