Chapter Text
Snow blanketed the city, to Kirishima's delight and Bakugou's dismay. While Bakugou's current hero costume, with its fire resistant suit and the heating pads in the gloves, was much better suited to the winter than his old one, Bakugou still somehow managed to complain about being cold. Kirishima figured he'd always be a summer man at heart. Kirishima, meanwhile, enjoyed the cold. It was bracing and made him feel alive and, of course, gave him a reason to be more publicly affectionate with Bakugou than usual, under the guise of sharing warmth. They both knew that was just an excuse, but Bakugou indulged it anyway, and Kirishima always looked forward to the season when Bakugou's discomfort at showing softness where others could see melted away. Even if winter also meant Bakugou constantly chastising him for refusing to mar his own costume with a shirt.
“You're going to get sick,” Bakugou grumbled from behind the mask that covered his head like a motorcycle helmet, black and reflective and angular, designed with Bakugou's murderous aesthetic well in mind. Kirishima knew the mask was a good thing, logically. He'd argued in its favour, just as he had the fireproof suit, had swooned over the imposing figure the new hero costume cut. The mask finally provided Bakugou with much-needed eye and ear protection which he had been sorely lacking for far too long, the absence of which he'd be feeling for the rest of his life.
Maybe Kirishima was selfish sometimes, though, because all the same he missed being able to see his husband's face. Bakugou had a very handsome face, after all, whether he was frowning or scowling or smirking that deadly smirk that Kirishima always felt in his gut, the one that promised victory and threatened destruction, the one that he had fallen in love with years and years ago. And while they'd both changed over the years, that smirk and its effect on him had always remained constant.
“You say that every year, and every year you're the one sniffling in bed,” Kirishima laughed. Bakugou didn't do winter so well, and he didn't do getting sick so well either. Kirishima found both facts entirely endearing. Despite the mask, he knew from the tilt of Bakugou's head and the years they'd spent together that he was scowling and added, “Don't be jealous of my superior immune system.”
Bakugou chuckled. “You're the one crying about allergies every spring.”
“Well I never get stick otherwise, when else are you going to take care of me?” Kirishima grinned at him. Bakugou just shook his head. Today's patrol was a quiet one. Either the villains were all hibernating for the winter or they'd finally figured out that causing trouble while the two pro heroes were around was bad for their health. So of course they took turns teasing each other instead.
Until Kirishima heard a whimper. He stopped, searching for the source of the noise. Bakugou froze beside him, his half-spoken retort forgotten. “What?”
“I heard...” Kirishima trailed off, listening. The street was empty of anything that would have made such a sound. A few people, a few cars, nothing out of the ordinary. But then there it was again, an unmistakable whine, high-pitched and pained.
Bakugou had yet to move. “What?” he repeated in a hiss.
“Do you see a dog, or something? I think there's one nearby that's hurt.”
The tension in Bakugou's stance dissipated as the goal pushed away the distraction of his own desensitized hearing. “How nearby?”
“It's gotta be from one of the alleyways around here,” Kirishima suggested. “You take that one,” he gestured at the one ahead, “and I'll check this one.” He pointed at the one they'd just passed. Bakugou nodded and disappeared into his. Kirishima backtracked and peered into the passage he'd assigned himself. The snow there was disturbed, but just from human foot traffic, using the alleyway as a shortcut or shelter from the wind. He walked down the length of the alley, searching for signs of a dog or anything else that could have made that sad sound. A few thicker piles of snow here and there caught his eye, but none were hiding an animal.
“Katsuki?” he said to his earpiece as he returned to the sidewalk. “Found anything? My alley's empty.”
“Yeah.” Bakugou's voice was quiet. “Any vets open nearby?”
