Chapter Text
The cat was hurting.
Eijirou was pressed against the rough tatami mats of the old abandoned house, his eyes watering from the smell of rot and dust. He shifted on the floor, making sure his body still blocked the gap between the door panels, then reached behind himself for the capture lead.
The light behind him wavered.
He sucked in a breath. “Dude, focus.”
“Sorry, sorry,” the blond behind him muttered. He shifted, allowing more light from his headlamp to flood the room. Then the cameraman knocked Eijirou’s leg with his knee, like he was trying to push him farther into the room and out of the shot.
Eijirou rolled his eyes and shoved down a flash of annoyance before it could gain teeth.
Kaminari was probably just trying to keep his balance on the rotted floor, but that would be cold comfort if Eijirou got scratched all to hell and lost one very sick stray. Kaminari was never the one doing the catching, so he never really cared.
“See anything, De?” Eijirou asked, scanning the room they had managed to corral him into.
“Yeah. There.”
Eijirou peered in the vague direction Kaminari had pointed. At first, he couldn’t see much, even after scanning the good hiding spots: cramped corners, shadowed gaps, places where a scared cat would feel safe.
Then the shadows shifted.
A small, anxious movement. A frightened body trying very hard to find an exit.
The cat was tucked under an old wooden chest in the far closet. It had pressed itself as far back against the wall as it could go, hunched in on itself, back arched and ears flat against its head. Its eyes were narrow slits, green glow flashing as it scanned the room in a panic.
“There you are, my pretty boy,” Eijirou breathed.
At the sound, the stray made one quick movement, trying to flee from his hiding place. He made it a mere foot before he stopped with a stifled growl of pain, one paw held close to his chest. The paw was mangled, likely from some kind of hunting trap he had managed to tear himself out of.
“Easy, buddy. We’re here to help.”
With a hiss, he dropped low to the ground, dust stirring around him with every panting breath. His short tail thrashed, his eyes swiveling around looking to bolt again.
Eijirou moved slowly, crouching into what Kaminari had lovingly called his “crab scuttle.” Slow, deliberate movements and soothing noises were all he had to keep the rescue focused on him instead of the lead slowly inching toward it.
“That looks like it hurts. Can I get you to stand still just for a second?” His voice softened, turning melodic and sweet.
The answer came as a warbling cry of his own, and Eijirou could feel the fear and uncertainty vibrate through the space. It wasn’t sure who he was, but this was clearly a Cool Cats Only Club, and the big clumsy one needed to leave. Now.
Eijirou paused the lead and looked back at his helper.
“Toss it a treat, man. We need some more trust with this one.”
With practiced ease, Kaminari balanced the camera and reached for his pouch. Out came a chunk of tuna from a cheap convenience-store sushi platter. He made an underhand toss, getting the fish as close to the stray as he could.
“Do you think it’s feral?”
“No, it’s just a stray.” Eijirou kept his voice low, though tension threaded through it as he watched him inspect the tuna. He knew the talking was for the camera, but he hated it mid-action. There were already too many ways to scare a hurt animal off, and Kaminari’s argument that “live commentary felt more natural” had never once made Eijirou less nervous. “It’s just scared and in pain. The people said he’s been living here since his family left.”
“Poor thing. I can’t believe they would leave him behind.”
“Humans suck.”
Green eyes locked on Eijirou, and he breathed a sigh of relief as he watched the tuna vanish.
It wasn’t much, but the food might let him inch the lead closer.
The neck was too easy to hurt. Around the middle was safer, if he could get the angle right.
It would have to be quick.
The little bastard was thinking.
“Throw him another,” Eijirou whispered. “Don’t move too much, but get it closer.”
The next chunk of fish flopped just a smidge closer, just a single pawstep away. The cat paused, his eyes darting briefly from Eijirou’s face to the food.
“It’s okay, buddy. I know you’ve been alone for a while, but I promise, if you trust me even a little, we’ll make it all right.”
The words settled strangely in his mouth, heavier than they should have been. Eijirou pushed the sensation away. Promises always felt like that, if you really meant them.
Ears flickered, clearly trying to understand him.
