Listen up, a**hole - Chapter 4

It took about a month before Bakugou found himself fiddling with the case late one evening, as he got ready for a night shift. He'd worn them on and off around the house, had even worn them out to get lunch with his friends once, and none of them had said a word. With his friends, he knew what that meant – they really weren't noticeable, his fears were unfounded. Midoriya had still continued to push, continued to try and convince him, apparently oblivious to the fact that half of the time he spent nagging, they were already in Bakugou's ears.

He would never say it out loud, but he'd grown... Almost fond of the things. It was nice to get a break from the white noise he normally dealt with, and he wasn't entirely certain, but he suspected he didn't yell so much with them in, either.

And yet, on some level, he hated himself for that. Hated himself for wanting the help, for needing the help. Hated himself for being broken, being defective. All his life he'd claimed to be the best, and yet he was relying on two hunks of metal to give him something everyone else already had.

He'd had a headache all day, though, and the constant ringing in his ears coupled with the irritation of having to turn up volume dials and ask his dumb boyfriend to repeat stuff was only making it worse. The idea of going out on patrol was like hell to him, for maybe the first time in his life, but Bakugou was no quitter. Ground Zero did not take sick days.

And so, despite his self-hatred, he pushed them into his ears.

He'd changed the batteries a few nights prior, when his phone app alerted him that they were starting to get low, so there was nothing standing in the way of him walking out the front door. Except his own damn pride. He was lucky Midoriya had left an hour earlier, or else he'd have been caught pacing back and forth in the front room, the phone app in one hand assuring him that everything was ready to go (the myriad of annoying green smiley faces telling him so was a whole different problem), the other hand touching his ear awkwardly as he contemplated.

What if someone noticed? What if they malfunctioned? What if some villain managed to damage them and ruin his ears even further? What if people laughed? What if some news outlet got a photo of him wearing them?

In the end, he settled for shoving the case into a pocket on his belt. When he got sick of them, or if there were any issues, he would just put them away and move on – no big deal.

Or throw them in the trash, that was an option too.

But as he walked down the street, he started to notice things – odd little sounds he hadn't picked up on, in the past. Not some cheesy shit like birds singing in the trees or children laughing in the park, but footsteps walking behind him or whispers around a corner: little signs that set him on edge.

At first he was annoyed, he hated feeling constantly alert because of an idiot with a limp that made his pace sound off, or a kid across the street pointing at him and whispering his name. Slowly, though, as he began walking his usual route, realisation began to dawn on him.

If there really was a villain sneaking up on him, would he hear it?

Not to mention, he thought, as he stared at his hands, the doctor had said they would help prevent further damage. As much as he hated the idea of being dependent on the things now, the idea of being unable to function without them later in life might have been even worse.

Five years as a hero before he was too deaf to do it, or twenty with a gadget in his ear that he could technically still cope without if he needed to? It was a pretty clear choice, frankly. Maybe he'd just been too stubborn to see it.

He pushed the thoughts aside in favour of paying attention to his surroundings, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand, eyes roaming over the crowds of people heading home from work and searching for anyone that didn't look right, anyone who seemed shifty or uncomfortable or out of place.

Three fights later, with his boots scuffed and his gauntlets hot and heavy, he began his path toward home. The only thing that gave him pause was a familiar little store, with its unassuming sign out front, the windows still lit for at least another hour before they'd finally close up for the night.

He slid one of his gauntlets off and tucked it under his arm, using the free hand to push open the door.

“Mister Bakugou!” the receptionist said brightly, hiding her surprise behind a customer service smile. “How can I help you?”

“Had a couple of questions,” he grumbled, looking away. “Wondered if he had a minute.”

“Of course! Have a seat and I'll just go see how he's doing.”

He was amused to find that he could hear the whispers when she ducked into the back room, though he couldn't make out the words other than his own name, but soon the pair were both returning, and the doctor was smiling at him just as warmly.

“Come on through, Mister Bakugou. I have some time before my next appointment arrives.”