Kirishima looked it up as he walked. “There's a 24-hour one a few blocks away.” He reached Bakugou's alleyway and found him sitting in the snow, legs in an open semicircle before him. A dog- what must have been a dog- was curled up in that semicircle, its head resting atop Bakugou's thigh, on his gloved hand. With his free hand, Bakugou gently stroked the snow from the dog's minimal matted fur, letting the heating pads and the controlled simmering of his quirk melt away the patches of ice. What little fur was there wasn't enough to hide the bones pressing against the skin or the exposed, bleeding wounds. It was skeletal and broken and barely clinging to life. The dog's eyes were closed, and it trembled as it breathed.
Kirishima swallowed down his own emotions and dialed and described the situation to the receptionist. He kept spotting more injuries as he spoke and wondered with a sharp stab of sadness if the dog would even last the way to the vet.
By the time Kirishima hung up, Bakugou had finished melting the cold from the dog's tattered skin. But he kept petting the dog, slow, starting at the dog's limp head and trailing down its spine before starting again, his touch light enough to not disturb any of the wounds along the way. “There you go,” Kirishima heard him murmur, using a voice not unlike the one he used to reassure away Kirishima's insecurities. “Looks like you lost a fight with a fucking bus, huh. But you're still here. You're gonna be fine. Hang on a while longer.”
“The vet's expecting us,” Kirishima said as he watched his husband's tenderness, rarely ever directed at anyone but him.
“This is probably gonna hurt,” Bakugou warned. He shifted his hands, sliding them under the dog, and Kirishima wondered if it was the technique or just the dog's exhaustion that kept it from struggling. It just whimpered, the sound hurt and broken. Bakugou cradled the pile of torn skin and exposed bone to his chest and got to his feet.
Kirishima wished again that he was able to see Bakugou's face. “Okay,” he said, partially to the dog, partially to Bakugou, partially to himself. “Let's go.” He tried not to think of what had happened to the dog or the dog dying in Bakugou's arms. They remained silent as they walked, quickly but with care to not jostle their charge too badly, the dog making the occasional whine and Bakugou making the occasional comforting hum. Kirishima kept his eyes largely on his phone, focusing on making sure they were going in the right direction. They reached the vet without incident.
The woman at the front desk hurried the heroes to the back. Kirishima spoke with the vet as Bakugou gently laid the dog on the table as instructed. He rubbed the dog's head lightly until it relaxed, and when he went to pull away, Kirishima saw the dog shift towards him and weakly lick at his gloved fingers.
The vet ushered them out of the room and the dog whined again.
Bakugou sat in the waiting room, arms crossed tight across his chest. Kirishima didn't need to see his face to know what was wrong. “They're going to do what they can,” he said. “The dog'll be okay.”
Bakugou grunted.
Kirishima sat beside him, hands in his lap. “I'm glad we found it.”
“I'm glad you heard it,” Bakugou said instead, turning his masked head ever so slightly away. But he didn't sound glad. Kirishima sighed. The doctors had said that as long as he used his current ear protection, Bakugou's hearing would survive, but never return to what it had been before his quirk had taken its toll. Kirishima set his hand on his husband's leg, just above the spiked knee guard. Bakugou turned to him again, until Kirishima could see his own reflection in the mask.
“Babe,” Kirishima said. “Take off the mask.”
Bakugou complied, lifting the visor. Bakugou was frowning, the scars across his face twisting with the expression. Kirishima's heart skipped a beat. He was a lucky man, for too many reasons to count.
“Lucky is too obvious, right?”
Bakugou blinked at him. “What?”
“It'd be kind of cliché, wouldn't it?”
Bakugou's frown slipped into an exasperated almost-smile as he realized what Kirishima was doing. “We're not naming the dog, Eijirou.”
“Right. We should at least wait until we know what it looks like when it's all better.”
“Eijirou.”
“I've always wanted to name a dog. Never had any pets as a kid. Always wanted one though.”
“Ei.”
Kirishima beamed at his husband, pleased with the grin that Bakugou was trying to hide under the guise of seriousness. “Yes Katsuki?”
