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Eijirou realizes at a young age that he might just be a bit different than his peers. You see, Eijirou can help birth a calf and he can tell you when feed corn and winter wheat are ready for harvest. But, for the life of him, can’t seem to muster much interest in how he’ll present.

Alpha.

Beta.

Omega. 

Eijirou doesn’t much care. 

He likes farming with his dad. He enjoys cattle drives and going to the rodeo with his dad. And, he loves his big brother, who is actually his cousin, TetsuTetsu. Even if Tetsu is surly and meaner than a bull most days. Eijirou knows that eventually he will have to give more thought to his inevitable presentation, but right now his focus lies elsewhere. For starters, he’s on the cusp of figuring out more complex chord progressions on the Epiphone Frontier that his mother left behind. Music and the functional veterinary medicine that he’s learned on the farm allow Eijirou to still feel close to his mother - to Asuka - since she’s not around much. Tetsu says that Eijirou’s mom and his mother are both something called “good for nothin’ deadbeats.” but Eijirou isn’t so sure about that.

Eijirou turned eight last fall and he understands that what he knows of the world amounts to very little, but he just can’t see his mother that way. He sees Shizuka as his ma. Shizuka has always been there for back-to-school nights and bedtimes, but he doesn’t think his mother’s absence makes her a deadbeat. The few times Eijirou can remember seeing Asuka, all he can recall is just her being immensely sad. Eijirou faintly remembers her sobbing openly when she saw his permanent teeth coming in around his seventh birthday. And though he didn’t quite understand what about his sharp teeth upset her, he imagines that it is a small part of the much bigger reason why she can’t bear to be around him. Eijirou tries his best not to take it to heart. He knows he didn’t do anything to hurt his mother though sometimes it sure does feel like it.

Eijirou supposes that’s part of the reason why he started playing his mother’s old guitar in the first place - he wanted to feel closer to her and well, their relationship, what little of it there was came with a whole field’s worth of feelings. When others have asked, Eijirou simply admits that he’d found the guitar by accident. He was hiding from Tetsu after one particularly nasty fight between the two of them and the darn thing, case and all, had toppled over onto him.  

Eijirou scrunches his nose, lightly shaking his head from side to side, as if to dispel the dust that he recalled in his memory. Eijirou shudders as his chest tightens. His body reverts back to feeling cramped - to feeling trapped as the case pressed him against the closet wall. The former frustration and panic threatens to bubble to the surface. Tucking a stray strand of black hair behind his ear, Eijirou tries to ground himself by finding five things that ground him in the present despite his brain’s best efforts to drag him to the past. The pressing sensation of the mildewy farmhouse closet walls continues to crawl along his skin. Eijirou inhales sharply before counting slowly back from ten and exhaling. He's no longer stuck in that closet, he doesn't have to cry out for his ma and dad’s help. He won't be berated by Tetsu for being weak and scared. Eijirou gripped the guitar tighter, the strings on the neck biting into the tanned skin of his fingers. He stands on shaky legs and places the instrument back into its case before setting it against his bookshelf. Eijirou shakes his body from head to toe and bounces on the balls of his feet. If left to his own devices, the youngest Kirishima-Toyomitsu child often finds himself struggling with rumination. His thoughts sometimes manage to wrangle him, keep him tied up, and paralyzed in place. Eijirou gnaws his bottom lip until it aches. His ma tells him that he's not his fears - that he's bigger than they are. He shines too bright to be so shrouded by darkness and doubt. And, yet, there are still days where Eijirou struggles still to find his footing. 

Rolling his shoulders, Eijirou tucks those thoughts away for another time. Late afternoon will slide into a balmy summer evening faster than a seasoned barrel racer, and he's got chores to do before his ma makes supper. He checks to make sure his guitar is positioned just right, so it doesn't topple over while he's out. Then, Eijirou flips his light off and takes the wooden stairs two at a time. Once downstairs, he paused, snatching an apple off of the kitchen island before hurrying out the back door, screen door slamming behind him. The sun had slipped significantly closer to the horizon by the time that Eijirou wrapped up his rounds. He huffs, blowing puffs of air harshly to keep a finicky piece of hair that’s fallen out of its tie to move out of his eyes while he tends to this calf’s hoove. In a span of a few hours, Eijirou moved from the fields and paddocks closest to the house to the pasture on the far side of the property. He intended to be done a good thirty minutes ago, but he hadn’t anticipated that a group of calves would have made their way through a gap in the fencing and out into a not-yet cultivated plot of land covered in clover and little bluestem grasses. He’d done his best to herd them back into the enclosed pasture, but the largest of the Limousin calves had managed to snag one of its hind hooves in a rut stuffed with bramble and thicket thorns. Honey locust, Eijirou mused to himself. Oklahoma plains were notorious for the stuff, and had the area been cleared for livestock already, then the lot of medium sized trees and their reddish brown thorns would have been dug out or subjected to a good ole fashion controlled burn. But, alas, his dad, the head of Fat Gum Farms, hadn’t had time to work out the particulars so far with the neighboring farmers to determine just what was to be done with this plot. So despite the land already being official property of Fat Gum Farms and well within Toyomitsu-managed terrain, it remained almost entirely untouched. You see, out here it’s a point of decency and good-natured farming behavior to clear with your neighbors before you laden the land next to a well-known border, or property line, with livestock, or crops, for that matter. Such as it is, the state of the land led to the calf's injury and thus, the current predicament Eijirou has found himself in. 

Eijirou considers carrying the calf to the nearest bunkhouse, but realizes that despite being fairly strong for his age that this feat might still be beyond him. Instead, Eijirou tethers the calves to a post and makes his way to his horse. A soft smile splits his chapped lips as he wipes sweat and grit from his forehead and brushes it across the thigh of his jeans. Eijirou taps his boot against the front hoof of his America Quarter mare, Oklahoma Rose. He couldn’t have asked for a better horse and he finds himself miffed thinking about just how lost he will be when she passes, but for now he’s thankful for her resilience and unbreakable spirit. He nuzzles her mane before returning to the task at hand. Eijirou grabs a Sharpie from his saddle bag and trudges back across the few meters of field grass to the calves. He fully planned to mark down the wounded calf’s tag number on the back of his hand and to mark the calf’s tag, itself, so that the bovine and farm veterinarians could make sure they treated the right calf. 

Eijirou flips the calf’s tagged ear, FGF-2-8-12. He jots the number across the back of his left hand. Then, Eijirou stills as he tries to recall the annotation needed to indicate the injury on the young calf’s tag. He kneels, one hand steadying the calf, with his own tongue caught between his teeth as he rattles his brain to recall the correct sequence. It is while Eijirou is lost in thought that he fails to notice the stillness that settles over the field. The silence permeates and it's when the calf starts to stomp, almost trampling Eijirou’s foot in the process, that the young farmhand realizes that the Carolina wrens, Northern flickers, chickadees, scissor-tailed flycatchers have long-since ceased their boisterous songs. Eijirou swallows around the lump growing in his throat. Sweat beads along his forehead and neck - and not due to the heat. A low rustling in the grasses behind him sends a chill down Eijirou’s spine. He stands slowly, loosely untying the teether for the calves and trying to walk them through the gap toward Oklahoma Rose. A stark set of yips and a howl echo behind him and Eijirou is forced to turn and attempt to back through the gap. He can feel the bite of the tether into his skin as his grip tightens. Now that he’s facing out toward the untouched plot, he notices four - no - at least five sets of eyes and sand-coloured snouts. The pack practically blends into the grasses, especially with their haunches lower and their ears twitching almost in time with the breeze moving through the brush. If Eijirou were a different kind of kid - a different kind of person, rather - he would let go of the tether that’s quickly rubbing his wrist, palm, and fingers raw from how he has it bound about him. He would abandon this set of calves and no one would blame him for it. They would all nod in sympathy, mutter about the shame of losing such fine calves, but that Eijirou did the right thing. His dad, his ma, and the other ranchers and farmhands - even the most haughty of the bunkhouse boys - would reckon that losing a handful of calves is better than taking on a bout with some hungry coyotes. 

Eijirou knows better than to take his eyes off of them. He is all too aware that once he moves too quickly, or turns the wrong way, that these loping scavengers will lump him in with these calves and decide he’s just as good a meal as the young Limousin calves. Quirking his mouth to whistle for Oklahoma Rose to come closer sets one of the coyotes off and the blasted thing starts in on a set of aggressive yaps and barks. The sudden noise and the tension building between boy and beast must startle Rose because she does something she’s never done: She bolts. 

Eijirou swears under his breath and is thankful that his folks and Tetsu aren’t here to hear it. Though on second thought, he’d take shoveling hog manure and cleaning gutters for a month straight for the swearin’ if it meant he didn’t have to handle this sour situation alone right now. He wants to glance in the direction of the farmhouse, even if he can barely see its old tin and tarred roof, it would still bring him some comfort to be able to see it. Eijirou knows it's incredibly unlikely that anyone will come and depending on how desperate for dinner these mutts are, could very well shape whether he makes it home with the calves, in one piece, or at all. 

Unfortunately, Eijirou notices the coyotes’ presence too late to use hazing to protect himself. Typically, coyote hazing is the best way to get these canines to reconsider attacking, but at this point making noise, clapping, yelling, or using an air horn or whistle would likely just irritate the lot and make them a bit more unpredictable. Besides, anything he would normally use to fend them off was secured in his saddle bags, which are nowhere within reach now that Oklahoma Rose fled. 

Eijirou notices that the coyotes have inched themselves closer. One or two even have their lips raised, teeth fully exposed, and a certain keenness gleaning in their eyes. Eijirou finds that fear floods him rapidly as he realizes he has no means to defend himself let alone these calves. Maybe its denial or something else entirely that fixates his thoughts on how unusual this lot being this close to the back pasture is. Eijirou is young, a third grader come fall, but even he knows that coyotes tend to have this gift - a sort of knack - for seldom being seen. They usually keep to the edge of a farmer’s vision, running amok in and out of cover across the plains and highlands otherwise they end up full of shotgun shells, hunting rifle slugs, buckshot, or worse. 

Eijirou slides his boot backward, pushing the calf behind him into the others, and the skittish things start bleating and making high-pitched calls. Clearly, Eijirou isn’t the only one feeling distressed. Tears began to well along his waterline. Eijirou looks from one coyote to the next, startled by the intelligence and wild indifference in their eyes. He will not sniffle. He will not cry even though he wants to. 

Eijirou Kirishima is scared. No, he is more than scared. He is terrified. Perhaps he just didn’t have the Toyomitsu toughness. Eijirou bites his tongue to stave off adding his own distressed noises into the cacophony being created by the calves nestled behind him. The group of them huddled in the gap in the fencing like a makeshift gate. He finds that the coyotes have shifted, growing bolder in their approach to securing a meal for the evening. It's as if the bleating and feeble moos of the calves entices the coyotes closer. 

A thudding echoes across the grounds. Eijirou blinks. His heart races and his breathing quickens its pace. Eijirou can’t tell if the thudding is his own heart beating, his blood rushing in his ears, or a sensation entirely imagined. The moment calls for comfort, as silly as it might seem given the inevitable. He begins to hum and then softly sing. His soft melody layered with an unsettling harmony of continuous thudding and the snarling of the ever-encroaching coyotes. His words grow a little louder. Eijirou focuses on keeping the waver out of his voice as he softly sings.

“I don’t want to be scared.
Like I was before
I don’t want to be hurt by it anymore.”

Eijirou repeats the refrain over and over to himself as fat tears roll down his cheeks. He finds that he cannot move any further away from the harm coming his way. The last few words he sings come out as a soft sob. He blinks rapidly trying to clear the tears from his eyes. He refuses not to face what’s coming even if he knows it's going to be bad, it's going to hurt, and it's going to disappoint his ma and dad. It’ll downright break their hearts. Time feels slower. Eijirou isn’t quite sure what’s taken the pack so long to attack, but he sees how their haunches have settled, hind paws bracing for what’s likely to be a lunge. He takes a deep breath and just as the first coyote releases the tension in its hindquarters, body launching towards Eijirou and the calves, a loud bang rings through his ears. 

If Eijirou weren’t alone, he would have sworn that was a gunshot firing off from behind him. One of the coyotes backs off, slinking behind the others, while the remaining gather around a figure that has suddenly appeared in front of Eijirou. Eijirou falls backwards, taken fully off guard. The calves topple behind him and the metallic tang of blood hits the air as the calves movement tears the woven tether further into the skin of his palm and fingers. Eijirou shouts and the figure lifts their arms, a firearm braced against them as they fire off two more shots. The first shot sends one of the coyotes canting off toward a small patch of trees in the distance. A second shot clips the largest of the coyotes across its chest and the creature drops slightly before standing and half lunging at the figure before dropping again as it tries to drag its wounded side. A shout pulls itself from deep within Eijirou’s chest as the calves continue to struggle and tug further damaging and digging the thin rope into his hand. 

The figure turns and two things happen simultaneously: First, Eijirou’s fear morphs into alarm and relief at the sight of his ma cradling a hunting rifle and offering him a weary grin. Second, one of the bulkier coyotes jumps, its jagged teeth sinking into his ma’s left hand. A sickening, wet-ripping sound causes bile to rise in the back of Eijirou’s throat, stalling the hoarse yell that threatened to spill from his lips. A yell determined to make its way out of him as he pales at the sight of his ma’s torn flesh combined with the piercing scream she makes as she jerks her hand back toward her. Wind whips through the graying hair at his ma’s temples and Eijirou jerks trying to will his feet to move himself closer to her. He had to help her. But he’s swiftly knocked onto his backside, the tether rendering him immobile and useless as the calves continue to tangle and tussle behind him. Eijirou whimpers, tears steadily filling his waterline, but he fights letting them fall. His ma makes a weak, rasping noise as she steps back. Thankfully, the scavenger hadn’t locked its jaws when it bit down on her hand. But, with its blood-covered maul unoccupied, the coyote sways, shifting its weight between its paws, looking to Eijirou as if it is contemplating lunging at his mom for a second time. 

Eijirou acts again. Ignoring the pain in his hand, Eijirou leans down, places the tether between his canines and thrashes his head one way and another until the woven material gives way. Lacking even a half-cocked plan, Eijirou rushes between his ma and the coyote. The cunning thing swipes harshly at his face. Eijirou grits his teeth and refuses to make himself smaller even as blood begins to pour into his eye. His presence and sudden intervention do not deter the coyote. The animal appears determined to launch itself at Eijirou and his mom yet again. Eijirou wants to turn and look at his mother - to seek her guidance or her comfort, Eijirou isn’t sure which he wants or needs most at the moment. But, Eijirou can’t bring himself to take his eyes from the creature in front of him. It snarls and snaps its jaws. Boy and beast locked in a haphazard standoff as time manages to both barrel by and move impossibly slow. 

Baring his teeth, Eijirou plants his feet and braces himself for whatever the next handful of seconds and minutes hold. He can sense his ma behind him, but if the dampness under his boots is anything to go by then his ma is likely losing blood too fast to be of much help now. A growling rumble simmers underneath his skin and Eijiirou can’t tell if the coyote manages to rattle him that thoroughly or if the growling is coming from somewhere or someone else. He blinks and the coyote barks louder, gnashing its teeth, as it lowers its haunches preparing to spring toward Eijiirou. Dark hair and his eyelashes mat together as the blood flows unhindered. Eijirou inhales then exhales, willing some sort of divine intervention to interrupt the carnage that is likely coming if he can’t devise a hail-mary. Eijirou grips the hem of his ma’s faded t-shirt behind him and steadies himself, eyelids fighting to close. A paw slides in the blood-soaked dirt as the animal springs toward them. 

A rapid whistling and then a pained yip jars Eijirou’s senses. The boy fights to find the source of the whistling before he realizes that the coyote lays barely breathing just inches from the toe of his boot. The thing’s breathing is labored. Blood pools around its neck and chest. It is then that Eijirou notices the arrow lodged firmly in the creature’s throat - through and through. His head swings to the left as a distinct thud draws his attention away from the dying animal before him. Eijirou stumbles backwards, his shoulder brushing against his ma’s chest, as he takes in the sight of his dad standing there, a silent cry pressing his lips apart as his chest begins to heave with emotion.

“Dad!”

Eijirou’s voice sounds weak even to his own ears. The post-adrenaline crash rushes through Eijirou as he exhales with relief at the sight of his father. He fights the urge to drop to the dirt as his knees lock and his legs shake, threatening to buckle. A feeling fills Eijirou - a knowing that he is going to fall before it happens, but before his knees can hit the dirt and drying blood beneath him, a hand slides around his waist to steady him. Eijirou releases a shaky and watery sigh. His red eyes brimming with tears as he gazes up at his dad. Taishiro offers him a weary smile as he bends and braces Eijirou's ma against his chest, cradling the woman against his chest as they turn back toward the way his father came from. 

Somewhere between the thudding of his own heart and the hammering of the blood in his veins dulling his hearing, Eijirou misses TetsuTetsu riding up on his own horse, Real Steel. Eijirou blinks, realizing that not only did his dad have a bow strung on his back and his truck idling in the pasture across from them, but that Mister Aizawa and Sero stand a handful of feet ahead with their own truck whirring as it, too, idles.

Time seems to slow as if the moment waits for something or perhaps someone to do something before it can push forward. Taishiro clears his throat and gently eases Eijirou toward Tetsu. Eijirou swallows hard. His mouth suddenly dry and his chest tight. He turns quickly, tears falling rapidly from his eye that isn't matted shut with blood. The tension and anger in Tetsu’s face and jaw breaks something in Eijirou. 

The emotion comes like a dam giving way:

“Ma, dad, I'm so sorry. I ju-just wanted to help the calves back to pasture. They were caught up and I didn't even know we had coyotes over this way. I didn't mean for ma to get hurt. I swear it. You gotta believe me!”

Eijirou rambles, his voice growing louder, his tone desperate, as he reaches a hand out for his parents. Tetsu pulls Eijirou back and uses his age and size to wrangle him up into Real Steel’s saddle. 

Taishiro's chest heaves with emotion and his weary smile grows while he settles Shizuka into the cab of his truck. He turns, tipping his hat to Aizawa and Sero who immediately go about gathering materials from their truck to dispose of the coyote's body. With a tarp thrown over his shoulder, Aizawa makes quick steps toward the coyote. A tired huff pushes past his lips, the only sound that precedes him pulling a well-loved and oft-used .22 Winchester Magnum pistol from the worn holster at his hip, and letting off two shots in swift succession. 

He mumbles softly about ending the poor thing’s suffering, being sure, and returning things to nature. Then, Aizawa twists his hair into a loose top knot, a stray wavy piece framing his tanned face, as he and Sero kneel, spreading the tarp, and moving the now-dead animal onto it. 

Eijirou continues to cry faintly, reaching for his dad and his ma. He feels Tetsu’s weight shift into the saddle behind him, reins looped into his hand, as he directs Real Steel to turnabout to head back toward their family’s farmhouse. They make it a few yards before one large hand wraps around Eijirou’s wrist and a second slows the horse by pressing lightly against its flank.

Small, glassy eyes look down at tired, honeywheat eyes that shine with unshed tears. 

“Sprout,” Taishiro’s voice catches, he clears his throat, squeezing Eijirou’s wrist as he steps back. “Rou, it ain’t your fault. 

"You did your best, but it's not your burden to carry. I gotta go and get your ma the help she needs. I’ve already stayed much too long. But, she’ll be alright and there isn’t any blame at your feet, my boy. T will take you home and you get washed up. Aizawa will be ‘round to make sure you boys eat and get to bed at a reasonable time. Just remember, you can’t take responsibility for something outside of your control, son.”

Taishiro pauses, patting the horse's side to get the animal moving again as Tetsu guides them through the high grasses of the far pastures. Taishiro calls out as he makes his way back toward the truck.

“You remind me too much of your mother. I can already see in your face that you’re kicking around a half dozen reasons why this is somehow your fault. But, sometimes, in life, stuff just happens. And, that stuff can be bad. Coyotes are wily at best and it's shaping up to be a rough, cold winter. The animals know that and it can make them act up - fear does that to us all. You can keep running it through your head - over and over, but it won’t lead to nothin’ good. Sit with it, then let it go, Eijirou. Don’t make it heavier to carry than it needs to be.

"I love you.”

Eijirou sniffles, moving to wipe his nose on his sleeve, but Tetsu grabs an old tattered bandana from his pocket, offering the fabric to him silently. Eijirou rubs at his nose and then stuffs the bandana deep into the front pocket of his jeans. He can feel his chest start to tighten again. There has been so much left unsaid and the self-doubt and fear begin to bubble up within him. Something must give him away - maybe his breathing quickens again or perhaps his body feels too rigid - but Tetsu, despite all his daily devotion to teenage indifference, presses Eijirou further into his broadening chest. He stills as his older brother places his free hand over Eijirou’s chest and taps in time to his own heart beat.

“Gotta breathe, Ei. Ma will be alright. Ma’s always alright.”

Eijirou nods, his movement still overly rigid. Tetsu responds with a huff and short hum. Silence stretches out between them as they grow nearer to home. And, if the scent around them shifts ever so slightly neither boy mentions it. Eijirou knows Tetsu presented the summer before, but he is still a pup, so others’ scents, besides his parents, often don't affect him much. Eijirou does feel calmer, but whether that comes from Tetsu pushing out gentle waves of his scent or from Eijirou knowing he is safe with Tetsu in spite of all the older boy’s day-to-day annoyance with him, Eijirou can’t be sure. 

In an attempt to distract himself from his worries about his ma and his shame about the whole ordeal being his fault in the first place, Eijirou focuses his spiraling thoughts on what being able to actually notice the effects of Tetsu’s scenting means for him. He recalls that the county pediatrician and the two secondary gender specialists from the city hadn’t been too concerned about Eijirou’s muted response to scenting. Usually, even pups can recognize others’ scents even if they don’t have particularly strong responses to them beyond sorting the scents into safe, calm, like and danger, uncontrolled, dislike. But not Eijirou. Sometimes, he catches parts of scents or realizes something has shifted, changed, but for the most part his olfactory capabilities are none too dissimilar from folks who never presented. The county doctor explained that it could have been from his mother, Asuka, not attaching to him properly or it could have been because of something stressful happening in the nine months that she carried Eijirou. He supposes he wasn’t meant to hear any of that, but he had. He tries not to dwell on it too much. But, the specialists said it could mean that Eijirou’s impending presentation would be rarer, more wild, more primal. They said it could mean he has a fated pair out there somewhere and their scent would trigger Eijirou being able to fully experience smell and scenting. Or, it could be both things. 

There is always the possibility that Eijirou will never present, but no one felt none too confident or concerned that that was the case. So, they will wait. Time will decide. Even now, Eijirou wonders if he is missing out, wonders if this is another thing he can add to his list of things “wrong” with him, but his descent into those self-deprecating thoughts stops as soon as it begins when Tetsu’s sudden slide from the saddle jars his thoughts and causes him to sway, unsteady. 

“Whoa there, Ei.” 

Tetsu swings his hand and arm out to steady Eijirou. Then, he turns and offers both hands to help Eijirou down off of Real Steel. He takes the help given and slides free from the saddle. His boots hit the gravel of their back drive just beyond the rear porch and he gives Tetsu a weak smile, a quiet thanks, and then makes his way up the creaky, wooden steps and through their screen door to wash up before supper.

Eijirou pushes his food around aimlessly on the plate, the metal catching every so often as he makes lines of meat and mashed potatoes across the ceramic. He doesn’t feel too terribly hungry after everything even if he knows he’ll regret not eating the next day. Tetsu sits across from him. The older boy glances at him from time to time, opens his mouth as if to say something, then shakes his head as if thinking better of it and goes back to eating his own dinner. Eijirou sets his fork down, grabbing his glass and taking a slow drink of lemonade, and leans back in his chair after sitting his drink back down, his glass clinking against the wooden table.Eijirou chews his bottom lip as Tetsu begins to clear the dishware from the table and sets about washing up. Eijirou stands up, moving to stand next to Tetsu, placing his own dishes to the left of Tetsu on the counter. 

“I can dry, T.” 

Eijirou offers softly. Tetsu looks down at Eijirou and nods, his shoulder gently bumping the younger boy’s.

“Better not leave streaks this time, pup. Ma hates that shit.”

Eijirou tenses at the break in the silence before a soft chuckle fights its way out of his chest.

“And, what would she say about that foul mouth of yours, Tet?”

Tetsu smirks, bumping his hip into Eijirou and the younger boy flinches slightly. His whole body aches, worsened after his earlier shower due to how he scrubbed his tan skin so hard it blushed and burned red. Eijirou grabs the hand towel from where it hangs across the handle of the stove and sets to drying the dishes as Tetsu hands them his way. 

Tetsu responds, boyish grin on full display.

“No comment about me callin’ you a pup this time, huh? Besides ma ain’t here so if I curse a bit who's gonna tell on me? Sure as shit ain’t gonna be you, Ei.” 

Eijirou laughs, waiting for the inevitable rough housing that’s coming; Tetsu’s tried and true way of trying to make him feel better. But before he can brace for Tetsu’s larger frame jostling his smaller one again, a gasp leaves the older boy at the same time that a sudden, sharp thwack echoes across the kitchen. 

“Little Eijirou might not tell on you, Tetsu Toyomitsu, but I sure will. Presented or not, you know better than to soil your mother’s sweet kitchen with your filthy mouth.”

Eijirou swallows hard, shuddering as the injury across his eye reopens, blood trickling into his waterline and down his cheek. 

“Mrs. Shuzenji.”

Eijirou and Tetsu speak simultaneously.

The older woman sets her cane against the trim of the door. Her movements are slower, but intentional, as she pulls a tie from her wrist. Tossing her silver hair up into a top-knot, she grabs for the bag thrown over her shoulder. She jerks her head, motioning for Eijirou to sit at the kitchen table. 

“Both of you boys, and your mothers, have known me since before you could even walk. I think we can skip the formalities, don’t you? Chiyo will do just fine.”

Without prompting, Tetsu flips on the light that hangs over the kitchen table. 

“Thank you, TetsuTetsu. Would you be a dear and get me some rags that we could toss if need be? Oh, and set a pot to boil, too. I’d much appreciate it. If your ma has an extra bottle of hydrogen peroxide and isopropyl alcohol, it would probably be a good idea to have those on hand as well.” 

With that Chiyo sets about unpacking the bag that she brought with her. She lays out the medical instruments necessary to stitch the wound above and below Eijirou’s eye. With her bag open across the kitchen table, Chiyo stands and washes her hands at the kitchen sink before putting on a pair of latex gloves. She returns to the table, sitting next to Eijirou, so close that their thighs touch.

Tetsu suddenly seems so much older to Eijirou than he had even just a few minutes ago. His silver-blond hair lays at the nape of his neck in a neat, short ponytail as he washes his hands and brings a few rags, cleaned with boiling water, to Chiyo. Though Eijirou considers Tetsu his brother, he realizes that perhaps he isn’t as close to his cousin as he believed.

Tetsu and Chiyo work in tandem as they prepare the Toyomitsu kitchen to be an impromptu wound clinic. Almost as if they’ve done this before, Eijirou thinks. But, before he can give that realization any further thought, a set of small, slightly calloused fingers grip his chin and tilt his face toward the light. Cold liquid splashes across Eijirou’s forehead and down over his eye and cheek. He hisses feeling the sting of the rubbing alcohol before a hot rag begins blotting at his face.

“Hold still, Rou, she’s gotta get the wound clean first before she patches you up.”

Eijirou runs his tongue along his teeth and exhales harshly through his nose. He digs his fingers into the palms of his hands trying to distract himself from the pain in his face the best that he can. He wants to tap his barefoot against the hardwood beneath his feet, but he knows it would only delay the inevitable when Chiyo, and likely Tetsu, too, reprimand him for moving too much. Chiyo nods to Tetsu and he takes away the blood-stained rags only to return having washed his hands yet again. 

“Tetsu Tetsu, please glove up and grab the forceps. I’m going to need you to steady the wound area and pull the skin together while I get the needle ready. I should still have some absorbable threading in here.”

Eijirou steels himself, breathing kicking up a bit, as Tetsu slides his hands into a pair of gloves from Chiyo’s bag before grabbing a pair of forceps and leaning over Eijirou’s face. Tetsu adjusts, moving himself so that he doesn't block the light that Chiyo will need to close Eijirou’s wound. Eijirou closes his eyes and leans back into Tetsu’s hold, so that he doesn’t have to see Chiyo hovering over his face with a needle. The warmth from the light above changes ever-so slightly just before a sharp pain lances through his face. Eijirou struggles not to yelp as he feels the coolness of Chiyo’s fingers and palm moving over his face. Each point of pressuring and sharp stinging pain has him biting back curses. If someone had asked Eijirou how much time has passed while Tetsu and Chiyo doctored his eye, both above and below, he would have told them it could have been both minutes or hours. He hasn’t the slightest idea. All Eijirou knows is that when Chiyo ties off the stitching thread above his eye and sets about sterilizing the needle and threading it for the remaining portion of the wound below his eye, he swears he’ll pass out - from pain or the sight of that needle, he can’t be sure.

As if reading his mind, Tetsu reaches behind himself and grabs a cooler strip of cloth, dabbing at Eijirou’s forehead. So, perhaps the sweat along his forehead and upper lip did give him away. 

“Almost done, little brother,” Tetsu whispers. 

Chiyo makes quick work of the split skin beneath his eye. Eijirou slumps into the chair, all the tension melting from his body as one final wave of nausea and nerves roll through him. 

Eijirou startles when a straw presses against his lips. He opens his eyes and sits up a little straight, taking the straw with two fingers and slowly sipping the ice water that Tetsu offers him. After several long sips, Eijirou nudges the glass and Tetsu’s hand away. 

“Thank you Mrs. Sh-, thank you, Chiyo.” 

Chiyo continues calmly packing away her medical bag. Silence drags on as she washes her hands once more and disposes of soiled linens in a separate bag. 

“You’ll wanna burn these, boys, to prevent the vermin from digging through your trash.”  

They both nod and Eijirou cocks his head to the side and immediately regrets the way he felt his skin pull. He moves to press his fingers against the sutures, but Chiyo slaps his fingers lightly.

“Touch it as little as possible, especially the first twenty-four hours after it's been closed up. Tetsu will walk you through how to care for the stitches - when to wash, what to wash with when it's time, that sort of thing - and I will be back in a handful of days to check on you and make sure there’s no infection. But, if it starts hurting worse, feeling hot, or leaking anything green or yellow, you call me right away. Now, if you two don’t mind, I’m going to take my leave. These county roads ain’t kind at night and my eyes aren’t quite what they used to be.”