He nodded, ditching his gauntlets at the front desk when the receptionist offered, and following him into the familiar, cold office, with the little bed and a range of machinery.

“I'm surprised Mister Midoriya isn't here with you,” the doctor spoke up, as he settled himself back at his desk. “How are you doing?”

“He doesn't know,” Bakugou admitted.

“That you're here?”

“Nor that,” he acknowledged. “But mostly, uh, that I've... I've been wearing them.”

“I'm glad to hear it,” he nodded, much calmer than Midoriya would have been to find out the same news. “How have they been treating you?”

“Better than I expected,” he confessed. “No one has commented on them, so I don't think anyone has noticed them. I know you're all about the positivity shit and 'don't be ashamed' or whatever, but I'm a hero.”

“I understand,” the man assured him. “Believe it or not, Sir, you're not the first one to feel uncomfortable with the concept.”

“Yeah,” Bakugou snorted. “I guess you've seen it all.”

“Trust me, I've had far harder clients than you.”

Bakugou cracked a smile finally, and the doctor returned the gesture.

“You have a quirk?” Bakugou asked, watching the eyes widen at him. “Yeah, 'of course,' right? I know quirkless shits, don't act like it's a given.”

“Just surprised to hear you making small talk,” the man smiled. “Yes, I do.”

“What is it? Help with your job?”

“It does. I can sense pressure levels with pinpoint accuracy. It saves me a lot of time and human error when I'm fitting people with their devices.”

Bakugou scoffed, waving toward the certificates on the wall in answer to the doctor's confused look.

“Shiyouji,” he clarified with a smile. “Not Atsushi, despite what my job would have you believe.”

“I can't exactly judge,” Bakugou smirked, popping off a tiny spark in his hand. “I'm Bakugou, after all.”

He finally sat down, slumping a little in his chair, and for a moment the room fell silent.

“Is it okay if I ask?” Shiyouji began gently, gesturing toward his ear. “Are you wearing them now?”

“Yeah,” Bakugou nodded, pausing again. “Um, it was the first time I wore them on patrol.”

“Oh? And it went well, I assume, since you're not yelling at me?”

“It was okay,” he agreed. “But I had some questions.”

“By all means. Do you mind if I check your pressure levels while we're here? It'll only take a moment.”

“I guess so.”

He rose to his feet, rounding behind Bakugou's chair, and Bakugou pulled a face when the fingertips gently touched his temple.

“Looks good,” he confirmed, moving to the other side after all of three seconds. “This one too. I'm glad.”

“That's all it takes?”

“I told you my quirk was useful.”

Bakugou couldn't quite bite back a laugh, at that, and Shiyouji grinned as he sat back down, waiting patiently for the questions to take fruit.

“The app,” he began first, touching the pocket where his phone resided during work. “It has... A thousand options on it, and I don't really want to just hit random buttons and hope it doesn't blow my ears up.”

The doctor nodded, reaching into a desk drawer and hunting down a little pamphlet.

“I think your boyfriend has one of these, in the collection of paperwork you didn't want,” he smiled wryly. “But here's another copy. It's a lot of reading, I know. Is there anything in particular that you want to do with it?”

“It has a list of 'profiles' or some shit? I wondered if I should be changing my settings when I'm on patrol.”

“Ah. Yes, so yours will adjust automatically to the situation you're in, for the most part. When you're out on patrol, they'll likely default to reading background noises, but if you start speaking to someone they'll adjust to focussing on speech. The exceptions would be, say, if someone starts yelling nearby, it might consider that the most important. Or if you're trying to listen to someone across a crowded room, it may not pick up on the right person. So the profiles let you adjust it manually into something like conversation mode or patrol mode.”

“But I have to open my phone and open the app to switch that shit?” he grimaced.

“Well, you could always get a small remote? Or a watch that connects to your phone? There are certainly shortcuts available, any generic device would do.”

“Where do I buy a remote?”

“I have some here, if you like. They aren't the cheapest on the market, but they've been the most reliable in my experiences.”

“Sure, I don't care about money.”