Eijirou moved the lead into position around the fish and glanced up. Kaminari was already holding the net, the camera hooked onto his little POV-style chest piece.
For one breath, the world narrowed to the lead, the tuna, and the shadowed creature deciding whether to trust him. Then it caved and stepped towards the fish, placing just its upper body over the lead.
Lightning fast, Eijirou slipped the rope lightly around the stray’s midsection and tightened it just enough to pull him forward.
The cat hissed, deeply offended by the sudden and inevitable betrayal. It scrambled backward, but Kaminari was already moving. The net dropped over him a second later.
Eijirou grabbed the crate while Kaminari danced around the flashing claws, maneuvering behind the frightened creature with a grin that said he loved this part way too much. Eijirou nodded, and they pushed forward together, easing the stray back until Eijirou could shove him inside and slam the door.
The crate started to thump and jerk against his grip almost immediately as the captive ball of fury raged against its sudden containment, but he knew it would only last a second. Even as he thought that, he felt the cage still. Soon, the stray lay panting in defeat, the hurt paw dangling out through the bars.
Gingerly, Eijirou lifted the hurt paw and looked it over. The skin around it was puffy and infected, but the cut itself was too clean for a trap. Too neat for the damage around it, with pus oozing under gentle pressure.
Whatever had happened, it was bad.
“Good catch Riot,” Kaminari said as he ducked down to eye their newest team member, who was meowing pitifully. His face lit up with a smile. “Oh man, he’s beautiful.”
Kaminari reached out to offer a friendly pet.
With no hesitation, their new friend reached out and swatted him.
Kaminari hissed and whipped his hand back. “And quick too.”
“Did he get you?” Eijirou asked, stepping out of the house into the afternoon sun.
“Yeah.” Kaminari flexed his hand as a line of red started to appear. He didn’t seem particularly bothered, but then again, he rarely was.
“Good. Maybe that’ll teach you not to be handsy.” Eijirou shifted the crate onto his hip and headed toward the van.
The old rescue van was many things: big enough to hold everything the rescue needed, sturdy enough to survive mountain roads, and blessedly easy to hose down after whatever disasters cats created. It was so reliable that Eijirou could probably remove the engine, put it back together backward, reinstall it in the dark, fill the gas tank with Nutella, and it would still start right up when he turned the key.
Still, the paint needed a touch-up at the very least. In the light of day, one could tell the silhouette of the lounging two-tailed cat was fading, and the “C” in Cat-astrophe Rescue was looking a little worse for wear.
“We need to budget for a new paint job,” he noted, opening the van door and placing the crate inside the front seat, to a renewed round of protest.
“Sure,” Kaminari said, shoving the catch lead and net into storage in the back. “I’m sure Sero will be happy to try to do that.”
Eijirou winced.
Sero, their long-suffering accountant, already performed miracles with the budget. If he knew they were out here spending company funds on another rescue, their phones would not be this quiet.
Eijirou thanked whatever god kept that secret, cinched the cage in place, and patted it.
“Right. Sero will be thrilled. We got him and enough footage to make a good video.”
“Thrilled until he gets the bill for the vet.” Kaminari chuckled when Eijirou shot him a look. “I saw your face in the house.” Kaminari tossed the rest of his gear in the truck and popped into the driver’s seat. “And how are we going to pay the vet, Kirishima?” he asked, crossing his arms and pulling a face that was supposed to be Sero’s bedraggled expression. “I.O.U.s?”
Eijirou turned toward his motorcycle and tossed on his riding jacket, trying to hide his chuckle with the rattle of chains. “Nice impression. Don’t let him catch you doing that.”
“I can handle myself. But seriously. We don’t have a voucher. How are we going to get him looked at?”
“We’ll figure something out,” Eijirou said as he jammed the helmet onto his head and flicked on the comms. “Let’s go.”
——
The mountain road gave him too much time to think.
Rescues were never ideal, but this one was worse than bad.
The house had been in a dying village tucked deep in the mountains, the kind the government liked to bemoan when it talked about falling birth rates. No one from the city came out this way unless they were born here, lost, or in the middle of a return-to-nature midlife crisis.
It was the kind of place where yokai seemed possible and cults could set up shop without anyone noticing.
