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“Dog!”
It comes in the form of a chirped, happy voice. Bakugou doesn’t have to look up to know who is calling out the observation. He knows it’s Kirishima. If he looks up, he’ll probably see the bright smile on Kirishima’s face. He’ll probably see the shining glint in his eyes as he watches the dog, wherever it is, doing whatever it’s doing. If he looks up, he’ll probably see Kirishima vibrating with the effort it takes not to leap straight into traffic just to secure a single head pat for the dog he’s so obviously enraptured by.
Bakugou doesn’t look up from his food. Nobody else at the table even acknowledges that Kirishima has spoken – too lost in their own conversation, too used to the declaration by now for it to be a disturbance. It’s just background noise, at this point.
It’s just something Kirishima does. He doesn’t even need anyone to confirm for him that, yes Kiri, that is a dog. He doesn’t need feedback or acknowledgement. It’s just a happy sound that Kirishima makes because seeing a dog out in the wild makes him indescribably happy.
“What kind?” Bakugou grunts, on reflex and nothing more. He doesn’t like that nobody acknowledges Kirishima’s happy sounds. It irks him in the wrong way that no one seems to indulge him in something that he so obviously loves – even if it is stupid.
Yeah, it’s a dog. Big deal.
Kirishima hums thoughtfully – another happy sound – and if Bakugou looks up, he’ll probably see Kirishima eyeing the dog with new vigor, examining its coat or its head or its ears or whatever else he looks at to determine what type of breed the dog is.
Kirishima takes a breath – another happy sound – and if Bakugou looks up, he’ll probably see Kirishima’s smile has grown twice as big, eyes sparkling more than before.
Bakugou doesn’t look up. He spears at his noodles with his chopsticks and he waits.
“A Labrador! A yellow one, with a blue collar. It looks very handsome on him!” Kirishima says, and Bakugou can hear the smile in his voice more clearly than if he would look up and see it with his eyes.
“Cute,” Bakugou grunts, even though he doesn’t care. Dogs are gross. They’re messy and slobbery and wiggly and loud. But Kirishima loves dogs. And Bakugou likes Kirishima well enough. So whatever.
“So cute!” Kirishima beams, and now he’s back to eating and chatting with the others.
But the dog must still be around, because Bakugou can sense Kirishima looking at it longingly, even when he refuses to look up from his noodles to be sure.
“Dog!”
The happy sound comes again. It’s unexpected this time. They’re in a movie theater, after all.
The others turn in their seats, curious at the sudden appearance of a dog where one would not expect to find one. Bakugou doesn’t look up from his phone.
“What kind?” He grunts, scrolling through the hero news and scowling at a disturbance that happened a few blocks from his favorite arcade in the downtown area.
Kirishima hums thoughtfully from beside him – probably eyeing the dog, probably thinking about it, definitely leaning his shoulder too far into Bakugou’s own – but this time, his process is interrupted.
“It looks like a Border Collie!” Mina loudly suggests from two seats over – seats that are filled with Kaminari and Sero. “My grandma had one when I was growing up!”
Kirishima continues to hum and Bakugou knows that she’s wrong without ever even seeing the dog.
“What kind?” He grunts again, bumping Kirishima’s shoulder, refusing to look up, continuing to scroll.
“I think it’s an Australian Shepherd! You can tell by the colors. But they’re very similar!” Kirishima chirps before he sucks down an ungodly amount of his cherry coke flavored slushie.
“Cute.”
“So cute!”
“Let’s go pet it!” Kaminari says boldly, already moving to stand.
Kirishima stiffens in his seat, which is almost enough to make Bakugou look up from his phone.
“No!” Kirishima says sternly, reaching across Sero to grab Kaminari by the back of his shirt and yanking him back down. “He’s busy! You can’t pet a dog that has a vest like that on!” He says this so adamantly – so seriously. This is a big deal to him. He doesn’t let go of Kaminari’s shirt.
“What? Why not?” Kaminari pouts.
“Because he’s working,” Kirishima says. “Don’t go over there. Leave him alone.”
Kaminari pouts some more and grumbles a bit about how it’s not fair for someone to bring a dog into a movie theater and then expect people not to pet them. Kirishima scolds him for being so selfish before letting him go and relaxing back into his chair again when he’s certain that Kaminari won’t disregard him and disturb the dog that apparently has a job to do. Sero and Mina are already talking about other things. Bakugou doesn’t look up from his phone.