“We're not naming the dog.”
Kirishima leaned in and treated Bakugou to his best pout. “Aw, babe, why not?”
“You know why,” Bakugou grumbled back. But he didn't lean away and didn't tell Kirishima to tone down the public affection, so Kirishima knew it was working. “First you're going to want to name the dog then you're going to want to keep the dog.”
“Noooo,” Kirishima protested, perfectly happy with how entirely unconvincing he sounded. “I just want something better to call it than 'the dog'.”
“Bullshit.”
“Hey, I know how much you love puppies.”
“It's a dog, not a puppy.” Bakugou's attempts at disguising his smile were failing.
Kirishima pressed on. “All dogs are puppies and you know it.”
There it was. Bakugou's smirk. “Fuck off.”
Kirishima reveled in his dual victory. He'd won both the smile and the conversation and chuckled. “Never.”
With their masks, even with Bakugou's visor up, kissing was an exercise in precision. But Bakugou was one of the most skilled people Kirishima had ever known. He tilted his head at just the right angle and responded with a kiss too quick for Kirishima to lean into. “Thank fuck for that,” Bakugou murmured. He unfolded his arms and covered Kirishima's hand with his own. Kirishima beamed at him and squeezed. Maybe it was because it was winter or maybe it was because of their relative privacy or maybe it was because of the dog's reminder of their own mortality but Bakugou holding his hand while wearing their hero costumes was immensely rare and Kirishima adored the opportunity. They held hands regularly otherwise, of course. The gesture held more meaning to them both than Kirishima thought it might for other couples. It always would.
“We should text Kouda,” Bakugou mused, thumb idly running over Kirishima's hand. “Let him know there's another stray for him to take in.”
“It's pretty late,” Kirishima protested, partly because he did, actually, want to keep the dog, and partially just because of Bakugou's terrible texting manners. They were even worse than his in person manners, which was saying something. At least Kirishima had gotten him to the point where he actually checked his messages once in a while now, even if he still rarely responded to them. Just as with everything else, though, Bakugou made more of an effort where Kirishima was involved. He smiled. “Let's at least wait until we know what kind of condition the dog is in once the vet's done.”
“How long's it going to take, anyway?”
Kirishima shrugged. “The vet said it'd be maybe a week or two.”
“The fuck are we doing sitting here, then?” Bakugou demanded.
“You're the one that sat down, babe.”
Bakugou stood roughly, tugging Kirishima along with him. He swung the visor down again, undoubtedly to hide his crawling blush. Bakugou was better with and cared more about animals- and kids, for that matter- than he would ever admit, as far as Kirishima could tell. Kirishima thought it was adorable. He wondered, not for the first time, what Bakugou would be like as a father. But he pushed the thought away as quickly as it arose, just as he always did. The idea of having a kid terrified him on a level he couldn't put into words. They'd both come so close to dying so many times. They probably would again. It was a fact that was difficult enough to parse with just the two of them.
But a dog?
They could manage a dog.
Bakugou kept holding his hand on the way home, to Kirishima's delight. The contact helped to alleviate the weight of the thoughts of their brushes with death, but not by enough. The dog's condition reminded him of Bakugou's, nearly a year ago. It had been easy enough, not to think of it, while they still had the dog nearby to worry about. He'd been able to focus on getting the dog to the vet, getting the dog safe. And then he'd been able to focus on cheering up Bakugou. But now that there was nothing they could do but wait, the memories pressed in of their own accord. Where the dog had been frozen, Bakugou had been burned. It had been nearly a year ago that his husband had gotten those scars on his face, the scars hidden beneath his mask and the rest of his hero costume. It had been nearly a year ago that Kirishima had sat in a hospital dreading the moment his husband's hand would slip from his, dreading the moment his husband would slip from him.
Walking through the silently drifting snow, painting patterns of white in the dark, it felt like it had been only days.