With that, Chiyo slings her bag across her back, grabs her cane from where it had been left against the trim of the doorway into the kitchen, and makes her leave out their front door.

The night passes in relative silence after that. Tetsu tends to Eijirou’s stitches, applying medicine to the sutures as they prepare for bed. Neither boy has much to say after the events of the day though Tetsu always seems just about to say something before second guessing himself and thinking better of it. 

They ascend the stairs together, rooms across the hall from one another, Tetsu ruffles Eijirou’s hair, sending shaggy waves scattering in every direction, as he turns into his own room, the older boy waiting just inside the room for Eijirou to turn in for the night himself. Eijirou offers Tetsu what he hopes passes as a reassuring smile, but whatever shape his face morphs into must not be very convincing because Tetsu just sighs. Eijirou takes in how the older boy’s shoulders slump some and the now-visible scent glands along his neck appear to shift and move. Eijirou assumes Tetsu must be scenting again, perhaps attempting to reassure and calm Eijirou in a way that doesn’t require words, especially when Tetsu seems to not have the right words to share. 

Eijirou mumbles a goodnight and shuts his bedroom door. Eijirou places his forehead against the old wood and thumps it lightly. When that doesn’t seem to alleviate the nasty ball of feelings welling up inside of him now that he is truly alone for the day, Eijirou turns tail and plops onto his bed. He curls up on his side, making an effort to be mindful of his fresh stitches, and attempts to fall asleep. Light from the moon and stars outside of his window offers little light beyond the window sill, so Eijirou lays in the dark, exhausted and guilt-ridden.

Morning comes, but no peace or relief comes with it. Eijirou rouses himself for the day, readying himself as quietly as he could, thankful for the small reprieve that the day before’s events preceded a Saturday and not another school day. The sun has yet to crest the horizon by the time he eases his way down the stairs and pads across the wooden floor, his fingers clinging to the tongue of both of his boots. Eijirou’s body tenses every time the metal wrapped around the tips of his laces catches on a piece of furniture as he passes. He manages to keep most of his weight on the balls of his feet, all momentum held in his toes, until he makes it out the back screen door and down the stairs. He plops, still-damp black hair falling loosely against his neck and shoulders, his weight sagging against the bottom stair. Eijirou feels as the aging wood gives slightly in the middle. He adjusts so he can slide his feet into his boots without the crooked middle board pinching the back of his thighs. Boots laced, Eijirou stands and moves toward the stable closest to the house to retack Oklahoma Rose before he makes his rounds through the northeast cattle barns and drying barns. Panic begins to bubble in Eijirou’s gut as the emotional turmoil from the evening before collides with his sudden thought that he’d never made sure that Oklahoma Rose had been stabled for the night. He quickens his pace, mumbling to himself, and running his fingers through his hair repeatedly. In his haste to confirm that the mare, that he’s had since he could walk, found her way back home, Eijirou misses the low light coming from the barn. He crosses the threshold into their family stable and immediately stops as a hand slaps several items into his chest.

Eijirou yelps and Tetsu shakes his head, a soft hmph slipping through his teeth as he catches the items that he’s offered to Eijirou once already.

“No need to go stealin’ Poptarts from the bunkhouse guys, Rou.”

Eijirou blinks owlishly, his fingers taking the set of reins and a small paper towel-wrapped bundle from TetsuTetsu. He looks up at the teenage boy sheepishly. Eijirou raises an eyebrow when Tetsu doesn’t continue talking and begins to stutter a wh-what are you talking bout, T when the boy he’s come to know like a brother sputters and waves his hand at him. If there is one thing that growing up with TetsuTetsu, well and living on the farm, has taught him it is that you learn to drop something. Something about the price or worth of silence or something like that.

Both boys move further into the barn. Eijirou realizes a beat later that the reins looped around his fingers are attached to Oklahoma Rose’s bit. He turns, nuzzling the side of his face against his horse’s crest and muzzle. Eijirou tucks his chin toward the mare as his eyes well with tears. He’d been so caught up in everything happening the night before that he’d forgotten to ask if anyone had seen Rose. He tries to sniffle as quietly as possible, but the worry that he’d felt just moments before had felt so much bigger than Eijirou could ever be and he knows he doesn’t need or want to hear Tetsu call him soft again, especially with how he currently feels. A calloused hand grips the back of Eijirou’s neck, startling him. Tetsu’s fingers slide up through his hair. Then, Eijirou feels himself relax as Tetsu neatly pulls his hair into a loose ponytail before fitting a baseball cap on Eijirou’s head. Before Eijirou can say anything, Tetsu adjusts the cap, so that he can gently pull Eijirou’s hair through the hole above the closure of the hat.

“Eat the sandwich, Rou. I made your favorite. And before you start in on some you don’t deserve it, especially after yesterday, feelin’ sorry for yourself type shit. Save it.”

Tetsu pauses and moves, grasping Eijirou’s shoulder with one hand, and reaching for Real Steel’s tack with the other. Silver eyelashes framed a set of eyes that left little room for argument when Tetsu clears his throat and continues.

“I couldn’t sleep last night. Got a lot on my mind lately. But, eat. Then, saddle up, get out there, and get outta your head.” 

And, with that, Tetsu nods and claps Eijirou’s back before maneuvering around the stable to tack and prepare Real Steel for the work they’d be doing from sunrise to sunset.

With every sunrise that passes after his mother’s injury, life on Fat Gum Farms returns to as it was and those closest to Eijirou assume that his guilt and self-doubt will lessen with time, but no amount of time will relieve the ache in his heart. Unbeknownst to those around him, a tension simmers just beneath Eijirou’s skin. Hurt and anger swirl in his mind and his gut often accompanied by emotions that Eijirou fears naming even to himself. So, he tries not to think too often about the days following what happened. Some have taken to calling it an attack while others refer to it as the accident. Eijirou notices that seems to be the word chosen when he is around or within ear shot more often than not. But, at night when he is alone and no one else is around, the thoughts overwhelm him. He recalls the days following when his dad returned without his ma. He remembers tired eyes and forced smiles as his dad reassures him that his mother will be alright as he ruffles his hair half-heartedly. 

The season stretches on, nature starting to show the first signs of cold snaps, when his ma finally comes home. She seems tired, too, and his dad has to talk her into taking it easy, going so far as to strongarm his ma into asking for help at the bakery she ran in town. Eijirou offers to split his time between farming and helping at the bakery, but both his parents quickly dismiss him. Let it be known that Shizuka and Taishiro Toyomitsu hold a certain steadfastness about them, so their answer stands firm and resolute. Eijirou will not be able to dissuade them and he’d be foolhardy to even try. Resigned, Eijirou changes focus and redoubles his efforts to be of use, to help in any way that he can anywhere that he can, to help anyone that may need him, despite the gnawing uncertainty that settles deep within him. Even with the doubt, from one day to the next, Eijirou can’t help but notice himself catching up to his brother and the other farmhands in both skill and height. 

Harvest season comes to a close, leaving Fat Gum Farms with a list of tasks longer than the Red River. Which meant that outside of school hours, Eijirou finds himself bounding from one task to another, frequently checking his watch and cellphone, one right after the other, to make sure he keeps pace. It seems the older Eijirou gets, the more work he has to do and in less time, especially with how often Tetsu blows off his chores or asks Eijirou to cover for him. 

Eijirou’s childhood melts away like the fading warmth of summer, its vibrant hues dimming as the days shorten. With the arrival of Eijirou’s adolescence, the air shifts, crisp and invigorating, like the first breath of spring, full of new growth and the promise of change.With the first whispers of another turn of season, Eijirou stands next to the calving barn, repairing a piece of fencing when Tetsu strides past in a hurry. The younger boy releases a breath, noticing how he tenses in anticipation that his chosen-sibling would try to pawn off some list of tasks onto Eijirou with one of Tetsu’s tired and true, lame excuses. The problem is that Tetsu knows that Eijirou can’t or rather won’t say no to him or anyone else for that matter. He feels compelled to help others - to go out of his way to be of use, so others may need him even if they rarely reciprocate or return the favor. Thinking about how unrequited his compassion can be pushes Eijirou toward a spiral, but those pesky thoughts halt at the sound of incessant beeping coming from his pocket. Setting his tools aside, Eijirou stuffs his gloved hand into his jeans, easily wrenching the offending device out and hitting snooze. Sighing heavily and trying to be content with his progress so far this afternoon - he is ahead of schedule, just not as far ahead as he would like to be - Eijirou tucks back into using splices to repair some broken wires toward the far end of the outdoor paddock attached to the calving barn. Eventually, he will switch out the wiring in this section for new posts and panels. He’ll  likely need some hanger straps for that. He begins mentally tallying where in his schedule he can possibly fit fully repairing this fencing. Mounting stress, the mere idea of shoving yet another thing into his day-to-day routine, ensnares him and Eijirou strays from his task momentarily. Unfortunately, in his distracted state, he misses the shadow looming over him. Eijirou yelps, startled by a hand landing heavily against his flannel, fingers curling around Eijirou’s shoulder and settling firmly against him. 

“Hey, little brother.”

His posture stiffens as Tetsu’s drawl wraps around each vowel, dragging the sound out, which can only mean one thing: Tetsu needs something and he likely needs it now.

“Hey, T. I’m kinda inna middle of something.” 

But, before Eijirou can finish his statement, the grip on his shoulder flexes and tightens ever so slightly. 

“Rou, you know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t real important.”

Eijirou sits his tools down beneath the post closest to where he’d been half-kneeling as he works. He turns, exasperated, grabbing Tetsu’s fingers and unfurling them from his shoulder before pushing them back toward Tetsu’s chest. 

“Spit it out, T. Some of us have things to do. I still gotta write a paper for Ms. Fukukado’s class, so can we skip the parts where you pretend to be interested in how I’ve been, or offer to help me out later, or worse still act like you ain’t seen me in ages when you’re always the first one to take off for hours or days at a time.”

He wipes his brow and doesn’t have to wait very long before Tetsu is sputtering and then a nasty shade of red takes over his face whether from anger or embarrassment, Eijirou can’t be too sure. 

“You ain’t gotta be an ass, little brother. Some of us have real shit to do and don’t have time for half-baked chores. Besides you’re practically beggin’ anyone and everyone for a way to help like you got something to prove. You’ve been damn near insufferable since-”

Eijirou lunges forward and shoves all of his weight against Tetsu’s chest, watching in both alarm and awe as Tetsu stumbles backwards and barely avoids falling onto his ass in the dirt. 

“What the fuck, Eijirou?”

Eijirou cuts Tetsu off before the older boy can say anymore. 

“Don’t. Don’t you dare bring that up. Stop acting like you can use that against me whenever it benefits you. You aren’t allowed to act like it was an accident one minute and then use it to hurt me or get me to do what you want the next.”

Tetsu runs his hands over his shirt, smoothing it out, before he straightens his hat and narrows his gaze at Eijirou. 

“Then stop actin’ like a damn wounded animal all the fuckin’ time, Rou. Christ.” 

Tetsu sighs and then places his hands on his hips.

“Can you run a few things to ma in town? I gotta be at a gig outside of Payne County. If I place well, it’d be enough cash to fix my bike and then some, Rou. Plus, there’s supposed to be scouts, maybe I can land a spot at state next year. Then, nationals the next, you know? This could be my chance, Rou.”

Eijirou thinks of his ma, her endless patience, and her smiling face before he answers.

“What do you need me to take into town, T? But, more importantly, when does Ma need it by?” 

Tetsu digs the toe of his right boot into the dirt and shrugs.

“Uh, what time is it, again, Rou?”

Eijirou checks his watch, briefly glancing down. 

“Half passed 4, T.”

Tetsu nods, almost noncommittal. 

“So, she’ll be needing those things by, uh, 5 p.m.”

Eijirou begins rapidly gathering his tools to take back to the shed closest to the house. Once his items are gathered back into his tool bag, Eijirou takes a picture of the fencing that he is working on, sends it off to Aizawa, so other staff can be made aware, then he rounds on Tetsu.

“I can’t believe you, Tetsu. You would really risk putting ma in’a bind like that over some ropin’ and string pluckin’? We both know you’re not just county hoppin for the rodeo. I am sure you will find yourself at a bar somewhere. Though how you get in at your age, I’ll never know. Suppose you need me to cover tonight with ma and dad, too, right?”

Tetsu goes to speak, but Eijirou raises his hand, silencing him.

“I’m going to grab Rose from the stables. Just have the stuff packed and ready to go. I’ll meet you out front. I’m going to need my barn coat if I’m going to be riding that fast and for that long.”

Eijirou shakes his head, mumbling under his breath, as he makes his way to grab Rose from the stables, then to the shed to drop off his tools. He rounds to the front of the house having settled into the saddle. Rose trots easily, used to this path. He finds Tetsu leaning against his gray GMC Sierra. The truck has seen better days, sure, but Tetsu takes pretty good care of it and despite being older, it still runs like a dream. Eijirou shakes his head, clearing his thoughts. He is angry with Tetsu. Now is not the time to be thinking fondly of his mechanical skills. Tetsu catches sight of Eijirou approaching and pivots, opening the door to the cab of his truck, and reaches inside. When his teenage brother ducks back out, Eijirou grits his teeth at the size of the package that Tetsu balances against his forearms. 

“Seriously, T?”

Tetsu rolls his shoulders. It's then that Eijirou notices the labeling on the side of the packaging. 

“Tetsu! Are you kidding me? You really picked all of that up from in town and brought it all the way out here for me to take it back into town? What is your deal, dude?”

Tetsu places the package across Eijirou’s thighs, reaching for a strap in Rose’s saddlebags to secure the package between where Eijirou sits and the horn of the saddle. Eijirou swats his hands and goes about securing the package slightly differently to help redistribute the weight so that the package doesn’t shift too much on the ride into town. 

“Rou, if I had stopped at the shop, ma woulda had a dozen things for me to do and I ain't got time. Hell, I am running late now as it is.”

Eijirou grumbles, pressing the heel of his boot to Rose’s flank as they set off down the driveway at a trot. He refuses to respond to Tetsu, going so far as to outright ignore his Thanks again, little brother. Once Eijirou makes it onto the road connecting to the end of their driveway, he nudges his heel against Rose once more and tightens his hold on her reins as he transitions her into a quick canter. He’ll likely have to push her into a gallop within the next handful of minutes if he means to make it to his ma’s shop in time. 

Winds pick up from the southwest, forcing Eijirou to pull his collar up to block out the chill as he continues on his way into town. Oklahoma Rose’s hooves kick up a steady stream of red dirt and dust now that she’s in a firm gallop. Between his grip on the reins and the way his thighs frame the package to steady it further, Eijirou feels a steady ache settle into his muscles with the continued effort. A weight releases from his chest as he slows Rose to a lop once they enter the outskirts of town. Eijirou lowers his collar and adjusts his gloves as he slows even further to a trot, then a walk. His eyes lock onto his mother’s shop just as the first few drops of an unexpected autumn cloudburst begin to speckle his cheeks and chest. Eijirou adjusts the reins and pushes Rose into a trot to make it the rest of the way to the shop, waving at a few familiar faces as they make their ways into their own shops, vehicles, or the closest overhang. He takes off his coat with little thought, covering the package as he hops down from his saddle. He tethers his mare to a post just in front of his mother’s shop, releases the package from its bindings, and rushes inside. Closing his eyes, Eijirou basks in the cheerful tinkle of the old brass bell that swings gently announcing his arrival, the sound as familiar to Eijirou as the comforting scent of fresh dough and yeast wrapped in an layer of warmth likely from the cinnamon, cardamom, and clove that his ma always wove into her fall pastries. A brash noise disrupts Eijirou’s musings. The disruption has the unwanted side effect of rapidly increasing Eijirou’s awareness of just how wet he is after coming inside. 

“Oi!”

A voice laced with both familiarity and cold indifference calls out to him again.

“Did you not hear me? You’re making a mess of my floor. I just mopped earlier this afternoon. Clean up or clear out, you hear?”

Eijirou blinks, wiping water and his wet hair out of his eyes. He stands stock still as the prettiest set of red eyes level him with a glare that simmers with more heat and rage than a midsummer brushfire. He swallows hard and stammers trying to search for some excuse that those red eyes will accept. A blond boy comes around the counter, moving to stand beside one of the pastry display cases, with one hand on his hip, he lifts the other in a gesture that can only be described as are you dumb and what’s your deal rolled into one. Bristling, the blond prepares to say something else, likely an insult that would have Eijirou reeling for days, when his ma pops out from the back. Eijirou instantly deflates as he takes in her hair pulled back tightly, hair net barely visible from here, and her sage green apron covered in flour and egg wash. He offers her a smile as soft as one of her cinnamon rolls and takes a few steps further into the shop. His boots make a squelching noise as they move across the hardwood. The young blond spins on his heels, arms thrown up in the air, as his face creeps closer to the color of his eyes.

“Shizuka, this idiot, he’s mucking up our lobby. I’ve only just finished polishing the floors and he can’t even be bothered to introduce himself.”

Eijirou freezes, taken aback by someone using his ma’s given name. He waits for her to set him straight. Surely, she’s going to let this blond boy know that he’s to address her as Mrs. Toyomitsu, or something of a similar sort. Heck, even Eijirou is about to step in and demand he at least say ma’am when his ma’s face splits into a megawatt smile and she begins laughing in a way Eijirou hasn’t seen in months.

“Katsuki, this is my son, Eijirou.”

“Katsuki?” 

Eijirou swears that the name sounds familiar. 

“That’s Bakugou to you, shitty hair!”

“Hey, my hair looks just fine normally. I’m soaked to the bone and your first instinct is to insult me?”

Shizuka shakes her head and waves her hands trying to placate both boys. 

“Boys, that's quite enough. Though I am quite curious as to why my raven-haired child stands before me with his steadfast mare tied up outside looking thoroughly tuckered beyond belief when I fully anticipated my silver-haired child to stand before me instead.”

Eijirou’s gaze hits the floorboards and he hesitantly pulls his barn coat from over the package, hanging it on one of the hooks by the door to dry. He exhales through his nose slowly. Try as he might, wracking his brain one direction and then another, Eijirou cannot devise a convincing story - a logical reason - that will excuse his older brother’s absence.

“Well, you see, ma-”

Eijirou starts, but is swiftly quieted by the unimpressed look that his mother offers him.  

“Eijirou Kirishima-Toyomitsu, where is your brother?”

Eijirou bites his lip and half-heartedly shrugs.

“Suppose Tet’s wherever he’d rather be or at least halfway there.” 

He watches as his mother’s mouth opens and then twists into something between a frown and a sad smile. Eijirou would wring his hands from the sheer everything he is feeling watching his mother wrestle with her emotions if it weren’t for the large package braced in his arms. His ma moves across the bakery and eases the package from Eijirou’s grasp, but her grip shakes. He steps forward to rebalance the package back into his arms, but Bakugou is already there. The blond easily grabs that package and traipses to the back to begin sorting through whatever might be within.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, Eijirou.” 

Their gazes lock and Eijirou fights back the wave of tears welling in his eyes. He nods.

He’s so tired of disappointing his ma just to help soothe Tetsu’s anger. He learned early on that the more Tetsu stays at home or around the farm, the angrier he seems to be. Eijirou can’t tell you why that is, mind you, but it simply is a fact, so Eijirou tries his hardest to help buffer his ma and his dad from it the best he can. 

Eijirou toes out of his boots, holds them aloft, cuffs his jeans, and makes his way behind his ma as they maneuver to the small office with an en suite. His father built it for her once the shop blossomed from a farmer’s market booth to a full-on business. He takes one look at himself in the mirror and shudders. He feels even smaller than he is. It seems emotional spirals are a dime a dozen these days and Eijirou sits one half-step and one tremored breath from his next. Soft touches to his cheek stir Eijirou from his thoughts. Long, well-muscled fingers cup and hold his face and Eijirou allows himself to rest his head in his mother’s confident hands. Warmth remains on one side, moving from his cheek to his jaw, as his mother cleans his wet skin with a warm rag. A second dry rag follows the path of the first. Silence stretches between them, but it lacks tension. Eijirou notes that the silence creates a sense of calm within him and he inhales slowly as he tries to settle back into himself. His eyes open and Eijirou pauses, realizing that he hasn’t noticed closing them. 

“I’ll have Kat-Bakugou bring you a spare change of clothes. I tend to keep extras around for all of you just in case. Can never be too cautious.”

“Ma, I-”

Shizuka pulls Eijirou against her chest, kissing the crown of his head, and squeezing him tightly. Eijirou tries to peel himself away from her given how wet his clothes are, but she simply tightens her hold on him.

“It's alright, cub. You can’t fix your brother. Nor can you save him from himself. No amount of over extending yourself will push Tetsu to work through the hurt or whatever else that’s got him so stuck. And, I need you to hear that - to know that. You think you can, but you can’t. You could spend your whole life pouring empathy at his feet, but the boy’s angry and hurtin’ and his cup’s got too many holes to hold what you’re offering. Love him, surely, but let him sort himself out.”

With that she cups his face once more, laying a gentle kiss against his temple, before turning to exit the bathroom. She calls over her shoulder, encouraging him to shower to fight off the chill from the rain, and reminds him that Bakugou will bring him a change of clothes as she has to get back to baking before the evening rush.

Eijirou washes quickly. He steps out onto the tile, mindful of the floor, and comically waves at the steam that had accumulated in the small room. Swiping his palm across the fogged up mirror, Eijirou takes in his reflection, appreciating the color that the hot water brought back to his skin, as he tightens the towel around his waist. He playfully sticks out his tongue trying to shake off the funk that has settled over him after his run in with his brother. A short cough interrupts him from taking the playfulness further. Eijirou glances to the side where the door to the bathroom sits propped open and Bakugou leans half-way into the room. Eijirou’s clothes sit neatly stacked across Bakugou’s palm and forearm as the blond angles his face away from Eijirou. He seems determined to keep his gaze on anything and everything, but Eijirou’s partially covered form. It could have been the lighting, but the darker-haired boy swears that a light blush dusts the other’s neck and ears. As Eijirou contemplates what could possibly be causing Bakugou to appear so flushed, he comes to several realizations suddenly and simultaneously. 

“Wait! We’re classmates! Or, well, we were until they let you switch teachers, so you could do advanced classes, right?”

A pained sound comes from Bakugou and Eijirou turns to face the other boy, cocking his head slightly confused.

“Are you alright?”

Perhaps the heat from the bathroom has affected Bakugou and he’s started feeling faint. Eijirou moves to reach for him, but Bakugou just shoves the clothes into Eijirou’s chest and slides around the corner to lean against the wall just outside of the room where Eijirou stands. 

“Tch! Just stay in there and get dressed, dumbass. Your mom is going to need my help once everyone starts piling in for dinner and evening rush. I don’t have time to be babysitting you.”

Eijirou sucks his teeth, tongue flicking over his upper canines. The gall of some people, he thinks. 

“Alright, I got it. Least you could do is answer my question. No need to be rude. Besides since when are you and my ma so close. No one uses her first name, but my dad, Ms. Shuzenji, and Mister Aizawa.”

Another scoff echoes from the congested hallway as Eijirou slips into the outfit Bakugou gave him. Eijirou folds his dirty, wet clothes, then sets them on top of his used towel, finally balancing them on the small table beside the toilet. He makes a mental note to remind himself or his ma of them before he leaves for home. Eijirou swings the door wide, stepping out into the hall, and takes in just how much taller he is than Bakugou as he looks down at him where he leans against the wall. So unconcerned and cool, Eijirou thinks as he takes in Bakugou once more.

“You always stare this much or am I special, Kirishima-Toyomitsu?’

Eijirou brings his hand up to rub at the back of his neck, eyes slightly cast to the side.

“You can just call me Kirishima if it is easier. And, I didn’t mean to stare, honest I didn’t.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes, shoving lightly off the wall, shifting so he faces more toward Eijirou. 

Eijirou purses his lips slightly before letting one of his genuine cheek-splitting smiles ease across his face as he begins to ramble.

“Man, I thought I recognized your voice. We go to the same school and you’re one of the lead 4-H competitors in veterinary medicine, right? I haven’t seen any of your presentations, mind you, on account of how I usually have dairy showin’, then beef, and then I show Rose every year, of course. Gosh, who would have thought the smartest kid in my grade and one of my biggest competitors, heck, one of the best competitors in our age division, was in here helping my ma bake. How’d that come about anyways? She never mentioned nothing, but obviously y’all are close if you’re callin’ her Shi- well you’re calling her by her actual name.”

On and on, Eijirou prattles until he realizes that Bakugou has gone stock still and the only noise in the hallway is his yammering and their combined breathing. Though if Eijirou is being honest, Bakugou’s sounds off, kinda funny, almost faster than it should be for just standing around. Eijirou looks at Bakugou and takes in how Bakugou’s eyes are wide, his mouth is half open, and his fingers are twitching at his sides. Just what on Earth is he staring at, Eijirou muses. Bakugou takes a half-step forward, reaching up with his hand, then thinking better of it, jerks his hand back and places it lightly at the corner of his own mouth. Bakugou’s sudden movements sober Eijirou immediately. He snaps his mouth shut, lips a tight line, and spins on his heels to go find his ma. He will help if needed, then head home without opening his mouth again for the rest of the night. Internally kicking himself, Eijirou pads down the hallway, saving doubling back for his boots for later after he finds his ma. But, Eijirou hasn’t made it a handful of steps when a pale hand wraps effortlessly around his wrist and whirls him back the way he came.

“Where are you tearin’ off to?” Bakugou barks. 

Eijirou twists the line of his mouth into an unimpressed grimace, tilting his head to encourage Bakugou to get on with whatever else he feels compelled enough to stop him in order to say.

“Your teeth-”

Bakugou starts and Eijirou tries to yank his wrist away not wanting to have any part of the conversation he knows is about to come. He’s handled his fair share of hurt and harassment over his mouth. Not to mention it always makes his birth mother cry whenever she sees it no matter how long it has been since her last visit. Bakugou’s grip remains firm and he huffs, clearly annoyed.

“Would you relax? I ain’t gonna make fun. I just-”

Here, he pauses and Eijirou’s nerves build at an uncanny speed. He knows what came next, but why did it have to come from Bakugou, too? Bakugou’s lips raise into a soft smirk.

“Those teeth of yours,” Bakugou steps closer to Eijirou, “are badass, Kirishima. And, don’t let any of those good for nothin’ extras tell you otherwise.”

Heat rushes to Eijirou’s cheeks and he can’t fight the sweet grin that lifts his lips as a warmth makes its way to his eyes. Bakugou lets go of Eijirou’s wrist, as if he suddenly realizes he’s had his fingers wrapped around it for the entirety of their interaction. Eijirou feels thankful for his slight height on Bakugou at that moment as it allows him to see the way pink creeps up Bakugou’s neck once more. The blond lets out an exaggerated sigh as he continues toward the entrance of the small kitchen where Eijirou’s ma is no doubt elbow-deep in spiced-flour and raw dough. Bakugou crosses into the kitchen and shortly after Eijirou can hear the sink running.

“Your sneakers are by the backdoor, Kiri!” 

Brusk and to the point, clearly Bakugou, and not his ma, then. Eijirou trots down the hall to the backdoor. He pushes his hair behind his ears, smiling to himself when he notices that a pair of socks sits next to his well-loved pair of sneakers that his ma insists he keep here just in case. A sigh escapes his lips as he slips his socks on. He hadn’t realized how cold his feet had become while standing, talking, er - well, or whatever he was doing with Bakugou. Eijirou can’t be sure that was the most normal interaction, but he can’t say he didn’t enjoy it. He slides on his sneakers and laces them up then heads back towards the kitchen to offer his help. Eijirou steps into the kitchen and takes in the sight before him. Bakugou stands at one counter, honey-colored hair pushed back with a headband that looks awfully familiar while his ma stands at the other. Both hum the same tune occasionally singing a few words, harmonizing together, as they roll out dough. Eijirou chuckles softly at the way the hair net and headband sent Bakugou’s hair shooting off in a dozen directions. Small hands continue to work a series of spices into dough, eyes never leaving his task, and yet Bakugou still huffs at him. Eijirou can feel the same heat from Bakugou’s earlier glare even without eye contact. Sensing that neither Eijirou nor Bakugou are going to say anything further, Eijirou’s ma laughs softly - a sound that always reminds him of a slow summer breeze carrying itself through windchimes. 

“Eijirou, do you need something?”

“Uh, do you and Bakugo need an extra set of hands? If the window in the backdoor is anything to go by, I reckon that this storm isn’t letting up anytime soon and I left Rose plenty of feed, so how can I help?”

She looks up from her task, glancing around the room, and then her eyes land on Bakugou. Something lights in her eyes and Eijirou tilts his head trying to figure out just what task his ma will give him that puts that sort of look in her eyes. 

“Why don’t you give a hand to Bakugou with those cinnamon rolls and morning buns? You two boys can get a start on tomorrow morning's staples while I finish up what we’ll need for tonight.”

That finally got Bakugou to look up. He levels Eijirou with an unimpressed look - less heat than earlier, but still unsettling. Then, switches to offering Eijirou’s ma a pleading look.

“I can handle morning pastries myself, Shizuka.’Sides, does Kirishima even know what he’s doing?”

Eijirou cheekily stomps over to the large farm sink and washes his hands thoroughly. He loosely braids his hair, twisting it up into a hair net, and washes his hands once more for good measure. He dries his hands then takes a few steps, so that he can stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Bakugou.

“Know what I am doing? I might spend most of my time helping my dad farm, but I promise that I can plait pastry and roll dough with the best of ‘em, thanks to my ma. I’ll have you know that I even have my own sourdough starter at home. His name is Rioty and he’s precious to me.” 

A cackle erupts next to him.

“Rioty? You named your sourdough starter that? Why on Earth would you do that? To name it is one thing - though still questionable - while naming it that is just-” 

Bakugou devolves into cackling again. Eijirou watches as the other boy’s eyes water with unshed tears from laughing so hard. Amused, Eijirou feigns offense, balking at Bakugou.

“His name should be obvious. He’s clearly named after Crimson Riot. You know, the single greatest musician of all time. I figured you’d know since you’re sorta wearing that headband.”

Bakugou holds up a spice and flour covered hand as his eyebrows move closer to his hairline.

“First of all, your mama gave me this headband to help me not sweat so much when we are in here baking. Second, I think I heard you wrong. Did you just say that Crimson Riot is the greatest musician of all time?”

“Yup!” 