Kirishima’s shoulder is back, though, and it’s nice.
“Dog!”
The happy sound cuts Kaminari off mid-sentence, but the other boy continues talking to Sero with hardly a pause, as though Kirishima hadn’t interrupted at all. They’re walking along a sidewalk in downtown and it’s busy and Bakugou watches his feet and glares at anyone who attempts to step too closely into his space.
Kirishima’s elbow brushes his every third step.
“What kind?” Bakugou grunts.
Kirishima hums.
Bakugou doesn’t look up.
“Bernese Mountain dog!” Kirishima says confidently. Bakugou can hear the grin. “They’re so fluffy and manly!”
“Cute.”
“So cute!”
“What’s your favorite kind of dog, Kiri?” Mina asks, bouncing on Kirishima’s other side and thumbing through the pictures they all took at the arcade a half an hour ago.
Bakugou almost looks up.
Kirishima hums again. His pace has slowed, just a little, and Bakugou can see without looking that Kirishima is giving this question all of his brain power. He thinks and thinks and thinks. They cross the street twice and get on a bus that will take them back to campus. Sero and Kaminari are looking up old Pokemon cards on their phones. Mina is eyeing over their shoulders and throwing in her opinion every once in a while. She declares that Clefairy is a cutie and says that she’d die for Squirtle.
Bakugou sits a few rows away from them. Kirishima follows and sits beside him.
“What kind?” Bakugou grunts again, when they’re halfway to campus and Kirishima still hasn’t answered.
“Huh?” Kirishima asks, and Bakugou can hear the dazed look on his face, in his voice. There isn't a dog around, so he's probably confused as to where the familiar question has come from.
“What kind is your favorite?” He pauses. “Idiot.”
Kirishima hums, quieter now. Their thighs are pressed together on the bench. Kirishima’s arm is thrown casually across the back of the seat, friendly fingers lingering around Bakugou’s tense, stiff shoulder. His knee, the one farthest away from Bakugou’s, bounces a little, because he can’t ever sit still.
“Shiba Inu!” Kirishima finally declares, as the bus is turning to climb the hill that U.A’s prestigious campus sits on.
“Why?”
Kirishima beams. “They can be temperamental and a little aggressive, but they’re loyal and athletic. They’re really good at climbing mountains! How manly is that?”
Bakugou makes a noise of acknowledgement. He doesn’t really know what a Shiba Inu looks like, but he can kind of imagine one, maybe, if he tries, which he doesn’t. “Cute.”
Kirishima smiles. “So cute!”
Bakugou doesn’t look up from his lap until the bus has stopped in front of the gates.
“Dog!”
Bakugou and Kirishima are alone when Kirishima’s happy sound filters through the air of the park and breaks the twenty-minute-long silence between them. It’s the middle of the day on a Saturday, and this is the third time that Kirishima has pointed out a dog walking in the park. Bakugou finds that he doesn’t mind as much as he thinks he should and that thought alone has him gripping the edges of his book tighter in his fingers.
He grinds his teeth together. He doesn’t look up from the page he’s been staring at and not comprehending for the last ten minutes.
“What kind?” He grunts.
Kirishima hums as he twirls a dandelion around and around in his fingers. He’s brought a blanket with him, of all things, and is lying on the ground next to the bench where Bakugou has preferred to sit. The sun is beating down on them, but the relatively consistent breeze that drifts between them every few seconds is enough to make it comfortable.
Bakugou’s shoulders will probably burn. He’s already regretting not wearing a long-sleeved shirt.
“Looks like a chihuahua or something,” Kirishima answers, though not as enthusiastically as he has the last two times that he’s spotted a dog.
Bakugou knows Kirishima doesn’t really care much for the smaller dogs, but he also knows that Kirishima notices them and points them out and loves them all the same. They’re still a dog, and Kirishima is weak for dogs.
“Dog!”
The next alert comes just a few minutes later.
Bakugou doesn’t have time to ask what kind it is – Kirishima is already on his feet.
Bakugou looks up from his book.
Kirishima’s smile is wide and radiant, his eyes are sparkling and he’s wiping off the butt of his shorts despite having just been lying on a blanket while he stares unabashedly at the dog that has captured his attention. Bakugou feels his stomach drop and his chest tighten, and he realizes his mistake just milliseconds after he’s lifted his eyes.