Kirishima held on tighter to Bakugou's hand. Bakugou didn't argue.
It had been nearly a year ago that he thought Bakugou was going to die.
They took the long route home. They could have taken the metro or a cab but it was good to walk out the stress. It was good to see the snow. It was good to hold Bakugou's hand and let the cold air counter some of the anxiety digging its fingers into Kirishima's chest.
It was well past midnight by the time they returned home. Their place was spacious without being overwhelming, and warm in both colour and temperature. His and Bakugou's colour preferences meshed well and resulted in a design that was surprisingly cohesive, all reds and blacks and splashes of paler orange and yellow. Kirishima had enjoyed the process of picking out the furniture and décor more than he'd expected, but even more than that, he enjoyed the domesticity of he and Bakugou filling the house with bits and pieces of themselves. He was proud of the home they'd made together.
Before they'd even taken off their shoes, Bakugou yanked off his mask and tossed it aside onto the carpet, then wrapped his hands around Kirishima's and did the same. He pressed his still-gloved hands to either side of Kirishima's jaw, just under his ears, and brought him in for a long, furious kiss with a desperation that caught Kirishima off guard. Kirishima tried to relax into the kiss, but there was something off about the way it felt, the way it seemed as if Bakugou were trying to prove something. Kirishima pulled back, eyes searching Bakugou's. They were narrowed with worry and a familiar stubborn pride. “What's wrong?” he asked, quiet.
Mouth a thin line, Bakugou brought Kirishima in again, this time to rest their foreheads together. Kirishima wrapped his arms around him. “I'm alive,” Bakugou said, fast and fierce, defiant, insistent. “I'm not... I saw how you looked at that dog. I get it, okay? But I'm not some dog dying in an alleyway. I'm alive. I'm fine. I'm here. I'm not going to leave you. I love you. Alright?”
“Katsuki-”
Bakugou shifted, pulling Kirishima into a tight hug. His voice faded until it was impossibly soft. “I'm alive, okay?”
Kirishima closed his eyes. Held on. Breathed. “Okay.”
Bakugou woke up screaming that night, ghost fire devouring his skin. Kirishima held him until the flames went out and Bakugou sobbed breaths into his lungs.
Bakugou had nightmares even before they'd started dating. Trauma clung to him like cobwebs. Sometimes they just meant he had a slightly disrupted sleep schedule that night; sometimes they meant he blew up their mattress and couldn't or wouldn't sleep properly for the next week. Kirishima was as intimately familiar with the nightmares, with the process of them, as he was with each of Bakugou's physical scars. Kirishima didn't mind. Bakugou always returned to himself, eventually, sometimes sooner than others. Kirishima was happy to shorten that time Bakugou spent in limbo as best he could, whether through touch or words or, occasionally, crying along with him.
Kirishima kissed him back to sleep.
During a late afternoon brunch almost two weeks after, Kirishima received a call from the vet and relayed the good news to Bakugou, tangible relief in his gut. “The dog's fine,” he said, smiling over his eggs. “They're going to do a few more things to make sure it's okay to go and then it'll just need to be taken good care of to finish recovering.”
Bakugou nodded, sipping at his coffee. “Should text Kouda, then.” But Kirishima heard the hesitation in his voice that he tried to hide. Kirishima thought to himself, again, that he really did want a dog; that, just maybe, they could manage a dog.
“We can text him after we go see what kind of condition the dog is in, right?” Kirishima suggested.
Running his fingers over the lip of his mug, Bakugou nodded. Kirishima's eyes fixated as always on the black circle of ink ringing his finger, the one that mirrored his own. Plain and simple and it had been years but it still made his throat tight, still made a wave of warmth bloom in his chest, and Kirishima knew it always would. They'd gotten tattooed rings for practicality but also for permanence. They'd been together for years before they'd gotten married and Kirishima knew they would stay together after. The idea of ever not loving Bakugou was incomprehensible. He'd always loved him, even before he'd realized the word for the dizzy happiness he always got around Bakugou. He always would.