Eijirou makes sure to really pop the p as he smirks back at Bakugou. Bakugou scoffs and thrusts his hands back into the dough, working it over. Eijirou leans toward him as he continues to roll out his own dough, pausing to check the thickness of it, before resuming rolling.

“Don’t overwork the dough, Bakugou. Wouldn’t want it to be weak or dense, would’ya?"

Eijirou snickers and begins using a spatula to spread a thin, even layer of a warmed, spiced butter over the dough. Bakugou flinches and relaxes his arms, pausing working the dough before angling his shoulders to face Eijirou more directly.

“Only dense thing around here is you if you think Crimson Riot is a better musician than All Might. I’ll give you that he can be melodic, even atmospheric, and sure he’s a dang good performer, but he’s no Yagi Toshinori.”

“Dude, you can’t be serious!”  Eijirou exclaims. 

“As a heart attack.” Bakugou replies.

Both boys devolve into raucous laughter as they continue to work side by side. Their banter continues through prep, into the dinner rush, and long after as they clean up. Eijirou finds that talking to Bakugou comes easily, which feels odd since they haven’t said, but maybe a word or two in passing before tonight. Not to mention it seems so unusual and surreal how familiar the other boy is with his ma and how it has never come up in conversation that his classmate has been helping her since, well, since just after his mother returned to work after losing part of her hand. Eijirou watches as his ma flips the sign hanging in the window from open to closed as the last few remaining customers pack up and head out themselves. He catches sight of the setting sun through the large front window and his eyes widen. 

“Shoot, ma, I gotta get home before it's too dark to ride back.”

“Go on ahead, son. I’ve got to run my best worker home and I’ll be following behind you. If you beat me home, go ahead and start washing up then set the table so you and I can have a late dinner.”

Eijirou responds with a surprised, “Hey!” as Bakugou deadpans, “I am your only worker, Shizuka.”

Shizuka smiles, mischief alight in her eyes as Bakugou begins dressing to leave while Eijirou rushes out the front door to untether Rose. Eijirou pauses halfway out of the door, pivoting to peak his head back into the cozy shop. “Goodnight, Bakugou. I’ll be seeing you.” 

He waves enthusiastically, jogs over to Rose, untying her reins, as he slings his leg up and over her saddle. A short half-turn and Eijirou sits astride Rose looking at himself reflected in the large front window of his mother’s shop. He gives Bakugou a wild grin and then taps his heel against Rose to urge her into a trot. And, if Katsuki Bakugou watches Eijirou Kirishima go, a boy and his horse haloed by the sunset, then no one is the wiser.

Each passing year brings a certain bristly blond and a dark-haired farmhand closer together. Springs finds them splitting their time between studying for school, farming at Fat Gum’s or the Bakugou’s, baking with Shizuka, or listening to and playing music at one of the nearby bars. Finding bars that will let minors in had been hard at first, but with some help from Tetsu and using their expanding skills as leverage, they manage well enough. Seven planting and harvesting seasons pass in what feels like the blink of an eye. Keys dangle out of Eijirou’s pocket as he runs his fingers through his hair for what feels like the hundredth time. His now-red spikes seem wilted and his shoulders slump.

“Hair’s still shitty. But it’ll do, we gotta go, Red.”

Eijirou whirls around and glances down, eyes locking on an all-too-familiar red gaze. 

“Listen, Blasty, our hair is pretty similar, ya’know.”

Bakugou scoffs and shoulder checks him as he steps back into the main room of the bunkhouse they’ve come to spend most of their time in when they aren’t in class or working. Too many late nights studying, playing music, and generally being rowdy have led to his ma and dad telling them to take their rough housing and general nonsense elsewhere. The bunkhouse makes sense with it being the closest to Eijirou’s folks’ farmhouse. The thing sits empty most of the time since bunkhouse boys typically don’t want to set up shop that close to the boss, but, well, obviously Eijirou doesn’t mind all that much.

“Yeah, yeah, Kiri. ‘Cept one of us always had unruly hair and one of us decided to rebrand when we started getting bused outta town to high school once ours closed.”

Bakugou tosses a look over his shoulder at Eijirou, devilish as usual. Eijirou groans, throwing his dad’s worn leather jacket over his Henley tee. He pulls his cellphone from his back pocket, thumbing through his notifications in quick succession, before pulling up his camera to look over his appearance one last time. 

“C’mon, we’re cuttin’ it close as is. You look fine. I’m sure you’ll turn every head with either that face or your vocals.” Bakugou twirls a pair of drumsticks between his fingers, eyebrow cocked, as he continues to wait for Eijirou to get a move on. Eijirou’s head swivels from side-to-side fast enough to give Bakugou whiplash just from watching it. “Guitar’s already in the truck, Red. Let’s go. Damn.”

Eijirou sighs, flipping lights off as he goes, following Bakugo out the door. He turns to lock it, just in case. 

“Is that even necessary anymore?”

“Never know, Bakugou. Better safe than sorry, dude.”

Gravel crunches under their feet as they make their way to Eijirou’s truck. He pats the roof as he opens his door and slides inside. His key turns over in the ignition and its engine roars to life. Bakugou hops up in the seat next to him. Bakugou jerks his thumb toward the bucket seat behind him causing Eijirou to twist his neck ever so slightly. The redhead smiles seeing the familiar case and nods before shifting into drive. Eijirou rolls his shoulders, as his teeth worry his bottom lip. He taps on the steering wheel and reaches to turn on the radio at the same time that Bakugou does. Their fingers brush and both boys let their fingers linger before jerking them back as if burned. Both glance at one another out of their peripheral, then away again. Someone clears their throat, but it's not clear who. Bakugou begins drumming his fingers against his thighs while his sticks are wedged against his leg in his boot. Eijirou can feel the energy shifting in the cab of his truck. He’s not dumb nor is he oblivious despite what his friends and the workers on his dad’s farm might say. But sensing something - even full on recognizing something - doesn’t mean you know what to do with it. So, they sit in silence until Eijirou’s nerves bubble over and spill into the carefully held quiet of the cab.

“Dude, do you think Sero will finally talk to that guy from our biomed science class? He seems awful sweet on him, dontcha’ think?”

Eijirou slows to take the next turn as Bakugou quietly reads off a few of the upcoming directions that Eijirou will need. Main road closure sure doesn’t help them and it will be a close call on making it in time for amateur and open mic night. Though with as often as they traipse out to this dive bar just outside of the city, Eijirou feels confident that even if they end up being a few minutes late that the staff will make an exception - well, hopefully. Eijirou keeps his fingers crossed that Tetsu gets there before they do. That’ll make it a sure thing. Eijirou swallows, throat a bit tight, as he realizes that Bakugou hasn’t taken his small talk bait. Be cool, he tells himself. He slows his breathing a bit and spares a glance in Bakugou’s direction. 

“So, you feeling nervous yet, Bakugou?"

That doesn’t get Bakugo talking either. He seems to have switched to picking at his nails while scowling at the truck window like it personally offends him. Eijirou sighs a little dramatically, trying once more to get his best friend to say something - anything - at this point. 

“Earth to Bakugo, dude, are you-”

Bakugo snaps his head toward Eijirou, his face all fiery rage. “Holy shit, Kirishima. Could you quit fucking calling me dude?”

His tone has Eijirou straightening in his seat. Eijirou’s eyes flutter from the force of the other’s words and the sickly sweet scent filling the space. The air permeates with the acrid scent of burning bitterweed and Eijirou coughs. He and Bakugou both mumble Jesus simultaneously, but likely for very different reasons. Eijirou’s eyes go a bit wide, owlish almost for a moment, when he looks over at the teenager sitting beside him. 

“Would you prefer I call you Katsuki or Kat, perhaps, KitKat even?”

He hopes that would lighten the mood and improve Bakugou’s mood before they arrive at the bar. Slowly, the burning bitterweed scent retreats and in its place is a subtler vanilla and allspice aroma. Eijirou’s nose twitches. A question spills from his lips suddenly, leaving no room for him to doubt himself or hesitate.

“Bakugou, you’ve got patches on, right?”

Another annoyed huffed crosses the cab - aimed for Eijirou and the question that Bakugou clearly deems asinine. “Yes, Shitty Hair, what’s it to ya? Thought you didn’t care?”

Eijirou shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts and assuage Bakugou’s steadily building irritation. “Nah, man. It doesn’t bother me any whether people wear ‘em or not.”

A rumbled tch comes from the seat next to him followed by a slight hitch in Bakugou’s breath as he shifts in his seat to face Eijirou directly just as they turn into the bar parking lot. “Red, thought you said you didn’t really pick up scents? You smell something unusual back there?"

Again, Eijirou finds himself shaking his head. He could be honest right here and he should be, it is Bakugou after all, but he can’t bring himself to say it out loud. Addressing that his scent perception improved even without him presenting means acknowledging a whole lot that Eijirou just is not ready for, especially right before a Friday night gig. “No, was just checking in case you forgot and needed the spares I have in the glove box.”

“Right.” Bakugou drags out the vowel obviously not buying a word of what he’s just said, but going with it anyway. Bakugou runs his fingers through his tousled hair, head swaying with a short, barky laugh. “As if there’s ever been a time I’ve forgotten, but you remembered. Kirishima, we both know that I keep track of me, you, and everything in between just about always."

Eijirou forces himself to laugh with Bakugou as he parks next to a single cab that he swears looks just like Tetsu’s. “Yeah, man, you’re right - my bad. You, uh, you ready to head in?”

Bakugou nods, grabbing his drumsticks from his boot and twirling them between his fingers once more. “Yeah, Red. Ready when you are.”

Eijirou nods, a half-smile pulling at the corner of his lips, as he grabs his guitar case from behind Bakugou’s seat. He shuts the driver’s side door not worrying about locking his truck as there is nothing in it worth taking. Then, he shoves his keys into his pocket and hurries after Bakugou who has somehow already made it halfway across the parking lot. Both boys circle to the rear entrance. Bakugou and Eijirou both rap their knuckles against the weathered door. A large hand scuffed with cuts and bruises swings the door wide. Eijirou and Bakugou look at one another then back at the man still standing inside the bar, his face and most of his body still hidden by shadow. Eijirou hears an inhale of breath then the tell-tale noise of a drag on a cigarette. The cherry of the filtered bud partially illuminates the man’s eyes. Eijirou instantly relaxes.

“Hey T, you gonna let us in?”

Ash drops to the ground as the cherry burns brighter still. Bakugou chances a look at Eijirou trying to gauge if the man lumbering in the shadows is actually the redhead’s older brother or he’s just getting casually chummy with a very convincing look-alike stranger. Bakugou shifts his weight from one foot then the other. Glowing red and orange casts odd shadows across tan skin and deepens the inky blackness of a pair of eyes that haven’t left Eijirou’s face since the door opened. Dusty pink lips purse and open in an “O” pushing a plume of smoke directly toward them. Bakugou waves his hand before the haze can reach him while Eijirou remains unmoved. Eijirou stands unphased, eyebrow lifting and expression deadpan, as his guitar case bumps against his hip. 

“You done, Tetsu?”

A dry, indignant snort breaks into a booming laugh as a shock of silver hair breaks through the monotony of the shadows. The man, revealed to be none other than TetsuTetsu, props the door open with his hip, and gestures for the two boys to enter. 

“A pleasure as always, little brother. Had me convinced you weren’t comin’ there for a bit. Sero and Mina already have y’all’s usual table. She was up next last time I was up front.” 

Eijirou looks at Bakugou, giving him a gentle smile, as Bakugou moves first to cross the threshold into the bar. 

“Bakugou.” Tetsu nods, fingers of his free hand sliding across the front dip and roll of his hat in greeting.

Not for the first time tonight, Eijirou notices a faint scent rolling off of someone else. It lingers briefly, just in the moment that Bakugou walks past Tetsu. It reminds Eijirou of something balsamic and smoky and there’s an undercurrent of warmed leather and heated metal. He throws a glance back at Tetsu as he closes the door behind them, but his older brother is scrolling on his phone as he flips the half-lock back into place. Fighting an urge to submit to his exasperation, Eijirou refocuses his attention on his friend walking down the hallway ahead of him. He takes two short steps to catch up, his large palm sliding along Bakugou’s lower back as they ease into the main room of the bar. 

A few out-of-towners gawk at them briefly, but when no one else - namely the regulars and bartenders - pay them any mind the out-of-towners return to their focus elsewhere. Bakugou twists as he steers away from a large group that started grinding on one another dead center of the dance floor. Eijirou doesn’t need to hear him to know Bakugou’s openly complaining about extras and their gross bullshit, Bakugou shifts again as he dodges a tall, redheaded alpha, if her musky scent is anything to go by, and the blonde beta trailing behind her. Eijirou notes that both women sport designation bracelets - a practice that some larger organizations and businesses, like airlines and Ivy Leagues still use. But, Eijirou’s yanked from his internal monologuing, when the change in Bakugou’s movement causes the hem of the blond’s tee to ride up, which leads to his palm pressing into Bakugou’s lower back as they get closer to their table. Neither of them alter their pace, but Eijirou clocks how the muscles tense under his fingers and the air around and between them buzzes with fear and something deeper, something sensual. He can sense it in a bone-deep way. No, he can smell it, which given his lack of presentation doesn’t make a lick of sense, but he refuses to let his swirling thoughts steal another second of this moment from him. So, in the last minute or two before they make it to their booth and brace for the rest of the evening with their friends, Eijirou just basks. He enjoys how close to Bakugou he feels at that moment. Eijirou’s thoughts circle another word, but he avoids letting himself settle there - to give himself hope. 

Pink colors his vision as they clear the crowd and shuffle the last few steps to where their friends have already gathered - tab clearly started. Mina launches herself at them both from across the table with Sero sliding his index and ring fingers through the belt loop on the back of her jeans to plant her back against the cheap pleather upholstery. 

“Simmer, Mina. Night’s young.”

Sero says noncommittally as he sweeps his eyes over the crowded room. Eijirou smiles and takes the beer offered to him and mumbles about how he’ll just have one since he’s driving.

“Tet said you were up next, Mina. What happened?”

Eijirou takes in the way that Mina leans up, practically on the table, swiping her pink curls from her forehead.

“Welp, Sero, here, is too distracted to play guitar for me and that guy that’s usually the house guitarist for folks that don’t have their own still refuses to play for me after I told him no to getting my number or to getting head in the bathroom, so.”

She trails off, but Eijirou understands.

“Damn, Mina. Want me to play for you? You know, on account of Sero, over there, pining professionally.”

She chuckles and leans back against the seat, a shot glass pressing to her lips. “Nah, Red. I’ll figure it out, but what I want to know is when you are going to play some of your own stuff rather than havin’ you and Blasty waste your combined talents on overdone covers?"

Beer bubbles and foams at the lip of the bottle as Eijirou chokes and sputters. He tries, honest he does, to argue, to defend himself, but it all sounds half-hearted even to him. Eijirou fights to find something coherent to say, but Bakugou beats him to it as he slowly sips water. 

“Leave him be, Raccoon Eyes. Red will sing what he writes when he’s ready.”

That catches Sero’s attention. His look toward Bakugou is quizzical as he extends an arm to keep Mina mostly seated as she raves at Bakugou about the sheer technique it requires to get her eye makeup to look just right. She chatters on for a few minutes about how Bakugou obviously doesn’t know the first thing about effort when it comes to physical appearance because his every day is some slight variation of the day before. Bakugou’s eye roll hits something vicious and he punctuates it with a scoff for good measure. He shifts slightly in his seat so that he and Mina can stare one another down. She stops talking, bites her lip, making an obvious attempt at reading him. Bakugou remains deadpan before raising his highball full of ice water to his lips, an easy smirk twitching at the corner of his lips. He swallows and his glass hasn’t even hit the table again before the table is erupting with Bakugou’s grating cackle and Mina’s bubblegum giggles. Sero does one more cursory look out at the bar crowd then turns his attention to his friends. Bakugou and Ashido’s laughter fades, but the joy lingers in their faces. Sero and Eijirou idly talk about what tech set up the bar is running and what sounds might be best for the night considering the mix of new and old patrons. 

Conversation carries on effortlessly for a good twenty minutes until three things happen in quick succession: Tetsu saunters by, leaning down across the table to hand Mina another shot, but not without winking at Mina when his fingers brush hers during the exchange. She makes sure to lock eyes with Tetsu as she mimes exaggerated gagging. They both start to laugh, but are cut off by the emcee announcing that Eijirou and whatever band he may or may not have are on deck. Eijirou moves, a blur of red hair, as he exits the booth and stands to make his way to the old bar’s pre-set standby spot. He pivots on the heels of his boots to ask Sero, Mina, and Bakugou who’s doing what when a guy, likely from one of the local colleges, slinks into the booth beside Bakugou. Eijirou watches as this stranger throws his arm casually along the booth behind Bakugou and lays on the charm: smile bright, leaning into Bakugou’s personal space, and head tilting like Bakugou’s the most interesting person in the room. Thing is, Bakugou is easily the most interesting person in this bar. Well, at least to Eijirou he is. But, this random man doesn’t know that, hell, he doesn’t know the first thing about Bakugou, but he seems determined to learn. Eijirou’s nostrils flare as the other continues to make himself comfortable, further sandwiching himself into the space next to his best friend. Eijirou tightens his grip on the handle of the guitar case that dangles by his hip. 

What is he supposed to say here? 

Hey, that’s my best friend, and also the boy I’m maybe, probably, well, actually terribly in love with? 

This whole situation is a disaster - an absolute nightmare. Eijirou looks over to Bakugou. Blond hair tousled effortlessly, but a jaw stiff with enough tension that a misplaced breath could snap it. Tension bleeds into Eijirou’s jaw and shoulders just from watching. He knows that they’ve got minutes, if they’re lucky, to sort things out before it's time to play or forfeit any chance at getting a little cash and chance at playing at the owner’s bigger bar closer to downtown. Sensing the building tension, Mina puts herself between Eijirou and the table.

“Kiri, go, I’ll stay with Bakugou. Sero can cover you on rhythm or bass. You do lead on guitar and vocals like usual.”

Eijirou runs his free hand through his hair, crushing his usual spikes even further. Mina begins to fuss with his hair so that it lays in a more intentionally-disheveled sorta way. 

“What about drums or backing vocals, Meens?”

Mina smiles fondly, a sucker for the well-worn nickname, as she straightens his shirt. Her face contorts with thought before a voice pipes up from behind them. Everyone turns to see the blonde that Eijirou glimpsed in the crowd before. He notes that her outfit looks noticeably different. She stands a little taller now, likely due to the cowboy boots she’s donning. She adjusts the drawstring skirt she’s wearing as she talks. 

“I can cover ya. I’m decent on drums and I can do backup vocals if you’ve got sheet music or even something jotted in your phone’s notes app. So whad’ya say?”

Eijirou pauses, considering her, and half-heartedly considers telling her no, thanks on account of the fact that he doesn’t know her and he’s not sure she’ll integrate into his set whether it's covers or his own music. But, then the guy next to Bakugou chimes in. 

“No worries, Big Red.”

His words roll off his tongue slick with condescension. Eijirou stiffens and angles to move closer to the table, but one set of manicured nails lay on his chest while another wraps around his bicep. He glances between Mina and his possible impromptu band mate. Both girls’ eyes say more than enough. He takes a deep breath and transitions to discussing the particulars of his set with Sero and Camie - he learns that’s her name - as they spit ball ideas amongst themselves. They finally go to step away from the table as Mina eases herself back into the booth, but the stranger at their table can’t leave well enough alone.

“Have fun playing another cover. I’ll make sure that Bakugo, here, is real well taken care of.”

Eijirou bristles and chances a look over his shoulder at Bakugou. Bakugou shrugs and motions for him to go on ahead. He squares his shoulders. He supposes if anyone can handle themselves it's Katsuki Bakugou even if this stranger easily has four or five years on him. Camie taps her fingers against his bicep again as they move to the pre-set spot. 

“Don’t worry, babes. Those kinda guys are a dime a dozen. So, what am I playin’ and what’s the vibe for my drumming? You want pop country backing or something more croony and old school? Smooth drumming or something a little more punchy?”

Eijirou finds himself taken back a bit by her candor, but just sighs and smiles, thinking of how he wants to reply. 

What does he want?

He sneaks a lingering look at the table across the dance floor from them. He shakes his head. He needs to focus on the set. But, when he looks back up at Camie, her eyes are wistful and a bit misty. Eijirou doesn’t know what to say. He’s only met her moments before and it's like she just sees him and there’s only one other person that’s ever been able to do that. Eijirou feels compelled to say something about it, but what do you say to a stranger that somehow sees you? The opportunity to address it passes and Eijirou feels relieved because he’s not sure he has the words to do so, especially right now. Sero clears his throat and jokes with Camie about her not needing to worry because Eijirou is a cover king. Sero carries on for a minute or two, his facial expressions animated and lively, as he laments all their efforts to get Eijirou to play his own music, but to no avail. Camie holds her lips in a way that says she gets it and simply waits for Eijirou’s instructions. Sero moves closer to the two of them as they hunch over a notebook that he has. Eijirou balances the notebook on the back of his fingers that are white knuckling his guitar care while his free hand points at different shorthand that he’s scribbled across the tanned pages. 

Planning screeches to an abrupt halt when a secondary emcee calls for Eijirou and crew to set up and do sound check. Eijirou strums through tuning as Camie recognizes the first few chords that he’s practicing the sound for and adjusts her positioning accordingly. Sero steps to his left, checking their amps again, and tuning his own instrument. Eijirou looks out to their table and takes in the way that first, Mina, then Bakugou, seem to slump from the few notes that reach them - carried across the beer-addled air with emotion and intention, sure, but they both recognize that those notes aren’t new - they aren’t Eijirou’s.

Whatever-his-name-is must sense the energy shift and immediately moves his arm from the back of the booth to Bakugou’s shoulders and upper back. Bakugou doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t growl at the guy to “fuck off.” No, in fact, from where Eijirou stands, the blond doesn’t look any more annoyed than usual. That’s the part that stumps Eijirou. And, even though he’s known Bakugou for years, maybe this is what Bakugou wants. Maybe not necessarily this guy, but the lack of fear - the confidence. The way that even though the guy’s clearly sleazy and probably laying it on thick about how he’s so good he could bring on Bakugou’s heat that he doesn’t hesitate to make it apparent - to make it known - who and what he wants. 

Gritting his teeth so hard that it's damn near audible, Eijirou turns to Camie, canting his head to the side and offers her a wily smirk. She presses her palm over her mouth to suppress a wild laugh. Sero’s eyes whip between the two of them, lost. But, then, Eijirou retunes his guitar a bit more, switches out his pick, as Camie scootches her stool a few inches back to give her more room, and Sero knows. Eijirou feels something brewing, a sort of feeling that he doesn’t have a name or word for yet, and if he’s going to act out - go a little crazy - well, then he might as well go crazy in three-four time. With one last check, Eijirou exhales and glides his fingers through the intro: G minor, D minor, C minor, and C minor, again. A song like this didn’t ask for much, just a well-tuned instrument ready to strum through E, A, D, G, B, and E. His capo is set to 4th fret and as the music flows, Eijirou swears something inside him shifts, breaking free. 

Eijirou’s baritone vocalizes down to bass supported by Camie’s honeyed alto and mezzo-soprano. Their voices pour from their chests and course out across the crowd dispersed across the dance floor and accompanying side booths. A weightlessness takes over and Eijirou slips into his element knowing that Sero and Camie support him entirely. His eyes lock on Mina, first, then Bakugou. Mina appears genuinely surprised and Bakugou, for all his stubbornness, hasn’t reacted to the beginning chords. 

Fine, Eijirou thinks. Be stubborn. A subtle smirk lights Eijirou’s features as he eases into the first verse.

“You're like waking in the morning by a mountain stream
You're like watching that eagle floating on the breeze
As I listen to you dreaming by my side
I wish I could call you mine

But you belong where the four winds blow
Out where the untamed mustang roam
Like a sweet summer rain, passing through
Never seen anything wild as you

I could stay with you like this 
Till the day love doesn’t exist
Wild flowers bloom in an open field
And wither in a vase on a window sill”

His eyes rove across the crowd, but always make their way back to their table and a certain Katsuki Bakugou. He repeats the chorus. His fingers traveling with practiced ease across a guitar that he’s had for almost half as long as he’s been alive. Red eyes, not too dissimilar to his own, enter his line of sight as Bakugou finally acknowledges the music flooding the bar around him. 

And, boy, what a reaction it is. Bakugou’s dusty pink lips part and his lips remain partially open. His tongue idly traces his full bottom lip and from where Eijirou stands the other boy’s eyes look blown wide. He reaches up tucking a strand of red hair behind his ear as he continues through the instrumental that precedes the second verse. 

“There’s a part of me that prays
That you’ll hang up your wings someday
But that part that truly does love you 
Always hopes you never do

‘Cause you belong where your heart can be 
Out in the open, wild, and free
Like a sweet summer rain, passing through
I ain’t never seen anything wild as you”

Fronting a band allows Eijirou to feel the energy both from his band mates and the crowd. It's a unique experience that he will never tire of and in this moment he is grateful to lead. He croons the chorus a few more times and makes sure the instrumental outro hits. Camie’s vocal support in the outro adds a dynamic to the song that Eijirou hadn’t anticipated. If Sero’s energy and body language as they end the last succession of G minor and C minor chords reflect how he’s feeling, then he’s equally as impressed with Camie’s last-minute, stand-in performance. Eijirou closes his eyes and allows himself to feel the music as it fades out. He opens his eyes and is stunned to find dozens of smiling faces looking at him and a sudden eruption of clapping that starts with his pink-haired best friend and slowly cascades throughout the bar. Glasses raise in his direction and out of habit, Eijirou rubs the back of his neck, feeling the heat build in his chest and rush up his face, as he begins to break down their set, so the next act can warm up. He offers warm thanks to those closest to the small mock-stage the band is on and then extends a yell out across the crowd reminding the listeners who they are and thanking them for being part of the performance. 

Cords get disconnected and his instrument makes its way back to its velvet-lined case. Eijirou asks Camie if he can hug her and before he even finishes the question she jumps into his arms and tells him how proud she is of him. Sero claps Eijirou’s back and sweeps the crowd. He must find what he’s looking for because he flips the latches on his own guitar case, tucks the amp connector cords out of the way, and signals Eijirou with a casual two-finger salute, and then the dark-haired boy is lost to the crowd. As if by magic, Camie appears by Eijirou’s side with two water bottles and two beers. She looks up at him, her skin glowing with glitter and sweat, and graces him with a sweet smile. Her words are clear, but quiet, when she speaks:

“Wasn’t sure what you’d want after, so, here.”

Camie presses one of the waters and a house-bottled beer into his chest. Then, she continues, unphased as the next group of performers unceremoniously shuffle the two of them off the makeshift stage.

“And it goes without saying, but I’m proud of what you just did. Granted, I didn’t know you before tonight, but I think whatever that just was took a lot for you to do. If I’m being honest,  I’d love to see more of you, kid. But, I think you’ve got someone of your own to go find in the crowd.”

Camie uncaps her water, downing half in one go, before precariously balancing the opened water and her beer in the crook of her elbow, as she throws her hair up into a haphazard ponytail. She winks at Eijirou and shimmies back into the growing crowd, disappearing herself much like Sero had. And, if Eijirou spots a familiar head of orange-red hair nearing where Camie enters the crowd, he thinks nothing of it as he circles around to search for Bakugou. 

Bare. That’s how Eijirou finds the table they’d sat at earlier shootin’ the shit as he shook through the pre-performance stress and nerves. He swears his guitar hitting against his back and his heart falling out of his ass make the same god-awful thudding noise. Eijirou holds his breath for a moment. He knows if he inhales right now it will be a shaky, wounded thing and this bar ain’t the kind of place to be displaying that sort of raw emotion, except for when you’re performing. His grip on the beer in his right hand tightens and he relishes in the way the aluminum cap bites into his skin. He stands there, idly, contemplating putting the beer down and heading home when a mess of pink curls flashes in front of him.

“Kiri!” 

It’s Mina. Eijirou tries to hide his relief at seeing a familiar face. She wraps one palm around his wrist and begins tugging him along behind her. He follows without question, boots scuffing the floor a few times, as he dodges the people they encounter in their path on their trek to wherever it is that Mina is dragging them towards. 

“Meens, slow up. Where are we going? Where is Ba-” 

A harsh, pungent smell hits his nose. It screams familiar to Eijirou, which in a bustling place like this feels unusual to him. He thinks of mentioning it, but then Mina stops dead in the center of the hallway and faces him. Panic apparent in her golden irises. 

“I can’t find him, Eijirou.”

Mina never uses his given name. Eijirou freezes. 

“I ran to the bar in the outro to grab waters for everyone, but when I came back Bakugou and that guy, Sota -”

She trails off, mumbling to herself. “- I think that’s what he said his name was.”

Eijirou braces his left palm on her shoulder, refocusing her attention. Mina sniffles, clearing her voice, “Anyway, when I came back, they’d left. And, I keep getting this faint scent. It's Bakugou’s scent. Or, well it is when he’s upset. Like, that time you—”

“Meens, focus.” Eijirou interjects, his voice lowered and strained. She nods, the tears streaming down her face openly now rather than wobbling at her water line.

“I know you can’t smell him or any of us for that matter since you’re still unpresented.” She pauses, facial expression tight with worry - normally this is a sore subject for Eijirou, but he just waves her on. “I keep getting whiffs of him or rather his emotions. All I can smell is fear and disgust. Kiri, we’ve got to find him. Bakugou can handle most things, but the way he smells I’m not convinced he left with Sota willingly or worse still Sota followed him somewhere.”

Eijirou hands his keys and his guitar to Mina. “Can you put these in my truck and then go find Tetsu or Sero? I might know where they are.”

Mina stills and cocks her head at Eijirou. “Kiri-babe, normally, I totally support the heroics and solve-your-own-problems, can-do attitude, but shouldn’t we get Tetsu, first? He’ll be able to help me follow Bakugou’s scent. Now’s not the time to lean into that manly mantra, Ki. Bakugou’s in distress and you can’t smell for shit.”

Eijirou glares at Mina. “I can smell him, Mina. Please, just put my guitar in the truck and then get Tetsu, okay?”