Which meant no one had called Eijirou until the limp got bad enough to notice.
The older couple down the road had spotted the creature creeping into their yard to eat from the trash. They had tried to catch it, but in the end, they couldn’t manage it. Not until the limp. Not until the wound. Not until he had already been alone for almost a year.
As the only rescue in the city willing to haul ass into the rural parts of the prefecture, there had been no question if they would take it.
It boggled his mind how careless humans could be, and he didn’t mean the older couple. The owners had just gotten up and moved, leaving their pet behind like a broken chair they didn’t want to haul down the mountain.
The abandonment was too clean, though he couldn’t have said why. No old food bowls. No forgotten toys. No torn collar under the furniture. Just one hurt cat and a house emptied of every softer thing that should have been left behind.
Maybe moving with a cat had been expensive. Maybe it had forced an ugly choice. But someone had taken the time to erase all the evidence that he had ever belonged there.
Anger flared hot enough that Eijirou had to bite down on it before it came through the mic.
Losing his temper had never felt safe. Some buried instinct had always warned him that letting it loose would end badly.
So he focused on the road. On the turn of the mountain beneath his tires. On the static crackling in his helmet. On the fact that the nearest city vet was an hour away and the cat did not have an hour.
“He’s thrown up again.” Kaminari’s normally lackadaisical voice was grim, pitiful mewing crackling through the comms behind him. “Oh, damn it. He’s shaking and shivering. Riot, we might need to get creative here.”
Eijirou’s grip tightened around the handlebars.
“His paw is probably infected. Gods know what he’s picked up drinking out of puddles, and he’s probably half starved.”
He pulled over, pulled out his phone, and punched at the screen. “All right. We gotta change course.”
“Roger. Where to?”
The map flickered as the internet strained and chugged. Eijirou held himself very still as he stared. There had to be a country veterinarian somewhere around here. A farm vet. A retired vet. A half-mad old man in a shed with a jar of antibiotics and enough spite to fight death barehanded.
He would take anything.
Finally, a marker flickered into existence: no pictures, no website, no reviews, not even a real clinic name. Just “Vet clinic” and “Dr. Bakugou K.”
Eijirou stared at it. That was not a great sign. It meant either the doctor was so behind the times he still thought the internet was roughly tube-shaped, he was practicing on a bad or nonexistent license, or this was some kind of front for less than reputable activities.
Still, it was closer, and closer was everything.
“Found one. It’s a little out of our way, but it’s closer by half an hour. I’ll go ahead and scout it out.”
“Riot,” Kaminari said, and for once there was no joke in it. “I know you’re gonna do what you’re gonna do, but at least let me keep eyes on you. We don’t know what you’re walking into.”
“Look, if I get there quick enough and figure out whether it’s the real deal, I can redirect you if I need to.” He tapped the directions button and revved up.
——
Eijirou took the turn into the clinic too fast, spraying gravel behind him as he skidded to a halt. Dropping the kickstand, he didn’t even bother turning off the bike before dismounting. He reached back, flicked the key off, and started for the door at a near run.
Kaminari was only a few minutes behind him. Eijirou had to be sure this was safe before the cat arrived.
Any other day, he would have stopped to admire the place.
Today, all he saw was a door he needed open.
The clinic was a pretty little Western-style house that had been converted at some point, all wisteria, stained glass, and picture-book charm. On a calmer afternoon, he might have expected a loyal dog on the porch and a flickering lantern in the window.
Tucking his bright red helmet under his arm, he shouldered the entrance open.
The waiting room looked like it belonged in the same nursery book as the exterior: dark wood floors waxed to a mirror shine, watercolor animals on the walls, expensive chairs tucked near stained-glass windows, and an old reception desk with brass corner caps tying everything together. It should have been calming.
Under the circumstances, it made him feel loud, frantic, and already late.
No one sat at the reception desk, though a few manila folders sprawled across it beside a half-eaten rice ball and a small brass bell. Eijirou hit the bell once and waited.
Nothing.
The silence scraped at him.
Leaning over the counter, he checked for lights in the back. Through the exam room door, he saw a tiled room with a stainless steel examination table. The lights were on, and the room had already been set for work.
Good.