The burns hadn't scarred the ring, though they wove their way up his arms, dense above the elbows and winding underneath the sleeves of his sleep shirt. Kirishima reached over and traced the tattoo with his fingertips. Bakugou let him, then snagged Kirishima's hand in his own with a smirk. “Don't let your eggs go cold,” he warned. “Wasting my hard work.”
Kirishima chuckled and stuffed his face. “Waste food?” he asked through mouthfuls. “I'd never.”
“Don't talk with food in your fucking mouth,” Bakugou grumbled, smiling over his mug, decidedly not releasing his husband's hand. “And you say I have shit manners.”
“Can't help it babe, you're just such a good cook,” Kirishima said, with food in his mouth.
“Manipulative shit.”
Kirishima winked. Bakugou's grin widened. Kirishima had always known how to read Bakugou, how to push his buttons, how to convince him to do the things Kirishima knew Bakugou wanted but wouldn't otherwise permit himself. Well, maybe not always; it had taken Kirishima more time to figure out Bakugou than it took for him to figure out anyone else. Maybe that was one of the reasons he'd been so drawn to Bakugou back when they'd first met. But Kirishima knew him better than he knew anyone else, now, and he'd have it no other way. Bakugou had been a jigsaw whose pieces kept changing themselves. But Bakugou fit together perfectly, despite his own best efforts. Kirishima enjoyed the infinite process of piecing him together, enjoyed each of the parts of him that were revealed as he did so. There were still images in that puzzle that Kirishima kept discovering, over the years, and Kirishima enjoyed every new find, every new detail.
“You love it,” he insisted.
Bakugou grinned at him over his coffee. “Obviously.”
They finished their brunch while it was still hot and after the dishes were taken care of Kirishima swept Bakugou into a laughing kiss and carried him off to their shower. He watched the water stream down the topographic map of burns engraved into Bakugou's back and traced the ridges with his fingers, then his kisses, trying to push away the memory of the scent of his husband's scorched flesh, trying to replace the horror of their acquisition with tenderness. It didn't work, really; it never did. But that didn't stop Kirishima from trying, didn't stop Bakugou from relaxing into his touch.
They dressed in street clothes and headed out to the vet. Kirishima found himself glad that it was the weekend, glad that they'd made an effort to have a more manageable schedule these days. Before they'd gotten married, they'd been working nearly nonstop; even years after, they'd rarely taken time for themselves. While the somewhat more recent change in their workload had been a direct result of Bakugou's injuries and Kirishima's insistence, it was at least one positive outcome of that whole mess. There were plenty of other heroes around to take care of villains; Bakugou and Kirishima could certainly afford to take some time off without encouraging an immediate increase in crime rates. And, either way, their friends were more than equipped to handle any situation that might arise. Should they need the help, he and Bakugou were just a call away. Always had been, always would be. Bakugou might not be good at texting back, but he'd never ignored a call.
He hadn't, almost a year ago.
Kirishima wondered why he was having such difficulty with the memories today. Maybe it was the dog or maybe it was the upcoming anniversary of the incident but it was more of a challenge than it should be to not think of Bakugou crumpled bloody and charred on the ground.
Bakugou kissed him on the cheek as they walked. He was more perceptive than people gave him credit for, at least as far as Kirishima was concerned. “Lucky's not cliché,” Bakugou said. Kirishima stared at him. Bakugou raised an eyebrow back. “The dog,” he explained. “The name. Lucky's fine.”
“Really?”
“If that's what you want to name it, then fuck it. Whatever name you pick's going to be a good one.” Bakugou shrugged. “I'm sure as shit not going to name it, anyway.”
“Aw, babe,” Kirishima grinned and wondered if the pink in Bakugou's cheeks was from the cold or a blush. “Lucky it is, then.”