When Mina locks eyes with the redhead as he looms over her, she realizes his eyes are blown out. His normally gentle gaze is heated and the black of his pupils almost fully eclipses the red of his irises. She gulps and tries to ignore the way the air wavers around Eijirou. Mina bolts for the back door with his guitar and keys, leaving Eijirou in a hallway that he’s all-too familiar with - thanks to all the times he’s pulled Tetsu out of here since getting his license not even a year ago. Now that he stands alone in the hallway, he starts to doubt his resolve in his ability to scent-track Bakugou. He takes a few steps toward where the hallway breaks toward either the back door or a smaller side hallway that houses storage and the old staff breakroom. Frankly, this part of the bar is both in disrepair and easy to miss if you aren’t familiar with the building’s layout. Eijirou thanks Tetsu’s delinquent behavior for his ability to follow the faint acrid aroma down the narrow hallway. With the music of the current performance blaring, he can’t hear a damned thing, but the discomfort and unease in the air grows the further Eijirou goes. He hesitates when he hears a heated exchange. 

What if he’s interrupting?

Bakugou could have come back here with Sota of his own accord and what if the scent is from Bakugou’s thoughts on their location rather than the person he’s with. Or maybe Bakugou’s simply evaluating Sota’s, uh, performance and not too impressed. He starts to weigh out pursuing this further or tucking tail and heading out to the parking lot to wait it out when he overhears a warning growl - an alpha’s growl - accompanied by a distinct hissing noise. Eijirou barrels forward, on something akin to instinct, as the hissing continues and the air floods with alarm and dread. Eijirou rounds a slight bend in the hallway to see the storage off to the right and Bakugou backed against the dilapidated remains of what used to be some of the cabinetry for the kitchenette. He takes in the scene before him, grateful for the advantage that light feet and lack of scent grant him in this moment. Bakugou tries to put more distance between himself and Sota. Eijirou grapples with the fact that something isn’t right with the scene before him. Luckily, and, also, to his horror, Eijirou puzzles it out rather quickly. Bakugou’s shirt is torn in a few places and his right hand catches the light oddly. There’s something shiny and silver, but also deeply red clutched in Bakugou’s right hand. A sharp, bright tang hits his nose and Eijirou swallows around pooling saliva in his mouth. Blood. The deep red coloring on whatever, likely metal object Bakugou’s gripping like a lifeline, is Bakugou’s own blood. Eijirou feet carry him forward on instinct. It feels like something is wrong with his mouth. He gets the sensation of static and buzzing, then pain, in his gums and teeth. He thinks it's not too unlike the time that Sero dared him to press the cattle prod to his tongue after it discharged. That memory dissolves into the haze that’s slowly wrapping around his mind. He can’t shake that his thoughts are coming slower and simpler, but he can’t piece together why. He’s only a handful of feet away from Sota and Bakugou when he catches the last few words that Sota hurls at Bakugou:

“Considering your knot-breaker personality, I am surprised anyone stays interested in you for long. Big Red must be a knotless loser to pine after an ice-cold knot-warmer like you.”

Sota straightens, sauntering closer to Bakugou, his arm swinging out quickly and pinning Bakugou’s wrist back - metal clanging to the concrete floor as Bakugou drops whatever object he’s been holding so tightly. “Now, be a good boy, and play nice.” 

Sota leans in, alpha fangs peaking out from his upper lips, as he angles his face near the visibly oversaturated patch on Bakugou’s neck. A deafening roar shatters the near-silence of the moment. Eijirou storms across the remaining space between him and Bakugou. He presses a hand against Sota’s chest and shoves without a second thought. Sota slides a few steps back toward the stack of boxes crowding the entrance to what may be a closet. Eijirou isn’t sure and doesn’t care enough to find out. Sota bares his claiming fangs at Eijirou and Eijirou almost laughs. The sight of Sota would be intimidating to most - unpresented, alpha, or otherwise. But, Eijirou ain’t most and he hit six foot tall by fourteen and now at sixteen he stands at six-foot-two. Sota, on the other hand, looks to be about five-foot-ten, so he might be taller than Bakugou, who stands five-foot-six, but he’s a good four inches shorter than Eijirou. Eijirou grins, manic and determined, of what he’s not sure yet, but he’s about to put his all into whatever comes next. Sota spits, fangs visible again, strings of venom dripping from and connecting his bared teeth. He laughs and lunges for Bakugou again - blatantly ignoring Eijirou.

That simply won’t do. 

Eijirou sidesteps, arm outstretched as he reaches, hand finding its target as he twists his fingers into Sota’s hair. It's just long enough for him to hold onto. He uses the hold as leverage and yanks his arm backwards. Eijirou wipes at his own face as sweat runs into his eyes. He’s not sure when it got so hot in here, but that doesn’t matter. Yanking Sota backward puts their faces close to one another with Bakugou still bracing against the decaying cabinetry behind them. A fierce scent chokes the air within the cluttered space, but it doesn’t deter Eijirou. He opens his mouth, growling deeply, and pushing Sota’s head back further. Eijirou’s mouth aches as he bares his teeth at the other man. He might not have alpha fangs, but he does have unusually sharp teeth - a feature gifted to him by a father he never met. Sota pales, eyes widening, as he tries to free himself from Eijirou’s grasp. He scrambles backward, succeeding in escaping Eijirou’s hold, but not without losing a noticeable portion of his hair. Metallic tang fills the air again. This scent is distinctly different from Bakugou’s earlier. Sota’s bleeding. 

Good. 

A part of Eijirou feels more aware than the rest of him - something suddenly awake - alive - that hadn’t been earlier. It prowls in the back of his mind, pushing its way forward, pulsing with the need to protect and defend.

“Pathetic.”

Eijirou knows the word came from him, he’s speaking, but his voice is all wrong. The words slur slightly, but more importantly he sounds hungry - downright predatory. Eijirou watches as Sota inches backwards, trips over debris scattered across the dusty floor, and collapses to the floor. Eijirou shakes Sota’s hair free from his fingers, huffing in disgust as it sticks. He moves to drag his palm across the leg of his jeans to clean it when the urge to stretch his jaw hits him. Eijirou flexes his jaw, then rolls his shoulders and back muscles simultaneously. A series of popping noises startles Eijirou, then he watches with abject awe and horror as he spots several pointed white objects hit the floor. One lands on Sota’s chest as Eijirou hovers above him. Eijirou leers viciously down at Sota, but seeing what appears to be a tooth laying across the other’s chest briefly lifts his mental haze, before it settles over him more densely than before. Sota crawls backward, palms scraping across the dirty floor as he clambers to get closer toward an exit, any exit, and further still from Eijirou. 

Sota chances a look at Bakugou. Eijirou’s chest rumbles, an unsettling growl building slowly. Sota’s breathing escalates, his chest heaving, scattering whatever has fallen onto his chest from Eijirou’s mouth. The tinkeling, skittering noise of the small object draws Sota’s attention and he screams. He looks up as Eijirou bares his teeth once more and feels blood pool in his own mouth before dripping to the floor below. Sota attempts to stand, but his knees and arms falter. Eijirou ambles forward, pressing a boot-clad foot to the other’s chest. 

“You don’t look at him.” Eijirou rasps. 

Sota swallows, nodding, but fear makes people stupid, Eijirou supposes. “I thought you said he was unpresented!”

The omega - no, Bakugou - speaks for the first time since Eijirou stumbled upon Sota trying to have his way with the younger boy.

Why does it feel like his brain is fighting and devouring itself?

“He is!”

Eijirou snarls at Sota, shifting his stance and pressing his boot more firmly into Sota’s sternum. “You don’t talk to him.”

A twinge of arousal sparks in the scent permeating behind him. Eijirou careens his neck, lips raising in a devilish grin. 

“Omega.” 

The noise is practically a chuff, but then it's as if Eijirou remembers that he isn’t alone with the omega and it drops into a comforting rumble. Eijirou allows his eyes to roam over Bakugou’s form. He takes in the way the blond’s pupils are dilated, his hair disheveled, and skin ruddy. A voice in Eijirou’s head rips him from his musings to remind him that Bakugou, the omega - his omega - looks that way because of him. The no-good alpha who hurt him. Eijirou rears back toward Sota and curses loudly as the other man has managed to slip out from under Eijirou’s boot and creep toward the doorway connecting to the hallway that leads back toward the main bar. 

“Stay omega.” Eijirou mutters. 

The redhead moves with little thought. His heart hammering as he takes calculated steps to follow Sota as the other struggles, stumbling, and scrambling to return to the crowd. Eijirou thinks that the air feels stale as he pulls lungfuls of it in his pursuit of the other. He watches as Sota cants from one wall to the other as he shakily meanders. His fingertips and knuckles grazing the walls to keep him upright either out of fear, injury from his early bout with Eijirou, residual effects of the alcohol he’s had throughout the night, or some unfortunate combination of the former. Sota’s fear and annoyance permeate and choke the air, but it's his continued rambling that tears another growl from Eijirou’s throat. He charges forward and the momentum sends both himself and Sota out into the main hallway proper. Sota pushes away from Eijirou and begins posturing. Sota’s alpha must finally overpower his fear because he growls, squaring his shoulders and his footing. Eijirou scrunches his nose at the sudden onslaught of burning tarmac and too-hot light bulbs. Must be Sota, Kiri notes half-heartedly and starts to comment on how unpleasant of a smell Sota has, even when angered, but Sota is already talking - and once Kiri actually hears the words that Sota is saying he sees red.

“—no slicked hole is worth all this, man. What the fuck is your problem? It's not like you were making a move. You’ve been singing the same tired ass, hopeless covers for fucking months and yet blondie ain’t even battin’ an eye. Clearly, he isn’t interested in you, Big Red. Time to hang up the yearning act. That breeder bitch’s got a good eye, but not for you, never for you.”

Tightness spreads through Eijirou, each of his muscles locking up before rapidly contacting and releasing. Every nerve alights with rage and something deeper that he can’t name in the moment. A desire to surge forward, to rush into whatever this is and however it's meant to end overwhelms Eijirou, but it's quickly replaced by a tactical confidence. Eijirou realizes, in this moment, that something or someone else might be pulling the strings as he strides into Sota’s personal space. He sneers, maw opening wide to show not one, but two sets of claiming fangs drenched in rivulets of saliva. His voice comes out clipped - the sound all sharp edges:

“You don’t talk about him. Not now. Not ever.”

Eijirou could say more, but he doesn’t. His head slams downward into Sota’s nose. As the other yowls and tosses his head backward, Eijirou strikes. His right hand snatches the nape of Sota’s neck and uses the grip to shove Sota’s head toward the floor just as Eijirou’s left knee arches upward, connecting with a sharp crunch against Sota’s jaw. By the time that Bakugou clambers down the dingy hallway, half out of breath and halfway between afraid and aroused. Joining the fray unfolding between Sota and Eijirou, Bakugou blanches at the echo of bones breaking. The blond swipes his hand through the sweat on his forehead and up into his hair. He leans against the wall as he tries to catch his breath. Bakugou knows he’ll have to intervene, but he’s unsure of his next move with the way Sota and surprisingly, now Eijirou, are pumping acrid pheromones in the air around them until the hallway feels heavy - weighed down by both of their over-scenting. Bakugou gulps in a few breaths, bracing himself against the wall, preparing to push off and into the absolute disarray in front of him. But, all rational solutions to the current situation go up in flames right before Bakugou’s eyes when Eijirou uses Sota’s disorientation against him and hastily scruffs Sota. Bakugou watches in mounting horror, ignoring his sneaking reverence, as his best friend’s jaw unhinges enough that his fangs sink into the far side of Sota’s throat - just missing his scent glands. His own mouth drops open, a gasp punched out of him as Eijirou thrashes Sota slightly from side-to-side. Eijirou moves, positioning himself so that his eyes lock onto Bakugou. Red melts into red. Eijirou deepens the hold he has on Sota, blood seeping into his mouth and down his chin to drip onto Sota’s shirt and the floor below. Eijirou’s lips twist up into a wicked smirk, his pupils wide, as he realizes that the older man’s feet barely scrape the floor from where the redhead manages to keep him aloft by the base of his neck. Sota struggles, feet slipping against the concrete floor in an attempt to push off and free himself. Eijirou feels himself sinking further into a headspace that is both entirely unknown and oddly familiar. Sota starts running his mouth again and Eijirou can’t be bothered to spare any energy on deciphering what he’s saying until he hears the brunette make several rather derogatory statements about and toward Bakugou. His heart rate accelerates, but his body feels cold. His hearing fills with the pounding rhythm of his blood coursing through his veins. He twists so that they stand closer to the blond omega. But, not close enough that Sota could reach Bakugou.

No, Eijirou would never allow this man’s hands anywhere near Bakugou ever again.

Somewhere in the distance, Eijirou hears shouting, but he can’t be bothered to care. Calloused hands grip Sota’s face, Eijirou’s fingers pressing into the corners of Sota’s mouth and prying his jaw open further. Sota gurgles, choking on his own spit. Eijirou is vaguely aware of the way the other’s teeth cut and split his fingers, the metallic scent of his own blood wafting into the air and cloying with the array of scents already present. Thick fingers strike, gripping Sota’s claiming fangs, long-since extended in challenge. Eijirou presses hard into soft gums as they pull taunt over venom coated teeth. His fingers meet immediate resistance, the teeth, at first, unyielding. He strains, frustrated, he huffs, doubling his efforts.  Then, tanned hands yank downward until Eijirou feels both teeth pop free of the gums. Sota jerks and his jaw clamps down involuntarily as he clutches at his own mouth, torn soft tissue on display. Defanged, Sota wails, digging at his own mouth before struggling to retrieve his bloodied teeth from Eijirou. Eijirou shifts his hold on Sota, repositioning his left hand so that he palms Sota’s head. His fingers splay over the other’s face, eyes visible between the knuckles. Sota’s jostling and the venom slicking the teeth threaten the younger boy’s grasp, but Eijirou’s hold remains sure. He gathers the teeth in one bloodied palm, huffing in annoyance at the building static in his ears. Ripping his fangs from Sota’s throat, Eijirou discards the older alpha unceremoniously on the floor. He looks down at the blood coating the hand, not cradling the claiming fangs and bends, flippantly wiping the blood onto Sota’s shirt and exposed skin. The shouting grows louder still, but whatever’s clouding Eijirou’s thoughts sets its sights on a singular mission, so he pushes forward, caging Bakugou against the wall. The redhead drags his nose along the omega’s clavicle, moving up along the other’s neck, before inhaling deeply directly from Bakugou’s scent gland. He pulls back just far enough to lock eyes with the blond as he raises the hand holding Sota’s claiming fangs to eye level between them.

Fear. Eijirou sees the emotion reflected back at him and he slowly comes to the realization of what he must look like to the other boy. And, here he is caging him in behaving no differently than Sota had just minutes before. Seconds pass and a heavy thud echoes through the hallway as Eijirou drops to his knees. He gazes up at Bakugou, lifting the hand holding Sota’s teeth aloft - an offering. The redhead bares his neck slightly, but keeps his eyes on the blond above him. His jaw relaxes, smile gooey and boyish at how the dull hallway light illuminates Bakugou from above. He can feel his own claiming fangs poking into his bottom lip as his smile widens. Bakugou exhales almost imperceptibly and Eijirou watches as the blond’s eyebrow threatens to raise in question.

“Ome-Bakugou, I wanted to—”

A pale hand raises, stopping Eijirou. He whimpers, slightly dumbfounded. Eijirou hasn’t even declared his intentions. What could he have possibly done wrong? A slightly grating noise from above pulls Eijirou from his thoughts, fragmented as they might be. Ah, Bakugou cleared his throat.

“Red, if you are about to offer that man’s teeth to me, you best drop my surname and call me by my name.”

Eijirou swallows hard, swaying on his haunches, as he straightens his arm in offering once more. “Katsuki, I—” Eijirou pauses, pressing his free hand, palm first, into his temple, pressing deeply and hissing through his teeth. “Sorry, I don’t feel like I’ve got much time before - before I lose control entirely. But, Katsuki, this is my offering.” Eijirou opens his palm fully to allow Katsuki to take the fangs should he choose. 

“I offer this no-name, indecent alpha’s claiming fangs to you not to prove my strength or as a show of my ability to protect you, but as proof of my devotion. You’ve never needed me, not in that way. I didn’t rush in because it was about you being mine—” Eijirou pauses, a deep growl, dark and low, of mine, sounding from his chest. He coughs, eyes watery as he shakes his head. “Sorry, I don’t know what’s happening to me, but it feels like something dangerous is prowling in the back of my mind.”

He sighs, the noise weighted, tired almost. 

“You belong to no one, but yourself, Katsuki. And, that’s why seeing him leering at you, leaning over you, and saying those awful things to you set my blood on fire. He says he’s seen us in here dozens of times, but he doesn’t know you. If he did, he’d never’a said all those things. He would’a known that you’re not something to claim or possess. What he could never understand is that the beauty of Katsuki Bakugou comes from being able to witness your power - you’re a storm - both destruction and healing in one - and what a thing that is to behold. God, what a thing you are to behold. But, my offering - my offering - it’s proof of my devotion to you - to you being yourself in every way that matters most to you. My offering is an act of devotion - of love - it feels like this living and breathing thing threatening to break free of my chest. If you take this offering, know that I will be whatever you need me to be - I will be yours in whatever way you wish - even if it's not at all - even if you want nothing from me.”

A wet, wheezing sound interrupts the silence that follows Eijirou’s last words. Two sets of red eyes swivel to watch as Sota stumbles and stands. Behind him, Mina, Tetsu, and Camie stand in a haphazard half-circle. Their three faces shift between too many emotions to track. Slowly the wheezing turns into a laugh - something disgusted, offended. Sota wipes his mouth and spits onto the floor.

“Wow, Big Red, and you called me pathetic? Fuck, everything you do is embarassing to watch. Like, wow, you really think that’s impressive? So, maybe, you ripped my teeth out, but if he accepts it's because he feels bad for you. That’s it. I can tell you’re exhausting to be around.”

Sota stops, spitting more red-twinged blood onto the floor, a wild, unhinged look in his eyes as he continues, “Shit, and you're, what, not even twenty yet. Blondie doesn’t want you, least not in a way that matters. He might stay around outta habit, but he doesn’t care and you’re not his first choice. You’re just fucking there.”

Bakugou rushes forward, arms lurching toward Sota, a clear effort to shut the other man up. Eijirou lunges, but with more intention, almost methodical if not flat out predatory. Neither boy makes it to their target. Snarls rip from Eijirou’s throat as Bakugou launches into a string of unintelligible curses. Eijirou jerks against Tetsu’s hold while Mina struggles to keep Bakugou from successfully grabbing a hold of Sota. Eijirou’s thrashing tests how much strain and force Tetsu’s muscles can withstand. Tetsu keeps both of his arms locked in place - one across Eijirou’s chest just below his throat and the other tightly holding the redhead’s arms barred behind his back. Bakugou’s ire isn’t quite as volatile, but Mina’s work is no less intense. Sweat rolls from her brow and the sides of her face, occasionally dropping onto Bakugou’s shirt sleeve or the floor below. Everything about Bakugou and Eijirou’s body language, their movements, their energy - screams dangerous and ready for a fight. Sota either misses these signs entirely or flat out doesn’t care because his mouth opens once more and resumes its heedless onslaught of vitriol and venom. 

“Oh, shit, red’s not your natural color is it? Christ, this is too good. You make this almost too easy. Let me guess, you knew you were going to fade into the background, right? Not just to blondie here, but everyone right? Mommy and daddy ignorin’ you, too. I bet. So, one night, you convince yourself it's a new you, new look, moment, right? Then, you slapped the cheapest, shittiest box hair dye on your normally boring, lackluster hair and forced everyone to look at you. Like a goddamn neon sign, no, it's worse somehow - all fire engine red. You might as well carry a sign that says notice me, or, pick me. Fuck Big Red is a big fak—”

Pained noises replace Sota’s ramblings as Camie shoves two manicured nails into the raw gums within Sota’s mouth effectively silencing him for the time being. She quirks her fingers toward herself, the knuckles bending, and easily deepening the wounds in Sota’s mangled gums. Camie sighs, watching as spit and blood begin to trickle down her fingers.

“I literally do not have the bandwidth for this shit right now. Seriously, I envy everyone you haven’t met. How are you this mid and this insufferable?” She cocks her head toward the others gathered in the hall and gestures wildly with her free hand. “Get out of here before they kick you out. I can handle this. Let me handle this.”

Her words seem to flip a switch in Tetsu who starts pushing Eijirou toward the back door with Mina and Bakugou trailing behind. Eijirou's composure continues to crumble as he claws at Tetsu in an attempt to get back down the hallway and have at Sota again. Tetsu bares his teeth at Eijirou, shoving his chosen-sibling through the threshold of the beat-up metal door. Mina gracelessly wedges herself and Bakugou underneath Tetsu’s arm and out into the poorly lit parking lot across from Eijirou. Eijirou’s chest heaves and he squares his shoulders and hips. Anyone watching would think that he fully intends to physically force his way back inside, Tetsu standing in his way be damned. Mina none-too-politely pushes Bakugou toward Eijirou. The blond rounds on the pink-haired girl, ready and posed to spit his own venom.

“Fucking ease up, Raccoon Eyes. I’m goin’. But, pull that pseudo-command shit on me again like you did in there and I’ll lay you out. I don’t give two fucks that you’re an alpha. That shit’s frankly fucked of you to do and when the situation’s a little less—” Bakugou pauses and gestures between all of them and the bar. “Well, a little less fucked, we are talking because what you did crossed a lotta lines and you know it.”

Eijirou growls and moves toward the door. Mina ducks back inside and disappears into the darkness behind Tetsu’s broad body. Tetsu levels a stare at Bakugou and Eijirou lumbers toward him. The silver-haired alpha’s eyes flick between the pair, his nose twitching.

“Rou, let Bakugou take you home. If you win tonight, I’ll get you your money. But, and I know you ain’t able to reason for shit right now, but if you stay you’re going to end up in hand cuffs or worse.”

Eijirou keeps coming, undeterred. Tetsu’s nostrils flare and he grips the door’s handle. “Bakugou, keys are in the kid’s truck. Get him outta here and home by any means necessary.” 

Tetsu swears and slams the backdoor hard enough that it rattles in its frame. A thought comes to Eijirou, relatively incoherent, but he considers his odds of removing the door from the frame and takes a few short steps to try his luck, but a pale hand slaps against his chest unceremoniously.

“Eijirou, get in the truck. We’re going home.”

Eijirou blinks, head tilted, as he tries to process what his best friend just said. He still feels this bone-deep need to fight, but then a set of bright red eyes seem to be all he can see and maybe fighting isn’t that important if his om-, his best friend, is ready to leave. 

“Yeah, we can leave, Ba—” An irritated noise erupts next to him and Eijirou recalls pieces of different conversations throughout the night and suddenly realizes his mistake. “Sorry, I’ll drive, Kat, if you’re ready to go.”

A shock of blond hair traipses past, cool fingers wrapping around Eijirou’s wrist and lightly brushing something tender there. Eijirou attempts to recoil at the heightened sensitivity, but Bakugou’s grip settles firmly against his skin. Eijirou toddles behind the other, his legs not quite as steady and sure as they’d been just a moment before. Bakugou walks them across the parking lot with sure steps. He pulls Eijirou forward, maneuvering both of them to the passenger side of the truck, before he throws the passenger door open and uses his hold on Eijirou to press the redhead into the passenger seat. Eijirou turns to shut the door himself, but Bakugou beats him to it. The blond rounds the front of the truck, opens the driver’s door, and climbs inside. Eijirou tries to acclimate to his clear demotion, in his own truck of all places, as Bakugou makes quick work of readjusting the seat and the mirrors. As the truck’s engine turns over, its purr builds into a steady rumble as the engine roars to life. Bakugou slides the seat closer to the wheel, but angles it back as he cranes his neck, arm slung up behind the head rest of the passenger seat, as he throws the truck in reverse. He flashes a slight glare in Eijirou’s direction.

“Put your damn seatbelt on, Shitty Hair.”

A silence follows as they turn out of the parking lot. Bakugou barely manages to dodge a pot hole that definitely would have popped a tire when his attention is drawn from the road and to the seat to his right. Out of the corner of his eye, Bakugou notices the way that Kirishina looks like he’s trying to press himself against the window, sweat rolling down every inch of exposed skin. He notices how blotches of red bloom across tanned and freckled skin. Eijirou hunches forward, hands gathered tightly between his legs, and Bakugou opens his mouth, halfway starting to ask Eijirou a question, when he’s hit with several very conflicting scents. The blond eases his foot off the accelerator and focuses on inhaling and exhaling slowly. His nostrils flare as the scent shifts from arousal, to hot anger, and lastly something somber, sad almost. 

Something rushes out in a mumble from Eijirou’s side of the cab.

“What was that, Red?”

“S-said you think my hair’s shitty, too?”

Bakugou pauses and realizes very quickly just how astronomically he’s fucked up. Eijirou, clearly in the middle of presenting, feels like Bakugou agreed with Sota and it sets a gnawing self-doubt through the large, redhead. Bakugou grips the steering wheel, swears under his breath, and shakes free from the scent-induced haze settling over his mind. He’s gotta get them both back to Fat Gum’s safely then they can handle whatever fallout’s coming. A raspy whimper from beside him has Bakugou questioning his ability to remain rash in their current situation. But, true defeat washes over him when Eijirou whispers out.

“S’okay. I know I’m too much. Too big. Too loud. Too soft. I just don’t know how to be any less than who I am. How can one person be both too much and not enough?” 

Eijirou slumps further into his seat, cheek pressed against the window to help cool his face as he continues to feel too hot. His face flushes with heat from the cresting heat of his own body, the cloying suffocation of his continuous sweating, and from the increasing hardness between his thighs. Not that he’d tell Bakugou that. 

Shit. 

He’d probably die of embarrassment. Rejected, but ragingly horny. What a winning combination, he thinks. Eijirou wishes that the feeling of having his brain rent in two would just consume him, so that he could avoid himself and this situation even if only for a few hours. He sighs, exhaling hard between pursed lips, as another wave of heat and primal need rolls harshly across his body.

Fingers dig into his shoulder, urging Eijirou to turn - to shift his body toward the driver’s seat. An urge to resist, to hesitate, and double down on his self-doubt courses through him, but then short, blunt nails bear down, threatening to leave half-crescent marks in their wake.

A soft trill fills the cab as Bakugou slides his hand from Eijirou’s shoulder down his side and finally settles it snuggly against where the redhead’s inner thigh meets his hip. Eijirou’s mouth gapes wide as his eyes slide to half-lidded. 

Just what is Bakugou playing at?

“Bakugou?”

Blond hair tosses back and forth as Bakugou shakes his head. Eijirou inhales and suddenly finds himself surrounded by sweet pye weed and spicebush scent, but there’s a smokiness to it. It reminds him of a flashburn at the tail end of summer: citrus, spiced heat and warm, smoky vanilla.

“I thought I explicitly told you to call me Katsuki, alpha?”

Eijirou pants, open mouthed, gulping in air as his body and the air in the cab of the truck pitch toward a sweltering. He’s not sure what’s happening and his brain either won’t let him or isn’t able to question what changed over the course of the last few hours. But, Eijirou will be damned if he uses what little brain and willpower he currently has left to challenge whatever this is. 

“Still with me, Eijirou?”

A sound pulls itself free from Eijirou in response—a languid roll of a chuff into a deep moan. “Katsuki, what’s happening to me? To us?” 

Eijirou’s lips catch around his fangs as they extend again. He offhandedly notes that it feels similar to when he’d bared them earlier, but he hadn’t realized in all the chaos that they’d briefly retracted. 

His words come out slurred and choppy. “Are you teasing me, Kah-suki?”

Katsuki lets the silence settle over the truck interior as he takes the next turn before moving onto the last long stretch of road before they reach Eijirou’s family farm. He wagers they’ve got at least another fifteen minutes before they reach the turn off that leads to the Toyomitsu homestead. But, more importantly, it’ll get them to the bunkhouse where Red can ride out his presentation and subsequent rut. He’s trying to organize his thoughts, to plan, to be one step ahead, but his thoughts stop firmly in their tracks -  his and Eijirou’s combining scents have fully oversaturated the air in the cab, leaving little room for coherent thought. 

Fuck.

Is Eijirou’s presentation and flaring scent pushing him into an early heat? 

One hand tightens on the wheel while the other deepens its grip on Eijirou’s thigh. Searing heat and sharp cramps punched through Bakugou causing his hand to slip slightly on the wheel. Shuddering breaths leave the blond as he steadies himself and recenters his grip on the well-worn leather of the steering wheel. He wonders if he can manage to get the two of them home without them doing something reckless that they’ll likely wind up regretting. A metallic twinge wafts across the cab and wraps itself around Bakugou’s nose. He winces at how notes of iron overwhelm the pleasant earthy scent from just moments earlier. His nose twitches, brain resigning itself that he’ll have to answer his best friend unless he wants Eijirou to go through an alpha drop at the same time as his presentation and first rut. 

“Ki—” Bakugou stops. He’s faced with the inescapable realization that he finally has to cut the shit and be up front with the boy next to him - for both of their sakes. “Eijirou, I could say that we’re young and we shouldn’t do something serious or stupid. I could even say I’m shit with words. The thing is that I’m not shit with words. I’m shit with saying them out loud.”

Bakugou grits his teeth and continues despite himself. 

“Eijirou, I’m not teasing you. I don’t know what’s happening between us because, well, I only know how I feel about you. Sure, I got an idea how you feel, but I’m not gonna assume not with this - not with you. It’s always been you, Eijirou. And, I know that extra hurt your feelings by talking about how you’re just there - always there. And, it's true, but it's so much more than that. What that guy didn’t understand - what he could never comprehend is that Eijirou, you show up tired. You show up when it's hard. You show up when you’d rather not. You show up when I’ve been nothing short of impossible. Hell, you’re there for me when you don’t even know how to be there - to show up - for yourself. I didn’t expect to have these feelings, Ei. And, I am trying my damnedest to try and drive this truck while fighting the urges sitting just under my skin to demonstrate just what I think of your offering - how much I enjoyed it. Because you’re hot, Eijirou, in a sinful, unfair way, but anyone with eyes and a pulse can see that - knows that. But, what I wasn’t prepared for were the feelings. I know these sorts of things don’t come with warnings, but they definitely change everything. It makes me wonder how I ever lived without you and when I think about it, I mean, really think about it you’ve been a constant for as long as I can remember. And, I cannot imagine navigating life without you which is scary because I’ve always believed that I didn’t need anyone. But, Eijirou, I do need someone. I need you. You push me to be better. I am a fuller, better version of myself when I’m with you. God, now I’m rambling, which is usually your thing.”