A room meant tools. Tools meant help. Help meant maybe, maybe, the cat got another chance.
He glanced at the clock. Kaminari would be here any second, and Eijirou wanted as much of a head start as possible.
He breathed in, raised his voice, and stepped toward the door to the back. “Excuse me, is anyone here?”
A yelp and a shuffle confirmed his suspicions.
Someone was back there.
He took another step forward and around the desk and pushed open the door behind it. It caught for a second on something, so he pushed harder.
Smoke puffed out from the crack warm and oddly sweet, like singed leaves and old incense. When it cleared, his way was barred by a short, anxious-looking man. Freckles were splashed across his face, and a mop of messy green hair made him seem a little young for the blue-green scrubs he wore.
For half a second, Eijirou’s brain snagged on the smoke.
Then the thought vanished under the weight of the animal dying in Kaminari’s van.
“H-hello!” the man said, green eyes glancing around, clearly confused by the lack of animals. “How can I-I help you?”
Only then did Eijirou realize what this looked like.
This was a mountain village veterinarian clinic, most likely used by older farmers and their cows more than anything else. The biggest surprise they probably got was the occasional wildlife rescue from the national forest every few months.
So when a man in a biker jacket, with wild red hair made worse by the helmet and the rain, barges into their common area without an animal and tries to enter works spaces?
Well. He could guess why the worried little guy looked like he was desperately trying to write his last will in his head.
“Hey, sorry to bother you,” Eijirou said, taking a step back to show he wasn’t trying anything funny. “My name is Kirishima Eijirou. I, uh… I rescue cats for a living. We just found one, and it’s pretty bad. We didn’t want to risk heading into the city, so we were wondering if you had the ability to help?”
That was half true.
The city was nearly half an hour farther, but he also knew the clinic down there wouldn’t let him add to his tab. Not again. Not without payment up front and one of those sweet receptionist lectures that made him feel like a kicked dog in a waiting room.
He could probably start paying here and get around to them later.
Maybe.
If the cat lived long enough for that to matter.
“O-oh, uh, yes, of course!” The man smiled, twisting his hands slightly as if he was still nervous but calming down nonetheless. “Wh-where is the little one?”
“He’s coming behind me in a van. Are you the doctor?”
“No, I’m, uh… Midoriya Izuku. The help. The doctor will be back from lunch soon.” Midoriya’s green eyes finally lifted, and he straightened as if he had found his groove. “What’s wrong with him?”
As Eijirou listed off the symptoms, Midoriya nodded and bustled into the back. It was clear he was already going through the process in his head, muttering under his breath as he pulled out tubes and needles.
When Eijirou finished, they heard Kaminari pulling into the drive.
“We’ll need to start supportive care until the doctor gets back. Do you know how to give subcutaneous fluids?”
“Yes.”
“Good. We’ll nee—”
The bell on the front door jingled, signaling the arrival of the patient.
Eijirou nodded quickly before looking back and raising his voice. “Back here, Kaminari.”
The blond burst through the door, eyes wide and his normally cheerful attitude gone. Worry had replaced it, grim and drawn. “Riot, you didn’t hear me texting?”
“No? What?”
“He stopped breathing!”
The room snapped into motion.
Kaminari rushed through the open exam room door and shoved the crate onto the table. Midoriya reached for gloves and tubing as he followed behind. Eijirou had the crate door open before he remembered deciding to move.
“How long?”
“A minute, maybe more? He was yowling most of the way in, but when I took him out—”
“Shit.”
Eijirou pulled the cat from the crate and laid him on the table. He ran a hand along the cat’s side, found the place where the heartbeat should have been, and pressed his ear down.
Nothing.
The cat did not have much time.
“Midoriya, oxygen if you have it. Anything you use to restart a heart. Kaminari and I can handle CPR.”
“Yes.” Midoriya turned and bolted toward the back.
It was disgusting, dangerous, and not something Eijirou wanted Kaminari’s camera anywhere near, but the cat was not breathing. It probably wouldn’t even work. If it kept him from slipping any farther toward death, Eijirou would take it.
He lifted the cat’s muzzle to clear the airway, and the smell almost made him pass out. Acrid vomit laced with the sour stink of deep rot. He braced, steadied himself, and sealed his mouth over the cat’s muzzle while Kaminari counted compressions beside him.