The receptionist was a different one than the night they'd bought in the dog, but she still recognized them as heroes, if not as patrons. She ushered them back to where the dog lay sleeping, shaved and washed and covered in bandages and a blanket. Even just two weeks had done wonders for the dog; it was still skeletal, in need of months of care, but it already looked significantly more alive than before. As Kirishima spoke with the vet, he kept an eye on Bakugou. He was standing by the table, his hands atop it, just beside the dog's head, relief clear on his features. The sight made Kirishima's heart swell. Unwilling to disturb whatever it was that was going through his husband's thoughts, Kirishima left him there as he followed the vet out to pay and collect a list of instructions and a small bag of medication.
They should text Kouda, now. Their old classmate's hero agency was an animal shelter in its own right, and Kouda was always taking in new charges, caring for them and making them well at home. He'd be able to take care of the dog, to ensure it recovered, to ensure it stayed recovered. But Kirishima didn't want to give the dog away. They'd found it, they'd rescued it. It was their responsibility. And he'd always wanted a dog. And, maybe, just maybe, the dog reminded Kirishima the slightest bit of Bakugou.
When he returned to the room, the dog was licking Bakugou's fingers. “Cut that out,” he muttered. “Nitroglycerin can't be good for dogs, right?” He moved his hand to pet the dog, instead, and the dog seemed satisfied with that.
“Katsuki?” Bakugou grunted acknowledgment but didn't turn away from the dog, didn't stop gently scratching behind its ears. “Should we text Kouda?”
Bakugou looked up, smirking. “Fuck no. You named it, now we gotta keep it.”
Kirishima laughed. Of course. He should've seen that coming. He grinned back at his husband, delighted.
They had a dog.
Neither of them knew the first thing about owning a pet, much less a recently almost-dead dog, which they realized very quickly. As they stared in horror at the immense dog food aisle of the nearest pet store, Kirishima caught the eye of one of the workers, a young woman failing to discreetly take photos of them. She went red the moment he waved at her and hastily shoved her phone in her pocket, then just as hastily jogged up to them. “So, we have a dog,” Kirishima started. “What stuff should we buy?”
She walked them through the basics and then the extras, doing an admirable job of maintaining her composure and keeping her advice solid despite the way her fingers itched at her phone. Kirishima thanked her for her help with a selfie which Bakugou grumbled his way out of. Kirishima didn't mind, and the worker seemed ecstatic enough.
They left the store with nearly too much to hold, especially considering that Bakugou refused to carry the dog- their dog- with anything less than the entirety of both of his arms. Getting home was a balancing act and a practice of patience and Kirishima, carrying the bulk of the supplies, nearly slipped on the icy sidewalk on more than one occasion. Bakugou laughed, but it was a quiet sound, as if he was unwilling to move his chest too much on the off chance that it might disturb the dog nestled against it.
They set up their purchases and debated where the dog should sleep. “We don't know if she's gonna piss all over the floor,” Bakugou insisted. “Lucky stays in the bathroom until we know she won't shit everywhere.”
The idea of quarantining their new pet was appalling. “Babe, come on, you can't put a dog in the bathroom, she deserves to sleep in the bedroom.”
“You say that now, but you'll bitch when you're the one who has to scrub dog shit from the carpet.” Kirishima acquiesced. They put the dog bed in the ensuite, along with her bowls of food and water.
They took turns showering and showing Lucky around the house. While Bakugou was in the bathroom, Kirishima sat on the floor and entertained himself in the simple act of watching Lucky wobble her way here and there in the living room, sniffing at their shoe rack and their couch. She already looked so much healthier and happier than when they'd first found her. He wondered what she would look like after a few months in their care. When she got tired of smelling furniture, she padded over to Kirishima, head cocked curiously.