He crossed the room to a cupboard, finding the right box and handing it over in an instant, leaving Bakugou a little impressed by the service quality - they really did have anything he could possibly need in the space of that little office.

“You said they'll help prevent damage from my quirk,” he continued, when the pause grew long once more. “They won't think my explosions are speech or some shit?”

“It's highly unlikely. My suggestion would be that you set up a patrol mode which focusses on background noise, and you can manually switch for speech if you need it. It'll save you from being concerned, and will mean no one can distract you with speech while they do something else behind you. Background mode will still work perfectly well with speech anyway, it just won't be quite as clear as when it focusses on solely that.”

“Alright,” he nodded. “I can do that.”

“Do you have any more questions?”

Bakugou paused, a “yes” if Shiyouji had ever seen one.

“Am I gonna become dependent on them?” he asked finally, his voice surprisingly quiet.

“How so?”

“Like how they say wearing glasses all the time makes your eyes weaker because they aren't practicing or some shit. If I wear them all the time, am I gonna end up unable to go without?”

“Not at all. It's not unlikely that you'll prefer to wear them all the time, once you're truly used to them and comfortable with them, but it won't actually make your hearing worse. Not unless you damage them more, at least.”

“Okay,” he nodded, looking away again and staring at too-bright posters on the walls, designed to distract little kids from what was going on with their ears and brains. “Um, thanks. For being understanding, you know?”

“Not at all, Mister Bakugou. It's the least I can do. I have no doubt you've saved my life multiple times without either of us knowing it, so even if it weren't my job to help you, I'd be happy to do so.”

Bakugou nodded awkwardly, stuffing his hands in his pockets again as he stood up, and Shiyouji shot him a smile.

“Drop by once a month or so, we'll give them a good clean for you, make sure they're in perfect working order. We can keep an eye on the damage, too, if you like; we'll be proactive about it if any more occurs.”

“Sure. Thanks.”

He picked up his gauntlets at the door, stopping to pay for the new remote and scowling when she told him there was no charge for the questioning time.

“I promise, it's not special treatment,” the receptionist laughed when she saw. “We're always happy to address any questions and concerns, we'd hate for anyone to not bring up an issue for fear of being charged for it! It's a complimentary service.”

“Well, thanks,” he conceded, nodding faintly. “I'll be back.”

“I'll be looking forward to it!”

As much as Bakugou normally hated such friendly service, as he left the building he couldn't help but be a little grateful for it. Considering how much of an impact the things were having on his life and career, the idea of it being clinical and businesslike was a little uncomfortable to think about. He was essentially trusting these people to not sell him out, to not give away his weakness to a villain who could disrupt his hearing and properly deafen him, and despite his best intentions, he really did trust the young doctor.

He could hear the shower running when he got home, could hear Midoriya humming to himself, so he sat down on the bed to wait. He stripped off his costume, tossing the dirty pieces at the laundry hamper, aside from his belt, which he kept in his hands. His phone came out of one pocket, thankfully devoid of messages, and from another came the little plastic case.

“Kacc- Oh!”

Bakugou swore under his breath with a hearing aid still between his fingers, looking back to see a very naked Midoriya blinding him with his brightest smile.

“I'm so proud of you, Kacchan!” he bleated, throwing his arms around Bakugou's waist from behind, despite the damp patches he dripped on the bedcovers. “Did you wear them today?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, grimacing. “Shut up, I don't want to hear your crap.”

“Okay!” Midoriya giggled, nuzzling into the side of his neck. “I was just gonna invite you to come take a shower with me, that's all.”

With an amused little huff, Bakugou nodded. He removed the second device, wiped it on the cloth in his hand, and shoved it away with the other on his bedside table. Then, with two demanding and annoyingly strong arms still holding tight, he found himself pulled toward the bathroom.

“Dumb nerd,” he muttered, turning in his grip to meet the grinning lips with his own. “Don't say a damn word.”

They parted just long enough for Midoriya to mime zipping his lips, and for Bakugou to snort out another little laugh, letting himself be dragged under the water.

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