A dry laugh breaks out of Bakugou’s lungs and when did his vision get blurry? Oh, his eyes are misty, teary even. He blinks rapidly trying to clear his vision as something shifts in his peripheral. The hand that had been tightly gripping Eijirou’s thigh is effortlessly shuffled into loose red strands as a large body wraps around his right side. Soft, chapped lips brush against the scent gland on Bakugou’s neck. He hisses at how swollen and sensitive the gland is likely irritated after the sheer volume of scents and pheromones he’s encountered over the course of the evening. Bakugou’s first instinct, despite what he just confessed, is to push Eijirou away - to chalk the redhead’s interest up to his presentation and approaching rut. For a brief moment, Bakugou argues with himself internally that Eijirou couldn’t possibly reciprocate his interest - his feelings. That Eijirou’s earlier declaration at the bar was simply the first waves of hormones and heightened adrenaline pulsing through his best friend - nothing more.

A broad swipe of Eijirou’s textured tongue against his scent gland shorts out Bakugou’s spiraling thoughts. A second swipe sends a full-body shiver through Bakugou. If this continues, Bakugou will have to pull the truck over, no matter how terrible of an idea that is. Heat spreads across his right inner thigh as Eijirou’s palm caresses the denim-covered skin there. His breathing stutters as he strains to keep his eyes on the road. 

They’re almost there. Bakugou can already see the yellowed warmth emanating from the barn light closest to Eijirou’s house. 

“Omega.”

Bakugou’s breathing accelerates. Eijirou’s voice hits his ears and the sound is nothing short of dark, desperate even. “Ei, please. We’ll be back at the bunkhouse in a handful of minutes. Then, we can sort you, er, us out, okay.”

Gods, Bakugou hated how he sounded so unsure. He never sounded unsure. Fangs drug across Bakugou’s scent gland causing him to lean forward toward the wheel. He could feel his body demanding he present, his thighs drenched with slick. He feels thankful that the scent patches on his thighs seemed determined to work overtime, tonight of all nights, because even he couldn’t smell himself yet.

“Ei—” Bakugou warned as the other began nipping and sucking on his scent gland. 

“Katsuki, do you have any idea what you do to me?”

Bakugou tightens his thighs at the way that Eijirou’s voice rumbles deep from within his chest - something purely animalistic. Eijirou uses his hold on Bakugou’s thigh to pull the blond’s leg towards him. Bakugou whimpers, his grasp on the wheel rigid as he turns down the long drive that would lead them straight to the main house and their shared bunk house. Bakugou finally allows himself to acknowledge that he feels fiercely overwhelmed and out of his depth, but he slows the truck so as to not spin the gravel. He can see their destination just ahead - less than three minutes - and then he can wrangle Eijirou into the bedroom with a rut aid and some water bottles to ride out what was shaping up to be quite the first rut. 

Bakugou parks the truck back into familiar grooves in the gravel. Shizuka and Taishiro stand at the edge of their front porch, concern and curiosity writ across their faces. Bakugou cuts the engine just as Eijirou presses further into his side, whispering sweet and mischievous, “Don’t hide from me, Kat-su-ki.”

Bakugou cuts the engine, pocketing the keys and slipping from Eijirou’s grasp. He quickly shuts the door and watches Eijirou’s eyes widen. Bakugou is banking on Eijirou following, the newly presenting alpha presses a palm to the glass of the driver’s side door, before he’s scrambling backwards out of the passenger side door in pursuit of Bakugou. Bakugou takes in Eijirou’s body language and registers, albeit too late, the grievous mistake that he’s made. 

Eijirou rounds to the front of the truck and Bakugou realizes he’s fucked because every inch of Eijirou screams hunt, chase, claim. Even in the low light, Bakugou can see how Eijirou’s nostrils flare and his eyes are more pupil than iris. He mutters and backs up before he pivots and his boots peel against the gravel. Bakugou exhales harshly, breath visible in the cooler nighttime air, as he allows himself to focus only on running - only on making it to the bunk house. He catches Fat Gum moving toward them out of the corner of his eye. He can’t slow, but he’t gotta warn the older alpha that approaching him right now is a terrible idea.

So, Bakugou yells:

“Toyomitsu, you, and Miss Shizuka hav’ta go back inside. I’ve got Eijirou. We can explain in the mor-, er, we’ll explain in a few days. But, unless you want to fight your son, I suggest you let this ride out.”

Bakugou’s legs are starting to hurt with how fast he’s trying to move. He needs to get inside and get his collar on before Eijirou closes in on him. He yells out one last thing:

“Can you let my ma and dad know I’ll be here for a few days? You ain’t got to tell my ma why. I s’pose you can if you want.” 

And, with that, Bakugou barrels into the bunk house door. It opens easily and despite his immediate irritation with Eijirou for not locking it behind him. He’s thankful for the oversight now as he jumps, clearing their old, well-loved couch, and hustles down the hallway to the singular bedroom in the back. Bakugou is sweating and swearing as he opens drawer after drawer in search of his godforsaken collar. He bends looking between the nightstand and the bed, crouching to reach the piece of leather where it managed to wedge itself between the mattress and the bedframe. He idly thinks that it must have fallen there during his last heat. Bakugou’s hands shake as he stands, sliding the leather collar around his throat, and tightening the material into place over his scent glands.

A shadow looms behind the blond and he freezes. A deer caught in front of an 18-wheeler. His turn to face the doorway is a slow, cautious thing. Red locks onto inky black. The deep red of Eijirou's eyes remains eclipsed by his wide-blown pupils. Bakugou, not for the first time tonight, notices the similarity between the boy before him and an apex predator. His throat suddenly feels dry, but every other part of him feels soaked. Bakugou glances at the hallway behind where Eijirou stands, towering over him and their shared space. He watches intently as the taller boy pants, chest heaving, mouth parted, and tongue sliding idly along his extended claiming fangs. 

No one moves. No one speaks. A stalemate. Bakugou gently shrugs out of his jacket, placing it on the bedpost closest to him. He makes sure to keep his eyes on Eijirou. His tattered shirt comes next. The material catches a few times as he eases up and over his head. He huffs, sight still on Eijirou where he hovers in the doorway, as he continues to undress. Bakugou won't lie, knowing he would be losing one of his favorite shirts definitely soured his mood earlier, but now it's giving him more time to work out what comes next.

A soft, crooning noise interrupts the silence. Bakugou tilts his head, he chirps, and then allows himself to purr for a few moments. He stops, waiting, pausing to gauge Eijirou's response. Blond brows pinch together, everything remains still, which leads to Bakugou’s infamous inpatient winning out. He looks down, fingers grasping the fabric around the button of his jeans. His fingers twitch, once he does this there might not be any going back. Longer, thicker fingers wrap over his own, preventing that thought and his hesitation from going any further. Eijirou's fingers trace lightly over his and Bakugou allows himself to enjoy the way that the callouses on Eijirou's hands move over the backs of his knuckles and down along his fingers before stopping at the button of his jeans. Bakugou gazes up at Eijirou from under his lashes. He feels his breathing catch as he bites his bottom lip. Bakugou knows he's acting on pure instinct and adrenaline now. 

Eijirou keeps his hands over Bakugou’s, but slowly bends, so that he is kneeling on the floor in front of the blond. He looks up, something akin to raw need and hope in his eyes, and asks:

“Please? Let me. I can smell you, my pretty firefly. Tell me, do you ache for it the way that I do?” 

Bakugou feels indignation boiling up inside him, but he pushes it down, favoring the blush filling his cheeks at Eijirou’s words. A soft laugh eases out of Bakugou as he releases his fingers from his jeans and allows Eijirou room to finish undressing him. 

“Firefly, huh? So, in the course of a few hours we’ve moved from Bakugou and dude to Katsuki, then omega, and now firefly?” 

Eijirou mumbles, pressing his forehead against Bakugou’s abdomen, as he pops the other’s button free. He presses a chaste kiss to the skin just above Bakugou’s belly button. 

“Katsuki, my self-control is dangling by a thread right now. I’ve never been so overwhelmed by not only want, but need. But, I could say something similar for you - in the same time I have been so many things. You have called me Kirishima, Kiri, Red, Shitty Hair, Eijirou, Eiji, Ei, and alpha.”

Eijirou glances up at Bakugou seeking permission one more time as his fingers slide between the top of Bakugou’s jeans. Bakugou’s nod is light, almost imperceptible, but there nevertheless. Eijirou edges the fabric down over Bakugou’s ass and legs. Once the fabric pools at his feet, Bakugou moves to unceremoniously kick the fabric aside, but Eijirou stops him, gently lifting one leg and pulling the fabric free while kissing the inside of Bakugou’s calf before repeating the process on the other side. Eijirou gently lays Bakugou’s jeans across the bed behind them. His senses feel heightened, but his thoughts continue to rapidly devolve. His fingers travel up pale skin until each palm splays across one of Bakugou’s inner thighs. The movement exposes Bakugou’s swollen, oil-leaking scent glands hidden between his thighs. On impulse, Eijirou lurches forward pressing his nose along one gland and then the other inhaling sharply each time. With the way Eijirou’s face brushes between Bakugou’s inner thighs, his nose fills with the scent of Bakugou’s arousal. He even manages to smear slick on his face. Eijirou growls, fighting the urge to bury his face between the blond’s thighs. He rocks back onto his haunches, looking up at Bakugou. He notices, rather fondly, that Bakugou appears just as hazy and overwhelmed as he feels.

“Does it matter?” Eijirou asks.

“Does what matter?” Bakugou replies as he leans forward on the balls of his feet slightly to gaze down at Eijirou between his thighs. 

“How we refer to each other, especially right now? I mean, I don’t wanna hear my surname, really, but isn’t it more about intention than the word itself?” 

Bakugou smiles, his brain and belly feeling gooey and warm, despite the cramps that worsen by the minute. 

“You know, you’re right, but hearing you say Katsuki instead of bro or Bakugou earlier felt good. Though, omega and firefly, I have to say, I like those, too. Truthfully, like you said, it's less what’s said and more how you say it. And, Gods, Eijirou, I’ve never met anyone who does reverence and authenticity the way that you do.” 

Bakugou pauses, gnawing his bottom lip once more, as he places his fingers beneath Eijirou’s chin to encourage the other to look up at him fully.

“Can I call you Eijirou and alpha?”

Kirshima’s piercing gaze collides with Bakugou’s as he offers a curt nod before dragging his tongue across Bakugou’s inner thigh, narrowly missing the blond’s scent gland. The redhead’s breathing picks up and he eyes Bakugou, bracing his hands against the older boy’s hips. 

Words rush from Eijirou, hurried and half-coherent, “Ground rules, hard no’s, omega, I need to know how far this can go before I am beyond able to be reasoned with.” 

Bakugou tries to clear the fog settling over his brain. Soon, he, too, will be beyond reason unless they iron this out now while their secondary genders aren’t in the driver seat - a pseudo muscle memory agreement that they’ll have to hope their baser selves honor. 

“Uh, fuck, no claiming bites hence the collar for me. No knotting or penetration at least for now.” Bakugou stops, eyes darkening and brows scrunching, as he gets lost in his thoughts for a few beats. “Scenting is fine. Biting is fine as long as it's not a claiming bite. You should use a rut aide, or maybe my thighs. We’ll figure that one out I guess. Um, oh, fuck, do not piss on me Eijirou Kirishima. Do you hear me? I know that can be a real knothead thing to do, but just don’t.”

Round, puppy dog eyes blink owlishly at him and the bit of anger that had built in Bakugou fizzles out.

“You look like you wanna say something. What is it, Eijirou?”

“What about scent glands? Also, can we move to the bed? This urge to hold, to protect, and to just be close to you has been simmering in my blood for what feels like hours, Katsuki.” 

Bakugou slides his fingers through Eijirou’s hair and then extends his hand to help Eijirou off the floor. The frantic rush from before seems to have mellowed for the time being. Bakugou feels Eijirou’s fingers intertwine with his as the other stands. Bakugou gestures to Eijirou’s clothing, hoping that his hint is understood. He gently separates from Eijirou as he crawls into bed. He turns and watches as Eijirou efficiently strips down to his boxer briefs. Eijirou’s arousal presses up against his lower abdomen. Bakugou flushes red from the apples of his cheeks down his chest as he feigns studying one the various chord progression posters on the wall across the room. Eijirou kneels on the side of the bed across from Bakugou, stilling one last time, an opportunity for Bakugou to change his mind and back out of however the rest of the night will play out. But, the blond merely sighs, offering Eijirou soft eye roll, before pulling back the comforter and allowing Eijirou to pull him against his chest. 

Bakugou trembles as Eijirou’s long, textured tongue traces along the sides of his neck not covered by the leather collar. Bakugou sighs, content, as Eijirou lays him down amongst an array of well-loved and well-used pillows before the alpha begins trailing chaste kisses down Bakugou’s chest and stomach. Bakugou watches intently as Eijirou makes his way down his body until the redhead leans up on his elbows, nestled between Bakugou’s thighs again. 

“Katsuki, I want to make you feel good. I want to care for you in each and every way that you’ll let me. But, we both know I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

Bakugou scoffs, the sound softer than usual. 

“Like I do, Ei? Sure, I’ve had quite a few heats since I presented, but I-I’ve never been with anyone else. But, I trust you. So go slow and let your instincts help? You’ve got that alpha prowling in the back of your head by now, I’m almost sure of it. So, use it. He’ll make up for what you don’t know.”

Eijirou pulls the hair tie from his wrist, thankful that on the nights they went out to play that he slapped on on his wrist just in case, because now it allows himself to wrap his lips around the swollen glands nestled between his omega’s thick thighs without his wayward hair interrupting or annoying him by being in the way. With his hair wrangled into a haphazard pony tail, Eijirou braces one of Bakugou’s thighs across his forearm, allowing his fingers to press into the soft flesh and hold Bakugou open so he can lap at the gland freely. A deep, guttural moan rips itself from Eijirou as he’s flooded by Bakugou scent and taste straight from the source. Oil slicks his lips and mouth making an absolute mess of Bakugou, Eijirou, and the sheets below them. Now that Eijirou can taste Bakugou on his tongue, he’s not sure he’ll be able to stop. He selfishly switches from one gland to the other - nipping, sucking, and licking both glands - until oil fills Eijirou’s mouth and coats him from his chin to his broad chest. Eijirou moves, repositioning himself, so that his arms wrap underneath Bakugou’s thighs and keep the blond spread wide. He practically bullies his shoulders between Bakugou’s legs, pressing the other’s thighs even wider, as he continues to suck and lavish the skin laid out before him.

Nimble fingers slide through Eijirou’s hair and pull the strands taunt. Eijirou’s neck strains with the movement and he’s forced to arch back to peer up at Bakugou above him. He watches in awe as the blond trembles, chest glistening with sweat and surging forward with his rapid breathing. Bakugou keens, voice pitching, and Eijirou pauses his ministrations, watching as Bakugou actively fights the way his body reacts. Bakugou refusing to allow himself to just feel spurs something fervent and harsh within Eijirou. Eijirou moves, touch bruising where he grips Bakugou’s hips, as he holds himself slightly aloft and just observes. Bakugou’s breathing begins to even out and Eijirou uses this opportunity to take a hand from the omega’s hip, slipping along the curve of Bakugou’s body, before cupping his cheek. Eijirou’s world narrows to the space between them. He leans down, the first touch of their lips tentative, quickly deepening into a hungry kiss. Bakugou’s hands tangle into his hair further before his blunt nails carve a path along Eijirou’s upper shoulders and back. His movements wrought with desperation and need - to blur where his stops and Eijirou starts. Eijirou shifts, laying them on their sides, as he wraps his arms around Bakugou, pulling him even closer. He needs Bakugou to feel the thundering of his heart and the way his body pulses with need. His once-fumbling fingers find their confidence, every touch emboldened by rising confidence. 

“I’ve wanted you for so long.” 

Eijirou moans against Bakugou’s lips between feverish kissing. Bakugou takes in the scent of Eijirou’s, the scent intoxicating as he closes his eyes, letting the feeling of Eijirou’s touch wash over him. He stayed in the moment - allowing himself a moment of pure sensation. Both boys draw back, barely an exhale’s breadth between them, a testament to a silent promise of what’s to come. 

Neither boy moves for several moments, bodies writhing against one another, as they remain breathless. Eijirou yields, pressing in once more, as he whispers against Bakugou’s lips.

“Katsuki, when I look at you, it's like my senses shift. My soul swells and I feel a need to let go and be close to you. So, omega, please -”

Eijirou stills, shifting his neck, so that he can see Bakugou's face.

“Don’t think. Just feel.”

Eijirou wakes and immediately his hand flies to his head. Gods above, his head aches. His head moves on a swivel despite the pain lancing through his temples and he audibly gasps at the state of the bedroom. A curtain rod hangs from above the curtain, snapped in two, and the fabric of the curtains bunched heavily to one side. There are at least two rut aides that he can see, out in the open, punctured and split. Eijirou flushes trying not to acknowledge what's pooling beneath both aides where they lay strewn on the ground. Eijirou’s sheets and comforter, while covering his lap, appear torn and stained. He balks when he notices that both the bathroom door and the closet door appear off their hinges, the wood braced at a skewed angle to the wall. 

What the fuck happened?

Hushed voices from beyond the bedroom yank Eijirou from his thoughts. He notices as he’s pulled from his own cycling monologue that he’s alone in the bedroom. A sinking feeling settles in Eijirou’s gut. He compartmentalizes whatever that sinking feeling is shaping up to be as he stands, realizing his underwear sit across his skin in tatters. He peels what remains of the boxers off, taking his time to cross the room, toss the ruined fabric into the trash in the bathroom, and turn back to the bedroom proper to search for something to wear. His search is short-lived as a clean pair of boxer briefs and sweat pants lay across the dresser, which managed to escape what befell this room with minimal damage. Eijirou glances at the clean clothing and decides to shower before dressing himself. He pads along the wooden floors and after wrestling with the door, Eijirou runs the water until steam is rolling in toward the ceiling, fogging the mirror, and obscuring his view of himself in the glass behind him. He steps into the water, hissing at the heat, and scrubs his skin until it no longer feels sticky and sweat-dried. In time shorter than his bar set, Eijirou washes his hair and exits the shower. He dries off, tosses a towel over his shoulder for his hair, and makes his way back to the clothes waiting for him. As the sweats slide into place, settling just below his hips, Eijirou finds himself taken aback by rapid-fire thoughts of why.

Why had Bakugou left? Why had he been left alone? Why did he have to face whatever came next - whomever was outside this room - alone? 

Stewing would be an understatement. 

Sound pitches from the front half of the bunk house. A chair scraping across the floor. Then, the hushed voices cut out, leaving the house in total silence, until an all-too familiar voice interrupts, barking out words that shatter the spiral that Eijirou has eased himself into.

“Eijirou Kirishima, I can smell you from out here. Get your ass out here. I made breakfast.”

Bakugou.

Eijirou sighs, pushing the bedroom door open and traipsing down the hallway barefoot. Smell overwhelms him just before his sight sets on Katsuki Bakugou’s bare back where he stands at the stove flipping pancakes seamlessly. Eijirou purrs, the sound rumbling not at all unlike his truck engine, as he saunters up behind Bakugou. He tucks his chin over one of Bakugou’s shoulders, hands hesitating before sliding around the blond’s waist. A strand of his wet hair drops, dripping water down Bakugou’s bare chest, and tickling the side of Eijirou’s face. Eijirou chuckles and makes to plant a kiss on the corner of Bakugou’s mouth when the light sound of someone standing and making their way across the kitchen causes Eijirou to turn, bristling, until he realizes that the source of the sound is none other than his mother. She eyes him, expression coy, amused even, as she lifts the glass decanter, tipping it until her cup is filled halfway. Eyes still locked on Eijirou, she sets the coffee pot back on its burner, moving to grab creamer from the refrigerator, topping off her coffee, and breaking eye contact, finally, when she takes a small sip. She meanders back to her seat at the kitchen table. No one speaks, but Bakugou lightly rolls his shoulders and Eijirou takes the cue to back off so that Bakugou can finish up breakfast. Eijirou takes a handful of steps, sliding into an empty seat across from his mother. He notices a cup of coffee, already cooled and stirred with creamer, sitting in front of his seat. He cocks his head, looks at his mother, but she shakes her head and cants her head toward Bakugou behind them. A warmth spreads through him, something soft unfurling from where it had been tightly wound within his chest. He raises the cup to his lips and takes a long sip. 

Perfect. 

Bakugou knew him so well down to the littlest of things like how he took his coffee. His eyes lift, taking in his mother across from him and Bakugou across from them, switching the stove off. Red eyes lock with his as the other turns, taking a few steps to cross the floor to the table, shuffling things around to set down plates of pancakes, eggs, and bacon. 

“Eat, then we can talk, Shitty Hair.”

Eijirou’s mother smiles, quietly continuing to drink her coffee. Eijirou’s mouth drops open and he shakes his head while muttering to himself, “Guess we’re back to shitty hair, then.” He can see his mother shift in her seat, setting her coffee down, and he waits for her to say something, but then a set of pale fingers poke him dead in the chest. Eijirou looks up and those same pale fingers grip his chin, a simple smirk on Bakugou’s lips.

“You’ll always be Shitty Hair, no matter how I feel about you.”

Bakugou releases his hold Eijirou then sits himself between Eijirou and his mother. The Toyomitsu matriarch picks up her coffee mug, trying to hide her grin, as she resumes steadily sipping her coffee. 

Comfortable silence follows. 

Both boys eat while Shizuka casually picks at a few pieces of bacon between swallows of coffee. Once it was clear that everyone has eaten their fill, Eijirou stands, putting away the leftovers and loading the dirty dishes into the dishwasher. He starts the load, wipes down the counters, and returns to the table. His coffee cup finds its way back to his hand and he waits, patience feeling razor thin. His mouth opens and closes several times. His mother cocks an eyebrow, but says nothing. No one seems sure how to start things until finally Bakugou and Eijirou’s mother share a look. Eijirou, himself, feels left out, like the other two know something that he doesn’t, which threatens to hurt his feelings more than it would piss him off. 

Shizuka breaks the silence thankfully. Her tone casual, arguably pleasant and unbothered.

“Taishiro and I contacted the Bakugous. Masaru brought over some of the snacks and water bottles you two tore through over the last week.”

“Week?!” 

Eijirou exclaims, having to grip his coffee mug and he lurches forward, mug knocking the table, as utter disbelief fills him. His mother continued on, unperturbed by his interruption.

“Masaru provided much needed help when Tai or I had to work either on the farm or elsewhere. You two caused quite the stir around here and may or may have not needed babysitting to make sure you stayed contained during your, er, coupling.”

Eijirou interrupts again. “Did we—”

Eijirou can feel Bakugou’s glare burning into the side of his face. His head turns and this time, his attention settles on Bakugou. He finally, truly looks at the blond. Bruises color the skin around the leather collar still nestled against his skin. His eyes look tired. There are half a dozen angry, red bite marks littering his body just from this angle. Scratches and welts color his skin in a few places. Blond hair splays in a myriad of directions looking like honey-colored fireworks sprouting from his head.

Bakugou chews his lip, but reaches his hand out for Eijirou’s. Eijirou intertwines their fingers and the tension starts to drain from his body. He supposes that it doesn’t matter whether they did or didn’t. Though, he would have preferred if he’d at least been mostly conscious for it if they did manage to go all the way. Eijirou idly traces patterns on the back of Bakugou’s hand then gently tugs the blond’s hand to his lips, pressing chaste kisses between the knuckles.

Shizuka resumes, again, so nonchalantly. Meanwhile Eijirou feels very, very chalant about the situation, thank you very much. 

“I’m not sure what did or did not happen over the last several days. I will say that it's expected that you two will clean the bunkhouse and take the next few days to reorient yourselves so that you can return to school on Monday.” 

Shizuka’s words find themselves once again fragmented when Taishiro Toyomitsu’s booming voice approaches the bunk house's front door. The front door swings wide, a large hand holding the wood to keep it from colliding with the wall due to how forcefully the man opened it. Three sets of eyes lock on the imposing figure standing in the doorway. He toes off his boots as he closes the door much more gently than how he opened it. He slips his Carhartt jacket onto the hook by the door and wordlessly carries himself across the room, places a kiss on Shizuka’s forehead, and grabs the back of a chair, sliding it out, and sitting down. 

“Morning boys. Mind if I join ya?”

Eijirou coughs, choking on the mouthful of coffee that he’d been holding in his mouth too long. Bakugou, on instinct, moves one hand to wipe at the coffee that splattered across Eijirou’s lips while the hand that had been intertwined with Eijirou’s beats on the redhead’s back. Eijirou straightens, nodding in thanks to Bakugou, as he swallows with less issue and clears his throat.

“Morning, dad.”

“Sir,” Bakugou answers, tone subdued. 

Booming laughter erupts across the space as Fat Gum clasps his hands over his stomach. The movement jostles the table and everyone holding a mug scrambles to make sure their coffee doesn’t spill across the old, repurposed barnwood. 

“Boys, breathe. Relax. We’ve got to iron out a few things, sure, but everything’s gonna be alright. For starters though, if we’re going to be in a bar, then we should probably let me or your ma know. Shocking as it may seem, we were young once, too. However, I’m a bit disappointed y’all didn’t think you could be honest. I don’t think Shizuka or I have ever been unreasonable about our expectations or unsupportive of your boys’ music.”

Shizuka nods, adding the occasional mhmm or yep as her husband talks. 

He carries on about keeping himself and Shizuka informed of their whereabouts, so that the Toyomitsus can communicate with Masaru. He rambles about understanding why they don’t involve Mitsuki much given her propensity to think very little of folks from around here given that she’s from a ‘big city and all.’ Shizuka comfortably chuckles at that. Taishiro pauses to glance lovingly at his wife before prattling on some more about safety. Then, he drops his elbows on the table, propping his face in his hands and looking first at Eijirou then at Bakugou. His eyes are fond, but his smile is nothing short of mischievous. 

“Now, I’m not much too curious about whether or not my boy deflowered Mitsuki Bakugou’s son. And, certainly, if she believed that had in fact occurred she’d be here spittin’ straight hellfire and raisin’ Cain. Frankly, it's none of my business. The two of you are on the steady uptick to adulthood. I suspect you’re capable of making well-reasoned decisions in that regard. So, I will leave that, well, at that. But, what I am quite curious about is whether a certain Eijirou Kirishima-Toyomitsu defanged another alpha during all the excitement of last evening?”

Eijirou pales. He feels the blood rush out of his face and a sneaking nausea tangles up his gut. He looks at Bakugou who looks like he, too, is about to pass out, but not from worry, no, from fighting not to laugh. Bakugou pops up to his feet without a word to anyone else at the table. He does a half-jog down the hall. In his absence, Shizuka and Taishiro share a knowing look. Eijirou struggles to decipher just what in the hell is happening when Bakugou returns and plops the two, still-bloodied fangs in the center of the table. No preamble, no pretense, no worry. Just a set of alpha fangs drops amidst the four of them like it is the most normal thing in the world to have someone’s forcibly removed claiming fangs on your kitchen table. 

Eijirou digs his own fangs into his bottom lip and waits. He braces for the lecture. His parents aren’t much for needless violence and this certainly feels like proof that he’s gone and made an ass of himself, proof that he’s thought with his fists, his instincts, his dick.

Eijirou’s eyes sit downcast until his father’s large hand wraps around his wrist. What Eijirou sees reflected in his dad’s eyes isn’t disappointment, anger, or anything remotely close, but rather he looks almost conspiratorial. His father leans in, like they are two old friends sharing secrets over their morning coffee.

“So, my boy, how’d ya do it?”

Eijirou levels his father with a wild look. He’s in total disbelief at the turn of this conversation. He downs his coffee, extending the silence, before lightly dragging his hands down his face. He opens his mouth, trying to spit out the words, but Bakugou beats him to the punch.

“Short version? Some asshole tried to assault me at the bar. Red, here, sniffed me out like a goddamn bloodhound. The bastard from the bar kept running his mouth, Eijirou’s presentation kicked in with a vengeance, he digs his fingers knuckle-deep into this loser’s mouth, and yanks. Popped both fangs free with little effort then palmed the guy’s face like a fucking basketball and dropped him to the ground, discarded like trash.” 

Shizuka sets her cup down, eyes flitting to Taishiro, who is already glancing her way. Both of the Toyomistus try to keep straight faces, but Taishiro breaks, and he slaps a hand across Eijirou’s back, his full-bellied laugh from earlier making a triumphant return.

“Well, I’ll be damned, Rou. Obviously don’t make a habit of it. But, I’m proud of you for standing on your convictions. Take the weekend to get yourself in order. I’ll see you back out there come Monday. But, me and you? We’re five by five, son.”

Eijirou watches as his father stands, offering a hand to his mother, and the two make their way toward the door. Shizuka holds her coffee mug in one hand while the other remains wrapped up in Taishiro’s much larger one. In one fluid motion, his father pulls his boots back on, tightening the laces as he goes, before the two elder Toyomitsus open the door wide, and depart without another word.

Bakugou cackles and Eijirou scrubs his hand down his face, red hair swaying, as he shakes his head, utterly baffled.

Unsaid things have a way of eventually catching up to you. Eijirou knows this firsthand. He’s staring at Bakugou where he’s leaning against the bar waiting on drinks for their table. Eijirou observes how he holds his ID between his ring and middle finger, the plastic lightly tapping against the faux wood. A sigh escapes from his lips catching Sero’s attention as the other man works through running the wires for their set. They’ve already made it through soundcheck, but Sero wanted to swap about a few of the wires for their amps. The raven-haired man swears that it’ll give them cleaner sound and who is Eijirou to argue.

“Still just friends, huh?”

Eijirou freezes, eyes landing on Sero’s profile. “It’s co—” Eijirou starts.

Sero interrupts. “If you say it's complicated, I will play in the wrong key during each and every chorus.”

Eijirou clutches his chest with the hand not holding his guitar. “You wouldn’t dare, Hanta Sero!”

“Absolutely, I would. You two have been heat and rut sharing since you were, what, sixteen, maybe seventeen? And, we all know that once your eighteenth birthday hit that y’all started regularly fucking. Farm ain’t that fuckin big, Kirishima.”

Eijirou scratches at the back of his neck, blowing air out slowly between his lips, as he looks away from Sero. Heat climbs up his chest and neck where it sits angry and obvious on his tanned cheeks.

“Han, let it be.”

Sero scoffs. “You know normally I would. But, seeing as how we’re here in celebration of a certain redhead’s twenty-first birthday and his successful petition to present at next year’s agricultural engineering tech conference, I can’t be bothered to filter and let it lie.”