“Hey, there,” Kirishima smiled, extending a hand. Lucky sniffed at it. Apparently he passed whatever test she was conducting, because she then licked at his fingers, just as she had Bakugou's. Kirishima's grin widened and he realized he was already in love with the delicate critter. “Good girl. We're gonna take great care of you, just you wait. You'll be in great shape in no time.”
Lucky stepped closer and stumbled into his lap. “Careful,” Kirishima murmured, gently helping her along with a warm contentment in his chest. Her paws tentatively pressed on his legs, her wet nose sniffing at his shirt. She turned in a semicircle and laid down, front paws and head on his thigh. He pet her carefully, wary of disturbing any of her still-healing injuries, and lost track of time in the pure wonder of a dog- their dog- dozing off in his lap, of the fact that she trusted them after whatever had happened to her, of the fact that, after all these years, he finally had a dog. And she absolutely was a good dog. Kirishima could tell. They'd definitely made the right choice in keeping her.
Bakugou returned from the shower, wearing pajamas and one of his quiet smiles. Kirishima beamed up at him. “You look really happy,” Bakugou commented, and Kirishima could hear the warmth in the observation. Bakugou leaned over and set one hand on Kirishima's shoulder, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his head.
“I am,” Kirishima said. He tilted his chin up to give Bakugou a proper kiss, though he kept his hands on Lucky. He grinned once Bakugou pulled away. “We have a dog, babe! This is awesome.”
Bakugou walked off behind him and out of view, but Kirishima could hear his laughter. “Fuck yeah it is.” Music drifted in from the kitchen and Kirishima returned to the newfound joy of petting their dog. He was pretty sure she'd fallen asleep, but that was okay.
After a while, Bakugou joined him again, setting their dinner on the floor and pulling a blanket down from the couch around their shoulders. Bakugou put on the next episode of the show they'd been watching lately and they ate in a comfortable quiet, laughing at the show's jokes and complaining at its poor fight choreography. When they'd finished their food, they set their dishes aside and Bakugou leaned into Kirishima's shoulder. Kirishima kissed him on the temple and smiled and wondered at how easy it was to fall more in love with his husband every day.
Several episodes later, Kirishima realized he was the only one of the three still awake. He jostled his shoulder slightly, waking Bakugou with the movement and, of course, with kisses. Bakugou blinked sleepily back at him. “I'm awake,” he protested.
“Yeah, you are now,” Kirishima grinned. “Come on, Katsuki. The bed's gonna be a bit more comfortable than the floor.”
“Debatable.” Bakugou offered a bleary smirk and slowly pulled himself from Kirishima's shoulder. He took care of the blanket and the dishes as Kirishima carefully brought Lucky to the bathroom.
Lucky stirred when he set her on her bed, and Kirishima patted her on the head. “Sorry, but you're gonna have to stay in here tonight. Katsuki's got a point.”
“Always do,” Bakugou said from the doorway. That soft smile was there again. He crouched down beside the dog bed and rubbed the ridge of Lucky's head with his fingertips. She relaxed onto the bed, which seemed to satisfy Bakugou. “There you go. You're gonna be fine. You'll see us in the morning.”
“Gonna tuck her in?” Kirishima teased.
Bakugou scowled at him, but gave Lucky a final pat on the head and dragged Kirishima giggling out of the bathroom, closing the door with a soft click behind them.
“You're really cute with her,” Kirishima noted as he stripped off the dog-covered pajamas.
“I'm not fucking cute,” he grumbled, quickly checking the news and his messages on his phone before plugging it in, completing his usual nightly routine. They shuffled under the sheets and pressed together with the comfort of having done so a thousand times before. Bakugou wrapped his arms around Kirishima and gave him a playful glare.
“My bad. Adorable. You're adorable.” Kirishima grinned at him, his fingers idly tracing Bakugou's scars, finding by default those far older than others, laden with less distress than others.
“Fuck off.” Bakugou kissed his forehead.
