Chapter Text
“What do you mean, Mirio isn’t participating?” Bakugou stopped as though he’d hit a wall, hand hovering above the door handle.
“He wasn’t asked,” Hakamada hummed. “The number one hero doesn’t have a powerful enough quirk to merit being in the doomsday study, it seems.”
He didn’t have to say, Not like you. Bakugou couldn't help but preen at the unspoken praise. “Damn right, he doesn’t.”
“Further, any agency that employs a hero of interest as designated by the study that declines to participate will receive reduced funding.”
Bakugou turned around, huffing. He knew what that meant. Pay cuts, slashed benefits. Perhaps for just the heroes on the list who refused to participate. Perhaps spread across the entire agency. No way was he going to be responsible for that. His colleagues--and the media--loved to hate him enough already. Damn paparazzi would have a field day with that one. He could just picture the headlines: ‘DYNAMIGHT INCINERATES GENIUS OFFICE PAYROLL: EXPLOSIVE HERO AT CENTER OF ANOTHER CONTROVERSY!’
“You think you’re so fuckin’ slick,” Bakugou grumbled.
“I don’t think, I know,” Hakamada’s eyes narrowed into little, pleased crescents.
“Gimme the damn enrollment form.”
***
A week later, dressed in his comfiest joggers, a white beater, and a zip-up with the hood barely covering his unruly spikes, the blond hero found himself staring up at a triangular glass and chrome building with an impressive set of postmodern doors. There was an address but no sign above them, which made sense, he supposed. No need to advertise what kind of people or data were inside. Still, it was a far cry from the austere lab he had envisioned, and he wondered if he was in the right place.
The automatic doors let out a soft pneumatic hiss, and a pleasant bass asked, “Kacchan?”
His eyes shot down from the topmost point of the building. That was a nickname he hadn’t heard in decades.
Izuku Midoriya, all grown up, strode out to greet him, lab coat flapping behind him. He gripped a virtual datapad in one shockingly large hand. The other was outstretched. Whether he intended to shake Bakugou’s own hand or touch him to confirm he was real, the hero didn’t know. Bakugou noticed that the nerd was both broader-shouldered and taller than him now. One thing hadn't changed though: those wide eyes, set above boyish freckles, shining in perpetual amazement of Kacchan.
“Deku?” Bakugou smirked. “Jesus, what has Auntie been feeding you?”
“I go by Dr. Midoriya these days. Goodness, I can’t believe you’re here,” Chuckling at Bakugou’s observation, Midoriya stopped a few paces away from him, hand still floating in the air. “It’s been such a long time. I’d hoped we’d run into each other around the holidays, but…well.”
Bakugou hadn’t taken time off for a holiday since he’d gone pro. And as a student, he’d attracted so many villains that he wasn’t allowed off campus for his own safety. His parents had come to the dorms to have holidays with him, rather than the other way around.
“Yeah,” Bakugou said. “How’s your mom?”
“She’s… all right,” Midoriya said, halting. His hand dropped into a loose fist at his side. “She’ll be happy to hear you asked about her.”
Hmm. Bakugou wondered about that verbal dodge. “We can catch up later. Give me the tour. Tell me about this study.”
“Oh, yeah!” Midoriya snapped out of whatever funk he was in and closed the distance to Bakugou in one long stride. Laughing, he finally laid that hesitant hand on his shoulder and ushered him inside.
The interior of the building was as avant-garde as the exterior: a receptionist at a spherical desk with a floating, virtual computer system; air plants in a rainbow of colors suspended in floating glass globes; and a water feature comprised of a metal staircase where the water appeared to flow upwards rather than adhering to the laws of gravity.
“Midoriya, is that…?” the receptionist whistled. He was a puny thing with a globular purple mohawk. Bakugou briefly wondered if he was hired because he matched the lobby aesthetics. “Dang, Dynamight is your study specimen?!”
Specimen? What the fuck? Bakugou felt a growl rise up from his throat before he could stop himself. Damn his lack of a filter. And impulse control. He pictured himself loosing several explosions at the grape-headed man, singing his little herring-bone suit. Then he pictured the headline: DYNAMIGHT DESTROYS TINY RECEPTIONIST! He shoved his hands into his pockets and gritted, “I’m not a fucking lab rat.”
Best Jeanist would be so proud.
“He’s graciously volunteered to be in the study, Mineta-san,” Deku jumped in. “He’s a participant. We are extremely lucky to have him!”
Mineta’s eyes were glued to Bakugou’s pockets. He swallowed heavily. “Yep! Yes, of course! Uh, Dynamight-sama, if you’ll just sign in here…”
Bakugou pulled out a hand to sign the form and realized it had been smoking. Whoops. If Midoriya noticed, he didn’t say anything.