Eijirou pushed his breath in and felt that tiny chest rise. Behind him, an oxygen tank clattered into place. Midoriya lifted one thin leg, found a vein, and slid a needle in with shaking, careful hands. Kaminari pressed down twice, counting under his breath.
The air pushed back out, but in a tepid release rather than a true breath of life.
Gagging a little, Eijirou steeled himself and breathed again and this time he could have sworn the little body sucked in.
Pulling back, he stared at it and muttered softly, “Come on. Breathe for me. You can’t let this beat you. We need to find you a good home to grow fat in and sleep in the sun. You can’t give up now.”
Eijirou swore he saw one ear twitch in the moment before he dove back in, but the next breath pulled against his mouth. He pulled back again and Kaminari went to push down but stopped when the pile of fur gave a noise.
A low, grumpy meow.
Breathy and soft, but there.
“He’s breathing!” Eijirou cheered, jumping up.
Kaminari looked down and let out a choked, relieved laugh, when he saw the fuzzy chest rising and falling. Eijirou grabbed his shoulder before he could do something stupid like cry over a cat he had known for three hours.
They only stopped when someone cleared their throat.
A man stood in the doorway, already snapping on a pair of gloves. The veterinarian, Eijirou assumed. He was just a little taller than Eijirou, but the way he stood made him seem to fill the area around him.
Fierce was the only word Eijirou’s brain managed.
Messy blond hair spiked in every direction, as if he had just rolled out of bed. Beneath it, two bright red eyes narrowed, taking in the room with one ruthless sweep: the cat, the table, Midoriya’s supplies, Kaminari’s hands, Eijirou’s position near the patient.
The man saw everything, and somehow, in the space of a breath, the whole room settled around him like it had been waiting for instructions.
Oh, Eijirou thought, stupidly. That’s manly as hell.
Unfortunately, the rest of him caught up a second later, noticed the hard line of his jaw, the smirk, and the red stare, and reminded him that he smelled like rotten cat breath.
“Thrilled the patient’s alive,” the vet said. “Less thrilled you’re in my way. He’s not out of the woods yet.”
He crossed the room fast, every movement sharp enough to cut.
“And I’d appreciate it if you clowns got out of my exam room.”
The vet’s voice was curt and businesslike, and irritation sparked hot in Eijirou’s chest before those hands stopped it cold: already barking orders at Midoriya, already checking the cat for injuries, firm without being careless or rough.
Eijirou could forgive a lot for someone who treated a hurt animal like that.
The fact that this particular asshole also looked like he could win a fight with a mountain spirit was beside the point.
Mostly.
Eijirou had worked with worse doctors. He could handle a bad bedside manner or two.
Kaminari didn’t catch himself. Eijirou saw his friend stiffen and start to open his mouth. Gripping hand on Kaminari’s shoulder, Eijirou steered him out.
“Thank you, doctor,” he shot back over his shoulder, trying not to let his friend speak. “Please tell us if you need anything.”
“Unlikely.”
Eijirou shut the door behind them.
“What an asshole,” Kaminari said when they were alone.
“Yeah, but he’s the asshole who’s gonna help.”
“You’re just saying that because he’s hot.”
Eijirou opened his mouth, shut it, then frowned at the closed exam room door like it had personally betrayed him.
“I am saying it because he knew what he was doing.”
Kaminari stared at him.
“And,” Eijirou admitted, “because he’s hot.”
——
A few hours later, the two of them were sitting in the waiting room, both trying very hard not to glance nervously at the clock.
It had been nearly three hours.
Eijirou tapped his foot, stood, stretched, and began pacing around the room, pretending to study the knickknacks and artwork instead of wearing a hole in the floor.
“Stand down for a second, man,” Kaminari muttered, not looking up from his phone. “I’ve got the watch. The cat will be fine. They wouldn’t have been back there for so long if he wasn’t a fighter.”
“Yeah. I know.” Eijirou ran a hand through his hair, trying to ignore the old analog clock ticking too loudly on the wall.
Something about Kaminari saying it was fine to relax, made Eijirou’s exhaustion stop waiting its turn.