Kirishima looks beautiful. He’s passionate and starry-eyed as he stares at some dog that Bakugou doesn’t know what breed it is or what it looks like because all he can do is stare at Kirishima.
Stare at Kirishima and wonder what it would take to make Kirishima look at him the way that he looks at dogs.
It's such a stupid thought. Bakugou hates it. He hates that he’s actively comparing himself to smelly, mangy mutts that roll around in the scents of dead animals and eat their own shit and lick their own assholes all day. He hates that some stupid dog in a little sweater makes Kirishima swoon and ogle with wide eyes and a bright smile. He hates seeing that look of adoration and love cross Kirishima’s face and knowing that Kirishima will never look at him with that same expression.
He hates it so much he almost singes the sides of the book he’s holding in his hands.
“I’m gonna go pet it!” Kirishima declares.
Bakugou doesn’t know what makes this dog different from the other three dogs that Kirishima has seen in the park that day. He doesn’t know what makes this dog different from the Bernese he saw downtown last week, or the Labrador he saw at the restaurant’s outdoor seating a few weeks before that.
He doesn’t know what makes this dog different and he doesn’t have time to ask before Kirishima is grabbing his bare wrist with urgent fingers and tugging him off the bench.
“C’mon, Bakugou! Come with me!” Kirishima pleads, already stomping off in the direction of the dog Bakugou can’t see because he’s too busy staring at the hand clasped around his wrist and pulling him along, despite Bakugou hating being dragged anywhere.
He lets Kirishima, though, and he doesn’t know why.
They abandon their blanket and Bakugou’s book by the bench and Kirishima leads him around a couple who are roller-skating down the sidewalk and a group of kids who are screaming and running barefoot in the grass over to the giant pond in the middle of the park that’s too crowded and too loud for Bakugou’s liking. They come to a sudden stop beside an old man with a hat covering his already tanned and wrinkly face from the sun.
Kirishima smiles and waves at him.
“Hello! Is it okay if I pet your dog?” He asks politely, hovering impatiently, eyeing pleadingly. If the man says no, or tells Kirishima that his dog doesn’t like being pet, or tells Kirishima that his dog is a little aggressive and it probably wouldn’t be a good idea, Kirishima will be disappointed. His smile will falter and his shoulders will drop and maybe the tight fingers around Bakugou’s pale wrist will finally loosen a little bit.
But Kirishima will understand. He’ll babble about how cute the dog is and ask what kind of toys it likes to play with and what kind of activities it likes to partake in and he’ll yammer on and on about the dog as if the owner doesn’t have anything better to do than stand around and talk to some overly enthusiastic boy with crazy red hair and an overwhelming affection for all things canine.
Thankfully, the man only smiles.
“He is a little skittish, but you can try. He doesn’t bite.” The man speaks softly and calmly. The fingers on Bakugou’s wrist tighten in excitement before suddenly disappearing.
Bakugou’s eyes trail from his own wrist, which has now fallen heavily back to his side, over to Kirishima, who is now squatting down by the dog and holding his hand out, palm up, patiently waiting for the dog to wander over on its own. It will, eventually, because all dogs love Kirishima just as much as Kirishima loves all dogs. Kirishima is patient and his red eyes are lit up and shining so warmly that Bakugou can’t look away from the profile of his face. His smile is small, and tentative, and reassuring.
The dog noses at Kirishima’s palm curiously.
Bakugou finally looks at the dog.
It’s smaller than he expected it to be. It doesn’t have a massive head like a Rottweiler, or broad shoulders like a Husky. Its front is the same thickness as its stomach and its stomach is the same thickness as its hind quarters. Its legs are obviously strong but still slender, and its tail sticks upward instead of curving down, curled in a little spiral on the top of its butt. Its fur is orange and white and its eyes and nose are black as it nudges Kirishima’s hand and Kirishima pets its neck with appreciative, happy-dancing fingers.
“What kind?” Bakugou grunts, on reflex.
Kirishima looks up at him. There’s still lingering traces of soft happiness on his face. His eyes are still bright, and his smile is still encouraging, and his body language is completely relaxed. Bakugou’s breath hitches – that dopey look is turned on him, and though he’s dreamed about it being on him for several months, now that it’s actually happening, he doesn’t really know what to do with it.
“It’s a Shiba Inu!” Kirishima chirps happily, smile stretching a little wider.
“Cute.” He says, on reflex, eyes still fixated on the look Kirishima is giving him.