After he checked-in, leaving a cowering Mineta behind, the green-haired scientist led Bakugou to a wall of elevators. He promptly veered away from them.
“Uh,” Bakugou started.
“This way,” Midoriya chirped, pointing to a solitary door in its own end of the hall.
“You have your own elevator?”
“Actually,” Midoriya smiled as he summoned the elevator. “I have my own floor.”
Bakugou tried not to be impressed. In his mind, scientists were largely unappreciated, underpaid intellectuals who made money for corporate suits. Who was Deku, of all people, to have what amounted to the penthouse suite?
The doors opened, and Midoriya stepped in. Bakugou frowned. This elevator was smaller than a standard one, which Bakugou supposed made sense if normally only Deku used it. Bakugou squeezed in, briefly pressing up against the scientist, who immediately straightened.
“Tight fit,” Bakugou said by way of apology.
“Uh-huh,” Midoriya replied, an octave or two higher than before.
To avoid touching Midoriya for the duration of the ride, Bakugou had to stand perpendicular to him with his back against the wall. His chest still brushed against Midoriya’s arm when he inhaled, though. The scientist hugged the datapad and his posture stiffened as the moments went by in silence.
Weird, Bakugou observed. Didn’t this guy used to ramble non-stop?
To fill the void, the blond said, “So, penthouse suite. You must have made quite a name for yourself in the scientific community.” His chest bumped against the scientist’s arm again.
“I-I do all right,” Midoriya stuttered. Huh. Why was he suddenly so nervous? Their proximity? Deku’d been so touchy-feely as a kid. “Plus it, uh, just makes sense for working with high-profile heroes such as yourself. Those who merit additional privacy.”
Headline: DYNAMIGHT SPOTTED IN FRONT OF LABORATORY! IS HE AFFLICTED WITH WEIRD DISEASE? “I appreciate that,” Bakugou hummed. “Thanks, Izuku.”
Deku made an almost strangled sound of acknowledgement in his throat.
The door opened with a soft tone. Midoriya practically fell out of the elevator in his haste to get away from a puzzled Bakugou. What the hell? Did he stink? Bakugou had been told by previous lovers that, even when he forgot deodorant, he smelled fantastic--like caramel, smoke, and malted sugar thanks to his quirk. Maybe Deku had a sensitive nose and he was too perfumey for his sensibilities. That would figure, Deku being a baby about scents.
The scientist seemed to recover as they crossed the small waiting room and reached the door to his lab. Bakugou had expected fancy, frosted glass, but this one was metal with a flexible strip at the floor.
“Soundproofing?” He asked.
“Very observant,” Midoriya blinked into a scanner. The door swung open. “Yes, again for your privacy, but also for demonstrating loud quirks.”
Bakugou grinned. He always enjoyed a chance to show off. “Oh, I can be very loud.”
Midoriya fumbled the datapad. Bakugou, reflexes always at the ready, easily leaned down and caught it before it cracked on the hard floor. He glanced at the feather-light screen as he straightened. It was a file on him. Some of it had already been filled out.
NAME: Bakugou, Katsuki
ALIAS: Dynamight
GENDER: M, DMAB
DOB: 20 April XXXX
MEASUREMENTS:
Was he getting fitted for a suit? He snorted and handed the datapad back to Deku. “How much does something like this cost?”
“They certainly aren’t cheap.” Midoriya’s face was sunburn red. “Um, thank you. Why don’t you have a seat, and we’ll talk about the study. Make sure you’re on board with everything.”
“Informed consent, right?” Katsuki brushed past Deku and hopped up onto the procedure chair in the middle of the room. It looked brand new, was surprisingly cushy, and had all sorts of foldable arms and storage bins built in. He kind of wanted one for his office.
Deku pulled up an equally cushy but less fancy rolling chair. Even sitting down, his head still came up to Bakugou’s shoulder. “As part of the study protocol, I’m going to record this conversation. The data may be shared with my colleagues, but I will refer to you as ‘Subject’ to protect your privacy.”
Bakugou chuckled. “Yeah, it’ll be real hard to figure out which subject explodes stuff!”
“I know, but it’s the best I can do,” Midoriya offered a wry smile. “I will always tell you if I’m recording, and you will have access to everything I record. I will give you a copy of anything you request. Sound okay so far?”
“Sure,” Bakugou nodded.
Deku pressed a button on the datapad. A small camera in a corner of the ceiling whirled to life. “Can you tell me why you’re here?”
“I’m participating in the quirk singularity doomsday study so my office doesn’t get penalties up its ass.”