He had been moving for hours. Now, suddenly, his body remembered it hated him.
It was stupid to feel this wrecked over a cat he had known for less than a day. He knew that. He had done enough rescues to know better than to let every scared pair of eyes dig hooks into him.
But some did anyway.
Some scared, angry little things looked at him like they were asking him to make the world fair, and Eijirou had never learned how to tell them no.
“If you know, sit your ass down and relax. You look beat.” Kaminari leaned back. He dropped into the nearest chair, his body already relaxing despite itself. He tucked his arms in and let his chin fall forward.
He never heard the answer. His eyes slid shut.
——
The old street was slick with rain, as it always was in his dreams. The streetlights bounced off the concrete, creating a river of light flowing away from Eijirou’s little red rubber boots.
He was seven, a convenience meal clutched in one hand and a grubby coin purse in the other. He twirled his umbrella and watched the rainy city smear around him, all watercolor lights and faceless gray bodies. People passed him in a blur, jostling him forward.
He drifted with it, small and slight and half-lost in the sound of rain pounding against his umbrella.
“Outta the way, kid.”
A gruff voice called out as a bike nearly knocked him down. Pulling close to the wall, Eijirou paused to steady himself. It was too crowded, and he couldn’t really fight the crowd.
Peering around, Eijirou spotted the darker route around the park and hurried toward it. It was, technically, not a shortcut. It wound past the little kami shrine near the river instead of cutting straight home, but it was quieter than the crowd and less likely to get him run over every five minutes.
He dug the little flashlight from his backpack, clicked it on, and stepped into the dark.
At this time of night, the park was nearly empty. Only a few people were present as Eijirou wound his way past darkened bathrooms and empty benches. He tried very hard not to imagine what could be lurking in the shadows.
As he rounded a corner, his beam fell upon the park’s shrine.
He paused, the red paint catching his eye in the light.
The shrine had seen better days. It sat on a small wooded hill, tucked under an old god tree that overlooked the wide river below. It leaned like an old man who had walked too far too fast, and the place where offerings should have gone was bare.
His mother had taught him to respect the spirits, and for her, Eijirou would do anything. She was the strongest person in the world, even when she came home smelling like rain, smoke, and exhaustion.
Sometimes he stayed awake just to make sure she made it back. Sometimes he pretended not to notice how slowly she moved when she thought he was asleep.
So he tried to be easy. Quiet when she needed quiet. Brave when she looked worried. Good enough that maybe she could rest.
Shifting his bag, he pulled out his candy bar, a special treat for his latest report card, and turned it over in his hand. After a long moment, he picked his way down the path to the edge of the shrine and bowed deeply.
Then he softly laid the candy before the little kami statue.
Clasping his hands together, carefully cradling the umbrella against his shoulder, he whispered, “Please, Kami, keep Momma safe. Help her be happy. And make it so one day I can help Momma, and whoever else is in need.”
He meant it with his whole seven-year-old heart, the way kids meant things before they learned better.
The wind whipped hard, pulling his umbrella away and over the embankment past the shrine.
Without thinking, the boy raced after it, wish forgotten.
Tumbling and turning, the umbrella rolled farther away. Eijirou’s hair clung to his face as he tried to slip and slide carefully down the steep embankment, still holding his food above his head. In the growing dark and rain, it was hard to keep the umbrella in sight.
It was only when he finally got down to the bank that he could see the umbrella had stopped.
It had stopped half in the water, anchored only by its hooked handle. The handle had caught on a cardboard box that looked ready to fall into the river itself. The box rocked as the umbrella bobbed in the rising tide.
Eijirou picked his way toward it, careful of his footing in the dark. It was slow going, but when he finally managed to reach it, he could see the box was shaking more than it should.
His muddy hand grasped the handle of his prize and pulled.
The box jostled and followed the handle just a little before it, too, came loose with a wet thump. The top popped open, splashing more mud on Eijirou’s already ruined clothes.
Shaking the umbrella out, Eijirou turned to go.
Then an affronted mew caught his attention.
He turned around.
Two little red eyes glared at him from a rain-soaked face, imperious as a temple guardian and half as big as Eijirou’s hand.