Kirishima chuckled. “See? Proving my point.” He went quiet for a moment, considering. He was glad they'd taken in the dog. He was glad they had something to care for together, something less terrifying than a child. But it was still a big step and a big responsibility and he couldn't help but feel some insecurity bubble up. “Is this okay?”
Bakugou pulled back so he could frown at him. “Is what okay?”
“Just,” Kirishima tried for a smile, well aware that he was being too vague but too worried to be more specific, too aware that he was just starting to spiral, “this?”
“The dog?”
“Yeah. It's... It is kind of a big deal, isn't it?”
Bakugou rubbed circles into Kirishima's shoulder. “Yeah.” He kissed Kirishima again, light and gentle. “But it's good, right? We can,” he paused, pressed another kiss to Kirishima's cheek. “We can do this. We can have this.”
“What about when we're at work?”
“What do normal fucking people do with their dogs when they're at work?” Bakugou scoffed and kissed him again. “We'll figure it out.”
“But what if I mess it up?”
“Same thing we'll do if I fuck it up.” Bakugou kept kissing him and Kirishima clung to each one like the rungs of a rope ladder, using them to pull himself up and out of his anxiety. “We'll figure it out. You wanted a dog, right? So we're damn well gonna have a dog.” He said it matter of fact, as if it were the clearest thing in the world. As if Bakugou would do anything to ensure Kirishima had everything he could ever want. And, Kirishima knew, he would, to the best of his ability. And Bakugou did a good job of it.
“I love you,” Kirishima murmured.
And he loved the way Bakugou's frowns blossomed into smiles, the way his eyes softened around the edges, the way his whole body shifted to embrace Kirishima, the way his arms felt like home, the way he said- the way he'd said a hundred thousand times but warmed Kirishima like steeping in sunlight on each and every occasion- “Love you too, Eijirou.”
It was in the dark hours of the morning when Kirishima was woken by a noise. He searched automatically for Bakugou, but his husband appeared peacefully asleep, for once. Kirishima blinked in confusion until he realized the noise was coming from the bathroom. A high-pitched whining. It wasn't a pained noise, this time, but it demanded attention nonetheless. Kirishima stumbled out of bed and went to the bathroom. Lucky sat inside and stopped whining the moment he opened the door. She looked up at him and stood up atop her bed.
Kirishima knelt and reached out to her. She sniffed at his fingers and allowed him to pick her up and carry her out the front door. He set her down in the snow, went back inside to rummage through yesterday's purchases for a bag, then sat on the steps as he waited, watching snowflakes drift down from the clouds with a sleepy comfort, the cold air nestling into his lungs and prickling his skin. Bakugou would berate him for sitting out in the cold in his boxers, but Kirishima thought it felt nice. It was a relief that Lucky was housetrained, since he really had no idea how people went about training dogs to not just do their thing wherever. But at the same time, it was a bit distressing. If she was housetrained, that meant she used to be someone else's dog. Which meant she'd been abandoned.
Kirishima wondered how long she'd been alone.
He picked up after Lucky and carried her back inside. He wrapped her in a towel to dry off the snow and stop her shivering and she whined and licked at his face, making him smile. “Good girl,” he laughed. He moved her bed from the bathroom to the foot of his and Bakugou's own. He wasn't about to let her be alone anymore. She seemed happy with that, and curled up, closed her eyes, and drifted off as if the new environment was comfortable already.
Kirishima waited until he'd warmed up under the covers before cuddling in to Bakugou. Bakugou sighed in his sleep but otherwise didn't react. Kirishima's eyes trailed the scars across his husband's back for longer than they should have before he pulled up the blanket to cover them both under its comfort. He nestled his forehead against the base of Bakugou's neck and tried not to think. It didn't work especially well. Even with Bakugou alive and well in his arms, even with them both safe and comfortable at home, the early morning hour refused to let the memories rest. He remembered holding Bakugou another time, nearly a year ago, wondering when Bakugou would leave him alone.
He fell asleep, eventually. He didn't dream.