Midoriya laughed. “That’s one way to put it. You’re here of your own free will?”
“What would you do if I said no?”
“We’d stop here and I’d personally escort you to the AQA department.”
The Anti-Quirk Abuse department. A well-respected--and well-funded--team that supported those who were abused, subjugated, or enslaved by another person misusing their quirk. Bakugou sadly was quite familiar with them. Due to his power being like catnip to villains, he’d had several appointments where they assessed his emotional state, offered counseling, and worked with local hero and law enforcement offices to apprehend his kidnappers.
“Did someone force you to be here?”
“No,” Bakugou rolled his eyes. “I don’t do anything I don’t wanna. I was just curious.”
“Okay. Good,” Midoriya sighed. “There is, unfortunately, no timeline on this study, as each participant is unique and the type of data we collect will vary. You are obviously free to drop out whenever you wish, but I’d appreciate it if you’d continue for as long as I need. I can work around your schedule--whether it’s in the middle of the night for an hour a week or an entire day every other month. I’m happy to give you my personal number if that would make scheduling easier.”
Bakugou thought over his shit-show of a schedule. “Flexible scheduling is good. What kind of data do you think you’ll need from me?”
“Well, as you saw from the screen, I thought we’d start with your basic biometrics today: height, weight, various body measurements. Next time, a health and history review. Then physical exams and genetic samples--anything that might relate to your quirk: hair, sweat, saliva. Even just talking. My goal is to really understand you and your quirk, how it’s altered your biology, and what the effects might be if it is passed on.”
“I don’t plan on passing anything on,” Bakugou said. “No kids in my future.”
Deku blinked. “Oh, really?”
“Hell no. Hero work is time-consuming and dangerous. It makes you and your family targets. And it can do shit to you mentally.” He didn’t say it, but he thought of his old classmate Shoto--and his father Endeavor’s less than stellar parenting skills and obsession with quirk ability. “Why the hell would I subject anyone to that? Well, I mean, a lover can choose for himself to be with me, knowing the risks. Kid doesn’t get that choice. Pretty fuckin’ selfish.”
Even though he said this was being recorded, Deku was still furiously taking notes. Some habits die hard, Bakugou supposed. “Did you say ‘himself’?”
“What?”
“Your lover. Himself?”
“Oh,” Bakugou blinked. “Yeah, guess I did. I’m gay. ‘Snot a secret or anything.”
The media hadn’t gotten ahold of that fact yet, as Bakugou had always put winning over relationships--especially once he went pro. He had always thought, when the time was right, when the person was right, it would just be so easy and natural. But with his dangerous occupation, prickly personality, and hesitancy to invest in others, he wasn’t fooling himself that it would be anytime soon. There’s a reason it’s lonely at the top, after all.
“Interesting. We’ll definitely talk more about that later!” Deku’s excited tone told him that was a promise. “Still, you might change your mind one day and opt for a surrogate. Or a villain or stalker might…”
“Might what? Get me in a compromising position and take DNA from me?” laughed the blond. “Fat chance.”
“The government feels it’s a possibility, however small. Hence the study,” Midoriya said with a professional smile and a note of finality. “Let’s get those measurements now, okay? Would you mind standing up?”
“Yeah, sure,” Bakugou hopped off the exam chair and kicked off his shoes. “Height first, I assume?”
“Yes, thank you,” Midoriya pulled a small oblong device out of another pocket. With a press of his thumb, a soft green light emitted from one end of its casing. He stepped up next to the blond, close enough that Bakugou could feel the heat radiating off his body. He crouched down, pointing the device at Bakugou’s bare foot.
Kneeling like this in front of Bakugou, Midoriya’s eyes were level with his belly button. If he were to sit fully on the floor, his mouth would be level with…. Katsuki swallowed and chose not to complete that thought. This was his childhood friend-slash-victim. He’d put him through the ringer already, no need to be unfairly subjected to his fantasies.
Midoriya, oblivious to Katsuki’s less-than-innocent thoughts, stood slowly, bringing the device up with him, drawing a line in the air up to the top of Katsuki’s head that resembled a light-saber. A number popped up at the end of the line. “Dynamight is 175 cm in height. That’s 5 feet 9 inches for my non-metric colleagues,” he dictated, chuckling at his own nerdy scientist joke. “Well above-average for the typical Japanese male.”
Fucking right, above average, Katsuki preened.
“Let’s get your weight next.”
“Lead the way, doc.”
“The scale is right here,” Izuku stepped aside to reveal a device very much like his data pad-- made more of light than physical parts. “Would you, ahem, mind disrobing?”