“You,” the kitten said. “Hey, you. Wake up.”
——
The warmth of the waiting room faded back in as Eijirou felt someone shaking his shoulder.
“Hey. This is a doctor’s office, not a motel.”
Blinking up at the voice, Eijirou determined it belonged to the doctor with the scowl. He yawned and stretched. The man stepped back and folded his arms.
“Finally. I thought you were going to try to spend the night.”
Glancing outside, Eijirou noticed that the sun had started to set. Shadows stretched across the room like paper puppets. He stood and bowed, stifling another yawn as he did.
“I-I’m sorry. How’s the cat?”
“He’s not going anywhere for a while. At least not until we know if he’s going to lose that paw or not.” The man’s voice was brisk and no-nonsense. “We had to pump enough antibiotics into him to cure a plague hospital to get it stable. We cleaned the wound and did our best to set the paw. I still don’t know if it will keep the limb from rotting, but we’ve done our best to keep him whole.”
“I see,” Eijirou said.
That explained it. If the paw was that mangled, most doctors would have just lopped it off. It would have saved the cat’s life, but tanked his adoption opportunities.
Too many people looked at a missing limb and saw work instead of a life.
Apparently, though, there was hope. And the doctor seemed willing to try as much as he could to make the next steps easier.
Eijirou respected that.
“Thank you,” he said, bowing as low as was proper. “Seriously. I’m grateful.”
The man smirked. “I know you are, and that brings us to payment.”
With that, he handed him an invoice.
Scanning the list, Eijirou felt his stomach drop.
It wasn’t that the list was unfair. The whole thing was itemized, organized, precise, and annoyingly fair.
Which was rude, because it was also way more than they could afford.
For one bright, shameful millisecond, Eijirou considered whether he could outrun a veterinarian.
If he ran now, they might not know his name, and the cat would be in good hands. He might even get away before those sharp, smoldering red eyes could pick out his license plate.
But the cat was alive because this man had helped him, and running would leave Bakugou holding the bill for Eijirou’s promise.
Also, he would never get to see him again.
“I, uh…” Eijirou cleared his throat. “I apologize, but the volunteer business is, uh, not paying well.”
“As one would expect.” The doctor heaved a sigh. “We aren’t done treating him yet, so that’s not even the end of the bill, and you already can’t pay?”
“I’m sorry. We’re trying to raise funds, but…” He trailed off.
None of the other, better-off vet locations had cared. The excuse sounded lame, even as he sighed and finished the sentence.
“People love a miracle video after the miracle part,” he said. “They don’t usually donate while the miracle is still bleeding on the table.”
The vet frowned. “Well, not many people are buying me supplies either. I can’t make this one a freebie. We barely get walk-in work as is.”
Eijirou winced, his mind racing. He didn’t want the man to waive the fee, but with the upcoming budget audit for the city, he wasn’t able to promise anything except what he had in his back pocket.
“Well, I could, uh… help around the clinic? I’m good with my hands.”
“Oh?”
The word came out low enough that Eijirou immediately regretted every syllable he had ever said.
Heat crawled up Eijirou’s face as the doctor studied him in thoughtful appraisal. The intensity of that red stare made Eijirou’s brain trip over itself. Bakugou circled him once, not lazily, exactly. More like he was taking inventory.
Shoulders. Hands. Boots. Balance.
Eijirou had been sized up by enough rescues, contractors, and drunk men outside clubs to know when someone was deciding what he was good for. Somehow, from Bakugou, it did not feel insulting.
It felt like passing a test he had not known he was taking.
Then Bakugou stopped, apparently satisfied with whatever he had found, and began scribbling something down.
Eijirou used the excuse to study him more closely. Bakugou was all lean muscle and sharp lines, pretty in a way that promised teeth. His fingers were long and steady around the pen, the same hands that had been gentle on a dying cat and ruthless with everyone standing in his way.
That was unfair.
That was deeply, personally unfair.
Pretty, rude, and competent were all manageable separately. With Bakugou, they landed like a personal attack.
Bakugou’s eyes flicked up, catching his, and a small smile pulled at his mouth. For one terrifying second, he worried the entire thought had shown on his face.