Eijirou thumbs across the neck of his guitar, chewing over what he wants to say, but he’s interrupted by a blur of pink in his peripheral. Mina bounds forward, energy contagious, as she tips forward, her lips pulled into a cunning smirk.

“I’ve been told to extend the following message from Camie since a certain someone isn’t reading his text messages."

Mina clears her throat playfully, arching up on her toes as she remains tipped forward, really selling the drama of whatever message she’s about to deliver. “Kiribabe, how can you enjoy life if you’re in constant fear of its negatives? You have this way of sacrificing your own joy to help others. So, I’m going to need you to do what I do best. Act out with a complete lack of impulse control. So tonight, don’t just play any song. Play your damn song.”

With that, Mina saunters away. Eijirou watches as she shoulders up next to Bakugou before the two of them slide into two chairs crowded around a small high top table. He inhales sharply as deep, red eyes stare at him with such heat that Eijirou has to look away or else he’ll lose his nerve. And what a waste that would be after all the bullshit that they’ve had to put up with over the last few years in order to play this bar, specifically. All the promises of if he just did this or just did that then they’d let him play here - a tiny “all genres” country-rock spot situated in the heart of the city - and finally after clearing all their hoops, his boots have landed on this little stage and he’ll be damned if he gives it up now.

Sero gives him a look as they both run through tuning one last time. Sero inclines his head and Eijirou knows what he’s asking without any words being shared between them. Sero spins on his heel, bending down to whisper to the house drummer about their change in set, and the guy merely nods. Mina must catch on because her energy intensifies. Bakugou simply eyes her, looking only mildly annoyed at the way she makes the table wobble enough that he has to hold his drink aloft to avoid it sloshing everywhere.

Fingers flexing, Eijirou subtly shifts a few switches on the mic stand and his amp. He exhales. Looking out over the crowd, he realizes how packed the place is. Everywhere he looks there are couples swaying, folks leaning against every open surface, each seat has someone sat in it, but his eyes flick to Sero one last time before he drops into the opening notes.

Well-practiced placement makes the slide from D to A effortless as his voice, rich and honest, flows out across the space.

“Boy, you know I've known you forever
How many nights we hung out together
Same little crowd, little bar, little town
Round this old dance floor
My boys are laughin' and tap me on the shoulder
Makin' a motion like "Could y'all get any closer?"
They wanna know what's up when I'm still holdin' ya
Even when the song is over”

Eijirou delights in the way that Bakugou’s eyes light up - a fiery need and something softer, perhaps surprise. That look stirs something within Eijirou and pushes him forward as he presses into the chorus. His boots find their way down the short flight of stairs on the front of the stage and now he’s in the middle of the dance floor, vocals deep and smooth as Bakugou sits back in his chair. 

“There's a rumor goin' round about me and you
Stirrin' up our little town the last week or two
So tell me why we even tryin' to deny this feelin'
I feel, don't you feel it too?
There's a rumor goin' round, and round, and round
What d'you say we make it true?
We make it true”

Mina elbows Bakugou and Eijirou fights a laugh as the blond seems to finally realize just what’s unfolding in front of him. He slides down from his chair at the high top with Mina and crosses the floor to Eijirou. The redhead relies on Sero’s strumming to carry the end of the chorus as he takes his hat from his head and places it on Bakugou’s golden locks. He smiles, something wicked and wonderful, as he shifts back into a D chord for verse two. 

“Well I can shut 'em down, tell 'em all they're crazy
I can do whatever you want me to do, baby
Or you could lay one on me right now
We could really give them som'in' to talk about”

Piercing. The only word that Eijirou could come up with given how Bakugou’s eyes bore into him. Eijirou crowds Bakugou’s space as he plays through the chorus once more. He easily follows with the interlude, basking in how close his body is to Bakugou’s. He takes in the view: messy blond hair, sharp red eyes lethally lined, and an outfit comprised of black and denim that fits the shorter man in such a sinful way that Eijirou’s tempted to say to hell with the rest of the song. But, Eijirou’s got a point to prove and now that he’s started something, he refuses to quit. Eijirou runs his tongue along his claiming fangs and bends toward Bakugou, ignoring how they’ve captured the attention of damn near everyone in this bar. He can feel the tension taunt as everyone holds a collective breath that is sure to break as soon as Eijirou croons his way through the bridge.

“Oh be honest boy now
Do you want to do this or not?
Should we keep them talkin',
Or should we just make 'em stop?”

Eijirou flows through the final chorus and outro with a sensual power that holds the fraying edges of the tension simmering between himself and Bakugou while everyone watches them. Eijirou taps the body of his guitar, pressing lightly, until the instrument hangs behind him. His right hand reaches up, cupping the back of Bakugou’s head through the hat. The redhead means to ask him - to leave nothing chance - but Bakugou pitches himself up on the balls of his feet, tangles his fingers in the front of Eijirou’s shirt, and kisses him so fiercely that it takes the taller man’s breath away.

Catcalls and applause erupted across the bar, but the two men in the middle of the dance floor can’t see beyond one another. They’re so lost in one another that they miss the next set entirely. An occasional wolf whistle gets aimed their way, but still their heated kiss continues.

The evening passes in a whirl of other sets and celebratory shots. Eijirou makes sure to cut himself off because he and Bakugou still have an hour drive home. He’ll have to find Sero later and figure out if his performance was enough to get them asked back. But, right now, Eijirou can’t be bothered to disturb the other man as he spins around the dance floor with a man whose two-toned hair reminds the red head of both a roaring fire and the depths of winter. A smile splits Kirshima’s face. He hopes that whatever’s happening between the two of them works out. Course, he’d love to meet him, since he’s clearly important to Sero, but Eijirou respects that some folks have their reasoning for being so private and, well, life ain’t as cut and dry as he’s believed it to be. Hell, his own situation proves that things don’t always figure themselves out as simply as they should. 

Slender fingers brush his skin, cradling his face, the touch reverent and bordering possessive. Eijirou really should go put his guitar away, but the way Bakugou holds him has him firmly rooted in place. He takes in the way Bakugou’s lips are kiss-bitten and slightly red. The red coloration continues up into his cheeks and Eijirou could chalk it up to the alcohol and the heat from all the bodies packed into one space, but he’s almost certain the flush comes from how the other is feeling whether its nerves, excitement, embarrassment, or arousal, he can’t be sure. He means to ask, to move them from the center of the dance floor, but then Bakugou kisses him, stealing the air from his lungs, not for the first time that night, and arches up to whisper in Eijirou’s ear. 

“Eijirou, take me home. I want you, but I want you spinning me ‘round our kitchen. You know I love nights like this—nights out watching you do what you love—sharing pieces of yourself with the world, but right now I’m feeling selfish. I don’t want to share this part of you, of me, of us, at least not tonight.”

Eijirou’s smile smolders, sticky-sweet and lush. His scent kicks up and Bakugou inhales long and deep as earth, smoke, and the heat of a thunderstorm fill his nose. It's more than petrichor and farmland. It's deeper than that like a personal love letter from the land to the sky - a sunset horizon full of promise. Bakugou can’t even pretend that he doesn’t know what that look spreading across Eijirou’s face means. Suddenly, the blond’s tongue feels heavy as his own scent responds to Eijirou’s - instinct driven - like their bodies knew long before their brains allowed them to believe. But, now, what had only felt like a possibility before is rapidly settling into reality - their reality.

Eijirou signals to Mina where she stands chatting with a sweet looking brunette. Mina nods, and shoots off a few texts in their group chat letting Sero know that they would be heading out early just so the other man didn’t worry. Three little bubbles pop up, first for Mina, then Sero, but a message never comes.

From across the bar, the brunette with Mina turns, and Eijirou tries to discern where he recognizes her from, but just as he’s starting to piece it together, she cups her hands around her mouth and shouts:

“Y’all had your fun with the will-they-won’t-they bit, but we’ve finished the public edging, right? Y’all are official-official, now, yeah?”

The chaos that ensues sends Eijirou into a laughing fit. Mina grabs the woman around the waist, kissing her temple, and handing her a drink to shush her. At the same time, Bakugou whips around, Eijirou’s hat threatening to fall from his head as he yells back, “Fuck you, Round Cheeks! How about you huff my slick, you meddling bitch?”

Eijirou growls and immediately slaps a hand over his mouth. This sends Round Cheeks, who he’s realized rather delayed is Uraraka, and several others nearby into giggling fits. 

“I’m so sorry.” Eijirou mumbles his apologies, totally mortified. Bakugou snorts as he pivots back toward Eijirou.

“You jealous, Red?” The blond teases.

They moved in synchronicity. Eijirou threads his fingers through Bakugou’s and tugs them toward the door. He grabs his guitar case from their booth just as Sero sends a text stating that he and Mina will follow up with the entertainment coordinator about what happens next. Sero adds that he’ll keep Eijirou in the loop, depending on the outcome of tonight’s sets, of course.

Eijirou thumbs up reacts to the messages and shoves his phone in his back pocket. His ears heat as he thinks about how he growled at someone they knew in a public space. He glances down at Bakugou as the other falls in step beside him. The blond’s shit-eating grin spells trouble and before he can call him on it - question just what he’s up to - Bakugou snags his truck keys from his back pocket and dangles them in front of Eijirou.

“You didn’t answer my question, Eiji. Did me telling Cheeks to huff my slick set you off? You jealous, alpha? Maybe you want me to peel these panties off and muzzle you with ‘em. Is that it?”

Frustration, or perhaps its exasperation, floods Eijirou. He storms forward with a wicked grin, not unlike Bakugou’s, poised on his lips as he snatches Bakugou by the waist and tosses him over his right shoulder. Bakugou screeches and immediately begins lightly thumping against Eijirou’s back. Eijirou makes his way across the parking lot towards his truck, undeterred.  The closer they get to the truck near the back of the lot the more infrequent Bakugou’s pelting becomes. He startles Eijirou when he pulls at the red head’s jeans. Bakugou stretches, trying to grab the band of Eijirou’s boxer briefs from where he lays over the other’s shoulder and upper back. Eijirou startles, readjusting his hold on Bakugou. He sighs as his sights land on his well-loved, red truck.

“Just what are you up to, Katsuki?” 

Eijirou can practically feel the pout before Bakugou even speaks. “Just thinking, Red.” 

“About?” Eijirou cautiously asks. He knows the blond is working up something. He just hasn’t figured out what that something is yet.

“Hmm. . .” Bakugou’s noncommittal response solidifies for Eijirou that whatever’s coming is going to be nothing short of ridiculous.

“Just thinking about how unfair it is that you’re walking around with an ass that’s the stuff of wet dreams. And, how I hardly ever see it, let alone thoroughly appreciate and worship it as I should.”

Eijirou scoffs, swatting Bakugou’s ass as he opens the passenger door to the truck and sets Bakugou down abruptly. The blond yelps and looks up at him rather unimpressed.

“Katsuki, you’re so hot it hurts my feelings. Head to toe you’re stunning and shamelessly stacked.” 

“And, Eiji? Me being attractive doesn’t change the fact that I want to bury my face in your sinfully delicious peach of an ass until you pop a knot.”

Eijirou fights the moan that’s threatening to spill from his lips in this otherwise silent parking lot. He grips the metal frame above Bakugou’s head, the door frame groaning from the impact as Eijirou lunges forward, his lips locking with Bakugou’s in a searing kiss. When they finally pull apart several minutes later, both panting into one another’s mouths, Bakugou manages to croak out, “Get in the fuckin truck, Eijirou.”

Eijirou dutifully puts his guitar in the bucket seat behind Bakugou before hustling to the driver’s side and hopping in his own seat. Bakugou slams the passenger door and Eijirou levels him with an annoyed look. Bakugou flips him off, but offers him a soft, sheepish smile in apology. The first fifteen minutes of the drive home feel taut with tension. Eijirou focuses on merging lanes on the interstate. Five more minutes then he’ll be able to take their exit and it’ll be all back roads and county lines until they reach Fat Gum Farms. Energy crackled in the cab as Eijirou coasted around the curve of the off ramp. A right turn, shortly followed by a let, and now it was thirty or so minutes before their next turn off. Eijirou flipped on the radio, an old country son fighting with radio static as he readjusted in his seat. Bakugou sat in the passenger seat, body almost visibly thrumming for a handful of seconds more then it was if the dam containing his self-control broke. He threw his seat belt off and sidled up next to Eijirou. A soft tongue prodded at his scent gland and Eijirou folded, his moan loud and drawn out.

“Katsuki, please.”

Bakugou nips at the gland before glancing over to look at Eijirou through the rearview mirror. “Whatcha need, Ei? Having a hard time?” Bakugou punctuates his question by palming Eijirou’s cock through his jeans.

"Goddamn it, Firefly.”

Bakugou smirks, as he resumes kissing Eijirou’s neck and mouthing at the alpha’s scent gland. Watching the way Eijirou fights not to fall apart delights some deep, primal part of Bakugou. It gives the blond a rush - a sense of power and control. Bakugou kneels with one knee on the center seat and the other placed precariously on the seat between Eijirou’s spread thighs. He continues to whisper absolute filth into the red head’s ear and if Eijirou’s scent is anything to go by they may just have to pull this damn truck over. He laughs, the noise sultry and smooth, as he pops the button on Eijirou’s jeans and slips his hand inside. The muscle tension beneath his fingers creates a frenzy in Bakugou’s blood. It makes him bold and in half a breath he’s yanking his hand from Eijirou’s pants to spit openly into his palm. He snakes his hand back beneath denim and cotton, biting his lip as his fingers struggle to grip the base of Eijirou’s cock. 

“Having a hard time, Katsuki?” Eijirou mocks.

His mocking falls short as the words escape his lips choppy and halfway between a pant and a wanton moan. Katsuki grins wildly as Eijirou drifts toward the shoulder as he slides his fingers up along Kirshima’s cock, thumb pressing underneath the head. 

“Fuck!” 

Loud cursing fills the truck as Eijirou corrects back toward the center of the lane. He tries to focus, to ignore the way Bakugou’s teasing sends fire and electricity across every nerve in his body. But, slender, slick fingers continue to stroke him with such practiced ease that Eijirou fears he’s an absolute goner. Try as he might, he doesn't feel too confident about the rest of the drive home. He feels himself calm as Bakugou lightens his grip and moves back toward the passenger seat. Eijirou exhales, but his relief is short-lived because Bakugou tugs his cock free from his underwear and wraps his lips lazily around him. Kirshima glances between the road and the blond draped across his lap. He watches as Bakugou leaves his lips slightly parted, tongue teasing the head of his cock as the blond’s spit drips down his shaft and pools on his rapidly-filling knot. He’s thankful for two things: the cab size allowing him to sprawl out, legs splayed wide, despite his size; and the fact that this late at night these old country roads are emptier than a five-and-dime store before a storm hits. He keeps one hand on the wheel and slides the other into ashen blond hair. Eijirou’s hips arch on instinct and the slight gag that the movement pulls from Bakugou’s throat drives him wild. Bakugou, despite the angle, commits to see just how far into his throat he can take Eijirou. Sharp teeth puncture a full bottom lip as Eijirou stifles an utterly obscene moan. Bakugou is choking himself on Eijirou’s cock while they’re doing forty-five down a back road. Eijirou would worry that he’s been a bit all over the road except there’s not a soul in sight and, frankly, he’s about to lose his mind if Bakugou keeps deepthroating like this. 

A set of headlights shine in the rearview mirror and Eijirou’s heart rate kicks up. Fuck, he thinks. Now he’ll really have to focus and steady his hand on the wheel. Eijirou’s trying to psych himself up, but in doing so he must become too quiet - not responsive enough - for Bakugou’s liking. The redhead is certain of this because the blond props himself up with one elbow while his opposite hand grips Eijirou’s inner thigh. Changing the angle allows the omega to bob his head so quickly that it hurts Kirshima’s neck just watching him. His remaining flimsy attempts at fighting back his own moans fail entirely as he feels the head of his cock hit the back of Bakugou’s throat at the same time that the blond’s sly tongue prods and teases his swelling knot. It's a losing battle. Eijirou’s willpower wanes and he languidly thrusts deeper into Bakugou’s throat, which sets off a chain reaction of events: Bakugou gags, jerking backward slightly against the movement; Bakugou’s head hits the steering wheel pushing it too far toward the shoulder again; Eijirou corrects the truck back toward the middle of the westbound lane; and with an imminent wreck into the opposite ditch averted, Eijirou exhales, tension melting out of his body thanks to Bakugou’s wicked mouth.

Red and blue flash brightly into the cab from the back window and Eijirou swears. He pulls on Bakugou’s hair trying to untangle them as quickly as possible as he begins to coast to the side of the road. Bakugou rears back, looking as pissed off and intimidating as someone whose lips are swollen and spit-slicked can manage to do. 

“What the fuck, Eijirou?”

“So, there’s a bit of a situation.”

Bakugou notices Eijirou’s face first and then the lights flashing behind them.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!”

Bakugou slips Eijirou back into his boxer briefs and straightens up his jeans as fast as he can before sliding back to the passenger seat. He tries to be as inconspicuous as possible, but he’s not terribly confident that the cop didn't watch him slide back to the passenger’s seat and rebuckle his seat belt. He figures only time will tell.

“Relax, Red.”

Bakugou whispers as the two men watch a man dressed in a county sheriff’s department uniform approach the driver’s side of the truck. A large hand gestures for Eijirou to roll his window down and he complies immediately. A middle-aged man with a rather intimidating build leans against the side of the truck, his eyes and face still slightly hidden by the brim of his hat. A thick forearm lays across the lip of the window and finally Eijirou can fully see the sheriff’s face.

“Good Evening, Sheriff Sakamata.” Eijirou’s tone is tight, but polite. A wide smile cracks on the sheriff’s face as he readjusts his hat, glancing from Eijirou to Bakugou and back again.

“Well, I’ll be damned. I thought I’d pulled up behind a Toyomitsu truck, but I knew Fat drove a yellow single cab and that oldest boy of his had a silver double cab, so I couldn’t place who the red one belonged to. But, here you sit. You must be his youngest boy. You used to have hair black-as-night, right?”

Eijirou nods once and answers quietly. “Yes, sir. I didn’t dye my hair ‘til I started high school.”

The sheriff mumbled to himself, something along the lines of that’s right. Sakamata clears his throat, a smile still tugging at the corner of his lips.

“You were swervin’ quite a bit back there. You boys, good?” 

Eijirou opens his mouth a few times trying to answer, but he ultimately ends up looking like a fish out of water, mouth semi stuck half open. Sheriff Sakamata pushes forward somewhat and the movement must change something because his forehead creases and then he’s chuckling.

“Whew, air’s downright ripe in there, you two.” 

He eases his hat from his head, running a hand through deep onyx-colored hair that’s going white toward the roots. His laugh fills the space around them and he feigns wiping a tear from his eye. Hat in one hand, the sheriff claps against the upper panel of the truck door and tips his head to Eijirou and Bakugou.

“Next time, save it ‘til you make it home, yeah? And, Red, you might have been a bit less obvious if you had buttoned up. Seeing as it's late, I’ll let you and that little firecracker of yours off with a warning if you can promise me that you two can behave yourselves for the rest of your drive back to Fat’s.”

Eijirou gives another curt nod, feeling the way heat creeps up his neck and face. He can see Bakugou giving a short nod from his peripheral. 

“Alright, boys, get home safe. And, Red, say hello to your old man and your ma for me, will you?” 

With that, Sheriff Sakamata walks back towards his cruiser. Eijirou waits, watching intently as the officer shuts his patrol lights off and shifts the car back onto the road. He slows briefly to wave to Eijirou as he passes and then gets up to speed, easily disappearing into the night. Eijirou releases what feels like all the air from his lungs and slumps in his seat. Bakugou devolves into a fit of ugly cackling. The blond grips his sides and doubles over laughing. Eijirou shakes his head and puts the truck in drive as he flips off his hazard lights.

“Real fuckin’ funny, Katsuki. I damn near pissed my pants. And, now, I gotta tell my folks I saw Sheriff Kugo Sakamata.”

Bakugou’s loud roaring laughter dies down into a softening wheeze as he lazily points at Eijirou’s crotch. Eijirou takes a quick look down and his face pales even further. Bakugou speaks, the edge to his voice toeing a line between mirth and mania:

“Not only is your button undone, but your huge, fucking forearm of a cock undid the teeth of your zipper so that poor man got to bear witness to the hard on you’re still sporting.”

Eijirou levels Bakugou with an entirely apathetic look, his mortification slowly morphing into irritation at Bakugou’s continued amusement at his, and truly their, misfortune. 

“Ha ha, Firefly. I’m glad you find what just happened so incredibly funny.”

Keeping his seatbelt snug against his chest, Bakugou turns to face Eijirou as they pull onto the long drive leading to the main houses for Fat Gum Farms. 

“Awe, alpha, should I not tease you anymore? You’re tellin’ me that the idea of someone seeing how you use me and knowing I’m yours - knowing who I belong to - doesn’t do something for you?”

Bakugou pauses, clearly waiting to see if his words have the desired effect on Eijirou. Eijirou holds out, he’s curious what else Bakugou’s planning to say if he just stays silent. 

“Pity. A true shame - really. Here, I was hoping that after the night we’ve had that you planned to remove any doubt of just who Katsuki Bakugou belongs to, but I guess I thought wrong.”

A snarl burns in Eijirou’s throat, but he takes his time as he parks his truck with practice ease. He lines up the tires so it sits in the same spot on the gravel that it always does. He kills the engine and sits in silence for a moment or two. Then, the redhead grabs his guitar case from the back and slings his door open wide. He relishes in the way his boots crunch against the gravel as he steps out of the truck and slings his instrument across his back. He turns, ducking into the truck cab to grab his phone then he silently shuts his door and moves toward the bunk house. The redhead allows his feet to carry him forward on a familiar path. He ignores the way his jeans slouch on his hips as he continues on. A flurry of noise and movement explodes behind him, but still Eijirou moves toward the bunk house undeterred. He presses the key into the lock once he reaches the door and flicks his wrist to turn the handle, but pale fingers wrap around his bicep.

“Eijirou?”

Tanned fingers push the door inward, freeing the key from the lock, and tossing the set of keys onto the hook by the door. Eijirou steps into the living room proper, setting his guitar case by the edge of the couch. Bakugou’s scent bursts with fragrant sumac and souring milkweed. Eijirou attributes the shift to confusion no doubt because of Eijirou’s unexpected silence following their earlier banter. Eijirou remains quiet, then bends, removing his boots and placing them by the kitchen table, so that he can clean them later that weekend. Bakugou’s scent blooms through the space and Eijirou yields. He recognizes how rare it is for Bakugou to be so open with his scent let alone the emotions underneath.

“Lock the door, Katsuki.”

The blond releases his hold on Eijirou’s arm and pads quietly over to the front door, locking it, before bracing against the door momentarily. He spreads his fingers out across the door, pressing against the wood, before turning to face Eijirou. He starts, his voice soft, “Did I—”

Eijirou interrupts, hand held aloft. The audible click of Bakugou’s mouth closing echoes sounds deafening in the smaller space. The taller man pivots on the balls of his feet and heads toward the hallway that leads to the singular bedroom in their bunk house. Just as he turns down the hallway, Eijirou drops his jeans to the floor, stepping out of them, and shooting a heated look over his shoulder at Bakugou. Eijirou fights a laugh as he hears several things clatter to the floor behind him. By the time he makes it to the bedroom, he can feel Bakugou’s presence behind him. Chills erupt along his shoulders and spine like his body knows he’s being watched. Sumac and sour milkweed lingers as an undernote in the blond’s scent, but the notes of confusion are slowly being replaced with fragrant, heady arousal. Eijirou wants to lean forward, brace his palms across the smooth linen, and crawl across the mattress on hands and knees to see just how serious Bakugou is about burying his face in his ass until he cums. But, a needy whimper from behind him coupled with Bakugou’s scent burgeoning with spiced heat cracks through Eijirou’s resolve. So, the redhead turns and the sight that greets him almost sends him to his knees. Bakugou stands in the doorway at first illuminated by the dim light from their kitchen. Then, the blond closes the bedroom door, leaving him bathed in the moonlight peaking in through their bedroom curtains. He makes a striking visage in either lighting - his body bare save for Eijirou’s hat placed gently on his head.

Surging forward, Eijirou’s palms splay across Bakugou’s lower abdomen before he rolls his wrists and shifts his fingers to firmly grasp Bakugou’s hips. He pulls the omega toward him until the other’s body is flush against him where he sits back against his haunches at the edge of the bed. His lips and teeth blaze a trail of intense kisses and bites along fair skin. Bakugou’s breath hitched with one particularly harsh bite to his left pec. Eijirou hauls Bakugou into his lap and resumes working marks into otherwise unblemished skin. The redhead chuffs at the way that Bakugou’s warm ivory skin begins to flush with a heated blush and faint purple bruising. Bakugou tries to hide his moaning behind a chaste laugh.

“The hat get you going, alpha?”

Hearing his designation roll so easily off Bakugou’s tongue spurs on something innately primal within Eijirou. He grinds up against the blond. His claiming fangs ache and venom pools in his mouth. Pressing their bodies together makes Eijirou intimately aware of how profoundly wet Bakugou is. He relishes in the way his thighs and cock slide with ease against the blond above him. Each roll of Eijirou’s hips made more fluid by the copious amounts of slick smeared across Bakugou’s thighs and dripping relentlessly from his hole. 

“Do you know what it means to wear a cowboy’s or a farmer’s hat, Firefly?”

Bakugou smirked, giving a slow, lazy grind of his hips down against Eijirou. His shoulders unhurriedly shrug, the movement nonchalant and uncommitted. 

“Why don’t you enlighten me, Eijirou.” 

Eijirou’s smirk is all sharp teeth as he basks in how breathless Bakugou sounds despite his best efforts to appear unaffected and unbothered.

“Well, some say it’s a sign of affection, while others say it represents deep devotion, but everyone agrees that if you wear a cowboy’s hat then you’ve got to ride the cowboy.”

Bakugou drops down, bracing his palms against Eijirou’s chest, his own smile sly and syrupy-sweet.

“And, what, pray tell, would one do if the wearer meant for it to be all three and more?”

“Would you like me to show you, Katsuki?”

“Me and my omega would like nothing more, Eijirou. So, let’s see what you and that alpha of yours are capable of.”

Eijirou drags them both down to the mattress, hiking Bakugou’s leg up over his hip to slot them together. He slow grinds into the omega beside him, teasing the other man’s entrance with the head of his cock. He snakes a large hand between them and wraps it fully around Bakugou’s cock. Bakugou bucks into his touch and the force of him arching toward Eijirou pushing the head of the alpha’s cock between slick-coated folds. Eijirou’s strokes along Bakugou’s shaft are firm and deliberate. Bakugou keens, body curving closer toward Eijirou until they are pressed chest to chest. Despite their closeness limiting his movements, Eijirou continues to touch and tease Bakugou. He moans, enjoying how both the blond’s precum and slick cover his hand. Eijirou twists his hand, grip tight, on the up stroke and Bakugou makes a gasping noise. He’s eager and open-mouthed when he speaks, “Alpha. . .”

Eijirou quirks an eyebrow, lips brushing lightly along Bakugou’s jaw.

“What is it, omega? Be a good boy and use your words.” 

Bakugou’s throat clicks as he swallows. He cranes his neck back just enough to lock eyes with Eijirou. He’s breathless and beautiful.

“This all you and your alpha got, Eiji?” 

And, there’s that shit-eating grin again, the blond defiant and bratty even with blown out pupils and breaths coming out in short, wrecked, panting gasps. Eijirou growls, rolling them until Bakugou presses flat on his back against the mattress. Eijirou’s grip on Bakugou’s cock tightens, his grip just on the pleasurable side of too tight. .The grip of his other hand threatens to bruise the skin along Bakugou’s hip bone, then his fingers travel down sweat-slicked flesh until they reach the backs of Bakugou’s thighs. Eijirou angles his hips back ever-so-slightly, the head of his cock slipping free of Bakugou, as he presses Bakugou’s thighs up against his chest and shoulders. Eijirou pauses for a moment, appreciating the sight of Katsuki Bakugou folded in half, chest heaving and body shimmering with slick and sweat. Eijirou relaxes his jaw, allowing his mouth to part slightly, his long, claiming fangs partially on display as he locks eyes with Bakugou. He knows that right now his gaze is longing and loving, but something is shifting inside him as his alpha acknowledges the other man’s challenge.

“Oh, Firefly, you’re determined to make a mess of us.”

He flashes Bakugou a depraved grin and slams into him. Eijirou pulls out, the movement intentionally drawn out. His hold on Bakugou’s ankles is tight, but not bruising. He rubs gentle circles into the skin there to soothe it as he resumes thrusting. Eijirou settles into a grueling pace, skin slapping against skin. The noise fills the bedroom—lewd and obscene. Eijirou wraps his fingers around both of Bakugou’s ankles with one hand, thrusting hard and deep before losing himself to the feeling of being consumed by his omega wrapped tightly around him. Eijirou feels the pressure around his cock tighten and something primal takes control. He snaps his hips forward, pistoning his thrusts in and out of Bakugou’s hole, enraptured by the wet, squelching sounds of his cock burying itself deep within Bakugou each time his hips slap against the other man’s ass. 

Red hair hangs in a curtain around Eijirou and Bakugou as the alpha leans toward the omega below him. Eijirou hunches over Bakugou, lips raising in a cruel smirk, his eyes glow as his thrusts continue relentlessly. Eijirou spits into his free hand, then drags his fingers around his cock between Bakugou’s sticky folds. His fingers wrap around Bakugou’s cock and stroke along the head of the omega’s cock until he writhes from overstimulation.

“Seems my bratty omega’s not quite so cocky and talkative now, huh?"

Bakugou’s tongue wets his lips and lolls partially out of his mouth as his body shakes, bouncing lightly, with the force of Eijirou’s thrusts. Bakugou moans noisily.

“So noisy, omega. Maybe you could use that voice of yours to beg for me - beg for it omega. Beg for me to breed you.”

Bakugou wails as Eijirou’s grip on his cock shifts and the alpha’s thumb traces circles around the pre leaking from the tip. Eijirou snaps his teeth close next to Bakugou’s scent gland. His hips unrelenting as they press into Bakugou. He closes his eyes, savoring how the sounds of their fucking grow louder and filthier as Eijirou fucks into Bakugou. Eijirou drives forward, making sure to hit the spot inside of Bakugou that makes his toes curl and him see stars. Eijirou’s determined to milk Bakugou’s cock of cum and force slick to pour from the blond’s messy hole. He locks eyes with Bakugou, admiring how the omega falls apart on his cock. He releases Bakugou’s cock and trails his hand up to cup the omega’ face in his palm. Eijirou’s back arches, thrusts growing erratic, as his hips stutter. He tries to slow his breathing to stave off his orgasm, to deny himself long enough to send Bakugou over the edge at least once.