Kirishima beams up at him.
“So cute!” He reaches a hesitant hand up to touch Bakugou’s wrist with feather-light fingers. “Want to pet him?”
Bakugou scowls and his eyes shift automatically to the dog, which is now completely at ease and leaning into Kirishima’s knee, making happy sounds in the form of grunts and appreciative whines. He’s never really pet a dog before, he’s just realizing in that moment, and his hesitance must show on his face, which he hates, because Kirishima laughs.
“He doesn’t bite,” he says, repeating the old man’s earlier words, before he turns back to the dog and winks at the thing as if it knows what a wink is. “Bakugou might, though,” he jokes with the dog, as if the dog will understand the joke too.
“You don’t have to if you’re scared,” Kirishima teases with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. But Bakugou can see him watching from the corner of his eye, waiting for the reaction he hopes will come from his remark.
Bakugou snorts and rolls his eyes. He squats down beside Kirishima, if anything just to prove him wrong. Bakugou isn’t scared of some dumb dog. He hesitates for another moment, his elbows resting uncomfortably on his bent knees, before he huffs angrily to himself because he knows he’s being stupid.
He reaches out to touch the dog on the top of its head.
The fur is coarser than he was expecting it to be. Its rough on his calloused fingertips and pulls weirdly if he tries to push it the wrong way. The dog’s tongue is out now – panting in the heat of the sun and the two hands buried in its fur.
Bakugou pets the dog three times before pulling away.
Kirishima pets the dog for as long as the owner will let him.
When the old man finally says that they have to get going, Kirishima pops back up to his feet and profusely thanks the man for letting them take up his time. Bakugou stands to his feet a little slower, eyeing the dog suspiciously, before they start back over to their bench where, hopefully, their stuff is still waiting there for them.
He doesn’t understand why this dog is Kirishima’s favorite.
Its fur isn’t that nice to touch. Its not as cute as some of the other dogs Kirishima has pointed out. Its not the strongest or the fluffiest or, apparently, the nicest. Yet this is Kirishima’s favorite dog. Why?
Kirishima says that they’re extremely loyal. That they can be temperamental and aggressive, especially with strangers, but that they’re protective and prefer attaching themselves to one person rather than being showered with affection by a big group.
“Why is that kind your favorite?” Bakugou hears himself asking without giving his mouth permission to speak. He’s sitting back on his bench with his book open in his lap. Kirishima is back on his blanket, picking up the dandelion he had discarded earlier and twirling it around in his fingers again.
Kirishima hums thoughtfully. He knows he’s already answered this question before, and Bakugou doesn’t repeat questions because he’s always paying attention the first time that he asks them, so he must be looking for a different answer than the one Kirishima’s given before.
A group of friends whizz by them on their bicycles, shouting and laughing as they go. A woman jogs by in the opposite direction, huffing and puffing and looking like she’s regretting ever convincing herself that she needs to start working out again.
Kirishima takes a breath – a happy sound.
Bakugou looks up from his book and catches eyes with him before he can remind himself not to.
Kirishima looks a little surprised, but it’s a happy kind of surprised. An unexpected but warm kind of surprise. The puzzle pieces have slid into place and he looks delighted with what he’s discovered. His face is soft again, and he leans his chin into the palm of his hand, with his elbow pressing into the thigh of one of his crossed legs, and he looks at Bakugou with warm red eyes that hold him in place.
He looks at Bakugou the way he’s always looking at dogs.
“I guess they remind me of you, a little bit!” He says happily.
Bakugou doesn’t know what to say. He never knows what to say when Kirishima blurts out stupid stuff like that.
He looks back down at his book, because he doesn’t know what else to do, but Kirishima isn’t bothered. He hums and picks some more grass blades from outside the barrier of his blanket and more people walk past them, chattering and smiling and enjoying the sunny day.
“You’re a golden retriever,” Bakugou grunts to his book.
Kirishima laughs beside him. “Hell yeah! They’re super manly and loveable!”
Bakugou snorts and rolls his eyes.
The sun beats down on them, but the wind takes the heat away, and Bakugou’s shoulders are definitely starting to burn, and Kirishima has inched closer to him like he always does, until he’s leaning his cheek against Bakugou’s knee.
“Dog!” He chirps.
Bakugou smiles, just a little, on reflex.
“What kind?” He grunts. For appearances, of course.