Then Bakugou ripped the paper cleanly off his clipboard and handed it to Eijirou.
“Tell me what you think of this arrangement.”
Quirking an eyebrow, Eijirou tilted his head to read.
It was a layman’s contract. Very basic. In exchange for ongoing medical treatment of the patient, as well as services already completed, Eijirou would work with the vet’s office during his downtime. There was a clause saying he didn’t have to meet a strict minimum of hours or give up previous commitments, which sounded great right up until the part where he would be beholden until “both parties agree that all promised services are rendered.”
Eijirou glanced up to find Bakugou watching him over crossed arms, a small, dangerous smile tugging at his mouth.
Sero would kill him slowly, with itemized notes on every stupid decision that had led him here. Worse, Sero would be right.
This was vague as hell. He should ask for a copy, call Sero, and maybe find literally anyone who knew what “rendered” meant when it wasn’t being said by a hot veterinarian with terrifying eyes.
But this was also the same vet who had committed his resources to keeping a hurt cat alive without question. Bakugou had saved him and was still trying to save all of him, paw included, when most doctors would have taken the easier route.
Dangerous, he thought, burying his face back into the paper. Being around this man is dangerous, and I am apparently an idiot with a rescue complex and eyes.
“Looks good,” he said, fishing for his Seal, a basic plastic one he had gotten when he first started his ventures. “Uh. I guess I sign anywhere?”
Bakugou’s Seal was already pressed against the paper before Eijirou had fully tracked the motion. His fingers brushed his own, quick and warm.
Eijirou did not shudder, because he was a professional adult man signing a professional adult agreement.
He did, however, briefly forget how lungs worked.
“Sign right next to me.”
Eijirou nodded and pressed his Seal to the paper.
Something clicked into place in the back of his mind, quiet and certain as déjà vu. For one breath, the world felt too still, and when he pulled his hand back, the feeling came with him.
Eijirou glanced over at his new employer and grinned.
His phone rang, ruining the moment.
Eijirou looked down and saw Kaminari’s number. Flipping the phone up, he signaled to the other man to hold on, earning an eye roll as the paper was extracted from his hand.
“De! Where are you, buddy? I thought you were gonna wake me up when the cat was done.”
“It’s Friday night, Riot. Where do you think I am?”
The background sound of a band warming up struck a chord in Eijirou’s mind.
“The show,” Eijirou said, horror crawling up his spine. “Fuck. The show.”
“Yeah, the show. Mina is about ten minutes from turning me into a cautionary tale.”
“I thought you had the watch.”
“I did. I watched you sleep through three alarms, two shoulder shakes, and one very sincere attempt to tell you your shift was over.”
“I’m sorry, man. I’m finishing up here. I’ll be right there.”
He was already glancing around for his helmet. Bakugou was holding out to him with an expression between annoyance and amusement.
“Oh, don’t rush or anything. It’s not like we need our singer.” Kaminari laughed.
Grabbing his helmet, Eijirou reached into his coat pocket and retrieved his business card with a laugh. “Well, fuck you too. I’m coming just to spite you now.”
With that, he ended the call and turned back to the other man.
“Well, boss, I’m in your service, but I’m not sure I got your name.”
“That’s because I never gave it,” he replied. “It’s Bakugou Katsuki.”
“Well, Bakugou, here’s my card.”
Eijirou handed it over. Bakugou took the card with a slight hesitation, as if he had never seen such a thing. His fingers paused on the edge, nostrils flaring once, so quick Eijirou almost missed it, before his expression slammed shut again.
He probably didn’t expect a punk to have one.
“I have to go do my side gig, but give me a text, and I’ll be happy to work things out.”
Bakugou gave a soft huff and turned, waving him off over his shoulder.
“Yeah, whatever.”
Eijirou grinned and jammed the helmet on before heading out the door. He would be seeing a lot of the man’s expressions over however long this arrangement lasted, and the thought sent a thrill up his spine.
Under it, though, admiration had dug in its claws.
Bakugou was rude, unfairly pretty, and apparently allergic to basic manners, but he had still given his time, his skill, and his care like they mattered.
That was so much worse than hot.
Hot, Eijirou could survive.
Manly was going to kill him.