“Firefly, my omega, I want to feel you fall apart. I need to see you come undone while you’re tightly around me.”

Eijirou leans down, arm bent above him as he holds Bakugou’s legs aloft, and presses his lips against Bakugou’s. The kisses are messy and passionate - full of teeth, tongue, and spit. The alpha moves his mouth from the other’s lips, down his neck, teasing his scent gland briefly, before resting his lips against the blond’s ample chest. Eijirou presses his claiming fangs against the plush skin of Bakugou’s pec, his words swift as he sinks his teeth into the omega’s chest. 

“Cum for me my omega.”

Bakugou’s body responds for him. The omega feels himself tighten around the alpha’s cock, heat curling in his gut before spreading throughout his whole body. His cock pulses covering both of them in cum. He barely catches his breath and calms from the high of the first orgasm when Eijirou buries himself balls deep in Bakugou, his knot teasing at the blond’s hole. Feeling Eijirou’s knot threatening to bully its way inside him sends Bakugou into his second orgasm—squirting around Eijirou’s cock as the alpha’s knot finally pops inside, locking them together. 

Licking at the raised wound on Bakugou’s chest, Eijirou's chest vibrates with a pleased rumbling noise as he cums. His breathing stutters as his release drags on,  warmth filling Bakugou and surrounding Eijirou’s cock and knot. A few minutes pass before he finally stops cumming. Eijirou exhales harshly as he wills his arms not to shake, so he can safely lower Bakugou’s legs down to wrap around his hips without jarring the omega too much while they are so intimately connected. He holds Bakuo tenderly, a soft smile touching his lips as he takes in how blissed out and bleary-eyed Bakugou looks. Eijirou presses chaste kisses to any skin within reach then he nuzzles against Bakugou’s chest and neck. 

“Tsuki, you with me?” 

A dopey grin stretches across Bakugou’s face as he wraps himself fully around Eijirou. The blond relaxes into their shared embrace. His sigh is soft and reverent. “I’m here, Ei.” His voice is hoarse, sleepy even. Eijirou looks at Bakugou with such gentle affection. “Eijirou, I need’ta say something.”

Eijirou raises an eyebrow, wondering if he should be concerned. But, then Bakugou is speaking again and stuns Eijirou.

“Eijirou, you’re the best alpha. I love you.”

Eijirou stares, dumbfounded, but as he opens his mouth to respond he’s stopped by loud snoring as Bakugou promptly falls asleep. Eijirou chuckles, holding Bakugou tightly to his chest, and kissing the other man’s temple lightly. 

“I love you, too, Katsuki. There’s no other omega for me, but you.”

Winter passes suddenly. Then, spring arrives in a whirlwind. Soon enough summer sits on the horizon and both men have struggled to maintain their respective schedules. Eijirou spends his days splitting his time between coursework, farmwork, and songwriting. Not to mention that between all the demands on his time and attention, Eijirou’s fighting to spend time with Bakugou. Bakugou, on the other hand, finds himself spread thin between medical school applications and his undergraduate coursework, occasional work helping Shizuka at the bakery, drumming, a rather taxing internship, periodic farmwork, and the unrelenting weight of meeting his mother’s expectations. And, obviously, the blond devotes as much time as he can to seeing Eijirou. Unfortunately for both men, it's been a rather long time since the two of them have had time for much more than meeting halfway between their respective college campuses for coffee or a rush of heated kisses after morning showers or just before they collapse from exhaustion in the evenings. There are squabbles as there often are with relationships where you’re spread too thin. It becomes much too easy to fight about red dust fingerprints on the counter or combat boots and graphic tees cluttering the hall rather than to simply say I miss you so much my chest aches with it.

So, on a whim and with a few called-in favors, Eijirou finds himself pulling up to the Bakugous’ farm with more than a handful of tricks up his sleeve. He knew the blond would be inside, no doubt, ensnared in another half-debate, half-argument with his mother about medical school and his latest research proposal. Course, Mitsuki Bakugou could always watch these presentations when Bakugou gave them or review his applications with him, but she seems to always find something more important to do with her time. But, oddly enough, she still manages enough time to talk down to him about the choices he makes and how not enough his efforts are despite her own minimal efforts to support him. So, it’s no surprise when a shock of blond hair slinging curse words storms out of the Bakugous’ front door and speeds down their steps. Gravel flies under the heels of Bakugou’s combat boots as he beelines for his car. Eijirou is out of his truck and jogging across the driveway before he can give the situation a second thought. His hand reaches out, grasping Bakugou’s shoulder as the blond fumbles with his keys. Bakugou swings blindly on instinct, trying to shake off whatever’s touching him, but Eijirou turns him so they face each other. 

“Whoa, Firefly. It's just me.”

Bakugou deflates, anger leaking from every pore as he leans his forehead against Eijirou’s chest. “What are you doing here, Eijirou?”

The blond’s voice sounds so small even with Eijirou as close as he is to the other man. Eijirou tries not to bristle and whirl on Bakugou's parents. He’s got half a mind to act on having a bone to pick with Mitsuki for making Katsuki feel this way and with Masaru for doing nothing to stop it. But, right now, the man that he loves more than his next breath needs him and nothing comes before that. So, in true Toyomitsu fashion, the redhead tries to lighten the mood.

“Awe, and here I thought you’d be excited to see me, Kat-su-ki.” 

Bakugou punches his chest weakly and Eijirou feigns a pained grunt. He considers offering a few more exaggerated lines, really play it up, to see if he can get Bakugou to laugh. But, then steps echo from the porch and Eijirou looks over his shoulder to see Masaru Bakugou standing there, looking similarly deflated, while Mitsuki’s raging continues on inside. Masaru offers Eijirou a soft smile, his eyes tired even from across the front drive. Eijirou contemplates how to best get Bakugou across the driveway to his truck, but then the blond tugs on his wrist. Eijirou glances down and the way Bakugou’s eyes shine with tears breaks his heart into a hundred jagged pieces. He’s mentally rushing, practically doing gymnastics internally to try and find the right words to say in the moment, but then Bakugou is talking. 

“‘M happy to see you, Red. Just unexpected is all. Wherever you’re going, whatever you have planned, I’m in. Get me outta here.” He pauses, his breathing shaking on the inhale. “Please.”

Eijirou slips his fingers between Bakugou’s, leading the blond back toward his truck. He opens the passenger door, tucks what had been laying on the seat behind his back, before helping Bakugou up into the cab. The blond mumbles about not needing coddled and that he’s a grown ass man, but then Eijirou tips toward him, hat catching on the truck’s doorframe, as he presses a feather-light kiss to Bakugou’s temple. Eijirou shuts the door and rounds the back of the truck, offering a half-wave to Masaru on the porch. The older alpha inclines his head in acknowledgement. Eijirou slides into his driver’s seat, throwing his truck into reverse, just as Mitsuki walks out onto the porch, her face pulled into an unimpressed sneer. He makes sure to offer her a similar, short wave out his driver’s window. He can damn near feel the eye roll from here as he steers the truck down the drive and onto the main road.

Once Eijirou makes it down the road a ways, he springs a small bouquet of wildflowers from behind his back. Bakugou takes them looking somewhere between touched and confused. His scent echoes his feelings a half-heartbeat later. The alpha notes how small the omega looks in his passenger seat. He’s got his feet tucked to one side as he leans heavily into the seat, eyes cast downward. But, then his eyes shoot a furtive glance toward Eijirou as the alpha tries his best to focus on driving and not staring.

“You know, Red, I can usually sort out your bouquets. You hardly do anything without reason, but I’m missing the mark on this one. Let’s see, we’ve got goldenrod, aster, wild bergamot, prairie verbena, and, I’m certain this last bloom is pye weed. Whatcha gettin’ at, Eiji?"

Eijirou beams,delaying his response as he turns, tooling down a smaller dirt road that runs between his dad’s land, the Bakugous’ land, and their shared neighbors to the northwest. He guides the truck over a patch of field grass and parks in a small clearing. He sighs, relaxing as he allows himself a moment to truly appreciate how wildflowers bloom to the east and south, wild grasses bank them on the north, and a patch of sunflowers as tall as Eijirou hover ahead them to the north.

Bakugou clears his voice, pretending like he’s annoyed at Eijirou’s non-answer. He even mutters a shitty hair for good measure and that splits Eijirou’s face into an even wilder and wider grin. A distinct click disturbs the relative silence and Eijirou shifts in his seat to face Bakugou.

“A firefly’s favorites.”

Bakugou’s eyebrow slams as high up as it can go as he barks out an undignified, “Hah?!”

Eijirou shakes his head, an easy laugh rumbling from his chest, as he presses another kiss to Bakugou’s forehead.

“The flowers, my love. They’re a firefly’s favorites - what naturally attracts them to any garden or field.” 

Bakugou blushes a fierce shade of reddish-pink from his chest to his cheeks. Eijirou watches as Bakugou buries his face into the blooms he’s clutching. He grumples what sounds like a mash-up between you’re an idiot and thank you. With one more kiss to the other’s cheek, Eijirou tosses his door open and bounds to the back of the truck. He proceeds to get to work cleaning and organizing the bed of his truck. He’s got plans and he’s ready to set them in motion. Besides the time he spends out here will give Bakugou a few moments to gather himself. Eijirou knows his Bakugou isn’t ready to talk yet, but it’ll come and when it does, well, he wants them to be as comfortable as possible. At least twenty minutes pass before Bakugou hops out of the passenger’s side of the truck and joins Eijirou at the tailgate.

“What’s all this, Red?”

Bakugou’s voice cracks with raw emotion as he takes in the bed of the truck: blankets neatly organized near the cab, a picnic basket gently sat in one corner, twinkle lights run along the sides of the bed, and Eijirou’s guitar propped against the hinge of the flipped down tailgate. Eijirou steps up onto the tailgate, reaching his hand down to pull Bakugou up with him. Bakugou takes his hand, his step slipping on the metal grate of the tailgate, but Eijirou catches him easily. He spins them gently, easing them both down to the truck bed. He grabs the picnic basking, moving it closer to the two of them, as he sits across from Bakugou. 

“This,” Eijirou gestures toward where they sit and the scenery around them, “is me recognizing that I need to reconnect with my boyfriend. Life’s been heavy. I’ve been busy. You’ve been busy. I need a few moments of just you and me. So, I made it happen. We deserve it. You deserve it, Katsuki.” 

Bakugou’s eyes shine with unshed tears again as he idly digs around inside the picnic basket until his hand wraps around a familiar tupperware container. Bakugou pulls out a container full of deep-smoked brisket. His mouth starts to water, but he pauses, raising his eyes to level with Eijirou.

“Is this-”

Eijirou interrupts. “Yes, that’s the spiced dry rub brisket that dad and I make that you love so much. If you keep diggin’ around in there you’ll find some snacks and sides, but also ma’s homemade pie.”

“No fuckin’ way! You mean the one with the brown sugar whiskey meringue—”

Again, Eijirou interjects, “Mmhmm, and the spiced caramel just like you like. Ma and I practiced for days.”

Bakugou stops, head jerking toward Eijirou. “You helped make Shizuka’s famous spiced pie?”

Eijirou nods. “Katsuki, there’s not one thing in there that I didn’t have in making.”

Tears flow, fat and fast. Bakugou gently places the food back into the basket, pushing it aside so he can crawl across the truck bed and into Eijirou’s lap. Eijirou rests his back against the side of the truck, a bit taken back by Bakugou’s forwardness in seeking affection and comfort. Usually, it's Eijirou who initiates or is openly vulnerable, but he’s not complaining. So, Eijirou wraps his arms tightly around Bakugou and tucks a strand of hair behind the blond’s ear. He cradles Bakugou against his chest as the blond sniffles. 

“You wanna talk about it, babe?”

Bakugou stills, then the nod he gives is barely perceptible, and if Eijirou had not been holding Bakugou against him he would have likely missed it. So, they talk about anything and everything. And, at first, Bakugou stays in Eijirou’s lap, keeping his head right over Eijirou’s heart, finding comfort in its steady beat as he talks. Bakugou shares how his doubts have been creeping in and his mother isn’t helping. He throws his hands in the air as he laments about his frustrations with courses and his father’s inability to stand up against his mother and support him. He begs to no one in particular for his someone to tell her to back off. 

Eijirou tells Bakugou about the farm and a couple of ideas he’s pitching to his dad about how to make work easier, more efficient. He rambles about school and his engineering professor who shows up late everyday. He adds in how Mina’s been super focused on school, which is a bit out of character for her. He sighs, bringing up how Tetsu is as inconsistent as ever despite being in his late twenties. He shrugs, cutting himself off, as he realizes Bakugou’s gone quiet. The red head looks up to see that Bakugou’s spread out the blankets along the truck bed, a makeshift nest, put together with such care even all the way out here. Bakugou lays down testing the softness of his impromptu nesting, a soft smile spreading across his face, then he’s moving back to lean against the opposite side of the truck from Eijirou. 

Must meet his standards, Eijirou muses. Eijirou studies the way that Bakugou pulls his knees up toward his chest, using his knees to brace his arms. He’s curled up on himself, but looks much more relaxed than he had earlier in the evening. Bakugou tilts his head to one side, chin motioning towards Eijirou’s guitar.

“So, Eiji, you planning on playing me somethin’ before the sun sets or did’ya bring that just for decoration?”

Eijirou’s body shakes with the force of his laugh as he frees his instrument from its case. He sets to tuning it, offering Bakugou a put-on withering glare. The blond giggles, sipping more of the lemonade that Eijirou had made. Bakugou hums, enjoying the way the sumac and lavender do different things on his palate. He chases a stray drop as it pools at the corner of his lips. He grins, wicked and coy, as he realizes that Eijirou stops to watch his every move.

“Well, Red?”

Eijirou startles out of his slight trance and makes quick work of tuning his guitar, readjusting into a more comfortable position for playing.

“Well, I may have something that I have been working on. It’s not done, but-”

“Are you saying I’d be the first to hear it, Eijirou?”

Eijirou nods. “Well, you’d be the first to hear what I’ve got so far. It’s, like, a very rough draft.”

Bakugou grins, the blond's pure starlight of a smile lighting up his face. “Then let’s hear it.”

Eijirou swallows, shakes out his fingers and wrists, and attempts to ignore the way nerves creep over his limbs. He holds himself still for a moment, exhaling, before he begins strumming the opening chords. His eyes locking on Bakugou as his lips part to sing the first verse.

“I was a boat stuck in a bottle
That never got the chance to touch the sea
Just forgot on the shelf
No wind in the sails 
Goin’ no where with no one but me
I was one in a hundred billon 
A burned out start in a galaxy 
Just lost in the sky, wonderin’ why 
Everyone shines out but me”

Eijirou fights the shake in his hands and his voice as he flows into the chorus. He’s tempted to put the guitar down, a string of curse words on the back of his tongue, when a hand reaches out, steadying his own - the touch at once steadfast, assured, and comforting. 

“You’ve got this, Eijiirou. You have the skill and a captivated audience. Let us hear you.”

Eijirou pulls a face at a few of Bakugou’s words, but inhales, and jumps back into the chorus. The chords coming easily, his fingers gliding smoothly with a practice finesse over the strings. 

“But
I came to life when I first kissed you”

Katsuki’s breathy gasp overpowers Eijirou’s vocals for half a beat,, but then something bold and impassioned floods through Eijirou and his voice carries across to Bakugou and out beyond them into the night.

“The best me has his arms around you
You make me better than I was before
Thank God I’m yours”

Eijirou loses himself in Bakugou’s eyes and the motions of playing and performing.

“But I came to life when I first kissed you
The best me has his arms around you
You make me better than I was before
Thank God I’m yours
The worst me is just a long gone memory
You put a new heartbeat inside of me
You make me better than I was before”

Eijirou feels a bit out of breath as the adrenaline of the moment washes over him. He lays his guitar back in its case, putting off looking at Bakugou, old nerves circling his mind that maybe the song just isn’t it and, well, shit, what if Bakugou thinks it sucks? As soon as the last clasp flips into place, a set of hands slide up over and up his chest from behind. Fingertips add pressure to the touch—a weighted intention in such a subtle movement. 

“Eijirou, you reek of self-doubt. Let me show you that no matter how loud your doubts are that they’re wrong - they know nothing about you, about me, about us, alpha.”

The alpha’s breathing hitches and he angles his hips and upper body so that he can look more directly at Bakugou. Bakugou maneuvers the both of them so they are laying side-by-side in the nest that he’s hastily, but lovingly built in the bed of Eijirou’s old pickup truck. A blanket is thrown over them and they simply lay there savoring being in one another’s presence as the night comes alive around them. Somewhere between barn owl calls, crickets and katy dids chirps, and a symphony of nightjars songs, Bakugou arches up into Eijirou. The kiss starts sweet and chaste, but grows into a press of lips full of deep, burning heat. Neither man rushes forward, their movements happen with intention and purpose, so the shedding of clothes happens slower, but it's still no surprise to either of them. They fall into one another - completely lost to the other’s touch as the night settles in around them. 

Two sets of hands caress skin slicked by sweat and slick. Both men devout in the way they press into the other. Touches purposeful - gentle yet bruising. Eijirou’s fangs tease along Bakugou’s collarbone and chest. Bakugou threads his fingers through red hair, pulling as he whines in pleasure. Pleasure builds slowly, but when it crests, both men are shaking with it as Eijirou’s knot locks them together. Eijirou tightens the blankets around them, despite the sweat shimmering against tan and pale skin - an effort to protect against the night chill before it sets in and steals the moment from them. Bakugou tucks his face into the crook of Eijirou’s neck, making an effort to calm his breathing as he comes down from the high of his climax and the closeness of their coupling. He peers up at the redhead and his eyes are still half-lidden with pleasure. Bakugou, ever the little shit, squeezes, tightening his muscles, so that he pulses a few more times around Eijirou. He watches, amusement apparent on his face, as Eijirou heaves, almost choking on his own spit as he lets out the filthiest sounding moan Bakugou’s probably ever heard.

“Katsuki!” 

Eijirou exclaims when the sensation of Bakugou fluttering around him lessens. 

Bakugou smirks ear-to-ear and nuzzles against Eijirou’s chest. “Yes, alpha?” Bakugou bats his eye lashes at Eijirou and the alpha chuffs at him. 

“What an absolutely bratty thing to do.”

Bakugou giggles, placing his palms against the other’s chest. “What’re you gonna do, alpha? Punish me?" Bakugou’s facial features scream coy sensuality. Eijirou brushes hair from Bakugou’s face and offers the other a warm smile. He tenderly cups the omega’s face as he kisses his forehead again.

“A tempting challenge, love, and another time I would have been easily baited, but something’s weighing heavy on you. You’ve been dodging talking about things with your mom all night, but I get the feeling there’s something more to it than just another knock down, crash out between you and your mama.”

Bakugou tilts his chin downward, hiding his face from Eijirou. Not one to be easily deterred, Eijirou keeps Bakugou close with one arm while the hand on his opposite side tilts the blond’s face upward. 

“There you are, pretty boy. Please don’t hide from me. I can’t help if you won’t tell me what’s eatin’ at you.”

Bakugou huffs, air blowing out in short puffs, forceful enough to move his bangs where they lay on his forehead. “I ain’t gonna lie. It's a lot and it ain’t pretty.”

Kirishma kisses along Bakugou’s jaw sweetly before laying partially on his shoulder, so that he can watch the other as he speaks. “Lay it down at my feet, Katsuki. It’s surely heavy, but you don’t need to carry it alone. You’re never alone—not with me.”

Bakugou trembles and when he speaks, his voice lacks its normal strength. It wavers, which shocks Eijirou, but he listens intently and reassures Bakugou with fond physical affection. 

“I came home from class. I’m tired, but excited about the progress I’m making. She appears to be in a good mood, so I share with her how tired I am. Red, she laughs at me. She tells me it’ll only get worse. She makes me think I can’t trust my own feelings. So, I walk away for a bit. I lie about needing to take a call from a classmate except really I just need a break from her sometimes, y’know? But, then, as dad is preparing dinner, she and I start talking about projects I’ve committed to and which schools I’ve applied to. She stops me halfway through a sentence and she tells me that I’m slipping - that I’m not pushing hard enough. Her voice pitches and she’s berating me at this point. She criticizes every move from the last five years of my life. She swears that I am limiting myself. Then, she starts blaming you. She says, that two-bit hick and her words are all venom.”

Bakugou cuts off, chest heaving, and eyes starting to glaze over. Eijirou takes Bakugou’s hand in his own and presses it over his heart.

“Breathe, Katsuki. You are here with me. You are safe. Breathe, baby, in and out.”

Tension melts from Eijirou’s neck and shoulders as Bakugou’s breathing levels out. But, then a piercing gaze locks onto him and Bakugou launches into retelling the event’s from earlier in the evening once more.

“She repeats this whole bit about you not being good enough and by being with you I’m lowering myself or whatever. Mind you my fuckin old man is in the kitchen and literally does the same shit you and your family do, but she doesn’t comment fuck all about that.”

Eijirou cuts in. 

“Your mom’s been saying those things since we were twelve years old, Kat. I ain’t too worried. I didn’t expect her tune to change. She treats most folks around here like we’re worth less than the red dirt under her heels. Your pa seems to be the only exception. My folks say she’s been itchin’ to leave Stillwater Valley since she got here. I’m just trying to make peace with the fact that she isn’t ever going to approve of me. So, I focus on keeping the peace for you.”

Bakugou’s eyes close briefly, they open calmly, but then he’s rushing through his next words. “Yeah, well, she keeps at it, you know, as she does. So, I scream at her. I’ve really been trying not to. I’ve been trying to be better—to not behave like her. But, she just opens her mouth and hateful shit spews out and I can’t fucking stand it. Me screaming didn’t do much because no amount of me yelling stop it, just fucking stop it seems to slow the stream of nonsense coming from her. I snap. She’s going on-and-on about you and your family and this place. I lose it.”

Bakugou’s voice breaks and he’s panting. He gives Eijirou a look that conveys please don’t be mad - please don’t think less of me and the omega’s scent sours with confusion, anger, and worry. Eijirou waits. He knows Bakugou and he knows the other man—there’s more coming. 

“Eijirou, I yell that she’s going to have to learn how to deal with this shit hole state and my two-bit hick boyfriend because we’re about to have us a two-bit hick baby. So, unless she plans to hate a literal baby then she should get her shit together.”

Eijirou collapses onto his back for a moment. He swears he’s processing, but he lays there speechless. Above him, Bakugou hovers. The blond picks his cuticles and starts chewing his lip. He’s begging with his body for Eijirou to say something - to say anything. The omega’s scent sours to something too close to doubt and regret for Eijirou’s liking. The change in scent spurs Eijirou on. His own scent spiking into love and excitement with an undercurrent of nervousness. Eijirou’s scent burns with a warmth - its sun warmed rocks by a well-hidden lake; it's a well-worn leather jacket and a smooth glass of bourbon; it’s a farm house warmed by a wood stove where you dance barefoot in the kitchen while coffee brews on the counter - its adoration and a feeling of coming home. Eijirou reaches forward, lightening fast, but with an eerily softness, as he huddles Bakugou against his chest and ribs.

“Katsuki, my omega, are you certain?”

Bakugou bristles, but gives a jerky nod. His voice sounds so defeated like he’s certain that Eijirou is going to be mad. “Yeah, I saw a doctor in the city the day that I last-minute cancelled our coffee date a few weeks back.”

“How far along?”

“Um, about eight weeks I think.”

Katsuki sits up, blankets falling to pool around his hips, as he rummages around in the blankets and bags closer to the tailgate. He finds his jeans, pulling the chain on his wallet until the small piece of fabric plops between himself and Eijirou rather abruptly. He opens the wallet, hands a bit unsteady as he pulls out a few folded pieces of paper. Bakugou holds them a chest height between them and they unfold steadily. Eijirou’s fingers brush the small pieces of paper, his eyes filling with tears, as he finally allows himself to take the photos into his own hands. He gazes at the grainy images held in the center of each square. No discernable features, not yet, but very clearly proof of something—or rather, eventually, someone—developing within Bakugou.

They were having a baby.

Holy shit.

Oh, fuck. 

They were having a baby.

Bakugou verbally plunges into backpedaling about options and expectations. He jumps head first into telling Eijirou how he can take care of it if Eijirou doesn’t want it - doesn’t want him or the baby or them. Eijirou clasps Bakugou’s shoulders, kneading the skin and applying pressure to get Bakugou to look at him or at least slow down his spiraling. When Eijirou’s efforts fail, he bodily picks up Bakugou and places the other man in his lap.

“Katsuki!”

Bakugou stutters, words hitting a wall - a wall clearly built by the redhead who looks at him like the blond personally hangs the moon and the stars every night. “You’re not mad, Eiji?”

“Why on earth would I be mad, Katsuki?”

“Well, we aren’t married or mated or through college. . .” Katsuki starts in again and Eijirou kisses him hard on the mouth to silence him. Stunned, Bakugou gapes up at Eijirou, mouth parted on his next long-winded sentence. 

“Omega,” Eijirou smooths his hands up and down Bakugou’s arms then shifts to wrap them both in a blanket. He holds the ultrasound images in between them. “Katsuki, that’s our pup. I couldn’t want anything more. But, if you don’t want this, if a child isn’t something you’re ready for, then know I support you, whatever decision you make.”

Bakugou runs his fingers along the edges of the images. A soft smile pulling at his lips as he holds the photos with Eijirou. “There’s no being ready, alpha. But, I want this. I want this with you. Timing’s a bit shit, but when have we ever done things in the way that most folks expect, huh?”

Eijirou’s chuckling as he answers. “No, but it wouldn’t be us if we did things any other way.” 

They sit holding each other and exchanging sweet kisses until Eijirou damn near shouts, “Can we tell my parents? Please, Firefly.”

Bakugou bursts out laughing as Eijirou devolves into a litany of please, please, please and omega, my omega, please. The whole time Eijirou’s saying all these things the man is bounding around like a golden retriever. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, depending on who you ask, he’s naked while doing this and his cock is wildly swaying in every possible direction. 

“Eijirou, put on pants before you take one of our eyes out with that monster swinging between your legs.”

Eijirou covers himself, blushing bright red. His skin rivals his hair as he ambles around looking for his jeans. Bakugou snickers, watching as Eijirou struggles in his attempt to cover himself and search the truck bed simultaneously. Bakugou lets him struggle for a few minutes before handing the redhead his faded denim from where they sat next to Bakugou. Eijirou doubles over in his own fit of laughter with the absurdity of the situation. He puts his boxer briefs on one leg at a time, hissing at how the fabric clings to his knot. Jumping into his jeans is easier and in no time, Eijirou stands next to the truck, adjusting his boots. His shirt is half-way on as he tidies all their supplies neatly for the trip back to the bunkhouse. Shirt still askew, he offers his hand to Bakugou as the blond hops down next to him. The blond turns, slapping the tailgate into place and securing the mechanism that keeps the metal grate from dropping down during the drive.

Bakugou blushes, glancing away as Eijirou lifts his knuckles to his lips and kisses them one-by-one. Then, the redhead’s cellphone presses against his ear and Bakugou can hear the outgoing call tone. Fat Gum picks up on the fourth or fifth ring. “A bit late isn’t my boy.” A yawn punctuates Fat Gum’s words. Eijirou’s cheeks heat again and he sighs softly into the phone.

“Sorry, dad. I want to talk to you and ma about something.”

“Everything okay, Rou?” Fat Gum’s voice sounds distinctly more alert and awake. 

“Yeah, dad. You and ma up for comin’ round later this week for dinner?”

Suspicion and worry flare in Fat Gum’s tone, but he responds only with confirmation of their attendance as the two younger men hear what sounds like someone coughing in the background.

“We’ll be there, Rou. Make sure you and Katsuki get home safely. I’ll see ya in the morning.”

Eijirou replies with a short and simple, “Goodnight, dad,” before the call ends. The alpha stuffs his phone into his pocket as he pulls Bakugou into his embrace. He places a gentle kiss on the crown of the omega’s head, another on his pouty lips, and then the larger man kneels pressing his lips over Bakugou’s abdomen. Bakugou lets out a tch, but there’s not real heat to it. Eijirou stands and dusting red dirt from his hands, jeans, and boots as he does so.

“Let’s go home, Katsuki.” 

Katsuki teases, “No firefly?”

Eijirou’s got a mischievous twinkle in his eye when he replies, “Well, it would seem I have two fireflies to look after now.” 

Katsuki scoffs, playfully punching Eijirou’s arm. Eijirou lands one more kiss on Bakugou’s lips, whispering against his skin about how lucky he is. As they both slide into their seats in the truck, Eijirou speaks, a chuff rumbling under his words, “Is my family ready to go home?”

Bakugou says nothing, but if his hand finds Eijirou’s on the drive home, then nobody’s the wiser except for a redheaded alpha whose megawatt smile could rival the sun.

By the time the weekend rolls around, Eijirou’s whole body thrums with energy. Seeing his dad in the fields and his ma in the house or on her way into town nearly every day makes keeping his and Bakugou’s growing secret exceptionally difficult. He’s split his down time between doting on Bakugou and neurotically cleaning the bunk house. Bakugou rants at him about how he doesn’t need coddled and Eijirou respects that fully. He’s just been feeling a bit more protective of Bakugou after finding out and his alpha prowls in the back of his mind - a more noticeable presence than it typically is outside of his rut. He anticipates more changes as Bakugou’s pregnancy progresses. For now, he merely watches as his omega flits around their kitchen, checking on various dishes. Eijirou offers to help multiple times only to be met with a glare that could melt steel and pheromones that spike with frustration and disbelief. Eijirou resigns himself to setting the table and double-checking the tidiness of the shared kitchen and living room area. He even makes sure that the hall half-bath appears pristine and guest-ready. Bakugou argues its decent at best as he continues on his crusade to stress cook and bake right up until the elder Toyomitsus arrive.

Eijirou catches sight of his folks crossing the drive from the main house and trapses across the floor to unlock the door. Bakugou tenses from where he stands in the kitchen and Eijirou moves without hesitation to place his hands along Bakugou’s back. The alpha rubs what he hopes are soothing circles into the tense muscles there. He presses into Bakugou from behind. His hands continue their idly rubbing and mapping of the taunt muscles there. 

“Baby, they’ll love it. Rest your feet. Loosen up some. Ma loves your cookin’ and dad’s no different.”

Bakugou turns, wrapping himself into Eijirou’s hold, cheek pressing against the other’s chest. His words quieter as they muffle against the redhead’s t-shirt.

“What if they get angry, Ei? What if they freak like my mom did or totally underreact like my dad?”

A knock at the door prevents the conversation from going further. Eijirou attempts to offer another brief, soothing caress along Bakugou’s arms and back before he steps away to open the door for his parents. Eijirou gives Bakugou a knowing, comforting look as he swings the door wide and loudly greets his dad.

“Rou, my boy!” Taishiro booms as he moves into the living room. Shizuka waits, patience plain in every inch of her body, as she stands to Taishiro’s side. Kirishuma hugs his father tightly. The younger alpha waits for his father to step back from the embrace before Eijirou turns to his mother and embraces her with less intensity, but no less love.

“I, well, we’re so glad you two could make it.”

Taishiro and Shizuka toe out of their shoes while Eijirou shuts the door behind them. The three of them make small talk as they meander toward the kitchen table. Taishiro and Eijirou grab the backs of their respective chairs when two hands shoot out, fingers pointing toward the bathrooms, as Bakugou and Shizuka voice in tandem, “Go wash your hands. You know you wash up before you sit at my table.”

Bakugou and Shizuka swivel their heads, eyeing one another, before they each bring a hand to their mouth and turn their heads to laugh silently. Eijirou and Taishiro look between themselves and then toward their partners. The two alphas shake their heads, but still tuck tail and race each other down the hallway to wash up properly before supper. Shizuka moseys across the hardwood, stopping beside Bakugou, to rinse her hands at the kitchen sink. She dries her hands with a tea towel and leans against the counter for a moment. 

Bakugou silently observes how tired she appears, but keeps his thoughts to himself. 

The older omega turns, noticing his gaze, and offers him a weak smile. She pushes off of the counter and makes her way to one of the chairs sat around the kitchen table. 

Bakugou tucks away this brief interaction for later because it's left him with more questions than answers. But, for now, the blond shifts focus and soon he’s setting the table with more than half a dozen dishes for the four of them to enjoy. He drops into his own seat across from Shizuka just as Eijirou and Taishiro join them. The group falls into comfortable spans of silence and small talk. Each taking their time to first fill their plates and then their bellies. Eijirou clears the plates, refilling drinks, and placing a few desserts in the center of the table. He sits back down, laughing to himself at the way that his chair makes a terribly funny noise as it scrapes across the floor. A lull settles over the table and true to their nature, Eijirou and Taishiro both attempt to break through it lest it become awkward, tense.

A laugh, faint, like water over stones, wells up and out of Shizuka. She waves a hand between Eijirou and Taishiro as her eyes alight with joy. 

“No need for all that fuss boys. Now, Eijirou, is there something you need to share?”

Eijirou looks almost offended at her comment, but she waves him off again.

“Rou, we know you like having us over for dinner every now and again, but given the, um, circumstances of the invitations, your father and I wager that there’s a bit of specific motivation for us sharing a meal, no?”

Eijirou scratches at the back of his neck, shoulders shrugging upward - clear signs that his ma knows him a bit too well. He reaches across the table for Bakugou’s hand. The blond takes it firmly lacing their fingers together as he reaches into his back pocket for his wallet. Bakugou places the worn leather on the table. He lets go of Eijirou’s hand and opens the flaps of leather, hands trembling. The pictures come out of the pocket they’ve sat in for the last few days without issue. He spreads them out on the table, holding his breath. Bakugou fears these two may react similarly to his mother and he’s certain that fear will start to seep into his scent before too long. Eijirou’s hand enters his line of sight, threading their fingers together as they each place a few fingers on the images to keep them from springing back into their previous folds.

Neither Shizuka or Taishiro say anything. Bakugou convinces himself that Shizuka has yet to blink. Shizuka drops her fork. It clatters to the plate, landing partly in the dessert that she spent the last few minutes pushing around. Taishiro clears his throat. Then, the space explodes with sound: “You’re pregnant?!” 

Taishiro’s voice fills the entire space. Bakugou and Eijirou both flinch. Shizuka slaps Taishiro’s arm.

“Taishiro Toyomitsu! Don’t yell at the children!.”

“I’m not yellin’. I’m just—loudly surprised!”

Eijirou’s eyes dart to Bakugou as the omega’s scent spikes in alarm and hurt. Kirishuma instantly shifts his seat closer, letting go of the ultrasound images, to splay his hand protectively across Bakugou’s lower back. He murmurs soft reassurances to Bakugou. Shizuka covers her mouth as tears fill her eyes.

“You—both of you—”  She whispers, voice wavering. “You’re having a baby?”

Bakugou nods stiffly. “Yeah. It’s early, but the doctor confirms everything’s healthy.”

Shizuka stands so quickly her chair scrapes the floor. Bakugou flinches, again, but then the older omega scoops him from his seat and into an impromptu embrace as she throws her arms around him. Bakugou makes an offended noise.

“Wha—Hey!”

Shizuka sobs into Bakugou’s shoulder. “Oh, Katsuki, I’m just so happy.”

Bakugou freezes. Then slowly and awkwardly he pats her back. Taishiro steps forward next having stood from his seat much more quietly than is typical for the man. Bakugou notices how Taishiro’s eyes are shiny. Taishiro’s arm reaches out past Bakugou and grips Eijirou’s shoulder where the redhead now stands behind Bakugou.

Taishiro squeezes Eijirou’s shoulder. The big, grounding touch saying I love you like it always does. “Son,” Taishiro says, voice thick with emotion, “I’m proud of you. Proud of both of you.” 

Eijirou swallows hard. Taishiro notices Bakugou struggling not to cry in Shizuka’s arms between himself and Eijirou. Bodies crowd the small space, but the thing truly flooding the space is the overwhelming scent of love releasing in waves. 

“Katsuki,” Taishiro says gently—his tone softens, “you’re family. Always have been. And, now, now you’re giving us another family member.”

Bakugou’s breath hitches. The young omega’s scent blooms with warmth, relief, and deep, irrevocable love. Trust winds its way through his scent building a sense of comfort among those gathered in the compact bunkhouse kitchen. Shizuka pulls back, taking both of Bakugou’s hands in her own. The blond notes how cold her hands are, but files the information away for another time as Shizuka speaks. 

“You’re going to be wonderful parents. Both of you. Eijirou’s dad and I—we’ll help with anything we can.”

Bakugou stares at her much like he often does with Eijirou—in utter awe. “Why—how—” Bakugou starts and stops his statement several times before settling on, “Why are you both so supportive?” Bakugou grumbles in an attempt to hide the warble in his voice. “I mean, we aren’t mated or married. I can’t—I, mean, I know I’m not exactly easy to be around either.”

Shizuka smiles, brushing a hand over Bakugou’s cheek. “You don’t have to be easy to love, Katsuki. Besides tiny humans,” she pokes his lower abdomen lightly, “they need connection, not perfection. You and Eijirou have my full support. And, for as long as I’m here, I’ll help in any way that I can.”

Her words confuse Bakugou, not the support, but the tone. He levels Eijirou with a quizzical expression. But, before either Bakugou or Eijirou can clarify what Shizuka means, Taishio speaks. The younger couple share glances at how his tone is much more solemn than it has been all evening. “Zuka, I suppose that’s one way to share your own news.”

The scent of love and safety is rapidly being replaced by Eijirou and Bakugou’s scent glands pumping out confusion and worry. Eijirou places his hands on Bakugou’s shoulders and tilts his head as he addresses his mother. “Ma, what’s dad talkin’ about?"

Bakugou follows with a forlorn and inquisitive, “Shizuka?”

The older woman motions for everyone to move toward the living room. They do, confusion still ripe and wrought within the space. “Best if you boys sit down.”

Eijirou sits on one end of the couch. Bakugou climbs into the redhead’s lap. He’ll feel embarrassed later about his forwardness and comfort in front of Eijirou’s parents, but right now he needs Shizuka to be a bit more forthcoming. Truly, what he needs is for her words to be less vaguely ominous. Taishiro settles into one of the arm chairs and Shizuka folds her legs beneath her as she sits across from Eijirou and Bakugou on the couch. 

“We all know I’m not much for talking about myself, so I can’t promise to answer any questions that you may have, but I’m sick. Taishiro, myself, Aizawa, and Tetsu have known for a while. There just hasn’t been a good time to tell you two. You’ve both been so busy and, frankly, I refuse to dampen how either of you live your lives simply because mine is comin’ to a close.”

Bakugou’s fists curl at his sides. He can sense Eijirou and Taishiro fighting with themselves. Both men teeter on the precipice of openly weeping. Eijirou’s worse for it naturally. Taishiro, despite previously knowing, doesn't seem to be fairing much better than his son who only just found out. Bakugou unclenches his fists, reaching to hold Eijirou’s with his own. A silence settles over and fills the room. An anger builds in Bakugou and he opens his mouth to protest the casual way it seems that Shizuka’s given up. He stops when Shizuka places her hand on his knee from across the couch. 

“Life keeps throwing us surprises, huh?” Bakugou barks out a laugh, it's wet and laden with unspoken emotion.

“I guess so.” 

He pauses, gathering his wits and his bearings, Eijirou’s hands still held tightly within his own. When Bakugou speaks again, his voice sounds unsteady, unsure, not at all like it normally does. “Isn’t there—”

Shizuka tightens her fingers on his knee, shaking her head, expression clouded. “There’s nothing to do that’s not already been done. For now, we laugh and we love. We live through it. Then, you remember when I’m gone. I regret that I won’t be here to see their first steps. Truthfully, all the doctors say I’ll be lucky to last another six months, but until then, I’m here. However you need me, I'm here.”

Eijirou doesn’t realize that he’s shaking until Shizuka’s small hands wrap around his and Bakugou’s. “Rou, we can’t fight this anymore than we can fight the Oklahoma wind. But, we can make the most of the time we’ve got. Life is short, even when it’s long. But, promise me something.”

Eijirou and Bakugou nod in unison, a somber anything slipping from both of their mouths.

“Love each other with everything you have. Raise your child knowing they come from a home full of courage and warmth. You’ve both got such heart, don’t let this lead to you squandering it.”

Both men mumble a soft, solemn, “We promise.” 

Shizuka sits back, slapping her hands against her thighs, signaling to the men that she’s made up her mind and clearly done with the conversation. Shizuka leans back, before standing with a slight tremble to her steps. Exhaustion flickers at the edges of her expression, but contentment, too. She breathes, ambling toward the door. “Good,” she exhales, “then I can rest.”

Eijirou untangles himself from Bakugou to trail after his mother. He shuffles across the floor until he’s standing beside his mother. He leans, resting his head on her shoulder, like did as a boy. Bakugou approaches from behind, at first cautious, and then assured. Bakugou curls close against Eijirou’s side, scenting the alpha lightly, to steady him. Taishiro watches them with pained pride. The older alpha forces himself up and out of the lounge chair he’s sunk into. He pads across the floor to the group gathering by the door. He claps both Bakugou and Eijirou on the back. 

“Bout time for me to get your ma home, boys.”

Taishiro slips his feet into his shoes, bending to grab Shizuka’s boots, as he lifts the older omega into his arms. She leans against him, both of Eijirou’s parents offering small smiles as they open the door and start towards the farmhouse.

The silence they leave suffocates the space. Eijirou drops to his knees as Bakugou closes the door. Red hair hangs like a shield around his face as the alpha openly weeps. He clutches his sides, swaying with the intensity of his sobs. Bakugou kneels next to him without hesitation. Bakugou hides the wince he feels when his knees smack into the weathered floorboards. Time moves forward, but they remain sitting on the floor - the grief and heartache rooting them to this spot. Bakugou’s silent tears join Eijirou’s wailing sorrow. Both men sit in the suffering and solace that silence offers, crying until their bodies exhaust themselves. They trudge down the hall to bed without a word said between them and wait for sleep to come.

Weeks pass like sand through their fingers and all too soon, Eijirou, Bakugou, and Taishiro find themselves gathering in Taishiro's and Shizuka's bedroom. Sunlight streams through the white linen curtains, warm and soft and too gentle for the heaviness in the room. Shizuka’s breathing grew shallower over the last few weeks, each one catching like a thread pulling too tight. Now, Taishiro sits at her bedside, his weathered hand never once letting go of hers. Eijirou sits on the floor beside them, his head bowing against the mattress. His red hair brushes Shizuka’s limp fingers every time his shoulders shake. Bakugou rests behind him, arms around his back and chest, holding him upright each time grief threatens to pull him under completely.

Multiple scents thick with sadness permeate the air—Taishiro’s a quiet ache, Eijirou’s a storm barely held in check, Bakugou’s a protective instinct sharpened to a point. The blond pushes a slow, steady scent - calming pulses against Eijirou’s spine, an effort to try and ground him.

Shizuka’s eyes flutter open. “Eijirou,” she whispers.

Eijirou surges up immediately, clasping her hand in both of his. “I’m here. I’m right here, ma, please—”

“Let her speak,” Taishiro murmurs, voice trembling.

Bakugou tightens his hold on Eijirou, chin resting briefly on his shoulder. Shizuka’s gaze drifts between them, warm even through the haze of pain and exhaustion.

“You boys…” She exhales softly. “You’ve come every day.”

Eijirou wipes his eyes with his sleeve, unable to stop the tears.

“Of course we did. I told you. I, well, we wouldn’t leave you alone.”

Shizuka smiles faintly. “You never have.” Her attention shifts to Bakugou. “Katsuki… how far along now?”

Bakugou’s hand instinctively moves to his belly. “Twelve weeks. Everything’s normal.” His voice cracks the last word, like normalcy itself hurts.

“A little life,” Shizuka whispers, joy soft and fading in her expression. “I won’t meet them… but that’s alright. I know they’ll be cherished.”

Eijirou breaks then—quietly, painfully. Bakugou doesn't try to shush him, just holds him steady as sobs shake him. Shizuka’s frail hand reaches out, brushing awkwardly toward his cheek. Eijirou bends down so she can touch him without straining.

“You’ve become everything I ever hoped,” she murmurs. “Kind. Brave. Loved.” Her hand trembles as she cups his face. “Don’t let my leaving change that.”

“It won’t,” Eijirou whispers, pressing his forehead to her palm. “I’ll make you proud. I swear.”

“I’m already proud.” Her eyes slip closed, just for a moment, as though the effort of holding them open is too much. Eijirou squeezes her hand gently, panic flickering through him, but she inhales again—thin and fragile. 

Taishiro leans closer. “Zuka, my love…” Her gaze moves to him last. Where her other smiles have been soft, this one is full—deep, worn, built from decades of partnership. “Take care of them,” she breathes.

“Always,” Taishiro whispers, his voice breaking.

She turns her face back toward Eijirou one final time. “Keep living, Eijirou. Don’t stop… not even for me.”

Eijirou nods, tears falling freely. “I won’t. I promise.”

Shizuka exhales slowly, peacefully. And, doesn't inhale again.

The room becomes impossibly still. Eijirou bows his head over her hand, shoulders shaking with silent grief. Bakugou presses against him, wrapping him fully in his arms, scenting his alpha with soft, steady comfort meant to anchor a breaking heart. Taishiro rests his forehead against Shizuka’s, tears slipping into her silvering hair. 

“Thank you,” he whispers to her. “For every year.”

Outside, the wind rustles through the flowers Shizuka planted decades ago—soft, fragrant, alive. Inside, Eijirou clings to Bakugou and weeps, held tight in the arms of the mate who would help him carry this loss for the rest of his life. Shizuka leaves the world gently, and in her absence, the threads of family she's woven hold all three of them together.

The house feels different the moment Shizuka is gone—too quiet, too thin, like part of the air is missing. 

Later, when TetsuTetsu arrives, smelling of cheap whiskey and even cheaper cigarettes, he promises to stay for the funeral. His huge hands shake as he helps Taishiro and Eijirou with the arrangements. The three men flip through stacks of papers - Shizuka’s will and last wishes. Several stacks of papers to represent decades of life. As the hours pass, TetsuTetsu tries to be strong for Eijirou, but grief sits in his chest like iron.

The morning of the funeral is cold despite the promise of an early spring on the air. The sky hangs low and gray, as if the world itself is holding its breath for her. The ceremony takes place at the small non-denominational mission that Shizuka volunteered at most of her life—sweeping the stone steps, trimming the shrubs, placing fresh flowers every week like a quiet ritual of devotion. Today, the flowers are white chrysanthemums, their scent heavy and clean.

Eijirou stands at the entrance in a black suit that feels too tight across his shoulders. His hands won’t stop shaking as he greets people, thanking them for coming. Bakugou is beside him, stiff and silent, trying to keep his own grief locked down. TetsuTetsu stands behind them, hands clasped, expression drawn and somber.

People gather in slow, respectful waves—neighbors, friends from the community, regulars from Shizuka's well-loved bakery—so many people she had fed, people she had simply loved in that gentle, persistent way of hers.

And, just when Eijirou thinks that he might make it through this procession of grief and anguish, something, or rather someone, catches him off guard. His biological mother. Asuka’s amongst the throngs of people here to celebrate Shizuka Toyomitsu’s life. Eijirou didn’t expect to see her though in hindsight he really should have. She stands uncertainly near the back of the crowd, hair half tied back and half in waves down her back, hands folded in front of her. She looks older, perhaps a little smaller than he remembers, but her eyes—his eyes—are unmistakable.

Eijirou feels his breathing catch and stop.

Asuka doesn’t step forward. Doesn’t call his name. She just bows her head slightly when their gazes meet, a silent acknowledgement of the space between them—years of absence, choices never explained, hurt never spoken aloud.

Eijirou’s chest tightens painfully.

Bakugou notices the shift in Eijirou’s scent and glances sideways, following the alpha’s gaze. The omega’s jaw clenches when he sees her, but he doesn’t say anything. He just rests a steady hand against Eijirou’s back. The omega offers support, not comfort, because Eijirou can’t take comfort right now. They don’t speak to her. She doesn’t approach. The distance remains.

The first crack in the quiet ceremony comes when TetsuTetsu’s parents arrive. Both of them maintain neutral expressions, but their appearances are slightly disheveled. They move close to Tetsutetsu and Eijirou, offering condolences with warm, open sincerity. The redhead tries to ignore the smell of alcohol and something bitter, almost smokey, on their breath.

But when Tetsutetsu’s mother, Yuuki, turns, she spots Eijirou’s biological mother lingering at the edge of the crowd. Her expression hardens instantly.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she mutters.

Her voice isn’t loud, but it’s sharp enough for nearby mourners to stiffen. Eijirou’s blood freezes. Tetsutetsu’s father grabs his wife's arm. “Now is not the time.”

Yuuki ignores him and steps forward, anger simmering under the respectful hush of the funeral. “You think you can just show up here? After everything?”

Eijirou winces; so does his mother. Asuka bows her head deeply. “I’m not here for conflict. I’m here to pay respects.”

“You don’t have the right,” TetsuTetsu’s mother seethes.

The air crackles with tension. Bakugou stiffens, one hand curling into a fist as he shifts subtly in front of Eijirou. TetsuTetsu grips his mother's arm firmly. 

“Mom, enough. Stop. Please. Not here.”

More people begin to murmur. Eyes turn. Eijirou’s stomach twists. This is the last thing Shizuka would have wanted. His mother remains perfectly still, taking every harsh word without protest, as though she believes she deserves them. Maybe she does. Maybe she doesn’t. Eijirou doesn’t know. He doesn’t have the space to decide.

Before the conflict can evolve further, Taishiro moves between them. A quiet mountain of a man whose grief alone commands respect. His large hand rests on TetsuTetsu’s mother's shoulder, steady, but firm.

“Enough,” Taishiro says gently, voice gravel-soft, but absolute. “This day is for Shizuka. No one here dishonors her memory. Not even you, Yuuki.”

Tetsutetsu’s mother swallows hard, frustration trembling in her jaw, but she steps back. And then Aizawa appears. Taishiro's right hand in all things, even this. The man moves silent as a shadow, stepping out from the edge of the gathered mourners. He gives Eijirou’s mother a long, unreadable look before turning a tired eye toward Tetsutetsu’s mother.

“Save your breath, Tai,” Aizawa says flatly. “Anyone starting a fight at a funeral - I will personally escort out.” His voice is calm, but his meaning is unmistakable. A beat passes, silence taunt, and then the tension breaks like a thread pulled too tight.

Yuuki exhales sharply and bows to Taishiro. “I’m sorry, Dad. You’re right. Forgive me.”

Taishiro nods once, expression gentle, but sad. “Thank you.”

Asuka gives a small bow of gratitude—first to Taishiro, then to Aizawa—before retreating to the edge of the crowd again, folding in on herself. Eijirou’s heart aches, but he doesn’t move toward her. Not today.

The ceremony begins with quiet prayers. A long-time friend of Shizuka's chants and sings softly while incense curls upward in thin wisps. Each attendee steps forward one by one, offering a pinch of ceremonial incense or a handful of Shizuka's favorite flower petals into the casket before bowing.

Eijirou and Bakugou step forward together. Eijirou’s hands tremble as he places incense on the altar and flower petals next to his ma's prone body. He sniffles, blinking rapidly, the scent making his eyes sting. He bows deeply, forehead nearly touching the wooden casket where Shizuka rests, unmoving.  Bakugou bows beside him, jaw tight, movements careful, reverent. TetsuTetsu steps forward after them, eyes glassy, but determined.

When Eijirou’s biological mother approaches the altar and casket, the crowd shifts uneasily. But Asuka moves with soft, respectful steps, her grief quiet and contained. She places her incense gently, bows deeply, and whispers something so faint only the altar hears it. Eijirou watches her walk back to the edge of the room, her shoulders trembling the slightest bit. He doesn’t approach her. But he sees her.

The mourners gather outside as the sky finally breaks open with a light rain. It patters against the umbrellas and the stone path - gentle, steady. The world weeps with them.

Taishiro addresses the group, voice warm despite his grief. “Thank you all. She loved you all more than she ever said.” His words end as quickly as they start. Those in attendance murmur and nod, understanding that nothing more needs to be said. Eventually, people drift away, slow and quiet. Eijirou sees his biological mother turn to leave, shoulders hunched, steps small. Eijirou hesitates, breath caught in his chest. Bakugou watches him carefully, expression unreadable. Ultimately, Eijirou stays where he is. He isn’t ready. Not today. Maybe not ever. But especially not today.

One-by-one, the last guests depart. TetsuTetsu hugs Eijirou tightly before jogging off to join his parents. Bakugou wraps an arm around Eijirou’s waist as the rain begins to fall harder. Together, they stand under the soft gray sky, listening to the rain wash over Shizuka’s resting place.

The funeral is simple. Quiet. But full, achingly full, of every emotion she ever inspired.

And, Eijirou, well, he feels her absence like a hollow echo in his chest that will likely never fully fade.

Two days after the ceremony, TetsuTetsu stands on the front steps of the Toyomitsu farmhouse with his duffel slung over his shoulder. Eijirou pulls TetsuTetsu into a hug. He's too numb to cry anymore. TetsuTetsu’s arms tighten around him. TetsuTetsu gives him one last grounding squeeze before he steps back. Eijirou watches as the man he considers an older brother looks down to his watch and then to his idling truck in the drive. 

“Call me if you need anything, little brother. Anything at all.”

Eijirou nods, but they both know he won't, at least not for a while. TetsuTetsu walks away, down the front steps, one last time, and across the gravel drive. A moment passes and the silver-blond haired alpha throws his old pickup truck in reverse to make his way toward the coast. He doesn’t look back.

It happens a week after Shizuka’s interred at the family cemetery, the soil still damp from the burial.

One moment Bakugou is standing in the kitchen, rubbing small circles over his stomach as he waits for water to boil. The next, he’s doubled over, a sharp twist of pain spearing through him like lightning. The bleeding starts fast, much too fast. Bakugou screams. It's one of the last sounds Eijirou hears the blond make.

Eijirou gets him to the hospital, but the doctors’ faces say everything before their words do.

“I’m sorry,” one of them whispers.

Bakugou goes still. Everything about the omega is terribly, unnaturally still. No crying, no shaking, no pleading. He's just silent. Eijirou holds his hand, but Bakugou’s fingers stay slack, cold. When they get home, Bakugou goes straight into their bedroom, closes the door, and doesn’t come out.

Days pass. Bakugou barely eats. He barely sleeps. He hardly speaks. Eijirou tries anyway. He knocks softly.

“Katsuki? I made miso. You," his voice breaks, " Firefly, please, you should try to eat something.”

Nothing. Eijirou tries again later.

“Omega, can I come in?”

Silence.

Eventually, Mitsuki arrives. She storms through the front door of the bunkhouse like a weapon. When she sees Eijirou hovering outside Bakugou’s closed door, something sharp, dangerous flashes in her eyes.

“Stop.” The older, blonde omega grabs his wrist, yanking him back. “He doesn’t need you in there right now.”

Eijirou flinches. “I just," he sighs, exhaustion and worry evident in his voice, "I just want to check on him. He won’t answer me.”

“He’s grieving,” Mitsuki snaps. “And you’re making it worse by hovering like some useless, dipshit alpha waiting for orders.”

Eijirou’s breath stutters. “I’m not trying to take over or over step—”

“You’re not pack,” Mitsuki says bluntly. “Not to him. Never have been, especially right now. He needs his mother. He needs space. He doesn’t need you pushing your scent like it could possibly give him comfort - comfort he can’t accept.”

The words hit like a physical blow.

Eijirou steps back. Mitsuki slips into their bedroom, closing the door behind her.

He hears Bakugou’s voice for the first time in days—a choked, broken sound—and it guts him that his voice isn’t the one Bakugou wants to hear.

Days turn into weeks. Bakugou moves back home with Mitsuki and Masaru for a while. Eijirou goes through the motions—farmwork, coursework, eating alone. 

They don’t speak. All of Eijirou’s calls go unanswered. All his texts are left on read. The silence between them stretches deep like a fault line, jagged, and ready to split at the slightest touch. When Bakugou finally reaches out, it’s with a single text message:

We need to talk. 

They meet at the edge of the Bakugous’ long, winding drive. Eijirou can’t see either Mitsuki or Masaru on their wraparound porch, but he’s certain they’re close by. He can feel it. Wind whips at Bakugou’s hair. It’s longer now. Bakugou’s gaze darts back and forth, occasionally looking over his shoulder, but when his sight lands on Eijirou his posture stiffens, defensive, like he’s bracing for impact. Eijirou walks toward him, hope sparking painfully in his chest.

“Katsuki, I’ve missed—”

"Don’t.” Bakugou cuts him off, jaw clenching hard. 

Eijirou stops. “Okay, then what did you want to say? Need me to help move your things back home?"

Bakugou inhales through his nose. His nose scrunches and his eyebrows drop like the air itself hurts. “We’re done.” 

The words punch the breath out of Eijirou’s lungs. “What?” he whispers. 

“You heard me.” 

“Katsuki, no. We just need time. We can talk about this. We can work—”

“There’s nothing to fix.” Bakugou’s expression falls flat, empty. “I don’t want you anymore.”

Eijirou feels something inside him tear. “You don’t mean that, Firefly. You’re hurting and—”

“Of course I’m hurting, you idiot!” Bakugou snaps, voice splintering. “I lost my baby. I lost Shizuka. Everything collapsed at once. And you,” the omega’s voice warps around the tremors in his breathing. “You couldn’t even be who I needed."

Eijirou steps forward on instinct. Bakugou immediately steps back. “I tried. Katsuki, we just need more time.”

“Time?” Bakugou spits. “Time isn’t gonna fix this. It’s not gonna fix me. It sure as fuck isn’t gonna fix you. Or this,” Bakugou gestures wildly around them, his eyes red rimmed and shiny with unshed tears, “this miserable, suffocating excuse for a life we’ve been pretending to hold together with grit, duct tape, and half-cocked optimism.”

Eijirou pales, a flinch threatening to weaken his resolve, but he stands firm. “We lost something huge. Of course things feel,” Eijirou searches for the right words, but Bakugou beats him to it. 

“Don’t.” Bakugou slices through his words. “Don’t act like this is just grief foggin’ things up. I’m not confused. I’m not overwhelmed or emotional. I’m done.”

The silence that follows is colder than any Oklahoma winter's ever been.

“You don’t mean that,” Eijirou whispers, voice hoarse and heavy with emotion. “You’re hurting. You’re angry.”

Bakugou laughs. The sound is a short, brutal noise. “Of course I’m angry. I’m always angry. But I’m not stupid. And I’m not staying stuck out here in the middle of nowhere, trapped in Oklahoma like some washed-up nobody who peaked in high school.”

Eijirou’s jaw trembles. “Is that what you think of me?”

Bakugou’s eyes flick away, but just for a moment. When the blond looks back, the bullet comes, piercing Eijirou straight through the heart.

“I think you’re a good guy who tried to make a life outta scraps. But me? I’m not built for this. This farm-town quiet, these tiny dreams, this,” again, he gestures vaguely, angrily. “This future made of hand-me-down hopes. I can’t breathe here. And, I sure as hell can’t chain myself to some two-bit, cornfed hick love story you’ve convinced yourself is good enough.”

Eijirou sucks in a desperate breath. “That’s low, even for you.”

“Yeah? Well, maybe I’ve been holding the bar too damn high, trying to be gentle for once in my life. Look where that got us.”

Eijirou’s hands curl into fists, not to strike, but to keep from shaking. “We were supposed to be a team. We were supposed to raise a kid together.”

Something lights in Bakugou’s eyes. Pain. Real, raw, unguarded. And then, the blond slams them shut.

“We were supposed to be a lot of things,” he says quietly. “But wanting it doesn’t make it real. And staying here—staying with you," Bakugou scrubs his hands down his face, "it feels like letting my own damn fire go out. Like I’m rotting from the inside out.”

Eijirou’s voice shatters. “So that’s it? You’re just walking away? After everything?”

Bakugou looks at him—really looks at him. His gaze lingers for a long, hollow moment. “Yeah. I am. Because if I don’t, I’m gonna drown in this place. And I’m not going down like that. Goodbye, Eijirou.”

The blond turns on his heels, graveling spitting from beneath his boots, the moment over. Eijirou stands alone at the end of the Bakugous’ drive, wind tearing at his hair, chest hollow and burning. His heart breaks quietly, cruelly, and completely.